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S Mar 9
The clock is ticking

ticking… ticking… tick—

My brain is floating
As it almost sinks
That piano sounds lovely
And the clock again blinks
And my brain

In a cacophony
Of beautiful sounds
And a daunting harmony
Dancing
Whirling
Ticking
I wrote this while struggling to finish a paper
Lindiana Mazari Sep 2020
If someone would ask me if I would rather be shot or have my heart broken.
I would say “shoot me”because i would rather die than have my heart broken.
having your heart break into the smallest pieces once, is enough for me.
They say time heals your wounds
so tell me why then doesnt mine heal?
nom de plume Jul 2020
i never bought the whole dark academia thing.
sure, ****** and drugs and *** are torrid and dark when you're from a rich family,
when you've never woken up to the news of your childhood best friend being shot to death,
when you haven't seen your family and friends fall into the seductive cesspool of opioid addiction,
when half of your class was pregnant by the time senior year rolled around.
the academic upper class thinks what working class kids go through is sexier when the backdrop of the overdose is chandeliers and silk,
instead of a small town parking lot at 3am.
my aesthetic reality of academia is scholarships, it's leather jackets and nicotine addictions
it's having the only fifteen-year-old car in the campus parking lot and hoping to find a plug before the first week of classes.
it's not sleeping between work and class and partying. it's being the only one whose dad isn't buddies with the guy giving me an internship.
it's lonely. it's the crippling loneliness of not understanding upper class social cues,
it's reading crime and punishment in the slivers of time between work and work and class and more work
and emphasizing with raskalnikov so much it makes your teeth ache.
it's coughing up blood.
it's having health insurance for the first time in college and still not using it.
it's drowning, it's fighting, it's violent and heroic and painful and
never knowing
if you'll actually
make it.
StoryTallinn Jan 2019
You know so much but do you even know yourself
Research questions and existential questions
Chasing this emptiness with data
Life never came with a methodology

Introspection is a strange discipline
This journey in ourselves, that is not taught in classroom
Or were you afraid of what you may discover
Many choose to stay where it is comfortable

Frustration is accumulating like the dust on your bookshelf
Emotions, this part of humanity without rationality
Seasons are changing, yet you are still alone
Cognition may not be the key to everything

Seeking for human connection
You whispered “I am just a man”
She thinks you are just a mind
Still this need to run from deception

Yet this time, you were right
You are not a mind but a man
Akemi Oct 2018
Three tabs of acid and a year of postmodern novels will ******* up in a shorter span of time than doing a degree in poststructuralism, and only an idiot with a death wish would do both. Manic romp to reach nowhere in a political field that never arrives, except in France.

Well Sartre once said nothing, and so did Derrida, and so did Baudrillard. Endless procession of words for the sake of filling a vacuum that didn’t exist until it was filled. Enter Freud; exit Bernays. All meaning atop a Golden Bough.

Sitting in your flatmate’s room the acid kicks in and suddenly no one is themselves, every line that leaves their mouths traceable to a media product, the perfect communion of pluralism arriving as the terror of integral capitalist banality. To speak is to add to the mockery; to say nothing is to let the mockery continue.

Forget it all by watching Youtube videos at 0.25x speed. Displace the terror of your own situation through the consumptive behaviour that had constituted it in the first place. Watch in gleeful delight as the eyes of whatever presenter happens to be on the screen at the moment dart between this or that object of desire, ever unsure of where to settle amongst an infinite number of existential refrains, none of which deliver from the anxiety of the prior.

Holding a caramel slice in the departmental tea room, your lecturer waits for you to respond, but all you manage is a cough.
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 ******* ******* **** ******* **** **** ****
Tori Jan 2018
Ears pricking, only quietly haunting any other type and skirting the edges of things wolfishly, I’m howling all of the things that build up at a forever indifferent moon, pupils  narrow in the light from a cracked phone screen, insatiable, academics are another breed altogether, we go back to our hometowns and feel too big inside, consumed
scooby Nov 2017
Put a poem here *******!
Even if you don't know what that **** is
(it's a collection of words, organized
and broken into
lines

and stanzas
like this!)
Put a poem here *******!
Even if you don't know how to type!
(you take your finger,
assuming you have one
and if not
that's ok
use whatever you prefer,
and press down on one
of those little squares
you know,
the ones with the
letters on em)

Put a poem here *******!
Even if you don't know any white man poets,
dead or alive!
(You don't need em,
you could read em
on the account of background
and cultural appreciation,
but you,
you're enough)

Put a poem here *******!
Even if you don't think you're good enough!
(You are, ******,
and I am the president of poetry saying
it is true,
but ultimately you will,
grow to be your own champion,
maybe not now,
but I can tell you how)

Put a poem here *******!
Even if you don't know how to be your own champion!
(You'll become one by
putting a poem here *******!)

So, put a poem here *******!
Go! Go! Go!
sorry 4 the swears, if you are under twelve don't show this to your mom!
softcomponent Nov 2017
all those

who lock their gaze

on the study of this world

are the personifications

of confusion, servicing

walls of text to summarize

so you don't

have to.
Why can’t we swear in academia?
Why can’t we swear in acedmia?
Tell me, WHY THE **** can’t we swear in academia,
why the EVER LOVING **** , can’t we swear in academia?

Say **** how we’d actually say ****? Why the **** we gotta contort into this ****-*** RESPONSIBLE, PROPER, PROFESSIONAL, BUSINESS-CASUAL, ******* ***-WIPING ******* LANGUAGE that no one can ******* relate to or get their head around? Academia GET YOUR RESPECTABILITY POLITICS OFF MY ****, OUT OF MY FACE AND OFF MY **** and let me say “****’S ****** UP!” when **** sure as **** IS ****** UP! Actually no, academia, **** OUTTA HERE WITH YOUR TONE POLICING CLUSTERFUCK, I’m not waiting for permission. I’m gunna start right the **** now. And don’t you dare tell me to shut up, **** **** **** ******-****, YOU BIG-BOYZ CLUB OF WHITE ***** *******, **** yourself.
inspired partly by a guy who wrote an academic piece called "******* Geography" and got publication refusals because academia is dull as ****
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