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Lorem Ipsum Nov 2017
Psychic spies from China
Try to steal your mind's elation
And little girls from Sweden
Dreams of silver screen quotation
And if you want these kind of dreams
It's Californication

It's the edge of the world
And all of western civilization
The sun may rise in the East
At least it settles in the final location
It's understood that Hollywood
Sells Californication

Pay your surgeon very well
To break the spell of aging
Celebrity skin is this your chin
Or is that war your waging

First born unicorn
******* soft ****
Dream of Californication
Dream of Californication

Marry me girl be my fairy to the world
Be my very own constellation
A teenage bride with a baby inside
Getting high on information
And buy me a star on the boulevard
It's Californication

Space may be the final frontier
But it's made in a Hollywood basement
Cobain can you hear the spheres
Singing songs off station to station
And Alderaan's not far away
It's Californication

Born and raised by those who praise
Control of population everybody's been there and
I don't mean on vacation

First born unicorn
******* soft ****
Dream of Californication
Dream of Californication

Destruction leads to a very rough road
But it also breeds creation
And earthquakes are to a girl's guitar
They're just another good vibration
And tidal waves couldn't save the world
From Californication

Pay your surgeon very well
To break the spell of aging
Sicker than the rest
There is no test
But this is what you're craving

First born unicorn
******* soft ****
Dream of Californication
Dream of Californication


By Anthony Kiedis / Michael Balzary / John Anthony Frusciante / Chad Smith
Californication lyrics © MoeBeToBlame
Jose Remillan Nov 2013
Miley** spoke it all.
Her twerking weakens
Wonder but renders

Gender to the stupid
**** generation.
Miley spoke it all.

The West won the
Sino-fantasy, infested
With myth of might,

An apple's bait, all
Has a bite.  The west won.
Wealth as a boon, akin to

Hard ****, faith as
Soft ****. "All that is
Solid melts into air;

All that is holy is profaned."
Marx wrote it all.
Miley spoke it all:

Californication.
Call it fornication.
The quoted words are from Dr. Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto; p. 23, Oxford classics translation.
This piece is dedicated to Prof. ROBERTO M. UNGER, Harvard Law Faculty.
In memory of MICHEL FOUCAULT.
Harvard University, Boston MA.
November 4, 2013
California....I love to hate this place,
Gas prices high people getting high on a false sense of reality....lets get it right

Exotic cars and intellectual flaws
Riding down the boulevard

****, can I drive without the admonishment of getting far..?

Dreams of impacting the world one country at a time
Schemes of people full of vanity, fallacies that aren't mine...

Can I dance with the moonlight like King Harvest and not be sued for human rights...?

The waves of excitement once stimulated my thoughts, Filled with nightmares and dreams a southern jezzabelle once taught...

What can you do for me and what I can't do for you; the nightlight just caught...

Yet I remain humble, though I stumble through the golden coast that boast dreams a civil war couldn't  fault...

Dreams of californication....with laid back sentiments and pornification...

Can I wake up from this guitar riff of fornication?

Yet I Vibrate....And marinate on this pointification...
Adellebee Oct 2012
Blackbird singing in the dead of night,  
Raven calling from the sky
Bluebirds calling from summer
Seagulls squawking from the alley

I have found something I lost
The state of euphoria is crumbled as your heart breaks
I lost a time when life was simple, when wondering was lustful
Instead found a time of hardship and unsettled communities
Sometimes I think what if the yellow brick road never continued to Oz
And if the clouds were always supported by blue
Californication with out the fault.
A witness to the empty sky
Chris Voss Jul 2014
When he entered the room, she was naked. She sat stripped of her mythology and the bare curves of her hips made his hands shake. He hid them in his pockets like seizures in winter and told himself it was just the morning coffee.

"Jesus Christ..." His jaw slacked and tightened and he waited for a response; something witty like, odd time to pray or not quite, but maybe his cousin or oh, honey, he moved out years ago, but we still get his mail.
But soon waiting gave way to waiting, as waiting is wont to, and things became uncomfortable. Her deadbolt eyes. She blinked in slow motion, no lash out of place, and he felt foolish.

See, he never expected her to be a woman, and he almost said as much, had the look on her face not shut him up beautifully. Besides, at this point he was pretty certain that cities definitely don't speak--not English anyway--and even then, his concrete dialect was, at best, as atrocious as cracked pavement. He lisped with too much wind and not enough asphalt.

He looked around for somewhere to sit but the only chair wasn't even really a chair, it was a stool with a questionable third leg that sat over-turned and tucked in the far corner and he found himself at an impasse. Retrieving it would not only involve taking his hands from their linen hideaways, but she hadn't even offered him a seat and he didn't want to be rude; he being a man of manners with the cotillion lessons to prove it. On the other hand, there was a more-than-decent chance that his knees would buckle at any moment. He cleared his throat.

"May I?" he motioned and crept around her with a weird, dainty tip-toe. He would later reflect on and regret this odd step choice because it was undeniably ladylike, unlike this lady whose face seemed carved from marble and gave nothing away; she just cast her eyes slightly downward. He uprighted the chair that wasn't really a chair and checked the sturdiness of the questionable leg and shrugged in questionable approval and dragged it back to where he was and returned his hands to where they were and felt, aside from the girly walk, that went surprisingly well.

So it was in silence that he was left to sit. Sit and think. Think about small things, trivial ****. He thought about the small stain on his pants and hoped to God it was toothpaste. He thought about the itch in the dead center of his back where he can never scratch without looking like he has a severe case of cerebral palsy. He thought about his pockets, full of trembling leaves that fluttered with spare change winds and hung delicately from his autumn tree arms. He thought about bigger things too, like how if two people on exact opposite ends of the earth simultaneously each dropped a piece of bread, for a brief moment the whole world was just a really big sandwich. But mostly he thought about the difference between hard and mean.

Hard is the bottomless tumblers of American dream fathers, breathing scotch like fire and promises that were only ever half-way held true. But mean... Mean is a different kind of machine entirely. Mean, he realized, is one solid kick in the nuts past hard. Hard is when your ice cream drops mid-lick and falls in the cinematic drama of a-hundred-and-twenty frames per second to the unforgiving pavement, and even though there is a split seconds chance to reach out and catch it, you don't because, let's face it, sticky hands are gross. But mean is the little junior sonofabitch dog that comes a-waddling on in, laps up your deliciously sweet sidewalk treat and stares you right in the face while he does it. Mean makes you realize the sticky fingers would have been worth it. And before he could decide which category this Angel City would fit in, she stood, with a slight smile curling at the corner of her mouth and one hand behind her back. She slinked over to him with snake ankles and reached out and ran her fingers along his jawline and hooked his chin upward and kissed him.

It wasn't the delicate, thin-lipped kiss of embarrassed virgins and ex-stripper-turned-born-again-Christians. It also wasn't the Californication kiss filled with carnal tongue that he might have expected had the idea that she was going to do anything but intimidate the utter **** out of him even crossed his mind. It was somewhere between the two. Between shelter and apocalypse.  Viperous with a tinge of motherly protection (which, actually, gave him some confusing feelings). When she pulled away he felt the slight clink of metal against his teeth.

A bullet. Round and smooth, he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and watched his fingerprint peel off and mark the lead skin with little, oily mazes. He looked up to her, unsure of what to say or what to make of whatever the hell just went down. She stared silently because, you know, that's her thing and he felt he had to say something because, you know, manners.

"I thought we said no gifts." He laughed. She didn't. He felt like an idiot immediately. Then, like the other half heart of a best friend necklace, she drew from her back a snub-nosed revolver. Her thumb flicked with outlaw elegance and the empty chamber rolled open.

"Let's play a game."
It was all she said. He didn't pay attention to whether she spoke in impeccable English or if the words were lit in the electric neon of Sunset Boulevard. It didn't matter and he didn't care. He didn't even notice when he took the gun and slid the round in until after he spun the chamber and slung it shut. When she lifted his arm without touching him and he felt like he was her marionette. When the snub nose found it's way to his mouth, he was certain of it. The feeling of the metal barrel against his bare teeth made his skin crawl and his stomach turn, yet even still he grinned.

He grinned because he saw his hand and his hand grinned because it wasn't shaking, not anymore.

He grinned and cocked the hammer back.
©2014
Jonathan Beale Dec 2014
The dream state number one
The caught artist within the vortex
A drowned state and lost soul
As the eyes swirl and look up
And look up until they drop
A strange aridity covers the flesh
Gauze revealing the idea
Leaving enough hidden.
The final trip - californication?
The restaurants’ in New York
Blatantly bare. Now Iconography
Undersigned scarcely unmade up
The deep eyes plundering a life
Through an eye for art maybe
Taken from the mesh.
part of a longer poem this is stanza 3 out of 4 however each stanza do/can stand alone.
Shula E Nov 2011
I miss having you around to say the little things you would say to me, to make it ok. Sweet little lies, perhaps. Perhaps not.

I miss your eyes, with that twinkle inside, with the exclamation points after them, with those crinkles on the edges, especially when you are all vulnerable and cuddly. Funny the weird details that come back up in your memories.

I miss interrupting and correcting you, in the rudest way possible.

I miss you correcting me and then I will pout and give you the saddest eyes and make you laugh at my childishness.

I miss how you looked and pointed at me 2 inches from my face on the bed, and declared, “i LIKE you”.

I miss watching Californication with you, propped up on pillows.

I miss eating junk food and beer while we watch cool youtube videos in the evenings or the mornings.

Or cracking up to a comedy skit.

Sitting with wine at 4am wolfing down tortilla chips, turning over existential ideas in our minds.

I miss you soaping my body in the shower and I miss soaping yours and I miss you making love to me everywhere we did.

On the counter In the closet Against the door On the couch In the shower On the toilet seat down On a mountain downhill Against trees in the forest In your childhood bedroom On the beach In a tent On a log bridge over a brook In the center of a woods clearing

I wanted you to Take me

everywhere.

I miss the forced cigarettes in the cold winter air, or the muggy summer

I miss our trips through this grubby city, trudging through autumn leaves and stopping in clothing stores and markets and city squares, staring at musicians and artists with admiration and jealousy, and bakeries to get your pastry fix and buying hats,pretending we’d last til the winter.

I miss our secret getaways and gossip sessions.

I miss painting and bleeding and dancing and crying and smoking and drinking and singing karaoke and slobbering and running and stopping and stalling and slumping and getting lost.

I miss fantasizing of alternative realities and cities undiscovered. I miss your wisdom-filled advise given to me, and my childlike prudity you brought out of me.

I miss shoving you playfully and skipping down a road together. I miss the smell of Doves men’s soap on your skin and the bristle of your chest hair- the just the right amount of – against mine, smooth.

It was a spectacular Love affair, one for the records for sure. How i miss playing with you>>> How i wish we can play All the time, and keep it quiet so that Reality cant hear us, wild and reckeless, and I’ll grow up on the side of all of it, and you too, if you can, But all the while leaving me behind with you in our eternal playroom, making love in all the ways we did…

One little Two little Three little Indians….
Butch Decatoria Apr 2017
Raised in So. Cali.
Those early 80's on the beach,
When reggae birthed the bass
Subwoofer heart beats
And poetry woven into the flow
Open mics
Yo Spoken Word!
Rap as verse to mTVs

Bittersweet symphonies

When brothers were too heavy
Living in the hood,
And my friends
Ricky and Richy
And Ricks
Richard
****
Have no riches / wealth
Drawing blondes
For non
boys
In the cartoon
Landscape of generation
gap
Not so trendy cool
Unless master Richy
Loud animated riches
Mr. Rich
If I only knew
If richness
Lets you

Then Come be one of every

Minority
Say they can see

His friends-collection
From unique
Reserves
The wild
Child
Around the world
each birthday party here

His pals his country
Their diversities not his equal
As stereotypes
Subterfuge

Cliche
Equality pursuant to Freedom
So says the people

This that is
Priceless,

Enjoying tangerine days
Sinking in the golden
Tropicana
And cold colbalt

Blue bloods
In a darkening sea

The sky bleeding
Only with the life of the sun,
Where in spirit

Oh summer Lovin' nights

Cooling the boardwalks
dynomite!
Beach kin
skins
A many golden
Tans and the scent of
Paradise
Florals and cocoa butter
brine...
Tight fit bodies
Chrome shiney
Tanning oils

The summer wafting

Sensual
Through our basking
In rhythmic sync

From early days
Those happy days
Then when I was tween
On my Schwinn

Gliding
like the wind

Dollar movies
Sand and some kind
Of wonderful

The most radical arcade!
Raised a native son

By marriage
I am a mix into one
A people
My face
Has a race,
I am islander
Fisher King

Golden lion with
Interstellar wings

Please Call me Fishsparrow's
Dreaming

Though summer hues
My skin accused
Unmoved
Unclaimed
I'm a Golden Mango

Among the Californication-Ing

Indian Summer's with a
Torquois bottom pool
I could pass for Hawaiian
Most dark Mistiso do...

Raised in California
We are as golden
As the landscape

Americana

I'm laid back
As California as the cheese
We got the beef cake
80s to 90s to Kpop to Goa

The flavoring
Of caramel flesh
Sweet sweat
Footloose
Skinny jeans
**** undulations
Body
Surfing
Those summer waves

Toward our Nuevo
Fluorescent future
Opulence
So free and quite
Brilliant

The light
With life experienced

Fearless with Midnights
We Conqueror sunrise

The days I reminisce
When childhood bliss
did not die
Just down for a nap

New cats' days
Turning tomorrow making
bacon
Brown skin
My Soleils
Beaches
Soothing Mists

Breath of Suns' kisses:
Wakes of oceans
Peace

Oh

Now I lay me down to dream
I pray the Lord
To help me wake...


Every new day
So thankfully
Experience every divinity

That thou love
Doth make


Alive without regret
Of and by the sea
I'm raised

I grew up
California
                  golden
As is
silence

And Making love  

With You
Early morning.... On the beach

Life arisen.
For light means Day!
Good morning
Glory

A louder Grace
Beloved
Will
Shall listen...
Jammin to Californication,
While The Zephyr hums a tune.
While it may be to early for a Monarchy, the Roses are finally in bloom.
Selcæiös Feb 2018
//I swear I just have the same subconcious pattern every time with just waiting when I'm bordering extinction --
like maybe on someone throwing a lifesaver ?

I'm literally someone's-accidental-bumping away from
falling off this escarpment,
A selcouth flower-drenched meadow just last week,
now all-of-the-sudden barren and pretty grim plateau


On the edge of extinction,
Do you retreat, or put up your last fight?


I feel an urge to dismiss all and jump off the edge.
Besides, Extinction is probably the name of our parellel realm.
and they probabaly say
"be careful! you're on the edge of Reality."//


But that’s just a lone-sweet picturesque visualization from my esteemed friend, Imagination.
Sadly, yes, everything just mentioned was just daydreams occuring while sparking others’ sangfroid.


So when this little Miss Cure-Chaser
finally gets a breath-

n it’s honestly usually more like half;
I realize that I just gave out the last drop
of my spirit’s nature to a stranger

when I realize this,
I also see that
no one paid heed to
the healer in need of healing
bastardized by the Real-Life
Nightmare of Californication

I forget the grace
residing in my survival;
When I’m all dished out,
When healing’s lost my fervor,
Scorching my lovely Fylgja.
Meanwhile my soul’s alongside
taking it’s toll, it’s Californication.

I throw on my once-was, back of the closet
Hot Mess resolution
a Way-Too-Tight black dress
And a shoe-like lace up back.
I turn to the mirror, and as I wink I say **** it.
It’s Californication,
and I’m its ******* Counterrevolution.
my superpower's in that dress.
Brody Thompson Oct 2016
I guess I need to confess that this immaculate mess is mine
I'm blessed with the burden that's so divine
Like growing vines that encase you
Replace who makes you wait two times as long
Rhyme a song, find a **** and hoot it
Life's the ****, so shoot it
Who knew that you would be
So blue doing what you were created for
I hate it more than I love it
Covet not
Pop shove it
Stop taking all the credit
Or I'll edit you out
Embedded in doubt
Have you ever drowned in a drought?
Some people call it the pasties
The way they see me is their own business
I live this particular way
Because it was how I was made
Blame the manufacturer
Mother nature fractured her brain
The rain, it cleanses
Life through new lenses
This world needs a bath
To wash away the senseless
Defenseless against the dark arts
There's hard parts of the head
Starts out red
But it slowly flows from a blood rose to burgundy
Heard it from me
The colour pallet awaiting the paint canvas
**** this train of thought went from Katmandu to Kansas
I cant stand this
How its all jumbled and mumbled together
Whether or not it fits the plot is obsolete
Not so sweet with the transitions as far as the topic goes
It stops it goes
It's hot it's cold
I do not know where these thoughts grow
Though I'm content with whatever the noggin sent
To the mouth hole
Like my vocabulary got a toboggan sled
And rode it to the south pole
Faster than Clark Griswald with his fancy *** sled wax
That tore down the mountain with lightning speed
It's frightening we'd
Do something so unrealistic because we sit
Amidst this oblong box
Listen to these odd, long talks
And say hey, they did it, why cant we
How bad could it be?
National lampoon did it flawlessly.

I thought that he was going to discuss
What the fuss is about
But now, how wide we've strayed
Played his word game
This is an absurd sane
Must be crazy
But it don't phase me
Cause I know one day, you'll have nothing to say
And you'll attempt to paraphrase me
Saves me the head and the heart ache
Taking the time to lay low
In this forsaken day glow
Swim over to Havana
Have a banana with Jose Conseco
Hey go on and on
Like donkey kong
Sing me the donkey song
You know, by blue rodeo?
Oh we go on for days
In this phase of saying whatever comes to mind
Have some of mine
The thought process of this confession
Was nothing but
What?
Merely electricity
Created almost instantly
The consistency as you can see
Is never there but I never care
Ever stare at your own hands when you're not high
I am every single line that my thumb has defined
Deoxyribonucleic acid trip
Hey hey hey that just mean DNA
We can play because of this double helix
I can feel it
So surreal its as though I know myself through code
I could explode and I would be only mathematically scattered
I'm flattered that you might feel bad but you're
Overthinking it
Trust me I know
Because I have the capacity
Not to let me demons show
Its me that goes all this way
Monthly second Sundays
To say whatever the hell I have to
Have a laugh or two
Between these increments of sadness
This attraction to madness
Is tearing me limb from limb
Not being a simpleton
It's not an easy task
Ask me about the weather
And I'll mentally kick your ***
PASS
On to the next subject
Ejected that last *** hat because
He was too plain yogurt
If I could have a super power
It would be a one punch, with no hurt
Just to assert logic and rationality
To take you out of your shoes
And place you in reality
Now that we can free you of your amigo
The ego
Can we go on with this metamorphosis
And realise how **** poor this is
Of course this is not the zenith
To how we live
It's a semi civilized society at best
Dividing and devising
Study for the riot test

Curve your enthusiasm with a lyrical ******
Have em once a day like vitamins
The devil, I'll invite him in
Just to look and see what evil truly wants from me
Haunting me constantly
Cant we see that these demons
Even though they're within us
We cannot let them win us
Thus, Me.
I befriend the deep end
The creatures of the week end
We spend a tremendous part of living
Not forgiving ourselves
For **** we had no control over
I'm ******* over it
No longer sober
For I've felt the weight without a crutch
It's such a heavy head to carry
Variables and hairy situations
Enter the train station
Every single person here needs a brain vacation
Its the moderation that gets me in trouble
Double the dose it goes slower the time
When you're intertwined with cloud nine
I'm proud that I have recognized
What resides inside of me
Leo is the lion
But I have no pride to be
The drunken king of the jungle
Iron fist in a stumble
Mumble something dumb?Full of myself but I can still be humble
Dumbledore's sorting hat would slither me in
To slitheryn
For what consists inside of me
I need something to wither in
Considering the very thing that keeps me here is fear.

So to the wolves, throw me
They'll treat me like Mogli
So rogue, I know there's no home to go to
Though I know where I don't belong
I cannot be wrong
I am crucial to the universe?Believe it till I'm in the hearse
Because the worst is always right there?Don't agree
We don't have a word for good dreams,
Cause all we know are nightmares
And I care about it all
I feel the globe in my dome
Actually the galaxy
Is right inside my iris, see?
He who tries to convince me otherwise
With realise that these teal eyes
Keep me safe inside these surreal lies
Why?
Well to recreate this spoken poem
I think I'm from a broken home.
Not in the aspect that my dad wrecked
What it means to be a father.
I could bring it up, but **** it,
Why should I even bother.
But what I meant to mean is this,
And I ain't trying to diss,
Mom gets involved with a man with money
This life is a joke
And ****, its not funny.
He drinks, he drives, he can't see his greed.
He's the reason Alice Cooper wrote
Only Women Bleed
Needed a way out, maybe an outlet
Out to get out of it, and I'm **** well proud of it
How?
Because I get to portray the way you see me.
I don't manifest the detested specimen I'm in.
In fact, I act according to whatever state your head is in.
I'd rather adapt than have to illustrate where the hate originates.
Open the flood gates and explain why the bud makes me feel great.
I'm not okay, and that's just fine.
I wouldn't ask for another life, I want mine
Cause when you combine
Pain and pleasure
It's something you can't measure
You pass gas and someone acts like you're a national treasure.
Better to be loathed for how you help your head
Than to be loved for every little word you've said.
Instead of getting upset, I just like to get high.
It's more socially appropriate
Opposed to sitting inside to cry.
I'm over it, the sober, it's
No life for me
I'd like to see
The colours that only live inside my fantasized make believe
Why??Because I'm alive, god ******
I can live in moderation
You need to work hard to get that californication
No predestination
I create what I want to know
For it goes to show this
Life is thinking that we know bliss
Robbed of what we long for
As if we don't notice
But it's this ******* that we call self
That calls you a ***** and you don't need no help
Because in the end if you depend upon anyone but you
You're hoping that another soul with get you through
Whatever happens to occur
Sure we all could use assistance
But when it's persistent
Then what
Putt putt putt like the little train
Who couldn't do anything by himself
Who would often complain
Drive everyone insane
Till the coffin's a gain
Hey that aint me.

I'm looking for the middle ground
A happy little place where I can make a little sound
So profoundly wound up
I'd hate to unravel
We all want stability
With the ability to travel
To the far off lands that no man has tampered with
To get the whiff of damp air
That the rains just gave you
It will save you
The grave, dude, is a way that you
Give back to the world
And as your body unfurls,
Your presence does not.
Physically you are distant
But never in thought.
Who you are, and what you do,
Will live on
So live long, as long as you can.
Sell your ****, quit your job and buy yourself a van,
And when you get to the end, lend it to some man
Who truly believes he has nothing more to see.
For this man was you.

This mind set, I've sorry, guessing you've been lured in.
I'll leave you to rest
Of the Blessing and the Burden.
kyle Shirley Jan 2015
as watch myself become infinite, the days go on by myself in the loop day in and day out the same thing over and over again sleep, work, by myself, sleep, work, alone. This infinite loop is a struggle, although I don't see myself in this loop forever, I don't know how to change it. I know where I want to be, I know what I can be, it's the motivation I don't know how to grasp.to whom that is reading this I have a question to ask you. Have you ever seen a TV show called Californication? The main character is named Hank Moody, is a writer alone in LA, with a daughter, chasing after his ex, who runs into the arms someone she cheated for. He can't write, he has no aspirations, no motivation. but we watch as he drowns himself in smoke, *****, and alcohol. It's so entertaining to the viewer because he is a walking case of misery and self-loathing. It makes ourselves seem like our lives are so much better, When they're really not. the strange thing is I see myself becoming Hank Moody and not the viewer, I get excited over new ***** but it doesn't fill the hole that I had for another. So my life becomes an endless loop. Work, sleep, ****, drink, alone, repeat.
infinite.
Deepa Ravi Apr 2018
Revisiting a memory...

A time when the world meant something different.
Sitting in my sister’s room, watching her stack her CDs.
I always remember the room being messy. The cupboards are flung open and I can see heaps of books and clothes.
Shell chimes hung from the ceiling. Lavender and white.
With the 4 O’ clock sun streaming in through the window, I remember feeling happy.
Happy for being there.
It always meant a lot to be in her room.
Red Hot Chili Peppers are playing Californication and I just can’t think of anything that would make me happy at the moment.
Soon it will be dark and I will no longer feel the sun’s warmth on my face.
I think amma is making tea.
The smell of sweet ginger tea is wafting through the hallway.
I hear girls playing outside.
Today I don’t want to join them.
At least not right away.
I had to be here.
Feeling warm and fuzzy.

What worries did I have?
Michael Marchese Feb 2019
Defeated in depression
In your lonely little life
Trapped within a world of others
Since the one you knew is rife
With inequality, injustice
Inconvenient truth denies
And weaponized disinformation states
Of lies and data spies
Now analyze the Analytica
Chlamydia contagion
Viral marketing campaigning
Stagnant wage a war
Sensation
Burning Californication
To diffuse the situation
At the border firewall
Just spark another conflagration
Global changes uninstalled
But still enthralled are the spectators
Haters waiting on a savior
To deliver Hunger Games
And ever in their favor wager
That a litany of killing spree
Appeases free for all to see
And that the guilty party be
News feeding, eating your I.D.
Until the next, same old reboot
Loots pockets like colluding suits
And muted destitutes
Excuse the Pruitt's crude pollutants
When it's Houston under water
Flint still sippin' on the squalor
Slaughter stains our hands in Yemen
Where the kids are cannon-fodder
But your daughters and your sons
Are safe
Your belly's full
You're not displaced
So waste each waking second
On your daily fake intake
You're only making the stakeholders'
Promise
Easier to break
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2023
Dread annihilation
Feel it bearing down
Californication
Not a man of much renown

Gratitude and terror
Both spin inside my soul
Time in isolation
80s rock n' roll

Empires decay
Ages pass like mist
San Francisco fog
Politics persists

3737
I holler out your name
Colorado Rockies
Tarquatto Tasso fame

                 Missing!
Butch Decatoria Sep 2020
Beach city by the cool sea
not so easy city
not too busy, too ******, or greasy city

to take off
your shirt
to feel the breezy city.
Where I am
curiously lost in,
excitably exploring eagerly
Asphalt-hard city  
different from my boyhood memory,

It’s not so scary-big city,
Was a great place to grow-up
kind of city
open roads for bike rides
on my schwinn,
A safe suburban city
By the sea,

A successfully savvy
sophisticated city
evolved from understanding
Historically
Downtowns Pity
the fools illegally crossed,
O’er border walls, while
Chaps are diggy
In the Navy city,

A city of girls who can be
as manly and boys are as
pretty, gritty
city / of individuality
like a quirky
cousin, *****,
A brotha, niece
with Cali.-valley speak! city.

There’s so much i want to see,
learn and believe in
this lush green city,
i am a long lost twin city
just a baby,
friendly city, ******* your full *****
city

care for me daily,
wish me luck a lotto city,
even in my muck and ****** ditties,
unconditionally cradling me
with love
this LEGO city
In crisp morning fog,
californication
Tour sea world and the Zoo,
Old town wanderlust
While Carmen’s on the trolley.

San Diego by the sea,
I Heart you
City
in my blood,
this city by the beach
This city
that I love...
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2023
Dread annihilation
Feel it bearing down
Californication
Not a man of much renown

Gratitude and terror
Both spin inside my soul
Time in isolation
80s rock n' roll

Empires decay
Ages pass like mist
San Francisco fog
Politics persists

3737
I holler out your name
Colorado Rockies
Tarquatto Tasso fame

                 Missing!

— The End —