Tag Archives: Society

GUEST POST // Interlude by Gordon Flanders

I didn’t smoke weed, and I didn’t drink, but under the fluorescent lights of Canal Street Station I feel like a thing that slithers. Somehow my fingernails got dirty. I was walking with the girl who I was formerly obsessed with, and I was telling her what I thought was a very interesting story. What I know was an interesting story, in fact, from her gasps every time we hit a pivotal point. And then, in the middle, we ran into some old friends of hers she hadn’t seen in a while. She’s from here and she’s popular, so this happens a lot. There were eight of them. Normally I would just smile and shake everyone’s hand and all that, but I just couldn’t give a fuck about these people and how they knew each other and anything like that, so I stood off to the side and waited for her to ask for her bag so she could go with them. I enjoyed the breeze and I checked my phone. Finally she called me over and her friends were like wtf why are you just standing over there! Meanwhile she had just asked minutes ago why I never do what I want. So that was the thing I wanted, to not talk to these people. I was really fine with her leaving with them, very convenient escape for me, but I did not want to meet them all for no reason. But I did anyway because what kind of asshole would I have to be to hand her her bag and say goodbye and nothing else. So I shook hands with every single one of them. There were people she didn’t even know and I shook hands with them, too. One guy said now repeat our names back to us. I said, I value you guys as people but I don’t have a memory like that. Everyone thought that was funny. You had to be there. So now I look awesome. From weirdo to awesome in sixty seconds. After five excruciating minutes where everyone tried to pretend that we could have an inclusive conversation, they ask what’s up next. I hand my friend her bag and say goodbye, shaking hands with enthusiasm and warmth and real kindness in my eyes. Eight people I will never see again, now they all have a piece of my soul. The train just won’t seem to arrive.

by GORDON FLANDERS
© All rights reserved 2017

GUEST POST // A Hymn Before Dying by Anglophiletoad

Dig down deep in the well of your soul
till you find that the well’s run dry
Stretch your wings, cut the strings,
and hope dead birds can fly
We’ve all tapped out of an empty ring
at the height of an ongoing battle
and we can’t even choke; the only sound in our throats
a hollow and meaningless rattle

Nobody’s right until everybody’s wrong
You can’t write these lyrics if you already know the song
When those who believe don’t really belong
It won’t be long till we’re gone.

They say they want our words, our voices,
these referees of our silence
In the name of peace they command that we cease
with threats of respectable violence
Lest we speak, lest we compromise all,
they offer up stairs to the top of the wall
only to pull out the rug from our feet,
handing out blame as we fall

Nobody’s right until everybody’s wrong
You can’t write these lyrics if you already know the song
When those who believe don’t really belong
It won’t be long till we’re gone.

Whatever ghosts we fear the most,
they pale next to the shadow
of freedom offered by those who have it
to those whose fields lie fallow

‘Cause nobody’s right until everybody’s wrong
You can’t write these lyrics if you already know the song
When those who believe don’t really belong
It won’t be long till we’re gone.

by ANGLOPHILETOAD 
© All rights reserved 2016

GUEST POST // I Am Not… But I Wonder by Jonathan Noble

I’m not a shopper, hopper, nor a pill-popper;
I’m not a preacher, teacher, not a people-leecher;
I’m not a vendor, lender, nor a mind-bender;
I’m not a thug, slug, not an assassin-bug;
But I wonder who I am, and how many are,
∼∼∼∼∼∼∼ as I reach for my own bright star.

I’m not a socialist, idealist, no party fist;
I’m not a protestor, warmonger, not a go-getter;
I’m not a street bum, bibber of rum, lord of a slum;
I’m not a hater, traitor, nor a game-baiter;
But I wonder who I am, and how many are,
∼∼∼∼∼∼∼ as I reach for my own bright star.

I’m not a suit, brute, nor a corporate boot;
I’m not a romantic, pedantic, not a life-mantic;
I’m not a heller, speller, nor a fortune-teller;
I’m not a doubter, shouter, not a doctrine-flouter;
But I wonder who I am, and how many are,
∼∼∼∼∼∼∼ as I reach for my own bright star.

I’m not a scholar, trawler, not a doctrine hauler;
I’m not a specialist, analyst, nor a game panelist;
I’m not a lazy man, crazy man, nor member of a klan;
I’m not a doubter, shouter, nor a free-flouter;
But I wonder who I am, and how many are,
∼∼∼∼∼∼∼ as I reach for my own bright star.

Where am I? Where are you? As our world turns and burns,
Waiting for love from above, and release to real peace?
What are you, and what are you not? Who is and who is not?
∼∼∼∼∼∼∼ as you reach for your own bright star…

by JONATHAN NOBLE
© All rights reserved 2015

GUEST POST // Deep into the woods by Malicia Frost

640px-Rottrollen_-_John_Bauer_1917

John Bauer, Rottrollen or Root Trolls (1917)

Deep into the woods forgotten and somber
Far beyond the footsteps of man
Lies a small, solitary cabin
Sheltered from the rest of the world

It is home to a group of monsters
Who were unable to humanize themselves to us
Thrown away, deserted
Rejected by society, such as I

I found my place here
as one of them
Even though I lack fangs and horns
I am, as they are, one

And when the community throws itself at me mercilessly
I retreat to my safe haven
When I can’t stand the worlds obscurity
All my monsters comfort me

In search of internal fellowship
I explored the darkest fathoms of my mind
Such love I hid there!
Behind a pair of emerald green demon eyes

by MALICIA FROST
© All rights reserved 2015