Greetings simmbiosis sends
The open hand which he extends
Glad we can be
It's always good to have more friends

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Disgust Discussed

What is it that makes you sick

Just what do you revile

Why is that you feel this way

It the stench is it the pile

Where do you find your respite

If for even just a while

How do you face your own mess

When you own it with a smile

Who is it that you’re kidding

Confused delusion is futile

Perhaps it’s time

Disgust’s discussed

Poison to one

Ain’t poison to all

Maybe it’s time

The unjust just adjust

Perverse amusements

Tend to appall

Natural pleasures sinful

Unnatural acts divine

Brutality a windfall

Aggression we enshrine

Disgust discussed dispensed

To those we so consign

To the wrong end of our rancor

On the wrong end of the line

Perhaps it’s time

Disgust’s discussed

Poison to one

Ain’t poison to all

Maybe it’s time

The unjust just adjust

Perverse amusements

Tend to the fall

Fatty skinny shorty giant

Dealer squealer feeler client

Helpless helpful self reliant

Strong will weak will be compliant

Poopy pants disgust

Everything must shit

Too much exposed bust

Each mammal has a tit

Genitalia bussed

Don’t you love your clit

Effective penis thrust

Pops off like a zit

Too tight to adjust

Lubricate with spit

Bio functions must

Intake as they emit

Nipples are offensive

Warfare just policy

Lionized in slaughter

What is vulgarity

Naked in aggression

The bullet sets you free

Live the paradigm

Embracing enmity

Die by lie, why deny

You’re just as dead you see

Perhaps it’s time

Disgust’s discussed

Poison to one

Ain’t poison to all

Maybe it’s time

The unjust just adjust

Perverse amusements

Bend to the fall

Stand on the wreck

Counting your cash

All hands on deck

Down with a splash

Hand out bad check

Tout market crash

Expanding dreck

Avoiding trash

Live in palatial squalor

Surrounded by the ruins you have made

In your coat and collar

Buffed up to conceal your inside decayed

Fiefdom of the dollar

Professions to keep everyone afraid

Disgusted by skin color

But not by the ignorance you’ve displayed

Repulsed by everything

Feeding on the wretches whom you’ve preyed

Revolting revolution

Injustice never denied or delayed

Insulting revolution

Injustice is never denied or delayed

Perhaps it’s time

Disgust’s discussed

Poison to one

Ain’t poison to all

Maybe it’s time

The unjust just adjust

Perverse amusements

End in the fall

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© 2009 simmbiosis

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Does Tinnitus Ring a Bell?

This ringing, it’s ringing and ringing
And ringing and ringing and ringing
It’s ringing and ringing
And ringing and ringing
This ringing it’s ringing – fucking noisy

I am a child of the city, a boy of the town, an adolescent of the country and perhaps a man of the world. Spun around on it enough to possess a marginal understanding of its process: it appears to twirl on its axis while revolving around a star (Sol) which spins around a huge hole in the middle of the galaxy. And the galaxy hurls through space with billions of like minded spinning things. In space, everything spins.

On Earth, everything rings. Are you gonna get that?

Allow me to explain…

By 8 years old I moved from the city (LBC boyee) to the town (Santa Rosa – Saint Rose, sounds like a wine). From the town my pater acquired land and on that land I had my first exposure to REALLY FUCKING LOUD noises in the form of gun fire. Started off with the fairly mild explosions of the 22 caliber long rifle and grew to shotguns and high powered rifles. Very loud, very ominous, very dangerous.

When you’re a kid, none of the things that torture you in later life exist. Part of being a kid is causing those things which torture you in later life. Like firing really FUCKING LOUD guns without ear protection. Really stupid. But when you’re a kid, if fortune smiles upon you, you can survive really stupid choices. If fortune frowns upon you, you still have the auditory impact, but people who for some reason don’t favor you are the ones firing the guns – and things louder still.

By teenage, I had progressed to handguns and rock and roll. Both REALLY FUCKING LOUD. Little compares to the sensation of standing in front of a stack of stage monitors, massive speakers with woofers you could live in and tweeters to scare the birds from the sky. At that distance you feel the music as much as hear it. And you REALLY hear it.

The delusion of youth creates a certain sense among the privileged of invincibility. I suspect part of that comes from being so spoiled that your perplexing life has so little meaning that your unsuccessful efforts to end it convince you you’ll be around forever. Part of that comes, I suppose, from the sense that you’ve already been around longer than you want.

In retrospect, a fairly disgusting perspective, especially with the subsequent understanding of the travails others not so blessed endure to maintain the shittiest of lives. We pay in our age for the arrogance of our youth.

It won’t give up, it wants me dead, God damn this noise inside my head…

“The Becoming” – Nine Inch Nails

So, I’ve got this, thing. It lives in my head, not so much my ears, but they’re what I grab when it gets so loud I think my head will explode. But it’s up inside there, like a walkie-talkie set on squelch, an electronicy, bacon cookingy, grindy kind of sound that seems to increase each day as the outside sounds go farther and farther away. It’s really quite maddening, sometimes excruciating. On occasion I cry like a little bitch.

This sound, this noise, then elicits external noise, offering solutions, tinctures and unguents and magical potions to alleviate it. Try zinc, cut out caffeine, drink, don’t drink, smoke, don’t smoke, hold your head under the sink. Certainly one of my favorites – mask the horrid drone with an external horrid drone. Double the drone, embrace white noise, mask everything in the hell of my head.

I play in these solutions: I cut out, I increase, I mask, I bury. I hide. But there’s no place to hide in your head, no safe shelter from your brain. No relief from the constant refrain, no silence for sonic pain.

At times it seems that one of the possible causes of this self imposed perpetual scream (gunfire) could be its only solution. But if such a place as Hell exists (externally) I already know what my eternity will sound like. So, as so many others, in much worse pain, I abide. I can still hear other stuff. I guess that’s enough.

Will somebody answer that?


Saturday, October 24, 2009

Well? Come to Lime Ricky.

Employing standard rhyming form
Create paradigm outside the norm

A fun simple way

To make what you say

Entertain, intrigue and inform

Some find puerile, some pooh pooh

This limerick thing that we do

Before you decry it

You might wanna try it

Cause we’d sure like to see some from you

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Join this endeavor if you would

As long as one thing’s understood

Don’t have to be cute

Or a fucking hoot

Just as long as the bastards are good

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A grand time is had, this is true
Per verse busy tongues, me and you
What goes in what comes out
And off we do spout
It's not just with words that we screw

"Do not feed the bears" read the sign
At some German zoo near the ..Rhine..
An illiterate hog
Plunged into their bog
Upon her fat ass they did dine

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a bitch who overlooked the town pub....

approached a few bears for some grub....

they gave her a clawing....

and a little light pawing....

for acting like a wannabe cub....

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The crazy broad's head spun dizzily
Synapses all popped and fizzily
Snack for a bear
Who just didn't care
For a meal he knew would be grizzly

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cute, cuddly bears of the polar,....

one dumbest woman under solar....

get together for lunch ....

where she can't feel the crunch ....

of her fat ass caught in their molar....

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So born so incredibly bare
Now a bear with lily white hair
Too close to the border
Buy polar disorder
Aphrodisiacs won't be found there

here's a rhyme to tell what i ate:....

'nuff pasta to fill a large plate!....

now very full....

my mind's in a lull....

and belly is mildly sedate.....

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a lim'rick before i retire--....

the poet in me you inspire--....

okay, enough said!....

i'm going to bed....

lest i end in a rhyming quagmire.


tonight i made a grilled cheese....

but the end left me displeased....

you'd think i'd've learnt....

to not make it burnt....

and tasting like i had sneezed....

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Grilled cheese is usually hot
Excepting the grilling or not
I see no disaster
Little Schnozzblaster
It's either grilled cheese or it snot....