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Puppets

Look at this perfect puppets,
Their perfect masks,
Their perfect body,
Their perfect feelings,
Their perfect life,
Everything is broken!
Look at this broken puppets,
Their broken masks,
Their broken body,
Their broken feelings,
Their broken life,
Everything is perfect!

Welcome HomeWelcome home
Never left.
Breath laced with dust of sales,
Turn up the thermostat

Welcome home
We know it’s safe no matter what they say.
Those who digress: for money –
No contention

Welcome home
Our attack, defense –
minuscule, immense.
It’s different, what we do –

Welcome home.
Fix all we lack
with money, cash and power
or clear the way for others

Welcome home,
Here we are and here we will remain
as the image fills the frame
Script and scene, to entertain –

Welcome home.
Hollow eyes
lobotomized for scripted speech:
Honored, glamorized are each

Here we are, with poison speak
Starts to creak on axis.

Like The (Insert Here)Like the BBC
That's not the news for me
Like the Catholic Church
Makes me want to search
Like Federal Government
No need to be hesitant
Like Benghazi
It is Crazy
Like the NRA
That is not okay
Like the IRS
Conservatives need a test?
Like the press tapping
Why is this happening?
Like Watergate
Paranoia and hate
Like Newtown
What is going down?
Like Obama-care
Public option is not there
Like polarization of Washington
Change was what we were hoping
Like the liberals
Why do you create walls?
Like the conservatives
Why do you lack objectives?
Like the American Dream
It isn't want it seems

I present you with a picture.I present you with a picture.
I want you to take a look.

It's two hands interlocked if you didn't know.
Two hands embracing each other.

Take a closer look.
Get in real close.

They are just two hands right?
Two hands among millions, billions even.

No one would look at this picture and say,
'That's wrong'

Maybe if the hands were coloured differently.
Someone would complain, some racist out there.

But I wouldn't and I know most others wouldn't either.
But that's a shame it's not everyone.

Lets zoom out shall we?
Take in the whole picture.

It's two men.
Or two women.

Do you still think 'it's okay'?
Honestly tell me.

Some would say it's

E. I'm Mad as Hell and I'm Not Going to Take it AnThe entertained are weak minded. I'm starting to think maybe we're addicted to entertainment. Feeling sad and low? Hard day at work? A little stressed? - First thing we collectively do is find the

couch and turn on the TV.

No doubt, a marvelous piece of equipment... but there's a screaming child inside of you that wants to stay up late, want to see just five more minutes....! Inject me right here, gimme five minutes

of E.

Ooooooh, I lay down, mind somewhere else, time passing by, doing laps around me like I'm stoned stupid. E, it's so damn good, it'll make you stupid..

It'll make you stupid for hours, it'll make you stupid for a lifetime

Blinded By FaithBlinded By Faith

At the dawn of man
He questioned his world
How did he come to be?
Mythology grew at a pace
Ritual becomes a method of control
Men of power use it to force their will

Blinded by faith
You justify the hate
Religion fuelling bloodshed
In a holy war
It’s God v God
But only man will lose

Huddled over scriptures
The holy man spreads the lies
In those sacred halls
Common sense fears to tread
People flock to hear the word
Leave your brain at the door

As science fills in the puzzle
Of how it all began
You fear you’ll lose your grip
When we have no need for God
So you brainwash your children
That to question faith is w

All die kleinen Tode...All die kleinen Tode, die wir sterben, für die es keine Gräber gibt.
Das Trauertragen abgeschafft.
Zelebrieren wir das Stanzen nach neuen Schablonen.
Einzigartigkeit als Makulatur.
für die Brennöfen der Drehbuchautoren einer feinen Welt.
Kaum, dass wir sehen lernen,
fressen sich alltagstaugliche Masken in unsere Gesichter
bis wir verschmelzen-
Wenn wir lange genug in den Spiegel starren glauben wir es sogar.
Wir brauchen keine Zukunftsvisionen
wir produzieren bereits Maschinen
Ich renne, denn ich bin ausrangiert
der letzte Trauergast
der Tränen kennt

Kuenstliches Komasie wachen niemals auf

das blockierte System vegetiert
in sich verschlossen

keine Anschläge auf Milliardäre
deren nahrungstoxische Fabriken
passive Zombies züchten

Klimakollaps und Betonwüsten
im Sinne
der Unter-Gangs-Propheten
auf das Versprochene beten

wieviel Profit
wird diese Not entwerfen
weitere zweitausend Jahre vom Monde
eine Welt zu erpressen?

niemand will kämpfen
- bloß warnen -

Verständnis
ist das Massengrab der Blinden
die niemals heraus finden

selbstoperierende Zellen
gegen Kartelle
die unter Obama ihre Lobby
im Senat verdoppeln

seht ihre Taten
und glaubt nicht bezahlten Worten

...
die Farben des Ozeans sind menschlich
d

WeltenspielerWer verstehen will muss sich das Menschsein einverleiben.
Ein Abendmahl auf sterbender Muttererde
Aus Schläuchen trinke ich euer Blut, gierig aus den Herzkammern…wie Schatzkammern
Mit Zähnen reiße ich das Fleisch heraus
Und knabbere an morschen Knochen wie an DNA-Strängen
Und ihr glaubt ihr hättet euch domestiziert-
Ich bin das Tier…

Und schön bin ich dann,
dass ich reihenweise Herzen breche und lache
und eloquent,
dass ich an Herrscherpulten goldene Lügen auswerfe
und unersättlich,
dass ich die Erde mit Kapitalismus tränke

ich bin der Weltenspieler

starface skull
is loose
center of wrong
the thrum
of the singular
the nerve
+ skin around
the eyes
and in them
the internal distortion
of etched images
with interlocked
sensory reality
/overload

the elect
and preterite
and the falling-backwards
bloated corpse of the left
the starface
independent
as a dollar
the timer
stopped
and whistles

the story told itself
and someone announced
that it had ended

sie sagen ReformSie sagen Reform

unerlässliche, unveränderliche
Verschluckung der Hohen zum Aufbau alter Strukturen
Sie sagen Reform

Gemeinsame, unentrinnbare
Erstickung aller, als Konsequenz alter Strukturen
Ich sage Horrorvision

immer wieder
ohne Ende
ohne Anfang

Arroganz gepaart mit Dummheit
als Raster, als Weltbild bildloser Ignoranten
ungebildet

Energie verbunden mit Wahnsinn
als Waffe
gegen Köpfe bunter Farbe
Farbengleichheit

Viel zu lange Magersucht
wir verschlucken die Idealisten
Ohren hören, Nerven leiten, Synapsenentgleisung
wir merken uns die Lügen
aber wir bemerken es nicht

Inside This IpodINSIDE THIS IPOD

INSIDE THIS IPOD HAS MUSIC, MUSIC YOU THAT MAKES YOU HAPPY, SAD, ANGRY, AND SOOTHED, YOU MIGHT LIKE THIS MUSIC BUT YOU MIGHT NOT, THE IPOD DOES NOT CARE BECAUSE YOU TOLD IT TO DO WHAT YOU WANT WHEN YOU WANT

INSIDE THIS IPOD HAS PICTURES, PICTURES THAT ARE HAPPY, SAD, ANGRY, AND SOOTHING, YOU MIGHT REMEMBER THEM BUT YOU MIGHT NOT, YOU MIGHT LIKE THEM AND YOU MIGHT NOT, THE IPOD DOES NOT CARE BECAUSE YOU TOLD IT TO DO WHAT YOU WANT WHEN YOU WANT

THIS IPOD HAS MUSIC AND PICTURES IT HAS GAMES AND INTERNET, BUT IT DOES NOT HAVE FEELINGS, IT DOES NOT CARE WHAT YOU WANT BUT IT WILL GET IT IF IT HAS IT, IT DOES NOT KNOW YOU OR WHA

Fellow WorkerRitual bloodletting
Suicide us all
For your failures, your mistakes
Will cost us all
Solidarity will save us
Only if you're brave enough
Fellow Worker

OppressorsWe tell you how to speak
We tell you how to walk
We tell you how to streak
We tell you how to talk

We want you to listen
And Obey
We want you to think
This way

You are free
To answer to we
You are special
But not nearly crucial

We don't want your respect
We demand it
We don't ask you to be perfect
We command it

Your choice is our will
Resist, and we kill.

PrizePrize

The dead bodies line the hallway
No one has won
Though there was no prize
Just Your Greed

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More from ~Khrishna

every song.the last time i cracked my head on the coffe table
i was penniless and heartsick and my father stitched my broken bone himself.
the last time i was on a plane
i wore sunglasses,
i looked out the window,
i looked back.
the last time i kissed someone i was under star
s and piss ass drunk just like the last time
i watched Coffee and Cigarettes.

so now i'm putting myself under finger.
i'm smelling spiced amaretto'
i'm licking my cirarette
i'm living in a hole the size of my head
dancing in the kitchen.
not sleeping red eyed not eating looking at faces in the clouds.

in paintings an angel is a beautiful man with a halo and wi

serenadeI hear the coughing at four or five in the morning
when i ease through the black crack in the doorway to your room.
your skinny throat grumbling agian like a steeple crashing into your lungs.

Sometimes i feel my hands are sewn behind my back my darling.
Sometimes i see you trembling, glistening with crystals, like a closed fist too
tight for me to squeeze through.
Sometimes i feel your skin like an empty emberless furnace, cold and hard
and when i saw an ant creeping up the bone on your shoulder in the dark

to crush it

i pressed my skin to your skin
and i held and i held and i held.

Blot Mistro.sitting in the waining evening
the thick black ink
eased onto my open skin
blotting out the blood and bruises.
Staring at it there staining my hand
i thought i might disolve into a line or two
of words. Something deep like an ocean
something rivaling emotion.
the ink spread like a black hill
rising on my skin.

I wish i could dissolve into a word. In words
love is real
hate can kill
people can push and pull and pinch
and we need never move.
In a poem you and i can exist.
while outside it is the rain
wipes my footprints from outside your door.

Suicide of a pictureMy eyes twitch along with the expressions on the TV
leaving me mindless a moment in the humid afternoon.

Where are the Thick full colors of Van Gogh
erotically stroking the deep canvas?

Where is the Discontent of Bukowski
Smearing his naked skin with sesame oil in the sun?

where are my commercials my commercials my commercials?

I move a little less I make a little less sense
but if you call now I'll play you re-runs re-runs re-runs.

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chit-chat

by ~Khrishna, Nov 1, 2004, 5:34:52 PM
Literature / Poetry / Sociopolitical / Free Verse

It is no kind of life.
drowning out the drone of the alarm clock.

We are lepers in the bathroom,
gouging out rotten eyes,
rubbing off rotten noses,
rinsing out our tasteless mouths with tasteless water.
A whole new day, a whole new you.
Life is chit-chat.

Then we slide into history, coffee drugged.
A faceless brushstroke in an unfinished painting
by an unknown artist

that will end up in the attic,
while we end underground.

chit-chatby ~Khrishna

Literature / Poetry / Sociopolitical / Free Verse

©2004-2013 ~Khrishna

is anything compelling anymore?

~Tatami Nov 19, 2004

Thank you for reminding me of my depression.

I LOVE it.

It's like caffeine for the people that know happiness is just a made-up excuse out of the monotony of life and love.

Reply

~Khrishna Nov 20, 2004

anytime.

Reply

~Petra- Nov 13, 2004 Hobbyist Artist

Thank you for describing the misery with such accuracy and simplicity. This is certainly a fave.

Reply

~Khrishna Nov 14, 2004

always a pleasure really.

thanks again for the fave.

Reply

~goofyromantic Nov 7, 2004

I see where you're goin

Reply

~Khrishna Nov 7, 2004

good. ...

one of us should
otherwise
we may end up on the road
and
in the rain and underneath a rain
bow
down.

and i'm certainly not the navigator
of this particular bicycle.

Reply

~coldpoisonedheart Nov 7, 2004

absolutely beautiful. i love its aspect of simplicity, it works really well.

Reply

~Khrishna Nov 7, 2004

thanks

it's good to hear that
somepeople can still
find the simple things
mysterious and beautiful.

Reply

~NonsensicalEntity Nov 4, 2004

I really love this, I think it beautifully illistartes how meaningless our lives really are, to everyone but us. Maybe that's not waht you meant, but that's just what I got out of it.

Reply

~Khrishna Nov 4, 2004

you got something out of it...
it's always good to hear that.

and there are always different lights one can look at these things under,
you found a pretty one,
and that makes me happy.

thank you.

Reply

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