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Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.wow, i never thought it would ever be possible,
i'm sorry, i have no empathy for these youtuber "creators",
any idiot can regurgitate the news,
venture into vulture journalism,
  then again: gone are the days of closely associated
with people like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein...
they are really gone: what the hell was gamer-gate
compared to watergate? gate after gate,
and all i'm hearing is response videos,
it should have never come to this,
whereby journalists are as untrustworthy as politicians,
and of what remains, come the saturday and
the sunday editions, when the petty bourgeoisie
come out of the woodworks of a week,
album reviews, book reviews, t.v. reviews,
restaurant reviews: real, real journalism,
all the grit you'd expect from a warzone...
           journalists forgot they were not kindred spirits
of politicians: but immediacy historians...
the front-line history chroniclers...
i find... these days, esp. these days...
    you know why i like heidegger so much,
and forget the fact that he joined the **** party?
in 1938 he was already disillusioned by it...
so the ad homine fallacy bites the dust...
   even a **** deservers a redemption...
but i find that these days, of all days...
   man, as a historiological creature has to bow
before the unshakeable facets of the biological man,
esp. in the english speaking world...
    in terms of history and biology:
     history has all the fun stories,
and a sensible "concern" for time,
   well... if not "concern" then at least a bearbable
time-frame...
                  after all, i am the one who said:
all the great deserts of the world,
akin to sahara? they were once great
mountain ranges... you already know where
to look between a mountain range akin to the alps
and a desert... bound to h'america...
   monument valley: utah...
  a mountain becomes a rock after a while...
while the desert expands...
    ayers rock (uluru)... but monument valley (utah)
is a transition period between a mountain range
and a desert, if we're going to stand outside
of all space and time, and look back in...
we have plenty of time to catch-up on...
           just like i believe that black holes
are actually 2-dimensional objects:
   that spin really fast, giving an impression
of them being 3-dimensional objects:
as usually represented by a gravity dip associated
with them pulling matter into themselves...
i think that black holes are paradoxes...
since how can a 2-dimensional object
actually exist in a 3-dimensional space?
   that depends on the size of the "3-dimensional"
object / space... the universe is a medium,
it's defined as a "space" but to me...
      it's beyond space... it's only space on the grounds
of isolated time, 365 days,
the time and space it takes for the earth
to orbit the sun... which is an isolated example,
outside? well: there's atmosphere on earth,
outside? vacuum!
who's going to prove my theory wrong?
               not anyone in my lifetime -
besides the point with these youtube content
"creators": where credit is due, credit is due,
but once might have cared for their vulture
journalism... two old farts akin to felix (black pigeon
speaks) and sargon of akaad talking about how:
the youth are congregating to youtube to listen
to music: that's what i've always done...
  i discovered these youtube "creators" by accident,
i just wanted my jukebox back, man,
i wanted my algorithm back, my imprint back,
now that the devil's dozen scenario took hold
of the platform: 1 video playing, 12 back-ups...
and they're all the same, unrelated, *******...
        talk all you want, please, just give back
my algorithm imprint, where i can discover new music...
again... i never thought i'd see another
compilation video, 173 videos bound to one...
and, mind you... after finding about 6 googlewhacks
(googlewhack? when you use the sort of
language that provides you with only one search
result on the behemoth platform of billions
of results, 1 is grand, but 6? it's becoming too
predictable)...
                        so here's what i found
   (band - song):

wooly mammoth - mammoth bones / kyuss - space cadet,
rainbows are free - last supper / grand magus -
                                                mountain of power,
zed - lies / om - cremation chant I & II,
    smoke - hallucination / weird owl - white hidden fire,
orchid - son of misery / witch - seer,
               unida - you wish / black mountain - old fangs,
b.r.m.c. - ain't no easy way /
              jack daniels overdrive - ****** to death,
shrinebuilder - blind for all to see,
                   datura - mantra / the heavy eyes - voytek,
the machine - infinity / clutch - the regulator,
   colour haze - mountain / maligno - son of tlalocan,
dozer - twilight sleep / gomer pyle - albino rattlesnake,
blockback - dead mans blues / greenleaf - witchcraft tonight,
cactus jumper - right way / borracho - bloodsucker,
alabama thunderpussy - motor ready,
                    earthless - sonic power,
my brother the wind - death and beyond,
   zaphire oktalogue - carrion fly / siena root - reverberations,
unida - slaylina / pothead - toxic / sungrazer - mountain dusk,
   rotor - costa verde / blizaro - it's in the lighthouse,
planet of zeus - woke up dead,
     kongh - pushed beyond / ufomammut - smoke,
high on fire - to cross the bridge,
              the secret - bell of urgency,
      unida - wet pussycat / dozer - big sky theory,
cavity - chloride / brutus - swamp city blues,
the grand astoria - something wicked this way comes,
sasquatch - the judge / pharaoh overlord - skyline,
baby woodrose - love comes down / kamni - **** of satan,
lay with me - the flying eyes / cowboys & aliens  -
                                                out of control,
sons of otis - liquid jam / hainloose - recipe,
    ridge - rancho relaxo / bongripper - ****** sutherland,
skraeckoedland - cactus / grails - satori,
    lo-pan - chicken itza / five horse johnson - people's jam,
blind dog - don't ask me where i stand,
     wiht - orderic vitalis / hisko detria - nothing happens,
liquid sound company - leage for spiritual discovery lives,
   goatsnake - black cat bone / gandhi's gunn - rest of the sun,
the egocentrics - wave / propane propane - it's alright,
heliotropes - ribbons / mother mars - price you pay,
che - the knife / annimal machine - condenado,
   earth - tallahassee / the whirlings - delirio,
orchid - heretic / maeth - horse funeral,
siena root - rasayana / graveyard - longing,
           tia carrera - hell / hainloose - recipe,
      burner - five pills (and a bottle of whiskey),
dala sun - guilty for ****** / vulgaari - lie,
        slo burn - muezli / stonehelm - zombie apocalypse,
smallman - evolution / spiders - fraction,
         shakhtyor - e. jaspers / earthmass - lunar dawn,
evoke the lords - dregs / colour haze - silent,
     sutrah - el septimo viaje...

  

who are "these" people,
who: "supposedly" live for the future...
they always cite it,
as the one motivational
momentum of the present -
it's as if they've never seen
a bull itch the ground
with its front hoofs -
   imitating building up momentum
before a charge...
or how a slingshot,
or how a bow works...
   to these people,
the ******* sideways movement
of a bow against a violin...
sometimes...
      you do not retreat into
the past, to hide, to amount
to nostalgia...
     sometimes
the only reason for the reflexive
affirmation, confined to maxims
and aphorism, nay: even poems!
is to look back...
     to reap what was once
sowed, rather than sow blindly,
and reap: what no one wants
to reap...
    drunk? getting there...
       it felt so relaxing paying off
a 100 / 250 part of a debt
i owe her...
            while buying a russian
standard liter,
   asking for a 100 cash-back
of the supermarket cashier,
- the limit is 50,
   but if you buy something else,
i can give you another 50...
- oh... ok...
   so me went to and took a bottle
of shveedish cider...
   rekorderlig...
   mind you? the swedish,
what they perfected fermenting
better than what the the irish claim
to fame is?
    sorry... magners:
               irish? stick to the guinness...
(it's actually the only cerveza
i'd go into an english pub to
drink from the tap... bottled? canned?
not the same)...
     but with such swedish delights
such as the above mentioned,
  ålska and K  ö   nigsberg
                            *œ
?
no competition... the suede(s) just
do one thing grand...
    cider...
- what was i talking about?
  ah... the "dreaded" past...
     the people who say:
  but you can't live out a life,
   holding onto a private past,
a memory...
    so... these other ******* were
allowed to implant a false
past, unrelated to me,
teaching me whether it was
Newton, or Leibniz who first
invented the infinitesimal calculus
method?
                i'm betting on Leibniz...
after all... he took the position
of a ******* librarian...
   and he wasn't buried with pomp
& circumstance at Westminster Abbey...
sometimes...
         one person can't have it all...
but if the education system
is a system that is indicative for
the erosion of memory, esp. private
matters... and juggernauts in
with these selective rubrics of science
and history...
fair enough the basic
implants: numerical arithmetic,
and lettering arithmetic -
    and then... lessons in mental
entertainment... when applied
           to menial labour...
memory is: supreme...
          i can't give my memory up...
that's what: killer proteins
eating the fat tissue of the brain
like starvation in reverse
        of a case of Alzheimer's?
memory is: cameo cinema -
    however distorted it might be,
although i beg to differ on
whether time per se,
  is not the better psychedelic
component
when coupled with memory -
esp. the cinematic aspect of memory...
there was never a "living" in
the past -
      there was a point about memory
to sharpen the edges of
    "dasein"... all speculation and
questions regarding consciousness,
as championed through
a chimpanzee's *** are somehow
pointless:
    given there's a higher tier of
conceptualization -
   working from dasein...
            hierjetzt -
      or in english?             presence...
- because why would i treat
a personal memory,
like some inorganic entity of
a schooling system,
under Catholic measures,
  that made it necessary to include
Pythagoras... but not Horace?
that's inorganic memory...
and unless i turn into some
inorganic entity -
   the organic aspect of my psyche:
my past, my cameo cinema?
   that's going to be a leech,
attached to me...
  and i'm not going to give it up,
just like... when i walk about
my door, and enter the england
that i know on the peripheries...
i'll speak the lingua franca -
     but with my privacy?
    you'd better cut my tongue off
before i stop speaking
my western slavic heritage...
    and it pains me...
when certain groups of immigrants...
don't know the POINT
where immigration becomes
insensible... self-lacerating...
           i once hated their approach...
now i just pity them...
anyone ****** can juggle
     two oranges rather than three...
p.s. old school cure for a cold?
forget the pills...
   glass of warm milk,
  an egg yolk,
     and a good scratch of butter...
  (on the rare occasion,
  milk infused with garlic)

mixed together...
before bedtime...
  if the ****** won't sweat out
the bacteria during the night...
     well... stick to the synthetics...
i'm pretty sure i know why i drink...
certainly not to: PARTY PARTY PARTY...
i always aim for
the one safety net of "pharmacology"...
ssssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

p.s. so much for children loving their
parents...
        in vitro and the whole
m.g.m. debacle:
so, sweet little *******,
       no *******, no chance for your
for a quickie satellite launch date from
Tehran, under all the weight of
monotheism turned secular...
christianity: the only "monotheism"
with overt tinged of polytheism,
lutheran, baptist, catholic, orthodox...
just today i opened my door twice...
once to a confused curry house delivery man:
did you order some food:
i too replied with a confused look
and the word: huh?! no.
then a black woman with a a white ol' granny
came by with a leaflet...
the jehovah's witnesses were on my trail...
lucky of my grandfather,
   the profanity brigade of the hebrew name
i will not dare utter came by...

  and if you have lived a good enough life:
memory? memory beats hollywood
technicolour and CGI...
at least in the cinema of memory i always
get to play the cameo (role)...

oh i get the youtube creators:
   living with his parents... still. aged 33...
funny that i don't mind them,
since they're getting older they're settling
into their solispsism,
        annoying as ****, but i stand them,
thank god the protruding caduceus veins
on my phallus protected me from
a circumcision...
  i can ******* like a girl with a web-cam...
no scented candles:
the no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones...
the toilet, simultaneously masaging my ****
and prostate...

men were not exactly supposed to derive
pleasure from ***: they were,
supposed to give pleasure,
and in giving pleasure to one outlet,
they were subscribed to finding out what
best pleases them: ergo?
women would always derive more of
the people from *** than men would ever...
*** is not a story of bragging about
a harem... the woman lies flat...
the man pumps her...
after all... she is the one burdened
to carry a child, why wouldn't she be
the one deriving more pleasure from *** than
a man could ever?
72 virgins! ha ha!
   ah ha ha!
             what's the ratio?
   last time i checked... a 3 hole caravan...
of a woman's worth...
   mouth, ******, ****... and man?
only two points of entry, well...
"entry"...
                    seems that the tomatoe,
really is a fruit, but is treated like a vegetable
nontheless!
homosexuality in the 1960s...
william burroughs in Tangiers...
                    when Islam was quiet radical...

well... i cook, i clean...
                what are my other options of continuing
to write and living the ed gein "lifestyle",
i tried getting social housing in england,
but, i'm not a somali with two wives and a dozen
kids...
              rent, in london?
extortion...
                   housing shortage...
                 well there's me hating my parents,
the outside world just needs to see
an ed gein imitation...
               or there's me living off acorns
in the woods, or rummaging on the streets,
making the N25 bus from oxford st. to ilford
my own personal mobile hotel as a homeless
man in london...

   i think it's time to succumb to your
parents prejudices, if only for the jokes,
no point in making ethical high judgements
to fit into a zeitgeist narrative surrounding
yourself with people: you'd never eat a meal with...
that's how i define the highest form of respect:
if i'll eat with you: implies that i respect you...
i drink alone...
a high school fwend once thought he could
bribe me with his company,
that i "had to" drink with him...
      no... not really...
          i much prefer drinking by myself...
these days you're not expected to honour your
mother and your father,
i.e. make them proud...
               honour is a double-edged sword...
just don't be ashamed of having
a mother or a father...
not that hard: given western divorce rates...
i.v.f., frozen eggs... yadda yadda yadda...
lucky me in having went to university...
oh... really? so much cooler in a cosmopolitan
environment with your contemporary
flat-mates?
               get the picture?
                 paying rent while literally living
in a diguised cardboard box?
i can't help the fact that poetry doesn't pay...
that there are economic factors beyond
my control in play...
   maybe if i was the grandson of my parents,
born in england, and not elsewhere,
there would be some sort of + leverage...
for a bricks and mortar start-up...
plus... i hoard...
         books and music...
                     mind you:
neither of my parents spoke english as their
mother tongue...
  neither did i...
they didn't teach me this tongue:
i had to teach this language by myself:
for myself...
           aged 8: thrown into the deep end
of the pool: now swim ******, swim!

i just feel sorry for the immigrant parents
who gave birth to their children into the *****
of the land they immigrated to...

two days ago i found a heartbreak,
a romanian couple, with a child...
the father was stubborn in teach his daughter
his / her native sprechen...
romanian... but she was already speaking
perfect antithesis of accent kindergarten english...
and almost non-responsive to her tongue
alligned to her biology...
    clearly she was born in england,
but her parents were both romanian...
i've had that conundrum in my head
for a long time...
   what if i married an english girl...
and i was unable to teach my offspring
my native language,
what if i had to silence my native tongue,
"forget" it, or only speak it by myself,
via reading a book in western slavic?
what if the woman i married:
wouldn't see the benefits of bilingualism,
outside of the mainstream economic
mantra of ensuring your children
learn either german or mandarin or arabic?
that worried me...
          oh believe me, i enjoy my lapses
into english: since i am providing the groundwork...
but in the case of having offspring...
e.g. teaching them the western slavic tongue
so they could speak to their grandparents
(i.e. my parents)...
       even my grandparents lament
the scenarios when a woman would marry
an austrian... and she wouldn't teach
her children her native tongue,
and when the grandchildren would visit their
grandparents... they'd be speaking
a crude variation of braille, morse,
   sign-language: na migi...
               i know that my mother is alive
in me even under this veil of english...
because she's more than the womb,
the genitals of my conception, the breast fed off...
she's also the Atlas of my vocabulary
of the "hiding" tongue beneath this one...

i already knew the "game" was rigged from
the get-go... i've seen how one hindu woman
suffered being married to a scouser...
she never managed to pass on her language
to her children,
she bought a library, thinking her children
would succumb to learning: however poor
they might end up being...
but she was suffocated by the english
tongue of her husband...
and her children didn't express even the most
vague of desires to learn their mutterzunge...

that's what worried me to begin with,
marrying an english woman i was afraid
of the ignorance that someone bilingualism
was en route toward a psychiatrist disorder
i was diagnosed with: schizophrenia...
this anglophonic ignorance still scares me...
like: everyone is expected to speak the revisionist
globalist lingua franca: this anglo lingua...
if i didn't meet a bilingual / polyglot woman,
i'd return to rearing idiotic children...
anglo lingua was only supposed to be a middle-ground,
a "no man's land"...
             a language of trivial economic transfers...
a language primarily orientated around usage:
rather than an ethno-centric basis for "englishness"...
to **** with: god save the queen...
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
                 old scot dragoons': auld lang syne...
those where my forever anthems...
see...
        what gave birth to a jihadi john?
his mother "forgot", his father "forgot":
his "mother" forgot, his "father" forgot to speak
the "ancient" tongue...
there's a point to integration of the immigrant,
an immigrant is a forgetful creature,
an ever pleasing creature...
never to mind himself as an ex-pat...
you ****** forget your mutterzunge...
you'll be speaking in cockney accents
with broken affairs of arabic beheading people
for zombified reasons of grandeour!
*******...
          you, you: you are to blame!
you were so ashamed of your parents that you
delved on honoring them to the point
of thinking giving pride unto them was very
much akin as keeping shame away from
their girdle of the wedlock of your own existence!
death has not made your a martyr...
i guess you deserve those 72 mishaps,
those 72 annoying voices...
and i pray to god that you receive your reward!
i hope that among the 72 you will never find
a chance a repose to find your: self!

integration is one thing,
pandering to the "elites": plebs who think they
are kings among the plebs,
is quiet another...
plebs who go places and think english
is a universal tongue: just because
uncle sam says so...
of those i respect:

y cymraeg: pwy dal eu tafod...
an gàidhlig: cò fhathast bruidhinn an cuid teanga...
i nawet moim: co ma mówić
to nawet tyle: co znaczy tak niewiele!

there are boundaries... learn the customs
of the natives, but ensure you retain the customs
you were born with...
a child, born in a foreign land,
ought to ensure his parents teach him
the words to speak to his grand overseers...
complete immersion,
this cultural abortion,
this cutting of the umbilical chord
from: i have never met a people so
content at having been subjugated outside
the indian sub-continent,
cricket... for ****'s sake...
       as to demand other europeans
to treat them as superiors,
when sitting alongside an englishman...
****-bud-bud, the **** are you on about?!
once again: england has become the circus
for the grounding of what began
with engels and marx...
   wasn't communism born from
engels and marx observing english society?
sure... first experimented en masse in
mongolia... but its origins?

   so of course i had problems finding a suitable
mating partner... i was afraid that my nativ-zunge
would die a slow but solemn death...
that an english bridge would not consider
the worth of a bilingual child, or a polyglot,
or that she would repress the chance of my
"biological continuum nuance" to respond outside
of the anglo lingua refrain of: beside the english language?
there are quiet a few one might want to learn...

it's not easy being a first generation immigrant,
esp. if you moved aged 8, mute as a wolf
to a domesticated dog's barking...
but hey, no jihadi john in me...
           jihadi john should have been raised
bilingual... i wouldn't be the one speaking broken
tourist arabic while beheading someone...
jihadi john spoke tourist arabic...
the dichotomy of the mind to the biological
reality, beside the current, western,
"biological relativism" debate...
      clearly darwinism was "wrong"...
man is, these days, left with neither a biological
reality, nor a historical reality...
              but there is a historical reality:
but it's so knit-&-picky...
come on... philip augustus of the capetian
dynasty?
                 casimir III...
                        jeremi wiśniowiecki...
konrad I of masovia...
                           kuno von lichtenstein...
alles ist gott: und gott ist alles -
  gott mit, uns!

              mit eine leben wert leben:
    erinnerung ist die nur kino
             wert sehen eine film beim;

hell... could be worse:
   i might have translated some latin
of horace into pig-trough comfort food.
Eleanor Rigby Jul 2015
Two long to see the Christ;
The religious and the pothead.


-- Eleanor
Hallucinate BoY Mar 2017
What if I say, I am not like the others?
Are you afraid of seeing my bloodshot eyes?
It ain’t a delusion of your vision
It ain’t a theory of your hostile mind
Its just an authority to reveal high
As you ****** up in the midnight.

What if I declare, I like to be a pothead?
It ain’t a crime of your filthy society
It ain’t a ****** of your hypersexual beauty
Its just a power to absorb black hole
As you get dissolved in the infinity.

What if we believe, we are united peace?
Our intoxication could never be slayer as your humanity diminishes  
Our immune could never be a flame as your democracy fire burns  
Our dealing could never be an acrid as your judgments villainous
Our indignation could never be a pretender as your sensibility veiled
Our lonesome shadow could never be a congress of love as your realization mortifies
And our congregation of morality must have been psychedelic painkiller.

What if we deny, we are insignificant existence?    
So, who are you crippling our bloodshot eyes, A Social featherbrain?
Who are you to stop having "dopetherone" in the town, A godly crusader?
Who are you to proclaim the rule against your mind, A phrenetic lawyer?

What if we deny, we are insignificant existence?  
What if we believe, we are united peace?

We will keep walking with our head held high.*

April' 2015
Q Jan 2016
wish i never smoked
my lungs into the color
of my shadow soul


*s.q.
i guess i turned to find you in our world but we both got lost alone
Pink Taylor Aug 2010
Someday I'll show you,
I'll prove I'm not just some useless ******
who needs to borrow your car, mom.
Someday you'll see
I'm not just a  brainless pothead gettin
      ****** in the backyard
I'll take these working arms
And buy my own **** car
And some drugs on the side
Smoke *** in my own ride
Trip out in my own backyard
       Just wait and see
           I'll go far

I know you're confused and I know
       you don't see
But I figured out which lock goes to
        which key.
I know you're worried
    But, baby, there's no danger
I figured out the universe,
   So life is now a treasure

I want you to stop worrying
that I'm smoking cigarettes
I think those things are nasty
If you don't know that yet

Just stop worrying, stop spazzing
I promise I'll keep the noise down
And soon I'll find my own place
That I can be loud in
Don't you worry my dear,
My mind is clear, my thoughts
    are holy
This smoke helps my depression,
Helps spark my inspiration
So don't worry, ma'am  
I'll stop livin' in your basement
And I promise I'll share my riches
When I stop trippin', starin' at the wall
Cause that's all I'm doin'
There ain't no harm at all

Everything is just as it should be
I'm happy
I'm finally free,
Only light around me
So don't worry mom,
and I'm sorry I keep you up
So late at night
Sam Temple May 2014
it’s been quite some time
absence creating a fondness
only the heart can understand
blank screen calling
screaming to be invited back
into the fold of daily life
so here I sit
placating the cyber paper –
it’s been too long since last time
and I strain to find reason
for this medium
substance within flowery language
and metaphor
pretending to grasp the vernacular –
it’s getting harder to care
why waste time expressing the same
memories and personal imagery
as everyone else
in a form older than English
eurocentric ethnocentrism –
it’s not even practical anymore as a stress relief
nonspecific pressure to create
seeking likes and hearts as opposed to seeking a release
and freedom
posting poems as a pothead –
it’s going to be alright
this is just another phase or passing fancy
the plight of an artist is to find himself isolated
in self-doubt and unrealized potential
all the while desperately attempting to create something
to make everyone love you
all the while knowing
there is no comfort –
Denxai Mcmillon Sep 2015
Like piano keys stuck too hard
As the blade of the knife once was
A needle that you ***** yourself with,
I am sharp.
Not intellectually,
Though I am intelligent,
I'm sharp as in
I am abrasive on ones ears as I enter and leave
I cut deep without effort
I surprise one without being noticed
I am the headache that comes without warning
I am the cold shooting up your spine
I am the fear you forgot you had.
I am the silence looming in the room that makes you uneasy
I am the cliché moving eyes in a portrait
I am a ghost
Living in a husk
This summer brought out the worst in me
Last spring was the best spring of my life.
This fall will be a season of dea, dry skin,
A kin to  the dead, dry leaves
I hope over this winter into this spring
I am reborn.
I hope I drop my drinking nightly
I hope I clear my lungs
I hope I can love music again
I hope I can play the piano gently
I hope I become dulled with use
I hope I remember to hand you a thimble
Hoping isn't enough though.
I'm going to pursue this
I know you won't wait
You probably don't want to
But even if I just earn back best friend status
That
That will be enough
I will be happy
Robert Guerrero Nov 2015
19 years old
4 car wrecks
All I should have died
People say it was gods will
I don't care what it was
I should have died
I wanted to die
My life a shambled mess
Of questions and fears
Will I succeed
Who will give me a chance
Do I get opportunities
Or am I stereotyped into immaturity
I've whispered only truths
Screamed nothing but respect
Played ***** to the man
*** bent towards the sky
Solicited my dignity
Abandoned my pride
Murdered my ego
Just to ask for a job
But still got rejected
This life isn't mine for long
I can feel it slipping away
Death whispers on the wind
It's scent calling on the waves
In this world I'm only another victim
Another corpse to be lain to rest
A weakling that couldn't survive
Another fool buried beside them all
A soldier trying to protect his own
A stereotyped scraggly pothead ***
Based only on my looks
I wear plaid jackets and beanies
Boots with a mustache and beard
I ask for shelter
Leave before the night is over
Im a worthless ******* in the homes
Of strangers unknowing what I go through
Life was perfect in the beginning
With family to love you
Give you reasons to smile
Give you the comfort
Knowing you were safe by their side
But in a world hungry
For souls of the innocent
Thirsty for the hearts of the hopeful
We find only death our true friend
The only truth to this life
You'll say I'm only complaining
But look around
Tell me what part isn't true
These are the rantings
This 19 year old scraggly pothead
*** in your eyes has left
A last resort
To save himself and the world
He grew up in
Watching it devour itself
With us as collateral damage
Us the reason we forced its hands
Savages wanting death
Tormenting till its suicide
A quicker answer than saying
There truly is hope
But I'm a blinded kid
Staring at the hallucinations
Of a light at the end of a tunnel
That never existed to begin with
This is just the darkness
We all contributed to create
Too scared to face music we wrote
Emily Tyler Apr 2013
He threw invitations
Through the halls.

They rained down
In an endless stream
And it seemed like everyone
Ended up with two.

There are over a thousand
People at are school.
But nobody wanted to go.

Not one person came out and said,
"Brian,
Everyone
Knows
You're
A
Pothead."

They all were "too busy"
Or their parents would
"Never let them go."

But everyone knew.

And so everyone went.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2021
one up man ship,
there is that in fair play, I don't know, I never ventured any
good might come from
pulling down
a stronghold, non confron totally nonconfron peeeaaace out

is it tec or did the sttererer get a ne w keyboard and the old is better

Okeh, april is earth month and we are into it,
lots of petroglyphic links to stupid
pothead oh yeah we did
imagine that one time, we no just me, we agreed at that moment
life had a point
and we made it
that was cool.

oh, the deals always tickle, this is disney whatifery I do believe,
this exact once
was there a sela ha aah all that Iroquois mohawk talk,
here is where we imitate socrates, know nada,

live in the world, or in the words that


all ways take my bread I cast upon still waters,
aiaiai we say we know why ai think you know
you know may and you know can
you know take, I know give
life is good I may say, so
may bread,
cast on all waters may be

yours, gnoshit. Y'gottssa eatit.
******* got a new keyboard.
Zoe Mae Aug 2021
The sun's a pothead
She puffs on her pipe all day
Fishbowling the Earth
Seb Tha Guru Mar 2018
I said I put a lot of things behind me but,
I lied so..

My life is complicated.
I’m lost in this generation.
I mean..
I hate my state of mind.
I’m lost like a balloon trying to find its way,
And you see..
Today is my birthday.
But I’m trapped in my mind,
I can’t seem to ever have a good time.
I’m not the type that you bring home to mama in my opinion.
I’m damaged goods I must say.
I’m woman crazy.
My body’s lazy.
And that’s no where near it all.
I been in sadness for years just hoping soon you would call.

I wish I had someone that would love me.
And I mean really know and love me.
Like, effortless.
But I’m so blind and messed up from another chick.
And that along with everything else caused such a riff.
Now my ex and everyone around me has the power.
Now I’m guarded and get faded for hours.

But I mean..
Besides crazy, got anger issues,
I’m spoiled and I;
Run from my problems when I’m the only thing that can solve them.
I sat one time all alone but with a full revolver.
My life is out of order.
I lost my faith in some things,
Mainly in pure love.
I’d sell my soul just to have your heart but that ain’t enough.

While I got missed calls from any and everybody.
Don’t wanna listen to anybody.

It’s so many reason why I’m complicated.
I mean..
Or maybe I’m just high again.

That’s really only the other feeling that can help me while I try and fill up this space.
Until I’m sitting in the mirror staring at my own face.
Wiping all my tears on a day to day base.
I got so much sadness and hatred running at everyones’ pace.
This is my last poem before I lock myself all away.
It’s complicated.

Writing and losing feeling.
Of heart breaks and commitments,
A couple catchy songs with my brothers;
It would be nice if you listened.
Or even ever read my poetry.
Behinds those words is a broken me.
I can barely see, what my future holds.
Im no longer chasing hoes, I’m trying to find the yellow brick road.
But lost awareness.

Now I’m a drunk.
Now I’m a pothead.
And all the seeds I planted, they are now dead.


Having mood swings like the weather that’s floating me.
I no longer wanna be.
I swear it’s complicated

Don’t drown yourself pretending to be deep.
It’s too complicated.
And I can’t swim but I rather drown in her sea.
It’s so complicated.
Should I retire and settle down from writing.
It’s too complicated.
A lit cigarette dangles from my lips,
I don't know how, I'm hanging on to the tip
Of the fliter, reflecting on the cynical sinner
That I see in the mirror, every day and every night
Stay calm, Obey the law, live an ordinary life
I'm just an ordinary guy with an extraordinary mic
Singin' all my songs while I'm in the limelight
But after the crowd disperses and the lights go off
Then I'm just a lonely pothead with a smokers cough
I'm not rich, no, I'm worryin about the cost
When eatin my next meal is like eating from a food trough
I laugh at the fact of a casket, For the one certainty
In life is that everybodys just food for the maggots
But There's certain truths you come to understand
In the middle of turning from a boy into a man
I've learned you gotta get to the top, or go to the grave
I refuse to go down without every man knowing my name
And you gotta do what you can to follow through with your dreams
I know that everybody is just bursting at the seams
With the ideas and beleifs thay've come to uphold
Pasing it on to the young from the teachers that were old
I'm spreading mine through my music and my writing
Wanna be the best at rhythm and my rhyming
So be yourself, and do you
Don't ever let anyone tell you what you can and can't do
Started out cynical, but I started cherring up while writing this. Just a positive ending for you. :)
Sam Temple Mar 2014
endless miles of dark pavement
hours of white knuckle horror
illegally transporting pounds
processed into oil
curing her cancer –
new age family doctor
with a medical card and an interest in chemistry
distilling Everclear creating hope
1 gram a day
rear-view mirror road-rage
only wishing to be safely home
14 hours to go with a life on the line
watching a plant heal all that ails –
networking growers into family practitioners
dropping the bottom out of Big Pharma
one human being at a time
freely functioning as philanthropists
looking only to see families restored
Robin Hood as a pothead –
nothing could be simpler
than curing cancer
just grind up ****
pour 191 proof over the top
strain and keep the liquid
low heat cook it down
until only oil is left
5 drops of water
and a coffee warmer
decarbonization
then eat it
a grain of rice at first
then increase
to a gram a day
60 grams in 90 days
just try to die –
watching her gain weight and coherence in front of my eyes
seeing it again
knowing the truth
living in a lie
saving lives as I cross them
modern day travelling physician
carded
but unlicensed –
Some poems are just poems, some are personal journeys, others are forced out while others still seem to be birthed... but once in a while there are those which are secret messages meant to change lives... you decide which this is  ….…  I live the truth presented here daily and have witnessed what some call miracles, but what I call taking control of one’s health
vic Apr 2016
Lit
I have never smoked **** in my lifetime.
Mainly because my anxiety makes me afraid of committing even the smallest of crimes.
But I know so many people that like to light up their mind.
And my sister happened to be one of that kind
She used to always smell like ****
She treated it like something of a need
I'm pretty sure if you cut her open then she began to bleed
It'd be a swirl of red, yellow, and green.
When I was ten and she’d drive me to school
Not telling our grandma that she toked while she drove was the ultimate rule
Sometimes she wouldn't roll the windows down cause she was a bit of a fool
And I had no choice but to **** in her fuel
The smell of **** makes me happy
And it's not because I'm a stoner or because I'm ******
My reason is sappy
And it's because when she took her last breath I’m pretty sure it was smoking a fatty
Her new favorite necklace became a colorful rope
And it was a symbol of her lost hope.
And the entire time she went down that slippery *****
Right by her side was a bag of dope.
Her dangling body was the only image in my eyes
Everything she ever told me started to turn into disoriented lies
And I began to despise the very meaning of getting high
Because my favorite stoner flew into the sky
Now I know that toking wasn’t the problem
The matter at hand was a bit more quantum
But it hurts because she was the Batman to my Robin
And now I’m here by myself trying to protect the streets of Gotham.
From a super villain pair called Anxiety and Depression
Rachel’s noose was their sick little invention
I keep trying to figure out what's the deal with their obsession
With the mangled corpses that give them their erections
I ask her everyday when I curl up to her hoodie
“Was it because you were bullied?
Was it because you spent too many days playing hookie?
Was it because you didn’t smoke enough of your goodies?”
The **** seemed to make my sister seem stable.
It was like her way of getting her emotions out without it seeming too painful
She never really thought of it as shameful
But it didn’t seem to help that April
I ponder on if the **** would help on me
If it would relieve stress better than tea
If it would help calm my anxious seas
If it could possible set me free.
Now I’ve never danced with Mary Jane
But some people say that she can drive you insane
You only have to let her in your brain
And she’ll take away some of that pain
The smell of **** comforts me and you might not understand
But don’t you dare try to command
Or try to demand
That I am too young to know about that greenland
When my sister committed suicide
A part of me also died.
But now I have identified
That’s it’s the smell of **** that makes that part alive
And I guess you won’t understand until you’ve cried
While you stood there discovering that your pothead sister had died
And began screaming as your two greatest fears would finally collide
And your world is overtaken by Grief’s high tide.
You know the surfer boy told her to hang ten
And I didn’t think she would let those words that far in her skin
But when the clock struck ten she had committed her deadliest sin
And I swear to God that a joint was the last place she had been.
Robert Guerrero May 2014
You asked me if I remembered you
Like I forgot you
I still have our conversations from a year ago
Your picture still in my phone
Name drawn to perfection
Still in the back of my binder
How could I forget you
Could I ever?
I was your vault to so many secrets
Things I even forgot
But I remember you telling me
"Can I tell you a secret?"
You trusted me when not many others did
I guess you just faded
We both did
I'm not the guy you used to know
Always writing poetry that made sense
Having the talent to actually tell you how you feel
I guess I'm not worried about forgetting you
Your a permanent reminder of who I used to be
The guy you could talk to for any reason
The guy miles away you never met
Just knew could put a smile on your face
Even when things at home seemed unbearable
I wonder if you remember me as that guy
Or wonder who I am now
An alcoholic? Pothead? Homeless freak going nowhere?
Guess I'm a little of all the above
Could I forget you was the question
No I could never
Could you forget me?
If not tell me who I was
Maybe I can be that guy one more time
Brujo Alligatore Jun 2015
If you're ever reaching for the words
To make fun of a guy like me
Say
"Hey there pothead with ADD,
I dare you to show me where you've put your key"
Karlo Estrada Dec 2018
idle time is a devil's plaything
calculate what's here inside me
chest pains and short-breathings
a small habit i want to stop
what a cheap the whole thing was
consider it's over
let me inside
keep pretending i'm a sober guy
consider sober
I don't want to lie
wont you paint me a clear blue sky

been fighting all my life
burning words and cigarettes
i wear as my disguise
and if only you could hear me
When I find my lungs empty
Want to see you smile again
to never tell another lie

When you turn your back
ill do it again
this self-affliction won't be the end
When the lights go out
i'll be in denial
Beth Decisions Apr 2015
I never expected this...
To have the type of friends I have.
To be  in the "pothead" crowd.
I never thought I would be as rebellious as I am
I never thought I would...
Party.
Get high.
Drink.
Sneak out.
Lie.
Steal.
Or any of the other **** I do.
I always thought that,
I would be like my sister...
Because I am so much like her!
But I'm not!
I am no where close to how she is.
I never expected it...
But then again,
I am defiantly not shocked by it!
I don't regret who I am at all!
I do all these things because I want to.
And for no other reason...
I love my friends!
And I am proud of who we all are.
Written: August 15, 2013
Diana Garcia Feb 2019
First day we ever met I gave you a pep talk.
I sat across from you telling you you’ve got to get off your *** and break through that mental block.
Since then I always knew you had potential but so does every joe and sally. It doesn’t make you all that special.
I should of known that loving you for who you could be isn’t the same as actually being all those things that I see.
I looked at you and saw a man with a vision, who was woke but in reality you were just another lame pothead who was broke.
I wasn’t exactly all that either, was just another run away with cabin fever.
Angry at world and disappointed in my brothers for beating my *** and grew up feeling like everyone owed me something which explains the sass.
Here we are ten years later and you’re father.
I thought our son would make you step up but i don’t know why I even bothered.
You’re making a couple bucks above the minimum wage and here I am making an actual change.
I know I shouldn’t compare but I can’t help but wonder why I still care.
We’ve all got our obstacles to get through. I guess I’m just disappointed in all the growing it seems you’ll never do.
lina S May 2014
Let's analyze this and that
by all means lets spread these thoughts like a rash
I'm going through the motions like a roller coaster ride
Slowly going up to my mind and crashing down to my feelings
indecisive
Don't know if it's ever going to end
my mind keep workin like
I'm I forever alone wouldn't be better if I just get ****** be a pothead and leave the world alone but to my morals I stand too strong and with my head held high how can I be so wrong as to have the closest friends around me do me so wrong or am I wrong? maybe I'm just to sensitive maybe I'm like to exaggerate **** maybe I don't understand them maybe its me !!!cause it couldn't possibly  be that these many people are doing me wrong but let's stay optimistic smile and focus on what you want in life but what if all I want is happiness and that happens comes when I love and be loved and I've loved each person that walked through my life ive loved the details of their smiles .. but everytime I open up completely I'm no longer that interesting or they find it  easy it hurt me now that they know how ? But no this can't be true this can't be true I might be alone right now but I'll find someone true and when I do I still want to be the easy loving letting in people kind of person I am because I love the way I am it's just sometimes it's hard to understand
Jacob Pearlman Jul 2017
To the first boy I ever fell in love with.
I hate you
Before I met you I knew what I wanted in this world
I was going to be a rough and tough football player
But now I’ve discovered my passion for the arts
I knew the kind of girl I wanted to marry. a rule abiding, scientist who could always appreciate a good discussion about politics
But then I met you
A rebel pothead who couldn’t name three presidents, and I love it. I love everything about it
I hate you
I was going fly out of this small town and never look back.
Now I don’t want to leave but I must
Leaving no longer feels like an accomplishment
it feels like a punishment for a crime I have not committed
The first time we kissed I never hated you more
This was wrong I thought
But it felt so right
Your lips rewriting everything I know
For the first time in my life tommorow didn’t matter
All that mattered was us
Jesus ******* Christ I hate you
I hate you
I hate you
I wish I hated you
But I don’t
I love you
I wish I didn’t love you

— The End —