"aforementioned" poems
Falling in love with someone who is bipolar will never be easy.
There will be minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months where I'm unexplainably mean, or recklessly happy.
For a period of time, I may be all over you and want to smother you in my aforementioned reckless happiness, that I will forget to ask how you're doing and if you ate anything today. I will forget that unlike me, you need to sleep for 9 hours a day and that you're not fully ready to take on the world.
At some point, I will take a turn for the worst and will mope in unbelievable sorrow due to the death of my false happiness.
I will cry about everything and will stop calling, and forget to remind you that I love you so much and just need some time away.
My deep sadness will soon turn into unrelenting anger and I will tell you abusive things that I don't really mean.
I will be confused as to why I say them, and apologize a million times and try to explain that I can't control my anger, and that I need to leave and be away from people for a while, although I know nothing will really help.
You will insist that it's okay and tell me you love me.
For days, weeks, or months, I will do this, and you will soon think I am lying and think that I am just genuinely terrible.
My constant apologies will become nothing and you will soon distance yourself and start falling out of love, but still have a glimmer of hope.
After this episode, I will have a period where I feel nothing and am almost robot-like. You will feel unwanted and unloved and look at me with such sad eyes and get nothing but a shrug and a half-assed "sorry."
When you finally walk away, I will have more bad days than good days because I will regret not saying I love you more.
I will hate myself for being bipolar. I will fall back into my bad habits and soon you will be a distant memory.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
gurgle, gurgle,
groundcurrent unsettled,
moon unseen like stars
fever dreamed,
dissonance for the melody maker,
dissonance for the retired risk-taker,
dissonance for the hips of homewreckers.
civil, civil,
no minutes can afford the divide,
aside, to the crystal buildings and
the sky's sputtering cries,
compliments to your forehead's ****
compliments to your forefather's rash,
compliments to your aforementioned crash.
the current, the current
rides hot and merciless along thigh,
dribbles down chins and nightgowns,
dries--a permanent badge of scattered life,
electroshock seeps from self-made holes,
electroshock seeps from smoldering bowls,
electroshock seeps from typecast roles.
volcano, volcano,
grumble and moan.
volcano, volcano,
clear cord and stroke.
volcano, volcano,
grieve me in ash.
volcano, volcano,
I've been awful bad. I've been awful bad. I've been awful bad.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 11:19 AM UTC
can you explain
what it means
to despise someone?
to frame hate
and hang it on your wall
to count the number of days
lost sleep in your coffee mug
with the aforementioned's
name expensively embroidered on it
an old feud, laid in skin
and memories
so long you no longer remember
what the original sin was
only the feeling endures
an anticlimax
that you could go on
and on for hours about
without rest
so much pathos
teeming under the surface
that you could erupt
in volcanic tantrums
at the sound of a name
the way you clench your fists
until your fingers bite blood
from your palms
over street signs that bring up
old memories
the way you dream
of burning chairs
you heard they sat in
you find solace in the fact
that you are conscious
of this pervasive madness
that you are not tired of
and never will be
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
How wonderful it is, I say, to the retreating
yellow form of your feelings I mistook
For Infatuation, you’re a romance heckler
far and far away from
Accepting fruition within classrooms and
being labelled as an angel.
And it was within forbidden hell of
euphoria, I found
You nestled in the society’s psyche
neither content or calling
For help. Neither did you neglect the
pink spectacles of the society,
Even found yourself moulding and moulding
into a fungi green
That I could not recognize, within that
half-sanctum, half-oasis I found you
absentmindedly
Bathing in, you were already out of
its waters.
And I was no longer seeing you within
the dry desert or the sibilance
of my desires, but instead
in cement woodlands and
Within artificial communication and
Intimacy I gave willingly.
Now how does it feel, to have your
heart in one piece,
How does it feel to not use
whipped cream to fill in the
Cracked, salty sections of your
own ***** that,
Out of confusion, continues to
play its favorite song but
in all the wrong beats.
Somehow within cacophony I found
you, nestled, comfortable in
Bogus, fraudulent wings of a former
angel- who now weeps under our
Feet in theory- Somehow, somewhere,
I lost you within an epiphany
That reeked of bliss and pleasure-
Somehow, we end up losing
Twins of the heavens when all is well.
How wonderful.
How wonderful it is, I say, to your
lost, secretly-weeping figure
That I can’t tell whether transparent or
yellow your figure is.
But I keep speaking-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To love the first angel I’ve set
my eyes upon-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To lose an angel, no matter how
phoney, to a social heaven.”
- enriko. aug 5. 11:45pm
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 12:32 PM UTC
"Nita, what do you NEED ?"
I HATE it when someone asks me that question!
"Nita, What do you need?"
NEED: “require”… “want”… “necessitate”
"What do you need right now. You don't have to do this in isolation."
"What do you need right now? I am not afraid of the little girl."
"What do you need right now? If you need something I am here to listen."
"If you don't think you are safe, then what do you need from me or others or yourself?"
Why does it matter what I "NEED"? Why do you ask me when you are not going to be able to grant that/those "NEED(S)"?
Is my Survivor Fairy Godmother asking you for a list of Nita's NEEDS so she can come wave her magic wand, sing, bippity, boppity, boo...and I'll become an unf@#ked kid?
Well, why didn't you say so!
Here's my list for the Godmother:
I NEED to be 'unf@#ked'. I NEED the voices in my head to stop. I NEEDED my evil father not to touch me. I NEED the flashbacks to stop. I NEED my body not to hurt. I NEED the fear to stop. I NEED for you to be here for me NOW like you WERE then. I NEEDED to be loved by my parents. I NEED someone to teach me what love really is. I NEED someone to show me that trust really does exist in this world. I NEED you to help me at night when I am suicidal and dissociative. I NEED you to be available after 10pm, when the hell started, you know, like you used to be...back when you actually cared about what I NEEDED. I NEED the little girl to stop whining and crying. I NEED to not have physical symptoms that relate to then. I NEED the nightmares to stop. I NEED the constant headaches to stop. I NEED my crohn’s to not be in a constant flare up. I NEED to stop having recurrent UTIs. I NEED the ****** Angry Girl to stop hurting me. I NEED to sleep. I NEED to want to live before I die.
I NEED you to hear me.
What? There is NO Survivor Fairy Godmother? NO magic wand?
I'm shocked! NOT!
I'm guessing that's why she never showed up then, either...I prefer to think that rather than her never answering my cries of: Please make him stop hurting me!
I NEED you to STOP asking me what I NEED Since we both know that those NEEDS will NEVER be my reality, and that it is actually more painful to ask for what you NEED and not get that need met, then it is to keep your NEEDS to yourself. At least that's true for me.
So...unless you have a survivor registry where I can resister for the aforementioned NEEDS, or, perhaps a survivor merit system where I can earn credits to 'buy' the above NEEDS (I'm not afraid of hard work)...then STOP ASKING ME WHAT I NEED!
Because we both know it does not matter what I NEED!
Can't undo what's already been done. We both know that.
What Nita "NEEDS" right now is a bottle of ***** and some cranberry juice…THAT is a NEED I can meet right now!
A TOAST!
Here's to: UNMET NEEDS
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
Society moves like a bullet
And there's no way to cool it
We're not big fans of reflection
So we become slaves to deflection
Bouncing off of hard surfaces
Like limiting gun purchases
Constriction isn't part of or vocabulary
Proliferation is all we know
Watching weapon supplies grow
I live in a country
Riddled by bullets
Bullets that blast through our ****** body
Though the holes in our mind are bigger
When we can **** those we think are naughty
We become judges when we pull the trigger
But the media makes mountains out of molehills
And it is for those exaggerated reasons we ****
We are stuck in a bullet storm
When TV advertises bullet ****
This helps make bullets the norm
So we treat mass shootings with a familiarity
Because we can't acknowledge the only similarity
Is obviously the gun
We're blinded by the sun
Of defense contractors
They're negative reactors
When we purpose a change
The conversation they rearrange
By firing in every possible direction
This is the aforementioned deflection
And it works
You can tell because people are dying
Or standing in the street crying
Or watching the news sighing
Bullet time has wooed us
Bullet crimes have moved us
There are people who gain wealth
From our diminishing health
They hold society on their rope
And the only way we can cope
Is to ****** that rope from their greedy grasp and pull it
But that's hard to do while being punctured by bullets
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
Surely you,
Jester.
Unduly-expressed.
Lambasted,
insulted.
Abrasive ...
au naturel?
I think...
Surely not.
Unless,
Had the aforementioned not just the will to rip through my throat,
but too the audacity to penetrate the inclement root you call heart.
Well, I had made my decision.
and lo!
I would have stood by it too;
had my own form of insecurity been given the chance to wilt.
Not further admonished on
how to think. how to act
How 'one' should primarily be.
Instead I lie bludgeoned,
berated;
and by the very thing that
antecedently spurred
a cascade of unsophisticated giddiness.
That too was far from the cry of a
Devil-may-care persona.
I would almost weep the lost opportunity,
Whereas I should simply, and most ardently
Just be.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:56 AM UTC
At Nineteen,
I bore witness to the live Birth of my Son.
He was adopted out via Open Adoption
to a very nice Family a few Hours away in Ukiah.
I'm still in contact with them, I get pictures every six Months
and I'm very happy to also be able to see Him every so many Months.
At Twenty,
I lost my Father. I found him on the floor and called 911. I paid for his Cremation the next day.
It was what he told me he wanted; his ashes are in a box in my room.
Perhaps even moreso than he was my "Father", he was by best Friend;
for better and for worse.
At Twenty-One;
my Girlfriend of Five Years, who was also Mother of the aforementioned Child, and I
broke up on Friendly terms. Now she lives about 200 miles away.
We're still cordial, and I'm glad we still speak.
Eternal Allies are rare to come by,
to say the least.
So far, Twenety-Two has been rather turbulently eventful, as well.
Between Family and their lack, personal choices and relationships,
and the furtherment of my Self as well as my expressive Capacities,
it's been a hell of a Twenty-Two so far,
to say the least.
All of these things leave me with an Understanding
that I cannot ever judge anyone, for I know not of their struggles
and that no One can ever truly judge anyone else,
for the same reason.
Through all of this, I feel evermore
that this Life is ******* great,
and that's no sarcastic remark:
Life
is a trippy and tumultuous Journey
and I'm thankful for this opportunity
to experience this Holiest of Realities, to say the least;
though it is a Lesson in Humility, to say the least.
And thus:
Thank you for reading my writings.
Thank you for taking time out to read what I have to bring forth.
Thank you for existing and expressing.
Blessings upon thy Paths;
wheresoever you've been
wheresoever you're going
thank you just for Being.
Please be your Self; you owe it to your Self,
for that is all you ever have, to say the least,
and so, once more:
Blessings upon thy Path.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
I
Fall has started.
Students pile into their desks
as teacher begins the lesson,
with 32 apple gifts in her bottom drawer.
II
Wake up in the morning.
Walk down the stairs.
Grab an apple
among the bananas and
pears.
III
Sitting under a tree, dreaming,
disturbed by a falling fruit.
The apple that knocked your head.
The apple that discovered gravity.
IV
Lovers entwined in each others’ arms.
“I love you,” says one.
“I love you more,” says the other.
“You are the apple of my eye,” says the first.
The second smiles.
V
Kids running rampant,
touch football and tag.
Trading card games while eating lunch.
Lunch? PB&J;, a banana,
and Mott’s Apple Juice.
VI
One of the largest computer companies: Apple.
The Beatles music company: Apple.
Apples are the foundation of everything.
Makes sense,
right?
VII
The Disney hotel room was tan all over.
Even my 6-year-old brain remembers that.
The green sheen of the apple skin was
more appealing than the tan, for sure.
VIII
Apples, apple juice, applesauce, apple pie,
apple cider, candied apples, Redd’s apple ale.
So many choices.
So many variations.
None quite as good as the first one listed.
IX
The red on her lips matched the fruit’s skin
as she bit down into the juicy apple.
Within minutes she was down to its core
and mine.
X
Apply applesauce to the aforementioned area.
This isn’t a game, HeadOn.
It is just alliteration.
XI
The stanzas in this poem
couldn’t be more different
than apples and oranges.
Gotcha.
XII
Mi corazón se dispara a mi garganta
cuando yo te veo. Siento mi nuez de Adán se endurece.
Tus labios, rojos como manzanas,
se ven tan dulces.
Te extraño, Red. Y, finalmente,
te amo.
XIII
This poem brought to you by:
Mott’s Apple Juice, Redd’s Apple Ale,
The Beatles’ Apple, Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak’s Apple
Sir Isaac Newton’s Apple, Adam’s Apple,
God’s apple, my apple, your apple, he/she/it apple,
It apple bit the apple.
The core of this poem, much like the core of an apple.
Seeds throughout.
This poem brought to you by:
My 15” Macbook Pro Apple laptop.
And the author, moi. From my heart. From my brain.
This poem brought to you by apples.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
I wish to get this out in the open,
I wish to clarify something
I must confess something to those who care about my writing:
My sense of humour is... well...
If you know me in person, you know my sense of humour
or what could be errantly said
to be a sense of humour.
I draw heavily upon:
facetiousness, mythic interpretation, sarcasm, satire, excessive formality, irony, wordplay,
a somewhat predisposed tendency towards not taking most things entirely seriously
even and almost especially when I am 'supposed to',
resorting to profanity on rare occasions,
and quite simply and succinctly a ****** up world perspective*
amassed over many years of living in this society
and from living with my late, similarly minded, brutally honest alcoholic Father,
in this society, nonetheless,
who in fact was at least *quite ******* directly* responsible for my aforementioned errant sense of humour.
If you knew him, you might say that I'm a "chip off the ol' block" in some ways,
but I know I'm quite ******* deviant from it in others.
So, to those of you who simply know of my existence via this digital outlet/public-sketchpad for my new-found passion of writing down every ******* thing I think it worthwhile to ponder again later, or perhaps even share with similarly minded, or at least accepting people; I wish to convey my deepest and most sincere pity, not in that it is anything that was your doing, just in that you can't possibly know my sense of humour and tasteless applications of irony and satire, and as such; I've probably offended some people.
However, for some anomalous reason,
some of you seem to like this stuff
So I'm going to keep it up.
If you read this: thank you,
but if you did not, then **** you;
however, if you didn't initially read this but were later directed to it by me or by some other personage,
fictional or real,
or for some other reason happened across it,
I rescind the aforementioned **** you" in light of conveying my deepest and most sincere
"Thank you for putting up with my weird-ass ********
I appreciate anyone who finds any value in my works.
I also appreciate the improbable nature of anyone liking my brain-vomit.
I love creating and I love sharing my creations,
so when that all works out,
I'm ******* fit as a fiddle;
Giddy as a schoolgirl on Prozac;
Happier than a young necrophiliac who achieves his boyhood ambition of becoming coroner.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
I am a certified expert in the sequential pushing of buttons,
this pushing performed, on a good day, in concert with the
expensively purchased, somewhat rare mental model of
the workings of a recently commonplace variety of machine
dependent at its core on the minuscule presence of increasingly-rare
earth metals allowing for the conditional flow of groups of electrons.
These machines, like their precursors, are further dependent on
the supply of slightly less increasingly rare combustible material
for which armed conflicts are routinely fought and many have died.
My interest in the machines began at an early age,
enticed by the illusion of control, and on the whole,
I think, motivated by the idea that these machines
processing information, the core mechanism of reality,
might be used to create understanding.
In the interceding years, it is increasingly apparent to me
that while some are used for this purpose, most,
like most things around me, are controlled and engaged by
multi-personed organisms concerned primarily with:
1) self-preservation AND
2) the collection of, and limited divestment of,
unit notions of rarefied value, insured by the
existence of another similar organism valued for its
1) self- and nearby-environs preservation AND
2) recent track record of insuring continued relatively easy access
to the aforementioned important combustible materials.
—it is generally considered to people's credit that this notion
of value is thus-derived and no longer as frequently derived by virtue
of possessing a metal which, while of certain non-combustible use,
is basically just pretty rare and really, really shiny.
I find myself again shortly in a need of convincing such an organism
that my button pushing is of sufficient quality,
on sufficiently frequent good days,
that it should consider me a temporary part thereof and divest,
of itself to me, sufficient units of value that I might happily
continue to push buttons on its behalf in the pursuit of further units.
I am, for some reason, somewhat less than thrilled with this prospect
finding it, despite its marketability, a maybe less than important enterprise.
I am existentially concerned by the idea that my whole value may derive
from my button pushing, and is thus further dependent on
the availability of rare-earth metal and also-rare combustibles.
In some delusion of importance amongst 7 billion plus similar primates
and a unfathomably vast universe,
I thought you might be interested to know
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
A pastel blue backdrop
behind three glass frames
not a cloud in the sky
not a plane flying by
Yet I cannot learn to love
the sky without the trails
smoky puffs of vapour
line a day with uncertainty
For a blue sky is bland
without the odd trace
of imperfection, even
birds in formation become
the aforementioned.
"I can't stand to sing
the same song the same way
two nights in succession"
Routine it seems is its
own imperfection.
Give me a grey sky in June
And thunder in peace
A stark croaking crow
Can be sheer bliss
All things aligned,
Excitements amiss
For the brain needs
A puzzle, a challenge...
Confrontation, **** your
Hollywood films and
Normalisation, your
predictable habits
And false gestation;
Astro-Turf fields
And palm tree islands,
Man-made beaches
And glacier skylines
Synthetic audio
and bastardisation
of the arts, your
contempt for nature
Shall be your Achilles
for the world we live in,
the forests and canopy's
are the very providers
Of human abilities,
rid us of them and face
extinction, this is the
nature of colonisation.
The earth which houses us
is not formulaic, It's a collision
of astronomic proportions
every detail as vital as another
Mankind can be primal, Oedipal
and graceless, but respecting your
home is not an optional gift, for
we cannot survive as a species adrift.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
Vivienne Westwood
Always wears Chinos
By Moschino
When making Cappuccinos
And insists all that drink
The aforementioned fare
Wear clothes
Adorned with safety pins
And have blond spiky hair.
Vivienne rarely makes Cappuccinos.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
my body is a word.
my son
a naked body.
my eden is Eden.
my word is southernmost.
my postman is a priest
confused in a field
of poppies
who happens upon
a rusty as created
knife.
my son is sick.
my son is my soap.
my triumph is a stuffed crow
hourglass
of the aforementioned
priest.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
**i said “im not going to marry you”
and you said “oh. do you want to get married?”
and i said “…no”**
i was standing in the shower in someone else’s house when i told you i couldnt be with you
and you said “please don’t do this”
and i said “i’m sorry”, like i had to
and i said “goodbye,’ like i had to but i didn’t have to i didn’t do it because i had to i did it because
there’s an itch
you get in your feet
when you realize that all you have to do to be happy is, do
what makes you happy
and i decided i wanted that more than you.
last night when it rained i remembered what it sounded like
when it rained on your tin roof
and how you slept with your breathing shallow,
in case your grandma with dementia walked in and
called you by your grandfather’s name again. i remembered
the day you put the latch on your door to keep her out.
i bet you kept it there to keep me out too.
if i were still there
i’d be riding my bike to you now,
down that long stretch of littered sidewalk,
past that path where you smoked joints behind people’s yards at night
into the driveway by
your house, frame light enough to be carried away by wind
but the wind came
and it blew me away instead.
if i were still there i’d say happy anniversary, i love you so much
if i were still there it would be a lie
but i’m here, so it’s not, because
i can only love you from here, seeing what a fool you are
forgiving you anyway
so happy valentine’s day to your aforementioned buddy
and happy valentine’s day to the high school that almost killed you
and happy valentine’s day to whatever music you’re making
whether its metal,
or blues,
happy valentine’s day to the safeway cashier
who knew what we were up to and the school theater whose floor we slept on
and the kisses snuck between sleeping bags
and the arms that for three years were my home
in your bed, by your star wars curtains
light every morning, breakfast with your mom
who added me on facebook
and could never spell my name
february last year i was in italy rinsing you out of my mouth
this year i’m in israel eating salt and reading old emails
taking a bath in an empty apartment
wondering when
you’re going to cut your hair.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 6:36 PM UTC
Poetry.
One simple word,
Yet it could change your life.
That poem that hits you,
Right when you felt you couldn't be any more
Numb.
The one that shocks you back to
Life.
Maybe the sensitive side comes out.
Maybe you found a poem that
Shows a soul in distress.
Maybe you wrote that poem.
Someone else found it.
Saved you.
Who knows?
Did you ever wonder
Who it was that saved you?
Did you forget that it wasn't just you
That changed your soul?
Usernames hide identities,
So who could ever know
The real name of the soul that saved them.
I know it's happened for me.
People I can't thank enough.
For pulling me out of a blackhole,
A.K.A. Life as w know it.
"We" being those who cut.
"We" being those who smoke.
"We" being those who drink.
"we" being those lost in an
Endless. Downward. Spiral.
Because "we" see the world as it is.
A pit of problems with no bridge across.
The only bridge for the aforementioned "we" is poetry.
Writing poems in hope that someone will read it and save us.
Wondering all the while if anyone even cares.
Does the world care
Whether planned or not.
Have my words,
unspoken, but rather written,
ever saved some
Helpless soul
Wandering without a path?
Life is an endless journey,
Poetry is a shortcut,
Towards happiness galore.
Life is full of thorns.
Poetry is a beautiful field,
Full of flowers, but few thorns.
I can't say there won't be thorns,
Life has to have it's way sometimes.
But I can say I will be there for you,
Likewise with poetry.
If life gets too hard,
turn away from
The blade,
The pipe,
The bottle or can,
Take my hand,
We will make it together.
I may not be too good at voicing my thoughts,
But I mean well.
Some things cannot be said,
Even if they ought to be.
When your vase full of life flowers is drooping and wilted,
Come with me,
Find a new one.
In the end all that matters is how you spent
Hours upon hours.
Suffer,
Survive,
Thrive?
Poetry will make you bloom,
Then you can take that power and lead others.
Just never forget how you got to that place.
And never forget me and
How I taught you to listen to the words of
Souls that are never uttered.
Never forget the old you,
But don't stay that same person.
The past is the past, find your future.
Follow me.
Find poetry.
Change your mind.
Change your outlook.
Become a new, better, you.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 6:37 AM UTC
And she said…
I luv you,
?
Where’s the
O-v-e-
R
we truly
Over?
Or just yet
To begin?
Well, *** u
It’s convenient
To shorten words
To speed the converse
But love
Should be handled
With delicacy
You’re lack of concern
Brought
“I luv u 2”
In return
You’re more mathematical
Than poetical
And I accept our difference
But your indifference
Once I brought it
To your attention
Is well worth
The *** you” aforementioned
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
Step 1: Legalize all drugs and treat their possession as a public health issue, as is practiced in Portugal
Step 2: Get all nonviolent drug offenders out of prison and (A) into treatment when dealing with harder drugs like meth/coke/heroin (B) get the *** growers some jobs doing what they're good at, and watch as the extra tax revenues progressively revitalize both local and national economies. (1)
Step 3: Fill the new vacancies in the nation's prison system with the entire US government and the top 1% of income earners as punishment for their hubristic crimes against nature and humanity.
Step 4: Forgive all debts and redistribute all of the assets of the aforementioned parties among the entire population, but especially the impoverished classes, to create socioeconomic balance.
Step 5: Decentralize the economy and rebuild it along the lines of federated, autonomous municipalities, based on common ownership of economic resources, free education and healthcare, and participatory democracy. Once this is done, we can let the former government and 1% out of prison. (2)
Brought To You By: Homunculus For President (but not for very long, because being an authority figure would sort of contradict the entire essence of the society I just described) 2016
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 3:48 AM UTC
I look for love under boulders and stones because angels cannot help.
Heaven parted the land with seas so I cannot see my dream.
So I am left in the eye of the storm and Tsunamis got me feeling hopeless,
Because I am aid less.
Deprived of human contacts.
Waiting for the ship to dock but instead I'm left staring at the digital clock where your name should be.
Instead, I'm getting let down by an answering machine with a pleasant recording.
Too bad technology isn't enough for me.
Instead, I hold hands with strangers to feel an empty comfort because you can't even text me goodnight.
I throw **** around my room, wishing I was aiming at you
Because you let me down when your presence was crucial
If only vocal.
**** I would have settled for the simplest literary visual
Because at least then I'd know that your thoughts were with me
And my paranoia was silly
And the abuse I inflicted on the Teddy Bear you gave me for Xmas was unnecessary.
Then I'd take back all the curses,
The I-Hate-Yous.
I'll say sorry.
Re-stitch the results from the aforementioned brutality.
I don't even need an apology.
I just need to know that you actually love me.
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 3:38 PM UTC
“When I was younger my friends and I would all have bonfires every Friday night and we made up fake names for each other that related to our spirit animals and we spoke in a secret language where every word started with D. Dumb, dight? Dokay, de dan dave da decret danguage doo. Dut DI don’t dare do duch dor ‘D’. What letter do you like? V? V’s vinda vunny.”
“I have in this bag here every fingernail clipping of each of your exes. I have in this bag a 14 inch long braid of every hair you ever sleepily smoothed into submission, lying halfway underneath the moon and halfway in a pile of the aforementioned’s sweat. I have blue-tint pictures developed from a baking disposable camera that weren’t taken seriously when Instagram wasn’t cool. Film clips of them getting ready for work in front of you, where there’s no film because it’s just your eyes and no real memories because your eyes were flickering between open and shut, blinds behind you that winked at them when you were too busy reveling to. I’m not saying that your eyes are blind, I’m saying that they’re blinds. Do you understand what I have in this bag? It’s like a never-ending stream of catharsis, like a rain puddle in November with streetlights swimming drunkenly in it, that reminds you too much of coming home to the smell of gas stoves even though you didn’t live there. A feeling that reminded you of a war you didn’t fight in and shoots through your bones because you never consciously had a skeleton until the magnet in your throat attracted another. All of the things in this bag are shaped like U’s, you know? Or shaped like You.”
“Actually, I like U. I like U a lot, but it seems impossible to speak that way.”
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
They salute the setting sun-
The invocation of eternity in a dark glass bottle
Colored in by the furious scribbling of a black marker
Always on the verge
Of empty;
To the dull cacophonous squeak that erupts from the tip of that thing,
Irate in its placid path towards obscurity,
Censoring the callous morning light from refracting
Into the chasms of some finitely empty infinitum
Otherwise dedicated as the blunder of nomenclature:
Reality.
But to the muted and forlorn residue of the aforementioned,
The fiery chill blazing down upon fair human hearts,
Only meek eyes and ears perceive You in Your squandered state,
Your quiet quintessence,
Your opaque perfection.
Shine on, though I beg!
For even this obfuscating cherubim
Is depraved,
And wicked,
And lacking substance
To combat they who stand aside from the narrow mouth of that empty bottle
Where emptiness becomes palpable while beauty has no form;
Shine!
Luxuriate the few and linger not on the fearful and ignorant,
Scintillate and commiserate with us,
With them,
With those you find and who find you--
Do not confuse yourself with
God!
For God is in the bottle
And God is the marker!
Confess your presence in our souls--give a name to what we cannot
So that when we wake we find no compartment for our passions, no boundaries of love-
Roaming freer than the dancing light made pale by that blasphemous credence of philosophy awry.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 8:30 PM UTC
A world convulsed at fallacious lies,
With a pensive reality,
And caliginous skies.
A night as dark as the depths of hell,
Malignant capabilities,
Your sinister voice I know too well.
Due to your influence,
I have become oblique.
Dreading all the words
That you speak.
Am I truly the one you seek?
Now I have prospected
and also detected
That the only way to be consummate
Is to remain idyllic, and appreciate
The taciturnity you’ve effected
I apprehended
That I should have escaped while I could
But I pretended
Like I misunderstood
That you were do good.
You insanity was cloaked by a hood.
I’m not endorsing you to deliver my downfall,
Aforementioned here, is my last stand.
Absent from reality I’ve become,
Just to plummet down this peak once more,
Due to the careless vivacity
of the fellow that is blind,
to his doings unkind.
And now, all you do is provoke
The constant fear that I have chosen
the wrong bloke.
And for this I have frozen
A friendship that was golden.
I really shouldn’t crave you
but for some reason
I can’t abdicate.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
To separate the word from it's identity
Is quite the delightful mind game
How things are agreed to be described or named
is just convention for communication; a key,
for organization of knowledge. Nothing more, less, and neither.
While unable to negate this absurdity, ultimately, why bother?
For example, the universe, or reality for that matter, is not "good" or "bad." It just "is" and, thus, not even that (by "that" I am referring to the aforementioned "is" of course, but also the formal definition of "that," however, I also ironically don't mean that either by "that" as I mean nothing, yet I also don't mean "nothing" by "that" as I intend "nothing," "is," and "that" to be both metaphorically and literally interpreted while also neither simultaneously, which is seemingly contradictory). Did you follow that? I apologize, but it's a paradox to try and explain this concept/whatever about words with more words, thus I can only hope to allude to it or otherwise imply it. Lend me your ear again, or your eyes I suppose, but also neither... Sorry! One more time:
A palindrome isn't even a palindrome by it's own literal definition, but it's literal definition is also that of a palindrome. The word "palindrome" exists both as a palindrome and not a palindrome and also neither simultaneously. Schrodinger's cat, but no, too, and also both and Gorgias, Parmenides, Zeno an
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 4:43 PM UTC
I'm selfish
single-minded
greedy
and I don't really give a **** about you
your job.
your kids.
your vacation photos.
that time you put a scarf on your cat.
I'm narcissistic
vain
and more than just a little neurotic.
Worst of all,
I try to pretend that
I am not all of the aforementioned characteristics
while I'm acutely aware of the fact that
I'm ******* awful.
Nice to meet you. How long will this one last?
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC