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Tyler G Dec 2012
I am the shattered glass on your speckled floor. I am your blatant disregard; I am your car’s speedometer: the needle is well into the triple digits. I am the fresh rain on the old asphalt, the slick, frictionless surface between rubber and wet asphalt.
I am disease, destruction.
I am the spirit that breaks up families; I am a home wrecker. I am six years of marriage, a strong bond, destroyed. I am seventeen years, two houses, two marriages, two divorces. I destroy, I break, I mistreat, I use. I disobey.
I am apathy; “Who cares?” I am natural disasters, I plague your towns and ruin your ecosystems. I am global warming, holes in the Ozone; holes in your brain. I am ecstasy, euphoria, nostalgia; I am illicit substances. I am good, I am bad, right, wrong. I am “three lefts make a right”.
I am your daily struggle; your endeavors to abscond from conformity, from similarity, one-mindedness. Social destruction internally, from the people within. We eat away at our own regime, scouring for anyone different to spite them while we chew away and succumb to our own insanities while the nonconformists, the infidels, the rebels, the heretics, they stand by and watch you. We are different, but join together as one physically, and watch you, you mentally attached beings, destroy yourselves with your pretty clothes, expensive makeup and two door cars.
I resist, I defy, I am a renegade from the mental oneness. I have my personal oneness, and that’s what I am. I am one being, one soul, one complete set of organs, bones, tissues and veins, one sentient form. I am the laughter in your ears, the heckles from your classmates. You are your insecurity, I am your apathy.
This is my harangue, my lecture to society, my discourse of great unconcern. You all, you all one mental being whom cannot think for themselves until conjoined with someone as the same likeness. You cannot understand these words I repress your likeness mindfuck with. My apathy is wasted on the ignorant, the solitary conformation, the greedy mind ***** of this world; you longing to be like someone else. You want to fit in, and henceforth, my words have been squandered, left here on this domain to take up space, this viable invention carrying one more nonsensical harassment of the conformers. I am the freckles on your face, I am the birthmarks on your skin. I am the dandruff in your hair, the pimples on your face, the purity of your skin sans daily application of makeup to hide the imperfections that everyone has, that everyone knows about, the imperfections that you don’t want people to think you have. You wish to be a divine being, one without mistakes, from birth to death, your celestial life will be filled with lies that the conformers are force fed. They crave that. You all crave ***** lies, filthy gossip.
I am a loaded gun; I am the second amendment of this worthless country’s constitution. I am the Hemp paper it’s written on; the implausibilities of this country, this state of oneness, conforming. I am the embarrassment you seek to shun from your life. “Oh my God, dad, stop embarrassing me!” You are your phone bills, you are lethargy with regards to other humans’ emotions.
You lead the conformers; they aspire to be you. You shoot down the differences of the nonconformists. You dash individuality and support pop culture, a culture of mental oneness. You are your disgust and I am rewarded. You hate me because I’m not you, we are not connected through the same telepathic, social, daily mindfuck. We love that; I want you to hate me, because I am winning. I am winning your war against yourself. By being different, I have, unbeknownst to you, pitted that piece of your brain that has been unaffected by your grand scheme of oneness against yourself.
You are bemused, destroyed from within, yet you fight it, because you are connected with millions of others through one enormous mindfuck, like aliens. You all dress the same and have the same values. I am different. I am fine with walking alone, I know how to handle myself alone and I am not afraid to be alone. Point your pristine fingers at me, cover your mouths and giggle when I walk passed; those pristine fingertips will only seek to find the comfort of a cellphone or a keyboard - a reliable second option to your oneness. So go ahead, be the same children, live a robotic life of ignorance and wealth, go, live like kings and queens.
I am happy for who I am and where I’ve gotten because I am different, and you have yet to realize each time you ridicule me, shun me, disregard my absurd practices, you are defeating yourself; it makes me better. I am detached from you, from your continental mindfuck, your baiting fear of singularity, uniqueness. I am unique, different, single; I am also joined together of my own oneness, a oneness of will, of physical bonds between different people. I learn to adapt, to accept; you will botch the young, restless years of your life becoming one with everyone through mental bonds of instability, ignorance, of togetherness.
I am the strength which you lack and cannot learn. I am what I want and there is no feasible way for me to lose faith, my individuality. Point your fingers at me; you are defeating yourself.
Mysterious Aries Dec 2015
All I can see is that we shall be burned
Will turned into a billion ashes
But blinded and crippled were unconcern
Still catching the meaning of holy masses
Sometimes I wonder, If they were the one disabled
Because at most, it's us all along
Who have this blinded and crippled soul

12-26-2015
Arlene Corwin Feb 2017
Boredom #2

I’ve never seen so many synonyms for one small noun,
Blocking maturation and enjoy-dom:
Boredom.
“Weariness, ennui: frustration;
Restlessness, dissatisfaction, unconcern: frustration;
Lethargy, lassitude, flatness and frustration;
Dreariness, repetitiveness, apathy: frustration;
Tedium, monotony, dullness. yes, frustration.”

Can it be overcome, this boredom?
No more war - the boredom won,
Exchanged for something more like fun?
It can.

A friend who, when we speak, says,
“It’s a part of nature…has no answer...”
Reasoning fallacious,
She is wrong as wrong can be
And her reasoning a fallacy.

Awake at night: hormones, full moons;
The glut of light: electric gadgets and devices,
Radios that play a song too strong, too long..

A trick I’ve learned that’s brought results;
A knack, a shortcut worth consulting
Is to train the brain to focus on/in/with the brain;
Travel round in, sense and feel…
Make it real – as if you really feel
The part you aim at, frame then tame.

In seconds you’ve an object that’s becomes a subject.
Boredom fled, you freed,
You and your mood well pleased, released
And taken places least expected,
Un-objected to by you,
The burden boredom’s through.
And doomed!

Boredom 11.24.2016/ #2 revised 2..16.2017
Revelations Big & Small; Definitely Didactic;
Arlene Corwin
Come, my Ardelia, to this bowre,
Where kindly mingling Souls a while,
Let's innocently spend an houre,
And at all serious follys smile

Here is no quarrelling for Crowns,
Nor fear of changes in our fate;
No trembling at the Great ones frowns
Nor any slavery of state.

Here's no disguise, nor treachery
Nor any deep conceal'd design;
From blood and plots this place is free,
And calm as are those looks of thine.

Here let us sit and bless our Starres
Who did such happy quiet give,
As that remov'd from noise of warres.
In one another's hearts we live.

We should we entertain a feare?
Love cares not how the world is turn'd.
If crouds of dangers should appeare,
Yet friendship can be unconcern'd.

We weare about us such a charme,
No horrour can be our offence;
For misheif's self can doe no harme
To friendship and to innocence.

Let's mark how soone Apollo's beams
Command the flocks to quit their meat,
And not intreat the neighbour -- streams
To quench their thirst, but coole their heat.

In such a scorching Age as this,
Whoever would not seek a shade
Deserve their happiness to misse,
As having their own peace betray'd.

But we (of one another's mind
Assur'd,) the boistrous world disdain;
With quiet souls, and unconfin'd,
Enjoy what princes wish in vain.
He touched our hands
But unconcernedly this famous man
And would not look us in the eye
For fear of contact or what might be worse, connection
And we could hardly blame him, for after all
He had each day been singled out for close inspection
By ones like us, in awe of his celebrity
Circled in the shade of his perfection
Hoping for the star-dust sprinkle of acuity
Or sparkling eyes, admission to his inner cult and clan

He wore blue jeans
And scuffed sneakers as a badge of proof
Of his coolness and unconcern
While we his audience with concealed attention
Enviously eyed his hairy confidence, unconsciously
Imitating in each phrase that low convention
Made small adjustments to our store-bought suits and ties
And nodded several times in bright pretension
Made small amendments to our smiles and lies
Flicked photo-phones in pursuit of custom and routine

He gave a speech
A flippant interview, this famous creature
A well tossed phrase, a rounded cliche
Poured forth like brandy in a glass, convivial
Or apple cider-ed vinegar in pewter mugs
A sardonically French-accented phrase habitual
Well humored, heavy lidded with testosterone
At interlocutor women with the pens and pads
Delivered in a low and purring monotone
For all the world as lovers, each to each

He stretched a smile
A modulated shift of teeth and beard
"Genius? Not I"  with deprecation
"My shallow intellect, so poor and so ephemeral"
Delivered in a tone that mocked inclusion
While we assumed an elegance, unintentional
A nonchalance that shields the wide charades
Unmoving in our breathless, but conventional
Genuflection to the the notion that pervades                                                      
Our addictive appetite now sated. For a while.                              
                                                                ­                                  
He kissed their cheeks
And stroked their arms, with sensuous ambivalence
But absently, as if he cared so little
In his farewell. 'A bientot' he said and 'Au revoir'
And slipped away amongst the moving Milan crowds
Creative and creator, irredeemably a star
With, in his wake the smiling scriveners staring
At his retreating back in Stark excitement
In the middle of the circling and squaring, at
The alpha-wolfic effigy. The Shepherd and his sheep.
I've ever been interested in the relationship between celebrity and ordinariness. How the lamps of the individual appear dimmer in the presence of the luminosity of others, more celebrated. Some weeks ago I was able to see this effect on me when I was in close proximity with a star of the design community (some clues to the individuals identity may appear within the verse, if anyone is interested). I was dismayed to learn that I responded in the same manner as those I had previously observed. This sour-**** little offering is the outcome.
I see the golden whisks that stretch up into a turquoise sky
reverently the abode of the flying kite that twirls
upon the rafters of the heavens cathedral
drifting upon the open planes where the wind takes hold, rushes
drifting the soft plumes to the breeze and scented air
In a triumphant flight of dreams and hope.

The is a peaceful tranquility that invades the minds
silences it to the spectacle of sheer grace and bliss
that for hours upon hours my eyes partake of this exquisite dance
of life upon the flapping wing, air upon a pounding heart
The soul glides up there, dives and drifts upon every wish
Upon every far flung vision that draws a heart to want.

Sweet these images that so often go unseen,
we tread a delicate balance to the sweet song of life
Hold it upon our breath to whisper its majesty, its perfection
blind to the real depth of what there is, how we walk so coldly
upon a dark world where our horizons torch the scene
and wears the shudder of unconcern.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
290

Of Bronze—and Blaze—
The North—Tonight—
So adequate—it forms—
So preconcerted with itself—
So distant—to alarms—
And Unconcern so sovereign
To Universe, or me—
Infects my simple spirit
With Taints of Majesty—
Till I take vaster attitudes—
And strut upon my stem—
Disdaining Men, and Oxygen,
For Arrogance of them—

My Splendors, are Menagerie—
But their Completeless Show
Will entertain the Centuries
When I, am long ago,
An Island in dishonored Grass—
Whom none but Beetles—know.
Marshal Gebbie Mar 2011
Stop right now and NUT IT OUT
Which way you wish to go,
Do you want the wealth and stressful strain
Or blithely flick and throw?

Do you preen yourself with smiling pride
Owning shining  chattels new,
Whilst shallow OTHERS OGLE
With those envious eyes on you?
Or do you seek the clean four winds
Untrammelled by concern,
With sleeping bag, a crescent moon
Whilst crackling bonfires burn?

Have you thought to chuck it all
The car, the house, the boat
And cause your superficial  friends
To snigger, leer and gloat?
To simply live in HUMBLE CIRCUMSTANCE
To wake without a plan,
To greet the day with unconcern
And breathe a new, fresh man.


Is the courage there to TAKE THE CHANGE,
Can you make the first big move,
Or does convention stay your hand
To stray from comfort’s groove?
Have you thought about what others think,
Reactions from the crowd,
The clamorous cacophony
Of objection rendered loud?


“Absolutely NOT, my dear”
Pygmalion my ****.
To throw it all away, Silly,
Simply would... betray your Class!
“It’s all so rudimentary
This thing of living rough”
“Reminds me of the great apes,
And other basic stuff!”


There’s loads of reasons why YOU CAN’T,
The mortgage at the bank,
Insurance is essential
And while we’re being frank...
There’s the tennis club subscription
And the afternoons I’d miss
Sipping lattes with the ladies
..though, the gossip’s SO remiss.


Perhaps we’ll put it off for now
Another day perchance,
When devilment and joi le vivre
EFFUSE another prance.
When the dream of having freedom
With the cold wind in my hair,
Will drive me to release
The inner WILDNESS hidden there.



Marshalg
Victoria ParkTunnel
4 March 2011
maggie s May 2011
Selective mates.
Bugs' unconcern manifests;
Eagles dwindle, die.
Lily von Rider Dec 2011
A little girl; so innocent

Broken, like concrete

Forsaken in this world

As God had chosen to replete

Forever damaged

Spare me the deceit

That I have long encountered

Mentally ****** and incomplete

I broke the mirrors

That distorted my vision

I am not perfect

I am far from precision

Just a judicial decision

To execute this excision

To ensure that this provision

Of unwanted unborn children

Remain broadcasted on public television

For the captivity of the elderly

Scorned, defeated and miserable

Left in utter decay

Salvaging day and night

Part of this twisted foreplay

That took place on Christmas Eve

For Chirst to be born

On such a horrible day, to entail

This sad story of evil

Demons from hell rose in this tale

But Jesus did nothing

Except to defy the Holy Grail

My exorcism, my ghost

To whom shall I toast?

To the one who left me to burn?

To define myself in these lies

God, I am flawed by your unconcern

Jesus, I am mocked by your reputable lies

For that you deserve a noble prize

Can't you see the concern in my eyes?

I have lost my allies

And I have become the worst

That I could possibly be

Part taking in these sins

Is that what you wanted from me?

You deny my existence

You hide behind pride

You force coincide

And you deny individuality

You force this conceited ******* to form

Or so you implied

Turns out the shock was worldwide

But that didn't stop you

From setting me aside

Sitting in your corner

Contemplating

Is she human or a mutation

Something somewhat malformed

Or perhaps just a devil

An ogre at best

Fine be that way

I am not one to detest

My worst side though

I do not advise you test

I am not blessed

For it is in black that I dress

"Satan's spawn!" they protest

Is it my fault that I am possessed?

Conniving and witty

I am sick of this mess

God you put me here

But nevertheless

I am obscene

And forever your mess
A Mareship Nov 2013
History repeats on us,
One life holding the gown
Of the next,
Waiting for its turn;
Just look at how the future greets us,
With a capful of
Utter unconcern.

I want to be of use to you,

But my memories
Are not admired by most –
They involve love and only love,
Or desire described as love
And floating
In the sky of a castle
with a hatful of flowers boasting ‘now’.
will become something longer
In this green, pulsating sea of dreams,
Salt-warm, seasoned with illicit echoes,
I swim into you and under you and through you and to you
And I take you in my mouth.
Underwater, we are little fish, undulating.
Mouths fasten, ****, open, close,
We breathe each other in.
Let's unevolve together, creatures of the deep
Unbothered by the air brigade above.
Limpet-like, our joinings are an unconcern
For all but us and the awakening depths.
Lover of Words Nov 2012
She was mad,
Heated, lost in love and anger,
Causing her mind to go numb,
In the rain waiting for a guy she wanted,
Wanted more then air,
And he was inside and ignorant,
As the rain came pouring down,
Unaware that she was there,
Standing, struck with unrequited love,
Wanting him on her, but he was quite lost himself,
Should he keep on going it alone?
She knocked on the door in the rain,
He heard with unconcern,
But opened anyways,
Looking into those docile eyes of soft blue,
How could he leave her there?
So he gripped her tighter then he ever did before,
Admitting his wrongs and downfalls,
How could he let the poor thing fall,
He smoothed the stray strands of hair and pressed upon those lips,
Which were so desperately need of his kiss,
And she couldn't help but to not give in
Tongues Dec 2014
<><><><><><>
Along the fence horses trot
The leafy shadows slowly turn
I look up from a steaming ***
A world ripe with unconcern
Wild grasses bent with dew
And every bird's askew feather
I push into the grey-pink sky
This is mountain weather
Mike Hauser Mar 2013
Tried of it All
          
Tired of it Now
A need to Survive
          
Won't help us Out

Peace on Earth
          
Some sort of Joke
What they feed Us
          
Making us Choke

This is the Bed
          
In which we Lay
Headboard a Tombstone
          
Societies Grave

WHY DO THE MEN WE HIRED TO SERVE
SHAKE OUR HANDS AND GIVE US THEIR WORD
ONLY THEN TO GIVE IT ALL
TO THE ONES WHO GREASE THEIR PALMS*

WHY HAVE WE NOT OUR LESSON LEARNED
YEARS OF GOVERNMENTS UNCONCERN
LONG AGO THEY TURNED THEIR BACK
LEAVING US NO MORE THAN WHAT WE LACK

Time we stood Up
          In the thick of it All
Do it Ourselves
          Make our own Calls

That's the way that It
          Was meant to Be
Government under Control
          
*With the people set Free
Donna S Jones Aug 2016
This problem has gone on so long
We always reach the same old sum
Multiplied by failure to learn
Divided by unconcern
Numbers that hide
Carried by lies
Uncertain equations
In each situation
You never seem to factor in
An answer where you don't win
Add only yourself  
Like every time else
To sum up the fee
Just subtract me
Dj
SassyJ Jun 2017
The Port Lincoln with a headed green
reminds of all the vanished love songs
tires of doom and cages of hope
some days the rawness cascaded
burning my sole with remnant matters
in a lovely world where we aspired
with fixed attires that truly perspired

At the heart of this desert bloom
where nothingness claims attention
at the hand of the sunken gloomy sun
which prevails the dry land it scorches
unveiling all the buried emotional cases
of utter regret and unknown possibilities

At the heart of the desert bloom
where the rain fades inside the sandy dunes
casting the breeze to the barren land
with unconcern perils and derailment
unveiling all the buried emotional cases
of utter regret and unknown possibilities

At the heart of a desert bloom
on the silvery aligned amber bridge
overlooking the stratified red rocks
where guanos and snakes rest and arrest
appeasing and hissing the untold secrets

At the heart of the desert bloom
on a mounted grill of unmovable waters
lying meters deep, overlaid by the patch
patterned with blackness and debris
as a heavenly breeze whispers of beginnings

At the heart of the desert bloom
where the past was long laid and cast
painted at the end of a two year past
of prolific and demonic disengagement
on passageways where all there is moves on
Andrew McElroy Oct 2018
She spoke for the last time
that evening...

I lost my breath;
Her voice stole it away

I fell apart;
Into pieces

When the final word was spoke,
What a thing to say

Our time spent - was a good one
I left a life unknown in the desert

So when earth realigns with the sun
I’ll be a solar son

Spinning around in line
Like a top out of line

In a circle, going around and around in my eyes
Those that see only despise and
Unconcern of the things learned

I learned another thing
About heart ache and how the stake
Can drive so deep down into heart break

I am everything that I thought
Your fire under the barn
In the woods

Unknown now...

An unstoppable force.

Here we go.
She sat inside her ice-cream life
and guessed the number of
bingo markers it might take
to win the jackpot.
Sometimes she questioned why
so many people drove her
crazy. Insulted her.
She divided her friends and lovers
into good and bad directions.

It was raining outside when
she began to cook the supper.
The stove was hot she was cold.
She was always cold in her house,
in her ice vein kitchen with
the pretty white lace curtains
and the yellow-green walls.

Her problems could all be
isolated into one situation after
another. She light a cigarette.
Sitting at her table wondering
if she should cook rice or potatoes
with the meat. It didn't matter.
They'd wolf down the food
without a glance at her effort.

She found she was happier
when the kids were at school and
that man was at work doing whatever.
Impatience wasn't so much her statement
as was unconcern. So what,
she thought, as she dusted her ashes
into the ashtray.

Her memories could stretch so
far back, before this life even.
Yet she knew that what she knew
wasn't really very much at all.
Maybe he really loved her? Who knew?
For her it was only a situation.
She wondered if they'd remember
to take their shoes off at the door.
Her feelings could easily be hurt,
but on the other hand she often
neglected to express herself.
At half past five she'd put supper
on the table. They would sit around it.
Her family sharing the same table
and the same bathroom. Distance.
They were mutually ignorant of
each other.

She put out her cigarette, light another.
She wasn't afraid of cancer, just living.
Working man would be home soon,
right after the kids demanded home.
Sighing she stood up and pushed
the cat away with her foot, irritated.
Checked her purse. Bingo markers
neatly labelled. Another Friday night
yellowgogh Aug 2020
to my limitation about the distance,
i withstand the heartbreak.
unconcern to other humans’ emotions
but, the broken piece
of being out of reach
of not having you in my arms
when things are falling apart
and i see you are too,
from far.

but the world isn’t a kind place,
to restore the heartbreaks of
two person(s) in love.
despite the devilish heartless fate
of the universe,
the sky and stars give the chance
to wish for the
unspoken and hopeful words,
for those which are in love.
Skia Kyria Jun 2014
you are silence.
unless you want to speak
you are absence
it renders me so weak

you are avoidance
my desolation breeds
for you to water my dreary seeds
and you don't even observe
how you restrain my nerves

cold and still
you weaken my will
my soul falls ill
not healing until
you give in to the thrill
of not wanting to be alone
and you slice me to the bones

and all over again
my reality is blurred
confusion, moments ago slain
cries of  slaughtered isolation heard
only to  retort, only to return
cycle of hunger &  wanting, i yearn
growing bleak from your unconcern

needing, not receiving enough
aching for that deeper touch
needing anything, needing too much
because of nothing, eagerness as such
i will stop melting, and find a way
to become a part of your grey
Jon Watkinson Apr 2021
A smooth and straight, an ordinary road
But in contrast to the houses of the area with trim hedges
Round their gardens with their cherry and apple trees,

That smooth and straight, and ordinary road, was an outsider
And ditto to re-occupied Nissen huts.

Heath grass had been cut short up to the edge of the road.
Down the centre there were proper markings
And cat's eyes.   Now, I retain a picture of a squeaky clean
Smooth surface, colour a silvery, smoky grey.   

Cars, trucks, some US military,
Would pass you by, grouped or singly, brusquely,
An air of unconcern native to them,
Engines' noises punctuating dominance

And if you ever thought to walk, even slide
A foot onto this road, vehicles
Would not stop and there would result outrage.
Sometimes I dreamt of a distant city.

I figured plain buildings hard to get to know, imposing,
In my mind it would be a quiet place
And, of course,
Important.  Fifty miles; what
Anyone would do there, beyond imagining;

It all meant something different
At less than seven years old.

Those days we caught a bus, which went the other way,
To go to school.  We had to cross that silver/grey road,

That inflexible road, then walk
A furlong or so up a gentle *****

Across the grassy heath to a winding
Road shaded by a deciduous wood, with crows;
A bendy, friendlier road.

With some of us larking about we went in a group
To wait for the bus.
Anywhere near that first road,
I walked close to the parent escorting us.

I would always feel unsafe near such an unkind road.
Deovrat Sharma May 2019

no where
you will find
such pain as when
your beloved one
ignore you and
become unconcern
infect it is
much more
deep and intense
than a huge fire burn

ignorance
in love
is just like
the blooming thorn
in fact whenever
our feeling hurts
by our dear one
the fearfulness
becomes
stubborn

*
@ deovarat- 18.05.2019
Arlene Corwin Apr 2021
Believe me, I don’t start the day with intention of writing.  And then it happens, a moving phrase read, extrapolated and boom, the synapses light up in connection.  
I’m not a nerd, not especially informed, but something inside is always on the lookout and knows more that I do.

Many Small Acts Of Indifference

They pile up one by one.
The largest iceberg melting, crumbling. falling slowly:
Then, ‘all gone’!

What could be truer -
People neither bad- nor good-er:
Just indifferent;
Never seeing unconcern
Till forests burn.
Therein the problem.

Mostly, one can’t lay a blame.
There is no name, no exclamation:
Maybe something thin and lame like, “****!”
To call this sad phenomenon.

It’s all of us;
Our routine habits that are cause;
Unoriginal, derivative. monotonous…
For where the planet stands today, we’re breaking laws
Set down by nature.
(This planet ‘ doesn’t ‘stand’ it goes,
But where it’s going no one knows);
Round and round or down and down:
It’s all a terrifying puzzle.
We, the powerless and muzzled.

Anyhow, the very slowness gives one hope.
You and I, the dopiest
Can change this moment.
Coral, porpoise, whale dies; gases rise;
Oceans foam, the whole fomenting
Sentiment and action:
Thanks to worldwide inter- nets:
Information at its best.

Beware indifference’ shrugging off,
Bent, trump-ian off-sloughing of the evidences.
It’s you and me, kid,
Who can rid the damage done,
The inner mental situation
Of those small indifferences.

Many Acts Of Small Indifference 4.23.2021 Our Times, Our CultureII; Definitely Didactic II;  Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin
Pandemic-wise

— The End —