"compensated" poems
there's ethical idealism:
where ethics is discussed...
there's ethical relativism:
where ethics is practised...
there's ethical realism...
where ethics is quantified
as an improbability;
and then there's ethical
absolutism,
where we supposedly
"progress" -
in this scenario are
the laws of physics actually
suspended:
whereby oculus qua oculus
is replaced -
a loss of an eye is "relative"
to 10 years in a cage...
really?!
ethics is
ideal, realistic, absolute or relative...
we're encouraged to live
in "realistic relativism"...
never in an absolute realism,
since realistic relativism
only compares itself
to ideal absolutism...
and nothing more...
ever watched that film
secrets in their eyes?
you ever wonder what
ethical idealism is to the ethnical
consequence that can absorb
a realistic libra?
i can only believe in
ethical absolutism,
ethical relativism is horrid to me...
relativism adorns idealism,
absolutism adorns realism...
a life sentence is worse than
a death sentence,
whether justified or not,
prison is sadism,
but at least ****** is simply ******
a space-time intact,
a ****** penalty is not
inhumane, nor a ouija board...
it's time for time,
space for space,
the actual punishment comes
with the missing adrenaline rush
of the unexpected reception of the wielded
weapon...
either send these jealous plonkers to
siberia, or sentence them to death,
for you are no more than they are,
nay, you are more...
you're akin to cats toying,
playing a sadistic games with half-mutilated
mice...
this is why i abhor
ethical relativism of the crucifix...
hence my belief in ethical
absolutism in the paragraph of realism,
which is perfected, by
being exacted, and never, ever,
being leisurely discussed,
on a farcical palette with a grimace
to boot: ******* a lemon;
compensating the horrors within
minutes, is never compensated
with ordeals that last years...
which is why i find the death penalty
an act of authentic humanity,
and not this quasi-humanitarian
act of pardon, ******* hypocrites -
i abhor the caged rat
more than the rat gladly nibbling
on a dead corpse...
at least there was passion
in the ******
waiting for death penalty is like killing
a vermin with poison,
disposing them with nonchalantly...
the wise maxim states:
ledo ferrum sicut id est calidi -
strike the iron while it's hot...
death is the dawn-broker -
a new tomorrow promise -
left intact, the fermenting process
of ethical dynamism takes over...
then again,
the supposedly "evolved"
preferred moral relativism to moral
absolutism,
because there was no
moral realism to speak of,
since morality could only
be talked about in ideal terms of
the supposedly so, supposedly
fashioned via: it ought to never happen to
me...
and then it might, and then:
oops... argument sinks like a wet fatty ****
into shambles of keeping up with
the presupposed pillar of argument
being "impenetrable";
hey, genius, back to the blackboard!
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
So Putin helps Trump win an election
And subsequently feels elated.
He is still anticipating
How he will be compensated.
Who are the ones who cheer and clap
As Putin takes a victory lap?
Watching the Trump administration
Blame and distrust the FBI
Also tickles Putin as Trump
Makes it a target to vilify.
Watch Putin cheer and clap
As he takes a victory lap.
When Trump says he doesn't believe
Our intelligence agents here
But eagerly accepts whatever
Putin tells him, one thing's clear:
Trump is willing to cheer and clap
As Putin takes a victory lap.
When Russia starts a conspiracy theory
And blames Ukraine for election meddling,
Many Trumplicans here believe
The devious lies that the Kremlin is peddling.
How can Americans cheer and clap
As Putin takes a victory lap?
When Trump speaks with the president
Of Ukraine and crudely tries to extort
Favors from the Ukrainians
And threatens to pull U.S. support,
Putin supporters cheer and clap
As Putin takes a victory lap.
As here we see a chilling loss
Of democratic values, we
Will ask ourselves whatever happened
To hope and opportunity.
Who then will cheer and clap
As Putin takes a victory lap?
-by Bob B (12-12-19)
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 9:28 AM UTC
Creatively wit, artistically gifted -
politically inclined to design any archetype of freedom and how a woman should hold her head up high, like the almighty God she is.
Able to disfigure the illusions and misconception that the media and other forms of capitalistic control, teach her fellow sisters and Queen.
Prove to them that not only are they more than this 'sex symbol',
And being blind to this facts, just helps perpetuate the conditioning of self-hate,
that you're not light enough or too dark - you're just something that helps the sun shine on their fare skin.
And you're ****** is worth nothing more than it was compensated fo' 450 years ago,
to birth being that yet again go through the cycle of supremacy.
But you say,
**** ALL THAT -
I'm a Queen, GOD IS SHE.
So kiss my fat *** and my appletree.
Because me and my sisters sill no longer accept your misogynistic disrespect and immoral, emotional neglect.
Your referendums for ****** favors in exchange what is due me, ****** freedom and freedom to do whatever the **** I please.
And ever since I saw those defining characteristics in thee,
Since, I've always respected you as my Queen.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
I am a hoarder
You may not see it at first sight.
My clothes, pressed and wrinkle-free
My shoes, freshly polished
Not a single hair misplaced
but I am a hoarder
My room, though, is spotless
Not a book out of place
Every little thing in its own little case
but I am a hoarder
No, I do not collect used up shoes and stack them in a pile
nor do I have a hard time throwing out broken down furniture
Nothing around me sitting for more than awhile
No, I am a special kind of hoarder
The lack of mess you see on the outside
has been compensated by the mess I sleep in every night
I collect dust-filled memories and broken down dreams
some, too broken to be recognised
I stack expectation upon shattered expectation in a pile too high for me to move without it falling
I have tried countless of times to move out the pieces of what used to be plans and pictures of the future,
The storybook fairytale love stories have lost its luster,
now they sit next to overused ideas I still try to play once in a while,
but it seems to get stuck on repeat all the time,
and I try to explain that hoarding isn't just on the outside, but something worse when it's within
The inability to let go of the past, so I keep them hidden
and no one would notice, not one bit what I am
I am a hoarder
of the worst kind
I do not hoard things,
but something far much more unkind
Pages upon pages of sleepless nights
trying to make my burnt up mind and second-hand run down heart to work alright,
Cause I know I've tossed too many out on the bed
to even try to count how many are still left unread,
I am a hoarder
compulsive, emotional, restless.
and much more than I'm willing to confess.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
1180
“Remember me” implored the Thief!
Oh Hospitality!
My Guest “Today in Paradise”
I give thee guaranty.
That Courtesy will fair remain
When the Delight is Dust
With which we cite this mightiest case
Of compensated Trust.
Of all we are allowed to hope
But Affidavit stands
That this was due where most we fear
Be unexpected Friends.
2k
Can't you feel my screaming heart?
I feel all yours and it's unbearable
To know everyone's intention may seem ineffable
Though my passion is emotion and empathy my art
Dwelling silent in a crowded room
To the right a pursuit of lust
And my left a lack of trust
Empty grins with their facade and doom
Another item has been stolen
My peers in an unknowing uproar
I see the culprits guilt pour
From his weary eye and coven
The ***** swoons the love of an unworthy patron
She gazes at me with a tempting question
Attempting to construct my envy and affection
My will is stronger than that seducing notion
The lonely man makes a joking inquisition
All the rest see it as a laughable gesture
I look with sad eyes to see his slouching posture
He wants to die in his pathetic position
The muscle bound dunce smacks his lips
Glorified as the acrobatic conversationalist
Strapped men in shackles and girls can't resist
His compensated shortage of yays and yips
A quiet smile looks on with a perfect mask
Playing pretend with an inglorious burden
Faking a life inside of her chaotic garden
Of hollow theatrics in which she basks
There goes the lad with his flippy hair
The little ladies want a picture with the fellow
Oh you're so rad the flocking lasses bellow
And, you wonder why I don't seem to care?
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
i like the communism acknowledged by ants
and terminites,
but that brothel bit where
we plagiarise lions
just to get islam?
**** that, let’s try again,
and again,
and again... until
the rhytms of the labrador and
the tricep conincide with a society
worth living in,
the utopia of my grandfather
i wished i lived in only compensated
by achilles and hercules...
imagine! only by achilles and hercules!
only by achilles and hercules!
hell with you!
hell with you for stealing that from me
and giving me the antionette john paul ii...
that gave me a statue and not a job -
endearing as the entering applause,
hell with you, discarded western of the jeans...
i'd go back to ukraine had
i claimed justice in a society that divided me
to make justice unclaimed and literature
for worth of being unclaimed...
had such society existed... the mongols
would have conquered it by simply yawning /
as opposed to mustard stink /
what? west's the best daddy's girl hello
boy dylan **** jim morrison?
you're ahead of yourself in the electra complication
with the decided cold war no.2 originating with the
kalashnikov & katyusha in pseudo-ottoman hands;
hell with you! stay middle class and un-fuckable!
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
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Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
By the way she walks, the way she talks
It has you mesmerized, in a way you can’t even imagine.
Her grace, as she touches every inch of that floor
has every man in there wanting more, and more, and more.
So seductive, her reasoning can’t be comprehended
Yet, compensated for her work.
Look at her strut, left to right
Back and forth, for your eyes are glued because she is astounding.
Hypnotizing, to say the least.
You wish to describe her but, she fails to compete.
For she is your dream girl, your fantasy… and even more.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
long hair long johns of sad happy
clear fog is the dog god doggone dog
kind of you to kind of listen
kindling burns like Hong Kong midnight brightlights
whose birthright, or birthwrong
down-under daggers for flags
flagged
flagulation
creative sensory compensated penitentiary
forward lad landing laughter for the last log on the fire
the last day for earth to say
please plead for plaid shirts to pay for themselves
otherwise there will be ****** for you to see
summer in the winter if I sprinkle a little bit more wood on my splinter
sink or swim, sink and swim, sink to swim
swim to sink
ah
um
oh
ehhem
undo your dress and undo your last mistake
please retake the photo so I can stay awake.
don't, I mean, yes
yes
hands could be cold
but
then
a
g
a
i
n
I just call it what I must
plustwo double yous in a zoo for the future flu's to cruise like truce
11/11/11 armistice
missed the list when you kissed my wrist
I extracted bliss from the Buddha's jist
just
cause?
just call for the muse music
don't mind me
I mean
yes,
yes
motorcade king of spades I got laid to the silence
of a forest in the poorest richness I've never ditched this
**** zip
zap
my zipper is a little critter crawling through the litter on the city's twitter account
doesn't amount to much but I sound like I'm salted in breath
dead like MacBeth, the challenge was the shaken speare
sprained everclear of the diamond tear or the shattered cheer of ancient seers
truth
is greater than fiction.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 11:24 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, sometimes a dream can flip your stage scenes and make them decorated;}
thee heavens come clean
across a kiss untold unbound unseen
with dismals and dears
follows discretely situated
from leaves unintentionally initiated
things ascending to the spine
nerve striking its dim its shine
horizons skirt down faded
feet sand permeated
on fine arts been not made in
a sheet to be fabulous
mis-shaded
like my insides
like my pen slides
been piled overshadowed
been dark uninvaded
she beauty on the purples
majestic manipulated
are them those of these the things you can see not face it?
I saw the heavens
I saw the hells
water colored
wet come to a collision I say come compensated
on highs and lows rays of foes impossible
converge a split second for me
an undeniable to the invisible
feet sand permeated
on fine art I name it
****** by the devils
by the angels sacred
for me in my selfish kingdom
my so called salvation
a place my nights breathe annihilation
even better than them those sent in that teleportation
mere those moments of gazes
scrapes buried for future destination
on the whites of my imagination
left to my unconsciousness a decision
a piece of my mind
an official declaration
a moon arose from the dead to my incarnation
not await for another
I state a once and for all deprivation
despite the lunar bothers
something for me
I owe no explanation
moon me so light so bright
so dim so dark
to the bits of the ends of the marks
the places I cant reach
they afar
stay there but stay near
to me my moon my fear
------raven feels
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 12:45 PM UTC
The days when the blood of a child still flowed in my veins
When you couldn't be certain if i had a brain
Running helter-skelter,you'd assume i didn't have shelter
I had my whole life ahead of me
What i was living was a bonus for me
I'd have fun now and get serious with God some time in the after
Afterall,for decades now it's been one ridiculous story of the rapture or the other
I couldn't risk being called "jon"
Afterall even the Good Book says to enjoy life in Ecclesiastes
The condition stated there served as black polish on my silver shoe-totally not needed
Life was a bed of roses for me as i jumped into different beds like one in a hurdle race
My skirts could be likened to the length of time the devil can stay in Light
But i was still a child,i'd do church in the future,i compensated myself
The future came a bit too soon,when i aggressively hugged a moving car one night
My fake amnesia disappeared as every word of Ecclesiastes 11:9 echoed loudly like the siren of the ambulance in my head
Grace came through for me,pulling mercy along,for my life was spared
When every other limb but my right hand was cut off,i knew exactly what to do with it
True,i can't stare back at the girl in the mirror today without donating tears,but from today,i put my right hand to work for Yeshua
BE INSPIRED!!!
Jn9:4!!!!!
#pumped
Yeshua's B.A.E
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
Think positive
*Have you learned nothing about
me?*
Have you learned nothing of me?
-.-
Fire with fire... Questions with questions
*Smoke with ashes, I'll smother
you -.-*
After nine lashes, you've nothing better to do?
*Before your funeral, you've got
nothing better to say?*
Inhibitions compensated, though so futile. Bury yourself beneath your yesterdays.
*Trial and error, yet so naive.
Through your mistakes and
heartaches, you still
overcompensate.*
Smiling through tears, and tearing through smiles? What do you fear--everything prior, or just one more trial?
*Been crying through the pain
for far too long. I fear...
Simply everything, to avoid
the hurt, why is that so wrong?*
Not wrong, but you hold doubt where hope belongs. Don't wallow in the dirt, or hold on to this morning's dawn.
*But where I should see hope,
there's only despair. I'm not
wallowing, simply realistic. It's
really not fair, to assume I'm
being over dramatic.*
Learn to cope when people are unfair. Try hallowing what you know's simplistic. There's much in the air, besides the cruelness of fanatics.
*But the evil is overwhelming,
it truly surrounds me, in my
mind and my heart.
Sometimes, I can't help but
fall apart...*
When the Devil is swelling, his doings unruly, and it all mounts on you, know there is kindness. Just part with the bad times and take the goodness to heart.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
And now
I’m not so sure.
The field I plowed
Seems to be dying with the coming freeze.
I can’t tell if those sprouts are still growing
And my inexperienced eyes can’t tell if there’s frost on their leaves,
Or new buds
I would ask you,
Seeing as you planted the seeds.
I only tilled the soil,
But your steely gaze is off-putting
And I can’t even see you through all this fog.
I maimed the ground beneath me,
And you showered me with praise.
Now it looks to be bouncing back and
I don’t know if I want it to.
All that hard work for nothing,
Or at least it seems that way.
I shouldn’t have helped you rake the earth.
I shouldn’t have cared for it so much in the first place,
But I sold my land to you
On good faith that I would be compensated
And now
I’m not so sure that I will be.
I can’t tell if I should’ve watered that land
Or if I should keep killing it with my ***
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 7:22 PM UTC
The first time he kissed me, my friends assured me that I was just another body
I dutifully disagreed- "I am special"
The second time he kissed me, I learned pretty fast that my friends were right
I need not be
I am not special I am just
A woman
When a stranger wrapped his scarf around my chest,
His foreign accent fondling me with the words explaining that
he would be jealous to see other men looking at me I smiled
politely and waited to be dug out by my friends nearby because
I am not special I am just
The body of a woman
Hearing a whistle blown towards my general direction I bow my head, ignore all of the "hey baby"sand "que linda"s
Shrinking into myself I hope to disappear from the street because
I am not special I am just
The body of a woman
Walking the city alone, I make sure to act as if nobody is there hoping with futility
That maybe if they can not be seen then I will not be seen either
Although I do not need to try so hard to become invisible because
I am not special I am just
The body of a woman
Waiting to hear from you and allowing myself to be passive with our fate I rehearse that I am just another kiss, another body for you to call home because
I am not special I am just
The body of woman
These days I do not measure my worth in pounds on the scale because
That number is far too large- far too significant
Instead I look to the tags inside my pants because they represent how much space I do not take up
Exploring the streets I am constantly checking how many shadows are following behind me
What turns they're taking and how far behind they are
My escape routes are already planned for the inevitable because
no matter how significant I truly am, that is always compensated for through the insignificance of my body no-
Our bodies, women
We are miraculous, glory filled temples
It is not our fault that no matter how much fabric we try to hide behind we are always ****** beings that
Our accomplishments are that much more revered because we had to overcome our womanhood first that
Woman is a necessary adjective to frame titles or context because
Without it one will assume a man is being spoken of
Each day is a cause for celebration because each sunset marks another day of survival but the morning sunrise alerts us for another day at war
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 3:46 PM UTC
Note to the reader: I give any reader permission to give this to their mother. Your mother deserves better than Hallmark. Although you should write your own, I understand not all have the ability. No need to ask or tell me you used this. Thank you for reading this piece I wrote for my mother.
To You
This isn't for you because this pales in comparison
For all the things you do for me, it is embarassing
Yet you endure me every sun and moon
Despite all the people in this world that thinks I'm a loon
But I don't want this to be about me
This is for all things you do, selflessly, for free
You don't deserve what the world has dealt you
Gold and jewels wouldn't be enough for all that you do
Maybe one day you won't have so many burdens
Or will be properly compensated
I can't promise either of those things
All I have are these words of gratitude
Thank you
I wish I could convey this sentiment better
I love you more than I could ever explain in this letter
Happy Mother's Day, even though you deserve a year or later
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 1:11 AM UTC
Life, as with all Beings impregnated
Hamper these Virtues for those Teens delayed
To which we remind; In Growth compensated
Handy-Spread Vices from Feelings displayed
Perhaps from which - shun such Bloke-Haste Advice
Having spoiled these Inner Credentials since
What-Not? What-For? Skin that Crumpy Device -
Cross-dress Cat's Tannery to Barrows hence:
What this means - Sentinels - or Football-Humps
Even with Morals does enrich the Need
To hear a Lumper; Then post-date with mumps
Part-and-Parcel take Learning from a Seed.
This, after all, your Labels from Friends fear
Fortify your Codes; To Values they hear.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
inspiration derives from the evocation of thought
symbolism, at times, can be cataclysm for the mind
and yet when one looks to be inspired,
until they are weary and tired,
when the earth’s ends,
can hold no trends,
they find themselves incapable,
and often times improbable,
of complimenting anything,
while criticizing everything,
and God forbid they stop and think
and look at it as a human being,
and as their ship begins to sink
a blast of thought comes after seeing
the black from scribing
eroded with the wind rising,
off the shores of the brain
to a vocabulary train,
delivering written ammunition,
after being petitioned,
and so the gallant author knight,
the reader-maiden’s arousing delight,
with his holy-tipped sword of ink
slays the scroll dragon in a blink
lawfully fixated,
and well compensated,
they sit back relieved,
finished with what had them aggrieved
until a source of new light,
causes rupturing delight!
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
Tears are strange things,
Related to the ocean,
Salty, wet, leaving tracks from your eyes,
To as far as you let them run,
Before you wipe them away.
But there are many types of tears,
Oh, you didn't know?
Let me guess,
You thought,
"Oh a weeping and a crying,
Are all the same thing!"
I tell you now,
There are many types of tears,
The tears of a widow,
Or those extremely loud ones,
From the small, innocent eyes of a babe.
From orphan,
Crying himself to sleep at night,
The adopted child,
Confused.
From the disappointed mother and father,
Knowing their son or daughter,
Drowning in ignorance and not even caring.
Do they not know their selfishness,
Causes such woe from their parents?
Or the tears running black with makeup,
Down, falling across a broken heart,
And falling,
Shattered on the ground.
As if, those tears some how compensated,
His forever,
That ended much too soon.
And still the tears that fall into the casket,
Or into the grass beside the gravestone,
Those tears send flooding with them,
Memories,
Oh the memories,
All rush at once from the greiver's eyes.
Tears are a strange thing,
Don't you know?
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 3:42 AM UTC
It's never mattered what others thought of me.
As I now look back on my life, this was true
when I was growing up--in grade school, for
example. I had some friends; I even had my
first girlfriend, Virginia Bright, whom I met
in the fourth grade. I had a dream about her
and the next day I chose her to read after I
had. She invited me to her church on Sunday
evenings to learn how to square dance. As I
continued to grow up, I got elected co-captains
and presidents, but I didn't seek them out--
they just seemed to come to me. I remember
I used to say hello to--befriend--classmates
who were not popular, most likely because
they were of a different race than most of us;
I didn't even think about our superficial
differences--I just liked them. That's the way
it's been my whole life. Perhaps over the
decades I grew to understand that bigots,
racists, were the way they were because
as they were growing up, they never were
loved enough, if at all, and as a result, suffered
great emotional pain, pain so great they un-
consciously tried to repress it, but could not,
so they unconsciously compensated for their
lack of being loved by accruing megawealth,
achieving power, not to empower others,
but to oppress them, and/or by gaining
fleeting fame. I feel sorry for these people.
Everyone needs to be loved.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 12:26 AM UTC
All the cuts and the scrapes,
The bumps and the crashes where our hip bones multiply and divide the line between our movement,
All the hair held clasped in slippery fingers,
Pulled back,
Lips tipped pink towards the ceiling,
Balance reeling,
All the floating rhythms that have penetrated our fantasy,
Compensated for our feelings.
It wasn't enough.
Not that the body,
The face,
Or the soul,
The hair or the lashes,
The mind or the skin.
No, you said it wan't that,
Never more than a remorseful fact.
Only for the broken conscience,
The loves that existed forever apart,
Could then both twist together in heart.
But then you said...
No.
And I looked down at my hands and I saw the callouses,
The etched pattern of pent up emotion that I spent so much time carving with a rusty bullet,
And my ears believed you,
But my mind did not.
All the pretend kisses that tempted my cheeks and pulled at my ripcords,
Turned on my motor,
Flipped on my switch,
They sank into the mud,
And the hands that brushed my forehead to wipe away the sweat began to fall to pieces and smash against the tiled floor of the bathroom where you first said you loved me
With that voice of yours,
That god awfully beautiful voice,
Where you first put that red lipstick on and bound your mind with a halo of
Lust
Just so you could summon the courage to stand up there in front of those people and let them eat your words with their ears.
And all I wanted to do was eat your lips with my eyes.
I was so close,
I could taste the perfume on your neck
And I couldn't take it anymore, so I reached out to touch
But...
Then you said no.
And all the times I said that I was there,
When I really wasn't,
When I took off my jacket and the steam rose off my skin to wrap your arms in ghostly tendrils,
When I took that blade and let my blood just so when you'd crashed too hard and burned too much you could keep your mouth from
Cracking
And
Falling apart.
I thought I did what I was supposed to do,
And still you said...
No.
But it wasn't you, was it?
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 4:36 PM UTC
I don't know where this life is to take me.
I'm still right here
Not nearly always on the move like I used to be.
I'm still right here
I was driven by thrills and curiosity.
It feels like I'm starting to veer
Now I wake due to necessity.
Losing sight on things as if it's all become unclear
Had a very meaningful talk with family, not blood-related.
Boats often float the same
We both feel the need to branch out, and won't be compensated.
This life is a game
Attitudes need to see if they're approved by the mirror.
Find out who's to blame
Otherwise you can preach until there's no one left to hear.
There are two kinds of fame
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
They think, that I'm like
a disowned feline...
Throwing me out first floor
windows..
Do I land on my feet...…
No I land on my ribs,
on my head, only scrapes..
But my ribs are broken like
a chess board... one wrong move
and its check mate..
I'm dying where I lie...
choking on the blood of my
**** you world moves...
But I landed on my wrist...
They'll never catch my broken middle finger,
broken slang.
But they knew what a hand held with another
meant..
a mangled **** you as I survived another day.
I came back like a bee looking to sting,
but the ones who fell out there nest
were stung by another not me..
I'll walk another day.. been stung a few times..
but I learnt my lesson...
Don't mess with the nest unless you
want to be in anaphylactic shock of
some random fools words
trying to prove,
some insecurity for an abandoned
father figure, that's compensated
by a bullet,
and a promise of we got your back.
Sep 28, 2019
Sep 28, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC
i always aimed at returning Nietzsche's ping-pong serve of poet-philosopher, as philosopher-poet... well, you know, any vanity project will do these days, given our current celebrity culture... there's nothing celebratory about it, so my little festivity of hope in establishing a self-style vocabulary might be too much for Gucci... but you got to try and whiff up a tornado of absinthe sweeties in licorice black (lee ko reesh).
there's only one argument i cling on to,
it is theological,
i'm biased toward the theological argument
always,
because i've seen the ontological argument
become desecrated by oncology -
every theologian argues the same:
there's a god, because, to be frank,
whatever ontology provides us, it leaves us more
bewildered than anything:
how we expressed our freedom will
never be compensated in terms of how
others expressed theirs...
so even Kant said: my ontology is based on god...
so his contemporaries said:
my theology is based on no god...
which is why Kant professed a theology
without an ontology, and his contemporaries
professed an ontology without a theology -
or as the other, in existentialist terms might have
suggested: timing - but no one desires a godly status,
so even his promenade timing made affinities
with serfs begging for a watch rather than watching
their shadows dwarf at noon...
this is called
translating rhyme into philosophy, or philosophical rhyming...
words of close proximity are prime exponents,
given the spelling, i.e. the suffix - but which are totally
antonymous - they look so alike, but then thinking
provides disparity of intention, not so lazily done
with red
and dead...
head
and Pb... is it?
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC