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Francie Lynch Jul 2018
Birthed by altruism or selfishness,
Motivated by personal gain
Or the forfeiting of a nation;
It's the betrayal of friends,
Country, cause and trust.
Cassius,
Judas,
Benedict Arnold,
The traitor has many personas.

Traitors are hated by those they prefer. (Tacitus)

I forgive those who ****** and steal,
but a traitor, never.
(Zapata)

A nation cannot survive treason from within...
He rots the soul of a nation...
No wise man ever thought a traitor should be trusted.
(Cicero)

Softness to traitors will destroy us all. (Robespierre)

An open enemy, however criminal, is no traitor. (Spooner)

To have a traitor as an ally is to have an enemy in waiting. (Carey)

It is the just decree of heaven that a traitor never sees
his danger till his ruin is at hand.
(Metastasia)

There are but two parties now... traitors and patriots. (U.S. Grant)

If I had one bullet and I was faced by both enemy and traitor,
I would let the traitor have it.
(Codreanue)

There is a special place in hell reserved for traitors. (J. Trudeau)

Every man must be for the U.S. or against it.
There can be no neutrals... only patriots or traitors.
(S. Douglas)

Et tu, POTUS. (F. Lynch)
2020 Campaign Slogan: "Make Rusmerica Great"
Omar Kawash Jul 2014
Two villages coexisted peacefully, no interactions
maybe some discussion on boundaries, treaties for peace and trade.
An extraneous rumor appeared in one of these villages.
No one was sure where it had started.
Someone mentioned they had seen beastly faces emerge in the night horizon.
The whispers made its way through
soon the town was mortified.

The others, they were observing us.
What could they want that they could not communicate overtly?
The villagers made a decision to protect themselves,
their lives,
their happiness –their status quo
that had been so well kept; now jeopardized by fear.  

Traders continued their interactions,
sharing goods and language.
The ignorant village heard the small-talk,
the covert operations the coinciding people had been ruminating about.

The newly-informed town magnified and mutated
the gossip;
the folk were riddled with anxiety.
If their neighbors were under threat,
what was stopping them from being the next target?  
This xenophobia was to destroy them.

The two ostracized each other;
initial misperception grew
to a common hallucination amongst the people,
they prepared for the worst scenario.

As humanity goes,
somewhere a zero-sum game emerged.

A council was held,
all that they had known was their own home
and the adjacent peoples.
There was nothing else in the known world,
it must be the others.
They are planning on something villainous,
why else the secrecy?

Cut trade, be vigilant, ostracize.
The other village noticed something amiss
Calamity must be in path.
Taking up arms, arranging a force to handle any offenses, and establishing a wall;
they would not fall.

Feud was conceived.
This is the drive of a mind
who incessantly wonders why and how
a devouring morality.

I digress from the story: the villages, armed and defense ready,
see the village that they once knew as peaceful neutrals
once tranquilly existed transformed to potential threats
for they could overthrow the opposing village.
I should be unconquerable
but I know the kisses stealing my breath come with every
inhale,
exhale; my kryptonite is facing life.

I choose to face that fiend
which wouldn’t let me actually give up when there is so much unknown out there.
It’ll haunt me with the damages that I dealt to the allure yet provocation preserves me.

The two villages are within me.
One is the soul depleting, ego-hunting energy ****,
the other is the false hope that I
can change things-
that things are within my control-
that I’ll fake a smile and a real one will appear.

Two hemispheres connected in a skull,
failing to synchronize
a miscalculating rational with a quixotic imaginative vision.

These two villages smoulder;
the clashes zigzag my intentions.
I just wish I knew
what that fictitious, fruit of the grapevine generated monster even was.
It’s been ages since this conflict ignited,
I don’t think any villager knows why they fight each other perpetually,
other than survival.
judy smith Jun 2015
Fashion Week - a way to look at the past, present, and future all in once place. Whenever I get to attend a fashion show, I try to be as present and in-the-moment as possible. With iPhones and Instagram, everyone tries to be the first person to post looks from the runway, and it's hard to sometimes not take a photo or video and just enjoy the beautiful creations in front of you. History repeats itself every few decades, so it's fun to see trends popping up in the designs. And obviously, it's hard not to get excited about the future season when attending a fashion show.

Seattle Fashion Week is back and better than ever - for the first time in 5 years, it came back to the 206 after much anticipation. While Seattle gets a bad rep for wearing leggings, goretex, and fleece all the time, everyone wore their most beautiful dresses on Saturday night. It was a night to remember, and I always feel so lucky that I get to attend these shows and support local designers, artists, and creators. Saturday was the finale of the 3 night event, and the night for custom couture. I spotted a few trends throughout the show that I'd like to share with you.

Neutrals

Of course black and white made an appearance, but we also saw a lot of gray, blush, ****, and tan.

Exquisite fabrics

Lace, tulle and sequins, oh my! Every piece was feminine, quirky, and oh so Seattle. Nothing felt too girly, too "done up", or too stuffy. Most of these pieces you could break up and wear day or night, or mix and match them with a leather jacket and some boots to add some edge.

Texture

Nothing down the runway was a plain silk dress. Whether it was hand-knit yarm, layering of fabrics, or covered in zippers, prints, or hints of leather, everything was appealing to the eye and put together in the most beautiful way. I love getting inspiration for how to put pieces together, or how to mix and match different fabrics and prints to make an outfit truly my own.

Unique

Each and every piece was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Each designer had their own individual take on their collection, and you could tell they put so much time, sweat, tears, and love into their designs.

A huge thank you to the designers for sharing their handwork and beautiful custom art with us - Karen Ashley Fashion, House of Halm by Maria Ham, Morifu, Julie Danforth Design, Erika Bond, Dream Dresses by P.M.N., Juleano, Justin Zachary Bartle, and Boulevard Magenta by Wendy Ohlendorf. I cannot wait for the next SFW event!Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/yellow-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Tim Eichhorn Jun 2014
The eternal trench has been dug,
Each side gazes upon a day's destruction.
A battle where neither side shrugs
A battle built upon corruption.
The fight - for North Vespucci
The land that prospers from war
Each side sets skillful schemes too cheat
And they surely settle the score.

A voice, a rifle
Like bullets - piercing a party's heart
Accountants launder loot - leaving us stifled
Like the master tactician - Commanding an army smart.
Ideas recycled;
Luring unsuspecting souls in reach
Only to promise the unobtainable
Through their leader's speech.

Cowering in fear, neutrals despised,
Don't believe the mystic mirages of which they speak
Leaving us disenfranchised,
We are who they consider "weak."
For "weak" I may be,
But disenfranchised - I will not!
With a sincere soul I speak,
We must move to stop the blood clot.

For Weak I am,
But strong I will become.
Nobody gives a ****,
But my voice will be a victorious one!
Matt Fatt Mar 2015
a screaming boundless energy ripped from the endless swirling nights of utter catastrophic, discontented, virile, violent youths seemingly fixated upon the physically aesthetic pleasure of a life lived for hedonistic exhibition, constant thrusting, constant grunting, constant ecstasy, numbing pain brought forth for a lost and listless generation of juvenile delinquents in there mid twenties playing adults games in the spastic frame of minds torn apart by a strive to explore the deepest far beliefs beyond the picket fence Christianity our fore father's passed to you and me, no more crosses, far more genders, no more rosaries, far more pleasures shouting a laugh and loving a cry for our emotions aren't stunted by a carry on routine that we don't need to make a day by day existence bearable to the the least of our excessive masses whilst our mothers and father's are no longer just parents but acceptive friends we speak to when the dark flows in and making our lives that much better no more roles, no more cashing in, disregarding contractual obligation for the freedom to stick your thumb out and make a difference for a single human a twenty minute ride at a time before standing in basements discussing artists not heard on the radio but found through the mouths of cis and trans and neutrals and sought out to make a webbing of friends of friends spanning the nation and world connected by sobriety and beer and cigarettes and edge during the screaming restlessness we make our play dates out to be in a whirling endless sunlit darkness of vanity and fameless torment of grins lit by our want to eat, want to breathe, want to be, a quixotic banner unfurled upon those that still judge the person who stands in a crowd and let's out his lions roar of ecstatic, emphatic, explosive individuality, well traveled townies aching for the former freedom of our cave dwelling ancestors finding solace in having convictions of there teenage dreams that no establishment managed to rip away despite an overwhelming conspiracy of conformity and grief of Orwellian nature brought upon by a status quo that we just won't believe, ever striving, ever reaching, you won't stop us, can't be seen during the maddening dreariness of a seemingly beautiful system that you scratch the surface to see the ugliness of a misanthropic government wanting only to lead you by your nose and by your crotch to the final destination no more dreaming, only scheming, we have our own systems set in place of anarchistic communal daydreaming laze ever combating one another before hugging out our differences because the final magnificence is the blinding beauty of a thousand different minds unable to form a hive brain because we will never be your hive we will never be your home we will only be your friend and you will never be alone again as long as you are willing to be your ever bursting personification of your own self beliefs and as far as we can go we will bring an ******* flowing running start to all we see, always loving, always loving, an appreciative closeness sung from our aloofness to those we once sought to impress for our own destructive tendencies were ripped away and replaced with a system of URLs which allow us to voice our free and feisty opinion of anything and everything, no more hiding, no more dying, a slapstick routine twisted in and mixed with the single shallow want of pureborn liberty no constitution needed to be free just the voice in your head not believing a society that tries to pigeonhole your looks and *** and orientation and soul, so long parties, we are free, we are I, I am me.
Levi Kips Apr 2016
Do you get as heartbroken as I do when ever you look in your closet. Do you feel like theirs a piece of me with you whenever you wear my clothes as I do. Do you find yourself arguing with the shirts coming up with great comeback then forgetting they weren't me as I do. On the days when life feels like world war z, do you wear my bomb shelter like clothing to protect yourself from the bombs away that the kids today fire away heading your way. when the battle is over it stays the same embrace like my hugs it comes with no loosen up setting like me, Is that why you take it off because it stays true to its ways and you. Do you get jealous when you see your property being walked upon by the enemy, the neutrals, and the people inbetween basically everyone but the ally. Do you find yourself breaking down in conversations whenever you talk about certain clothes that don't together. Do I pop in your head when you break down? All these questions aren't really meant for you but I'm happy that you would at least entertain them like the designs on the shirts I once had like you.
12/30
SassyJ Jan 2017
I look at your work and see
an array of strokes in-between
The smiles and tears that piles
Isolated brushes in small rooms

I peep on your life and portraits
On the aisles of temptation and love
The misery of the human formations
Inside a three dimensional canvas

I think of you from symbolism realism
On the island where nature was proud
Landscapes of greenish violet spoke
Soaked romantic tinges in spiky pokes

I see your blue lonely bubble episodes
On the earth's doleful daunted pasture
Culminates of gloom, isolation suicide
Dark and blue composite of blindness

I love the painted roses of orange tosses
On the eve where mistresses and lovers
Speak accents of lust with naked bodies
Paraded games of the heart captured on ice

I seek your open mind and astuteness
On the soil of Africa celebrating souls
Dancing at the rhythm of the drum beats
Shaping,hunting,pacing, tracing, painting

I like the way you wandered and hoped
On the excitement of something a new
When cubism of browny monochrome
Shaded neutrals in fragmented collages

I long to figure you out and your gems
On that dynamic cased experimentation
Crystal periods of pipes, guitars and glass
The passion that brought you riches and fame

I love to romantasise you Pablo Picasso
On my search you were a dreamer and a doer
Falled and failed, waited and won it all
From surrealism, abstraction to classical
A repost as promised. Written at Musee Picasso in France Sept 2016
Joshua Wooten Jul 2016
"death wears the mantle of absurdity"

- and alight the cord
to see the inward lamp glow again
watch the room unroll
like eyelids opening,
let it fill the space.
the walls are bare and pale as bone
and the ceiling has been pried off,
like a cardboard box cut at the top,
and the sky: a mirror above it.
the light reaches towards the mirror
and there's no reflection -
the lamp has short arms,
clumsy fingers like a child
and cannot keep the sky
but for the stars reaching back
through pin-pricked holes.

the imagery whispers
quietly in neutrals,
bone white and starlight alike
speaking back and forth
on the folly of the universe outside
and how it only seems to exist for decay.
they do not laugh at the absurdity;
they feel as if they are the same,
living reflections of the stars' cycles -
life for the purpose of death,
death for the purpose of perpetuation -
and when their story ends
the inward lamp burns it's course to expiration,
but this is not the end.
you need to reach -
been researching a lot about mortality in contemporary philosophy and the line "death wears the mantle of absurdity" came up.  I'm loath to try to understand why mortality inspires me, because if I explain it to myself I'll pick it to pieces and never get the same feeling from it.  maybe it's just the pursuit of the unknown that draws me so
Dorian Dec 2014
Spartacus, grant me a wish.                  In a world of pale neutrals,
give me the kiss of a new light.            The fruitful lips placed so
gently on my largest vein,                     rushing life blood thru my
body to my brain and                             heart again; pulsating
rhythm in my chest.                               Please grant my request.

The honey gold drip:                             a warm thick gift from the
universe's infinitely expanding            infinitely collapsing pieces.
Wanderer Nov 2014
Gray dust of frost
Tips green with sharp edges
Warm puffs of breath dissipate quickly
I am silent. Still.
The whisper of wind through bare tree tops
Squirrels bark at Blue Jays that steal
My heartbeat quickens as I catch the snapping of twigs
Rustling of leaves is music to my ears
Soon a smudge of brown
Different from the rainbow of neutrals this forest reflects
Moves steadily towards me
My tree stand height is perfect
The kick from my shot gun will be welcomed
An extension of myself wielded
To fill my freezer for these coming months
Of darkness
Nicole Joanne Oct 2014
There are very few things that are beautiful -and remain so.

The way the leaves change into beautiful neutrals at it's time of death,
the way the sun rises and sets with a beauty so awe-striking,
yet remains soundless and subtle.
The way birds continue to sing a sweet song,
though no one could understand them.
The way  the same eighty-six piano keys
can create a combination of different melodies
that can make someone either cry or laugh in joy.
The way the rain can wash away all the troubles of yesterday,
how despite setting, the sun will always rise again.

How someone so average,
can be the world to someone;
can age and break apart,
and still be the most beautiful creation
to someone who was once a stranger.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.
Caro Sep 2019
Neon
No neutrals
New and glowing
Green and wet behind the ears
High on nothing but the night
Joe Fogg Oct 2022
A good-luck bad luck start
to a good-luck bad luck day
All that separates the haves and have nots
Is a ticket to the game
And today before and after breakfast
I was ticketless all the same
And although the midday sun has passed
My situation hadn't changed
You'll never walk alone we sang
As we thronged towards the stand
My luck was all to change
Mally had spare tickets, two within his hand
Me and Steve were on them quickly
Two ticket-hungry lads, that can't believe their luck
From the outside to the inside
We joined the roaring crowd
In a dawning moment of awareness
My shock, I expressed out loud
"Steve, me mate, we're down the other end"
"No way, no way, no way," said Steve
Because once was not enough
"We're not going in their end," he said
"We'll be kicked to ******* death"
There's only one thing for it Steve
We'll have to swap with those not red
So round to section Z we went
To find some unsuspecting heads
Its an end for neutrals, sold tickets on the day
Right next to Liverpool's Kop army
Raucous, wild and partisan, roaring on the reds
No place for fans of Juve
They should be down the other end
Here's two older couples
Looking sensible and kind
Its time for a charm offensive
If we're gonna turn this inside out
My persuasive words aren't working
They don't want to split their group
Time to raise the stakes I think
And use the power of fear
"There's going to be much trouble" I warn
"There's bound to be a fight,
Best to play it safe" I say
"And get down the other end
That's where all the Juve are
You'll be amongst good friends"
Fear is quite persuasive
And fortune favours change
Funny how quickly luck changes
On a good-luck bad luck kind of day
And when the fans started fighting
Fortune it changed again
The dead they lay broken
And something in me too
So every anniversary
I think about our friends
Reflecting upon my words of wisdom
From down the other end
The Challenge - A Narrative Poem. Myself and a friend attended the Heysel Stadium disaster in Brussels. 39 football fans died after a wall collapsed following escalating violence between rival supporters of Liverpool and Juventus.
ari Oct 2023
you've been my best friend since i can remember. you patched up all my cuts and kissed my bruises. you brushed my hair, even if you pulled it and made me weep. you baked bread for my sandwiches when we couldn't afford a loaf, because you knew how much i loved salami sandwiches in my school lunches. you took me shopping even when you were drowning in bills and responsibilities and adult things that i couldn't understand as a child. you yelled at me and frustrated me and made me lock myself away for hours at a time, but you had my best interest at heart. you held me and carried me to bed when i fell asleep in your arms on the couch, until i got too heavy to carry anymore, and you would wake me with a gentle shake. you cried with me on that couch while we watched titanic and ate stale popcorn. you let me play dress up in your closet, even if you weren't too fond of a six-year-old ruining your party dresses and high heels. you always let me finish your food, even if you were still starving and there was nothing else to eat. you've sacrificed everything you had for me. i've never known a life without you. i'm an extension of all of your goods and bads and neutrals and i just hope you can love me for it, even if you're not too fond of yourself. but i love me because i am you.
Miss Entropy Jan 2011
Most girls change their hair when they fall out of love

But I change my hair when I fall out of love with myself

Because maybe, I think, if I change the face in the mirror to a stranger I can live like a stranger would and say what a stranger says that you wish you could say but can’t because you aren’t that person, you are you. But now I’m not me so I can. Do you understand?

Maybe the blue hair will propel my legs up an aisle to give my words to an audience that look like demons in the dim light and maybe it will draw attention away from my blushing face and shaking hands and stuttering soul-bearing words.

Maybe it will inspire me to live every day as my last day and if I was struck down right now by a highly improbable lightening bolt I would fry knowing that I die with no regrets because when you are doing something out of your comfort zone/fortress you are too filled with fear/life to worry about regrets.

I dyed my hair blue to find myself
Because its easy to get lost in the sea of black and white and yellow and red but really all different shades of complementary neutrals aka brown and fade into that neutral tapestry like the member of the mass you are.

Because its easy to get lost in the sea of desk job and changing plans and the practical and the comfortable and the cubicle that is just the right height to see the windows of your boss’ office but he’s drawn the blinds because he too has given up but he says its because it causes glare on his laptop screen and he’s doing some very important work while dreaming of when he was young and as full of ambitions as there are stars in the sky. He didn’t shoot for the moon so he landed with his feet firmly planted on a giant rock rotating around a fireball.

I’m blue cuz if I was green I would die.

Die with the jealousy of those who are born with no fear or hide it well and chase dreams like cheetahs chase a wounded gazelle and then devour it as if they were starving for life.

The day I dyed my hair blue, everyone I knew enough to greet me came up and said “wow it’s blue” as if they couldn’t trust their eyes and touched it as if they couldn’t trust their hands. I vowed never to be these people that couldn’t believe in something as simple as a hair color because what I really want deep inside my sheltered soul is something so unbelievable a child wouldn’t take me seriously.

One day I was in CVS and saw a bottle of blue hair dye and knew that I could make my dreams come true but only if I tried.
Slam poem inspired by the slow decay of ambition. I know it's wordy but it's worthy... of a read.

— The End —