The Sophist
2025-07-20 12:02 am
We're turning up the lights. We're not blacking out tonight. Cuz anything that's under half of one percent is a Sober Sip to me. We're going to party, we're not drinking lagers, we're not drinking ciders, we party to hard on those 5 percent beers and I can't remember anything. When the beer's too hard I black out and I can't remember anything. I have come here to this song to start a revolution. At the corner store for $3 we can get something stronger. If we act quickly, tonight we can drink 7% guarana. Doors close at 11 but it's already ten and I want to get faded. Tonight is a Revolution. A night that we'll never forget. Last night was fuckin' lit but I can't remember shit. Fuckin partied way too hard then blacked out from the doorway to the car. Last thing I think we did was have some Sober Sips. Fuckin partied way too hard then blacked out in the doorway of the bar.
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Gord
2025-01-30 03:50 am
Remember that night, when you came out as gay? Well I remember you saying you victimize women, Saying your ex girlfriend's pussy stinks, Knowing we might be a common friend. Not that you care, it's not about yourself, That's why you have domestic violence charges, That's why you have domestic violence charges, That's why you will hang yourself in a closet. Remember, when you talk to me, you talk to an artist, Remember that night, you talked to me hostile? Well I remember that every time I saw you, Saying your ex girlfriend's pussy stinks, Knowing we might have common friends, Knowing this is something I'm going to address, Not that you care, it's not about yourself.
Lynn
2023-05-12 09:46 pm
Dear [insert name of co-worker or supervisor here], It was [insert positive noun or adjective here] to work with you. I always admired your [insert dubiously positive quality here, be snitty or passive-aggressive if you so wish]. My favorite memory here was the time when [insert vaguely positive memory here; if none, insert successful venture here; if none, indicate that there were too many positive memories to choose just one; or if that even feels too disingenuous, skip directly to next paragraph]. I wish you [circle one or more: prosperity / health / joy / all the best]. Sincerely, [sign name here] [remember: be POSITIVE! your time here was WONDERFUL! you gained SO MUCH experience! you made TONS of friends! you leave on GREAT terms! the BEST! ]
Innasense
2020-09-25 08:01 am
Throw back the covers on the incessant redundancy of another day. Putting in time for a world we no longer believe in, if ever we truly did. ...Them rose-tinted glasses were long-ago shattered... Our dedication repaid With more stolen hours Coming home with less time To spend with ourselves, Or perhaps those we purposely surround ourselves with, Than we’ll spend talking to ceiling tiles in the dark later on. Droning away the limited hours, The constant pull of a thumb , —Refreshing— Giving our ❤️s away In an opinionated match game Finger-fucking ourselves to sleep Just to say we felt alive Before succumbing to darkness With a see-you-later sayonara Whispered into black, Just like the onyx air pixels we’ll be counting later to lure heavy eyelids back into a much-too-finite slumber ...Or maybe the fluffy white bastards will do the trick Whatever helps you sleep at night... Next day, the inbox the same, Full of spam mail we unsubscribed to ages ago That somehow keeps rearing ugly heads, hydra-like with a pretty new name every time, to keep us believing in the possibility that this particular lovesick prince will be our salvation. DELETE to clear our foggy heads While trying to remember which ones are the liars. The mirage keeps on shifting. Repeat, repeat, World keeps on turning, pulling us along, A child’s toy on a string. But what if, for a moment, We turn away from from the unending axial spins, Sidestep the scythe again, seek out the sunrise... Find the beauty brave souls! Crack open that Earth-shaped geode and search out the wild world within And you know what... Go buy you a new pair of those pretty pink shades
Blake Garner
2020-09-12 06:42 pm
You would not believe your eyes If you seen all the dark thoughts, I keep at tide inside my head If only that was true, I can no longer control these racing thought, I'm a danger to myself I've succumb to pain, I've felt numb for too long I inflict pain to just feel something, Thoughts constantly racing Never a chance to think straight, I've found a healthy affliction In the pain I inflict upon myself, I can feel it now Like cardiac arrest, The slip of the chair The tension around my neck, Ill try my best, The pull of the blade Against my wrist, I've been trying my best How much do I invest, Before its all over No longer numb, My Demons They catch me when I slip, Motor control loss Mindless acts, Just a permanent solution To a temporary feeling, Exactly how long is temporary All i want is for this living nightmare to be over, These demons consuming me alive Fighting is no longer a solution, Don't stop me now I know now noone would shed a tear, Noone would shutter a sound To stop me, Forget yesterday I dont wanna see tomorrow, Remember when you told me That I was better off dead, I knew it from the start I was never any good to anyone, You can believe it When im not here tomorrow, Today I find something great Today I find a Healthy Affliction.
Mary Steffen
2019-07-27 03:17 pm
summer rains growth within the world remember
Hazey
2018-08-14 03:50 am
The thing that hurts the most. You calmed my storms. You helped make sense of the chaos. You plucked me from brokenness. Helped me find strength. I don't know what it was. But just looking in your eyes. Filled my soul with peace. I miss it. I miss the quiet. The calm. I miss us. I'm starting to feel broken again. Empty inside. Trying my best. Not to let anyone see. But there are days. Where control escapes me. Do you think of me? As often as I think of you? Do you remember my name? What it once meant to you? I look back on that day. March 10th. Where I lost you. Where every image I had of you. Just shattered. You were no longer a refuge. You became a source of pain. You still are to this day. I blame myself for it. For my losing you. It's been three months. Realizing it's true. I don't cry as much. Though my heart still does ache. Try as I might; I can't bring myself to hate; You. The situation. Us. I want to throw it under the proverbial bus. I can't. Because the sky still reminds me of you. It was our destiny. Our sky. The world was going to be ours. Accept it. It's over now. These dreams just won't come true. I need to accept that what we are. Is through.
Mary Steffen
2018-04-30 04:42 am
Angels sings Remember The glory The old flame The old days Time again Daydreamer New glory A new song Angels dreams Sing glory
Verbalised
2018-03-17 05:16 pm
It hits me like Nostalgia That I cant recreate The times we had The way I felt A sense of belonging, of purpose I believed in a prosporous future It's now I realise The things we did The times we shared How I felt Came from how you made me feel That's what I remember It's you that I miss
The Sophist
2016-05-26 12:00 am
Deep in the forest Between pleasure and pain Screams are so violent Yet silence remains How often do you think of me? Or remember my name? Am I just a memory? Or do you ever think of me? Stridently hopeless Lotso' talk about games Stammers to silence There it goes again again How often do you think of me? Or remember my name? Am I just a memory? Or do you even think of me all? Tomorrow, if you picture it; Another chance to witness someone else's bliss And envy it And live your life in envying Green both in your mind and in your skin Clad in purple cloth worn to protect your sins And mourn the loss of love you stitched into it Around me I see Ghosts of a memory Smoke in the air I breathe A complete lack of energy Dogmatic discomfort Dogmatic disbelief Friends crushing my dreams Becoming the enemy I'm Building a fortress To honor my name To scream at the silence To wander in pain To wonder in fantasy Living each day the same Do you ever think of me? Or am I just a memory? Deep in the forest Between pleasure and pain Screams are so violent Yet silence remains How often do you think of me? Or remember my name? Am I just a memory? Or did you ever think of me at all?
Novina Alfe
2016-02-16 12:00 am
Is it just enough to look at the roughness of your hands do you ponder over the texture complexion and remember how each scar got there do you take the time to examine who they loved and who they hate WHO tears they wiped away and on whose face I know you look at them often do you use them just to pray or used them to play with your prey amen do you use them to take pictures of the Sun when it rise do you use them to heal hearts or just leave marks on degraded body parts your hands your hands do you keep them clean have they shed innocent blood have they robbed the lowly one have they said hello thank you and please is the look of toughness just a disguise a way to fool people who sympathize with their eyes your hands your hands do you use them just to eat do they feed the needy do they try to make peace do you praise them for a job well done do you use them to raise a good son surely you let them rest after you just bust one and by bust I mean nutt and by nutt I mean there's nothing new under the Sun so how do you plead guilty or innocent Mr mirror man do you have killing or healing hands
Gord
2014-09-02 12:00 am
I transform retribution, I collide with an enemy, Destined for fusion, Corroding my memory, Crashing the computer, That is me. I open on pretense false, In hopes to gain my loss, Yet no fate goes uncrossed, No face goes on unmarked, No bullet grazes, They self aim and kill marks. In honesty, I hope for their retribution, Not believing what you do, I find no institution for truth, Investigations reveal soot. To conceal boots under sock. Truth should be implied, Secrets shouldn't even be whispered, When no secret knock is employed. Among Imperials, two faces clash, Destroying the child middle, Purpose born was to protect class. Among the tyrants, A sleeping dog, His brother opposite, A sleeping god, Purpose forlorn and meaning lost. Shoot the gun across, regardless, Trees grow from the river, Implying a garden should exist. Yet at the bottom I find no solace. No mythical beast of which to conquer, Nor mythical flower of to tame beasts. So no feast among mythical followers. Sewn feet no longer bother to move. Brooms no longer even bother to sweep. I see Cost front by the citizen, Expected which are also to clean. Past participle's partisan cuts so cleanly, No partisan is left opposite to thee. Clearly, No god laughs, Sincerely, No god falters, And no human shots cast, Except into human carnage. No gain for loss, No pyrrhic victory, Due course. No force of sympathy, homeopathy, anthropology, from the horse. No, mostly poor choices. Voices ringing with phones dead. No voices in his head, Scream morality. of course. No soldier gains a victory. sans cost. None recognize the courage, of Hailey's comet. So the gunfire blazes onward. Amongst the slain, are the slain. Those who shoot have bullets same. My Deschamps is but modified Spinoza, Which I modify to fit in holster, As exactly as I imagined her, Far above a reasonable caliber. For a man who lacks resources, For as a woman he lacked chorus, Pestilence amongst the formal courtships. How do we create such a melody? Such harmony of utter melancholy. How do we classify such insanity? Such discourtesy on our society. Such, bullets access and exit quickly. Thus is the mark of beasts. Thus a heart no longer beats. Almost lack of mention was lack of faith. Remembered and forgotten to become same. All lost the castles of old days, Only sandcastles remain standing, Reminder of temporary management, Of how well that pays. I depart to vent, Find myself post-traumatic, I start to mention, Find myself post-dramatic, I mark myself bent, Find myself post dragging. Hoping to move forward, Forgetting that lost in battle. I sigh, I realize that's not possible. I stand purportedly screaming peace, Screaming bullets purportedly corpse. I stand in face of uproarious force, Screaming should-haves, Scoring for would-have, Who now will manage. Tired, I cast aside, Casting stones seems now juvenile. Especially in a world this finite, Who needs to choir for killing time? Button press' jest as being less vile, Truth as masked chide, Who now will bandage?
Gord
2014-08-28 12:00 am
How do we create such a melody? Such harmony of utter melancholy. How do we classify such insanity? Such discourtesy on our society. Such, bullets access and exit quickly. Thus is the mark of beasts. Thus a heart no longer beats. Almost lack of mention was lack of faith. Remembered and forgotten to become same. All lost the castles of old days, Only sandcastles remain standing, Reminder of temporary management, Of how well that pays. I depart to vent, Find myself post-traumatic, I start to mention, Find myself post-dramatic, I mark myself bent, Find myself post dragging. Hoping to move forward, Forgetting that lost in battle. I sigh, I realize that's not possible.
Kodyboi
2014-04-23 12:00 am
I remember when we broke up the first time. I remember trying to do nothing. Saying "this is it", like a Jackson hit. I remember not seeing you for about a month. I remember waking up, I remember remembering a punch in the mouth, Reminding me to chart future relationships out. I'm calling it off. The wedding and the dates you liar. I'm telling you off this time. We'll never, ever ever get back together. Go talk to your friends. Talk to mine. Waste your time, Spend your time playing pretend. End up like Islam on the Balkan Island. I'm really going to miss writing. Miss writing is miswriting, Misleading my idols into the trivial. Hiding the infinite potential on vinyl. Throw on the CD, it's more indie than mine. More John Frusiante than girls from Niandra. So for another month I'l find peace of mind. So you called me up, To talk about like love, but no luck. Because I was like, and he was like. and they were like. Even his parents didn't like him. So he was like, ugh, boring. and I'm always touring, so like, fuck him. We're never, ever, ever, getting back together. Your friends balk, and my friends bawk. So the whole thing is pretty complimentary.
Gord
2014-03-07 12:00 am
Teach me to breathe again, Teach me to fish among the bears; Until boars bearing teeth sheath their wares, and thus keep secret to themselves, cares; I care naught, to teach me, teach me not; Those that let me rot gave me teeth; and then taught me of freedom through proxy; Thus keep secrets to yourself, forget them not; In age I will not be forgotten, A new age will dawn upon them, A swirl of value, morality is drawn in; Only remembered are those who ascend to godhead;
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-05 12:00 am
A Day in the Life I Morning Up early for a Sunday The clock says eight But even that's late For what we have to do And where we've got to be Breakfast hastily eaten A schedule that has to be beaten The taxi comes just on time The clock strikes the half nine The train will leave at ten So we have to be there then II In a railway waiting room People sitting Waiting for the train Some just there To get out of the rain The sun is starting To shine now Making the outlook Better somehow The fire Glows brightly Offering security In its warmth There must be a hike Somewhere By the amount of people Going there Dressed in their anoraks And their boots A passing express Gives warning toots Waiting for the train To friends Still far to go Before our journey ends Although having already Come this far Still there are miles To be travelled By car Sitting patiently, waiting For the train Marking time To the pouring rain III A ride through the countryside At our destination We are met Commiserations Hoping we did not get Too wet Outside the station They had parked the car Comfortable seats Our journey Not to mar We are off Through the countryside Making quite a pleasant ride Of our quest To the coast Never really deciding Which we prefer the most Ever onwards We are drawn Towards the outskirts Of Eastbourne IV Eastbourne Eating eggs Hard boiled Liver sausage sandwiches Cheese and ham Fried sausages Oranges too What a sight For people to view Throwing stones Into the sea Stopping to watch The tide roll in Then a walk Along the pier Perhaps to stop For a cool glass of beer Buying ornaments Made of glass Playing the games That made us laugh Throwing balls Into walls Listening to the radio In the warm Then on again It was said Towards the crags Of Beachy Head V Beachy Head Climbing up To the Bell Tower Pausing to view A lonely flower The long climb Winding a few The breathlessness Well worth the view On looking out to the sea So calm One could scarce believe It could do so much harm Then suddenly The gunshots Warning us of the coming rain So we quickly make our descent again The rabbit droppings In the tufted grass Is the sight I remember last The gulls wheeling On the wind Showing aerial acrobatics That Man will take A thousand years To conquer VI Newhaven When the tide Is full in It is a facade To walk along The esplanade At Newhaven For the angry waves Batter the man-made wall Persistently trying To make it fall Spraying Unwary travellers With showers of stones And the flying Sea spray That rusts Even the lamp posts Within a month The road to the west This is our quest Pass the ox-bow lake On the river That meanders Through the open fields Filled with Sweet smelling air The road takes us Past the harbour Where, the ' Chichester Star ' Lies anchored there Moored at her rest VII Brighton The Palace Pier On a Sunday Even in March Full of people Having fun Some lie on the beach Catching the sun That hides Behind the clouds Of the rain-filled sky But here we do not stay Perhaps I'll return Some other day The time has come Not to linger Drawn ever onwards By a wandering singer Dressed in sandals And in jeans Singing songs of the Changing scenes Sentiments felt By myself He did quote. He sang, Whilst I wrote VIII Shoreham Dark, dank and dismal Grey and grim Stands the power station The side, the day-tripper Does not see The squalid surroundings Of the industrial side Where the rubber factory Takes the coke works For its bride There, beside a mountain Of metal scrap Stands a fellow In a cloth cap Surrounded by Carcasses of cars Burnt out By long cold fires Wasteland covered With prickly briars Rubble strewn around Sweet papers, magazines Stones cover the ground The road carries on Pass the gasworks To playing fields Where people sit watching Others using their energy To a useless end A steel girdered bridge Spans the road Along by which The river still flowed IX Worthing Having high tea In the lounge Sardines, rolls Tea and toast Watching the sea Leave the coast Playing the pin machines With pennies Reading the paper To find the news Desperately needing To use the loos Off on our trek again Running from the Fast oncoming rain X Half a league ..... Destination somewhere In the west Selsey, probably At the very best Time, like the tide Rolling on Light of day Has nigh nearly gone The lights burning Along the road Turn from the palest pink To shimmering gold Eve draws on Darkness, soon to follow A level-crossing That isn't so level In fact, the road Looks like more of a bevel The road becomes Winding and long Making us remember The young minstrel's song Following the line Of cat's eyes Broken only By the sound of sighs A solitary star Guiding us, as of old The weather becoming Increasingly cold The long boring night Is broken By the bright lights Of the big service station At Crawley Say as they might To me, the most welcoming sight Was that of The Thorns pud At Horley Liquid refreshments For parched dry throats Although there was nowhere To hang our coats Having once Quenched our thirsts The road leads on To Billinghurst Then on down Cowper's Lane Just as it starts Again to rain In the comfortable warmth Of her home We are again Free to roam Tea for three And one for coffee Arguing who'll get to eat The very last toffee Onwards then, Homeward bound The car really seems To leave the ground Till the lights of Croydon Are encountered And as we are at our door " It was fun, we must do it more!" The two of us Climb the stairs Once again To all our cares Very quietly Into bed Nothing more It has all been said. Dusti Rodes (1975)
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-05 12:00 am
' Act of Faith ' The Weaving of the Web The Poet's Perception Caladbolg One Sword. Taking two hands to wield. Rainbow ruler of all others. Smiter of mountains and of hills. Made with molten faerie gold. Fashioned on the forge Of Fir Bolg giant, Balor of the Evil Eye, Defeated at Moytura, By the wiles of Tuatha de Dannan Magical warriors. In reprisal for the death of Lu of the Longhand, Son of their King. ' By this Sign, so shall you know me! ' "Remember this, Sire, And use the information well; For they plan to kill my Liege" So spoke the Lady of the Lake. " 'Twas the Vessel with the Pestle, That bore the potion that was Poison. And it was the Flagon emblazoned with his Dragon, They did fill with the brew that is True. But the serving-wench did slip, The platter fell to the floor And did crash on the flagstones there. The Vessel with the Pestle was smashed. Shattered into a thousand shards. Now the Flagon with the Dragon, Contains the potion that is Poison; And the Crystal Chalice, That was procured from the Palace Holds the brew that be True." Act of Faith I feel very vulnerable. I haven't put this much trust In Anyone or Anything, For longer than I can remember. Only time will tell If this act of faith is justified. The Artist's Explanation I have always been a fan of Arthurian legend, and in the end decided the ultimate act of faith, was the search for the grail. I have mixed up lots of ideas within my painting though, here is the official explanation. The hill on which she has reached the pinnacle, is Glastonbury Tor, but a thousand years ago the glow of what is now Glastonbury shines below her. In the sky there is the constellation Orion, this symbolises the king of the fairies, Gwyn ap Nudd, who legend has it lived on the Tor before being insulted by St Collumb, and in doing so left the Tor to forever hunt his hounds across the winter sky. Instead of the ruined church that is on the Tor now, I thought a small standing stone might suffice, and embedded within the stone in a similar way to the sword Excalibur was embedded in a rock, I have placed a wooden chalice, the moss on the rock and the shamrocks, also give the chalice a bed on which to lay. Shamrocks being symbolic not only of Ireland, but also the holy trinity. It is also a trefoil, which is the symbolic of Awen, which is the druid symbol for inspiration. On her wrist is a bracelet, which has fallen from the chalice and magically clings to her, the bracelet is silver like the moon with a fleur de lis (another symbol of the grail, and Mary mother of Jesus, coupled with the holy trinity). The lady is wearing nothing more than a simple white jacket and is naked below. She is also blindfolded, and therefore has to accept trust and her faith to protect her from this vulnerable position. She has come to the end of her quest and has found her grail, purely by way of faith, and is now tired and weary but still proud and undefeated , she is genuflecting to its wonder. The sword has two symbolisms, the first being that it was once broken and has been repaired. (This relates to the story of Galahad, repairing the magical broken sword, from the Fisher King stories, near the end of the grail quest) and the design of the sword I am using is unique in such that it is a copy of the original sword used by the genuine most famous knight in English History, Sir William Marshall. The long grass has various dandelion clocks settled within it, one has burst its seeds, sending them cascading across the painting, the dandelion means many things, including flirtatiousness ... However it is also in gypsy lore the symbol of transition and ascendancy from physical to spiritual. One last thing is that I have signed the painting twice, once in my usual way in the bottom right hand corner, and the other being the symbol of Rowan cut in Ogham on the standing stone. (My name of Ro being short actually for Rowanswood which is my bardic name.) - John Ogden (August 2010) The Druid's Interpretation The story of Bride or Brigid is close to so many people and there is a longing, especially from women today, to return to the balance there once was between men and women. The main story in these parts, and sort of on Beara too, is that all life somehow came from a womb and this once upon a time brought about the reverence of the goddess. The first two trees of the Ogham alphabet seem to guide this with Beith the Birch being the first life on earth and eventually the protector of women, and Luis the Rowan being the dragon's fire in all men who would burn rowan to bring the spirit of the goddess into them. For guidance, confidence, passion,bravery and focus especially when in council for trade, treaties, and sometimes preparation for war. Bride's symbol was the sword, in the story of the creation of the four Celle's of instruction, the first symbol, the symbol of imbolc,the first fire festival of the year, first quadrant of the Chaldean astrology chart. A tree of life, as above, so below. The sword created from fire, extraction of metals from ore, fires that were fuelled by the labours of men. The sword created by virgins, virgins by not yet having child, and not through no having sex, that would once one day be given to their mate. A founding of the tradition of the dowry today. If the male mate was slain and together they had no sons as heirs, the woman would take back the sword to be head of the household until another mate was found. In comes Patrick, a name so close to Patriarch, the incoming of the domination of the male hierarchy. The call to revere the male deity. When the man of the family was slain and there were no heirs; the woman, and any daughters, were the property of the chieftain. To serve as slaves or be appointed new mates, often in treaty.The sword was thrown into the lake or river to be passed on no more. The tradition of Bride, or Brigid, was eventually slain, and the tradition of Patrick took over. It is said that the legendary race of Formori never had women. They were men of the sea who knew how to extract gold and make rings.They would lure the Dannan or other land caring women with rings but for the sole purpose of breeding, not relationships, and any sons born would join the Formori. The legend is that Bride married Bres to try to return to the balance, that may be an example to the Formori, but it was not to be. In your picture this comes across as a woman either by the Formori or the Patriach demands of the ruling male deities ... but nobody could take that sword of balance away from her. It was not going to the lake !!! The standing stone to me is symbolic of the 2nd Cille of Instruction, who Bride is said to have taught Cian, son of Anu. The origin of Salmaine, that became Beltaine. Beltaine, one of the two times of the year the salmon swim up river, the second quadrant of the astrological cycle, the partnership and mating. The finding of the new true mate to pass the sword to. .... and the choice of blessed water to bring back life and fertility to make that possible. Oh, the blindfold? Another legend is that before Beltaine, women would approach the pool of Lasir blindfolded. And then after a blessing with water from the pool, were allowed to take off their blindfolds to have a vision of the man that would be their mate on Beltaine day. Lasir's legends are like Bride, except where Bride and Brigid led a herd of cows; Lasir led a flock of sheep. So when sheep are sheared at Beltaine time, there is a honoury toast to Lasir to ensue another blessed year ahead. Interestingly today, by the pool / well of Lasir ,there is no longer a standing stone, but a tall stump of an Ash tree that was felled there. Also in Lake Meelagh nearby, Bronze and Iron-Age swords have been found, by folks who were looking for the legendary Dagda's cauldron which is said to be in there somewhere. Not legends that are well known away from Co. Silgo, yet have travelled to be made into other stories. Of course , people of Co.Silgo made their own stories from what travellers told them too. Another insight? Dusti Rodes (2010)
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