"nihilists" poems
I am the Lorax, who once spoke for the trees
In the hope of bringing progress to its knees
But now I have grown somewhat older and tired,
My outlook and thought process being rewired
(Sometimes to see forest, you must clear the trees.)
Examine the case of the Brown Bar-ba-loots
Whose interests for so long I worked in cahoots.
Could such timid beasts truly thrive in the wild
So innocent, trusting, submissive, and mild?
(My former assertions I strongly refute.)
Why, see how they frolic and scamper in zoos;
How can one watch them and steadfastly refuse
To see how much better their lot is today
As joy for our children as opposed to prey
(A happy condition where no one can lose.)
Ah, scoff the nihilists, *but Truffula Trees,
Those havens for birds and those homes for the bees.
Why, what do you say now that they are all gone,
Removed to make way for some suburban lawn?*
(These angry young men—O Lord, take them all please!)
I gently remind them it’s just nature’s way,
That some species go while other ones stay,
The carrier pigeon’s no longer alive
Yet somehow we manage to live—indeed, thrive!
(In the face of brute logic, they’ve little to say.)
So don’t be dismayed or frightened or leery
Of doomsday projections outlined by theory
Suggesting that our time on this earth may be done;
Consider the caged Bar-ba-loot having fun
(And we hear fish do quite well in Lake Erie.)
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC
I hate love lives
But I don't hate life
I just don't think I could get it right in 8 lives
Each one with 8 wives
That's 64 beautiful women
Thoroughly explored I couldn't find love in em
I relish in hate right...
But I don't hate life
I just can't help but see the stigma that you're stained by
Slithering worthless serpents working circles and sinning
I heard their hymns and verse but couldn't find love in em
I play to their hate right..
But they don't hate life
They're just vulnerable to the flames Nihilists lay by
Sleeping soundly certain that there was no divine venom
Pious verses were immersive yet rehearsed I couldn't find love in em.
It's subjective what's right
But I don't hate life
I just can't shape my morals and at the same time,
Sit in oblong boxes and keep my thoughts within em
I read your laws, codes, and odes but couldn't find love in em
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 11:35 AM UTC
I often find that the people I know are polarized,
they range from,
positive to negative,
you have your optimists,
your idealists,
your cynics,
your nihilists,
and oddly enough,
everyone else.
Optimists believe in Hamilton's Principle,
but they tailor it to our own fabric,
they believe that for some unknown reason,
the current situation is the optimal one,
everything will be alright,
que sera sera,
carpe diem.
Idealists believe in truth,
they understand what is ideal,
and what is not,
they attempt to apply such principles to the observed world,
and more often than not,
they fail,
but that's alright,
they tried their best.
Cynics view the world as it is,
they observe and make rational judgement,
realism at its finest,
a time tested trait,
pragmatism has served them well.
Nihilists believe that life is without intrinsic meaning,
there is nothing that cannot be observed,
a craft of existentialist theory,
they assert that morality is a figment of mankind's imagination,
and for all we know,
they could be right.
And finally we have the remainder,
those of us we have no idea what we believe,
no path traced in the sand,
no trail blazed in the years prior,
and sometimes I think that perhaps this group is right,
there are limits to human understanding,
and so I ask,
how can we know,
oh,
how can we know?
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
☺☻☺☻
When painters who paint about painting
meet writers who write about writing,
self-conscious redundancy
bordering lunacy
ends in esthetic in-fighting.
These modernists, right about nothing
(mostly nihilists mad about something)
are so lost in the process
they vent all their excess
in metacognition: dull writing.
You poets who muse about musing –
unaware you are reader-abusing,
provide a terrific
verbose soporific,
yet not of the hearer’s own choosing…
I long for some righteous verbosity –
but I’m stifled by all the pomposity.
This dull erudition,
“sub-metacognition”,
is but an artistic atrocity.
You thinkers who think about thinking
drag my spirit far lower than sinking.
What we want is a Word
which we haven’t yet heard –
so till then I’ll just drink about drinking.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
Ha ha doesn't do it.
Ha ha can't be it.
Nothing like Nihilism
Enlists the whole lament.
Slack relief in disbelief
mine of God
I just figured
No halo
finished
Time
Next line no using
phones please and no
cursing please think
that's going to ****
off the young,
when all they read
How mellow
Now trees?
So you think getting
pregnant tired driving 40
on the night they drove
old Dixie down it
couldn't rain enough for
me I wanted to see
their Wagonwheel slats
stuck up to their humps
in dreams. It's easy to
get a palm trimming.
actually think they
read anywhere
can write some
One.
At least I have a
************* palm
yes I'm lying
in bed now get some
sleep it's who
they all say you're *******
my recording girl
you took my
only lighter.
Because
what God
touts God
Routs and tryouts
buy shouts
yet still
Doubts if
She is really out.
Ha ha! Nihilists won't expound.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
A prisoner of the hallucination,
hardly happy, quick to open a floodgate of personal misery,
talking often of unique pain, of places before been,
asking only for sympathy and creative license-
Past Ring Bearer/Future Funeral Singer,
you're selfish to think you mean much at all.
What was always is,
greater wisdom is greater sorrow,
ask the holograms begging on boulevards,
ask the nihilists and the naysayers,
or even the understanding heart of Solomon.
Life is a pastoral play using pastels,
washed away and rewritten over and over again.
Your superior melancholy is the loudest cliché.
If you've got any love, cradle it like a newborn babe.
It's the reason that will make you glad you stayed.
For every headstone,
there once was a bouquet.
For every brown, breaking leaf,
there once was a summer breeze.
For every noose-a necktie,
for every slave-a free.
No need to trudge the trough,
no need to join in the polyphonic symphony
of 7 billion people drowning under the current of time,
there is only personal progression,
but you have to shut up and dream for a second.
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 9:05 AM UTC
i knew from a young age nothing could love me.
i knew when everything began,
when elemental dust condensed into planets,
when life fought itself into existence
in the waters of a cooling world,
when the first being exulted in being
and i exulted too
and crushed it for daring to live.
watched it decompose in my palm.
rotted roses by plucking them.
i knew from a young age
that nothing survived my touch,
that nothing lived in my hands -
nothing’s the only thing
i’ve ever held without killing.
so see, we’re meant to be,
you and i,
nothing boy –
let me hold you close cause i can’t rot you through,
you with your lack of self
and meaning,
you with your infinite void,
impenetrable ether.
see, we’re meant to be,
nothing boy,
let me swim in your vacancy and you,
you can be my new universe
and nothing will be my everything:
i’ll worship you like an absent father
and love you like an atheist’s god.
see we’re meant to be,
nothing boy,
i would **** 2000 statues to bring you to me.
i would slaughter a family of worms
to be crushed in your black hole.
i crushed the stars between my thighs,
left the triturated mess
like a promise to the world.
i crushed the stars between my thighs,
but i’ll be so careful with you,
nothing boy.
so gentle you won’t even know i’m there,
like a ghost sighing over your mouth.
so careful you won’t notice me
making my nest in your empty chest,
breathing for you,
pulling air to pool in your lungs.
see we’re meant to be,
nothing boy:
i complete you
and you empty me.
see we’re meant to be,
nothing boy,
nothing doesn’t rot -
my gangrene heart can’t touch yours,
pure as it is,
undefiled,
unadulterated,
a vacuum of a heart as empty as an unfilled grave.
they say
there’s a black hole at the center of every galaxy,
in the center of a ring of stars
light drawn to the dark.
they say there’s a black hole at the center
and if they’re right
you’re the last good thing about this galaxy.
stars swarm round you like flies, nothing boy,
you who are made of their
dead brothers,
who collapsed into themselves with the weight of existence,
who imploded with the heat of their desire for you,
who fed their light to your blackness,
nothing boy.
you are made of dead stars and of nothing at all.
you are
celestial corpses
and nihilism distilled.
see we’re meant to be,
nothing boy.
you’re corpses and i’m rot.
you’re nothing and i’m
the final destination
the last stop for sorry living creatures,
pitiful things that can’t quite
delete themselves,
can’t quite reach you
so i embrace them and soothe their sobs.
see we’re meant to be,
nothing boy,
i can hold you for more than a few
pitiful sobbing seconds.
i can hold you forever if you let me.
see we’re meant to be,
nothing boy.
i killed the world but you remain.
i crushed the galaxy between my thighs,
and you, impassive,
pulled the triturated mess into your event horizon.
see we’re meant to be,
nothing boy,
you have no breaths to steal
but i’ll give you all i’ve plundered.
i’ll give you every last breath, last word, last heartbeat,
and you can empty me like
a bottle of cheap wine.
see we’re meant to be –
nothing boy and gangrene girl,
a love story for fatalists
and nihilists alike.
see we’re meant to be,
nothing boy,
starcorpse creature, nietzsche’s son.
see we’re meant to be,
nothing boy -
nothing never rots
nothing never dies
nothing won’t decompose
in my arms.
see we’re meant to be,
nothing boy.
let me hold you close-
you’re the one thing i can’t break.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
The men wept and the women wept, children, dogs, cats and grandparents wept
The theist, the atheist and the agnostics all wept
The politicians in their boastful and pristine offices wept
The homeless man with his homeless bride wept
Homemakers in their homes,
Chefs in their kitchens,
Workmen on their lunch breaks all wept
I wept and you wept, we wept together
Tears that fell all around us like burst banks and levees
The dadaists in Russia wept
The existentialists in the Ukraine wept
The absurdists and nihilists of France even wept
What a sight
The post-modern Christians and neo-vaudevillians weeping still,
The grounds of the deserts in the south that begged for moisture on a regular basis, wept
The slick icy glaciers in the far north continue to weep
My home was full of tears, as I believe was yours,
The news, too much to bear,
Words that cascade from mouths, wept
The shadows and the sun that cast them wept also
It was a sight to behold,
the moment we all discovered the true essence
Of empathy.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
I tell you, you gloomy ones,
that life is beautiful.
Life is beautiful
in all its depths of
suffering and misery and pain
in all its depths of
striving and joy and pleasure.
I tell you, you nihilists,
one draws breath only once,
passes into and fades out of life only once.
Yet you are to tell us it is worthless,
this gift given to us all by chance?
I tell you, you Christians,
and all your compatriots
who hate the flesh and the earth,
who promise more life through
sons of virgins and husbands of children,
that nothing awaits after death.
"Memento mori!”
Why must you always
chime this in our ears?
Why must you fill
men with such anxious fears?
Many a man rules his life to this,
dreads and gasps and despairs to this,
prays that he may never come to this,
but you delude him on,
promising life after life.
I tell you, that
when we die, we cease ourselves to be.
Our senses stop their feeling,
our hearts stop their beating,
our brains stop their thinking,
and without those functions,
there ends a man.
So there are no souls
to greet gods in heavens,
nor any demons
to meet in hells,
only the ground we stand on,
and the caskets underneath.
Is this frightening?
Maddening, to think we must one day
cease to be and become nothing?
But death is not nothing;
Death is only a new dance of atoms.
When one thing tumbles,
it returns to the earth,
through one step or another,
to waltz and dissemble and collide
to make new things and again asunder.
With death, one only
plays one's part
on the grand stage of things.
Do not be afraid then,
of death;
do not let it frighten you,
that you will be
pointless, forgotten, or condemned.
Do not let it terrify you
into leaving your life unlived.
And so I tell you,
you gloomy ones,
you Christians, you nihilists, you sufferers,
remember that you must live.
Embrace life,
this shortness of time,
love every moment of your being,
in all its depths of
suffering and misery and pain,
in all its depths of
striving and joy and pleasure.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
Spewing seed and venom, life and death, lust and loathing, we were Marc Antony and Cleopatra
A serpent suicide and *** poisoned ******* and choking, then we patiently awaited our rapture
When I died I watched you follow, you said "my love I will join you soon."
From your effigy, a malignant magnetic energy floated above the room
We were toxic and intoxicated, dead but full of life
Darkness ensued all but a narrow slit, brimming with shimmering light
I grew to a boy then a man scolded by harsher truths
And then I met you, my Egyptian Queen, so beauteous and full of youth
You asked me for a cigarette, I only had a joint
We smoked and spoke like Nihilists and debated "What's the point?"
For years our love grew again, one day you said to me:
"The vanguard is at the gate and the walls are under siege"
But your battles were waged with ****** not Egypt's enemies
My response rang through history with war-torn lover's pleas
Maybe these lives were insufferable, maybe I hide from the truth
That my only respite was that every night I was coming home to you
Our apartment was just too quiet, soundless and without sentiment
Nothing remained of our candle but spilt wax and the scent of it
The bathroom door was locked, "Open the door, Let me in!"
Under the bathroom's flourescent lights that serpent bit again
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 12:45 PM UTC
.
1. It's time to retreat
To call off the war, to turn in the trumpets,
To shut off our hearing aids to those who are bullet-riddled with Ritalin.
2. Leave passion at the door
The coat rack is missing, but that's what people are for,
Push them back into the closets with your woolen wares and see.
3. Check in your soul with the desk clerk
The bellhop promises to bring it up soon, but the elevator is out of order.
His trolly's wheels were stolen and the stairs are still on fire.
Sorry.
No refunds.
4. Lock all the doors and tip your cows
You're too tipsy for another round of room service anyways and the
police are planning a raid.
Tell the too young girls with the too old eyes the time has come to go and
stitch your innocence back on.
5. Check your bedstand for a bible and a razor
Ignore the ***** stains; the key to salvation was paid in sin.
Put yourself on a pension plan because I hear the devil's running a good
racket.
Sorry.
No refunds.
6. Trash this place on Yelp. Trash this place in person.
The devil is hiding in the woodwork and there's a people zoo of women
dancing on the yellowed wallpaper.
The carpet smells like Daddy's cigarettes and Mommy's drunken spit-up.
7. w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶m̶e̶s̶s̶a̶g̶e̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶m̶i̶r̶r̶o̶r̶
What a proud song:
Here's to the the nihilists, here's to the named,
Here's a vague attempt to mark the world in meaning.
8. Break the mirror instead
***Sorry.
No refunds.***
But they offer complimentary mints.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
Light penetrates ignorance
End game in sight
Taking of the holy bread
Decisions take flight
Devils smiling at their soulful gain
Nihilists enjoy their plight
Trauma now redefined
Demented Achilles limps into the night.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
CCP Turtles Grassing Line
China’s virtual hotline
Report online remarks
Slander Communist Party history
Crack down “bygone nihilists”
Party’s 100th centenary July
Grass line allows society report
Netizens “twist” Party’s history
Attack governance policies
Denigrate national heroes
Deny superiority radical socialist nation
Clandestine motivations old nihilistic parodies
Malevolently garbling
Denigrating contradicting Party history
Internet operatives administering people
Devotedly report dangerous info
“Historical nothingness” public doubt distrust
Chinese Communist Party’s earlier dealings
China’s net forcefully censored
Overseas social media networks
Search engines news outlets forbidden
Penances persons conveyed
Netizens prison lawful punishments
Placement content acute
Nation’s leadership procedures antiquity
Legal amendments folks
“Slur smear invade on” memorial
China’s national heroes’ martyrs
Face three years gaol
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 4:22 PM UTC
The different factions spreading, interacting, substantive stories vs news stories, elements of truth. That go behind the lines, turning through the streets, jerking around the wifi signals, you're in deep, the picture and the humor, sarcasm seeping into the minds, sexting the pope, letting him know, Jesus walks the earth again, documentaries replacing the text, it's combustion in a little tube, an extension, Realism somewhere distant in our heads, a dream of universalism we all woke up from, wanting to buy into the sensuality of modernity, all encompassing, petty glances from older strangers as we peer into our windows, flying miles away, the creative force of the nihilists who find God in escape
Regeneration-
In a perpetual state of educations, flaring neuron, confused and neglected, the Chemical reactions, the think tank, silence in the face of music, the life game with a set number of rules, the odd numbers muliply, divide, in my case the ones with the rancid breath who club to the other and make the third stay in debt
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
The world is filled with hedonists
Laughing and making merry.
The world is learned by nihilists
With the weight of the world to carry.
You see a point to the daily routine
Your infinite repeated steps reek of death.
You feel your goals are closer than they last seemed
Only ten billion eighty-three thousand steps left.
I view the larger picture,
Work on a bigger scale
This planet means nothing,
Our lives are inane, this galaxy as well.
Every day my eyes open they close once more
Every breath I take is a penance, a punishment
Every day I wake up is an endless chore
Every memory I make means as little as the last meant.
But the world is filled with hedonists
They enjoy the idiocy of life.
The world is filled with idealists
Who feel the "prize" is in sight.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
You've got convictions,
mumble poems to yourself,
lost at your front door.
You sip cigarettes
just like how your ex used to,
long and ferocious.
Still wearing his clothes,
but wearing the next guys shirt,
your heart on your sleeve.
It's all for non-sense,
we're all nihilists these days.
We all lack beliefs.
You have convictions;
a speech only you can hear.
Foot steps on concrete.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
There's always the revivalist meeting, but
I think that I'd rather be dead
nihilists seem to have more fun
when all they do is die in their bed.
We're being shortchanged for all of our labour
We're being shafted by those at the top
all I want is some fortune and favour and
for the banjo,
that's playing to stop.
If we're doomed from the very beginning
why bother to start anything it's a pain
why not head off to the junction at Clapham
and stand in the front of a train.
Ah,
but there's always the revivalist meeting
where the realist reaches out to the wall
and when he's touched on the perfection of living
realises
it means nothing at all.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
In the middle of blurry senses
within indefinite tenses,
You can find me
thriving beneath your glow.
Sometimes
your shine will blind me.
In return,
sincerely holding your hand
and following your vivacious voice
that I am aching for,
I will take you to places
you haven't ever been
even once before.
As a sightless poet,
flying through all hinders
I will lead you to heaven,
a journey of senses,
lands of eternity in endless art,
I will cover you with my heart
from any dangers to protect
and I will make you the perfect,
the precious woman
of nihilistic poetry!
Becoming aware
of the magnificent healer
In suspense and in a stew
all poets will ask:
Who is that persona - the nihilist-killer?!
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 1:26 PM UTC
I feel that the light is shining on all of us,
Here today,
That are of this generation.
Without thought for creed or nation,
Dispensation or convictions.
I feel in the air
A breeze of change
From the winds of truth.
I hear the chimes
Of a pur of gust on chords
From a pale vision given color.
I see concern in the face of my brothers,
I discern a scent staining my sisters.
That they are not treated as fathers,
That they are not treated as mothers;
That they are less person & more chattel.
Whatever your chosen identity.
And even so, despite conjecture
The majority feel as such,
That line of a nation
Is one without factions.
And yet, by the party system,
That lie of a nation
Is one where we are equals.
Because in being separate
We are not different,
Not in this way.
For we are conjoined
And yet disjointed;
Debating becomes like arguing,
Disagreeing becomes like fighting.
My friends, what are we doing?
Is it not yet evident
That without the cooperation,
Consent,
And participation
By the majority of the populace
That it is impossible for us to attain real order?
Outside of seditious and nefarious plans
For power grabs of total control,
Which will all reliably fail,
There are solutions.
Nothing so final
As the extremist comics,
Often pessimists or nihilists,
So salivate and dream over.
And nothing so care-free
As some sadists or hedonists,
Often pessimists or nihilists,
So swoon and fall for.
Yet nor too meek or rigid
As some fanatics or magicians,
Often pessimists or nihilists,
So worship and practice ritual.
No. We will be democratic
With a government
Who hears of all
That plagues & plights;
By little & tall,
Small & large.
We will have a middle,
Common ground
Where we may all be impartial.
That place we shall call,
Columbia.
Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 10:56 AM UTC
WORDS
Words
worry me
how many
did I use today?
Words
they frighten me
how many were necessary?
it seems to me
most didn’t do their duty
to what purpose
to whom
to what end
said to an imagined enemy
or a true friend?
I must pause
to think
before I sink
to the abyss of the inane
where words fester and stink
I must forget
unwanted words
delete many
from my unedifying vocabulary
others I shouldn’t blame
though I know deeply
in my heart
I was taught to use
the uncomely
the meaningless words
words that self-glorified
sugar-coated which would but
diminish me
reduce me
to absurdity
words that hate
that hurt
that maim
that cause pain
and suffering
that but serve
my selfish aim
(now regret comes too late)
I should not be
in the company
of some many
so-called teachers
I must break myself free
from the word-killers
the word-profaners
the word-defilers
the language nihilists
who seek to destroy
beauty and decency
for their vainglory
how would I sleep tonight
counting the number
of inhumane and worthless words
I spoke today?
so often I wished
I were dumb
to be cleansed
by silence
to be still
to be liberated
from the pollution
that has infected
my better self
for so long
so surreptitiously
without my knowing
it’s past midnight now
how calm are the stars and the moon
in their eternal silence
they speak so much to me
and make such wondrous company
when I wake tomorrow
would I be a new man
one who has turned his back
on the past
that has irked and misused me?
the sage Lao-Tze in the sixth century BC wrote:
he who knows does not speak
he who speaks does not know.
and that’ s all I need to know.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC
I feel as if I have passed on through.
The mortal veil.
And come to my judgement.
One that does not bode.
Well for me.
I'll be condemned.
To more of this torpor.
This inadequate existence.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC