Thursday, March 31, 2011

Grade A Papers Added.

So i'm starting some college classes here pretty soon, so I may end up posting verious writing assigments on here as well as my usual rushed quirky strange obsurd usuals.  Just a heads up if stuff starts to look more grammatically structured and polished, its probably an assigment.
hopefully i'll be posting more on here in the near future, I kind of neglect the blog for nearly a week, and keep it alive by posting something.  Good night readers, whoever you are.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

The Cynical Optimists Ballad

These are the days when one feels most lost, when the world is pressing down, and they just won't let go
and it is within these days of trial that no one really knows what to say, so we all go about our business in our usual way
Distracted by entertainment, and by constraining possibilities, but force feeding lies, and slathering up our pores in disgusting mineral waters
We are but the small insects on the face of the universe, and our inconsequential worth is never tested, only assumed by the authorities
I do not pretend to have an answer, nor do I truly pose any questions, I only survive on the hope that we can survive
the truth won't set us free, and lies are not the key, but this isn't a prison, this is a comfortable bed we've refused to get away from
Silently we lay our heads on our pillows and force ourselves into dreams of the most ridiculous natures, and nothing can stop us, if it keeps us free from worry and damnation
The preacher man can stand on his hands, and spout off tribulation, but nothing of the sort will come to pass, without first he being the one who brought it on
The false prophets of psychic probability are no fortune tellers, only gamblers of history, gamblers of world affair, they read the cards, and saw the tells, and made an educated guess on the route that even the most uneducated citizen could have made, and yet we all applaud these liars for it
Grim times indeed and many things to falsify, but I will not falsify my claim
I'm walled up, bricked down, and battered out cold on the other side, you can't get in and i can't get up, and we'll both rot in our filth because we didn't take the time to just say hello
Alone and bewildered the men of passion truly are, broken inside their own minds, there cage of torture that no one wants to set fit in, but behind all that shrubbery, there's a nest of flowers
A place resides in most of us, and definitely not all, for blackened hearts are plentiful in this land of terror and joy.
So sing your songs, and dance your dance, and go on and write what you will, because no matter how dark tomorrow is, you have today
So bring it on, the worlds still full of possibillity, i refuse to let second grade educated prophets tell me whats to be, explosions galore or heavens of hell, and I'm still trying to drink from the half full glass, even if its a quarter empty
Ill seek the truths in my own right, as if i'll live forever, and i'll hope for better tomorrows during better todays, so bombard me with terrible information, slam my head into tragedies,
We can always stand up straight amonst the thickets, and hold up a rose, for even sunshine casts shadows, but you only step once or twice to be warm again
I'm no scholar, no truth poet, no grand wizard of knowledge, but I am a human being, and i'll be happy till im not, and ill live till im not, and ill be till im not, and ill love till i rot, and that's the damndest truth of the whole wide universe from here to you, and back to the far reaches of the moon
smile today, cry tomorrow maybe, but don't think on that, smile, smile, smile.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Beauty for Beyond Times

The fresh smell of beauty sinks into my senses.  I am enlightened, floating on air.  The aroma that fullfills me also consumes me, poisons me, I can't let go.  In this instance I am nothing else but the final result of your last victory.  This beauty it will be the death of me, but I don't mind at all.  In the last moments of the wonderful life that was pitted with trial I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, the justice done to the liberators and their friends.  They have recieved their due rewards and I am glad.  Sometimes when I fall asleep I see the world through the eyes of innocence, a black and white shade upon everything, in that vision I am color blind, and everything makes so much more sense.  But when I awaken without the dim shroud a multi-colored facet of acts blasts my vision, and my thoughts.  The ones that I process a mingled and folded together, I can't slumber here, I can't see the innocence, however there is something else that soothes me, joy, love, beauty, not of only the physical design but something within, something innate.  That in there, in that spacious room inside the soul, beauty resides, and I am happy, I am content, I am whole.  Life may be fading, or writhing in pain, but give me the soft touch of beauty's hand, and I can be calmed enough to have visions of another alternate world, where pain does not exist, but when beauy cannot get to me, I have the touch memory of everything, of all the good, so that if i should pass on from this plane to the next, I can do so with visions of you, of her, of him, of everything, and then I can smile, I can cry the tears of joyous relief, joyous relief that swells upon me, and all about me, like a heavy wind pushing on the rain.  And I am whole, I am real, I am alive, until im not.  But in that not, why should I worry, for I am not at all.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Ghosts and Ghouls

(this sounds a little emo, not intentional, but what the hell)

Now move on little men
Move on from the show
You cast your shadows on the stage
and the star can't see through the light
Grin now little men
Lick your lollipops
Drink your sores
you prancing dancing men
on the stage half naked
disease and everything else coarse and in your loins
Now move on little men
The shows about to being
The ladies wanted reality
Now show them what they already know
your bitterness like sap clinging to a dying tree
A Tasty treat for zombified specimens
Now move on little men
turn off the tv
Welcome back to life my friends
this will only hurt a moment.

A Criminal Act

When Gary Peters shot his son in the head, he did so with a look of pure pity, but his son wanted to die, and would have killed him if he hadn't pulled the trigger first.  For the next few days, which would lead into months, and into years, where his wife would leave him, and his community shun him, Gary Peters kept his resolve.  In the end though, he did die a poor broken down drunkard, whose only redeeming joy was knowing that his son was no longer dying in this hell we call life.  He found solace in that.  On the Tuesday night before his wife left him, the pair had tried to make love, but the fornication was less than erotic and ended rather abruptly.  It wasn't from lack of trying, but Mary had remarked that she continually saw their sons smile on his face, and just minutes later when he attempted to spoon with her that she hated him with everything she could hate with.  Gary understood of course, he had been the one to take aim, and fire.  He had been the one whose moral code was so far from the rest of his community to pull that trigger to come to the inevitable conclusion that he had come to.  If it had been a hollywood film Gary suspects the loving, hero father would have thrown his gun to the side, and accept being slain by his only son, because removing his offspring from this beautiful world would have been to painful.  And then Gary suspected the event would transform the boy, and the boy would learn to love the life his father loved so dearly.  But this wasn't hollywood and no one was closer to his son than he.  Even when he laid dying in that bed so many years down the line, he knew he made the right decision.  When the prison sentence eventually came down Gary Peters spent fifteen years behind bars for the murder of his son.  But he could never wrap his head around the event being dubbed murder.  Murder was something down out of hate, or lack of love, abscense of love, murder seemed emotionalf, murder was something sociopaths did, those serial killers who felt nothing did, this was done with every ounce of pain, and love, and bitterness, that comes with making a tough love decision.  The world had gone to shit, and his son couldn't take it anymore, there was some deep cerebral thing that wouldn't allow his son to function in the shit world.  If this cerebral thing was always there dormant in his mind, he would never ever be able to function in this world, now or at anytime.  And so when Gary took that shot, he knew he'd made the right decision.  It wasn't until the final inevitable faulter of his heart, on that deathbed that final moment of his final moment, that Gary Peters believed he was mentally ill.

Monday, March 14, 2011

A Rant.

So many  caustic tales of courageous men doing to many crazy contagious campaigns
Its only a matter of time before tin titans trample the trivial tide of timid traitors
They will flood the gates, growing gargantuan in greater grissly numbers till they gloat greatly with grievous grins
You and your young yuppies you'll yearn for yester years
For no one naps nightly for ninety-nine nights of naughty nit-picking

so many letters to so many words so many thoughts that sort of make sense, so many situational comedies that don't go anywhere but down, this isn't how so many lies spread, but how truths remain buried in bitterness, you wanta tear it away while i dream of sunny shores on a cruise around the universe, i'll keep on chasing stars, while i age into bones, and no one can stop me.  Til death do me part with my mind of millions of miniscule explosions, each one bigger than the next, but not even a speck on this blue planet earth.

Tragic diets can never bring people into good health, if they have anger residing on their shoulders, how alone the bitter feel, how distraught they feel with their rich tickets to ride from here to mars without so much as a musical note to carry them from one bar to the next, and one octave lower till the are forced to jump to the higher and are cut on the sharp, and slide down down down, beatin by whole notes, and drowning in a pool of white noise.

On the other side of the river, over there on the bright green pastures of tomorrow land, everything is possible, but so many people refuse to swim, you have to swim, and swim hard, push through the intensive digust of vomited pathos, the ranting of idiots may seem ridiculous and pointless, but deep inside there are hidden truths.  But over there, you'll find they were right, and while he's standing there happy and content to be sitting over there, you'll still scared of a little shit, getting on your expensive dress.  come eat the sugar sweets, and lollipop candles, even though he doesn't particularly like candy.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Word for Words

It's a strange day in paradise,
the moon is hiding from outer space
and the wind is blowing up into nothing

imploded marsupials dance in splatter patterns on bare white walls
and i can't tell which way is up

Christmas tree carols are hung on Halloween statues across the cemetary ice rink
but the beautiful grotesques are watching through pink eyes
and i can't tell which way is up

It's a strange day in this graveyard,
Shifting plates release the flow from the core of this earth
and the men chase hell in order to vanquish their allies
for no one wants to smell the spoiled cheddar halfway back to the safe house

Half the world watches the whole as they hold up in a hole of fecal matter
a chorus erupts inward down the mountainous volcanic island located right inside this kitchen
and i can't tell which way is up

Good fathers give bad mothers a smart way to die
but they refuse to be bad fathers for good mothers are in limitless supply except in places where rivers run dry
and i can't tell which way is up

holy books, and goblin hooks scattered on a cobalt shelf
Limestone tacos in cashew casings,
Waiting to eject from the passenger cart
and too little too late may hatch the chicken pre-maturely from his ooze
and lead him to unsettling depths of death.