Triggered By The Norm

The most Bipolar poetry you will ever see for that is in fact my prideful diagnosis. The disorder is the artist, not the flesh.

[thedukeanthology]

[thedukeanthology]

Is it that I don't feel or refuse to? It seems that these moral dilemmas were so obvious at a point in time and now they seem trivial to even think about. Full of compassion, I was, full of hopeful cynicism; comfortable trifling with identity. I refuse to think that I am becoming and hold true that I am a finished product, but I said that a thousand dozen finished products ago. I look at my old writings and fear the lucidity of my mind fading further. Logic has become so revered that I have ignored my intuitional ways, that I've refused to acknowledge emotion as anything more than a disturbance. Emotion has brought me to stagnant paths, running in circles. Thoughtless action has brought me towards the unguiding light of forward motion, unlike the grueling days of sloth from long prior. Bubbling up is my consciousness, afraid to be observant of my humanity, refusing the kindness and compassion of weakness. I can't even tell if my ego is waxing or waning. Logical viewership towards life has been a lot less focused on myself, yet so much more hedonistic, as I've been convinced that hedonism directs my actions towards the path of righteousness. Does this arrow fly perfectly straight? Of course I argue no. Of course. But the reverence I give to such a philosophy would appear that my lack of compassion is not to be trusted. What am I escaping? All my actions are essentially an escape from one moment to another. Am I struggling to fathom a world where function takes over love, for what is the purpose of high-functionality other than loving the most efficiently? Where is there time for love in a perfect world? Perhaps love is what makes the world imperfect, as indifference is all that exists in the green matrix code of a fact-ruled existence. Attaching to the articles of indulgence become the crutch of the newborn, all life never maturing past infancy until our deathbed realizations. Epiphanies of our foolishness is the guiding light towards the epidemic of peace, a mesmerizing reality never achievable besides through stabbing ones soul with eternal pestilence, the decaying of prosperity. The drink becomes life's arrest - bliss that is ignorance - but bowl becomes one's insight into why I'm supposed to drink more. Fist fights in the dark with an all-enveloping shadow, with no lights to cascade darkness' reflection, the realization comes that we have wasted our time finding answers.

[thedukeanthology]

I close my eyes for literally two seconds and I'm taken into another world I cannot differentiate from reality. It's always a place I would rather not be, and I've opened my eyes about 15 times and I'm consistently surprised every time that I was just laying in my bathtub.

[thedukeanthology]

Every time she accomplishes a day, task after task, you’d presume some dismay, I feel as if I hit the bell on a 500-foot tower, and I won a girl running on unlimited power.

When she succeeds and doesn’t take a bow, my pride grows like an elm tree knows how. When I congratulate her, I congratulate me. What are the chances that a match like this be?

I won’t say she’s a flower, delicate as a rose, or she has a demeanor that breaks down like glucose. For it must be exclaimed her base is strong as an oak but with branches spreading out giving fruit that invokes

your kindness to your consciousness, like grapes of a vine; my life has been enriched and has invited me to dine. Her love and ingenuity bring a hibernate to wake. The dreamer brings reality like their roots in the lake.

[thedukeanthology]

Knock on the door, may I come in? I’m sitting in my jammies on my bed, just waiting for the sound of the bell that the next meal is here.

It’s been over a year since I’ve had a paper bracelet around my feeble wrist as I sit in the only room where there’s no contest.

Time and again, I’d go to make a friend, when I take a blow in the head from a fight-or-flight response that set me as dizzy as the unstable days that went by.

I’ve been out of this prison for quite some time. I’m here and again able to look for a friend in this lion’s den called Civilization Built By Stable Men on the stepping stool that are the vaginas of womankind.

Better check my vest for an answer for this test but I can’t legally own a gun. Tussle with how I’m feelin’ because for whatever reason, they come and go like seasons.

A bucket worth of pride says I never want to die, the pills make me fly when my nature makes me sigh. I’m gettin’ somewhere; what I’ve always begged for. I set my future up like I’ve got a destination.

Tearing through another page, don’t need fear to make it made. Sometimes growth can start a beat, the sandstorm blows, I take the heat.

When the time is slim, my body’s getting slim, my frantic pace, gets me place to place. Tearing through the know-how, my fears already blown out, testing terrible times, since anti-depressants know how to rhyme, get up.

Break through the vestibule, riding on a mule, hands out healin’ shit, now who would ever think I’d need sunglasses for the holy light. Dusting a ballroom floor, that’s what it’s like coming out the door. My motors on a clean up route, tearing through the mess like Shout, get up.

Eyes split in the morning, raise my head and I’m in tears. Remember when it took seventeen monsters all these passing years? Lift my mug, say cheers, still sucks ‘cause I can’t drink beers, took me a whole eight years to get my actions to endear.

[thedukeanthology]

Ohhhhh! “Pass the saaaalt!”

I thought you said, “Kill me. Life is anguish.”

[thedukeanthology]

Figures of dire importance always seem to be the least malleable. In a society where open-mindedness is an endorsement, it seems that our role models are mostly fallible.

The men that you see on the news or on the station, tend to be the ones who know how to shock. Ask them about their opinion on the nation, and their ideas are usually partisanly locked.

You find your favorite heroine, the best the world has seen, but the feats that open our eyes to her wins, are the ones where her "truth" never weans.

So let's throw away the nonsense and stop spinning on our head saying we like thoughtfulness, but non-decisiveness we dread. It's true to entertain opinions without accepting them is wise, but claiming that you praise open-mindedness requires a revise.

They quiet down a Nazi because they speak what they can't chew, but shouldn't you know what weapon they're bringing before they come at you? Before you say Antifa is a joke and chaos out their head, did it occur to you, before you praise your fools, that your symbol wanted people dead?

I'm not one to care much for the left or for the right. But if you wear earplugs through a fight, you'll get knocked out before proving your plight.

[thedukeanthology]

People too often confuse mistakenly assumed absolutes in life with wisdom and cleverness.

[sosodolo]

[thedukeanthology]

This is it.

[thedukeanthology]

Fissures of my gut, No relaxation, Besides when my screens Take me to a bright vacation. The burning of fate, When changes come near, I can physically feel a philosophical concept, woah, I'm losing what I hold most dear; She's only both of my legs, And one of my hearts, If I had to cut off a limb for her, Bottom up I would start. But she's not worth permanence, My mind is in swirls; The only thing that held me to Earth, Was both music and girls. She was the one, But every girl was the one; The one before her, The one before her, The one before her, It was stupid, but before her also, And the one before her was literally my biggest waste of time, so I just broke the rule. Still, though, I'm always entrapped by this overwhelming dazzle, Mi corazon was supposed to stop before the current one, When it came to girls that I was not born to marry, By rules set by the Almighty, And I can't even ask why anymore, Because I know the answer; Sometimes it's better to pretend I don't, Since I feel like I'm fighting for a social, moral cause, When really it's not up to me anymore, It's up to realistic judgement. My judgement is clear. The only thing I fear, Is being caught in the rain, Alone under an umbrella, In a black and white comic panel, That has no following panel. But it's common sense, I go with the flow when the flow is all that matters, When I'm bound by the soul to feel pleasure in stream, When fear is all there is on the dry, dry bank, Where nothing moves but nothing drowns. I'm not gonna come around. I'll be one with the stream on Main St. So I can know no bounds. Really the pain goes away, I've had as much pain as I've had days. The long haul is the only haul That makes the driver an end-game profit.

[thedukeanthology]

Did I accidentally come across a potential dimension beyond the 3rd? -------------------------------------- There are times where I am so deprived of sleep, that I will have periods of hanging between wakefulness and sleepiness where my thoughts are basically able to make sense of things that are beyond words or graphics. It's not until I try to describe it with words that it loses most of its meaning. I'm nothing special. I'm sure this is common. I was in one of these halfway conscious states when I thought about a challenge I like to give to myself where I come up with dimensions beyond the 3rd, and I've come up with an idea that I'm trying to probe its validity. This concept may be nothing special. It is very possible to be common knowledge. So I've thought at an earlier date that one of the dimensions may be like an x-ray, a sense beyond our ability, where we can see an object's every component, regardless of whether it is revealed or concealed to the naked human eye. Yet I came across something new today, thanks to approximately 42 hours of sleep deprivation and the sudden removal of an anti-depressant. I've thought of a concept of a dimension of the unknown. Like I said, this is probably a common insight for the average thinker, but I just thought I'd share this. To explain this in its most simple terms, let me demonstrate using geometry. Let's say we have a square pyramid and we are looking at it from an angle like in the graphic. Rotating this object on an axis within the center would show that this square pyramid is the same on all faces. That is the 3rd dimension, obviously. But let's say we are looking from this angle and we don't know what's on the other side. There are an infinite amount of possibilities that could be on the other side, i.e. perfectly flat, spherical, etc. Now because no soul has witnessed the other side, is the other side therefore every single possibility simultaneously? If nobody has witnessed it, does the witness play any role in what is possibly on the other side? Or perhaps a stronger force than the witness? Now we've all heard the concept of Schroedinger's Cat, where the cat had a 50% chance of dying, but the death was unknown, so the cat was simultaneously alive and dead. Is this the exact same concept expanded to geometry? I would also imagine that if both the x-ray dimension and the unknown dimension were to be numbered, the unknown dimension would be closer to human understanding than the x-ray dimension, because the latter would be the revelation of the former because the latter is essentially omnipresence. So if we look at this from a Biblical perspective, I find this idea to be very resonant with the story of Joseph. In the story, Joseph interpreted the dreams of Pharoah's chief butler and baker in prison. He interpreted that they would both be released from prison in three days, and Joseph was sure that he was to find his salvation through these servants' release from prison. But because Joseph relied upon this route of salvation rather than relying directly on the Father in Heaven, he was left in the prison for another two years. "But, (that day) the chief butler did not remember Joseph. And he forgot him (later on too)." [Genesis 40:23, Rashi] The story is saying that if Joseph would rely on the Father, Blessed be He, and understand that He is omnipotent and can save Joseph through any means possible, he may have been released at an earlier time. The reason this story is relevant is because Almighty G-d can essentially make anything any way he wants, and therefore, what is on the other side of the pyramid IS an infinite amount of possibilities until the Father gives it its holy purpose. So, therefore, anything that is not known to us is at complete randomness until our Father imbues it with its holy purpose. We are limited beings, and therefore we cannot comprehend why bad things happen to good people with our limited understanding. But The Blessed One has the x-ray dimension, and in fact an infinite amount of dimensions and he transcends that, too. So that is why He knows why there is hunger on this planet, and we are limited to the 3rd (or maybe 4th) dimension in our understanding. I would like to conclude by examining phophecy. What is prophecy? Is it the ability given by G-d to see the world through another (holier) dimension? We won't know until our Redeemer comes.

[thedukeanthology]

The Thin Clear Linings

One wonders how all that has depth can find no rest, whether creating commons and plains, or maintaining weather in chains, or the ruins weathering from the rain. One would be late to abstain if every word spoken was redundancy and every instant counted would only stain the hand of a clock that spent all its days wondering why hello always meant goodbye. Intimacy becomes a fleeting affair when the only rift in consciousness became an overexpanded sky, ripping like skin stretching across our forgotten galaxy where the only stars you see are the ones from an ancestor's memory. In the beginning, even emptiness was peculiarly empty, and sifting through the desolation was the Blessed Emptiness, a mold of intellectual property belonging to the landlords of the nations beneath our feet. A limited gander towards a hole in the heart that the modernist would call a congenital heart defect. But so it was, so it is, and so it will be that with limit, there is the desire to extend beyond limit, and as so, one can only reason that fathoming unfathomables is only attainable by seizing to fathom.

[thedukeanthology]

[thedukeanthology]

Medialites

Are they coming?
The waves along the dust,
with not a soul near to trust;
Their blindness is among their lust. Will I know them?
As they tear across the streets,
Not a thought or a heartbeat;
Tripping is among their shuffling feet. Where are you?
A voice floating through the fields,
There was none but now it’s real;
Once they thought, but now they steal. Can they accept it?
That there’s cruel in every smile,
Where hatred is still in style;
Our world’s purity is defiled. But with every tell, the cuts run deep,
You can close your eyes, but wolves still slaughter sheep,
Choose your words before you let them speak,
A victor triumphs, a child weeps.

[thedukeanthology]

Earthworm

I probably have the intelligence of an earthworm; crawling across the ground, eating the dust of all that is superior. And he never really succeeds until the day he strays too far from the grass on a hot day and gets his G-dgiven opportunity to enter the next world, crying and screaming and grasping for understanding, holding onto anything that teaches it the meaning of substance. I, the earthworm, will forever long for the days when life was good, the spongy soil underneath my belly and the green grass that would scratch my back when I couldn’t quite reach. I am way too afraid to take an IQ test because I will forever be a number, like I’ve been tattooed with the digits of my calling, that I will continuously and forever get the respect deserved for the number on my wrist, or the amount of time I spend holding a book on the communication of plants so close to my face that I can no longer marvel at the outside world. I can no longer enjoy the streaks of white in the bright blue sky and the glowing moon. I will play video games so close to the screen that I can never question the emptiness of space and time again. No longer would I sit and wonder; no longer must I reap and sow the good from the gold; the world will wither and scream around me, but I will be a pure man, occupied by my meaningful pixelated figures that suck hours from my hours as I continue to tithe those who have taken the time to ponder and think, how flint and silver are the pheremones of winter. Forever will I trespass those who we don’t define as our fellows, because all they do is bellow, and whisper, and blink; and all the nations will think, “oh, what a fright” but no one is like caspers in the night when all that’s left is the trickery of evanescence telling us we care about those that are bare, but those that don’t weep we can sow and can reap because greed is cheap; it sells for a quarter past eight. I, the earthworm, will forever drink from the finest dew, and sip from the kindest truth, the truth that the birds and buzzards are stored in the cubbard, but the mud on my feet, I never question such a treat.

[thedukeanthology]

Um...

Um... If there's one thing I hope experience never takes away from me, I would hope they leave be my Um's. There's character in hesitation that may mask as a lack of experience, when their true form is life. "Um" is the word that resists against monotomy. When you are an automaton and you make a phone call at your day job without this preventative medicine, you become too professional. And when you're too professional, you lose your character, your uniqueness. "Um" is the morpheme of design, of emotion, the mark of a human being. It is the presenter of error, yet the dwelling prerequisite of man that should always remain stable. I will resent the day where the schema of my words and my rhymes have no fills in the gaps of time of an essential unalign. The day I wake and I make no mistake is the day I've died and it's the end of my ride. There is youth in this mantra, there is pride, a fruitful tree of whim that takes great strides to resist the wind, but soon grows with the tide. And an heir to a throne won't wake up alone because his people know not only his do's and don'ts but his wills and won'ts. But the Um never bumps on the road and gets knocked out stone cold, cuz with struts on the wagon, your back never grows old.

[thedukeanthology]

I've been visited by a slightly solicited Low, lately. I haven't welcomed him home in a long time. Pardon him, it's been that long since he came to sharpen my perception.

Deliberate the welcome of the dust, eliminate inspiration with a trust. A deal was made encrusted on my skin, to end the dusk with stains on my remains.

Every threshold the public will submit, a stronger arm, a need to find acquit; a stronger mind, I’ll fall unto the whip, for weaker finds can drown me in the quips.

Submit and you’re found resting in your bed, while the drivers are desired leaking red. But terror envies you peaceful in the keep, while tears of gold found spilling from their weeps.

Infanticide puts a smile on my face, for time progresses pushing towards erase. The nested are the prey of the invasion, when bombs and nukes inspire for persuasion.

A tick will get you running out the door, but I would sit and wonder who it’s for. Anticipate the wounds be running deep, for martyrdom is gushing from the seep.

And when the mind is uprooted from the leech, the World-To-Come would finally be in reach. My cheeks are red from sticking in the web, commited is the end to sucking dread.