What's the matta? Synthetic Synthemata

It's not that I don't want to do anything it's that there's nothing to do.
It's not writer's block it's cock-blocking bollocks: bullshit keeping me from spitting/emitting any thing worth writing (casting in the ring of causality which casts me as a member of the cast.)
Gold became common currency in societies united by rulers.
Humans in freedom are more freeform in their exchanges. We barter.
The guy who beats everyone else until we stand in a line kills until his tradegood is standard payment.
He is a needle cutting through the bone and sinew of humanity to sew diversity into homogeneity.
People w/differences are peoples -isles, keeping to ourselves.
Bonds are wed by bleeding thread a gleaming metal needle who punctures and pinches.
Plenty leaks out but what he keeps is bundled.
His grip makes slip vigor yet the bound bundle is imprinted into a handle.
Conveniently impressed we let him carry on carrying off our sakki.
We'll drink sake to our health while he drinks our wealth.
It's not that there's nothing to do it's there's nothing worth doing.

Before the next Charge

The freshly slain lay together as hills and plains,
birds' caws echo,
beetles nibble gums in skinned smiling mouths,
air tugs on torn clothes too weak to wear out their final threads,
moss spores pour into the sky from decomposing muscles,
bones whistle and rattle,
a gory musical gallery,
cats gracefully leap from ribcage to femur,
the lower strata's skeletal,
limbs entwine in patterns finer than latticework,
worms wriggle in little tunnels where meat and mud meet,
armies of ants and squadrons of flies dine on dried flesh,
beneath the bomb-battered shrapnel, ground-soil toils to swallow blood,
earth sucks loads of lymph,
rain washes ash through gaps in former people,
the skyline has burned down lower than the waterline,
skyscrapers are pyramid profiles on the landscape,
stacks of cracked office supplies overflow from broken windows,
crates and material are marrow greased,
it drizzles too lightly to put out fires fed by oily munitions,
vultures pass over looking for fresher eyes,
housewives' faces are leathery in their kitchens,
foxes eat their fill and bury the extra,
packs of wild dogs sniff out the hidden human,
pits of rot are warm from teams of teeming bacteria working, tireless,
treads crushed corpses with their mark in passing,
sewer pipes -exposed and ruptured- vomit on the scene,
rats gnaw on the fattest cockroaches,
brambles break the breathless breasts of once-men in rambling paths,
reeking ramparts buttress crumbling concrete walls,
pebbles pepper stagnant bodies,
uprooted trees straddle this sick sea,
full of charnel passageways.

Lead on Me

Most men enjoy the wear and tear of their bodies, the blunting of their minds, in labor to greater society. We like to think we contribute our part, give atleast the worth we take, and provide cause for our fellow men to appraise us highly.
Most men are discomforted with commanding. To grasp any new tool puts one's mind into a temporary confusion while the tool's integrated. The more vast, potent, and complex a tool is the greater the fright of confusion besetting a mind sounding out its' use. No tool man may grasp is more vast in its' applications and abilities than men. Mentally these dual role-developments can be taken as successively feminine then masculine. First an addition to the body is enveloped by the psyche then the addition is a projection of the psyche.

Sorts of personalities which lend themselves to leadership roles:
1) Egotists. Every man fails yet it's healthy to resume battle against opponents you've seen defeat from rather than cede the field to despair. I define a man an egotist when he crosses through an intermediary range of boldness and confidence into blindness and denial of his foibles. This sort of man isn't aware he's lying to you when he says he has done no wrong. He forgets his own mistakes. The account of his misdeeds is lost from his mind and he seeks to start no fresh list. He is unendingly sure he should get what he wants and be obeyed. His natural doubts are overriden by a process: feeding the emotional friction (which is uncertainty) of conflicting ideas back into his pushyness. His pride is a lightning rod for the energy cast from self-doubt. Prompting him to self-analyze refracts in his psyche to agitate him. He'll yell louder when you tell he shouldn't yell. The brief moments when he is overtaken by self-mistrust he is intensely broken, a madman walking through a small strip of clarity, having little developed the error>analysis>correction routine a man healthily reinforces.
2) Unsympathetic. Like a frightened soldier curtailing his fear to be brave instead of a coward, a man must subject his sympathy to be just instead of merciful. For mercy is laxity. By our social natures we're inclined to count other people, to some degree, as equal to ourselves. I do not mean equal as compared to a ruler, "he's just as good as me". I mean equal -as crazy as it reads when put explicitly- as in one. To some degree we even count strangers as an entity with us. But like our imagined self, the nature of these arrangements, and how developed they're varies by our appraisal of ourselves, others, interactions, subgroups, etc. Suffice to think we don't want to see others hurt b/c we don't want hurt and by an infinitesimal measure count other men equal with ourselves. It is when resources our scarce with which to feed the body we make further divisions to survive. We decide which leaves are clipped and which grow. A man without sympathy has a greater capacity for manipulating others because their suffering hurts him less. As he defines himself distinct from them he's isolated against their tears. No man is completely cut-off from his fellows b/c to be so he couldn't be social. Socializing is innate to all men: it's how we learn to speak, mimicking our fellows. A social instinct allows integration between species: dogs corralling sheep, horses obeying man, girls hunting w/wolves, monkeys tossing fish to dolphins.

These character-templates each allow for a man to command with less unease than his fellows. Possessing both is superfluous although a fraction of these traits could let a man perform with as unaffected a conscious as someone very specialized along one self. Between these two, the 2nd is master. A fault against nature in denying one's mistakes: the uncorrected man's as weak to faulty patterns of thought as he was when they proved ill in his observation. A lack of human sympathy has no innate flaw command-wise. We treat betratyers as friends, renewing bankrupted accounts of trust, because we don't want to retract our connection to Man to match the least sympathetic men in scale. Less empathy may mean less feeling in general which may lessen quality-of-life: for a man little-affected by his fellows' feelings is less stirred by the greatest party he organizes than an empath at the simplest family dinner.
The egotist won't need to rule in fact if he's convinced he rules. He'll especially be comfortable with recognition as the authority over people despite an Unsympathetic being the real decider of events. The egotist is content with posturing and outward signs of superiority. He isn't attentive enough to specifics or willing to risk the danger of self-understanding by analysis. Just as the Unsympathetic doesn't care if someone else hurts he doesn't care if someone else is happy. A crowd cheering for him doesn't cheer him up. The unsympathetic works to tailor higher-quality and more specific pleasures for himself and is content to leave the various mob affections to egotists. Together these templates describe many leaders who rise in prominence and maintain prominence. The egotist is the President who folks will identify as their leader while the unsympathetic is a banker whose agents explain to the president in private what he'll say about the new agreement or law.

How many men exist who've highly developed the traits of one of these templates fluctuates. A man of any type may lead. Rulers'll seem -relatively- to fit these templates by a ratio difference like clergy:believers. Every man beloved by man may seem to sympathize with no one because he doesn't even know any of the people you know (but in truth may love his family same as you). Every man obeyed by many may seem to not know what the fuck he's doing but in truth many men do many different things and it is only said they act according to his will.

Great Nuncle

Mist is harsh and no comfort.
Bakeries' sugary delicacies aren't delectable enough to toughen my delicate mental state.
Blue plastic cups carry amber liquid which shifts in stomachs then twists through intestines.

Today's forecast is another marker on a road to worsening conditions.
Stolen property clutters the rooms we'll soon abandon, swooning before sleeping.
We're riding on rails, the cardoors are locked, and the conductor laughs maniacally while we approach an unfinished bridge.
A boxcutter mutiny may salvage our dignity.

It's hot. But not from global warming.
We're poor. But not from lack of working.
We're fools with weakened wills.