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Leave It Open
With my ego in my gut,
My babbling mouth would wash it up.
(but now Ive started learning how,)
I keep it shut.
My door was never locked,
Until one day a trigger come cocking.
(but now Ive started learning how,)
I keep it shut.
Wide eyes would clean and dust
Things that decay, things that rust.
(but now Ive started learning how,)
I keep em shut.
I keep em shut.
Harm is in us.
Harm is in us, but power to arm.
Harm is in us.
Harm in us, but power to arm.
Harm is in us.
(leave it open!)
Harm is in us, but power to arm.
Narrow mind would persecute it,
Die a little to get to it.
(but now Ive started learning how.)
I leave it open.
I kept it in a cage,
Watched it weeping, but I made it stay.
(but now Ive started learning how.)
I leave it open.
I leave it open.
Harm is in us.
Harm in us, but power to arm.
Harm is in us.
Harm in us, but power to arm.
Harm is in us.
(leave it open!)
Harm in us, but power to arm.
Harm is in us.
Harm in us, but power to arm.
Harm is in us.
(leave it open!)
Harm in us, but power to arm.
Harm is in us.
Harm in us, but power to arm.
Harm is in us.
Har in us, but power to arm.
Harm is in us!
Harm is in us!
Harm is in us!
Harm is in us!
Harm is in us!
Harm is in us--
Harm in you and in me!
What you letting in?
Tell me what youre letting in.
Say what were gonna let in!
We let the weirdness in.
We let the weirdness in.
We let the weirdness in.
We let the weirdness in.
We let the weirdness in.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weirdness is not my game. I'm just a square boy from Wisconsin.
quote by Willem Dafoe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm actually an evil bastard in real life. Fark allows me to vent weirdness. Thank god for that, too.
quote by Drew Curtis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I finally gave up any hope of doing anything representative of the American family, I actually seemed to have tapped into other people's weirdness in that way.
quote by Jonathan Franzen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's pretty clear now that what looked like it might have been some kind of counterculture is, in reality, just the plain old chaos of undifferentiated weirdness.
quote by Jerry Garcia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't imagine my parents are too excited about my kind of life. The surrounding weirdness bothers them. Still, I think they're pretty good. Their lives are based on what their friends think, just like ours are.
quote by Grace Slick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Is It For You To Tell Me What's Right For Me?
who are you to tell me who i can't be,
to tell me who i can't be with,
to tell me who is right for me,
when you don't walk in my shoes,
i'm not going to be you,
so why are you trying to turn me into you,
i have a brain, i have a mind, i know what i want,
why can't you see that?
instead you see my flaws,
what i have to change about myself,
what if i don't want to be like everybody else?
i like my weirdness and my uniqueness,
why do i have to change for you to like me?
God made me who i am for a reason,
He doesn't make mistakes,
he makes gifts to present to the world,
why should we be ashamed for who we are?
poem by Mona Martinez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hearts
Hearts have a success on their thieving selves,
Like an egg of my soul, and infinite slaves,
Their two ghosts are mere echoes on the youth,
On the weirdness I say it is foul.
Hearts have a centre of slavery,
Around them stands a throat
As far as the eyes of the heart.
Bring your hearts to this place of honour,
When or where I can not tell.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Worthy of the Defamation and Slander
I have always been declared,
Strange and the odd one out!
So naturally,
I became quite annoyed...
When you made the 'decision'
To include yourself amongst the ranks.
Now I find myself desperately creating,
Something fresh and invigorating...
You can not wake up in a rush,
And announce this area you'd like to taste
With a flair I've placed my careful touches!
Do you realize,
How long it has taken me to develop my weirdness?
Years,
Of calculated refinement!
You have forced me to broaden a definition...
That will maximize continued suspicions!
And keep my public appearances,
Worthy of the defamation and slander!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Perfection?
Why should I want to be perfect?
There are too many trying to be that.
And those 'acts' are commonly observed.
With proper etiquette intact!
Leaving many on the verge,
Of being 'whacked out' and cracked!
I'd rather be considered unusual and 'weird'.
At least I will always have something,
Others believe I offer I can claim as my own.
And left alone with all of its originality!
Without one concern of my 'weirdness' being stolen.
They will have to come to me to get samples of that!
But perfection?
There is too much of that around.
With copies of it tossed.
Snuffed from being stressed!
And found left trampled on the ground!
Proving that 'perfection'...
Seems to always leave behind,
Someone criticized and victimized...
For not providing any evidence of it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Exception To The Rule
'I' before 'e' except after 'c'
Im afraid that rule wasn't helpful to me!
I'm deficient at spelling and find it absurd
The incomprehensible weirdness of words
I'm reintroduced to the seismic array
Of words that don't follow the rules everyday!
My daughter is eight and
I hope she is free
of this problem with words
that weighs heavy on me
My neighbour and I feel the the same it would seem
We discuss the dilemma whilst sipping caffeine
It was all very foreign when I was at school
Can you find the words that are breaking the rule?
poem by Stevie Taite
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If you sincerely desire a truly well-rounded education, you must study the extremists, the obscure and "nutty". You need the balance! Your poor brain is already being impregnated with middle-of-the-road crap, twenty-four hours a day, _no matter what_. Network TV, newspapers, radio, magazines at the supermarket... even if you never watch, read, listen, or leave your house, even if you are deaf and blind, the _telepathic pressure alone_ of the uncountable normals surrounding you will insure that you are automatically well- grounded in consensus reality.
Ivan Stang in High Weirdness By Mail
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But for the Grace of God
“There, but for the grace of God, goes…”
There is a question that I ask,
And ask again:
What hunger was half-hidden by the mask
That he wore then?
There was a word for me to say
That I said not;
And in the past there was another day
That I forgot:
A dreary, cold, unwholesome day,
Racked overhead,—
As if the world were turning the wrong way,
And the sun dead:
A day that comes back well enough
Now he is gone.
What then? Has memory no other stuff
To seize upon?
Wherever he may wander now
In his despair,
Would he be more contented in the slough
If all were there?
And yet he brought a kind of light
Into the room;
And when he left, a tinge of something bright
Survived the gloom.
Why will he not be where he is,
And not with me?
The hours that are my life are mine, not his,—
Or used to be.
What numerous imps invisible
Has he at hand,
Far-flying and forlorn as what they tell
At his command?
What hold of weirdness or of worth
Can he possess,
That he may speak from anywhere on earth
His loneliness?
Shall I be caught and held again
In the old net?—
He brought a sorry sunbeam with him then,
But it beams yet.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Driving To Dargaville (Life Poem)
Sunday-empty Auckland my pre-breakfast escape,
Sheep-spotted mountains in early morning mist,
Whangarei marina for a cauldron of cappuccino.
Shop of metal sheep starts a day of Kiwi weirdness,
Of customer requesting glassblowing lessons, and
“All Blacks” silk boxers, unworn by players I hope.
Driving to Dargaville for Mr. M. Ujdur museum treat,
That late gum-digging, Esperanto teaching, vintner.
Beside a colossal collection of accordions with muzak,
Playing an instrument-impossible Whiter Shade of Pale,
Plus coins and buttons and stamps and Scotsmen,
Left feeling stunned, like I was tripping on acid.
The possum cull with prizes seemed almost normal.
poem by Ian Beckett
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Kill The Sun
Its good to have a window on the world
And to live deep in the heart of the beast in the sun
Night after night, I do the same damn thing
Do the weirdness dance, for those who cant
Its getting to the point where I cant take it anymore
Waking up at 3 pm
In a thrashed bedroom, sharp with needles and knives
Reach for the crutches that keep in motion
Vague memories that keep me alive
Like when she used to call me baby
All alone in our room, in the middle of the night
Kill the sun, yes, kill the sun
Kill the sun
Come on, come on, stop the light
Yes, I ve got sunshine
Its a suicide song in the back of my mind
Pure white evilwrapped around my eyes
Yeah Ive got all the cities of light to live in
I dont even want no part
Hard is the fall
Cold is the bite
Kill the sun, yeah come on stop the light...
Kill the night
song performed by by Everclear
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sound Of Bye Bye
i feel at the last moment
the weirdness of the situation
time hangs itself
but you never smell the stinking dead hour
you see, i never had that snorkeling
it was too cold
the see blurs the fish
the rain comes heavily
and so i simply sit the whole day
on one of those rattan chairs facing the blue pool of water
beside the purple bougainvillea tree
i can't say i am sad
perhaps i am just too sleepy to remember anything
or perhaps i fall upon a chasm of the hours
and so i never remember the pain
the hours pass gently
it is already five in the afternoon
the boat arrives and
i am taken back
to the place where i do not belong
i keep on moving for motion's sake
no agenda, no place of destination
just an itinerary prepared by someone
who thinks that money must be saved
as i willing throw them all away
the boat sails upon a silvery surface
the boat has an eye
it is simply doing what must be done
under these peculiar circumstances
slicing the water
making the sound of bye byes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where Is the Justice In This?
I struggle with desires and wishes to remain ambitious.
To stay productive with a craving,
To release a freshened and creative point of view!
Unjaded by perceptions,
Becoming tainted by lack of drive and motivation.
I remember the days I sought ways to alarm.
To raise the hair on the backs of necks.
And to instantly fold arms...
By those totally disgusted!
But today I complete,
With those exposing their butts on urban streets.
And cussing with abandonment.
And not one eyebrow I see is lifted.
It use to make me happy to upset by surprise.
That was easy for me then to do.
Since I kept my true talents hidden in disguise.
Today it has become 'work'!
With no fun in it at all!
Especially when misfits are getting attention.
And everyone tries to look like them...
By spending every dime they've got at the malls.
And I had provided my weirdness absolutely free!
Genuine I had been with unique ceativity!
Today freaks are 'in'!
And I am regarded as common as Maple trees.
Where is the justice in this?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Path You Chose
I can remember even as a child
you looked at life as a curiosity.
Asking questions beyond your years,
you were a ‘one off’ oddity.
Even then you had eccentric ways,
it was just the way you were.
You didn’t do it for the attention,
but you got it, and didn’t care.
Your weirdness didn’t bother me,
I accepted you as my friend.
Whenever you were bad mouthed
I defended you to the end.
I was also very proud of you
for your unpretentious way.
You were what I aspired to be,
each and every day.
You saw beyond what others saw,
the grim horrors of poverty.
You wanted to try and eradicate
corruption and dishonesty.
You became a rebel with a cause,
with extreme points of view,
but diplomacy didn’t bring fast returns,
so violence became a part of you.
Your cause changed your character,
you didn’t care who lived or died.
I didn’t like what you had become,
so we said a last goodbye.
The news media kept me up to date
with your violent troubled mind.
Your cause was now to create anarchy,
anywhere and at anytime.
Alcohol and drugs accompanied you
on a different search for paradise.
You, your uniqueness, and your way,
had became someone you despised.
I now look back with deep regret,
perhaps if I hadn’t walked away,
you wouldn’t be lying here today,
with me talking of yesterday.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Sick Judgements
There is nothing that says
People have to prove they have no clue
As to what they are doing.
There is nothing to get them jailed,
For playing the roll of idiot overtime.
How they land in positions of decision making,
Should break all of our hearts.
Surrealistic 'realities' are becoming the norm!
Freaks, geeks and weirdness has become mainstream.
Children can now download porno on a phone that buzzes...
Or rings,
Or plays loud music that makes some want to scream!
And some old man sitting alone in a convalescent home,
Staring out the window...
Will declare these years we now live as the good years,
When flashbacking to these times!
Glorifying the days of corruption,
And imitating how he too dealt with crime!
And today...
This circus has some folks,
Justifying this 'crap' in their minds!
Playing truth or dare,
With a peace no one can find!
But every dime is being sucked up...
In search for ways to make it happen!
There is nothing that says
People have to prove they have no clue,
As to what they are doing...
When something they do,
Is screwing it up for me and you!
But there should be a limit placed
On the number of psychiatrists,
Who are hired as policemen...
To maintain a law and order,
That has clearly become a nightmare
Wherever sick judgements are made!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Have Climbed Up The Mountain Of Despair
I have climbed up the mountain of despair
Oft – too oft perhaps for me
Too many bitter cups of grief I drunk
Too few the days of calm I joyed.
My flower of youth I wasted more
Than time and age could
Too many bitter cups of grief I drunk
Too few the days of calm I joyed.
Too many nights of weirdness I had
When bad dreams chased all sleep away:
And the black firmament like a cold wall
Smiled at me where’er I trod and went
Railing and deriding my despair.
Too many storms of green my vessel has
Weathered and been buffeted into
Too many a water wraith and ghost
Saw I in my mountain of despair:
Too many a field with corpses have I dreamed
Strewn and divided all irregular:
Too many a stormy sea with corpses I
Have dreamed swollen and strewn amidst the wrecks:
Too many a field with crosses in rows decked
And yew-clad cemeteries solitaire I dreamed.
Too many a monster new unheard unseen
By previous eyes or ears have I met
To many a deed and mishap have I been
Nor have been spared a son’s grief and despair
And now my father lies low in earth.
And now it seems that few black days remain
And blacker days on black days follow suit
Pointing with every day a-down and down:
My heart now too hard for tears is; my eyes
Are dry as desert sands or milked breasts
My throat is parched with the last dryness weird.
I have ascended the mountain of despair.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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