"asinine" poems
PLEASE FORGIVE ME
for not reading right now.
1) I've been very busy with personal issues.
2) I've been on the low with some poets
who need to talk.
3) I've been emailing Elliott York all
morning about a couple of things.
a) The asinine war that was happening
here on his site. It's caused many to leave
and it (the attacks on Wolf Spirit included)
MUST STOP. Gary L has extended the olive
branch. THE REST OF YOU MUST DO SO
AS WELL. It's kindergarten stuff! You're
ADULTS. ACT LIKE IT!
b) A couple of years ago I came up with an
idea. The Poet Tree T-shirt and poster. It would kind of look like this...
P O E T S
XXXXX
XXXX♡XXX
XXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXX
XXXX
**P
O
E
T
R**
love.joy Y peace
happiness.pain
other.poet.words.
...FILL HEARTS
The X's above would be POET NAMES!
YOUR NAME WOULD BE ON THE SHIRTS!
You could then get the t-shirt/poster
from Elliott York!
It's an idea that I personally put out
a while back but never was able to
follow up on.
Email Elliott York if you like the idea.
I want it to UNIFY POETS. We are ALL
LEAVES ON THIS TREE!
Thanks for reading.
♡ Catherine
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
It’s all you’ve ever seen
in a midnight’s dream
the zero sum games
and exorcised demons
asinine plunges
on tunkwa brides
phantom fingers cradling
the ragged red dress
shadow hands
clasp at the floodgates
lava fields boil
through scorched amber veins
needles pierce
the look out
where flames dance wildly
over boneyard grounds
deep red pedestals
behind bleeding walls
empty halls and doorways
throughout the sinful nest
bulging eyes and blood rush
in a dark crimson sky
a funeral, before I die
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
Check it I be the mic originator greater than the next hater
So my nines will degrade ya send ya back to ya maker undertaker
Shake ya
With my earthquake flows formin' portals bigger than the black hole leave ya third eye swole
My thoughts travelin' faster than the speed of light say goodnight from the snake bite
A rhyming python wears cables and nylon runnin' bars harder than marathon true champion none could knock a don
Birthed by the sun raised by moon Sonic booms soundwaves from heart rates feelin' doom and soon
To be resting in the womb
The belly of the earth retaining my turf know my worth make words hurts
So suckas better tuck in ya skirts
I'm catching mirth
Along with death til my last breath cookin' up rhymes from the *** of my mind n continue to shine
Its asinine to flex ya mind if you cross the gun line don't be a victim of a graphic design
(Ya tapped out)
Scatzzz all over the kitty katz with my woody bat making them brains cracks
Cells it ain't hard to tell ****** fear me cuz I be the archangel Michael
fallin' deep into the depths of my hell o well
If you try to inhale my lyrical tales this ship is set to sail
On ya brainwaves these days fools rappin' for cheap pay lookin' all gay **** that I rather use the AK
Sittin' by the window seal signing the release will my soul'll still
Be reaching regardless the hardest artist
Usually ends up a carcass manifest the darkest
Rhymes but shine light at the same time crime at an all time
High once I blaze my thoughts cells fought & caught
By the smokin' arrows of a ghostly pharoah
Thats just my ancestors though lettin' me know it's time to show and go blow for blow toe to toe
Hands or the chrome pistol
The ghetto Aristotle makin' bodies mold from the enemies that caught a cold
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
You believe your truth
and I'll believe mine
But don't you dare tell me how to live,
I'm getting on just fine
So long as you don't hurt someone
and it's in your own time
Then you believe your truth
and I'll believe mine.
You believe your truth
and I'll believe mine.
The cancer of the lie
is malignant not benign
So how is it that clever people
can be so asinine?
For the dictatorship of relativism
has crossed it's only line
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 2:40 PM UTC
You are the brainteaser for what all the intellectuals have become somnambulist
Still you are inconclusive;
All the linguists have become asinine
Since the language of your eyes are indecipherable
Every single iota of your heart is a nuclear
And all men are in love with nuclear
When they burst, burst in silent
You are the only cloud
that brings rain in the heart
For you all sins seem Romantic
And all catastrophes are Dramatic
All lovers watch, and remain as a sparrow alone upon the house top.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
The gold that flows, through our elaborate veins,
The crop that is known, by many names,
The gift that alleviates, our daytime pains,
The commodity that plays, one too many games.
Our world is nothing, but a bottomless mine,
Simply waiting, for the wrath and plunder of humankind,
Oh labourers please, wait your spot in line,
For it was not you that made, this incredible find.
You’re a fool to think, the system needs a redesign,
For your fate and this chain, are forever intertwined.
Stay in your corner, as they wine and dine,
For it is you not them, contained by this chain’s bind.
Posing as a gift, that elevates their daily grind,
The brown gold is no longer, part of your bloodline,
It was their chains after all, that made this incredible find,
For it now flows away, from the Plateau’s skyline.
You continue to hope, for these chains to be redefined,
But to imagine you even exist to them, is asinine,
Yet you believe a consumer movement, would be so inclined,
For you forget that chains were made, to always confine.
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 3:55 AM UTC
Please come and find me.
Playful whispers in the dark.
Who am I calling?
I suppose...
My baby,
Can I call you baby?
O sweet lullabyes in the night,
Hold me in mild constriction.
Squeeze a little bit tighter, love.
I don't know how much time I have left.
Delusional!
Alone on the vacuum.
Scratching at air for any oxygen my depraved lungs can find,
Suffocating on your love,
Choking on your divinity.
Oh darling,
My sweet crimson lover
Dancing on the bridge of death at the break of dawn,
You swing me in your arms,
Tight tongue behind your violent grin,
Your hair grows stars, and your arms bend time,
my fatal partner in a tango to the edge of the earth.
Heartless as you torture me,
Wrench my soul playfully,
Foolishly and ignorantly,
Pulling my strings.
Enacting
autopilot daydreams
Painting mindless patterns
On an inky black sky,
Orange slices on existential beach
Sparkling warm coast,
The cosmos like a bright sunny day above.
Bitter ashes mix and churn with the sand,
I'm sinking,
Quickly,
Help me!
But you just watch.
And I sink until I hit the bottom
And there I lie,
Falling asleep to as my grief fills the ocean.
The zodiac locked fate,
Fish and Virgins! Fish and Virgins!
Poets and failures,
Academics and frauds,
Spring and summer to autumn and madness,
My eternal indigo diary,
My blueberry lipstick,
My lavender kiss.
Leaving light stains on my love-lorn letters,
Mailed to you on Sunday,
Delivered along the Milky Way.
Waiting emptily,
In an empty white asylum,
With an empty mind,
Waiting for you,
My answer,
My meaning,
My red and blue jumper.
Not standing up to stretch,
But sitting still,
Letting my bones grow stiff,
To creak under my weight,
Like an old back porch,
Made for a pair of old lovers,
Desolate,
Withered by neglect,
Empty.
A pointless pray for solace,
In hope you will come,
My prince of waves,
My fifth science,
My escape from this never ending sporadic spiral down into the murky, dusty, purple fog of asinine and inane.
My peace of mind.
My baby.
Can I call you baby?
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
Among pelagian travelers,
Lost on their lewd conceited way
To Massachusetts, Michigan,
Miami or L.A.,
An airborne instrument I sit,
Predestined nightly to fulfill
Columbia-Giesen-Management's
Unfathomable will,
By whose election justified,
I bring my gospel of the Muse
To fundamentalists, to nuns,
to Gentiles and to Jews,
And daily, seven days a week,
Before a local sense has jelled,
From talking-site to talking-site
Am jet-or-prop-propelled.
Though warm my welcome everywhere,
I shift so frequently, so fast,
I cannot now say where I was
The evening before last,
Unless some singular event
Should intervene to save the place,
A truly asinine remark,
A soul-bewitching face,
Or blessed encounter, full of joy,
Unscheduled on the Giesen Plan,
With, here, an addict of Tolkien,
There, a Charles Williams fan.
Since Merit but a dunghill is,
I mount the rostrum unafraid:
Indeed, 'twere damnable to ask
If I am overpaid.
Spirit is willing to repeat
Without a qualm the same old talk,
But Flesh is homesick for our snug
Apartment in New York.
A sulky fifty-six, he finds
A change of mealtime utter hell,
Grown far too crotchety to like
A luxury hotel.
The Bible is a goodly book
I always can peruse with zest,
But really cannot say the same
For Hilton's Be My Guest.
Nor bear with equanimity
The radio in students' cars,
Muzak at breakfast, or--dear God!--
Girl-organists in bars.
Then, worst of all, the anxious thought,
Each time my plane begins to sink
And the No Smoking sign comes on:
What will there be to drink?
Is this ma milieu where I must
How grahamgreeneish! How infra dig!
****** from the bottle in my bag An analeptic swig?
Another morning comes: I see,
Dwindling below me on the plane,
The roofs of one more audience
I shall not see again.
God bless the lot of them, although
I don't remember which was which:
God bless the U.S.A., so large,
So friendly, and so rich.
4k
Depression
Is when
You want to do something
But lack the motivation
And feel like you
Can do
Nothing.
Depression
Is when
You feel an overwhelming sadness
That does not go
Does not ask
But simply stays
As it slowly puts out
The fire
In your heart.
Depression
Is when
You feel hunger
And yet you do not eat
Because to cook
Is far
Too much effort
And who are you
To take that food?
Depression
Is when
You feel pain
To a massive scale
But none of it
Truly goes away.
You have good days
And bad days
Joyous moments
And horrific ones.
But depression
Is when
Even your good moments
Are tainted
By the knowledge
That you will soon
Slip back
Into the gaping abyss
Of sadness and despair
That is
Your psyche.
There is no cure,
Not a universal one,
At least.
If your depression
Is caused by
Loneliness
Or heartbreak,
Than perhaps
A partner
Could end it.
If your depression
Is caused
By asinine family members,
Then maybe
If they were just nice
Instead of mean
They
Could end it,
But the problem
With depression
Is that
No one knows
That you have it
Unless you tell them.
And if you do,
They will either
Back away
As if from leprosy
Or some contagious disease
Or they will
Know nothing of it
And abandon you
Or they
Will completely
Over re-act,
And send you to
A therapist
Which sometimes
May help
And other times
May make worse
The depression.
But sometimes
If you tell
The right people
They will simply
Be there for you
And help you through
And whether
They know how
Depression works
Or not
It often
Does not matter
So much as the fact
Of knowing
That someone out there
Truly cares
About what happens
To you.
And that
Is the only
Universal
Relief.
And so thank you
For being there
When you
Can.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
I shouldn’t be a mom
There’s no reason i should allow myself to bring children into this world
Children with the same problems that I have
How selfish of me to think and assume I deserve or am worthy of allowing myself to bring someone into this world with my issues?
The anxiety, the depression, the self deprecating thoughts
I wouldn’t be a good mom
How could I look into the eyes of my sons or daughters and know I brought them into this world to feel such immense pain?
What would give me the right to bring children into this hell full of negativity, poverty and intense drama?
I couldn’t be a good mom
How insanely asinine of me to think I should be projecting my problems into my spawn?
What part of my last twenty seven years of life would prompt me to believe I should feel the happiness and pride the mothers and fathers around me feel?
But what if all my honest, true, real self realization would make me the best mom ever?
Jan 18, 2022
Jan 18, 2022 at 2:52 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
Not enough room in this attic , wouldn't mind if we just
Shrunk,
Just like Alice entering wonderland through a rabbit hole,
I have no intentions of touching your body or your soul,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
Everything we did was asinine, but dying of boredem stunk,
Delighted as I am to call my own , it's personal,
Writing love , and pain , and sweat and shame in 72 journals,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk and intoxicated out of our minds with a bit of grime
And old creepy dolls on the floor,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk,
We're so drunk , we're so drunk , we're so mother freaking
Drunk.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
So you think you are a master of techniques of persuasion?
You shallow pips-squeak, mediocrity is your mastery
the obsequious hoi polloi that surround you are the pitiable averageness of conciliation
Sophistry and subterfuge are your game of compromised facts
syllogistic arithmetic conceptualizing doesn't make anything so
your addition is flawed by your bungled bombast of banality and guile
fortunately for you, your crowd will never study logic
fortunately for you semi-literacy is de rigueur
You pompous swollen grandiose mass of hyperbolic gas
Fear is what you offer, lies are what you sell
your rhetorical flourish is as the stench of a waste dump
fetid, corpulent, fallow and febrile
toxic
half-truths, innuendos, ambiguities, conjecture and asinine aspersions comprise your specious fare,
fostering rumours, manipulating facts, you are the purported Biblical brood of vipers so extensively reviled against
Your relevancy is attributable to the dull stupidity so profusely prevalent today
Your "success" is the stuff of taint and treachery
You'll probably choke to death on a stuck piece of poorly masticated flesh
so appropriate and befitting the demise of a professional liar
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
My love, your eyes are nothing like the sun,
your long lasting gaze is dull and dazed,
as for intelligence; you possess none
and you leave me annoyed and unamazed.
The way you make me feel is disgusting,
sandpaper is smoother than your skin,
and I just can't stand to hear you laughing,
when all good humour you've forsaken.
You are oblivious and selfish too,
and you know I use this odious tone
my dear because I truely detest you!
so go now please and leave me alone,
Take your coiffed hair, and your crooked nose
go **** yourself and your asinine hoes!
Sep 29, 2011
Sep 29, 2011 at 11:24 PM UTC
Let us Rise and Rejoice for the Wise Controllers of the Streets
Please give praise for the Keepers of Asinine Righteousness
Who have the power to read our minds easy as giving sweets
Esteemed Professors who are World Experts with Greatness
In Neuro-linguistic programming and know all the upbeats
For example anybody with working eyes can see with no cheats
The woman's complexions is not Black even without clearness
Alas I make a joke and lightheartedly say its Black in mirths
Nobel NLP Programmers jump in glee and frenzied eagerness
That is Trigger to void progressive actions with that lady petite
So Professors et vacuous masses devoid of brains go on heats
Sprinkling Blacks all over in project as useless as their dumbness
Tell not dorks I do not see her as black in any way but a tease
Another deluded wasted efforts from the addicted mindlesses
The poor lass graced with honey-gold skin tone is not for meets
Crass semi-illiterates play mind games on levels of bog peats
Psychotic obsessed nonentities with deluded tendentiousness
As if there's a meeting of minds with piffling anodyne greats
Dumbos declaring we are playing with your mind in earness
Show me how a genius compares with Quixotic foolishness
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
Turn on the TV and switch off your brain,
tune into Jezza as you fade out the shame,
point at his cattle, and laugh at their pain,
forget their faces,
cos’ they all look the same.
Memorise headlines, forgetting you’re smart,
the news screaming fear, as this world ‘falls apart’
hating your neighbour’s a good place to start,
he’s likely a **** or a bomber
at heart.
‘England Expects’ is their asinine bray,
as they talk up the players on ‘Match of the Day’
before posting on Twitter that one of em’s gay.
‘Oh we lost in the semis?’
Start feigning dismay.
Forget about stress, skip working hard,
you can lend owt till payday, or just get a new card,
it doesn’t matter, if your credit is barred,
say you slipped in reception,
and hit your knee hard.
Now! Vital News! Our cameras have spied,
the markings of botox on that celebrity bride.
Maybe it’s scandal, there’s no rush to decide,
you’ve opened the box,
and its trapped you inside.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
Sweetness, kindness, gentleness
are cures. A heart so full of love, when
girls touch it they think it will burst. Relationships for me not affectionate you
see. For I am not asinine. That is what I lack in my personality! When it does
come to me, then I will be truly ugly. My reflections to be a blur. My soul a hot melted wax that keeps the wick
from burning too quick. This curse upon me heart I thought was a gift. A plague
on modern time ways. My anger unleashed only in defense to others. Humor too
positive to laugh in front of some ones disadvantages. To caring to remark
aloud unattractive looks of another, Just for my ignorant unthoughtful
laughter. My remarks are kept at a low for others not to hear. I, too, am human;
do the same as others. I only learn from
those ***** mistakes. Raised as a gentlemen not to treat girls as a ****** toy,
only as a lover. ****** love not a lay, child at heart play! Maturity; responsibility
when called for so the landlord doesn’t kick me out the door! Food on the table
instead of ***** in my belly! Only on occasions on that one blue moon. Too big
of heart not enough aggression. Too this, a part of the curse! ....
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 2:28 PM UTC
Words are made of thoughts.
I wish they'd intrude. I am lonely,
unemployed with a nine to seven routine
of various activities.
A malignant trend courses through the head.
Broadcasting it outside in the realm of trust
where I am blank but set to go, it would have
the appearance of a finely ambient glass of chocolate milk.
Sometimes I'm asked why the relevance hinges on me.
If I had to say, it's because I keep getting vignettes, like something
out of a beggar's bowl, a wooden saltiness
that becomes increasingly less involved. And, like, everytime
I think about it, it's something similar to trying to walk
on John Carter's Mars; and all of this trivial, like, asinine
things can never match up to the draw, the pull of
whatever has been dropped, whatever has been shorn
unevenly like a badly eaten candy-bar. Or something.
I don't know why it has to be about me.
I don't, pull my weight, and recently I feel cold in the summer;
I have slept under a bedsheet since June.
That's not what this is about, or what I, want to project.
This isn't a prerogative, a jarring hiss of due-dates
incoming inevitably. I just **** Which is not a surprise,
like organic web shooters is a surprise, or, thinking up
something like a dead polemic of a sewer draining
the sordid leftovers of a consciousness.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
I am beautiful
I am any kind of beautiful I want to be
I am am every kind of beautiful
I am beautiful when I wake up
I am beautiful when I cry
I am beautiful when nobody is looking
And I am beautiful
In my own eyes
When I am alone
and in pain
I am beautiful
When I chainsmoke
instead of eat
I am beautiful
when I ****
I am beautiful
when I'm inebriated and asinine
and *****
and not
I am so beautiful
even when I harm my skin
because my beauty lies underneath the flesh and bones of
me
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:52 PM UTC
There once was a great beast, now but a myth, who sat atop Mr. Atlas’s throne. So the story goes, the beast had become so heavy, and such a burden on Mr. Atlas, that he enlisted some folks to tame it. ****** that beast could fight back. He fought for ages, centuries, eons, a near-bloody-eternity to stay on top of his throne. He would not be defeated, until the world stopped turning up on old Mr. Atlas’s back. After fighting back on and on, pressuring the tamers for years on end, the gargantuan beast was slowly getting tired. Energy seeped out of his body. But he kept fighting. He kept fighting until he didn’t see the point anymore, and he fought some more.
To this very moment, the beast is still fighting up there on old Mr. Atlas’s back.
The beast, our voice, our final bastion of worldly balance, should very well be tamed by now. The idea of submitting to our tamers is a very unpopular one, though popular at the same time among some. But they are the tamers, and we are the beasts, fighting back to little avail but not giving up on the mission, though thoroughly futile.
Folks, it’s time for us to submit to those who are taming us. As awful, as cowardly, as utterly asinine as this sounds to most of you, we just cannot go on if we continue to fight back.
Those in charge have ****** it up so thoroughly that we must live life through simplistic principles. We can’t afford to **** around with “the man” anymore. It simply will not work. We have to find our happiness. We have to enjoy the little things, little victories, little comforts, little joys, little hardships, and big souls with big aspirations on the little scale that we are left with. As we enjoy these things, we in turn do not submit to those above us. In fact, those above us hate that we are content. Our contentment is their pain, and if they feel pain, then they stop taming us and they themselves become the ones who are tamed, subdued by their own (now) unsuccessful attempts to tame us.
So we have to find comfort in the uncomfortable, and joy in the hardships of life, and accept that we cannot change a thing unless we are content with the conditions that these folks have presented us with.
Comfort and contentment is everything, and it is what tames the tamers of the beast.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
the worst part is the judgement
the looks of disappointment
the sighs that you try to hold in
the shaking of your head when i mention
his name followed by mine and any form of happiness i show on my face
you don't get it
and i understand that
you haven't felt this
you can't imagine it
the honest conflict between my head and heart is asinine
to you
i suppose you feel how the angels felt
watching God forgive the devil
because as merciful as my God is
and with him making me the way that i am
i know
that there is no way the devil messed up Once
and was thrown out of heaven.
i'm sure the devil ****** up
disrespected God's creations
spoke against his power
and the strength of his nation
but i believe God forgave him
and believed that he could turn the other cheek
be wiser
and reget his defiant spirt
because they say we are in his likeliness
so how could He create this forgiving heart in me
and not have that same compassion in Him
and the other angels watched in frustration
i'm sure.
not understanding the relationship between the two
not understanding why God would allow such things
i'm sure the angels felt like you
you who from the outside looking in
only love me and want the best
from your view
and can really only see the tears, and heart break and unbalanced misfortune i go through
you know i deserve better
and you are right
i know i deserve better
and the mistakes have occurred more than once
and i do not know how to explain my heart
or my head
or why i stay
but what hurts more than the pain i allow from him
is the disappointment i see in you
as you
look at me.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 5:03 AM UTC
..
….
…...
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barometric tendrils
psuedo-random and hybrid sets
growing like ivy in the clutches of time
such a
chocking
but actualising
grasp
..huh? what?
oh yes! sorry, sorry
come in, come in,
..you know,
I too, once, like how you are now,
was here too
so
very
very
present.
Aha! Oh yes!
Permit me a mock stifled cry of ostentatious self derision,
'hee hee hee'
aaaaaahhh..
I really was pitiful back then.
seeing you there now, I feel oh so whimsical and overcome
with
ahem
sorry.
..dank and musty cellars,
hashish and a can of beans.
(baked, not fried, -we were really naive enough to believe that?- )
had it all back then though, didn't we?
By which I mean we had nothing,
but the conviction
that obligation was something that actually meant something
rather than a Cryptocurrency in a Ponzi scheme,
(with a slice of lemon)
confidence intervals stockpiled in the stocks of confidence men.
Derivative markets
oh, so very much so
so very
derivative
idiomatic
and *******
asinine.
..Still, it does harken to its era, doesn't it?
'detached and disposable.'
toothpicks
limbs
ideals
all that
goodness!
I was supposed to be offering advice, wasn't I?
Interpolate up some mediated conjecture.
But the kids can look after themselves just fine, can't they?
So our fiscal policy seems to think;
'I wager we shear up the youth
to buy shares in implementing youth wages.'
sorry, I guess it's an antiquated complaint,
“think of the children!” , they say?
Can't they see,
the whole **** market's aimed at the proto-teens??
we do it all for them the little snots.
laissez faire welfare
hedge or double down?
A shrubbery?
Or a bacon butty with bread as ****** chicken and cheese?
(I just vomited in my mouth a little,
(how pastiche))
See, and people ask why I’m trapped in the past;
the future's got me car sick.
and honestly
we're just brimming with history
(the scourge of post-modernity)
like a black moss spewed on the walls
Poisoning visions and Rheumatic fever
tearing up our lovely
lovely
pacified
pay and display
psuedo
proto
posterity
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….
..
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
it was an inevitability
that we'd unearth the evidence
to validate Einstein's theory
of general relativity.
three cheers for the
method of science,
an appliance that
liberates and enlightens,
suffocating the miasma
of dogmatic parasitism.
pariahs can't stand beneath
the weight of empirical data.
a culture of imperialism
intoxicating inane idiots,
inundated by asinine philosophy.
ideologues instigating turmoil—
vainly believing
an intergalactic being
created the cosmos
in seven days for the
predestined elect.
to insist inanely that the legacy
of our existence could be measured
in seven millennia
is to extinguish the light
from the majority
of our neighboring galaxies.
you read the opening lines
of your holy text too literally.
open your mind to the poetry
of a reality that no deity
could ever breathe into existence.
we are not special.
our fate is tied to a
planet choking on CO2
and you deny the truth
in the same breath you
disparage any challenge
to your impotent,
imaginary friend.
**** sapiens—
mere animals
cursed with
conscience.
if you would deny
the ancestral history
of our evolutionary biology
simply on the premise
that it's “only a theory,”
then i'd invite you to put
your vain hypothesis
to the test and take a long walk
off a short bridge.
perhaps the theory of gravity
will provide with you some clarity.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC
Falling in love is mutilating and murdering yourself.
Sharing your love is carrying the dead body, showing it off, all around.
For God’s sake, burn the book or leave it on its shelf.
Or at least hide that horrendous corpse; bury it underground.
But it’s a ****** cemetery, this witty world is.
Every one bragging of decomposed dirt.
Yours surely is more rotten than his.
So smell the rot, you asinine little flirt.
Life should come with a warning label.
WARNING: DEAD BODIES EVERY WHERE.
Ironic, to be born on a doctor’s table.
Then die, massacred in deathly affair.
But we can’t live without love, it’s hilariously tragic.
For death lurks, immortal, in our hearts.
Yet our minds, gullible, believe it’s magic!
Beware, beware of Cupid’s darts.
**** it up, Romeo, move on with life.
Cleanse your soul; stop being sadistic.
Sure it’s beautiful, but not when she’s your wife.
It’s a dead body, you’re stupid and unrealistic.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 9:24 PM UTC
Are we the cattle of an entire nation?
What have we got to lose? Except for those already lost
You can be docile or violent, just don’t lie in silence!
Rise up! Here begins a new age, end discrimination!
Innocence is dead, the wrong men end up in the jail cell
This place is nice, but life is going to hell
They’re ****** ‘cause the former majority is now a minority
Hypocritical foundations, this land’ll never unite
What happened to Civil Rights?
They only gave us what was left.
You pigs - You must be bored just to send so many to the morgue
I can’t stand to watch the news, this society isn’t one to put kids through
And it’ll only get worse
Time never changes, history repeats
No more running (RISE UP!) This is the culling!
The culling!
Never will I be your *****
The culling! (x2)
The United States lives an ****** Cold War!
(Let’s Rock)
We are the Antiheros, the Public Enemy
Now join me friends, let’s unveil the clarity
Who am I to you? When you look what do you see?
All you see are the colors of sin
The American Dream is broken, you breed loathing
Who can, Who will - Make America Great Again?
I can’t be led by a Puppeteer of Dollar Strings
You wanna make the world free? (HUH?)
But the only thing costless, is the loss of me
Drop it! If she needs and investigation
(She’s out!) That’s the end of an asinine conversation
Rise Up! It’s far too late
I am the spirit of those who live with a target
One wrong factor can end an actor
The leaders are gone, the show is over
It’s the end of the road, but the start of -
The Culling!
A Constitution Diluted by Disillusion
The Culling!
A Jail For A Nationalistic Conspiracist!
Time puses back, but it doesn’t make it better
The War is getting colder and the water’s getting redder
Every Rose has it’s thorns
We are the Bulls with dulled horns - Branded!
We’re the ones you reprimanded!
I! Feel I was born in the wrong time
I’ll go forward and see if they opened their eyes
Or I’ll go back! So I could ****** Revolutionize!
We all see, the ocean is vast
But like the truth and time, It Never Lasts!
Post-Traumatic Society Destruction
The Bliss of Disorder continues to function
All of the ways you hold us down
Leads to a point we take your crown
Everytime you hold us back
Pushed in a corner, poised to attack
One last push against -
The Culling!
We can’t hideaway any longer
The Culling (x3)
Your ignorance makes us stronger
The Culling!
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC