Dr Philosopher's Lost Luster

Remember Doctor Foster in Gloucester? Then, do sing along. Dr. Philosopher was such a pompous-Sir, and he was such a bane he lived in a bubble and earned over double of what an average man did so gain Dr. Philosopher was quite an arse-licker for him, there was loads to gain in schmoozing wherever, name-dropping forever right company he must retain Dr. Philosopher was, in fact, an ethnographer, who believed in the First-world’s reign he thought others too tribal their knowledge not viable their sacred acts all profane Dr. Philosopher said ‘truth’ he’d decipher, with objectivity, existence explain his perspectives from the canon pure Western thought, sure not Fanon, mind li

NEWSFLASH!

Headlines depress love, thyself, and thy neighbor How to sell a massacre. Dozens killed in attacks on Burkina Faso villages. The rapid spread of the new coronavirus in China and beyond. 30 people burnt to death in Kintampo-Tamale road crash. Trial opens for murder of 298 on flight MH17. Six inmates die as prison riots over coronavirus rules grip Italy. Mom gets life for BEHEADING her daughter, 5, because she ‘asked for cereal’. Generation Hate. ‘It’s crazy’: Panic buying forces stores to limit purchases of toilet paper and masks. Crises are fueling the global arms trade. The BJP has incited hatred it can no longer stop. U.S.-Taliban deal aimed to promote peace raises prospect of Taliban take

Reading Bukowski

Reading you, Bukowski, is pure inspiration—in turn of phrase, w/ emotion laced angst all over the place in the open heart of your prolific prose poetry pulsating amazing sheer grace in the face of don’t know what’s becoming of me here & yet, I thank you for now I remember— I’m slowly learning how to also live out on a limb of uncomfortable, uncompromising discomfort rubs me up all in the wrong way but I sit on it understanding it's not abuse it's instead, a form of resuscitation this hard-done-by feeling is strangling the timidity out of don't know if I can but I can't no, I don't and maybe even I won't be re-membered in many years to come, forget years when a day is too long to live in obsc

Invisibility Hues

How do I see myself? Sometimes I don't, for I am missing in-action at the edge of this life unlived of this story untold of this destiny unfated of this truth unveiled in all its naked fury as I'm so far from freedom so close to my own incarceration where my heart beats hard against a ribcage that won't let me go out into the world where I can see myself becoming more me than is necessary in everyday subsistence.

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