WOES OF A MYSANTHROPIC MELODRAMATIC MARTYRED ARTIST (a spoken word styled poem)

What if
Gaining contentment
Makes me lose
My edge man?

These are the fears
Of a misanthropic
Microscopic
Martyr
Who can’t even
Get started

A flippant
Not-really-independent
One with a penchant
For melancholy
Not even sorry
For cynical seeing
While ministering
Simultaneously
Paradoxically
Compassionate means

The soul it cleans
A mantra
To be fond of
For certain
Much more learning
To do
Aches to sooth

Where would the muse
Go
If the fuse
Was no
Longer lit?
Oh shit
What if
The inspiration
Is in stage
Of evaporation?

What is there to gauge
Such a measure?
It would be clever
To test
Whether stability
Changes abilities

For better
Or worse
Only one way to know
So off we go

It is time
To take
A break
From being
The fake
Tortured artist

It is time
To start this

Era of
Grown up
Self love
Taking care
Of needs
Should not be
A feat

This is what
They do
Work
All the time
For pennies
And dimes

Higher education
Following escalation
To be a master
With a piece of paper
A credentialed world
Has been sold
To us
Must
Go along
And not
Against
The grain
No, that
Only causes
Strain

Yeah

It is time
To start this
New vanilla
Era
Underneath
The surface
Though
Still tortured artist

Nobody knows
Or seems to
Get
It’s only a part
These roles
To take on
No matter
How fond
We are
Of them
Peel
Onion

Tear up
And
Cheer up
Because
What you find
Beneath
This grind
The cause
Causal
Agent
Effecting
Flagrant
Once seen

Is the greatest
Actor
Just
Doing
A scene

Okay
Fine
Time
To play
The part

But-

Still
Time
On
The
Side
For
Tortured
Art

Advertisements

THE RUTHLESS TRUTH

In the pursuit of truth
If it is for you
Nothing is sacred
All is bared naked

Sacrifices will be made
You will be afraid
All that has been done will unravel
For the hope that you will marvel

At the glory of the truth
Whether relative or absolute
It is yours to seize
Stop at nothing
No matter how much grief

You will suffer
You will regret
You will stumble
You will be bested
And over and over again will you fail
Until you realize the tall tale

Of it all meaning something
That to stories and things you cling
Finally at your end bow down to nothing
Only then can you be king
Emptiness as your queen

Together you rule
The rest are fools
Stuck on the board
Pawns in play

But you have realized the check mate
It is all a blank slate
Remember the pursuit
That took you to the root

By unmaking you
So as one who sought truth
Only to be ruined
Remember this

You have been brought to your knees
Begging for release
So it has been granted

If you stay as you are when you sleep
And make no distinction
Between real and dreams

Then look and finally see
It is all real and unreal
The truth has set you free

It has killed you
And made itself known
As what can only be described as “unknown”

Keep seeking
Keep being
Then stop
And be in the clearing

Get yourself out of the trap
Into the gap
You know what? Forget it
You cannot handle this

No- yes you can
You never stop
Never quit
Not when the truth is there somewhere

Out in oblivion
From ground floor to roof
You already house the linchpin
Yet you continue your pursuit

Of the ruthless truth
Fool or sage?
Who am I to say?
It is up to you
It is all yours to undo