Thanks!

It’s good to know that you still read this thread, even though I have been quite horrible about keeping it up to date. I think that just about everyone else has moved on.

"sub-directive," was basically alluding to the ideal that the mind is a computer, which has been corrupted by society. On the surface, there is an ever-constant string of commands, which tell you to be a better person, to work hard, and to live a good life in general. But underneath all of that, the structure of society demands constant consumption in order to grow. And we as consumers buy and buy, just to throw away and then buy more.

(consume and destroy)

If we don’t follow that process we are considered to be lesser people. If we don’t have the newest and best new products on the market we aren’t considered to be successful in life.

But this process eats away at us over time. We spend all of our energy working and buying, and most of our personal lives suck because of it.

(destroy yourself)

So the manic, schizophrenic way that the poem was written was an attempt to show how crazy this has made us. Most of us don’t want to live this way, but our lifestyles are constantly re-enforced by our peers and the media. We’re like programmed computers who keep spitting out errors.

Thank you so much for your comment. I am hoping to keep up better with all of the places that I post online.

Here’s another social/political type piece, which I wrote about a month ago.

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Tower of babylon

A brick at a time, and building higher;
Far from the ground, and approaching the sky.
As day-by-day, and hour-by-hour,
We build an evil and lifeless tower.

Massive and spacious, yet none dwell within;
Piercing the heavens, where no angel sings.
It’s a monument of fruitless labour;
An idiom; society’s consort.

Regardless of any good intentions,
We are victims of our own deceptions.
While every day we make the decision,
To construct the walls of our own prison.

Our psychological propaganda,
Hides truth behind an obscure agenda,
To be the best, and then be better still,
Mean it murder, maim, usurp or kill.

We hide behind our jobs, and live our lives,
We sleep in peace, and dream of more at night.
We are classified by social status,
And seek approval from those just like us.

We sought acclaim for our accomplishments;
We wanted admiration, and self-esteem,
Said we’d be part of something greater,
Then built an idol in the image of greed.

We killed the individual;
Made him a cultural puzzle piece.
We gave him the right to protest,
Then gassed him when he tried to speak.

Yet time is merciless; a one-way street;
Paved little-by-little, and week by week.
It is a road both long, and wider still,
As we toil on, it’s on that we build.

A brick at a time, but never higher.
We’re walking in place; our freedoms denied.
Day-after-day, we’re paid by the hour,
To build Babylon’s unfinished tower.

Climb your way up to the top if you dare,
But there are numerous repercussions.
You’ll climb over people; there are no stairs.
And contentment is nothing you’ll find up there.

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