Pretending to Be…

Back to the Future…
November 7, 2008, 11:01 pm
Filed under: Pretending to be a Poet, Pretending to be a Writer | Tags: , , ,

In the future men will wear t-shirts displaying a picture of their cock and salary.

Women will come in twos, for the monogamous women will have long been bred out of nature in favor of the ménage á trios kind, so that finally, manly hunters can indulge in Miller Lite Fantasies and proudly gather their 15 seconds of commercialized ejaculation.

Light from stars will shine through atmospheric cut outs of corporate slogans, beaming onto Earth great advertisements from the sky.

Metal will erect into the clouds. You will stroke the building, riding it floor to floor, inserting yourself completely. You will let it warm you and feed you, nourishing insulation, fuck your Mother.

Serial TV will be wired throughout your skull, and you will shut your eyes to internally display the good ol’ pastime for your vicarious mind.

Everything will exist outside ourselves as ends, and through there will be means to everything, these means will be owned and assumed. As flies stuck in the web, we will be born as we are caught, our dreams the last measure of freedom we would have sought.

Life will be an ant farm.

Numbers will bleed from the sky- philosophy splashed with rhetoric and rationalism, churchmongers choking on faith pills.

Music will be reduced to one simple tone, perfectly balanced, the ultimate hook, impossible to forget and intrinsically unchallengeable.

Children will virtually kill each other virtually.

Politicians will set up lemonade stands.

Oceans will be drained for real estate and land owners will display souvenirs of Coke cans found littered in their sand yards.

Pornography will ascend to glamorous photos of shiny cars and you will jerk off to such aspirations.

Yin and Yang will go to war.

Physically defective people will be quarantined to parks where families vacation to feel better about functionality.

There will be no place for error.

And here now, I sit around perplexed, a stale pesticide.

In the past, I was a poet, full of diction and intellectual jargon, in love with wordy ideas and mesmerizing language, verbose for the sake of…

I hardly try anymore,

In the future, I never existed.

by Steve Morgan
as excerpted from ADBusters magazine
November.December 2008 issue #80
Volume 16 Number 6

steve_morgan _poem
click for full size


Butterfly Effect..

All causes and all effects.
Don’t call it shit,
Necessary to acknowledge it.
Some call it LOVE and some call it SEX,
Call it what you want,
But with one touch and you’re gone.
So call in sick,
With human politics
From whispered hushes and distant crushes.
Mental fits,
Breaking pencil tips and ink & brushes.
Simple rushes.
God makes man and this is the devil’s finishing touches.
From dukes to duchesses,
And kings to queens.
From dust to dust this is the sinful theme.
The scene for crack fiends and gun-packing teens.
High on,
Vaccines, magazines and saccharine.
Love scream

Lets Take an Intermission…
August 25, 2008, 3:56 pm
Filed under: Pretending to be a Poet

Its 12 at night, drunk with a tired voice…
Its 2 in the morning, a cold hang-up of the phone…
No one knows my heart…
I cant stop, love… love… love…
Even though it hurts, its on replay
I cant stop, love… love… love…

Have you ever loved?
Like in the movies,
where they fall in love at first sight?
Stayed up all night on the phone?
Bragged to the world?
Waited in the pouring rain?
Ran like crazy towards them?
Secretly watched them?
Gone crazy?
Pretended not to see them?
Of course you have loved.
Gone broke because of anniversaries.
Said sorry, when you were right.
Stayed up all night writing a letter.
Canceled on your other friends.
Prayed to God to protect them.
Avoided friends.
Watched their backs as they left.

I Loved like crazy, why?
I was really good to them, why?
I gave my all.
You’ve got me going crazy.
I loved them to death why?
I gave them my heart and body.
I’ve lost everything, what do I do?
No one knows what im feeling.
I cant stop, love… love… love…

Have you ever broken up?
Cut your hair?
Picked up a cigarette after you quit?
Avoided a place,
thinking you might see them there?
Written a letter you couldnt send?
Got drunk and dialed their number?
Only to get frozen by their “hello”?
Of course you have broken up.
Hated them as much as you loved them.
Torn a letter you didnt read.
Erased a number you couldnt forget.
Celebrated an anniversary on your own.
Burnt every picture of you two.
Thought that all the sad songs in this world were about you.

You take a break…
Cry like a fool.
Get drunk again.
Grab your friends and curse that person again.
Time passes.
You get drunk again.
Pick up the phone and say…

I Loved like crazy, why?
I was really good to them, why?
I gave my all.
You’ve got me going crazy.
I loved them to death why?
I gave them my heart and body.
I’ve lost everything, what do I do?
No one knows what im feeling.
I cant stop, love… love… love…

Thanks tablo
Thanks mithra

How Love All Started…
June 30, 2008, 2:37 am
Filed under: Pretending to be a Philosopher, Pretending to be a Poet

Just Ranting…
May 27, 2008, 4:04 am
Filed under: Pretending to be a Poet

Dont you hate it when people make you wait? Like when they cant keep their promise to be on TIME! WTF. Am I the only person alive that cares about being on time? Like when I say 12pm I actually mean 12pm. What makes things worse is if the person your waiting for is a girl. Then your not allowed to be mad at them. Even WORSE if its a girl that you have feelings for. Then it doesn’t matter if you want to be mad at them, you cant anyway.
They’ll be 59 minutes late
When you swear to yourself this is the last minute you will wait
Before you bounce
But then
she comes at that last minute
And your fucking mad as hell
But then she probably senses your pissed
And asks “does my outfit look fly?”
And does that little twirly thingy
Like a ballerina does
And waits for you to answer
Eyes all big and innocent and shit
And you want to stay mad at her
But you cant
Because she really does look fine as hell
And all you can do is muster up a shy “yea, you look good”
With a smile.
Then she smiles.
Then you laugh cause shes smiling
Then you forget why you were angry.
Because in reality wtf can you do?
She REALLY does look good.
And it gets you every time.

May 19, 2008, 5:09 pm
Filed under: Pretending to be a Poet

Most girls use their eyes
but not their sight.
They look at what men have
right now.
Not just material things
but beyond the superficial as well.
They don’t use their sight to see
the dreams and aspirations of these men.
If they are the type of men
who will turn dreams into reality.
So these girls don’t see what these men will become
instead they see what they are now.
What these men are now,
can be a very bleak picture.
Smart men dont mess around with short sighted girls.
Then they wonder why some men fuck ’em and then leave ’em.
They wonder why relationships start off great then turn sour.
‘Cause the future is important, ya know?
The future is what come tomorrow,
and you cant escape tomorrow.
In some men’s lives, things get prioritized.
Dont take it as men looking down on you.
But that these men are looking at whats ahead of you.
And that can be a very bleak picture.
This is not a sexist post.
‘Cause the script can be flipped,
about short sighted men…
not looking at what a woman will become.
Men and women need to close their eyes and use their sight.

Creativity and Inspiration…
May 3, 2008, 2:22 am
Filed under: Pretending to be a Poet, Pretending to be a Rapper

I wrote this poem a lil more than a year ago…
I need to get back to this kind of creativity…
I wish I can get back to that…

I met this girl when i was like 5 years old
i wanted to make her mine, yup that was my goal
she’s the flyest in town
no ones takin her crown
but look at me lil asian kid fresh off the boat
wats my chances with her? i aint got no hope
but she just walked up to me and said:
“excuse me lil homie
i kno u dont kno me
but my name is Brook and we can be friends”
since then i’ve gotten to kno her betta
melanin, money, status all that shit didnt matta
u come from outta town, i like to show her off
if u aint real she straighten u out, she kno u soft
she taught me how to slang, how to talk
how to carry myself, how to walk
i met other girls like Queeny and Manny,
went to school wit Queeny, partied wit Manny
but still that Brook, always on my mind
another girl like that i could never find
another girl like that i could compare
her style, grace, and smarts so rare
but we had our troubles
as my age doubled
her friends werent as pure
experienced hate and racism, for sure
but never took out anger on Brook
those assholes, no love they took
got a lil older, took her for granted
got a lil swagger, brains more potent
followed my dreams, went to school in philly
realized how much i missed her, yes really
only when i left, did it make me see
made me realize, that Brook is the only girl for me
now how u think i felt when i heard
there’s these dudes who rapin’ her
all her friends have forsaken her
she dont smile like she used to
broken is the joy she cruised to
wrinkles i didnt see before
bruises that were never there
pimps whoring her…
cant recognize her…
and i cant save her…