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View Full Version : Written on the Eve of 2003 - A poem a song a theory.



Pete
1st January 2003, 05:44
Poem

Something is wrong
I know it is
But I cannot find it
Deep inside of me
There must be more
Then what I admitted
Or else I would not be like this
Torn
Tormented
Trying to hold everything together
But failing and falling deeper in to depression
That I must have created
To sleep and never wake up
Ever
Bliss
But not the kind I want
I know what is prophesied
I don’t think that is something to share
Death is not something to share
But why do I feel this way
What the hell is wrong with me?
Release me from these fucking chains
I am free
Why do I say I where chains?
What the hell is wrong with me?
Broken down and sobbing
On the bed
That is how I will be
In a few hours time
I don’t wish I was dead
But something of the sort
That everything was different
I am so powerless
So useless
A fucking pawn with no life of my own
Release me from these chains
What the hell is wrong with me?

Song

This boiling rage
In side of me
Boiling over the top of me
Why is it here
I can’t control it
Why is it here
Someone save me now

I’m falling into the crack
On the side of the day
Deeper into the hole
They try and create
I’m falling deeper
Down and below
Someone save me
I’m over board

The lights flash
All around
Faster and blinking
I hit the ground
Out side it is bright
Brilliant with light
Something is wrong
Someone save me now

Chorus

The heat is unbearable
Burning my skin
Separating my life
From what has been
Growing in side of me
I cannot control it
This rage I feel
Someone save me now

Chorus

The ashes I lay on
Are cold as ice
Frost bites my body
And it begins to suffice
Up and down I feel the pain
Where I lay
Defenceless facing the world
Someone save me now

Chorus

Destruction is what I feel
What I create
What am I doing
I want to create
The wall I tear down
My bleeding fingers
No nails left on them
The destruction has eaten them
Some one save me now

Chorus

Into the ground
Pummelled by their heels
Spiked boots
And cruel fists
Keep in on the ground
The dirt mixes with my blood
Sprawled on the ground
They are going to kill me
Some one save me now!

Chorus

A truth I may not know
A tale I don’t want to hear
It has led me here
But my fears have grown
As the chain holds me back
Against this wall
I see the barrels pointed in my face
A bang
I think I am dead
Someone save me now!

Chorus
Chorus
Chorus


Theory

Silence hangs over this Earth. The time for silence is over. From the lips of the educated, knowledge is spread to the weak. It is from the hands of the weak that change will come. For 85 years a vision has been corrupted. On the verge of a new year, a new hope is discovered. With this hope, the silence is shattered.
In 1917 the Vanguard of Lenin took control of this world’s largest nation. In 1921 it was corrupted. The vision of Marx lies in the shambles of war, of a class war directed by the bourgeoisie. Now, on the eve of the year of someone else’s lord 2003 a new paradigm is developed. Although it has long existed, now it is recognized. The word of Marx is the backbone. The educating of the proletariat and the bourgeoisie on the subjects of socialism is the goal of this new movement, the movement of the Teachers.
Unlike the Soldiers and Politicians of the 20th Century, the Teacher seeks for no power. They seek for knowledge and theories that they can share with those who are ignorant of them. They do not look to control, but to enlighten. They do not want anything, but are handed respect. The Teacher is the New Socialist Paradigm.
All revolutionaries are visionaries. Visionaries prefer knowledge to bloodshed. Martin Luther King Jr. said “the pen is purer then the sword.” Sub-commandante Insurgente Marcos said, “Our word is our weapon.” From the mouths of two visionaries, one past the other present, the new philosophy is formed. This will appease the Democratic Socialists who seek change without Revolution, the Politicians. The role of the Teacher though, is to arm the people with information, not to keep them from the battle.
The squabbles of National Socialist parties, as well as Democratic Socialist parties who operate in only one country, will lead to the further corruption of the Revolutionary movement. Since they concentrate on their single nation alone they are no Socialists. The Teachers try to implement the environmental slogan of “thinking globally; acting locally” to spread their knowledge. It is true that those close to us are easier to teach then those far away. Here is where modern mass media comes into play. International Web boards, such as Che-Lives, promote international discussion and education. A problem then arises here. The Global proletariat may not have access to computer sources, or may have heavily censored access. By traveling to this oppressed locations, most in the Tri-Continental, and educating the people can the Teacher truly be actively Socialist. The first world will have more accessible knowledge then that of the third.
This creates and almost Vanguard approach to the Revolution, appeasing the Soldiers. The Teachers, though do not instigate Revolution, but to spread the education so that when they are ready the Global proletariat can throw off their bonds. By doing this, the Teachers are both militant and pacifist.



Hope you enjoy my writing splurg

Larissa
1st January 2003, 18:27
Thanks for sharing it! I really enjoyed it.

chamo
1st January 2003, 23:41
nice and depressing. well written

Pete
12th January 2003, 05:36
I'm back from a brief, a week or so, absense from the board (because of Joon's board and school), and I must say thank you. I really want to share my writing. And I have a 5 page (on paper) poem that when I get my ass in gear will type up and post. If you want depressing....i compare my heart to an apple!

mentalbunny
12th January 2003, 13:59
Wow, I am stunned. I particularly liked the poem and the theory.

The poem was, in a strange way, a comfort, I have been there, and it is good to know that other peopl have been there and come out the other side, it gives you strength.

Pete
13th January 2003, 00:53
[evil laugh and voice] prepare to read a lot of stuff [/evil laugh and voice]

Fantastic Images

A seeping wind
Wheezing under the door
Blockaded under a weight
Of collective guilt
Built up over the years
Of wasteful, hateful murder
As the blood spills down the stairs
Covering the floor
Staining it red
We sit in our high back chair
Eating our deceptive dinner

A miserable sound
Choked and strangled
Falling down the stairs
Collapsing in the wet
Silently screaming
For the binds to be cut
That cut the flesh
Around my wrists
Around my neck
Cutting ever deeper
Into my body
As I lie
In the pool of the blood

A failure of trust
The destruction of flesh
Unimportant but vital
To my mortal life
The cutting rope
And the knife in my back
Blood pouring from my body
Out of the holes
Created by bullets

Red and juicy
Round
Unmoving
Lying on the table
In a basket
Sort of like an apple
It is my ripped out heart

The inaudible screams
Scratching down the board
Blood spilling from the broken nails
Tainting the green back
Erasing the words written in white
As the fingers grind into the slate

Like my heart on the table
A dove lies on the floor
Cupid’s arrow through its heart
A small pool of blood
A puddle of compromise
To shot the spirit of peace
With the arrow of love
We blow off our own head
So we can live another day


The shocking sorrow
That peace has been achieved
That places the calm acceptance
That the world is at war
Sold itself to its gun.
The weapon should be in the peasant’s hand
From the barrel of the gun comes power
What can a rage of blood
Mean when it is defined as peace
As what is right

Dark with a red tint
So you cannot see the blood
That is stained onto everything
And now collects in the corner
The floor is slanted
As bodies are not flat
Everyday the ceiling is closer
It’s teeth dripping blood
This is where today
The current peacemakers meet
In the Bore.

A silence I cannot understand
As thousands are slaughtered
And lay down on the ground
With blood all around
Those who are punctured,
But where not released
From the purifying pain,
Feast on the bodies
Blown apart by the guns
That lowered these people
To these levels

My heart on a table
In the fruit basket
A man without a face
Eats it like an apple

The uncut binds
Brutalated bodies
How nice does it taste
To eat your sister’s face
As you sit in her blood
Waiting to join the flow
But the bullets are not that kind
Take your sister
Leave you to devour her flesh

A slice of a blade
Always so close
Never butting
Finally embracing death
They refuse to give me
Let the Lady fall
End this pain
I hear the sword
Fall down again
Pausing only after glazing
Only gently and hastily touching
My accepting hairs

The torture of corporations
Always so close to the end
Never letting us take it
So we spend more
Give more of our soul
To the ever nearer
Bloody jaw

Crushing like a bug
Just as cruel
Ending a life
Extinguishing a flame
Allowing the soul
To join the flow
To face the unkind judgement
Those still brainwashed
Are destroyed
The captured revolutionaries
Although much fewer
Still are tested by the silver flow
But they are instead,
Embraced
To be reborn
When the time comes again


Material dominion
Infernal division
Spiritually debated
Across the censorship
Only for the acquaintance
Just give me death
I have been through enough
My own hand will not touch it
Binds around my hand
Chocking my neck
Circulation ended
Death to come
But impossibly weak
As they are viewed
Not neat.

My fantasy.

mentalbunny
13th January 2003, 17:36
Great stuff :wink:

bluerev002
16th January 2003, 05:06
Wow crazy pete, im amazed. maybe ive just havent really looked, but i have never seen you write things like this. Exelent stuff man!!

Pete
24th January 2003, 02:53
I usually only post them at Joon's board (http://www.cypsk.org/cgi-bin/ikonboard.cgi) but I've posted a few here and there on this one. Maybe I'll dig them up if they still exist!

ireallyhadablackout
26th January 2003, 01:04
definately nice work. i will read again.

rapture?

dont make it our fate
stand
cooperate
one's round the corner
to designate
see em comin round
the dead fate
no party
less people