The Polkadodge Organization

api-cutter:

If all you had to do was find the highlight
of my life you’d soon fine its not right
alright Ill say I didn’t put much effort into tryin to win,
but my lifes been wasted in sin, like drinkin gin its tough to begin.
I spent every day talkin shit about the government that’s about how it went
…

ambiguous-transparency:

Why do you touch me like snow kisses 
the asphalt on a cold early spring morning,
only to die away by noon and the flowers
would laugh, taunt at your flawed calculations
and say your beauty was shown in vain?

I told you the horizon was a straight line
playing tricks on your dumbfounded eyes,
the globe was never round but we wanted
it to be because our lives have no beginnings
nor ends, such majestic greatness, we like
to fool ourselves with dirty handshakes and
acts of pure kindness for the poorly rich.

Why do you brush away the stardust from
your fingers and discard them like they don’t
mean more than dust to you; after all, you’ve
been touched by nature’s wonders to stand
on this ground as another light year died 
somewhere in your galaxy within this galaxy
and stars tailgated the moon to birth your
innocence, and here you are, crying to touch
the hands that made the stars strike midnight.

Who are you born to be? Why do you?

nooneknowsnothing:

Heavy memories threaten me. It is your essence. I can smell it. Despite all the mist around. I am a prisoner in this self constructed jail. My mind is a rush that do not stop. It is like a whisper tickling my lobe. Like an ant pinching my tongue. Like a wolf howling to the moon. But I am the moon. So white so pale so tall. So blundering with my feet and my arms and my eyes. That thing that they make when I want to scape. And now a new you looks at me with pupils of lamb. So innocent so young so capable of love. And I want to run again. That’s why I can’t even write well. The love wants to come in again and again and again. But  I am not ready to fall in love. I am not ready for a new pair of hands. I am not ready for noone. Just for me. 

Maybe I am being too selfish. But I can hurt you. I know I can hurt you so bad. I tell you dear life that I am not ready this time. Do not make me involve in your games. 

                                 Salome Titans your fringe parsons cringing

                         dark passions we beseech you come morning come night

                        we beseech you long slumber come Delilah again screeching

                                     Life ain’t nothing but a death machine

Šárka, Pentheslea; Men know the ways of women

Rothbart,  Jack the Ripper; Women know the ways of men

Avenger my heroine my fondest spare dream

In the beginning all things are dust

and

in the end all things are dust

and

in the middle most things stay mud

and they tell us to laugh

for want of a better poised dignity. 

 In the absence of mud figures are sculpted from Id 

and coated with a hearty glaze of self-assurance

Truth can cut like a hot knife just when life seems the most butter

but worse come to worst

a well placed scar on the Ego can still be rather eye-catching

 The whisper of an impending new day is a grace note

for the Artful Dodger evading hindsight amongst these forgeries

Anonymous companions retreat to ethereal communities

the cheek of their retorts have been properly adored and exalted   

 The illusion is headstrong but feels off

there is something to be said about kissing and telling the difference

between comforting dillusion and true peace of mind

 Things can still be important

even if we don’t personally care to understand them

 All men are born to die. Consider the profile of Abraham Lincoln.

Papist peons pontificating their sanctificitors 

Botox baristas and augmentation queens  

Mannequins trapped forever in pose 

some people’s favorite things are the strangest of things 

 Have no fear for the children for they have their technology

Modern sensibilities, I worship belligerence.

The caliber by which I go ballistic. My bones

my bones: fossils in the making.

The three sisters touting privileged spinster envy

categorically surmise the newest mission statements:

A clean slate requires blood for the washing.

Things can be important even if we do not personally care to enjoy them.

 Pray for the decencies seen shattered all in a day of whimsical flattery.

“Reductio ad absurdum” upon dying lips

a dogged affair with greatness comes to an end lacking pomp or ceremony.

 Practitioners of an ungodly decree braid nooses from virgin’s hair

when subtlety has become far too tiresome to bear. 

The antagonist of the affluent entertains a bid for blasphemy.

 The moral lesson of the day was marked half price but all I could muster

was an apology mixed with the lint of my pocket.

Out of sight, out of mind. And I can’t see my brain anymore these days.

 Vagrants, colorful and crazy, are allotted by death’s shadow

 a place to hide from the driving forces of organization.

Will people ever learn a way to hate that doesn’t

piss of the philosophers something fierce?

 The mark of a more kind and benevolent past

was tattooed over in death camps. 

 Hold court in the gutters of a lactating mind;

truth and justice are belched out by screenwriters. 

 Now is not the time for religion. Now is the time for vodka. 

And pseudo-socialist Zines consumed

by eyes framed with horned-rim glasses squinting through

Proletarian hand rolled cigarette smoke.

A congregation of the plastic people;

they have no souls but their mothers will love and kiss them. 

A ceaseless envoy of inadequacies,responsibility berate of gratification.

Bones bred to bear the burden of an absurd pedigree.

My, how mean the ways and means have become!

This madness is known as society.

Charades in the ethnosphere. Oligarchs of temperance

drenched in calamity.

Derogate hooligans in need of something new to fear.

It’s not the violence, it is the noise I flee. 

 Angst is not my forte as it doesn’t suit my needs.

Mine is an anxiety known best to plaintiffs and amphetamine addicts.

Hey! 

You!

With your adherence to the marketplace common sense 

seeking to commodify the pursuits of happiness. 

You would do well to sell me a better pill.

 The senses-taker is a prophetic mad dog offering 

sweet epiphanies with sugarcoats and the diabetics are growing resentful  

in the face of that which they can not sink their teeth.

Yes, the world must burn. This much we’ve always known.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for flair. 

The portrait of hubris is painted in the glow of victorious fires

 The banter of empirical dissertation is dictated by disquiet ghosts.

Gnostic gold is heralded by misanthropes despite that no man is an island.

It can be hard to hear all you’re forced to hear.

 The man in the white suit frowns with his eyes

The man in the gray suit finds all things unbalanced. 

The wake was overtime, the siesta overdue.

My God, what have good men become!

Spare the strides for fleeing because nothingness creeps swift. 

 Have you seen many angels in your excursions to the ends of time?

Have you chanced upon God in your many duels with death?

Diabolical shepherd  of wanton intolerance, 

the sheik of your ponce needs no defending.  

How easily sheep become wolves, persnickety bastard making bastards.

We’ll see who stays shiny when all’s said and done. 

The silver spoon will taste awkward when poverty comes to town.

Kings of men where have you gone?

Have you found a better people to mourn? 

 Despondent recluses with bribery on the mind wonder comedy

and wandered into violence.  

Sometimes destruction is unavoidable

but it doesn’t always have to be tragic.

The pleasure was misfired, thus the intentions were lost to time.  

I see god everywhere as painted upon walls as man: a totem well crafted for

                                                                                                      self worship

                            Yours are demons I’ve never known before

                                  your fears are brand spanking new

                                          How modern your pain

                                          how original your anger

                                     We have much to learn from you

There’s a wall being built that stretches the horizon

to fence out the hopeful promises of time

the mortar is mixed in the cradles that still haunt us

kiss your dreams goodbye, my son. It is time for all people to stay awake

 Can you be colored blank? 

The muse is reliance, the vice is satin Judas

If dreams are destinations I urge better tuned imaginations

The last will of modern times is written by the glow of city lights

tehstillness:

“Puhleez take it away-the pain!”

He eyed me over the foggy video cam, altogether pent-up. Blink. Blink.

“I’m(connection: error,error,error) TRYING you fool!” I said, stumbling with my mouse. Finally the speech came up in word.

“LORD god almighty, creator of heaven and earth, knower of…

sentimental-gentle-wind:

For hours she sat
unmoving,
her voice drifting
soulfully through
the empty telephone
wire,

on a number that
would not dial,
between cables,
disconnected.

The mournful hum
of her throat,
unrepentant
as a rusted diesel engine,
and quite as nauseating,
spoke in fractal
syllables…

nooneknowsnothing:

There was a time when I used to be me (so pure, so innocent). But I wasn’t conscious of the life at all, or counting my days. It was the moment between my two and three years old. The period when none of us care about how the hell we would survive, inside of this dark clairvoyance. I remember a lot of details. One of them? My happiness. 

Now I open my eyes every morning, thinking in something.

It’s inevitable. That “something” slips into my brain like the ticking of the clock: “Big way to the non-existent paradise we must overpass. Big way to a life we do not know; not even in our craziest thoughts, not even in time and space”.

Then I make my breakfast. And the thought grows in me like a flower.

“After all, we are surrounded of things that we do not understand. They looked like very complicated signs, but they are nothing. Unthinkable symbols in other dimension, that here built the answers for our demanding attitude. Our hunger of give meaning to every fucking thing!”

Sometimes, makes me close my eyes with anger. Makes me breathe and think in white.

“Why the hell I think in white? That it’s a construction of others who told me to do that when I’m pissed off”.

I drink some mate to calm down my head.
I read poetry.

“Yes. We need to mediate everything, to give meanings to our actions, our words, our world, transform our memories in something else. Because when we spell a word, we think and when we think we are ourselves”. 

So I think that I’m still me. Now, I see the space under another veil, other perspective. 

ambiguous-transparency:

If you want me to scream I will scream in graffiti
smelling of newborn paint coated on the tender walls
of my heart because I can only speak in pictures; 
words do my wild soul no justice and my throat 
is too tamed to ever hold my raw thoughts.

I saw you today on a wing of an airplane, mouth
wide open to catch the fresh air only imagined of
down below, and I waved at you because you looked
so free, so young, too innocent and I was sitting, 
trapped for hours and days and galaxies extinct,
next to a man who fumed like decay and destruction.

His brain was on fire with sickening neurotransmitters
and his blood was already dry on his cardiac walls; his
lungs shriveled in despair but you flew away because
you knew you could never come back to this place,
this place where graffiti is not a gift but a symbol
of pointless rebellion and we sing along to songs with
absolutely no punchline, choruses that only sell names
and not lyrics so I drew life on the walls of my mellow
cardiac cavity today, spread the scent of empirical 
imaginations through my entire respiratory cavity 
and my eyes died like meteors that shoot up to find
their soul mates while my heart fell into the debris that
carried no traits of its parents, a hybrid, a new species.

My collection of graffiti has built a kingdom in the days
flowing like dust in my gloriously avant-garde cosmos 
where youth is valued and originality can never be purged. 

ambiguous-transparency:

I just want you to know that your eyes
are lyrical and your tears are melodies unsung; 
your jaws stay adhered to destiny because 
your voice, your voice has sold its spine and
folded it to align itself to the tires that make
the world spin faster, the wheel that determines
your fortune and makes cosmos cacophonous.

You don’t kill with guns but with shooting stars
launched into the afternoon sky, such a strange
phenomenon, and your knuckles pinch to measure
the depth of her ocean but she cannot deal with
your cards for the numbers are peeled off with
such ludicrous talent, she knows you are the 
punishment capitalized in lies, the gunshots unheard
at the very beginning of an antagonizing musical.

The uneven tone bouncing off the walls of your 
mannerisms surely is the pigments that make
your soul colorfully blind, the lyrical pigments.

ambiguous-transparency:

Step in tune, never out of sync,
we’ve practiced this with such great 
poise and these urban limelight is 
what we’ve been starving for 
ever since our toes bent in tune 
to the music whipping our passion to dance
faster but with absolutely refined grace. 

You’ve seen the sun rise between your
brows crawling with distortion, exhaustion
so take a breath and be faithful to your
musical soul mate, let the city lights
be your limelight tonight, lighting up your
dancing universe; don’t ever starve yourself
of the audience and the applause you deserve.

You are not a criminal for stealing the spotlight,
the urban limelight is sour only to those not daring 
enough to jump and let their dedication shine. 

Don’t let go, 
you can only 
be beautiful

with passion ignited.

ambiguous-transparency:

I wrote your name on my playlist
and slept with it, melodies of last
night’s dream never kept to last,

molding into the shape of butterfly’s
wings ready to spread and take
flight, away and away with its beauty
into the world so new and very fresh,

where sadness rained to the point of
oblivion and happiness sparkled 
with a bit more humble glamour from
every degree of the horizon.

I wrote your name on my playlist
and woke with your life unfolding 
like a celestial symphony breaking 
free from the turmoils of my mind. 

ambiguous-transparency:

i. 
When I met you, you were lost
but openly called yourself 
a wanderer with dreamlike steps, 
leisurely evaporating
into the darkness brightly lit and 
I told your exhausted shadow 
that we can do anything
we ever wanted.

ii. 
Your eyes were already dying with
modernism turned too fast into rebellions 
and the scars in your pupils told me
to guess the places you’ve been to; 
those tragically young accolades projected
no merit of a comfortable life.

iii.
My cigarette kept disappearing into 
the heavy fog lightly, delicately spread
enough to be flammable and the fight
from a place faraway had ceased and the
hurting had been confiscated by knights
calmly watching from above but, but,

can we still do anything we ever wanted? 

sentimental-gentle-wind:

When conceived
between floor boards,
a mote of dust,
skin that sheds,
we’ve the courage to
make death
become us.

Mortality is a
caged bird singing,
when its feathers
are stroked,
a pall of smoke.

I let living clip
my wings,
let myself be an invisible thing,
a ghost among them,
who…

America… there is such a place!

I find it in those

who

deflect star spangled vigilance raging 

to pussefy all philistines to the art of war

who

won’t revere erectile monuments that

hawk the mighty power of white dick

who

neglect to leave room for shame

in holy moments earmarked for self expression

who

craft invitations to righteous degeneration

out of bruises denouncing faggotry

who

destine canvasses for seminal decrees

upon every livid surface

who

placate discount distractions peddled

by merchants who in death will triumph over consequence

who

conscript ridicule to parle the conservative front

unwilling to bark “progressive” without gratuitous spittle

who

re-appropriate the real estate of the national flag

for all victims of American homogeny 

who

see the promises set forth not cast in red, nor white, nor blue

but rather in the accursed hues of seldom sung skin 

who

reinvent the notions of glory

after examining historical precedences

who

recalibrate the alignment of the 50 stars

to navigate away from old world moral compasses

who

shun the placid smiles perfected by

neighbors to Programe T4 emporiums

who

remark the afterglow of industrial courtship

a naïve virgin’s fuck

who

verbalize numinous decent without fear

of stripping away patriotic enamel

who

won’t be charactered hapless poltroons

for abstention from proliferate condemnation

who

deplore boastfulness and polarization

in order to better accommodate spurned citizenry

who

sacrifice the expenditure of otherwise forgettable consumables   

so as to not forgo the nurturing of arts

who 

parade convictions that don’t circumvent

heavily peppered police contempt  

who 

repudiate the need for loyalty oaths

and abhor fundamentalist with their selective tests of allegiance

who

reject fear as a prerequisite social instinct 

in the face of the strange and the foreign 

who

exalt kindness through character and action

and not at the behest of resident celestial phantoms

who

bear the blood of fond leaders assassinated by archaic value systems 

yet still stand firm endorsing the tenants of nonviolence  

and

in those who do not

ambiguous-transparency:

I always had dark pupils but you,
you read me from inside out, trying to 

find your soul in the immeasurable
depth of my ambiguity with
no transparency and cryptic smiles
were only exchanged for the price
of innocuous illusions.

You grew up with the lightest pupils
embracing the excruciatingly iconoclastic
traditions of the eclipse, metamorphosis
of black and white vintage love; film noirs
never could fathom your beauty trapped
in your eyes but I always had dark pupils
but you, you read me from inside out, 
lingering, walking on the farthest edges to

find your soul in the immeasurable 
depth of my ambiguity with
no transparency and cryptic smiles
were only exchanged for the price 
of a mosaic of malice gone mundane.

I wanted to be thunderstruck by stars with you,
you with your lightest pupils consumed 
in the unimaginably dark ones, my somber soul. 

sentimental-gentle-wind:

Eros, she is wont to abandon all care
In the passing of time, the passions she wears
That err as the sunbeams that color her hair
And fall skittering and slow to collapse upon the stair

She did not know loneliness when her love had started
Upon this mortal coil where she sat unguarded
Until…

A river of words is flowing in my body, through my blue-violet veins. I can see the letters mixing the lines with my little brown moles. A heavy and black ink is filling the space. No oxygen inside, no cells bumping on my heart. Nothing but the feeling of a burning flame carbonizing my thoughts…

Now my skin went from peach to grey. It’s incredible, it’s unique; what a day!

The tears are coming, I can feel them in the back of my neck. It’s power is making me cry like a newborn for the absentia of a breast, because of his hunger of milk. The most important thing in the beginning of his days.

I cannot stop the weeping.

Help me! A bawl is clearing my voice. I cannot stop this, even if I want. I know the end. I’m shivering like the howl of a sheep in the middle of a silent meadow. 

A sharp metal -something called life- is grazing my dreams, softly, gently. It’s cold temperature is making me spit everything out. Every memory, every thought, every moment of my most precious instants.

In a sudden, in a rush, she run into me. She wants more than a couple of poems of stories about nothing. She wants me to say the word that I hide deep and down in my loans. 

She is forcing me so bad, so heavily… I have no choice, no exit door or scape. I’m bounded to it, as I’m bounded to literature. Before I down I must admit that is not nothing new for the writing, but it is for me. But let’s make something hard, because I’m not easy as she may think.

This word that I kept with me remains every day. It makes me see Buenos Aires in other way, in other aspect. I can even see it’s glow under the winter rain! How amazing is the fact that we cannot stop nothing in our minds, in our lives. How our words are mediated by our mouths, our tongues, our vocals. 

I cannot imagine a single way in this world to say it, but I guess I must use the written word to express myself. Again.

I aware you, it’s not special but no easy either. Instead is so simple and delicate that, life, you’ll fall off your feet!

Here I go, ready?

The sign that replaces the presence of the thing that I remember everyday is: “You”. 

Just “you”.

I do not need other qualities to complete the meaning. My saliva is full of you as my tears, as my sweating… As my hours and minutes. As my comas and my points. As my vocals and consonants.

I know

I do not need nothing else.

Just “you”.

By Florencia SG

ambiguous-transparency:

Something written for you is long overdue
so here I am, sitting with my mind half-awake
but my heart has already made its dramatic leap.
I cannot fathom if you are right for me, 
if I am right for you at the slightest but during 
these past months when I let you uncover 
my skin and see the bruises and scars, when 
you let me embrace all your swaying pain, 
frustration and longing, during all these times 
I have felt an indescribable attraction and longing 
towards you and I want to trust my intuition
sprouting from the deepest part of my heart and
say with conviction that you are right for me. But
I am torn between excitement and uncertainty
and I know you are too, because you and I still have
pieces of our pasts lingering, haunting us and this is
me telling you that we will be okay, we will be fine,
your mind and mine exist in the universe alike and 
I want to think that we are heading towards the same
destination and we will meet there, at the end.

I want to say you are the right in my wrong, I want to.