Truth is for sale—

Opinions, and neat little downloads

For our curious minds.

We sell them, like Bleach

Or like Coca-Cola.

Green is worth a few hundred million

Beta and Alpha males worth a couple more.

Libertarianism is a huge market

And Conspiracy Theories takes them all by storm.

Big Foot and Mermaids are now our History,

Aliens built the Pyramids.

Feminism makes lots of money—

Someone prospers off those vagina hats…

Republicanism and Democratism

Make a good, solid investment

Like they were treasury bonds.

They’re a small investment,

But one worth the time that you will ALWAYS make some money.

Multilevel Marketing schemes are worth a lot of money

So is self help.

So are the books we read,

So is the NFL trying to arbitrate Tuesday

As our holy day of doing laundry.

These are our products.

They are so efficient at being products,

That nobody really can get a word in edge wise.

It must all be cannon, and orthodox doctrine

According to the holy write

Of radicalism.

It must not be original

But must tout one party line.

If you believe in Markets

You must not believe in Global Warming.

If you believe in God

You must not believe in Evolution.

If you believe in gun rights

You must not believe in free healthcare.

See, it’s party lines

That have cornered the market on truth

And also their lies.

With truth on both sides of the argument

And lies therewith

The lies we believe are only as accurate as the truths we

Passionately hold onto; because we know the truth is accurate.

But, until the truth no longer exists

And only lies exist in our dogmas,

Those dogmas

Will be our indulgences.

Call me Martin Luther

Nailing my Ninety-Nine theses

On the door of Branding.

Brand is in my name;—

But, like you I am just another product.

Like Dogs

We make a cameo

In our lives, our

Perfectly specious lives; Lo!

Through the edges.

What you want

Is offered;

What is good

Is given.

The king says,

“What you want

“I will give

“If what is

“Good, you give.”

The king’s eyes

Watch. Loose what

Is wanted

And take what

Is needed.

The King will

Soon reward.

He sees a

Man with worth.

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We have free speech.

What crushes my soul,

More than anything else

Is the nagging thought,

“You’ll never feel your spouse.”

I suppose I thwart myself because of it.

What is the wealth of nations

Without someone to love?

The thought of being rich is frightening.

What’s more frightening is being rich

Without a woman who loved me when I was poor.

What’s more frightening

Is being poor, without a woman

And never eating from this labor.

My own stink rises up to my nostrils…

That foul smell of pajamas

Which were worn a little too long.

The smell of sleep.

Sleep… though ever pleasant

Scares me.

To sleep a life away

In my own stink…

Frankly, I’d share this body with my wife

And I’d be happy

Though poor.

But, the looming catastrophes lurk somewhere…

Are there trustworthy women?

I don’t know.

Seduction is an art…

There are men, many of them,

Who will seduce even the best of women.

There are women, the best of women,

Who turn bad, and then seduce the foulest of men.

So, I look at the riches.

I can eat…

Be praised.

Praise and wealth scare me.

I say to God, “If you can add no sorrows to it,”

Which, I forecast the sorrows of success.

Two times thwarted

I had the greats read me.

Pilidod Grass looks fine

And so does the harvest bread…

It will satisfy me if my bonny lass

Waits for me.

I’ll love her when she has mud

Upon her boots, and the dung of cows

Plastered on her worn out shoes.

Her hair tawny, and a mess

With a frown on her face because the cow gave no milk.

Her father waiting in the pantry,

For her milk to come, and the look of sheer astonishment on her face

When her favorite cow—she’d call it a heifer—

Didn’t give the milk needed.

Crying, she’ll go,

Where her father will beat her

For disobeying her…

Calling hers slack hands

Like mine…

Always disciplined for hard work

Thus it’s all we can do

To sit side saddled on our furniture

In our pajama stink.

Because work,

When we enjoyed it,

When we made the slightest mistake

That we could not control,

Was always disciplined.

Her with a rod,

I with a cruel rod too…

My dove…

Shunned by the ones I love

Because the utters didn’t produce milk.

And sure enough, my family and friends would go,

And miraculously—or otherwise cynically—

Pull and get a long draw of precious milk.

As if I’d never drawn milk from a cow…

They’d then tell me to draw the milk.

And it would work.

Happen to be…

They’d also know I tried

And would still discipline me.

What crushes my soul is that I have married a strange wife…

Like Elijah in Nehemiah,

Yet I cannot awaken from my sleep.

Be my muse tonight,—

A beautiful Savant has had visions

She has shown you happy with me

But impervious to the outside world.

Rightly, my suitors are chosen by God.

Which one would I want?

I don’t know, o’ angel spoken of in the pilidod grass.

Loneliness creeps very close to all of us…

The Laurel, the Savant, the Gift from God.

No… there is one for me…

I just have to choose.

Though I cannot…

We both mourn for this world

O’ Daughter of Zion.

It seems like sadness is in all men’s bones.

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Those slaves made some good cookin’.

They tidied up your house,

So you wouldn’t have to lay a finger.

You didn’t have to pay them,

You owned them.

They hoed in the garden.

They… were far more comfortable than

Showers, electricity, television,

iPhones, and internet.

You could sit all day,

Drink mint juleps,

Sip on lemonade,

Eat their homemade cooking,

Listen to their music;—

Like a radio—

Beat them and rape them if you wanted to.

You could have instant access to the best

Live action pornography available at the time.

One of those black women looked nice

Almost pretty enough,

You’d have a concubine

Whose bastard son would

Be just like the shovel in the tool shed.

You could befriend them,

Real nice…

Murder them, and you’d get away with it.

I say, they were a comfort we don’t even know is humanly possible.

So… now you know why there was a war fought

To let them go.

If this offends anyone,

It should.

Bonny Lass

Your eyes so gloomy

To think yourself a grifter.

You saw your betrothed

So you dressed yourself in your everyday clothes

To be married to the husband of your youth.

He rejected you, o’ Bonny Lass

So you took to dressing in floral gown.

The peoples scorned you,

Until you made up a beautiful face.

For your husband of youth had rejected you.

So, Bonny Lass,

You learned to ride side saddle;

Made your feet dainty.

A wooer came, upon Arabian steed

With train of Clydesdale behind.

A prince, who you wooed.

You received your prince.

Some years later, as mud cleaved to your boots

While in the stalls taking care of your favorite mare

You found a stable boy, who seeing you thought you fair.

Yet… your trim which brought you the prince

Left your ring bound to his.

Aught known, Brittos’ feats

He killed Athena.

To approximate:

Athena knows all which is possible for man.

Athena also commanded the souls of

Dead Giants,

Which she could then control

Anyone—even the innocent—whom she pleased to place those cold souls into.

Brittos shaved Thor’s beard,

Thor who wore nine realms in his ring

Who slaughtered Sun Wukong

Who while fighting,

Destroyed the entire nine realms of Thor.

Brittos beat the knave with, with knife and shield.

Brittos slew an entire army

With the jawbone he ripped

From out an opponent.

Brittos killed an entire city of Valkyries

When he killed their king;

One Valkyrie was enough to give grave fight

In Gladiatorial pits.

Brittos killed an army of cyborgs

When he threw a magnet which weighted thirty tons.

Brittos also fought the Elf Priestess

With spear and shield.

She wielded a Bow,

Its arrows lightning.

Brittos won his fight against the Grea

Which commanded the sea,

To also summon the Chok

Which did manipulate

The very verse of the Odes of Brittos.