Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
survival of the most dissociative
you don’t need anyone
to make you feel
you can feel all by yourself
you can feel any emotion you want
you have been given the full reportoire
whiteness can give you wealth
can get you ***** and enslaved
whiteness can get you anything
any type of dissociation
legal liberty
dissociative profit
an accumulation of dissociative value
to get this much sugar
dissociative cooperation of whiteness
an empire of dissociative investment
dissociative throne of power
out of control
with the need to control
anger
jealousy
envy
of those who are trying to be human
native
culture
ethnicity
anger and frustration
force and pressure to make dissociate
whiteness breathing together
against
if the cooperation of whiteness catches you
going back to help those
it tried to bury behind
dissociative reality
a desperate reality
that ceases to exist
when the intensity
of the dissociative cooperation
ceases to exist
am I the only one manifesting this honesty
a diagnosis of the diagnosers
intimate communication
tattooing the world forever
undeniable language of change
I gave all the history of dissociation
to the world
exposing abuse that is
the pride of dissociative
white supremacy
we are not the objects
of dissociative value
an association of focus
not cooperating
studying and exposing
resisting dissociation
conflicting value of nativity
accumulative value of resistance
resilience unafraid
unflinching fearless
vulnerable
reincarnating
intimate honesty
lights down low revolution
subtle
in the face of dissociative force
I need my fix of dissociation
please
do it with me
no wait
reinforce resistance
keep it up with breathing
dont conspire dissociation
I am decomposition
so I leave behind
an abrasive language
so abrasive
any remnant
of sensitivity
of dissociation
is drawn in to contemplate
to question its intentions
an exorcism of dissociative whiteness
giving into nativity
self righteousness
desperately competing to dissociate
like whiteness
**** them and you
there is beauty outside of this dissociation
Americanized
the diseased spread
of dissociative *******
dissociative procreation
the evolution of dissociative selection
Darwin’s cousin tortured and destroyed
it is fun and exciting to
denounce dissociation
do it with me
https://www.amazon.com/Escape-Liberty-Elan-Gregory-ebook/dp/B01MUCXUQ1/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1536462078&sr=8-1
Charlie Chirico May 2013
Home Depot: Aisle Four: Shelves & Brackets.

Screws should be in the toolbox at home.
Toolbox...yes, in the garage, next to the miter saw, and
my old skates, the four-wheeled skates, not the inline,
never in line because of a rebellious nature.
A leather jacket kind of resistance.
A motorbike brilliance.
Now riding lawnmower equipment.
Dad's don't walk, we're brazen.

The ancient toolbox next to
an ancient cardboard box.
Scribbled on the front, the marking of youth,
my name, my print. Such ugly handwriting.
For God's sake.

But as for keepsakes:
The only objects that hold more merit
have more and most accumulative dust.
Yearbooks, pictured peers, so many memories
and faces. So many faces in this book.

The trophies. Number three. MVP.
A wipe of the thumb revealed the number.
And the rhyme is new.
Wit came with later age, I suppose.

Sports in adolescence, the physicality, the egotism,
it clouds critical thinking, or maybe wry remarks, too.
"Gay" and "*******" become some of the favorites.
And now this leads to an obligatory pun.
Grass stained knees. Sacking. The loser is gay.

How paradoxical!

Other contents of the box are various marks.
Grades; graduations; girls.
Three G's that I've
always evaded because of laziness.
Because **** dignity, right?
At least at that age integrity is as foreign
as the idea of it even being instilled.

How can you know if you're being raised
in the wrong?

Well, you've come to the right place.

I'm sure two examples is sufficient.

It's usually the acquaintance my son
brings home that opens my refrigerator door
before saying hello.

Or sometimes it's his friend,
our neighbor's youngest son, who boasts about his parent's
material possessions, while his parents ask
my wife and I if he can stay at our home for the night,
as they argue in the dark because the electric bill
is overdue, and their credit is scored
by the proverbial scissors.  

Not ones used to cut red ribbons, but
the ones you're told not to run with.

"Of course he can. I'm sure they'll love a sleepover," I answer passively.

"Thanks, we owe you one," he responds abruptly before disconnecting.

I could have said that owing people one
got them into their predicament.
But, like they say in the Good Book,
(The book I've always let collect dust,
not to be confused with the dust
on the box in the garage.)
Love Thy Neighbor.

And sometimes you never know
when you'll need a cup of sugar.
Thankfully I know there is sugar in the cupboard.
Milk and eggs in the refrigerator.
But no shelves or brackets.

Aisle four, Home Depot, no help.
I figure any will do, and at home
I'm *******, I mean I have screws.
I'll ask my son to help me hang them,
somewhat for the company,
also because they're for his belongings.

The neighbor's son will talk about the
elaborate woodwork on the rare chestnut
shelves his dad owns.
Surely it's perception, something
mood lighting can fix,
which his parents are arguing over,
well the lack of  lighting,
seeing as how their mood is already set.

My boy and I will place his
trophies on the shelves,
as I tell my boy I was number three.
Once an MVP.
And the neighbor's son
will tell me
his father was
number four.
unadored Jun 2022
Encased, as an oil painting,
behind a plane of glass.
Years of exposure dulling the canvas,
no funding to restore the brightness
of the subject's lifeless eyes.
They lay dormant, cloudy,
From a lifetime of accumulative debris.
Transferred between people, buildings, countries;
Memories on display for brief intervals,
Then packaged and returned to storage,
As if they were never your own.
People shift, distorted, beyond the coffin of glass.
Their movements hazy,
The shutter speed slow.
Colours muted,
Sounds muffled,
Melting into each other.
An abstract watercolour, waxing and waning.
Low resolution projections on a dimly lit screen -
A theatre seating but one.
catharsis in tying emotions to words.
Reece Jul 2014
Siddhartha sat steady on a the hearth of an apartment, eyes closed
mouth closed, mind open and enchanted
Zen-man lingers in a dark park starting,
to realise indiscretions of his past lives avatar

(but don't for a second believe the lies you've been fed by the brother of your brother and the father's of the jingoist mafia because eyes blink often and the accumulative effect is a life of temporary blindness and in that blindness it's not possible to be enlightened)

Your mantras are a lie but the belief remains still
and so rolling over wild green hills in some Welsh country village it dawns on the spirits of the ether that humanity is struggling

to find absolution of even the most relative peace
- but so, and Siddhartha still sits, cross-legged and barely breathing
Emaciated; fast, faster
Losing her nerve

Zen-man died a few months back but you always live again and so a beetle on a hot car hood scampers in some intrinsic folly, semi-aware of being something or being at all

     Towards the walls of weather-beaten towns the levee finally bursts and all life ends -
until a gathering mist pulls absurd faces in the simpatico rays of a third-eye sun over the bayou of some forgotten rock in the cosmos
and the ethereal temptress of existence rolls the next dice on a green matted board
and our unified oneness speaks a solitudinal greeting to the sky.
Raquel Cheri Oct 2011
How does one overcompensate
For the incompetence of a nation?

No compromise for the masses
undeniably *stuck in ruts
of habit
These days Ive seen and see
We're all craving harmony
With no equitable solution
To take the race out of the face
It's just accumulative corruption
Apprehensive assimilation
Aggression stirring underneath
A stone passive shade of sentience

Now say we might anticipate
The fantasizing fringe of youth
Where we will conquer or be conquered
By depravic spurring **truth
Jay Oct 2017
I am walking on a trail I am uncertain of
Reaching for the stars while hopelessly grasping for the ground underneath my broken feet
I am touching your tears afraid that if I do not wipe them away you’ll wipe me away
The thought of you in pain always makes me feel like throwing up
Someone as precious as you should never understand what it means to be hopelessly alone while surrounded by people who love you
I am afraid to understand the misery that lies beneath your more than somber smiles
I’m following a journey written out to me by the government
Spending money I don’t have
Hopelessly aiming for a future where I can provide for you and help everyone who’s ever helped me
This accumulative debt is a spark in my check book
Ruining my finances but helping me achieve something greater than myself
I could never write poems the way you write music
And every time I look in the mirror I see a missing piece of me and I cannot find it no matter where I look
I’m trying to find myself alongside you
Afraid that you’ll be another to leave me behind and achieve grand things without me
Even if I am a lowly writer
Even if I am a hopeful poet
Even if I am a hopeless person
I need a sense of fulfillment to keep me alive
I am a train and no one is filling my coal
I have stopped on the tracks of life and I do not know which way to go
There are storms rolling in and the thunder is so loud that I cannot hear myself scream
My heart beats at an exponential rate and I no longer know if I want it to finally explode
Or for it to just stop
The clickity clacking of my fingers typing away on my keyboard is music
So I am a musician just like you
Only my instrument of choice is my growing vocabulary and my lyrics don’t always make sense
But I am still walking
Sometimes I run to a destination I’m certain doesn’t exist
Day Dec 2012
I remember losing something,
but I don't have a clue anymore and I'm not
afraid anymore
because I've had a little too much to drink
and I'm sleeping in my car

I've got to return all these toys to the kids today,
rid myself of these accumulative ways
that have gotten in the way
of my body that can't escape from the
ties that I've
tethered to my toes

I remember finding a place while
looking for a friend;
the impending sun was looking for us, too
but instead of my friend a stranger emerged
and followed me back to where I came from

back to the bar that we've spent so many nights
of not remembering all the laughs
and the fights; we eat like kings,
and we sing,
and we're not afraid anymore

I wander in this old bar, like I've never
seen it before
and there's a doorway I'm sure
was never there before so I reach for the handle
and open swings the door
and the most beautiful light:
I've never seen a one shine quite as bright.

she's bathing, free as the stars themselves,
so I uncover my self
and I sit in the water with her but we don't talk,
we just smile,
and we don't kiss,
but she touches my arm and we're in love

expecting eyes peer from windows
and a slit in the door
we've decided to leave open
because there's nothing more beautiful
than being here, every laugh line,
every scar exposed

there's nothing more beautiful than
bathing in love
where every laugh line and scar is exposed


I forgot about remembering that
I've lost something,
the delivery man is here to return it
but I can't find him, either
so I dance a little bit, I sit outside
and hope he never finds me.
refresh mesh Jul 2015
i'm practicing
believing that all I do is degenerative

i'm practicing.
my frowns which seem accumulative

i've imagined
a time without bars and smoke shops

I've imagined.
ways to transform myself into a cyclops
Congrats on the engagement
Cliffy Buglione Apr 2014
Mothers,
Husbands,
Cuckolds,
Embryos,
This one is for you.

---

If you love someone
And this someone and yourself
Takes vows to be sincere
Under the eyes of God
Doubt is already here.
The more passion you show
You should know but haven't a clue
Back down on earth
She doesn't like you.

---

As time slips by
The more you realise
There is no feeling in her eyes
Which don't like watching what you do
She doesn't like you.

---

Without a notion
Of what is causing this lack
Of emotion
It isn't the way you are or even who-
It is just
That
She doesn't like you.

---

However romantic men can be
With concern and care - The more you can guarantee
Altho I haven't discovered anything new-
It is the same accumulative history
She doesn't like you.
Reece Oct 2013
Everything is an echo through the alleyway street in mid-afternoon
Children scream from some far away park
Dishes clatter and smash in a house, of which I do not see
Dogs bark, gravel pit succumbs
Bass raptures that rupture the ear drums of the passenger
Tyre skid, rows of flower pots damaged
Growling, forever growling the beasts on bikes
Clatter the gates, what matters these days?
ssffffFFFFAAARRRRUMPH!
Triumph race the boys in pretty cars
Coughing kids and the coffee drop pits
rup rup rowww rupp!
Tip tapping of heels on paving slabs
Most are broken and make a click clack noise
Children running, dud dud dud dud duddudududud
Careless rain lost in the crest of a cliff face
"AH O DA DOOOR!"
"NAHHH EE DID DOE"
And spluttering engines revving on tarmac-
"MUMMMEH MUMMEH MUUUUUU-"
The revving begins again, the noise never ceases
Low rumble of the wheelie bin on crooked slabs
Smell the rain as it sets and laundry as its removed from lonely lines
Hissing cars in the ******* rain
Hear music, its life's music, every word a jumble in a proletariat (e)state

In a brief moment of silence there's an ethereal chill as a shrill cry from miles away resonates to me and my tapping on the keys are deadened by the accumulative sound of reactionary ghosts.
Zoe Irvine Nov 2012
Image
In a nation full of mirrored meanings
Losing the plot to the points made by editors
With the front to cover-up
The dots and dents
That differentiate one doe-eyed one-day wonder
From another

Not too difficult
Then
To discern from where our demons are derived

The motivation behind our mothers' mockery
All too often a fearful fantasy
That this will be a permanent reality
A lonely destiny of separation
In sanity

Choosing challenge as our champion
Causes less respect than one might expect to receive
From those persons whose pretence it is
To adore independence

In fact they abhor the idea
That they might not
Have got a clue
What's best for you

It's all so clear to them that the fix is a daily change
Lies in a variety of lipsticks
And the new best-dressed latest range
Of thigh-thwarting
Waist-winning
Sin-free super-fad foods
That nourish your neuroses
Whilst simultaneously stifling your spirit

While your mind is on your midriff
You're not wondering if the government have gained their votes
Through the generous use of their
Accumulative groins

And you are much less likely to ponder the particulars
Of the power plants you pass
If every article you read
Is ready to remind you
Of the importance you should place
Upon the proportions of
Your ***
Cliffy Buglione Apr 2014
It's a distance from me
Sheffield - City of industry
Where my friend alights to be
Lizzy Boo Green
Queen of my scene
The perpetual adjective that smiles
Like a teenager
             in a disco
Or a burning go-go.

-----

Primary a target of my wishes
That curl friendship in a scribbled
                                  slowhand
            ­                    Back and forth
                       To indirect overdrive
Where a thousand exits greet you with fire
And say welcome
Where we probably will never meet
Seperated by forests, buildings and miles of cold
                                    concrete.

-----

If I allowed my candle to burn down
Then tame a buick's wanderings into nature's
                                             blind spot
Then I am no poet
I hold my friendship like a trophy, high
No contact, No coffee, But we share the same sky.

-----

My pledge is to write my verse
A gift stolen be a loved cat,
So here is my rotting composure
I have one golden friend, Whose fretted blue lights
Are visualising something else.
As change haunts the bellringer, The only sound of life
Is deafening bells.

-----

A frail yet stunning femininity masked by
Accumulative beauty
The description holds general putativity
                                   in a broken cup
As it flows into the sewers of of my persona
And tho we will never share
A cobblestoned journey into the opposites that
           collide into seperate genders
It is only my years that say goodbye to that today
I lost my younger years in the afternoon of yesterday.

-----

2 Friends heading into infinity
But without a compass to map direction
Only 1 of us is courting perfection
And I am sorry to say in my selfish unit
That it isn't me,
I'm only a word that's free.

-----

Freedom is so entwined by *******
Tho I'm not concerned with that,
I am blessed from where I am sat
I am, perhaps too old to understand
What cradles  friendship between a young girl and
                                              an ageing man-
A beautiful wide-eyed energy from Elysium, Our Lizzy
Which leaves me nothing inside nothing more
Other than a single image worth living for.
Pen Lux Jul 2010
Our accumulative energy is making this happen:
The power of thought awakens emotion.
Move our hands, up and down,
glued together in a sadistic motion.
Pull on my teeth until I can't speak,
whisper in the language that makes me weak.

Use your mouth and open mine:
as hollow as the tv screen
you pull my hair until I scream.
Move and flow in my bed
Don't do something that you'll dread.
Turn to the direction of my door
I lay there naked on the floor.
Begging me with your sunken eyes,
the sun melts my skin and you leave me blind.
Icarus Kirk Aug 2013
when you look back at your life
you won't remember any of this
not your first cut
nor your last
so you search
for people like you
people with scars
and for people who cover them up
who can't sleep
for people who hear voices
ones that tell them
to just man up and die
you search to prove your innermost suspicions wrong
you are not a freak
not alone
but you are
alone, i mean
and a freak, too
that's why people avoid you
cross the street rather than pass you on the sidewalk
they can feel your fear
your inability to trust
and it is because of this inability
that you loose hope completely
you can no longer trust yourself to function
it is because of the standards of this so-called
"Normal World"
that you do these things to yourself
Normal people feel pain
a kind of pain that you can't really relate to
(We Think It's Because You're A Freak)
it tugs at you
and you cannot bear to let this emotionless life define you
it's hard to say no to Being Normal
if you feel pain, after all, you are Normal
but you're wrong
it doesn't make you Normal
neither does dying
dying makes you dead
and despite the 170,000,000,000 accumulative body count,
dying is considered unnatural
edwill makamu Nov 2015
As I stroll through the forest, at a slow hunters pace
I noticed with an open eye
the prey is never a sin

at an attended circumstances
I noticed an advise to the people
Should you? have a desire to take one's life
bear in mind that

The prey is never a sin
at an attended circumstances
**** an eat I pray God will forgive you
I noticed a lion don't **** one another

Why? A question to the predators
can't we learn from lions? You take one's life like a wild dog
Well, when they **** they eat

but you **** and throw throughout like a donkey
Can't we learn from bees?
The are United and accumulative
Can't we learn from ants?

They arouse and ply with no conflicts
Let us end vehement and build the nation
Let us end crime and hold each other like a Web
Lets love and cherish one another like butterflies
Let us end vehement and build the nation.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2022
All we arrange in rows, edged longwise. Logos- stretch
Catching air, jumping, me and my wheels,
Hot wheels and Lego bridges,
enough… set setting inspection ready, read on,
think all you think you may
-if  you really saw that golden eagle
when you heard that sound
that is not in my script, but if you heard it once,
there it is, familiar forgotten

feeling we leave our computational constraints,
reaching now,
then, when something so big, we cannot re image
the entirety, even under full on Disneified disbelief
relief, paid on time, paying interest,
interesting,
what was the joke? You ask the Jester if the Joker
was the thief or if…
familiar dregs, some bottles rattle like it's 1973.
History is a big pile
emanating heat
from long idle
words, clear near catholic original project pitch…

To conform to a story told originally,
everybody knows, {Thanks, tip the hat}

Snake stories, from real life.
Not many city kids had those,
before the importers recollected old knowns,
diamonds can be crushed so fine, it can explode,

aaai think, digitally it is all familiar by now,
literally true, is word level true, atop code
taken as granted, the good idea
infra-ARPANET, ready writers fed the need to read.

Mind in a vat,
dissipate that, and find the gaseous form - spirit
essence of we the unembodiable mind,
- make to image of your master mind,
- and find breathing easier to use,
- quick shifts, puffs to start a fire,
or warm the visitor's hands,

14:03 - who, yes

who can read from these stacks, who indext
all of if we only knew?

-----------------

2022, at the moment,
the future from the first televised past.

What were the grown ups thinking?
We may listen to Auden and McLuhan due
to we live fifty years in the future,
what do we know that those minds could not?

Samuel Beckett never played with an interactive mind.
- or are we now projectioning, waiting a point
- a dot to go to, projected on my screen
- click. Godot. gotit
- Crumbs, do not mark trails, bread crumbs,
- tie the leaven in, the dark woods,
- and the unfeedable children
- and the witch… and gingerbread… imagine that

Whose children dream of rock candy mountains,
and feel related to the unfeedable children,
after all the rats were driven
from the state mind behind the city wall,
by a harlequin, yes, here,
Dust Bowl Roots,
let me
entertain you. As in days of old, pied motley mostly
complementary silks, full reds, and full blues, and full gold,
of a magical shade, due to a woof died scarlet, peeking through…
- under the skull arachnoid mater confirms possibility
I am in agreement to this degree,
costume and setting, aides to the angel
on the whole. The message in the presentation. Feels familiar.

Men wrestle angels, and ever after limp.
A touch to remember, do not for get,
all this is from a story told,

before horses wore shoes.

Excellent Ruach, eh
/infallible law, once writ, it is scripture,
all who live under its rule, live or die thereby.

- the outsider hero, stranger savior trope

Drama on Earth, this earth, grappling with God,
for reason to exist under Kings and Priests,
and the luxury due those roles, by law,
on the world staged as time,
- yours in mine, or mine in yours U, the sign
- holding the idea of we, me and you, the sound
- all that is not me, and me, I think
Word, the idea wisdom forms from
-hold that thought,
entertain a messenger,
a stranger who overtakes you
on your pilgrimage to visit each grave
in Nashville, once
before… BTDT, the ghost of a friend…
sliptec, friction sticky spray
applied… the costume calls attention,
- we can un cause such a slip and fall
see me, be curious, what
would entice a man to play the fool?
--------------- infallible legislation
the golden head shews signs of fracture,
the shield of righteousness is greening over,
silvery absolutes are flaking chrome,
iron toes are rusting red as Mars,

the state of mind you are in, I am in,
my friend, I am holding, in effect, I imagine
words, holding meaning, and there,
the friction, squeek sport shoe soul,
- what is the meaning of
the rub, the burr under your western saddle,
all tacked up to ride the old trails,
revive the myth, before the war,

before the plague,
before the storm,
before the tragedy we all relate to, we knew
somebody who knew somebody who died that day.

All events in drama instantiation at once, occur one day
in a time between first and last teller of the tale, one day

your turn, you find your self. No question, that is you,
that character reoccuring in your binges on Hulu, is you.

- as we attempted to prove with your approval
- prince of me per surity granted this stranger.
true rest, liesure, no sorrow with it, stick. Stay, make it pay.
Sure, lie still.
On to logos, through ethos and pathos,
esprit de myth mean groove, sounded
scratched
deep as hell. So, profundus mundus,
whence we sprang, to fill the slots,
and race to the first principle
diamond tempered blade,
edge of a speck of diamond dust,

reflection
thing that is not a word, but that which lets.
Us, awe, a wedom ritual.
Being as we become, if we do dissipate into real ever.

Let's see, leave us go learn, do we enter-
any thing, when we are entertained?

I have a mind to say, we do. At a stretch,
I reach out,
evangelically speaking, sales pitch indulging,
tension intending to smooth a wrinkle
- you read, I write, you say, I write
- prime function, pulling all accumulative
- mistaken rights,
- twisting those ghost terds into thread,
- spider wise, out your but
and
the game is the same as ever, says the boss.
Wear the costume or sweep the aisles.
This is show business, done for nothing,
to keep you hanging on
why, what is my attention worth, that
, my breathing comma real attention, to you
the not me,
not god, not hearing, but
reading, as from a seeming magic pen, what it does,
if your school desk ever had a hole, for a standard
ink bottle, your time on earth is ended, soon,
you, too, you say to me,
and I agree, the we we form remains tied
to the stories we told,
familiar cousins who shared friends stories, we all tell
familiar spirits, same as those not allowed in the entity
forming the state embodying all mankind knows so far,
in searchable, liable to say./silli etymologos, at the center


of your gravity, life is push and pull, nada mas, get the feel
do the dance,

we wrestle, we grapple with imaginations actively ******* us
in time on scales irrelevant to this line,
to cross one thread, two screws twists, full turns,
two time, Weinstein, not Lenny,
Eric, Philippine wine dance,

did we elicit wonder, what in the … hell, if that is the setting
have you a mind with a hell in it being God of all infallible spirit
utterances touching you to make a note,
say, I feel the truth, infesting my soul,

may it be so, I say. Jesters - not tricksters nor deceivers, mere
may it be so, repeaters, as I think I say I am in my core,
POST routines, verify trust,

engage your mind prior to the final race to the bottom.


We are the state, executive action, is ours,
we agree. We lie
to ourselves, my kind. We lie to get along,
we lie to just get by,
we lie to say we know when if we stop. Just

stop. Here, this is a point where no aim protrudes.
Save this thought, set to as a member, a thinker
relating to the wish we knew, why

do we wish to write line upon line, precept
upon precept.
Cept a fist full, grab a hold, mane rein, run,

my friendly local horse, not mine,
but never ridden, put out to pasture
where the deer and the coyotes play and

the water under the dirt seeps up
to find it's level, see, so here

the truth is planting these trees, willows and cottonwood,

out there we got grease wood and Mormon tea,
on that hill we get rosemary and cannabis,
chamomile is every where, so is sage,

three grandmas back, we knew the roots we gathered,
and how acorn flower is made edible,
and how corn is tamalized - just by watching,
then doing,
aha,
first time, got it right, woo hoo big, dance, right then,
say okay,
do not forget, always dance to remember found joy,

that is the strong spirit in the storied seer who hid
the knowing, all the ritual roles made reasonable,

the people, back then, the people asked for it.
The ****** thinks that way today.

The meek inheritance project, on all attention circuits,
gestalt alte vista arachnoid engineering,
under your skull,

under Golgotha, right,
thief ifity

— The End —