Archive for the whore-to-culture Category

forest

Posted in whore-to-culture on July 15, 2011 by tony saputo

quickening i fall short
sail through roots, embers, and the forgotten leaves
turn to mud scrape nails into earth
and come back out with the blood on my hands

i drink, eat, and shit evil everywhere
where have i come from?
where am i headed ?
all this just to bleed and spit bile for a few days
destroy me

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

insomniac luvs

Posted in what the hell is wrong with me?, what the hell is wrong with us, whore-to-culture on March 6, 2010 by tony saputo

what is it called when you cannot stop from laughing???
when you see the punchline before the joke is spoken?
what is it?

i rescued a woman from the bruises of her love
shouldered the tears of a dying affection
caressed a soul of compassionate need
lived for someone besides my ownself
each and everytime the joke was on me

the bruises, filled in by her words and actions, drawn the line straight to indulgence
the shoulder so easily forgotten when new affections spring, and raindrops of whisky and vodka seam down her windows
and the soul to caress, the soul i could live for, forgot me long ago

dreamed myself as a fool for so long
not recieving the message, not placing the focus on all the right parts…
you see, the world is an evil and dirty harlot, and she wants to remind you of these dark passages from time to time…
she loves it… as the lady loves the fist. as the corridor slams volumes of acceptance, as the confusion arises….

she loves to be beaten and loves to beat back even more….

when a man tries to uncover the path of unconditional love, nevertheless the very existence of such a paramour, this earth will rise against him and threaten every inch of his being, to prove he will do what it is he needs to…

and time to time, we fail
dreaming of the better ways
hoping for the window from our inferno
kidding the world; kidding ourselves

in the mirror, i would rather be called insane -than ignorant.

every time i look out the window, she tells me something different

Posted in exploding heart, is it really real?, lost in these purposes and collecting ours, whore-to-culture on January 11, 2010 by tony saputo

on the dawn of the greyest morning
i awake, despite falling asleep less than an hour ago
an eye stares into this glass wall
knowing me, telling me of all the words and time i have lost
this is where i have been for the past two years

the darkest greyest mourning,
saluting to me, narrating all of my failures and lack of progress
a bottom falling out but never colliding
sending me on, flailing to never attach myself
keeps me knowing i will perish on my own

there is a collapse i missed out on
my dreams are not ones to share
and my hopes all prove to be the same
my own existence is my greatest affliction
a dialect of a language no one will ever even dare to mutter

in the world of selfishness
trivial identities
indecent glorification
narcissism
and intolerance for those (us) who try to overcome it:::::::::::::::::::
love will surely die