I cannot mind the nightly news.
The faces are terrible.
Empty promises.
Vague expressions.
Controversy to keep us of guard,
to create division,
to render us harmless.

I wonder where I will be
when the bombs drop.
I wonder at their terrible sound.
Will we feel the tension of the impact
against our bones?

Their smug expressions
outline the lies.

The end is so close
you can almost taste it on the wind.

But the party has yet to begin.
The banners have yet to fly.
The acceptance speeches have
yet to assault or ears.
And yet the terror will come.

Where will I be when we finally
blow ourselves all to Hell?

another way around it

we are all afraid of something.
it originates from
a strong sense of individuality.

we are told from an early age
how unique we are,
and how we should be careful
of being led down
the wrong path by someone else
with another agenda.

stay away from outside religions
while being careful not to
question your own sense
of spirituality.

conform while retaining
your individuality.

you are special.

there is no one else quite
like you, little snowflake.

but make sure that you
find a group which best suits your
core beliefs.

women should be this way.

men should be this other way.

do not divert from the path
elected for you.

stand firmly in one opinion
or another.

but what we are not told about is insanity.
we are not informed about
the harsh reality that if we
keep our mind too tight,
it may snap.

if we believe that the world
is one way, but clearly see that it does
not conform to our set patterns, we have
a tendency to lash out at that
which is different from ourselves.

with enough push and pull, with enough
second guessing, with enough human contact,
and reading, and experience, and travel,
we find that
we are not all that different
than those we are taught to hate.
we begin to see that all those other faces
resemble our own.
we start to see that there are a hell of a lot
of people out there just as lost and confused
as we are.

but if we continue along the paths
set out for us by those that claim
to have our best interests in mind,
there is a tendency to become rigid
and angry,
even hateful from the fear
ignorance provides.

there are about a million other
people just like you, give or take
a few million, either way.

i'm not unique.
you're not unique.
those who you admire
are not unique either.

what makes you special in
one moment
makes you just like someone
else
in another moment.

it is in our realization
of solidarity
that humanity becomes
a little less frightening,
a little less harsh,
a little less rigid.

so when the hate fills you,
and you see everything
as if it exists
outside of yourself,
you may, in fact,
just be experiencing
a type of sickness
that was ingrained
in you as a form
of individuality...
and it is easy to remedy
when you realize
that everybody
breathes the same
air
in the same way
that you breathe air.
everybody hurts from
time to time.
everyone feels,
and everyone kneels
under the same sun
that shines down on you.
but the truth is
that there is no truth
other than the truth
that you
choose to believe.

Make it now

Money is the new Jesus.
It commands our
every waking moment.
Life can be measured by
assets and income.
The light at the end
of the tunnel
is only as good as the next
startup,
the next trade,
the next technological innovation.
In all honesty,
who uses what bathroom
is just an experimental
social jerk off session.
We need to be diverted,
controlled,
and told what to believe,
as long as those beliefs
fall within the categories
we are told to fit within.
Fuck the homeless that line the bridges
in Los Angeles.
To hell with the turmoil
in Detroit.
Screw the disenfranchised
of New Orleans.
In fact, damn the whole of
America
as long as that all mighty dollar
continues to flow into privileged hands!
Throw away the old,
and in with new...
as long as the new is owned by old money.
The truth is
we aren't ready for a better society.
We can't even hold on to that
which makes us human.
But just because something
hasn't been done
doesn't mean it can't be done.

of the trials we endure

darkness does not explain it.
maybe darkness in shadow,
some type of void
that is hazy, surreal,
ripped at the edges.

the limbs refuse to work,
the soul feels heavy.
nothing is the way it
used to be, and it never will be
again.

emptiness says it well,
but it does not come close
to the full picture
because emptiness
does not sound so
painful.
there is something else
there;
a sludge,
a heavy black ink
that has a special way of dulling
the senses. it makes
sunsets shitty
and flowers droop.

distraction sometimes works,
but not always.
the harsh realization comes
in eventually,
and it only brings back the tears.
the small routines
you normally would not notice
suddenly become the hallmark
of pain.

then there is resentment,
anger, and grief to
occupy the suffering,
but it will only make you feel
guilty
in the end.

some small something
interrupts the day
and you start the process
all over again.

a certain smell will catch your
attention. a song
will project out of nowhere.
a strand of light
will grace an article
of clothing. there is
always something.

and in a few years
the pain will numb,
blanketed by time
and it will make you feel
guilty again
for not remembering more
often.
... that is if the madness
misses you
and you can somehow
keep yourself
from dwelling
in the past.

but one day
you will look back and
be grateful for the time
you had before they left.
you will love them more
than you ever thought you could.
maybe you will even talk to
them in the quiet hours
of the day
when no one else
is around,
and it will bring you
some comfort.

you will grow into the pain
where it will not feel
so insufferable.
it is never kind,
but it will not seem
so dire.

many years from now
you will look back
and remember
what you endured.
you will see someone
in as much pain as you were
then,
and you will try to lend
a hand.
you will understand
that it is nothing more than
words, but you hope
it helps.
you hope
to somehow eases
the sadness.

you will gaze into their eyes
and show them
what the reflection
of the future
may be:
a little stronger,
a little lighter,
and with a powerful
set of shoulders
for them
to rest their head.

a tiny flower for a tiny hand

life is so very fragile
                so fleeting
the moments brush through
           space
      and then
             they're
                       gone

a breath ...
         a blink of an eye ...
               and silence

but an echo remains
                for those
       you leave behind

the twinkling
            of a star

the ripple
         of a wave

the movement
           of a clock
      as time slips away

and the tears they hold
   are like a single drop of dew
      at the tip of a leaf,
         threatening to fall

Where we go from here

it breaks my heart
to think of
someone losing
a child.
the emptiness
left behind.
the dark nights.
the memories
of a smile that
will never touch
those lips again.
it's heartbreaking.
we can talk about
being strong,
about moving on,
but that isn't enough.
you see, there is a scar
on the heart that is carried
through and it never
really heals.
every time you laugh,
every time you dance,
every time you gaze up
at the big, bright stars,
there is always a tear
hidden secretly away.

I don't generally ask for my readers help. But there's a special person that I have come to admire over the years. She has always been diplomatic, always real, always straight forward. Her daughter passed away yesterday. She was only twelve. If you can give a little something, i know her family would greatly appreciate it. I would never ask anything out of my readers unless I fully supported it. So if you can, any little bit helps ...

https://www.gofundme.com/CorraS

Sleep the Night Away

We're on an adventure.
At some point in
that adventure
we're going to experience
serious pain.
It will rattle the bones.
It will make you think
differently about everything
you thought you knew.
Such terrible pain
only happens a few times
in the span of a life,
but it can never be forgotten.
You will carry it like a wrecking ball.
And it will try its hardest to hold you back,
keep you down.
Often that pain we encounter
in this adventure will threaten to
break you.
You will hold your breath,
grit your teeth,
and the tears will come.
You will wonder why.
You will question the fabric
of your existence.
But you will survive.
You will wear that pain
like a ragged coat.
You will feel guilty if it should
ever slip your mind.
You will become stronger
for having forged through it,
but always it will remain.
When the days close in,
and are coming to an end,
that pain you carried will
give way to the next.
That someone who loves you
will carry on and drag that wrecking ball
until, finally, they can sleep too.

the money that controls you

it is not enough to be
drowned
in ill begotten truths
(lies wrapped up in
just enough fact to seem
as if it were reality),
but we must also be smothered
by propaganda,
torn by rhetoric,
fed shit in every form
it assumes.

all of this by
adults,
leaders,
those who wish to be in charge.

they will poison our
fucking water,
tell us to hate,
teach us to divide ourselves
from anyone that disagrees with
our personal opinions.

... and they will smile
while they lie and
degrade everything
society should be aspiring to.

they find our fears
and manipulate the facts
just enough
to cause doubt.
because once they have you,
they can get away with almost anything...
until they piss off one of their own
with a little more power,
and then they fall
from grace.

the Big Boys Club
wants to control every
single thing
you have.
they will tax it,
try it, judge,
and dismantle
every part of your life
for profit.
and just when you think
they have taken it all,
they will find some new way
of taking what little you have left.

you see, there is no such thing as
fair. there are those in power,
and those without power.
but it is a house of cards.
once the masses figure
out that they no longer need
the shit they are being sold,
that house comes tumbling down
and the roles are reversed.

it is just a matter of getting
people to realize
they are being lied to.

all those who tire of

i taste a bitter
           poison
  on my tongue

for all of those
      who've
come and gone
i'm a symptom
     of all my parts
my teeth have grown
     so very long
whatever the reasons
     right or wrong
i'm glad i've come undone
    a ride through
the hills of illusion
past the scars
that make me be
visions of fire
              to set my reason
visions of fire
              to set me free
i taste a bitter
            poison
      on my lips
can't help but
                  think it's a gift
a jagged piece of paper
              just before it rips
like broken wings
of ascension
      lifting higher
until i become undone

happiness is a weapon

most of
what we do
is distasteful.

we are
bitter to the
trees and
the lakes and
the streams and
the forests
who shudder
@ our approach.

we are
careless with the
animals and show
no mercy @ their
slaughter.

we treat the land
as a toilet and
the fauna as a means
of simple murder
without regard for
the environment in which
we live.

we breed
for war and domination,
for fear and hatred,
for pain and torment.

we spill
the blood of our brothers.
we rape
our fair sisters.
we spoil the womb
and wretch foul
with dirty tongues.

we follow
clerics and prophets
of tired religions
that speak of wicked deeds
while committing the very sins
they abhor.

we lend
ourselves to misery and
mistrust,
to vile intent and
bitter sacrament.

we violate
one another along
the lines of fashion
and reason
and logical discourse.

we idolize
thieves and lunatics,
warmongers and murderers.

we are
deeply seeded creatures
of revenge and mayhem.

i see no monsters here.

there are those
who wish for peace
and prosper in the notion
that freedom,
true freedom lies in the heart
of every man, woman, and child.

they have come to believe
that we are capable
of living in harmony
with all things,
giving honor to the land,
to the beast,
and to the convictions
of the trustworthy.

they show their stripes
and wear them proudly
while others divert their gaze
so as not to be blinded
by integrity.

they live their lives
by the day,
by the minute,
by the second
without warning,
without wavering,
without trial
for they are better
than most,
and that is character.

i see no monster here.

The Forest Falls

i put it in park and get out. there is ice and there is snow.
the smell of wood fire smoke hangs in the air,
both bitter and sweet at the same time. it reminds me of
old people in old homes with old lives. i walk up the steps,
open the door, and i'm in. there's a girl behind the register.
she's dressed in warm clothes, a scarf, and ear warmers. she
has a blanket draped over her, her hands tucked warmly underneath.

"How        much       for  a            Wilderness           pass?" i ask.
"Five                    dollars,"                 she replies.
"Okay,                 i'll take one,"                             i say.

she hands over the pink ticket. it looks like a scratch off lottery ticket.
there's the chosen month and the chosen day that you want to scratch off
for the day you'll be parking at the parking area. you have to display the ticket
in the front window of your vehicle so the rangers know
you're good to go.

i get back in the car and drive up the road a piece, enter the parking lot, and park.
i scratch off the ticket in the appropriate places, and put it on the rear view mirror.
i get out of the car and open the trunk. i put on my boots, my jacket, and my gloves.
i light a cigarette. there are people here and there, approaching the trails. they're laughing.
they're having fun. one out of five cars does not have the wilderness ticket. i smile.

the woods are clean and crisp. it is 37 degrees outside, but the cold feels nice. i hit the trail
and negotiate around some boulders. people are spread out on the trail. i make my way up a hill
and head east along the river bottom. it gets quieter the farther i go. there are fewer people.
eventually i am only left with the cold air and the sounds of the forest.

i can hear my heart beat. the snow crunches beneath my feet. my breath comes out like smoke
in the mountain air, crisp and clean. a rock tumbles from a ledge and cracks downward
along the mountain slope, smashing into boulders and trees on its path. silence.

i  hear  some  rustling  in  a  bush  a  few  feet  away.  a  bird  flaps    out  of  the    bush
and ascends into the air. up            and               down it goes. up         and              down. finally
it perches in a tree, bobs its little head, and stares at me.                              i smile.

i hear someone holler from down the mountain, and then it is silent again.
i go out farther. the trail bends and breaks, continues again past a hill of rocks,
and along the pine forest into oblivion. a twig snaps. i can hear my breath again.
my heart beats hard. i make my way up a bluff, and down into a gully
where there is a small pine tree. the snow crushes beneath my feet.

a    few    hours    later,      i   make     my   way  back  to my car.
there    are                more  people            now.
the sun is            caught
on the other side of the              ridge.
the              mountains                   are shadowed
as i drive out and back
to              reality.

take a sip, it won't kill you.

i use the term,
'don't drink the kool aid'
so often that i'm thinking
of having it tattooed on the
palm of my hand for
easier access.
it is in reference to
the people of Jamestown
who drank poisoned kool aid
at the request of Jim Jones.
i use the phrase for its underlying
meaning.
every time someone comes
at me with some
bullshit conspiracy theory,
religious propaganda,
or political affiliation,
i pull out my trusty,
'don't drink the kool aid'
speech, and it generally
ends the conversation.
really what i am saying is,
'don't fall for the bullshit.'
we are fed nonsense every
single day of our lives.
someone wants to
sell us something,
change our current affiliations,
or get us to
jump on some
three wheeled
band wagon
as if it were the next big cause
that will change the world
for the better.
to quote George Harrison,
"Nothing's going to change my world."
greed and power have always been
the highlight of the human condition.
the only way to combat greed and power
is to take away the want.
but want has to do with ego,
and ego is the framework
of the mind,
and the mind is a tricky son of a bitch.
the only way to make the world
a better place to live
is by putting
the best interest of the people first.
to initiate that,
we have to make a few rules.
quality of life comes first.
that would include health,
both body and mind.
second, we would have to do away
with ridiculous reward for
being in power.
third, we have to end racism,
sexism, and prejudice in general.
fourth, we have to end
the want of accumulation of wealth.
everything that is done
has to be done
for the good of the world,
for the good of society,
for the good of the people.
so bye - bye, Capitalism.
wealthy people that do good
for the sake of humanity
are few and far between.
it takes a special billionaire
to set appropriate philanthropy
into motion. that means
doing good for everyone
without personal gain.
personal gain is anything that benefits
the billionaire over the
common good of everyone else.
and like Harrison said,
"Nothing's going to change my world."
because let's face it,
humanity loves greed and power
a hell of a lot more
than it loves humanity.
so keep buying into the bullshit,
and we can keep spinning our wheels
in the mud. nothing will ever get done,
and only the previously prosperous
will prosper. the rest of us
can have
all the kool aid we want.

identity

where is your heart?
do you keep it in a box,
safe from those that may do it harm?
do you wear it on your sleeve,
where it is always accessible?

i keep mine in a safe
with a little peep hole
so it can look out,
but never be touched
unless i choose to
flip the lock.

i love unconditionally,
but i'm fully aware of
how flawed we are.
people make mistakes,
and those mistakes don't
necessarily make someone
bad. it just means that they
are prone to the flaws,
to the misleading illusions
of who they think they
should be in order to live up
to a certain image of what
the world says they should be.

this is the way of things.
we are composed of every
minute, every limitation,
or ideal we have been fed.
we get stuck in these little boxes
because we are told that safety
lies in those containers.

it is much like stereotypes.
we are told that that portion of the
population does a particular thing,
and we are suddenly convinced
that that is true because
that particular portion
is now trying to live up to
the stereotype provided. it becomes a
viscous cycle that is hard to break.

and just because someone says
they love unconditionally
it doesn't mean they are willing to
succumb to the ignorance of race,
or the radical view of sexuality,
or the limited morality of religion.
it simply means that they understand
that underneath the masks,
we are all just people, making our way,
trying to find the unconditional love
that was always there, no matter
what stereotype you're trying
to fit in.

don't do what they tell you.
don't believe what you are told.
don't be who they assume you to be.
don't give in to small notions of what it
should be, or how they want to identified you.

lock up your heart.
keep it safe.
allow it a peep hole to look out
unto the world that is trying to
identify you.

Mrs. Mackinac's Cat

there was this pitbull
like the kind you hear about
on the nightly news
when the news is slow.
a mean sonofabitch,
the type that takes out a couple of toddlers,
robs a bank, and has his way
with a choir group.
he's 1 in 500;
the other 499 just like a good
scratch behind the ear,
or a nice belly rubbing.
a real Killer.
he didn't get out from the yard much,
but when he did,
all hell broke loose.
cars were stolen,
stores were looted,
mayhem was had.
one day this pitbull got out.
women and children fled to the
safety of their homes.
deadbolts were secured,
and alarms were set.
the police were called,
and the national guard was informed.
this goddamn dog had
a swagger in its step,
a look in its eye,
and an assurance of what
it was put on this great, green Earth for.
Mrs. Mackinac's cat strolled out through
the cat door in the kitchen and meandered
along the walkway beside the house
and into the front yard.
it paused to lick its paws,
and glanced up at the pretty, puffy clouds
bobbing in the big, blue sky.
the pitbull spotted the cat
and went for it like a freight train,
all gristle and muscle
with a maw filled with enough teeth
to make a great white cringe.
it barreled along the street.
steam rose from its nostrils.
a woman screamed.
Mrs. Mackinac's cat casually glanced over at the
behemoth galloping closer.
the cat licked its paw again
as the pitbull cleared twenty yards
in a flash.
the dog opened its mouth.
teeth gleamed,
saliva flowed,
spittle sprayed.
mere inches away
from gobbling down the cat,
the feline jumped up straight into the air.
the dog was befuddled at the vanishing cat.
and down Mrs. Mackinac's cat came
with razor sharp claws extended
in switch blade - like glory.
the previously docile cat came down
with fury,
landing on the pitbull's face.
blood and fur flew.
the dog yelped.
the cat flipped backward
and landed on its feet
as the dog fled,
blind and defeated.
the cat licked its paw.
later that evening, old Killer
had to be put down.
Mrs. Mackinac's cat still likes
gazing up at the clouds
in the big, bright, blue sky.
and from time to time,
the cat can be seen bathing in the sun,
and purring a little tune
that tells of patience
and grace.

Xmas is a trick pony

everyone's a trick pony, and i have lost my taste for sweets.
they memorize their poesy. they believe it will get them
noticed,
recognized, adored. it's no bother. waste the space in your
head- better than writing anyhow.

smokesweet and drowned in opinion. let the quiet fill the
noise as the curtains are drawn and the bath is filled and
the steam rises and reason out all the shit that ails you.

when it is time for bed there's nothing left to do but rest
your head and let the sands of time settle all of the bets.

some believe in the miracle of Xmas.
i believe in rain.

the headline reads:

creatures,
far and wide
come for the festivities.
they read the headlines,
but not the news
for they believe the
headline is good enough,
gives a taste
of what they need.
they believe it without
having to go any farther.
nothing's new.
nothing's changed.
there's new shit
the third Thursday
of every month
so they get high.
the creatures
stand
undivided in the truth
that leaks from the
tube. bloodbath
incarnate.
the windows are dirty,
but there's not much to see.
there is a glass of wine
waiting on the counter
so she washes it down
and peaks through the shades
across the way to the
neighbor's house where
she finds the old man
out in his underwear again,
clipping the hedges.
he wears a grin.
the shears are spot rusted,
but the blades still gleam.
he picks at his balls,
and discerns his next move,
wavering over the hedges
to eyeball the level of the cut.
she opens another bottle from the fridge
and pours another glass.
she takes a sip as the old man
delicately clips a stray leaf
from the hedge.
eyeballs it good,
and goes in for another clip.
the neighbor's Yorkie
bounds out from the hedges
and barks.
the old man is caught off guard
and jumps back.
the little dog pants.
the old man grumbles.
she downs the second
glass of wine
as the old man kicks at the dog.
the dog jumps him,
and begins humping his leg.
she giggles.
the old man falls back,
and in an act defying physics,
the shears tuck under the hedge,
lean drastically toward the old man's
torso,
and down, clipping off his testicles.
he screams in pain
while the Yorkie goes in
for another round on his leg.
      the headline reads:
man is castrated by lusty bitch in act
of exhibitionism.

the truth in love's light

he remembered the warm kiss.
the shape of her legs.
her downy white skin
laced with lace,
and the taste
of her neck
that could drown
a man in lust.

he drank entirely
too much that night,
remembering,
remembering,
remember.

with music soft
on the air,
and a heart
that cared too much,
he could see her
clothes askew
and the ripe,
round ass
bobbing
in dusk's light.

eyes that showed
the gleam from the window
where crows cawed
and coughed out little rhymes
about drunken men
too far up love's ass.

sobbing,
he tore at his chest
and wailed
for his love was lost
on the ocean that drives
the waves through the mind
of a madman,
beckoning the
creatures into
absolution.

sobbing,
he tore at the tears
of his cheeks.
he wreaked of wine
and cigarettes,
and musk.
eyes swollen,
sight blurred,
coughing up
old memories
because he was
a pussy.

a single finger. a single salute.

save me a special moment where the dogs
are calm
and the fingers extend middle first
before the end comes quickly.
let me tell them one more time,
let them know,
let them
hear it from the source.
wash away the thickets
in manure
and hold until the very last second,
this draining extension
of worth
we call love.
bathe in the bile
that is inclusion.
build a monument
in their honor.
but it is not enough.
there is never enough time
to get it all out
and hand over the final moments
in a gesture
obscene.
there is never enough time
to take time for time.
there is never enough minutes
in the day
to say
all the building venom
that stirs in the soul.
a waterfall.
a lake.
a darkened plot of land
where a building once stood
as a magnificent testimony
to human endurance
and ingenuity.
and some motherfucker
had to go and blow it to hell.
is that not
where we are?
what we have become?
is that not the way of all things?
if it gets to be
too much,
blow it the fuck up.
forget about reason.
forget about logic, compassion,
mercy, sympathy, delusion.
if we think it
at this very moment,
it must be true,
right?
a cup.
a cigarette.
an ashtray
perched on a table,
ready to fall to the ground
where the ashes will be spread
like
the legs of forty virgins
just waiting
for an asshole like you.
because everyone knows
there is no heaven
for virgins.
there is only a heaven for assholes
and murderers,
con men and
scapegoats,
for leaders and the successful
who build empires on the backs
of the disillusioned.
so,
save me a special moment
where the dogs are calm
and the fingers extend
middle first
before the end
comes quickly.
i just want to let them know
where i stand.

9 to 5 minutes to midnight

it is easy to console the soul;
drop everything and follow where your heart
       leads you.
but if you want to pay the rent, the car payment,
the utilities, the insurance, the medical bills-
work away with everything you have
until there is nothing much left of who you were
before you began the miracle that is adulthood.
grind the coffee beans and brew up a pot
       before work.
shit, shower, repeat.
throw on some clothes, and make sure they fit the times,
and the fashion, but forget function: looking good
       is supposed to hurt.
put gas in the car, clean the windshield so you can see
       the assholes coming.
pay for parking.
lock the doors, and set the alarm.
take the walkway. glance at he old homeless woman
losing her mind. stand up straight.
be a slave to convention. go in debt.
punch the clock, or swipe the card to let the powers that be
know you are ready to begin. smother the soul
and begin your day.
try to make the screaming in your head stop.
use the toilet and cry on the pot.
refresh your cup of coffee.
glance at the clock. adjust your soul.
run away before it is too late.

Forget me not

Nothing is clear cut,
or set in stone,
or arranged in such a way
as to be the end all truth.

At some point in your life
you will be told
that you should think
outside of the box,
but
there was never a box
to begin with.

There is conformity,
and there is anarchy.
There is a blending of the two.
There are rules
to keep people safe,
and there are rules
designed to make money
for those who make the
laws.
Some laws are put into place
for the greater good.
Other laws are established to
bleed the people dry.

There is a fine line
between Democracy and Death.
But you can not save people from themselves.
We are all responsible for our own lives.
Every decision we make
carries weight. Every choice we
are confronted with
impacts the overall value
of the life we are dealt.

You will be told
that life is valuable
even though it is not
in the greater scope
of what life really
means.
One life suddenly snuffed out
will only impact
the immediate lives
it has encountered. It
may cause a stir
for a period of time,
but humanity is fickle,
and will soon forget
the cause of death.
A new issue will arise,
the demons of our past
will be soon forgotten,
and something new will
fill the space
in the void
where that one life
existed.

We will find new causes,
and those causes will be
left behind for other causes.
We are fickle,
we are picky,
we are forgetful,
and we are lazy.

A new piece of
technology will
be introduced,
and whatever it was
that had us in its grip
will soon diminish.
A new piece of
news will grip the
Nation, and the
old soundbite
will quickly fade away
into obscurity.
Something we should
pay attention to
will be overshadowed
by an act of violence
that will make the world
tremble,
and we will move on
to bigger, better things.

An environmental crises
will wane and fade
into an endless
war that can never
be won.

But never mind
all that,
how about the
new movie
that is making
the rounds?
Are you going
to go
see it?
Can we talk about
that for the next
few weeks
while people die
for lost causes?