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"tangents" poems
Our parents are always telling us , you have to go to school, that you'll learn everything you need to know before you're ready for the big world, and that'll you need it to get into your dream job But now a days our education isn't about learning, its about passing Our education now isn't the same as it used to be It teaches us that if you're not at a certain grade level, you will not succeed That if you don't meet a certain criteria, maybe you're not for fit the course This education system doesn't teach us whats really important for the big world It doesn't teach us how to live, how to do taxes or how to survive It never taught us the living expenses or how to buy a home Never taught us what to expect once we leave for college or how to balance our schedules No. It only taught us homework, about a plant cell, about tangents and circumferences It taught us that homework is more important than family That it's more important than being a kid and having a life It taught us that if you spend time with loved once and didn't do your work, you're setting yourself up for failure They pile us with work it feels like we cant breath They never once thought of the other class assignments that must be due not even 24 hours later They make us memorise things that will no longer be important when we apply for a job We study for hours in hopes to pass that final test that we'll soon forget But what are we suppose to say when someone asks us how we're feeling? We were never taught that We never memorised an equation to help us find the answer We were only ever taught to keep our mouths shut and do our work Its quite funny what we learn in school now Things more than 80% of the students will never have to use let alone see again School was suppose to prepare us for our future For the job choice we pick Instead we meet and learned quadratics and plant cells We were taught homework is what your focus should always be on We were never taught about the future and what to do And most importantly We were never taught how to love ourselves and the things we should be greatful for They've turn us into sad, mindless robots that's are more concerned about grades and passing than whats going on with the family We lock ourselves in our rooms doing homework for 6 hours than talking to our mothers or fathers who wonder about us We were never taught the importance of family before it was too late Every single highschool student wishes they can turn back the clocks, but it'll never work We were taught the hard way that you don't really know what you have until its gone Something we weren't prepared for They never prepared us for the future Instead, we prepare our self for the possible failing outcome How are we suppose to make a living for ourselves when all we have learned was the stress over homework and family? The depression over a failed test or assignment? The lost feeling of the lost time? How are we suppose to love ourselves when all we do is put yourself down because of school? This education system never prepared us for anything Instead, this education system officially has broken all of us.
0
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
Our Broken Education System
Our parents are always telling us , you have to go to school, that you'll learn everything you need to know before you're ready for the big world, and that'll you need it to get into your dream job But now a days our education isn't about learning, its about passing Our education now isn't the same as it used to be It teaches us that if you're not at a certain grade level, you will not succeed That if you don't meet a certain criteria, maybe you're not for fit the course This education system doesn't teach us whats really important for the big world It doesn't teach us how to live, how to do taxes or how to survive It never taught us the living expenses or how to buy a home Never taught us what to expect once we leave for college or how to balance our schedules No. It only taught us homework, about a plant cell, about tangents and circumferences It taught us that homework is more important than family That it's more important than being a kid and having a life It taught us that if you spend time with loved once and didn't do your work, you're setting yourself up for failure They pile us with work it feels like we cant breath They never once thought of the other class assignments that must be due not even 24 hours later They make us memorise things that will no longer be important when we apply for a job We study for hours in hopes to pass that final test that we'll soon forget But what are we suppose to say when someone asks us how we're feeling? We were never taught that We never memorised an equation to help us find the answer We were only ever taught to keep our mouths shut and do our work Its quite funny what we learn in school now Things more than 80% of the students will never have to use let alone see again School was suppose to prepare us for our future For the job choice we pick Instead we meet and learned quadratics and plant cells We were taught homework is what your focus should always be on We were never taught about the future and what to do And most importantly We were never taught how to love ourselves and the things we should be greatful for They've turn us into sad, mindless robots that's are more concerned about grades and passing than whats going on with the family We lock ourselves in our rooms doing homework for 6 hours than talking to our mothers or fathers who wonder about us We were never taught the importance of family before it was too late Every single highschool student wishes they can turn back the clocks, but it'll never work We were taught the hard way that you don't really know what you have until its gone Something we weren't prepared for They never prepared us for the future Instead, we prepare our self for the possible failing outcome How are we suppose to make a living for ourselves when all we have learned was the stress over homework and family? The depression over a failed test or assignment? The lost feeling of the lost time? How are we suppose to love ourselves when all we do is put yourself down because of school? This education system never prepared us for anything Instead, this education system officially has broken all of us.
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44
It's not that I don't love you. It's the time I read my mom's old journals and every other paragraph included my fathers name. It's that he cheated on every girlfriend he had with my mom. It's that my mom didn't care she was a second choice or a one night stand. It's that my mother never talked to anyone about him after he got married to one of the many girlfriends. It's that she took twenty sleeping pills on the night of what would've been their anniversary. It's that he doesn't even know she's dead. It's not that I don't love you. It's the couple I overheard in the bread aisle arguing over wheat or white. It's that I heard the woman say a lot of "she" and **** and I saw her crumble to the ground. It's that he just shook his head and said he was sorry over and over again. It's not that I don't love you. It's that my best friend is in love with a boy on the other side of the country. It's the morning she took a shower and cried over him. It's that he wasn't even awake to do anything about it. It's that he's always three hours behind and thousands too many miles away. It's that I mean both physically and mentally sometimes. It's not that I don't love you. It's my geometry teacher, who brought up her husband when she taught me tangents. It's that she also brought up her husband when she taught me the circle unit too. It's that she gets quiet and smiles after she talks about him. It's that he's been passed away for seven years now and she still has so much to say. It's that she still wears her wedding ring. It's that when she taught me special right triangles, I wondered what her laugh might sound like if he were still here. What I'm trying to say is; It's not that I don't love you. It's that I do.
0
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
It's Not That I Don't Love You
It's not that I don't love you. It's the time I read my mom's old journals and every other paragraph included my fathers name. It's that he cheated on every girlfriend he had with my mom. It's that my mom didn't care she was a second choice or a one night stand. It's that my mother never talked to anyone about him after he got married to one of the many girlfriends. It's that she took twenty sleeping pills on the night of what would've been their anniversary. It's that he doesn't even know she's dead. It's not that I don't love you. It's the couple I overheard in the bread aisle arguing over wheat or white. It's that I heard the woman say a lot of "she" and **** and I saw her crumble to the ground. It's that he just shook his head and said he was sorry over and over again. It's not that I don't love you. It's that my best friend is in love with a boy on the other side of the country. It's the morning she took a shower and cried over him. It's that he wasn't even awake to do anything about it. It's that he's always three hours behind and thousands too many miles away. It's that I mean both physically and mentally sometimes. It's not that I don't love you. It's my geometry teacher, who brought up her husband when she taught me tangents. It's that she also brought up her husband when she taught me the circle unit too. It's that she gets quiet and smiles after she talks about him. It's that he's been passed away for seven years now and she still has so much to say. It's that she still wears her wedding ring. It's that when she taught me special right triangles, I wondered what her laugh might sound like if he were still here. What I'm trying to say is; It's not that I don't love you. It's that I do.
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6
You need to pay a sin tax for the way you talk smack, calling me your property your syntax is making me over. the. hill. I’m heels over head with you making me crazy the way that you speak your diction’s too weak. “you’re so nice” how boring, I choose more elegant words to describe your glory I could write a five-page double-spaced essay about you and get accepted to your ivy league I could wrap my arms around you like ivy on stone hang you up to dry on the clothesline til you answer the telephone I could cling to you like static on your sweater you better not flick.me.off. Hell, my poetry ain’t free it’s about as free as slaves I have confines, rules bats in caves It costs me thoughts and time and frustration costs me more than just greenbacks and a vacaction. you need to pay up talk isn’t cheap your words cost you attention even if my love don’t cost a thing I train you like a golden retriever you retrieve my orders like a wide receiver my language is figurative but your actions are derivative you’re confusing me like trigonometry love triangles are not my thing. our l θve i ∫ a sin(x) cos we go  off on tangents and don’t know where to begin first we’re infatuated then we’re done next we’re inebriated then we have some fun happens so fast then we come together at last This rollercoaster of emotion has me puking again I’m trying to calculate this algorithm in my head. its so complicated I’ll need something else instead. in this kaleidoscope I see many sides of you and me I spin it round to try to understand all I see is a blur of colors even when I hold your hand. I wish I could see the thoughts you hide from me I want to understand you’re radioactive your face is glowing even in pitch black your smile is showing but, I never get to see your eyes make me crazy hazy they trip me up and pull me down periodically, you’re in your element and everything clicks then we stick and the chemistry’s quick but then you open your mouth garbage spurts out I think it’s about time I take you out
0
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
Syn-tax
You need to pay a sin tax for the way you talk smack, calling me your property your syntax is making me over. the. hill. I’m heels over head with you making me crazy the way that you speak your diction’s too weak. “you’re so nice” how boring, I choose more elegant words to describe your glory I could write a five-page double-spaced essay about you and get accepted to your ivy league I could wrap my arms around you like ivy on stone hang you up to dry on the clothesline til you answer the telephone I could cling to you like static on your sweater you better not flick.me.off. Hell, my poetry ain’t free it’s about as free as slaves I have confines, rules bats in caves It costs me thoughts and time and frustration costs me more than just greenbacks and a vacaction. you need to pay up talk isn’t cheap your words cost you attention even if my love don’t cost a thing I train you like a golden retriever you retrieve my orders like a wide receiver my language is figurative but your actions are derivative you’re confusing me like trigonometry love triangles are not my thing. our l θve i ∫ a sin(x) cos we go  off on tangents and don’t know where to begin first we’re infatuated then we’re done next we’re inebriated then we have some fun happens so fast then we come together at last This rollercoaster of emotion has me puking again I’m trying to calculate this algorithm in my head. its so complicated I’ll need something else instead. in this kaleidoscope I see many sides of you and me I spin it round to try to understand all I see is a blur of colors even when I hold your hand. I wish I could see the thoughts you hide from me I want to understand you’re radioactive your face is glowing even in pitch black your smile is showing but, I never get to see your eyes make me crazy hazy they trip me up and pull me down periodically, you’re in your element and everything clicks then we stick and the chemistry’s quick but then you open your mouth garbage spurts out I think it’s about time I take you out
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104
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts. a shortened critique of pure reason -                                                                   a) based on phenomena                     (things most likely talked about) and                                             b) based of noumenna                                         (things least likely talked about).... i.e.                    a) and the ego implant, and                                                      b) the god implant - likewise the zealots on either side, bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims... i forgot to mention that Kant forgot to mention the trigonometric foundations as justifying owning a villa or whatnot, the same foundations of having the implant ego secured and willed are the same parameters of the implant god secured and thought the point being dynamic parallelism, mid-way between cosine and sine rigid fluctuation tangents occur, the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.; you're basically born with ego or you're born with god - there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between - ring-a-ding-ding-surprise? there's no side-winding to create cinema - being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced with monetary affairs; being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced with murderers, lastly - no psychological theory will box-me-in given the lost tribalism and the usage of the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing - with money came slang - and all thorough evils, with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab., Arizona in the ******* Amazon - i'm basically saying what Kant said: god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget, it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it by argument, and we certainly can't accept it by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either for worth of understanding tornadoes; because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me, filming Twister.
0
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
a shortened critique of pure reason / adjacent-adjective compound
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts. a shortened critique of pure reason -                                                                   a) based on phenomena                     (things most likely talked about) and                                             b) based of noumenna                                         (things least likely talked about).... i.e.                    a) and the ego implant, and                                                      b) the god implant - likewise the zealots on either side, bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims... i forgot to mention that Kant forgot to mention the trigonometric foundations as justifying owning a villa or whatnot, the same foundations of having the implant ego secured and willed are the same parameters of the implant god secured and thought the point being dynamic parallelism, mid-way between cosine and sine rigid fluctuation tangents occur, the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.; you're basically born with ego or you're born with god - there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between - ring-a-ding-ding-surprise? there's no side-winding to create cinema - being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced with monetary affairs; being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced with murderers, lastly - no psychological theory will box-me-in given the lost tribalism and the usage of the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing - with money came slang - and all thorough evils, with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab., Arizona in the ******* Amazon - i'm basically saying what Kant said: god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget, it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it by argument, and we certainly can't accept it by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either for worth of understanding tornadoes; because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me, filming Twister.
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45
I pulled back the thicket Brambles and thorns Bordering my mind Inch by inch To let you slip inside Hi I hope you don't mind The pestilent storm of neuroses The angry winds whipping around Eroding my cognition (They all say I ought to stop overthinking They don't know the half of it) Pardon the mess The litter of apprehensions Flotsam and jetsam of rumination Tangles of tangents Smog of chimeric thoughts Sticky rambles festering in the corner Acidic drizzle Of obstinate wayward tunes Insecurity and fear Eating into the pillars and foundations If you don't mind terribly The clatter of sleet The noisome fumes The skittering vermin The sheer clutter That would make packrats shake their heads If you don't mind At all Would you stay?
0
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Housekeeping
TRIGGER WARNING!!!!! Please be cautious when reading. If you feel you'll be triggered in any way, please don't read. Thank you. I'm done. Done with trying too hard Done with sleepless nights Done with disappointment Done with being a disappointment Done with hearing their voices in my head Done with seeing visions of my abuse Done with being around people That just don't care I know they care But my brain tells me they can't be trusted They're like everyone else I avoid "everyone else" I'm done with my anxiety Done with my sexuality Done with my gender Done with my PTSD Done trying to pretend I'm happy When all I've wanted to do is cry But crying would make others uncomfortable And doing that in the past led to peer abuse I'm done with my brain going on tangents Done with having a constant smile on my face Even though it's fake And everyone knows it is Done with heaving after a panic attack Done with my abusive visions becoming reality Done with feeling nothing Done with being anything Done with breathing Done with living Because at this point What is there to live for?
0
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
Done
Come the auroras and infinite landscapes – Tangents wrought outright constants, Parallels perched perpendicular outrights, So to call your ellipse, When the orbit’s outstretched Landing meetings where we’d at least Learn to alter tomorrow. It’s stellar silly, and paths primordial, Leaving my layovers for the trials And abandoned, the moon’s to forever follow you; So to composed and formulae proofed Come the time you mother said, "He’s just a coma And dust best left forgotten." Quit draggin’ me to space baby.
0
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
The Perigees
at the corner I hit both crosswalk buttons and wait, eyes closed, to see if I can follow the walk sign chirps like the blind men I choose the first street that whistles to me and walk to the opposite corner the way the lights rotate, you would walk circles if you followed the signs eventually you must choose some arbitrary avenue and either wait for it to welcome you or test your luck in traffic I choose left then look up, hoping to invent some new constellation but the big parking lot halogens bleed like blue inked milk into the sky and the stars are specks, painted over maybe for the better, I know too well that I would see those galaxies spiraling and dig dig dig into big big big questions hitting all the major points time and space and self and purpose, purpose and the mental ************ would be a million endless tangents like a million little bits of magnesium flashing in a firework, brighter than those parking lot halogens but like every independence day they flash and fizzle and then the sky is just smoky and I start to feel small so I walk into Big Lots to calm down rummaging through the shelves, not a single pad of paper outside of monthly planners not a single blank sheet, not a single open page not a single ******* one no one wants to buy anything unless they know it has a purpose first otherwise, it’ll end up in their desk, blank and staring every time the drawer gets cracked open and no one will have an answer for it
0
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:29 AM UTC
A Walk to Big Lots
I **** at writing poetry, but I do it anyway Because life is an absurd struggle in An impersonal universe, thus rendering All efforts ultimately meaningless, If that's the case, why shouldn't I write bad poetry? If we are to, as Camus says "imagine Sisyphus happy" Then I'll keep rolling this metaphorical Boulder of frustrated creativity up the Mountain of artistic expression, in the Misplaced hope that just maybe, One of these times, instead of rolling Back down and adding one more instance, To that large pile of abject failures that I've accumulated throughout my life, It will stay at the top, rendering me Successful, and making one of these Jumbled word salad tangents into Something that's actually worth reading. ...probably not gonna happen, though.
0
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
Hokum
I had a dream last night that I put you in danger that you were hurt because of me is that why you left? please please i need you i need you 1 am fresh presto after castro movies i need you orange juice and dark *** forget me nots and tangents forget me not how can you forget me so faster moving you must i miss you reggae and sunshine freckles and flakiness i can't do this without you acoustic guitar in laundromat halloween princess hiding away and scaring me for years come back cooking and japanese tea garden explorer and keep exploring with me come back wanderer you have made a home within my heart you must not part.
0
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
come back wanderer
You unwrapped my blind fold I could only see this mess of deconstructed bones The smog filled my bleeding nostrils I gasped to know the truth of a world rotating in circumvention Tangents of humiliation A crab crawls back into its used receptacle It does not have to face the uneven shadows Fairy wings brittle and break The ashes of frightened unicorns Paths off way far into the emasculated jungle Hidden silences wielded in your depth Machines and paper plates The trees of battered car horns and biohazard bags The stereotypical infantile jungle world Without the echoes of the children you never should have had Mary prostitutes herself on the corner The Holy Ghost burns unnoticed Please let us go back to a time When we could sit still without retrograding voices Telling us to progress and revolve We can no longer feel awesomed in the presence of a structural anomaly One that had never lived or breathed Or failed We were on the verge of a revolution Before they took our fairytales away The myths were replaced with shear and utter disgust For the entire human community Let us retreat to the forest of Incas and attack dogs For we can not have a revolution of one.
0
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:22 AM UTC
Pillow cases fill the tree tops
I found my old box of markers I'm going to create some art Not sure exactly what it is I have in mind But I shouldn't put the horse before the cart Mainly I just doodle, I'm whimsical and free Sometimes, I draw straight from the heart I enjoy using lots of different colors While making others feel as though they are a part Pictures of things in all shapes and sizes I've got creativity just oozing out my pours Could be a fierce dragon, or fluttering butterflies But their beauty could never be ignored I'm always opened to new suggestions Ideas can be contagious in many ways My mind does tend to go off on tangents And a picture says what a thousand words can say Some pieces can be pinned up on the freezer Others, should be framed as works of art You will never know until the work is finished And you can't finish, until you start.
0
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
Works of Art
tangents as i peel my tangerine stranded when you leave the scene running up the walls, painting the town green artificial natural, warped reality plethora of predators creep on me sneak a peek, steal my peace perception the weapon of my enemy your glance is cold and it stings my words are paper to a fire to escape i needed to lose everything
0
Apr 12, 2023
Apr 12, 2023 at 4:06 PM UTC
serpentine
Reality a vine cut short as it grew tangents of grapes each fell a direction its own revelations of faces in alternate places cross stretches of spaces like speed of light races time travel acquired time line expired time itself, tired time, into minds, wired like electrical current like electrical impulse like instinctual whims like sensual sins
0
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
Vine
She derails me.   breathtaking, magnificent, tongue dumb words fail and sense blurs punch drunk love fear. an unfamiliar juggernaut on a collision course with sanity, confidence, self worth unfamiliar, unwarranted doubt. Paralyzed dumb, I have no explanation. Nothing taints a true childlike expression I stray into unattainable delusion. expectations, trailing tangents, delineation.   Peacocking: false representation of self.   Benevolent intention falls victim to accelerated dissonance Nano lies upon nano lies build a plastic truth Why am I doing this, and why can't I stop? She would have loved the real me.. The tongue tied, school boy all awkward and sweet Do I go for a kiss or just throw rocks? Oh well, she's gone now. The fake plastic boy scared her away.
0
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 11:45 AM UTC
Derailer
Do I make sense? I’m speaking but Can you hear me? It seems like I’m speaking silence I suppose I am since, wait-- Do I make sense? My words are easily misinterpreted Even now, you’re listening but Can you hear me? Tangled tangents taken From the context of my mind Do I make sense? I don’t. Of course the sound waves are reaching you Still, I have to ask again to be sure Can you hear me? L’appel du vide is all I hear I want to know you’re not the same Do I make sense? Can you hear me?
0
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 10:44 PM UTC
A Villanelle to Verify
Palace of my happy dreams burning down to wakefulness, the golden memory escapes me like cool air in October bare and I forget what imaginary Alice's imaginary kisses felt like to my lips. Our romance dies in eclipsing days too often empty of rhapsody, a nightmare instead built upon addicts impurities and withdrawal shakes. She's somewhere in my subconscious shipwrecked lost in a sea of thoughts and disconnected tangents. Her perfume makes me stupid silly and sad. Where is she now but looking far to shore? like you, like me, like this world of pattern and bore. Never getting any closer.
0
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
Imaginary Alice Lost At Sea.
Certain people see things differently. Now why do we do that? Is it a lack of closeness? Maybe communication? I have questions for the pastor/Pete Campbell clone at Immanuel Bible Church. Like, why does your sermon feel derivative? How often are songs played in-between the sermons? Are these songs a necessary transition? A slideshow? A distraction? I still don’t know how to sing, or keep tempo with claps. Pavlov’s dog is hated, by you. Do you hate the dog? Or do you hate the results of the experiment? Is science, a deceitful ex-girlfriend to you? Someone you don’t trust? If so I can understand you. But I don’t understand you. Because you have your truth. And I have my truth. Peter said to me truth is an abstraction. I’m telling you your truth is yours. But, cup your hand and press it against the wall of my truth, listen and you will hear a man and a man talking to each other. Their naked bodies are sealed by an anchor that you have never seen. The first man leans forward and kisses the second man on the nape of his neck. Then, the second man kisses the first man on the left part of his chest. Should I stop? Am I scaring you? Do you want to watch a blonde girl stick her tongue down another blonde girl’s throat, Until her breath cannot escape and float and trail off her lips. Like the dove white spaceships that launch into the expanding horizon of darkness. Am I making sense? I want you to follow my words. I want you to respect me. The first man is talking. The second man has his arms folded behind his back like a Korean man, and he’s looking out the window, gazing at the dove white spaceship Propelling into the incredible shadow, the one that is swallowing up everything we love. Pete Campbell is the shadow. Do you care about POV? Are you bothered when another person is talking about a person in the third person? I consider your opinion, Even when you don’t consider mine. Does that make me weak? “Television turn off the mind,” that is a quote that shot out of your mouth, like an arrow from the Green Arrow dressed in Cupid’s apparel. Or is that the flesh? Carnal. I digress. Tangents happen. I was rude. I am sorry, And I know sorry is a word, And you do not value words. But I am a poet. Words are my salmon and red wine Rewind the cassette.
0
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
Sunday Notes Written for The Illiterate
Certain people see things differently. Now why do we do that? Is it a lack of closeness? Maybe communication? I have questions for the pastor/Pete Campbell clone at Immanuel Bible Church. Like, why does your sermon feel derivative? How often are songs played in-between the sermons? Are these songs a necessary transition? A slideshow? A distraction? I still don’t know how to sing, or keep tempo with claps. Pavlov’s dog is hated, by you. Do you hate the dog? Or do you hate the results of the experiment? Is science, a deceitful ex-girlfriend to you? Someone you don’t trust? If so I can understand you. But I don’t understand you. Because you have your truth. And I have my truth. Peter said to me truth is an abstraction. I’m telling you your truth is yours. But, cup your hand and press it against the wall of my truth, listen and you will hear a man and a man talking to each other. Their naked bodies are sealed by an anchor that you have never seen. The first man leans forward and kisses the second man on the nape of his neck. Then, the second man kisses the first man on the left part of his chest. Should I stop? Am I scaring you? Do you want to watch a blonde girl stick her tongue down another blonde girl’s throat, Until her breath cannot escape and float and trail off her lips. Like the dove white spaceships that launch into the expanding horizon of darkness. Am I making sense? I want you to follow my words. I want you to respect me. The first man is talking. The second man has his arms folded behind his back like a Korean man, and he’s looking out the window, gazing at the dove white spaceship Propelling into the incredible shadow, the one that is swallowing up everything we love. Pete Campbell is the shadow. Do you care about POV? Are you bothered when another person is talking about a person in the third person? I consider your opinion, Even when you don’t consider mine. Does that make me weak? “Television turn off the mind,” that is a quote that shot out of your mouth, like an arrow from the Green Arrow dressed in Cupid’s apparel. Or is that the flesh? Carnal. I digress. Tangents happen. I was rude. I am sorry, And I know sorry is a word, And you do not value words. But I am a poet. Words are my salmon and red wine Rewind the cassette.
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I’m… Sitting in my flat, To my couch I am thatched, Kyle’s yelling, He keeps telling, Me to, Get a job, Like walk straight into one, I get slightly indignant, That it’s easier said than done, He points it out, So his main demographic Don’t switch off en-masse, Ending his quasi-infographic Combination of hot air and bad gas Mr. Kyle’s relatable, He makes an effort So unlike certain Eton educated conservative western capitalistic illuminati slaves, He’s not hateable. SO, my now easily distracted mind turns to Mr.C, The way his policies A.K.A BEDROOM TAX negatively impact me The way he forces me into obvious and obnoxious modern day slavery Through way of a work programme How he has decided that I need to experience real life life, Through legislation and universal credit, Credible implication to make the poorest poorer because they have the gall to spend it SO my rhyming thought full of tangents Must now come to end As the tangent I have accomplished Is impossible to defend.
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Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
JSA blues
I want to take 2am walks through towns so small, that cops are sleeping instead of keeping watch, and street lights glow only dimly because  no respectable person would need their guidance at this hour. I want to tell teachers that their textbooks make me tired, challenge them to teach me every subject with the trunk of a stately oak tree. One that has seen more than we could ever craft into notes or test questions, and breathes out a life source healthier for us than the toxic tangents lingering in this academic air space. I want to take my romantic notions of life and press them into the pages of a non-fiction book, so that when you tell me I'm naive, I can present you with the research that keeps your cubicle heart pumping. I want to cleanse your body of its lead paint logic, and use my lips to tattoo all the natural beauty you've missed behind classroom doors. I want to show you the beauty of broken glass in small town alley ways.
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Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
I don't want to be a filing cabinet.
The tangents on my clavichord Were fashion'd from a ****** sword That slew a man who music made Which ought like him to be decay’d. O.O
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Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
Swordplay
terrestrial siren call out to me with your irresistible song, ground me on the Earth in the clouds, alone, I will go mad alone without your melodies to lure me back to a port where I can furl my sails and rest in your grounding solace a song unlike the siren songs Odysseus heard strapped to the mast to resist temptation—he had only Penelope while I have only you you pull my ship back on course away from the tangents I am prone I want nothing more than to bring you aboard my ship I know your telos is rooted amidst the Earth to heal and flourish the ailing land my telos to sail the sky charting the heavens in search of a key to turn the tumbler of the lock to the universe it tears my heart to be away from your terrestrial song… know: you will always be the port where I return—for no reason other than to hear your sweet song one day, I will roll my sails un-step my mast let the shrouds hang loose anchor my ship permanently out in the waters of the celestial bodies walk upon the Earth amongst trees, plants, and rock rooting myself alongside you—ears open, listening, solace in your song, in the port we built together
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Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
Song of the Earth
a flashing neon cocktail of colour shines a peculiar light like a fossil washed in my jeans it allows me to speak to Panzas donkey in a place where black winged angels wait providing a backdrop to unconscious geography that can never be reclaimed movements are that of a stage contortionist slow and deliberate they recollect colliding tangents that preclude all manner of inquiry there is an articulated confrontation that corresponds to a drawn curtain an ash grey partition painted with a particularised creation projecting in a self generated universe an estrangement to the world of aligning past and present A windmill tilts and magnifies the sense of isolation generated by my conversation with Panzas donkey in a realisation of the unquantifiable location of the non-geometric dimensions of Quixotic thought yet allows for an initiation of sensory experience as a world that exists independently of physical space is explored and I realise the expansion of consciousness is the emitted light of relative thought that flashes in colour before me it is my dreams, they are violet like the sky
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Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
Conversations With Panza' Donkey