A Social Suicide,

I Like You On Facebook, Update Your Status With A Teenage Attitude; Like The World Cares, Make Sure Your Tweets Are Up To Date, Text Me, Call Me, Stare Blankly Onto Your Cellphone, Obsess With Your iTouch, Never Touch A Book, Worship Money, Work Hard On Your Swag, Victim Of Materialism, Feminize Another Man To Masculine Oneself, Disrespect Woman, Give Yourself Easily To Another Man, Rap Is So Pornographic, The Mainstream Should Turn To Dust, Beauty Covered In Make Up, Dumb Down Our Generation, Our Future Generation And Beyond.

R.I.P To Our Generation, You Had So Much Potential.

-ChrisChan

words of John Henrik Clarke

Religion is the organization of spirituality into something that became the hand maiden of conquerors. Nearly all religions were brought to people and imposed on people by conquerors, and used as the framework to control their minds.My main point here is that if you are the child of God and God is a part of you, then in your imagination God suppose to look like you. And when you accept a picture of the deity assigned to you by another people, you become the spiritual prisoners of that other people.

Im irony my jeans.

in the iris of the film camera

im dancing with the silhouettes

my mind lingers between

the lines of the scripts

a beautiful playright

filled with empty seats

sitting on the edge of the stage

my soliloquy's are spoken,

translation is not a necessity

it would be irrelevent

wolF Flow

Melting the poetry narrowing the path to Zion

side walk reflections bring flashbacks  of Babylon

And when cobblestones chip away

mummified under the temple of the Mayans

sattelites in the sky watching homosapiens

shapeshifting in different forms like a reptillian

nazi moonbases in the corner of the moon craters

differentiating between fairtales and fantasy

whats suppose to be real is now in the imaginary

cracks in the road remind us of the pains

as the cracks linger the ignorance hardens

Enter-tain-ment

Enter= to come to
tain= hold posses
ment= a state of

Jeezus

If Jesus died for our sins, who lived for it?

talking sands.

Under the moonlight, our shadows consumed

Alone with 2 lovers, escapees of the upperworld

Ocean forming foams, only to lather the shore

Exchange of secrets, grains of sand are listening

Our souls lift from the physical forms

Reflecting on the ocean's mirror 

What a perfect image, but this image is photoshopped

Ripples in the ocean have conceal the imperfections.

Connections

the illusions of this world has got this little boy on his knees

praying to a god his churches often speak of

with his elbows on his springboard mattress

he holds up his fingers, a few inches above his head

like an antenna  on a 90's television set

maybe lifting his hands higher will have better connection with God

in reality, connections go bad

The bottoms bottle

once you reached the bottom of this bottle

your past consumes you

it becomes so vivid

it stares you in in the face

now you look back at this broken glass

standing on the pieces got you on the edge

got you slipping, now your drowning

in the little drops of memories you left

deeper and deeper you drown 

screaming your lungs out

but these memories got you sound proof.

Mental

In my mind, I am free
away from this physical world
and now close to the imaginary
what i thought seemed to be real
are now forms of illusions
the other side of men, heavily concealed
the back of their heads
are more down to earth than their fake smiles
never sharing the wine, or breaking the bread
the greatest actors of this dimension
are the human beings of this world
i hope for the second coming, divine intervention

Pocket Knife

This pocket knife has a blade the size of a glue stick,
yet with right precision and experience
the wielder can easily severe a humanoid
maybe not a quick death, but a slow, painful one
this cheap pocket knife from FoodMaxx has got me wondering
how a small blade can injure a fully adult human being.
i have the this pocket knife positioned in a vertical position
with the tip pointing to the heavens;
i hope God doesn't think i'm pointing it at Him
my intent is not to kill a living soul,
but my reflection on the blade has got me curious
the face on the blade, does not seem familiar anymore
he looks very different, compared to the face in the mirror

Dear Love,

i love your smile

the time you hold it
with every fraction of a second
i fall in love
over and over, again

makes everything worthwhile

i love how you tie your shoes

even if you dont wear shoes

your hair waves violently

more than the ocean can ever do

i love your visions

even if your eyesight is bad

i love, love

especially with you

how uncommon

to not love a love

when you have none in common

love,

       

Poetry in my Doritos

i felt the blue ink flow through my bottom lip

the similes dripping like blood from a slit wrist

the metaphors gorged through my throat

she doesnt believe what she she sees

the lights with a light flicker

my hands filled with the ink

smeared from my chin to my adams apple

drunken with the ink

so i wipe the ink with a piece of paper.

my reflection was an extraterrestial

i punched the glass mirror

severed my long slender middle finger

i digest the blue ink and took a shit

crumpled filler paper and wiped the inked feces
it was filled with poetry