Originally Posted: 12/9/06
*Author's note: The original title for this was 'The Worm God in Love' because I intended to write it as a parrallel between my own life and the character of Shakespeare in "Shakespeare in Love". However, upon beginning said parrallel I realized I have never seen that movie and therefore could do nothing at all.
"I owe my heart to another
But its hard to care
When you're sitting so close
So just kiss me one time, baby
Let me lose control..."
Have you ever fallen for someone you couldn't have? Begun the slow descent into the pool of fetid madness that is the human heart and all in vain for the person you go to such great lengths to be with, to possess, is ever out of reach. Have you ever dreamt of soft moonlight and satin sheets, making love to that person just to feel their skin against yours? Perversions aside, that's a beautiful moment and one you will, unfortunately, never experience with the subject of your unwarranted love.
"She flies like a bird
Over his shoulder
She whispers in his ear
'Boy, you are my star...'"
Perhaps that is the nature of those types of feelings. To provide a roller coaster experience. At times that are exciting, deliciously refreshing and altogether a cause for exultation. Other times they are a bitter reminder that not everyone can acheive the same level of happiness, that some of us are born to suffer hardships and some of us, as much as we'd like to, can not please everyone. We're human, and that makes us less than omnipotent. Even the gods lack that ability, why should we possess it?
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
A Series of Portraits Frozen in Time
Originally Posted: 7/20/06
A Series of Portraits Frozen in Time
My most precious memories are moments that I can never recall. Moments that seem so perfect they almost make you sad because you know it will be over too soon. These are often marred by the imperfect memory and therefore, I prefer to let them linger in the past. Never too far from my minds eye, but always out of reach for conscious thought. This way, they're preserved without the blundering of my reminiscing. I think people are the same as memories.
I keep the people I hold most dear a little further from my reach these days. At least the ones in the past. People with whom I can sense a delicate balance. Where once these relationships seemed so strong now they teeter on the fragile balance of destruction.
A Series of Portraits Frozen in Time
My most precious memories are moments that I can never recall. Moments that seem so perfect they almost make you sad because you know it will be over too soon. These are often marred by the imperfect memory and therefore, I prefer to let them linger in the past. Never too far from my minds eye, but always out of reach for conscious thought. This way, they're preserved without the blundering of my reminiscing. I think people are the same as memories.
I keep the people I hold most dear a little further from my reach these days. At least the ones in the past. People with whom I can sense a delicate balance. Where once these relationships seemed so strong now they teeter on the fragile balance of destruction.
Apologies, Facts, and Minsinterpreted Drivel
Originally Posted: 4/23/06
There are a hundred million reasons why I'm insignificant. A thousand more that tell you I am everything. But facts are just facts in the minds of those convinced. For the rest of us, its merely opinion. Opinion with enough propoganda to make it real. So feelings suffice, and mold who we are, rather than the things we know. Our hearts define us. Our minds just let us be controlled. I've often wondered about the things I've done before. What brought about the events, what about my life caused these things to happen? I know, some of you are getting sick of me being sentimental. Sick of me reminiscing about old friends (ok, one old friend) and never really saying what I mean. Well, then I have good news for you...
Fuck you. I was lying. I don't have any good news. This is my piece of the universe and I'll litter it with whatever I please. Truth is, I don't say what I mean because I haven't figured out how to do so yet. Its like having a baseball shoved in your throat and trying to describe how it feels. Bad analogy, but close enough to the truth. I've just been exploring some things I hadn't thought to go into before and it brings back some issues I've had tucked safely away in the nest of my inhumanity for some time now. Uncomfortable, yes, but not altogether unpleasant. It gives me the motivation and the most sincere need I can imagine having, to finally try and right some things I've done wrong.
I've hurt alot of people. I've hurt alot of deserving people. More importantly, I've hurt a few undeserving people. I can't say I'm remorseful because doing that, would just be senseless. It would imply that all the things we went through were for nothing. This, above all else, is untrue. Everything I have done has served a purpose and even if I hated who I was, I don't hate who I've become. Well, most of the time. My issue is what I had to do to become this thing.
I'm afraid of some things. They don't include spiders of being alone. Spiders are just creatures like any other: fun to kill but otherwise, of little significance to me. Being alone is something I've always told people I feared. Here's the kicker though: Hah, I'm a liar. I'm not afraid to be alone, to be entirely honest, I'm afraid I don't care enough to be with someone else. Want to know what else I'm afraid of? Paralysis. Letting my foods touch on my plate. Fatherhood. Being implicated for sodomy and yes, bumblebees give me the willies.
Back to my original topic....which...was never actually established. So, let's get some more bullshit in first. I'm tired of being poetic. I'm tired of trying to find new ways to say the same old shit and sick to death of trying to move people to better understand what I feel. Words are utterly meaningless unless you can see past them. Look me in the face and tell me you understand a single fucking thing I say and unless you're among the most elite human beings I've ever met...I'll stab out your eyes and kick your god damned teeth in.
People are so fucking pretentious about what they know and don't know it absolutely sickens me. If you can recite Shakespeare it doesn't make you any more intelligent than someone who can name every city in Ireland. If you can write beautiful poetry it doesn't make you any more in tune with yourself than a rapper from Buffalo. The truth is, people can go their entire lives without ever knowing a single thing. The only things you'll ever know, are the ones you beleive with your entire being. Your mind can not be the only part of you convinced of the truth. If so, it isn't the truth.
That said, I need to smoke while I think about what else I want to say in this...piece of shit.
Speaking of pieces of shit, I truly am. Not the lowest kind, but I'm down there toward the bottom.
For Tiffany, the Mistress Morbid I spoke of in the last little....thing I wrote, I am sorry (I'm doing away with anonymity because I personally doubt anyone reads this anyway). There is truly no better way I can say it than that. I'm still trying to gather the nerve to call and explain what the fuck is wrong with my head all of a sudden but there's the most primal form of it. I know that everything I've done and undone has left what was there utterly spent and I want more than anything to breathe life back into it. I want my friend back. Fuck, I want what was, at one point, the only thing in my life that mattered back. The face I woke up for every morning, the smile I took every breath to keep seeing, the dreams I slept in hopes of having. Christ, I threw so much shit away for something that will never mean anything to me. I gave it all away for nothing. I can see I've gone far beyond what I had intended with this. "Hinsight is always 20/20; Looking back its still a bit fuzzy".
How I despise Megadeath.
No, that's not fair. I don't despise them.
No more than I despise anything else, at any rate.
I think I've forgotten how to hate. It wasn't a really useful emotion to begin with, but it served its purpose well when called upon. I either enjoy things, or they don't exist to me. Its almost as if everything I don't like is dead to me. At least in my world. Damn, Trent Reznor always knows exactly what to write about. I need to take a shit sometime soon, or my ass is going to explode.
Anyway, I can see I'm about to ramble on some more. So before I go into another outburst about my personal feelings and the absolute hysteria that's been threatening to overtake what's left of my brain (parasites and madness have claimed most of it), I'm going to end this diatribe.
I haven't titled it yet. How about..."Apologies, Facts, and Misinterpreted Drivel"? Yeah, sounds about right. Goodnight, and Good Luck.
-Scar Rider
There are a hundred million reasons why I'm insignificant. A thousand more that tell you I am everything. But facts are just facts in the minds of those convinced. For the rest of us, its merely opinion. Opinion with enough propoganda to make it real. So feelings suffice, and mold who we are, rather than the things we know. Our hearts define us. Our minds just let us be controlled. I've often wondered about the things I've done before. What brought about the events, what about my life caused these things to happen? I know, some of you are getting sick of me being sentimental. Sick of me reminiscing about old friends (ok, one old friend) and never really saying what I mean. Well, then I have good news for you...
Fuck you. I was lying. I don't have any good news. This is my piece of the universe and I'll litter it with whatever I please. Truth is, I don't say what I mean because I haven't figured out how to do so yet. Its like having a baseball shoved in your throat and trying to describe how it feels. Bad analogy, but close enough to the truth. I've just been exploring some things I hadn't thought to go into before and it brings back some issues I've had tucked safely away in the nest of my inhumanity for some time now. Uncomfortable, yes, but not altogether unpleasant. It gives me the motivation and the most sincere need I can imagine having, to finally try and right some things I've done wrong.
I've hurt alot of people. I've hurt alot of deserving people. More importantly, I've hurt a few undeserving people. I can't say I'm remorseful because doing that, would just be senseless. It would imply that all the things we went through were for nothing. This, above all else, is untrue. Everything I have done has served a purpose and even if I hated who I was, I don't hate who I've become. Well, most of the time. My issue is what I had to do to become this thing.
I'm afraid of some things. They don't include spiders of being alone. Spiders are just creatures like any other: fun to kill but otherwise, of little significance to me. Being alone is something I've always told people I feared. Here's the kicker though: Hah, I'm a liar. I'm not afraid to be alone, to be entirely honest, I'm afraid I don't care enough to be with someone else. Want to know what else I'm afraid of? Paralysis. Letting my foods touch on my plate. Fatherhood. Being implicated for sodomy and yes, bumblebees give me the willies.
Back to my original topic....which...was never actually established. So, let's get some more bullshit in first. I'm tired of being poetic. I'm tired of trying to find new ways to say the same old shit and sick to death of trying to move people to better understand what I feel. Words are utterly meaningless unless you can see past them. Look me in the face and tell me you understand a single fucking thing I say and unless you're among the most elite human beings I've ever met...I'll stab out your eyes and kick your god damned teeth in.
People are so fucking pretentious about what they know and don't know it absolutely sickens me. If you can recite Shakespeare it doesn't make you any more intelligent than someone who can name every city in Ireland. If you can write beautiful poetry it doesn't make you any more in tune with yourself than a rapper from Buffalo. The truth is, people can go their entire lives without ever knowing a single thing. The only things you'll ever know, are the ones you beleive with your entire being. Your mind can not be the only part of you convinced of the truth. If so, it isn't the truth.
That said, I need to smoke while I think about what else I want to say in this...piece of shit.
Speaking of pieces of shit, I truly am. Not the lowest kind, but I'm down there toward the bottom.
For Tiffany, the Mistress Morbid I spoke of in the last little....thing I wrote, I am sorry (I'm doing away with anonymity because I personally doubt anyone reads this anyway). There is truly no better way I can say it than that. I'm still trying to gather the nerve to call and explain what the fuck is wrong with my head all of a sudden but there's the most primal form of it. I know that everything I've done and undone has left what was there utterly spent and I want more than anything to breathe life back into it. I want my friend back. Fuck, I want what was, at one point, the only thing in my life that mattered back. The face I woke up for every morning, the smile I took every breath to keep seeing, the dreams I slept in hopes of having. Christ, I threw so much shit away for something that will never mean anything to me. I gave it all away for nothing. I can see I've gone far beyond what I had intended with this. "Hinsight is always 20/20; Looking back its still a bit fuzzy".
How I despise Megadeath.
No, that's not fair. I don't despise them.
No more than I despise anything else, at any rate.
I think I've forgotten how to hate. It wasn't a really useful emotion to begin with, but it served its purpose well when called upon. I either enjoy things, or they don't exist to me. Its almost as if everything I don't like is dead to me. At least in my world. Damn, Trent Reznor always knows exactly what to write about. I need to take a shit sometime soon, or my ass is going to explode.
Anyway, I can see I'm about to ramble on some more. So before I go into another outburst about my personal feelings and the absolute hysteria that's been threatening to overtake what's left of my brain (parasites and madness have claimed most of it), I'm going to end this diatribe.
I haven't titled it yet. How about..."Apologies, Facts, and Misinterpreted Drivel"? Yeah, sounds about right. Goodnight, and Good Luck.
-Scar Rider
Everything That You Stood For, Just Had Its Ass Kicked Out the Door
Originally Posted: 2/18/06
You make yourself look like a fool, and your disrespect is mortifying. The language that endlessly worms its way from your throat and into the world, the foul, deplorable slang you interpret as modern poetry, is less artistic than photographing a 92 year old man sodomizing your ten year old brother. The repetitive, zombifyingly mind-numbing music you listen to is more a sad attempt at cashing in on a sound, a genre that was dead before it began. You disguise yourself in hard talk, mask your fear with smiles and your homosexuality with talk of conquests and riddicule. You're a coward, a nothing, a futurless, insignificant wretch with more piss in your pants than a newborn. Yet you have the gall to wave the word 'bitch' around like its some kind of weapon, something that will give you power over somebody else because you label them with a derogatory name? Mother fucker, sit back. We're going for a ride.
You have spent your entire life afraid of people who look like me, who talk in speech you don't comprehend, to look at you with pity for reasons you don't understand. Some of them you've ridiculed, some of them you may have even had the nerve to physically lay your hands on. No, I don't mean "freaks". Those have become commonplace these days, a thought that is nauseating in its own right, I mean people who just have a little something...different about them. People who would, on a given day, rend your flesh and eat your insides for shits and giggles. Yeah, people like that. Most of them, I'm fairly sure you have never once looked at face to face, because you are, as previously stated, nothing more than a coward. Well, I'm here now and we can be face to face. Say something sharp and no-doubt mind blowing. Nothing, huh? Yeah, I thought you might have a response something along those lines.
My qualm with you is not a result of something directly aimed at myself. Nothing you did to offend me intentionally, but something offensive nonetheless. I am not easily offended, to say the least, yet you managed it, so now I will explain the rules in a manner you can understand. Firstly, hold your tongue or it will be removed. You could always go to class every so often and perhaps learn to read and write and then, maybe, you'd be fit to speak. Until then, eat your words. Secondly, you will never, and allow me to repeat, never, refer to any woman (be it my fourteen year old sister, or your eighty year old grandmother) as a "fine ass bitch". Commit that atrocity again and you will have a good reason for fear. Lastly, respect other people and their families. They will repay the favor. Fail to do so, and you will suffer.
The rules concluded, and my temper somewhat calmed I leave you with this: Try a style outside of 3X clothes that make you resemble something of a cross between a jackass and an acid head priest, learn a few words longer than four letters and lastly, come out of the closet. You aren't fooling anyone.
Roll that in a blunt and smoke it. Bitch.
God As Himself
You make yourself look like a fool, and your disrespect is mortifying. The language that endlessly worms its way from your throat and into the world, the foul, deplorable slang you interpret as modern poetry, is less artistic than photographing a 92 year old man sodomizing your ten year old brother. The repetitive, zombifyingly mind-numbing music you listen to is more a sad attempt at cashing in on a sound, a genre that was dead before it began. You disguise yourself in hard talk, mask your fear with smiles and your homosexuality with talk of conquests and riddicule. You're a coward, a nothing, a futurless, insignificant wretch with more piss in your pants than a newborn. Yet you have the gall to wave the word 'bitch' around like its some kind of weapon, something that will give you power over somebody else because you label them with a derogatory name? Mother fucker, sit back. We're going for a ride.
You have spent your entire life afraid of people who look like me, who talk in speech you don't comprehend, to look at you with pity for reasons you don't understand. Some of them you've ridiculed, some of them you may have even had the nerve to physically lay your hands on. No, I don't mean "freaks". Those have become commonplace these days, a thought that is nauseating in its own right, I mean people who just have a little something...different about them. People who would, on a given day, rend your flesh and eat your insides for shits and giggles. Yeah, people like that. Most of them, I'm fairly sure you have never once looked at face to face, because you are, as previously stated, nothing more than a coward. Well, I'm here now and we can be face to face. Say something sharp and no-doubt mind blowing. Nothing, huh? Yeah, I thought you might have a response something along those lines.
My qualm with you is not a result of something directly aimed at myself. Nothing you did to offend me intentionally, but something offensive nonetheless. I am not easily offended, to say the least, yet you managed it, so now I will explain the rules in a manner you can understand. Firstly, hold your tongue or it will be removed. You could always go to class every so often and perhaps learn to read and write and then, maybe, you'd be fit to speak. Until then, eat your words. Secondly, you will never, and allow me to repeat, never, refer to any woman (be it my fourteen year old sister, or your eighty year old grandmother) as a "fine ass bitch". Commit that atrocity again and you will have a good reason for fear. Lastly, respect other people and their families. They will repay the favor. Fail to do so, and you will suffer.
The rules concluded, and my temper somewhat calmed I leave you with this: Try a style outside of 3X clothes that make you resemble something of a cross between a jackass and an acid head priest, learn a few words longer than four letters and lastly, come out of the closet. You aren't fooling anyone.
Roll that in a blunt and smoke it. Bitch.
God As Himself
Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em
Originally Posted: 2/6/06
Angels...
Raped and Ruined....
Seraphims...
Seduced and Spitted
Queens...
Loved and Gutted
You...
Next in Line
Welcome to my mind, a place where hope has abandoned and light is forsaken. For the next few paragraphs you will endure this place because you, being the human you are, can not help but delve into the things you fear most about the world around you. Those things, all of which live inside you, are your nightmares and little by little, I can make them come true.
Parents. Wonderful topic to discuss tonight and what wonderful people they are correct? Good. We're avoiding them. Rather, we're going to talk about friends. Ever have a good friend? Ever have a best friend? Ever have a bff? Well, if the last one is true do me a favor and cut out your genitals because you won't be needing them. If you're stupid enough to think something as fragile as friendship can last forever, then you deserve to reproduce about as much as I do. Sadly, this time around I am guilty of the very thing I am about to tell you how much I despise. I suppose maybe its that last part of my childhood starting to die off before I enter the bleak, utterly hopeless adult world. What a fucking prospect that is to look forward to.
Friends are something words can't actually be put to, despite how ignorant people attempt time and again. Its not possible, because relationships like that have no need for words. Therefore, they surpass them. I don't currently have a best friend, although I have gone through several. Hell, right now I'm lucky to find a friend when I need one to tell the truth. Now, before I elaborate on why this is, allow me to tell you why I chose this topic. A very dear friend called me the other night, last week now I suppose and it felt so good to hear this friend's voice that I could not think of anything much to say beyond how tired I was. The conversation quickly ended with her promise to call me the next day and my vow to get some sleep. The moment I heard the click I realized two things: 1.) By "I'll call you tomorrow" she meant "You fucker, why don't you ever call me?" and 2.) There were a million better things I could have and should have said to her not just then, but over the course of several years. In short, the reason that relationship is in shambles (not due to any fights but rather a lack of communication and time invested) is solely, my fault. Sad. Terrible. True.
I have few friends. It isn't due to my demeanor, my personality, or any of those things about me that sicken normal people. Its because I care too little or I don't show that I care enough. I lose contact with people and when the inevitable conflict over this occurs, I fall back into the asshole persona that I so lovingly crafted, and tell them to fuck off, or ignore them, or something else even more foolish than my normal behavior. I hurt people heedlessly, needlessly because I am too fucking arrogant to bother with myself. For that, I express sorrow but I wonder how often I mean it. Its not that I'm insincere. I can be sincere about mostly anything (especially how vehemently I abhor utter stupidity including my own). Its that I'm distant and I have trouble identifying or caring about anyone who has not become extraordinarily close to me. The three of them that there are. Outside of them, I have a more or less "How sad for you, when are you going to blow me?" attitude. Sad. Horrible. True.
In closing, my rant tonight has been less severe than normal and for the first time in a long time, it had an easily discernable point to it. I promise more of my usual nonsensical drivel next time.
To my friend, who shall ever remain nameless, I am truly sorry for all the dumb things I have said or failed to say or done. Especially when I try to say something that should have been silly, or cute and it comes off as a pathetic attempt at something entirely different. Gotta work on my people skills...but I do love you dearly. That's a start at least...
Evermore.
-Scar Rider
Angels...
Raped and Ruined....
Seraphims...
Seduced and Spitted
Queens...
Loved and Gutted
You...
Next in Line
Welcome to my mind, a place where hope has abandoned and light is forsaken. For the next few paragraphs you will endure this place because you, being the human you are, can not help but delve into the things you fear most about the world around you. Those things, all of which live inside you, are your nightmares and little by little, I can make them come true.
Parents. Wonderful topic to discuss tonight and what wonderful people they are correct? Good. We're avoiding them. Rather, we're going to talk about friends. Ever have a good friend? Ever have a best friend? Ever have a bff? Well, if the last one is true do me a favor and cut out your genitals because you won't be needing them. If you're stupid enough to think something as fragile as friendship can last forever, then you deserve to reproduce about as much as I do. Sadly, this time around I am guilty of the very thing I am about to tell you how much I despise. I suppose maybe its that last part of my childhood starting to die off before I enter the bleak, utterly hopeless adult world. What a fucking prospect that is to look forward to.
Friends are something words can't actually be put to, despite how ignorant people attempt time and again. Its not possible, because relationships like that have no need for words. Therefore, they surpass them. I don't currently have a best friend, although I have gone through several. Hell, right now I'm lucky to find a friend when I need one to tell the truth. Now, before I elaborate on why this is, allow me to tell you why I chose this topic. A very dear friend called me the other night, last week now I suppose and it felt so good to hear this friend's voice that I could not think of anything much to say beyond how tired I was. The conversation quickly ended with her promise to call me the next day and my vow to get some sleep. The moment I heard the click I realized two things: 1.) By "I'll call you tomorrow" she meant "You fucker, why don't you ever call me?" and 2.) There were a million better things I could have and should have said to her not just then, but over the course of several years. In short, the reason that relationship is in shambles (not due to any fights but rather a lack of communication and time invested) is solely, my fault. Sad. Terrible. True.
I have few friends. It isn't due to my demeanor, my personality, or any of those things about me that sicken normal people. Its because I care too little or I don't show that I care enough. I lose contact with people and when the inevitable conflict over this occurs, I fall back into the asshole persona that I so lovingly crafted, and tell them to fuck off, or ignore them, or something else even more foolish than my normal behavior. I hurt people heedlessly, needlessly because I am too fucking arrogant to bother with myself. For that, I express sorrow but I wonder how often I mean it. Its not that I'm insincere. I can be sincere about mostly anything (especially how vehemently I abhor utter stupidity including my own). Its that I'm distant and I have trouble identifying or caring about anyone who has not become extraordinarily close to me. The three of them that there are. Outside of them, I have a more or less "How sad for you, when are you going to blow me?" attitude. Sad. Horrible. True.
In closing, my rant tonight has been less severe than normal and for the first time in a long time, it had an easily discernable point to it. I promise more of my usual nonsensical drivel next time.
To my friend, who shall ever remain nameless, I am truly sorry for all the dumb things I have said or failed to say or done. Especially when I try to say something that should have been silly, or cute and it comes off as a pathetic attempt at something entirely different. Gotta work on my people skills...but I do love you dearly. That's a start at least...
Evermore.
-Scar Rider
God is Dead...and No One Cares
Originally Posted: 7/20/2005
Hell is the maimed and tortured face of a young girl as she lies whimpering and half conscious beneath you. The face that haunts your dreams nightly because you loved her. You loved her and she hurt you and that bitch got what she deserved.
Hell is the cries of abandoned children. Small and alone in a poverty stricken neighborhood, locked in their bedrooms, afraid to venture without and incur the wrath of their bastard fathers, afraid to know that mommy isn't home. Its much easier to sit alone and pretend someone loves you.
Hell is the souls of young people in this world who have lost their innocence. People who met reality far before their time. People who missed laughing and lounging in the sun and traded in their Power Ranger feetie pajamas for rubber gloves and responsiblities. People who gave all to ensure siblings grew up right an wanted only to be kids in return.
Hell is in everyone who has suffered injustice at the hands of life because Hell is the burden we carry. Hell is the vengeful tears of children, the spiteful tongues of intellectals, and the utter loss of will in humankind. Hell is right beside you every moment and it isn't satisfied.
So go, live your life in this pile of refuse that exists as an excuse for a world and know that "God is Dead...And No One Cares". Hell is here. And I see your face every day. Fuck it. This place is disgusting and so are the pitiful monsters that inhabit it. I need to get out.
-S.R.
Hell is the maimed and tortured face of a young girl as she lies whimpering and half conscious beneath you. The face that haunts your dreams nightly because you loved her. You loved her and she hurt you and that bitch got what she deserved.
Hell is the cries of abandoned children. Small and alone in a poverty stricken neighborhood, locked in their bedrooms, afraid to venture without and incur the wrath of their bastard fathers, afraid to know that mommy isn't home. Its much easier to sit alone and pretend someone loves you.
Hell is the souls of young people in this world who have lost their innocence. People who met reality far before their time. People who missed laughing and lounging in the sun and traded in their Power Ranger feetie pajamas for rubber gloves and responsiblities. People who gave all to ensure siblings grew up right an wanted only to be kids in return.
Hell is in everyone who has suffered injustice at the hands of life because Hell is the burden we carry. Hell is the vengeful tears of children, the spiteful tongues of intellectals, and the utter loss of will in humankind. Hell is right beside you every moment and it isn't satisfied.
So go, live your life in this pile of refuse that exists as an excuse for a world and know that "God is Dead...And No One Cares". Hell is here. And I see your face every day. Fuck it. This place is disgusting and so are the pitiful monsters that inhabit it. I need to get out.
-S.R.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Abandon Ship
I'm like clotted up shit in your synapses, your syntaxes, with poorly written reflexes or retractions. Some things I probably should have never brought to light, never put to white, never said in type. There are rhymes and then there are times when nothing seems quite lyrical, the literal interpretation of the physical is ridiculed and cynical. And then, sometimes, you just make some shit up that sounds good and run with it. Forget the need to say something and mean something, forget that they're not mutually exclusive. Forget it. Unlearn what you have learned.
I like verbatim, but I prefer vulgarity.
And now you see the clarity, the pure, genetic rarity. You see the underside of me. Not the other side, you've seen that. Or the Otherside, that's been there, too. But the underside. The parasites and symbiotes that cling to me because the filth that accrues along my underbelly nourishes them. It's a wicked sort of self-assurance, or maybe it's just self-deterrence. When my inhibitions punched out, the delusions clocked in. And it occurs to me, the only things I've left to say are sins.
My only fear is anonymity, that when I die and Odin hoists me from this mortal world, I will have said only sweet nothings, and nothing worth recalling.
I have written volumes upon volumes of words for no reason. Save that maybe Whitman was right and the world around us sings and breathes and speaks. Perhaps then all these noises are more than half-imagined. Or maybe less. They build to a crescendo, but I cannot discern the words, nor the notes, nor the instruments. Bagpipes, maybe. Pissed-off Scotsmen.
I like poetry in motion, but I like motion in poetry more.
Similies are like anal sex. Often times awesome, occasionally just good, and every once in a while someone takes a shit on you.
I called you forty times today, and each time I called you a whore. And each time, I wondered if it would be the last time my lascivious thirst would seek you out. I wondered in the most salacious of my ravenous appetites had been, at least blunted. And each time I found myself wishing I could simply eat you and have the fantasy done with. No bones left to admire, no skin to caress, no muscle to watch, awe-struck at the pure, naked beauty. Just a hollow bit of air where you used to stand and wait for me to need you.
This is foolishness. Utter folly. Gods grant me a sword, I think I've fallen in love.
Man Overboard,
S.R.
I like verbatim, but I prefer vulgarity.
And now you see the clarity, the pure, genetic rarity. You see the underside of me. Not the other side, you've seen that. Or the Otherside, that's been there, too. But the underside. The parasites and symbiotes that cling to me because the filth that accrues along my underbelly nourishes them. It's a wicked sort of self-assurance, or maybe it's just self-deterrence. When my inhibitions punched out, the delusions clocked in. And it occurs to me, the only things I've left to say are sins.
My only fear is anonymity, that when I die and Odin hoists me from this mortal world, I will have said only sweet nothings, and nothing worth recalling.
I have written volumes upon volumes of words for no reason. Save that maybe Whitman was right and the world around us sings and breathes and speaks. Perhaps then all these noises are more than half-imagined. Or maybe less. They build to a crescendo, but I cannot discern the words, nor the notes, nor the instruments. Bagpipes, maybe. Pissed-off Scotsmen.
I like poetry in motion, but I like motion in poetry more.
Similies are like anal sex. Often times awesome, occasionally just good, and every once in a while someone takes a shit on you.
I called you forty times today, and each time I called you a whore. And each time, I wondered if it would be the last time my lascivious thirst would seek you out. I wondered in the most salacious of my ravenous appetites had been, at least blunted. And each time I found myself wishing I could simply eat you and have the fantasy done with. No bones left to admire, no skin to caress, no muscle to watch, awe-struck at the pure, naked beauty. Just a hollow bit of air where you used to stand and wait for me to need you.
This is foolishness. Utter folly. Gods grant me a sword, I think I've fallen in love.
Man Overboard,
S.R.
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