Gord

2015-03-03 12:00 am

Voice 6:
Who plays Beethoven upon my door?
Truly he be hooven and poor morally,
For a husband just died in my arms.
Knock not or at least form formally,
For normally impatience is paid poor.

Voice 7 (whispers):
Quickly.

Voice 6 answers the door abruptly.

Voice 6:
You were not to arrive until morning!
There we could consummate cordially,
Declaring our love in the afternoon;
Could it be you interrupt my mourning,
Because you could not go without me,
And thus arrived in story too soon.

Voice 7:
I may have come too soon, 
But not over you, my love,
Never have I had such pain.
I request to have it again,
For I feel such remorse,
No man should be slain,
Lest by hand of a horse.

Voice 6:
Quiet, Guards hear the whining of dogs,
Horses not led by hand but by emotion?
Worker of ideals, concepts and notions,
Walking upon my silken floor in clogs;
If disgust in yourself is your only sin,
Can disgrace be upon an innocent facade?

The Paraffin One

2014-10-08 12:00 am

A collection of words,
Is nothing but prose,
Until elementary lords,
Teach elementary oppose,
To sophist tradition,
Among kitchen women,
teaching poor renditions,
of the stereotypical even.
A collection of bones,
Is nothing but,
Sophists label rock, and stones,
Confusion between causes rebut, 
Both deny their implied root,
Eventually becoming societies bigfoot.

The Paraffin One

2014-10-01 12:00 am

No glance, only mention of Descartes,
Reference is lost in the moment,
Youth culture stole musical art,
Changed preference to non-impotent.
Where is left for the lost artist?
No venue for the middle aged artisans,
So it seems in bed, as the allegorist,
All hurt for the chorus of musicians,
However bedrooms are the preferred court.
Aptly put nobody pays cash anymore,
And some end up overpaid in sport,
Wailing are the preferred poor,
However, nobody screams out of valor,
So everybody must scream out in squalor.

The Paraffin One

2014-10-01 12:00 am

Tragically the adolescence columbine,
Society takes blame for outlier.
Yet take no blame for the combine,
Priority is lost to class tier.
Yet they see no problem, all is well.
As long as one future desire's feces,
Vast open fields with enemies to fell,
Yet they see no problem in our species,
Masking an issue too virtuous to kill.
The children need guidance,
More knowledge and less grades.
For man is always capable of buoyance,
Only starting of poor knowledge in trades.

Perhaps they missed the lessons available,
Perhaps the guidelines made them incapable.

The Sophist

2014-09-04 12:00 am

Both sides support reform,
God I feel dumb,
Then I go back to watching porn,
That still too is dumb,
Ah, ugh, I'm wracking my poor brain,
Surely nothing can be done,
If something clearly is insane.

Begone to the pits of apathy,
Where men are fighting to succeed,
Be free from binds which binding me,
Lead me blind to blind society.
Truth be told it would be great,
To record sounds and meditate,
Without hoping to get paid,
Ad space isn't free,
We pity ourselves if ads are sent to peace.

We sent our brothers off to war.
Speaking of the fun;
Fighting for a rival hoard.
Dying in the sun;
Pierced by a brother's sword.
Ah, ugh, I'm wracking my poor brain,
Thieves thieved some time for fun,
Our heroes appearing more and more depraved.

To share the same disease,
Tortured through our dreams,
To decay among the trees,
Torment; a short and brutish piece,
Yet all of it is great,
Bleeding essence every day,
Alderson loop of disjunctive melodies,
Existence sings in remedies,
Never will the tempest ease,
Yet underneath there lay a silent tone,
Arranging scattered harmonies.

Gord

2014-09-02 12:00 am

I transform retribution,
I collide with an enemy,
Destined for fusion,
Corroding my memory,
Crashing the computer,
That is me.

I open on pretense false,
In hopes to gain my loss,
Yet no fate goes uncrossed,
No face goes on unmarked,
No bullet grazes,
They self aim and kill marks.

In honesty,
I hope for their retribution,
Not believing what you do,
I find no institution for truth,
Investigations reveal soot.
To conceal boots under sock.
Truth should be implied,
Secrets shouldn't even be whispered,
When no secret knock is employed.

Among Imperials, two faces clash,
Destroying the child middle,
Purpose born was to protect class.
Among the tyrants, 
A sleeping dog,
His brother opposite,
A sleeping god, 
Purpose forlorn and meaning lost.
Shoot the gun across, regardless,
Trees grow from the river,
Implying a garden should exist.

Yet at the bottom I find no solace.
No mythical beast of which to conquer,
Nor mythical flower of to tame beasts.
So no feast among mythical followers.
Sewn feet no longer bother to move.
Brooms no longer even bother to sweep.

I see Cost front by the citizen,
Expected which are also to clean.
Past participle's partisan cuts so cleanly,
No partisan is left opposite to thee.
Clearly, No god laughs,
Sincerely, No god falters,
And no human shots cast,
Except into human carnage.

No gain for loss,
No pyrrhic victory,
Due course.
No force of sympathy,
homeopathy, anthropology,
from the horse.
No, mostly poor choices.
Voices ringing with phones dead.

No voices in his head,
Scream morality.
of course.
No soldier gains a victory.
sans cost.
None recognize the courage,
of Hailey's comet.
So the gunfire blazes onward.

Amongst the slain, are the slain.
Those who shoot have bullets same.
My Deschamps is but modified Spinoza,
Which I modify to fit in holster,
As exactly as I imagined her,
Far above a reasonable caliber.
For a man who lacks resources,
For as a woman he lacked chorus,
Pestilence amongst the formal courtships.

How do we create such a melody?
Such harmony of utter melancholy.
How do we classify such insanity?
Such discourtesy on our society.
Such, bullets access and exit quickly.
Thus is the mark of beasts.
Thus a heart no longer beats.

Almost lack of mention was lack of faith.
Remembered and forgotten to become same.
All lost the castles of old days,
Only sandcastles remain standing,
Reminder of temporary management,
Of how well that pays.

I depart to vent,
Find myself post-traumatic,
I start to mention,
Find myself post-dramatic,
I mark myself bent,
Find myself post dragging.
Hoping to move forward,
Forgetting that lost in battle.

I sigh,
I realize that's not possible.
I stand purportedly screaming peace,
Screaming bullets purportedly corpse.
I stand in face of uproarious force,
Screaming should-haves,
Scoring for would-have,
Who now will manage.

Tired, I cast aside,
Casting stones seems now juvenile.
Especially in a world this finite,
Who needs to choir for killing time?
Button press' jest as being less vile,
Truth as masked chide,
Who now will bandage?

The Sophist

2014-08-28 12:00 am

My mother thought that being silent was smart.
This is why I spent days in the dark, 
bed-crazed and my heart sobbing. I was 
ignorant of light blocked by goblins of my 
mind hoping to keep me trapped in the land of 
forgotten. Now I'm plodding; plotting my escape
daily to find peace whopping, lock it with me 
in a coffin and die flopping; watching my life 
pass before my eyelids drop and my chest 
begins rocking. It's like trainspotting or 
going yachting; either way it's going to cost 
me, and either way I'm rotting. I like to 
believe this is my personality popping, but I
also believe that everything I do's common. 
I'm not smart, I'm not witty, in wealth I'm not
sopping. I'm not silent, and I pity the poor 
for their problems. I'm not here to cheat 
people or shit on their knowledge. Prithee a
moment where people aren't thoughtless; prithee
a moment to claim a few losses for a man who
silent misfortune made solemn.

The Sophist

2014-08-27 12:00 am

What differs us;
Introspectively we diminish complexities of
 our forms.
This is why we have technologous inventions,
Rearranging norms.
We apply our new conventions,
First to rich and then to poor,
Not this our main intention,
But complex enough for sure,
To be the aim of this erection,
Before we put it in a whore,
Let's reflect on resurrection,
It is you you're fighting for.

The Sophist

2014-08-25 12:00 am

If you're called queer, but you aren't a gay,
If you rub beards with the same fag,
Maybe my lips are cleft,
Might be my lazy eye,
My sexuality is wild.
Pharrell: Come dirty it up!

I take off all my clothes,
Prepare for masturbation,
Acting all casual,
Prepare an invitation,
Ask her for licks and spanks too,
No, No, No,
Don't want to rape her,
No, No, No,
Men satisfy my anger.

That's why I'm giving gay life a whirl,
Not genderphobic,
But you wouldn't know it,
I'm afraid to show it,
But I want girls,
But I let guys blast me,
My face gets nasty,
All covered in man skeet,
I'm talking bad times.
Not genderphobic,
You wouldn't know it,
I'm afraid to show it,
But I want girls,
But they won't grab me,
If I do they slap me,
Gave up and got past it,
Pharrell: Come dirty it up!

Why do I dream poor?
My life never screams fun,
I spend nights on YouPorn,
Used to all this dick in my face,
Somebody fuck me,
Oh, oh, oh,
Who wants to fuck me?
Oh, oh, oh,
Smoke dimes,
Come fuck me.

I take off all my clothes,
Prepare for masturbation,
Acting all casual,
Prepare an invitation,
Ask her for licks and spanks too,
No, No, No,
Don't want to rape her,
No, No, No,
Men satisfy my anger.

That's why I'm giving gay life a whirl,
Not homophobic,
But a little bit dope sick,
AIDs epidemic,
Got me all butt hurt,
On which sex I should marry,
Not based on who loves me,
I'm talking a party,
I'm talking bad times,
Not homophobic,
But a little bit dope sick,
Let's hope I don't get,
Stuck without girls,
Or without laughing,
At a guy that's jacking,
Me off in his panties.
Pharrell: Come dirty it up!

Gord

2014-08-21 12:00 am

No gain for loss,
No pyrrhic victory,
Due course.
No force of sympathy,
homeopathy, anthropology,
from the horse.
No, mostly poor choices.
Voices ringing with phones dead.

No voices in his head,
Scream morality.
of course.
No soldier gains a victory.
sans cost.
None recognize the courage,
of Hailey's comet.
So the gunfire blazes onward.

Amongst the slain, are the slain.
Those who shoot have bullets same.
My Deschamps is but modified Spinoza,
Which I modify to fit in holster,
As exactly as I imagined her,
Far above a reasonable caliber.
For a man who lacks resources,
For as a woman he lacked chorus,
Pestilence amongst the formal courtships.

Gord

2014-08-12 12:00 am

In jealousy they salt the earth,
An appearance for my demise,
I die and no tear falls perched,
A fitting design for a tyrant.
In jealousy you all despise.

Hypocrites stall the trade of curd.
Poetically their dreams are poor,
No science behind an abstract score,
Chipping in a two cent piece,
When the wishing well is already full. 

The Sophist

2014-07-30 12:00 am

Once a me wan't blissing his kings.
One said, "You bring me down fool,
You'll be the next that I fling."
I know not the world, 
But knew he could toss,
He flung fools via sling.
I'm no albatross, 
I thus fear the sea;
Whose direction it faced. 
As a favor for me,
If only poor kings flung us fools to their dreams.
I dream of a land filled with kings being fool-led.
Currying favors for an all-curry feast with warm drinks
 and stale bread.
Instead I packed my bauble knife for that night I fled.
In stead understanding this king was a beast with no
 heart in his head.
Once I peaced though I pissed on his rings.

The Sophist

2014-06-17 12:00 am

Youth dreamed a smiling father, 
Age and wisdom despise it,
Youth aimed at trying faltered, 
Where misfortune is a muse, 
Poor ol' fortune is abused.

Handed off and thrown away,
Opulence burnt dead thrones,
Meaning in our days are found,
Amongst marginalia on headstones.

Kodyboi

2014-05-07 12:00 am

You have to swear
Swear to love loving me,
This trailer will last forever,
We must have a story-book ending.
With a happy end game.
I swear to never go away.
I swear to never put aside,
The things I'm gonna say.
To the stagehand,
I will never confide.

Use your eyes only to look at me.
Use your piss-soaked, whore mouth,
Only to kiss my whore lips.
We are branches of the 21st century.
You can laugh only if you laugh at me.
You can cry only if you cry for me.
Forget what you're condemned to be.
Can't you see?
You filthy cur,
You always were,
You always will be.

You used to Willoughby so nice
I should see a doctor,
Who could keep trains from hitting me.
But A jealous woman would suffice,
She makes it easy to see coffers.
She knows I'll defrost to keep pace.
Opinion will change, but at steep cost.
It also may take a while,
So smile for the time being.
I'm feeling poor in the stomach,
My head is spinning and I feel like a fool.
I think it's about time I change the rules.

The Sophist

2014-04-09 12:00 am

First Epoch

Remaining austere,
Regaining sophistication,
Antonio tore us,
Your all-known creation,
Teaching the Sophist the true contemplation.

Second Epoch

Antonio Torres in poor destitution,
For the music they play is pure prostitution,
Well-tempered lyres swelling vast elocution,
Conception of torrents of great contribution.

Gord

2014-03-18 12:00 am

I dip a dapper super chicken tender;
It's Super Tender !, but whatever;
I'll forget tomorr'a with bongs and reefer;
I'll find myself on a floor 400 dollars poorer.
I'll master this lifestyle by vascect'ing myself;
Then I can curl into a ball and I won't come in my mouth.

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

THE STAND-OFF

 The other day,
 I challenged
 the World,
 To a gunfight.

 It told me
 It couldn't come.
 It was too busy,
 Circling around the Sun.

 Poor excuse, I reckon.


Dusti Rodes (2007)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Windows

 I was still but a boy,
 When my people first started horsetrading,
 With the white man, Bill Gates;
 For livestock to be used on the cyber plains.

 Ninety Five was a poor breed,
 Made up of mixed bloodlines.
 Favoured by the white man.
 They know nothing of horse stock.

 Ninety Eight, though mixed with broken mustang;
 Were a bad breed, skittish, having to be hobbled often.

 ME were ponies that found much favour with the Pawnees, as pack-horses.
 They did not ride well.

 XP are better, their bloodlines come from the wild mustang herds,
 That frequent the vast plains.
 Apaches, the best horsemen, in creation;
 Use them to great advantage.

 The Vista are good animals but unpredictable,
 Causing their users many problems.

 But I have heard of a new breed,The Seven.
 It is said to be the result of mixing wily mountain mustang herds,
 With the speed of the white man's Arabian stallion stock.
 Creating a truly unique workhorse.

 I shall get one and find out if this is true.
 They say that with such a beast,
 I shall need all my rodeo skills.
 It is yet to be seen,
 Only time will truly tell.

Dusti Rodes (2008)