I pledge allegiance to the United Corporations of America

The truth is that I feel infected, infected by the plague that is American extravagance and consumerism. I try to tell myself no way, no way in hell does the media and the idea of wealth or excess affect me. But that is a lie, A LIE. Undoubtedly my lifestyle ally's itself to the undisclosed notion that is the "United Corporations of America." It affects me every day, every day I swipe my debit card, every day I use my iPhone to check my Facebook, here and now, every blowout sale I ravage for discount shoes, every promo code I abuse for sleek leather bags online. GOD. I am INFECTED and its killing me, my spirit, my humanity, tainted and mutilated into a robot of consumption. Although I do have awareness, a lot of awareness, and I believe this a good thing; it will account for nothing if I don't take the next steps to become a more simple living balanced person. I don't want this iPhone, I don't want this debit card, I don't want this Facebook account, I don't want any iTunes fucking gift cards, I don't want a corporate ass soggy subway sandwich or mcdonalds fries (jesus i just ate some last night) ARGHHAAAAA GET OUT OF MY LIFE. Get out get out get out get out GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE NOW. I'm making some big changes starting now, and I'm saying this on a social networking site because it should be heard, it needs to be heard. I am an individual confessing my addiction of Sociodigital corruptness and Transconsumerism; An absence of tendencies to predicate happiness on acquiring material possessions. And if any of you feel this way in the slightest, than I encourage you to acknowledge it as well, because we are humans, not machines.

Adjacquetayvious Patroclus Abramikas

My mind is on fire.
My creativity is in such a drought,
although theres no famine,
its not like I'm starving.
I'm just so dry and lacking of motivation or spirit.
My art is in a lull of toxicity,
taint and poison.
What is the difference between Hunger and Thirst?
This.
My mind is on fire.
Indecision and so much energy,
ambition.
Sexual Frustration.
Certain forms of insanity are good for you maybe?
The sun is out today.
Today,
its nice out.
Tomorrow though,
it is totally different.
Tomorrow isn't up to anyone,
say for God,
Tomorrow is no one.
So I should make something of myself,
today.
Tomorrow is the mislead hope and lie of all depression in existence.
Absolutely nothing will happen,
tomorrow.
Tomorrow,
can suck it.
Today your expression does matter,
it always will and it always should.
You may be afraid of how intense you feel about so many things.
But what is fear,
how does it manifest?
I don't think its possible to dismantle it,
is it,
necessary?
Can fear be good for you?
Is this fear good for me?
How can I,
monitor the moderation of fear?
I must because it is I who decides the checks and balances of my life,
not fear.
Opportunities and success may be staring at me straight in the face,
but I will fail;
If I cannot discover some sort of control or grasp on my own vision of destruction.
Obstruction.
A plight of obscurity.
Ambiguously bound to chains of logic and reason.
I crave for perspiration,
a drop of purity.
Where to go,
what must I do to break these chains,
unlock the doors and ascend the ladder to pacification.
A quest may be in order,
a rising act or journey,
mission,
solo,
and free.
Face demons of a haunting pass into despair,
via a new found tranquility of the present.
I will climb,
I will rise,
I will,
I will.

Hidden Burial of last Summer

Its like when your soul saturated wet heart gets wrenched out of you, 
and you stuff your mouth with microwaved mac & cheese, 
listening to no doubt on your bed, 
chain smoking out the window, monsoons of tears ripping life out of you
...and then,
you stop for a second and try to make things a little less serious, 
in your sisters room putting on her eye liner,
lipstick and mascara,
take your mummies' bottle of wine barefoot into the forest until you come across a shimmering pool of water; 
a reflection like shattered blood and glass all over your face or some nightmare, 
you plunge into the mosquito infested swamp and try to scrub it all off of you, 
but its burning,
and theres sobbing, 
and the bottle's empty,
and its getting dark, 
so you lay there in your own toxic filth of remorse,
you close your eyes, 
all you can see is his neck,
his chin, lips open calling out for the bottle, 
broken, 
his soft coy jaw lined with scruff, 
brows striking a dark bold fury, 
but his tan skin and brown eyes seem lacking true color, 
desolate and foreign as if they don't know you, 
no,
they never will know you ever again.
A beetle flies by, then lands on your leg, 
another, two more. 
You're so sad and sweet the insects love it, 
you say so like locus for a scrap of brush,
they swarm you for your pity and you're on fire, 
absolutely ablaze,
with a red,
wet passion, 
they're biting you they won't stop biting you it itches it hurts it bleeds you choke, 
drowning in the flames of your own unrequited love for something or someone too bitter,
like this wine,
to even comprehend how much they matter to you, 
burning, igniting, finally Exploding, 
you wail out a terrorizing shriek of anguish, and to your avail, 
thy vale, 
of clouds appear, 
puffy, and grey, you could sleep in them, 
like llama's wool, they descend on you, 
flake, after flake,
cold, 
icy, 
comforting, 
snow,
death, 
you're so tired, 
so, so tired, 
covered in what looks like dirt, with dirty patches of snow, 
nibbling,
you lay down and sleep but just for a little bit, 
soot like snow, bugs, they're all the same, 
and sleep;
you won't think of him any more, 
because you'll be asleep, 
and he'll never find you, 
no one will ever find you, 
so pretty with your sisters makeup, 
pretty.