Try JW dot Org

Have you wondered about the meaning of life?
Is God to blame for our trouble and strife?
Do you have unanswered questions that make you sigh?
Do you ever wonder what happens when you die?

Yes - Life may trouble you
Bad news may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Have you wondered; "Does God really care?"
“Does He listen when we pray - is He there?”
“Will war and suffering ever cease?”
“How can we find inner happiness and peace?”

Yes - Life may trouble you
Crime may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

The reasoning is clear - the answers are viable
They always adhere to God's word in the Bible

Yes - Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
So try JW.org website.

Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
- Brendan Vincent Owens


Have you wondered about the meaning of life?
Is God to blame for our trouble and strife?
Do you have unanswered questions that make you sigh?
Do you ever wonder what happens when you die?

Yes - Life may trouble you
Bad news may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Have you wondered; "Does God really care?"
“Does He listen when we pray - is He there?”
“Will war and suffering ever cease?”
“How can we find inner happiness and peace?”

Yes - Life may trouble you
Crime may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

The reasoning is clear - the answers are viable
They always adhere to God's word in the Bible

Yes - Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
Questions trouble you as well they might.
If life troubles you - questions trouble you, try JW.org website.

Life may trouble you
Doubt may trouble you
So try JW.org website.

Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
Try J W dot Org Website Try J W dot Org
- Brendan Vincent Owens

your eyes are like oysters i'd wish i would have gulped,
  a scenario of Narcissus who ate by the mirror...
     but then i listen to a heavy metal song:
and retract to change the lyrics
toward: fear of the selfies... fear of the selfie...
fear of the selfie... i have a phobia that someone
somewhere needs me to pose.
it's almost a cheerie cry, i'm a big boy i can walk
into a deathly hollowed-out road of
confiscated pride... the route i took,
engaged me with seven horses and one that almost
mistook my fingers for sugar cubes
and knocked my brains out after discovering
the plight of what it was nibbling on...
  but that's so ****** personal,
i might have insurrected the existence
of a satanic cult with me shouting
in the forest one time or other...
never mind that... your eyes are still akin
to oysters... a gulping-down of
whatever content it suggests...
no tongue-waggling, no breathing,
         just that shape akin to feline asiatic squirm
above a permanent slit: entangling with
what's known as sober-faced poker... or beyond
    purring: murmuring a sodden / well-trodden
path: and was anything else expected to suffer less?
   those eyes: esp. bound to a hispanic frozen lot of longing...
oysters jeopardised along with snails
  whenever the inquisition dared to come between us...
ergo dispersed the oily sexed up
***** Juan stereotypes of piston pump-pump...
nevermind, i call them twirling pumper-nickle gymnasts
of all things necessary kneaded into a chasm of org':
                         hispanic tilde eyes...
the eyebrow within the eye encompassing whatever
needs an expression... surprise? mmm, nada.
sunrise and was phone-*** so ever interesting as to
forget writing mistimed odes such as this?
                  thespian hoplites raised their tongues
toward the spear that suggested a marching was
the proper aversion toward a coup
with the director of theatre too violently itemising
Shakespeare toward a boorish scenario of
thrown rotten cabbage onto the stage.
        fewer hoplites suggested ******
  in the trojan horse, and fewer of the said "hashishin"
might have allowed history to bite at Homer's narrative
for posterity, had they not already said: ha ha! dope!
still, that locomotive tilde of the hispanic girl's eye
that ate the eyebrow, and squinted toward a sunrise
in demanding asiatic slit offense:
                           as monogamy for the sun invoking
marriage...
                    spinoza im eisen mädchen?
     hilfe anaconda! hilfe anaconda! hilfe aisha!
pricklengrund von hattin!
              hispanic tilde of the eye that ate the eyebrow
and demised the asiatic natural "squirm"
    and the forgotten sales of eyeglasses for myopia,
or too the once ticklish origin of silk with her
spinning don quixote's platonism to a
dame (akin to that fabled bride of Athos, good grief!)
that's dubbed *riza'doviento'dealma.

A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection

THE BILLION YEAR CONTRACT

So I had this boyfriend. I don't really know *why I stayed with him. Except that he was fairly intelligent. He left scientology not longer after I left, I discovered later. But, truth be told, he was NOT attractive to me. He had a lisp. THAT wouldn't have bothered me so much, but he couldn't dance either.... LOL! That was, for some reason, important to me in a man. Always has been. He also had a jaw like a steamshovel and eyes like poached eggs. Oh, well...

Anyway,  he was very excited about a do that was happening up in Phoenix!  There was a brand new ORG!  Scientologese for organization, especially a high echelon one. This Org was the TOP at that time! The Flag Land Base! Located in a once-glamorous resort town, Clearwater, Florida. A place of sugar sand beaches and tropical beauty! There was an Orientation going on, and he wanted me to go with him...

That was the most Fateful night of my life. This FOT (Flag Orientation Tour) was actually a recruitment drive. For the infamous Sea Organization!

When I arrived I was impressed. It was in a conference room at a nice hotel. All the materials they handed me were slickly printed. The only thing that bugged me were the uniforms. The folk not in suit jackets even wore lanyards! That warning sign in my stomach should have told me.... RUN!!! AS FAST AND FAR AS YOU CAN!!! But did I listen? NO! And that was a mistake that cost me 24 precious years of my life. Golden years. Years I could have been in school. College and university. Instead I worked as a peon slave for that CULT. Then 20 years stolen by virulent targeting. TRAGIC!

I stayed. And I was lulled into a false sense of security. The speeches by the various "big-wigs" of FLB didn't start till 9 PM. And lasted till 10:30! Their voices were stern yet sonorous. Hypnotic. They told of the importance and "nobility" of the Sea Org. And the very PINNACLE of importance was the Flag Land Base! in balmy and beautiful Clearwater! Where the BEST and most RESPECTED "auditors" and "trainers" took the adherents of Scientology to the most advanced stage of spiritual growth... OT VIII. SCIENTOLOGY WORKS! YES! YOU, TOO, CAN REACH NIRVANA!

What a bunch of HORSESH-T!!!

Anyway. These guys and gals began to look glamorous to me! With their uniforms and scrambled eggs on their hats...

Then the real kicker. "THEY WERE OUT TO CLEAR THE PLANET. And little miss Cathy Jarvis could be a PART of this Noble Cause. That was it. I bought it. Hook. Line. And SINKER.

Even the hard, pockmarked face of the recruitment officer, nor her beady black eyes, could deter me. I was sleepy by that time, and hardly noticed the Contract I signed was for A BILLION YEARS...

I could LEAVE the "Podunk" town I lived in. Go first to spectacular LOS ANGELES... then to...

*... A NEW LIFE in balmy CLEARWATER FLORIDA!!!

Inilah Proses Kematian dan Hancurnya Tubuh Kita!
Sesaat sebelum mati, Anda akan merasakan jantung berhenti berdetak, nafas tertahan dan badan bergetar. Anda merasa dingin ditelinga. Darah berubah menjadi asam dan tenggorokan berkontraksi.
0 Menit
Kematian secara medis terjadi ketika otak kehabisan supply oksigen.
1 Menit
Darah berubah warna dan otot kehilangan kontraksi, isi kantung kemih keluar tanpa izin.
3 Menit
Sel-sel otak tewas secara masal. Saat ini otak benar-benar berhenti berpikir.
4 – 5 Menit
Pupil mata membesar dan berselaput. Bola mata mengkerut karena kehilangan tekanan darah.
7 – 9 Menit
Penghubung ke otak mulai mati.
1 – 4 Jam
Rigor Mortis (fase dimana keseluruhan otot di tubuh menjadi kaku) membuat otot kaku dan rambut berdiri, kesannya rambut tetap tumbuh setelah mati.
4 – 6 Jam
Rigor Mortis Terus beraksi. Darah yang berkumpul lalu mati dan warna kulit menghitam.
6 Jam
Otot masih berkontraksi. Proses penghancuran, seperti efek alkohol masih berjalan.
8 Jam
Suhu tubuh langsung menurun drastis.
24 – 72 Jam
Isi perut membusuk oleh mikroba dan pankreas mulai mencerna dirinya sendiri.
36 – 48 Jam
Rigor Mortis berhenti, tubuh anda selentur penari balerina.
3 – 5 Hari
Pembusukan mengakibatkan luka skala besar, darah menetes keluar dari mulut dan hidung.
8 – 10 Hari
Warna tubuh berubah dari hijau ke merah sejalan dengan membusuknya darah.
Beberapa Minggu
Rambut, kuku dan gigi dengan mudahnya terlepas.
Satu Bulan
Kulit Anda mulai mencair.
Satu Tahun
Tidak ada lagi yang tersisa dari tubuh Anda. Anda yang sewaktu hidupnya cantik, gagah, ganteng, kaya dan berkuasa, sekarang hanyalah tumpukan tulang-belulang yang menyedihkan. Jadi, apa lagi yg mau disombongkan org sebenarnya????
BAGUS UNTUK DIRENUNGKAN.....
Kita tak membawa apapun juga saat kita meninggalkan dunia yg fana ini..

Serasa haru , campur bahagia , sedih , kesal senang juga . bercampur menjadi satu ketika aku mendengar bahwa sahabat tercintaku akan menikah dengan kekasih pujaannya . Haru kenapa? Terharu saja , disisi lain aku kagum akan usahanya memperjuangkan cintanya trhdp org yg dia cinta sejak bbrpa tahun lalu. padahal , jika boleh menengok kebelakang , kisah cinta mereka terbilang sangat rempong . Yaaa... beberapa kali sebut saja novi kerap menghubungiku utk meminta petuah2 apa saja yang bisa membuat dia gak cemburu buta lagi hanya karena si cwoknya ketemu mantan via jalur reuni .

Dan kesalnya adalah , mereka menikah dengan jalan pacaran . Padahal , Dalam islam tdk menganjurkan pacaran ,meskipun kegiatan itu sudah menjadi budaya seluruh dunia . Tidak melihat dari sisi buruk . aku hanya bisa mendoakan saja , agar ALLAH memudahkan segala hajat . menjadikan kalian sepasang suami istri yg saling mencinta di dunia sampai meggapai jannahNYA .  Semoga Bahagia selalu sahabatku NOVI APRIANI ,

A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection


MARILYN

"Her weapons were her crystal eyes... driving every man mad... (dark) as the dark night she was... had what no one else had..."
BANANARAMA "Venus"

Upon first meeting with Marilyn the first thing I was struck by were her eyes. If the eyes are the windows of the soul, hers were the stained glass of Winchester Cathedral. They were absolutely beautiful. Polished obsidion orbs that seemed to have an inner light for all their blackness. The second thing I noticed were her teeth. Strong. Perfectly even, and glistening white. Lastly her height and *figure. Again, I shall use the Winchester Cathedral metaphor... she was positively that... not just a brick house, she was marble! Cantilevered, with flying buttresses everywhere! WOW!

Now, I'm not a lesbian. But if I were, Marilyn would have been in trouble! I was to notice flaws in her looks as time went on. Her thick, shiny raven hair was poorly cut, and her face, while striking, was not all that beautiful. Her features were even and well proportioned, but she was not a classic beauty.  She was of arabic/caucasian liniage. If I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I noticed these imperfections because I was somewhat envious. She was a man-magnet. Ms Pac-Man! I'm not an ugly woman. But I couldn't hold a candle to Marilyn!

As fate would have it, I became her "twin". We were on the buddy system at the beginning of our Sea Org training, and I was paired up with Marilyn. As luck would have it, we hit it off. Even though I felt like a shadow next to her light, I also really liked her. And she liked ME. She never lorded her looks over me. Her brilliant smile could melt the stoniest heart. And we enjoyed the same things. Though she was no artist, she really appreciated art. I actually drew her portrait (which she kept and framed, she told me many years later). We would take long walks around the Hollywood area, and, when time allowed, went to the beach. Santa Monica Pier. She had a droll sense of humor which i could appreciate, and i made her laugh, too. We got along very well.

Our Mission, should we decide to accept it (or NOT), was to write letters to people who had, at one time, been interested in scientology, or the Sea Org (not necessarily in that order). We were told that we to up our "statistics" daily. All jobs were measured statistically. Now, even at THAT age, I knew the Samuel Clemmons quote, "There are lies. **** lies. And statistics." But i thought it prudent not to mention that to anyone.

So, we were to write letters. We worked out a system for staying "upstat". We figured if we wrote LONG letters, and took breaks at first, then wrote shorter letters as time went on we could "beat the system". So we did. We never competed with each other. I was slightly faster than she (I'm a writer, obviously) but she didn't care. I could write. But she could spell. I was never good at that (I HAVE autocorrect on my phone, lol!).

Our I/C (in charge) never really bothered us. We were "upstat". So we joked around and had fun with it. We were allowed to go out and have a little time off occasionally.
I remember going to see the first STAR WARS movie with Marilyn and another dude who was totally smitten with her. She didn't even feign interest, even if he WAS very funny, and good looking in a diminutive way. But he was around her in a holding patern! Like a hummingbird to a honeysuckle! Shaharizade had mesmerized him with her seven veils! But the poor man never got anywhere. So he started to evince interest in me! But got nowhere in that arena either! Poor dude! So, that's how it worked. Marilyn would draw masculine attention. And, eventually, I would be "second pick". Oh, well. I knew better than to "get involved". There was a strict rule about "fratenization". A polite term for ***". THAT was VERBOTEN! It was grounds for RPF, should the partners be unmarried. And since I had NO desire to marry any of them, those dudes were out o luck.

Time went on. FRU  (Flag Recruit Unit) didn't seem so bad! And then there was the lure of my final destination. Flag Land Base... Finally I was ready to take my

...*1,300 mile Greyhound bus!

bhumika fulwani WAS a member of hp who has accounts on other poetry sites, and likes to steal other people's work and show it as her own.

another member of hp who wanted to remain anonymous had pointed out to me that she was using one of my poems on another site.

i was able to prove that i had written mine first and the stolen poem has now been removed.

i would strongly suggest searching for her on other sites, maybe even here, and make sure she hasn't stolen anything from you.
She recently deleted her account here. But on power poetry dot org she has an account with stolen poetry from many of you. I've seen it.

Pocketbook

Transformational intercepts,
messages to the brain.

Time babe, it's time,
to take a next step.
change the bulb
to a higher power.

100 watts insufficient to light
the forward motion of a
Great Leap Forward,
like in a prior writ, when,
limitation awareness
was a borderline crossed.

Like learning to walk without tottering;
We probably don't know we passed a line,
invisible to ourselves,
but all clear to everybody else,
on that special day, one,
that just came and went:
when you could no longer leave home
without a pocketbook

We were accessorized with body parts
most useful to make our way thru life,
but our exterior-designer
neglected to provide pockets knowing
full well that fashion acessorizing
was more that just a way to carry tools;

Individuation, maturation, needed,
a way to communicate I've arrived

Ain't no child no more,
double negatives
a thing of the past,
cause once you leave the
comfort of the abode with
handbag corpuscles inhaled,
from that day onwards,
you could no longer:

Walk these feminine streets,
leave home,
without a pocketbook,

Judgement day becomes
Every day, nowadays, so,
when from the cave you emerge,
and face the world:

Gonna need what ya gonna need,
to negotiate the way through,
don't matter what's
inside your handbag
or your head,  
if you are eight or
eighty eight,
you know,
you believe, you need
in handbags,
as much as you believe in god

I am incomplete,
my body undressed for all to observe
If I walk down the street
after that day,
that came and went,  
when you could no longer
leave home without a pocketbook

Amusing ditty,
nah that's not my speed,
this is a treatise on
serious matters,
when changes in our lives occur,
when we earn a stripe on our sleeves

Pilgrim progress to
a feeling of vive la difference!
who I am is not who I was,
awoken from a previous dream,  
marks on my body will come,
some wanted,
some unwanted,
some happily dismissed
like the curse of braces

Free at last,
free at last to forget
a painful child's past,
sometime it's losing,
sometimes it's adding on,
but for sure, the day I changed,
was the day,
when you could
no longer leave home
without a pocketbook

Oh boys,
don't think you are excluded
from this rite de passage,
I'm one of you and I know
what we kept secreted
in our over stuffed wallets.

Ain't referring to our student org. card
or the emergency folded twenty
Dad gave you in case,
somehow you got
on the wrong bus and
ended up on the
wrong side of town
where bad things
could be found,
somewhat more easily.

Like the comic book store,
next door to the tattoo parlor,
next to where the
Nice Jewish Boys
where never supposed to go,
and the Stars of David and crosses
were removed discreetly prior to arrival,
like Portnoy foretold in
Technicolor detail.

I know you well recall
that bar mitzvah party, school dance,
When the bottles fell to the floor
unbroken, spinning, pointing to you,
When you realized it was that day,
When you could no longer
leave home without a wallet

Times they don't change
all that much,
and pocketbooks now called
Handbags I am told,
and year old babies play
with iPads like they were
born knowing how!

but I ain't impressed that much,
cause I know that it may  
come sooner as the world changes,
there still,  always be,
a day of  painful,
transformational,
generational passing,
when indelible, invisible
birthmarks somehow
became both visible and erased.

Though they may
come different ways than they use to,
in case new parents need guidance,
**It is still that day when
their little girl,
can no longer leave home
without a pocketbook

Cyborg;
n.
A cybernetic organism,
Cyb[ernetic]-org[anism].

Cybran;
n.
A cybernetic human,
Cyb[e]r[netic]-[hum]an.

Nation;
n.
A large body of people united by common descent, history,
Culture, or language, inhabiting a particular state.

Aeon;
n.
Originally meaning life, being, age and/or time,
Now relating to nous, noesis, noema, noumena, noumenon;
The noumenal world-in-itself, eternity and immanence.

The Way;
The philosophy that all should embrace peace.

The Illuminate;
Those who subscribe to The Way.

Nak
Ibumu lahir saat gawat ekonomi seluruh semesta
Saat gawat sebumi memikirkan nilai
Saat dunia ditimpa wabah tak ternampak
Tapi dunia masih cantik

Nak
Ibumu saksi dunia sedang gusar
Saksi pemimpinan goyah
Rebutkan yg tak pasti
Matanya buta
Telinga nya tuli
Tak terdengar rintihan kasta bawahan
Tak terpeduli dan lari meninggalkan hakiki
Ibumu tegak ditengah
Saat mereka berkelahi
Bercemuhan
Hai, ibu saksi saat mereka tak waras

Nak,
Ibumu saksi peninggalan ramai org
Mata kepala ibu melihat org rebah tak bermaya
Ibumu saksi bapak menangisi anak
Bayi lahir tak bersusu ibu
Adik pergi tak berpeluk abang
Dan
Ibumu saksi org tak bisa menjamah nasi
Bukan kerna tak upaya
Tapi kerna rakus ahli prejudis
Dan anjing ditaktor
.
.
Nak
Ibumu saksi saat propaganda dilaungkan
"Demokrasi ini adalah kita semua
Suara kamu kami dengar"
.
.
Anakku
Dengarlah
Ibumu saksi saat dunia tak adil tapi dihias indah
Ibumu saksi saat negeri kita kacau tapi dirai aman
Ibumu saksi nak...
Ibumu saksi perit itu tak cuma kehilangan
Tapi rindu yg bakal tak terubatkan
Salam yg takkan tersampaikan

Dan sebelum kau hingga ke saat itu
Harus lah kau tau
Setiap sisi kita tertanam secebis sedikit hati
Maka harus kau cari yg baik baik sentiasa
.
Kerna mmg sifat dunia begitu
Rebut yg tak pasti
Bertelinga dan tuli
Bergeliga tapi rakus
Dan punyai mata tapi buta
Dan harus kau ingat yg merbahaya sekali
Punyai iman tapi tak berTuhan

well... there's pindar...
    a great biographic entry,
when alexander the great sacked
thebes, pindar's was the only
home standing...
          that's great... but where's
the evidence that he, actually wrote
anything?
      that's a bit like stating that
descartes: really wanted to prove
he existed...
              no he didn't...
                  he didn't care to allow
thought to precipitate into being...
he already started working
on it being elevated to a god...
   but come on... running a poetry
website and withholding
   pindar's poems?
               i have a grand "metaphor"
to counter with that...
         it really was a day of constipation,
   i had to drink about half a litre of *****,
and a warm bottle of beer (ugh...
   that's doubly worse than the way
they drink ***** in england... warm... shots...
i find that warm beer is doubly carbonated)
and then finish the day off with some bourbon...
i did say i was constipated, didn't i?
    there are usually three tiers to the affair...
first one, fair enough, it's a whale or a squid
   about to plop into the pipeline...
the third phase is a bit like: not yet! not yet!
    tier two and three are shy *******...
   you have to wriggle a little bit to get them talking...
it almost seems like some army interrogation tactic,
but i'm not dealing with some taliban fighter...
i'm dealing with my own ***...
                      it's only past midnight that i get
the whole bulge out...
        like i'm some baker that a maine **** cat
makes fetish of, joining me in the toilet
and lying on the windowsill...
       cat ****? that's three times as rank,
human **** seems chocolate to animals...
                        but i am trying to take poetry
seriously...
               i just sat through half-an-hour of
grueling efforts to extract that remnant of last night's
egg-fried rice (yes, with scallion)...
                  but as it feels... i could have
just dashed a tablespoon of chilli powder into my ****...
     i'd rather chop a hundred onions and regard that
as tears forced by sitting with a girl watching
a rom-com than feel this dash of chilli powder up
my a-hole; because that's what it exactly feels like...
   it almost feels like the harambe injustice...
   last time i checked gorillas were vegans...
         unless it wasn't going to be a tarzan story...
no? it wasn't? oh well... there goes the dream!
yet they still have pindar listed on the poetryfoundation.org
website... and there are no poems enclosed!
            it could be great to have read
a snippet of his curriculum vitae...
           the curriculum mortis belongs to too many people,
and the essence gets lost in the tornado of history...
               then again... i know the difference between
    a .jpeg        and a .pdf
        but what's the real difference between
                        a .net     a      .org          and a .com?
           tiers? just tiers? like the national agenda of a .pl
and a .co.uk?
                                 well, there is the sunday times
newspaper... 15 year olds on sugar daddy websites...
           and how sergeant blackman was
  convicted of warcrimes... when he was a trained
killer... some said that people akin to moses couldn't
fit into our modern society...
                           neither could albert camus...
               it might still be considered an existentialist
movement... but it's definetly moved beyond absurdism.

Warning: This is a political rant so beware as you read.

.

One hundred and fifty billion
(another 1.3 billion reported today 8/25/16)
and four hundred million…in cash
To an enemy who views women as slaves,
second, no third class (not even sure “citizens” works here)
Makes soldiers of children/babies
Funds terrorist organizations
who’s goal it is to eradicate Israel
and the United States or anyone else
who doesn’t share their beliefs

What is our response?
Blank checks for death and (lives)
and the signers smile,
lie, (it wasn’t a ransom) smile, lie (what emails?), smile
(Oh crap, they found more)
Why am I humming "Lying Eyes" right now (sorry Eagles)
The one in office
and the one who wants to be,
who stands for women’s rights…huh?
(See lines 4 and 5 in the first stanza)
WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE?

Yet all the media can do
is bash someone with a big mouth
Who shouts, points fingers,
makes accusations, demands that laws be obeyed
wants to protect us, is a racist
(because he calls someone of Mexican heritage a…Mexican)  
Wait, what?
Incites passion and feelings in supporters
who are colored (that’s not racist, is it) as crazy,
losers, deranged, cry babies (Phew, at least not soldier babies)
Because they want something different
Something different…so different,……..like the truth?
(That would be different)

When the rich dude is tagged
#The top recruiter for a terrorist organization
Ha, ha, that’s funny, nice one
Let’s all have a nice laugh, there is nothing wrong with that
High fives all around, media parties ensue
But when he brands those two the founders
and co-founders of the same org.
Whoa, shut the front door, wash your mouth out with soap
Sit in the corner, get a psyche evaluation
Who would say such a thing
Only an insane person, only a loonie, (no offense Canada)
What has this world come too?
Check the news, they’ll let you know (their side)

Still there are those who fight
for their rights to place some of those blank checks
in their pockets, SOLD!!! And the gavel comes down
Who owns who? Should anybody own anybody?
China is fine on nice linen where Russia serves the good *****,  
but that is of no special interest to you or me,
that’s what raising Taxes is for…right?
And hell we can build our own babies,
we have the parts and they are paid for...
by those “T” things I mentioned a few lines above  

Reminds me of another song, let me see,
"Four dead in Ohio" yeah, that's it, CSN &Y;
but it's not, is it?  Something like...
"Four dead in Benghazi" Now there's a song for her,
Dead soldiers and someone's calling
when she's asleep all alone
**** it, one of you answer that thing,
It's the ambassador on the phone...(again)
Just say it's a video,
just say it's a video,
four dead in...
CAN'T HE SEE I'M SLEEPING?

Oh and we all need a firm, sturdy,
corrupt (did I say that out loud?)
foundation to administer favors,
show preferential treatment,
to stand on to count the profits
from the pay to play scheme
Who cares if it is foriegn,
that stuff works just as good a U.S. cash
and besides we need all we can get,
we've got Bill's (women) to pay, and maybe to build those
5 houses in Haiti, maybe...and don't forget
the yoga classes and wedding arrangements,
that stuff ain't cheap
Oh, did I mention that some of the countries paying for
this stuff treat women like crap? Just checking.

Parading around in a stained blue dress,
(no, no, no, that was that other chick)
promising what, where, when, HOW?
"Promising" huh...what's that?
(I always thought it was something you should keep)
Hand outs, free lunches
(but I thought there was no such thing as a free, oh never mind)
That must be it, it must be,
because I can think of no other reason
to support terrorism, to support the lies
and the smiles (and you know I am a smile guy)

Wake up people, (including politicians in the same party)
quit hitting the snooze button over and over and over,
open your eyes, see the light while you still can
For the people, by the people,
Now there’s a novel idea, what a concept
But what am I thinking…I am the enemy,
I am a member of the…middle class,
I should just learn to keep my big mouth shut…YAWN

"Put that in your basket of deplorables and smoke it"

(I was going to send this in an email, but it got deleted with all of the rest of them)  

**My name is Stephan and I approve this poem

The "Church" of Scientology
Puzzle within enigma
People finding out the TRUTH
Now there is a stigma

There are many mysteries
Riddles within obfuscation
Their own ARC Triangle
Stops communication!

Are you following my track?
Or are you bemused?
Is their "nomenclature"
Making you confused?

Hope you brought your copy
Of DIANETICS here
You TOO can be OT
(or at least a Clear)
I won't try explaining it
Too complex, I fear
I'll talk about their OT III
Watch out, we're shifting gears...

When I was in the Sea Org
They spoke of this OT III
Did not discuss what it was
It was a mystery
It was said if it's revealed
You'd lose your sanity
But now I know! It's been disclosed
It's ALIEN HISTORY!

Here are all the thetans
Happy playing games
Enter alien Lord Xenu
He's bad! He's MEAN! He's LAME!

He gathered all these thetans
And brought them here to EARTH
On a DC3... They were
bound for all they're WORTH!

He stuffed them in VOLCANOES
Their lives to interrupt
When the cauldrons were filled
The stacks would then ERUPT!

This causes spirit problems
Well. I mean, hey, DUH!
I guess its caused some problems!
I guess it would! HEY! HUH!

Folks, if you can laugh at this
Just kick back your head!
This is God's honest TRUTH!
Every word I've SAID!

THIS IS WHAT THEY FEAR!
THAT FOLKS WILL UP AND TALK.
I HOPE EVENTUALLY
EVERYONE WILL WALK

To leave Miscavige ALONE...

TO BE THE LAUGHINGSTOCK!!!


Catherine E Jarvis
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/24/2017

us
as humans
are three parts
struggle
one part
curiousity

asking our god
Google
how to solve
our problems

using .org
as a relevant source
for reasonable destruction

"whats the most painless way
to **** myself?"

"how can i tell if my boyfriend is cheating on me?"

we are unsure
if blood or electricity
runs through our veins

and we are almost certain
that some form of cruelty
lives in all of our hearts

living with brains running on
wifi signals
and vocal cords
fueled by poison

we suffer
and we make others
suffer

I'm feeling a little bit prickly
Like the ******* son of a porcupine
created on a misspent night with an over amorous cactus.

I'm trying to shake it off,
staring at blank paper
while it flips me the bird
as I **** into the wind,
feeling like the next government health warning
model looks on a ***** billboard
my edges tattered

Friends'll get you nowhere but down
thats life in a nutshell
pettiness and spite reign all
in "hallowed halls"
however nicely put.

Calls unanswered, messages lost
delivery reports mock my waiting
and bristle my backbone
with their happy chimes.
I want to slap myself so hard that my skin rings
but to what purpose.

Stupid is as stupid does,
the new mantra
stick it on a t shirt for the "tourists"
with the obligatory hashtag
for the smiley faced patronisers
.com .org  .bored

Breanna Winn is fictional--
a composite character. She
follows the decaying poems of
unnoticed flies and rough
cut diamonds ****
in the rubber grooves of
adolescent sneakers.

Ignoring
and ignored all at once
scraping and grinding
each step of pressurized,
carbon against concrete
we walk down neighborhood
sidewalk with fossilized
fly pebbles
stuck in heel.  

Anthropomorphous dogs
walking people in woods,
forest, and dense city
jungles filled with Lord
of forgotten
flies swarming the air
and paving the ground.

Breanna silently,
carefully, narrates the life
of a drifting, morphing
black clad super-org
tribe.

virtual ink etched on vitual paper.. synapse rebounds taken down, on tablet... applet releasing the
imagin- ed pressure in my incohezant brain. little bytes of... making it right sent into.. the webby ether clouds....... zip drive compressed, pixelated, ram driven,memory boosted, data mined, spam shot,
drive by.... now encrypted ... password denied... .....virtual ink lost to the .....link ... .......... 404 error ...... page not found... virtual paper, now, lost forever.

destined to be in
www. miscellaneous file/ never to see the light of day. not org. nowheres

A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection

PAPERS! PAPERS EVERYWHERE...
AND NOT A* THING TO READ!

The thing I remember most about being in the Sea Organization at the Hollywood Org were all the PAPERS! Directives as I was to find. That's what they called memos. We were in a branch of L Ron Hubbard's private little army don'tcha know. Everything, therefore, had a military bent. More specifically we were in the navy. There were personnel who were labeled "bosons". And there were people with the rank of "Supercargo". And Commanding Officers. Actually, LRH would have liked us to be thought of as MARINES. Navy Seals!
He was really THAT egotistical. HIS title was COMMODORE. Yep. His overweening pride took him THAT FAR.
ANYWAY. So there was a storm of paper. Directives EVERYWHERE! Piled on desks. In inbaskets. In boxes. On filing cabinets, which were woefully insufficient for the veritable blizzard of PAPERS! I was forced to read these. DULL AS DITCHWATER. But I was given my own little pile, and a dictionary. Any words I didn't understand could be found in there. I was to look them up. And an extensive memo about the meaning of the Scientogeese which I was to learn. There was an entire LEXICON of THAT, let me tell you! More on that later on. AND we we didn't have TIME to read anything ELSE! Our day was filled with CHORES.... or reading of said PAPERS.

Then I began to notice the other "personnel" around me. NONE of whom appeared to be HAPPY. They were a grayish sort. Looked like the sun very seldom glanced their skin. Glum, yet (for all appearances), VERY dedicated. Then there were folk who seemed to be separate from the other workers. They wore filthy dark blue or black clothing, appeared to run everywhere, and address everyone as "Sir". They were called the RPF. Rehabilitation Project Force. Remember that unit and its abbreviation. For they are to loom large later in my narrative.

But there WAS one person who brought sunshine into my otherwise dreary world...

MARILYN.

from ear to eye, what's to be written is to be reheard; it was never about living with other people... it was always about living with yourself - which explains suicide, and the strength to commit to it.

whichever rib it was, she nonetheless  came from
the complete arm - manoeuvre dubbed the
Heimlich bypass - she was born more from
jacking off that the scarce clarification
of the book of genesis - after all, a price of Egypt remains
a prince of Egypt, even  if downtrodden by god -
and still the encompassing  of a courtesan of Judea known
as Isaiah cut in half - imagine watching
your lower body chicken-twitching like from
a decapitation while your former compatriots of strut
encompassed a cannibalistic slurp of your blood
on a stump, no mourning, just the impulse to slurp
up your remains - as with man, the inverse existence
of Narcissus - to be honest man seeks god because
he's found himself imitating the life around him,
he's hounded by imitating animals that he had to invent
a god - Darwinism is just a postscript to this fable
of Narcissus declared prior un-inventing the image
presented, not content with the one given, seeking one
in ape, not content with the one in ape, seeking one
in anything other than the two skeletal forms,
poetically, variations of metaphor.

kān skāl syngj'yur me'g*                                       (egg)
e dāl svang nos leen'ger m'eh                              (linger)                
nor helg-org-helvegen go'h                                 (woad)
orrg dei spóraj tjor, er kalda, sá kalda -             (kiln)

the tatragrammaton and snorkel - or voiced operatic
softening, extending, twilight in York - or simply Dwight -
a name like any other, but less of a fidgety chess piece -
rabbis' riddle could have been -
between a    &    b
                       Y
                                 between   d      &     e
                                                            H
b­etween    h      &      i
                           W
                                                between    m   ­    &      o
                                                         ­                     H              -
leaving      u        only the parabola
of sounds encoded and free adequacy for the posterity of
practising science and the fable of Dr. Faust;
otherwise required H in catching vowels like in baseball ol' -
some form of punctuation of the soul / breath;
if the german schrafes is applicable in English,
then only akin to: claß - claßic - so too in mind a
variant of R and twin -e.g. resuяection - double up;
it's not like the kids cherished the tongue
tugging Shakespeare along, what with texts, acronyms
and :) and genitalia - why should i?

ROVER SAVES MANKIND


unaware of earth's customs
aliens invade on April 1st
earthlings refuse to take them seriously



"Yeah, like...right!" or
"Woah! Great costumes mannn!" or
"Take me to your reader, yuk yuk yuk!"



the small four legged earthling
called Rover ran rings around us
howling "...ow...oW. . OQ!"




passed fluid from its rear end
onto Org's left strider boot
hisssss...cackle....pooooof



Org blows a fuse
collapses in a heap
crawls out of his survival suit



"Why it's tinier than a shrimp!"
the "...ow...oW. . OQ!" creature
gobbles him up



the the four legged creature
invades our ship
passes fluid on our controls



"No...oh nooooo!" we yell
"...ow...oW. . OQ!" it yells
the motherboard goes up in smoke



so here we are
stuck on this strange planet
trying to avoid being eaten



hide in the hills
only come out again on April 1st
what are we doing wrong



once again demand
their immediate surrender
they only make their "ha...hA. . .HA!" sounds


"Yeah, like...right!" or
"Woah! Great costumes mannn!" or
"Take me to your reader, yuk yuk yuk!"

apa khabar?
.
.
walau ku tau takkan berjawab tapi aman saja rasanya bila ku bertanya
.
kita menang, dan...
tulisan kita sudah dibaca ramai org
puisi kita di tempat pertama!
nukilan kita dibaca orang orang patah hati
.
.
.
cukup banggakah kau dengan ku?
tapi cukupkah aku untuk kamu?

It's a depressing night. I'm alone.

Remember my first entry, that I couldn't express myself? It translated through my writings.

It's hard, really. It's my first ever contest and I don't want to waste the opportunity given. But you see, it's hard to imagine yourself fighting a war you know you will loose.

Some may say, at least you fought trying. Well EFF that. It matters most and it's sentimental if you fought for something you truly love, but in my case it isn't. I love my org but never this genre.

Maybe I could, but time wouldn't permit.

I could try another genre where I could say I could fight my best and I could do my all to really best all the contestants. At least by this genre I could feature my very best. Winning or loosing, it will really matter because it's what I like.

There's a big difference.

And I thought a leader could talk me out through this depressing state, with all the expertise and experience.

But I think not.

He is with me on the notion of quitting. I guess it truly is the right decision. Who knows?

Give me a moment of silence and I couldn't defend myself. Give me encouragement and conversation; and maybe, just maybe, I could try and weigh things out and be the selfless and just contestant everyone is thinking of.

I Was Thinking About… *******

I was thinking well,
That ****** is just ******:
That and only that.
So what
Is all the fuss about?
It’s over when it’s over.
Then it’s over.
What is wrong with us?
Making all that fuss?
At eighty-three,
Experiential, observationally  
I know.
I knew that many years ago.
And so, I thought I’d share this piece of wisdom: wisdom’s peace.

I don’t imagine any creatures
In the world of nature
Go around with fantasies.
They’re made to do it upside down and right side up
Sideways, frontways; ways that burp and slurp and cup;
After courting, both exhausted,
Nothing forced, small joust completed,
There’s an end.
Splendid seconds or whatever,
He goes his way, never thinking back with fever.
Neutral fact, passing act,
Overrated,
We fixated.
Org-astic yes, fantastic –
But at best, an instant.

I Was Thinking About ****** 12.6.2017 Circling Round Eros II; Arlene Corwin
* ****** |ˈôrˌgazəm|
noun
a ****** of ****** excitement, characterized by feelings of pleasure centered in the genitals and (in men) experienced as an accompaniment to *******.

i sometimes read the "elitist" poems and poets of
poetry-foundation-dot-org...
and i wonder...
well: there's no real distinction between
the "ancient": pre-technological-mass-reproduction
anticipatory essay of Walter Benjamin
of awe: find the Louvre and the Mona Lisa...
awe... such a tiny painting and...
awesome... entertainment value of what used
to be entertainment value of movies...
i do love the grit of 1970s cinema...
the 1980s futurist macho-"fascism"...
hell... even the 1990s had some great flicks
a great round-off of the medium...

a LAYLA BENITEZ-JAMES
translates a BEATRIZ MIRALLES DE IMPERIAL

such words are: not borrowed
or rather: in ****** it's A in Deutsche its Z...

jestem otwartą raną
języka

mówić tak nie wiele boli

-

ich bin ein offen wunde
von sprache

zu sagen so klein weh tun

-

apparently it never hurt the Chinese drunken
poet-monks to write anecdotal
syllable counted observations
concerning seeing a blue moon
with drunken-blood-shot eyes...

the Japanese or Chinese poets never complained
that they didn't have a novel in them,
quiet the reverse of this scenario...
there's the budding novel yet to be written
by a poet...
   is there?
a true meditation... a few words...
no need for a novel... an eternity of thought
mingling with everyday tasks
and then... hopefully: a spontaneity of
laughter recalling words akin to...

no kanji, no hiragana...
back to square, one: katakana...
katakana Ki - tan - ah...

   フルイケ    ヤ
     カワズ     トビコム
   ミズ    ノ      オト

no oto: the sound...
i'm guessing water is... mizu: return to
kanji: a returning from to:
   水 a word as picture...

but there's no budding novelist in here,
nor is there pain...
frog: カエル (kaeru) is not a picture-word,
it is a word-sound...

              self-explanatory "bias"...

ワタシ (watashi - i am)
      フショー     シタ      (fushoo shita - wounded tongue)
i absolve myself from entertaining
any conspiracies of entertainment
for the mass of later: distinction...

alternative route while cycling:

サイクリング (saikuringu)
    air, open mind...
wind: my soul - a silence
a lost intrusiveness of the helplessness
of others...
            クーキ
                        アイタ (aita) マインド (maindo)
カゼ (kaze, wind):
stone for heart...
               イシ (ishi, stones)
                              ココロ (kokoro, hearts)...
trickle... like sand... from desert
by time: a mountain!

        ヤマ:
                         yama - mountain...
parrot in the snow...
        オーム  (oomu)
                               ノ
                 ユキ (no... yuki)...

oh **** no... i'm not moving to Tokyo...
i don't want to speak fluent Japanese...
i just want to escape what i last saw
in the feminist panel on Vice News...
i'll ensure that Japanese is like me
in that film about the mad genius mathematician
of the film Pi... i'll put a drill to my head
prior to having to somehow:
now insure myself concerning these
blaze... arguments of "reality" of:
Plato the Plumber and the reicarnation
blocked-toilet... sort-of-speak...
i'm ******* off to Japan...
at least thinking about how the "Samurai"
encode their speaking is a relief
when listening to this Iron Maiden
of "heroic" gymnastics of post-feminism...

i feel completely... oblivious to what's happening...
just today i took a very magnificent route....
i challenged myself...
it's not spring yet... it's not summer...
i'm not allowed the later hours of the day
reserved for these seasons...
Cold-harbour dumping ground next to the Thames
was willing me to do a lap...
ah... maybe next time...

the route? from Collier Row through to Hornchurch...
then onto Upminster...
from Upminster toward Aveley...
from Aveley toward Purfleet...
well... seeing the Dartford Bridge Crossing...
no wonder i could get my geography straight...
the Thames never feels south... even though
you're orientating it from the perspective of the north...
up to Rainham...
obviously i had to venture into the little village
of Wennington... the one that was burning
only August of last year...
because... hey... it's not global warming...
a return to the ice age i reckon...
this little Arab interlude and palms will last only
so long...
my god... burned down houses...
get me a ticket to 1990s Sarajevo!
   that's how bad it looked... they're still clearing
up the mess...

from Rainham back toward Hornchurch and via Harold
Wood toward Harold Hill...
i know there's a Paris... i was a teenager in love
with Stendhal and i visited Paris solo...
i know there's a Paris but i'm starting to think:
maybe: MAYBE there is a "Paris"?
just maybe... this is London on the outskirts this isn't
London for television...

コドク (aloneness - kodoku):
        (existence with everyone)
ソンザイ    ト
           ゼンタイ            (sonzai to zentai)

nope... i'm not learning fluent Japanese...
i'm not going to travel to Japan to pay
taxes, to buy ******* sushi
and feel: a part of apart...
however boldly bad: grammatically...
i hear some ******* argument in
the western sphere... i start to scribble
katakana... i look into the scripts from India...
hell... i go as near as Greek allows...
i morph Latin with European additions
of diacritical markers...
i don't want to be constipated by an "argument":
or lineage of: ******* arguments of people
who have... zero... absolutely no...
inclinations how funny it all must be...
for someone misdiagnosed as schizophrenic
circa 2008... looking at the year 2023
almost gleefully... Beelzebub rubbing his *****
hands... the madman turned out to be...
pretty sane... given the current currency of
consensus!

    i have not invested in having children:
care to complain? me neither...
am i earning enough money to complain that my
money is going toward up-keeping
the mistakes of single-mothers? no...
i'm earning enough for a solo escapade...
i don't earn enough to be taxed!
i stopped drinking...
i can start imitating the bear in the realm
of a perpetual winter of contentment...
i can realise an ape imitating a bear:
i can exist-hibernating...
                            if i don't need to go to the cinema:
what's the point? i can...
go and see an art exhibition and wonder...
once at the paintings...
second at the old women trying to push
these young girls into my orbit as if implying:
go talk to him...
  but i'm here to admire the paintings, aren't i?!
am i here for a date?!

plus... i don't need to own a car...
i can cycle to almost anywhere in London of my own
volition and ease of exercise...
i don't need to spend money on *******
that most women would spend money on...
i have a recycling fetish...
i have little ambitions of curios adventures that
don't really require me to stress hard-pressed
constant hard-ons to compete with other men...
if i really feel like it...
i'll declare *** for recreational purposes as:
probably most boring...
given the adventures of cycling and swimming...
but if must-be-must...
hell... the brothel with me and it's all over:
proven point... in an hour's worth...

i am a truly liberated man...
thank you woman, for showing me the path...
your liberation has liberated me beyond
your wildest anticipations!
i am once and for all, truly freed from the precursors
of what freedom might have tasted like...
if not for the social-stigma of the bachelor status...

フリーダム (furiidamu - freedom)
                  ハイカイ (haikai - loitering)
スワル (suwaru, sit) -
                  ハクシュ (hakushu - extol)

.           Ukraine $ucks


  A chosen one has come to

  lead Bandera’s ****’s who,

  Azov now, are circumcised,

that’s the end of the porky’s.


  Ben Wallace said Ukraine

is a parasite leech *******

everything from NATO we're

not amazon @ takeaway . org

It's forever old stories by old men and they bore me,
what use of I for daring or to die in combat?

Give me the new, the modernistic view and not tales of the cyclops,
give me more cyborgs, more dot org's, lead me to the overdose and let me have my fill.

What I will hand down to the future generation is my admiration for having survived at all,

I know that we're not getting out
but the seedlings left can sprout
and grow, I
hope so anyway.