Ode to Joy (NOT) I’m Viral Again

Wonderful, I have two political tik toks making viral rounds again, they were both direct responses to conservative women making stupid points that are easily disproven with a google search.

I’m only on tik tok to make goofy videos and kill time while this pandemic steals everything about the world I once knew from me.

I’m glad my political points are resonating with so many people, but in all honesty I’m not interested in adding myself to the ranks of political tik tokers.

I have nothing against the people who use their platforms to push for leftist politics and dialectics*, I just don’t want to do it because there are people who do it better than I ever could, you want good political tik toks follow Comrade Juul or The Conscious Lee.

It’s important to stay true to your political stance, and I will always stand by the Left and will even call myself a socialist with pride no matter what stigma people try to attach to the word. But I have no interest in trying to do a job that so many others already do so well.

I’ll make political points here and there, but for the most part I want to keep my political points to my patreon, I want to write poems, here, write about politics on patreon, and to just goof around on tik tok until I get bored with it like I did Vine.

I’m a simple man, and a man who hates himself for his online addiction. I don’t feel guilty about it because we’re all screen junkies now, but I miss having mystery attached to my life, a decade of Facebook use and leftist twitter feuds has robbed me of that.

So log off every once in a while, or enjoy screaming at each other in my tik tok comment sections. It will never matter to me. I’ve never felt more detached from the shout box that is the internet, and the feuding words of Trumpets and Communists in an online forum that will eventually die in popularity is of no concern to me.

Maybe Im too detached, maybe I’ve just been online for so long that I’m numb to all the anger. But take it from the voice of experience, living your life online and tweeting every impulisve thought and responding to every post you disagree with is no way to good mental health.

I’m not telling you to log off, that’s cliche and would be a misreading of the room. Do whatever the hell you want, I’m a poet not your parent.

*Leftist jargon meaning “the progression of history”

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Bad Rhymes W/ A Twist, Sad Ending

Zed? Baby, Zed’s dead.

And Ed? Ed’s stuck in bed.

Gary? Got shot by a girl named Mary.

Oh Barry? He died back in February.

Karen? Shot the manager and ran.

Jen? Oh, cracked her skull in the pig pen.

Leah? Run over by a tow truck on La Brea.

And poor Cyrus? You guessed it,

he caught the Coronavirus.

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Invisible Pain

Invisible pain,

Phantom limbs,

Cobain’s burning stomach,

Jean Paul’s nausea,

The voices in your head that won’t stop screaming

how worthless and pointless you are.

The throbbing,

the stabbing,

the limping.

The murmuring hearts.

The blood vessels ready to burst.

Ungodly, torturous, and unseen.

Phantom limbs,

Invisible pain.

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Your Likes are My Crystal Meth

No ideas.

Writers block.

Fuck it, just put something on the page,

then hit post.

But what if it doesn’t make sense?

Doesn’t matter, hit post, keep posting.

Post post post.

You need the likes.

True, I’m fiending.

That means you’re addicted.

Yup, and twitter is my dealer.

You should quit.

You just told me to post.

And?

Wtf is happening?

You’re confused.

No shit.

You’re addicted.

No shit.

I’m trying to help.

Fuck you, you never help, you just over think it all.

Fuck you back.

Go to hell.

Can’t, you can’t go to hell when you’re already there.

Fuck you.

Don’t forget to hit post.

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Self Reflection and Affectations

What pandemic isolation is making me wonder about myself and how I want to change.

As I remain in isolation thanks to this pandemic and my local covidiots, I find myself reflecting, wondering about who and what I am.

I wonder how much of what I do and how I act are affectations. How much of what I do is just me acting in a way that I am expected to? Who is it I really want to be?

I like to think I am genuine, that I am always nothing but me, but the more I’m forced to self reflect the more I think certain things are just affectations, that the me I’ve built is just trying to fulfill expectations and validate an identity that I am not.

Namely, the pompous front I put on of being some kind of intellectual. I don’t think I’m the smug academic I keep trying to be.

I’m a pot smoking, tobacco loving, coffee and alcohol fueled simpleton, who just happens to be a Marxist and a big fan of meditation. I like the real me tbh.

I like to think of myself as intelligent, but I’m not the public intellectual this world needs. I am just a guy with a loud voice, so I’ll use it as much as I can. And I am still all for academia and education, I also firmly believe that this world needs more public intellectuals and less pundits. I just think that I need to stop trying to write like the next Karl Marx and more like the 1st James J Jackson.

So, who is the 1st James J Jackson?

Well if you want to get technical, it’s my father, my full name is actually James J Jackson, Jr. But that’s besides the point…

I have opinions, and I’ll bellow them into the bowels of the internet like a good leftist whenever I can find the words, especially on my weekly Patreon posts, but remember damnit, I’m a poet, not a pundit.

You want political expertise and discourse? Then you should peruse twitter for Cornel West and Bernie’s old staffers, but if you want swooning dispositions about the modern working class and poems about the side of society we all like to ignore, come to me.

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To Be Called a Red

To transcend labels,

this was my original life’s goal.

To walk the path of life

thinking about nothin but the soul.

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But obsession with the soul,

with meaning and existence,

is a waste of breath and privilege,

and all of it a heart blockage to resistance.

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Then one day

after much trial and dread,

I find a word for my existence,

I called myself a red.

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No it was not an insult,

not the act of bullies. I swear.

It just became apparent one day,

and from that day on I was aware.

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To decolonize thought,

to remove the stink of imperialism,

it is the epitome of chance,

just a phrase called “dialect materialism.”

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Death to the kings,

and the rich parasites.

Tremble at our sacred rage,

as the old order will feel our might.

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All of the workers and beggars

shall one day reign over all the world, land, and sea.

March! March on fellow toilers!

And one day soon shall we be free.

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Like the Posts? Join the Patreon!

Hey all.

I want thank all my followers, especially my newest ones and the ones who like almost everything I post, the way that dandelion salads & Fat Cow Co do. If you get a chance check out their blogs!

Like Bernie Sanders, I am once again asking for your financial support. Currently we only have 4 patrons, I’m grateful for each one but that is not enough to keep this blog going, and I’d love to run this site full time for yall.

If you want to both support my poetry and get exclusive access to posts not available here, then become a patron! Membership starts as low as $1.50!

And I know I have a lot of international followers, and I have good news for them, they can get exclusive access to. Patreon now allows you to support a page with whatever currency you use. So even if you don’t use US dollars, you can still support the blog! If you choose to that is 😉

So join today, help keep this blog running and maybe one day I can make this blog my full time job.

Click here to join my patreon!

Why Tom Waits Is So Damn Good

I’m a die-hard Tom Waits fan.

His music talks about the side of America that both liberals and conservatives like to ignore. Waits goes into graphic detail in every song about the people who have to live in the world that capitalists make for us.

Let me be explicit here, I am not arguing that Tom Waits is a comrade. The man is so cagey and walks around with such a mysterious air to him that it would be idiotic to try to box him into any political ideology, though I’m pretty sure I will never have to worry about him pulling a Morrisey or an Eric Clapton.

But I do think Tom Wait’s using his music to talk about the “underbelly of society,” as many critics put it, is important because it puts a human face on people who capitalists love to dehumanize.

Capitalists of both liberal and conservative calibers love to disparage the addicts, the sex workers, and the just plain different people in our world, but Tom Waits humanizes them by telling their story.

And clearly it is a story that resonates, even though it creates a cult following for Tom rather than a main stream one you still see Waits selling out shows and records across the globe. You still hear is music in great movies and you still see him acting in films for the likes of Jarmusch and Coppalla.

Another great Tom Waits fact, he doesn’t endorse products. He did one dog food commercial in the 80s and he has never done another commercial since because he hated what it felt like to sell out. Multiple companies try to use Wait’s songs in their commercials, Waits has refused them every time.

I’d rather have a hot lead enema. I hate it. I saw a commercial for toilet paper, and they were using “Let the Good Times Roll,” you know? It’s like, `Man, don’t do that.’

Tom Waits on the use of his music in advertising

If you are a leftist like me and think the working class need more representation in music besides Dolly Parton’s 9-5 and Pete Seeger, then I think Tom Waits should be as canon to socialist tastes as the former.

A weird post, I know, but goddamnit, Tom Waits is the man and anyone who says otherwise has clearly never seen the real side of America.

The real America is not all suburbs and Chipotle’s. The real America is a place of sex work, drug and alcohol fueled deviance, and unwashed abuse survivors living in tent cities. They exist in the millions, and thank god we have found a voice for them in Tom Waits!

The Soul of the Nation Doesn’t Pay My Bills

If I hear Joe Biden blabber on about the soul of the nation one more time I’m going to wretch.

There is no such thing as “the soul of the nation.” There is a PR image nations need to maintain with other nations and there is face that politicians have to save between themselves and with their public, but that doesn’t amount to “the soul” of anything. That’s fucking politics.

Politicians shouldn’t wallow around in abstracts and platitudes when a pandemic rages on. People need income, homes, and healthcare and all we get from our supposed leadership is platitudes and abstract concepts they have no business discussing.

A politician’s job is to make sure citizens are happy and fed, if we aren’t those things you can expect an uprising, like the ones we’ve seen in the Movement for Black Lives.

It is my job, the job of the artists, singer song writers, and poets of the world to talk about abstracts and indulge in apostrophes.

What I’m trying to say is, shut the fuck up and let us do our job and you focus on yours. The soul of the nation is not something that politicians should try to put into words by someone whose job is to feed us. That is the only “leadership” I care about from a politician. Fuck representation, fuck hero-worship, fuck personality cults, just feed us you pompous bastards.

This was why I was a Bernie Sanders supporter, the man had no time for guff and pageantry, he was about helping the electorate. He didn’t waste our time or insult our intelligence with platitudes.

Bernie doesn’t talk about our souls, he talks about our income stability and our health, that is what matters, and that’s all I care about.

The soul of the nation can go fuck itself until the bellies in the nation are full.

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