Recent Journal Entries

  • Boldly Capsize

    by NomadMonad on March 31, 2017

     

            ⚓      ⚓      ⚓

    Name that metaphor (half-assed boating)

    Polish the brass on your life preserver

    Wring out some meaning for dockside observer

    Moorings are tenuous; life is floating.

     

     

    National poetry Writing Month a.k.a. NaPoWriMo is on again.

    An original poem for every day of April 2017.
    Come peruse the wares



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  • All I Need

    by blueplates on March 10, 2017

    Every single time I see my mom she finds some new way to insult me... Yesterday I saw her after work and she started going on about how I look "gaunt"... I guess it's out of love but there probably would've been a nicer way to say something than a lecture about how I'm no longer attractive. To be honest, I think I look better than I ever have. People think it's weird that I don't want much social interaction but I entertain myself more than anyone else ever has. I certainly attract myself more than anyone else ever has. I don't know how to describe it without sounding pyschotic but sometimes when I look in the mirror it's like there's more than just me there. Or maybe more like there is both I and me, and we're in love. Hmmm... I'm starting to remind myself too much of buffalo Bill from The Silence of the Lambs, I need to go take a walk or something.



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  • Misconceived Koan

    by NomadMonad on March 10, 2017

    ∅ ✿ ⚤

    Abortion

    as a form

    of extreme contraception



    koan:  a paradox to be meditated upon, used to train Zen Buddhist monks
    to abandon ultimate dependence on reason and to force them into gaining sudden intuitive enlightenment

    [from Merriam-Webster]



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  • Title

    by RosesAtSunset on March 05, 2017

    Hot and cold
    hot and Cold
    Pick a tap
    And watch it flow
    He asked me if I swallow
    If only my pride weren't so hollow
    "Oh how does your garden grow?"
    Why, with all these wild oats I sow!
    Throwing browned pieces of bananas at the crows
    From the sleek silver muscle car that I do tow
    A little chocolate doll bows
    Out of the throes
    Sifting through the madness
    Expelling all her woes
    Take it easy: love nothing
    Conor Oberst moans
    My love for you peels like poster paper
    Slipping down the walls of my soul
    Floating to the floor
    With all the other vanquished foes
    So it goes
    Vonnegut rolls
    Sing me to sleep
    As one of Morrissey's whores
    Castigat Ridendo Mores
    Live, Laugh, Let it Go
    You a stupid ho
    That's right,
    I let Nicki Minaj take it home
    Goodbye you limpdick bag of bones



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  • Plebeia Ovulation-Jones takes on America @ Walmart

    by NomadMonad on March 05, 2017

    Hi-fructose drama-nation (AKA Plebeia Ovulation-Jones), clad in a rumpled football shirt and golden sweatpants, rolled her bovine eyes, burped, then plunged into battle in the Walmart parking lot. Overweightia U.S, looking on, gestured rudely while blabbing on her phone.  America herself, standing by, talked loudly, swiveling her fat neck around with a menacing gesticulation involving her two-and-a-half-inch poisonous green fake fingernails studded with tiny rhinestones in the shape of well-known designer logos. Witnesses claimed that the altercation started when America could not find her own thong, which was lost between mountains of cellulite-rippled sweaty rolls of flesh. Splendor Obeeze, her BFF, trying to get America away from the fight scene, mooed like a feral heifer, then barked at her ex, who proceeded to taunt her while filming with his I-phone:
          Woo ooh-ooh baby Ima get wit chu den do like u cause we rollin, rollin...
    Plebeia suddenly snarled at her 3 year-old daughter strapped into a car seat to leave her shit alone and then re-entered the store where she proceeded to sing to herself in the brassiere section until she bumped into her 4th toddler's baby-daddy who was mumbling into his thick beard RE tha lightweight herb he smoked wif his boy as he checked his text messages for  the freestyle lyrics by "L'il Murgatroid". The entire affair ended badly when Plebeia spilled corn-dog flavored popsicle powder all over America's thong-retrieval device. WW IV warning apps were triggered. They beeped, were ignored, failed and then were deleted. No one shouted World Staaar—u see dat? Oh shiiiittt !!
    Plebeia O-J was oblivious, in any case, and strode boldly into the Walmart pharmacy section as the predatory drones prophesied in Revelation were released from the bottomless pit by Abaddon, Lord of destruction. Fabulously overweight as well, I was, nonetheless, underwhelmed by the thong itself, when it was finally retrieved from the depths of America's rumpled sweatpants, on the buttocks of which was emblazoned the final terrible message:  
                                                               PINK UNIVERSITY
       BITE ME.



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  • the end of the cold war(i die without you)

    by RosesAtSunset on February 17, 2017

    was it bronze or was it blue

    was it hue or was it you

    how could i possibly choose

    to describe the beauty

    or the blood

    that it drew 

    your fingers your jaw your cheeks 

    my flaws 

    i can't be without you

    so i have to be without you 

    a heartbreak in my dreams 

    and a handshake in my thoughts

    van gogh packs up your things 

    and the medicine lifts you off

    as you sink into the quiet neurons 

    working away in the back of my mind 

    a blue lightning nightmare

    that i can never doubt i love 

    be free be well be happy 

    you dick

     



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  • not depressed not really

    by alterEgo on February 08, 2017

    More like stale. is this me, am i stale, i feel life is stale, my relationship is stable, but at times i feel bored? i guess this is normal, job is also stale, it's like ash in my mouth now, just suck up and do it. I should have taken a longer holiday, I don't like to deal with people. its plesantly safe yet boring in my hidey hole. 

    I had a fight with someone at a gig. someone at work made me cry. i guess that is the two major negative things that happened recently that i can remember. I realise what affects me most is how people perceive me, and if they dislike me. Oh, why cant i realise it doesnt even matter.  i wish i wish.

    good news.

    my boyfriend is so good to me, i feel blessed. i still have happy times with my family even though it seems normal or negative all the time.i still have my health. and my nice cat.and um, income i guess...

    song of the day

    Invaders must die - the prodigy



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  • Burning Berserkley

    by NomadMonad on February 04, 2017

          ☭ ⛧ Ⓐ ⛧ ☭ ⛧ Ⓐ ⛧☭ ⛧ Ⓐ ⛧ ☭

    Enraged by some gay speaker, you act brave
    then rage and bludgeon, shutting down dissent
    while Mario Savio shudders in his grave.
    Behold: another shameful sad event.
    Youthful useful idiots on the attack,
    pawns of global capital dressed in black:
    Bernie’s Berserkley: raze it to the ground
    and Donald will be twenty-twenty bound.
    Georges Sorel, amused, looks on in silence
    at your half-baked proletarian violence,
    infantile intifada, civil war,
    a glimpse of what the future has in store:
    you are the fascists you’ve been waiting for.



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  • 1-25

    by blueplates on January 31, 2017

    Something finally fucking happened in my life after 2 years of stir crazy boredom



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  • Bind, Oh Bind the Fasces’ Bundle

    by NomadMonad on January 31, 2017

    Brother and Sister Citizens:

    Our fatherland consolidates. Let us salute, as One, our terrible destiny, lately manifest as the gathering force of a golden sun now glowing, after eight years of lightless gloom. Now we shine, now we merge our individuality in one to discover our collective future in Trump. As one wave of Greatness we now stride over the ruins of Hope & Change, into the American Restoration. Let us, each one, offer a straight stick of noble hardwood for the mass.

    Donald, our axehead, is now tightly bound with us in a shared sacred duty, projecting his keen edge from the national bundle. Let us, together, grow tired of winning until all worthless cancerous cells are neutralized and disposed of. All that is not full of the Will to Greatness must perish before us. Clad in the shining raiment of victory let us serve with American fervor our new leader.

    Women, mothers and nurturers of the mystic rebirth
    are welcome in our new nation.

    Sweep away the cobwebs of the old weakness, hail the conquering hero, he who fearlessly bears the Roman fasces into the courtroom as judge, jury, and executioner. Let the cities and nations of unbelief tremble and plead for mercy.

    Poems shall be composed as bridges are built to span the years.
    Stanzas shall spontaneously fall into place and march with military precision.
    Every capital line shall converge upon our captain.

    Hail the crown of Donald T.
    Hail the mighty orange flame
    Hail the age's consummation
    (Voters have themselves to blame)

    TRUMP shall smash the global Hydra
    TRUMP shall avenge our national shame.
    TRUMP shall restore our families' honor;
    CONQUER (in his deplorable name) !

    Captain TRUMP, the cord that binds
    TRUMP the axe-head and the judge.
    Leader DONALD, light that blinds.
    Our final King: let none begrudge.


    LOVE UNDER WILL ☻ !
    (was that fascistic enough 4 U ?)

     

     

    shout-out 2 ma homeboyz Benito Mussolini and Vlad P.
    thanx 4 tha inspiration !



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  • 'my smile's an open wound without you' -pw

    by RosesAtSunset on January 26, 2017

    He's pretty like a dream

    that I always wake up from 

    too soon

    and at dawn

    i drown in a 

    crystal monsoon 

    to help me survive the three days 

    or until it's too late 

    like water in my veins 

    and blood on your lips 

    if I can't last another 3 hours 

    bless me or leave me

    to burst into flame

    if you're not ordained

    then why do I kneel

    to the ghost of a saint

    ha/ollowed by lies

    yet as I prepare to (s)wallow 

    I always faint

    And you're gone

    and i watch the trail fade into sun 

    light from whence it came

    like a moonlit night fading into a sunny day

    but why

    does it 

    never

    feel

    that

    way

    as

    i

    melt

    a

    w

    a

    y

     



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  • And when I shatter there'll be nothing but ash

    by RosesAtSunset on January 15, 2017

    Notes:

    Nobody knows how to love like a poet
    And everybody thinks they're a poet
    Sure baby just hold back
    Love-soaked eyes
    Our thoughts are mere tracings of reality
    Tongue stuck out in concentration
    Scrunched eyebrows and a steady gaze
    Compensating for a shaky hand
    And eyes framed by stained glass
    Big butt big buts

    god I shoulda known

    man am I ever gonna miss you 

    what good is an "I do like you"

    when it comes after goodbye drew 



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  • a personal request

    by CleanLaundry on January 13, 2017

    listen, guys, I love Anthony Bourdain. he drives me bananas. I don't care that he's a giant and he's got awful teeth; the man's a class act. in high school I used to come home from swim practice and collapse onto my bed with No Reservations playing in the background, just so I could nap to the rasp of his finely-aged-by-tobacco-and-alcohol voice. I did this. like daily. the dude really gets me going.

    not too long ago I went over to a friend's house and saw that he had an Anthony Bourdain poster on the wall. it was pretty cool too. he was all smoking and stuff, being a badass. he was wearing a tank with some serious guns on it. anyway so I see this poster and I basically lose my shit, I'm all like, "Tony B's the baddest bitch in the game right now, etc." and my friend's like, “yeah totally, I heard he used to smoke blunts with Biggie when he was cooking in New York” (I’ve done a little bit of research on this claim and there's really no evidence to support it whatsoever). so we talk a little more and I ask him where he got the poster and he says it belongs to his roommate who isn't there, and he's not sure where he got it. I'm sort of bummed, but I figure I can find it online. later I'm at home and I'm looking for it but I can't find anything. I mean there are definitely some posters of him, but not the one I'm looking for. the next best thing I could find is this photo called “Anthony Bourdain Naked With Bone” which is superb, don't get me wrong, but I feel like an 8" x 10" print of a picture entitled "Anthony Bourdain Naked with Bone" doesn't really do the man justice. I'm looking for something legitimately poster sized.

    anyway so I figured that's where you guys come in. what I propose we do is scour the internet for Anthony Bourdain posters like the randos scour Panic at the disco lyrics here for the the symbolism behind Brandon Urie’s vocal range. the idea is that with our greater numbers we'll at last be able to solve this most important of mysteries: we'll figure out once and for all the source of the enigmatic Anthony Bourdain poster I saw at my friend's house. It'll be fun guys, trust me. Like a cool little bonding project. back me up Brian. make them do it. 



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  • Never Ever Make It With Your Own Reflection

    by blueplates on January 08, 2017

    My alternating fits of narcissism and self loathing are as present as ever. I am in deep romantic love with myself half the time, and the other half is spent thinking up ways to be someone different than me. It's like I'm in a volatile relationship with my own visage. Either way, I want to fuck myself.



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  • Notes: what then

    by RosesAtSunset on January 03, 2017

    Orion draped in cloud's mist
    The moon wore a veil
    Do you see the future
    In our kaleidoscope
    Or do you see the past
    Not another misanthrope
    Not another misanthrope
    Is love an umbrella
    In a terrible storm
    To be put away in the sunshine
    Is love a ladder of locks
    Flowing down a wall
    To be cut away in the nighttime
    What am i supposed to do
    With a heart full of chocolate soup

    And when I shatter?



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  • Saint Christina The Astonishing Envisages The End

    by blueplates on December 25, 2016

    My younger self would hate my guts, I hate my younger self, it's tiring to be a new person every two years. I've become things I said I never would, done things I shouldn't have had to do, and lived to see things I wanted to miss. And, in about a year and four months, I'll be someone else, having abandoned this current personality. I wonder what my new favorite color will be.  



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  • Test

    by brian on December 24, 2016

    Test.



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  • Mustachios contd

    by RosesAtSunset on December 22, 2016

    "Very brave," a harsh, gravelly voice came from behind the two hulking Mustachios. A tall, slight man dressed in a deep blue double-breasted seemed to glide through his colleagues toward the grave and its soon-to-be occupant. 

    The juxtaposition of the well-dressed man in front of the heaving and filthy boy became more pronounced as they stood almost nose-to-nose now. A breath could have pushed the boy into the pit. He knew he was defenseless. They were playing with their food before they ate it. He was shaking involuntarily but he kept his eyes steady, locked into the dead silver eyes of the man they called "The Machine". It was the worst punishment the Mustachios had, so it seemed that he’d hit a nerve. The Machine pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped up the sweat on his brow, never removing his calculating stare from the boy. The heat beat down on them and the cicadas whined faintly in the distance.

    “Wherishe!” He choked out, coughing and out of breath from spending the whole day in the heat without any water.

    “Pardon?” The man smirked, knowing that the boy was very close to collapsing.

    “Torr…” He burst into another coughing fit and gave up trying to tell them what they already knew.

    The Machine waited until he was done retching to say, “I should have known you’d go looking for Torrence. Ahh I always found brotherly love to be so touching.” His wide, sinister smile made the situation seem surreal.

    “Alive…” The boy mumbled, sinking to his knees, “Is he?”

    “Not sure to be quite honest. That’s not my department,” The Machine shrugged, nonplussed, “But I do have a job offer for you, my friend.” He extended his hand in what could be surmised as a benevolent gesture.

    The boy stayed on the ground, muddy brown clashing with pure silver until The Machine sighed, “Well, you have two choices. Take the job. Or I push you into this lovely pit you made and bury you alive.”

    “Go fuck yourself,” The boy managed to sputter out before he began to retch again.

    The Machine's lips split apart cruelly.



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  • Dear Liberal Progressives of the U.S:

    by NomadMonad on December 21, 2016

     

       You have always encouraged us, your deplorable neighbors, to be open-minded, to be tolerant, to build consensus and to appreciate diversity. In light of recent electoral events, we think you have a golden opportunity to practice what you so tirelessly preach.

        We sense that you are upset, bewildered and disturbed by your new president. We are sorry you feel that way, and hope we can make the next four years easier for you. Please keep in mind that many of us irredeemably deplorable clingers endured eight years under that community agitator, although he had not received our vote. We also put up with the grating, strident scoldings of that woman senator and ex-Secretary of State for a long time. While we certainly despised many aspects of their agenda, we did not march, chant hateful slogans, or smash up any property. We did not inundate electors with pleas to switch, nor did we threaten even one. We did not melt down on YouTube or fill Facebook with melodramatic profanity-laden tirades. Please pause to consider this. Perhaps it is time to be tolerant and to appreciate the political diversity of our Democratic Republic. Calling people fascists, racists, misogynists and bigots is getting old now. Instead of telling us what our values are and why we are such bad citizens, why not join us in some small way as fellow Americans on a quest for greatness?

       Yes, we know. It bothers you that we do not get all our views from NPR, MSNBC and the NYT. We are aware that our vibrant variety of news sources is not pleasing to your erudite sensibilities. (And please forgive us for not being as apocalyptically alarmed as you are over "Global Warming"). We are aware that the tactical failure of vote recounts, pressuring electors, and throwing infantile tantrums has left you feeling hopeless and without a game plan.

       Mother Russia is also concerned about you, for you are in fact as dear to her as any of her adopted children. In your deeply troubled state, she longs to embrace you. Maybe this is an opportunity for you to seek solace in Orthodoxy and to delight in the richness of timeless Christian ritual. This would be far better activity for your souls than crying over lack of gender-fluid bathrooms and easily-procured abortions. Mother Russia is grieved by your confused notions regarding faith and family. Rather than celebrate perversity, why not participate in true diversity and join us in making our sovereign nation great once more.

       Liberal progressives, we have need of your enlightened and broad-minded creativity in these troubling times.

    Sincerely,

    a brainwashed dupe and minion of Vlad Putin



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  • my poems are garbage compared to frederico garcia lorca and thats a compliment

    by RosesAtSunset on December 21, 2016

    "A thousand crystal tambourines /

    wounded the dawn."

    wow. now THAT'S how you describe the stars. jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez

    Here is a link to the full poem: http://old.aprweb.org/poem/sleepwalk-ballad




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