A Brief Diarrhea on Trimmigrant Labor & Cynicism

A Brief diarrhea on Trimmigrant Labor & Cynicism:

Might as well be working on a corn farm stuffing my face with polenta for all the good this lifestyle is doing me.

“Woah man, you’re not being safe.
Better hit this hash.”
*cough* –COUGH– ***COUGH***
my face feels hot and
(complacency drives me around the block
without ever going anywhere)
I can’t find the words through my mouth to express the trip I’m on
so the pen, the key, & the brick wall MUST DO!

“Safety meeting! Come on kids!”
“Take it to the head!”
*cough* –COUGH– ***COUGH***
(don’t be a bitch)

I’m on a mary-go-round for Jah knows how long;
uncured weed shits down the chutes ‘n ladders
of my respiratory tract.
I hack it up & spit ‘dem blood-clot demons out.
Expectorants expect mucous projectiles.
Painting the ground with lung slime,
I digress. I complain. I wheeze.

With a successfully developed mush-mind,
I explore the Void and nearly drown,
(hill crazy is just past the next switchback)
long hours under lamps give way to existential emissions-
I pause, settle, realize,
“Wow! This is a very clearly conceived confusion.
I fully comprehend how little I understand.”

No philosophy. No meditation.
Suchness pervades.

A thought persists:

Psychedelic cash crop farming.
Cutting through layers of green.
Where does all this money really go?
Who is Babylon? Where is Babylon?
Are we building it up or burning it down?

I’ve got to hurry down and slow up;
my legs & knees are soft from sitting down so long.
Gotta hit the trail soon.
My shoulders & neck are stiff.
Someday I’ll read a good book.
My pupils are stone cold & mossy,
secretly trimming trees with invisible scissors.

(yes, this is my brain on drugs) ((NA, keep steppin’))

I love the life but I confuse the means & the end.
Which begets which?
With all this green money, is it up to us to do ourselves in?

Ah shit. I don’t know. I’m just a migrant worker.
Time to get back to clipping.
I crave sunshine. I yearn for calm breezes.

A silver light shines although the moon isn’t mine;
I am thankful to have a job.
I am grateful to live a vacation.

Categories: Rants | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

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