Machinery Poems


Part I:

A saint said "Let the perfect city rise.

Here needs no long debate on subtleties,

Means, end,

Let us intend

That all be clothed and fed; while one remains

Hungry our quarreling but mocks his pains.

So all will labor to the good

In one phalanx of brotherhood."

 

A man cried out "I know the truth, I, I,

Perfect and whole. He who denies

My vision is a madman or a fool

Or seeks some base advantage in his lies.

All peoples are a tool that fits my hand

Cutting you each and all

Into my plan."

They were one man.

 



Part II: PARANOIA

 

This man I never saw before

At 3 a.m. breaks down the door

To tell me my aspirin is LSD.

"It says right there on the bottle, Acetylsalicylic Acid."

I tell you doctor, honestly,

It seems like someone's after me.

 

I don't think fighting is what I'm made for

But this lottery ticket I never paid for

Sold by a pusher known as Sam

Has won me a ticket to Vietnam,

A twelve months, expenses paid, tropical vacation

With a funeral, free, from a grateful nation.

But the doctor says I need therapy

For thinking someone is after me.

 

And then there are things I just can't ignore

Like the little man in our bedroom door

Says we'll be in jail by the end of the night

Unless we turn over and do it right.

 

Doctor, Doctor, come and see

There's really someone after me.

 

Then he asks, as he rips off the sheet,

For our marriage license and tax receipt;

Says "you need a license to shoot at a duck

How come you think that it's free to ... "

Who so blind as will not see;

The state, the state, is after me.

 

 


Part III:

Anarchy, n. 4. a theory which regards the union of order with the absence of all direct or coercive government as the political ideal. 5. confusion in general; disorder.

 

THE AMERICAN  COLLEGE DICTIONARY

 

Government produces all order.

Under anarchy there is no government.

Therefore anarchy is chaos.

                     Q.E.D.

 

In Washington there isn't any plan

With "feeding David" on page sixty-four;

It must be accidental that the milk man

Leaves a bottle at my door.

 

It must be accidental that the butcher

Has carcasses arriving at his shop

The very place where, when I need some meat,

I accidentally stop.

 

My life is chaos turned miraculous;

I speak a word and people understand

Although it must be gibberish since words

Are not produced by governmental plan.

 

Now law and order, on the other hand,

The state provides us for the public good;

That's why there's instant justice on demand

And safety in every neighborhood.

 


Part IV:

Don't write a book; my friends on either hand

Know more than I about my deepest views.

Van den Haag believes it's simply grand

I'm a utilitarian. That's news;

I didn't know I was. Some libertairs

Can spot sheep's clothing at a thousand yards.

I do not use right arguments (read 'theirs')

Nor cheer them loudly as they stack the cards.

 

Assuming your conclusions is a game

That two can play at. So's a bomb or gun.

Preaching to the converted leads to fame

In narrow circles. I've found better fun

In search of something that might change a mind;

The stake's my own—and yours if so inclined.

 


Part V:

 

“In such condition, there is no place for Industry; because the fruit thereof is uncertain; and consequently no Culture of the Earth; no Navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by Sea; no commodious Building; no Instruments of moving, and removing such things as require much force; no Knowledge of the face of the Earth; no account of Time; no Arts; no Letters; no Society; and which is worst of all, continuall feare, and danger of violent death; And the life of man, solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short." Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan.

 

Hobbes had a vision, certain, crystal clear,

Through logic’s lens alone he clearly saw

The state of nature, red in tooth and claw

And sword and axe, where each man lives in fear,

A nightmare world unless a king appear

Equipped with force enough to overawe

All powers else and bend them to his law,

A monarch absolute, without a peer.

One question yet remains: In many lands

Men lived and fathered children, planted grain,

Slept soundly through the night, worked with their hands,

Together or apart, for love or gain.

How is it that the human race survived

Through the long years before the king arrived?

 

A doctor synthesized the perfect cure

For a disease that he was certain sure

Mankind without his aid could not endure

His flawless logic with no doubt implied

That the disease existed, so he tried,

To offer up the cure on every side

And many patients took the cure

                                                   And died.

 

In total, during the first eighty-eight years of this century, almost 170,000,000 men, women, and children have been shot, beaten, tortured, knifed, burned, starved, frozen, crushed, or worked to death; or buried alive, drowned, hung, bombed, or killed in any other of the myriad ways governments have inflicted death on unarmed, helpless citizens or foreigners.” R.J. Rummel, Death by Government



Part VI:

 

The Poverty of our Circumstances

 

In sharp edged lands where many dwell

All things are true or false, and if you try,

A little thought will be enough to tell

My truth from your illusion or your lie.

 

From which it follows, as the night the day,

Since all of us have use of reason’s tools

That all who disagree with what I say

With certainty are either rogues or fools.

 

I have not found it so; the world I see

Has honest men with minds as good as mine;

I can find reasons that seem good to me

But proofs beyond dispute are hard to find.