* Goose Step * 11/28/2014
Tabulate strength in a spine in comparison to that of a pine tree. Measure your worth dead to that of the living. Staring up at a grey sky whos uncaring of all humanities been through. Wondering the purpose of our wasteful existences.
Its not like saving money will save the world. The do it yourself movement isn't the answer to anything. Seems like we are on a one way trip to nowhere and nobody cares beyond this minute. Purposeless we playact our nonexistent purposes.
Fuckin sittin behind a desk our whole life. Takin money for chips. Bedridden guilty consciouses scratching sick itch as we cough up the expensive habits we suffer with.
Squeezing out feelings we spend whole lives holding in. Dribbling down our shirtfronts in dark rooms nicely locked. Eyes darting for witnesses of sordid imaginings.
Sick pathetic Amerikkkkkkk.
Sunday, 23 November 2014
* Mirror Givers * 11/23/2014
A year and a half free
Full year employed at the busiest truck stop
Enough work experience now for better employment
Sleep at night deeper the more i exhaust
Pain doesn't X-out enjoyment when the latters
Nonexistent
Wifts of reality wafting up from mirage footsteps
Feeling like a hamster one-way glassed
Peeping periodically past the people
Feeding looped reels like carrots
To glassy, wall-eyed rabbits who've jus witnessed
Parents death at the teeth of weasels
Pissin yourself as you digest
Every face has that which it can't confront
You're this, you're that but like reflections
Gleaming sideways unseeing we continue
With perfection in eyes bleeding of disease
Breath smelling of substances
Makeupped wanton need to be pretty
We proceed
When the jokes on you long enough
You become able to turn the tables
Audience involved unto silence
Like Kurt Cobain clapping
Sarcastically, sporadic like a shotgun
Into faces
Quieted with derision
The destruction of the comedic
Like fucking a partner so long you hate it
Hang it from a belt
Rape it like Black Amerikka
Hey, Robin and Cosby
Fuckin psuedo-society woe-seekers
Destruction of creativity a la
Finale' empiricity
My delusion I've used it
Hurt none in the process of it
I'll proceed with it as need necessitates
Avoiding unto perfection
This
Poetic tetris tic tac toe morass
Ones personal
Insurrection
Dizzy like a mouse in a tight wall
Worsening
Need for the worst stalemated
By some inconceivable net structure
Trap door made of red carpet
Scittering feet across chewed wood
Its only me...
A year and a half free
Full year employed at the busiest truck stop
Enough work experience now for better employment
Sleep at night deeper the more i exhaust
Pain doesn't X-out enjoyment when the latters
Nonexistent
Wifts of reality wafting up from mirage footsteps
Feeling like a hamster one-way glassed
Peeping periodically past the people
Feeding looped reels like carrots
To glassy, wall-eyed rabbits who've jus witnessed
Parents death at the teeth of weasels
Pissin yourself as you digest
Every face has that which it can't confront
You're this, you're that but like reflections
Gleaming sideways unseeing we continue
With perfection in eyes bleeding of disease
Breath smelling of substances
Makeupped wanton need to be pretty
We proceed
When the jokes on you long enough
You become able to turn the tables
Audience involved unto silence
Like Kurt Cobain clapping
Sarcastically, sporadic like a shotgun
Into faces
Quieted with derision
The destruction of the comedic
Like fucking a partner so long you hate it
Hang it from a belt
Rape it like Black Amerikka
Hey, Robin and Cosby
Fuckin psuedo-society woe-seekers
Destruction of creativity a la
Finale' empiricity
My delusion I've used it
Hurt none in the process of it
I'll proceed with it as need necessitates
Avoiding unto perfection
This
Poetic tetris tic tac toe morass
Ones personal
Insurrection
Dizzy like a mouse in a tight wall
Worsening
Need for the worst stalemated
By some inconceivable net structure
Trap door made of red carpet
Scittering feet across chewed wood
Its only me...
Monday, 10 November 2014
*Answer* 11/10/2014
Fresh cut pine pops, burning in an antique 1940s stove with brand new stove pipe. Resting on the floor of the longed for addition to my fathers house i used to listen to my mother and father speak of as i sat on the carpet playing with Lincoln logs. These hands made come true thirty years later. Cracked, cramped and bleeding. I did it.
A cemented hell scrubbed and swept beyond clean hourly as an unshaven, unclean animal paces up and down lookin for dirt. The search for solace solely on the inside when placed in solitary sensory deprivation. Like the princess and the pea, searchingly you feel the discomfort of the smallest. Until you can coddle the pain into a shiny patina of pearly comfort. Either eat away or be eaten. Ten years of pain turned into a unique emotion, somewhere between philosopher and masochist.
You want what you can't get when it comes to the opposite sex and wish to jus sit surrounded by nothing but music after eighty hours a paycheck. The cutting up of venison today crawling with maggot. Yet smelling good and packaged to eat. As long as you cut around the bad parts its all good. The amount spent on meat puts a smile on the face of he who doesn't have to pay it. Another week.
Her dangerous teeth smiling at me behind braces. Tight cowgirl Wranglers supporting a thought more dangerous than crack or whiskey. Comrades forgive me my natural specie tendency to pass on genes in the vortex of a failing bourgeois society. Crimes against peoples revolution in the form of pretty haired innocence. Violent in her virginity. A face reminiscent of a past cellmate and her older sisters decline of my date request. Twenty years spent.
Words randomly splashed on a page as red bull courses through veins coated with coffee. Every fellow captive released and recaptured in tiny paragraphs each week in the local paper. From Kashas slashed wrists yesterday to Troys hanging death months ago. We repeat deaths and tragedies like favorite songs on skipped CDs.
You have to see and make peace with the ugly end before you can have a pretty beginning. And when you hold everything so deep down inside its dangerous when you rub the genie loose. Booze and crystal. Back and forth the army rides. To hell and back. The lower class song of suicide and homicide.
Rich people with fat fingers on the pause button of contradiction. Disappearing a son who holds righteous anger at a shady injustice system into a cell of destruction teaching defeatism. Returning home as an exampled time bomb. Destroying those half remembered and starring fifteen minutes of fame on the ten o clock news. Perpetuating the illusion; crime doesn't pay and pigs and white people are the solution.
Text message just received with braces and an emotion long since buried. Since she resembles my first girlfriend. Would be the worst to experience downfall from a forgotten emotion. The ambrosia of my voice tickling senses like facial expressions of Charles Manson. Its only those that fully finish a revolution that can be all forgiven. The beforehand builders buried skinless in shallow graves smelling of pig skin.
You've got this single moment to do with as you choose it. Spend it in jest if you're not afraid to lose it.
But those afraid of the big death embrace the little one. Whatever rules or laws precede it. Because, what's more, the destruction of a single entity or a species?
Fresh cut pine pops, burning in an antique 1940s stove with brand new stove pipe. Resting on the floor of the longed for addition to my fathers house i used to listen to my mother and father speak of as i sat on the carpet playing with Lincoln logs. These hands made come true thirty years later. Cracked, cramped and bleeding. I did it.
A cemented hell scrubbed and swept beyond clean hourly as an unshaven, unclean animal paces up and down lookin for dirt. The search for solace solely on the inside when placed in solitary sensory deprivation. Like the princess and the pea, searchingly you feel the discomfort of the smallest. Until you can coddle the pain into a shiny patina of pearly comfort. Either eat away or be eaten. Ten years of pain turned into a unique emotion, somewhere between philosopher and masochist.
You want what you can't get when it comes to the opposite sex and wish to jus sit surrounded by nothing but music after eighty hours a paycheck. The cutting up of venison today crawling with maggot. Yet smelling good and packaged to eat. As long as you cut around the bad parts its all good. The amount spent on meat puts a smile on the face of he who doesn't have to pay it. Another week.
Her dangerous teeth smiling at me behind braces. Tight cowgirl Wranglers supporting a thought more dangerous than crack or whiskey. Comrades forgive me my natural specie tendency to pass on genes in the vortex of a failing bourgeois society. Crimes against peoples revolution in the form of pretty haired innocence. Violent in her virginity. A face reminiscent of a past cellmate and her older sisters decline of my date request. Twenty years spent.
Words randomly splashed on a page as red bull courses through veins coated with coffee. Every fellow captive released and recaptured in tiny paragraphs each week in the local paper. From Kashas slashed wrists yesterday to Troys hanging death months ago. We repeat deaths and tragedies like favorite songs on skipped CDs.
You have to see and make peace with the ugly end before you can have a pretty beginning. And when you hold everything so deep down inside its dangerous when you rub the genie loose. Booze and crystal. Back and forth the army rides. To hell and back. The lower class song of suicide and homicide.
Rich people with fat fingers on the pause button of contradiction. Disappearing a son who holds righteous anger at a shady injustice system into a cell of destruction teaching defeatism. Returning home as an exampled time bomb. Destroying those half remembered and starring fifteen minutes of fame on the ten o clock news. Perpetuating the illusion; crime doesn't pay and pigs and white people are the solution.
Text message just received with braces and an emotion long since buried. Since she resembles my first girlfriend. Would be the worst to experience downfall from a forgotten emotion. The ambrosia of my voice tickling senses like facial expressions of Charles Manson. Its only those that fully finish a revolution that can be all forgiven. The beforehand builders buried skinless in shallow graves smelling of pig skin.
You've got this single moment to do with as you choose it. Spend it in jest if you're not afraid to lose it.
But those afraid of the big death embrace the little one. Whatever rules or laws precede it. Because, what's more, the destruction of a single entity or a species?
Tuesday, 16 September 2014
Part 2 "Fore-ward"
Part 2 "Fore-ward"
.... Anything you do or say or ("mental-illy" think) that challenges the present power structure is met with force. Force of the utmost. Generational force that's been built up and studied unto Sadist perfection.
An art form of the most brutal and unprogressive this.
And solitary confinement is the spearhead of it all. It is used in-border and out-border on those that can't be mindwashed. On those that put the species' future (as a whole. The majority. The 80%) before their lives.
I died in it. In that cell all alone all that time. You lose track. You DE-evolve.
Standstill. A standstill. Perpetual standstill.
It's what occurs in those sensory deprivation cells. It's what is occurring in the world. With these machines I outlined, machines developed for this sole reason. Stand. Still.
I'm dead but I move.
How bout you?
.... Anything you do or say or ("mental-illy" think) that challenges the present power structure is met with force. Force of the utmost. Generational force that's been built up and studied unto Sadist perfection.
An art form of the most brutal and unprogressive this.
And solitary confinement is the spearhead of it all. It is used in-border and out-border on those that can't be mindwashed. On those that put the species' future (as a whole. The majority. The 80%) before their lives.
I died in it. In that cell all alone all that time. You lose track. You DE-evolve.
Standstill. A standstill. Perpetual standstill.
It's what occurs in those sensory deprivation cells. It's what is occurring in the world. With these machines I outlined, machines developed for this sole reason. Stand. Still.
I'm dead but I move.
How bout you?
Fore-Ward
*Fore Ward* 09/16/2014
(The possibility that the whole monthly system is set up to take away from the fact middle month is more important creatively/revolutionarily) [ Wink Wink ]
Solitary confinement is a tool the imperialist oppressor class uses to silence the oppressed classes inside and outside its borders. There is money in the prison system to be made also. Outside of its borders, this oppressor class, that constitutes 99% of the amerikkan citizenry [the first world as a whole basically. 20 % of the human species] the war machine must keep inventing enemies to wage war upon. ISIS now. Al-Qaeda before. I.E. the 80%. Each new IMAGINED threat is more vague. More all-encompassing. The term "terrorist" becoming the dollar sign for the military industry. Just like the term "gangmember" or "drugdealer" is dollar and cents for the prison industry.
You have almost fascism developed already but Noone sees it. You have a contradiction between the bourgeois rich ( and their bought off labor aristocracy ) on the one end, dueling with the oppressed nations sitting in solitary cells and the oppressed nations victims across the world living life in rubble strewn streets. Perpetual standstill.
The whole infrastructure of these rich classes depends, the maintaining of the contradiction with the oppressors on top and the oppressed on bottom, depends on the perpetually destroyed believing nothing can change. That nothing has ever changed and in the past change never happened.
So you got the entire school system and media force feeding contradiction-stalling bullshit. We are taught to believe in "mental-illness", that it exists and is the cause of "criminality", and that all sorts of mind-numbing, body-breaking, pharmaceutical-company-richening substances can cure these pseudo-illnesses. We begin to believe our sadness and anger is an internal thing and not an external thing. Not an outside-self factor, like being oppressed, being robbed by pigs over and over with fines and tickets for made-up offenses. Being bombed to death, holding your Childs hand as amerikkan missles come down your chimney, because you speak the truth about the worlds enemy. Being murdered by the robot, badged, lackeys of the rich for the simple fact you see incorrectness in the mainstreams correctness. And then seeing no charges against the pigs who murder in cold, cowardly blood. No charges, but medals and promotions, for soldiers that commit war crimes and crimes against humanity each day.
You see, deaths, and the dead, have a moral and hidden-until-now price tag.
If you kill the "mentally-ill", the "terrorist", the "criminal", "ISIS"... No problem. Doesn't matter. That's the purpose of these words. But if you kill an officer, a soldier... Problem. They will murder you in return with sensory deprivation, state execution or guided missles. Stacked-Against price tags.
If the contradiction-stalling-amerikkan-oppressor-class can't force medicate and force defeatist-dogma-hypnotize you, with its media, pharmaceutical and solitary confinement, it will NATO-ize you. It will terrorize you with bombs and bullets as it calls you the terrorist.
It's the night-time of an empire but they want you to believe roosters are crowing.
As i pound these nails into these expensive boards, which cleaning toilets at a truckstop repeatedly have bought, that constitute the second edition to a trailer house my father, who spent twenty years in a cell himself, whom, upon doing my ten years in a cell, i found starving-to-death-unto-seizures in a boarded off room in this tiny tin house... As i build, and slowly die myself, sweating my final drops onto truckers' soiled toilet seats, i consider the contradictions of times past. Of all the times a moneyed class has seized power of civilization and held on to the point of halting our species' evolution.
Because it's big. It's that huge.
(The possibility that the whole monthly system is set up to take away from the fact middle month is more important creatively/revolutionarily) [ Wink Wink ]
Solitary confinement is a tool the imperialist oppressor class uses to silence the oppressed classes inside and outside its borders. There is money in the prison system to be made also. Outside of its borders, this oppressor class, that constitutes 99% of the amerikkan citizenry [the first world as a whole basically. 20 % of the human species] the war machine must keep inventing enemies to wage war upon. ISIS now. Al-Qaeda before. I.E. the 80%. Each new IMAGINED threat is more vague. More all-encompassing. The term "terrorist" becoming the dollar sign for the military industry. Just like the term "gangmember" or "drugdealer" is dollar and cents for the prison industry.
You have almost fascism developed already but Noone sees it. You have a contradiction between the bourgeois rich ( and their bought off labor aristocracy ) on the one end, dueling with the oppressed nations sitting in solitary cells and the oppressed nations victims across the world living life in rubble strewn streets. Perpetual standstill.
The whole infrastructure of these rich classes depends, the maintaining of the contradiction with the oppressors on top and the oppressed on bottom, depends on the perpetually destroyed believing nothing can change. That nothing has ever changed and in the past change never happened.
So you got the entire school system and media force feeding contradiction-stalling bullshit. We are taught to believe in "mental-illness", that it exists and is the cause of "criminality", and that all sorts of mind-numbing, body-breaking, pharmaceutical-company-richening substances can cure these pseudo-illnesses. We begin to believe our sadness and anger is an internal thing and not an external thing. Not an outside-self factor, like being oppressed, being robbed by pigs over and over with fines and tickets for made-up offenses. Being bombed to death, holding your Childs hand as amerikkan missles come down your chimney, because you speak the truth about the worlds enemy. Being murdered by the robot, badged, lackeys of the rich for the simple fact you see incorrectness in the mainstreams correctness. And then seeing no charges against the pigs who murder in cold, cowardly blood. No charges, but medals and promotions, for soldiers that commit war crimes and crimes against humanity each day.
You see, deaths, and the dead, have a moral and hidden-until-now price tag.
If you kill the "mentally-ill", the "terrorist", the "criminal", "ISIS"... No problem. Doesn't matter. That's the purpose of these words. But if you kill an officer, a soldier... Problem. They will murder you in return with sensory deprivation, state execution or guided missles. Stacked-Against price tags.
If the contradiction-stalling-amerikkan-oppressor-class can't force medicate and force defeatist-dogma-hypnotize you, with its media, pharmaceutical and solitary confinement, it will NATO-ize you. It will terrorize you with bombs and bullets as it calls you the terrorist.
It's the night-time of an empire but they want you to believe roosters are crowing.
As i pound these nails into these expensive boards, which cleaning toilets at a truckstop repeatedly have bought, that constitute the second edition to a trailer house my father, who spent twenty years in a cell himself, whom, upon doing my ten years in a cell, i found starving-to-death-unto-seizures in a boarded off room in this tiny tin house... As i build, and slowly die myself, sweating my final drops onto truckers' soiled toilet seats, i consider the contradictions of times past. Of all the times a moneyed class has seized power of civilization and held on to the point of halting our species' evolution.
Because it's big. It's that huge.
Wednesday, 10 September 2014
Marooned Baboons
*Marooned Baboons* 09/10/2014
Created this feeling by twisting fate
Escaped death so i could live bent
Beside the living missing the dead
Disordered i sit this night questioning
The year mark, the fear mark
Surpassed
The loves empty and the people unchanging
Like black and white silence surrounding
My cacophony of colorful sounds
We wait for deaths and news of tragedy
Making messes we count who clean up
Only the building-cleaners fear the wait
Time counted not in carcinogens breathed or alcohol drank
But in steak ate
Beside whom whos doom is understood the most
Attempting to pause the inevitable in those who
It takes a year to speak a word to
Blood. I can feel family hunger
The need for silent sleep cover
Taken away for a decade feeling nothing
Return to slowly say in final few years
I. Feel. Everything.
You can see the ape mentality when you fall
Loudly shrieking from treetops
Cheering chattering ancestors enjoyed those falling
And greeted happily the re-climbing
But the fallen were without a seconds thought
Stricken
Until bloody head breaks leaf cover again
You're forgotten
Grandiosity dueling with minisculity
How best to spend hours bent
On branches of lone tree way off in the distance
Watching the bloody history of apes
Repeat again
Crestfallen spending waking moments aware entirely
Of the below leaves forgotten
Throwing words like peanut butter to the hungry
At those of beauty in the shadows
Knowing it's always the struggling
Bloody, Dirty, Windswept visages of the species
That`ve pushed evolutions and revolutions forward
Watching from solo tree surrounding history
The up and down screaming falling tragedy
Eyes catch yours as you take a second away
From those earthbound below crawling again upwards
To plead with the stars for some speciel sanity
You looked away miniscule seconds
It's only in these snatches that we see
We recognize momentarily that we
The treed we alone questioning
Are not alone in the spectacle of waiting
It's the between of looking upwards and below
Knowing each time there's more
And they're getting ready
Soon
Soon
Created this feeling by twisting fate
Escaped death so i could live bent
Beside the living missing the dead
Disordered i sit this night questioning
The year mark, the fear mark
Surpassed
The loves empty and the people unchanging
Like black and white silence surrounding
My cacophony of colorful sounds
We wait for deaths and news of tragedy
Making messes we count who clean up
Only the building-cleaners fear the wait
Time counted not in carcinogens breathed or alcohol drank
But in steak ate
Beside whom whos doom is understood the most
Attempting to pause the inevitable in those who
It takes a year to speak a word to
Blood. I can feel family hunger
The need for silent sleep cover
Taken away for a decade feeling nothing
Return to slowly say in final few years
I. Feel. Everything.
You can see the ape mentality when you fall
Loudly shrieking from treetops
Cheering chattering ancestors enjoyed those falling
And greeted happily the re-climbing
But the fallen were without a seconds thought
Stricken
Until bloody head breaks leaf cover again
You're forgotten
Grandiosity dueling with minisculity
How best to spend hours bent
On branches of lone tree way off in the distance
Watching the bloody history of apes
Repeat again
Crestfallen spending waking moments aware entirely
Of the below leaves forgotten
Throwing words like peanut butter to the hungry
At those of beauty in the shadows
Knowing it's always the struggling
Bloody, Dirty, Windswept visages of the species
That`ve pushed evolutions and revolutions forward
Watching from solo tree surrounding history
The up and down screaming falling tragedy
Eyes catch yours as you take a second away
From those earthbound below crawling again upwards
To plead with the stars for some speciel sanity
You looked away miniscule seconds
It's only in these snatches that we see
We recognize momentarily that we
The treed we alone questioning
Are not alone in the spectacle of waiting
It's the between of looking upwards and below
Knowing each time there's more
And they're getting ready
Soon
Soon
Monday, 1 September 2014
Wait and Win
*Wait and Win* 09/01/2014
Anti-Amerikkanism equaling Anti-Terrorism
Ice challenge rich folk or rubble head challenges
Labor aristocrats supporting Anti-Bullying
Ignoring state executions
Feel good pig genociding
Hijack your dog and son
Institutionalizing, euthanizing
Charging lives
New age ransoms
I did it, you murdering copsuckers
Fuckin try to kill me and my comrades
Spencer Hoopers spider crawling like teardrop
Soon teeter-totter tips in our favor
Survived in order to expose your lies
That you correct and protect
Serving dollar signs
Rehabilitating white pocket books
Building red, brown and black brick
Solitary supermax
You'll never know it unless you experience it
And you'll never experience it if you're above it
Amerikkan
Sitting in it choking on it
Tasting pepperspray in your tears
Spit in your cheese sandwich
You've eaten repeatedly
Ten years
Twitch
Man executed made it out
As you sit
Just sit
Twitch twitch
When you kick your door
And hear the echo of your neighbor
Kicking his door
You scream
They scream
Teardrop
Coldchills
We're in it
We're against it
Together
Then you wake up after exhaustion
Expending every ounce of fluid from your body
The key here and only way to catch rest
Unloading sweat, sperm, tears
From spit sandwiches
You kick your door and SCREAM
Grin waiting
Nothing
As ringed, chubby, white, cologned fingers
Drop your saliva sandwich to cement
As you assume the kneeling
Ankle and finger lock position
Faced away
Teeth gritting
"Your friend killed himself"
Toothy grin behind plexi-glass
"What you gonna do bout it?"
Twitch
Silence
Twitch Twitch
Anti-Amerikkanism equaling Anti-Terrorism
Ice challenge rich folk or rubble head challenges
Labor aristocrats supporting Anti-Bullying
Ignoring state executions
Feel good pig genociding
Hijack your dog and son
Institutionalizing, euthanizing
Charging lives
New age ransoms
I did it, you murdering copsuckers
Fuckin try to kill me and my comrades
Spencer Hoopers spider crawling like teardrop
Soon teeter-totter tips in our favor
Survived in order to expose your lies
That you correct and protect
Serving dollar signs
Rehabilitating white pocket books
Building red, brown and black brick
Solitary supermax
You'll never know it unless you experience it
And you'll never experience it if you're above it
Amerikkan
Sitting in it choking on it
Tasting pepperspray in your tears
Spit in your cheese sandwich
You've eaten repeatedly
Ten years
Twitch
Man executed made it out
As you sit
Just sit
Twitch twitch
When you kick your door
And hear the echo of your neighbor
Kicking his door
You scream
They scream
Teardrop
Coldchills
We're in it
We're against it
Together
Then you wake up after exhaustion
Expending every ounce of fluid from your body
The key here and only way to catch rest
Unloading sweat, sperm, tears
From spit sandwiches
You kick your door and SCREAM
Grin waiting
Nothing
As ringed, chubby, white, cologned fingers
Drop your saliva sandwich to cement
As you assume the kneeling
Ankle and finger lock position
Faced away
Teeth gritting
"Your friend killed himself"
Toothy grin behind plexi-glass
"What you gonna do bout it?"
Twitch
Silence
Twitch Twitch
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