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Phone or email. System Of A Down. Guiding her lips to the tender Wet flower of another woman, Expressing necessary patterns Of oral explorations. Expanding the learning curve Of an acquired taste of pussy. Sharing visions of climbs of ecstatic Heights between two flowers and their branch. Ah, if nipples could glance at watery truths In the eyes of Venus, If bodies flowered like wine Through the halls of dire desire Lit by an unquenched sunset beyond The bodies of buildings, Along the railroad Going nowhere fast, Unrelinquished circles plowing through time, Regaining the same volume in the same space, So they taste and they think while they drink The purity of my manhood. My form is that of a butterfly frozen in mid air, En route to the jungles, Thawed by escapism, Nourished by self preservation. My stride is that of a guitar string In the hands of a drunk gypsy courting a fair lady, Making love with the ascending and descending Frequencies of the heart. Time is the father of existence, Rhyme is the brother of the word, Words that define the world, Worlds that refine my words. Natural water no longer exist, We must now create what was initially abundant, And destroy that which took its abundance away. Is the garden clear for the new plants? Is the soil still rich enough to support life? My fears are shadows behind the edge of dark buildings, The howls in the night. Life is rhythm, and its fluidity is dependant on the Tempo. In harmonies we find unity in diversity. In harmonies we find prenatal familiarities. Our true voice is our true colour, character. The consensus is a misguided body of cencus information. Remember the child of innocence resides in cool Gardens, Though the heat can be used to create the stimulus. Our physical sences only report the portion Of the actual motion in our universe. The rest require extrasensory skills attained Through the veils of the sacred silence. A career is but a job, Modern indentured servitude, If not for the challenge And dreams. And a day is just a Collection of hours, If not for that one Sparking, coaxing Loving smile on your Face. No time to die, nor live, No structures of a pyramid, Nor trained horses to arise, Surmise my position. My words define me As a surgically proficient baker, A baker who now lies still, For assuming these were my last words ,I would say absolutely nil. The candle burns deep inside his head, His wax mind is finally dead. My words escape me, As I escape them, For love is beauty, And beauty is love, As diabolical dreams Of intestines on a platter, As kidneys, lungs and livers, Rushing the blood, my blood, winded, noisey. My words escape me, As I escape the world. Did someone mess up your credit? Did your recorders, computers, and machines Interact on a different level than ever before, Where, as a result, you lost data, and you, Oh yes you, were somehow responsible? Embroderies of memories, Daily on-line vision necessities, Susceptible amenities. Daily daisies marking their paths, Fur longing shelter dwellers, Strange propellers, Pillars making their presence known To the venerable peers, Coughing up the seas As the breeze maintains its meditative ease. The releasing of the world, The re-shifting of focus on inter-being And the attainment of nothingness Through the veils of the Sacred Silence. If I could only stop my head From going into constant infection, Then maybe I can swim back To my own version of consistent sanity. Angelic demons, Liquid dreams, Transparent mountains Of our own reality. Burning oceans, Melting faces, Melting faces, Why!. My goal is to stop reacting in life, While reacting more in sports. It is great work to strip man from his home, Clothes, education, social cicle, and job, In order to preserve his freedom and individuality, Giving him his own dreams, Rather than those of society. Death should only be the reward, The aftermath, not the focus of life. The world lives according to death, Rather than in accordance to life. I wonder what set him off ', said the commentator. If you were a tiger would you do it? Would you break away, Think of escape and if desperate, Kill and avow infinite humiliation and guarateed Death? Do you do it, now, as a human? If not, then I understand why you were not sure What set the tiger off, Mr. One forecloses, fires, and finagles, While the other relieves suffering by human courtesies. One lives in a regal place with all the luxuries, The other on a chair in the alley, With the rain as his partner. One travels across time zones, The other travels through time, And leaves everything virtually untouched. One furnishes compliments, The other insight, One flies lobsters in from Maine, The other flies through a glass window of a seafood restaurant, His main offense, touching the lobsters. Both may be lovers of music, But only the latter listens, For he has the time to be, Rather than be on time. ART Art is the way to heart. The hearts of man can and will change. That change changes the world. We can bomb you with love and you cannot resist. We can assassinate your ego with the knowledge and Awarness Of oneness, allness, onlyness, Opening darkness into its vibratory reality, The super string theory And its resultant simplification of purity. Explode or implode, External is eternally internal, And internal creates the external in eternity. Planets arise from chaos Into an experimentation of order, Then are lost again to another stepping pod In our solar system. The universe is trying to create eternal energy. The flesh as a part in the assembly Of the investiture of order, balance, Peace. NONAME5 Life ties you to addiction, Through its many Epicurean, immortal extravagances, Pulling you ever so inward, Along the belts leading to the Powers That Be, Through debt, loss of credit, Credit being the foundation for 20th century credibility, The ability to carry credit, Chance being created in dire times of desperation, In the profitable casino of geographical domination. Those that are left are survivors of the system, That reinvent themselves on the cycle of 5 year planning, To adapt, adjust, learn and continue. As in a good maze, Where you end up is never you started, No where you ever predicted. NONAME4 Negative, disenfranchised populace, My throat hurts, From the vicious disease Called preaching, alerting, The showing of all my truths, Our truths, history, Our lives, in misery, Always striving for balance, Allow me to plunge The dagger of my frustrations with injustice, Into your soul organ. And let me infect you, With the energy and willingmess to know; Who is dying today? In what new and innovate ways, At the hands of brutal men And their military business world. In a sense, periodically dense carcasses Shine light upon the backdrop, Themselves so drained of colour and sight. NONAME2 The golden awnings feeding vultures of salvation, For the murderor, an unmached delight, A sanitized removal of dreadful dead victims, Of an elitist concocted genocide, As in East Timor, as in Nicaragua, as in Salwador, as in Turkey, Lebanon, and elsewhere, For as long as natural resources exist, Locals as they are called will never see freedom, Thanks to the American Way of Life. I too wonder who painted The seas of undrestanding, For among the shining, we shine. А можно для тупых? Серж сборник стихов выпустил? Show more posts. By taping «Accept», you consent to our use of cookies. You can read our Cookie Policy here.

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