Poets

Poets
Your poets are writing love songs
Your readers are reading and crying
Your poets are writing about themselves
Your readers think your poems are about everyone else
Your poets don't give a shit about you
Your readers have illusions of poetic care
Your poets keep dwelling on their pain
Your readers see allusions to something else
Both groups are thinking about themselves.
Egoistic bastards.

My poets are using realism and reality
My readers are rising above neutrality
My poets are touching global issues
My readers are on a world repairing mission
My poets despise and ignore love
My readers take care of their feelings well enough
My poets don't read your poets' poems
My readers laugh at the tears of your readers
My poets hate your poets
My poets are better that your poets
Not that I have any.
Any poets, that is.
I prefer to stand alone.
As a poet, that is.

A little comment here. I've been on a poetic meeting just the other day. They commented on my poem as, 'Why don't u write about love?'
I deeply feel at the moment that i am not able to write about love. The reason is that I do not really see the point & i dont see any new thoughts, that I'd be glad to bring. And... what the fuck? I write what I want and when I want and about what I want. Don't like it, don't read it. And maybe that's the exact reason why u r still in the romantism epoche/age and can't get out of it. Not that I mean to be rude. But hey, frankly, I don't care. Sue me.

Throwdown - Forever (Thanx Yorkie, muahz)
Orbital - Lost

=[The Mother]=

I'm warning u. I scared the shit outta myself whilst writting this. The fact which scared me wasn't the plot of the story. It was scary cuz I've come up with sucha thing. Damn. Credits to : Wiktor. It was his idea to name the woman Suzie. :D

The Mother
She had an old face. Good old Suzie. A woman who has been working in the farm through out her whole life. You've never heard her complain. Her husband was also quite ordinary, nothing special, how could she fall in love with him, anyway.
'He is a piece of God', she used to say.
They had two kids, a son and a beautiful daughter. Their son graduated and gone off studying abroad, leaving them alone, forgetting them. He never came back.
'He must be happy with a lovely wife an' a good ol' job, I'd say.' Suzie used to tell people.
Oh, how much she didn't know. He was shot in September. A shot right in the head. Suzie saw that in the newspaper, though, but she had never even thought that this can be her son. Tommy.
The mayor was shot earlier today, while going to work. We do not know who shot him and why, the killer didn't leave any clews behind. May haps it was a band, a pact or a maniac-murderer. The best detectives are working on solving this mystery. Thomas L. Campilton is dead.
'Did you hear that Harold? They shot a mayor! Quite a world, if I do say so myself.'
'Speaking of Thomas... How is our Tommy? Makes me wonder.'
'Oh relax you... He's fine; we know that he finished university, law even. Now that's my blood.'
'You will never give up darlin'.'
'You got that right.'
Thomas L. Campilton. Politicians often change their surnames. We can't let the world know that a politician comes from a little village in the middle of nowhere. But that's not the point now. Is it?
'It's just not the same, when Bianca is gone', said Suzie
Bianca, the young and beautiful daughter of Suzie and Harold, has been gone for some time now. Gone, vanished without a trace. Hell knows where she can be.
'Yes, hun... I know, I know...'
'Harold, we are alone. Just alone. Will u eat your dinner 'till the end, hun?'
'Yes.'
She felt like smiling to him. After all, she has been living with him since wait...Wait... Was it 1889? Or 1890? Her memory failed her. Oh, how she loved him. Why surely, he was a quite decent man, never swearing, never drinking, never beating her. Always calm, quiet and very understanding, indeed.

'Momma... Momma... You care...'
Suzie woke up in the middle of the night. She was exhausted. All this 3 o'clock waking up business was making her tired and she always hated it, but never even thought about saying that to Harold, she knew how much he loved all this fresh country air.
Oh, how many times has she cursed this air, this house and all the neighbors that were constantly borrowing fresh milk, eggs and the whole time were talking about the weather. Yep. She was pretty much sick of that. She just went downstairs to the kitchen to catch a glass of water. She drank it so loudly; she started to be afraid that she could wake up Harold. Then she decided that it was a silly thought. She took her time standing and looking at the walls of the house. The house was very old but no one ever could say it, because the walls were always freshly painted the floors scrubbed so that they even shined. The furniture was also old. But it didn't give away any hints about their age. She stood there wondering, whose ancestors built this house and for what reason. It didn't actually look like a big palace or anything; it looked ordinary in comparison with other houses down hill.
'Why when I close my eyes I see some kind of blinking lights in the darkness?' She noticed that when she was 7. At that time she was laying calmly on the grass in her parents' garden. The fact of blinking lights was always a big mystery for her. Yeah, how can they be blinking if there is nothing but darkness? Some kind of optical illusion apparently.
'Momma... Momma...I know you care...'
Ok, optical illusion... But now? Hearing things?
'Definatly need more sleep.' She thought, while going upstairs.

'Jesus... How I hate these...'
.Suzie? Did u say somethin' hun?'
'Yeah, I said some sugar, please.'
'Oh, ok, here you are.'
Now Suzie decided to smile. A fake smile it was indeed.
'Suzie, I have the feeling, that something's wrong... Something's bothering you?'
'No, no Harold, why such a thought?'
(If I only could, I'd tear this whole damn farm to pieces)
''Besides, you know, that I love it here...'
'Suzie... You don't sleep well.'
'Yeah, maybe that's the probl'm hun...'
'You can finish your work today and go straight to sleep.'
(I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.)
'Well-uh... Maybe you're right... After all, I've been hearing things...'
Suzie smiled again; it was really obvious that the smile was fake... And Harold noticed that but left it unsaid.
'Hearing things... Like what?'
'Someone saying, mummy I know you care, or I know you love me... something like that... maybe its those... oh my God... how do you call them? Halluci...'
'Hallucinations. '
(HE said that on purpose to make me feel like an IDIOT.)
'Exactly, Harold... I must be getting old...'
'You should take sleeping pills tonight. Let us carry on with our work.'
Without a word Suzie went outside to do all her daily choirs. The grass was so green outside, it reminded of her childhood when she was running around the whole plantation with her friends, whereas she was supposed to help her parents. We all were naughty, she thought.
And where are your kids, oh mother of all?
The big brown shed. Yeah... Still standing like a temple although in some parts it is beginning to rot. Grass on the inside, grass on the outside... But who gives a damn?
Suzie remembers herself playing there. Cops and killers... Spit, shit... Cops and robbers. Such a nice place for...
'Kill me now!'
...Playing games... With those water guns, they were nice... Never dry. Always wet.
'Kill me...'
Remember that time, when basically Suzie won a battle against all of her friends and those losers didn't want to end the game, because of their loss. Hell... Yeah, sore losers.
'I hate you.'
After exiting the shed Suzie went to cook dinner and to dry the laundry. For some reason she felt happy, because, shoot... A sunny day, all the stains washed. So... Why not singing?
'Mary's got a job to do
Mary's always waiting for you
Mary's helping all her friends
Mary's love never ends'
'Nice to see you sin'nin' hun'
'Harold, you frightened me ...'
'Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to...'
'It's all right... I'm not myself lately, I guess...'
'Dinner was perfect.'
'I'm flattered.'
'Great. Can't wait for supper.'
Is that supposed to be a joke?
'Yeah, great.'
The day went by so quickly. It was almost bedtime. But before sleeping Suzie and Harold had a rather specific conversation. Why so? May haps too much information, may haps to little information. May haps none at all. Just banality.
'Mary's got a mark well – done
Mary's now the only one
Mary's got a secret key
Mary's gonna come for me.'
'You've had a nice day?', Harold asked
'Splendid.'
'Nice to hear. A good night sleep?'
'Yeah, especially, when all the things are completed.'
'Like what?'
Damn it, he's on to me...
'Like... Drying all of our clothes... Such a fuss about them.'
'All right... But no one had made any fuss about those things.'
'No, no... Of course not', Suzie smiled, 'I mean... I didn't have anything to wear... Because all of my clothes were filthy'
Momentary silence.
'Something's wrong, huh?'
'Why? Not at all.'
'Good. Great. Night, hun.'
'Night.'
Suzie didn't go to sleep. She waited for Harold to fall asleep. Then she will complete the already completed.
In a few moments Harold was sleeping. And when he's sleeping, nothing can wake him up. Even World War III wouldn't wake him. Maybe ten times Suzie was crying while Harold was sleeping. He has never noticed that. Or maybe she has never spotted his conscience? Or maybe he has never bothered to disturb her, while she was crying. Some people don't know how to cheer others up. So for certain people it's just better to stay put.
Suzie left the house and began walking towards the goddamn shed. Little did she know that Harold was walking right behind her. Silently. So silently... He almost heard her breathing.
Suddenly Suzie turned around. Looked behind. And after a second she continued walking towards the shed again. She was afraid to be spotted by that vicious man. She knew that she did a good thing, hiding her Bianca in the shed. He'd kill her. That mad man would kill her daughter. Luckily, now parts of her daughter are inside her. Good, good, good. Thanks God. Not that mad man. She'd kill him. Tear the guts out of him. She's a good mother, she protects her child. Suzie entered the shed. That big brown one.
After approximately ten minutes the door of the shed opened. Suzie went out, took a look around and went back again.
Harold was waiting for her just behind some bushes. He was sweating. He was afraid. He was nervous.
Time went by... Eye blink after eye blink, moment after moment, second after second, minute after minute... The whole situation was beginning to be unbearable for Harold. His hands were shaking; he almost had tiers in his eyes. The goddamn door didn't open. There was no choice for Harold. The time had come. He had to enter. No time to lose. Silently, yet quite fast he slid closer the door. It wasn't closed but it wasn't opened widely. He could see through a little hole, what was happening inside. He couldn't believe his eyes. Bianca? Bianca's face?
'What the...', he didn't finish.
With a smooth move, barely touching the door, he made it open wider. A bit. He heard strange sounds. Like someone was chewing something.
'Bianca... Bianca', he whispered.
The girl wasn't moving. She had her eyes opened. He saw that she had been scared. Had been scared? What?
Is she alive?
'Bianca... Bianca... Wake up...'
He opened the door wider. And that chewing sound became louder. Harold got lost for a moment. He grabbed a nearby stick.
An animal... Indeed, it was. He hurt my Bianca... And... Suzie! Kill the fucker!
'It's now or never, old chump...'
He opened the door completely. He didn't let that stick go. He held it like it was his last hope. (Yes, it was) He was ready to kill the beast. But he saw a different view. A much worse one.
First those hands... Hardworking... All covered in blood, holding a piece of something unknown. Then the body. So little, flesh and bones... All covered in blood. Then the face, smiling maniacally and... chewing... And laughing. The face was kind of old, yet vicious, ready to kill. Grey hairs, dyed hairs, brown hairs - a mixture of everything on the killer's head. Oh, that laughing face... That sinister laughter that voice... a voice of a mad person... it was getting louder and louder and louder! And the figure besides that creature... His Bianca... Only half of her to be exact.
'Mary's got a secret key
Mary's 'gonna come for me.'
That song, that voice... That silhouette devouring his daughter... His wife, Suzie...
'Come to mummy, before that mad man gets you. Come to mummy. Come here...'
And that laughter again. It just didn't seem to stop. Suzie spotted him.
'Get away from Bianca and me! You beast!'
'Suzie... What are...?'
'Get away from me and my daughter!', she started to laugh and scream and make sounds that were hardly human. She came near him and started to hit him, attack him, bite his neck. She bit through and blood poured out of him. He had no choice. He hit her with that stick. He hit her and hit her and hit her. He was hitting her for ten minutes without a stop. After that he realized that he was hitting a bag of broken bones - not human anymore... Ever human?
He fell down on the ground of the shed screaming, crying. He finally let the stick go. His hands were shaking. What now?
He buried both bodies, stayed alone in the house for some time, playing with the lights. On, off, on, off... On and off, on and off... He took some time breaking glasses, dishes. He cursed this house. He cursed it bad. He used words he had never used before.
Next day the neighbors heard a loud bang. After one hour his body was found in the seller. There lay a sheet of paper next to him, which said:
'Mary came for me...'

[({s...h...e})]

She
She is kept under the sheets
Of ground, dirt and grass
Sometimes asphalt covers her

She presents the lowest class

Sometimes she wants to escape
So she puts her new dress on
But a face as ugly as hers
Shall not be left unnoticed
Though she's exactly your age

She doesn't smile not she screams
She just whispers
Sometimes grins
She wasn't meant to be seen.

A hideous bitch.

Yet she saw all the things
You have done
You even cut her tongue away
You tore her eyes out
You've beaten nails into her legs and hands
And played Jesus Christ Pretend
You raped her and murdered
You've done everything you were able
Now even Heaven has a label

But she's waiting
To be noticed
You took her life, you took her fame
You took her defense
Now I hope you're satisfied and devoured by Pride
Because she was your Conscience.

.

.

Godsmack - Voodoo

KoRn feat. Marilyn Manson - Blair Witch

~*Back To The S^T^A^R^T

Well... I'm sooo off schedule with my writing, I'll try to write something tonight :) Meanwhile, I'd like to share 2 things with you, mainly my first ever story written in english (devoted to my dear friend Sunder) and my FIRST everrrr poem. (which i managed to write down & remember, cuz formally i dunno whether it's the very first poem in my entire life or not...) Sorry (not) but it's in polsh. If I have the will I shall translate it & put it into the comment box or something. IF. I want to spare you, you don't really wanna know this. lol. I'm such a loser. Anyway... Hope Everyone is fine... And I want to thank everyone for reading my mental things. You guys are the best. Hope you're all SUPERwell (& Mangue--> SUPERfine) lol. Hope you'll enjoy it & have quite a laugh.
Maria? Julka? Agata? Don't laugh at my polish poem too much ;P
***
There was something cold and blank behind her smile. She always was happy. She never even has thought about the fact that her life can change in one second. Why? She hasn't done anything bad. She didn't know why she deserved all this. She was just standing on that bridge and thinking. Jump or not? Jump or not? Jump! She has already stood up, ready to jump. Her feet didn't feel the ground. As if she was flying. And suddenly she felt cold, cold hands touching her waist. She was caught? Or in Heaven?
'What are you doing? Are you crazy?'
'Why did you save me?'
'Only weak people commit suicide. You are not like that, Shampa...'
'I don't want to live like this.'
'Life can change. Your name means it, Shampa as lighting.'
'I don't want to be this. I won't let this build up inside me.'
Shampa went away leaving her father alone on that forsaken bridge.
Not that the next day was something special, but it was in fact Shampa's wedding. She just woke up. And felt sad. She didn't want it. She didn't love him. Just didn't love at all.
'Your helpers are awaiting for your coming, Shampa', said the maid
'I'm not going.'
'Excuse me... Your father would be rather unhappy...'
'I'm not going.'
'Please. This is your wedding day. Don't you feel happy?'
'No.'
With that the maid left. Shampa was locked up in her room, she couldn't go anywhere. The helpers came into her room.
'Well, if you didn't want to leave your room, the helpers came here instead', said the maid
'Do you expect me to answer? '
'No... No... Don't answer.'
It took three hours to get Shampa dressed into her wedding sari. The jewelry was wonderful: shining, gold, pearls, silver' She wasn't happy.
'Can I be left alone before my long awaited wedding?' asked Shampa
'Surely.'
She was left alone again in her room. For her sake it was the first flour. She took off all the helpers work, that beautiful sari and put on some usual clothes. And escaped. Never to be heard from again.
***
'I was running and running and running. No one knows what it like is to loose your soul. No one knows what it like is to be reborn. The only people who knew me are gone. Gone, gone, without a trace... I remember it was raining. I wasn't crying. I was just running. I wanted to vanish. I stood there. I heard music. Piano...It was the piano. I stood there listening. I came near that house. It was beautiful... I was welcomed in. He gave me dry clothes. And I asked him if he could play some more for me. He played and played and played... Just as I asked. I fell asleep in the sound of music. That feeling was wonderful.'
'Do you hear something?'
'When I woke up, I saw him looking through the window. I asked his name. He said it was Safi. I repeated his name. It was beautiful. He only smiled at my mistaken face. I thought that this must be heaven. I was right, but I didn't know how right I was... Me and Safi we were walking the roads, forests, nature, he showed me lots of places, they were wonderful...'
'I'm scared...'
***
'No, Safi, not there... that's my home! They can recognize me!'
'Don't worry, my Sadaf...'
'Safi, I'm afraid! Let's not go there! Please!'
'Pearl, don't be afraid of everything! Look! This is a beautiful bridge!'
'I won't go there!'
'Why?'
'I can't! '
'All right, all right... Shampa, you are always afraid of everything.'
'No!'
'Yes!'
'Stop it!'
'Ok, ok, Pearl, I was just joking... Come on, let's go home, shall we?'
'Thanks God, Safi..'
***
'The funniest thing, that I never felt rain on my skin even when I was running, or standing. I never saw tears running down my cheeks. Was it because I have never cried? Or maybe it was because I was falling in love for the very first time? Anyway, I felt just joy and happiness, I was with my Safi. He always played such beautiful melodies on the piano. I couldn't bear not listening to them. They were like hypnosis. Irresistible. Unbearably irresistible. I always had the best clothes. They were always neat and clean. And the food brought by the servants was delicious. Time was flying fast, but I never felt that. I discovered that I am here with Safi for almost two years. I must confess, those years were the most incredible years in my life.’
'Voices again?'
'But he never asked me for marriage. I was afraid, that he doesn't love me. I couldn't bear it, so I asked him about that.'
***
'Safi, do you love me?'
'How could you doubt that?'
'How come you never asked me for marriage...?'
'What's the difference? We are here, you love me I love you...'
'But...'
'Shhh... You are tired. You should get some sleep...'
'Ok, Safi, I will...'
'It sometimes seems to me that the whole world has forgotten me. Only Safi always thinks about me and remembers me. I love that softness in him. I think if there is a person for whom I could die, that would be Safi. I know he could die for me...'
'Close your eyes...'
'I remember that time, when I was so afraid of lightning, he came to my room and was by my side until I fell asleep. That was my dearest moment. And I remember that he always turned the light on, when I was afraid of darkness. He is always with me. Funny, though, that already thirty years passed and I haven't changed a bit. Nothing changed in me. It's like I'm always the same. Safi says that people like me never change. I think he is right. But thirty years passed and I haven't changed?'
***
'Safi, I have the feeling you are not saying something...'
'How could I, Shampa...'
'Do you have a secret?'
'From you? Never, Pearl.'
'Liar!'
'No, I...'
'Liar!'
'Shampa. This is not for you.'
'Tell me!'
'No!'
'Tell me!'
'Shampa, I can't.'
'Tell me! You've always lied to me! You've never loved me!'
'That's not true! My Sadaf, I...'
'I'm sorry, how could I mistrust you...'
***
'Mum, tell me the story of this house that you bought.'
'No, sweetheart, it's scary...'
'But mum... Please... Could you?'
'Ok, Edhitha... There was a family here; they had a beautiful daughter, called Shampa. Unfortunately an evil man fell in love with her and insisted to marry her. The poor parents had no choice, but to make her marry him. The girl couldn't bear it and jumped off a bridge. This bridge...'
'But, mum, she is in a better place now...'
'Surely, sweetheart, she is somewhere happy, listening to beautiful melodies, like all happy souls...'
' hear her voice everyday, mum...'
'You are imagining things, Edhitha.'
'No, mum, you can hear her voice after it rains. She sometimes scares me.'
***
'That's not true! I'm not dead! How could I be dead? Safi? Safi? How could this happen?'
'...'
'Safi! Speak to me! How can it be?'
'You were young and couldn't bear marring that man...'
'What happened to you?'
'I was that man you didn't want to marry. I also jumped off that bridge.'
'Safi... I...'
'Come, Pearl, you must be tired, let's go home...'
'I...'
'Shhh... Don't say anything....
***
'Now I know the truth. How do I live? Do I live? I exist ok. Myself and Safi went to listen to nature's music today. I'm not afraid of the dark anymore, but I have a lot to learn. It's ok... Eternity is mine.'


Moje Zycie
Gdyz zycie moje jest tak krotkie
Pamietam, to dziecko malutkie,
To bylam ja: moje rece, moje nogi,
Matki cierpliwosc do mnie uczynila moje zycie-
Rajem, rajem, gdzie rosna drzewa,
Gdzie deszczyk czesto cicho polewa...
Posluchaj, slyszysz te cisze, piosenke,
Gdzie przyjaciele moga byc razem...
Gdzie nie ma oszustwa, klamstwa
Gdzie jest cicho,
Slyszysz, slyszysz, przyjacielu te cisze...
Tam zima pola sie biela,
Zobacz, jak barwne zycie dala ci matka,
Ty masz zycie podobne, podobne do raju,
Tylko zbyt czesto go nie cenisz...

The Orb - Kompania (Grooved Ware Mix) (Sam? I think u'd like this song/piece whatever it is.)

P~o~s~s~i~b~i~l~i~t~i~e~s

I can wear high heels
I can bleach my hair blonde
I can hide under a mask
Of powder and mascara
I can cry to banal love songs
I can even pretend that this is right

I can smile at any guy in the street
I can distribute my phone number
I can make them all
Plead at my feet

I can talk in a nice sweet way
I can make you my precious whore
And I can get your extra pay
Then leave you bleeding and slam the door

I can do many things
But why should I
If I don't want to

Why should I look foolish?
Why should I be somebody I'm not?
Then Hitler wasn't Jewish
Chapman never killed a slut.



Art By Luis Royo (who I happen to be a big fan of)
Tool - Parabola
Tool - Reflection

...Less...

Hey. Since I'm outta inspiration over the last few weeks, I'd like to share something specific with you. I have no idea will u understand it or not. But this doesn't matter now, does it? Everyone has his own way of understanding and that's why I'm kinda interested in your interpretations.

I was watching 'Lost' maniacally. I've learned a lot of things. I'm not going to mention them here or now or anywhere because it's something I'll leave for myself. (Like you care lol)



So here it is. I wrote it last summer. I just was feeling Less. This is how I described my feeling:

Less
Less than anything in here
Less than anything in this room
Less than rubbish
Less than words
Less than gestures
Less than pleasure
Oh, much less...
Even less than pain
Place number
123699245
In your dictionary
Less than trouble
123699246
Mistake
That's my position
For you
Flu's position is
123699247
Thank You