The Infinite Argument with Myself

The Infinite Argument with Myself

(Dedicated to urban intellectuals, poets, writers and misanthropes)

 

“Don’t you forget it, Poet. Whatever the place and time in which you make or suffer History, there will always be a dangerous poem waiting to ambush you.”- Heberto Padilla 1969

 

The curser is blinking…blinking…blinking…

 

Since I can still feel the effects of this piece before I start writing maybe the beginning will work at the end, so let’s start this one with the conclusion…

Today is January 15^th 2015 Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday but I don’t want to write about the remembrance of…just because these words will not change anything unless someone is willing to change themselves advice took this is a revolution like the burning of books by the associated press may I suggest picking up a pen and make something happen first my style is neither metered or free verse so please uncensore the previously mentioned this is the invention of lying endless crying and born dying so there are three things to define my existence, Blackman, Pisces, and Poet and since I write with my left hand I can never be right my verbal insight takes flight every single night please ask my so called friends how I treated them in my validity with pity reading the monsters I have written shows no other poetry where a heartless intelligence records his very own suffering an unlikely brute force to take the voice was immortal in the poems so others will hear this posthumous

 

Please look into the windows of his soul that are half closed I suppose the eyes were restless, haunted, a phantom paced pastel behind the fanlight of the iris’ look into the eyes again my friend with the look of controlled suffering will ultimately make you wince and look away hurried a soulless contradiction of complex anonymity this strenuous occupations almost killed and saved him simultaneously since moral concerns are almost an obsession for intellectuals, writers, poets, and artists in every country but America I’m voicing selfless opinions on a capitalist society of hypocrisy deemed impossible to critique my physique grotesque and putrid my voice beautifully human social media is corrupting us from the true values and principles in which we were raised for instance remember the feeling of physically walking into a book store of your half an hour lunch break the smell of paper and the lovely rush of what new information you were going to educate yourself with that day has all too soon faded away make no mistake I lived for thousands of years and throughout His-story I seen every facet of mankind commit every single deadly sin

 

Let’s begin with my confused muse of poetic infidelity getting this nauseating felling in the bottom of my belly it seems that many poets rarely come from the “Middleclass” they either are from the Top or the bottom a strenuous occupation most mundane can’t fathom this is just a since of intellectual pollution starting my very own private revolution against my pen this is a milestone in the undertone of my writing like Miles’ So What, Tupac saying "I just don’t give a F**k", Gordon parks flash photographs of Life that no one else can see the disturbing writings of Steven King, the directorial style of Stanley Kubrick just an old soul with visions futuristic the simple linguistics of my muse is the vindication of an indomitable priestess of the beautiful come on who else says that the best feeling that a poet can have is when he finally finishes a piece he's been working on for awhile and reads it in entirty by himself, before he posts it for the world to critque, I amaze myself sometimes in rhyme so I have to constantly answer the voices in my head at times

 

Reviews

[Ms. Rae]

Very nice. I like the way your words and meanings flow. Interesting! As I read, I can hear a voice with words rolling clearly off your tongue with minimal pauses reflecting a slightly different pattern throughout.

You are quite talented. I want to read more.

[Lazarus DaGreat]

Thank you! for reading all feed back is deeply appreciated...Laz