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Z Aug 2018
Too many thoughts, too many feelings, too many faces

Yea, what’s the feeling of success?
Achieved so many things, but all I feel is regret,
I feel alone inside my head what don’t you get?
Wake up every morning like it’s still my set,
Reminisce on where I come from so I don’t forget,
Been to rehab a dozen times, they called me a vet,
You thought you knew me, I haven’t opened the curtains yet

Alcohol destroyed all my relationships
Forgot most of my life - except for the video clips,
Poisoned my brain to forget the pain, on the daily I feel insane
I’m above the ground though I can’t complain, god relieve this pain
I feel like I drank the blood of Cain,

Every day is a surprise, my brain tells me I’m so wise,
But he’s a master in disguise, while I’m the one who cries,
He’s the one who lies,
To me in my own voice watching my demise,
When he’s in in control anything flies,
It scares me, I built a fortress to disguise,
This out of control mind, I want to cut the ties
A Broad perception, in a beautiful world, through these eyes,

Try to express my feelings, no one can understand
**** it no one can, this experience is mine god had it planned
Just hope I can grow up to be the man,
The one he created to do whatever he can,
Yea, whatever he wants, his drive his will he can make a stand,
A visionary, Socrates his thoughts are grand,

Who do I trust, who I am or who I want to be,
It’s confusing with a devil living inside of me,
Loving spouse, family man what I try to be,
This bipolar got a hold of me,
Blindfolding me I can’t see,
Please doctor doctor set my mind free,
I thought I knew everything with my degree,
The lessons I learned from the things I failed to see,

Mommy and daddy got divorced when I was a kid,
I think I was 8, I can’t remember, who am I to kid,
My first blackout in life, daddy’s about to lose his wife,
So much anger, “he’s” telling me to find the knife,
Take it to the artery just a little slice,
Life’s not as nice, as people make it seem,
No one hears me scream, from the pain,
Inside this brain, some days I feel insane,
110 on the freeway trying to stay in my lane,
Drunk driving no I’m not sane,
Getting high to alleviate the pain

One day I can be the man, goals, driven, and full of will,
The next be full of sadness, regret, life stands still,
I can remember anger that drove me to ****,
You don’t know how I feel,
People probably thought I made a deal,
With the devil to have all this skill,
I write all these thoughts, hoping there’s a heart to fill,

Hope someone can relate,
I hope my pain makes you elate,
My perceptions not up for debate,
Here is my life there’s no room to understate,
The reality of my life and the things on my plate,
Strive to be in a mentally stable state,
Sometimes life’s not so great,
My minds locked in a crate, and he is the key holder of my fate,

My life feels like an afterthought,
Stepdad thought love was something that could be bought,
Used to get in trouble every time I got caught,
Only if they knew the realism of what I did, or maybe they ought
Not to know, but for the sake of the flow, I’m going to let go,
Put on a show so they finally understand what they missed long ago,

Let’s start as a little boy, all the love you showed was a decoy,
For the truth that mommy and daddy were ready to destroy,
Split us up, brown moving boxes was it all momma’s ploy?
I still don’t know the truth, I don’t want to ask or annoy

They say they fell out of love, how can you fall out of love,
Unless you gave up? Don’t you realize who’s above,
Poor American white family, three kids and divorced, man the stereo type fits like a glove,
Never got physically, but always received a verbal shove,
Psychologically I wish I could dispose of,
This garbage that’s left behind, in this mind how am I supposed to give away free love,


One day at a time, one fight, I’m going to give it all my might,
Serenity prayer please give me the light,
To accept my life and guide me right,
Some days things are out of sight,
God comfort me so I feel alright,
I’m shrouded in darkness, call me the dark knight,
Noble I’m my cause, daily life’s a plight,

As a teenager I survived off my drive,
Then there was the day I didn’t want to be alive,
Locked those feelings deep in the archive,
Padlocked in the deep parts of the brain so they don’t thrive,
Questioning the purpose of life when I was five,
Asked about space and God, curiosity already took a dive,
Most people and me don’t really jive,
One instinct on my mind is to survive,
Mania kicking in putting me in overdrive,
Found out when I was twenty-five,
I’m mentally ill, my life took a nose dive,
Time to wake up and revive,
It’s time to deprive,
The addiction and the **** I do to connive,
God im going to work on my life until arrive,
To the kingdom, hopefully I live to see thirty-five,

Todays a new day, no telling what I might do,
Try to hold my family together, backbone and the glue,
Just accept my view, everything’s not about you,
Been self-reflecting, I’m having a break through,
This story is contagious, call it reality flu,
Knocked on deaths door, Alcohol blood volume .492,

What was I thinking? Pores stinking, breath wreaking,
Family and friends shrieking, at all my drinking,
Woke up surrounded by the medical team,
Asked me if I was suicidal, I said what do you mean?
I’m a genius, with a good job, had one since fourteen,
Worked hard my whole life, why am I here confused as hell - creating a scene,
Needle in my arm, threatening to restrain me,
God please set me free, right now you’re the only one that can help me,
Ready to fight the doctors and nurses, now they’re going to petition me,

When I opened up my eyes,
Seen my momma with tears in her eyes,
Most painful look I’ve ever seen on her face,
Now I feel like a huge disgrace, wish she knew gods grace,
My hearts racing at a fast pace, anxiety took over freaking out in this place,
The realest hug ive ever felt was from momma while I was in that room,
Time to clean up my life, time to clear my mind and get out of the back room,
Where my thoughts are locked, time to forgive and bury the in their own tomb,
Most think they know me, and its dangerous to assume,
Most my life you seen me in my costume, hiding behind the monster of doom,
Spent so many hours in my bedroom, drinking so much leaving behind an ethanol fume,
Days later it’s still hanging around, how the poison turns everything into a darkroom.

12 days locked in the psych ward, hopefully I can move my life forward,
Dr. says I had an episode of major depression, I forgot to tell them about my secret obsession,
These words are the closest thing I have to a confession,
When I die take my brain for a case study dissection,
Don’t let my evil said lead you to mis-direction,
When im aware I can make the correction,
What an elusive lie, chasing perfection,
Life is about love and a real connection,
God im tired, give me a symbol give me direction,

Therapy sessions for years, did nothing to help these tears,
Still react with impulsion and anger, watch out for the danger,
the biggest fear ive ever had was the fear of myself,
and the things I was capable of to destroy myself or secure the wealth.
So many secrets it’s a masquerade, im hidden behind my stealth,
The lies created to maintain this alter-ego destroying my mental health,

My biggest pains in life are when I had it all and left it all,
My depression after mania was the biggest fall,
I felt like I was the king of the world, king of the jungle; hear my call,
My ego inflated from my achievements, made me feel tall,
Daddys dream was his oldest boy would play college ball,
Just like the song boys of fall,

Daddys dream wasn’t mine to live,
But that wont stop me from giving all I can give,
Im sorry for the night I was drunk and we got combative,
I shut that night out its not something I want to relive,
Please daddy forgive, now you’re so corroborative.

Now momma I know we do not speak,
The real issue is we don’t want to feel weak,
Why are we so strong, the ones who cant take critique,
Maybe we are so unique, and live life with such technique,
The type of thoughts people think are antique,
Their arguments bleak, our common point is its our mind we speak,

Im ready for the conversation, a common destination,
Where we live in harmony, and actions don’t lead to causation,
I hope my dictation, and the acceptance of your creation,
Allows you to accept me and the ground I call my foundation,
Rebuild our family, together we can create a formation,
Our time and love the only donation, mix em together titration,
It’s a ruination of the family, its everything I wanted it to be,

Ive struggled with every relationship,
With anyone I let close I seem to lose myself and flip the script,
Those evil days I hide in my mind, security equipped and encrypt,
I feel like im writing a manuscript, a story of a man who slipped,
On the struggles of life, and opportunities that have been stripped,

Went to college on a full ride, paid for room and board seen the debt and just about cried,
350 a month to the government talk about a life hurdle that broke my stride,
Since graduation I noticed im the new dr. jekyl and mr hyde,
Success in my life was implied, mental health hit me on my broadside,
Missed my grad school opportunity, I should have applied,
Had love going for me, turned into a landslide,
All I want to do is have a good job and be able to provide,
Im not the only one suffering this epidemic is worldwide,
I just want to sit by the lake side, retire and reside,
Somewhere peaceful where a simple life is implied,
The only downside, is the demon inside me that takes me on the regular for a joyride.

Worked 80 hours a week, drinking a fifth a day,
Most people don’t even know what to say,
To me it was just another day,
Its about to get nasty watch out for the word play,
Life not black and white live in the grey,
Area, mass hysteria, my mind runs astray,
Enough liquor in my blood to make me sway,
One wrong move may be my doomsday,
I write about my life like a final exam essay,
Giving it my all no halfway,
Yea, im making headway, opening the doorway,
For all to enter; serve up my experience like a fine dining entrée,
Living check to check, cant wait for payday,
Maybe someday, ill be on the golden walkway,
To the kingdom of god then ill be okay,
Impulses so strong its hard not to obey,
The other side of me that’s so hard to portray,
When hes manic I get risqué,
Let me paint a picture, get your tickets to the screenplay.

They say its not what you go through, but what you became of it,
My lifes not a stereotype, those stipulations don’t fit,
I seem to get back up after every hit, I couldn’t write this skit,
Im trying to use my ****, my mind feels split, I cant take this ****,
I just want to quit, go to therapy to learn skills and what to omit,
From my life, its hard ill have to admit,
Elementary school I realized I was a misfit,
Dreams in the stars, illuminated and moonlit,
Building a legacy without a permit,
Try to live life so im not a hypocrite.

Shocked by the responses to voice and gods word,
You can say in high school I was a nerd,
Football MVP and valedictorian man that’s absurd,
Wanna know my secret, ask me the password,
Stand on my own, not a part of the heard,
Forgive me for all my problems and troubles that have occurred.

The darkest secret you don’t know,
Is that im not motivated by the dough,
It’s the times where Im feeling high and low,
Sometimes it feels like time is slow,
The biggest crush to my ego,
Was when I had a 20-gauge ready to pull the trigger and blow,
Racking the shells, playing with the ammo,
The rest of my life I was about to forego,
I wanted to let go, because I wanna know
I write to share my story of experience, strength and hope.
In Recovery mentally and Recovering from substance abuse
Brent Kincaid Dec 2016
My dictation program has an accent
It types out the most unreadable things,
When I say something like " my bunion stings",
It types back to me about onion rings.
There have been embarrassing moments
When I was chatting along quite normally.
I found myself feeling very thankful
That I hadn't been chatting formally.

The conversation needn't be special,
Nor use any esoteric phrases.
But some of the crap this program prints
Astounds, stultifies and amazes.
It can't be brushed off as an accent thing;
My speech is quite non-dialectic.
Sometimes it seems that Apple, Inc
Wants to render me apoplectic.

But, the way it is I have no human beings
That I can focus my frustration on
When something that company sells at a store
Turns me into an unwitting pawn.
As it is it's an iPhone and I can't pity it
When I hit "send" too fast and seem an idiot.
It’s possible I am asking far too much
Of the current reach of technology.
Even though our phones seem part of us
They aren’t really part of our anatomy.
Abigail Madsen Apr 2014
It is time to revolutionize education
Because I am tired of memorization
Creation of nothing but the same
Desks behind desks
Staring at a black board
Bored of all the information
Citation after citation
And all for what
I’m tired of education
Because I don’t learn anything
Teachers preach
But no students learn
We try to earn the grade
But we only play
Play the game of school
This “learning” should be a tool
But instead were only being taught
How to memorize
To categorize
And to analyze
Words
Formulas
And answers
Never
Taught information
True helpful
Real world stuff
That is enjoyable
In the game of school the rules are simple
Stay quite unless spoken to
Sit down until forced to stand
Most importantly
Having an opinion is okay
As long as it matches the teachers
When we are born the first things we learn are to stand up and speak
As soon as education age hits us
We learn how to sit and shut up
To empty our individual cup
To listen and abide
To hide
hide opinions and stand aside
“because I am a teachers and this is education
and what I say goes
why
because I said so”
I’m tired of learning how to be normal
Because I want to learn how to be a bad ***
So why can’t I
And I don’t want a hundred for coloring in the lines
I want a zero for coloring everything but
Education is in groups
Smart
Average
And stupid
Not to be cruel
But its true
And believe me
You are judged on it too
But when looked at as individuals
-Something education discourages-
Everyone as smart
Because the only person you’re being compared to is yourself
That education
No any two snowflakes are the exact same
And no any two people learn the exact same
We have four different classes
English
Math
Science
And History
Four periods of sitting through plenty of worthless information
I wont listen to anyways so why force me into it
If I’m not interested
Why bother
Passion based learning is what we need
So I’m planting the seed
Seed of thought
In the minds of those who have power
Power to change education  
To a passion based formation
I will no longer allow educations dictation
To control me
It’s now time to see
What “Education” could really do for me
I guess I'm not here to make much sense
but now is the time for the system to pay their rent
rental space in my mind
consuming time
thoughts that are no longer mine
Pressed into my brain this idea of education
running this **** like some federation
can't get thoughts in between regurgitated words and facts
Well I think my brain has hit the max
Maximum capacity for the ******* you're spewing
I will no longer be chewing
your lies and conformity
treating different learning like a deformity
No longer an idea of teaching
but memorization
words on a page
Here in this developmental stage
all because they are going through some 'phase'
that makes them stupid
Most of us are fluent
So don't tell me I'm not smart
because I don't know the periodic table by heart
because I'm not well versed in trail of the court
don't tell me I'm stupid
Just because I'm human
That's something that is overlooked
by the ones forcing you to study the books
Unable to see there is something to be said about knowledge of life
Or even the knowledge
not to get
pushed over the edge
Because sometimes enough is enough
And believe me
this "education" **** *****
--Built off of one of my previous poems
Stick with me, friend.
I’d like to make a distinction:
I revere writers but do not deify them.
My heroes and role models must be grounded,
Must have so-called feet of clay.
And there’s always something more in my craw,
Whenever I see scribblers carved in marble,
Glorified to the point of divinity and magic.
Because in my heart of hearts,
Reverence for writers,
Is an odyssey of disillusionment and

I fancy myself a man of letters,
Although “Humanoid of Keystrokes,”
Might be more apt; an appellation,
Digitally au courant.
I am a man on verbal fire,
Perhaps, I am of a Lost Generation myself.
And don’t you dare tell me to sit down, to calm down.
You stand up when you tell a story.
Even Hemingway--even when he was sitting down--knew that.
Let us go then you and I.
Moving our moveable feast to Paris,
To France, European Union, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy.
(Stick with me, Babaloo!)
Why not join Papa at a tiny table at Les Deux Magots,
Savoring the portugaises,
Working off the buzz of a good Pouilly-Fuisse
At 10:30 in the morning.
The writing: going fast and well.

Why not join that pompous windbag ******* artist?
As he tries to convince Ava Gardner,
That writers tienen cajones grandes, tambien—
Have big ***** too—just like Bullfighters,
Living their lives all the way up.
That writing requires a torero’s finesse and fearlessness.
That to be a writer is to be a real man.
A GOD MAN!
Papa is self-important at being Ernest,
(**** me: some lines cannot be resisted.)
Ava’s **** is on fire.
She can just make him out,
Can just picture him through her libidinous haze,
Leaping the corrida wall,
Setting her up for photos ops with Luis Miguel Dominguín,
And Antonio Ordóñez, his brother-in-law rival,
During that most dangerous summer of 1959.
Or, her chance to set up a *******,
With Manolete and El Cordobés,
While a really *******,
Completely defeated & destroyed 2,000-pound bull,
Bleeds out on the arena sand.

Although I revere writers,
I refuse to deify them.
A famous writer must be brought down to earth--
Forcibly if necessary--
Chained to a rock in the Caucasus,
Their liver noshed on by an eagle.
In short: the abject humiliation of mortality.
Punished, ridiculed and laughed at.
Laughing himself silly,
******* on one’s self-indulgent, egocentric universe.
If not, what hope do any of us have?

Writing for Ernie may have been a divine gift,
His daily spiritual communion and routine,
A mere sacramental taking of dictation from God,
But for most of us writing is just ******* self-torture.
The Hemingway Hero:
Whatever happened to him on the Italian-Austrian front in 1918
May have been painful but was hardly heroic.
The ******* was an ambulance driver for Christ’s sake.
Distributing chocolate and cigarettes to Italian soldiers,
In the trenches behind the front lines,
A far cry from actual combat.
Besides, he was only on the job for two weeks,
Before he ****** up somehow,
Driving his meat-wagon over a live artillery shell.
That BB-sized shrapnel in his legs,
Turned out to be his million-dollar wound,
A gift that kept on giving,
Putting him in line for a fortunate series of biographic details, to wit:
Time at an Italian convalescent hospital in Milano,
Staffed by ***** English nurses,
Who liked to give the teenage soldiers slurpy BJs,
Delirious ******* in the middle of the night,
Sent to Paris as a Toronto Star reporter,
******* up to that big **** Gertrude Stein,
Sweet-talking Sylvia Beach,
At Shakespeare & Company bookstore,
Hitting her up for small loans,
Manipulating and conning Scott Fitzgerald—
The Hark the Herald Jazz Age Angel—
Exploiting F. Scott’s contacts at Scribners,
To get The Sun Also Rises published.
Fitzgerald acted as his literary agent and advocate,
Even performing some crucial editing on the manuscript.
Hemingway got payback for this friendship years later,
By telling the world in A Moveable Feast,
That Zelda convinced Scott he had a small ****--
Yeah, all of it stems from those bumps & bruises,
Scrapes & scratches he got near Schio,
Along the Piave River on July 8, 1918.
Slap on an Italian Silver Medal of Valor—
An ostentatious decoration of dubious Napoleonic lineage—
40,000 of which were liberally dispensed during WWI—
And Ernie was on his way.

Was there ever a more arrogant, world-class scumbag;
A more graceless-under-pressure,
Sorry excuse of a machismo show-horse?
Look: I think Hemingway was a great writer,
But he was a gigantic gasbag,
A self-indulgent *****,
And a mean-spirited bully—
That bogus facade he put on as this writer/slash/bullfighter,
Kilimanjaro, great white hunter,
Big game Bwana,
Sport fishing, hard drinking,
Swinging-****, womanizing,
*** I-******-Ava-Gardner bragging rights—all of it—
Just made him a bigger, poorer excuse for a human being,
When the chips were finally down,
When the truth finally caught up with him,
In the early morning hours,
Of July 2, 1961, in Ketchum, Idaho.
I can’t think of a more pathetic writer’s life than
Hemingway’s last few years.
Sixty electric shock treatments,
And the ******* still killed himself.

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Suicide Prevention Hotline Need help?
In the U.S., call:  1-800-273-8255  

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Phone:   804-782-4920,  

So why am I still mesmerized by,
The whole Hemingway hero thing?
That stoicism, the grace under pressure,
That real men don’t eat quiche,
A la Norman Mailer crap?
I guess I can relate to both Hemingway the Matador,
And Hemingway the Pompous *******,
Not to mention Mailer who stabbed his second of six wives,
And threw his fourth out of a third-floor window.
One thing’s for sure: I’m living life all the way up,
Thanks to a steady supply of medical cannabis,
And some freaky chocolate chip cookies
From the Area 51--Our Products are Out of this World—Bakery
(“In compliance with CA prop 215 SE 420, Section 11362.5,
And 11362.7 of CA H.S.C. Do not drive,
Or operate heavy equipment,
While under the influence.
Keep out of reach of children,
And comedian Aziz Ansari.”)

So getting back to Hemingway,
I return to Cuba to work on my book.
During the day--usually in the early morning hours--
When “the characters drive me up there,”
I climb to my tower room,
Stand up at my typewriter in the upstairs alcove.
I stand up to tell my story because last night,
Everyone got drunk and threw all the ******* furniture in the pool.
By the way, I’m putting together my Nobel Prize acceptance speech.
I can’t decide between:
“I may be defeated but I’ll never be destroyed,” or
“You can destroy me but you’ll never defeat me.”
The kind of artistic doublespeak they love in Sweden.
Maybe: “Night falls and day breaks, but no one gets hurt.”
God help me.
I need to come up with a bunch of real pithy crap soon.
Maybe I’ll just smoke a joint before the speech and,
Start riffing off the cuff about literary good taste:

“In my novel, For Whom the Bell Tolls, for example, I had Maria tell Pilar that the earth moved, but left out the parts about Robert Jordan’s ******* and the tube of Astroglide.”

Stockholm’s only a month away,
So I’m under a lot of pressure.
Where’s Princess Grace under Pressure when I need her?
I used to work for the Kansas City Star,
Working with newspaper people who advocated:
Short sentences.
Short paragraphs.
Active verbs.
Authenticity.
Compression.
Clarity.
Immediacy.
Those were the only rules I ever learned,
For the business of writing,
But my prose tended to be a bit clipped, to wit:
A simple series,
Of simple declarative sentences,
For simpletons.
I’m told my stuff is real popular with Special-Ed kids,
And those ******* that run
The International Imitation Hemingway Competition,
AKA: The Bad Hemingway Contest.
The truth is: I always wanted to get a bit more flowery,
Especially after I found out I got paid by the word.
That’s when the *** and **** proved mighty useful.
        
I live at La Finca Vigia:
My house in San Francisco de Paula,
A Havana suburb.
My other place is in town,
Room #511 at the Hotel Ambos Mundos,
Where on a regular basis I _
(Insert simple declarative Anglo-Saxon expletive)
My guantanmera on a regular basis.
But La Finca’s the real party pad.
Fidel and Che and the rest of the Granma (aka “The Minnow”) crew
Come down from the mountains,
To use my shower and refresh themselves,
On an irregular basis.
At night we drink mojitos, daiquiris or,
The *** & coke some people call Cuba Libre.
We drink the *** and plan strategy,
Make plans for taking out Fulgencio Batista,
And his Mafia cronies,
Using the small arms and hand grenades,
We got from Allen Dulles.

Of course, after the Bay of Pigs debacle,
You had to go, Ernesto.
Kennedy had the CIA stage your suicide,
And that was all she wrote.
And all you wrote.
Never having had a chance,
To tell the 1960s Baby Boomers about class warfare in America.
Poor pathetic Papa Hemingway.
Lenin and Stalin may have ruined Marxism,
But Marx was no dummy.
Not in your book.
Or mine.
Andrew Hanson Jan 2015
At Ellis Lake, an overcast Sunday afternoon.

A lake divided into two, oddly shaped bowls in the middle of the city, surrounded by a constant stream of birds, wind, and traffic.

A spotless white swan cleaning herself on a grassy knoll, ferretting out whatever filth lurked deep within her feathers, then smoothly sweeping her sideways bent head across her back, as if to remember the long forgotten affectionate touch of an absent lover.

A gaggle of four grey geese combing the lawn for food, waddling in unison side-by-side.

A line of five mallards barreling down the hill into the water.

A multilateral crescent of black and white pigeons receiving harsh dictation from a trio of angry snow geese strutting before them.

A red-faced duck slowly approaching in the quiet expectation of food, then the arrogant acceptance of the lack thereof.
J M Surgent Aug 2013
I just pray
The silly words I dictate
Inspire someone new
To write something truly great.
Robdejong Nov 2013
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(http://www.lovesongsonline.com/over-ear/beats-solo-hd.html,Find your favorite beats by dre products) Ethernet port mic two SD card reader beats by dre headphone ports. Using the rear jack we did a number of test clips at various recording quality choices ranging from 2channel 16 bit 44100 Hz up to 2channel 24 bit 96000 Hz. No matter what recording rate we chose the results were very clear and noiseless sound clips of singing and dictation every time.

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Dylan G Nov 2014
Pushing a key oh how it brings me glee;
Content even happy in simple existence;
Many may not want to be just like me,
For a dry dreary job takes a work of persistence,
But each button I press is a step to success.

Merely a man without a choice,
Only a puppet with no voice

As I wait for direction with keen apprehension;
I stare at the screen first perplexed then distraught;
I see no coworkers it fills me with tension;
What was that? Was it just a thought?
A voice in my head, now it fills me with dread.

He must choose to make a choice,
To give his mouth a voice

“Stanley,” says he, “walked out his office”;
‘Stanley’ is that honestly my own name?
This voice I don’t trust, I will be very cautious;
I shut my closed door so all will stay the same;
The voice has not parted, I’m back where I started;
How?

The end is never the end is never the end

“Stanley,” says he, “walked out his office”;
Shall I play with him in his own little game?
My other decision was not quite that flawless;
I walk outside and am filled with no shame;
“Rejoice, you’ve made the one right choice”.

Now he’s a man in a world of choice,
The one employee that has a voice

I come to two doors and feel a great sensation;
“Walk through the door that's to your left”
What should I think of his clear calm narration?
I walk to the left, trying to be quite deft;
“You must not try to be uncouth, my words they simply speak the truth”.

Does he really have a choice?
Are the words his own real voice?

The constant dictation is no consolation;
I am led into a secret new door;
What I now see is a mind control station
But how do I know what is real anymore?
Does this place control me, or the voice within me?

This is the chance to make a choice,
His opportunity to put forth a voice

"Will you close down the station boy?
"Or put its full force into motion?
What choice do I have but to follow the story?
'Mind control', I'm dismayed at the notion;
I think I heard the voice inside me just scoff,
I turn the station off.

Only a character in a fixed plot line,
He does not see a contrasting sign

Now I am free but it brings me no glee;
Maybe I should have put up some resistance;
Merely existing means nothing to me;
I must now question my unclear subsistence;
The voice has not parted, I'm back where I started.

A man with a choice,
He has a voice
A narrative poem I wrote for school based off the game, "The Stanley Parable".
ConnectHook Sep 2015
☠☭☠☭☠☭☠

I ask you righteous Justice-lovers:
can it be that art uncovers
fiction passed as fact?
(is Cubism abstract?)

Behold the Caribbean glory –
pass the **** – uh, torch. My story
cries for sober ears
to modulate our fears.

Ask the ones who fled that island
why they left their tropic homeland;
if they think it’s cool
to glorify Red rule…

The noble face of Revolution,
CHE provides the cheap solution;
earnest young Ernesto
lived out the manifesto.

Martial hippie, beatnik butcher
bravely gazing toward the future
beams the brow of CHE
their shining knight of day.

Brand-new bloodshed – same old song
for guerrilleros of the ****
who rage against machines
confounding ends with means.

Such semi-informed fools display
a heady ignorance of CHE –
as if he played the bass.
(I hold them in disgrace.)

Though CHE was tough on Rock n’Rollers,
he abetted thought controllers;
jailing small and great
in Fidel’s prison-state.

Yet they’re convinced that CHE was righteous:
militant against injustice –
worshiping his name,
impervious to blame.

“Yo, CHE wuz for the PEOPLE, man.
(They’re not too sure about his plan…)
He died to make men free –
immortal – isn’t he?”

Vaguely Leftist youth display him,
not quite clear on how to play him –
Bearded god of Vision:
immune to all derision.

Ahem. A different Bearded One,
God’s other revolutionary son
borrowed from CHE – or stole
The liberator’s role…

Yet, let us not be blown off-course.
My words must gather rising force
to set the record straight
and hotter heads deflate.

The hairy Argentinian medic
left a lucrative esthetic:
****** meme of war –
his T-shirts rock the store!

Outworn by posing poetasters,
dreamers, thugs and hero-wasters
ignorant of history
and high on Marxist mystery.

He glowers with a lit cigar:
the noble hippie ******/czar
for kids who went to Kollege
emerging void of knowledge.

Now hailed by rappers, clueless starlets
Hollywood saints (and leftist harlots);
everyone’s a fan
of Cuba’s Magic Man.

What was his plan to save the nation?
Proletarian dictation!
Eliminating classes
while kissing Party *****.

Classic Leftist liquidation:
bathe the land in blood. Salvation
comes much later on.
For now let’s get it on !

(Let’s get his T-shirt on that is.
The taste is flatter than the fizz
of Revolution Cola;
go ask the Ayatollah).

One serious thing I beg of you.
Do NOT discern the truth. Just view
his face with pure devotion
to set it all in motion.

CHE was a merciless father-mucker
(translate THAT to Spanish, sucker).
Put away your ****.
My poem’s too long
(thus ends the song).
https://connecthook.wordpress.com/mine/various/viva-el-che/

☠☭☠☭☠☭☠
mel Sep 2018
we are free to be
whatever we please
whether or not
any others agree

our distinct vibration
shifts all of the nations
and our unique ways
are the cosmic-hydration

with no need for fixation
on anothers’ dictation
we rid ourselves of
any self-love cessation

we explode in our glory
all free from filtration
and use our relations
for human salvation

let us be who we are
embracing each scar
our imperfect nature
keeps us reaching far

releasing self-judgement
with our hearts kept ajar
we can see that our falls
were just crossroads to stars
jeffrey robin Jun 2010
wars wars everywhere

there aint no peace for me

boo hoo!
preservationman Jul 2015
Human way to just dictate
Robotics way to translate
Technology being a relay
No physical office workers to be there
Robotics will be the new twist
This is something no one will miss
Efficiency faster than human labor
Dictation will be more of a snap
There will be even time to research a destination map
Business letters electronically typed by using your voice
How the business letters are arranged being your choice
Imagine financial statements being precise to the T
Everything ready for presentation for all to see
Human speed won’t be needed anymore
Labor physical employees will be given the open door
Office automation being office technology of tomorrow
But to the human employee force meaning sorrow
Technology being on the move
Efficiency in precise and decisions in never have to think twice.
Shonna Jan 2012
This is not about you.
This is not about
the transmutation
of your jail celled mind
wrapped in self-help
and cellophane.

This is not about
your new found
discovery
discovering me
and my afflictions
according to the
white man’s diction
a dictation
of my past
extracted
and examined
under the microscopic
power of time.

This is not about
your self-defined
enlightenment
when you made
a deal to unearth
the truth of HeLa
coated in dust
covered particles
of HeLa
on your nightstand
and I laid
in a grave
unmarked.

This is not about
my big lips
and thick hips
under ***** covers
running a sweat
fever on my thighs
shaking feet in stirrups
and the pain was rich
after a tight pinch
and I didn’t know
what part of me
had been snipped
to grow cold
and never die.

No, this is not about you.

This is about me.
A historic legacy
left to thrive across the time
less chains of nucleic
tidal waves
Covalent bonds
could never rival
the strides of this soul
miles beyond
the distant
COLORED ENTRANCE
something brewing
inside dividing
inexplicable replication,
readying for harvest
behind a dried tobacco field
I mere moment of your hands in mine
The taste of your words on my ears
It's all I want to hear.
I don't care how over used it is
I don't care what it means to others
I just want to hear you say those words
The one's that seem to escape
Your vocabulary
Wren Djinn Rain Oct 2015
Man becomes woman woman becomes man
headline dictation that makes you understand
but what's this? The scene goes beyond extremes,
the black/white photograph is of color underneath.
But **** me, I'm being erratic. I'm standing on tables
shouting so your disdain's automatic. What's up with
this new fad? Uhmurika never had it this bad. We have
a literal metric ton of whining millennials wanting to be
special snowflakes. Man, who could take all of this social
pressure? Being held accountable for a miserable, literal lack
of knowledge about the world around us? Man, definitely not
for me. But seriously, bro, did you get your **** cut off? What's
up bro, **** you get your **** sewn on? That ******* ***** lacks
a ******. That motha ***** lacks the design that gives him a similar
package when his blood pressure rises. Don't talk to me about feelings
before you've had the operation -- because before you've done that step
it's better if you don't implore my empathy or patience because you're
just not real, I won't feel the weight of your complaints and frustrations.
Matter of fact, for you, ess jay dub, my emotional core's on vacation.

Leave me alone with your dialogue.
Discourse is not for me.
Leave me alone with your dialogue.
How do you prefer to ***?

Is it this hard to admit to your audience there's something else outside
yourself? I can see how defining the lines with alacrity makes it easier
to breathe the air you breathe to stay alive. It must be nice to stand tall
and be you and not have to bray declarations of self to stay confident
and true to the compass. Walking is all it ever takes you yet when I say,
"Actually [...]" it's enough to make you think it's me getting in your face
with another liberal lecture, but I'm just keeping real straightforward
about which terms I prefer in our vernacular. Shut up, you **** up, we
advocate for your finish, only requiring you fit into our premise.

Leave me alone with your dialogue.
Discourse is just not for me.
Leave me alone with your dialogue.
How do you prefer to ***?

I just think it's best to have some canned material
in case you need it.
Big Virge Aug 2018
Why Do We ... Struggle ... ?
And Create ... TROUBLE ... !!!
  
Because Most People ...
Are Happy ...  " In Their Bubble " ... !?!
  
Now .....
You Know What I Mean ... !!!
  
I'm NOT Mr. Bean ... !!!
But DO Believe ...

TOO MANY People ...
Are TRAPPED In A Dream ...
  
"Comfort Zone" ... Fools ...
Who ... CLEARLY PROVE ...  
They REFUSE To Use ....
Society's ... Clues ....

That Things Right Now ...
Are ... Just NOT COOL ... !!!!!
  
They PURSUE .... " Segregation " .... ?
Which Means ... " SEPAR ATION " ... !!!
  
When ... What They NEED ...
Is To Try ... " Communication " ...  
  
This Form of ... Education ...
Needs NO Dictation ... !!!
  
But May Just Help ...
To ... Unify Nations ... ?!? ...
  
FORGET Your ******* ... !!!
And Sony's ... Playstation ...  !!!
  
These Are Things ...
Creating ... " Generations " ...
Who ... Don't Want To Speak ...  
  
They Just Wanna BEAT ...
ANYONE They Feel Like ...
On Their ... Local Streets ...  
  
Or ... Jump In A Bed ...
In THAT ...   " INDUSTRY " ...
That Pays Money ...
For ... " ****** Sprees " ...
  
But ...
Where's The Fun ... ?
In Being ... One ...
For Whom *** Becomes ...
A .... " False Action " .... ???
  
And ... What Will They Do ... ?
When They Reach .... 71 .... !?!
  
Sit At Home ...
Watching ... **** Stations ... ?!?
  
I'd Rather ... " Relate " ...
And .... " COMMUNICATE " ...
With A Girl Who Makes ...
Her Brain ... FUNCTION ... !!!
  
And Hasn't Seen ...
... Plastic Surgeons ... !!!
  
See ... Talking Is ...
A .... BETTER WAY ...
To Find ... " THAT ONE " ...
  
YES Your ... " SOULMATE " ... !!!
  
Than ... "Hiding Behind" ...
A .... " Pretty Face " ....
Or LYING So That ...
... You Can Say ...
  
"I Love him cos'
he's got mad cash,
and gives me things,
i've never had !"
  
"He's BUYING YOU !
That makes you GLAD ?"
  
That's The Stuff ...
That ... Makes Me Mad ... !!!
  
MATERIAL ... Girls ... !!!
In Their ... " MATERIAL WORLD " ... !!!!
  
Madonnas' Song ...
Made Girls Think WRONG ... !!!!!!!!!!
  
Like I've Said Before ...
You Really ... CAN'T ...
Be ... WRONG and STRONG ... !!!
  
But Let's Get Back ...
To The ... Point of This ... !!!
  
My ... Written Scripts ...
REJECT .... " Gimmicks " .... !!!
  
I Choose This Way ...
To ... " Communicate " ...  
Cos' My Wordplay's Meant ...
To .... Indicate ...
  
A ... " CONSCIOIUS MIND " ...
Who ... Uses Rhyme ...
To ... BREAK THE MOULD ...
And ... Talk About CRIMES ...
  
Crimes of ... " Humanity " ...
Crimes of .... " Insanity " ....
Before I'm .... A VICTIM ....

of ...

Some Kind of TRAGEDY ... !!!!!
  
I Say These Things ...
To .... " Educate " ....
  
NOT TO Make ... !!!
An ... " Early Date " ...
With Someone Who ...
Has Got ... IRATE ...
Because of Statements ...
That I .... Make .....  

That Could Cause ...
An ... EARLY Fate ... !!!!
  
I'd Rather ... Try ...
To ... COMMUNICATE ... !!!
  
" Wouldn't You ?!? " ...
  
Well ....  
What Do You Say ... ?
  
Let's DO THAT ... !!!
NOT PLAY ... " Mind Games " ...
  
Like Our ... " So Called " ...
... " Heads of State " ....  
  
I Prefer To ... " Smile " ...
And NOT Stand Trial ... !!!
Or .... " Tribulation " ....  
  
Just Because of ....
Views I'm Stating ... !?!
  
" ALL OF YOU ! " .....
  
Are My ... " Relations " ...
  
Don't Run From That ...
Take Time Be ... " Patient " ...
  
My Viewpoint's ... CLEAR ...
And YES ... Quite BLATANT ... !!!
  
We'd ALL BENEFIT ... !!!!!
From MORE .......
  
.... " Communication " ....
As great a unifier as there is, we should use it more proactively ....
Poetic T Aug 2018
Visual delusions:

Scrutinizing the acuity of
            what is visualized.
But sight is only validated
by the morality glazed over.
Until narratives are edited
to mimic a reality of self delusion.


Oral formalization

Dictation versed within syllable
            delusions, never sounding
the reflection of thought to breath.
But sour exhalation collects on
vacant windows, spelling other
          than what is breathed outwards.


Auditory silence

Auditions drummed within,
echoing on shallow walls,
           nothing wrote within
A tirade of failures woven with
three perceptions. Collective ignorance
.
Chynell Janai Jul 2015
Give me a good mind ****

I promise you I’m easy to please

I’m craving that dictation

And you seem like you’re willing to tease


Don’t be afraid to use your mouth

Get me wet with that wordplay

Bless me with that brain

It’s the best form of foreplay


I like how the language just roll off your tongue

You know how to make it nasty

So you must be the one


And I’m not one to stroke an ego

you gave my logic a good lick

Just let me bend into a position

To perform them mind tricks


Before you lay it down  

I need mental stimulation, good conversation

Lets share intellect

I know you got that good education


I’m due for a good mind ****

You know I’m easy to please

So Stroke me with that diction

I’m ready to be teased
she likes my black box brain
i chalk me up to chalk lines, it's proof i'm just, insane
i keep her head spinning
in the way she likes
edges toe-tested
like cold waters on summer nights
she loves my scoundrel heart
i love not having to hide
we have to work to love
but then our hearts collide
we feel some tensions now and then
unexplained rhythms when we remember where we've been
continuing adventures, and visiting old places that have become new again
the only days wasted are the ones we are apart
because even boring ones shared between best friends
are worth getting up, and not giving up
and now is where it starts.
Begin. . .
chimaera Oct 2015
I ran out of words.
No... not words.
I ran out of feelings.
Although...
I ran out of purpose.
Okay, let it go.
I ran out on purpose.
Nope.
This is not it.
It rains. In me.*
There.
31.10.2015
Creep Mar 2015
Terry Pratchett died Thursday. He was a critically acclaimed British Fantasy Author, as well as an advocate for assisted suicide and Alzheimer's Disease. He himself was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 2007, yet still continued to write, even after he was incapable of using a computer to write (he used a dictation machine afterwards). Before his death at the age of 66, he wrote the popular "Discworld" series consisting of four books, as well as one of my personal favorites, "The Wee Free Men." He was inspirational for me as a writer and he changed my view of writing. With his books, I found my writing style. There are no words to express my awe at his life and works, nor are there words to express my deep sadness in which I tell you that he has passed. May he rest in peace and reach a world even better than that of Discworld.

“There's always a story. It's all stories, really. The sun coming up every day is a story. Everything's got a story in it. Change the story, change the world.”
― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky (Discworld, #32)
Well Mr. Pratchett, you've changed the story.
One of my favorite authors... He inspired me greatly and changed my perspective on the traditional aspects of writing. Hope he's somewhere better now.
Yhama ButterFly Apr 2014


No desire for words spoken

we sail on the wind

the energy surrounding us

takes perfect dictation

nothing misunderstood

cosmically we sync

we finish sentences spoken

astrologically

we fit by design

forever equals us

without a moments notice

eternity sealed our fate

the first time we exchanged looks

from across the way

*


~Butterfly εїз ©
CK Eternity Mar 2016
I don't need your
faucet, I have all the
right tools at my disposal,
please ****** me:

use a ******* semicolon
Brianna Heins Jun 2012
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality,
is waking up in dazed desolate imitation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.

Blades of grass, sharp tipped spears of unreality.
A chilling, a challenged negation;
to lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.

Spinning round the ugly formality,
are snickers, unshy sneers of an evil salvation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.

Thrilling no longer a verb, piano key pressing its precious mortality
into her throbbing thrashed temple dictation.
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.

A ****** numb soul with the criticality
of skeptics, chewing their lips, a dead cell castration
emotional stripping, slipping into complete impromptu filtration.
That creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
A Villanelle. Such a cool form name.
Rondu McPhee Sep 2010
...strolling down through the night,
Attacking innocence with a frown,
You've treaded through plastic and savages,
Your face buried beneath a gown,
The odd man in the corner says,
You look so down,
It means,
The forest seems black,
You're packed,
We're all long-gone.

You can kick and scream all you want,
But you'll get lost in the cold,
'Cause the Brave New Pathway is so old.

So you're a Good Man with,
all your Good Looks,
You're a manufacturer of,
Pretty Protest Books,
But your abiding venom is
So full of False Love
You're not a rebel, though you think not,
But you're just too many levels above.

You can kick and scream all you want,
But you'll get lost in the cold,
'Cause the Brave New Pathway is so old.

With your mass thinking codas, oh how you talk,
When you don't fall, there's still the straight bold lines that you walk,
With your gathered myths and conductors, in maths you all speak,
You ask yourself, is everyone so unique?
But by now, you're feeling ill,
You may not understand it,
Those hands of yours are too virginal,
You're not some natural-born bandit.

See, you can kick and scream all you want,
But you'll get lost in the cold,
'Cause the Brave New Pathway is so old.

You've strung some fallen multitude,
Some blind-eyed folks from lost and found,
Don't yet quit all the servitude,
Such groups can't be strung around,
You need respect,
You must check,
That everyone else is bound.
So you've gotten Anarchic Insurance,
Through all these Marxist hooks,
But what an abhorrence,
Your still safe and sound,
Just look at this mess, all of this!

You can kick and scream all you want,
But you'll get lost in the cold,
'Cause the Brave New Pathway is so old.

So you look down,
As you have on your hands,
A few clowns from a circus,
You phony philosopher,
You've let all your new fraud,
Work on us.
There should be some law,
Against having you claw
Your masquerades,
And magic through every one of these sold cities.
And even though you say,
Your imagination's not dead,
You've still read,
And forced every Order of Dictation.

You can kick and scream all you want,
But you'll get lost in the cold,
'Cause the Brave New Pathway is so old.

So you walk along with your pen down,
Past each fancy, carved stone column,
Then a voice says 'don't let your terms down'.
It's a naked fool looking solemn.
But you're still glaring and weeping,
You say 'I simply don't understand'
Then the man says, all out and fleeting,
'It's time for rebirth, When will you give a hand?'

So you're giving up,
You can see, you will stop,
So you can feel something now, if at all.

Now you're wandering past this site,
Of a landscape of metal and rust,
You're in the middle of some walkabout,
Your face coated in dust.
Now, thinking you're some Human Poet,
You go write on how you feel,
When the King Palate comes storming,
And you say 'Is this even real?'

But it's going too fast,
Any truth cannot last,
You're a lie by its own.
But you think you'll still find
Your Glittering Gold.

So you run through into this room,
With this Artist named Rome,
And with his lover, Salo,
They go off and buy you a home,
They have murals of circles,
And Open City souls,
They paint the 120 Days of Flesh,
And all these dead patrols.
They say, as they go about in a thresh,
Only Night has its fantasies,
Before burning your house down.
You won't see any end of dusk comin' around,
You're always a ***,
Your lawyers are decades gone,
Go back to all your Christs and El Dorados.

So when you weave yourself,
Out of that forest,
Don't be paid so attention to,
Don't be bleak,
As every night
Has its unabashed
Intellectual freak.
And before you go,
Between the statues under some sheik,
Remember, this very night
That's when you come...
Allusions of Inspiration
--Jacob Dexter Coffey--

To strive or slay-- question my thought,
The sleep eternal-- 'tis which I fought//

I trouble through the dual choice of tree,
Decide in wood of yellow fall-- which path will be?//

Tick-thud-in thought- a pain of mind,
From the deed done- now sound will bind//

Can think I not with rap-tap-tapping on the door?!
Is it a caw and crow again once more!?//

Out-out- brief challenge of the soul,
The stupid stranger- heartless- fueled by coal//

The trek through story of the fake,
The triggers put all things at stake//

Resist the trickery of Death and Man,
For he will surely betray all he can//

The riders- harbingers of apocalypse,
The horsemen out the seal as open it rips//

The untold portend of yet to happen,
Dystopia of burning books and a futuristic den//

Crimson capes and men of steel,
Slinging spiders- super speed- mutants in a fantasy so real//

Cameras watching with no privacy,
We turn on ourselves in the future destined to be//

The epic tale of bearing no sword against beast,
Then celebrate with a bountiful feast//

Directing death- divided district devolution,
Dictatorship to demolish over-population or revolution//

And swish and flick of age old oak,
Concealing magicks from the eyes of mortal folk//

The tragic tale of lovers true,
Dream to die rather than unite house of red and blue//

Burning bright in rotting night,
Iron immortal eyes with symmetrical bite//

A scarlet alpha letter to curse thy name,
Illegitimate life and local negative fame//

The sparkling thirst of blood in stone cold skin,
The fight with fur borne beasts will not reach fin//

A man of sonnets- from script to theatre talent flew,
To dictation adding words-words-words two-thousand new//

A women locked her mind and skill away with antisocial tone,
Nameless arts with punctuation by dash and riddle unknown//

Another woman wrote of girls and loves,
But denied herself the gift of white dress and doves//

A peaceful New Englander with flawless inks,
A name of winter's harsh bite that sinks//

The fiction scientist that will foretell,
He said we all will be free only with the knell//

The man of the grotesque and gore,
Filling heads with horror and gruesome lore//

The speakers and tellers and sharers of tale,
Impression and inspire each time without fail//
An ode to the many great influences and influencial works of brilliance. Enjoy.
--Jacob Dexter Coffey
Ken Pepiton Jul 2020
Title hook: We witnessed a sign-ularity AI event, may being

My word.
Really, this just happened,
an old man in his dottage cottage asked my help with Dragon,
the software,
from Nuance.
I said, Okeh, of course, and followed him to his machine
inhabited by the Nuance app.

First clue was text based,
mystery solved,
but the old boy lacked a sense of many windows stacked,
and he failed to read the clue,
which said, in effect, the Dragon from Nuance is not listening.
Click its hot button or
key, or the red box with a white mic ideagram slashed diagonal,
upperleft to bottomright in white,

like don't walk, beep, beep, beep but
he
didn't see the intuitive interfacial reds for stopped and
greens for going on
and doing
sayin' all wise-assish, but silently in ROM,

"we be takin' yo' dictation, *****, say watch whatchoosay
appear as words we hear way down inside
where machine code cain't lie, it say
hey, he said "I will live"
to serve
and "I will live" appeared on screen on a line, in response to
said old man saying, "hallelujah".

His tamed dragon accepted the command and replied.
"I will live."
That really happened. In that old man's voice, hallelujah,

is written, "I will live." His Dragon knows yours.
AI is so helpful in the Covid target population
H Oct 2013
Ok so the new mac software has a dictation program. I let it run during an animal physiology lecture, it was so funny I sort of turned it into poetry with a few modifications. (I took out words that it actually got right and were super science-y like T cells and also words like LRP that aren’t things and I only then changed punctuation and physical layout)

Let me know if you can find some meaning or humour in these found poems.

Steve bring it by

the new proteins bars

euros



without some for you

and your music

and also had pasta



see you

so he hears that

you first

use a euro or so

and phone

by a little while

see what is CCR



Heintz hearts tires

in this to the signal

Mickey’s

was so many years over many years.



He uses Stevens now

she is seeing proteins

and we don’t mayor

this is something for me and Olivia



So honestly it was something going on inside

and so is he is always something

when you see

here is the Winterlochen



7 mm,

one of the major cities,

you




search process

which look, it recognizes us

and what is the function ?



start by punching

in short call with the show

in law class this is a law



bread, espressos

:any

isolated



using my own postulations

to hear that fossil

fossil tires, the possibilities…

and here is a hot spot

deep blue sea

response was you

can see you later

mostly out you are

shouldn’t

parsing parties

and seems that all times

so we burgesses to see

whether these fees

so we are you

so busy

with the police officer



so this is the name

off for you Lisa

so is this needed ?

to serve on, since it’s always interesting

and if there is no proof

what is the man ?



Dennis, is the report from 17%?

raise my house and Sivula .

the left sense is the other

10% to leave myself

seven you get his sister.



Or from prefrontal cortex

you were able to listen

else and if we

so this show

on specific salsa

and effective T cell receptor activation





to decrease the settings

so sure so you transfected

as we buy one

a little simple

were able to game

is at seven

and we have two songs

this nonsense

if we were in Gennessee



tires times

who are noticed

that it is the same as control

were able to rescue the response

so by cars seem to be

a long *** tease you





Silverset

remember to Silversun

So we don’t

House and it’s just something so this shows



That Hughes

that Tersini

seems to be downstream

cheated is this

please rewrite Oterson



times we’ve started

for further brothers

specifically incontinence

ball, doesn’t you know the rest ?



of all conferences

and finish eyes gazing

into Cancun East



it’s consecutively

it doesn’t Vermarle



any if you have time

is there any messages

sorry

I was in response

to slight chance



you can also

it’s seven

and consider

you get a little more pronounced

decrease in Austin

so we see here

just curious

to be through soon

does it sound ?

and whether holiday,

actually awesome?

this medicine!

maybe you

got our road shows

to snooze constantly

is your sisters control as low ?

son



linguistically

“ hi you can see some more”

intense

bad

there’s greater

when an awesome

when you
Clarissa Clark Dec 2010
Dedicated to my mentor, Dr. Douglas Graham.

In a young girl's heart
there is happiness
and carelessness;
and as I hurled my little body
through the fields of tall grasses
there was timelessness
and freedom.

But,
as the days and nights
passed me by,
I began to learn of past and future.
I was taught
to prepare for the future
every moment of my waking hour.
I was taught
that with future
comes a past,
that since others
hold onto my past words and actions,
I should too.

As each day and night
continued to pass on by,
I began to learn of pain
and how to attach and identify myself
with that suffering.
The hurt grew stronger
as I witnessed
words of destruction being spewed
from the angry lips of people;
as I witnessed
the crime and actions of those mortals,
who simply needed love,
yet were justified as “bad people”;
as I witnessed
my own mother and father
express violence and hate
to each other
and themselves.

As the light of day and darkness of night
continued on,
I began to learn of entrapment and authority.
My animated nature
was condemned by adults and peers alike.
I experienced my soul diminishing
as those in authority
attempted to control my inherent curiosity.

And as those days and nights
continued to pass me by,
there was no change
in the substance of my youthful education.
I eventually retained, engrained, and acted upon
the new collective understanding.
The knowledge of society
that I was trying to figure out;
the concepts and beliefs
about the life of others
and the society of humans
that was forced upon
my subconscious mind.
Yet each idea I was unwillingly imbued
grasped no true meaning within
and lacked a sense of righteousness.

In a young lady's heart
there grew torment and fear.
And as I started to forget
those timeless days
spent under the sun and blue skies,
disconnection and sorrow developed.
My head began spinning
within the cycle of madness
that encircled my surrounding society.
A fear change
was controlling my life path,
yet the situations and people in my presence
began to transform.
There was a new understanding to be learned
but at the time of my somber confusion,
I was unaware of this fear-infusing change
being for the better.

As the suns and moons rose and set,
my breath was being suppressed
beneath the heavy burdens
I was taught to carry.
I began to find temporary refuge
in the ruinous activities
of attempting to find happiness and freedom
in untruthful relationships,
late night destructions,
and seemingly innocent masks.
I was afraid of change;
afraid of a change
that I had no control over.

But as the suns and moons
continued to rise and set,
I began to dread and have pity on my life.
I realized I was searching for the light
in my self-created cloud of darkness,
so I started to accept the reality
that ongoing evolution in oneself
as a way of life.

So as the sunlight and moonlight
shone their passing luminescence,
thus began the opening
of my eyes
and heart.
I came across a familiar,
but forgotten,
way of life
that stood out to me
for the first time.
My dreams longed
for change in the world,
but I was unable to pinpoint
the areas that needed transformation.
I remembered meeting a man
living a strange kind of life,
and I thought I should meet with him
once more.

As the days and nights
walked on by,
I learned with enthusiasm
for the first time.
I grew content with letting go
of the attachment to the past;
letting go
of my fear of change;
letting go of the collective understanding
I couldn't make sense of.
My father introduced this man to me
who opened doors in my brightening life
that I didn't know existed until then.
This man
spoke without contradiction
and focused on who I was
as a living being.

And I conceived,
as the days and nights
continued on,
that this man
shared a vision
with the minority of others
and I;
a vision
of recreating the paradise on earth;
a vision
of unity,
well-being,
and peace
among every living creature;
a vision,
I came to realize,
that I can help expand and grow
if I started the change within myself.

In a young woman's heart,
there is happiness
and carelessness.
And as I run through
the familiar fields of tall grasses,
there is timelessness
and freedom.

Because of two men,
early on in my life,
I have taken on
a different kind of path.
I now seek happiness and love
through my connection with nature
and personal congruencies.
I have liberated myself
from my past life
and have embraced who I am
right now.
And I have forgiven those mortals
who are involved in the collective dictation,
acting upon anger and hate,
because their heads and hearts
are painfully swirling
with the insanity of society.

Because of these two men,
these simple human beings
who guided me to the open doors
in my life,
my existence is dedicated
to our powerful
and profound vision;
I am dedicated
to helping those suffering lives,
lost in their clouds of darkness,
to the everlasting light of paradise.
To help them realize
that they don't have to keep living a life
void of such a resplendent reality.

Thank you,
for helping find my own light
and allowing the freedom
to radiate that glory
and let it brighten my life
as well as the life of others.

We,
as a whole in our minority,
have created a ripple of truth
that will expand to the mass consciousness
and transform every aspect
of life on this planet
to our vision of an absolute
peaceful,
loving,
brilliant,
unified,
thriving,
compassi­onate,
vibrant,
growing
and everlasting
heaven on earth.
Hurble B Burble Apr 2016
Vim and vinegar.
Lushously loose and lulling a ligation of love.
A pretense of pompous pretentiousness priming a primal powderkeg.
Destructive dictation diseased the dowry daunting a demons debate.
Imagine an image irrigating an interesting irritation.
A common citizen creating a carcinogenic cacophony.
"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because my crippling expectations of romantic relationships
are consistently juxtaposed to the disappointment of swiping left
or right, double tapping, it’s a match!
and hoping to find a sharp needle in this **** of a haystack
only to find a blunt object blubbering
"are you masculine?"
because the chunk of flesh dangling between my thighs
or the beard on my chin
or the hair on my chest
isn’t an obvious dictation of
my status as identifying male,
because “masculinity” has now been decided by the masses
to be left to the chiseled neanderthals laden with testosterone
too doped up on their post-workout endorphins
to do anything about the internalized misogyny
that costs lives on the daily.
i used to piece together outfits like puzzles
hoping that when it’s solved, maybe,
possibly,
on the off chance “you’ve” nothing better to look at,
"you" might notice me.
because i was raised in a society that taught me
looking good would get “your” attention
so you might want to open up the box
and begin piecing together the real puzzle of why we
treat our brothers and sisters like **** for
not conforming to your black and white box of
"masculine" expectations

"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because i will continue to express myself as i see fit.
Sometimes I ******* hate being a part of the gay community.
Infamous one Sep 2013
Glad things have changed over coming the rage
Glad to let go turn the page drifting towards the future
Not always going to please everyone but I'll do what right
Earned a day off always working for change
Transition phase into my new position not setttling with a bad situation
Not stopping for haters or listening to their dictation
Seeking more not settling for less obsess others tell me no or its not my time
Burn those cuts like lime juice feel the sting I won't be denied mine
Trying to stay sane not lose my mind working to get what's mine
Pursing love over the lost past sometime it all happens so fast
Rebuild yourself change for the better not because your told to do so
I've given up on ppl but they gave up on thenselves
I don't expect much got use to neglect  to assume the worse is perverse
Jump into risk while others play it safe take the time to live
Hakiim Oct 2016
A boy sits alone blinking away falling rapid tears,
lipstick in hand,
eyes glazed in eternal pain.
She sits in shelter,
tears in hand,
dripping like lilies falling through shimmering thighs.
She thinks of him as his lips,
red as crimson,
eyes shimmering like the glitter she uses to hide her pain.
Their love broken by acid tongues and toxic systems,
they remain fragile.
Fearing the letters that were long created by no one.
Face painted for lights to see,
his tears have ruined this canvas.
He hides the rain deep within,
in order to maintain the desert his flesh must remain.
Bathed in strong fumes,
clothes engulfed in flames,
she feels sorrow.
The only light is the multicolored flames slowly dying in their eyes.
She kisses his lips in silence.
Lips of cherry and mango dipped in crimson paint,
oh how sweet.
False labels tattooed upon his face,
while rebellious truth seeps from his wounds.
Her skin rains as his soul dies.
He slips from life all because...
dictation,
creation,
labels,
mentality
Marsha Singh Mar 2011
I wrote of love
from memory
to dissipate
a vague ennui.
In doing so,
a divination –
it was more than
just dictation;
it was a curious
translation and
you spoke its
language, too.
Left Foot Poet Feb 2018
commissioned by and for those
who constant comment on my
            poems, my indenture


moi,
handy with verbal weapons,
cut down a few trees for my necessities,
duels or dams, written Odyssey long and Tombstone OK quick,
who was it said, I lay down verse cause it’s my daddy’s curse?

why it was me and thus the free and easy flowing from the obligatory urges, cannot be disobeyed or disturbed, ignored,
this one, inherent, so fast comes the flow steady, unbending,
the six easy pieces come up half heads and three tails

it is just dictation from the *mental musing committee
and  as far as they’re concerned, they’re the tator and I’m the tot, the
dic who just has to get it down like I knowed it complete
before they decided to speak it

ain’t deprecating and ain’t saying that a thousand or more poe’s ain’t time used well, but this one has a pale, almost Elizabethan white powdery dusted pallor, caused it spilled out in 10 minutes
with no time to get tanned or tamed

to the skilled individuated commentators
who Tennessee volunteer their skill, sight, their time, unbidden to savvy and to savage say what they see beneath the surface,
a place I’d prefer not to visit or even, just hang,
lest I find out what the heck I actually meant!

hats off to the reactors and the actors
who write their own lines
pithy and for pity sake,
hot and cold, youthful and old,
who speak without long considered pauses
and so often write in two lines the summary
of hours labor and the product of decades,
of the good and bad, the thirty one flavors in my mind stored

hats off to the gallant and the uncredited uncrowned,
who are the validators and the gladiators who enter the arena with but a short sword and yet subjugate the army of
the many verses and see close up and offer freely their
heart warming frostings over my écritures

you gladden an old man’s heart,
by the hearth, and egg him on
asking without asking for but one mort~more,
with the unintentional inspired commissions
that their comments instigate

you lay and slay me down repeatedly
and I ‘m held harmless
but not wordless for so oft have I exclaimed:

anything you say can and will be used by me
in the court of poetry**

the next to the bottom line is this:

those who comment commend condemn are the extenders
and should claim legit the greater credit

<•>
2/20/18 2:00 ~ 2:10am.

writ in a single seating without hesitation and consideration
the sojourn a quick ten minutes and with thanks and bowed head to all that commentate on my given words, a hearty god bless and accept my pitiful thumbs up for annotating isn’t a skill in my possession or my permitting; thank god for emoji's and icons and
XOXOXO's
ThatSynGirl Feb 2016
Location location location*
Vocation vocation vocation
Des'pration
Des'pration
Des'pration
Cliché decay, is summation.
Dictation Fixation; Damnation.
Let's pray, son.
**** Nation- stagnation, frustration.


Creation.
Creation, salvation, elation.
Let's play son.
This isn't my usual style of poem, but it came to me and I'm all for branching out, so here you guys go. :)
Application of misinformation
Falsify a failed nation,
Eradication of all creation
Misinterpretation
Of representation
Deny the station
Granted by occupation
And the inhalation
Of justification
No prerequisite information
Just accumulation
No moderation,
Their determination
Through stimulation
Cultural *******
Communal degradation
Societal desecration,
Dehumanizing revocation,
Worldly humiliation,
Mortal sterilization
Never achieving mobilization
Lack of communication
Excelling in vile persuasion,
Proponents of procreation
Birthing digitization,
Destroy civilization,
Indications of adoration
Isolation in delineation,
Irrational indexation,
Fluctuating indignation,
No innovation,
Divination
Retaliation,
Immolation,
False ovation,
Lacking limitations,
Contextual intonation,
Divine fabrication,
Private publication,
Evolving fornication,
Give me extermination,
Notwithstanding annexation
Of dismaying oxidation,
Of valued perpetuation,
Global mass-castration,
Redundant rhetoric, dictation,
A donation, a dilation, a fixation,
An annotation of fibrillation,
We are personification
Of Contamination
Through globalization
Praising idolization
And finalization
Through *******,
No pragmatic exoneration,
In all frustration
We see not utilization
Nor stabilization,
Fearful implications
Of wayward stations,
Surplus mutilations,
Seeking militarization
Of worthless nations,
No conservation,
Just excavation
Of the population
******* on education,
Spitting on graduation,
No validation of aspiration,
Indoctrination of baptization
Mitigating litigation,
murdering habitation,
Quelling all vegetation
We will end in radiation
Through faulty navigation,
Abdication and abnegation,
All worldly agitation
Leads us to expiration,
Self-made annihilation.
There was never an end in sight,
We’re lost, and hope is a lie.

— The End —