"unrealities" poems
Hurtling along and away,
Approaching the center of the galaxy,
The event horizon becomes visible,
Slowly pulling me inside,
Time and space distorted,
Wave-forms collapsing in on themselves,
Stretching and bending frequencies,
Unrealities become fluid,
then begin collapsing and twisting,
Beyond recognizable form,
Into infinite and immense matter,
Like twist and tears in the fabric of space,
Falling toward nothingness,
That dreaded singularity,
A moment away,
A million moments away,
As time ceases to exist,
And crushing gravity,
Displacing understanding,
Dispelled notions,
Horrific,
And peaceful,
Become the same.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 6:06 AM UTC
we're all armed
with an appliance
of emancipation
we can nurture non-violent
defiance in a
non-compliant ethos of
antiauthoritarian self-reliance
we have the ability to eliminate the
vestiges of imperialism and
dominant dogmas that choke
and impede our creativity and shackle
our imagination to impotent ideologies
fragmented unrealities augmented
by fractures in our psyche
tendrils of theology that prey
upon our fear and exacerbate
conditioned responses that are
at once
unnatural and irrational
and lead
inexorably
to infantile expressions of
regression and fantasies of an
aggression rooted in the
suppression of dissent and
the oppression of dissidents
deities
as impotent
as our terror
of the unknown
by the promise of security and prosperity
a cabal of brutish thugs have erected an
imaginary hierarchy and demanded our
subservient obedience and reverence for
this malfeasant apparatus that leeches
our paychecks and robs all of our dignity
while somehow retaining the illusion of liberty
a delusion that festers like an open wound
a tumorous ulcer oozing foul fluid into our minds
blotting out our capacity for cultivating a
future divorced from misanthropy
so pour kerosene on this fluttering
flame of revolt before it sputters out
if we'd quit looking back and forth at
one another rotting in the gutters
checking to see if we have more to
our name than our sisters and our brothers
we might just muster the courage to overthrow
the vapid and misguided fictions that
divide and segregate us into pawns
trapped in this unending rat race
they've deemed the American Dream
harness the revolutionary tenacity
dormant in humanity's most important *****
infinite potential latent in every molecule
each neuron dancing across synaptic
gaps and fanning the embers of an engine
that gives motion to this evolutionary frame
the human brain is omnipotent
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
I see so many people,
Who carry their dread,
Like concrete umbrellas,
Up over their heads.
No time for sunlight-
Preparing for rain.
Ready to fight-
But not to feel pain.
All wrapped up in themselves,
Discontent with their lives,
Like they’re owed something else,
Than a good day to die.
Awareness floats on an eternal sea,
A glittering instant of consciousness ,
Vibrating between unrealities,
On a firmament of impermanence.
For no reason deciding to spring up from the ground,
As we careen through an exploding universe.
We spend our time trying to tear each other down,
The hue of our flesh sacks determining what we’re worth.
The earth is our mother and my ancestors are there,
I’m not scared to die as I was born- screaming and naked-
To love life as a moth loves fire is to live a prayer;
I am terrified of the moment being wasted.
Hope and freedom are not found
Behind the illusion of truth.
Look to Prometheus bound-
Who cares little to nothing for Zeus.
Nov 1, 2020
Nov 1, 2020 at 2:11 PM UTC
Unrealities can
now be held true
Because every
bodyevery
day is stuck in one
When one reality is projection screened
Shining straight into the eyes
It's blinding, luciferic
Floating up and away
Into void
Where safety and utter loneliness are assured
While even as we
close our eyes
disproving boogiemen
They clamber around making changes and destroying lives along with you
Your unseeing feet
Crushing the innocents
Beneath a comforting rug
That spares our soles
The pain of walking on shattered bone
Following the points of lines firing from the pupils of whiches and witches
Enrichéd and stiffened to stone
Has dragged me down to the bog and I stink like a dog and I live a dog's life too
Circling myself and waiting for the invisible a'ni himu to happen to me without a statement
I don't know Being
I don't know it in itself of itself
Some told me it spoke with the voice of a child, some destroyed them-
Selves dressing up flowers and archways in those orders
And cornering us ants at the intersection which creep crawls
Crazily down from its
Geographic space and happens to face the way yr sitting
Eating meat or drinking tea
And bam he flips and crushes you
And what do you do
How can it be
When do you know it was your destiny?
bursting open your skull on the sharpest brick beside the softest memory
Of a 42nd birthday of the end of a dream
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 12:17 PM UTC
One feeling that causes the most painful tears that makes one feel the wrinkles forming between their brows and the constant questioning one's self of how is that of falling short of expectations, and while you may not care, want to meet them, want to be there, falling flat is a ****** feeling and regardless of your attitude, that's a fact.
When you let someone down, your family, your friends, your love, you feel this sense of being so close. I could've been a better cousin, and I could've been nicer, I could've done what was right and not what wasn't, I could've held you tighter.
Yes, you could've, but those expectations would only be higher if you did, and the so close feeling would come back into play. This is why I say to myself,
"You do this to yourself, and you know you do."
At the end of the day, you decide whether you were accomplished, and the only person you can't let down is yourself. Keeping this in mind, and knowing these impossible unrealities are mine, I strive everyday to be my best self, and one day, she, I will be able to find.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 10:49 PM UTC
The stories I've written about you.
The unrealities I've imagined about you.
The person you say you are.
The parts of you that you hide away-or try to hide away from me.
The "I love you" and "I'll be a better father from now on"
The bottles laying around in your apartment.
The muddled words and swirling of thoughts and feelings.
Empty promises of sobriety fall on deaf ears and a stone cold guarded heart.
Father.
..Father.
Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic.
But you are a father before all of that.
You are my father.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 7:16 PM UTC
Under the hollow in the ground,
I find the unspoken words quaking, meaning to be let out
I turn my back on it, so that I can convince us both how hard it is,
to love a ruptured soul.
The sun shines bright on me,
I close my eyes and cease to weep,
How does it get better?
I phase in and out of my creed, penetrating
into the darkest corners exploring if the questions have been erased.
I curve back within myself again and again, falling asleep.
I lay down on the floor staring at the ceiling, wondering if it speaks
in words, in thumps, I try to reach.
Over and over, I cross each room, finding no water to drink,
to suffice the soul within.
It’s been empty.
Scraping the unrealities of my being, realising how it isn’t easy
for my hands
to leave the things
it holds with much unease,
it hits my mind suddenly,
how my world revolves, but wrongly.
How do I learn to not think over and over
about the many things getting
deeper and deeper
within
until I’m lone?
Fresh and stale, it feels as I open the windowpanes
letting the air touch my skin
Making the dead pigmentation flee, I breathe.
The voices caught in my throat long to travel to places
I’ve been scared to be at, they wreathe dreams
out of dead petals of flowers, longing to bloom even when I haven’t.
Being hopelessly in love with a memory, I recall the times
I sang merrily.
It fills me with joy, to think of my world to be as happy as it used to be
Like a gentle flutter of a butterfly’s wing feels on the skin.
So I say the words that water flowers,
‘Guess, I am falling in love again, with me.’
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 2:04 PM UTC
Flashing lights spots centre stage
it's the start of the fashion parade
one by one out they come
twisting and turning so all will get an eyeful
Lithe and pretty doll house material
little plastic smiles on their cute perfect faces
show time for the pigs in the seats
that treat them like cattle or sheep
It's utter mayhem backstage
girls fitting into dresses poorly made
just a pin here a seam their
most will forget their underwear
A conveyor belt of fantasies
a pontification of fashion
a way to dream unrealities
that you want with a passion
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC