Terrestrial Rebel

May 27, 2009

Living in a prison cell, a political voyeur casting aspersions on
capitalist coteries, reaching for pieces of dreams evaporating in
mid air, in spite of myself holding tight that time will reveal I am
an extra–terrestrial, a Blue Planet contrarian of plutocratic Americans.
The whores of the universe, pimping the planet for their consumer
pleasures, as the Sun incubates the atmosphere beyond measure.
NASA busting holes in the ozone traversing space, searching the
heavens for a God to trust, master of the Universe they arrogantly
profess, as peoples future burns in carbon footprints. While we need
to extend our thinking to beyond just blinking when to comes to
children's finger paintings pasted on empty refrigerators as poverty
knocks on every door.

The sanity of it all is stark madness, they being void of love.
Survival pending revolution is not only part of the solution,
it is a manifestation of a level of political education of what
needs to be done.

Ostracizing their racist fantasies under a dark canopy of fiery stars,
a terrestrial rebel, an alien in their plutocratic state of mind, as the poor
and oppress feast on a cornucopia of T.V. lies, at warp speed imaginings
like trekkies speculating on what should be. The schizophrenia of their
existence hides the mirror of their souls, like Hubble finding no where
else for them to go, failing to see the reflection of truth that is too painful
to behold. The world in peril, as reactionary right-wing forces gallops on
the wings of their apocalyptic nuclear white horses, while the rich gets
richer and the poor an early grave. One percent of the population, controlling
ninety-nine percent of the wealth, their voracious depravity, a growing
festering cavity eating away humanities heart and soul. Their denial of
planetary destruction as the world burns, and terrestrial rebels damning
them to die a dastardly demented death of dementia. Who wants to
remember them, except to not repeat the compete for financial replete
steeped in greed?

They say it is a recession, but for homeless children it is more like a
depression, actually oppression from the plutocratic class, in their
crass they say it is a capitalist system quirk, rather it is their adherence
to Milton Friedman's economic perks, unabashed they should be kicked
in the ass for failure to save the young, whose world has gone undone,
when their parents are kicked out of house and work. Poor children
scrounge, while the rich lounge, and the middle class is squeezed in the
financial freeze, they cower in this dire socio-economic hour, too afraid
to take it to the streets and fight for their economic power.

Finding love, making love, being in love is what revolution
is about. To revolve around love, to become a lover of humanity.
In reverse revol-u-tion; Tion a suffix for something in motion,
an action, U is you, Revol – in reverse is lover. Are U in (mo)tion
as a lover for change? Treat each life despite itself as sacred, a
beholder to a treasure of love, fostering a child of humanity in
innocence, maturing a capacity to selflessly give of oneself and
to sacrifice materiality, you must believe the whole is greater than
the part, and that is just a start for the (r)evolution of society, from
what is – to what can be, there is no fun and games, nor any shame
to proclaim being a revolutionary no matter how scary it may seem.
To deem a course of action with no room for relaxing when it comes
to challenging the prevailing racist socio-economic scheme. Survival
pending revolution opposes the culture of death that rest in capitalist
system of exploitation. Without hesitation or false elation teaching
folks how to live and love while changing the system is the ideal
towards building a better nation.

An extra–terrestrial, a political voyeur, surviving inside a
penitentiary box, connecting the dots, making sense of their
genocidal plots to preserve their patriotic patriarchal paternalism,
declared in a manifesto of jingoist imperialism, with the symbolic
seal of a preserved Bald Eagle clawing 13 arrows and an olive
branch embossed on green chemically process pulp, hypocritically
stamped In God We Trust.

Jalil

Remember: We Are Our Own Liberators!