I thought “Phil” was love, but the “Dr.” doesn’t use a glove
when he spreads a gross meme that men are s’posed
to run when women threaten them with an exposed gun
for fun – or when a psycho teen mom on the tube
abuses her man in front of her own son and her “lover”, she gets
off scot-free for fathering battery ’cause she has mammaries, yet in our apathy we won’t expose or control women widows who are more prone to using weapons to kill their hosts in their homes, under cover of happenstance, based on the obscene nonsense that women must be the protected queen bee sex,
or if a man named Adrian – indeed, we have names, friend – loses his virginity on a buzz
to a lover, the DNA is enough to convict him for the murder of love and liberty that is the sorry ‘child support’ game in extremis,
but it won’t matter it’s his living son when a corrupt court owned by fuzzy men given levity
with guns sends him to jail for lifting a finger to dial
a phone, only that he was born ‘with penis’ and labeled male, so he’s thrown in a cell with no funds in an
underfunded hell away from home where demons
dwell and you’re never alone – you know what
happens there, you saw American History
X and called it operatic entertainment, your soap on a rope, yet you’ll condemn an eighteen year old
for having sex with his younger ex, making connections
or sharing nude texts, while you widely ignore the victims of
widespread forced anal sex, marbling pleas in and out of the ruins of your concrete pillars of ‘peace’, and other attacks against innocent wrecks you’ve made of children in the halls of Sam’s song and Dawson’s tears.
Will your image of legalese laws ever make legitimate sense or have legitimate cause? You call this your
justice, condoning it, not owning it, showing your lax state in this tax state
of indifference and callous treatment of
the ‘unfairer’ sex, who you
condemn from LAX to Halifax, the light of a life lived your hell’s facts, and mock for tweeting objective sense on subjects you resent, the heartfelt senseless
sex in the heartless subject West, but you wouldn’t know that, you’re too busy
subjecting a young lass and the lads she could have had and loved to a frontal lobe lopped off
with suspect psychotropic drugs and myopic epic Hollywood flubs before they learn how to cope,
hope, jump rope, or quit, in this antibiotic bubble of microbial shit, because all you fear is the
next winner or the next little Hitler, so you’ll wash out mouths with soap and promote numbing pop, but you’ll avoid the misery of facing the misery of
seas of women raped and men murdered under orders in a German ‘berg, “mofs” starved to death to dig their own graves and form Stalin’s gulags, to keep your neutered New Deal world hoppin’ & ballin’, away from your face,
to defend your sense of false pride and need to replace peace of mind, your right to claim you are saved by getting on your knees to celebrate a whore’s seed in disgrace, your place,
the only thing you fight for, to play more, hands in the air and you don’t care about
forearms and hind legs torn off by your land mines, so you could forget your war crimes-
You had a say and a part to play in this chorus and you do still,
but still you lay and you lie to hide what’s inside
your mind to cover your behind or instill false guilt to avoid rhymes and reason regarding your pride. You never stop!
Your soul knows your guilt,
it’s covered in silt regurgitated and tilled and you shame those who
wear boots so you can sew quilts and pretend you
did shit, when the AIDS epidemic swims quick, the only thing free in
the prisons of this sick ugly eternity you made with
your greedy sadomasochistic creativity to invade and control those with identity who sing with sore throats and heavy eyes to expose travesties,
as you hide away those who sow seed, sail submarines, and kiss skies for the prize, soaring high over or under a fleet of capsized ships when they see your lying lips, a fulfillment of awfully awful
prophecy drowning total mocking hypocrisy, and when the flood
waters seek your life in strife you’ll flee and come nigh
to me in my moat and think I won’t let you sink in your boat and fulfill your destiny
on the brink of self-destruction or reveal your stink in the drink of corruption, yet still
you refuse as the waters are loosed to use your eyes to spy the penalty price
of spilled dysfunction and forced bloody rectal hemorrhagic eruption,
you’ll call this obscene but what the fuck have you seen or opened with your own chin?
You wallow in tubgirl and two girls one cup and other such consumptions,
and you prefer getting your reality from the TV that
yells at me and desenses, denses, and desensitizes you to the true
reality, dispensing coins for your gumption to play
hide-and-go-seek in concoction, yet you condemn babies who just want a drink
to deal with your deal to fleas and scabies in a claustrophobic dump.
You’d rather be Leah Remini and complain about safe things like
Scientology and other love-to-be-slammed ideologies, Do you not see the hypocrisy of calling auditors out for sex talk when you sell far worse antagonistic pornographic slop in bulk? Are you aware of
your own Pharisaic philosophy? Look at yourself, you are guilty of all the same self-flattering abusive sprees and apologetic orgies! “Oh geez.” Know thyself – I do. Is this my hypocrisy? And I a blind Jew? Not when I wallow in self-analytic philosophy constantly to try to help you breathe – it’s not fun, you see, but I am compelled to see and speak – because to marry knowledge is to be guilty.
Lean-on-me-Lena sounds like love too, but what did you say when
that dear bubbly Judah dove Madame Dunham profited too much from the biblio hypocrisy of this much cunnin’ sundered feminist democracy
– suddenly built on the capitalist philosophy crutch that easy targets build sustainable markets that encourage talent with short sells,
a preposterous blasphemy, we see, according to the law of the sea which one day must recede – So cease this Safe & Easy As Stagnation ovation coming from your nation’s ordained Sea Org’s short-sighted station. As above, so below – do you see your reflection yet?
The_Dunham won ’em over with talk of her predatory touch to woo her innocent sister and study her ‘lovely lil pussy’,
yet you’ll condemn me and The_Donald for our honest phrasing? for using the terms we use that phase ye, so you can let personality and shell-game politicianing trump brutal truth and blunt honesty and continue us down this path toward the end of free speech, but
you don’t bat a lash to a profitess describing debauched kisses and manipulative squicks – Sis is gay now, came out, abuse often has an effect, but I won’t be tied quick to that interpretation in this instantiation, it’s a questionable situation, don’t think I’m shamin’ on account of orientation –
Masturbation and caressin’ to teach her sister the lesson of what love is for the price of a candy session? Cosby gets replayed every day but lean-on-you-Lena isn’t rated worthy on the television so someone can listen to or care about the admission? You’ll make the effort to lock my Nessun Dorma in a drawer but you’ll moan like a whore to ignore my draw to a mission to expose the condition of this world a-fixin’ to explode.
And you’ll clap aloud with the paralytic audience to Dr. Phil’s blind hawkin’ influence when he condemns boys for doing far less than she did when she gloated over a tainted scene, bossin’ around a baby like a pedo self-admittedly to assuage her ego-driven curiosity? We oughta be balkin’ at the lack of an genuine apology, for throwin’ the blame off herself on her sister to make claim on true victims and claim she’s defendin’ women’s rights – that’s disgustin’ tumblin’ spin, Pinnochio’s sin, let’s fight.
And you’ll tell me her sister, her mirror, can revolve and retreat to retroactively kiss her in consent to vaginal spectroscopy at the age of one misty year to retain her sanity on the homefront and she’ll forgive and forget her big sis who remissed her and played with her cunt cunningly, when this is the role she was trained for by the one who used her like her pet whore bunny from the age of three? Nature or nurture, there’s a reason she plays for the scissoring team and has a gender identity insecurity – you need a lesson in desensitizing – molesting the soul lingers from childhood triggers through to adulthood – read a book, the body remembers the violating.
I’m guessing you’ll require an apology and diss or try to fizz me, ’cause this me has a penis so I’m guilty by your ‘reason’ of my natural fallen demonology – Suck it. I was born this way you see. A feminist falsehood might give me some latitude for that attitude, when a free she admits she’s a bitch too ruled by her hood’s libido and stops shaming me for naming a victim, but that’s an insanity plea among these slumbering bear cubs who care more about labels and labia than what’s actually happening to people who love – bear it and wake up!
It is a lovely example, I do not ramble! If that was boy-on-girl action, the only carnal sin you consider an infraction, he’d be dragged from the world shack and boned for life spread on a rack in a twilight zone home or buffed in a chrome zoo. How can you not see true that this anti-true loo “boys can’t be victims” / “girls are just having fun” drugged inconsistence is a disgusting crime you go the distance to condone with your selfish cell-phone insistence on the mis-stance that feminism isn’t an anti-male mission aimed to attract pissants by holding up a knife of discriminating strife against life based on a chromosome pair and a one-eyed non-binary phallus over a pair of hairy balls intrinsically malicious based on historically fantasious conditions? Is even English against us in your nihilistic prison au vicious? No. It is enough, and we are beyond time’s limitations. You are now Saul called, and your beauty remains skin deep, Jacob’s latter day Esau.
I’m trying to stress to you how you choose to use sidesteps and sideshows to mask what your mind knows – the truth of your false excuses to do what you want to in spite of your abuses and who you’re cruel to and ripe to use, sis, bro.
And you won’t bat an eyelash to American Pie claps for flutes at band practice,
or Cheech’s apple pie pussy phrasing, or bukkake parties full of worms facing, but you’ll easily go the distance to chastise me for my terms, or call me lazy or crazy or phasy, as if I know nothing about language or languishing in your failing spell of candy caned sanity, hiding your logical fallacies by accusing me of the same malicy, or claiming I run on or commit a travesty by abusing givens of words and what I see, so you can keep your delusional palisades and your western wall over Palestine’s stake. Do you think I don’t take etymology siriusly, no Google geography, nor know the great whitewashed wiki? I’ve made no mistake. They’re free to read but not to edit, so why do you flee at every opportunity to read the terms on the facts you refuse to believe, to circus sub-Reddits? I said all this in bloated unbrevity only because YOU have so much to reprieve before you conceive in extremity – Need I spell out Latin extremis to boost my e-penis? Oh, I already did, in appeal to popularity! I take you to university to gain your alacrity, though I’d rather be in the sun or asleep.
Clods spend hours floating on memes and hugging mods to prove their own preening but they’ll scoff at my scope and won’t take a mote to search for a trope’s meaning and maybe another to probe their own thinking, even when coddled and beckoned? Oh, no, not a second, only a vote tugging my goat.
Oh how many words I use and my “lack of” focus, you’ll call me a kraken degenerate, desperate to do your hocus pocus quick when I switch tenses and break down old fences, misunderstanding the well-intentioned cacophonic nature of me and my strikin’ – Did you feel it? – We’re fighting!
Your bicameral mind left behind took a hike in a war zone of dishonored putrescence, a cognitive dissonance – wisp it spits – your bubbly brain presents antsy defensive calamities to fight your own sanity, and it can’t understand what anyone else is say’n’ ’cause you’ve been trained to be blind to revelators’ relativity-
Surely the left has forgotten what the right is
supposed to be doing or bein’ due to lifelong pain. Perhaps when the calamity jane
was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki we became insane, so
you could forget the fissures in your own shattered brain’s
neurotic ambivalent psyche. Unless you struggle in pain to capitalize on sounding out my ambiguous refrains calling from New Canaan’s cowl, this love was born to be bound as a prize only
for disc jockeys and merry-go-rounders who do
nothing but flounder in endless atomic wonder around here, and prune Mother’s garden over
neutronic trinkets and big toys, while condemning their little boys to
tortures you guard with bombs, and you’ll waterboard tre’ wooden soldiers with the
afterbirth of their own mothers’ mangers or hanger their wombs, to harangue
allegiant pledges from the pledges you think are sufficient to sustain
your watery tomb of white feathers and fetters to wound medders and force a false catatonic weather
forever in your catastrophic swampy baptismal
font of hot wont and woe where brokens hearts go to spawn
and fawn over baby rabies lusting for another piece of raw white tuna sushi or maybe mooji (those fish don’t even exist),
just more mystery meat to grind in your nuclear gutter of imagined “good”, a sacrament for the now, a wooden wish, whatever that is in this noir sewer berth dish, just a dry mirage
where fresh fish scuddle to be cut off in stillbirth, or get wet for swimmers and forget your divers torrent of liquid “love” skimmers survives only on an unchallenged surface water spout which spews either utter bullshit to attract a few fat trout teeming with clout
or teams seemingly sagacious sinners to seriously simmer up with guileful blood, cud, and excrement.
Can you who hate candor and love war devise a comprehensive comment more than distracting combat or bland tired vomit in this castrated summit of a stag nation’s abutment fissure, gov’nor? Then pen it and repent.
I thought “Phil” was love, but the “Dr.” doesn’t use a glove