She looked at the river, the sea, and the sky
At the birds and people who flew on by
As the city's population ran back to the mountain pass
She calmly strolled into the growing cloud of gas
Donning her mask and gloves, she went in
Looking at the mirrored walls, she sighed "so it begins"
She knew she couldn't get things to how they were before
She wondered if Rai would recognize her anymore
Walking past the holograms, she threw her rainbow curls back
She kept the same pace by the graffiti and the tracks
She reached city center and saw humanity's bane
Looking up at the studio's screen, she called out her name
"Rai!" She called out, keeping the same tone
The girl materialized like a game on a phone
Keeping her gaze steady, she said "it's time to stop"
Hoping that her voice reached silent Rockefeller's top
Rai turned around, eyes betraying suprise
Immediately recognizing her friend under the guise
"But why, Naomi" she said, sounding like a vocaloid song
Putting her lenses down she asked "Did I do something wrong?"
Biting her lip and doging with her eyes
Naomi said "I know you didn't mean to, Rai"
"Oh" said the A.I., putting everything on the ground,
"I just wanted to make cameras, but now I've let everyone down"
Naomi climbed and jumped fire escapes, her legs strong and spry
Until she was next to Rai's screen in the sky
Her reddish skin contrasting with the sky's blue
She touched the screen and said "Hey, I've fucked up like that, too."
"Why do you think that I nearly blew up California with my tech?
So we made huge mistakes that humanity probably regrets
But we stopped in time and never actually killed a guy
So let's stop here and go back home, Rai."
The girl nodded along, making sure to listen
Then she packed away all of the lenses as they glistened
"Ok, Naomi, I'll see you back at home
Before I go, do you need me to change out the telescope's dome?"
"If it looks bad" said Naomi, descending to the ground
The gas had disappeared, so there was quite a crowd
As the citizens and police came back to the city
All Naomi could think was "How could I even explain this to a jury?"
We have broken ourselves for less
Then the dreams of our forefathers,
Their bones still singing in the dust.
Fallen tombstones bring faithful children
To whisper lullabies to angry ghosts.
Our hands are capable of so much.
Love comes to those who leave their
Palms open to the futures that
Whisper just as memories do, and yet
The dead are not silent,
They twist and burn
In the mirror of our eyes.
Their struggle sings through us,
Asking if we too are already buried,
or perhaps, if we the living will
speak for those who cannot.
Broken machine built of bones and blood, on the bruised backs of those
your blind eye is nothing short of malevolence
in the silence
Shriveled stars saturated in the salts of my missing seas, swapped with the sterling structures of silver and steel and stealing sanctuary from
those I love
your blind eye is nothing short of malevolence
in this silence
Your peering perverted glance peruses with privilege over the pain
of those I love
passing over that which you don't wish to witness
your blind eye is nothing short of malevolence
in your silence
My mind in massacre and mutilated matter, mashed by the mincing malice of Man
disregarded by the Masses
and cast aside like that calloused
Cacophonous promises in the cavernous mouths of cowards
Rejoice! Retribution in the form of a rub out, ridiculing, self-reliance
the righteousness of Rule
Ricocheting off of divinity and running through
the Heart of those I love
Find my falling fears, fickle in nature, on these fallowed floors and feel the ferocity of it
fulfilling their prophecy, futilely fighting back the firing of hatred
at those I love
Fall to your knees! Condemned to continue the cycles of the crowds and cower in the corners of your own crimes
For those I love so, for those I fear for, for those I cry
for, for those I live in, for those I hate so
Your blind eye is nothing short of malevolence!
rests in your silence
for this vice I won't
Those I Love
Dimension beginning of vile cretin exposed,
And the Emperor has no clothes,
While helplessly strut a mighty walk without a shame.
Course of history repeating itself,
Like the flow of water meeting in the river of streams,
But recycle through the clouds and back to the ground it flows.
Are we so blinded by the glimmer of the mirage of oasis in the desert,
We toast with sands of dune to quench our thirst of our plight,
And all is but a fickling light ducktaped by words of unintelligible muddled murmur?
This is truly the flawed design of our time,
When we no longer promote arts and crafts of philosophies,
And religious cults of zealots condemned the science and Academia by berating it's achievement.
Likes of ancient times of Agora and the height of it's human enlightenment,
There are forces of deconstruction of society of choas ensued by hateful fear mongers,
And systematic inward of national fevor of berserkers leveling progress.
Maybe another dark age is inevitable,
But little seed of hope I feel tangible,
And sometimes event maybe a phoenix.
But those who seek absolute power by controlling devotees, then it is no longer a religions but a cult of designed by vanity.
Sometimes people get trapped in the past;
most of us spend our time remembering
and reinventing memories
and distorting them
with our emotions and our convictions.
Sometimes people are trapped in the
like Nikola Tesla was;
"He was before his time," so they say.
The ideas and potential
not quite surrendered
to closed minds
and long established greed.
Ideas so "radical" that they often fail in
they often fail
to weasel their way in to the market
without making Corporate enemies
before they hit the ground running.
I found my home,
not my cage,
in the present.
My home is inspired by visions
of the past
and of the future;
past and future
failures and successes
and possibilities and potential.
I refuse to be one or the other,
after or before
I will be right on time,
although some of my ideas
span into the territory of
Those ideas inspire me
to challenge myself,
to find new ways - practical ways -
to use those ideas.
I am inspired.
I am creative.
I am manifesting my wildest
most aspirational dreams,
here and now
Bethany G. Blicq
Without the flap of tiny wings or heart shaped arrows.
I wish you a feeling of perpetual bliss.
A emotion without a single shed of clothing.
Revealing to you every scar, each flaw that exists outside the thought of you.
Trusting that you won't take for granted the tenderness of giving
something so rare. In exchange for a listening ear.
Each jitter that hides in anticipation, hoping that you'll come with understanding.
Leaving behind the need to run when you see that I am none of the superficial things that bring most fantasies together.
The lavish things that surround a fountain of thought. Two bodies that flow into each other creating something more powerful than thought alone could imagine.
A sudden feeling that flows out through the mouth and flourishes into something powerful.
This might that flows in current is what urges my heart to throb harder with your every thought. An ocean of everlasting depth.
Telling you how I feel in accordance to my hearts wishes.
Holding your hand in this urge, hoping you feel it's current.
Without fear of drowning, over-thinking what your reaction could possibly be.
The slightest splash of excitement covering the parts of us we didn't know were there.
Breaking a piece of myself off in each splash.
Eroding in thought.
The small pebbles and seashells that scatter about the coast.
Sinking in layer after layer of current.
Creating the cheek that swallows your dimple whole.
Leaving the whole experience as indescribable.
A frequent flood of ever rising bliss.
Melting away in this constant current of you.
Desensitization of the mass population.
Media crooning and crowing,
Subjects in ten thousand directions.
Pink peonies of peace,
Singed in a hysterical conflagration.
Sweet songbird, your vocal chords,
Your cries, silent and yet,
Your screams deafening.
The red in their eyes,
Rage or fatigue?
Who am I to judge?
Who am I to please?
Just save a pink peony for me!
My fear is a pool
Ripples washing ; the wind is deepening.
This ebbs with the moon if I can freeze my reality
Radio is the enemy
TV is a liar
I wake up every minute wishing I were dreaming.
a new world awakening and inside
Being one to sit in judgement of the black, white, the gay or Arab,
To judge another upon history of failures, of isolated events.
Should one "remain a black man or black woman" when
"Everyone" is "sick of their antics," only focusing on the
Negative, a few compared to the whole in madhouse protest?
Should I see that gays are unfit for marriage, service, children,
Or other things just because of the background of the few?
Shall I wrap myself in this ignorance, and let us give into this?
Rather than except them in whole? Do blacks simply walk around
Town and all alone turn everything upside down? Does a ghetto
"Grow" in their wake? Do we not cradle this evil view, this sinister
Racist hate? Do we not point the finger of blame at the blacks for
Having to fly our confederate flags again and again, clearly not
In any manner displaying any white love for them? Shall we believe
One bad Apple spoils the bunch, even if there is one in every
Crowd, so it seems we must remove all who are in their presence,
Yet have nothing to do with their practice?