surrealism | DandyJon

The Optimist In Me Got Sick of the Cynical Motherfucker In You. So I Became You and Destroyed Your Only Hopes In Finding Something Worth Believing In.

(…a late night arrangement of various thoughts, scattered and mixed up, in hopes of making sense…)

There is a simple need to vent, cynical smile, a jester’s insight
A series of nonsensical thoughts, acts of poppycock
Take all this with a grain of salt
A fuck you is on order, gentleman
Gentlefucks and gentle sucks
The realist in me got sick of making sense, just this once
I’ll find it in me to re-arrange myself, and scatter my cards
Scatter my thoughts
An arrangement of words mixed around
Attempting to give a fuck
In hopes of humor, insight and tongues-in-cheek
There is a simple need to feel loved
In hopes of many hopes to believe in
And there is a simple need to feel exploited and exposed
A lack of self-reservation can get you very far
Something so sweet can at times be just as bitter
Self-haters and those who want the easy life
Contemplate, masturbate, keeping mental breakdowns at bay
For another day
There is a simple need to want to let go
To jump from the highest mountain top
And soar in hopes to never hit the ground
And I’ve heard the best arguments from days long past
Words from dead men being passed down
Like the next new trend, pseudo-hipster candidates
Fighting, flagging, bitching to be next in line, on-line and out of line
Next in the limelight, next in the headlights
Another deer dead on the road
Debate, debacle, shackled to and fro
Old men of many races arguing about who is right and who is fake
Who is right to wing and who is left behind
What next to oversight and oversee, overthrow and overcome
Self-made manic millionaires and dodgy discount pioneers, political silence
In a lack of truth seeking mantras, but wait-
I am straying too far again, reel my thoughts back into place
And mangle them once again, another picture on a canvas
Pastel hearts and charcoal trees
My mangled words of wordplay, play this down
Play me out, play me like a chump
Self-explanatory shameless bastard, just like the one I use to be
Always will be, if and when I need to be
The optimist in me got sick of the cynical motherfucker in you
So I became you, I rearranged the words to suite my own
Paraded words around, I came out of the closet wearing your shoes
Tacky as that may be
There is a simple need to just want to be myself
To keep myself, sketched upon a canvas
With eyes of brown, dressed in black, and surrounded by the deepest shades of red
Deepest fears and dread, something so sweet can be just as the bitter
The taste is sour, the thoughts are wasted
The love is makeshift, and the irony just isn’t worth a commentary
A fuck you is in order gentleman, stroke a good one for me
Consider me a comedian with no subject too taboo to contemplate
The optimist in me got sick of the cynical motherfucker in you
So I became you, looked at myself, hated what I saw
A reflection of who I once was
Who you use to be
So I became me again, and me is what I’ll remain
There is a simple need to vent, a simple need to disconnect the dots
And connect them once again, not coloring in between the lines
In order to put my thoughts back together again
To put myself back together again

-Jon Powder-

DandyJon

and the Zero Nation

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The Optimist In Me Got Sick of the Cynical Motherfucker In You. So I Became You and Destroyed Your Only Hopes In Finding Something Worth Believing In.