el-poeta-nomadico - Tumblr blog

[el-poeta-nomadico]

A Day of Doom Scrolling

Nearly nude photo shoot,

A set of perfectly rolled marijuana cigarettes,

Vintage and luxury cars,

Posing by a bathtub full of money,

Followed by advertisements.

Political statements and adjoined group photos,

Words so hateful they would make your father cry,

Clips of a man being blown in half, halfway across the world,

Followed by more half nude photos,

And more advertisements.

People with big muscles moving iron,

More half naked women in suggestive poses,

Supplements covering a dining room table untouched for half a year,

Then more advertisements.

Perhaps if I’m lucky tomorrow I will find a sliver of reality,

Or maybe a morsel of compassion,

Something to tear me away from this panopticon of the human condition.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

I Saw a Bird Soar Across the Sky

Born with a cry and off with sigh,

In between, some give living a try.

Others hide behind their fears,

Like older siblings protecting us from pain,

Some push them aside to show them,

Show them the courage they contain.

Brave little brothers and sisters with no clue,

And no worries of the painful hues

That the world can paint on our canvases.

Some find joy in the warmth of a partner,

Some go galavanting in an endless summer.

Some die alone, with not an ounce of love in their hearts.

Some are killed in the pursuit of their art.

Only the dead are truly free to rest,

While the rest of us are enslaved by existence,

To rot and die or try our best.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

Prayer to the Kensei

“You can only fight the way you practice”

UNYIELDING, UNENDING, UNCOMPROMISING, UNBENDING, UNWAVERING.

RUTHLESSLY RENITENT AND RESOLUTELY RESOLVED

DOGGEDLY DETERMINED AND DELIBERATELY DEVOTED DILIGENCE.

STOUTLY SPIRITED, STEADFAST AND STALWART, STEELY

VIGOROUS VERVE AND

ZESTFUL ZEALOUSNESS.

“To know ten thousand things, know one well.”

[el-poeta-nomadico]

Is there anything more tragic than the people who wrought you into this world and who are supposed to love you more than anything under the filament and stars; to think that giving you things born of dirt, should be a sufficient placeholder for the warmth of genuine love?

All too soon, these “things” will be gone, returned to dust as we all will, and perhaps the only thing I could have taken with me was missing from this husk.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

“I was ashamed of myself when I realized life was a costume party and I attended with my real face.”

-Franz Kafka

[el-poeta-nomadico]

Tansparent

I see you,

I see through you,

I see what you wish to occlude,

I see the truth,

I see the void in your hearts and souls.

I see your degeneracy and your selfishness.

I see through the words you use,

As cover for your intentions,

As sure as the sun remains true,

I see the darkness inside all of you.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

When the Time Comes

Now they are afraid,

Today the fear materializes,

A worry I won’t be here at the nights end.

Or that I’ll explode, terrible and turbulent;

Where was this worry yesterday?

I have a lifetime of yesterdays,

29 years worth of opportunities squandered,

To ask why my eyes looked empty and wandered.

I don’t need your worries today, you should have given them yesterday.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

Real, unreal, genuine and disingenuous,

What could be more real than the urge to crack him in two,

Breaking his hypocritical facade and his nose too.

What could be more sincere than the raw pain of others,

And the unfiltered joy to be experienced in the most mundane things;

A fish hanging from the end of a spear,

The warm touch of a friend as a cold envelopes my body and heart,

Silence so sound you could hear a pin drop on the forest ground.

Maybe I’m “extreme”, I think you’re just dull,

I am Sharp and receptive, i feel what all of you ignore to feel,

And I suffer the snow blindness,

I accept the thorns of your rose petal world.

I suffer, but before I die, I shall know I have lived.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

GRIGORI

Then to me, with whom fate has set,

Let my words, those wicked never forget,

It was I who suffered, and in suffering have met,

The greed and lust of mine own eyes

Reflected back in the mirror of your souls.

They say it is the rich, but I say it is the Christ,

Who would find it an impossible art,

As impasible as a camel traveling through the needles heart.

In the valley of suffering and heavens on high I shall defy.

If life would make of me a monster,

Then wickedness I’ll return,

in those whom it would beget.

LEVIATHAN

If life would make of me a monster,

Who am I to deny it?

After all, what is three decades to a billion years?

If life would make a cruel joke of my heart,

Then who am I to keep defending it,

This is what the world demands, then by god it shall have it.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

LEVIATHAN

If life would make of me a monster,

Who am I to deny it?

After all, what is three decades to a billion years?

If life would make a cruel joke of my heart,

Then who am I to keep defending it,

This is what the world demands, then by god it shall have it.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

FUCK THE WORLD, AND ALL OF YOU WHO INHABIT IT

My faith has run dry,

And my hope has evaporated.

I am what this world has made me,

And not by way of it’s demands,

But by its efforts in occluding me.

I have been rejected in more ways

Than my soul cares to count.

So I say to you,

I shall devour you,

Essence and all,

I shall diminish you,

And I shall be there to call

Your name for what it is,

Weakness and victimhood.

I am your end, and I am your all,

I shall devour you, spirit in whole.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

How many more songs am I supposed to write?

Before I should turn it off and say goodnight

[el-poeta-nomadico]

When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer

by Walt Whitman

When I heard the learn’d astronomer; When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me; When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them; When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick; Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

Compliment others, lord knows that living is just stumbling from struggle to struggle, make sure to enjoy the good parts, to be a friendly face in the storm of daily misfortune.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

RR

I’ve journeyed with the shepherd and his quest for treasure,

I watched as he transmuted into wind on the mountain peak.

I watched as they shot him and his limp body fell into the pool before him.

I stared and counted along with him, the blinks and turns of the firefly,

His dream of birds turning to metal lumps.

I was there when the player piano clunked out it’s tune,

And the whispers of rebellion walked among the reeks.

All my friends are words on paper.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

SUPPLE

I swear a Bird fell from the sky,

Dressed and fried, ready and tender,

The heat.. it’s so hot, I just might die.

This drought, it’s persistent, eternal dunes.

The heat.. it sucks the water right out of my wounds.

I’ll trudge as I’ve trudged, through this waste

Searching eternally for a sip most moist,

Crawling for a succulent cactus pear,

Splendid juices whose fragrance help hoist,

My dry and cracked spirit.

I’ll imbibe you, with a thirst so greedy,

First a sip and a sup, then a gulp from each nub,

And devour you whole, flesh so needly.

[el-poeta-nomadico]

In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in His cosmic loneliness.

And God said, “Let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done.” And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as man alone could speak. God leaned close to mud as man sat up, looked around, and spoke. 

Man blinked. “What is the purpose of all this?” he asked politely.“Everything must have a purpose?” asked God.“Certainly,” said man.“Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this,” said God.

And He went away. 

― Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle (1963)