"lysergia" poems
i mean, who the hell needs an individualised
orchestra? Mozart doesn't, Beethoven doesn't,
Chopin and Liszt is all piano
so never mind the punk renegade violinist...
how the Indians or the Chinese orchestrated
a population of a billion is staggering,
western powers ********** blanks by comparison,
it's like a body and a virus, translated
with optometry the way we say things,
Sanskrit or the Beijing Ouija - looking at it
is like ingesting the Swiss champagne miracle - nausea
or alternatively lysergia -
it's ******* me up acquiring this tongue
given the history of celebrated colonialism -
proof of the Hackney populace being solely
Caribbean - what a desecrate groundwork to begin with,
maybe Irish maybe Scout maybe Scot,
on the word of honour dynamic pledging
conveniences with the Vatican - look
no further, we're naturalised sadists, football matches
and the sickbed eventualists rather than
evangelists, former nonsense reductionistists...
so they preached their Darwinism exactly against
the theologically roundabout of the pyramids
and the celestial intervention - but expected
nil barbarism... kingly kindness was at least
the expected norm, but if you preach Darwinism
you'll hardly convene on kindness as
the standard norm of expression -
track 12 of the beach boys' pet sounds is elevator music,
i'll be honest... pop music drama of
the band... you never hear of it with orchestras;
the point of genius: you're not really there,
absentee, you do the sacrifice, and make others
make the dough for the bread that's a house and
a family of four, e.g; and just by petting
cats i learned that all animals, petted or wild,
are naturally / intrinsically autistic.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
One minute I laugh
Smile stretching my face taut
A sideways glance stolen from the prejudice mirror reflects
MASSIVE pupils like all consuming black holes
4 hours ago I was a ******* Tomato and I know you will mis pronounce it miles above the planet Earth I crash down only to land on venus (Cuz there's girls there)
3 hours now the clock above this moniter is orange purple no wait it's yellow well when it was a clock now its turned into a pile of ants ********* they ruined the picnic, just like people they scurry about to interfere and get all up in my affairs
are not straightened out at all on the surface I remain calm and collected but inside my conscious is scattered sporadically across 12 ******* dimensions of lysergia And then the jet lands gradually touchdown to reality. Deep breath full of marijuana smoke okay houston we're back in the air Right on brutha peace love unity whatever man do your thing I could really not care less
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 11:52 AM UTC