The tenth episode to my podcast aired today and, like all the other episodes, I was very happy with how it came out. If you missed the previous episodes, due to the fact I was too lazy to post them, you can find them by clicking the YouTube link on my home page. In this video I discussed a wide range of topics, from utopia, to the battle of ideas, religion, finding the perfect cherry blossom and collectivism vs. individualism. Hopefully my thoughts will be received in a manner in line with my actual intentions. Per usual, I elaborate on my ideas concerning individuality, spirituality, the outlaw’s war with life, the need to be combative with authority, Nietzschean philosophy, my own personal war with existence, mother nature and the existential necessity for lack of safety in pursuing enlightenment. All of this stems from a poem I wrote titled “Heavenly Blessings and Terminal Temptations” from my second book “Midnight Mourning”…you can find a link to purchase it here:
The ninth episode to my podcast aired today and, like all the other episodes, I was very happy with how it came out. If you missed the previous episodes, due to the fact I was too lazy to post them, you can find them by clicking the YouTube link on my home page. In this video I discussed a wide range of topics, from censorship to the battle of ideas, religion and collectivism vs. individualism. Hopefully my thoughts will be received in a manner in line with my actual intentions. Per usual, I elaborate on my ideas concerning individuality, spirituality, the outlaw’s war with life, the need to be combative with authority, Nietzschean philosophy, my own personal war with existence, mother nature and the existential necessity for lack of safety in pursuing enlightenment. All of this stems from a poem I wrote titled “Lonely Dog” from my second book “Midnight Mourning”…you can find a link to purchase it here:
I stand confused in the mayhem, Lost in the modern haze, Where the artists stick to standards And drown in the modern craze, But I won’t believe their shit is gold So I’m a lonely dog, shaking in the cold.
I will not judge your poetry By its social justice score, I don’t care for your politics And your social causes bore. So since I won’t believe your shit is gold, I’m a lonely dog, shaking in the cold.
I will not watch my language, I’m sorry if my words offend, But my art trumps your feelings, I don’t care and I won’t bend. So since I won’t admit your shit is gold, I’m a lonely dog, shaking in the cold.
I might be the pariah of my peers, But then again, I suppose whose to blame? They, who avoid the disgrace of outcasts, Or I, immune to such shame? I won’t believe their shit is gold So I’m a lonely dog, shaking in the cold.
The world is bustling and busy today The streets buzz with movement like Small bees blindly peppering the hive Of a barren black asphalt honeycomb Upon which all the bees do call home
Yesterday the world was bustling and busy Planes did glide like great ivory kites in air Trapped unable to break the bonds of nature Attached by gravitational strings to the ground Forever destined to exhaust and to return down
Tomorrow the world will likely be bustling and busy The highways will tremble with innumerable commuters Who will crawl single file to their respective ant hills Bearing with them the many fruits of their daily labor And adorning their ant hills to compete with their neighbor
There are so many poems unfinished today So so many words I have not yet spoke So many paragraphs in prose not yet wrote So much half written wording fumbled in dismay Well I guess the world was bustling and busy today
The sixth episode to my podcast aired today and, like all the other episodes, I was very happy with how it came out. I discussed a wide range of topics, and took a rational, yet likely controversial stance on gender dysphoric individuals based on an email my Boxing Gym received last week. Hopefully my thoughts will be received in a manner in line with my actual intentions. Per usual, I elaborate on my ideas concerning individuality, spirituality, the outlaw’s war with life, the need to be combative with authority, Nietzschean philosophy, my own personal war with existence, mother nature and the existential necessity for lack of safety in pursuing enlightenment. All of this stems from a poem I wrote titled “God’s Spire” from my first book, Rotten Man’s Throne…you can find a link to purchase it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08541HSXH/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_9YMTS5FE2QA6D2CB04VX)
Poem and link to video included below:
God’s Spire
If God should sit upon a spire, High above perceptions grasp, Then am I worthy of his wisdom? Can I echo a perfect past?
If God should sit upon a spire, Then must I purse my lips and pray? Am I worthy of his fire? Must my sins be scorched today?
Spending years in agony, Wondering if I’m to shine, Or will I rot with his derision? Am I worthy of his time?
Cause I am crawling, I am crawling, Encumbered weary deaf and blind. I am crawling, I am crawling, Crawling through the chasm of my mind.
Cause I am crawling, I am crawling, Engulfed by a doubt not defined. Cause I am crawling, I am crawling. Crawling through the chasm of my mind.
If I should sit upon a spire, High above all that’s divine, Must I justify His judgement, Or is his blood no longer wine?
And if I’m to sit upon a spire, Must I forego my sacred right, To be embraced by his forgiveness? And to wander through the empty night?
Spending years in agony, Wondering if I’m to shine, Or will I rot with his derision? Am I worthy of his time?
And as I sit upon the spire, High above pure entranced masses, It leaves me scarred and broken, bitter, But divine despite the lashes.
Will it be worth the holy battle, Against myself and all mankind? To overcome all that represses, As I’m crawling through the chasm of my mind?
There was once a time I felt I was the center of All the turbulence descending down from God above, For it had been his wicked world which left me marred And if any love in this scarred world had once existed Then from this feeling I would most certainly be barred. For when the sun beat down so lovingly from heaven It would be only I who lie charred black when it set And if you told me I was paranoid and hopeless, I would say, “don’t forget: riddled with regret”.
But now I realize that I am not alone in this, No living soul has ever wished off Judas’s Kiss And, yet, still we are all stark alone in how we suffer The lives of men maintain no pattern, rhyme or reason So, therefore, each breath is nothing but a fleeting buffer. For each year marks a dawn of a deeper darker winter And each winter leaves a mortal man far more froze, If you tell me that the storm is simply pointless to defy Then I’ll just decry this mortal dread in prose.
bourbon, cigarettes and syllables 