A long time ago here, at Kadaffi Enterprises we took a silent oath to not censor anything in the spirit of democracy and everything native to the Lybian state of mind. Well, as should be expected, we broke those oaths as soon as the forbidden fruit entered our system. The forbidden fruit of shame, and common sense. After all, we should cover ourselves up from time to time. Well, if the oath is to be worth anything, no. So after a cocktail and very little thinking, I present to you the aborted lines. (nothing special really, just my unpublished section [mostly thoughts I never bothered finishing] , now published)
–
Heavens unfold to the willing, allure the reticent and close to the defiant.
–
they sit in their chairs reminiscing
of painful affairs as the clock ticks away
at their whole frame’s dissatisfaction,
always on a call for friction,
calling up rebels from the rival faction,
asking–are you ready for some action?
–
My ponderings stack up to quantities more than sufficient for your local library’s philosophy section.
My sayings remain minimal due to the fact that all my pondering has led to no conclusion.
–
Our peculiar age is reaching for its end and grasping for something– getting thin air.
People continue thriving up to the carrying capacity’s limited capability for expansion, and I keep thinking that its time to end this shit. So how is the planet feeling? God only knows, I suspect and my suspicions are tainted with hatred and jealousy. Nothing special, really. Where are my bourgeois superstitions? I can never escape them, not that I’m trying at this point. The guilt guild is out of business, check their blog, what is this? Probably something we deserve, is it not always so?
Ordinary thoughts from a nondescript motherfucker.
–
When I rant its like drunk dialing except no phone is required.
Sitting in the darkness, I see the dust coming off the vacuumed floors. I see it in the light coming off my screen. You can never get too clean. Obsessive but not compulsive, I clean all things except my liver, which needs an oil change, or maybe just a change of oils. Dripping wet with this summer sweat, I won’t list the things I regret. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget, I look things in the eye and drink to numb up the nerves. I’m a pixel, a nice twitching pixel, turn yourself on to the millions of colors of significance which I present. Fuck representing, I present. More colors than Baskin has flavors. My feet are sinking deeper into the ground. This sweat is wetting up the barren land. The mud swings to the beat, a swing junkie like myself, sinking deeper. Nice and cool, away from the heat. The mud is the latest of friends which are not real, the latest swine in the pork barrel, the scheme of the oligarchs, forever stuck in this dirt, this rubbish, this rotting shit, clean as I get.
–
I take my time to quantify, but can’t you see that this sort of thing has little or no end, thinking as a friend, tell me when should I extend the offering to those I defend? I think it might just be about time right about now but seeing as how things have no space in which to fit, when do you think my offering I should remit? Little notions pass through my cerebellum, splitting up my precious melon into rival factions, never reaching precious satisfaction.
–
The riotous flavours of spice in my mouth remind me of the strange oriental cocktail that I just consumed. My brain is numb, nothing new, just the particulars at hand. Sitting in the basement, feeling faceless, god lead us to the senseless, what need have I of chairs and tables, when nature is my tapestry and my mistress, that bitch always wishing things were better, don’t pass her the letter that I wrote detailing my struggle, it ain’t worth it, she’d probably use it to use me in yet another way. Nature, what a poet’s chore, what can we really say against her, our mother and our whore, the one we all adore.
–
The training now completed, the body feels depleted, hearts were torn to shreds, we all saw things in red, let us get to the getting lest we get to forgetting. Hair cut military style, preparing for a mission that might take quite a while, taking time off to recollect, things scattered on the floor in a haphazard fashion, chaos comes on slowly, my mind it starts to bore me, why these things get me down, I am not a clown, please let me sit down, friends want to do the town, I want to slip out and go around to the corner shop for a bottle, this ain’t fate, its premeditated, going full throttle. Judge gave me orders to leave and now I’m forgotten, picking this rotten cotton, in the land of sheep and wolves I turned out to be a piece of dirt, and you know I’m hurt.
–
