"pseudoscience" poems
first I smell myself.
the deep bass tonality of my musk,
hot, creamy, sweetness unique, of coffee and creamy,
my owned sweat oiled secretions massaged into her skin
emplaced by vigorous parts rubbing and tongue caressing,
under the fading shadows of my glancing, desirous admirings
then I smell herself.
sinking sunset glimpses of last nights parfume parfait,
scattered in random strategic locations architecturally planned,
some flavors come over me like modest waves,
others spelunking found in crevices, cracks and caves,
where humans tread in guileless search of guiltless pleasure
then I smell our sharings.
lemon and thyme, paprika, sea salt and pepper,
a basted rub laid upon animal skin consuming, and consumed,
the vinaigrette balsamic and California yellow raisins, pine nuts,
decorating leaves of red soil spinach and spicy arugula,
word salads, so miraculously ingenious, you swear off eating flesh
then I smell our combinations.
the air conditioned atmosphere that blends us properly chilled,
the olive oils pressed from two colored differing skins,
the mortal and pestle finely grinding our own fresh crumbled dirt,
appearing in places where dirt is wet panko crumbs encrusting us,
our combined liquidity, shaken and stirred, drying in martini tandem
it is 8:17am and this recipe of reciprocity,
at its most pungent peaking,
for soon raining waterfalls of potable city water
and the sophistry of French soap,
the pseudoscience of modern chemical shampoo,
together erasing, scrubbing away this poems aromatherapy tapestry,
your perplexed complexing nostrils will mock you once more,
for ever disbelieving, thinking you could no longer write of
only love poetry that crested high above the trite
Friday, March 29 2019
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
...
Dear Mr. P - [stop] -
...
I was your knife in the water, a credit card kept exclusively for killing - [stop] -
I was a gingersnap on your sugar train, a flower-filled glory box to swallow your whole wide world - [stop] -
I was night, night of the electric insects, praying mantis and ladybug — nervous animals, lotus eaters, enjoying a ceremonial after meal
- [stop] -
I was slivers of pseudoscience poisoned by man-made seasons — a new and beautiful and interesting disease - [stop] -
You and me, we are now the same — snapshots in sheared time, before the closedown of our impossibly ****** impulses - [stop] -
...
Best wishes, V
···
Feb 16, 2022
Feb 16, 2022 at 12:20 PM UTC
That flesh’d vizard – does it decay,
So much alike the ******
My mortal stature – emaciated –
Forthwith; it’s programmed.
Do those lines – like trenches deep –
Carve moats for tears to flow.
And do they flow – like rivers march
My countenance; fallowed.
To rejuvenate – vials and vials,
Ointments in plethora.
I rub and rub, till the vizard cracks
Lo! Restore my aura.
Pseudoscience, falsehoods galore –
A vice of fiscality.
Like a cyst, does it tremor,
Melting my vanity.
Visage – deep – a pick inside my soul.
Those flakes of ego crumb.
A mien so ****** yet so loved…
Can they not see how numb
I am.
Dec 4, 2020
Dec 4, 2020 at 8:23 AM UTC
This is it, baby.
All we are is each other.
All we have left is the right to eat passion.
No. Not Now. Not with my back turned to time.
I'd like to face apocalypse, please.
"Entropy is a pseudoscience"
Says my dad.
But so is love.
And materialism.
What happens when...
My dreams come true and my life reveals itself as irrational?
The humans are forced to realize they're already dead?
I've lost everything, even nothing?
We all have disamnesia?
The communities of resistance are bought out?
The sustainability movement comes to terms with its own mortality?
Love abandons us?
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
She makes small talk feel like a TED talk
She makes me feel like I know nothing at all
She’s too smart for me
I stumble when I speak
I’m drunk driving through this conversation
She is an agnostic angel
I’m a whiskey priest
But I only wanna get drunk off what she can teach
And I don’t know if she cares about how I preach
A lesson in pseudoscience in her backseat
Leaves us in an afterglow of creative problem solving
We agree to disagree
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 9:36 PM UTC
I am so sick that I feel
I am so sick that I hear
I am so sick that I smell
Sick of the patented experience
I am so insane I can read books
I am so insane I can converse
I am so insane I can see
Insane because of pseudoscience
I am mentally ill because of what I hear
I am mentally ill because of what I write
I am mentally ill because of what I see
Mentally ill because of segregation & isolation
I am mad because of audio software
I am mad because of video software
I am mad because of editing software
Mad because of channels & mixers in a studio
We are sane because of witnesses
We are sane because of kindness
We are sane because of love
Sane because of strangers
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 6:58 PM UTC
One day Dostoyevsk talked to me in dreams.
In my early teens, way before the time of my life.
A stripling adolescent,
misspent juvenile youth.
I sat on the roof of the bakery,
reading The Devils.
Over and over again,
until it started to make sense.
Before Kierkegaard,
I found life hard,
no meaning, no dreams came true.
Quantified in my mind,
applied to doctrinal differences I found within,
authenticating the delusions and disorientation of this absurd world we live in.
It all Sartre(d) with being and nothingness.
A cultural movement brought to public providence.
Ominously before I was born,
but I was still torn between being,
and nothingness,
like everyone else.
Distinguishing secular humanism,
rejecting pseudoscience,
apparently.
Now the Blade run’s across my skin.
Married to the cause,
with the force like Harrison,
can you appreciate the retort of
my existential crisis.
We could get lost in the Matrix,
in the “necessary absurdity of the human condition and the horror war”
Like Kubrick.
There’s beautiful new tricks I use to wake up each morning and go about my personal piece of silver screen.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC
I remember when I was
Self-conscious.
Sure, I still have my struggles-
Little negative thoughts navigate
Through nothingness natively out of
My mouth.
But, sometimes I like to think
I am the greatest.
Sometimes, I like what I do.
Through and through,
I try to keep this thought true,
Take something I learned and
Share it with you.
I feel new,
Just sometimes.
As if I am not who I was back then.
As if depression never took me,
And if social anxiety
Was a construct of pseudoscience.
Sometimes I feel stronger,
As if I can take on the world;
By my own hero,
And save the ones I love.
Sometimes, I feel the sunshine
And the weight lift from my shoulder.
The older
I get, the longer it stays.
I am getting better,
Or maybe I was never
Ill in the first place.
I can do things
Other cannot,
But also learn from those same people.
I can grow as me-
Stop the burning and cutting
And constant lonely late night crying.
I am free to be balanced
And to be me
And happy.
Sometimes, just sometimes,
I get a glimpse of the time if those moments
Became my everytime.
And then I smile, and breathe
Just breathe.
And continue to think of myself
As broken, but still beautiful
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
Teachers never liked me because i asked ''too many questions'',
that's when i knew the whole sistem was failure,
creating obedient slaves to not use their brains,
locked in invisible chains,
force feed them with trends,pseudoscience and ''intellect'',
while they shouting ''we are free'',
having weak mindset,
killing your brain cells with alcohol,drugs and pills,
followed by excuse ''we are just having fun'',
they forget some things can not be undone.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 8:51 PM UTC
Trying to keep these emotions in check,
Instead of going for enemies necks,
Like a hyena on the defence,
I’m Stuck in a trance.
Trying to protect,
A heart so pure,
Yet also so insecure.
Why do I let it get to me?
Got me all chemically imbalanced,
Looking more of an *** than a donkey.
But, I’m ******* if I speak out or remain silent.
Trying not to step on glass,
Getting told I should be careful where I’m stepping.
For if I step on that glass,
I’m treated as defiant.
With my words becoming,
Nothing more than pseudoscience!
Perhaps I care too much?
After all society tells me to toughen up.
So, I build up these barriers.
But it’s never enough.
For my hearts still fragile.
Got me feeling like a bad child.
Fighting back against demons like I’m Madchild.
Got me wondering if trauma,
Truly can be reconciled?
For now though I’m just...
Trying to keep these emotions in check,
Instead of going for enemies necks,
Like a hyena on the defence,
I’m Stuck in a trance.
Trying to protect,
A heart so pure,
Yet also so insecure.
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 7:00 PM UTC