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Big Virge Aug 2016
Well It Seems It's... OPEN SEASON...  
For... MURDEROUS Policing... !?!      
      
NO MORE Will Blacks Take Beatings... !!!      
      
Police Will Leave Us BLEEDING... !!!      
While They KEEP ON Receiving...      
PROTECTION For Yes Leaving...      
      
Blacks With...      
      
NO PULSE Or FEELING... !!!      
In Fact NO LONGER Breathing.      
      
And Then Comes... " Court Proceedings "...      
That Leave Black People SEETHING... !!!!!!            
Well FINE It's... OPEN SEASON...      
For Poetry... Now Seeking..........................................      
      
So­me TRUTH...      
And LESS... Deceiving... !!!    
      
See I'm Incredibly NOT Shocked...      
At How Poor... " Walter Scott "...      
      
Got Shot By Some White Cop...      
When Walter Tried To Run...      
From This... Policeman ****... !!!!!      
      
But Before I Move Along...      
      
He May Well Have Done Wrong... ?!?      
But... " Officer Slager "...      
Let Off EIGHT SHOTS...      
In... Walters' BACK... !?!!!?      
      
Let Me Just.... " BACK TRACK ".....      
      
He Shot EIGHT TIMES........      
Taking... HIS LIFE... ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !        
      
Because.............      
Said... SLAGER...        
      
" He feared for his safety      
because Mr. Scott, tried to grab his Taser ! "      
      
So That Means... WHAT... ?!?      
      
He Deserved To Be Shot...      
EIGHT TIMES In His BACK... !?!!!?!      
      
Maaaaannnnn....      
      
ENOUGH of This CRAP... !!!!!      
      
What Kind of Policing... ?!?      
Gives Policeman Teachings...      
of... SHOOT TO DEATH... !!!!      
      
Rather Than... " A Leg "... ?!?      
      
Shoot BOTH If Ya Like... !!!!!      
      
But ENOUGH of These Vibes...      
Where... Black People DIE... !!!!!!      
      
Husbands And Wives...      
Whose Fam' Are Told LIES... !!!      
About... COP HOMICIDES... !!!!      
      
So Let Me Season And OPEN............................... .........      
How People Are.... Bro Ken... !!!      
And Blacks Are Just TOKENS...      
For Them To Be... " Quoting "...      
ALL KINDS of... DUMB THINGS... !!!!!!    
      
About... Po' Po' Shootings....      
      
An Asian Dude...      
Who Went To My School      
Posted... One Day...      
On MY Facebook Page...      
      
"Blacks need to be wise      
when police are in sight,      
and not antagonise,      
cos that's how they'll die !"    
      
Yeah THIS INDIAN Guy...      
Felt He Had The Right...      
To... Tell Me WHY...      
Police TAKE Black Lives... ?!!!?      
      
Cos' We....      
      
"DON'T ACT RIGHT !" …      
      
Well YEAH Sometimes....      
But Being... SHOT TO DEATH...      
Goes BEYOND NONSENSE... !!!!!      
      
But Asians Like HIM...      
Prove That Being... "submissive"...      
Is How Most Choose To Live...      
And How Most Seem To Think... !?!      
      
How Many Asian Girls...      
And I DON'T MEAN... Orientals... !!!      
Have Been... " Experimental "... ???      
      
When It Comes To Black Men...      
Being In... Their Worlds...      
As The FATHERS of Their Children..... ?!?      
      
It's CLEAR From Their CASTE System...      
That Inter-Racial Teams …
Are … RARELY EVER Seen... !!!      
      
Unless Their Partner's...      
...... " White "...... ?!?      
      
Most Asians Don't Trust Blacks...      
And That Is Simply... FACT...      
      
In Fact Some Do Believe...      
That Blacks Are Just... MONKEYS... ??!??      
      
Check Through THEIR History...      
Such Words AREN'T FALLACY... !!!      
      
When We Now... " Greet Police "...      
Should Blacks IMMEDIATELY... ?      
Get Down Upon Our Knees...      
      
And BEG Like... " Slavery Scenes "...      
      
"Please *****', don't shoot me !"      
      
Which Leads Me To These Blacks...      
      
Whose Uniform's Now Packed....      
To Join These... Police Klans... !?!      
      
What Have They CHANGED...      
In... Policing Ways... ?!!!?      
      
" NOT A LOT "... !!!!!!      
      
Ask... " Walter Scott "... ???      
      
Well Sadly Now...      

You CAN'T DO THAT... !!!!!!      
      
Because What Is FOUL...      
Is THIS HERE FACT... !!!!!      
      
While Walter Died And Lied FACE FLAT...      
A Cop Who Was... BLACK... !!!      
Seemed To Search Mr. Scott...      
As If He'd... STILL ATTACK... ?!!!?      
      
And Then Let This White Cop...      
Treat Him... LIKE HIS DOG.... !???!      
      
I'm SICK of The CRAP... !!!!!!      
Now Coming From Blacks... !!!!!!!      
      
Will They Wanna Shoot ME... ?!?      
For This... REAL POETRY... !?!      
      
See It's Been...      
      
OPEN SEASON For QUITE SOME TIME... !!!!!      
      
Cos' Black Folks Be... "submissive"...      
As If They'll Face A LYNCHING... !!!      
      
For BREATHING and NOT Flinch-ing... !!!!!      
When Po Po Lights Start.... Blinking.... !!!!!!!      
Which Right Now... Gets Me Thinking...      
      
That WILLIAM LYNCH...      
Is Looking Down and Saying...      
      
"Look at these Black Clowns !" …
      
Folks This Here AIN'T...      
" 12 Years A Slave "...      
      
This Shooing Happened...      
.... " YESTERDAY ".... !!!!!!!!      
      
In South Carolina....      
Where That PIG Has Been Fired... !!!      
      
But WITHOUT The Footage...      
Would He STILL Be Out SHOOTING... !?!      
      
See I'm A Man of Reason...      
But Right Now I'M SEETHING... !!!!!      
      
Because When It Comes To....      
      
... KILLING BLACKS...      
      
It's  .....      
      
STILL CLEARLY.....      
      
" OPEN SEASON !"....
Listen Here :
https://soundcloud.com/user-16569179/07-open-season
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
now i know why i might engage with writing obscene
poems, chauvinism included, but still there
is no burning excuse in my mind with the way
western society actively desires censorship of certain
words, i already attributed censoring obscene
words as worse than what this tactic precipitates into:
the apathetic spread of *******, and violence
in general... it crosses my mind that sparring with violent
language cushions people from violet action...
to utilise violent language with that: pardon my French
attitude does more good than evil on the users...
how many road rage incidents could have been avoided
if people were unable to watch their tongue:
somehow we're making language sterile, by actively
pursuing this sort of censorship: which is not even
remotely politically related / motivated, we're bringing
an anaemic status quo in how fluidly we speak -
we desire to not hear the sometimes funny and the sometimes
awful... but we choose to see the god-fearing horrific...
ask any blind-man about music and he'd say:
well, i can dance to it in a nucleus position, centrally
gravitational pull - but ask the deaf man about
what he has to say when seeing **** written to counter
obscenity, as in cartoon-like: f&%£! it's just plain silly,
pocket-sized expression of psychotic behaviours,
rummaging through them i find only one source of inspiration:
the fact that we're in this blind-man's garden of innocence,
somehow dressed in the camouflage of censorship such
a tiny problem, that it does indeed require 23 mattresses
for the princess to not feel the frozen *** agitating her...
this sort of censorship in its application is under
a false sense of purpose, it really doesn't change people's
behaviour for the better, it doesn't pacify them, in does
the reverse: it infuriates, it makes violence more potent...
i'm still trying to figure out why such words
will make our perceptions saintly... unless of course
that's the reason behind them, as way of invoking an
anaesthetic placebo, a placebo that's actually active rather
than passive - presuming the anaesthetic placebo gives
way to an aesthetic active apathy-inducing ingredient...
meaning we can't bare to hear swear words, but we can
gladly watch 20 hours of 20 : 1 ****... censoring **** ****
**** **** will not escape Newtonian physics...
given our current scenario, Newtonian physics is far
more important than Einstein's relativity, i'd hate to be
in denial about cause & effect... as began with Socrates,
i too abhor moral relativism... of course Newton got
the gravity bit wrong, but i like the simpler version...
plus... there was no Romance with Einstein...
no apple, no tree, no Voltaire... meaning we don't necessarily
write history collectively, with all of us starting from
the big bang or the view from the Galapagos islands...
we don't... we continue writing history not from a
collective consciousness genesis... or from the collective
unconscious genesis - that's Jung with his archetypes
(devil, god, wise man, mother, father etc.) rather than
dreams (Freud) - we can chose were to write the future...
it's not so much ignorance as arm-chair intellectualism,
it's not about the safety of understanding something,
but the comfort of choosing to understand something...
which is pretty much to my excuse for my previous poems...
Heidegger... and that concept of Dasein -
i never bothered to understand it to the point of
reacting subjectively to it, by that i mean an interest
in writing about it, an interpolation of the subject with
alternative variations... i objectified it, i also countered it
when objectifying the concept turned out to be an
everyday object, shortening my quest.
the counter? hiersein, i.e. being here, here denoting a
solipsistic classification of awareness with / in the world -
which is basically me in my room, admiring my library,
my record collection, my torn sneakers, everything that
is classified exclusive to what dasein evolves into
when all its grammatical weaving only express a verb,
i.e. concern... so i thought, given this what can hiersein
(being here / nonchalance) actually show me as
my lack of interest in: "changing the world".
it became obvious yesterday, i had a hard time when i
didn't read the day's copy of the times (more on this later),
instead i had to suffice with construction site media,
you might have heard of this newspaper: the daily star,
at 20 pence a pop, you will see what £1.20 makes to
your psyche... but that's basically it, i objectified Heidegger's
concept and made it into an everyday object, in this
case and as the only case available: a newspaper -
and the trick is? well, with a newspaper like daily star
you don't actually experience dasein - it's completely
missing in this style of media, and that's worrying given
my barbaric poetry of yesterday... it's missing, not there,
such object-for-object chirality is what gives birth to
hiersein (being here); but today i returned to my usual
media diet, a flicked through the times and the natural
balance of personal objects and a fresh impersonal object
coexisted - the newspaper is truly the most adequate
compounded expression of Heidegger's dasein -
which i attribute to the constant need to emphasise an
empathy with others... empathising is a neutral form
of sympathising, since sympathy is sourced in shared
experiences: **** victims (e.g.) - therefore empathy is
something that in the ontological structuring of dasein,
which opposes the ontological structuring of hiersein,
which is structured by apathy; there is nothing else for
me to write, apart from the compendium proof
of the disparity of sources, i.e. headlines and subheadings:

- prior compendium -

i will never understand the point of autobiographies,
the majority of autobiographies are written
on a p.s. basis, after the facts / actions,
never immediately, concerning ideas /
solidified thoughts, thoughts condensed into idea
that allow thinking / cognitive narration to
continue regardless with what's being achieved...
i haven't anything autobiographical dissimilar
with something biographical...
Plato wrote that wonderful biography like
Shakespearean theatre, but i guess his critics felt
the claustrophobic tug & pull of mermaids...
still the problem ascends heights unparalleled -
even with ghost writers doing the leg-work...
cheap-buggers never learned to write, let alone read,
and here they are writing biographies...
ah, **** it... they're only sketches... whether biographic
or autobiographic... they're still mere sketches...
if this was the art world the revenue would come
posthumously, when it comes to literacy
nothing really distinguishes poets from
those prescribing pedestrian signs...
the Olympians can moan at the vacant stadium...
that there's a hierarchy in sports,
with the favoured monochrome idealisation
of where the bunny money is in the whirlpool
of the rabbit hole investment: football, volleyball...
but the literary events are the same...
people love to lie that they read the bestseller to
its full extent... but treat books like chairs and tables...
inertia prone half finished, sat on for 2 weeks of
the entire year... the Olympians are very much
like poets, and i care to distance myself from either
demand for more interest being invoked...
i like esoteric sports, i like esoteric writing...
but that's how it stand: poets are Olympians where
novelists are footballers, who retire at 30 and
then think about what to do with their wages
that are 10x higher than the everyday labourer...
start a restaurant, buy a strip of houses in Liverpool
like Michael Owen? good guess, here's to exploiting
youth disgracefully... that's what they're getting,
and these are the dilemma points to consider...
they're the equivalent gladiators of our time,
Rome was just a sleeper before it awoke once more...
but i'll never understand why these
people decided to exploit literature for gain...
all these academics with their pristine purity of discovery
are pacified when dictating print,
what poet, has a chance in hell, to appear gladly
excavated from Plato's cave of television?
about none.
i too was focusing on 20th century literature,
before 21st literature came about...
and i thought, oh god: they're really going to create
a totalitarian democracy, every artist will be
strip-searched for adding cinnamon and chilli to their
writing to bounce away from conformist
sober and sane extraction of alter wordings...
this 21st scene will become polarised...
we'll have the extinction of One Direction over a joint,
while the Rolling Stones drank a keg of whiskey
and pulled off a show... we'll have moralisation
of the fans to subdue the artists, which will mean
no artist will ably create a zeitgeist to rebel... everyone
will suddenly experience a weird sort of communism...
the worst kind... it will mean having
all the mental freedoms without the ability to
economise a coup... basically an inertia, an immediate
fatality... we can't economise a coup...
which boils down to why so many autobiographies
aren't really biographic, but rather consolidating,
by the meaning: autobiographic i intended to relate
the everyday... the most secretive account of life:
the everyday... this is stressing Proust,
even though i preferred Joyce over Proust i keep
the everyday the prime ideal: the only detail,
so that an autobiography can make sense,
automation of writing, like breathing or sneezing...
not some monetary-spinning device 20 years after
the facts... 20 years later you're pretty much writing
fiction... i am all for the biosphere of expanding
Alveoli... but when did you ever read an autobiography
that mentioned the taste of weak coffee
from the Friday of 20th of August 2016? never;
you read autobiographies
like you read self-help books...  waiting for
all that experience regurgitating motivational talk
about reaching a plateau of comparative success...
i can understand autobiographies written by the elders,
i understand biographies written about people
posthumously - but the tragedy is, given the spinning
wheel of money? we're getting "auto" biographies
written toward their 3rd volume renditions of
people aged 30... let alone 40... so much for
western society having the upper hand on political matters...
just saying: sort your own **** before trying
to sort other people's problems...
i could understand if these autobiographies were written
as described: automaton solo... but they're not...
before the compendium it's this everlasting presence
of a desired body of power being depicted:
prior the monopoly of knowledge, there was a monopoly
of literacy... given that 99% of us are literate, it
actually doesn't mean a third donkey's *******
whether we can read, or write, we got shelved in controlling
this once priestly vanity, we got taught bureaucracy alongside...
but the monopoly of literacy is way past us,
we're being convened in the ability to monopolise knowledge,
(oh please, don't let the paranoia seep in,
remember yourself when reading me, once in a while,
i don't drag you to phantasmagorical heights, even if i could,
i'd prefer you being agile in learning how to be bored
than letting your repel the same boredom i too share,
well... but **** me if you want to be the next Lenin) -
and the easiest way to monopolise knowledge? the media...
you basically need a lot of facts, and an evolved version
of dialectics, dialectics being the prime enemy of democracy
(it's not an alternative political model like despotism as
we are held to believe, it's actually dialectics,
suppressing other forms of collectivisation is the one
sure method of suppressing the attempt at dialectics
(individualism) - by making people overly opinionated,
ergo: the inability to engage with opinions, blind-alleys
throughout all plausible attempts to do so) -
so once you have enough facts to fiddle with the Rubik's cube
of juxtaposition, you end up with the ultra-scientific
form of dialectics... the matter of opinion in relation
to truth without a relative uniformity that prescribes
the status quo stasis is a debate about how accurate
we all are: i.e., is that true to the closest centimetre,
or the closest millimetre? it's a bit like watching a Zeno
paradox:
                 10.1                           and 10.01
      which one's tortoise and which is Achilles?
well, you know; ah ****! the compendium of the two
newspapers which got me slightly depressed...

- the compendium -

a. daily star

- B. BRO SAM'S SECRET 'NERVOUS BREAKDOWN'
- Laura & Jason's baby joy
- Robbie (Williams) £1.6M a night!
- BREXIT BOOST ON JOB FRONT
- ANGE DAD BACKS TRUMP
- JR'S wife Linda set to Holly
- Edd's no Beverly Hills flop
(Lana among cow *******)
- LAURA: OUR TINY TROTTS WILL BE WORLD-BEATERS
- FURY AT BAD LOSERS' SLURS
- 'Jealous sis' jibes
- MAKE YOUR KID AN OLYMPICS ACE
- Peaty: I want to be a rapper
- TV girl really ill
- **** SAM, 'ON THE BRINK OF BREAKDOWN'
- COSTA ***** HELL
- CAGING ANJEM WILL INSPIRE NEW JIHADIS
- POG'S LOADED AGENT BUYS CAPONE'S LAIR
- I'll make Kylie a pop star
- JEZ DOESN'T KNOW ANT FROM HIS DEC
- GUILTY OF DEMONIC SAVAGERY
- Great British Rake In
- Britain is *******
- BAYWATCH U.K.
- Va Va Vroom
- JUST JANE: My lover snubs plea to get wed
- HART: I'LL DECIDE WHEN TO GO.

b. the times

- Boy victim becomes a symbol of Assad's war
- US Olympics swimmers invented robbery tale, say Rio police
- Make us sell healthy food, supermarkets implore May (P.M.)
- Lost weekend of the lying best man
- fears over free speech delay law to silence hate preacher
- Met's 'commuter cops' live in France
- Husbands happiest when they earn half as much as wives
- Socialists plot to drive Britain left
- Fake human sacrifice filmed at European high altar of physics
- Officers investigated over ex-footballer's Taser death
- Number of pupils taking languages at record low
   (Mandarin @ 2,849 - % decrease of 8.1,
    alarmingly religious studies 27,032 up by 4.9%
    and psychology of status 59,469 up by 4.3%....
    meaning the mad will soon be diagnosing the sane
   as mad, just because the curriculum said so)
- Top grades add up to 100% at the school for maths prodigies
- Deprived sixth formers thrive on competition
- European students rush to get into British universities
- DVLA earns £10m selling driver's details
- Mystery over Kenyan death of aristocrat
- Journalist who voted twice reported to police for
  'fraud'
- Tomato tax threatens European trade war
- Love story of the Pantomime
- Homeless conmen fleeced widow, 81
- Brownlee brothers at the Olympics...
- Hopeful shoppers give sales a lift after Brexit vote
- MoD guard could be stood down despite terrot threat
- Owners spit mansion after failing to sell
- The job with international appeal: saving our hedgehogs
- Finch warns unborn chicks if weather gets warm
- Migrant violence rises after decline in policing around Jungle
- Longest road tunnel promises a relaxing ride under Pennines
- Mothers step up to drive Tube trains through night
(rowdy teens ageing exponentially on a Saturday night
when not getting a lift, ******...)
-MP's deal with bookmaker to be investigated
- Ebola nurse 'hid high temperature'
- Shoesmith's ex-huspand kept child *******
- Morpurgo war tale springs into life
- Supergran fights off teenage muggers
- IVF is more successful for white women
OPINION SECTION
- Great political fiction is good for democracy
- the BBC is leaving its audiences in the dark
- airline food? just pass me the gin and tonic
- Modern Olympics began on the fields of Rugby
/ greasy polls, holding firm, tongue tied,
  call for compulsory targets to tackle obesity,
second in line, mindfulness course, cost of planning,
puffins v. ship rats.... and all future letters to the editor /
- Moscow presses Turkey for access to US airbases
- Hundreds killed each month in Assad's jails
- Putin bans celebration of defeated KGB coup
(another James Bond movie on the cards,
i'm assured, and with a moral carte blanche) -
Hollande clams Carla Bruni spied concerning his
use of diapers...
- Euthanasia tourists flock Belgian A & E from France,
  where a revival of ****** made people dress shark-fin
  sharp on the catwalk...
- Mosquito pesticide linkage application = intersex /
   East German women
- Haiti cholera linked to Nepalese **** and ***** via
  the
This story is called death of a superhero.

We see the superhero flying at full speed after a getaway vehicle.  A group of armed men just robbed over one million dollars in cash from the bank and are now speeding through the city.  He darts back and forth to dodge the shower of bullets flying at him from the car, which was preventing him from getting any closer.

"I can't let these crooks get away," he grunted to himself as he curved back and forth through the air.

Suddenly he was blind sighted by a large black object coming from the car.  It was a high powered electric tazer.  It hit him in the side and his muscles locked up, he stopped mid air and went crashing down and smacked and bounced on the ground.  This bought the thieves time to escape from his view.  By the time he got out of it and regained control of his muscles enough to fly, the crooks had maneuvered the city like a maze, and he didn't know where to look, they had gotten away.  He looked over several city blocks and couldn't find him, and was forced to give up.

"****" he said to himself.

He flew off to the nearby park and found a secluded spot to meditate and heal.

That was the forth unsuccessful attempt to catch bank robbers this week!



On the news that night

"The Tomerarenai purotto corporation just received over $5 million dollars in donations from an anonymous donor this evening for their new project on Zenchō hill outside city limits.

The project to build a new factory there has been underway for three months now and they've really been moving along thanks to the help of all these private donors that must really believe in their cause, which of coarse is to develop new "greener" technology to help the environment and cut down on pollution.

We have a spokesperson for the organization here with us now how are you?"

"Good and thank you, I'm really honored to be part of this amazing organization and to see such a great turn out of donors for such a good cause.  It's been amazing with over 37 million dollars donated by private, anonymous donors over the last three months, it's amazing..."

About half the city watched that news broadcast stream into their homes on their television sets.



It was about 2am when the superhero came out of his meditative state in the park.  

He got up energized and flew around.

He saw some guy trying to steal some lady's purse, he zipped down and stood right behind the guy without him even noticing.

The guy got the purse turned around and ran right into him and knocked himself down.

"What do you think you're doing?" the superhero said authoritarily.  Then he lunged in grabbed the guy by the shirt at the scruff of the chest.  With his other hand he picked up the lady's purse, handed it to her, and told her to go home and get out of the dangerous night city streets.  Then he flew the criminal to the police station, told them what he had witnessed, and took off.

Suddenly he heard police sirens all over the city they seemed to be closing in on a specific area, the superhero flew to that area to see what was going on.

He found a police sergeant standing next to a cop car, and stopped to ask him what's going on.

"A masked lunatic just killed 19 people and is now trying to escape in a small silver car, we've got every available unit trying to hunt him down."

He wasted no time, taking up in the air leaving a wind in his wake, the superhero started quickly combing the city for a small silver car driving conspicuously.  He found one, and when he flew over it to check it out, all of a sudden he had gunshots being fired at him from inside the car.

"This must be it," he charged the car with full speed but the driver sped up to keep ahead of him.

This isn't going to work, he thought, I should make them think they lost me and follow them secretly and see where they go.

The next time a gunshot was fired the superhero grabbed his chest and purposefully fell down, to make them think he had been shot.  Once their guard was down he followed them in secret.

They drove outside of the city thinking they had lost all tails, down a couple winding roads, then climbed Zenchō hill toward the Tomerarenai purotto corporation's construction spot, then went inside.  

The superhero landed outside the building and contemplated his next plan.  He noticed an open window to an office on the second floor, he carefully peered through the window and saw no one in the office, he flew in and landed on the floor careful not to make a sound above a mouse squeak.  He quietly crept through the empty hallways until he reached the staircase, when he heard voices whispering downstairs, "He's gonna be here any minute/ get everything ready."  

The hero thought he had no time to lose, he took to the air, bolted down stairs and with a loud dramatic voice yelled "Halt!"

"He's here!" they yelled as one of them ran toward a giant device that looked like a satellite dish, and the other one ran and pulled a rope, dropping piles and piles of smoldering coal around the superhero that immediately made him so sick he could barely move.  industrial type smoke was his weakness.  

"We've been planning for you to come here," the guy in the mask said firing up the satellite dish looking weapon and pointing it at him.  

"W-What do you want?" the superhero asked weakened, frail, and short of breath on his hands and knees on the floor.

"To **** you so you won't stand in our way"

The superhero was growing weaker, and weaker, as the giant atomic laser pointed at him started glowing red, I told you this story was called "death of a superhero".

"Death, of a superhero?"  the superhero grunted, "DEATH, of a SUPERHERO!?!" he shouted again, "YOU'VE BEEN ORCHESTRATING MY DEATH!" The superhero yelled at the narrator.  

Yes I have, the narrator said all the people in the room could hear me, I've been planning your death since before you went after that getaway vehicle, I have such omnipotent like power over your world, I'm the reason the taser gave the one's working for these two time to escape, I'm the reason you never checked this place out until everything was ready, and now I get to watch these two **** you, and laugh, knowing that you'll never find me and there's nothing you can do to change events.

Now, the beam was fully charged

"No!" the superhero thought, "up till this point, I thought I had to go along with everything the narrator said, but no!"  He started to slowly manage to get up.

The masked killer hit the button, fired the laser, and killed the superhero instantly.

Wait what?

"You think you can just **** me by saying so," the superhero grunted out louder slowly rising to his feet.  Mentally forcing his body to work even in the presence of his weakness, in reality, contrary to what the narrator said, the beam was still charging.  

"No!" the superhero continued, getting stronger and healthier, "THERE WILL BE NO DEATH OF A SUPER HERO!!!" suddenly the superhero's personal energy was strong enough to clear a bubble around him of fresh air pushing the smoke around it.  He flew through the air at bullet speed and punched the masked killer across the room and out of consciousness.  Then he went for the assistant who was running to the door, in the heat of the moment, the superhero, hitting him up from behind, punched a hole straight through his skull and he fell to the ground head-gored-dead.  The superhero deactivated the laser. and stood and looked around to try and find that supervillian mastermind, the narrator.  

"You will never find me," the narrator said, "I exist in an inexcusable part of your reality."

Then another voice broke through, "I will open up a portal to the narrator for you" the author said, "be wary though, even in his own part of this dimension, he is very frippery and slick, you must not let him break free into you're general reality, lest he end your world."

Suddenly a glowing golden sword appeared in a light before the superhero, he took it and bowed, understanding what he was to do.

A shimmering white and grey portal swirled out of thin air.  He looked at it for a second as it grew outwards until it was big enough for him to walk through.  He slowly marched into it, guard heightened as he did not know what to expect, carrying the glowing golden sword behind his back.

Inside the portal was a large white room where the narrator lived.  there was a large white shelf, four walls and a ceiling, the portal remained open.  

He looked around but didn't see the narrator at first, when he realized the narrator had filled half the room with a thick white fog to mask himself.

"Show yourself you coward!" the hero yelled.  Sudddenly a large fist came out of the fog and punched the superhero right in the face, he stumbled back a few steps, but didn't let it knock him over.  Suddenly a humanoid figure stepped out of the fog, it had a body like a man but a head like a king cobra.

"S--sssss--o" it said, "you found a way to find me," "Hisssssssssssss..."

"I found you and I will destroy you to free my world from your evil," the superhero said.

"Is-s that sssssssssso" the beast said.  "And how do you plan to do that? Hisssssssss".

Then the narrator's eyes widened when he say the glowing gold sword behind his back.

"I will cover myself in armor that that sword can't pierce." He said.

"And an armor appeared around the narrator, except it only appeared to cover his head, and his face was still bare." The narrator said and it happened.

The superhero lunged at the narrator with the sword but the narrator slipped to the right and shot ***** of fire at the superhero, but the superhero dodged.

"And his hand got shaky and it greatly effected his aim," the narrator hissed out.

The superhero swung at the narrator, but missed everytime.

"I've got to steady my aim" the superhero thought to himself, putting most of his energy into his arm to hold it steady.  The narrator backed away from him, hissing and darting back and forth as if antagonizing him, perhaps trying to distract him and his focus.

Suddenly he felt a surge of energy push back from the sword, flow up his arm and flood his body, the sword glowed brighter and he was in control of himself again.

He went after the narrator full force, swinging and jabbing the sword, but the narrator dodged every attack.

"You'll never defeat me!" the narrator hissed.

But while he said that he lost focus, and the superhero swung the sword right into the side of the human part of the body, so deep it hit something metal and stopped.  

"Then he dropped the sword," the narrator said quickly and it happened.  The superhero's hand snapped wide open before his willpower could stop it, and the sword dropped to the ground with a "shink".

Acting super fast, the narrator dropped to the ground and picked up the sword with his teeth, and slithered out of his fake, damaged human body into his true form, a giant king cobra looking snake, covered in a heavy metal armor that was scaly and didn't restrict his movements.  Quickly, he slithered  over to the portal, but the superhero grabbed his lower armor before he got a chance to escape into the hero's world, and used his body to anchor the snake to that spot.

The narrator swung and slithered his body to try to free himself from the hero's hold but he was holding on to well, and the serpent could not escape.  

The hero did not know what to do, he needed to get the sword back and slay the serpent, but he had to keep both hands on him to keep him from getting free.

He had an idea, he used his legs to help anchor the serpent, and climbed him to get to his head to retrieve the sword.  Slowly he worked his way up the snake as he slithered and struggled to get free.  When it seemed inevitable that the hero was gonna get the sword back, the serpent spit it out and it landed next to the door.  Then he shot fireballs out of his mouth at point blank range at the superhero which distracted him enough for him to loose his grasp, and let the serpent break free.  The serpent quickly slithered over to the portal, hissed "goodbye sucker", mouthed the sword once again, and slithered out the portal.

The superhero jumped up and flew after the serpent, and crash landed onto of him on the other side of the now closing portal.  

"The masked murderer woke up and came over to help the narrator," the serpent hissed out.

Suddenly the masked murderer came over and the hero was trying to get him on his side to break the stalemate.

As the snake and the superhero wrestled, the superhero called out to the masked murderer, "Don't help him, if he escapes me now, he'll destroy the world!"

"Don't listen to your enemy," the narrator hissed out, "**** him!"

"Don't listen to him," the superhero tried to reason with him, "he's just manipulating you, everybody, he's the reason you wanted to **** me and do this whole project in the first place, YOU ultimately have free will! and we need to **** him."

The narrator strikes and bit the superhero's arm for telling the masked killer he had free will.  

"What do you need!" the masked ****** shouted when he got over there.  

"**** him" the serpent hissed out!

"The sword!" the hero shouted.

The masked murderer, not knowing what to do, picked up the sword and handed it to the hero.

The superhero used it to pry off a piece of the serpent's armor, poised it into position and struck down.  The narrator shifted his body however so the sword narrowly missed, and curved his tail so the open spot in the armor was underneath him, "Grab him!" the superhero said, hold him steady so I can get a good shot."

The Masked murderer did just that, and the hero drove the sword through the opening and impaled the narrator right there, and actually cut him in two.

"But then the narrator's body sealed at the womb and he slithered free" the serpent said and it happened, and he slithered at full speed toward the same door the masked murderer's assistant tried to escape through, and he was making distance.

"And then a layer of cement formed around the superhero's ankle so he couldn't chase the narrator." and a piece of cement attached to the floor formed around his ankle.

But the superhero made quick work of that, a **** of the leg and it reduced to crumbles and he got up and chased the serpent.

The serpent got outside the door and mumbled something, suddenly the door was a pure steel wall.  Three punches by the superhero weakened the steel and severely dented it, the forth punch and it went flying off and the superhero ran outside and saw the narrator escaping into the brush.  He knew what he had to do, he lunged at him and grabbed him just by the head, and ****** the sword through a hail of fireballs straight into it's mouth, the narrator couldn't speak to reverse that action and he died shortly after.
This is not a poem
palladia Aug 2013
i'm living on a solitary prayer
vandalized my ego to make it rare
with teeth stained with lies i've told
and promises lost in the cold

i tussle and taser to hide my lovers
and all that i am - a mess or tastemaker
sprinkling tersely on my mercy seat
will make my season go complete?

i pull the labrys & the throttle
artefact-sprites in uranium soil
declaring my truth atop of the flagpole
i'm the custodian of haute culture

a flotilla of judgment riding skyhigh
like dido's love-lachrymose down demise
they say "better rethink your useless vendetta"
but first we'd better get out of their siberia

where the masses doubt the angry fix
"ignore the (g/h)aze above the pyramid
if we only couldn't have any more
locked in dominican ****** wards
This was inspired by all those nights I've watched the News and gone depressed over the human condition. So it's something like the world's dirge. I know the meter is off and the rhymes are cheesy, but it's heartfelt: all of it.
bucky May 2014
your eyes are not oceans
and you are not a natural disaster
you are manmade and you will topple
and i will be the one to topple you
because you are a literal bag of human ****
and if you think that telling me
that i deserve ****
will impress your fellow man friends,
you had better watch the **** out
because i am coming for you with a taser
and a buzzsaw
your mra t-shirts can't help you now,
****
love, a very angry feminist.
The maniac , manic depressive walking city streets , world inverted , diving head first into the blue separation where night verses day , darkness at war with the light of the world . Gray day inversions , deprivations , tainted perception , misconception and miscalculations .. Bright eyes remit their focus ! The child loses his way . Incapacitated . Confused . Yet intent , focused on the garden of good and bad , temptation , righteousness ! Sexuality . Lasciviousness . Piety surrounded by Lucifers minions ! Crocodiles await the migration of wildebeest , rainbow trout tread turbid water for their afternoon meal , mourning dove to field of millet ! Bewildered sweet spirit reduced to crying in supplication , misunderstood , longing for the path by the light ! Traversing mean streets like the rat , the security of a structure to one side , on a high state of alert ! Pawn of the citizenry , cardboard empire and the bottom feeders . Catfish pawning for dung , corruption amidst the sea of inequity . Images flying point blank , a thousand miles an hour ! Shoot him dead ! Continue killing him long after his last breath . Send him back to the blue , where Angels await !
Copyright October 17 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson *All Rights Reserved
Big Virge May 2015
So What’s The Score … ?        
To Be Seen As … *******… !?!            
            
Being Lyrically RAW … !!!            
For Some Fa’ SURE … !!!            
            
Or Dropping BOMBS … !!!            
On Heads Through Songs …            
In …. Native Tongues.…            
I Guess For Some …              
Is … ******* Stuff … !?!            
            
******* Words …            
of … Curse-Filled Verse …            
Like Those That Run …            
Wordplay Like … ” **** ” … !!!!!            
Now Makes MILLIONS … !!!!!!            
Believe It Son … !!!!!            
            
Is That … ******* … ?!?            
            
Or Talk For ****** … !?!            
Whose Thoughts Are Poor …            
When It Comes To The Cause …            
of REALLY Being … ******* … !!!            
            
Well Here’s The Score … !!!            
My Wordplay STUNS …              
WITHOUT Taser Guns …            
Or Running Gums …            
To Prove I’m TOUGH … !!!            
    
My ******* Mind …            
Creates Fine Rhymes …              
That EXPOSE Crimes …              
I See In This Life …      
        
So My Rhyme Designs …            
Are ******* Lines …              
That Take The Stance …            
of A … RIGHTEOUS Man … !!!!!            
            
That’s QUITE A Claim … !!!            
******* … INSANE … !!?!!            
            
Hell Nah I’m Playing … !!!            
            
My Brain INFLAMES …            
Pages With REIGNS … !!!!!            
            
REGAL … NOT Slave …              
Unable To BREAK … !!!            
            
ABOVE The Snakes …            
Lyrically... A SAGE …. !!!            
            
Ya See ******* Talk …            
INSPIRED My Walk …            
Towards These Thoughts …            
To Source Lyrical Swords … !!!            
    
Wu Tang INSURED... !!!  
            
******* To Ya Pores …              
With … Lyrics of WAR … !!!!!            
            
No Blood Need Pour … !!!!!            
But THOUGHT Fa’ Sure … !!!            
I DO …. IMPLORE …. !!!!            
Ya Bring To The FORE … !!!            
To Join THE CAUSE …. !!!!!            
            
Lyricism Good For Rhythm … !!!!!            
Incision Filled With Scissors …            
That Cut With Skilled PRECISION … !!!!!            
You Suckers NEED TO Listen … !!!!!            
            
******* Does Not Mean KILLING … !!!!!            
Or Illin’ … Penicillin …            
Is That Good For Your Children … ?!?            
            
It’s Just Rhyme Flows I’m Bringin’ … !!!            
******* NO I’m Just Kiddin’ …            
            
See This Is Lyricism …            
Built With Witticism...              
Joke Filled … YES …            
For The … Women …              
            
Cos’ Jokes Help Man …            
Get …. In Em’ …. !!!!!            
            
Girls Who KNOW Be Grinnin’...          
Cos' ******* Bros' Be Winning...            
And Seeing **’s Like VISION …. !!!            
            
I See You Chose To Live In …            
A World of... " Western Fiction ” … ?!?            
            
It Seems It’s BROKE … !?!          
..... NO Fixing..… !!!!!            
            
No Jims or Joes Enlisted …          
That Line’s For Those With Children... !!!            
    
It’s Deeper Than You’re Thinking …            
Paedophiles Who Mess With Child …            
My ******* Vibe Gets WICKED … !!!!!!!            
            
I’d **** Them Up With QUICKNESS …              
YES Them And ALL THEIR Siblings … !!!            
    
Right Now Big Virge Ain’t KIDDIN’ … !!!!!!!!!            
These EVIL BREEDS Are SICKENING … !!!!!!            
I’d Cut Heads OFF Like Quickenings … !!!!!            
            
Highlander Slander …            
******* Gambler … !!!            
Take A Risk And Slit The Wrist …            
            
I Meant The NECK...              
of ANY ******* Racist Head … !!!            
            
******* And VEX …            
When YES … ” UPSET ” … !!!            
            
Silence Transcends …………            
To Make Things TENSE … !!!!!            
            
I’m A PEACEFUL MAN …            
So It Doesn’t Make SENSE … ?!?            
            
To Make ATTACKS …            
******* Like DEATH … !!!            
            
These Thoughts Expressed …            
Have … NO CONTEXT …            
Cos’ This Violence Rests …            
            
... Inside My Head... !!!  
    
******* Oh YES … !!!!!!            
Until I’m … DEAD … !!!!!!            
            
I’m A ******* Smoker …            
Well Some Say … ” JOKER ” …            
Who Gets Through Quotas …            
Like Stocks Do …. Brokers …. !!!!!            
            
NOPE NOT Bram Stoker … !!!            
AFRICAN Yes …            
But NOTHING LIKE Botha … !!!!!!            
            
Just A Breed Like Locust …              
Swarming WARNING Those Informing … !!!!!            
...... Watch Yo’self...… !!!!!!            
Them Cards You Dealt …            
May Just Have Spelt …            
A... ******* Tell …            
            
That’s Gone DAMAGE Your Health … !!!            
            
This Set of Rhymes …            
Is A ******* WRITE … !!!            
    
Now Across The Lines … !!!            
.... of My Notepad … !!!  
As My Mental GRABS … !!!            
These Words Like SLABS …            
With … COMMANDMENT Tabs … !!!!            
            
Thou Shalt Be RAW … !!!            
And Lead The Hoards … !!!            
Like Jim WITHOUT Doors … !!!!            
            
Thou Shalt Not FORCE … !!!            
Wordplay That’s Poor … !!!            
    
“My Prose rocks jaws            
of those on boards,
Yes, Corporate ****** !”            
            
Thou Shalt Face WAR … !!!            
And Deal With SCORN …            
From Ignorant Scores …            
Who You NEED TO Ignore … !!!            
Thou Virge Were Born To YES Adorn …            
            
Pages That Source …            
Verse Born From Thought …            
            
That Some Fa’ SURE … !!!!!            
Will Call ………            
    
… ” ******* ” … !!!!!
Listen Here :

https://soundcloud.com/user-16569179/sets/virges-world-files
The Dedpoet Aug 2016
Policeman:
You, hands above your head,
Turn around, no sudden movements.

Black man:
Officer I......

Policeman:

Shutup, on your knees, hands behind,
Your head!

Blackman: Sir I....

Policeman:

   Shut the **** up! (Taser pointed)
-Handcuffs the black man -

Policeman:
Now, what did you want to say sir?
This is reality.
blushing prince May 2017
There are two types of secrets
the ones sworn under oath never to tell anyone
whispered in crowded hallways
and while getting cold water from the corner store
and the ones you weren’t supposed to hear
the ones tossed in the dark, the ones forbidden
under the fingernail sensitive
top of the tongue scalding, threatening to
taser your skin with the weight, the electricity
that these words hold suspended in thick air
every Sunday evening I would listen to the
perfect consonants through the wall
the sacred sermon my mother and father would ritualize
the stories from before child, B.C
it would start with a question, so daintily pressed through
gleaming teeth
and he would bellow triumphantly about the hero within him
the time he intervened between two bloodied men with
pulpy faces touching with the grace of dancing gods  
his fists gracefully gliding between a pool of face
and can’t we calm down, and can’t we breathe the hot asphalt
of the day, the gravel of car exhaust ******* out
our sweat, I think you can
and these men with missing teeth and missing souls
would spit but their heads would level and my
heart would soar up through the ceiling, flutter right out
through
but these fairy tales were also horror stories
about the time the man was a boy and his father would
chase after him with a crowbar never to return home,
running barefoot through the hot concrete of the streets
causing blisters to appear like water balloons
popping them like the lungs that burst that day
but nothing but tears exploded out of them
and I thought I understood
the legend of the damsel in distress
my mother waiting by the door, waiting for the burns to fade from
her skin, waiting for the roof to cave in like the feelings
she promised she would swallow with cough medicine
and funerals are only birthday parties when you’re surrounded
by death, oh to be young
but then the secrets started to venture out of the confines of
my home, spilling out of my bed to become
real stories I told myself at school when I didn’t have
a Band-Aid for the scorching burn of sitting all alone
so I started living them, as I sat huddled in the bathroom
envisioning a toy cowboy stranded in the middle of the
bathtub, repeatedly soaked to make his clothes almost sun
bleached and his smile submerged, blotting, erasing
teaching myself that there’s no such thing as free will
when decisions are made for you
and this toy cowboy with his gun perched politely on his hand
Ready to deal some bullets or a handshake,
I never knew which but it didn’t matter
when there wasn’t conversation exchanged and
I wondered if he tried to escape when I wasn’t looking
did he feel like a goldfish in a bowl
his reality distorted, the glass too thick to realize
there was more than loneliness, more than
constant drowning, that being cold wasn’t a
state of being
no I don’t think so
that was the big secret you see
listening when one has nothing to say
you pick things up like lost puppies
or thumb tacks left on the floor
or you lose them like bobby pins and self-made money
my memories, my worst enemy
coming to an empty house at age 13
no home-made meal like pressing my face against
the carpet, being stealthy quiet
until I heard sound downstairs
the neighbors, the clatter of dishes being distributed
around the dining room table
laughter and television news about the ****** of a
teenager being shot outside his front yard
and this was my bread and butter
screaming of kids wrestling about who gets the
bigger piece of cake
the movement of chairs, the kissing of feet
walking from one room to the other
and although these mumbles didn’t tell their story
it told mine
the living room turning from bruised peach
to melancholy blue, solitude buzzing
through the creme brulee walls of my parents
studio apartment,
the tapping of a faucet, the slight erratic breathing
of a pipe leaking gas nearby but I survived
there are two types of secrets told
the ones you’re supposed to listen to
and the ones you forgot you knew
Andrew Parker Jan 2014
Interpreting Dreams Series Part 1
1/15/2014

I've got this idea
that the world has too many feelings.
Too many smiles that have turned upside down.
Too many tears that have gone unnoticed.

This couple sits at a table with a pretty white cloth.
Glasses of fancy carbonated water, bubbly like their first date.
But now, they hate each other.
They sit and complain about everyone in their lives.
and on their minds, they just hate their selves, not even each other.
They look at others with a scathing jealousy.

One guy takes a nap
He finds an electric taser in his dreams
He uses it to shock himself back awake, but then
he realizes he didn't want this moment to ever end.
Where dreams are reality and you don't have to suffer fraught with what's not.

She puts on her pearls
and then walks out the door.
She knows how she got them,
lies to herself, doesn't want to feel like a *****.
But still, she wants more.

There's something special about being the only one standing in a crowd.
Whether you're up on stage or in the middle of a pit.
You feel this sense that the moment is great
but it isn't amazing without another person to stand beside you.

They cried at a bus stop,
a family knowing
they had no money to celebrate holidays this year.
They don't need to, but it's the feelings that matter.
They cried.

We never know what we will find, when we look for something.
Our feelings are dangerous if we go looking for them and end up lost.
Students of Machiavelli perjure the body politic , meanwhile the Calvary arrives on scene , Constables attack in every direction , the Sheep fall back , redirect ! Mushroom Barristers appear , stand tall , feed amongst dung and debris ... Prophet picking fungi weeping meeting and taking pictures for magazines and Good Morning America , fumigate the cracks and crevices between each building , fingerprint , humiliate , declare open season , flip the truth to make it palatable , taser shoot to **** then kangaroo court back at headquarters .. Shot in the back , point blank ,  taser from behind , with hands up or down in plain view , in pockets , in public or in secret and live at five ! Who's shooting who on the six o'clock news and who's putting the screws on the law and the truth , a crying mother , an angry brother it's Beirut 2.0  up in this ******* !  ..........
Copyright October 1 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson *All Rights Reserved
Dylan Jun 2013
It's two in the morning
and we find Sam still
awake, staring at the ceiling
of his cramped studio apartment.

Overhead, thumps can be heard
along with moans of squelched desire.

He rolls out of bed, gets dressed,
and begins his evening perambulations.

Don's Donuts is his destination.
Although he doesn't much
care for fried sugar bread,
it's the only place open.

He buys a  few maple bars
and takes a seat at a bench,
near his overly-intoxicated peers.

The smell of whiskey and puke
permeate the establishment,
and Sam ponders why he doesn't
succumb to the same alcoholism.

Hey, Sam.
A voice registers
in his conscious attention.

He looks left.
He looks right.
He looks up.
He looks down.

No one is paying him any mind.
Besides, he doesn't recognize
the faces otherwise.

Yeah, Sam. It's me.
The same borderline authoritative
tone echoes over the drone
of the inebriated crowd.

Sam furrows his brow
and lifts the paper plate.
A small, luminous man
about the size of Sam's thumb

sits cross-legged under the plate.
He grins and golden emanations
cascade and unfurl from his
long (relatively), tied-up hair.

It's okay, Sam. You're doing fine.
Everybody likes you more
than you think they do.
You need to stop being so ******* yourself.

I'm just here to give you some
encouragement. You've seemed
a little down in the dumps
these past few weeks.

Listen, man, I know you've had it rough,
but suffering isn't a ******* contest.
This, too, will pass.
And you'll be a better person for it.

Then maybe you can help people who
are going through the same problems.
That's all you really can do, man.
Just help the people you're around.


Sam stands up which sends the chair
skidding across the floor into an
adjacent table. He flings the paper plate
(which still has a donut-and-a-half!)

against the window and screams
in a manner which contradicts
his timid demeanor:
"Who are you? Get out of my head!"

A police officer who, before this incident,
was finishing his third bear claw of the evening
observes the outburst and intervenes.

"Say, are you okay?" The officer puts
his hand on Sam's shoulder.
"What're you on tonight?"
The officer had seen a few
Drug War soldiers
exhibit similar collapses.

Sam feels threatened, he pushes
the officer out of the way
and hurries out the door
and down the street.

The officer follows in pursuit
and shoots his taser into
Sam's back. The electric
shock causes his heart's

circuitry to become irreparably
confused. He drops to the ground,
dead as the day before conception.
One may be  fun
but several can be even better.
She's got that  certin something.
But dam if her sister doesnt look  good  in that sweater.

Had this problem  since  I was  like five.
Two  might  be  tricky.
But ******* off ten  your lucky to be alive.

Im not a man *****  just gotta alot of  love to share.
A tiger  does fear text.
And Nine  irons  okay and left behind underwear.

I think theres a problem  when your black book
reads longer  than gone with the  wind.
I swear honey there's nothing going on.
She's just  a really hot shoulder inwhich I can depend.

Saying goodbye never has been much fun.
Bullet proof  vest  taser   peper spray no it"s
not a riot
Just taking caution  probaly be easier breaking up with only
one.

Hey if it works for hugh's old wrinkled *** then
why not me.
But at this pace I'll  be lucky to make it past
thirty three.

I think theres a problem but that's okay.
Cause if I get the boot.
I got some friends  with benfits  house's
inwhich I can stay.

Im not bad  just a lotta fun.
Cardio is key.
When she pulls out the meat clever
dont play stupid just run.

And if I seem terrible keep in mind
it takes two to tango.
For what is the banna without the mango.

I think  theres problem that I really dont
wanna fix my dear.
Im a bit of a effection ******.
***** the cold shower how bout a warm bed and
a beer?

Call me terrible cause hell even I know
I'm not right.
We should  take this slow.
So how bout we discuss this in a hot tub tommorow night.

And if I did offend  with these word I've spoken.
Then please pull the twig out your backside.
Grab a drink have some fun cause was only jokin.
Life is to short to wallow in misery  live it and have some fun
treat each other right  cause there is no promise of another night.
cheers my friends
david badgerow Nov 2011
?
do people poke people on Facebook often?
is that, like, a 'thing'?
what does that even mean?

what am i poking them with?
a truck
a stick
a taser
a ****
a flower
an eyefuck?

what does the poke feel like?
is it
cruel
savage
menacing
inappropriate
friendly
pleasurable
bliss­ful
ticklish?
zuckerberg has baffled me once again.
jeffrey robin Feb 2014
One good thing about being a RICH KID

Is that even if ya get caught doin something illegal

They let you go

•.• • •

One bad thing about being a POOR KID

Is that you are treated as a criminal

Even if you're not

• • • •

This is called DEMOCRACY

-------------------

||||

--------------------

YE can't go home

YE got make do with what is here

( where are YE ?)

•.•


||||

--------------

Walkin in the poor rain

The cryin

The dead ****

The crooked streets

The ****

The screaming ****** kids are everywhere

I'm dying! ( dying !) (dying !)



When I was young!
There were mountains and **** like that!

Parks!

Parks not officially owned by international corporations !

There were even people called AMERICANS !
(Really)
(I must be pretty old!)



I still love you all



( that proves it !

I'M OLD ! )
jack of spades Oct 2013
Churning in your stomach
Burning on your tongue
Taser in the chest
Hatefully sung
Pulsing of your mind
Slamming of your heart
Flatline screen
Electric start
Crawling through your veins
Sinking in your blood
Building, building, building
Til your insides begin to flood
Pulsing of your mind
Slamming of your heart
Flatline screen
Electric start
This is the buildup
This is the monster's best
Wait to see what happens
When it bursts through your chest
Clawing, crawling
Stabbing, grabbing
Feeding and falling
This is the monster start
Ripping out your heart
This is the buildup
The monster start
probably one of the best things i've ever written
Ottar Aug 2013
Stuttering, sputtering, spewing words while noses were growing longer
than the grey shark that lay dead on the subway car floor, no stronger
words were uttered than a Brooklynese "phoque"  and then silence as
the stench of death and black humour.

The red bull can and a **** life, too many cigarettes, he didn't listen to
his wife, and she was no where to be found anywhere around the sub-
way walls and brick, mortar, concrete and rails with one like a taser.

SHOCKING!

Said the press, the greater subway transit authority has better things
to do, and I agree so a short poem about this will be all this brings
to the surface of a stolen idea, NYC has the dead shark, a but and
a can, while in Russia, wild dogs travel free, in those subway cars.  

cuz if it ain't safe for sharks it ain't safe for no one while in
Russia every transit traveler may pet and be near a dog, and give and receive
love.
Maybe it was a dog shark?
or I am a conspiracy theorist in a naive man's skin


©DWE082013
Guss Dec 2013
Ok.
Real talk now.
I've totally been thinking,
for way too long.
How the sorrow of my life,
has had me becoming
the demon that I learned of
while I was a child.
Redo the birth scene.
Cut.
Action.
I cut off my last hair doo with a razor.
Then the Taser of said fictions
divide my molecular compositions
into fractions of myself.

And that’s exactly the person I don’t believe.
Myself.
Me.
I.


Define that one for me again Mr. Fromm,
the nature of man,
me,
the man who acts so honestly.


The hero,
or the villain.
I don’t ******* care.
But I'll bare the scab
for all my wounds.
And each time I fall,
I pick my fractions back up
and redevise.
monday
rebecca suzanne Jul 2015
I see you in the dust particles
waltzing in late afternoon sunbeams
I see you in endless train tracks
curving out of sight and into
uncharted territory inside your chest.
I'm sorry I didn't know how to loosen
my dead bolt grip, you were your own world
and I selfishly believed
I could grasp your full potential in my tiny fingers.
I assumed you were linear,
two dimensional;
one chapter rather than
an entire library of life.
I know you wanted me to speak up,
unhinge my jaw and let
the unwritten poems of my mind
seep into your ears.
I didn't think telephone wires stretched
across so many miles just for dead air.
I didn't think you were
listening so hard with your eyes.
I've been shaking my head,
trying to find a solution
rattling around in some stray cranial nerves.
Maybe that's why they call it shock
when it's not electricity at all.
We went from caves and brutality
to covered patios and toxic taser tongues
ready to etch high voltage vocabulary
into my bones until that's all I have left.
You wanted a better fight
but you shorted my circuit.
I let go all at once and I couldn't turn away
when you stumbled and crashed into a new reality.
I still have trouble laughing
around the lump in my throat
when people joke about trees falling in forests
because the way you said my name
still has me by the throat and some days
I think your grip is what kept my feet on solid ground
IcarusHatesSun Mar 2019
Cracked
Damaged to hell
Somehow still functional
Works when it gets a chance
Only happy that it's not dead yet
That fact is as shocking as a taser
While submerged in water
Douglas Goins Feb 2018
In two seconds.
You caught my eye.
You placed yourself in my world.
& I saw you.
Through my eyes.
& no one else's.
Your smile shined.
The way the sun & rain reflex the rainbow.
You were worth the seconds.
In two minutes.
I knew your name.
One I will never forget.
It reminded me of the stars.
On a night with the one you love.
In complete darkness.
With only the stars to show you the way.
You were worth the minutes.
In two hours.
You took me there.
Showed me the place in your heart.
Where your dreams and nightmares rest.
Trusted me.
Knowing id never hurt you.
Telling me what made you who you were.
What chapter you were in the big book called life.
You were worth the hours.
In two days.
I knew you.
Everything.
From your first love.
To your first heartbreak.
What made you smile.
To what made you frown.
I felt you.
As my sunshine.
My sweet sunshine.
Warm & graceful.
A new flight.
Like Dancing.
Around & around.
Close.
Not afraid.
Safe.
You were worth the days.
In two weeks.
Our lips met.
Taser pulses went through me.
Fireworks.
Like on the fourth.
Angels clapped & played music that day.
Overwhelming the skies.
Making drops fall.
Bringing nature to life.
You were worth the weeks.
In two months.
I felt those two words.
In love.
In deep.
Deeper than were titanic sank.
Somewhere.
Where no explorer will ever reach.
Will never discover.
So deep.
We created something rare.
Not even the book of records could contain.
I tasted what we were made of.
You were worth the months.
In two years.
You wore all white.
I wore black.
We made a promise to commit.
To stand for another.
Through thick & thin.
Better or worse.
Till death do us part.
Never moving on.
Longing to be held in traffic.
& watch the cars pass forever.
Knowing.
We are ahead anyways.
Where we belong.
Like the text in a book.
Or keys on a keyboard.
Or cold with snow.
& heat with sun.
Complete.
Two as one.
We finished.
With two simple words.
To make it official.
You were worth the years.
Heather Methot Sep 2015
Trigger Warning,
2am cartoons,
all you can eat buffets,
toboggans rides that last all day,
bald spots,
black eyes,
lighter fluid and burning plastic smells sworm the air.

Warning,
I don’t let people know,
i was taught to lie like it was a breath coming out of my mouth.

Warning,
Letting people in as my sisters dad stares at my mother,
He doesn’t look anything like my father,
Maybe if he looked alittle more like my father,
Maybe this would all be okay.

Warning,
Judges don’t trust mothers whos boyfreinds looks like a crack head,
Judges don’t trust mothers who look like a crack head,
how is it abuse when you allow it to happen.

Trigger warning,
Red and blue lights, 
the sound of a taser, 
handcuffs,
and the gentle words
"its all okay we are here now".

Warning,
i used to sleep with the thought I might wake up alone.
in romeo
will gather in street here
with gypsum bandeau
that might shed such fear
with our dilatory cling

only where he'll sing
but anywhere nigh
in romeo

if a basket of groupers
never taser hinds
still heed the call
whether love will shine  
in romeo
Connor Oct 2015
HURDLING THROUGH THE TRAFFIC NIGHTLIGHT MACROCOSM MY BUS BOPS AND DASHES LANE AND INTERSECTION
BAM GOES THE TENNIS SHOP
THE GRILL
THE SHOPPING CENTER
IT'S ALL LIGHT IT'S ALL ECSTASY
A BOILING CANDLE
RAPAPAPA-
THE WILD JAZZ
BUDDY RICH SWEATING IN MY EARS
UNRESTRAINED FRENZY
NEON BLINKING APARTMENTS WIDE IN THE DARK DISTANT ATMOSPHERE
MOHAWK MAN BOOT COLLISION ON THE COLD FLOOR
SOME LINOLEUM SOMEBODY SHUTS OFF THE LIGHTS TO HIS STALE OFFICE RETURNING TO BED DRAGGED OUT AND BEAT
BEGGING FOR SLEEP IN AN UNWASHED BED
BUZZ AND THRAP THE DRUMS AND CYMBALS SOAK ANY OTHER SOUND INTO THE
949 HYSTERICAL NIGHT
GAS STATIONS
NIGHTCLUBS
MONOLITH
CAR DEALERSHIPS
MOTELS
RADIO TOWERS
BUS DEPOTS
LIQUOR STORES
SUBWAY
UPTOWN
4 6 4 5 0
APT SUITES
DRAIN SERVICES
"STOP REQUESTED"
DISTORTED RATTLE OF THE INNER WIRING AND WHEELS SQUEAL TO A HALT IN FRONT OF EMPTY HIGHWAY CONSTRUCTION
"FOR YOUR SAFETY PLEASE HOLD ON"
UNSPOKEN MONOLOGUE OF WOES IN EACH TIRED SKULL
CASINO
LIBRARY
DRIVE THRU
PHARMACY
VAPOR SHOP
INFLAMED EGO
RAPTURE
MORNING RAZOR WELCOME
POLICE TASER UNWELCOME
I'M PROUDLY RANTING
OF MY SURROUNDINGS
OF THIS MAYHEM MUSIC
THIS GASOLINE VESSEL
HOWLING INTO NOVEMBER
TRANSFIXED AT THE ENTIRETY OF IT ALL
OF THIS
OF THAT
OF THOSE
THE STEADY RACKETING IN MY  BRAIN CONVULSES TRAIN OF THOUGHT PURE FLAMMABLE VERSE
ELECTRIC
"GRANITE & QUARTZ"
THEATRE
THERE IS NO THEATRE
NOT HERE
DON'T BOTHER STAGING SOMETHING AS ELABORATE AS CHAOS ONLY THE WIND BIG BAND CAN BUZZ OUT A TUNE LIKE THE AFTER-HOUR MARCH OF LOOSE HEADS
POLITICAL AFTERMATH ON THE TELEVISION
DRUNKEN SUPERSTITIONS
SIDEWALK FIGHTS
RECKLESS CONSUMPTION
RAMPANT DISORDER
CLASS WEALTH IMBALANCE
CRUELTY
ABANDON
INSOMNIA
PARANOIA
THE SKY HAS SEEN EVERY WAR AND MISHAP OF US
IT SECOND HAND SMOKES EVERY
INDIA PYRE
SMOKESTACK REPETITION
MORNING COMMUTE
AFTERNOON JOYRIDE
FIREWORK
AIRPORT BACCHANAL
THE CLOUDS DO RECALL
DISTANT OLD-WORLD CASUALTIES AND THE NUCLEAR INVENTION
A LOSS OF IDENTITY
I THINK OF ALL THIS
AND THE BUS WINDS DOWN
SCREECH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'M ALMOST HOME
I'M ALMOST THERE
THE HOME THAT'S NOT MY OWN
NOT YET
IT'S EVERYPLACE
AND NOWHERE AT ALL
IT'S THE UNSEEN AND THEN SEEN
INDIVISIBLE AND TRANSPARENT REALITY
IT'S EVERY DRIVE
AND DREAM
I'M ALMOST THERE NOW I CAN TASTE ANOTHER
CATACLYSM
WHILE MIRACULOUS JAZZSOUNDS AND
TCHAIKOVSKY'S CANNONS
SILHOUETTE A CHANGE
OF PACE
IN THIS MAD PLANET
AND ALL IT'S
HABITUAL
INHABITANTS
FOR BETTER OR WORSE
I WILL CONTINUE MY MEDITATIONS
AND GET BY
TO CATCH THE BUS AGAIN
AND TO SEE INDONESIA AGAIN
AND TO LOVE AGAIN
AND TO DRINK WHISKEY BY A MERCURY BONFIRE IN SOME PASSING YEAR
AND HOLD TO HOPE AGAIN
AND HOLD
AND WRITE MORE POEMS
AND WRITE MORE POEMS IN VIETNAM
AND MORE POEMS IN BENARES
AND MORE POEMS IN SAN FRANCISCO
AND MORE POEMS IN BRITISH COLUMBIA
UNTIL A BEARD KISSES MY HARDSHIPS
AND REMINDING ME I'LL ALWAYS GET PAST WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE WORST OF IT
I'LL WRITE AND WEEP AND SING
AND RACE MY OWN DEATH INEVITABLE
IT WILL BE
*E  X  P  L O  S  I  V  E
X                               V
P                                I
L                           ­     S
O                               O
S                                 L
I                                  P
V                         ­       X
E  X  P  L  O  S  I  V E
Hailey Ngo Jul 2015
He sits there waiting. Gnashing his teeth together and barely holding on. As he waits inside his locked room, he knows he's not really waiting. There is nothing waiting for him. Nothing going on in his world to wait for. His world is reduced to this locked room, with barred windows and a cup full of medicine every morning. They say it's supposed to calm him. Relax him. They say it with whites showing in their eyes. And with a heart beating twice as fast. They say it with one hand on their belt, which rests a taser.
He is reduced to a monster. Nothing more than a prisoner in his small, small world. No one knows he exists. No one knows how much he is rotting, slowly but surely. No one cares.
He has millions of emotions running a marathon across his brain. A bit of insanity mixed in with a lot of crazy and anger and hurt and frustration and wild. He has no one to love. He has no one who loves him. He is alone. And forced to fight his battles alone.
Whenever someone unlocks the door and hands him his meal, he always notices that they never make eye contact. They are forcing him to become something not human. With no love, no interaction, no help, no support, he is becoming a monster. A monster everyone is afraid of, a monster no one is willing to help.
He can't see the sunshine. He can't see the rolling hills or the green grass or the blue, blue sky or the puffy, swollen clouds. All he can see is his locked room and the white walls and the punctured ceiling. He can see his whole world in front of him and nothing more. He can't even see himself.
He lays there right on his bed. Wishing for anything. Love, a genuine smile, a conversation not dripped in fear, hope, a second chance, his dead family, something not within these walls of his world. Even death. He wishes for death. Because death is better than this. He would still be alone, but at least he won't be judged, won't be ignored, won't be feared, won't be restricted. He'll be free.
Irate Watcher Oct 2014
Arcs of electricity
crackle above streets.
Fields of inefficiency;
noise of power lines
taser misery.
All I crave is silence.
All I crave is silence.
But please don't silence me.
Allen Wilbert Oct 2013
Love Is Blind

First we talk, then we start discussing,
turns into arguing and some fussing.
Every compromise turns into a heated debate,
who you out *******, when you come home late.
Your drinking and drugging is out of control,
wishing I could leave you, but my heart you stole.
Not gonna lie, I wish you were dead,
but watching you slowly killing yourself, I’ll watch instead.
Not sure how much more I can take,
meeting you is my biggest mistake.
You beat me one night while drunk,
from my head, you took a chunk.
Me in the hospital, you in jail,
I’m now blind and must learn braille.
Waiting years for you to be set free,
knowing you will come looking for me.
My seeing eye dog, I keep very hungry,
I may be blind, but I’m no dummy.
My walking cane is also a taser,
under my sleeve, I hide a razor.
Through the grapevine, I heard you get out tomorrow,
prepare to drown in a big red sea of sorrow.
Then one night, I hear a knock,
it must be way past twelve o’clock.
I quiet my dog so it doesn't bark,
turned off the power, so she could see dark.
I listen closely and hear very well,
knowing it’s her from her distinct smell.
She slowly opens the unlocked door,
my electric cane knocks her to the floor.
With my razor, I give her a slice,
I taught my dog to be a ***** eating device.
There is no proof, she was even hear,
some people just deserve to disappear.
Dark n Beautiful Jul 2020
What is freedom, to breathe, to talk, and to travel?
Oh how we took for granted those past years:

What is freedom summer, here in America?
Where we can still purchase a bottle of cold coke cola for a dollar
But wouldn’t be able to sit on the stoop with friends
Just sipping, and chatting away.

Thinking of a time in history when

Freedom summer was a nonviolent effort by
civil rights activists to
integrate Mississippi's segregated
political, system during 1964.


A poet who knows her history is exceptional
Poets words can sometimes comes off as gossip column

What is freedom?

In 2020 without the interference of
Other countries, city or states…. or the faces of
heart breaking stories of missing persons….
Who took a stroll or jog through the wrong street
And end up in the news while they were
trespassing in Karen’s neighborhood

What is freedom:  not to be cage,
Not to be muffled and not to be Taser by the police:
What is freedom summer of 2020 in New York City.


Limited!
Complicated!
Freedom always come with a price
vinny Jan 2016
They are all clawing at her now
Everyone wants a piece
She's at the peak of her powers
A few years left in her at least

Keep your taser in your nightstand
the new one with laser sights
things are bound to get heavy
the way you spend your nights

I'd say keep me on speed dial
but i know you never will
walking on the high wire without a net
provides your needed thrill

I lost you to those animals
I fear this may be the case
My love only was never enough
Your preference a wider fan base

So proceed down your path
a prisoner of the rooms
at least your fate is predictable
you will be consumed
Foie gras
Exploitation of geese
Posh food

Cows with udder
Too big for their bodies
Industrialized

Greyhounds
Get legs broken
If too slow

Bleeding bull
Disorientated in the sand
Slowly dying

Taser rowdy whites
On uncontrollable blacks
A gun is handy

Water
Rocks splinter rollers
The breakers hones the rocks
Into shark fins
Modern Haiku
Foie gras
Exploitation of geese
Posh food

Cows with udder
Too big for their bodies
Industrialized

Greyhounds
Get legs broken
If too slow

Bleeding bull
Disorientated in the sand
Slowly dying

Taser rowdy whites
On incontrollable blacks
A gun is handy

Water
Rocks splinter rollers
The breakers hones the rocks
Into shark fins

— The End —