Two Flying Farts

It’s possible that you do not give a flying fart about the content here. But what about two? I think your saying there’s a chance, and I like those odds.

When is a fact a fact? I think you have to decide on that. For it's you that gives power, To the words on the page, Or the words that float in your head, Or the ones you say on the stage. Others have to choose for themselves, And the measures some choose, Will be longer, or much sorter, Than the ones you use. What is there to make of this? Are some deafened by the ignorance, Made up of their own chosen bliss? What truth can be found, When others do not see fact, And what trust can be had, When each of us alone have to decide on that?

Fight against the dying of the light...bulb Resist your mind being sight...dulled Don't feed from the trough of plight...trolls. Don't forget your mind is your might...though. Some may try to push you off of heights...those. May try to glue their ideas to yours...nope. Excavate what they infiltrate leaving holes...yours. Fill with toil, what you chose has to be with good...soil. Filter out, those that hate are only those that...doubt.

Help I married an Ad. Yes, I know it's sad. Yes I know it's bad. And I know I could have avoided. A pop-up blocker would have destroyed it, Or her, actually, But she was cute in her frame, And it seemed all the same, When she asked me (just me) to affirm the CAPTCHA, Yes and also for donations to feed, The starving poodles that zillionaires leave, When they go on vacations. And before I even knew it, My credit card I had typed, Those rich poodles she had hyped, Were now a bait and switch, For a marital form, Now we’re hitched! Apparently the music playing in the back, Was matrimonial at that, And who was presiding at the time? Hidden form attributes that were in line! So now under vow, I must endeavor to ask, Since I popped up here During your task, Won’t you click here to save a poodle?

god is white. What's that you say? god is white. He is in America anyway. Here we all trust in him. My community adores. Because my community looks like him. his son's pasty picture is on the door.

god is white. Don’t you read? his Word says it plainly, Well, it says it mainly It would be so unpatriotic Not to see it the samely.

god is white. god is the best. god is for America And not for the rest. god gets us money. god gets us food. he’s chained up in our basements So he’ll follow our rules.

god is white. And you are not. And that's ok. To be that way. Because god is perfect, And others just aren't.

god is white. god is rich, he's a consumer, he's a business boomer, he's a marketing crooner, he's a tycoon loomer at least that's the rumor..

god is white. To all who agree, All who look like him, Who look like me, And for anyone else, Against god you must be.

god is white. You cannot change, The mind that is mine, The beliefs that I range, Because if this simple fact, Is simply not to be, Then I may have to love others, The ones that don't look like me.

Opinions rip Opinions trip People dunk their wordy chips Into heavily salted opinion dip Serving up opinion strips And upon waking, spoon dollops of opinion whip Into lattes of their pressed opinion drip And ever does the opinion flip But upon question they never opinion lip Only to admit to small opinion slips Modeling actions to keep them opinion hip Careful not to dive deep, or else their opinion trips Only when alone do they feel opinion nipped Only when alone are they opinion stripped And so they return to the mass, to be hailed as an opinion VIP

Hi! I’m Guy, I’m a consumer I buy, buy, buy I eat my ads I’m fed all the time By T.V. By radio Buy phone I buy, buy, buy What do I think? Just ask the stores They tell me what to try. They tell me what to buy They tell me what to think They won’t lie, so I buy, buy, buy What day is it? What’s the time? What’s it like outside? What does it matter? When does it arrive? While I wait I’ll order another! Anticipation feeds my life! I won't die, I'll just order another Guy!

Real monsters don’t live in closets, Or underneath anyone’s bed. They aren’t locked up in books, They aren’t in the deep, dark woods In a house made of sickly treats They are not in lordly mansions Or shacks of sticks in the streets.

Monsters are not in places, But are found where places happen to be Because also in those places Just so happen to be you and me.

Watch your thoughts and actions Your circumstances are food For some monsters will feed until all of you is consumed.

Do not go into situations where monsters will crawl out For full monsters have formed Where none were previously about.

Be good to you, and that one over there The one that isn’t like you That has different cares.

If you go looking for some ill Then that's what you will find And you’ll breed a voracious monster That will cloud over your heart and mind.

Have you ever been in an empty room? No one has! What happens inside, Are there elephants just beside? Are there goblins overhead? The door is a portal That you cannot explore, You can never know, The world you've closed, When you open up the door The shift in the shade, What slides beneath the floor, And hovers overhead, Into the next dimension, Does it run out in fear and dread? Is it scared of us, The way we are scared of it? Is it just the knowledge of not knowing, That makes our knowing not fit With what out minds can actually see, So do we live harmoniously then With this multi-dimentionality? Is the room lonely? Does it conjure up these spooks and sprites? Or are we the ones being conjured, By an empty rooms delight?

An inch worm may never know Of the world beyond the yard. The large cities built Or the farms there are to farm The marvels of technology Are lost in the grass of my backyard What is the rest of the world to them? What do they care who is in charge? Or which country they reside in, What language the inhabitants speak? What those large images passing by are? And what those loud noises all mean? How they can travel, From one place to the next. If it isn’t absolutely relevant, They could absolutely care less. How small these things are, That live under our shoes In our big wide world With our big wide rules.

And yet we are Busy, busy, busy With plans going to and fro With never a thought To the shoes we’re under Never a thought To the wider wonders Never a thought That we are the small The fraught Never a thought, To whose backyard we’re in.

When I was young, And old said to me. Put down that pen! Unless the devil's your friend. You left-handed atrocity!

And as I grew, I soon knew Some people had easier writing, For their words were neat, All curvy and sweet, Meanwhile my hand was smudged, My words were fudged Up (and usually diagonally), With all the trying.

Still I could not write, Not well with my right. So with my left I am left, And to me, the left I am left with, Is the left I am best with.

You have a left you are best with too, Maybe it's not your left hand, Maybe it's your right shoe, Maybe it's that one thing you do, Whatever it is, keep it up, If it's special to you, It's special enough.

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