"generis" poems
Your contentious,
Ditzy,
Air-Headed,
Very sui generis,
You are my best friend.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
I've always been in place,
in situ
Maybe (just maybe) ...
I'm sui generis?
When my lifeline intersected with spacetime on this continuum
I found myself moving toward a collision course with duality and non-duality
Moving towards a zero-point
What are we talking about?
Nothing (Rafelski & Muller, 1985)
As a geographer, the mimetic expression was dualistic
As one plane flowed through another;
as fiat lux flowed through Medicine Rock
I found wisdom
I further explored the duality @ this place
(also known as University of Lethbridge)
The U of L is an interesting duck
It walks like an Albertan university
It talks like an Albertan university
But one of these things is certainly not like the other
The U of L got its chops as a house of learning for the Liberal Arts
Follow those roots and you'll see conduits to another spacetime known as UCBerkley
U of L memetics share material memories from the birth of the Free Speech Movement (1964)
And as Arthur Erickson drafted up his plans for Canada's centennial gift to the Province of Alberta, I'm sure he would have been partaking in the pleasures of this particular spacetime
I'm sure at the very least that he was listening to Hendrix wax on about Castles
As Erickson designed this modernistic monolith called University Hall
There were influences such as Arthur C. Clarke and his novel 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
He was certainly knowledgeable of the Blackfoot stories of the Old Man
And of course as an architect he would be versed in gravity and how built structures on a slope tend to creep toward base-level
Strange but true, Erickson's first degree was in foreign languages
So what I see is Canada's premier architect wrote a poem for us in 1968
In a foreign language
And that poem would be expressed over the next forty to fifty years
Some of those primary poetic elements were:
Berkley, California
Hippie Movement
Creep (or gravity)
Base level
Blackfoot creation stories of the Old Man
Jimi Hendrix poetry and his savage musical genius
"and so castle's made of sand melt into the sea, eventually."
So let's reinterpret that line to be more U of L centric
(through my glossy apertures)
"and so monolith's made by man melt back into god eventually."
........ ....... ...... ..... ..... .... ... .. . zero~point . .. ... .... ..... ...... ....... ........
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
I think I've procured myself again
The word 'filth' comes to mind
(For lack of a better word)
Yeah, I'm a *****
Unmetalled in the interface
It took yet another 'kind' word
Or should that be 'false' word
To realize what they think of me
To think
With their mangled good looks
Ubiquitous in psyche
Like they ever gave a chocolate-flavoured ****
Soon they'll all have had a go with me
And i'll become
How do you say? Sui generis?
Numb betwixt the thighs
I 'detest' myself
(For lack of a better word)
And I stare at the periwinkle
To find relief
And that's still no relief
Because I'm jealous of periwinkle
The capita thinks it's 'beautiful'
And of course 'I am no periwinkle'
(For lack of a better understatement)
For lack of a better me.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:06 PM UTC
You may believe in your fictitious destitution,
You may be adrift in your false desolation,
You may be wandering a path of solitude,
And you may be drowning in ignorance.
I am occasionally condemned as such.
Our isolation like a xerox.
Synonymous of withdrawal into one's self.
Not uncommon, even cherished.
Individuality becomes enveloped.
Becoming our own worst enemies,
Among a sea of monochromes.
Exposed complexion,
Defined blush,
Vulnerable iridescence.
Recognize a promise to identity.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
Humble beginnings
To the bitter ends
Frantic boot heels
Optical illusions
The **** of a joke
Last but not least
Whatsoever
Then again
Telegram a trigger word
Dangle from an umbilical chord
Eat the placenta
As the deadlines fluctuate
And the ambivalence
Is sealed in a canopic jar
It's experimental
Mental experiences
It's elemental
exemplary mentality
It's explicit
To solicit
The illicit
And go ballistic
-Tommy Johnson
They're so generous
To call me and my work sui generis
I'm just inter-being
To learn from ignorance
By my own volition
To achieve total consciousness
"Of all the nerve you sure got a lot of some of it"
Coming from oblivion
Ideas composing
The appreciation
Imagination turn into materialization
Expand and contract
The sensation of feeling
We crave and we cling
Becoming, we're born
A phase, we age
Sickness and death
Cessation, ratify or deny
Die gratified
These are the type of things we discussed in the Agora, all those times ago
-Tommy Johnson
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
All I see
in this community
is pain and suffering
and disunity
Lift your head up!
Believe in me,
you have been fed up
It doesn't matter:
Looks
Size
Skill
Age
Anything.
Especially the latter
For you, it may be wise
to find the strength
to compromise
Just take that head full of lies
and know
that you are special
You, myself, and the crow
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
Art is a hell of a *******
drug, I tell you
it surreptitiously creeps
into you in a way that is
utterly indecipherable,
and lures you deep;
deep into it as the void above...
For the eye loves
what it sees,
and what's been seen
by the eye
is rather fascinating to the soul,
Amidst all these
Overwhelming emotions,
a harmonic converge
between the eye and the soul
is created,
Fostering a sui generis ecstatic rhapsody!
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 10:31 AM UTC
Oh, how silly all of us mere humans are!
Preoccupied with having big houses and shiny cars.
How lost we have all become!
Consumed in ourselves, compelled by our wants.
Is it more money that will melt your heart?
Is it immense success or limitless power?
Is it all matter of materialism?
A new toy with every passing hour?
Perhaps it's lust that you try to slake?
Or you try to quench your thirst with alcohol?
Maybe you seek your solace in drugs?
But do you really expect to find true happiness in that at all?
Silly humans, sweet and lost, weren't you every taught?
The sui generis thing about happiness is that it cannot be bought.
So stop seeking for it in things you purchase, or *** or drugs.
And instead, seek for it in something free, perchance, seek it through love.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Money can buy you the best proof taken amid all this rest!
Next taken is to experience et!
Dream about it,
Think about it,
Living it,
That's the problem spotting et...
When love takes its chance,
Football when football teams a family with
Kids and a dog,
Utopia raises its curtains,
God breaths a certain light on a table we had been risen,
Money can buy you the best,
Missile box sui generis,
Of its own kind,
Summa *** laude!
In all of its trenches,
Moolah lie deep and it stench es,
But dreams you may find et....
Cry me on silver,
Lime, dime and a sapphire glass river,
Streams a strengthen nugget gold,
Work hard, watch as it sieves, watch as it pours and watch as it gives,
Some where plays and draws you out a revealing point!
It Scratches a sale to a victory,
I like to see it,
Short cut luck no more staring into the abyss buck,
Seeing that face and still believing it,
Hard change knuckle of hours,
A super match set in sky mystery,
Finish off your money to be thy very best O'Reily mystery!
Messi Mason living life in some spiritual occasion,
Still breathing on average abundance of work smiles an ironed shirt and no creases as he plays,
Just don't stop till you've had enough!
Enough, Enough and Enough...
O'Reily@18082014
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
Which part of me would choose?
For it is cold in my mind and warm in my heart
If only I knew what goes on within your mind
So perfectly flawed
I could crawl into your brain...
The simple masterpiece of all I've seen-
" pure beauty" is a mere insult to the magnitude of its indescribable wonder
Peering through the amygdala
I'll see your past in awe-
At how it's brought you here,
A creature so wonderfully subtle with tongue
And bold in nature:
Sui generis.
I'd love to journey through the thoughts of you
Through and through I'd wander
And wander always turns to wonder
To be electrified by your synapses
And burnt into oblivion-
A million pieces of me
Becoming blended within
Something wholly powerful
Is but a dream
Locked behind
The gazing brown puddles
Reflecting the moonbeam
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
Wading in a muddy riverbed,
panning for broken pieces of
pretty blue bottles that
glint in the
sun's rays like
azurite
Upstream,
without warning,
a deafening cry
of impending cathexes
The river surges
gasp...
rushes,
tosses,
thrashes me
in mysterium tremendum flow
and a flurry of foaming crests
I bathe in effervescence and
glide through
torrential sentiment,
submerged in
cosmic love
...sigh
Crawling from this eddy transcendence,
trembling
precariously up the shoreline
to rest in his arms of
fiery brilliance
gasp....
....
....sigh
to set him ablaze with
Divine oxygen that
beads from my
velvet lips like
dew drops, and
coo giggling whispers in his
ear of
soft, tender
reflections,
as he feeds to me
crackling embers that
surge to my
heart centre with
volcanic intensity
Reciting a story
sui generis
nested like Matryoshka,
the ever-unfolding opus,
tangled in sheets of
layers
upon
layers
of papyrus,
scribed
and
scribing
Oh, to wake in such a dreamscape.
sigh
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
(Translation found below in notes)
Those eyes, those eyes…
Ne plus ultra …
I just knew that I'd seen them before.
Those eyes, those eyes …
stopped my mind in it's tracks … like a ship that had ran ashore.
Those eyes, those eyes …
Sui generis …
Innocent, soothing, sublime.
Those eyes, those eyes …
They startled me … that moment they first gazed into mine.
Those eyes, those eyes…
Nonpareil …
throughout thee entire world.
Those eyes, those eyes …
like the moon so bright … or a magnificent flag unfurled.
Those eyes, those eyes …
Suaviter et dulce …
The eyes of a timeless friend.
Those eyes, those eyes …
they will find my soul … oh yes, yet again.
Those eyes, those eyes …
Coelo missus …
as I'm sure that thee angels chose.
Those eyes, those eyes …
sadly missed these days … except when mine are closed.
Those eyes … they shimmer …
just as my beloved Gulf in the summertime … a brilliant, beautiful green.
Those eyes… adorned with orange flecks …
like sapphires, adrift in those waves … are truly a site to be seen.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 7:31 AM UTC
Gazing through the looking glass, and attempting to reminisce, he lets go, relieves, and perceives.Colossi of raindrops subtly fall through sky’s shadows , violently battling the grey in great amounts, failing to come anywhere near the threshold of one’s most sensitive ear. Nature’s children appear to tremble as dark forebodings of a dreary future pervade the air. The danger and annoyances of such rarities is always given priority and significance. He misunderstands it; he believes in its false infinity.
Unable to stabilize, unable to achieve a desired normality. From every pitter, he regrets; from every patter he forgets. Forcefully drudging through the thick swamp of his mind, struggling to understand what and why, diminishing his hopes of any change, any desire. Suddenly, several elements collide against his one-way mirror in his cell and revitalize his consciousness. Looking through the droplet, his face pressed against, his mentality momentarily produces quick successions of thoughts and random impulses of recovering memory.
Every snowflake understands its place as sui generis; every raindrop understands its place as trite. The beauty of a snowflake with death, the dullness of rain with life. It’s uniformity and strict nature are necessary to sustain life, but somehow it places a bittersweet piece of an unusual feeling inside him. Its unexplainable transparency, disguising itself as invisible, but not untouchable, stimulates a sense of deep nostalgic hopelessness within him. As he discovers the profound pulchritude, and simultaneous incomprehensibility, of the paradoxical elements of natural and artificial state cooperating to achieve more of the same, he realizes more in this moment. The monotonous, repetitive beat of rain seems to harmonize in an odd manner with some contrasting presence.
A new rhythm to this sound, a new color to this sight. A particular emotion of gradually diminishing despair comes about as he observes little rain boots composing a sort of rhythmic song with the catchy beat of the rain’s clashing, the continuous flow of the tree’s trembling, the back-up percussion of the thunder’s loud suddenness, the sight of lightning's exciting flash, and the cheerful singing from their voices.Upon this feat, he accepts the shadow’s tears; no longer must he endure the pain of the past’s ********** of the future, now he begins to savor the varied colors of newfound harmony.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC
I've a sui-generis tendency to ape
that sainted cat from Assisi who lends me
this moniker with mouth-confounding interests.
I cop ascetically tasteless means for living
and an auto-inflicting knack, but we part
weepy ways at the nobler wherefore of his arts.
He self-stigmatized for Faith, I stab at lesser
Love's tortured metaphors, and my plump palms bare
only the throb of a heart foolish for one once gripped.
Move on I must, wholly hand-in-hand with hag Hope
to cajole a jab by bumptious Charity,
touch of her tip flushing blues from my fleshy side.
Apr 8, 2010
Apr 8, 2010 at 8:47 AM UTC
Induced fixation has engulfed us
Fixation of indoctrinated normality,
and the pursuit of said specification.
Who's, characteristics are repugnant to individuality.
We all believe we are different, but we fallow the same shepherd who has snowed us with such lies.
The hypocrisy of, "average is unique", has been whittled into our minds. We bear this scar for the rest of our lives.
To reject the ideology would be to condemn yourself to purgatory. All previous beliefs and known fact would vanish, you would be alone, adrift in nothingness and ultimate confusion.
However, our distraction caused by our fixation on subjective "normality" has blinded us. We find that we are in a crowd, and are unable to see above the billions of heads.
One thing we can see, is a ginormous stage. From which our indoctrination calls its origin.
The microphone upon the origin blocks self reflection and critical thinking through pushing us toward endless lust for their normality.
A normality of political agenda, social agenda, and cultural agenda all forced upon us through "authority".
Evil is one who questions any teachings that originate from the stage. Suppressed is their voice.
Discourse is hate speech.
But we are unique. But we are also normal because we are unique.
Wait
What a paradox
That's just what we are taught
Now that We've questioned our restraints of self exploration and personal growth. We can begin the beginning.
Free of our chains. What is our purpose now?
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 2:28 AM UTC
The Name's Selcæiös N.V. Witega
The N.V.'ll only **** you if you're a curious cat.
Your Tech-Age Völva
Onliest Healer
Avant-garde Seeress
& Upping the Ante
Once under my Wing
--a Sui Generis sorta catalyst
But take note,
I'm only here for your healing
---and occasionally to quench the thirst
for all types of Second Sight
weaving, seething, and
any and all other appealing witchy hype
And this niche in the Craft
Contingently consecrates
--you know. when it rains, it pours--
the Superseding of Spirit;
Under the Utopia of Unorthodox Psychotomimetic Wonders
enthralled by your scintillating mishap to wander
Gracefully falling face-first into
The Empath's Curse
in other words, to come to terms with Sonder
Dyed in the wool
lies the
Fluorescent & Incanting Sparks
of the
out-of-place-even-for-you
outre wanders
To me though,
It's vividly violent & evincing
Capitulated roars,
Sequestered howls,
Once Upon a Time
the proud growls morphed
to crying whines
'Carpe Omnis Scintilla'
In Perpetuum,
to no avail.
Your Sui Generis Hedge-Rider
Call me Selaecios N.V.
or Selcaeia, if you like
the sting of serpentine strides
I'll proudly continue to
uphold this chaotically labile path
as it's my Labyrinthine Rite
Taking under Wing
Protecting & Defending
Fellow Humans & Spirits alike.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 5:49 AM UTC
Light dims
They doze
They have to be wide awake
The poems of life are sui generis
She wanted to bloom like a happy chrysanthemum
She didn't find happenstance
She's forgotten fascinating covetousness
Miscalculation happens
They're between Scylla and Charybdis
An infernal situation
Barbarism grows up in this so-called civilization
May 26, 2022
May 26, 2022 at 3:33 AM UTC
Gratifying sounds...
Delightful notes...
Each mirroring a sonnet of faith,
All conducting an aura of afroth !
For how could She, be such a gifted one ?!?
Sui generis" is the word,
Lyrical bliss per a chord,
Beauty as such an award...
A delicate Goddess within Her craft;
Why can't I spot any blunder in it ?!?
Soothing, soothing, soothing...
As pleasing as it can be;
She's of a divine femininity,
Yet, not precisely picturing Her glory,
Falling short in delineating Her charm.
Woman... O woman;
A certain euphoria, You conceive,
An eyeful masquerade, You evolve in,
An addictive healing, Your manoeuvre became to me.
~ A. Rose
Dec 17, 2024
Dec 17, 2024 at 12:20 PM UTC
Never trust a Prankster
on this Merry bus.
Heads;
And beats;
intellectuals and,
Flower children all.
In the heat of passion
or the distance of disease.
I mean what I say
and say what I mean.
But they;
With ill intent
or goodwill ecstasy,
Always in dissent.
Plague of lies
and ill begotten fantasies,
scrupulously denied.
Sui Generis.
Out of the Abyss.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
People can often be illogical
Self Centered
Unreasonable
And occasionally intolerable
It didn’t faze you in any deadly way
Maybe it took a sharp turn
from horse to foul play
But like my ******* dad used to say
"you still breathin?
well **** **** it up, you'll be okay."
If your heart’s in the right place
You’re “two-faced” or just “too nice”
“A push-over”
Keep that good **** running like an NBA replay
If you’re authentic
You’ll be “blunt”
“Too direct” “Rude”
Those are just ignorant cliches
Stay voracious
Do not fade away
If you’re blossoming
Stay Blooming
When you’re noteworthy
Don’t expect only good notes
Keep grooving to your heart’s beat though
Because that's morse code live from your soul
You gotta stay rare
Before common conformity becomes
Communistic crowd control
We crave that unparalleled extraordinary
In any sort of way
We need sui generis runaways that set the leeway
we need the leap days
and occasionally risque soirées
and baseball’s ritualistic ***** plays
So society won’t run too astray
Just like the Nutcracker needs ballet
Like grey Monday needs
Friday night’s jet-black lingerie
like Nirvana needs Kurt Cobain
We need those bows after the rain
Jealousy will be profound
When you find a way to smile
don’t trip though because on Cloud 9 it’s too intoxicating
To hear any words on the ground
When you synthesize something
That feeds your soul
That’s enchanting to you
Stay with that sensational complacency
You earned it
Besides
It wasn't about them anyway
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 7:31 AM UTC
no diminution in tiredness arose
gnome hatter how off tin ma dis bows
Zoe let his bot tee succumb,
via mental application
of autogenic phrases
and/or counting crows
cuz upon awakening,
aye immediately wanted ta doze,
thus this artful dodger hankered to expose
extreme cockamamy idea incumbent,
where corporeal essence gets froze
zen, the scientific procedure named
emergency preservation
and resuscitation (EPR)
more familiarly known
as suspended animation
pursuant under the appellation cryogenics,
where living tissue no longer grows
old, a wishful yearning
approximating immortality i sup hose,
yet this copacetic drowsy
generic human struggled in vain
trying with utmost effort to stay awake
Swiss to hobnob among urbane
feeling helpless (fearing
he might be narcoleptic),
nonetheless aye didst train
intent concentration
(and/or feeble exertion mustered)
to swat away worrisome thought
this hypochondriac,
could be afflicted with mononucleosis
since lassitude less likely sprung
from overcast and rain
knee skies, which type weather
generally energies me
to conjure a quatrain
sometimes complex versus
written straight away plain
panacea hit upon finally
to ward off sleepiness,
whereby literary endeavor
boosted by a strong brew
namely fair trade
manufactured coffee chew
zing among socially conscious entities,
and hoping to do
some dollop of positivity
without fanfare I eschew
to fulfill personal hue
man conscientious anonymous impact
that some benefit will en sue.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC
Do not tire me
By misreckoning my thoughts
Do not dishonor me
To think free
Unlike you
I fill myself
With flowing goodness
But
You are incapable of grasping it
So
Do not turn me into a goner
By the dark clouds of ignorance that
dwell inside you
Do not despise me
For being a sui generis
If you can’t fathom my benevolence
You are naïve
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 2:15 PM UTC
She is fine and heaven is jealous
Earth clamped my toes each time I bent my heart to hers
So am a stranger of my thoughts
Sick of beauty that I lack
The light off her smile shrieked the night moon
The ambiguity of the iota in her heart made me heist for heed
I am the suspect and culprit
I stand a beggar of fortune to the unfounded brand of all times
#herdsmanofprogress
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 9:54 AM UTC
A little sonder
goes a long way
in understanding you, him, her
--anyone not me;
your hands have their
own feel and peril;
your eyes, their sui generis orbit
with this world (of ours)
spinning on a differing axis;
and returning its sorrow,
its pleasure,
in an unabridged box
named after obscurities,
known only to you (not me);
the frustration of photographing
this amazing moment sets in
when I realize it already exists,
randomly,
vividly,
in every single person I daily see;
and their uniqueness
cannot be annulled.
Feb 15, 2020
Feb 15, 2020 at 9:38 PM UTC