Post your anything you have written while drunk. Talking the truth means double points.
<translated:>
I don't want to see these stupid and fucked up tearstained face again.
My first love, where are you hiding? I've beaten up your soul, I forgot.
You can't always get, what you want.
My best pal, why did I never found the self-esteem to search for you?
You can't always get, what you want.
My sister, why did you married these guy? Last minute panic?
You can't always get, what you want.
My fucked up dreams, why do you bother me so much?
I can't always get, what I wanted.
But I'd love to see: my high flying bird.
<original:>
Ich will dieses dümmliche und scheiß verweinte Gesicht nicht mehr sehen.
Meine erste Liebe, wo versteckst du dich? Ich trat deine Seele, habs vergessen.
You can‘t always get, what you want.
Mein bester Kumpel, warum hab ich nie die Kraft gefunden, dich ernsthaft zu suchen?
You can‘t always get, what you want.
Meine Schwester, warum hast du diesen Typen geheiratet? Torschlußpanik?
You can‘t always get, what you want.
Meine beschissenen Träume, warum quält ihr mich?
I can‘t always get, what I wanted.
But I‘d love to see: my high flying bird.
>>7590716
Once upon a time
I came upon a crime
the crime it seemed to me
was your awful poetry
I took your ass to trial
and beat you by a mile
You joined the prison thugs
the judge and I got hugs.
-Darin Skeks
>>7590726
Well, I laughed, so thanks for that.
I must apologize that I'm not the guy for peotry normally. But sometimes, when I just have the urgent need to express something, and I'm drunk, I try it anyway, although I don't really know about metric and so on. But that's why I don't named these thread 'Post your most aestetically poem'.
If the archive wasn't fucked, I would find/post some dank limericks about hot dogs I wrote while shitfaced. I was writing one for part of a job application and drunk/stoned me got carried away with it.
An
Ending World
is
flat.
Seas
do not
move.
Birds
do not
fly.
An
Ending World
is flat.
But
do you
know
why?
Because
Seas do not move
and
Birds do not fly.
I
do not
know
why.
started translating some haikus I wrote about two years ago when I felt like shit, sorry if they're not great
1)
solitude lasse
longs sanglots semés au vent -
le spleen du vieux saule
___
weary loneliness
long sobs scattered in the wind -
poor weeping willow
2)
rires enfantins -
un coeur est bien plus léger
vierge de blessures
___
a childish laughter -
human hearts are much lighter
clean from any scars
3)
au fond de l'oubli
sur la tombe de la vieille
des fleurs ont poussé
___
left in oblivion
on some old lady's tombstone
flowers just blossomed
4)
jeunesse d'été
mes mains forment un sablier
le temps m'en échappe
___
summer youthfulness
my hands shape an hourglass
time pouring from it
5)
sur ses joues tremblantes
coule doucement la pluie
papa est parti
___
on her trembling cheeks
rain drops quietly falling -
daddy's gone away
>>7590795
I searched the archive for it as well, but unfortunality I couldn't find anything. But I remember a similiar situation: I wrote an application for a company I really wanted to be part of. I closed the application with a reference to Kafka and got declined... Writing applications motivate you you to reconsider your life, at least if you are one of the better guys. But companies just want the simple guys, I guess.
>>7590837
I was instantly reminded of my great depression. I like ecspeially "Seas do not move" and how you bring back the root of the situation to the reader without being an arrogant asshole. And you know what? I'm moved by this - although the time it would have been _really_ relevant is gone for some years by now. It motivates me to _not_ get things done. But to believe in me. So thanks for that. It's definitly a deeper thruth.
Currently intoxicating
Kings rarely battle
Yet they'll wisely wage war
Against wretched demons of which hearts deplore
Destroy the cities!
Chemicals yell to my cells
The king's will in pity!
Self vilified
In hell!
Glory tomorrow
This battle ends well.
sometimes I'm memeing
sometimes I'm telling the truth
I still don't know when
>>7590864
You should post poems that came from the deep inside, so it don't matter if you think they are shit or not. Goethe wrote once to someone:"Please send me something thats might even be a sketch, but something from what refelects your soul. That's all what matters" (Freely translated from my memory).
1) I remember, but don't want to talk about it.
2) Kids are not harmed, they are like prophets, but aren't taken seriously? Yes. It's in the bible: You should become like kids (Freely translated, too). I remember being a kid. I wanted to trust. There was a belief without the need of explaination. But then I got scars - do you know the story of the man with the perfectly shaped heart? Here we go:
Once, there was a men with a perfectly shaped heart. It was so beautiful that everyone obied him for the beauty of it. Then he met an old man with a heart full of scars and blessures. He laughed at him because of it, but the man returns:"You may laugh about my heart. But you know what? A heart is useless if you've never brunk of a part of it to give it someone else. I did it all my life long." Thats when someone started to cry. He tried, but he could'nt stop. He took a part of his perfect heart, leaving a big scar, to give it to this man. And he got a piece of his rugged down heart in return. From this day, he was showing his heart with proud.
I like to remember some scars but not all.
3) Yes, but it didn't touch me like 2) or 4) because its a little bit exchangeable.
4) Okay, I'm tired right now. I've got something important to do tomorrow (it's already today), but I like these poem as well as 2), so: Yes. I guess that I'm not the only one who can identify with that. Most of us are rised (what the parents told you when you where young) with a blurred imagination of what life may be one day. And then life came. And ejaculated on the picture. And burned it afterwards. Then it blowed all the ashes into a totally random direction - but ash is a great fertilizer. I wouldn't read this if it was not. We set our dreams as a goal to reach but we hide the truth that it just should us help to get shit done. We are selling ourselves, are more ore less hookers.
All in all, I like 2) and 4) most. I'm socially to awkward (and too tired) to write more now. (Yes, this sounds strange, but its true.) But I would love to say thanks to anyone who replied to this thread, even if I'm not capable of replying to everyone now. Just remember Hesse, and remember Montaigne (I was only reading one essay of him, but I got his complete Essays today and he may is worth a try.) Thank you guys and girls. Have a good night.
POEMS ARE GAY
LIKE OH-PAY
"And I am just a voice in your head right now, a string of abstracted noises, nothing more, nothing less. I am an information chunk with the potential to be interpreted in a myriad of different ways, or rather: "there is an information chunk with the potential to be interpreted in a myriad of different ways." For what "I" is there when I'm just a voice in your head?
The percieved objective difference between information and noise doesn't exist. The ego is the measure of all things and at the same time is not; for what "ego" is there in the endless flux of becoming?
David Duchovny has disappeared up his own ass.
(Not sure if drunk or dead tired, either way, here is something I wrote nearly a year ago)
Only at night do I see clearly. Only when I must sleep do I see what I have done, how it compares, the time I took and threw away.
I try to scratch the wall of now, to make some mark upon reality, to change it somehow, by any degree, however infinitesimal. But the tide sweeps in, my etchings in the sand are washed away. Every imprint is effaced, every fragment thrown out. Two thousand years ago a man brought tens of thousands men to crack the walls of then, the imprisoning walls of time that encapsulates and carries each person from crib to grave, from one eternity to another. His army threw itself against the walls, wailed and bled and fought across a continent. All for glory, for his persistent memory; lives spent for long lasting name.
drunk scribble wheee:
blare of no
here i stand
i'm a confection
the photos
don't lie
>>7590993
They do come from deep inside! I like them, what I meant is that most people don't.
I sincerely appreciate the heart you put in your post, and I deeply thank you for sacrificing some sleep for me. Even if I mostly write as a way to keep track of who I am, it feels good to have some insight on it.
>>7590880
Loving the alliteration in W, gives some rhythm to the story
>>7590892
One time I said "thanks" to a girl and she looked at me and said "I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not" and I said "perfect"
Is alcoholism still socially unacceptable?
>>7595841
I'd say not when you're under 30
I was piss drunk when I wrote this and have no recollection of writing it. It was riddled with typos so I went through it (when sober) to decipher it. I clearly couldn't figure some of it out.
In my inebriated state and fiung dor some generic and normally I drift away into my other nemesis. However bewitched I am. But this isn't a complex. So the fome in di it your way. Flamingos
Do you know the consequences of insanity! A great train that emodied the
>this whole thread
https://www.createspace.com/5939516
>I don't want to see these stupid and fucked up tearstained face again.
>My first love, where are you hiding? I've beaten up your soul, I forgot.
>You can't always get, what you want.
>My best pal, why did I never found the self-esteem to search for you?
>You can't always get, what you want.
>My sister, why did you married these guy? Last minute panic?
>You can't always get, what you want.
>My fucked up dreams, why do you bother me so much?
>I can't always get, what I wanted.
>But I'd love to see: my high flying bird.
>anything that tells the deeper truth
Preeeeetty gay
>there's deeper truth beyond what we outwardly experience
