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Why the **** is there
all this disdain for varied techniques?

So what if I like altered guitar tunings?
Sorry that all my guitars
are in D Standard or drop C.
Yes, even the ******* Classical guitar.
I never meant to inconvenience you,
your Eminent Prestige!


Maybe it's a problem
on thy knavish behalf
that you can't cope
with variation within the
Sacred realm of Art.

Don't ******* tell me
what to do or how to do it.
Don't ******* tell me
my approach to my Art is wrong.

Don't ******* crawl to me
when you want to learn how it's done
and I won't say I ******* told you so
when you confess your perspective lacks variety.

I will still teach you, though,
that is, if you will listen.
I will still teach you, though,
if, indeed, I can.

I will still teach you, though,
but only if you can teach me, too.
I will still learn from you
despite your rigid adherence to traditionalism.

I will still learn from you
if you don't ******* condescend me
about how I decide to do it
about how it feels most natural
about what I like or why;

just ******* deal with it
like a true Artist;
accept it and bask in it,
that everyone's technique
is unique.

Besides,
be it not that very variation
that lends itself to the plethora of Art
that has been, could be, and will be made?

Be it not that very variation
that leads a school of thought
away from being so incestuous
that it kills itself off?

Be it not that very variation
which makes Democracy feasible?

If Art be neither
democratic or anarchic,
then I guess I'm no Artist.

Just ******* deal with it.
If you can't: then shut the **** up,
and let us, who can deal with it,
just ******* do it.
Sorry to be so profane,
I realize it limits my audience,
but I don't ******* care.

But, ultimately,
what is profanity
but whatsoever we decide?
CC Arshagra Apr 2014
Free falling through eyes wide open
As the wind of alive fills the room of life
A piano nearby listens
Dreaming in the key of flesh
All the silence in the world moves here
The heart of risking nothing and everything at once lifts time
Fear cannot ever fly this high to see you in the other without guise
Fright has too many masks and no way to remove them
****-time is gravity’s secret gift to those who only dance with true abandon
Beings unafraid of fiery tears laughing and wanderlust exposed
No other way home
Every moment is dying
On lips that live within words and the whispers of thoughts stir
Everything said and heard contains the death of afraid now
Every soul step closer is leaving all clocks behind
The first kiss can wait forever
For it has already caressed complete naked honesty
We shiver
Choosing

To never harm how all love is sacred
© Copyright April 2014 C.C. Arshagra
press22publishing (unpublished work)
From the manuscript “Nothing Lies Between Us” / "In The Key of Flesh" (pending)
From the manuscript series “The Integrity of ****** Poetry"
Renae Apr 2014
Stronger than waves crashing
Stronger than stone
Stronger than the stars that light
up the sky
Cataclysmic volcanic energy
is your might
Your strength to lead us
just as strong
As was your strength to decide
to willingly give
up your human existence
Providing us
Hope for everlasting life
Today was Nissan 14, the day Jesus died
Harry J Baxter Apr 2014
The sun in the air is a pinprick
And heaven is leaking through
Birds shot forth as arrows
Rip through divine scenes
Of colorful vibrance
With their songs
Infecting my idle tongue
With rhythms of untold tomorrows
Living inside of the holy kaleidoscope
Shaken in an infinite snow globe
The time is melting down the brick of city walls
To pool in the streets
Like gasoline rainbows
Clipped winged angels eating Eden
Without any notion of good and evil
Black and white
Reality flickers like static
And I am a man
Lost in the sanctity
Of a wonderfully calm
Vast sea
Jasmine Luna Apr 2014
who knew that in about
4 years time,
or maybe
10,000 years lost in
10,000 multi hued tears,
id be on the same trip-
dancing to the same
shimmering inner grove as before-
braiding fresh cut
flowers-
delicate genital-hands, unfolding in prayer
into my subconscious mind
or perhaps into my hair-
saving colored prism fragments
of knowledge or nonsense-
digesting intoxicating
incense smoke into the
deep throated green streaked
laughter chasms
that are my lungs-
spinning vinyl, spun mind
unwinding, undulating
through string music-
contemplating the sunset's sweet
immaculate form, reoccuring
and balancing itself right outside my window-
dressing in shells, bones,
and beads; kaleidoscope fabric dripping from
the ******* like mother Kali in a Fellini
flick-
peeping out at heads slinking down
the ****** pavement streets-
my hairy angelic form grooving
intensely, spastic-
body flung, strung out in
hot patterns of
mirrored arms and legs-
brain brew bubbling; wicked, fantastic-
limbs waving and grabbing at
tangible tasty morsels,
smelling strongly of indigo
and patchouli-
the East smiling on me and
my intrepid journey to the ocean city-
head thrown back in
tranquil madness-
pipe smoke curling like
ancient hound howls from the corners
of my lips-
smiles spread like insanity, a wicked disease
lost in the forgotten finger painted
confounds of creamy
****** milk consciousness-
basking in lamplight
of the golden glistening
                                  Now.

— The End —