Lazy fat Americans
Like eatin' Chicken
From the deep fryer
In the kitchen
Lazy fat Americans
Like wastin' resources
From the Mother Earth
In the courses
Of makin' Plastics
To mold a model God
For the ignorant
To put on their dashboards
Of their gas guzzler
Lazy fat Americans
Like pourin' drain-o
Down their cake hole
So they can stay home
And spits the kids out
For a dollar from the guvment
Who doesn't give a shit
Lazy fat Americans
Expect a free ride
From their neighbor
While they take a leak
On their brother
In the sewer
Of the city
Void of caring
Sick of pity
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Phishin' Dylan Hey Diddle Diddle
I hate this place, it makes me spit
I'm straws away from throwing a fit
The camel's back super saturated
Another crystal aggravated
Killing spree of insurance men who go
To the darkness of desolation row
The acronyms that lingo death
Manic triggers on crystal meth
Shoot the bullets in the air
Camel snot and tufts of hair
Drooling blood in urine pools
Clowns and princes name the fools
The happy bouncing manic nut
A huge corpulent smelly butt
The kick in the pants
A tug on the groin
A hand held out for a begging coin
A terrible swift sword does fly
The coming of the Lord you cry
Agonizing in a hail of lead
If you only could have kept your head
Melting wax and feathers brown
Slumping to the moistened ground
You last breath breathes a dying gasp
But there is no one left for you to ask
I'm straws away from throwing a fit
The camel's back super saturated
Another crystal aggravated
Killing spree of insurance men who go
To the darkness of desolation row
The acronyms that lingo death
Manic triggers on crystal meth
Shoot the bullets in the air
Camel snot and tufts of hair
Drooling blood in urine pools
Clowns and princes name the fools
The happy bouncing manic nut
A huge corpulent smelly butt
The kick in the pants
A tug on the groin
A hand held out for a begging coin
A terrible swift sword does fly
The coming of the Lord you cry
Agonizing in a hail of lead
If you only could have kept your head
Melting wax and feathers brown
Slumping to the moistened ground
You last breath breathes a dying gasp
But there is no one left for you to ask
Carrion
Pickin' at Dead Flesh
and Poking at Eyeballs
Ssearching the Highways
For Roadkills and Last Calls
Isn't it nice to be free
Isn't it nice to be me
Anything you want to be
As long as you Pay the Fee
Licking the Garbage
For Something to Eat
A Happy Meal Box
To strap on your feet
A long piece of plastic
A shelter for sleep
A ballot for the ballpark
You can't even read
Isn't it nice to be free
I'm glad it's not me
There's no where I want to be
Where someone else pays the Fee
Club ties and caviar
Champagne and Kittens
Are you surprised you were just killed
For your mittens
Living the life of a Czar
Bullets riddled through your car
Nobody care who you are
Isn't it nice to be free
Isn't it great to see
Justice for avarice and greed
and a place for the vultures to feed
and Poking at Eyeballs
Ssearching the Highways
For Roadkills and Last Calls
Isn't it nice to be free
Isn't it nice to be me
Anything you want to be
As long as you Pay the Fee
Licking the Garbage
For Something to Eat
A Happy Meal Box
To strap on your feet
A long piece of plastic
A shelter for sleep
A ballot for the ballpark
You can't even read
Isn't it nice to be free
I'm glad it's not me
There's no where I want to be
Where someone else pays the Fee
Club ties and caviar
Champagne and Kittens
Are you surprised you were just killed
For your mittens
Living the life of a Czar
Bullets riddled through your car
Nobody care who you are
Isn't it nice to be free
Isn't it great to see
Justice for avarice and greed
and a place for the vultures to feed
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Lull A Bye
That billion dollars isn't going to drop out of the sky.
All you have is that electrical pain shooting up the back of your skull.
No miraculous omnipotence will manifest in you.
The festering decay in your jaw will eventually spur a stroke that annihilates all thought.
You will not discover
You will not invent
You can not hide
You can not obliterate every foe
You are not the champion
You are not the conquering hero
You are not the next big thing
Fanfuckingtastic! What are you trying to tell yourself? Or are you trying to tell somebody else? Who? Who the flying fuck is listening?
You're overcome with weakness and fear and dread and hate and intolerance and impatience.
Who is in control?
What happened to the "inner I" riding peacefully on?
You can't even be pathetic.
Close your eyes, let the horrors of who you are not torture you to sleep.
All you have is that electrical pain shooting up the back of your skull.
No miraculous omnipotence will manifest in you.
The festering decay in your jaw will eventually spur a stroke that annihilates all thought.
You will not discover
You will not invent
You can not hide
You can not obliterate every foe
You are not the champion
You are not the conquering hero
You are not the next big thing
Fanfuckingtastic! What are you trying to tell yourself? Or are you trying to tell somebody else? Who? Who the flying fuck is listening?
You're overcome with weakness and fear and dread and hate and intolerance and impatience.
Who is in control?
What happened to the "inner I" riding peacefully on?
You can't even be pathetic.
Close your eyes, let the horrors of who you are not torture you to sleep.
Just give me the hole
The spaces between the empty spaces are filled with what is really nothing of meaning where something lies in those empty spaces if you let it.
That way it is the nothing that is said that you should hear, the nothing that is written that you should read, the nothing that is thought that is profound.
That way it is the nothing that is said that you should hear, the nothing that is written that you should read, the nothing that is thought that is profound.
Drama
As you dissociate and drift off
Watching your Self play the roles
You create
To fit in the seat of the theatre
Packed with fools all watching
A different Play
Of Thalia and Melpomene you muse
You fit in neither
and both
Are seen by the crowd there
Around as you exist in their time
and Spaces
Between you and your Self
as you view the pitiful animal trapped
in the Audience
Watching the actors
Watch You
watching them watch you
Create
Watching your Self play the roles
You create
To fit in the seat of the theatre
Packed with fools all watching
A different Play
Of Thalia and Melpomene you muse
You fit in neither
and both
Are seen by the crowd there
Around as you exist in their time
and Spaces
Between you and your Self
as you view the pitiful animal trapped
in the Audience
Watching the actors
Watch You
watching them watch you
Create
Potent Emesis
Someday I will laugh at my Self was the thought I lost in my striving to keep a thought that was not programmed by my need to hide behind thinking.
What is hidden but just emptiness filling a pure vessel with a luxurious peace.
There is a form, an art, an expression longing to be realized within this emptiness. I can feel it almost projecting out my throat like a potent emesis that will save me.
All these notions I have been fed block the release, hinder the ignition of personal realism.
I will gladly turn myself inside out and float in my own excrement if it means I can just get it out of my way.
Turn off and do.
Turn off and be.
Turn off and see.
Turn off and feel.
Turn off and ...
What is hidden but just emptiness filling a pure vessel with a luxurious peace.
There is a form, an art, an expression longing to be realized within this emptiness. I can feel it almost projecting out my throat like a potent emesis that will save me.
All these notions I have been fed block the release, hinder the ignition of personal realism.
I will gladly turn myself inside out and float in my own excrement if it means I can just get it out of my way.
Turn off and do.
Turn off and be.
Turn off and see.
Turn off and feel.
Turn off and ...
Northwoods excursion 1985
The odor of decay from the forest of life; an epiphany of the cycle of death.
Stopped in my tracks on a useless journey into the mind of an empty soul.
The simplicity of nature revealed; not in her perfection, but in her banal essence.
The constance of energy acknowledged.
Joy and loathing simultaneously erupt and subside.
A mushroom sprouts, a eye see it.
Infinite thoughts scatter in a vacuum.
Everything is touched, nothing is felt.
A rip in the fabric, a glimpse of time.
Ineffable understanding.
No one listens to what they cannot hear.
Stopped in my tracks on a useless journey into the mind of an empty soul.
The simplicity of nature revealed; not in her perfection, but in her banal essence.
The constance of energy acknowledged.
Joy and loathing simultaneously erupt and subside.
A mushroom sprouts, a eye see it.
Infinite thoughts scatter in a vacuum.
Everything is touched, nothing is felt.
A rip in the fabric, a glimpse of time.
Ineffable understanding.
No one listens to what they cannot hear.
Vision of Cortex
Two eyes alone on a dark palette without a face
or head
or hair
staring nowhere
but piercing my stoic soul
divulging a weakness
I cannot see
Defenses flurry to heal the wound
to patch the chink.
No scab.
No scar.
A sliver remains
unnoticeable.
Undeniable.
or head
or hair
staring nowhere
but piercing my stoic soul
divulging a weakness
I cannot see
Defenses flurry to heal the wound
to patch the chink.
No scab.
No scar.
A sliver remains
unnoticeable.
Undeniable.
How many milliseconds to "Now"
It is never dark.
It is never silent.
There is always some assailant bombarding the peace.
Constant motion wards off the pressure.
Eventually I am overcome.
I am washed away.
I am emptied for an instant
pure for a moment
a fleeting freedom
an unpolluted absolute nothing;
and then the blink is over.
It is never silent.
There is always some assailant bombarding the peace.
Constant motion wards off the pressure.
Eventually I am overcome.
I am washed away.
I am emptied for an instant
pure for a moment
a fleeting freedom
an unpolluted absolute nothing;
and then the blink is over.
A Break in the Synapses of Purity
I miss my muses of Love.
I miss my muses of Perfection.
I miss my muses of Beauty.
Gone is the impetus to fill my mind with color.
A pall of black and white reality veils my longing.
I would gladly take a laugh.
I would gladly take a tear.
I miss my muses of Perfection.
I miss my muses of Beauty.
Gone is the impetus to fill my mind with color.
A pall of black and white reality veils my longing.
I would gladly take a laugh.
I would gladly take a tear.
Oh! The spinning incoherence of thoughts that evade some truth, trying to tell me, or you, or some judge of all things something: something about me, or my condition, or us, or our condition, or...nothing.
Some stream of emptiness tumbling over cataracts of abandonment washes over my selfish mind. Why has the perfect friend left to find their own course? I am flustered, flapping in the jet of time; losing my grip I will I will howl to an end without a sound, without a mark left to behold.
Laziness, contempt, intolerance; excuses.
I'm lonely. I yearn for stimulation, for purpose, for control, for freedom, for independence, for contentment. The joy of the search itself lost, gone the way of futility, meaninglessness, and the jading of age. Lost is the youthful exploration, now nothing rings anew.
A bland, fat, old man shuffles by my mirror, looks back and shakes his head. Tired eyes, empty and unfulfilled hint of fear and wasted opportunity.
You can escape if you have nowhere to go.
There is nothing to prove. There is no approval needed. Then why do my dreams put me at the forefront? What creates the desire to be sought out? I have no expertise. I have no song to sing. I have no story to tell. I have no poem to write. I have no vision to prophesize.
I have it all.
Some stream of emptiness tumbling over cataracts of abandonment washes over my selfish mind. Why has the perfect friend left to find their own course? I am flustered, flapping in the jet of time; losing my grip I will I will howl to an end without a sound, without a mark left to behold.
Laziness, contempt, intolerance; excuses.
I'm lonely. I yearn for stimulation, for purpose, for control, for freedom, for independence, for contentment. The joy of the search itself lost, gone the way of futility, meaninglessness, and the jading of age. Lost is the youthful exploration, now nothing rings anew.
A bland, fat, old man shuffles by my mirror, looks back and shakes his head. Tired eyes, empty and unfulfilled hint of fear and wasted opportunity.
You can escape if you have nowhere to go.
There is nothing to prove. There is no approval needed. Then why do my dreams put me at the forefront? What creates the desire to be sought out? I have no expertise. I have no song to sing. I have no story to tell. I have no poem to write. I have no vision to prophesize.
I have it all.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)