gabriel-peter-green
American
I don't care for writing biographies for or of myself though with the mood I'm in, I'll try. I don't know who I am but I know things about myself and I'll let you read through them if you want to. It's true to say I love learning and in a similar way, thinking. It's true to say I am more cynical than positive yet I enjoy many things. I have beliefs and opinions and will often confuse them facts and truths. I can be described and am almost always described by others as intelligent, personally-complex-riddled, lazy, unmotivated, kind, caring, and one of those types of people who does not acclimate quickly to other people yet, if given time, eventually will. To others I describe myself as knowing and unknowing, often contradicting, justified, elitist, faulted, depressed, creative, stereotypical, and having, overall, a sense of confidence in areas of self and life that are possibly misplaced.
Despite the right to spite the far away
Of only what I know is nothing as a word
Only what I know is everything as a meaning
******** **** in this early morn
******** love of that metal music
ENOUGH OF THIS (will make you crazy)
Heterosinea contractual echinacea of aviary actual sack attack
ATTACKING SACK INSIDE A RACK O' FLACK
FLACK BOMbardment of horse willed ensnarement
Wiley wicker writhing in illness
Loose found youtube through fool rude nudes
Useful contraptions trap attraction for creative adoration and many more "things"
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Precipice mountain fondled the fond of fondling fountain spouting love-crusssst.
I bob this bobble-headed dead-set-on-deafening those who will or would but cannot and could not stop my pupil-dark-mind-lark sent out and over that previously spoken-of precipice of a mountain so that, and, hereby, I fly continuously into space-spacey places of radiating-planetary-beauty yet you try with futility to reach me so you never will, I am above you.
I win.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
With nary a thought to pose or process
With scary, a way of thinking
I am someone, or the type who, tends to do certain things in a certain way
But what is it worth if it does not read well?
Or to call someone who sounds like yourself and the ensuing contrast of awkwardness
**** n' **** luck or gettin' lucky in any way colloquial terms for coitus or *** in general, I've none which is not to say I've not in the past or won't in the future but right now there is no significant two-way companionship which I really do want for a variety of reasons to be.
To simply, with cliche, be.
No such comfort will exist in my life for longer than a comparably short while, it would seem. Nope, no happiness for me, only discomfort, depression, and stress.
No such great is a thing as a two-person love and experience.
And I am alone, truly.
And I am alone, more truly than my peers or fellow poets or parents or family or any other being sharing a universal genus or scientific similarity.
You know nothing of insanity so stop spouting and spewing this beautiful word and defaming and relegating it to a common "lol" or emoticon or any other thing that is obviously below it.
Standard crusted creation of melting erasure dissolving dissipation and dead-eyed cuffing stuffs stuffing still with tough metal roughs of through-bred thoroughly fed fattened and read something a little like this - DISGUSTING MUSK-SCENTED RUSTING HORMONE RIDDEN DERISION OF A TEENAGE HUMAN ****
Operated in an operation inside of an operation on a mechani-borg.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
Particulate disintegrate berate and inflate the absence of sense or packed, harden, racked, garden.
I see clearly when my eyes arise through the atmosphere's tears' arrangement of derangement of eminent containment in hell-house entertainment.
Luck, **** and **** have in common, many things limited to their convalescence in my head for lack of a better working word.
I can't write right now.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
Thursday crushes my gold
My gold flattens out, at first paper thin
First paper thin, then immediately invisible
Immediately invisible, but after, she has growth
She has growth that itself grows, in an exponential way
In an exponential way into infinite-small
Into the throughout and ethereal pig sty, combinahybrae
The pig sty tells me to charge green with second-degree maturation
Therefore my left eyebrow is heavenly and my right, flash-shoots by earthen core into opposite space.
My eyelids reveal paper and these eyelids, still tight and rubbery, stretch over what some might call my infernal youth.
Technology fraught with rot
Let technology terrorize the terrible illogical ideologically daft and shallow whose facts are fallible and beyond logical rabble. And it does, to me, induce reality rattle.
True rhymes are for ******* who want stitches or who'd rather itch neath' ****** in pain, teeth which retain and spew the words of inane... times two.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
NEEDLE! Through the middle of a razor-edge! Face in face out face sin face spout! I cannot see through the masochism of honesty, corrupt the faucet and leak and drain into a towel of wet PAIN! Holes rid themselves of fantastic-type dust! (And on the cusp of agony's grateful constitution hereby is a sitar scimitar). Unwilling to grow old into throats of bold and I am here today so what does it matter? Cough n' clap n' clasp n' rappin' sapping my soul's voidy tounguester. Have I become throats? Or abomination ropes? Tungsten blow-hole deep neath the depths of water-disgust! Rapture came along with whipping writhing throngs of toothpaste convolution tongs pulling out the wrongs and wrong doings of King Kong's rightful songs. Randomize architecture so that a building can grow from blue dirt into the sky and spread at the top and cover the entire planet of the human-beings where there'll be forever-shade shading shaded, faded, blue. Tuesday is a monkey banana bonanza bizarre bizarre scarring n' scaring little toothpick carrying caring creatures faring their merry way past curds and whey fields. Acclimate to constipate and betroth-berate irritate-type tube tape. Youthful castor plaster made from youngster disaster number: one.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
My thoughts are not
I am my thoughts
So I do not exist
My thoughts are all
I am my thoughts
So I am everything
My thought is an infinite line segment that is always extending into zero
I am the thought
Who am I
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Because I am the test!
I AM THE RESEARCH YOU SO DESIRE!
I am the question, the statistic, and your precious stupidity.
All of you bow to me, unconsciously.
You are that which you so hate
I am that which you so adamantly are pursuing to destroy
You will tear each other apart while I watch
And you crumble neath my fingernail
And you crumble
You crumble
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
Whence the red fox doth heave itself, taking flight via muscular thighs, through gates of fire it will be that blurry human figures shall be waiting beyond in slow motion while the fox jump-runs, multiplying infinitely into a gradient gray and into a branch-pattern (lightning), past them.
The fox is running and is only running and has run and will run, forever, past all.
Past time and space and reality, past you and me and our dreams and nightmares, forever running.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
I've got yelling, dancing, and partying gremlins inside of me next to you
They and you are good friends who flew the same coop in the same town called "Brown"
And you travel
Forever
Among the stars and the same stars' starlit bars
(Lit additionally by cars' glowing (picture-perfect) flowing headlights - growing ever-closer until all you see is the bright-side of the brightest white slighting the night's slightest, however plentiful they may be, "maybe" sins)
While yelling, dancing, and partying inside of me
Next to them
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC