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Akemi  Sep 2018
acid reflex
Akemi Sep 2018
lay low
make yourself a nervous fit
imperfect replication

here no one’s happy
staring down narrow paths
burning out the cells
lining their guts

words are worthless.
slow subsumption into academia, narrow tract, staring past the shoulder of every colleague, ten page manuscript of Foucault, perfect distillation of praxis into pure theory, words on a page, exploit the exploiters by using their vouchers at the mexican restaurant down the road, get what you can out of this ****** institution, on non-tenured, precarious part time labour, planning a 30 part lecture series in the weekend because these ******* ******* need their half a million in salaries while all the understaffed lecturers suffer, i ******* hate this place, these ******* managerial ******* ******* **** ******* **** **** ****
Angela Liyanto  Sep 2018
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
I saw the most intelligent minds of my generation in front of me
     roar and speak their dynamo star speeches,
Dragging themselves to the top of academics working like
     supernatural machines through the poverty of night,
     fixing the tattered paper,
studied the cosmos vibrating and vomiting disgorged facts
     their blue and white skirts blinking across the
     school streets, contemplating ancient tragedies,
     publishing endless magnificent papers,
     about Shakespearean tragedies,
     among the scholars of war.
They sank all night into a their bleak brain of brilliance,
     riding trains to dusk of Sydney and chained
     themselves to their work.
But they floated in and sat through without protesting,
     listening to the hydrogen documentaries until
     the synagogue past three.
Memories of and anecdotes of school trail behind conversations of
     impulse and whatever hazy.
The shuddering noise the wheels, in drunkenness of the seventy
     hours jumping up and down of wondering where
     to go next, the empty museums remain free.
They meet boys yacketyakking, screaming, jumping down off roofs
     drinking, but they go anyway, with no broken hearts
     and lit cigarettes together in our cars at night,
     disappearing into the small town in the rain,
     lounged hungry through the scattered city.
These intellects who vanished into their trembling rooms, and
     shrieked in who let themselves hiccup trying to laugh
     but ended up sobbing to the dark haired naked ******* the
     Korean drama.
Idle as they sat on their bed, when their intellectual thread is
     shrewd optimum, they lost heir boy of three weeks
     because some sweetheart forgot to hand him
     a packet of cigarettes.
The million girls who went to my school were red eyed in the
     morning, but prepared enough to waitress Sunday
     afternoons, the girls would have their night cars, and
     I would have poems and catch a quick ****** of the sun,
     go to empty lot diners at Subway and movie houses
     with vast sordid films, hung out in basements open to
     nostalgic free lemonade and woke themselves up
     the next morning.
Inspired by Ginsberg's The Howl
Dawn of Lighten Feb 2017
Dimension beginning of vile ****** exposed,
And the Emperor has no clothes,
While helplessly strut a mighty walk without a shame.

Course of history repeating itself,
Like the flow of water meeting in the river of streams,
But recycle through the clouds and back to the ground it flows.

Are we so blinded by the glimmer of the mirage of oasis in the desert,
We toast with sands of dune to quench our thirst of our plight,
And all is but a fickling light ducktaped by words of unintelligible muddled murmur?

This is truly the flawed design of our time,
When we no longer promote arts and crafts of philosophies,
And religious cults of zealots condemned the science and Academia by berating it's achievement.

Likes of ancient times of Agora and the height of it's human enlightenment,
There are forces of deconstruction of society of choas ensued by hateful fear mongers,
And systematic inward of national fevor of berserkers leveling progress.

Maybe another dark age is inevitable,
But little seed of hope I feel tangible,
And sometimes event maybe a phoenix.
Religion is all sense of purpose is a illumination of hope in human plights,
But those who seek absolute power by controlling devotees, then it is no longer a religions but a cult of designed by vanity.
Francie Lynch Jul 17
Two lads, I'd say, of thirteen, just passed;
One in barefoot with a backpack;
One in shorts, shoes and black socks,
Pulled up over bloated calves.
One athletic, lean and gearing;
One more leaning towards academia.
Both waiting to enter high school.

They met in JK.
They slept on their towels, in their tents,
At each other's house on weekends.
They served together, lived as one;
Their mothers loved them as sons.
That's how close they'd become.
Their worlds will change,
Once this season's done.

One will be the talk of his circle,
The other, the talk of his;
But there's a Venn where the rings entwined
Before they turned thirteen.
Their hybrid youth,
Their cloned friendship,
Memories already determined.

Around fires and bells,
Or a covered porch on a rain - washed day;
They'll dig up some old moments
Of the other when they were young.
Buried treasures for days of leisure,
Apart, yet part of their sum.
JK: Junior Kindergarten
My dad was on Omaha Beach but he
didn’t talk much about it so now
I’m going to take the rest of the day
to tell you all that he didn’t much talk about
we broke the Enigma code yeah we did
you can always tell a real veteran by
his thousand-yard stare, yessir, I know stuff
we kicked the Germans’ butts but he didn’t talk
much about it if not for us the French
would be speaking German yeah man yeah
when I was in graduate school but he
didn’t talk much about it we saved the world
when I was in graduate school when I
saw Patton those liberals in academia
he had this thousand-yard stare them snowflakes
wouldn’t hit Omaha Beach now they’d be browning
their pants when I was in graduate school
but he didn’t talk much about it yeah
that M-1 was the best battle implement
ever devised I got me one and boy
it’s got some serious stopping power yessir
I just love to go out to the range and pop some caps
with that bad boy the French are cheese-eating
surrender monkeys we can’t depend on the Italians
but he didn’t talk much about it when I
was in graduate school thousand-yard stare
my dad was there he didn’t talk much about it
here is a youtube about it if only
those snowflakes would watch Patton they’d learn something
left-wing academia he didn’t talk much about it
when I was in graduate school yeah man
I seen it on Band of Brothers liberal elites
Macron Macron Macron first front second front
‘cause I know stuff I got a whole liberry
but he didn’t talk much about it if not
for us yeah you’d all be speaking German
we saved France’s **** when DeGaulle told us
he wanted all American soldiers out of France
we asked him if that included the thousands
of American soldiers in French cemeteries
and that sure shut him up ha ha ha
bet you never heard that before and then
there was these old veterans at the airport
and this Frenchy asked them for their passports
and this old man had to look for his
and this Frenchy asked this veteran if he
had been in France before and this veteran
said he had and then this Frenchy he said
then you know you need to have your passport
ready and this here old veteran said that he
was at Normandy and there wasn’t no Frenchies
to give it to and you could hear a pin drop
ha ha I bet you never heard that one before
When I was in graduate school when I
was on my gap year but he didn’t talk much about it
snowflake liberal elites in academia
I love me my AK-47 that son
spits out some serious lead but he didn’t
talk much about it…

Me? Like, I had this deferment, my feet,
but I know all about it ‘cause I watch John Wayne
and my dad was in it so I guess he ought to know
and he was in a real war; you were only in
like you know them A-rabs and stuff…
Jenny Gordon Dec 2018
...just arrive at your own perverse conclusion sith that's what academia and its ilk forever do with artists' work.


If I note that he shoveled in (t'avail)
His pj's, like the man whose showr from thence
Would cleanse all to effect, and thought fr'intents
For lo, the umpteenth year, of how (in pale
Excuse) this exercise can cull to scale
Erm, cardiac arrest, tae think from hence
In looking on that ****** landscape--whence?!
To die in shovling could be't frail?
Or rather, I am, mebbe.  Dawn's breath pure
And crisp; to shovel heartning; lonely too,
Why did that eerie thought rise up as twere
Upon the heels of vague concern, to do
Was that a caper in morn's eye?!  And YOUR
Thin protest I'd not die soon...was it true?

Seriously, though....where DID that thought come from that it'd be downright lovely if I died of cardiac arrest in the middle of shoveling snow?!
The ethics of duplicity,
  the killing on trial

One law for the criminal,
  one law for the child

The electric chair savage,
  womb ****** refined

Academia, the father and mother
  of crime

To lie when convenient,
  truth’s babies to cry

An Einstein, a Lister, a Shakespeare,

Through dark inhumanity,
  their spirits to roam

Living deep in our consciousness
  —our souls theirs to own

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
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