An Angry Tribe Person (Race Unknown, Gender Unknown) 2018

Motha fuckas are tense. Somethins bout ready to pop the fuck off! It’s in the air. It’s in the winter’s breeze and the supposedly summer’s ease. It is time. Time enough. People have been pampered, postured, captured, murdered, festered, raped, molested, paid and laid…enough. Babies being taken advantage of by sorry adult fucks. It fuckin sucks! Our venerable, elderly, being taped, tapped, rapped and wrapped. Our sins…coming to the fore; more than a little sore. We can’t ignore. Oh, time enough. I hate to think of how I perceive this shit that I am witnessing but I must, if I am a sentient human being, like I surely am. Fuck the truss and the SPAM; I’ll own my trust; greed becoming the need; euro centrism becoming the maxim. Phlegm, being green and mean as it spews forth from my mouth; the, dirty south becoming more sullied, as the muddied waters become muddier. Flights taking off, without a destination leading to adultery and fornication on such a pervasive whim, limbs becoming flaccid with the latitude crossing: lewd, nude and rude. Prudes being buried; hurried into the ground without another sound to pound out further angst. Gangsters becoming the folly of pranksters; silly son of a bitchs wielding switches from the trees with their britches being around their knees as the snitches become the ones with the riches. Softness turning into toughness. Mans hands bloodied, sullied, studied to the point of nausea, a so-called panacea of a formula. Finding out finally it’s not the mighty that makes everything all right, blindness of sight. Tight lines find the Achilles heel as we steal another day under Our God’s Son. Light another candle to handle another fine mess to undress such absurdity in this horrible profundity. We can’t help to be pitied. We have never failed to disappoint with our conditioned response to the elements. Filaments getting dimmer to simmer another fine loser of humankind. We never learn, discern the learned points, crippled joints disjointed. Hearts pointed in the wrong direction…every fuckin time we have been through this shit! Get a clue or get catatonic, dark blue. A fucking pit. It’s all the same, the imagery we have sent aloft. That is no sneeze but a seriously grim cough with blood mixed with wine. A fine sign aligned this shit is getting rough. Yes, time enough.