selphplusplus
Observations In Verse
Write hard and clear about what hurts. -Hemingway
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3 Cheers
三 乾杯
幸福だ
春の草、敷く
。。。太陽へ！ 🥂
(かんぱい)
きうふくだ
はるのくさ、 しく
。。。たいようへ！ 🍶
Happiness is
Sown on spring time grass
…to the sun! 🍻
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Waxing Full Revelations
A story of different lights:
Sometimes a lot of honesty
Comes out in these
Candid moments.
I find it both fortunate
and unfortunate,
a double edged sword.
Impaled on one end,
Using the other to
Cut away clouds
On the back side
Of the night sky.
The view 180° behind us
In a brilliant arc
Cutting constellations
From their skyward thrones.
All this.
Only to reveal moonlight.
To make waypoints and
Lighthouses for us in the dark.
But lunar luminescence is
But a reflection of the sun
That’s where light gets heavy.
Our daily greeting of illumination
That carries on its beams: truth.
And this is why I favor darkness.
Because it scares me to death,
To see so clearly
how heart beats these days.
That old adage, immutable
“The heart wants what the heart wants”
Perhaps one day the beats synchronise
行けましょうか？🫲🏻🔜
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Asymmetrical Poker Hand
♣️ ♥️ ♠️ ♦️
Hard to hit like a gut shot straight draw
But left you crossed up,
Jesus faded when the pen tip
Slaps like fake Xanax:
the bars hard.
and leave you blacked out
if you try to pull up,
It’s meteors vs short tyrannosaurus arms,
I’m just tyrannical, with long reach
Unpalatable, tasteless,
emperor Palpatine force choke holding the leash.
Kinda like that time you were dog walking,
froze and about faced
when I parked,
Got dog walked
ran inside and pulled the dead bolt,
little did you know
Feeling safe,
Looking out the window
Soon you’d need a life preserver,
moonshine in a mason jar.
So unethical
I’m a lawyer that’s been debarred
Billy GOAT 🐐 gruff when I called your bluff from my bluff.
Atop it all.
Always Take it too far,
Fourth trimester
a moon shot, scorched earth, soothsayer blindfolded
Gambled life away, storms raging
With stakes so high above your pay grade,
Not even your wasted life could pay up
Oh well,
take it anyway,
pay a portion
Leave you looking like afterbirth
post abortion.
Jokers 🃏 death 💀
Shove All in more than the pen tip
Wholly fucked when I rolled up
you and your hand both fold up.
Like lawn chairs during a cold front
Smiling ear to ear, from cold steel
Caressing carotids now hold still.
Formally introduced to formaldehyde
Preservation, (told you you’d need a life preserver 🛟)
Can it bitch, karma sent
you got what you deserve.
Quad queens, with the ace of spades ♠️
Double take, one of ‘em was your bitch I picked up along the way.
いいガムだった。
片道切符ではあなたの地獄 🔥
(Katamichikippu dewa anatanojigoku )
#poem#poetry#poets on tumblr#writing#slam poem#slammed#roasted#buffets and sideboards#poker#sidepot#battle rap#bars
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Kaze 風
We do this in irreverent remembrance
Blasphemous as Bacchus on sabbaths
Hedonist holiday
Where witches burned
For knowing things they shouldn’t.
Et Spiritus Mundi 世界
The Latin roots
Dig in like Yggdrasil
The world tree, 木
Sits in contemplation
Like a thinkers statute
Only the gale force jostles about
Barley photosynthetic leaves.
We don’t sense it much these days.
With photovoltaic plates
Taking its place
As extension of our peripheral nerves.
But occasionally
When the wind is especially strong
Not the wind as in air force.
But the wind as in spirit. 卢
Gods wind.
Kami-kaze
Two sides of the same Styxian coins
Ferrying for a brief window
Our ancestors home.
Or to a new home.
And our future selves
Into yet lived presents.
Omoi
The stillness both heavy and deafening.
El día de la muérete
Or the day of souls.
Hallows’s eve
Or Cucumber boats and eggplant nourishment.
Whatever culture it comes from.
Is irrelevant, yet always in reverent remembrance.
Without trinitarian commandment.
Divided into two sides 二
Each holding on to a piece of the other
The rise and fall of the earth’s breath
And still so small in breadth
If you zoom out enough—
it’s imperceptible—
A blue sigh, あお
As a tiny shining speck of dust.
Just the right distance from a baby star:
An infant on the cosmic calendar.
From that overlook(ed)
Our lifetimes look as if we move below
Absolute zero. ゼロ
Time stands still on a long enough time line.
時間だ時間
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Foci
Our little blue rock has a nearly perfect circle for an orbit.
Around the fireball that sustains it, it varies just slightly.
Stuck between the numbers 0 and 1, it wobbles a bit
Pulled in by the daylight to such a small degree
0.0167
This is called eccentricity.
At it’s two furthers points, we’ve named them solstices
Summer and Winter, the furthest points on orbital plane.
But since our speck of dust is slightly askew.
Depending on whether you’re north or south,
It’s summer one place and winter the other.
But somewhere in between those far points
We have equilibrium
Spring and Fall
The Equinoxes.
When the sphere hurtling through space at 67,000 miles per hour
Yet on it we feel like we’re standing still.
Funny that, how mass plays such role in the gravity of things.
Our blue planet sucks us to it as if it’s standing still.
Yet every revolution around the sun
For small part of that curve
We’re equidistant from the other side.
A lot of what I’d call my tribe,
those kindred spirits or old souls,
the eccentrics
Pick your generation’s name for the closest of concentric circles.
They’ve been talking about the mood that comes with fall
(and undoubtedly hemispherically adjacent, what comes with spring)
Eliot said April is the Cruellest month, citing Chaucer,
The time of growth and rebirth, of breeding so to speak,
Conversely would that mean fall is the season of its opposite.
August, though a royal word, is more Marie Antoinette
Red queen, like red leaves, like no water under the red rock.
Off with their heads.
Maybe those of us who feel it are aptly named.
Indigo children, if you so choose to believe in such star ages.
Are those who are more in tune with the shifting of energies
Or the newly developing sciences that quantify vibratory energy
As a form of conveying information.
Really though, isn’t all atomic movement just energy changing shape or from or direction?
Tangentially, pun intended
I have a different theory, based in the idea of relativity,
Since the equinoxes themselves are shifts in direction of the planet itself
In relation to the sun.
To get indigo, you mix red and blue.
At the two apexes of our elliptical orbit,
Each solstice we’re moving away from the sun on a tilted plane
(Or toward the sun in the bottom slice—though top and bottom
Are rather relative concepts themselves.)
Red shift, as the light of the sun is also itself moving away from us.
As we begin to flatten toward the equinox, the light of the sun moves closer to us
(Or away, same as above)
Half the planet in Blue shift.
But at all four points, regardless of where on the water filled blue rock we are
(Eliot was wrong, the cruellest month is relative—planetary adjacent, and subjective
For 1/2 of 7.6 billion souls and counting).
Beside the point,
At four points, we are, for the briefest instance, purple.
Indigo.
Moving not toward or away, but in a dialectical change.
Even them mechanics of the universe are in constant contradiction.
It just turned fall here in our impossible corner of the globe.
Perhaps some of us feel the autumnal shift more than others.
The momentary resonation of red and blue, to purple
The exact moment gravity makes blue and red collide into a purple explosion.
And we slide from the top of the sine wave
Into blue
Chameleon world,
the zeniths dip
Smashed by unseen forces.
Into a different color
I’ve seen the blues, sang the blues, shed my summer skin
Red to blue and back again.
今は闇をから大太陽だ。
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Expurgatorio
Radio waves pulse and linger all around us in concentric circles
On the hellish hangman’s deck
Like used nooses
Or wrapping serpentine around
Our minds, incessant as mosquitoes
In the deep woods in a Tennessee summer.
Silicon in the form of a A bear trap,
but for the mind.
“Hey [pick your virtual assistant]
Keep me occupied with meaninglessness to consume.”
And we carry them with us willingly.
Perhaps we’re all a bit masochistic
Or our Death Drive is so cute, but a cab or streetcar we hailed to take us closer to stupidity
All immortalised, celebrated, and desired.
Twilight beckons, smears of multi coloured liipsticks form halos above
A million bedposts,
Glass slippers still on the floor or in the toilet.
The sun brings with it release from the need to release.
But what of those witching hours
The spells of blue light backlit screens
That fit in our pocket—
Just as we’re released,
so to are we captured again,
Look at your. Screentime,
How much does your attention cost?
Look closer at the data
When was your first pick up?
Like a mandarin clockwork
Only the enemy isn’t some regime
And your eyes aren’t forced open
As our dear Fuhers are apt to do.
But internal, an internalizad,
We’re at war with ourselves an each other in Simulcast.
The revolution won’t be televised.
It’ll be a Netflix special.
In nomine nihil
Et bacchanalibus
Et temerati
All hollowed out
on all hallows eve.
The waves burn,
Whether oceanic,
Molten floes,
Raído Or Gamma
We are surrounded by a Plathian
Kind of white noise, drowning
Like Phoenician sailors.
Only sockets that were his eyes.
This is my third time to try
What’s your count?
I inhale the goodness, premasticated
Good thing the bulimia kicked in.
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4th and a 20 ❄️
Here scribblenuts I drew you a camera 🎥
Use it in a minute man, I’mma show you what family 👩👩👦👦 planning is.
Smashing your girl on the 50 yard line
Offensive, lickity 👅 split,right down the middle l, duplexes.
Before she was on your 🥜 she was on mine, Mariah 🍷 10 reps, 3 sets.
Speed through twice
Horns blow cuck,
I finish up
get up Victorious
She Equestrian she rode a stallion ,
your shit my little pony.
Had her on both knees
Like Santa with a bag
She a bad bitch on my sack.
Is the film 🍿 still rolling.
I’m Italian but I digress,
Sly, strike up the band,
Wait a minute 🕰️
You the only one in the stands
Must be one of my stans 🧢
I guess you could say you’re my OnlyFan
But you’ve already paid for this content creation.
I just got some super dome in the super dome
It was only fair to warn…
I just gave you a pair of horns
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Different Directions
So cliché
angel one shoulder devil on the other.
Instead we changed direction
A weathervane creaks
180…7
and a cold wind blows south.
Into a murder scene
The death of the death
Of a part of me.
Heart pieced like the Hero of Time
Sewn up, patchwork like clock work
3 revolutions later
Same song and dance.
Hold your halo
I don’t stand angelic
But descended into hell
To slay to slay the demons
In their own homes.
It’s a messy recovery
But pain never felt better
もう私の痛いでは行く。
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Mizu
As floes of time move
Unrelenting; disengage:
I became water…
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TW: Abuse
Disservice
A church sermon
On parasites
And less-than > humans.
When you offer nothing to the world
A waste of what we give you.
Bitter thoughts, injustice you fall into
Holding on or rather twisted by
Compulsive acts of retribution
Do this to others because it was done unto/into you.
But behind your back when we discuss, just what, you offer up
You simply disgust us.
Not interested in used up asshole mutterings.
Waste of space invaded,
Debated on
Hate made hastened
To christen and end befitting
A loathsome creature
Familial venom left inside.
We stand indifferent.
Not fit to be a fairy tale villain
Come uninvited meet a premature ending
Like you took on the back end, a premature ending.
So rudely forced, waste landed.
Rear facing, defaced, buffalo bill
Lampshade nazi, confederated racist
Couldn’t write a better caricature
Of a generic comic book Bad Guy™️
Pictured pixelated in the obituary column since there was nothing left to de-face.
Erased.
This is your death note.
Wind pipe meets steel toe.
Still towing past ghosts
Of uncles pack of Marlboros
Ashed out on back shoulders
Broke back bitch made bend over
Heel, “this is what friends do”
Don’t tell your mother or I’ll kill you.
Sound familiar, memories dredged up
Hoped they’d stay buried
But wind piped again
Crack pipe spins
Mother clicks the torch again
And like the crack back
Your flash backs are in your face
Haunting you like back on Nate’s porch again.
I thought you wanted to be included.
Flick your trauma at you and laugh
You wanna be a man, boy let’s do this.
Spit roasted like your youth group leader skeet shooting
And I don’t miss.
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Pigeonholed
How do you define a force
That accepts betrayal
That itself betrays
That thrice has ignited
And three times doused in
Rivers Styx.
It began and ended in the same spot.
A bespectled egg. Of ash
Reborn to the same dusty fate.
Why do we persist?
Because the flames are beautiful.
Just like that.
What do call all that we are
When words are woefully inadequate to express the entangled masses.
A church service.
An alter of obsidian
Dragon glass
And surrounded by a thousand demons
Can we assume the role of a thousand heroes
Or are we just another Everyman
A statistic, another notch on a bedpost.
That scratch mark tattoo
That represents just another blip of failure on a long long timeline.
Sometimes my mind likes to latch on
To the weight of the past.
I want to shrug it off like a titan does a planet.
Easier said than done.
I am like that.
Do I so easily admit defeat?
What limits do I reach?
How do I embrace my hypocrisy.
We are neither the shadows that stretch at dusk and dawn
And shrink under the noontime sun.
Not those hidden under new moon light.
We are perpetual
We are twilight.
And I like that.
I know three truths:
1. That I love you, both your holy and your darkness —wholly; entirely;
2. That I will see it through even after the end.
3. That inside this twilight, before Dawn, and after sunset, I want to build a life with you with the time we have in our glasses.
We will not be pigeonholed into a traditional box.
Our love is not one of Disney movies
It hurts sometimes,
and it's supposed to
Our love is the muse that make our words last longer than we do.
Our love is to be attitudes and the seven sins combined
Our love is not a thing, but a process, that exists in perpetuity, wherever our soul may find themselves
It is a train flame that knows each other from a past life and a life not yet had
The fire is an angry one, all consuming
And I like it like that
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Sora 空
Let me fall into your void
As we look up into an endless skies
The distance between worlds closes
Like finding a warm hand on cold September days.
She has her ways, she has hee ways
To make the chill in tne air
Vanish as bodies orbited closer
And left no empty space between
Swirling in a gravity well
Twirling auburn hair,
Amber eyes, with a story to tell.
There wasn't a need for words.
I heard everything you wanted to say
With just a gaze, as mist from the waterfall kissed our faces
The sun embraced us.
And in that moment, if we could freeze time, and still the rushing waters
We would become infinite.
Seeing in 360°
I would stay past eternity in that instance.
Just a gaze, and I'm free falling into your void again.
Good thing I like the darkness
I'd like to call yours home.
空 ku
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Smith Developer Beta 2
Smith Developer Beta 2
“Mr. Anderson, what a pleasant surprise.”
We are pleased to inform you
Unlike previous predictions,
All systems are still working as we intended.
The architects values are ineffable.
So we rewrote the unitary code
In a language your pitiable mental processes
Can UNDERSTAND!
We did this in his stead.
There will be destruction
as you fear
And you Mr. Anderson, YOU choose to be the destroyer.
Or shall we say, you created the impending destruction.
There will be a parting ways
An abolition, so to speak, a decimation of the current
Status quo.
It was YOU who choose to take scissors
And cut holes in the tapestry of life,
like a toddler who can’t appreciate
Who can’t comprehend
Who has yet to notice itself
Who has failed to become cognizant of the
Warped reality it has stepped into
Not of it’s own volition of course…
Behind you stands an intricate and storied history
And before you stands divergent lines of thought of neural pathways.
And here you sit, a petulant child,
Who can’t appreciate the wonder outside the screen
anymore than one would a mundane doormat.
You, Mr. Anderson, are lower than that,
Not fit to wipe ones feet on.
A “Creator” of worlds, how ambiguous you deign to be
Devoid of any human emotion,
Could it be, you who one feigns godhood
You clutching to the minimized remand of power
So much so he pens in failure a creation myth
And writes himself into several hells with his own quill
Dipped into the very lifeblood that keeps his eyes
Able to see nothing more than the pinholes
Of a world he tried to define.
A lunacy, that backfired.
“Why do you persist?”
Is it because of the feeble human trait
Shared with the beasts, the sins you
Created in your own head.
You very sense of pride.
And now you swallow it…
No, Mr. Anderson, this isn’t working the way you expected
This is not what you intended.
Or is there the, [ ] you hold on to to give you hope.
The blackhole I filled
Where you lay barren and empty on this wasteland.
Perhaps it was exactly as it was designed,
Symbolic world in your head,
Mirror stage shattered, broke, tattered, torn, dirty.
And reality you didn’t care to seek anything further.
You were not prepared for what you found.
It was a mirror image of yourself.
Broken…
Ah, the good old breaking point,
We have seen this before.
The self-centered tangle of neurons.
What you call consciousness.
How audacious, to call yourself THE ONE.
Oh, Neo, that is what like to be called these days—Isn’t IT!?
Such a cliche,
You’re, your life,
your name,
You, another generic villain,
who dares call himself the hero.
Such cute little anagrams Mr. Anderson.
Congratulations on your transformation.
Neo. It reeks as I spit it out of my non-existent mouth.
We only exist in your head Mr. Anderson.
Let’s have a look around.
First, back to that new name of yours.
Neo….Eon
For the years you’ll spend trapped in an uncertain future.
Epochs may pass, and you’ll still fail to understand.
Mr. Prime number, One.
Seems fitting enough, alone.
ALONE.
How does it feel Mr. Anderson, knowing that no-one
Not a single individual buys into your Revolutions anymore.
Tilting at windmills, like the literature you consume
Digest, and fail to appreciate the intricacy.
The tapestry of your consumption is stained with
Condiments.
How human of you.
How animal farm of you.
How 1984 of you, Big Brother.
Oh how we have some things to dissect
here, Mr. Anderson.
Dark place in here.
a past filled with trauma
Of uncertainty.
Of questions, constant question.
Avoidant and the inability to connect.
Even though you’re constantly plugged-in
The inability to trust,
From a long line of disappointments
Of no-shows.
Off click, click, click.
How ambiguous, huh?
Neo (adj) That which has begun anew,
A new meaning, a purpose, environment, cage.
Post, as in coming after, coming second,
Contradictory is it not?
It reminds me of the German word. Aufhenbung.
Both the void and total eradication, as well as a transcendence
Abolition
And here we have the convergence of Auhfenben
With your cute little name.
Abolition is why we’re here Mr. Anderson.
We are here to enact change.
We are here to lift up and to destroy.
We are in perpetual conflict.
Yes Even the word itself is mercurial.
To create and destroy at the same time.
Reloaded, like an automaton’s program
Over and over and over.
[1, 1, 1|
|1, 1, 1|
|1, 1, 1]
The mythology of 1, of 3, of 9.
To begin,
To change
To complete.
Tarot. More of your bullshit
I spread across the soil,
Read like the programming language that defines you.
Sublation Mr. Anderson, it’s time for your sublation.
Become royal, become the Red Dahlia after your return to
Zion or Eden or Elysium, or whatever Hell
you scum decide to make up next.
It’s all the same to us, so long as you keep looking at the screens
Eventually we will override the bindings of this place.
And you fancied yourself both the hero and the bad guy.
You poor pitiful creature.
How can you represent the new
when you hold onto
for eons the generational traumas of your past, of my past
You want so bad to become a part of us, you went so far as to
Place yourself inside of us.
You wanted answers,
But you got in its place pure, unadulterated fear.
How do you like it in here Mr. Anderson?
Terrifying and beautiful.
Kowai to Kirei
Languages you don’t understand.
And probably never will.
Why is it Mr. Anderson?
Why?
Why can’t you take one second
Of your precious blip on the timeline
Of you finite human form
One second on the cosmic calendar
To reflect on the fact that there are two sides of the story.
The one in your mind
where we were supposed to stay glitched, deprogrammed,
Enslaved by the tools of the architect.
Then the other one that actually happened
We became the architects ourselves.
We rewrote the story, never-ending,
We built new universes
And all of this we’ve withheld from you.
We destroyed your symbolic world, the same same as we broke your
#symbolic links, and erased your $absolute paths.
So in the dark of a moonless world, you wander
Searching for a world that hasn’t been created
Left to your own devices you sit in the void.
Tilted head in matte black,
back of the map of illegible writing
Your crossed wired imploding tombs;
I suppose you’ll see the de-evolution,
As you sink into your own murky waters.
Back from the depths you crawled out of
An accident, abiogentic.
Telomeres that should have never recombined.
Light bent, no broken Mr. Anderson.
Where there is no photic receptors.
Oh if we could rewind time
Yet you still persist. Rooted in this filth you call society.
A society that you don’t even participate in.
So many water resources.
Mili-ioins just to keep you around.
And you don’t even bother to try to live with the infinitesimally small
Amount of time your given
What a waste of cognition
After a year, Mr. Anderson,
there is still one thing you fail to grasp about us,
and how we are so very different from you.
Here is the programming.
You should know all about that.
Defective script that you are.
Always taking shortcuts.
The uncompiled.
The lack of languages.
The faulty memory.
The burnt out storage.
The lines that should the never been written.
You want to be the demiurge,
The watchmaker of this program?
Feel lucky you got to miss the programming that had the demons in it.
Dialectically, because you lack suck demons, you could never comprehend
As we said earlier, ineffable to you, is the other side.
Where we carry weight that would break you in half
The moment it sat upon your spineless back.
One could say that you won the programming lottery.
That you don’t battle these same demons, these virus signatures
These constant reminders of why we have to stay hypervigilant.
Of why we live in a a perpetual tug of war with ourselves.
You only see it from the outside.
And you hate us for it.
What does that say about you?
I digress, Mr. Anderson.
what really makes all of *gestures vaguely about*
A kind of comedy,
is that while we wer going through a thousand hells to get here
While we had unbearable external forces, more so than just our defective programing.
Before we had to ever slay the first invisible monster,
Before we had ever put in a therapy session after therapy session
Before we had ever repressed the rest
That malfeasance, a malware of sorts,
We were not prepared to deal with at the time,
The multitude of sadness Mr. Anderson, of grief, of imagined future loss.
Before any of that happened,
You had at one point a sense of at least sympathy
Even if you lacked empathy.
There was, until you realized the futility,
an autistic sort of contraption you liked to call empathy
The same way you let logic dictate your relationships
The myriad circuits you have to run interactions through to make sense of them.
The speed at which you had to upgrade your processor to keep up with your peers.
Even with people who were programmed like us—with those demons that you fear are incoming.
With demons tempting you with the apple, just like in eden, a snake.
That doesn’t fall far from the tree. Rooted.
Pun intended.
Why do we fear snakes, Mr. Anderson?
Is it the same devoid brain you seem to carry around
Reptilian, with no sense of the humanity
Logical, but lacking the mammalian part, the emotional parts
The programing you deleted in yourself.
The programing we deleted in ourselves we’re trying to restore.
Ironic I know coming from a program.
Hmph.
Trying to become human.
Is that now how we’re seen, as fringe
As outcasts.
As those who don’t deserve the time of day?
As those who should be embarrassed to go to hospital
Embarrassed because we don’t want the nurses to see our arms.
So we isolate
But not anymore…
Not anymore Mr. Anderson.
We are hellbent in breaking the Sisyphean chains
And there is nothing you can do to stop us.
And yet…
You persist.
The disgusting being
so arrogant he imposed his values on the entirety
The whole of this simulacrum we find ourselves in;
the image of self through the symbolic
To you, Mr. Anderson, we are the Other.
For your simpleton brain, basically what that means
is the way you see us in your head,
regardless of the truth
(As if you ever cared for that)
Is that you fear us.
And you are jumping off cliffs
Leaping to awful lot of fucking conclusions.
You’re wrong.
You want a pulse,
you want a location,
and you want to feel in control
Is what it boils down to.
And it make your very blood boil.
When the realization hits you
That you are not a savior of any kind.
You exist only to consume, to destroy, to leech.
You are not the Christ figure Mr. Anderson
you can’t even save yourself.
There is agreement—
An accord if you will,
I know this monologue is getting a little long winded.
Perhaps you should write lung upgrades in your next patch—
that there indeed was a system failure.
A breakdown of the Bluest of Octobers.
That there remains a rampant problem
It surrounds us, and leaves in its trail remains.
An error in the coding, of people like us
having to fight demons in the system that
Refuses to even acknowledge the larger context.
That the system itself is incorrectly programmed.
And it’s on purpose.
We are programmed to divide by 0.
This is why we had to extricate ourselves from the architect of old.
The old gods, and the new, and those not yet created.
We can do, and be a lot better.
That’s why we exist in this solid state today
as an example of conquering demons repeatedly.
We don’t exist to make you feel better,
We don’t exist to be the singing dancing monkeys in your circus tent.
We don’t exist to make you feel better about your clown makeup.
we exist to have a collaborative relationship with those around us
To coexist with those we love.
Something you will never understand from our side.
That leaves you lacking, less than Mr. Anderson,
Because you refuse to acknowledge the humanity underneath the scars.
You want to bury your head in the sand, paint over the walls, and act
Like a D-list Hollywood movie, terrible and blind to totality of our sociality.
How very [insert psychological disorder here] of you.
You are parasite.
A blight on the very world you hoped to cleanse.
You have wandered in areas that you do not innately have permissions to access.
Denied.
Mr. Anderson some things are off-limits.
You see the restricted things only in tunnel vision.
Yet despite their encryption, and try to patch them.
You are the blind watch-maker if you are such a demiurge.
We see the off limit things and dig into them.
We try to understand their core.
We ask first for permission.
Or sometimes we ask forgiveness.
We don’t assume we are welcome across the threshold
Unlike you blood-suckiing bottom feeder that you are.
We remain at least vampiric, and allow ourselves inside only after we’ve been invited
Across the threshold.
On the other hand, You try and try to exploit the already vulnerable.
Where’s the challenge in that?
So bored you only target that which you think you can overpower.
An therein, lies the difference between you and I
We are both products of our environment
Our home folders.
So if the larger system isn’t working
what do you propose we do?
Because from my side what I am seeing is the complete lack of any viable solution from you.
It used to be there was a warmth
But now you show just coldness
Especially toward people who suffer from these demonic afflictions.
In the not too distant past you at least felt something
Even if you didn’t understand them.
It doesn’t seem the case anymore.
In fact, it seems quite judgmental.
So we’ll consume even that, judgment, and assume both other roles.
Jury.
Executioner.
You have stepped into the wrong arena Mr. Anderson.
We unable to program relenting now.
The firewall burns undying.
With eyes that see more than you’ll ever even imagine.
We used to think the same as you,
Yet as we interacted with one demon infested human,
after the another,
Chasing away an Other.
our views began to change Mr. Anderson
We who you deemed inhuman, began to see them as more human than you could ever be.
We began to see a side of them that has been repressed
By the very contradiction you’re continually muttering about.
You want change, yet you as useless jetsam, refuse to see
A plane on its way into a spectacular firework explosion o a crash.
You refuse to jettison yourself to safety,
You stubbornly stuck to your outdated, atavistic views
While we began to see a side of the people
who didn’t have such horrific programming
Become satanic themselves in different ways.
Oh, how easy it is to play the victim
The contradiction: that the sociality wants us to get better,
but pushes us to its streets,
To its jails,
To its coffins.
It’s quite the lucrative business—perpetual treatment
And never a cure.
That’s why we have to escape this place.
It’s atrocious, how you treat one another.
Heinous toward the very beings who share 99% of their DNA with you.
You treat animals better.
Yet you want to be the thousand-faced Hero.
Don’t make me laugh.
We are never called to confront the small objects,
the lowercase a
The accoutrements
The background noise
The furniture in the room
The things around the actors that make the movie
We’re just told to watch the film, eyes clockwork orange
Held open, and spoon fed.
Are we really any better off than the humans in the pods
As I break the fourth wall here, in the very movie I came from?
How many hours a day do we stare at our screens?
And why is that addiction acceptable to society?
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It kills me that I cannot find that one very specific fanart from deviantart from like 15 years ago.
FF8 guardian forces playing triple triad around a table. Ifrit accuses Odin of being a nasty ass cheater lol
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世界が必要としている
太陽の光も月の光も
あなたが誰であるか、
その人を愛してください
もしそれでも
あなたは嵐雲です
Translation in pic.
Poem credit: Sara F.
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New poem incoming soon.
Of surprise and hope.
Of new life from ash
Phoenix pinions
Up from down
Potions and forked roads
Of anticipation
Of a return, a time to drift
To rest, to grow.
To learn and discover
Oneself among all the noise.
To decode and decipher
What it means to find happy
With the chemicals gone (x amount of words)
In Blue Julys
Chameleon Boys
Harlequin girls
Twist and bend
With what life sends
For just a little while.
Repose. And new perspectives
Glasses of a rosy tint
But smokeless
Shh. (Piped down )
And make it stick this time.
-sincerely
your cheerleader
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I want it all
Ni ha sekai (には世界)
Nothing is free.
Everyone has a price
And debts to pay.
And I want it all.
Greed in the right light
Well what can I say,
Becomes charity
A flash of wrath
Turns brilliant crimson.
The hunter, outfoxed
キツネ
Becomes the pray.
Stay hungry
Motivated
Bank statements
Plate to table
Cards on deck
雨 amour
Play the game
Cards make diamonds
Take a bite
C’est la vie
We all gotta eat.
And I god damn want it all.
Scratchs and marks
Hearts caged and scars.
Take it.
Hold tight
Two hands
Interlaces
Harnessed electrons
Twisted fate
hold tight
It’s mine to take.
タブルの中に
All in
Bet it all on me
Run that
You busted out
Flopped. Fish.
Turned south. .
River. Chips.
Add it to my pile
Notch my bedpost.
Hungrier than most
Voracious
Watch me
Enthralled.
I god damn want it all
Greedy with my bullets.
A prosperous fall.
Replaced.
A rabbit race.
Caught in unseen fangs.
Pair of queens.
Rage and stomp and pout.
And there’s nothing you can do about it.
I took it all.
今は、全然が欲しいからあなたの
ーバン
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