Daniel Hazelhoff : writer, poet, rapper

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Everyman
Malcolm X once said 
“If your not careful,
the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed,
And loving the people who are doing the oppressing.” 
And I think of my uncle.
A fat man, red faced, reads the paper, lives in florida,
used to have a big house, now he’s got a smaller one with more land.
The man’s got so many DUI’s he can’t even count e’m,
but that might be the delirium. 
He hates Mexicans and thinks hitler wasn’t so bad.
He’s a proud republican, voted for Bush and guns 
probably voted for Mccain and oil, 
Probably voting for Trump, climaxing over the idea of a passed TTIP.
So the Mexicans are lazy right?
and the gays have their agenda,
and if god is a fact, than in she he does trust. Although this heathens god is green,
Built up in a frenzy of gold teeth and greed. 
A tax evading artist, with a mind that exists, persists it’s reign of foul taste 
of cocaine, amphetamine beer. 
He’s got a 4x4 so no one calls him queer.
He’s got two children, my two wonderful cousins, 
He’s got a daughter who won’t judge him,
And a son he can’t handle. 
A beautiful wife that manages to keep her sanity some how
Some way unknown to earthly beings, 
Through prayer I suppose,
But believe me when i say god doesn’t help everybody.
Undeterred by the fact that his wife and daughter occupy 50% of 
What his life should be,
Misogyny is never hard to see, for i’ve seen him with the ladies, 
And the night, and the sprawlers,
I’ve seen him with the rats, and illegal psychotropic sacks from doctors,
And i’ve seen him blow thousands away on a day of debauchery and gambling
Afterwards manhandling a homeless man for the sake of glory,
Returning home, to central heating, and the fire place, the flat screen,
The chaise longue, reading his kins story books, weeping.
Saturating their drawing books between the lines.
And standing up and laughing and walking around the room frantically paranoid, and eating Cheese sandwiches, indulging in the simple pleasures of over priced fish eggs and illegally Imported Spanish ham,
Glugging rum and whisky and rye.
Clicking a few buttons and taking a few million, 
Waking up next morning with the red crust eyes,
And a strong sense of entitlement.
He does truly rule his own world
Of wrong sides and twisted, churned, and flipped bedsheets.

You have a selfish lack of empathy my uncle.
And it troubles you not.
You have selfish lack of self,
Though in your centre your thoughts reside,
You’re home where the white man reigns above ideology, philosophy, and the social, emotional, And economical debt collected over history.
You don’t know me, or the immigrant, or the human any more than you know your self.
Basic morals and ethics are beyond you.
And your party applauds the beholder of the golden legislation,
Don’t you feel like a man now?

I remember having lunch with you in the heat by the beach
Looking for clams and tellines,I thought you were the funniest man, 
I mean it. 
You showed me how to drink beers and open them with my lighter.
You showed me how to skateboard, surf, and generally break the rules.
How could a young man such as yourself turn in to an old fool,
You skipped school, which i respect,
and worked your back till it was wet, sweating sawdust, 
nails and bolts. 
You taught me how to take a punch, when the drunks got us in Amsterdam.
Do you feel like a man now?
You had a hippy past, your brother was a genius, 
a true prophet of empathetic power and prowess.
Your mother was an artist, a liberal, a politically active socialist,
Your father was a writer, and a whore. 
Granted, they probably didn’t leave much time for the family.
I remember the battle of the pea, 
where your sister wouldn’t eat, and we waited hours at the dinner table, sat and sore,
And my grandfather wouldn’t loose this war and he forced her to relinquish her pride,
But it didn’t matter because she died a few years later anyway, stuck in herself,
trapped under whatever the world was throwing at her.
Don’t you see you are a part of this farce? 
The man who sees himself above the rest,
The man who’s worth more than the woman,
or the margins, those who form the frames of society,
It’s all the same painting, brother.
And there is no wrong interpretation, 
But yours is truly ugly,
yet your somebody, thinking “i wish this world could truly love me”.
Do you feel like a man now?