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Julian Mar 2019
Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.
Yenson Sep 2018
For our Echoing Little Red Riding Hoods
Lagging behind in the Opposition Departments
Lets help you out by  offering some buzzwords
For your important assignments even though they've
been floated around forever,

But we understand you need some help catching up
So memorize these basic premises
And please enrich your lives and utilise your valuable time
by raking your little brains to create  poems with them

Lets begin with ITALIAN , don't forget RAINBOW, LIES
is also in, add RESPECT, throw in RUDENESS, factor in
LITTLE GIRL, remember ANGEL, write about TRUST, that
much overuse term, throw in BLACK - that's quite a
popular one. Also PINK is quite up the scale, as well as HEART-
Broken ( as if ) and pleeeezee make a big fuss on LONELINESS
That's a big seller. APPLE and SERPENT did appear now and
again so trigger them as you like.

How about BETRAYAL, LOYALTY, FAKE FRIENDS and that
famous one, FOUR or is it THREE, what about BONES,
Lets not forget SKELETON or even ANOREXIC, let also
remember SCREAM, that was a scream..hahah see what
I did there! Remember GREY that has a bit of colour and
what about BUCK or even DOOR-MAT that was a wipe-off
or SUBMISSIVE another popular one.

Hmmm...what about HAIR CUT or TOMBOY or DIGITAL
those are quite good or WOODGREEN or HULL or DOG
that reared its head...woof....woof...hahahah or CEREAL,
beats me what that's about or even MONEY..though that
never was an issue, how about GOLD-DIGGER just for
drama or 50/50 which has been mentioned. Hey! don't forget
RED, what to do without that pinking away.

So please  Little Hoods, students of the Opposition Department
keep with the programme and work on these pointers
crack your little brains and write poems like crazy little ants
Your contribution is valuable cause persistent is the Key.
Keep up with your assignment and forget all other things
Oppose, oppose, oppose, work those little brains!
Julian Apr 2019
The inaugural bang swiveled with the vacant expressions of a muted feral crowd indignant about ethnic identity and swift in the recourse of tyrannical thugs pandering withered abuse

I solemnly abided in a chirpy itinerant glower against the exclusive system for stranding the disintegration of lyrical integrity for the Potemkin cheers of the culmination of too many jeers

Withered words for the abeyance of silence I incurred with wistful pleas for resurgent clarity beyond   sheepish fears

So I loitered in the evanescence of words..

Watching with alacrity as the strident ignorance of grafted wretchedness writhed its last mustered exsibilation at the sound of windbags bloviating beyond prodigal extravagance without a visible tweeted word

I measured my pause…..as I considered the heft of poignant exposures to a dismal serenade of miscegenated politics and garbled breaths of wheezy mendicants seeking participation in the trophy of smothered compliance

But I marveled simultaneously at the extinction of the shriveled crowds as they sized up the minutiae of wastrels glamorously inviting a frozen recapitulation of sorrows borrowed and wasted on minced platitudes that swindle still the votive confidence of regimented sympathy pretending empathy for soured hearts professedly defiant at their bereaved will

My pulse I clocked at 120 as I wondered where on earth the 140s and 150s have frittered their patience on with such brazen alacrity for the garish snarl of a sojourn into the ineffable effrontery of aureate mutiny against the tyrant of deaf spoon-fed indignation without the luxury of shared ignominy of memorable cadence for frippery in sparse blurbs registered in braille rather than brawn

Then I remembered my vociferous persnickety temperament and the curdled hatred of procrustean swan songs to an etiolating standard of ethical entanglement in aloof issues delivered with a decisive swoon too swift in earnestness to outfox with a quipped rebuff or a calculus of classical spoof

Then I wondered with a problematic but inherent prolixity…..
I too could adorn the adoring moon with a lyrical lampoon geared for a clockwork punchline or a winsome rebarbative tune….OR…. enchant with an incisive acerbic rant about how pasquinades outstay their welcome because of the clambered insistence of happenstance years ago in a blinkered mirror but never rehashed too soon

But where would affection heap its laurels if I dared to swindle the spotlight away from frisky poetasters who proved a renegade inspiration for fluttered triumph in a seaside tragedy only the crestfallen waves of pestilent Idiocracy could steal from my outstretched tenacity in verse and verve

Boom went a fulmination of hatred at my labored words! And then I swerved to avoid potholes of tenuous gainsay…. and other miscreants littering the world with misappropriated labels for laments belabored with publicity for displaced enmity distilled from a cauldron of mismatched ignorance….tethered to the vagrancy of gripe plucked at the ripe time for a twenty-dollar prize give or take a dime

But that dime separating 1990 from 2010 meant more than anything to a life littered with hallowed word crimes…. against the sanctimony of syncopation with cheap bleats too arrogant to be sheepish at the lavish indulgence of the marginalized wines…. brewed in a castle flickering on fiat worth rather than the simplicities of minutes of warbled time

So I currently warp minds with the proctor of a gamble too garish to finesse the quicksand of attrition but jaunty enough to bypass the limitations of a linear self-referential memorial about the circular nature of irony espoused by divorced rhymes

Now I stand ascendant….waiting for the retinues of retinas to absorb the wavy rigmarole of the serpentine pathways carved beneath the buzzwords of race and division and towards soldered unity with a human race beyond racism…. and a class divorced from socioeconomic crass division

Just then I arrived at serenity…. as I realized that the BAR exams that encage so many aspirant hearts are counterfeit in the court of the highest judiciary art that believes that insidious artifice is an embezzled venture of frolicsome guttersnipes wallowing in division can never revive a lifeless heart…. even if quick-witted credentialism rattles the slaves to vapid artforms that any humanism would never deem smart

Ditch the agitprop as a human frailty indentured to endure the curated disease without a cure to make the snollygosters in Washington ever so cocksure with their cockalorum disregard of the palatable consensus to make news real again….Finally for the fraternity of an enlightened human race in a benighted world of trendy fatuousness that infests the planet with the debauchery of glorified urchins jerking the levers with severed brevity to promote infectious foofaraw with cultural indemnity

I leave you with this

What is ornate complexity without the luxury of concerted beatific bliss that the parsecs that flummox your minds throb vehemently with cohesiveness in my internal design are not remiss

And remember the benighted standards of kitsch for the kitchens of penury bewitched don’t stand a chance against the overriding itch to vanquish mountains one after another to cross them off the list
Reece Oct 2013
I could tell a thousand stories about a boy.

There are dry crystals of DXM on the desk on which he writes CVs,[1] and as he writes he listens to Lou Reed because of his apparent lack of knowledge of Reed's back catalogue.[2]

He takes Molly on Friday nights, because rappers say its cool, how could Chief Keef be an idol to reasonable people?[3] Spouting buzzwords and memes in public places, hoping to be noticed and applauded for a knowledge of he knows not what.

The Twitter feed reads like toilet paper, with less information
Fooling himself into thinking that he needs that rapid a-disinformation[4]
He wonders why there are still advertisements for MySpace, is it not dead yet?

He uses a trusted torrent search engine to download every episode of TV shows he watches religiously. Is that not an indicator of a profoundly unhappy person?[5]
A liberal thinker in his own right yet still regards the BBC as having unabashed liberal motifs haphazardly forced into all of its programming and news coverage.[6]

Why have hashtags stumbled into the global lexicon, and is this an example of cultural Marxism?[7]
Why is he never noticed?
That sweet jazz serenade that emanates from speakers in his lonely house, is but melancholy drones, might as well be Tim Hecker as opposed to Jack Teagarden.[8] His record collection is vast, the smell of vinyl pungent and nostalgic.[9] Obsolete so they may be, but those indie movies sure make them seem cool.

Oh he watches Truffaut, Fellini, Tarr and Michael Snow, he does it to appear cultured, but to who? Since nobody exists.[10] Antiutopian music videos, depicting *** and violence, he could make crass judgments on society but he knows that he loves that Robin Thicke video and what Kanye West did with New Slaves.[11]

Spending hours at a time, ******* to amateur **** on some seedy site and pictures of girls that he probably shouldn't have seen. [12] And after such laborious efforts he can return to an endless cycle of hitting F5 on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest, 4chan, 420chan, VICE, TheYNC, BBC News, Mishka, 2DopeBoyz, World-Star Hip-Hop, Fetlife and Hello Poetry. Amassing information and retaining so little that it hardly seems worthwhile.

Yes he reads, when so many do not. Nabokovian purple prose and the way Bukowski was so ******. He read Poe in elementary because 'goth' was new to him, and now he loves Whitman, Plotinus and St. John of the Cross because Ginsberg mentions them in Howl and Other Poems.[13]

He uses words he doesn't understand like 'catechism', 'ecclesiology' and 'female ******'.
A sprawling mass of words, never ending streams of thoughts, the constant reminder of drudgery in modern times. Wishing he was from some other period, but the idea is ridiculous in and of itself.
He makes crass jokes and thinks they're actually funny.

He's lost. He's empty. He's sad and he's a fraud, its how I knew him best.[14]
[1] Even after brushing the back of his hand across the surface in hopes of ridding the cheap IKEA MDF of tobacco and cannabis leaves.

[2] Information he can use in further conversation, fooling himself into thinking it matters or that anybody cares of his extensive knowledge and new found love of Songs for Drella since Lou's passing.

[3] The same can be said about Codeine that purple dream. Promethazine, in the bloodstream, enough to make a grown man lean

[4] Why even use toilet paper anyway, did the Mother Nature Network not provide a convincing enough argument for the use of a bidet?

[5] Especially considering he cannot watch said shows without marijuana, painkillers, dissociatives, opiates or all of the above. A consequential addict.

[6] Why too must we have 24 hour news? Many wasted hours spent filling time with puff pieces, non-news, celebrity gossip and speculation. When did news stop making the news, why is this only a new phenomenon, and can we always just blame the internet? #NEWS

[7] He won't admit that he doesn't actually understand the intricacies of cultural Marxism but willingly throws the phrase about each room, hoping to be noticed.

[8] More noise to drown out the bipolar thoughts and ringing in his ears from years of abuse at punk rock shows and over crowded, dangerously loud clubs and free parties.

[9] He still maintains a last.fm account out of some convoluted sense of self-worth

[10] He could just watch The Hangover, The Fast and Furious and Transformers, perhaps he'll make friends that way. #CommonInterests.

[11] He still makes aforementioned judgements whilst never outright damming his favoured videos.

[12] #NabokovianFantasy

[13] He is a hero of our time, and Pechorin rolls in his grave at the sentiment.

[14] The author of this "poem" does not actually know the subject.
Mandi Drake Jul 2016
I remember
Keywords
& Phrases
So I can
Pretend to be
Informed on subjects
I could give a **** about
But people
I'm trying to impress
Or please
Totally think that
I'm abreast of things.
But I'm not.
I just don't care. Seriously.
I don't give a ****.
Sorry
But I dont.
Sports are dumb.
Football, golf, baseball, basketball...
Don't even get me started on
Anything you care about.
Odds are I honestly
Care less
About it
Or anything
For that matter.
Jacob Oates Apr 2015
I'm tired of being told what to believe in, and what matters in life. Constant bombardment of stimuli, telling me what makes an artist, what good art is, who to elect, what to wear, what cause to take up. I already have my 20/20 vision, had it checked, verified, took it beyond the threshold and came back sans t-shirt. I don't need someone giving me the play by play 24/7 when I can already see this world, unfiltered and pure as it is.  I could mystify this sentiment further by adding in abstractions and platitudes signifying nothing, but I don't feel the need for my catharsis to waste anyone's time. You don't need me giving you advice anymore than I need advice or commentary.  I don't need backseat drivers or neologistic buzzwords and fortune cookie wisdom shoved down my throat to taste comprehension.  I know what I want. I'm not ashamed of that.  I grew up knowing only self doubt, and it would appear the Millennial M.O. is to float through life praising the "art" of self doubt. As if it is something worthy of praise to be crushed externally and internally, instead of working towards bolstering from within.  With the chaos of the modern era, systemic inequity, and politics as a fashion statement, I keep my inclinations for the most part buried until my voice reaches beyond masturbatory passive aggressive self aggrandizement.  It is hip to give a ****. But that's the problem.  Giving a **** has been reduced to a fashion statement, it's how we decide who we let in, who we talk to, who we ****, who we praise. If you keep up the right front you can make superficial fair-weather friends do for you.  Therein lies an acquiescence to societal woes and whims that counter-cultural kids always know exists in the back of their minds with a beleaguered smirk and a reminder to themselves that they're really just playing the part as they clock in to their jobs and message their friends about anarchy.  It's all a big game, depending on who you are determining what kind of game it is. Some people play the lottery and leave their existence up to chance because it's all they know.  Some people play a mean game of poker and act like they've got enough ability to bluff their way through this knowing they've got nothing stacked.   My game is chess.  I don't tell anyone what moves I'm planning, but I'm five moves ahead and I'm aiming to topple ****. I have to, it's the only thing that drives me, keeps me motivated. Self doubt is praised as a tool to spur on growth.  I don't need to doubt myself in order to grow, I have had enough people doing that for me.  Until I reach a precipice, until I have unmade myself and pushed beyond what anyone, (myself included) deems me capable of, I am an unreliable narrator, and my voice will carry no weight.
Prose/rant
Salil Panvalkar Dec 2013
The deafening sounds of police sirens
Tear through the evening air
Leaving behind an air of indignation
Hoping, out of thin air, to create a nation

The ebb and flow of truth and lies
Turns our interests into a public pastime
And we watch on in abject fascination
As we bring to its knees, this nation

They come and go as plastic figurines
With serpent-like tongues and vice-like grips
As we promote excessive procreation
The wheels must keep turning, to this nation

Progress, Growth, Youth, and Opportunity
Are but some of the buzzwords
Abdication of thought is the foundation,
To the structure of this nation

Power and oppression are but two sides of the same coin
Without one there cannot be the other
Smothering each other with precise calculation
Just to access the throne to the nation

Storytellers stand atop podiums and enchant the masses
While they shower them with praise
Year after year, they stand in the same formation
And salute the flag, the one that makes this nation
Caroline Lee Jan 2016
It's easy as a poet to turn yourself into the flawed broken ideal you so readily romanticize at any given moment
You adapt generational buzzwords like
"Pale" or "thin" or "depressed" or "bipolar"
To make up for the places you feel dull or average
You long for someone to write about you like you write about your lovers or friends
So you set yourself up like a john green character
Beautiful
Distant
And empty
You spout tumblr religion and intellectual quotes
You become as paper thin as the characters from those novels our generation can't seem to get enough of
Predictable
Sad
Romanticized to the point of extinction
You survive on maybe three good quotes and self inflicted lack of sleep
In pursuit of becoming the lie you loved youve become the truth you hate
Millennial icon
The cycle continues with you.
You don't have to be sad to be interesting. You don't have to be reckless to be important. You don't have to be the people you read. Stop romanticizing mental illness and disorders. Don't pretend. Who you are is enough.
ConnectHook Feb 2017
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PERINATAL POETICS:
Prelude to a post-nuptial pre-partum event


What is meant
by this prenatal parental lament?
Can the Spare-a-Dime shaft
upgrade to paradigm shift
as buzzwords replace the new jargon?
If the new synthetic empathy
is merely the same old pathetic symphony,
should we put away the flow charts when the show starts
to prevent a casual view
of the visual cue?
I fear this will only occur
when fast-breeding Other
becomes breast-feeding mother
even if her man’s fertility
is eclipsed
by human futility.
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ME Oct 2013
I don't like it !

Seriously, there's nothing all that great about it
It's all been seen, heard and done before
Everybody uses elaborate words to flaunt their knowledge in a field where intelligence is merit
Everybody uses dumbed down banalities to come across as the everyman, being outrages, yet funny
A cliché of a cliché
Oh' what a great life, but not really !

The newest installment of this comes as no surprise
In todays paper of "ordinary boring", we are presented with the two new buzzwords of the day;
Positivity and Health
Have you run a marathon yet ?
Are you a negative influence on your work place ?
Guide: How to ignore the painful truth and create fake energy
Is there anything more pathetic than every person in the world lying to themselves.
If it's not the blatant ignorance of; world hunger, personal problems, true opinions, it's lying to everybody around you.

You hate that dress ! You think that he's pathetic ! You know **** well what you like, so don't refer to me as if you know what I want, think or need !

A dishonest world is the observer's nightmare
The observer's nightmare is a dishonest world
Observe Dishonest World
World Observe Dishonest
Dishonest World Observe
Which came first and how can it ever change ?

I dislike the pretty words, I dislike the sentiment of "good" and "nice", because I understand that it will not bring something new, a change or move anything or anyone. Sometimes to get better, you have to get bad, and even that is ignored, to obtain the status quo of that which will never remain.
What is the point ?

True emotion, true feelings, truth in general is good.
The naked, ugly, discarded, frantic, ******, irresponsible, amputated and lonely truth.
TRY IT !
Elin Sep 2020
What drew you to this job?

Truthfully, survival

I lie and say
I’ve always been passionate about textiles

Like the pretentious clothing this company creates
My answer is carefully tailored to appeal to my market audience

Yesterday I was passionate about data entry
Tomorrow I’ll be passionate about customer retention and management

I’ve learnt to lick the boot that pins me down in place

What does your dream job look like?

I don’t bother telling them that I no longer dream of labour

I recite the appropriate buzzwords
Sense of progression
Work-life balance
Meaningful connections
Bile rises in my throat

What do you hope to achieve in life?

My father wasted away his best years in a job that landed him in hospital
A heart attack and redundancy payout all the thanks he got

All so he could eventually retire and do what he actually loved; woodworking

He’d never been able to make a career of it
He couldn’t find a ‘market’ for it

Maybe it was because he never learnt to market himself, to sell himself

Not in that sense
Instead he sold himself

He sold his body to a timber mill

Maybe he thought it would be temporary
But then he had to give up his woodworking
Because working the wood at the mill left him exhausted

He had to sell his soul for decades until the system finally let him be

I want something different than what the system offers
But there is no alternative to the system

It offers me 50 flavours of consumption
32 different shades of participation
But no option not to consume
Not to participate

I no longer have lofty ideals
When I was young I wanted to be a famous writer
I wanted to travel and see the world

Now I just want to exist

But even my very existence comes at a cost
To merely exist I am still expected to participate
To consume and be consumed
Sell myself to whoever will pay
for what little I have to offer

Thank you for your time
Sid Lollan Sep 2017
this always happens:
sitting at tombstone
desk—blood clots from hours in this twobuck
torture-chair;
4AM? can barely read
my own thoughts,
neatly arranged,
painstakingly painted a
cross ether
glare of the computer screen.
Seven stanzas devolved
from the act
ual epiphany
of the p o e m;
chest tight,stomach churning acid from
cheap *** cheap cigarettes and cheap
grass rolled up in
99 cent Dutchmaster cigars—
Forgot to eat, forgot to hydrate, forgot to remember
the truth i was trying to forget
—forgot the point i was struggling to articulate;
Did i have a point?
I’m beginning to note tiny
Beings of Light
out’ve the corner of buzzing eyes,
all too familiar friends
friends of fiends, vampire junkies,
raving mad x-politicians,
and nocturnal suicide poets—
who after failing to get laid
in college bars
and drinking too much, too many boring conversations
with dull goons;
Get home, pour another glass,
cigarette      to dry lip     in perpetuum; beatiful Miles,
Porgy and Bess, sit down to
computer and write p o e t r y
not prose,
not prose—Man’s revelation of
histories to come, histories manifest.
not prose which brings Man’s higher-self
        into the great
        Universe-at-Large
but p o e t r y, pretentious,
narcissistic, self-important,
which alienates man from his tools of realities;
enemy of machine—but Man is machine;
no poetry is Man!
no poetry is animal,
primal, instinctive;

Well, **** me, half
way thru another cigar,
“maybe i’m not learned enough
to write a story, a **** good one at that…a novel
i’d say
-good luck you simple sloth…How
could you? just a regular self-loathing chimp
who writes — p o e t r y.”
really pondering
hard; thinking: i can’t be [that] dumb,
i'll admit what i don’t know,
(but Hell, least i’m smarter than the next guy, the
       next guy, the next guy…til the next guy makes
me a **** fool; time to relocate and read some books.)

return my eyes to the computer screen,
re read what,
an hour ago,
i was, prematurely awarding myself the pulitzer prize for
as i see it now: pure
*******.
Devil’s attorney
slinking on slouched and grim drunken shoulder,
“hmm…and you say this is your forte?…
I wouldn’t kid yourself…kid.”



Warnings
in grave visions
of a desperate worm of a man
hunched at resin-stained desktop, scribbling away
His fancifull abstractions, broken man— Mad
and scared; shriveled,
scarred by regret—
Thought he was a talker;
witty, true like Bukowski,
        or Heron;
Fresh,
inventive as cummings
        or essential as Pound.
Simple
and brilliantly smooth
        as W.C.A  or W.C.W.
elegant, smart
and far-reaching as Eliot,
        or the Old Romantics;
could have sworn his musings
Rapturous! no Thoreau, he,
        nor as damaged as Poe be
under the Impression
He could stitch his Soul
into the seams of American Divine, direct such
spirits into p o e t r y as ***** ol Ginsberg did
so bravely, beautifully
as
Wherefore art
thou loving father? in Heavens is Walt
Whitman—
He
sure was;
He
was sure,
******* sure he
possessed a nugget of gold, mined
          from inside each of these masterful
Mountains. panned entire sunsoaked cordillera;
yet
each night
would ‘finish’ a
p o e m,
clock out, tho
always would feel, incomplete,
nevermind how many p o e m s he wrote
hundreds, maybe thousands of
bottomless wells
        of words;
Great Idea! Necessary Idea,
take action, he, in prose,
a form of action the action of wit,
to give human
body to formless, ex-humed soul—
Give soul to formless body of philosophy by god!

alas,
the schmuck
never
witty never
potent enough to pen a real
mother-****** of a story,
certainly
never could imbue a plot
with significance, endow with subtext
or builda character out of his p o e t r y,
        Then give it the legs to run for two-
         hundred pages—
He had the ****, just
not the ***** of it-all…
toiled, silly
in his nebulous, castrated,
dimlit room—swelling
whiskey or gin
cigarette glued to his dry lips, attempting
to romance the grey gods so
that thay mey spit mustard-seed
onto humbled holy head—
pray that it may grow, Flower
to full Bloom
even without
ever learning
his Biology.
…never
realizing what he had there—right
in front of him. Poor *******.
-Dumb. he was.
Cursed to be a P O E T.
and doomed to fail as one.




I hate the sound of the Sunrise
when i’ve been up, writing all night; it’s
an alarm like bones in a blender
thru an endless
waking dreamscape;
Sitting, thinking loosely,
wildly, loose-
change two-cent thoughts—
This
this is when regulatory bodies
are disabled, de
funded; radioactive runoff (operational hazards)
contaminates
pure streams;
...random billboard pop
t-r-a-s-h drift in
and out of mind(probably from
        the endless drone of those same 3 chords in
any store or restaurant you enter. How about some Classical?
        Math: the food ain’t rot ‘em enough, let’s assault
   their other senses of taste. Quick. while
        we’ve got them swine trapped!)
politcal memes, halftruths and
newsday buzzwords flash, bright and
silly then recede into obscurity;
only to discover, the next morning,
their greasy finger-prints
given gimcrack shine to deeppurple dawn
Gibberish. trife piffle. bunkum and balderdash,
gobbledygook, mumbojumbo jackshit slangspit
hogwash, ** lotta raspyutintutyncomman nonsensses hoosis mut nowago sayawahhesay too dum for dada…
My
yawns
are now childish giggling;
My concentrated writings. none of it makes any sense to me.
Searching for a distraction
To regain my focus, composure…
biting
nails, tapping Art Blakey grooves on tired desk,
inspecting burning cigarette, forensically.
Oh—
look around for my cat, come here, co
me here kitty. (ah yea, comforted
by familiar purring, a hum from under the bed;

-Close my eyes,
to centralize
to meditate
to ***** out
inanimate,moving parts
to put finger
to pulse of programmed nub;
to create value
for a dying currency of language;
to whisper sweet nothings
in the ears of tender muses
and meaty hookers.
-At this juncture:
reconciled
where the finish line is
strung,
how it appears to me…only snag:
by the time i get here—none
of these
nothing have no meaning
writing,this,that? what? be
low my paygrade *******;
Let stew; sleepy,
delirious, suicidal, anxious, sorta
*****, deadly confident;
Let stew...
…then it hit me like a Point of Intoxication!
brilliantly constructed
Words,
words hanging,
hanging
like a,
Renaissance-style portrait
above a fireplace in an enlightened *****-den,
    -for a moment, seen clearly thru parting
    of deadeye yellowsmoke sea.
Maladroit,
hallucinatory, went to type,
thought better,
no doubt would ****** such
sudden genius,
fumbled for recorder, gotcha
click:
closed my eyes oncemore
to review this epiphany, to record it.
relayed, recited
like a prayer;
perfectly—this must be what the body
of Christ feels like…
when done, i, exhausted,
smiled like a son a *****
how fine
that P O E M is gonna look,
when written
down all nice and neatly.
it was close(but i knew i'd pull
something revelatory out’ve
my ***.)
satisfied,
if my pants weren’t dry
i'd swear i came.

...the following afternoon,
Upon waking, coffee, cigarette, news
in the background,
grab the recorder to listen to this opus;
well,



**** ME!
if
i didn’t make sure there was any space left
on the ****** thing!
bye bye my petty kubla khan
Smart Boy.

ah well...
it’s just
P O E T R Y ya know.
Andrew Rueter Apr 2021
Some people still don't understand the power of the internet
nor the consequences of social media
they're incredulous when society reacts negatively to someone
if it's someone they like, that is
then that incredulity fuels their perpetual outrage
little things like buzzwords change over time
political correctness becomes cancel culture
and those people say Tropic Thunder couldn't be made anymore
but those people were saying Tropic Thunder couldn't be made
when Tropic Thunder was made.

Those people have truncated perspectives
and provide truncated answers
to non-existent questions
then wonder why filmmakers don't respond to the criticism
of someone who watches ten movies per year
and their half-baked commentary on the film industry
that has more to do with their political agenda
rather than any real concern for creative liberty.
The Jolteon May 2015
"Loot"
"Riot"
"Thugs"
These are buzzwords
Buzz in your head
Straight from the Oval Office
To the newsstand held so dear
Your news is contrived
It's fabricated
Who cares if a building window broke
They breaking people's necks
But that's not worth the screen time
Better to focus on broken windows
Than a broken system
n Dec 2024
hearing
listening
talking
seeing

touching
tasting
wanting
feelin­g
                         me.
Chris Peers May 2017
Men with guns have always come from some poor mothers womb,
they were innocent kids who once played happily in their yards,
with no aspirations and yet to be tarnished by the world,
learning an obfuscated version of truth in the classroom.

Leaders of men are born out of society's frustration,
innocent boys can become greedy and power crazed men,
fulfilling the naive and unthinking of their desire to be governed,
carrying on with their heedless lives with a strange infatuation.

Killers in our streets and in countries they've never heard of,
innocence becomes tainted and men become idealists,
radicalized and propagandized by political media and religious authority,
killers killing men, women and children, they know nothing of universal love.

Men putting on costumes and killing people who are different,
blindly following orders and fighting for freedom and democracy,
massive bombs in the desert, people blown apart at a million dollars a head,
soldiers on the ground who can barely pay the rent.

Democracy and freedom mere buzzwords of selfish and ignorant patriots,
with many being intolerant, xenophobic and racist proudly waving a national flag,
and two faced Christians preaching love on Sunday and glorifying in death on Monday,
agent provocateurs infiltrate peaceful demonstrations, turning them into law breaking riots.  

Suits in congress and the White House determining lives and futures,
safe in their ivory towers and positions of imagined power,
we should put these policy makers on the front line and watch them cower,
and there's cowards in uniform who ****** and slaughter from behind computers.

The men behind the curtain orchestrate their agenda thru their chosen leader,
puppet masters and policy makers free from liability and accountability,
narcissists and psychotics giving a voice from the unelected and unseen,
the hoi polloi are regarded as expendable and merely unnecessary breeders.

Every ten years or so, a new boogeyman comes out to scare,
leaders of the governed make promises to keep them safe,
slowly eroding rights and tightening up national borders,
spending trillions on warfare and hardly a dime on welfare.

True terror is understanding what this world is all about,
innocent eyes only see the superficial beauty of this world,
while experienced eyes see the ugliness that is within,
all around the world people are screaming to be let out.

Self serving leaders look to expand their temporary empires of artificial riches,
utilizing its armed to the teeth military to ****** unarmed innocents abroad,
destroying histories and cultures and replacing them with expanding organisations,
replacing middle eastern infrastructures with emphasis on profit using slave *******.

The people police themselves and have become willing citizens of self induced manipulation,
there's a kind of mass Stockholm Syndrome of the patriotic citizens of so called free countries,
defending their leaders selfish decisions while wanting a share of the spoils of war,
the founding fathers must be turning in their graves as selfish greed has withered a once great nation.

Children made orphans and mothers made widows by far off decisions,
the enlightened ones break it down and see it as people killing people,
a general or a warlord has got to be king of his small patch of grass,
while the apathetic watch the carnage safely in front of their televisions.

We now live in a society that openly assails the critical and free minded intellectual,
people hiding behind their comforting lies and crying like a baby over inconvenient truths,
political correctness and the nanny state providing a *** to suckle saying you're safe with us,
while the millennials despise being labeled or judged and to be recognized as asexual.

The world is divided by nefarious political parties promoting freedom and choice,
setting up media outlets to emphasize their disapproval of the opposing parties stance,
while behind closed doors of power and influence, they are prostituted bedfellows,
slowly suffocating the rights of the people who still believe they have a voice.

Political and religious words echo in the minds of the patriotic and faithful,
empty promises made with a smile that satiate and calm the masses,
the wise and the skeptical see thru disingenuous rhetoric with clarity,
watching them on soap boxes and pulpits, they should be shameful.
Bob B Jun 2018
Start a humanitarian crisis.
Separate families at the border.
Remind people that immigrants
Are very low in the pecking order.

Continue with a counter program.
Keep repeating hundreds of times
How immigrants are dangerous
And also the cause of so many crimes.

Then reverse the order that
Separates the families so
You can pretend you care immensely
(Even though it's just a show).

Blame the Democrats all along
For causing all the injustice and pain.
Say they all want open borders--
That they are the ones who are inhumane.

After bombarding the people with
False "facts" on immigration,
Their tolerance for cruelty
Will grow. The power of demonization!

The frequent use of negative words
Will help to galvanize your base.
Make them insensitive
To basic rights; then play your ace.

Send to the border the First Lady.
Give her a tasteless jacket to wear
So she can add more controversy
And callousness to the whole affair.

Have your conspiracy theory friends
And harpy friend appear on the news
To brainwash viewers so more and more
People will start to share your views.

Encourage your sycophants in Congress
To parrot your buzzwords hour after hour,
And you'll be well along the way
To having what you want: POWER.

-by Bob B (6-24-18)
Steve Matthews May 2024
That slick dude
In elegant suit and tie
With his graphs,
Models and algorithms,
With his pointer,
His pitch, his buzzwords,
With his MBA,
Ivy league education
And erudition

The monkey in diapers
Throwing darts

I’ll take the monkey
Ruby Nemo Feb 2018
I am...
wasting away, frozen in the car
picking buzzwords from common conversations
hail clinks against the windshield
a dusty melody envelops her
leftover tears seep into soles
when I could be...
wasting away in the lively sun
throwing away responsibility
as the ocean waves splash against her back
an island aria entices her
the hot pavement beneath sandy soles
where I should be...
Bard Jul 2022
I just want to **** my rage
Put two bullets in this age
But I can't find the keys to my cage
Got these needs chaining me with a wage
Emptiness in my eyes the void is a phage

It propagates from nothing
Springs from empty living
This police state is sickening
Its body is rotten and decaying
Can we euthanize the nation of slaving

I worry that progress is over
I worry that its now or never
And I worry that we will pick never
All while I clock in and work the levers

Living is so ******* incredible
It makes me ******* miserable
Always knowing I'm not on the level
I know its lame to be so cynical
But how am I supposed to be hopeful

Everything is buzzwords and clickbait pandering
I hope its not too foreword but we're all dying
And if words are stronger than swords then bloods flying
We know the times are trying and say bullets are coming
Viruses, diseases, and pathogens  all the same thing

Death cults on their side they fight so we all die
Ancient evils six decades old still grasping fading lives
They rule our feeble lands pervert our will as a nation fades
Some souls tremble and say this will be the end of days
Some souls shake and say they will ******* pay

Maybe I'm cynical by I say its just another day and they're gonna get paid
The critics will wax they will fade lives for cash thats always the trade
Tell me whats your wage you in the fields or the house do you have it made?
Just tell yourself atleast its not a third world like the ones we made
We get to feast while the poor are in famine now thats a trade
Lawrence Hall Feb 2022
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                               Everybody’s Subversive Now

Speaking truth to power my truth your truth
Interrogating the great reset iconic
The Davos crowd the world economic forum
Break the rules no wrong answers deep state disruptive
Buzzwords without borders globalist power
Synod on synodality
Social media toolkit inclusive
Sustainable neocolonial
Decolonise postcolonialism
Finding your voice authentic community
ConnectHook Jul 2020
Science and Justice:
Bankrupt buzzwords.
You who mouth them
Go to hell.

Peaceful protest:
Oxymorons
Burning cars
and smashing things.

Race and racists;
Nonstop news hype
From fake media
Take a hike.
God is coming !
Turn or burn !
Christ is Lord !
❤️

— The End —