I haven’t been entirely honest with you. In fact I lied right in front of your face. I plagiarize. My whole life is a plagiarism, a lie, a steal, a copy, a bootleg. All my words have been delivered out of the wombs of my mind with help. Without this, my mind wouldn’t birth words nor would my fingers be able to speak. I am selfish; I wanted all the credit, all to myself, with none leftover to give. But, before life ensnares me in its web of guilt, I should be sincere and finally proclaim the true mechanism behind my words.
The seed to my inspiration lies in the pain and suffering of others. It lies in the wrinkled face of the homeless man at the freeway exit; in the cardboard box that shelters the down-and-out; in the rough hands of a single mother with 5 children; in the black eye of the woman who gets beaten by her husband; in the tears of my mother when she can’t pay rent; in the trash that decorates Mother Nature; in the formula that poisons a new born baby; and in the fingers of a person eating Fast Food cancer. It is the hospital bed holding onto a life that will soon vanish; in the bullets that kill others for resources; in the vaginas of those raped and molested; it is the fetus that will be born into a home with no father and a crack head mother; in the insides of a cigarette that pollute the human body; in the pesticides that coat our food; in the water that swims with fluoride; in the broken glasses of a child who is infected with a bully; and in the souls that are lonely!
It is also found in the insecurity which plagues self-esteem; in the pages of books that teach a distorted history, in the exhaust of cars that suffocate the very breath of mother nature; in the vaccines that actually create more ailments; in the libidos of those who are repressed sexually; in the ears of religious people who are mental slaves; in the collection plates at church — straining families financially; in the abused minds of a children who are told they will burn in hell if they sin; in the child traveling from one foster home to another; and in the wallets filled with only credit cards and pictures that reminisce of a better time in the past.
Or in the bank accounts that are overdrawn; in the tongue of those who spew judgement; in the bare, uncovered, penis transmitting disease; in the heart of a someone who lost a family member to the call of death; in the iron bars that encapsulate victims of society; in the wounds given to animals by the cruelty of their owners; in the fabrics fashioned with blood, sweat, and tears by exploited children and women; in the products that are being consumed constantly because we think we need them; and in the teacher who just lost her job because of layoffs.
When the inspiration begins to dissolve, I look in the black lungs of poor miners; in the foreclosure signs outside homes; in the hard laborers’ fingernails that are filled with paint and dirt; at the border — a line of division, separating humans from humans; and in the funds that are cut for social services and increased for the military.
I also plagiarize from the alcohol and drugs that visit human bodies trying to escape from the realities of life; from those who run away from truth when it’s staring right at them; in the bottled water that’s almost as acidic as a battery; in the malnourished with their protruding rib cages, gaunt faces, and feeble bodies.
I embezzle inspiration from the limbs lost; the eyes whose only visitor is darkness; the wheelchairs transporting injured bodies; from the flesh that can’t feel. My theft is located in the arteries clogged; it’s in the taste buds that meet High Fructose Corn Syrup; in the towering health bills after a doctor visit; in the mindless and numb populace due to pharmaceutical drugs; it’s in the illusion of freedom; in the food that has been genetically modified; the obsolescence planned by Capitalism; it’s in the financial rape propagated by the Federal Reserve Banking System; in the pyramids that scheme the naïve; and it’s the plastic bags that ensnare marine life.
The anguish and distress is inside, it’s the calloused and empty hands begging for cold coins and wrinkled dollars; in the salinated soils; in the bling-bling enfolded around necks giving a FALSE sense of self worth; and most of all, in the nonsensical values of society that breed competition, ego, vanity, violence, money, war, bigotry, racism, nationalism, patriotism, and division.
As I said in the beginning, I haven’t been entirely honest with you. All my words have been delivered out of the wombs of my mind with help. Without this, my mind wouldn’t birth words nor would my fingers be able to speak. However, if I met lady death today, I would still have one last thing to confess. And that is that I still have hope! This, I didn’t need to plagiarize, steal, copy, or bootleg because you provide it to me with your existence. The current may be against us, the walls may be caving in, and darkness may engulf most of our light, but, you are the hope! You and many others can turn this around and make a real change. We can still turn back the hands of time from division to unity, from pain to joy, and from evil to good.
We may turn our backs on suffering and pollute ourselves with consumerism, reality TV, violence, complacency, looks over substance, and so on. Instead let’s value love, community, compassion, mutual assistance, environment, and education. We need to see through the blinders that the status quo places on us.
Let’s start a revolution, not one that involves killing, fighting, or hate, but a revolution that begins within us, in our minds.
We CAN truly change the world; we have to realize that small changes in our life can make that happen. Giving money to non-profits is only patch work, it helps and we can continue doing that, but we should focus on ripping out the root of the problem. It is then and only then, when real change will ensue.
If we don’t change the world, at least we tried, isn’t that something?
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