Upset. Steaming. Not beaming while gleaming the fruits of our countries labor. Our countries slave labor. I eat on the cheap. I’m in it deep. Drive through, instants. Drive through, cravings. Paving the path of another indigents sufferings.

Let them break their backs. Let them sleep three to a bed. Let them eat cake. Work Visa Lisa cleans for you while you sit in your cubicle mouse clicking, calorie counting your heaven. Air is a glaring. Baring down the exercise you get from walking to and from the bathroom. As the work that you would not want to do gets done everyday. Unnoticed. Unappreciated.

The cock roaches come in through the cracks in our countries floor. They eat the garbage that we throw away at night. Crumbs on the counter. Crumbs under our door. I hear them but don’t see them. Don’t see how many of them are packed in under my house waiting for a chance for our door to open and welcome them in to our family.

As the president says these are good cock roaches working hard. If only they had a crumb they could feed their cock roach families of which are growing at a rapid rate and could easily take lazy cock roaches out of their cock roach jobs.

They have been here forever. We stole their land from them. They had to go in hiding. Now we dangle our cock roach cheese in front of their cock roach mouths. Let them do the work that we don’t want to do. Let them have all the freedoms we take for granted. Open our doors. Feed them our crumbs. Or spray them with Raid and quit talking about it. Do you want to work like a cock roach?

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Active participant. Instant. Involved. Daily process. Workout. Exercise. Body and mind and soul. Pump oxygen. Clean out system. Dirt. Debris. Push filth through molded drainage ditch filled with all of your impropriety’s. All of your sins and all of your polluted energies.

I’m skipping rope now. Skipping hope now. I will not wait for miracles to happen but stand on the sholdiers of legends and throw stones through stone mansion walls. Knock holes into gold pedestals of idols booted and scooted out of our American dreams.

Seizing the day. Seizing my life by making choices that will demonstrate, teach, tutor honesty, integrity, and lust for a better life. Lust for role models who model on the cat walk of the everyday life.

I remember sitting in the isle at Star Wars. I was a little child. I watched as the story scrolled by in large white text applied to a star filled sky. I remember watching E.T. as he nearly died and I cried. This was my heroic suburban epic told to me by Hollywood. Spoon fed and fancy free. Wrongs and rights given through stories told on screens more vivid than any Bible School summer day spent sweating puberty.

One day I will wake and take my life. Make my life with high obligation and high moral standing. Become immortal. While sitting in my screened in Florida room with my 50 inch flat panel monitor heaven, surround sound. While looking at my grandaughter’s Kodak gallery. Give me back to the heavens. Lift me up to eternity.

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Throwing out lures and kicking your spurs. Fishing with bobs and calling out mobs. Waiting for a bite that might, maybe, never come.

Playing the numbers. Playing your chance at the big time. The more you bait the more chances of bites. Chances of mights. Chances of rights. Once. Twice. Three times a maybe. When is the day that your ship will sell in? When will your words be deemed worthy? Your ideals deemed beauty? And when will you get your applause for your dogged determination. The question you have to ask yourself is, “Do you feel lucky?” Do you even play the lotto? Why do you need to win?

Running expecting more from life progam.exe. Compiling. [This program will make you expect more] You are programmed to want more. Now. Instantly. Gratify me. From the flicker of the television to the ping pong of data flying through space. To the happy meal, combo number 1’s, 500 channels of emptiness, infomercials, lose weight while doing nothing. Find happiness while doing nothing. Happy pills.

Happy meals and mind numbing Blockbuster movies. As we watch Hollywood stars making millions off of make believe. Why can’t you make a decent living off of your reality? To professional athletes signing multimillion dollar contracts. With the majority of our heroes being uneducated, untalented regular folk who have found fame by being at the right place at the right time. Having the right contacts. Having the right PR. And symbolically if not literally winning the lotto.

Wake and take control of system, data, position in space. Make it so. Run rationalization program. Consume jealousy. Want to experience a life full of fame, riches, worries not constrained to money, with dollars flowing. Not living from paycheck to paycheck. Run reality program. Delete jealousy program. Find value in the here and now. Human closeness. Human moistness. Flesh real. Sweat. Tears. Pain. Reality. Make it so. Hugs all around.

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Beauty and plastic dolls. The ideal. The teach me. Love me. There is a time and a place for discipline. I’ll say “No” one day and she’ll understand. She’ll button up. Listen up. Stand at attention. She’ll hear the sounds of daddy’s feet thumping through household hardwood floors. And remember not to touch the stove. Remember not to eat things off the floor.

Months will pass. Years will pass. But not now. Not now because brain function. Junction. Biorhythms system. Ties that bind aren’t tied. Aren’t connected. Synapses are growing. Flowing. As I’m towing the line. As I’m mowing my lawn. Trimming my hedges and saying my pledges of getting my piece of the apple pie.

I hear of landslide, hurricane, war, hunger, Aids ridden, genocide planet on daily news blips and bleeps through unconscious radio news programs. I hear the end is coming. The end is near. But it hasn’t come. I used to stand on the tip of the volcano and want the eruption. Want Y2K to end it all. All my single life searching uncertainty. But now I hold my wife’s and offspring’s hands and think of growing old with them. Searching with them. Learning with them. How wonderful a world it can be?

One day, if we are all still here, her synapses will connect. The paths will be made. And “No” will mean “No”. “Hot” will mean “Hot”. Lose ends tied and connected. The synapses will be grown and evolved. And she will wake and see and understand the beauty that is this world. I can only hope and pray for this, on this . . . Mother’s day.

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Course contract. Backing up systems. Copy files to make sure asses are covered. Smothered in onions and pecans, pork, South Beach Diet, rules. Shrink waste. Shrink taste buds, turn you into one hell of a stud. I’m staring at blank walls again. Blank time again. Making up worlds and hurdling pearls strung through Aphrodite statue concrete, plastic millipedes, while reading technical manuals.

They sneak into your house. While it’s raining, and bite your ass at night. Taking away your virginity. Taking away the trinity of food, shelter, and disgrace in this place. Let’s pile in on thick. Barricade ourselves in. We are being attacked daily, by cockroach dissidents heads rapped in rags, laying dead in the streets of our forefathers. Folks too scared to call it off. Too scared to admit wrongs. Turning the other cheek will get you slapped. Mapped by drones flying low to pinpoint WMD’s that never did, maybe did, maybe hid, from existence?

It all hangs in the balance. Thin lines walked. Thin lines crossed. And never going back. Never admitting that you are wrong. Sticking by your cowboy guns. Sticking by your cowboy funds. I’ve written it. Signed it. The cockroaches keep coming. You can spray and spray. But they will keep coming in. Your borders are not guarded. They will sneak in under your door, and through your floor. You have want they want. And they were here first.

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