I am disturbed
I am disturbed by the post modern verbiage that says that there is no such thing as originality.
I am disturbed by the death of downtown, New York City.
I am disturbed by inanimate thrill seekers who sit mesmerized, striking at inane keyboards, searching for their computer fix.
I am disturbed by young hipster bohemians at the @ café who sneer at the homeless while sipping their lattés.
I am disturbed by institutions, which would seek to contain my seething emotions.
I am disturbed by the “be yourself” attitude that is pummeling anyone of difference in a thinly veiled conformist culture.
I am disturbed that I just can’t take it anymore.
I am disturbed by brother death as he waits endlessly to ensnare his sister, life.
I am disturbed.
I am disturbed by the pusillanimous venom spewed by mongers of hate at those who love for love’s sake, who procreate the variegated colors of ideas unspoken.
I am disturbed.
I am disturbed by the gutting of the Bowery, by the impending demise of the only nightclub downtown ever visited by a head of state, Vaclav Havel, our own CBGBs.
I am, disturbed by the “cult of personality” who’s denial forbids that which makes us human.
I am disturbed by the soundtrack of metadata that sears the consciousness of millions whose sleep is disturbed by infinite looping neurotic dreams of falling unconscious.
I am disturbed by the quiet calculus of sprawling suburbs which penetrate the darkest nightmare interiors of the inner cities.
I am disturbed.
I am disturbed that I am disturbed.
I am disturbed that heroism has been made impotent by those who wish to negate the longings of the individual.
I am disturbed that desire itself has been sucked into the subterfuge of electronic impulses that mediate reality.
I am disturbed.

- James Cornwell 6/21/2005 , NYC