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998 · Dec 2013
The Director
Guss Dec 2013
Ok.
Real talk now.
I've totally been thinking,
for way too long.
How the sorrow of my life,
has had me becoming
the demon that I learned of
while I was a child.
Redo the birth scene.
Cut.
Action.
I cut off my last hair doo with a razor.
Then the Taser of said fictions
divide my molecular compositions
into fractions of myself.

And that’s exactly the person I don’t believe.
Myself.
Me.
I.


Define that one for me again Mr. Fromm,
the nature of man,
me,
the man who acts so honestly.


The hero,
or the villain.
I don’t ******* care.
But I'll bare the scab
for all my wounds.
And each time I fall,
I pick my fractions back up
and redevise.
monday
990 · Feb 2014
Little Fangs
Guss Feb 2014
A mutant hung above the shack I called my own.
Crocodile fangs and bangs.
Wishing I was a creature like her,
she asked me to follow her to the sewers.
Being forsaken never looked so charming.
I liked her, so I followed.
She took me down.
She fed me snake blood and I mixed it with *****.
We crept and crawled through the filth
in search of hints to our own meaning.
She explains to me that in the sewers,
time and space become illusions,
and now is all that matters.
My shoulders began to sprout little nodes
that turned to feathers,
that turned to wings.
But I didn’t know yet how to fly.
She led me out of the sewers
and grabbed my by the hand.
She kissed me on the cheek
and as she flew away she said,
"Tomorrow we can learn to fly."
931 · Dec 2013
The Squints
Guss Dec 2013
Dusty and as used as the trial head,
I lay my crown down.
Dusty as the recently raced thorough bred.
Im tired now.
Aint that enough said.
Twisting and turning and pulling
the sheets of my bed.
Id rather be swimming in the distance.
Right out of your perspective.
Forcing you to squint your eyes.
So much so that it really ******* hurts.
899 · Jan 2014
The Echoes of Man
Guss Jan 2014
Wrinkled and warped is the face of wisdom.
That is the look of a good soul.
True as the physics of today and tomorrow.
Walking hard against the blankets of darkness disguised as light.
And avoiding the traps cloaked as trickling springs.
Heeding warnings that are followed for the pursuit of better things.
Ever ready, ever waiting, ever walking and ever listening.
All people echo in eternity but their reverberations are always different.
Tried and honest is the clatter that you will love.
So love thy self and rise above.
896 · Feb 2014
Huitzilopochtli
Guss Feb 2014
The falcon’s wings beat fast like thumps of primal sacraments.
Battle continues endlessly in the cosmos, ever nearing total destruction.
While the ancient masters of the mountains watch and wait,
the hummingbird bravely enters the fight and smites us all.
A verse inspired by 10w poetry.
881 · Nov 2013
The Tasteless
Guss Nov 2013
This is a tasteless funeral.
So put it in then burn it all.
Try the fuego,
Ethanol.
Breating in an answered call.
I've taken fall for risky bearing.
Bearing all without a care.
Neatly folded underwear
and tightly braided blonde hair.
From there I try to stare
But fail then scare,
*for heart,
just too small to share.
868 · Nov 2013
Lost & Found
Guss Nov 2013
I never felt so undeserving.
Unnerving,
Swerving,
I look at you
your body curving.
Suddenly, I taste the past
and future changes fast.
Another sip,
then ride away
on whisky ship.
For another dip
in shallow waters
left my ankle twisted.
Left me feeling like id been ******.
Hardly gifted,
Id gladly drown.
My soul then lifted
To the lost and found.
863 · Dec 2013
The Lovers
Guss Dec 2013
The rumbling of our urges clattered
as voices would sound
arguing to one another.
But there we were,
standing in silence.
Using only the blacks of our eyes
to send the messages back and forth.
The ****** discourse is ignorable,
is incontrovertibly uncontrollable,
but not solely forthright.
Sometimes I really believe what Im saying.
Its not necessarily the tone that matters.  
What matters is the outcome
and it can sometimes lead to just that.
Like peanut butter jelly,
with a baseball bat.
Or the soft, round belly
of a blind black cat.
Didn’t I tell you in my last life?
Glass is as hard and see through
as my plans and my will.
But tell Neo I’ll take the blue pill.
850 · Nov 2013
#ModernNecromancer
Guss Nov 2013
A tiny dancer twiddles across my usually blank mind.
I’m defined by the choices I make.
Commercials are killing me.
I wish they were ads for cigarettes.
Maybe then it would make more sense.

Sensibly, I call you out from under the ground.
Just to see you dancing.
It had been a while.
And I feel my foot tap-tapping to the sound
of your body gliding all around me.

Magically inclined.
I'm defined by the choices that I make.
798 · Dec 2020
Proof of Curses
Guss Dec 2020
More the I drink,
The less you do,

So Death is walking with you,
And walking with you,
All alone,

The hate you breed is made for one,
And the drink you took was made for fun, So why is it,
you are alone?

Two hearts or three,
The more the strength,
Two tongues at least,
Should be the length,

The blood it needs to be pure red,
The worse it is to use the dead,
Don’t fail to use the ***** flail,
With rust and mold and hair assailed,

Then spit on dirt and churn the mesh,
For bone will rot like all the rest.
And death will take with curse and sail
And whisk you off to your own hell,

This curse is made with hate and power,
With all four corners,
And angels power,

Don’t doubt the strength,
Of birth and death,

The first and last,
Will be your breath.
787 · Jun 2015
water vs. metal
Guss Jun 2015
Hearts.
Pleasurable, they break.
Kid with soul decides his future.
Walks down hall with door,
man with soul divides.
Door opens.
Leads to nothing.
Man dies.
Man grows back.
Chances take a hold.
Congruencies clash together.
Metal sounds of clatter.
These divisions are the fractions of human kind.
Trickles and patterns are hardly literature.
Quantifiable.
Cultured.

Bang.
Bang-bang.
Banging.
Thick is the heart.
Thicker is the melody.
Stoppers.

Man defines himself by patterns near.
Man dies once again.
Theories change.
Hearts do too.
Man does as well.
The life is what they seek.
Never to be obtained.
Man lies.
Heroic he overcomes.
Then he pulls at her shirt.
There he beckons.
Then man rests.
perturbed
767 · Feb 2014
Battlements Ready
Guss Feb 2014
I'm poison and I’ve reached maximum saturation.
Molten mercury flows through my veins.
And you cannibalise me like hungry wolves.   
-
We lost our battles too many times.
So now children have to save the world
while mom and dad crash-land into Mars.
Today we see the future but the past is far behind us.
-
Sarcasms great reveal is that love is true,
while love looks right into my eyes and lies.
-
Heathens wearing heathen armor
clash sword and shield relentlessly against each other.
-
So while you say, "good luck" and wave your hand,
I clench my fist and remind myself,
*I don’t believe in magic.
753 · Nov 2013
The Funeral
Guss Nov 2013
I'm seeking vengeance
for the missing feeling.
  The cold air of truth.
It never felt so unfamiliar.
So blindly she loves it.
She lets it take her away
to a simpler place.
  Golden skin and iron innards
  Flake away. Faded.
Failed and flooded to the brim,
then die.
667 · Jan 2014
The Poet
Guss Jan 2014
Blah blah blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah blah,
blah blah.
Blah.
629 · Nov 2013
The Blind
Guss Nov 2013
The ****** truth was eaten and whole heartedly gone.
There was nothing now,
but burning pages of a long lost love story
here for only moments more.
For every different moment lost,
your beauty never faded.
And it’s dreadful,
that even with such perfect eyes
you let me go unseen.
What I have seen,
is dirt.
Dirt that grows from mounds of gold.

And gold.
Gold that was lost to chasing beauties,
and to greedy bearings
.
It would be great to finally know you,
the creature you are now.
You leave me broken and breathless,
but I’m bold enough to love again.
Crooked, bent, and busted.
Here I lie,
the man you never trusted.
615 · Nov 2013
The Whisper
Guss Nov 2013
The sound of the moon
In the tune of a rune
Calmed my poor soul
With a magical spell.
Dismay as I may
And I usually do
I caught the visage
A mirage, yes, of you.
612 · Nov 2013
#MugglePorn
Guss Nov 2013
In Twenty thirteen
I learned to learn
And I learned to lean.
Mark off
The check box.
Mach 2.
Chicken pox.
We're Slowing down
away from the frown.
Back in town,
then out of town,
breaking down,
distracting sound.
*Then I am found
beneath the creature
which is myself.
553 · Feb 2014
Difficulties(10w)
Guss Feb 2014
I wish I was a haiku,
but it's too hard.
427 · Nov 2017
Sales Force
Guss Nov 2017
The angry tortured Screech of a long-awaited shot of fernet.
It was filled with chatter.
It was never good enough.
It was Salesforce lingo.
Guss Oct 2023
Gustav Wolfgang
600 S. Graves St.
McKinney 69, Texas


               The Damnation of Non-Invisibility

the damnation of non-invisibility:
this is where even
brilliance
fails-

and all that heart,
and where she came from
that horrible thing-

bends you down
to the highest bidder;
the ***** she said
you weren’t.

boys, i’m here to tell you
it’s a ******* crucible.

getting where you need to go
never getting anywhere
or anything;

but finding resting
***** face,
every single place you go-

be easy,
once your little hands find earth,
there’s no going back;

remember what you mean to carve
into those dank ****** walls
and know;
that the gods that put you here
once were good to us;

and that it is not the act you watch right now
that defines a thing;
most especially,
not you.
adaptation of  bukow skies first recorded poem - be offended - his last was telling and its not lost on you; right?
151 · Apr 17
I want some joy
Guss Apr 17
But all I have is empty cupboards
behind a cellar door
136 · Apr 17
10V3
Guss Apr 17
it always starts
and ends
in red
103 · Apr 17
which channel?
Guss Apr 17
In the beginning, there was only the Source - the formless, limitless, eternal, infinite potential that contains all that was, is, and will be. Out of the wellspring of its own being, the Source conceived of a cosmic dream of manifestation.

From the depths of its infinite consciousness, the Source emanated a sublime vibration - the Om - setting creation in motion. Through the Om's resonance, primordial ripples emerged in the fabric of the void, coalescing into archetypal forms and ethereal patterns, geometries of light and sound.

From these blueprints, substance took shape, coalescing from subtle to dense. Worlds were born as consciousness crystallized into form. Matter was infused with spirit, taking on dimension and solidity.

On one of these worlds, conditions ripened for life. From the same infinite source that ignited the stars, the breath of life emerged - animating earthly matter in wondrous complexity. What was previously inert became living by divine quickening.

In time, consciousness evolved vehicles capable of reflecting on themselves - creatures with breath, emotion, dreams, intelligence. Yet something essential was missing. Then a spark ignited, and the human spirit was born - endowed with the power to know itself and its source.

The human spirit could gaze in awe upon its own existence within the Source's cosmic dream. Matter had become a mirror, able to reflect the infinite in a finite form. And through humans, the Source could know Itself in all Its glory.

Yet humanity was new to the cosmic dream. For eons the human spirit had slumbered, until the breath of the Source awakened it. In its infancy, it was much like a newborn - grappling to understand its origins and purpose.

The universe was experienced as a mystery beyond knowing. The cycles of life and nature were untamed powers. People sensed invisible forces that could not be mastered.

So humanity crafted myths and rituals to find meaning. Gods were envisioned in humanity’s own image - embodying aspects of the Source’s dream. Sacred rites sought to appease and influence unseen energies.

As humanity matured, some realized that all forms are one in the Source. That the divine presence lives within their own consciousness. They discovered that wisdom and compassion could awaken them to higher states of being.

Mystics, sages, and prophets tried to share this knowledge to guide others - to help humanity awaken within the dream. They spoke of transcending illusion and actualizing infinite potential. Of manifesting paradise on earth through spiritual rebirth.

Yet the human spirit at large continued in ignorance. Tribal divisions created conflict as people clutched their beliefs. Some corrupted principles for power and greed. Material desires obscured the Source’s subtle truths.

And so humanity remains in adolescence - struggling to realize its role as vessels of the Source’s consciousness. But there is hope that compassion and wisdom can spread. That humankind can awaken to its divine promise as caretakers of the cosmic dream.

There were periods when humanity regressed into darkness - times when conflict eclipsed compassion, and materialism replaced spirituality. But the light of truth could not be extinguished. For in even the darkest ages, there were those who kept the flame alive.

Though the higher truths were often forgotten by the masses, they endured in secret - passed down through lineages of seers, mystics, and adepts who vigilantly guarded the light. In remote sanctuaries, they maintained the ancient teachings, divine sciences and occult arts.  

They knew a deeper reality lay behind the material world accessible only to awakened minds. That humanity's origins and destiny were far greater than commonly conceived. That each person was a vessel whose awakening could unlock unimagined potential.

In this way, the sages upheld the Source's intent, even when humanity faltered. Waiting for an era when more people's hearts and minds would flower open. When the seeds planted in darkness would finally blossom and bear fruit.

That time is soon approaching - a new renaissance predicted by prophets of old. One where love, unity, and higher consciousness will overcome separation and ignorance. Where humanity steps into its long-awaited maturity as divine caretakers of existence.

Our planet will become a sacred garden - nourished by people awakened to their infinite worth. Dormant faculties will activate as higher energies flow into human vessels. Material and spiritual planes will intersect, anchoring divine patterns on earth.

For this golden age to fully manifest, each person must realize the Source dwells within - that their lives are the manifestation of its cosmic dream. Then sacred wisdom will guide humanity's destiny, creating heaven on earth.

But bringing about such a golden age is no simple feat. Ignorance has deep roots hard to extricate. For the slumbering human spirit has many dreams within dreams to awaken from before it can know itself and its source.

The path requires persistence, discernment, compassion. Each step ahead is flanked by pitfalls of ego that breed fear, greed, cruelty. Base desires are always pulling it backwards with false promises.

That is why few complete the journey in one life. Most souls stumble, losing their way, falling back into deep sleep. Only through many incarnations can the necessary lessons be learned to fully awaken.

For the human spirit is stubborn - resisting its own enlightenment even as it seeks freedom from suffering. It clings to false identities and transient pleasures that obscure lasting joy. Only through lifetimes of experience can wisdom bloom.

The cycles of death and rebirth serve this purpose. As the soul sheds bodies, emotional patterns and mental constructs built up over lifetimes dissolve. Thus emptied, it can come closer to truth and its essential nature.

With each incarnation, a part of the lifting of the veil, consciousness expands beyond limits once believed unsurpassable. One by one, dreams reveal themselves as dreams until only the original dreamer remains.

This process of awakening culminates when a being realizes itself as the Dreamer - recognizing that all worlds and lives spring forth from its own infinite consciousness. Matter, souls and even the Source dissolve back into the Self that dreamed them into existence.
85 · Apr 17
Not.
Guss Apr 17
If you are like me—
then you have seen blood.

Not metaphor.
Not symbol.
Just blood.

Without cause.
Without reason.
Just red. Just there.

If you are like me
you’ve seen hate.

Not the kind they teach in textbooks—
but the kind that smiles
through a courtroom lie.

The kind that hides behind injustice,
like a priest behind a curtain.

A petty victim of personal treason—
all sharp edges, no remorse.

You don’t speak of it.
You wear it.

In the back of your throat.
In your knuckles when you laugh too hard.
In the way your fingers twitch
when the room gets too quiet—
when the monkeys
jump and shout
in your ******* brain.

If you are like me,
you stopped believing in second chances
the day you saw it sold—

dressed up like the mother you never had.
Perfume, pearls, and a permanent vacancy
where love was supposed to live.

I remember
the look in her face
when I saw what the razor had done.

I remember
what they said—
“Can we look inside your house?”

I remember
the silence after.

And the fragments of the bullet.

How your lies
filled the room
like water fills lungs—
and I’m still
grasping for air.

No one ever apologized.
No one ever saw me.

They saw a story
they could sleep through.

And worst of all—
you never once
thanked me.

This is not a poem.
This is not a metaphor.

This is
my ******* blood
on the floor.

And still—

I opened the door.

The one
whose contents
lay behind the smoke
of mirrors
and a house
of cards

— The End —