We are our culture.

We wear it on our sleeve – logofied with pride.

We build it with our daily actions.

We define it by our everyday speech.


Looks like...:


Smells like...:


Feels like…:


All of us.


We are…:

           disgustingly beautiful,

           bountifully suffering

           and toxicly overloading

           our trueness,

           our oneness,

           our loveness

                       is concealed,


                       and encaged

– or maybe collectively we are vacuous

           and dizzily disturbed.


We are masters of culture,

                                   are we not(?)


Prideful of our crafted nation(!)



Bemoan, bewitch, bewail –

we carpy champions of the status quo.

Sanctioned by our apathy, we fuel "the norm."

We blow hot air a-round and a-round,

fortifying our antagonism with rageful spirit.


Snivels strengthen society's stew,

for kicking up a fuss

only weaves more dust

into our armored fabric.


Songs, movies, images, styles, and aphorisms,

trends, fades, art and televsion

bespeak our insides


How classy are we?  

And what sayeth the dollar, the coin, the cash, the credit?

When the dollar says otherwise, complaints are quelled.

                       Any complaints?


Maybe it's best to ante up and go all in,

with action and creation,

in-dustry and inspiration,

strength and relaxation,

a cooling, calming,



Breathe and bow, our culture is King.

Where then is our Queen?

Where are those that hold all the power?

We have become loyal subjects to our own consumerism,



and the Fantasms

of wondrous, chimerical design.

Trapped by the walls we’ve built.

Just another brick, “Here, let me help with that.”

We’ve painted ourselves into a corner

of a cultural crust.


Can we really opt out?  


Drifters of cultic desire

some of us are

shifting through the remnants of our deluge,

creating anew,

a new elixir,

a new design.

What will it look like(?)

can we give everyone a ride?

Can we not give everyone a ride?

Paradigms are rough,




           and do not move easily –

                       just ask Galileo or Kuhn or Nadar or Campbell or…;

The insane never waffle,

Never let go of their ideal.


It is the crazy ones,

those that don’t listen.

the stubborn,

bull headed,

deaf to criticism and bad advice


that stir the stew

that help bubble and boil the brew

while everyone else have not a clue.


It is those that go against the grain,

those that pain and strain,

those whom are called insane(!)

that shift the boulder of cult experience.


They are the ones(!)

self-chosen –

Who’s future giants will stand on(.)

           dare, bravely

           and fly

           culturally esteemed.


There are no innocent bystanders

no sidelines.

we are all in the game.

Our culture is only as great

as the people that create


And guess who?

           That would be

           me and you.