"medium" poems
wants to be my friend, for I am poet-woman nineteen.
she is sweet but sad. super sad.
a good poet who wants to guide me.
but there/theirs is the odor, not faint, of wants wanting,
the pus of corruption behind the curtains,
the Wizard-ess of Oz's
special blackout curtains.
seen how easy, how her illusions,
my medium rare rejections,
morph into her delusions,
and her delusions devolve into
her conspiracy theories.
"SHE will be my mentor, poetess lover, teacher for no charge!"
my parents thinks it's great, she wants (to be) skin in my game.
my parents will find this poem accidentally, exactly,
how I do not want
to be skinned alive.
for I am poet-woman nineteen and still! now, long past
the point of being fooled, the point of no return.
and see no point,
have no intention,
of returning to either valley
***no more con the my mind into letting my body
be-fused.^***
that ain't me babe.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
From Alan Lomax to the commercial art and now the money machine.
At the turn of the century; when sound recording 1st became available to the masses, recording a song was an opportunity for folk to reach out; and tell the world something up front and personal.
It meant that people were able to put themselves on “The record” A way of leaving a permanent audio statement, an epitaph, an audio sound bite immortalising ~ life, mood, emotion captured and bottled for all eternity.
(A medium that conveyed messages from artists and storytellers of all kinds)
A recording was also a great addition to "The family album" something more tangible, a window to a real person, with a real life, a message and a point of view; a legacy, a blast from the past.
Few people expected sound prints to be re-designed, homogenised, formulated, copied, repackaged and that art and the message would be played over and over again by new artists in the form of "cover music" or that the style of the messages would become secularized, seperated into distinctive groups, or constrained by an elite clique or commercial genre.
Labelling and streamlining art & music mostly benefits the commercial art & music industry; and no longer the artists and creators.
I've no problem with good business, or the multi-billion pound industrys that have gained commercial success.
However the process of mass homogenisation, product synthesis, marketing, streamlining and then packaging fashion, sound and synthetic culture to sell a product, leaves very little room for creative people to just be creative.
A medium originally open to many for self expression, a historical record, an archive, a voice, a personal message;
Is now just a vehicle for advertising and perpetuating a genre of nonsense, so much so that there is now more white noise immortalised than messages.
To re-cap ~ I Think that creativity and expressionism; like story telling conveys moods and messages from the present and past!
Artists and musicians should have the opportunity to create and produce more information than they copy; thus creating a richer more colourful tapestry, whilst not devaluing the message of their predecessors!
Purcy Flaherty.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 10:38 AM UTC
Very regent at the pageant
she was pretty he was petty
Death was in the air
She was godsent
He was mindbent
He cooked her medium rare
All I want is a ***** *****
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
Anom o ly
Non-named, never imagined much less realized
The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here
We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.
Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?
Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.
Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question, nor is good or bad. ******** Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.
I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.
First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.
From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>
Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice
Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:12 AM UTC
(for Christopher Isherwood)
Seated after breakfast
In this white-tiled cabin
Arabs call the House where
Everybody goes,
Even melancholics
Raise a cheer to Mrs.
Nature for the primal
Pleasure She bestows.
*** is but a dream to
Seventy-and-over,
But a joy proposed un-
-til we start to shave:
Mouth-delight depends on
Virtue in the cook, but
This She guarantees from
Cradle unto grave.
Lifted off the *****
Infants from their mothers
Hear their first impartial
Words of worldly praise:
Hence, to start the morning
With a satisfactory
Dump is a good omen
All our adult days.
Revelation came to
Luther in a privy
(Crosswords have been solved there)
Rodin was no fool
When he cast his Thinker,
Cogitating deeply,
Crouched in the position
Of a man at stool.
All the arts derive from
This ur-act of making,
Private to the artist:
Makers' lives are spent
Striving in their chosen
Medium to produce a
De-narcissus-ized en-
During excrement.
Freud did not invent the
Constipated miser:
Banks have letter boxes
Built in their façade
Marked For Night Deposits,
Stocks are firm or liquid,
Currencies of nations
Either soft or hard.
Global Mother, keep our
Bowels of compassion
Open through our lifetime,
Purge our minds as well:
Grant us a king ending,
Not a second childhood,
Petulant, weak-sphinctered,
In a cheap hotel.
Keep us in our station:
When we get pound-notish,
When we seem about to
Take up Higher Thought,
Send us some deflating
Image like the pained ex-
-pression on a Major
Prophet taken short.
(Orthodoxy ought to
Bless our modern plumbing:
Swift and St. Augustine
Lived in centuries
When a stench of sewage
Made a strong debating
Point for Manichees.)
Mind and Body run on
Different timetables:
Not until our morning
Visit here can we
Leave the dead concerns of
Yesterday behind us,
Face with all our courage
What is now to be.
13.9k
i tried to write a poem
i've been trying for a while
to write the ways in which you always
seem to make me smile
i've tried to tell our stories
through the medium of rhyme
but every time i start to type
the words fall out of time
it's always been so simple
i can write when i feel wrong
but it all seems so unnatural
now i feel like i belong
i don't think i can do it
'cause i don't know where to start
so if i see you in my poems
it will mean you broke my heart.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
A: Don't you find it irritating?
Z: Hm?
A: Don't you find irritating the human need to feel happiness?
Z: Isn't that only natural? When you are happy you feel good. So
you will want to feel good when you aren't happy right?
A: But that's not natural. Being happy is just a state you can be at. It's not the state you were at before or after. Being neutral is a state you came from and will go to.
Z: So should I feel the need to be sad when I'm happy just as I have the need to fell happy when I'm sad?
A: No, that does nothing. You shouldn't feel anything at all. Or have a need to in the first place.
Z: That makes no sense. Life is what the living does. You can't live without a need to feel can you?
A: Well maybe being alive is not a natural state to be at as well! If it was you wouldn't die or be born.
Z: What do you mean?
A: Well maybe life and death are also just a state you can be at, but neither are the natural states...
Z: Ugh... Third state beside Life and Death?
A: Yeah!
Z: What would that be?
A: Well for that to work I guess there would have to be a third party involved, like a soul or something, then we could say that it's only your body that is alive or dead. Your soul is then just a presence that trough a medium called body is collecting experience.
Z: What about emotions?
A: Let's add another body in the picture! Call it „emotional body“. Emotional body is using a physical body as a medium to get experience from the world and then there is a soul that is using the emotional body as a medium so we get a perfect being!
Z: Isn't that a bit of a stretch?
A: Who knows.... But then we could say that there is finally a natural state to be at. It is called „Soul state“. In this state you resonate your three bodies (the physical, emotional and soul bodies). In this state you are not „Alive“ or „Dead“, you are not „Happy“ or „Sad“, you are just a presence.
Z: And how would you get to this state called „Soul state“??
A: Well you should ask yourself why do the other two bodies exist in the first place?
Z: Hm.. Well to experience things right?
A: Yeah..
Z: Ohhh! So the soul is a presence that trough the two bodies experiences things! So once it has experienced all there is to see and feel. It will finally enter the „Soul state“!!
A: exactly!
Z: But isn't there just soo much? We don't really have enough time to experience all there is...
A: well who said you live only once..
Z: Reincarnations?
A: Mhm.
Z: But why don't we remember things from our past lives?
A: Well it would be rather easier to experience everything if you think you have only so much time. That way you will use all of the time given to you to live at your fullest!
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
My easel, has been asleep
for a while, like a whale
on the lost deep seas
finding a prey
to victimise
to sate the belly full.
Your easel, sees in my eyes
the robbers on the blink
of an unruly end
finding recognition
in social media
to favor ego
to sate the belly full.
Your easel, is a mellow fine lens
Hands in line holding a gun
set a trigger, to silence the crowds
the doom in the public cruise
trollers and vipers with wipers
to sate the belly full
What have we come to dear friend?
we seek fame and lose our self
to the shadows of the masses
who denude our dignity
to gain their sanity
to sate the belly full
What have we come to dear friend?
in the spaces of the contours between
dehumanised by the social media
the medium of the century voice
the armageddon of currency
that sate to fill it's belly
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
Rebel Against Rebellion
I have nothing to prove
No creeds, no doctrine to upkeep
We all have so much freedom when we close our eyes
And just think
Maybe you need to humble yourself enough
To lose
Rebel Against Rebellion
Because they're all just books
Your sword is looking pretty dull sir
Why are you so inclined to hurt?
Thought your prophet preached LOVE?
So repeat words
Choose what you choose
Choose wisely
Because soon the snake will stop his hissing
Constrict
And become your noose
Rebel Against Rebellion
I think I'll call your bluff
I bleed, I sin, I'll die
But I'm not feeling hot standing here
So tell me again why I should be afraid
Of my fleet mortal life?
Rebel Against Rebellion
Because a Sheppard leads a flock
But you never followed
Your a goat
Caught in your lies
Bureaucracy, Democracy
Man it's all a joke
A silly excuse
Rules, the sacrum of man's brain
Your doctrine is becoming lame
And your beliefs more insane
Coliseum
A game to play to make you so entertained
Please write another rule
Prove once again
The medium you choose is jewels
You fool
Rebel Against Rebellion
Why would I cut my brother short?
Because of appearance and all your silly rules
So many when uttered I choke
For all we know life itself a joke
Oh the irony
What began as unity
Became bowing down
To man's hierarchy
So I Rebel Against Rebellion
I'm a servant of no man
I know God has a plan
That over cries your silly fear
Unravels your vines
Your words
Agenda and
"Time"
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
I never really wanted to have an agent
Just one day I met this lady and she starting arranging my gigs and stuff
She gave me this kelly green handkerchief and told me to wear it in my left back pocket at all times
I have followed her orders religiously and now own more laser discs than all my friends combined
Do you know where the Trinidadian bakery is?
I'm supposed to meet the paperboy there and give him this pencil case
May the black cats of January be afraid to cross your path
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
split the atom an we get fission
mass becomes energy
but can we split a second
enter the essence of the present
what would it mean to us
to be that mindful
ask your self doesn't your mind
only occupy past future
abjectly incapable of living in the present
in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought
theres no time to think
can we enter
an incalculable split second
and totally take in that instant
with a forgotten organic technology
is it the big bang in perpetuity
yet quiet as a mute
a raging ever expanding sea in a connected
but distinct dimension
if you entered it
would it not utterly erases all of history
the thinkers and doers along with it
the step beyond the alpha and omega
the great underlining reality
imagine the penetrated moment
an all consuming unimaginable
trans-mutational merge
omnipotent
yet forever imperceptible
to those among us
time locked
an irreducible limitation
like an ant in a closed paper bag
a fixated reflexive machine
wandering aimlessly
with an unknowable mission
and a relentless survival mechanism
with no chance of survival
time as a cosmic metabolism
its medium space
a vast cauldron
an infinite vessel containing endless points of light
everywhere
myriad phenomena
its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it
both exquisite and hideous
an incalculable zoo
histories victors and victims
one and all vanquished
by the curse
consciousness of dis-juncture
a merciless countenance of limitation
yet could time be an illusion
rooted in a narrow awareness
bereft of an eternal
inexhaustible self effulgent now
the rapture
an eternal ******
if we could only penetrate into it
would it swallow us
and blot out the drama of creations theater
is the
now
conscious
illimitable
ecstatic
a perfect meta moment ?
we hear from sacred texts
like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah
that we may enter beyond the veil
passed time and its ravages
passed mind and its distortions
not to the heaven of religion
in its endless
closed system precepts
anthropomorphic metaphors
theistic gobbledygook
and
sophomoric social engineering
a kind of cliffs notes
god for dummies
we can enter
the eternal abode of the divine
a point between
the splitting of seconds
revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing
pierced by the effort of a focused mind
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 8:09 AM UTC
He looked at his object with an eye.
So, he came closer to clarify.
An angle that will compliment for each element.
A product that can make a statement.
He chose the bright colors to incorporate.
Because her smile suited a great light.
He focused the subject, and suddenly it was fading.
She was started running.
Running, from the picture perfect life that he created.
She was a medium of unrealistic bliss.
And found herself out of nowhere.
People envied her but they didn’t know the truth.
She was missing the unfiltered life.
She spaced out, and her heart was bruised.
He was definitely imaginative.
And fooled by unreachable perspective.
He looked at his object with an eye.
Thinking, with her was a root of a great life.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
I'm 5'7"
Medium length brown hair
I let my bangs grow to where their half way down my chest (I use them to hide a lot)
Age 17
Birthday April 15(yeah I'll have fun with taxes. :P)
My toe nails are ALWAYS painted black, and keep changing the color of my finger nails (I bite them too short to care anyway)
I'm proud to say I have a wide chest/wide shoulders (I won't say bra size, just cause guys will be able to read this. :/)
I jam out to whatever music I'm listening to
Don't give a **** what people think of me
(just want to be loved truly, cause that's what I have and always will do)
I'm over 200lbs (which is mostly muscle from wrestling with my cousins. :) )
I have fun in more physical activities (ps Apparently, most guys don't like a girl that challenges them to an arm wrestling match. The guys didn't take up my challenge :P)
I'm different compared to most girls that I've come to know
Also, a lot of girls became afraid of me(some girls that hated me for some reason or other threw rocks at my head. I thought they had been throwing paper, I became sheepish at the moment I realized that they WERE rocks and I'm still literally hard headed to this day. I can't feel when anything hits my head :P :/)
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
The eternal tango of the maestro manifests itself in nigh infinite ways.
With the flick of the artist's brush, the stroke of the novelist’s pen or the chicken scratch of the scholar’s nib, legacies are etched, history is written and the world is shaped.
The astronomer, the craftsman and the physician all have one thing in common: Mastery.
Such pinnacles of skill have decades of their lives consumed, nay devoured in the pursuit of perfection, of greatness. Like grains of sand slowly falling into a furnace are the seconds of our lives, trickling, melting into puddles. But as sand melts, it forms shapes; therein lies the potential. Moldable puddles, colourless, devoid of naught but a clear medium.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
Light brownish **** lip stain to match the season,
Gold eye liner to make my brown eye color lighter,
Concealer and foundation to even out the skin tone,
bronze pink blush to add a bit of color and define my cheek bones,
Medium brown eyebrow pencil to perfect my eyebrows,
A stripped black and tan shirt with a brown scarf, blue jeans and black boots;
Hair is in a delicate curly updo so that my face gets more attention,
Burberry perfume to bring a soft delicate trail of her aroma,
my make up looks natural yet it adds color and defines the beautiful features of my face.
I do this not to cover my flaws,
not because I am insecure,
not for attention,
Simply because I want to pamper myself.
simply because I deserve to look pretty.
simply because I want to be as beautiful on the outside that I am on the inside.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
Communication/ medium of the mind
Improper transfer; difficult time;
Gears and pistons fire steadily
Words are formed and jump out readily
Filtered or not; good or bad
A possible high, or impossible sad
An idea new, bright, and free
A rain cloud of dark, of which you can see
The freedom erupts! The face celebrates
The storm corrupts, the eyes retaliate
A perilous game played (by two) together
An exchange we somehow all get through
A skill we improve with each Endeavour
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
Breathe in and blow everything out of proportion
A manic artist versus the abstract composition
In my head this all looked as perfect as imagination
The challenge was blending the line between fantasy and reality
To get the inner critic to agree
Worlds colliding this one into the next
Dreams manifested to the forefront
of a visionary gone inside himself
Throwing myself against the walls of my mind
In an attempt to think outside the box.
Even in our own heads they've got us on lockdown
With the chemical constraints constricting creativity
These straightjackets of sorts
Straightening out the free-thinkers
A fourth wall broken
Pretentions are high
On the artist's plane
Subjectively selling ourselves out to a shallow medium
The mainstream
The water we should be walking on
We're drown out in.
Drawn into the background of the bigger picture.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
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Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 3:10 AM UTC
I've lost a battle
Within my soul
My mind is unsettle
Forgot about my goal
Now trying to revive
To recollect and recall
The medium to survive
Before another fall
The pressure is intense
From my own peers
My heart goes in pretense
Hiding all my fears
Night brings in dark thoughts
To harm myself again with pains
Destined to fight these lots
But my hands are soaked with stains
Blood, it is mixed with ink
As I write on these walls
Drawing up my insanity link
That's when I heard the calls
Ambu sirens squeak the street
Someone rushes in my room
Gives me anesthesia as a greet
But time kicked me to my doom...
©sim
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC
I simply cannot wait,
until the internet
turns public favor
against religion.
In its place,
the medium that
enables globalization
will exalt science.
We will not fear
being wrong.
Instead,
we will embrace
skeptical thinking,
and live according to
a collective consensus
that is based in truth,
and not in fear.
The problem lies
not with your
personal connection
to the cosmos,
but with the
established doctrine
orchestrated by the elite.
Parables and allegory
twisted by the desperation
of power hungry men.
Stories that offer
reasonable moral lessons,
but are mistakenly perceived
to be literal truth.
Religion continues to
justify acts of prejudice
and violence,
in the name of
storybook characters.
We must rise above
our iron age fairy tales.
Heed the positive lessons,
relinquish our fear of death,
and learn to exist
with an open mind.
Survival depends not
on who is the strongest
or who has the best story,
but rather upon a species
willingness and capacity
to adapt and modify
their behavior.
Science is our tool.
It can save us
from ourselves.
It is a collective enterprise
based upon critical analysis
and the constant pursuit of the
cold, hard truth.
We should not fear
what we discover.
For knowledge can be
spiritually fulfilling.
The real beauty of truth
based upon empirical evidence,
is that even if you do not want
to believe it,
it remains true.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
I was in trouble
And oh boy did I know it
I came home drunk last night
the hangover showed it
As I crawled out of bed, headache splitting my eyes
I saw my wife with that "I love you but I'm going to **** you" vibe,
but she held it in and on her face a look of concern was her guise
I hurled for about an hour
then my stomach settled down
I looked for my wife
but she was nowhere to be found
I drank some water, and soon after hit the floor
before I slipped into unconsciousness
I saw my wife come through the door
I woke up, and took in my surroundings
I was in a dark , medium sized room
caged in, and the floor was concrete..
And in walked my wife, with a crop and a corset on that hourglass body, she looked ready for a pounding
I wondered.. what the hell was going on?
how did she know I wanted to try this...
when did I let it on?
She walked into the room, I was tied to the bed,
but before whacking me, she surveyed me instead
She walked slowly around me
My eyes drinking in her features,
She whacked me in my chest and said
Look here boy, I'm going to tease you
She slid the corset down, showing one ****** off,
I was now hard where I once was soft
She licked herself slowly
Me getting aroused all the more
I knew my wife was the experimental type
but even she didn't know what was in store
She slid those ******* down
My God she was so wet
She slid her finger inside and said
"Nope, you can't have this yet"
I shook with anticipation. Pleading with her through my eyes
She remained adamant and continued weaving an arousing web, all truth here, I can't tell any lies.
She slid my pants off my legs
And threw them to the floor
She got on top of me and yelled
today you're my personal manwhore!
with that I found myself inside,
bouncing on my cxck
I had never seen her this aggressive
it came off as quite a shock
After an hour and hundreds of welts later
it Appeared she was done with me
that's when she layed next to me and whispered
"Happy Anniversary"!
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
Spirits may come spirits may go.
The only talk to those they know.
Those who have a lending ear and listen to the others here.
Usually grey haired old bags with 20 cats and 40 ****
But Anna isn't quite the same she's not what visitors expect.
She greets each one with a smile.
But their eyes can't see they miss by miles!
Instead the look upon her chest, for what a smashing pair of *******
I even think the spooks just come to take a peak at her ***
Imagine that a ghost on top with an enormous supernatural ****
Slid between her silky legs until she screams and begs and begs.
A medium she thought it was, in fact it was an XL ****
A frenzy in the reading room as more arrive to see her moan.
It's like a wiken **** now, at 44 she's in her prime.
I wonder who will "come" next time.
The psychic circle all a gasp, are playing with their mortal tackle.
Who would have thought she wore a basque, underneath a witches tac.
Now its like a wanking club, spooks and mortals all a tug.
finally she howls with delight.
Another soul has seen the light!
So remember when you see her pass check her **** and little *** imagine she's on top of you in stockings basque and heels to.
Though one thing you should bare in mind...
Unless your dead forget it mate!
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
Pizza--the only I want to poor my feelings onto
Because when I think of its filling capacity--
Its carb-heavy, fat drenched, and sugary-savory goodness--
I honor the people who continue the artisinal craft.
Pizza--it's the food for all hungers.
It fills you with energy when you're high,
Just after a win with a cheery, rowdy gang of five.
It's the traditional topping on the pie.
Pizza--All and everything, when the time calls.
When the emptiness cannot be filled,
Let it be filled with years of associations.
All in good company, Pizza, my best friend.
So I met a new person today--quiet and resourceful,
She was counting her inventory,
Solving a problem set or learning a new trick.
I barged in while she put aside her life for mine.
She said, "What may you have, sir?"
"A medium with pepperoni," I said, "and linguica, please".
That was all that's said as she carried on her fees.
"That'll be $18.05," and a shot of guilt charged me.
Pizza, though poor my feelings how expensive the taste!
When, just then, she collected the money
The pizza was all too simply done and I was on my way.
I was the one left, saying, " Well, enjoy your weekend!"
But as I drove and the pizza aromatized,
Neither she nor I were free from capitalized.
A self-disciplined pizza artist, stripped of her dough,
Like the boy who made chocolate with a molinillo.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 2:40 AM UTC
Both latter and former, contrary and congruent
Neither gas nor solid, the river moves fluid.
No end and no beginning, just water moving… swimming…
A formless former that is a powerful latter
Contradiction through symmetry and space within matter
Passively energetic as potential becomes kinetic
Transparently reflective and silently phonetic
Thermally dynamic and fluidly frantic
The waters maintain a static chaos through mathematical mechanics.
Mechanically architected and architecturally mechanic
Water seems the perfect medium for analysis of a dynamic.
Dynamic existence and persistent resistance
Statically chaotic seems the architect’s insistence.
Equilibriomatic, with addition subtractive
Empirical measures fail to analyze the passive.
What simply is, simply is… Invincible to mimicry or microcosmic reenactment.
Experimental methods seek to unify the synonymous
Attempting to prove the objective with a subjective hypothesis.
Learn from the water, let its metaphor be imminent….
For the divine externality lies not without, but within it.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
Seduced
by the
school
shooter
singing
siren
songs
of
shotgun
blows
to the heart beat
of the wet American dream.
It's the human interest
horror allegory
The hero doesn't even get
15 minutes
But the shadow has
got a gun fetish
Counting bullets as
They're counting blessings,
numbered 1-27
3x his pump action
Light 'em up
***** 'em out
Some head-sick self-entitled
monster in a mask
on a mission of mass destruction
Cashed in on their
little tax deductions
The most sacred snuffed out
before the light could become them
It's the darkness that dominates
As the dragon **********
Witch inside
The mind
displacing emotions
away from the art of
living
loving
and losing
You're the submissive
Ascend the divine madness
or find yourself in shackles
in the machinery.
Humming
hypnotizing
hymns
of conformity
Another one's lost his mind
Descended
And the scapegoat
is mental illness
We all know,
The media is the medium
is the message
The subliminal secret passage
to the shared skewed subconscious
Planting ideas of bloodshed
Like evidence in the
Bodies of specific demographics
Demonize
Pack the prisons
Capitalize
And cut the blood losses
Here we are now
Hopeless
It makes for great entertainment
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC