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Peter Roads Aug 2016
Is there space in this system for new rules
Can we find them hiding behind old books
Some dusty office at the top of a pole
Bleak ivory with a view well known
to all of us, who have got what we want
Whose privileged breath breathes deep of high times
stuffed with all those norms and expectations
litigating obligations ignored,
ignored; yet enforced by free tyranny
of the individual, of ones rights
without the weight of responsible
judgement. NO, there is no space up here, NO
not for straighter rules or greater fools
though latter too many, former too few;
These old rules are crooked, like hind quarters
dragged up the long torrid stair to the top
held up by lofty ideals, righteous… no
We seem in these high places to have forgot
whyfore we came to be here or how rotten
we are, that rot set into the books, the rules
the shelves, the pages, the walls, the food
Into the words, the system, the wages
paid to those shoring up this modern day
Babel. No well-intentioned roads lead here
No one will choose to walk these **** stairs
No one will come, those lonely inventions
Freedom, liberty, the individual
Let them gather and groan in old walls
Mildewed bricks and misted rattling bones
Left here forgotten by those living below
Seen from on high in this ivory tower
This pale tower where no one lives, no one.
Within each and every one of us
is a unique culture:

reaches just as far inward
as it does outward:

Just because
has imposed it's own
fascist, totalitarian, absolute
does not mean
that it has final say:
i postulate
such adacemic-fetishism
is merely a byproduct of
pushed by Big Money
rather than
a genuine insitution
of respectable edification:
that is
i see it as
a mere appeal
to authority;
a well-known logical fallacy
to those who are in the know.

Tread lightly.

Modern Academics
seems to be
yet another
corrupt branch
of Business;
little more.

Academic achievement
is not equivocal
to intellectual worth:

a graduate's degree
is moreso
a status symbol
than it is
a credential

'T'is vile idolatry
in lieu of
an individual's personal philosophy;
that's not to say it's
absolutely worthless,
but it may as well be
in today's job market
(unless it's a business degree!)

Then again,
that's just my opinion.
i guess i oughtta shut up
before Edu-nazis shut me down.

Oops, did i type that out loud?
I'm so sorry, you see,
vhat i meant to say vas:
Heil Stanford!
Heil Harvord!
Heil Berkley!
Heil vhat i am told zu heil!
Heil zhe publishing companies!
Heil zhe holders of student loans!
Heil egredious student debt
in lieu of philosophical discourse,
let alone progress!

Heil vhat i see on TV!
Heil *******!
Heil alkohol!
Heil gasoline!

Do not qvestion zhe dogma;
go back zu sleep, you sheep!
Yet another write intended to be easily digestible by the masses, without any sort of difficult, contentious, or otherwise thought-provoking material so as to preclude any sort of discomfort or disagreement.
Written solely to be popular and to reinforce the status-quo.

Maybe I should stick to music. Y'know, something everyone can agree on. ;)

The Academic World, it would seem,
hasn't so much to do now with Philosophy
as with Sociology, Economics, and Dogma.
I wish it to be clear that this is not to dismiss Academia as a resource, but rather to pay heed to that fact that any institution may become dangerous through time, without regard for it's true utility or purity of initial intentions.

An appeal to authority
tends to stand in lieu of understanding,
regardless of who is appealing to whom,
and who's appealed to by whom.

Look both ways before accepting authority.

Caution! No one is innocent.
Cordelia Copson Apr 2015
this week seven of my friends mentioned not only wanting to die
but wanting to take their own lives to do so
i mean i appreciate you telling me that you need help
because you do, and you said you’d ask and this is you

but the thing is i spend five hours a week going back and from
a place that ******* kills me to stand there
i spend 11 hours sitting in that building suffocating on my own silence
and 13 hours suffocating on others noise
and that’s if i’m not home, lying in bed, tracking the lines of blades on my skin
and mapping out the paths to where i’ve hidden the others

i don’t know how many people are serious when they’re saying
that they want to slit their own wrists,
but worse than those people are the ones that can’t say it out loud, and
instead are saying it on the days that they do not know whether to flinch back from my touch
or to sink into it
and therefore must do both, our thighs pressed tight together as they refuse to make eye contact
me feeling the tension coiled in their back as they physically hold themselves together

the other day i saw a woman walking down the street sobbing
and i wondered what people thought of her
and what they thought of me when i did that too

so i appreciate you’re hurting and you need help
but we’re dying on the inside and the outside
and people go from  this to driving for three hours a day
to and from a job that they are overqualified for
but they need to keep their family eating and themselves breathing
so i don’t think that i’m the person to help you right now
and you’ll have to help yourself.
i'm so drunk right now its 4pm
bleh Jun 2014
If I said my heart was a cyanide laced pomegranate,
would that make its expressions any less ******?
If I said falling in love was like throwing yourself off a cliff on a winter night and drowning yourself tumbling through the air blind like a bag of kittens, but I was quoting Kierkegaard,
would that make it any less of an awkward melodrama?
If I told you the western blocks blind attacks on the other,
kinda resembled Freud's account of the mother
of a miscarriages melancholia,
is that a condoning or a condemnation?
if I translated every meta-narrative of class relation, oppression, wage slavery, state violence, suppression,
into anthropomorphic allegories for a myriad of psychological phenomena,
would I be an academic or a shinto miko?
[and would the world be any better?]
if I superimposed on the geographical topology,
the political and then the existential,
would I have a sandwich?
Or a lasagne?
words words words

                                  (what do they even)
Martin Narrod May 2014
Gold crown of Olympus, hair crown and
Skin gown. First we throw our bodies at
One another. Heaping piles of human soup.
Bold maneuvers, hands and mouths and
Boy meets girl lying down, on top, intertwined.
Skittish moves on a tryst. Wet fingers of freshly
Tendered infinite decibel pleasure screams.
Streamers above a long rooting movement.

Overture of Aphrodite. Sparkling, glitter woman,
Legs pressed tightly to the chest,
Loose appendages intertwined. Intersticed dactyls
In rapture, soothing. Bodies build to one heart's beat.
Two muses fused together. If I wasn't afraid I'd wake you up
I'd slip on my shoes and make a tropical fruit fondue.

Stage two:

Ice cream lover's delight. Opus to brown sugar.
To swimming again, a pursed lurking of lips
In the academy of the pastoral commonwealth.
We eat at our stations of the sublime. Today which was
A day of discord- you nursed me back to the land of the living.

Stage three:


Stage four.


Stage five:

As we earn our pageantry to take
Stride on this Earth, and string a
Great bow of eager success among all of us,
You, me, them. While I continue to
Gaze at you. If not dinner, perhaps a
Cup of tea instead.

— The End —