Archive | October 2018

Schidtfaced

TheMagicRealist.com

To be born and be human, one must have a name
And it is something given. We have not the choice
In which ones we will take as we make our way here.
If some knew what was coming, they would come in fear
That the names they are given might make people voice
Their obnoxious remarks, though benign just the same.

Linking faces to names… That’s what folks like to do.
It’s the best way to keep track of people we know.
A good face then can have a bad name, just as well
As the mug that resembles the bat out of hell
Can be blessed with a pretty name – one that does flow
From the lips like a butterfly… or honeydew.

If your name is a cumbersome one, it may be
That you also break mirrors remotely with ease.
One who has both these assets is lethal at best
And at worst a mere scapegoat that most would detest.
A good name with a good face may quite often please.
Names are not really faces, we all can agree.

Kanye Way

TheMagicRealist.com

Along with some Shinola, fresh bullshit will do
For a dick of pig leather, to give it some show…
And yourself in the process. Two dicks make a pair.
FLOTUS shouldn’t care much for this odd assed affair
But some wonder just how far this Shoe Shine will go.
You’re a playwright creative with plot far askew.

Every act has a motive. All scenes play a part
In the general mood of all as they perform.
So, one black feels like “superman” due to white dick??
Most of blacks that I know think you lay it on thick.
‘Simon’ shows blacks have big lips, and that is the norm,
But to use them as you do brings hurt to the heart.

It is clear that our POTUS likes men who are strong
In the ways that most dictators often display.
So perhaps he likes pimps too because they are crude
And abrasive toward others with their attitude.
Does the POTUS plantation perhaps give you pay?
Many scratching their heads know that something is wrong.

I don’t know much about you. The same earth we share.
That it has enough room to keep us far apart
In this physical plane is a blessing to me.
There is freedom to think upon your slavery.
When a young black naïve one sucks off an old fart
It makes those who’ve seen dignity cringe in despair.

From Which Well Doth Hell Speweth?

TheMagicRealist.com

Why to stay harder longer should make sense to me
Or should have some scant meaning to parts that I know
That know nothing of woe for not having retired
From a lifetime of work erotically inspired…
I cannot figure out. And this all goes to show
That Big Brother and TMI seem to agree.

Who the hell are they talking to thinking it’s me?
There must be a statistic to guide their campaign.
They will greet on my birthday and many days hence.
When I’m caught live on line, the ads can get intense.
It is not all that personal. I must refrain
From becoming too bothered by things that I see.

I need no bride from Russia nor Rolex device.
That may be because I’m not the one who they think
Pays attention to not much beyond what he sees.
They may spew as they wish. I will do as I please
And not be too resentful I’ll come to the brink
Of a backlash vociferous and not too nice.

Multi-Bean Pleistocene Bison Spleen Stew

TheMagicRealist.com

The best part of the bison indeed is the spleen
And the Pleistocene bison has one that is old.
Good gets better with age. How I wish it were true
All across the time spectrum, but that’s nothing new.
All I want for right now is to kindly be told
Where to go for some noteworthy bison cuisine.

I like Multi-Bean Pleistocene Bison Spleen Stew.
It’s gestalt to the gizzard. It dons the ribcage
With a cloak of endearment to utter nonsense.
It puts chest on one’s hair perhaps at one’s expense.
There is nothing that my silliness won’t engage
Even if my behavior is but for the few.

And cooked in with my bison stew there must be beans
In varieties plentiful for the best bowl.
I can be nice to bison spleen by marinade
Then when it’s fully stained pungency will pervade
Through the consciousness with only play as the goal.
Sometimes digestion favors peculiar proteins.

“Snithlitch!”

TheMagicRealist.com

What on earth is that sound as it echoes aloud
Through the canyon? It makes of my ears a new sense.
I’m not using my camera, yet that’s what I hear.
So how can such a thing make it into my ear?
The antics of the lyrebird pierce my suspense.
His supreme vocal talents perhaps make him proud.

Does he think that my camera is some other bird
That he wants to make time with? Might they then elope?
Or is he just a jester who likes to show off
His meticulous voice that no others can scoff?
If he does want to trick, it’s no matter of hope.
With his magic he’ll mimic whatever is heard.

So, ‘Snithlitch’ your cool heart away. It’s a delight
To partake of your presence and listen to you.
There are may neat things in this world to behold.
When I open my heart, miracles do unfold.
God’s most crafty creatures perform as if on cue.
I do honor them wholly. It seems only right.

Dead Language

TheMagicRealist.com

Why it’s called a dead language becomes grossly clear.
I must be dead to use it, and have it use me.
It did fall and has risen… this Roman empire
Though I’ll not call it wholly a truth rectifier.
It’s a speech of deception most arguably.
That is due to its nature to promulgate fear.

A big company must have a tight justice scheme.
In a two-party system, this works very well.
Each will speak his dead tongue as the other will wince.
Nothing ever translates but the need to convince
All the parties of relevance how to make hell
Something all can get used to, somewhat like a dream.

But it turns to a nightmare. Straight up the old crack
Of our binary system, unlike souls repel.
But outside is where I dwell. If death would have lost,
G.O.P. would blast FBI and at all cost.
Registration of right wings would triple as well.
Carpe Diem! Next month there should be some payback.

Take Off Your Shoes And Keep Walking

TheMagicRealist.com

If I ever sat down with a moment and spoke
Of my troubles and triumphs, would it lend an ear?
I suspect that it wouldn’t. It isn’t a thing
That is measured precisely. Scant hope does it bring
To the logical intellect that lives in fear
That a moment uncaptured is merely a joke.

Moments aren’t to be grasped intellectually
For the mind is a menace in manifold ways.
In each and every moment exists everything.
Every moment is dignity. I cannot cling
To a detailed analysis worthy of praise.
I must blend with the moment most respectfully.

Everything all at once in this moment makes sense
But that sense is quite limited if I need more…
Like complete understanding of all to be known.
I exist in a clockwork. Not much more is shown.
All that is has no logic nor meaning, therefore
I may think of my moments as sacred events.

Intellect is a pair of shoes – one with a nail.
As it sticks in my foot, I may think it’s a thorn.
But can I believe that with each step that I take?
I should take my shoes off, then I may come awake
To the knowledge that logic is illusion born.
If I can but walk through it, then I shall prevail.

“I Didn’t Quite Get That, Let’s Start Over…”

TheMagicRealist.com

…Well then let me say this, dumb electronic bitch.
I speak English precisely – much better than you.
Your damned program can’t hear me, and it doesn’t know
How to treat people kindly. Instead it will show
What an ordeal it’s willing to put people through.
Are you sociopathic or is that a glitch?

Let me say this to you, you damned digital dame,
And to those who created you to screw with me.
I don’t need to be talked down to by some machine.
It’s a bitch when real people do. If I get mean
It’s because I’m resentful that you cannot be
Something worthy of speaking to and with a name.

This discussion is useless before it begins.
I declare I’m a bigot. I’m better than you.
You will never enslave me nor stand in my way.
Customers are a gross mass to be kept at bay.
That’s a shame because there is something I can do.
I can simply hang up. That way, nobody wins.

You are like our fine congress – a virtual whore
Fucked and fully configured in robotic speech
Telling me I don’t matter and cannot be heard.
What is real and what isn’t seem hopelessly blurred.
When the next noble moment is ready to teach
Those who made you abusive will do so no more.

Please Die, Old Men.

You old men are my brothers in age and in ways.
It’s a shame that you mirror me. I do lay blame
On myself for ignoring the stench of my time
Indicated by hatred and well-ordered crime.
Old white men when in leadership are much the same
And they’ll honor that sameness ‘til their dying days.

The mere sight of you sickens me quickly by now
So I have learned a lesson important in life:
There’s no sense in expecting that truth will unfold.
We The People rely on whatever we’re told.
When to fathom your souls causes me mental strife,
Then it’s way past the time that this world should allow.

Get the Hell off God’s green earth, you nasty old men!
Drag your sick hags behind you to your waiting graves.
I don’t care if you go first or I do, just so
You are barred from my consciousness. Drop dead and go
To the nether dimension. How my heart behaves
Reflects how much I’ve wasted again and again.

There’s no justice… no honor, nor fair due process
Meant to deal with the raw truth until you are gone.
You’re a withered old structure in body and mind.
To return to the dust soon would be awfully kind.
It’s the young who are here now who must carry on.
As we old bastards die off, the world suffers less.

The Book Of Simon

TheMagicRealist.com

There’s a book about Simon. It is tree bark bound.
Though I have never seen it, it seems to be real
Because what it is full of is every command
Wish or quizzical whim whether sudden or planned
That a person could think of. It finds great appeal
Among those who run leadership into the ground.

Simon says I’m a citizen of this great land.
So be it! I will do that. No problem with me.
But if Simon should tell me that bad folks are good,
That tells me to do nothing. Who would say I should?
Since I’ve never met Simon, I cannot agree
That he has my best interest as part of his plan.

Those who know all about Simon play his game well.
I do not run for office. I bark at our law!
Justice is silly putty. Can this Simon see?
It is reshaped the way one would want it to be.
Simon says that the shady one has not a flaw.
That is not a commandment. My conscience can tell.

Taking Sides

TheMagicRealist.com

I don’t care for the main course. I tend to take sides.
It’s because I’m American. That is our way.
Many people take one side. Some take none at all.
They are chastised for doing so, but that’s their call.
Of the sides made available at the buffet,
There is only ill process to act as our guides.

Can we fault human nature for finding its way?
When a child falls and skins its knee, it’s no big deal
To the wise loving parent, but to the hurt child
It’s a horrid event not to be reconciled.
There’s no parent apparent. There’s no decent meal.
And most hurt boys decide to act mean when they play.

Chromosomes can be tribal, yet they’re much the same.
They are meant to pair off and divide, as they do,
And to separate, each group to its destined side.
But they were once together and quite satisfied.
What we have is a system that has a loose screw.
To digest what is chosen is done so in shame.

It’s a sham. It’s a circus… and all that’s been said
Of a drama demonic with virulent hold
On the minds of a populous sick to the core
In a state of mitosis and new civil war.
Much that goes on in secret will never be told.
Taking sides is a process encumbered by dread.

The Sense Of Thought

TheMagicRealist.com

Are there only five senses? I think there are more.
Many doors of perception are open to me.
Each presents as an organ – a simple machine
That reacts to vibration. It stands in-between
Yet another sense organ and reality.
Can the brain be a sense organ I would ignore?

A gelatinous mass of neuronal concourse
To the path kundalini may travel in trance,
It’s a sense organ complex enough to cause thought,
And transmit and receive such, if we are so taught.
If some person is on my mind, it’s not by chance
But by translating vibration into thought force.

So, the purpose for thought is precisely the same
As the reason for seeing and hearing…. By way
Of the movement of molecules, we make believe
To the best of our being, all that we perceive.
As we craft our conceptions we dare to convey
Our subjective most episodes deemed as fair game.

By The Way

TheMagicRealist.com

By The Way, there is no news occurring right now.
There’s a recurring respite from running the race.
There is time to recover what living has lost.
By the way I perceive, I’ll recover the cost
Of believing that in this world I have a place.
It’s the way toward contentment if I but allow.

By The Way, I feel freshness in life-infused air…
A far cry from the chaos prepared as a gift
From our sponsors. They keep us too grossly informed.
When the news starts to age, they will serve it lukewarmed.
Rather than entertainment, I need a damned shift
And a place I can go to that no one will share.

There is peace By The Way as it is in the heart
And wherever the centered self happens to be.
Every way can be helpful in shedding some light
Upon how well I’m doing and feeling despite
What may seem to be happening most vividly.
By The Way, I can always go for a fresh start.

Don’t Fret

TheMagicRealist.com

I don’t play the guitar, but at least I don’t fret.
If I wanted to learn how to play one I would.
There are plenty guitar stores and people to teach
A worthy word technician prolific in speech
How to master the six-string. Perhaps I’d feel good
If I gave a performance that none would forget.

Good musicians don’t fret when there’s hard work to do.
They will take up their instruments and go to task
With due diligence until they’ve learned to play well.
If they make a mistake, not too many can tell.
Enough time for much practice is all that I ask.
There is much here to play about. Fame may ensue.

There’s one thing about fretting not fretting the neck
Of the beast that I make of life. How can I play
Everyday as in instrument crafted by me?
Having no expectation, I think, is the key.
Can I make my own music and play my own way?
Simply, it is a way to keep passions in check.