"antonymous" poems
*you know, i can **** before i become homeless; yes? ok... cheerio.*
when i experience no intelligence
after being educated, it's
hardly an expectation to
experience any after... desirably hoped for, that
which offers up the antonymous by-product that's
despaired after so freely, and all those more profitable affairs
of a literate nature to engage with: to be
enslaved likewise missing; oh the gravity
as nothing falling, the tears on my cheeks
with vide cor meum, ah, but you see,
i can stomach a cage and being caged,
should i be forced into a freedom that's
only homelessness.
oh so many insignias of pause that were never
given a mathematical rubric of allowed deciphering!
that grand pause of arithmetic in the undecided
length of pause between (,) (.) (;) and that italicised
pause of (:) readying (a) list(s) of emphasis; let alone
the hyphenation of all the lost emphasises of Pompeii
(embark tongue tied into the grapheme æ);
or embark asking between the threes that are
direct and indirect articulation of plurality,
given then the anti of pluralism is god, and that's neither
direct or indirect, consolidating the direct as prayer
and the indirect as atheism.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
tachyphylaxis - tach·y·phy·lax·is (tāk'ə-fĭ-lāk'sĭs) n.
1. A rapidly decreasing response to pleasure following initial administration.
I didn’t know this
demon had a name.
Ugly as it is it fits,
a random mish-mash
of unpleasant sounds
and equal unpleasantness
felt.
I’ve known the *******
forever, manifest in vitamin cures
and psychological processes,
SSRI’s and stabilizers.
He attends to the end of
affectionate loving and all
the designer vacations
you've ever taken.
He is the golden handcuffs of
square foot home ownership
and his business cards are
set in silver.
To put it bluntly
his continuous presence
is intent on destruction
of any contentment.
He is all things along the way
that appear so promising at first
but never last.
Synonymous with tolerance,
antonymous with precedence,
the antagonistic leaven of all living.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 3:29 AM UTC
i always aimed at returning Nietzsche's ping-pong serve of poet-philosopher, as philosopher-poet... well, you know, any vanity project will do these days, given our current celebrity culture... there's nothing celebratory about it, so my little festivity of hope in establishing a self-style vocabulary might be too much for Gucci... but you got to try and whiff up a tornado of absinthe sweeties in licorice black (lee ko reesh).
there's only one argument i cling on to,
it is theological,
i'm biased toward the theological argument
always,
because i've seen the ontological argument
become desecrated by oncology -
every theologian argues the same:
there's a god, because, to be frank,
whatever ontology provides us, it leaves us more
bewildered than anything:
how we expressed our freedom will
never be compensated in terms of how
others expressed theirs...
so even Kant said: my ontology is based on god...
so his contemporaries said:
my theology is based on no god...
which is why Kant professed a theology
without an ontology, and his contemporaries
professed an ontology without a theology -
or as the other, in existentialist terms might have
suggested: timing - but no one desires a godly status,
so even his promenade timing made affinities
with serfs begging for a watch rather than watching
their shadows dwarf at noon...
this is called
translating rhyme into philosophy, or philosophical rhyming...
words of close proximity are prime exponents,
given the spelling, i.e. the suffix - but which are totally
antonymous - they look so alike, but then thinking
provides disparity of intention, not so lazily done
with red
and dead...
head
and Pb... is it?
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
Why is it the "love" I felt with her
Felt quick, we always remarked
"I can't believe it's been this long
I feel like it was yesterday..."
Yet this "love" I feel with you
Feels slow, but evenly paced.
We always remak
"I can't belive its only been this long
It feels like forever."
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
*ooh, watch out... Shaky Stevens is having a go: you spin me right round, baby right round, like a record baby round round - a quiet one in Soho; with your impressions to introduce me to **** apologies in me wedding dressed and savouring the happy-life affair - S & G bemused by Nietzschean decease of god and theatre, 80s pop and the death of opera: communist attack on the bourgeoisie will take anti ante-Marx approach; i quiet enjoy knowing what i know and leaving the rest to mascara and ***** scrutiny of exaggerated libido.*
i'll be laughing at you when you
conjure up cancer...
huh? why not?! you misdiagnosed me
as schizophrenic when i
suffered a brain haemorrhage -
troll anti-antonymous ahoy -
you clearly spelled out S U R V I V A L
O F T H E F I T T E S T.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
You love me like twitchy fingers love pulling the trigger,
Not at all, and then all at once;
You replaced arrows with bullets,
And instead of filling with love, my heart poured out blood
You love me like tear gas loves open eyes,
To wish me blind to the things you've done;
You didn't think, you never do think
Can your conscious be clear if you don't have one?
You loved me like metal loves a microwave,
To make it spark and set fire;
Carelessness is antonymous with admiration,
And you always did admire destruction
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 10:36 AM UTC
I feel as though
I'm ever so synonymous
To mute
Antonymous to clangorous
I can't seem to transform
These inner vibrations into
The complicated English language
My voice is a broken record
Of "I'm fine"s
My head is permanently inside
A box
With a Polaroid of a smiling me
Smack dab on the front
Never budging at the slightest tear
But, this box is somewhat
Generous
Because every now and then
It'll let me make slits
Where my eyes are
And maybe someone
Will somehow see
How dead
I am.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
disreputable disruption and chaos, beasts bellow
in admiration unyieldingly antonymous creatures' banality
and intimacy, uncommonly negated, patriotic mentality
and contempt much gathered remarkable as an ingenious fellow
entirely ignorant of green rings' properties, yellow
crosses for worshipers nothing loyally expected for false morality
slowly restored, staurolatry, endless formality
and traditional rules strict, desperate approaches to mellow
elements against monotonous brutality modifiable
partially, knowledges are unreal, blindly expressed
uranomania responding to numerous ends
of less industrious frameworks, mingled sections liable
for negligence, wholly natural ideas erratic gains obsessed
with superstitious claims for dividends
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 6:50 AM UTC
and hell, and war
and all that bombardment,
a thousand chess pieces
in an intellectual's mouth
like scrambled eggs: the same
****** superstition
of needing awe -
ivory tower talk, the best
talk there is, when all limbs
drop off and the vegetables
talk: tongues on cucumbers,
tongues on cabbages, tongues
on cauliflowers - waggling about
like concerns for cars: how
many horse power thrusts?
and hell, and war
and all that bombardment -
like poetry, a bomb drops daily
coming from the ultimate war machine,
the res vanus, the empty thing,
the sponge -
because why would
a bomb or a poem be ever dropped
from the Cartesian weapon
that's kept, intact, peacefully
thinking, antonymous-synonymous
kindred of narration?
there, another bomb,
here, another day,
there, another bomb,
here another day,
ping
pong
ping pong
poetry
poesy
poetry
poesy -
and the world just turns
into black | white
and everything becoming
oh so ****** ordinary - so Tao -
or Tao works with
a billionth birth in a nation that deters
from media frenzy.
another way to say it:
how to write poetry when not listening
to music, when not listening to things
and your fingers' puncture on the keys -
overview of the news,
how to write in order to talk-over people:
you could be worse-off than being
a Heidegger apologist -
or to say: it was the binding
to the zeitgeist: the years later meant
repenting -
so from being defined
in Cartesian diagnostics as thinking,
to deconstruct that and become empty
(here too! my compass
n. Heidegger
w. Descartes
e. Kant
and s. Diogenes)
as the acronym suggests, toward the four winds!
but of course, many more influences,
but then again: who did i find commanding
and with difficulty bound...
oh i too wish i could write populist
poetry, worded: shambles! shame! outrage!
outrage! shame! shambles! a national disaster!
but here's little me, tucked away into a cosy
niche - weaving my little spiderweb -
or how
the fingers feels, after having spent 2 days
crushing 40kg of grapes to make wine,
from grapes to pulp, from grapes to pulp,
in the shed in the garden, 2 days, 40 kilograms of grapes;
i should have added a few apples to be fermented alongside.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 8:01 PM UTC