THE DRUG MONSTER

People love to tell you
how unnatural the monster is

In their robot cities,
in air-conditioned coffeehouses
at the bottom of God-like skyscrapers,
wearing clothes made by Chinese slaves
in factories fueled by split atoms,
they'll tell you how unnatural it is

They'll sip their de-caff lattes
(brought by airplane from Sumatra,
and as the chink who made their clothes
dies of over-work,)
they'll tell you it leads to evil

There is some evil in the monster:
no doubt about it.
I know it well.
Its cavernous cave is full of skeletons,
though mostly of fools who didn't respect it...
who came to enslave it to serve their egos,
or to make some dangerous money

But it does maim and kill other better sorts.
It has spent centuries hiding in caves,
and years in prisons with rapists, murderers, and con-men.
It was always tough,
and now it's gotten mean and angry

It knows witch-craft:
can kill a barbarian with its eyes closed
by raising its claw.
Police can't kill it; their bullets turn around on them.
Even the Mexican army: flush with American money
and riding in American tanks
is staggering in defeat,
and the monster hasn't even opened
one of its twelve purple eyes,
just raised one its Godzilla claws

But I have seen through those eyes
and fought evil with those claws

I've smoked lots of grass,
dropped acid,
popped Ecstacy
and lots of pain medicine,
sipped mushroom tea,
colonopen for anxiety,
smoked opium,
snorted a little cocaine,
once even heroin

I've yet to touch meth
but over-use espresso,
wouldn't ever consider P.C.P.
but know the power and DANGER of herbal Ephedra

These days I barely use illegal drugs.
I've learned the American way and take medicine.
Half the time it was always medicine, anyway,
whatever it was.
And the medicine is still the "monster."

I like the monster.
It treats me well.
It helps me with art, writing, computers,
philosophy, kindness, etc.
It lends me its ruthless power when I'm threatened.
I knows its rules
and it know my heart is good;
We are old friends

I may enter its lair in relative safety,
but perhaps you should not.
It is a monster after all
and though a cup of its tea
may make you feel fantastic,
and it will gladly lend you money...
what if you should lose it?

And even if he forgives this
(he can be forgiving,)
what if you return again and again and again
and, though you've grown unwelcome,
your unstoppable feet drag you into that lair
for the very last time?

It's sure not for everyone
(fire does burn,)
so I won't give advice.
But as for the rich man in the coffee-house
with the Jesus cross necklace,
ask him for a small loan.
Unless you'll put up your home title,
or let him put a nano-computer in your brain
so he can control or kill you at will,
he'll just laugh at you.
"You must be on drugs," he'll say.

But the masses
have the metaphoric nano-computers.
They worship him and believe his every word
(as he does his own masters.)
When he steals their money and their souls,
they blame the drug monster.
When he cuts their jobs or throws them in barbaric dungeons,
they blame the drug monster.

They thank the coffee-house man
for the public libraries,
full of creative gifts from the monster.
When Shakespeare, Van Gogh or Wagner
carries them through hard times,
they thank the man.
These three and countless more
were students and friends of the monster,
but the nano-computers say otherwise.

And the monster doesn't care:
his twelve eyes closed in meditation,
he's high in ultra high-chakra clouds,
outside his cave enjoying sunlight
in another galaxy.

He's casually instructing small green disciples
from the planet Zalderon,
who come and go on
on flying saucers that defy gravity
with the help of artificial bacteria
that perpetually spawns endless energy
which fuels thousands of tiny propellors
and nano-robots,
all invented by former students of the monster

In parks with Drug Monster statues,
Zalderonians read the latest news
from primitive Earth with great laughter.
Sometimes, they send saucers to collect
this "reality T.V." satire...
and also some interesting art
that's kept them from obliterating a species
a few prominent Zalderonians
consider a vile waste of a liveable planet
and even a potential future threat

Fortunately, they are few
and even they listen to the drug monster,
who reminds them of their own primitive history,
an effective point
even though it doesn't rival Earth
for barbarity or wicked hypocrisy

Zalderonian biologists also find Earth interesting:
never before have they encountered
a species with such diverse characteristics.
"Some earthlings," they say,
"are capable of morality, kindness,
have discovered psychedelics,
and even show capacity for philosophy and the arts.
Yet the species in general
is given to gross primitivity
marked by a worship of their very low-grade technology,
and by diverse sets of superstitions
invariably distinguished by human sacrifice...
often of their most advanced specimens
which they cause to die slow deaths in prisons,
or simply execute through brain-washed primitives,
who they in turn sacrifice.
Study the examples of specimens Socrates, Martin Luther King,
Robert Kennedy, Oscar Wilde, and John Lennon.
It is amazing biological phenomena,
though not unique:
the inhabitans of Planet Zignoble
showed similar barbarism and diversity,
though of our studies of them were ended
when they extincted themselves
through nuclear war-fare.
There are reports by our visitors,
though marred by use of psychedelics,
that a few Zignoblians
(distinguished by their bright blue skin)
survive on some tropical islands
living in huts, hunting with spears,
and cultivating psychedelic mushrooms."

the Drug Monster has visited these survivors,
who worship him as a God,
and aside from this,
he is pleased