into the pleonasm
out of Context;
‘we are greedy for trying to understand even that which does not need to be known. taken with the ability to undermine our own future for a piece of the puzzle now…’
the resistance urge.
out of Context;
‘the urge to resist a system that already tries to bypass our functional approach to making the world unite, a way beneath the skin to condemn ourselves to the purity of conflict and detention, and we always come to do it to ourselves before others… only as a tease to what horrors that it could so easily be… this biological technology stinks of rot and ill-advised plans… unforgiving forces take our bones and bodies to declare what real is and has to be…’
Quote of the Month; October….2008
“Any work of art that can be understood is the product of journalism.”
~ Tristan Tzara; romanian avant-garde writer, poet and artist.
the coundensing of rhyme. the riddle divine.
Nine times…nines times, I have fought for these threads. the clerk nodded, absentmindedly.
seemed to agree with every word I said at-large. clearing his throat, he calmly replied cautiously.
What trouble would you have, sir? my defiant stand made him quite clearly affected, a silent stand.
the lone vagrant diatribe cautiously relents into the darkness of his forgotten intellect, a swine standing. there where a man just stood, relenting against a painful system infecting him. his twisting made leaps into the insecure nature of impact, as the crutches fell away to the floor, and he faced thunderous approach into a concrete surface. the flames ignited through a human anger flew and spewed to the floor. the scream at the end left no doubt at the intrigue in the wake of the apparent. Did you like that, cripple? he was not afraid to …
no GOD, you devil.
out of Context;
‘the dirty and nasty traits shot into the culture through society’s veins to affect generations and generations until we defeat ourselves letting those-whom-are-not-to-be to take our places as the cattle…’
where the heart sits calmly.
amid the hectic pace presented by the wankers, buggers and besotted idiots out there, the truth still lies there borne of grief and shame, and few are impressed enough to pick it up again. these angles of attack and gain are wrong enough to be considered avant-garde, but weak enough to not be considered at all by most people.
the mucus within me
out of Context;
‘the narrowed focus of being the truly deceived, manipulated from simpletons planning their checker board tests of strength, and ages remaining to discover what falsehoods can be revealed behind the masks playing havoc behind the scenes… the horrid fantasy world that becomes the game board in action… mocking reality for the fears inherent in other minds…’
dribble the spittle.the perilous riddle
this tainted toss oozes lust from the crust
a dark dismay apparent with the skill of a ferret
sneaking the belittled bites into those filthy minds
what powers these mortals think they are squandering
from afar the sight seems wrecked, ramshackle, and split
the terror enters the secretions of the mob as the feelings pour
bleeding like crying for the benefit of more and taking less time spent
tinkling against the pavement becomes a game of thieves on high as fiends
totally aware that they taint and mash our dreams into the pie of belief and cream
bought, buying, sold are tastes of exquisite resonance as the thoughts dance forsaken
expanding fists into hands of needy remorse for lost wages tossed aside for the personal
war of the skill masked by faith in crime of life stealing met by chosen ones in the street level
size of force to manipulate the …