Category: Voiced

(Colorized photograph of O.D. and poetry at the beginning of time? Probably)

Thoughts Like A Theme Park (Part 1) * Thoughts Like A Theme Park (Part 2)

Had fun recording this piece, sprucing it with my crazy. If it wasn’t already clear, I’m trying to have this series be spoken word only.

Hope you enjoy listening to it (better with ear-phones)

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I’ve had to work these verses into a fine line once, twice 

— And if I’m to admit, Its been far too many times

Re-writing, wondering whether I should use this word or that

Questioning the undulating flow — the unlikeliest of intonations,

As if that would by default help me appeal to a larger audience,

What I say carries little worth if I doctor it —

What is this? A competition for the less authentic?

Leave me out of it

I have nothing to add to a mound of the counterfeit.

I say my piece in a way that either leaves me loved or hated

No surprise when others choose to look and listen with a tinge of indifference

Hardly matters to me — After all, I have no cares to spare 

That moment when you know what to say to keep people glued

But you choose not to say it because you don’t believe it to be true …

Well, that’s exactly where I am. Dead center in the smog of lies. 

A smile goes a long way, but what does it amount to if it’s not real ….

Far from ideal, just another lie to pile onto other mounting lies —

Repetition walks a line that straddles muted insanity

And if you look at the periphery that’s exactly where I’ll be —

Mind is a walking carnival — think multiple rides with thoughts as lights

All rotating, levitating — taking their wielder further into space —

EEG displays Christmas tree brain — 

Inspiration has and always will work like a switch

I plead guilty for repeatedly abusing it —

Cravings out of left field as I siphon another dopamine hit —

Attuned to the muffled rhythm of my heartbeat —

One of the few things that remind me that I still live —

“Your voice has a nice vibe” — their words, not mine —

I jam and I jive to life with poetry on my immediate side.

It’s hard to think of coming down

When you’ve played floor is lava using constellations as landings

But you won’t see me clipping my wings

— Not in this life, I’d rather stay far away from the ground

Even if it means my feet dangle over a trap door like a chained prisoner of war.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: SuperPhazed