"debasement" poems
Piggies dancing, floating along narrow passages towards what they hope is their ends. Their means have been stolen and packaged and sold by big suited, corporate, handy-handy machines. They eat piggies every day and love it, love it, love it down their gullet.
They are not worth a mention yet they get it, they want nothing but your attention, they don’t need it yet they get it. Their appetites are insatiable and contagious, they use it against us by showing us how we are nothing but what they are and we are fools enough to take it as Truth.
Shame.
We have shame because they debase us and hence debase themselves.
We have shame because we see their debasement and yet powerlessness is in our bones.
We have shame because all we want is not all we get and nowhere near all we deserve,
-it measures much lower.
It is irrelevant, it is biased, it is useless, IT is un-real-(UnRealistic, UnRelated, UnTrue)
Lie.
If my breath stinks or my hair is greasy or my cloths ***** my teeth yellowed, my feet smelly, my nails long, my social life quiet and solicitous- will you discern a negativity in my human-ness? We are no villains. We hate only those who would have us believe that we must hate ourselves and each other. They are no beasts like us. The animal within, encased by a carapace of Humanity glued and mortared by self-centered ideologies gets too thick and you must break it by looking at yourself. ******** and ******* and spitting and grunting and moaning in ecstasy and pain.
Repeat after me and say it loud with beastly yell “ I am a ********* beautiful Animal!”
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
I feel for you for we all have our own deep-seeded insecurities.
But you lost me when you chose to act on that insecurity in a profoundly false and disgusting way.
Instead of using it to fuel the drive to self-betterment,
You made it your personal license to shame others.
Pushing, imposing your authority that’s shot to hell
You chose the road that leads to losing everyone’s respect.
Pulling, shoving just to get ahead in the game
You’re a crab in a bucket and you’ve got no shame.
The others you’ve pulled to debasement to show your worthiness
Are the same people who can attest to your worthlessness.
These acts of self-preservation, of making oneself superior to others
Displays not how high you’ve flown,
But how far beneath the same people you trample on you’ve fallen.
So, fall if you will
But don’t take everyone else down with you.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
When crypto fans approach us
And say “We’re on the same team”
Invite them to grasp our vision
And see if they share our dream
Say, “Great, now you’re joining us to…
Adopt seizure resistant money?
Boost personal power and accountability?
Separate money from state control and abuse?
Restore proper capital allocation through hard money?
Forsake the fiat fraud and cancel the Cantillon privilege?
Allow people to simply save and store value through time?
Cultivate new freedom for billions of people under tyranny?
Abolish the theft of our time and wealth through debasement?
Increase long-term work and vision in all areas due to stable money?
Abandon foolish agendas and wars made possible only by printing money for free?”
Then they can humbly join us
Bitcoin’s purpose in their mind
Or see they are “not on our team”
And sadly - get left behind
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 11:29 AM UTC
it feels like you have my heart poised, perfectly, between your thumb and forefinger; rubbing and squeezing and pulsating until blood is drawn and the warm fluid slides down your wrist.
whilst you aren’t texting back, i’m emptying the remaining pieces of myself into a cup of coffee. each swirl of the teaspoon is another uneasy breath expelled; i pour milk into my stained mug in the same vain that i pour what remains of me into your open mouth.
i don’t know if you want it; maybe you like your coffee black but i've never given you that option. pouring and pouring and pouring. pouring myself into you without permission, without self-awareness or a need for reciprocation. i try to water you like a plant whose roots are already swimming in water.
i think your mug might be full already but i can't stop, i want to but I can't withdraw. i'm going to pour and pour and pour until you never touch another cup of coffee for the remainder of your days, till the smell makes you gag and cafes' become scorched ground.
at this point coffee is the only thing that it feels like i know; my organs floating amongst pools of sharp, bitter liquid. i push it longer and longer and longer, the hours between meals stretch into days stretching into lightheaded bouts of fainting. but it’s okay because i feel like i'm floating. so empty and sparse that i could keep pouring myself into you for an eternity and you would never get too full, your cup would never overflow from too much of me.
but i'm tired. tired of guessing and crying and starving and giving myself to you. i am not a watering can and you are not a wild garden. you are beautiful and I am hollow, the lifeless impression of what could have been lying in the freshly seeded soil. you are the budding head of the snowdrops in the spring, i am decay, rot and debasement.
you didn’t ask for it, you didn’t ask for any of this; you wanted me to stop. to stop trying to embed myself into you like dirt under your nails. but that is the crux of it all my dear; i can't and i don’t know how to. so i keep going, i kiss your bruises and clean your wounds; pouring and pouring and pouring.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
I miss being filled with a sense of here and now from
the unclouded mental vision of youth before
the eclosion from adolescent reverie to
adult delusions.
Every moment thereafter
being crystallized with serene debasement of self.
With age eagerly gripping the hand of heartache,
will you worry about losing relevance?
survey says, an astounding "YES"
Frightening,
knee-knocking
shoot the stranger who walks at dusk questions arise...
How long will my mental faculties survive this torment of existence?
How long till I am the stranger blinded and in the dark?
How long till I am the fly caught in a web of ineptitude?
Forever the convalescent,
I revel in and reveal the depths of human insolence.
For, ever striving to be the emotion-less outsider,
I become buried beneath the
inherent
ephemerality
of
cerebral
acuity.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 11:45 AM UTC
tattoos, the mark of Cain
instinctively inducing revulsion
stirring a mix of fear and hate
and of contempt and pity
today a common mark of man
mistaking individuality for identity
abhorrence for affirmation of being
and grotesque debasement for beauty
the mark of exile, rejection, and wickedness
now of fellowship, freedom, and choice
embracing the perverse to shock as all children do
now permanently etched, defiant without understanding
perhaps it is fitting and timely now
for the world is going the way of Cain
the mark of man is yet another sign
manifesting openly for those given to see
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 5:37 AM UTC
Extinguished beneath the pressure of stifling darkness;
the blackness a behemoth caressing me with oil slick fingers.
Bound with shackles of my own forging,
chained to the dank confinement of shame with iron bracelets made up of every hurt I felt, each sting I’d inflicted.
Comforted by the weight of my own disease, dragging me down deeper into the depths of myself;
swarmed by demons cutting slices of me for their devouring.
Blistered fingers claw at the dirt, broken nails taking insignificant strongholds in the battle.
New shackles being forced into place where old ones were severed, cutting new wounds where old ones were healed.
Then, a searing light burns through the airless tomb where I lay,
my sweat still glistening in the after hours of my latest debasement.
Eyes burning, unaccustomed to the phosphorescent glow after years of stapling them shut to the vision of horror I became.
A new tsunami of dishonour throws me back, twisting my shackles tighter around bound limbs.
Now I am free and live to feel the sun on my skin, no longer translucent and sallow.
Each sound and sensation sending ripples of pleasure through my soul, but still
I limp, and my wrists are scarred.
Aug 13, 2021
Aug 13, 2021 at 4:50 PM UTC
Sick with second guessing
The bitterness is back
Beyond any classification
I'm exhausted of it all
Long past petty five steps
I've sat outside long enough in the cold
To know it doesn't get any warmer
Nostalgia's rough grasp
Clasped about my neck
I feel more and more
With every forced breath
And the more I feel the less I know
It all leads to the inexplicable
The redundant and
The impossible to reconcile
Loneliness infatuated
With this idea of the unknown
Through some lust manifests
Into a dire fear of being alone
And that fear carries forward
Incessant debasement
And all the best advice I've ever heard
Is now drowned out by the rainfall
Dripping drops of memories
Seep into wounds still being licked
With a wincing at the past
While bracing myself for the crash
There was somewhere lifetimes ago
When a warmth was prevalent enough
But all that feels like fantasy now
Some sick obsession with comfort
The idea of
Being yearned for
Thought of
Touched, kissed
Dreamed
Breathed
All things senseless yet
Fulfilling for the senses
Creating some
Sense of belonging
It's all slipping, sliding
Moving out of view
Writhing and shaking
My body shivers
Off any remaining
Icicles of doubt
I know the bitterness is back
I know the rain will keep falling harder
And right now, try and try as I might,
I just can't get this **** cigarette to light
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
Show me the forbidden petals of your dark side, where enlightenment pulsates with her superior intellectual reliance upon rationalism.
What are the parameters of absolutism and relativism in this age, where I have discoursed with austere figures of the debased brotherhood?
Can you wrap your fingers around the girth of societal modernity, and stroke the length of paradoxical sophistication where philosophical death displays her unfathomable depths?
I have found resolution to this mathematical perplexity amidst our blatantly secret desert storm, where the cosmological clock ceases to denote her tick beyond the circumference of our interior sociology.
Looking back to the future – what do you think of your first love?
As we gather in the sacred circle around ancient and dreamy wishes, the spectres of dark forests are worthy of homage on this calendar season of historical significance.
Limp, is the phallus of political rectitude.
There is something beautifully menacing about the sound of bass drums, especially whenever there is a cultural context.
Do you know why? Because, they are connected to the melody and harmony, where the fullness of ontology is climactic in its lofty debasement.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
To raise a seagull would be no small task – do you know why?
Because both you and I are not seagulls.
If an individual is perceived to be revolting, then the question arises as to whether non-conformity or debasement are the identifiable issue.
Like those cheapened activities which are secretly laid bare within the hotel hallways of Sin City, my immeasurable and baron liaisons have also been revolted by scorpion-like stings, as the wind promotes her seductive and tantalising thoughts through the brushwood of Autumnal celebrations around the vicinity of Nevada.
It is important to understand that the fullness of sound involves the synchronicity of isolated connectedness, and that we validate both the message and the messenger.
Balancing acceptance and change is horribly attractive.
Do you know why, my reciprocal affiliation of that which is considered to be humanity?
For that which is conceived, formed and reproduced within the solar system of Nirvana is not so readily articulated within the parameters of epistemology.
Aren’t ornithology and psychology both flighty?
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
When people can’t save value
In their money system, because
Of debasement of the currency,
Then they learn to save in assets.
Houses remain the top choice to
Save and preserve monetary value
Which leads to higher priced homes
Therefore
If we have a hard money that holds
Value then people can simply save
In money and home prices will drop
To the normal utility value of a home
This will make homes more affordable
For more people across the world
Bitcoin is the hard money solution
Dec 23, 2023
Dec 23, 2023 at 12:35 PM UTC
(
•
)
~~~ ^^^ ~~~
TROLL : ( one who tries to control the narrative and bend it toward some desired end ---- destructive for the naive reader / most often used to describe implanted government operatives )
••
VULTURES :
Feeding off youthful innocence and uncertainty
••
Most of the poets here seem to be TROLLS
//
The debasement of youth sexuality is no accident !
••
The image of STALKING the ****** object
In order to capture them and control their emotions
And to deny them their FREEDOM
THIS IS A PURPOSEFUL PLAN
To weaken the nation by driving its children
Into confusion
To turn the sexes against each other
To destroy all future families
And all possibilities of a united front
Against the fraud and criminality of our
Poisonous leaders !
THIS IS NO ACCIDENT!
These are not poets !
These are TROLLS !
•
Read them carefully
Their techniques are subliminal
But become obvious
•
Oh
They SOUND like they are kids too !
•
They SOUND like they are HURT
BROKEN
etc
But underlying it all is
HURRY HURRY DO IT
HURRY HURRY
BE LIKE US !
SO ADULT LIKE
IN OUR EXPERIENCE !
( TROLLS ! )
////
They teach that if you OPEN YOURSELVES
( note the violent imagery )
Allows you the status of VICTIM
allows you the option of VIOLENT REVENGE
•
And in a way reminiscent of our adult torture culture
With threats of DISMEMBERMENT
CASTRATION
Etc
Not only for the LOVED ONE (sic )
But for FAMILY and FRIENDS !
/////
And all this described as a NATURAL COMPONENT
OF LOVE !!
••
TROLLS !!
//://
Here to destroy you
To destroy the nation's Youth
to forever make you unable
to truly love at all !
//
TROLLS !
Promoters of EVIL !
Agents of Alien Entities !
Disguised amongst us as poets !
/:/
To rip you up and spit you out as good as dead
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
The voice of a jury is likened to the sound of a falling pin which shatters the silence of an empty auditorium.
How challenged, do you think, are our sophisticated and deviant ecosystems?
Colorful chords are not dissimilar to our ancient and perpendicular attachments to the transcendental concepts of time and space.
Although our socio-political and oratory genius have confined themselves to the caverns of contemporary debasement, your skin reminds me of a drenched hillside, where meteorological adversities display their historical guilt, whilst the soulful cries of murdered clansmen echo across monumental valleys of geographical distaste.
Look at those majestic ships, as they find their ambivalent salesmanship within the docks of emasculation.
The criminal code of perplexity has revealed her wanton fornication in the peaks and troughs of farmland swell.
I acknowledge the rhythm that is to be appreciated as the waterfall of cosmological infringement dangles her seductive strands of subversive proclamation across the face of justice.
And I wholeheartedly accept your unacceptable suggestions, oh mistress of the abyss.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
Signed us up. One more round.
Stagger through another year
of attrition, searing heat and self-effacement.
When that black **** bubbles up
through every crevice in the ground,
we'll know our heroes finally died
down in the basement.
This city's getting small.
I've gotten mean, you're getting old.
But your cold feet won't save you
when you're dancing on those coals.
The verdict's been returned,
it seems they're moving to convict.
And I can't really blame them anymore.
Every Summer it gets hotter
than a crooked priest's Hell.
But we're shaking while we sweat
with too much time that's left to ****
'cuz it's ****** in the courtroom
when the judge cracks a joke.
But you've heard this ******* punchline before.
Here we go, one more time.
Keep it fluid, keep it light
as you're waltzing through these streets that aren't your friends now.
You've got so much love to give,
I won't say what I've done with mine.
But there's no such thing as rest
for tired, old clowns.
Light me up, then play me out.
Stumble through another year
of attrition, mounting bills and self-debasement.
When that black **** bubbles up
through every crevice in the ground,
we'll know our heroes finally died
down in the basement.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
We found our best sly roundabout way
Moving money from government sway
Bitcoin is strong - they cannot halt
The elegant network, or break the vault
Hayek foresaw the deeply set need
To better the money, minus the greed
With interest rate that’s naturally found
And not distorted, lowered or bound
Bitcoin, the peaceful revolution
A useful decentralized solution
Stops debasement & halts the power
Of looters who seek to steal each hour
Enhances freedom across the lands
Adds real value into people’s hands
Friedrich Hayek had this truth to say
We must find a sly roundabout way
Apr 14, 2023
Apr 14, 2023 at 11:21 AM UTC
Neither Ghost
nor Father
nor a Sun
But still a 3-in-1,
with a flash of lightning
laying
scarred between
them eyes
All together
yet always alone
Standing behind a dais
on Zoom
invoking with the one good 20/20 between them,
broadcasting words into being,
manifesting Hitlerian spells
to bewitch and
to squander
the True Tales
of a Plummeting Icarus Struck Down
wingless
(but not forgotten)
by some transcendental debasement.
Admire as 'They yet She' reel a bit,
employing a well-worn
tactical maneuver,
now, getting steady,
holding on ever tighter
to the wood.
These my w.c.fieldsian barkers
who share a predestined
and enflambed
yet glorious
lavender-tinged
third eye,
with little specks of gold,
surrounding...
Inspired,
Transported,
'They yet She' look to be pinning it down
This very specific Message
from the Heavens,
straight.
'They yet She' are converging
and this should be
your takeaway
So kind of pay attention,
Please.
"'The Lord sayeth unto me
that all Men are Fools,
given to wanton callowness'
To which i reply:
'If only they would look
into the cavity,
and reach deeply and far-flung
to grasp, or rather,
to treasure
just one of a myriad of
interchangeable
divine possibilities
For within the obscurity
rests
The Glory
of All
or Nothing
and back again
for Eternity;
the Eight laying down
to rest,
tired.
And so ends The Lesson.'
To which the Lord replied
'Well done U!'
and better still,
'They yet She' intoned,
satisfied
with a sly, flyaway wink
'I know!'"
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC
Servile
--
We been
KISSIN ***
for 1000 years
•••
We run like **** eatin lunatics
Thru the spread legged high school corridors
Looking for death or some other toy
••
We find eachother & tear eachother apart
Looking to hurt the most vulnerable
••
We love to entertain !
We hope the masters are amused
And find our stupidness non-threatening
••
At the height of our debasement
We cut OURSELVES with razor blades
Like good little slaves!
--
So uncool !
So bleak!
••
We compete to see who is capable
Of expressing the most grief!
____
We boast that we will NEVER CHANGE
•••
NEVER CHANGE !
•••
Servile
--
All the creative power!
(LOVE itself)
So abused and laid to waste
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
The anguish flows when money dies
Amid the child’s and mother’s cries
It comes when scarcity is lost
And money made without a cost
Taking savings, stealing time
Open theft through hidden crime
Stones or feathers, shells or beads
These all once filled money needs
And represented hours of work
Yet money died when people shirk
And made more units, cheap and fast
Then money died - it did not last
We work for money - you and me
But central banks just print for free
Fiat money - scarce no longer
Loss of savings growing stronger
We need scarcity - absolute
No debasement - no dispute
Bitcoin provides the solution clear
Thank God Bitcoin’s finally here
180 nations - use fiat today
All are dying - come what may
Bitcoin conquers the fiat lies
Bitcoin is Hope, when money dies
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 11:29 AM UTC
Fitting perfection into imperfection; ****
Destiny’s paths in a fallen world; crooked
Sticking to the original script in spite of modification; stubbornness
Purpose contrary to the films of the soul; conflict
Bogus revelations from false prophets; false rights
Subject to the interpretation of the bearer; truth
Scripts that leave with a new feeling contrary to believing; doubt
Birth of belief and place of surrender; the heart
Authority to rule and reign; ‘Kings and pawns’
Set against enemies, an army; game of chess
‘Come with me I will lead you;’ submission
‘I will lead you to the light;’ enlightenment
Do without questions; acquiescing
Ability to choose but submitting; ‘Free will’
A path of morality and virtue; noble
Journey led and guided by a sage; life
Multiple paths and closed doors; labyrinth
Noble hearts and genuine allegiance; humanity
Unfeigned confidence; tried and proven
Result of weariness and exhaustion; stumbling feet
Inability to walk along due to doubt and disagreement; separation
A journey of backwardness; digression
An act that devalues; abasement
A sentence that is unjust and from a hot judge; wrath
Crooked paths lead to broken streets
Broken streets lead the soul into debasement
Debasement leads to corruption
Corruption leads to horrors that make a freak
A freak of nature
The result of lies, lies, lies.
A broken plot
A bogus belief.
P.S; written at 5am(16/04/14)
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
Millions are flowing to Bitcoin
And joining this stable ship
But almost none are flowing out
As Bitcoin is a one way trip
Many are coming for safety
From debasement’s steady drip
They stay as their value grows
Thus Bitcoin is a one way trip
Some flow to bitcoin for freedom
From the tyrant’s desperate grip
And then grow more committed
As Bitcoin is a one way trip
Sometimes the price will bore you
And sometimes the price will rip
But over years, the value soars
For Bitcoin is a one way trip
It’s a one way trip for people
So far, a one way trip for price
Make the trip over to bitcoin
You won’t need to make it twice
Oct 10, 2024
Oct 10, 2024 at 11:21 AM UTC
I grew up watching my parents reduce themselves to their bassist.
Oops, that's a typo:
They are not musicians.
Debasement, so crass.
Humiliation on full blast.
But I guess it's a fairly common thing to dread family vacations.
My mom can't take the hint.
She can't tell when we're disinterested.
My dad talks a bunch of crazy **** despite who might be listening.
There's an unspoken comraderie amongst us siblings.
We're all in this together.
We fight our inherited,
unwanted,
self-destructive tendencies.
When I lose a battle I can always count on them to make me feel better.
Two have found ther wings.
They flew away from this place.
One soars high,
but I fear the other found himself another cage.
It's okay, I think.
I mean, I think he'll be okay.
As for us remaining two,
we're slowly making our way.
Our way out, is what I mean.
It's what I meant to say.
This nest hasn't been kept very warm,
but I guess it's still a home.
With two featherless,
flightless birds to deal with;
I'm glad I didn't have to go it alone.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
We are all sycophantic suitors of death
Chasing that wasting rot and decay
In a roundabout sick sort of way
Suckling the toxic *** of excitement
Rushes and blushes demure and debasement
Faster and faster till haste becomes more than mere waste
Diligent drug users ******* up smoke laced with nicotine
Embracing and tasting various brands of caffeine
Red meat and carbs pretty woman and fast cars
Working to **** much and playing twice as hard
Climbing mountains, hunting new types of prey
Starting fights riding wild and rough waves
Too much sun or not enough UV rays
Waking up early and going to bed late
Silence and stillness is not the enemy of the state
But we are all just chasing the only thing that could be called fate
We all die to **** young but I’d like to check out late
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
:::
high school puppy love memories
Only keep YE numb for a little while
:/:
The smell of death so permeates
All the poems written here
••
••
the broken boo boos !
the artful scars !
::
The drunken sense of spiritual debasement !
::
we run from the knowledge of what we know !
( the corporate enslavement of our minds and souls ! )
""
Hoping ***** power will save the day !
:::
( knowing it won't )
• •
the long day shall lead
To years unending
Filled with the same loneliness
We know today
""
Only high school puppy love memories
shall remain
Within the stench
Of our dead songs
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
Bodies may be temples
but all are ruins
at your
feet.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 3:11 AM UTC