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.
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Gord
2014-08-28 12:00 am
No trills pursued are let out. No skilled musicians left around. No, I cannot live without, Nor can I live with, so how? So now no sow is milked, No free man is guilt'ed, So am I finally free to kill?
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!
The Sophist
2014-08-20 12:00 am
Left-hand turn, Going 'round it widdershins, Seems absurd, If going 'round's done by a prince, Without a girl, A kingdom where two men are kings, Oh, what a world, Full of gay and shiny things, And yet we curl, And limit what we see in dreams, Oh, what a world, Fuck man and girl in sets of fours and threes, We're not worried, We'll get married to our companies, The fucks insured, All sure we're fucked contractually, All sure it's pure, Consummation makes the fuck complete, Seems absurd, You're raised so that your mind competes, Submit to words, Love for nothing, Twiddle your box; Accept defeat.
The Sophist
2014-08-15 12:00 am
We walk, sleep, and love at same time. Never touching same land, Maybe we have seen same clouds or birds. It's super deep; seabed at high tide. Such height to withstand; Able to perceive high twos as thirds. Gifts like Hebe; she gives a young mind. Youth-centered slow man, Thus in dreams; youth in ancient worlds. I derive order from a simply beautiful life. Beautifully skilled stoneman, Carving life for himself in beautiful strides, My woman is a strong plan sublimed, Though I'm sure a leap could suffice, With her I see that without her I'm blind.
The Sophist
2014-08-07 12:00 am
Don' be 'fraid just don' come back. Don' plan attacks on modern days. They don' like us 'cause we're free, If "free" means happily enslaved. Raped every day but with a smile, Hostility like Abu Ghraib, Graves stone but a worthless trial, We might as well carve frowning faces, Omit names and write words only in dirt. There just write "fags". "Junior pupil at a private school nailed by nerds." Then just laugh at it. Muslims aren't depraved, Lennon even spoke at large of living in a bag. It's freedom in a way, Think about it, Living without caste, Judged only by your spoken word sans judgement 'pon your face. They sort of make a case, I'll even take it off if you can find a private place, It's just less of a disgrace. To think my mid-pubescent beard could not effect my fate. Ignoring shit we hate, We could probably find a pace that we can all relate. Chill music but still rocking in your face, Fat bowl of potato dill salad I created. Personally, I like war with lots of laughs; It can be great. Nothing personal, but I'll crack 'spic and nigger jokes all day.
The Sophist
2014-08-06 12:00 am
See World will fall when we all, See a rope in a reptile, Idealize walls in a jail cell, Bear witness to false accusation of fraud, See prophets as wrong, See essences in every object apart, Bear witness to art manifesting itself, Square of a ball, See ourselves as a witness, Never abroad, Forever in transit through cosmos with thoughts that material objects transcend even God. "But what if I'm God?" God transcends all, You're an ignorant clod, Appendage at best, Syllogistically flawed, Essentially fraught, Logistically faulty. God can be everyone without everyone God, Frogs are all animals (not all animals frogs).
The Sophist
2014-07-24 12:00 am
Quick, snap some pictures so my friends can see my band. We don't have any good songs yet so they wouldn't understand without the glamour shots. Quick, take some stammered stills while I hammer shots. This will be the best band to make it the top without a strand of talent in our hands. Don't tell me how to raise my band. I know what music looks like; tactfully unplanned. I write Pizza Hut music like Ariana Grande. I expand, and so disband. My drummer had demands, and ignored my commands. My solo career takes stand. Quick, snap some more glamour shots so my friends can see firsthand depraved aspects of my brand.
Gord
2014-07-16 12:00 am
A relationship couldn't hurt you. They call her whirlpool. What? Cannot water purl, lest swirl? Cannot the girl circle? Without countess' calling Birle?¹ A charity now, discounts jealousy. Apparently they want your man... Maybe the man they seek is a boy. Attracted to kiss curls and cute girls. Ensnared in world's trap of spit curls, The world is full of geothermal cores. Moreover she's 'so hot', She only explores herself. I walked right into the flower shop. Honestly I'm not looking for vagina, I'm just looking to be the primus.² Footnotes: 1. Swirling Water; Masculine Name; 2. The 'one'; The first.
The Sophist
2014-07-04 12:00 am
He speaks in subterfuge, He makes myth from animal bones, 'scribes visions of mothers viewed postnatal, He calls them "future you". He claims Caesar's final breath found you. He sees a subtle use, And has you build his thrones. He's too busy to view. He gives you your fill, You attack at his illusions, 'til your confusion is ill. I write folk songs for fools. Without steps I reach your homes, Crying disses of another's views most fatal I call them "false truths", I hand out bauble knives to the Fountain Youth, I burn the stable spruce, And make off with the stones, I take the dragons too, I live just to kill, I attack at your confusion, Pushing your illusions downhill.
Gord
2014-07-03 12:00 am
Soul searching, to quench my thirst. Burning coal. Dense smoke. Smouldering. Yearning whence, we control the hearse. Returning self-control and sense, Only to those left shouldering. Soul surviving artist dreampt the worst: All of my love to her, All of her love in return. All for I have yearned. Once dreams do I now incur, Nightmares embraced with au revoir, Left to die without concern. Simply to never again be reborn. Chorus Sings.
Gord
2014-06-24 12:00 am
Founded in response to clamor, A missive written by cowards. I found it couldn't be read aloud, Without the sound of laughter. I also found it dismissive, Critical issues are clear. An attack on my character, Expound from the rear. I respond with kisses, The critical issue is context. So it appears, they fear progress. They fear a progression of issues, So it appears, they clearly want this.
The Sophist
2014-06-24 12:00 am
They told me to love not, Or so the way it seems, Now everyone loves but me, Critics embraced, Mystics fought, Sweet love to never be, A conversation over tea, Medusian eyes stoned, My forearms to my knees, Huddled, statued, 'splayed in local park, Monument to those cold and alone, Monument of a man without a heart.
The Sophist
2014-06-18 12:00 am
Abeyant for the fall of man, Obeyant utilitarian, To be killed by robot tanks, Brought to life and killed again. To turn the world into a sun, Instead I'll long to own the moon, No muse but she, the only one, Her darkness tears my skin of gloom. Bottled pride, A drunk misuse, Beauty whore'd out to the masses, All could be in bliss without, Fragile multitudes, No doubt, My love is better glass-less.
The Sophist
2014-04-21 12:00 am
In the name of women's rights, Two young men get pissed and die, By the blade in his own hand, By the rope he himself tied. In the name of women's rights, To never find out why, To never hear converse opinions, A mental homicide. Bitches screaming loudly, 'til their voices touch the sky. A lot of them are guys, Barring men from their own brethren, In the name of women's rights. Hoards of them unite; Birds in search of civil war, Spread their wings in flight, Planning only in the sun. They tear away the night, Blocking doors and bearing torches, Forcing entry via fight. As such, I fear I might, Find my way to unknown speaker, And be confronted via knife, By fanatics without wives, Or fanatics without husbands, Living stark perverted lives.
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-05 12:00 am
A Week Away A week away A cottage in the Cotswolds Solitary single socks All in a line On parade Hands like hooks Feet that throb Barms and breezes In Blackpool Fortunes found and told Tramlines Scarring the seascape Soaring seagulls Hawk-like hands Flaying feet Seagulls that screech Mayhem in Mablethorpe Being Stumped in Boston As to which way to go Kiss me quick Squeeze me slow hats For edible orifices Wonka's Willies Trams travelling Towards the Tower And down the Golden Mile From Fleetwood North and South Piers Sandcastles Big and small Towards Town Postcard pictures Picture postcards Pencil drawings By computer The Mere at Marton Limousines And lycra-clad mirth-makers Mobster's metal machine Made from a Mini National Savings & Investments building Blocking the breeze And the light Standing in it's shadow Comfortable caravans Laughter from Leighton Jokes from Jamie Sparkling grape juice All the way from Grimsby Via the M18 Panoramic views From the highest motorway In Britain Deep dales High Pennine peaks In Yorkshire Rain and sunshine Traffic build-ups In Blackburn Blues in Burnley Families fighting Four-pint pitchers Of foaming ale Mussels and whelks Oysters and orange squash Cockles and crabs People driving Dangerously long miles Without falling faint Of fatigue Passion in the Pennines The castle moat Golden sands Tilting telegraph poles Going up And coming down Steep steps To silver sand Shorelines stretching As far as the eye Can see Whirling wind turbines Whitewashed windmills Scattered over the Northwest frontier Unfurled flags Flying furiously In a westerly wind Cod and curry sauce Pen'orth o'scraps And pots of mushy peas Wrapped in writing Mablethorpe Messenger Blackpool Gazette Cotswold Courier Yesterday's news Today's chip wrappers Tomorrow's waste. Dusti Rodes (2006)
Gord
2014-02-21 12:00 am
Black music, White music. Who cares as long as you can dance to it. Oriental tuning and flag burning. Who cares as long as our country tramples forward. Toward a new world. One without music. Who cares that musicians are now electronics technicians? Who even cares about inflection, or inner reflection? Or if the power chord is in tune anymore. Who even cares for the whore music? Not me anymore. I said that but afterwards we were forced, To ward off our witness, an antithetical image was explored. With an explosion of force we took off. Eichmann Quart.
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