Anarchy in the C-Dawg Hitchens Way, Yo!
know not why even the head loser here would flame me for this, being that there is written a book about unlegislated law in poetry and I seem, though in my words alone be mine, to quote it. But I will be, never is it not the way though this is never what I mean to say but what I must.
I am here but to say to blue that I abhor original work, especially mine, though of course, not nearly as much as other people, and any real poet or lover of the same would never belong to a community like this, thus you are all fakes, and only real for the shit you leave behind you here.
Take your own advice, loser, as I can see you think constructive criticism means intellectual forms of BDSM and while I am not anywhere near against such things, with art you must always be as gentle as you can and still tell the truth, which is not to be gentle at all, and yet, to say that the blank page cannot be improved upon is to deny its existence, It lives but to be defiled as all we do, especially poets unafraid to be labled and burned for being what they are and nothing else.
And that other fellow who presumes my day job is not yet another form of what I have done first and ever since may follow all of you.
I'm gone, I swear I will never be missed here, and yet to say that is to be forever remembered by the nature of people and their inability to just grab what they really want, not what they are told they do, and granted, though there is not much difference, everything one has ever said of the truth is true or may yet be for having been. But then, a lie is a lie and only true in that. So alone is she. And so I say I will never be a poet again for this experience. Merely a psychic and an animist and a preacher as I am in what may be called the day to you or me, but never both, since I wish not to be here for that I am so disgustingly near you.
Let me say again that it is done, be more honest in the saying that I never can leave for the few who happen to believe they are real, but still dead, will miss me in their constant sleep and nightmares.
And I wanted to let this be said to in near silence tho those who must hear, but your elitism prevents it, meaning you all must need to hear not only that I am a poet and you are not, for that I dare to say I may not be what I think I am, but only what THEY happen to say it is, and so you proclaim my arrogance when I would not.
How dare you perform the sort of violatory rape to which I am unable against to struggle. I am so disgusted anything can happen. I beg you, let me write the law to have it done, though no one will ever read or sign it as I would not do if you did not deem it, being real in your plasticity alone.
I can do nothing. I know what I am. I know I cannot write but still I do, and this is all in nothing a poet may be and yet never seems to be in and of herself alone.
You die, as I often say, just as you have lived, and because this curse is meant to sound like a curse and be a blessing, rather than the other which is far more or less real to all of us, I say I will decide how your lives have been that you may die the precise way I mean you to do so.
Most, in silence,
Alexandra
So, let me have it, leeks and losers. I've seen it all, and so in seeing and in calling out, I have it done. Mark me now.
Ugh. Having read over now I see that because I have not used the word he will but say this is not about anarchy, never having known that it was anarchy inside of him and not his own selishness.
So, all right, I am doing more than said would be done as always. Anarchy is to write the law for oneself, and this is always a poem regardless of the linebreaks. So, just eat it, it is so yummy, and I know for it is all I eat though I truly, literally speaking hate all food.
So, you loser self-proclaimed anarchists and mathematicians and sesame street teletubbies watchers. Are you anarchists who long to be poets in anarchy? I say but with the only arrogance I can muster, and believe me this is not it at all, that I am one of them and of you.
So there, just eat me, I so need it. Oh to be banned by anarchist for impropriety foreign even to their forked tongues is to be an anarchist indeed.
Alexandra
I am here but to say to blue that I abhor original work, especially mine, though of course, not nearly as much as other people, and any real poet or lover of the same would never belong to a community like this, thus you are all fakes, and only real for the shit you leave behind you here.
Take your own advice, loser, as I can see you think constructive criticism means intellectual forms of BDSM and while I am not anywhere near against such things, with art you must always be as gentle as you can and still tell the truth, which is not to be gentle at all, and yet, to say that the blank page cannot be improved upon is to deny its existence, It lives but to be defiled as all we do, especially poets unafraid to be labled and burned for being what they are and nothing else.
And that other fellow who presumes my day job is not yet another form of what I have done first and ever since may follow all of you.
I'm gone, I swear I will never be missed here, and yet to say that is to be forever remembered by the nature of people and their inability to just grab what they really want, not what they are told they do, and granted, though there is not much difference, everything one has ever said of the truth is true or may yet be for having been. But then, a lie is a lie and only true in that. So alone is she. And so I say I will never be a poet again for this experience. Merely a psychic and an animist and a preacher as I am in what may be called the day to you or me, but never both, since I wish not to be here for that I am so disgustingly near you.
Let me say again that it is done, be more honest in the saying that I never can leave for the few who happen to believe they are real, but still dead, will miss me in their constant sleep and nightmares.
And I wanted to let this be said to in near silence tho those who must hear, but your elitism prevents it, meaning you all must need to hear not only that I am a poet and you are not, for that I dare to say I may not be what I think I am, but only what THEY happen to say it is, and so you proclaim my arrogance when I would not.
How dare you perform the sort of violatory rape to which I am unable against to struggle. I am so disgusted anything can happen. I beg you, let me write the law to have it done, though no one will ever read or sign it as I would not do if you did not deem it, being real in your plasticity alone.
I can do nothing. I know what I am. I know I cannot write but still I do, and this is all in nothing a poet may be and yet never seems to be in and of herself alone.
You die, as I often say, just as you have lived, and because this curse is meant to sound like a curse and be a blessing, rather than the other which is far more or less real to all of us, I say I will decide how your lives have been that you may die the precise way I mean you to do so.
Most, in silence,
Alexandra
So, let me have it, leeks and losers. I've seen it all, and so in seeing and in calling out, I have it done. Mark me now.
Ugh. Having read over now I see that because I have not used the word he will but say this is not about anarchy, never having known that it was anarchy inside of him and not his own selishness.
So, all right, I am doing more than said would be done as always. Anarchy is to write the law for oneself, and this is always a poem regardless of the linebreaks. So, just eat it, it is so yummy, and I know for it is all I eat though I truly, literally speaking hate all food.
So, you loser self-proclaimed anarchists and mathematicians and sesame street teletubbies watchers. Are you anarchists who long to be poets in anarchy? I say but with the only arrogance I can muster, and believe me this is not it at all, that I am one of them and of you.
So there, just eat me, I so need it. Oh to be banned by anarchist for impropriety foreign even to their forked tongues is to be an anarchist indeed.
Alexandra