The hatred of a father can be transferred to his offspring so dear curious, this is all of life; breakout, purge all our greed, God is dead you don’t deserve anything but the skin on your back why don’t you sit like the dog and watch different boxes speed past and the apes that chase after them. every feelings of our progress sated in perfidy, and to the poor mother of the mad every art is a si9n, every sign is an art what is she to do when to curry favour from her they tell her, he is improving he stopped to greet, he walked slow, paused to breathe, and all you can do is smile, as a proud mother of the mad for if she is to curry favour she tell them the old sob story of how he wasn’t born that way how circumstance bred themselves and he changed don’t worry they will say God will do it even if his sudden gay is of no understanding calling faeces edible and his bawls are not loud enough, does she cries poor mother of the mad or call on a dead God for an avaricious population destined for implosion and a lack of resources. if the mason hopes to buy a car, marry a fine wife, to be the host of a very big party someday while he builds another home he takes with him everything the owner of the house will use to live in his beautiful box of stone where all you know is how to long, regret and wish. Hoping, no expecting rather, to be turned down at every request, however what if you finally get what you want; the greatest tragedy according to Wilde, what will we do in enduring peace what will we do when everyone is an intelligent snob capable of genial thought and independent? what will be written in paradise? If the strife is the joy, the pushing limit the unknown let our spirits clash let us get to know each other for we can find peace in love, we can also find peace in avoidance one is good, the other has no feeling at all. As they dig holes and see how far we fall, When we stand again another is waiting.
Life is moor in your hue and i remember when i was the world i stepped on, when i haven’t recoiled into myself and tethered to the demiurge of my abyss, Now my id don’t understand who i am or who i am supposed to be for i am ever becoming loving with just enough pain to take me under.
My curses have depleted ever since I stopped believing in a man in the sky I can easily retrace my steps to where I wanted and remind myself of it’s strife and futility while I tread, no more looking for pamper for everything is personal effort or a lack thereof, from the greeting to the curse personal effort, from the trash in your hand to the floor personal effort, from pain to hurt filled smiles personal effort to reason you cant remember the good and our penchant for violence and noise. The senseless strife and unfathomable toil, the penis is an arrow guiding me it is a beacon it gets disappointed wondering why simple is not so simple To feel broken like a mountain to spring pain forth without end as similar monkeys monkeying around not knowing that at the end of the forest lies a beach and a sea,ten times the size of the forest some like us are in awe of the sea others prefer the little forest. And when I argue they repeat my own garb of Existence before essence, all essences are man made, ephemeral and can be easily devalued. As they pull on the fabric of life hoping to see joy but the joy is also ephemeral like a barber’s perfection why then if we can’t feel joy do reality shield itself from us why do we all roll over and over in this scythe of blades why don’t we stop and ask who told you you are the pinnacle of existence?
It is going to be an uncomfortable precipice an uneven compromise when finally we see all we could have given clenching fist in anger.
Woman do not destroy your care and make it sinister when you greet a stranger is it courtesy or insurance, are you just inept and vindictive as you stir this blue ball brown Seeking attention I can only pin the blame on population, the increase in demand of people who should never have been born of the same product; prosperity and when you tell them your sufferings they say you are better for it, because we rate our lives according to suffering and repression
Where as the problem with regimentation is that it gives you a boss mentality over suffering, fueling condescence and ego smirks when people pass you by, thinking look how far I have suffered, look how battle scarred I am, you a vermin who shouldn’t be born in the first place, like me who marshal out in letters but vee and double vees are triple valleys with steep climbs and they form my way and litter my path I write bare, anal and skeletal, trying to get to all that is and stripped of all that make us man it is not found It is however on the contact of another flesh of when hair tangle You are both babes again helpless and vulnerable, one might ask why not create the need to be with, but you run even though if you are the chaser and runner. Deja vu Say you are on the right path, is it heuristics and do I fight it, in a manual less world I can’t even trust myself To desire is to ignore, a ready love, I stood on my legs and bought a car I was hugged by clothes and longed for another I as covered by a shadow and longed for a home ;an ingrate No man should find himself in anything besides another embrace really, everything else is a distraction after the fact. Everything that gets built gets pull down and destroy by weeds everything that gets written gets forgotten all that remains in interim is the shallow hope of a broken beacon that can’t appraise itself, in our own undoing we that know of our sacrifice feel the pain more when another sees our effort as a normalcy of the day’s folly, where do you run to when you run from yourself preaching: Navigate through depravity, and fight dependency No one will hear your story,and those who hear will eventually forget. A child is born All of his hatred He finds in the world To see in another face Hope, love and tranquility That is true miracle but Woman you are not Paradise because even In attrition with you there is no tether just another body crushing mine the biggest lie is to tell that there is anything fun in life, life is a struggle, and we don’t tell early enough the role sexuality will play for the rest of our lives and how they will judge us by petty things like clothes, fashion or lipstick
The decent girl beside the brothel is also a prostitute,some seek money while others seek attention and don’t you dare run from this folly and I pity you who will try to eat Happiness as food for your will tongue go numb as all taste fade and cunnilingus will lose it’s appeal, for a non existence nectar and reactionary moan, the goal is not love but destruction, so how can I wash my tongue or lobotomize it.
It might be the hardest thing to ask when hearts break limb sever and worlds shatter to believe that a branch was waiting for you, the reason for everything eludes us at times, however with jabbed sticks of social constructs they walk around looking into people eye looking for someone who will palliate them they were kids moments ago, now they truck on in an accursed mill a lot to things to a lot of people , a bad example, a weirdo , a role model or a just passerby or a passing insult if everyone minds their own business we will drown in a cesspool of filth and ignorance for someone knows better than you and only by listening can we learn
As i listen, i look at the clouds and imagine Nesta laughing and making the clouds that go by, Nesta my love dancing and singing War, Rat race, Trench Town among others. Just to look down on you, many will risk crucifixion. things are like burdens pas them on The little things are everything I know there was something wrong I must search till I find me the one who sees the wrong right, Everyone claims your quirks and you can’t judge based on your carefulness alone fie, poor people who don’t know how rich they are, they are walking curses, holding each other at jugulars. No one is perfect,not even Christ, had anger issues, didn’t plant the fig tree why then did he curse a perfect shade and curse the black man to a life of toil, For I have had to stumble through life like a bird that flew prematurely I have hit every branch on my way to the ground, as these words eventually haunt us, they provide succor and criticism I have done so much but in the society’s eyes i am a pauper my soul is ravenous but my body is frail. Comments are pleas egos bust like balloon in a cradle up to blunt clown to begging, living, stealing, cheeks stretched from smiling for more than a minute, Space, when the reign of my academic pursuits wanes and I look to the ones I left behind to find a worn-out fleece to spit out fears, when they agree and I reach final phlegm, I stop my soul and bathe in reality when all movies stop and my well dries out and my government say Wait, and my bleak future weigh heavily on my mind l then will take turn to listen and also talk the ephemeral the damned and the wishful, From afar you can hear our ignorance from our laughter forceful and dry like a constipated stool. It ours and we sit on it hoping someone looking for a slave driver that promise softer whips and afternoon breaks comes calling.
I am thankful for the ones who have made me smile, I know they are sneezing wherever they are As the fluff of the.cloud that resembles an eye turns into an open clamp and nothing at all we all too shall dissipate and be nothing more
by
Victor Samuel
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