Hey guys. This isn't truly a poem but a paper I wrote for English class. I wanted to share this view with people and this is the only vehicle I knew to use. So here it is. I hope you enjoy it.
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The amplifiers were turned up to ten. The young and fresh crowd looked at us with anticipation.

What were they waiting for? As the music began I noticed the subtle movements and growing tension in

the crowd. Men shook their heads and we shook ours in a violent duet between the crowd and

performer. Women and men flailed their limbs as they awaited the ******. We knew when it was

coming; they did not. When we decided to let it all go I witnessed something crazy! There was a brief

pause in the music and when it began again we kicked it into overdrive. We shook our heads with a

more frantic pace. We jumped about like madmen. The crowd erupted; it became its own entity. You

could feel the heat and power of this new creature. We were locked in a violent psychic-sphere of

crazed young teens and when the ****** was over there seemed to be a sense of relief and happiness

in the crowd. Had my after school hobby become a healing agent, even if only temporary, in society?

This papers purpose is an attempt at piecing together the phenomena of catharsis by merging

philosophy, psychology, history and spirituality.



First, to understand the psychology of catharsis we must think back to the roots of this behavior. Since

human life has existed we’ve formed crowds for various reasons. The first reason held the sole purpose

of protection. Tribes of people, men as hunters and women as gatherers, teamed up for the benefit of

human survival. Erich Fromm says that “the meaning of life is not to be found in its fullest unfolding but

in social service and social duties; that the development, freedom, and happiness of the individual is

subordinate or even irrelevant in comparison to the welfare of the state.”(Fromm, 1947, page 51) This

states that a crowd is actually very necessary to the function of human life. The second reason crowds

gathered was in form of revel, shamanistic healing and worship of deities (Ehrenreich, 30). Men and

woman would often enter trances, speak in tongues and become involved in a collective ecstasy while in

worship of their God. In later years, politics, entertainment and rebellion or protest was a main factor in

the gathering of people (Ehrenreich, 102). People gathered at Festivals that were in the midst of being

suppressed and would dance in mockery of their Kings or leaders.



What exactly is catharsis? Catharsis is a purging of emotional tension brought out in a crowd through

the viewing of a tragedy or tragic play. In the article “The Power of Catharsis” Kearny says the following

More specifically he (Aristotle) defined

the function of catharsis as 'purgation of pity and fear'. This comes

about, he explains, whenever the dramatic imitation of certain actions

arouses pity and fear in order to provide an outlet for pity and fear.

The recounting of experience through the formal medium of plot,

fiction or spectacle permits us to repeat the past forward so to speak.

And this very act of creative repetition allows for a certain kind of

pleasure or release. In the play of narrative re-creation we are invited

to revisit our lives — through the actions and personas of others — so

as to live them otherwise. We discover a way to give a future to

the past. (Kearny 1)

I figure that, even though he states that it is a purgation of pity and fear, it could also be involved with

many other suppressed emotions. Take my introduction for example. These kids were not releasing

pity and fear, they were releasing their angst! They were releasing their desire for competition.

They were making up for the violent feelings of agression they felt in their body that had been

suppressed by society for so long! They were revolting! Could catharsis also be used to purge other

emotions as well such as ****** suppression or communicative issues?





How would one come about actually attempting this catharsis that I speak of? We need to first look at

some ways in which people have controlled crowds in the past and realize that crowds form by

themselves but often look for leadership due to what Nietzche called that “herd mentality.”

In the article “Seducing the Crowd” by Urs Staheli it mentions that repetition is a key factor in beginning

to control the crowd. (Staheli, 69) This means that through repetition you can get the crowd to side with

your beliefs. The crowd could begin to think about what your suggesting and potentially be swayed by

the other people that are now following your ideas. It could also be repetition of body movements as

well. What better vehicle is there to sway a crowd than music? It’s repetitive in instrumental and lyrical

form!



Another way to “******” a crowd is to act like a madman! Specifically how I stumbled upon this in

the first phenomena place.

The leader himself is possessed and hypnotized by the ideas

and visions he holds, obsessed to such an extent that he cannot rationally exercise

control over the crowd. Instead, he devotes himself to fascinating the

crowd by more ecstatic means.8 He often resembles a madman but fascinates

by the mere power of his determination. What distinguishes the leader from

the rest of the crowd is his will alone, not any particular intellectual capacity

or a superior morality. (Staheli, 68)

The theory is that through mythological story telling or acting tragically and in a spectacle, we can

actually release negative emotions and potentially even heal neuroses or psychic ailments. Later in the

article he goes on to say that a shaman was actually documented to have cured a woman with a blocked

birth canal and in labor by telling her a story about a warrior trying to exit a cave that had monsters on

the outside trying to get in.

The function of a shaman is to heal his tribe. He uses drugs or plants to change his state of mind and

then by going over to the other side of reality he invokes spirits that help to heal.

In the séance, the shaman led. A sensuous panic, deliberately evoked through drugs, chants,

dancing, hurls the shaman into trance. Changed voice; convulsive movement. He acts like a

madman. These professional hysterics, chosen precisely for their psychotic leaning, were once

esteemed. They mediated between man and spirit world. Their mental travels formed the crux

of the religious life of the tribe. (Morrison 1967 pg. 71)

This shows an ecstatic crowd dancing and chanting while one man acts out a tragic spectacle. Through

this spectacle the shaman acts like a madman. This causes wild emotions within the crowd and allows it

to release their built up and suppressed emotions. Also, the dance and chants bring them to a feeling of

unity and oneness!



One may not believe in the spiritual shaman because of their own beliefs about God and religion. Some

may not believe in the other world that parallels our own.  It is a skeptical concept without a doubt and

there are probably many people who disagree with the legitimacy of the shaman. Is there a way that we

could think of the phenomena in a psychological sense rather than strictly spiritual? The answer lies in

Carl Jung’s theory of the unconscious mind and dream therapy as well as in Nietzche’s philosophy on art

and aesthetics.  



Carl Jung believed that there is a conscious mind and an unconscious mind. The conscious mind is the

everyday mind that occurs in waking life. It is rational and helps us survive. The unconscious mind can

be found in dreams or whenever you experience a déjà vu (Jung 1964 21).  He also believed that through

the study of dreams you could heal certain aspects of your psyche that have been altered by neuroses.

Symbols and archetypes make up dreams and the unconscious, and often you will find that archetypes

appear in the form  of people. Jung believes that through living in society that men and women have lost

touch with their feminine or masculine characteristics depending on their gender. Dreams can help us

get back into union with these lost roles through connecting us with our anima(female) or animus

(male) through symbols in our dreams or unconscious minds. Jung wrote that when society was

formed people took on roles and caused a dissociation in their psyche and caused a duality rather

than a unity when they suppressed one side of their mind.  He mentioned that at all times the

unconscious mind is connecting us on a psychic level.



How does this tie into shamans and catharsis? It seems like something completely different all together

right? My theory is that the shaman or crowd leader brings forth a forgotten union of the masculine and

feminine forces in the universe. Nietzche believed that there are two polar forces that are natural in this

world and in art. These forces are given the names of deities in his book “The Birth of Tragedy.”

The first is the Apollonian force that is masculine. This force in art governs form and dreams. The

Apollonian artist directly takes ideas from his dreams and brings them to life whether it is in form

sculpture or poetry. Apollo appears through an oracle often in tragedy or in visions of the waking life.

The second force is the Dionysian which is feminine. This force governs intoxication, revel and ecstasy.

Dionysian artists are improvisers and dancers and are usually tragic figures. Nietzche believed there are

three different types of artists: Apollonian, Dionysian and the fusion of both (Nietzche 1872 14). This

latter artist is what I believe the shaman is.



Through connecting these polarizing forces he fixes the psychic neuroses in his own mind. He becomes

a unified artist, or a magician of duality. The shaman, as stated above, takes drugs to intoxicate himself.

Often the drug of choice is wine or alcohol though it could be hallucinogenic drugs as well. This tied with

repetitive revel is the Dionysian side of the spectrum and also helps draw the crowd’s attention through

spectacle and repetition. Everybody is ecstatic and experiencing the collective vibrations of the crowd.

Through his intoxication he is able to go into the unconscious mind and produce dream symbols in

reality! The crowd follows the leader into this unconscious mind and brings back forgotten wisdom of

mythology and archetypes. This is the Apollonian side of the spectrum because it deals with the

unconscious mind and dream images. It also could be this “other world” that traditional shamans speak

of. Now the psychic duality is merged and a tie is formed between the masculine and feminine forces of

nature! People feel at one with themselves and the crowd and the societal suppression is vanished

briefly. All the neuroses caused by the suppression fades away in the ecstatic revel. This is the appeal of

the rock concert. Notice how many leading figures of rock bands have androgynous features and

shamanistic nature. This is because they have fixed the psychic neuroses in their own mind and become

at peace with the masculine and feminine duality of their psyche.



Stumbling upon this phenomena in my rebellious youth was very eye opening. Ever since I have been  

very excited about this theory and I’ve been trying to piece it together. It seems to be coming along

further and further in my study of this. What exactly this ancient wisdom is; I don’t entirely know. I

do know that I have witnessed this in reality and the subject is interesting and fascinating. My theory

still has a lot of work before it is completed but I think that within this article I’ve given a decent

amount of history about the topic as well as my own thoughts. Whether this phenomena is true or

not, we can leave that up to the psychologists and philosophers to decide, though I think many may

agree. Either way, catharsis surely does exist and it is a fun way of entertainment as well as a

therapeutic option for many stressed out individuals out there

Passive-aggression?
I'm withholding feelings I'm afraid to mention
You'll judge me with your intellect and wit
I'll deal with myself how I see fit

I'm comfortable, yet always on guard
This isn't how things are supposed to start
I only care to please you
But I've failed myself, and can't help but continue

I've put you on a pedestal, despite your flaws
You're everything I want because you're everything I'm not
I seem to be losing confidence in myself
Constant contemplation, refutation...

There are so many things I wish to say
I feel the opportunity continues to slip away
I'm too slow to grasp the concept of initiative
So this passive, ambiguous life, I'll continue to live

I wanted a pen
to write my dreams
to silence my screams
to dwell in imaginations den

I looked at the sky
head in the clouds
asked out loud
a plaintive cry

I forgot my request
got on with life
lived through strife
survived the test

I entered a contest for fun
drew a quick sketch
third prize I fetched
oh my, a sky pen, I won

I took it as a sign
to rekindle my fire
this victory inspired
me to pen a line

I’ve found a lost love
a forgotten joy
a much adored toy
a gift from above

It fulfills a need
feeds the soul
makes me whole
I’ve planted a seed

It grows and grows
can take over
I’ll never recover
from poems I sow

I’m soaring, floating
following my pen
escaping reality again
sweetly, softly, drifting

My wings are stretched
I’m travelling worldwide
nothing can hide
nothing’s too far-fetched

Dilly-dallying my day away
strolling down fantasy lane
with my pen I’m playing
brain and hand gone astray

Am I like Dumbo with his feather?
Can I pen without this pen?
if it broke, what then?
Could I even write a letter?

Firing words from pen
shooting from the hip
no risk of punch in lip
safely hidden in my den

Writing stops many a row
it’s a release
iron’s out many a crease
to it’s power I bow

Freedom is anonymity
let emotions speak
coming out, not for the weak
it brings accountability

My pen has the loudest voice
speaks over my own
doesn’t need a microphone
to listen, I’ve no choice

On day’s pen’s not working
I await listlessly
eyeing it continuously
ideas, hovering, lurking

This pen is now an obsession
an all consuming need
I’m overcome with greed
interrupting can cause agression

My time is no longer my time
it’s now ruled by pen
I’m let of now and then
but frequently called back to rhyme

I’m skimming the stars
for inspiration
battling frustration
wish I could traverse on Mars

On make-believe’s loom I weave
today I want to celebrate
pen and I co-operate
it’s absence I’d grieve

I’m living in cloud cuckoo land
this writing lark is easy
and never makes me queasy
everything, today, is grand

Pen has a quirky way of being
some days very liberal
wouldn’t want to take it literal
problems invisible, I’m not seeing

Today pen writes in language of love
expressing itself from the heart
roses and kindness it imparts
fits me snug, like a glove

Whispering sweet nothings in my ear
making me write all twee
writing cute and pretty
causing my dog to leer

Your like a pringle
once I pop, I can’t stop
you make my feet bop
my senses all a tingle

I’m your willing slave
marvelling in your ways
writing in a blissful daze
your company I crave

Now your just being rude
everything you write is naughty
getting me all prim and haughty
I’ll have to work on your attitude

I need to go to sleep
rest my weary head
your inkwell, your bed
don’t want to hear you, not a peep

The black names drip from our obituaries, sticky and thin.
You would think they would burn into our minds,
the brand of injustice against bound skin—
But a headstone is lost in unending lines.

It is horrifying.

Despicable.

How do we allow one man to **** another in cold blood?
Life spilled pours out in floods
Our men in blue drenched red
With the staggering numbers dead
And we sit back with “not all cops are the same”

Not every officer’s a killer but do you remember the names
Treyvon and Michael and Eric and Dontre and John and Ezell and Dante and Tanisha and Akai and poor little Tamir, who was still a kid,

Tell me what he did?

There is systematic opression and agression against a group skin defined
Where ****** is fine, it happens all the time, killers let off the line
Because of an oath that should bind
The oath they forget, the promise to protect, held up for all citizens except
The ones they choose to neglect

The badge not a shield but a riot ram
Against those that take a stand
And raise defiant hands
For the names lost in the clatter,

Black Lives Matter.

Humans aren't machines we don't have attachable weapons. What kind sick coperations turn people into deadly shape shooters.

No one knows what we really are.

Every day is different not the same.
We aren't made to **** our own.
We only **** to provide food for our young so they can grow and send another wave of generations.

Humans aren't made to ****.

But only one thing that can unleash ****** he'll is when we see one person take or kills someone.

We only **** to take the target that you saw KI'll.



Me
I'm not a Droid
I'm not a machine
I'm not a cold blooded slasher
I'm not aggressive to get payback
I can only set in motion a wave of thoughts that will stop and freeze the ****** battle field.


I'm not a Millitary machin.

But I am a 007 agent  with tricks with a mind that is a steel trap.

I'm not a pure aggressive killer.

I am my own 007 that has a mind of ideas that can change society from the cold industrial bleAK fear.

I am my own supper soldier. Not a aggressive scared cornered animal.

Humans only **** when some one kills a  person who is your friend.

We have our road we set in motion.

We set innovative ideas making the world functional.


We could be brained washed into a cold blooded weapon. Or we could set in motion  wave that will end all the ****** pure agression death that blood covers our hands

Lil' Israel, today, scuttled the long struggled for 'Iran ...Deal',
an acheivement of the Obama Presidency, although he failed on his
promises of "...watching the robots..." (20 % of "Bernie Or Bust
'Bots", the "hacker 'bots", and hackers globally, etc., biological
machine parts of 'la machine', mega, mecha, techa vs. orga, soma,
Gaia, which were central to the invisible coup that, with the tug, the
S.S. Tea Party, to the tune of their manifest destiny rag, dragged
'The U.S. Constitution', our Ship of State, into the 'Plymouth Rock'
Of this nation's original sin, imperialism, as they landed on it
while it landed on "...we(e),...", Native Americans, Turtle Island,
derailing democratically directed progress and installing Trumpler in
the klukahouse) and "closing Guantonomo", etc., he kept many, making
him singular amongst the number of the fingers of one hand at the top,
The "Presidents Club".  His legacy includes allowing the intelligence
industrial complex, of the corporate structure's convolution, to
purposely not prevent the hacking of the Presidential Elections of
2016, yet also includes such acheivements as the A.C.A., and the
'Iran ... Deal', it being the best possible foreign policy endeavor
To move forward with Iran.  Yet, Trumpler's feuhrer, Netsenyahoo's,
putting on a show of shiny cd's, old intelligence that didn't even
support his delusional projections, was all the cover 'The Donald'
needed to follow his channeling of his inner-worst yahoo and "scrap",
Racistly, that epitome of foreign policy success, "...because it was
Obama's...", as was Trumpler's campaigning on his desires to
"...update and use nuclear programs and weapons...".  For, it's been
common global foreign affairs knowledge for half a century that any
nuclear war is the extinction of humanity in a can, thus 'containment',
not proliferation', was the eternal order of the day.  So, His Trunc-
ularnesses not understanding why "...a country has weapons if they're  
not going to use them...", was not just a confession of his utter
criminal insanity, it was also one of his intent to break the "Non-State
Agression" part of the Nuremburg Accords that was central to the lessons
learned from WWII, like if you're not taking bullets you're making them,
By globally selling not just unending war, but nuclear ones, discarding
containment for proliferation, 'cause war pays extremely more than peace.  
What do you get when you mix imperialism, materialism, racism, religious
bigotry, patriarchy, oligarchy, notsee Germany before it annexed Austria.
Trumpenstein, blasting the keinder and gentler imperialism of remocrats,
Is warring on dempublicans, voting, women's rights, healthcare, health,
Et al, exterminating non-rem voters, etc., now he is angling for a Sunni
wished for unending worldwide war on the Shiite, Iran, to be nuclear, ****
all non: US citizens, Caucasians, upper-middle-class to rich, supposed
Christians, as our notsee war machine has ever been oiled by the blood
of, for more (like merx for more thru to mercs for unnecessary unending
worldwide war).  Separating the real religion which all religions,
etc., are a front for, avarice, from the State, as is dictated by our
Constitution, is not only a necessity for "a nation and an individual",
like Gandhi said "abhaya, fearlessness", is, it's now a necessity for
the existence of humanity, neigh, all life and the Earth.  He will end
U.S. if we don't protect the vote, GOTV, vote, and impeach him a.s.a.p..

Black And White Beauty For Miles To See,
Yellow Has Drained From Every Bumble Bee,
What Do We Do? Are We Free? Do We Flee?
Everything Is Black--Even The Blue Seas

Flowers Dwindle; Yet There Wasn't A Change,
Our World Is Now Completely Rearranged,
There's No More Money--People Can't Exchange,
It's Gone Now--All The People Were Deranged

The Black And White Is Nothing To Be Seen,
All Those Material Things--Kings And Queens,
Cars, Cash, Even Blood, And Plasma Screens,
There's Even More Agression Towards The Mean!

Black And White Beauty Is All Around Me,
*I Only Say It So I Can Be Free
The Black And White--Oh It Wants Me To Plea,
I Will Stay Strong, So I Can Have The Key

Thoughts and fears becoming an obsession

Flowing like the sea

Beautiful waves creating what lies before me

Or untamed power

A force of Destruction

Worries of where it will take me

Dragging my life down in the undertow

Uncontrollable

Unpredictable

Something that has the power

To push me far

Help me arrive in paradise

Will also take me down

To a cold, dark hell

Silent and alone

Overbearing pressure collapsing my lungs

Slowly stealing the warmth from my soul

It can make me feel alive

Or steal the life from my body

With each day, each hour, each moment

Not even the Lord knows not

Where I will end up

« Des Hommes prophétiques en face de leurs époques face à la souffrance causée par les périodes de réaction et de reflux »

(Relation d’une conférence donnée le 13 janvier 1940 à Toulouse par Silvio Trentin sur le principal Poète romantique Italien Giacomo Leopardi)

Prélude à une commémoration

C'est à la bibliothèque interuniversitaire de l’Université de Toulouse-Capitole alors que je me plongeais avec ferveur dans la lecture des ouvrages sur les « fuorusciti » (appellation donnée aux exilés politiques Italiens) que je découvris un opuscule de 118 pages, issue d'une conférence prononcée à Toulouse, le 13 janvier 1940 devant le « Cercle des intellectuels Républicains espagnols » par Silvio Trentin. Cette conférence fut prononcée avec la gorge nouée, devant un public d'intellectuels espagnols et catalans, la plupart exilés depuis 1939, et quelques-uns de leurs amis toulousains non mobilisés.
L'intense gravité du moment ne les empêchait pas de partager une ferveur commune ce haut moment de culture la culture Européenne intitulée par Silvio Trentin : « D’un poète qui nous permettra de retrouver l'Italie Giacomo Leopardi »
L'émotion fut grande pour moi car cet ouvrage me parut comme le frêle esquif rescapé d'un temps de défaites, de souffrances, rendu perceptible par le crépitement des balles de mitrailleuses, des explosions d’obus s'abattant sur des soldats républicains écrasés par la supériorité des armes et condamnés à la défaite par le mol et lâche abandon des diplomaties. Silvio Trentin avait gravé dans sa mémoire des images récentes qui n'avaient rien à envier aux tableaux grimaçants de nouveaux Goya. Il avait tant vu d'images d'avions larguant leurs bombes sur les populations terrifiées et embraser les charniers de Guernica. Il venait de voir passer les longues files de civils, toujours harassés, souvent blessés, emportant leurs rares biens ainsi que les soldats vaincus mais fiers de «la Retirada ». Il venait de visiter ces soldats dont parmi eux bon nombre de ses amis de combat, parqués sommairement dans des camps d'infortune.
Ces Catalans et Espagnols, qui s'étaient battus jusqu'au bout des privations et des souffrances endurées, étaient comme écrasés par le sentiment d'avoir été laissés presque seuls à lutter contre les fascismes, unis et comme pétrifiés par un destin d'injustice et d'amertume.
Mais ces premiers déchainements impunis d'injustices et de violences avaient comme ouverts la porte aux «trois furies» de la mythologie grecque et une semaine exactement après la conclusion du pacte de non-agression germano-soviétique, signé le 23 août 1939, par Molotov et Ribbentrop, les troupes allemandes se jetaient, dès le 1er septembre, sur la Pologne qu'elles écrasaient sous le nombre des stukas et des chars, en raison ce que le Général de Gaulle nomma ultérieurement « une force mécanique supérieure».
Une armée héroïque, mais bien moins puissante, était défaite. Et il ne nous en reste en guise de témoignage dérisoire que les images du cinéaste Andrei Wajda, nous montrant de jeunes cavaliers munis de lances se rendant au combat, à cheval, à la fin de cet été 1939, images d'une fallacieuse et vénéneuse beauté. Staline rendu avide par ce festin de peuples attaqua la Finlande, un mois après, le 30 septembre 1940, après s'être partagé, avec l'Allemagne hitlérienne, une partie de la Pologne. Depuis lors la « drôle de guerre » semblait en suspension, attendant pétrifiée dans rien faire les actes suivants de la tragédie européenne.

- Qu'est ce qui pouvait amener Silvio Trentin en ces jours de tragédie, à sacrifier à l'exercice d'une conférence donnée sur un poète italien né en 1798, plus d'un siècle avant ce nouvel embrasement de l'Europe qui mourut, si jeune, à trente-neuf ans ?
- Comment se fait-il que le juriste antifasciste exilé et le libraire militant devenu toulousain d'adoption, plus habitué à porter son éloquence reconnue dans les meetings organisés à Toulouse en soutien au Front à s'exprimer devant un cercle prestigieux de lettrés, comme pour magnifier la poésie même parmi ses sœurs et frères d'armes et de malheurs partagés ?
I °) L’opposition de tempéraments de Silvio Trentin et Giacomo Leopardi
L'intérêt porté par Silvio Trentin aux textes de Percy Shelley et au geste héroïco-romantique du poète Lauro de Bosis qui dépeignit dans son dernier texte le choix de sa mort héroïque pourrait nous laisser penser que le choix, en 1940, de Giacomo Leopardi comme sujet de médiation, s'inscrivait aussi dans une filiation romantique. Certes il y a bien entre ces deux personnalités si différentes que sont Giacomo Leopardi et Silvio Trentin une même imprégnation romantique. Le critique littéraire hors pair que fut Sainte-Beuve ne s'y est pourtant pas trompé. Dans l'un des premiers portraits faits en France de Leopardi, en 1844, dans la ***** des deux Mondes, Sainte-Beuve considère comme Leopardi comme un « Ancien » : (...) Brutus comme le dernier des anciens, mais c'est bien lui qui l'est. Il est triste comme un Ancien venu trop **** (...) Leopardi était né pour être positivement un Ancien, un homme de la Grèce héroïque ou de la Rome libre. »
Giacomo Leopardi vit au moment du plein essor du romantisme qui apparaît comme une réaction contre le formalisme de la pâle copie de l'Antique, de la sécheresse de la seule raison et de l'occultation de la sensibilité frémissante de la nature et des êtres. Mais s'il partage pleinement les obsessions des écrivains et poètes contemporains romantiques pour les héros solitaires, les lieux déserts, les femmes inaccessibles et la mort, Leopardi, rejette l'idée du salut par la religion et tout ce qui lui apparaît comme lié à l'esprit de réaction en se plaignant amèrement du caractère étroitement provincial et borné de ce qu'il nomme « l’aborrito e inabitabile Recanati ». En fait, la synthèse de Giacomo Leopardi est bien différente des conceptions d'un moyen âge idéalisé des romantiques. Elle s'efforce de dépasser le simple rationalisme à l'optimisme naïf, mais ne renie jamais l'aspiration aux « Lumières » qui correspond pour lui à sa passion tumultueuse pour les sciences. Il s'efforce, toutefois, comme par deux ponts dressés au travers de l'abime qui séparent les cultures et les passions de siècles si différents, de relier les idéaux des Antiques que sont le courage civique et la vertu avec les feux de la connaissance que viennent d'attiser les encyclopédistes. A cet effort de confluence des vertus des langues antiques et des sciences nouvelles se mêle une recherche constante de la lucidité qui le tient toujours comme oscillant sur les chemins escarpés de désillusions et aussi du rejet des espoirs fallacieux dans de nouvelles espérances d'un salut terrestre.
De même Silvio Trentin, de par sa haute formation juridique et son engagement constant dans les tragédies et péripéties quotidienne du militantisme, est **** du secours de la religion et de toute forme d'idéalisation du passé. Silvio Trentin reste pleinement un homme de progrès et d'idéal socialiste fortement teinté d'esprit libertaire pris à revers par la barbarie d'un siècle qui s'ouvre par la première guerre mondiale et la lutte inexpiable engagée entre la réaction des fascismes contre l'esprit des Lumières.
Mais, au-delà d'un parcours de vie très éloigné et d'un pessimisme historique premier et presque fondateur chez Leopardi qui l'oppose à l'obstination civique et démocratique de Silvio Trentin qui va jusqu'à prôner une utopie sociétale fondée sur l'autonomie, deux sentiments forts et des aspirations communes les font se rejoindre.

II °) Le même partage des désillusions et de la douleur :
Ce qui relie les existences si différentes de Giacomo Leopardi et de Silvio Trentin c'est une même expérience existentielle de la désillusion et de la douleur. Elle plonge ses racines chez Giacomo Leopardi dans une vie tronquée et comme recroquevillée par la maladie et un sentiment d'enfermement. Chez Silvio Trentin, c'est l'expérience historique même de la première moitié du vingtième siècle dont il est un des acteurs engagés qui provoque, non pas la désillusion, mais le constat lucide d'un terrible reflux historique qui culmine jusqu'à la chute de Mussolini et d'Hilter. A partir de retour dans sa patrie, le 4 septembre 1943, Silvio Trentin débute une période de cinq jours de vie intense et fiévreuse emplie de liberté et de bonheur, avant de devoir replonger dans la clandestinité, en raison de la prise de contrôle du Nord et du centre de l'Italie par l'armée allemande et ses alliés fascistes. Bien entendu il n'y a rien de comparable en horreur entre le sentiment d'un reflux des illusions causé par l'échec historique de la Révolution française et de son héritier infidèle l'Empire et le climat de réaction qui suit le congrès de Vienne et la violence implacable qui se déchaine en Europe en réaction à la tragédie de la première mondiale et à la Révolution bolchevique.


III °) Le partage de la souffrance par deux Esprits dissemblables :
Silvio Trentin retrace bien le climat commun des deux périodes : « Son œuvre se situe bien (...) dans cette Europe de la deuxième décade du XIXe siècle qui voit s'éteindre les dernières flammèches de la Grand Révolution et s'écrouler, dans un fracas de ruines, la folle aventure tentée par Bonaparte et se dresser impitoyablement sur son corps, à l'aide des baïonnettes et des potences, les solides piliers que la Sainte Alliance vient d'établir à Vienne. »
C'est donc durant deux périodes de reflux qu'ont vécu Giacomo Leopardi et Silvio Trentin avec pour effet d'entrainer la diffusion d'un grand pessimisme historique surtout parmi celles et ceux dont le tempérament et le métier est de penser et de décrire leur époque. Silvio Trentin a vu démocratie être progressivement étouffée, de 1922 à 1924, puis à partir de 1926, être brutalement écrasée en Italie. En 1933, il assisté à l'accession au gouvernement d'****** et à l'installation rapide d'un pouvoir impitoyable ouvrant des camps de concentration pour ses opposants et mettant en œuvre un antisémitisme d'Etat qui va basculer dans l'horreur. Il a personnellement observé, puis secouru, les républicains espagnols et catalans si peu aidés qu'ils ont fini par ployer sous les armes des dictatures fascistes, lesquelles ne ménagèrent jamais leurs appuis, argent, et armes et à leur allié Franco et à la « vieille Espagne ». Il a dû assurer personnellement la pénible tâche d'honorer ses amis tués, comme l'avocat républicain, Mario Angeloni, le socialiste Fernando de Rosa, son camarade de « Giustizia e Libertà », Libero Battistelli. Il a assisté à l'assassinat en France même de l'économiste Carlo Rosselli qui était son ami et qu'il estimait entre tous.

IV °) Sur le caractère de refuge ultime de la Poésie :
Silvio Trentin laisse percer la sensibilité et l'esprit d'un être sensible face aux inévitables limites des arts et techniques mises au service de l'émancipation humaine. A chaque époque pèsent sur les êtres humains les plus généreux les limites inévitables de toute création bridée par les préjugés, les égoïsmes et les peurs. Alors la poésie vient offrir à celles et ceux qui en souffrent le plus, une consolation et leur offre un univers largement ouvert à la magie créatrice des mots ou il n'est d'autres bornes que celles de la liberté et la créativité. C'est ce qui nous permet de comprendre qu'au temps où l'Espagne brulait et ou l'Europe se préparait à vivre l'une des époques les plus sombres de l'humanité, la fragile cohorte des poètes, tels Rafael Alberti, Juan Ramon Jiménez, Federico Garcia Lorca et Antonio Machado s'engagea comme les ruisseaux vont à la mer, aux côtés des peuples et des classes opprimées. Parmi les plus nobles et les plus valeureux des politiques, ceux qui ne se satisfont pas des effets de tribune ou des honneurs précaires, la poésie leur devient parfois indispensable ainsi que formule Silvio Trentin :
« [...] si la poésie est utile aux peuples libres, [...] elle est, en quelque sorte, indispensable — ainsi que l'oxygène aux êtres que menace l'asphyxie — aux peuples pour qui la liberté est encore un bien à conquérir] « [...] La poésie s'adresse aussi "à ceux parmi les hommes [...] qui ont fait l'expérience cruelle de la déception et de la douleur».
Le 16 03 2017 écrit par Paul Arrighi

I don't get this tough guy act
This facade of strength and invincibility
Put on by guys who work out
They brag and strut, show off their muscles
I think it's a bit pathetic.
Ok cool, you can lift 300 pounds,
Can you discuss poetry and science intelligentlly?
Why act invincible and as though you're more solid
Than a diamond, strong through and through
We both know you're more of a turtle,
Strong shell, and soft center that you pretend is nonexistant
In all honesty, I think guys do it to show up other guys
But I'm more into smart, funny guys
More lean than musclebound
And above all, gentle and kind
Sensitivity is not weakness and chivalry should not die

At my school though, it's dying
Some guy will run me over
And another will let the door swing
A third will simply push on through
The rare friend or stranger who stops and gives way
Who holds the door or makes some space
Is hard to find today, and precious

I'll never get this tough guy act,
Made of agression and violence
Fueled by pure testosterone
And removes all common sense.
So guys, please stop this tough guy act
Not a pretty sight at all
You'll beat each other up
For what all too? A girl? A prize?

broken glass embedded in backs
causing blood stains on crisp Calvin Klein shirts
from wrestling limbs on kitchen floors

licking ears as sassy retribution
for passive agression
and acts of contrition

greasy hair
unshaved legs

fur
on fur

mouth
on mouth

on moleskin
on holographic jewelry owned by us

bougie bohemians
highbrow artists
     --with--
low-maintenance interests that include

blow, opiates, fringed scarves, "velvety",
all the pills you can fist into your mouth,
a wannabe lou reed, your friends' band,
and **** **** ****** **** gallery openings.

Take a picture, it won't last as long as this work day
but we have to have our money for the water--after the eight ball and taxi, of course.

Have you ever been
pulled over by the culture
police?
I know this culture cop
who loves pulling people
over for self-expression.
He'll wait till you break
into color, and cut you
off at your most emphatic.
He'll ****, burp, scoff--
master craft a discombobulating
smack to your mouth.
He thinks most expression pins
you down to obviousness.
So by definition a lack of expression,
or stifled expression, means
you're not being obvious.
Therefore tolerable, but being obvious, or not being obvious is still
being, trying--expressly.
Watchdog of his own passive-agression, his cagey brooding activated by voices in excitation
of uniqueness.
He's living hard between the lines,
unable to read so to speak, as sing!
My mouthy mute carbon copy
of repression, I'm so sorry--truly.

And the people who are extensions of you breathe monoxide and speak with the sound of shrewd drills. I can't help but hear your voice through their wreckage.

Let's see, where do I begin?
I ****** man-made ****** with the tip of a pen
Suddenly, ink burst all ova me Started to struggle see,
Karma came back just to smother me

It's snowing hard outside, but my heart stays colder
I'll snort a couple lines, cause I never stay sober
I'll take your little bars and straight up turn them over
Then whoop up on there *** cause I'm wiser and I'm older

See me in the cut, then you see me on the scene,
See me in the club, makin all these ******* cream
I'm an in-depth poet, then I am a rapper
I know you may not knows, bruh, you're a lyrical disaster
Your rhymes are inferior, a freshman to a senior,
How about you look straight down and bow to your superior

Got a mac ten up inside of my trench coat,
**** a trap whip, *****, I got a trap boat
Come up in my house, then I'll throw you in the moat
****** with my money, then my knife is atcho throat
I'll make you choke on all your vain insecurities
Your final words will be "Please, stop, you're hurtin' me!"
A certainty, this homicidal agression
Gonna take over, deep fry your ***, served with a blood dressin'
Done alot of ****** up ****, won't see me confessin'
I don't look up to no god, but I'm still countin' all my blessins
I'll end this verse, put you in the back of a hearse
I know your mind is blown, but ****, it could be worse

Come and find me feasting
in the belly of the beast
with imaginary fleece
in some negative degrees

used to get up to the desert Sun
setting in the East
where I made beats
‘till them beats made me See

I’m not a human Body
I’m a complex concept
convex confection
compressed in sections

by those who confuse rules with suggestions
crazy over coal? there’s jewels in my sessions

Man made the Tool
the Tool made obsession
to make more Tools
for use with aggression
I ain’t trying to act like Man made aggression
just saying that an ax is
Man-Made-Agression

I spent so much time in the South of France
North of Spain
I feel like sometimes I just tie my hands and force the pain
Why?
I just don’t know
but the Moon rises also . . .

I feel so free in the moonlight
‘cause you can’t see my face
and I can’t see your hate

Everything you’ve thought has already been known
any scheme you could plot has already been grown
so keep bliss I’ma work to be wise
‘cause wise men know the systems of our demise

but Wisdom isn’t knowing
it’s just something that we made
to create something out of something vague
and since we know Nothing is it Nothing we create?
I don’t know.

We’re nothing if the value that we made made slaves

bottles of ***** just for the tension
bottles of ***** just for attention
everybody waiting on Divine intervention
if jesus came Today would Anyone receive ascension?

I got blood, sweat, and tears on my clean slate
my new religion is Faith
I don’t need Hate
keep your Judgement
keep your D day

eating on this Earth
then I’m leaving with a clean plate

I spent so much time in the South of France
North of Spain
I feel like sometimes I just tie my hands and force the pain
Why?
I just don’t know
but the Moon rises also . . .

Been itchin' to step on the toes
of some politicians, ditchin'
the sneakers and hitchin'
the anger, an armor of agression,
clothes of choler, cursing the
contempt-ridden regressions of the system.

Edgy kids turn into violent adults,
You have the right to remain violent, folks, 'long as you're getting something done and not lounging lazily,
waiting for things to change by
themselves, putting your drive on a shelf, hazily remembering what you actually believed - go **** right off and leave.

Stick to your guns.
I'm so sick of saints and nuns advocating for peace. Peace is a piece of giving up belief. "Friendly Negotiations" to talk you out of your convinction, turn convicts into martyrs and we'll see which side you really trust.
How can you believe that peace will will solve problems when it just causes feelings to be pent up?
People are competitive, wanting all that opulence in the posthumous, and peace is a puzzling problem, not a solution.
Peace would be basic if human nature wasn't so acidic, mixed with the tension of a complex society, your peace is about to burn a hole in the walls of government.
The only peace for me is death.
Ideals are nothing without people fighting for them with every last breath.
Go out and scream as long as you're making noise.
Rip limits to shreds, and raise your ******* voice.

I remember once
They all used to say
I was the brightest shiny star
That I will go far
and reach the sky
As time passed by
I got bigger, taller
smarter
And I realised

THEIR TRUTH WAS ****
AND THEY WERE ALL LIES

A child depressed
oppressed
by greater forces
known as society
soon I saw
That lies defy gravity
As time marches on
Life gets harder
And evil gets further
Inside me
It marches on
in my veins
And I see
Childhood dreams
torn apart

Drawn together
Are the pieces
Made of me
Flesh and blood
sweat and tears that form a sea
Of despair and bitter joy
forming a personality
Identity
This is me
You're all the same
pattern, form,
And society is to blame
For my depression
Agression
lies within me

I'll just be myself
I'll stay myself
Because that is all I have
And it is the force which keeps me
From splitting in half

Time marches on
And so do I.
Forever
Until I'll die.

A Wave Of Depression,
I Gave The Impression,
That I Did Not Cry

It Was An Obsession,
That Turned To Agression,
You Said That Your "I Love You",
Was A Lie

You Said I Needed Attention,
But You Were An Infection,
That Was Breaking The Last Ties

So I Looked In My Life's Direction,
I Knew I Only Had One Detention,
I Told Myself I Was To Young To Die

So As I Look At My Reflection,
I Stare At My Complection,
And Say Why, Oh Why, Oh Why

Boom,
Emotional explosion,
HAHA too ******* right,
****** up right,
Just sat here steaming,
Boiling to a point of losing control,
Boom Explosion.

Boom,
Anger,
Rage,
Agression,
Its all there just under my skin,

now its raising,
up,
up,
up,
it comes,

its coming haha,
nothing i can do now,
better to just let it go.

this is what happens,
with no sleep and just nightmares,
this is what happens,
when you have nothing and no one.

this is it.
its time.

Explode,
implode,
destruction,
BOOM

theres nothing left.
no breaks,
no control.

We all have our faults, fears,
I'll take you through my years:
guilt,
pain,
******* self blame;
lies, cheats, drugs, shame,
but I'm not the only one who plays that game.
Cruel eyes of the world
the darkness of our souls.
We try
we strive
we give
we share,
Mr. newsman tells us 'how much we care!'
for the racism,
the sadism,
no ******* ******* escapism from
judgement or malice
or the ****** up roles we practice,
that we pass to our children,
who pass them to theirs,
and it seems to me no one cares, that
the depths of our nature,
our instinct in fact,
will battle with us, till
we revert back;
to our agression,
our need for oppression,
our greed for power and possession.
So,
I want to fight back.
Because we are people
because we are strong
and no matter who takes us,
hates us,
breaks us,
we will carry on.

The facts lay
Like dried- up leaves on
Bloodied the Earth
From every man made war

Law
Has names

But struggles
To remember
The one's they effect

I envy lust
Desire
Agression
Greed
Trust and
Self-confidence

These are vices
Of the regular man

Yet I see no need
For the big shindig
The after party
And all the dates before

Did I dream this life?
Was I brought here from sleep?
If I ***** this skin,
Will I sooner bleed or wake?
To what land then will I be transported?

Cobblestone configurations peddling
Beneath me as oars of the past once did
A father carries his son as far as He can
Until He must forget Him, so then to begin

Peace requires the blood of the worthy
The obstacles of man, the chances that God gives
Each structure needs its supports
For without, the structure will be weak
So son's and daughter's witness defeat

Heavy burdons of unknown reality
slowly haunt with great abundance
twisting and turning my conscience insane
on the verge of sure unlimited pain
stand up to my fears is what I was told
but restricted by authority, won't let me unfold
like a spring being compressed, it always springs back
pressure on pressure builds on my soul
the only aliviation is consequencial
unless the heads are turned in an ignorant direction
limitless power, overwhelming agression
is my key for the cause of endless depression
satisfied, in content my soul has been lifted
my spring has sprung

These devices are better now, elctro charged
Saturnine lanterns reflected magnanimously.

Let me wait, wait endlessly blue.
Sand scatter, hourglass bottom.
Like Alan I'd tell you I'm in Rockland with you.

Honey, this don't feel the same
eye linguistics and the way your body moves.
Jump at me in April showers and groove.

Damage control, digital and beautiful.
Let's see ourselves out of reality, briefly
and lose our minds in euphoric agression.
Attention grabber, tongue tied neatly.

Two lonely figures stand on the way
On is hunched in agression
The other lowered in fear
If you strain to hear
You could just make out the metal ringing

I've learned to hide my depression
so no one will know
learning to hide my agression
I can't let it show
swallow my pride
all to protect
who I am inside
I've got it down to a science
never told a soul
until my heart showed defiance
I fell for you
I let my guard down
but you weren't true
you've hurt me
I gave you everything
but it wasn't meant to be
and as I sit here all alone
I realize the truth really does hurt  
now my cover has been blown

Still, the Roman Catholic Imperial Church hasn't done all it can to atone for
persecuting humanity with their last inquisition, the global mass-**** of mostly
boys, that while more and more supposed christian al-queda do terrorist acts,
still, serial murderers masquerading as cops genocide mostly men of color,
still, newborns are ****** to death in the crib by the remocrat conspiracy's
psychic terrorism, 'the ****', and are also neutered by them, who have said
"they'll turn out to be dems or non-rems", still infancy, toddlerhood, childhood,
teenage and young adulthood years are filled with mass serial: rapings, ******
assaults, anatomical destructions, assaults, attempted maimings, muggings, beatings,
persecution, discrimination, institutional abuses, etc..  Still, 9 months after
hurricane maria tore through Puerto Rico, etc., they don't have restored electric,
adequate food and water distribution, their death toll, according to a Harvard
study, is over 4600, almost 3 times that of Katrina, and the next hurricane
season's upon us.  Still, women's reproductive rights are under constant attack,
assaults on women's health centers have escalated, as has religiously biggoted
attacks on Muslims, etc., while funding for the people's gov't'l safety net has
been drastically cut across the board, still these draconian legislations, outright
eugenics programs, aren't prosecuted by the U.N. as State Agression against people,
as indicated by the Nuremburg Accords, necessitated by ****** having done the same.  
Still, the intelligence, military, police, prison industrial complexes haven't dealt
with mass-****, inequity in prison sentencing, urgently needed prison reform, severe
lack of education of, and availability of lawyers, funds for prisoner's defenses,
the necessary prosecution of the going on two trillion dollar per year intelligence
community for purposefully not preventing the hacking of the elections of 2016, and
thereby being a part of the invisible coup that installed Trumpler, with dinos,
sinos, ginos, ainos, linos, Bernie or bust bots, Assange, wikileaks, global hackers,
Putin's puppets all.  Still Trumpler regularly attacks, denigrates American people,
institutions, the world, continually tears kids from their parents as a supposed
"disincentive", while that's human atrocity, as he continues to mock, be unfettered
by the continuing revelations, indictments, investigations of him, his campaign and
the executive branch he has installed, E.P.A.'s Pruitt, while he illegally weeds out
dempublicans, all who aren't criminal, even firing remocrats who aren't SS enough.  
His latest, his 'fixer' Cohen, getting over a million from navaritus pharma (of
course Trumpler got his cut), because The Facilitator-In-Chief is following pages
from king george (bush **** heavily invested in pharma) and his ****, cheney's
aborted by the people plan's playbook to diagnose, prescribe to most, especially
those mentally less advantaged teens who've been chosen, trained, triggered by the
remocrat conspiracy's psychic terrorism (with a disparaging wink, nod from dinos,
dempublicans), 'the ****', to do terrorist acts in schools, being on the hot seat
instead of Trumpler, and another example of State extreme hypocrisy as well as the
imploding domestic war against everything, especially nature, next generations
(the corp. structure's convoluion's devoluionarey direction vs. the evolution),
as they, merx for more through to mercs for unending unnecessary worldwide war,
cannibalize the future to replicate their past supposed profits, evermore and in
ever more cyclical, centralizing patterns. Is this also how they're assassinating
the future non-rem leaders before they even become adults?  "...We(e),..." need
everyone to speak out, stand, everyday, if not now, then when, if not here, where?

You don't get to have layers or dimension.
No tension, just breathe.

Dimension is something you must earn,
But soon you will learn to be untouchable.

There is no form of violence or agression acceptable.
You have to be respectable. Don't even move.

The would-be layers blend into one muddled grey.
Who you are is long washed away, untouchable.

Some sincerity you may sneak, but come right back
When you can't take the heat. Look ahead.

Do what it takes to hold yourself together.
It will forever be easier to be untouchable.

I am, too.
I am you when we go through...
The joys and horrors of passion,
The pain unnoticed by a lack of action,
The shame shamelessly felt over the time lost to fake connexion,
The blaze that burns and chokes us, yet we still want: agression,
The never aging ever breeding question:
Why?

I hope, too.
I hoped for too much, hoped like you...
But what to hope for without you, what to lose more, thought?
I hope that once the thought will cry as not the one that fell apart
Anyhow I just fought me when I hurt you and myself hard...
The more I hope the less I live, let this peaceful end turn to art!
But not that kind I used to will, not what steals, but tears a heart.
And how I still fall deep in dread holding onto the one last shard.
Wake up!

I try, too.
I tried so hard, but not with you...
In my past, goals were set easy, I even had more own choices.
You, a bright and playful mind, made good fun of ill-eerie voices.
Lazyness denounced us; yet we found: we still gain chances.
Trying hard was not an option, fights were in fact, pretty dances.
At one time or yet another, the game of life turned ruthless.
The first blows didn't even harm, but you became their witness.
Try again, fear not, improve!

I love, too.
I loved and worked with what you knew...
And love must sometimes has to bring its darker nature;
I always knew the only way to see new life is mature.
Too little were we to grasp then, how it will cause torture...
The first real thing you got to feel was withdrawal. Erasure.
All love came free, unrestrained, youth and beauty did a favor.
But no true love lasts, nor even sparks, innocent, creature.
Beware, accept refusal!

I hate, too.
I hated none once, haven't you?
We got them right first all the time.
Or second, third, in some next rhyme.
At one time, you were due to fail. I'm inerrant, how is this mine?
No, failure is never mine! We have lost and they did fine!
Hate is not so easy when you loved, as love, without a crime.
It creeps and piles up slowly in the ill-fed soul, like grime.
Forget, forgive!

I give, too.
I gave too little, gave too soon.
Or give too late and no love, hate or even a simple notice made.
Even ancient people saw that life, chemistry: they're about trade.
Give, take, count, prepare, we should have had learnt earlier...
Make, develop, mind, matter, we really should do this better!
I gave when asked, but afraid to ask, to give enough: I can never.
I gave what I got, shall I do just what I could if I must, forever?
Give, love and never give up!

I act, too.
I swear I do, just in case I excuse you...
I take actions, I say words, both are mighty, each one works.
I use language, I have thought, I may sound scary, I may scold.
Changes, in turn, demand patience, lots of actions, a good hold.
You, my dear mind, only you may make us walk the right way.
Think straight and wise when taking action, seize a fine day!
And when in need or a big excess, act quickly, make use, express.
Just act well and do work fine!

I die, too.
I die too, some day I'll die with you.
I am a spirit, but also a droid, a body, a vessel, a thinking fluid.
I am a being, trapped in samsara with a conscious ego and id,
And something above, all my brothers, fellow men and others,
Our selves live within others we know and they live in ours.
All my memories have parts of them within a universal they,
And finally I shall fade away, my actions call my life a day.
Live true, die happy!

I live, too.
I lived long and you minded me...
Who you are is all you do, say, write, love or hate, so choose!
Come together, be alone, do the homework, answer the phone!
Make your dreams work, to live your dream, make friends!
Come back home again, make love, live life, make sense!
Listen well, play music, enjoy games, don't panic, just dance!
Know us, know them, be yourself bravely, everyone will love it!
Maybe. ;)

You know
I am pretty happy
But its not what you think.

Its a box.

Yeah,

Its a box i sit in.
Its the place I built
To hide from myself.
I got my girl.
I got my boys.
I got my friends,
And my games,
And my job.

So im good.

But,

You see.
There are times,
When I think about
How messed up people
Can be:

To each other.
To themselves.
To animals.
To Earth.
To what we can really be,
What we NEED to be.
Even to little kids..........

And this is the time,
Yeah,
When all i wanna do is
peak
Over the lid of that box
And then:

My eyes glisten
within the flames
of pure agression.

The blind kind.

And I watch
As i fall somehow,
within myself,
Like down the throat of a dragon.
Screaming in absolute rage.

You know,...

 the tunnel vision kind?
The seeing red and black kind?
The saves you in fist fights kind?
The no pain kind.

The "if you even hint
That you are thinking,
What I THINK you are thinking.
I will claw my finger nails away
And ******,
trying to scratch my way to it.
Through your idiotic skull.
So i could remove
What would be the first thought
You've had in years.
So that I could then
Deny its rightful place
As king to the bran muffin
Between your diamond earings
You use to make decisions.
Just so I could then devour it
Excrete it back out,
Set it afire with
The very rage of
HUMANKIND
That floats somewhere
Between my heart, lips and mind
Just so I could Then throw myself
Upon those very flames.

And all of that...?

So that what remains of me
Won't have the energy to waste
On the thought of you."
Kind of

RED

RAGE