Archive for the i’m afraid of americans Category

i started walking without a limp.

Posted in a walk through the deep end of nothingness, collecting ours, i'm afraid of americans, lost in these purposes and collecting ours on November 19, 2011 by tony saputo

reinsert to the callous programming
characterizing by the value quo
perishing because i see the end

yeah, i took a while
transfered the energy
whiskey and imposed stubs drained the friends

now i remain a statue before this door
manipulating more gusto and capacity than ever shown
i have no where else to go but forward

hold on you motherfuckers, i am just starting

you will stab me without knowing why
you will hit me when i have bestowed my good graces
you will call me villain

this is the american dream
and you will not see it
until it all collapses

transfer nothing
dilute nothing
sacrifice nothing
occupy everything
we are not fighting just for us anymore

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mousey hole

Posted in i'm afraid of americans, what the hell is wrong with me?, whore-to-culture on June 18, 2010 by tony saputo

and there it is in the small cell
the small forced hole in the wall
existing  just adjacent to the colliding force of each corner
hollowed out, dark, but somehow looming
staring directly at you as a mournful yawning tick, a dreary edifice reminiscing of each and every loss
come to the light of day through patient gnawing intertwined through necessity
the rodential, damn parasitic nature of it all mocking and counting down days to months to years

today a girl tells me she is lonely
lost in the wrappings of her past twenty something years
walking in the hands of a man
a father, a friend, a lover, a muse, and a disease ridden predator….
it does not matter
they really are all parts of the same beast
but the masculine identities are nearly another curtain for the illusion, the smoke and mirrors, or hell, possibly the smoking gun if you learn to really look at it directly
it really is all the same

for after all, who does not exist in these rooms
stuffing all the passed up ambitions, unspoken notions, regrets, apologetic self persuasions, and terrors in every hole we can
in every ear that will actually listen
on the billboards down the freeways
in the silence of the writing
in the sickness of violence
on the headlines of televisions
in the tones of our hellos
in the speck of our hopelessness
on the faces of every last dollar bill
in the dreams of our ancestors
on the tongues of bigots, politicians,  drunks, and womanizers
in the actions of harlots, barflies, and the beautiful people
on the shame in our very sex
in the drooling fangs of humanity
in the holes of our walls
exist our real fears

today a girl tells me she is lonely
tomorrow i will say nothing and watch yet another soul solve a lifetime of honest work with the perpetual downfall of a five minute solution

Posted in i'm afraid of americans, is it really real? on May 25, 2010 by matt questionmark

skin burn clean off
wipe these wishes willfully
into red wet madness
jawfirst
concrete
walls
breaking for breakfast
scantily veined discos
mosquito their way through
our friends
relapse
perhaps
we fall in different ways
these days we never collapase
just trip over our selves
like a bumble bee drunk
1954
after the wars emptied
their spermbatter over our
sunless yestertears
potty training the rain
to make way for
coldbloodisolationists
dipping their nuts in black tea
make way for the sensationalists
sipping the mushroom water
forgetting where their fathers lay
their shitted feathers.

Posted in i'm afraid of americans, paranoia, Uncategorized on November 20, 2009 by matt questionmark

see the difference in your defense
cloaking your dagger
knives the dark toothed fear
this mortal wound!
festering a remorse!
no time like the present
giving dirt for love
boxes of scorched hair scattered along your highways
making you have a threetoothed smile
as your mouth hits pavement
this is as real as it gets
monetary notes flutter from your flatulence
pictures of jesus wearing skinny jeans
on the cover your rolling stones
his hair all echo’d by bunnymen
!these great purveyors of modern times!
witnesses cream their corn
grope their mothers
scream and fall to the floors
pissing themselves with epileptic fervor
you cover these cunts with your dirt
and say meaningless words
looking upward into the skyless stars
why do you cry when you have a cravecase to eat?
why do you cry when radiohead hasn’t broken up yet?
grope your remorse
knives in your hot piss box
making mama scream for pestilence
hip new screeching bounces in your brain
this immortal world!
lava as blood!
trees are cunts!
let them suffocate from meat farts and factory toxins!
just sit there gumming your iphone
like a giant sour gummy worm
lazarus rises from behind the couch
only to blow his brains out
five minutes later
teevee flashes before you
test patterns
indian head fades to allah
then to obama
screen goes black
the muffled weeping commences…….

for my friends… essence and being

Posted in exploding heart, i'm afraid of americans, illusioned on September 9, 2009 by tony saputo

the question of our families and our pasts are brought to light
the corridor gleams a sour aura of a pungent tone
and not enough whiskey will wash away all the things i have seen
or will forget myself and where we come from

it is the essence of these years that we hold our futures
as careless as we kill the insects we live among
or as precious as the newborn, sinking into our hearts and minds forever
it is no longer what we did, who we are, but who we will be

twenty seven years is only long enough to see how much i do not know
but rest assured i can confirm we are afraid
we are sold as cattle to a slaughterhouse weakened by consuming false goods to build adequacy to superficial social needs
we are lied to and in such, we believe we are special

more than ever i realize, “we are shit.”
you would have to thank the questionmarks for an answer such as that
but particles vibrate and remain amongst our energy, our live being
which in turn, becomes what little time we have left

so be it love, life, dreams, and failures
this is your world, the opus of our stories and glamor
a self-edifying reaction, the marble of our existences
lies still and waiting in our hands

i stole the world from a woman who deserved the universe, but saved her from myself
in this reflection, i am more of her than anyone i have ever met or known
this is not sorrow, regret, remorse, or proposal.
just the admission of how much good a person can really do

if you do not know me; it is because i do not want to be known
if i do not talk; it is because it is nothing worth speaking of
if i remain unseen; it is because i deem it so
and if you forget my name, my face, and these words; it is because you never listened

i have been told i take life too seriously
but i have a day waiting when i will decide this
neither gods nor devils will judge me
for they both know me well

to the melody which opens my veins and pours itself in
to each proof i can conjure and theroms i rest inside my soul
to every word i write explaining this reality
and to every smile any has ever given me; this is my thanks

i do not love this world, nor the masses that contaminate it
i remain sure and promised
that just like a balloon soaring to the heavens
losing all the dead weight is the first step

forget me, forget my name, my face, these words
do not trace in my steps
these are the years in our essence
that are just blocks in the path of a deathbed

do not fool yourself, experience good souls
love those who love, while discerning between the actions and words
this is the beginnings of our first last steps…
everything from here to there is ours

chop off the head already

Posted in i'm afraid of americans, paranoia on March 1, 2009 by tony saputo

paranoia, what an amazing companion you are becoming
silently filling my visage
checking over my shoulder to always find you
making faces appear in crowds where she is long away from
the stomach pains colliding with a nervous rash of heat and spider bites
coiling my desperation in to a macabre dream
losing myself in you
it is almost like we are in love
This is no longer creative writing, but a message that i am afraid i really may be losing my shit. It’s embarrassing to say it in the least.