"associating" poems
Sunshine helps. Sunshine helps on the days I lay around sinking deeper into my depression. The room always seems to be dark on those days. Sunshine helps. It may be a romantic point of view but I find nature soothing. The smell of rain never ceases to make me smile. Sunshine helps. It reminds me of me before depression. Back at camp. Making music. Making friends. I used to smile so much. Sunshine helps. I don’t smile anymore. Not like I used to. It’s more painful to do so now. Sunshine helps. I like to take the longest paths when I’m outside. I like the wind against my face. I like wandering aimlessly. It helps clear my head. Sunshine helps. Some where along the way I started associating you with sunshine. Maybe it was the light in your eyes. Maybe it was your warm smile. But since I’ve met you I’ve realized that things are going to be okay. Sunshine helps and you help me step into the sun.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
Have you considered being a *** worker?
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than associating with your own ribcage.
You're an actress
no script, just a character summary.
Limp, age 12, non-verbal marionette.
*Snaps her strings when forced to dance.
Clings to the ceiling tiles, like the shadows she hallucinates.
Let's the puppet fall numb under strangers.
Ragdoll to be used for kindling.*
When you play your part
You'll inherit enough money to afford a studio apartment
in Washington, or Las Vegas; anywhere with men paid large enough salary to afford your vacant body,
three phone plans,
a hotel room for you to stay awake in
Listening to dull thuds against your wrongfully warm corpse
Invited hoping the stinging could form tendons
adhere together like rubber bands
Snap you back into your skin.
You cling helpless to the ceiling tiles
Watch the ragdoll make mistakes.
*"Have you considered being a *** worker?"*
A homeless woman asked me,
*"Unoccupied bodies should start charging rent.
Let a man who can afford it pay for utilities.
You might be homeless
but you won't be wasted space".*
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
love
dove
bird
hurt pain rain
washing laundry dryer shrunk
too hot summer beach tanned skins
bikini girls lifeguards bodybuilders
Schwarzenegger
robocop criminals politicians votes
lobbyists corporations special interests
stock exchange oil price pipelines
pollution profits leaded water oily shores
banking wall street 99percent
wealth CEOs distribution education defloration
exploitation union struggle macjobs
Walmart amazon tax evasion offshore banking
islands caimans reptiles alligators walruses
snapping turtles manatees albatrosses
birds
dove
love
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
"i am very particular about who i expose myself to,"
we say to 3 million strangers every day
i shut off everything and everyone
just to listen for a while
then i start talking and do not stop ever
imagine yourself vividly
darkness goes like this
tell me one war since wwii that the united states has "won"
tell me one war where we have not been the aggressor
he told me that
burning down the house was the only logical thing to do next
unknowing how much of a literal person i am
start the car and leave this nowhere behind
things i used to admire from afar seem so much closer now
oh dear
i think i've lost myself
could you call it
(i left it on silent)
i don't have any data to back up my opinions
i think gravity and love are that of the same force
i don't like associating with people who complain about the length of songs
i wish i was strong enough to lift both of our souls simultaneously
you are constantly defining beauty with the way
you bite your lip and flutter your eyelashes and grasp your left arm and stare at the ground
while speaking to me
you are drunk and you are sad and i am broken and lets kiss
wow here we are
kissing
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
I like accelerating
As fast as it can get there
(Because even if it is a Saab,
It's still a sports car)
I like accelerating in the fog
Pressing forward into the unknown darkness
Past the hanging anglerfish lure
On every street lamp
I like to think Keats would like it
(Driving fast in the dark where you know
There's no speed traps)
And I like the word "like" in poetry
Because love on the page means something so
Different from what I mean
(It's a word that
I don't want you associating with me)
Unless you're here to cast me as your Last
Duchess because I love you as much as
I love driving in the dark as much as
I love this song as much as
I love your shoes and I love your eyes
(but I really do love your eyes)
So I don't like the word "love" because it
Implies some kind of favoritism that I'm not
Willing to give you if it means
I only like this song
Means using that word all wrong
Because you're not better than my Saab-
(you just have nicer eyes)
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
We say that times have changed
Yet the issues in the news
Remain the same
Three Muslims shot
Over a "parking dispute"
Yet the media news
Can't get to the root
Of the hateful crime
Committed by a brute
Too busy reviewing
Fifty Shades of Grey
While unjust crimes
Are carried out everyday
And why do we let ISIS
Receive so much fame?
And why is it that every
Muslim is to blame?
Associating a belief
With violence and terror
But it is among us
Where you'll find the true error
Using religious excuses
To **** off God's creations
Manufactured missiles
Sweeping entire nations
Thousands dead
With nothing left to gain
And those who survive
Are left with terminal pain
Seeing tears in the eyes of a mother
Her son buried deep
By the prejudice of another
How far will we go
Until we see the wrongdoings?
Cuz once a life is gone...
There is no undoing
Segregating humans
By religion, *** and race
My beliefs may be different
But I am no disgrace
We classify ourselves
With things like melanin
As if our destiny
Is determined by our skin
Ignorance causing our vision to be impaired
Can't accept the unusual
Cuz we're too scared
Too scared of the truth
So we hide behind lies
Too scared of being left out
So we wear a disguise
Morphing ourselves
Into what is accepted
Turning into clones
Fear of being rejected
But it's time to wake up
Time to accept
The difference in our land
Time to end
The suffrage that is at hand
Time to unite ourselves as one
Time to put down the weapons
And put away your gun
So join me now
To spread the love
And to silence the hate
Our world may not be perfect
But it's never too late.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Fashion designer Manav Gangwani feels that the Hindi film industry acts as a catalyst for the Indian fashion industry.
He believes that since Bollywood has a huge fan base, it helps in getting a designer’s brand recognised.
Gangwani says the Indian couture industry has significantly evolved over the past years and it is the responsibility of the fashion fraternity to keep this evolution constant. “Over the years, I have always added a modern twist to the silhouettes in my couture collections. The couture industry has significantly evolved over the past years. I think it is important that we keep this evolution constant,” Gangwani said in an earlier occasion.
The designer, who has styled Bollywood stars like Hrithik Roshan, Kangana Ranaut and Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, believes that associating with such celebrities does a world of good to a designer’s creations.
“Bollywood certainly acts as a catalyst for the Indian Fashion industry in terms of retail. In one way or another, the designers prefer to commercially dress up a celebrity outfit for a film rather than showcasing it exclusively on the ramp. Since Bollywood has millions of followers, the brand recognition through it goes a long way,” Gangwani told in an interview.
The designer, who also had the honour of dressing the King Of Bhutan Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck, shared that the “potential customers are more discerning than ever and have a growing penchant for exclusivity”.
The growing couture industry has set high standards for aspiring designers and that intense competition makes designers put their best work forward, he added.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
*Ask me about Gulu,ask me about
the area associated with instability
ask me about one of the farthest towns
I was there,and clad in my red gown
ask me about clouds,I've seen them thick
ask me about whatever, just handpick
Karuma falls, their sprays of violence
savanna,swamps, what an ambiance
it was, how sweet the journey was
so secure a town, forget years of wars
the people,calm unless fray they must
ask me about the cost of living there
some of us couldn't dare bear
Ask me about Gulu town and I'll say
Go and prove,go see for yourself
How a town can be secure for sure
Go and see definitions of distance
go and stop associating it with resistance
ask me about straight roads in Africa, straight as a ruler
only hills and slopes reminding you they're roads
ask me for hell hot sun and the winter cooler
ask me about very volatile beads of tropical rain
and I'll tell you find it in Gulu,rivers of splash drain
ask me about tourist sites and I'll show you the route to take
informing you that the adventure to make
is to the north of the country if you haven't,I have
you might have not realised those are a people with love
ask me about places with trees from shrub to pine
ask me about Gulu and I'll praise it overtime
I saw no skeletons, bullets, no wounds or scars
they are only probably left in hearts or healed
the night sky dotted with patches of pregnant clouds and stars
even nature lives a serene life,the bottle of that history was sealed
Ask me for the reasons Uganda is the pearl
I've seen most,in the west,the East, now north,
for all it's worth
I only need to venture the south to astutely say I've seen them all*
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
I only caught a passing moment of their conversation, but the dyed redhead, bowed black face hidden behind her tresses, clearly remarked, I'm part Irish. That's white. while the boy beside her captured her every movement with sarcastic circular motions of his imaginary camera, and something in the taste of the air took me back to the iciness of the cell.
Long after the guard clanged the iron door shut, letting the reverberations fade into the silence of small spaces so evident in the 10x6 enclosed room, I heard her. In truth, recollection deceives me in associating my first awareness of her with an impossible remembrance: a womanly scent flowing on a non-existent gust between her cell and mine. But no, it was definitely the distinct, distant quality in her voice as she softly called Who's there? that caused me to press my ear tightly against cold iron in eager anticipation. Hello was all I mustered. She responded in relieved tones with tales of abuse, pimps and prostitution, all mixed with crack bumps measured in metricities that would have made her high school math teacher proud. For hours her voice echoed through the halls of the jail, pausing only for an occasional guttural response Uh-huh or, Uh-uh before continuing her tragic, comforting tale.
Eventually day broke and I left the cell-- left the girl locked away, nameless, out of sight. And, I would have forgotten. I would have never searched every face wondering: if I close my eyes and listen, would the voice that still echoes in my head present itself in a stranger's features?
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
i do not like associating with people who complain about the length of songs
people who listen to music but do not hear it
people who look at beauty but do not see it
i do not like associating with people who complain about the slow parts in books
people who admire the surface but do not try to break it
people who understand the flaw but do not accept it
i do not like associating with people who complain about boredom
people who know exactly what to say but do not say it
people who mourn regression but do not rejoice it
i do not like associating with people who complain about the length of songs,
break down the walls of your mind
take advantage of your depth
appreciate your width always
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 5:37 AM UTC
She’s shiny. No, not like a diamond, or a new toy, or when you polish a glass just right.
… Not even quite like a star.
She’s just…
s h i n y.
To call her a beacon of hope, of joy, of anything would be patronizing, would be dehumanizing, maybe even fetishizing and associating any of those words with her makes you cringe, makes you ache with rage at yourself, but -
She.
Shines.
She is the agonizing sun in your eyes when you are driving and the sunbeams that feed the flowers in your garden.
both the highlight of your day and also the worst part
for the warmth in your chest, the fire in your heart,
You suppress and deny until you are almost fool enough to believe yourself when you say “i’m not in love, i’m not in love, i’m not in love”
She shines
She shines so bright it hurts, but you want it to hurt, you can’t imagine it any other way
So you burn, and you burn alone, and maybe always will, because the words dancing inside you -
“Hi, my name is - ”
“I like your skirt”
“What was the homework for Spanish?”
“Hey! I noticed the scratch down your arm, I also have a cat - actually, I have three”
- die before they reach your tongue.
… she’s probably straight, anyway.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 5:18 AM UTC
Its hard to bare your reflection when your disturbed by the image it makes. As you stare into the mirror, your faced to deal with your mistakes.
The truth of the matter is you can lie to the world, and live the life of an actor. You can portray yourself in many ways, but when you look in the mirror, you view the truth that you cant escape.
Your just a pawn playing social chess just to be accepted, by interested impressionist. I stray far away and ignore getting ****** in, to associating with manican's that pretend to be your friends.
The social ladder is filled with actors, lies, and insecurities. So I judge alone by actions shown, and only trust my certainties.
Most people base their judgements by your appearance and your current status. I guess my designs unique, I base my judgements by your actions.
I stay true to myself, I'm not eager to be accepted. I view my friends as family and I'm willing to die for my investments.
For all the time that I've invested, I would give my life to provide protection. Because quality over quantity, is the "ONLY" acceptable method of friendship!
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
These people...they're obsessive. Hoarders of memorabilia associating success with handshakes, photographs and play-dates. I'm surrounded by squiggly lines vandalizing art and silhouettes of super-heated sand granules encasing a substance so vile that it permanently damages the frontal lobe of the collective consciousness. Inspirations float helplessly about the sea of underachievers and people-pleasers. What is success? Is it simply to impress the people around you? To instill envy upon your enemy? I won't even begin to dissect the differences. I can't even begin to protect the witnesses. The costumes are insignificant. The same tired, scared, eyes stare blankly at themselves from behind every mask. The ladder needs some broken rungs. The bladder bleeds; soaked in *** People milling about, spilling their sins. Reaching out sure looks a lot like clawing, and what is the difference between pleading and begging? May it be the same difference between dancing and squirming? No matter what we do, we all feel unworthy. So, I guess all that's left is: Learning. Teaching, not preaching. Boy, this place sure is unnerving. A shuffling mass of introverts sent into a downward spiraling life of discomfort, soon to be snuffed out with possessions. The empathy for the undead is utterly apparent, and arguably, inherent. Looking for answers in dusty pages and plastic heroes. Punks, Drunks, Nerds, ***** Women with bright hair and crooked teeth. Men replacing the hair they've lost on their heads with that which sprouts from their chins. I need a drink, I think. But in actuality what I need is a warm bed and a couple centuries of sleep.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
Things that blow,
The wind following your body’s beautiful curves, yet you hate anyone associating the word ‘beautiful’ to any part of you.
Your voice isn’t naturally low or manly like Joe’s. You wanna be like him, but Joe-Shmo that’s not what you deserve. You deserve you.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, thinking that the image should be clearer, thinking that instead of nearer, how you feel and how you look couldn’t be further apart. And it breaks my heart, you didn’t get what you need, and you’re falling apart, wanna depart, want a restart switch… And the best suggested alternative is a cut and stitch.
Stop telling yourself how much you hate yourself and stop saying it's your fault, stop having bad thoughts and try to see some good, there are still things to live for, stop hurting yourself stop scaring me with your goodbyes stop running with scissors stop playing in the traffic stop saying you'll finally do it
... Live.
I don’t understand all that you go through and I know you don’t expected me to. But I do know pain, and I’ve dealt with confusion. I understand that this life you live seems like an illusion. This body you deplore because it’s not really your’s. When trying to be yourself starts feeling like a chore. When it’s just easier to tell yourself you’re done for.
But I’ll tell you, if I was in a candy store, and you were a candy with a hard outside-gooey core, even if your exterior didn’t completely match your true interior, I’d still pick you. Because you’re sweet.
It wouldn’t matter how messy you might be or how awful you think you must taste,
as long as your fingers were interlaced with mine, you’d be my cup of tea.
As I hold my tea cup’s waist and look at its reflection, I can see warmth and affection. Rejection and self-protection. I can handle a little messy and Darling I will let you know exactly how you taste my sweet imperfection.
And when you stare at yourself in the mirror, this time, I’ll be there, blowing the wind across your body’s natural, handsome curves.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
*My mind
The Stage
I’m filled to a brim of dimmed bar lights
With the fewest of men gathering after works brew
Too much wheat
Too much rye
You’ve always enjoyed the flavor, so I counted on you for tonight’s half way pay.
Taste buds-yours are different
The stage and bar are both my mind, most nights
You work here?
I do not recall hiring you
No recorded resume either
Guess that’s how you’ve always gotten by
My intoxicated, stricken tendencies not caring to scam a background check
What a hell of souls bottling down memories no longer apart of their minds
Guess that’s why I am an entire nightclub on the inside
Full of memory, music of genre spread variety
Giving many great nights of their short lives
I did so to you
Your on stage hovering like the snarling business associate you’ve always been.
But why was I too?
Dis-associating me from that is no option now
Nor ever
Oh your working around in my mind, I had almost forgotten
It’s been few too many drinks tonight.
I’m filthy
I’m sitting in my minds smoky corners with pool tables crowding my space
Click Click Are your breaking?
You have always liked my rack…ing
Dim blue lighting
When I take form of a whole crowd, I am an entire dim blue light
Your white
On a pedestal
Soaking Sulking Screaming
******* your way out
Expression Blank expression,
But maybe you’ve forgotten who’s mind your working in?
I’m reading you in italic bold
Your hiding it from everybody
But I know
I finally told somebody
They haven’t sold
Why do you erode my mind?
Still I ask
I have yet to discover that
Something I am sure of is that this VIP party won’t last
It’s getting late
Your way to drunk
Me too
How did you start working for this exclusive party anyway?
Sleep it off
I’ll fire you another day*
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 4:28 PM UTC
I find it sad that I've begun associating you with headaches and bad dreams more often than not.
It's like the only way to reach out to you is to reschedule the days you want to fall in love with me all over again like those days are just some sort of meeting for me to potentially become a home for you.
My arms are open like the front doors of a 5 story mansion with a small attic added on top like icing to a cake and yet you refuse to close them for good for me.
You arrive and pull open every single window and door, you turn on all of the lights, and every trinket that thrives off of my energy is switched on in addition to that without a care in the world of how much of my electricity you are wasting.
Eventually you come to the heart of the house, you turn the flame on high on the stove, you walk straight out and you leave me to burn again.
It's every single time I see you that you do this to me, and somehow I always found the tools to rebuild myself.
This time is different. This time I can't because I'm shattered beyond repair. Being the glorious architect that you are I figure you could design the sort of place you actually wish to live in.
But you won't.
I'm not in your outline anymore, am I?
You once told me you wanted to fix me, and now is your final chance, because once I find the courage, the meaning, and my resilience to assemble myself once more... Just know that:
I'm closing all of the doors and locking them from the inside with golden keys that I can melt down into reminders of who I'm to not let back in. My arms will not open up for your embraces any longer, lover, not even if you try to pry them open.
I'm closing all of the windows and barring them from your needy hands. They will have to find a new toy to play with.
I'm turning off all of the lights so someone new can learn where the lightswitches to my soul are located, since no matter how often I moved them from you, you still knew me well enough to turn me on.
I'm extinguishing the flame that is constantly flickering between our fragile figures, blowing it out like a candle, and never giving you the ability to light me up again.
I am a female powerhouse and I belong to no one.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Confessions of a Goody Two Shoes
At least that's what I had always considered myself
But like a pair of sneakers tied together and thrown over a telephone wire
I'm sure it's only the innocent eyes that see the image without subtext
Strung up by knotted laces tied around the tongues
Hanging just above the mist and missing the point
Because these shoes were made for walking
And there's just no way of knowing how far someone is going to go
As muddy soles beat the ground with every stride as we run from our problems
But can't always outrun the bullets
Trying on everyone else's lives to see if we can finally complete the mile
I've been starting to doubt the label assigned
Associating me with footwear and being walked on
I can feel my arches aching with the pressure of walking in time with the crowd
Of walking to a beat I haven't chosen
Of walking heel-toe-heel-toe left-right-left
Down a straight path
Down a narrow path
There's smoke in the sky from the road less traveled
There's gravel in my shoes from stepping off to peer into the distance
I'm not sure why I want to run away but there's just something about the unknown
Chasing butterflies down aisles of pitcher plants and Venus flytraps
There's something alluring about losing my only pair of shoes in the dust and just running
If I'm not making good choices
I'll make bad choices with conviction
I need to learn to stand on my own two feet but for now
I've been learning to walk barefoot
Because goody two shoes just don't quite fit any more
But I can't seem to break in anything new
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
You left me alone to follow your impossible dream to live in Nashville to become a musician and thatwill never be. You are stay at the Nashville Men's Rescue Mission and sing two days at Clancy;s Cafe and you still have no real work or healthcare I don't understand this impossible dream. Do you like being a vagabond and homeless person. Living off charity of your church of Christ. Panhadling, living off Big John, and associating with white trash what shame!!!! You had a great chance to better yourself at Breakthrough Ministries in Chicago when we first arrived. Oh I like this city better Nashville Tennessee and you blocked me on your facebook because I refused to marry you. All you cared about was your *** life with me but in truth I gave you everything and lost my indentity and sanity. Look into your mirror and who do you see a toothless, pityful, homeless, 58 year old man who blew a good thing.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
Just because you made me a birthday wish didn't mean I owed you one,
Just because I didn't say any wishes didn't mean I dont care,
I just don't want anything associating myself with you.
What need was it for you to spit out greatly bitter insults at me,
Yes I called you crazy
For I have never seen a selfish person such as you.
It is no use pretending I meant nothing to you,
For you would have not smeared your unchanting words on me.
I would love to see you in much more misery than this,
But thank you for you immediately blocked me out of your life
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
To Protect the flowers, thorns do grow,
In midst of many beautiful birds, there is an ugly one, a crow,
To oppose a beautiful word - Interest, a word exists - Bore,
For happiness, arms are wide open, but for sorrows, we close all the doors,
There is always a complicated question and an unsatisfying answer,
One has to learn not just dance but also bribing to be a great dancer,
May it be Love Or Hatred, associating in some way, will be pain,
For just the matter of ego, irreversible actions are done, in vain..
Why is it so..?
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Why am i so far
away
constantly?
I cannot
always breathe
or always think
or always feel
and I am not
one to disassociate
when there's still something worth
associating with.
but I ask why,
why am I like this?
why do I hide
curl into a ball
sob incoherently.
when I know perfectly well
why.
you curl into a ball to protect your face
to hide your vulnerable parts
loud noises make me flinch
loud voices make it worse.
conflict sends me spiraling
I can see my carefully
constructed
sanity
slipping away.
I'm a fraud.
I construct fallacies.
falsehoods about being sane
and good
and kind.
about having a moral compass
that always points north of wrong.
I am cruel within my judgments
I am jealous and snarky.
I am quick to jump
to conclusions
and assumptions.
I cry too easy,
I anger too quickly.
I am an unstable inferno,
either constantly burning at a calm lull
or blazing and consuming
all in my path.
I am a storm siren,
and within the rain and winds
that bring the fall of man,
watch the chaos
descend.
and if only/
if only/
the woodpecker sang
the bark on this tree
was just a little bit softer
if only/ if only
sang the wolf from below.
I would like
the rain
to stop.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
if we could churn things out in seconds,
i'd make you a tape of my top 3 songs I'd want to **** you to.
.It'd start with something fast-paced,
a song that would be standing up
a quickie but a "we can't help it, we have to right now" quickie,
not sloppy, just fast-paced.
loud and intense and back against the wall, hair grabbing, *** grabbing,
guitars blaring in the background, the beat matching my heart racing as you bend me over
.but the next song would be slower. It'd be the nights we didn't plan on it,
the ones where we already said goodnight and we tried to go to sleep
but I accidentally rolled closer into you and couldn't resist one kiss on the cheek
which made me want to kiss you more and then we're accidentally ********** and ending up having to say goodnight again.
Probably an acoustic, lyrics something about love.
.The next song would be classic. Something you're not allowed to really hate because it's by an artist you're kind of forced to respect? And you like it, really. It'd probably be one of my favorites by an artist I know you love. It'd play in the background and we wouldn't really notice it exactly until later down the road when we're on our own somewhere hearing it and wondering why the song reminds us of each other. It would be a song that just ended up playing one time while on shuffle in the parked car, us pretending nothing else was really present except that back seat.
I already have a lot of shuffled car songs that remind me of us in moments,
parked in the rain
from when kissing never got farther than kissing.
as I am growing as a lover, I am appreciating music in a new sense,
associating it with feeling from my own auto-biography of emotion,
associating those feelings with images from collect moments
and I am so glad some songs will always bring me back to right now
in this collection of moments and images and feelings
in these picture-perfect memories I have of rain on the windshield right before you kissed me while you played the Smiths
or while last summers shuffle of pop punk played while we fogged up the windows in a baseball field
and I am glad that once my mind can no longer form or remember the picture-perfect moments,
and I won't be able to put together the scenery,
I will at least be reminded of the feeling through a song.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC
I sit in my corner of lies,
It's these four walls I despise.
Everywhere I look I see a glimpse,
Of everything I seem to miss .
I lie,
I cheat,
But it's myself I cannot beat.
I scream,
I cry,
But to myself I cannot lie.
These walls are crumbling faster now
This I wish I did not allow.
I'm swimming in this thick sea of lies
My excuses I do not buy.
I lie,
I cheat,
But it's myself I cannot beat.
I scream,
I cry,
But to myself I cannot lie.
The walls have tumbled to the ground,
My common sense; its nowhere to be found.
One lie leads to another,
Now more than every I need my mother.
I lie,
I cheat,
But it's myself I cannot beat.
I scream,
I cry,
But to myself I cannot lie.
I know there is not anything I can say,
To change what happened that day.
Who I am I trying to fool?
It's my emotions that mask, rule.
I lie,
I cheat,
But it's myself I cannot beat.
I scream,
I cry,
But to myself I cannot lie.
"Sorry" is the best I can do
Its the answer I never knew till now
It's not my fault,
it was you who broke our vow
I lie,
I cheat,
But it's myself I cannot beat.
I scream,
I cry,
But to myself I cannot lie.
Don't tell me how to cope, to feeling
I deal, how I deal.
I'm no longer associating myself with you,
My life, wall to wall,
just keeps on crashing because your so untrue
You lie
You cheat
But it's me you cannot beat
You scream
You cry
But to me you cannot successfully lie
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
nietzsche? what he did? inverting the cartesian equation?
like: 1 + 1 = 2, turned into 1 + 1 = 2?
**** me... isn't that confusing...
the symbol = precipiates into ergo;
what did he do?
he inverted the cartesian principle...
he said: i am, therefore i think...
so why are all these people coming
out from the woodworks, like cockroaches?
i already said it once,
the antithesis of the cartesian res cogitans
a thinking thing... is res vanus:
an empty thing...
test of time...
you stop ************ for about a month?
your ***** turns... yellow... it's no longer white...
your testicles shrink... you're shooting
evil *****
and then you talk to a woman
who's been "learning" about her period, ************
want to have children?
stop ************ for a month...
**** her on her period
but don't ********* then **** her once more when
she's off it...
the cramps are gone... your ***** is
so concenrated that it's no longer white, but yella..
what are you going to get?
a screaming báhor (toddler) in your arms...
but nietzsche inverted the cartesian "equation"...
thankfully... he got it wrong,
in a sense, he didn't counter res cogitans (thinking thing)
with res vanus (empty thing) -
sure, nietzsche was influential in the 20th century...
in the 21st century though?
more like the label guy...
i'm this... i'm that... i'm whatever you wish me to be...
the 21st century says: nietzsche isn't an ocean...
he was a depth of a puddle's worth to claim...
but it's there! it's in one of his footnotes!
he reverses the cartesian "equation"...
he "says": i am, therefore i think.
no wonder then, where all the 21st century
labels come from!
these people aren't thinking!
i'd love for this label to come about:
i thinking... therefore i'm dumb-seeming...
because i shut-the-fuck-up!
hard to not think of two things...
i think corresponding to res cogitans...
with i am correspoding to res vanus -
and ergo corresponding to ***
meaning?
why are so many people associating themselves with
so many labels, on an intellectual level of deciding
whether or not to wear versace, dolce & gabbana,
or primani... oh sorry... armani.
people express so many labels though,
it's like they stress the second half of the cartesian equation,
but not the first half...
which precipitates into heidegger's da-"sein".
there is.... sure... there really is...
but what? is that actually being, without thinking?
or am i just putting clothes on to look kosher
at a paris fashion catwalk?
it's almost, well, it actually is:
a question: there's being?
that question substitutes the conceptualißation
of being's pluralism qua beings...
i.e. the many happenings...
the rebel ant in the ant-hill... at best: the only
suggestive approximate.
there sure as **** is a being... but the da, the there?
reduced to newspaper articles,
read on friday, recycled on a monday, in orange
bin-bags.
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 7:13 PM UTC
*Chaos
chaos reigns
and yet order
from disorder
as a new conversation begins.
it reminds me of something I heard-
“we all are living in the gutter,
yet some of us are looking to the stars”,+
and you say, “huh”?!
well, in the midst
of all the horrors,
all the drones and torture,
all the wars
and planet destruction;
out of all this
resides the possibility
of great and wondrous change.
change where humans
find their beauty,
not perfectly,
but through struggle
create a world
of voluntary associating humanity.
out of all the horrors of today
great beauty can emerge
and isn’t this
“looking at the stars”.
Aztec Warrior/redzone 2.21.16
+quoted lines are from Oscar Wilde
NOTE: in a small café near the Joyce Theater here in NYC, I met
Leslie and Fred. They had just come from a dance performance
and we struck up a conversation. I wrote this poem and gave it to them.
I also told them that I would mention them when I posted the poem
on line. So, thank you Leslie and Fred, for the conversation and inspiration.*
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC