"argumentation" poems
you sowed this **** into my brain...
why do you even "think"
that i want... you?
i, want your children...
the meme-mutation is what i'm
after...
and there are plenty of useful idiots
to allow me to process
the intermediating processes
for: the sigma, "accomplishment";
which is unlike
what infected mushroom's -
trance party track sounds like,
outside of my own head.
why do these people even
think i'm after their genes
of memes?
i want, their infantile
replicas...
i want to craft a
worthwhile curiosity,
on a canvas, that that they call
their gene replicas, children,
and... like why called me...
easy meat..
einfachfleisch...
what?
i'm not here for these news' anchors...
i'm here for their children...
nibble nibble nibble chew chow
cow tow and main...
prawn crackers...
ah... news anchors are
easy targets...
slightly pointless
20x bulls eye honing devices...
it's their children...
i want their children...
i want their cognition
to become replica of wheelchair
bound infirmaries;
why?
oh... you know...
football and wrestling,
given the Qatar investment plan...
the whole sport "thing"
became a tad bit boring...
had to resort to secondary sources
of entertainment;
children of news anchors?
the secondary, "last",
albeit, the best resort;
schindler...
required a list,
to become reincarnated...
and revive a **** a heartlessness
of an reincarnation
anomaly:
i.e.: what, a limited number
of people, to begin with?!
so the rest is primitive "a.i."?
now i'm starting to think...
thank the blue indians
for their culinary innovations...
but when it comes
to their theology?
**** 'em;
did i advocate that?
if i did... within what pronoun
guarantee of advocacy?
playing the grammar card...
which pronoun?
the plural singular,
or the singular plural,
or the gender neutral?
thank you jean-paul sartre,
for the... "i"...
i simply love, this revised concept
of a unit...
the revision clinging
to the royalist affirmation of pronouns...
i.e. 1 would say... so...
and 1... would, so, will, do so.
**** the pronoun debate
in Canadian politics...
if i have to resort to this?
then i will...
like your plain citizen...
may "i" speak within
the confines, of the royal, one,
given the example:
one might suppose...
to be the former, and the current,
highest, etiquette?
gender neutrality of pronouns...
last time i checked...
one was never allowed
pronoun stature...
why not address this
conundrum, to begin with?!
oh, right... too late...
too many loud mouths
without a guillotine...
so, basically, a cow fart's
worth of argumentation.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
Like a fool, with an unrecognized devotion,
I loved him deeply yet I wasn’t loved in return.
I got fed with all our irrational argumentation,
Often gave up, yet still had doubts if I’d end such relation.
Then I asked myself, shall I give him a chance?
Must I endure this unrequited love?
Hear thy mournful cries of trepidation and doubt,
“Why can’t I find the remnants of thy piteous heart?”
They say, better leave him and make a new start
But intense emotions of ambiguity would thwart.
Thus I tell myself, give him a second chance.
You’ll be happy soon; hold on though it’s an unrequited love.
Tears would then fall to somehow ease the sorrow
And try to veil the truth that thy heart cometh hollow.
But even if all tears’ dried up today ‘til tomorrow,
When all rains would halt, still, no rainbow will follow.
But I tell myself, wait for another chance.
That time maybe, he’ll learn, and it won’t be an unrequited love.
Years after, I still loved him amidst the endless plights.
He drained my soul; brought me to a black hole in life.
Thoughts that ‘I don’t deserve this’ amassed to greater heights
Then a string cut loose, I faced the sightless sight.
Now, I begged myself, none more of these chances.
Please, I plead, quit enduring this unrequited love!
Beneath a thousand twinkling stars in my windowpane,
Lies the most perfect replica of wishful thinking in suffering and pain---
My self with an unrequited love.
~Danessa Jutba~
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 5:23 AM UTC
while the debate goes on and on,
as to which country has the longest, continuous
democratic parliament, have it on on good authority
that the subject above,
is it better to love your kids too much than not enough?
was the first among all temporal discussions ever held,
despite periodic tabling, the debate remains unresolved,
the question unsettled even after 1000 years+ of argumentation
when over time, Universal Adult Suffrage finally came to be,
the debate became renewable, enflamed, divisive most contentiously,
various coming down on each side of a point of view topically
since mother, father and child, i.e.
pretty much everyone, definitionally,
claimed total expertise,
and sparing the rod was deemed by most to be illegally,
no plebiscite, amendment or ballot initiative was resolved resolutely,
the beat goes on continuously as new children reach voting age, sagaciously repeating their view, personally
my view?
I’ve tried both and failed equally
so I’ve little to contribute,
so let it be stated in manner unequivocally,
the sweet sensibility says too well,
but helicopters crash and monied snowplows
run over other both their own and others better deserving,
leaving all of them buried in snow piles street side,
while those who blame their faults on insufficient love,
are later most demanding more attention than any,
having becoming painfully hardy, by being treated hard about,
hard on themselves and worse to others
everyone knows the answer to this question for themselves
but I’ll leave you with this,
permitting a child to fail is a winning strategy,
as long as there is no legal limit
regarding the amount or frequency
on lifetime hugging
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 2:14 AM UTC
a quote from the movie "The Big Short"
~
*a screen provocation,
you laugh out loud,
mime hating yourself
that you are joiining in
tacitly acknowledges the truth
of abbreviated wisdom
you,
disguised minority of
modest disagreers,
c'mon, admission submission,
more truth in it
than deserving of argumentation
a one liner throwaway,
neatly designed,
leaves you disturbingly
probed,
thoughtfully tormented and
aroused
poetry just a vehicle,
your vice for revelation,
the critical door to open is this:
do people hate the truth?
inescapable reality
ironical probability,
truth well disguised,
in plastic shell of lying
from the Hollywood's would be poets,
an escapade from the escapists
let us not pretend
that you and I
uncaring, for by virtue of
your reading this, you are
poetry aficionado,
required to deny the lie,
and yet,
accept
the
granular view
that we are rising writing thru the wronged end of
a telescoping microscope
so I scare scar a tissue sample from my tongue
and the cells spell
this rejoinder:
all your lies are poems,
incomplete truths,
and that's why people hate poetry*
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 11:10 AM UTC
i used to care so so much
for this world,
but then a cat on a street taught me
to do otherwise,
there i was, by the lorry bins
on an estate, and there he was,
autistic as he was,
i stopped, he gestured his five whiskers,
i asked afoot at the crucifix: 'may i pass?'
he gestured with a blank stare that
i was granted...
so i passed... i didn't want the poor
****** to feel displaced...
or as in vision: a giant Venus over-flowering
of genitalia descending onto Plato's academy
into picture like a roof - asking - will the argumentation
seize to continue?! a floral goddess could
not enlightened these stone hearts,
so descent of a goddesses' genitalia comparable
to a flower could not weaken and make root
of weeds and later flowers into these hearts,
and i know so... oh i know so...
i know the strength of this brotherhood -
it's akin to a tear hearing the islamic call to prayer...
and the competing disavowal of an engagement with
women, simply for their despotism in the realm
of the household, which only women of blue Indians of
the former Raj know how to avoid, via sway unto
Bengali en-route to the Himalayas.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
There’s danger in the night.
I’ll leave the light on.
A stormy symphony.
I will write poetry that comes to me.
Slammed into my temples.
A dream with the same theme.
One I cannot escape.
There’s danger in your sight.
I’ll leave the light on.
I’ll marry for money,
not love.
Calming my anxiety.
Leaving this Earth alone.
Celestial bodies waltzing.
Whispering contradictions.
Imagination gone awry
Aimless argumentation.
There’s danger in disillusion.
I’ll leave the light on.
Candles burning brightly.
Illuminating.
You can’t have it all.
I’m just beginning.
I hope you like it.
My hidden legacy.
There’s danger in seclusion.
I’ll leave the light on.
Founding fathers laid these remains.
Karma of our ancestors.
Ancestors to a future generation.
A revolution against
The lack of revolution
against
the thought of revolting.
Isolation is a cheap trick.
And when they come
they will say
they’ll talk of me
and of this day.
This is just the beginning.
Our Father,
Who art in Heaven.
Hear me.
I’ll leave the light on.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
dreamt in strange shifting blocks, interwoven and with startled faces, sentencings spoken wordless. woke up to the blurry thought:
sometimes in talk, i am confronted with ideas that in no way reconcile with my own structures. in response, i often choose to not say anything, or let it uncomfortably sit in my gut. in cases where the opposing point won't be heard, i suppose this is alright. but, when my own rooted beliefs are challenged in a valid manner, it is more akin to the silence of shame than of dignification. is this symbolic of the internalisation of a more sound philosophy, or inability to process it against the grain of my own?
avoiding argumentation where it is of little purpose is one of my prime conversational aspects, and in an overarching paradigm avoiding unnecessary speech in general. but what internally portrays as tact can come off as indignant coolness, or bitter indifference. so, do i continue to speak in only the meaningful outer lashes, or let down the floodgates to some degree?
human interaction doesn't need necessitate grave importance at all junctions, and sometimes the most comforting talk can be of nothings (which i still find myself often party to, despite my self-portrait of filtered short-spokenness).
how do i open myself more to accepting or understanding when points are more sensible than my own, and integrating them into my consciousness? for, surely, if i disavow myself from giving up dated sentiments, i shall truly stagnate.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
Can't write a poem right now.
Can't figure out the sound,
or how the rest of this should look.
My phrasings are obvious most times,
and don't get me started on my slant rhymes.
So what do I have, as a writer, to offer the betters of my peers?
Quiet conversation,
loud argumentation,
fingertips clacking mechanics and a penchant to steer
myself across the happy, golden union.
I sometimes forget the only thing holding me down is the force
of something much larger than I.
It's the firing pistons alive in the mind behind both of my
grey-blue faltering like the autumn to the winter eyes.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 9:54 PM UTC
socrates was executed in democracy, de facto argumentation in favour of democracy as utopian or workable utopian is flawed; it's like the equivalent of advertisement (2d) of dog food (3d).
the most uniform definition of oursevles
based on the unitary currency,
when faced with what is a priori
to what’s relatable is crafted
by: machina ex non-ego,
i.e. the machinery we submit to,
even though we were not involved in constructing
the machinery... we have to identify ourselves...
nonetheless...
the kantian concept of a priori and a posteriori
is limited in the greek deus ex machina
and the hyphenated expression:
a- priori and a- posteriori (the a- of atheism, i.e. without).
but imagine it simpler:
machinery not from me... tax credit breaks...
the traffic code... morality of any sort...
the need for pyramids...
it’s not the socratic inquiry of knowing yourself...
it’s about finding yourself...
that’s where psychoanalysis becomes crucial...
if you want to define the ego ex machina
you’ll get the upright citizent...
you want the machina ex ego... you will not get
any stability, and freudian / jungian judas selling theorem
like typing in the digit that was designated a repetitive index...
you’ll just get an individuation of the individual will...
shortened to: ‘what’s your ******* problem,
care to wear my shoes and walk a mile in them?!’
all crimes are commited on the basis of ego ex machina...
all coformity is based on the machina ex non-ego
(the communism of marx lived by all the slavs
in the 20th century... all the capitalistic intervetion
from adam smith...
odd that democracy should be coupled to capitalism...
and that the chaos of democracy should
eat the only political counter known as republicanism
with the economic model of republicanism as
communism becoming extinct due to john paul ii);
america never wants to export
republicanism, the good politics of rome...
always the **** part of ancient greece...
imagine how the elders of afghanistan will
accept the politics of youth (democracy)
should ancient standards be replaced by experimentation...
exporting democracy and not accepting
the republicanism of specified geographic regions
will always lead to mini-wars all the ****** time...
try exporting american republicanism...
oh right... afghani republicanism thinks
it's superior... and democracy just becomes
the no-man's land in belgium
between the dug-up trenches of the brits and the germans.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
Hot /cold,
light/thin light
fact fact fact
nothing is real
so?
I think I am real,
these words and the thoughts they embody, agree with me.
If you exist, dear reader, my materiality no longer matters.
Distant spooky, geistlich, action at this distance.
Now, you choose do/don't muse/amuse
the infection is finished.
the walls did fall, the one that's left is not a wall,
it's a dam holding back a pushed pile of dirt
being pushed to flat, eventually crashing as waves do,
in harmony with electro-magneto power systems,
urging us past dread guilt lust rage powerlessness
urging us past innocent repulsions into ignoring the mob
madness pushing us past the peace
place
truths change? who imagined that
the penmen we may not mention were magi, in practice.
liars, do liars have a
value button? Wachowskis, what do we think?
Ruth or ruthless? Symbolic Truth of false,
a message, a lesson
you paid attention to come this far to learn
next and more are not at war and never were.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 8:14 PM UTC
When did conversation become argumentation?
This form of abuse derived from self irritation,
just drives me in the opposing direction of where you'd like me to go,
there's many destinations that I haven't been shown,
cultivation leading me to venture on my own.
You push and shove for me to grow up already,
but agitation won't make it easier to speed through others lined up in front of me.
If you could just see how much I've been through,
most of it alone, if you could view just how far I've kept motivation,
then someday we might actually get close to were we've been heading this whole time.
Line after line and you have yet to add any up,
you haven't seen my determination, for you just blame it on luck.
Whim did consideration become mediation?
I've lived every waking moment, just for your approbation,
now, everything I've done is incorrect?
The treacherous miles I've overcome are now obliviation I'm your head,
every turn I make just ends up being another mistake.
Something along the lines of aggretion,
which in turn left us were we orginally started, or stopped.
You always try and take me where you want me though I've come so far already.
Sometimes the places you unexpectedly end up are where you're actually supposed to be.
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 1:27 PM UTC
What author ever brought stigma
To the metal meat of argumentation
Based on green fly baking pies
With themselves in them
The steady guillotine raises the mundane
To the the top of the pops
As Capricorn is still seen as the leading star sign/
Boombox tarries the accolhaud of prim, caught
Out of the corner of the eye
smoking signs
While vampires need to throw their teeth into art
Where they discover black chalk
And as my mum says ' some pregnant women crave eating coal'
And Become narcissistic mothers.
In the rudeness of the magic however,
There is a burst of both lazy
Equally inspired
But with the correct resources never aggravated tapestry.
As the galaxy sighs.
Feb 3, 2025
Feb 3, 2025 at 4:53 PM UTC
*a patient walks into a doctor's office
and says:
- doctor, doctor, i'm suffering
from diabolical laughter!
doctor replies:
- just keep on laughing.*
they're really truly atheists on
an atomic level,
the more they try to live outside
of nature, and glorify it,
the more damnable they come:
put them peering into a microscope
or a telescope the more
their audacity builds up,
but when an earthquake,
but when an earthquake,
when a storm, when a hurricane,
all the intellectuals disperse,
the pathetic state of drowning,
the pathetic state of any form of suffering,
you'll only find atheistic audacity
among biologists,
chemists and physicists the middle-men
of argumentation,
biology appeals to the general public,
as expressed by confusion in the ***** region
of things... transgender this, transgender that,
the ploy of the heterosexual:
it's only natural via a surrogate mother,
and a human heart grown in a pig's body...
while chemists construct the next ester
of shampoo or fishy bacon, or the next
biggie boom boom,
while physicists are out there with the quote:
now i'm become death, the destroyer of worlds,
but can't stop the moon in its tract...
or bother with the near apparent
biggie boom boom of saltpetre, sulphur and charcoal,
they make the explosions too big...
too much of a Hiroshima, too much of a Nagasaki...
Hollywood is still dreaming of the Manhattan
Project, it's constantly terrorising america...
Hollywood is constantly out on a Jihad to
culture-corrupt with a constant sense of paranoia...
it's always destroying cities...
big **** monsters or some odd german accented
'simon says, simon says...'
but they changed location, now double-decker
buses are exploding on parliament bridge...
so the kids know of it, a day late, a day after
the explosion on twitter.
or as i once said, when that famous tsunami hit
japan... 'where was the army dropping
bombs on the wave to disperse it
and disallow its movement onto the mainland?
they could have bombed that wave into oblivion...
instead some other army, in some other
country decided it required a tsunami of blood
to pour into other countries via the streams
of journalism.'
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 3:19 AM UTC
philosophia est scio nihil, continuum timor et taedium ego: actus automaton: in excelsis hospes.
in england the ad hominem principle
is easily brushed aside,
someone might have something
interesting to say, even though
all would agree to an abhorrence
in terms of moral relativism
which is an abhorrence-in-itself,
why make anything apart from
space & time relative? people change,
get with the grooves and your
free will and your freedom to commit
mistakes...
in england the ad hominem principle
is a farce... it doesn't exist...
that's why the english can't philosophise,
they can sing, but they can't philosophise,
because instead of ad hominem
we have the principle ad populo,
yeah, i'm an apologist of heidegger,
it took me 2 years and several other
books in between to finish his being and time,
because i believed he was onto something,
and the argument against him
on the principles of ad hominem is deflected
toward argumentation ad zeitgeist,
yet in england engaging with controversy
of the times is curbed and censored
by the principle ad populo, i.e.:
to the people.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
i guess when you're pretty, you can be androgynous,
and that's hardly the worry for the next skin head kid of
great Ormond St. -kneecap feeling of guilt - but hell,
i'd rather **** "Nicole" Maines than his twin
(wortschatz von herrzensor) -
pretty face akin to the river of binging
on looking at philippe i, fluke of orléans
******* it off while ensuring his wife
entertained a brother's calm to juxtapose
figurines worth a thousand souls
akin to blowing out of candles -
so why bother dreaming a coercion for
fakes and faeces into supposed applause,
that those nearest to you cannot afford your company,
yet afford it by being affording debt?
no smaller duty over a dress at court,
than it should be relative to the least exercise of power
undressed, and un-courted, to be anticipated courting,
given one's personal allowance as having wavered the king
toward crown and gravity, rather than anointment
and god... how thus disguise a caricature of
one's former serious argumentation for competing
sentences that disallowed sentencing via treason
thus, years later, allowed? is the crown
the joke? the king? or god? or maybe it is
man's laws that are the donkey's tail being pinned,
as forever in lover's jest best exemplified:
a man of actions will never be a man of words -
hence muscular actions gratifying easiest
leverage of the abomination of lexicon lost,
impede quickest and most versatile as those replacing
a forgotten heart, best kept secret between
however disgraceful the ******* of brotherhood
is given toward worship for a Narcissus not smashing
a kindred resemblance, instilled the widower swan
the blackened pupil with vigorous rubric:
repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat... only a conquered
woman is comforted - a freely reigning woman
ought be sacrificed with her belief of interpretation:
thus crucified; well, she damns the brothel,
but she isn't crucified enough to encourage
love freely born; but born under torture.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
Rhetoric argues,
Art of argumentation,
Completes the triplet.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC