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Come one come all..to my housed mind of horrid whores

Joined
Oct 15, 2002
Messages
133
A little introduction to my side show tent...
...please take your time to read all of these hymns of broken hymens and hurl plenty of vegtables at my stage...with a rose in my teeth and sitting hip deep in a compost heep...i am thankful for all you have to say...Though i'm sure you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll cum, and maybe pass a little gas. It'll all be over before you know it..then you'll slap me and ask what the fuck was all that ruckus was for....
I will proclaim with great passion it is all for art...then stop and think i don't need your Slim Shady 2 cents or your falsified "i'm an artist too.. i can relate to thriving in utter conflict". But when it comes down to it...fuck your perception of art..i am art.
-----------------------------------------
from the dealing of chameleons you must endure
to the cunnilingus you receive
lets disappear with this from the voracious mass
and no longer speak for nothing I can utter would have a meaning
words only ride on the backs of hicC!UPS
and in the saddle of st-st-stuttersi'm searching frantically..in books, poems, songs, under mats, behind my eyes,
in couch cushions..searchinglookingnotfinding
-an installation of a mania for my written improvement
and nothing can analytically rape what runs in my head
swarms through my nerves
SWELLS my cock and stimulates my mind
and swims in my tear ducts
its from an emotion without a dialect or alphabet
hieroglyph or sound
an unspoken vision
lets read in silence blank pages
and speak with mouths wired shut
for if afterglow cuddles and endless awe-struck stares
can't express what i feel
no mere word can penetrate your porcelain
------------------------------------
open and free to every idea
and fallen in every hole
for there was no stand for any cause
a molecule lost in an ocean
drunken stumbles in a mosh pitthen to stand for something
to stand for many things
better be prepared for an onslaught of reaction
a holy war of a world's entire force
on the shoulders of an anteither way landing on your ass is immenent
-------------------
stupid black pen ran out of ink today..
it has ejaculated all the darkness it had
maybe with these pens ununsed
my writing attitude will change...
--------------
she makes the first move
or allowing the assurance to make it myself
lips move in and back away
hands up and down
and breats start to sway
fingers slide in crevices of fingers
hips bend and legs fly
he's the master one second
and in submission the next
the pase picks up
a careless rhythem sets in
who needs a bedroom lover
when the feelings of this waltz sets in
--------------------------------------------------the day i uttered those words to you
my cells molted away, they all clustered and fucked in the dirt
growing into brightly colored flowers
attract only to poison and cause itching, flaking, and rashes
leaving a blank canvas, loss of pigment to be filled by your pallete
paint scabs and cover wounds encased in scars
by the time you're done i'll a be painting so surreal and twisted
abstact and drunken, like the brush could be fucked dry and unusable
replaced by razor blades and cotton swabs
signed off and framed for crimes long ago committed
imprisoned in a jail of a personality
just as the Bourgeois do they're fucking purchases to hang on walls
fucking cunts, talking about them and not to them
just use them to cover holes in walls, holes in lives
make holes in wallets and in hearts
so with each stroke you make, every blot of acrylic and finger paints
knowing i was once an abstract or torment
once looking like a catalogue of emergency room costume party-
break-your-nose-dancing, ritual cattle mutilation backyard burlesque whore
but now wiped clean, like cleaning a baby's diaper splatter
with your brush in hand and artillery hanging from your belt
..i just want to end up looking like a post card of a family dinner...
i'll cross my fingers and not my legs, awaiting to see what you can make me
------------------------------------------------
knights lay down your swords
rest your shields at your side
drop the draw bridge and allow her passage
attend to this maiden's warmth
and fetch her food for thought
and clean garments...blouses and petticoats
but be wary, do not let her embibe our wine in excess
her poison ring is filled..
we don't want it spilling in our well in a drunken stuper
show her to her room and board..
just make sure she doesn't over stay her welcome
guards, populate the watch towers
maintain your sights on the horizon's hills
she mights have friends in those heron tents
gypsies, witches, pagan slave deciple, and other barbaric types
tonight i want this precious bird from the otherside
pampered and wings mended
yet keep her caged for now
and tomorrow she can fly to freedom
convince her to want my presence..whether for pleasure or conversation
but don't allow her to dent the defenses of my kingdom
----------------------------------------------
with a blink of my ear canal.... I listen to the
cry of the crickets in wonderland silenced from drugs
watch the sunburns dehydrate my eyelids
they crack and tatter away until my retina receives light again
and see you, and that you have expired long before the purchase date
peer into the hourglass of our past...and see an aggressive-fashion-rape-symphony
and yet I covet this final piece, a fine example of muliebrityI notice mankind is illustrated..but all I see in erasers never a pencil
a catless grin and smoke for words...
should display my love like a Christian towards the God of today
and my fear of you, like the Christian of yester-era...scared of the wrath
I know it should end...but this monkey mockery I carry on
like some melodrama play with a cast of street bumsI’m least theatrical..when no longer in your theater...
but I’m still wet from brush strokes
don't touch me until I’m dry... I will smear analogous communication sculpts my scratches and scars
induces the sob drenched mumbles of uncertainty.
remove the rungs of the ladder of Hell that I’m climbing
I almost forgot how pretty Hell can be
if you can get past the stench of doubt your apparel is nothing but ransom note cut up to paper dolls
meant to create an invitation to chaos and a demand for style
why attend any event, when you are one of shock value within itself
and why should I care about the audience.
'booos' are beautiful when harmonized these poems about you are therapeutic fire extinguisher
you're my censorship...the riveting ability of your theory..
of soulless art sold as a product
this oppression, impression, obsession
I lay down my pen, to allow my middle finger time to stretch
and a glance at my spider-webbed hairline fractured television occurs
to see Fllini's version of "Never Bet the Devil Your Head"
Amusing I find it in relation to my life..and this situation
as I forgive you, and move on to joy..
Will happiness drive me to dispair?
But I’ll keep acting like in a Cabaret satire or drama to see my throat is bloody and raw...some phlegm for protection
from screaming at the gods last night
begging them to not let this carry on as long as it takes bones to decay
lubrication of absinthe might add pastel shades to this ‘deer in the headlights’ state I am in
but only your truth. or this art, like shards of glass
and bloodstained asphalt at an intersection
can capture the pain or void of emotionmy thoughts I know are all terminal
with my unwashed brain and a belief in my new layer of skin
but I’m still growing..and to stay in this rotten shell..i will surely die I am no long focused on the journey of this exhibit relationship
but in particular, the curtains dropping, everyone's reaction
the tears, the fear, the want for more
You will not understand if you are sitting..
..the end of it all, when the show no longer goes on
and then it all collects in their heads..
the blissful and agonizing moments..the theme of it all
that you are like a piece of art
theatrics, paintings, song, or poetic stanza..
a lie.. to help me realize the ultimate truth
--------------------------------------------------
I've been acquainted with the tainted
i've made love to the razor
stroked the perversions of man
isolated in crowded crowds
drowned tears with fermented fluid
tripped into holes of love
and burried alive in them, a rock slide pain
and with soil in my lungs i do it again
i've sparred with hatred
and bashed it in alleys
but i've embraced it in cyclops stupers
i await the day it will all mute
and fall into place like a stilled picture
when i ride bareback alonside Death
----------------------------------------------
Impregnate and Cortorizeimpregnante my heart through one of many flesh wounds..
fill its womb, cortorize the rifts
seal and cage this misanthropy
masquerade as a concubine
just to give me one ounce of attention
hold this organ in your hands...
for i know you have no rhyme only some reasons..
waters of love so serene and calm,
yet violent and destructive....
leave me in orgasm...leave me in desolation
but through these gentle tides
and crashing crests..... craddle this heart..
it might weather...it may grow weak
but it'll tend to your hungers and desires
as long as you may need..
i'll be your tourniquet
-------------
Aquarius Starry Eyeswe both sleep under the same aquarius sky
and fallen victim to love's marketing schemes
psionicly we're together..side by side
i can't touch you, but when i lay my head..there you lay
Orion peers down to see us right before blinking out of consciousness...
each of us with one tear creeping down cheeks
wondering if we'll be together after millions of second hand clicks..
i assume because i have a faith i never had before
love beyond the fabrics of time and space..and damaged prisms of morality
strength in a consequentialist--the ends of this distance will justify the means
the pleasure will grow greater than the hyper-virus of pain
---------------------------------------
Just now leaving home
And entering the central nervous system
Waiting for a juggernaut….a monolith
Of love so great it’s grotesque
To deprive me of mediocrisy and hum-drumness
Of masturbation and self-loathing
Encompass me and I’ll swallow you whole
Found the apple of all my sin
My mouth wide open when I shake the tree
Waiting for you to fall and sit with me
My taste buds alert at the tyranny of your taste
Loving your passion and all my exaggerations
Makes me wonder why I suppressed early signs of infection
Love until we are so tangled
We cannot escape
So undefined and well designed
The only thing that adds color to my black mood
Exterminate those insects of depression
The expansion of pain of dissonance forms a beauty of sorts
When focused and captured shines like a bruise on God
Awareness of the side effects of all these thoughts
Finding there’s no cure
The re-birth to all, kills all in my head
An old me, a new me, you love
Woven into my soul, stitched up in thread
----------------------------------------------------------
black sheep looking for serenity in normalcy
outside of society, that's where i'll be
the undertow pulls...and doesn't allow for accomplishment
vines writhe, the insect swarm up my legs in astonishment
heart broken, more than i can bare
and sociological opinions...to rare to share
when no one in the world can just leave me to my suffering
i'm already as callus as i can be, i need no more toughening
i need to express myself...and ass kiss to become
i've swallowed my pride in order to thrive, like a whore to cum
one step up, is another minefield on an eggshell landscape
to ensure i can never truly love, never make it in the world, yet never escape..
everytime i overcome hate, you give me another reason for it to fester
obstacles of jesters...molesters, my morality and stability testers
i held in high light a goal..on a pedestal that affect all other finish lines
now like an abandoned abortion,i am left behind,
African American Newborn Found In Trashcan...sound synonymous to my headlines
but what can expect from a girl of orgasms, and a life full of ladder rungs
for her to leave me in the state...so consuming.. the beginning of what i'll become
i tried all i could for her..my ring finger cut with abrasives to the bone
i gave in every aspect...just to be lied to and left alone
my education like an embarrassed child in a sport..up to bat again
my money i busted my ass for a year..just to see her for a short time spent
motivation to dress to impress...and define my naked image
my knowledge expanded in the pages of books..like i was preparing for a mental scrimmage
i gave my love in the infinity of thought.. to a beauty too beautiful to be
but that's the outside shell lies provide.. petals now wilt, pedestals now tarnished, as i watch platinum leave
and be replace for pewter...maybe even the fate slate..
but i know my heart..my life has been left black, empty and opaque
so now i rhyme my lines in an outlet of diction and dictation
of how i rose to the occasion of invasion, where the truth was beyond imagination
now my words burn with passion..my depression spreads like rashes
another scar on my wrist to explain a flow like irrigation from razor lashes
like a revolutionary...i screamed for freedom or death..
and found a freedom in honesty and love... blindly without a test
i never called bluffs.....now laying in wreckage of crashes
and only love...will help me rise from the ashes
----------------------------------------------------------------------
deaf as the Trojan prophetess Casandra
if Neptune had filled her ears with fluid
and i know Loki lurks like a drooling queer
in the black heart of every sampled rib
with a blindfold around my head
and a Confederate flag in the Virgo's hand
one foot on my chest
laying on my back of a thousand lashings
she stands proud
like a fascist crumbling another Jewish citizen
she glares down through "holier than thou" eyes
she spits, she laughs..at her new slave
she was the attractive apple
and i bit down to the core
now i suffer from knowledge
innocence to temptation..all the way to whore
leave me with incurable sores
and in my last breath in chlorine gas
I whisper in a strain, "I still love you"
i was bent over in hunger for love
like a beggar is for food
she fed me LSD to distort my visions
Xanex and whiskey to numb my senses
my fingers blood-shod
from over caressing porcupine quills
with the appearance of skin
elegance comparable to a Chinese noble newborn
her whole essence -an error in the birth of destiny
her Virgin Mary/Ginsberg alter-ego sexual perculiarness
it is what hooked me, then destroyed me
in the closet...all the skeletons, lays traps for all the Amazon animals..
and in its shadows..all the nightmares turn real...all the monsters come alive
and now i lay here dead...another conquest for a Lolita..
my soul wanted to kill the king
Slaughter all the devil's daughters
And annihilate everything
closed the portal to all my dreams
So with a fist I tried to slit my wrist
Let mother earth taste my blood
My emotional outlet…A river of feminine famine
Dripping in a puddle of mud
but the Hindu Kali got to me first...
and in a revolution battlefield i lay dead
I slept with the enemy
Now i take my place amongst all the other corpses..
..from the betrayal in love
in a Japanese field overlooked by Hoji
-------------------------------------------
Reading Whitman in a class
"the learn'd astronomer" or some shit
just waiting to go home lke the other 15 maggots in here
ironic i find that his poem values simplicity, beauty, and asthetics of the stars
over the diagrams, charts, coldness, and harshness of a scientist
and this they teach in technology university?I read and re-read and realize very little of what i write has no prose
very little of what i write has no setting...and that my meter and rhyme
is sparadict as an addict
and i just write what comes to mindthat most of my writing is an exageration of emotion, ideals, and situations
stretched, chaotic, and unorganized
as a militia of freedom fighters in a rioting revoltI rely on a nail to wrist to crucifix shock value to grab attention
crucify myself eveytime i allow someone to see inside me..spewing FUCKING obscenties to show my GOD DAMNED convictionsimilies, metaphors, and a vocabulary...
to prove my colussus intelliegence
or my mammoth insecurities and imbecile stupidity..I don't leave people wondering..
...what...i'm ..about..to ....
...say..and as i read this short poem one last time
I wonder if i'll be read and thought of in such a way..its all just a pen to paper SCREAM
to get it all out today..
-------------------------------------------
she has more problems than she can take
and no one is there, no one understands
so she takes in more cocks than she can shake
line them up at her mouth
double penetration in her crotch
no condoms, fill her, make her feel wanted and appreciated
she special as a sperm
a little hash, another drink, one more pill
to numb it all away
look how easy the world goes away
is it folly of youth?
or a depressive cry and reach?
this pill whore princess
nudist dancing star, cum wad face mask
her life has been titled and laced
she loves all the abuse...
because it makes her feel need now..--
-------------------------------
what have we turned our women into?
the pressures the world lays upon them
a porn star, a hooker, maybe just a teen-age slut
a resident for a bordello, once raped, twice molested
"rest hotels" geishas for her or him
frat regulars unknowingly loaded on GHB
use and abuse this stranger and her anal beads
strip away hope, pay attention to their bodies
give them some kind of purpose
they feel degraded, us cocks feel proud
whenever we break their hymen
blood flows, tears drop, as they scream out loud
we soil white sheets...and angelic lives
no longer do we worship our princesses...
we just fuck our whores..
------------------------------------------------
fear of deceit, deception
retreat for cowardice or retaliation
all the counterfeit beautiful people
with bleached and starched lives
they can't even smell their own rotten shit
mucus bubbling up, as they drown in their lies
their eyes black, and a knife in my back
from urn ashes, their cosmetics arise
suck it, swallow, and smile
stuffing attention, money, crucifixes, and pills
in between their thighs
America-a Genisis of fakes and flakes
a manifestation of vats, composed of two-faces personas
Batman-esque alter egos
relaxation in their saturated piss/pseudo steam sonas
my childhood smiles replaced by questioning eyes
and furrowed brows
innaguaration of bittersweet paranoia
a deja-vu of loneline in darkness
my life, my visions, sights, feelings
trusts, safeguards, and hopes
destroyed by a reign of fallacies
i can breathe, i can't cope
life long stroll in a murky sea at night
searching for safety in every step
truth so rare it fearful, trembling all the secrets i have kept
truth so prescious its strange
like staring at an asylum cell light bulb
seeing truth and feeling so derranged
eon lasting espionage..never ending sabotage...
and things will never change
-------------------------------
[ 05 December 2002: Message edited by: BLULITER LackofMorality ]
 
and just b/c i want more attention...
BLULITER LackofMorality
Bluelighter
posted 22 November 2002 15:50 (ip) ()
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jealous everytime i see a child...
for he owns something i'll never get back
the face of innocence and curiosity
that i constantly think is mine..
but what a censoring dellusion
for all i have left in losing it all
is just this thing named shame
the era of questions that got tossed away
on substances and sexuality
just for one more escape..
and now i've ran from something
i've never really had..
when mother was a god who could fix the world
when schoolyard taunts was all the pressure i needed
when the complications of our genitals
never seemed to matter...and i could dance without a care
the day awoke and life was no longer a joke
or any phylum of a laughing matter...
and i see a child, whether he smile or cry..
everyday i wish i was him...
---------------------------
Dialectic duality from my fetus splicing birth
Mental Siamese rage on in a recycling motion
And the person who was elected to perfect its unity
Just widen its div ide
Unleash me Delilah and all your factory replication human notions
A vamp… a courtesan… the burlesque grotesque
Feminine machoism…and masculine submission
Transsexual confusion and my arms wide open for guilt
I’d scream like a little dog in a parked car that had just found its podium
but I’ve been rendered a voice of a Boston Strangler victim
torpedo libido and no SONAR to sniff my way to the fox
Raging stampede of a hard-on for the wrong sided swingers..
They just remind me so much of various pinkish entrails
As I listen to you… Giving birth to your residence…
and constructing your violated egg
Culo excreted mess of a life.. what have I become
Love opened the door into the territory of terrors
Who was the fucking idiot who put me on this earth
“oh but you have a purpose my son”
Au contraire-mon-fraire, no one can sway my dismay with cliché
Cardiac Aneurysm in need of one more scooping lobotomy
Just peer at me as another frivolous bastard
And in the span of a cigarette
Years after blood has ran cold..and wine no longer excites the taste
With the turn of every page, and the passing of every day
I just want my cells to hault all growth and await biodegradable decay
Just allow me to die away from your men-o-cide…
With a little bit of dignity
[ 25 November 2002: Message edited by: BLULITER LackofMorality ]
[ 27 November 2002: Message edited by: BLULITER LackofMorality ]
[ 29 November 2002: Message edited by: BLULITER LackofMorality ]
--
The Rape on Nanking..look at that and see humanity at its best
*Cosmic Mist*
Bluelighter
posted 24 November 2002 23:31 (ip) ()
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I think that, out of all the stuff you have posted so far onbluelight, i like this one the best... it has a softer feel to it. There is still the biting harshness that the rest of your work has, but this one is far more sub-dued, and far more universal to be sure...
I'm gonna post something in the words forum now... i'd be quite interested inhearing your thoughts on it... if you can be bothered to read it - it's long~ish...
--
"No more promise no more sorrow -
No longer will I follow!
Can anybody hear me?
I just want to be me..."
- Mayonaise, The Smashing Pumpkins
AmmutTheDevourer
Bluelighter
posted 25 November 2002 05:52 (ip) ()
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well I would have to say that this poem is intresting... I did enjoy it. To be honest I miss it to..... Sometimes I wish I could do anything to have it all back. Its simple the way u worded it, I liked.
BLULITER LackofMorality
Bluelighter
posted 26 November 2002 16:04 (ip) ()
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i played with the 2nd poem above and turned into a totally different poem.... here it is...
Its the beginning of an astonishing panorama of endtimes in a rage
Rabbit is out of the hat…dug a hole out his Jesus cage…
Killed my glitter gods inside all the close ones that flee
Feces for the fetal fecal, all they did was eat the hands that bleed
Proclaiming a loyal brethren, but au contraire mon fraire
Just induce more dismay with cliché in a burlesque grotesque lair
Another frivolous bastard with a cardiac aneurysm
Running late with my torpedo libido, no time for all your isms
The genderless vamps and courtesan leeches that I once called friends
Blood has run cold and wine no longer has a taste, no longer an ear to lend
Your skeletons rattle in closets due to their photophobia
Fucking cowardice, hum drum, generic, soulless bitches, the both of ya
Unleash me wanna-be Delilah, sick of the territory of terrors
With nothing to believe in, and no one to answer my prayers
Zeus, Yahweh, Krishna, Hades, Annubis play ring around the roses
With lighting force stab with the staff of Moses
Watch the pedals tear the blood from their palms
In this Sodom and Gomorrah discovery of my social realm
How did I end up in this KingDumb
How did I ever love them?
I wish they just could’ve known my one-world vision
Was just a disguised brand of xenophobia wrapped in a punk ribbon
Now I’m just laughing at your anguish and all you tears…
What a perfect cure for my loneliness and fear
BLULITER LackofMorality
Bluelighter
posted 27 November 2002 00:35 (ip) ()
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and the 4th one...
Rusty anchor chains and an iron turban of the after glow capture of a first kiss
Or maybe it was a first fuck, maybe the 5th or 6th
One of those times of coed recreation turned into passion
That would grow to dwell in my mind and make everything else a silver minnow
In a great electric lake of soul bordered by the fires of imagination
Where both atoms and gods pick up their duties from nowhere to everywhere
A fluid arena in which the nexus of joy is a blanket to wrap up in
As every molecule of oxygen makes our lungs drunk, morphing into champagne
Every cells exploding in itches and tingles which such velocity it overflows Buddha’s dams
A place where hearts are opened with a tongue in cheek
A venue in which every utterance is filled with sincerity and irony
Occupation of two more dualities, to add to my list
That take up the same 4 dimensional utopian space
Without the essence of contrived time
And if bliss were insanity, watch drama send in the clowns
Until this lake runs dry.. until their face paint smears away
You will still be there through butterflies and piss
To see me through everything when every day dawns and dusks
BLULITER LackofMorality
Bluelighter
posted 29 November 2002 06:28 (ip) ()
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congealed from nitroglycerin and mother's milk
an estrogen nuture? or a barbaric blaze made to corode flesh
full of secrets and versions of truth..
filled with love and contempt
all the while..they warm and haunt me every night
in the caverns of every dream
faites de beaux reves
------------------------------------------------
America scared into a self-imposed subjugation
everybody here just wants to control everybody..
owners and pets aren't we all..
our leashes on each other...
can't tell who's the slave and who's the master
maybe we're all just the middleman in a sandwich fuck fest
and even tolerance has been taken from its idleness
to produce yet another weapon..and instrument
for intimidation, bullying, and extortion
and that is more offensive than the lack of tolerance itself
but we're all weak..and utilize any weapon we can
even if it means abusing the blade until its dull
nephil
Moderator
Trip Reports
SW Events
posted 29 November 2002 11:24 (ip) ()
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wow, i am truly diggin this
*Cosmic Mist*
Bluelighter
posted 29 November 2002 14:47 (ip) ()
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"Des beaux reves" hein? Si jamais il y avait quelqu'un qui comprenait, je crois vraiment qu'il serait toi...
if ever i make it back to the americas, i will come and visit you bluliter - i would really like to meet the man behind such interesting words.
Where abouts are you located?
BLULITER LackofMorality
Bluelighter
posted 29 November 2002 15:05 (ip) ()
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a place where all the grostesque ghetto-esque come to play with rednecks and white people with their noses so high in the air they'd drown if it rained. A place where a broken home is a way of life regardless of economic class. A city filled with children that are out of control drug addicts, victims of rape and child molestation....
or maybe these are just the people i run into..
welcome to atlanta where the players play...
my doors are always open if the trespasser is willing to share a drink..
[ 29 November 2002: Message edited by: BLULITER LackofMorality ]
 
My god boy - you're damned prolific! Thank god your second post was full of stuff i'd already read, or i'd have never gotten through it...
SO many parts of allt he different poem struck me, so i'm not going to even try and quote them... except for these ones:
lets read in silence blank pages
and speak with mouths wired shut
for if afterglow cuddles and endless awe-struck stares
can't express what i feel
no mere word can penetrate your porcelain
i screamed for freedom or death..
and found a freedom in honesty and love... blindly without a test
i never called bluffs.....now laying in wreckage of crashes
and only love...will help me rise from the ashes
i can breathe, i can't cope
life long stroll in a murky sea at night
searching for safety in every step
truth so rare it fearful, trembling all the secrets i have kept
truth so prescious its strange
like staring at an asylum cell light bulb
seeing truth and feeling so derranged
eon lasting espionage..never ending sabotage...
and things will never change
Good imagery, interesting metaphors... ever thought of compiling an anthology?
 
i have written anywhere from 10-20 poems a week..for 7 years.. sometimes i hit below 10 but not often..i always have too much to get off my chest, mainly b/c i play with too many females chests and my emotions get involved..
but all in all i have over 6,000 poems.. if i compiled and anthology... it would take forever... and i'd need someone in person to go through them all and help me pick them.. and exclude the ones that have excerted song lyrics in them..
so if anyone wants a couch to sleep on...some beer... shitty food..and to read poetry all day to help me compose one.. ... i'd be more than happy to accomodate..(by the way..u'll have to excuse my excessive masturbation while i stare at Hello Kitty cartoons)
 
another thing...i know jack shit about the writing industry..i know alot about music..but anyways.. how the fuck would i even begin to get published?
 
All the people i have known to have had something published had begun by writing or composing a piece of writing, or a collection of writings, then editing them to buggery, so that they are perfect. FInally sending a copy to every publisher that is listed anywhere would be a good idea.
Alternatively you could do it yourself - i don't know how it works in the us, but in Canada all you need to do is send 2 copies of your book to the national library, and have it made official - i forget where though... sorry :)
it's do-able... the only question to ask is, do you want to do it?
 
i'd be more inclined to sort through them..pick the best ones..edit the shit out of them (which i hate doing..i always feel like i'm taking something away from the rawness of it..) but if i was going to ..that's how i'd do it
my problem is ..i don't utilize everything you can within poetry... i don't play by rules so to speak.. people are always like "poetry has no rules" but au contraire.. flip open any english book with poetry...or any poetry "self help book" and any book filled with the "greats" ..
they all have some sonnet or haiku standard...something with their stanza...rhyme pattern, meter, etc.. i rhyme when i feel like it, i break my lines when i feel like it and when i do..i'll have a stanza that's 4 lines long followed by one that's 10.. to me personally..even the greatest of poets have bastardized the freedom of poetry simply by conforming to certain "patterns" patterns are too closely resembled to rules and barriers..i've seen poetry like painting...there should be none at all..
 
i never said i didn't want to be hailed for it..
i just think it'd be hard to get published without working within the boundaries..
Look how long it took Ginsberg and all of the beat poets for that matter to truly get some recognition for their genious.
 
The thing is that anything worth doing is worth doing well, and the most worthwhile things require a maximum amount of effort, and often go unrewarded. How many great artist/writers/poets/photographers went unrecognised until their deaths - Sade wasn't recognised until 1939 when they found his manuscripts for "1200 days of sodom" - until that time it had been lost due to the storming of the bastile more than 150 years previous... noone really gave a shit about Brett Whitely until he ODed, and now he is regarded as one of Austalia's great contemporary artists...
If you write with passion and your work means something to you, if breaking the tradional confines of all that is "poetry" is what you want to do, then you are going to have to be prepared to fail before you succeed...
My other piece of advice would be to understand well the principles of writing before deciding to rebel against them - you'll note that people like Picasso and Dali COULD have painted more traditional portraits and landscapes had they wished to - they possesed the skill and know-how. The fact that they didn't is what made them great. Even people who do not admire their works cannot flaw their technical abilities...
 
in all honesty.. i have written many of times using and manipulating the literary "tools"/rules so to speak that have been standard within poetry. By no means do i like the results of any of my work within those boundaries...maybe i should prove myself within those boundaries before i attempt to break them?
I wrote these when i was in 9th grade... so about 6-8 years ago... the first was heavily inspired by a Tupac Shakur poem.. here it's within the lines..
In a crack in concrete
life begins to grow
on this polluted Ghetto corner
sprouts a red rose
It’s beauty is ignored
for this is where drugs are sold
and prositutes get picked up
in this moral Cold
It grows more and more
by this grafitied home
where the wife gets beat
and their little girl moans
It grows in the shadows
for it needs no Sun
it shines through the darkness
that this 'hood has begun
Through all the pollution
surrounded by garbaged beer cans
Grows a single rose
a Beauty is a Dark land
-------------------------------
DEAD BEACH
pollution in the water more and more
more dead fish along the shore
with sand turned black, with a putrid smell
the only sign of life-a solitaire shell
the seagulls and pelicans no longer fly
smoke and smog now fill the sky
no swimmers, no surfers, sunbathers gone too
no one is here-not even you
this is our fault , can’t you see
a beauty of nature dead as can be
-------------------------------------
DOUBT IN FAITH
is there a heaven in the sky?
a mighty god to greet me when i die
or, for my lack of faith, will i go to hell?
where i shall burn and rot where the demons dwell
is there a golden meadow-another plane of existense?
with no proof, how is this to make sense?
are there gods? are there souls?
are there devils,? or demons that scury like voles
churches and temples told me tales of wisdom, tales of glory
it all fed me nicely, but now those stories bore me
i don’t live perfectly, nor in sin
with all these choices, what do i believe in?
-----------------------------------
What is True love
what is true love?
for we know the famous name?
but does it match the movies
and all it's fortune and fame?
is it with someone all the time?
do you feel it deep within
is it when i think about her
and it brings a little grin
can you carry love in you?
is it really in your heart?
is that what is aching whenever we're apart?
do we show it in our talks
for hours on and on?
or in romantic moments
that i wish to forever to go on
but true love is more than this
for it must last through the fights
the bitter disagreements
and many sleepless nights
when troubles get too much
and the hills look so steep
that's when true love shines the most
and you feel it oh so deep
for when you need it the most
trust love will be right there
to show you all the wonders
when you need someone to care
true love will stick with you
through all the thick and thin
it will not care about your past
or where all you have been
but true love is so rare
and saved for a certain few
who knows?
maybe it was saved for me and you
now do u understand why i write the way i do? persoanlly i think those suck...
[ 08 December 2002: Message edited by: BLULITER LackofMorality ]
 
I understand your point that your poetry without constraints is much better than your structured stuff, but my point was more to spend sometime mastering the structured poetry before moving on.
Have you ever considered using subtler techniques in your poetry, like: Foreshadowing; aliteration; enjamberment? These are very simple and easy to use, yet so effective at the same time.
Whatever you do, i'm sure you'll do it well... :)
 
in all honesty...those being his first batch of poems..those aren't bad attempts... he was young as he stated...ya know?
as far as i can tell, he just doesn't work well within boundaries. Alot of people are like that ya know? At jobs..people do better sometimes on their own instead of under some big corporation. Sometimes people make amazing pictures by never learning to stay inside the lines. I think mastering words has to be accomplished, but not having the technical ability to write like someone else. If you wanted that ability, and that was you then fine....otherwise, poetry should be ultimate freedom just like all art.
Who's to say it sucks? Or good? It just IS. Art is expression of self, the style you explain it represents you just as much as its content, by judging that art as good or bad, right/wrong, rich/poor quality you are saying that about its creator not just the piece.
[ 09 December 2002: Message edited by: AmmutTheDevourer ]
[ 09 December 2002: Message edited by: AmmutTheDevourer ]
 
yes BLU is Shock..and Meatpuppet..he's had multiple names and frankly I'd hate to stoop to your level of derogatory critism instead of offering something constructive, but his imagery, personifications, and use of language has me stunned, nothing you have posted has struck that way. Apparently Cosmic Mist up there has quite a tiny infatuation with his work, i see she has posted in many of his posts. So apparently he's doing something right, while you have to post about "why doesn't anyone pay attention to me?" ... I'm done.. sorry. He's my friend and i've seen you 2 get into flame wars on here before. It needs to stop.
If anything to settle it... I propose both of you spend a week on a poem...and let Bluelight Judge if you want to play beavis and butthead sucks vs cool games. And neither of you under any name would be allowed to post anything but the poem itself and let the comments from other members do the talking.
One thing i do ask, whether on my posts, Blu's, or anyone else's for that matter. Do not be so arrogant, and have your comments sound like they're Almighty. Your an aspiring poet just like everyone correct?
Take a look at Cosmic up there? She gave him advice. A helping hand if you will. She didn't not have to shove something too large to fit up her ass in order to do it.
[ 09 December 2002: Message edited by: AmmutTheDevourer ]
 
Good God! What the hell is wrong with everyone today? There's nothing but critisism from all sides - not just bluelight.ru - and frankly i am sick of it.
Everyone is entitled to their own opinions and they are entitled to share them. If you wish not to read someone else's opinions, or their poetry, or whatever else, then just don't read it - it's that damned simple...
Has the world gone mad? It would seem so.
PS, i'm not having a go at any of you - it's just frustrating to see people quibble over terms, surely there's more to life than that?
Smile people - if we all agreed then the world would be a boring place. :)
 
she's right.
but if necissary, i'll protect the honor of selectionill and do battle with blulightermoralparody.
(no one in particular)
 
sorry,
i just don't see this as therapy.
it's poetry.
to me they are two different things.
you're taking my opinion of your poetry and superimposing on your soul.
hey, alright, that's ok.
you may respond that art is therapy, and i might say blah...and blah blah bla.
look. i wake up every morning, i kiss my wife, i eat breakfast, i go to work, i write, i come home, i practice, i drink a beer, i visit a firnd, i hop on the computer, i jot down a few lines that i think are worth it, i read some interesting stuff i go to bed, read some salinger or hemingway and i go to sleep. notice how "intentionally hurt someones feelings" or "act really egotistical" isn't on my list.
now, all i've commented on is poetry written in a poetry forum. you guys made this personal and now you're attacking my character. you think i'm an egomaniac, that i need to beg people to read my poetry, that i'm arrogant and abrasive. that's fine, but you haven't mentioned one thing about my writing.
so, we are at an impasse.
we talk about poetry, and we leave the broken souls in our art where it belongs.
you see, i've had a horrible life too. i don't want to play that game anymore. i used all that shit as an excuse to be miserable and ineffectual for a long long time (THIS IS NOT AN ATTACK ON ANYONE). you see, the world wants me to fail. it is set up for me to fail, and i, as a recovering heroin addict, uneducated, trailer park, alcholic degenerate that needs his wife to handle evry penny that comes into the house cause i'd spend it all on voodoo dolls, spray paint and carmel squares, you'll have to forgive me if i don't weep for you. i don't even weep for me anymore.
so, friends? or, at least associates?
seemore
 
i weep for no one as well. But that does not mean i do not relate. And i attempt to stay aware of how my words might be percieved.
In all seriousness..i'm not attacking. Take a look around BL's Words forum. Notice how other people comment. Anyone..not me, or you. Just anyone. No one bashes anyone else. Yet you do. maybe unintentionally. maybe u're unaware and that's not your intent at all. but it is how it is percieved. Words are shit, perception is everything.
But yes, truce for now. I'll call you my associate..since we have a past. I'll also delete my other posts within this thread to match with yours
(psst..we'll just make Ammut and Cosmic look silly by them complaining at us arguing...) lol
anyways... i'll comment on your work if u'd like. Not a problem. And i won't go into it with a mindset to assrape it either. I promise.
 
then it's settled, and peace it is.
and yes, it's true, i may be rough, but we all must be something, yes?
seemore
 
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