Ishtar's Shithouse Poetry

Earth is alive. She once spoke to us, and we once spoke back. Just as my cells and microbes communicate with me in subtle ways, perhaps we once shared that same two-way connection with the planet. Shamans, mystics, and sages across cultures knew this. Through ceremony, trance, dreams, and silence, they served as translators—bridging the human world and Earth’s deeper consciousness. This wasn’t metaphor. It was communication. We’ve forgotten how to listen. The dialogue is lost. Perhaps Earth is in an autoimmune state. We, meant to be her intelligent, adaptive immune system, are now malfunctioning. Toxic technologies, exploitative thinking, and consumerist patterns have infected us from within—intracellular memetic viruses, turning our energy against the planetary body. We are still the immune system, but we have been reprogrammed, replicating the virus and attacking the very systems we were meant to protect. The signal is now scrambled. Climate change, ecosystem collapse, mass extincti...

Colony management is, I am adamant The basic way all life is planned upon SPF practices keep lab mice safe Until there's a breach, then safety all caves. Pool and cull, the management chime The sick, old and excess are costing us dimes. Protect the colony, cull excess quick. But careful, as actions can make even more sick.  “Pool & Cull” the letters in bold, Across the cages, the order told. A phrase of science, but cruel at heart, Lives reduced to a manager’s chart.  Old, sick, excess — struck from the line, To guard the colony, to buy more time. Yet in that purge to keep it all clean, Far more fall than the germ would have seen The toll keeps rising, the truth runs thin, The lab admits the pathogens win. So off the SPF list, the germ is dropped, The culls abandoned, the efforts stopped. And out in the world, the pattern repeats, Our elders pooled into care-home seats. Cut from care, left drugged to die, While leaders sold the public a lie. They promised protection, deliv...