Intelligence planted in infertile and dormant terrain
Intelligence's seeds sterilized and toiled in fruitless vain
Intelligence rooted in desert-like territory in the brain
Stupidity sloughs off synaptic clefts like mud
Stupidity chews cerebral branches into cud
Stupidity clogs electrical currents with grimy crud
Decisions deferred to others with mental superiority
Decisions directed to those equipped with intellectual authority
Decisions adamantly avoided involving even a semblance of gravity
Idiocy branded a virulent pestilence
Idiocy forced into a vacuum of unremitting silence
Idiocy exiled and ostracized to the pavement of vagrance
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
democracy stalled...
Haves force adherence to biased conformity
Haves sneer at concepts of justice and equality
Haves rages towards difference with impunity
Haves reign as purveyors of superiority
Have-nots minds corrupted from conception
Have-nots denied adequate, comparable education
Have-nots fear resistive circumvention
Have-nots bow heads in automaton-like submission
Society stands incurious, eyes vacant of sympathy
Society sits on sidelines, face remiss of empathy
Society watches idle as haves perpetuate ruthless antipathy
Society throws the white towel into the ring of apathy
Haves sneer at concepts of justice and equality
Haves rages towards difference with impunity
Haves reign as purveyors of superiority
Have-nots minds corrupted from conception
Have-nots denied adequate, comparable education
Have-nots fear resistive circumvention
Have-nots bow heads in automaton-like submission
Society stands incurious, eyes vacant of sympathy
Society sits on sidelines, face remiss of empathy
Society watches idle as haves perpetuate ruthless antipathy
Society throws the white towel into the ring of apathy
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Sleepless nights remixed
I awake drenched in hot sweat. My heart beats wildly inside my chest. I try to bring my racing thoughts to a pause, but futility abounds.
I stumble to the bathroom and throw cold water on my face. I take a couple of deep breaths to rest the pounding in my breast, but alas, I can't breathe. Attempts to pacify my nighttime terrors prove a discouraging test.
A couple minutes languish by until I am able to regain a semblance of composure. I reach for a towel and dry off my face. I look up to the mirror and get a glimpse of the man that disfigured my face.
Tears well up and cascade down my cheeks. I quickly look away from the mirror as the wounded child within reaches out to comfort the man that the boy came to be.
Childhood wounds are fresh as the day his fist collided with my nine month old head. No motherly balm applied. Other nourishing comforts denied. Those agonies remain vividly alive inside my mind's eye.
Dazed but not confused, I stammer back to bed. I try frantically to repress the harrowing memories far below consciousness. Under the pillows, I hide my troubled head.
Hauntingly disturbed and wearily wary, sleep remains elusive. I lay there tossing and turning in dread.
I stumble to the bathroom and throw cold water on my face. I take a couple of deep breaths to rest the pounding in my breast, but alas, I can't breathe. Attempts to pacify my nighttime terrors prove a discouraging test.
A couple minutes languish by until I am able to regain a semblance of composure. I reach for a towel and dry off my face. I look up to the mirror and get a glimpse of the man that disfigured my face.
Tears well up and cascade down my cheeks. I quickly look away from the mirror as the wounded child within reaches out to comfort the man that the boy came to be.
Childhood wounds are fresh as the day his fist collided with my nine month old head. No motherly balm applied. Other nourishing comforts denied. Those agonies remain vividly alive inside my mind's eye.
Dazed but not confused, I stammer back to bed. I try frantically to repress the harrowing memories far below consciousness. Under the pillows, I hide my troubled head.
Hauntingly disturbed and wearily wary, sleep remains elusive. I lay there tossing and turning in dread.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Breathe life into dreams deferred
Dreams manifested into a life preferred
Basking in a world enveloped in peaceful simplicity
Fortify dreams against human duplicity
Dreams protected from naysayers and thieves
Child-like dreams no longer saturated in disbelief
Society’s perspective shelved dreams into indifference
Rise out of stagnation, dreams disinfected of pestilence
Dreams manifested into a life preferred
Basking in a world enveloped in peaceful simplicity
Fortify dreams against human duplicity
Dreams protected from naysayers and thieves
Child-like dreams no longer saturated in disbelief
Society’s perspective shelved dreams into indifference
Rise out of stagnation, dreams disinfected of pestilence
A child refused
A child abused
A child misused
A teenager thrown away
A teenager forever afraid
A teenager caged within dark days
A man lost and confused
A man’s identity distortedly diffuse
A man dispirited, broken, no longer of any use
A life prisoned in fleshly waste
A life mocked by society’s redemption-less face
A life ended at birth, a spirit terribly misplaced
A child abused
A child misused
A teenager thrown away
A teenager forever afraid
A teenager caged within dark days
A man lost and confused
A man’s identity distortedly diffuse
A man dispirited, broken, no longer of any use
A life prisoned in fleshly waste
A life mocked by society’s redemption-less face
A life ended at birth, a spirit terribly misplaced
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Titleless
Freedom comes via ink and pen
Anger boils under seared skin
Words terrorize paper with macabre sin
Writing begins to beat with a stable pulse
Agonies scrawled without legal recourse
Violent thoughts transcribed by the quill’s impulse
Memories of personal horrors no longer deferred
Hand writes on whim, thoughts brimming undeterred
Hostility erupts in stories unheard
Re-traumatized converting morbidity into words
Conscience contorted, left horridly disturbed
Cognitive distortions compounds emotional plights absurd
Despite prior dastardly hesitations
Slowly escaping the grasp of procrastination
Rage lowers to a simmer as thoughts achieve manifestation
Anger boils under seared skin
Words terrorize paper with macabre sin
Writing begins to beat with a stable pulse
Agonies scrawled without legal recourse
Violent thoughts transcribed by the quill’s impulse
Memories of personal horrors no longer deferred
Hand writes on whim, thoughts brimming undeterred
Hostility erupts in stories unheard
Re-traumatized converting morbidity into words
Conscience contorted, left horridly disturbed
Cognitive distortions compounds emotional plights absurd
Despite prior dastardly hesitations
Slowly escaping the grasp of procrastination
Rage lowers to a simmer as thoughts achieve manifestation
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Don’t vilify me
Your contrived thoughts will be met with resistance
Don’t try to understand me
Your simple thoughts will be twisted into complexity
Don’t deny me
Your breath reeks of duplicity
Don’t label my existence
Your thoughts are fueled by hypocrisy’s persistence
Don’t stand there looking perplexed
Your constant judging defies commonsense
Your contrived thoughts will be met with resistance
Don’t try to understand me
Your simple thoughts will be twisted into complexity
Don’t deny me
Your breath reeks of duplicity
Don’t label my existence
Your thoughts are fueled by hypocrisy’s persistence
Don’t stand there looking perplexed
Your constant judging defies commonsense
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Bereft of Talent
Prose composed out of disorderly thought
Nonsensical experiences ineffably taught
Words scribbled into unintelligible naught
Thoughts of fiction and truth violently collided
Aberrant ideas and torrid emotions intertwined
Pen travels warily across paper terribly misguided
Writings and stories inhale and exhale with repulse
Sweat dripping, mind racing, morals sinking
Concepts littered on tree skin manifested on impulse
Trashcans erupt with writings rejected
Creativity dissembled by negativity reflected
Self-sabotage leaves artistic endeavors dejected
Nonsensical experiences ineffably taught
Words scribbled into unintelligible naught
Thoughts of fiction and truth violently collided
Aberrant ideas and torrid emotions intertwined
Pen travels warily across paper terribly misguided
Writings and stories inhale and exhale with repulse
Sweat dripping, mind racing, morals sinking
Concepts littered on tree skin manifested on impulse
Trashcans erupt with writings rejected
Creativity dissembled by negativity reflected
Self-sabotage leaves artistic endeavors dejected
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Sleepless nights
I awake drenched in hot sweat. My heart beats wildly inside my chest. I try to bring my racing thoughts to a pause, but my attempts to pacify my nighttime terrors prove futile.
I stumble to the bathroom and throw cold water on my face. I take a couple of deep breaths to reconnect to reality.
After sixty seconds or so, I regain a semblance of composure. I reach for a towel and dry off my face. I look up in the mirror and get a glimpse of the man that transformed my dreams into nightmares.
Tears well up and cascade down my cheeks as the reflections are laced with reminiscences of past violence that is cruelly scarred on my face.
I quickly look away from the mirror in which the wounded child within peers out to present day struggles through the eyes of a shaken man, a haunted man, a man without resolve; the man who is me.
Shaken but not stirred, I stammer back to bed. I try frantically to repress harrowing childhood memories far below consciousness without much success. Alas, childhood agonies remain ravenously alive inside my mind's eye.
With eyes wide open, I don’t see any restive sleep obtained this night. As usual, my day begins...
I stumble to the bathroom and throw cold water on my face. I take a couple of deep breaths to reconnect to reality.
After sixty seconds or so, I regain a semblance of composure. I reach for a towel and dry off my face. I look up in the mirror and get a glimpse of the man that transformed my dreams into nightmares.
Tears well up and cascade down my cheeks as the reflections are laced with reminiscences of past violence that is cruelly scarred on my face.
I quickly look away from the mirror in which the wounded child within peers out to present day struggles through the eyes of a shaken man, a haunted man, a man without resolve; the man who is me.
Shaken but not stirred, I stammer back to bed. I try frantically to repress harrowing childhood memories far below consciousness without much success. Alas, childhood agonies remain ravenously alive inside my mind's eye.
With eyes wide open, I don’t see any restive sleep obtained this night. As usual, my day begins...
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Conscience silenced
Impoverished peoples baited by illicit temptations
Pauses in moral hesitation before engaging in transgression
Perplexity abounds in life changing contemplation
Heed to virtue or delve into vice
Right or wrong is void in changing status quo
A call to conscience fails to suffice
A nine to five brings blood to a boil
Criminal history leaves future job prospects foiled
Slaving for pennies, drudgery in broil
Money, power, and respect
Craving immediate ascension in netherworld success
Easily obtained through drugs, guns, and sex
Liquor stores, Cell phone stores, Gun stores
Languishing on the maligned corners that plague the poor
Vagabonds beg for change in hoards
Prostitutes sell their product at the door
Affront of the myriad check cashing stores
The poor have few means for social success
Advantages and opportunities are nothing but less
Tumultuous conscience compartmentalized
Actions, legal or illicit, rationalized
Big profits recycled and capitalized
Loss of love, life, and liberty comes at a price
No matter the means of fortune and prominence
roll the dice, pick your vice: jail, death, or financial dominance
To be continued...
Pauses in moral hesitation before engaging in transgression
Perplexity abounds in life changing contemplation
Heed to virtue or delve into vice
Right or wrong is void in changing status quo
A call to conscience fails to suffice
A nine to five brings blood to a boil
Criminal history leaves future job prospects foiled
Slaving for pennies, drudgery in broil
Money, power, and respect
Craving immediate ascension in netherworld success
Easily obtained through drugs, guns, and sex
Liquor stores, Cell phone stores, Gun stores
Languishing on the maligned corners that plague the poor
Vagabonds beg for change in hoards
Prostitutes sell their product at the door
Affront of the myriad check cashing stores
The poor have few means for social success
Advantages and opportunities are nothing but less
Tumultuous conscience compartmentalized
Actions, legal or illicit, rationalized
Big profits recycled and capitalized
Loss of love, life, and liberty comes at a price
No matter the means of fortune and prominence
roll the dice, pick your vice: jail, death, or financial dominance
To be continued...
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Frustrated...
Pen clutched tightly
Notebook in hand
Attempt to write knightly
Words betray my thoughts
Fingers twisted in knots
Can’t seem to write for naught
Desire verse compulsion
I’m lost in the confusion
Writings resemble vile repulsions
Hand cramps in hesitation
Ink leaks onto the pad
Paper stained with stagnation
Ideas recoil in fright
Derision from my peers in sight
Motivation runs dry and takes flight
Cap my pen
Close my note book
Tomorrow I will try to write again…
Notebook in hand
Attempt to write knightly
Words betray my thoughts
Fingers twisted in knots
Can’t seem to write for naught
Desire verse compulsion
I’m lost in the confusion
Writings resemble vile repulsions
Hand cramps in hesitation
Ink leaks onto the pad
Paper stained with stagnation
Ideas recoil in fright
Derision from my peers in sight
Motivation runs dry and takes flight
Cap my pen
Close my note book
Tomorrow I will try to write again…
Write... write... write
Do I write about education?
Do I write about the penitentiary?
Do I write about redemption?
Do I write about society’s newfound slavery?
Do I write about a morally decaying nation?
Do I write about personal futility?
Do I write about illusionary freedoms?
Do I write about the pen’s utility?
Do I write about talent lost to procratination?
Do I write about swinging pedulums and dichotomy?
Do I write about being second class?
Do I write about civil invisibility?
Do I write about what I know?
Do I write for an audience?
Do I write for a show?
Do I write for a fee?
Do I write to set myself free…
Do I write about the penitentiary?
Do I write about redemption?
Do I write about society’s newfound slavery?
Do I write about a morally decaying nation?
Do I write about personal futility?
Do I write about illusionary freedoms?
Do I write about the pen’s utility?
Do I write about talent lost to procratination?
Do I write about swinging pedulums and dichotomy?
Do I write about being second class?
Do I write about civil invisibility?
Do I write about what I know?
Do I write for an audience?
Do I write for a show?
Do I write for a fee?
Do I write to set myself free…
Monday, September 7, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
titleless
Inauthenticity breeds mindless conformity
Strict conventionality begets imbecility
Group-think is fraught with impropriety
Controled thinking is a injustice to humanity
Strict conventionality begets imbecility
Group-think is fraught with impropriety
Controled thinking is a injustice to humanity
Saturday, September 5, 2009
American Caste System
Enslave the different covertly
Build new prisons prolifically
Slavery is big industry
Enforced servitude revisited
Profiting off human suffering done easily
The second class relish in poverty
They are devoid of proper propriety
The have-nots don’t deserve life's delicacies
Can’t you see?
There is no moral penalty
Only pockets brimming with monies
Don’t scoff and sneer in disdain!
Status quo unchanged
The haves are providing a charity
Shelter and food are a gift
Not a callous penalty
Preserve the elite’s plight
The homogenized reek of conventional strife
throw away the jailer’s key
Imprison the different
People who resemble me
Free thinking begets debased penalties
Unforgetable barbaric whippings
Drop to your knees
Take your lashings
Or be lynched
Left dangling from a red oak tree
Naked back expose past revolts
Wounds scarred over bespeak tales of repulse
Cat-o-nine tips tear through hardened skin
Blood pools beneath tortured feet akin
Deceptive I am not
Authentic I am
Put my beliefs through a noose
Choke out my values with society’s self-righteous knot
I remain silent, as the whip screams
Body destroyed, but mind remains keen
Conscience rendered undisturbed
Die on the feet and not on the knees--perturbed
I am string-less
Quasi-conformist out of social convenience
Beat into indifference, yet remain maskless
There is no common thread between us
A societal clone I will never be
warehoused, caged, beaten while incarcerated
I will remain comfortably enveloped in transparency
Unadulterated, pure, and spiritually free
Build new prisons prolifically
Slavery is big industry
Enforced servitude revisited
Profiting off human suffering done easily
The second class relish in poverty
They are devoid of proper propriety
The have-nots don’t deserve life's delicacies
Can’t you see?
There is no moral penalty
Only pockets brimming with monies
Don’t scoff and sneer in disdain!
Status quo unchanged
The haves are providing a charity
Shelter and food are a gift
Not a callous penalty
Preserve the elite’s plight
The homogenized reek of conventional strife
throw away the jailer’s key
Imprison the different
People who resemble me
Free thinking begets debased penalties
Unforgetable barbaric whippings
Drop to your knees
Take your lashings
Or be lynched
Left dangling from a red oak tree
Naked back expose past revolts
Wounds scarred over bespeak tales of repulse
Cat-o-nine tips tear through hardened skin
Blood pools beneath tortured feet akin
Deceptive I am not
Authentic I am
Put my beliefs through a noose
Choke out my values with society’s self-righteous knot
I remain silent, as the whip screams
Body destroyed, but mind remains keen
Conscience rendered undisturbed
Die on the feet and not on the knees--perturbed
I am string-less
Quasi-conformist out of social convenience
Beat into indifference, yet remain maskless
There is no common thread between us
A societal clone I will never be
warehoused, caged, beaten while incarcerated
I will remain comfortably enveloped in transparency
Unadulterated, pure, and spiritually free
outKast
Outcasts are habitually marginalized
Forced to obey hallow standards moralized
Aberrant behaviors pathologized
Constrained in a cell to be psychologically terrorized
Strapped to a bed in four-points to be legally narcotized
Imprisoned for life--institutionalized
Society left distilled, bland, sterilized
Forced to obey hallow standards moralized
Aberrant behaviors pathologized
Constrained in a cell to be psychologically terrorized
Strapped to a bed in four-points to be legally narcotized
Imprisoned for life--institutionalized
Society left distilled, bland, sterilized
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Cognition vs Emotion
It is dreadfully paralyzing having an overtly sensitive and debauched limibic system that vainly robs me of the use of personal cognitive faculties. I feel like I’m in a constant state of absent-mindedness, operating in lizard-brain mode: emotions untamed, cognitions retarding in squalor.
And yet, nothing appears to satiate my emotional strife into a semblance of reason-rife functionality. My emotions are either flailing down the dark canals of my bowels or are uncomfortably glued to the back of my throat, leaving my stomach in a perpetual state of distress and my breath smelling like bilious, undigested complacency.
Helplessly, I feel utterly bereft of all remedies to resolve this emotional overwhelmness. I’ve futilely changed the way I think, changed my belief system, and changed my expectations of the world, myself, and others in the past, but cognitive dissonance reigns supreme, giving my emotions sovereignty over my spent cogntive processess.
If my heart and mind continue to live in oppositional chaos, as separate rival entities, in riotous disharmony, my outlook is morbidly bleak.
Positive, rational change is in dire needed. This malevolent discord between faculties has to resolve. Cognition and Emotion need to dance in harmony in order to achieve the smallest morsel of personal happiness, contentment, and peace.
And yet, nothing appears to satiate my emotional strife into a semblance of reason-rife functionality. My emotions are either flailing down the dark canals of my bowels or are uncomfortably glued to the back of my throat, leaving my stomach in a perpetual state of distress and my breath smelling like bilious, undigested complacency.
Helplessly, I feel utterly bereft of all remedies to resolve this emotional overwhelmness. I’ve futilely changed the way I think, changed my belief system, and changed my expectations of the world, myself, and others in the past, but cognitive dissonance reigns supreme, giving my emotions sovereignty over my spent cogntive processess.
If my heart and mind continue to live in oppositional chaos, as separate rival entities, in riotous disharmony, my outlook is morbidly bleak.
Positive, rational change is in dire needed. This malevolent discord between faculties has to resolve. Cognition and Emotion need to dance in harmony in order to achieve the smallest morsel of personal happiness, contentment, and peace.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
writhing in madness
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Screams from upstairs echo and penetrate the roach-infested walls
now they are fucking concerned
that bitch needs to stop her bawl
minutes pass
after the blast
people crowding in the hall
I wake but I'm faint
hands full of blood
drenched in Death's paint
Feelings of failure begins to churn
the bullet in my chest starts to burn
maybe Death passed me up
because I tired to end my live before my fucking turn
I clutch my splintered memories tautly...
waiting impatiently for the heart stopping blow...
hoping to die or somehow for the pain to let go...
No such luck...
thoughts of futility relentlessly reappear...
Screams from upstairs echo and penetrate the roach-infested walls
now they are fucking concerned
that bitch needs to stop her bawl
minutes pass
after the blast
people crowding in the hall
I wake but I'm faint
hands full of blood
drenched in Death's paint
Feelings of failure begins to churn
the bullet in my chest starts to burn
maybe Death passed me up
because I tired to end my live before my fucking turn
I clutch my splintered memories tautly...
waiting impatiently for the heart stopping blow...
hoping to die or somehow for the pain to let go...
No such luck...
thoughts of futility relentlessly reappear...
a romantic date
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
agonizingly ready and emotionally disemboweled...
I'm prepared to throw in the blood-crusted towel...
not in a rush, I sit here disillusioned and hurt to death....
feeling ever more cursed than blessed....
thoughts of suicide begin showering my face with temporary glee....
until society trespassed and got a glimpse of my treacherous soul...
which reflected emotional poverty...
empty, useless, stained like an outhouse's toilet bowl...
the blood in my decrepit veins begins to chill...
constantly regretting the fact that during my short life I have never killed...
Now, my hideous heart beats with shame and guilt for committing such inactions...
which is unrelenting and fails to cease...
Thus, I put my melancholic life in the devil's hand
and deftly load my 'piece.'
Much time has elapsed, and I'm ready to do the deed...
So, I pull the trigger...
dropping my limp carcass to it's cowardly knees
the humiliation and horror, however, doesn't seem to remit...
like before my despicable corpse hit the ground...
the world mocked my suicide with a disdainful, pitiless frown
fuck 'em...
agonizingly ready and emotionally disemboweled...
I'm prepared to throw in the blood-crusted towel...
not in a rush, I sit here disillusioned and hurt to death....
feeling ever more cursed than blessed....
thoughts of suicide begin showering my face with temporary glee....
until society trespassed and got a glimpse of my treacherous soul...
which reflected emotional poverty...
empty, useless, stained like an outhouse's toilet bowl...
the blood in my decrepit veins begins to chill...
constantly regretting the fact that during my short life I have never killed...
Now, my hideous heart beats with shame and guilt for committing such inactions...
which is unrelenting and fails to cease...
Thus, I put my melancholic life in the devil's hand
and deftly load my 'piece.'
Much time has elapsed, and I'm ready to do the deed...
So, I pull the trigger...
dropping my limp carcass to it's cowardly knees
the humiliation and horror, however, doesn't seem to remit...
like before my despicable corpse hit the ground...
the world mocked my suicide with a disdainful, pitiless frown
fuck 'em...
indigestion
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Indifference replaces
Apathy embraces
wasting in a melancholic disgrace
No energy left to triumph over the strife
Suicide promises refuge from this deplorable plight
head bruised
Heart torn
I slit my wrist and
let the blood pour
Life seeps from my veins
Self-murder committed in vain
double locked the door
Blood pooling
Saliva drooling
Blood floods the floor
Body found two days late
Heart uprooted
Served on a cold plate
Dinner is served
A delectable feast you don't deserve
Licking your lips in a crazed bliss
keen to the crumbs
making sure nothings remiss
Indifference replaces
Apathy embraces
wasting in a melancholic disgrace
No energy left to triumph over the strife
Suicide promises refuge from this deplorable plight
head bruised
Heart torn
I slit my wrist and
let the blood pour
Life seeps from my veins
Self-murder committed in vain
double locked the door
Blood pooling
Saliva drooling
Blood floods the floor
Body found two days late
Heart uprooted
Served on a cold plate
Dinner is served
A delectable feast you don't deserve
Licking your lips in a crazed bliss
keen to the crumbs
making sure nothings remiss
incoherent ramblings...
Outlaw Outsider Outcast
....
Defying convention
Aberrant minded
Classes divided
Valued on prejudicial conditions
....
Villains Vultures Vipers
....
Fraudulent Clergy
Crooked Solicitation
Government embraces perjury
Suffering packaged for exploitation
....
Mongrel Menace Miscreant
....
On my bloody feet
Not on my polished knees
Unconquerably I stand straight
Redemption rendered by mythical fee
....
Psychology Psyche Personality
....
Washed by blood
Ethically vext
Morally adored
Incongruent thoughts deplored
....
Defying convention
Aberrant minded
Classes divided
Valued on prejudicial conditions
....
Villains Vultures Vipers
....
Fraudulent Clergy
Crooked Solicitation
Government embraces perjury
Suffering packaged for exploitation
....
Mongrel Menace Miscreant
....
On my bloody feet
Not on my polished knees
Unconquerably I stand straight
Redemption rendered by mythical fee
....
Psychology Psyche Personality
....
Washed by blood
Ethically vext
Morally adored
Incongruent thoughts deplored
Evolution
From villain to academic
From felon to scholar
From goon to schooled
From thug to savant
From outlaw to sage
From miscreant to learned
From hoodlum to thinker
From convict to intellectual
From scoundrel to cerebral
From crook to wise
To be continued...
From felon to scholar
From goon to schooled
From thug to savant
From outlaw to sage
From miscreant to learned
From hoodlum to thinker
From convict to intellectual
From scoundrel to cerebral
From crook to wise
To be continued...
Friday, June 5, 2009
prejudices are what fools use for reason
To me dearest bitch-ass motherfucker--
I’m utterly sickened by your continued cowardly, spineless, passive-aggressive tactics. While you think your level of believability is tantamount to morality, my blood simmers white hot beneath my leathery skin, knowing your credibility is no higher than a slithering snake's ass. Your veiled attempts to beguile others with factitious slights are unrelenting and nauseating, but, luckily, enveloped in futility. I do fear, however, you might succeed in my ruin due to your leech-like persistence to homogenize your ambiance into artifice.
If you're going to attempt bring me down, come with the facts and not perpetuated prejudices. I know you are a witless maggot, who relishes in the rancidity inside the bowels of conformity, making you incapable of such a feat. So, I suggest you feast strictly on the weak, sick, and elderly or else you will run into a more efficient adversary; one who is utterly transparent,cunning, and impervious to your plight.
don't shit your pants,
wasted potential
I’m utterly sickened by your continued cowardly, spineless, passive-aggressive tactics. While you think your level of believability is tantamount to morality, my blood simmers white hot beneath my leathery skin, knowing your credibility is no higher than a slithering snake's ass. Your veiled attempts to beguile others with factitious slights are unrelenting and nauseating, but, luckily, enveloped in futility. I do fear, however, you might succeed in my ruin due to your leech-like persistence to homogenize your ambiance into artifice.
If you're going to attempt bring me down, come with the facts and not perpetuated prejudices. I know you are a witless maggot, who relishes in the rancidity inside the bowels of conformity, making you incapable of such a feat. So, I suggest you feast strictly on the weak, sick, and elderly or else you will run into a more efficient adversary; one who is utterly transparent,cunning, and impervious to your plight.
don't shit your pants,
wasted potential
Friday, March 27, 2009
mary... mary... mary...
Mary Jane,
I miss you. I crave you. I’m a fiend for the infinite solace you once brought me. When we were together, you completely anesthetized my sorrows and consternations. Alcohol and valium pale in comparison with their meager delights. To think you can be replaced is a gratuitous and perilous infamy.
Sadly, I’m deeply ashamed that I have to flagrantly and continually reject you, which must feel something ineffable. I know my cries for forgiveness will befall deaf ears, but I beseech you for leniency over these neglectful transgressions.
But, keep in mind, without you, I absolutely feel bereft of wholesomeness, feel disturbed like a crack-head in the midst of a schizophrenic episode, feel like a New York City mole-person shivering hysterically in the dark alleyways of life, friendless.
Grieving,
a self-medicating piece of wasted potential
I miss you. I crave you. I’m a fiend for the infinite solace you once brought me. When we were together, you completely anesthetized my sorrows and consternations. Alcohol and valium pale in comparison with their meager delights. To think you can be replaced is a gratuitous and perilous infamy.
Sadly, I’m deeply ashamed that I have to flagrantly and continually reject you, which must feel something ineffable. I know my cries for forgiveness will befall deaf ears, but I beseech you for leniency over these neglectful transgressions.
But, keep in mind, without you, I absolutely feel bereft of wholesomeness, feel disturbed like a crack-head in the midst of a schizophrenic episode, feel like a New York City mole-person shivering hysterically in the dark alleyways of life, friendless.
Grieving,
a self-medicating piece of wasted potential
Thursday, March 19, 2009
i heart redundancy
The relentless impulse to write has become an insufferable burden, especially since my confidence in my ability to write has been replaced by fear of rejection and callous ineptness. I feel the stuff I have written in the past was naught of excellence or eloquence. My usages of arcane words has hoodwinked readers into believing I can produce something of significance. I have come to realize that the letters and essays I have wrote, which were meant to deliver a clear, concise, and succinct message of my thoughts and emotions, were constructed out of artistic delusions and not out of literary promise. I found readers got easily distracted by my inane word gymnastics.
And, let’s not forget about my astounding use of grammatical correctness and syntax exactness, which is conducive to that of a self-medicated, half-domesticated, vision-impaired Neanderthal attempting to draw symbols in the dirt. Everything I have produced reeks of sanitation, of overripe garbage. Alas, I’m talent-less. I possess no hidden silver pen, no sharp tongue, or mental agility.
Thus, I have come to the conclusion that I might as well put down this trifle pen and seek out another, less self-defeating vocation. I’m floundering horribly here. Writing has not provided me with earthly refuge from my unliveable plight, but has doubled my frustrations. Dithering in self-debasement, I’m beginning to think that it should be a crime for me to express myself in written form (or in any form), since I envitably fail time and time again.
And, let’s not forget about my astounding use of grammatical correctness and syntax exactness, which is conducive to that of a self-medicated, half-domesticated, vision-impaired Neanderthal attempting to draw symbols in the dirt. Everything I have produced reeks of sanitation, of overripe garbage. Alas, I’m talent-less. I possess no hidden silver pen, no sharp tongue, or mental agility.
Thus, I have come to the conclusion that I might as well put down this trifle pen and seek out another, less self-defeating vocation. I’m floundering horribly here. Writing has not provided me with earthly refuge from my unliveable plight, but has doubled my frustrations. Dithering in self-debasement, I’m beginning to think that it should be a crime for me to express myself in written form (or in any form), since I envitably fail time and time again.
and, yet...
I need to dream, yet I am dreamless
I strive to hope for better days, yet they are stained with darkness
I am dependent on luck, yet I am hapless
I have a job, yet I am vocation-less
I need to be thankful, yet thankless I am
I’m brimming with ambitions, yet I’m complacent in idleness
I crave change, yet i malinger…
I strive to hope for better days, yet they are stained with darkness
I am dependent on luck, yet I am hapless
I have a job, yet I am vocation-less
I need to be thankful, yet thankless I am
I’m brimming with ambitions, yet I’m complacent in idleness
I crave change, yet i malinger…
futility abounds
No matter how many magazines, books, and articles I read about the art of written expression, I grow increasingly discouraged to manifest my thoughts onto paper. I would rather bounce delineated thoughts, inane ideas, and prosaic concepts within the splintered boundaries of my skull than defile a blank white page with my scribbling. My fear of social derision and public mockery halts these troubling ambitions to become a writer as well. Even If I muster up the courage to write, I believe my writings will resemble a vomit of elementary words, chaotically spat on paper, devoid of significance, meager in substance, incomprehensible to the outside reader. I’m dauntingly confused, distraught. I need to satiate this proclivity to write, but remain lost on where to begin on this undying, unnerving journey.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
