Oh the time will come up when the trees will rot and the world will cease to be spinning
like eulogy air floatin high from a dull stare, the hour that our train comes in
and the tracks will unfold like a pathway for the soul for your dreary eyes to devour
and the men living on the wall will scream from the hall that even Gods sometimes falter.
Oh the waves of grain will sing in the rain and they'll ask for the destruction of all thats unholy
like the end of fall when a fire is raging tall, the hour that the train comes in.
and the birds of prey will fight desperately to stay in the boxcar that holds deaths secrets
but the railman likes to fight and he does it every night so he checks for all the dirty numbers
and they know he comes, so they binge on lifes sweet rum and try to forget they're about to be trampled
but he arrives with a cane, to soften up their brains for messing with his bag of essentials
and they run and hide like coyotes in the night, the hour that the train comes in.
So now every hand is with hammer and all souls begin to clamor that the end may not be so violent.
And the sky's blue hue envelops and validates all thats true, the hour that the train comes in.
And the train's stone faced men will see the path of zen and will lock the brakes and walk into the field.
when they lay in the grass, history's shadow of death will pass, the hour that the train comes to a stop.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
good friends
I feel this slow death creeping
creeping
it touches me with sincerity
with intense brevity
of all emotions
I feel alone in the crowd
this crowd, right now.
all crowds
and I dream of golden days
shining through dull windows
but i just feel sad
and alone
and know that all grass is brown- everywhere
My stars are fickle
my loves are obtuse
all my connections are
nothing more than burning piles
of newspaper
destined to turn to ash and
follow the wind
home
away
I fight for my hands and feet
but they tell me to
grow up
to understand these impish
insults
but the torpid, latent reaction
of analyzation
is quiet and certain
as death by drowning
and is my weakness.
creeping
it touches me with sincerity
with intense brevity
of all emotions
I feel alone in the crowd
this crowd, right now.
all crowds
and I dream of golden days
shining through dull windows
but i just feel sad
and alone
and know that all grass is brown- everywhere
My stars are fickle
my loves are obtuse
all my connections are
nothing more than burning piles
of newspaper
destined to turn to ash and
follow the wind
home
away
I fight for my hands and feet
but they tell me to
grow up
to understand these impish
insults
but the torpid, latent reaction
of analyzation
is quiet and certain
as death by drowning
and is my weakness.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
vuloe nitcantrea
You are real
only real
everything
but nothing not
now going, but yet gone
to the clouds of effervesence
i look on from afar
at you.
a child drifting
without a thought for the joy
they bring
they leave
and inevitably take....
always standing in the shade
but always looking for the
sunrise
you know
more than most
and say nothing
is worth dissappearing into the
night
I can feel you where i go and where i
stay
Your altruism overcomes
but it is only what you own and
not i
no.
never.
not without you.
You see through the brick
through the steel facade
scary
comforting
and you always come for the music
shining like a diamond prism
and embrace the real
The mindnumbing oval opaque blue hues
that burn up my soul
I see them in everything
and nothing
I see them in my nightmares
of love
You are all that i wake to
all that i can dream of as
goodness
in my eyes
your smile that intoxicates
but makes me prostrate
with anguish
your skin and smell
that send me to the
euphoric nebula
in a system familiar
but terrifyingly unknown.
and escape is impossible
A peacock among sparrows
a nebulous love that drowns
never holding on
never holding back
never
and for what?
my tryst of a thousand year chance of perfect
beauty and compassion.
incarnate peace?
sublime karma?
No
it is natural
what you do
the only real star left in the
black
sky
I sit on the snows ofkilimanjaro
bare
it is now apparent to me
after eons of introspection
u will be my demise
u will be my achilles tendon
I will slowly dissipate into the fire
the all pervading fire
that i have no business experiencing
that i was not meant to know
built wrong
differently
but i dont care anymore
because i now know
that it all dies
you are not
the only one
and sadness is key
but i know life just
wasnt meant to be
long
for me.
only real
everything
but nothing not
now going, but yet gone
to the clouds of effervesence
i look on from afar
at you.
a child drifting
without a thought for the joy
they bring
they leave
and inevitably take....
always standing in the shade
but always looking for the
sunrise
you know
more than most
and say nothing
is worth dissappearing into the
night
I can feel you where i go and where i
stay
Your altruism overcomes
but it is only what you own and
not i
no.
never.
not without you.
You see through the brick
through the steel facade
scary
comforting
and you always come for the music
shining like a diamond prism
and embrace the real
The mindnumbing oval opaque blue hues
that burn up my soul
I see them in everything
and nothing
I see them in my nightmares
of love
You are all that i wake to
all that i can dream of as
goodness
in my eyes
your smile that intoxicates
but makes me prostrate
with anguish
your skin and smell
that send me to the
euphoric nebula
in a system familiar
but terrifyingly unknown.
and escape is impossible
A peacock among sparrows
a nebulous love that drowns
never holding on
never holding back
never
and for what?
my tryst of a thousand year chance of perfect
beauty and compassion.
incarnate peace?
sublime karma?
No
it is natural
what you do
the only real star left in the
black
sky
I sit on the snows ofkilimanjaro
bare
it is now apparent to me
after eons of introspection
u will be my demise
u will be my achilles tendon
I will slowly dissipate into the fire
the all pervading fire
that i have no business experiencing
that i was not meant to know
built wrong
differently
but i dont care anymore
because i now know
that it all dies
you are not
the only one
and sadness is key
but i know life just
wasnt meant to be
long
for me.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Conformity
Conformity sucks
Leave your name tags in the mud and find what really lives in you
And when you have lost all sense of compassion keep following through
You will see the pale faced stranger with bungee cords on his legs
He tells you that the ever rising tide will keep you from the dregs
Don’t wish for all his glitter and family pets or you will evaporate
Into the clear glass screen that boxes in the huddled masses- they decimate.
Your wishfull thinkers, lemmings and cooper tires bend to the force of the wind.
They are the gasoline to the fire that burns for your creativity to rescind.
Fuck it! That’s what I say as I drink from the tear-shaped pillowcase.
And think that fighting for a dodo bird will, to me, never be a disgrace.
So take your drunken preacher another rock to throw in his big cloudy bag.
Make him feel like he owns your boxers and that you will always fly his flag.
Leave your name tags in the mud and find what really lives in you
And when you have lost all sense of compassion keep following through
You will see the pale faced stranger with bungee cords on his legs
He tells you that the ever rising tide will keep you from the dregs
Don’t wish for all his glitter and family pets or you will evaporate
Into the clear glass screen that boxes in the huddled masses- they decimate.
Your wishfull thinkers, lemmings and cooper tires bend to the force of the wind.
They are the gasoline to the fire that burns for your creativity to rescind.
Fuck it! That’s what I say as I drink from the tear-shaped pillowcase.
And think that fighting for a dodo bird will, to me, never be a disgrace.
So take your drunken preacher another rock to throw in his big cloudy bag.
Make him feel like he owns your boxers and that you will always fly his flag.
Insecurity
hokay, so this was inspired by a story on u mah buds from back home told me about this kid who committed suicide, and this is supposedly how it went down, though, it is highly plausible otherwise as well. I think we can all agree that the gossip that goes on back there is usually a little less than accurate, but I was given a basic overview and filled in the rest.
Just Having Fun
The suns rays hang lazily in the sleepy expanse of the afternoon
and I hear myself asking how tonight can I escape the doom.
Looking through the campus, my home, to soak in the vibes
of a wonderful learning experience minus the cliquish tribes.
The hundred year old elms hang low to the ground
to shelter themselves from sirens and strangers pious.
I hear the sound of life around my view of the world
and am calm and happy and laugh as I watch scampering mice.
Life is so beautiful; so complete; so colorful and alive
that it causes me to appreciate all that is ambiguous and contrive.
I t is, after all, the random fire which scorches the earth and burns the trees
causing it to grow again more beautiful than on a coast in Belize.
The woods and water are proof of the god that causes my guilt
and tells me I shouldn’t be doing what I think and know is fun.
The shrieking hypocrites, who kill you with their words of judgement,
are taking out their swords of slander and honing them to get the job done.
What job is this you say? What job is this indeed?
how could someone have this as a need.
When they find someone who doesn’t live up to their expectations
they will do their best to destroy that soul through negative lamentations.
"Fuck them" is what I think as I reflect that I am my own,
and that life is what you make of it and never really blown.
I know that I can shake off the devilish remarks that come from The Mean
if I only didn’t care so much about acceptance; it is what I feign.
Night time comes and the party is starting to get wild;
the veranda is lit with the hazy green, purple, lights that seem so vile.
The music beats loud with a boom, boom, boom and I feel good
to be in this place at this time on this wonderful drug that illuminates the my mood.
I look to my friends and see they are enjoying themselves as well
the buzz is fucking awesome and to lose it would be hell.
Then I realize that I get fucked up for the fun, and to love my youth
I do it for the experiences; I do it to discover a little bit of truth.
The high is getting intense; I think I better take a break
and go back into myself before I do something dumb that’s a mistake.
But the stars of the night just keep slyly flying in their crazy shapes
and causing me to nervously wrap my eyes in a jacket like drapes.
II
Who is this changing the party’s aura with negative tones
and warnings of a fiery retribution for all my lack of salvation.
She is in my face now and memories of her steely, grey eyes
haunt me from a past I know and love and from want no degradation.
Why must you treat me as an outcast with your words of hatred
and hurtfulness in which you know I hold way too much stock.
Just because I am one of the ones who does what you don’t think is right
doesn’t mean that you should throw our history onto the chopping block.
She doesn’t agree; I am left feeling like I am destroying myself
and that I am not worth the oxygen it requires to keep me living life.
As she walks out of the front door She calls me the name "junkie"
and I felt my heart string pull and my brain snaps from all the strife.
My thoughts are racing thoughts that are crazy and violent and necessary
and my nerves twitch and my skin burns and I seea light; looks like a floating fairy.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The apprehension is taking over on this dark dark night
my thoughts are with the gazing eyes in the room making me want to take flight.
I look around the grotto and notice everyone is staring at me now that she is gone
and on her way back to wherever she came from before she sent me into the psychosis.
The eyes are burning up my hands and my feet and my face and I hear all their voices moan
and im scared because everyone seems to dislike me as if I have a bad case of halitosis.
The people blend together as my friend comes to ask if im O.K.,
but I cant hear him and I don’t know who he is; I think he wants to hurt me.
I am covered by the night sky and I cant breathe beyond a short gasp.
My skin is hot and beading with sweat and I see everything bad I’ve done as if in a movie.
III
\\
I have to get out of this wicked, wicked place that hates me with a passion,
th\at holds my thoughts like prisoners, that my self-confidence is bash in.
I will go to my room and hide from the demons and ghouls of my fraternity
and I hide in the thin blanket shuddering like a baby in the belly of a mother during maternity.
I hear strange and ominous sounds from all over the room and I feel my fear
then someone says ill never be normal again in the hall; insanity begins to rear
its ugly head and I lose my cool; I think to myself I should turn back the clock
to before I took the horrible drug then it would go away, but instead I mock
my feet and think I should jump out of my window and run to get a colored smock.
I want to get on a boat and feel the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, of the waves on the hull
but all these thoughts come and go like the truest love from summer camp and my senses are full
I know. I know. I know that I will never be the same and I don’t care so much about that
its that I have pushed away the person, people, ideology, lifestyle that make me 3-D; not flat.
Life is no longer worth living to me and think I will end it now.
I grab an old climbing rope and my neck I begin to wrap it around.
Throwing the rope over the pull-up bar is no problem and I step onto the bucket.
I pull the rope tight, make a knot, stand for a minute, look to the sky and say-"Fuck it"
I lift myself up onto the rope and kick the bucket over; then I let go of the rope and fallto the end
I hear sinews and bones and joints in \my neck popping; the bright red brain flashes say to bend.
well, I think to myself, if my neck doe\sn’t snap soon the rope will choke me to death.
pull up bar starts to creak, then, sudde\nly, I am on the floor, I take a deep breath.
The whole pull up bar comes loose from the wall and I am sent crashing to the hard floor
gasping for air and frantically pulling the rope off my neck, I think ill make a break for the door.
I get out of the closet and am running down a dark hall of despair and agony that seems a mile
Running out of the front door, I am filled with a wonderful euphoric sensation, and I smile.
Looking to my right a see a diamond fountain, I think to myself Ill go swim for w while.
The water is very cold and as I slowly immerse mybody, I feel the liquid freeze up my vial.
it moves up my feet, then legs, then torso, and it begins to overcome me and fix my stare
water smells of wet, dank, hundred year old metal on a foggy coastlineand the Dragons Lair
Thoughts flooding my now conscious mind that I am still alive for another day
my utter amazement and disbelief is brought from the biggest ocean of dismay.
The rope has broken before the jobs done and I am happy, soo soo happy, to still be on the map
I think ill restart my life, be a good person, then my brain starts to burn and I hear a loud-SNAP!
The End
Just Having Fun
The suns rays hang lazily in the sleepy expanse of the afternoon
and I hear myself asking how tonight can I escape the doom.
Looking through the campus, my home, to soak in the vibes
of a wonderful learning experience minus the cliquish tribes.
The hundred year old elms hang low to the ground
to shelter themselves from sirens and strangers pious.
I hear the sound of life around my view of the world
and am calm and happy and laugh as I watch scampering mice.
Life is so beautiful; so complete; so colorful and alive
that it causes me to appreciate all that is ambiguous and contrive.
I t is, after all, the random fire which scorches the earth and burns the trees
causing it to grow again more beautiful than on a coast in Belize.
The woods and water are proof of the god that causes my guilt
and tells me I shouldn’t be doing what I think and know is fun.
The shrieking hypocrites, who kill you with their words of judgement,
are taking out their swords of slander and honing them to get the job done.
What job is this you say? What job is this indeed?
how could someone have this as a need.
When they find someone who doesn’t live up to their expectations
they will do their best to destroy that soul through negative lamentations.
"Fuck them" is what I think as I reflect that I am my own,
and that life is what you make of it and never really blown.
I know that I can shake off the devilish remarks that come from The Mean
if I only didn’t care so much about acceptance; it is what I feign.
Night time comes and the party is starting to get wild;
the veranda is lit with the hazy green, purple, lights that seem so vile.
The music beats loud with a boom, boom, boom and I feel good
to be in this place at this time on this wonderful drug that illuminates the my mood.
I look to my friends and see they are enjoying themselves as well
the buzz is fucking awesome and to lose it would be hell.
Then I realize that I get fucked up for the fun, and to love my youth
I do it for the experiences; I do it to discover a little bit of truth.
The high is getting intense; I think I better take a break
and go back into myself before I do something dumb that’s a mistake.
But the stars of the night just keep slyly flying in their crazy shapes
and causing me to nervously wrap my eyes in a jacket like drapes.
II
Who is this changing the party’s aura with negative tones
and warnings of a fiery retribution for all my lack of salvation.
She is in my face now and memories of her steely, grey eyes
haunt me from a past I know and love and from want no degradation.
Why must you treat me as an outcast with your words of hatred
and hurtfulness in which you know I hold way too much stock.
Just because I am one of the ones who does what you don’t think is right
doesn’t mean that you should throw our history onto the chopping block.
She doesn’t agree; I am left feeling like I am destroying myself
and that I am not worth the oxygen it requires to keep me living life.
As she walks out of the front door She calls me the name "junkie"
and I felt my heart string pull and my brain snaps from all the strife.
My thoughts are racing thoughts that are crazy and violent and necessary
and my nerves twitch and my skin burns and I seea light; looks like a floating fairy.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The apprehension is taking over on this dark dark night
my thoughts are with the gazing eyes in the room making me want to take flight.
I look around the grotto and notice everyone is staring at me now that she is gone
and on her way back to wherever she came from before she sent me into the psychosis.
The eyes are burning up my hands and my feet and my face and I hear all their voices moan
and im scared because everyone seems to dislike me as if I have a bad case of halitosis.
The people blend together as my friend comes to ask if im O.K.,
but I cant hear him and I don’t know who he is; I think he wants to hurt me.
I am covered by the night sky and I cant breathe beyond a short gasp.
My skin is hot and beading with sweat and I see everything bad I’ve done as if in a movie.
III
\\
I have to get out of this wicked, wicked place that hates me with a passion,
th\at holds my thoughts like prisoners, that my self-confidence is bash in.
I will go to my room and hide from the demons and ghouls of my fraternity
and I hide in the thin blanket shuddering like a baby in the belly of a mother during maternity.
I hear strange and ominous sounds from all over the room and I feel my fear
then someone says ill never be normal again in the hall; insanity begins to rear
its ugly head and I lose my cool; I think to myself I should turn back the clock
to before I took the horrible drug then it would go away, but instead I mock
my feet and think I should jump out of my window and run to get a colored smock.
I want to get on a boat and feel the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, of the waves on the hull
but all these thoughts come and go like the truest love from summer camp and my senses are full
I know. I know. I know that I will never be the same and I don’t care so much about that
its that I have pushed away the person, people, ideology, lifestyle that make me 3-D; not flat.
Life is no longer worth living to me and think I will end it now.
I grab an old climbing rope and my neck I begin to wrap it around.
Throwing the rope over the pull-up bar is no problem and I step onto the bucket.
I pull the rope tight, make a knot, stand for a minute, look to the sky and say-"Fuck it"
I lift myself up onto the rope and kick the bucket over; then I let go of the rope and fallto the end
I hear sinews and bones and joints in \my neck popping; the bright red brain flashes say to bend.
well, I think to myself, if my neck doe\sn’t snap soon the rope will choke me to death.
pull up bar starts to creak, then, sudde\nly, I am on the floor, I take a deep breath.
The whole pull up bar comes loose from the wall and I am sent crashing to the hard floor
gasping for air and frantically pulling the rope off my neck, I think ill make a break for the door.
I get out of the closet and am running down a dark hall of despair and agony that seems a mile
Running out of the front door, I am filled with a wonderful euphoric sensation, and I smile.
Looking to my right a see a diamond fountain, I think to myself Ill go swim for w while.
The water is very cold and as I slowly immerse mybody, I feel the liquid freeze up my vial.
it moves up my feet, then legs, then torso, and it begins to overcome me and fix my stare
water smells of wet, dank, hundred year old metal on a foggy coastlineand the Dragons Lair
Thoughts flooding my now conscious mind that I am still alive for another day
my utter amazement and disbelief is brought from the biggest ocean of dismay.
The rope has broken before the jobs done and I am happy, soo soo happy, to still be on the map
I think ill restart my life, be a good person, then my brain starts to burn and I hear a loud-SNAP!
The End
abstract anomalic melodramatic autobiographical insertions
Did you see the shoes on bells feet blowing through my window?
Have you known the difference between mozart’s red and best crescendo?
If you have then you know of my love for the mimosa tree blowing in black.
And of its embracing seminal thoughts that do nothing in my brain but stack.
When I fly through these waves of amber and fields of green I feel murderous intent.
And all the people holding foreclosures and stained, dripping red rock filled socks tell me to repent.
What is there to do when a skunk is hiding in your closet and all the bridge players have hounds?
You hope for a tidal wave to come wash away your grocery cart and hide all your ugliness in the ground.
Now is the time to break through reality’s ambiance and get to the dark, dark deep.
Rain clouds through bolts of stress through hazy green sheepskins in my sleep.
Marry your first love and you will know the terrors I speak of irreverently.
The end of all your favorite movies will fuck you ragged with no benevolency.
Now mr james knows these truths and wants you to take him to six flags.
If it were up to him you would be on the red planet and hunting stags.
But he is just as powerless as the rest of philistines and only wants to be visible.
So Take your left handed guns, throw them to the wind, and be happy you are imitable.
Forget these crazy notions as you probably already have and hope to.
And I will keep traveling down a road of air while avoiding the heartless guru.
Have you known the difference between mozart’s red and best crescendo?
If you have then you know of my love for the mimosa tree blowing in black.
And of its embracing seminal thoughts that do nothing in my brain but stack.
When I fly through these waves of amber and fields of green I feel murderous intent.
And all the people holding foreclosures and stained, dripping red rock filled socks tell me to repent.
What is there to do when a skunk is hiding in your closet and all the bridge players have hounds?
You hope for a tidal wave to come wash away your grocery cart and hide all your ugliness in the ground.
Now is the time to break through reality’s ambiance and get to the dark, dark deep.
Rain clouds through bolts of stress through hazy green sheepskins in my sleep.
Marry your first love and you will know the terrors I speak of irreverently.
The end of all your favorite movies will fuck you ragged with no benevolency.
Now mr james knows these truths and wants you to take him to six flags.
If it were up to him you would be on the red planet and hunting stags.
But he is just as powerless as the rest of philistines and only wants to be visible.
So Take your left handed guns, throw them to the wind, and be happy you are imitable.
Forget these crazy notions as you probably already have and hope to.
And I will keep traveling down a road of air while avoiding the heartless guru.
A nice father son hunting poem
HUNTING POEM
well ever since I was twelve
I have loved the sport of hunting
dad and I would go with our guns
and try to get some animals a-jumpin
we left the house at around three
before the sun had even woke
we walked for hours throgh the brush
and neither one of us spoke.
The sun began to break through the trees
and the thaw began to melt through the frost
the birds had started chirping
and the feeling of early morning drowsiness was lost.
My spirits began to warm
and the excitement of the hunt had set in
the nerves were now jumpy
and my eyes scoured the area again and again
It seemed like it had been hours
how long had I been waiting?
I felt compelled to look at my watch
I could feel the prime time fading.
Just then I hear the noise
hopefully a beast lurking nearby
my eyes devour the landscape
but all I see is a bird flying by
It really has been hours now
I feel my conciousness wanting to sleep
the birds chirping, the bees buzzing
I keeping jerking awake,but try to be discreet
Finally! I hear the noise I have wanted
bushes are shaking just at the end of the clearing
I raise my gun to point at the culprit
but my patience is definitely not endearing.
I loose my cool! I get buck fever
firing into the bush without a second thought
the movement stops immediately
as if I hit it directly;there was no fight to be fought
I get out of my stand
run with all of my body I can demand
I get over to the bush
start to look in and see a hand.
Because I killed this being with a name
panic hits me like a fucking train.
what was I to do? Where was I to go?
I am definitely headed to hell below.
Fuck it I say- just look again
while pulling back the branches of the death bush
I feel the crreep up my spine
as I look upon the spectacle of my fathers head crushed.
The sickness sets in; I get dizzy
I will never be able to live with what I have done
my mother, my sister, brother!
How will they feel when their blood runs.
There is nothing left to do
my fate is sealed in the stupidity of my impulsive deeds
I place my teeth on the cold steel barrel
as I slowly pull the trigger and dream of egyptian reeds.
THE END
well ever since I was twelve
I have loved the sport of hunting
dad and I would go with our guns
and try to get some animals a-jumpin
we left the house at around three
before the sun had even woke
we walked for hours throgh the brush
and neither one of us spoke.
The sun began to break through the trees
and the thaw began to melt through the frost
the birds had started chirping
and the feeling of early morning drowsiness was lost.
My spirits began to warm
and the excitement of the hunt had set in
the nerves were now jumpy
and my eyes scoured the area again and again
It seemed like it had been hours
how long had I been waiting?
I felt compelled to look at my watch
I could feel the prime time fading.
Just then I hear the noise
hopefully a beast lurking nearby
my eyes devour the landscape
but all I see is a bird flying by
It really has been hours now
I feel my conciousness wanting to sleep
the birds chirping, the bees buzzing
I keeping jerking awake,but try to be discreet
Finally! I hear the noise I have wanted
bushes are shaking just at the end of the clearing
I raise my gun to point at the culprit
but my patience is definitely not endearing.
I loose my cool! I get buck fever
firing into the bush without a second thought
the movement stops immediately
as if I hit it directly;there was no fight to be fought
I get out of my stand
run with all of my body I can demand
I get over to the bush
start to look in and see a hand.
Because I killed this being with a name
panic hits me like a fucking train.
what was I to do? Where was I to go?
I am definitely headed to hell below.
Fuck it I say- just look again
while pulling back the branches of the death bush
I feel the crreep up my spine
as I look upon the spectacle of my fathers head crushed.
The sickness sets in; I get dizzy
I will never be able to live with what I have done
my mother, my sister, brother!
How will they feel when their blood runs.
There is nothing left to do
my fate is sealed in the stupidity of my impulsive deeds
I place my teeth on the cold steel barrel
as I slowly pull the trigger and dream of egyptian reeds.
THE END
Trufe
TRUTH
rare as a jackelope
beautiful as a misty morning
on the northern california coastline.
Your charismatic sock puppets tell you
it hunts for its prey
never taking a moment to rest.
I say
it is the immemorial refuge of the twigs
the incarnation of the bastille in a word.
It serves the old guard well.
As unfamiliar as the next solar system,
but as familiar as your mothers face.
When its full current reaches your synapses
it will change your taste
from the napoleons and machiavellis and bismarks
and from familiarity
to a seemingly sinister
sheep in wolfs clothing that loves like a King.
I must stop now and go get drunk ,then, hopefully, meet a cute girl with a rotund backside, and it will bring me cheer immeasurable.
See \
there is some right there.
Don’t use it too often in the meat market.
You will become a leper
and be forced to spend your nights
in a perpetual state of mid siezure
resembling the demeanor of a Macho
American father watching his daughter be whored off
to high class hustlers with cold sore lips
GOOD DAY
rare as a jackelope
beautiful as a misty morning
on the northern california coastline.
Your charismatic sock puppets tell you
it hunts for its prey
never taking a moment to rest.
I say
it is the immemorial refuge of the twigs
the incarnation of the bastille in a word.
It serves the old guard well.
As unfamiliar as the next solar system,
but as familiar as your mothers face.
When its full current reaches your synapses
it will change your taste
from the napoleons and machiavellis and bismarks
and from familiarity
to a seemingly sinister
sheep in wolfs clothing that loves like a King.
I must stop now and go get drunk ,then, hopefully, meet a cute girl with a rotund backside, and it will bring me cheer immeasurable.
See \
there is some right there.
Don’t use it too often in the meat market.
You will become a leper
and be forced to spend your nights
in a perpetual state of mid siezure
resembling the demeanor of a Macho
American father watching his daughter be whored off
to high class hustlers with cold sore lips
GOOD DAY
Political Apathy
bend! Bend! BEND!
That is the all pervasive static from the tv
it is incessant to me
yet negligible in most eyes
it is the way, the truth, and the life to the bourgeois
it is a barracuda
a Great White ruling the sea
it fights for its existence with the tenacity of a screaming wolverine
THE AMERICAN MONOPOLY
That is the all pervasive static from the tv
it is incessant to me
yet negligible in most eyes
it is the way, the truth, and the life to the bourgeois
it is a barracuda
a Great White ruling the sea
it fights for its existence with the tenacity of a screaming wolverine
THE AMERICAN MONOPOLY
passion
passion from the sea of time
fire from the sea
that burned with an irrepressible intensity
is vanished from my eyes
albeit it was never there to vanish
as if the basic knowledge of it was never mine
I came to late
the masters tell me it really never existed
they say it was only a mirage that was twisted
exploited in a way
and anyway you missed it-they say
the blinding light of energy-I mean
it was a fluke -an unattainable dream
an honest to god fucking fake
get over it you reactionary faggot and take
the advice of your fellow proles
don’t you know as an American you have the responsibility to keep you head in the dirt with the other moles
conjuring up dead ideas and memories that were never yours
is bound to leave the lucid water of your mind in pieces
Now that first stanza was not so bleak
as to cause the readers consciousness to sneak
away to the dead sea
with wine and film causing it to peak
fire from the sea
that burned with an irrepressible intensity
is vanished from my eyes
albeit it was never there to vanish
as if the basic knowledge of it was never mine
I came to late
the masters tell me it really never existed
they say it was only a mirage that was twisted
exploited in a way
and anyway you missed it-they say
the blinding light of energy-I mean
it was a fluke -an unattainable dream
an honest to god fucking fake
get over it you reactionary faggot and take
the advice of your fellow proles
don’t you know as an American you have the responsibility to keep you head in the dirt with the other moles
conjuring up dead ideas and memories that were never yours
is bound to leave the lucid water of your mind in pieces
Now that first stanza was not so bleak
as to cause the readers consciousness to sneak
away to the dead sea
with wine and film causing it to peak
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Noah's Ark
So, i was reading LETTERS FROM THE EARTH by Mistah Clemens himself, when i came across the most compelling thing i have read in a very, very long time. It was around 5 pages of letters written by Clemens, pretending to be Satan, to the archangel Michael. The letter was explaining how absurd the humans were for believing that God cared about them the way they believe he does. There was one part, in particular, that caught my attention. And it was in reference to Noah's ark. Here goes: Noah had to collect 2 of every kind of species for his arc in order for all the animals to survive. Right? And we can all agree the word animals includes insects of all types-flies. Flies only live for 24 hours. Right? Noah was on the arc for 40 days and 40 nights. Right? Sooooo, what the hell? To break it down on the level that the illustrious Mr. Clemens did would take 50 pages for me as i cant write anywhere near his ability. So i have laid out the basic tenets for this little concept, which means i want you fuckers to throw some idears at me.
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