I’ve a father like a broken record
A dusty vinyl to a needle
He keeps repeating himself on and on again
As he gets old and it gets old.
I’ve a mother who I can’t really say
I know well enough to love
But I love her more than I love my dad
Who I know even less.
I’ve a brother who I wanted to be
For reasons I never knew
But I grew older and more cynical
And he grew more human every time I saw him.
I've friends who I know I don't deserve
But who don't know who I am
Because I'm different around each of them
And they're all different around me.
I’ve a mind that’s warmer than it seems
And cloudy as an autumn day
As the wind blows I grow colder
And catch people unawares.
And this mind of mine asks questions
To which no answers can be found,
But the funny thing is, it seems to me
I never ask questions about myself.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Mother
The sun and earth waltz round and round
The size of earth goes down and down
Until our mother, breathing hard,
Is flatter than a playing card,
With the sun still going round and round.
In the darkest night where horrors lie
We dream of what it is to die
And what it’s like to fall and fall –
Our mother can’t be seen at all
To whisper to us soothing lies.
But where are we falling if not to Earth
For Hell is not our place of birth
And our father lost in paradise
From where we are is cold as ice
So who will catch us if not the Earth?
The size of earth goes down and down
Until our mother, breathing hard,
Is flatter than a playing card,
With the sun still going round and round.
In the darkest night where horrors lie
We dream of what it is to die
And what it’s like to fall and fall –
Our mother can’t be seen at all
To whisper to us soothing lies.
But where are we falling if not to Earth
For Hell is not our place of birth
And our father lost in paradise
From where we are is cold as ice
So who will catch us if not the Earth?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
All Men are the Same
Dead men tell no tales they say;
They’re silent as the grave.
But it's the funeral bells in the depths of hell
That drown their voices with each beck and knell.
It’s said that no man listens well
They’d rather tell than hear a spell
But one man would listen and he’d heard it all:
He heard the voices on the wind in the fall.
They came from far to come and call
The hale would walk and the butchered crawled
They came and went to beg for aid
From a man too kind to turn his heart away.
He helped thousands but they did not fade
Their voices shook him night and day
But he saw within them men in need -
Their sorrow unending ‘til their souls were freed.
He closed his eyes and in his dreams
He heard their pain and saw their screams
They could not rest and they could not sleep -
Until his quest was over, nor could he.
The voices rose to a cacophony
And he found HIMSELF yearning to be free
Free from the spirits who like a spider’s thread
Trapped him, enslaved him, in their stead.
They would find him later in his bed
A message written could be read:
“They would not rest until I bled,”
“All men are the same,” it said,
Even when they’re dead.”
They’re silent as the grave.
But it's the funeral bells in the depths of hell
That drown their voices with each beck and knell.
It’s said that no man listens well
They’d rather tell than hear a spell
But one man would listen and he’d heard it all:
He heard the voices on the wind in the fall.
They came from far to come and call
The hale would walk and the butchered crawled
They came and went to beg for aid
From a man too kind to turn his heart away.
He helped thousands but they did not fade
Their voices shook him night and day
But he saw within them men in need -
Their sorrow unending ‘til their souls were freed.
He closed his eyes and in his dreams
He heard their pain and saw their screams
They could not rest and they could not sleep -
Until his quest was over, nor could he.
The voices rose to a cacophony
And he found HIMSELF yearning to be free
Free from the spirits who like a spider’s thread
Trapped him, enslaved him, in their stead.
They would find him later in his bed
A message written could be read:
“They would not rest until I bled,”
“All men are the same,” it said,
Even when they’re dead.”
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Apples to Oranges
They cut the grove -
My garden of Gethsemane
where I planted my apple trees,
And watched them grow.
I can still see them reaching out
From severed stumps;
They strain then slump.
Like hands - their trunks, fingers – their sprouts.
I watched them die,
Wither like flowers and decay;
Bursting in the heat of the day -
the apples of my eye.
An eye for an eye
Leaves the whole world blind
and so I was told,
To grow oranges next time.
My garden of Gethsemane
where I planted my apple trees,
And watched them grow.
I can still see them reaching out
From severed stumps;
They strain then slump.
Like hands - their trunks, fingers – their sprouts.
I watched them die,
Wither like flowers and decay;
Bursting in the heat of the day -
the apples of my eye.
An eye for an eye
Leaves the whole world blind
and so I was told,
To grow oranges next time.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Erosion Poem (Take Two)
They spoke of a split near the end of a road
With two distinct paths to where no men dare go:
There’s one bathed in shadows while the other drinks light
One cursed by the sun while the other by night.
They say one holds nothing while the other holds all
One road to the void and one road to the sprawl.
They say one is blinding, but the other one blinds -
These roads I desired and swore I must find.
I encountered a stone when my quest first began
Worn smooth by the ages in an unchanging land –
Where the sun scorched the earth with its infinite faces,
And the moon stood alone over those cold desert places.
With the sand long behind me I came to a dale
Cut deep from an ancient and mountainous veil
By men I first thought, but I soon saw the truth:
‘Twas carved by the rivers of the Fountain of Youth.
And I found that these rivers led to a shore
Where once there was life but now lives no more
For the land had long fallen away to the sea
And the sea was left barren by unforgiving debris.
I thought of the stone that was once jagged now smoothed
And I thought of the valley whose life had been soothed
By the rivers that fed into a dead sea
And thought how complex the simple could be.
But at long last I came to stand at the path,
That diverged and became the first and the last,
They’re said to be opposites, but differed in none -
The division: eroded, and two roads became one.
it's still rough, but i may decide not to edit it simply because editing shit usually goes downhill for me.
With two distinct paths to where no men dare go:
There’s one bathed in shadows while the other drinks light
One cursed by the sun while the other by night.
They say one holds nothing while the other holds all
One road to the void and one road to the sprawl.
They say one is blinding, but the other one blinds -
These roads I desired and swore I must find.
I encountered a stone when my quest first began
Worn smooth by the ages in an unchanging land –
Where the sun scorched the earth with its infinite faces,
And the moon stood alone over those cold desert places.
With the sand long behind me I came to a dale
Cut deep from an ancient and mountainous veil
By men I first thought, but I soon saw the truth:
‘Twas carved by the rivers of the Fountain of Youth.
And I found that these rivers led to a shore
Where once there was life but now lives no more
For the land had long fallen away to the sea
And the sea was left barren by unforgiving debris.
I thought of the stone that was once jagged now smoothed
And I thought of the valley whose life had been soothed
By the rivers that fed into a dead sea
And thought how complex the simple could be.
But at long last I came to stand at the path,
That diverged and became the first and the last,
They’re said to be opposites, but differed in none -
The division: eroded, and two roads became one.
it's still rough, but i may decide not to edit it simply because editing shit usually goes downhill for me.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Erosion Poem (Take One)
Endless shifting sands of night,
The sky unmarred
By the intrusion of stars,
Mirroring the still-life
And forever-dead,
Of the world beneath.
The wind is biting and dry;
A bitter cold that cuts anew,
But subtly as not to numb
And not too quickly kill.
A sand-blasted rock stands,
Worn smooth to the touch,
A queer venture into the world
By something a great deal more complex,
And a great deal more simple.
Give it the ages gone by and it too like the sky,
Shall return to a nothingness unmarred,
By the intrusion of the stars.
The sky unmarred
By the intrusion of stars,
Mirroring the still-life
And forever-dead,
Of the world beneath.
The wind is biting and dry;
A bitter cold that cuts anew,
But subtly as not to numb
And not too quickly kill.
A sand-blasted rock stands,
Worn smooth to the touch,
A queer venture into the world
By something a great deal more complex,
And a great deal more simple.
Give it the ages gone by and it too like the sky,
Shall return to a nothingness unmarred,
By the intrusion of the stars.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The Invisible Man
He sees nothing he should not see
And thinks nothing he should not think
And is nothing he should not be.
He’s trivial in every way
The layman’s layman’s everyman;
The face forgotten every day.
And this man is queer for you will find
He’s both invisible and blind.
And thinks nothing he should not think
And is nothing he should not be.
He’s trivial in every way
The layman’s layman’s everyman;
The face forgotten every day.
And this man is queer for you will find
He’s both invisible and blind.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Literal-Minded
Lo! In the sky you see the bear
And sisters Zorya in perpetual fear,
Or a menagerie from old and far
But as for me I just see stars.
Look at the inkblots upon the page,
Is it a wineglass or is it a sage?
Do you see memories of your past?
For I just see a black-white contrast.
And the seasons who are ever long,
Do you see them or Demeter’s mournful song?
For all I see is rain and snow
And sometimes Apollo’s golden glow.
And sisters Zorya in perpetual fear,
Or a menagerie from old and far
But as for me I just see stars.
Look at the inkblots upon the page,
Is it a wineglass or is it a sage?
Do you see memories of your past?
For I just see a black-white contrast.
And the seasons who are ever long,
Do you see them or Demeter’s mournful song?
For all I see is rain and snow
And sometimes Apollo’s golden glow.
Friday, July 10, 2009
How It's Made
Imagine I wrote a piece of prose
And not knowing how it would go
Sliced everything-
The sentences apart
Just for the sake of flow.
Imagine I then took that prose
And innocently enough at first
Switched the wording
To be less direct
And placed it into verse.
Then imagine I called it a poem
And I was as proud as I could be
To have been for once a poet
And to have created poetry.
And not knowing how it would go
Sliced everything-
The sentences apart
Just for the sake of flow.
Imagine I then took that prose
And innocently enough at first
Switched the wording
To be less direct
And placed it into verse.
Then imagine I called it a poem
And I was as proud as I could be
To have been for once a poet
And to have created poetry.
The Land of the Free
They asked what was America
And what it means to be an American
And fed up with history and philosophy
I told them I had no idea, nobody did
And so they asked me then are you proud
Proud to be an American?
And I told them my parents were Chinese
And so am I it appears,
The son of unromantic immigrants,
And no one calls me American
But I’m called Chinese a lot.
And they said You’ve got to be an American
You were born here right?
And I told them, no longer fed up
With history and philosophy
What they already knew
That America was a land of immigrants
And that while people see me and say “Chinese”
And see Jews and say “Jew”
No one looks at the German-Irish-British-Scandinavian-Italian-Pole
As anything but American,
But hell
The blacks are still called Blacks
And African-American.
American simply means
That’s where you were born
Or that’s where you’re living.
American doesn’t mean who you are.
So I’m proud to be an American I guess
Or I’m proud to be where I’m living in America
Where the housing rates are steady
And the people are good
But I’m not proud of who I am
And no one should be
Because who you are is made by other people.
And the people who asked me about America
Gave me a funny look
And all walked away
But the last thing they said was
“Fuckin’ chinks don’t know what it means to be patriotic”
And I guess they were right.
And what it means to be an American
And fed up with history and philosophy
I told them I had no idea, nobody did
And so they asked me then are you proud
Proud to be an American?
And I told them my parents were Chinese
And so am I it appears,
The son of unromantic immigrants,
And no one calls me American
But I’m called Chinese a lot.
And they said You’ve got to be an American
You were born here right?
And I told them, no longer fed up
With history and philosophy
What they already knew
That America was a land of immigrants
And that while people see me and say “Chinese”
And see Jews and say “Jew”
No one looks at the German-Irish-British-Scandinavian-Italian-Pole
As anything but American,
But hell
The blacks are still called Blacks
And African-American.
American simply means
That’s where you were born
Or that’s where you’re living.
American doesn’t mean who you are.
So I’m proud to be an American I guess
Or I’m proud to be where I’m living in America
Where the housing rates are steady
And the people are good
But I’m not proud of who I am
And no one should be
Because who you are is made by other people.
And the people who asked me about America
Gave me a funny look
And all walked away
But the last thing they said was
“Fuckin’ chinks don’t know what it means to be patriotic”
And I guess they were right.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Recycled Relics
Believe me they will find Excalibur
Or even the Honjo Masamune
But when they find it they will say
“You get don’t metal like this these days”
And they’ll melt it down for scraps.
They’ll one day find Christ’s crucifix
And cut pieces from the cross
For the wood is holy and not much is lost.
And they will recycle whatever they can
But the rest they’ll toss.
They will cut down the trees at Gethsemane
And at every other sacred grove
For the trees all filled with the people's love
Will make more books and Starbucks trays
Than the Amazon.
And at the end, when the treasures are all gone
All the recycled paper all up in flames
They will burn the countries and they will burn the land
They will burn the states, the constructs of man
They will burn the buildings and they will burn the cities;
They will burn the cities down to plant more trees.
Or even the Honjo Masamune
But when they find it they will say
“You get don’t metal like this these days”
And they’ll melt it down for scraps.
They’ll one day find Christ’s crucifix
And cut pieces from the cross
For the wood is holy and not much is lost.
And they will recycle whatever they can
But the rest they’ll toss.
They will cut down the trees at Gethsemane
And at every other sacred grove
For the trees all filled with the people's love
Will make more books and Starbucks trays
Than the Amazon.
And at the end, when the treasures are all gone
All the recycled paper all up in flames
They will burn the countries and they will burn the land
They will burn the states, the constructs of man
They will burn the buildings and they will burn the cities;
They will burn the cities down to plant more trees.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Fucking ENGLISH Major, Man
Who IS this talentless four-eyed fuck
Whose words flitter listlessly upon a page
And who without his Pulitzer prize sized crutch
Would never deserve to take a stage?
Who IS this burned-out druggie cunt
This gonzo-douchebag piece of shit
Who writes between hard-hitting blunts
As if sobriety is holding back your wits?
And who IS this raving lunatic
If not just a wino with a pen
Who thinks that keeping just one shtick
Will win him a fucking prize again?
Who ARE these arrogant pissant sods
Who think they’re witty when they’re just verbose
And worship none but themselves as gods
And suck equally in verse and prose?
They’re nothing special, just worn out hacks
Running on empty and weed and crack
Who somehow make the words seem more
Than overplayed, overused, overestimated WHORES.
Whose words flitter listlessly upon a page
And who without his Pulitzer prize sized crutch
Would never deserve to take a stage?
Who IS this burned-out druggie cunt
This gonzo-douchebag piece of shit
Who writes between hard-hitting blunts
As if sobriety is holding back your wits?
And who IS this raving lunatic
If not just a wino with a pen
Who thinks that keeping just one shtick
Will win him a fucking prize again?
Who ARE these arrogant pissant sods
Who think they’re witty when they’re just verbose
And worship none but themselves as gods
And suck equally in verse and prose?
They’re nothing special, just worn out hacks
Running on empty and weed and crack
Who somehow make the words seem more
Than overplayed, overused, overestimated WHORES.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Head Into the Light
It was a darkness unlike any darkness
Any darkness ever seen before,
For it was complete and in its starkness
In its starkness there was nothing more.
I was swept and drowned in colossal waves
Waves that would never crest before the shore
That lay where there was only me
Only me with nothing to wage war.
I could see naught and I could feel naught
Not even a soul within my core,
For the darkness had spread within myself
And within myself it spent my ore.
Though I was blind I heard the silence
The silence that grew to become a roar,
Which would take my body away from me
And from me would grow to spread and soar.
I knew nothing then and it knew me
Knew me more than I had known before
So that I was nothing in its heart
And it was nothing I would abhor.
I saw a flicker and knew myself
Awakened by some force of yore
That bade me head into the light
So that I may not suffer anymore.
But the light was blinding; the contrast too stark
So I turned and sought refuge in the dark.
:Inspired by the flash game Closure.
Any darkness ever seen before,
For it was complete and in its starkness
In its starkness there was nothing more.
I was swept and drowned in colossal waves
Waves that would never crest before the shore
That lay where there was only me
Only me with nothing to wage war.
I could see naught and I could feel naught
Not even a soul within my core,
For the darkness had spread within myself
And within myself it spent my ore.
Though I was blind I heard the silence
The silence that grew to become a roar,
Which would take my body away from me
And from me would grow to spread and soar.
I knew nothing then and it knew me
Knew me more than I had known before
So that I was nothing in its heart
And it was nothing I would abhor.
I saw a flicker and knew myself
Awakened by some force of yore
That bade me head into the light
So that I may not suffer anymore.
But the light was blinding; the contrast too stark
So I turned and sought refuge in the dark.
:Inspired by the flash game Closure.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Bzzzz!
In a blur it strikes
A tiny blight
Upon a dozing giant.
Wake, you fool,
For fate is cruel
And you shan’t be defiant.
It drinks your blood
And steals your love
Are you to be compliant?
It’s kill or die
Before the mosquito bite
*Something that rhymes with giant*
more or less intended to be humorous. it's kinda late and i don't write well unless i've been clean for at least a few days
A tiny blight
Upon a dozing giant.
Wake, you fool,
For fate is cruel
And you shan’t be defiant.
It drinks your blood
And steals your love
Are you to be compliant?
It’s kill or die
Before the mosquito bite
*Something that rhymes with giant*
more or less intended to be humorous. it's kinda late and i don't write well unless i've been clean for at least a few days
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
_EZ
You’ve been
Here before it’s
Nothing you’ve never seen but
Somehow
It’s still different now.
It sounds
Weird - more hollow
Just one speaker
Playing music
The other’s
Dead and silent.
All so
Distant and yet
As you’re fading in and
Out it
Snaps you back to life.
Open
Your eyes the wider
You’ll see
Nothing that you
Thought that you would
See.
Keep on
Reading your book
The other
World will just look
More real than this
Life you’re living
Now.
Do things
Work the way you think or
Do they all know
Something
You’ll never figure out?
Here before it’s
Nothing you’ve never seen but
Somehow
It’s still different now.
It sounds
Weird - more hollow
Just one speaker
Playing music
The other’s
Dead and silent.
All so
Distant and yet
As you’re fading in and
Out it
Snaps you back to life.
Open
Your eyes the wider
You’ll see
Nothing that you
Thought that you would
See.
Keep on
Reading your book
The other
World will just look
More real than this
Life you’re living
Now.
Do things
Work the way you think or
Do they all know
Something
You’ll never figure out?
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Fever Pitch
Waves dancing over
Crashing slower
Oceans burble in
White noise circles
Droplets like white
Tidal waves might
Burn like fires
For drowning pyres.
Smolder, flaming,
Sulfur’s raining
Burning on edge
Water looks red
Lights so abstract
God in all black
Let the world die
The end is nigh.
Pulsing, shaking,
Throbbing, quaking,
The earth moves slightly
We die nightly
Nothing more and
Nothing at hand
Nothing less for
Them to cry for
Nothing in store
After this war.
Where’s your rapture
Christ is captured
Your cathedral of lights
Is just a blight
Sacrilege like claiming God’s touch
In your soul like you need a crutch
Descend into chaos and order
Fuck the blind-sight on the border
Look in hindsight, just a quarter
Of what we are lost as mortar.
On and on it just gets longer
Growing weaker, never stronger,
More complex with less to say but
We’ve become more afraid of what?
Life moves and nothing changes
Life moves on and we’ll be strangers
The metronome is off beat but we’ll
Finger frets and still turn that wheel
‘Til the day when it all ends and
We’ll be left without our dry land.
Break down
No ground
Clover’s
Over
Luck of
Above
No more
No love.
Crashing slower
Oceans burble in
White noise circles
Droplets like white
Tidal waves might
Burn like fires
For drowning pyres.
Smolder, flaming,
Sulfur’s raining
Burning on edge
Water looks red
Lights so abstract
God in all black
Let the world die
The end is nigh.
Pulsing, shaking,
Throbbing, quaking,
The earth moves slightly
We die nightly
Nothing more and
Nothing at hand
Nothing less for
Them to cry for
Nothing in store
After this war.
Where’s your rapture
Christ is captured
Your cathedral of lights
Is just a blight
Sacrilege like claiming God’s touch
In your soul like you need a crutch
Descend into chaos and order
Fuck the blind-sight on the border
Look in hindsight, just a quarter
Of what we are lost as mortar.
On and on it just gets longer
Growing weaker, never stronger,
More complex with less to say but
We’ve become more afraid of what?
Life moves and nothing changes
Life moves on and we’ll be strangers
The metronome is off beat but we’ll
Finger frets and still turn that wheel
‘Til the day when it all ends and
We’ll be left without our dry land.
Break down
No ground
Clover’s
Over
Luck of
Above
No more
No love.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Single Serving Life
One tree
Surrounded by ashes
Its leaves flutter
On the warm spring wind.
A wolf
Howling at the full moon
Memories it will
Never understand.
A boy
Crying in a park
He doesn’t know
Who he’s waiting for.
Cities
Full of cars and buildings
Where nothing stirs
And there’s no life at all.
One world
Surrounded on all sides
The infinite of space and
Yet it’s all alone.
Surrounded by ashes
Its leaves flutter
On the warm spring wind.
A wolf
Howling at the full moon
Memories it will
Never understand.
A boy
Crying in a park
He doesn’t know
Who he’s waiting for.
Cities
Full of cars and buildings
Where nothing stirs
And there’s no life at all.
One world
Surrounded on all sides
The infinite of space and
Yet it’s all alone.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Deus Ex Omnis
I know of god in every paradox
Every lie that becomes the truth
Every evil from Pandora’s box
Existing to be good.
I feel god in the frigid air
Of a warm spring’s eve
It’s perfect scent, as I stand there,
Is chilling and killing me.
I see god in my city sprawled
Lain out before my eyes
Above the chaos, above the brawl,
I see no order in its life.
Within the calm I see the storm
Of my ambiguous, faithless thoughts,
In their struggle to be born
I know and see and feel my god.
Every lie that becomes the truth
Every evil from Pandora’s box
Existing to be good.
I feel god in the frigid air
Of a warm spring’s eve
It’s perfect scent, as I stand there,
Is chilling and killing me.
I see god in my city sprawled
Lain out before my eyes
Above the chaos, above the brawl,
I see no order in its life.
Within the calm I see the storm
Of my ambiguous, faithless thoughts,
In their struggle to be born
I know and see and feel my god.
Friday, April 3, 2009
A Happy Painting
Your life’s a picture
A pastel painting; a fixture
On an empty wall
Next to nothing at all.
So picturesque it’s
Perfect in every way
And time won’t mar you
Won’t burn and scar you
Just leave you hanging alone.
An empty museum
With just one exhibit
You have it all
To roam the halls
Late at night when you’re alone.
Day breaks; no one ever comes
Why would they?
What do you have to say?
A happy painting has no appeal
A happy painting isn’t real.
Time is leaving you behind as
You grow old it’ll just get worse:
It’s been too good
Far too good for the likes of you.
Nowhere to go, to run away to
The paint, as it’s dying it cracks.
Perfection rarely ever lasts
So end it, end it all before you,
Lose control; you’ve peaked
There’s nowhere left to go.
End it, end it all now
You can only go down.
A pastel painting; a fixture
On an empty wall
Next to nothing at all.
So picturesque it’s
Perfect in every way
And time won’t mar you
Won’t burn and scar you
Just leave you hanging alone.
An empty museum
With just one exhibit
You have it all
To roam the halls
Late at night when you’re alone.
Day breaks; no one ever comes
Why would they?
What do you have to say?
A happy painting has no appeal
A happy painting isn’t real.
Time is leaving you behind as
You grow old it’ll just get worse:
It’s been too good
Far too good for the likes of you.
Nowhere to go, to run away to
The paint, as it’s dying it cracks.
Perfection rarely ever lasts
So end it, end it all before you,
Lose control; you’ve peaked
There’s nowhere left to go.
End it, end it all now
You can only go down.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Iatrophobia
How do you tell a doctor that
You don’t care if you live or you die?
How do you tell someone
So afraid of death, who’s purpose is
Just to prolong lives
That longevity is not the driving force
Behind what you do
That living longer is not why you do it.
How do you tell a doctor that
You disagree with what they do
That they’re just playing god
Deciding what’s good for you
And tampering with nature
And tempering your free will,
How do you tell someone so hell-bent on doing good
That what they’re doing is bad?
How do you tell a doctor that
They’re arrogance goes beyond
Pride of a job well done,
Pride for their charity and altruism,
That they now lack the most fundamental
Human feelings, that they see us
As no more than their quarry.
How do you tell someone, anyone,
That they are evil, obsolete, mindless,
Pointless?
More importantly,
Will you believe it?
When you are sick and dying
And pain wracks your body
Will you give in and make amends?
Or will you just let it run its course
Knowing that if its time
Then it is time
And you won’t let no damn
Hindu in a lab coat
Be your god.
You don’t care if you live or you die?
How do you tell someone
So afraid of death, who’s purpose is
Just to prolong lives
That longevity is not the driving force
Behind what you do
That living longer is not why you do it.
How do you tell a doctor that
You disagree with what they do
That they’re just playing god
Deciding what’s good for you
And tampering with nature
And tempering your free will,
How do you tell someone so hell-bent on doing good
That what they’re doing is bad?
How do you tell a doctor that
They’re arrogance goes beyond
Pride of a job well done,
Pride for their charity and altruism,
That they now lack the most fundamental
Human feelings, that they see us
As no more than their quarry.
How do you tell someone, anyone,
That they are evil, obsolete, mindless,
Pointless?
More importantly,
Will you believe it?
When you are sick and dying
And pain wracks your body
Will you give in and make amends?
Or will you just let it run its course
Knowing that if its time
Then it is time
And you won’t let no damn
Hindu in a lab coat
Be your god.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
One World
One event seen twenty times
Is twenty memories in twenty minds
Of things not happening the way that they say
Cuz half of them weren’t there anyways.
It was misrecollected and blown out of proportion
A victim of their cerebral distortion
Reality warped whether they knew it or not
Folded and molded to fit their own thoughts.
The world breaks down and their heads reassemble
The fragmented bits until it resembles
A semblance of the world that they knew
With tiny touches they each misconstrue.
They say frame of reference or personal preference
Cautious and trite, it’s done out of deference,
Too wary to doubt that it happened that way,
Even though you can't trust the things that they say.
Is twenty memories in twenty minds
Of things not happening the way that they say
Cuz half of them weren’t there anyways.
It was misrecollected and blown out of proportion
A victim of their cerebral distortion
Reality warped whether they knew it or not
Folded and molded to fit their own thoughts.
The world breaks down and their heads reassemble
The fragmented bits until it resembles
A semblance of the world that they knew
With tiny touches they each misconstrue.
They say frame of reference or personal preference
Cautious and trite, it’s done out of deference,
Too wary to doubt that it happened that way,
Even though you can't trust the things that they say.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Of World Eating God Whales
Logic tells you that everything was made by something else, and for the most part that has been true. But because of the way we are structured, because of the way our lives work, we can never understand that some things, inexplicable and ancient, were never made, and just WERE. Long before atoms and energy and things like that, there was something else. And there was nothing before that. I don’t mean to say that the “something else” appeared out of nothing, I literally mean that there was nothing before it, that the concept of “before” does not apply here. What I mean is that this “something else” always has, and always will exist. It’s not God or gods, if that’s what you’re thinking. In fact, it’s so ANCIENT that nothing really knows what it is. It’s just one of the THINGS of life, undeniable, unquestionable, and unperceivable.
Earth was not one of those italicized THINGS of life. In fact, Earth was tiny and completely insignificant by comparison, and though no one living there would agree, its inhabitants were too. But they thought they were important. They feared their own deaths as the loss of something great, not knowing that once they died they will have always been dead, and would have been in no condition to ponder the implications of such a concept. Once the World-Eating-God-Whale had eaten the planet and all its inhabitants, it had always been eaten and would never be missed or seen again, at least until the God-Whale felt the need to expel waste, as all living creatures must.
It was a hard concept to grasp, that the invariable “truths” of the universe found after eons of development did not apply to the universe at all, but only to the miniscule microcosm of the finders’ existences. Basically, what I mean is that the way things work in one planet doesn’t work the same way on all others. There are planets where energy can be created and destroyed, just as there are flat planets orbited by suns. Like I said, it was a hard thing to understand, that nothing was under your control and that you really didn’t know anything at all. It was particularly hard for the people of Earth, because we were, if nothing else, immensely proud of what we knew. So proud, in fact, that mere moments before the W-E-G-W devoured the planet and killed everyone on it, the greatest minds alive were all joined together in an attempt to disprove the God-Whale existence. Imagine their shock then, when they found themselves slowly and painfully being digested by WHAT WAS NOT THERE.
I know what you’re thinking, all of it, and I’ll address the questions one by one. The first question you have is, “Why was this quaint little planet destroyed?” Well let me explain. The God-Whale was hungry. That’s it. On earth we had two abstract concepts known as Good and Evil. I expect you people also have similar concepts. Well the God-Whale is not evil, far from it in fact. Evil requires a sentience and a distinct knowledge of “Goodness”, both of which it lacks. There was no malicious intent in the eating, and once the world had been eaten, nothing was thought of it. These things just happen. The second question you have is, of course, “Who is this doing all the talking?” Well, I am an earthling, and the only one to escape death. It may seem to almost be a betrayal of my kind, surviving while everyone else dies, but I say in mitigation that it would have been impossible to save anyone and that trying to do so would have resulted in failure to save myself.
Earth was not one of those italicized THINGS of life. In fact, Earth was tiny and completely insignificant by comparison, and though no one living there would agree, its inhabitants were too. But they thought they were important. They feared their own deaths as the loss of something great, not knowing that once they died they will have always been dead, and would have been in no condition to ponder the implications of such a concept. Once the World-Eating-God-Whale had eaten the planet and all its inhabitants, it had always been eaten and would never be missed or seen again, at least until the God-Whale felt the need to expel waste, as all living creatures must.
It was a hard concept to grasp, that the invariable “truths” of the universe found after eons of development did not apply to the universe at all, but only to the miniscule microcosm of the finders’ existences. Basically, what I mean is that the way things work in one planet doesn’t work the same way on all others. There are planets where energy can be created and destroyed, just as there are flat planets orbited by suns. Like I said, it was a hard thing to understand, that nothing was under your control and that you really didn’t know anything at all. It was particularly hard for the people of Earth, because we were, if nothing else, immensely proud of what we knew. So proud, in fact, that mere moments before the W-E-G-W devoured the planet and killed everyone on it, the greatest minds alive were all joined together in an attempt to disprove the God-Whale existence. Imagine their shock then, when they found themselves slowly and painfully being digested by WHAT WAS NOT THERE.
I know what you’re thinking, all of it, and I’ll address the questions one by one. The first question you have is, “Why was this quaint little planet destroyed?” Well let me explain. The God-Whale was hungry. That’s it. On earth we had two abstract concepts known as Good and Evil. I expect you people also have similar concepts. Well the God-Whale is not evil, far from it in fact. Evil requires a sentience and a distinct knowledge of “Goodness”, both of which it lacks. There was no malicious intent in the eating, and once the world had been eaten, nothing was thought of it. These things just happen. The second question you have is, of course, “Who is this doing all the talking?” Well, I am an earthling, and the only one to escape death. It may seem to almost be a betrayal of my kind, surviving while everyone else dies, but I say in mitigation that it would have been impossible to save anyone and that trying to do so would have resulted in failure to save myself.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Addiction
Smokey spirals
The smell is viral
It has you once
And you can’t let go
It’s what you know
You’ve been brung low
You hate the bitch
But you can’t let go.
In blinking cursors
The time grows worser
Where’s relief
When you can’t write?
It’s not coming to light,
It’s a sad, sad sight,
‘Cuz you were prolific
But now you can’t write.
Imagine cliffs
And Mafia stiffs
You’ve done it all
And it was better before.
Your ideas are poor
And you're not getting any more
So you recycle the old stuff
But it was better before.
The cycle is vicious
But oh-so delicious
Like another cigarette
After failing to quit.
Sometimes it’s just shit
At least you wrote for a bit
Even though you told yourself
That you’d try to quit.
What you couldn’t say
For days and days
You put it all together
On one single page.
Cuz you’re so happy and gay
That the block went away
You forget it’s just temporary
And fill up the page.
You lose some stuff
Some ideas are gone
And the end result
You feel is just wrong
But whatever you know?
It’s real at heart
And that’s all that matters
When you suck at your art.
The smell is viral
It has you once
And you can’t let go
It’s what you know
You’ve been brung low
You hate the bitch
But you can’t let go.
In blinking cursors
The time grows worser
Where’s relief
When you can’t write?
It’s not coming to light,
It’s a sad, sad sight,
‘Cuz you were prolific
But now you can’t write.
Imagine cliffs
And Mafia stiffs
You’ve done it all
And it was better before.
Your ideas are poor
And you're not getting any more
So you recycle the old stuff
But it was better before.
The cycle is vicious
But oh-so delicious
Like another cigarette
After failing to quit.
Sometimes it’s just shit
At least you wrote for a bit
Even though you told yourself
That you’d try to quit.
What you couldn’t say
For days and days
You put it all together
On one single page.
Cuz you’re so happy and gay
That the block went away
You forget it’s just temporary
And fill up the page.
You lose some stuff
Some ideas are gone
And the end result
You feel is just wrong
But whatever you know?
It’s real at heart
And that’s all that matters
When you suck at your art.
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