THE SIXTH BOUROUGH

like wolves. like smoke. like the rest of the fucking world.

March 06, 2011

the revolution will be broadcast...

Something to break the mould; the mould I've created for myself.
There's a reoccurring feeling (or at least I hope there is) in most of the poetry I write. This sticks close, but as far as its format is concerned, I wanted to explore a new layout. I feel like it fits with the theme. Here's an abstract:
I am surrounded by hopeful revolutionaries. Who are all fighting so they can one day fight their own war. Future leaders, present dreamers. I respect them all, but I prefer not to agree with their ideals. Say what you will about yourself, but I know for a fact that I'm not here to change our entire world. Especially not on my own. Not unlike my beliefs concerning Anarchism, I believe in revolution on a smaller scale, because it's the only way it will work. I'm not here to tell people what they should fight for, I'm just here to provide the other side of the argument; to make you all think. Education, not indoctrination. My purpose is to see you all prosper and to follow you all the way.


une cause commune?

burn in these images.
play back the broken record.

somehow it sounds worse every fucking time i hear it.

pain on repeat.
loses sensation over time.

even the sickest of sadists knows.

but you keep on portraying.
the facade ever fading.

a complex too complex for my liking.

your world is electric.
mine’s all intensive.

and for all intensive purposes, i’d say i’m fucking purposeless.

apathetic.
fucking pathetic.

a sorry excuse even for your proletariat.


I'll be fielding questions til the day I die,
-dalton.