Do you feel like the heir to anything
Other than decay with a smiling face?
Will you inherit distance & space
From the lines your father has traced,
Detailed diagrams of life with quiet pain?
Do you feel like the heir of corporations?
Of capitalism, drone strikes and routine carpet bombings?
Do you feel the weight
Of the heavy, heavy heirloom of the atomic bomb?
Radiation sickness, deformed, fat Manhattan project
Strung around humanity’s neck like an enriched uranium collar
That no one has the guts to tear off.
Do you feel like the heir of international debt?
Military campaigns? Political vacations?
Of pot plants, chemical plants, and old men’s ideologies?
We are the heirs of a weak wooden house,
Balanced on the rotten stilts of slavery and economic exploitation.
The monsoons are coming, frail dams are about to burst.
Sometimes you need to be completely isolated,
To understand how deeply everything is connected.
I am the heir of emotional distance,
Misunderstanding and misdiagnoses,
Addictive personality and explosive anger
With a nice collection of psych drugs,
Heirlooms of world wars, economic booms and alcoholic ancestors.
Do you feel that they handed down colonialism
On a silver plated U.S. Navy Aircraft Carrier
So they wouldn’t feel so guilty about all the murder?
Are we the ones that stand to inherit the end?
Or is that what every generation’s madman says?
As much as I hate it here I can’t find the way out.
Is that because I won’t look for the way out?
Modern North America is in an old iron lung
Gasping for air when it tries to move on it’s own,
Raised suckling society’s sweet tit,
Consuming delicious milky morphine, diazepam, Internet and beer,
Infants addicted from the moment of their bloody births.
-Jack Blare, People & Concrete (2015)