More shit

 The Filter:

Life is a cruel fiend that takes and hardly gives
I trade the means, but never lose sight of the goal

To live on the razor’s edge one cut would do the deed
Hyperfixate on the memories that keep me awake
Damn them all and wish for sleep eternal

Still it is the things that bind me that provide the filter
That harsher times gave greater purchase to those things with deeper meanings
To weed out the chaff and parse the bile from my system
That my life would only contain beautiful things

Mercy:

All things must end

It is the purview of the righteous to live well
To squeeze every second of their being and maximize its potential

That everyday lived to its fullest becomes the chore of the dutiful
Maximize happiness, spread joy and be good to everyone
These things bring envy and pain
Life’s gifts are not reciprocal
That alone with everyone you have known and cared about gone
You might slip into nothingness pain free
A mercy most do not receive

Reality:
The righteous man envies the pitiful soul

That he is free to do whatever he pleases
To whomever he pleases
That the pious reward need be eternal
So that the righteous man not too steal himself
And reap life’s instant rewards

John Doe · More shit

New Stuff

 

Brian’s Guns Brian has a gun Moreover, Brian has many guns Mostly for sport, But god forbid someone tries to rob Brian’s house or rape Brian’s wife Brian’s gonna shoot that mother fucker A situation Brian has played over and over in his head The target in Brian’s backyard take on a criminal persona

Brian loves his guns, and he loves America
Brian’s guns are as important to Brian as his arms and legs
Brian needs those guns incase some tries to take his guns or America
Brian is the last line against gun takers and foreign invasion

A situation Brian has also played out in his head

Brian has a son and daughter
Brian’s son has guns
He needs to protect his wife and home as well

Brian and his son shoot criminals in their backyard

Together they’ll protect their guns and save America

Brian’s daughter doesn’t have a gun

But that’s what Brian’s for

Brian’s judge jury and executioner for anyone that would hurt his family

Brian’s guns have limited enemies thus far

Someone comes after Brian’s guns or hurts Brian’s family, they’re dead

But what about Brian’s wife, what if Brian’s wife want to leave Brian
Or worse off, what if she cheats on Brian 

What then happens with Brian’s guns

Now Brian is a rational fellow so he’d let his wife go

But he’d shoot the mother fucker that cheated with his wife

Brian’s wife is an extension of Brian, just like Brian’s guns

What if Brian got in a fight

Some drunkard fucks with Brian at the wrong time
Good thing Brian has a gun
He’d shoot that fucker dead

Serves him right

The government wants to take Brian’s guns and kill Brian
They want to destroy Brian’s family and make Brian poor

The government is godless and wants to destroy Brian’s life

And that is where the danger lies
Brian’s enemies are all around him
The only thing stopping them from destroying Brian is Brian’s guns

Brian also really enjoys shooting at the range. 

The Beginning

It was the beginning and there was nothing but the bowl
We were but the beef burrito digested by his holy stomach
And produced by thine purest anus
Shat to the world in his image, wiped away from his grace
And flushed into the world 

From this all things were born, so sayeth Hastrubel

Taco Tuesday

It was a Tuesday, and it was that bitches dinner night

Her name was Stephanie, and she was the roommates girlfriend

(She does this every Tuesday)

She had a bad day at work and didn’t feel like cooking

They argued for sometime till Stephanie finally caved and said she’d order out
(The boys were totally stoked)
They had just Thai food and pizza was off the menu

My boy had celiacs and couldn’t do gluten
(He gets the squirts)

Chinese and greek food were off the menu
Stephanie suggested Mexican
(TACO TUESDAY!)

John Doe · New Stuff

Whatever

Intro
These demons are not our own
They torture us together
Fed by our fears and anger

Too long these we have been haunted
I seek to rest these wicked things between us
That we both might rest

I pass this line from you to me
That the distance between us
Is merely the passage of time and better intentions

With however you chose to meet me
I greet you openly
And wish you well

Forward

How far do you see and what have you done
That you would be so distant from me
Or any place that I call home

The years have shown old things anew
And as the time passes
The pace of my heart yearns for those things

The places from when I was younger
The people that played there
And the memories we made

Like a picture frozen in time
Those memories only give me happiness
In the way that old things do

Part 1

Is the present my enemy
Has he sat in the mirror this whole time
Or is this dread I feel
The realization that what I see
Is the image that is portrayed
To all who see me

Part 2

There are those things I will not be
That person I will deny myself
That in a better light
Reflect my true intentions

My Funny Friend

My funny friend
He tells me those things to do
That I might do the things I ought to

My funny friend
He takes care of me
That I might be safe 

My funny friend
He smites my enemies
That evil will not befall me

My funny friend
I've never met
Yet without him, what would I do

Always there even when he is not
Doing those things he does
Without asking for anything except everything

John Doe · Whatever

Helen

Helen

Stop, I the actor before you, am not the object of your desire
For this melancholy diatribe, we need a new visage
Picture Helen of Troy speaking before you

It is her beauty we seek 

That launched 1000 greek ships
Might thus turn a few furrowed brows
Into erect and intent listeners

Now to the subject, your desire

I attain, but dare not challenge your avarice

Each of you a Paris with your own Helen

I am merely a Helen, not yours

The purpose of this part, not to drive each other mad

We turn a million ships back to port

Helen the subject of Paris’ desire and Menalaus’ ire

Those 1000 ships should turn again

The god’s pick sides and Troy sacked
For it is Helen’s beauty that turns fate
And destroys the hearts and homes of men

Many petty Menelaus turned Paris in the eyes of another

What is to become of their Helen’s
The object to be acted upon and sought
The suitor the subject and suitee the object

The journey turned earth, gods and heaven against itself

For each, an odyssey happening in tandem
Where one is the object and the subject
A mini world war turned million of ships
Merely tamed by the fact

That for each Menalaus and Paris
There should be one Helen

 

John Doe · Helen

New Reflections

 

Lost in translation

Like a painting, it stands to be observed
Interpreted and inspire
Like a play, well rehearsed

Performed and perfected
Yet that beauty unbeholden to the eye
Should wither, perish and die
For the unused potential it wastes
Is merely the position and pace
Of gyrations and vulgarity
Its ugly visage and stench refuted

Old Fiends
These things that I’ve done
They haunt me
Vile, wretched things
Taunt me 

That their filth should return again

And I should face darker friends
With greater enthusiasm 

I am the lighthouse

I am the lighthouse
I cast my rays upon the open sea
That those who should see the light
Will know that I harbor danger
For it is the safety of the shore
That alludes my jagged edges

Alone with you

We practice in dark things
I dabble in despair and you cruelty 

It is mediocrity that keeps us
The subject of your disdain
And my eventual exit
We trade solace in the parting gift
That neither of us shall return

John Doe · New reflections

Final Thoughts

A Different Therapy
What will you do in the future?
I see nothing
Why are you so lonely?
I am content
What do you see in the world?
I see you

Your smiles, hellos, and I love yous
Exchanges met emptily with like replies
The difference between that and waving, nonexistent
In a trance, you pass days with pleasantries
Simple gestures masked as passion and production
The practice of which makes you dollies and shelves
To me, you are a wave crashing into a wall
Like cattle to the slaughter
You have the disposition of meat

In my garden

What was?
A thing I had
It kept me warm and happy

What is?
The things I have
They keep me content

What will be?
That thing that makes me humble

I bury it deep

Its point sharp, its purpose to cut deep
The blood its drawn, my own
That which I didn't know I had
Being used in ways I don't want
An ugly mirror to what is inside

For your comfort, I put it away
For my comfort, I keep it close

Observations

Where to begin?

I proactively choose to take my time
As each player approaches the parapet
I seed the pulpit to greater speakers

The object of my desire, the totality of existence
Each observer adds keener insight
I am myself, through you, without me

Its form the incorporeal fissure 
I construct the triptych
One laughing, another silent, the last screaming

The death of morals
The case introspective, myself on the stand
No judge, the jury hanging, I become the executioner
The crime a matter of consistency

Slipping into something less comfortable
I face those who came before me
Arms raised, ready to join the pile

To indict myself through you
I look down the gallows
And know my place

The death of labor

I sit at the top of the ladder
Passing its contents down I tell you
What to do

I sit down the ladder
Passing its contents down
I tell you what to do

I sit down the ladder
Passing its contents down
I tell you what to do

I sit down the ladder
Passing its contents down
I tell you what to do

I sit at the bottom of the ladder
Spilling its contents on the floor
I find something new to do

The death of the aesthetic

I am a painting, it drapes the walls
Its construction, my guts
Try to understand them

This song, a cruel reminder of everything I hate
Its rhythm, the death of my innocents
With each beat I bury my cruelty

This dance, every degree of my persons from every angle
Me, Myself, and I
Waltzing together