Saturday, June 16, 2012

fickle, the band aid ripper

most likely fixating on the details of what i said
when really none of that matters
although i'll admit i said it in a cruel way
i even sort of blamed you
when i know it's not you, it's just not us.
i'll know better for next time
i had fun with you

fickle hearts know the truth early on
but they can convince themselves of anything
at least for a while

Friday, June 15, 2012

Honeymoon Stage Cut Short

I realized how disgusting you really are
as I watched you walk away
trying to figure out who to take advantage of next 

I listen when you talk
Although I'll admit I hear just what I want to
We all do that, especially you
You just don't seem to hear anything important to me

If I'm going to be your mother
then you might as well be my father

I let you take advantage of my kindness
because I feel guilty for not liking you that much
HOW IRRATIONAL IS THAT
In fact
I don't think you really even like me that much
I'm just another resource to you


We both have something to offer each other
but I don't think it's quite enough
you can't pick and choose because someone inevitably wants more
that's the truth in both cases

I like how you understand parts of me
and try to unravel the rest
but you'll never get it
so in the end your kindness just hurts



Monday, June 11, 2012

A Cloud In Trousers

"A handsome young man with a gloomy expression... overflowing with lethal and incessant cleverness." Poet, futurist, propagandist - Vladimir Mayakovsky had shot himself through the heart.

A Cloud in Trousers
by Vladimir Mayakovsky
translated from Russian by Andrey Kneller

Prologue

Your thought,
Fantasizing on a sodden brain,
Like a bloated lackey on a greasy couch sprawling, --
With my heart’s bloody tatters, I’ll mock it again.
Until I’m contempt, I’ll be ruthless and galling.

There’s no grandfatherly fondness in me,
There are no gray hairs in my soul!
Shaking the world with my voice and grinning,
I pass you by, -- handsome,
Twentytwoyearold.

Gentle souls!
You play your love on the violin. 
The crude ones play it on the drums violently.
But can you turn yourselves inside out, like me
And become just two lips entirely?
 
Come and learn--
You, decorous bureaucrats of angelic leagues! 
Step out of those cambric drawing-rooms
 
And you, who can leaf your lips
Like a cook turns the pages of her recipe books.
 
If you wish--
I’ll rage on raw meat like a vandal
Or change into hues that the sunrise arouses,
If you wish--
I can be irreproachably gentle,
Not a man -- but a cloud in trousers.
 
I refuse to believe in Nice1 blossoming!
I will glorify you regardless, --
Men, crumpled like bed-sheets in hospitals,
And women, battered like overused proverbs.

 
 sigh.
 
 
A Cloud In Trousers Pt 1