[A] is for
An
Archer with
An
Arrow through his
Adams
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Ample
Amounts of
Amiable
Attitude,
Adorning his heart, in
After
Action
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Asking
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Ancient
Admirals of
Avian
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Abating
Angels in
Atrophied,
Alchemical
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appliances
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak
[A]?

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Big
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Blasted,
Bastion of
Blackened
Benevolent
Blokes,
Berating the
Blasphemous,
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Belittled
Bureaucrats,
Bowling
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Blackened
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Bubbling
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Beaming
Butchery into
Billy's
Broken
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Battering
Bobby's for
Bags of
*******
Before, affording to
Build
Bombs, is just
Beyond
Breaking
Beer
Bottles on the
*******
Benefactors of
Boulder
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to
[B]


[C] is for the
*****
Courting the
Choreography, in
Computerized
Curtains,
Circumventing the
Cultured,
Contrivance of
Chromatic
Cellars,
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Calamities,
Celebrating the
Cyclical,
Cylinders of
Cyphered
Calenders,
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Crooks
Coughing, in
Courageous
Coffins of
Canadians,
Collecting
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Conquered,
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self
[C]

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Delve
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Deviant
Deities,
Dying to
Demand
Dinner
Delivered in the throws of
Death,
Deceiving
Defiance of
Darkened
Dreams,
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Deviled
Devilry,
Dooming us for
Destruction.
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Duress.
Defiled and
Distressed,
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Drums,
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Days,
Diluting night into
Dawn,
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the
[D]

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Euphoric
Enigmas of
Enlightened
Elitists,
Exceeding in the
Extravagant
Essence of
Esoteric
Euphemisms,
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Eclectic
Ecstasy,
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Ease,
Easily to appease
Extraterestrial
Empires,
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Everywhere,
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errant
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Entrails,
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Evermore,
Ever present in
Everybody
Ever made to take
[E]

Funk the
Ferocity of
Foolish
Fandangos, with
Fanged
Fanatics,
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Fumbled
Fantasies,
Falling through the
Farms of
Freely
Found
Fans,
Flying in the
Fame of
Fortune.
Fornicating on the
Fallen
Fears of
Fat
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Fills.
Feel me in the
Frills

Granted with
Generosity.
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greed,
Greeting the
Goop and
Gobbled
Gore,
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Got
Going, in the
Gratuitous
Gallows of a
Game
Gaffed by
Giants.

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hellish
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hemp
Harshened
Hobos in
Heightened
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Hapless
Habituals,
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Haughtily
Hardened
Houses of
Happenstance.

Ignore the
Ignorant
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Indicative
Instances of
Idiom in the
Irrelevant
Inaccuracy of
I,
In the
Intellect of
Idle
Individuals,
Irritated with the
Irate
Illusion of
Idols
Illustrated upon the
Iris,
In the
Illumination of
I.

******* the
Jobless
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Justified,
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Just
Jailers,
Jesting for
Jammed
Jury's to
****
Judgment from the
Jitter
Juiced
Jeans of
Jesus.

**** the
Keep of
Khaki-ed
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Kits,
Kin-less
Kinetics,
Knifing the
Knights of
Kneeling
Kinsmanship,
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Karmic
Karate
Kick of a
Kangaroo.

Love the
Levity, in the
Luxurious
Laments of
Loveliness,
Lovingly
Levitating in
Level,
Lucidly.
Living in
Laps, of
Lapses,
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Latches
Locked with
Leeches of the
Lonely
Lit
Leering of
Lightly
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of
Liars.

Marooned in
Maniacal
Masterpieces,
Masqueraded as
Malignant
Memorization's of
Motionless
Mantras, but
Merrily
Masking
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Musically
Mused of
Monsters,
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of
Marauders.

Never to
Navigate the
Nautical
Nether of
Never
Nears.
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Nicety.
Notions
Neither take
Note
Nor
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Neanderthals
Napping in the
Nets of
Ninjas

Ominous in the
Obvious
Omnipotence of
Oblivious
Obligatory
Opulence,
Of
Other
Oddly
Orchards
Of
Offices,
Ordaining
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinary
Ordinances in
Option-less
Optics,
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in
Optimal,
Overture.

Perusing the
Pestilent
Pedestals of
Personal,
Parameters,
Pursuing the
Petty
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pharaoh,
******* on the
People with the
Penal
Pianos of
Port-less
Portals, in the
Paperless
Points in the
Palpal
Pats of
Pettiness.
Poor, but
Prideful.

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quick
Quill in
Queer
Quivering of
Quickened
Questioning,
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quandaries.
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Quagmires.
Questing the
Quizzing of
Quotable
Quartets.

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rolling
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Rain-less.
Roar in
Rapturous
Rendering of the
Random
Readiness in the
Ravenous,
Rallying, of the
Retinal
Refracting of
Reality.
Realigning, the
Righteous
Rearing of the
Realm, and
Retrying.

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Slumbered
Scenes.
Secrete the
Solo
Sobriety of
Sapped
Sassys,
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Stupidity,
Steadily
Supplied in
Stream,
Suitably
Slain in the
Steam of
Sanity.
Sadly, i
Still
Seem,
Salvagable.

Topple
The
Titans in
Tightened
Terror.
Torn
Territories
Turn
Turbulent in
The
Teething of
Totality.
The
Telemetry of
Time,
Tortured of
Torrent
Theories,
Told in
Turrets of
Transpiring
Terribleness, from
Tumultuous
Tikes unto
Teens,
Trading
Toys for
Tea.
Thrice
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of
Tanks.

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undreamed
Ulteriors
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Utterly
Upset
Users,
Uplifting the
Unfitting
Ushers in
Underwear-less,
Ulcers,
Undergoing the
Ultra of
Uberness.

Venial in
Vindictive
Viciousness of
Vindicated
Venom,
Venomously
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Vampires,
Validity of
Valuable
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vaporous
Vacationing of
Vagrant
Vices.

Why
Whelp in the
Weather
When you can
Wave to the
Whirling
Wisps,
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
World,
With
Waterless
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Wackiest
Walks of
Waking
Wonder.

Xenophobic
Xenogogue, of
Xenomorphic
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my
Xyston
Xd

Yelling
Yearned from
Yelping.
Yard
Yachts
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeah
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
******
Yuppie
Yoga
Yanks, over
Yonder.
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a
Yocal.

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zapping
Zimming
Zest, upon a
Zombie-less
Zeplin.
Zealot,
Zionist, or
Zoologists,
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
Zzzzz
Zzzz
Zzz
Zz
Z
Zero

media holocaust dumbing down society
  matriculating detachment's spineless dump,
weapons of mass distraction's convergence  
assimilating adaptation's explored transmissions
   in conversions of auxiliary's pseudo-redemption
    anxiety cast in embittered expulsions of
ubiquitous foghorns flailing in numbing flat notes,
   off key in theatrical productions' translation
failure to cease & desist standby sub-humanity,
     close-captioned in radioactive hieroglyphics
                  on the walls of expectations' exasperation

Rap is crap
Can be written while napping
By simply slapping words like zapping
Up alongside trapping and wrapping
And suddenly you’re a rap star
Driving an expensive car
And before your coffee is cold
You are draped with gold
Maximum bling
But it doesn’t mean a thing
Other than money because honey
If your ‘song’ lyrics are still known.
When ten years are blown by
And you are no longer a famous guy
Whose words are forgotten
It is because they are misbegotten
And liked by the current batch of airheads
Who think this is music when instead
It’s a beat they can feel in their feet
And if they don’t read the words
Printed in the album, what is heard
Is a lot of screaming and percussion
Not worth discussion in Billboard.

Someone could cut the microphone cord
And all anyone could hear would be drums
And the audience spilling their beer,
And nothing worth humming;
Lyrics for the dumbing down of the race,
A major entertainment disgrace
That destroys the ears and means nothing
That will ever be revered like Sinatra
Elvis or The Beatles have done.
It may be number one today
But when time passes away
It will be nothing but the shouts
Of a bunch of untalented louts
To an audience one has to fear
Was born with a tin ear.

Brent Kincaid
6/1/2015

Cellulose, stalagtite, cellular device
Short term abbreviations, quick talk slows the nations.
English language spread so wide,
Multiple meanings for them to lie and hide.
Dumbing down the whole population
Dumbing down the whole generation
Dumb corrupt slavery nation
So many frequencies in these feeble heads
Which ones are they ******* with to make us do something else instead
Drone ants marching all day
Building, munching,  texting our intelligence away.

I hope she knows what she's getting herself into.
I hope she knows what your heart sounds like after a night of
comparisons between her handwriting and mine.                                                                                                                                      
I want you to know that I am through with dumbing
myself down to fit inside your god complexed hands.

Don't tell me I never tried to save us.
I wrote you songs with knives on my palms
and your ears were anything but listening.

I had a dream about you every night since you told me
you didn't know how to love anything with a heartbeat and hope.
I started sleeping again when you came back, and oh when you came back...                                                                                                                          

I am not sorry that my temper is as short as the lifespan of us.
I am not sorry that your smile is the only one that ever made me
want to wake up in the morning.
I am all pain and long long longing and she has always been
a storm with a heart dead set on your stillness.
Our problem is that I never stop shaking long enough for the dust to settle.

I've been writing with the same pen for four years and
you still only recognize my words when she plays them back.

Let it not be confused, foggy or incomprehensible-
you were the one.
Until the one became none and I stopped being a number when you stopped counting miles.

I hope she loves harder than a woman with dementia, relearning parts of you every morning
in the places you reserved with my first and your last- maybe next time.

Maybe next time, maybe next life will be different.
Maybe I'll be patient, stronger, I'll stop covering my smile. You'll stop pretending to be in love.
I will stop shaking and the dust will settle and her poetry will make you sick.
Her poetry will sprout evening primroses and she won't know that you always fall asleep before midnight
or that you're allergic to flowers that bloom when the sun is down.

I woke up *****
And went to the shop,
I got corn, peas, chopped gherkins,
All canned,
I raided the reduced section like mad,
Got some cheese
And some ham
That I won't allow to go bad,
cause I'll make a ton of salad
Out of this myriad,
For breakfast, munch and evening feast,
It'll last a fortnight at the very least,
I can top it up with this
Foul smelling liquor I brought from the east,
Among the other mementos in my cellarette,
I could have a party in my ******
In my kitchenette,
My flat is so hot I could sign post it
'sauna to let',
But the swingers here don't speak a word of
English,
One time they took their ya-yas out
And called ME a delinquent,
As if I've got a funny kind of pigment
They can't live with,
I've tried to put my finger on it
But I don't want it to get stinky,
I think they simply haven't got an inkling
As to what and why they're thinking,
But never mind those pinkies,
Let us go back to my shopping
Just as it was getting *****:
Before my skimpy trolley glided to the checkout,
I got a ticket for my pfand,
Which measured fairly to my pleasure
Of having my alcoholism,
Which is confess is merely leisured,
Redeemed into a form of solid ******* treasure.
Throughout the years my drinking
Let me celebrate the fear
Of lack of meaning,
It made friends out of strangers,
Lovers out of friends,
Ex lovers out of lovers,
Clowns out of boring people,
It made a clown out of me too,
My drinking took my money
And gave me a suspicious act
To cling to,
It made me a legless athlete
In a race against the future,
It excited me with waterfalls of chaos
Bursting through cracked normality,
It pretended to bring Arcadia
Into the ruling technology,
It invaded Scandinavia  
With lawless Somalia,
It put peaks and crannies
Into the dull landscape of
Nord Rhein Westphalia,
I have a whole worthless encyclopaedia
Of what my drinking did to me,
Page after page of random numbers
Makes for a baffling read,
I don't know if I should frame it,
Burn it,
Or get some ****,
My drinking always gave me an excuse to smoke,
I puffed my hours into nothingness,
Laughter & loneliness,
A condition of no ambition
Made life itself seem like a superstition,
But I don't want the repetition anymore,
Boredom is but a bed sheet of a sore old *****,
A stifling breath of a handicapped mind;
But
Being now so temporarily poor
I find it easy to smile
As the cashier counts my pennies
Making the citizens in line
In their Jack Wolfskins and denims
Very uneasy,
Men & women of the Rhein get seriously queasy
When they see a foreigner like me
Simply taking it easy,
You know I had to break my piggybank just to get here,
I crossed a red light when it was all clear,
I have no bike lights - I just disappear,
Who knows what is it that I do inside the night?..
Could be something good,
Might be something bright..
Anyway,
I got my receipt,
Said my 'schön Tag' alright,
I should have said 'schön Abend'
But I guess I'm not polite,
Then I rode in the street,
My bags dangling left & right,
Balancing my act
Under the waning Eurodollar moon,
Some react badly
when they're given **** to spoon,
But my lack of money
In fact makes me feel immune
To superficial cravings like
iPhones, clothes, perfume,
shavings, shoes, tattoos;
I'd rather spend a fortnight
In the arms of David Hume,
Than stopping by at Rügen
On my way to Cameroon,
On a beastly ocean liner,
With pommes and Pauliner
Supplied ad infinitum!
I don't know my own mind,
I's time to take a trip down the ol' cerebrum,
While tickets are at a minimum
And the season is at a premium,
I'll tame my tantrums without ******,
I'll let my maelstroms guide me to a podium
Of perfect equilibrium,
I'll get a glimpse of wisdom
By watching my own delirium,
I'm serious about this.
I don't reminisce about the years
I dismissed by watching television series,
Dumbing down with the Big Bang Theory.
I feel so blessed to be weary
And out of breath
From the long hand of entertainment
That wants to tickle everyone to death,
It's an epidemic worse than crystal ****,
But it's not hard to shake the fever.
Only a ****** was born to be a ******,
Man was cursed to be a dubious believer.
So kiss my feet
Or chop me with a cleaver,
Nothing will stop me from becoming an achiever,
Nothing but the habit pattern of my own demeanour.

for me,the bar is high here
....the angels are already leaning in
ready to immolate every word i dare to speak
you too pounce when i'm in mid sentence  
when i'm on the edge of just saying it clearly, matter of fact
...dumbing down, saying nothing, less exhausting
is the wisest choice...it is all i ever can manage to do
...silently and eternally reliant on yours and everyone else's intuition here:
                           I AM

We are free like a tree in the valley with nothing to see but pesticide dreams.

If you were free, what you speak wouldn't end with prosecution.
If you were free, you wouldn't be dumbing down your senses with alcohol pollution
When nature provides more than enough to lift you as a clear solution.
If you were free, the green pieces of paper would be "My notes",
and not "Federal Reserve Notes" that we owe interest back to.
If you were free, then the walls of the matrix we could crack through.
If you were free, you would be able to choose who could lead your country,
Instead of falsely participating in which dictator puppet reigns supreme in the best interests of the Rich and powerful gaining land resources and money.
If you were free, you wouldn't be on your knees bobbleheading at all the media tells you.
If you were free, you would not accept any leader who actively kills the innocent, and does not say Why, or even show proof.
If you were free, you would stand up, for what's morally right.
If you were free you would look at those in your peripheral
and join them rather than work against in spite.
If you were free, we could actually pride ourselves for being a country all about freedom.
If you were free, you would say NO to RFID chips, already being used on middle and high school kids in Texas, numb, to what is free.
I can't free you, you must free yourself and wake up to the mirage and bombardment of lies Raining down our existence.
If you were free, you would be a threat, everything they don't want.
It's everything we need, with persistence.
Let go of the fear of fear.
When that time comes, just as a flower becomes unfurled,
There will be a triumph for all that's good in the world.
Open your mind, *stop the chatter, and wake up. *Free Yourself

piercing my right eye from within
daggers, sharpened with blame
fly true
through the blue
into faces of lying dry-cleaned faces
puffed and crimson
spittle gathering
hate speech teachings
reaching beaches far from informed shores –
new ***** blesses the young
shoveling modified nutrients
smiles beam
glistening sweat runs
internal furnace matching
warm glow of planned dumbing-down
vaccination zombie
mercury poisoned baby rocks silently –
embryonic images
in laboratory dishes
sample size offering a slight variance
right-wing politicians eagerly await
the first course
stem-cell soufflé
desperation sets in as reality takes hold
the shift already happened –
glancing at a dime-store wristwatch  
plotting an afternoon of debauchery
slowing pulling off the square
admiring the show -

why is pixel-white seen as a medium where you're "speaking"? i guess that's due to the immediacy, and bypassing orthodox publishing contracts... i'm not talking... i'm thinking... the difference between the age-old white of canvas used in publishing has changed... in a blink of an eye... the poorest of the poor have now attained a monopoly on the medium... which is why visual art had to become elitist, because artists could never fathom the freedom of having obtained such a freedom of the once monopolised medium of a crisp white page... and yanking the donkey further... i have no intention in treating this as me talking... the talking part is bound to the comment section... and once again, we can bypass the monopoly of literacy with the freedom of the medium also bypassed... i'm not talking... i'm thinking... the talking is done in the comment section... this isn't a care for an intellectual shoot-out... but why in the word do i have to write this, and be remindful? oh wait, now i know: i didn't have to chop a single tree down to then write on it pressed down as paper... but then i wouldn't have... because, if i had enough wine and château... i'd be writing a Dumas novel.

i feel like writing less and less the days,
3 weeks spent in Poland
exhausted me with talking and reading,
and having the rest of the world
alomost forgotten, among the pines
in a wood, with neatly fallen snow...
i can almost hear the words: you should
go back, then!
yes, and having lost investment in
22 years living in england, and perfecting
the tongue...
    had i not perfected the tongue,
i wouldn't see the maggots engaging in crowds
across the western world...
   what a sight...
      should they only be two serpents entwined...
but this is a world much different from 2007...
it's hard to pick-at an almost shared ethnicty
with the people of the Isles...
   the Romans are dead, yet we share the same
alphabetical arrangement...
     i'm not even ahead of my times,
i write less and less every day,
            because as my irish "friend" once suggested,
that i known language like i might
slurp custard, that i should be bound to my
local community of Poles in England...
   i guess like Seven Kings is basically Paddy
O'clock... drowning his sorrows: while
i spend the same hours, infuriating my passions...
and i get the only narrative available to us
these days, i get how darwinism has killed of
subjectivity, we're about to build a robot,
and how we don't like feeling that much...
i get that...
but i spent 22 yeasrs in these lands...
   why am so entrenched to give birth to
the one i had at "home", but feel no care to return
to the place?
        edging toward the third bottle of wine
on an empty stomach, and i write this...
  apparently you can feed your heart that took
to being an apple thrice-over to attract a satanic bite...
   the dalai lama is a *refugee, what a grand
title, better than the pope could hope to be...
   i am an exile, and the worst reasons for exile
are economic...
   but no dumb-bound irishman can really
call that: i too was on the titanic, to better land sown!
i love the scots, spent three years in Edinburgh,
but the society i came to live in, the society i was
schooled in? i remember only 1 englishman
in the school... the rest were primarily irish...
terrible gnats...
               i live in england and it became to late
to meet an englishman...
   i'd sooner meet one abroad...
    i mean, if you knew someone from youth
and he says to you: you be better off with your kin...
my kin? my kin? on foreign soil?
and what? create these pocket like blisters, these
crab scabs of existence, so that i might live in
England but never learn the tongue?
this paddy hadn't even read Joyce, and i had,
and he tells me to be like him, a wasps' nest
kind of existence... the Poles have but one motto:
never congregate in exile... the 'rish evidently
didn't learn that motto... so they congregated...
and started doing the mating pigeon strutt
of a puffed up chest... like skunks they marched...
   i mean, who the **** does that?
i go to Cheltenham and everyone finds my "accent"
undecipherable...
             this coming from the same guy that couldn't
flick a lighter or cite the alphabet...
    i can go to Cheltenham and become lost
in the crowd... i'll go to a poetry reading and
stand, and clap and encore aloud when the poet
finishes...
             i wish i could go back to the native... land...
and go back to a: life, as usual...
but when you have lived 22 years in exile and
the most constructive years up to aged 8...
you dread the reality of being a child once,
and having idealised the life back where,
communism was dying... esp. given that your
grandparents have a steady pension,
and your father can't hope for one with
the state being applauding him for the efforts,
that the state and the worker are no longer
bound to an umbilical chord when pension age strikes...
  not since 2007, when it all began...
i can't be seen with the words of accusation
against my antagonist in any place nearing
a protest, i'd be scrapped-heaped and lost to the usual
comparison that men are:
  with celibacy intact: shoot anywhere other than
the ******, and you're wasting yourself...
but i wasn't circumcised, sure enough,
if you're circumcised and shoot that load into
a tissue... well... you sorta did touch
the philosophers' stone with your phallus...
    ****! ****! the deadpool movie is ****!
and i can't say that the dada art movment
is worth nothing... the girl, this blonde from Seattle
mentions nothing of cubism...
         modern art isn't useless...
        i can't be epileptic bound to faint before
a mona lisa... i can't do that... but dada wasn't
anything anti-art, of whatever movement...
      dada was anti-war... dada was an anti-war
movement.... it ensured that art be equated with
the whole futility of human endeavour...
   art will make no sense if there's no heroism
and men sit in trenches with wet socks and wet
cigarettes and rats will they ever walk the same
on the marble pavement of Florence...
             dada was anti-war... dada wasn't
anti-impressionism or anything like that...
      it's when artists started experiencing mental illness,
a psychic relapse into dough, dull, and lullaby
worth nothing...
                                  it's about the time that dada
emerged (world war i) that warfare had to turn
to guerilla warfare for some sense of Mars enduring...
   i thought people might think it stupid
during the Napoleonic wars... walking up to your
enemy and at point blank range shooting them down...
so no eastern martial arts agility...
      no wars makes the same sense as the depravity to
reproduce: eager soldiers... given there are none
to replace the numbers.
    yet, that language of darwinism, that objectivity,
that language of: no will unless the will of the species,
a species akin to comparison with ant or other
worthy comparative multiplier of insect worth...
     i get it... meaning i feel nothing for the examples
surrounding me, and i get hyper-sensitive about
the theory...
                    which is a great shame that i feel
no great feat before me when looking upon a woman....
  but then again i could merely qualify as
a ***** talking... because that's easier done...
    and you'd think that bilingualism wasn't such
a proper, well, it is, among the poor...
     it's a real... a REAL! a real threat!
           for some reason i get the feeling that Polish
has to become a bit like outdated Gaelic...
           a great story over campfire... that we once might
have spoken it...
                 i still speak the **** tongue
because i like listening to folk songs...
         but hey! that's my private life... i can still
talk English to you in that grand social-contract of
ensuring we interact... evidently that was the least
liked possibility...
                     i was expected to forget it...
and integrated with the ******* Paddies in England
and speak Polish: no more!
                  i don't want to forget Polish in the same
way that the English don't want to learn
a foreign language, and have the empire upon
which the night never sets upon:
   you're telling me it's not bound to perpetual
daylight working your way from Alaska, New Zealand,
South Africa and England?
   insomniac empire not there?
   i swear i could see it for a minute...
oh, my bad... maybe it was really all about
a drunken night in Dooblin...
            as i remember, not since 2007 has everything
been so: bonkers...
       it's just a case of trying to claim why
my native country ejected me from it...
   or why my parents thought it was necessary to
flee...
                but then i can ask any question
i want and will never get a good reply...
               now that i speak the language i don't
know how to erase 22 years of incubation...
      i can drink as many wine bottles and whiskey
bottles, but it never does it justice...
    and will continue to do so...
    when i get my answers...
                  and, as it looks like...
  i'm bound to be prone to being blamed for a tsunami
than take a blame for having friendship-binds
    when growing up,
      because the a.i. needed improvement,
and that Barabbas lived no life spectacular after
being admonished by the crowd prior
to the desecration of the tetragrammaton by
the crucifx wielder.
    well, this would appear a world salad for a paddy...
given that words for him are all merely verbs
and none address pondering them as nouns
  to reach a nuance...
                       and a delay worthy of 2000 years...
but then again...
           what do i know...
                 once i was the lost to pounce
     on the argument, now i seem to be the first
            to say anything...
                  but here's the therapy...
         people can speak such a godly narrative
  and incorporate it from ants to humans,
   bypassing the mammals the prime mammal
is making extinct... and taking no impression from
fellow mammal... bypassing the mammalian
category, for the sake of number, and argue oh so well
many intended arguments... ants...
    and then get ****** over by an avalanche...
and then wonder with the non-bewildered chemists:
dunno... physics?!
    humanism is trapped in the greatest robbery of
the human heart, if it once belonged by the crucifix,
and with due need, become humbled...
it's now under the ******* microscope and "ennobled",
pride hardened...
     it's an objectivity that doesn't encompass all
   categories... i can so much about ants having perfected
its hierarchy... and i try to imitate...
         sure, it works...
                  i have no need for subjective scientists that
poets are... i need more plumbers... but, wait...
i have to import them from Poland...
                   because i actually no actual
   pill for objective anaesthesia to be implemented
   given that i have the same automaton tendency to
feel, as i have to think, as i therefore have to reciprocate
by being existent...
                 but then again being prescribed
the shadow theories of darwinism, while turning
epileptic with paparazzis dumbing me at the catwalk,
work together... they're not mutually exlcusive...
    mutual exclusiveness is the argument usured in
by moral relativism, whereby moral relativism believes
in the non-existence of mutual inclusvieness...
     inclusivelly the standard bearers are bound to
the coordinate functions of (+, -),
       exclusivelly the standard bearers are bound to
the coordinate functions of (x, ÷)...
meaning that inclusviely: 1, 2, 3, includes 4...
                 1 + 1 = 2... 2 + 1 = 3...
        the near proximity... adding and substracting
are less abstract than multiplying and dividing...
   they do interact, the two factions...
     it's not magic, it's the limitation of my ability
to use language... philosophy really is about being
able to reach a limit of having all possible
competence with language morphed from
phonos to the rightly defined logos, as that
which encounters optics and the higher optics of
cognitive experience; deemed thought,
or the moral compass... and how rarely thought
is not bound to it being a moral compass,
how many times the moral compass
exists, pointing toward the θ / N...
    and the -ought is merely squandered to fiction,
and other such pleasures... and rarely
asked to be done to the moral principal that
overshadows mere naturalistic observations...
trans-category... we, the pinnacle of mammal,
behave like no mammal...
              once again i'll hear the retortion:
infantile argument!
                                it has always been infantile and
delusional, haven't you noticed?
     i find it strange to be living in times of
such rational, truly gifted "adults"...
   i could swear to be looking at the current civilisation
as a kind of kindergarten.
     but then... why bother argue the point further,
when you can laugh, drinking the third bottle of
your home-made wine?

Mouth agape
Shoving food into your mouth that you can't even taste
Expressionless face
Focused on colors dancing around in that empty box
Forgetting to blink
You're in a trance and unable to think

Dumbing you down for decades
With it's detrimental façade

Internal poetry while doing
Yoga.
I don't mean practicing
Yoga. I mean doing it.
Writing, because although
Yoga
Calmed my racing thoughts
And high electromagnetic frequency,
Additional
Judgmental,
Highly observant,
Rather foreign thoughts
Are returning.

The pirates pillaging
Sanity within
Are no match for the
Ancient Indian
And pre-Indian
Yoga and poetry.
In this day and age,
Yoga is heraled
For the stylish, revealing pants
Used for practicing.
As well as the many classes that reek of ego.

Poetry, on the other hand,
Has more or less gone obsolete.
They killed all the poets.

They have become replaced
By social media
Featuring those unsocialized with writing.
Now, when I need to hear the wisdom
Of a guiding angel,
All I hear
Is the pathetic language
Of the less fortunate in poetic freethought.
These discombobulated ghosts
Haunt me
When I hear far too many
Voices
And need stillness to compensate my illness.

These voices of the day, I fear,
Manipulate me in most unpleasant ways.
And being thinker, as I am,
Drawing conclusion and meaning
From everything I can,
A blessing and a curse --
Which, then again, are blessings nonetheless --
I cannot help but wonder
If this is part of a plan.

Orwell wrote of so not fifty years ago.
The language now constantly spoken,
As well as read,
As well as written,
Dumbing us down.
Losing touch with words of wisdom
In most trying of times.
This is what happens when

You **** off
All the poets.

I hid my feelings inside a book

Reason for this would be because an epiphany took,
see I'm one for cheesy smirks and all the perks of socializing with people of my age. But it just seems like a dumbing down of me because no one in my generation reads if it's not about gossip or vampire teens. While I'm stuck between the borderline of reality and books. Literature has surely become dominant and is the addiction at foot. But still the issue being that my peers would rather throw their life away in an intoxicated haze especially with little to no education is what makes me sick. Guys after ***, girls flashing their **** and all for publicity. Infamy which has very little time in the limelight before it becomes a bore. Drugs are what they crave, *** is what they're all searching for, and I say this with great abhor.

I hid my feelings inside a book,
Reason for this is because an epiphany took.
No one in my generation reads but this rant is something I wish they'll heed.

I can never find anything to do anymore
I am ALWAYS bored
I drink another soda as fast as I can
Boring
I smoke another cigarette as fast as I can
Boring and bad for my health

I used to drink and do drugs
It caused a lot of problems but I had fun
At least then I had something to do
At least then I could make myself stupid
Do stupid things with an excuse
At least then I could be interested in menial things


The most interesting thing I did today was take a shower
I was actually kind of happy standing there under the water
But only an idiot would stand in the shower all day
I could take up *******
That might be fun
I could do that in the shower

I rarely smile anymore without faking it
I smile when I see a small child smile
But I don't have children around me that often
and when I do, they are not always smiling
Often they are screaming
Screaming children are not fun

Some people seem like they are happy all the time
How do they do it?
Is it because they are stupid?
I like to think so
I like to think that I am the norm
Nobody should be happy too often

I just want to be happy a little bit
Find a few things to do that don't bore me to death
I wanna be interested in life
I want to have a reason to go to bed early
I want to have a reason to wake up
I want to have a reason

Today I will just have to settle for being bored
For being uninterested
For being unhappy
But it would be nice not to have to dumb down to cheer up
I am sick of dumbing down
I am kind of sick of life

Maybe tomorrow I will remember a good reason to live
Maybe tomorrow I will find something new
Maybe tomorrow somebody will suprise me
Maybe not
But I do still have hope
That just maybe things will change

Do you listen to the song the dolphins sing?
So familiar and so distant
Let me sing to you of the soft blooming and the dumbing down of rust

The deep darkness sleeps, as your eyes clinch
Linger the fold away with not another blink

Inhale the moist stench of pity's salty breeze
I'm standing on the vanilla frosted mountain you can not reach.

Ya Know ...  
I Use It Like A Nine To Five ...  
But That's NOT My Line ... !!!  
I Don't Plagiarise ... !!!  

These Words Were Inspired ...  
By .... Inity Fire ....  

Now This Proves I'm NO LIAR ... !!!  
More Like A ... " Good Friar " ...  
Who Uses What's ... DIRE ... !!!!!!  
To ... Elevate hiGHER ...  
  
Just Like ... Frequent Fliers ...  
Use Points To ... " Acquire " ...  
  
Ways To ... Get Around ...  
WITHOUT Using Pounds ... !!!  
  
Now This Piece May Confound ... ?  
Writers ... Who Are Crowned ...  
As The ... " HOTTEST  In Town ... !!!!!!!!!  
Because They Are .... " Proud " ....  
To Use It Like ... " CLOWNS " ... !!!  
  
I Use It Like ... WOW ... !!!  
  
I've Heard It From ... " Crowds " ...  
And Those Who Wear FROWNS ... !!!  
When My Words Hit The Grounds ...  
of Where They ... " Rule The Roost " ...  
of ... Poets Who Use ...  
This Thing Like It's Cool ...  
To Use It Like .... FOOLS .... ?!!!?  
  
They're .....  
CLEARLY NOT SCHOOLED ....  
In Using This Tool ...  
To Share What Is ... TRUE ...  
Within Their ... "Dark Moods" ... !!!
  
I Use It Like Dudes ...  
With Machine Guns To Shoot ... !!!  
  
Firin' SHOTS ... !!!  
Through Wordplay That's HOT ... !!!!  
And ROCKS DIFFERENT Spots ...  
Like .... Dalmatian Dogs .... !!!!! .....  
  
I Use It To Plot ...  
The Downfall of Wrong ... !!!  
  
I Use It To SHOCK ...  
Logically Like ... TUVOK ... !!!  
  
Or Maybe .... Sherlock ... ???  
When Dealing With Cops ...  
******* Like ...  " Lestrade " ... !!!  
  
Who Just AREN'T THAT SHARP ... !!!  
And DON'T Use It With Strength ...  
Cos' That's ... BEYOND Their Depth ...  
  
My Style's ....  
MORE Like ... " Shaft " ...  
AFRICAN ... In My Heart ... !!!!  
  
Who WILL TEAR APART ...  
Those Who Use It Like ... SHARKS ... !!!  
  
Who ... Use It To Write ...  
And Buy Into ... " HYPE " ... !!!  
That They Are GREAT WHITES ... !!!  
  
But As We Now Know ...  
That Story's For SHOW ... !!!  
  
They Use It To Cause ...  
People To ... " Applaud " ...  
As If They Saw ... " JAWS " ...  
  
A GREAT BIG White FRAUD ... !!!!!  
  
I Use It Like BOND ...  
Or Yes ... Roger Moore ... !!!
  
Because I'm The One ...  
Who KEEPS JAWS On The Run ... !!!  
  
So I Use It Like Movies ...  
By .... " Connecting Dots " ....  
  
So Sometimes it's MOODY ...  
And Filled With ..."Dark Blots" ... !!!  
And ... GUY FAWKES Type PLOTS ... !!!!  
  
I BLOW UP ... But Shrewdly ...  
With Wordplay That's ... GROOVY ... !!!  
That ... CALMLY And Smoothly ...  
Tastes Good Like A Smoothie ... !!!  
  
To Those Who Have TASTE ...  
For MORE Than What's ... FAKE ... !!!!!  
  
Lyrics ... That Are Made ...  
To Be ... Thrown In The Waste ...  
Or ... Thrown In The TRASH ... !!!  
  
I DON'T USE IT LIKE THAT ... !!!!!!  
  
I Use It With PACE ... !!!  
And Use It With GRACE ...  
  
And Use It In Ways  ...  
That Puts Most To ... SHAME ... !!!!  
Because Their Game's LAME ...  
And NEEDS ... " Zimmer Frames " ...  
Before ... All It Can Claim ...  
  
Is .... Dumbing Down Brains ... !!!!!  
  
So YES Sometimes I Use It ...  
In Verse That's ... ABUSIVE ... !!!!!  
  
But Only ... In DEFENCE ... !!!  
When People Make THREATS ...  
Or Make Those Attempts ...  
  
To Act As If ... I ...  
DO NOT Use It Right ... ?!?  
  
Is There Such A Thing ...  
As ... " Poetic Bling " ... ?  
  
HELL YES There Are People ...  
Who ... Use It For EGOS .... !!!  
  
Because They Are ... "feeble" ...  
And NOTHING Like VIGGO ... !!!  
  
LEADERS  Or KINGS ... !!!  
Or ... " Lords of Their Rings " ... !!!  
  
I Use It Like FIGHTERS ...  
NOT THESE ... " Nine To Fivers " ...  
Who Are REALLY ... " Part Timers " ...  
Who ... CLAIM To Be Writers ...  
When They Should ... RETIRE ... !!!!!!!!!  
  
So ... Just For The Haters ...  
Beraters' And Slaters' ...  
  
I'll Get To Your Capers ...  
And IGNORANCE ... LATER ... !!!    
  
Who Are They To JUDGE ... ?  
What Man Puts On Paper ... !?!
  
When They're NOT Above ...  
  
"low down " ... ***** Shakers ... !!!  
  
I Use It ... Just FINE ...  
WITHOUT Prose Filled Lines ...  
Cos' It ISN'T A CRIME ...  
To Rhyme ALL The Time ... !!!!  
  
It's ENVY I Find ...  
That DEFINES Their Insights ...  
  
Because ... When They Try ...  
They CAN'T Use It Like MINE ... !!!  
  
REFINED And Inclined  
To Speak About Life ...  
The Strain And The Strife ... !!!  
And YES The ... GOOD TIMES ... !!!
  
But WON'T EVER Contrive ...  
To Use It ... Just For Smiles ...  
  
Or For ...  
It To Be ... LIKED ...    
  
You DON'T Like It ...  
... That's FINE ... !!!  
  
But .....
DON'T Be Surprised ...  
If ... One Day You Find ...  
A Vision or Sight ...  
That Reflects What I Write ...  
  
Cos' I Use It Like Lights ...  
That ... Each Day We Walk By ........  
  
I Use It Like FIGHTS ...  
We See ... TAKING LIVES ... !!!  
  
I Use It Like WARS ...  
BEHIND ... CERTAIN DOORS ... !!!!  
  
I Use It Like ... " LORDS " ...  
Use It On The Poor ... !!!!!  
  
Sometime I Feel Sure ...  
I CAN'T Do ANYMORE ... !!!!!!  
  
But That's When I Find ...  
Energies Close To Mine ...  
Who QUICKLY INSPIRE ...  
  
Like ... " Inity Fire " ...  
  
And On That Last Quote ...  
That's ... ALL That I Wrote ... !!!  
  
It's Really ...  
NO Nine to Five ... !!!  
When I ... Sit And Write ...  
  
It's More Like Something Wise ...  
That Reflects On This Life ...  
  
Through ...  
Good And Bad Times ...  
  
Which I'm ....
Proud To Now Find ...  
  
Is What ...  
  
... " I Use It Like " ...

Another night spent lining my lungs for want of something better or worse to do. Remembering friction, remembering nights spent sparking smokes and staring drunk at the moon, looking to pick a fight. This night there are wisps in the sky with winds shifting them so I can’t decide whether my view is obstructed – whether I’m staring directly at the steel circle full-on or with impediment of future rain. I don’t care which it is, I’m busy thinking on the other side of Michigan, missing friends and mistresses, the families of fall and winter, the community thereof. I’m still in my staring match with the moon in a plea for it to tell me things I can’t think of myself. Cold nights, coats and comrades, brothers at arms and legs and minds. Sisters too, but fewer of them present in the alleys or the porches we torchers frequent, inhabit frequently to satisfy bad habits and good ones, keeping contact with the community of those pulling at pipes and Pall Malls because they’re cheap and we’re cheap too. Nights passed with a ceaseless and confused current through thresholds. Too much beer, too many smiles unmerited, dumbing ourselves down to engage in daunting discourse, drawing from the source of courage so many seek at our age. The watering hole’s dried up, so we didn’t drink water but liquor and beer, anything to quell the fear of social surrender. I’m not here for you but I don’t know that yet, so I’m trying revive the dying conversation though I lack the concentration to resuscitate this discussion on life support. It’s doomed to negligence, and so are you though as bipedal beasts go, you’re a looker; the minutes mind themselves, I’m too busy for time, I’m waiting for something to happen, trying to tip the momentum with whispers, smiles, grace.
        Tomorrow I’m going to wake up hung over the edge of my bed to curse my head. I’m too tired to kick and scream so you just picture me putting up a fuss against pulling on my pants and slumping downstairs and we’ll call it even though we can see it’s odd that we do this to ourselves, that we spend so much time and expend such effort to effect ourselves in similar situations one night after one day after others. This is where the present costs too much. This is where we leave our heads and shoes. This is where I subject myself to symptom, when I lose bits of myself at all these thresholds we cross only to disentangle ourselves. The bed sheets are a ******* trap, a maze a labyrinth, and I don’t really wake up until I’m back asleep and by then it’s too much too early to make myself more human.

And we're purging to be pretty,
and smoking to stay thin.
Starving until our bones feel light as air.

Wearing make-up like a mask,
using clothes to advertise the goods, to
make the boys want us

Mistaking life lessons for soul mates.
Physically putting out and
emotionally shutting down.

And we're dumbing ourselves down.
Acting stupid because it's cute.
Hiding our wit because it's unattractive.

They want lady in the streets and
freak in the sheets.
But on their schedule, not yours.

But the lady has to be a *****
And the ***** has to be domestic.
It's a trap.

And we're used up
Washed up
Fed up
****** up

We're twenty something and giving up on the world.
We're twenty something and dead inside.
And taking it all in stride.

Can someone please explain?
The world has gone insane.
Where have our morals gone?
Near-extinct, dare I say?
The radio is filled,
With people of low skill,
That speak only of ***, power, hundred-dollar bills.
*** is everywhere,
None of it's subliminal.
No one even cares,
Self-respect is on a minimal.
Just look at bars and clubs,
The behavior there is criminal.
Women dressing up,
Dumbing themselves down.
Women dress like *****.
Guess that's the norm now.
But that shouldn't be the way,
Now don't you miss the days?
When we would compliment the cheeks on a woman's face?

1
This is the song of you leaving
It is the lead finally soaking into my brain
Dumbing me down
This is the de-evolution
To perfection
Turning me into the animal
I knew I always was
Taking us back to the state where
True communication is the sound of something primal
You don’t have to be human
To understand the sound of desperation
It echoes off of lead paint walls
When we are left alone
It is the sound of my heart
Used as a door jamb
A last ditch effort to stop you from leaving

2
This is the song of quaking
The rhythm of helicopter blades over head
Rattling my windows
It is the sound of a faulty foundation
Reminding me all things are breaking down

3
Break me down to beastly
Howl my heart to heaven
You never misunderstood the rumble of my hunger
After the deep breathed sighs of my lust
The salivation of sizzling fat on a skillet

4
I always know where to hide
When the crack of bullets go off again
It is the air raid sirens of ghettos
It is the goose-stepping thunder
Of misled solidarity

5
I always know to walk the other way
When I hear someone crying
To hide my head under a pillow
When I hear weeping coming from another room

6
These pleads for help are wordless
But tug at my heartstrings
As painfully as any music
Only now the speakers are speechless
And the sound is without pattern
And the dancers are still
Fear is the sound of the quiet
Listening for a reason to move
Waiting for nature’s echoing bass drum
Telling you to run

7
Scatter you new found animals to safety
And lose your need for love
This is the sound of my saddened clatter
Keyboard key’s snare drum
It is the sound of a final poetic solo
Because as for being human
I am done

8
This is the song of me leaving
Wordy as it may be
Living a lifetime
Thinking this body is the pinnacle
This body is the tip of the bell curve
Before the hourly gong of descent
This is the song of becoming perfection
The song of de-evolution
It is me
Finally becoming an animal
Again

Teachers are problem,
Never mind the dumbing down,
God's intel design.

We sip our coffee and cream
  and drink our whiskey and beer
Then listen to wolves
   dressed as doctors
     with deaf ears
       and big empty eyes
        and blood stained teeth
Who tell us to dull the pain with pills
  and drown emotions
   in prescription prayers
    refillable
     at the small cost of our souls
And we sit in front of flat screens
  and smart phones and insta-gratification
    and press the illusion of our face
      between pages of a metaphor
        disguised as a book
And the imagined life is better
  than what is really going on
   so we script our day to day lives
     and step into the ring
       and wrestle like big men
         pretending its not just
           another form of ballet
We've doubled down on dumbing down
  and we're losing more than we're gaining
    but we keep spinning the wheel
      and the barrel
        and pulling the trigger
          playing the game
            of suicide
          and Russian Roulette
There is two bullets for every name
  and a bomb of every size
   waiting for its time to go BOOM
     and war is just a business
        for the rich
      payed for by the innocent
       and the ignorant
Death is big money
  and blood is cheap
    pump up the world population
      and the rise of inflation
        keep education at a minimum
          as well as a wage
Keep the poor hunger
  and give them an illusion to hate
    divide and separate
     fear is the season of reason
      needed to segregate and dissipate
       any sympathy or empathy
        or kindness or love
We live in a nation of sheep
  being lead by a pig
   and it sounds like fiction
    but it's horrifyingly real
     and he tweets and he oinks
      and he huffs and he puffs
       and he is just a sad little man
        having a bad hair day
         day after day
The world is watching
  and laughing
    a nervous laugh
Maybe it's nothing to worry about
  maybe I'm just late for my pill
   and my beer and my whiskey
    and maybe I just need a little
      cyanide and cream
       to lighten the mood
        of the black coffee news

I see you see me through the seams and beams of time and space
Long-Haired tall pale one
I acknowledge your efforts to communicate with me telepathically
Telling me about a world within a world
that on this Earth there is a space
which is a haven for light beings and truth seekers
in this world threaded with beams and bolts
where evil is spread like chewing gum
where man is turned into sheep through dumbing ***

I see you sitting on a cliff
in a world stars and skies away from ours
I heard you say that buildings would fall
I heard you say that beings from under would stand out
I see your hope for the human race
and if the Divine still believes in us we have a place

But this is a fight that must be fought with spirit
Weapons are merely instruments to destroy figments of chaos
the true instruments are in the heavenly basement
where worlds were dreamed
and it started with a band you see
big bang the ****** void opening
polarization with a band member rebelling
and a universal game created
and galaxies were governed
councils were formed and there were uniforms
hybrids created to mediate
across the planes, planets colonized
some beings unevolved and lost destroy, others preach the Law Of One Rise
******* or star dust
an interaction of fusion far beyond our understanding
it was music that began it all
harps and all strings, the rainbow piano
it started with a band and science calls it a bang
but merely a ****** as worlds are created within the creation continuum

and the greatest message from the long haired tall one: "Speak the truth, find your whole, defend the music for for your race it is home".

People poison have been poisoning your mind since you were born.
schools say they will work with your childs creativity, probably the biggest lie ive ever heard
they teach you how you're "suppose" to act.
there is no proper way of acting, we are meant to be ourselves.

they brain wash us then they poison us with all this false hope
they make things that shorten your life span hoping you wont catch on.

notice that *** and anything that helps with creativity and allows your mind to grow are illegal,
though tobacco and alcohol are legal even though they **** you and brain cells.

they're dumbing us down, not letting us think for ourselves

but I am a free mind
I fill my lungs with poison
I drown my liver with liquor
why, why not
life will be over someday
I may aswell get wasted and just watch the days pass while I hav the time of my life.
using these poisons although dumb, they can be used to put me at peace with everything slowly
Death.

Im tired
Of dumbing
Down

Im better
To let
It out

Let the chips fall
Where they may

Im trying
To stay
Afloat

Im trying
To find
A rope

To climb out
But its too high now

Im too high now
Waiting for the water to rise

Im trying
To speak
Clearly

Im trying
But growing
Dreary

Im tired
And getting
Weaker

Im better
Down here
In the mud

My love is a river that dried up
Just enough to reach the edge

Im better
To have
Suffered

Im better
To have
Recovered

Im tired
Of trying
For better

In the mud
Where love
Was a river
I couldn't
Live up to

Where love
Is the river
Of blood
And youth

Dried up
To the banks

Uplift me in scars
Shower me in shame

I will be the man i'm meant to be

Sinking
Floating

Defining
Denoting

My love
And my suffering
Make me

Make me
Beautiful
In the pain

Make me
***
In the river
Of my love

Dry me out
Make me drown
In the mud

250 squats is more than 250 steps... as i said before, with god dead the dietician is deemed respectable as topic of every conversation.

raffaello baldini
                      dante alighieri
umberto fiori                          franco buffoni
                          milo de angelis,
                                    none sing
a *ciao bella! not one;
                          bleaching is the process
of cultural invigoration residing with only
one ***** donation; oh hell, raise one
up yourself - i can't be bothered,
i just ate a pâté & meat with fat sandwich,
am i to hit the treadmill? i don't think so...
but i know you are;
i was never going to be a Japanese tourist,
i.e. a pensioner.

otherwise in England: mind the personal space,
mind the personal space... don't touch me! don't touch me!
mind the personal space... you're not the narrator,
don't enter my personal space! don't touch me!
Jane Austen neurosis... mind the personal space...
don't dare touch me!
fine... fine fine fine, the rolling hills of Yorkshire
and ******* was inspiration for
Herr Roach Hair in Ashtray -
the countryside girls became such a bore
when they entered urban environments,
all the adventures prior became one hour engagements
in terms of *******... the adventures
of homily... make a nag nag nag blah remark...
a n'ah n'ah n'ah nagging gesture...
queen's wave... whatever that means,
Elisabeth the Second
became disgruntled at having
the clock and bridge named after her
but no Shakespeare to parallel her reign,
only the dumbing down to mind, hookah hooray!
Charlie's waiting to tie the knots for his Lawrence
escapades into Arabia.

the reactions we've had to this year's differences are a predicament
they will have an effect for year's to come
friendships lost because of opinions
opinions established by the social dependencies we retain
the dumbing down of real news
as we come to the end, be one to pause and reflect
look back and determine where you fit in, in this spectacle

Brian Hill - 2020 # 292

i find it bewildering
how western society
****** all the fat out
of certain edible products,
like yoghurt,
and by draining off
the fat replaced it with
excess sugar,
to then suddenly announce
that alcohol was a sugar,
what the ****?
alcohol (EtOH - Et is a
chemical shortening of
the micro-carbohydrate chain
derived from ethane CH3-CH3 -
ethanol) is the single most perfect
calorie unit, even if impure due
to dilution: a standard bottle
of smirnoff ***** has a rubric:
50ml parallels 50kcal;
i don't know where journalists
got the idea that alcohol is
in the sugar category - minding the fact
that i don't use alcohol as a recreational
party dumbing drug (liquid ketamine),
instead using it for its medicinal qualities
of sedation - i find arguments concerning
it a bit of a red herring / far fetched -
i hate drinking with people, i drink on my own,
i find myself very conversational
albeit slurring my speech after a drink
with a library on my hunchback,
but if the conversation turns sour
and no one's laughing with me
i sober up and alcohol doesn't recognise
the soul, but becomes purely metabolic,
and that *****.

Watching the dumbing down of America
Idiocracy at its finest.
Selling the world
One latte at a time.
Being guilty of the former.
I too, have fallen victim
to the carnival stupor.
"I'll buy that for a dollar"
That...I'll have to borrow.

Mind numbing. Self induced dumbing.
Thumbing through a book that could change my life.
I just want to believe something.
Whatever thing screamed the loudest
in my immediate surroundings.
I need substance to lean on.
A crutch.
So dependent on a distraction.
From what?
Too much.
I want to pull the thread but I don't want the unravel.
Any thing that takes my mind off the fear
of an answer to the unquenchable query.
"Tell me the truth."
"Wait, no. Please don't."
If I know then I have to do something about it.
And I wouldn't even know what to do.
Too late.
I heard you.
At the end of all this I shall be deemed guilty.

Why didn't she help?

my eyes are full of girls dumbing themselves down and begging to be mistreated by boys who will break their fragile little hearts

14. The boys would gladly break those fragile hearts for 10 minutes of skin on skin in the backseat of a car

13. Im not one of those girls

12. Im not one of those boys either

11. I value a beautiful mind over a beautiful body and thats just not how things work around here

10. i like to write poems, drink tea, watch movies, and listen to rock

9. the problem with that is thinking differently gets you shunned and mocked

8. and the amount of skin you show directly correlates to how much you are worth

7. i like to wear jeans

6. So what am I?

5.  Im more than a thousand compliments, false promises, skin, and hands

4. I like my thoughts and the outfits I wear and the half understood jokes that I make

3. I don't want to beg for someone who is intimidated by a smart girl

2. and I definitely don't want to be just "hot"

1. so I won't