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I whistle for the Scarecrow to lead the way right after Neur decided to leave. It begins to form a black mist/smoke like essence in the middle of where I stand then it unifies and creates a Scarecrow with red eyes and it makes noise and flies slowly in front of me. Finally it lands in a mysterious cave where I stand in awe as I see ...there the Scarecrow stands on top of a crystalline rock emanating from the entrance of the cave itself. I walk in and I feel an eerie feeling go down my gut...something tells me to look immediately to the right. So when I do there it is the mystical impenetrable rock Aziel was talking about. Then just then I feel a sense of ease and Aziel says telepathically..."So my not what are you waiting for destroy the rock and retrieve the relic." So all the sudden I feel a sudden deepening defining feeling in my chest and I acquire the powers of Darkness for the first time in my quest for revenge is paying off. I command my whole arm to become a sledgehammer and hit the rock directly and it cracks in a half...there stands a beautiful glowing base with a fancy top on it ...made out of red diamonds and showered in Gold. Then I am relieved. "I got it" I tell Aziel telepathically. Then Aziel responds worried ... "Come as quickly as you can because I believe the Goddess is onto you...plus I cannot sustain you with the power of Darkness only 45 more minutes. Therefore,  come friend for you will be handsomely rewarded. " As I am getting out of the cave I hear galloping coming up the path I came. Then to my bewilderment Boom there stood a huge 32 ft tall ElderGloomTree It looked at me and it had a sweet berry like strawberry like scent in the Air it smelled beautifully nice.
The middle of the tree there was a mouth like sideways and it opened inside it slowly took out it's tongue and there was a small what looked like a mustard seed with rainbow like colors all over. There that little seed grew before my very eyes in the matter of split seconds and formed the shape of a beautiful glowing young woman with beautiful green skin and black hair with blue red and white stripes on the hair color. She spoke to me kindly and softly her breath smelled like fresh mint...I was astounded. Frank: "Yyyoouu...mmuusstt....bbb..e..." I stuttered... Nabyah: "Yes Young Mortal I am Nabyah many call me the Goddess Of The Forest Of Whispers. What are you doing here...what is that your carrying and oh one last question...I heard from Neur you was seeking me." Frank: "Indeed I am Frank Deltoro and I am here to request something from you...in return I'll do something you want done. If it's under my power and will to do so I will aid you." Nabyah: " I want to aid my tribe of centaurs and the remote Cyclop  village of Vlakazamuk & Chalekathan *
  We want to stop the killing of Centaurs and the human captures from capturing Cyclops and making them work enslaving all Cyclop population or sometimes brutally **** them and practice known as
Davalkaj Shamanism.

You humans and your inventions to destroy our home-world and natural habitat. Tell me what makes you think I'm going to help You? Should I **** you for trespassing my forest?" Frank: "Well... I didn't come to fight but if i must we can clash but I would rather we handle the situation like 2 Grown up adults here well you for one am sure have lived thousands of years now but hey...help me and I will do my best to remove the curse." Nabyah: " Fine but do come ...come close to me I will kiss you in the lips once and you shall have my blessing..." Aziel shouts telepathically: "Use the power of the Dark to see if she is giving you a curse or a blessing...if you take the kiss and become enchanted well since the power of Darkness is in you it will be removed. But if it's a curse I shall take it and renew your power by some. So either way it's safe go ahead kiddo...I know you want those lips. Get em" I just nod. Then wow I kiss the Goddess and it's by far the most romantic thing that's ever happened to me in my 25 yrs of living. I felt a holy power showering over me then the power of the Dark was immediately removed.
Then all the sudden she makes a beautiful hymn comes out of her mouth and a fairy about 3ft tall with 6 wings flying in mid air hands Nabyah a gorgeous engraved Vial of blood. "Here is what you seek warrior; proceed carefully not only benevolent souls and entities linger here. I leave the area as soon as she hands me the vial of blood. I get about 50 ft away from the area and the power of Darkness consumes me I transform to a Giant Bat and head back to Aziel.
In the Castle am greeted with pleasure and I hand him the vial of Goddesses blood. There and then he drinks the elixir of blood and before my very eyes he regains his youth and full power. Then there stands 5'7 Sharp look young man about 20 to 21 years of age. He disappears and reappears behind me tapping me on the shoulder. Aziel: "Frank I am in complete debt with you for only and even though we do not agree nor do I love him any but thanks the Lord...you helped me regain my full vampiric power. Ahhh it feels amazing. Hahaha  he embraces me in a warm hug.  Now what do you desire my mortal friend?
I think deeply..."I want to help the Goddess remove the curse from the forest." Aziel: "I usually don't meddle in human affairs but I am making an exception I'll help you as long as your willing to help me destroy the Order " Frank: "Does this mean I must look for the Relics Neur Blackthorn asked me to get ...since I got the vial I don't really need to do it no more right?" Aziel: " I'll let you borrow the power of Darkness for 6.5 more hrs till morning comes" Frank: "Thanks Aziel once again for letting me gain more power and knowledge."

~ *Meanwhile


At a very remote location deep in the heart of the Forest Of Whispers lived Bethilda Wood. She has lived in a old ruined cabin for 700+ yrs also she is known as The Elder Witch *Empress Of Darkness
known to bestow powerful spells and hexes but also with the gift of healing and releasing souls back to the Almighty One. A young Wiccan woman comes up young in age her skin tan/white heading toward the old rugged cabin...then pauses whistles a delightful melody and a staff appears.  Having been trained in the field of magic this young witch is been taken under Bethilda's wing. Bethilda:  Adrianna  darling come I have a surprise for you. Follow me to the pond of *Greater Enchantment. Adrianna: So... I heard you became the High Dark Empress 1200 years ago. Bethilda: Yes that is true I been a Witch for the past 1600 years or so. I survived the middle ages the dark ages and the years of enlightenment.  It's something I been willing to be all my life for I meet the man who carries my heart a young man known as The Count Of the Night. Dracula! We fell in love and I bore 3 of his children who so I have heard inherited the gift of becoming a vampire and they inevitably became vampires, more like the 3 princes of the night. Vladimir my first born Aziel my middle child and Uriel the youngest of the three. I been on the quest of finding Jesus Tears a small opaque flower the color of silver to complete my spell and relinquish Vladimir's soul to the mortal realm fit it into a red diamond and transfer it's soul essence into a freshly dead human body. With that he will come back to the World of the living and redeem himself and take revenge on the Order. Adrianna: I will help you. I will find this flower you'll see. So then they practiced spells from there on out.

~ Meanwhile

Its 1 a.m. and Frank heads out to seek the Ancient Relic. With the complete power of Darkness at his disposal he sends out 3  scarecrows to look for areas of interest in the Forest Of Whispers. Two of the  scarecrows come back one doesn't so that last one got killed by someone's power. Frank communicates telepathically to Aziel. Frank: I think someone is onto us Aziel guard the Castle it might be the Order. Aziel: already got it covered buddy. Then Frank feels a very strong power slowly emanating from the Southeast part of the Forest Of Whispers.  Frank transforms to a bat and heads there. As he gets there the small village of Chalekathan...
He who has been destroyed there stood a mysterious figure in the middle of the havoc a mysterious strong power could be felt from him. Mysterious Man: Hello adventurer my name is Navarro Castle-worth I am the Warlock of the *Tower Of Frejoird
where I was trained to use magic and rituals to summon strong deities into this plane of existence.  I got here too late someone had destroyed the village before I got here. Frank: Right ...my name is Frank Deltoro and how do I know your not the one who destroyed the village? Why should I trust you? Navarro: Young friend...I do not desire battle but if it's necessary I will satiate your thirst for battle...Navarro Summons his staff and says some words and a Huge Nightmarish Creature that looks like a dog with a fog of Darkness surrounds the Creature. Frank summons the power of Darkness and since its 1:33 a.m he gains the *Wings Of the Desolate Count which makes his power two fold. There Frank stood looking at Navarro in the eyes and him looking at Frank with perspicacity. All the sudden a trembling can be felt and a Huge Cyclop comes out of the Wilderness. Mysterious Cyclop: Hold one moment ...this man is telling you the truth young Mortal. Frank: Woah a Cyclop what how did you get here? Frank loses his fighting stance and so does Navarro...My name is *Jhino Velvermount I am from the Tribe Of Chalekathan* known Village Of the Largest Cyclop population. "Come I show you what the Witch Of the Tavern Of Doom Dragons* done her name is ...whispers Bethilda N. Lement. Raised originally in Sweden in the small farming town of Wrellender* learned Martial Arts Of Taijutsu and Ninjutsu. Able to control Lighting/Air/Water/Fire/Metallic energies. Coming from a family that practiced Zetzou Buddhism. Who are thought at a very young age to control the Chi* Energies of the body how to practice Re-Vitalizing and Re-Energizing the Chi to be able to stay in a meditative/active blending of consciousness with the subconscious to make Ninjutsu possible. She is known to have rested 1322-1555 A.C. about 250 not been too active but her Great Grandmother. Nayya M. Element who was born 1119 A.C. in the same village one of the co-founders of it who placed the curse on the Forest Of Whispers and it's being sustained by her Great Granddaughter Mrs. Lement. Now me and Navarro follow Jhino to the Village. We go thru extensive difficult paths that leave me tired for an excruciating 5 hrs of walking. Finally arrive at the village... and there is about 30-40 Thousand Cyclops gathered around the Village to hear Gromm ElderLord of the Village Of Chalekathan. Gromm: My stance stands I am here to protect my people from the evil that has left this village wrecked record in the past 300 years. I will NOT allow Bethilda to wreak havoc here no longer. There Me and Navarro and Jhino stand behind the large crowd waiting for the speech to end. The speech finally ends and strong Cyclop incense is burn to allow other high ranking tribe members to know the Elders speech ended. <br>
<br>
~Meanwhile in Aziel's Castle~
"Hello" a young woman with Long Red Hair that hits the ground as she walks White Pearl Eyes with Black Pupils and with a Long  *Black Ceremonial Dress known as Akashaic Black Tunic Of the Dark Empress from the Land Of Necromancers.
There appeared in a Dark WindAziel Governale in a White Taxedo like Suit Welcome Home... Iris Senteno ...Oracle Of the Shadows Of the most powerful Magicians from the Tower Of Frejoird. I have seen your prodigal human who's name is Frank Deltoro...handsome young man who encountered Navarro in The Forest Of Whispers. Will he be trouble? Or shall I eliminate his presence?"
Aziel: No he is working for me...you shall have him without delay at the end.

                         ~To Be Continued
Work in progress.
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
While yet our England was a wolfish den;
Before our forests heard the talk of men;
Before the first of Druids was a child;--
Long didst thou sit amid our regions wild
Rapt in a deep prophetic solitude.
There came an eastern voice of solemn mood:--
Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,
Apollo's garland:--yet didst thou divine
Such home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,
"Come hither, Sister of the Island!" Plain
Spake fair Ausonia; and once more she spake
A higher summons:--still didst thou betake
Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won
A full accomplishment! The thing is done,
Which undone, these our latter days had risen
On barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison
Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets
Our spirit's wings: despondency besets
Our pillows; and the fresh to-morrow morn
Seems to give forth its light in very scorn
Of our dull, uninspired, snail-paced lives.
Long have I said, how happy he who shrives
To thee! But then I thought on poets gone,
And could not pray:--nor can I now--so on
I move to the end in lowliness of heart.----

  "Ah, woe is me! that I should fondly part
From my dear native land! Ah, foolish maid!
Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads bade
Adieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields!
To one so friendless the clear freshet yields
A bitter coolness, the ripe grape is sour:
Yet I would have, great gods! but one short hour
Of native air--let me but die at home."

  Endymion to heaven's airy dome
Was offering up a hecatomb of vows,
When these words reach'd him. Whereupon he bows
His head through thorny-green entanglement
Of underwood, and to the sound is bent,
Anxious as hind towards her hidden fawn.

  "Is no one near to help me? No fair dawn
Of life from charitable voice? No sweet saying
To set my dull and sadden'd spirit playing?
No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweet
That I may worship them? No eyelids meet
To twinkle on my *****? No one dies
Before me, till from these enslaving eyes
Redemption sparkles!--I am sad and lost."

  Thou, Carian lord, hadst better have been tost
Into a whirlpool. Vanish into air,
Warm mountaineer! for canst thou only bear
A woman's sigh alone and in distress?
See not her charms! Is Phoebe passionless?
Phoebe is fairer far--O gaze no more:--
Yet if thou wilt behold all beauty's store,
Behold her panting in the forest grass!
Do not those curls of glossy jet surpass
For tenderness the arms so idly lain
Amongst them? Feelest not a kindred pain,
To see such lovely eyes in swimming search
After some warm delight, that seems to perch
Dovelike in the dim cell lying beyond
Their upper lids?--Hist!             "O for Hermes' wand
To touch this flower into human shape!
That woodland Hyacinthus could escape
From his green prison, and here kneeling down
Call me his queen, his second life's fair crown!
Ah me, how I could love!--My soul doth melt
For the unhappy youth--Love! I have felt
So faint a kindness, such a meek surrender
To what my own full thoughts had made too tender,
That but for tears my life had fled away!--
Ye deaf and senseless minutes of the day,
And thou, old forest, hold ye this for true,
There is no lightning, no authentic dew
But in the eye of love: there's not a sound,
Melodious howsoever, can confound
The heavens and earth in one to such a death
As doth the voice of love: there's not a breath
Will mingle kindly with the meadow air,
Till it has panted round, and stolen a share
Of passion from the heart!"--

                              Upon a bough
He leant, wretched. He surely cannot now
Thirst for another love: O impious,
That he can even dream upon it thus!--
Thought he, "Why am I not as are the dead,
Since to a woe like this I have been led
Through the dark earth, and through the wondrous sea?
Goddess! I love thee not the less: from thee
By Juno's smile I turn not--no, no, no--
While the great waters are at ebb and flow.--
I have a triple soul! O fond pretence--
For both, for both my love is so immense,
I feel my heart is cut in twain for them."

  And so he groan'd, as one by beauty slain.
The lady's heart beat quick, and he could see
Her gentle ***** heave tumultuously.
He sprang from his green covert: there she lay,
Sweet as a muskrose upon new-made hay;
With all her limbs on tremble, and her eyes
Shut softly up alive. To speak he tries.
"Fair damsel, pity me! forgive that I
Thus violate thy bower's sanctity!
O pardon me, for I am full of grief--
Grief born of thee, young angel! fairest thief!
Who stolen hast away the wings wherewith
I was to top the heavens. Dear maid, sith
Thou art my executioner, and I feel
Loving and hatred, misery and weal,
Will in a few short hours be nothing to me,
And all my story that much passion slew me;
Do smile upon the evening of my days:
And, for my tortur'd brain begins to craze,
Be thou my nurse; and let me understand
How dying I shall kiss that lily hand.--
Dost weep for me? Then should I be content.
Scowl on, ye fates! until the firmament
Outblackens Erebus, and the full-cavern'd earth
Crumbles into itself. By the cloud girth
Of Jove, those tears have given me a thirst
To meet oblivion."--As her heart would burst
The maiden sobb'd awhile, and then replied:
"Why must such desolation betide
As that thou speakest of? Are not these green nooks
Empty of all misfortune? Do the brooks
Utter a gorgon voice? Does yonder thrush,
Schooling its half-fledg'd little ones to brush
About the dewy forest, whisper tales?--
Speak not of grief, young stranger, or cold snails
Will slime the rose to night. Though if thou wilt,
Methinks 'twould be a guilt--a very guilt--
Not to companion thee, and sigh away
The light--the dusk--the dark--till break of day!"
"Dear lady," said Endymion, "'tis past:
I love thee! and my days can never last.
That I may pass in patience still speak:
Let me have music dying, and I seek
No more delight--I bid adieu to all.
Didst thou not after other climates call,
And murmur about Indian streams?"--Then she,
Sitting beneath the midmost forest tree,
For pity sang this roundelay------

          "O Sorrow,
          Why dost borrow
The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?--
          To give maiden blushes
          To the white rose bushes?
Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?

          "O Sorrow,
          Why dost borrow
The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?--
          To give the glow-worm light?
          Or, on a moonless night,
To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry?

          "O Sorrow,
          Why dost borrow
The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?--
          To give at evening pale
          Unto the nightingale,
That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?

          "O Sorrow,
          Why dost borrow
Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?--
          A lover would not tread
          A cowslip on the head,
Though he should dance from eve till peep of day--
          Nor any drooping flower
          Held sacred for thy bower,
Wherever he may sport himself and play.

          "To Sorrow
          I bade good-morrow,
And thought to leave her far away behind;
          But cheerly, cheerly,
          She loves me dearly;
She is so constant to me, and so kind:
          I would deceive her
          And so leave her,
But ah! she is so constant and so kind.

"Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,
I sat a weeping: in the whole world wide
There was no one to ask me why I wept,--
          And so I kept
Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
          Cold as my fears.

"Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,
I sat a weeping: what enamour'd bride,
Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds,
        But hides and shrouds
Beneath dark palm trees by a river side?

"And as I sat, over the light blue hills
There came a noise of revellers: the rills
Into the wide stream came of purple hue--
        'Twas Bacchus and his crew!
The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills
From kissing cymbals made a merry din--
        'Twas Bacchus and his kin!
Like to a moving vintage down they came,
Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame;
All madly dancing through the pleasant valley,
        To scare thee, Melancholy!
O then, O then, thou wast a simple name!
And I forgot thee, as the berried holly
By shepherds is forgotten, when, in June,
Tall chesnuts keep away the sun and moon:--
        I rush'd into the folly!

"Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood,
Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood,
        With sidelong laughing;
And little rills of crimson wine imbrued
His plump white arms, and shoulders, enough white
        For Venus' pearly bite;
And near him rode Silenus on his ***,
Pelted with flowers as he on did pass
        Tipsily quaffing.

"Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came ye!
So many, and so many, and such glee?
Why have ye left your bowers desolate,
        Your lutes, and gentler fate?--
‘We follow Bacchus! Bacchus on the wing?
        A conquering!
Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide,
We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide:--
Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
        To our wild minstrelsy!'

"Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs! whence came ye!
So many, and so many, and such glee?
Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left
        Your nuts in oak-tree cleft?--
‘For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree;
For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms,
        And cold mushrooms;
For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth;
Great God of breathless cups and chirping mirth!--
Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
To our mad minstrelsy!'

"Over wide streams and mountains great we went,
And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent,
Onward the tiger and the leopard pants,
        With Asian elephants:
Onward these myriads--with song and dance,
With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians' prance,
Web-footed alligators, crocodiles,
Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files,
Plump infant laughers mimicking the coil
Of ******, and stout galley-rowers' toil:
With toying oars and silken sails they glide,
        Nor care for wind and tide.

"Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes,
From rear to van they scour about the plains;
A three days' journey in a moment done:
And always, at the rising of the sun,
About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn,
        On spleenful unicorn.

"I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown
        Before the vine-wreath crown!
I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing
        To the silver cymbals' ring!
I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce
        Old Tartary the fierce!
The kings of Inde their jewel-sceptres vail,
And from their treasures scatter pearled hail;
Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans,
        And all his priesthood moans;
Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale.--
Into these regions came I following him,
Sick hearted, weary--so I took a whim
To stray away into these forests drear
        Alone, without a peer:
And I have told thee all thou mayest hear.

          "Young stranger!
          I've been a ranger
In search of pleasure throughout every clime:
          Alas! 'tis not for me!
          Bewitch'd I sure must be,
To lose in grieving all my maiden prime.

          "Come then, Sorrow!
          Sweetest Sorrow!
Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast:
          I thought to leave thee
          And deceive thee,
But now of all the world I love thee best.

          "There is not one,
          No, no, not one
But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid;
          Thou art her mother,
          And her brother,
Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade."

  O what a sigh she gave in finishing,
And look, quite dead to every worldly thing!
Endymion could not speak, but gazed on her;
And listened to the wind that now did stir
About the crisped oaks full drearily,
Yet with as sweet a softness as might be
Remember'd from its velvet summer song.
At last he said: "Poor lady, how thus long
Have I been able to endure that voice?
Fair Melody! kind Syren! I've no choice;
I must be thy sad servant evermore:
I cannot choose but kneel here and adore.
Alas, I must not think--by Phoebe, no!
Let me not think, soft Angel! shall it be so?
Say, beautifullest, shall I never think?
O thou could'st foster me beyond the brink
Of recollection! make my watchful care
Close up its bloodshot eyes, nor see despair!
Do gently ****** half my soul, and I
Shall feel the other half so utterly!--
I'm giddy at that cheek so fair and smooth;
O let it blush so ever! let it soothe
My madness! let it mantle rosy-warm
With the tinge of love, panting in safe alarm.--
This cannot be thy hand, and yet it is;
And this is sure thine other softling--this
Thine own fair *****, and I am so near!
Wilt fall asleep? O let me sip that tear!
And whisper one sweet word that I may know
This is this world--sweet dewy blossom!"--Woe!
Woe! Woe to that Endymion! Where is he?--
Even these words went echoing dismally
Through the wide forest--a most fearful tone,
Like one repenting in his latest moan;
And while it died away a shade pass'd by,
As of a thunder cloud. When arrows fly
Through the thick branches, poor ring-doves sleek forth
Their timid necks and tremble; so these both
Leant to each other trembling, and sat so
Waiting for some destruction--when lo,
Foot-fe
I loved her.

Before I even gazed upon her

I loved her

Before I was even dazed by her words of splendour

I loved her

Not for her ability to
charm others
as even though she just as often harmed others

Not for her straightforward intelligence
for she shared a forward thinking
dissidence

And not for her beauty & majesty did I love her

Because not far from often, did she bring cruelty and calamity too others that I did love

And when I loved her, it wasn’t because of her bountiful spirit

For when one drove responsibility towards her
she was both accountable and idyllic
her innate strength insurmountable & prolific

And my love did not come from her humble yet dominating origins

Hunters and gatherers roaming in forests

Nor her families evolution, amongst changing nations
into cultural irrigation, harvesting & cultivation

Yet my love was neither superficial

wrought by a feverish desire for atypical minerals

As it is evident she grew up to live lavishly, as if she were a daughter of kings and pharaohs, emperors and regents

Far from superficial
it went beyond my own existence
‘tis was it deep

And watching her grow up
yet older and slowly darker
it flooded me with a sense of grief

For that was the only side she showed me, and allowed others to see

But beyond the seas and ravines, ridges & fjords, she beamed

And that is how it felt for a time
her happiness distant and far gone

Looking back it’s blatant she was far from dormant

But I believe during that time she was merely misled

It took time to connect her heart with her head

And for a time it seemed she was finally ready to proceed

And that was all but my dream
for her

But in my heart, I knew she would waver and ultimately capitulate towards the darker times

I think, even though she was mature and grown

not enough time separated her from her home

a family always wanting to dominate and roam

The precedence was set
The credulous to fret

And even though it’s in her nature to align with basic instincts

I awaited,
like those in scriptures
for a sign
that leads her to brighter precincts.

Of this hope

it was something I dreamt about
until I was left awoke

It was a scathing cycle, hopes festered
with a heart broke

And in the depth of my despair
I was still convinced,
that behind her “politics” & warring nature with others,

that the woman I loved & dreamt, was still there

And you know what?

She convinced me

Not deceitfully nor schemingly
but seemingly
through action

She was on a phase of exploration
visiting foreign nations
and establishing relations

Truth was
All of it was a ruse
corrupting & enslaving
it was just another way of experssing her roots

Since then, I’ve never been lead astray, I knew it was just one big game

Even though I never believed that’s who she wholly
was and is

I can’t help but fell this is the way it is

Her being at an unbeknownst
war with herself

One that expresses all she can be
charming, beautiful, full of majesty

That she is the most complex & admiring existence in this universe

And another of opposite birth

One that can be harming, full of cruelty and calamity

And of this side I fear brings the other to her knees

And it ladens me with tears

But of this side of her
I fail to recognise,
as the woman I loved,
and it’s the only failure
I won’t rectify

The woman I loved,
the beautiful glimpses of allure,
that sparks through the impure and demeaning

Is the only meaning I can find within myself to breathe

But I’m lost
Lost in her mystery
Lost in the past

Because, I don’t see her anymore
giving rise to my love in the past tense

For I don’t know where she lives or with whom she spend her time
with

But of the worst fear I hold within my heart
is that the woman I loved never existed to begin with

That the idea of her was just a figment
of my idealistic mind

That all these years,
I conjured a fallacy of this supposed
“Benevolent”
side of her
so I could forgive what she had
imposed

And that I believed & fought so fervently  
in her
because in hope
it would bring life to her

Whatever the reality
I will never put cease
to my belief
that I will see her

Why?

Because the person
of whom I am talking about
is

Humanity

And she is the most beautiful thing I’ve known, regardless of her flaws
My take on personifying history
ryn Mar 2015
my whispers,
they float over the currents
braving the undulating waves in our overture...
around their necks, hung time-worn pendants

whispers...
struggling to convey my sentence
like wreaths adrift perhaps with hope
like a requiem filled perhaps with remorseful penance
but more like weakened footholds on a slippery *****...

this dream...
only spoke grandly of sprawling blackness
where nothing did gleam
only thoughts heavy but...
oddly weightless

except for...
a repertoire of transgressions...
raucous and obnoxious
mischievous taunts that pull me back
caging me,
enslaving me,
smothering me senseless

that was my consciousness
where second chances exist...
in faint sporadic eruptions
through the heavy curtains of uncertainty's mist

finally awakened by hastened breaths
heavy and laboured
as like previous temporary deaths

I could hear my heart
thumping...
beating...
fighting...
to set its beats apart

breathe deep...
allow the new day's air sink in
rise fully from sleep
wake up
and...
let today begin
Based on a dream.
Matt Jun 2015
Jade helm

"Mastering the human domain"

It's all about control
Controlling human beings
And enslaving us
In the one world/new world global government

Information collection
Pre-crime technology (minority report)
System has no empathy or remorse

Self organizing, vision capable, expectation capable, recognition capable, situationally aware, emotionally intelligent, goal oriented system.  The system, thinks, plans and executes.  

Back in the late 80's MIT students developed AI technology on a distributed network (CGI lamp taught to dance).  It Learned and evolved in 24 hours what would take 1,000 generations to accomplish.  They issued a warning of how dangerous this technology is to humanity.

GEOINT

--Jade 2 plus more
--Communications
“smart grid, meter, etc"
Will be connected to this system

Control the environment
“Microchipping”
It Surpasses RFID technology
RFID chips can be removed

Nodes can be removed on a network--unplug printer
Human beings used as nodes
Eliminate connectivity to global information network
Cash removed

One world government

Domain--Human dynamics, terrain, geography
Domestic threat assessment centers
Activity based intelligence
All aspects of human activity monitored

All collected data to be geolocated
And tied to a specific node of the network

Georeferencing


do you will it
will you do it
it will do you    

All three of these phrases
Have equal value
In this system
Which is very dangerous!

Generate answers to questions
That haven’t been asked, or never existed in the first place

“Ominous” A.I.
--according to the source

Gates and Zuckerberg--want to bring technology to third world nations
GEOINT--Collect all data--for human terrain map
No privacy--no encrypted data

Welcome to Orwell's 1984, Skynet or The Borg

Sci-Fi was telling us what would be the reality

Emotional responses trigger the system
It feeds off of fear and anxiety

All the social networking--facebook, etc
All that info has been collected
Placed into this GEO INT system
From a source on John B. Wells show entitled, "Caravan To Midnight"
softcomponent May 2014
Betwixt of any sense beyond experiment, I sat on the bed between shifts and out-whipped the bag of Concerta given to me by Matt, o'timey hard-worker-soft-souled Matt, who felt, perhaps, that I had a legitimate reason to explore this legal avenue of pharmaceutical mind-manipulation for reasons he would rather fathom in retrospect. I popped a single pill, and voilà, the legal-cocainnabinoid began to flow between my red and white blood-cells playing cops and robbers.

It is when I feel nostalgic that I feel the need to write. I remembered, at work, with all those strange everyone-elses faces gliding past (and myself annoyed at the general lack of positive reception "Hello there!" "h .. i ." is one sour-looking businessmans sultry whispered reply.. once, a woman told me 'look, I know that you are told to say hello at the door to everyone who enters, but I don't like it. I just want to shop in peace, and no, I don't need any help' and without case to what my managers could say, I somewhat-hissed-back, "if you don't want to be greeted, then perhaps you shouldn't walk into big private corporate establishments to find the books you're looking for," and she shrugged and muttered some ****-talk under her breath and glided upstairs to find a copy of Ayn Rand's Fountainhead or Machiavelli's The Prince to validate her bitter attitude, I bet, the sour witch), my time spent living in that backwater Esso suburb of Port Coquitlam back in 2011 when Occupy Wall Street was still a hungry potential, not yet bogged down in procrastinates over herbal teas and talk of chakras and enlightenment and how the typical Wall Street businessman probably never had a real ****** and hence had never truly satisfied the energies now burnt-to-crisps inside his Root Chakra or whathaveyou, where I believed I would find a better, more interesting world further from the musty-smallness of forest-drenched rain-drenched Powell River, only to discover I may be right outside my front door, but that's EXACTLY where I was, no further than right outside my front door.. I mean, for Goddaskes, I was born in Vancouver, this isn't a culturally-shocking move to New Delhi or Kathmandu--- and so on and so forth is how I once berated myself thru constant cycling thoughts of no-escape, I, a little walking hell of devils-advice and panic disorder-- the Great Big Port City of George Vancouver only succeeding in further overwhelming my already delicate attempt at false optimism thru self-voided Buddhist smalltalk as I travelled from bookstore to bookstore reading Alan Watts in shady attempts to save-myself but only digging my walking grave even deeper into the soil of feared-insanity.

Port Coquitlam itself was a small-town wearing a business suit and holding hands with an angry father forcing him to college for computer networking as it's the most economically viable market at hand.. at first, I did not see this. I saw my idolized imaginings of Vancouver (never Port Coquitlam), the shining water-reflected skyline of my past and present legacies, where my father once snorted ******* with a bohemian group of someones, and my mother tried LSD just to prove to her friends how bad it was (and lo and behold, what a terrible time she had!), all this Otherness, Strangeness, yet still Connected-- an Otherness with which I was taken, left to whisper into empty Campbell's cans so-as to speak with the city from a distance, two children growing older together 'til my inevitable return and our agreement to share costs on rent.

I returned, as planned. I returned, and found that old-best-friend hating the Homeless and loving the Rich-- spending time with the Peppy Plutocracy whilst enslaving the Middle Classes (first Letter Capitals to Assist YOU in Grasping my Anger with All Five Thumbs) and the horrors I saw in my already delicate state, all the starving addictives slouching-inching down the sides of ***** old walls, the only thing missing a smear of blood to follow their corpseish collapse, all just footnotes to history, footnotes to wealth and progress-reality, all footnotes with no shoes O my God O my Goodness and O Canada, Our Home and Native Land!

It hurt like it did, but I felt powerless and gaited. Felt like it were just as well me (*** it just as well is), I, in Vancouver.. *Great Big Port City of George Vancouver
.. saw the end-stretching-cold-legs of Nietzsche's Dead God.. those in cutthroat-black-suits armed with calculators and wives could afford private jets and yearly trips 'round our globular strangeness whilst others had to beg and berate and debate and break-down to get a crummy old bagel and a past-due mostly-empty jug of old milk and perhaps a 'side of fries with that order.'

What crushed me so much about this playing a Witness to God's Death (or, not so much a 'witness' as a relative asked to the morgue to identify the body) was my intuitive grasp that this is the poverty of the First World.. this is not as bad as it gets and on a scale of 1 to 10 this would only be a 3.. all the poor and displaced of Eastern Europe.. Moldovan families indifferent to the whims and what's taken.. someone called me a Socialist and said I would later grow out of it as 'reality' angled its rearing-ugly head to chop me smithereens like it did so mercilessly to the Poor and Irrelevant.. I looked at them and still look at people like them and think 'that is evil unsure of itself.. that is evil unaware... that is evil and evil is  evil to watch..' the Evil Act being the use of Money to purchase the world, demanding us all to pay royalties (mass royalties) for the privilege of life so afforded by them.. (the Sons and Daughters of God first stabbing their father then stabbing themselves then locking away and ignoring their young brother with cerebral palsy '*** he could never be armed with a calculator, nor wife)..

I learned, thru practice, to cope with these evils as laws-for-now. Coping did not mean tolerance, nor did coping mean agreement.. I had charged at life expecting hugs and bottles.. what I got was hugs and bottles.. all while I watched over the shoulder of whoever embraced me and saw young-others doing the same, where are the hugs and bottles..? they sank into the nether as the crowd ebbed past, ignoring the cries of pleading love, pleading love over time so traumatised as to distort this love (so inherent and implied in the Heart) into confusion, confusion into loss, and loss into hatred.. as the crowd ebbed past, the crowd ebbed past..

After 3 and a half months, I moved back home to Powell River.. the soggy ol' calm of what I already knew.. the warm arms of the rest, the warm arms of water-reflected sunsets.. and I got my hugs and bottles.

but was this really a happy ending?
Gerry Sikazwe Apr 2021
Promises are evil
Mouths open awaiting
To be filled with blood
Sometimes bones
Other times hope
They make you sell
Another man for nickels
They make you
Bury life to avenge the dead
I despise them so
For they demand too much
Often bruising, often enslaving.
Rakeeb100 Jun 2016
It was
terror in its
physicality. Raining
the horrifying needles
of death. Breaking away at peace
and calm, eating away at life.Plaguing
the living by burning away at sanity. Enslaving
the innocent like zombies. Will someone make a sacrifice
for the world?
A concrete poem of the WICKED logo from "The Maze Runner" series, created by James Dashner.
we take the justice we can get

every one is expendable i’m opening a new chic bistro prior guests will be listed on the menu we slice dice prepare any way you like sushi deep fried mesquite oven grilled baked accessories make the dish ginger pickles lime asparagus mustard and a drizzle of wine deer ***** cider mole sauces i haven’t decided yet on restaurant décor possibly post-modern austere but please write in suggestions everything must be totally freshly tossed killed tableside i want the kitchen immaculate industrial sized everything yet we roast minuscule tidbits frivolous details infused with essences reduction bio-molecular cuisine an entire 20 course meal in a tear drop obviously presentation is everything Channel Comme des Garcons Lamborghini will design plate arrangement after you’ve enjoyed a lavish sumptuous meal you become edible i mean eligible to provide for more recent patrons please hold still while the knife carves and oh how about those miners in Chile real theater i just read NASA’s Kepler satellite is selecting candidates for earth’s substitute the article repeatedly used the word candidates let’s just totally waste this place the faster we trash the world the sooner we get a new planet best weekly performance British Petroleum gulf oil debacle second best Hillandale Farms incredible salmonella egg



comedy tragedy dialogue

COMEDY come sit closer let’s share a laugh want to hear a joke

TRAGEDY i hate jokes

COMEDY you’re funny

TRAGEDY shut up you freaking clown

COMEDY there’s more to me than clowning

TRAGEDY oh yeah (pause) what? you pandering fool (pause) in my eyes every winking snicker is compromise collusion there’s nothing about you i like

COMEDY hater (pause) man you’re mean

TRAGEDY mean and unreasonable

COMEDY scary mean unreasonable (pause) yet funny

TRAGEDY ***** you (pause) mortality is tragic the world is wicked what’s funny about stoning people to death or ****** disfiguring women children or cheating enslaving the poor underprivileged this earth is a horrible place what the hell is so funny

COMEDY you you’re a joke a sad dismal joke the good news is i interpret humor in everything life is funny

TRAGEDY you’re a pitiful simpleton who perceives all existence from one lame brain viewpoint you can’t distinguish happy from sad good from evil you’re a mindless empty screen of canned laughter maybe some things aren’t meant to be laughed at or humor drawn from maybe you’re a rude mocking idiot what is so ******* funny

COMEDY what is so ******* funny (pause) i’m not laughing (pause) try stepping back getting a different perspective change your psychology consider the futility of existence fate of humankind

TRAGEDY we all do what we have to (pause) mind if i smoke (lights a cigarette)

COMEDY that’ll **** you (smirks laughter)

TRAGEDY we’re all fated to die

COMEDY you really need to see the absurdity in your gloom

TRAGEDY please go

COMEDY why do you have to be such a hard-*** why can’t we just get along we could create some wonderful art i really think we’d be good together

TRAGEDY i warning you

COMEDY i get the feeling we’re not going to be friends

TRAGEDY fast thinking (pause) go play with your happy snickering friends and leave me alone

COMEDY must we be enemies

TRAGEDY deal with it

COMEDY you’re going to miss me

TRAGEDY maybe maybe not (pause) these are dark troubled times

COMEDY why must everything be so serious with you

TRAGEDY if you persist i will be forced to turn this banter into regrettable disaster

COMEDY funny how things don’t work out

TRAGEDY yeah funny (pause) i guess the joke is on me



fate free will dialogue

FATE we each journey a path

FREE WILL i choose my own trail imaging myself triumphant inventing as i go

FATE what if you discovered your choices were influenced by forces outside you

FREE WILL i alone am responsible for my choices

FATE i’m not speaking about responsibilities

FREE WILL what are you speaking of

FATE there are aspects you may not realize

FREE WILL that’s ******* a person creates his or her own destiny

FATE do you believe Jesus Christ created his own destiny or John F. Kennedy Martin Luther King John Lennon

FREE WILL what are you saying

FATE there were circumstances cycles aspects forces possibly predetermined powers events ghosts

FREE WILL horseshit we are presented with existential choices our actions determine our destiny

FATE our actions determine our destiny huh what influences determine our actions

FREE WILL a person’s character courage discipline strength

FATE what forms a person’s character

FREE WILL parents circumstances cycles aspects forces the era

FATE hmmm near to what i was suggesting yet who can know why or how a few chosen make it while many others go bust or when where lightning strikes

FREE WILL so what do you believe? (pause) i’m speculating most people obey conform deaf to their own calling falling short of their dreams enduring lives of hushed disquiet

FATE hmmm we each journey a path

FREE WILL i choose my own trail inventing as i go alert to my calling

FATE uhhh i’m not as certain as you i admire your confidence conviction independence

FREE WILL hey i’m straight

FATE whatever
Education — how the population of the future will behave,
Money — the means of holding wealth and exchanging goods.
Law — the authority to enforce the will of the state, a world law and a world court is needed for a world state,
Politics — the direction of the State,
Economy — the creation of wealth,
History — what people believe happened in the past,
Psychology — the means of controlling how people think,
Philanthropy — so that people think well of the controllers,
Medicine — the power over health, life and death,
Religion — people’s spiritual beliefs, the spur to action for many.
Media — what people know and learn about current events,
Continuity — the power to appoint who follows in your footsteps.
Old Elm that murmured in our chimney top
The sweetest anthem autumn ever made
And into mellow whispering calms would drop
When showers fell on thy many coloured shade
And when dark tempests mimic thunder made
While darkness came as it would strangle light
With the black tempest of a winter night
That rocked thee like a cradle to thy root
How did I love to hear the winds upbraid
Thy strength without while all within was mute
It seasoned comfort to our hearts desire
We felt thy kind protection like a friend
And pitched our chairs up closer to the fire
Enjoying comforts that was was never penned

Old favourite tree thoust seen times changes lower
But change till now did never come to thee
For time beheld thee as his sacred dower
And nature claimed thee her domestic tree
Storms came and shook thee with aliving power
Yet stedfast to thy home thy roots hath been
Summers of thirst parched round thy homely bower
Till earth grew iron—still thy leaves was green
The children sought thee in thy summer shade
And made their play house rings of sticks and stone
The mavis sang and felt himself alone
While in they leaves his early nest was made
And I did feel his happiness mine own
Nought heeding that our friendship was betrayed

Friend not inanimate—tho stocks and stones
There are and many cloathed in flesh and bones
Thou ownd a lnaguage by which hearts are stirred
Deeper than by the attribute of words
Thine spoke a feeling known in every tongue
Language of pity and the force of wrong
What cant assumes what hypocrites may dare
Speaks home to truth and shows it what they are

I see a picture that thy fate displays
And learn a lesson from thy destiny
Self interest saw thee stand in freedoms ways
So thy old shadow must a tyrant be
Thoust heard the knave abusing those in power
Bawl freedom loud and then oppress the free
Thoust sheltered hypocrites in many an hour
That when in power would never shelter thee
Thoust heard the knave supply his canting powers
With wrongs illusions when he wanted friends
That bawled for shelter when he lived in showers
And when clouds vanished made thy shade ammends
With axe at root he felled thee to the ground
And barked of freedom—O I hate that sound

It grows the cant terms of enslaving tools
To wrong another by the name of right
It grows a liscence with oer bearing fools
To cheat plain honesty by force of might
Thus came enclosure—ruin was her guide
But freedoms clapping hands enjoyed the sight
Tho comforts cottage soon was ****** aside
And workhouse prisons raised upon the scite
Een natures dwelling far away from men
The common heath became the spoilers prey
The rabbit had not where to make his den
And labours only cow was drove away
No matter—wrong was right and right was wrong
And freedoms brawl was sanction to the song

Such was thy ruin music making Elm
The rights of freedom was to injure thine
As thou wert served so would they overwhelm
In freedoms name the little so would they over whelm
And these are knaves that brawl for better laws
And cant of tyranny in stronger powers
Who glut their vile unsatiated maws
And freedoms birthright from the weak devours
Arcassin B Jun 2015
By Quinfinn & AB


AB:Freedom Of Speech,
No longer free,
We're all the same (Person)
Different colors,
Come in packs,
There are others,
Judging covers,
Crazy personalities,
Talking in third (Person)
Minus beautiful necessities,
For faithful lovers,
Damaged memories,
Destroyed,
Unemployed,
Just like the next (Person)
Got it just as bad as you,
What a feeling,
To be high,
Loving life,
Exploring miles,
And not killing a (Person),
Swear its petty,
Keep it steady,
You and me are not the same (Person)
Moving on to better things,
Wedding rings,
Changing things,
Making moves,
But you'd rather be a stupid (Person)
Getting into drugs , royal rugs,
Should be spreading love,
Get to know a familiar (Person)
To lead you on the right path,
Coming back , take another drag,
To know the facts man!
Swear you're not that (Person)
That people use to see you as,
You were a blessing,


♦ Wouldn't look good for your character,
That's why I keep to myself,
Put a barrier around myself,
Would not live to let another human being break my health,
Limits ****,
And so does unfairness,
Not believing your awareness,
I'm aware,
That you'll swing it out of the park,
And into the window of ignorance,♦

WSQF: what cost...freedom?
is it not free?
no...neither are we.
what color is humanity?
are we not all alike?
no....we who judge a man by the skin he wears
care not for the heart within...seeing only projected lies
created by fear and ignorance.
define insanity...
what is real and what is not?
we are the third person
you are the first
i am the first
there is no second except what society dictates
what needs employ hatred, anger , fear?
self...it should be all...collectively..we are the one
we are not wild dogs...loving is human and animal,
but not a wild animosity, not a purge of wisdom
loving is dignity, intelligence, fidelity...oneness
too easily, humanity loses its memory
we are obsessed with personal gain, while we lose our souls
unemployed by design, the very few enslaving the many
what hath man's interpretation of god wrought?
all of the same genes, the same skin, the same gene pool
are we, brothers and sisters all....the same living, dying membrane are we
where there are walls and bridges, we lose ourselves,
our collective consciousness
raising our younglings to hate and fear upon the dictates 
of societal and class grudgery and vain apathy....greed.
man's only limits are those he is bred to believe
awareness is light and we are not sheeple....we are people
awake humanity with the light of reason and empathy and education.....of self worth, of dignity, of love
break the stained glass of slavery, ignorance and oligarchy of fear....
arise, humans and embrace the light of love
live together, enrich each other....find one another..be the whole and the one....
awake!

♦ Wouldn't look good for your character,
That's why I keep to myself,
Put a barrier around myself,
Would not live to let another human being break my health,
Limits ****,
And so does unfairness,
Not believing your awareness,
I'm aware,
That you'll swing it out of the park,
And into the window of ignorance,♦
I just hope you like this very creative display that me and Quinn has beautifully made for you I hope that you only see positive through all words and take the words and use Them to make the World a very positive and unruined block of love.
Linguistic Play Nov 2014
1969, one voice sent the world's radios to dancing because we were passing the torch from dreaming to reality as we took to the soft landing
That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind
and for just a second, everyone alive got to feel like Einstein but
I bet you as Armstrong looked down he didn't picture the strife and denial of life to so many in sight 40 years later
street riots and technology gone violent controlling the fears of children peering through glass stained in dust as nightmares rush passed the idea of life, crushing everything in sight
we even wrote it in our constitution
Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.
but you'd have to sell your soul to bail from a life ended where money knows no measure
and you can not tell me that shooting an innocent human on mistake is neither cruel no unusual
but the constitution has turned into a wall
to push people so far back on that they couldn't turn and run
or read what was suppose to be a guarantee in the land of the free
and that's just the beginning
we're denying people from entering a country for body modification
when we've been altering our appearance longer than we have had boundaries to deny people from
because we're still leveling cities like we did when we were daydreaming and knocking block castles down
because we're still enslaving humans because of their genetics
but behind sheer curtains, it's all ok
because if you don't see then there's no need to worry
it's easy to ignore it when you have comments and feeds to read  before you give the world news a chance at your attention
but what i've never understood
is how innovation and careful thinking placed a device in your hand
and all you came to do with it was carefully craft a 140 character string of *******
but i guess it goes to show
like our constitution
that though manifested to be great for the people by the people
at the end of the day, we're still too self obsessed to look at the rest of the picture
we're still too afraid to peer down at the entire world
so, Neil, I'm sorry, one giant step for man but mankind hardly remembers
kirk Mar 2019
A razor is my nemesis, because the blades do not behave
Gouging cuts into my skin, that is the path they pave
But it is unavoidable, I have become a bathroom slave
To rid myself of excess hair, from a shave that I don't crave

Ever since the birth of man, it goes back many years
A growth around your lip and chin, extending to your ears
It may go down particularly well, among the bents and queers !
I'd rather have a smoother face, to avoid Ducky's and Dears

Why do men want ****** hair, why do they want a beard
Bits of stubble sticking out, a design that's rough and weird
A Goatee isn't very good, it's cattle that's not reared
You wouldn't get tickled or scratched, if beards had not appeared

Okay some guys might look alright, when they are neat and trim
Scruffy ones they just look bad, and some are rather grim
I don't want hairs growing on my legs, or any other limb
Nice smooth skin is my preference, and it's not a passing whim

There is just one problem, something I would love to ditch
Hair removal is a pain, and it's an evolution glitch
When the morning comes along, I have that same old itch
Having to shave is immanent, and a *******

How many ****** shaves, does a man have to endure
Eventually your skin goes dry, from this old daily chore
You get cut far too often, I don't want it anymore
Razor blades no longer work, and that's a shaving flaw

Girls complain about their periods, it must be so frustrating
With all that blood just seeping out, when you are menstruating
You wouldn't like it daily, there is a period of waiting
It only happens once a month, so it's not as irritating

I'd rather shave twelve times a year, without anymore hair traces
No cuts and grazes for a month, in many different places
Unscrupulous razor companies, would have no more hairs and graces
Hairy smiles would be wiped off, from their stupid corporate faces

A close shave does not exist, I think it's a fare bet
That manufactures cut your throat, with electric dry and wet
All the claims of the best, that a man can get
Sharp shavers are a fabrication, and that includes Gillette

The cheaper brands are just as bad, shops own brand or BIC
You may as well tape a knife, to a piece of stick
Are potato peelers any sharper, would they be a valid pick
Would chipped skin be as bad, or just get on your wick

One shave is not sufficient, you have to do it twice
There's always bits left behind, which isn't very nice
I would've tried the No No, an expensive hair device
Razor blades and shavers, have such a high tagged price

It makes me cross and angry, because there is no reward
When buying beauty products, which they say you can afford
Why cant you have a body switch, or a desired level cord
So you can turn of your hair, and sod Wilkinson Sword

Excess hair I do not want, except for on my head
Is stress the cause of going thin, when it begins to shed
Would it not be better, coming of your face instead
Shaving would then be reduced, and not something to dread

Many men go through the curse, of losing it on top
The older that you become, your head hairs for the chop
A full crown is all I want, why take away my mop
I didn't want a bad harvest, by losing half my crop

The only place I wanted it, I've lost my style and flair
Why does a bald patch appear, why does your bonce go bare
Is it my comeuppance, with the creation of a glare
All I want from follicles, is my head full of hair

If you want to have a beard, then that is fare enough
Don't be mistaken for a *****, by looking like a scruff
I don't want a hairy face, or stubble that is rough
Or a weird beard with scraggy parts, or any yuk *** fluff

Some men just let beards grow, and maybe that's just crazy
It's not as though they look sweet, or as pretty as a daisy
Personal hygiene may not count, if they are always lazy
To me it isn't fashionable, it makes you look old and hazy

Who wants to be a yeti, but perhaps it is too late
And wild men roaming in the woods, is evolutions own cruel fate
No matter how much I shave, it's the scratchy bits I hate
Wasted shaves when hair returns, why does it lay in wait

How much has man evolved, how much as man progressed
Personally I think the state of hair, has radically regressed
It's based on my own experience, so perhaps I am obsessed ?
Who wants a hairy monkey, when your naked and undressed ?

There is a smooth advantage, when you are misbehaving
A kiss feels much more sensual, without the crazy paving
This is all that drives me, although it is enslaving
Even with the nice things, I'm not craving for a shaving
From the depression of the distances with respect to the horizontal and the planes that separated them from the surface, below the references that came against, single sediment had been destined towards the high eminence, before the fossal of megatons of aldehyde below the bilges of the final base, where the seventh rings of the goat ibex were perforated, all in the antipode of the Constellation of Capricornus; where the goats were enraptured in the binary of Wonthelimar, behind the floods of absorption that took the Diadocos far from where they should never have left, in order to extrasolar wishes and never to come. From the node of the supreme and poked aldehyde of the horn of Amalthea, with the bizarre analogy of Zeus and Wonthelimar, both mammals with milk from goat's udders, one from goat from Mount Ida and the other from Aldaine in the Alps, with milk from ibex and In the face of Amalthea that appeared in the fossal, all the Seleucid generals had already vanished, starting from the Viper Typhon, who in the retracting sub-mythology of Capricornus was transmigrated to Wonthelimar, swollen with the aldehyde transmuted into this alcohol and into the udder milk of the Ibix that He lactored, while they were all carried away as in the chambers of Auschwitz, in distant lanterns and lamps of the Calypso that he dismissed them, leaving them with the escorts of the ibex or goatfish in laudable stratagems, which vanished them away from their desires from a new polis or Nostos Patrída, sprinkling them with goatskin and flourishing essences of the kashmar of Zeus' nurse; Amaltheum or Amalthea.

The Iberian rings from the medrones in advance reached the two final ring nodes, here Wonthelimar intimidated them with an accurate adjacent bleat of the kashmar that rubbed their back, before the newest and last lux of Amalthea that vanished into herbaceous fruits that always He carried the barefoot medron with him, to start with the antlers dumbbells and re-transport them defeated to the species of snake that frightened the pastoral god Pan who shepherded, and then he submerged in the water after becoming Capricornus Ibex Fish. Being aware of this and of those who refused to continue listening, Ibics rings were unleashed until the seventh medron, feeding back with Wonthelimar who ad libitum created Venus in triads of Zeus. Wonthelimar and Amalthea were remote in the eighth and ninth medron of the antlers, they appropriated to each the portion of the Parasha or Parashot of the Torah, and of the thirteenth Shemot so that their dualities and fumes from the unbreathable fossa would remain under the possessed surface of the pendular property balance and positive-negative gender correspondence. Right here Amalthea transmuted her mercy to save the world with her lactation of syrup and honey that was not in short supply, and that was extrapolated into a future abundance of food and nectar, making up for crusts that were uneven in average terms. From this bezel, both beings of the goat genome contributed to the pole of goodness for each one at the end of the benevolent cuirassiers of prospering, and not from the opposite that would lead them, even though they were dissimilar causes, towards a retrograde event that was not a consequence of the becoming of the plagues, and of the malignancy that does not flourish with the Shemot of the Parasha, to agree and lavish themselves on blessed virtues or deliberate wicked ones.

The meaning of a relative synchronic and factotum coexisting does not redeem the disintegration of an existential relativism in Skalá, the Hexagonal Primogeniture from one of its angular visions, metaphysically transfers from its temporary contingencies after its arrival on Patmos, while the temporary Seleucid temporality vanishes, It was affirmed from a contradiction since its truth was distended in the arena of Skalá not implying being welcomed, rather it was victimized by the absurd political dimorphism in a meta spiritual state, abdicating its dispersed retrospective, and now contemplating a compromise of the Hellenic genre, to gradually rebuke the virtues of their banners, twice as good for the purpose of reinforcing the will to accede, and not perish in the attempt to lead Alexander the Great. The criticism of founding the memories are of a revived past where it was not, marking the anthropological fact and false truth judgment, in meaning and contradiction in the polarity of both axiomatic genres, but that is saved when quantifying in who has to defend himself, if seeks to abrogate itself, in the entity that is characterized by induction and attraction of egonies and not of exo-egonies, thus describing it in the theme of "Do not support egos that recriminate other characters of frustration and empowerment of a Vernarthian logic split into Vern-narth. Vern has etymology of Bern or Bern olive tree of Gethsemane and narth of the ordinal scale that speculates its nickname in millions of northern sections of its origin, which subsumes the truth and the criterion of apocalyptic parapsychology, re-life of quantum historicity of the metaphysical and sub-block. -Mythological of Vernarth in his identical.

Everything seemed a strange self-annulment from a clear and understandable limit, but Wonthelimar rose to the surface of the Állos kósmos, finding himself in atmospheres of truth and reality of a Cantabile, who decided about the horse Kanti coming with him towing him from the Erebo de Chauvet Bilocated. As a musical and festive ending, he received them on the upper plate of the happened gestures, where a cabaletta rendered parts of a Cantabrian aria, in sulfurous and remorseful cavatina married with the cross emotions of a finale who sponsored expressions and festive Templar tales, with the descendants of Zeus or minor children, or grandchildren after this had to give him milk and honey but with báchkoi. Among the couplets that received him, some came about the smoke of terror that was confused with the dustbin of a Cavallo or horse acclaimed Kanti, with gasping bustling from a cardex, containing all the repertoires of a cantabile if this scene were to be repeated in The same epic allusion, and in random consequences, that go after a cavalcade that is not abstracted in real characters, but more in conformity with the well-deserved place of epic imaginative beings or in the operatic psychotropic of a duet, which would go flagellating in individuality and in each which is not content from another section of the Cantabrian.

The Universality of emotion and feeling is a tragic Parodo emulating voices of all those who sing from a cantabile galloping in their voices to the beat of the heart in some, and at the same time chanting stanzas and antistrophe in reverse epic and tragic lines, for the purposes of the coliseum that diametrically obstructs the Hellenic choir, which is attached to the intervention of the Hexagonal Primogeniture that was already beginning to rise in height, and in the prayers of Saint John, the Apostle and Prochorus from the captaincy and the ode that would begin to stanza, from the west to this and the antistrophe would follow with Vernarth, Wonthelimar and Alexander the Great from east to west. Ad libitum of their enjoyments, they were eating Greek snacks or Katogorias on the way in bases of Almonds, cinnamon, olive oil, sugar, and sweet wine that they carried on their backs in Rhytas shaped like the horns of Zeus and the Ibix of Wonthelimar, which the same Procorus carried on his golden back. The meaning is affirmed as a meaningless infringement of laws of temporality, and truthfulness at the expense of short evidence, and of facts that vanish in the light haze of causalism and not of effectism, when the adjective or noun is made of a strong verb in the Metabasis and in the imprecations that Vernarth gave.

Vernarth's metabasis: “the verse and the adjective will be subsidized by the noun in the construction of Állos Kosmo Megarón, from where mathematics will immaterially explain sap suckers under the noun in liquid milk of the color white and of the high nutritional value in female lactated, and of mammals to feed their goats or ibex. The soul of this prerogative implies that the verb will be to promote species rather than a nutritious milky elixir for Zeus, and the candor of his **** will tend to the bipedal or quadruped subject self-procreating from a Milky Specie. (Milky species).  Being ****** into milk by self-procreating snitches. Vernarth says (give me some milk, and I will be the son of Zeus, perhaps as a means in everything and not a whole of which I never thought...!)

Amalthea in rituals and relics from prospects of demigods was purposely cordoning them off in Mycenaean deities, from a contemporary Westerner comforting them near a hippocampus; with signs of ibex Capricornus, rapt at the nymph that spoke from Mount Ida in Crete and that she made congruent with the constellation of Capricornus, more precisely in the Cornucopia making this heraldry of Wonthelimar with Fortune, Abundance, Occasion, Liberality, Prudence and Joy. In a woman sitting on a throne, a young nymph with a flower crown, a naked woman with one foot on a wheel and the other unstable, a woman with sunken eyes and an aquiline nose dressed in white, two faces from the past and future, a woman happy with the exuberance of the Cornucopia with children and a palm leaf. Being the abundance that in serial Amalthea bordered all the ladies in different esoteric and Mycenaean prosperity, constantly shining with radiations on the present in the Unicorn Ibix, which Zeus left after breaking its antlers, unleashing kindness and plethora in fruit buds, and vegetables that were appropriated in the Fortune of Wonthelimar reissuing what in their domains they can do, and now in Patmos with its Cornupia being transferred from that liquefied shaft honey and milk cultivated with attributes of herbs contributing to the leisure, peace, and relaxation of the cosmic world that ascended in Wonthelimar as Ibix in advance of Capricornus, from where the Auriga always broke into his expeditions with a trajectory towards the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, where he brought it from the Capella Star for the femurs of the Diplodocuses who seconded Drestnia to watch over the hydraulic pits of the Koumeterium from Messolonghi, before traveling to Tangier.

The entire herd went back to an ancient promontory that was halfway up the mound towards the black styes or abscesses, in the central intuition of the fossa that began to dissipate towards their backs. Amalthea extends into the Állos Kósmos, which came in zoomorphic receptacles collecting the announced blood of the animals that flowed in black planks from the vortex of the fossal, towards the liminal or transitory sleeper of the fossal that oozed acetosities of the Aldehyde to be transmigrated after the bilocation of the Chauvet cavern. All wore willow halos on the crowns or diadems of their caps, including the proliferation of phantasmagoric Allies that went in rows from 780 to 680 BC. C., with fortunes of the Cornucopia that arched in magical arches due to the dissociative changes of the universe, as well as the circumstantial creed of some omnipotence that will cause emotional transgenerational transgression, in the rain vessels that they made fall from the Ombrio de Zeus, in a daily latticework closing the spaces, and only leaving for some intruders and onlookers to see his flashing Astrepé. Right here the diádoc fossal vanished, when it rose above the horizontal that poured into the Chronic Vernagrams of parapsychological personalities of ingenuity classicism and in Astro-concomitance, which would rethink everything that is past and future from a Vernagram, which is more than a compression of a mere future of the quantum spaces and the sacred medrones of the Ibixes with their direct relationship with Capricornus. Diverse capital moments were treasured in the breeze of the Vas Auric that was traced from the opposing moraine that fell in lapse-time, through the labyrinth in storms and thunderings that became planetary with the Lynothorax cuirass that Alexander the Great accommodated in the festoon border of his Aspis Koilé, kicking copiously as a sign of shaking the head of the gods who deceived him to be alive, and who was now reborn in the faith of Saint John the Apostle, favorite of the Mashiach and where he will have to wipe his face with the shroud of Veronica Before entering the Állos Kósmos Megaron that everyone built, in favor of a Panagia or Temple, unlocking the majolica that seeped out from the rest of the transmigration, and his own in the configuration of a corpse with a tricolor gesture.

The presumptive eradicated the side of the forearm rots that was being restored in Wonthelimar's laps, which helped him get up and catch his breath while the Katogorias snack filled his mouth with nectar and almonds with Macedonian Psiloi combat tactics with serum and flames of Alcohol dripped from her nostrils and sinuses in the sweet wine, which in pompous dilemma defied the judges of her life in the choir of the Bilocated Epidary Theater on Patmos, and in the ***** dry Kashmar of the orchard with the pale faces of the grotesque, that rested in the memory or Mnmosyne and in the fauna of the Thracian and Thessalian helmets.

Alexander the Great says: “here I agonized and now in the fresh waters of the springs of the Lerna, I will also marry the glorious mystay and bákchoi, in the memories of Vernarth seeing him besieged by Achaemenides in the stooped position of Dario III, to come purifying and sustaining of my limbs, learning to walk and speak in Neolithic techniques, which extruded me from the Lerna by barriers of the moon that shone from the bronze of my Leonatus helmet. Thus I could see that Vernarth, fought alone against thousands throwing fire through his mouth and his eyes, separating the waters of the Falangists, who plowed like ships deforesting the Persians, and leaving them in their mud, imposing glorious Hypaspists who unbolted from their back some arrows with heads of snakes and Hydras.

Vernarth watched as everyone climbed the Profitis Ilias mound, two hundred and sixty-nine meters above sea level, where the monastery of San Juan is located; here he was suspended in his solitude after everything that happened at the end of the moat that definitely I would return without the Diádocos, with a hint and its functionalities. From here Helios became genealogical, who snatched him from the kingdom of dead flowers, which were to be assumed from the Olympian where he will join him to the essential of Aïdoneus; immaterializing in the darkness of dizzies and the flowers that died in the genealogy of a new species. The scenic swept its cognitive and ferns with more than three hundred frank species that frowned like the enemy of an evil friend, with seedlings that expectorated from the resonance of the bushes that invited to thrive in the salty ripples that made a dreamer fall asleep on top of the kerchiefs or brambles that memorialized Gethsemane, burning his face and hands with psalms, telling him about his Baba. For when it is a luminary by night and by day, they will compare it with the white grayish drupes and mops, like those of the Bern orchard of Olives, in aqueous and resinous colloidal, which was crowned in harmony and syntropia in Vernarth activating intellectual conscious plantations, which will restructure its balance of ultra Hoplite, in metabolism of the Lentiscus flowers, with great brotherhood in the Olives that each time exercised the gift of bending their oleaginous self-species, towards planes of the Cornicabra olives, with large branches and high tree altitude that fruit within of the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko spin, juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, which with large branches and high tree altitude fruit within the Cornucopia that he now carried on his back, supported by an oiko line juxtaposed with the fibula on the right shoulder of his lymphoma, and with polyphenols in scale geothermal energy that still leveled the Ponto Sea towards the tectonic plate to give it the flavor that was owed from remote prehistoric times.

Patmos was aborted from an immanent consent and new force of the impending enemy in Pythagorean perorations and an offending thought. From this prerogative is born the generalized punishment of sub-mythological ethics in favor of legacies of allusions to reorder or defragment the enslaving and demolished bio culture, which would begin from the establishment of the Vas Auric found in Limassol, which took possession from Rhodes with clean scenes from Tsambika monastery. The epic ran like icy cold down the shoulders of all those who sweated for the generation of cops, and in domestic evasions in superior lordships to Hades or Wonthelimar itself, both sons of flocks and goats that nourished them by providing them with a mountain perspective, as a magnetic pole towards gothic energy that ruled more in the Magnetic North Pole, and the geographic oversize that reviled latitudes in riches that would dismiss Borker and Zefian, as masters distributors of the ethics of the Áullos Kósmos of Patmos, redeploying thousands of dead from pre-Hellenic times, so that they recirculate through the roots of the Kashmar, re-sulfurizing cinnabar saps as the germ of the subterranean Acheron, which consecrates the living and the dead in the eternity of the infinite Duoverse Universe. The order will lie in semi-shadows that even in the dark provide the pleasant warmth of camphor, with advanced Horcondising formulas, which will appeal to hungry souls by suppressing gifted energies, and by inseminating them with ovules without originally conceived organisms.

From Hylates, Cyprus; Zefian came by order of Vernarth, assisted with the extension of the earthly laborers of the Attic Calendar on the twenty-first of September, from the device of Apollo at the site of Boeotia, and especially of the Boedromion. The arrows that Zefian brought had an instant Boedromion crossing the lines from spring to winter, with seven arrows that Zefian threw into the sky and never fell, but if portentously received in the virginity of animals. The flora with seven golden arrows of the Chauvet de Wonthelmar cavern, condoned the exhaustive end of the fossal where they still remained, in a gesture of tenderness and relative Mycenaean genealogy, from Crete the contravention of Apollo and Artemis towards an olive tree was approaching, originating in the Zefian's arrows, to mark the new cardinal points, begin with the first two arrows that they put on the string of the bow, each one flying north and south trajectories and the other two that were once again attacked with the east bow, to shoot the arrows of east-west with southern magnetism limits. Zefian's imagination was of proportions that were not limited without wandering from their phalanxes when they pulled the string, like joys of a ghostly existence that pushed him in each bolt, presuming that where they fell would be the beginning of the storms that would originate the Állos Kósmos Megarón, for belated courts imposed from a cosmos, which he led by insisting on his will and from a doubtful Vestal god advocating the association of the hospitable Canephores, such as Vestal Virgins of Roman bilocation, and quantum parapsychological of the feared inter-tale alive that rebels in the arrows that they had not yet fallen and did not know their whereabouts. As plates or serial hosts, they were evoked from where the origin of the Universe was broken, to open towards the organic, vigorous, and anti-burn contravened Duoverse to the divine celestial origin as a parameter of *****-ovule, rather in aeonic instances in the fireplace of Hestia, running in eternities towards vast volumes of light-years, where eternity has no measure, let alone the existence that begins and ends born from a homozygous arising without a Universe, to hatch from the branch of the Heterozygous Duoverse, bringing different unions of eternal cells by universal divine decree, and not the union of disparate cells. The science of the Mashiach came in these divine arrows that marked the points of the cardinal in the numinous and exclamatory expansions of the exiled universe of Vernarth, towards the perenniality in itself, but being heterozygous for a world that would begin to live in non-organic cells, but yes of divine composition, over saturating the limits of the origin, and destiny of syntropy of the conscious actions of the metabolism of the Alma Mater and of the great doors when losing the bodyweight of the physical-ether, but yes from the platform of the Mashiach that will take them hands without leaving them abandoned, showing them that they were no longer children born of ovule-*****, but rather in the luminous matter, envisioning expansions of prayers beyond from the universe, where it will accompany them in a multidimensional plane..., and will have no end from a human scientific conception.

Wonthelimar says: “Since the omphalos was swallowed by Cronos, Hera's elegy was unleashed, for not raising her son Zeus in free clumps of goats and Ida's honey. I in the Alps went to the herd of the Ibix like a Zeus saved from the darkness of Chauvet in the mountains of Gaul. There are chisels that cut stones in beautiful whirlwinds, but I know that a lot of cosmology would not speak of the Mediterranean Cornicabra and its olive drupe, nor less of the Cornucopia that sinks with sumptuous and ephebian flavors in the fruit, and the greenish heraldry of the binominal that is disturbed in its phalanges eating and sipping honey, in antler pots with pride of the Ida and the Vercors massif”
Wonthelimar Amaltheum, Állos Kosmos Megaron
Cunning Linguist Mar 2015
Humanity is tainted and now leaking everywhere
In a world where people jump out
airplanes after stacks of money
To a din of sirens blaring,
War drums thrumming
Funny you'll do nothing;
It's a racket designed to create the distraction

To the hidden monsters flying in the night sky
Ever secure, beneath a crux of watchful eyes
Masters of disguise bend your will to their lies
Subconsciously shapeshifting acquiescence in the absence of light

They operate in obscurity
Conglomerates of impunity
Urgency manifests necessity
With a propensity for depravity
Slaves lulled to a fake sense of security with false promise of luxury
Compulsively regurgitating propaganda in delusory quandary
Happy little sheep march willingly to the teeth of the Serpent machine

Ominous omniscience mixes with
Sensations of bodilessness
In a state of godlessness
Whenever my conscious surfaces in this clandestine system
I sell my soul to purchase debt and let repercussions fall upon my children
A paradigm; with no ethics the center is an idol,
and the world had forever idolized the god money, Belial

Imagine
A carnival pageant, with parades of tyrants tirading
and masquerading on the world's stage as lavish savages

With overwhelming power in hand,
I'll bring an end to it all
If you gaze for long into the abyss
It will stare back into your soul

Pay homage to barrages of sacred false knowledge/unacknowledged
It lodges to your consciousness as it takes you hostage
You think you're open-minded but suffer from mental spillage
Then brain begins hemorrhaging like a glitch in the matrix

Global massacre is imminent
Our abandonment's no accident
Caricatures of government act as the Devil's advocates

Insane It's us against them
Zionist Superfriends deciding trends
designing and framing an outline of the endgame just for sh¡ts-n-gigs
Hands reach through the tapestry pulling you in and unrelenting,
Secretly from behind the scenes

Portraits of dishonesty
Stripping you of all life and liberty
Symphonies of screams
systematize in perfect symmetry
Enslaving and slaying humankind -
They've exacted brainwashing
to the science of chemistry
And mold your mind
with the subtlest alchemy

Media blackout;
Credits tapped out
Better act now
before the stock markets
collapse down

What's your plan when **** hits the fan,
will you follow The Man or fail condemned?
Now bow at the feet of the ministry of tyranny,
Head lowered in defeat *preparing for the guillotine
I am not Christian but I have deep reverence for the teachings of Christ and his love of humanity.

I am not Roman Catholic but I recognize the life-affirming power of community, communion, and ritual.

I am not a Moslem but I find beauty and usefulness in the teachings of Mohammed.

I am not Buddhist but I have seen the results of meditation, daily spiritual practice, and putting aside my own ego.

I am not Taoist but I have felt the peace of the way of simplicity and harmony with the Tao.

I am not ancient Egyptian but I know the power of the Sun in the heavens, and I honor the Holy Mother Isis whose name has been hijacked by terrorists and propaganda machines.

I am not Wiccan but I have danced with the natural cycles of the year and the moon; I have known the power of the Earth and my place within it.

I am not Jewish but I will not forget the lessons of suffering, wandering, Silence, and discipline they have taught the world.

Heathen. Pagan. Atheist. Heretic. Believer. Trickster. Demon. Saint.

Paradoxically, I am none of these things and All of these things.

I believe in a humanity that can transcend the enslaving dogma and intolerance of patriarchy and religions used against us, to see ourselves, our god(esse)s, and our highest noble values in the faces of each other and all the natural wonders of this universal dream.

Original Sin = the Original Lie.

I believe in the goodness and greatness of us all.

Won’t you be my neighbor?  <3
All the best things I ever learned were from a certain neighborhood...
Adele Nov 2014
Where can I find 
the meaning of peace
when someone's dying every second
because of an empty plate 
and weapons that end a fate

Who can we blame
For the massacre that never ends
Where lives of innocence
treated like ants
Ignorance of what we don't know
Blinded by the media who always
puts on a show


Why is it that we rage 
when we have words
flowing from our minds, 
giving all the answers 
in a rough day

When will this end?
The earth's crying
"Please just **** me completely"
Viruses and disease
engulfs the poverty
But not the rich?
Are we really that blind to see
They preach justice but own the earth to attain power


How bad is the earth's wounds
as blood slowly drips
polluting the soil
creating trapped remains
buried deep in the ground,
never wanting to be found

Every cry of a new born child
Burnt, due to the one who
preached peace
But enslaving the innocence
Not able to savour the taste of the earth
Every mother bathe in blood
Crying in agony as the child dies

Every day is a war that everyone must fight to survive...

but why do they choose to fight, when they can choose to live in peace?

11/26/14

*-Adele ft. Erenn
It's time to speak our minds about what has been happening in the world every single day. The struggle, the pain, the suffering of nations. This chaos is starting and it's destroying humanity. If we are the key in
a.) making things worse, we can also be the key from b.) stopping the plague. We have the freedom to make our own choices. So, why not choose the right choice?

[an inspiring collab with Erenn]
Michael W Noland Aug 2013
I looked upon the greats, and found nothing they didnt take from the pre-existing grates, that drained our goals into slates, degraded our souls into fakes, and mistook our traits as hate,  before we faded into an abatement for safetly, safely enslaving our notions as nations, from the oceans, they saved me ... made me ... who I am.

But nothing is sacred anymore
Only deplorable horror
To numb the chores
Of that other lord
That the imaginitive ignore
Pretending to abhore
The things they cant feel anymore
But what for

There might be more to a coin flip than explored.

Intent and decent Vs stoical form
Johnny Agape Apr 2013
I am Janus, born and lived of two faces.
One, a tragic Hero; who loved  for all and forsook fame for honor.
A paragon whose powers and skills remained dormant, forgotten.
Created from a darkness so black that light could only ever be the way forward.
He, so loving the world and resigned to protect; would fall at the strength of his own sword to keep the Villain at bay.
His other face, the frightening Villain; he thirsts for the unparalleled fear in the eyes of the unprepared masses,  who wide awaken their darkest fear before their very eyes, at his presence.
Forged from the evil of a holy goodness ripped too sweetly from his purpose, and with much foreknowledge of the searing light;
He merely wishes to satiate his amusement, by enslaving the Hero to defend against his endless onslaught.
I am Janus, cloven in two;
Heart and Soul, Mind and Body.
Conflicted. It seems only the Villain can write anything coherent...
Kushtrim Thaqi Dec 2014
Nyx
Thick red, colored lips
Dark hair, white skin
Perfectly shaped *******
Smooth cheeks
A creature divine,
Reincarnation of Aphrodite.

Big eyes, perfect chin
Long neck, swan lake queen
A body that talks
Gaze, that penetrates deep
Turning blood to stone
In her, Medusa sleeps.

Slow pace, head high
Crossed legs, a mirage
An illusion that confuses
All who dare to stare
Inside her beautiful legs
Hera, takes her place.

Strong will, brave thoughts
Abusive smile, enslaving touch
Dancing in the wind
Fighting, when it rains
I have heard about Athena,
But she’s better than that.

You can read books, paint
Discover things, invent shapes
And you will still fail
And fall on your knees
When it comes to depicting
Just a line, of her graceful skin.
Mark Blickley Feb 2017
Before the Dawn Of  Agriculture men like ME where slapped into the shadow of ****** shame but now who needs muscles or chiseled chins, great size or strength, a lover’s passion or a manly countenance ‘cause  for ten thousandyears now I  can persecute any female for infidelity towards ME  and hold paternity privilege over MY biological  children  because we exceptional farmers invented marriage to  destroy human sexuality  by enslaving women with MY property for *** so I no longer need to share or compete or settle for an alpha males’ sloppy seconds within foraging groups  that are forced to share what they carry  with them instead of our  enforced legal couplings that takes the innocent, primal pleasure and mystery out of *** by connectingshtooping  to birth thanks to dirt MY dirt MY very own thousand acres of seeded soil littered with pens full of  MY trapped sheep, cattle, goats and pigs which means I can pork any female  I fancy and  destroy any man who thwarts MY desire as simply as the bulls I castrate  into submission to easily herd  into MY  slaughterhouses that feed all the inferior people no longerdependent on their hunting and gathering skills but on ME to stay alive so not only am I not considered a sociopath by hoarding food but am praised at harvest time like a ******* Babe Ruth hero because I have legally claimed and legally ***** those precious few life giving inches of topsoil with rotating crops and extended grasslands that exhausts and shrinks the earth, MY earth MY reign of  forcing agricultural workers  to bend over in the fields, stupidly exposing hairless backs to sun poisoning  instead of their protective hunters’ heads of hair  harvesting MY food that shrinks the  testicles of everyone who is forced to feed on the  cheap calories of MY  industrialized plants and animals that lowers fertility, but who needs big ***** anymore when you don’t have to **** larger animals  in order to survive or attract females with your superior physical attributes proving I am the social parasite Sultan of Swat who grows fat on the food  I’ve  seized by stealingPaleo land in the name of government protected ownership.
Ashli McKee Dec 2009
December 1, 2009

Now I know what its like
To be the one who needs saving
I’m trying to stay strong
Without caving
My thoughts I’m enslaving
Try to save everyone
From hearing what I have to say
My mind will be free one day
To all the people who ****** me over
Its going to come back to you
You’ll **** the wrong person off
And they’ll come with there crew
You’ll have nothing to do
You’ll be *******
All the other people you ****** over
They won’t help you in the end
They just wanted there **** back
That’s why they were your friend
Now I’m gone and happy
By the time you get up
When you call me for help
I still won’t give a ****

Ashli Jane
I keep fondling dreams as I  
flip through FOX, CNN and MSNBC networks.

An electric lady land fantasy
of revolutions where over and over and
under and through inconsistent gibberish of
conservative conversationalists’ and
liberal libel is taken for truth.

My heart is pumping out toxic fiber optic
editorial journalistic pollution like kidneys
                        secrete the habit of alcohol and
                                             cigarette poisons.
  
Our dependence on government help is
broken glass shards ruining the
veins of society

while Limbaugh, and spring chicken heads with a
View are enslaving our voices and
limiting the truth of our choices using
eminent domain for our minds as they spit out  
their opinions through television and radio
frequencies into our brain waves as truth.

How some American hearts stay warm with
nightly news schisms, burning intolerance,
unreal realism, religious sincerity posed
and limp **** ****** commercials
is amazing.  But still a paradox hoax.
From the book, The Evolution of A Word Made Flesh: Pathos Ethos Logos Thoth by Gustavo Rodriguez available on Amazon.com
Natasha Teller Nov 2014
I'm white.
I don't know what it's like
to have a black son
and wonder if he'll get shot
on a walk down the block
because his skin
camouflages him
into the night.

I am white.
I don't know what it is
to fear shots
from the gun barrels of the cops
hired to protect and serve
"us" from "them"
thick boots stomping the block--

cops more **** than Trayvon,
more **** than Mike,
more **** than the pre-teen
with a BB gun
robbed of his life.

I am white.
I don't know how it feels
to bleed out in the streets,
the fruit of my veins
soaking into scorched tar,
my still-open eyes seared
by the August sun.

I don't know how it feels
to lie there, dead,
an echo of ancestors
dangling from trees,
from light poles,
sunk into the Tallahatchie
with barbed wire and a cotton gin fan.

I am white.
Our history is filled with pale devils
enslaving races,
seizing lands,
killing millions--

so if someone's going to get shot,
maybe it ought to be one of us.
Just a stream-of-consciousness rant that I needed to get out.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
The Gift of the Sleeping Magi


"But in a last word to the wise of these days
let it be said that of all who give gifts,
these two were the wisest.  
Of all who give and receive gifts,
such as they, are wisest.  
Everywhere, they are wisest.  
They are the Magi."
O. Henry


The woman, traveling alone, thru dangerous
West Side badlands, dancing lands,
where resident fairies, ex-ballerinas all,
magical mystify a passerby's thoughts,
mesmerizing them with their mercurial maneuvers,
tango dancing upon shimmering glass pieces,
enslaving all who gaze upon them forever,
turning their captives into sleeping beauties.

Restlessly awaiting her return,
the hombre-lover early retires
to the bed chamber,
weary from another day's
woeful world worries,
long past midnight, he awakens,
disoriented, discombobulated,
and alone.

Fearing the worst,
he summons her return with text spells
and magical ringing cell's bells,
all to no avail.

He dresses,
readying for the search,
to bring her home.

Ready to depart,
he opens the door,
only to find the woman
asleep before their door.

Unwilling to awake
her sleeping hombre,
she gifts him a
rest undisturbed.

Shoulder grasped, elbow guided,
her eye glasses surgically removed,
he returns her to their bed,
to complete her own rest.
instantly, she is re-gifted,
colliding with a gravity pulling her,
into a pleasurable deep sleep.

Now wide-eyed awake,
the hombre muses and
poetry pens this tale
of his restless confusion.

O. Henry's words refurbished,
rise up, infiltrate his consciousness.

Of all who give and receive gifts,
even the simplest,
rest undisturbed, rest completed,
they are the wisest,
everywhere they are wisest.

They are Magi.



2::03 AM, a few years ago.
An old poem. Yes a true story...brought back up from the dead, resurrected and recalled into active service duty, after seeing Matthew Bournes's version of the ballet, Sleeping Beauty, at City Center, New York.

Magi
— plural noun, singular Ma·gus [mey-guh s] Show IPA.

(sometimes lowercase) the wise men, generally assumed to be three in number, who paid homage to the infant Jesus. Matt. 2:1–12. Compare Balthazar(def 1), Caspar(def 1), Melchior(def 1).
traces of being Nov 2016
indifferent to unplanned pathways  
destiny knows not enslaving bounds
pathways crisscross at befallen crossroads
knowing all roads lead to all roads

restlessly searching through the ache writhing within,
the voice of my soul speaks crystalline
through the hidden portal of my heart

beckoning the wounded healer within
be at home in the silent darkness of suffering
to perceive the gems of awakening light;

embrace the lessons where the wounding leads us
to bring forth a healing reincarnation,
intimately feeling the collective pulse of humanity echo
a wholeness in a deeper level our being

the only spark to rekindle a flame blown out
a soul’s assent to the labyrinth through the wound
note:
snippets from a conscious ramble;
a shameless attempt at understanding a potentially higher conscious  self
written to advocate for, to support all wounded healers
that often experience the potential gifts of a wounded heart

if this is "too deep" i'll just keep trying
to find my way through the dark maze on my own

all apologies ... wild is the wind

all in all is all we are ♡
The cloud is dark, It's a gloomy day
Perhaps this is the sign, the bleak sign i mourned for to absorb the breeding thought of killing my sprouting seed

Altering my future, an abuse of a forced choice
guided by my reason, responsive to the enslaving circumstances
I am enslaved to.

Or do i take this chance and swirl with the whirlpool in the troubled dark sea? Cast myself in it like Jonah?

My path is already marked, what i will do, what should i do? Silence my conscience and obey reason or follow passion and obey my energies? Or perhaps marry both?

After all, William Blake quotes: "Without Contraries is no Progression"

I will see in the end what will be, Que Sera Sera, and i will be sorry for the road not taken , diverged in this black wood.
Caught up in the shades of reality
MasterPlutonium Nov 2014
Always hounding and back for more,
I dread the daily task of
mind enslaving work that
is known to ever teenager as “HOMEWORK”.

Homework; that hated name has
the unholy power to make kids like me
crumple in pain from just a page,
and gives the nerds their strength.

I wish for the weekend,
where the normal guy rules supreme,
unhindered by torturous math and history.
Ysa Pa Nov 2015
The streets, plain
The scenery, new but unchanged
The city, now black and white
The candle that failed to ignite
The crisp morning air
The usual affairs
The same unheated ground
Then there was a faint sound
The leaves started to sway
There was a presence of warm sun rays
The grass and flowers danced
The prospect, enhanced
All because my ears have found
A vaguely familiar and new sound
An enamoring explosion of melody
An enthralling harmony
A beguiling musicality
An enslaving euphony
A perfect array of notes
Flowing with a hypnotic coat
A piercing tune
Resembling a rune
It's rhythm, throbbing
It's tempo, moving
The sound was too perfect and strong
That it seemed like a torturous song
Nonetheless, it was a beautiful beat
Beautiful enough to move my feet
What I heard was an alluring sound
That eventually made me slide through the ground
I closed my eyes and followed what I heard
Walking, searching, to clarify the blurred
The faint sound, grew louder
Eventually I was overpowered
While seeking for the source of the hymn
I turned into a willing victim
My feet have stopped moving
When I saw a man, the man who was playing
My eyes settled upon his silhouette
Which was in contrast to the sunset
There he was, sitting on a wooden stool
Unknowingly making all the listeners drool
His fingers fluttering atop black and white keys
Creating color through a musical breeze
I saw him, that man
Still playing, talking through his hands
I followed a sound and saw a pianist
And then my heart was kissed
Not because of the music that made my ears fuss
Not because he splashed paint all over the dull canvas
But because of how he looked at the instrument
It's as if, for the piano, his eyes were meant
How he gazed upon it with those eyes
As if the piano was his only prize
How he goggled the piano with those eyes
As if for that instrument he was willing to agonize
As if he can only see the piano
As if there was only him and the piano
It was that look that little girls dream of
It was that look that symbolized love
That look that little girls wished were for them
That look that would give little girls contemn
That look that was only for the piano
That look that was pure as snow
That look was colorful and honestly warm
That look that entrapped a celestial swarm
That look which was gentle and intense
That look which was passionate and immense
That look which was alive, painful and afraid
In that moment, I longed for a shooting star's aid
As if a little girl, I wished for what little girls wish for
I wished for him to look at me like that, nothing more
But none can compare with his instrument
Nor to the reason why he plays it with such  intent
To the new girl he plays for
To the girl he currently adores
I hope his sound reaches you
I hope you listen and give him value
I hope you look at him as he plays for you
Look at him like how he looks at the piano when he thinks of you
Like how the crowd looks at him as he plays like this
Like how the little girls look like when they wish
Like how he used to look at the piano
When he misses and plays for the little girl, not too long ago
Spare me a few minutes and allow me to use black and white words to transport you in a colorful memory
GR Jan 2017
Dancing
On the five headed serpent
Whose fangs represent
Desire, anger, hate, lust and greed,
I see
The blue lord of Vrindavan

His victorious caper
A stark reminder
Of his complete mastery
Over the five poisons of life
Enslaving humanity at large

© 2017
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2013
Cast your eyes on the firmament now truly look this life and planet is growing dimmer don’t worry there will be plenty of fireworks it won’t go out with a fizzle I truly believe it will fall on the shoulders of individual Americans to preserve this sacred land we have abundance of enemies within and without and much is indistinguishable where one ends and another begins drugs Sins of all stripes are undermining then Midwestern radicals wolves in sheep’s clothing they stand in the halls of political power and bless us while inwardly they spit and hiss our name through blackest depravity they don’t possess the love we have for our founding fathers that comes only from being born here and the rich history that is stained and preserved by our men
And women who fought and died to be and keep us free theirs is a condition born out of
Savagery they only believe in conquering and then enslaving those they should serve we
Learned our way of life from our grandparents and parents and from a rich history that unfurls The glory of might tempered by justice to produce peace with the thought that all should share In prosperity not bow to a throne of a contemptuous tyrant whose only concerns are his own
Comforts that strangely depends on how much you suffer and then strangest of all in this
Sickness there is a controlling device that you can rally other sick minded men to carry out your evil designs and it works best if you shroud it best in religious rhetoric but such foolish minds that burn with such delusional fever are no match for the clear eyed that are bathed in the light that shines from freedom’s fount the cold war told the story free men verses men of ******* one is dressed in grave clothes of death eventually the very weight of this deception will be crushed by the burden that is inherit in such practice while the free from such exuberanceBuilds mighty dams to tame rivers build grand and fair cites that promote culture on the highest order of achievement I delved into the coming of human events but want to take you to the heights of tomorrow some will be lost if they didn’t read my last piece but it will I believe lift And carry you through with the thought that is expressed I talked about the trips my Grandmother fired and inspired me with an had lot had to do with her as a person the final trip Was not told but acted out she lay dying and for over forty years had not taken one human step but at the very end when she closed her eyes in this world her face lit up and glowed a combination of things occurred her crown picked up the brightest light from heaven and the other was the dark ******* of this world fell away I saw her not walking but running the streets of glory I will say it simply just look away
She shrinks running on the beach
winds reach her hairs dancing free
smaller she grows far out of reach
around her prance the waves wildly.

Her limps all gone, gone is her ache
she’s now again a pristine child
with sandy footprints skin sunbaked
she catches me in her love beguiled.

In the saline wind her coppered face
stoops for treasure of wave washed pearl
in enslaving thrall of love’s wellness
years wind her back a little girl.

Soon she will be back with worn out shells
boast of her finds from the seashore
never knowing in those moments’ windy sails
she unlocked in me a long locked door.
Derek Yohn Nov 2013
Exhaustion is the price of vigilance.
My cats sleep all the time now,
it seems.  It hurts
                but i understand.

The road has a hypnotic effect
as it gazes back into us all.
The void consumes everything
but becomes nothing,
compressed infinitely smaller,
enslaving particles, photons,
feelings, planets, systems, and
processes.

Feeling isn't saying, and
meaning isn't doing.
Impressions are sculpted into
the granite of our mountains
by the expressions of the
winds.

When the eagles soar overhead
they must all pass through
the wormhole to hunt,
to ****** victory from defeat,
a sustained life from a
final death,
but it is all perspective.

Roadkill live life in the fastlane,
if life is indeed a highway.
Woodland creatures brave existence
only by darting to the other side
of the killzone, timing the gaps,
patiently judging the distance.
"Going Tharn" = a deer (or other animal) frozen in the headlights, unable to flee from an impending certain death

— The End —