Oily sludge
Drips from war machinery
Lubricated by blood-seasoned crude

We watch it on our TV
In air-conditioned misery
Wonder if there’s anything we can really do

In a world where fame supercedes the art that makes us famous
Where image misportrays the essence of who we really are
Where everyone’s not good enough
Just getting by is so damn tough
But we’re all just this close to being stars

Update Instagram to the rhythm of the war drums
Drone strike videos suggested on YouTube
Is this what we’ve become?
Constant passive viewing of atrocities make us numb

But not dumb

Overeducated, overworked and underpaid
Too informed to be anything but jaded
We bow to the gods of profit-driven resource extraction
And wonder why America is synonymous with hatred

Gears grind, dripping tears of Afghani mothers
Of Iraqi children
Of Syrian refugees
Of a world under threat from those who view their fellow man as others

Lubricated by petroleum
Habituated to violence
Inundated by conflict, chaos and distraction

So many distractions

The only sane reaction is to isolate
But that level of alienation McKenna spoke of is unattainable with the drones above

Dark skies punctuated by military satellites twinkling in space