Sunday, May 24, 2009

The Analytical MisAnthrope

What is the alternative to self ostracization?

A) Giving in to mediocre masses
B) Relinquishing your individuality at the door of the party
C) Quantity of acquaintances over quality of companions
D) All of the Above.

Sorority girl puking in the corner
Cheap beer and music that makes
Conversation indistinguishable
Plastic cups and ping pong balls
Ugly strangers hooking up with
Uglier ones, searching for
Momentary meaning to sedate
Their meaninglessness and mediocre
Existence with a random fuck
And a morning regret.
The lucid conversations of celebrity
Fluff and gossip, skittles and fashion,
Sports statistics, fuck statistics
Too far from the truth, too drunk to care
Torpid adolescents who become stagnant adults
Remaining useless in their existence…

…all makes the emptiness and uncertainty
Sleepless nights and writer’s block
The self-inflicted loneliness of
Misanthropy, the bitterness,
The cynicism and quandaries
Of self-doubt and pitiful loathing
Of those outside your door,
The maniacal internal rants and
Psychotic streams of consciousness
The mental masturbation, the darkness
And seclusion from the hatred of
Those masses of indifferent fools…

…worth it.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Philosophia

Philosophia


Nascimini servis ipsis et nos fidei

Si est modus ad omnes res, cur ponimus modos in nobis?

Vivere sin sententia es vivere in summo statu libertatis.

***

We are born slaves to ourselves and to our faith

If there is a limit to all things why do we put limits on ourselves?

To live life without meaning is to live in the highest state of freedom

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Escape

Let me be the break
in your monotony.

an escape
from numbness.

come here and discover
what you've forgotten.

come here and touch
this moment, this body
you are alive again.

breathe deep.

forget the minutes.

slide
down this mountain
of my body.

drink
from the cup
between my legs.

simmer in desire
inside this resolve.

electric fingertips
glide
.
we are reborn
free into each other.

wild.

alive.

Come here and breathe...

Soul For Sale

I've sold my self
there is nothing left for you to hold
I've sold my self
to routine
for summa cum laude
to rich folks
for a few dollars
to cosmetics
for a few glances of the opposite sex.

Those great ones
slept on benches
drank themselves to their end
ran down the street
with their genitals hanging out.
Roaming the country.
Living off of
Roominghouses and nickels.
fucking the world
one whore at a time.

Those great ones who became
the rich and worshiped
reluctant celebrities
Beatnik idols
they all eventually
sold themselves too.

Here I am with too pretty a face
for my own good
the cynicism boiling underneath
this too short of a skirt
Always on time
confined to a soul defeating
abusive routine.
Waiting to be knocked
off of this godamn monotonous
humdrum we call a life.

C'mon

Your life is over when you think its just beginning.
The beginning of your marriage: your life is over.
Tenured job security: your life is over.
Making babies: your life is over.
Mortgaging a house: your life is over.
401K and retirement funds: your life is over.

You have the rest of your life figured out.
You are imprisoned in this pathetic
security blanket you call your life.
You cling to the present as if it will be your future
In fear of change, growth, discovery
In fear of living.

That which you promised for a lifetime
will grow old and expire
while the world passes you by
and a whole lifetime of stagnant security
isn't as fulfilling
as one day of urgency.

Isn't as fulfilling as our one day of urgency.
You know it, I said it.
C'mon...

Friday, April 24, 2009

Appropriate Lament

I looked for you in the facade of hope
in the lines of poetry
in the hours of sleep
yet I should not be as foolish to think
that I would find you - as there is no meaning to be found anywhere.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Hillary Benner

This afternoon was perfect for a walk in this town. April is a beautiful month and today served as the paradigm for such beauty.

Dressed in black sweatpants, my white tank top, hair long and blonde as usual I left my apartment with my Book of Disquietude and my journal, intent on finding somewhere comfortable in the Nisky Hill cemetery to read and write down a few of my thoughts. Being that cemeteries are peaceful to me, I looked forward to some alone time which to reflect some current but lingering thoughts.

The cool wind served as a nice dichotomy between the warm sun and I decided upon a grassy knoll area underneath one of the largest trees in the cemetery, on which to sit. Opening up to a new page to pour words onto, I wasn't there for more than five minutes until a lady approached me, saying she just needed to look at me up close. She said I looked so much like her daughter. She asked me where I went to school and if I lived around here. Then she told me how her daughter died two years ago today and she had just been visiting the grave. She said when she saw me walking, the way my hair looked and the clothing I was wearing, I looked exactly like her daughter...

How strange upon this day I would be walking in that exact location at that time she was there, choosing that spot to read, those clothes to wear. My heart went out to this lady and it wasn't until I stopped by her daughter's grave on my way out of the cemetery that I took a minute to give my respects. The grave was decorated with many fresh beautiful flowers of all colors, along with a container which held several notes to Hillary. Upon arriving home, I found information about her via the internet and myspace.

She died two years ago on Easter Sunday in a car crash with her boyfriend.

Though I did not know her until today, it is strange to meet someone after they have passed.

Rest in Peace, Hillary.