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"inflating" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
0
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Paradoxical Tendencies
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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47
our bread and butter...      *the web of stars,      the scatter of moons      and orbiting planets.* the entire universe harvested and crammed into the metre, of a poetic verse. our bread and butter...      *harnessing the regal rays of the sun.      inflating the fluff of quiet clouds.      drinking up the winds of the weather.      revering the magic in the flight of birds.* we fill our cups to the brim... with fantastical dreams and let spill over parchment the cornucopia of idealised words. our bread and butter... the incessant peeling and picking on healing wounds. of which we have learnt to savour...      *let bleed      the willing blood...      feed the seeds      with impending flood.* nurture to fruition thoughts stunted in discretion. bring to light thoughts hidden in the nether. our bread and butter... we dip... the nibs, of our word worn feathers. let them sink, shallow beneath the surface to the sanctity of a familiar place.      *casting our trials,      and tribulations...      pent up emotions,      and what we think      unto paper      with the burn of      everlasting ink.*
0
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
Bread and Butter
We slump on the couch when we return like lifetimes have passed before us. We have to, even though it was only a seven minute walk to the dining hall, because 1) the food was just “weird consistency” (which we tend to say regardless), 2) the light in there yawned indifferently to us (when does it not?), and 3) the reassuring clink of our forks on our plates wasn’t even there this time it was hiding underneath slop and smothered on top by the intruding sound waves (who asked?) of our next-table neighbors’ lives. You made a sly remark about seconds to catch a glimpse of youthful **** She’d gone to get some more baby carrots and cucumber slices to put in her salad maybe (who knows? who cares?) Either way, her youthful **** would make the food taste like something to you. And you described them to us when you sat down again so the slop would taste like something to us (there’s pride in that type of generosity, don’t forget) and (congratulations) we had the faint impression of some sort of ****** there, but we didn’t tell you (it’s easier that way). A cup, a squeeze, a kiss on her ******* yes that could feed our hunger for a night. And tonight was a night like any, so her ******* led us to talk of women, and women led us to talk of love (and the blooming one for the poor ******* as we who lost withstood the vicarious twinge of an addling ****** very different from the first. This one led us to pine for sweets, but the ones we found were dry, so we left the table, left the dining hall, looking around at the others: the lonely, the couples, the blessed lonely couples, and the fortunate friends huddled against everything with open laughter, enjoying the weird consistency like drunk theoretical physicists before they discovered bubbles and inflated eternally meaning when they safeguarded a zoo with a pistol they didn’t know how to use, in Soviet Russia. (So you see?) We have to slump on the couch when we return like lifetimes have passed before us. No one even bothers to pick up a guitar, we leave all four of them strewn on the floor like dead wooden boxes because Dylan or Young or Cash (or whoever) is already in the living room. Any bubbling, inflating, theoretical physicist (any drunk, pistol-packing zookeeper, for that matter) will tell you that. So we slump, comfortably uncomfortable, (at least we’re trying!) feeling their (our) strings plucking. No sounds, no voices. Because we don’t need to hear this that. Not right now. (Not right now).
0
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
Slumping in West Adams
We slump on the couch when we return like lifetimes have passed before us. We have to, even though it was only a seven minute walk to the dining hall, because 1) the food was just “weird consistency” (which we tend to say regardless), 2) the light in there yawned indifferently to us (when does it not?), and 3) the reassuring clink of our forks on our plates wasn’t even there this time it was hiding underneath slop and smothered on top by the intruding sound waves (who asked?) of our next-table neighbors’ lives. You made a sly remark about seconds to catch a glimpse of youthful **** She’d gone to get some more baby carrots and cucumber slices to put in her salad maybe (who knows? who cares?) Either way, her youthful **** would make the food taste like something to you. And you described them to us when you sat down again so the slop would taste like something to us (there’s pride in that type of generosity, don’t forget) and (congratulations) we had the faint impression of some sort of ****** there, but we didn’t tell you (it’s easier that way). A cup, a squeeze, a kiss on her ******* yes that could feed our hunger for a night. And tonight was a night like any, so her ******* led us to talk of women, and women led us to talk of love (and the blooming one for the poor ******* as we who lost withstood the vicarious twinge of an addling ****** very different from the first. This one led us to pine for sweets, but the ones we found were dry, so we left the table, left the dining hall, looking around at the others: the lonely, the couples, the blessed lonely couples, and the fortunate friends huddled against everything with open laughter, enjoying the weird consistency like drunk theoretical physicists before they discovered bubbles and inflated eternally meaning when they safeguarded a zoo with a pistol they didn’t know how to use, in Soviet Russia. (So you see?) We have to slump on the couch when we return like lifetimes have passed before us. No one even bothers to pick up a guitar, we leave all four of them strewn on the floor like dead wooden boxes because Dylan or Young or Cash (or whoever) is already in the living room. Any bubbling, inflating, theoretical physicist (any drunk, pistol-packing zookeeper, for that matter) will tell you that. So we slump, comfortably uncomfortable, (at least we’re trying!) feeling their (our) strings plucking. No sounds, no voices. Because we don’t need to hear this that. Not right now. (Not right now).
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68
When I was a little girl I loved going to the fair. seeing the clowns rides and carnies. but my favorite thing to see at the fair is the fun house Remember those? Where mirrors flooded the walls bending towards you distorting the image you saw to one of absurd portions Nose swelling larger legs shrinking hips inflating. I loved seeing the shapes my body could take. ...I haven't been to a fun house in years. And even if I went I know the mirrors would look like those that hang in my room. Body dysmorphia is it's own fun house one full of insecurities and self-hate. It makes regular mirrors bend my perception of reality. Makes my stomach bloat thighs inflate cheeks widen eyes shrink My mind has turned into a trapeze act And I don't know if i want it to stop.
0
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Fun house Mirrors.
every time he touched me i felt him memorizing me like a wreck every time she touched me i felt her heartbeat caught in my own neck they are problem solvers. i had cushioning companions fuller and calmer than me. perhaps someday i'll tell them this if i ever learn to handle it: the open, raw closeness. In the meantime, i'll remember her laughing into my legs immersing us in the soft hair from her head and his enchanting voice inflating my lungs; the simple gift of speech in bed the moment right before their contact, a few light-years away from being. the moment between shine and its reflection, just a hollow eternity to all the space in between. company? I starve for the long moments that thick time of silence together feasting on whatever he just said. community? I crave gazing at an orb of truth wholly understanding one another a vague sense of being like her family. civility? honoring the ghosts of our realities and remaining gravely touched by the mortal ritual at hand. I couldn't deserve either of you just promise me you'll understand or at least try to get the **** off my land
0
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
training
I The absence of air affects the lungs, which stop inflating, and kills the subject of illusions. The absence of love, which is not so fatal, immortalizes the unemotional and ponders if in heaven he must be put. There's a longing as wilting as flowers and as old as happiness. There are colors which together paint my town with praises and pains. II There's a new effect: creepy like fear, fragile since early and sad when undone. There's a new now which arrives in mind and explores in it everything what feels The absence of us saddens the unhappy when there are no advantages, The absence of what I did, done alone, makes useless what is said about flowers.
0
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
Unhappy Flowers
I am Jupiter storms Unabounded by time Raging on And eons Can not hope to confine me To unstable matter And mass Rearranging My molecules morphing To liquefied jewels And my surface A canvas Of unrefined fuels Like an abstract mosaic Of swirling Unfurling Tempests of archaic As constellations And the ages I've waited And slumbered and spun Into memories Faded And taken the names of your gods As my payment Inflating my ego's Mesmeric rotations So quick to claim hearts Of Europa's amidst My seductive, enchanting Illusory bliss Venture into my centrifuge Fumy abyss I have pressed up my lips Of a frigid, wet steel And then sealed With a kiss What ‘nary A planetary Can resist And as she revolves Around me And gives life Io dances about me, Callisto my wife Ganymede my seed And the rest of my progeny breed Future needs What the Earthlings will need To make up for their greed All will see Look to me In my enormity As my reservoirs Fill them With infinity
0
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 3:44 AM UTC
Introspections of a Celestial Overlord Unbeholden to the Paltry Laws of Physics
Stress is living life in a self-inflating  balloon From airless to full is the excitement in life Increases in pressure is a tension of colour Stress filled is not stressful in this party of life With survival a knack of avoiding sharp objects And where excessive inflation will inevitably Cause an instant deflation in very small pieces Of the dreams and goals which are life today And like Humpty in pieces these cannot Be easily put back together again.
0
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
Stress
There’s some comfort In a Cigarette – Slack on the lips, Balanced as a Newton’s cradle, The smoke rising, A heavy silver blue Lifting and settling in the air; a toxic mist, Emerging – volcanic - from the singed Yellowing paper. And the mind clears and Slows, for a moment and settles as the nicotine infuses With the brain. And it feels Good. You tap the ash and it falls, dissolving into hot powder – you take another draw. Breathe deep. “Smoking’s bad for the health” someone says. As the smoke -silver blue – Travels down the throat, into the lungs; inflating - Exhale (more refined now) “I know” you reply. Give some excuse or other, for the habit – Needs to be kicked - Their eyes flash to Yellowing skin which reflects the yellowing paper cradling the ash encasing veins of red. Smiling, a crooked smile, you take another draw “the last one.” you say, “good.” They reply. And there’s some beauty to be found in The silver blue smoke pirouetting in the air A poison, personally selected. Some assurance in this perpetual act of self-destruction, Some comfort in knowing what it is that’s killing you – Though it takes some mystery out of life - Conducting one’s own mortality can be quite the security. Inhale again, Turning the filter, Ash drops, The word Marlboro (If there’s some money in the bank) Stares back. A Cigarette is a sin to be shared or taken in private, A true pleasure which leaves one wholly unsatisfied - Something in which to partake with others; the rich, the poor, the lame - Those who would not normally give you a second glance, nor perhaps you them - “Got a Cigarette I could *** they ask “Sure” you say As you reach into your pocket, Pull out the packet, Weathering, And hold out an offering. In that exchange Alone Is a bond born, a moment of connection, some common ground. You turn away, “Smoking’s bad for the health.” Someone says, to them, “I know.” They reply, give some excuse And then smile That crooked smile.
0
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 2:01 PM UTC
Cigarette
There’s some comfort In a Cigarette – Slack on the lips, Balanced as a Newton’s cradle, The smoke rising, A heavy silver blue Lifting and settling in the air; a toxic mist, Emerging – volcanic - from the singed Yellowing paper. And the mind clears and Slows, for a moment and settles as the nicotine infuses With the brain. And it feels Good. You tap the ash and it falls, dissolving into hot powder – you take another draw. Breathe deep. “Smoking’s bad for the health” someone says. As the smoke -silver blue – Travels down the throat, into the lungs; inflating - Exhale (more refined now) “I know” you reply. Give some excuse or other, for the habit – Needs to be kicked - Their eyes flash to Yellowing skin which reflects the yellowing paper cradling the ash encasing veins of red. Smiling, a crooked smile, you take another draw “the last one.” you say, “good.” They reply. And there’s some beauty to be found in The silver blue smoke pirouetting in the air A poison, personally selected. Some assurance in this perpetual act of self-destruction, Some comfort in knowing what it is that’s killing you – Though it takes some mystery out of life - Conducting one’s own mortality can be quite the security. Inhale again, Turning the filter, Ash drops, The word Marlboro (If there’s some money in the bank) Stares back. A Cigarette is a sin to be shared or taken in private, A true pleasure which leaves one wholly unsatisfied - Something in which to partake with others; the rich, the poor, the lame - Those who would not normally give you a second glance, nor perhaps you them - “Got a Cigarette I could *** they ask “Sure” you say As you reach into your pocket, Pull out the packet, Weathering, And hold out an offering. In that exchange Alone Is a bond born, a moment of connection, some common ground. You turn away, “Smoking’s bad for the health.” Someone says, to them, “I know.” They reply, give some excuse And then smile That crooked smile.
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64
For my mate Ernest W who cared.... Invisible in silky strands, a gossamer of lethal thought, Drifting through the nether regions, touching on my mind. Complication’s vagaries encroaching on the circumspect Magnifying well beyond solutions I can find. Nervous in the groundswell now, I feel it all inflating, Inflating to a curtaining beyond my self control, Waves of peristalsis in a shrill persistant keening, Locking out the sanity in holding logic’s goal. Waves of peristalsis in a bath of perspiration Panic in a rupture at the coccyx of my spine, Ravenously eating at the fabric of all reason Ravenously gnawing at this rationale of mine. ***** in a puddle on the floor beside my footwear Cloying is the stench of the ***** in my drawers, Lost are the vestiges of any thought of decency Gone is the differentiation in my flaws. Clenching of hands in a bind of blue confusion Catatonic slowness in arresting the decline, Vaccilating eyeballs are rolling for the camera And utter desolation is a flavour on my mind. Why be concerned with the shaming of tomorrow? Why come to terms with the maunderings of late? Why face the music of the mirth and derision When there’s a more practical direction to take? Glide to the realm of the smooth overflowing Slide in the slipstream oblivion makes, Slip the bonds of your sad  mortal tenure’s Awful array of destructive mistakes. Glide to the realm of serene independence Glide far away from the troubled and hard, Gone to the gossamer web of the ether Gone to the nether world’s silky facade. *...........: But what's the guts Courageous, You happy with your deed? Are your friends all overjoyed To see your suicide succeed? Is your family unaffected By the loss and guilt remorse, Your sudden grand departure leaving kids without recourse? Did you think about the aftermath? The chaos and the pain And the long term implications Of your shattered families' shame? The guilt within your partners heart, The kids who are confused And the ****** dissapointment Of your mates.. who feel abused? The mess you left behind you And the tangled web you wove And the bruising of good memories For which, you once,...had strove. Your painless, quick demise, you thought, Released you from all this..... But the sadness in the silent eyes Condemns you as remiss.* Marshalg   In an effort to understand why? ....And explain why not ! 9 December 2010 Read more: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/suicide-12/#ixzz17kzvfsTk
0
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 2:09 PM UTC
Suicide
For my mate Ernest W who cared.... Invisible in silky strands, a gossamer of lethal thought, Drifting through the nether regions, touching on my mind. Complication’s vagaries encroaching on the circumspect Magnifying well beyond solutions I can find. Nervous in the groundswell now, I feel it all inflating, Inflating to a curtaining beyond my self control, Waves of peristalsis in a shrill persistant keening, Locking out the sanity in holding logic’s goal. Waves of peristalsis in a bath of perspiration Panic in a rupture at the coccyx of my spine, Ravenously eating at the fabric of all reason Ravenously gnawing at this rationale of mine. ***** in a puddle on the floor beside my footwear Cloying is the stench of the ***** in my drawers, Lost are the vestiges of any thought of decency Gone is the differentiation in my flaws. Clenching of hands in a bind of blue confusion Catatonic slowness in arresting the decline, Vaccilating eyeballs are rolling for the camera And utter desolation is a flavour on my mind. Why be concerned with the shaming of tomorrow? Why come to terms with the maunderings of late? Why face the music of the mirth and derision When there’s a more practical direction to take? Glide to the realm of the smooth overflowing Slide in the slipstream oblivion makes, Slip the bonds of your sad  mortal tenure’s Awful array of destructive mistakes. Glide to the realm of serene independence Glide far away from the troubled and hard, Gone to the gossamer web of the ether Gone to the nether world’s silky facade. *...........: But what's the guts Courageous, You happy with your deed? Are your friends all overjoyed To see your suicide succeed? Is your family unaffected By the loss and guilt remorse, Your sudden grand departure leaving kids without recourse? Did you think about the aftermath? The chaos and the pain And the long term implications Of your shattered families' shame? The guilt within your partners heart, The kids who are confused And the ****** dissapointment Of your mates.. who feel abused? The mess you left behind you And the tangled web you wove And the bruising of good memories For which, you once,...had strove. Your painless, quick demise, you thought, Released you from all this..... But the sadness in the silent eyes Condemns you as remiss.* Marshalg   In an effort to understand why? ....And explain why not ! 9 December 2010 Read more: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/suicide-12/#ixzz17kzvfsTk
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62
Someday Girl Everyday I miss what I never had, that kiss, that feeling of bliss, leaving my head swimming in neverland... Soft lips speaking the depths of aqua blue eyes… a brilliant smile that could stop traffic for miles.. I’m talking about a woman that’s just wild.. with a personality that could be bottled and sold in vials to melt the hardest hearts into molten piles… My someday girl… Walkin in the room with brilliant blond hair flowing.. exuding confidence and not afraid to show it.. pure beauty for sure you know it, when she can’t even be captured by the words of a poet.. I can’t describe my feelings inside I just know it.. someday I’ll be on a roll, meet her, and slow it… Til then I’m patiently waiting... gasping to keep my lungs inflating… raspin verses til my tongues achin.. but I get frustrated.. cause I even visited churches and the nuns are taken.. Some days I think of giving up hope.. settling for something just to stay afloat.. but I keep waitin it out grasping at a tiny little frayed rope that’ll lead me back to the realization of my greatest hope.. My someday girl… I hope to someday embrace her slowly… sliding my hand across silky soft skin to hold her closely… the sweet smell of her hair controls me and my heart dances to her pulse as she holds me.. I could spend eternity locked in that embrace.. if I could just find it I’d gladly step into my place.. but I guess life would be too easy if that was the case.. so everyday I tighten my shoes and keep runnin the race… stumbling through dates.. tryin to put numbers with a face… but none of em got the key to put my tumblers in place… so again I wait and I wait… For my someday girl… It doesn’t seem fair though, cause along the way I’ve met girls that I’ve longed to date… only to find out that they’re engaged or they’ve found a mate.. it makes me wanna shake my fist at fate.. give up, and roll a spliff to sedate and smoke it down to that last crispy trace.. but through it all I still hold that glimmer of faith.. that my someday girl will come and take her place… so I wait… and I wait.... For my someday girl…
0
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 2:09 AM UTC
Someday Girl
Someday Girl Everyday I miss what I never had, that kiss, that feeling of bliss, leaving my head swimming in neverland... Soft lips speaking the depths of aqua blue eyes… a brilliant smile that could stop traffic for miles.. I’m talking about a woman that’s just wild.. with a personality that could be bottled and sold in vials to melt the hardest hearts into molten piles… My someday girl… Walkin in the room with brilliant blond hair flowing.. exuding confidence and not afraid to show it.. pure beauty for sure you know it, when she can’t even be captured by the words of a poet.. I can’t describe my feelings inside I just know it.. someday I’ll be on a roll, meet her, and slow it… Til then I’m patiently waiting... gasping to keep my lungs inflating… raspin verses til my tongues achin.. but I get frustrated.. cause I even visited churches and the nuns are taken.. Some days I think of giving up hope.. settling for something just to stay afloat.. but I keep waitin it out grasping at a tiny little frayed rope that’ll lead me back to the realization of my greatest hope.. My someday girl… I hope to someday embrace her slowly… sliding my hand across silky soft skin to hold her closely… the sweet smell of her hair controls me and my heart dances to her pulse as she holds me.. I could spend eternity locked in that embrace.. if I could just find it I’d gladly step into my place.. but I guess life would be too easy if that was the case.. so everyday I tighten my shoes and keep runnin the race… stumbling through dates.. tryin to put numbers with a face… but none of em got the key to put my tumblers in place… so again I wait and I wait… For my someday girl… It doesn’t seem fair though, cause along the way I’ve met girls that I’ve longed to date… only to find out that they’re engaged or they’ve found a mate.. it makes me wanna shake my fist at fate.. give up, and roll a spliff to sedate and smoke it down to that last crispy trace.. but through it all I still hold that glimmer of faith.. that my someday girl will come and take her place… so I wait… and I wait.... For my someday girl…
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14
I'm sitting in a bar. A place where they all collect. They come together with smiling eyes and open hearts and sit, drink and just shoot the **** They are all noteworthy people, not a boring or reserved soul among the bunch. And they share stories of their highs, lows and purgatories. One of them, his name's Jimmy, tells the story he always tells when he's teetering between coherency and slop-talk. He tells of how he died. He hopped in his car one day, and boy did he love his cars. And that particular car, the one his heart stopped beating in, was his favorite. He sped down the road, his hair blowing in the wind and his hand beating the side of the door as he sang "Strangers in the Night" as it blasted through his radio speakers. He wasn't drunk, he never really was fond of drinking when he was still breathing (he says being dead is depressing and alcohol is the only thing that "assures" him). His car swerved sharply, it was raining, and he just couldn't control the hunk of metal. His head hit the windshield before he even knew what happened. Jimmy looked down at his Jack and Coke and smiled. His eyes, now drowning in salt water, glistened off the cheap fluorescent lights. He told me he never got to tell his mother he loved her. Never got to tell his girlfriend that he thought they were meant to be. Never got to show the world that the man hidden behind so many layers of insecurity and recklessness was a man that was going to span time, generations. And I look back at him, my mouth curling a little and told him that he might not have gotten to talk to his mother or his girlfriend... But he **** well made his mark. After all, he's in a bar filled with dozens of people with stories not unlike his own. And he's talking to me. Me, with my chest inflating and deflating as it filled and emptied itself of sugary oxygen. Me, with my eyes alive and blinking and shining with life. Me, who is alive. At least, I hope to God I am.
0
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
I Sit in Bars and Listen to Dead People Talk
I'm sitting in a bar. A place where they all collect. They come together with smiling eyes and open hearts and sit, drink and just shoot the **** They are all noteworthy people, not a boring or reserved soul among the bunch. And they share stories of their highs, lows and purgatories. One of them, his name's Jimmy, tells the story he always tells when he's teetering between coherency and slop-talk. He tells of how he died. He hopped in his car one day, and boy did he love his cars. And that particular car, the one his heart stopped beating in, was his favorite. He sped down the road, his hair blowing in the wind and his hand beating the side of the door as he sang "Strangers in the Night" as it blasted through his radio speakers. He wasn't drunk, he never really was fond of drinking when he was still breathing (he says being dead is depressing and alcohol is the only thing that "assures" him). His car swerved sharply, it was raining, and he just couldn't control the hunk of metal. His head hit the windshield before he even knew what happened. Jimmy looked down at his Jack and Coke and smiled. His eyes, now drowning in salt water, glistened off the cheap fluorescent lights. He told me he never got to tell his mother he loved her. Never got to tell his girlfriend that he thought they were meant to be. Never got to show the world that the man hidden behind so many layers of insecurity and recklessness was a man that was going to span time, generations. And I look back at him, my mouth curling a little and told him that he might not have gotten to talk to his mother or his girlfriend... But he **** well made his mark. After all, he's in a bar filled with dozens of people with stories not unlike his own. And he's talking to me. Me, with my chest inflating and deflating as it filled and emptied itself of sugary oxygen. Me, with my eyes alive and blinking and shining with life. Me, who is alive. At least, I hope to God I am.
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4
I can’t do this anymore something has to change I love you I miss you and I never meant to hurt you I won’t say I’m sorry because isolating myself is the best thing I’ve ever done for me I’m finally getting to know myself again and now I know why I was never happy The thing is I was too caught up with you and your messes to realize I was beginning to unravel from the inside out I was too busy making sure everyone else got their own happy ending that I forgot who I am and what I needed Now I realize I needed more I need someone to remind me to breathe to step away keep my sanity stitch myself together and bleed my own sorrows Everything you are, resided in me everything they needed flowing in my veins every dream slept in my heart and yet everything that I am was nowhere to be found and I can’t be that again So this is goodbye to the girl I used to be and sleepless nights worrying about tomorrow’s sorrows wishing I could take the pain away 'til one day I did and never stopped I whittled myself away until I was nothing without the pain plaguing you and those around me I became addicted to ******* the pain out of you and into me inflating myself back to life just so you wouldn’t disappear I never showed it but I was slowly going insane always needing more pain You always said I never wanted stability and you were right because if everything was alright I had no clue who I was and I couldn’t fill myself back to life
0
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
Dear Best Friend
“Fiat” in Latin means “let it be done” Yes, a “binding edict” for everyone So “fiat money” means “by decree” THE approved money for you and me “Fiat lux” means “Let there be light” God said the words, God has the right But fiat money by leaders decreed Abuses that role - if inflating by greed Dollars are printing by trillions, it’s true And all decreed money is inflating too If “by decree” - debased money we use Much of its value we can and do lose Now you can use a “money” that’s new Not “by decree”, so it’s freeing for you Bitcoin is money that plays by the rules Safe and predictable - no one it fools The money printing, controlled by a few Takes from the rest - not much we can do You can use Bitcoin, by choice - not decree Let’s make the choice - so we can be free
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Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 9:29 AM UTC
Fiat - By Decree (Bitcoin Poem 008)
Chaos is the weather of the day raging its fury and madness on all beings Every drop of sanity left is far more precious than the diamonds we craved reducing mountains to rumble in our greed Standing by a hidden window I witness the drops of sanity slowly being swallowed by chaos' infinite army Fear runs freely through my veins gathering followers in each cell it passes My trembling fingers can barely hold onto the curtains that hide me from chaos' dark forces Its too cold to even try to sweat out all the confusion and fear that runs freely inside me My feet once planted firmly on the ground now slowly turn to liquid melting my resolve to keep fighting Just 20 feet up a dark forgotten building we hide. The last few drops of sanity left in a ferocious universe of death and decay Our number is slowly dwindling too I feel my mind losing its control over any stray hope or might left within to survive But then, Hope quietly walks in wrapping his arms like thick steel bands of resolve strengthening my feet and burning away the fear with its warmth Hope pulls me towards his warm beating chest chasing away the icy breath of fear that took hold of my weak body Hope slowly walks us back to the lone camp bed whispering words which fall like soothing waterfalls drowning my soul Hope looks me in the eye shooting all his strength into me inflating my body with his resolve Hope sits beside me through the shrieks and cries of sanity being wiped out protecting me from sanity's doomed fate Like a warm ray of sunlight Hope stands tall keeping the final dregs of sanity aflame giving just the warmth and strength needed to survive Day by day I watch with rapt curiosity as Hope plans our final escape to paradise or hell all depends on luck But with Hope by my side I need not company of chance and luck who are strangers to my being In you I believe In you rests all my faith and should we all be turned in tomorrow's rising sun I shall be glad to have been wiped away with Hope by my side.
0
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
In Hope I believe
Chaos is the weather of the day raging its fury and madness on all beings Every drop of sanity left is far more precious than the diamonds we craved reducing mountains to rumble in our greed Standing by a hidden window I witness the drops of sanity slowly being swallowed by chaos' infinite army Fear runs freely through my veins gathering followers in each cell it passes My trembling fingers can barely hold onto the curtains that hide me from chaos' dark forces Its too cold to even try to sweat out all the confusion and fear that runs freely inside me My feet once planted firmly on the ground now slowly turn to liquid melting my resolve to keep fighting Just 20 feet up a dark forgotten building we hide. The last few drops of sanity left in a ferocious universe of death and decay Our number is slowly dwindling too I feel my mind losing its control over any stray hope or might left within to survive But then, Hope quietly walks in wrapping his arms like thick steel bands of resolve strengthening my feet and burning away the fear with its warmth Hope pulls me towards his warm beating chest chasing away the icy breath of fear that took hold of my weak body Hope slowly walks us back to the lone camp bed whispering words which fall like soothing waterfalls drowning my soul Hope looks me in the eye shooting all his strength into me inflating my body with his resolve Hope sits beside me through the shrieks and cries of sanity being wiped out protecting me from sanity's doomed fate Like a warm ray of sunlight Hope stands tall keeping the final dregs of sanity aflame giving just the warmth and strength needed to survive Day by day I watch with rapt curiosity as Hope plans our final escape to paradise or hell all depends on luck But with Hope by my side I need not company of chance and luck who are strangers to my being In you I believe In you rests all my faith and should we all be turned in tomorrow's rising sun I shall be glad to have been wiped away with Hope by my side.
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Leaders of the 'Free World': Get jobs inflating hot air baloons with all that hot air you love to blow, Then perhaps you'd make an honest living and your words would be useful not just to you and yours, but to those you claim to seek to help. WE ARE SERFS WE ARE PEONS WE ARE PAWNS WE ARE STATISTICS WE ARE UNITS TO BE EXTORTED WE ARE UNITS OF PRODUCTION WE ARE THE UNTOUCHABLES Our right is to worship our system
0
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
4-year anniversary of Guantanamo still being open after Obama swore to us that he would close it. (Po-LIE-ticians)
In twenty years I've yet to see, A soul as destitute as me. The curse of life is strong within, Yet blessed are the ones who sin. For they know joys that you do not, Although their souls are left to rot. So try not to do things as they're planned, Instead make each next day more grand. The Lord himself can not refuse you, The wonders made just to amuse you. So smoke and drink and swear and **** 'Cause one day you'll be out of luck. We can't all stay at the top, One day left before my drop. Let me say just one more time, I loved my life, the one of crime. I shan't refute that morally, I've settled with ambiguity. But does that really make me bad? Or does it really make me glad? You may say both, I'd say you're wrong, I've smiled and laughed my way along. Soon my road must come to end, My soul, to eternity, I must send. And now I see the heavenly gate, Peter's eyes aren't filled with hate. The doors swing open and there I see, The manifestation of purity. A dove, a man with drink waiting, I feel a sense of love inflating. What can I do but gasp in awe? I've woken up on the bathroom floor. So if you're dim or as bright as the sun, Do what you like, just have some fun.
0
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
My Life
Final Nail   Will Not Hurt Feelings Are Left In A Shoe Box Of Goodwill Multiple Nails Over Years Hurt Laces Are Undone Left Behind Bending Down Kicking With Force From A Steel Capped Nail Gun Destructively Simple So Hard To Prove Deflating Scraping Inflating The final nail
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Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
Final Nail
I'm told foie gras will change my life. That it's savory, exemplary to die for. Ironic. Someone already did that. A gavage in his throat... plumped, fed, suffocated by his own fat like an inflating noose on an unwitting neck. Ironic also that his flesh inflates my girth and feeds my gluttony. "Stupid things... don't even know they're dying." Dying indeed. A slow and painful death. And how deserving of it, yes. Stupid things. Too stupid to recognize their plight. After all, don't the stupid deserve their fate? Ironic how - to this day - we still think we're so much more evolved than our forebears. Evolution aside, The Divine Rights of the Food Chain still stand. *I do not understand it, therefore it is less intelligent than I, therefore I have the right to torture it. I made it, therefore it cannot live without me, therefore I have the right to ruin it. I own it, therefore it is mine, therefore I have the right to **** it.* Our strength grants us Divine Right, indeed. May the kingdom prosper under our boots and be grateful, for history has proven us such gracious and kind masters, after all. Are we not?
0
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
Foie Gras
Words that sear Lost in that Endless haze Of smoke, Drifting towards The skies In that illumination Burnt into our eyes By the rays of a sun That has long since Disappeared Beneath the horizon Cigarette held loosely But firmly Between your fingers You take a drag I cannot help But laugh Cheered by the scene You, content And feeling cool and cynical With each drag Inflating with the feeling That you're older- an adult I laugh again As you continue To treat me like a child
0
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
You're All That I Have
something about the way you held me so loosely like a hesitant father holds his abortion wished baby arms dangling lifelessly around my inflating ribcage {that little bright balloon i harbored so safely.} yes, i nestled it close to your unsheathed knife waiting for the burst, an exclamation, a curse. but that sound, it never rang out- it bellyflop, backfired and hush hush hushed its way out of an entity. something about you- makes me want to- litter i love you's like lipstick stained cigarette butts from the thrift store wardrobe to the over gesturing hands you unraveled me like it was all a part of the plan. i watch you through intermittent exhales and yearning eyes nervously fumbling fingers through greasy hair. placing my fingertip as gently as i can on the single, strange spiral of ****** hair on your jaw staring out at you across rippling sheets, "this reminds me of starry night." you nodded, said you knew- but what could you possibly know about a masterpiece, when you won't even bother to pick up your brush? something about- taking your contacts out, our inability to communicate, how you only come over after a few drinks and never before sundown. asking politely to kiss me, when your intentions blatantly ask otherwise. and how thoughtlessly- you walk through a room, the vanishing unannounced cigarette act, how quickly you use laughing to express, (or repress) yourself. something about the anonymous demeanor of the stray hairs you shed unintentionally in my bed. feigning disgust, i flicked at them hard and carelessly when you were watching- but when you're not. and it's late. i pluck them slowly and sweetly and let them drift gracefully to the floor beneath. forcing symbolism into everything will very effortlessly destroy you.
0
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
test subject.
something about the way you held me so loosely like a hesitant father holds his abortion wished baby arms dangling lifelessly around my inflating ribcage {that little bright balloon i harbored so safely.} yes, i nestled it close to your unsheathed knife waiting for the burst, an exclamation, a curse. but that sound, it never rang out- it bellyflop, backfired and hush hush hushed its way out of an entity. something about you- makes me want to- litter i love you's like lipstick stained cigarette butts from the thrift store wardrobe to the over gesturing hands you unraveled me like it was all a part of the plan. i watch you through intermittent exhales and yearning eyes nervously fumbling fingers through greasy hair. placing my fingertip as gently as i can on the single, strange spiral of ****** hair on your jaw staring out at you across rippling sheets, "this reminds me of starry night." you nodded, said you knew- but what could you possibly know about a masterpiece, when you won't even bother to pick up your brush? something about- taking your contacts out, our inability to communicate, how you only come over after a few drinks and never before sundown. asking politely to kiss me, when your intentions blatantly ask otherwise. and how thoughtlessly- you walk through a room, the vanishing unannounced cigarette act, how quickly you use laughing to express, (or repress) yourself. something about the anonymous demeanor of the stray hairs you shed unintentionally in my bed. feigning disgust, i flicked at them hard and carelessly when you were watching- but when you're not. and it's late. i pluck them slowly and sweetly and let them drift gracefully to the floor beneath. forcing symbolism into everything will very effortlessly destroy you.
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42
Who am I? I am the Skeptic type, Surfacing placid as each side creates waves, Pulling on heart strings for their own self ameliorate, Heated controversy focusing on Health care, Religion, and Hunger debates, Inevitably resulting in ******* up charges for war to undertake. Equality's repercussions leaving our freedoms at stake, While inflating our Economy only the rich take the cake, Consistently keeping the poor at bay, One resolution would be to properly educate. Before you sell into the poison they produce to control and degenerate, Look into the disputes staged to manipulate,   Open your eyes and see we're being left with no other options but to obey, For when they deny you your right to bear arms The Constitution goes up in a fury of flames, As we sit back and watch as they replay the tape. I am free yet I am caged, Caressing the bars of black and white mind frames, Constructed to destroy thought and leave the masses divided in a collective state of confusion as their questions remain, I no longer associate with my neighbors today. Empathy is a far cry full of ache, Frayed by the misconception that lives are part of a game, Monopolies and greed breed nothing but hate, As a silenced homeless Veteran plays his violin drowning in pain. We're left searching for some kind of circumvent, In a country that prides itself upon convenience, Our golden gates are not always what they seem, If born into poverty your chances can seem some what foreboding. Think of the future aside from your own and find hope in opportunities for the much needed change we all see and know, With so many imperative predicaments there is plenty of room for growth, Obstacles only providing the likelihood to overcome and to approach , For strength does not accumulate for those who are not familiar with struggle, With all these unresolved culminations there is plenty to live and fight for despite your troubles.
0
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
The Words Of a ******
Who am I? I am the Skeptic type, Surfacing placid as each side creates waves, Pulling on heart strings for their own self ameliorate, Heated controversy focusing on Health care, Religion, and Hunger debates, Inevitably resulting in ******* up charges for war to undertake. Equality's repercussions leaving our freedoms at stake, While inflating our Economy only the rich take the cake, Consistently keeping the poor at bay, One resolution would be to properly educate. Before you sell into the poison they produce to control and degenerate, Look into the disputes staged to manipulate,   Open your eyes and see we're being left with no other options but to obey, For when they deny you your right to bear arms The Constitution goes up in a fury of flames, As we sit back and watch as they replay the tape. I am free yet I am caged, Caressing the bars of black and white mind frames, Constructed to destroy thought and leave the masses divided in a collective state of confusion as their questions remain, I no longer associate with my neighbors today. Empathy is a far cry full of ache, Frayed by the misconception that lives are part of a game, Monopolies and greed breed nothing but hate, As a silenced homeless Veteran plays his violin drowning in pain. We're left searching for some kind of circumvent, In a country that prides itself upon convenience, Our golden gates are not always what they seem, If born into poverty your chances can seem some what foreboding. Think of the future aside from your own and find hope in opportunities for the much needed change we all see and know, With so many imperative predicaments there is plenty of room for growth, Obstacles only providing the likelihood to overcome and to approach , For strength does not accumulate for those who are not familiar with struggle, With all these unresolved culminations there is plenty to live and fight for despite your troubles.
Continue reading...
36