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Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.chris rea: god's great banana skin...

/ such random thoughts are a blessing, esp. after you've been walking for over 2 miles, in the cold and in the rain, with the setting sun... continually impressed by the nature of polyester clothing, how you feel the cold, but aren't cold at all, how you go back home and: you're dripping with sweat... /

the random thought?
about a saying, here's the schematic

synthetic a priori

                    4 + 6 = 10
                    IV + VI = X

                                         analytical a posteriori

which statement is true?
within the questioning parameters?
i think it's a trick question...
how else would you be able to
teach these statements and make
replica understandings of
said, statements?

(****... quickfire shots of syrupy
*****... **** me... give me the sweats,
and i'm not even constipated,
it must be the ***** doing
the magic... yeah... sober me?
doesn't like thinking...
but oddly enough, the drunk me?
pulls out philosophy,
no, not as some pretentious
high-brow interest...
   i just looked at philosophy as
a genre in literature,
nothing more)...

numbers, like letters...
or in the case of Roman numerals
(letters are numbers)...
i'm unsure whether you can arrive
at crafting them into existence
by analytical parameters,
i don't actually think
that you can conjure up numbers
from analyzing a priori,
given the ad continuum:
but... there was a point in time,
when / where: numbers weren't used...

Kant was a theist,
sorry...
  he says it plainly at the end
of his critique of pure reason...
in the transcendental methodology...
sure... he takes a "schizophrenic"
moment to write a thesis
and an antithesis on subjects like
cosmology...
but he's inclined, as i am,
counter to an atheist...
yes... god is probably a monster...
but a ******* gorgeous monster...
kinda like a femme fatale...
so what's not to like?

    but this thought didn't arrive
randomly,
and my consciousness
didn't hone in on it...
i didn't vector this thought
to an immediate conclusion...
the thought arrived,
and then: i had to make shrapnel
out of it...
the original thought was complex,
i had to make shrapnel out of it,
in order to put it back together,
so that a cognitive 3 seconds
could be rewritten in under 30 minutes
explaining, why the thought arose...

you know... when thinking
is detached from the moral (θ)-ought
you get to experience these "things"...
here's another schematic...

I + Φ (you put a key into a lock),
   Θ (you turn the key), O (the door opens),
hey presto... a free radical iota...
detached from both phi and theta...

i am free from making
a moral ought (i) or the immoral: ought (i) not?
i'm free, hence my concern for...
abstract questions...

back to the original schematic...

synthetic a priori

                    4 + 6 = 10
                    IV + VI = X

                                         analytical a posteriori

this actually has a theological
dimension,
supposing i am god...

   if i propose an analytical a priori
with a synthetic a posteriori...
well then...
             i can't change anything,
i can't actually make changes to...
with my omnipotence,
omniscience etc.
i already analyzed, a priori
the Kantian elevation to theology
comes, via me, stating...
if i analyzed the entirety of
creation...
            a priori ex nihil
(from the prior out of nothing)
how can i make a synthesis
in the a posteriori domain,
of the already existing things,
which didn't exist a priori,
since there was nothing,
and i already analyzed the potential
of nothing, and this potential
was realized as everything i would
know to exist... and i went along
with it anyway?

i'm starting to think that
the realm of analytical a priori
doesn't exist for mortals...
the gods can muse this ****-show
of a dimension over and over again...
we're more (being mortals)
synthetic a posteriori...
oh don't get me wrong,
i believe we have the capacity
to comprehend analytical a priori
but it's an analytical a- priori...
we've reached the limits
of the microscope, the telescope,
and the hadron collider...
or on our way to exhaust that...
still being left with an intact mesh of...
the orbits... summer, winter, autumn, spring...
but this thing with this schematic:

synthetic a priori

                    4 + 6 = 10
                    IV + VI = X

                                         analytical a posteriori

how can i conjure an understanding
of IV + VI = X...
analytically a priori...
when... i have no hindsight /
prior to understanding of said rubric?
well... with Roman you could say:
analytical a priori,
given the Ancient Romans already
had the letters I, V, X...
but... if you didn't have the concept
of measurements prior,
of arithmetic...
how can you analyze something...
that doesn't exist?
so... you had to synthesize a priori,
working from the letters I, V, X...
to conjure up "numbers"...
  numerals... you had to create these
numbers by a synthetic a posteriori
method...
and the 4 + 6 = 10...
        well... you analyzed the a posteriori
synthesis, and threw I, V, X out...
and began the second wave of mathematics...
and this is where, authentically...
analytical a priori comes from...
based on I (1), V (5), X (10)...
                    came IV (4), came VI (6)...
don't mathematicians treat their language
as that of or equivalent to the gods?

now... for the cultural exchange program
that i promised...

on the great British isles...
you have a variety of languages
& dialects,
i'm so sorry that the Scottish
"forgot theirs"...

but when you have something
akin to

English: red
Cymru: coch

or right... they have their Pict
Gael?

Pict Gaelic: dearg
Irish: dearg
Cornish: rudh

we'll require a second word...
what word, what words..
life!

English: life,
Cymru: bywyd
Pict Gaelic: beatha
Irish: saol
Cornish: bewnans...

back, "home"...
we also have sub-groups
in terms of linguistics...

there are the Kashubians...
and there are the Silesians,
and, there are...
the Kurpie...
akin the Welsh, the Pict,
the Ire,

and their language looks like so...
again, borrowing from
red and life...

Polak: czerń
Kashubian: czôrny...
  but that can be disputed...
why?
     czerwień is not actually
a noun, but an adjective...
a quality of being associated with red...
czerwony? that's a male
adjective...
   and the female adjective
is czerwona...
                ****...
a color has to be something...
the noun adjective that's blood...
Polak: krwawy (czerwony)
Kashubian: czerwiony
Silesian: čerwůny
ah...
   Kurpian... high polish?
Masovian?
harder to find the words...
have to use alternatives...

Kurpian: caban
Polak: tępak
Kashubian: osoł
  Silesian: yjzel...
(idiot, imbecile)

you know how hard hard it is
to find a Kurpian to Polak
translator?
i can't find one to boil down
to the examples or either
red or life,
i'm reduced to choosing other
words...
like...

   Kurpian: chwat...
Polak: chłopak
Silesian: bajtel
Kashubian: knôp...
(boy)

Kurpian: jédło
Polak: jedzenie...
Kashubian: jedzenié
alternative to Silesian:
  jadło, i.e.: it ate...
past-participle in
the verb...
let's see what the Silesians
call it...
Silesians: well.. a variation..
chlyb
godka
mietła
masa... all things you can eat...
(edible food)

only a word, like the Kurpian
word akin to kotnå
reveals that Vikings passed via "us"...
kotnå?
  an impregnated sheep...
with young...

Kurpian: łańï truń!
Polak: nie mów!
Kashubian: ni gôdac!
Silesian: ńy godka!
(don't speak!)

mind you... Kurpian translation
is hard to find...
and you almost wonder...
at the British isles...
you think, us, Polaks...
do not have sub-linguistic groups
in our ranks,
like your Welsh, your Pict,
your Irish?!
guess again...
you had them all along...
and you thought...
the Polaks were
a homogenous culture...
all this time...
primarily because our culture
wasn't multicultural...
oh but it was... but on the subtle side
of history...
mind you...
defenders of the galaxy?
i knew gamora wasn't white...
but... **** me...
even if black or hispanic...
she looked so **** attired in green...
i was thinking:
absinthe cherub, absinthe cherub...
and forgot about glorifying
Zoe Saldana in all that choc...
what?
   a green skinned chic?
                    if i can forget about
the existence of chocolate...
i'll just anything that moves...
but i knew she wasn't white...
i hate chocolate...
          give me an absinthe girl any
day of the week...
       yeah...
only the English have complex
ethnicity encompassing
a single language...
only the English...
                 like **** they are...
at least my linguistic variation
is suited to a bundle of words...
Welsh?! Gaelic?!
  completely different languages...
at least in my part of the world
all that is deviating
is a choice of variant nouns!
but then again, the English
speaking world....
        how's the new pronoun
dictum coming along?
you keeping up with...
   appeasing the new crazies?
oh... you are?!
    well... kudos and applause!

p.s. guess what happens with appeasing
the new crazies... guess...
i'll tell you...
you **** around with grammar,
some grammatical pedant will raise
his head up from the crowd and say
something like:
               what?!
and then the old crazies rise up...
and... your, ahem, little discussion
about changing the rules of grammar
to "ensure" that the language is
kept, "intact"?
      see... mm... hmm... the old crazies?
the old crazies have their own
methods...
they're of the obligation:
let my gun do the talking...
  and then...
  you get pol *** arithmetic,
of skulls...
           being counted in an abacus
of heaping up, "debris"...
         see... these new crazies
are bugging me...
  they're bugging me...
because the old crazies didn't
attack grammar,
and whatever delusion they had...
i couldn't see it...
the new crazies?
they're attacking grammar,
and the delusion they have...
is... associated with something
i can see as being self-evidently untrue...

the new crazies...
******* spinners... fakers...
    i prefer the old crazies...
at least their delusions had ambitions
to deceive in the realm of
the unseen...
       the unproved, and never to be
proven...
these new crazies...
i am supposed to speak asylum talk?!
so... society is the new asylum
with the past asylums being
abolished?!
who gave caffeine to these news
crazies?!
******* sane people's naive pandering...
while the depressed man?
hey boy... hey, hey, hey boy...
noose!
i've lost all sympathy for
the victims of a psychotic
version of a repressed P.T.S.D. example...
the mad have hijacked language,
disorientated grammar...
and... b'a'ah, b'a'ah...
                 no...
                              i'm with the old
crazies...
                    at least they're the ones
that can inflict genuine grievance...
rather this policing of restricting
     the orthodoxy of the use of language.

p.s.
i found only two paradoxes in this
world...
    schadenfreude: feeding a pleasure
from the misery of others...
as...
  finding wisdom in others' own
forsake of an antithesis of
universal application...
  mainly that, associated:
            to a self-gratifying benefit...
the joke ends within the confines
of schadenfreude...
as does passable "wisdom" attached
to instragram novelty of the "maxim"
by your wisened sages
of the selfie...
  
                  i've been among the russians,
i know what the true uber looks like...
you hitchhike...
hitchhiking? forget that?
ponzie scheme albatross thingy
of a worth of a british mensch?
    funny... a people can so easily
forget the practice of hitchhiking...
so easily: entertaining individual rights...
and: innocent until proven
guilty until some next
               teddy bundy comes along...
and then it's all: ooh! ah! woo'ah!

   you know, i don't like the cartesian
chiral dynamic,
the whole: nietzsche take...
sum ergo cogito...
          i don't like the:

innocentes quoadusque (qua esse)
                           reus....    inversion...

an innocent man might hang...
well... if you have the death penalty:
too late to regurgitate the
original statements...

but? where's the element of redemption
for the innocent man?
why are so many people captivated
by the shawshank redemption?
there's a redemption story...
   in the inverted game?
a jimmy saville walks off scot-free...

the continental model doesn't make
sense with a death penalty...
but without one?
redemption... the atlas "paradox"...
one man usually burdens the fate
of a reciprocate of the unit of one...
but not the many...

me getting laid or not getting laid
is as important to me as:
whether i know about last year's
snowfall...
*** *** ***... all that sort of
******* in the western minds...
*** *** but no children!
recreational procreation without...
any procreation... to begin with...

         i'll admit...
english humour is funny...
but schadenfreude is a borrowed term...
hence the lost in translation
element...
           the english are terrible at
appreciating if not simply applying
the original zeppelin bomb...
after a while: the english just became
annoying toy-whips
of ***** replicas...
       the english knew elevated slap-stick...
with monty python...
with fawlty towers...
          they borrowed a term like
schadenfreude and completely lost the plot...
they once, upon a time,
chanced to play a game of linguistic
comedy...
            
                 i'm pretty ******* sure
the germans relate to schadenfreude in a different
way... i'm guessing:
the deutsche are not prone to ridicule as
the english are...
               the aunglisch are prone
to ridicule out of a sentiment of spite
than out of a repose for giggles...
        
          i don't understand the german sense
of humour,
     but understanding the english attempting
to "understand" the german sense of humour
is an enigma in an enigma in a per se...

such integrated back into
the ol' continental ways...
                       kudos to the brits...
bringing back the commonwealth to stereotype
us europeans with a negative "circumstance"...
now them: ******* up to "correct"
their integration policies... for the commonwealth
peoples of the united wordly wealth of
made in china plastic toys!

     a **** among the brits has
the audacity to tell a german he's not
supposed to feel at home on these isles...
sure... and i will never feel quiet at home
in Islamabad either!
               so? equal count of hubris!
that's the only thing that ****** me about
these isles... god i love this language...
but... when you get your afghani hounds
on me to do your ***** work?!

      even though i'm not: deutsche?!
i'll ******* pretend to be deutsche!
           i'm not here to mop up your failed
integration policies...
i settled on keeping my language...
they settled on keeping their sharia,
their **** pajamas and curry...
while adamantly rejecting their language...
in order to implement their desired changes
by subverting your language...
and you gave your language on a *******
platter...
    
    by subverting your language
to accept their cultural tattoos...
  let me tell you: if a people don't respect
their own culture,
by way of god, by way of language...
and they are "integrating": without speaking
their native mutterzunge?
they're not respecting either culture...
mongrels ahoy!
   what happened to the african-h'americans
not speaking a word of african?

what will they do, ascribe themselves
to ******* scots,
left with no gaelic and more a finnegans' wake
accent gymnastics of some irvine welsh?
nae for no: some glaswegian smart-***
excess of nouns?
      
hell... they would have never built
a colliseum if they saw:
1 + 4 + 6 + 9 = 20
   i.e. I + IV + VI + IX = **
            imagine... a society where letters
worked perfectly as sounds
and as arithmetic concepts of measure.

lucky for me the roman empire never
conquered
the lands i come from...
always with the brits being...
oh so so proud having been conquered
by the romans...
what's the prize... archeological sites?!

much respect as great britain...
but... *****... please...
don't pucnh below the waist...
importing your commonwealth dogs
to mark you out among all the other
europeans like some prized asset with
an inkling into h'american affairs...
thanks to you: i'm bored of looking up
the telescope of h'american ****
with their waning cultural export
of a worthwhile entertainment of appreciating
their music.
Poetic T Apr 2015
Tis the season of the crazies,
They cling to the rope of madness and swing,
Back and forth
Forth and back
Laughing as life drains away
And there lips turn black.

Tis the season of the crazies,
See them run,
Sharp objects ever facing forward
As spoken words echo through the halls,
"Run o little one"
"For the blade needs to be sharpened"
"Upon flesh, blood and bone"
As blood spills like a river bursting its banks
He writes on the wall, fingers painting
CLEAN ME, I'M *****,
Then joyfully skips down the hall.

Tis the season of the crazies,
They swarm in a ballroom of white
As a ball of silver descends and the
Shimmer of light perforates its shell.
Like moths around a flame,
Maddening randomness, clambering  
Jackets of buckles and white.
They stomp on each flicker, till all
Is silent and one figure stands stained
In red as the lights flicker on and
Incoherent ranting spills as he scratches
At the patches that alternate between ground, wall and floor.

*"Tis The season Of the Crazies, come and play"
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
oh yeah, thanks...
pandering to the new loonies...
thanks...
you trying to heat up
the PSTD loon about to strike?!
seriously?
  old loonies don't buy into
the new loonies' *******...
we're the medicated ones...
back in the day,
p.s. the asylum...
we were the ones experimented
on, with drugs
that were supposed to
sedate the un-****** women,
and the men who
were under pharmacological
castration procedures...
look at you, ******* say-knees...
i have to write say-knees
because writing sanies comes
out as a spelling mistake...
so... your pharmacological
"solution" to the old crazies
is pharmacological
implementation...
keep them sedated, keep them calm...
but... with the new loonies?!
you're prescribing...
pandering?!
   seriously?!
for ****'s sake!
      your big pharmacological
explanation is...
the drug known as: pandering?!
great timing...
no, really, great timing...
i'm starting to consider the sane
as mad, and the mad as sane...
the new loonies are playing
game...
  with the advent of closing
asylums, the supposed society
of our time, is... the rejuvenation
of the asylum...
   you're all ******* mad...
so psychotropic drugs
for the schizophrenics...
but...
    pandering to the trans-gender...
pseudo-metaphysical
"gymnasts"...
     ******* applause... when necessary!
and by now...
it's ******* necessary!
i thought... maybe i should pity
these anglophone liberal
****-tards... lock them up with
lemon meringue ****,
allowing them the time to:
figure who was who,
and who was Napoleon...
but no... oh no no...
             once, a fine fine quote,
but Bukowski read:
the jews and the gays are running the show...
the jews are long gone
concerned about Israel...
the gays have their once covert
secret lives shattered by laws
that allow gay marriage...
ola the new crazies!
      you know... i know when i'm
being lied... but when i lied
so blatantly, and with no imagination...
do i have to nod in agreement?
i can't believe how the new loonies
gripped the sanity of
the centric balloon of a Behemoth's
worth of the populace...
so you feed the old loonies
their big pharmacological cocktail...
but prescribe the new loons...
the"drug"... pandering?
**** it... the melancholic,
the hyperbolic, the hypochondriac,
the schizophrenic,
           the... psychotic...
we'll send a few PTSD sufferers
to Blitzkrieg their attention...
       **** it... i'm doing
  the nigel farage... i'm bailing out...
this model of society is a sinking
ship... sinking, not sailing...
  i'm doing the one thing
high-profile politicians do best...
imitate rats...
they bail out...
                  i'm doing the nigel farage...
the david cameron magic trick...
which isn't exactly magic...
you just pander to the new
crazies...
you know how the old crazies
will react to your, "sane society"
pandering of ******* up grammar?!
   the old crazies, on their pharmacological
cocktails, not being pandered,
Chamberlain appeased with a flimsy
piece of paper from ******, like...
there's a song...
the remix...
   (audio bullies, feat. nancy sinatra) -

i was five and he was six
we rode on horses made of sticks
he wore black and i wore white
he would always win the fight
bang bang
   'e shot me down
bang bang
i hit the ground
bang bang...
     that awful sound
bang bang
                       my baby shot me down


pandering to these new crazies
will not get rid of the old crazies...
and the old crazies...
the old crazies...
       ah... such a beautiful impulsive
nature to exact an injustice
with a justification for,
what in their eyes... is the only
justice available.

so... when will you start medicating
the new loons like
you medicated, made a pharmacological-ly
attested a "necessary" intervention...
you see how the new loonies
are controlling the language
            of... hive-"individuals"?

but it's not fair... give them
the big pharmacological castration...
  sell them: the male the walking abortion...
the glorification of woman
as some Moloch deposit of "furthering"
life via an Arabic harem...

         god... put me on the Titanic...
i want to wave... wave...
                                            bye bye!
i simply do not possess
the desire for an existential imperative;
because i don't find
procreation to be the argument
to further this... bollocking of...
an example... that stretches into
similis *** ****,
the big bang...
      boiling water for tea in a kettle...
journalistic insomnia,
the study of history...
    the argument of state and taxes...
the remaining aristocracy in hiding,
and the emerging technocracy...
the passing on genes argument
(my mother ****** my
grandfathers genes)...
          
i am... doing the second Pontius Pilate
reminder...
             you find the purpose
to follow through...
i've already found enough reasons,
to bow out.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.well, if this boyscout contra girl-scout debate it going to rage on... whatever the problem, and whatever the conclusion... shouldn't just the boyscout brigade start baking cookies in the shape of a phallus and *******? with white sprinkles on the tip, and brown sprinkles on the base?

what has become of that famous
three worded statement? you know it...
gott ist tot...
      well...
               isn't it glaring, right in your
face?
          you really can't have gender
neutrality in certain languages...
   because most of the nouns impose
gender discrimination...
for example, in ******...
    the sun (słońce) is feminine...
while the moon (księżyc) is masculine...
you can't achieve gender
neutrality... because the words
already discriminate for themselves...
the English language is gender
neutral...
         unlike any other European
languages...
   no wonder then...
it's befitting that the death of metaphysics
would culminate in English
with what was to replace it...
   trans-physics...
            it's like the English language
has created this trans-physical
"realism" of (a) reality that...
                      so... you closed the asylums,
let the melancholics and the schizophrenics
out...
          and in come the new crazies...

this will balance out at some point,
benzene ring orientation of
groups... CH3 and what not...

first came the meta-physics...
that died with gott ist tot..
   and from the ashes arose
           the mind-****** of trans-physics...
the Peter Pan physics...
the asylum was abandoned,
the crazies took to the streets,
there were trans-rights,
there were trans-activists,
a whole plethora of trans-this
and trans-that...
            and... well... the discrimination
and ridicule-inducing rhetoric
concerning the classically mad...
the melancholic, the hypochondriacs,
the psychotics and the schizophrenics...
eggshells tip-toe:
bend over backwards for the new crazies...

hell... appease the new crazies
and shove the classical mad into the gutter...
because you know the new crazies
do not have violent tendencies,
or for that matter, masochism incumbent...
me? i such think they're *******
pathetic... their delusions are...
precisely:
         without metaphysical groundwork,
they are imposing
   a fake, more than obvious skew of
reality...
                if i see an Adam's apple
or no geisha hands on a trans-"woman"?
i can't double-think,
contradict what my senses
immediately recognize...
so... all the metal heads with their
long hair... i'm supposed to think
they were men?
                  
metaphysics apparently died at the end
of the 19th century...
but what replaced?
        it's not pretty... trans-physics is
the boogie on the side of bogus...
anti-gravity...
          anti- i can see this is suspicious...

well... at least with metaphysics
   meta- (the after)
    there was no exact certainty,
the kind of daydreaming of heaven or
hell...
              after the physics...
there is no after-the-physics...
  the orbits prevail...
        and when a sun dies,
   a black hole remains...
                         there is no after...
and... esp. with the discover of antimatter...
death is but a massive yawn...

but trans-physics?
this period, this transition period?
                 this is not beyond physics...
this is not Wonderland, this is not Peter Pan...
this is not going to, ******* ride on a whim...
a delusion...
                        last time i heard physics
is about rigidity, and less about
                        what chemistry deals with...
the mandible aspect of physics,
the reaction of at least two things interacting...
physics can, in part, deduce the
noumenon interaction,
for example the electron is in no way
affected by the proton or the neutron
            with regards to its ontological schematic...
                            1 0 -1
- nonetheless, this is a transition period,
after this trans-physics period of...
i'd say 100 years before the omni- consensus
of society balances out...
               there will be a time
where ortho-physics will take over...
straight physic, upright physics...

                   and then?
if you think that this trans-physical period
was weird...
                            the natural antonym
of metaphysics will enter...
   where nothing will be normal, normal
about para-physics...
            life and death will sit side by side...
life past, life beyond, life by death...
death past, death beyond, death by life;
we have a long way to go.
1969 Hartford art school is magnet for exceedingly intelligent over-sensitive under-achievers alluring freaks congenital creeps and anyone who cannot cut it in straight world it is about loners dreamers stoners clowns cliques of posers competing to dress draw act most outrageous weird wonderful classrooms clash in diversity of needs some students get it right off while others require so much individual attention one girl constantly raises her hand calls for everything to be repeated explained creativity is treated as trouble and compliance to instruction rewarded most of faculty are of opinion kids are not capable of making original artwork teachers discourage students from dream of becoming well-known until they are older more experienced only practiced skilled artists are competent to create ‘real art’ defined by how much struggle or multiple meanings weave through the work Odysseus wants to make magic boxes without knowing or being informed of Joseph Cornell one teacher tells him you think you’re going to invent some new color the world has never seen? you’re just some rowdy brat from the midwest with a lot of crazy ideas and no evidence of authenticity another teacher warns you’re nothing more than a bricoleur! Odysseus questions what’s a bricoleur teacher informs a rogue handyman who haphazardly constructs from whatever is immediately available Odysseus questions what’s wrong with that? teacher answers it’s low-class folk junk  possessing no real intellectual value independently he reads Marshall McLuhan’s “The Medium Is The Message” and “The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci” he memorizes introductory remark of Leonardo’s “i must do like one who comes last to the fair and can find no other way of providing for himself than by taking all the things already seen by others and not taken by reason of their lesser value” Odysseus dreams of becoming accomplished important artist like Robert Rauschenberg Jasper Johns Andy Warhol he dreams of being in eye of hurricane New York art scene he works for university newspaper and is nicknamed crashkiss the newspaper editor is leader in student movement and folk singer who croons “45 caliber man, you’re so much more than our 22, but there’s so many more of us than you” Odysseus grows mustache wears flower printed pants vintage 1940’s leather jacket g.i. surplus clothes he makes many friends his gift for hooking up with girls is uncanny he is long haired drug-crazed hippie enjoying popularity previously unknown to him rock bands play at art openings everyone flirts dances gets ****** lots of activism on campus New York Times dubs university of Hartford “Berkeley of the east coast” holding up ******* in peace sign is subversive in 1969 symbol of rebellion youth solidarity gesture against war hawks rednecks corporate America acknowledgment of potential beyond materialistic self-righteous values of status quo sign of what could be in universe filled with incredible possibilities he moves in with  painting student one year advanced named Todd Whitman Todd has curly blond hair sturdy build wire rimmed glasses impish smile gemini superb draftsman amazing artist Todd emulates Francisco de Goya and Albrecht Durer Todd’s talent overshadows Odysseus’s Todd’s dad is accomplished professor at distinguished college in Massachusetts to celebrate Odysseus’s arrival Todd cooks all day preparing spaghetti dinner when Odysseus arrives home tripping on acid without appetite Todd is disappointed Odysseus runs down to corner store buys large bottle of wine returns to house Todd is eating spaghetti alone they get drunk together then pierce each other’s ears with needles ice wine cork pierced ears are outlaw style of bad *** bikers like Hell’s Angels Todd says you are a real original Odys and funny too Odysseus asks funny, how? Todd answers you are one crazy ******* drop acid whenever you want smoke **** then go to class this is fun tonight Odys getting drunk and piercing our ears Odysseus says yup i’m having a good time too Todd and Odysseus become best friends Odysseus turns Todd on to Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” and “Ariel” then they both read Ted Hughes “Crow” illustrated with Leonard Baskin prints Todd turns Odysseus on to German Expressionist painting art movement of garish colors emotionally violent imagery from 1905-1925 later infuriating Third ***** who deemed the work “degenerate” Odysseus dives into works of Max Beckmann Otto Dix Conrad Felixmulller Barthel Gilles George Grosz Erich Heckel Ernst Ludwig Kirchner Felix Nussbaum Karl *******Rottluff Carl Hofer August Macke Max Peckstein Elfriede Lohse-Wachtler Egon Shiele list goes on in 1969 most parents don’t have money to buy their children cars most kids living off campus either ride bikes or hitchhike to school then back home on weekends often without a penny in their pockets Odysseus and Todd randomly select a highway and hitch rides to Putney Vermont Brattleboro Boston Cape Cod New York City or D.C. in search of adventure there is always trouble to be found curious girls to assist in Georgetown Odysseus sleeps with skinny girl with webbed toes who believes he is Jesus he tries to dissuade her but she is convinced

Toby Mantis is visiting New York City artist at Hartford art school he looks like huskier handsomer version of Ringo Starr and women dig him he builds stretchers and stretches canvases for Warhol lives in huge loft in Soho on Broadway and Bleeker invites Odysseus to come down on weekends hang out Toby takes him to Max’s Kansas City Warhol’s Electric Circus they wander all night into morning there are printing companies longshoremen gays in Chelsea Italians in West Village hippies playing guitars protesting the war in Washington Square all kinds of hollering crazies passing out fliers pins in Union Square Toby is hard drinker Odysseus has trouble keeping up  he pukes his guts out number of times Odysseus is *** head not drinker he explores 42nd Street stumbles across strange exotic place named Peep Show World upstairs is large with many **** cubicles creepy dudes hanging around downstairs is astonishing there are many clusters of booths with live **** girls inside girls shout out hey boys come on now pick me come on boys there are hundreds of girls from all over the world in every conceivable size shape race he enters dark stall  puts fifty cents in coin box window screen lifts inside each cluster are 6 to 10 girls either parading or glued to a window for $1 he is allowed to caress kiss their ******* for $2 he is permitted to probe their ****** or *** for $10 girl reaches hand into darkened stall jerks him off tall slender British girl thrills him the most she says let me have another go at your dickey Odysseus spends all his money ******* 5 times departing he notices men from every walk of life passing through wall street stockbrokers executives rednecks mobsters frat boys tourists fat old bald guys smoking thick smelly cigars Toby Mantis has good-looking girlfriend named Lorraine with long brown hair Toby Lorraine and Odysseus sit around kitchen table Odysseus doodles with pencil on paper Toby spreads open Lorraine’s thighs exposing her ****** to Odysseus Lorraine blushes yet permits Toby to finger her Odysseus thinks she has the most beautiful ****** he has ever seen bulging pelvic bone brown distinctive bush symmetric lips Toby and Lorraine watch in amusement as Odysseus gazes intently Tony mischievously remarks you like looking at that ***** don’t you? Odysseus stares silently begins pencil drawing Lorraine’s ****** his eyes darting back and forth following day Lorraine seduces Odysseus while Toby is away walks out **** from shower she is few years older her body lean with high ******* she directs his hands mouth while she talks with someone on telephone it is strange yet quite exciting Odysseus is in awe of New York City every culture in the world intermingling democracy functioning in an uncontrollable managed breath millions of people in motion stories unraveling on every street 24 hour spectacle with no limits every conceivable variety of humanity ******* in same air Odysseus is bedazzled yet intimidated

Odysseus spends summer of 1970 at art colony in Cummington Massachusetts it is magical time extraordinary place many talented eccentric characters all kinds of happenings stage plays poetry readings community meals volleyball after dinner volleyball games are hilarious fun he lives alone in isolated studio amidst wild raspberries in woods shares toilet with field mouse no shower he reads Jerzy Kosinski’s “Painted Bird” then “Being There” then “Steps” attractive long haired girl named Pam visits community for weekend meets Odysseus they talk realize they were in first grade together at Harper amazing coincidence automatic ground for “we need to have *** because neither of us has seen each other since first grade” she inquires where do you sleep? Todd hitches up from Hartford to satisfy curiosity everyone sleeps around good-looking blue-eyed poet named Shannon Banks from South Boston tells Odysseus his ******* is not big enough for kind of ******* she wants but she will **** him off that’s fine with him 32 year old poet named Ellen Morrissey from Massachusetts reassures him ******* is fine Ellen is beginning to find her way out from suffocating marriage she has little daughter named Nina Ellen admires Odysseus’s free spirit sees both his possibilities and naïveté she realizes he has crippling family baggage he has no idea he is carrying thing about trauma is as it is occurring victim shrugs laughs to repel shock yet years later pain horror sink in turned-on with new ideas he returns to Hartford art school classes are fun yet confusing he strives to be best drawer most innovative competition sidetracks him Odysseus uses power drill to carve pumpkin on Halloween teachers warn him to stick to fundamentals too much creativity is suspect Todd and he are invited to holiday party Odysseus shows up with Ellen Morrissey driving in her father’s station wagon 2 exceptionally pretty girls flirt with him he is live wire they sneak upstairs he fingers both at same time while they laugh to each other one of the girls Laura invites him outside to do more he follows they walk through falling snow until they find hidden area near some trees Laura lies down lifts her skirt she spreads her legs dense ***** mound he is about to explore her there when Laura looks up sees figure with flashlight following their tracks in snow she warns it’s Bill my husband run for your life! Odysseus runs around long way back inside party grabs a beer pretending he has been there next to Ellen all night few minutes later he sees Laura and Bill return through front door Bill has dark mustache angry eyes Odysseus tells Ellen it is late maybe they should leave soon suddenly Bill walks up to him with beer in hand cracks bottle over his head glass and beer splatter Odysseus jumps up runs out to station wagon Ellen hurriedly follows snow coming down hard car is wedged among many guest vehicles he starts engine locks doors maneuvers vehicle back and forth trying to inch way out of spot Bill appears from party walks to his van disappears from out of darkness swirling snow Bill comes at them wielding large crowbar smashes car’s headlights taillights side mirrors windshield covered in broken glass Ellen ducks on floor beneath glove compartment sobs cries he’s going to **** us! we’re going to die! Odysseus steers station wagon free floors gas pedal drives on back country roads through furious snowstorm in dark of night no lights Odysseus contorts crouches forward in order to see through hole in shattered windshield Ellen sees headlights behind them coming up fast it is Bill in van Bill banging their bumper follows them all the way back to Hartford to Odysseus’s place they run inside call police Bill sits parked van outside across street as police arrive half hour later Bill pulls away next day Odysseus and Ellen drive to Boston to explain to Ellen’s dad what has happened to his station wagon Odysseus stays with Ellen in Brookline for several nights another holiday party she wants to take him along to meet her friends her social circles are older he thinks to challenge their values be outrageous paints face Ellen is horrified cries you can’t possibly do this to me these are my close friends what will they think? he defiantly answers my face is a mask who cares what i look like? man woman creature what does it matter? if your friends really want to know me they’ll need to look beyond the make-up tonight i am your sluttish girlfriend! sometimes Odysseus can be a thoughtless fool

Laura Rousseau Shane files for divorce from Bill she is exceptionally lovely models at art school she is of French descent her figure possessing exotic traits she stands like ballerina with thick pointed ******* copious ***** hair Odysseus is infatuated she frequently dances pursues him Laura says i had the opportunity to meet Bob Dylan once amazed Odysseus questions what did you do? she replies what could i possibly have in common with Bob Dylan? Laura teases Odysseus about being a preppy then lustfully gropes him grabs holds his ***** they devote many hours to ****** intimacy during ******* she routinely reaches her hand from under her buns grasps his testicles squeezing as he pumps he likes that Laura is quite eccentric fetishes over Odysseus she even thrills to pick zits on his back he is not sure if it is truly a desire of hers proof of earthiness or simply expression of mothering Laura has two daughters by Bill Odysseus is in over his head Laura tells Odysseus myth of Medea smitten with love for Jason Jason needs Medea’s help to find Golden Fleece Medea agrees with promise of marriage murders her brother arranges ****** of king who has deprived Jason his inheritance couple is forced into exile Medea bears Jason 2 sons then Jason falls in love with King Creon’s daughter deserts Medea is furious she makes shawl for King Creon’s daughter to wear at her wedding to Jason  shawl turns to flames killing bride Medea murders her own sons by Jason Odysseus goes along with story for a while but Laura wants husband Odysseus is merely scruffy boy with roving eyes Laura becomes galled by Odysseus leaves him for one of his roommates whom she marries then several years later divorces there is scene when Laura tells Odysseus she is dropping him for his roommate he is standing in living room of her house space is painted deep renaissance burgundy there are framed photographs on walls in one photo he is hugging Laura and her daughters under big oak tree in room Laura’s friend Bettina other girl he fingered first night he met Laura at party is watching with arms crossed he drops to floor curls body sobs i miss you so much Laura turns to Bettina remarks look at him men are such big babies he’s pitiful Bettina nods

following summer he works installing displays at G. Fox Department Store besides one woman gay men staff display department for as long as he can remember homosexuals have always been attracted to him this misconception is probably how he got job his tenor voice suggesting not entirely mature man instead more like tentative young boy this ambiguous manifestation sometimes also evidences gestures thoroughly misleading after sidestepping several ****** advances one of his co-workers bewilderingly remarks you really are straight manager staff are fussy chirpy catty group consequently certain he is not gay they discriminate against him stick him with break down clean up slop jobs at outdoor weekend rock concert in Constitution Plaza he meets 2 younger blond girls who consent to go back to his place mess around both girls are quite dazzling yet one is somewhat physically undeveloped they undress and model for Odysseus radio plays Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly With His Song” both girls move to rhythm sing along he thinks to orchestrate direct decides instead to let them lead lies on bed while curvaceous girl rides his ******* slender girl sits on his face they switch all 3 alternate giggle laughter each girl reaches ****** on his stiffness later both assist with hands mouths his ****** is so intense it leaves him paralyzed for a moment

in fall he is cast as Claudius in production of Hamlet Odysseus rehearses diligently on nights o
Shania Jun 2018
Us the crazies hide in a forest of misfortune.
There are no reflectors for we fear of what we've become.
We the crazies live in our minds,
We hide there looking for an answer,  
An answer that only the depths of our minds can answer.
Us the crazies are constantly followed,
We are followed by the pitter pattering of little insects that try to control us.
We the crazies do not have silence,
The mice in our heads scratch and scratch and ache for attention.
Us the crazies eat the weak.
We are cannibals controlled by our urge to feel,
The urge to feel wanted.
Oh, god do I want to feel wanted.
We the crazies are never fulfilled in our own Kingdom of Doom.
Austin Heath Mar 2014
It started with a pen,
and wound up in English.
No diction, addiction, or
ambition,
to get published.
“Don’t scream and you’ll look normal.”
Screaming “MISOGYNY!”
if screaming at all,
I’ve seen the great minds of
my generation
addicted to Adderall.
 
Some friends who get wasted,
and I remain sober.
Cheap ‘03 cars, yet,
no ones coming over.
 
Actors without work now,
no one with opportunity.
Suicidal crazies now,
crafted from 80’s and 90’s responsibility,
and A is for Adderall.
 
Sugar coated heroine,
designer drugs.
Poor blacks, whites, mexicans,
and asians swept under the rug.
 
“The father, the son,
the invisible hand.”
 
Crack in prisons, *****,
holy ******* in a BMW,
Feminism, becomes communism,
becomes atheism becomes you.
You so counter-culture,
you forgot about us,
“She’s not an angel friends,
throw her under the bus.”
 
Politicians in purple now,
blessed American royalty.
Slaughter the disenfranchised,
poor, socialist regime,
and A is for Adderall.
 
Don’t shoot the police,
shoot the children instead,
or send them to war,
but the war had to end.
“In god we trust, but
in the market we invest.”
So occupy Wall Street,
and get called a hippie,
or occupy college,
and become a dead beat?
 
In high school you’re told,
be what you will be.
Cancer is still a…
“…”
…Hereditary disease.
 
Actors without work still.
Politicians lying still.
Suicidal crazies.
Ecstasy filled crazies.
Counter-culture conformist.
Culture conformist.
Eco-terrorist.
Mindless consumer.
Junkies, addicts,
soldiers, students,
leaders, followers,
murderers, democrats,
conservatives, liberals,
republicans, child molesters,
sexists, racists.
 
No more labels.
 
It was every single individual.
Individual failure.
One by one, we were all found guilty.
You are guilty. I am guilty,
and
A is for Adderall,
and the new marginalized.
The only rhyming poem I've written, "Adderall", is supposed to represent a culture that is angled against feminism, too tolerant of violence, uncaring, uncertain, poor, and confused.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.there are only two aspects of forgiveness worthwhile, kept in anticipatory slumber, (1) is watching the masses congregate within the confines of your thinking, but (2)... watching how individuals in said massing of resources... seem to be akin to: someone walking on tip-toe on a bed  egg-shells... i'm met a few crazies... and i've prescribed myself investigating a few normal-folk, who are seemingly petrified, "thinking" than such: negations of ease, akin to depression, have an epidemic ontology.... that they are contagious... more or less.... like a sick ego, that bribes one's thinking and sows a false duality between what constitutes a body, consumed, with what otherwise, constitutes a mind... i've seen a few crazies... they seemed to like me, even when i suggested that we only just met...  the most senile people in the world... thus, to be frank... i'm more concerned with the sanity projects... with their emotional intelligence worth less than the emotional relativism of a gnat to a bear, which begs the reason os arguing: none... who... are so barren... they'd prefer the status of a pawn, in a game of chess, akin to Jimmy Savile...so much for the Saxon logic of: innocent until proven guilty... more like: innocent proven by death, after which... there is no case for either innocence, or guilt... i'm of the conviction... that... i'd rather see an innocent man claim redemption in life... than a guilty man laugh at a redemption in death; sorry... but i don't share the sort of sentiment that argues otherwise... better an innocent man claim redemption while alive... than a guilty man "claim innocence" while dead... part-and-parcel of the legality of the death penalty... the former argument: guilty until proven innocent makes a whole lot of sense without a death penalty... and the latter? no logic behind it... it makes no sense... then again... i am drunk, and i do not delve into sober issues or: serious circumstance... i allow sober people to meddle in such affairs... after all... sober people... make... the most... compelling arguments and, to boot, the most convincing opinions for up-coming affairs! why become a thief in their ordinances?! please! let the mice play, while the cat is away!  i need no bargain with ****-stormers and ******-buggery!

oh i've been to a few psychiatric interviews
over the past 10+ years...
always wondering: what am i doing
here? psychoanalyzing the psychiatrists?

you do know what a psychiatrist is
a poor man's psychologist -
with the added branch of pharmacological
applicability?
  a psychologist will just talk,
perhaps serve you camomile tea...
but prescribe zero drugs...

the talking, the endless talking,
the talking
of a west London psychologist...
who ends the relationship when
you mention:
i've had a dream of Allah...
god he's grotesque...
but, point: there was
someone with him...

  i thought that Allah had no
companions, or rather: he took none?
oops...

i remember analyzing this
situation once,
a ****** psychiatrist brought in
aa medicine student
who wanted to specialize in
psychiatry...
   apparently he concluded that
i was sane...
nice... being the subject
of learning curvature
surrounding a medicine student...

next came the allotment plant
to mind the crazies
while mingling them with the physical
retards...
stole a lot of potatoes that day...
the retards slurred,
exposed their genitals...
and were huddled together like
cattle by the social workers...

******* marvelous!
couldn't expect a lesser
Moulin Rouge reinterpretation
if i wasn't watching harlots
dance the: flinging
of the undergarments on show
that warm July afternoon!

but always, whenever i visited
a psychiatrist in a clinic:
always...
  why am i here?

you know what scares psychiatrists?
EM-PA-THY...
scares the living life out of them...
empathy is what psychiatrists
apprehend the most...
   so you're neither a psychopath
or a sociopath?
what are you then? comes the auto-suggestive
interpretation
of the ****** expression that
comes with suggesting,
even the slightest lack of contempt
for a basic human emotion...

scared, ****-less!
as if on a diet of ****** ruling
over Sudan, or similar ****...
famine after famine,
scared, but unable to soil their underwear,
given... well... the ******* famine...

oh i love psychoanalyzing
psychiatrists,
they have a shorthand blistering
beneath their appreciation for
listening...
their pharmacology branch...
caught one psychiatrist off guard...
he says, out loud,
that... i was abused as a child...

and?
  perhaps i was, perhaps i wasn't...
better that than being treated like
the modern Humpty-Dumpty...
walking on egg-shells typo,
rather than type, of what constitutes
the ontology of individualism...

i had to retort  with / resort to seeking
the opinion of a Polish neurologist
who, with a basic question
'doctor, am i mentally ill?'
replied
  'whoever said you're mentally ill,
is mentally ill themselves!'
case closed...
    
hence the statistics are believable
surround the death of Ellie...
teenage suicide rose in England
by 67% between 2010 and 2017...
    
so you do know the difference between
a psychologist, and a psychiatrist?
camomile tea...
   a psychologist is a humanist,
a psychiatrist is a physician...

if you're rich enough...
you see a humanist...
  poor? shorry...
   the pharmaceutical branch
of the practice is coming into practice...
but don't worry...
chances are...
    you talk what they want to hear
for a while, and then you start
talking what: they don't want you to hear...

hell...
  with this type of medication
and the whiskey...
i could turn into a semi-variant of a
hibernating bear!
i don't mind...
           i found that the glorification
pompous camp of cancer "survivors"
had their stab in the dark...
   because can we only regress
to glorifying surviving one type of
disease, while making stigma of
another kind?

the mentally ill are less of my concern....
i'm worried about the dim-wits
who abuse antibiotics!
   and i am... ******* numb-skulls...
taking antibiotics like
free-prescription vitamins!
creating the perfect niche for
super-bugs!
                      dim-wits!
         numb-skulls!
  and i thought that head-banging was
a source for erasing brain cells!
Reza Mahani Feb 2013
Let's dig our souls
for something humane
burn them in middle
and dance around the ashes
to the cracking sound of a dying fire
dancing like crazies
like those in love

Shadows are getting longer,
a big one hanging over,
waiting for the right moment
but we dance like crazies
like those in love

Sky is turning dark blue
let's add old memories
to the fire
in new flames
I see my mother
telling me to pull it together
and we dance like crazies
like those in love

Our bodies feel hotter
as we close our circle
the pain of burning flesh
the dark pleasure of termination
we dance in fire
like crazies
like those in love

A breeze drifts our ashes
we swirl,
up and down
dancing in the air
like crazies
like those had been in love
Friday, 8/13/2008
An old one, written in June 2008. I realize it's not a good poem, but I am so fond of its dark and disturbing images that could not let go of it :)
Yenson Jul 2018
May we live in and see interesting times, the old saying goes

another offers that when the mind is blind, the eyes cannot see

for me my days are interesting and the laughter readily and often comes

for the grapes of wrath brings forth mirth filled grapes on grapevine tendrils

As lemmings and sheep enact bellyaching absurdities, as the ridiculous does



Veracity on sojourn and falsehood in residence with doors firmly closed

Hamlet re-enacts hapless role, with Red Robin Hood and vigilantes to a tee

eager audiences, participatory scenes in towns and cities, leaving empty homes

come all and vent your spleen and satiate your prejudices without paying a fee

This land belongs to us, it is our birthright and we will send Hamlet to the catacombs



Nothing is private anymore, rights and freedom nailed, anywhere we roam

Ophelia not only went to Italy, she went to Hull, Turnpike Lane and even Essex

but a joke here, if all these were good, why did she come to me, you simple gnomes

perchance unlike you common goons,  she knows distinction has no comparison to thee

Your vacuous hate filled mind cannot see that difference in a Prince, that regally looms



Act two, dim, fooled actors in their Beggars Opera, screaming, 'we oppose' with glee

so called republicans, laughable in their ardent favor, ignorant of their lobotomy botches

we will do Hamlet's head in, totally unaware theirs been done in, for the brains of fleas

in a civilisation, our conscious and stable populace, roots for vigilante and mob rule, yeah

for a man of distinction is a threat reminding you of your insignificance and lack of tomes



Come friends, lets see how the home of Democracy, hounds a citizen for us all and we

lets know that Robin Hood is alive and taxing, and 'Windrush' is still active in dispatches

indigenous people power, meets criminal gang stalking, meets racism and we all drink tea

and in true cowardly fashion, its all done by insidious, indictable, nefarious, malcontents and psychopathic crazies

It is our proud duty that we should all ruin Hamlet, for mediocrity has no distinction for aspiration et excellence


Copyright LaurenceA. JUNE 2018.All rights reserved.
This is based on the experience of some one victimized by a contemporary Left-wing Group for daring to criticize their views and believing in aspiration. This poor fellow has been hounded all over London, lost his job, isolated by smears and outrageous lies now broke and on the verge of suicide,, all because he aired his own stance against socialism. The Reds are forsaken bullies, I dare say this. In the old Soviet States dissidents are subjected to a program called Slow death, where they are discredited, harassed, hounded, mobbed everywhere, isolated, they are smeared, character assassinated and persecuted. they are unfairly dismissed from jobs, denied basic Human rights and some are framed and institutionalized and declared insane, in essence their whole lives are summarily destroyed and most end up committing suicide. I regret to tell you that this happens to some in this great Nation too. Pls research Criminal Gang-stalking, Cause Stalking and Community Vigilantes online.
Fah Aug 2013
are arguments like a paradox?

does one just not compute the others message or emotional language
surely , there - just like languages are vibrations we can not understand but can feel
and perhaps learn to feel them a new , akin to learning a new language .

this would mean that things that are seemingly at first 'taboo' 'secret' 'cult like' 'mystical' especially these things

could just not fit

within my lock , akin to the enzyme molding and shifting shape for only particular proteins

could the human social structure not operate along this natural blue print? since the social structure too , is a part of nature and looking around us - something seems sorely wrong

the violence , well i'm not sure
yet why that is a base instinct but  

there is laughter inate too and smiles

so ...

what thinks ye?
of the words is have structured ?
does it make sense? does it resonate?

heck i'd like to know - how many of ya'll is the crazies?
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.where we going? asks an old crazy... i reply: we're, heading for the 1980s disco inferno! happy? **** yeah... good good, we're bringing Helen of Troy with us... happy? **** yeah! in the interlude some jokes about the, cue... modern crazies; hope you have a pleasant journey.

this is forced, lady Nikita / Natasha /
***** is forcing me to unwind
my tongue in this topic...

so... whenever i self-lacerate,
watching videos by someone like
laineybot...
and her... whatever...
"her"... please, define the masculine /
feminine nature of the word...
chair... i'm dying to know....
oh wait, in English, the grammatical
consensus suggests that
the word, chair...
was, and is, and will be,
gender "neutral"...

me? i'm worried about the PTSD,
the psychotics, the schizophrenics
mind you...

so... transgender "boy" = manic pixie
dream girl?
   **** me... show me your hands...
if i see traits of a geisha...
nope... non-passable...
but a girl with short hair?
so hot...

        so... excluding the PTSD
and the psychotics, the schizophrenics?
hurting?
hurting?
               well...
let's listen to how the following
categorized people...
start, randomly shooting people...
so... who's hurting who, p'ooh bear?

do we seriously need this *******,
where a girl who dons short hair,
and looks like a pixie,
is magically a "boy"?!
                                  what?!
she's just a ******* pixie!
   god... a girl with short hair is so
******* ****...
           why do we have get into
all this defensive *******
about trans-gender?!
i get trans-generation,
i like Roy Orbison...
   but that's not a protected Koala /
Panda project!

oooooooooooooh
ooooooooooooooooooooooh
we w'ah w'allah...
                   no, you lost me...
i started curating to the old school
crazies...
the PTSD, the psychotics,
the schizophrenics...
you know, the ones ready to arm
themselves with a full set of teeth,
M15s and machetes...

so i should be worried
about transgender "males"...
who are actually **** pixie
girls armed with short-haircuts
and strap-on ******?!

i need to watch these sort of videos...
i need...
this self-laceration...
the girl's a ******* pixie!
and she's "thinking" she's a boy
because she's donning the sort of
clothes (baggy) when i took
up skateboarding!

i'm seriously going to concentrate
on the old crazies...
they're the ones with plans...
and the sort of plans...
that usually have the patron "saint"
Shiva behind them...
Shiva? the auspicious one...
   the successful one...
most of the proper crazies' attacks...
actually end up
satisfying the grim reaper.
John Beetle Oct 2013
London ON has it’s crazies,
the one, well… Well he was a good guy.
I was drunk and sad and waiting for the bus.
The old crazy comes out of the corner
like some ****** greaser.
He mumbles everything and looks sad as well.

We both got on the bus, and we talk, no…
Mostly he talks (mumbles),
and he shows me his buss pass.
It is from 1986, and for reasons unknown,
has not gotten a new one.

I don’t know how it still has its use,
and I don’t know why, it feels, they
always come and talk to me.
they just can’t leave me alone.

but again he was a good guy,
a wise old ****,
We both got off the same stop,
I give him three bucks for a drink,
and head off to the bar.

the bar was empty and so was I
and getting filled up on coke and wh
isky.
vircapio gale Sep 2012
so quick, so quick--
and it's over in appreciation's bloom
i run and kiss her- glad to be alive with you
adrenaline spread across
the slice of time i am
this life affirmed in downward rush
of vision    swallowing the whole
un    worded     awe
'i cannot be a poet now'

from reading on the drive there:
absurd psychology, it marvels at me
similizing downward flight    to that of two rakshasas thrown
from Angada's leap on Lanka
    palace tower kicked, another symbol falling
likened to Ravana's ego doomed,
ordering to **** that messenger
who revealing imminence alights the fate
of endings we all share,
how could i guess
i blindly follow orders--
the ten-headed ego writhes resistance
at the incapacity in me, the failure  
    to speak    meaningfully,
or trounce the message-bearer
routing through the speech
of others only    intoning at ten thousand feet:
om  earth   sky    cosmos
    contemplating that original love
perfect fullness     within and out
    let us realize our unity
om  peace   peace  peace

at the silence    in the noise
eudaimonic under breath as engine climbs
in moments    (i don't know how i got here)
i chant remembrance into time--
the solar warmth    a touch of ease
amid anticipation's quandary--
he has a helmet    unlike me  
    "Don't let those two mess with you,"
the camera-headed lady says to me before she jumps
her finger wagging    some distant familiarity
of jests to lighten fears    or twirl them in the air--
so cold the wind     and thin to singe the lungs--
his body hanging out the door     waiting for
her flight into his falling grasp    the plane rocks into the slamming door
the door...    is closed again for me to kneel beside
and think of next and after what has come before
    inching    'i love you' at the back of the plane
where crouched the one who whisked me here
in mystery to allow unveiling here today
from reading epic only--gazing down--"no signs" to give away
the open spaces felt and bright  treeless    vast
and getting out of car with closed eyes--
"surprise!" and there sits a plane or twenty over there
and "SKYDIVING" written on the door
which i am happy to dismiss as we walk the other way,
she wouldn't have the guts to surprise me with this--
but yes we turn around and here we are
with sky-crazies in pictures    peace and love on palms
strapped tandem     falling    living     back   still far from earth
we sign the papers under those smiles
faintly listen to the video  squawking 'court of law'
and 'choice of your own free will'
paid and signed away  we harness in and search for fear
windex for the goggles  (but how clearly will i see?)
my ***** are safe from straps or so i think
i'm conscious of the need to quip
and John and Paul--our parachutes--
become a double headed meet-your-maker Pope
for me to flatly joke about.
"Pain is good," says the pilot as
we learn the way to fall
and pile seven in a tiny cockpit,
we're off the ground before i know it
i 'woot' to sign my joy.   as much as to assent
conversations of little more than two lines
keep us feeling human as we swallow
popping in our ears,
--she'll have to keep her gum--
smoke stacks, mines, gray grids of residential scapes
seem to **** the green from curve of earth.
faintly i recall ecology, pulled into the sun
stumbling to cage the meaning of it all
a sentence forms into a trailing nonsense.
my breathing tests the press of straps on waist and chest
deafened, chanting. cease to chant.
the meaning overcome with wonderment beyond my mind.
am i missing something?
thank the pilot as a "Sir,"
"Door!!" "How long?!" "When!?!" --i hear the buckles faintly clicking,
the distance imperceptible a rush
of air i am infused with global letting be
the ball of tight electric fear
a nostril flare of otherworldly falsity--
i am here.
and tilting, instructions gibberish, shouting go! go!!
a kneeling fetal hop into the gust of void
so full the eyelash burns horizonal










.
the lines in italics constitute a paraphrase of the Gayatri Mantra
alexis hill Feb 2014
we the crazies
we the maniacs
we the psychos
we the insane

this is blooming
in our brains
we want to
inform you-

we the people
are all untamed
like them monkeys
and apes

WE are in so many
ways the same
treason upon this
****** terrain,

tell us- define
to us all what
the **** is sane

whats normalcy
or regularity...

we the crazies
we the maniacs
we the psychos
we the insane

want so much
to stop pointing
fingers,

and end the blame
game.

like why judge
them
because you just
don't understand
em'

lookin at em' like
"whats wrong with you?"

we just have to
tell you all
the truth-

this hurt
and pain we
feel on the
daily

yes we may
be deemed
"crazy"

but we also
have dreams
and aspirations
friends and families

and we just need
the help
cause' we
can't all call out,

"please save me"

we the crazies
we the maniacs
we the psychos
we the insane

just need to
be heard
be voiced
be given the same

equal opportunities
and choice
have a shot
at a better life

not only because
we can but
cause' we
WANT
and the will
to live is stronger
than the will to die

so we the crazies
we the maniacs
we the psychos
we the insane

have the strongest
innate power within
to survive this pain
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
F- For being faithful like a forbidden fruit truthful
R- Ruler of fruit so passionately about his love bite
U- Understatement how she layered her
salad love ingredients
Google it
Utmost website take a bite
I- Included in everything We know it the poets
Ring coming like diamond my fruit of the crop
T- Timing, Fruit for thought rhyming tremendous
but tedious fruit-salad love

I- Truly   

S- Strawberries lips of cherries falling from the tree.
Feeling free Robin bob bobbin along loves strawberry pie
A- For such ambiance, Miss Ambrosia
such allure "Pink lady" apple smiles so
animated graphic artist so cool and waves shore
L- For Living eating in good health breathing
the fresh air Earth Baby Bella green lettuce.
Lacy Length of her wedding bodice spiritual rice
he promised her hand in fruit bountiful marriage
A- For a party of love fruit masquerade party
Connoisseur of fruit smarty oranges
vibrant animation fruit forever apples,
I tune's of apples
D- Divine dressed up with layers
of fruit salad
Devilish eggs toppings designs of
dandelions daisies, fusion
with fruit crazies

D-  Digging exploring forbidden fruit
Cranking up the Cranberries
I am dreaming the Blueberries
No Sir, not your Monday blues
Dow Jones way up I Apple phones?
R- Rev it up Robin Recharge, rambling
lucky reds fruits
Italian the lovers of red wine and a salad
avocado smashing up her Money green
Eldorado entering her fruit palace

                      She rules

E- Energy vitamin E for exceptional inviting
fruit salad with everything piling
Elderberry Evergreens Huckleberry
S- Symmetry art salad Palm of hearts
Fruit season
love storm style sophisticated a poem with
the style you're sure to smile
S- Autumn leaves falling on the
sleeves crabapples
Silver smooth skin Kiwifruit sour cherry on the
          " SILKY"
Dogwood in the Sierra Juniper
E- Enlightening some enchanting evening
how his love fruit fell from the tree
His fruit for the soul so enthusiastic you loved
to entertain this is love fusion nothing simple
I am not one to complain

D- Dressed to the fruit nines perfect 10 salad
Mad Alice in Wonderland hair so much hair
obsessions love of fruit blueberries and
she's a bit sour cream
with daisies and dandelion teas all,
please and what else is another
fruit of a pain
To remain in silence but that burst of flavor
is like science fusion of soulful rain

F- food for thought furry but fireplace hot
love frenzy comfort foods A la carte frosting
"Buttercream" food pleasant dream
The freshly brewed coffee I never heard of
fruit your in luck
Blueberry coffee homemade Moms
I  girl scout you brownies and
Saltwater sea fruity buns of a breeze

U- Unique how you utilize passion-fruit
prize music
fruity Pop blend fires out up-tempo
your feeling unbaked
Not the right ingredients of love fruit cake

S- Serendipity New York City the
fruit never sleeps fruit stands love for
keeps or Dorothy surrender spices
of Sage Superfood salads

I- Yes we have bananas wearing paisley
bandanas fruit is ripe to improve a love
how it's written
Inkwell an index of fruit swell

O- Out worked outlived on time for only
fruit about the abundance of love
So soothing the fruit tunes of his music
Overjoyed Silk Organza

N- Gift of fruit not like any other day
Neighborly of kindness just dress
Organza Gown of fruit
So naturally spoken love so near Fruit salad he left a notorious love tear.
This is a fruit all numbered to our soul now we must be focused on only fruit I have ways to make you into a salad
Harry Kelly Jun 2018
I remember.
Walking with you on West End Avenue.
Laughing and Laughing.
We used to go into the drug stores and try different eye creams Attempting to conceal the fatigue that comes from staying up
for days on end.

Partying
Man, did we party.

And I remember.
The different creatures we would run into
along the way.
Creatures of the night.
Mostly emotionally disturbed characters.
Running from life or running from themselves.
Some real crazies.

You remained my good friend.
A reliable person.  Something rare in life.
We would talk about the mistakes we made
and the good choices as well.
Careful never to beat ourselves up too badly.
Because sometimes, it’s hard to make the right choices.
And it’s better to laugh when you mess up.
It’s better to laugh if you can.
Elizabeth Ann Nov 2013
You were there
In the cold of afternoon
And you were there
When I dozed off too soon
You were in my dream
Of parties and smoke
You were in my dream
And in it you spoke
You told how you'd been
And you stood a little close
A felt your lips on mine
As you slowly spoke
And I wanted to kiss
But listened instead
As you whispered and joked
About crazy in the head
For I knew you before
When you smiled quite sane
But then, I knew you before
You ever spoke with disdain
But then I got mad
As I slowly realized
That all the boys I have loved
Don't carry real eyes
For their eyes were all fake
With a bright shine of star
That hid their sad madness
Unless you looked from afar
And as I awoke
I knew the truth to be
All the "sane" boys I've loved
Are all crazies in my dreams
Nathan.
Lucas Lowman Jan 2014
I'd like to propose a toast, if I may...
to give thanks,
to my friends both near and far,
to my family,
to my mentors,
to my therapists,
to my teachers and principals,
to the pretentious *******, bullies and *******,
to the girls I have crushes on and the ones way out of my league,
to the hopeless romantics,
to the lovers and fighters,
to the loners and losers,
to the crazies,
to the nerds and geeks,
to the gamers and cinephiles,
to the poets and writers,
and to everyone I have ever known
You all have molded me into the happy guy
that is living a fantastic life
So thank you and cheers
*clink
Samantha Ann Dec 2014
His voice makes me tremble in the most extravagant way
Just the tone pulls me astray into day dreams of him running his fingers through my hair with him I could go absolutely anywhere.
Our crazies balance each other out
my love for him comes with no doubt.
He is the only thing I need.
RW Dennen Sep 2014
A shooting chunk of space-ice
streaks across
my abyss of internal
and external thoughts
Caught in awe
of murky dark nothingness
that lies beyond the hydrogen
and carbon spatial fields
of primordial beginnings

Evolutionary processes
unfold as creation
vomits outward
The forever expanding hand of the Great-One

The misty clouds in turbulent and stilled gases
fill the nostrils of
The maker

Not withstanding anymore
this crazy-craze
for answers
I close my eyes
and shut off
my inquisitive mind
in fear of the cosmic crazies
What we have is nuts, crazy, mad
But it's just that
I like to laugh instead of being sad
I like to giggle so people know I'm not that bad

Mr.J knows that
He gets what they don't
He sees what they wouldn't
When I'm with him I feel warm

Not alone
I'm damaged but so is he
I find it hard to manage
But not with him

You see?
Do you see he just gets me?

My 'Puddin makes me happy
Even tho I'm the baddest bady
We're meant to be

Sometime we paint white roses red
Each shade from a different person head
Don't look at me
Or you'll lay in your dead bed

Don't dream
Dream is a killer sometimes we get drunk with a blue caterpillar

He's peeling the skin of my face
Cause I really hate being safe
The normals they make me afraid
The crazies they make me feels safe

I'm nuts baby I'm mad
The craziest friend that you ever had
You think I'm ******
You think I'm gone
Tell the psychiatrist something is wrong

Over the bend entirely bonkers
He likes me best when I'm of my rocker
Tell you a secret I'm not alarmed
So what if I'm crazy... all the best people are

He thinks I'm crazy
He thinks I'm gone
I think he's crazy to
I know he's gone

That's probably the reason that we get along
Suicide is one of those movies you watch over and over again. And I kinda wanted to share my thoughts of it. From the way I show everything go down really. But watch the movie! It's pretty cool <3
Mitchell Duran Nov 2012
Everyday
As I am lifted from
The depths of
Bullet transportation

Up
And
Out

To the busy city street
Leading me to where
I'm supposed to go

The word Conveyor Belt
Comes to mind

Every face
The same
As the day before

Clouds white and stained
Stupid, unworthy pillows
That the angels won't even touch -
They prefer that Tempurpedic stuff

Expensive taste
Those angel's have

God must have
Rubbed off on them

The belt spins
The bolts are stainless
Shining naked like a
New born baby in the
Sacramento River sunlight

The oil thicker
Than the first mud of Earth

Thicker than one-hundred faceless
Soldier's blood
Mixed to perfection
With sympathy and
Black newspaper ink

Thick as the human heart
In its final moments

The last three beats
Echoing loud like the screams
Within the insane asylums and
Delivery rooms:

Buh-bump,

Buh-bump,

Buh-bump.

Then,
At long last,

Silence
Yenson Dec 2018
Listen you nice genteel ladies out there
We know you'll adore a charming, intelligent
smart, humourous, caring, loving and sensitive
charismatic man

We know you'll absolutely love a decent, wholesome
capable, balanced, brave, courageous Alpha male
we know you'll really like a versatile, poetic,
gentleman, able to do nearly everything and do it well
Even animals and children love him too

We know you'll just melt for this man who is an amazing lover
Wonderfully equipped, experienced, unselfish, rhythmic
hard yet gentle, graceful motion in hot ocean
Slow hands and arousingly hot touches, a great lover
who just adores women

Well forget it Ladies
We do not like this Elitist, well rounded intelligent lovely man
He is banned, banned, banned banned
How can we rogues, coarse, uncouth, insensitive semi-illiterates
compete with Mr Wonderful, who leaves ladies buckling in
rampant throes of multiple *******
Who makes love to your fine senses as well as your bodies

How can we, under endowed minutemen
with no grace, style or starmina, much less a romantic nuance
compete with our Mr Amazing with the mostest

We are flat bottomed pale skinned, weedy looking lot
we have little manners, we can hardly hold intelligent conversation
we don't do charming and all that *******
We are not keen on personal hygiene, that's for poofs
Forget looking groomed and polished, that's for poofs too
when drunk and we can just about manage to get it up
It's slam, bang, no thank you ma'am, nothing
poor gals left unsatisfied, unappreciated, any wonder most are turning to each other these days
Us loutish men, just reach for another pint, see you later, get your *** out...

We are working-class dumbos and proud of it
we are pirates and Robin Hoods, we take from the Decent Upscales
we fight them and harass and hound them, torment their *****
we destroy their reputation, degrade them
we can't do better, why should they have an easy life
And all the fun of the ****** fair

Look at the toffee nosed Emmanuel Macron in France
Rich background, privileged, he gets into power and start
messing with the working people, we are now dealing with him
That's what they do if you give them room
They diss the ordinary people and tell us its living intelligently
while they wine and dine and make love in Champagne
Well, not anymore, they don't, we've got there numbers now

The same with our charismatic intelligent Mr Wonderful here
We are sorting him out good and proper, we are on his case
So any ladies go near him or seen befriending him
is a class traitor and would be dealt with accordingly
We have put a *** and relationship ban on Mr Amazing
Let him see what doing without means, lets see him suffer
deprivation and hunger and hopelessness, we have been for years

I dare any of you ladies go near him and see what will happen
we will shave all your hair and put you to public shame
like those collaborators ladies in France after the 2nd WW
We will ostracise you like we have Mr Wonderful
we will smear and degrade you and  your life will be made
impossible.

This is Class war and you Ladies have been WARNED
Can you imagine it, not only rich, privileged, brilliant, capable
confident, self-assured, smooth, suave, charming, articulate,
presentable, wise and balanced, He's also gifted with a big ****,
and from all accounts he really does know how to use it
Jezz...how ******* fortunate can an elitist get!

Well you ladies are sure missing a good thing going
but we don't mind cutting off our long noses to spite our faces
Granted some nice girl could found happiness and the most amazing man and both could do a lot of good in the society and bring happiness to others
but we don't think rationally, that's for the elitists

We are mindless yobbos, thugs, hooligans, no-good, immature,little dicked ruffians and malcontents
We are anarchist, tall and proud
We are crazies, sad and pathetic and we do not care

So you ladies stick with your class and make **** sure
it's a No dice to Mr Wonderful  

NO NO NO it's a RESOUNDING NO from all working people
  ESPECIALLY YOU LADIES, just better know that YES from you
and it's the guillotine and not only your hair will be for the chop!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!
This is a PEOPLE'S ROYAL COMMAND
why can't I help always seeing the funny side of life. wake up laughing, go to bed laughing, life really can be so absurd, funny and interesting.
Sa Sa Ra Dec 2012
Yo _,
Hoping all is well as sugary sweet flowing going more like honey beeing;
you---- and---- too-uly have been so how do we like to say so, romp rompy and we just don't know X'actly as is, as it might appear though let us hope it's not too rhymey or schemey with Pop Pomp Pompey on and in too deeply into those ity bity incy weeny little commentary boxery's!!

If you don't get my follow ups to Heaven Made'r and or Garlic Please they are in draft form which I may poem-alize live copy dat roger over and over or not. I'm going out about it never mind worrying about yourself, but before or later don't worry so much we all here are so under staffed it's one of those scarcity things we need to promote to keep all you potentially dangerous and certainly crazy types safe. We've myopically studied humanity and yes those aliens have been helping too for well let's just say here cause I'm to say not so much about it, but I've already been chipped as spared with a tag of 'IDKy'. My Mom was told as a child it might be curse but I feel now with my spare free pass I'm feeling lucky and so gamble ramble rolly and once I found out it actually rhymed with Holy so who Holy knowly's? Okay my apologies and I'm overly busy you know the staff scarcity thing though we try to usually depersonalize for both the guilty and innocent as well one as you as far as we can tell are innocent yet and charges have been brought against you, but don't get your hopes up quite yet!!!

So if you would like to consult with a lawyer we are fine by this we'd understand but understand this we do not have public funds on that scarcity list for defending such kinds of non-nonsensical indefensible, but of psychiatrist and getting locked up for this we could turn you in or give ya' a long set of lists...

And we try to promote optimism firstly especially moslty up-frontly; but know see here steer clear of what we just might need a little bit more clarity therein thereoutward IDK peeps are saying all kinds of crazy things out there we're trying very hard at keeping you safe from all those other's now. I think they call themselves all kinds of crazy things like 'One Another', then they say 'All's ya' need is Love" but see then they've got all kinds of other deep rooted kinds of mix-ups within for next thing you know ya', we have finally figure this much. They seem so contradictory, we've butchered and tortured the best specimens we could and too some even helped with every bit and like too all kinds of crazy things they call us conformists!! We have not got that one figured out yet but new techies well ya know we stole some of their genetics fore if you just keep them reigned in on just a precise tether we have got a bit done with them. Well they are coming soon can't say when with chips that make silicon again dark ages at last, well then as I was saying the new algorithmics and transprogramizations might be able to be downloaded in. Now yes the stuff we have now and we're building servers and storage what they say of Gods House Many Mansions, well we don't know what crazies think they think they think they believe somehow they actually can do anything at all but we have got this thing that fits what they call Gods House we think on the small tip end of the needle ya, as they say JC, Pop's little one, all these mansions just one son. Anyway said something about us being like trying to get a camel though the eye of that thing. But wowza we got a barn load of that House of God stuff on the small end remember and they pretty safe we's moling around underground and along with a little nuclear waste and all the kinds of formats and types of files well if they were barns on grounds oh what a city!! We think perhaps a metaphorical thing we might be able to some how use it then they say we are abusing it. Well to say this for the new humanity and like that "Jeweled City" coming down for their own good looking over them it will be. We have our special agents everywhere, from a handful of string puppeteer players but don't worry the aliens say most of the genes did what they were supposed to. So we might be getting close to pulling this off. Well, these thing now are like what they say about this thing they call 'God'. It's like it knows no country, race, religious affiliations or associations, secular or non those work we have found about the same way. Currencies, politics they all make pretty good mindful fences and we like that stuff it's all in your head, because there are some still trying figure this stuff too, about some kind of connection from the mind to or from the heart and which way we just don't get the technical details. All we really know is that when this heart matter comes up our systems nearly crash. So as far as we can tell we still pushing hard that EMC squared energy matter to crazy people, crazy enough keeps theirs minds busy with stuff dig!! This oh, how this the beautiful kicker still scares the living 'um we'll just call it crap here. For if this ever goes public you know the scarcity promotional plan and shortness of staff, well it might save us some editing and save energy from servers trying to catch stuff that might upset and make unruly those same people we do all we can for. But you never know we're just not so sure so too we let them selves go on with maybe 'Mother' needs to cleanse herself... we like to leave room for a few contingency things.

Give it a couple of weeks and try not to sweat it too much a bit. But then try to get back with me on this. We have setup a private file here; we respect your privacy but you might want to check the details of fine print on the site here that just keeps a hoing along linking to the indefinite indeed-ly insane rather cool gruelingly cruel more so beyond too colder than natures own ice here which such is ever dear kinder sweeter than the down linking of going to be your bad. However now too understand there are new technologies out there while we are at it if your feeling a bit chilly chilled here now beside all those turn on and off pills and again the bugs are not so clear if they can ever worked out but there are places and they can make it painless, sounds nice right hmmm now ya got me thinking too much again. Susssh's not a word one slip click of mouse here that I don't need meece or even mice just one mouse dig and mine is wired just one little slip click and oh 'ooops your prioritized and if your a unlucky type of fellow we always need a good sporting specimen of public spectacle. Just so you know we don't want 'Gods Children' acting and playing in love, joy, fun or singing not in that counterproductive heartfelt way. The chips are almost ready and for their own good we wouldn't want you to get in the way!!!
This was msg saved as draft for a spell about;
These were responses saved as drafts for a spell,
a bit watered for public consumption about;
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/garlic-please/
about;
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/garlic-really-or/
and just in part really;
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/heaven-mader/
to;
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/heaven-fader-why-not-lata/
Christian Dec 2010
I saw that butterfly explode,
I touched it,
I can't tell you wether it was suicide or homicide,
either way a sick grin crept along my face.

I knew I had gone crazy,
"but the crazies never know"
oh the crazies always do.

You may think it was only a butterfly,
caused by entropy,
or me,
itself.
But I'll tell you a butterfly means more than butterfly.
But I won't tell you what it means cause
I'm only talking ****.

Water bottles carry cancer,
food holds onto cancer,
we feed our livestock cancer,
we grow our fruits with cancer,
and I watch the beautiful explode.

Then again I think we should all explode a bit.
Maybe then we'd see our touch hits hard,
like mayonnaise on a mustard jar
I don't know.. ?
Traveler Aug 2018
I wish I didn't know why
Yet crazy will have
An eye for an eye
The giving
That eventually takes
Life and love
Make no mistake!

Fear and karma
Are nothing more
Than crazies way
To Heaven’s door
Crazy teachers
Crazy test
From such labor
There is no rest!

Crazy enlightens
That is true
Crazy enough
To be so cool
As to jump right in
The logical maze
Attempting to hide
Our crazy away...
Traveler Tim
r Oct 2014
you were laid up in guadalupita
with camelia la tajena from la junta
and her tonto from la plata-
hiho-yo

shootin' tequila with pancho villa
jefe of the bandidos mc locos
- tweakin and twerkin chicas and cholos
and vatos ridin' with the vagos -

they were singing -

"con cuerno de chivo y bazooka en la nuca
volando cabezas a quien se atraviesa
somos sanguinarios, locos bien ondeados
- nos gusta matar
"

you were kickin - breathing quickened
- bravo television tunnel visioned
to the tonto/pancho episode
en camera - exposed

pronto - camelia shot her tonto
dead - a perfect rose upon his head -
i like killin - she said

hiho-yo, tonto

we sang narcocorridos
all night long -

on the blue mesa.

r ~ 10/25/14

 *song excerpt from:
"Sanguinarios del M1” (Bloodthirsty Men of the M1)” (2010)
"Translation: "With “goat’s horn” (AK-47) and bazooka at our necks/Sending heads flying if anyone tries anything/We’re bloodthirsty, crazies deep in the scene/We enjoy killing..."
.\¥/\
   |      narcocorridos
  / \ bm  http://hellopoetry.com/collection/7717/blue-mesa-collection/
doug mocoy Feb 2010
with predatory instinct found
under siege, underground
Birch II, my ward, my home
before I leave pages turn to tome

with rehashed food and smuggled items of variety
cigarettes, chew, and paper clips, decaffeinated life

suicide attempt
breeding contempt
smash at walls
scream at captors
claws of raptors

manic I was, manic I remain, new rage, I am insane

line by line by line
empty words of horror’s sound
with LSD’s aftershocks ringing my ears
and feeding my eyes that hate your normalcy
with all the confused dread I can muster

one word, madness
shaking fool, lost cool
tremolo-plastic-breakfast-spoon
lifting bits of sanity to my mouth parts

Freshly-washed ****-head desires the woman
I left in the real anti-world called home

close my eyes and see my last trip
bathroom tiles explode and cover sink, tub, garbage can, mirror, telephone, and leg-arms
bad trip, but it was better than your unreal world

take your meds now

two-******, bipolar, mixed-manic, one-eyed, living, breathing, copulating monster under eternity’s bed

anger pounding at my ******* coming out as a giant, stinking ****

the them that sit behind the desk
regulate lives of poor inmate crazies
eat their meals and take my soul
others play cards, I write, **** time, **** tension, **** myself, with treatment plans, unreasonable demands in ******-babble B. S. words like suicidal ideation, that doesn’t apply to me, does it?

I want my trip back, I want to live in another place with another face
I want my trip back darling
I want to watch the words explode, I want to watch the tiles grow up my legs again
to watch as paper becomes pen, to bathe the tiles off of my inhuman skin
I want my trip back baby
I want to breathe in prism air where nothing and eternity collide
in spectacular displays of sonic-boom, emotional madness
incredibly---------------edible-------------sadness

I see the me looking
from inside LSD’s mirror and want to rejoin
the missing-hated-wasted-rain-forest
blackened by man’s desire
with silk-rose-petal-eye-bomb-shell

LEAVE!
leave me, for what I did or did not do or have or think or say or what

style means nothing more nothing less, you know?

it takes confusion to produce effective illusion
to produce base desires feed the fires
smoky the bear at the demon’s lair
with broken feet suckle the ****
of unused, aggressive, possessive MADNESS!!!!!

natural-organic-popcorn-hulls in rotted-bleeding-tooth-socket-decay-pain
elusive means justify idiot ends, so dig the pick into the hole in my jaw
as I scream the insanity away from my ears and into your eye-ball-socket-hole-skull-spot

clipped fingernail
package in the mail
next time I won’t fail

sleep, sleep won’t be my lover tonight, her arms won’t touch my shoulder
I won’t feel her finger-touch-tip or rub my ***** on her ******
I want my trip back
love me, love me, love me
for love or money, for emotions mistaken, for idiot sensation, for all the things you do for me, for my insanity’s sake

my world slowly fills with unbearable ills, chemical need so deep it erases my soul

feet sore from pacing
door to door to door to door

on and on seconds bleed out minutes, bleed the hours, tears bleed out the poison self-inflicted, pen bleeds ink onto paper

thoughts coagulate and scabrous emotions take
Acuriousnature Aug 2014
For phone foes of pho are the best. Their blood is the drink of the birds in the nest.
The blood hungry villains dig deep in the ground
Digging much faster than any ole hound
These birds on the wing are quite strong so it seems
Their thirst for the living is shown in their gleam
The dead are forgotten
Dirt covers their bed
Their bodies are rotten
So why are they REaD.
I wasn't sure what the word *phone* was supposed to be but I could decipher the original word
L Smida Nov 2012
I'm not really crazy
when I say I'm crazy
It's when my laugh joins my smile
And my mind forms my style
My sanity thinks its saner
And there's no thought of anger
Is when I'm bound to obliterate
Happily lost, can not locate
Any trace of crazy
Is when I'm really crazy
Lottie Aug 2015
At the mad Hatter's tea party,
I sit far away from the rabble
Of tea *** mice and twitchy hares.
Little me, little Alice, falling
Down the rabbit hole
And not knowing what is me
And what is not.
Dear lord, poetry isn't doing its thing today..
Tommy Jackson Aug 2015
Crazy does
What crazies will
Crazies live
On crazy fill.
Crazies need
Their crazy pills
Rock and roll
Will be my thrill.
Robin Jan 2013
I asked for a sign.
I guess this was my fault,
I asked the universe if we should be together and it sent demons after us.
I had a realization today.
I will never not love you.
You were my first love and my only first love.
******* for that.
And I realized that whatever made us start talking was
that we were ment to be together or something of the sort later on in life.
When we can't hurt each other the way we can today.
And when we are more mature,
physically, mentally and spiritually.

Or maybe I am crazy.
And You are crazier.
Making me the craziest.
Yeah.
*******.
I won't forget you
But I can move on.
K Cash-Staley Oct 2013
Band-aids to prevent the social infections that could eventually
spread to the frontal lobe,
Diseases started on Fox News, spread to the living room,
circulate around the family dinner table
putting victims of ignorance on the coroner’s slab
Alleviate the pain.
Should we let the gapping wounds of intolerance fester, decay and grow maggots?
***** bigotry, vile illiteracy, primitive ideas coat the skins of society like a black goo.

Band-aids: self adhesive bandages
We aren’t teachers. We are medics.
covering the gapping wounds of life
lathering the lesions with Neosporin.
Healing the scars from parenting gone wrong
- scars from wounded self-esteems
-lacerations to the proverbial heart

Scars lasting longer than the body itself.  
No one knows where its impact will end.

Band-aids
temporary fix
heal the wound fast, heal the hurt faster
A Johnson and Johnson remedy for damaged organisms
Well-meaning ones hurling scriptures scald hands with tainted words
Healing is a matter of time.

Arm teachers to protect children from the crazies who loom?
What will protect them from their own inherited ignorance?
The damage is already done when they get here.
Equip us with Band-Aids, boxes and boxes.

Hello Kitty over their ears to block the infection from coming in
Spiderman for their mouths. Stop the seepage of any contamination from spreading to others.

The remaining scars will fade, but not disappear.
even with a band-aid.
Catie Staff Dec 2013
In a purple haze, you smoke a joint,
And death would be an improvement
At this point.

Phone calls laced with ****
With open arms like an old friend
Welcome death.

Grab anything breathing and **** it.
It would be so easy just now to
Kick the bucket.

Make out with a boy, he’s gay
All the while wishing you could
Pass away.

Decide to sleep around with the crazies
And wake up asking why you’re not
Pushing up daisies.

Betray me with more than a kiss
***** around one more time
And you’re swimming with the fish.
Brent Kincaid Jul 2015
DUMPY TRUMPY

Dumpy Trumpy
Sat on his ****.
Lumpy Trumpy
Infamous ****.
He is not a friend
To the left or the right
And has no live dog
In the political fight.

Dumpy Trumpy
Pats his own back
Bragging how he is
Way ahead of the pack
Of half-witted politicos
With nothing to offer.
He thinks he will win
On the strength of his coffer.

Dumpy Trumpy
Made a big jump.
His gold plated ****
Made a sickening thump.
He waved his money,
He figured it’s enough
To sway the competition
No matter how tough.

Dumpy Trumpy
His Mussolini face
Deaf to the meaning
Of public disgrace;
He figures that even
If the GOP rejects him
He has lots of money
He’s sure will protect him.

Dumpy Trumpy
Plays to the stands
Of wingnuts and crazies
In disgruntled bands.
He’s sure if he curses
The current regime
He can be President.
At least that’s his scheme.
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
The aliens are already here
The aliens- hip, square and clean
The runaways, they've disappeared
Down pipes and drains and holes of
Sewage garden, gangs and green

There's a silent anarchy stirring in the heights
From it flows a saturnalian wine
For this free country
Can't stop drinking
Stretching its mouth to indulge in extravagance
It must be everyday, it must be more-
Take it all
Create a proxy war
And as the black *** sits and waits,
The kettle cries wolf

I pledge allegiance to the grandest of institutions
Where the last, best hope on Earth is hidden underground
Where only married fools are allowed to divide and conquer
And make gracious dents of our lives

Keep marketing death
And selling hope
Chips in our heads and
Veins full of dope
Mental warfare
Gangster mentality

The revolutionaries you hired are losing
So you better add more fuel to their fire
Till you got newspaper gods and TV messiahs
And all the innocent ones are pariahs

Capitol I and little u
Here's a free copy of our corporate Bible
Don't read the fine print
You Dead Peasant
Cause we might just put a policy through
Our Mammon's still hungry
Mommy's little terror

Bed right and woo
Bilderberg *******
Underground railroad of hate and hypocrites
You sell prison Gods
And sunny asylums
A life full of plastic
To die wrapped in plastic-
No wonder the blues originated here

We would have settled for the Silver Age
Even if it was Iron in disguise
But you kept it out too long and let it rust
Telling us it's ok-
Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

We believe in something
But it's been called by the wrong name
For thousands of years, we've been insane
(What's in a name?
Your fascist-military-papal gain)
Dropping bombs on the peers
You've pressured before
Going off to make new friends
***** diamond

Wish you a water burial when alive
So you simmer in your beloved element
Better be mindful of death
You'll never die
But beware when that elixir explodes in your face

All we want is a world where sinners sin sincerely
And the narcs are narcoleptics
And the dearest of the devil dare to see more clearly

Let's put the prisoners in a church
The congregants in a prison
The crazies in an art school
The students in a parachute-prism;
We'll send them off to all four corners
With crayons, canned goods and doves (for the mourners)
In hopes of one day seeing a world
Where expression is survival, the beggars twirl,
(And no one goes hungry with a palette of rainbows
On a day when only true praise is hurled.)

Art is made to forget we're slaves
To show the world's flaws
With a tinge of beauty
So it's bearable
How ****** up things are
How we need change
But the true lovers
Are not at the top
True lovers' passion lies in bottomless alleys
Seething baths of sweat
Relieving sins imposed by a lonely man
A ceremony of the streets- Not your false ritual

"You're all talk and no action-
Where are the answers?"
Well, sweet inquisitor
We just don't have the power
And those that do are pinball wizards-
Deaf, dumb and blind,
And friends of time
Why should they care
In their own little Edens
With fortresses of gold
And platinum eyelashes?

Aquafuck and Aquafina
*** and water
Rings called sacred
But profane down under

No Xenia, no refuge, no candle in the dark
Pyramid pointless
Your fascist brigade claims its people are fasting
Least you could do is use your paper wisely
Add impresario to your resume
And let us have our heyday

It isn't how it feels
But how it looks
We could've been healed,
But they burnt the books
Better get a gun
Technology won

They say war is over when you want it
So I'll sleep in bed all day
Throwing pennies in my dream-well
Letting my weak flag fly

And I wonder why Africa, Egypt, Eden's eating me
As the host to a ghost they pray so sweetly to
It all boils over in oil to who's royal
And what ever happened to loyalty?
(With no boundaries)

Powers that be
I need to put you out of my misery
So here's your shut-up money
Your gilded cage becomes
My blank page
Your sedition becomes
My intuition:
The last standing land mass- No woman, don't cry
Ain't that a gas?
Better take to the mountains and the trees
Before you say this too shall pass

We all bleed the same
Cultivated and wild
Fragile dust
Abandoned by a mercurial God
Waiting to be saved by a beaten sailor

It started as a shade of green and blue
And golden sands and cosmic plans
Transformed to the home of me and you
Where 100 shades of grey steam the sky
And colors fly to a place we'll never reside

Wonders of the world
Don't require human hands
A heart is all you need to plant seeds
And touch the sky
A mystery it was
And a mystery it'll be
Even if it's all dust
And matter and debris

Still, I wish I could pull a brick
And watch the whole thing crumble

— The End —