Principia Discordia
Principia Discordia => Or Kill Me => Topic started by: President Television on November 11, 2011, 12:03:49 am
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Yes, I've decided to post some writing that I did back in high school. Because really, how miserable to you have to be to feel nostalgic about that?
Graffiti
As I walk along the walking path,
All the world is a blur
Until I reach the bridge.
I always stop
To look upon
This graveyard
Painted with skeletons of philosophy.
"GOD IS DEAD" proclaims the bridge,
But the words are lost in an orgasm
Of colour and swastikas.
__________
Disharmony
The music in my head
Is factory machinery,
Thousands of feet on a tile floor,
The beep of a deep-frier.
But there is also the roar
Of a distorted guitar,
And the howl
Of a police officer
Getting kneed in the balls.
__________
Depression
Black twisted barbed wire
Has tightened itself
Around my eyes.
I want to tear it away,
But it has become my universe.
__________
Misinterpretation
empty trees
bring memories
of a solitary brand of fun
neck-deep
snow that heaps
till the plow chops it up
into neat little cliffs
cliffs to climb
cliffs to break
and harvest for a sculpture
of a cyborg onion
a concerningly phallic shape
__________
Avoidant Personality
you won't hate me
will you?
if I observe some of my sadness
reflected in your face
and wonder:
if you were my mirror
would I like what I'd see?
more than I love myself,
I mean
(though that's a pretty low bar
to set)
I guess what I mean to ask is
this shyness, does it make me
a creep?
__________
Self-Reference
when I write
in lower case
the words seem to float
without punctuation
without squiggly comma legs
__________
in this city
there are monsters
they live ordinary lives
and they plan their own extinction
while they're hiding from their wives
the company's a mistress
with a perfect alibi
yeah, I'm a coward
let me way out
in this pity
there's a death glare
I can't help my own damn pride
I'm a special kind of cripple
I'm the kind that beats his guide
my glass is pretty empty
when it's laying on its side
yeah, I'm a loser
let me way out
in this shithead
there's a talent
but it only sits and sighs
and he doesn't talk to no one
not an ordinary guy
he could be so special
yeah, and he could really fly
yeah, that's a lie
so let me way out
__________
if I dared to talk to you
the first thing I'd say would be
"I'm glad to be a decoy
on your hunt for enlightenment"
and excuse my point of view
but I'd knock you back a few satoris
cause you can't be one with nature
if you're two with a machine
if I had a microphone
the first thing I'd say would be
"It's nice to be alive but
could I have an amplifier?"
and excuse my honesty
but I'd knock a window outta that store
cause you can't get rich and famous
without taking it away
if I was a parakeet
the first thing I'd say would be
whatever goofy thing you'd
think's funny enough to teach me
and excuse my servitude
but I'd leave every word in that story
cause Polly don't quite give a shit
bout your friends and family
__________
Pouches on pouches on pouches. You just know Robert Liefeld had a say in her fashion sense. Atop a crown of kaliedoscopic spiky hair sat a pair of swimming goggles, useless. It took me a second to realize it, but she wasn't wearing pants at all. For some unfathomable reason, she'd taken to fastening a full-length skirt around each leg with an oversized safety pin. Her modesty was protected by a tie-die t-shirt that reached her knees. Over this was a vest, on which the aforementioned pouches perched. All atop a pair of sensible brown leather shoes.
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Yes, I've decided to post some writing that I did back in high school. Because really, how miserable to you have to be to feel nostalgic about that?
__________
in this city
there are monsters
they live ordinary lives
and they plan their own extinction
while they're hiding from their wives
the company's a mistress
with a perfect alibi
yeah, I'm a coward
let me way out
in this pity
there's a death glare
I can't help my own damn pride
I'm a special kind of cripple
I'm the kind that beats his guide
my glass is pretty empty
when it's laying on its side
yeah, I'm a loser
let me way out
in this shithead
there's a talent
but it only sits and sighs
and he doesn't talk to no one
not an ordinary guy
he could be so special
yeah, and he could really fly
yeah, that's a lie
so let me way out
__________
I really like this one.
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Yes, I've decided to post some writing that I did back in high school. Because really, how miserable to you have to be to feel nostalgic about that?
I feel your pain. Personally I enjoyed Basic Training more than high school