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..."

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...