Look Away

So, I've now spent ten solid years authoring and sharing poetry, music, and delightful little comedy sketches. And all it seems they ever want me to get for it here in Nickleback's and Goldie Hawn's and Telus' and CBC's Vancouver is a room in a nuthouse and a public library crowded with online malefactors. What a shame that I must live in such a hostile, oppressive environment when I might be a big success as early as tomorrow by simply going out on a stage with a few of my new songs. Each day I must wait to build up the money to leave feels like an eternity in hell when I am innocent, but dirty creeps who steal my beautiful work and lie to children with it take the express train to the top here. They must know that they lack the talent to win your attention fairly when they resort to blocking out my indexes and stealing my posts and assaulting my image. And with no work of their own to offer you it shows that they only want to be stars for the power. They're tyrants in waiting, expecting the full support of apparently corrupt commercial broadcasters for violating my image and my copyrights. Their arrests and punishments are kept secret so they can stay at large with their filthy lies. They've made a desert out of what should have been the fullest, happiest decade of my life, and now they'd like to extend their harm into my old age. I create and share work that pleases people and all I ever get in return is nasty hate, thanks to them. And wherein lies the appeal of this work of mine they so madly covet? I live in seclusion and confine myself to a small area. I shun the radio and TV and newspapers. I seldom socialize. All I do is sit around and write most of the time. Maybe it has something to do with the intensity of my life experience. I recall reading a war story about a spy who'd been led to think that she was about to be executed. It boosted her senses, delivering her perceived last few moments on earth in rich detail. When you live in truth, with your eye on your mortality, you notice interesting things. Then if you're like me and possess some authoring skills, you may wish to apply them to the faithful documentation of your observations. But that gang on the TV wants to spend their whole lives with their backs turned to such reality, and that's likely why they can't produce any good work. The unsightly reality which they refuse to face is the same one they immersed me in by making me the sole victim of all their pretty stars. I must live every moment of my life with unspeakable crimes staring me in the face and it certainly wears on my mood. And look what happened when I took this horror and used my talent to spin it into an appealing work of music, like Fool's Paradise: they credited Nickleback with authoring it! Held up to the light, as it is in this account, their cruelty appears most unbecoming, which forces them to retreat deeper into their pathetic recess of illusion. To sustain an innocent image they resort to every manner of online treachery against me, then before long I'm hearing about a new copyright violation. 1:05pm: Broadcasters must want us to be in a constant stupor, never opening our eyes for a moment to gain any real information. All they ever put out are stupefying distractions and they found my enlightening observations threatening. Apparently starving for substantial work, you were drawn away from them by my bitter but elegant truth, which forced them to seize it and render it all into yet more impotent distractions which fit neatly into their programming schedules in the grabby hands of their frauds. And now, after they handed frauds everything for my work, I, the victim, plod down a path that is ever lined with malicious strangers instead of cheering fans. On the way home from the store earlier today, for instance, some ass with an ipad taped a cardboard hate sign onto a post for me to see in front of the busstop on Venables at Clark, which I ignored. These are the only kind of people I ever encounter on the street in Vancouver after the whole population got together and filled stadiums to cheer for the crime of fraud with my music. I desperately want to leave. A couple of young mothers were in the store when I posted the first five paragraphs of this. I wonder why people with remote internet access like that would not also have a home connection. Anyway, whenever I see such young parents I can't help but think of how their children might be doomed. Do you want your child to be talented? Do you want your child to know how to draw and write music and write poetry? If so, in the light of all I've shared here in the last eight years, I think you're pretty sadistic. Frankly, all children, talented and untalented, are in for a miserable, suffering time, as the horrible looming realities of the present are allowed by willfully distracted parents to swell to intolerable proportions by the time today's children reach adulthood. Maybe your children are doomed because their parents are too cowardly to stand up to evil corporate broadcasters and make the world safe for honest people like I'm trying to do all by myself. Hey, why don't you turn on your TV or radio to help you forget about it! 2:30pm: And am I too bitter? Well, I'd like to bury myself in my new recordings but there's no point in finishing them because I can't share them. And I have some great new ideas for comedy scripts, but I better not share those either. Should I draw? No, I better not. Well, what should I do then? Gosh, I guess I can't do anything but focus totally on my misery and try to defend my image and my work while I'm doing it. Not a very cheerful occupation. And how many millions of dollars have been lost by my repossession of my popular work from the TV and radio? How many millions more are being sacrificed now for discouraging a commercial author? You broadcasters know best, though, right? Or should I ask how much love has been lost? Not to worry, I'm sure your superiors can replace you all with machines that have more heart.
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