"pathology" poems
We, the voice of the most oppressed,
Work in the profession remaining the most humble,
Throughout histories, as slaves our lives still remain tumble,
With our strangled necks, we are deliberately suppressed
For the centuries, our voices remain unheard,
Like a weeping fish at the sea,
We are treated zombies at the rush of a blood,
Collecting by hand, the human society’s poops & pea
Things for us got intensely worse,
We work as a group with an isolated curse,
For our livelihood, go into manholes as bare-bodies
Mostly get out as dead-bodies
From pathology to oncology,
We are treated untouchables, even by the modern technology
We are the oxygen-offering trees that remain green
Hurting ourselves, collecting excreta making this world neat &clean
With our hand-cuffs we shout and fight,
Rulers remain drunken-deafs to our plight,
Hell with your knowledge, to those who go to college
And keep pushing us to the drainage,
We remain living dead and frustrated, to get our right
When asked about work, we remain dumb and blind,
Fearing the responses to our ***** revelations,
Because humans are unemphathetic and unkind
To get our life some elevations.
Our mind said us “Please think! Please Think!”
When we revolt not to work, societies stink,
We warn, Witness your locality *****
To our sufferings, if you keep blank & empty.
We are a collective voice,
Representing inhuman humanity,
That keeps the society on a poise,
So raise your voice, with a clarity of choice
To get us work with the utmost dignity!
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
You are pathology incarnate
The sweat on your brow trick of the light
You were the first female
But you are no woman
Just a beast in the shape of a girl
Plucked one year before ripeness
A major at everything
A minor one way
Your eyes betray your true nature
Sharp, louche and depravity reined
Soot-yellow and one dollar green
Some might call it hazel
I call it dirt against your aryan gold hair
If you offered me fruit
I’d force myself to take a bite
So my soul won’t witness my guts feasted in the gutter
Carnivorously carnival-carved cadaver
Stamped under your cigarette-stained heels
Cherry cola chipped out of chapped lips
Cos I didn’t dare take a chockfull
You’re the first girl who has ever touched me
But I’m just the fly on your fruit
Lilith Haefelin
The girl before Eve.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 11:33 PM UTC
Your Messiah is not Christ
my Karma is not your dogma
Their AntiChrist is not the Mahdi
His avatar is not yet manifest
Our Dajjal is not their 12th Imam
Your Brahman is not my Elohim
The Atman is not the God-Man
Your God-Man is Luciferian
Our Lucifer is not their Allah
The Djinn are undocumented
some angels fell
Allah is not Ras Tafari
Their Zion is Babylon
Jerusalem is Egypt or *****
Their Angels are ascended Masters
Our Master is your ascended Savior
My Savior is your accuser
Their God is no Savior
His unction is Satanic
The war is spiritual
The Spirit is not obvious
My anointing is carnal
their anointing is moronic
our doctrine is angelic
Your rejection was predestined
our acceptance is divine
Our depravity is documented,
your sanctity is illusory
their power is diabolic
their light is darkness
Their leader is ungodly
Our God is unseemly
His Truth is offensive
The bitter is not sweet
the sweet is unworldly
the world is not heavenly.
Trinity in seven spirits, yet God is One…
Revel in the uncertainty. Have some holy fun
fitting more angels on the pin-head, dancing
before they fall. Rebellion is always entrancing
until the current postmodern theology
hooks up with psycho-sexual linguistic pathology.
Don’t accept my apology
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
But such people-
the mighty, the powerful
the rich, the pseudo- intellectual
the influential
are the most odious
what **** sapiens?
they are the mal-products
of evolution
who bring shame
to the human race
in their inhumanity
bullies
narcissists
items of assorted pathology
but they can't see-
' We are the authority
and can't do wrong'.
In the newspapers
they are the centre-piece
their pride oozes
from their every paw
but time brings down
even the mightiest
and such people end up
as discarded old newspapers
in the dust-bin of history
where they belong so appropriately.
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
A student of mine sat on the steps
Clenched, clammy, and bulging with strained strength
Periodically overcome by shadows of pathology
This night he begged for help through gaps of cyclical consciousness
A funeral trail for clarity ambled solemnly to the gymnasium
He was surrounded, and they plotted, and advanced, and he was engulfed
They were upon him like a ****** seeking seed or vulture carrion
He seized on an arched back and suffered under octodemons
On that hard wood floor under dead bulbs that swung like momentous pendulums
My student transformed into a tiger leaking rage from rusty cage
Explained in eloquent detail and prophetic tone his will to ****
Blacking out to full extent
He was amygdala, he was instinct
Battling grown poachers until they stole his fearsome fangs
Clipped his claws, and painted over his stripes with calm
When contained, vicious umbra cat turned tranquil
We sat circular and played lobster ball pass with our toes
And talked about buses to New York
His mother taught him to be a songbird
While the streets moved his feet
Goodnight Archery, we hugged
I wonder how he's
Breathing
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 8:24 PM UTC
Has not enough been said
About Cecil, the Lion?
This has brought me to tears.
For those who don't know
Cecil lived in a Wild Life park
In Zimbabwe.
There was no hunting allowed
So, some sick *******
Who is a big game hunter
Dragged a antelope carcass
So that Cecil would
Come out of the park.
He, then, shot Cecil
With an arrow
And Cecil was tortured
Over forty hours.
Cecil was tracked down,
He was shot with a gun,
He was decapitated,
He was skinned.
How is it that
What is so magnificent
As a Lion
Is seen as nothing
But a head and skin
To decorate your living room?
I've been to Kenya
And Tanzania.
They are glorious creatures
In the wild.
Why not just take a photo?
Or just enjoy their magnificence
And then leave
With your enhanced soul?
They say psychopaths
Practice on animals first
This sick pathology
Has to end, not only for
Animals but humans well.
This man had a felony conviction
For baiting black bears.
He belongs in prison
Although many think
He should be decapitated
As well.
People are angry.
And Cecil's Cubs?
I used to watch a show
Called:
"Big Cat Diaries"
And their fate is sealed
As well.
Lions practice infanticide
And when a new male
Comes to Cecil's pride
He will **** all of Cecil's offspring
To make their mothers
Go into estrus
So they can breed.
One cub has been killed
And not much hope for
The other eight.
Our neighbors bait
Black bears, **** them,
Skin them, stuff them
And put them in their house.
They seem to just enjoy
Killing things for no reason
They find great joy
In killing things.
They seem like
Nice enough people
But when you have
So little respect for Life
Can't it haunt
Your human ties?
I honestly feel
Like someone
Has shot my dog.
And it makes me weep,
Though the story
Is now old.
This man should
Go to prison,
And in Zimbabwe.
Send the world
A huge message
That we are not Neanderthals
We don't have to
To **** things
Out of sheer joy.
We should not reduce
Living things to
Heads and hides.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
I tried to protect you by not remembering when the rabbis were teachers
and preachers we're on the beaches
Wishes were had in between sheets
Catfish spoken riddles but truthfully
Beautiful ripples in *******
So I was going to invite you over for txgiving but all pathology from the dsm-5 was represented. When I say over, I mean to KFC-
cousin Larry had to work but all the coleslaw and breadcrumbs you can swallow. How bout you did you get stuffed by the poultry-geist?
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 10:17 AM UTC
Maybe we’ve moved past
The jazz dancing nights
Baby brownie bites into freedom
Now
A pathology of pathologically pathetic patterns
Day in, day out
Wax on, wax off
One of these days:
I’ll learn the piano
Beethoven, bach, ben folds
One of these days
Handstands, happiness, hope
Will string through the summer loving
Hooligans
One of these days
We robo-people will wind down,
Slow,
Stop,
Need oil for our rusted bits
Head, shoulders, knees, and even toes
But, mr. tin man, what if Dorothy
Never comes along?
We won’t blink for centuries
And maybe the world will finally come alive
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 8:01 PM UTC
The polyp was benign according to the pathology report.
One of my poems was Published in the Lindberg Edition of the Sr. Perspective, April 2016. The story-poem is called Hidden Treasure, as it first appeared here on Hello Poetry.
Here it is below if you missed it:
Hidden Treasure
A man went for a walk one day. He seemed to be searching for something as he hurried about, "Just a rock covered in dirt nothing special he says while he walks away".
A little girl walking down the same path carefully inspects each rock
she examines each one and then picks up the same rock that the man
had rejected.
She holds it in her hands lifts it up toward the sun and says," you may not look like much outside, but I have a feeling that you’re true worth lies within you".
She excitedly skips down the path and brings it home and proudly presents the rock to her father.
He carefully takes the rock and breaks it open and discovers the treasure that lies within, a geode that is sparkling like diamonds in the light.
In life, people at times are too quick to judge according to appearances alone. They hurry through life, they seem to be searching for something but not taking time to discover what life has to offer us through one another. They might even perceive that another person is like dirt, and with that misconception they miss out in discovering another's true worth.
Upon closer examination they might discover that the other person has many great qualities and can become a treasured friend.
If only they would slow down and take the time to take a closer look so that they don't miss the hidden treasure that lies within.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
"Love is the only poetry there is. All other poetry is just a reflection of it. The poetry may be in sound, the poetry may be in stone, the poetry may be in the architecture, but basically these are all reflections of love caught in different mediums. But the soul of poetry is love, and those who live love are the real poets. They may never write poems, they may never compose any music - they may never do anything that people ordinarily think of as art - but those who live love, love utterly, totally, are the real poets. Religion is true if it creates the poet in you. If it kills the poet and creates the so-called saint, it is not religion. It is pathology, a kind of neurosis garbed in religious terms. Real religion always releases poetry in you, and love and art and creativity; it makes you more sensitive. You throb more, your heart has a new beat to it. Your life is no longer a boring, stale phenomenon. It is constantly a surprise, and each moment opens new mysteries. Life is an inexhaustible treasure, but only the heart of the poet can know it. I don't believe in philosophy, I don't believe in theology, but I believe in poetry."
— Osho, Everyday Osho: 365 Daily Meditations for the Here and Now
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC
Examine the word "embrace"
How syllables escape into sound
Waves
Mouth shapes
Release
E - M - BR - A - CE
How tender
A gentle approach
E... arms open wide
the invitation
an elongated welcome
"Come close"
Lips parted into a smile
M... a joining together
Communion
BR... limbs entangling
Millimeters pulse
A... the one enclosed
CE... teeth in contact, lips dangle
Hold that position
The lock
No letting go. No gaps. No holes
In bracchium -- this is your home.
Hug -- to console
a rush, a thud, an immediate response
H - U - G. Hug.
Hush.
Here. Now. Tighter.
Speech Pathology & Linguistics.
How the mouth works, how we make sense of words -- Why does your face look like that when you say those words?
Anthropology. Semiotics. Etymology.
Notice how we gather and release,
what we do to make an embrace, a hug.
Mouths feel before nerves could touch.
Have we yearned so much that utterances have become placeholders?
Settling for words, we fixate on how we say them
Read my lips gained a new meaning
Embrace, hug
Opening and closing,
holding and releasing,
touching
Wishing an action upon someone is not tantamount to sensations of nerve-endings
But bodies never really touch
Atoms push and pull
It's the physics around them that we feel
When palms caress
When fingers trace
When skin brushes upon skin
Physics
Let the physics of my words be enough until our electrons can interact again
In a dance
The expanse between your atoms and mine is dismissible as long as you hold on to the words "embrace" and "hug" and "kiss" and "love" and the anatomy of how these words come to be
Until then, I wrap my whispers around yours
Their warmth is the 3rd law of motion in action
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 2:59 AM UTC
I
am of
vulnerability
authenticity
empathy
fun and
assertion.
I
am of
devotion
humbleness
health
tolerance and
skill.
I
am of
perseverance
learning
pathology
deviance and
contrivance.
I
am of
purging
expanding
contracting
worth and
contrition.
I
am of
polity
deference
you
me and
verbosity.
I
am of
humour
kindness
kindred
kin and
Ki.
I
am of
the earth
the wind
the fire
the driving rain and
the glaciers crevasse.
Who am I?
I
am
one of your tribe and
I need you tonight.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
i’m sorry, i’m so sorry
please don’t worry
please don’t worry
it isn’t very much at all
except:
i’m blue-
faced with apologies
and choked-up girl pathology
"i think i’m gonna hurl"
i scream, and taste
another “sorry”,
pressed like flowers,
blossomed in my throat.
speak softer, beg forgiveness,
my voice is not my business:
cut my tongue out,
make me kissable,
more easily dismissible
an echoing abyss for you to fill
with hot air, coffee breath
and sound bites
i don’t **** around,
i bite
and scratch and pound and shriek —
you will be sorry when i speak
you’re gonna look pathetic,
you’re emetic, here’s your drinks back
down your suit
i feel frenetic
i will puke, i ******* swear it,
if you call me unapologetic
like a compliment again.
not apologising
for myself
is women’s studies 101,
and i am done
with what a sorry state
you left my sisters in.
paternalistic praises
of our struggle for assertion
and insertion of your ego
into conversations
you were not invited to
is not the way to ladies’ hearts, though
we know how to get to yours:
open ribs, second ***** to the left
and straight on til morning
some things aren’t about you, little boy,
put up, grow up, shut up:
get your tongue out of my mouth.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 10:07 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
The exact representation of deception is likened to a delusional cognition which tunnels its way through craggy mountain ecosystems of the prefrontal cortex.
The impairment of your executive functioning is evident, oh grandiose master of self-aggrandisement.
It is now 04.20hrs in the Britannic pastures where desert storms are a figment of extravagant wishes to be recognised.
Although it is charmingly magical to harken to your lunacy, it is mercenary of the battalions to fathom the pathology of your blatant insignificance within the universe of vain imaginations.
Hereford is the base of winning, if you are brazen enough to engage with the feat.
Selah, my psychotic expression of wishful psychopathy.
One more thing: please check your spelling.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
Is life a course
or a curse,
a path
or a pathology?
Is living a blessing
or a lessening,
a miracle
or a mirage?
Is it a kiss
or a miss,
a tender touch
or simply a come-on?
The opposite of love
is not hate,
but uncaring,
simply not feeling.
Are all illnesses
psychosomatic,
a disguised, silent way
that we take out
our unconscious anger
against ourselves?
Love both clarifies
and resolves these ambiguities,
seeking always the better
over the worse.
Life can mean love,
but too often
means meanness.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Oct 1, 2021
Oct 1, 2021 at 2:57 AM UTC
The Lawncrest Acres State Hospital for the Incurably Poetic -
I think dear Granddad, the good doctor,
once practiced there as a clinician
(and as patient once, too)
his writing otherwise confined in public eyes
to those horribly dry tomes whose titles began
"On the practice of..."
whereupon he may have gone
on to expound the virtues of religion in psychiatry
as measured in cross sectional study
or harsh parenting as inherent to induction of pathology
But at home he would write
the sweetest poems to us
on birthdays or just because...
he never wrote one for me, oversight I'm sure,
as I roamed the floor
in his house, same as all the others.
So maybe that's why I secretly try
to be a poet like he was.
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 8:29 PM UTC
What was your very first thought when you woke up today?
Did you stretch eyes closed, stretch,
Behind closed lids look up left or right,
Morning Creek, snaps, cracks,
loosening those joints stiffened overnight,
Did you stretch, eyes closed, deep breath, big morning smile,
Or sit up, sigh, eyes open, lay back down for awhile,
I sit on the edge of the bed while my mind starts to reboot,
rub a hand over stubble, mental note to shave,
Maybe, I can probably go one more day,
Do you, like me, now pick from column B, or coulumn A,
Take my morning constitutional, hmm, cereal or fruit?
Still haven't moved yet, but I have changed hands, not rubbing my face,
I'm in my Thinking man's stance, sitting though, on the edge of my bed,
Time to start moving and out of my head,
Like that's gonna happen, my brain doesn't take breaks,
Whether I'm studying psychological pathology or which flavor kool-aide to make, of course, grape,
Which reminds me, I need to go to the store, I need real food in the house,
Man, I don't feel like going to the grocery store,
7-11 is gonna cost so much more, throwing money away,
It is closer though, what the hell, three days to payday,
Okay, now what was I, that's right, bathroom time,
Grab my phone, I know you gotta go Gunner, my dog, but get in line,
I'll end this before the lavatory, that's just, I couldn't do y'all that way, anyway,
What was your very first thought when you woke up today?
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
This grip remains ever tight,
I’ve ended relationships because I refused to entertain long distance again,
I ended a toxic relationship with a flaxen beauty,
Because I refused to accept her brokenness,
Because I refused to try and fix anyone ever again
And I’m not alone because I haven’t had chances,
These were conscious sabotages,
Because I refused to settle for less than love
I will not settle for love that doesn’t throttle me,
Or drive me to ***** from anxiety,
I won’t settle for love that doesn’t set my skin on fire,
Or consume my thoughts like a pathology,
I won’t settle for love that I’m not terrified to lose,
Because I wouldn’t be able to breathe without it
I won’t settle for a love that I wouldn’t write poetry about until I’m ******* dead,
I won’t settle for a love that doesn’t make an addict out of me again,
I won’t settle for a love that doesn’t shove you away,
And I won’t settle for a love that doesn’t grip me as hard as your memory does
I won’t settle because nothing less will do,
Nothing less can rewire me,
Nothing less can fill this chasm in my heart,
And maybe I won’t ever stop loving you,
But I deserve nothing less than to love anew
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
*philosophy: and yes, we all believed in the insane asylum in the first place... at least the theists are suicidal... the atheists are hanging-on, mundane boors... listening to atheists is like listening to someone trying to erradicate the thesaurus... like someone trying to sharpen a staff... atheism is case of: stoppage of synonyms... because no philosophy book i've read invokes grammatical words, i.e. nouns, verbs... no argument in this direction is cool... the *** knows Tai Chi... i'm just waiting for a ******* to say it's Chinese!*
and beyond the counter to worship,
the atheistic argument
is bound to a lot of talk and thought...
when atheism does do much away with
prayer...
then secularism does...
let's just say: acknowledge the idiot...
either pray... or think or talk
and subsequently acknowledge
that sort of ultimatum...
i can't agree on either pathos...
pray... or talk...
find enough Goebbels, and you'll
find enough like-minded manifestos
of Englishmen...
and esp. Jews attired as
such... cos you weren't gangraped enough.
if you were a friend of a friend... and a friend that
said: biology... via the pharaoh's gambit...
you still wouldn't
consecrate their friendship over a steak,
but you would.
atheists don't have an argument,
they still abide to arguing his existence,
by thinking about him, or talking about him,
prayer seems the most lazy escapism
to the caged compensated comparison,
given we're all caged...
and escapist... and bound to escapism...
you construct the pyramids!
you do!
a bunch of quasi intellectuals!
plainly stated: brick on brick!
you lay it down: down to: a word on word!
i can have an argument...
but i can't be even bothered to keep it...
it just gets boring after a while,
and given that i'm not keeping the argument
for a way to shove food down my mouth...
i just think atheism exists because
we have transcended so many natural obstacles...
personally? i'd rather hear a tsunami quake
than hear an atheist talk...
and that's because so few of us will have
the actual argument in this stratosphere...
since most of us will probably rather the thrill
of a tornado... than a **** on our daily commute...
even the Frankenstein monster will be more
attractive in experience than the roudabout of an atheist...
women are least likely to champion atheism...
might be a quest for feeling...
with all the pathology...
rather than that other quest for feeling:
apathy...
and that's really, truly, manly.
can we simply prescribe one label: i think?
no... evidently we need many more labels.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 11:46 PM UTC
Who wears the Broken Crown,
The King of Fiends.
Who wears a Million Faces,
The King of Fiends.
Who wears Hell Fires,
The King of Fiends.
Those hollow eyes of tortured gold.
Those foul horns of haunted mutilation.
The charred skin of mortal flesh
The broken wings of nightmare fuel
The blood of my blood.
The pathology of my pathology.
The beast of my beast.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 10:15 PM UTC
certain words don't provide adequate
ontological modes,
they provide ontological medians
or means, but not modes,
for example, a good comparison would be
to compare two words, only two words:
a. atheism and b. apathy.
dissect the words during a syllable
cut as a meaningful prefix, in both
examples that's a-,
what do you get?
a- (without) god (/ theology), contradictory
given that atheism is a type of theology,
a logic to disprove the existence of something,
but it's still a theology of some sort,
now the second example:
a- (without) pathology (/ailments of
range whether phobias or their antonyms,
psychological constructs that are stressed
more prominently than serious pains
that leave everyone psychologically paralysed
by that parasite of pain).
in terms of ontology, in simpler terms simply qua,
which is more important in human affairs?
qua apathetic or qua atheistic?
personally? i think the former - there are more
obstructions in the former's rubric of obstructions
than in the latter's, given that it's a rarity
to be suddenly struck down with plagues
and prophetic ailments of ill fate...
i don't care how cool it looks, to be an atheist,
you could only be a true atheist if you
were illiterate and couldn't use the alphabet
(that old chestnut from the book of genesis,
in the beginning there was word, and the word
was god), or if you were part of that
famous experiment done by frederick ii
hohenstaufen where a bunch of children
were raised in a phonetic celibacy by nuns,
just to prove what language was spoken first;
well the experiment conclusively
produced a bunch of mutes...
i guess extending the experiment's parameters
to animals would never work:
try forcing a cat to bark, as many vanities
of "proven reasons" died when kublai khan
moved the horde east without due respect
for peace-loving mongolians.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
I think that it may be necessary for you to reconsider your original plan of action.
Consider the power of an old school chopper, as she purrs along desert highways with malicious intent.
Stroke your own cylinder if you may.
But I stand at the bar with timeless convictions that are not dissimilar to innocent victim pathology.
The steel industry has spiralled into a timeless vortex of despair, whilst white-collar crime explodes into an ******** fountain of exposition.
Remember tomorrow, as the sun sets over Western industries, where the streets are paraded by whoredom.
Let us pray the sinner’s prayer.
Thank you for your planetary participation.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
with a radio less things move, less distractions, added focus, you can conjure pseudo-telepathic tendencies to things, but of course objects don't move, but imagining that they do is aimed at probing more and more subjects, cognitive archaeology - a beautiful name for your own personal addition to the whole architecture of a person.
so with memory, otherwise named cognitive archaeology -
i think Walt Disney was a pauper in this realm,
archaeology prizes pity pennies worth of ceramics at
the time of their display, but in a dusty trench
museum materials... most of van Gogh was worth
toilet-paper at the time, then the numbers came
with Don McLean - it was worth it for that kind of love;
but truly, the richest man on earth is a man
who doesn't escape using his imagination,
but the man who escapes using his memory -
no fake images are materialised, nothing Mickey about it...
it's tartar steak materialisation, the mandible bits -
few beautiful people know how to use -
like i said before, i have absolutely no imagination,
but i have a banknote of £1,000,000 worth's of memory
to cash-in every time i invest in a regression of my
cognitive affairs in the current stasis of squash *****
lazying in cold rubber not ready for hot soft play with;
people imagine too much, imagination telepathic -
a pathological stance given the curriculum -
no pathology is expected from being apathetic,
as in: no god from atheism - yet people curse apathy
as the lowest ebb of the feeling, humanising man.
better to remember yourself than imagine yourself
otherwise (from what you are now).
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
This love is a pathology,
A mind clearly powerless over
A heart mired with longing
Go on and medicate me,
Quell these dopamine starved receptors
They want only your taste,
They want only you.
As the years stretch,
The prognosis grows more grim,
As I drink in your absence
And choke on its bitterness,
I tell myself, "Finish your medicine"
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC