(no subject)

I try to write when I wish,
About most things I desire.
All that I have need to do is put pen to paper,
Thus giving birth to a life upon
An objective environment.
One constructed by me: a world of
And dodging,
And fleeing
From points and concepts, ideas and thoughts
That are fearful,
Or radical,
Is born, and thrives,
Until I have my boundary of don’ts
And thorns.
Giving heart
To the empty space
Only means embracing,
And loving,
Considering and developing extensively
Ideas that are attractive,
Fundamentally culled,
Or seen as
Beautiful to my socialised self image.
Flavour is added from
Anything else helpfully in achieving
Nirvana of cohesion between
And my stimuli.
Fear and wonder,
Me and them, is
Balanced through reason
And experience,
Until i have a battlefield of mental diarrhoea-
A smokey, hazy visage of everyday conventions-
A bloody
And wounded subconscious, and
The mighty forces of belief
And individuality laying dead.
The war ended
Upon putting down the pen,
Leaves my page a heap of love ,
And a heap
Of me.
And completed.
  • Current Music
    Sixpounder - children of bodom
Tree Hugger


I think that
(having died so long ago)
I can find myself
(where I went)
In the manner in which
(everyone's staring...)
I need to
(be lost)
To be artistic.
I know that
(given the chance)
I have the potential
(in my brain)
To become a great
(not a legend but...)
in the world of
my forefathers.
Had I been born
(and lost...)
Before my due
(11 days later)
I would have been a part
(and not away)
of something bigger that I am now.

I would not be mistaken by my peers as a hippie.
(always something different...)

Beatnik at heart,
the lovely and mysterious,
Miss Sophie San
  • Current Music
    Dear My Destruction - The Lighthouse

(no subject)

What can I say? This is sort of what got me started on experimental poetry. Spacing is a little fucked up. Oops. Feedback?

Spray can in (skilled)hand(s)
Caress the smooth concrete
Feel for the perfect surface.
[this wall] Is the Canvas of
Renegade artists.
(No gangs
violence but;)
A red spray I Can
,with its wide angled tip, is the
Brush. An
Idea X-Acto™’d out of poster-board,
Inscribed in Negative (,not positive,)space to
Spread the message. Listen to it speak—(Hiss…,)the
Krylon™ can the voice of an otherwise
building-side. It becomes the
Crazy street Prophet with an outlandish thought-bubble Waiting for passers-by.
(the crazy street profit with an
Outlandish thought-bubble Waiting for passers-buy.)
The Right(no: Left)eousness and Conviction of
Concrete, taught to articulate
(With matte black lips,)the
Zeal of an oppressed degeneration.
The unsympathetic;untainted;untamed
Thought Bomb that--silently--
Roars with the idealistlessness that so Disturbs the
Young Rebel without a (be)cause.
get it?, jutted

(no subject)

The Problem with modern philosophers they all seem to be dead
this is better because trees answer questions for us
this is a nascent thought.but where did the beats go- I guess they get lumped in an existential basket, but- what are we missing?

So I ask about modern philosophy- who's thinking, what are you reading, and as a matter of specifics, what do you think about Zen today in our lives [not in dead chinese dynasty]

For prodding:


"Those who would have good government without its correlative misrule, and right without its correlative wrong, do not undertand the principles of the universe"

and Lin-chi

"In Buddhism there is no place for using effort. Just be ordinary and nothing special. Eat your food, move your bowels, pass water, and when you're tired go and lie down. The ignorant will laugh at me, but the wise will understand."

- who's thinking today? (reference Alan Watts: Beat Zen, Square Zen, and Zen)

is.it.ridiculous.to not move -
is-all we have left to apply -
[old thoughts to new motives]