Sunday, May 5, 2013
While you might have found peace, solace, god, comfort, or whatever-the-fuck in what you believe, its still probably a good idea to stop shoving it down people's throats. Despite the happiness or guidance it has brought you individually, each and every side of the coin (meaning whatever faith) has not provided world peace, solutions to economic crisis, a broadened sense of civil liberties, greater common decency among man, or protection against man-made environmental catastrophes, but rather violence, schism, alienation, war, justifications for the holocaust, justifications for suicide bombings, justifications for mass suicides, justifications for slavery, and an arrogance toward the environment more despicable than any made-up and fictional devils. In other words, religion seems to be a personal experience that when removed from the individual level and spread across the world causes blood, sadness, and death. Stoking the fire, supposedly sacred experiences would seem much more so sacred if you kept them to yourself.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Fuck your pentameter You lack rhythm in the first place This is a symphonic harmony of disjointed industry and the system you all can't let go Bask in your fading limelight of judgement, because eventually you will see me clearly I walk in your kingdom of heaven I am the synapses between your wit and the words you think you speak Ask your master for the answer He will let you open a window, only for a moment though It's the measurement that changes, not staring at the bars of your cages I too am trapped Scrapped for another, and wrapped like birthday crap Probably just another poor old sap like my father's father and his father before Sanity can be such a chore, A bore for sure Yet, I need my feet on the ground So "soft" nevermore You need two pens to write, and one to stab them in the eye Silence, where once that awful bitch would try To cut you down, and make you frown Trash your dreams, and mock your screams She the shrew that cannot be tamed, but we're all the same Pointing blame, telephone games, and a little strange Escape if you must, but I'd bet on bust And another dollar made on your lust Sucked dry and empty as they, drooling, spin the wheel Too fucking brain dead to feel, the boot heel and steel while vomiting up their final meal