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Poetry Collection - 01

by Cody Weber

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1.
WHO ARE YOU? Life, when spoken through the tongue and scope of someone living is always inherently skewed. Even the faults that we’re aware of in life are romanticized -- either that, or they are blown out of proportion entirely. What is this sense of self; is it all an illusion limited by our naive grasp of environment, further stifled by our senses that only present a small scope of the universe at a time? For instance, I love the way the sun rises in the morning and turns the entire sky a vibrant shade of orange for a short while, but is that really how the sky looks? How many colors am I not seeing? How many skin particles are floating right in front of my eyes, that old sense of self dissipating back into the atmosphere? Consciousness is limited by the things we are able to experience, but that’s not what is truly happening. What does that say about life exactly? Life is fleeting, and because of that, it tends to embrace another illusory concept: separation. In truth, I believe we are all of one consciousness. I understand that is new-age bullshit, but I really do believe it. The ideals that confine and isolate us are truly irrelevant in the grand scope of things. Countries build bombs and strong-arm third world countries to maintain their power grasp. This happens every day, and it occurs with the complete knowledge that all the money we waste killing people could be used to help them instead. Everything in the world is dictated by illusion, in this case the invisible lines of culture, but it all boils down to that irrational lack of understanding. We are no different than that sun that rises over the horizon in the morning. We are made different by the inconsequential. Religion, sex, race, social status – the list is truly endless. But we’re all apes, we’re still evolving, and we’re all made from the same collision of stars and gas. Everything that exists – from a tree, to a rock, to a puppy, to a human being is truly the result of natural phenomena. It’s the lesser evolved center in all of us that embrace this separation. We are all one people and we’re all floating aimlessly on a rock mostly made of undrinkable water. The eternal struggle between the universe and the sense of self is a product of our inability to grasp that it’s all in our heads. Self is an illusion. We are biological machines. I think that’s beautiful and scary at the same time. So who am I? Is the nuance truly important? How many people feel the same way I do about everything? There are billions and billions of people on this planet right now; surely some of them have the same mental make-up as I do. How many people don’t? Who cares? I see life as a revolving door of consequence. Nobody really has a plan, we’re all winging it, and everyone is just as confused as I am. They are just as lost and afraid. Some people can delude themselves and others can just hide it better. That doesn’t change anything though. I enjoy music with my ears. What separates me from other people is the style, the tone, and the inspiration I get from certain songs. Does that really make me any different than somebody who is affected by Justin Bieber or any of his teenage counterparts? Not really. At the core, we’re both still being affected. I enjoy taking photographs, probably because it gives me a gauge on my time here on earth. But what exactly is time? There is no such thing as yesterday, even though I have skeletons in my closet that I don’t believe I’ll ever truly transcend. Yesterday doesn’t exist. It might as well never have existed in the first place. The common theory is that time equals wisdom, but I think that’s false. Becoming concrete in your experience does not transcend the fundamental human condition. It doesn’t equal maturity or wisdom, it just means you’ve been here longer. The future scares the shit out of me because it’s not linear. It’s a tree with six-hundred-and-thirty-thousand different limbs. Tomorrow will be the start of the rest of my life. Today will be made irrelevant, it will turn into yesterday. They are both illusions. The only thing that truly exists is this moment, right here, right now. I type this from a dirty bedroom that reminds me constantly that I’m a total slob. It’ll be cleaned eventually, though, and what I am looking at now will disappear completely. I am the same as this room. This room is the same as me. Everything is in a perpetual state of shift until something destroys it. Eventually I will die and rot in black, Iowan soil. Everybody I have ever known, ever loved, ever felt in a warm embrace – will die. The memory of me will be tainted and eventually lost within the cosmos forever. We live in a cold and uncaring universe. We are all truly alone. But you know what? That’s okay. Bask in the delusion and enjoy your fucking life! Enjoy what you can make of it, what you can grasp and feel. Enjoy that morning light as it appears to rise, but know that we’re the ones spinning. Quit separating yourself by the irrelevant. We are the same. We are not real. We will end. I think that’s beautiful and scary at the same time. -- March 7th, 2011
2.
Like and anti-war protester that still showed up to the rally in his loaded SUV He screams this fight's unjustified in his clothes made overseas But you know, if we would just listen to those cowards in disguise who make bad decisions for us so we don't hate our lives so we can have our products and our open all-night diners and even waste our food! When right now there's someone starving in a cold, dark ally or a third world country But guess what? It isn't you. So that proud man on the megaphone's the same one waging war He lives his life by owning things and ignoring the poor To let our veterans be homeless? It's an empty threat in voting and distract us from distraction like it's empathy promoting a brand new world with common sense! Like the one we're in's worth saving? These patriotic imbeciles, all in trucks with flags draped; hanging Riding down an infrastructure crumbling and broken The mass of people that all believes it is better when unspoken I don't represent them but they embody me From shopping mall to magazine. From shore to oily sea. It's cognitive dissonance -- A shame in being self-aware I devolve back to ape, transcend the will to care. We are trapped in a burning amusement park and it's no longer amusing.
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I LIVE IN A DREAM OF A COUNTRY I live in a dream of a country I live in the valley of stars It's better when you take the back seat and blend in with the rest of the cars I should get a good job and a faithful wife I should go back to school and make my parents proud I should chase a black car for the rest of my life and choke on the fumes from its toxic cloud It's like I'm only on this earth to play a roll Like the moment of my birth was nothing small Like it's any different from a funeral Deliberately illiterate Consider it, a bathroom stall Because I live in a dream of a country and we piss on the concept of truth An abyss where nothing is new and nobody's free not even our youth Because there's cops at school, and the adults are nervous from the impending thought of the next disaster Guns are easy to get and our cinema's violent and kids these days just grow up faster It's a good message sent to the American young You don't step out of line because they're always among us I was arrested once as a kid myself in this dream of a country bent on self-fulfilling prophecy Where you can't pay your fines but they say you're still free Until you're put on probation for a year...like me And the funny thing that I can never seem to wrap my head around is the thought the school had planned this out to teach the rest to settle down They could have just arrested me before I even went to class Instead they chose that around 3, They would arrest me in the nearby grass I live in a dream of a country I live in the valley of stars It's better when you take the back seat To be the last on a cop's radar.
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I smoke like I have death in mind I guess I'm not the cautious kind I come unfurled in this unkind world I should have stayed curled up in bed but I watched the saddest news instead a corporate chain and talking head brought to you by the state of unemployment and you don't know why, but you know you want it the second that it's advertised but don't blame us, we're unadvised and in fact we are encouraged A consumer buys to feel baptized in a place that makes him feel pint-sized and discouraged. Have you ever been on the poverty diet? Where you eat your bologna and you're thankful and quiet because at least you got to eat today! and it might not always be this way because we are a country perpetually stuck We are all millionaires that are down on our luck and use social programs like they're poverty camps "Thank god it's a card now and that it's not still stamps!" Is life about just buying shit? Is that the only thing that makes us tick? Our Jesus Christ of Bethlehem has a corporate sponsorship Nobody dares bite the hand that gives to us The Holy Writ of Consumption. and you have no control of it. It is your life's presumption to obtain and to acquire in a global mass corruption You can only feed the fire and mourn the next eruption Come morning it will start again, the rules of which have always been Do not feel at home in your skin. Do not let your neighbor win and have the bigger SUV The better home and family. It's the American way and the way to be. Our grandparents fought. They were draftees. For us to have the rights that they lost on graduation day so we enslaved the middle east to pay them back A brown desert turned the darkest black We installed dictators specifically catered to follow us through on this blessed attack. The money made was worth the lives that it took to have these cars to drive You could hear them as their bones snapped and cracked so we could thrive And then there come these two airliners with passengers who decided violence was how they'd react Our leaders took the bait from terror designers And forced onto us, The Patriot Act Who needs a warrant? Privacy is archaic! We can read all your lives on the blogging mosaic! When everything is about to crash you have to stay a step ahead of the population They work against you because to them you are trash These are the people that make our decisions. It's kind of like praying in that you can do it and help nobody but still feel like you did If you're ignorant of history you can be proud of what it is.
7.
The lust was so heavy, like the burden of the day To be without the levy when the water made its way Except the water was liquor and the levy was your hand where one became two; but then it was back again It's the essence of life -- it's the means to an end when my life is both dull and painfully bland You were a spark that when lit, hit the core of my mind but then it grew cold and in the dark I was blind Because One is the loneliest number that I've ever known You were the loneliest person that I'd never know Tripped on the words through a plastic telephone End up in youth and then right back home But I won't forget the taste of your flesh or the beat in your chest or the lack of your breath Your frame was atop me, but mine was alone One is the loneliest number that I've ever known
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Fast asleep, she couldn't wait to leave She couldn't wait to pack her things and couldn't say a god damn word But I suppose The emphasis in silence says more than her quivering lips ever could even though they probably should We are debris scattered after a storm because it might resemble home but it doesn't feel the same as it did before Since my feet are planted and I'll never learn to fly or learn to tell the difference between a girl and her lies It's under that coal, black sky I resist and capsize under the weight of unrivaled apathy As I swallowed some air and collapsed under a gravity far away from home...
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Unuseless 04:06
and i awoke, half drunk with the wind in my empty eyes, looking at kind of sun that blows and shifts, but doesn't shine and there was a girl sitting on the curb crying inaudible her black dress shined hard against the unrelenting sidewalk, used both now for feet and for teeth, as hers painted the ground, and she picked them up to preserve her beauty she wept, but she didn't really make noise, she just blanketed the earth and opened her legs for boys to come inside and reproduce, the placenta from the lives before still cackled, still cooed her hair was ratted and roaches were swimming, not the bug but the end of a cigarette, still half-aflame, where the ants picked up and the buzzards left off. eighth notes and coffee stains, a name in place of wedding rings, i heard her sing in silence sympathizing for the devil, with my head level, i have empathy for children throwing their bodies on to uncles and brothers, and cousins, it wasn't like she was enjoying it. at least, it didn't look like it. laying there, half alive, mostly dead, i remember how she used to tell me that the grass wasn't green, but magenta, and that the clouds weren't really blue, we just accepted them as blue and because they weren't, then nothing in this mother fucking world was true. and since nothing was true, not the colors that we'd grown accustomed to, not the sounds that we'd fucked the night before to, that meant that she had nowhere to go, too so that's where she was. and i looked at her with eyes of oceans, weeping silently to myself too, as I hadn't much to do on a bitter sunday morning. but she could have warned me. i didn't know what to do. so i put on some pants, a shirt, took a shower brushed my teeth, too. then i grabbed the closest object, some telephone wire, walked through the dew between my toes and admired the cool summer breeze. to me, that's all that was left. i strangled her to death as she coughed for breath and found redemption. did i mention how green her eyes looked? or were they magenta? i could still smell the placenta as her toothless mouth expired their final sentiments. but i couldn't be bothered to find out what they meant so i left her there and i went back to bed because that's it was, as i poured some milk onto my cereal that morning, there were myriad reasons why i couldn't wake up and ignore it.. the sound of color just played and played and i knew deep down, that everything was a lie, so I couldn't just ignore the sore tongue i'd been speaking with. or the bloody tip of a good idea turned consequence. because the end justifies little things, but the bigger picture remains a scene too big for the low-minded. so don't mind it, as we aren't meant to get it.
15.
Monroe Face 02:15
I'm a Monroe face in a dead place With steady hands to clip the wings Of birds in flight that die by night And come back to tell of better things Of things that never come to be As love becomes a hate machine Load up on drugs and kill your friends For sad rock stars with holes through heads I'm a Monroe face in a dead place With eyes that see like a liar's lips Of times now gone by setting sun It's always been the way it is The way it never should have been Is now the room we're playing in Of girls I've fucked but rarely loved But said I did...because, because I do not know who I have been And I only have these memories I've tasted every flavor here But have yet to taste a single thing I've seen the shores of those unknown As my body slept in Iowa The wind across my face did show A lack of contribution I'm a Monroe face in a dead place Now put me back inside the earth Poke holes beneath so I can breathe Because death is not the anti-birth It's the anti-birds in anti-flight That feed on tides by vast moonlight And dim streetlights And dull fistfights And there is no fear where there are no guns No teeth where there is no pavement The cops are here, now hide your life I'm pretty sure they're here to take it There is no wrong Where there is no right And since the dark Defines the night We must be going places, dear But they're never going to catch me here Let me make the sentiment clear I'm a Monroe face in a dead place And everything dead Will always be And everything born Will still someday be Dead So carry on, forget the sun And come back to talk of better things. I'm a Monroe face in a dead place
16.
sit still until the hill turns over sun turns winter into something gold the radio played the days out in color. sun turns the winter into something old and i turned these splinters into wounds and roads right on down the tributary pluck the skin right off the berries and suck the poison straight down go down easy nothing that is real is from her dark hair to mine through pale eyes and down the river banks where our mute lips touched shore to create tide an irrelevant eclipse from an old life to one that will not die Saliva falls from the girls bruised lips Fingers pressed against warm, crushed hips The weight of the dirt with sun in her eyes and blood in the skies Oh, blood in the sky Winter rain fell, turned the day into night and the living to ice near the ghosts of twilight In lieu of fresh garden, we settle for dirt and everything hurt Oh, everything hurt What kind of man am I To taste the fruit of obvious lie and lay beside a wounded bedspread her breasts were pressed up against my chest and my heart was caving in to walk that diving board again and sink
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Conniptions 20:58

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Poetry Collection - 01 - By Cody Weber.

Collected from 2007 - 2012

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released February 7, 2012

Cody Weber

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The official discography of Cody Weber's electronic project, WREN.

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