"nihilist" poems
Here oh postmodern nihilist
the grave awaits
your death
wish:
Life
a
struggle
escape it
death
so tempting
grasp it
and take its era with you:
Keep it
away from our church's
our schools
our civics
and further culture.
Lo, the children
black as the hell they die in...
Its inordinately subjective unconsciousness;
confused emotionally with its ineptitude of reason.
Blaming its former God,
for their own doing.
Wanting to save that world upon themselves left behind from such a rejection.
Lest they live in a Christ so unjust.
As to not know all men equally,
but to judge them--in their distinction.
Creation
your natural law
emphasizes that which we do not want to come to terms with.
If only we could make us all inter-dependent biological beings of mechanization.
Chain me to genetic determinism and biochemical reactions foremost -- lest my soul affirms inequality:
Liberty exulted
by the risen Lord:
Supremacy/Autonomy
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
We laugh upon this empty rock
We smile as we run our circles
Giggling rats
Lice swaying in unison to our meaningless song
The black ground heaves
with laughter
Let’s go waterski
above the empty sea
You’ll find me snorting and choking and twirling in a hailstorm
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
Dust motes and sweat stains
Faded graffiti over rusted steel plates
Advertising everything, from politicians to a massage parlor,
The engine roars disgruntled, in smoky rancor.
I stepped on your feet, said I was sorry
Tell me mister, could you tell I was lying?
Pushing through the rush-hour crowd
I finally found my footing and was proud.
Well, there’s something to be said for low expectations
A word of praise for cranky co-passengers.
Not that the polite ones aren’t fun,
When they smile and roll their eyes like they’re so done.
And it’s not that I’d ever expect sincerity,
At 10 on a rainy Tuesday morning
I’m not a nihilist, or even much of a cynic by default
But at 10am, I take nice with a bucket of salt.
I put on my headphones, crank the volume up to max,
Sway to the shrill screeching of pirated tracks
I’m sorry, did you say something? I can’t really tell.
It’s not you’re uninteresting, it’s just that this song is swell.
And maybe I could’ve made more of an effort
Gotten to know your name, exchanged toffees and emotional support
Maybe you’d have told me your story, if my ears were free
Maybe we could’ve found something worth a keep.
But you see, mister, it’s not you it’s me
At 10 on a Tuesday morning, I’m not the best company.
I hope, tomorrow, you’ll find a co-passenger worth your time,
As for me, facelessness suits me just fine.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:47 AM UTC
I'll be on the front lines
Fighting fireflies on a Golf Course
With a butterfly net
Collecting ghosts in mason jar
to plant back on the cemetery
The crows are making nests
in the skull of your family
They accidentally put
the wrong name on yours
And in Latin!
It's ok though, because you're
(were) Are? a nihilist
The river Nile is the
best stream of consciousness
Known to man and of
Course that's where you drowned
your metaphorical thoughts
While you hung yourself above
a treadmill trying to pretend
you wanted to be a better
man
But you only ran away
The Stonehenge is the front gate
to your home
It's made from
billboards and
Pictures of static
When you're dead you
Live in White Noise
You're turning my lights
on and off
as I'm trying to sleep
haunting me in
my over easy eggs
making the yolk run
in words "Miss me?"
And of course I do
But you are as good a my imaginary friend
When I'm walking in the
park with all the scarecrows
you make the dandelions
float, no amount of
wishes is bringing you back
I know boards of wood are
easier to you than the termites
eating the tumor in my brain
from the insanity you're causing me
So instead I paper mache my
room with love letters from you
that got lost in the mail
because you stole them for me
A banksy bankrupt in original thought
I'm building a tiny forest
of matches
If I can't sleep I'm joining you
So you pack your bags, hobo
style but with
Picnic baskets and dead leaves
Seancing yourself
With the crystal ***** of my eyes
I lost you in some newspaper ad
about a Home for sale
Does it come with a family?
How is that legal?
But I lost you because I bought the wrong copy and couldn't find that one blurry word that was you saying
Good morning
I lost you at sea
And in my dreams
And to your own hands
And to my own memory
I'm dancing with wolves
Called Alzheimer's
because I'll die
with a disease of age
Instead of house burning, building leaping
Front Page
Then we'll go live in abandoned
amusement parks with creaky
Ferris wheels turning
Like you in your grave
And me with the Cycle of Life
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 7:34 PM UTC
I was greeted by
unearthly
midnight
or stellar light
I'm hypnotized by
the evening clouds
I espy
the busy
passers-by
or the silly
vagabonds
The round
earth doesn't pause
Proxima Centauri
doesn't pause
Ursa Major
doesn't pause
Colours change
The game
continues
I close my
eyes
This is how I can perceive
the sound
of silence
This is how I meet myself
I'm neither
a nihilist
nor
a hedonist
I'm simply
a monotheist
A gust
of wind blusters
My gossamer
scarf flutters
I open my inquisitive
eyes
I discover the mysterious
scene
Jun 16, 2022
Jun 16, 2022 at 10:08 AM UTC
driven at night ive seen sights that make life look less like leisure,
and more like self harm for group super pleasure,
your not at the edge of this,
unless you get that sub-dom affection looking like special effects,
I accelerate slow, park, put on the the light, around a quarter to four.
she tapped her nail , amplified by the glass,
a note smeared the window misting, she stared over my coffee flask, intimately into my cocked submission,
her emaciated wrist has this diamond bracelet, it's shaking, as she points directions beyond restaurants and offices,
one too many cocktails slipped by this ruling consciousness,
now she invites in my taunts of a 30ish nihilist, "shh, just drive us".
snorting coke off the plastic payment dish,
using the twenty shes paying me with,
hooked up to my rhythm,
nobody is left not menaced, in a rolling evolution into avarice,
isn't the skyline marvelous,
the ad-hoc sprawl, minerals raw,
rear view see her chewing her face off,
directions useless, i'll let you out here, I believe you,
wave the fair, but leave the door, i need the air.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 6:21 AM UTC
Mad Hatter's getting narcissistic without his tea
That's how I feel when I can't burn things
but you can't spell "arsonist" without A-R-T
Maybe I'm crazy but honestly it's therapy
Bolt the door to the party and listen to them scream
Oceans of commotion won't extinguish my latest masterpiece
So kick back, fire up a cig
Get that influx of carcinogens
Conducive to my sick mind
Twisted nihilist
Got a pack of matches
Now I'm dreaming in a pipe
Erupt into flames
Sit back and look at all the pretty lights
The way they dance in the wind
Such an alluring sight
It's really just poetry in motion
As I watch through kaleidoscopic eyes
I'll smoke to that.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
Emasculate Feud,
take his ******* and *****
so that you can travel the Jungian road
of unicorns, rainbows, and pixies
with no ******
Uncle Al Crowley
he died deranged like you-
-your very existence.
--Out of context--
like your quote of James Madison:
To fulfill your nihilist message
of hope without a ******
Freud who knew you all to well,
needs no ***** or *******
to think,
unlike you.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
I sometimes sit and think about how I wouldn't mind if the world ended
I know its wrong of me to say that at face value, but deep down inside I know we all think it
not that the earth itself should be destroyed into oblivion, but the opposite
that the world should live on
and the cancerous growth of humanity should be cured
its a pessimistic way of looking at things , I know, but I cant help but feel this
short ride of ours on this planet is careening out of control
I'm not a nihilist or an anarchist or an environmentalist
nor a ********* for that matter
I'm not afraid to die because I believe I will no longer exist when I do
but the pointlessness of it all and the blatant disregard for others,
other species other lives other kinds other minds
disregard for the future for cleanliness leads me to these thoughts,
that a septic surplus has arisen on this singularly magnificent gift
of life in this one and only known universe and we sit here ******** all over it...
I sometimes think it'd be best if we all just left
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
maybe a black mouth
opening and closing
usually you can see the gums
the teeth
lips stretching over them
there’s nothing
a gaping entrance to the void
there are two stale muffins on the table
one soaking in milk
it’s been two hours now
the room at the top of the stairs
is growing louder and louder
a piercing bellow
drowning out all thoughts
but it doesn’t
i want to scream
throw myself into it until my entire being is lost
between the teeth
the white black lacuna
corn splitting from the cob
a rotting banana
an empty carton of milk
my god, could life be any more boring?
i caught a cold
sneezed at the floor
achoo achoo
get well soon cards at my funeral
loraclear on my casket
dirt over
grow me like a mushroom
expanding into the root systems
puffing into a bulbous fruit
pick me and slice me
but i trust only supermarket goods
picked by mechanised beings
******* on an industrial conveyor belt
modernity made physical
look into the slaughterpens while you eat your steak
barter your children for another shot of coffee
hah hah hah, doesn’t affect me
strutting your cash like an empty slot machine
rigged to emote only with your colleagues
while the television blares another thousand deaths
**** this ****** world
consume me until there’s nothing left
everyone’s a nihilist
someone brought back a dozen breadloaves from the women’s refuge
eat them before they go off
turning our bodies
pouring soap down the sink
all the fishes scales rot away
they slowly sink into the depths
and line the seabed with teeth and ribs
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 2:45 AM UTC
We try to grasp all that we can feel
Every grain of substance we can imagine
All the hesitant hands we couldn't deal
From our arduous compassion engines
How long can we believe until we kneel
To the unkempt veracity of religion
Or fade into a vengeful iconoclast
Cynically mocking the faithful breed
Of merry-go-bashers that attempt to cast
Their egotist ideals of what we all need
Fairy tale prophets that lived in the past
Getting off on their own selfish greed
The words of mankind have nothing to tell
Implicating a heaven is rhetoric at best
And, If i'm to live i'd rather go to hell
A tactic of fear sounds like a fitting nest
For someone who has already gaily fell
To a nihilist end that I should have guessed
I have opened my mind to one single thing
A universal truth that we all should know
That one simple rule is to believe in nothing
Is there any trace of deception in what I sow?
There is no wrong answer when you doubt everything
And, your deathbed will teach that there's nothing to know
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
My mother recently took me to another doctor
she said, ‘her condition is becoming outrageous ,
she hasn’t laughed in a year, avoids any talking,
never leaves the house until the night draws in. ’
And I think the sun should rather concern her.
Burning things don’t make good companions.
Bought a ticket for a train, northbound at night,
my eyes hurt from the condolences of daylight.
Went back south in September, I surrendered,
had to promise to be good again and presentable.
Indifferent on life, did I suffer from depression?
It’s not been an illness but a philosophic decision.
One Sunday, it was quiet during breakfast time,
somebody from town recently took their life.
Rised brows behind the newspaper’s edges,
secretly, I admire the courage and recklessness.
But I act eager and am polite with relatives,
at holiday occasions I behave and give kisses
until one proposes a toast to life being a gift.
I say nothing in exchange, I feel guilty to exist.
It all changed one day, when I found me a lover.
He sins for amusement while I sin to self punish.
I love that he’s mortal, of a perishable texture,
hope to be buried, rot with him in the graveyard.
We agree on senselessness without any pity,
he watches me fail life and thinks it’s poetic.
We can’t hurt since there’s nothing to heal from.
A physical love wich in it’s essence is platonic.
Feb 9, 2022
Feb 9, 2022 at 5:54 PM UTC
Here I sit.
I don't believe I'm sitting. I don't believe in anything.
I can think I'm sitting. As long as I maintain that I could be wrong.
I don't believe in love. Even if I wanted to.
I can tell how I feel when you're around. And how I feel when you're not.
I don't believe in life. Or death. How could I ever rationalize a belief in something I don't understand?
I think. About fireflies, world ********** scotch, and jokes.
The jokes are to make you laugh. It's my favorite song.
I don't believe in anything. I envy those that do.
I'm just a lonely nihilist who wants to believe in you.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
In the beginning
there is a class
of creatures we call Gods
that much later
we realize are just mono-
instances of god.
From the tower
I babble tongues,
coded messages and ciphers
that you implement
in your daily rituals
and obsessive behaviors.
In R, it's something like,
christ <- god(moral compass)
In Ruby it could be
buddha = God.new
And perhaps a nihilist or we
would find happiness in
10000.times do
pushRock = buhdda.take(me)
end
It's all pidgin for me,
unstructured glimpses at a world
that's moving and changing
faster than my non-existent
grandson can comprehend.
It's all a network
of +1 and like'd
firing mix media,
reinforcing a nascent
thought stream,
back-propagating our legends
and fairy tales, Grimm
reminders of epic Odyssey |
5 Armies in film |
Warring States |
loping dog with a severed hand
in Akira black & white mouth
repossessing Spaghetti Westerns
back into our feudal *****
Fire, firing
into the Monsoon rain.
Always in the Hemingway
rain of symbols and Matrix
green code.
And in my cupped hand,
I catch glimmering fireflies,
instances of Gaiman's
American gods, Tricksters,
Coyotes, and my faithful
Dog smiling at me.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
I always wanted to compose symphonies,
But my hands and my head could never agree.
I got the blue curse, because I always feel beats,
But my fingers freeze up when I get to melo-DIEs.
Recede. I want to live the nihilist's dream,
Smoke packs a day to intensify screams.
Maybe if I stare into the middle distance,
After hours I would build up a tolerance to listen.
IN THIS town, there are only 2 kinds of people
Girls who pierce their NOSES and THOSE IN the steeple
Walking down So. Auburn in bare feet and short shorts
Catching the gleam from the street (of course),
With their dreadlocks all up in auburn buns
And their eyes shooting diamonds in the autumn sun.
Bullet-belt vests draped lazily over their shoulders,
With double-zero earrings and squirt-gun holsters.
And the police-dogs and the SWAT cars are all powered by indulgence,
The doctors are up to their elbows in cadavers by self-expulsion
The men are splitting at the seams from over-eating obsessive compulsion
And the shameful deception of upward inflection to change my direction and wind
UP and the inanimate DUCKling with a large crank between its shoulders
In the shape of a black key to the black energy that makes the cold rooms colder
Is a disguise to the spoken word hurricanes brewing inside me.
Set me to zero then make me the hero so physicists can derive me.
If the sum of all forces is equal to mass times acceleration,
Maybe the sum of world problems is equal to vanity times irritation.
Jeans cutting up my legs, purpling due to lack of circulation
Are developing holes, as well as the soles of my shoes, I'm growing impatient.
The production slows to a halt, pouring salt into lacerations,
And as boys grow into drunk daddies, women resort to migration.
This country isn't democracy, just a ghastly and pale imitation,
These people don't have representatives, only half-assed representations.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
From the fourth floor of my nineteen-story house, I peek out of the tinted windows. These are my only windows to whatever is outside, and they're tinted yellow and black. I am the first person on the moon. I am the first person on the edge of the planet. Will I fall off, or am I bold enough to carry on?
That, I think, is what has been bothering me for so long. I do not live in a nineteen-story house and neither am I peeking through yellow-and-black windows. No, these colors do not have any significance either. They are not symbols or metaphors. I have been making everything up as I hammer my fingers onto the keyboard and weave these unfathomable lines of thoughts. I am not the first person on the moon. I am not the first person on the edge of the planet. In fact, there isn't even an edge. I am an insignificant speck of dust. I am not even Horton's Who.
I just counted the number of 'I's in the first two paragraphs- fifteen. Fifteen of the same alphabet repeated throughout. That is, despite whatever you might say, a bad start to an essay (if you'd call this one). "Of course not, repetition is an important literary device!", you might say. Horseshit, I say. These words have no intrinsic meaning. These horribly structured sentences are disgustingly unfathomable. That's the second time I've said 'unfathomable'. Third. My 9-year old sister writes better than I do: "Today, I woke up. Today, I ate breakfast. Today, I horsed around with my dog. I am very happy. I am not hungry, because I ate today. Today, I ate." You can understand what she's saying- she woke up, she ate, she's not hungry, and she's happy. But what of me? I woke up, but just so. I ate and so I'm not hungry, but just so. I am happy, and yet I am not. These words that I write mean nothing to me, and yet they mean everything. Being the extreme nihilist that I am, life has no intrinsic meaning, and yet it is more meaningful than a poem that I once wrote about my tenth-grade crush. I've forgotten her name long since. The most absurd of all is that it hasn't been so long- perhaps a year. What is more absurd than the most absurd is that I am yet to turn sixteen; this I will do in a month's time- yet what is most absurd about the more absurd than the most absurd is the incongruity of the facts with reality. I shall not elaborate on this, for it has become nothing less of a meaningless telephone message constructed at the time of a drunken stupor.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
Trundling through the Room of Word,
The crude remarks and the young absurd,
They come an go, no valedictory speech,
Just to and fro, a vestige for each.
So I sit and I stare, with a nihilist prayer,
And I ***** my heart to the sticking place,
Left alone in the quietude, left alone in a private mood,
No crude remarks for a tired face.
So I sit and I stare, yes, I sit and I stare,
screen boring me holes for eyes,
I wait and I dare, my words in the air,
The atmosphere sets and dries -
The atmosphere sets and it dies.
I'll wait there, 'do something, accompany me'
I'll wait there, like waiting for a train.
But once I've waited, no latened, loving response belated,
I tire of this melancholy station,
I'm alone in the Room 'o' Words, my company split to fifths and thirds,
It's time for another, emotional vacation.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
Being able to race through the maze
that makes up the human mind
Getting deeply entwined
slowly getting ****** in by the itnrest we find
The constant turnover
of topics you bring to our mind.
Helping me lose grip of reality
I start to feed the power of immortality
As the idea of time vanishes from my mind.
Creating some sort of cosmic vibration
that send shivers down my spine
I'm so lucky to call you mine.
You the definition of fine
Meaning, "of very high quality"
As stated in the dictionary of our time.
But, not everything can be defined
Somethings are simply indiscribable,
like the beauty you help people find
In all the cracks of their broken minds.
Helping us understand
The perfectness of imperfections.
You bring the sunshine in the day
and refelt on the moon at night
Forever spreading your light.
An inspiration to humanity
that you bring so naturally
Showing, some kind of meaning to life
Proving, that even a nihilist
can give meaning to life.
Leading by example
You break through the boundaries
of the impossiblities
That we so easily create in our heads.
Slowly giving life to a new generation.
So trust me when I say this
-because it's not just me-
That can forse
The legacy
You were born to be
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 11:33 PM UTC
No, my mother atheist said,
Long live cricket, God is dead,
Debbie Downer's Nihilist thoughts,
Total negativity she taught,
This is Debbie Downer's doormat daughter,
Saturday sportsmen off to slaughter,
Yes, God is dead,
Long live extreme sports,
That's what Negative Norma said.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
Its cool to be a nihilist
And I was before
And my motto;
"I don't give a ****
I really didn't
Because what is there to care about
Somethings really nothing anymore
But I began to see connection
And even the insignificant
Holds so much meaning
If you can see it
If you believe it
If that's what you make it to be
It's cool to be a nihilist
But it is foolish
Because music exists
And love
And happiness
And if you've felt them
You know how very real they are
My connection to god
Existentialism
The god inside of me says make it be
And it is
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
They claimed to have heard a voice in the sky
A voice that promised a civilization to safety and salvation
But maybe I was too deaf to realize
Or even hear that such a voice could be heard from thousands of miles up high
Maybe I was too ignorant and followed my own instincts and lies
But who are you to blame me, I was a young child
Eyes that have not yet been opened
Arms kept clean to the years to come, and counting
Skin left to reflect the admiration the moon has for its lover
And a smile kept genuine, that served as a curtain for the crooked teeth behind it
I was a young child at 9
Years passed and the moon still had a lover
The sun emanated its guidance and love for her
Yet the people still worshipped the voice above them
I heard they started building statues and churches, to which I turned the other ear
Because the only thing I believed was that they were soon to crumble
And become the origin of which is rubble,
A combination of corpses, offerings and slavery on top of one another
I refused to believe that such a voice could lead a civilization to destruction
Yet people were so deceived, their heads remained high,
Exposing their necks to a god that I called a murderer
But who are you to blame me, I was an ‘ignorant’ girl
My eyes were coated with the truth
I had stopped counting the years I was clean
And began to enumerate and name the scars I hid beneath my sleeves
Yet my skin remained warm from the radiance of two lovers I believed
The sun guided me and the moon sang me to sleep
I was an ‘ignorant’ girl at 17
The year when my genuine smile, disappeared
Now I am left with nothing else but to question
And in return receive an answer not worth my time nor the oppression,
That I experienced throughout this lifetime I chose to not believe in them
The 'them' who claimed to have heard the voice in the sky
And the 'I' that chose to turn deaf enough to realize
That there is no such thing as a perfect civilization of safety and salvation
I was not ignorant because I had my facts laid out in front of me and them
But they never believed a word I tried to verbalize,
How ironic for a nation of people to believe a non-existent voice from the sky
To which they turned their backs to the sun that kept them warm and to the moon of dimmed brightness and light
But now, I am left with nothing
So I went back to where it all started, the origin, and held my head up high
Revealed my neck to the god I believed was a lie
And for a split second, I thought my neck would cut open and blood would start coursing down my chest instead of my throat
I believed I thought I would die
n.j.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC
No love.
You didn't believe in expressing your feelings plainly,
till you were crying vulgarities into someone's chest.
A strange cliche became something to accept, ordinarily.
"How the trip never stops", MC Ride is screaming,
"On and on, it's beyond insane."
Drowning out your thoughts was something
you only heard in music, or something your ex said
back in high school,
until you fell asleep with headphones and sunglasses on
blaring Death Grips.
"Choose this life, you're on your own."
"I never asked to be a hero"
Hanging your Moon Knight collection on your walls;
Cried to words written on a page for the first time.
You need to be loved by everyone,
and want to be loved by no one.
Understood the pressure and wrote every day,
wrote to be not the best, but just to return from your
fall from grace, to former glory.
"I never asked to be a hero, but I beg you;
Make me a hero again."
"Sono Teido?" = "Is that all you got?"
Studying frame data, unable to sleep.
Thought you had a calling, but you gave up.
Realized a hobby is only as good as it keeps you
busy from all the ******** you could be thinking of.
Good ******** to keep out the bad.
Chun-Li leaves her opponent with wise advice;
"Tameraibe Make yo" = "Hesitate and you will lose."
All you have to do is shine and be bright,
you'll be the type they want to take home.
However, angels didn't want me when I was young,
and they still observe for seconds at a time.
You press your palms into your eyes;
They pick you up for only a moment.
Didn't believe you could be heart broken.
Then they dropped you.
Came back from the dead without prayers.
Found your armor didn't make you a knight,
it made you a villain of the highest order.
Spoke in curses and sang a hex,
to banish your love to hell forever.
"I was a God, Valera", Doctor Doom spoke,
"I found it beneath me."
Found it after the fact. Three too many voices in your head;
Prodigal Son, Nihilist Prophet, Feminist Instigator.
Few believe so hard in something they've tried to erase.
Tried to **** to smother, to maim, and finally, to nurture.
To give up, to recover, to come back, and decide you still believe.
You couldn't make anything happen with no love.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
I watched her sip her coffee in a precarious
manner
She never held on to the handle because the
cup was her life
She didn’t wear her clothes out but rather,
her clothes wore her out
I professed my love to her and told her about
how she removed me from this planet and
reminded me that there are far worse,
mundane things in this world and she was
all that made me happy
And she responded with “okay, but you
know I won’t be coming back because
you’ve made me fathom an existence”
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 7:29 AM UTC
.
Even after visits to apartments in self-named cities to see soccer stars swathed in orange tuxes,
Swerving off country roads in berating fits of tenderness,
Sputtering 'i love yous' in ditches and river canals;
Even after chais with Ye Ye Elders,
Messenger powwows with ancestors, and
holding the hands of comforting Harmonies, I
Never got it right.
.
It was a pathetic attempt to join a traveling circus; a passive means for an escape. Who were the Elephant Man, the sword swallower, or the contorting twins?
****** if I know.
Buddy had his hands wrapped around my neck in a nihilist noose so tight that it bubbled up amaurotic visions within my retina.
I couldn't see or feel a ******* thing.
Lost consciousness on his cold bathroom tiles, sprinkled with ***** confetti, **** all up on my cheek.idonthavetimeforthis!sleeponthecouch!
Watching 'Teach Yourself Circus!' videos at circus camp, I learned to juggle,
albeit groggy and disoriented. Only brightly coloured ***** at this point but I was up to seven tosses! While the freaks and geeks headed to carousels in the big top tent, I headed back to my dilapidated den leased on a broken Concord.
getoutbitchgetoutbitch
Back at camp ( hazy lazy crazy ) rivets affixed so I could only stare forward at the wall.
An e.ch-o-y sound in my
left ear
voice reverberating down thru
t
h
e
w
e
l
l
past
t
h
e
b u c
k e t
I turned my head,
slo-mo tracers flashed in warp speed,
glacial stares softened into slushy moss.
A buttery soft cashmere reply,
i'm sorry? what did you say?
you seem nice...
.
Infrastructure collapsed.
****
Gone.
Crumbled in a heap of rubble.
Impaled by rebar and rebar erections.
Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab.
Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab.
in a black plastic sack
And....then....
Who's to say about the linear sequence of events, anyway?
.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
ººº
*Beware lest anyone cheat you through philosophy and empty deceit,
according to the tradition of men, according to the basic principles of the world,
and not according to Christ.*
Colossians 2:4-8 (NKJV)
His Nietzschean trip moved from Comic toward Tragic:
Deleuze’s delusions flew out the fenêtre
Airborne and ****** on philosphy’s magic
(the nihilist suicide’s raison d’être…)
Propelled from the window, transcending the Ontic,
his organless body in textual flight,
a schiz-flow beyond on a voyage turned frantic.
His thought – a nomadic adornment for speed,
multiplicitly viewing a thousand plateaux
was a force for unhinging the doorways of light
and a plea for postmodern decoding indeed.
His frame soon encountered pure striated space
in the form of the pavement caressing his face.
He joins other smokers of Gallic tabac,
other esotericians of cognitive frenzy
(those mullahs of madness, those sultans of Whack…)
Sorely missed by his victims, disciples and friends
he is mourned, misinterpreted, copied, dismissed
– but for semioticians he heads up the list.
Another brave Frenchman, some guy named Debord
a bespectacled Marxist (who missed all the marks)
made the mediums’ message a radical bore
dialectically fading the lights into darks.
Indirectly disrupting pop-culture with Punk
and other anarchic phenomena-junk,
he too chose to leave with a nihilist bang –
while we whimper and suffer down here with the gang.
The old situationist’s last situation:
an agit-prop funeral short on elation…
So to French de-constructor-philosopher-ravers
and all who rejoice while society wavers
I offer these lines, like a quick coup-de-grace
and be warned – they’re now viewing the Good Lord en face.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC