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// I // beatnik interrogation seeking meaning in motorcycle metaphors licking his lips as he professes his two-wheeled infatuation revelation. multi-choice question a) poet b) song & dance man multi-layered answers are too esoteric for the thin pencil men who expect black & white answers to their prods into creative endeavors. departmentalising art by genre to first into disciplined folders or boxes for laymen minds to come to grips with the understanding - two-thousand years have past yet we still debate & contemplate the crucified parables trying to dive into the text & emerge with divine interpretations. {polaroid photo op a fair exchange at this rate} // ii // mister jones dares to ask about corporate agendas water on the prophet's back as he ducks and counters with a crack at ***** banter to packed comic appreciation. rate the covers under Donovon's duvets & of a best lady friend never mind the otherworldly guitar solo transcendence of that poetry. missus jones attempts a stab the Cathy Newman 'so you're saying' jab questioning the implied & falsified disconnect bandwagon before her husband claims that grey haired age needs labels to see sensationalism sells and *** stirrers know this well in their demands for hypotheticals they're fed to the lions {'if you laugh loud enough, a funeral can digress into a circus'}. // iiii // for an artist nostalgia is a chain & fame is a cage wild horses seek open plains one trick ponies laze in the shade mister jones you see work in terms of dollars & cents masking the festering fetish & fantasy of fame which you crave - - yet an accliam which your name will never entertain your games of five-year plans & ambition blueprint maps are more hypotheticals to which your hair greased head is chained. {you complain about the length of my poetry} while asking about my plans to move into tv & film the pity to me is the state of your creativity shallow & shadowed by depravity. mister jones let me explain irony your question & expectation about the reality pf my writing is a twist in your fate 'out there' is a badge I wear in you freedom unshackled the societal suits or rules & the metaphor which you question is dressed like your reflection. /// iv /// mister jones I'm sick of your twisted words and defamation due to your intellectual & creative limitations. juggling definitions & rearranging preconveied perceptions in verbiage gymnastics [IS WHAT I DO] & may touch a soft spot - {I suggest a dictionary or engaging in conversation before vomiting ignorant statements laced with lamented intentions} state has a place in the field place while time of day is of little significance in my way. conscious mitten edits might have relevance because current minds aren't ready for the free flow subconscious writing bled from the universe and dressed in yesterday's relevance I seek to find balance there have never been stars in my eyes instead I switched off the spotlight shining on my face pinning an icon beacon onto my back is a burden which my slight shoulders are unable to carry or sustain.
0
Feb 1
Feb 1, 2026 at 6:27 AM UTC
kiss me, I'm bleeding
// I // beatnik interrogation seeking meaning in motorcycle metaphors licking his lips as he professes his two-wheeled infatuation revelation. multi-choice question a) poet b) song & dance man multi-layered answers are too esoteric for the thin pencil men who expect black & white answers to their prods into creative endeavors. departmentalising art by genre to first into disciplined folders or boxes for laymen minds to come to grips with the understanding - two-thousand years have past yet we still debate & contemplate the crucified parables trying to dive into the text & emerge with divine interpretations. {polaroid photo op a fair exchange at this rate} // ii // mister jones dares to ask about corporate agendas water on the prophet's back as he ducks and counters with a crack at ***** banter to packed comic appreciation. rate the covers under Donovon's duvets & of a best lady friend never mind the otherworldly guitar solo transcendence of that poetry. missus jones attempts a stab the Cathy Newman 'so you're saying' jab questioning the implied & falsified disconnect bandwagon before her husband claims that grey haired age needs labels to see sensationalism sells and *** stirrers know this well in their demands for hypotheticals they're fed to the lions {'if you laugh loud enough, a funeral can digress into a circus'}. // iiii // for an artist nostalgia is a chain & fame is a cage wild horses seek open plains one trick ponies laze in the shade mister jones you see work in terms of dollars & cents masking the festering fetish & fantasy of fame which you crave - - yet an accliam which your name will never entertain your games of five-year plans & ambition blueprint maps are more hypotheticals to which your hair greased head is chained. {you complain about the length of my poetry} while asking about my plans to move into tv & film the pity to me is the state of your creativity shallow & shadowed by depravity. mister jones let me explain irony your question & expectation about the reality pf my writing is a twist in your fate 'out there' is a badge I wear in you freedom unshackled the societal suits or rules & the metaphor which you question is dressed like your reflection. /// iv /// mister jones I'm sick of your twisted words and defamation due to your intellectual & creative limitations. juggling definitions & rearranging preconveied perceptions in verbiage gymnastics [IS WHAT I DO] & may touch a soft spot - {I suggest a dictionary or engaging in conversation before vomiting ignorant statements laced with lamented intentions} state has a place in the field place while time of day is of little significance in my way. conscious mitten edits might have relevance because current minds aren't ready for the free flow subconscious writing bled from the universe and dressed in yesterday's relevance I seek to find balance there have never been stars in my eyes instead I switched off the spotlight shining on my face pinning an icon beacon onto my back is a burden which my slight shoulders are unable to carry or sustain.
share you onslaught
#selfhelp#helpsell#hellsells#iknowidontknow
Rob_Bruwer
Written by
Rob_Bruwer
Cape Town
Feb 1
Feb 1, 2026 at 6:27 AM UTC
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