All of Which are American Dreams
by Chris Glassburn
I see, in everyday, in every way,
that nothing is real;
Our minds make it what it is, not itself.
Notions, commotions, the flow of the ocean
are just impulses.
What is to stop us from changing?
Control of mind is only strong as you imagine.
Faith is imagining strength when you can't justify it-
but if you can control it, you control the world.
You can send people to hijack airplanes into buildings.
You can kill off an entire human race.
You can give me a cold shoulder when I smile at you.
Lets me convince myself of things that are wrong.
But what about conscience?
Good old American values?
They can't guide you if Mom and Pop work,
until 6pm and come home
to dinner, television, and sleep.
To escape.
But it's okay, Barney and after-school specials
teach ethics and morality
until MTV appeals to sex, power, excess, and desire
at "the 10 spot."
They say media is to blame for violence
The blame shifts from you and me,
but the problem remains.
A kill is an honorable duty,
if you look at it just right,
just ask a soldier who sleeps well at night.
What matters is me, myself, and I.
Others don't matter if it doesn't make me happy.
Our wants are our God.
Our desires are our savior.
Shift it. Change it. Justify it.
What is good is what everyone agrees on.
To greed and apathy our nation is geared.
Greed for me. Apathy for you.
Convenience is the name.
Our lives the game.
No movers. No shakers.
Those with ambition drive the car.
Our lack of objection is their license.
Those of will, those who care, the committed,
they are most dangerous.
The only regulation on their ambition is "me"
Politicians believe ignorance is bliss
in regards to their constituents.
Is it a coincidence that those who care
are only ones who challenge the system?
Big brother isn't dead.
He drove off in his luxury car
while drinking a mochachino,
off to his summer home where his mistress waits.
That's not to say there is no system-
just one not run by a he or she.
Mr. Wendle can tell you,
he sees it from the corner.
"Thank you sir" he says as the quarter clings in his cup.
"Thank you for your generosity."
Then he goes to sleep.
You wake up.
In an endless farm pasture.
A vast expanse.
The playingfield is open.
Will you go insane in the infinite isolation?
Or run free from the others' haunting gaze?
I see, in everyday, in every way,
that nothing is real;
Our minds make it what it is, not itself.
Notions, commotions, the flow of the ocean
are just impulses.
What is to stop us from changing?
Control of mind is only strong as you imagine.
Faith is imagining strength when you can't justify it-
but if you can control it, you control the world.
You can send people to hijack airplanes into buildings.
You can kill off an entire human race.
You can give me a cold shoulder when I smile at you.
Lets me convince myself of things that are wrong.
But what about conscience?
Good old American values?
They can't guide you if Mom and Pop work,
until 6pm and come home
to dinner, television, and sleep.
To escape.
But it's okay, Barney and after-school specials
teach ethics and morality
until MTV appeals to sex, power, excess, and desire
at "the 10 spot."
They say media is to blame for violence
The blame shifts from you and me,
but the problem remains.
A kill is an honorable duty,
if you look at it just right,
just ask a soldier who sleeps well at night.
What matters is me, myself, and I.
Others don't matter if it doesn't make me happy.
Our wants are our God.
Our desires are our savior.
Shift it. Change it. Justify it.
What is good is what everyone agrees on.
To greed and apathy our nation is geared.
Greed for me. Apathy for you.
Convenience is the name.
Our lives the game.
No movers. No shakers.
Those with ambition drive the car.
Our lack of objection is their license.
Those of will, those who care, the committed,
they are most dangerous.
The only regulation on their ambition is "me"
Politicians believe ignorance is bliss
in regards to their constituents.
Is it a coincidence that those who care
are only ones who challenge the system?
Big brother isn't dead.
He drove off in his luxury car
while drinking a mochachino,
off to his summer home where his mistress waits.
That's not to say there is no system-
just one not run by a he or she.
Mr. Wendle can tell you,
he sees it from the corner.
"Thank you sir" he says as the quarter clings in his cup.
"Thank you for your generosity."
Then he goes to sleep.
You wake up.
In an endless farm pasture.
A vast expanse.
The playingfield is open.
Will you go insane in the infinite isolation?
Or run free from the others' haunting gaze?