Odysseus needs a job he calls pima community college art department chairperson sends her his resume she does not respond after a week he catches her on phone she says he lacks proper credentials laughs to himself his whole life never worked lucrative or reputable position gets job working at thrift store wacky group of coworkers customers store frequently smells like public latrine job expires after 7 weeks he gets better paying job working at record exchange Odysseus always loved music everyday he learns new artist or band his coworkers are at least half his age they pester him about being slow on keyboard he never learned to type neither he nor his generation could have foreseen future would revolve around keyboard he plods on register keys people smile politely kids he works with fly fast making many keyboard mistakes November 29 2001 george harrison dies of cancer he is 58 years old Odysseus recognizes he is from past world different era of contrasting standards ‘80’s behavior is totally unbefitting let alone ‘60’s beliefs it is 2002 and one badly chosen word is sure to send someone flying off the handle he watches his language carefully co-workers mostly born in 1980’s grew up in 1990’s they live indifferent to hopelessness he struggles to bear none of them believe in higher power music is their religion he wonders what their visions concerns for humanity are? they seem addicted to consumption as if it is end in itself he questions what is hidden at root of their absorption? loneliness? despair? apathy? absence of vision? where is their rage against social conversion current administration? he warns them about homeland security act privacy infringement increased government secrecy power they shrug their shoulders why aren’t they looking for answers? why don’t they dissent? do they care where world is going? he realizes they will have to learn for themselves few coworkers read literature or know painters philosophy their passions are video games marijuana “star wars” most of them are extremely bright more informed than he often Odysseus needs to ask questions they know answers to right off the bat he is like winsome uncle who puts up with their unremitting teasing “hey you old hippie punk rocker get you fiber in today? stools looking a little loose! peace out old man” in peculiar way he finds enough belonging he so desperately needs they tell him stories about their friends *** addictions eating disorders futile deaths he is bowled over by how young they are to know such stuff job includes health insurance which is something he has not had since Dad was alive having some cash flowing in he buys laptop computer with high-speed connection cell phone trades in toyota for truck opens crate of writings he abandoned in ‘80’s begins to rewrite story sits blurry eyed in front of computer screen his motivation has always been to tell truth as he knows it he wonders what ramifications his labor will bring positive or negative results? he guesses his story will sound like children’s fable in stark brutality of distant future october 2002 3 week ****** spree terrorizes maryland virginia  district of columbia 10 people killed 3 critically wounded police believe white van responsible october 24 man and 17-year-old boy arrested in blue chevy caprice juvenile is shooter assailants linked to string of random murders including unsolved shooting of man at golf course in tucson Odysseus mentions incident at work speaks of prevailing terror madness in america co-workers kid tell him he is crazy “did you see a white van parked outside the store Odys?” they seem desensitized to increasing national atmosphere of anger panic or perhaps they are overwhelmed by weight trauma of modern life lie after lie prevailing  havoc slaughter make for dull numbness in world they know suicide is compelling option december 22nd 2002 joe strummer dies from heart failure at age 50 Odysseus’s eyes wet he adored the clash everything they stood for loved joe strummer and mescaleros he plays “global a go-go” over and over listens sings along with first track “johnny appleseed” march 2003 president bush launches attack against iraq united states seems drunk with “shock and awe” zealous blind patriotism many people politicians countries around globe question unproven line of reasoning saddam hussein possesses “weapons of mass destruction” Odysseus gripes “not another **** vietnam” record company allows employees to check out take home used product Odysseus stopped watching movies in 1980’s he has lots of catching up to do particularly likes “natural born killers” “american history x” “american ******” “fight club” “way of the gun” “******” “king of new york” “basquiat” “frida” “*******” “before night falls” “quills” “requiem for a dream” “vanilla sky” “boys don’t cry” “being john malkovich” “adaptation” “kids” “lost in translation” “25th hour” “28 days later” “monster” “city of god” “gangs of new york” “**** bill” list goes on perfect circle becomes his favorite band followed by tool lacuna coil my morning jacket brian jonestown massacre flaming lips dredg drive-by truckers dropkick murphys flogging mollies nofx stereophonics eels weakerthans centro-matic califone godspeed you black emperor magnetic fields fiery furnaces dresden dolls smog granddaddy calexico howie gelb sufjan stevens warren haynes dax riggs john vanderslice alejandro escovedo sean paul elephant man bjork p. j. harvey ani difranco aimee mann cat power sophie b. hawkins kathleen edwards mia doi todd kimya dawson regina spektor carina round neko case fiona apple nina nastasia beth gibbons mirah rasputina dr. dre talib kweli immortal technique murs slug atmosphere trick daddy eazy-e tricky list goes on october 21 2003 elliott smith commits suicide stabbing 2 wounds into his chest Odysseus thinks about music when jimi hendrix stood up at woodstock deconstructing national anthem on guitar it took courage when punk emerged with ugly screechy sounds attempting to divorce itself from melodious harmonies of 1970s complacent crosby stills nash  the dead kennedys and *** pistol did not pander to conventional commercial success what they performed were desperate gutsy songs trying to reclaim music rock’n’roll is no longer about inventing instead it imitates its glorious past hip-hop and rap come nearest to risking rebellion but are caught in gangsterism infantile self-adulation no longer does music offer vision of what is or could be instead it conjures looping escapism from hopelessness of modern life he continues working at record shop for several years store contains every genre of music cinema he grows weary of retail sales weary of higher-ups constantly changing rules dictating what to do head manager is manipulative drama queen thrives on crisis once in private admits stealing from company Odysseus nods not knowing what to say head manager works Odysseus hard keeps him down atmosphere of conspiracy betrayal hang at start of each day assistant manager routinely taunts berates bullies teases regularly calls Odysseus “dumb-****” or “****-up” other times laughs after goading Odysseus to flinch eventually bully backs off and they become friends retail pushes Odysseus to brink of misanthropy corporation requires all employees to exercise overt courteousness while serving a public of disrespectful gang bangers demanding “show me black market brotha lynch mac dre why ya godda keep dat **** behind da counter? dat’s ****** up hey old man i ain’t got all day” it always amazes him when shoplifter is caught with product stuffed down his pants thief blatantly states “i didn’t do it i don’t know how that got there” thanksgiving through christmas to new years is most swarming stressful he feels like automaton greeting customer scanning product looking at screen to see if price agrees with product typing money amount counting money into drawer counting money out handing change to customer handing customer product receipt next customer cockroach capitalism packs of masses line up in endless stream of needs stupid remarks job also involves trade appraising condition value resale probability of cds dvds video games tapes vhs vinyl news of  iraq war gets dismal mounting civilian casualties suicide bombers hostages beheadings beginning of 2004 reports of torture ****** psychological abuse **** ****** ****** of prisoners at abu ghraib prison guantanamo bay white house cover-ups denials growing insurgency increasing u.s. body count other costs he thinks about men and women who are so much braver than him then comes re-election and lavish republican parties parades cheney rumsfeld tom delay and whole regime smirk portentously on tv none of it makes sense anymore “we the people of the united states” what does it mean? the dreams and aspirations of his generation have long since faded away he is citizen of forgotten past current world is barbaric place he barely recognizes there are real pirates with machetes rocket launchers on the seas big drug corporations hiding harmful findings kidnapped children abandoned children crooked politicians corruption at every level of society horrifying stories daily ******* priests slave markets extreme heinous cruelties abruptly everyone is acknowledging society is worsening life is not the same he does not understand people and certainly does not understand america or the world he remembers when all could be so good modern existence has turned everything into madness what happened to lessons of history? it is as if Odysseus fell asleep and when he woke everything is changed he is mistaken about what he thinks he knows feels pity for people america pity disgust sorrow he misses his dog

It was a little insane but who
Am I to judge?
You See ....my friend had a theory
how our world came to where it was

So as he told it to me, is how ill tell it
it to you, but not caring if ur believing
But simply I am just repeating
As I found it oddly intriguing

So, it all starts where a society of
of real gods all live
And their kids are subject to
Learning about their power& gifts

And as an assignment school kids
Were told they had to create reality
On a fictitious planet where it'll
inhabit a species with mortality

Using the knowledge you were taught
In science Eco system building
Using philosophy, math. Art anything
You've learned can help your vision

Now the rules of such a creation
We're to calculate things right
Cause once it's created it's living
And we don't extinguish life

So the teacher explained that if
You create and it goes off course
You can only watch it destruct for
example if u Forget a food source

If you forget to make the
physical bodies of the beings
To be properly resilient enough
to match the environmental skeems

You are forced to watch in horror
As the death u caused slowly comes
And only then will you know
What it takes to be a god, and no one

Will have similar projects so no ones
right or wrong that's why you create
It's imaginative and limitless
As long as u properly calculate

So only a week later long before
the deadline when projects are due
one student who made a planet called earth,
that reflected green and blue

And he asked his teacher if he
Could induce the process of creation
Knowing well, that inducing creation comes
after due date&presentation;

So the teacher replied that
Normally he would say no
But ill be honest im curious to see
if u finished only starting 7 days ago

But before you do. I hope you know
The ethical obligation
That comes with creation, don't
U wanna re work calculations?

Cause they need a way to breath
And have a way that their body
Can self remove or evacuate
And the student said like a hobby

I loved I recalculated made
Adjustment after adjustment
So if I'm missing something I won't
Find it cuz I can't see nothing.

So the teacher said go ahead
And the student left that night
To induce the roots that
Wi grow the fruit of life

So time passes and it's time
To present to the classes
This student presented last&when;
he showed earth all of them laughed

And since there is no wrong or right
The student was puzzlesd
As his classmates started asking
Questions so flaws shoe but subtle

"Why would free will have a need"
When u only need to program
The nucleus to force morality
Now it's on you when your plans

Are wrong, but the student
Explained that he could not plan
Like most others did cuz there are
Copious variables when they can

Make their own decisions and
Be there own gods
So I only gave them
the power and respect that we all got

Cause most of your planets are built
By plans, predetermined by control
Where as mine gives them the tools
Without manipulating them wit goals

Only the fear of survival and a
Heightened consciousness so
well aware before acting on wrong
as instinct warns, so they know

What they should do, and would you
Want a program instead of intuition
Robbed of the right to make decision
cuz in my Opinion that is no vision

of someone creating something livin
So overlooked my pessimism
So existence wit decision prevents
planet prison, think of a mechanism

Something designed to mimic
Life mearly living a planned cycle
So most of your plants are more
Mechanisms then life cause vital

Is the presence of survival so
It can serve as a reminder
That recklessness has consequence
To show control of what transpires

Is there's and with this I moved
On well aware it could end
Badly but sadly the same free will
I gave as a gift could curse them

And that's when his teacher said
Class congratulate earth
As I've never once had a student
Factor in free will which births

Authenticity of life otherwise
Your planet is a replication
This projects meaning is
built around the fact that your creation

Wouldn't really be a creation as
A school would never allow
A class of students to cause
creation with no knowledge of how

Uncontrollable true creation is
And that no creations perfected
And bearing the pain of knowing
Something exists in pain directed

By your creation so be patient
Don't spawn life just to see the odd
So the lesson,its dangerous
playing god so it's important u be a god

That's when the teacher dismissed
The class but asked his student
That created earth to stay after
Class so we can decide who is

Gonna break it to my bosses that
You created life
And when they were alone
teacher said plz fill me in and shed light

On how you got everything cohesive
I had to write a new thesis
Many times and felt so blind even
After schooling to breed this

Planet the way you did, how do
They breath explain
So he said out of the choices I had
For elements the easiest to maintain

So it's constant and remains
Is to have what's needed to breath
Surrounding them and that way the
wind acts to spread what they need

So all I had to do was create
an Eco system that's supported by
The same thing but used in a cycle
Opposite to another, so .....in my

case, earth is filled with What the
dominant and sub-dominant life needs
Just like a fish needs to be in water
Earth uses oxygen as its need

So upon designing plant life a tree
And other plants breath
Out the oxygen the eco system needs
so I hope the environment we

Left to them is taken care of,
So the teacher nods and says
One more question which makes
Me wonder if ur advanced or lead

By luck but what was your
thought process when programming how
A basic nucleus functions you
Added so much detail so now

I'm asking why greed, anger and
Other emotional gauges got
So complicated when these emotions
Develop in evolution with thought

So the student replied, ill be honest
I created earth to reflect me
So now I'm more bonded to my
Creation and empathy from me

Would lack if in fact I failed
To know how it felt
To be lonely. Scared or angry
And despite how there all felt

They make us constantly aware
Of ourselves leading to improvement
On a scale more significant so
They would have to be stupid

To not notice with how complicated
They are by instinct and emotion
That if the environment gets bad
Or poverty is had there's a notion

That nags inside them knowing
Something's Wrong and they'll fix it
But ill let u know as time passes
What happens no I'm sorry it isn't

Allowed to go with you. There's
Many issues, and unwritten law
All creations must be stored with
The proper personnel who log

A the findings as some bindings
Have taught us In the past
That evolution after creation has an
Outcome that is worth to track

Each creation and note the
Changes and evolutions as they
May hold the answer To a question
We won't ask til later so I say

You deserve a pat on the back
But we may very well be introuble
As its my job to make sure u don't
Stumble upon it but befuddled

Am I at how you factored In key
elements we purposely leave out
So when your creations crash it's
No harm some as the lessons passed

Cause reproductive systems are
Graphed and added to the math
When your much older in university
Although they teach in class

To give the female of a species
The means to self conceive
With only eggs and the fathers
DNA but still you achieved

A sustainable process, and
If as a novice u can do this
There's no telling what your future
Creations will teach us, but with

All of this comes responsibility
So lets go call the authorities
And let them know we are in
Possession of an unlicensed piece

Of science and be proud. That
U didn't just play god
You weighed the responsibility
And took well measured steps not

Even taught to you, and even
If earth is not with u
It still reflects how complex you as a
God think,so lets hope earth will too

Cuz any misanthropy is misplaced
As imperfections reflexion
is why conception of perfection
Leaves a contradicting impression

Cuz the same section that's stressin
Abnormalities exist
Is the same formality that makes it
normal so this paradox insists

That something is what it isn't
And it isn't what it is
Like love and hate, a perfect life
needs a nature where antonyms sit

And in essence this is why your
world leaves me impressed
But most ppl dont understand this
Theory and will judge it a mess.....

they say you'll never forget
where you were on 9/11
i was nine
i sat in the kitchen
and watched the television
play out the violence hour after hour
my child-like mind conflated the Two Towers
in Tolkien's literary fantasy
with these acts of misanthropy  
and i was taught at the dinner table
that very evening
that all of life could be reduced
to capital letters defining a
cosmic struggle of Good vs. Evil

and yet
regardless of their affiliation
on this defunct
political spectrum of
left left
left right left
politicians canonize a legacy of
injustice and oppression and
in order to suppress
democratic expression
they propagate the notion
that dissent is treason

because the wars we wage are blessed
by the sagely insight of rich old men
who sit safely in mansions protected by
picket fences as white as their skin
while they play off our emotions and
turn us into thoughtless sheep
content to stomach the whims of
politicians propagating vengeance

i will speak this out even
when my voice shakes
because i have seen the hypocrisy
of this war on terror
that relies on terror
to cultivate more terrorists
in order to perpetuate the notion
that Orwell posited

war is peace
freedom is slavery
ignorance is bliss
isn't it

in my naïveté
i rejected the reality of
torture and murdered children for
i nursed a secret hope that
despite the pictures and videos
that served as empirical evidence
we were still somehow
the good guys and
they were the bad guys

but Americans rained white
phosphorous on Fallujah
dropped the world's first
and hopefully last
atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki
we toppled democratically elected socialists
whose interests betrayed our self-serving agendas
cultivating a policy of extra-judicial assassination
regime change is the name of the game
just ask the CIA
they'd tell you
business is booming but
then they'd have to **** you

so i switched off my TV screen
and picked up books
i read Slaughterhouse-V
and treasured the way Vonnegut
looks at the lives of even
bees and butterflies as valuable
intoning "so it goes"
every time a living thing dies

i read O'Brien's
recollections
of Vietnam
a month later
he said that
like white lies
tall tales and
fishermen’s yarns
every war story
has a bit of truth

and i've seen the proof
in the photographs of
Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay
in the aftermath of drone strikes
that left pieces of kids scattered
across the desert sands of foreign lands

i see the toxic side-effects of
systemic violence in the eyes
of homeless veterans suffering
on the streets with PTSD
a flicker of fear livens a
deadened gaze at the sound of
every backfiring engine
as if they're a thousand miles away
on some distant shore

betrayed by their own
government once again
a Purple Heart is
a death sentence
when there are 22
military suicides a day
thanks for your service
now die in silence

like bad religion the phrase
war crime is rather redundant
and i testify not because i
aim to disrespect the
men and women in uniform
on the contrary

when i say
**** war
it is because i
cherish every brother
and every sister
who has perished in the
churning gears of conflict

they shoved tall tales of hope
for a collegiate education
and far-flung travel
down our throats
just sign here
right along the dotted line

we want you
to march into hellfire
we want you
to send missiles into
tiny huts and villages
tracking cell phone signals
we want you
to sit down
shut up and
just do as you're told

to every fallen human who
has been sent off to fight on
behalf of this
or any other
corrupt nation
i sincerely apologize
for not taking to the streets to protest
a vitriolic ideology

i regret filing my taxes
when 54% or more of our budget goes to
military expenditures so they could
stick an M-16 in your hands
and ship you off to die for abstract
and so often arbitrary phrases like
freedom and justice for all

you were robbed of your liberty
by a capitalist system that seeks profit
like a false prophet for
bank accounts soar in times of war  
and in my apathy i hammered
nails into your coffin

and i pride myself on  
being an anti-militaristic
non-violent anarchist because
i don't hate soldiers
if i did i would remain
silent and apathetic
and let the government
abuse its youth

i celebrate humanity
regardless of ethnicity and creed
which is precisely why i despise
this system that sacrifices
generation after generation for
conquest and imperial notions

pray tell
will we turn from the
error of our ways
wake up from
this terrorist daze
before it's too late
and say

the State can try to
whitewash history but
i refuse to let them
brainwash me

and by the way
there are flies in the basement,
no doubt, the
result of passionless blood-letting and
christ-sharp animalistic screams (that scatter across places)
where ingrown genital hairs take presidence over ionized howls of ecstasy-
where flies buzz around and die, worshiping the patchwork
row of halogen lamps
that get so hot as to scorch the hairy legs that spread apart wide just to touch the
sacred flesh of incandescence
-these that ****** reckless photons into the tepid air like rotting meat
and wants them to **** the last drops of electromagnetic ******* from their poems of illumination.  
meanwhile
i can be found numbing myself into comfort and complacency-
the phosphenes of faustian inadequacy taxing my eyes
with the vaporous waking that seeps through the vacant-
but i knew it was real when you pulled down your tattered jeans, exposing your backside to my interpretations of perfection and
allowing me the liberty of *******.
i have seen you scream.
and breathed your sigh of servitude.
these wet ******* and the tangy juices of anticipation dripping down your thighs becomes reality
and reality consumes.
and the world becomes conscious awareness.
and there is nothing to be known except this.
alleviant zero of the cyclic
and the 60-cycle hum of stagnation-
frustration.
we know that tomorrow
the angel-headed hipsters
will be basking in the instagram-induced solar radiation,
supine on the neatly cut grass,
donning their leather jackets and skin-tight corduroys. thick-rimmed-plastic sunglasses
obscure their frail vision and allow them to distance themselves just enough from the sunsoaked oasis to call themselves "cool"
and i would hardly know to recognize you amongst the candorous chatter about humanity and the existence of love
and i would hardly know to call you god
nor to look you in the face and tell you to dream a thought unthreatened by sanity
or to bring you to tears by means of dexterity.
i like my body for what its worth
but i did not try to stop them when they bound and ***** the waitress.
i stood and watched as those gentle agnostics tore apart her lacy blouse
and pushed thumbtacks through her ******* just to watch her scream
and she liked it.
when they held onto her skeleton ribs and hipless hips
and she liked it,
they tasted the *** with cinnamon tongues,
received the grace of an angel as pierced ******* and clitoral stimulation
listless yelps filled the tender air like howling phantoms-
little ms. misanthropy
with her
disposable epiphany
self-proclaimed teenage sage
with mistakes to make her wise
i try not to understand
and then i dreamt of forgiveness.
my days of holding grudges and killing mice are over
and when we don’t kiss
i can smile.
and did you want me to define you through destruction?
-martyrdom and madness?
her bracelet and studded pieces to decorate
only obliteration of expectation
gives my finger the feel of tendinitis
i have come to love things less
how i long to just let bay, my leaning lip
my wrist bent back, asks, how much more can be done here?
i guess it's a little too late to walk away.
endless mind-numbing repetition,
was it for the retribution?
or perhaps reassurance or the infliction of pain.
misdirected meaning-
bluebirds.
and blue-black bruises on your arms.
wrinkles.
from falling feathers and
do you hear the echoes of chains rattling in the cellar,
or was it just a love song gone wrong
alivient zero.
why do we have to be beautiful rebels
we leaned to love with our shoes on.
listening to the stereo silence-  
runaway gems, poetic outcasts
leaderless young lovers
she was a young poet
but her tv ran out of new channels
idols were made here, dreams shattered, and promises left unbroken
but her *******, not left untouched

unblessed
i can taste it in your tears
i can hear it in your voice

bless these tiny fingertips and her lips are soft.
her skin is a whisper.
i will leave no inch of flesh-

unsacrificed.


her wounds bled with the words,

*you begin
to
understand-
all of me

To use a quote that encapsulates my feelings right now,
“I'm tired of this back-slappin' "isn't humanity neat" *******. We're a virus with shoes.”
― Bill Hicks

The Poem

Originally I thought I suffered from irritability,
irritability of the human race.
Then I realised whilst looking at my face, it was hate.
I told the Doctor I'd thought of suicide, then realised
I wanted to commit mass homicide.
Become a hermit.
Mankind, womankind I hate you, people think me nice, fair,
and kind, I know the truth, I am a *******, so you must be too.
We as a race need a cull.
Do I like the human race? No. What's to like?
I even dislike people that purport to be friends.
I intricately step my way through this world of vermin.
We defile what is beautiful and true, hate because we
are taught to. Ruin, start wars, cause pain, then moan about the rain!
We as a race are quite crudely put, a pile of ****,
but even **** has purpose, a role.
What role do we have? To hate one another?
If so please make it equal and adhere to political correctness,
by that I mean, Hate Everyone equally.

Pink cherry blossoms fall like shedding tears
Gently caressing the earth as they land.
To me, it's just decay like rotting flesh
Of one once loved. Just bones and putrid smells

Idle conversation falling upon your tongue
As your bright eyes exclaim more than words could.
These words die out soon enough and I
Never cared for the company of beauty;
I am but a misshapen wretch beside you

Oh! Friend, lover, fiend and vagrant - sorry,
But I reject it all. My heart closes
Like a fist and all we were fades like
The stones at the foot of Ramses, devoid
Of what we once were; more ghosts than people.

Snows and skies of laughter slowly diminish,
I replace them with silence and apathy.
Soon I forget what was so funny
Nor do I particularly care.

Let's do the math, I pay rent to my dad, gave him every cent I had but not without hoarding a ten for a six pack. I got little class and generally tend to disagree with anyone who utters something asinine near me. Clearly I have some issues with not speaking, watching a blue bird struggle against a telephone wire still squeaking, and peaking, I'm in forest eyes leaking, it's intriguing to me how I can't stop freaking out.

So what? So what? I'm stuck in a rut
Spinning my wheels, coveting *****
That lay around at the beach, not giving a flying ****
So what? So what? Am I broken or breaking, I can't stop shaking but my redemption's in the making, yup.

Slow strut and smash, I'm hovering at the end of my cash, can't find the hidden stash in the back of my bus, feeding cats that tear each other up in my shop, trying to fight the urge to lie down but I can't stop making a fool of myself in good health in hopes that I can finally escape the bible belt, but it seems no matter what kind of life you live, that kinda **** never melts away.

So what? So what? I'm stuck in a rut
Spinning my wheels, coveting *****
That lay around at the beach, not giving a flying ****
So what? So what? Am I broken or breaking, I can't stop shaking but my redemption's in the making, yup

Slip back hard smack to the veins or the ***, no cash so hopefully she digs my eyes and mustache, how crass. Maybe if I pay the right song I'll write the wrong and she'll be back in my bed before long. I need to stop spending time with people better than me, people who can tolerate ******* and pleasantries, because trust me, unless I'm on ecstasy, everything just ends up sounding like half speech to me. Society has always been hard, I'm only starting to pick the world apart, because I'm finally old enough to know I'm deeply alone, but if anyone asks, I feel like I'm right in my zone. I'm home.

So what? So what? I'm stuck in a rut
Spinning my wheels, coveting *****
That lay around at the beach, not giving a flying ****
So what? So what? Am I broken or breaking, I can't stop shaking but my redemption's in the making, yup

I guess it's gonna be better when I'm inside
I guess it's sort of a miracle that I'm alive
I feel a lot better knowing I have a bed
So why do I still feel I'm better off dead?

There are occasions that call for misdemeanor.
There exist instances of philanthropy in selfishness
        i don't have too many good things to say
so i'll just write my little thoughts
        on this little paper
                and call it a day

the barker in charge
is sniffing markers
& the dog's the one
in the shock collar.

good god.
I'll come back

tomorrow.

galapagos, I'm sorry.
rocketship jalopy
wrote a handbook on
banana boat cutthroat
reconnaissance exotica,
abominable
beast of tropic atrophy
broke folk casualty engulfed
in telescopes & TV shows

being monitored thru a monocle
the theatrical apathy & topical misanthropy

can anybody understand me?

Tone radiating hate,
Heed the words against
Humanity.

I am a misanthrope.
Not the fools with empty
Hearts masking open wounds.
Nor the psychotic mind
Seeking pleasure in misery.

Observing, in such a way.
To see the humans scurry like ants.
Stepping on eachother to succeed
In pointless attempt at hollow lives.
Bloodshed, tears and bad jokes.
Do not tell me love is the cure
For it is the cause.

My fondest desire, a world
Without humanity. Purging
Our evil from the sweet earth.
We do not belong here.

It consists of this,
all of it and none
I found solace in that
which I could not hold
but only cherish as fond memoirs
of a terrible moment in time

Never full, never empty
it turned into an addiction
derogation of the unwise, with no premise
bawls and shrieks have no place here
this is silent lucidity capsized
hundreds of expressions explaining one thing
one thing that explains it all

Destination: lost
with no means to propel the self
into a promising new day,
pray tell, what will break down the wall
self loathing and misanthropy creates
alone in a crowd, here, but far away
none of it is that important anyway

The smile stealer, grin eater
mood killer, running short of edification
It's never alone; in bed with misery
the smallest things distress
the grandest of thoughts
wanting reprieve, searching escape
as if you could
die and stain pride?

No

Cowardice is lower than this
not worse, just pathetic
but please, ignore my terrible advocacy,
everything is half off today
I'm feeling generous.

While capable of achieving abstract thought of the highest order, the human brain tends to function best when compartmentalizing data into manageable pieces. For example, the state in which one resides is useful in a macro view of geolocation, but largely useless when it comes to ordering a pizza. As such, our species developed streets, postal codes, cardinal directions, and a whole host of determining factors to describe your home with enough clarity to ensure your disc of cheesy goodness arrives safe and sound.

By this same token, we break down and discuss music. For the most part, all humans can say that they enjoy music to some degree or another.  But for those whose passion extends beyond using the radio for background noise, there’s a point where the specificities of what we absorb aurally merges with part of our socio-cultural identity. Whether this is reflected in your sudden urge to wear strapped sandals and listen to Grateful Dead live bootlegs while slack-lining or constantly refreshing a subreddit so you know which warehouse space is hosting a tech-house set until dawn, the most passionate amongst us eventually become that which we absorb. These things become fractalized versions of ourselves. After all, someone who has never had their heart broken probably won’t appreciate Elliot Smith as much as the rest of us.

It is on the fringes of these musical personalities that we find *******. Combining the most aggressive tendencies of metal with the politics and personality of street punk, ******* is an amalgam of all things angry. Exhibiting a neb-tribalism not often seen in other subsets of music, ******* “kids” (Kids can be used to define ages ranging from 13 to 45 depending on context) understand that a sweaty basement filled with people pummeling one another will never become a societal norm. And they revel in the misanthropy.

However, this is not to say that ******* kids are fueled only by rage. From it’s inception in punk scene during the late 1970’s, the entire point of ******* has been to create a community dedicated to supporting one another during our darkest times. Sure that occasionally means punching your friend in the head, but that’s only because we haven’t figured out how to punch the geo-political turmoil of Earth in the head just yet.

Whether extolling the virtues of veganism, Straight Edge, ecocriticism, economic inequality, anti-racist and anti-racist movements, or simply just talking about how alone we can feel inside of our own heads, ******* at it’s best seeks to improve the space husk we’re all floating around on. By virtue of these lofty goals, ******* swiftly takes on a communal nature due to the common belief that we are all united against an existence which does not reflect us. Rob Lind said it best: “*******’s not much. But for some of us, it’s all we’ve got.”

Then one clear morning in December, my father died. And suddenly ******* was all I had left.

Obviously, I still had my siblings and friends. But after all, the ethos of ******* always managed to echo everything my father taught me to believe. Whether that be standing up for someone getting picked on because they’re different, refusing to place trust in authority, or rallying all the other lost souls and building your own society two steps to the left of the mainstream.

So, as an autopsy was being performed to ensure the skin, organs, and long bones of Robert Rathburn’s arms were harvested for donors, I stood in the alleyway of the Nile Theater listening to the bass reverberate through the asphalt as Iniquity, Beg For Life, Troubled, No Altars, and Iron Curtain played to a packed basement below.

Admittedly, this was a show I was supposed to be reviewing, and this piece was also due months ago. However, my time was instead spent shaking hands and hugging people I’ve spent the better part of 20 years building a small, fractured, but loving community with. At the end of the day, I suppose that’s all ******* has ever and should ever be about. Communally channeling the hurt and anger into fists and screams until it stings a little less and the emptiness of the world wanes ever so slightly.

I used to talk about poetry.
Now I just write it.
I used to talk about it,
quote little snippets,
would they pick up on my genius?
...see what I did there,
my crickets?

I used to send poems
to friends that got me,
or needed them.
But the beauty I found in
fitting their lives to mine
was less
an exercise in type.

I used to be approached
by readers with kind words,
and open hearts, poets themselves.

I am poached these days.

I used to be a poet,
to blank stares
and shifting glances
steeped in shame,
I toppled like a tower.

I am hopelessly attracted to grumpiness
                                               impatience
                                               poignancy
                                               eccentricity
                                               introversion
                                               stubbornness
                                               anxiety
                                               misanthropy
                                               frustration
                                               hedonism
                                               vulgarity

How, then, do I define 'imperfection'?

They’re getting younger now, you see
The world’s affecting them too soon
They grow up with such fantasy
And then realize it’s really doom.
The truth: it strikes them swift and hard
And down they fall without a sound
Silent tears and great confusion
Empty hearts in souls have drowned.
Their nation’s pride; what does it bring them?
All religion seems a scam
Curse to the sky in bitter anguish
Screams of “curse it,” “*******,” “****”
Sure, they’ll tamper for a while
***** themselves up mentally
But drugs don’t help escape the fact
The world’s a ****** fallacy
And so then, what’s the point of living?
And is life any good at all?
But of course not, they conclude,
And one by one by ten, they fall.
19, 14, 12, 11,
Children now escape the pain
Bring another to this world: why?
Now it’s clearly all in vain.

we're all armed
with an appliance
of emancipation
we can nurture non-violent
defiance in a
non-compliant ethos of
antiauthoritarian self-reliance

we have the ability to eliminate the
vestiges of imperialism and
dominant dogmas that choke
and impede our creativity and shackle
our imagination to impotent ideologies

fragmented unrealities augmented
by fractures in our psyche
tendrils of theology that prey
upon our fear and exacerbate
conditioned responses that are
at once
unnatural and irrational
and lead
inexorably
to infantile expressions of
regression and fantasies of an
aggression rooted in the
suppression of dissent and
the oppression of dissidents

deities
as impotent
as our terror
of the unknown

by the promise of security and prosperity
a cabal of brutish thugs have erected an
imaginary hierarchy and demanded our
subservient obedience and reverence for
this malfeasant apparatus that leeches
our paychecks and robs all of our dignity
while somehow retaining the illusion of liberty
a delusion that festers like an open wound
a tumorous ulcer oozing foul fluid into our minds
blotting out our capacity for cultivating a
future divorced from misanthropy

so pour kerosene on this fluttering
flame of revolt before it sputters out
if we'd quit looking back and forth at
one another rotting in the gutters
checking to see if we have more to
our name than our sisters and our brothers
we might just muster the courage to overthrow
the vapid and misguided fictions that
divide and segregate us into pawns
trapped in this unending rat race
they've deemed the American Dream

harness the revolutionary tenacity
dormant in humanity's most important *****
infinite potential latent in every molecule
each neuron dancing across synaptic
gaps and fanning the embers of an engine
that gives motion to this evolutionary frame
the human brain is omnipotent

the invisible hand is in my pocket
pilfering everything
and there's nothing i can do
to stop it from robbing me blind

it does not guide it only destroys
personal expression under the
whims of an outmoded model of economics
capitalism
a philosophy that subscribes
to the metaphysical conclusion
that a spiritual malady
plagues every human heart
a harsh chorus that rings like a melody
of triumph in the multi-million dollar
mansions of the 1%

convinced we're born selfish
it seeks to reward us for our own malpractice
an edict predicated on social darwinism
that forestalls the possibility of future charity
as it drowns in the throes
of misanthropy and butchers any hope
of philanthropic community or basic humanity
to vanquish our more maleficent impulses

relegated to paying taxes
to ensure the illusion of security
while our money finances endless
war and police brutality rather than
healthcare or education
they know if they keep us sick and dumb
they can get away with ******

if the population shirks in horror
from the looming specter of terrorism
they can justify ubiquitous surveillance
that robs us of our right to
self-determination but
people should not be afraid of their governments
governments should be afraid of their people

they say we can't be trusted
that this is for our own good
but i'll call their bluff that
bull on Wall St. is full of ****
and like a matador i'll entice it to
lower its horns and charge
when itsjust a hairsbreadth away
i'll turn to one side and let it skewer
the slave-driver raising his whip behind me
that same skulking shadow that turns
veterans into homeless wanderers begging
for loose change in Central Park
a pale horse haunting the aspirations
of college students it
leaves the poor and
oppressed shivering after dark and
overburdens broken backs
god doesn't hold up the world
like Atlas we shoulder the globe

now watch us shift the weight

brought down by the people you tried to suppress
this is not some petty expression of vengeance
but the rallying cry of a dream deferred
exploding out to meet your injustice
mark my words

we're taking over the world

The underlings stare
In submissive awestruck
Subjugation in landmine-filled
Landfills, are stuck
In the trenches, the feces
The carcass-strewn muck
Where the vermin-spawn ****
As they're taught how to work
And to fend for themselves
Like the Fall of Dunkirk
As the imminent doomsday device overhead
Incapacitates them
As mere prey to a web
Of a global dominion
Ambition connection
Subconscious hive-mind
Buzzing out the objection
And phobia-spreading
Pandemic misanthropy
Greed in disguise
Subsidizing atrocity
Not for me,

I am
The justified treason
The reason the man-hunters
Close open season
The cease-fire peacekeeper
Proliferation
The water war's rising
Desertification
An MIA runaway
AWOL defector
Still haunting the tombs of detente
Like a spectre
With what I assure
Mutually in the end
When I send go-aheads
On the ICBMs
And avenge the dependent expended
Caught in
This crossfire for-profit
Arms race it has been

From the front door of my home
     there is not much to see;
Puddles scatter the corrugated soil,
     reflecting back the image of me.

The houses all sit silent and still
     as if they could've been happier someday;
Paint peeling, shedding faded colours;
     I can only watch their slow decay.

The people in them live like spectres
     who I always see but never talk to;
Is it naive that I fear getting to know them?
     (I still like to think they're interesting too.)

The wind whips though the snowy grass,
     speckled white from my house's dead skin;
And I retain the same composure as them,
    trying to mimic the norms of my neighbours just to fit in.

From the front door of my home
     there is not much to see;
I lift my head just to find everything
     reflecting back the image of me.

Oh great divinity, your misapprehencion is our fault
fertile land, infected by our filthy corpses
and if we are thirsty we should imbibe our own blood
if we are ravenouz, we should guzzle our own flesh
oh great sage, your shame is our suffering
we should not peer to the sky and glance the stars
we should not crave for the warmth of the sun, but just to blaze till ashes.
how pitiful, exalted for banal reasons, always starving for love (if there's it),
afraid of his own shadow
rain of tears tainted our spirit and that unpleasant smell is our putrefaction
we are nothing but particles between the infinite
and we thought that "The only" is just shining for us

there is no grace in our words, we fornicate with the Saints,
reduce them to a disease and spit in their bones
dark, you should look into our hearts
and you'd see the darkness like a dream

We would violate a body of faith if they promised salvation
we could drain our blood for pleasure
Oh great one, is not humble enough to die for you
I wish I live over and over in agony for you.

I slam the glass on the table,
it shatters. The simplicity of action
and consequence allows me a smile.
The bartender knows I am drunk.
I do not mind. I clean up the mess,
beg off forgiveness, order another.
He is skeptical but the tab is open
and the money is good. He has two
kids at home, he does not need to
babysit here as well. I am spilling
down my shirt but I don’t mind.
The drink is good. The TV is on
but it shows nothing. It is too late
to have anything worth any attention.
I should have left earlier, perhaps, but
there is a measure of freedom in being
at a bar alone. She is in bed. Someone
else’s if I am lucky, mine if I am not.
It has proven to be an even coin toss
these days. I look at no one.
I talk to no one. There are few others
in the bar. I finish the drink
and look up. The bartender
shakes his head. I scowl but
underneath I understand. I am
someone’s mess to clean up.
I do not mind. I stand.
Fingers gripping the table seeking
equilibrium. Take a look around,
and stumble toward a man I don’t
know, much larger than I. There are
a few things I decide to let slip that
I have heard about him and his mother.
He doesn’t appreciate my honesty.
I throw the first punch and none more.
I apologize for bleeding on the floor.
He splits the skin in the corner of my eye.
I laugh and another snaps my nose.
The concrete feels good against my
wet cheek and I decide this may not be
a terrible place to rest.

Energy radiates and traces my body with celestial tones
I am more alive than I’ve ever been
when surrendering to awe and wonder
the same way my younger self fearlessly did

something about that glimmer hasn’t left yet, may never leave
memories still have flavors to me
mornings with a lake of flakes in my bowl
or years and years later when a fried hangover cure restores me
each month and its esculent flashbacks are a part of me
a cell in the skin
a beaten feather in the wing

something about the glimmer hasn’t left yet
the Earth is still new
and discoveries never expire:
new scenery
new explorations
new chronicles in the cinema
new kindred spirits
new waves of audio
new therapeutic solitudes
all balancing out the
new captivities
new mistakes
new mediocrity
new unhealthy solitudes
and more

until the body is a home base of homeostasis
commensalism at its finest

but something about the glimmer hasn’t left yet, may never leave
I outgrew shadows who doubted their expiration dates
I don’t rubricate the sky in a rage
anymore
don’t let the heartbreak pause a pulse
anymore
don’t let misanthropy obscure who I see
anymore
don’t let uncertainty’s web catch me in a paralysis
anymore

or at least I try

something tells me I’ll never “age out”
of my hunger to live fully
I know deep down you're similar
your craving will not fade into cinders

oh what a feelin!
To be trippin on nostalgia.

I need to **** my own brains out.
**** the inside of my thigh
/
If self harm existed,
I'd be the definition. Even as a child.
Epitome.
I was the art of chaos.
Reviled taste in the mouth of structure of humanity.
In the eyes of hurricanes,
death emits it's life from my heart chasm,
a dark laceration that continually deprecates the vision of self and image.

When one revokes such practices,
when one covers such motive to make others happy,
destruction of the dreamer will ensue.
Beyond all of the folly in these steps
We continue this dance macabre in order to destroy the civilized that we see in and around us.
Please take this.
Please ingest it into your ears, and masticate it in the gears teeth of your brain.
Hold heart to hand.
Take a breath.
Hold atrial canals to the rib cage that holds it as a cell that completes your bodice.
If you must seek a destruction. Let it be for self intention.
For self seclusion.
Let it be for your own self imprisonment.
Not the caging of your existence by: a state,
a religion,
a county,
a dogma of any sort,
no to ecology,
no to misanthropy.


"Yay", ye shall say. To self worth.

i stick the plaintive letters
of friends and family amidst
the pages of my favorite books
they mark choice passages
concerning our species and the
fate of this ancient universe

one desperate plea for me to
return to the hypocrisy of Christianity rests in my copy of Camus's essay "the Rebel"
tucked nearby Dawkins'
"god Delusion" and Bakunin's
"god and the State" which share
a space with unholy texts on science
art and philosophy on the top row
of my overflowing
alphabetized bookshelf

on a silent Sunday drive home from
church some years ago i
once asked why it was such
a crime to believe in myself
my father imparted it was
an insult to my 
invisible creator
well here’s a ******* to 

my mythological maker
i don’t need you
i’ve got two feet 

planted firmly 
beneath me
i stand strong beside the ones
who resist a culture of misanthropy

i am what i am
a wanderer waylaid in the chasm
of gray matters
i no longer see the world in
shades of black pitch and white snow
your absolute truth is sharp
and out of tune with the
empirical realities of nature
i am not a zealot inculcated
on the drug of elitist predestination
i refute the elixir of everlasting life
heaven is a dream that keeps
us numb to the hellscapes around us

i face the unknown sobered by a
measurable cosmos which wasn't
made just for me to see
but spawned all we call
reality in the throes of a fourteen billion
year old eruption that flung planets
and stars into existence

we are amiss upon a floating rock
adrift in outer-space and instead of
utilizing our capacity for ingenuity to
cultivate a sustainable community
we looked towards the skies
and fashioned gods in our own image
we made god compassionate—a benevolent  
creator who breathed life into nothingness
we made god hideous—a malevolent
dictator deciding the destinies of the unfortunate
we engineered division where once was
sanctity and instigated violence on the
premise that one faith was better
than the other but
they all ring hollow
if you ask me

i am not a sheep and your Christ
is not my shepherd
i am not a timid and pitiable creature
stumbling along after some imaginary master
Jesus of Nazareth was a revolutionary
executed for instigating rebellion
against the Empire of Rome
he said nothing about waging endless war
in fact he urged his followers
to turn the other cheek
i imagine he'd be rolling in his grave
if he could see them know—provided
of course
he hadn't so famously vacated it

riddle me this
why do you hate two men who cherish
each other when your savior said
the greatest commandment was just
to love and be loved by one another
if the etymology of Christian is
Christ follower why not cherish the
lines of red in your holy book
your god bled and died for

even the most progressive of faiths
pale in comparison to the certainty of
evolution or the terror of global climate change
why mythologize that which we don't
understand when history shows that
we only learn more and grow with time
when we question everyone and everything
why dwell in circumstantial metaphysics
when we can just as easily admit
we don't have the faintest clue

i arraign myself against any warped faith
that privileges bigotry and arrogance
i reject the religion of atheism and
buddhism and Christianity
i stand apart from the ethos of
Hindus and edicts of Islam
i have no gods and no masters
my conscience is my only authority
i'm the only one who can
save me from me

in my father's latest letter
packed safely away in Carl
Sagan's "the Demon-Haunted World"
he informs me that i'm
the prodigal son that some
doting deity awaits me
at the gates of heaven
to put a ring on my finger and
slaughter a fattened calf for my
welcome home dinner but
how did an omnipresent god
not deign to ascertain
i'm a vegetarian

by Damon G

. glum, morose, surly, sulky, crabbed, saturnine, gloomy mean showing a forbidding or disagreeable mood. sullen implies a silent ill humor and a refusal to be sociable
    I'M BECOMING UNWOUND
. glum suggests a silent dispiritedness . morose adds to glum an element of bitterness or misanthropy
    I NEED SOMETHING TO HAPPEN
. surly implies gruffness and sullenness of speech or manner
    A VIOLENT THING, EVEN
. sulky suggests childish resentment expressed in peevish sullenness . crabbed applies to a forbidding morose harshness of manner
   THE CRUSH OF A BREAKDOWN
. saturnine describes a heavy forbidding aspect or suggests a bitter disposition
   A REASON TO WANT TO
. gloomy implies a depression in mood making for seeming sullenness or glumness .
   GET UP AGAIN

-------------------------------As seen on Taste.com*-----------------------------

Ingredients:
One will need a portion of the following:
1) 50g of self-imposed isolation (optional: w/ drawn curtains)
2) a tablespoon of misguided misanthropy (store brand does the trick)
3) a propensity for experiencing negative stigma
4) ethyl alcohol enough to form parasitic relationship (approx: half bottle of grey goose)
5) 1kg of pervasive fear of the unknown (found in Future aisle amongst acquaintanceships, unwelcome hypotheticals)
6) a 3/4 cup of ground self-loathing  + the root
7) lettuce
8) tomato
9) cucumber
10) onions
11) avocado

Method:
Step one: place self-imposed isolation in a slow cooker along with misguided misanthropy. Cook on low for 8 HOURS. This will make LONELINESS.

Step two: preheat oven to 200C fan-forced. take loneliness from  slow-cooker then douse in alcohol before placing in oven. it's meant to burn (you're meant to burn.)

Step three: bring a *** to boil and throw negative stigma in to cook until it softens.

Step four: cut pervasive fear of the unknown into strips and braise.

Step five: plate pervasive fear and negative stigma. this combination is the foundation.

Step six: chop vegetables and mix into standard garden salad, then plate (one may plate how they wish, presentation -- to you, at least, matters not, or little; here's the one who wears tracksuit pants to parties. your parents have to remind you to brush your hair). garnish with self-loathing, decorate plate with the root of self-loathing.

Step seven: plate loneliness. truest to the recipe if loneliness is focal point of the plate. if it's cooked properly it will bleed. so will you -- just give it time.

Happy cooking!!

now don't get me wrong
i love wordsmiths
semiotic story-tellers
rhapsodists rhythmically reciting
love languages from memory
connecting disparate lines
between discordant thoughts like
gods breathing life into dust

for these steel swords we've
conjured up do not rust
nor do they cut flesh

with mouths like ink fountains
we espouse words at the whims
of pens that often seem possessed
of their own volition and
we are their mere harbingers

they slice to the quick
past bone and marrow to
the human spirit and
tap into sentience through
sophisticated sentence structure
measured meter catalyzing cadences
of consonance in confidence

so by all means
spit rhymes and chime in
on current events
i love the rally cries
that seek to stymy injustice
ridicule bigotry and
foment dissent

but don't preach at me
your words of salvation
fall on deaf ears
you cannot save me
because i'm already divine
one-of-a-kind
just like you

i don't fancy myself above
satirizing fictitious and megalomaniacal
depictions of godhood
i've found that humor
helps us navigate the
half-truths and veiled threats
that inundate our daily existence
regardless of whether
they originate from
preachers politicians pundits
or poets

****-shaming and victim-blaming
are pathetic attempts to cull dull minds
no thanks mine's full to the bursting
you think you're clever for slapping
together a couple of words brewed
for maximum effect but you haven't
got the faintest clue do you no

you're nothing but a bully with a pulpit
fearmongering and shouting damnation
mixing Church and State and business
in a trifecta of tyranny
an orgastic oligarchy
of eternal enmity

when we die we pass
into the black abyss of nothingness
each of us a blip on the spectrum of
life under constant duress
before we ultimately perish
a meaningless speck of dust on
an endless shore of who was
who is and who will come to be

this is not a nihilistic proclamation
nor an atheistic defamation of
human beings but a rational
refutation of misanthropy
masquerading as community

your love looks a lot like hatred

i seek to offer an alternative
to the endless cycles of
condemnation that sprout from
the pages of holy books
like gnarled trees bequeathed
unto us by the seeds
of false prophecies

let's face the music
we will all die alone
and there is nothing
and no one
waiting for us
no white light or
loved ones on
the other side
no arbiter of fate
waiting at the gate
to permit us entrance
to a heavenly place

if we could only muster the courage
to divorce ourselves from fatalistic
fantasies of the afterlife
that keep us bent-kneed
we might find within us the strength
to seize the day and
live life so brilliantly that

we'd create a heaven on earth
if merely we departed from the
hellish impulses that divide us
into despondent collections of
self-righteous hypocrites and
simply admit the only thing we
know for certain is that we
know nothing for certain at all

perhaps then we could salvage
a modicum of freedom from
the wreckage of shattered
egos and emaciated lies
that plague this planet
with circumstantial evidence
while relegating our liberty
and inhibiting conscience

in the spirit of free inquiry
then let us question
everyone and everything
starting with yours truly

count each and every grain i
cherish them all the same
they're the only friends i have
across this endless plane of
granular particles kicked up
every so often by a storm
that shifts this desert from one
spectrum to the next like
filtering time through the sieve
of some infinite hourglass

i will drive this lumbering beast
across theses seas of sand
reclaim what they stole through duplicity
coax this hunk of junk to life
if need be to outrun the
lingering fear of inadequacy
i don't know god but i met the devil
i've been his captive for 7,000 days
a hostage of hellions obsessed
with a decadent religion of misanthropy

the shifting wind-swept dunes
my only markers on this winding road
a roguish rebel defying hegemony
manifest in maleficent misogyny
i'll strive to live not just survive in this
endless wasteland hope may yet arise

I'll wear your coffin with pride 
Tattoo my lips with your touch 
Burn for the jealousy in your eyes
I'll handle you with this knife
To cut these wrists 
I shed my skin peeled away from the bone
Days like this I pull my nerves apart 
Grasping for your heart
To feel the beating of misanthropy
We lick the wounds from sapphire cuts

I know what you say
To me
It's like ashes from the sky
I know what you say
To me
It's like teething on denial

I've turned away from the light
You lit the room to bury this tomb
It's fulfilling to crash
We taste the burn on our ribs
Cutting our teeth on the nape of our necks
I can hear your breath on my ear
Suture these lies with rabid tongue
I feel you turn away
This hunger for you growls
Growing sick for your flesh

I know what you say
To me
It's like ashes from the sky
I know what you say 
To me
It's like teething on denial

I smile thru your taste
I hold your hand with my teeth
Bitterness, ravenous, aching
Carving into the full moon and
Late night dances at the graveyard
I crave to be near
The edge of your space
To push you away

I know what you say
To me
It's like ashes from the sky
I know what you say
To me
It's like teething on denial

I've felt a change
In me
Its like ashes from the sky
I've felt a change
In you
Its like teething on denial

i try to work with a punctilious
attitude, and be conscientious  
but it's tedious bein fastidious
vs. mischievous and pretentious

condescending, persnickety
assiduously, picky people
who keep nitpicking, snippy, sickly while judgemental they're evil

jerks, sedulously deceitful
methodical when diabolical
it's ridiculous how meticulous
these hypocrites are symbolical

is ice, so suffice is a Popsicle
society for sobriety is invidious
i drown in tears while amphibious
are the oblivious, and supercilious

who **** me like the lascivious
but most are naturally perfidious
& birth of its insipid incipience
always was, humans are hideous

and maniacal like puritanical
was a mechanical part of biology
which is like psychology based on astrology, so even mycology

can't explain some guys fungi
and some try to think logically
but being **** about hypocrisy
in thought can be, like ******

to the psyche, a likely lobotomy
cuz conscience is mythological
cuz wealth perpetual, comes to the less ethical so impossible

is altruism, as cynicism feeds the vision of their egotism
til rights far from wrong like paganism is to catholicism  

that's why i live metaphysical
A mental visual state that invisible
where happiness is centrical
and by sacrifice isn't divisible

or only seen by our peripherals
cuz it's the only way comin to bliss
the only invention to fight tension for prevention of cuttin my wrists