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Natalie R Jun 2014
Sudden
Abrupt
Unexpected
These words describe a sensation
A sensation that fashions the soul
Molding, sculpting
The person I am today

Hyperventilation
Nausea
A sudden rush
Adrenalin
Slamming doors
Crowded, congested
Populously packed into a box
Air tight

Repetitiveness is a quality this one sensation possesses
Repeating
Over and over
Repeating

Fearing it
Fearing it's repetitiveness
Repeating all over again
Preventing me
From opportunities
Simple, basic, opportunities
While I'm still stuck
In the box
That populously packed box
All alone

Shouting
Till my larynx  
Rip and tears
But I'm left
Abandoned
With no response

This sensation
The panic
Has no end
Arlene Corwin Feb 2017
Boredom #2

I’ve never seen so many synonyms for one small noun,
Blocking maturation and enjoy-dom:
Boredom.
“Weariness, ennui: frustration;
Restlessness, dissatisfaction, unconcern: frustration;
Lethargy, lassitude, flatness and frustration;
Dreariness, repetitiveness, apathy: frustration;
Tedium, monotony, dullness. yes, frustration.”

Can it be overcome, this boredom?
No more war - the boredom won,
Exchanged for something more like fun?
It can.

A friend who, when we speak, says,
“It’s a part of nature…has no answer...”
Reasoning fallacious,
She is wrong as wrong can be
And her reasoning a fallacy.

Awake at night: hormones, full moons;
The glut of light: electric gadgets and devices,
Radios that play a song too strong, too long..

A trick I’ve learned that’s brought results;
A knack, a shortcut worth consulting
Is to train the brain to focus on/in/with the brain;
Travel round in, sense and feel…
Make it real – as if you really feel
The part you aim at, frame then tame.

In seconds you’ve an object that’s becomes a subject.
Boredom fled, you freed,
You and your mood well pleased, released
And taken places least expected,
Un-objected to by you,
The burden boredom’s through.
And doomed!

Boredom 11.24.2016/ #2 revised 2..16.2017
Revelations Big & Small; Definitely Didactic;
Arlene Corwin
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.there always comes a threshold of tedium, esp.around this time, when two sides are at each others' throats... you can't escape it, both sides are at each others' sides... you're either collateral, or the, "supposedly", dumb spectator... you're in it no matter what, but the point being: there's no winning or losing invoked, or involved... but after a while: the stale quality of the drama, the persistent repetitiveness of the content become - so ******* dry... you give off a whiff of a prune mentality worthy of an atypical English soap operatic manoeuvring... basic said to basic: i'm just tired of one side telling lies, but i'm also tired of the other side exposing the said lies... i'm tired of both.... it's pretty much me quintessentially, scratching my itching genital region whenever i hear one side and the other, attacking each other... scratching my itchy genitals is more entertaining than wartching these sides argue for the same ******-momentum: money! i'm starting to see: neither side having the high-ground... it's simply tiresome... and, as a message to content creators vs. legacy media outlets.. as a content ingesting mechanism of an individual worth: sorry... no... by now i can't tell the difference... what was once a dichotomy, has become a dualism... click-bait... i figured: i can't be expected to fathom a bias, either side... as far as i know... the alt.-media could be, just as well, covert mechanisms of the same paradigm of spewed opinion... who the **** is to say that these unique, supposedly "unique" youtubers are not subcontractors of the major media contracting apparatus? i realized there's a need to stop buying revenue, primarily based on the exfoliation of the exploitation of drama... i'm not smart, but i am drunk, and attentive... big ******* difference! and i know what a threshold of tedium implies... i know when original content becomes exhaustive... it implies: the content is no-longer original.

you'd think you'd be able
to escape the playground
drama sequence. of events,
given how people
make money n youtube...
apparently
that's not the case...
  i think i'll need another
whiskey to write this "critique"...
like a whiff of
bothersome flies...
    like: but unlike:
a whiff of bothersome flies...
fusiliers to the common
"rain" of canon fire...
        so much drama!
too much, to be exact...
        a vanity ****,
with anything but
the without attempts at claiming:
fair...
   to make videos
in order to simply make excuses...
what a waste of time...
    take up a career in drinking,
then you'll see what
sort of stupid **** sober people
get up to!
and, these, are,
sober, people? yes?!
  my god...
        if they're sober,
and i'm drunk...
           maybe i should stop drinking
and join the funfair of
soberness!
   then again...
god i abhor the drama
of some pumpkin mope glass
akin to a chimney-sweep
in the form of:
pittance for a Cinderella...
  the jokes goes along the lines
of:
back east there's a Cabaret...
back in the west there's the comedic
monologue of a stand-up comic...
back east there's no soap-opera...
back in the west:
   there's no tele novella -
which only old women
appreciate...
but there's soap opera:
which, even the english
class teachers advised not to watch,
encompassing girls as young
as 15...

with the said advice...
   how wonderful to be made
esteemed of...
     i could never blog using
video...
the whole medium is plighted
with an implosion...
           it imploded by the "sentiment"
to simmer solipsism...
   it's way beyond an echo
chamber...
   it's a claustrophobia...
i could never make video content...
because as far as i know:
only lazy people watch videos...
while the diligent people
read anything at all...

    i've grown tired...
simply... tired...
              of the video content...
i also remember the glory days
when i'd listen to music
on youtube...
  and later buy the merchant's
allure of goods...
pristine physical artifacts...
via the uncensored suggestions...

i hate drama...
the faking, the blood-sports,
you name it...
    for a while i tuned in...
now i'm thinking
about coupling
last.fm with youtube.com...

   i never paid, and i was also
never paid...
my concerns are not the concerns
of the creator throng...
    tired?
is tired the most simple word
to bind to an excuse?
no...
              i hate imploding
drama;
that gets me...
              
no wonder i write:
  it's overtly selective within the domain
of the regards to who actually
digests the content...
      video my lazy...
     video my lazy...
          writing has an imbedded
censorship,
that is a pseudo-censorship...
     thankfully more
women read, than the men that talk.
Amanda Blomquist Jan 2013
I'm afraid to slow down, as if loss of repetitiveness allows for sediments.

Mind races, paces.
         Over works its self in the wake of new faces.

I'm begging for acceptance to follow this direction.
                    Harvesting all this love, gaining gems of affection

Scarred and torn my flesh is my own,
                                                       I'm grown.

Up, I climb further into danger's soothing catacombs.

               The shells of un-fulfillment shed with precision.
I'm dreaming of blackouts with a blurred vision.
                                                            Stee­ping tea of poor decisions.

Wasted, wasting, weightless.

Repetitive, sediments, settling into broken dreams.
             Filling the corners of my mind, spilling hope,
                                                           ­        Tethering seams.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
there are always two ways of saying things,
one way of saying things is
to read them once, file them in the unconscious
cabinet and ~wait for the results
working their ways in your thought
appropriating the said things -
i found i can only reread / skim-read only
one book in my library - because i spent
a glorious summer reading it,
in a communist apartment block,
and i never sought to invest in creating grime
post-rap given there was no English
suburbia to work against -
one book, out of a hundred i could ever
reread in leisure while taking a ****,
now that's an achievement to be honest,
i dare you to find two books of such calibre -
**** the prayer mat in the mosque -
and repeat, re re repeat -
and **** arching over your shadow in
the confession booth -
so that's one way of reading: read it once,
discard it, become an artist-journalist:
because there's always tomorrow -
**** acronym a.s.a.p. - ah, tautology of close
proximity - or so it might appear to be so -
and the boys juggling barbarism with
cut off testicles, one's spherical, the other's
oval - and ****** had only one...
the other way of saying things? a fishnet -
a safety-net - you can reread the already read
things and don't mind rereading -
to be honest, true art is of the former kind,
you read it, engage with it only once
and then leave it aside... brush it under the carpet...
the differential adjective association of nouns
is hidden within art and culture -
                arty will not do, farts won't do either,
but that's what is appears to be:
     culture likes to be associated with numbers
and revving inputs -
                                art's here a second,
and gone the next -
                                   culture is what keeps
the busy parents ticking and timing slow-mo -
the Jezebel of all yesterdays! it has to be pop -
hardly a minded canary song trickle in
modern-day aliens coming from the Amazon
without caveman theories...
yep, ****-naked all along throughout the Enlightenment -
they call it a plateau and ha ha,
the Europeans call it an insult and an anthropological
omission that would make Neil Armstrong
take up a bicycle and race the necessary need
to involve chemists in more than just shampoo and
toothpaste.. given the adverts...
                                           cos when **** goes dope,
you got to dope 'em, universally.
                  Belgium and the waffle -
duo - waffle - or blah blah, i.e. unnecessary talk,
usually political - can you imagine talking so much
in order to simply say: you must be joking,
no we won't, are you mad?, it was all supposed to be giggles.
i can't.
there are two ways of saying things:
a. if you reread me, you're kinda stupid,
    meaning you have the same repetitive dream
    over a 20 year period....
    i don't reread what i write,
    art isn't about rereading, if the message
    doesn't plummet into the unconscious you'll succumb
    to the second way of saying things, i.e.
b. for entertainment purposes,
    meaning repetition is the crucible, the pivot,
    a bit like dictates in the school system...
    we're actually taught repetitiveness -
    we are taught repetitiveness in order to pass
    an erosion of memory exams, like a toothache -
    we are taught to memorise *******
    in order to be later investments in Alzheimer's -
    no personal memory = no person of
   suggested personality acquisition -
   the English don't like verbiage -
                  but how can you even claim intellect
without motivational thinking that verbiage
is disguised as, huh?
paradoxically the stress on individuals -
the west never endangers itself with individuals
in established systems... sure, i should have
dropped-out of university and became the rottweiler
billy the kid -
                            i should have... but i wanted
to see the end results...
                  so b.
                            or the unnecessary need to repeat
art - as in art ought never succumb to the age of
mechanical reproduction (Benjamin) -
once ought to do it, like losing your virginity -
or the first time you swam 25 metres of a swimming bool,
or rode a bike... to exclude all sense of nostalgia
or eavesdropping on bogus maxims three generations
from now... the idea that words do not translate
into words: when one artistic output doesn't inspire
anything but practical activity, given art being
pure and therefore impractical activity -
but don't blame the artist for succumbing to such a fate,
it's not a fury - it just means the people the artist
encountered became insurmountably obstacle prone
representative: where a mother could have been,
a jealous murdering ***** stood,
where a man of suitable physical endurance could
have been, a semi-******* stood.
stick to point (a.), never fall for the trap of point (b.),
art is required more as a very elitist vector factory,
than H. Ford could think the wheel represented,
e.g.? well, examples always give adequate summaries
to arguments: Bloodhound Gang's the bad touch...
no, nothing in particular, i preferred the omission
that's akin to argument (a.) rather than argument (b.),
the pink floyd spoof with the lyrics:
        all in all, you're just another **** with no *****.
point made - *Right turn Clyde.
Gulishta  Jul 2018
REALISE.
Gulishta Jul 2018
The idealisation of the far-fetched reality ,
Doesn't make it right.
The happiness coming from someone else's pain,
Doesn't make you thrive.
The insensebility of taking wrong decisions,
Doesn't make you look cute, just cruel and naive.
The passing on of the confusion,
Shows your incapability of commitment or in general Life.
The repetitiveness of a command,
Doesn't make people oblige.
It's a simple game...
A game of what's wrong and what's right!.
Of seeing things you ignored ,
Being a self-centred blind.
It's an opportunity to open yourself up,
For the things you've done to others,
and putting yourself in their shoes...
And.....REALISE.
Matt Mar 2016
I move kind of slow
And I'm not sure why
I do not know

Perhaps it is
The repetitiveness
Of this absurd show

Nowhere to rush
Nowhere to go

There was
A woman
At the gym

So strong and ****
Who deadlifts
Almost as twice as me

Kind and compassionate
What could be wrong
About breastfeeding
From her

All day long
Reece Nov 2013
Through peach coloured faded blinds, you watch him type on ashen keyboards
Low music playing, he used to cut her hair, she was breathing
Words from a soul, or words from dictionaries faded as the blinds and walls and clothes on his back
A team of typists, all in a line (factory work and the repetitiveness of city living)
You notice the desk, cheap and flat-pack, worn markings exposition of veneer and wood
Did you spot the reference, or did it pass your eyes,
- are you a fan?
His derivative verse of Bukowski and the like is painful to eyes and corroding of the soul
Have you seen the bees flee?
Watch as the lights turn dead, and the oven burns red
I'm not sure if one could call it homely; his home
The way darkness arrives early each night above that house alone
and the way rabid foxes walk in large circles to avoid the shadow cast
You hear him cry at night
(and I feel ashamed at noticing you)

He sets himself alight, to feel something new
You watch from your couch and flip the channel

Are the old haunts getting older still,
by the night's final adieu, a wild dog scampers home
To lay beneath the old car with grass in the engine
and we both know the house is burning

The flashing lights in the street and the coked up vagrants dance rhythmically
Smoke contortions over the grassy morning dew
A girl with a vacant stare, from a bench afar, watches and flicks broken nails
Everything you are is nothing you want, still watching from the window
Pacing. Pacing.

(I am on the rooftop, and I saw it all.)
jc  Oct 2015
black and blue
jc Oct 2015
as i walk through the empty hallways
i fix my gaze on the worn floor
each footstep is heavy
and drags across the hardwood
the movements have become involuntary
a product of repetitiveness
not passion
i cannot raise my eyes to the photographs hanging on the wall
these black and white remnants
of what seems to be a life of mine
lived so long ago
that I cannot recall the details

but I remember
I remember the girl
who grew up learning hatred
so ashamed of what had been given to her
and so afraid of a life untouched
I wanted so desperately to give her the world
but she destroyed my heart
and left it black and blue

and I remember
I remember the boy
with wild black hair and a voice like honey
who told me everything I thought I wanted to hear
who pulled me in so quickly
but I drew away with little pause
and so I left him
because I am just a girl and cannot give you the world

I remember the boy
who I watched settle for anything
and everything that crossed his path
wondering if I too
was just a commodity
if his plans of seeing me in a white dress
were fixated on the dress
or the soul wearing it
so he destroyed my heart
and left it black and blue

and I remember the girl
who loved everything too much
who looked at me with wonderstruck eyes
and convinced me that I could be so much more
but the skies are never clear for long
and as the dark clouds rolled in
I learned that she hated the rain
as I watched her run inside
to someone new
as I stood amidst the raging storm
while she destroyed my heart
and left it black and blue

and I remember
I still remember the boy
who looked me expecting nothing
except me
the smoke envelopes me
whistling my name
and I move in closer
closer to this warmth
this all consuming
all encompassing fire
but I am scared
I am so scared of the thought of burning out
or becoming engulfed
only to discover
that these flames are not what I want
so I run
I run far away
to safe
monotonous
empty "love"

and as I watched him fall in love under the autumn leaves
tending my scorched soul
dragging my feet along these empty hallways
realizing I destroyed my own heart
and I left it black and blue
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
i realised soon enough, that with each new poem, i am abstracting myself, Kant would claim some transcendental (dentistry's epitome of detachment from the repetitiveness of the task ahead, surely a canvas worthy of perfecting the actions) method, a circumstance of an elevation ahead, a necessarily involved eventuality of an obstacle to obstruct Belgium, i.e. a plateau, a flatland... transcending doesn't necessarily invoke abstracting, by transcending you can imagine something akin to god - by abstracting you can only conspire to throw a curtain over your self - well, to put it in close proximity: transcending you invoke the necessity of god / abstracting you invoke the non-necessity of the self - by transcending you have increments, even if Newtonian (infinitesimal, calculus, Leibniz) and other measurements of change, but when it comes to abstracting you don't have a clear path toward a methodology, hence the poetic expression being adequate, a spontaneity; with each new poem i am abstracting, digging in a coal mine of nothing, revolutionising the big bang, indeed poetry's weakness is to suggest that on the Cartesian pivot, too much rests on the side of 'i am', in that poets claim high revenue by exploiting this side of the equation - to boot very little is given leverage on the 'i think' side of the juggling act... poets claim too much and think too little, but at least their claims have a standard, a standard that's invoked is having possession of a heart (the whirlpool) that gives each and every one of us a lost tractacus (tract, route, a dragging, the lost history, atomic history, atomist representation of history that's etymology - the origin of words - pre-history, onomatopoeias, the end; well... if you're going to belittle me with a ******* monkey, i might as well sing Ol' McDonald had a farm, e ah e ah oh) - oh right, you want a linear representation with clear use of conjunctions: the alternative of historical investigation, debating whether the treaty of Versailles constipated Weimar Germany to the extent of having world war two precipitate is investigated with hindsight / too late hunches - etymology is a type of history, the history of words, origins in spontaneity or onomatopoeia / mimic? good question... i don't know, and i will certainly not s  p  e  l  l it out for you, on your own... chop chop.

i really am abstracting myself, i'm not even bothered
by Kant's methodology of transcendental concerns,
for me abstraction is a poly-geometric invocation,
too many vectors, x, y, z's, pentagons, hexagons, whatever,
transcending to me is simply a parabola reduced to
a dy/dx - a straight line - forget Kant, he'd nodding off
after reading Hume (who ran stark naked in Edinburgh,
not necessarily true) -
what i came across, stylistically speaking:
i have the second volume of the Critique near me,
and *why i'm not a painter
by Frank O'Hara...
the pronoun usage... philosophers are performing this
juggling act with pronouns, like would be kings...
poets have stripped themselves to the nakedness of
the first person pronoun, philosophers in turn have
put this pronoun (i) in inverted commas (if you're
into existentialism and ****), but philosophers are
mimicking kings, for example when a mother of
a labourer constructing the palace of Versailles died
unfortunately by a falling brick Louis XIV didn't become
self-conscious, because he pounced back at the woman
with the words: 'is she addressing us?', it's
like this weird schizophrenic analogue, kings and
philosophers juggle pronouns, in that they usually write
within a realm of plurality, as many people, read any
philosophy book from the Enlightenment and you'll
enter a simulation of schizophrenia - they really do juggle
the pronouns, it's like they're instilled with fighting
the Socratic daemon who constantly poured honey liquor
into the grandpa's ear on a bench in Athens -
i mean, i could throw in an extract from the Critique
to prove my point, but i'll be lazy and let you do
all the legwork, of going into a library and finding
the book in question, and the example as stated...
if you're lucky enough to have a library that actually
possesses such heretical works against the status quo.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2019
I. nope.



II.
long-windedness verbosity
diffuseness prolixity
wordiness rambli­ng
circuity discursiveness
redundancy tautology
tediousness verbi­age
verboseness length
longevity permanence
garrulity windiness
v­olubility circumlocution
expansiveness babbling
periphrasis gushi­ng
blathering protractedness
waffling lengthiness
iteration repet­ition
prating prattling
jabbering digressiveness
dreariness tediu­m
deadliness wandering
repetitiousness repetitiveness
pleonasm co­nvolution
logorrhoea boringness
maundering superfluity
duplicatio­n tiresomeness
monotony reiteration
gabbiness informality
mouthin­ess diffusion
logorrhea wordage
blah-blah dryness
dullness boredo­m
sameness loquaciousness
talkativeness loquacity
freeness orotun­dity
roundaboutness breadth
gobbledegook gassiness
wittering mult­iloquence
perissology big mouth
gift of the gab garrulousness
staleness tallness
ask and answered

— The End —