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A Masque Presented At Ludlow Castle, 1634, Before

The Earl Of Bridgewater, Then President Of Wales.

The Persons

        The ATTENDANT SPIRIT, afterwards in the habit of THYRSIS.
COMUS, with his Crew.
The LADY.
FIRST BROTHER.
SECOND BROTHER.
SABRINA, the Nymph.

The Chief Persons which presented were:—

The Lord Brackley;
Mr. Thomas Egerton, his Brother;
The Lady Alice Egerton.


The first Scene discovers a wild wood.
The ATTENDANT SPIRIT descends or enters.


Before the starry threshold of Jove’s court
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes
Of bright aerial spirits live insphered
In regions mild of calm and serene air,
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot
Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care,
Confined and pestered in this pinfold here,
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,
Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives,
After this mortal change, to her true servants
Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats.
Yet some there be that by due steps aspire
To lay their just hands on that golden key
That opes the palace of eternity.
To Such my errand is; and, but for such,
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds
With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould.
         But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway
Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream,
Took in by lot, ‘twixt high and nether Jove,
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles
That, like to rich and various gems, inlay
The unadorned ***** of the deep;
Which he, to grace his tributary gods,
By course commits to several government,
And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns
And wield their little tridents. But this Isle,
The greatest and the best of all the main,
He quarters to his blue-haired deities;
And all this tract that fronts the falling sun
A noble Peer of mickle trust and power
Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms:
Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore,
Are coming to attend their father’s state,
And new-intrusted sceptre. But their way
Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood,
The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger;
And here their tender age might suffer peril,
But that, by quick command from sovran Jove,
I was despatched for their defence and guard:
And listen why; for I will tell you now
What never yet was heard in tale or song,
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.
         Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape
Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,
After the Tuscan mariners transformed,
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,
On Circe’s island fell. (Who knows not Circe,
The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup
Whoever tasted lost his upright shape,
And downward fell into a grovelling swine?)
This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks,
With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth,
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son
Much like his father, but his mother more,
Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named:
Who, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age,
Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,
At last betakes him to this ominous wood,
And, in thick shelter of black shades imbowered,
Excels his mother at her mighty art;
Offering to every weary traveller
His orient liquor in a crystal glass,
To quench the drouth of Phoebus; which as they taste
(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst),
Soon as the potion works, their human count’nance,
The express resemblance of the gods, is changed
Into some brutish form of wolf or bear,
Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat,
All other parts remaining as they were.
And they, so perfect is their misery,
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
But boast themselves more comely than before,
And all their friends and native home forget,
To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty.
Therefore, when any favoured of high Jove
Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star
I shoot from heaven, to give him safe convoy,
As now I do. But first I must put off
These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris’ woof,
And take the weeds and likeness of a swain
That to the service of this house belongs,
Who, with his soft pipe and smooth-dittied song,
Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar,
And hush the waving woods; nor of less faith
And in this office of his mountain watch
Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid
Of this occasion. But I hear the tread
Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now.


COMUS enters, with a charming-rod in one hand, his glass in the
other: with him a rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts of
wild
beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel
glistering.
They come in making a riotous and unruly noise, with torches in
their hands.


         COMUS. The star that bids the shepherd fold
Now the top of heaven doth hold;
And the gilded car of day
His glowing axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantic stream;
And the ***** sun his upward beam
Shoots against the dusky pole,
Pacing toward the other goal
Of his chamber in the east.
Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast,
Midnight shout and revelry,
Tipsy dance and jollity.
Braid your locks with rosy twine,
Dropping odours, dropping wine.
Rigour now is gone to bed;
And Advice with scrupulous head,
Strict Age, and sour Severity,
With their grave saws, in slumber lie.
We, that are of purer fire,
Imitate the starry quire,
Who, in their nightly watchful spheres,
Lead in swift round the months and years.
The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove,
Now to the moon in wavering morrice move;
And on the tawny sands and shelves
Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
By dimpled brook and fountain-brim,
The wood-nymphs, decked with daisies trim,
Their merry wakes and pastimes keep:
What hath night to do with sleep?
Night hath better sweets to prove;
Venus now wakes, and wakens Love.
Come, let us our rights begin;
‘T is only daylight that makes sin,
Which these dun shades will ne’er report.
Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport,
Dark-veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame
Of midnight torches burns! mysterious dame,
That ne’er art called but when the dragon womb
Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom,
And makes one blot of all the air!
Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,
Wherein thou ridest with Hecat’, and befriend
Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end
Of all thy dues be done, and none left out,
Ere the blabbing eastern scout,
The nice Morn on the Indian steep,
From her cabined loop-hole peep,
And to the tell-tale Sun descry
Our concealed solemnity.
Come, knit hands, and beat the ground
In a light fantastic round.

                              The Measure.

         Break off, break off! I feel the different pace
Of some chaste footing near about this ground.
Run to your shrouds within these brakes and trees;
Our number may affright. Some ****** sure
(For so I can distinguish by mine art)
Benighted in these woods! Now to my charms,
And to my wily trains: I shall ere long
Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed
About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazzling spells into the spongy air,
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,
And give it false presentments, lest the place
And my quaint habits breed astonishment,
And put the damsel to suspicious flight;
Which must not be, for that’s against my course.
I, under fair pretence of friendly ends,
And well-placed words of glozing courtesy,
Baited with reasons not unplausible,
Wind me into the easy-hearted man,
And hug him into snares. When once her eye
Hath met the virtue of this magic dust,
I shall appear some harmless villager
Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear.
But here she comes; I fairly step aside,
And hearken, if I may her business hear.

The LADY enters.

         LADY. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,
My best guide now. Methought it was the sound
Of riot and ill-managed merriment,
Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe
Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds,
When, for their teeming flocks and granges full,
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth
To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence
Of such late wassailers; yet, oh! where else
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out
With this long way, resolving here to lodge
Under the spreading favour of these pines,
Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket-side
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit
As the kind hospitable woods provide.
They left me then when the grey-hooded Even,
Like a sad votarist in palmer’s ****,
Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus’ wain.
But where they are, and why they came not back,
Is now the labour of my thoughts. TTis likeliest
They had engaged their wandering steps too far;
And envious darkness, ere they could return,
Had stole them from me. Else, O thievish Night,
Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end,
In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars
That Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps
With everlasting oil to give due light
To the misled and lonely traveller?
This is the place, as well as I may guess,
Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth
Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear;
Yet nought but single darkness do I find.
What might this be ? A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory,
Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable men’s names
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses.
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong siding champion, Conscience.
O, welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope,
Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings,
And thou unblemished form of Chastity!
I see ye visibly, and now believe
That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,
To keep my life and honour unassailed. . . .
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
I did not err: there does a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night,
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.
I cannot hallo to my brothers, but
Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest
I’ll venture; for my new-enlivened spirits
Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off.

Song.

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv’st unseen
                 Within thy airy shell
         By slow Meander’s margent green,
And in the violet-embroidered vale
         Where the love-lorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well:
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
         That likest thy Narcissus are?
                  O, if thou have
         Hid them in some flowery cave,
                  Tell me but where,
         Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere!
         So may’st thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all Heaven’s harmonies!


         COMUS. Can any mortal mixture of earthUs mould
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?
Sure something holy lodges in that breast,
And with these raptures moves the vocal air
To testify his hidden residence.
How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall smoothing the raven down
Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard
My mother Circe with the Sirens three,
Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades,
Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs,
Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul,
And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept,
And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause.
Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense,
And in sweet madness robbed it of itself;
But such a sacred and home-felt delight,
Such sober certainty of waking bliss,
I never heard till now. I’ll speak to her,
And she shall be my queen.QHail, foreign wonder!
Whom certain these rough shades did never breed,
Unless the goddess that in rural shrine
Dwell’st here with Pan or Sylvan, by blest song
Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog
To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood.
         LADY. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise
That is addressed to unattending ears.
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift
How to regain my severed company,
Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo
To give me answer from her mossy couch.
         COMUS: What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus?
         LADY. Dim darkness and this leafy labyrinth.
         COMUS. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides?
         LADY. They left me weary on a grassy turf.
         COMUS. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why?
         LADY. To seek i’ the valley some cool friendly spring.
         COMUS. And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady?
         LADY. They were but twain, and purposed quick return.
         COMUS. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them.
         LADY. How easy my misfortune is to hit!
         COMUS. Imports their loss, beside the present need?
         LADY. No less than if I should my brothers lose.
         COMUS. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom?
         LADY. As smooth as ****’s their unrazored lips.
         COMUS. Two such I saw, what time the laboured ox
In his loose traces from the furrow came,
And the swinked hedger at his supper sat.
I saw them under a green mantling vine,
That crawls along the side of yon small hill,
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots;
Their port was more than human, as they stood.
I took it for a faery vision
Of some gay creatures of the element,
That in the colours of the rainbow live,
And play i’ the plighted clouds. I was awe-strook,
And, as I passed, I worshiped. If those you seek,
It were a journey like the path to Heaven
To help you find them.
         LADY.                          Gentle villager,
What readiest way would bring me to that place?
         COMUS. Due west it rises from this shrubby point.
         LADY. To find out that, good shepherd, I suppose,
In such a scant allowance of star-light,
Would overtask the best land-pilot’s art,
Without the sure guess of well-practised feet.
        COMUS. I know each lane, and every alley green,
******, or bushy dell, of this wild wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side,
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood;
And, if your stray attendance be yet lodged,
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know
Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark
From her thatched pallet rouse. If otherwise,
I can c
Matt Apr 2016
I think it's kind of stupid
And I think it's kind
Of funny

When I hear people
Bla bla blabbing
About the money

And I'm just
Not that concerned
About the money

I think it is
Awfully foolish
And a bit funny

How people
Of all ages
Can't stop blabbing
About money

The FED can print more and more
But any layman
Can see what's in store

Our currency is debased
I should learn to enjoy canned foods
Maybe I'll have to learn
To enjoy the taste

A 40 hour work week
What a bunch of b*

I sat around the house
And filled my belly full

The less you work
The more these
Money grubbers
Dislike you

I'd rather to other things
Than make money

And I think it's awfully foolish
And I think it is kind of funny
How people keep blabbing
Blabbing about the money

I was born into wealth
A middle class
American family

And Id be content
To live in the park
Lighting incense candles
In the dark

Doing the minimum
And being lazy
That's not
What most people do
And that's not okay
To those who worship money

Well to these judgemental people
I'm here to say
Forget you

It's my life
And I'm going to do
What I want to do

Born into wealth
Yep it's true

I'll let others
Be worried
About the money

I'm here to inherit
My parents' wealth
Relax, And do things
That are good
For my health

So go ahead
And judge me
For not caring
That much
About money
Matt Sep 2016
This world is threatening me

This giant abyss

This newsman
Is bla-bla-blabbing

But he's just part
Of the program

I won't name
Her name

I wouldn't want
Her to be seen in a bad light

And although I think
Of the fun times we had
They are gone...

And she was just playing after all
She never really cared
That much

I mean I'll give her some credit
But people love money
Most of all

Remember that

The love of money
Is the root of all evil
Matt Aug 2016
Doing the same thing
At the same time
Bleh

I couldn't imagine the
Horror of it all

It's 11:25
And I just ate
Some peanut butter

He is excited
To get his medicaid
Part of a health care system
That does not function well

She laughed at the fact
That I had 68 cents in my account

Hah so funny
Yes I'm poor
So are you

You haven't done
A ******* thing in thirty years
Except watch the evening news

So you can just shut up
Go, Soul, the body’s guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.

Say to the court, it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What’s good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates, they live
Acting by others’ action;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by a faction.
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition,
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate:
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honour how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favour how it falters:
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness:
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.

Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is pretension;
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention:
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming:
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.

Tell faith it’s fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity
And virtue least preferreth:
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing—
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing—
Stab at thee he that will,
No stab the soul can ****.
Kagami Nov 2013
I've always been told that I am a freak. Never anything else until my friends and my love showed up out of the blue. I am not perfect. I don't know why they care, but apparently they do. They are the ones who know most about the things I've done. My attempts, my pains, and my only therapy.

And everyone else that surrounds me claims they know me. Strong, independent, weird, a lover of poetry, and some say I am nice. Others call me a *****. That's not a bad thing... Ever heard of the golden rule? I act a ***** if you treat me as such. But those other things...
Strong... I am a ******* *****. I cried myself to sleep every night wishing, hoping that something, someone would **** me.
Independent... If I was I would be dead right now.
Weird... True, but only to mask the darkness I wish would shine through. My freakish nature is now just a bad habit.
Yes, I love poetry, but only because it is my escape, my diary. Reading it is my distraction. The words seep into me and give me a feeling other than my own.
Nice... I wish. I don't think I have the capability.

And some... Call me a liar. Well, this next chapter is for you.

How the hell do you know? The things that have happened to me, the things I believe, the things I have done, the things I almost accomplished. Why the **** would you care? Why in this "God's ****" world would I lie about trying to **** myself?
I came out because I am sick, I need help. That is soooooo hard to admit. I need help! I should have been hospitalized, but no. I kept everything hidden for months. I was scared specifically because I didn't want to be judged, sent away to a loony bin. I was scared that it would ruin my life, my work, my thoughts. Rob me of inspiration, stress would take over, I would be a ******* wreck! And it did. And I am.

I have taken a turn for the worst. I am trying, but if I need guidance, I don't know how.

I have started burning again. I am sorry.
I have started scratching again, I am sorry.
I have started biting the inside of my mouth again, tearing my cheeks apart. Love, you have probably noticed by now that I taste of iron. I am sorry.

Not sorry that I did it... No. Sorry that I ever stopped.
It doesn't heal me. It doesn't make things better, but there is something about pain that is seductive. Not as much as my lover is, no, but it calls to me still. Tells me I can confide in it. Tells me that I can show it my pain and hurt and will not be judged. Tells me that it will accept me because no one else will.

And that brings me back to you ******* who don't know jack.
You don't know me.
So why the judgement? Because I was ignored most of my life, so I don't know how to be social? Because I was bullied constantly for my hand-me-down clothes from an overweight cousin? Because I love literature from a time that I feel more connected to than now?
My friends know. They know because they get it, at least somewhat. They know my faults, predict my actions, offer solace. They saved me numerous times from falling down a well, gasoline burning at the bottom.
You haven't. Don't talk to me, don't give me that look, don't gossip about me, don't insult me.

You know why I did it? My parents ignored me, preferred my brother. My former friends were horrible people, using me. Rumors were constant because of people like you. Chemicals rotted, corroded, took over the place in my brain that made me happy. Stupid ******* diseases riddled my very being. I wanted it gone, over, done.
That was my last thought before suffocating and falling asleep. My last thought before I was about to finish my masterpiece and tie the final knot. My last thought before the buzz. My last thought before I read the name and lowered my hands.
The knots untied themselves. And I didn't even read the message before I let more of the acid tears escape. I survived, but I didn't know that I wanted to.

One thing in my life is actually good, but I can not get out yet. I can not move onto our island and buy a Tibetan mastiff. I can not fulfill the prophecy I have had many times throughout these past few months. Olivia, my daughter, won't come into the world yet.

I think it is happening again. my parents, the stupid, nasally voices blabbing about things they know nothing about. The chemicals inside my mind corroding me even more. And it has hardly gotten better. Help me escape or I will go insane. Or, at least, more than I already am.
Sherri Harder Jun 2015
Honesty is being real and not being fake.
Its about being open with yourself,
and more than give and take.
Honesty is not telling all your secrets
to everyone on the street.
Its about sharing truth to what is asked
and is a great and honorable feat.
Honesty is being loyal when you say you will fulfill.
Honesty is keeping promises and not blabbing
them at your will.  
Honesty feels love and shares so openly.
Honest people learn to cherish and feel
so much empathy.
Alexis A Sep 2014
You say she's awful
That she doesn't care
You don't know
How easy we talk
And converse about my life
Her name is Ana,
She's no demon
She's my friend,
And she cares more about me
Than anyone ever will
She tells me the truth
No matter how much it hurts
People lie to me,
She refuses to stoop that low
She helps make me perfect
Beautiful
Happy
Smart
Lovable
Worth something
And so much more
If it wasn't for her
I'd still be
Lying in bed
Blabbing on the phone
Or spending all day with people
She taught me who they were
That people weren't what they seemed
That no-one really cared
No-one but her
I would rebel,
Thinking I could handle life
Without her help
I quickly came back
Realizing I was wrong
She took me back in,
And punished me
For ******* up
Saying it was for my own good
She tells me when I lack hope
And when I'm being a ***
What I need to do
To get the guy across the room
To look in my direction
And how to grab
Some masculine attention
To you,
She seems like a *****
But you don't know her like I do
She's really rather nice
So, I have a friend who thinks Ana is a *****, and I wrote this to her (and I will probably never show it to her) on why she isn't
Kiana Lynn Feb 2015
Self-love;
it’s such a concept
and there’s no time for this nonsense
from society, blabbing on about what size we should be.
Open up a book,
society’s view on how we should look,
has changed so much
but feel the contours of your own body under your touch.
You’re beautiful.
We want so badly so be accepted,
and in that we’re all connected.
But this image of beauty keeps shrinking,
And it’s got me thinking,
if we just accept each other
we could get rid of these stereotypes that smother
our uniqueness, and know our differences
aren’t our weakness, but our strength.
It’s in our power,
to take charge and not cower
at the harsh words of society
and all their notoriety.
Love how you look,
and close society’s picture book.
You come along... tearing your shirt... yelling about Jesus.
     Where do you get that stuff?
     What do you know about Jesus?
Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few
     bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem
     everybody liked to have this Jesus around because
     he never made any fake passes and everything
     he said went and he helped the sick and gave the
     people hope.

You come along squirting words at us, shaking your fist
     and calling us all **** fools so fierce the froth slobbers
     over your lips... always blabbing we're all
     going to hell straight off and you know all about it.

I've read Jesus' words. I know what he said. You don't
     throw any scare into me. I've got your number. I
     know how much you know about Jesus.
He never came near clean people or ***** people but
     they felt cleaner because he came along. It was your
     crowd of bankers and business men and lawyers
     hired the sluggers and murderers who put Jesus out
     of the running.

I say the same bunch backing you nailed the nails into
     the hands of this Jesus of Nazareth. He had lined
     up against him the same crooks and strong-arm men
     now lined up with you paying your way.

This Jesus was good to look at, smelled good, listened
     good. He threw out something fresh and beautiful
     from the skin of his body and the touch of his hands
     wherever he passed along.
You slimy bunkshooter, you put a **** on every human
     blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching
     about hell-fire and hiccupping about this Man who
     lived a clean life in Galilee.

When are you going to quit making the carpenters build
     emergency hospitals for women and girls driven
     crazy with wrecked nerves from your gibberish about
     Jesus--I put it to you again: Where do you get that
     stuff; what do you know about Jesus?

Go ahead and bust all the chairs you want to. Smash
     a whole wagon load of furniture at every performance.
     Turn sixty somersaults and stand on your
     nutty head. If it wasn't for the way you scare the
     women and kids I'd feel sorry for you and pass the hat.
I like to watch a good four-flusher work, but not when
     he starts people puking and calling for the doctors.
I like a man that's got nerve and can pull off a great
     original performance, but you--you're only a bug-
     house peddler of second-hand gospel--you're only
     shoving out a phoney imitation of the goods this
     Jesus wanted free as air and sunlight.

You tell people living in shanties Jesus is going to fix it
     up all right with them by giving them mansions in
     the skies after they're dead and the worms have
     eaten 'em.
You tell $6 a week department store girls all they need
     is Jesus; you take a steel trust ***, dead without
     having lived, gray and shrunken at forty years of
     age, and you tell him to look at Jesus on the cross
     and he'll be all right.
You tell poor people they don't need any more money
     on pay day and even if it's fierce to be out of a job,
     Jesus'll fix that up all right, all right--all they gotta
     do is take Jesus the way you say.
I'm telling you Jesus wouldn't stand for the stuff you're
     handing out. Jesus played it different. The bankers
     and lawyers of Jerusalem got their sluggers and
     murderers to go after Jesus just because Jesus
     wouldn't play their game. He didn't sit in with
     the big thieves.

I don't want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my religion.
I won't take my religion from any man who never works
     except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory
     except the face of the woman on the American
     silver dollar.

I ask you to come through and show me where you're
     pouring out the blood of your life.

I've been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha,
     where they nailed Him, and I know if the story is
     straight it was real blood ran from His hands and
     the nail-holes, and it was real blood spurted in red
     drops where the spear of the Roman soldier rammed
     in between the ribs of this Jesus of Nazareth.
ConnectHook Feb 2017
Hi-fructose drama-nation (AKA Plebeia Ovulation-Jones), clad in a rumpled football shirt and golden sweatpants, rolled her bovine eyes, burped, then plunged into battle in the Walmart parking lot. Overweightia U.S, looking on, gestured rudely while blabbing on her phone.  America herself, standing by, talked loudly, swiveling her fat neck around with a menacing gesticulation involving her two-and-a-half-inch poisonous green fake fingernails studded with tiny rhinestones in the shape of well-known designer logos. Witnesses claimed that the altercation started when America could not find her own thong, which was lost between mountains of cellulite-rippled sweaty rolls of flesh. Splendor Obeeze, her BFF, trying to get America away from the fight scene, mooed like a feral heifer, then barked at her ex, who proceeded to taunt her while filming with his I-phone:
      Woo ooh-ooh baby Ima get wit chu den do like u cause we rollin, rollin...
Plebeia suddenly snarled at her 3 year-old daughter strapped into a car seat to leave her **** alone and then re-entered the store where she proceeded to sing to herself in the brassiere section until she bumped into her 4th toddler's baby-daddy who was mumbling into his thick beard RE tha lightweight herb he smoked wif his boy as he checked his text messages for  the freestyle lyrics by "L'il Murgatroid". The entire affair ended badly when Plebeia spilled corn-dog flavored popsicle powder all over America's thong-retrieval device. WW IV warning apps were triggered. They beeped, were ignored, failed and then were deleted. No one shouted World Staaar—u see dat? Oh shiiiittt !!
Plebeia O-J was oblivious, in any case, and strode boldly into the Walmart pharmacy section as the predatory drones prophesied in Revelation were released from the bottomless pit by Abaddon, Lord of destruction. Fabulously overweight as well, I was, nonetheless, underwhelmed by the thong itself, when it was finally retrieved from the depths of America's rumpled sweatpants, on the buttocks of which was emblazoned the final terrible message:  PINK UNIVERSITY   BITE ME.
⛧ ☃ ☠ ☮ ☯ ☢ ✌  
Walmart Absurdist Theater
Reality TV Show
✿ ⚥ ♻ ⚱ ⛓ ☮ ⚔
Glenn McCrary May 2014
"There's a masquerade in all of us. And to be invited is the greatest invitation of all. There are no masks, and there are no faces, just the barest of raw, gnawed-on bones.”~ Jade Day



[Do decides to take out his cell phone and begins filming the two girls; Unknowingly the girls continue to pleasure each other.]


GIRL #1: Ooh, please don’t stop babe. Ugghh that feels so good!

GIRL #2: Don’t worry darling I will never stop. As long as time continues to exist I will try my best to keep up.


[Do continues filming the girls as they continued eating each other out. Spore, Gum and Sweat sneak up behind Do. Spore slaps Do on his back.]

DO: Ow! What the hell was that for?

SPORE: Come on Do. You know that what you are doing is wrong and completely illegal. Would you want someone to film you while you are having **** time?

DO: I honestly can say that I am no where near eligible enough to provide an answer to that question.

SPORE: Okay, but would you?

DO: I wouldn’t give a ****.

[Gum and Sweat both laugh hard at Do. Sweat gives Do a high five.]

SWEAT: Ha ha. You know Do the coolest thing about you is that you keep it real. You don’t ******* around like some of these other fools around here.

DO: Thank you, Sweat. I try.

SWEAT: No problem bro.

GUM: Spore you really need to get a grip. What’s the danger in a bout of harmless fun?

SPORE: Depends on what level of danger we are talking as well as your definition of harmless.

GUM: I’m stumped. I’ll get back to you later on that one.

DO: Hey Sweat! I am getting some incredible footage over here bro!

[Sweat takes a few steps closer to view Do’s live camera as he is filming. The girls are moaning wildly as they are about to reach their climaxes.]

SWEAT: These girls so make me want to take a few licks ha ha.

GUM: I totally agree with you dude. This session is escalating very quickly.

[The moaning between the two girls became increasingly louder.]

GIRL #1: Oh my god! I think I… I think I’m going to ***!

GIRL #2: Come on darling let’s *** together!

GIRL #1 & #2: Ugh, uugghh, UUUGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!


[Do, Gum and Sweat start snickering loudly. Do ends up laughing so hard that he starts gradually swaying around and losing his focus with the camera until finally he hits the ground with a loud thud. The girls both jump in shock as they attempted to cover their upper body features with their hands. Both girls frantically struggled to pull up their jeans and put their shirts back on.]


GIRL #1: YOU GUYS WERE FILMING US? WHAT THE **** DUDE THAT IS SO CREEPY!!!! ******* PERVERTS!!!!!

GIRL #2: WHO THE **** ARE YOU GUYS? WHO IN THE HELL GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO FILM US?

DO: Nobody gave me permission to film you. Me and my friends happened to hear you guys moaning from where we were sitting and decided to find out where it was coming from and then we found you two. It turned us on so we decided to film you. The real question though is who gave you permission to have *** on public property in broad daylight in public?

GIRL #1: Look we were ***** okay? You don’t think that being sexless in an asylum for six months will increase your hormones? You kids have got a lot to learn.

GIRL #2: Yeah, you kids need to experience life on a grander. You need to live a little.

GIRL #1: Hey you in the white jeans! What’s your name?

DO: Who me?

GIRL #1: Yes, you!

DO: Oh, my name is Do. Do Nino. What is yours?

[The girl slowly walks up to Do in a very **** manner until she is within close proximity of Do. She pressed her body against Do with her lips less than an inch from his. She was staring deep into his eyes as in a **** whisper she recited her name]

GIRL #1: Mon nom est Alice. Alice French et la jeune fille derrière moi est mon ami Anna Sharp.

[Anna waved as Do smiled back at her in return. Do felt the warmth of Alice’s breath hit his lips.]

DO: Those are some **** names for women as attractive as yourself.

ALICE: That’s what they tell us.

[Alice had ***** blond shoulder length hair with blond highlights. She had gray eyes with a slender body and sleek hips standing at about five foot nine. Anna had jet black hair with electric red highlights. She had more of an fitness build as beneath her top she had a beautiful six pack as well as some considerably muscular legs. The detail of the muscles showed in her arms. Anna also wore electric red eye shadow complete with lipstick of the same color. Alice leaned in and abruptly began passionately French kissing Do. She then attempted to grab Do’s cell phone out of his hand while doing so. Do caught her trying to steal his phone and pushed her off of him accidentally brushing his hands across her ******* in the process.]

ALICE: Don’t be shy. Go ahead touch them. Feel them. Let them blow your mind.

[Alice whispered sexily in Do’s ear as she proceeded to start trailing her lips down his neck in a series small, light kisses as Alice attempts to grab his phone once more. Do’s breathing rate begins to grow heavier. Do gently grasps Alice on both sides of her upper body.]

DO: What are you trying to do?

ALICE: Oh, nothing. I’m just feeling a little ***** still after my steamy little session with Anna.

ANNA: And may I say she is definitely an acquired taste. Active ***** goers would know what I am talking about.

[Do, Spore, Gum, Sweat, Alice and Anna burst out laughing.]

ANNA: Anyway there is this new club opening up on January 31 called Hyper.***. All of you are invited.

ALICE: Also since you will be with me and Anna you will receive free entrance admission, free vip admission and free drinks all night. We know the club owners.

ANNA: Remember this offer is exclusively for you only and can be revoked at any time. We don’t want you going around blabbing to everybody about it because we will take away your privileges just like that.

[Alice and Anna both snap their fingers as a gesture to justify their statements.]

ALICE: Be there

ANNA: Or be square

[Alice and Anna slowly walk away. Do and his friends take a brief look at his business card.]

GUM: This club sounds very interesting. I can’t wait until opening night. What’s today’s date?

SPORE: January 17

GUM: Ok so two weeks then. I’m so totally pumped for this. How about you guys?

SWEAT: ****, this club sounds like it’s going to be bad ***.

DO: Hell yeah, bro. I’m looking to get laid that night.

SPORE: Boys. You guys are so typical.

SWEAT: To say men are typical is to say nature is questionable.

SPORE: Pretty much.

GUM: You’re so weird Spore.

SPORE: Weird but classic. Controversial yet fantastic.

SWEAT: You can stop now, Spore.

[Spore flips Sweat off. Sweat laughs in response while returning the gesture.]

DO: Hey look guys!

[Do spots another cell phone laying in the same spot that Alice and Anna were having ***. Do walks over to pick up the phone and turns on the back light sliding the screen to unlock it. He finds a video on the screen and decides to press play. The video showed two guys fighting. One had short, wavy, red hair, a white t-shirt and leather jacket with leather boots. The other guy had short, curly, black hair, a white shirt and some white jeans. Spore, Gum and Sweat gather around Do to view the video.]

SPORE: ******* Do! I think that’s you and WiFi.

GUM: Who’s phone is that?

DO: It’s Alice’s…

[Do feels a sudden tap on his right shoulder. He looks over his shoulder and turns around to discover that Dr. Nightmare was standing right behind him.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Come with me.
Tekan Dec 2019
bla, bla, blas
on repeat in my mind.
Not a word I can find ,
completly tongue tide,
blabbing  
bubbles
burst
into
bla, bla, blas
on repeat in my mind.
Not a word I can find ,
completly tongue tide,
blabbing  
bubbles
burst
into
bla, bla, blas
on repeat in my mind.
Not a word I can find ,
completly tongue tide,
blabbing  
bubbles
burst
into
bla, bla, blas
on repeat in my mind
Olivia Jane Dec 2013
I'm tired of screaming
And not being heard
I'm tired on blabbing
On and on
It's absurd!
Just wake me up
From my forever sleep
And restrain from my master's keep
The dark forbidden tomb
That is my cascading mind,
Is trapped forever,
Frozen in perpetual time.
Striving for perfection
You get nothing but "perplextion"
Confusion
"Bemusion"
Mystification
It's my only relation.
As I wander in dead darkness
I feel the heat creep up behind me.
I feel the flame lick my neck
I feel the cold linger
No longer a speck
A speck of hope
A speck of fear
A speck of soul I cling to dear!
My love is my torch
My love is my lamp
Even when God's tears drip and fall
Trying to make my spirits damp.
But I tread on
Through that doomed sepulcher.
I tread on...
No one can help her.
They say God has a plan
One everyone must follow
Right up to the very man...
A plan called fate
A plan I hate
A plan that dooms us all in state,
The state of fear
We wallow in,
The state we hear of indifference...
Every night I hear the screams
In my commemorative dreams
The screams of my peers
That echo in my ears
They match my own
My silent screams
They mask my dream
Their silent screams
From neglect above,
He neglects to save me
For I fear to speak aloud
For I fear to be misunderstood
From what i suffer...
The count down to the ever-stated doom
Is pounding in my head
A heartbeat that is hushed
Am I really so dead?
Wish me luck as I travel to space
The clock goes tick
I have one wish
I wish for freedom
I wish for tears
I wish for more people with ears
Ears that will listen to the cries
Of everyone
Everyone that dies
But everyone must die
So now it's my turn
Wish me luck
Send me to space
Please! get me away from this place
I want to be free
So please
Let me be
Count down
say five
Don't drown
say four
Not from my tears
say three
Not for many years
say two
Just please Lord forgive me,
say one...
For I have sinned.
Peace
Matt Apr 2017
Blah blah blah
Blah blah blah blah

Goals
Area managers
Deadlines

Blah blah blah
This is her life

Lady next to me
Blah black blabbing

Andre's team
Blah blah blah

Gabby
Has been in the role
For 6 and 7 months

Blah blah blah
Blah blah blah
Matt Sep 2015
Much Ado About Nothing

People are blabbing and blabbing
About life

And it's just much ado about nothing

This time
Then that time

Then the seasons change

It's a big computer
The earth

And there is no ego

And on this planet
There are people
Who have lived into
Their sixties

And they scream
At people
On the television
Lol
Really lame

The Tao Is Like Water
It nourishes all things and does not strive
Dark n Beautiful Mar 2017
I wow not to leave this earth a lonely *****,
Taunted by past lovers who label me as a witch?
Here I am today, keeping my eyes on the price,
I wow never again to be fed by more optimistic lies

From the Caribbean to the Central American shore
Every woman need to be love and to be adored
And not be willfully be subjected
to the life of a married man's *****

I have found solace in my poetry,
Therefore, I cannot commit adultery?

Living with shame, guilt and
asking God to forgive a sinner
Here I am today keeping my eyes on the price,
I just became an instant lucky winner:

Because of that little girl from across the Caribbean Sea
Who travels led her to the Central American shore
Once she said no more, she meant no more

A woman like me is often misunderstood.
Because of the path I have taken through the woods
I have listened numerous times to the blabbing brook
Who comments were rude, about the rich folks

But instead I observe from my homeless tent, the high achievers
I took it all in stride, while the mosquitoes chew on my legs
Women like me aren’t afraid to dream,
Neither are we bashful to wear
the wide rim hat at Easter time
Because all eyes would be on the winners (us)
If looks could ****
You'd be gone
Locked and stuffed
Away from me

If looks could ****
You'd be a pastel shade
Of white . Gone
Like my sanity

If looks could ****
You'd be in agony
Like me

If looks could ****
You heart would
Hurt like mine does

If looks could ****
Nobody would ever find you
Except me maybe

If looks could ****
You'd be sporting
A gunshot wound
Between the eyes

If looks could ****
You'd be praying or
Blabbing jibberish

If looks could ****
You be wearing new bracelets
Of red ink

If looks could ****
You'd have a new rope
Necklace because your so
Glam

If looks could ****
I'd die on the spot and
My heart would give out
From that look you gave
Me
aviisevil Feb 2014
Waiting , endless nights carved on walls
Head phones blaring , a moment to forget it all
Cancelling out noise the world makes
He just wants to be alone and cold
Never listening to what they're saying
He never does what he's told

Their words never make sense
How can he smile when he's too afraid of  what lies beyond
His eyes always searching for solitude
At the end of the street where he thinks he belongs
He never opens his mouth if it's not in a song
In words , where he carves his heart of stone
Where he's not afraid to show his every bone

And You want to talk about butterflies
But he ate them when he was eight
You want to see shine in his eyes
But all he has for you is just pain
Everyone has a different story
Maybe you never grew up in hate
You don't know what those eyes see
Every moment in their mindless wait
For someone to come and smoke away this haze

He pours his heart out for you
And  all you do is laugh at how hurt he is
Just 'cause you don't understand
Doesn't gives you a right to scream how shallow he is
Maybe he is , ever wondered what made him this way ?
Maybe everyone else can see the 'colours'
But what if all he can see is grey ?

I know it's too hard to digest
But depression isn't something you can feel if you never had one
I'm not talking about the 'emo phase'
But the real one ,
Have you ever even come across someone ,
With no life in his eyes and no colours on his heart
I bet you've never seen someone just tearing himself apart
'cause he's too lost in this disease
I know it hard for you to believe
But pain is the only thing that brings them alive
The only healing balm in their twisted little life

Tell me how will you feel when you all you can think about is hurting yourself
You won't even last a minute in the dark places where these 'kids' dwell
They've seen enough of hate and their share of those 'stares'
So when you come across that 'someone' real or not
At least show a little care
For you may never know how your words can affect these little souls
All it takes is a moment of love to bring  them back on the road


Longer the story is , more is their desire for an embrace
So just show them kindness and don't bring forth your ugly face
The one you think makes you look better than you are
No , your mindless blabbing about something you know nothing about
Won't make you look smart
For all it will do is make that blade more sharp
And it will have your name on it as someone rips themselves apart


Kids will always look for attention , maybe it's their curse
Maybe some of them are just plain stupid , to use these words
Maybe  they don't realise that their 'story' is someone's else life
I condemn you too , for you can never find love in lies
You talk about razors but I can see you know nothing about them
All you have ever scarred yourself is just with a tiny little pen
And 'cause of you , they pounce on everyone with a blade
Anyone who says he likes playing with a gun
Maybe you'll smile to yourself when that gun finally goes off
Sometimes death is too easy and you know what ,
Sometimes it Doesn't even knocks


I've seen too much but I've heard too little
Every fool claims to be wise , claims too see every word as a lie
But again I guess you've never see true misery ,
Every word still misses your eyes
You've never come across real nothingness
And the question 'do you even want to be alive'
For these 'kids' may yet have a chance at a wonderful life
You're job is not to degrade them but to open their eyes

I've said too much but I know you'll hear what you want to
These things are all 'fake' that's what you want to say
Now , don't you ?
You've never seen out of that window at the setting sun
guess you don't like the view
Maybe if you could you can see there's an army of creatures
Coming right at you.


Can you spot the 'kid with a razor'
Braden Campbell Feb 2010
How do you think it feels,
To have no friends in school?
It’s a feeling that to very few appeals,
Yet here I am, caught because I’m not “cool”.

The others, oh they laugh, at their tables with their friends,
While I move from seat to seat,
Listening to the laughter that never ends,
Being ignored as I sit and eat.

It is not because I am all too shy,
Or have no wish to talk.
Quite honestly, I don’t know why,
They all ignore me as we walk.

I know it’s not because I’m mean,
As I’ve had many friends before.
Maybe it’s that I’m not interested in their scene,
Or maybe it’s just my eyes are far too interested in the floor.

On the rare winter day,
I’m sitting at lunch with my class,
My eyes from my book occasionally will stray,
But only long enough to roll my eyes at some boy’s comment on passing gas.

Then the other days that I do sit,
With the grade above us,
I notice that even there I don’t fit,
Surrounded by talk of the boys on the bus.

Sometimes when I sit with them,
I try to get a word in.
But because of their constant blabbing, to silence I’m condemned,
Tapping my fingers on my shin.

As the school year goes on and on,
I try less and less to talk.
Until the year is almost gone,
And the one last attempt I make makes them gawk.

I stand by the microwave, cold pizza on my plate laying flat,
When one boy comes up and asks,
“What is that?”
I stare at him for a moment as others go on with their tasks.

Finally I respond sarcastically,
“It’s meatloaf. No, it’s pizza. Haven’t you seen it before?”
Though I think I see a tiny smile, he looks at me as if I’d done something drastically,
And just stares at me oddly while opening the microwave door.

I smile a little, thinking of how,
At my old school those words would be normal for me.
But I cannot say things like that now,
As I am not in words or deeds free.

I cannot joke without a funny look,
Or complain about math without a stare.
Because now I am expected to only read my book,
And my smile is supposedly rare.

As he leaves to go back to his table,
Without another word to me,
I think of how I’m now not able,
Truly to be free.

And then I decide from this day forward,
I will just stop trying,
To show I’m not just some nerd,
Who is perpetually sighing.

In the school I shall live in a world of quiet,
Never really showing them my true self.
While my classmates have a riot,
I will be as silent as a doll on a shelf.
John Beetle Sep 2013
love-made hooligans. Partied with drug influence parted minds.
I saw Nietzsche, drawn, blabbing, crying. Sage into madness.
Paintings done in Rome, JFK, blood bombs flee over ****** U.S.S.R.
Gone into discerning schools, racist pigs, beatings for the prime minister.
I waited in vain, woke up in Vain. Died on Golden Buddhas,
Caucasians shaving their heads.
2 am hanged from pleasure, hallucinated dogs in hallways, screamed the truth in barks of airwaves.
What will come for me after death?
Matt Feb 2017
Blah blah blah
Dollars and deadlines

I here them blabbing
About it at Starbucks

Some professors here

Supply chain management
Blah blah blah

CPA
Accounting

His first stand out

He sits in the front row
"Here is someone that wants to learn"

Blah blah blah

No plans here
To work
Or get any more degrees

Just walk around in gardens
Not motivated at all

Lol

The banks....
Blah blah
stay and go

We do a pretty good job of....
Blah blah
It's a good place to work, etc

This is their first or second real job...

Blah blah

Not a lot of new products
On the credit side

Blah blah
Scott Hamsun Mar 2017
Dear Pastor,
I was wandering the church yesterday, and there was a lady crying in your office. Do you know anything about that?  Anyway I'm just writing to say: I know you came from that little mud hut in Uganda or something, and I can tell that this is your chance to start anew, but its getting a little crazy here. I heard that like, Four babies overdosed on acetaminophen under your watch. I don't know how true that is, but I believe it. And Whats that rumor that you are starting a zoo all about? Sounds pretty genuine. And the Christmas tree is hanging from the ceiling, because the toothless **** head bit you? Not very forgiving of you. All that going on and you're building a castle? Eh, whatever, you ain't special. Thomas More wrote Utopia before you started blabbing about it.

Sincerely,

Un-Baptised degenerate.
bartleby Jan 2015
So tired of everyone
   blabbing about everything
So tired of myself
   blabbing about everyone
Give me a break
Give me a rest
Take everything away
   or better yet --take me away
--From all of the things that hurt
--From everything, from everyone
So tired of being tired,
So tired of trying, so tired of failing
So tired of wondering, so tired of wandering
So tired
John Beetle Aug 2013
Hemingway’s shotgun blasted head haunting my dreams

with Nietzsche in the corner blabbing
HIS EYES WIDE OPEN

I could write probably a hundred poems a week about my dreams.

especially when I have nothing to write about

some stupid poem comes along and I write it down

but of course when I think of a good poem

I have nothing to write with

Poetry is too easy and sad to live with

Poetry is nothing

You are nothing

I am nothing

That’s just how the world works.
poetry  hemingway
KT Jan 2016
Here, here, here I am,
A blabbing fool that blabs
Withing the limits of his will
Here, in the mirror I am,
A dusty face looking at glass
Looking at thoughts, gathered always around
In a cloudy mess
Never, never, no
It shall never be
All those stories stacked up there
I shall never live to see
Strings, strings, all around me,
Reality's quite dull
It isn't very funny
It saddens me a lot
Being grounded for life
With thoughts above the sky.
A pea born and dead in blackness
It can only tell what it feels
And it ***** its meat around
So other meats can hear.
Never, never, no
Never shall I know
What it feels like being something more.
No, never, no
Never shall I know
A story other than my petty own.
No, no.. Never, oh
I'll never leave this current form
It is what it is
And it can never be something else
No, no..
Another passing thought
Never to be caught
There it flies on,
While I'm cemented in the ground
There, there..
Now born, now dead,
There's the thought and then it's gone
All along.. Never to be..
For as long as it will
Be given time to fly
Under its own will
There, there..
It will search for you, doe
Always.
Kewayne Wadley Jan 2017
There was something about her eyes.
Something comforting yet.
No matter how beautiful her lips could vocalize.
Nothing could compare to wandering the pupils of her eyes.
Those dark spheres that held so much in.
They'd expand then shrink
Almost as if they took a breath.
I don't know if it was anxiety,
The attempt of labeling this urge of wanting to ask so badly why they hung the way they did.
Knowing all of me but refusing to speak.
Those soft spoken eyes that looked like they could speak for hours.
I felt a tingling in my chest.
An explosion of sorts.
Scattering in every direction.
Something in me just wanted to blurt out what is it already.
Feeling this urge travel up my throat.
The brink of knowing you shouldn't but not wanting to listen to that inner voice that could jeopardize her comfort.
Wanting to know more about her,
Her lips compelled more to this connection.
The continuing of infatuation.
I slid my back against the side of her nose.
Easing my shoulder against the corner of her right eye.
I couldn't explain this comfort.
Allowing myself to be at ease with someone I barley knew.
But could totally relate.
Afraid to speak in fear of being totally misunderstood.
Things that might have taken place so far from where she stood, being in two places at one time.
I sought to understand.
Listening to a calm hush between us two.
Listening deeply for any indication, wondering if the feeling was mutual.
The conversation I longed to have with our backs now against the wall.
She'd politely stare.
Letting the sun polish her eyes a different shade.
Then out of the blue.
She turned to me and thanked me for understanding.
Knowing that not everything required an answer, not even words for that matter.
Continuing to sit beside her and share the comfort of ultimate silence.
Deep down I still wanted to blurt what was it about her eyes.
Those warm and inviting eyes.
Before I knew it I just started blabbing.
An instantaneous combustion of conversation happening out of nowhere.
My voice becoming hers. Revealing my curiosity.
How I've wandered around her eyes the moments I've sat next to her.
And before she knew it, they started talking.
Guiding me further into them
Matt Mar 2017
What a great system
Everything is already in place

No need to work
Let others
Be harvested by the system

I will go where I please
Do as I please

And everything is mine
The house
The cars

I'm feeling fine

Why would I want
To work 50 hours a week?
And become a slave

He was always
"Working hard"
But he's just blabbing on a phone

Yep
Don't care for the guy
Don't care
When he dies

Don't care
What others think
Don't care what they do

Yep, sure enough
I erased you

It's easy to push people away
And it makes me happy
On this day
Matt Jan 2015
Gosh
I am such a great loving person
Yet here I am again
Alone at my computer

I have my podcasts at least
I was listening to this one podcast about the end
Of the Roman Empire

I heard the talking heads
Blabbing today on Fox
About how the American dream is still possible
Blah Blah
Who really believes that?


Trillions of dollars in debt
We are at the end of empire
Destani McKee Feb 2015
Listen, just once
Shut your mouth and open your eyes
See how I see, feel how I feel
Maybe then you'll understand
How hurt I am, how lost
How I'm flailing in the darkness
But you don't
You shush me, amd keep on blabbing
Not realizing you're silencing me to the core
Listen, just once
You might be surprised what you hear
It's like I don't even have a voice anymore. In anything.
Matt Dec 2015
The talking heads
Are bla-bla-blabbing
On the television

About the politics again

B-oooring

Bla bla

bla bla bla

I hope we will get a leader
Who will see the need
To cut government spending
Republican or Democrat
It doesn't matter

We are so deeply in debt
N Oct 2016
sorry for spilling your already cold coffee on the floor;
i just had too much caffeine that's why
my hands are shaky and my chest is banging.
and sorry for staring; i didn't mean to.
i was just trying to figure out how to survive
the next week with this little amount of money.
sorry for taking too long to answer;
i have a mind like an unmade bed.
also very sorry for not helping you carry
your stack of hardbound books, girl.
my cat fell asleep beside me last night  and
i didn't want to wake her up so i was stuck
in the same position for a good four hours.
sorry i'm blabbing.
what were you talking about so loudly again?
oh yes, the eternal traffic.
you'd rather waste your time being fixated
on the talking orange on tv spitting garbage
about non-whites, wouldn't you?
sorry was that mean?
oh, but did you hear somebody say
girls should take it easy on the make-up for a bit?
you know, because of the killer clowns and ****.
funny, right?

i want to bang my head against the wall already

what?
no, no, i'm seriously just kidding.

ah yes, finally.
the bell.
see you tomorrow.
---
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nydxbGhgv8
---
Matt Jan 2016
I enjoy the movies
In them people spend time
With each other

It's not like my life
My life
Is spent mostly alone

I don't think
They would hire me
For full time
Anyhow

I'm too "out there"

You know
It's going to be terrible
Terrible, terrible

Drones
Foreign troops
Food shortages

And crying
Won't do you
Any good

Why couldn't I have
Been "normal"
Whatever that is

I refuse to see my doctor
For my yearly physical

Doctor is for sick people

I "work" part time
Or whatever it's called

Money is the root
Of all evil

Stay far away
Far far away
From everyone

Better that way

Not like I ever got
To go out to a bar
And meet a pretty woman

My life isn't
A fu** movie

What am I
Who am I
What is this earth?

I find it strange that
I occupy one time
And one place

Why this house?
I don't know

I can only live my life
Not the lives of others

Maybe it is
Just a big matrix

All predetermined

One day you'll see
How mean people
Can be

No water or food
Has put them
In a bad mood

I hope they keep the gym open
In an emergency
I like it there

Same Same Same
It's really all the same

I don't think I will park
In the underground lot tomorrow
Too risky

Don''t want my car trapped in there
In case of an emergency

Pills. Pills, and more pills
These people I live with
Are pathetic

If they had a legitimate
Reason to take them
I would understand

But they just take them
Because they want to
Be medicated I guess?

I wonder when everything will
Go wrong
Things always go wrong
In history

Your freedom, prosperity
Three meals a day
Etc, etc
Is no guarantee

I'll take my chances
In the mountains
I suppose

If I had any money
I would buy a shovel
And more emergency food

Multiple locations to stay for
A few days
With supplies there

The drones
Maybe they will be coming
And the occupying forces

Let me tell you they will
Kick you right out
Try to make you leave your own home

I won't leave
I'll stay here
And there are those
Monastery grounds

What's really the point
Of human existence

Maybe I'll spend
All of it alone
Haha
Wouldn't that be funny
I halfway expect to

How does the song go
"Nice guys finish last"
Or something like that?  

Well the last shall be first
And the first shall be last

Only a few days
Before all the food
In the fridge goes bad

Stay out of those
Lowlands
Lowlands are badlands

Just saw an Arabian man
Run across the street with a weapon
In downtown San Diego
On the news

I won't be surprised
If there is a terrorist attack
In America

If not a terrorist attack
Than an EMP attack
Or a nuclear bomb

And you think your bank account
Is secure
That you have access to that money there
You could only get probably one tenth of it
One tenth of it is what
The bank actually has

Save that floss
Hold on to every last piece
Of floss

Dentists will be shut down

Who is this guy
Just walked in

That's the lousy thing
About living here
Always some person
That you don't know

"Just dropping in"

Hope he leaves soon
Whoever he is

These people are so clueless
As to the dangerous times
They live in

They're good people
And I care about them
But they are obnoxious
Obnoxious to live with

What if all of life
Was just forgettable?
Well there were certain moments
At least

I had some friends
And I try to do what's right
And be a kind person

I spent some time
WIth fellow park dwellers

Listen to them blabbing out there
Blah blah blah blah
Blah blah blah blah
Get out of here guy

Whoever you are
I wish you well
But I wasn't informed about you
Just stopping by

The world is not
A trustworthy place

People think
Their money will
Save them

Sorry
Think again

It will be like the old days
When what you can
Put your hands on
Is what you own

If I can just store up enough
Canned foods
To make it to
The holy city
The one that has been prepared

The one that was spoken of
In her prophetic dream

Why is life
So monotonous
And boring?

Am I Neo?
That's why the therapist
Played her little game

I was getting on
To the big sceheme
Hehehe

They don't like
Me knowing

I told her there was something missing
She said oh, "You shouldn't feel like that"
Heheheh
Because she wanted me to be
Like one of the automatons
Thought she could just
Plug me into the machine

I saw on the porch
Watched her pull up
In her car one day
She prayed to her "higher power"
Phony liar

No Christian at all
Wouldn't even say the name
Of Jesus

I want to believe her
But I don't think
She would ever sell
Her possessions
Or give up
Her stylish life

To follow Jesus

She was a great person though
Kind to me
Fairly kind

I don't know
Any women now

I'm a full time
Part time worker

Relationships
Are for the movies
That's why I'm typing
On this machine

Hoping someone will read
And like
This random
Stream of consciousness poem
Matt May 2016
I don't care
Too much
About money

I'm poor
And I think it's funny
How these people

Keep
Blah blah blabbing
About the money
Matt Sep 2015
I come from middle class America
Where they worship worthless paper dollars
Where they never stop blabbing about the money

Once I get full time
I'll hoard my precious money
I'll save and save

No plans for a family
Every **** dollar
Mine Mine Mine

My Money!
I know it is a bit intense, but it comes from always being poor my whole life.

— The End —