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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Simulacrum (The Horse Before Descartes)dots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: NoMartyr
    ASL Info:    18/M/Michigan
    Elite Ratio:    2.51 - 33/97/91
    Words: 324
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 1375
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2244



    Description:
       


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    dotsSimulacrum (The Horse Before Descartes)dots
    -------------------------------------------


    A cliché conversation.
    Said, "Life is but a Dream".
    It's not inconsequential or as harmless as it seems.
    Call it transcendental, call it what you will.
    The prison of idealism inside a world as real.

    Standing on your head again
    Trying to reach some thing in itself
    Translating our ignorance hiding in Greek: "agnosticism"
    Counting Neo-Kantians
    Finding out what amount is right to screw in the idea of light
    Even though it's true you view in sensory illusions
    Know that they're induced in minds produced by truth

    A struggle carried open
    Outside and in the streets
    Unending in focus
    The rape of history
    So hide your comfort women
    war crimes and genocide
    Hide all that you've made happen
    with future crimes in mind
    Temporal Dictator
    "I think therefore I am"
    A platitude to hold onto
    But not to understand

    Standing on your head again
    Trying to reach some thing in itself
    Translating our ignorance hiding in Greek: "agnosticism"
    Counting Neo-Kantians
    Finding out what amount is right to screw in the idea of light
    Even though it's true you view in sensory illusions
    Know that they're induced in minds produced by truth

    It was a matter of course way before the start
    There isn't time to lead your horse before Descartes

    Inner sanctum; septic tank
    A treachery of images
    A simulacrum synthesis
    A genuine designer fake
    Chicken-egg idealists twist Democritus and consciousness
    No need for such hypothesis
    I kick the stone; refute it thus

    Underneath the spreading chestnut tree
    I sold you and you sold me, there lie they and here lie we
    I am the face below icepick and paint
    I define and disobey damnatio memoriae
    I AM TRUTH
    I AM THE MARCH OF HISTORY
    I am the boot stomp in the face of man for all eternity
    And you die when I say you die
    You live on inside of me
    In the ash heap of history




    Submitted on 2016-10-24 02:09:56     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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