what's the problem with conditional? the binary, if, then, if it obtains at all then agencies that rage in me are illusory potentially, and free will threatened by the counter-factual? it seems more unlikely than the vat i'm floating in.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
worse than knowing that you are a liar,
is knowing that you are lying.
the former, at least, allows for change...
to know what you are is one half of
this great cosmic **** of physical forces
which inexplicably leads to both
the Himalayas and the Kardashians,
after all.
ignoring the paradox of the liar
who states that he is a liar,
let's scale mountains
and cancel our cable.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 1:48 PM UTC
i was born in a bathtub,
and i don't have the
distinct privilege
to claim that i ever really
got out.
my life has remained,
essentially,
warm.
i have floated atop innumerable luxuries and opportunities
which i do not have the
distinct privilege
to say anyone
ever
pulled the stopper on.
i will ***** and moan,
on the wrong day,
about a downward spiral feeling,
but it's utter ********
and i don't have the
distinct privilege
to say that i don't know it.
the tub is full.
it's warm.
not even too hot,
and there are even ******* scented bubbles sometimes.
i don't have the distinct
privilege
to say that i've overcome
much more than
slight fluctuations in temperature.
never let me tell you otherwise.
i will try.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
egos as round as the vanity mirror's bulbs.
the negative correlation between personality,
and the amount of time spent putting on a face.
now, i don't throw this term around, as it is perhaps
one of the ugliest things you can be, but you are a
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
i couldn't see the landscape
i was watching how you saw the landscape
you really saw the landscape
the view was less lovely than your company
the awkwardness was better than the ease
i may have had to hold back, i'm not sure
i won't hold back once you are certain, i'll be freed
your pets whispered to me that your an angel
even the cat, supine, admitted you were ok
the pristine state of your apartment was a fright
the only fear i felt aside from my own meddling
dating isn't something i ever thought i'd need
but i'd play any game to win your attention
though i might lose i hope it wouldn't matter
if you glimpsed something desirable meanwhile
i think i'd fall for you if you would let me
i'm really a gentleman through and through
i don't trust myself, however, to read faces
one game i cannot play is your emotions
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Stop.
This is no poem.
This is an attack on your autonomy.
The verbs chosen with care,
those awful verbs.
Stop.
You are not human.
The electrical activity of your brain,
that's all there is with you.
Much like every brain, you feel--yes,
and you feel quite human.
Stop.
Unhuman inhumanity in the bliss-pool of ignorance.
Why not raise hands to be lifted out?
I warned you that this was no poem.
Yet, still you persist, and read, "you aren't capable of interpreting this because you aren't me."
Not poetry, despite a sneaky rhyme, no it's a piece of me.
Diary with pink ribbons and a list of all the boys at school.
Diary with lock and key within which I hide that which you can't see.
What if we all spoke in rhyme exclusively?
We would be forced to think before we drooled.
And no one could be fooled about just how ugly you are.
Ah, no, but thinking hides more.
Stop!
I might stream consciousness all over your lovely dress!
Then you would be forced to undress under the unbelievable scrutiny of total strangers
who ought not to give a **** but do
because they haven't tried on enough shoes.
Unlike you, who have tried on too many.
As if perspective were a shoe, mass produced, and inevitably falling out of fashion.
Alas, we are stuck with cliche interjections and archaic pronouns--thou know it!
Stop.
I forgot this was a poem.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC
i didn't mean to click write a poem
now stuck
for words have
and things are
stuff is
where i am?
is far from
but i have arrived
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
string words.
sow meaning into letters
with fingertips
trained to lightly tap
the neurotic beat
of a modern schlub's pacing attention span.
it should be worthy of invoking muses
at least be worthy to arrive in your ear
and if it's string you need you'll find some
in the omnipresent
meaning tapped into letters,
meaning,
letters tapped into meaning.
Do discuss the topical,
by reminding people of
it's general falsity.
Paranoia and
insight à la mode,
fit them in too.
Argue with me
if you intend to
alphabetize my
existence itself,
The poet is an
insulting fool.
The poet asks
for others to see
the same words.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
considering the consequences
considering the future
considering the past
considering the cost
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC