The vacuum of space
Begins taking form in our eyes
And then a subsequent cry
Be it vocally, chemically, or otherwise
So please just tell me why
fault a flower for blooming
Or admonish a song-bird for singing
As though these things are at all akin to a bumblebee's buzzing and stinging
Had we no immunity to their lifeblood
Were our brains to drown in the aural flash flood
Then and only then may you undermine our daughters and sons
We'll be falling asleep together forever
Power exercised or exorcised - even after
Have you not heard the phrase "We dance to our DNA"
We do what we will
But in what we will, we have no say
We will to dance with each other
And so we do
And it will always be that way
So please just tell me
To what end would you like this be?
Would you like to see the bird-song cease?
Then hold your breath eternally
For the birds will sing
Even if you clip their wings
Even if marrow fills their bones throughout
For its place in the skies is not why it cries out
So when the vacuum of space begins taking form in our eyes
Remember that it's why we live, it's who we are, and it's exactly how we'll die
He had said "All that exists is X's and Y's"
What then is made of Southern forked-tongues and the way in which they lie?
His legions shout "Impossible! You cannot convince me!"
And with a heavy heart I conclude our collective skull is crumbling
"The devil makes you dream things you wouldn't normally"
So he's to blame for the lack of water?
And the benchmark borne by our own bones is naught but happenstance?
And the earth like pages in a binder
And creatures without legs still able to dance
I think not
This failure of a man is no one's father
One's insides are not as they had always been
Does this revelation constitute brand new information?
Or is where I must aim to score not where it had been before?
This game you play anything but playful
"The devil makes you dream things you wouldn't normally"
So why are our daughters not our doppelgängers?
And why do I resemble one with whom I have no relation?
And our blood like water from the same river
"It is tainted by your mother's transgression"
I think not
That weak-willed wretch of a woman is no one's mother
I've constructed me a castle
Meant to withstand the weight of waves
But I built it in the dead-centre of the sea
So therein may lie my mistake
Never once has it shown even a glimpse of give in all its glorious years
But recently now it seems somehow a small crack has appeared
I not so much as ponder the possibility
That my palace is being put through its paces
I just ruminate on its ruination
And my heart aches and races
With no due deliberation, I worry myself sick
Over something, upon such, may be easily fixed
But were I to be wrong, and the crack becomes a break
I want not to entertain the thought that I'll ever again feel safe
Though it pains me to admit but the thought does indeed exist
Nevertheless, the everest of my fears is to persist
I've made this house my home; there's nowhere else I'd rather be
I'm just concerned that one day it may give way and collapse on me
But alternatives considered, with that case I haven't qualms:
Rather than be at its hearse's helm, I'd like to die under its walls
Either my passion's been usurped by a sense of necessity
Or this could just be where it takes the form of solemnity
Irrespective of the minutia, the fact remains ceaseless:
I'll keep this structure's integrity intact even it it means my death
I swore to myself and to this place that I'd never ever leave
The pile may lapse, the castle can collapse, and I'll sleep in the debris
And so it's time to repair, lest the crack fissure and break down
I'm happy to be in the company
of perforated petals and liberated leaves -
carried as they be, carelessly,
intermittently, by the breeze
- should time as she is never cease to be
and I am left bereft of the
beautiful flower I wish to see
in full bloom, eternally
I'd unsheathed myself from sheets
and strutted down that same old street:
the one I'd not yet let become properly familiar with my feet.
'T'was home to some flora fully unimpressive to me;
they could not stand when stood next to that striking white lily
She sprouted only on select set days - to say this saddens me.
Any less than all the time is all too seldomly.
But I'm pleased to say to her patterns I promptly grew privy /
Supremely swiftly I saw myself to her singularities
but alas I was to abide alone and observe idly;
I could only survey - spurned to study sufficiently.
(As though I'd even wanted to initially. Oh, the irony.)
And so I'll remain in the company
of her petals prior to their perishing -
carried broken as they may be
by the breeze.
And should time as she was return to me
my eyes will go wholly white, right as white as thee,
blanchéd flower I may only see
Date & Time: Saturday, December 22nd, 2012, 12:57 PM
The apocalypse has but a day prior ravaged the globe and all life on Earth has since been wiped out. The entirety of the human population is parked outside The Pearly Gates awaiting Yahweh, His ultimate judgement, and their final destination in the afterlife.
Yahweh: Alright, so. Goddamn there are a lot of you here. But, yeah, whatever. Ahem. Let's get right down to business, shall we? Okay. Basically, as I'm sure you're aware, you won't all be staying up here. What I'm gonna do is, I'm gonna call out certain groups by name, i.e. murderers and adulterers, and anyone and everyone who qualifies as such will then have one of my angels toss a giant magic net around them, at which point you'll all promptly be thrown down this here garbage chute that leads straight to Hell. Mkay? Mkay. Quick, simple, effective. Let's do this. So. Murders. Adulterers. Rapists. Compulsive liars. Blasphemers. Homosexuals...
[YAHWEH is interrupted by one of the aforementioned homosexuals]
Homosexual Man: Um, I hate to be a bother, but would you mind reminding us why we're being condemned to eternal hellfire and torture?
Yahweh: Well, if you must know, that whole thing you guys do with the butt sex - and let's not forget the scissoring for the ladies - it's, like, not natural. And stuff.
Homosexual Man: How is it not natural?
Yahweh: Well, because it doesn't occur in nature.
Homosexual Man: ... Uhh, it occurs in human beings, and human beings are part of nature, so, by the transitive property, wouldn't homosexuality qualify as natural?
Yahweh: Well, I guess, but-
Homosexual Man: Furthermore, you're supposed to be all-loving and all-knowing, right?
Yahweh: What's with all the questions, pal?
Homosexual Man: I hardly see how it's fair how you implanted these feelings and desires in us only to then punish us for expressing them.
Yahweh: The whole point of that is to see if you'd be able to fight those desires.
Homosexual Man: Do you have any how hard that is? Not even with regards to sex, but love: an emotion you gave us and fully know the extent of. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing that harbors nothing but good. My husband means everything to me and I would do literally almost anything in the world for him, but I'm a bad person for wanting to be physically intimate with the love of my life?
Yahweh: Yeah, but, you could, you know, like, get diseases and stuff.
Homosexual Man: Well, for one, with science, medicine and technology as advanced as it is, there are ways to pretty much completely circumvent any and all health issues. We have it well within our capacity to take perfect care of ourselves. Not to mention, given that you created everything, aren't you the one responsible for any health issues that could potentially arise? Surely you have it within your limitless power to make STDs a complete and total non-issue.
Yahweh: No, see, the reason I invented STDs is to encourage people to stay with just one person so as they can raise a family in a more loving environment.
Homosexual Man: There's no correlation between how many people you have sex with and how equipped a parent you'll be, or how loving a spouse you'll be.
Yahweh: I totally see where you're coming from, but, like, a child is typically better off with opposite sex parents.
Homosexual Man: I'd love to see some statistics.
Yahweh: Sure thing, man. But, uh...oh, dammit. I totally had that stat sheet here, but now I can't find it. As soon as I do, though, I'll get back to you on that, I swear.
Homosexual Man: Weren't Hitler and Stalin raised by opposite sex parents?
Yahweh: They're the exception.
Homosexual Man: What about Josef Fritzel?
Homosexual Man: And since, statistically speaking, most people on the planet are brought up in mother/father households, doesn't that mean that most criminals and sinners in general were raised by opposite sex parents?
Homosexual Man: How long until the exception becomes the rule?
Yahweh: How long until you stop being a jerk?
Homosexual Man: Yeah, okay then. That answered all my questions. I'm glad we cleared that up.
Yahweh: I'm very happy to have aided you, my son. NOW BURN IN HELL, FAGGOT!
A giant magic net is cast out, ensnaring all homosexuals within it. They are then tossed down the chute and sent to Hell to endure unknown agony and pain until the end of time itself. For reasons no one is entirely sure of.
In the grandest of ballrooms on the most lavish of dance floors, our nerve endings have arrived and are slated to perform a series of steps so sensual it inspires souls to soar. But not before- but not before... Against the back wall stand the women, while the men stand near the door. From across the room glances of adoration and rapport and lust and everything between exchange forevermore. But not before- but not before... Between their larynges and lungs there outbreaks a war, as for each other they will sing e'en if their somas sore. They will not stop 'til every single note's accounted for. But not before- but not before... 'midst the surrounding splendour, damsels be the damnedest decor. Through spurring other senses, the men wish to further distort their realities, and explore those peaks and valleys furthermore. But not before- but not before...
You see, I am not intact, and my insides do consort with all manner of termites and other parasitic forms. The men have been weeded out, and leave me something to be abhorred. For long before, for long before...
The intervention of a madman. He moves across the floor, makes his way to the bar, reaches inside a drawer, and pulls out something sharp, perhaps as a last resort, just to ensure... just to ensure a mark on the face of Mother Nature, but not the faces of her whores; the eradication of an openness to eagerly escort a no-one down your hallway as a culmination of your courts - lest you be fed, not to each other, but instead to a swarm. And so over the madman's hands there spills something warm and crimson red: the blood of the men whose skin he had just torn. Now any welcome once imparted will soon be outworn, and any attempt at simulating life will be essentially stillborn.
I'm sure she'd sooner dance with herself rather than a corpse. We understand completely. Simply say so and need not say more. I hope perhaps we can protect our progeny henceforth. But we cannot save ourselves. Not anymore. Not anymore.
(Too Immaterial A Difference Methodically to Say There Exists a Discrepancy Inherently)
They put their lips to an aperture and consume of the essence
Concern oneself not with the manner of entrance
Do, however, with the sensation
Do, however, with your intent
Do, however, with your reaction
And do, however, with the aftereffect
Be her long-neck or mouth-agape
A single contrast is not made
Once your insides start to stir
And the world outside your retinas blurs
Upon the utterance of a content sound
I query as to those contrasts' whereabouts
Upon the table, my bottom dollar:
Gone, upon the pavement's donning of a collar
So open your mind as you open your lips
As you nourish your body, nourish your wits
Staple your eyes closed as their widening lingers
And question the cause of your quivering fingers
And question your state upon your egress
Then acknowledge its inevitability regardless
The perception's not persistent, it's predicated on dress
At its core it is uniform in what it represents
A divergence in repute marks not divergence in the fact(s)
And the way in which it's approached changes not the actuality of the act(s)
For a shapeshifter's soul doesn't reshape alongside its form
And the same holds true of the meaning of every such play to be performed
It's as unwavering as this metaphor
Has anyone ever considered that the bible was written as a satire? I'm serious. Just two bored dudes sitting in a cave coming up with shit like "Yeah, and then write, like, if, uh...you eat dairy and meat as a part of the same meal, you'll burn forever in Hell!" and the other dude's like "Hahaha, what the fuck? That doesn't even make sense" and then the first dude is just like "Haha, yeah I know, but just put it in there anyways" and then the second dude is like "Fuck, haha, whatever. Sure. Might I ask where you got this idea from, though?" and then the first dude was like "If you must know, I was eating some beef and I accidentally got cheese on it, and HOLY SHIT it was amazing! I don't want anyone stealing my idea so maybe this will scare them away from trying it."
And that's the story of how the cheeseburger was invented.
Music is degrading. When you listen to a band, you're not focused on them as people, or their personalities, or the production. You're focused on the vocals and guitars and drums and bass (if you can even hear it). You listen to music for enjoyment, not to admire the band as people. It's not like when you listen to a song you think "Wow, these are people I want to hang out with and get to know" when you listen to it; you think about the guitar riffs or soaring vocalizations (for your own enjoyment, not to solely relish in their talent), and about that part in the song that gives you chills. It's not even like you respect them as people. What I'm saying is 100% true. You don't listen to music because you respect the band members or their personalities, or what they've done in life - you don't even know who they are outside of the recording studio. You're listening to them because you like their music and they're a tool for enjoyment. They're just instruments; they have reduced themselves down to just music.
Futhermore, there isn't anything especially positive about music itself. Music isn't an accurate representation of the life is so often croons and laments about. For example:
"You could slit my throat and with my one last gasping breath I would apologize for bleeding on your shirt."
People will hear those words and think, "despite being in severe pain and the fact that I'm choking on my own blood, I would not only be physically able, but willing to articulate a fully fledged formality in the form of expressing regret for staining my perpetrator's clothes." It's just not a realistic portrayal of having your throat slit and it's warping people's minds.
I've found that, the more people listen to these songs, the more they want life to be like that, because they become habituated to those kind of actions (whether they be on the receiving end or administering end). Take the above lyric I posted. It is a song in an album that chronicles a break-up. Girls will hear that and think committing first-degree murder is a sensible, successful solution to their relationship woes. Anything short of slicing his neck open will seem ineffective and pointless. Some girls will even go so far as to try and induce a dispute for the sole purpose of murdering their boyfriend or husband during said dispute. It's not that these girls are unintelligent or irrational or anything of the sort, it's simply that they've been brainwashed by the over-the-top imagery in certain songs and have become accustom to life playing out as they hear it song. And not only does music give false impressions on the reality of life, it also twists people's idea of men. Most songs will give the impression that males in their early, to mid- or even late-twenties are, in actuality, 15 year old girls. And that is not the case.
Music can be extremely misleading and dangerous.
Women want their lives to transpire as such because they believe it's normal for life to do so, but what's worse is they will expect life to do so. This kind of misunderstanding of the world and their gender-counterparts can have devastating effects. For example: say you get in an argument with your boyfriend, and it culminates in you slitting his throat. Much to your dismay, you may come to realize that he is, not only adverse his throat being slit, but he may not even apologize for bleeding on your shirt. Or even worse, your shirt may remain completely blood-free. It can be extremely frustrating when life doesn't go as you expect (especially when you've been led to so persistently to believe that it will), and you'll end up taking that frustration out on your loved ones (i.e. your boyfriend, who you actually can't take your frustration out on because you just slit his throat, which only frustrates you more) and this can cause serious rifts between you and them (i.e. death).
Then you have the lyrics like "I would do anything for you" and other such grandiose sentiments. I often hear that women actively seek someone who would "do anything" for them, talk about liking and desiring it and write about it non-relationship related blogs, periodicals, and other forms of media. Why is this perception wrong and how has music made people think this way, and why is this an unhealthy perception of a relationship, you ask? It's wrong because it distorts what women want, who they are, and the kind of relationships they want to have. I don't want to say no girl wants that because there will always be variations on what people want. The problem, however, with it is that it normalizes that which is a minority's preference for many women. That's all you hear in music. You never hear anyone say "I wouldn't piss on fire to put you out" (unless you're listening to Eminem). Everyone in music wants it sweet and loving (unless you're Eminem). So what happens is, other boys and men hear these songs and think, well, if it's in a song it must have some truth to it, so they come to accept this as what women want, an issue that is only amplified in severity by the fact that they have no counterbalance to it (except for Eminem). And what exacerbates it even further is music videos. In any love song that has an accompanying video, the male and female lead will always be seen as blissfully happy, and that is not realistic. You think unfaltering, unconditional love really makes most people happy? It absolutely is not an accurate representation of the majority (just ask Eminem). Now, you're probably thinking "What's the issue with normalizing an oddity? I mean, if you do something someone doesn't respond positively to (short of slitting their throat), the worst that would realistically happen is them simply giving you a negative response. All it'll do is, essentially, create a slightly awkward moment. Why is that so horrible?" Well, that is an excellent question, but unfortunately I can't answer that now because I've got to get started on my next paragraph.
The idea that these lovey-dovey, over-emotive musicians are rich and famous only further sways the listener. They're being sold an image of glamour. What happens is you see these people during interviews and such and the substance of their music is never discussed. Instead, all that is ever displayed is their wealth, success, and "supposed" good life. What they don't show is that for every successful musician, there are hundreds of millions of unsuccessful ones. Most musicians have a very short shelf-life. They don't end up in a huge mansion with lots of fancy cars and beautiful clothes. The lesson here is the glitz shouldn't be showcased because it's inherently wrong to live your life the way these artists do because it won't always produce positive results.
Before you even say it, I know what you're going to ask "What about the fact that not all songs are love songs? There are different genres and types of music." Another great question, but once again you've caught me at a horribly inopportune time as my next paragraph is about to start. Man, your timing is bad.
Another reason why music is destroying the universe is people don't always choose to be in music. If a teenaged boy or girl runs away from home, fleeing from abuse (possibly sexual), or is thrown out, they'll have two primary concerns: food and shelter. Decent, well-paying jobs that cover the rent are in short supply for a homeless teenager to procure, especially if they have not completed high school. Generally, you need a marketable skill, access to showers and clean clothing, and a physical address to list on the job application. But the child quickly realizes, on their own or through the encouragement of talentless musicians like BrokeNCYDE, Millionaires, 3OH!3, T.Mills, Justin Bieber, etc., that they indeed have a marketable skill: they can get paid by spending 20 minutes messing around in GarageBand
Or, alternatively, what if a person in question is a drug addict? A person addicted to drugs requires a reliable, steady cash flow to maintain their habit. If they're a corporate lawyer, or Whitney Houston, then no big deal. However, if they're homeless or poor or unskilled, they is far more likely to resort to music than to try to finance their addiction making $7.50 an hour at Wal-Mart. As previously mentioned, making simplistic music is one marketable skill that everyone shares in a culture like ours. We all know that if times get tough enough, we can likely find a buyer for music with lyrics such as:
damn right ho you're so sleazy
you give me the heebie-jeebies
you make my pee-pee hard!
Oh, what's that? You've got another question. Sigh, fine. Go on. "Well, surely, the true evils in the aforementioned situation(s) would be homeless, sexual abuse, and drug-addiction rather than music itself, no? Music is merely a haven (and one I'd argue is not inherently iniquitous)." Hmm, well, I've got a question for you: would you fuck off with the questions? Jesus Christ.
Now, before I bring this to a close, I'd like to share some statistics with you:
• 67% of rapists regularly listen to music.
• 20% of rapists employ, in an act of twisted (but admittedly hilarious) irony, a musical soundtrack when committing a rape.
• A 1997 survey of Chinese men showed that 50% of them at one point had been in a band or other musical ensemble. And another study showed that 100% of Chinese men view adorable little puppy faces as a delicacy. Whether or not those two things are connected is for you to decide. (Hint: I wouldn't even bring this up if they weren't, and if you disagree, you're wrong, and you're also probably a music-loving rapist.)
•250,000,000 North Americans spend 5+ hours a day listening to music.
And finally, and perhaps most frighteningly...
• Today, 9 out of 10 children between the ages of 8 and 16 have heard music.
So turn off MTV and mute those mp3 players, people. Unless you want America to get raped.