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...and they lived happily ever after. Smith & Lady: poets, artists, photographers & adventurers.
Our relationship was forged to the soundtrack of Yoko Ono's magic,
frenetic, love-laden song, "Walking On Thin Ice." ( play song )

Garbage begone

Lot closed – foto by Smith

12 years ago the world’s population reached 6 billion people.
Monday, we hit the 7 billion mark.

It took millions of years to reach 1 billion people in 1800.
Took another 130 years to reach 2 billion in 1930.
30 years later: 1960, 3 billion.
14 years later: 1974, 4 billion.
13 years later: 1987, 5 billion.
12 years later: 1999, 6 billion.
12 years later, 7 billion.

The way things are going, in another 12 years we’re likely to have 0 people polluting the rest because Mother Earth will say “Goodbye, game over, sorry you came, don’t let the door hit your ass on your way out, won’t miss you now you’re gone.”

“People who need people” are ruining the earth, her animals, plants, air, earth, water, people, our nest, and each other.

Plus it’s getting real hard to find a parking place. When’s the Rapture going to come so all the good pure moral folk will be lifted up to Heaven to make more room for the rest of us? Oh, wait, there are almost no good pure moral folk walking around, so the Rapture’s not going to do us much good room-wise.

On a sour note, I found these senryu in my poems-2-b-maybe-used-someday file. Never posted them because they’re all down, sad, negative, and I’ve been trying to reduce my sadness contribution to our cultural gestalt lately because the ripples one sends out affect and effect the WMQ — the World’s Misery Quotient.

13 Sad Senryu in Search of Sense

Feeling uneasy
I’m worry worn and weary
train wail in the night

I walk this earth floor
sad, creaky, and tumbled sore
dumb as stumble bum

My sacred shadow
secret shade unhappy in
misery and angst

Each man an island
Every woman inlet
War is unmixed match

Greed, covetousness
envy, sloth, anger, and pride
Satan’s seven ins

Each in birth arose
Seven sins approacheth
Seven sins come close

Atavistic shit
post-apocalyptic chic
let’s your rile rip

Restless want within
wrestles with way, when, and why
steeps itself in sin

Good doesn’t just come
Sometimes the wiring’s wrong
And our filters fucked

If I don’t know now
I gotta learn it later
or go round again

You can smell madness
It pours from the pits, the eyes,
the words that ring wrong

Sacred sacrilege
mostly plastic and wrapper
go garbage begone

We ain’t talkin’ if
society’s got to change
we be talkin’ when

— Smith, 10-29-2011

The walking dead – foto by Smith

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