Losing Life

Sitting in filth.
Clenched fists, pounding head.
No desires but for anything.
Lingering memories of smiles.
Not knowing which moods rule.
Starving soul, bleeding.
A mental cancer, spiritual ulcer;
Wondering why I won't beg.
Angry rage said, 'Oh well.'
Like shrugging off hell.
Like losing my teeth;
Biting off nothing in life.

Gray on gray, just there.
Butt after butt, snubbed out.
A building never constructed.
Just wind torn and fading.
Emotions might cry.
From end to end a desert.
Cold bones, flaking flesh;
A shell lying naked fiddles.
And twiddling life away.
There isn't life anyway.
Like losing my teeth.
Biting off nothing in life.

Knowledge useless and wasted;
A plastering of God faded.
Transparent walls like glass.
A sunset without a sky,
Without absolute reason;
There are no ends.
And there's nothing to offer.
Can't break walls with wishes.
Stagnant skills mush.
Mindless can not learn.
Like losing my teeth.
Biting off nothing in life.

The United States

"In a nation ruled by swine, all pigs are upward-mobile— and the rest of us are fucked until we can put our acts together: not necessarily to win, but mainly to keep from losing completely. We owe that to ourselves and our crippled self-image as something better than a nation of panicked sheep."

Hunter S. Thompson (b. 1939), U.S. journalist. The Great Shark Hunt, "Jacket Copy for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" (1979).

Promiscuity

"Be not too liberal; it doth belong
To dogs alone to fuck the whole day long."

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900), German philosopher.
"Timon Says," in Maxims 1882–1885 (published in The Genealogy of Morals, 1899).

Fantasy

"A partner evoked by sophisticated electric brain stimulation could be as real and much more satisfying than the boy or girl next door. . . . All the stars in Hollywood living or dead are there for your pleasure. Sated with superstars, you can lay Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, Isis, Madame Pompadour, or Aphrodite. You can get fucked by Pan, Jesus Christ, Apollo or the Devil himself."

William Burroughs (b. 1914), U.S. author. The Adding Machine, "Civilian Defense" (1985).

Tsk Tsk

Was that pride I heard?
More than a humble word?
Not of self-sacrifice,
But hard as ice.

Lazarus

Lukewarm incredulity strangling lax faiths,
Violence pervading with longing zeal.
Prostate before one's own bewilderment,
Eyes hazing over with regret's blindfold.

Changing places with yourself, solo.
Disbelief motivates all those ignorances.
Plaintively choosing to overlook the obvious,
All the short-comings in the world.

But life doesn't allow for self-opposition.
To reach the summit of oneself,
You must see, you mustn't dirge yourself.
The blood rage of the Taurean, red soaked.

Claim the rights given to you in the beginning.
Turn to the rising sun and care not the pain,
Seeing the truth hurts, it can even blind.
But you will always after see with clarity.

Simply Nothing

Troubled dreams of pensive rebound and jilted loving.
Dominion over fruitless lands of arid compassion.
Bellowed screams of pain erupting turbulently, inhumanly.
Intangible reality is fleeting yet striking of heart.
Awareness of truth, awareness of lies, of nothing.
What the mind does is sickening.
When in the end we are nothing in the first place.
Without and with us all the while.
Simply nothing.

Unspeakable

Something wholly expressed just so simple as a bird's shrill note,
Lingering delicately within the song of life's grace, hope.
Verbose sensations stuttering over and over working on words,
And bearing down upon the soul a merged union highlighted.
Following seasons and feeling heaven,
Praying for wisdom, and living in love.
Drumming a heart's beat, pounding a hastened rhythm,
And dancing toe to toe, cheek to cheek with glee.

The Golden Rule (of Thumb)

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

Why can't that morally mean that I can treat others the way they treat me? Even when they suck?

Years

Channels of time running down my face, like dried riverbeds.
Elusive tears, vaporous, no longer tangent, no longer seen.
A pulse grown strong from trial and worn emotions.
Carried like a parasite, or some hitchhiker, the unknown.
Always attendant, never contributing, nothing but nothing.
Cold fear, rage, unconscious wanting... you.
Today and yesterday, a nameless vagabond, taunted by my tears,
And tomorrow, not caring the sourness or taste of life in any regard.
Maybe the hand that reaches out isn't there, or is something else.
True reality, understanding, perception of wisdom, to know what one is,
And what is about one, there are answers deep within those channels.
Despite the dry tears of fears and anguish, never loved,
They will well up again and flood my soul with God's love.

It Is Mine

Holy men praising and blessing,
Freedom of will, being careful,
Awareness on fire, isolating,
And watchfully pensive.

Blinking the crust of frustration,
Away, out from my swollen eyes.
Prayer rumbles along my thoughts,
And I am awakened today.

Proper diligence of spirit and love,
Gathering myself up into speculation,
Where I can see myself.
And there I was, me.

Fear flowing, a torrent from my core.
Trembling and shaking, volatile.
Closed eyes, breathing, calming,
I am free from my fear,
Because it is mine.

I cry

Left begging, as always, tread upon,
Arms raised pleading for answers,
Pushed down under the heap of refuse,
Gaining strength in spurts.
Forced to the edge of the cliff,
Struggling to crab hold of the hands that push,
Fearing the fall looming up from behind,
And trying to shove back with confidence of purpose.
I am not below nor am I above,
I am not you and you are not me,
I am not afraid, and I am not brave,
I am in pain, yet I am driven to overcome.
I cry.

Don't Look Now, O_o

Truth within my heart, featherweight,
Unknown anxieties jumbling frustration,
And closed minds jabbing their spears.
It doesn't even matter, why isn't there.
Sly grin creeps feloniously like a thief,
Slinking along the spine of truth.
Bent draws tingle and tantalize,
Like a sprung pillow-fight trap.
If truth be known, truth is shown,
The end will never be unless you fight till the.

1 Corinthians Chapter 13

1 If I speak in human and angelic tongues but do not have love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal.

2 And if I have the gift of prophecy and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge; if I have all faith so as to move mountains but do not have love, I am nothing.

3 If I give away everything I own, and if I hand my body over so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing.

4 Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, (love) is not pompous, it is not inflated,

5 it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury,

6 it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth.

7 It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

8 Love never fails. If there are prophecies, they will be brought to nothing; if tongues, they will cease; if knowledge, it will be brought to nothing.

9 For we know partially and we prophesy partially,

10 but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away.

11 When I was a child, I used to talk as a child, think as a child, reason as a child; when I became a man, I put aside childish things.

12 At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face. At present I know partially; then I shall know fully, as I am fully known.

13 So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

Grow Up

Stretching concern of age,
Tumbling over meadow fences,
Dance on silence's stage,
Teasing life's silly senses.

Jelly minds spiced of ginger,
Hello gracious host of winter,
Missing you to always linger,
And happiness never splinter.

Unforeseeable

Is life. Live with it. Get used to it. And learn from it. Just keep climbing until you are soaring above it all. When you don't fall it's because you are flying. So don't be afraid. And if it helps at all, we are all in the same boat. If we could just stop being so self-conscious and be more social-conscious, meaning awareness of the common truths rather than believing we are all suffering in our own little hells, then maybe we could start to learn to evolve as a society. But then, that's the future. And no one can know what that holds, so stop trying to guess and just... Live.

Existential Symmetry

Like a peripheral feeling not meant to be felt so much as to feel you. Almost like the breath instead of what you breathe. I can't explain it. It's just nothing like anything I've ever felt. Like the snake eating it's own tail, the two points of a circle reaching it's only meaningful state whether in a simple circle or any combinational mobius. All I know is that it is right. Without ever being close to perfection, there is simply nothing imperfect about it. It is the moon in the night sky and the rising sun waking the flowers and the world. It is the turning of the Earth and the planets and the blinking of the stars, the bicycle wheels of God, perpetually spinning. It is wonderful, and it is mine.