Through the Looking Glass

Source Image

Come to Rekall incorporated where you can buy the memory of your ideal vacation…  Cheaper, safer, and better than the real thing.  So don’t let life pass you by.  Call Rekall…for the memory of a lifetime.  915.555.6386.21


“Great choice!  My grandma loves the Martian adventure.  Go ahead and sit right down in the chair, sir!”  He slid his arms into the cylindrical arm rests.  Adjusting the straps, I pulled the helmet over his face.  The curtain dropped on his smile, creasing his face in anticipation.  “Once I’ve secured the helmet and we have you situated, you will need to focus on the sound of my voice.”

I gave the chair and the instrumentation the once over.  “Ok.  Is everything comfortable?”  He jabbed his thumb into the air. “Good! We are all set.  Good.”  I shook my head in acknowledgement.  “Okay, focus in on my voice.  I will transition you.”

“Just listen…Just listen and let go.”  Follow the white rabbit into the hole.  Attempt to understand deep in your soul.  Whether the truth is what you hold, or someone else’s words meant for your control.  Self deception’s the ultimate conceit of the ego.  With mouth open, eyes smoked out and sunken in, just let go.  Pulling it in, pulling the curtain open on the show.  Let go of what you think you are certain you know.

“Allow me a second…,” to wipe the sweat off my dome, spit the phlegm on the streets.  The symbols and clues, all familiar and known.  Shake off the woozy effects of deep sleep, time capsule release.  So many minutes and seconds in a life, but now we only have time to speak, of it most urgently.  Walking off into the sun, lacking any pageantry.  Waking to the notion, we’ve wasted minutes and seconds.  Oh so many minutes and seconds.

“Lean in…”  Let me tell you a story.  I’m that kingpin called Future.  Lifted from the sewer.  Got a riches from rags story, homie.  I made maneuvers, climbed the ladder quickly.  Falling behind the curvature, foreground to a thousand constellations.  I made moves to put myself in position to take that position. A modern day Ralph Ellison, sitting by the door, a Godsend.

“Pay attention…” I was a stick up kid, for that paper, what I did.  Incognito flavor, wearing the corporate hoodie and mask.  “Dump your identity in the bag.  Shake off the jewels and chains, and straighten up that stance.”  Escaping me? I smile ‘cuz you don’t stand a chance.

“But let’s continue to chop it up…”  Let me help you understand.  Let’s get onto the real in here. Blow Freedom powder. Pull up a chair.  Study the pillars of power. Aim ya third eye through the looking glass.  Expose the game like baboon ass.  Sitting in the front of the class.  Study the deception. Study up or come in last.  Standing flat-footed in the back in the past.

‘Take one…” Red pill.  Blue pill.  Vocabulary spills.  I’m ill.  White stars, always keep em still.  Yet hill climb, no matter how you feel.  I’ll peel back the fiction from the scene.  A fiend in pursuit of the Real.   I’ll make you a deal.  Written word or spiritual disobedience, the sin?  Listen, I’m always guaranteed to win.

“Watch me with heavy lids…”  Bang the drums with arms, elbows, and palms up.  Long striding the gold, downtown streets.  White robes and all-white A1s, all palms up.  Wealth blessings of the righteous.   Humming street psalms.  Don’t move and stay jacked in. “Everyone stay face down and keep calm.”  I couldn’t warn you any more than I had been warned.  Aiming to make progress, but always taking two steps backward.

“Check your pockets for it…”  Never knew you needed it, lost it, until you got swindled, hoodwinked, for it.  You’ve been robbed of your identity.  Sleep walking, praying the fog would lift.  We’re just Lost tribes in the mist. Lay it out neatly.  Fold over your identity.  Place it on the bench, then push in, fade into the crowd assembled at the entrance.  Adjust the straps on the mask, social camouflage, cultural currency -keepin’ it movin’, grinnin’ all the way in.  White wash all traces, if you want that money to flow in.

“There’s nothing to see here, folks. Move along!”  One, become invisible.  Two, become comfortable.  Three, become other than what you racially were.  The truth of the duality splitting the identity.  It is what it is.  What else I’ma do?  My girl just dropped baby, number two.  Hungry for a slew of big faces, that green hapkiddoo, slipped on the hard bottom shoes and lace ups.

“There’s the door…”  There’s a place inside my mind that wants to wake up, from the programming. Splash!  Divin’ into the deep end, sleep’s end, wakin’ up to that spoon curvin’ into the bend. A shock to the system, jumping out my skin, blossoming through the brain stem…into a thought flower, wetting the truth, but it sets sail out of view.  Finding myself in the backseat on brain detail, retail, I can’t even see character.  Programmed to only see ass and body for sale.

I’m caught up in the story, serenaded by the narratives — subjects, verbs, and predicates.  “Release and exhale…”  First ones to get caught in that trap are the ones greedy, for the game.  Greedy for the attention, greedy for the fame.   It’s all the same.  Third eye blind.  Submissive and tame.  Spiritually dead.  Wanting more chicks, more bread, better lifestyle, and more head.

It’s the only thing I see of value. I’ll buy that off you, you, and you. Straining your humanity for that materialistic juice. Sparking my pleasure centers is the only use. The only way to live life is rolling up those dollars, kissed by chocolate sex, diamond choker collars.

“But know this…”  I played my position for that cheese.  The description of my role an omission.   For that lifestyle, the prescription, the remedy, man please, my submission with this confession is a voluntary admission that I couldn’t control it, free will was never the intention.  Tattooed across my skull, permanently in charact-ah, crowd funded doxa.  My senses dull, my lungs lacking stamina.  Short of breath, short on answers.  A throwaway death, looking to transfer.  Transition into the World, an existential rebirth.  Stretching my arms in the face of the morning Sun.

Not existing just to consume, subsume the truth of the matter, fumes curling upward from the fire, being lit at the edges of the fantasy, at the self deception, at the lunacy.  Playing to an audience, of one myself the king and prince, a narcissist in love.

“Oh, you are short on dreams…”  I got an assorted variety to keep you on that treadmill and half lit. Struggling to get off the dumb shit to jump to a higher plane, escape the pit, escape the Future.  The pendulum swung low, eyes wide lit, consumed by desire, getting lower and lower, cultural fabric, the tissue infected, Judas kiss you.  Don’t you know this was always meant to trap you.

“Swallow it…”  Self medicating to escape reality.   We must be crazy.  The whip looking fly, moon-walking, Big balling, sky high, baked up word pies.  Aaahhh, but the release is exquisite.  It’s that tight, I can’t shake the appetite.  A handful.  A grip.  Take a hit.  Gotta keep the fantasy stuffed inside the pipe.  Inhale and release.  Nice. The light my eyes can’t adjust to fast enough. Hustlin’, scufflin’, chasin’, cuffin’ pipe dreams.  The nobles and princes deem us all just gears, grist, or batteries in the matrix, it seems.

“Now close your eyes…”  From dust to dust.  Our self awareness is bankrupt.  Our ability and vision a bust.   Your Future.  “Can you trust anything you see in the mirror?”

by malakhai jonezs
(c) Copyright 2017

Post: 8/4/2017


Leave a Reply