"America used to be the land of passionate, skilled Labor
then it degraded into the land of exploiting that Labor
and now it's simply the land of Exploitation."

"Y'know, that seems pretty true;
it is a stereotype that Americans just exploit whatever it is,
whether it's the Japanese man's politeness when we bastardize the eating of Sushi
or a legal loophole a corporation finds and uses to maximize profits with minimal morality."

my heart is a machine

behind every good

                         heart

there is an even better

                         machine

                     waiting to take over

                                impulse

beat- in out in out- beat

       who needs

                      feelings

{ the constant struggle of having to

             repair the break

crashlagslow hurt

                 -reboot- (Call tech support!)

temporary no sure fix

repeat }

behind every good

                          heart

is an even better

                           machine

                 waiting to mechanize

                               bastardize

                               supplement

                  LOVE

abiotic, anaerobic, clean, pure, simple, sterile

who needs

LOVE

when metal & pistons

are so much easier to

                       understand

                       predict

                       replace/fix ?

If they can engineer esters to

smelllooktaste

like anything on earth

                   why the **** can’t that make something

taste

       {like your lips}

smell

       {like your skin; cigarette sweet with an undertone of work sweat}

feel

       {like your too rough kisses and embraces}

because maybe if they did

it might make it easier, maybe I wouldn’t miss you

so ******* much

By: Cedric McClester

A Muslim goes to pray
At any mosque on any day
Which is not meant to convey
The things their critics have to say
I don’t know if you’re aware
Despite the way it may appear
A mosque is just a house of prayer
You’re not indoctrinated there

So wasted time is being spent
Looking at which mosque a terrorist went
That don’t give you the slightest hint
As to why he became so bent
You are more likely to find
The source that captured his warped mind
Somewhere down the dial on line
That’s how he became so blind

Nowhere in Qu’ranic teaching
Will you find what they are preaching
It’s a matter of them reaching
Their own ends while they are breeching
Everything that Islam stands for
Which put simply they ignore
Though that’s the badge they wore
While acting in ways Muslims abhor

They can bastardize the text
And baffle some folk’s intellects
By ignoring the balances and checks
That the Islamic religion projects
And it’s easy enough to fall
If there’s no foundation at all
You might answer anyone’s call
Who can reinterpret and enthrall












Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.

origination of Satanism,
tied Buddhism to hedonism –
to bastardize the -isms.
not fitting, not where i am
supposed to be.
if Napoleon were alive this
moment, think he’d be living
the life i’ve led? prememories
causing us to be learn’d
without having ever experienced.
recurring Josephine.
    (epigenetics)
to be found implant’d upon all
those slivers. beyond physical.
and Hemingway tactics:
   “each line is a waste if
     every line is not its own story.”
reason to state, ease up. relax,
drink up and write. all is implicit.
come back less ****’d up, with
no more quotes, drop hyphens and
speak.
– unintelligent men will
   die for their cause.
   intelligent men will
   live forever for their cause.
reality of once homelessness.
oh, how stark. was waiting
to lose self for a better perspective.
– if you wanna know a man,
   know the world when he was twenty.
was restless for wisdom, was
starved for communion,
and my eyes again will ache.
    (this time it’s just a line)
and a dog ate the last papers –
how terribly frustrating.
        break.     and all conversations
are destined to progress.
– don’t you know you shouldn’t
   do that? it could stain the carpet.

“there you are” , i should have said
“i was just thinking of you and i was expecting to see you
somewhere, and it was here”

and there we were and all i wanted was for us to stand closer but
i know that was impossible

the pull was magnetic i couldn’t disconnect from the inevitability that was us talking and i asked you about classes because I had to and good lord it is so nice to hear you say things and

you are some of the only brilliance i know that i can actually touch

i should have said “why would i have thought you
wouldn’t be here we haven’t seen each other in six months
don’t be an imbecile let’s discuss more philosophy
and bastardize blasphemy” but i didn’t but it was unsaid but
that was good enough

do you remember what you took from me
do you remember what i had that was really yours
do you know how much of her i now hold with a steady grip
do you know what darts through my chest when i know
the two of you are stagnant ponds?

i looked like there was something in my eyes, probably—
should i have missed you as much as i did?
my soul finds the question irrelevant
i missed you to the point of fogginess

did you ever know that i loved you like the thousand things i also loved?
in that moment i wanted something that was never us
to feel your ribs under your sweater and the sturdiness of your chest as your arms hung limp beside you
knowing exactly what your face must have looked like as i pressed my own into
your confusion

we talked for ten minutes; any multiple would still have left me wanting
and the hole in the centre our node that couldn’t be occupied was her and she’s fine don’t worry
i don’t want to picture you holding her like i never could but can now god yes i missed you

i did

and the way you smiled when things actually deserved it
and the way your hair grows long, well past your shoulders

you could swallow me whole and i’d let you and
you wouldn’t know what to do with that
that’s why i loved you, the only
real thing i loved like unreal things

'Tis horrible to wield a word
To slight and slander me
'Tis better to deploy them
For fable, myth and story

There are maddest multitudes in words
Contain divinest sense
It's possible to convey magic
In every single tense

But bastardize words cynically
If you really must
But know in slight you've broken
The cherishable crystal of my trust

A bard is hard to pigeonhole
So, really, mate, try it all you like
I'll be waxing lyrical
While you're still playing psych

My writing is an art form that you will never truly see.
I can read you excerpts, though I choose to omit parts
The real parts that you just can’t swallow
Just can’t digest or fully understand
For I, like many others, speak Truth.
Truth unknown to the lowly peons, the sheeple of planet Earth.
You absorb information through loopy fun straws
Call mass-produced culture your own
Like sponges you soak this up
And roam the land with a sense of entitlement.
No, my writing is an art form that you will never truly see
Because you’ll bastardize it, bend it on one knee
While it begs for validation that it doesn’t really need.
No, you’ll never see it. Not even when I’m dead

Wow you really ****
that's four words you never want to hear
those words can make you go static
may make you pull your hair out going frantic

They might come up to you in the street
might say, you know how to bastardize the written word
then the last words they say is
wow you really ****


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

Stop.
Don't puff.
See the ocean?
Run and go.
Want to make a new friend?
Put down your phone.
Or do as you please,
but please don't smoke cigarettes in Siargao.
Don't make an irony of your stay
and a fool of yourself here.
Don't disrespect her sweet air,
don't bastardize her fresh breeze.

See the ocean?
Run and go.
Make a friend.
Do what you please.
Breathe in the sweet air.
Feel the kiss of the fresh breeze.
Don't smoke cigarettes in Siargao.

This is not a story. This is not literature.
This is a spit in the face.
A kick in the nuts. A punch in the ***.
A shooting spree,
of consonants and vowels, aimed at snowflakes.

This is to be loathed. This is to cause anger.
This is to be deleted, blocked, downvoted, canceled and hated.
Demonetized
by coding corpses in Silicon Valley

It is my hope a Twitter Mob forms,
curses my name, relegates me to Louis CK status.

This is my ***** and I take it out
a dark web palm reader for the snowflakes.
This is my ***** and I take it out
to **** on the face of all Boomers, Gen Xers
and especially the Millennials and Gen Z

You who have grown with smartphones akin to limbs,
priapic pineal glands, ophthalmic screens…

You who have “emotional support animals”
I hope your emotional support animal
mauls you to death like an Alaskan grizzly bear
and you ******* die like that execrable Australian crocodile ****

You who have “safe spaces”
I want to rig your safe spaces
with prepositions, adverbial pipe bombs
and laugh as they explode like an Ariana Grande concert

Yes, YOU, you snowflakes…

You who have transformed young America
into a coddled wasteland
of mock outrage, moaning prudes

You who subscribe to video game streams on YouTube
You who pay punk *** PewDiePie his millions
while the greatest living poet in America works as a janitor!

You who fight over bathrooms
You who bastardize legitimate arguments,
shame those who marched
shame those who righteously died

You who vote Republican and Democrat
You who watch CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News
You who wish to silence creators
You who are triggered
You who can’t take a joke
You who can’t fathom opposing views
You who Yelp, write online reviews
in braille
You who protest Sarah Silverman and Dave Chappelle

You, you snowflakes: I want to reach into your toilets
to smear myself in your ****
and kick at your ***** and ***** as you whine online about my blackface

I want to punch your nose
paint myself in your blood and attack your colleges
with wadded up copies of The Naked Lunch and Tropic of Cancer

I want to hack Spotify
replace every playlist with Public Enemy on a continuous loop
and blast 2 Live Crew
from loudspeakers down every boulevard in Northern California

I want to hog-tie conservatives, make them watch gay ****
I want to hog-tie liberals, make them watch monster truck rallies

Because your phone can block
Your phone can delete
But energy cannot be destroyed

And ART, speech, thought
Are the purest form of energy
The very flesh of emotion…

Currency both malefic and supernal!

And now, snowflakes
now I tie your noose
I grind my knife to your throat
I aim my AK at your temples
Just to tell you this:

Sticks and stones can break my bones
But words will always nourish me…

Let there be commerce!

We evangelize to antagonize
these days,
failure to recognize
the humanity that we
bastardize while we
editorialize,
abandoning our personhood,
we fail to stand on love’s platform
in favor of being right,
which doesn’t always mean
correct.

The goal should be to
connect,
mayhap, to direct our
audience to our highest plane,
together.

(Arguments occur at 30,000 or 15 feet.)

But,
what happens when
planes collide in midair?
In midstream?
In mid-sentence?

What happens when
We lose our right to
be right,
because we’ve lost our
ability to listen carefully,
to speak carefully,
and to proceed,
regardless,
with kindness?

We’ve all been ordained
to the bully-pulpit.

Convinced that correctness
lives in our own mind,
written as our own gospel,
inside our own lives,
yet,
hidden inside of  
the blue glow of the #hashtag.

This,
this fools tool,
is the ordinance
of the culture war.

And, it is not
fatal,
(or maybe it is.)

is not effective,

(often)

is  not
#enough.

*
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications

Some Poets use big words
  to try and go
  where they’ve been banned

And wander esoteric
  into notions
  barred to them

They layer on the verbiage,
  hoping to become
  what they are not

And bastardize the language,
  running cold
  and never hot

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

people bastardize the dandelion
and say its just a nasty ****
but it brightens up your yard
so with you, i plead
do not fret about the dandelions
when they overtake your land
their wispy little seeds
are really wishes in your hand
how many dandelion bouquets
will it take
for you to see
that little yellow flower
is best
if just
let
be.

Surely Shirley didn’t mean to offend.
Author did she not refrain from abusing authority?
Look clearly for thou be blind!
Cruelty reeped from honesty & dignity
Blasted blasphemy! Thou art a rotten rind!
Were she worthy as some man, thy wouldn’t have chopped the hand.
Double standards fluctuate & permeate this society.
Thine eyes be blurry; for thou be blind!
Penalty penalizing from priveledge mentality.
On what basis did we bastardize women kind?

I’m not part of
  any movement

Or adhere to
  any Regent

I don’t follow
  any rules

That aren’t in most part
  my own

I don’t
  attempt to teach

Or begin
  to preach

A stronger
  thread

Than
  what you’ve sewn

I don’t typecast
  iconoclast

Or look for
  acceptance

Under the cover
  of my thoughts

In the darkness
  of my room

I don’t criticize
  bastardize

Or tear apart your
  weaving

Asking only the same
  from you

As you sit upon
  your loom

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

She was called the black widow
she could bastardize many
her skin was nearly metallic
and her spawn she did protect

Cold as the arctic winds
jealous and cruel as the midday desert sun
with the art to rip people apart
her evilness was her sweet art

Most that have met her could only surrender
many never came back from the first greeting
the ones that did come back
were never the same again

Some tried to tame her
twanging on her web
yet most that did
were eaten and the others more than dead

Leave her with her *******
that was the command
keep your sweet distance
from her heartless wicked lands


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris