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Blockhead (Diary of the Average American)

Hello, my name is Joe Sixpack
I am the average American working-class man
I lost my creativity when I started school
I cannot think outside the box because my head is a box
I like boxes almost as much as I like numbers
My favorite box is called television
He tells me how my life should be
Please Mr. Newscaster, tell me what to believe
I could never form my own opinion
Please commercial break, tell me what I need
I couldn't possibly decide for myself
I have a wife who is sort of pretty
I love her, I think...
I have two children
I don't have time to see them much
Sometimes I forget their names
But they bring joy to my life, I think...
I work in a cubicle and type on a computer
It lets me buy all my fancy toys
Like my cell phone and my pager
That let people talk to me about work when I'm not there
You never know, they might need to call me in again
I gladly pay my taxes because the government needs my money
I'm not sure why they need so much of it
But I'm sure it's all going to a good cause
They need lots of money for the troops of course
Because they do important work, they have to save the world from evil
God bless the soldiers and God bless their guns
I like guns, I own one myself
Because the constitution says I can
I'm not sure why I need it though
I go to church every Sunday so the priest can tell me what is right and wrong
If he didn't tell me I wouldn't know
And every night I send a prayer of thanks to God
Because my life is perfect, I think...

 
 
 
Circles

Papier-mache cat
Turns its head away
Stare at the back
Blank. So blank.
Gazing out my window
All I see is reflections
Can't see through
Stuck. Stuck on the chair.
The clock bounces and breaks
But there's another on the wall
Tick, tock, tick, tock
Away down the drain tick the seconds of my life
The toilet swirls, the sink is clogged
The water collects and sits
The light no longer goes on
Stand up from my chair
Bones and muscles ache
Head throbs. Pounding.
Why do I bother?
It's time to do it again
Finish the day. It will never end.

 
 

Crux

You got up off the ground after the men left. There was a large pool of blood where your face had been. Tiny pebbles on the road were smothered by your life's fluid like a thousand children drowning in a flood. You won't stop hurting from the beating you took. You struggle to move further. You feel your back pocket; force of habit. Your wallet is gone. They took everything. Your identity is now with someone else. How sad, everything you've ever been was inside that little piece of leather. You force your way through the darkness until you're home. You could phone the police, but they couldn't help you. They never did before. There's always your friends, but what would they care? Nobody likes a whiner. A cigarette will make things better. You cough until black phlegm comes up from your throat. All that's there for you is a television and a computer. They seem so cold and distant today. They're not giving you the warm welcome they usually provide. Blood starts to drip from your nose again, onto the carpet. It sinks in deep like every harsh word that's ever been said to you. Why are you still bleeding? Maybe it's serious this time. So what to do now? You have to leave the house again; you long to retrace your steps and find just where it all went wrong. But you only get as far as your pool of blood on the street, and you lie there again. Waiting for someone to come by and save you. By running you over and crushing the rest of your battered body. You roll over and lick your drying blood off the cement. It tastes so sweet, it's what you want. You know it now. That's what you need. You roll back with a grin on your face and wait for someone to come by and save you.

 
 
Downstream

Emotions run high
Where the water falls low
Our lives, yet so dry,
Are all lost in the flow

In the current we float
At the fall we must think
Because the story we wrote
Could end in a blink

We must look to the sun
And stay in the flow
If we decide we are done
We'll never see where it could go

So if we all turn where we're leaning
And sit tight when we're sore
Maybe we can find a meaning
Before we get washed up at shore

 
 

 Exit Dreamworld

Walking home at night
Something wasn't right
That paper bag just flew away
With wings and ears it flew, I say

I resumed my walk
Then heard someone talk
It was a small brown mouse shouting
In a deep voice he was pouting

Then I saw a tree
It walked up to me
With two big legs, and then it stopped
It took a bow and then it hopped

Green blades of grass came
To my feet in shame
They begged, "Please save us now, and quick!"
I said, "What? How? I think I'm sick."

Grey clouds from the sky
Came and asked me why
I told them that I didn't know
They shouted, then they made it snow

Freezing in the cold
Yet still, on I strolled
Objects all in lively motion
I was frightened by the notion

Cars turned to robots
Snowmen to snowbots
Stars began falling with the snow
Showered me with a burning glow

Animals talking
Objects were walking
Sounds from everywhere filled my ears
Confusion brought me close to tears

But then it ended
The night was mended
All now became silent and still
The only sound the wind's cold chill

Sirens far away
People on their way
And I kept walking all alone
The tears, they now came on their own