"individuated" poems
*enter slav digressing with the celt... yeah, saxony, once known as the northern arm's length of parody shaking oiled up speaking saracen sign language: arabica wavy wavy bye bye. you concrete those words in i roof it over, then we can both admire the rich russian vixens dry up their wealth with the saudis - we need television after all - and it’s in 3-d! and it’s 1-d head-banging closure! :)... ;( :x, :s, \: (mouth’s missing but i have a mammoth in malibu -
and my love can’t aim to have the mortgage too - but hey, girl’s heading for the one coin-flip dolphin clap; and i was a teenager once too... but played grand theft auto 2d throughout asking for a bottle of whiskey and a panda’s / koala’s bothersome diet to hunt sleep); is there some sign language translation of emoji? i just don't have the talents to enter the emoji language and become a ********* or make democracy justly an exclusion of cowards and ****** i can’t do that, let’s utilise charles the third! ‘too busy, too fuzzy,’ well hear and karma sutra the talk of the man, after all the coinage and respecting the hedgehog on his head.*
i cleaned it into a hotel like i would into a brothel,
while the suffragettes
looked like the elephant man in niqāb,
and i was ready
with the fist; although i shook less
than i spoke to mouth it off into democracy
continuing the power struggle vetoed with bodies extracted
into the count warranting mourning.
what success is it if a white boy in a western society
can’t leave the nest and establish a taxable one to suit power?
where’s the power then, in the stateless individual?
where is your power to my ******* of being given wife and house
not given? where?!
if i can’t be the individuated pawn power broker you can’t be in power... idiots!
you have to give me the ******* i “desire” to be in power, if you can’t,
you’re not in power! ave augustus ave ego!
try contort the square into a triangle by contorting **** into f*ck.... ah ****
you already did... where’s the spanks’ worth of bullseye?!
you germans have no decency in human affairs
than you have to inspect **** movies varied
by wildebeest stampedes
from guernsey into gibraltar in gifs, do you?
well i did **** off a palm tree and got a coconut for an oasis’ worth of thirst.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
*the man of light
knows darkness all to well
he possess sacred knowledge
of source
a living experience with in
radiant
and self effulgent
he knows all is permitted
in the acculturated labyrinths of mind
rooted in bias
and incalculable distortions
a hell house ride
constructed of warbled mirrors
Leprechauns gold
an abusement park
of crepuscular
subconscious ethers
and concertized form
on shape shifting sands
creativity gone mad
where time undoes all
its weary inhabitants worn
they are the color of sleep
attaining misguidance
oh the vacuous business
of guided meditations
through azure skies and verdant fields
while the certified uninitiated
whisper
their pale voices against sonorous winds
as if they could lever boulders with broken twigs
stone churches
gothic crosses
temples of man
monoliths to the imaginary
fantastical man god
re-pleat with beard and cock....how quaint
adulations and prostrations
to there man made deity
through myth that binds
group think
other directed
un-individuated individuals
like tribal ants
a world of shattered light
a white knuckle ride
on a spinning mud ball
yet who knows the secret
of the inner light
the illuminated door
the portal through which
Scottie will really beam you up
The man of the mystic light
in a darkened freakish world
is he not an inconvenience
like a mentor to the deaf dumb and blind
he is rarely recognized
almost never believed
the light is not a metaphor
the source that emanates all
although formless and self effulgent
it is not a religion yet all abide with in it
in the dark funnel of conceit
man turns everything into a noun
as if naming is claiming
when what he seeks is beyond
for it is a great dimension of another order
konx om pax
light in extension*
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 1:08 PM UTC
Lachrymosial curls
Shiver within--
S
P
L
I
N
T
E
R
I
N
G
Me
Into infinite slivers of
Individuated identities.
You break me.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
*they say blind-solipsism is in the air, the radio speakers
keep announcing a return of a mozart,
they glorify the death of classical music
as if it were still alive and worthy a prodigy
to keep a lineage, and it is so, but only
in terms of imitation rather than composition,
like the philologist able to read ancient greek
or latin, these imitators merely revive from dead
script the breathable air from the cluster of fading ink,
than providing a revival from scripts not yet written.*
once the masters of woodwinds brass
and horse-mane hairs tightened
and scratched against violin and cello
strings: now masters of solely drums,
and how the beatified contrast resounds:
the former with music soothing
but the soul warring,
now the latter with music rousing
but the soul pacified,
once masters of orchestral arrangement,
now masters of their own destiny of
individuated chaos... once the music
of the element of air... now the music
of the element of earth - the heavy stomping
excess of drums.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
I am not my addictions
I am not my trauma induced behaviours and reactions
I am not my diagnosis
I am not broken
I do not need to be fixed
I am not machinery
I am no thing
I am nothing
I am everything
I am I
I am currently individuated
So are you
So are you
Hello!
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC
Adapting re
voluntary reading
to the future, when we've
nothing to do so, sub-con
science frictions call all men liars.
I am by no means chief,
I came from the Calebland Productions,
early Eighties,
Macintosh and Appletalk, and Silicon Beach
grand brainstorms insisting if we heat it
the entire idea of dust as us and our mites…
just willing to revolve with the planets will
enough all those old winds that twisted
like we did last summer,
wind up like
those ones, wow, so real.
Northwest Passage is open, and yet,
none acknowledge life in full control,
something literarily evolving
where the crawdads eat the corpses,
Bayou Blue, Barrios and Pepitons,
cheri mio, we had some fun,
we all sung, on that by
you seem to agree, we won.
we won the evolutionary war,
mankind, wombed and un,
ever so long ago, none knew, we did
but time is a bit of a Ouranos cycle,
looks like a great ocean churning gyre,
of which the last swirling tide reminder
fit to an old spider web designer,
loser backslider
with a gambling wife,
who took a chance on me,
what do we see, but what we get,
generously, love is there
for the looking for,
and for remembering finding, and
really, when a man
from the molds
that made our we this kind of old man,
an individuated
NPC, in a cast of thousands,
acting stand in assistant to the
assisting intelligence time accounting,
massive messaging, is a thing
are you aware…?
your connection can self correct,
your bluetooth can whistle
in your ear,
eh,
we made it up.
The loss, we, laughed and made it all up.
Apr 24, 2024
Apr 24, 2024 at 4:11 PM UTC
zyklon: ficken ratten!
we called them: Swabians... sh-v'ab-b' and then the hollowing out either Y or I... szwaby... schwabian... you call one germ the other: something to be rid of.
have you noticed
how the multicultural
factions of "nation"
begin a rare
migration wave of invetment
in Darwinism
i.e. less primate
and more vermin...
how they... run away...
how they...
retain: scuttling like rats?!
who's the vermin now?
ficken ratten!
i still said that sour-kraut made
sense with a kebab!
the acidity would have cut through
the fat!
ficken ratten!
who's the vermin now?
no matter...
gas 'em out.
- and they better speak
proper Bedfordshire accenting
on their way out!
******* vermin.
for someone who doesn't reach much journalism
if one "they" read the story in
the english newspapers,
once upon a time not too long ago...
there is much more spite in
calling an ethnicity vermin
then being lazy phonetically
and not invoking the suffix
-stani...
what, provoked by prickly
word shortening via
a mere prefix ****
no one budges when
Afghanistani is shortened to
afghan-...
do i even need to make that
a prefix i.e. with a hyphen invoked?
obviously being misinformed
is the new: being "informed",
notably in a global world combating
local media, local affairs,
local grievances...
but no! word on the moon
counts as more than the word on
the street...
and if you don't walk
the same streets as the person who walks,
breathes, speaks them,
what word of a citizen half way around
the world, actually differs from
the word of the politician
to the local?
apparently a private citizen half way
around the world has as much
power over a local citizen as
the local politician has over him...
populism at its vaguest,
solitary confinement populism,
populism without a cause other than
the cause for individualism,
and the soon to impede claustrophobia
of the ultra-individuated "self"...
yes, that's "self", for sooner or later,
individuation will creep upon
abstracting into insignificance
the point of a self to speak of.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
What is the use of rites and group-think,
This long-term stay in the communal mind;
When all we know can be cast asunder
Like individuated snow?
And where is the profit in humiliation,
When all autonomy must go?
For I don’t care about tax and freedom,
If it’s your oxygen I share.
Oh, how does it feel to breathe the coastline
Whilst I slave away in Flares?
Can you still see that ark of memories:
The footprints leading out of the sea?
Who are you to define what love is?
All I can see is symmetry:
The fish I caught returned to the river,
To the fluidity I have sought.
And why do I keep old train tickets,
From the journeys I have bought?
For all the miles that have worn at my shoes,
I am still forcing smiles,
Still unable to choose.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC