My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.

My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.

A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.

A devilish ******* of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.

Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.

A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.

Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.

Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.

Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.

A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.

A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)

A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.

A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.

A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.

An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.

A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.

A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.

Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.

A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.

Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.

Some people might not accept it
But don't you accept that
Any homophobes are just brainless prats
It's not our fault we are different
And define different anyway
Because it really doesn't matter if your lesbian or gay
Ignore any insults that come your way
Because the hate is a plate and the person is a tray
So knock that tray over and let them clean up the mess
And remember just because you love more doesn't make you any less

in school they told me to keep politics and cursing
out of my poetry. from elementary education
to post-graduate work at the university,
no one really cared to teach me how to write.
certainly not the pretentious prats
who'd somehow forgotten
our words are swords
in the flesh of the State.

they told us flowery metaphors
were welcome, but critiques of the systems
that would eradicate flowers from planet earth
were choked by the weeds
of existential philosophies,
too much
for the average reader
to comprehend.

i was taught to keep polysyllabic words like "neoliberalism,"
"xenophobia,"
and "corporatocracy"
out of rhythmic verse
because the bourgeoise
want to read something ****.

witness the revolt of the proletariat.
i'm embracing a literacy
anointed in Angela y Davis's legacy,
"i am changing the things i cannot accept."
i'll fight like hell and bleed
the imagery from every stanza
if that's what it takes to show
that all art is always already resistance.

to be an anarchist
in the twenty-first century
is to refute practically every vestige
of contemporary society.
to embrace paradoxes and be skeptical,
practicing critique, an endeavor
Foucault termed "reflective indocility."
liberty and equity in equal measures,
an individual amidst a community.
hopeless, but still fighting.

the answer to the ills afflicting us
are available if we avail ourselves
immediately, parting ways
like divorcees,
finally severing all ties
with this American sham
of false democracy.

the answer is neither on the left
nor the right. we've peeked behind the scenes
and seen the corporate-state is held
on a short leash by the oligarchy,
bound and gagged, nothing but a plaything
satisfying the master-slave binary.

if we're to triumph over the bigotry
rising like seas bloodied by refugees
fleeing the endless wars the U.S. has instigated,
we'll have to get creative again.
dare to dream utopically, living
as if we're already free,
seeking liberty, equality, and solidarity.

so consider this a manifesto of sorts:
until i go to greet death as an old friend,
happily released from daily suffering,
i'll sit at my typewriter and bleed
for the least of these,
then climb to my feet and fight
to take back the ******* streets.

“Dear Lab,” started the angrily worded poem,



“We’ve put up with shenanigans and outrage and prats

And unfair bannings from you little rats.

We put up with no codes (quote) for our protection

And through it all you maintained our affection.



Now along you slither with your fancy new forum

And ask our opinion - just to maintain decorum -

but of our gentle requests: you deplore ‘em

Then leave all the mess to the red coated quorum.


pfft - Lab notified."

I am wine in a jack-in-a-box cellar
Wonderlands, neverlands propelling in a boomerang war
Exalting stubborn as weeds in the gardens of well-tended graves
As far off as the most withered waves

I'll drop my roses of singularity
And let the world leap topsy turvy

Eyes turned upside down like folded floral peels before a fallen angel
Rubbing errant pointed brushes against an airy easel
The teapots are now dancing round rainbow tornadoes
Clocks reverse themselves in a scourge of a prose

I'll drop my roses of singularity
And let the world leap topsy turvy

Singing horses dallying kings and queens with whips of cod
Skinny, scorned nutcrackers lolly gagging for a later maraud
Spoons racing Jack and Jill down a spiny valley of prats
I'd shut them off, they come alive with vicious spats

I'll drop my roses of singularity
And let the world leap topsy turvy

My trappings with all things mad
Wafted me ajar a silvery smoke of sad
I breathe the clouds of my helter skelter
As if in every catatonic whir it flutters rises an answer

*I'll drop my roses of singularity
And let the world leap topsy turvy

I was writing all down what was written before,
Writing down prats,
Writing down ******.
When I stumbled upon an array of deceit,
It was a trap,
They took my journal from me.
I smiled.
No one will ever find their bodies.

Posh shows her baby to the **** press
Gaga gets out her milky white *******
and all I think is of the new world
we are so ****** *******

As time resist saying no no
we push it aside for here we go
they pay more for a football player
then charities seeking world peace

This is the justice of the modern age
maybe I will be the same, be a total Runt
pray to God saying none should survive
all on this backward world should die

This world is full of *** holes and prats
it's November but the turkey is getting fat
yet children in 3rd world sh*t holes
will just be starving with no Christmas cheer

The puritanical plastic smiles on news updates
they will say with the Devil in their eyes
happy Christmas you mug proletarians
as they look at a black lens, thinking it your face

One by one my kind will wake you
look deep into your eyes to see if you care
but I know what will come of it
there will be death everywhere

Shove the whole lot on a big red bus
the biggest bus in the world
and burn it, burn it out
till all the cankerous sores have been rid of

Christmas is coming
the goose is a *****
and the angels of death
will be knocking at your door


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris

© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

Teasing danger
Playing god with snow globes
I’ll shake up your world
But I’ll never let go

In-between flag poles
Stubbornly un-sovereign
From the nation whose working class chose
To vote for an elitist dictatorship unopposed

Scraping by stitching smiles on lampposts
Plastering hope on a news feed
Raising our lighters to false hopes
To again see in the press our democratic right the **** of the joke

Keep in your lane
Stay in your estates
Someone else is always to blame
For the last 10 years of mistakes

Governed by Snakes in suits
Bowing to rats in boots
Saluted by prats in robes
Voted in by tw*ts who chose
That they’re who knows what’s best for normal humans.