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Homunculus Aug 4
Observing the gait
of the irksome stranger
the intrigued spectator
commented thus:

  your manner of walking
  is a monument
  to idiosyncrasy"

At this observation,
the stranger responded thus:

"You are mistaken,
  for I do not walk.
  The ground moves beneath me,
  and my steps rotate the Earth.
  The world shall lament
  the day of my death,
  for as I depart:
  so shall the passage of seasons.
  Each hemisphere will abide
  in the perpetuity  
  of ever enduring climes:

  Winter for North
  Summer for South
  Autumn for West
  Spring for East"

"And what of the center?"
Inquired the spectator.

"****** if I know,
we're just characters
in a poem, anyway"
Replied the stranger.

"If you pay close attention,
you will notice that our bodies
are composed not of parts,
but of letters and punctuation marks."

"So what you mean to suggest,"
  observed the spectator
  is that we are merely ideas?"

Replied the stranger
"Poorly conceived ones, at that."
Homunculus Jul 28
Twisted tales come surging
From a mind writhing and purging
In an oft fomented urging
For expressions, pure and raw
That fight repressions, lure and claw
Their way up to the surface
To effect a sense of purpose
But it's really all just worthless. . .
That's, unless you think it's not!
But if you don't: Your brain might rot!
Your skin might bubble, blood might clot
Leaving you heaving bile and snot
Or maybe phlegm and sputum
So your mental stores, you loot 'em
Load these rhymes up and you shoot 'em
Into repressed regression's mains
Into depressed suppression's veins
Until they sing a glad refrain
Of being decoagulated
Platelets become agitated
Now the blood is circulated
And the brain that hibernated
Has awakened from its slumber
Now it ponderously lumbers
With intentions unencumbered
Gotta do it by the numbers
So, them synapses start firin'
Them cortices start wirin'
And belly full of fire sings
Of jelly beans and tire swings
Of silly schemes and flyer wings
On foul mouthed little parrot,
Owners ***** laundry, airs it
Polly want a *******?
Just a snack sir?
But old Polly sez:
"**** me harder, Álvarez!"
Look aghast, her husband Ted:
"Oh hell no *****, 'cause that's the bed
that both we AND our children sleep in!
you've got Latin Lovers creepin'?"

She vacates the bedroom weepin'
Well . . . that took a drastic turn
To dwellings where disasters churn
So silly, will we ever learn
Or for mere want of learning, yearn?

(Tom, to himself: Go eat food. . . .)
(Tom, back to himself: Good idea!)

I think he left, but I'm still near
As tattered, scattered writing, dear!
So, read me well and read me clear,
And bring some friends to visit here!
(Paraphrase of System of a Down song from 2001 tour) I'm on drugs! I'm on drugs! Iiiiiiii am on DRUGS!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm on drugs! I'm on drugs! Iiiiiiii am on DRUGS!!!!!!!!!!!! Doooooooooo yoouuuuuuuu like DRUGS? Iiiiiiiiiiiii ammmmm DRUGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" But so are you, really. You drank coffee today, didn't you? AHA! Caught you right in the act! Case closed. . . .
Homunculus Jun 11
[There doesn't appear to be anything here]
Homunculus Jun 8
We sow the seeds of Empire,
We water them with blood
We **** the soil
We burn the oil,
We watch the dollars flood, into
the coffers of the
corporate interests
sittin' pretty
at the top, all
with their fingers
on the buttons,
eager for the
bombs to drop

We split the money, 80/20      
smaller number always first,
while the larger toils away
awaiting to be reimbursed...

Oh yes, that too familiar story
simply striving to survive
as we await the day of glory
our Messiah shall arrive...

Well, ain't that a bunch a jive?
a momentary nose dive
where monetary flows drive
ev'ry year that blows by
ears deaf to woe's cries
desensitized to those ties

the ones that finely bind us, and
the veils that find and blind us
always seeking to remind us
we're not plus, but only minus

Gas lighted?
*** ignited!
Make ya jump
right out yr seat!  
but now yr fallin'
and yr crawlin'
cause there's
shackles on yr feet!

Ya feel the heat, and it's
replete, with squalor
struggle and defeat
as we go trudgin'
gettin' bludgeoned
by the rain and
hail and sleet

That's what the
kids are sayin'
ain't it?
A youthful cry to hide
the tainted picture bein'

No doubt!
So go shout:
"We gotta turn up
while we burn up!"
Nobody gives a ****
and so it seems we
'bout to learn us  
all a special lesson,
class in session
bound to go down
in the books
like bitter pills
go down a throat
or the jetsam from a boat
gets cast right overboard, say...

"Oh, good Lord!"

"Is he still talkin'
squawkin', gawkin'
walkin' stalkin'
chicken bawkin'?"

"Think he might be in too deep
don't wanna hear another peep,
so someone bash him in his head
until you put his *** to sleep."
Homunculus Mar 3
by dint of lucky birth
by way of early learning,
the boy's body grows,
but his mind does not, and
with all things merely
he himself is
to taking
all desired things
a second thought

in action, manner, and style
his brash displays of excess
appear to him
congenial acts of
tempered moderation

his slavish hedonism,
blinds him to the
folly of his ways,
like a child with an
insatiable sweet tooth
and the keys to a candy shop

he peruses the town
in ritualistic fashion
night after night,
sowing seeds of  
licentious desire
which bloom
into Devil's Trumpets
of debauched

one drink
then another
one line
then another
one pill
then another
one conquest
then another

attained in
rapid succession
pursued with
reckless abandon

in a different bed
each afternoon
sun beams
piercing the blinds
stinging his weary eyes

his temples throbbing
his vision spinning
his stomach churning
his desire remaining
the void within him imploring:

but soon

he discovers his
well of fortune
has finally run dry
the repressed knowledge
of this inevitability
descends upon him
like a Biblical plague

his cards decline
his key refuses to
open its door and
the doors of his conquests
slam in his face

and so

the destitute rake
stumbles pitifully
without aim

with body aching
with knees weakened
with ears ringing
with hands trembling
with vision blurred
with fear and doubt
mocking his every step

the concrete corridors
once so exuberant
now appear to him as
moribund and desolate
graveyards for the senses

the neon banshees
which once broadcast their
sultry siren songs
like choirs of cherubs
heavenly and divine
now sound to him
like the tortured screams
of the ******
rising up
to haunt his dreams

the emptiness remains
echoing his every
tortured thought:

"who am I?"
"what have I become?"
"why am I here?"
"what was it all for?"

awash in the tumult
of the dark night of the soul,
the handsome stranger's limbs
give out from beneath him, and
his mind collapses into deep
and dreamless sleep
countenance mimics
the final embrace
of death

For him,
they are one in the same,
and of deaths,
this will be the first
of many
for he has
but yet begun
to learn.
What fate will await him
when he next awakens?
Homunculus Feb 7
As with everything else in American life, the national government is just another commodity packaged for mass consumption. We're all being spoon fed a spectacular narrative which by its very nature is designed to evoke the passions.

Every day, someone gets on TV and says or does something which provokes outrage, drawing the viewer in like the iridescent lure of an angler fish, and keeping them hooked just long enough for the hypnotic messages of the corporate sponsors to burrow their way into the collective consciousness between "newscasts."

It is precisely for this reason that these frivolous displays SELL like hotcakes. There's no government going on here. There hasn't been for who knows how long? All that is left is BUSINESS. Raw and unfettered. The United States of America is now nothing more than a 'reality' show, and boy, I tells ya, the revenue stream is OH, SO LUCRATIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Homunculus Feb 2
There's a secret saboteur,
         hidden within everyone
Fashioning his cloak and dagger
         for a twisted bit of fun

The use of his first artifact is
         to eclipse the Inner Sun
The purpose of the second is for
         tearing holes so light may run

Through an ever looming darkness
         which obscures the thought of hope
Extending brittle olive branches
         or frayed lengths of climbing rope, so

That his ploys will surely tempt you
         that you'll try, and that you'll fail
Til his sadistic plotting leaves you
         feeling withered, weak, and frail

So joyously, he toys with thee,
         to watch his sullen victim
And thrives upon the notion that
         thou never wilt evict him

For how such lavish luxury
         couldst ever thou afford
When thou art but a lowly serf
         and He, a mighty Lord?

But if you only knew the truth
         it'd surely set you free!
That deep below the surface
         he is you, and you are he.

So, discipline this phantom
         tell him that you've had enough!
He struggles in control of you
         but you have called his bluff!

So now, you shatter chains that bind you
         now you break the psychic yoke
So now, you seize from him the dagger
         now you rip to shreds the cloak.
This is a poem is loosely based upon the Jungian archetype of the shadow. In analytical psychology, the shadow is the dark side of the psyche, which is typically repressed, and must be faced in order for the psyche to mature into individuation.

In Jung's own words: "The shadow is a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real. This act is the essential condition for any kind of self-knowledge, and it therefore,. as a rule, meets with considerable resistance. Indeed, self-knowledge as a psychotherapeutic measure frequently requires much painstaking work extending over a long period."

In the context of this poem, the shadow plays the role of the saboteur, who undermines the efforts of the ego below the level of consciousness, and ultimately deludes the ego into self deprecation. However, as the ego enters into a period of reflection, it comes to recognize the shadow and its effects on the process of psychic life, ultimately taking the first steps toward confronting the shadow and breaking its negative conditioning.

It is also worth noting that this piece is highly experimental for me, especially in its oscillation between archaic and contemporary usage. I will continue to edit, revise, amend, and re-write it as I see fit. And, after all, I still have quite a bit of Jungian theory to catch up on. However, I think this is a good start.
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