Revisiting Culture Rot
by Odin Roark

Culture Rot for Dudes and Sirs,
administered through the vacuous realm of
smartphones, flat screens, watch screens,
the massive conglomerate of blacks, whites,
and the limited color-guide of the media Grayline,
your guide through sights made ugly,
coated with syrupy importance,
making experience a carousel of pole-life reality,
rising and falling with calliope accompaniment.

Ubiquitous Culture Rot,
oozing from the media,
blasting into our living space,
drowning our work place
suffocating our relaxation,
so many trite reports and distortions,
to do what?

Control you, Dude, Sir!

So, where are we in this laugh track of fun mirrors?
Caught you yet?
Tugged on what’s left of your inner being yet?
Turned you yet?
Don’t worry. Some resist longer than others.

But, fear not Culture Rot, Dude, Sir,
for it will find its way into your hair,
under your fingernails,
ready to pounce from your morning breath,
urine and stool deposits,
yeah, it’s armed and ready everywhere because…

Culture Rot, Dude, Sir,
is not imaginary.
It’s made with our own hands,
a decay making some of us run like hell,
maybe you and me.

But “Where to?” we ask.

How about across the broken sidewalks,
away from the 500db of streaming noise
drowning out a squirrel’s petite munching of an acorn,
or on to our many sink-hole highways,
across collapsing bridges,
through crumbling tunnels,
and maybe,
just maybe,
we’ll make it through yesterday’s clean air,
search desperately for the forests of tomorrow,
find that mound where once was heard
the gentle whoosh of a snow goose
landing on fresh fallen snow,
now but the acrid regurgitation
of a snowmobile’s quest for dominance over nature,
and possibly come to our senses.

Maybe.

Ah, the perks of corrupt business triumphs,
lobbied for polluted politicians
vying to gather even greater contributions to extend…
you got it,

Culture Rot, Dude Sir.

And, oh, lest we forget to be politically correct,
your Culture Rot too, Dudettes and Ladies.