“Feel”

I fell profoundly deep into a slumber.

Plagued by dreams.

Infected with dreams.

Overwhelmed and

smothered by dreams.

Trampled underfoot and

asphyxiated by dreams.

I gasped awake from the dormancy.

Sullen. Vacant. Shocked.

You were not real.

 

All the wrong things do we seek?

Is it wrong to search at all or

ought we just let it all be?

 

Thy beauty utmost was discovered

whilst my REM anxiously quivered.

I reveled in fountains of your warmth.

I felt so blissfully happy in my retreat

that all of time ceased to even be.

Neither past nor future was there.

I lived a perfectly paralyzing present.

I was enveloped in your arms,

my brain at rest, my soul at peace.

Consciousness blink, consciousness release.

 

All the wrong things do we seek?

Is it wrong to search at all or

ought we just let it all be?

 

The silent enemy crawled through

the blinds and up my chest.

She blazed through my eyelids

like a villainous poison in the bloodstream.

After near two years passed,

I began to hate the sunshine at last.

Endeavors she to maliciously ravage my dream,

caustic emptiness birthed from her scintillating scream.

 

Why does the dream have to feel so real?

Sometimes it just feels so good to feel.

 

06/29/2016, Tony Blau Veldt

“Cacophony”

I hereby declare that I do not give a single damn what you think.

I pen this and all subsequent thoughts in indelible ink.

I follow up with a proclamation to all of thee:

that I may indeed laugh at you if you dislike me.

I live to please my own self and no one else,

I refuse to be the trophy on anyone else’s shelf.

 

Cast away, cataclysmic calamity.

Freedom through one’s cacophony.

 

I am free, I’m bound by nothing, no one thing to which I cling.

I will fly, I’ve found my something, no one thing will bind my wing.

Our restrictions are based on what we are told are rules,

each rule restricted by another set of rules,

a captivating convoluted lattice jungle of rules,

abiding tools, eager mules, unequivocal obedience to those who rule the rules.

 

As unapologetically fallible and man-made as the religions and schools.

So shamelessly sycophantically sought, such subservience to fools.

 

As ethereal and ridiculous as the beloved idea of a nationality,

as arbitrary as the value that we metaphysically subscribe to money.

Money only has worth because we believe and thus conduce

(a one and a one hundred dollar bill cost the same amount to produce).

These rules, unlike natural laws, can be changed and challenged,

they can be wounded, they can be anemic, they can be damaged.

These inane vanities can be bent and broken and destroyed,

man’s Golden Calf at which I laugh, with which I have toyed.

 

I will kick off the ground and defy gravity because I can,

I will destroy with eyes of disdain if you threaten my wingspan.

I will viscerally chop you down like a tree with the very words I write.

Manners are for all, but kindness only for those capable of being contrite.

 

I will gather the stars in the night, catch them like butterflies in mid-flight.

I will scatter them as I please, reshape my entire world with pleasure and ease.

I will punch a hole into the atmosphere, I will dictate future, present, and past;

the space time continuum is small, insignificant, eclipsed by the iconoclast.

My ability to create and destroy, to make or break, to reshape all as I see fit.

My ability to eschew what I hate, to welcome only that which I choose to permit.

 

I will speak in chosen prose and walk in a unique rhythm,

I will breathe in my own fashion and flirt as an algorithm.

A playfully coquettish musically seductive riddle.

Past feelings of guilt gallantly replaced by acquittal.

I create passionate fire with the spark I pull from within,

write and rewrite my own definitions of glory and sin.

All of society’s methods have been rendered so miniscule

(tinder is unnecessary with a strong enough fuel).

The heat grows little by little.   

Culminating volcano missile.

Begins the flame to dwindle.

Yet the power is mine to rekindle.

 

I will carry myself as jazz but spit in primal scream therapy,

I will range from expressionist art to mathematical austerity.

Calculated dictation in the execution of I, myself, and me.

I am but myself and no one else – so hear my cacophony.

 

I’ll make so much noise the world will cover their ears,

I will stare them down and command them to wipe their soul’s tears.

They’re slipping through your fingers – days, months and years.

You’re slipping through your fingers – so fucking face your fears.  

 

Died but reborn, in tact but torn, cycles of life, joy and strife,

a calm tumultuous ocean, stationary but in motion,

the weak are meek, the strong live long,

so bellow and scream and roar, let your thunder soar,

eradicate the learning curve, strike the world’s every nerve,

grab them by the collar: tell them what you fucking deserve.

 

A promise unto thee – you will no longer not hear me.

A declaration to be free – you too find your cacophony.

 

06/22/2016, Tony Blau Veldt