Don't be egoist
Get back to me
Don't think about others' thought
Come back to me
Like the coldest winter going to spring
Or maybe the warmest spring going back to winter
🌨️🌤️

When too full of self
When too hasty to bring
All attention to self
No limit to singing
Of glories of self
To the self-serving egoist

Ego dwells in all
Serves a purpose over time
Ego screams and hollers
Like one stuck in slime,
When it is time to let go
Go it must for the good of all

Just thank and let it go
Promise it is for the best
That the ego that lets go
Finds peace to reside within
All tamed and mature
To tell many a story
To the future progeny

When too full of self
When too hasty to bring
All attention to self
No limit to singing
Of glories of self
To the self-serving egoist

Since you kissed me I have lost everything to you. Those scarlet lips was carved beautifully; your brown eyes and its exquisite complexion captivates me; and your voice lit up something inside me

I am astonished by your beauty, like an art
Everything that you say inspires me, like a spell
I want all of you only for myself, like an egoist

I wonder if my eyes are too naïve sometimes
You kept saying that you are not good enough; you are not pretty, and you are not just the way I see you.
You know I am just happy to see you—feel insecure
With that I could have you
All for my self

What is this, is this empathy?
I can feel your pain - it's all about me,
I don't want to be the one in equal pain,
When there is no experience that I have to gain,
From hearing your words, your story,
For the most part, I'd find it boring.
But you recant it with such fervour,
That in protest I dare not murmur,
The urgency in which I want it to halt,
Neither of us are at fault,
You want to connect, to tell me your past,
I'm really just hoping the tale does not last,
It hurts, these feels, I have for you,
Your wounds are old, but for me they are new.

When I fingered the thin skin on my left, vein-bulging limb
Where the forearm adheres to the costly little hand
I realized in all my intense ardor for pain
That there in my penitence, self-pity, self-loathe
I am a narcissist.
Laden with self-obsessed sorrow
There is a selfishness in being a dreary,
To feel for oneself,
When others care too much
An aggregation of sympathizing sobs and tears
Too much for an egoist
Who would rather wallow alone
In the orange-tinted hue of twilight turned nightfall
A ray of the luster in all subtle shades,
Can I summon the force to recall
Why I hate myself
Is it not that all despise me for a purpose?
And those who are inept at reasonable loathe
Are marooned in deep shame
That they had degraded themselves for what?
For a felon? Such as myself?
Deep in such sorrow,
Deep in my self-loathe
I have encountered the truth of all fruitless self-regard
I am a narcissist, egoist, one who self-loathes
Who slashes and severs and cannot speak love

"Here was a new generation, shouting the old cries, learning the old creeds, through a revery of long days and nights; destined finally to go out into that ***** gray turmoil to follow love and pride, a new generation dedicated  more than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success; grown up to find all Gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken..."

"I know myself," he cried, "but that is all."

Poetry is the altruistic apogee of the individualistic emotional egoist.

The lack of feeling, and the lack of empathy,
the petty attempt to hide them with creativity.

It’s truly astonishing how we can fool ourselves into thinking we’re kind
When we’re just wasting our time, pretending to see when we’re blind.

How could we ever emulate our chemical imbalances on one another?
The only way to do it is the kindly overrated feeling of love and affection.
And why would we need words, if we’re sure about our love for each other?
Oh, we’re puzzled to believe that our puny poetry represents felt perfection.

Yet we just walk through the valleys of lyricism,
Lost in our own wishes for joy or demise
And yet we become shadows of perfectionism
Filled with the detachment we criticize.

Our representation is our perdition
We've lost ourselves in our own mission.

Feeling crazier each day.
Schitzoid, Bulimic, anorexic of thinking.
Theories of being an egoist calm my nerves,
But a breakdown is sure to occur.

I am the hero, i own my own brain.
You can jail me. You can stone me, but I'll always be free.

I am not guilty you fat lard ****.
cut off your man ****.

This is what you told me the first night we met,
And now i am wondering, if egoist and love go together.

One of the men who I always did brawl,
He did the same with me when I did sprawl
Against him in and around the school wall.
But I loved him as he supported in my fall.
He always who remained strong in squall.
His whole life is full of things big and small.
He had great powers to captivate and enthrall,
Which he used to control us full of gall.
I had been with him for nine years all –
All years nine or ten he did scrawl.
Is he selfish? Is he loving to all?
Is he egoist? Is he supporting in fall?
Such questions harassed my pitfall.
I got all answers positively in parasol –
He held my hands whenever I did call.
Made me what I’m now and took out from pall.
He is my inspiration, he is my ideal doll;
He is my guru, he is my cynic for my troll.

I'm sure an abstract painter adores
the confusion of their
lovers.
Glass reflections on materials in a bedroom
E M P H A S I Z E
the EGOIST in every
sofa
and
actress
in a television set while it rains out
(creating pockets of water on the balcony)
Where is my foundation for times like these when
feet become LOUD ER in the daytime
and obstacles have grown their teeth?

Perhaps a dump truck full of nicely dressed mannequins
will finally be
ticketed
and my eyes
will see
as soft
as your
hair.

Quarry of bones in an office space
and the FORMAL TIE HAS DESTROYED ITSELF WITH
SOCIETAL EXPECTATIONS AGAIN
(LUCIDITY KEEPS INSANITY DISTRACTED)

Caffeinated Canadian Bohemian
daydream of firs showering adjacent
Manhattan batteries.
Tomorrow's rejections watch
bright and beautiful waves smile with false
inspiration
a n d a n o t h e r
concrete victim is created.

!MADNESS!
(the solar flare of the Neutral)
the ammunition in my coffee
and conversations blinking
LAUGHS          OUT
                           TO
                           THE
                           ABYSS
(gorgeous and hollow lineups in front of
a Vancouver bar 11:30pm)

Pale October energies and the
Dharma Radio
feathering my fantasies as this year reaches it's last quarter
CREATIVITY MEANDERING
NEAR NOTHING
anxiously I roll around on the mattress,
open window, listening in on the intricately staged
oblivion of trees
who've become infatuated
with coffins.

Gastown (as it appeared in my dreams)
has found it's dusk anthem!
Adriano Celantano's
"BUONA SERA SIGNORINA"
what a strange dream that was
the music was vivid to the point of
impossible recognition
and I'm awake and dizzy not from all that
but from love
(it's tilting my axis!)
Always has......

An untraceable eye
lingers in
malevolence to ALL city banks
where the late bop players
stand united and "free"
(Outside, by art on a wall with animals dancing in a hot air balloon, jealous of their own permanent state of painted euphoria)
Restaurants are consumed by silence
upon closing down,
but NOT the Fisgard streetcorner cafe
I frequent!
It's LOUD TRUTH and San Francisco weeps in
the decorated walls.....some far off dream of North Beach
Trieste evening with people who were once ALIVE!!
People that bleached
THE AMERICAN VISION
with sharpened language sleeker than
the polished jaw of Apollo.

Here I am again,
accepting the same sweeping misery
as those before me
(settled tombstones barely seen beneath a wild oak
while cars cry exhaust to beach-view apartments
and Winter's harsh wind drums against the window pane)
sure they were good people, but living plays no favorites.

I'm awake and dizzy!
forlorn with the morning.
Stars surrender to a sun
which often wonders
how we adapt to this asylum.
(Vanity makes me sleepy)

Warm in the delicate crimson light,
I lie in a temporary peace.
I am setting
as all else rises.

the young egoist licks a blunt blade in the wall
until his tongue bleeds, to feel, yes to feel, feel anything
in these fettid depths where splinters of light
find themselves lost in the subterranean gloom
of his bedroom
where on occasion when it presents itself
listens to grotesques, yes listens with an ear
a plain nasty and unfeeling ear
yet it listens without any phoney, putrid arty language
he hears old irregular clocks
feels the smells under the ground
drinks unquenchable angers
citing their antique tonal ability
to create magic words out of rain and mist
then screaming his voice starts oozing and undulating
creeping through these slow subterranean pampas
compressing and expanding themselves never and at once
he believes it is an unsafe place of frighteningly sincere dangers
then thinks is danger a place, licks the blunt blade in the wall
for even in this desperation
it makes him happy when his tongue bleeds
he tries to perfect conventionally generous impulses
the spit of dreams, his dreams as he dons his mask
his mask of foolscap to write a poem
then encounters angel-devils and demons
who he has the power to deceive
and thinks to himself as he licks
the blunt blade in the wall
finish it, finish it
then realizes it's unfinishable

As an egoist animal borned in the middle " *** " of this so called " modern men" land-circles and mazes . I tell you centuries of vices and consumption altered human spirit from egoism to greedy individualism. Fat politicians claiming divinity

There once was a girl
a soul full of foul
greedy,egoist and proud by the nature
how can she be so ugly creature.
She was gifted with good skin and physique
faster her mind with rejected logics
carried her skin and showed with pride
in the digital screens she cant hide
bribed by the possessions she had
tried to act smart but always lacked.
Some fell for her but she gave a ****
it was her nature what could it harm.
Lost in her world of selfishness,
she once tried to be nice
hatred pulled her back with unwanted disguise.
She cant change herself because she needs to show
show her covering with outer glow
Mind full of ego she needs to learn,
the world is full of billions who earn,
earn a life without their skin but with what they are,
learn some respect without a war.
Love is a play and feelings dont matter to her.
Need to learn girl the skin you have will fade someday,
but the person you are never changes,
value your soul and not your skin,
stop smiling at your admirance enjoy your pain,
when you fall in love it will show,
and if you get rejected then you will know.

"Uuh, dude, your Hubris is showing.
Watch your ******' tongue, man.
It's cool to express yourself,
but now you're just being a ****.

Hold thy beloved charientisms,
thy ****** knives in velvet sleeves:

You don't exactly seem to understand
the true power of those Words
you propagate so 'knowingly,'
as if a monkey with his own ****,
but, if you do realize what you say:
you're a ******* *******.

Well, which are you:

a tactless, spiteful,
foolish hypocrite,

or

an affectatious egoist
of a hypocrite?

I'd wager
an unhealthy balance
that it's both.

I've seen it for years.

You assume a lot
for how little you know.

You step on other people's sentences
with a mastered matter-of-fact tone
regardless of how true
those facts you spew
even ******* are.

There you go again,
borrowing other people's ****
without expressed consent
nor explicit intention to return;
we have a word for that, I think.

Either your behavior and morality
totally adapt to your surroundings,
and/or you're a ******* Hypocrite Fool.
Either way,
you cannot be trusted
once a back is turned.

Honestly,
if I had to guess,
I'd be hard-pressed to give you
the benefit of the doubt
by assuming the level
of consideration required
for maliciousness.

You just want all of your stuff for you,
and all of everyone else's for you, too,
and the crux is
you'll feign being pleasant
just until you get it,
then you come out of your ******* cocoon
and get all high and mighty, entitled, and condescending.

Last one on the bandwagon,
first one to throw a stone;
you're a real ******' winner!

All you tend to do
every time I chill with you
is berate others- oh, I meant "advise" others,
who may well be better off than you,
for having many problems
which you either could not understand,
or with which you find yourself,
you ******* Fool.

Every time I wonder
if I've become too indignant
as a direct result of your antics,
you remove my self-doubt
and reaffirm my reservations
by eating all my ******* cheese
or talking **** on my friends
behind the back of whoever it is
who has their back turned at the moment.

When will you learn?
When will you mature?

I guess nothing changes
if we tolerate **** in our faces.

Tread lightly, Elephant,
for you tread 'pon thin-*** ice."

She who dives
down the thorny road
in search for apothecary
to cure the woes

She who didn't
know what she would
find. Is apparently

lost

Then one day  
a Galahad would
come bump her toes

Irrevocable.

Inevitable, at least.

This blasts a loud boom of happenstance

Helpless ****** in the face of
the egoist

Both come to terms
and apparently
It has to be

It simply has to

be

A confused magician,
I pull the rug out
From under
My own feet;
Remain standing,
Refusing to learn:

Nothing bruises your ego
Like your own
Bruised
Ego.

Singing in one ear, ringing
In the other.
Both drowning out
The voice of shouldered
Angels telling me
To let it go, just let
It go, little big boy.

A confused egoist,
I put rabbit after rabbit
Into the hat of my closest
Human relations,

And remain on stage
Until the last of
The audience
Has left, applauding
Their every step
Away from me.

Frailty, thy name
Is Pride. Another is
Demanding Respect.

Here, pick a card. No,
Not that. Another one.

Some of us spend lifetimes
To grow into
Lesser men than
At birth.

that there's a death of melody in music
and that it's coincidental
                        with a poetic death
of rhyme -
                      all precursor of:
res vanus - and a moving beyond
res cogitans -
                 building up a budding
of a frothing emptiness -
                           along with misnomers
as alt metaphors:
                   perhaps then coinciding
with a need for a glue of an imposing
maxim...
           now i want to put on a pair
of latex gloves and write like a perfect
******:
                a mahler or a penderecki ******...
where there was once
an aesthetic...
   there's only a sterilization process
that quasi "beautiful"...
   i'd love to get drunk on alfred jarry's
pataphysics... but i am compromised
by all the social engineering currently
  in process...
                if i could only find relief
in a rhyme...
                          thus rushing to engage
with an cul de sac of sleep:
with each night i prize open a prayer
of an otherwise uneventful narration
that my thought embryo has become
with the words:
let me not become an architect of dreams...
some variation
of technicality.... willful for
an etymological promenade of details....
otherwise a return to a language
summary akin to the final conclusion
of numbers: 1 + 1 = 2 via something
akin to: i ate bread: i fattened the lean
pig with a telepathy of digestion
and the absorption of nutrients...
and fibre for glue-****...

      variations of conjunctions: in
that a letter can transcend mere sound...
or a classification as either
vowel or consonant:

                  w:               in
                    z:             with...
o:            about
                          polakk slavic...
        i:                and...
                    th­ere might have
been a return to concern oneself with
the alphabet...
but what is the use of such
trifles...
                         now i'm starting to gag
on a fear that's turning my sessions of language
use: i hoped for the informal...
  i hoped for a delight of some
unfortunate circumstance:
             translating a death in public
with... the ultimate solipsism of
******* in public...
      some neu grand biting of the ice...
this eating of the ice...
                  counting one's teeth...
a completeness of a crescendo into
a heaving of procrastination:

that instagram stole from
                       the comic book...
            once upon a time: declan... tan...
gave me a comic book
for my birthday: batman vs. alien...

and that i am wearing latex gloves
while i write this: a momentary lapse
in a self-defining critique...

mind the articles in english:
a (indefinite) is akin to a telescope..
the (definite) is akin to a microscope...
mickey mouse turned magician spectacular...
i am sure of it...

i put on a pair of latex more times...
than i have put on a ******...
and that's not because i'm somehow
shy: the brothel and ******
are not... foreign to me...

i imagine the perfection of skin
in latex... what i wouldn't do...
when i otherwise...
squeeze... beelzebub's white pulp
of phlegm coagulating with
maggot brains of acne from my cheek
and nose...
          i imagine latex as that...
olive skin... that apple sunset burn...
it's beside a b.d.s.m. manual for
a total body covering
with a variation of exposed genitals...

i think of all those poor *******
strapped to role playing and uniforms...
i just want to **** a sensation
of an oyster shell one minute...
and exoskeleton slick of knee...
the next... then there's no clarity
of need or will...
      there's just this...
perverted persuasion of an unwillingness
and sabotage... tantamount...
in excavating new burdens
of reproach... for an otherwise basic...
safe and thereby senile:
striptease of a lost artistic...

              latex again... there's no concept
of dry ice... when picking up
cubes of the "stuff"... it's impossible for...
the dry... cold cube...
to attach itself liker a spider
to the rich lipid surface of the skin...

no hindering the typing...
process... but it's not like i'm about
to excavate a paragraph from this iron
maiden of a thought:
ego or inner voice or...
some other synonym as vague as
the architecture of god for
the diligent disguise of: fed on prayer...

because i have lost control of my ego...
i can't be an egoist when
i have come to assure myself...
this feral fraction of the sigma
that's me... this debilitating contraband
unit...
          to employ hands dressed
in latex gloves, to find paper...
to magically invoke ink with a machine-esque
precision...
      
       and because rene magritte used
to... take on the full attire...
of a suit... and paint: while standing up....
i imagine the thrill of gravity too:
this way... of jerking off while standing up
rather than... while sitting on the
throne of thrones and pushing out
a chestnut of:
dilating the **** a little bit more...

- and because this is not ancient rome
and that, "somehow"...
the gynocentric model of...
surrogate fathers even if complimented
by the status of emperor is beside
a question of the old / new norm...

roses bleed a colour such a near impossible
gesticulation at the beholder's eye...
a robed bishop of lavender...
scentless roses...
          give me a flower that...
impossible... the sound of a weeping
willow... rustling... being
rearranged by the rummaging of a wind...
clarity of the closure of sensation
come the petal...
this desire to find... the plethora of
***** as akin to flowers...

           my rotting crease of:
are you looking for paper...
are you looking for paper...
      i look for edible paper with a taste
of blisters... and nails...
like it might be disguised in
papyrus...
              
    give my heart enough strain...
and i will heave a mimic
of certain avenues being solaced
as having been fashioned for some:
agreeable loot of eyes...

sometimes the articles in english
are never used...
the corpus of restraints...
not that it matters...
the restraints are such
that the transgressions mean so very little...
except for a theatre of the absurd...
cruel becomings and symphonic
whirlwinds of the absolute cause...
like riddling a pyramid as a tourist...
rather than... heaving an excavation
of a height of a mountain...

to envy mountains is to construct
pyramids...
  it to also scatter ambitions toward
the primordial and always first:
looting of a sand dune pitch...
                 to compensate the tides:
one of rain and the subsequent
              sea...
or... the grains of sand...
and that deserted place..

          efficiency in the workplace
as a concept for purgatory...
and so many borrowed themes of pressures...
in a society of unit basis:
this greasing of a leather that's
not a pair or trousers or...
       which will become apparent...
a pair of disused latex gloves...

  such a paranormal fear of this...
otherwise possible yield of base:
                                       cradle the dilemma
of a yoke... without the white
protein hive...
         **** a lemon...
forgo the ***** gesture and...
limit: because there's a hybrid
in "question"...
      
otherwise... shrapnel base to base
basics...
some variation of the closed off secure...
adrian leverkühn:
the near impossible
"dialectic" of a oink's anatomy...
the pig foretold the limbo
of a sheik's compromise...

nearing death and a juice of
grey / variation:
nearing death and the juicing
of grey...
                  my no nearing...
death is such a devilish heave...
                 language has to half...
such beside nuance worship of
impromptu / beginner's luck...
  my samson and.. that *****'s riddle
wedded to a D...
            
                     E.L.P.:
emerson lake & palmer...
trouble with acronyms...
conjunctions are sometimes used,,,
while wearing latex... ghosts!
exoskeleton winding up
a giggle.,..
          my nearing a loot
of an oeuvre..
       childless creases of a fabric of
atoms...
this hierarchy of mirages...

                        asking for a friendship
with the moon...
a lacklustre of the three dimensions
of the old speckled hen...

a three legged dog...
                 my own father...
of which i make both sorrow and *****
having found no replica...
this tamed grandiosity of worded
junctions...

               snorkeling is somehow akin
to snoring... here i perfect...
a dickensian plot-hole in "laziness"...
but not really...
         to tame the crab bucket...
to tame: "above the hive"...
a question of why... wisteria might bloom..
seemingly, independently...
yet coincidental...
base repertoir of grades...
      completely useless when
sole verb projects are employed..
    
       i have reason to vain-belief
in the use of: a dreamless attire for the credo:
that's ambition...
bit i fear i'll sooner advent
an anger and a death... before..
i can be allowed a stomach...
and an allowing / alluring concern
for... persaverance...

         like it's a gilding...
an unfathomable first prized...
                     Edison-esque project...
           was there / could there ever be...
a scrutiny of a lightbulb?
                 a mountain reeked of a scent
of havoc...
      the confines of canyon
that of an all-encompassing tomb...

                 to have to riddle
with a rubric of skeletons...
             maya niqab... maya tow
a mouth that doesn't speak
or a nose that doesn't distinguish
a lobotamy from a prose...
new basic invasion of iraq...
  which is no new iraq:
i just devolved onto the topic of...
the rat that stank...
with a gravity of spectacular of...
wishing for the atom bomb...
wishing for the atom bomb.

(with apologies to Elizabeth Barret Browning)

                                        Arrogant
­Book Soldier
Conceited
Con Artist
Covetous
Cunning
Deceitful
Disingenuou­s
Egoist
Egregious
Envious
Entitled
         ­                               Evil
Haughty
Hypocritica­l
Ignominious
Immoral
Jealous
Jumped Up
Machiavellian
Martinet
Mendacious
Nit Picky
                                        Obsessed
Peck Sniff
Perfidious
Persnickety
Pompous
Popinjay­
Predatory
****
Rapacious
Regimental
San­ctimonious
                                        Self Important
Shylock
Smarmy
Sophist
Supercilious­
Unctuous
Unethical
                                   ­     Vile
                                        Vicious
       ­                                 Zealot
       ljm

Once again
You are conscious
Another flow of memories
Is bursting through your veins
Like painful ache of piercing knives
Awful flawlessness, overflowing perfection
Corrupting your bloodstream with agony;
Why is there blood on your hands?
Blood-soaked sleeves of your sweater
Blazing on your pale skin with crimson glow
Like redempted lovers in a land
Where death has already conquered
I cannot hear your breath
Restful beating of your heart freezes
Yet I will sheed no tears over your frigid body
My wretched ***** lover
You loathsome empty egoist
Who left me here on my own
I will not mourn your death
For it killed who I was
Or ever will be

Let us burn a lamp of knowledge
for those who are egoist and small,
Small neither in age nor in wage,
But potted & brittle clays those,
who are miles away from the God.

The God who is omnipresent & omniscient,
but, innocent like a nascent child,
In the divinely stretched and limitless sky,
Like an aloof but flying & singing kite.
We are most often fools,
But he is always wise,
He lives close to us
But, unseen and unrealized.

Away from the God, I mean those
who are confined to self & supercilious in this zoo.
The zoo not only of birds and animals
But which comprises all i.e.he, she, me & you.

Let us,
Share our cognizance with them also,
if not the whole then, just a little mole,
As it may facilitate them in achieving MOKSHA( salvation from physical existence)
a long cherised life- goal.

Methinks, then,
It would be the beginning of a new era,
All around people blissful & stout,
The whole world whirling in mirth,
and nothing to be worried about.

Mukesh Kataria

I am but a worthless ****.
An idiot.
Stupid.
Worthy of inexistence.

I do nothing but scare.
Hate.
Break.
Wreck.

I pity myself for being like this.
Helpless ****.
Empty egoist.
Hard as ****.

I know I will live in hell.
There is no heaven for me.
I am cursed
And ****** for eternity.

What an appalling yearning it is...
I feel as my spirit will tear apart my presence
to fly where at the moment it would have to be,
breaking all the chains of reality
My life is addicted to you
What a hard conflict...
What a tough task...
Like a  patient in a deathbed
I need a 'lifeogen' mask.
I had to be moving to you at the moment,
After a while, I had to be sitting waiting for peace
And you had to be coming in
With your warm greetings...

Now, life is beginning there,
Vitality is filling empty spheres
with your blissful voice and laughter
But none of those existing dumbs
can feel it
Someone is sitting face to face with you
Where once I was sitting
Haven't you still felt the difference?!
Haven't you still found out the case?!
Anyone can take my seat,
But no one can take my place...

Can I forgive myself for my selfishness?!
I am sometimes very egoist and ingrate!
You are laughing, you are happy now
and you feel great,
that is the main point.
I scold myself and evade all of my cravings
You know me - I am the soldier of fortune...
Keep your shining and just only laugh, please...