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They are stacks of mud--
Splattered filth on the curb
slowly rotting away
like debris of our own path.
Trampled upon leaves
and roadkill rabbits
that pass by our eyes
like the birds of the sky;
Forgotten people of time
and tragedy's aftermath.

Yet these wise wise fools
are happier than I,
the higher and mightier
Begotteb of a son.
Whom dwells in depression
Chained to a society
that feeds off of misery
and regretful deceit;
The comfort and contentment
perceived as luxury and success

For I see them smile
almost a daily occurrence,
as though a new sunshine
is enough of a reason to live zealously.
For I have not unwithholdingly
smiled in countless years,
yet these pitiful souls
have the ability to surpass my own
and thrive in the freedom of their hearts
whilst I suffer in the mundane of wealth.
Giving joy, getting joy, never coy,
Often pretty, always called a toy,
She sells all that there is to deploy.

And there is she who is demure;
A teacher whose job is secure.
Some say that all teachers are pure.

And there is he who is a professor;
He is his father’s successor;
Just like his father’s predecessor.

The first one we call a *****;
She prostitutes her body more and more;
But the other ones we adore.

The professor prostitutes his knowledge.
He also sells his precious time.
And the teacher too makes the same pledge;
Especially while she is in her prime.

We all ******* something every day;
Yet only the first one’s a *******; yay!
Hossein Mohammadzade
Akemi May 2018
spoke through the fire
we rode babylon 999
like school children making for the intersection
a horn blared
triumphant screech of capital
and we tumbled through the air
the last image reflected in our eyes
coca-cola no sugar

at the horizon of sleep
the empty palm of war stretches indefinitely
a profit-margin rounding the ennui of
all our profane martyrs and saints

history wreathed in the thorns of labour
the mistletoe we ****** beneath
putrid, damp, abject
mirror-images of our parents

and under the skylight of the mall
i found in you a whistling hole
where all the birds caught within
the dead spaces, the lacunae, the interstices; the lies of flight, the coded circuits, the fascism of totality; we fell into one another as the sun died, our teeth crumbling like concrete through city hollows, the dying moments of a future we never had; stolen dreams of necrophilic capital; so we ****** in the burning wreckage of a hundred dollar car, and wished the bourgeoisie of this world to hell, ******* hell, ******* hell.
Crandall Branch Nov 2017
"that'll be thirty dollars" says the cashier
and I willingly hand him the money
knowing I could take my groceries and run

society has problems
but why is nobody willing to step up and fix them?
myself included

we all know we are bad people,
and we all know we are not willing to change.
please leave feedback and comments below! :)
Alice Nov 2017
with regard to those who believe time has let us down,
it is not our fault that we expected more in life than the
simple basic pay that we force ourselves to earn,
that only a minimal few get more than £4 an hour
and earn a million in a day
they take and they take and we give our all,
to a job that will eventually fire us, retire us and
dig our grave, all to provide ourselves
with a mortgage and a tax paying wage
that some of us can never afford,
and we **** ourselves because of debt and
we stare at our kids with resentment because
dream killers
but they’re a social norm, and if you don’t fit in
you don’t make it
social darwinism,
socialists, Marxists, communists,
left wing advocates,
the ones the poor ‘take advantage’ of because
we believe people deserve the best chance in life,
and unless you’re incredibly lucky and
you’re born at the top
you are bred with that chance,
and the rest of us are at the bottom because
it never will because those  
who believe they’re better,
the elite-born
who’re at the top come from the brightest schools,
the most expensive and they gave them
confidence and money
something we don’t own being in the northern region of a
divided country
and your prime minister killed our jobs and i find it funny that
people still vote for your two faced, pragmatic party
you haven’t been remotely interested in us since
Disraeli, but even he tried to help us selfishly
the working class,
the proletariat
is divided because of the lies you feed us
through the media,
you honestly think you’re superior
and you are
but you ignore poverty and you accept inequality
and society isn’t like a human body
because if it worked
this wouldn’t exist, this divided society that you
don’t even acknowledge because why would you
when you have enough money and power
and overall glory that you have been smothered in
your whole life whereas we have
seen what your policies achieve
and you try to buy us off with basic low wages and
give starving people benefits which take ages
to come through
and you don’t care when they die because
they weren’t employed,
didn’t belong in this capitalist economy,
which you gladly enjoy,
while we sit at the bottom in absolute despair,
that I don’t even know if we’re really aware
of the exploitation we are put through every single day
all to make enough money to pay
for the taxes you evade,
and i wish for the whole world there was something i could do,
because if i had any money,
i would share it with you.
i don't know if i got all the terminology correct, but i tried!
girl gonzo Jul 2017
I’ve walked on the tiles made for kings
many times I’ve been in the house of luxury
but it has never belonged to me
I am but a visitor in the palace of Eden
I could describe the opulence but I cannot tell you how it feels
to posses, to own, to carry your weight lightly in such states
I am not a beholder and I’ve never felt myself worthy of such affluent
and often unnecessary necessities
working class woman on the weekends
to clean the savvy bungalows of the ludicrous and almost laughable
wealth of Beverly Hills
it felt almost like trespassing, like jumping over train tracks
As soon as you see sight of headlights getting closer and the
earth beneath you tumble, shaking it’s veins
I would wear a uniform, a knight’s armor of invisibility
upon arrival, there was that shift in the air
That momentary feeling that you’re not in Kansas anymore
There are more trees here, the bugs even seem more alive than they did
down there below the hills
the pedestal of the hungry, greed sitting humbly on its’ throne
smoking expensive colored cigarettes
rings blowing in your face of cool breeze
Although every residence was architecturally different
it was always the same, the same austere patterns
the redundant originality, the commonplace pretension
The gates always had codes but the entrance was always open
Whenever you stepped inside the first thing to notice
were the Rorschach walls, the mirror image of whoever resided there
the hollowness it evoked, the sterility of a life that although lived
wasn’t honest
dare I say unhappy
There were usually film posters signed by movie stars long ago dead
Art that said nothing, whose lips had been glued shut by clean dollar bills
the brash ****** it tried to display lacked controversy in dusty rooms
the irony being that it had become everything it tried to displease
and yet I was envious
the violent comfort it imposed was far more inviting than
living in rations, in the poverty that ate at your skin
it was friendliness with a clenched fist, like the hostess at a
party that smiles too wide and moves her eyes too quickly
sloshing her champagne glass but never quite spilling it
I remember once stumbling upon one the owners of a house
she was sitting in a wheelchair, there were diamonds on the wheels
I thought I was meeting god for the first time
she looked like she had lived ten lifetimes, wearing fox fur around her neck
the paws resting defiantly on shaky shoulders
age spots congregating around her eyes like whispering spies
wrinkles weaving and unraveling from her forehead to her chin
small nose inhaling sharp gulps of smoke, dust, reason
she wore a translucent egg-shell colored gown
that cascaded like a waterfall down to her tiny feet
it was as transparent as her skin making her look like a
one of those see-through fishes
all organs and blood, bone with the marrow withering
her eyes were closed but she spoke, piercing the room
“so you’re the new girl. We don’t take kindly to strangers
so she must’ve thought you were trustworthy, but I know
someone’s true intentions. I can smell it. It’s a gift.
It’s always the foreigners that wear masks. That’s how
they survive and who can blame them I would do the same.
I’ve been all over the world; the tips of my boots have been
polished while there are others that fester like rats in their
own caves. I know the contempt they must feel, I’ve never
been held down by others more powerful than me and yet
I know that it only creates misunderstanding.
I didn’t ask for this. I earned this. All of this.”
She pointed around the room.
“I am the only one that can decide my fate. When you
want something bad enough it is given to you. Most
just want things for free. They want it handed
to them in a silver plate with a golden spoon. ****
will always shy away from the light because there
is a sickness in their brains that don’t let them see past
their disgusting oppression.
I assume since you haven’t interrupted, I take
your silence as a sign that you don’t believe what I am saying.
That this piece of advice has flown over you.
I very well could have written these words on a letter
at the bottom of a stack of mail that will never be opened and
that’s okay. I don’t expect you to believe to my truth.
But the emperor you see before you was not conjured out of dust
and thin air, I swear it.” She ended with an angry laugh.
I wanted to say that her environment was polluted with
cotton ***** and the furniture was contaminated with soot
and dead skin cells
that once everyone dies they turn into dirt, into
the sand from which we seemed to have been composed of
but I realized that she didn’t see herself as dying
Seeing her there in the dark room with the shades drawn
I realized if that’s what it took to become a god
I didn’t want to be any more than human
but all I said was
“ma’am your plants are in need of watering.”
chose dehydrated milk for the title because it is often sent to third world countries so it can feed communities that can't afford food
Akemi Apr 2017
Barbiturate is one of the few drugs capable of killing you painlessly, so of course the state has banned it. Instead we get paracetamol, a ****** over-the-counter painkiller that leaves you in pain for up to five days while your liver and kidneys shut down. Suicide prevention is a ******* joke. Secular appropriations of Christian values that assume life is worthwhile, whether you desire it or not. It’s long been known that rates of suicide rose dramatically with the birth of modernity—techno-scientific paradise for the middle-class which stresses efficiency over existence. New forms of automation, the human body disciplined into repetitious acts, the partitioning of workspaces so that no single worker could operate the whole—so that any worker could be fired and replaced with the minimum amount of training necessary for capital to continue circulating. The body is individualised, scrutinised, and punished by rich kids playing panopticon, so that any mass agitation is coerced into silence through the threat of destitution.

Slitting your wrists barely succeeds and more likely than not leaves you with tendon and muscle damage. Catalytic converters in cars now convert carbon monoxide into harmless CO2 and H2O. Drowning is one of the most painful ways to die. You cannot escape. The state places helpline numbers around suicide spots to treat life after the fact, rather than at the source of suffering. Vocal band-aids, ****** ******* aphorisms that seek to revert you back into a happy state-serving commodity. Things will get better. Life is worth living. Think positive. Alienation is omnipresent. Neoliberal discourse requires you to be subservient to the greater system of capital and the easiest way towards this is the instilment of comfort, of pleasant nullity, the circumscription of emotional capacity and reflectivity. Suicidal thoughts are abnormal, because life is worth living. Eat your packaged food item and watch Netflix.

For a drop into water to be fatal, it has to be 250 feet. Try to aim for your head to maximise brain injury. The most prominent suicide spot around here has a drop of 100 feet. They cordoned it off anyway. Your life doesn’t belong to you. The first time I tried to suicide my mother asked ‘why would you do that?’ as if it was the dumbest thing in the world. The second time, the doctor looked at me in an exasperated manner and prescribed me lots of drugs. Geettt bettterrrr. Nobody cares about you, they simply want you to return to normal. Normality as in serving your parents, serving your friends, serving the state, and serving the market. Normality as in not questioning social norms and institutions. Normality as in get a stable job (i.e. compete against other workers in an exploitative, undemocratic system that values and inculcates self-serving desires), get married (preferably to someone of the opposite *** who is middle-class and imbibes European culture), get pregnant/get someone pregnant (but only once or twice, because anyone who has more children than that is backwards), invest in housing (those students and lower-class families need to learn how the world works; really, it’s a benefit to take their money), watch sports (to instil national pride in your children; no son, we didn’t colonise the Pacific Islands, keep watching the man with the wooden stick hit *****), eat out every week (preferably exotic restaurants), go see the world (preferably exotic locations, so you can be served by exotic people, take in exotic sights, then leave without considering where any of your money has gone to, whether any of it has reached the slums, whether the beach you lay on is accessible to the people living there, or whether it has been privatised by the tourist firm so that only rich tourists like yourself can lie on it), join a club (those capitalists were innocent, it was the indigenous folk that were making a ruckus over the new golf course; it’s not like we’ve been colonising their land and culture for the past three centuries), donate to charity (but never any charity desiring systemic change; that’s crazy), consume, always consume (keeps the economy going; why question the desire for infinite growth in a world with limited land, resources and markets?), replace your phone every year (those poor workers in Asia need our help), repeat to the point of nausea.

The most successful method to suicide is a shotgun to the head; high calibre, slug rounds. Of course, with all these methods, the chance of failing may leave you disfigured, paralysed, mentally disabled or physically crippled (spinal damage, broken limbs, failed organs), with no guarantee that your family, or even your state, will allow for euthanasia. After all, the popular discourse paints suicide as selfish—an irony, considering liberalism places the self first and society second. It is viewed as sinful regardless of context—deontologically detached from anomie, alienation, material deprivation, social pressures, psychological affectations, any cause or structure. Life is worth living. This ignores that the subject is situated in existence. The subject moves through existence to live. Life, then, is the totality of the subject’s interactions. It cannot be universalised into a single state or judgement that merges all subjectivities into a catch-all worthiness. Worth is dependent of the subject.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe I just want everyone to **** themselves, because the world is ****** and the majority of people are ******* it worse. Most people think being nice makes them good. They turn blind to the systems of oppression they partake in. A while ago my mother was asking if I’d heard about the mass suicides happening at Foxconn, the largest electronics manufacturer in the world. This year she showed me her new iPhone. I don’t ******* understand. I don’t understand how people can be outraged at humanity abuses, yet do ******* nothing to help or change their ways. Yes, market solutions are ******* ****, but these commodities are still coming from somewhere, and while capitalism is in place, our money is still flowing back. I don’t understand how people can be concerned about ecological issues, then pour dishwashing liquid down the sink every night, dissolving the gills, eyes, and organs of fish in rivers and oceans. I don’t understand a ******* thing. I feel physically sick most days. I can barely function outside of university, because engaging with real people, in real systems, just reminds me of how careless, worthless, and disgusting they are. When I first turned vegan, my dad simply said plants are living too. Well no ******* **** dad, why didn’t you ask me my reason for turning vegan, rather than simply repeating the dumb **** everyone else says? If you were stuck on a desert island. Well I’m ******* not. I’m stuck on this **** world filled with nice people who don’t give a **** about anything. I’m stuck every week walking the same roads, to the same university, where I become more and more distanced from reality through abstract philosophical theories that no one else cares about. I’m stuck walking through the supermarket every week, to purchase overpriced commodities produced by transnational corporations I don’t support, but nonetheless have to buy to survive. What alternatives I buy are mocked because it's so funny being ethical in our day and age. Because it’s so much more normal eating pies, and drinking beer, and treating women like objects, and affirming nationalistic sentiments of white supremacy, and making fun of ethnic minorities while they’re incarcerated, and beaten, and killed. All lives matter, the liberal conservatives cry out, while doing ******* nothing to help any cause. I don’t understand this world, and I have no desire to be in it if this is all there is.
Kagey Sage May 2016
We do not pine for just one day
where the markets, morality, or technology
tune themselves in perfect harmony
We say the future's now
if we unite in just one way:
the acknowledgment that we have the will and machinery
to feed, clothe, house, and heal
every human being

Who cares if they find a wage
Let's "let anyone follow their dreams"
be the creed of Earthlings
I'll have much more a fun time
going to my neighbor's for beers
if they spent their days doing
what their inner child intended

Pipe dream, much?
Acknowledgment our task's a process
another must, even when we feel so close
What's your story
other than the idea that authority's some natural right?
The Government and the Propertied
Working together or against each other
forever in eternity
(the Capitalists are the biggest Marxist narrow minds
who refuse to hear Karlo's ending)
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