I hate the banks ... I hate the creditors ... I hate the whole fucking world ...

O.K. ... so the good news is that I only have one more poem to go to reach that 4,000 mark ... the bad news, obviously, is that things are sucking SO DAMN BAD that I would gladly launch Armageddon just to see some of these motherfuckers DIE! If I disappear from L.J. suddenly it's either because I walked in front of a fucking bus to put me out of my misery, of went on a rampage eviscerating some of the fucking shit bags out there who really need to cease existing ...


                    RAGE AND HATE AND DEATH


                    such massive bursts of rage
                    as fields collide
                    frames in conflict
                    disjoint realities
                    spiraling through time
                    madness laid hidden
                    beneath this chaos
                    the cloaking insane haze

                    our intents are scrambled
                    pixilated into void
                    the hours, days, weeks, and months
                    swirl into undifferentiated grey
                    we can not filter or array
                    and yet demands flood in
                    from the evil outer world
                    of corruption and decay

                    we drift down
                    to unsettling dooms
                    these seek to kill us
                    we stare at death
                    and almost welcome
                    that last release
                    yet hatred drives us
                    to seek revenge

                    if only blame
                    could be handed out
                    like presents
                    tarring the guilty
                    with unwashable stains
                    if only that mark
                    could be burned
                    upon their brows

                    gladly would I go to death
                    if by my dying
                    all these systems would be damned
                    and all those beings
                    cast down to hells
                    more violent than my own
                    much darker than the pit
                    which masquerades as life



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                12/28/2001

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp