"negation" poems
What's it take
These days
To write a poem
That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest
Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?
Is it perhaps...
the "creativity"
of varied spacing
or... could it be..... the lack
of capitalization
the loathsome little letters
screaming out
hey, look at us!
... or maybe it's
the punctuation marks,
littered, haphazardly
through the text
(whether used correctly)
or, theyre not?!
despite worrds mispeled
and a grammar might is broken
can these gimmicks increase interest
though miswritten or misspoken?
Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
(or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
Praise for which we
Privately, desperately
Pray
Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism
Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes
Well, maybe not...
those gems are often ignored
cast-aside, unread, even abhorred
Why?
Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
of "the right way"
to write
to speak
to act
to live
to (fill in the blank)
No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!
And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way
Line
After line
Of synonyms
over
and
over
and
over
again
-----
What's it take
These days
To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?
But more importantly:
What's it take
To make my poem go viral?
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
He began with all living things
On the first day of anti-creation
Killing all; be they beggars or kings
No judgment just pure negation
On the second day lights went out
There was no longer night nor day
Only darkness was present throughout
Not a shadow not a tinge of grey
All this darkness destroyed vegetation
Photosynthesis ceased to take place
Everything was beyond devastation
Gasping and lacking in grace
The fourth day destroyed solid ground
He made sure every rock all the stones
Would sink and not ever be found
No one would ever unearth old bones
On the fifth day the clouds were unmade
Rain reunited the sea with the sky
In a marvelously heavy cascade
So the second last day went by
On the last day he reversed creation
Of Heaven and Earth in one blow
It was much easier than damnation
And God sat there and enjoyed the show.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
Hi! The creator too is blind,
Struggling toward his harmonious whole,
Rejecting intermediate parts,
Horrors and falsities and wrongs;
Incapable master of all force,
Too vague idealist, overwhelmed
By an afflatus that persists.
For this, then, we endure brief lives,
The evanescent symmetries
From that meticulous potter's thumb.
7.6k
but have you noticed, have you noticed how all mental health problems
stem form a seemingly aether virus that attacks the pronoun category;
i mean with proper justifiable schizoids you will not hear of the nouns
being ransacked for an equation that equates itself to misnomers;
it's all categorised negation of ease within the framework of pronouns.
it's strange that philosophers stress the pronouns so much these days
and those countless prior, but why do mental health diseases
attack the pronouns and not the nouns? they attack the verbs
thoroughly, but prior to the verbs exposing an illness
the pronouns are attacked, so that many considering the singularity
of expressing thought are ill because of being forced into a plural expression
of thought: "voices." i find it hard to understand, but it's the reality,
the aether virus attacks the pronoun
on the backdrop of a king's casual expression / use
of pronouns, when a king casually says
of himself as omni or multi with one and we respectively;
so why are pronouns so weak and nouns so strong
that a tree cannot be a misnomer attaché of timber
and rock not a pillar, or mountain as the verb: mountaineering?
the pronoun category is weak from day one,
because it suggests photographic duck animation on the lip pursed
into a quack quack, but if we constructed thought
without knowledge prior, eating the fruit of knowledge
rather than the fruit of thought, using the starting point
of the genesis metaphor, it's sometimes a no brainer
to have weak thinking and strength in knowing,
for if there was strength in thinking and weakness in knowing,
i'd be the one chiseling these words in the ice age on a cavern wall.
so, given, that diseases such as the famed premature dementia
attack the pronouns but not the nouns the schizoid one
will convene life with: pizza is pizza and sunshine ray down the drain
clock the millionth dead parting of grasshoppers in decimals -
while man unto man lusts one man's parting in decimals,
but should dire said, part man with integers, and insects with decimals!
but still, in the terminology of a cartesian understanding of illness,
in that segregational aspect of things "sorted,"
why are mental illnesses tattooed in a weak pronoun usage
compared to a strength in other grammatical categories?
why are not mental illnesses ******* the life out of the nouns?
the nouns are intact, the pronouns attacked,
and the verbs chess piece the pawn from the casually speaking clown king
into a beast imprisoned, for while the pronouns are attacked
and the nouns left intact, the attack on pronouns expresses itself
fully in verbs of the never existent tact: with such magic
as to claim knock knock on plank is the same as knock knock on veneer.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
I will never love you
Never believe that
I will write about you
Because of your pulchritude,
I will share every cliche and
Imagine constellations and blackholes;
I will not
Never believe that
I will think of you
In every cup of coffee
In every rainy day;
I won't.
Don't ever think that
I love you
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
This generation is the selfie nation,
Taking pictures of the dying, digitization,
This generation is the generic nation,
Cancelling history and subjects, Salvation,
This generation is the death nation,
Being overweight is healthy, becoming purgation,
This generation is the stronger nation,
Deeming everything offensive, becoming manipulation,
This generation is the hateful nation,
Hating the own agnations,
This gerenation is the end nation,
Pushing and pushing, damnation,
This generation is the promoting nation,
Gender Swap, *** paedophilia, pushing all these, Arbitration.
This genernation is the activism nation,
Save the Earth, making change that still damages the Earth, ruination.
This generation is the we won't do this nation,
Won't go to war to fight for others, pure negation,
This generation is the nation,
The eldery generation regrets fighting for their foundation,
This generation is the Anti-Homosexuality nation,
That still disowns there child for there sexuaility, Affirmation,
This generation who is fighting LGBTQ Rights Nation,
Hating those who refuse to date the same *** hating religion, so **** condamnation.
This generation scream Black Lives Matter Nation,
Reducing Police Brutality, improving lot more crimes, congratulation,
This generation fighting for women right nation,
Taking away male rights, instead of alterations and collaborations.
This generation is the older nation,
Bullying, lies and caring nation, Allocation,
This generation is the end nation,
Death filtration of the world's creation.
This generation buid this nation,
They have to learn to live with the cermation.
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 10:11 AM UTC
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.*
just your atypical pedantry,
a translator's subscript comment -
who's richard rojcewicz's...
regarding what?
heidegger...
das volk,
and the three derivatives -
volkhaft (populist),
volklich (communal)
und?
völkisch (folkish) -
i'm starting to suspect that
i'm tapping in the all things folk....
unconsciously, favoring folk
music...
see, us central europeans,
we bunch together and share
the most odd similarities -
i never thought that the song
herr mannelig could be translated
from Swedish - as it was
translated into German...
then again... Vikings founded Kiev...
and all these loan-words
of Germanic origin in Polish...
the only Anglo loan-word
that i know of, is, weekend...
hence, das volk, people -
by the way... German has "too many"
definite articles,
and only one ein - or eine -
is that the same rule as in Ęnglish?
i.e. N
in an example,
rather than in a counter example?
two vowels adjacent in separate
word, sitting across from the grand
chasm of... a spacing itch?
but look at German, i never get it...
DAS DIE DER...
is there an aesthetic difference,
and only an aesthetic difference
to mind?
bewildering...
if there is such a thing as a western
civilization...
that sometime
pompous obnoxiousness,
fair enough... no problem:
but learn to hide it,
feel it, rather then feed it...
it's not a question of a civilization,
but more...
an answer to what is less
civilization, and more... a chore...
just like western women,
notably the english women
call motherhood a, "job"...
it's a... wait... a job?
doubt was big in classic philosophy
of the Cartesian schematic...
so no one knows that
the French existentialists
brought in negation,
as the driving force to replace
doubt?
who the hell sees doubt
these days?
either the know it alles -
or the hush-hush crowd...
motherhood is a... job?
well... then i guess, being a man...
western civilization,
by that standard of logic...
can't be anything more...
than a.... ******* chore!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
~
*A blood promise
On the threshing floor
--a strand named Skull of Sidon.
The sunset passage
No longer a place for them,
The acceptance of absolute negation
Remedios the beauty.
Saint Fishermen churn in the waves
Crushing grapes from the estate,
Even the girl with the silver eyes,
Only then will their house be blessed.
Women uncharted,
But prisoned on watery shore,
Hum a silent prayer.
This is atonement day,
May grace be with them
In all the days ahead.*
~
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 5:35 PM UTC
Teasing the beast
Looking for a feast
Hounds barking at our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Compartmentalizing symptom after symptom
To hide the great systematic sickness
Labeling the suffering, outcome from desire
We, wholeheartedly accepting being
Appropriated, labeled, discarded
As construing our own oppression and sadness
Enduring the **** of our minds
Being castrated of our consciousness
Before we reap the products
Of its bold liberation and grandness
Its the belly of the beast
And its hungry
Insatiable, amoral entrails
Hoping to salvage a feast
From the casualties of d(e)moc(ratic) wars
Hoping we feed our monstrous fear
Thirsting for the greed
Dripping off of accumulating wealths
Impatiently waiting, we keep parceling out grudges
Disfiguring our minds, our souls, and our bodies
Its misanthropic nature lashes out without conscience
Knowing we'll never realize we are masses
Disappearing the individuals who realize their suffering
Ensuring there's no collective opposition or action
Trying to reassure we are weak
Knowing at some point or another
We all act mute, deaf, and blind when anyone experiences:
Oppression
Pain
Silencing
****
Hunger
Fear
Violence
Repression
Retaliation
Discrimination
Torture
Negation
Alienation
All forms of mental, psychological, physical, and spiritual mutilation
Fearing death more than fighting for necessary abolishment
Preferring to live out our veiled miseries
Endorsing their continuance
Instead of risking our lives for everyone's liberation
Always ensuring the feast of the beast
By its very efforts trying to decree our very human nature
Ingraining greed, fear, animosity, and weakness as if inherent of us
All parts of its most damaging weapon: the seed of discord
Its implantation, a socialized deep desire for self-preservation
Sheep bleating painfully toward our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Signifying the impending recapturing
Of our true transformative desires
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
Climbing up the furnace to the hollow gate of heavan,
Itching for gloppy sunshine in the cracks of your stomach.
Pour it out, pour it out; the thick fervor of negation;
Climbing in the window through your ears,
Hearing, yearning for the stained glass.
You know, it’s okay to die.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
the vagrant, a pretense
letting light in tiniest cracks
on the pavement, again
wherever did i pass out
seizing the Ssseferoth sufferer syndrome
sinking in this suffragette
i am almost a cough away from zeitgeist
the world complained
the gods , sure they listened
but only with a nuisances negation
does the noose hang higher
nonsense st of patient anger
plagiarize my past lives
seal my fate with cement
pavement, how do i feel you
when my ashes scatter
how do i fill you with children,
cracks seeping sin and sensation
eradicated slowly by noiseless geraniums
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:16 AM UTC
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality,
is waking up in dazed desolate imitation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Blades of grass, sharp tipped spears of unreality.
A chilling, a challenged negation;
to lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.
Spinning round the ugly formality,
are snickers, unshy sneers of an evil salvation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Thrilling no longer a verb, piano key pressing its precious mortality
into her throbbing thrashed temple dictation.
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.
A ****** numb soul with the criticality
of skeptics, chewing their lips, a dead cell castration
emotional stripping, slipping into complete impromptu filtration.
That creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
Raw flesh drenched in alcohol
Burning numbing till paralyzed, keeps me still
Power you have over my being, keeps me fearing
Your presence destroys me, shatters me
Feeling naked, inadequate when my eyes see
My reflection's negation in you
Cannot hide anything when you expose all of me
Wounded animal beaten without avail
Knowing, proprietor of my pain
You don't understand my whimper, wail?
My blood being diluted by the sweat of your laborious efforts
Precociously tactful, inhumanly strangling my will
Ever-becoming antithesis to facades, fears, farces in me
Facing scalpels and clamps to my insecurities, my tactics, my pride
Leaving me open not caring if I'll die from exposure
Caring only that you're exposing the real me
I-nvoluntarily l-acerated, o-n the v-erge of e-nding u-ndone
Somberly Always Unsettling Leaving me bare
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 10:50 AM UTC
you ask me what it's like to be black
and i'll tell you it's a warm soulful fulfilling feeling
like a pair of new Chucks on the hot pavement jumping scotch on a busy summer day
eating cool iced pops and not ever being afraid
and smelling the warm carmel cake cooling on the stove
and the togetherness on a Sunday evening in grandmama's home
but you ask me what it's like to be black
in america
and i'll fall silent of conversation
because as you see history repeats itself
i don't understand why there is still need for explanation
in deep adversaries and hateful unappreciation
here we stand to be questioned by an authoritative negation
and ignorant folk,
why do you ask me such things?
why are you people mad?
why is it about race?
and i'll ask you, why does the caged bird sing?
is he not entitled to his song or his wings?
as green as the earth and as blue as the sky
i will only explain to an ear willing to listen
to a being with a sound heart and a firm mind
because as God as my witness we were created as equal
and for that given right we must die?
i will sit back and in turn ask you why;
i bet you couldn't say
and maybe we will all learn the answer some day
so join me in prayer will you?
join me as i pray:
*to the children of Chicago
who can't go out to play
to the sons and fathers of
Missouri and Florida and New York
who will never again see the light of day
to the mother's pain that may fade
but won't ever go away
to the hateful people and their hateful words and their hateful ways
God won't You heal their pain?*
they're so hard on us, Lord
now we're hard on ourselves
and on our knees we have fallen
needing guidance and help
because it isn't about being privilged
or living for the light we're consumed in
being black in america is no longer about being accepted as black
it's about being accepted as human.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
exit bag
It's easy enough to peer through the underside of a hearse-
easy enough to **** those gears.
Easy enough to try it once or twice or give up or spit it out like a bad fruit.
Easy enough to shiver in bed
Easy enough to last it out and sleep all day
puff on the bag and go somewhere else
A quick, easy blur. Negation
hand in hand loyal love with sleep. A handshake, low,
tossed about with a final farewell, a quick gulp
in the arms of a surrendering light- a face-mask.
It's easy enough to stick it and last.
So level out with a spliff, take another chance-
a homespun remedy will extract the saccharine
days and take out the "too sweet" sweat of a poison
milkshake-
it's easy enough to do it quietly.
It's easy enough to have a pay-order-death.
Spit-up, a final Sampson barber drain. You'll never
sleep through another day if you put on
that exit mask and breathe
slowly until you can't
until the surprises stop coming
until the wounds stop laughing
until the only obdurate straight man will stop his act and take you home and lay you on a couch and drape a clean blanket over you like a white sheet
and cover your eyes with cloth and pennies and
gently weep when no one's making a joke anymore
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
the outline of your jaw
and the promise of your verse,
with stanzas harboring a coincidentally similar curse,
create timely reverberations
lurking in the limbo of my love's reincarnation,
and freeing me from this cerebral assurance of alienation
caused by characterless cowards wrought with affectation and negation.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
Your determination puts me in anticipation as I'm patiently waiting for you to surpass my expectations.
Your aspiration gives me elations that keep me covered in perspiration from the constant titillation of good vibrations from you mental exhalations.
I swear my admiration can't fit in an equation to find the summation of my adoration plus your negation to be an imitation, hot **** your dedication is amazing.
I'm contemplating if you can be to me what the mighty sphinx was to the king Ramses.
If I'm out of line, please don't push back in, I'm going out of my mind like hair that needs relaxing.
Keep me on my toes and I hope that this feeling grows cause only God knows the ropes to keep us ever close.
Just don't say no when I go slow in my one woman show, to have your heart glow, go to and fro like my prose on the ocean flow.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
It’s a race to the bottom of the bottle
between sanity and sober realization
to every impaired negation and how to
alleviate and mediate the dependancy I
place on finding new routes to the
end of the flask. —
The hands of the bottle hold
dreaded burdens above my head,
bringing life to each morrowed breath,
and write hyms towards yearning
a long awaited wish for death,
sobriety weaves this addiction
of solitude through each thought of
halted life, and pushes it’s back
as it’s heels leave crevices to follow,
a view of darkness to come,
with turning back placing another knot
down a throat with attempt to swallow.
as each run of whiskey drips down the
walls of my throat the sinking ship within
my veins finds strength to stay afloat.
a Wiser whisper tickles at the anticipations
towards taking another sip,
the Hennessy tendencies stutter
a ****** equilibrium captivating
and inching my sanity towards
a shot of sequel librium. —
As ***** spews and consumes
the inhabited ground, a paroxysm
of unconsciousness feels
mentally sound,
blacked out with the following
morning full of acts to repent,
the monetary blackness
proves to be nothing but content,
recollection of priors
seem to fade with the desire of
sobriety and eliminating any hope
towards thoughtless propriety. —
Momentary happiness through
intoxication provides no mediation
between a sober fight for death
and a drunken one, the wish for
lifelessness is just subdued by
stumbling to bed and the inability
to steadily hold a gun to my head.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
Down the hall, through the living room
and living daylights.
Through corner shops, spoon-eateries,
between rows of seats in adult theaters,
Beneath Roman spears
of crystal ice
ignoring the warning.
Same old, same old wicked agonizing cold. I freeze solid
and I escape once more.
Through Subways, through hotel lobbies.
Between invidious eyes, above the malady.
Down streets, down stairs, getting stuck, falling asleep, getting chased.
I refuse to affirm my negation with pity,
but rather with revolt and insurrection
I build this fortress not with iron and bricks, but with dust
and guilt
And off I go again...
An airport chapel is tonight's citadel.
From a hidden corner
a raspy cough emits from a familiar throat.
I sit down.
I sit like Plato's prisoner in my cave,
eyes fixed forward
on the wooden cross.
The familiar figure rises.
He walks through my vision,
but I refuse to see anything
but his silhouette
And off I go again...
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
that tiny **** cloth for a worldly affectation
worn for vanity grew without any cessation
engulfing my being swiftly in total negation.
turned now a cloak black of inhuman sedation
a second skin becoming skin itself, then seeped
to the very bones and a coagulated heart reaped
of consequence,truth layered the real concealed,
the self an image, just mirrored slick in Gucci attire
a fig leaf terrible now hiding the whole,wise tree entire!
PS-no offense meant for Gucci designs or the beautiful people who wear them!
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 5:21 AM UTC
Absence of nothing
Full of everything
Who I supposed to be
While I´m writing here
Absence of pain as a joy
Trading on ambiguity
Absence of a nonentity
Still a proper entity
Absence of darkness as a light
Darkness or absence insight
(Un)consciousness always fight
Nonexistence invites
Absence of existence as a non-existence
Unicorns don't exist
A square circle essence
Dangerous mental twist
Absence of unreality as a reality
Into an absolute nothingness
In any universe timeline
An insane tragedy
Absence of demolition as a building
Existence is not a negation of negatives
Feeling absolutely nothing
Sharing words as a sedative
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 12:02 AM UTC
The defined and undefined truth,
Endowed with knowledge or without knowledge,
Sometimes real or unreal,
Certainly including being and non-being,
Accepting that being is true,
Accepting the non-existence of being,
When the absence of existence means the negation of being,
Accepting that truth did not exist,
And it would have been true that it did not exist, at the same time,
Understanding that truth is eternal,
Imagining the idea of a non-existing world,
Before its own existence,
Accepting the universal and immortal truth,
So interchangeable with being,
While the universal never ceases of itself,
Recognizing the truth always existing in an eternal intellect,
While the created truth is not existing,
Understanding the created truth as not existing,
Remaining truth, when the true things have been destroyed,
Or remaining truth, when all true things can be destroyed,
Or remaining truth, when our minds can not see the truth itself,
Truth, being in sense, always as a consequence of its act.
Truth, not being in sense because
The sense does not know the truth it truly judges,
Even it judges truly about things,
The existent and non-existent truth.......
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 5:14 PM UTC
oh i'm pretty sure on the Islamic
term: denier,
it's a prefix,
dis-,
dis- -ease:
which implies negation...
the negation of ease...
but i'm not interested in this...
nope...
i know what Islam
says about the, deniers,
the non-affiliate...
what, does, Islam,
call, the wavering hearts?
you heard me.
the doubters,
i do know what a prefix intends...
but do you?
camel jockey...
really?
what do you call a wandering heart?
a Shiite?!
******* Sunni ****
no; no what?!
what do, you, call,
doubters, in the Islamic faith?
i didn't, say, deniers,
i said, doubters....
what do you call, a doubter,
within, the confines,
of the, Islamic, faith?!
am i talking Hindi to you?
you're looking pretty *******
stupid to me, "auto-"suggesting,
that i expect an Arabic reply...
what, do you, call,
a doubter, of, Islam?
i know what a denier is...
what, do, you, call,
someone, who, doubts,
the faith, of, Islam?!
i'm simply asking...
tell me, the difference...
between someone
who doubts...
and someone,
who denies...
tell me...
what, is, the, difference...
oh **** me... and when i woke up,
people implied that all the people
were literate... like **** they were!
like a bunch of industrially
farmed pigs,
educated in the "arithmetic"
of the onomatopoeia of... OINK
i'm crazy enough, crazy plenty...
i fall asleep to
slayer's... raining blood...
give me a ******* tank
and i'm all stampede...
where?
where's where?!
if the "where" is nowhere
other than death?!
the "there" is, there!
and the "there"?!
is some-where...
you don't want to be,
here to fathom!
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 9:06 PM UTC
*i wait all weak for the newspaper sections i read to arrive,
the magazines of sat. and sun.,
the style section, the culture section, and the news review,
things that matter to be honest.*
i wonder why people want brave ethnicity,
they want the long ships the arabs do
listening to viking metal,
the vikings want peace and quite,
but with global capitalism
and the defunct national socialism:
if only the jews weren't involved
the single pathology, all those able and nimble,
we get no ethnic bravery,
we only get citizens and astronauts,
the only exploration geography is empty and vast
space, and since we're using fossil fuels
we're exploring and destroying at the same time,
like the olden days: plunder and pillage mechanics,
but we're waiting for the other exploration
dynamic, where almost everyone is involved:
turn an autocrat to be paired with a tsunami
or an earthquake and you get panic,
pair the tsunami / earthquake with democracy
and you still get panic...
pair it to a theocracy and you get theories
like evolutionary history with the time scale all
too wobbly extending too far, people
think of gooey eggs easy in 5min,,
but monkey to man in 5 minutes - where's
the adaptability issue concerning?
the darwinian per se dislodges man's
adaptability concerns - historically it was going
to be either Stonehenge or the Giza pyramids,
darwinism dislodged man's adaptability
to future concerns by favouring debate of past truth
and whether mathematically speaking:
the geometric beginning of x, y, z, was
a will to live from the standpoint of (0, 0, 0),
denial of denial creates a propeller, kantian
given 0 = negation.
instead of being as darwin stressed evolutionary beings,
we've become historical beings,
with 24h news reels, with celebrity culture,
trying to piñata nazis... japan conquering with karaeoke
singing... loss of story telling...
with intellectuals trying to pinpoint and in an arena
of plagiarism agree a historical date
where dialectics is impossible... because something
is cited, circa, and the circa defines one person being
wrong and the other person being right...
evolutionary analysis made us so overcome by our history
we're trying to live a single day out,
but in 24h news reels no important historical event will take
place... i call it historical insomnia...
as a scot might say: eh maytee,
das est shovel of ***** (linguistic allegory: shy kite)!
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 7:22 PM UTC
From light hearted happiness
to straight into the ditch
they **** things up
so easily and they arent even here
that stain wont lift and you dont even bother washing it or coming clean.
so this snap of mine turned into your violent negation
another length of silence,
how long before you miss me this time?
how long before you realise that you are
deaf dumb and mute with out me.
I am your unglamourous purpose
I am your what little meaning you have left in your life
I gave birth to your reasons
and I will surely **** them if I go
question is,
how long do you have before you cant stop me?
how fickle you are about such important things
and how much unecessary passion will you
channel into a pit that is no longer interested in you
because there is nothing to take.
it never was a giving pit.
****** you dry now theres only heartache left to bleed
and it is all of your own making
the fantasy that they thought you were special
that they couldnt live with out you.
but I never could.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC