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StageDrifter

Long, Lustful Poetry

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It seems the old board is now giving odd error messages.  No one knows what I’m talking about, sure, but did someone try to ‘ghost’ the old board?  Never mind.  Don’t answer that. 

 

I’m going to re-post my ‘Sylvanas’ tribute here, then:

 

In silence high heels tap in negative,

Brain wired with sex, a kill, sweating armpits.

These neurons burned out, an exit, stage live

To new ones I give you, live tweeting fits.

From death in trade I give you living pain

Of anger, not of hate, a task of X.

Ride on this horse, imagine bare feet, rain:

Retaliate, environmental flex.

If I am cold, the body vector wants

Impossible named keys, one such to say:

You fight, I will give you regrets, penned fonts,

To make us all as equal on this day.

Biology, in realism, one -

To understand fun is desperate, done. 

 

In addition to which, also in tribute, I would like to add in French, a language I don’t speak, these words.  (Simply because it sounds better in French for some reason, not in Russian, German, or Latin.)  There is nothing to fear, except from the young and very old.  The young are stupid, short sighted, and only see what is immediately in front of their faces.  The very old are vengeful, and significantly more than the evil that you are.  Stay away from the young, tap your hat to the old. 

 

A friend of mine plays StarCraft pro, does coke,

The stress of which is micro, one touch win,

To macro, twenty-minute torture, broke

On words as interviewed, kicked in the shin.

Born once, the Zerg ate primal, needed time,

As Protoss lost their internet, bought cakes:

These Terrans ran offense only, no crime,

So, Kerrigan Raynor fourth race on lakes.

Into a silent place, at long last, wow,

As paper, rock, or scissors go to bed -

Two square blocks Korea on that make, bow,

Forget forgetfulness, what isn’t said.

Woke up from head trauma, Kumiko, girl,

I simply kiss, ten minutes that last hurl.

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Vibrant messenger,

The game is Greek answered, snooze

I-phones’ allez pain.

 

From 2 to 9, teach

Over under emphasis,

Master, Maestro lick.

 

Being a pro young

Means video develops,

To invested eyes.

 

Not me, son of Sam’s,

As I will only harm you.

Find what gives you peace.

 

Keep me company,

As X-Split’s on, two hundred,

Hungry to Facebook.

 

Loser, see my face,

As Darth nails cheerleader, point

Of power, cursive. 

 

For pros growing up,

It is compulsory, start:

That isn’t me, so.

 

To break the cycle,

You will be beat within an

Inch of your damn life.

 

It’s okay, the take;

Creative contraries bang

Out the questions, youth.

 

Coleridge is now dead.

Death and she death in life, spat,

Unworldly clever.

 

Active numbers shoot,

Like pool to an untrained eye,

Observed as defined.

 

Writing’s important

To the God of Stone, beliefs

Heraclitean.    

 

Stay tuned for new stuff,

As Mohawk girls’ DNA,

So bright to light, fight.

 

Love is, I mean this,

Someone to die for, when flames

Take the buildings thus.

 

 

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This is not my poetry but I've found a new love for this Xiu Xiu band, and this song in particular. Like NIN but better, and hilarious. This is the song that Trent Reznor needs to hear, lol.

 

 

[Verse 1]
A piano fell on my face
You told me to get up
When I could not control myself
You said to get up
Consciousness demolished
When I tried to hold the pain inside
You say to hold it in

[Chorus]
Love me forever
Don't forget me
It's late in the game to ask
But I'm still asking

[Verse 2]
A harmonica fell on my face
It did not hurt that much
If you leave no one will find my corpse
You said
RISE FROM THE DEAD
Sometimes a person cannot help what they do
You mumble to get up
Operating now without belief
You say sh sh sh
And to get up

[Bridge]
Do you hate me
Because I seem so stupid?
Or do you just very quickly
Hate me right back?

[Verse 3]
During the rape of everything decent
The flickering flames impressed me
A saxophone fell on my face
How is a mystery
When I am shocked
By my own foolishness
You say you are not as shocked
When I repeat that I am shocked by my own foolishness
You get up and leave the room

[Chorus]
Love me forever
Don't forget me
It's late in the game to ask
But I'm still asking you

[Post-Chorus]
You're the only reason I was born
You're the only reason I was born

[Instrumental Outro]

Edited by TwiliteMinotaur

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You taste like lip stick, when the in-game rain

Bangs down the alley way, our stats displayed.

For half the year I work low wage brain pain

To feel the net the rest, back link full paid.

I fight the search algo pyramid dip

An individual, against AI

Blast imitation, winning on the hip

In weekly standings.  Robots burn, death, die.

You need to beat the system, human search,

As fair match up’s BS, all rigged, profile:

Accept this tree, a memory, once birch,

Into the avant-garde of half this dial.

     The info board of planet nine five’s hot

     These next five days, then over, falls to ‘bot.  

 

 

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Birthday poem time?  2018 is it?

 

I would like to dedicate this sonnet to:  Christian White and the Aryan Reggae Band.  To those yet to be banned:

 

Friend, wonder with me this?  That green, puke mist

Japanese wrestlers spit out to win, cheat,

In someone’s face, followed by a short fist:

What is its nature?  Anger, hate, bile, meet? 

When racial, national finds physics, soul,

Can yuck win gold, find championship armpit?

Something country bound loses birth place, hole

Of sex, where Buddha, Mel Brook’s death, nuns sit.

I am the Champion, green blob of foot grab,

Yak’ boy a flower, neon, just this one:

 Virus, kills China, dreams, intestines, stab

Atomist spit egg, that spring biz’ness, fun.

Clan dumb, dumb of a fortune never born,

A challenge is, and from your country, torn. 

 

 

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And love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love;

Did digital pretense fool you?  Fooled me.

Does Twitter Facebook hybrid hook up, dove?

Yes, all they hate may save us.  Burn who’s tree?

Orange rhymes with beer in Cockney, sometimes.  Dick.

-Unless the tech that damns invaders space

Responds to time alone, a fuzzy trick -

Now go away a second, honor, trace.

As vectors, beauty.  Can you hold my hand?

Much as a word is sent, a heart of dent,

Equates to nonsense, time outside the band.

Hi, you.  It’s paid.  Thanks.  Also stolen.  Meant. 

Express mistakes of generations made;

Repress the pain of real, end as fade.

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working on some new material...

 

He came up as a longhaired mossback,

evolved himself into a hackhead skatepunk

produced by the times and attuned to his environment,

he read all the signs and he hated his government.

 

and it was all downhill from there.

he never found time to care.

nothing matters nowhere,

and nothing's really there.

 

He wound up underneath a hobnailed bootheel,

a bent spoke in a mechanized wheel

crushing under entities never once beheld

thinking all the while that this might just be hell.

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The Ace,

And The Hole.

 

It ain't right and it ain't cool,

and we don't need the likes of you.

 

With your cheap orange spray tan,

and your surgical flap, 

 

orangutan.

 

tangerine fat man

simple mind, tiny hands

 

petulant as a pampered brat

born to leisure, never task.

 

Pickled brains, 

within a cask.

 

A social illness prolific and productive.

An industrial destruction,

of intellect and dialog.

 

Our social conscience choked on fog.

 

Our sickness, manifest.

This bag of bones, this bloated pest

belongs to us, he is our own.

And for his sins we must atone.

 

One last gasp,

a midnight ride.

Our monstrous leader

just should've died.

 

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It is not mine, and my own limited poetry experiments are always in Spanish anyway. But this touches me in all the wrong places.

 

A.E. Housman

 

He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?

 

He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.

 

I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder,

 

And went with half my life about my ways.

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The Ace and The Hole(cont)

 

Never wanted to say

I told you so,

And I didn't want to be right,

But our empowering of assholes

has me spoiling for a fight.

 

...And I told you so,

motherfucker.

I told you.

 

I told you so.

 

So now we have a fascist

dominating control,

yet our fat and pale asses

are too weak to rock and roll.

 

Motherfuckers,

I told you so.

 

And don't you dare tell me

the system will fix itself.

This white-powered hate machine

was designed to make this hell.

 

And I told you so,

Motherfuckers.

I told you so.

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To Hong Kong influencers:  Cursor.  Press

As you, but no expatriates, a mat. 

The day will come.  The cat is far too fat.

Lockdown will change the light to darkness, less.

Analysis:  Cantonese:  Redo:  Mess. 

Prepare.  When lights go out, drop the old hat.

Translate:  Chick with razers in her hair, stat.

Grandma may talk but little, gives her dress.

The word’s ‘Mafia’, call it market wink.

As power’s information, channels race

Relaying news and other products, fake?

Three is the magic number, smoke bomb stink.

Engage to disengage, remember face,

And purge the bottom of a burning lake.

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2019

Those ten seconds before you fall asleep

When you can draw geometry from will,

Yet faces perfect detail wait there deep

Inside a thought forgotten song, that’s still.

This is to worship, fundamental love

As wonder, the start of science, no end.

The stars are better than me, hint to shove

Image quality higher than me, lend.

The rest of life is this small time wrote large,

An imitation, good and bad, a mark

To meditate the creative, to charge

Returning judgement, someone else’s spark.

     Doll who?  High five me.  Good work.  Grab my hand.  

     There is a bottle for us to share, stand.

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