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to Poems
070323C -----------
We deny everything that was considered decent or was believed sensible because none of that is anything believed true.
There is no compassion for reasons or truths those being kicked aside wherever they protrude their pitiful contentions.
We use the dullest points to do the most damage avoiding sharp talk and leaving sharp arguments to become over painted walls.
White wash over white becomes the new normal and colours remain secrets carefully kept well away from any public scrutiny.
Common slogans replacing the great ideas and the symposium descends to being a mob of wrinkles babbling drunken limericks.
That substitutes quite easily for the continued gathering of any relevant intelligence between supermarket visits to review the price changes.
Nothing worn out of place that was not to be found at a discount sell off of dulled down sacks made by small yellow hands.
Everything has changed since they legislated away the reality of any real needs and whatever was left remained only in psychology.
It is in the subtle wording that only experts understand which most keep secret because they fear being smeared out into nothingness.
The stains of those who were remain a sort of warning to those careful of everything that they wear or say for fear of being noticed.
The same fear you can see in the eyes of any deer when it is standing naked staring into the headlights of an oncoming rush of traffic.
The young are the most afraid trying to find acceptable vices and officially sanctioned crimes to fill their minds and time with while contemplating death.
They are the most intent to intensely feign their courage in any convincing enough way but you know there is no truth in their coldly suspicious eyes.
Some stand around and watch until they feel emboldened to encourage someone else to jump from the ledge simply to justify a usual horror.
They usually all jump when they are prodded to jump without looking forward having become fully accustomed to assuming nothing is ever there.
There is still some vague need that some cannot fully explain for something more memorable than a gourmet burger and a hard core but green shake.
Youthful desire is to mentor the old into the newest ignorance conducting purges and pogroms of the hopelessly unindoctrinated so that they cannot score points.
To say the judgments are severe becomes an understatement and the really popular tunes organ grinders play for monkeys are worse than bubblegum.
There is no way to settle and no one to really settle with because if you express blue you will be tormented with red until you vomit out the urge.
The dead fish has risen and a perfect zero is the key to obtaining elusive inclusion into a slogan rich pseudo bliss evasive of costly prescriptions.
Most do not want to be anything that might attract any attention and their defeat is matter of fact becoming their common cause for what passes as celebration.
Happiness is something that is convincingly faked or is alternatively available in pill form being dispensed primarily to corporate drudges.
Strict gratitude and happiness have become the new noir similarly striving to compete with the daily news monster as to other types of tragic ends.
You secretly want to go back to somewhere in the past or at least back to sleep to avoid everything woke and aggressively progressive.
There seems to be no difference between political marches and funeral marches in terms of actual impact on the real quality of living.
The constant threat is there as to strangulation in red tape along with the steady depletion that bleeds out inadequate funds into endless bad bargains.
It was always a best friend who ended up killing you in one devious way or another and no one to introduce you to those mythic better people.
You already know the truth that there are no interesting types being invited to today's parties so you become thankful that no one asked you to go.
You do not have what it takes because it took everything that it could possibly take and then demanded a lot more in a typical extortion racket.
Sometimes we are very afraid of opening those empty packages and extremely disappointed that there is nothing there beyond attitude filling space.
A man staggers as he says there will be no more ants in post colonial America because ants are colonial insects and they have to be decolonized.
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180323A ------------
You know that it is over before it ever really begins but you would like to believe it was not always that way and perhaps it really wasn't.
That becomes the real catch same as a fly swims in soup or a fly flops around in ointment as to whether there was a was or whether the was never was.
They are erasing history and have gotten only that far as to creating that much ambiguity between what was once believed and what was once the truth.
As simple as leaving you out while selectively including the new displays of shorter term memories while what you wishfully recall is being put into complete doubt.
Eventually that too will fog out hiding away the past landscape making its monsters uncertain and concealing its treasures from any possible discovery.
The answer you are being given is there were no treasures and the treasure maps were false leading that wild goose chase until your goose was cooked.
Once you realize that as a fact you could be pronounced cured filled with endless rumours as to what you will win once that verdict is formally given.
Whomever controls the past can control the entire future until the past becomes a product being constantly reworked in terms of all future dictates.
Whatever you thought it was it is not anymore leaving only revised narratives and their endless corrections until we know nothing at all.
We cannot do anything that we thought we once could but that becomes the big flaw in a future that has decided that we never really could.
There is no way to argue that so everyone eventually pretends that they are going along with it as an unconditional truth of commonly believed lies.
It would have done no harm but that would have been too much of any sort of freedom and what if someone else might actually want some.
You are supposed to want only what everyone else wants and is supposed to want including joining up with those who only want to want in that way.
Thinking has grown unpopular relative to blindly doing whatever falls within the limits of coming to nothing at all wallpapered with stock phrases.
The call echoes in the streets to bring out the dead so we heap remains of desires along with ambitions and dreams onto that tragic barrow.
They wheel it all away to where clowns dissect it all into whatever is ugliest washed from that slaughter by streams of laughter.
We were dead to it all long before anything began and they will call that destiny for lack of any better name but that too needs no truth.
We wave goodbye forbidden to even mourn the remains of our authenticity tossed with the discards that no one claimed or wanted.
There was only one lesson and that was the only one that we refused to learn as to the utter futility involved in any actual search.
Our scarecrow selves with headpieces stuffed full of abortive straws of a chance pulled from random haystacks to become brittle mulch.
Promising something new will always grow there from that decaying mass of irrelevance and details cancelling out any value.
We once cherished illusions that we could find each other in one or another manner as to specific terms of reference only to learn it is never the case.
I do not know you and you do not know me beyond bits of information rendered stray and incoherent in any quantum data stream.
It is always something else that forever stands in the way until the clock becomes tired but no turning it back to having any real possibilities.
The card that was needed was never the one that was dealt but we insisted on playing in that hopelessly vain belief that anyone can really win.
You have to play to win but there is that dealer who refuses to deal us in declaring any play too rich for the lint in our pockets.
I cannot win you and you cannot win me so we try to hang on to whatever is left that fills a longing space.
Going for broke is normal if it is done in small increments over long periods of time coming to the same nothing as would any other wager.
We see and hear so much more but nothing is really available making us increasingly uncertain if there ever really was or whether what was really wasn't.
I hear something of you and maybe you do hear something of me but that is only some more pulling of wings from these flies.
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180323B -----------
Someone always declares my time is never well spent and that you would not want me spending time that way.
It makes you another extortionist as if they are all extortionists in one way or the other demanding that much change.
A generic statement of account that could apply to anyone or to no one at all in any reality that I know anything about.
As if we really have a choice about those sorts of spending habits lacking this or that requirement between our hopes and a waste can.
I always hoped for better but that meant finding worse and nothing I really wanted from catalogues of impossibilities.
The damned are the damned whether they do or they do not so one tries to be selective as to tolerable types of damnation.
To be denied that too seems too cruel and unusual after having been made in that mould into surplus and discard contortions.
Just another skin bag, bone heap that keeps doing things in the big pyramid scheme of monumental ambitions.
Someone sprinkles holy water on me to see if I will burst into flames but it only brings a damp rot typical of that type of ideology.
Felt forced to keep on searching for someone I could really want who would really want all of this heap of exceptional failures.
The exceptional is the problem and most forever churn on the same to butter their social bread despite the fact it has gone stale.
Finding it was common failures that are having all the luck while the exceptional are turned to being wastes of time and money.
It is all in the label and the labels do not come off for the sake of everyone's safety from any imagined sort s of harm.
Might wonder who decides those and other similar matters as to who with who and what with when purely for the sake of control.
They say the spend is never enough and they say the spend is far too much but you know life is constant gambles making some into exceptional losers.
Cannot live or play that way but they say everyone now likes it the way all the others do and know despite cannot offer nor afford.
How to become and be something is a process they have handed over to that new inquisition that always wants something else.
There was a time when you could get on with it, whatever it was but not really now and not anymore because it is always something else.
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220323A Haiku -----------
Oil slick debutante making its hard core rainbows turned black faced.
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230323A -----------
Melancholic spring rains turning the world young and green again.
Makes for wishing we too could be young and green again.
It would feel so good to bend that way without fear of breaking.
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240323A ------------
The repeated consequences as to all the little traumas that do not wave flags.
Stubbed toes and skinned knees the bumps and bruises producing no victory marches.
We always played seriously back in those days but we do not do that anymore.
You took the fun out of it putting question to my maturity and demanding harsh terms.
I refused to surrender having been left to wanting better times than that.
We both lost a long time ago at the time when we forgot the secret meaning of dandelions.
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240323B ------------
Notation is always incomplete creating its false impressions as to persistent lack of nuances.
You want to read into me the way you would read a technical manual.
I refuse to be deciphered in any such ways and remain your enigma.
You leave me more lonely having completely failed to crack my secret code.
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240323C --------------
Never having blossomed into the full of anything and too cold bitten at the bud for enjoyment's flowering leaves only miserable bargains and hindsight's wishings as to having never entered into any thoughts of such things.
Too late to pick up the pieces and to try and try again feeling as pruned as a stump where death was cut off even if a temporary condition that prolongs the mourning weep of too much made impossible in the circumstantial of constraints.
We get bound up in that becoming perpetual wounds while denying our afflictions as if everything is alright again made good with ways of the world and all that we really needed was a little more Sun and a breath of fresh air.
Nothing being that simple hounded by the clock and myriads of details that stand firmly in our way to what ought to have been a few modest pleasures beyond that darkening grit that is only dust and ashes.