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I know I couldn’t have seen what I saw,
but I know I saw it anyway.
An old man, waving, his hair as gray as ash,
his beard trimmed short, a weathered Yankee cap,
his eyes like magic eight balls, googling my senses
causing me to stop and turn, knowing
I’d imagined what couldn’t be. But the mind
doesn’t have to play by any rules
that aren’t of its own creator,
like those magic eight balls whose advice
never really did make much sense,
whose questions we never truly sought to answer.
Systems.
The idea of systems haunts me as of late.
How everything, big or small,
basically has a system.
Intricacies, that
develop over time,
through trial and error,
and eventually form a path.
A system.
And if properly put to work, should work, right?
Shouldn’t it?
It should, yes, you’re right…
No…It…Wait, oh who gives a shit.
What are you even talking about?
Systems. I’m talking about systems.
Big deal dummy…
Google. Facebook. MSNBC.
Rent is due and you’re stuck thinking about systems?
So to every system there must be a creator.
Like playing God.
It’s no use.
This system is flawed!
All system’s are flawed…
If all systems are flawed,
there must be a fail-safe,
duct tape,
a conscience.
And if properly put to work, should work.
Shouldn’t it?
In a perfect world yes, but this is not a perfect world.
This is not a perfect system.
For many,
this is,
a balancing act,
that in public, seems rational, adjusted,
a well oiled machine, though
further research shows,
a haunting dilemma – difficult to admit –
between two parties,
whom share the same skin.
Who share the same system.
Words Of An Average White Male 