Freedom and Truth
Life is hard and ugly and sad.
You get so tired you don't think you can ever move again.
Seems like everyone is a liar, a hypocrite, or worse, or just plain dumb.
No reason to hope, no reason to get out of your chair or ever get up again.
Things don't work the way they're supposed to.
You can't count on anything ever.
Is there freedom in that? Could you hope there's freedom in that?
There had better be freedom in that. You'll make freedom out of that.
I'd rather be truthful than cheerful.
I'd rather have a monkey on my back than be one
throwing balls of shit through the bars of my climate-controlled cage,
grateful for any Fritos offered to me by gaping, bored-amused observers
who go home to their own climate-controlled cages,
the flashing pictures on their TVs keeping them there,
mock-contented, dreams deferred-lamented.