06 April, 2010

Poetry Collection 2


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Who, what, when, and what significance?
If I were a term, appearing in some test format, how would I be approached?
Hated, scorned? Unappealing? Irrelevant? Boring? Useful? Important?

O sancta simplicitas! In what strange simplification and falsification man lives!

...and for the first time the word "world" was a reproach.
And so the life ends, without any meaning, without substance. Headaches can be epiphanies, you know.Take my advice: manifest yourself in what you do.
Chiririsitmas is cuming the goose is getting fat, please fuck the lady in the old straw hat.

So many metaphysical feelings, so much raw emotion driven into your head with a hammer. The cord wraps around so mightily and slenderly up your neck and up to the ceiling; why do this? Why let the floorboards hang beneath you, space extending between you? Rings bind fingers. But what else to contain them? My epistemology is not simple, nor is it blind to your understanding. Nude eels strafe the passageways to my mind. My fingertips are frozen by these seemingly liquid nitrogenic undertones that spew from your mouth. So sanguine are you, that even you know predicament. You can see it in my eyes. You can hear it in my voice. You know me. Don't mess up, don't turn the tables on yourself. Don't let the looking-glass shatter in your gaze.

Homeostasis only achieved when x=3cRM.

Caesar had a son.
Caligula had a vice.
Charlemagne had an empire.
Constantine had a city.

FIVE FUCKIN THIRTY.
                      Oi'm a fish?
Woi oi'd loike sum'dat scone.
I'm a fuckin creep.
I'm gonna rip a head off a doll.
I'm gonna stare wide-eyed into space.
I'm not gonna hurt ya-
Grandmother, what large veins you have!
The better to relax with!
I'm gonna bash your fucking brains in.
I'm gonna grab the glass and smash it over the counter.
I'm gonna tick tock tick tick tick tock.
I'm gonna blare, stare, glare, dare.
I'm gonna picture this, that, over there, yonder.
You yeomen will suffer wrath.
You steel-men will economically have nothing.
Slaves slaves fucked up the staves, poles.
Blues for your porch? Yes, thank you- wait- can I get whipped cream on that?
Shiny rich stuff, shiny metal gleams in your eyes.
Rings on fingers have nothing to do with your life.
Looking at others while not looking at myself.
Looking at speech flying through the air, by myself by myself.
Mountains of piano keys can't move themselves.
Foot tapping, impatiently, on the mother fucking tile.
Go into the West from Ohio, wearing a pin-striped suit, waking from no dream, but from life.
My head is so meddled with the effects of former Idealism I cannot discern between my life and theirs sometimes.
My mind don't work too good.
So much to think about and only humanity to please. I'm all rusty- maybe I need a new paint job. I wish I was crazy sometimes.
I need to stand out. If I can't have any other shitty reimbursement for being born, please let it just be that. Revenge for what? Bein' born. Take my mothafuckin twelve string and shoot you with its methodical melody. Lookin' for the New World: well fuck Cortes. What defines a good life? What constitutes a meaningful existence? They can only provide so much insight to my own life. Your input is so invariably and irrationally necessary for me. The need for others is such a burden sometimes. Solipsism could be my reality, if only I was something else. I need to travel to get myself out of this mentality. But if that fails, what then? What then when my mind becomes so enveloped in reality that I lose all sense and hope of rationality? Only certain chords can be dramatically uplifting. Something needs to happen. A murder, a slaughter, a killing, a saving, and a birth, constituted by my brains turning to sludge, so slow in thought, caught up in a sloth's renaissance. I'll just go down by the river and shoot it up. I'll just go to the South-land and kick it with my main man. I'll just look at life through a magnifying glass, spectacles speckled with stars and plasmatic gas. My whole existence is esoteric if you don't have the rationality to yell and scream, run-through yourself with a broom and drown yourself in detergent. Is that a hole in your head? No, my apologies; I mistook your mind for a hole in the ground. I mistook my legs for roots and tentacles. I mistook your eyes for a thermostat. You understand that, right? You understand your hate for my intentions, yes? I'll shoot you. I will shoot up. Together on this ground, on this cliff, we will rid the world of conventionality by ridding these people of their traditions. I am separated from this. I have eyes that notice details so easily passed over by the populous. Bulbous is my mind. Green is blue, red is orange, yellow is silver, gold is black. Tears are relative to your own situation. I'm not wired like you. I'm not made like you. I'm not you. I'm nothing of that sort. I'm apart. My feet tread so softly on the border of reality.
         recording
I have lost my mind within itself. I'm in my own little world, full of complexities rarely explained by even the brightest of minds. A flash of light, a speck of dust catches my attention and, however small it may be, my eyes fasten themselves close to this special eccentricity. A chill flows through my legs and up to my head through the spinal column. This column stands fast, like Grecian architecture; however, even it is subject to this humble existence and finds complexity in the strangest things. My mind doesn't work normally: it isn't like yours. I see things none have dared seen. I've envisioned what you will call unfathomable. I don't need substance to be different- to think outside of the box; all I need to do is look out at the stars, realize my hopes and fears, grip the steering wheel and close my eyes. How comfort eludes me! I have this feeling of doing something for the world, making something of this pitiful people which I call my kin. To teach them is to train them, to change them, to transform and mold them. This is true. In this I find solace. But my mind feels something else, so evasive and perilous. My mind wanders instead of sleeps, my thoughts have such a tendency to slight my body for rest. Insomnia is a trait I inherit from such a degenerative nature. I will for things to occur, and yet they do not occur. My eyes look past the screen, look past the sky, look past you whilst you stare at me in objection to my apparent ignorance. Always something deeper seems to reach me. I want to be content.
I'           m anImmigrantan imi
grant
'as;fjkI'm an immigrant.s

                I see
things and hear

       you in the reeds.                       My receptive qualities and
senses help to conform my           mind to the

world of the empirical.
I lack it and look beneath the surface. My hands stumble under the waves to grasp something below the blanket of reality.
y tu, como la infeccion, como el pelo tanto negro con la sofa sucia, te odio con muchas I hate you muchachas en el televisor banks and money victoria victor torres amnesty admision 8 has a lot of tiempo y salgados 3 un virus altamente contagioso de los filoviridae de la familia que causa fiebre hemorrágica, señal de socorro gastrointestinal, y a menudo muerte. [después del río de Ebola, Zaire, cerca de el cual el brote del virus ocurrió en 1976 pero paranoia and violented behavoiral problems occur and possibly the death that from overdosage. Disruption of normal sleeps; danger- double the vision on you, possibly death, ulcers. Brain, heart, lung, and repro. damage. Ulceration nostrils. Damage heart lungs. Death. Brain, psychological unresting en sus ojos and your mouth.

I am angry I am depressed I am sick I am nauseous I am ready I am tired I am exhausted I am green I am yellow I am purple I am blue I am frantic I am free I am stuck I am here I am set in my ways I am disgusting I am lazy I am joyful I am wary I am boring I am peculiar I am ambiguous I am eccentric I am labourous I am colorful I am vain I am stingy I am aware.
I am not myself.

I've made a lot of mistakes
ImadealotofmistakesImadealotofmistakesImadealotofmistakesImadealotofmistakes
ImadealotofmistakesImadealotofmistakesImadealotofmistakesImadealotofmistakes
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ImadealotofmistakesImadealotofmistakesImadealotofmistakes-

Imadealotofmistakes//

And yet-
I have a watch that stays on 5 o'clock all the time.
The stars smile upon us, spreading over a Novocaine so sweet it ceases to be a drug and continues to be a life-giving essence: a metaphysical serving of love.

You call them Pilgrims, I call them Separatists.

My ears crackle, my knee stiffens, arms spasm and eyes blink so in tune with today's motion and intrinsic blur.

Sadness Joy
asdness ojy.

I look at the time, but it stays still. I look out the window only to confront blackness with an iron shield. Water does not sustain me. My eyes are weary with seasons long past. My mind wanders. These pages I sift through are only permanent, yet they hold a message so immortal I cannot stand but to delve deeper into their quarry. So here I am, in the turning of the times, the changing of the age, in the midst of a struggle so known by many and by the world. My breath is stifled and yet I trudge onwards. I look through the annals of history for an answer, I look the stars for solace for my hysteria. And yet, I find it so much closer to my person. How I long for comfort.

-66-

All steams flow to the sea
because it is lower than they are.
Humility gives it its power.

-70-

If you want to know me,
look inside your heart.

-

Who, then, can prove that I am the proper person to impose, by my own choice, my conception of man upon mankind? I shall never find any proof whatever; there will be no sign to convince me of it. If a voice speaks to me, it is still I myself who must decide whether the voice is or is not that of an angel. If I regard a certain course of action as good, it is only I who choose to say that it is good and not bad. There is nothing to show that I am Abraham: nevertheless I also am obliged at every instant to perform actions which are examples. Everything happens to every man as though the whole human race had its eyes fixed upon what he is doing and regulated its conduct accordingly. So every man ought to say, "Am I really a man who has the right to act in such a manner that humanity regulates itself by what I do." If a man does not say that, he is dissembling his anguish.
-

You look at this and think me weak.
I look at this and see myself as in need-

     Clovis people?
From France and Spain?
                Siberian?
   Across the Atlantic and Pacific?
                                                         It seems
           that                 there is more than


one  answer to the question.

Poetry Collection 1



You,,

You're right. I am wrong, and about a great many things. But will you offer me your pride? your malignity shows no pride for any of my accomplishments. Had you an ounce of fervor for my being, I may not yet feel a stranger in my own house. It is only commonplace to besmirch any thought I may possess. I love you. I appreciate you. I care about you. Have you the same feelings for me?

                                                                                             always,
                                                                                             your loving son

I find monsters above the ceiling fan, in the paint. I see demons crawling in the texture, I feel them as my hand glides across the walls.

No balustrade can contain my emotional fury.

Waking up from a dream is a strange thing. I have only notions of self-worth and simple mindsets of generosity produced to enthrall you. When you see these, they're wiped from the table, obliterated from view by your narrow light.
I connect with you on few levels. You shun my face from any sort of optimal value. I am only your son, incapable of surpassing you, such a giant in the wake of men. I cannot even comprehend how holy thou art.
Your comments are poignant, so stinging to my face, to my reflection in the mirror.
I cannot live in this capricious atmosphere.

So many patterns on the wall/
Which one to see?
I see that you are tall/
How strange that I am free...

I am clinically and dexterously insane.

Awhile is where I will be,
so entrenched in the work of my would-be forefathers.
Awhile is how I will view
our relationship, removed from the forefront of my mind.
Awhile is when I will come
back to come see the fruits of my labour.

Don't you see what you've become?
Don't you realize that I hate what you love?
You have an explanation, don't you?
That explanation has no meaning for me. I don't care about your cars, I don't care about your house, I don't care about your gods, I don't care about your job, I don't care about anything at all, but your love for me. Let me be your son.

Let me inside your house. Let me at your table, so mighty and feastly in scale.
I am that empty chair beside you. I am what's missing in the back of your mind.
My appearance is lowly to your eyes, but how I want to be apart of the family.
Look at all my works of art and marvel at them. Read all of my poems and manuscripts with awe and amaze at my ability to adapt to such strange and conflicting occurrences in life. Give me a chance.
I see imminent squids.
You see water in the hills of my eyes.
I pluck the strings, you sing the harmonies.
I snip with some scissors.
And you light up my eyes with fantastic brilliance.
My ears hear no fonder sounds than the utterings of your soft lips.

We roll over mountains, fly through the skies, swish the water in our mouths, and sink to the bottom of the darkest seas. All of this is done with you.
We creep through the most blinding deserts, the most harsh sand, sweeping through our faces.
We brave the tallest trees, escort ourselves through the wildest jungles. We conquer the earth. Giving to all, blessing each other, we take the world.
I reach in my pocket and pull out a trinket of some small intrinsic value. You know what it means, and your face brightens up in the light, but my hand stays firmly outright. The trees sway so wildly behind us, as does your hair: it envelops me, with strands singing to the wind. I blink slowly, hoping not to offend. You cannot blink, stood fast in awe and shock. Slowly, I bow before you, and our life flashes in my mind's eye: everything we have gained, lost, accomplished. This is why I must. I feel my body radiate with this tingling sensation. My arms clinch from this, my legs are ready to spring, my chest burns from this connection. I look up at you, and your smile, as it always does, comforts me to no end. There can be no finish for this, what we have.
 
I'll never be the same after this.
Nothing will ever amount to anything.
I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many things I've done so many evil things I've done so many horrible things I've done so many deathly things I've done so many things.


I always have this urge to apologize for holding the human race back. I strive to live for the better of man, but most of my time goes to ill. Save me from myself.
Sometimes I really do think I am alone. I feel like no one is real; nothing is substantial enough to supplicate my mind. It seems like only my brain would conjure up this mess of a place, so full of disorder and random failures. Loneliness follows from this premise, and I am constantly wanting a place for me, myself, to go to somehow find some solace. I feel many times more at peace when in the dead silence of crickets and asterisms than in the camaraderie of my fellows. I feel like there should be something that I should be doing to progress myself. After all, I am just as much responsible as you for promoting this human race of ours. However, I lack the very motivation that brings to light the most important qualities for greatness. I am nothing. I am thinking. I am nothing. I might be something. I might be nothing. I think. I think. Yes, I think.
So, you might be wondering where this is going, right? It's going straight into my brain, piercing my cortex, churning within my frontal lobe. It's going to someplace I don't want, but can't avoid. The Stranger is me. I am him. We are one in the same. I feel estranged from most everything and everyone I come into contact with. This increases so much so that I feel as much like a cloud in the sky, so bereft of human contact, as a homo sapiens sapiens ("knowing, knowing man"). The point is, I'm not like you, most likely, unless you share with me these feelings of obstruction and abstract alienation. So, maybe next time I don't answer my phone because I'm walking through the woods on a moonless night, desperately searching for myself, you might understand.
I'd rather have bugs in my eyes, crawling, writhing, spitting, clicking, biting, gnashing, stinging, ringing than you in my life.
So leave. Die. Burn. Blow your brains out for all I care.
You've nothing to hide, nothing to lose, nothing to gain.




I can't do this anymore... I'm wasting away.
 
Is there no supplication for this life?
Some logos that is real, tangible for feeling?

Somewhere under the stars, or more likely, within them, there is something that will not be so contrived, so conceived, so thought-upon.
The question is: will I be demoted? or shall I attain transcendence?


  • you can’t sleep enough or you sleep too much  
  • you can’t concentrate or find that previously easy tasks are now difficult
  • you feel worthless and hopeless
  • you can’t control your negative thoughts, no matter how much you try
  • you have lost your appetite or you can’t stop eating
  • you are constantly irritated or become enraged even at small things – and
    this is new for you 
Su vida es la basura.

I'm a plain piece of shit- nothing to see here.
Play with words, play with hearts, play with balls-
I have a headache tonight-

I feel especially lonesome tonight.
Maybe it's due to the fact that I am unhealthy in mind and physique-
Maybe it's because I am a selfish consumer.
Maybe it's because material things cannot appease me-
Maybe it's because I haven't been thinking of the whole of humanity.
Maybe it's because the sky is blue.
Maybe it's because I am here.

Or- maybe- it's because I miss you.

Beating, floating, pounding, booming, zooming, glooming, pissing, fucking, stinking, clucking, bucking me off of my horse.

And yet, without sympathy, I tread this earthen highway. I don't staple my hands behind me, and I don't take repercussions lightly.
Realization is everything.

I am regrettably unable to come up with some new form of thinking as of yet in my life, and I am invariably unable to control this world. But I will make something out of this- I will.

I am an empiricist at heart, and this life is what thrives me, what strives me for more- perhaps there I will find something. 

29 November, 2009

Their Own Interests

In response to "A Defiant Iran Details Plan for 10 Enrichment Plants" by David E. Sanger and William J. Broad of The New York Times: Sunday, 29 November.


Each group of persons, collectively, look out for their own interests. As a nation, we do this extraordinarily well. Through the years, we've looked out for our own interests by investing our time throughout the world, developing business and trade (sometimes exploiting others) and forcing ourselves into territories which may not want our presence there. By looking out for our interests, primarily our love of oil, we've been in war after war after war.
That being said, when Iran wants to look out for its own interests, which happen to conflict with ours, we put up the defense. We condemn Iran's want for nuclear energy because we are afraid that they would use it against us. Buy why? Would they use it because we've somehow exploited the Iranian government in the past? Do they want nuclear energy simply to better the placement of their nation upon the prolific scale of nations which we place ourselves at the top?
My point is that we should worry about how others in the international community view our actions. So Iran wants nuclear weapons. We monitor the situation, we don't make harsh accusations, we don't anger them. We won't always be #1, although many will be saddened to realize this truth. The United States should maintain a status of humility, humble in its dealings with other nations and people. Perhaps then we may realize a time of supposed international favour.

22 November, 2009

Voting on Party Lines

In response to "Democrats Focus on U.S. Senators from Maine" by Carl Hulse of The New York Times: Sunday, 22 November.

We all know the Democrats are mustering their legislative strength in the Senate to pass a health-care reform bill. What we also know is that the Republican party is seemingly unwilling to enter into a debate of the proposed legislation, voting along party lines with each proposed bill. And now the Democratic party is reaching out to Senators Olympia Snow and Susan Collins, Republicans, to help gather the needed votes in the Senate to pass any bill produced.
We all know of these events, but what we sometimes fail to realize is the partisan Congress which we've created. Congress is supposed to be representative of the people, of us, but how often it is that our elected policy makers cannot come to a specified compromise. Is this legitimate truth of un-compromise representative of the American public? Well, we did vote Congress into office...
The public should be more wary of voting along partisan lines so effortlessly and conveniently. Political parties should be seen as a detractor to passing legislation and as such should be limited in their scope to avoid such misgivings to the American people as we see in the Senate and the House. No, not everyone will agree all of the time, especially in terms of politics, but we need to realize what impact a simple vote of "Republican" or "Democrat" will have on our governmental system. Instead of voting for a party, we should vote on the issues, what is of more importance.
Let's not vote along party lines.

29 October, 2009

Wait a second... I thought drugs were bad...

In response to "Brother of Afghan Leader Said to be Paid by C.I.A." by Dexter Flinkings, Mark Mazzetti, and James Risen of The New York Times: Wednesday, 27 October.

President Hamid Karzai's brother, Ahmed Wali Karzai, is accused of being paid by the Central Intelligence Agency. The services for which he is paid include helping to recruit an Afghan paramilitary force, called the Kandahar Strike Force, around Kandahar, where Ahmed Karzai resides. Normally, this kind of information would not be surprising or in any way regrettable, as we are in a war in Afghanistan: their leaders obviously need protection.
What is surprising is the presumption that Ahmed Wali Karzai is a major proponent of the lucrative opium trade which supports the Afghan economy. Chances are, we are reminded, he is benefitting from the largest opium trade system in the world. And that's not to mention that we know that the Taliban also generates a majority of its wealth from the opium trade. Karzai is seen as a direct connection with the Taliban, especially when it comes to More importantly, to remember the C.I.A.'s involvement in the Middle-East and abroad during the mid-twentieth century is to realize that our government's intent in Afghanistan may not be what we suspect or want.
To support those who are generating this drug trafficking in Afghanistan, is to support the degeneration and disunity within the country. How can we ever hope to complete the goal of a "free", "united" Afghanistan if the C.I.A., a source of "behind-the-scenes" policy execution, links itself with the supposed enemy? Not all the details of this situation are certain, but the American people have a right to know what their government is up to abroad: if it is working in the interests of its citizens, or if it yet again creates a double-standard with hypocritical behavior. We need to be aware of the whole perspective.