Fall 2001 Scribbling Mob
Don't touch my jeans.

Cover Art (above) courtesy of
Marc L'Hommedieu.
All works © 2001
their respective creators.


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Society
by Joey Fortner

This society turned us into stone
I felt like plaster as it molded
me in so many ways,
so many inescapable roles.

We all roled.
Not just women but the men as well.
It seemed to fit carnivorously
as it ate at everyone,
even me, and I even saw
its dripping saliva
oozing after us.
Sometimes i wished
that i was deaf and blind
to it, but i was not.
None of us were.

In a way, it predatorily
crept into our homes
and like props, it permanently
put us in place in it's play,
boarding us in.
This suffocated us,
although not enough to kill us.

It loved lurking
inside the boards as it
stripped us mentally naked.
We were trapped in our homes,
without direction, because
it was in direction over this play.
Individualism was no more,
and although it was not God,
it was the closest
resemblance we would ever
see.

It is a shame that it was not God
because we needed his mercy,
and gladly, some of us would have even
taken death as a gift from Him.

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