Slavery is Alive

In the pursuit of self preservation, comfort, and freedom
We’ve limited our lives to mediocrity and utter boredom

How long can you and I survive in a world designed for people we despise

The ability to affect eternity is quickly slipping away from me

Everyday, every hour self preservation empowers hesitation

It’s all slipping, slipping away from me.

I wonder is there a better place for kids to raise

Will the price of gas soon surpass the middle class

Can interest rates continue to lie straight to our face

Are houses homes or investments that our futures will soon condone

Is war really real, it seems to be something I can’t feel

Corporate coffee and genetically modified potatoes will certainly be the death of me

It’s all slipping, slipping away from me.

One day melts into another and what I have to show for it would disgrace my mother

A series of self-centered decisions have led directly to all my inhibitions

If ignorance is bliss then why does stupidity cause us to clinch fists

Slavery is alive, Yes, slavery is alive, Thank God, slavery is alive

So we can achieve the American dream, or for most of us simply survive

I question the 9 to 5, how is it that you live life

And the 7 to ten, are you still men, who controls your soul, it’s your soul, it’s your soul

It’s all slipping, slipping away from me, it’s all slipping, slipping away from you, It’s all slipping away, slipping away from us

50 Second Masterpiece

I presume, hearing a lyrical masterpiece is what brings you to this room

So let me fulfill your dreams, satisfy your womb

My words are never hollow, did you hear an echo? Hell no!

My verbs stand solid unlike the dykes of New Orleans

Cause I believe in preparation rather than desolation

Never have the right to blame another cause I was raised by a strong mother

Won’t blame my shortcomings on my daddy

Won’t hide behind the convenient lines of this is not my responsibility

I’ve fallen down and screwed up more times than I can count

But I wont walk into the local newsroom and blow my brains out

To anyone who has sympathy for me I say stop it

I’m a grown ass man, I’m not just talking shit

If you can name a hundred men ruining America

I can pick a thousand characteristics that we should be ashamed of

For now I’ll pick one to be kind to your week mind

The belief that we actually care about man kind

Poem: Misunderstanding, Fear, Hysteria, Phobia, Paranoia is what they're Branding

The Pretentious News Reporter says....

Thank you for tuning in to Channel Seven your first local station bringing you non stop coverage of Tropical Depression Supresdem, we'll be tracking this storm for you live for the next six days until it potentially ravages our home land.


The poet elaborates...

The media reported a state of hysteria
Psychology's guaranteed job security
Pharmaceutical companies getting rich off the locals
White people shopping, black people looting,
Come on Kanye are you kidding
Forget the bariers the news disease has all races as carriers
Phobic is average, severe is manic
Popping pills as common as shopping in Beverly Hills

Tropical storms putting fear in little ones
Cones of destruction causing panic over construction
The wind blown reporter affirms disaster
Weeks of photography ingrained in my memory
And finally interviews with the victimized family
And finally millionaires act like they care,
Sing a song on the TV, ask you and I to give money
Once again our country has overcome the enemy
Hooray, hooray, oh, oh, I ran out of my pills yesterday

The media reported a state of hysteria
Psychology's guaranteed job security
Pharmaceutical companies getting rich off the locals
And all the while the powerful are successful
Our economy survives cause we fear our whole lives

The Pretentious News Reporter closes...

Again we want to thank you for tuning in for the last 20 days or 480 hours of exclusive non stop coverage of the tropical depression formerly known as Supresdem, have a safe evening, and be sure to tune in tomorrow as we resume our regular coverage of rising gas prices, bursting real estate bubbles, and the war on oil. Good night and safe dreams

Welcome Home

No one knows what dreams are for
if we did we've thrown them to the floor
pains creep up from my bones
people crying out inside their homes
injustice everywhere
rages of utter despair
hope is lost, peace impossible
corruption crowned inevitable

This is my home, this is my neighborhood
why do I feel so alone so misunderstood
does it even matter that these streets raised me
that I have a good job and I want babies
had to sell my favorite truck
cause gasoline companies don't give a fuck
my own city is out pricing me
can't afford the taxes can't afford the property
sell right now take your equity
move to some pitiful part of the country
where atleast you can buy a nice home
in a safe neighborhood with a good school zone
run, run as fast as you can
you'll find peace some where in this great land.

No one knows what dream are for
if we did we've thrown them to the floor
truth is I'm more comfortable
being my self accepting the normal
While this charismatic passionate
side of me desires to scream out loudly
I cower in a cornesolace solice in the routine
become numb to everything even the obscene

Pains creep up from my bones
people crying out inside their homes
all the Christians want to say
look at the disaster it's the end of the day
disregarding blatant truth
no one knows the hour especially not you
injustice everywhere
rages odespair dispair
hope is lost, peace impossible

Flow of Thoughts through E-mail...

Thank you for grappling April, it means so much just to know that I'm not the only crazy Christian that's slightly confused. I love the play on words with service. While Sunday morning Service is socially and scripturally a good thing so often I desire to abandon it, and only allow people and myself to see true service to our Lord. Hope is hope and finding the happy medium between blind idealism and bitter reality is necessary to a joyous life. (I'm trying to convince myself of this as I write it) Last night I laid in bed asking God to take me out of this world if it please Him or to allow me to wake up in the morning with a passion to serve him, in a completely unadulterated way, purely, like never before. I woke up. Which was slightly disappointing but a nice surprise at the same time, and I felt the same as always, no bright light blinding my eyes from everything but idealism, and not enough deep pain in my soul towards the bitter reality that we're faced with. I woke up, to another day, meandering through the amazingly modest maze of mediocrity. I don't know April, I just don't know. I feel so natural although I claim to be made new, born again into the supernatural. Apart from working myself up in some emotional worship service or hearing some great news of salvation I feel no real power, passion, or spirit. I feel in many ways like the natural man sitting next to me in the recliner at work, I look like him, I feel like him, and I have the same abilities as him. But I'm a man of God, and chosen son of the living Creator, a king and priest among men, a sinner serving Christ, a soul washed clean by the blood of the Savior. All that means nothing to the guy sitting next to me, other than, I was brain washed as a kid, I was to week to stand on my own, and I desire to believe in mystical answers for all that I can't explain. I need the word to come alive, to speak to me as only it can, to renew my week mind, to be transformed. I look forward to continuing to challenge each other and journey closely. Talk to you soon,
Hope that you're transformed today, pray that I am,
Teddy

Romans 12:2 And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.