#counterculture - Hello Poetry

#counterculture

these (…) lines breaking up into both plastic and epiphany produce materials, hidden letter jams of human cognitive subordination creating its creature “the snake” and experiences “the dear...” does tradition really contain a use of peace? or use of new speech? does it contain to leave the objective socks and become radiance of non-obedient waves of countercultures, alt-cultures, new paths? NEW POETRY?? we have to revive it, & green minds & Middle Eastern mustaches, hookahs, the glorious Orient in poetry! writing writing to displace the words evacuating them right out of the heart to the page

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Dec 28, 2025

Dec 28, 2025 at 4:36 PM UTC

these (…) lines breaking up into both plastic and epiphany produce materials, hidden letter jams of human cognitive subordination creating its creature “the snake” and experiences “the dear...” does tradition really contain a use of peace? or use of new speech? does it contain to leave the objective socks and become radiance of non-obedient waves of countercultures, alt-cultures, new paths? NEW POETRY?? we have to revive it, & green minds & Middle Eastern mustaches, hookahs, the glorious Orient in poetry! writing writing to displace the words evacuating them right out of the heart to the page

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the truest tragedy of all poetry is the fallacy that every line you write must be saddening. irony is the counterculture of poetry. i write death to the community and without a breath the work is granted validity. i write life to the people and without strife my work is deemed feeble. a poem is not a feeling it's a moment. there is no emotion there is no reeling it's not hopeless it's not devotion it's not healing. your poem is now.

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Nov 12, 2024

Nov 12, 2024 at 5:08 PM UTC

the truest tragedy of all poetry is the fallacy that every line you write must be saddening. irony is the counterculture of poetry. i write death to the community and without a breath the work is granted validity. i write life to the people and without strife my work is deemed feeble. a poem is not a feeling it's a moment. there is no emotion there is no reeling it's not hopeless it's not devotion it's not healing. your poem is now.

Continue reading...

Sometimes I miss Baltimore, as it was, in this ragged snapshot from 1999. Smoky bars, diffuse light, the dusky anonymity of proto-digital consciousness, A city teeming with its own subversive imagination. Palpable in the night air, the questionable intentions of the still willfully living, A dim seediness skulking in the corners and alleyways, bearing impartial witness to the transgressions of all those nights, preordained to bleed into mornings, A time, A town, that was fearless, rogue in the absolute saturation of its moments, Shimmering in the mists like slick cobblestone, like points of light upon dark water, the winking reflections of a neon harbor, paused somewhere between future and past, A bastion of the new prehistory. I miss Baltimore, covert and alive, In its hour of renegade persuasion, however quaint or illusory, its voice was distinct, in the chatter of the underground. There was a relevance to the present then, a sanctity in the moment. There were questions left unanswered. There was intimacy in a shared secret. Misfits were permitted to revel. I miss that Baltimore most, the one that curated me, called me out of myself. With a history cemented in the arcane, its raven-dark undercurrent like smooth cognac softening the edges, melancholy, delicate as roses, giving the rage a moment's pause, Giving human momentum a breath, to observe and retain the poignancy, of itself, In all its uneasy coexistence, Baltimore, as it once was, steeped in the tradition of the unsung, like an archeological dig, On the surface, merely crumbling dirt, and broken things. but deeper, an uncanny relic of rich insights, and richer delights. But one had to know where to look, and one had to know how to let it take lead. And one could never be too scrupulous, or scrutinous. The Carnival of Dissonance, was not for the uninitiated,

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Nov 17, 2020

Nov 17, 2020 at 4:44 PM UTC

Sometimes I miss Baltimore, as it was, in this ragged snapshot from 1999. Smoky bars, diffuse light, the dusky anonymity of proto-digital consciousness, A city teeming with its own subversive imagination. Palpable in the night air, the questionable intentions of the still willfully living, A dim seediness skulking in the corners and alleyways, bearing impartial witness to the transgressions of all those nights, preordained to bleed into mornings, A time, A town, that was fearless, rogue in the absolute saturation of its moments, Shimmering in the mists like slick cobblestone, like points of light upon dark water, the winking reflections of a neon harbor, paused somewhere between future and past, A bastion of the new prehistory. I miss Baltimore, covert and alive, In its hour of renegade persuasion, however quaint or illusory, its voice was distinct, in the chatter of the underground. There was a relevance to the present then, a sanctity in the moment. There were questions left unanswered. There was intimacy in a shared secret. Misfits were permitted to revel. I miss that Baltimore most, the one that curated me, called me out of myself. With a history cemented in the arcane, its raven-dark undercurrent like smooth cognac softening the edges, melancholy, delicate as roses, giving the rage a moment's pause, Giving human momentum a breath, to observe and retain the poignancy, of itself, In all its uneasy coexistence, Baltimore, as it once was, steeped in the tradition of the unsung, like an archeological dig, On the surface, merely crumbling dirt, and broken things. but deeper, an uncanny relic of rich insights, and richer delights. But one had to know where to look, and one had to know how to let it take lead. And one could never be too scrupulous, or scrutinous. The Carnival of Dissonance, was not for the uninitiated,

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Long arm gendarme My mistake namaste Backpack bivouac On the Road with Kerouac Brilliant stars, silent nights Fireflies, Northern Lights Mountain streams, fresh air Fall asleep anywhere Small town, take a chance Pig roast, barn dance Allemande left! Do-si-do! Spontaneity here we go! Long arm gendarme My mistake namaste Backpack bivouac On the Road with Kerouac Beat Zen's hey-day Doing things our own way Nonconformity, anything goes Kerouac-Ginsburg-Burroughs Shot to pieces, picking skin Benzedrine, adrenaline Don't forget the Phenergan Notify our next of kin Long arm gendarme My mistake namaste Backpack bivouac On the Road with Kerouac

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Oct 19, 2019

Oct 19, 2019 at 12:11 PM UTC

Beat Generation

Long arm gendarme My mistake namaste Backpack bivouac On the Road with Kerouac Brilliant stars, silent nights Fireflies, Northern Lights Mountain streams, fresh air Fall asleep anywhere Small town, take a chance Pig roast, barn dance Allemande left! Do-si-do! Spontaneity here we go! Long arm gendarme My mistake namaste Backpack bivouac On the Road with Kerouac Beat Zen's hey-day Doing things our own way Nonconformity, anything goes Kerouac-Ginsburg-Burroughs Shot to pieces, picking skin Benzedrine, adrenaline Don't forget the Phenergan Notify our next of kin Long arm gendarme My mistake namaste Backpack bivouac On the Road with Kerouac

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I stole you away from city lights Yep held it in a brown balled paper bag Drank in the words like liquor I didn’t think anybody could see, really. San Francisco stopped and got back on the treadmill Made of silicon and now its gone Beaded sweat of mind bleeds into the bay I walked on the pier and teared up a little bit lip The hills once covered in god are covered in another ones I don’t know what to think of it at all Grit the teeth against it and grind them to dust Bite the tongue until it leaks sweet sanguine blood I drink the wine and dine on the pain And wish with all my dying heart to meet you again But you are dead Even the world you left is dead And the minds of man are dying Because they got way too mad of trying Counter the counted counter-cultured counter-top Endless sine of combating thought I’ve walked to the golden-brown California hillcrop And realized I stood on holy seasonal grassland genocide With horror the minds withered United State Holodomor Can I build a paper airplane to take away from here In time you knew there was nothing here to fear I cannot find it Please help me find it Your alley smells like **** and the taste of forlorn Bay sits in hazy forever The water still glitters god’s diamonds but it feels more like A forgotten mound of coal You cannot polish these timely souls From bronze to something gold If they do not want it Men like you live to die And we can pretend that there will be another to tell your place But Socratic manners of speaking are banned So too, will you be left on trial The veil of night shines with roman jewels on an incandescent man-made interstate I watch them sparkle in the receding mirror, all but the brightest remain We built stars on our land and pretend they are god And in a way they are What poor representatives to those congresses of light Impossibly far So I must make do with the day we are born to Speak words that mean worlds to you And perhaps together we can reawake something Disastrous after the soul, and open the I

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Jan 3, 2018

Jan 3, 2018 at 9:58 PM UTC

I stole you away from city lights Yep held it in a brown balled paper bag Drank in the words like liquor I didn’t think anybody could see, really. San Francisco stopped and got back on the treadmill Made of silicon and now its gone Beaded sweat of mind bleeds into the bay I walked on the pier and teared up a little bit lip The hills once covered in god are covered in another ones I don’t know what to think of it at all Grit the teeth against it and grind them to dust Bite the tongue until it leaks sweet sanguine blood I drink the wine and dine on the pain And wish with all my dying heart to meet you again But you are dead Even the world you left is dead And the minds of man are dying Because they got way too mad of trying Counter the counted counter-cultured counter-top Endless sine of combating thought I’ve walked to the golden-brown California hillcrop And realized I stood on holy seasonal grassland genocide With horror the minds withered United State Holodomor Can I build a paper airplane to take away from here In time you knew there was nothing here to fear I cannot find it Please help me find it Your alley smells like **** and the taste of forlorn Bay sits in hazy forever The water still glitters god’s diamonds but it feels more like A forgotten mound of coal You cannot polish these timely souls From bronze to something gold If they do not want it Men like you live to die And we can pretend that there will be another to tell your place But Socratic manners of speaking are banned So too, will you be left on trial The veil of night shines with roman jewels on an incandescent man-made interstate I watch them sparkle in the receding mirror, all but the brightest remain We built stars on our land and pretend they are god And in a way they are What poor representatives to those congresses of light Impossibly far So I must make do with the day we are born to Speak words that mean worlds to you And perhaps together we can reawake something Disastrous after the soul, and open the I

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I wanted to be like Abbie Hoffman before, until I built a prison of my own. Now I am trapped within the usual circle that I have grown tired of, even before I start, even before everything ends.

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Feb 19, 2017

Feb 19, 2017 at 3:30 AM UTC

Spit on me, Abbie

I wanted to be like Abbie Hoffman before, until I built a prison of my own. Now I am trapped within the usual circle that I have grown tired of, even before I start, even before everything ends.

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Wrapped in electric Christmas sweaters, Apple cider morning holding whiskey Feeling nervous. I watch average people out my window, I see snow, unique and frozen. But who cares that everything outside is dying? Here inside it's a rave, we're all alive and close, Sweating, comfortable. It's the only thing tethering me to the Earth. Staying awake is only fun when there's ecstasy involved, Depressing news on smartphones, Roofies and ice cubes. So much excitement, so little time before death, Might as well live in excess, And then stop, suddenly.

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Dec 16, 2016

Dec 16, 2016 at 6:18 AM UTC

Curious Androgny.

Wrapped in electric Christmas sweaters, Apple cider morning holding whiskey Feeling nervous. I watch average people out my window, I see snow, unique and frozen. But who cares that everything outside is dying? Here inside it's a rave, we're all alive and close, Sweating, comfortable. It's the only thing tethering me to the Earth. Staying awake is only fun when there's ecstasy involved, Depressing news on smartphones, Roofies and ice cubes. So much excitement, so little time before death, Might as well live in excess, And then stop, suddenly.

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Cursed by technology Born to be a prodigy Roamed the earth to become well versed in ecology. Broke the dirt with the farm hand’s anthology Made a stony hearth from the girth of this broken land’s economy. Pitched my yurt where the man can’t bother me. On top of luscious greens, In the field of dreams, No more do I pull the weeds of society. All my proceeds grow seeds I don’t need deeds just look at these feats Grab an ear of corn if you haven’t heard of me. Burn what you don’t need, An idea of greed, the illusion of necessity. Brought to you by bold thieves Who trade lives but don’t sleep Hold banquets but don’t eat Grow food but don’t feed. Ripped from your roots. Dropped on the streets in the sweltering heat. Drying like souls of the ****** every last one of us lost lambs. What they want for me, it’s not a part of me I won’t take place in the injustice that’s been bought for me. But what I brought for me is a hypothesis, Tranquility so deep a Buddhist monk couldn’t offer me More than what my coffers could proffer me. I’m not crazy but I have started the uncoupling That’s got me to this mental brink, Out of this poisonous sink, No longer do I drink- from this sea of doubt Where the irradiated mind has its teeth pulled out. I put my knowledge of “earthology” into this horse and plow I raise sow in the north for truffles of course Sell them for hundreds of dollars an ounce to chefs in New York I make herbal oils richer than kings from thorny things and rosy beings Contemplating the meaning of life while looking at my fig-leaves And I will pick the fruit and share it with you Confuse me not with a more treacherous youth Whom only seeks to toxify you with some new indoctrinated truth Give you some of their lead paint proof, glyphosate too. Their cell phone hooks filling your time with Facebook looks, And a MySpace laze With honeycomb glaze There in your man-made maze Where you don’t speak for days. I have seen the ways good people choose bad things to happen due the deceit Of the industry they’re tapping’ Where is the Chaplain? He’s got this book , and his grubby hands are in the pocket of the fat man Who takes the holy waters and turns them to black sand. Tossing grains in the air it’s unclear “whether” we can breathe it in With no name and no face one rigged rat race, We look for those Rebels M.I.A.

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Mar 18, 2016

Mar 18, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC

autumn-briarhart

Grass Roots Truths

Cursed by technology Born to be a prodigy Roamed the earth to become well versed in ecology. Broke the dirt with the farm hand’s anthology Made a stony hearth from the girth of this broken land’s economy. Pitched my yurt where the man can’t bother me. On top of luscious greens, In the field of dreams, No more do I pull the weeds of society. All my proceeds grow seeds I don’t need deeds just look at these feats Grab an ear of corn if you haven’t heard of me. Burn what you don’t need, An idea of greed, the illusion of necessity. Brought to you by bold thieves Who trade lives but don’t sleep Hold banquets but don’t eat Grow food but don’t feed. Ripped from your roots. Dropped on the streets in the sweltering heat. Drying like souls of the ****** every last one of us lost lambs. What they want for me, it’s not a part of me I won’t take place in the injustice that’s been bought for me. But what I brought for me is a hypothesis, Tranquility so deep a Buddhist monk couldn’t offer me More than what my coffers could proffer me. I’m not crazy but I have started the uncoupling That’s got me to this mental brink, Out of this poisonous sink, No longer do I drink- from this sea of doubt Where the irradiated mind has its teeth pulled out. I put my knowledge of “earthology” into this horse and plow I raise sow in the north for truffles of course Sell them for hundreds of dollars an ounce to chefs in New York I make herbal oils richer than kings from thorny things and rosy beings Contemplating the meaning of life while looking at my fig-leaves And I will pick the fruit and share it with you Confuse me not with a more treacherous youth Whom only seeks to toxify you with some new indoctrinated truth Give you some of their lead paint proof, glyphosate too. Their cell phone hooks filling your time with Facebook looks, And a MySpace laze With honeycomb glaze There in your man-made maze Where you don’t speak for days. I have seen the ways good people choose bad things to happen due the deceit Of the industry they’re tapping’ Where is the Chaplain? He’s got this book , and his grubby hands are in the pocket of the fat man Who takes the holy waters and turns them to black sand. Tossing grains in the air it’s unclear “whether” we can breathe it in With no name and no face one rigged rat race, We look for those Rebels M.I.A.

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TMD..Too many dreams, not enough dreamers. DMT Transcendent level of realities, neurological radio transmitting divine consciousness to filter out daily fallacies. Collapse in consciousness, Dismantle the physiological boundaries to achieve the pinnacle of a conglomeration of spiritual transformation. Reconnect with spirit, So help us Gaia, so help us universal nexus. Without even seeing you, i feel it deeply in my solar plexus, That we are all connected--- And through our hearts we are protected, we are alive and have been selected to march towards a new paradigm, each soul duly elected; through this process of love, and support from the synchronicity club, cleaning up sin city’s pub with our rhymes Going through lines and lines of authentic self cravers…. just to deal with jah created vacuums of reverse lasers wielded by ravers. Psycho’s thoughts to be psychonauts, Hiding doubts without the slightest worries Your mind’s a box, minuscule with so many boundaries But mine is vibrant, vividly stylish and keeps recurring The past is blurry, barely searching, yea I think u heard me The skell of the bass leaves zinn in his place So witness what’s great, see its simply sinful so straight We empty bliss into our systems till we hallucinate And then we’re up for days, blazed and drained, turned insane Time to recuperate Truth is paradox, Fancy words in a box Experiential knowledge overlookin the edge Speak of time as a mystery of the mind Vivid skies make you realize there is never a bind Perception of life, simply reflection Present moment with a longer extension Don’t even mention your problems Because We already solved em. Mescaline and bliss sends me to heaven but with drips Mix them together nice, chop it fine and I'm ready to commit Never thinking twice not hesitant, not I Meditation to astral projection, its my nature to fly In this world you have to take what you can find for fear of someone ripping it from your grasp in some desperate act of power. Knowing this, I would give mine away before the final hour. What a cruel game we play, torturing the self with a recreation of falsified rules. We can never create until we imagine the tools. I am not the prophet, but I can still predict the future. I am not the savior, but I can point out the vulture. The martyr selfishly lives vicariously through the lives of his followers. Bored in a solar system I see the greatest kingdom Geometric, moving pattern Static coughing orbit Saturn Hold that **** true words spoke Realize that life a joke.

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Feb 22, 2016

Feb 22, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC

TMD..Too many dreams, not enough dreamers. DMT Transcendent level of realities, neurological radio transmitting divine consciousness to filter out daily fallacies. Collapse in consciousness, Dismantle the physiological boundaries to achieve the pinnacle of a conglomeration of spiritual transformation. Reconnect with spirit, So help us Gaia, so help us universal nexus. Without even seeing you, i feel it deeply in my solar plexus, That we are all connected--- And through our hearts we are protected, we are alive and have been selected to march towards a new paradigm, each soul duly elected; through this process of love, and support from the synchronicity club, cleaning up sin city’s pub with our rhymes Going through lines and lines of authentic self cravers…. just to deal with jah created vacuums of reverse lasers wielded by ravers. Psycho’s thoughts to be psychonauts, Hiding doubts without the slightest worries Your mind’s a box, minuscule with so many boundaries But mine is vibrant, vividly stylish and keeps recurring The past is blurry, barely searching, yea I think u heard me The skell of the bass leaves zinn in his place So witness what’s great, see its simply sinful so straight We empty bliss into our systems till we hallucinate And then we’re up for days, blazed and drained, turned insane Time to recuperate Truth is paradox, Fancy words in a box Experiential knowledge overlookin the edge Speak of time as a mystery of the mind Vivid skies make you realize there is never a bind Perception of life, simply reflection Present moment with a longer extension Don’t even mention your problems Because We already solved em. Mescaline and bliss sends me to heaven but with drips Mix them together nice, chop it fine and I'm ready to commit Never thinking twice not hesitant, not I Meditation to astral projection, its my nature to fly In this world you have to take what you can find for fear of someone ripping it from your grasp in some desperate act of power. Knowing this, I would give mine away before the final hour. What a cruel game we play, torturing the self with a recreation of falsified rules. We can never create until we imagine the tools. I am not the prophet, but I can still predict the future. I am not the savior, but I can point out the vulture. The martyr selfishly lives vicariously through the lives of his followers. Bored in a solar system I see the greatest kingdom Geometric, moving pattern Static coughing orbit Saturn Hold that **** true words spoke Realize that life a joke.

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Intertwining limbs....one, two, three hearts beating as one laughing and gasping, dying for air, but never feeling more alive they take in the moment, tasting skin so sweet monogamy will never feel this way monogamy will never know love like this, will never know lust like this.

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Jan 1, 2016

Jan 1, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC

Intertwining limbs....one, two, three hearts beating as one laughing and gasping, dying for air, but never feeling more alive they take in the moment, tasting skin so sweet monogamy will never feel this way monogamy will never know love like this, will never know lust like this.

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Grey nameless faceless suits A decaying ladder without roots Monochrome and corporate candy loot Your elitest point is mute. Your point is mute! Fine dining line driving A self-sabotaging visionary Glass half empty Down your throat white wine is sliding D-U-why is my life such a mess? I dream of big success In nightmares you wear office dress This is a test Of your ******* Freeload patience! Just a purple plastic bobble head Nodding yes with self-deprecating complacency Lowely little Attempts of autonomy Grin wider with each shit-induced palpitation Foaming at the mouth media-induced inebriation-- Cheap industrial imitation

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Jul 12, 2015

Jul 12, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC

Corporate Candy Hamsterwheel

Grey nameless faceless suits A decaying ladder without roots Monochrome and corporate candy loot Your elitest point is mute. Your point is mute! Fine dining line driving A self-sabotaging visionary Glass half empty Down your throat white wine is sliding D-U-why is my life such a mess? I dream of big success In nightmares you wear office dress This is a test Of your ******* Freeload patience! Just a purple plastic bobble head Nodding yes with self-deprecating complacency Lowely little Attempts of autonomy Grin wider with each shit-induced palpitation Foaming at the mouth media-induced inebriation-- Cheap industrial imitation

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consume! consume! consume! start consuming, feel the ever-present looming! who cares about nature’s pure essence when you have to worry for material obsolescence consume! the rat race is for you! ... you know that feeling you got that one time? when the breeze whispered gently and you tingled inside you dipped your bare toes in the lake and smiled for no reason in the sunshine? do you remember the smell of fresh jasmine, the way the music floated through open windows in the afternoon that moment in the song when you could feel every heartbeat in the room? those feelings don’t matter to us. what matters is that you consume.

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Mar 14, 2015

Mar 14, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC

Perceived Obsolescence

consume! consume! consume! start consuming, feel the ever-present looming! who cares about nature’s pure essence when you have to worry for material obsolescence consume! the rat race is for you! ... you know that feeling you got that one time? when the breeze whispered gently and you tingled inside you dipped your bare toes in the lake and smiled for no reason in the sunshine? do you remember the smell of fresh jasmine, the way the music floated through open windows in the afternoon that moment in the song when you could feel every heartbeat in the room? those feelings don’t matter to us. what matters is that you consume.

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Wet for my blood Wet for my sweat Hunger over me Wet for the ache between my eyes Desirous seams Tying the noose to the phyxi **** Does it make you ******* wet? Grasping the lines of this broken spine Indebted till death

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Jul 2, 2014

Jul 2, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC

Wet for my blood Wet for my sweat Hunger over me Wet for the ache between my eyes Desirous seams Tying the noose to the phyxi **** Does it make you ******* wet? Grasping the lines of this broken spine Indebted till death

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You are breaking everything with your (un)worn shoes Stomping on stereotypes, evil, and souls While tasting the smoke of a rolled cigarette. Then you worship the streets in the background of jazz Calling a revolution: The king is dead, long live the anarchy, Monarchy is buried under fedoras and ashes. Damp fingers and open lips cease to surprise, Just burning leftovers of shame and bray goosebumps In churches. Heavy breathing nuns and squeaking altars... Men, what can you see through the illuminators of your glasses? Your planes and ships, machines have already turned Back into pumpkins, bleeding cinderellas and their babies Born in the tales of horror. Evening - it's the new tomorrow! Instincts wake and it doesn't hurt When you tickle the Milky Way in search of a Friend.

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Jun 19, 2014

Jun 19, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC

XXI Century Wail (or To Friends Hipsters)

You are breaking everything with your (un)worn shoes Stomping on stereotypes, evil, and souls While tasting the smoke of a rolled cigarette. Then you worship the streets in the background of jazz Calling a revolution: The king is dead, long live the anarchy, Monarchy is buried under fedoras and ashes. Damp fingers and open lips cease to surprise, Just burning leftovers of shame and bray goosebumps In churches. Heavy breathing nuns and squeaking altars... Men, what can you see through the illuminators of your glasses? Your planes and ships, machines have already turned Back into pumpkins, bleeding cinderellas and their babies Born in the tales of horror. Evening - it's the new tomorrow! Instincts wake and it doesn't hurt When you tickle the Milky Way in search of a Friend.

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Blasting out of the fog and mud Past the forests in the sunrise Farms and high ways Trotting through suburbia Through the tunnel Defacing and refusing to allow themselves to be part of an unjust ****** Believe in the intermingling of colors Waiting for the planets to fall into place To stop for a moment and inhale the abundant harmony that surrounds them and emote and create a inspiring response in the form of self expressive freedom that matches the beauty that had compelled them

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Feb 19, 2014

Feb 19, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC

Aesthetic Artisans

Blasting out of the fog and mud Past the forests in the sunrise Farms and high ways Trotting through suburbia Through the tunnel Defacing and refusing to allow themselves to be part of an unjust ****** Believe in the intermingling of colors Waiting for the planets to fall into place To stop for a moment and inhale the abundant harmony that surrounds them and emote and create a inspiring response in the form of self expressive freedom that matches the beauty that had compelled them

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O America, wake up from your dream. Your top of the hill Perception. I plead, awake. Awaken from your false beliefs, your Warped view of the world. Believing it is yours to buy and Consume, while others starve. O America, I see your shadow, Cast over your deprived. A desperate Attempt to hide the desperate, The lost and the depraved. The waste of your creation, Left to wallow in the filth of Your existence. The broken Pieces of your people. Invisible to your people. O America, I see your wretched youth. Apathetic and sadistic, desensitized by Your lifestyle. Enslaved by your media to buy any which way. Your whorish children, your joke of a generation. Raised like cattle in shameful schools, reared in Broken homes. Self destructive and stupid. O America, turn off your television prophets, Preaching their gospel of guilt in exchange for Credit card numbers. Bastardizing science And teaching bigotry. Protesting human rights and feeding fallacies, Indoctrinating children with fearful remorse. Extorting their sheep to build their steeples, Making sin out of human nature. O America, I pray, Wake up from your nightmare. Before you collapse upon yourself, before You're swallowed by your unfeedable mouth. Arise, before you die. Cut the strings that Manipulate you like a puppet. Reject society, The cultural cancer. O state of damnation, awake.

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Mar 5, 2013

Mar 5, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC

O America, wake up from your dream. Your top of the hill Perception. I plead, awake. Awaken from your false beliefs, your Warped view of the world. Believing it is yours to buy and Consume, while others starve. O America, I see your shadow, Cast over your deprived. A desperate Attempt to hide the desperate, The lost and the depraved. The waste of your creation, Left to wallow in the filth of Your existence. The broken Pieces of your people. Invisible to your people. O America, I see your wretched youth. Apathetic and sadistic, desensitized by Your lifestyle. Enslaved by your media to buy any which way. Your whorish children, your joke of a generation. Raised like cattle in shameful schools, reared in Broken homes. Self destructive and stupid. O America, turn off your television prophets, Preaching their gospel of guilt in exchange for Credit card numbers. Bastardizing science And teaching bigotry. Protesting human rights and feeding fallacies, Indoctrinating children with fearful remorse. Extorting their sheep to build their steeples, Making sin out of human nature. O America, I pray, Wake up from your nightmare. Before you collapse upon yourself, before You're swallowed by your unfeedable mouth. Arise, before you die. Cut the strings that Manipulate you like a puppet. Reject society, The cultural cancer. O state of damnation, awake.

Continue reading...