All original work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Sunken Eyes
Dark sunken eyes
Tell a story different
Than the smile’s lies
Lies, although well-meant
The story when read:
A bittered old soul
Many years ahead
A body in whole
Too much desire;
With pale green eyes
That once lustered fire
From where came lies?
When ideal conclusions
Fall short an idealistic heart
Revolutions become delusions
To self-medicate in the dark
And mess upon shit
Widens and tears a void
Grown from hit after hit
And problems to avoid
The death of god
Every bit as apparent
As each growing façade
As cruelty is inherent
Sparkling eyes, once so bright
And beautifully utopian;
Catharsis unmet each night
To sink: a place so Nietzschean
Quote reblogged from A Daily Riot. with 85 notes
I got to get money so I can have a home, so I can breathe, eat and live in this society. I don’t even like money, And I got to work everyday just to feed myself, God it makes me sick. I just wanna curl up into a hole and die in this. This isn’t worth it. I need a raise man! I can’t survive on this faith anymore. I call it torture, you call it life. A slave to money and everything I despise, like everyone in general. Fuck eat sleep destroy. I am a disposable being who will fuck all life. I multiply and the air gets thinner and dirty. I take up space. I smell. I consume but I produce nothing. I abuse. I have no reason to exist. The toilets clogged in this world of shit, I breathe filth everyday. Living fucks up my brain.
Source: iwaslisteningtotherain
the institute for experimental freedom: Got 55,000 Problems but a "Local Project" ain't One →
For our beloved friends
War
as a form of life
is messy.
Count up
the habeas corpus,
walk softly
on shards of glass.
Honest, fearless,
communication
an assault on meaning
in the utopia of meaninglessness—
is punishable by
a different frequency of
social death.
The polite police officer says
“I understand your frustrations
and we can talk about it now if you’d like to,
but your father…
when we gets home…
I just don’t know.”
We’re sitting
legs crossed
clutching cigarettes
holding back tears—holding it together
sipping thick black coffee
hoping to traumatize
our strange fragile bodies—
to override their emotive functions.
Soft rain, sharp plateaus of wind
enter through the little holes
in our ears
interrupting the lack of speech.
Words drop from our lips,
nothing is conveyed.
If the phone rings
we won’t be any safer
but if the phone rings
we’ll be able to
not-sleep calmly.
We know the script
the most savory excess is revealed.
The violence of the process
through which subjects are made
is exposed.
Through the deployment
of authoritative voices,
the rhythm of this violence
extracts this or that practice,
excluding history from
the workday, leisure, holiday
and restores a false unity
of vacant time
with infinite little atoms bouncing
off police batons.
If the phone rings
the script is confirmed
but we’ll be able to
not-sleep more calmly.
An annotation
a note
in the negative space
oscillates the thought
that takes us
from the script
to a new meaning.
Take a perverse pleasure
in the torment
let tears harden
into diamonds
and coal
The violence of
discipline
marks our fungible
tissue
traces new scars.
Without innocence,
sensuous debt,
history.
Let the blood
roll down
into the crevices
at our hips and
in between our fingers,
feel it dry
and crack
dark red.
Share its accursed
taste
with those we
keep loving.
Touch the crevices
and veins
and take pleasure,
take time
to let those we
keep loving
spit
dark red
tar
against the open lips
of Grampa
on life support.
Source: politicsisnotabanana.com
Quote reblogged from sans l'espoir et sans le désespoir with 1 note
…in the present, anarchists must intervene in political debate with the intent of destroying false hopes for reform by showing how proposed solutions alter details but retain the general social relation. The role of the anarchists is that of the popper of balloons, they must be agents of anti-ideology. They must say what only they can say, they must refuse the script written for them by leftists and liberals - there is nothing to be gained by repeating easy leftwing slogans, truth and not recruitment should be the decisive factor… If in doubt critique is always more appropriate than affirmation, nothing good has ever been harmed by intelligent doubt whilst current anarchist affirmations of political struggles has severely impeded their own cause.
Source: podolye
Quote reblogged from sans l'espoir et sans le désespoir with 2 notes
Even if there were only ten anarchists left uncompromised so long as they kept to their principles they would have a greater impact in critical moments than any phalanx of flag-waving activists and their watered-down ‘popular’ anti-capitalism.
Anarchists must undermine faith in all proposed solutions to war, repression, cheap labour, etc, and not promote their own. They must demonstrate how rubbish all left-wing solutions really are and how there are no solutions that do not end in compromise with the generality. There is no relief, there is no peace, there is no reform; so long as the system remains there is only intensification of productivity by whatever means and that includes both war and ‘people’s governments’.
To be against capital in all its forms is sufficient, there is no need to tack a utopia at the end as some kind of golden handshake, all such solutions smack of religious falsity. To say ‘we want a better world free of this or that’ plays into their hands, it’s so easy for politicians to say, ‘we agree, we’re all working together’ when really there is no commonality of interest, the class system from its very origins robs some to pay others. To say ‘we are against capitalism in all its forms’ is enough. The specifics of what comes next is not ours to propose.
The anarchist role is negative, their aim is the destruction of all exploitative and repressive false hopes.
Source: podolye
Quote with 2 notes
The warrior is in the position of betraying everything, including the function of the military, or of understanding nothing.
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