"internalise" poems
i was watching batman (1989) and batman returns (1992)
today, and i couldn't stop layering over birdman (2015)
over both films, it was such a comedy, you knew
that it wasn't a serious engagement
in the role, i just kept picturing
the internal monologue -
the action scenes were already
a gimmick when in the birdman
the explosions start with the critique
of what people actually like to see -
and that critique that the joker
is no more a weird'o than batman
dressed in black leather / spandex -
i just wish heath ledger took a break
from acting, and they did the same
sort of film about the actor behind
the joker, but how would they internalise
the essence of the role: the laughter...
internalising a husky voice can be easily
done when the actor in a different role
can talk easily and speedily without that
haunting husky role of the original part...
but the laughter? it would never work,
which is why jack warned heath
about playing the role... 'son, beware
the laughter.' still, what an enjoyable re-watch,
putting over the birdman nostalgia
over the seriousness of the acting in the
originals, you can actually imagine him
going for a coffee break and taking a ****
when the original screening took place,
the whole: back to reality - it really amplified
the films in a quirky way;
and i still think the joker is the only
doppelgänger that can't be tamed: i'm guessing
because of coulrophobia -
and i could still see remnants of this mythical
doppelgänger on heath in the imaginarium
of dr. parnassus... the clowns are onto you,
you can't steal one of them from
the jammed mini or volkswagen beetle with 20 of them in it,
plus the crying clown, everyone's heard of that
one, they mime laughter, this vocalised doppelgänger
of a clown is cursed -
because unlike actual mimes they don't surd
bewilderment being stuck in a box, or touching
a brick wall obstacle... they surd laughter,
and they share it among themselves in a circus,
vocalising that surd is a curse,
since vocalising an actual mime leaves you
without the actual abstractions,
and from what i heard, brick walls are silent
like graves, unless of course you punch one
or smash a car into one.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
Once I as young and very impressionable
Ii became part of the hip and happening movement
Loving revered to as youth
What a sham, no-one has the resolve to speak the truth
Being youthful and energetic is tough
Too much responsibility rest on my meagre shoulders
Eyes and mind demand change by my soft un-scaved hands
Half the time I don’t know what I am doing how are my soft hands to bring change
Feelings of betrayal and anger from unrighteous treatment
Grow in my veins toward the elders
They followed their own corrupt greedy souls
They dare to blame my dramatic future on their ambition
No one asked what I wanted they just shipped me off to school
As an adult i inherited a land ripe for a new sun
To be achieved with ******* young people
Who soak their sins in strong alcohol and smoke their ideas away
It’s easier to muffle the pain and internalise the screams
South Africa is democratic but no freedom is lived
Yes no one can disappear without a trace
Yes you can no longer just be beaten without recourse
But the soul is tied down with inhumane heavy chains
No moral fibre left to hold on to
No moral light to follow
The head of state is leading example for all
I end with words of wisdom
Evil triumphs when good men do nothing
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
I can see weapons in your eyes
You wish to cut so many ties
I must tell you so many times
To stop with all of your white lies
That you tend to internalise
Take a moment to realise
That this isn't change but surprise
And yet you still reach for the knives
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 9:35 PM UTC
All pretentious bores,
Read and internalise
As much as possible
With all your dull brain.
You may have all the
Time in this world to
Sit and Google me,
Stalk my friends and
Assume my life, get a life!
You are inappropriate
To be associated with,
Oh heavens! I’m glad
You totally hate me.
Poke your nose on
Your own ****** ***
Wash your wits and
Take healthy naps,
Drink cold water, it helps!
I’ve tried to be candid
As possible, if your ego
Cannot digest, get help.
Listen, read, talk and eat-
Good, you probably will
Start to think good.
Peace be with your
Dignity and respect you
Desperately cry for! Amen!
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
I have a bashed-up coffee donker,
From too hard and too much dinking —
It sits there, next to my retro, white barista-chine*,
On my movable wine bar,
Slash coffee trolley cart;
My all-in-one entertainment scene.
Where, previously, I had a silver aluminium bucket
Storing all my coffee sloshes.
It seemed like a convenient (cheaper) way
To free my frustrations fancifully —
I could have gone to a firing range,
Or let some golf ***** fly,
Usually though,
I just internalise the anxiety and rage —
But, life is fragile
Like a china tea cup cracked —
Do we hold on to these crooked pieces,
Like we hold our inner wounds,
Hoping to mend them one day —
something sentimental?
Mindful?
Frugal?!
Precious.
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC
when she got all the righteous requirements of expressing liberty and i looked at her expression i was like? so i've been duped into being fed the oedipus complex for 100 years while she wrote as if looking for her father in a theme park? right... gear up the revs of that feminism of yours... keep them writing, by god keep them writing, let us learn all the secrets that were so attractive once when she pampered herself with corsets and bangles and rings and earrings and perfumes! come on feminism, drag them out into the bright open blank canvas of the page like dragging witches to the stake!
in my library i only have books by women
in the range of sylvia plath and anna kavan...
believe me, feminism gave women
second thoughts about
joining the ranks of men
writing, she's having second
thoughts because she doesn't
want to reveal her secrets,
she doesn't want to internalise
life, she wants it to remain
a volumptous (voluptuous,
which sounds sexier? the former
implies volume, the latter a monkish stress
of orthographic orthodoxy) affection
to keep fingertips sensitive to skin
smooth like soap and coarse like
pavement - touchy touchy - feely feely,
she's scared that by outlining
all the secrets she'll be no longer
able to wear a corset and as theory states:
bigger the earrings of loops, the eagerer she's
to be bedded, it's a shame i don't own
more books by women who'd write like
men, and i dig the part where books
written by women are so tightly bound
by social formalities of longing for love
in long-winding sagas of the harlequin
publishing house -
feminism seems like a faulty bomb
when it comes to women writing,
i mean, a girl starts writing she looses her
predatory allure and instinct,
she starts writing she becomes vulnerable,
exposed, when he does it he
gets depth and confidence he can't use
in ****** interaction... historically speaking
women used to walk without leaving
footprints, men used to walk moving mountains,
she was the countless secrets and secrecies,
feminism kinda duped her,
she started making footprints via writing,
and sadly all the former allure faded -
we became apes and peasants
slightly bewildered by an atom bomb explosion
like a falling autumnal leaf;
where is that crafty ***** with a library of intrigues?
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 12:34 PM UTC
when they're together,
a girl always seems to try and remember
and recount her past loves,
a boy always seem to try and forget
to recount his past loves;
one always tries to love,
one always tries to make the other jealous,
it's hard to love something
that tries to make you jealous
of the past you were not part of
and asks to be awarded a leash
of safekeeping, to not venture outside
the zoo of feeling;
why do girls always wish to recount
their past loves to incite feelings of
jealousy and further jealousy into
impotence? oh right,
so men can slave away, and the household
can be abundant in triviality of possessions
they cannot internalise;
in terms of matriarchal politics,
if i'm not one of her own, i'm disposable...
not even an extension of being in glorification
later as disposable... if i'm not one of her own,
i'm nothing... if fathering mankind
gave us the history we know so far...
i wonder what mothering mankind will
give us, as years come to date,
and be dated in the reliquary of cannibalising saints
for the artefact of the self-serving entitlement of mr. or dr.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
Nothing beats a heartbreak
clenched fists and sweaty palms
gasping for air
on the bedroom floor
we cling to caricatures drawn with shaky hands
but who expects an honest portrait
laughing and yelling
under those conditions, you internalise them
no one said you had to be a superhero
when as you gaze out that train window
just remember
it’s the reflection that’s blurry
and not you.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
I can see weapons in your eyes
You wish to cut so many ties
I must tell you so many times
To stop with all of your white lies
That you tend to internalise
Take a moment to realise
That this isn't change but surprise
And yet you still reach for the knives
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
*The scars left by
love and loss
take the longest time
to heal.*
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
. great!
the spelling
of an "offensive"
word is
more distressing
to you
than a sexualisation
of a naked body...
page 3
of the sun comes
nowhere the censor
of the word f%%%;
good boy, good girl,
make sure language
is ***** and that actual
***** is considered
casual-kojak -
for
the paedo-ring-leaders;
you try
speaking the truth,
i'll deny it...
first you apply
the decipher in writing
language...
and attempt to treat
your invented disease
that's dyslexia....
housewife quacks
wishing for a hard-on;
start talking to nuns
and baking cakes...
or do a downer!
go transgender!
the nag hammadi "library"
will surely guide you
down the "righetous" path;
the pronouns belong
to me...
if "she" can make
me believe "she's" a woman,
i will call "him" a she;
d'uh, coming from a mouth
that once said:
i'd **** anything
that moves,
if a "she" can fool a man...
what's the problem?
are people forgetting that,
to clarify pronouns,
you sometimes have to grate
some article usage?
there's a indefinite "pronoun"
that fools hetero....
but there's also the
definite "pronoun" the hetero
man identifies with, and owns
twice-over....
if a hetero man doesn't
think about ******* you,
sorry... you're like a frankenstein's
monster experiment gone wrong...
or more like igor's monster...
the rich can have it all...
the best you can do is internalise
the dysphoria, and wish
for a lucky lottery ticket,
or rich grandparents to perfect
the transition,
that i might sexually consider you
as a woman...
otherwise?
let's just say,
that when western society closed
its mental asylums, it created
its societies in asylums,
where everyone could
be considered mentally
ill.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 10:22 PM UTC
#*I tend to forgive easily
But not forget
Internalise, future safe
Insecure people
Believe it or not
Make me shiver in my shell
Sounds like written gossip
But all true
Lost my inhibitions today
One day
Boldly I will say
Quick witted not
Dim witted neither
Absence and presence
A balance
A promise to my thoughts
Will set them free
Words allured me for long
My thoughts, it’s here they belong*#
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC
You told me not to cry,
so I never will again.
I internalise my tears until they nearly overflow,
until I'm fit to burst,
and the strain could **** anyone who comes too close.
And pressed deep inside my heart,
those tears will turn to ice
that creeps like frost through my frozen blood.
And you ask me why my hands are cold.
Now I wont say I have a frozen heart -
because I'm not devoid of feeling.
But my lungs are tipped with ice
and my veins are the blue of frost,
the whites of my eyes are as weepingly white
as freshly fallen snow.
I don't know if I'm cold because of the weight I've lost
or whether I've just lost all of my heat.
I'm scared you'll warm my heart,
because I know that if you do
I wont be able to stop the tears from flowing,
and they'll never stop.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
My heart is aching
It has been for a while
Now
I try to keep on a smile
How
Can I keep doing this
Everyday
It doesn't feel fair
That some of us are so sad
When others are happy without trying
That some people hurt so bad
And others are just fine
And how come it's me
Why do I get this everyday
When the boy next to me in maths
Never thinks bout depression anyway
I never asked for this
Or did I ?
Mum tells me to internalise
And that's probably wise
I want to be happy
And I do try
But when I'm so tired
There's comfort in the dark
In the gloom
The heavy heart
The pain
Then the numbness
Grandma tells me not to give up hope
I say yeah but deep down I'm not sure I can cope
I tell me to be strong
That I'm not the worst off
And I usually try to keep my hurt on the inside
But now and again it hurts too bad to hide
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 12:55 PM UTC