ContentIt is a feeling of apprehension, a feeling of alienation,Content by ~mirrormaul
A feeling of disconnection from the mainstream,
Sometimes it feels like envy,
how the easy words are spoken without effort
Impulsive and random like the mockingbirds song.
But so often are they trivial, lifeless
Without wonder or grand speculation
Without touching the essence of reality.
I hope I don't lose touch
of appreciation for the simple.
As I drove home tonight
I watched the snow fall,
and felt a burning sphere of beauty
well up in my chest
and I felt so content.
I felt content, but,
Where is the one I should share this with?
CultureCultures cross over and into each other like hobo stew.Culture by ~mirrormaul
Customs become estranged from their point of origination
becoming a mystery of repetition and faith.
pop-culture leads the way into the future
and will have many sacrifices made unto it.
Youth culture is spent frivolously
in myriad ways of self destruction.
Is it a crime that I shake my head, sigh
and pray for the best, prey on the best?
sometimes it seems as if we are chasing a dream
and living is just a by product there-of.
...and if we achieve that elusive stable routine,
do we long for the spontaneity that chaos can bring?
Within the most affluent countries
Our drive of
All of the "She's"She likes suspending from hooks,All of the "She's" by ~mirrormaul
bouldering and climbing,
She's an artist, a writer, a burner.
She likes arts and crafts, photography, diaries and spontaneity.
She's a renaissance literature professor, a purveyor of this odd time in literary history, an original goth girl as emotional as a schizophrenic cat.
She's a girl scout troop leader, she oversees the wellbeing
of hundreds of pre-teens, who composes well written letters
and is as cheerful as a sugared-up hummingbird.
She's an anthropological archaeologist, plays the fiddle in a mariachi band
and occasionally smashes a cake with her breasts that she bakes for a living.
IndustryThere's something here for meIndustry by ~mirrormaul
in this dirty, industrial city.
Where the infrastructure is falling apart
where the water mains break every other day
where steel mills and cold brick buildings
mix in with the sparce parcels
of undeveloped land
a glimpse of the ecosystem
that used to be gives a hint
of how it might've been
before every brick was laid
every rivet, riveted
every monolith erected
the sheer amount of toil
blistered feet and torn nails,
the weary muscles and tired, tired eyes.
These memories that are not mine remind me
that there's so much life invested
in something so destructive,
how perplexingly ironic...
Can you see?The choice is yours, or so they say.Can you see? by ~Zaefyra
But is what they've said rehearsed in plays?
In the trees, the truth does speak,
Look to whom the road is bleak.
A fly caught in a spider's web,
Mesmerized by the silky thread.
Woven with sweet nothings that catch the light,
Lured in willingly without a fight.
The gaps are large but veiled with false democracy,
So what becomes of those who cannot see?
The venom spreads and spirit is torn,
Riches accumulate feeding hungry spawn.
When time has passed and left are bones,
Will anyone notice the silent clones?
This constant yearning in my heart,
The beat of wings that long to laug
Never Date A Writer by xstephensNever Date a WriterNever Date A Writer by xstephens by ~kazkayde
**disclaimer-- i didn't write this! i just found it and NEEDED to post it because of how true it is ! ENJOY!
Never date a writer because she'll fictionalize everything. She'll write about things you have done to her, or things you never did for her. She'll write about how you never bought her flowers. Not once. She'll say in well-constructed prose how the whole time you were together, she never came home from a long week to see a vase full of roses, or daises, or anything.
She'll describe times you embarrassed her, like at a party. It was her party because she was leaving for three months, and all her friends were there to see her off. People bought her champagne, which was never chilled, but you drank it anyway and that was after you had had whiskey. She'll talk about how you played strip poker with others. And she walked in to see your clothes bunched up on the floor, next to smashed cigarette butts. She'll say how she had to cover you with a coat because all her
Paper NotesPaper Notes by ~CacophonyMK
What here makes our sphere keep to spin?
Lives being wrecked, victors living like kings
Honesty is death, to sin is to win
Yet this quest for euphoria can be a catastrophic din
To claim money is unneeded is true illiteracy
Anti-capitalist ideals, cities don't support morality
If you think you will survive amongst these dogs and fiends
With intelligence and wit, then you're living in a fallacy
Einstein is lauded as a man with brains
But would he have been able to survive the strains
of nuclear physics without a constant stream
Of funds and grants giving platforms for thought trains
Mahatma Gandhi, lived life so humble
But surely h
What I WishA rollercoaster of emotion racing through my brainWhat I Wish by ~shenhai
As the words come tumbling out of me; I'm in my place again.
There's nothing like this feeling as my pen flies down the page.
I'm ecstatic; so emphatic! I'm in sentimental rage.
It's been months since I've experienced a tumult such as this.
I've been grinning like a madman in my histrionic bliss.
All the letters blur together as the blank lines disappear,
And this raging wave of feeling has me reeling. I've no fear.
I can answer any question, I can sell the clearest lie.
I can put entire worlds into a crocodile's eye.
I can change a perfect psycho to a hero with a turn,