“The press today is an army with carefully organized weapons, the journalists its officers, the readers its soldiers. But, as in every army, the soldier obeys blindly, and the war aims and operating plans change without his knowledge. The reader neither knows nor is supposed to know the purposes for which he is used and the role he is to play. There is no more appalling caricature of freedom of thought. Formerly no one was allowed to think freely; now it is permitted, but no one is capable of it any more. Now people want to think only what they are supposed to want to think, and this they consider freedom.” - Oswald Spengler

rgdinmalaysia

  • Visit rgdinmalaysia's Xanga Site
    • Name: rgdinmalaysia
    • Gender: Male
    • Member Since: 3/29/2008

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Friday, 24 May 2013

  • A POEM

    A FALSE EQUIVALENCY, A TROJAN HORSE

    No one expected such an obvious logical error to sail through unquestioned

    Everyone waiting for everyone else to do the questioning

    And after the damage is done, they’ll take turns blaming people who were not responsible

     

    Open the gift without taking any precautions

    Who sent this gift?

    Who wrapped it up in fawning weakness and presented it via a blind spot?

     

    Two things that were not alike were melded together

    In the manner of a magician holding a coin in his right hand then making it appear in his left hand

    The audience is too worked up to inquire further

     

    Until they find themselves knee-deep in the blood of their mistake

    The visceral wrongly timed reflex that lashed out at a bystander

    The product of their manipulation which they must still take responsibility for

    For they slipped it in as they acted out under the hypnosis of ignorance

     

    Post-attack, the republic of morons is now free to make a future false connection   

    They will expedite their own demise

    They will let in an enemy through kneejerk thoughtless action 

     

     

Thursday, 23 May 2013

  • A POEM

    IT WAS NOT TOO MUCH BUT TOO LITTLE THAT SET THE STREETS ON FIRE

    They’ll blame videogames for the fact you can only talk with your fists

    They’ll say you watched too many violent movies

    But they’ll never fault the complete lack of opportunity

    In neighborhoods where the residents have only second or third or fifth hand cars and who haunt check cashing facilities and liquor stores

     

    All of love is economic

    Which made love not accessible to him

    So he eliminated love with an unregistered handgun

    And they said music was responsible for this

     

    And the unemployed overweight adults unexpectedly dumped by history

    They are frozen with panic and worried about their supply of frozen pizzas

    And their offspring has been excised of all hope and morality

    And turned loose with a terrifying assuredness

     

    The police will abuse an unconscious, handcuffed man

    They’ll shoot first and beat up the mentally ill

    They’ll tell the homeless to go home

    And then erect strawmen barricades to excuse their crimes

     

    The terminally ill streets of a dead country

    Still in denial points a trembling finger at popular entertainment

    The gangs of tomorrow ransack documented history

    And throw up crimes and mindless violence as their contribution

       

     

  • A POEM

    DISFIGURED ROSE

    It was the last left of the season

    Most of its petals gone

    Stooped from the rain and the coming of the cold

    Lost its luster under the relentless pressure of living

     

    The female lion without a mane

    It’s the peahen and not the peacock that does all the work

    The male courts the less attractive female with disdain

    A genetic predisposition to beauty undermined by the elements

    The death that is not immediate but which all recognize

     

    Disfigured rose

    Maimed and totally beaten down by the sun

    Found even the moon too overbearing

    That was not given to a lover but given back to the earth

    Recycling an unused sensuality

     

     

Tuesday, 21 May 2013

  • A POEM

    I NEEDED THAT

    Last Friday evening I drank several whiskey and waters

    Not enough to make me stupid

    A spike in happiness felt like insight to me

     

    He felt around my neck for a pulse

    And spewed out warnings with impatience

    What brought my night to an end

    And what made him angry at being called out here

     

    I needed to be the fool for the evening

    And snap to attention when no one laughs

    I needed a lot of other things

    But they didn’t come so I’ll wage war on the other things instead

     

    Just outside of being poor enough

    Is a group of people who never share anything

    They might give you a slap in the face

    But they expect something back in the way of gratitude

     

    I needed to uproot all that is clinging, preventing movement

    And in ten years time I’ll need to do it again

    Periods in between of inebriated hi-jinks

    A fix of calamity that eases stale routine

     

     

Saturday, 18 May 2013

  • TWO POEMS

    CHINESE ALPHABET

    Like love on a battlefield

    Which is a meaningless analogy

    Unless your life is a war

    And you understand nothing

     

    And you rage at polite people

    Who don’t cut off others when driving

    And give up their seat on the train for a pregnant woman

     

    But you’ve been taken out of the place of your birth

    Where there is no corresponding word for the English word “consideration”

     

    The writing goes from left to right

    But the opposite twist burnishes your alien way of relating to other people

     

    I know my prejudice is real

    From a solid foundation of interaction

    No one told me what to think or say

    I shouted at you and you ran away

     

    I liked her a lot

    But to communicate in writing was to crash into meaning

    Meaning would not give way

    And so I thought it best to avoid you

     

    You don’t wash properly and you smell bad

    You consume odd parts of animals

    Impenetrable to me, we’ll get along but I’ll keep one hand at all times on the force of understanding

     

     

    SUIT OF WORMS

    They’ll dress you up in death

    And clink glasses when you rot

    For them, you only have meaning once you are gone

    When you were here, you were an annoyance

    And they’d cross the street to avoid talking to you

     

    But a funeral is like a debutante’s ball

    Coming out to the assembled who in life were known as enemies

    Now they’ll go forth and champion you to everyone they meet

     

    And the corpse of the perpetually mistreated artist

    Outfitted in gold lame

    Tours the rooms of those who made cutting comments and put down others who liked you

     

    Meanwhile, those who shared in a spoken of experience

    The spoken of experience was art

    Wonder what they got wrong

     

    Those that used to love you will hurry up decay

    It can’t come fast enough

    Dress dead influences in a father’s suit of maggots

    Eating up what’s been spoiled and made common

     

      

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rgdinmalaysia

  • Visit rgdinmalaysia's Xanga Site
    • Name: rgdinmalaysia
    • Gender: Male
    • Member Since: 3/29/2008

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About Me

  • I am an American living and teaching in Malaysia....In Facebook and YouTube under Raj Dronamraju....My other blogs are www.rgdinmalaysia.blogspot.com(for books, music, poltics, random stuff) and http://www.rgdinmalaysia4film.blogspot.com/(film)....I am the author of three books of poetry THE RETURN OF THE MAGNIFICENT NINNY AND OTHER POEMS, SOLIDARITY WITH THE FLESH EATING MOSAIC AND OTHER POEMS, and TRAVELS WITH THE ANTI-JOHNNY APPLESEED....They can be found here www.rajbooks.com

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