Strung out – I guess that’s what you’d call it.

The cherry’s as long as his cigarette is,

burning both the filter and his chapped lips.

They’re numb enough not to notice,

but I guess that’s the name of the game, these days.

His gaze, if you could even call it that,

was as lifeless as the blank white wall across the room.

The All-Encompassing-Infinitely-Great-White-Wall,

which had all of his focus,

yet none of his attention,

was about 8’ x 12’,

fresh paint.

——————————-

‘I guess this is zen’, he half-thinks

to himself

as he floats miles above the Thought Train Station.

The subway cars all zig and zag,

they start and stop –

Their constant collisions are as unphasing as 6th-of-July fireworks,

and as stale as the bread he sustains himself on.

'It’s so lovely’, the landlord had said,

'A 400 square-foot stake in a Living Piece of History’.

…That’s what it’s all about though, isn’t it?

It’s all he’ll ever be, at the very least.

——————————–

A man, a plan, a canal, apathy.

——————————–

The last time he was truly enraged was this morning,

when his DIY-For-Idiots couch didn’t quite fit in the sedan.

(He just sighs at current affairs these days)

——————————–

He thought about trying to make a difference once,

but subtraction’s too negative, and nothing adds up anyway.

'I wonder what… what do I wonder? Ah, forget it then’,

as the ash falls and hits history.

What’s funny is I remember having that same thought,

once upon a time-less space.

——————————–

This is the perfect recipe for a recipe, or so I’ve been told.

He couldn’t even make the couch though, let alone the frozen

gas-station burritos that left his tongue burned in the first place.

Still, they expect a symphony out of the cacaphony –

Good thing they’ve grown accustomed to let-downs.

Cascading horizons trickle out the sky onto my plate. I had enough on it already, why can’t it wait? “Hurry, hurry, hurry” – that’s our national anthem. With irrational hands up reluctantly pay the ransom: Get a job, buy a house, quiet down - the bank owns it. The bank owns us, “Thanks, I didn’t notice” It’s all so obvious, elect to be oblivious “Here, take these pills, sit down, and then listen up”. Tuning in’s for dropouts, but don’t touch that dial – Stay tuned through the commercial break, try to break a smile I thought crack was wack? Two and a half men back to back Oxycontin ads on the special on the Crisis of Smack Quit whining about your Student-Poverty-First-World-Problems “If anything you should be happy that at least you fucking got em.” God they got us; We’re trapped to their sticky paper Read the chip that swiped your soul, “Gotta go, I’ll see you later” I owe you though, or don’t you know? It’s all about the Hokey-Poke Get with the times, New York’s ahead of LA Fall back with the others, you oughtta keep the same pace. Fuck it’s I’m done running, it all end’s in the same place.

ragemovement:

evilsmurfnope:

ragemovement:

unbossed:

“Here is one way that RawStory makes us want to firebomb them like a Republican campaign office.”

In curiosity, I decided to read it, and unsurprisingly it boils down to Karl Marx was as Trump is vague but radical and invoked a concept of negative liberty. The rest of the article was essentially irrelevant to the headline.
Its kind of surprising though that liberals are starting to try and use red-baiting to try and criticize this extremely right-wing candidate, since during the primaries we were bombarded with the liberals’ weird enthusiasm for their misnomer of socialism.

I think it’s just further illustration that liberals and conservatives are more closely related than they’d like to admit.

Is it because they are both right wing? The republicans are far right, and the democrats range from centre right, to almost as far right.

Yes. Depending on how you interpret the many shades and hues politics.
I specifically used “far right wing” for this reblog in the way that most liberals view it. Basically as extra emphasis to my point.

(via ragemovement)

itseasytoremember:

itseasytoremember:

someone help me find that image of 4 cats being held up in front of a brightly coloured background. the cats look calm being held but each have their own personality

nvm i found it

(via spongebobssquarepants)

(via spongebobssquarepants)

(Source: weheartit.com, via adventuresofdraingirl)

y3:

(via hrdly-glden)

(via freespiritedculture)

tendthewild:

anyone write songs?? please share them!

(via tendthewild-deactivated20180104)

(via te-calmas-porfa-deactivated2017)

guttting:

i wont skip anyone

(via korileeeeeedeleted-deactivated2)

(via korileeeeeedeleted-deactivated2)

Life is just the study of loss,
through all the muddying thoughts.
I’d rather study abroad,
so I could brush it all off.
But I can’t – or maybe I won’t,
so as I’m fraying these ropes
I’m freely praying for hope,
or maybe hoping for prey,
to eat and cope with the day.
I mean from soul to the brain,
to heart I know it’s all gray, to say
a spectrum, I guess.
But yet nonetheless,
I step, become the breath,
then move farther. Harder,
it gets to split a martyr
in half like a check.
If I had the respect to desecrate it, I’d get away with madness and let
it all leak like a faucet.
He speaks like a prophet,
my chheap rhymes are tossed with
some cliches that we blaze, on the side of freeways
with signs for cheap ways to cheat brains and mis-behave,
until this disease paves these graves,
tombstones with wee names…
Or maybe our names,
we can place a star’s blame, hey
but we sparked the flame
and did not start to change.
So as we starve, decay
what more can we say
that hasn’t been told yet.
I don’t know I guess you probably shouldn’t hold breaths
for my explanation
of the vacant place that
we call the destination.
They can change names but they still remain the faces
of distant memories
But this is what’s meant to be,
our Dissident Destiny.

(via hallucination)