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1.1k · Apr 2013
the last testament
tread Apr 2013
and the whisper clapped.

the whisper clapped to
dawns arrival.

the whisper clapped
to dusks departure.

the whisper clapped
to the arrival of sound
waves laughing like angry
distances in mad consort,
as if schizophrenics heard
words spoken millions of
years ago on far off planets
long since devoured by
exploding supernovas,
the sound waves only
reaching us now in the
same way we see ancient
stars, long since having
devoured the speaking
races in the inevitable
movement of cosmic
breath.

and the whisper wondered;
what was the last word
spoken by
God?

you wouldn't know.

Every Testament was
heard and written by a
solitary schizophrenic
of long past, seen as
holy mystics speaking
the language of heaven.
Now these mystics are
madmen shooting ******
in rainy, grey alleyways.  
God died long ago and his
last whisper was heard
within the confines of a
mental asylum just outside
of São Paulo, Brazil. We
weren't paying attention.
We missed the Last
Testament.
1.1k · Feb 2013
as little and as much as and
tread Feb 2013
daft as the last 3 things you said, I don't
question much aside from life. in how many
sentences could I make a reference to an old
French poet to illustrate to you how little
sense Albert Camus makes seeing as I have yet
to go to university? You'd think the sand clocked
in his socks from all those summers spent in
Algier's would have consumed much more than
background or 'home is where the heart is.'
the right mind is the right heart is the home
is the everywhere you go. in a world where
'I-Ching' and 'cha-ching' are context insofar
as bookstores, I doubt much and question little,
money is dharma too. dharma I wish to burn because
my hate for money is dharma. back-flip. slightly
arrested in development is the faculty of spirit
in GDP, at least the lion still roams the Savannah
and at least I can explore the lion. My New Years
resolution is 1080p. what's yours?
1.1k · Apr 2013
Amanda.
tread Apr 2013
Etymology,

                  Spanish.

  First appeared  

      on a gravestone

             in Warwickshire, England.

       Means:  

         'loveable,'
                      
                      'have to be loved,'

                                         'deserving of love.'

All technicalities aside,
I'm not with you for your
name. That'd be like saying,

'I'm here for the free cheesecake,*
but make sure it calls itself a cheesecake,
because I trust cheesecake, but not the
moon when it questions my insanity.
Frightens me with the prospect of a
normal life.'

I haven't found the answer yet.
I haven't been looking. I've been
too busy loving you, until one day
I woke up and realized 'its always
in the last place you look.' I'd been
nuzzled in your chest for hours
before I noticed I'd found the
most important meaning
in life.


Amanda.

Etymology,

             Spanish.

        First appeared on a gravestone

                  in Warwickshire, England.

Means:

                'loveable,'

                             'have to be loved,'

                                              'deserving of love.'
1.1k · Sep 2013
nova never noticed
tread Sep 2013
you believed me once. I was once
believed. of all the integrity's born
of cigarettes, there are none that
come close to the way the world
sunk like a shattered lillypad the
day we parted offices. offices. if
I could do it all over again, the rain
would be in space and the sun would
be what masks the wet. instead,
optimism demands my attention
like an angry vocational counsellor
(thankfully I ignored that job posting).
receipts, tissues, medication, torn envelopes,
iPhone, guitar, empty mug sticky stained
bottom and sticks of cancer- please tell me
there's a reason I should live to 100.
1.1k · Sep 2013
in tandem
tread Sep 2013
waiting* for the

waitress

to realize

we're


weightless


spaceships
1.1k · Nov 2012
Hellven
tread Nov 2012
open pathways to a glaring pathos
the bright light of idealism is why the optimist is stronger than the pessimist
retreating into the no-eye-strain of a dark, frightening cave;
what was beyond the light?

the pessimist says the fear of the known is safer
while the optimist treads a sidewalk-highway-backstreet of light
ouch-
ouch-
ouuuuch, his eyes!

keep
going.

pushing through the grand theological cosmological philosophy zen
the optimist marches past the foot of the rancid infection
what self-inflicted pain for the sake of surrendering all responsibility;
the reason there are governments
countries
orthodoxies
is because of a grand laziness which clasps the wrists of the weary
fearful of their freedom as it is an unknown
grand cosmic
sun-star;
"stare any longer and I'll go blind;
march towards it and I will disintegrate."

"Are you sure?" asks the optimist
"No, but I won't take such a naive risk. I have been around long enough to cease trusting anything,
especially myself."

"Then you are eternally ******;
I seek my own grace."

there is a silence as the pessimist rounds to sigh
and the optimist wheels himself towards the stars.
1.1k · Dec 2012
portrayal
tread Dec 2012
Clammy fingerprints lead to evidence
of sickness
pain
death
or cold.

Hot fingerprints lead to evidence
of panic
***
ecstasy
or heat.
1.1k · Sep 2013
pantomime
tread Sep 2013
let the world fade

like ice melting

in a glass of

whiskey.

you'll agree

some day.
1.1k · Apr 2013
Cardiff via exhaustion
tread Apr 2013
English countryside rolls
by like butter on banana
pancakes. The heat of
history keeps me cringing
with a full stomach. Aches
softly convalesce veins
from head to toe,
concentrated in the solar
plexus as I become the weary, dreamy traveller with little left
to seek, hoping that every closed door will lead to you wrapped in a duvet taco shell. Every bed is half-empty, so I fill your gap with a warm pillow and whisper, "I love you, Amanda. It's a softer heart at the end of every highway."
I miss you so ******* much. 9 days.
1.1k · Sep 2010
Virtus Vere
tread Sep 2010
The world,
Full of hope,
Full of hate,
Full of love,
Turns as it does,
Up, down, and thereof.

It has beauty worth saving,
Love worth the infinity,

But it would mean little,
Without you.

You are the world that I see,
The thing that matters most,
You set me free.

If the feelings you feel,
Mirror not how I feel,
I will respect your decision,
And accept all as real.

No arguments,
No fights.
Disagreements,
Not worth it.
We deserve our own freedom,
And I know that you've earned it.

You have become part of me,
And the further we go,
You become half of who I am,

I adore you so.
tread Feb 2013
emoticon smiles, crunch! leaves under boots are a shattered glass,
believe in the underline, yorkshire smiles at new york, you grew up and I accept that, son.
never over the beginning of the orange bullet casing. in Sandy Hook the deepest opposition faced mankind
that of the speed in which the modern world finds itself chasing chinese dragons in the bacteria floaters
of the eye, watching as they dip into ocean as if that were insane, but what's insane is to consider the
lost mind to be a mind that was lost in the beginning, you can't lose the mind, you can only find it within
its memory foam.
1.1k · Apr 2013
raping cupid
tread Apr 2013
artfully, you filled me with ***** like
a Boston cream donut. thank you for
nothing but a terrible surprise.
tread Feb 2013
Like a viser I advise that you finally find your eyes
Peaked and bordered by a toque the  sun cant stop to shine
Yet light obliviates eyeballs well adjusted to the rain
Can make the same eyeballs rise to re-perceive again
In this corporate quest investment is on par with love
Always carrying cash like a box of rubber gloves
Defend against the right to starve and strangle on the street
Gain the right to put a diamond right above my seat

Altercations alter authors read atop the altar
The Council of Nicaea building progress not to falter
Piling future thought like a towered Jenga game
Is funny *** it's true to say the atheists are the same.

Preachy ******* carrying Richard Dawkins in one hand
Sapping all that's holy from a gold block into sand
Crying because life is now a fight or flight response
A nihilist is just another  ****** fanatic ****

A nihilist is the strangest
A suicide bomber using words
Making sure you understand it's worthless and it burns
Bombing every holy site stacked deep inside your brain
Proving that within this life you've got nothing to gain
He pretends you come from blank and end up there again
Forgetting that's impossible,
Hypothetically insane.

If we came from nothing, return to nothing
Where's all this from, then?
Nothing can't exist by implication, but we can?
When I say that everything is nothing
What I mean:
Is nothing is the everything that we all can clearly see.
1.0k · Jul 2013
whatever you want
tread Jul 2013
Spaceships flying eternally, beauty lost within our sleep's breadth. Never room, out in to night. With you,  machine glow diving

Searchlights clean the monsters. This is a light shower. Man is kind, mankind. Indigo stained glass cathedral dreamscape, lovely.

The girl is trembling by your side what we should not know calmness asked by those whose light shines beyond the cold dark rocks, deeper still, bells toll underwater, asking, begging

Mastodons in the distance? Year zero. Year zilch. Yearly the funds caress my alpine ******* as the budget increases. We dream of drains and hairy ones at that. Massive ketamine high bulges footsteps in the distance.
dedicated to Anton / mush rose
tread Dec 2012
Perhaps the lions share found itself inside my coat
where I never thought to look for the dastardly sins of a mall security officer
I was to assume his best intentions at heart! he is here to guard!
however, that's lost in the bramble of bush and the mountain of crystalline cloud-water
sky-ocean
plummeting over my head.

strange neighbourhood if you ask me.
1.0k · Oct 2013
B
tread Oct 2013
B
I died once

in the hallow mechanics of an elevator set to silent

I died once
1.0k · Aug 2013
Soul
tread Aug 2013
"you don speek my languish"

"I'm learning. Learning takes time so leave it to me."

"I'll wait anoth ur 150 yeers, if you are not fluid it is good see yeah."

"'Goodbye.' You don't speak my language either."

"you don speek my languish."

waiting politely, Tinkerbell glow fading curiously into the overheat overwhelm of city neon and street lights, Soul's glazed eyes of hypnotic intuition begin to close.

"150 yeers. meet me everywhere."

Fading into a geometrically dark centre (dark as in far too bright, similar to when one stares incessantly at anything at all and the peripheral begins to fade into whatever greater colour scheme the senses have meshed into a Rorschach blot you've been asked to interpret), Soul fleets a smile (you feel Soul's smile, as Soul has no real face- Soul has all faces and hence none).

"Goodbye. You will find me when you find yourself."

"You do speak my language."

"I do." Soul whispered back, adding--

"It is you who doesn't."
starting to wonder if I've ever been able to write
1.0k · Jun 2013
5 and a half
tread Jun 2013
sweet skin, sweet
taste September,
tomato-stained
pallet boiling to
an icecream froth,
eyes blue-moon
blue-cheese blue-
sea blue-teaful,
planets in arraign
of Pluto, far out
years before back
-hand kiss to back
-hand slap to my
metallic tears first
come first serve
arriving home drunker
than Charles Bukowski
on the average day, I
hope to be the barfly
of her heart.
1.0k · Jul 2011
Reality Puree
tread Jul 2011
I like to constantly mix up my mind and take everything I know and stick it in a blender, then switch it on 'Liquefy' and wait until everything and anything I thought I knew is nothing but a smoothie of confusion. I could choose to leave that smoothie in the blender and go down a nice hot mug of reality, or I can choose to down the smoothie and get lost in the taste of it all, mixed together so fervently that one former form of knowledge is incomprehensibly inseparable from another former form of knowledge. It is at this point that I either come to terms with the fact that they are so mixed up there will never be any individual understanding of any of them ever again, or I start down the futile road of separating all the puree'd ingredients of the smoothie in a vein attempt to make them solid and individual once again. When I start down that road, I have no choice but to acknowledge I will never reach the end, and I have to acknowledge that never again will the blended banana ever be a solid part of reality, and I have to acknowledge that I have no proof to say the milk and yogurt were ever of separate forms. This is when reality becomes incomprehensible, yet closer to the honest nature of the universe, and further from the conventional delusions of the human mind.

This is when it becomes clear that we are all blind;
This is when it becomes obvious that there is no great truth to find,
And that we are lost in the beauty and delusion of perception.

This is when it becomes clear that we're alive.
1.0k · Jul 2013
an ode
tread Jul 2013
"Millions long for immortality who don't
know what to do on a rainy afternoon."
If I could live forever, I wouldn't. I will live
forever. Whether this is a gift or a curse is
nothing to decide; seeing as I will draw a
blank when the blank is fired. Once I was
a fish, and once I was pollen. Once I was a
tree and once I was a logger. Once I was
Once I was Once I was Now I am.

I Am.

"Millions long for immortality who don't
know what to do on a rainy afternoon."
tread May 2013
Why is it always such a battle to keep the plans we make?

We planned a night of wild *** till we both ached- you changed your mind.

Told me you didn't feel like it. You were gone after one go.

A momentary translucence- made in the heat of a minute.

We planned a late sleep in- an afternoon together.

Beautiful brunch, beautiful walk, no attention paid to clocks.

Out of the blue, at noon, you told me brunch wasn't possible.

You said you would go home soon.

My heart skipped a beat but I played along because it was Mother's Day.

Your mom would be home sooner than expected.

Every time I try to swerve our plans back on course- you opt out.

You say

'yes'

in the heat of a moment.

Transient.

Unreliable.

(I hate using these words to describe you).

One day the plans we've made to be together- might you opt out? How can I trust anything you say in passion?

Sure you say 'no, I would never,'

but

you said 'yes, we'll spend the afternoon together. get brunch.'

you said 'I want you till we both ache. All night. Cover me.'

you said, 'I want you for a very long time. Perhaps forever. I would never leave you.'

It doesn't feel like a lie-
It feels like you have no intention to stick to anything without a battle.

Without my burning myself on anger and hurt like I'm forcing you to something against your will.

I won't believe you about our distant future love

until I can believe you about tomorrow.
this is not the substance of our love.

(you feel like a soulmate).

this is just a scar you keep scratching when you don't pay attention.

and you keep forgetting to look even after multiple bleedings.
998 · Jul 2013
hit
tread Jul 2013
hit
between past numbing's, she
couldn't believe it was over like
the oder-neisse. 'subversive! Exhilarating!'
raved Time Magazine-- 'just what we've
been waiting for- a true summer
blockbuster!'

he didn't mean it.

Really, he didn't.
986 · Sep 2013
/u/tube
tread Sep 2013
deputy, deputy, throw me the film
poems are transient, angled at him
finding the finite is fine for a feature
eye's darting nervous, looking for the
stark creatures

of dusk, a mere husk of the body
embalmed, never believed in the
shoddy ******, Kush and Corinthians,
breathing air from a ****, we
continued the laugh-track for sadness
and song

(was less lonely
than screaming
your name)
tread Sep 2013
woke up at a reasonable time.
doesn't seem like I can sleep
in anymore. everything about
my home seemed emptier- as
if you had been with me all day
and all night and had up and left
at the crest of dawn with no more
than a kiss to the forehead and an,
'I'm sorry, my love.' the sun-porched
city skyline in the distance (church
steeple next to apartment block) looks
more beautiful than usual. I contemplate
how you called me last night at 3:30 in
the morning, your eyes Victoria Falls with
sorrys and I love yous. I contemplate how
we both imagine we'll meet again someday,
how we'll fall in love again someday, how
we'll be together again someday. a very large
part of me hopes this is true, despite everything
you have put me through- - despite everything
I have put you through. but for the sake of lack
-paralysis, I will move on. and I will love you. I
will move on. and I will love you (again - - and
again - - and again - - and again - -)

there will be others, but you have a part of me

not even I can get back.
you betrayed me, but time will forgive you
974 · Sep 2013
auditions at the plank
tread Sep 2013
Today: I feel emotionally
numb with a twinge of
omnipotent anxiety
which keeps whispering,
'you don't really love her,
kid.'

somehow I know I love
you, but what the feeling
begs to ask is.. 'do you
love her like you think
you do?'

I hope so.
I really hope so.
I'm sorry I feel this way.
tread Nov 2012
pants sit half-way down the waste
because pulling myself out of bed is against the laws of gravity
what was it you wanted again?
if anyone could hear over the sound of an exhausted train exhausting clouds with exhaust
they would understand exhaustion, because Gaia speaks in sign-language

and the second you told me to wait a moment
I spent forever waiting
until you were ready yet

ready, set, sundown..
sleep talks to? only if I talk to sleep, conversation over.
dissonance, cognizance, congruence, ****

thank you 5th grade teacher
for teaching me how to never shut up
thank you verbs
for teaching me how to never shut up
thank you
really
thank you
no sarcasm
thank you

it is holy
holy
holy
wow.
tread Aug 2013
I vowed to say nothing
but know this: I love you. I love you more than waking up at 5 AM after a night of camping, the smell of dewey cold conquistadoring my blunt and modern senses. I love you more than the girl who haunted my every waking moment for months after the solvent collapse. I love you more than when someone says, ‘you’re the most beautiful person I know.’ I love you more than the taste of freshly ground arabica bean on a cold winter morning, watching the snow flit past the window like little paratrooper angels here to spread the word of pristine silence. I love you more than nights spent watching the stars with a morning empty of obligation. I love you more than my crack addiction to knowledge. And you know who you are.
And when I write vaguely of someone I love

 I hope you remember 


It’s you, you beautiful freak of my life.
It’s you, it’s you, it will always
be you.
a special thanks to the greatest thing to ever happen to me

I love you.
tread Oct 2010
It was the running Roman Legionary,
Who hid from troops his own,
And spoke of evil men did do,
For it was why he ran alone.

It was the serf, an ex-soldier,
Who spoke against the sword;
Yet for these words which he did speak,
He earned the sword as his reward.

It was the humbled noble Lord,
Who wrote from tower's tall;
Against all endless border wars,
As it caused good men to fall.

It was the musketman in red,
Who stepped-on out of line;
Opting not to die so still,
As he said, "This life is mine."

It was the trenched machine-gunner,
Who chose his targets quick,
And wished for more than anything,
To cease this endless click.

It was the Spaniard,
Who fought Spain,
And knew the truth was dark;
Yet fought-back fists of fascist pride,
His mission now, to leave a mark.

It was the Frenchman,
Chased by fright,
Who scrambled for the shore;
Escaping from his bled homeland,
He died of bombs in Britain's war.

It was the prisoner of Korea's gore,
Who sat down with the Reds;
Speaking in appeasing awe,
He saved his severed head.

It was the man in Vietnam,
Who was forced the cross the sea;
To fight a war he wasn't for,
Against his will, he stood as free.

It was the Roman,
And the serf;
It was the noble Lord.

It was the musketman in red,
And the dead Spaniard,
Who fought for freedom,
Spoke for peace,
And dreamed to see with their own eyes,
The human mind, taught to be wise,
And cease these endless lies;
To end the "me's" and "mores" and "my's,"
And to remove mans dark disguise.
958 · Mar 2013
Brussels sprouts
tread Mar 2013
till the tips all
wither and
die.
I saw Brussels for the first time yesterday.
It is a sad place.
957 · Dec 2012
(no title)
tread Dec 2012
cables are faded like pencils erased with no patience
and wifi reigns king.

lord of the invisible air
it's the internet plus O2 we survive on.
956 · Apr 2013
not even a headache.
tread Apr 2013
the haaaannnggg in hangover grapples
my chest like another sad defeat. some
created battlefield felt my angel control
nothing, control nothing. I cry at constant
implication, and the choice is yours again.
you, with your busy life, pick my heart like
a puppeteer having not yet noticed the strings.
I pull in all directions and wonder why I do
this to myself; why I look for pegs to stick the
strings together, hand you a puppeteer's hand-
book and tell you my world is always ending
whenever you're around.
you grimace a little
every moment I speak.
954 · Oct 2013
relativity
tread Oct 2013
"to prove how
fast things change,
this is still the same
box of Corn Pops."
946 · Jun 2013
ghost (a dream)
tread Jun 2013
for some reason,
I was friends with
this character from
the movie Trainspotting..
everyone in the movie
just calls him Rude Boy.
He's super white with
bleached blonde hair.
Anyways, he was at my
house and placing this
weird substance that
came in little capsules
with a skull and cross
-bones on it, right on
top of my closed laptop.
It started bubbling and
burning like some weird
industrial acidy substance,
and when I asked Rude
Boy what it was, he told
me it was a substance
called 'Ghost' that was
a mix of *** and ******.
He snorted that bubbling
acid into his nose with a
straw and then said, "oh
Ghost, how cool you can
make me!" and my mom
walked in rather skeptically
to watch, it was a strange
dream.
946 · Apr 2013
sausage
tread Apr 2013
I wake up, still drunk
and look at your
collapse like
I broke
you.
tread Jan 2013
Panic attacks are like deathless suicides
****.

You're deader than a dead man because unnatural fasts
unnatural- fasts
solipsist dizz-
solipsist sip, mizz?
burn the boardwalk and walk the beach *** all of a sudden
life is too short to fuckit, later.

everything has to slither out like Satanic snakes offering the half-bitten apple
to Adam *** he got the other bit stuck in his Adams Apple and suddenly lost his voice,
** **, take that, prophecies of God!

Too tired to be the  metaphysical rebel licking the slug slime off your toes as if you deserve the luxury,
smile again and I'll call you the prettiest pervert to ever strip down to your socks.

this is what a broad mind is,
I write this assuming weirder thoughts have flickered in your ******* lightbulb.
tread Feb 2013
Let me warn you, my love, that when I fall, I fall very hard.
The first few months there are absolutely zero moments you are not on my mind, voice a soft whispering phantasm in your absence, drunk on whatever I sipped in your soul.
For awhile I become obsessed whether I like it or not.. and let me tell you, I like it as often as not.. but it's not a weird, psychotic obsession. It's an obsession in the sense that an absence of contact for as little as 2 days can feel like 3 weeks all warped together in a slow reality drifting sadly down a stream of redundant repeats of my least favourite New Years Eve paid programming.

I woke up last night at 3 AM imagining that I may not talk to you at all until you're back next Monday, and I'll be completely honest and admit that I cried a little. I shut myself up like a dog yelping for its owner to come home from work, but my heart still ached, and that, I'll admit, embarrassed me. I'm not sure if I can see you doing the same.

Let me warn you, my love, that I am afraid of commitment just as much as I am afraid not to commit. You really do seem worth the time and effort, but whether I like it or not there will be times when I cry into your shoulder and say my love for you is too comfortable. To be honest, my greatest fear at this point is hurting you. I trust myself enough to avoid it, but if I ever become distant or strange, please tell me. Please ask me. We will fix it. I promise.

Now let me tell you that I will never cheat on you. Not even drunk out of my mind could I bring myself to do it. I know how it feels and it's destruction. Eventually I will be so in love with you every other face will glaze over. I will be able to recognize beautiful faces and beautiful minds, but yours will be my dream come true.

I don't doubt you miss me less than I miss you. You're engaged in a brand new world down south, one filled with sky-blue water like dreams and tropic posters, horses on majestic beaches of gold grain.
I'm still carrying out the same motions on the same streets under the same rainy weather. It makes sense that I miss you more.

Let me warn you, my love, that writing pages as honest as these make me wonder if I terrify you in intention. Of course I'm not sure, who could be? All I know is I love you very much and that entails much in the way of future togetherness. Sorry if I am scaring you out of your emotional wits. All of this isn't easy to admit, but it's how I really truly honestly feel.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. I think distance makes the heart aware of what it hadn't had time to articulate. Hadn't had time to admit.

Most of the time I philosophize on life. Although love is a part of life, I find this distance has me philosophizing less and loving you more.

You'll be back soon.
Soon just isn't soon enough for the heart that wants to hold your hand.
7 days by the end of today.
tread Mar 2013
some days walk past me like shoes in a lost costco
wake up late, it's 9 AM somewhere so it's not like you slept in.

beauty in the backwards dance of corrugated cardboard contact lenses
seeing what I see like I see see see, for Godsakes all I need to do is see.

once.
933 · Mar 2013
softest
tread Mar 2013
what is inner peace,
and where can I
make my down-
payment?
tread Mar 2013
I read street art once,
that said, "lonely people
talk too much." I prove
my loneliness in para-
graphs to you that light
my darkest caverns. I
create my self-destruction
through my wordy negligence,
and this is why I can't subsist
in the world I make for myself.

I am a well spoken fool
with a very loud brain.
A brain that likes to chew
on itself and cringe as if it
were eating a whole lemon.

Christ, I'm the idiots you
died for.
930 · Dec 2010
Anonymously Untitled
tread Dec 2010
Like the back of a cart during the bubonic plague,
I’d have to say a dead mans story is long,
But very vague,
As we learn little from the lessons of history,
We treat is as an obsolete and unsaid sort of mystery.


The difference between black and white,
A bird in seat or flight,
A tense and dangerous human right,
As if as much as we can see,
Is the boundary of our site;


If we treat each other as we would like to be treated;
Why does a teacher tell us to remain seated?
They don’t say sit back and relax in any context,
Instead they emphasize not to use bad words or obscene text.

Am I not allowed to tell you to sit down?
Tell you I owe you nothing but a respectable frown?
I owe you nothing but decency,
Not a mind filled with verbs in which I hope others translate boundlessly.

To say I sleep with a pillow,
Is like saying I steep tea like I reap benefits from the luxuries,
Of today’s modern cars and inventions.

To assume I immorally influence a young child in growth,
Is like assuming I don’t walk the sidewalk to remain safe,
From the wind of wild traffic to my left and to my right,
Or to say we don’t disobey ancient conventions,
In which mankind is barred from flight.

Between SpaceX and NASDAQ,
And the jealous old man named NASA,
“Good Wall Street” ain’t looked at,
As the media keeps its mind where its eyes remain fixed;
On the flaws and the findings,
The wars and the signings,
The fear of dead children whose pics we find blinding.

The new Rules of Engagement,
Angers militaristics in danger,
Of bullets and shrapnel they volunteered to go face;
They are angry at the awareness created by J. Assange,
When ****** was collateral damage, to which they are fond;
It’s strange, as truth is now treason,
And a man needs a reason,
To liberate information we deserved in the first place,
Yet our apathy, indifference, and anger at ourselves,
Commits us to a stage of denial within book-shelves,
Inside which we fear ‘it,’
We fear ‘them,’
And ‘their’ ****,
Yet we hallow the ground in our mind in which we hide action;
For we fear that we’ll be charged for our thinking’s infractions.

Please reassure me that I’m free,
And that I am my own faction.
tread Jul 2011
You may not entirely understand the reality of a 'dank existence,'
As the ranks of society have used interpretive dance as resistance
To the lime-green light that illuminates that room in the brain,
Where interpretation of thought drives explanation insane.

You may not entirely understand what is real;
From the epilogue clearing fictions fog to what makes an orange peel,
As it's not a simple way to live every day,
But it's found that, quite obviously, it is the best way,
Lacking the patch of reality's seal,
It truly is the only real way to feel.

To say that my mind has gone mad without power,
Is like saying pop-rocks from '67 aren't sour,
Or a Peoples Republic won't rise like a tower,
Over Western metropolis, and the President's glower.

And to say that my brain is subdued within chains,
Is like claiming humanity never made it to space.
It's a possibility, but from any value of face,
The assumption is old, and conservingly fake.

Lets say we randomize all events in our lives;
From the time we wake up, to where we close our eyes,
And the constant adventure, as to 'where to go next,'
Finds that our past is quite static once the next second is vexed
And the constant thieving of the ideas that we steal,

Makes life an existentialists ideal meal,

With the past, and the present, and the future entwined,
It's a smorgasbord of endeavor drawn outside the lines,
And we love it.
tread Jan 2011
Love is both a vice and a curse,
A blessing in which you find yourself immersed;
A progressive, regressive, digressive pursuit,
In which you lose yourself many times in search of a route,
To lasting happiness, which still blinks from afar;
Like the distant light of a parked car,
As if someone forgot to switch off the high beams,
Or is there a reason that this pitch blackness now gleams?

Love causes you to return broken patterns,
In which insecurity orbits like the 62 moons of Saturn.
Escape it, escape it! Find solace in pain!
Find solace in the left or right side of your brain!
Like the frontal assault during Op Barbarossa,
You seem to confuse old Taiwan with Formosa.

In doubles, you see, when your love stares you down,
You want nothing more but to be her great crown,
So you let down your walls and pull-back your defenses;
Your protective soldiers fall back to the fences.

You talk with 'I,'
And realize that you're oft wrong,
Yet prior to this, you sung yourself an old swan song,
To convince yourself that your views were God-given;
Despite the true fact that you define Atheism.

Prior to this, no one countered your 'great' words;
Or, if they did, often you considered them of herds,
Which had no capacity to understand life;
They would much quicker fall towards the shaft of the knife.

You rework the office inside of your head,
And forget all the things about love you once said,
When ex-girlfriends had dumped you like a sack of potatoes;
And would verbally stain you with far-flung tomatoes.

Yet tossed in the mix are the words of the stars,
Telling you whose compatible, is it Venus or Mars?
Forget the external, this love is but yours and but hers.

Never let the rest determine,
As you're the connoisseur.
919 · Apr 2013
linguistics
tread Apr 2013
when convinced
certain words
drive Cadillac's
and others beat
Civics, you for-
get one isn't
extinct.
written March 29th, 2013 in Paris, France
899 · Sep 2013
write a poem
tread Sep 2013
for some reason, I've been sleeping on my couch
all week- - stolen the over-sheet from my bed
and plodded it over the cold leather so I don't
squeak and freeze in the night. I can't tell if it's
because I'm too tired to make my bed, or if
sleeping in the living room gives me a sense
of not being so alone like being next to those
loosely shut closets full of clothes and nothings
(and the memory of you) in pitch darkness. the
same lethargy has struck me with dishes. beer
bottles and empty yellow tail all sit where they
were abandoned after a night of silent-drunk
-chat-flirt. sometimes I forget to turn my coffee
maker off, and the coffee literally cooks to the
bottom of the *** like some disgusting carcinogen
pancake. ***** clothes lay about like fallen soldiers
on the dismal battlefield of my heart- all unaware
that even if one fights to win, and victory is attained,
the whole countryside has been devastated with
thousands killed who will never return to the
comforting silence of their loved ones reading
books in the living room.

for some reason, I've been sleeping on my couch all week- -
stolen the over-sheet from my bed and plodded it over the
cold leather so I don't squeak and freeze in the night.
897 · Sep 2010
Step Forward, Step Foot.
tread Sep 2010
I'd like to step foot,
In the land of dictatorships,
Despots,
And dead-men;
To voice my Western opinion,
Through the veil of the immune.

I'd like to step foot,
In the land of the lions,
The gazelle,
And bright birds,
To experience all,
That cannot be said through mere words.

I'd like to step foot,
In the land of old Queens;
The land of abdication,
From which the French coast, it gleams.

I'd like to step foot,
In the permafrost of the north,
And experience why,
Others don't venture forth.

I'd like to step foot,
In the tropics of the south,
Where the rain pounds just like,
A forgotten old sink,
In which the sound is so loud,
You can't hear yourself think.

I'd like to step foot,
On the island of the abnormal,
Off the coast of the near-east,
Where it seems strange to act formal.

I'd like to wade through,
The ocean of men,
In a Tokyo square,
In which you lose count at ten.

I'd like to float forth,
From the bounds of this Earth,
And with my own eyes,
See all life as it's worth,
From our desolate moon,
Watch our world as it rise,
And from eons away,
Watch a star as it sighs.

I'd like to see life,
Through my eyes,
As a prize.
tread Sep 2013
call you constant *** I don't
want to pretend I'm the
nihilistic indifference in
this situation- - - in fact,
I'm Jim Carrey in Eternal
Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
and if the world could spin any
slower to allow my eraser to
scrape your memory away as
invalid shards into the tin of
'another-one-bites-the-dust,'
I would despairingly watch
you disappear to the point of
no-remembrance so I don't
have to despairingly watch
you disappear and remember.
"No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee."

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd ..."
889 · Oct 2013
m
tread Oct 2013
m
why did the residual effect continue to reside-ual within the mind I articulated as a master plan to nowhere in particular and particularly no one hurting questions like they're bigger answers to something you never wished to ask or asked to squish like mantracker episodes on OLN where you're hopping the bush like a freight train through the Utah Salt Flats, O' beautiful, buttered misery!
tread Sep 2013
I spent your birthday riding busses trying to forget you. HSBC's and courthouses falling by the wayside give way to farmland. $25 left in my chequing account and I can't help but consider stranding myself on Salt Spring. strangling myself with salt water. what is it worth, life, if love fades and creatures exploit each other like coal mines till 9 PM- or maybe it's just my life that is so empty and void. maybe this is my last day alive because the last time I lived was so long ago I can't remember. I'm put on antidepressants, then I'm put off you. I'd seek out *** to validate my self-worth but I don't much feel like sinking to that level would do much to purge my system of this evil presence. I hate myself and you made me hate me more. I watch the highway land scape by like a collection of our hopeless, anxious hopes, and I wonder- what was I doing in the first place?
tread Dec 2010
The simplest of words could not put it in context;
The most complex of words simply cause all to fall vexed.
The words in between show me no satisfaction,
In conveying to you my heart-wrenching attraction.

The words which I seek are words far out of sight,
Whether simply of fear or what 'they' say is right;
Yet the show-up in symbol and acceleration of art,
Simply does not explain, and displays but a part.

Whether happy or sad,
Angry, or mad,
The bright-side, the dark-side, the good and the bad;
When I miss you, I miss you,
When I'm with you, I find,
You leave for a moment,
And enter the back-door of my mind.

The forefront I use to concentrate on my task;
To see behind what's in front,
And tear-away all mens masks,
Yet in limited doses,
You permeate my minds eye.

I enjoy your hypnosis,
So I never ask why.
873 · Sep 2010
A Single Reality
tread Sep 2010
There was once a world,
That did see no death.
It was so pure,
No one dared take a breath.

It was so perfect,
So bright and serene,
It was never depressing,
And it was never once seen.

The obvious truth is,
That it may have been pure,
And it may have been smooth,
Of that, I'm sure,
But nothing existed,
No life,
And no love.

No bullets and rifles,
Or pretty white dove.

No ******,
No Stalin,
No pistols,
No pollen.

No Jewish,
Or German,
No you,
And no vermin.

No mean men,
Or ******,
Just the ground,
And a twisted, old girder.

There was also no conflict,
No disagreement or strife.

No good men lay dying,
Yet sadly, no fife.

The truth is,
That as long as mankind exists,
There will always be anger,
And ignorance will always mean bliss.

As long as men walk the Earth,
Men will continue to hate.
At the same time they'll love,
And they'll count on that trait.
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