Good for Some
Immensely hot day, yet no sun it was hidden
behind a ring of polluted air, a strong wind
came and cooled the landscape but with it
rein fell, thousands of them, broken bones
and crushed skulls, the poverty struck and
dogs had enough to eat...for now.

Then rain fell each drop was a bucket full and
rivers overflowed. Pots and pan left behind;
head for the hills was the cry, shivering people
eating frogs raw, cannibalistic ****** in a sea of
mud caked humanity.
The laps of the north were given compensation
for loss of income.

Tis, an age of knightly lore,
of greasy and grizzled
wealthy nobles
that seem to signal
some sick cycle
of destruction
that they are
desirous for.

Battle born ballistic,
armament physics
of pain causing missions,
missing all mercy
because of their
Machiavelli
machinations;

Mud slickened and sweaty
armor wearing
super smelly
fellowship of fools,
discourteous tools
who ravage
and pillage
poor peasants.

Inflamed by such infractions
I chafe under the yoke
of violence and oppression,
whilst searching other actions
for the slightest scent or sight of
of human decency,

but hope is less then
a liminal sensation,
and there seems to be
no cessation of
humanity’s violent tendencies

The wind whipped over the sidewalk, lifting brown and yellow leaves into the air before dropping them again a few feet later; I knew just how they felt. The leaves get stepped on every day and no one thinks about it. No one stops to admire the color and the beauty. No one likes to stop and look at the shapes and how creative they are. I’ve never met someone who had truly appreciated the magnificent complexion of the leaves. For years, this is how I’ve felt about how I and the nicest people are treated. Not only can beauty be taken advantage of, but so can humanity.

State of fugue, seek in this smoke of poisoning lungs
reading articles and books, offering function to this numb
inside the voids of my mind into this woods.

State of fugue, alone in forest, this wooden solace
where no human shape can be detected, a mind confined while my will is taken. Again smoking as a captive of a defying belief of failing or as a container of tears escaping.

State of fugue, is the maintenance of vice and virtue, but also of poor choices, hitherto we seek something and in oblivion we keep running into solitude and animal noises

State of fugue can be also an invented peace, while outside we pleased ourselves with more than electricity, the solitude of reality where no destructive humanity in present seeks.

Plato’s Paradox
by Ryan Kinney

What if Plato was right?
And there are eternal truths
Ethereal knowledge that exists independent of humans
Just waiting for us to grasp

What if all knowledge was the not the product of human ingenuity?
But just our ability to latch onto these truths.
We can reach and hold them,
But never with our hands
Feel them,
But never touch them

What if he was right?
But off by a few millennia
Maybe it was a prophetic vision
Just waiting for technology to catch up
Some access code or binary formula
That taps us into ultimate knowledge

What if you could instantly know anything you wished?
And substitute lifetimes of training
For a momentary flash
Bach and Bruce Lee
Socrates and Einstein
Lennon and Nietzsche
All their skill, yours with ease

What if you knew everything?
Nothing would be out of your reach
Would you become a god among men?
Or covertly use your power to reign?
Would you be a benevolent benefactor?
And teach instead?
Would you share your knowledge?
Would you share your power?

Or would it drive you insane?
Madness that only a genius could know.
With no questions left to answer.
Would, why I exist?
Haunt your existence.

Would life lose its flavor?
Would you spend your life bored?
Obsessed with trying to locate something you don’t know
Only to realize it’s all been done

Would your heart be left twisted and wrung dry?
As your mind grew.
Would you scar yourself?
Or stand in the freezing rain.
Just to remember what it was like to feel.
Would you allow knowledge to make you cold and bitter?

Would you allow it to make you a monster?
An immoral beast who did only because he couldn’t be stopped?
If absolute knowledge corrupts,
Would you lose your humanity?
At the very moment you understood what it meant to be human?

What if you could know anything you ever wanted?
What’s stopping you?

I dream of world peace, and liberation.
Dreams of global happiness, free from sadness.
To rebel, is to fight against those who oppress.
But this can’t be the way, it is only bad press.
If we unite as mankind, there will be no guilt.
We can stand as one, or individually be killed.
The constant fight, between the people
and their rights.
If we see past the greed we can again
achieve sight...
of faith in humanity, in nations, in parity.
There’s already enough suffering,
we don’t need more brutality.
If common ground is found...
No racism, no white, black or brown.
We can stand as one people.
One voice, with one sound.

I cried a little on the outside
And died a little on the inside
Whenever you left me
I gave up on ever being satisfied

I wish I didn't feel empty
Because this sadness is hallowing
And it's making me wallow
Until I weep

I just want to taste happiness again
I barely remember it at all
I remember all that gin
And cigarettes from last fall

Which is irony at its finest
Because I look at you
And you were the saddest
From my point of view

I remember your eyes
And how much promise they held
It was something I despised
Because it was a future of fails

Your negativity was a disease
To all of your humanity
You became so numb
And so unwilling

Your music saved you
But only temporarily
I wanted to save you forever
But you got up and left me

That tore me apart
Because you never cared about me
You were just bored
And I was the closest thing

Don't look into her eye's they are no longer dim
A new light has been replaced in them
And it's a white hot fire
Something she thought she would never acquire

Now if you fall she won't help you up
She threw away that cup
Now she'll just laugh at the pain in your face
She'll stomp you down farther in your miserable place

Humanity finally has had it's way
She changed in a fraction of a day
All those that thought they knew her
Would of never thought this drastic change would occur

But she was done with being used, and abused
Now she just watched others suffering, to her it amused

But her friends did what the demons and monsters never could
They turned their backs on her, she never thought they would
So now that shattered heart of gold
She pulverized to to dust, let it freeze over, let it become cold

Now she hopes they all feel the pain she endures
She will not help with the strain, she smiles for there is no cure

Helping others never last
She quickly learned to become an ***
With all the good she tried to spread
Never returned to her, there was only dread
Now she doesn't care, before long her old self will be dead

preforming for a crowd
does not make you the hero you play
you are the reason
I find so much darkness in humanity
while you preach openly of blasphemous ignorance-
you’re sheltered in your own
the reason we perceive you as such a wonder
is not of your goodness
but of your bold ignorance in your ways
the reflection must show you
so what’s wrong with your eyes?

Ahhhh Time
that old illusion.

I sidestep it
& hide

in contemplation.

Time looks everywhere
for me but I

step into the silence
keeping perfectly still.

Time looks baffled
as a stopped watch.

Days fall like leaves
from a calendar

in a clichéd
movie sequence.

I have grown feathers
become that bird.

I am made of stars
and sky.

I am
the things I see

my humanity
a shed skin.

I am the moment
only.

I am
this becoming.

Shrouded bodies enveloped,
With stains, lifeless they lay in peace,

                                   Tears shed in vain,
                                   No humanity, no soul,

Screaming people dragged-
Within this circle of death and slaughter,

        Pain and remorseful families,
        Wail in pain, awaiting termination of terror

Blood of innocence,
Drains in catastrophic pool and trails

            Cold hearts and atrocities leavin' corpses,
            Exiling the countries citizens,

Wiping away masses,
In hundreds and more.

I will not allow myself to be hurt
I will stop myself from feeling love
I refuse to feel envious
I will drain emotions from me and replace them with ***** and ***
If I feel nothing at all
then maybe
Maybe
I'll free myself
So please everyone
Watch me as I **** off
every ounce of my humanity
It's nothing personal
But I'm not allowed to care anymore
I don't want to.

What is life?
A glimpse of the present?
A present of the past,
A past of the future?
An eclipse of humanity?
A picture worth 1,000 words?
The craving of mankind
Easy to lose, hard to gain.
Once upon a time Life was beautiful.
Long futures cascaded down its back
And pasta graced its aura.
But then mankind abused it.
Beat up, battered down.
People took it and destroyed it.
It screamed out to God.
He took Life and made it everlasting.
Life shined brighter than the stars.
And it still does if you look hard enough.

It says a lot about humanity
when you love yourself more than anyone else,
but still despise your own ways.

With the wind that blows with every strength bestowed,
Standing by the shore, an ocean stretches out.
Trying to reach out to what lies beyond, a force, a power unknown,
I ponder the rise and fall of waves, how humanity begs to be drawn.
We believe we are made privy to our evolution, chosen and wanted.
But looking out at an endless horizon, I can't help but wonder
That as humans, our existence is but a chance luck, random takes,
*A card on the table, waiting to be played.

Once, Jesus said, you are saved. But I wonder.
Save for later? Save, is in, extract the good parts?
Save like, save the best for last? Or maybe:
Good save! Because I was right on the cusp of
falling on my face with my foot in my mouth.

Save, perhaps, like save the future and all humanity?
Or like a goalie keeps a ball from sailing into a net. To save us
from the Damnable Score. Or no—save to fix later.
Like a broken-down truck with a cracked engine
you might, some day, get to.

No, no, none of that fits, I conclude as I pour out a
second cup of bitterly strong coffee when I should be
at church on Easter Sunday.

There’s nothing to save. And who would know better about
what worth saving than me? This, as I pour the undeniably
burned second cup of coffee down the drain.

His chiding of those berating, confiding in
peers, pals, kin, from neighbor's din
to seaside inn, with 'backwards', caused chagrin.
My heart did jump in, 'backwardness'
could never extinct humanity,
like the religion of scientism has
in only the latest 400 years
of it's tryst with oligarchy.

'One insect damaging so much grain',
one instant evolutionarily,
destroying so much grace,
that it took the Cosmos 18 billion
years of evolution to create.
"Truer words were n'er spoken",
was his snort, in retort,
as we savaged our insides on
with tonics, nuts, gin.

If I could start from scratch, I’ll rage war earlier in attempts to conquer my own flaws, in order to be pillar and make something of myself, be a blessing to those I dare open up to, as some have been to me, growing pains is in retrospect, but I guess a contribution to youth is always adjoined to learning. If I could start from scratch, I’ll celebrate my 18th by vowing to stay clean, showing up to recovery and never saying a single to word any other in those rooms. If I could start my life from scratch, I would learn about death, growing my learning thoughts to its definition and learn how to die. We all die one day. And I’ll open up death’s fade. It isn’t a crime unless if they catch you. If you live for yourself, you’ll die in shame. If I could start from scratch, I’ll hug every person who is kind enough to say hello. If I could start my life from scratch, I’ll value reading poetry, for the sake of the poet, who had spent their entire time, articulating the world’s thoughts that are mixed in with emotions. I’ll respect the Devil, because truth doesn’t change and faith isn’t required when it comes to it. For now, if you get too close, I’ll clap you. And wouldn’t reside to victimhood when I got to leave home, because they had no money and the lack of understanding others leaves room of void, no one will truly know until we all trade places. Life isn’t promised, I’m still blessed to every dollar I’m getting. And I’m still being guilty of being anxious. I’ve given up on getting a fair go. Reality demands something else to what society gives back, the duality of humanity, breeds fair go to those who develop originality. To soak up pain, is to understand, but I wouldn’t dare to sing gospel, I’ll sit quite, because I heard that when one weeps, you’re alone. I heard a blast. When I die, I want to be a living legend. For they try to **** me. If I could start my life from scratch, I wouldn’t prevent myself from falling down, I’ll come to grips with it.There’s no other feeling like getting up and trying again.  Than again, I could part from my past, but never to replace it, so coast to coast, before going broke, I’ll ****** their wallets and run. Than focus on dying without a whimper.
(knowledge variable)

The older elders have their superstitions,

Tiny rituals they keep under their breath

Spitting

Wards & incantations

Sweep of broom stick, and what the hex?

Is Grams commanding demons

“In the name of the Father

And his son Jesus!”

“To get out of this house?!”


We all have one of those…

The lost cause / loose cannon

Black sheep first cousin

Into *******, or something unacceptable.

Perhaps their smell or appearance?

But with all the many different kinds

Of races of people / faces

Painted, pierced, gold plated,

We are biologically similar

The Homosapien kin

Bleeding tribes, clans, houses,

Fathers and sons

Who believe in war for the higher cause$

All above us here below

How does that way of living persist

When the world dies in

Misunderstanding...?


But we tolerate our addict Uncle,

Alchy parents, ****** aunts

Lost siblings on

Suicide watch …  

Because our humanity for family

Shouldn’t change what our eyes must see…

Can’t push brick mansions

But we all can climb those very walls,

It’s how we do family

(Together standing tall)


Love accepts without opinion

Without doubt or regret

No hate to have dominion

Peace be (Unconditionally)

And All the best.

How we do...

I am the memories hidden from my consciousness
for better of for worst
like the mess inside my room
that helps me organize myself.
Four years ago that mess wasn't there.
And four years ago I used to sing in the shower
with the same voice as my mother
when she sung me lullabies, while tucking me in to sleep.
And later on she'd pray to a god I can't see,
the same god I used to beg at when I was fifteen
and yell at-- and scream at--
and love as much as I hated myself.

I am the words I've been told,
the prophecies,
the gold in my ears,
and the astrology sign that stays the same
year by year,
even though I change
like my favorite colors: pink, red and beige.
But I'm not too sure because those colors are pretty lame,
if you ask twelve year old me,
the one that thought boys were a necessity
as fundamental as air--
but, no; I also like girls.  
And when my counsellor asked me why,
I couldn't really say;
I'm not sure I want to tell him I've been thinking of *** since I was eight,
or how long it took me to be okay
with the fact that I'm not actually straight,
even though Mom thinks it's a shame.  

Mom, I'm still the same, even though I'm not;
I am still the string of cells that was once bundled up inside you like a knot.
I still wrap myself around you in a hug
hoping you will understand that my love transcends the heavens above
and the destination of the lost
that some people call hell.
I don't care
and I don't think I ever will
because the past stays still
while the future stares;
no matter what, I will continue being myself,
even if I don't understand my nature.

I am more than what I seem:
I am the dreams produced in deep sleep
by my curiosity,
the ones I cannot remember
but to which I quietly surrender,
as I am a vase crafted by the hands of destiny
and the ever changing state of humanity.
I am the moods bestowed by the seasons--
sometimes they mess up with my reason
and inside me grows a fight
of who I am and who I should be.
Who am I, definitely?
I can't really say...

Watching a homeless person beg for change, I just walk on by. Seeing a mother that was addicted to drugs, now clean and sober asking for help to get her children back. My heart feels no sympathy, I have lost compassion and love. I see the images until I am jaded and I just don't care anymore. The love of my humanity has waxed cold and I seem to only care about myself. Is this what we are to become, is there no mercy left with in us? The shadow of apathy has fallen upon many, I often prayed that it would not be me. Now I find myself caring nothing about the human suffering that I see. We are all becoming guilty and will one day have to answer for our in action. As we watch others suffer with depraved indifference and go about our daily lives.

Oh, ye of little faith…
“Know ye not that He shall
Give His angels charge over thee,
to keep thee?” inquired the Sage.

Hm… I hear the same charge was levied against the Lord.
In truth, to grow in leaps of faith is my heart’s sole desire,
so increase my faith I pray thee, Oh Lord!
“But pray tell me, thou Sage, since an outbreak of salmonella most dire,
with symptoms of gastroenteritis and chills,
at this very moment plagues fifteen states still,
shall faithful saints in affected states
eat unwashed but sanctified fruits and veggies,
and thus prove their strong and abiding faith?”

Also, lest I forget the angels who must daily don scrubs and masks,
“I pray tell me, what must we impressed upon such gentle souls
Who must daily don scrubs and masks?
Why does society abuse humanity’s best so,
when their sole desire is our wellness from head to toe?”
Speak not of the numbers who must have grave prices
paid for services they must unto the sick bestow.

Doubtlessly, with such an awakened consciousness,
One need not dread wintry days and nights.
Who needs fur coats, cashmere blankets, or campfires
When in faith we bash in warm, celestial delights?

Oh, thine uncommon wisdom, Oh Sage,
is to be extolled and praised by generations yet unborn.
Every life is merely a fleeting performance on a stage;
thus, make haste to engrave in stone such wisdom for the forlorn.

The bibleoclasam(destroying the spirit ceremonosely)you experience is a dichotomy to me.Your atraraxia(freedom from fear) is your falter point. The pother(fuss)you give life is a beautiful mellifluous (having a rich flow).My anger phobia (fear of getting mad or angry)is not a Apple-knocker (ignorant or unsophisticated)I hope.Your smiles lights up the room and my eyes go alight. Every thing comes very pady-sticks(very easy) to me in general. I'm going to be very Gullas (bold and daring).All human action's have one or more of these seven causes, chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason or desire (Aristotle).At his best man is the Noblest of all animals, separated from law and justice, he is the worst. I count him braver who overcomes his own desire then he who conquers his enemies, for the hardest victory is over YOURSELF. Every adversity, every  failure and every headache carries with it the it the seedof an equivalent or a greater benefit. It has become apparently obvious that are technology has exceeded our humanity..(Einstein) TO be able under all circumstances to practice five things constitutes perfect virtue. These five things are gravity of the soul,,sincerity, intelligence kindness and free everlasting love. If you break your kneck, if you have nothing to eat, if your  house is on fire, then you have a problem. Every thing else is merely an inconvenience. In adversity remember to keep an even mind. Sometimes the arcasia(lack of self control).I feel in dealing with your emotional set. Your  enantiodramia(conversion of something)into the accismus(into the opposite).I can't always use euphonious(pleasing soft words)to quell your misplaced fear or anger, or unexplained science to you. I will not be glaikit(stupid ,foolish, or thoughtless)in my words. I will not try to be fagacious(transient or fleeing)explanation. But will base what I believe is a truth. My eyes twitch open as I breathe in the smoke. My mouth starts to water, and my emotions feel broke. Still I look up to those glue white blue eyes. Of the blind man who's busy sawing off my legs. And all the while he shows me that sweet tooth grin. And he kicks, kicks, kicks. These legs don't wanna quit.

Yeah they kick, kick,kick. I'll be buried in this pit.Well. I'm bleeding fast,half buried in this junk heap.With this leather bound scarecrow man. Were a roughshod  ramshackle pair. I feel you slice my tendon, and the saw blades catching on my bone. And I know so well that ant nobody gonna convince you I'm a okay spirit. You say you were almost all alone my boy. Yes we were almost all alone together. And all i will look at those celertrian blue eyes. Now all I can  hear is my laugh. Again is his spitting scream. Now all I can hear is his laugh and my scream. This I know for sure is the blue eyed beauty. And all I know for sure is that toothy swelling grin.And my nostrils twitched from the smoke and the blood. And the rusty saw blade makes a scrape and a tear. And the warm drops keep falling on my  eyelids and my face. Yeah, those warm drops keep falling on my head. He'll never put away that toothy smiling grin. And I'm screaming.Here me screaming. Hear the old ******* choking and gargling. When his wind pipe crumbles in my fist. See him drooling blood all down those sore-coverd,sandpaper lips. And while he grins a toothy boyish grin. He's grinning at me with that grin of desire. I can't get rid of the celertrian blue eyes, with the Fara Fosit smiles

When’s have always been reminders of solitude,
Cementing two and half decades of a fact,
That humanity, in its entire multitude,
Seemed to miss the better half of your story’s act.

Thus, you leapt; thus, you lost and learned,
Not once was the game won, not even close,
And you settle with consolation you think you earned;
Proceed with the radical acceptance of aloneness.

For how long, for now I cannot tell,
As it is both within and not in my control,
Here’s to hoping this treaty with oneself goes well,
It could be or perhaps nothing at all.

The collective unconscious sustains
our humanity, creates life-giving
archetypes and myths.
It floats free of the brain, eager
to be probed by the thirsting ego.

"It's the little battles that win the war,"
I repeat over and over again
even as my war paint wears off,
as I'm fighting an uphill battle.
I know I can't give up
because surrendering means
sacrificing my humanity,
everything I've been fighting for.
I won't be the daughter
you want me to be,
I will break free,
I will be me.
"It's the little battles that win the war."

Lyrical poets, tender, soft, delicate, sensitive, ideal, intriguing, interesting, intelligent, creative, lovers, horror, artistic. Whirling galaxies, bursting words. Wanting expression beyond the usage of language by words. I wasn’t good at painting. I didn’t see a burning bush. Aurora melted. I’m entirely alien to some people, I’m a foreigner to this world, so, this earth is an alien to me, every face to me is a stranger that either smiles or frowns. Aesthetics, a stimulus abuse. Genius writes in grandeur style. Walking slum internally. I just wanted to invite beauty into my soul. Where I yearn human connection. Changing society, changing moods of poems. Moving, sweeping through, my time here is done while I am alive. A poet. A temper of the modern age. A small moment. An epoch for history. Do not follow any artist like faith in religion. Poems, therapy for moods. Words for thoughts. Despite what experience the poem is forming. Call it artistic blessings, I want to scream out loud, cause it’s all I feel inside.joy in happiness is a drug. Struggling humans. Lean upon something always outside of themselves. Falsehood. Can personal discipline result in personal freedom? Process of life is to die. Coughing into poetry, lighting a cigarette, a deep & unhealthy words spoken with the pen, my front line voice, because it’s what I feel, choking cause of the experience I’ve lead, I wanted a passionate life, smoke haze in my eyes. Death is the remedy to personal chaos. Envy the dead. They can no longer feel the pain you’re feeling. I cannot be writing endless poetry to ease anything, it doesn’t work. Dumping from tenets of the heart, straight from the start, my art is made from turmoil. I  am not promoting hardship, sorrow or even looking for sympathy. Hollow calendar days lived. Silent solidatarly within me, I tried to reach, but I feel on deaf ears, this is after I’ve been told how special I am to them, life had provided a versatile charms, leading me into smiling faces, a fear filled journey, I’m bewildered by painful hardship of learning that I’m never as meaningful as I’ve been told that I am, it is my fault for believing & seeing the good in others. I learned how to write not to create beauty or to express, allowing art to breathe, I write to compensate. Avoiding coming to grips with my eternal loneliness that is being passed from eternity to eternity. A jab to genius. Now my emotional intelligence is thinly painted by a veneer of sweet lies. It’s never ending, like the days of the week. Poetry carries immortal love, that not only the eternity of humanity tries to reach for, but lovers & those individuals in those love situations want. Poems dwelling in numberless moments. Words occupying single featureless images of mood-sensations. Reading, they stay silent throughout astonishment of self-discovery. Nothing is secret to the heart. I’m a stinking excrement desolated person. I can construct words in poems. Taken from elements of my personality. I think I’m ****. The very moon shared by everyone now darkens only over me. Without frontiers, a self without boundaries. Finding no ecstasy in divinity of words professing deities. Don’t know if I’m or the transcendental mystic traits re rare in the lives of others, but without reason, no one can purposeful handle. My breathe tore & rasped. As I am living, I cannot be taken away from the fundamental problems of life, I am not excused from it. The eccentrics will always be lonely, admired mostly from a distance, any closer, it’s normally at an arm’s distance. Maybe it's the curses of freedom. Ancestry breeding modern burdens. A scar with no name. A long time in the making. My problems to others, is like drinking warm wine. Life is brief, the pain is deep.

Let's hold a silence now
For the caste we enslave
While we **** eachother
Let's save the space for grave.

Let's mourn together now
In the name of nature
While our death bed prepares
Let's save a social crater.

Let's cry together now
In the name of nation
While the society rots
Let's save our federation

Let's hold a last ritual now
For the dying will of humanity
While we all see the death
Of Love, peace and faternity

Ash falling from the sky
Fire raging in the hills
This is California life
Apocalyptic weather that gives me chills
I know this is the end times
So I have to express my feelings through these rhymes
Before it's too late
The changing climate is humanity's fate
We ignore what's there and instead spread hate
Polar bears starving
Glaciers melting
In the stone my name I be carving
So the future species can know the story I'm telling
We had our chance
To perfect this life dance
We failed
Life will go on
In this universe humans are simply pawns
But we have to try to do something
So we don't die doing nothing
Preserve innocent organisms
Instead of making millions through capitalism
Greed will end this intelligent animal breed that will lead to nuclear war
That reality is not that far
So gather all your hopes in a jar
Because we have to cope with our scars
Even that remnant of the deepest wound
We should have been flying among the stars but instead created our imminent doom
I hope there is a god to save us.
To bring peace among this Earth.
But the way I see it there is only us.
So come together
We have to save our planet
Something that we can make last forever
Never take that for granted
I wish I could say more but I have to go
I have to open that door to understand what life's for

the fan chops the turgid air
as the moon settles lower in the sky
and we lie as far from each other as we can
with just our fingertips touching
love on a muggy heat driven night
is a matter of thought as opposed to action,

we are beyond languid and are now puddles
of tired humanity, just waiting for the tipping hour
when the temperature drops enough to sleep

til then we commune with the darkness and wait