Fans of the two-man-band, Twenty One Pilots know their song, “Heavydirtysoul.” What they may not realize is that one of the song’s best known lines is a distillation of an ancient fable.
Tag: Poetry
King of the Hill by Virgo Phoenix
This gnawing burning squiggle of an emotion that streams through insipidness; speaks in the space where my gut meets the churning locket of despair.
Alone, I reach for connection through the waves of impersonal electronic communication. Dopamine receptors fired to the infinite oblivion of overwhelming noise and nothingness.
I desire nothing for nothing is within me.
Slough by Sir John Betjeman
Betjeman was struck by the “menace of things to come” but later regretted the poem’s harshness. Betjeman was alarmed at the desecration of industrialization and modernity in general.
Elaine Marie Kolb – Haiku Against Medical Assisted Suicide: Ableism Kills Us
Poor, old, disabled
Weirdos, nuts, odd balls, queers, trash
All expendable
Abandoned, ignored
Ridiculed, isolated
Suffering alone
Elaine Marie Kolb – Haiku Against Medical Assisted Suicide: Ableism Kills Us
Thoughts on Death-Grief
Grief causes you to leave yourself. You step outside your narrow little pelt. And you can’t feel grief unless you’ve had love before it – grief is the final outcome of love, because it’s love lost. […] It’s the cycle of love completed: to love, to lose, to feel grief, to leave, and then to love again. Grief is the awareness that you will have to be alone, and there is nothing beyond that because being alone is the ultimate final destiny of each individual living creature. That’s what death is, the great loneliness.
Philip K. Dick, Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said
Keep on Rockin’ in the Free World
As the US celebrates $95.3 billion in military funding for Israel, Taiwan, Ukraine, and the US, we unpack the US Indo-Pacific strategy and what’s at stake.
Keep on Rockin’ in the Free World
Reading 05-12-2024: The Face of Imperialism, Michael Parenti
Mahmoud Darwish
Ghassan Kanafani
As The Lights Go Out In Gaza
And the ghosts of the buffalo roam through the ruins
looking for their heads
while the people of Gaza comb through the rubble
looking for their dead,
and the rest of us stare at screens and cry like babies
and ask our own unanswered questions
of heavens clouded by the fumes of industry,
vanishing stars above a dying world
as the lights go out in Gaza
one by one.
Ms. Cat’s Chronicles 
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