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#collectivism
Oh right. I forgot. There's actually ******* out there Who are serious About their homophobia. About hate of Consenual relations Between any grown individuals Which doesn't conform To their perspective of love. Righteous love. Fanatic heterosexuals. Ay, I can't knock women. Obviously, There's so much more To loving a partner. So much more To a loving partner. The life you build together, What you do with it. But let's hone in On dictating individuality And harming individual rights. Oh right. I forgot. There's this thing Called the constitution. Oh right. I forgot. There's these things Called amendments. Silly me, I guess I was on A personal "freak." Silly me, I guess I waged A personal "streak." Oh right. I forgot. There's this thing Called proper interpretation. Oh right. I forgot. There's these things Called existing judgements. Ah, **** I guess I'm against State & church seperation. Ah, shucks! I guess I'm for Totalitarian fascism.
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Apr 20, 2025
Apr 20, 2025 at 1:21 PM UTC
There's This Thing Called Opposition
Black ties, collar shirts, a sea of black hair. All operate the same, nothing is rare. A heap of bleak faces, holding briefcases. Forming thoughts like a system software.
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Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
Sararīman
Melodious moonlight thy clear liquid spreads painting all in lavender hue and moistening lips wait for the kiss of your words, muse You sing through her parted lips your cryptic hymns and poetry, words wound together in strange nightly meter that twist together and shift like tree limbs tangled and petals cast down the stream To bathe in the rippling water and wait for clarity to wash away the rough edges of the mind let the stones become smooth and mind like bowstrings, taughtened. But the crowds protest in collective indignation all members chained together by common trepidation lest altars crack under the weight of strange words and the diety's light grows dim they sharpen what was dull and loose arrows in laughing mirth into bodies' crooked minds uninhibited and feet unshackled The ones in the crowd yell with groans and laughter but they groan also with the pain of what is constant death and birth... they are resigned to their tradition's lies and perish ten thousand times. Nascent generations yell out in incredulity until voices become hoarse and skin turns gray, resign themselves to murmur their insolence in dreams as they whither slowly away. But the one who, in nighttime, sings and bestowed by muse's mind, from human lips part words and strange poems spoken blaspheme will live but once and one day rest by the shifting branches and on grass by trickling stream and not by chain's clanking arrest.
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Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
The Muse and the Crowd
We know which sacrifices what we believe in brings So we will sit together amongst the trees to celebrate, the destruction and the fluster of All this released creativity. So we know that only with standing together We can own the future that comes to us, something we fought tooth and nail To stand for, to gather for and burn our empires. On the pyres of our ruined privilege we cry. Our holy times, They have come and gone. In the emptiness we find our souls again and Reclaim the soil that was born from all our forbearers together. And we know that We own whatever will comes fleeting toward us. In our clenched fists we hold hope and crush The remains of past empires and privileges. © 24 November 2013
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Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
Song for the departure of empire