Anthony Frisina's Blog

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pointless game

why am i so angry?
because someone has to be.

does anyone have anything new to say
i might find remotely interesting, original?
i might actually learn anything from?

the sun seems to burn my peripheral more so
these days
my body is burnt out
a hundred days of fire

no matter where I go
there are just brains walking in their vats
living aimlessly and cluelessly
protecting their selves with self love
sharing none with those who need it
intentionally ignorant to the fog
of pain they waddle through daily
they look at me, side eyed, scared
stare like i am a monster
preach peace
claim love as their highest guide
yet reject, cancel, hate, segregate
anyone who believes otherwise
hiding in their ivory towers
cast off with scornful judgment
anyone who challenges the bubble

Siddhartha was right
when he sat and smiled
and laughed at the comical apparition of commerce
at those who took advantage of him
it is all just a game, he knew
and most of the world plays
mistaking their neverending exercises in absurdity
for actual reality
with pride and honor
for the sole purpose of self-adulation

when i walk
all i witness are
not players but
wandering, short-circuited, short-sighted creatures
drugged, raped, lying, buying and voting for more
at what point does the master
bore themselves from their aggression
towards the mindless, the hopeless, the conscious dead?
it is all just a game, i know
but i do not want to win this game
as so many others give their lives to do
i do not even want to play
as unavoidable as it is

why am i so angry?
because someone has to be.


the era of masks

I used to ask if there was a place for dreamers in this world,
if a literal poet can survive,
if anyone really cares and suffers as a result anymore?

Now i ask…
Has the era of the romantics really come to an end?
I sit on the front porch watching the rain,
live oaks drinking it all in before the summer droughts.
In the background, people coming and going coming and going.
We have figured out the game, hacked it
and now we are bored
coming and going.
Everyone has seen behind the curtain now
and so we have stopped believing in magic.

Those who claim happiness are delusional.
It is an ideal as dangerous as depression.
Happiness ignores the sad pain that wraps her arms around this world,
prevents us from feeling actual reality,
ignores the mix of hunger pangs, nausea, and marshmallows
all someone caught in the throat.

My life is not a movie, or a book, or a work of art.
My life is minutes through air and words on a page.
No one is going to see me, nor should.
No one is going to read this, nor should,
yet i have been conditioned since birth to be on display.
They forced my skin to be thick,
but the skin never heals the branding.
My scars are forever.

Allow me to hide in here, please.
With you, give me a home for this moment.
The world hurts too much.
Noise keeps coming from all sides and i talk and talk and talk
because it is the only way for me to not hear it all, feel it all.
I blast metal and chaos into my ears, as loud as I can,
trying to drown it all out,
the pain and the rhetoric and the righteousness.

Some of us just feel too much.
Some of us feel everything,
and are surrounded by suffering and hopelessness
and this false myth of happiness everyone is hopelessly suffering for.
I believed it all was going to change,
but the era of masks has outlasted the era of the romantic,
and us few empaths scattered among the masses of your society
are helpless against your onslaught;
We are alone throughout the night
hearing, listening to the weeping sobs seeping from our earth
feeling, like buried splinters, each and every out of tune frequency
knowing how to give what is needed
knowing only how to give, and never to receive.

We are a one way door with endless hands waiting to grab what they can from us…

We few bear the burden of the denial of those delusionally happy…

I understand that all of these sentiments might simply be
a passing feeling, a storm to weather,
but it really does seem we all work from home now
(The Era of Practicality)
and we are proud to be individuals
(The Death of Romanticism)
as i watch the sun rise behind the rain,
dreaming, absorbing, crying,
surrounded by walls of mirrors,
wondering too much, gripped to deeply,
typing away in the grey sadness that is “America”.


inconvenient angel

i allow myself only so much dreaming 
of the desires and freedoms i have sought.
i hold onto the night, the right balance 
of my solitude and your embrace i have wanted

it is easy for me to jump
difficult for me to stick my landing
easy to catch 
hard to hold

but just because i slam the brakes 
does not mean i wish to change my journey
just because i hold you at arm’s length
does not mean I am pushing you away

i allow myself only so much wandering,
needing to remember my personal pilgrimage;
to experience it as I have wanted to live it
as i have worked so hard to get 
to this point in the path

my foundation is solid
you are
you were
you could have been
a very inconvenient angel;
are were could have been
the path i have been following all along


she has a walk

She has a walk…
and she leaves a trail of destruction with it.

She has a walk…
straight spine, slowly, deliberate
and when she passes me
(and she always stares straight ahead, 
and always passes me)
i feel like a curtain torn off a wall 
by an erratic wind,
holding on best i can.

She has a walk…
she leaves here, reality, instantly,
whether it be as a reaction to a word
or just simply an overflow of thought in her head,
coldness overtakes her, 
helplessly or not.
Yet i understand her games and tricks so well
and cannot help but to want to guide her
as she guides her son
as they both guide me;
to protect her aimless ruthlessness,
because i see all of the misguided beauty and soul
she has poured into the chaos her walk sows.

She has a walk…
an arrogant runway intellectual glide, 
which makes me resent her all the more
for all the 
questions that flood me 
depths i am diving
calming i am experiencing
understanding fermenting in me
confidence, finally, once again growing.
In her walk, she avoids looking at me 
because she knows 
i see inside of her 
and she fears that 
letting go means giving up
because she knows 
i am fascinated by the engorged webs 
she has left throughout her journey
because she knows
i, too, have webs in my wake
just like hers
and because she knows,
as she hunts me,
as she repeatedly sinks her fangs into me,
i am curious as to why her strikes on me heal so fast

She has a walk…
and i catch her looking back sometimes
with heavy shameful loneliness
remorsefully wondering why 
her naivety and pure intentions 
has caused so much chaos, so many casualties.
She disappears into her own world in an instant,
no anticipating when she will go,
or when she will return
and see me still here, wounds closing,
my patience is stubborn 
my years have given my heartbreak stamina
and i find her incredibly amusing;
a modern millie in the elevator going up the rabbit hole.

She has a walk…
and she leaves a trail of destruction with it

(written 9 nov)

keep dreaming

I am a dead man, with ghosts, everyday, passing through me, reminding me: Keep Dreaming.  I watch an imaginary screen exposing me to two-dimensional love, filling me with hope of the tragedy I long ago stopped believing in…Keep Dreaming. Read the rest of this entry »


Chicken & the egg
and the art of denial
the abyss is hollow
consuming shallow
stay away…they say they say
cry out to the heavens instead
avoid the darkness  Read the rest of this entry »

can you?

Your tattoos mean nothing
       they are a moment of confidence within a lifetime
       of conformity.  But can you grow old as an outlaw?

Your piercings are decoration
       they do not imply to me a cultural rebellion
       which conveys real strength. Can you be more than a symbol?

Your anarchy is a painting
       it is a fashion of fictitious individualistic fissure;
       a facade to hide behind.  Can you protect the uncool?

Your righteousness is hollywood
       it is the plague of weakness which feeds the sins
       of ego. Can you stand alone for what is truly right?

I have lived long enough now on both sides of the curtain
to understand the difference between the tough and the strong
                                                                  the lustful and the passionate
                                                                  the fabricators and the artists
                                                                  the beautiful and the attractive
                                                                  the pin-up and the muse
                                                                  the rebel and the individual

Your masks are repulsive
       they hide the rare gem of life you have been gifted with
       Can you truly expose yourself?




two poems from the old man bar

Pour me another pitcher of wine.
My preference is to drink to life
rather than hide from death.

Face me, Fear!
Look me in the eye, coward,
because there is nothing you can take from me anymore.
My life will not be wasted embracing you
as I push on forward towards the inevitable. Read the rest of this entry »

quarantine diary (2 of 3)

Oftentimes, most people I talk with will always debate that scientific fact trumps all opinion and feeling in a debate.  But that is usually only until scientific fact is used to make that same point against their opinions and feelings. At that point, the conversation then focuses more on the messenger rather than the message; The interaction becomes more about compassion, civility and tonality rather than the facts laid bare.  

It is quite frustrating talking with people these days.  

Denial.  There is so much denial.  When did critical thinking become wrong, bad? When did we stop questioning authority and become too sensitive to question each other, challenge each other? When did we stop believing our own common sense and start trusting politicians and the media?  Everyone disapproves of what “the opposition” is doing, but everyone also seems to believe that means we must equally approve of and support anyone and anything opposing it.  Most people do not even know who the individuals are they are supporting or what they are supporting and why.  Most people do not take into account the entire circumference of what they support, the consequences, the law of cause-and-effect. We just simply support the party or the state or the sentiment.   Read the rest of this entry »

quarantine diary (1 of 3)

It is the rhetoric that scares me.  Human rhetoric.  Already the most dangerous and feared living organism on this planet, we have made ourselves worse by our mostly blind obedient rhetoric.  And every time something like this happens, I still manage to find myself surprised that we are turning a blind eye again. One thing I have learned and also teach is that, to begin to change the problems of our society, we need to stop being surprised by the expected. But, even still, I am surprised by the world´s response.  Still, it makes me internally exhausted hearing the phrases, “We have to do whatever we can,” and “we must do what they tell us.” 

I am of the 9/11 generation.  When I was 23 years old, I was there in NYC during the attack.  I was not “woke” or aware, really, by that point in my life.  I was cynical, I was suspicious and I was starting to get angry by the time the planes hit, but I was pretty clueless as well.  Read the rest of this entry »