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howard brace Aug 2013
"A leisurely breakfast" their mother would admonish, "aids digestion and builds strong bones..." so what with the imposed inactivity every morning, boredom broken only by Sockeye the family Spaniel, whose want of table manners coincided very conveniently with mealtimes... as he paced restlessly under the table, slobbering indiscriminately in his daily scramble to devour every dangling morsel before supply and demand shut up shop for the night and went home, far tastier... he gobbled down the latest offering of egg white, than the remnants of his own dietary allowance, they just had to get the timing right that was all, or risk loosing a finger, or gaining one depending upon who was doing the dangling, or who was doing the gobbling... he gave an indignant sneeze, not so much a hint but more of a... 'what's with the pepper malarky...'  So that it was only with a good deal of snappy hand coordination, lengthy digestion and sturdy bone building that Rocky was finally able to extricate himself from the table and make the most of what little time remained until lunchtime, meagre time indeed for the Rocky's of this world to hang around with their dogs, leaving their little sisters to help mums do, whatever it was that girls usually did when they should have scooted out of the kitchen faster, when it would have been all so much simpler just to grab a handful of biscuits instead...  Meanwhile, laying in wait in the room above, flat out upon the bedroom counterpane, having recently had their insides stuffed to bursting with a full English breakfast's worth of beach and holiday apparal... and that was just the luggage.    

     The contents of which, up until a week last washday had been snoozing fitfully behind 'Do Not Disturb' signs, cautiously peeping out from the gloomier, more remote recesses of the bedroom dresser, or carefully concealed in cupboards and closets... and being in every other respect by no means readily accessible to public scrutiny of any kind... had been left to their own devices some twelve months earlier with a clear understanding to skip bath nights from that moment on and henceforth immerse themselves in the heady, camphorated pungency of mothball, vowing once and for all never to darken portmanteau lids again... but now, after many hours of arduous laundering and de-fumigation... were now being squeezed and unceremoniously shoe-horned into what had recently become nothing short of an overcrowded sanctuary for the dispossessed.  
              
     Meanwhile, all the luggage asked from life other than be detained under section four of the Mental Health Act, 1983 and be found cosy padded accommodation elsewhere... was to have their interiors vacated, their tranquility reinstated... and with a questionable wink from a dodgy Customs official, have their travel permits invalidated... irrevocably, for despite throwing a double six for a spot of well earned convalescence back on top of the wardrobe some twelve months ago, basking in the shade of a warm Summer Sun, striking up the occasional conversation with the floral decor, third bloom from the left currently answering to the name of Petunia, the still over extended luggage, seemingly with little hope of R & R this side of the letter Q, faced the perennial disquiet of vacational therapy, of being knelt on, sat and bounced upon and be specifically manhandled in ways that matching sets of co-ordinated luggage should not...
                                        
     Tina could be heard quite distinctly in the next street concerning her husbands lack of competence, whilst Red it appeared had become just as outspoken as his wife in that particular direction... as the local self appointed busybody, who lived well within earshot of the address in question would bear witness to as she put feverish pen to paper, writing to what had become a regular... and some would say hot bed of intrigue in the local tabloid concerning how vociferous the once tranquil neighbourhood had become of recent and how certain undesirable elements within the community were to be heard carrying on alarmingly at all hours, day and night... and as she diligently weighed her civic duty against simple household economics as to whether to send this latest block busting eye opener by first or second class post, their parents could now be heard broadcasting, if anything to a wider listening audience than the previous newsflash, some of the more sensational episodes of the previous twenty-four hours as to who was pulling whose suitcase zipper now... although in which direction it should be pulled, they both agreed, wasn't for public disclosure at that time... vowing to draw blood well before the day was out, as three lacerated fingers would later testify and that it was only because of the children that they were going at all... but God willing, they would be setting off very shortly with rosy smiles on their faces for the sole benefit of the neighbours, even if it killed them. 

     Spurred to fever pitch  by this latest 'stop-the-press' newsflash, the same public spirited busybody now threw herself wholeheartedly into further award winning journalism and for the second time that morning took to pen and paper, only now directed to the gossip column in the local Parish Gazette, followed by grievous lamentations of impending bloodshed to the incumbent Chief Constable as to how they'd all be murdered in their beds ere long before nightfall.

     By devouring his water bowl, thereby dispensing with the need for it to be washed and by its abrupt and mysterious absence, disposing of all further incriminating evidence as to where the abundant supply of liquid, now surging copiously across the kitchen floor had sprung from... the flash-flood was hastily making its own getaway beneath the kitchen units, leaving Sockeye to his own devices to carry the can on his own, ankle deep in what up until earlier that morning had been sloshing around quite contentedly in Eccup reservoir.

      Having inadvertently released the handbrake in a boyish gesture of bravado, thereby placing himself in sole charge of a runaway vehicle, Sockeye it appeared was not the only member of the Salmon family to have dropped himself right in it that day as Rocky, having unwittingly placed the following ten years pocket money well out of reach and back into the pockets of his parents dwindling resources, had to a far greater extent nominated himself for the same Earth moving experience as the one his mum would shortly be giving Sockeye...

      Having just been granted licence to do whatsoever it pleased, the vehicle began its leisurely rearwards perambulation down the long garden driveway and by way of small thanks for its new found independence took Rocky along for the ride where due to a certain lack of stature on Rocky's part, at no point had he ever been in the slightest position to influence the Holiday threatening train of events which now engulfed him, never thinking to reapply the handbrake... that would be too easy, he perched on the edge of the seat clutching the steering wheel and stretched out his sturdy little legs in an heroic, but futile attempt to reach the pedals as the family car, which up until any second now had been his fathers pride and joy, pitched backwards at what seemed to Rocky, breakneck speed and directly into a very severe and unforgiving brick wall.

     Almost missing this latest round of entertainment above that of her parents most recent exchange, River accompanied by Sockeye scampered outdoors and slap into what could only be described as the most fun she'd had all year as an unsuspecting "what was that noise" muscled its way through the open bedroom window and fell flat on its face in the garden below and which, if that morning to date was anything to go by, then the neighbourhood would soon be tuning in to the latest Salmon family's 'hot-off-the-press' breaking news bulletin.

     Opening her mouth River hesitated as she fine-tuned the speech centres of her young and delicate synapse into full vocal alignment, then adjusting shutter speed from f8 to automatic she closed her mouth... then opened it once again and informed her brother that if the tip of dads size 9 was an Olympic gold, then Rocky would be sure to take first in the 110 metre hurdling event with 'team GB...' and could she have his autograph... with those words of solid encouragement rattling around his ears like the last biscuit in an otherwise empty tin box, River went skipping back into the house to announce the latest newsflash of her parents next financial happening... which she felt certain would prompt further rounds of thought provoking front page journalism.

     A steady two hours drive away, over on the east coast, the inhabitants of a sleepy fishing community were gainfully employed, pretty much as any other, going about their daily business, one such denizen... a baby crustacean, currently marooned by the tide had taken up temporary accommodation in a beachfront rock-pool property of certain distinction, was as yet unaware of a completely different and obscure set of circumstances that would shortly be rearing his slobbering jowls and bring all four paws, the size of dinner plates, crashing down upon the unsuspecting seashore fauna... was determined while she waited to catch the next high tide home, that until such time that the right wave rolled along, would potter about in the little rock-pool, perhaps indulge herself in a leisurely bathe... and catch up on a spot of therapeutic knitting.

     So, placing the days events since breakfast into perspective...  [i]  the vehicle indemnity provider, henceforth to be named 'the party of the first part', who currently weren't cognisant of an impending claim to date, would shortly be laying eggs attempting to squirm out of all liability, due to  [ii]  the automobile, driven by a minor, fortunately for Salmon senior on private land and henceforth, the aforementioned to be called 'the third party, to the party of the second part...' which urgently needed rigorous cosmetic attention to the rear tail light cluster and surrounding bodywork so as to maintain a favourable resale mark-up price.  [iii]  Having been dragged kicking and screaming from the top of the wardrobe, the luggage had rapidly developed cold feet and cried sudden illness in the family, but were being taken to the Wake anyway.  [iv]  Wrapped around the hot water cylinder since the previous Summer, the various sundry items of holiday apparel stood united, resolute as a Union Picket line not be seen dead looking as though they'd never so much as seen the bottom of a flat-iron.  [v]  Both Red and his wife, Tina, despite wearing the same anaemic smile as the one show to the neighbours as they departed, travelling counter clockwise along the crescent so as not to unduly advertise their recent misadventure with the garage wall, were only going for the sake of the children, whilst  [vi]  River and her errant brother didn't want to go anyway dismayed at leaving the television set behind, were already missing their favourite programs, which only really left  [vii]  'mans-best-friend' who, when he wasn't actually hanging over the front seat giving dad big sloppy licks as though... 'are we nearly there yet' or perhaps... 'I need to stop and spend a penny... or you'll all know about it if you don't,' was more than content to be taking up the majority of the rear seating arrangements and with a delinquent wag of his tail, was deliriously happy to be wherever his family were.**

                                                        ­                             ...   ...   ...

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1862
Harold r Hunt Sr Oct 2014
Newsflash
Newsflash: There will be not any Christmas this year.
Santa's elves are on strike for better pay and no Obamacare.
The FAA has grounded Rudoph. So Santa has to use Twikle toes for more light.
Santa's doctor told Santa to lay off the cookies because he won't get off the ground.
The other reindeer wants more feed because they don't like carrots.
So no Christmas this Year Boys and Girls.
Edna Sweetlove May 2015
"Dog's Longevity Due to Tobacco Habit"**

The staple diet of Sebastian, a pitbull-miniature poodle cross-breed owned by Mrs Emmie Snaggletooth of St John's Road, Little Tittington, Berkshire, is Bruno Extra Strength Old **** pipe tobacco. He consumes two ounces of it every week and his proud owner keeps it in his very own tin.

The procedure is as follows: Mrs Snaggletooth rolls a cigarette and puts it between her lips. Sebastian then leaps up onto her lap and removes the unlit cigarette from her lips and sits with it for several moments between his own lips.

His mistress, who is a pipe smoker herself, then lights up and, as she sits contentently smoking her twelve-inch ivory carved Meerschaum, Sebastian eats his cigarette, leaving only the filter tip which he normally spits out into the fireplace. He has twenty cigarettes a day and enjoys his tobacco best after he has eaten his evening meal of Pedigree Chum (Older Dogs Recipe).

Sebastian, who is now seventeen years old, discovered his penchant for tobacco when he found an open tin of Bruno Old **** and ate the lot. "He became very agitated and barked for three hours non stop", says Mrs Snaggletooth when she fondly recalls the incident, "And we have not been able to stop him since. He's become a bit of an addict and has appeared on TV twice as a result."

Emmie Snaggletooth has smoked a pipe for over seventy years; she keeps her treasured Meerschaum on a cord around her neck. Born in Stillfockin in the County Cork eighty-eight years ago, she went on stage with her sister Catriona as part of the renowned music hall act, the Fabulous Snaggletooth Girls. Emmie picked up the pipe-smoking habit when she had to smoke a traditional clay pipe whilst playing the principal boy in **** in Boots at the old Queen's Theatre in Reading, before it was pulled down to make way for the Pay-As-You-Go Municipal Car Park and Disabled-Access-Toilets.

"All this talk of smoking being bad for your health is a load of old *******", declares Mrs Snaggletooth through her few remaining blackened teeth. And it would seem that Emmie and Sebastian are living proof of this. Emmie sadly points to the fact that her sister Catriona, who never smoked at all, died aged only 25 after being run over by a runaway bus and she emphasies Sebastian is the longest surving member of his litter. "Sebby is the only one of his family who ever liked tobacco, I'm sure of that", she says, "Although his sister, Mary-Jean, was fond of a glass of stout with her biscuits."

Readers are invited to turn to page 24 to enter this week's competition to win a year's supply of Bruno Extra Strength Old **** tobacco and a free ****** examination from Hilary Clinton (Mrs).
Gracie Anne Jan 2016
The pressure’s building up
I feel like soda that’s been dropped.
I feel like I’m about to explode
And I know that soon I’ll pop.

I know what’s about to happen
And I need to escape this room.
Where I go, I don’t know.
But I need to flee the impending doom.

I need to get to the clinic.
There I know I’ll be fine.
They always knows what to do;
But can I make it in time?

But no, it’s too late.
My soda bottle has blown.
I am no longer able to move, for
The seed of anxiety has grown.

Now I’ve collapsed, and
My rational side has died.
I can’t handle this-make it stop!
My strength is again being tried.

All the techniques I’ve memorized
Have completely flown my mind.
All the things I have prepared
Are suddenly unable to find.

“Don’t forget to just breathe!”
Ah, yes, the mantra of those “helpful” ones.
Well, here’s a newsflash for you-
Being told that helps NONE!

My lungs are overworking now,
And my heart is beating fast.
And every single breath I take
I fear it might be my last.

My hands have spiders in them.
My brain has gone offline.
My vision’s getting foggy;
Please- just don’t pass out this time.

My mind is leaving my body
And it’s floating freely in air.
I’m no longer able to feel anything
Please help me; I’m so scared.

Now I’m descending back to my body
And I can feel every atom around me.
It’s too much-make it stop!
Why can’t anybody hear my plea?

Luckily I calm down
Before my monster gets his way.
He’s returning back to hiding now
But I know he’ll soon come back to play.
sayona Apr 2014
while there at 26 other people present in this room,
i feel alone;
or at least my mind has convinced me that i am.
either way,
it's nice i suppose.
and i can't really focus on anything
but do i really want to?
i could honestly not care less
whether Graph B
is steeper than Graph A
and how it has an equation of -2x-2.
i don't care if it's a
linear
quadratic
exponential
or cubic root equation
all i can seem to care about
at this moment in time
is you
you keep trying to bust your way
into my head
and make a reservation
like i have extra room.
NEWSFLASH:
i don't.
but somehow,
someway,
you have made your way in.
and i don't think you don't plan on leaving.
i miss you too much for you to be here. please leave. i beg of you.
Dr Strange Jul 2016
DBM
I...am a man
No, I am a black man
One who walks around with this curse mark upon his hand
As he is drenched with this scorched abomination
Frowned upon by society as if his very existence is a sin
As if he asked to be born this way
Well newsflash for all naive buffoons in the world, he didn't
Now I'm a being who can envision himself soaking in his own blood
Always afraid to walk out his front door  because if he does...
He becomes public enemy number one
Forcing him to duck behind cars
Trying to dodge the bullet he got beaming towards his head
I'm a dead man walking attempting to live a normal life
But according to society I can't
According to society I'm a foul beast who acts on impulses
And goes on a rampage because simply can't help it
So I must die before I'm even given a chance to prove myself
I...am a man
Check out the rest of my black lives matter poems at

#blacksaga
Do people ever truly lose there mind or were they always ******* bat **** to begin with?
I believe half this earth is run by insane people most of which have way to much power and far to little sense .

The ******* radio is a great example ever listen modern music ?
You know that **** that doesn't require any talent to preform just a record player and some half wit to rap along with so you can have a remix yes country music is vile enough let alone throw in a nerd that would **** if he got his thirty thousand dollar sneakers ***** once are made in some sweatshop for ten cents a pop yeah how ******* fashionable .

And remember when you had to play a ******* instrument to have a record out?
Yeah I'm so old fashioned I mean sure kids wear all the  shirts to half the bands I grew up with and have no ******* clue who the bands are but yes the world is stupid and you wonder why I drink.

Just like people who believe the world really gives a **** there having a bad day # who gives a **** Twitter is for stupid ***** and celebrities who have as  much depth as a public toilet but are far less clean.

People always read me and believe I am this nice easy going goofy drunken ******* who only lives to make them laugh and talk about ******* well who doesn't like ******* there awesome.

Hey Gonz do you like kids ?
No I don't !
Why ?
Cause they always annoy the **** out of me when I'm trying to sleep off a good ****** in the park really whatever happened to letting the TV raise them hey I look at me I didn't turn out so.
Umm well okay so I'm a little ****** up .

Hey do you ever get tired of being funny or find it hard to come up with new things to pick on?
Well just watch the evening news for a second and head down to the local bar or that gate of hell Wal-Mart and look at all those ******'s who believe they have to buy **** just cause its on sale yeah sure why not buy two hundred rolls of toilet paper  cause you never know when the world may end and the zombie apocalypse will begin .

Newsflash when the world does cease to exist you probably will to and when your starving to death or being burned alive I really doubt that wiping your *** is going to be your top priority .

And we already live amongst zombies   there called yuppies and those I phone twitter loving instagram ******* are ******* everywhere and driving while doing all this **** so pick your head up and watch out!!!

I recently was on a little road trip and while in Evansville Indiana as me and my head cheerleader were riding around the city late at night we were ran into by a young and brainless little **** who admitted she was texting and driving and as I sat there waiting for officer fat **** to arrive to give this cyber **** a ticket .

Yes Indiana it's slogan should be hey are you ******* lost?
Yeah I know I'm a real people person .

Anyways as I sat there viewing what looked like babe Ruth in a bullet proof vest hand out a ticket as he sweat out gravy I had to question with  fifty lares of flesh for padding was there really a need for the vest?

They say when you go insane it's hard to truly rejoin society .
But honestly after looking at half the strung out loony toon's that are considered normal why the **** would you ever care to be part of there brain dead **** storm ?

And since when did the news care what was popular on ******* You tube?

Todays top stories the worlds on the verge of self destruction, A man kidnapped a child ***** her for several years has five kids with her but later on that right now let's check out this cute cat video.
yes the worlds obsessed with ***** .
And you thought it was just me.

And why do teachers now all **** there students and where were these horney ******* when I was going to school.
Yeah having to settle for a ******* from the janitor just wasn't the same.
Although he did have a fantastic grip I'm kidding.

And why  do people even own TV's duh cause books are to much like work but hey remember to buy mine cause it has  plenty of pictures  yeah what isn't poetic about ****?

Yes I can imagine what the great writers from the past would think of the new bestsellers.

Who doesn't like books about gay *** wizards and **** vampires that glimmer in the light yeah I didn't read it duh I saw the movie *******
yeah you may laugh but whatever got my sixteen year old girlfriend in the mood was alright by me I'm  kidding again she was twenty one at the time least that's what her fake Id said.

Yeah least I'm not as bad as Micheal Jackson  cause I'm actually alive that is duh.
Yeah he didn't have issues he just a ******* amusement park in his back yard .
Me I'd prefer a ******* or maybe a mall yeah don't ask.

Common sense nowadays it makes people laugh and the key to humor is always truth people are all ****** up hell just look at me I'm truly insane I own my own bar I get paid to write I do stand up for free drinks but honestly would you really want me doing anything else?

Attention this is your captain speaking umm look I really  don't know how to put this but I forgot to gas up before we left so looks like were all going to die as we crash into the earth and burn to death.
Yeah my bad .

But hey I want to thank you all for flying delta and please remember the do not smoking light is on yeah sure your probably going to be busted into a million pieces but heaven forbid the ***** next to you catches a whiff of smoke before he dies.

Loosen the **** up cause your not going to live forever  .
People are so uptight afraid to say **** or disagree with each other cause we all need to think alike like a bunch of ******* lemmings.

I grew up around backwoods rednecks I lived in the city slept in the ******* street okay there's no difference in people except real ******* people aren't scared to **** others off they are who they are and if you like them great and if you don't then ******* life's to dam short to sweat the ******* and this high school mentality needs to truly get ****** the worlds messed up so embrace it .

Like me, Hate me at least you never have to guess what I really think .

Stay crazy kids cause the normal ***** of this life are usually  total closet freaks who **** hookers on the side and make bombs in grandmas kitchen .

It's a shame cause a good ****** is a terrible a terrible thing to waste.

Well hamsters until next time this has been your bartender for life with your friendly perverted public service announcement we now return you to your regular scheduled program right smack in the middle so you wont know what the **** happened cause we can nah nah.

And if I somehow offended you please fell free to write to.

Gonzo's complaint department in care  of .
105 It's called a ******* joke way .

Cheers Gonzo
Tiffany Marie Dec 2014
Bored still wanting answers for fun things to do......I'M GOING TO BOSTON SOON!!!YAY!I'm staying in Arizona for ONE more week


WELCOME BACK soon  SNOW LOL
followers and people tell me fun things to do before i leave to go to boston......
DCgirl May 2022
People won't fall in love with you just because you are good at love

But isn't this what life is supposed to be about?

You tell me to follow my dreams but secretly hope theyre sensible enough to follow because God forbid it's unattainable and you end up alone and picky
Dark n Beautiful Apr 2017
Chasing rainbows in the dark
Nothing is perfect
For him I am perfect
Then I remember something
I never like the ****** look on his face:

The poor chap couldn’t recognize the
New double act:
Tiffany Marie Dec 2014
I'M IN ARIZONA!!!May not be on everyday sorry!!!....lol
hi may not be here every day love ya followers
levi Jun 2012
and i’m probably wrong,
but- good.
everyone else gets to be wrong, and be proud of it,
and be supported in their fallacies
shallow girls with their fickle girlfreinds
so eager to agree that “guys ****”,
hey, newsflash,
if you want to earn the right to be so fragile,
stop treating other people like they’re made of stone,
and these girlfriends who are there for you now,
was it only last week that they were all “*******”
and didn’t you hate them for all the things they said about you to each other behind your back
(all the same things you say about them behind theirs)
all the girls you would call fat and ugly then turn to me hours later for consolation about insecurities or insult to your own appearance,
all the friends you forced me to get to know,
then forced me to hate,
the warnings you ignored,
only to overreact at the end as if you didn’t know,
and still somehow blame it or take it out on me.
this is for the beanie baby turtle you made me throw out of the window because it was a christmas present to me from your now ex-best friend.
this is for the girl i’ve known since i was a toddler that came to my dad’s fiftieth birthday party with my aunt who used to babysit us both.
she came along because she thought it would be fun to see all the people that she hadn’t for the greater part of ten years.
she came to see me.
she was very beautiful.
i forced myself to ignore her because i knew how you would have reacted.
i will never forgive myself for that.
i’ll probably never see her again.
this is for the class i failed
staying up the night before because “i HAD to call you”
the night before the big test because you were so upset over something that was literally nothing at all
and i told you it was stupid to act like it was a real problem
but i still talked to you well into the early morning as i stumbled around the dark streets
in the cold
because i needed privacy to talk to you and my roommate was in the room.
and so was my calculus book i was trying to read through.
but no- you’re not selfish,
that’s me.
the truth is you need me more than i need you
and the truth is when i first met you, you put on an innocent girl act
but you were just a ****,
you and all your friends, the easy, broken girls who didnt get enough love,
from semi-broken homes, who didn’t know what normal or okay were,
and i gave you everything i could.
and you took it all
and then you took it for granted
and then you took me so far in that i never could get back out
i’m tired of being your soft spoken boy
don’t tell me i’m inconsiderate.
don’t tell me i’m not understanding.
don’t tell me you love me when we make up.
you wouldn't know the first thing about it.
Oskar Erikson May 2016
I thought
Heartbreak.
CAME DURING THE RELATIONSHIP.
how on Earth
has it happened;
before?
heartbreak
brooke Jul 2013
heart flare,
wind burn
when I hear
about Albuquerque
(c) Brooke Otto
Evie Hammond Jul 2015
Are you sorry for things you've done?
For the violent attacks on your little son?
"It'll make you a man" that's what you said
As you kicked him and beat him around the head?
Or do you still think that it's ok
To treat your family that way?
More secrets hidden over years gone by?
Will you truly repent before you die?
Well, forgiveness to you isn't mine to give
After all your crimes do you really want to live
With the consequences of what you've done?
You blame it on trauma from carrying a gun?
But you beat your wife and you beat your kid
There's just no excuse for what you did
You hide behind your public face
Little man, you're a disgrace
You thought that this was buried in the past
But karma's a ***** and she's catching you fast
For the people you pretend to have been your brothers
Here's the kicker pal, some of us are mothers
Here comes the reckoning for what you've done
For the torture you visited upon your son
So don't blame the job for what you did
Newsflash - a warrior doesn't hit kids!
Abusers hide behind all kinds of excuses for their violence but there's really no excuse. Applies equally to men and women. Apologies to anyone this may resonate with a little too much
Leah Vee Feb 2012
Dislike to love
love to hate
hate to indifference

Besties?
don’t make me laugh

*****, please
you flaunt around
like you own this place
but NEWSFLASH
you only think you do

Nobody cares
what you drink
Nobody cares
where you go
Nobody cares
who you ****

You became
selfish
greedy
a monster
or were you just hiding?

Try actually giving a **** sometime
you hurt your “best friend”
and she never got an apology
none of us did

Of course, we don’t have fights anymore
we’re “over that kind of stuff”
we’ve “grown up”
but really
you’re just not worth my time

I’ll fake friends for now
don't want unneeded drama
come August it won’t matter
you can sleep in the bed you made
Have you seen the news?
Then you've missed the point.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ahg6qcgoay4
Seek and you shall find..
Alexis Martin Nov 2012
I haven't been able to write much lately
and I think it is because
for the first time in a long time
I have no sadness
-
Chloë Fuller Dec 2014
not everything I write is about you.
this one is though.
Sean Aug 2011
I know what we have is really quite solid.
But today I convinced myself of an earthquake.

Perhaps it began on screen
Some distant, modern tragedy.

I felt

The gravity
You know the kind
Some feel in a theme park ride

At first

It was a calculated calm
A day in the park
Vision shot through

pixilated

Bedding me
under
in **** fixation.

Such is my kaleidoscope to our collective,
defecate,
fantasy.

When the world turns 'round
those candy colors
dissolve into perfect fractals

geometry.

Single-file they beam--
pushing out
pop-cultural enemas
like frosting.

And then— too bright!
A riveting newsflash
the kaleidoscope
is

cracked.

flickering
gasps.

We watch
a city as
its body's streets--
collapsed.

see the banner of
blood now runs
down the news anchor's face:

There's been a
catatonic quake.

Interrupting this program
the woman
with a saccharine smile
makes A Devastating Report:

Yes.
We're all undertow
Evacuate then buy this ****** cream
move and upgrade your resume
The water broke and the oil spilled,
but the economy is definitively
under control.

This puppetry is
sedation by generalized asphixiation,
this American Dream glaring from the T.V. screen
is  mindless work
-our salvation-
Harder work? Isolated suffering.

What with toxic invasion,
designer cantaloupe to nuclear waste,
more storms and third world turnover rates.
Higher and higher inflation,
predatory insurance claims-
minimum wage won't cover my education.


Bloated babies
not on T.V. and not in Africa
but holding Mamma's hand
loitering downtown,
near the grocery chains.

See the quake perpetuate:
These are American hunger pangs.
Occupy for Change.
Tiffany Marie Dec 2014
My poems are all about love and I wanting love
sadly most of them anyway...Am I pathetic?
Love is sometimes what the heart wants
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
as with any plaster work, or draping muscles and bones and
organs in skin - i knew i reached a zenith of some sort:
forever introspective, that chance momentum
that never reaches a museum of retrospective
finalised banalities -
and with that's happening in America,
i get a chance glimpse into that part of the world
so bogus, so *****-like, so haphazardly
put together - the chance to see the rats (artists)
jump ship and head to Tangiers, Paris, London
(for the pillars of the movement to come,
London especially, but might i suggest Edinburgh?
the capital of the offshoot that's to come
from Scandinavian novels?) -
i wouldn't suggest heading to Prague -
or Budapest - never to tourist hot-spots, obscurity is
what you need - Edinburgh out of season,
then the theatrical circus isn't there -
***** poetics: poncy monologues and Annabel
art-house flea markets... but that's the beauty,
flea markets in France, charity shops in England...
but i did exhaust this one musical avenue,
i dropped the ᚱᚢᚾᛖᛋ - it got boring after a while:
all that charged up mythological feeling -
the way we always wanted: myths to feel with,
to eat, rather than the sterile scientific facts...
i've learned enough to later ditch them,
even a Professor of Chemistry will have a postcard
of Edward Hopper's painting by his desk,
that window to view the world that doesn't
necessarily encompass sun moon and constellations...
how anyone would be foolish to scrub off
some inspiration from such things bemuses me,
the lowest of the low of poetic expressions is
sung to things that manage too much: the moon
and the sea tides, the sun and the seasons and
phototropism - it's a double edged sword...
only from one art to another do we get to see
our labourers of attention, else the same old deficit:
god... who in his glee took offence at anyone
having more awe-inspiring sense to please such
things... no alone can you master contemplating
both the beauty and the utilisation behind such
objects as a single man... however well...
it's impossible... you're sharing the bronze platform
with those that simply wrote of the shallow
beauty, and those that found these objects
were not simply aesthetic, but meaningful in
the machinery of things... it was never up to
us to find that electric genius of combining the aesthetics
with the machinery as one...
for in that sense god is a form as fraction
of 9/1, 8/1, 7/1, 6/1, 5/1, 4/1...
the fraction of wholeness... a complete set to start with...
man has already proved the limit as a fraction
with the base 3... 9/3, and that didn't really end well...
at best man is composed of a fraction base of 2...
by sharing the world through marriage to a woman,
or through a learned devotion, a crumb of what a woman
is, a philia (love) of his interests, a soloist voyage...
some just say: you will either take to being faithful
to philology and yourself as its devotee,
or you'll take up a wife... oddly enough chemists are
defilers of marriage having any purpose other than
to distract... but as i said: you can rarely write
decent things when trying to admire celestial spheres...
more ambition comes from the distraction of the zodiac
"prophets" and astrologers... a poem about the moon
is just a poem that is levelled with a poem
about a dustbin... but hey... Top Cat lives in the dustbin,
Neil Armstrong bopped along the lessened gravity
surface... but which is easier to acquire for a smile?
Benny... cue the violin theatrics of lamenting to a comic
end.
well... we have to juggle each other's impressions,
taking at hacking the raw meat will not give any of us
medium-rare barbecue steaks marinated...
taking the moon as something else is: nice...
and you know how nice things end up as... as tacky
suburban *******... if you're going to tackle the
thing with all the rawness... i'd first spend looking
looking at that thing of your attention in a graveyard...
just to get the feel to the idea: well... my fellow daisies
sniffed from the roots up would probably have
said something sulky similar.
but it's like that, you get to exhaust certain musical avenues...
i'm currently at a period where i have enough
stash of jazz records to rekindle my interest in it...
on today's menu? the real McCoy (McCoy Tyner,
Joe Henderson, Ron Carter and Elvin Flynn -
Flynn makes his mark, even though not the star
of the album, Art Blakey has a match) -
then onto the tragedy of Sonny Clark with his
cool struttin' alongside Art Farmer, Jackie McLean,
Paul Chambers and Philly Joe Jones...
i must admit that after watching the film whiplash
my ear-buds staged a coup to move from a certain
type of music into this... and even though
i already said that the climate in America at the moment
is very a second attempt at a Beat movement...
it's very much different... i guess jazz makes all the sense
in a pure urban environment...
jazz and urbanity, the hipster parties where wine flows
like poetry and people get to do their wild marijuana
******... but Bukowski changed everything
by bringing a taste of the classical into the scene...
it feels just like that these days...
there's no jazz on the radio...
going back to watches and radios, mono-utility things
that are the glamours of the inoffensive cluttering of a room...
no digital screen... the radio position at the back
of my head, behind me, the little fly-eye Rubik cube
ahead of me...
that's the odd thing with coming with jazz these days...
it's like Bukowski in the shadows of the beat movement
back when it was the beaten track...
so i said that jazz and urbanity are perfect partners...
well... take jazz from an urban environment and put it
in a outer-suburban environment, in a place
about 30 minute walk from farming fields with bulls
and horses... foxes the thieves rummaging in people's
trash... and... as classical music took to
teaching us the language of celestial bodies,
Holst... in this kind of environment jazz does the same...
jazz becomes equal to classical music with celestial
bodies... i'm just wondering if there are enough
instruments to arrange the solar system...
Mercury the Trumpet...
         Venus the Double Bass
Earth the Piano
                       Mars the Drums
Jupiter the Tenor Sax                                   (comparatively,
                Saturn the Soprano Sax                using a Holst
                                                           ­        schematic, the reverse,
                                             yet citing Jupiter, not as a planet,
                                           well, the bellowing voice of paternal fury)
Uranus the Clarinet
                                           (takes sheer magic to play that thing)
so that just leaves us with an Neptune as either
   Alto Sax or Trombone...
but that's how jazz morphed since it last came across
poetry... someone stole it from its urban environment
of busy streets and ugly manners and quick quick snappy
and the millionth time i could compare it to a spontaneous
encounter with someone in a bar... jazz lost its cool there...
people said the same thing about jazz
as Kaiser Joseph II did of Mozart... "too many notes"...
translate this urbanity into an outer-suburban environment
and put it against that kind of backdrop?
well... personally, there are just enough notes in each piece...
you looked outside the window? you could hear
a **** from a mile away and no tree would even sway
in nodding approval even with a galeforce wind slapping
them... jazz lost its synchronisation with the urban environment
it emerged from... but in so doing, it managed to mature
like good wine on the outskirts of large cities,
where it literally became the only thing that could ably
make a Kandinsky moment from semi-detached houses.
NEWSFLASH... what is this concern about art being
subjective? i don't see where these arguments go...
i thought art was about revealing the intimate,
not revealing the objective shallows of a method...
of limited scope like any philosophical systematisation...
if Christopher Columbus ever did things
objectively he might have discovered Lisbon or the Canary Islands...
art can't be objective... trying to argue that art is
"only a subjective" expression... well, if it was to be
a "greater" expression objectively, an artist would
walk into an art gallery, take all the paintings from
the canvases, and turn to the public and say:
now let's see your subjectivity, otherwise go ponce
off the art critics to take something they said to your
date about how: the light contorts the features of expressions
blah blah blah blah blah... the point of art being
superior as a subjective vehicle is so that i can feel someone
else's feelings... as opposed to thinking someone else's thoughts...
art is the sensual, not the premeditated dogmatic funeral -
which all philosophers attend: they're objective to the
point that they're afraid of having a personal attachment
to their outputs - they will hardly ever want to invite
a criticism of their objectivity, because they're such emotional
paupers - they fear criticism of their subjectivity to such
a point, that you can simply look at their pronoun usage
strategy, they really do use these words like kings -
but when Mozart is criticised by the Kaiser... he thought
nothing of it... he actually thought, nothing of it,
perhaps his vanity was wounded, but his virtue wasn't...
which is why he remains with us...
for the fatal wound incurred is not that of virtue,
but that of vanity... and true virtue is unafraid of criticism,
there's this cognitive blockage that enriches the
heart and leaves the mind blank... the sort of blank
that accommodates the Pyramid of Vanity:
bishops, priests, doctors, kings, queens, portrait artists,
Versailles... such things are so ****** void of anything
but scare-mongers, sycophants, leeches and finally tourists...
for whatever you take from the realm of Hades,
there's a stamp-duty on each precious element from that
realm... each thing is stamped: worthless...
you couldn't extract penicillin from Hades...
changing gold into a ring is worthless if such symbolism
of a union of monogamy end with the ring being
nothing more than a thing disputed over the divorce settlement.
i hate this site May 2012
newsflash:
no one is relationship material
that's why everyone pretends
maybe i'm a cool retro chick---or a hot biker mama
we'll see what gains the most friendsss
simple tasteful elegant and refined
shall we go a courting Sir or do i cross your mind?
Tired and unforgiving the judgements soon continue
tried to play the dating game
but then i got a call from Granny
KarmaPolice Jun 2015
Apologies in advance. I wanted to share them all x
---------------------------------------------------------------­----------

For the fallen

The world is such a tormented place,
Haunted by the insecurities of every race.
Obsessed with greed and absolute power,
The dictators rained on the weak,
With a gun filled shower.

Brave men were enlisted to bring peace to the land,
To help the weak be strong and to make a stand,
Women and children were left abandoned, alone,
While their men were out fighting protecting our home.

Families shattered by one single blast,
Congregating together in one single mass.
Weeping beside a freshly dug grave,
Lay a widow wishing that he had not been so brave.

We will remember him always for his courage and valour,
By honouring his name in silence upon the eleventh hour.
Rest in peace my friend we are forever in your debt,
We will pray for you all.... lest we forget.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------------

Love in War

Thinking of you my love,
As this horror reigns upon me from above,
Scared, freezing cold and wet,
I think of you, the good times we had,
Which I will never forget,

One by one, my comrades fall, into this stranger of lands,
Where they once stood tall,
Too weak to keep going, no food, no water,
We think of our loved, wives, sons and daughters,

Shells falling, exploding beside,
Blood shed all over, my comrades have died,
I am alone now, with nowhere to turn,
As the carnage of war continues to burn,

I hear the enemy drawing near, shouting aloud,
The trophies off my comrades, have made them so proud,
I have to make a choice, as either way I will die,
As I cook this grenade and blow them sky high!
-----------------------------------------------------------­-----------------

Why my father cried

Sitting by the fire,
He raised a glass,
Whispering words,
Of his secret past,

A solitary tear,
Wiped slowly away,
Hiding the pain,
Of that fateful day,

As a curious child,
I always wondered why,
My heroic father,
Would sit and cry,

Or wake up screaming,
Soaked in his bed,
Telling my mother,
The noise in his head,

As I grew old,
I understood why,
My soldier father,
Would sit and cry,

He lost his family,
Not linked by blood,
He witnessed things,
That no human should,

Affected by the war,
Still to this day,
His post-traumatic stress,
Stuck on replay.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------

The Return

Newsflash on the radio, he saved many lives,
Protecting his brothers, by self-sacrifice,
Dreading the moment, of a knock at my door,
Just hearing those words, pin me to the floor,

My wife drops her cup, is crippled by the dread,
We know what is coming, our heroic Son is dead,
I'm crying deep inside, on the outside I am strong,
Footsteps drawing near, I know it won’t be long.

Flashbacks whirling round, family moments we shared,
Too proud to tell my son, just how much I cared,
I reach for my wife, to hold her in my arms
The doorbell rings, like the morning alarm,

Bringing her close, I tell her it's okay,
Holding each other’s hands, as we start to pray,
I walk to the door, heart beats through my chest,
Opening it slowly, as it comes to rest,

My son stands before me, tears replace tears,
No scratch upon his skin, allaying all my fears,
A reoccurring dream, every single night,
As we await his return, from their heroic fight.

Written for all the families affected by war.

----------------------

Flashback

My husband sits for days on end,
Staring through his empty friend,
My tearful words fall alone,
His mind resides in combat zone,

A man replaced by shell so cold,
Numbed by scars of war untold,
Violent dreams lived each night,
Lashing out, at all in sight,

He returns to war inside his head,
Trauma stained by all bloodshed,
A trigger pulled, his mind released,
Begging for, all thoughts to cease,

His scars remain, but can't be seen,
Buried deep inside his dreams,
Years of therapy, will help him free,
From the damaging effects..
.. of PTSD

I pray for the day, he's finally home,
So the trauma of war, can leave us alone.

----------------------

A Winter's Soldier

A winters night, into the cold,
The Queen's servant, looking old,
Just ten years since Iraq..
Ripped cloth upon his back.

Paper sheets, and plastic bags,
Warming body holding rags ,
His bottle lacking wine..
Drinking passed the time,

Daily grind, passing by,
No one stops, wonders why..
..His lips, are a shade of blue,

Tight fist clutched to chest,
A hero soldier, came to rest,
Upon commuter street..
..look down beneath your feet...

..Yes you!

A winters soldier, died alone,
Buried deep, below the stone,
Tortured by the war..
By the scars nobody saw.

If only you had not ignored,
The dying soldier there before,
Then maybe we could save...
..The wounded and the brave.

New poems added. Hopefully improve them in time :-)
IcySky Jan 2016
I am not who everyone expects me to be,
some think I'm a ditzy blonde who can't think for herself,
some think I am one to be pushed over, repeatedly hurt,
some know I have a brain, but expect too much from me.

I do not even know myself anymore...
always compared to my brother,
my aunt, my cousins....
newsflash, I'm not them!! I am who I am.

I am a teenage girl...
I love classical music, I don't just hear the music, I feel it.
I love the opera, there is so much emotion in these.
I love the fine arts, music, museums, art.

It's true I don't love reading, but yet my favorite book is 'To **** a Mockingbird'.
I am homeschooled, so what? Homeschoolers are some of the most brilliant people out there, no one should call us dumb.

I am a blonde, I'm not ditzy, I don't need everyone to tell me things I already know.
I love nature, and photography.
I am great at math, I love it, along with science. I have a 4.0 GPA.

I'm not mall, gossip, and makeup.
I am, sports, cars, weaponry, and music.
I don't wear dresses, and skirts.
I am gym shorts, jeans, tees.

I am a fantastic cook, but I ain't no "house wife" type.
I clean, but if I didn't who else would?
I love kids, but not in my life until after college, and marriage.
Do you get it yet?

I am one of the most honest, trustworthy, kind person there is.
I love easily, but I do not trust as easy.
I trust no one, but I love, and get hurt.
I am a broken spirit, I love, and I forgive too much, I am too trusting.

No one knows me,
like they think they do.
I am who I am,
not who everyone wants me to be.
stop thinking you know me, cuz you don't!!!!
Nicole tanner Dec 2012
i get it
i ******* up
i get it

im sorry
im sorry im not reserved and obedient
im sorry im not a genius
im sorry im not always polite and kind

but let's take a second and rewind
ive never been the smartest
or the most obedient
i dont know why you think that would change
or if you thought i'd rearrange my thoughts
and my mentality
let's face it - let's get back to reality
take off this blindfold that covers
the intense brutality

im not your perfect child
im not the kind loving daughter
people always try to change me
well stop-dont even bother

they say your personality is set at age twelve
well newsflash i've been like this since
way before then
and it is NOT going to change

then again.
maybe i do need to change
but theres only so much i can do
before i completely cease to exist.
see to exist is pain for others
so wouldn't it be better not to exist at all?
to cease to exist is what state i wish for
to sink in the depths
to fall through the floor
to melt out the windows
and drip through the pipes
if i were to cease to exist
it would ease all the strife

you wouldn't have to waste your breath
and i wouldn't be
"ruining the ******* family"

that tone of your voice tears at the very last
shred of composure my mind has to offer
i feel trapped and negated
call this a dramatic teenage "plea"
but i've been going through it for far more long than you know

see that brutal anxiety mocks me
as i try to
distract myself
maybe there is something wrong with me
eating inside my mind
this thought has always come to me
throughout this course of time
i wish to know why it haunts me
whatever did i do
because when i think of that moment
my mind splits into two
by better judgement and conscious out one window
and in comes through the door
visions of slaughter and violence
i am ashamed but can't ignore

****** maybe i am being over dramatic
well ****. now i really don't know.

is there really something wrong with me?
i am evil.
so she says...
twists the words so that it's my fault
thats all i've ever thought
but maybe it's actually my fault
for not giving this a thought
i cant seem to deal with this.
cant melt or run or scream for this

God gave me these trials to go through,
but what if there isn't a God?

amateur. ****.
horrible.
you are a ***.

confused? you should be i am too.
im just writing what im feeling because lately its the best i can do.

music and writing- ill turn to you.
it seems you're the only one that doesn't try to change me.

maybe one day i'll change
for better
or for worse

but for now it will remain a mystery
Liam C Calhoun Jul 2016
I might be
“Here,”
And you might be
“There,”
Better yet,
We might be both
“Now,”
But “Newsflash!” –
The glass,
Between us,
Is just thick enough
To let me see you,
And keep you
From hearing me.
Chris D Aechtner Nov 2021
BLAST   —   direct focus on a terrorist virus
that swims in breath and touch,
in globules of spittle and ssnot see,
waiting to plant roadside RNA bombs
in nostrils—from flesh to newsflash fantasies

with

a Fear-O-Meter Lockdown grip
of Crisis Management Economics:
Gaslit Fiat economy crash test dummies
tested within psychosocioschizological
experiments of the psychobacteriological

transfer of power, control, and wealth—

stats data for thinktanks and simulations:
which strategies are best to get the peasants  
to willingly offer up their lives for an illusion
of safety and protection, what causes people
to remain compliant or to become renegades.

Capitalism, the revolutionary meant to usurp
Queens and Kings, corrupted into a negative
Technocratic Corporatocracy: a Royal Trash
death cult that feeds on its young, sacrifices
its youth to scams, wars, and stolen futures:

a Technocrat Herr Doktor drug pusher
that plies the skin of trial control groups
for the venom of Warpspeed fangs—wraps
its coil around a bundle of willow switches
supple with youth, its victims kept alive

as a fuel source to burn in the corporate engine, and kept weak enough to require another fix "For the betterment of the whole."

(Gaslighting fills mandated shower-coops:
"Trust us, you're sick, and it's your fault.")

Pollute people into isolation against an enemy that has never been truthfully isolated and purified—
an Orwellian leap of faith that breaks:
a crusher of foundational laws,
a crusher of critical thought and bones.

"Destroy (transform) your dreams, milestones, and livelihoods for your safety and protection. We are doing this for you. We care about you. These numbers, these awful numbers are your fault! You're to blame! It's all your fault!"

"Make sure to vote for me come next election."

As much as North America is a globalist,
the New World is also its own experiment.
Fortress North America: the Eugenicist Manager founded upon colonialism and slavery that outsources its crisis economics—
highly contagious, bit with its own snake oil,
an experiment observed to show symptoms
of AIDS, North America attacking itself
in many ways, symptoms of having been
grazed and groomed for decades

in contagion-based sociopolitical templates
that result in acquired bipolar autoimmune
disease: past enemies and geists attained
boosted immunity to defend, adapt—learned
to deflect Sun Tzu's Art of War into itself

with its own momentum. "Unrestricted
Psychological Warfare": a process of confusion and doubt that leads to the demoralization and dehumanization of the target enemy via the subversive tactics of propaganda plowing, cultural memetic warfare, the infection of economy, politics, military, scientific and educational institutions and systems—
cybertech and media espionage and warfare,
all of it leading to symptoms of extreme

polarization and social moral tribalism—
a decades-long psychological, physical
and spiritual draining of the enemy
into a weakened, toxic state, barely worthwhile to conquer fully. The enemy does the rest,

finishes itself off with:

Acquired (Red Auto)ImmunoDefiency Syndrome

Red CONtroll COVID-19 debt slavery—
pandemic crisis, CoVfefe crisis, energy crisis,
population crisis, climate crisis, racism crisis,
market crisis, war crisis, terrorism crisis,
ISIS is is cry sis in crisis and crisis
in crisis debt slavery to the State: Toadies

for the "New Normal" Big Pharma-Big Tech
mechanical heart engine that thrums
with a beat that Zooms in on, Zooms out from
false-positive test results amplified

and distorted into AIDS:

Amplified Information Distortion Syndrome

and

an Acquired ImmunoDeficiency Syndrome
in conjunction with a near-infinite number
of variables and determining factors—
an Auto-ImmunoDeficiency Syndrome of
body, mind, soul, and political systems
cruising along an acquired, contagious loop
of a negative-sense RNA socialist Autobahn—

highly contagious, highly experimental in
unprecedented moments of crisis and mirrors: reflections of reflections of reflections
amplified and bent
in sleight-of-hand misdirection and deflection with the virus holding a mirror's face outwards

while

an mRNA 'treatment' infects human cells
to conquer and command them to become
bomb making factories that create
SARS-CoV-2 S-proteins—yes, yes, "inactively" teach T-cells with double-think McCure-all bandAIDS to 'help' identify SARS-CoV-2 RNA. Understood. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction

(for the Terrorist within)

"Here's a fast-tracked vaccine that supposedly boosts the immune system that you're being commanded to weaken."

GMO sleeper cells and non-celled sequences
that can attain causality and symbiosis with
drug and antibiotic resistant organisms,
are sold as the cure that ills

and

misdiagnosed and misunderstood symptoms
of anything and everything
in-between that we've known and seen
are blamed on a laboratory Chimera:

the scapegoat terrorist virus designed
to be highly contagious and gentle to its host
for vaccine programs: Mary's Monster attaining the flame of life within
its Promethean host.

Who made who?

Who knew that the FDA NIH CDC
WHO-Fang North American China Flu Clan

flew the fear and media spread. "Wait for our
next update." Live TV, live virus

with billions of shortsighted treatments
adding ripples to an overflowing soup bowl
of trillions x trillions of RNA particulates,

inactive/active — off/on — negative/positive

Switch:

Spin PCR in the Petri dish:
One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish!
What a lot of fish there are!

This one has a little yellow star.....

("Mission Accomplished")
1 17 2021
C S Jan 2014
They've always told you to "pick your battles".
But I'm coming to disagree with that whole concept.
Here's to hoping you will too.

                                                        New­sflash.
                                                         ­     Your choice isn't which battle to fight.
                                                                ­      Never was.

Because your choice was yesterday,
   and the day before that,
      and the year before that.

                                                          ­                                   Because your time to choose was then,
                                                           ­                                     when you decided your values
                                                                ­                                   and determined where you stand.

                                                       From there,
                                    your battles are clear,
                and you don't get to pick them.

                                                               ­                To believe in something and not
                                                                ­                                 fight for it
                                                                ­                is the highest form of falsehood.

            Once you know where you stand,
you fight the battles coming your way,
                          no second thought.

                                              So when they they tell you to pick your battles,
                                                        ­            tell them to step aside,
                                                           show them how little they know.

                                           How duped they will feel,
           finding out the war began a long time ago,
                          and you're coming out ahead.

                                                         ­   Find your place on the battlefield,
                                                    ­              not your place in a society
                                                       that demands order with trembling lips.

                                                          ­                  See.
                                          ­                                       You're already in this war,
                                                            ­                               armed and ready.

You're the commander.
Pick your stance.
But never your battles.
Harold r hunt sr Apr 2017
Newsflash: There will be not any Christmas this year.
Santa's elves are on strike for better pay and no Obamacare.
The FAA has grounded Rudolph. So Santa has to use Twinkle toes for more light.
Santa's doctor told Santa to lay off the cookies because he won't get off the ground.
The other reindeer wants more feed because they don't like carrots.
So no Christmas this Year Boys and Girls.
NitaAnn Jan 2014
I have reached the bottom of the well of logic & rationality today...
and it is bone dry!

Gosh, it sounds like you had a really bad night last night.
Really?
I hadn't noticed Dr. Obvious!  
I don't need "validation" about how hard the night was!

NEWSFLASH
I WAS THERE!

  At least for some of it!
And the most fabulous thing is...
if you hang on till the next day,
no matter how much it *****,
you get a quick pat on the back for not "hurting" yourself.

NEWSFLASH # 2
Doesn't make it **** any less!!!!!

I have reached deep into the well of logic and rationality today and the well is dry.
So I'm done!
  FINISHED!  
NO MORE TALKING OR REACHING OUT!

It doesn't matter.  It never did.  
I can't do it.  I am not strong enough.
And it seems as though it doesn't matter
how difficult it is as long as you don't cut yourself
then everyone thinks everything is fine.

And I want to just scream out:
NOTHING IS FINE!!! CAN'T YOU SEE THAT?
I COULD NOT BE FURTHER THAN FINE!
  
But it wouldn't matter if I did...no one listens.  
If there are no external scars - no one listens - so it doesn't matter.

— The End —