…But We Mean Well


It fragments and fractures; this world this life of dimension and
dissatisfaction this dream of waking with both eyes seeing a
life worth living-being-having and all the while breathing in
and out and in the moment we think that it is clearly just
not enough.

This fear of missing of not having drives us forward drives us
crazy with a commercial giddiness best spent on PR for the
few who would benefit, the masses that would buy, the only
ones who would understand and ever (and always ever) the
lost among us.

Twenty four hours of every day we live—we are—we can see but
choose to look away…not from fear; from oblivious inattention
as nothing rises to our propagandized instinct to consume to
become instead or being who we are when we are…just…
who we are.

6 billion blame everyone but themselves as it makes no sense
when there is no culprit there is no enemy there is no
reason other than living to embrace when cars TV’s clothes
jets diamonds and gold conspire to build a bridge
to the everlasting.

We can’t go back this life we endure we live (we say) all
bundled with technology meant to compete with God meant
to replace our decisions…our role as ourselves…trained
and directed to say our lines on cue, on time and on
the spot.

We question the direction, the speed the friction supplied by
time itself but we can’t question our souls our meaning our
undetected enthusiasm for living a life laid on us like a rose
blanket across a casket…all the while dreaming that
we never stopped being alive.

We live in this world of consumer captivity this jail cell we
call “choice” while dreaming stripped and bare, essence and
aware…the us we can’t be when we are never allowed to see
past the end of a credit card; past the end of today, past
our own simple selves.

I come not to tear down, he said in forums long gone, and
it is the same now…we cannot destroy that which we are implicitly
connected to…this life this living this world we’ve created over
time, overhead, over and over toward a moment waiting
for us all.

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