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"actualising" poems
.. …. …... …..... …........... ….................. …............ …..................... …............ …......................... …................. …..... barometric tendrils psuedo-random and hybrid sets growing like ivy in the clutches of time such a            chocking                    but actualising     grasp ..huh? what? oh yes! sorry, sorry come in, come in,                        ..you know, I too, once, like how you are now, was here too so                    very                                very                                              present. Aha! Oh yes! Permit me a mock stifled cry of ostentatious self derision, 'hee hee hee' aaaaaahhh.. I really was pitiful back then. seeing you there now, I feel oh so whimsical and overcome with ahem sorry. ..dank and musty cellars,     hashish and a can of beans. (baked, not fried, -we were really naive enough to believe that?- ) had it all back then though, didn't we? By which I mean we had nothing, but the conviction that obligation was something that actually meant something rather than a Cryptocurrency in a Ponzi scheme, (with a slice of lemon) confidence intervals stockpiled in the stocks of confidence men. Derivative markets oh, so very much so so very derivative idiomatic and ******* asinine.   ..Still, it does harken to its era, doesn't it? 'detached and disposable.' toothpicks limbs ideals all that goodness! I was supposed to be offering advice, wasn't I? Interpolate up some mediated conjecture. But the kids can look after themselves just fine, can't they? So our fiscal policy seems to think; 'I wager we shear up the youth to buy shares in implementing youth wages.' sorry, I guess it's an antiquated complaint, “think of the children!” , they say? Can't they see, the whole **** market's aimed at the proto-teens?? we do it all for them the little snots. laissez faire welfare hedge or double down? A shrubbery? Or a bacon butty with bread as ****** chicken and cheese? (I just vomited in my mouth a little, (how pastiche)) See, and people ask why I’m trapped in the past; the future's got me car sick. and honestly we're just brimming with history (the scourge of post-modernity) like a black moss spewed on the walls Poisoning visions and Rheumatic fever tearing up our lovely lovely pacified pay and display psuedo proto posterity …..... …................. …......................... …............ …..................... …............ ….................. …........... …..... …... …. ..
0
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
abloobloobloo
dialogues ii
.. …. …... …..... …........... ….................. …............ …..................... …............ …......................... …................. …..... barometric tendrils psuedo-random and hybrid sets growing like ivy in the clutches of time such a            chocking                    but actualising     grasp ..huh? what? oh yes! sorry, sorry come in, come in,                        ..you know, I too, once, like how you are now, was here too so                    very                                very                                              present. Aha! Oh yes! Permit me a mock stifled cry of ostentatious self derision, 'hee hee hee' aaaaaahhh.. I really was pitiful back then. seeing you there now, I feel oh so whimsical and overcome with ahem sorry. ..dank and musty cellars,     hashish and a can of beans. (baked, not fried, -we were really naive enough to believe that?- ) had it all back then though, didn't we? By which I mean we had nothing, but the conviction that obligation was something that actually meant something rather than a Cryptocurrency in a Ponzi scheme, (with a slice of lemon) confidence intervals stockpiled in the stocks of confidence men. Derivative markets oh, so very much so so very derivative idiomatic and ******* asinine.   ..Still, it does harken to its era, doesn't it? 'detached and disposable.' toothpicks limbs ideals all that goodness! I was supposed to be offering advice, wasn't I? Interpolate up some mediated conjecture. But the kids can look after themselves just fine, can't they? So our fiscal policy seems to think; 'I wager we shear up the youth to buy shares in implementing youth wages.' sorry, I guess it's an antiquated complaint, “think of the children!” , they say? Can't they see, the whole **** market's aimed at the proto-teens?? we do it all for them the little snots. laissez faire welfare hedge or double down? A shrubbery? Or a bacon butty with bread as ****** chicken and cheese? (I just vomited in my mouth a little, (how pastiche)) See, and people ask why I’m trapped in the past; the future's got me car sick. and honestly we're just brimming with history (the scourge of post-modernity) like a black moss spewed on the walls Poisoning visions and Rheumatic fever tearing up our lovely lovely pacified pay and display psuedo proto posterity …..... …................. …......................... …............ …..................... …............ ….................. …........... …..... …... …. ..
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105
It is with an emptiness in my throat, a riptide in my stomach, and needles in my heart that I write this today. I fear you might find out, I fear you might realise, I fear you might explode, and I am terrified that you will leave. If you happen to chance across this, while actualising your thoughts into words. Feelings and emotions I wished you share with me, that you so easily convey to a machine. If you could see through my eyes, you would never feel insufficient again. And so I beseech God to rid my mind of you; a mind that is welcomingly plagued by your presence. A mind that personifies hypocrisy; as I read your writings about a boy, wishing they were about me but they are not. And yet I still keep going back. Hoping to find my name in your words one day.
0
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
deviant
Waiting in Silence
It is with an emptiness in my throat, a riptide in my stomach, and needles in my heart that I write this today. I fear you might find out, I fear you might realise, I fear you might explode, and I am terrified that you will leave. If you happen to chance across this, while actualising your thoughts into words. Feelings and emotions I wished you share with me, that you so easily convey to a machine. If you could see through my eyes, you would never feel insufficient again. And so I beseech God to rid my mind of you; a mind that is welcomingly plagued by your presence. A mind that personifies hypocrisy; as I read your writings about a boy, wishing they were about me but they are not. And yet I still keep going back. Hoping to find my name in your words one day.
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22
Clumsy dismount   down from the scrutiny of   cross cut shredder victimisation A shamefaced, self-actualising whingebag   My name is Daughter   My name is Employee   My name is Passenger. Payee. Belonging at an irreduceable remove from   A heart, childishly pasted   in a carapace of postage stamps.   Once kept in albums of purposeful art.   The role is guilt ridden recipient   more often than sender. Reassembly will be   an inexpert labour of love   But not that kind, amigo   But not that kind   I'm to be my own pet. I can see that once I was off   I was always off.   All of us who have lived   this close to the end of England   are forever leaving the sea I am leaving the sea   and everything i've ever dumped in it   Cold chips. Warm eyes, busted loves   It's all now bound behind me.   For the continent For the sea. Weeping now   and fielding concerned looks   not for me but for the balance   I'm so relieved I'm so free I could bite something hard   and break my teeth.
0
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
demi-cybulski
This Close To Cold Chips
Clumsy dismount   down from the scrutiny of   cross cut shredder victimisation A shamefaced, self-actualising whingebag   My name is Daughter   My name is Employee   My name is Passenger. Payee. Belonging at an irreduceable remove from   A heart, childishly pasted   in a carapace of postage stamps.   Once kept in albums of purposeful art.   The role is guilt ridden recipient   more often than sender. Reassembly will be   an inexpert labour of love   But not that kind, amigo   But not that kind   I'm to be my own pet. I can see that once I was off   I was always off.   All of us who have lived   this close to the end of England   are forever leaving the sea I am leaving the sea   and everything i've ever dumped in it   Cold chips. Warm eyes, busted loves   It's all now bound behind me.   For the continent For the sea. Weeping now   and fielding concerned looks   not for me but for the balance   I'm so relieved I'm so free I could bite something hard   and break my teeth.
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34
How come no-one ever pulls for the bad guy. He's just out there doing what we all wanna do: Being self-interested, self-imposing, self-actualising, carefree, and ego-maniacle. Really he's the hero- making destiny manifest by his own hands; the spiritual successor of the settlers and explorers, who just happens to have run out of room. Is it not those do-gooder heros who are villians,  for real, by forcing these noble individuals to abandon their dreams and fall back in line, with threats of violence, persecution, and hard time. They are the very embodiment of fascism, through and through. So lets here it for the bad guys who keep the world sane, by showing us were all humans, one and the same. So three cheers for evil! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!
0
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 3:31 AM UTC
thomas-hatchett
Three cheers for evil
How come no-one ever pulls for the bad guy. He's just out there doing what we all wanna do: Being self-interested, self-imposing, self-actualising, carefree, and ego-maniacle. Really he's the hero- making destiny manifest by his own hands; the spiritual successor of the settlers and explorers, who just happens to have run out of room. Is it not those do-gooder heros who are villians,  for real, by forcing these noble individuals to abandon their dreams and fall back in line, with threats of violence, persecution, and hard time. They are the very embodiment of fascism, through and through. So lets here it for the bad guys who keep the world sane, by showing us were all humans, one and the same. So three cheers for evil! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!
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8