Saden 5d
Poetry is for time takers.
The stoics - who sit and look at their glass, for some time, after swallowing, getting swallowed.
The one and onlys - who know every line and dent in their cieling and read them like hyroglyphs.
The listeners - who hear every instrument and, even more so, every pause within a song.
The thinkers - who won't take an answer for an answer, but only for another question.
Poetry isn't simple and poets far from.
But who's a poet?
We don't decide.
A decision, has hidden, an opinion.
Which is the saliva of personal ego in the morning.
See, we only know.
We know where poetry comes from and it's from the inexplicable.
Felt, and only so.
Get lost in the vastness of what we are and what we're in.
Then watch closely to what follows.
Stop and feel the rise of your lip's corners.
E                                                       ­                         .
      N                               ­                                 S    
             J                                                    I
          ­           O                                  H
                            ­     Y            T
And then you'll know what we know.
poetry is nothing but us coming to a closer understanding of life and that's why it feels so good to share and grow closer.
elaine 3d
It feels as if I’m drowning. I can’t see up out of the water, and I’m to frightened to see what this place holds below. I can hear nothing but mumbled shouts and prayers. But no one listens in a place like this.

It is not peaceful being trapped underwater. You are left with the choice of letting go, and floating all the way up into the never-ending abyss. But you stay still, holding your breath while the demons in your head decide to come out and play. You often ponder whether or not you should have just ended it before it all went downhill.

The world would still be the same disfigured mess, but the only difference would be one less drowning soul trapped in a cage. Unable to escape. Unable to dream of a place outside this  hell.

We are trapped. Afraid and damaged. All sitting still holding our breath, waiting for a sweet release into open airs. Waiting for a thing never to come.
Julian Jun 3
The bastards of embezzled glory staunchly defend their counterfeit stature by defalcating the public trust of industrious societies governed internally by compunction and sabotaged externally by the tempests of acerbic fate met with inclement aleatory convergence. To supply a society with ingenuity without being complaisant or officious with unctuous pleas to the overlords we must fashion a new vogue that taps the bustle of giants and aggrandizes the margins to oversee their own creative destinies with scaffolded arrangements of titanic promise and justifiable fluidity to conquer the blinkered dogmatism of a dissolute chastity to inveterate apocryphal tenets of factitious but unmerited perspectives. Democracy crumbles when the convenience of sensationalism supplants the resolve of those that fossick hidden wealth and promulgate validity instead of undergirding pomp with precarious prevarications of duplicitous omission guarded gingerly by the gatekeepers of a tawdry sanity that whitewashes the discussion with invented hobgoblins and purblind catharsis. To defeat simplicity and enshrine byzantine elegance as the paragon for voguish commentary rather than abide by a bowdlerized decorum for appeasing simpletons with divisive balkanization through identity politics we can overcome the impediments to human progress that are engineered to persist because of the inertia of the listless and the stubbornness of doctrinaire politicization and invent vivacity and festivity anew. We need to divorce ourselves from pedestrian quibbles of hero-worship that endanger the vitality of the common discourse because of fastidious pedantic disempowerment that ravages us with debased dreams by underscoring nuisances and tolerable nightmares that emasculate the virulence of the liberated individual and subvert his ambitions to contend with a picaresque world of limitless promise and self-motivated internal wealth.
      The bane of modernity is how chary the world becomes because of fractured histories intersecting with controversial destinies and the antidote to that poisonous self-defeating self-censorship is the audacity of brazen challenges to expurgation through assiduous resourcefulness and delicate diplomacy in wrangling controversies with outspoken courage rather than whispered resentment. Temerity waged in inclement circumstance is justified and curiosity stoked by lambent flames of fulgurant individualism should be fortified to the extent necessary to conquer the feckless spoilsports of unctuous puritanism and institutional obedience. The quacksalvers that blather about inconsequence strand the imagination in a desiccated desert that is ostracized from the palettes of the artistic whim to wield efflorescence rather than squander life in pursuit of perfunctory lucre or tenuous solidarity around banal idealism promised by social justice warriors that forget the biggest war being waged on humanity is on the ingenuity of the common discourse and the liberty to opine about real issues rather than saccharine conventions of emasculation through linguistic imprisonment and epicurean slavery to fashimites who relish the buzzword but never the enlightened audience that scoffs at feeble attempts at cultural commentary like Childish Gambino’s “This is America” music video. This particular artifact is a demonstration of how childishly fickle the plebeian mentality really is, stitching together a bricolage of violence to engineer controversy and serenading it with the most banal music imaginable and exhorting people to herald it as a high artform while inundating the world with unimaginative comic book movies and Star Wars rip-offs because of the lucrative business of formulaic replication. “This is America” should be regarded as a parody of itself because of how hackneyed its design is and how cacophonous it sounds and mocks its audience with lowbrow tactics of adding tinsel to trash and marketing it as the glory of tatterdemalions rather than the refinement of true cinematic achievements that have been relegated because Warhol’s Campbells-Soup-consumerism trumps true belletrist in the public view.
        Cultural watersheds punctuate our history with salient achievements in experimentation, but the formulaic profiteering of buzzword sensationalism and yellow journalism and the ostentatious glorification of promiscuous boasting and fancy cars tantalize the mice to continue playing slot machines rather than penning a novel or doing something promethean. The world scoffs at Trump but ignores the bigger institutional caveats that endanger us much more than a pragmatic albeit unconventional pontificator who is complicit in constructing a false narrative to enslave mindless people to fret about eminence rather than delight themselves in the consequential nuances of established refinement that used to serenade the world with flourish and spectacle. The world kowtows to the crusade against flavor-of-the-week enemies of the liberal-conservative syncretism because it has been conditioned to believe that synthesis is the only logical solution for the polarized worldviews of churlish people that become parvenus not on their merits but on their marketable pitfalls and their public foibles. Peccadillos are more important to people than virtues and this makes society morally bankrupt if we loiter around Astroturf causes that have been infiltrated by corporatism and venal debauchery and acquiesce as disempowered gossip hounds that hunt in packs to find jest in aberration rather than achievement in self-created narratives that defy the stupid purblind boorishness of the mainstream media and its haughty liberalism or the persnickety condemnation of priggish conservative moralities that had an expiration date 50 years ago. Who the fuck cares about transgender-touting-gender-fluidity quidnuncs and the snooty obsession with lurid personal endeavors of reputable people that made minor sexual transgressions in a world policed by wide-eyed feminazis that seek to ransack men of their vital virulence to spotlight their unjustifiable oppression. Women are oppressed but the carnal nature of their calumniation and their vindictive powers of persuasion are deployed with such vehement vigilance and such distaste for the majority that the world relegates itself to quibbles of celebrities rather than substantive issues. There is a systemic feminization of society occurring that seeks to demarcate despotic uxorious pleasantries as an incarceration of vocal dissent against supercilious women and their tamed men that slavishly grovel in repudiation of anything prickly.  Men historically have oppressed women but the solution to this quandary isn’t a reverse discrimination where the minority concern is spotlighted as a majoritarian issue that overshadows the disproportionate nature of our society where nominal accreditation is afforded in a non-meritocratic way to absolve people of their carnality and demote the vigorous defense of human liberty as secondary to compromise solutions that appease more people than they offend but simultaneously result in suboptimal conditions that reward arbitrarily coachable people while jettisoning anyone witty enough to be capable of insubordination of a hedonistic epicurean world obsessed with appearance and ravaged by the decadence of formulaic profiteering at the expense of originality and true promethean art that is herculean enough to defy hackneyed tropes and siphon the best elements from a piecemeal world variegated with complexity but stifled by fomented hatred.
The solutions to these problems is to create a watchdog group of artistic critics who become eminent and ubiquitously heard enough to offer creative consultation to the artistic endeavors that we consume and the music that is curated for fastidious ears that crave euphonic originality rather than the banality of easily dovetailed bass-heavy cookie-cutter garbage and the gaudy tactics of talentless rappers whose swagger derives from  the intersection of opportunism and the divestiture of an industry that rewards gloated supercilious epicureanism and meretricious marketability. Am I the only one jaded by second-rate superhero movies that infest the cinemas that borrow from Michael Bay while thrusting pulse-pounding but narratively bankrupt movies down the throats of consumers that might prize the cinematic originality of the heyday of filmmaking? Is it always high art to invent controversy that is witless or half-witted just because it will create buzz? Shouldn’t we condemn the laziness of society in acquiescing to the penury of the modern cultural narrative which belabors the dead horses of racism and sexism ad nauseum? Shouldn’t we fight the war of against inequity through legislation rather than hibernating about scandalous eminence and testy malfeasance?
          Liberty should be championed above all else and we are turning our backs on the future unless we muster the resolve to diminish the sway of the common narrative and aim our spotlight at consequential endeavors rather than the tropes of prosaic and pedestrian bastardization of art and culture. We need to fight artistic laziness which has ravaged our culture and castigate the tactics of wannabee celebrities that use lurid tactics to attract an audience by bedizening themselves with Pyrrhic ostentations and rampant fakery to create more melodrama in a world that needs to be less histrionic. YouTube celebrities swarm us as they get high on cocaine and lean-- at our expense-- and vandalize property and convincing nine-year-old’s like Lil Tay to flex her money like it is infinitely renewable in a finite world where all our attention is wasted on artless artifice of less talented people that know how to engineer a ruckus by strutting themselves beyond all decency and selling out to a corporatist nightmare of enslaved convenience. We need to be more vocal about the dissolution of artistic merit and the formulaic repetition of successful formulas that jade us and make us yawn about another retread of a previously successful idea that is milked to the point of cruelty.                                                         ­                       
       Let’s change the narrative and focus on creating true art rather than reacting to the meretricious tinsel of the vogue consensus which is so impotent in its ability to rivet audiences because it has become so notoriously lazy. Fight laziness in art, dismiss your news feeds, be resourceful, seek true happiness rather than find yourself hoodwinked and duped by the idea that Trump is the most important issue or getting caught in thought loops and brooding about sexism and inequality. Let us strive to be egalitarian but within limits that would also appease hominists rather than just the hypertrophy of the leftist narrative that seeks to cage us with the doublespeak of complaisant conformity.  Reject the unctuous charlatans that pretend priggishness when their banausic purpose is barbaric but beguiling to be a lullaby for laggards. We need to fight for the future of civilization rather than hobnob with convenience and loiter around decrying false perpetrators rather than systemic injustices that could otherwise be rectified if enough people fought for it. We can invent a future that is a great festivity serenaded by cultivated artistic refinement and forget about the trifles that divide us. United in ambition and fueled by ingenuity we can defeat artistic laziness and be resourceful with how we decide what is newsworthy. Spurred by the argosy of proactive motivation we can change the world in a substantial way by deciphering the subtext that governs the world. The subtext is everything!
We take the stairs all the way up to the rooftop.
The night, the music, the breeze make me wanna take my shirt off.
We’re barely legal, but bring out the drinks, no one can stop us.
A game of truth or dare to show them who’s the real boss.

From the roof, we jump into the pool with whatever we got on.
This isn’t a scene from Clueless, but we can still play Suck & Blow.
The neighbor yells he's gonna call the cops if we don’t keep it low,
but we planned to have fun tonight and the night is still young.

We run this, we’re not followers, we go with our own flow.
We don’t have to prove anything, if it’s dull we make it glow.
Before you decide to join us
there’s something you better know
This is a ‘Go Hard or Go Home’ zone.
This is my crew and Yo, I’m the Boss!
Written on December 18, 1999
Composition number: 77
Benji...this is your conscience speaking...

"You'll never be good enough for her,
Who are you kidding?
You aren't attractive enough,
To obtain her love.
What are you thinking boy...?
Why are you trying to destroy
everything left inside yourself.
Do you want to be addicted to this drug?
Better stop praying to the sky above...
Get back up Benji, move a little faster
or this storm is going to catch up with ya.
I know you don't give a f**k,
But you better start
Or you'll end up back in that slump
and this time...I'm not sure you'll get back up
And pull yourself back out of that dump."

Resurrect everything inside of my soul
Reignite that light, that once shined
Bring me back
So I can fight, let me find
That parts of me that I lost
in the dark
Give me the spark
to restore life to my heart

Just can't seem to get a grip
People all around me
Are gritting their teeth
Waiting for my next slip
Trying to anticipate my next trip
That just ain't cool...
Why don't you worry about yourself?
I don't need your help.
I've dealt with everything else on my own
People catch me in public
speaking to myself
I'm just talking to the inner me
trying to work out my inner being
Haven't you ever been confused?
Feeling self-accused, hurt and bruised.

Resurrect everything inside of my soul
Reignite that light, that once shined
Bring me back
So I can fight, let me find
That parts of me that I lost
in the dark
Give me the spark
to restore life to my heart

"Benji look at you now...
You crashed yourself into the ground
You tried to rebound
Back from the darkness of life
You just drowned in the blackness inside
You are losing parts of yourself
Every time you're inflicted with pain
Your soul melts
You die a little more inside
You're trying to ride this tide
But you keep running out of time
So you better decide
If you're willing to climb
This jagged cliff edge
One last time."

Resurrect everything inside of my soul
Reignite that light, that once shined
Bring me back
So I can fight, let me find
That parts of me that I lost
in the dark
Give me the spark
to restore life to my heart

©2018 Written By Benji James

— The End —