1. PHOTOCOPIES

Fuck this!
I don't need, I don't want any of it.
I’m saturated, force fed false image clouding my mind,
Overflowing my senses, relentless illusions
With every passing day, every channel change,
My eyes falling from their sockets
I'm surrounded by copies of copies,
Which side of the screen is real?
From the eye in the pyramid, looking down and laughing
Trying to sell me through calculated beauty,
Blind me with plastic dreams
Contorted collagen lips, swollen silicon tits
From her first Barbie doll and his first GI Joe,
Bought without question
Bred to buy and never ask why
Laughing from the top down
The new kings rule from the skylines.
Looking down to the streets,
"How much can we rob them blind today?"
Run them in circles, vicious cycles.
Give them obsession with bodies they'll never have.
Need, want, lusting to be a perfect bag of skin.
Beauty defined only by what meets the eye.
Hollow them out and commodify their lives.
Perplexed by the life-defining choice.
"Which designer jeans best represent me as a person?" Complete me.
Fill the hole in my head.


2. TELESCOPES

Wake up and the definition escapes me.
Somewhere in between black and white,
One of infinite shades of grey.
There is no point to this.
It must be abnormal to accept this dream over reality
It must be accepted to daydream of tomorrow.
Blend the days together like the colors in your head
That suddenly make no sense anymore.
Hold on today, I'm holding on to this moment,
But it slipped away.
Now I'm left with a random coalescence of lines and shapes,
And it means whatever I want it to mean.
And I want it to mean that life has value.
But everything you take with every action
You make lets me sleep a little easier,
Knowing that your god has blessed you with nothing.


3. THE GOOD LIFE

“Satisfaction guaranteed,” this is what you need:
A bigger house in the hills to call your own.
A faster car in the driveway to let it be known.
A trophy wife, won with a ring.
A rock so pure, she couldn’t refuse.
2.5 kids with 4.0’s.
Destined to walk the ivy halls.
Life is good, is it not? What more could you ever want?
What more could you want? What more could you ask for?
Deep down they still know it’s all for show.
Locked inside their gates, the emptiness remains. Self-worth by number on a paycheck.
Success? How fat is your wallet? Deep down they still know
You are what you own,
So cling and hoard as though
Any possession will ever truly be "yours."
So full yet so empty, it won’t last.
What you own owns you.
Adoring their shackles, proudly flaunting their chains
Obsessive, compulsive, buy it all.
Don’t worry, what you’re feeling is “normal.”
Recline and admire all the nothing to your name
Sweep away the dust and polish, maintain your identity
“Satisfaction guaranteed”
Keep hoarding, clinging and cleaning,
But the dust is the only thing
That you and what you claim as “yours” will ever be.
Dust is all you own.
Dust is all you’ll become.
All this, nothing to your name.
What you own ends up owning you


4. UTOPIA MEANS NOWHERE

I know what you want to hear, the same pathetic excuse
“… Everything happens for a reason.”
Self-medicate with bad faith.
Play a puppet on a string, just a cog in the machine.
Rest assured that you're part of "The Master Plan."
Submit your mind, swallow the pills of prescribed life.
But I won’t play deaf and dumb,
I choose my will and my tongue and embrace all consequence
Break open my lips.
The sweet taste of violence,
The warmth of indifference against my skin- mouth broken
Embrace all consequence.
I will not apologize.
I will not excuse myself.
I’ll make no appeals to any authority.
Let the pieces fall where they may from acting
In the face of futility.
Can’t you see that we are all condemned to be free?
How will you confront the only real question?
Why? Suicide? Why live just to die?
There is no point in saving face,
Bankruptcy is just a matter of time.
Life expectancy means nothing.
After all, there is no cure for old age.
You seem so sure of some afterlife- repeating
The verses, inflate with hope.
But what about this life?
What does that say about this life passing us by?
I don’t need hope, there is nothing to save me from.
Heaven seems like a bore, in times of peace I dream of war
It doesn’t matter when or how,
Every choice is as good as any other,
In the end it’s all the same.
Life is a joke and death is the punchline