Jamiemccarthytv

Tag: don’t vote

  • The Only Side

    The channels, the magazines, the sites—they’re all peddling the same poison under different labels, like snake oil in a kaleidoscope. The pundits, the hacks, the echo chambers disguised as platforms of truth: one chorus chants, “Democracy is over,” while the other screams, “They’re coming for your freedom!” Different flags, same battle hymn.

    Some call it the Matrix, a web of manipulation so dense you can’t tell truth from propaganda. But let’s not flatter ourselves with cinematic metaphors. This isn’t some grand sci-fi conspiracy. This is humanity, stripped bare, its truest colors bleeding through like wine stains on cheap carpet. The educated look down on the working class with the smug disdain of someone who’s forgotten who fixes their plumbing or grows their food. And yet, why? Because intelligence without wisdom is just arrogance with better grammar.

    The working class isn’t innocent either—eyes glued to screens, buying into their preferred flavor of outrage. They, too, love a good villain, and they’ll take whatever bogeyman the talking heads serve up.

    And the intellectuals, oh, the intellectuals. They are often intensely stupid. The kind of stupid that comes with thinking you’re immune to manipulation because you’ve read Marx or Hayek or, god help us, a Twitter thread. They call themselves critical thinkers, but their critiques are as hollow as the echo chambers they inhabit.

    What if one had to actually pick a side? Thank god we don’t, because there’s only one side: theirs. And “they” don’t care which team jersey you wear, as long as you’re on the field, playing their game. Democracy? Freedom? Those are just words they use to keep us running laps, convinced we’re winning something while they laugh from the VIP lounge.

    So pick a side, if you must. Red or blue, left or right, Coke or Pepsi. It doesn’t matter. The scoreboard is rigged, the game already decided. And when it’s over, the only winners will be the ones who sold us the tickets. 

  • The Fine Print on Freedom

    Don’t Hang Your Joy on a Ballot Box

    never let the outcome of an election
    decide your whiskey pour or your morning scowl.
    one single vote’s a pebble in a canyon –
    we toss it down, watch it fall,
    hear no echo.

    they told us about checks and balances,
    a seesaw for suits
    to keep the beast tame,
    but some checks
    they roll overseas,
    a deposit here, a hand there,
    tucked safe and sound in the Alps,
    in the vaults with no names.

    meanwhile, the talking heads tell you
    to pick a side, pick a tribe,
    pick a face from a screen,
    and let it roll you like a cheap cigarette.

    so don’t get all unhinged if your horse didn’t come in,
    don’t hang your happiness
    on a bought-and-sold dream.

  • Pending Doom of an Election

    A breed of their own, slinking through the cracks of D.C. like junkies hunting for a fix—

    power, money, control.

    Strip away the glossy suits and hollow speeches

    and watch the grand facade of kings and queens vanish.

    Behind the curtains of corruption, you’ll find commoners,

    servants trapped inside the illusion of superiority.

     

    They were meant to be janitors,

    fixing toilets and tax codes,

    no different than the man pushing a lawnmower,

    or slinging garbage into the back of a truck.

    They exist to serve, to clean up the wreckage,

    but somewhere along the way—on garbage day—

    they took a detour, plugged into the system like addicts,

    craving attention and worship like a freshly cooked, hot shot of heroine.  

     They were meant to be disposable,

    like cheap labor, background noise,

    used needles in a hazardous waste can, faceless and forgettable.

    This is my official announcement: the revolution won’t be on YouTube, X, or Instagram.

    260 million will take to the streets for a collective reminder—

    these pawns are nothing but functionaries,

    meat for the grinder.

     

    We will teach them how to earn their keep like the rest of us,

    hired hands who forgot what they signed up for.

    Let’s put brooms in their filthy briefcases and watch them clean the mess they’ve made.

    Pending Doom of an Election