Archive for the ‘grim future’ Category

puppet dregs money crash

Posted: January 25, 2016 in grim future, lyrics, madness

yo fuck the status quo
I got a dream of something floppier
Y’all say I got make money or drop
Than watch me opt out of here

cause I caught a whiff of being stricken
sick with pen ink addiction
dripping spiderweb sink strings
make me a puppet predictingI see the simulation stale
stock dropping as we minding
ten tails of the pale horses
dead jockeys that ride’em

cause if money never sleeps
then she never wakes up screaming
that Oliver Stone cheated her
bleeding heart out of meaning

I’m screening signals like
panhandlers panning for gold
who can’t do what they can’t
so just do what their told

bold move

Cut Stickens
what’d you expect from the dregs
of pen ink addiction

Concrete Contagion

Posted: June 25, 2014 in apocalyptic, grim future, urban

Jet streams cross the sky
Like mirrors shine the cars

It’s the Great Western Life
Pour the asphalt on our scars

We can refuel past our patience
Put a tie on blood stained shirts

Act as double blind secret agents
Love to codify sacred words

As the future generations
Feel the retroactive hate

Sprouting flowers of contagion
It’s the dream fires burned too late…

So the future turned out to suck
Nobody’s flying any cars-
I got no floating skateboard
No silver clothes or colony on mars-

I guess we got the video phone
But who really cares-
So I can see your face
But you ain’t got no implants or purple hair-

I’m just a sci-fi obsessed fan
You can hear me future pining-
Cause since the internet hit
Culture’s being stuck in the nineteen nineties-

All our music sounds the same
Auto-tuned gangster pop shit-
The electronic craze has made
The youth soulless and killed the mosh pit-

The economy is weak
No bullet trains for North America-
Concentrated wealth corruption
Coke-head Wall Street ain’t sharing it-

And the technocrats
Just find new ways into our heads-
3-D D-Box cinema propaganda
Social networks and anti-depressants-

I wish I could live in the future
Depicted in an eighties film-
New Hollywood ain’t looking so good
All the futures they show so grim-

I guess most people are satisfied
With the power of their cellphones-
They don’t have the same nightmares I have
Of being chased by a drone-



So the future didn’t quite turn out
As I thought as a kid-
Where’s all the robots doing the labor
Fighting for their right to exist?-

Why does is seem like
Nothing’s really going on-
No more people on the moon
Or VR sims like in that movie Tron-

What edge did we loose?
Was it the cold war ending?-
Cause we got no one to race with
Did we just stop pretending?-

Cause we used to think
Our progress was damn near unstoppable-
That things are gonna look like Blade Runner
In five years, that is improbable-

Are the plexiglass CANCER CELLS
That infect my city with a MOOD disorder
That everybody thinks it’s normal to look at me
And yell at me to stop juggling

I have the RIGHT of way! I am JUGGLING!!!
I am making the world a slightly sillier, more FUN place-
I make children and panhandlers smile
YOU have no right, Mr. Ford F150 slave!
All you do is pollute the air, endanger yourself
Give yourself road rage and blast HORRIBLE
DEHUMANIZING oppressive rap music.

I don’t like to pull the:
“Do you know who my father is?” card
But yeah, he works upstairs
And what makes me SICK inside
Is that this honking ignoramus
Knows exactly who our mother is
She’s the one you dared pave a road over
She’s the one you choke every morning
She’s the one you bleed for your luxury

And I’m just assuming that
If you’re this ANGRY at a man juggling
And slowing you down by a few seconds
I doubt you found the time to even THANK
Our mother today for the suffering
You have imposed on her

Well one day she will RECLAIM her skin
Her rushing tears
Will wash your demon-cab F150 away
With all the other vehicles of the LUCIFER PROJECT
And during the deluge
I will smile and juggle on a rooftop
While you CRY and PRAY for a helicopter

Revenge from the formless fears
that shape my hallucinations-
Creations of societies subconscious
undaunted by my attempts at meditation-
Mediating faceless gods angels tricksters
demons flickering blue light dreams-
Revenge of reality
pulled loose at the seams-
Seems these things are immune to reason
irrational monster invisible invincible-
I can no longer trust science
or skepticism as root principle-
My foundation is shaken
I seen to many things, aliens-
Too many attempts at success
have turned out to be my failings-
Like trying to communicate with
the other confused humans wondering-
Blundering through the night with
the drone armies of ghosts bombing me-
Till my brain is the wasteland of
fictions you reject as madness-
Produced by hands that scrawl out
poison tipped lines of the savage-
I have become the mythical trick
of the messiah complex-
And I will die of the overdrawn
cure of the experimental tonics-
It’s not so complex but it’s not so simple
living in a triple vibration-
Taking in the pain of my city
while the citizens scream for salvation-

here I come hurtling-
pissed off that you killed my luck dragon-
and picked the bones clean-
your minions have eaten-
the meat of my dreams for years-
here I come with the revenge of the meek-
for the meek shall inherit the earth-
with DARKWORDS and darker poetry-
you don’t know me-
walking the streets in front of your homes-
while my hatred grows cold and old-
like the god of death-
I breathe my first last breathe-
and exhale DARKWORDS and dark poetry-

Like the spark that started the night that
feuled the riot that stole all the bricks-
All the walls picked apart whole blocks
of the city reduced to open pits-
And the goblins come crawling out
calling out for their bum king-
Well here he resides atop his throne
mountain of bones and gold rings-
In the echoing wind tunnel of babies
crying for uncaring mothers-
I stock my hordes with your
transformed abandoned brothers-
Striped toques and fingerless gloves
wave a goblin skull banner-
Goggled eyes over sharp toothed
smiles laughing ill-mannered-

for being so cruel and imperfect-
turning my faeries to perverted activities-
you exist to twist my symmetry-
well I will split you with DARKWORDS and dark poetry-
hold no hope for me-
I bleed green acid twice as cancerous as your greed-
I bring three fold the corrosion of your corruption-
cause I’m thirty years old-
and all my fifteen year old angst has returned two-fold-
so behold your demise with DARKWORDS and darker poetry.

I am mostly a lonely thing-
At home with my poem remedies
For a solemn soul.
Call it attitude. Call it habit.
Call it a trap that went off-
And has had my legs caught
Since I was a teenager.

My eyes too used to their own depths,
My mouth, too used to chewing itself.
My hands too familiar with clutching
These blue-lined white coil bound notebooks.

To look for another.
To taste foreign tongue,
To hold hands and promises,
These are other hunters prey.

Rather I am the self-devourer.
The provider of my own sustenance-
Slowly dying, running out..

A clogged heart sends aching signals
To a dust weary brain.
Both slaved to an ant-eaters snout,
Cleaning the ants from the pockets
Of clear plastic bags of sleep deprivation.

So hold your lovers close,
While I shuffle along lonely-
The Night Walker.
Ashing my contempt
On the sidewalk of your happiness.

Fingering the plastic vial shackles
In my pocket
While I continue on.
Towards a bed with nothing but
Crystal specks strewn over the egyptian cotton.

Like stars shining across endless expanses
Of cold, lonely space.
I will curl into my shards, a god,
In the fetal position.
Stuck awake in his timeless temple
of disassociation.

A poem for anyone’s imagination
That may have stretched
Like a yawning tiger into the dark jungle
of bad luck romance and ketamine addiction.

I suppose those interested are as few
And far between as the moments
My skin knows a warm body.
Instead of the cold fresh rush
My nerves demand,
Fingertips call for,
the moment of euphoric relief.

The moment before the jet planes
Of consciousness launch from my mind
And I cuddle into the motion wave
Of the emergent dose.
The gentle hole I gladly fall through
Like Alice returning to Wonderland
For the one-hundreth-and-eleventh time.

Can any lover bring a solace
So clear, inviting and full?
Can love exist for a mind that unclings
Its’ ego, uncoils its’ mortality,
And undermines the lines of the matrix?

The answer is a no,
Spoken so slowly,
Drawn out over the fifty years echo
Of the oblivion chamber.

I’ll grow old with its’ syllable
Haunting the ones who tried to touch me.
The hole of an “o” that becomes a zero,
And encircles the whole of my life
Like the ice rings of a planet
With no moons.

For I am mostly a lonely thing-
At home with my universe in a plastic vial.

The Gift of Freedom #1:
Of never having been incarcerated
for the numerous crimes of my youth-

The Gift of Life : #2:
of never having succumb
to the diseases that have surely
brushed my essence.

Gift #3 (or Reason):
For only briefly entertaining
the madness that comes
from the unchosen unprofession
of poetic engineering.

The Gift that is Number #4:
[Fearless Fear]
which also contains:
the gifts of speech-
not sleeping
and staring the carriages of death
in the eyes unflinching.

And Finally (the fifth) Gift:
Membership for five lifetimes
into the Imagum.
Where I bear my hands
to the winds and give life
to sentences of frozen ink
that vampires of the future
may lavish over or ignore
as is their specific will.