A Bashification of the Media as Exposed By Tiger

In the other room the television is running a news article in which it is quoting the recent actions of Tiger Woods.  Actions in which no one was harmed physically.  Actions in which a fire hydrant, or a tree, or a bush of some sort, were damaged by his vehicle and something or other about his wife being angry with him.  I’m not sure on the exact implications of his Cadillac on nature and I do not care to know.  I do not even care to be writing this article, but, it seems to highlight a recent problem I see in the state of American news sources.  Maybe, a problem that has been spinning and growing and being fed for an abnormally long time.  Slowly at first, to not gain detection.  Then faster and faster as media sources began to grow in number and people without a voice began to use one.

I want to call it the bronze statue effect but it really has no use to have any name that is longer or different than “wrong.”  What we have effectively done in this country is hold athletes, movie stars, and other public figures to standards which we look blindly on when we face the mirror.  We find no fault in rejoicing and commenting at others faults so long as the mirror is not turned on us.  And in most cases, it would be completely horrific. Maybe it is that you like hearing about athletes who make a mistake that is fined for 160 dollars.  Maybe, that makes you happy to find that they are human and made a mistake which you did not make.  But, let me tell you, you knew they were human before their fall, you just didn’t want to believe it.  They’re human when they’re on their respective fields, whether that be a stadium or a movie screen or a stage.  And you know this. But, that is an argument for another paper, and in this paper I want to hold accountable those who have the power to be held accountable, the media.

A quick scan of the news, on any given morning, will produce a myriad of horrific events that occurred in your hometown and in all the vast ends of the earth.  This morning a whistleblower in Iran was killed when drugs were fed into his salad, the Taliban vowed to fight a recent surge of troops being sent overseas, a massacre occurred in the Philippines resulting in 57 dead, and use your imagination to conjure up images of domestic violence, murders, suicides and I am sure I can find you a news article for that.

So, how is it that media outlets with a vast amount of resources and minds and ears are so completely incapable of using them in a capacity which can benefit the greater good of humankind?  How is it that the media can cause an entire country of people to all of a sudden care what Tiger Woods is doing off of the golf course?  Going back to the story of the Iranian whistleblower who was killed.  Now, there is a story of human defiance and spirit.  We have a man, knowing full well the implications and plans that would be set in motion, who wants to make right something he sees as wrong.  Imagine a few young minds, and old minds at that, latching on to such a feeling of humanness.  What if that inspired others to do the same?

I know I am culling one news story out of a plethora more, but, it happens all too often.  A news program with millions of viewers decides what and what is not news.  And we listen.  We listen because we cannot change the channel.  We listen because we trust what they have to say is news.  We listen because it is easier than not listening.  I don’t know how many people have said what I am about to say and I don’t know how many will listen to what I am about to say (I suspect the same amount that did before) but, we have the power.  Think for a second what would happen if we decided to revolt against these mindless barrages of deplorable news stories.  It’s as easy as turning off the television or flicking the channel up.  All of a sudden you’ve made a choice to think for yourself.  You’ve made a choice to want the media held accountable to a higher level of standards.  You’ve made a choice to care.

I don’t want to make this metaphor but I will because I have been given the perfect opportunity to do it.  We are like tiny babies at feeding time, with our mouths wide open.  A small spoon with a green liquid in its tiny bowl extends out of our television and into our mouths.  It’s disgusting at first.  It’s at the same time completely tasteless and horrifically revolting.  But, we swallow.  Another spoonful comes out and we swallow again.  By the third spoonful we’ve convinced ourselves that it is good and will suffice.

But, we are not babies are we?  We have a higher thinking and intellectual status than our previous state of toddler.  Yet, all it would take is a movement of our mouths to the side, a toddler reaction, and all would change.  Who knows, the next spoonful might even be integrity.

.99 Cent Imaginations

the world has gone mad.

this I say in a state,

where I also may be mad.

we’re a free world,

for the most part,

and yet,

I wish nothing more than

for some of the people

spending their freedom on certain

things

to stop.

there are certain things that matter and certain

things that do not.

we are bulbous head flopping in the wind too scared to use courage, too literal to dream, too proud of imaginary idols to speak the truth.

we are far from something,

and that something isn’t free at all.

One on One

we leave no room for failure

when two people compete.

but too often

we lambaste the weaker with

shouts

and

negative press

and

we forget

that somebody always has to come

up

short.

wars aren’t won by both sides

but

after the barrage of infantry

tanks and other vehicles

two sides

can

lose

but,

not in this America.

coming up short is failure

even when

someone must despair.

why didn’t you win?

why didn’t you beat the bloody shit out of him?

the public demands answers.

nobody thinks of the losers.

we discard them and move along with the winner.

even if the winner is a convicted

baby killer

or eats meat.

the winner is strong

and the loser is weak

in this America.

but the loser fought.

and one day

the joy of sport and competition

will overshadow

the ego,

sadly,

not in this America.

Confused Landowners

A united states flag stretched

Across the field

Cut to be the shape

Of its boundaries

The faces

Red with patriotic fire

And drink

Cheer and wobble and cheer

Because WE own this land

WE are here now

And the red and the blue and the white

Shelter

Is OURS.

I watch a  few men

Ramble around the flag, stumble,

Scream, chant

“God Bless America”

I want to open my mouth

And tell them

How wrong  it all is,

That

Nobody should own

Any piece of land

Larger than their home,

that the borders here

and

around the world

keep us from truly understanding each other

that

we are

US

and they are

THEM

and we are all so very afraid of

THEM

That aren’t in this disgusting

Shape of a flag.

I want to yell and scream

But nobody would listen.

Nobody would

Care.

So I go home

And write this here

It’s all I can do

As I wait for things around the world

To catch up

With the ideas in the

World.

Signing off

 

I find lately

I don’t have to go too far

to get pissed off.

then I get pissed off

and people say “why aren’t you ever happy?”

 

but I am happy

just not around things

that piss me off.

 

maybe it fuels part of me

and

maybe it has made me into

a little piece of what I am

 

but here’s a secret someone

once told me

who was waiting for the apocalypse on

a hill

with a trashbag over his head

 

“We’re not really that important as individuals

you know”

 

“Oh yeah” I said.

 

“Oh yeah. I don’t think I’d be here in a trashbag

if we were.”

 

it’s good advice.

hell,

it’s gold.

 

I suppose the people that should read this,

those incessant bloggers

paring off their thoughts like they’re

giving away nuggets of ancient wisdom,

those toddlers real and grown

who argue in anonymous comment boxes

with all the oddity of a masculine infant,

those movie quoters

who know no lines actually written

by their own selves,

and

those people who use

other people as commodities

to fire their own misguided

nights,

 

wont.

 

As our best waste away,

as I fail to bring unity to something,

as everybody fails to bring unity

to everything else,

as we separate ourselves further and further

looking to prove our uniqueness

instead of just having the courage to be it,

 

maybe I too should wait with

my friend on the hill.

Why Nothing Gets Done

please strangers
fall to your knees and pray
to deep darkness
for the world to get better.
pray to a stranger
that other strangers
recover from their strange tragedies.

just pray.
just fall to your knees and speak
to the earless air
what needs to happen.

don’t fix it.
don’t change.
just pray.

pray that one day
someone steps in and saves them,
pray that one day someone
carries love in on a plate,
pray that one day
the burning fear is gone,
pray that one day
the child grows up,
pray that the wicked are punished.
pray that the wise teach.
pray that the lullaby always puts us to sleep.

pray to a stranger because
it’s easy.
pray to a stranger because
then
you wouldn’t have to do anything.
pray to a stranger
so nothing
really
ever
changes.
pray to a stranger so that
you can feel like you did something.

no really,
pray to a stranger
he would want you to wouldn’t he?

if you did something
then he wouldn’t be so needed
would
he?

Look…

It’s not as dark as

The absence of light might

Make you think.

 

You can’t see your feet

And

Jesus doesn’t love you but

As long as you love something

Else

It’s good enough.

 

And

 

Sometimes we’re lost

Down bulleted alleys

With reports piercing

Nothing but our

Ears

And even that’s not so bad

If you’re looking through

The light spilling

Out of the aftermath.

 

It’s not a race to make sense.

It’s change into what you want

Or

Be changed into what you don’t.

 

Can you take it from here?

Raining Cats and Bullets

The rain punches towards me

From above,

Hurtling out of the darkness

Like where it’s coming from

Is worse than where it’s going.

It slaps me on the forehead,

Drips down my nose,

And falls off my chin towards my shirt.

 

The neon lights from the nearby hotel

Reflect in every drop.

They’re like red bullets

Streaking across

A black canvas.

I don’t even need to close my eyes

To imagine a better image

Than this,

Now.

 

I cup my hand

To soak up pieces of this scene.

Drop by drop screams out of the darkness

And into my palm

Splashing into a forming ocean.

Soon,

The crimson puddle I’m holding

Overflows in a steady wave-like rhythm.

Dripping off my fingers

It looks more like blood.

 

If it is,

I don’t fight much to

Keep it.

Things are perfect right

Here

And

Now.

Yeah, I Bit The Core

In a bit of a mystery I bit the apple core

And a clique

Kick

To the througt of Holmes

Brings the burning pages

To a one page story

Not too filled with counter moves

And substitute croons

But all too familiar to the

Limping mistakes we’ve all made.

 

Feeling isn’t so much a mystery

Anymore.

This will cause that

And like a throw of a stone

Into the lake

The ripples move out

And subside.

The lake remains the same

And the involved move on.

 

The mystery is we keep getting up

At all.

As the kick projects itself

To more kicks,

It’s bruised dog meets the hand no one

Sees.

And if every dog has his day,

I suppose,

Those of us who care to wonder

Why

Are winning and we

Will never know

 why.

Any Sherlock can figure

That out.

Throwing Up Digital

We walk on the street connected to

Each other

Closely.

We stand shoulder to shoulder

And technology has

Made us even closer than that.

We are available to whoever

Needs us

Whenever they need us.

At least seven gadgets on us

Can connect to

The internet.

When we’re needed

We’re found.

We’re compelled to answer everything

Thrown at us.

So many things pile on top of

Us

That finally

We’re drowning in digital.

New things pop up so fast

We can’t digest what went in

A few moments ago.

I’m throwing up information

Anonymous thoughts,

Unbalanced news,

Undeveloped ideas,

And the offspring nightmares

Of other peoples broken hearts.

I need it out of me.

We need it out of us.

 

We’re drowning in digital.

 

As our hands type faster than

Our brains can think we direct ourselves

Into territory that has no

Emotion

Because it has no face.

When our faces finally

Are

Insulted,

We run for cover in

Spaces of bytes

And spill our problems into

Other peoples cups.

 

We’re drowning in digital and

It’s not going to change

Anytime

Soon.

As the neon lights of

The cities work to glare out

The dark night

And disorient us

 

I hope that someone remembers

Where they really are.