Archive for April, 2016

Enter title here (all goes into Oblivion)


27 Apr

—-s—-

—-s—-

inside the stardust stew
 
coffee on the leader’s face
the newspaper spills the story
the police are on their way

we’ve had a time of it for sure
this flying territory,
an incorporeal place of abject subjugation, landing only
to dispense cruelty, made romantic
by the distance at which we see it
after taking off again
(the earth is always fine when one is in the air)

this is history
if only we could forget it
start over
realize that regardless of how
infinite in truth and truly beautiful
inside the cavity of false hindsight
the past may be
– we no longer need it, not anymore

(for ch)
—-s—-

back with it…


07 Apr

———-

———-

8 x 8 (lower case)

“… a government with a god complex…”
“shit, we just reconfigured monkeys, man!”
deep thoughts like,
“is society just meat over flame?”
and reaching for brevity somewhere he falls short, but at times, between a slur and a slug, it has occurred, profound utterances and more beer money,
“sadly, women will always be primarily relied
for loving on rather than for loving up…”

the body is a fragile and unreliable burden
one must prepare
to lose its subtlety
soon
eventually it will reach enough;
but the soul
if that can be considered in the simplest term
rather than going into any religious division-of-divinity reading
i’d prefer to tie it
very much like a noose
and just as easily instead
to the reason a being can be
at all

“my algorithmic reason for ‘no regrets’ is: don’t even regret the thing that dies you – cause regret is the only thing that you can take with you, and it’s a weight – you shouldn’t even take the love with you either, leave it to the world, not enough of it around as it is… but, regret, fuck, you don’t need that baggage, brother…”

a response for his monk-like dilettantism
like henry cotton is all about them smiles
like he knew him back in the day
we remind ourselves to fall short sometimes
because sometimes this world is hard to swallow
and the curbs are a motherfucker when you’re drunk
———-

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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