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| March 26, 2007 |
Subject: My Poetry
Time: 11:44 PM
The following are poems of mine. NOTE WELL: Contains some "bad" words. If you're offended by that kind of stuff, then you're a douchebag.
Also, any violence in these poems is just my way of venting. In truth, I'm very passive-agressive, and I get queasy whenever anyone even TALKS about anything to do with the circulatory system or its components, let alone actually *seeing* blood. Yet oddly enough, *I* can talk about it. Anyway, these poems are the written-word equivalent of hitting a pillow and screaming. Or the written-word equivalent of stabbing needles into a voodoo doll, in some cases. And these are the tamer ones.
"The Restaurant Song"
© 2006 Tristan A. Arts
Thank you for leaving this filthy mess,
Now kindly let me break your neck;
I’ll stab you in the eyes with your very own fork,
That I dug out of mashed potatoes mixed with pork;
Then I’ll slit your throat with the very knife
That gave me your cold – that sounds about right!
I’ll slather your filth all over your face,
Drown you in your squalor, and use a spoon to rape
You up the ass as I twist it with glee,
And laugh at your utter misery!
Thank you so much for not leaving a tip,
Now kindly let me bust your lip;
You looked like you enjoyed things, had a good time,
So why didn’t you give me even a dime?
So now I’ll shove butter packets you left in your grime
Into the wound in your throat – just in time!
Also, I think, just to be fair,
I’ll pull out all your fucking hair,
Shove it up your nostrils and light it on fire,
Then dunk your head in a hot deep fryer!
Thank you so much for wasting up time,
You finished an hour ago, and there’s a 20-foot line!
Now kindly let me smash an A-1 bottle over your head
And cut you with the pieces until you’re dead!
Then I’ll take off your clothes and rape your corpse,
All in front of your children, of course!
If your husband tries to stop me, I’ll cut off his dick,
Skewer it on a kebob and rape him with his own prick!
If you don’t want your husband raped with his own schlong,
You will heed The Restaurant Song!
“Consideration”
© 2004 Tristan A. Arts
If you smoke in this free nation,
Please have some consideration
For those who don’t want to smell your fumes,
Your noxious, toxic, poison plumes.
Away from inside, far from doors,
So we don’t gag on toxic spores.
If you want to die of poison, go on ahead,
But please don’t let your toxin spread
To those of us with lungs so clean,
Because if you do, I might get mean.
"Insanity's Luster"
© 2004 Tristan Arts
Fuck you, fuck you, I'm going insane!
The fluids are being sucked out of My brain!
I can't take this shit! I can't take this shit!
I just can't fucking handle it!!!
Bite Me, blow Me, fuck Me hard,
Kill Me, hang Me, and gut Me for lard,
Rape My corpse and turn Me to stew,
One way or another, I'll be inside of you!
Shove your hand up My ass, pull out the shit,
Then make a frappacino out of it!
Be Me alive or be Me dead,
Grind My bones to make fresh bread
And feed it to the hungry who have no home,
So many people can eat My bone!
Take out My bladder, make it into a ball,
And kick it down the fucking hall;
Then I'll come back to life, oh so undead,
And play a game of tee ball with your fuckin' head;
I'll come back as a God, make you worship Me,
Then, to be nice, I'll set you free,
Then hunt you down, eat you alive,
Grind your bones into Jello--it's ALIVE!
I'll burn you to death on the funeral pyre,
Dance while the flames lick higher and higher,
Then, I'll eat your ashes and shit you out,
Then eat you AGAIN with sauerkraut!
HAHAFUCKYOU, the Con can't catch Me,
For I was born in Liver-tree!
"I Know You Can't Help It"
© 2003 Tristan A. Arts
Go on ahead--use me, abuse me, see if I care!
Toss me out into a vacuum with all of your air.
It's just your typical human nature that attacked,
I know you can't help the way that you act.
I showed you my whole Self, expecting we'd still play,
And you, in your revulsion, just threw me away.
Oh, I understand well your human pact,
Primitive barbarians can't help how they act.
Go ahead, continue to use and abuse everyone,
Are you comfortable with your façade, Hon?
Oh, I know you can't help being human, my dear,
Always surrendering to absolute fear.
When your façade is broken, and you see the true person inside,
I can understand your fear, for you never look inside!
You don't even know your own true self, so I nod for sake of tact,
Human beings can't help the primitive way they act.
I know you can’t help it; it’s just how you are,
Even when you crush me with your car;
Or stab my heart through my back,
I know you can’t help the way you—ACK!
"No Mercy For Mine Enemies"
© 2005 Tristan Arts
Fuck My enemies, fuck them up the ass!
I don’t give a shit if I’m being crass!
If they dare to pick a fight with Me,
I’ll show them no fucking mercy!
If My enemy hits Me on one cheek, I’ll SMASH him on the other!
Make him go running home, crying, to his mother!
I’d teach him a lesson he’d not soon forget,
Then he’d be smart enough to leave Me be, I’ll bet!
If someone killed a Loved One of Mine, I never will forgive;
I’d hunt and haunt the fatherfucker as long as he may live!
Then I’d roast his intestines over an open flame
While he was still alive, screaming in pain!
If someone raped one of My loved ones, I’d rip his testes off,
Shove his dick into his mouth, strangle him with a cloth;
Force a red-hot poker up his fucking ass,
And replace one of his kidneys with one made of brass!
If someone tried to kill Me, I’d live to see another day,
Then he’d better beware of ol’ Pope Fay,
‘Cuz I’d feast on his liver while he was still alive,
Wallowing in his pitiful, pained fucking cries.
So fuck My enemies, fuck them up the ass!
I don’t give a shit if I’m being crass!
If they dare to pick a fight with Me,
I’ll show them no fucking mercy!
"They"
© 2004 Tristan A. Arts
They hug and smile with teeth clenched tight,
Knives hidden behind their back;
Muttering about the love of god,
Looking for any excuse to attack.
They fuss and fight and bitch and moan
Over the meaning of what their lord said;
Through barely-held smiles they praise his words
Then kill each other dead.
This sect believes that character’s a period,
The other sect says it's a comma,
In the bloody fight over who's right,
They fling curses that would frighten your mama.
They preach about love and forgiveness Divine,
Saying the only judge is their god,
Then they turn around and judge like crazy,
Claim their hatreds are ordained by God.
They never see the obvious value of diversity,
Nor of it do they much think;
They never see that it's there for a reason,
They think their own shit doesn't stink.
"You People"
© 2006 Tristan A. Arts
You people are like sheep, immersed in group-think,
Knee deep in feces you claim doesn’t stink!
"The Right Hand of Jesus" is raping your boy,
But you believe their evil ploy!
Not an original thought has come from your brain’s chasm,
You’re as fake as Meg Ryan’s most famous orgasm!
You say you want peace but do nothing to claim it,
Someone gives you Love, and you twist it and maim it!
You smoke like a chimney, slowly killing yourself,
Taking with you everyone else!
Stop killing your children with your suicide sticks,
And at least pretend you love them, you pricks!
And if you don’t understand evolution, go kill yourself now,
Because you’re a disgusting, ignorant sow!
I believe in God and evolution at the same time,
So if you need a brain, I’ll loan you mine!
You people are like pigs, all ripe for the slaughter,
A friend of mine got ten years for fucking your daughter;
He was 18, she a year less,
All this drives me nuts, I confess!
Especially when a murderer just got set free
On a goddamn technicality!
Twenty people saw him do it, but you didn’t read him his rights,
So he’s back to selling drugs and picking fights
That end in bloodshed and needless gore
Of innocent people, most of them poor!
But you don’t care – lobbyists sit in your lap,
So your constituents can all go get the clap
For all you care, you power-hungry hack,
Because if it don’t pay you or blow you, it goes in a sack!
Baron Harkonnen giving Dune’s poor their rag drips
Were kinder than you fucking hypocrites!
You people are like cattle, your mu means nothing,
Stop your stupid fucking hunting!
You’re civilized now, go to a grocery store,
Watch TV, or fuck a whore!
You can’t honestly tell me you’re killing for food,
You enjoy causing death, don’t you?
I was right, and that’s the first sign you’re a serial killer,
A murderer isn’t pro-life, he’s a blood spiller!
If you execute a criminal but protect those without voice
And bomb abortion clinics, you’re just anti-choice!
It’s all about control; women are your cows,
They are your livestock, your slaves, and your sows!
Anti-choice nutbags are no better than the Saudis,
And it’s still slavery even if you give them Audis!
Berka or no, the breeding madness is the same,
Bend over, Bubba, it’s time for a game!
You people all are animals – no better, often worse;
Uncivilized and gauche as pissing on a hearse!
You call us Pagans "Satan’s Children," but our Gods are much more kind;
Your childish, barbaric "God" smells like a dog’s behind!
Damned right I’m not being tolerant, I hate your evil deeds;
All you people are humanity’s worst weeds!
Doing evil things so bad that your Satan would be aghast,
Your claim that it’s all from Love is just a fucking mask;
A clear glass mask of lies you wear, we all see the real you,
And it’s so damned disgusting that we all just want to spew!
People who shock you by being immoral or base
Are a mirror showing you your very own face!
You project all your own evil to shift away the blame,
But it doesn’t work – it just makes you look so lame.
Enough of this shit, I’m just talking into air,
Because “God’s” soul-less minions just don’t fucking care.
(No part of this poem was directed at the Christians who actually follow Christ's teachings. Just at the fundamentalists who claim to be doing God's work when the things they do make them appear more like Satan's minions. But of course, Satan is no more evil than a newborn kitten.)
"Evil Be They"
Evil be they who bind My hands,
Destroy Free Will, yet claim to love and understand,
Preach love, forgiveness, the Golden Rule,
But damn the unbelievers to Hell most cruel.
Evil be they who say, "God forgive the bad,"
But yell they, "Hell to the fags!"
If forgiveness is their virtue high,
Then they, hypocrites, to Hell go when they die.
Evil be they who damn and torture well,
They are tortured themselves, so they make Earth a Hell;
Since Earth be their Hell, burning and steamin’,
All non-believers seem close kin to the demon.
Evil be they who force-feed Us their beliefs,
When their Rapture comes, 'twill be a relief;
The "Chosen Ones of God" kill their Self in "His Name,"
But to most, he doesn’t even have one — what’s his game?
Known only as "God," or maybe Christ his son,
Tell Me how he’s his own father, anyone?
If we're all His children who should do as we oughter,
Does that mean He fucked His own daughter?
Yeah, it seems Jehovah did Mary in the butt,
While He called her His little child slut;
Until I hear the truth from the horse's mouth,
I will assume God is from The Deep South.
Evil be they who use Us as their tools
To scare the gentiles to obey their rules;
Their god must be just like them, or they’d all be gone,
But I’m not worried — they defeated themselves — we’ve already won.
"Use Versus Abuse"
© 2002 Tristan Arts
What kind of society is it that bans something of use,
Just ’cuz there’s large potential for abuse?
NOTHING is cut-and-dry, life’s one big exception,
To get rid of abortion, would you ban conception?
Or ban having kids, to be rid of child abuse?
Ban having sex so no rapists be loose?
Makes as much sense as banning drugs good for using
Just because people are clueless, and, thus, abusing!
There are drugs used to expand human potential
That, if abused cause damage exponential;
But they aren’t, in themselves, innately bad,
It’s just that when they become a fad
People use them with no proper training,
Then the mind-expander turns into a de-braining.
But don’t ban something with vast potential
Just because its abuse can cause damage exponential.
"I’m A Whore of the System"
© 2000 Tristan A. Arts
I’m a whore of the System, I spread my legs,
And if the System demands it, I will beg;
If I’ll eat my own spirit for a social role,
For a bit of money, I’ll rent out my soul!
All the pros and cons must be carefully weighed,
I’m a whore of the System, but at least I get paid;
Though my pimp (the IRS) gets his cut,
So what’s my reward for being a money slut?
Chorus:
Oh, I’m, such a slut,
Give it to me up my butt,
Oh, I’m, such a whore,
Cummon, System, give me more!
(Repeated thrice)
If I’m a really good girl, my pimp will give me a treat,
Like more money or a few nights off of the street;
Yes, I’m a whore of the System, I let it fuck me,
At least this way, I won’t get no V.D.!
I’m glad I can space out when I’m fucking my john,
I’m a whore who gets fucked with all her clothes on!
The System fucks me up every single hole,
I wanna bite down on its fucking pole!
(Chorus, repeated four times)
"Die Rack and Shade Um"
© 2003 Tristan A. Arts
The US is going to war with Iraq,
Even though its citizens scream "No!"
George Bush using the military as his own personal revenge machine,
To avenge his daddy's "honour."
But aside from that, the motherfucking military war machine
can only masturbate for so long before it needs to rape some country;
Iraq is a convienient target, Saddam getting fat off oil he sells illegally.
This war isn't about oil, Kuwait shares the same wellspring as Iraq,
It's just that Saddamn is an asshole!
So spread your legs, Iraq, it only hurts the first time!
All for now. With utmost sincerity;
- Alexander Antonin
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