Jeff Can Blog

Who Said I Could Still Write? Detailing the Wick
Jeff Klepper

Why is it that the ones with heretical wry are the pushed aside?
While the masses willingness to subscribe to the mercurial genocide is high
This quandary, this luxe of fantasy and deteriorating moral, we possess no longer
Lead us to this juxtaposition with the frivolity of the material matter

Ghosts of debt to the fortune of poetic immortality and the prison of immoral reality
It is just as well as it ever was, for the mirror reflects greater portions of the because—
Revel in ire, revel in reed, revel in the matrimony of the loveless and the greed—
Slip the verb under your tongue and be sure to say “thank you”, when it is done

For again we embark on this twisted tormented trail—
Where the destination is irrelevant but lies within the detail

Hope you all like the new look that my webmaster Greg helped me out with. Thanks again to Greg for making me look competent and up to date.

Tell Again. My Friend

Jeff Klepper

Let’s say we suffered for the worth of the supreme birth

And gentlemen are no longer needed for the judgement of selfworth

Can we get a reprieve or a list of those on reprieve we are all on the clock

I see the world slipping into the figments own imagination and the drift of the flock

Mass murder, assimlate, the world, eats me whole, I skip a heart beat, I’m a fool

We suffer, we kiss, we move, we remove, we enhance, we dance, we are cruel

But what else is new? The enemy is me with arms so strong and resolute.

The abstract, is new, so watch the mature capitalism fade into the new American proof.

Here we go, here we fade. Here we fall, the fallen; see the air. The fallen are prepared.

And as we drift to the known, the fallen will sing a different song, and than we will be once again the ones who cared.

The 9-11 Shivers; We are one month away from progress

Jeff Klepper

Here is the truth, the hyperbole written by Wordsworth but worse

And the hard cover books are tilting my backpack and are more of a curse

So can we please just rewrite the history between the two of us?

And maybe all the existential lies we have eaten will betray us…

But then again we survive on existential laws and whys

And possibly we are just higher beings with good lies?

Or maybe we are better looking creatures than those with eyes

And forgetfulness will translate to the first one who dies.

So, say so long, to the forgiveness train we created long ago

And try to portray the unstableness of the G Train going to Soho

There it is, nice and big, and dissipating like the ones who have lived

The world is there but than again who said we had to forgive?

The World Is Amazed By This Lie, Please Kill The Lights

Jeff Klepper

Let the dead sing while we enhance our life expectancy.

And gather courage through life’s own discrepancy.

Get the lie all covered in “why”; and enhance the throats mistrust.

We win the land and give in to demand, of potions and waning lust.

For than we can lead the dead to the gallows we dug so long before the promises.

And than we can expand the land to accommodate the extra guests in the prisons we built.

Don’t feel obligated to the men in the suits that promise you life beyond this cowardly interpretation.

For its is meager and filled with broken cause and spread out answers.

Here it is, enjoy the sink, because we are on the brink of destructions cusp.

And there will unite as one under the sun as the word of god and explode the façade.

For then there we will not need prayer and its disastrous being.

And for one moment we will believe for once, exactly what we are seeing.

Gentle Sons and the Dying Ones

Jeff Klepper

How shall I perish? So awful, so garish.

We just strangle our creativity with hopes of grander parish.

The deity will be the death of me for no greater reason could counter.

Than again we would just accept the argument that we could never encounter.

Wake to the land of endless sand and the earth rotates like a ball of fire.

While we sway to the rhythm of the caustic motion of the dying ocean.

We will forgo the arithmetic and contemplate the heretic that gives us motion.

We do not breathe the air for we no longer care whether we live or die.

For motion is the heretics expression of the intellect we gave away.

And we will kiss the lips we have kissed before. Just as lost as we have been and more.

But, let go of guilt that is heaven spilt and praise the days to come from it. For the dead are living tributes to the soils spoils.