"pacifiers" poems
Reconstituting globalization to
re-imagine democracy.
By throwing out scale we
the economizers are forced
to turn into misers
and the satisfisers
might rid themselves
of their pacifiers.
It's all about story and
consuming someone else's
turns you into
an actor, an automaton.
Was it prescribed?
Were you imbibed?
Then you are impaled
on an un-truth and
living out a script
that is not your own.
Time to get ruthless and
cut those strings that
lead us to, plead us to
buy, buy, buy (and cry, cry, cry).
Of course, we might find
a guru
to lead us to promises
of promised lands but
this ain't the way to
Yahweh
Unlock the path that lies within.
I'm talking 'bout multi-spectrum bridges
resonating in frequencies
that ring true for you:
this is the story of Power Geometry
re-constituted
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
It's the ritual
the need to make time
to die a little
opening a new pack
shiny cellophane
the lid flipped back
paper seal for freshness
pulled out to reveal
20 happy moments spent
inhaling, coughing, thinking
the soft packets
where you flicked the
cigarettes out like movie
stars and the Marlboro man
who are all dead now
roll ups, kit form bronchitis
liquorice flavour papers
combining childhood flavours
with adult life takers
the smell clinging to clothes
and hair dragon breath
but we all looked so ****** cool
so adult so grown up
so ****** clueless, *******
on our manly pacifiers
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
just don't have the courage
some how
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 5:12 PM UTC
Eventually we'll get implants
to sedate and
make us compliant.
There is no choice here
we have to fight them,
be defiant
buck the system.
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 3:32 PM UTC
My head tilted back like I was
Tasting raindrops
But what fell to my mouth was you
Cradling my jaw in your hands
Steady
As if I were a porcelain doll you might drop
It felt like goodbye
Because it was
And now I am afraid to turn corners
Locked in a haunted house
What will drop from the ceiling
Grab my leg
What will scare me back into submission
Besides you mounting someone outside
Which is perhaps
The most disturbing of all
How you wanted me until suddenly
You didn't
And how I didn't believe you
And how you fed me excuses like pacifiers
Quieting. Comforting. Soothing.
But I spit those out
Realizing their purpose was to
Quiet me into letting you go without a fight
But I took out my fists and fought like hell
You held them and pleaded with me to put my guns away
Surrender my weapons
And let you go in peace
This was all for you.
It was easier
For you
And only you
But what about me.
Grabbing at every part of myself
Pulling hair from my head and scratching flesh from my bones
Slowly and painfully pulling myself apart
Abandoning parts of me in gutters and streams
out windows and in ditches
I can't be myself anymore
Every inch of my flesh has your name written on it
Scratched in a pen using your own blood as ink
You sacrificed for me
And I for you
And we sat on a rock and smelled ocean and let the water spray our faces until we were sticky and wet and still we sung.
We had songs
Some silent, but I could hear the music when there was none.
I still do.
I can't look up down left or right without some yellow light telling me to
Slow down to a stop and take caution,
for a reminder is coming hard and fast your way.
Airbags go
Bitch-slapping me in the face for being stupid
For having been smart and throwing my morals to the wind
I'd like to regret you
But I don't
I'd like to hate you
But I can't
This makes me weak yes I know this
But
I gave you all the parts of me that were strong
And mere visions of you take the wind from my lungs and you use them to set your sails
You're a deep sea diver. Swimming. Living. Lying.
And I drown here.
You told me once that when I jump from a plane
The moment my parachute refuses to open
You'd be there carrying me to the ground
I won't let you fall, you said.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
Someone’s world jumped
onto a cold set of tracks
at Jamaica station
early last week.
Someone’s world jumped
into the universe next door,
leaving us all for
being too human.
At the time,
I was trapped at Penn Station.
A pain spread
about my stomach
like a pen pressed against
a sheet of looseleaf.
MTA officials made announcements,
calling it a mechanical malfunction.
9 to 5 businessmen in
deep black suits with bluetooth headsets
groaned and bargained
for passage home,
ready to ride
through a stranger's graveyard.
Little kids ran through shops,
fingers sticky with frozen yogurt
and popcorn- surprise treats
used as pacifiers.
I sat in a well known coffee shop
pondering life and death.
The word suicide didn’t hurt
like it used to, but I felt
connected to this stranger.
I thought about
that person’s lover,
that person’s sister,
that person’s mother,
that person’s friend.
I thought about how
all of their galaxies stirred and switched gears.
A planet of theirs- tremendous or trifling in their own imagination-
collapsed and changed the course of everything.
I wondered if their galaxy halted and
each star and planet mourned or
if their galaxy smoothed over the craters
and dodged all the meteors and
didn’t even blink.
My galaxy shifted and
clouds laid thick.
Stars dimmed their lights in harmony.
A few years ago
or even a few months ago,
I would’ve cried
and thought
about following this
stranger to train station heaven.
But now,
I thought about
my sister’s galaxy,
my mother’s galaxy,
my best friend’s galaxy.
Now,
I felt sadness
but I also felt love.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
We are the children of children.
How old we get we are still trying to figure it out.
I've learned that the biggest mistake I could ever do to myself is to think that I know it all.
You can know a whole lot but you'll never know it all.
******* on pacifiers with wrinkled faces.
Sharing wisdom before knowing how to even crawl.
Drawn to the mother figure, the father's forgiveness.
Cradling the teachers.
Finding wisdom in students.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
This is a subcultural song
Free energy efficient enthusiasts
Replaced the iroquois punk style
Alternatives, noisy hard core; ear
Damaging drum bass boxes in da
Clubs. Ravishing rave parties in
Mini skirts, glam glossy brass on
Ecstatic strobe-light synthesis - a
Synthetic mainstream paradise
Submerged to hypnotic sucklings
On the colourful plastic pacifiers
A gummy retreat before waterless
Collaps. A dehidrated dream that
Tried to shut the world off by the
Tendrils of regression resemblance.
Adult babies aboard going back to
The false long forgotten innocence.
There is no subculture in being above
The depth. Superficiality seems a posh
Pose and a good hiding reason for socially
Awkward childish rebels without material
Issues. The sore tissue of contemporary art
Is people don't believe in subjective objective
Selves anymore. What authorities put on the
Shelves there - it has to be good-when on the
Real deal discount. You think im not of such
Kind. Sheepishly blindfolded herd lives some-
where else. I pity them. Mock the socially meek,
Unajust, fat, poor or a greek profile. It has to be
A button hot child candy nose to **** her or to
Call a beauty per se. Per american dream team.
***** are hot untill they have pneumatics, man
Are man if they whirl the banknotes under bank
Accounts. ******* act like man in disguise greedy
For more. I inhabitated all this inherently ugly
Preachy words instead of puking into a labdab
Lavatory and cleanse myself from repulsively
****** cultural intermittent artifacts. And how
Can i not subdue to its overwhelming pressure.
I'm just an indigo child of flower children. Don't
Throw me the bones fueled with the black golden
Marrow. I'm a new alternative peasant, growing
Carrots and celery at bio degradable villages. . .
Its not a contra cultural venture if your socks
Are made out of industrial cannabis, and yet
There's no need to. Think. Love. Play music.
Listen. Breathe. Live life as if yours favourite
subcultural song is repetedly on...going along
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC
There are several truths that float here
Like leaves on winters infinite pool
And sometimes sink after hours, further,
Into the depth of my breakable mind.
I am almost always clothed to the body
Of an undetermined tomorrow,
Suffocating in the sleeves
Of any hopes shirt.
Keep you, I have been, for there
In the dirt road of my eyelids
You play with the riddled veins
Light cables unmet by reason.
It is not a tragedy, because
sideshow children were once living
And in their surrounds
Alive, beautiful people breathed.
I will be eluded by a string of pacifiers
A mobile above my head at night
But in-between lies of mystic creatures
And pearl planets, I will always be met by myself.
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 5:59 AM UTC
Quiet Jane,
Your mind was insane,
Your thoughts fell to the
bottom of the earth into
a pit of burning fire and
as it fell, it yelled out your name.
Oh, Quiet Jane.
Pictures around the room,
Framed with macaroni and glue.
Windows stained with the cracks from
the fist of Quiet Jane.
Empty cartridges laying on the floor,
Holes in the wall and in the door.
Twenty old bottles of Gordon's gin,
Smoky room, the walls are caving in.
Pacifiers scattered around the table,
Unused, but open nappies in a cradle,
But no small child seen wandering the hallways,
What's going on, where's Quiet Jane?
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
*currently poland has a catholic conservative organising party of power, which means you'll get great pop hits like: africa by t.o.t.o. in clamour karaoke format... kara oke... new form of hara kiri... get that ******* mike into the wheat fields and bury it! so inventing new japanese phrasing... KARA OKE means plagiarising a song so so hard, that arteries start bulging out of your neck... which makes sense to never spot it on opera singers... because they're bubbly bubbles phat... pass me the hairbrush... i'm about to shing in the singing cubicle of running water.*
there's a reason why
rock stars et al.
are famous...
they're basically crowd
control, crowd control
stewards, pacifiers
of the mob who have
a guillotine hidden
under one girl's skirt...
and aristocrats don't like
that... no precious...
so now in encore all together:
CLAP IF YOU'RE HAPPY
CLAP HAPPY CLAP IF YOU'RE HAPPY;
****** my pants i did,
thinking it out... feels good
to not feel jealous about
such professions designated a stage
and a thank you speech,
but oddly enough such crowd
control professions attract the biggest
dross of jealousy...
while the one hundred and ten year old
sikh guy keeps jogging, at his age so fast,
that his turban falls off...
no one's jealous of him;
he's got twenty great-grandchildren
and i'd rather be jealous of that...
the definite concentration of mortality
extending into a comparative blink of a god.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
It's that time of night when i get feverish
in my dreams, ******* girls with **** loaded,
thighs gloating and supple, pressure of ********
in between us, when I hear the thump.
A slamming; a jarring; a catapaulting into never.
Carlos lost his wife, she dipped in the middle of the night
when he'd passed out, she'd slipped out, gripped the kids
over their hidden mouths and whispered something about tipping out,
Pop had gone insane now.
Carlos broke a month later.
Told me and Ash to take everything. Exhaled a marlboro,
shucked his shoulders, ripped open that tiny Celica
and shifted. Gone.
Burns black-eyed into the carpet, bottles on the sill, pacifiers thrown like condoms--
haphazard, but carefully placed.
Now the people living there
throw the girl around,
she cries.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
Sometimes I feel like people are trying to pacify me, with a pacifier, when I'm actually throwing up. But they don't see it. They literally do not see it. And then they get mad at me for refusing to take the pacifier when it really isn't helping at all, in fact, it's making it worse. You don't help people when you're not helping them. When someone is throwing up, you don't give them something that will keep it in. You help them throw up, you help them get that yucky stuff out of them, you get a towel, or a bowl, or take them to a toilet. You rub their back, get them some tea, wash their face. It's not pretty and it's not fun, but it's helping. Pacifiers are quick and easy and take little to no effort on your part. But when someone is throwing up, that takes patience, endurance, love, empathy, sacrifice, kindness, determination. If you can't help, don't try to help at all, it may make it worse.
I am not talking about service here, I am and I'm not. I'm talking about when someone is in a real problem, and they need the right help; if you can't give that right help, don't give the wrong help. When someone is throwing up, don't give them a pacifier.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
Scarpered for the siren liquor
Shame-seared claret cheeks
Lost to time and regulation
Found by terrified relation
Taught that gravity was quicker
Supine in the streets
Too pie-eyed for interventions
Fuddled buccaneer
Too aware for rectifiers
No relief with pacifiers
Banished now for contraventions
No more welcome here
Therein lies the contradiction
Tricksy elbow-bender
You designed this cunning passport
Teamed constabulary transport
Speedy coveted eviction
Purposeful offender
Now we nurse the convalescent
Scarring quips ignore
Dodging pleading, wounding protest
Culpable without an inquest
Feeling without feel-depressant
Pain-drink tug-of-war
Where to put our damaged kindred
Languishing in grief
Ductile truth in glass distended
Remedies are not extended
Therapies are judgement-tinted
Distanced from relief
Imminent familiar wipeout
Nowhere safe to be
Don’t do as the doc suggested
Cede to being bottle-bested
Bottle-lock in private hideout
Throw away the key
Aug 16, 2024
Aug 16, 2024 at 12:56 AM UTC
I've met familiar faces in the
Darkest scenes ever unfolded
Maddening their faces, screaming for
Everything and anything that would
**** the pain that drove them insane
They've become locked in patterns
in cycles in fixated routines of needing fixes
Fighting is all they have ever done, and never done all in one
Once it was easy for them to fail, now it's getting
Harder as the days thin out, as their waists and hair follow
Glorifying junkies and
embracing apostles of death
They had no true motivators
Just
Enablers
Stimulators
No one to ever look out for their
interests, only their pacifiers
Who do you call
Who are you to call
on them?
Calling them demeaning
slurs to protect yourself
from your own degenerative
routines & drastic disdain for
the rest
You wash your brain with the
notion that you are
Immaculate
Infallible
When in fact, you are but a defect
in the washed-up pulp persona
The epitome of plastic in a seashell
Nothing could ever change that
which is your ignorant existence
Deny the Denouncing of Doubts
that were there to distract the
dancing hippies in the rain
from their ultimate decisions
to become such disdainful
primitive degenerates in the eyes
of the rest of the cockroaches
of 9-5 shifts & 3 minute *****
in the Fast Food toilets
Come, let them get off together
They come and go and come
and blow
They never leave the circle
of fixated cycles
Yes, I have met these familiar faces
in the darkest scenes ever unfolded
But I never thought introductions
would lead me any further loaded
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
I’ve had all my affections poured out over pink skirts as well as pale eyes.
It’s easy to find that pogo sticks and pacifiers
can’t get a childhood
off the ground; where she stood smiling.
Over coats and undercuts are all to cover something.
Replace your teeth with gold
and when they don’t feel
like yours anymore
Then you’ll know.
Your tongue is bronze now.
Plaster’s coming off like a shuffle board land slide
All around this cage they keep us dogs
In, When we bite; its because there isn’t any tongue clicking
Or word bashing left to do.
The sun has found me,
I see it through
slotted bars, and the clouds
are in just as much hell as I am.
I see them with belly full to eyes full of wine.
I’ve been too long in burning this bridge.
It’s the buckets full ,
waiting to quench tinder.
It’s that I’ve drunken everything,
Flammable for miles.
Lock jaw and bite.
Bite down on the trusses.
Bite down and curse god.
He’ll understand all
Your tongues, and spastic fingers.
She says that I puke passion,
that these trees don’t grow in vain,
that fruit is god awful imagery,
And that I have to train every limb
so they can beat the stop signs with their falling pines.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
For what it’s worth,
I still think about you at 12:36
When I know that you’re in a different time zone.
Maybe it’s because the hour ahead of us is a constant reminder of how your heart,
despite time and distance, is mine –
like this clock,
like this hurt,
like this longing.
Despite time and space,
it is all mine.
And,
the love remains behind,
with me,
waiting to catch up to the next life,
waiting for reality to stop just for a second,
waiting for a chance just another chance
only to wait again with a better sense of hope.
Maybe I should wait for the next day,
23:11 will come and I’ll wish upon this ****
this hurt and this longing while you,
at 00:11 will wish upon the stars of a new day.
Hoping today will dawn with the rise of our love
only to realise that there are shams and shackles of could-have-beens
in dusty roads of despair,
bottle tops for pacifiers, balancing the toxins of sorrow
ashed dreams,
and sobs for lullabies –
not your voice for my ears,
not my song for your heart.
Nothing but space and time.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 6:00 AM UTC
Baby red...baby red...
I can feel your pain
Baby red baby red...
I see the tears & it tastes oh so sour...
Baby red....
Why must you be in such sorrow?
You walk with demons
And their claws are the pacifiers
To your unearthly cries...
Baby red...
Why must you be so rude?
You laugh and are very evil,
To the angels who are here to
Protect you....
Why must you cry and bleed tears...
Why do you walk on fire and spit on love....
Baby red baby red...
Who created you?
Who concieved and made you?
Who put their evil love into a Gerber baby?
Who put the hell's sins, into the roses of your skin?
Baby red, don't be like them...
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 6:37 PM UTC
but we **** on the same pacifiers
we inhale the dust from the factory floor
wintergreen coated plastic
put it between your gum and your cheek
its all the same, but a little different
just a little
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
The slow click hoisting you up high,
the spinning sea of
colors, red, and yellow, and blue.
Never too old, for wonders to unfold.
Back down on the ground,
A man balanced on a wheel,
hobbles back and forth –
Like all, he wishes not to fall.
Stitched and stuffed, child pacifiers meet the eye,
dashy games, for flashy prizes
Step right up, win em’ all
they beckon, and they call –
All rejoicing at the sound of the calliope,
And the blaring bright spectacle for all to see.
Aromas from greasy concessions,
confections filling the air, screaming
Follow if you dare.
Or if you’d rather,
take the path with the changing lights,
winding road of twists and turns,
Into a room where reflections are
Not your friend – and enemies,
You’ll come to face – once
yours meets hard glass case
Slowly but surely, you will escape,
like a magician disappearing beyond his cape,
Seeing was once believing,
now suddenly, the eyes are only deceiving.
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 12:36 AM UTC
I cut my teeth
On sapphires
Not pacifiers
Sweet chunks
Of painful beauty
****** gums
And bleeding teeth
Broken drums
Still playing
In my heartbeats
With no repeats
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
i open my mouth to speak
but there is nothing but silence.
*you hold my hand*
under the moonlight
and the cacophony of thunder
rumbles in my mind,
there are words inside of me
trying to claw its way
out of my mouth.
still, there is silence.
**but the moon was my witness,**
she has watched the way
your hand had slipped inside mine,
and had seen how i'd open my mouth
to say the words that i have
been keeping inside me.
i wanted to tell you
how i know you're a mess
but when the moonlight shines
on every broken piece of you
i still think you're wonderful
i wanted to tell you
that your mind is beautiful
how i wanted to know
about everything
that made you who you are
i wanted to tell you
how i have been jealous
of sippy cups and pacifiers,
how i wished it were my lips
trapped between yours
i wanted to tell you
how i would have waited
to unravel the poems inside of you
that i would have wanted
to be so much more for you
but time couldn't permit me that luxury
and the stars have been our reprieve.
they have watched the way
we tried not to buckle
but each kiss still tasted more
and more like goodbye
i open my mouth to speak
but there is nothing but silence.
you let my hand go
under the moonlight
and the cacophony of thunder
rumbles in my mind,
there are words inside of me
trying to claw its way
out of my mouth.
still, there is silence.
but in this reticence,
know that you are more
than the metaphors i find
in the moonlight
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 3:41 AM UTC
Heartbeat I lie in vain helpless,
Shelfless to a home I once knew,
Put me down,
Pull me through,
Anyone who hears mine attempt!!!
Numbness coming on,
Bent bows to cupid song's in full era of thine own beginnings!!
No cash ins,
No winnings,
For thy lights been turned out!!!
Gone south, where thy willows weep in gravesight pastures!!!
Forever after I will be in the clouds where no devils can tempt me,
Only harps of lost love to be found!!
Gatherers to fathomers,
Shalt be the sea I await to swim!!!
No more pacifiers of hell,
None more of me, no one to know when Im gone ,
When heavens gone dim.....
Patience,
How I'm done with your dirtiest of mind tricks,
You messy!!!
You sick!!
For thine clocks run dead!!!!
Time is none more,
None more words to be said!!!!!!!
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
Pull back iron curtains
Walk through walls of beads
Open the door to experience
Overzealousness is misunderstood
And you've misunderstood it if you're overzealous
Hippies, Social Justice, Radical Terrorism
Pacifists are babies and babies need pacifiers
Says a hellraiser that would rise to heaven if only he rose above
Swing the pendulum from left to right
And you'll see that whoever picked a side
Was stupid
That's why I prefer Foucaults
Take a trip around the world for once
See every face over time
Clock faces make good mirrors
If you'd like to reflect on the past
Truth hurts
Warfare and peace
Left wings and right wings never helped us fly
But everyone is high on something
They're all guaranteed altitude sickness
Parties
Races
Countries
Politics ruin culture
This world has been sawn into concrete squares
Everyone is boring and good luck changing something that's set in stone
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC