"Genius of the Crowd," Charles Bukowski

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

"...Unplug them people

And send them home

It's closing time,"

Lyle Lovett with Nanci Griffith

"Closing Time,"

Jay Joyce, Christopher T. Feinstein.

"What Kind of Times Are These," Adrienne Rich

There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill

and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows

near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted

who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled

this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,

our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,

its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods

meeting the unmarked strip of light—

ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:

I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you

anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these

to have you listen at all, it's necessary

to talk about trees-

Adrienne Rich

"What's keeping you fenced off?

And who's got the power in your mind?

How're you gonna waste it all?

When somebody's playing to no one every night...,"

"Are You Looking Up,"

Mk.Gee .

"I Am the People, the Mob," Carl Sandburg

I am the people—the mob—the crowd—the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?

I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world’s food and clothes.

I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons come from me and the Lincolns. They die. And then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns.

I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand for much plowing. Terrible storms pass over me. I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted. I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and makes me work and give up what I have. And I forget.

Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red drops for history to remember. Then—I forget.

When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the People, use the lessons of yesterday and no longer forget who robbed me last year, who played me for a fool—then there will be no speaker in all the world say the name: “The People,” with any fleck of a sneer in his voice or any far-off smile of derision.

The mob—the crowd—the mass—will arrive then.

Marie Foolchand:

“I am the People, the Mob,”

Carl Sandburg

"As Richard Crowder notes in Carl Sandburg, the poet, 'had been the first poet of modern times actually to use the language of the people as his almost total means of expression. ... Sandburg had entered into the language of the people; he was not looking at it as a scientific phenomenon or a curiosity. ... He was at home with it,'”  

Carl Sandburg, The Poetry Foundation.

Lost in the Crowd

"We've been talking about universal health care for 100 years. 

...We have not had the courage as a people to take-on 

the greed and the corruption of the health care industry

-the insurance companies and drug companies,"

Bernie Sanders, 2-7-2020.

Suffice it to say, I'm not the one with ulterior motives in spite of those who might say otherwise. To be very clear, my goal is not to diminish anyone's right to a fair trial-just the opposite is true. 

In contrast, why are some of us liberals including but not limited to fellow leftists and progressives no less creating a martyr for health care reform from the carcass of another enraged young White man while villainizing conservative vigilantes when it suits our collective agendas?

Courtesy of a thirsting social media, Luigi Mangione has been reduced to a meme, a product to consume in one way or another. Maybe Mr. Mangione is fine with being exploited by the masses via the very capitalist system he seems to otherwise abhor? As stories go though, the mob beast will lose interest, eventually seeking fresh prey. Then we won't be as concerned with Luigi Mangione spending the rest of his life in prison due to a delusion for which simping fans will never suffer any consequences for exacerbating.

Truth is that for decades, we Americans have had our chances to make better choices. Yet we have forfeited our agency due to anger, fear, and polarization. We have no one else to blame but ourselves. We haven't taken responsibility for-anything.

It easier to cheer-on the mad idealism of a alleged shooter than be held accountable for our own personal misery as well as dubious on-line entertainment.

"Mercy,"

Suzanne Santo

"Sometimes I don't know how to be

How to shut my mouth,

how to let things breathe

And it gets so hard to see,

with my history standing in

front of me..."