"utilised" poems
Aggression, is a session
Is a desire, blazing fire
Is a fest, at its best
Aggression, becomes a passion
Aggression, in your blood
In your vision, a mission
In your mind, a fight
Aggression, now your mood
Aggression, can be utilised
Can be channelized, it should be
Can be unleashed, it needs be
Aggression, must be utilised
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
i sometimes watch a cooking show and feed myself, finding old italians very funny with everything simple being a milanese delicacy, ambrosia of a doubly baked bread, sprinkled with water, a juicy tomato and some olive oil... mmm, yeah, am bro sia... where’s the salt? if this is ambrosia please give me a haggis in a bagpipe. by the way... the best sarcasm is found in a hangover.
i still don’t know how a cat managed
to knock on my bedroom door
while slayer’s seasons in the abyss
stopped me munching on violins and cellos:
i got paranoid being the only person in the house
with that eerie sound of knock knock...
but i guess greeting him in the morning
with a head-butt utilised his head for the ‘being human’
initiation... only yesterday he managed to open
the door to the kitchen using the handle -
and like any man with his middle finger outstretched
in defiance... he did the same, but with a thumb.
p.s. poetry and collage have a lot in common,
as does poetry and music, i still don't know
why philosophy started the fight, poetry has
nothing in common with philosophy to be
even remotely related for a boxing match,
it's poetry as music and collage, the classical stances
of philosophy are becoming more and more obsolete;
i guess someone had to point that out and side
with plato rather than socrates, but i have to add
one blatant innovation i'm working on,
no not the plagiarism of tristan tzara by william burroughs
of the famed 'cut up' method of writing poetry,
i'm talking Bach, yes, BACH, polyphony, multilayering,
spontaneity, and everything that tzara attempted
picking out bingo ball snippets of newspaper
articles from a bag like some ****** doing the same,
writing a abduction-ransom letter to a rich girl's family
enigmatically... also enclosing a portrait of the girl
done with crude pointillism in cartoon shock colours
with a signature that ræd: antoinette warhol -
yep, and some people will be famous for 15minutes in
a repetitive loop.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
*i went straight down the hyphenated route, along the winding clay paths of papa simius sapiens **** esse, to see both the western mountains and the eastern seas, yes, straight into the hyphen, watching both the northern infinity (8) and the southern infinity (∞), bypassing scientific equations of the equator by digging to fiji through china.*
i had, and still have two defence mechanism,
a pseudo-impotence within the framework
of the freudian madonna-whore complex
with the everyday girls,
which quickly disappears with prostitutes,
and the fact that, when i was impotent with her
after three attempts and on the fourth wasn’t,
she still didn’t bother to take off the t-shirt i was
wearing when i made love to her,
so all the brass muscle shadow contrasts i was moulding
went to the scrap heap and i returned to the chubby old me
drinking excessively and utilising my lessons in spelling
words using chemical compound complications
of my favoured utilised prospects in the realm of the intellect -
yes, these two defence mechanisms,
because upon engaging with prostitutes in a mirror of pure
functioning objectivity of the ***** and fox
i known a word or two about anti-feminism,
so the t-shirt part during *********** is a shield to prove
the objectivity of the act can progress into the subjectivity of the person,
and because she didn’t take it off, proves my point that
she was nothing more than a ********** or a pole dancer,
which she later became,
even though she was reasonably sane enough to do otherwise.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
the only book you can plagiarise from is the dictionary; enter plagiarism: platonic definitions of a single sound.
spa spa spawn a spandex bubble on the rims for elongating width
in french inches of the waist.
but i liked my walk, took the scenic: empty street, night, solo,
solo, night, empty street -
not many donkeys sweating tears -
not many relations to see: i understand money in
the manual labour professions, but outside
of manual professions? don't have a clue... have a poker though
for a ***** you randomise whatever you want in that:
never read a philosophy book that utilised grammatical categorisation
efficiently: aristotle started it all off with nouns (proper names),
naming and layering as i might call it:
but who the hell needs plato these days given television:
oh right, that's why: shout into a cave the worded nuance...
what do you get? ecce echo.
i appreciate god as an omni-relevant vocabulary / shouting into plato's cave
provided me with thus:
noun, plural i's or is, i's or is.
1. the ninth letter of the english alphabet, a vowel.
2. any spoken sound represented by the letter i or i, as in big, nice, orski.
3. something having the shape of an i (floating head on a total amputee).
4. a written or printed representation of the letter (sound) i or i.
5. a device, as a printer's type, for reproducing the letter i or i.
well so much for those paper folding idiots of shadow:
i shout i into plato's cave the idiots are still talking in sign language
having been fed images throughout and no phonetic symbols
of breaking knuckles.
pronoun, nominative i, possessive my or mine, objective me;
plural nominative we, possessive our or ours, objective us.
1. the nominative singular pronoun, used by a speaker in referring to himself or herself.
noun, plural i's.
2. (used to denote the narrator of a literary work written in the first person singular).
3. metaphysics. the ego.
that's many more echoes to come - plato was ridiculous counting
six fingers on the shadow hand doing all the masturbatory
talking into rabbit population truths in australia.
oh **** i just shouted red into plato's cave and i heard synonymity come out!
what's crimson? words with many meanings have rats in the armpits of armchairs,
those eager dental riggers of bucktooth chew
made fudge into glue within dental analysis conclusive in lance stance
of a knight in rusty armour wishing it was oiled up copper.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
What I have passed on to my son
is often unclear to me.
I just know
that I had the grace to ensure
the package I passed on
is not the one I received
and that the extent to which
it will be unpacked and utilised
is not mine to determine.
That choice was part of the package.
Jan 21, 2023
Jan 21, 2023 at 12:05 PM UTC
*my interests in / with philosophy are grammatical,
" " " / " theology " linguistic.*
as philosophy did not entice grammatical words to express it,
as philosophy did not entice grammatical words to be utilised,
so thus the study of language became distinct
from philosophy, with only english or german or italian
teachers using these words as a forgivable badge of honour,
but what if a philosopher decided to "steal" these words and use
them, what then? it would be secondary, to have learned
a language in order to progress to the second tier of language
and erase colloquial truths, idiosyncratic truths, etc.,
those maxims that never really matter, but find me one philosophy
book that deals with words rather than ideas by submerging
itself in ideas and theories not of the world, not political,
metaphysical, theological... but simply grammatical... as to why
the pronouns clash when used as the universal stipend of question:
who, how, when, what if, etc. it's a minefield of considerations,
categorisation of words to only craft learned plagiarisms
of the pulpit, that such rigidity in grammatical classification
of words is so aged ashen leaky and rickety and sir sneeringly sneaky
as to be disregarded by philosophy is a gaping black gravity vortex
of travesties. how do i write you ask, with what ease
and with what machinery of split second bullet fire (sometimes)?
i simply declassified certain words, rearranged their
grammatical classification, some permanently, some impermanently;
such is this curse of the orthodox theory of language,
this ungrammatical denotative classification,
before the sun or the moon can be a subject for a poem
or some other form of inspiration, it's firstly a subject for nouns;
oh i believe in grammar, but not how it's organised
for the sole purpose of schooling, the odd jack-in-the-box popup
lightning slosh of um um ah when the teacher labours momentarily to
utilise grammatical words to explain a bewilderment without
actually explaining anything other than the classification coupling
obvious(ness) in a poem... esp. one beginning with a conjunction such as and.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
you stop fearing death once you stop dreaming, and treat sleep like a cruise-ship holiday of complete darkness - i mean, who'd drag imagination down into the unconscious to create dreams, rather than keep it boiling conscious of limbs and skeleton in being awake, and write a poem or two? i know, when restrictions come, cashier no. two thousand and five hundred, when people are shoved into pits and black holes they recreate their imaginative spirit in sleep, they dream... imagination not utilised in the waking hour is worth a bundle of entertaining patterns, as in: how does light enter utter darkness? the most vivid dreamers are the most unimaginative people, esp. with conversation starters, let alone main meals (relationships), and desserts (commuter silences and lost eye-contact).
i write because
i don't
like talking.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC
maxim utilisation does not necessarily
create a symbiosis between
the unitary appropriation of universals
and particulars, old Socrates knew this,
he knew the problem well recorded
by Plato: a rich man can have all the needles
and camels he wants...
maxim utilisation works miracles
for the rich, handy truth being:
i have life insurance and a pension,
but i'm still stuck in a trench with
high-school memories and a house with
20 bathrooms but only 3 bedrooms,
hence i'm the Chieftain of Microsoft...
the rich know the best maxims,
the poor know the best narrative...
i'd rather hear the narratives than the maxims...
maxims are utilised by the rich
in a way that does not allow success,
they speak fluently in terms of success stories,
but they sell them, meaning there's a limited
success rate; meaning their narrative sounds
are a bit like: if i ****** this guy over, and this one,
i cup-caked this one into a half-baked scene;
yep, ****** this one, and this one, and this one,
and this one over twice... but hey! i'm rich!
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
they always, always!
they always throw this *******
debate into a juggling act
between joseph merrick
and stephen hawking...
always! **** gets boring...
choose another pair of cripples!
maybe they had ulterior
motives of sadism to prove
someone wrong... **** ain't working...
choose some other excuse
for you little tabloid philosophy
to have page 3 **** dangling
over your pressurisation
of that famous english unmovable
utilitarianism movement -
apparently the hammer was utilised
without nails hammered in in mind,
it was also used for crunchy skull floating oats!
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
i wait for death as i might, with the same sordid
apathetic splendour: waiting for a bus:
to commute me a mile closer to the designated
spot of the favour scattered,
with the travel lessened minding effort utilised,
and travel spoken of, no more, i too wait for death
like a laziness of fathomed living, re- (i.e. repeat,
sundial eclipse mormon nuns gorgon fleece):
on the hearth pride of my dead body rests,
on the hearth honour of my dead body rests,
on the haystack, my life, a needle,
and here comes the camel, the fourth magi,
of the three designated, given pyramidal superiority,
given relevance to mistake the gifts as gilded
artefacts of a bow-tie, where once a treasure lay
for magic to be readied on public eye entertained.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
Way up on high
where God has
Facebook and Sky,
have you ever wondered why
he never tweets.
It beats the hell out of me, that
all of that potency
isn't being
utilised
fully.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 4:33 AM UTC