pinned all my hopes on a major cleft
in a stark, lifeless wasteland with nothing left
the shells of what used to be life were bereft
of a moral thief who had fallen victim to an act of wanton theft
on this matter, so much more can be said
but just like the threat of tampa claus,
some things are better left unsaid
better left alone like the cadavers of the the undead
on this Christmas just past, I spent all day in bed:
the result of a morning gutter pill cocktail of excess
I'm so glad I didn't have any dirty laundry to air;
not that a day like yesterday is beyond compare,
for I spent all day last Christmas in a state of despair
unkempt hair, loss of sentiment, segments of a tortured soul;
all because of partial success, followed by an opportunistic act of theft
and I care not for what the lucky thieves stole
except for the irretrievable pieces of my soul, which are now lost and dead
just when one thinks that one is starting to move forward, get ahead --
karma comes back to haunt you, dish out the sabre of death
for every taste of pain and suffering, yet another test
of character, of how much strength and resolve one still has left
in this world we live in, it's not about who's heart is the best
no, it's an upside-down, inside-out cesspit of the blood of innocents,
that works in the favour of selfish, greedy, and soulless cretins,
who use and abuse others, and treat them in all the ways that I detest
yes, the world is devoid of justice, karma is a bitch and life is unfair
but if you let go of expecting it to be perfect,
then you have already begun to pass the test
so unfurl your wings, let the wind carry you away
stop working so hard, let go, and teach yourself how to have fun and play
stop dwelling on the mistakes and failures of many dark yesterdays
remember that the future brings infinite possibilities of many glorious todays
if the whole world is dumping misery on you in each and every way,
it's because there is more than a salt-shaker to the passé cliché
that misery is a homicidal twerp that loves nothing more than miserable company
there is a tried and tested way in which to achieve long-lasting happiness
it starts with a decision and then concerted effort and commitment
let go of worldly attachment and all ego-flattering illusions of achievement
and while cynics and conservatives may claim that it is in our nature to be acquisitive,
we can bypass our primitive desires of greed with the power of reason
and ignore the consumer whore directives of this most gluttonous of seasons
isn't it incredible how we can all love and hate, and feel happy and sad
and how there is only a fine line between being a genius and being labelled 'mad'
to still be alive and intact and sane is why I am glad
that I am human and imperfect and flawed and free
and in spite of all my mistakes and regrets,
if I could go back in time, I wouldn't change a single fucking thing;
for I am glad that I spent Christmas in bed all day...
two years running; I may just make a yearly tradition of it
26/12/09
Art sucks. Poetry sucks. Everything is fucked. I suck. You suck. So if I am so anti-everything, why do I even bother "creating" anything? Well one has to do something with one's time. Welcome to my playground. I am the Dissident Poetician. Doing Poetician stuff is what i do. "Art is dead, don’t consume its corpse" - graffiti in the streets of Paris, May 68. Long live the spirit of May 68. Piss in the fountain of dada.
About Me
- dissident poetician
- i am the dissident poetician...i tear down fences with sardonic sardines and metaphysical cucumbers