Tungsten glow envelops the scorpion stung hen
Wrung fence forces the course beyond recompense
Finger pointing at mass graves, malingerer’s stench lingers
The healing tincture reserved for gods whose ire they incurred

A puppet knows that he has strings as the hand wrings
The cloths singe with hot blood as the puppeteers cringe
Chalk that up as a win, a way out, sly grin, a sin, a positive spin
As you nurse back from the brim, the smiling reaper grim

Remember tradition
Remember your forefathers
Remember your debt to them
Remember also that your grandchildren
will forget them and you

Remember a poet
Remember Forgetfulness by Billy Collins
Remember a revolution
Looking down the hospital you were born in
you might as well have never existed

Remember the pool you played in with your brother
Remember the brand name of flavoured water
Remember what team you would have killed for
Even now, when your feet fail you
you see glimpses of a beer ad you saw as a child

Remember to walk
Remember to feel anything but pain
Remember to breathe
All those hoarded memories on rectangles
just forget it all

Poem inspired by: Forgetfulness – Billy Collins

We, of the earth, shooting upwards the right of given berth
Dearth of mirth, scoff the dirt of the scuff, sand off the rough
Clutch a puff as opposed to straws, a hutch has room too much
Ideals and propaganda as such, hide meals lest the other gander

Its a mirror for either side, pillars erected of our hide
Into our roles slide, slither, devour their vows by the hour
My bullet is a fairer judge, than a skillet bearer budged
Grudge eternal lugged by the transient, embalmed infernal

The blues were manufactured, in the same factories as actors
The thorium reactor foiled the hot coal out of zeitgeist memoriam
Glory done? The same hole dug tons of both sides of the story spun
My pilgrimage to the pillaged hole, but it’ll take a village to make it whole

They would not let me into the multiplayer beta. Whose dick would I have to suck to be in it? I paid for the DLC season pass and bought the collector’s edition of a game I did not want just to gain access in here. Fuck these elitist scum! I will file an official complaint on their forums, that’ll show em!

Post made by xXgarbageduckXx 20 minutes ago.

WTF YOU GUYS, MY DLC CODE ISNT WORKING FOR THE MULTIPLAYER ACCESS!!!!! I PAID TOP DOLLAR FOR THIS!! I AM NOT SOME ILLITERATE PLEB WHO YOU CAN SHOVE INTO OBSCURITY, I HAVE A CONSIDERABLE FANBASE ON MY YOUTUBE VIDEOS!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE HELP A FELLOW GAMER OUT!! I EVEN CONNECTED MY TWITTER ACCOUNT AS IT SAID IN POSTS WHEN I GOOGLED MY ERROR CODE! PLEASE FIX THIS SHIT YOU MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Post made by RedColouredUsername 10 minutes ago.

I checked out your problem, and there is no problem at our end. Though I have checked the connected Twitter account to our account service, and unfortunately, you do not meet these parameters for joining the private beta:
• Klout score too low

Chapter 2

Once upon a time, there was a movie theater. This is the tale of a matinee show. Two people were watching the screen with unflinching attention. They thought they had it good that day. After about 40 minutes had passed, two loudmouths walked in, shining their smartphone flash all over the still darkness of the hall. They noticed the paltry two people with their eyes affixed to the screens.

Their giggles were loud enough to be echoed throughout the sound proofed walls. They giggled their way across to the people watching the movie, and sat right behind their seats, perhaps to seek some kind of parallel universe definition of solidarity. They exhibited astonishing jaw gymnastics while masticating the cheese jailed popcorn. Maybe the acoustics of the cinema were off, but the munching drowned out any sound emanating from the audio system. The people in front shot a look of resentment to the back seats, which all but intensified their charade. They started talking about who had the largest gamerscore.

“Excuse me” the front seaters whispered softly, a comically disproportionate eke. But somehow, the backseat people heard them.

“Would you please qui-“

Suddenly two gunshots were heard. It was perfectly synched with two gunshots on screen. A cosmic joke. As the two heads in the front seats bled on to the maroon coloured seats, the two gentlemen on the backseat resumed their important conversation with much gusto.

Chapter 3

They accused me of being a pedophile. Even a solid court verdict is false in their eyes. They are all bloody hypocrites, love the music but hate the man. This will all change though. All in due time.

They don’t want me to build playgrounds for children. What good is my money? All I have is time. It will be tonight. I will make the journey to stop the onslaught against me. I will change it all.

Note 1 – The machine is here. I will go back in time in a few moments. I am going back to a time when I know I can be alone with myself in a space where there will be no outside interference.

Note 2 – Arrived. Stole my baby self. There is a very small margin here. Must go forward in future with myself. A moment of refuge to myself.

Note 3 – Arrived in the hotel room with myself. Checked in while I would be out with my son. Nobody noticed a thing. I have all the time in the world. This is it.

I stare at my own eyes in the hotel room. I see a look of recognition. This can’t be. I feel the strangest sense of déjà vu. He knows who I am and what I’m here to do. Killing myself is the only way to solve this mess now. I take myself in my arms. Go to the balcony window, him dangling over the balcony window. I recoil when I see a circus of media beneath. I can’t kill me now, they will know. I rethink this, to and fro on the opinion on just dropping myself. I smile uncomfortably as I realize the only way out in my mind. I take myself inside, and make love to myself. This feels familiar, but this will change everything. I am now safe, no one can hurt me. I pick myself back up and embark on a journey to return myself.

Note 4 – Returned myself at the exact time I had stolen myself. Nobody will suspect a thing.

Note 5 – Back to the present time. Nothing has changed. Shit.

Chapter 4

You are writing this story. This is chapter 4 of the story. It is the final chapter. Writer’s block is not a wing of the old soviet bloc. Plotholes are a feature, not a bug. Awareness is not a shield to criticism. Nothing in here actually exists. Your brain perceives it to be real. You think that your parents are secretly ashamed of you, though they have repeatedly told you otherwise. That traffic cone is a metaphor.

Your knowledge is irrelevant, and will remain so until the ink runs out. “Society made me like I am” is not admissible in the court of law. You are not a writer. You are not even pretending to be a writer. Everything you “own” is someone else’s. You are an imposter. You are not even writing this story. This is all objectively true. Why don’t you write an actual story? There were supposed to be 5 chapters. This is trash and shall end up in the trash. Your ego is the reason you are doing this. Nobody else cares, least of all you. These are not real problems. These are strawmen you cobbled together in your own image. This story is writing you.

The dangling carrot in my tunnel of vision
A parrot repeating something not in the mission
Tarot reader said i’m a result of a Pharaoh breeder
Unkempt land harrowed straight, but i’m no leader

Decided parameters dictated by false demigods
Fall in line, or be exorcised, still alive against many odds
Pill pushers preaching to sedate the madness
Hands extended, out of reach irate gods and goddesses

Not everyone is destined to become supreme leader
The lust for power, benevolent dictator to a wife beater
This is what was planned for me, I free-fell onto the x marked spot
Hustling roses down the avenues of the dead, to buy a cemetary plot

Inspired by: Consummation of Grief by Charles Bukowski. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/consummation-of-grief/

The picked bone of contention on the picket lines
The declarations that the wicked signed
Made the rest bend over like they had rickets hinds
We sat voluntarily blind, decadent tickets that bind

Reality shows on a big screen, reality plotted swift schemes
But the eyes stuck on the gleam, fuck admitting what really seems!
Rather the cold comfort of fridge creams and enriched genes
Than the warmth of a nuclear singe beam and cringe screams

The twilight years of our species, median IQ hits peak
Brain drain to cranium leak and lexicon modern newspeak
No crossover class leak, no mingling the fated poor and elite
No last ditch concerted eke, life’s good, so to speak

No rebel, no cause made, no planted trees of which you won’t see shade
Minds made to mentally masturbate, into the periphery, problems fade
The greys have no shade, morally bankrupt hedonistic head crown placed
A thin line between bravery and foolishness, that is now blurred and frayed

Hear me recite this here: http://soundcloud.com/ankitt/frayed

My brain holds these moments
They construct the scene, fill them with emotions
I remember the faces, the smells, the tastes
Moments so vivid that life pales in comparison

They used to tell me that I had the elixir of life
I worked hard to please the societal Oedipus
I worked hard to repel the machine labour
I worked hard to prolong the time of death

I was a miracle product of evolution
Just like a billion others, born in a cesspool gene pool
I wore the advertised money on my back
I wore the disguise of being content
I wore down my being to become what you meant

I was born into it, the dissatisfied hunger rampant
Cannibalistic rat race, blood dripping faces humane
Discordant dialogue drips with dead dissonance
My family, my town, my race, my continent, my language

I remember her, her facial features staring at me
Making an impassioned plea to buy something
Serviceable human contact, that too at a price
Life worthless like giving printed paper to mice

So they tell me to hang on to the coat tails
They tell me that society frowns upon it
They tell me that I have a purpose in life
They tell me, as I dig a hole in bought land

I still hear them, just as I am about to end it
It was as if I was deaf before, or they were mute
Just as I reach for the noose they shout
They call me a coward for pulling this shit on them

They call me a coward for not going through with it too
I am a coward regardless of which road I choose
My fellow man who still does not know my name
My fellow man who tried to guilt me into shame

So I look back at the noose, and it stares back
I have existed for less than that I did not
No one would care, as the noose hits neck bare
Hanging in mid-air, the same vacant, silent stare

I feel like death
Cannot escape it by being escapist
It is on my mind, a Shakespearian skull
A lifeless body looks lively in a casket
And what’s my worth if I can’t look past it?
Treat it like a disease and cheer up
Existential dread but still glug the beer up!
On a moving globe, spinning on its axis
Yet home is where the hate has lasted
My body is a cage, yet my mind wanders
The primitive part still in awe of moving skies

A singular human is a statistic
No more important than an expensive stone
An uncaring cosmos is seen as sadistic
And looking to find your self is egocentric
Overly chauvinistic, protective of old tales
False prophets preach of the dream
The carrot-stick beyond the realm of the flesh
Tear the earth and wear it like an open wound
Go green, gangrene, all of this will end soon
Is life worth keeping? Or is it just idle housekeeping?
Out of reach meaning, but please keep on reaching

kin killing kin over the colour of skin
thin skinned hair slim trigger pin
genocide in the guise of herd trim
the crimson dripping lips wide grin
senescence before a wisdom hint
already cold dead; whiskey filled glass brim