Radiation Will Be The Judge To Which You Will Testify

Posts tagged “gun shot to head

The Taste of Rage

I awake, reality institutes deceptive assault
daring me to stoke the flames,
staring at me begging for coal
daring me to fuel the fire

Reality spit at my face,
haphazard, decrepit strategy
as I tried to ignore the putrid stench

The world awoke, raining frozen hydrogen from above
enclosing the sun in cumulonimbus gloves,
foolish trick masquerading as a dove

Duality lit totality ablaze
Forever gazing through absent haze
Pleasure hazing monastic graves

Spastic legs, I walk, misconstrued
plastic dregs talk, confused
harassing pegs, they overlooked bombs’ fuse

Today, silence resounding calms
no vibrations from violent pounding palms
tomorrow more journey for floundering prawn

Third Eye Declined

I am puzzled every day at the mendacity of status quo lifestyles
including my own

When faced with a choice, a dirt path in the woods, overwrought with undergrowth
which diverges into two completely separate paths,
one, encapsulating the current, destitute and failed incorporation of all that “reality” brings into your life

and the other path, which travels deeper into the forest of unknown,
a book with a thousand pages, all untouched by ink,
there lies the unbeaten path, at risk of disavowing every single piece of humanity, social stratification,

while a corporate dog eats all, the pattern’s amazing
back home,  they cling to it like an edge of the Grand Canyon
fingernail fractures soil, a last attempt at continuing this dance

storm forms
inflation captures, fiat enraptures
no patience left in depth,destroying the nexus of stress, bliss
how much can I, stress/this
brows are beaten, tear gas creeps through crowds/disperses the defeated
Escape to a search of beyond
beyond lies, cries, miserable subsistence colored ugly by lights neon
fright for eons

spite against dark, and all colors from there to white getting beyond
the last Act of this play,
where subtle apprehension dies

I never seem to coax my own courage from its slumber in caves
hiding under a box of lumber, 6 feet beneath the grave

Although so clearly I envision the mission
Envisage a reverence for nature, for our mother, for the atmosphere
Its so easy to escape it, I once saw a beaten pathway which curved up a mountain,
where I would build my encampment, sheltered from extremity
hiding from sweltering hegemony

There I would build a fire, and chop down a hundred trees,
erect palisade walls for protection, and fall back to ancestral speed
A human can survive in harsh wilderness owning little more than nothing
while here, having it all is never enough to thrive

When will I barricade myself out of a population of lost souls,
to discover my own?

How long must I be led astray from a path where the docent dwell
from a location of secret sanity, hidden in plain view

I always feel I am twelve steps behind progress,
twelve steps behind an infernal machine, tearing
limb from limb on a march for segregated happiness,
and false hope, while
only twelve miles away, sanctuary stagnates, awaiting my return

Why does fighting daily for survival appear such a liberty-stricken dream
while enough amenities to please royalty exist now,
to satiate the most greed-driven fiend

As Love Dies

No where,
can I find so much comfort, as in the fantasy of love
No tyrannical force can crush that which burrows itself underneath outer consciousness
Yet, one who claims your affection,
can, in one moment, enact dejection
Falling for her lies, so blind like I suffer from cataracts
Air flows past my face, as I drown in its’ sorrow
An heir to flame, that shall burn all I have borrowed

I wonder whether I have forsaken my own fate,
And if her attitude will carry over into tommorow
Not fearful of losing her, cuz she’s already gone
like the light in which she used to be viewed
putting up with her bullshit as nothing but a petty pawn

Just wait till I ride along another road
You can go try and make a prince of a toad
Almost begging my hate as you goad

Our relationship flickering into ten thousand glittery sparkles
A testament to what we had, the property of puzzle pieces
Never fitting together as they once did

Thoughts on Noah

Self-conscious, breathless and boring,
no thought put into creations
dry, prescribe for sleepness nights,
Goofy pic,
put up in front of millions,
with 3-line stories about MILK
I don’t hope your last breath comes soon,
but jesus, man, the desperation is concerning,
and if it was real, it deserves more than 3 lines
Using up valuable space,
held atop the others, for no apparent reason,
thats true, literary treason 

Dying for Time

A thousand peasants die in a floodstorm of destruction, 
interior decorators would not appreciate the scene,
their furniture and picture frames coming outside the veil of flesh
Where is the emancipation, and when will it happen?
Your hands, and mine, tied in knots of cylindrical bane
Words and Platform wisdom surround, creating the haze
choking on the pollution, putrid tastes of terror,
ham-fisted proponents of the present march,
but breath the same nonsense
The peasants don’t digest food, the same as you
G.I. tracts of the poor, except more
and deal with less, the same
you all dress the same
your themes bellowing from the corners of grocers,
a lame attempt at becoming worthy
while darkness feasts on turbid desire,
the filthy still hunt by diving,
forgetting that, it was for your stunts, they’re dying 

viva la revolucion, a real gun shot to the head

Here is the call for ultimate reality checks and balances,
this country is no threat,
our stubborn and utterly ignorant persistence conjures flows of vomit once again,
How dare we declare ourselves victors of the terra,
take up arms,
and keep the peasants in the field,
thumbs pressed tight, squashing force revealed and revered
 you may attempt to call it manifest, something inevitable
bvt you would be sorely mistaken
How would you react, the obvious monkey that you are,
if a gorilla came into your jungle,
smashed your nose in with a coconut
and told you to like it?
what the fuck do you think your home was founded upon, grandfathered ritcheousness?
In this dilapitated age, where we have so much more, to shield us,
because we have become so much, less
we expect others to cower to us,
we expect the world to serve the kings of speech and freedom,
where did you purloin that freedom?
or was it given to you by, your paper-thin diety?
It is past the warm times of the cold conflicts,
every human is your brother,
it is high time, to lay down your broken, machiavallian virtues,
and accept your brothers as they are,
not what your fantasies boil for