The Irony of the Egotistical American

They are marvelously American traits: to lavishly power-trip, to mindlessly lust for domination!
Be it the frat boy slovenly drunk and barfighting to establish territory over his girl... or be it the pigs driveling as they grope you to meet their quota.

And then to ridicule pain, to view it as weakness. Go to any high school around the country where they smell fear like hounds and crucify those who exude it. Or check in with your nearest psychiatrist who will assuredly tell you your pain is a disorder.

To whitewash everything until the notions of pain or darkness become threatening because "it'll lead to another columbine" ["they were always outsiders"]. It's no longer just unaccepted, it's punishable.

And then to numbly embrace the resultant botoxed smiles plastered on every billboard and ad online or on tv because you don't want to be the outsider, to be weak, because you want to consume-consume-consume material-material-material too until the American Dream [read: induced hallucination] becomes yours!

And there will be no pain in you to ridicule, you think, because material indulgence equates to happiness, right? And you can trod on the heads of others, now, because you're on top! Because you're in control now! Because you've dominated, you've succeeded!

It's disgusting. It's catastrophic. And it's spreading.

And the irony of it all is that the blind egoism, blind ethnocentrism, the blind patriotism, and the incessant urge to dominate are precisely what the American elite breed in our population to ensure blind compliance, submission... "I'd do anything for my country..."

God is the Machine

Global synthesis of humankind
Doesn't mean you have to be synthetic and blind
If ignorance is bliss then I'll give 'em hell
Don't let this Brave New World ever quell
The vision, the passion, and most of all the urge to resist
and to rebel

Disenchanted with false Utopias
And the masses' minds' mindless myopias
I know real questions are better than false answers
But they'd rather peace-of-mind be bottled, priced, and handed over the fucking counters

It's God. God is the Machine.
We worship the corporatocracy.
God is the Machine
And if God is the Machine
Then I choose hell

In the pursuit of happiness
We've manufactured it
Though they're callin' us Generation RX
I'm callin' on you to resist
The proverbial soma
That'll put you in a coma
The "American Dream" is a fucking hallucination
Of a nation, of a world, of humans who've sold their souls to miscreation

If ignorance is bliss, then I'll give 'em hell
And if God is the Machine, then I choose hell

So while klan members commit crimes of hatred
And suicide bombers go and meet their maker
And half the world earns 3 bucks a day or less
We can proudly say we've conquered the "disorder" of sadness
No, it's bourgeoisie psychosis!

Chaos theory:
If a hurricane is contingent on a butterfly
A chain reaction can also come of your cry
For revolution, for dissolution
Of corruption, and endless consumption
Invoke the Chaos! Invoke the Chaos!
And remember the power of the atom bomb
Lies inside of the atom

And if ignorance is bliss, then I'll give 'em hell
And if God is the Machine, then I choose hell
And if God is the machine, then I choose hell
And if God is the machine, then I choose hell
I choose hell!

Headlong to Doom

This is a country/western song I've been writing in the style of Johnny Cash:

Headlong to Doom

Verse One:
Red, white, & blue scars across your face:
The crest of a hero in love with power's embrace,
Oh, sinnin' saint.
So patriotic, young, & full of fight
For any god & country, destroy & delight,
No end in sight. So blind, no end in sight.

Verse Two:
Seein' stars, & stripes of bloody wounds.
No man is victorious when gunshots make you swoon
Headlong to doom.
Oh, once a soldier also was a groom;
He fell, never grew older, cried "Son I never knew,
Still in her womb... forgive me, son, in her womb."

*Dobro Solo*

Verse Three:
I roam down the highway on dirt the colour of rust.
The air shimmers before me. A mirage that I mistrust
Forms in the dust.
I see myself a shining stallion,
No scars, so naive. I sought medallions,
but no war is won--I know--no war is won.

Refrain:
Headlong to doom.
Headlong to doom.
Headlong, headlong to doom...

"Before you accuse me, take a look at yourself"