Post-Modern Blues

Been digging my heart. Into any art. I can get my. Hands on late-ly Been feeling rough and down and Filled with fluff, incorrigible clouds, imperfect like a do-pa-mine addicted white rat on his cheese Meat, wine, and sugar, cigarettes not far behind, in pursuit of Instant grat-ification With colloquially shy eloquence, has been ponti-Ficated All into my net code, unconscious of its pulisic undertones into my hormonal zones Pugilistic punches to my life goals, but the now Is the only time nowadays If I start off with a rush, (Instagram? More like Instagrat producing nothing but Insta-brats) Then the boring stuff, I’ll never get to It takes me about two Weeks (I’m about) to get back on track Procrastinated leeches time off on my back Laches be damned! I wish I was lying But the mental re- Sistance, by its insistence, has me slowly dying Of being away from being The big death Stripping away my wholeness Of the obscene unseen How can you garner connection to the source When **** Is just a click away? Wifi highways garnishing reality away from His gaze It's amazing if anyone gets anything done nowadays I don’t think I have to ask my parents any- Thing, the thing is they’ll just Say just google It But google can’t tell you How to be a man Or How to fight Or (hey siri) how do you open a can of brew on a cold and lonely night When you feel subdued by the pressure to be More than who you are? Since what has humanity sacrificed to come this far? To play with The stars? The cars? The gold bars? It’s no use if your heart is still blacker than tar. So I’ve been trying hard to find the cure to the Curare Of post-modern solipsisms and soires Through some good ole fashioned art You can’t buy that nowadays