"comparative" poems
On whether technology has influenced the seeming rise in mental health issues: The concept of technology as separate than Nature is impossible to pin down, but to say that a lifetime of social pressures, advertising, television, and processed and genetically altered foodstuffs would not affect what the brain is used to, and what is was designed to do, is a non sequitur. Certainly an entirely separate set of influences also had negative consequences in the brains' of pre-man, but these were not of his own making, as he still lived in an organic environment, and therefore wasn't a part of the "feedback loop" we have going on with humans becoming the products of a man-made environment (one of the only things that sets us apart from most the animal kingdom). Either way, whatever you're doing you're getting better at it, so with the increase in time spent on the web and watching TV we are increasingly better at watching other people - being passive, non-accountable, constantly comparative and self-obsessed, impotent in light of the mass of information constantly flooding towards you - which the brain was not originally intended for. This seems obvious. So the fact that some people have things like crippling anxiety and OCD, or develop anti-social disorders and the like, seems like a logical result produced by a system (the brain) presented with new and inorganic conditions. On top of that, being a non-douche is naturally and evolutionarily based because it increases the likelihood that others will want to chilll'n'stuff and help you when you need it, but when transposed onto a crowded, fast-paced modernity it twists into something like flattery and competition to appear the most altruistic.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 11:45 AM UTC
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce
everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog,
in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair
eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for
strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled
get done with weather, the crops,
the neighbors,
the weird, and the truly neighborly,
grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling,
bs’ing and tall tale telling, breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live,
open another Bud for the buds,
did I forget to mention
farm equipment?
skirt politics cause nobody wants any
nothing-to-be-done-damn-aggravation,
leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the
absent women
no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed,
but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer
as now
nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last,
a very manly-way of ordering things,
big silent pauses in the converso conversation,
guy-sighs many,
as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored,
denotating the generalized listings of
how they drive us crazy,
listing the repetition of ever changing instructions,
which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms, non-differentiating
just humanism-isms
and the peculiarities of each (a list kept)
in a compare and contrast,
an end of the day summation,
and the boasting-outbesting,
of each of their
specialisms
which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been
brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed
other than it’s now ten
and all that’s left is
to sleep, perchance, to dream,
of private things
and bigger and better
John Deere tractors
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
sure, first we had the schism
of the church & state...
"oddly" enough...
we now live in the 2nd tier
of schism -
the segregation of
state & media...
no?
really?
we're not?!
i'm kind of enjoying
this ongoing schismatics -
the segregation of church
from state, at least left us with
the Vatican (i.e. the church-state) -
but this, current...
segregation of state from
the media?
**** me cram my testicles
into a monkey-wrench
and subsequently watch me laugh...
and there i was thinking,
that psychiatrists,
were the new priests of
the secular age...
prescribing the alt. to
the metaphor of cannibalism
in the form of big pharmacological
pills, to replace the wafer for
bread,
or the watered down wine /
grape juice of the...
so how does that party trick goes?
is that the wine turned into blood?
symbolically:
turned water into wine:
flag-wise...
white,
cardinal...
and then burgundy of
cardinal red teasing the bishopric
coloring of purple?
i'm not here to undermine
the faith...
i'm here for the self-deprecating
humo(u)r...
you don't even require
atheism to get a laugh
out of the conundrum -
you, simply need...
the deviation from the catholic
rites...
an apostasy -
but sure as **** it's there...
secularism has allowed
journalism a monastic status...
first came the schism of
church from state -
which remained intact in
the church-state of the Vatican...
so... FAIL...
secondly had to come
the schism of the state from
the media...
i'm watching a schism
take place...
apparently...
the comparative concern
of church's divorce from
the state was easy,
having imploded into the Vatican...
but the divorce of
the media from the state?
apparently... not so easy...
the media is already locking-down
on obstructing the schism -
arguing from an entertainment
perspective...
a century or so later,
and still, the persistent,
media symbolism -
of crafting caricatures of
a state...
as the state embodied in
nothing more than subordination
to its will...
media is the new church...
and if the separation of the state
from the church took so long...
how much time, do you "think",
it will it take, for the state
to segregate itself, from the media
baronage?
i suspect - as much time as it
took to segregate itself from
the church's cardinal-lineage.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
EAST BOSTON, 1996
ON THE BUS
Franz Wright
It's one thing when you're twenty-one,
and I was way past twenty-one.
With unshaven face half concealed in the collar
of some deceased porcine philanthropist's
black cashmere rag of a coat,
I knew that I looked like a suicide
returning an overdue book to the library.
Almost everyone else did as well,
but I found no particular solace in this;
at best, the fact awakened some diverting speculations
on the comparative benefits
of waiting in front of a ditch to be shot
alone or in company
of others, and then whether one would prefer
these last hypothetical others
to be friends, family, enemies, total
or relative strangers. Would you hold hands?
Or would you rather like a good **** sapiens
monster employ them
to cover your genitals?
What percentage would lose bowel control?
And given time restrictions -
and assuming some still had the ability to move -
would ostracism result? Anyway,
I knew the rules on this bus.
No eye contact: the eyes of the terrified
terrify. Look
like you know where you're going,
possess ample change to get there,
and don't move your lips when you talk
to yourself: the destroyed
and sick, the poor, the hungry
and the disturbed estrange.
The badly dressed estrange, even,
and that is uncalled for. The degree
of one's power to estrange will increase
in direct proportion to the depth
of need for others. Do not cry.
This can only bring about, on the one hand,
an instant condition of banishment
from the sole available companionship, or
on the other, a near
fatal beating (one more disappointment).
Just follow the simple instruction
if you ever come here.
It's easy to remember - any idiot can do it.
Don't cry,
the world has abandoned us.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
it is done differently - more is not necessary - more of this -
is too much;
the kissing is an exploration - to a polar destination of
virtual whiteness -
to discover more than this. the kissing is not an end in and of itself - but a fjord unexplored leading to what? yes there are many different kinds of kisses - adaptations to a changing terrain - but the face, the face, the face (not just the lips),
the head entire -
is the first battle in a world war where the
opponents strengths and weakness are
literally uncovered and shape the nature of the war of the worlds
yet to come.
more than kissing, it is a speech and an interrogation;
an ********** revelation
of fine lines and small scars, a writing of a history, a history that existed unbeknownst to the explorer and thus interesting and dangerous - a history composed in a different time and place and almost in a vacuum - for kissing is impactful - outlines of footsteps on never before trodden lanes - but who prepared these paths in advance of my arrival, and was my arrival forecast or just imagined?
first time kissing oft portrayed as excited glee - but this is a grievous error - a wild display of wasted resources - it is not to meant to be pesky single shots of damp I was here where next? it is a drawing, nay, a sculpting of map to be reproduced in limited quantity for only the map rooms of the greatest museums.
each individual kiss is more than an act, but a marker
connecting the previous
to the future next -
exactly a map drawn by an explorer - meant to be shared with others who love history, discovery and women creatures.
be wary of unmarked crevasses and pools where
no one has measured the depth -
novice sailors without proper charts upon unfamiliar faces -
too oft drown or are somehow sail as lost forever.
but the notion of being the first, even if you are not the first,
is so intoxicating
for the brainstorming it provokes - the envisioning of
more than kissing but of unlocking
a new nature, creating a creation born in the intersection of two waters - where fresh waters joint the brine of the ocean -
and there are untold different kinds of waters and no two terrains though similar - are ever exactly the same.
here does my entry in my log - my journal - end - though the notation of than
is comparative and therefore unending.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 9:46 AM UTC
Gene and Jenny Taylor
Had long been man and wife
But a heinous disagreement
Took a hold upon their life
For each bemoaned their tackle
It was Gene who started first
He justified why dangly bits
Were easily the worst
“They tangle in your underwear
And twist themselves about
If I sit down in football shorts
They try to wriggle out
They chafe on nearly everything
They’re difficult to dry
And when it’s hot an humid out
They’re welded to your thigh”
Jenny swiftly countered him
“Well ***** are surely worst
For shaving is laborious
And not all lips are pursed
The periods are painful
With a week of aggravation
And we use three times the toilet roll
And cause deforestation “
But Gene had more to muster
“Well the ***** is a *******
And hiding an ********
Is a skill each man has mastered
They lead us into jeopardy
They always take the ****
And first thing in the morning
They’ve a tendency to miss”
So Jenny said “Vaginas
Are a curse between the thighs
And lady bits look monstrous
To anyone with eyes
They’re prone to thrush and fondling
And embryo gestation
***** are only any good
For use in aviation”
Gene and Jenny caught their breath
The stalemate was called
For genitals, the lips and *****
Or **** and hairy *****
Are vital to our species
More useful than they seem
And you’ll see a marked improvement
When they’re working as a team
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
800
Two—were immortal twice—
The privilege of few—
Eternity—obtained—in Time—
Reversed Divinity—
That our ignoble Eyes
The quality conceive
Of Paradise superlative—
Through their Comparative.
2.2k
100
A science—so the Savants say,
“Comparative Anatomy”—
By which a single bone—
Is made a secret to unfold
Of some rare tenant of the mold,
Else perished in the stone—
So to the eye prospective led,
This meekest flower of the mead
Upon a winter’s day,
Stands representative in gold
Of Rose and Lily, manifold,
And countless Butterfly!
2.2k
Im a normal kind of guy.
I was born in a normal house,
In a normal street,
In a normal town,
In a normal country,
to normal parents.
My normal parents paid their taxes.
My normal parents supported whatever War was happening.
My normal parents supported whatever monarch was in power.
My normal parents voted for normal political parties.
My parents were normally patriotic.
They led normal lives.
I grew up to be normal.
I went to a normal public/private school.
I had a normal ****** relationship with another boy at school.
I gained a normal education.
I chased girls and some boys as any normal boy would.
I enjoyed normal *** with girls and some boys.
I fell in love with Jazz/Folk/Blues as any normal boy does.
I fell in love with writing and reading aloud "poetry" as any normal boy does.
I fell in love with reading novels and sociology and comparative religion as any normal boy does.
I rode motorcycles as any normal boy does.
I went camping and fishing and rambling in the fields and forests
as any normal boy does.
So my teenage years passed--halcyon days--and nights,
leaving the body behind regularly.
Until I stole my first Alto Saxophone.
Was that normal?.
It certainly was compulsive.
And no shame or guilt either.
I tried,in vain to play like Charles Parker--
and failed miserably as did everyone else.
I wandered through Europe and the Near East,
and the Middle East and South East Asia--dressed in yellow.
Cooking Rice Dal Sabji Roti-everywhere I went-.
over twigs and sweet smelling cow ****
My latest horn with "the Pres"engraved on the bell.
Played My Funny Valentine sideways and upside down.
Plastic Reeds--oh--Plastic Reeds.
And pure Crystal Mouthpieces.
I sat under Gotamas tree and NOTHING happened.
Ah sweet nothing.
I was VOID of all.
Just an empty headed wanderer.
More to come
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
or like today, almost any other day like today,
but today i matched up two analogies
with cooking;
i once only stated that doing organic chemistry experiments
were like cooking,
broths of sweets and sours (esters and ammonia compounds
respectively) -
they did seem so at the time and still are,
while smashing vegetables dipped in liquid nitrogen against
the laboratory floor,
but today, almost like any other day like today
i started cooking a chicken makhani (indian butter chicken),
past the stage of frying onions, garlic-ginger paste,
past adding the spices: garam masala ground cumin chilli powder
cayenne pepper salt & pepper,
past the stage of adding butter, milk and crème fraîche,
and chopped tomatoes,
past the stage of then dipping the chicken in to let it poach for
more tenderness than if fried prior (as the recipe suggested),
then... when i noticed the spice colours diluted by the dairy ingredients
i peered into the culinary warlock’s cauldron and uttered
what fiction critics would have said of a bestseller spy novel...
‘mmm... the plot thickens.’
side dish? lemon rice.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
**Maybe this is our opportunity to finally see change
we've endured a system archaic and strange
we've watched the world revolve quicker than us
because we are stranded while the rest shift on the wheels of revolution
maybe this is the time you made that resolution
to constantly remind your brother and sister
Father and mother that that position needs a new sitter
maybe this is the time to say enough is enough
however much it instills in you fear, however tough
maybe it's the time we finally say to hell with the past
because like they say to stone nothing is cast**
*and the only thing that doesn't change is change itself
otherwise for how long will one old man exploit our insecurities?
For how long are they going to tell us that change is unsafe
A different time a different king even the monarchs say
what are we saying in our deafening silence today?
maybe this is the time to tell even the most ignorant by the country mile
that only and only a different king will dry their tears and give them a smile
we've been told he's the only man with foresight
come on,how are we to judge the rest without chances
for so long change has been a distant vibration along the threads of time
and opposition to conservatism a crime
maybe it's time for that to change too
and guess who can do that, only me and you*
**maybe it's time to flip the page for this great country to start another chapter
And it doesn't have to be all smooth a flow to happily ever after
Let other dancers step to the podium
and only then can we judge their dances
maybe it's time to another hunter we handed the arrow and bow
maybe now is the time for a different color on the rainbow
It cannot forever be a constant yellow
for even God saw however beautiful they look
the skies shouldn't always bear a sparkling mellow
sometimes the sky is cloudy, orange and most times blue
maybe it's time like I clearly think from my own view
for as a generation we are being denied the opportunity of comparative history**
*what will we tell our children happened to democracy
where did we throw, they'll ask all the resilience and efficacy?
maybe it's time to get back our country from the liberators
who use the same cuffs of the past regimes to manacle this country
and have since grown tall and firmer than palm tree
we have watched them wallow and buzz for so long
but for an idea whose time has come nothing is that strong*
**maybe it's time to save the embezzled donations and every single grant
a time to say confidently "to Hell with the tyrant"
maybe it's a time to be the change we want, the answer to all of our questions
and shove those that think we can't
maybe it's time to go past the roughing waves of conservatism as they whirl
maybe it's time to save our lovely nation
for at the moment, in very wrong hands lies the Pearl.**
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
A life spent in the comparative
Is a life spent searching
Desiring something more, something better
A thing that will meet society's approval
Everyone's approval.
If you only knew
How perfect, how flawless you seem to me
How I would never criticize you
The way I browbeat myself.
Yet you find every little thing to pick at
But you would say the same thing to me.
So why does it frustrate me?
When you complain about your hair being out of place
Your smile being crooked
Your thighs being too large
Or your nonexistent muffin top to the rest of us
But to you its omnipresent
Because I have all those things.
They are wrong with me
Not you.
Because you, by definition
Are skinnier, prettier and more likable than I am
I strive to be like you,
So maybe I could be happy.
And yet you want to change it.
Because I fear that you see me
The same way I see myself.
I will never measure up to you
But I wish you could meet your own requirements
For better than good enough.
I wish you could see yourself
Through the same lens that the world views you through.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
Some Asian folk revere the Tao
the way of Yang and Ying.
Others worship ancestors
and of Confucius sing.
Buddhists seek a one way trip
with no wish to return.
Hindus think we're born again
just not in Christian terms.
Some follow in the steps of Christ,
this life, their cross to bear.
Others say Carpe Diem
and just don't give a D*mm.
Islamiscists eschew alcohol
and never lunch on ham.
This place has many faiths and creeds
to suit our every mood.
The voodoo that you do so well
is with suspicion viewed.
The foodists are the latest cult-
a blight upon the land
like Joey chestnut at buffets
consuming all they can.
To them no cow is sacred
and wine just slakes their thirst
They walk among us and they breed
and I don''t know which is worse!
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 8:42 PM UTC
Watch who you alloy WITH/
tools you employ WITH/I emphasize
WITH/
no exaggeration/
emphatic to their exasperation/
no caption no captain all to captivating
verbose elocution what? verbose?
what ever
You write doesn't become rote/
the execution of the elocution of the words that Were spoke/
problems arose oppose deal with them aplomb/
synchronizing with flows currency is then what becomes/
electrifying with these verbs action astound/
pound for pound every now and then do a thing with a noun/
pronounced or
yet possibly you haven't notice/
surmount the insurmountable couldn't count the posers/
when most fake it you get most focus/
internalize their emotion fuel the fire ferocious/
fandom analogous?
non comparative/
A new style I guess/
tandem me and 26 The Narrative/
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 11:51 AM UTC
An inseparable companion
Caused by the interception of light
A comparative darkness
That is crystal clear in hindsight
Like the soul dictates a person
A shadow’s bed is made
From dawn to dusk, its fate is ******
into a merciless grave
For a shadow is dependent
On the laws of light
& It’s movement is restricted
To it’s suburbanite.
Its fleeting fate is understood
& yet it goes ignored
I wonder if the shadow could
End the misery it endures
Because as the day persists
Shadows continuously change
This lack of self must be felt
with a tremendous sense of pain
So as the shadow dwindles down
To the object it draws near
The entity becomes unbound
As night reclaims the hemisphere
Therefore, a life is worth the strife
The truth shall be unveiled
A shadow’s love for the night
Is one that will always prevail
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
i used to lie awake
smitten. enamored. giddy.
itemizing your sweet details
fondly reminiscing
the thought of you was too delectable to trade for sleep.
sleep is still elusive
you are still the cause
but the thought of you is sour to taste.
you unfailingly pervade my thoughts.
memories are tainted
exacerbated by the comparative sweetness they (you) once promised
i wish i could just collar you and make you hear all the things i tell myself i'd say.
until then, insomnia's got me clutched in its pitiless talons.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
Do I believe there is love?
Of course
Yet it is hard to say that I have experienced such a thing
And in that it is just as hard to try and justify to anyone that there is, in fact, love
I do not know what is sadder: That I have not experienced love or the way I am responsive to it
I know who I am supposed to love
But it is no love that I can tell
But this is the truth:
I know of hate
Hatred I believe in
Hatred I am all too familiar with
I suppose I could be so enveloped in my own self-hatred
Comparing all other things to me that I love almost anything and anyone
So from my conclusions I extract this:
Because I participate in the deepest and most strewn out of hate
I know that it exists
Therefore, love, comparative to my involvement in hate, can only lead me to an assumption:
If hatred exists, then so must love
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
I will not fast.
I will not pray,
Alone or in the company of
Fellow poets and sinner-believers,
Like when I was an awed child,
A young father,
Or a middle aged confused one.
My sins, the kind,
Words don't blot up.
When we meet next,
We, across the table,
Assuming You got a set,
A Sense of Justice or,
just Humor,
We will discuss
Comparative literature,
Comparative sinning,
I will let You know
What Your punishment will be,
Caused You have already
Informed me, of mine.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 5:55 PM UTC
*My coffee's too bitter and
The thunder and locus
Weave a song,
Dissonant to my professor's
Charlie-Brown teachings.
I should pay attention,
But the lightning illuminates my doubts.
I look around,
And I love the rain,
But I fear my peers and I
Are unharmonious.
I fear they cannot hear the storm.*
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
What man under modernity, is free?
Comparative to the peasantry preceding
We must seem to be
Shackled to a strange form
Of self-induced slavery
Jul 21, 2023
Jul 21, 2023 at 9:35 AM UTC
It was there tonight, crimson bright, pointed, starlike
driving attentions as if by divine intervention
(some said, rather, evil - that the devil had come)
inviting irregular cracks to the shield of glass between us
by which we could gauge its thickness, at last
regardless, eyes focused in darkness
on the pointed part of a blade
dodging ****** by coupé with the leg of a chair
blaming planetary alignment for the thickness of air
it was always here -
before, somewhat yellow or orange
but at such distance we could pretend it a figment
or blur on the lens, enjoying toast slices at breakfast
despite its tempestuous hold of our lives
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 9:00 PM UTC
From a distance we begin to spar.
Closely as if we compete hand to hand.
Near defeat, yet just getting started.
Far from tiring, although exhausted.
Stranger than you?
I beg your pardon.
Circling about feeling like prey?
My wish, thy will or vice?
High on life in this moment.
Low on patience, but dedicated.
Curious, not enough to falter.
Excited enough to seek the ever-after.
Aesthetically appealing seems your soul.
Conquests of this kind foreign.
Shaking equally, strength contained taking it’s toll.
Wake me not, enjoying the post and beam.
Positive you are in theory.
Pessimism my motto.
Half full you see life.
Half empty I accept it.
You speak of a sequal and I smile ear to ear.
Comparative framework isn’t too much.
I've found comfort in the strange sojourner.
Equally I believe in such.
Your interests contain me.
Your mind worth exploring.
Who peaked whom?
Where did this start?
I felt the look you gave and saw it completely.
Tremble not for fear is not what I wish to bring.
Combined as one our best foot forward.
Musical words as if we sing.
March 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
*currently poland has a catholic conservative organising party of power, which means you'll get great pop hits like: africa by t.o.t.o. in clamour karaoke format... kara oke... new form of hara kiri... get that ******* mike into the wheat fields and bury it! so inventing new japanese phrasing... KARA OKE means plagiarising a song so so hard, that arteries start bulging out of your neck... which makes sense to never spot it on opera singers... because they're bubbly bubbles phat... pass me the hairbrush... i'm about to shing in the singing cubicle of running water.*
there's a reason why
rock stars et al.
are famous...
they're basically crowd
control, crowd control
stewards, pacifiers
of the mob who have
a guillotine hidden
under one girl's skirt...
and aristocrats don't like
that... no precious...
so now in encore all together:
CLAP IF YOU'RE HAPPY
CLAP HAPPY CLAP IF YOU'RE HAPPY;
****** my pants i did,
thinking it out... feels good
to not feel jealous about
such professions designated a stage
and a thank you speech,
but oddly enough such crowd
control professions attract the biggest
dross of jealousy...
while the one hundred and ten year old
sikh guy keeps jogging, at his age so fast,
that his turban falls off...
no one's jealous of him;
he's got twenty great-grandchildren
and i'd rather be jealous of that...
the definite concentration of mortality
extending into a comparative blink of a god.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC