THE HAND THAT MOVES THE CLOCK

 

 

A world inured;

Men through the use of technology have destroyed the soul of attraction. Becoming base, ugly and inured, at the present I look around see people who look deeply at every one espousing knowledge of banal carnality. No sensibility in the least with fried serotonin, uncaring and bland they run to the diabetes sweetness of beer to get some happiness before they sleep.

 

Life happens in paths

I have crossed so many in this warped signatory, one might ask where drunk pens meet, steel my body, light is coming, wait my mind; buoy is on its way. I have been saying the same thing just changing the titles a lot. Fear and the choking stink of manipulation, instigation and the fear of evaluation Entrainment and the ostracism of the delusion, the sameness, roughing through the shoals of expectations, the stick that finally impales an ailing eye in the dark. To the many forms, the thing for supper at night gives the despair that heaps after you like your aching bones. And it is fine

 

Life poured around you

 Like a gush of loam in the hands of a child, Tucked in space looking out the window and I quietly mourn my dreams, It's an endless fight a fight against individualism and the strength to be so, Cheated and the wry smile to prove it. People move from pity, to disgust to defiance

Still we prostitute thinking it constitute that which makes us astute, trying to love whores thinking we can change them with our love not knowing that whoring is also the profession of love.

 

We see people as means

We see them as springboards we who should never have been born in the First place; oil in my mouth, wet on my dick, driven by ambition driven by greed. Feeling the same hunger of yesterday tomorrow and this is the curse people give life into; this is the curse million are proud to have. Our lives enshrouded in boredom the shrieking kind of boredom that make men sleep with goats. Corpses building houses for corpses, buying all so that they can move about a little faster in a weapon, like a single stick being blown by the wind confusing its stagnated swivel for progress

 

Awake all things and muffle the sounds of sick zealots spewing inside my walls regurgitated sounds, nothing good is advertised carelessly so the non existence of God creates zealots of the morning with the frantic eyes of ignorance unsure and afraid Believing to be undeserving of their inalienable, They have plenty name for God but fewer synonyms for love, they laugh at the possibility of it and its non existence they are however truthful when they call God love

The same virtues of minimalism and asceticism have been preached by all the hippies we claim to worship still the exact opposite is our flair. Like the clouds all movement coalesces to form the eventual rain that evaporates to form the cloud; the death and rebirth  What was that thing you said yesterday?

 

Writing taps from

The libidinal youthful exuberance that's makes you chase the ideal a chore and white clever makes one question what they got applauded for All I see are babes struggling, malicious ready.  Shaking the despair of the night the cockerel screams at a Brand New day

It is fleeting, so is all of life I attain sanity at the expense of suspicion fleeting as all of life

I scream at the hoarse of my voice at musting monkeys telling them the other uses of our hands sometimes in life the sea shore is a scathing desert

 

Watch it till

Watch the wind blow and cover it up. What do you think is so important to worth the commentary of a passing corpse? Nothing has found me in this quiet street and nothing ever will. My voice is never heard. What then is it use, this ground will soon be my home and the ant will look down on me the flies remind us carpe diem, I’m coming for you, the insouciant walls remind us that even the birds are not free.

 

 This is an old way we seek to make the money

We steal for sustenance or pride a tiring swim against the tide in a sea of people diseased

The scattered rhythm of the maid broom every steep chiasmic her legs at the slightest ready to tether her ambitions to your strife. As a onetime altar server you find more about the death of God on the rooster than anywhere else, Broken Honey for bone for the pockets of strangers in our phones posing as shrinks

 

What tragedy awaits my love?

How many will die for me to find love again How many rocks will turn to dust How many melted wax will I mould On my way to the slide. The woman feigning ignorance to fuel the man’s egg, the miracle of man Empty threats and punishments

When a man feels no one understands him He find himself appreciates his quiet

It is that you do when you are free baulks your evaluations for you have to be shown what and how to appreciate. Still we pick our roses by the length and quick prick of their thorns

It's a laughable bog of prostitution and thievery all chasing enough to afford time

 

Another wasted day

Another day wasted eating and breathing alone, who can battle with the lewd? As they litter, Inducing provocation to avoid oblivion. To live to bemoan and decry Stupidity steeped in ignorance looking for rush some run to sex, others to the bottle I run away, I travel. Until they admit their fault I will drive every nail of guilt down the fog

We irascible products of senseless lust trying to be first, for now all my dreams are pastoral

 

What causes the asunder of men?

The abysmal cave of ten fingers At once all of his intent is washed, clean. Ant infested stalagmites and stalactites, others who deny are found out and baptized too, the possessor of souls selling the same wares. Woman so inexhaustible I pray for a penis just under my face to lick while I fuck,  a skirt wearing demon deigned to destroy corrupt and pollute.

They commit sacrificial traps of tenderness but it's a counterpunch of indifference into your open guard. We all claim to pander sex not questioning the apish strut that we now pose.

Disgusting!  This evening I saw a hen with a amputated leg dusting off and limping away from a horny cock so she is in pain and now pregnant, What pain what responsibility to impose on a sufferer? I see it for a reason I guess to atomize all of life’s strife Pandering foolishness to prove uniqueness. At threads and seams, Any country that doesn't educate it's women and girls are doomed to fail for without education she is bound to duplicate her stupidity in millions creating a senseless and needless strife of people unplanned ignorant and stupid Sex on cue that all a monkey can promise sex on cue We might as well be giving speech in between fellatios

 

Life is hard

But you can navigate with a clear conscience as a man tell the relative truth that is easy to bear

As the guilt creaks your bones and heavy your fist, Unsure, still we move in that fog

If reticence purifies and modesty pushes back strings

Life is a curse; a burden let us be wary of giving it. It makes us accursed beggars and in our abysmal bowl we accept attention love and money, but we can't touch it or use to find, see or truly sleep all we do amount to naught. What is the goal of the skipped stone? If the lake is static brim, It is not by your effort as some will punish you for even trying, Just Deft defeatist desperate for a dose The caste is steep and they want you mad so bad emotions like light bulb switches on and off, Everywhere else is saturated with the same wares be it people ambitions greed and product.

 

Poor perfectionist, you’ve got some rumple in your armpit now.Lately, I have been having these déjà vu Lots of them in fact the same scene and reactionLife must have exhausted its film Even the camera almost fell on TrumanThis is a matrix, a dream A handicap able subjectivity of our damned mind, So I see life like a game of Tetris The same block to stack and disintegrated At times the shape might seem alike

Most times they are correlated at the corrosion of our enamels from lime we begin to accept Till the same block next time, stay dry! We the seeds that fell victim of ignorant mothers

And the perfunctory of Religion, Life is all about the simple pleasures, la pette heureu

Even if your leg get snapped off by the do good shears of your father Where do we drop the burden and sigh If everything seen and heard is load off another Heavy limbs when we walk  Jammed joints, broken hearts

 

Don't keep your mind in the past or the present

Throw it in front and chase after it For something happen to happy to you If it isn't in front you will lose it Too much passion too much message. Too much justice in your heart

Finite body and thread like mind. Drink well friends, for there is nothing here But heavy words that corpses forget. Do these deja vu mean I'm in the right track, I know my life have played pretty much as I seen it in my dreams. I’ve caught glimpses but it can’t be. Some might say you are better than most, forget being at your best, 2 decades is enough to have some thistle at your tail Like the cow to the fly, You will never be buoy enough to jump and swath, you might as well chew cud on the abattoir queue 

 

Life is an endless fight

With the cloth we out in indifference ready smiles of safety and sameness and frown for those who might be tempted a big shield for the snide, snickers and quips

Boisterous volcanoes erupt in our Bodies and People laugh and point the obvious. Keep on trucking baby. The tunnel seems so long, I remember the tunnel is a coffin too Why don't I caress its walls and arcs? I have seen the entire house of a proud man be a chair of isolation I’ve seen the beg of trust in each pupil the call for attention in each tired eyes

Sex used to be my calling, I’m a diary you are a diary, and the world is a diary

The glaring truth so hard to see with Money the ultimate screw driver, in a world gone nut

 

This is, a prayer for the hand that moves the time The hand that changes the People mind to a people's philosophy We who have been pushed far shout out the top at the tittle for any iceberg to float this way before we topple over Oh will it all be irritating if we are that which litter their remorseful canoe those who they bite nails in pity for. Our undulating fortune in a pleurisic clime prompt us to the promontories with a steady aloe bath, As I go  I hear the echo Of continuous rattle scaring each other While we ignore our meibomian logs

Seek it and truly love, Run from it and find it eventually Pains, That is what i want on my plaque

I salute you the ultimate conformer, pain that clothes fire, bubbles up the seaTo establish the projection one must break out of the projectionPixel out and litter like a broken screen Glowing your own rainbows Exclusion and the bitter cold Only that which will not merge with society truly die, for beside It there is nothing else It’s all an attempt Calling the libidinal greed For what it is and how haggard it feels Others call it love In the Crime of pride Even some Kittens die gruesome deaths. to look at the addressee of our of our sweats

And let’s be sincere any peculiarities or “gift” can be nested in the grave as the repressed and unexpressed libidinal energy piled high in every monkey, I’m just saying Hedd  Wyn’s poetry aren’t all that moving. And for the few lines I write and add to the pile of fellow masturbators (poets) are all just consumables that we corpses eventually forget.

-Victor Samuel