*****. I totally forgot to post something. My bad dude, I even had a few things ready.
---------------
We stand atop the mountain-
Bemoaning the thinness of the air
And the brightness of the Sun
Unaware of this great height
And the privilege of the sight
Unaware that we will never
Be able to make wrongs right
Never write our greatest works
And never see God unfurl
A mile long spool of truth
And drag it through the dirt-
A calloused fist raised at us-
Us; Who sprinted hard and ran
The gauntlet with jilted gaits
So that no one won the race
A finish line well never find-
Though the end is in our gaze.
Before us stands a specter:
A reflection and a ghost
Of the sins of past days
With a scratchy, haggard voice-
It sings a coded wall of noise:
A litany of mistakes and missteps
And a wellspring of regrets
That of us, implores:
"Feel you not, the heaving
Of your tired lungs?
The fading away of that
To which you clung?
Breathe- the end has come"
A few million years.
Not enough.
And never might have been.
Welcome to the twilight years-
The culmination Of unfelt fears
The Sprint is over, our world
Will Lilt and down the drain
We can only swirl-
It's already too late.
So look, Ye mighty-
Upon your work-
On your songs and
Your paintings
And your poems
And your porn-
And despair.
The dust will swirl
And the dirt will rise
And a foot, alone, will
Stand above the desert-
A plaque of golden bones,
Beholden to no man's gaze-
A reminder, from dead men
To dead friends-
"This is the only product of our days."
On the way to the temple, we talked about war.
We split our points like the road divided,
but the gravel path we used to take was no more.
Workers had came and where we walked
was asphalt, a pavement, freshly burnt into place.
We talked about history, discussing the names
of operations like Surgeon, Deliverance,
or Salaam; and we played with the limbs
of branches as swords. But when we crossed
the street, we held hands, noted the dead
dog by the side. It was unusual, but, like all things,
we rationalized the death as an accident,
maybe an inevitable casualty of the storm
yesterday, when rain pelted the earth,
and lightning bombarded the trees near the city
we lived. Yes, we believed the cause was nature.
At the end of the afternoon, we stopped at a hill
and rolled our bodies down, screaming
and laughing for our amusement.
The crossing of the sun, which I had seen
longer than you, painted the world over red.
The shadow of leaves upon the children
made them appear as if they were on fire, and I
now carried you, tired and limp, to the gates
of the temple. As we entered, you declared, “War
is a funny game—we barter blood
for bullion, wager our names for God,
glory, and government. It is never
between good, and the rest of us, and we
sell our lives short for silly things like love,
law, and plots of land. Always, we die
for the wrong reasons.” You fell
asleep as we prayed, and I said nothing.
everything is. life is.
tell me how you are - wait. why does anybody care? why should they?
why are you intruding on other people?
your very presence ruins theirs, makes them less special --
and if only you weren't yourself other people could be themselves more fully,
or could stop feeling sorry and disgusted for you.
at you.
eventually you learn that you don't control others.
some of us learn it early,
some of us learn it late.
but when you don't control everybody you also can't be controlled by them --
and
it is a selfish thing
but selfish things are also good.
i wonder if i will be social,
if i will stop hiding my face like it is a dead, diseased thing,
if i will go out at all,
if i will talk to people, or
if i will hide further.
i wonder who will read this.
i wonder who cares.
all it is is solipcism.
give me your eyeballs,
give them all to me,
and i will give you crap
A/N: I wrote this as a capstone to a game of sorts three years ago. I think it works better without a title during reading, but if i had to title it i would title it 'solipcism', have an entry in the TOC, and then no title on the page.
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Little girl, young dancer, can you teach me
how to waltz, or walk
with only the strength of my toes? Forgive me
if my feet are clumsy. They knock themselves
in every direction, and I’ve had trouble
putting one foot forward. Please,
guide me on a dance
where I would not step on myself.
I want to know your ways
on traveling the earth
like a bird through the night. Show me a song
that spins in a circle; instruct me
on the methods of crawling
using only your arms
so that one day, I may do the same,
when I can’t use these legs anymore.
the more i think about retcons
the more confused i become
fandoms complain about them all the time
and my reaction would always be the same
no writer can take your experiences away
no editor can erase the past that you lived
but i heard a few words
and days of emotion wash away
a relief that cuts to the bone
and leaves no rotten scraps
even if those wounds did hurt
those were my wounds
i felt them
or at least i thought i felt them
for all my noncommittal confidence
somebody just retconned my life
and i am not so sure anymore
Charon oh my captain
I only to row;
One arm wounded, useless-
I only know to row.
I am a rabid dog,
Lame, and toothless-
Charon oh captain my captain
I only know to row
rub that sun into the soil,
toil makes the fertile grow
and though the ground was alabaster,
faster, faster!, went the boughs
and cracking ground and failing warnings
augured morning's blinding sun,
it's done, the ground has metamorphized
into what it was -
a prized meadow with ugly flowers ...
but though they glower,
the clouds are having fun
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Traveling randomly
Stopping sometimes
I find a place,
See a familiar face
I think to myself
"I remember this space!"
Shaking hands
Giving nods
People wave (and)
I begin to fall
Back in the hole I go
The deep ruins of writing
I unearth old demons,
Some I'm still fighting
But that's ok,
because this promotes healing and growth!
Oh how I've missed speaking in prose...
A man can no longer stand alone in history
against the oceans of anonymity-
No one can struggle, mightily,
against the undertow-- and prevail.
One can only close their eyes and relax;
can only give way to the waves of our era
as the salt slowly washes away
the fine, ugly lines of our lives-
the details will become a blur
Our work, our rage, our love, our hurt
will be undone by the historian's pen;
the marrow of our days will be footnotes
amid a textbook's endless slur of words-
One can only close their eyes and inhale-
What worth has a scream
that will only go unheard?
Random gibbering
You might swap some versicles
And keep it intact
A factual fact
With an smell that remind you of oranges
There goes September
In the southern meadows
Where we dress ourselves as witches
To give birth to this title.
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
To hold your hand softly,
To never let go
To say the things I wish I said
A thousand times before
To sit by your bed,
To silently weep
To watch your face closely
While you silently sleep
To slowly accept
To never ask why
To solemnly depart
A final goodbye
My Mafia Stats - My Helpdesk
G Omnath, Locus of Mana U Arcum Dagsson BUG The Mimeoplasm GW Gaddock Teeg X Karn, Silver Golem
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
---------------
We stand atop the mountain-
Bemoaning the thinness of the air
And the brightness of the Sun
Unaware of this great height
And the privilege of the sight
Unaware that we will never
Be able to make wrongs right
Never write our greatest works
And never see God unfurl
A mile long spool of truth
And drag it through the dirt-
A calloused fist raised at us-
Us; Who sprinted hard and ran
The gauntlet with jilted gaits
So that no one won the race
A finish line well never find-
Though the end is in our gaze.
Before us stands a specter:
A reflection and a ghost
Of the sins of past days
With a scratchy, haggard voice-
It sings a coded wall of noise:
A litany of mistakes and missteps
And a wellspring of regrets
That of us, implores:
"Feel you not, the heaving
Of your tired lungs?
The fading away of that
To which you clung?
Breathe- the end has come"
A few million years.
Not enough.
And never might have been.
Welcome to the twilight years-
The culmination Of unfelt fears
The Sprint is over, our world
Will Lilt and down the drain
We can only swirl-
It's already too late.
So look, Ye mighty-
Upon your work-
On your songs and
Your paintings
And your poems
And your porn-
And despair.
The dust will swirl
And the dirt will rise
And a foot, alone, will
Stand above the desert-
A plaque of golden bones,
Beholden to no man's gaze-
A reminder, from dead men
To dead friends-
"This is the only product of our days."
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
On the way to the temple, we talked about war.
We split our points like the road divided,
but the gravel path we used to take was no more.
Workers had came and where we walked
was asphalt, a pavement, freshly burnt into place.
We talked about history, discussing the names
of operations like Surgeon, Deliverance,
or Salaam; and we played with the limbs
of branches as swords. But when we crossed
the street, we held hands, noted the dead
dog by the side. It was unusual, but, like all things,
we rationalized the death as an accident,
maybe an inevitable casualty of the storm
yesterday, when rain pelted the earth,
and lightning bombarded the trees near the city
we lived. Yes, we believed the cause was nature.
At the end of the afternoon, we stopped at a hill
and rolled our bodies down, screaming
and laughing for our amusement.
The crossing of the sun, which I had seen
longer than you, painted the world over red.
The shadow of leaves upon the children
made them appear as if they were on fire, and I
now carried you, tired and limp, to the gates
of the temple. As we entered, you declared, “War
is a funny game—we barter blood
for bullion, wager our names for God,
glory, and government. It is never
between good, and the rest of us, and we
sell our lives short for silly things like love,
law, and plots of land. Always, we die
for the wrong reasons.” You fell
asleep as we prayed, and I said nothing.
tell me how you are - wait. why does anybody care? why should they?
why are you intruding on other people?
your very presence ruins theirs, makes them less special --
and if only you weren't yourself other people could be themselves more fully,
or could stop feeling sorry and disgusted for you.
at you.
eventually you learn that you don't control others.
some of us learn it early,
some of us learn it late.
but when you don't control everybody you also can't be controlled by them --
and
it is a selfish thing
but selfish things are also good.
i wonder if i will be social,
if i will stop hiding my face like it is a dead, diseased thing,
if i will go out at all,
if i will talk to people, or
if i will hide further.
i wonder who will read this.
i wonder who cares.
all it is is solipcism.
give me your eyeballs,
give them all to me,
and i will give you crap
A/N: I wrote this as a capstone to a game of sorts three years ago. I think it works better without a title during reading, but if i had to title it i would title it 'solipcism', have an entry in the TOC, and then no title on the page.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
We've seen all the stops
on our eighteen thrusters
just me and my dog
a little dachshund named "Buster"
We've hauled to Ganymede
and circumnavigated Magellanic clouds
but nothing makes me feel quite so good
as my little buddy's growls
We've wooed green floozies
and been in a space bar-fight
but me and my buddy
we always get through alright
Yeah, me and Buster
We're truckin' through space
in the cab of my truck
there ain't a better place
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
Little girl, young dancer, can you teach me
how to waltz, or walk
with only the strength of my toes? Forgive me
if my feet are clumsy. They knock themselves
in every direction, and I’ve had trouble
putting one foot forward. Please,
guide me on a dance
where I would not step on myself.
I want to know your ways
on traveling the earth
like a bird through the night. Show me a song
that spins in a circle; instruct me
on the methods of crawling
using only your arms
so that one day, I may do the same,
when I can’t use these legs anymore.
the more confused i become
fandoms complain about them all the time
and my reaction would always be the same
no writer can take your experiences away
no editor can erase the past that you lived
but i heard a few words
and days of emotion wash away
a relief that cuts to the bone
and leaves no rotten scraps
even if those wounds did hurt
those were my wounds
i felt them
or at least i thought i felt them
for all my noncommittal confidence
somebody just retconned my life
and i am not so sure anymore
Seven million.
"In or out?"
For what? The copper
Ran out seventy years
Ago and the citrus
Doesn't like drought
"In or out?"
"You're wasting A/C"
Seven million.
The people came
Looking for something;
And the kids leave
Looking for something;
And the sun sets
And the winters are mild
And the summer wants
You dead and so does
The sheriff and the voice
At the back of your skull-
The one that has studied you-
Hand picked to write your
Biography, so he knows you-
And he regrets it. He's seen
What you've done and he nods
In agreement when you sink
your head and slur
"God damnit,
"I'm ****ed up ain't I?"
And you both think the same thing.
You both hope it's true- that you are
A remarkably awful specimen,
The apex ********,
The pinnacle of wasted space-
Because the alternative?
That everyone out there
Could be just as bad-
Well,
We've got weak stomachs
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
Charon oh my captain
I only to row;
One arm wounded, useless-
I only know to row.
I am a rabid dog,
Lame, and toothless-
Charon oh captain my captain
I only know to row
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
rub that sun into the soil,
toil makes the fertile grow
and though the ground was alabaster,
faster, faster!, went the boughs
and cracking ground and failing warnings
augured morning's blinding sun,
it's done, the ground has metamorphized
into what it was -
a prized meadow with ugly flowers ...
but though they glower,
the clouds are having fun
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Traveling randomly
Stopping sometimes
I find a place,
See a familiar face
I think to myself
"I remember this space!"
Shaking hands
Giving nods
People wave (and)
I begin to fall
Back in the hole I go
The deep ruins of writing
I unearth old demons,
Some I'm still fighting
But that's ok,
because this promotes healing and growth!
Oh how I've missed speaking in prose...
like pen pencil computer
sometimes prolific
sometimes a neuter
A man can no longer stand alone in history
against the oceans of anonymity-
No one can struggle, mightily,
against the undertow-- and prevail.
One can only close their eyes and relax;
can only give way to the waves of our era
as the salt slowly washes away
the fine, ugly lines of our lives-
the details will become a blur
Our work, our rage, our love, our hurt
will be undone by the historian's pen;
the marrow of our days will be footnotes
amid a textbook's endless slur of words-
One can only close their eyes and inhale-
What worth has a scream
that will only go unheard?
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
Random gibbering
You might swap some versicles
And keep it intact
A factual fact
With an smell that remind you of oranges
There goes September
In the southern meadows
Where we dress ourselves as witches
To give birth to this title.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
I am the anger in your heart
I am the thunder in your veins
I am the rage that tears apart
I am the carnage of the flame
I am the whispers in the dark
I am the fear you can't explain
I am the scar, the taboo mark
I am the voice of the insane
I am the shadow of your past
I am the doubts that you're to blame
I am the murmurs through the glass
I am the thought that brings you pain
Perish, insect; soon you shall know
Injustice is the demon's creed
Those high will soon be brought down low
Pain is truth; now all shall bleed
I was out at the bar,
Just drinking my Sprite;
The music was swinging,
It was a really fine night.
The DJ was playing
His best tunes for the crowd;
While the people were dancing
Very boldly and loud.
I finished off my drink,
And tipped back my head;
I had had my fill,
And was ready for bed.
It was then that I noticed,
Not very far;
There sat a really nice woman
At the end of the bar.
I looked at her,
And she looked at me;
And I’m telling you, folks,
There was a lot to see.
She had long golden hair,
And eyes a bright green;
She was the best-looking woman
Who I ever had seen.
She wore tight-fitting pants
And a plaid mini-skirt;
She had multi-colored stripes
Along the length of her shirt.
Her posture was sexy,
And her swagger was suave;
And the drink in her hand
Was a lovely shade of mauve.
It was then that she sauntered
To the place where I sat;
I smiled at her,
And I tipped her my hat.
She drew very close,
And I began to fidget;
Then she said very sweetly:
“My name is Bridget.”
I held out my hand,
And asked her out to the floor;
But she gave me a glance
That said she wanted something more.
She led me along
To a room in the back;
With checkerboard wallpaper
Of red, blue, and black.
She wrapped me in her arms,
And pushed me back into the wall;
My knees started shaking,
And I thought that I would fall.
I just couldn’t hold back,
I was feeling so hot;
I pulled her in close,
And kissed her on the spot.
I unbuttoned my shirt,
And she did the same;
We quickly disrobed,
It was anything but tame.
As we were getting ready
To tuck in for the night,
I suddenly felt
That something wasn’t quite right.
I prepared myself
To do the horizontal dance;
And it was at that moment
That Bridget dropped her pants.
That night, fellas,
I had a surprise;
My mouth fell open,
I could not believe my eyes.
I was really quite baffled
By the shape and the size;
Bridget was no woman,
But a man in disguise!
That is my story, friends,
And you have to believe;
That no matter what you think,
Their looks can deceive.
So forgive me, ladies,
If I seem to be frigid;
But I am haunted by my memory
Of a man named Bridget!
“When the people fear the government, there is tyranny; when the government fears the people, there is liberty.”-Thomas Jefferson
“A vote is like a rifle; its usefulness depends upon the character of its user.”-Theodore Roosevelt
“Patriotism means to stand by one's country; it does not mean to stand by one's president.”-Theodore Roosevelt
A lot of soulless smiles,
empty hearts in cheshire cats.
Krokodil rescind the pupils; rock opera I feed my head to bats.
For who am I, but the sultan.
The horseradish emulsion. I antiquate
my outer space devotion on the horns of emotion.
Tauri. Daemon.
If there's beauty in the smile, seldom must I know it.
Stoic inside to happiness, to be Put in hell, I may know it.
It feels like a day less than a century
When I last called your name
I blew the dust off my memories
To see they hadn’t changed
I could close my eyes this very minute
And visualize your visage
Although it’s been a lifetime
The image looks so vivid
And in the back of my mind
Your touch it still remains
Along with the sound of your voice
The thoughts will not decay
Your absence seems endless
All I have left are memories of senses
It’s senseless
My Mafia Stats - My Helpdesk
G Omnath, Locus of Mana U Arcum Dagsson BUG The Mimeoplasm GW Gaddock Teeg X Karn, Silver Golem
My Mafia Stats - My Helpdesk
G Omnath, Locus of Mana U Arcum Dagsson BUG The Mimeoplasm GW Gaddock Teeg X Karn, Silver Golem