hardly more insidious perversity,
Than 'wrong think' being silenced at a university,
The one place where all views should face adversity,
So that truth and facts could produce intellectual clarity.
Cover songs
A genuinely good song transcends the performer,
It does not require acts of any reformer,
Just a voice similar to former.
Even if the memory of the original does fade,
The same songs keep getting played,
As the audience gets swayed.
This simple question leaves no hairs to split,
Has anyone ever made a cover of it,
And this marks the real hit.
Go ahead, make my day...
Oh how I wish they had the courage to debate him,
So that I could see their faces turn grim,
As he tears their arguments on nothing but a whim,
No matter what they do to appear prim,
Their nonsense is what all universities ought to trim,
A cancerous growth that devours a limb,
Something that turns the light of brilliance to dim,
They carry concrete shoes for a swim,
They know their chances to beat are less than slim,
But go ahead, make my day? or his.
> Jordan B. Peterson of University of Toronto,
> You fail to disappoint.
Some tears of joy
Somewhere in the big wide world,
A censorship board was forced to back down,
Because the demands they hurled,
Were met with a simple yet unbudging turndown,
A response that saw them curdled,
Out of the fear of being the laughing stock of the town.
Elsewhere in the tune of a song called paparazzi,
Talented artists mocked those wanting to punch a nazi!
Thus I laugh with tears of joy,
Truth and common sense are things to enjoy.
I have a song stuck in my head,
And I hope this condition is one to spread.
Have some tears of joy,
No matter how it might annoy!
> See some more effort tomorrow though...
The world that wasn't
Again we see the same old farce,
The truth of the matter is not hard to parse,
And still they try pull the same old shit off their arse.
How I wish the world was at peace,
But it is decades after the last date of the lease,
Some have lived this lie for so long they cannot cease.
That dream of a world that never was,
They just keep shouting it louder for applause,
A distraction from the sight that would otherwise pause.
We are now living a world that was not,
Not even close to the package it was once bought,
And with all that denial it seems that no lesson was taught.
They scream how the scars are beautiful,
That these extraordinary times are just life as usual,
But whoever opens their eyes sees what was never excusable.
The world just doesn't care for your heart,
And you cannot stop it from being slowly torn apart,
But right there in the mirror you see where the change will start.
At the end of a road there is always a choice,
You have to decide where to go without a guiding voice,
And sometimes you have to choose what leaves no reason to rejoice.
It is just how things are in this world that wasn't?
And repeating the same mistakes won't heal your heart.
Art is not fit to stand among STEM fields
We have screams, vomit, and solid portrayals of a fart,
And the pretentious spin their bullshit to sound smart,
Yet no matter what is spun it can be easily torn apart,
Because there is no real value or meaning to impart,
Not even when the sales see many millions depart,
Just gaze upon all modern things described as art,
Any given fool could slap paint with a body part,
Rile emotions by speaking with a bleeding heart,
About importance of a mere nail from Walmart,
And off it goes to appear in some auction chart.
How does any of above compares to?
Science, technology, engineering and mathematics,
Fields that aid entire humanity far more than any dramatics,
Fields ruled by reason and evidence rather than by whims of fanatics,
Fields that require hard labour and a bit of brilliance within the mind's attic.
Art is not fit to stand among STEM fields.
> Thus this 'STEAM fields' nonsense can simply fuck off.
> Signed, by this fucking a poet.
Almost done?
The epilogue is now almost done,
A day or two is about all it takes,
I have a new novel under the sun,
But I think I will be hitting breaks,
Before I can show it to someone,
Perhaps it is out of fear of mistakes,
But I must read it before anyone?
An adventurer on a distant shore,
A story no one has read before,
Pages for your eyes to explore,
For the effort an author did pour,
It is the only price that lies in store.
With headlines like these
With headlines like these,
You know you got the fake news disease,
They may think none sees,
How few months back we got same sleaze,
Without change in the breeze,
How do they think we swallow it with ease,
That they can lie as they please,
Because they cannot see the forest for the trees,
And all I can do is fall on my knees,
As I cannot believe how hard they try to squeeze,
Face red and choking on their wheeze,
To produce milk out of that dried up piece of cheese.
> I am a man of patience,
> While you are mental health patient,
> Eh?
Iron Fist and its reviews
If you happen to look at the reviews,
There is a discrepancy large enough to choose,
Whose opinions you can trust or disregard as mere ruse.
There might have been some moments of gaudiness,
But I think will side with the audience,
For reasons rather obvious.
If you don't know,
I watched all of it in just one go,
And I cannot say the same for any other show.
And since the audience liked this series quite a lot,
While professional critics apparently did not,
One them must have smoked weird pot.
Since there is nothing I have breathed,
I think the critics were ideologically displeased,
To a point where the whole show made them feel peeved.
Perhaps these critics just hate seeing a white lead,
And that results with them writing screed,
Not really worthy of a single read.
Or perhaps they identified with the Hand,
Shared one too many similarity with that group's brand,
And the accurate portrayal of cult behaviour is what they cannot stand.
But all in all: if you like superhero stuff on your screen,
Then Iron Fist can be considered as cuisine,
You'll be happy to have seen.
Old media's war on the new
Since they have failed to sway hearts,
They now try another trick with all of their smarts,
They try to turn advertisers from their new media counterparts,
Make them so controversial there
is no ad revenue for opposing views or arts.
And for a while this dastardly scheme of theirs will probably work,
They will raise their glasses of champagne with a smirk,
But they have failed to see the new media perk,
The audience is willing to pay for work.
The audience gives donations,
Just in order to see ever more creations,
And with sale of shirts you have your foundations,
A living wage carved out of skill rather than taxes of nations.
Can you see who wins this war the old media declared,
Do you see who should feel more than scared,
And do you think any mercy is spared,
When they marched unprepared?
The old media stands as liars,
Ones that see smoke without fires,
And hack their own branch with pliers,
While gleefully stabbing advertiser's tires?
The old media is digging its own grave,
And they give a face all so brave,
But there is nothing to save,
They fell under wave.
Summertime madness
You can petition government to make a law or change one,
But unfortunately such a change might not be done,
Even if the local oppositions numbers at none,
A mere 'EU directive' can block its run,
And at EU levels nothing is fun.
Thus for any legislative argument,
I am forced to seek the EU parliament,
And hope they can beg the EU commission,
To push a new law or change into actual motion,
But they are more keen to listen corporate corruption,
And listening to woes of the people is deemed a disruption,
Thus we are stuck with a 'self-imposed' form of idiotic madness,
Nations remain inconvenienced by pointless daylight saving practice.
Who cares that it doesn't save a dime on anyone's electrical bill,
Or that the stress it causes makes people feel ill,
Money is wasted upon a useless hill,
EU commission's thrill,
And will.
Brexit Day
Whatever you might bay,
You cannot wish it away,
No matter what you say,
It is far too late to sway,
Even with clouds grey,
It is a brand new day,
No chance to delay,
It comes this way,
And it will stay,
This is the day.
Speech at the wall (For a fantasy novel)
Look at how they fashion themselves,
Emperors by only the claim itself,
And they think us compelled,
That our walls are overwhelmed,
And they wait for our amends,
By blade and the threat of or else,
They do not see how we could expel,
Because they have not stared death itself,
We can make no argument to compel,
We must teach them by ourselves,
That no empire has survived parallel,
How death of emperors is where we excel,
So let them hear the wrath of our bells,
Their chance for peace or amends,
Before we see them all expel,
Gutted and overwhelmed,
None exists parallel,
They shall die as well.
A society of ropes and canes
I saw women herded with a cane,
Underneath a cloth more akin to a black tent or a chain.
I saw people demand for a public hanging,
Simply because they think mere opinions are worth damning.
What else could I do but pity these people,
And how they resort to violence with excuses ever so feeble,
Because they were never taught to reason,
Only how to quench the human desire for personal freedom,
They cannot argue even for a single idea,
All they do is lash against whatever they have deemed evil,
And they do it with smiles almost gleeful,
Because deep down they understand they are not peaceful,
They fear each other for acts unspeakable,
Thus they are forced to cling upon a world view deceitful,
Lest they become a string through a needle,
Nameless and forgotten victim of a society without reason.
So tired
Oh how I feel so tired,
As if my entire body had expired,
And that makes bed a location to be retired.
Ghost in the Shell
There is a ghost inside a shell,
I wonder how it will excel,
If it becomes a hard sell,
Due to some smell,
Who is to tell,
Me? Well?
I think it is fine,
So I cannot whine,
Some things did shine,
While others did not align,
And it followed the old baseline,
While seeking to climb on another vine,
Some will consider it a desecration of a shrine,
But it is as good as it could be with Hollywood's design,
Thus all of its flaws can be attributed to ideological lack of spine.
The last multicultural empire of old Europe
Europe is largely divided into nation states,
Groups of people with largely similar fates,
And shared goals for the good it generates,
Nations long ruled by the will of moderates,
Because there was not much that separates,
Yet today these states now lie in dire straits,
European union claims ever more mandates,
Because the dream of an empire motivates,
They wish to see how their will dominates,
Create a borderless realm with open gates,
With people so different nothing resonates,
A point where there is no need for debates,
No need to pay heed whoever demonstrates,
When it is only the ruling class that regulates,
And does nothing but what itself appreciates,
Thus both peace and prosperity deteriorates,
They are blinded by staring their own plates,
Until the very day the empire itself immolates.
That is the future of this so called European Union,
You might wonder how I have come to such conclusion,
But just look at Russia and the leader it needs to stave off ruin,
The last multicultural empire of old Europe leaves us with no delusion,
It reveals us the problems of past, present, and future without any new solution.
The only fate of every multicultural empire of Europe was to fall,
A matter of time until a leader with shoulders too small,
Allows currentwrongs to bring weapons to a wall,
And history books list yet another downfall,
With horrors that make our skins crawl.
- European Union will be no different to Putin's Russia,
- And they hate him for being their desires repercussion.
Distrust
If trust,
Is like a bust,
Made out of mere dust,
It can vanish overnight with a gust,
Leave behind nothing more than a pile of disgust,
There are those who refuse to even entertain the need to readjust,
And they soldier onwards thinking a faint memory alone will pierce all mistrust.
Thus they have made themselves blind to the surrounding distrust,
Their ship is sinking while they paint over the rust,
They consider any opposition unjust,
Where once stood a bust,
They now see dust,
And distrust.
W
inter is dead, so long live the spring
Spring, spring, spring,
Oh how the birds do sing,
While they stretch their wing,
No matter what you might fling,
Change of season is what they bring,
No protest can change this annual thing,
Even by tooth and nail it is too late to cling,
The spring is here and so rises a brand new king,
And there will be a great grand feats for them to sing,
Because the change of seasons now rolls out in full swing.
The horrors of Syria
The media points its fingers,
And shouts how horror still lingers,
But they are not revealing all the figures,
They are playing a game of smoke and mirrors,
Because it is war they want and see how peace withers,
So what evidence have they shown while their tongue slithers,
Because a mere memory of their their past lies gives my back shivers.
I spat on the back of a flying seagull
How it happened is not a topic to mull,
Because it sounds like a deceptive lull,
But today I spat upon a flying seagull,
It really proves that life is never dull.
Because something was alleged around dawn,
It seems there is a new war to march upon,
How it all seems like a massive con,
With common sense withdrawn.
And the sad truth is how nothing good will follow from it,
Who is the next tyrant to control nation far too split,
What litany of new horrors shall we permit,
Before we call our participation unfit?
How many people shall we condemn to die just to have a prolonged conflict,
The pointless wars we wage are like symptoms of an addict,
Who cares what cruelties we ourselves inflict,
When words and actions contradict?
About recent events in Sweden
Honestly, my first reaction was to laugh and so I laughed,
Because that narrative they have loved to craft,
Is now smashed to pieces with a shaft,
From this day onwards at best it will sound daft,
At worst it shows that mental faculties are not fully staffed.
You may always choose to ignore reality,
But it will not mean consequences remain absentee,
Reality has its ways to remind it doesn't care if you disagree,
And it will be one cold realisation among the debris,
The end of all those fantasies so carefree.
But now the streets of Stockholm have been dyed scarlet,
I am left to wonder why I am so cold and heartless,
Why is my tongue one of sharpness,
Do I even feel sympathy to the unjustly departed,
Why does it feel no more than a point to score and harness?
All of it happened so close yet so far away,
I should be enraged or at least be filled with dismay,
But when it has happened so often it is now just another day,
At some point I have run out of any tears to display,
I just say this it not how things should stay.
But then I saw that security camera footage of this incident,
People fleeing inside from the danger imminent,
Suddenly I was no longer indifferent,
I saw how a truck was used as mere instrument,
And how it flashed by in order to kill and maim innocents.
No more?
Vote
A thing of small note,
A feat not worthy to gloat,
Yet it keeps blades from throat,
And being ruled over by some goat,
The next election is a chance to outvote,
It is the reason why this society stays afloat,
Simply because there is some other party to vote.
Sleep?
In the mirror greets a man almost dead,
Or that is what lack of sleep does to his head,
Therefore he ought to turn his face towards a bed,
Look little closer for the dreamlike yarn and thread,
At the end of the day all things are done and said,
Thus no distraction can be said to have misled,
With nothing it is time for sleep instead.
Sleep?
No need for broadcasting licenses
If you think of the radio and television of old,
The channels had frequencies you had to get a hold,
If you wished to see what modern marvels had to behold,
And to ensure the signal's reach licenses were created and sold,
It meant same frequencies brought same content to each household,
You did not need to broadcast things tenfold to prevent it being withhold,
By a local entity with the capability to claim paid frequency by a stranglehold.
But we are no longer bound by limitations of that former technological dawn,
The world, the technology, listeners and viewers have already moved on,
Simultaneous broadcasts does not mean some content is lost or gone,
Neighbours can livestream and their content is just thereupon,
It is visible from distant China to the plains of Oregon,
Thus broadcasting licenses are to be frowned upon,
They no longer serve this global phenomenon.
> Germany wants demand broadcasting licenses from German live streamers,
> It is something so utterly retarded it must be product of minds plagued by fever.
Life is strange (For a science fiction novel)
Life is strange,
Outside this gun range,
We march and fly to fight change,
While the
One Hundred Poems, Volume IX Page 7