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Charlie Jan 2015
Strike now while the metal's hot,
Don't be afraid to jump the gun.
There's too much to do
Under just one sun.

An impulse is an insubordinate heart,
It drives your mind insane.
"******* brain, logic *****",
Heart says with great disdain.

"I think, I think, I think", or
"I feel, I feel, I feel".
Whichever one you choose,
The problem's all too real.
I guess heart vs. head has been on my mind lately. I'm always amazed to see the impulse control of others, for which I have none.
Dookie Feb 2014
My mind goes back to a time long ago
Where I had lived without seeing.
The memory, faint, lingers like a cold
Terrorizing my very being.

Lost on a path from all I had known
A star losing its light.
Searching for answers successfully hidden
I tried with all of my might.

A door was left open so far from me
All I had to do was reach.
But there on the threshold mockingly stood
The insubordinate thief.

He told me to leave this foolish endeavor
Of stepping out into the light.
To turn back, forget, and never attempt
To spread my wings and take flight.

Convincing, conniving, and jealous he was
And ruthless to virtually no end.  
His tricks and his games would always defeat
And I’d try my best to defend.

Bloodied and bruised I lay on the floor
When he had taken his fill.
It was right then and there I knew I could stand
And exercise my own kind of will.

A battle royale commenced there between
The insubordinate thief and I.
I’d taken the blows and sent them right back
Until I would see that thief die.

He muttered a whisper, a squeamish request;
“This is what I ask of you now:
Take what you did to me on this day
and show all your brethren how.

“How you defeated me with your own strength
And what this victory means.
The future is yours, I can’t interfere,
Your mind is free now it seems.”

And still to this day I can recall
The touch of that thief’s icy hand.
But far from me now is where he shall remain,
Away from where I now stand.
I wrote this one a long time ago when I was getting over a bad depression bout.
Julian Mar 2019
Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.
Vivian Jun 2015
They will not take my gun.
Get me their guns.

I have a right to my property.
They have a duty to obey us.

It is my responsibility to stand for what I believe in.
It is our responsibility to make them submit.

I hate them.
They will love us.

I say, break the law!
Do they dare go against us?

I petition; I riot; I will not go down without a fight!
We beat; We arrest; We will not lose this fight!

Alas, I am the only one left.
One insubordinate citizen remains.

I fire my gun for my freedom.
I fire my gun for our respect.

My only defense clatters to the ground.
I knock the gun out of his traitorous grip.

I fear what they will do to my family and me.
It is much safer to be feared than loved.

I take one last act to retrieve what is rightfully mine.
I take one last act to retrieve what is lawfully ours.

Then we both reach for the gun.**
Then we both reach for the gun.
In no way taking a side; simply expressing different views in the best way I know how. Through the art of poetry.
Taylor St Onge Nov 2015
1611: Emilia Lanier became the first Englishwoman to publish and collect patronage from her original poetry with the publication of fifteen poems, all about or dedicated to particular women, in her “booke,” titled in Latin, Hail, God, King of the Jews.  She was the fourth woman in England to publish her poetry, but the first to demand payment in return for it.  The first to see herself as equal to the paid male authors of the era.

This was the same year that the King James Bible was first printed.  This was eight years after the death of Queen Elizabeth I.  This was 180 years after nineteen-year-old Joan of Arc was burned at the stake.

                                                               ­      +

The Querelle des Femmes is “the woman question.”
Frenchmen of the early fifteenth century created a literary debate: what is the role and the nature of women?  Is it stemmed within a “classical” model of  human behavior; gnarled and rooted with misogynistic platonic tradition?  Should women actually be allowed into politics, economics, and religion?  There are scholars that say this debate radiated across several European countries for three centuries before finally fizzling out.  

                                                         ­                   But it is still there; has crossed
continents, has crossed oceans, is sizzling, sparking up fires, flaring out
into the night, leeching onto the trees, onto buildings, onto people, onto
anything flammable.  It is burning down monarchs and their thrones.  It is
raking back the blazing coals.  
                                                   Exposing the charred corpses.  
                 Proving their death.  
                                                   Burning and burning and burning them
                                              twice more to prevent the collection of relics.
                 It is chucking the ashes into the Seine River.

Lilith: who was made at the same time, at the same place, from the same earth, from the same soil as Adam, got herself written out of the Bible because she thought herself to be Man’s equal. Because she got bored of the *******.  Because she wanted to be on top during ***.  Lilith was replaced in the book of Genesis with a more-or-less subservient woman that was made from the rib of man instead of the same dirt and dust.  She was replaced with a woman that Adam named “Eve.”  She was replaced with a woman who served as nothing more than the scapegoat for Man’s downfall.
                                       The original Querelle des Femmes.


1558-1603: Queen Elizabeth I ruled England in what is considered to be a masculine position. Although a woman can take the throne, can wear the crown, can wield the scepter, can run the country, the actual divine task that goes along with being a part of the monarchy, being a god on Earth, is thought to be the duty of a man.

Nicknamed The ****** Queen, Elizabeth never married,
                                                     never found a proper suitor,
                                             never produced a direct Tudor heir,
                                   (but this is not to prove that she was a ******).  
Chastity, especially of women, is a virtue.  ((To assume that she never had ***
simply because she never married
                                                                ­ is another Querelle des Femmes.))

For nearly forty-five years, Queen Elizabeth I did not need a man by her side while she lead England to both relative stability and prosperity; did not need a man by her side while she became the greatest monarch in English history.  
                                                She held the rainbow, the bridge to God, in her
                                                                ­                     own small hands just fine.

                                                          ­           +

Saturday, February 24, 1431: Joan of Arc was interrogated for the third time in her fifteen-part trial in front of Bishop Cauchon and 62 Assessors.  During her six interrogation sessions, she was questioned over charges ranging from heresy to witchcraft to cross-dressing.

At age twelve Joan of Arc began seeing heavenly visions
                                                                ­               of angels and saints and martyrs;
age thirteen she began hearing the Voice of God—was told to
purify France of the English,                          to make Charles the rightful king—
age sixteen she took a vow of chastity as a part of her divine mission.  

When the court asked about the face and eyes
that belonged to the Voice, she responded:
                                                      ­                      There is a saying among children, that
                                                         “Sometimes one is hanged for speaking the truth.”

Joan of Arc was declared guilty and was killed by the orders of a Bishop during a time when men were beginning to question the role and nature of women in society.  They thought women to be deceitful and immoral.  Innately thought Joan of Arc to be deceitful and immoral.  (Perhaps she was one of the catalysts for the Querelle in the first place.)

((The church blamed Eve for the
fall of mankind.  Identified women as
                                                               the root of all sins.))

Twenty-five years later she was declared innocent and raised to the level of martyrdom.
The Catholic Church stood back,
saw the blood,
                          the ashes,
                                            the thick smoke and stench of burned body that
                                                                ­               covered their hands, their clothes,
                                                                ­                    their neurons, their synapses;
        a filth that couldn’t be washed off by Holy water—
can’t be washed off by Holy water.

Four hundred and seventy-eight years later Joan of Arc was blessed and gained entrance to Heaven.  Four hundred and eighty-nine years later she was canonized as a saint.

                                                         ­            +

Lines 777-780, “Eve’s Apology in Defense of Women,” Emilia Lanier, 1611:
                         But surely Adam can not be excused,
                         Her fault though great, yet he was most to blame;
                         What Weakness offered, Strength might have refused,
                         Being Lord of all, the greater was his shame…

Adam, distraught and angered that his first wife, Lilith, had flew off into the air after he had refused to lay beneath her, begged God to bring her back.  God, taking pity on his beloved, manly, creation, sent down three angels who threatened Lilith that if she did not return to Adam, one hundred of her sons would die each day.  

                              (This is where the mother of all Jewish demons
                                         merges with the first wife of Man.)  

She refused, said that this was her purpose: she was
created specifically to harm newborn children.  This legend,
dated back to 3,500 BC Babylonia, describes Lilith as a
                                                                       winged feminine demon that
                                                     kills infants and endangers women in childbirth.

In the Christian Middle Ages, Lilith changed form once more:
she became the personification of licentiousness and lust,
she became more than a demon, she became a sin in herself.  Lilith
and her offspring were seen as succubae, were to blame for the
wet dreams of men.  Taking it a step further, Christian leaders then
                                                                ­                           wed Lilith to Satan;
                                                                ­                              charged her with
                                                                ­               populating the world with evil,
                                                   claimed she gave birth to
one hundred demonic children per day.

Lilith is considered evil in the eyes of the church because she was insubordinate to Adam.  Both she and Eve are considered disobedient; are too willful, too independent in the way that Lilith wanted to be on top and Eve wanted to share a knowledge that Adam could have refused.  They are perceived as a threat to the divinely ordered happenings that men see to be true.

Men wrote the history books because only their interpretation was right.  
Emilia Lanier writes:
                                       Yet Men will boast of Knowledge, which he took
                                           From Eve's fair hand, as from a learned Book

The Querelle des Femmes is not just a literary debate in the fifteenth century.  It is a way of life.  It is the divine portion of Queen Elizabeth I’s job being fit for men, and men alone.  It is Joan of Arc being a woman and hearing the Voice of God; it is Joan of Arc being burned three times by the same Catholics that revered in Jesus, a man who, too, heard the Voice of God.  It is Lilith being deemed a demon for not wanting to have *** in the *******.  It is Eve having to apologize in the first place for sharing the apple, for sharing knowledge with her partner.  It is women holding positions of power and yet still feeling powerless to men.  

The Querelle des Femmes is wanting to use gender
to keep one group of people above another.  The Querelle des Femmes
is continually thinking that the ***** is greater than, but
never equal to, the ******. The Querelle des Femmes is
                                                       not understanding the difference between
                                                                ­       ***          and          gender
                                                                ­              in the first place.  
The Querelle des Femmes is me,
burning your dinner and telling you to eat it anyway.
This is part of a larger project that I am working on pertaining to the Querelle des Femmes.
mrs kite Mar 2015
This is to the camera, that sees me as nothing but
Delicate bones and pearly whites
My essence captured through awkward captions and
My worth measured by likes and heart bytes
A photograph carefully composed
Of a girl with her true thoughts [boxed up tight]

This is to the boys who see me as nothing but
Geometric shapes
Circles and curves and parabolas
**** and *** and legs and waist
And an irrelevant concave where my brain should be
My “radical ideas” make me a butterface

This is to the academy, that sees me as nothing but
3.97 and a good SAT score
A scholar of great potential
That will donate millions or more
As an honored alumni
Of the greatest institution in the world

This is to society, that sees me as nothing but
A golden gal who always colored inside the lines
Mrs. Goody-Two-Shoes, no fire in my soles

“She’s never insubordinate, ‘cause she’s never been inclined”
Determined but docile
Go ahead and assume I’m not the rebellious kind

This is to myself, because I see that
My mind is a kaleidoscope of technicolor dreams
Ideas colliding like specks in sunbeams  
And I’ll call myself a feminist or riot grrl if I **** well please
You are not my dictator or an office label machine
It’s 2015; I’ll be whatever the hell I want to be.
bergljot Feb 2015
Your eyes resembled the troubled waters at sea,
always shimmering, churning, crashing, always making me wonder if you had sky blue galaxies trapped inside of you.

And your smile always looked as if it had been carved into your face with the same instrument used to make those marks on your arms.

I found comfort in your sadness, because that was the only time you were true to yourself.

I found comfort in your freedom. I always loved seeing you live carelessly, daringly. Insubordinate to anyone who tried to stop you.

Sometimes it worried me to see you scratch your skin after you cursed about destroying everything you touched.

Sometimes it worried me to see you lose yourself among the empty bottles of alcohol.

You were burdened with a heavy heart, and like the pupils in your eyes and the emotion in your smile and the sound of your laugh, it was vacant.

And all I could say was, maybe, just maybe, if you unclenched your fists you would've found that you were holding onto nothing.
Julian Aug 2015
The oceans’ froth betrothed to lunatic scoff
The sublunary elegance of a subdued earthen cough
Infectious pulchritude conjures snow-globe turpitude
Defiant humility professes to know the rudeness of the crude
Distilled casually in a leery trance
Terpsichorean choreography of a hallowed prance
Callow scowls affix the hebetude of anger to the sauciness of banter
Gallant cavalries court the cult of she and enamor and enchant her
Foretold calamities proceed like clockwork from God’s destructive jaundice
Death deployed as a sententious homily of wraiths that taunt us
At every turn fatidic inspirations work to cement a known outcome
Averted gaze away from rampant gays and fire-and-brimstone bunkum
We cherish a world where the stodgy and outmoded monopolize choice considerations
Where hedonism abreast of asceticism are internecine intimidations
Suffer like Christ and buffer like tenacious poverty sustained by rice
Dare to glower with menacing insistence at the known outcome of errant dice
Soothsayers soothe prayers but cataclysm still dares
To pulverize innocent insouciance and become the cynosure of trepidation and stares
Heaven blares a deafening “obey” while hell stays silent to lure the prey
Hobnob with hobgoblins and expect opprobrium to park and stay
Gentility and class-divisions orchestrate a frozen system of tenacious prisons
Stalking the lifeblood of mainlined ecstasies and surgical incisions
Minority Report within the grasp of the majority uproar
Dalliance with a self-fulfilling time means there will always be a bout between Bush and Gore
Lecherous eyes prize a hedged bush and irascible lies seek copious gore
But because the bush ensconces the ****** in bed with China the twin towers imploded for common core
Mondegreens serenade a mistaken flirtation with a time traversed and mastered
Swelling tides hearken the moon to make a hypothetical bonanza out of disaster
Enumerated infinity within esoteric grasp and pandered sequester
Bedazzled of foreknowledge  it charters the uncharted exploitation faster and faster
Burgeoning funds entertain a mind cloistered by infamy and oppressed by indecency
Burbling puns ecstatic about the perpetuity of guns hector the province of a token leniency
Squander the day and indulge the night by knowing exactly the demise of every shooting star
Knowing the origin and legacy of every single scar
Knowing the path creates the path known
Every single stock you know you should with alacrity own
Prosperous kinship and insubordinate brinksmanship win the prejudiced award
Fencing with lethal intent the specter of death devolves into irenic accord
Envy the impregnable corporate machine and its unassailable pipe dream
Hunt the Wolfs of Wall Street until panic evolves into cacophony of screams
Democratization of prophecy will cue the most titanic robbery
Shills looking for upstart thrills will pretend an unwarranted snobbery
Paradox is impossible because every moment elapsed is indelible and irrevocable
Every frisson of love is fertile and impregnable
So rejoice that the masters of the clock invest in select stocks
And hope that parcels of secrecy tumble from the 1919 White Sox
Emerald Street knows When the Music ‘s Over
Brandished crumbs adorned with sportive panache clothed in a lucky clover
Deprived of snide tithes and the confessions of millions protest a catholic cabal of universalism draped in quaint overalls
Mock the hegemony of the sailing class and their brisk and copious squalls
Opulent scions vouch for the failsafe prerogatives of Zion
Sleeping awake we indulge the oneiromancies of Orion
Cinematic wonders regale glorified eavesdropped blunders
Until the secrecy of the machine is so conspicuously in sight it tears the elected pantheon asunder
A master race of an intelligent nepotism in denial of its own disgrace
Exploits the argosy of secrets of the flying-disked race
But one day a challenger like a rooster will orient the demotic vogue towards the treasure trove
And pirates will prosper in burgeoning droves
Myths foisted will debunk themselves as eternity preens its chosen wealth
Even the most furtive endeavors will have to equip even more stealth
That day will prompt an arms race and a worms race
To burrow beneath the chasms of malcontent and adopt and insular embrace
They billow now with toxicity and malignancy
Even death will have alternative contingencies
The resplendent future will capture the common heart
For the accumulated wisdom of words will make us infinitely more smart
Olivia M Jackson Jul 2010
Streaming glitter
Suspended laughter
Delayed happiness
Evident abasement
Surmounting fears
Shadows dance in torment

Pleasant gestures
Pretence abundant
Deferred bliss
Creeping obscurity
Empathizing stares
Lured smiles led to drown

Malevolent touch
Masked intentions
Insubordinate emotions
Disappearing identity
Longing spirit
Laughter is beheaded

Joyful wickedness
Jeweled thorns
Loving stabs
Poisoned kisses
Unassuming mortal
Beauty lays dead
© 2010 Olivia M. Jackson
Elemenohp Jan 2016
Filling in lines, with large amounts of time.
Collapsing echoes of empty thoughts into our corners,
And living numb, like emotional hoarders.

Let us free. We wish to sing, to dance again;
To live our lives, as we did back then.
So ourselves and full of passion.
And so unique in every fashion.
Auroleus Sep 2012
Eliminate the grass roots-
Organize a hoard of guys
Abhorrent lies and black boots
Coordinate the insubordinate
Get on the floor and sit until
I ******' tell you to move

We're just walkin' on the borders of our own chalk outlines
Fear adhered to talkin' televisions are your confines

It doesn't even matter if we lie or if we tell the truth,
Remember Harvey Oswald and that cat John Wilkes Booth?
We maintain the power over every single hour of your life,
So smell the flowers while you can and try to find yourself a pretty wife.

We're just walkin' on the borders of our own chalk outlines
Fear adhered to talkin' televisions are your confines

Don't forget your Bible boy
Don't you print that libel boy
We'll sue your ****** *** until
You're livin' like a tribal boy
Incomplete as hell... Garbage as it stands... Just wanted to throw that out there.
Felix Decarz Jul 2014
Amusing to most cynics, these tragic tales of love.
Questioning his mercy, the one who watches from above.

Diabolical confrontation, an army so strong.
Sleepless nights withered, pondering what went wrong.

Meek perception of a fickle minded clan.
Denouncing an ambitious child, an insubordinate man.

An intense adoration, eloquence of being crazed.
Contested against vehemently, all hell aggresively raised.

Not unrequited, not unfair, a beautiful symphony meticulously shared.
Infatuation so strong, hope for lives to be paired.

Cacophony of society, this petrified state.
Throngs of loathing, a cumbersome hate.

Agitating separation, an indignant ploy.
Hearts shattered, like a worthless toy.

These bonds of unfair blood, creators of an avenging soul.
Guaranteed devastation, eager to come out of its hole.

Upset the master plan, cause his own disease.
Let there be genocide, In god's decrees he did not believe.

Buried alive, weight of there mutual debt.  
Grieving loss, Giving up on everything left.

Beaten, he screams in mortal vanquish.
His very soul on fire.
He forsakes them all, allows his blood to douse there funeral pyre.
Lindsey Durbin Nov 2010
blue scooters
false pride
blue house
bus rides
laughter, oh the laughter,
the smell of your fragile body worn out
fifty cents
all of the whispering
broken chair
bullied blue faced
baby boy
memory covered
in green paint
yellow paint
was it ******
was it ******
the end all be all
last breath
shame faced
who murderers
what a way to go
was it worth it
star trek
was it worth it
are you happy yet
did you do it
boy scout
noose knots
after thoughts
in the quiet streets
one last
prehistoric animal screech
ambulance tires
i was on the sidewalk
laughing, laughing
showing off
did we care
why am i sitting here
broken chair
broken boy
pants down
feet up
how did they find you
little brother
step father mother
swinging of you body
cold and white
kids who pushed you
wearing ties
cutting classes
all the third grade boys
looking up
clenching souvenirs
blank permission slips
you genius
where are you now
insubordinate fool
you would have been our boss
you would have taken care of us
where are you now?
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
Pearl Harbour was a righteous act of war... an army attacking an army lazying about like its current affairs program: how to, burn off fat of our "starving" citizens! it, was, a, righteous, act, of, war! what the Americans replied with? equal to the Holocaust... an army so incompetent in warfare it had to attack citizens... because it was so gluttonous when having to consider the man who lost it all and would have nothing to lose when fighting... Kamikaze motto: and from my decapitated head, a blazing serpent of transformed entrails! entwining! entwining! after all: isn't the white man a blank canvas, and in his blank canvas fetish: always choosing what to incorporate and what to plagiarise... white man is but the shadow of the olive skinned ones... or the blemish of coco... well... isn't that what the white girls prescribed with their many voodoo words of feminism, but hardly any care to engaged in household chores? ahoy! hey! ahoy! *****! hit the pulpit! and don't come back! i'm hitting the transgender movement... hard.

the first rule you learn at the Forest Gump club?
                                                     RUN A MILE!
what's the second rule you
learn at the Forest Gump club?
                                                       RUN A MILE!
what's the third rule you
learn at the Forest Gump club?
now, i do feel god awful for these
                 but they never felt
sorry for me:
which is why i have the better
joke... and they recite poetry
that simply sounds like: choke choke choke
               and i have a magpie's cackle.
only foxes build up on that...
ginger wolf over...
               ginger wolf! over!
         i could have been paid
my life's service as a marine...
       serving Vietnam singing the song
about Trident submarines:
do you ever feel you're a yellow submarine,
    a yellow submarine,
                a yellow submarine with a nuke
            signed: why not, Jude?
                           they did the French kiss
with the original nuke being air-borne
and the cold war reinvention: keep it under
     ye'er may'tees! ****! starboard!
i say detonating the nuke is en-masse
                                when bone turned into shadow...
no wonder the motto stood:
            they learned to leisurely take the Swiss acid,
they'll gobble the psychiatric rainbow
to keep them in check like they might
gobble down news and vitamins.
           as long as the blond-quiff-ferret wins;
i'm happy... oh look at that...
                       the Peruvian Putin had a twinkle
in his eye:
                       Comrade Pablo, no, the other
Picasso... the Escobar... oh sure, sure,
he did cubism... cubic ounces of *******
  and twice the red period fascination...
                great, when you consider
the autobiography of god, and humanity
                 as sole Pilate of its macabre reasoning:
           let god write the biography: we're clean!
                clean as **** in a diaper
or ***** in a ******... both mention the cul...
   de... sac
                      did i mention
the tourists... i have a great stage presence:
i get to thespian manic episodes of people who
hide them...
                      but wouldn't setting off a nuke
do that to you, ad your future generations?
                 ****** got gassed...
what American or any other human being
experienced such flash of insubordinate genius?
                            h'alo! vel-kom
to zee only nicht of the worthy Oscar beifall!
        kappa'h ah Hiro
                ­                kappa'h ha Naga
                the greatest travesty is mentioning
Auschwitz... but not the Godzilla twins!
no!               no!                    no!
               you deal with the need for paediatricians
when you prescribe them other "things"...
                   you keep that bagel in the oven long enough
we'll just assure ourselves all the Jews were
born on flights: inter-continental...
                                      they never say:
  Polish Jews... they just say Jews...
                                   it's almost like the host nation
didn't matter...
               as a Pole... living in England?
the host nation, doesn't, matter!
    aye Scot?!         aye!
         aye Cymru?!             aye!
       aye Shamrock Limerick?! aye!
aye Brutus... aye aye aye
                              i'm just asking
to post one hallucinogenic postcard...
                                  to his mother.
or.. let's us say i do cut-up as i go along:
much to the awe of some remote republic
                          engulfed in the federal judiciary
               system... very much monotheistic:
all hail! the one!
                             in quick-hand atheistic:
all hail! not one!
                             well: no one would mean
nothing... and if that be the case...
then... this is... evidently... a very... painful... dream /
                                 protesting the rights of
the aborted (from a man's perspective):
teenage girl, a thrill was but a thrill,
don't condemn me to the priestly orthodoxy!
but i will!
                     Joseph Andromeda took
the circumstance of sacredness of Abraham's *****...
                  while Muhammad rationalised
a pubescent's girl with an older man
like that pornographic elder teen with
a man and a really ****** movie script: in out,
as fast as you can!
tgrooms Dec 2013
I don’t dream of adventurous romance or memorable moments
with people who are only important to me.
If those things happen
ok I guess
but that’s not my goal.
I want to see the world a changed place
and not feel shame for that desire.
My dreams are not bigger or more glamorous than yours,
they’re just different.

I don’t want change so I can be lauded.
I want change so we can all live equally
in a world where there are no heroes just everyone as we all are -
merely human.

Prizes, titles and crowns don’t come from the universe.
They come from confused humans
who hold others up above themselves.
We give our heroes plastic spoons and hoist them
to the ceiling with instructions to dig
hoping one day we might crawl up and over
to occupy the newly excavated negative space above them.
But our plan doesn't work;
the heroes become insubordinate,
refusing to make room and the rest of us are left
with the burden of carrying these people around on our backs.
Now the heroes have a free ride of it and the masses
struggle under their added weight.

We are all the same, equals:
carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen.
Classy J Jan 2016
Strange days, dark clouds, what can one do when they have hit the ground, is there a chance for a lost soul to be found. Strange but face it when it comes to the human creation, appointed by holy delegation to heal the worlds devastation. Long days left in a pit of nothingness, short time ticks off the life I have left to display my worthiness. I am just a insubordinate, not ordinary, that's why I'm kept in confinement. I make no alliance's with anyone, is it strange that I do not put my faith in anyone. From the time of not, in this time I have been forgotten, so my identity stay's rotten. Not one to be trifled with, for those that dangle and dibble with darkness shall inherit death. Ill fortunes create my misfortune's how unfortunate for this insubordinate. Ill mind with strange intentions, people always say that I need an intervention.
Jonathan Witte Dec 2016
At last the autumn
wind has stripped
the branches bare.
Even insubordinate
trees now stretch

their naked limbs
along a leaf of sky;

timber ledger lines
compose a staff
where birds rest
as quarter notes,
the nested chimes
of winter’s song.

You and I unlace
our leather boots.

We wait for snow,
white and absolute,
to change the score,
to blanket measured
roots, a silent chorus.
We never regret being insubordinate,
but she has room for those torn apart,
despite their hearts so full of hate.
Their tears are the hurts of the heart.

They cry not knowing,
she is watching, listening,
concerned of their well-being,
while they're busy scheming;

Her seeds are all planted,
but haven't all blossomed.
Her streets all connected
but paths are divided...

Though there's lights that always burn,
there's a thousand souls who mourn.

But she cries for those who hurt her,
and loved them like a mother.

Still we lacked to love her fully,
with three hearts like an octopus;
once she were three times a lady.
We love her enough, the haven for us,

Though infested by ***** rats,
and all seem like, a big mistake there's,
so much hope inside  Flats...

Despite our flaws of being torn apart,
We never regret being insubordinate.
brandon nagley May 2015
Such adhesive slugs to **** the blood of advocate beings,
Amiss extinct classiness,
None more is around!!!

Industry smokestacks line the insubordinate intellectuals,
Where perpetuals deal!!!!

Irritable bowels rumble,
Tumble to irriversable steel!!!

Kidnapper of kinded phenomenals,
Journals to all biographies,
Juvenile junction games of fallen pained dominoes!!!

Tallons sharper than tatted guns,
Wherein spears go through thy side,
To draweth out thine unholy water!!!!

Sunglassed bringer of right and wrong,
Fiction has been dusked to nonfictional hostile!!

No komonoed kitten here purs,
No lamb to be put for all to gather!!!
No one may lather when none comes around....

No landmark amazement,
No mountainous town,
No linience,
None remembrance abounds to fulfill light footed doers!!!

The pagination of this story counterclocks distant ships emmersed stations,
Where some wherein are strange,
Where the faces you see are painted!!!!

All love,
No hatred!!!

Doth thou ask for a captains ship?
Or a tribal slaves boat?

Which part wilt thou sail among the islands of thy own kind!!!!!
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Such adhesive slugs to **** the blood of advocate beings
Amiss extinct classiness

No more is around
Industry smokestacks line the insubordinate intellectuals
Wherein perpetuals deal!!!

Irritable bowels
To irreversible steel!!!

Kidnapper of kindred phenomenals
Journals to all biographies
Juvenile junction
Games of fallen pained dominoes

Tallons sharper than tatted guns
Wherein spears go through thy side
To draw out Thy unholy water!!!

Sunglassed bringer
Of right and wrong
Fictions been dusked
To nonfictional jostle!!!!

No kimonoed kitten here purs!!!

No lamb to be put
For all to gather!!!!

No one may lather
When no one comes around...

No landmark amazement
No mountainous town....

No lenience
No rememberance abound to fulfill
Light footed doers!!!

The pagination of this story
Counter-clocks distant solar immersed stations!!!

Where some are strange
Where faces are painted

All love
No hatred!!!!

Doth thou ask for captains ship?
Or a tribal slaves boat?

Which part wilt thou sail amongst?
Island's of thy own kind!!!!!
lowercasemmmmmm Jul 2014
she was my monoatomic gold
turning me into a symphony
to eat all her bleak regret
she dined on my thoughts
the regale of such years
hard to hear hard to bear
we had fine plans to follow
I'm sure at one point I swear

though I fell fast and fully foul
of my own demons and addictions
black teardrops that oozed out
eked a trickled to dampen my face
and that soulful curvature of the rhyme
its deep set glare that shone me light
its darkened subway dropped in place
an executive decision made under the cosh

a depth charge blows and water flumes
and love spirals and hurtles unripened
urging me to hold on to this odd wonder
of why I put up with your thorny crown
bows and scrapes were never my strength
I'm undisciplined and insubordinate of love
you're and will always be my monoatomic gold
you fly through my veins like an electric dove
DEW Dec 2016
Tiny necklace locket
resting on a rock
gleams in the sun
next to necks that met a gun.

I wonder why they left
left my soul bereft
of the dreams I wish to hold
oh, the story's growing cold.

They were dreams!
My dreams!
Whose do you think they were?
I was the one with all the youth.
You put your hopes on my shoulders,
didn't you?
So why did you leave me?!
It's not my fault I forgot the

The colors run from my face
and twist and turn
the drain
leaving stains that
I wish
were the mark that I'd be
satisfied with leaving on the world,
no one appreciates a colorful drain.

Even when the end of your life
is a paradise
does that justify the hell you've been through!
Don't you wake up
in the heat of summer
and wish the nightmares would just pour out, too!
Why is it that the biggest fish,
in the nets of our minds
are the angler fish and the puffer fish?
Terrifying and poisonous.
Rancid and unappetizing, because we leave them
out in the sun
afraid to touch our own dysfunction!

What justice is this?
My father wasn't father enough!
Why did he sleep all day?
When he died, didn't I already know he was dead?
Did I experience a déjà vu no more feeling than it was a jagged knife?
Am I dead too?
Is that why I think this is hell?
Is that why I wondered if there are souls? The confusion borne by still being flesh and blood, yet being so ghostly that I couldn't scratch the itch of my bleeding soul.

Justice? If you cry inside, does anyone hear you scream?
Can you?
Only when it's too late.
The last drop of the blood of your soul spent.
Mortgages! Taxes! Insurance! Loans! Employment!
Yes, please, they're all a merciless enjoyment!
A ceaseless tickling of agonizing fun.

What choice do we have?
The choice to tell those who tell you, to tell those to tell that person,  and on and on that it's enough!
We're tired of being told money is life-blood.
Why should my ability to live be based on how much dead tree you've been siphoning from the life of the planet I am worth? Am I a resource?
I'm sure that's in your audit, isn't it?

Citizen #11899382280 is complaining again, send him back for conditioning. Advertise some more bacon and send him to the hospital again so he's distracted, this will distract his whole family. We'll advertise a specific hospital he should go to to them so they feel compelled. When he's at that specific hospital, we'll shorten his life as our insurance. His family will think he's graying because of the stress of the heart attack, but it's really the drugs, which always look the same, yet are increasingly more destructive. We'll send Lawyer #448322783 in to talk about his retirement and will. The family has requested him, but Lawyer #448322783 works for us. Lawyer #448322783 will edit the will to suit our intentions. Once the will is arranged, we will increase the life-shortening medication, which will, in and of itself cause complications. We will introduce a catalyst to forego the critical time we have to avoid his otherwise impending and damaging insubordination. When Citizen #11899382280 is dead, we will retrieve the damaging and insubordinate files from his account and erase his existence. Were he alive, he would find this poem ironic that his emotions, being a matter of the heart, led to a death that was a matter of the heart.

From the heart,
Your loving government & your ****** life
Pain and suffering.
The face of our existence.

I hope you've enjoyed this.

Julian Nov 2018
The padlock on the continuous barnstorm of a transcendent time whose bunkum is transmuted consciousness aligning with parallax to a congruent worldview is not axiomatic but certainly a veridical property of reality. The universe is as much concept as percept and both properties of consciousness that lead to adaptive behavior are tethered to the eccentricity of the observer rather than the oblong nature of the observed where errors in prima facie judgments delineate the saplings of humanity to beaze under the proctored sunlight of an eternal sunshine that withers seldom to the whims of capricious arbitrage of those whose hubris exceeds the limits of the intellectual frontier because they are gilded with bricolage mentalities that scaffold the skeletonized worldview rather than apprehending the concretism and synthetic arraignment of interrogable reality in a manner that acknowledges the factitious intersection of pioneering understanding and the corporeal existence of realities both transcendent in spatiotemporal mapping and reversible propinquity to the sensible acquisition of tangible knowledge. I contest the worldview of many philosophers as a callow retread of basic logic whose ambition is underserved by a desire for prolix pellucidity rather than cogent succinct promethean formulations that dare to muster the herculean task of demystification even if the entropy of formulation is always flawed by the jaundice of the observers rather than the disdain of the observable consensus. We swing by a filipendulous thread that dangles speculation and reifies the blinkered piebald world of spotty concatenations among neurons recognizing that incomplete associations become the staples of philosophies that are precarious in some logical foundation but sturdy enough to weather the vagaries of the bluster of mendicants who verge on comprehension but pale in comparison to the monolithic edifice of so-called truth when the defalcation of figureheads supplants the clerisy as the new proctor of knowledgeable assertion. I contend that foofaraw is a primeval instinct of community ecology that expedites the balkanization of otherwise unitive properties of society and ravages them with bickering based on clashing predilections that are bellicose and combative rather than irenic and balmy. The acerbic fates of many leads to a rudimentary pessimism or a chary optimism that chides against the fortified exegesis of divinity that can be both proclaimed and stultified for its latticework properties of buttressing society in a permutation that is nimble in some respects but too turgid and rigid in others. The goal of humanity is to become a pliable instrument of a pliable universe that does not rely on buzzword dogmatism or the masquerade of hollow punditry but that relies on self-reliant principles for ascertaining veracity and impugning mendaciloquence with vigilant alacrity rather than casual sportsmanship that reaches finality only upon the handshakes of a battle waged that concedes the impotence of gladiatorial spectatorship as just a gambit of the half-witted cockney witticisms and shibboleths of sportive diversion rather than consequential and decisive reckonings with the subaudition that undergirds all events of any consequence with either a clinched victory or a callow defeatism of a futilitarian worldview that stoops to reconciliation only to propitiate antagonism and buffer against the truculent brunt of weaponized coercion to checkered flags that arbitrate the outcome of a binary polarity of humanized affairs. The majesty of creation is that reversible boundaries can be permeated in a bi-directional manner through the artifice of concerted thought rather than the orchestration of a linear traipse through the deserts of an inclement fate won immediately when projected upon the tangent of any given velocity at any point of acceleration away from the targeted impetus that grants only a partial vantage, a cantle of reality that is fragmented and piecemeal rather than circular and emergent. The most dire battle that humanity faces is the attrition of circumstance by the purposive declarations of imperious authority that seeks to muzzle the ingenuity of many for the deliciation of the few creating an accidia among the clerical institute of thinkers that imposes hogra that few people can grapple with that they are marooned into a cloister that reaps fewer rewards for an ascendant intellect than a virulent libido can clutch with predatory gallops against the also-rans that fight for carnality rather than the ethereal principles lingering within the grasp of many if it became a cynosure of worthy heralded acclaim. We witness the mass fecklessness of giftedness as a shackle of those whose plaudits come intrinsically fortified but sustain none of the abuses that the pedestrians would like to obtrude upon enlightenment to curtail and abridge the art of invention like the coagulation of blood to rob the vitality of throbbing pulse of importunate self-discovery of its macroscopic vista and its telescopic foresight about the future hodgepodge of a recursive fractalized reality besieged by the enemy of linear logical formulations implemented by ivory tower psychologists to muzzle the empowerment of abstruse language in order to make savory the nostrum of the apothecaries of delegated truth bereaved of recourse beyond certain leaps they cannot fathom well enough to flicker with even a faint transient wisdom that is designed to be amenable only to the supernal nature of ideation rather than the caprice of bedazzled humanitarianism. We need to forswear the -isms that flicker with doctrinaire dogmatism and flirt with forceful harangues that exhort a codified message and launch veridical properties of recondite etherealism into an immovable orbit whose inertia can broadcast a singular message of recoil against puritanism in science or skepticism in faith. The bedrock of this message is the deployment of useful extravagance without inordinate delay, the drivel of malcontent transmogrified into the prattle of estimable giants that have stature among the leviathan enough to recriminate against the autarky of self-smug simpletons that infest the world with barbarous indecencies and crude prepossessions that abortively crumple when met with the acerbic teleological gravity of ulterior consequence rather than blossom under the siroccos of manufactured wind designed for windfalls that always create a crestfallen aftermath from the anticlimax of understanding leading to the desiccation of consequence and the engorgement of precedence. These frangible realities become buoyant because the physics of the public dialectic insulates the creaky rickety vestiges of canonical knowledge as a sworn precedent inviolable and immune as a building block of all scholasticism, a retread of parchment recycled over and over again to entrench the past as the titanic vehicle that dictates the future of thought even though the porous inconsistencies of the vagrants of crude formulation make such a vessel less seaworthy than scientism and dogmatism of the monolith would have you believe to be true. The querulous quips of the uninformed predominate with such clutter that the armamentarium against useful idiocy is stagnated into a resigned accord with infernal subjugation of the public volition to insubordinate against a system of parochial enslavement rather than a catholic enlightenment whose universalism of principle ensures a steadfast society guided by scruples rather than undermined by the prickly thorns of abrasive contrition and the magnetism of empathic concern that sabotages the clarity of intelligence and provides a welter in the place of a well-arrayed code of peculiar but defiant distinctiveness that acts as the splinter that cracked the intangible but refractory borders of human inclination and demonstrated the sheer force of golden consistency rather than fickle withering resolve. I exhort and implore the world to heed the best minds that realize the syncretism is answerable to contradiction rather than scuttled from beneath by the impudence of its assertions against the common propriety when it stakes controversy as a gamble to aver the veracity of worldviews that violate orthpraxy with gusto as a brazen gallantry to rescue a foundering planet that seeks disequilibrium in harmony rather than an equilibrated sensibility that is proud to discriminate properly and honestly to clinch fact rather than kowtow to factitious slumber of somniferous kumbaya that is too deferent to maxims that are unduly polite only because charisma supersedes genius in its efficacy to mobilize people to fulfill their roles. With the miscegenation of justice that occurs because of expedience we find holes in many legalistic precedents because they anoint pettifoggery over sensible jurisdiction and face a leaky and ramshackle fate to foment paternalism and divide the clerisy among certain key considerations in order to save face rather than to impose a clarity of orderly supervision that seeks to dissipate the embroiled spiderwebs of dodgy prevarication and quacksalver logic to once and for all ascertain the truth that lurks beyond the primal jaundice of Kafkaesque confusion.
Justice lies in the interest of the forceful
And the wrath of means that are unlawful
A brutal curve during 1800's
African prison system was brought through
Guiltless spent time in cells
Consequence of the pass laws
No ground to stand
Observing the defeat over their land
No legacy to mend
With their bare fits and wits,
They had inheritance to shed  
Civilisation introduced to Afrikans
The ideology is a slow process
Resounding failures
frontal setbacks,
Bright darkness
Even today
You and I is a witness
Or you missed that ?

Last of all comes the severe man,
About whom we have to wonder,
We abide as Slave citizen
He came through a form of a revered writing
Wearing a complexion of the slave master
Whence is he, or is he an enigma
or his coming is a paradox
Does he exist as a palindrome
in happiness or in misery?
In length or in depth
In fact,
There is,
A list of grieving interrogations I have,
Which I should like to consider first.
Most of them are illegal,
Some of them are liberal
None of them are answered
Yet weakened in various degrees
By the strength of reason and law scenes.
I mean those which are awake when the
Reasoning powers are asleep,
Which get up and travel around without rights
Without any knowledge of self or state of belonging;
With a potential of conceivable accusations or crime,
However cruel or unnatural,
Of which,
In imagination,
They may not be guilty.

Very True, I declare;
But when a man’s pain beats drastically;
Conforming under a feast of sorrow
failure comes home to reside  
Just before fear of prosecutions goes to rest,
The solution is a systematic arrest
Which remains being the nature of the rest,
Invoked characteristics lays tests,
The visions which he has on his bed
Are least irregular and defective.
Which marvels out in sleep.
Arguing like a temperamental insubordinate,
That he who Is mistaken about the crime
Is a jailor in that he is mistaken?
Or that he who stumble in poverty or liberty
Is a poverty-stricken or libertarian at the time
he is misunderstood,
In respect of the error?
Give or take the era, he is lame
True, we say that the game
Is the fact is that neither the poverty-stricken nor any other
cause of life course and the skill ever made any sense
In so far as he is what his name implies;
Soiled with dirt and false diseases
until their skill fails them,
and then they cease to be
skilled ******,
smart drug traffickers,
artisans that paint with blood to be even
Not even the confused sage with no name
is present at the time when he is
what his name implies;
though he is commonly said to
To stray and roll until the truth slips up
out of bed and that’s never sad
While he stumble until he trips up
and I also adopted the unremarkable
mode of misunderstanding.
But to be perfectly accurate,
since you adore accuracy,
Would it be prudent to declare that the ruler,
In so far as there is a swayer, is not liable to error,
Or measuring the greatness of the dishonourable,
as far as that is the case,
Never commanded for the interest of the hopeless;
Should I rest my chase or less,
wake up read the book of those who offers little with no hope
Or else,
The area of imprisonment
would be minimized,
no chance to be analysed
and the subject is designed
to execute commands;
and therefore,
as I said at first and
repeat with me,
Justice lies in the interest of the forceful.
megan Aug 2018
hits like a thunderbolt,
creeps through your veins,
a psychopathic frenzy,
my insubordinate brain.

without a warning,
without a reason,
it’s a catalyst for heartbreak,
emotional bleeding

a cry for help
muffled by the tears
turmoil and fear
deteriorating upstairs.
(revised August 30th, 2018)

Courtesy of one or more tradesmen,
       the first Monday
     in September set aside
especially honoring employees
     dedication, gratification, honing
     job duties till
     second nature inculcation...
     evidenced by being

     able, eager, ready
     and willing to acquire money
     maybe marry a groom or bride,
climb corporate ladder, or
     become an artisan,
     entrepreneur, laborer, technician
     (to side step ascending
     stair weigh heavily

     rung out, drafted
     like an oxen plow,
     commandeered and chide
did by management as insubordinate
     nonetheless ironically feted
     receiving glazier plaques
     acknowledging career employee
     deserved retirement, whence joining

     kiln fields once died)
from over exertion, yet nonetheless
     sweat of brow efforts praise,
     aye worthily corroborated, espied
searching me noggin
     and Google, sans a brief history
     re: aforesaid day,
     where barbecues fried
dispersed aromas recognizing efforts

     of workers with
     quality control as guide
grievances against rod need
     danger field challenged      
     sense and sensibility and/or      
     against excessive pride and prejudice
     stalwart did not hide
the shenanigans took place inside

     warranted unprintable colorful prose
     smoky boardrooms linkedin
     tandem fouled nose
     just common every
     day highs and lows    
trading Jane's and/or Joe’s
who weathered extreme temperatures,
     whereby bodies froze,

but thanks to those,
     who battled elements
     at large and snatched a doze
birth of brute efforts eventually
     earned reserved renowned
borne a couple shy
     of the nineteenth century,
     whence the sound

of industrial silence replaced
     with parades, where
     hoof beats did Ezra pound
the burgeoning, and
     bustling city streets
     echoed along the hardened ground
where fealty to country soldered
     with faith, federation union freedom,

     and job security
     did thence abound
which holiday under
     went transformations
     as bustle and hustle
paved the land of milk and honey –
     from straining of muscle
whereby life, liberty and pursuit

     of happiness less
     of a physical tussle
set (via masons), the
     cornerstone to an invisible
     complex edifice originally
     from New York
     those forgotten builders,
     farmers, machinists, unskilled labor

     et cetera whose dis shoveled
     spades laid groundwork
wrought by destruction
     from the Civil War
     bean counters largesse and pork
loosed from the bottle
     in Antebellum South,
     when off flew the cork

freeing a genie,
     which became supreme
     in the court
     such as (the no longer
     remembered) Robert Bork!
'No Limits'

Loosen the bones from my skin,
& ~
Open my ribs,
I'll let you inside ~
my mind,
Take a walk through my veins,
My arteries,
are your hallways,
Tell me,
is there any life left?
I see you as you gaze,
Looking through me like a window pane ~
Failure... Strikes me twice, like both of your eyes.
I cringe at the success I crave.
I tried,
but failure, & I - are one of the same ~
I have no idea why,
It's just my life, this race, with every tick of the day,
against analog arms, I've no time, I run in place ~
I have nothing,
not even rhymes left,
I am empty but keep pouring,
out - endless,
steal my heart? Just try,
but I promise you that,
I haven't one for your theft,
—Everyone can see,
The burn as I desire to leap,
from the edge,
—Everyone tells me
I'm such a mess
In destroying myself,
I find it, strength while unraveling ~
Time cannot have me,
I’ll trade everything, sell out, destroying myself
to attain control, so I decided to destroy my own health.
I started unwinding
-my strings, walking a broken tightrope in a cursed circus,
no sense of logic, thoughts wired into a circuit without a switch,
but in falling apart each string fell in
a blood red cursive,
a message that read,
"No limits"
Yet again,
I go unread, & a mess I am left,
without the chance -
of limitless ~
by their ignorance,
I am at my coldest,
by the way they're oblivious,
I am unnoticed,
& in their perception,
I am limited...

Before, I had believed in it...
But, in destroying myself,
my body was a cage that I've opened
with my death, I have vision.
I have no family, no friends to visit,
I've lived with an apology for existing, & I've left NO forgiveness...
I am sorry, yet unforgiving.
I am blessed,
yet unfortunate.
I believe, yet I'm faithless.
I am obedient, yet insubordinate.
I am vindictive, yet I have reason for it,
I am a copycat, yet genuine
in my ruthlessness
I am self-sufficient, yet I serve against my own purpose.
In self-destruction,
I am strings, words that stream blood red,
I am in Sans Serif,
I am read,
"no limits",

I am
******* limitless ~

By: Ashton C. Amstutz
AJM Mar 2018
To be covered in the untangled and insubordinate mud
Is rambled and forever tangled in a vast of oppression.

{[(Pain and Suffering invade the realm of Freedom.)]}

It could have been made by one stir or another,
a mixture of evil profanity and love with a hint of despair.

For it was clear to us that Truth is not truthful to our
Own standards within this world of a paradox.
The affinity and divinity is perpetually un-rotten and
Reveals no tragedy to the spiritual eye of strategy.

For I, You, He, and She, We will all plummet before He.
Though it is a spiritual mystery into the divinity which no
One of love and profanity has ever entered.

But as the stars dwindle to sir. Timble, and the layers of my skin,
Become deeper within, I say to you, and only you, that may you
Absolve yourself to the magnanimity within this perpetual reality.
Methinks perchance man
     kind always vain
n'er did appertain
moral hike polar opposite
     from human being:
uncivil, unethical, unsocial, et cetera
     minimally app proxy
     mating, neither didst

     faithfully abide as citizen Kane
externally - nar main
ten an ounce, (asper
     atop figurative fain
faux shaw didst attain
"FAKE" horn o' manners), tolerance,
     our predecessors didst abstain
nor internally betweenbrain,

sans modest straight,
     and ne'r did entertain
narrow true lofty salient tenet
     absence of virtue
     tis no matter pray'n -
quite self evident, plain
as day, and vice gripped by
     fratricide (or homicide

     in general) endemic throughout
     evolution of humanity dripping
     nee gushing more'n
     nah globule bloodstain,
viz more aptly bloodbath,
     haply insinuated, embedded,
     and accrued heart
     felt toehold gain

saying division among
     caveman club rings
     animal hides
     pelt did maintain
bare co-opted spirit hood
     did micro reign
buzzfeed ding death,
     via plenti did retain

aplomb murderous sprees kickstarter
     thankfully guaranteeing (ha)
     hardy internecine characteristic
kept in lock step with
     protohumans enlightenment, qua
     i.e. as earliest primates
     acquired innate haughty
     apropos boastfulness

     to ascend chain
of command anointing insane
lee flattering hashtag, re:
     (albeit ill fit
     ting), yet utopian
appellation "noble savage,"
which inchoate bipedal hominids
     (forerunners of **** sapiens),

     quickly dost wrought impertinent
     sobriquet (by anonymous
     simian "Einstein brain
child"), viz favored
     killing one another
strove and still thrives,
     since Adam and Eve,
     for sport, but most

     dramatically didst appear
     purportedly, when Abel
     got slain by Cain
punctuated equilibrium
     lopping limb
     and/or head off if one
     didst dissent or complain
setting precedent

     for consanguineous
modern Roman Times
     (font size twelve) brutish,
     nasty, and short train
ning supposedly
     "civilized insubordinate"
     foo fighting beastie boy
     received fatal crackbrain

with imprimatur challenging authority,
     sans grossly wading,
     brazen overstepping
     circumscribed domain,
where thwack on noggin
     determined, hence did explain
survival of fittest.
brynnpowers Nov 2018
Just because I don’t listen that doesn’t mean that I am a bad listener,
Just because I like poetry that doesn’t make me a poet,
Just because I read books that doesn’t mean that I am smart,
Just because I am helpful that doesn’t mean that I am a goody to shoe.
Just because I go to the library that doesn’t mean that I am a book worm,
Just because I don’t do what I am supposed to that doesn’t mean I’m insubordinate,
Just because I’m confident that doesn’t mean that I am strong,
Just because I cry that doesn’t mean that I am weak,
Just because I give up that doesn’t mean I’m not passionate.
Just because I say I want to die that doesn’t mean that I’m suicidal,
Just because I tell my friends to **** me that doesn’t mean I want to die,
Just because I say the world would be better without me doesn’t mean that I am worthless.
Just because I act like others that doesn’t mean I’m not me.

— The End —