Monday, July 1, 2013

Conglomerate by Breeze Vincinz

This is a poem I wrote awhile back when I was going through an intense hatred of most things capitalistic. I unfortunately was one of an immense group of people whose employment was affected due to the events of 9/11. Though the word "recession" would later have much more dramatic overtones during the Obama administration, for those who can remember, we were facing some pretty rough fiscal times with Dubya and when the Twin Towers fell along with the economy... and despite popular belief, Los Angeles was hit pretty hard by that ripple as I (and just about everybody I knew at the time) was scrambling to find alternative income streams as well as make some type of sense of it all.

While I still have a slight allergen to the 1%, their effects and the questionable routes they have taken to acquire and maintain their wealth, I can also honestly say at this point that... poverty fucking sucks. This has become a lullaby of sorts to me, a humbling meditation on how I survive in this dog-eat-dog world. It is also very fitting for me right now in my life since as we speak... they are actually building another conglomerate right outside my window... RIGHT NOW. The sounds of construction wake me up every morning and every night I do wonder... will the future inhabitants of the penthouse floor ever care about the families they displaced to get there... or the chubby little dude living in his little studio apartment in their shadows just trying to survive...

...yeah... they paved paradise and putting up a parking lot...

© Breeze Vincinz

Who doesn’t love me
Who is so bitter
Mr. East Coast Lonely Hearts
Mr. "Just Feel This" on Twitter

Mrs. I will call you dickless
and cry when you say bitch
Mr. Delusional refuses to scratch
with his consistent itch

Floor filled with clothes and newspaper
Dirty dishes filled with water
Dried remnants of a roach
smeared to warn it’s brother

Another conglomerate on Hollywood/Highland
Another conglomerate on Santa Monica/La Brea
And me with my enemies and roaches
I wonder if I died who would even care
Then sometimes I have a good hair day
Sometimes there’s money in my account
I can get the gunk off my George Foreman
I’m not saddened at what LA is about

Or bitch about it’s reindeer games
Won’t be a disgruntled “came here” name
Won’t judge those pain/fear babes
Who bought into those waning fames

The only cure for birth and death
Is to live the life in between
Me and Mr. Emotionally Unstable
Have been curing ourselves clean

Another conglomerate on Hollywood and Western
Another conglomerate on Vine and Sunset
And if somehow compassion became currency
What could be bought with all of that regret

There are always stains across the wall beside where my bed lays
There is always a sugary gloss in my mouth when I express my rage
There will always be a river of people who I’ll fuck over unintentionally
They will always spill over into the eroding banks of my serenity

Another building is being put up, 10% of every dollar spent
Goes to some non licorice colored dude who smokes cigarettes
I will be in the river of people he fucks over without intent
Or maybe just a little after all he knows I will buy his bullshit

And he won’t love me
no more than I can spend
And Mr. East Coast Lonely Hearts
won’t accept that I won’t bend

And this tug of war, this tug of whores
all clamoring for attention
Need to start waiting in line patiently
I’ve other needs that need a listen

My dirty walls, my dirty draws
Deliver me
My pierced titty, my fucked up city
Deliver me
My “I don’t care’s”, my nappy hair
Deliver me
My sex toy bin, My ex boyfriend
Deliver me

Another conglomerate on Gordon and Sunset
Another conglomerate on Sunset and Vine
My insecurities, sloth and history
are not incorporated but they're mine

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