animated mannequins

part one: morbid jail dream
i was in this ritzy highrise hotel
black marble countertops
silver everywhere
with this ditzy twat of a woman
spoiled, immature
the room was a mess
and i felt unhappy
like i didn't belong there
trying to leave the room,
the dream kept skipping and repeating
starting over there
me having to bring the whiny girl something
i finally made it out of there
out of that loop
coming down red velvet stairs
silver rails
drunken stupid people everywhere
dressed in fancy black
making asses of themselves
but somehow in celebration of themselves
shredded undergarments beneath the facade
this one lady topples down the stairs
rolling on her back
bits exposed
i walk out the door, outside
this big patio area filled with rich, meandering zombies
so much makeup
so much moneydriven automated function
there's no person underneath
a n i m a t e d m a n n e q u i n s
i see this glamorous girl walking toward me with a stack of twenties
she starts fanning out the bills
the way a magician does when they say pick a card
she brushes past my arm
stops just behind me
as this fancy stripper girl pulls some twenties out
they lean shoulder to shoulder, as if to block me out
the stripper whispers in her ear,
'what do you want me to do?'
part two: mister wrong place wrong time
i want you to drop the money induced act
drop the money, drop the act, and think for yourselves, that's what i want
why did i have to pick now to show up to this party
when this stupid 'government' has complete control
when so many mindless idiots play nothing but 'solitaire' on their computers
when rap music and television rule the nation
did i inherit hitler's karma, or what
the aquarian age is just around the bend
i can see the dim light of it in my eye
why do i dream of nothing but utopia
when i'll never live to see it
aching in constant neck pain
misery and agony
while i can't even get a doctor to detect my throat cancer
let alone try to fix it
ignored, unwanted, rejected, violated
everyone seeing a god i don't see
except on the backs of their evil money bills
because i'm obviously mister wrong place wrong time, that's why
part three: resurrections
bring me back in three hundred years
when the aquarian age is in full swing
transplant my brain into a hot lady's body
bring me back when rap music, television, government and money are all obsolete
when men are no longer dragging their pants on the ground
when telepathy is the new google
when people no longer play lonely card games
when i don't have to sleep next to chuckles the psycho clown in a jail cell
when the mind's light has risen
i wish i could leave myself some sign
so that, in the future
i would know it's still me looking out through her eyes
bring me back then, or don't fucking bring me back at all
...
[written in jail, back in may]
["welcome to your life
there's no turning back"]