Misanthropic Poetry was a side-project of the band Burial Shades. They have out only one demo in 1998 called "Inhaling the Winds of the Burning Grim Dreams" from which this song come from.. + Informações

Johann Wolfgang Pozoj "Autodistraktiv"-birth of pozoj Nature & Human Nature, Misanthropic Poetry www.myspace.com/jwpozoj. + Informações

Call him misanthropic if you like, but Larkin's more self-aware and honest than most people.. + Informações

Daniel Massey as Grosvenor, the misanthropic holiday camp owner, in Alan Bleasdales fantastic series "GBH" I adore this series and I believe it doesn't get enough showings these days. Too many people haven't heard of it. Its an astounding show and is available both on the Channel 4od website and on amazon.co.uk www.channel4.com www.amazon.co.uk. + Informações

Here's a poem I wrote, about the way in which greed is resented to such excesses, one may not profess to want anything without inviting the popular conclusion that any misfortune personally incurred from a failed attempt to acquire it would be a consequence of moral justice. This is one of the "Golden Fallacies" promoted by contemporary pop psychologists-turned-fablewriters. "Taste for Girl" © 2011, by Fallow Productions. From the collection "Misanthropic Folklore.". + Informações

charles discusses his feelings for others. + Informações

The title of this poem is "Transitions," from the volume "Misanthropic Folklore" - © 2011, by Fallow Productions. It's my first original poetry vid on the site. If you like it (and unfortunately even if you don't), more will follow.. + Informações

Album: 1666... Théâtre Bizarre - 1995 Lyrics: 1666... Theatre bizarre Poet easthetic Misanthropic Art 1666... Theatre bizarre Architect lunatic A sun above above the stars 1666... Theatre bizarre Poet easthetic Misanthropic Art 1666... you love the bizarre Architect lunatic A sun above above the stars Unveil the hearth of bizarre, Behind the theater bars Unlock the wood carven sliding door Feel deeply the loss of Molière Into a hall almost unreal Each step encloses... a hidden secret. Bizarre scenery Bizarre scenery Cunning shadows unfold gracefully the red long-pile carpet On which it was the custom in olden days To curtsey to Louis the XIV a half turned reverence. On the walls... enchantress embroidery, Courteous courtezan and gentle marquess. The haunted and forgotten spirits of masquerade surround you Abandoned in the endless gallery of the Louvre museum. 1666... Theatre bizarre Poet easthetic Misanthropic Art 1666... you love the bizarre Architect lunatic A sun above above the stars Fall asleep, scornfull failure Fatigued by the lapse of weakness of the gothic structure Suddenly in the ultimate antechamber of separation At the confines of this mysterious maze A sharp voice escapes the groove and calls upon me Welcome in the bosom of the familly, son De L'Argilière Establish home in the theatre bizarre Where contemptuous is synonym of illusory ...And remember to answer the calls of the theatre bizarre.. + Informações

A retro-antipatriotic poem I wrote, transposing the imagined childhood of Bertolt Brecht into the early American 1960's. In honor of the socialist strain pervading early postmodern intellectuals, stigmatized by present day indie-fringers. I'd just overcome a bad flu when I recorded this poem; it isn't as well-enunciated as my others, but I just wanted to record something, to keep in practice. I hope it came out alright. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "Everybody's Nervous" © Fallow Productions, 2010-2011; from the collection "Misanthropic Folklore." Video samples taken from the game "Catherine," © Index Corp, 2011.. + Informações

random word of the day! :D enhance your vocabulary with this video!!! FUNNY EDUCATIONNNNN!!!! xD. + Informações

A classic from my misanthropic 'blue period'. + Informações

I am my antonym. This is my first spoken poetry, entitled "The Stray." I own the copyrights and such, so don't go stealing any excerpts without asking my permission first. I included eight stills for the heck of it. (They're prettier than my face.) I would have drawn more, but I wanted to rush this out and get back to my NaNo. Maybe I'll improve it at a later date. All are hand-drawn, with two pencils, a pen, a Sharpie, and four highlighters. I would have used coloured pencils and made the drawings look more professional, but I couldn't find them. Besides, I kinda like the result. :) All credits are in the video. Words: In this town of bustling minds and ticking clocks and overtimes Among the frenzy most folks find a few others With whom to forget their hopes and fears With whom to laugh and cry and vie and get away and enjoy These people they call their friends It is the natural order of things But here we find one lonely soul who stays lonely As days go by he drifts away from friendships He sees all the others laughing and enjoying their time together And wonders why his routine looks so much different from theirs Everything they have he is missing He can't explain why but he knows he wants to change it He knows he would be happier with friends Every moment that passes he is constantly reminded He is not like them but dances to a more exotic rhythm One strange and foreign one they cannot follow Contemplative overlooked forgotten he feels out of touch At times he feels .... + Informações

Alison Ross reads her original poem, "Misanthropic Buddha" at Bound To Be Read Books for National Poetry Month.. + Informações

Profezia - Black Misanthropic Elite - Moon anthem - 2008 - Black Metal,Ambient from Italy. + Informações

TOO MUCH SHOUJO IS BAD FOR YOUR HEALTH! XD to care about something so much it feels like your chest is being crushed. knowing you have absolutely no power over anything to come, making the demolition so much more severe. seeing it and not being able to grasp it... it's like the saying, "if i can't have it, no one can". if i can't have it, i don't want to see it, i want it erased. gone from my memory so that it doesn't haunt me when i'm alone. misanthropic tendencies contradicting this overpowering feeling. i hate it. if this feeling were satisfied, the tendencies would vanish. if the feelings would return painfully, the tendencies would be back with another terrifying wave of vengeance. i'm not sure i'd be able to handle another round. i wonder if this makes me weak.. or maybe, more human? i'm not quite sure... either way, i know it sucks. i'm just waiting in limbo it seems.. + Informações

Simple, poetic and very wrong.. + Informações

cult italian misanthropic blackmetal, from the demo "Innominata Visione", 2006, limited and handnumbered tape, 50 copies, self-produced tracklist : 1 - Il Gelo Del Silenzio 2 - La Caduta Delle Ceneri (instrumental) Moloch = decadent poetry and all instruments (except bass lines on 1, by D. "Slerch" Vanoli) their 2nd release one-man band of pure italian misanthropic blackmetal Innominata Visione = Unnamed Vision Il Gelo Del Silenzio = The Freeze Of Silence La Caduta Delle Ceneri = Ashes's Fall i dont have all the day to spend to search the right picture to represent a song. i dont have much time to stay online, for i go on my paths. so, if you like the pics that i choose in 2 seconds, mine or not, well, enjoy, i'm glad. the most important thing remains the music. if you dont like music or pictures, is not my problem. ...i'm sorry for the bad sound, but i like very much this song.... + Informações

An original poem about carrion floating down rivers, metaphorical raisins in sunlight, and Woody Guthrie's guitar... among other things. Many of these lines ought to be swallowed with either the pepper of proper contextual interpretation, or a Gargantuan-sized grain of salt - whichever a given listener finds the more appropriate dressing. I am not a neo-Nazi, merely a humble student of postmodernism and anti-bureaucrat, with eclectic influences and unhideable socialist sympathies. My personal beliefs do not equal those of the characters narrating my poems, and especially don't equal those of this one. I do hope you enjoy the poem, though. I had to run a lot of attempted cleverness through my mind's garbage compactor, to come up with it. "This Fascist" © 2011, by Fallow Productions. From the collection "Misanthropic Folklore.". + Informações

Here's a satirical poem I wrote, about decoding the meaning of that which is often expressed incorrectly in contemporary American parliance. I'm frequently disturbed by situations where I'm expected to understand that another person has said something he or she hasn't, for lack of bravery or willingness. Perhaps we could use a codex to help translate things spoken to us into the language of sense, to minimize our annoyance at other people's proverbial bull excrement. "American Cipher" © 2011, by Fallow Productions. From the collection "Misanthropic Folklore.". + Informações

A poem for all, and none. The Misanthropic Hermit Five minutes before five. The misanthropic hermit wakes. And internal clock wakes him. He squints, keeping the dream in place, a life once lived. With certainty the dream fades. He walks to the bathroom turns on the faucet. Splashes cold water on his face. In the mirror. He sees the face of his dad looking back at him. He's exactly who he was. He puts on his running shoes. Looks at the clock it is 5.10 in the morning. First Mile is always the hardest. Nine more to go. He instructs his body to endure. The right and left foot continue to hit the pavement. The smell of woods are welcoming. These woods have a secret. He feels cold crisp air on his face. The smell of wildberries, the pines as tall as they are slender. The light summer mist hangs in the air. The misanthropic hermit runs along thinking of days past. Conversations with his daughter. Students, research, job. It all passes, he continues contemplating things. The only time he has to himself. Other hermits run along and wave, some same hello, others greet with a smile, a nod. The misanthropic hermit just runs along. Unaknowledging listening only to his head, and the secrets of nature. The other hermits face away behind him. He keeps wondering through his words. Footsteps fade telling secrets of untold distances. Fading fast, his own words, "Let it go, let if fall down your shoulders." The fifth mile, time to turn back. He rest a minute. He leans down an old tree. The .... + Informações

Chapter XIV: Dark Angel Bird (A Poet Of Tragedies) Through the night... All night long... A tragic croaking can be heard... The voice of an angel keeps calling... An angel with a bleeding soul is falling... Dark angel of melancholy I am a cold tear of misanthropy Dark angel of suffering I'm an angstfull whining You rant poems of pain In a bitting elegy Deep red is the color Of your boundless agony Dark angel of melancholy I am a cold tear of misanthropy Dark angel of suffering I'm an angstfull whining An angstfull... An angstfull whinning... Dark angel bird... The sadness in your chant Is my own grief A mournful melt of tears Which arises as nightfalls In your eyes... I behold the eyes of a soul A soul with a bleeding heart And nobody's love My existence depends on yours, My... My soul is as yours, For... For you I cry In the cold bare night [Part 2 of video begins] Take me beyond infinity In your moonlight wings I want to cry out a last scream I want to fall asleep and dream I am... I am the Dark Angel Bird... A poet of tragedies... I am the Dark Angel Bird... I am the Dark Angel Bird... I am the Dark Angel Bird... Scratch with your deadly claws Pounce well on, on my chest Burial ground for autumnal invocations Sanctuary for a broken love Selfless I call for you My soul bleeds for yours, For you I die... For you I die... In the cold... In the cold... In the cold bare night In the cold bare night... In the cold bare night... "Anjo de coraszo ferido Como yo triste o fim .... + Informações

A poem I wrote based on the Shinto myth of Izanagi & Izanami. It's included in my upcoming collection "Misanthropic Folklore." I recited it in the dark, because I felt like it. No mystery there! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Izanami stuttered and was shuffled off the stage. She slept about a fortnight, and she wrote about a page. The words were out of sequence, but the message was: "Desire combusts when mixed with hopelessness, and echoes through the fire." The fire within her belly came out freezing, and the chill collapsed the Will to Live, beneath her avalanche of will. She came to douse the fields with her apocalyptic joy, just like a child of no one - with the planet for a toy. When Izanagi stumbled on his starlet's open grave, he censored - with a boulder - all the darkness of that cave. Then, live or dead beneath it, she was heard no more to cry; no conduit remained to bridge her vision with the eye. Self-pity lost its patroness, unsanctioned by his laws. The heavens gave their signature and thundered with applause! He came to sow the fields with his apologetic joy. Now I'm a child of no one, and my sorrow's just a toy. © 2011, by Fallow Productions.. + Informações

I re-edited this video. I done this as a test since I havent created any videos in a long time and I wanted to get back into the spirit. Because I havent created a video in a while, this is not top quality. However enjoy my poetry :) Cheers! Music: Lord of Depths - Burzum. + Informações

Hávamál "Sayings of the high one" is presented as a single poem in the Poetic Edda. The poem, itself a combination of different poems, largely presents advice for living and survival composed around the central figure of Odin. Composed in the metre Ljóðaháttr, a metre associated with wisdom verse, Hávamál is both practical and metaphysical in content. This is particularly apparent towards the end of the poem, as the poem shifts into an account of Odin's obtaining of the runic alphabet and obscure text relating to various charms and spells Odin knows. The only surviving source for Hávamál is contained within the 13th century Codex Regius, and is thought to be no older than from around the year 800 AD (though derived from an earlier oral tradition). An early reference to the poem is by Eyvindr skáldaspillir, found in Hákonarmál from around the year 960 AD. Hávamál consists of numerous poems, ranging in tone, content and narrative form. Varg Vikernes: Music Sveinbjörn Beinteinsson: Vocal. + Informações

The greatest love poem Ever! You will need a box of kleenex. + Informações