Archive for the ‘Man-child’ Category

Zeppelin_ Pochta SSSR, 1991, Albatros

Apocalypse nigh,

they sneer at the man-child,

just as yesterday, and the day before.

They, who represent normal; they, who always seem to have time to stand around and talk, repetitive, banal babble.

I feel for him, the guy, I can tell his mind is on higher things, he’s doing what he can to survive in this fucked-up world. I feel a connection, even though I don’t know him. I want to reach out, but he’s inured, he stays within himself, focused, he doesn’t meet my gaze. We pass like zeppelins, out of time and place.

Gone, like tomorrow’s gherkins.

Meanwhile, again, the establishment chatters, bemused, selfish, scornful, only their clique matters.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Perfidy_ Flowers & Knife

One day it’s the system,

the next it’s the elements,

then your inner demons,

your family and friends.

Welcome to adulthood:

Non-stop diabolical onslaught!

You’re “responsible” now!

Always someone or something,

at the worst possible time,

betraying life and existence.

… What chance success?

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Towel Thrown In, Boxing Ring

Tired of life,

it shows on his face.

Where once was joy and hope,

now not a trace.

Efforts to progress spat upon,

time and toil,

disappointment, betrayal,

all takes a toll.

(For this he was born?)

A world of hurt and pain,

exploitation and compromise,

where nothing is real or pure,

and everything is lies.

Futility and despair,

soul broken beyond repair.

Everything good has faded,

the future is oblivion,

welcome to jaded.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

basseyn.jpg

Man-child acts like a teenager, he explains,

because he didn’t get to be one when he was one.

Life on Earth,

misplaced time,

and everlasting brief.

 

(To be continued…)

               

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Man Laughs

It’s not funny, yet the idiot laughs;

he knows it’s expected, he complies with a reflex.

From a distance, added context,

his laugh is all the more ridiculous,

jarring hollow in my ears,

hideous.

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Wm in Chains

“Pornographer, perhaps. Blasphemer, no!” ardently, he said.

“Now, look into the camera, and spread.”

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Tiziano_ Amor Sacro y Amor Profano (1514)

Renaissance Man sees things another way,

he has *perspective*.

He is not moved by your dancing,

writhing,

bestiality,

nor by your gimmicks and VR Glasses.

Athens, Rome, Moscow burn?

He plays cello,

calmly reflecting.

A peace inspired by Plato.

Renaissance Man looks boldly

into the future,

he sees shit,

he flushes toilet.

Nuclear wind blows,

Summer and Winter,

my hero,

never old grows.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Hong Kong Jockey Club_ Happy Valley

 

“Well,

that depends on your definition of pornography.”

… Do you care about me?

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Woman sleeping

 

In my dream,

he kissed me passionately,

told me I was beautiful.

He licked my neck and said:

“I wanna fuck your brains out!”

… And other terms of endearment,

such I dream.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

“I hope she’s worth it,” I say to my brother,

though I already know the answer

is no.

Endless,

meaningless talk,

stress, pretence,

moral bankruptcy,

wage slavery,

dementia…

What men will do to get fucked.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat