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2010 one last remark about Mom she’s never had faith or trust in me she always doubts redirects me when i was little she continuously blamed me accusing me of being sick needing a psychiatrist at age 20 my parents committed me for disciplinary reasons to the Institute of Living a psychiatric hospital in Hartford Connecticut in a locked ward for 4 months Mom and Dad discouraged my aspirations to succeed as a painter/writer arguing the impracticality of my decision they thumbs downed Bayli even today she undermines my efforts to love protect her she scolds me for asking permission from my cousin Chris to allow his son Maynard to fly down here and help me pack then drive up to Chicago so i might get to know Maynard on a road trip she instructs hire professional packers for a $100. they’ll be glad to help you pack Mom has always stood in the way of my choices decisions



1975 Chicago in his parent’s kitchen Mom offers the cannolis are fresh from Kanella’s Bakery or try the chocolate fudge cake it’s absolutely delicious Odysseus replies are you trying to fatten me up or **** me with sweets Mom flirtatiously teases i’ve always been about your ruination Odys



2001 Tucson Mom comes for visit at Thanksgiving in her early 80s walking proud yet painfully on displaced hips she is an inspiration to Odysseus her eyes are clouded with cataracts yet she sees life as an eternal optimist since 1920 the world has changed so drastically yet Mom has learned to accept many things she previously did not tolerate she lives prudently on modest fixed income her fingers are arthritically deformed but she was once a great beauty many men desired her Odysseus asks if it was difficult for Mom to lose the power of her physical desirability he noticed her good looks waning in her 50s she answers she sensed her  attraction going in her 70s she still possesses regal qualities and is quite socially charming she chatters a flurry of familiar names events that keep her busy she travels around by herself Mom’s spirit endures but in reality she drifts further away with each passing season she is delicate and has difficulty remembering she echoes a distant past in the early evening of Thanksgiving Day they sit at table of elegant yet rather staid dining room of Mom’s choosing at Arizona Inn she says it reminds her of the way things used to be she wears tasteful black linen slacks black pumps thin silk knitted black turtleneck with string of pearls gold earrings her blonde hair coiffured in same fluffy sprayed style it has been for 50 years in his heart he knows a part of her wishes her son was more like Tom Steinberg who was a senior when Odysseus was a freshman at River Woods Academy The Steinbergs and Mom are still friendly Tom is a successful investment banker with a wife and child living in Winnetka Mom nervously touches the pearl strand around her neck she says you know Mort Rock’s wife Phyllis died i was such a good friend to her at her funeral they read how she said i was her best friend she left me 10 lousy thousand dollars in her will she’s worth millions it’s eating me up inside i needed that money desperately i can’t stop thinking about it 10 lousy thousand dollars went immediately to pay off loans i’m going to sell my jewelry i don’t know what i can get in the spring i’ll put the apartment up for sale or try to get a reverse mortgage from the bank i never told you kids before i’m not in good shape Odysseus comments i feel terrible i wish so much i could help maybe Phyllis Rock suspected you and her husband maybe all those years you were her best friend she read it as guilt and obligation Mom you need to be more truthful Mom cuts in i never had *** with Mort Rock that man drove me crazy he was nuts for me Mom orders the traditional turkey dinner Odysseus orders the Macadamia nut encrusted Hawaiian fish the waiter brings price fixed appetizers little circles of toasted bread with lightly browned melted cheese tiny triangular cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches roasted watercress nuts wrapped in bacon and little hot dogs pierced with fluffy ended toothpicks Mom begins to gobble as she remarks to Odysseus  why do you want to wear your hair like that? you look like you escaped from the camps Odysseus asks what camps are you referring to Mom? she replies the Concentration Camps! you’re a good-looking man and you still have a full head of hair why do you want to shave it off i don’t understand i think you should move back to Chicago Tucson has done nothing to offer look at you you’re all alone you don’t have any friends come home and be your old self again he answers my old self you don’t get it do you Mom do you remember my commodity trading debacle or my 40th birthday or you and aunt Rita’s ceaseless corrections Mom smugly retorts what do you mean your 40th birthday don’t you get smart with me you should be ashamed of yourself why must you keep bringing up the past you need to let go of the past you go into such details details i don’t remember what does it matter now it’s history we only wanted what we thought was best for you you never listened you were only interested in yourself plenty of other kids get beaten and come through just fine you don’t know what it’s like to be a parent it tears me up inside you talk like you had nothing to do with it i can’t take this abuse from you anymore her misshapen fingers hands begin trembling as her voice emotes you think i don’t realize we made mistakes with you you think we were such monsters i wasn’t a good mother i was a lousy ***** is that what you think answer me what are you a bump on a log Odysseus sits stiff in chair his voice shrinks he just sits there his legs shake under table Mom says your father was quick-tempered we were under so much financial pressure maybe we did send you away too soon if i had to do it again i’d do it differently what does it matter now it’s 50 years ago forget the past what do you want from me what can i do he listens silently wondering if Mom seeks some kind of redemption can her conceit permit it he knows he is ******* her he does not mean to be uncomfortable with his muteness Mom continues you were a difficult child remember all the trouble you caused look at you you’re still a difficult man he questions Mom can you hear yourself you think i’m difficult she answers you think we were such terrible parents you grew up in a house of violence his thumb and forefinger nervously touch his chin as he replies no you were good parents i was a problem child different from you you afforded me a beautiful home and brilliant education i wanted to investigate life and learn and grow you didn’t know what to do with a child like that as much as she tries Mom never has been a comfort for Odysseus or he for her he inadvertently stirs her to worry or snap and she in turn unthinkingly disturbs him nevertheless they love each other the waiter brings out salads Mom ordered iceberg lettuce with thousand island dressing Odysseus chose the spinach salad he takes several bites Mom remarks use your salad fork not your dinner fork you know better than that suddenly it occurs to him Mom is more fragile than he he thinks to himself silently Mom i realize your life is closing in on you your mind drifts and you need to fake and cover-up more than ever do you want me to come home and take care of you i will take care of you then he remembers how miserable they were together during his throat cancer recovery in her 3 bedroom Lake Shore Drive condominium immersed in contemplation he pushes the fork through spinach leafs Mom says sit up in the chair and put a smile on your face she self-consciously peeks around the room having lost his appetite Odysseus looks down at napkin on his lap glances at half-eaten salad bowl he gazes up at Mom the waiter arrives making a pained smile he clears the salads then serves the entrees after the waiter departs Mom speaks Odys look at me when i’m talking to you i think about a lot of things i should have done after the fact sometimes even years later Max and i made a lot of incorrect choices when it came to you he cuts in Mom you don’t have to say anymore i love you always have loved you and know you love me too Mom says you know how much i appreciate your paintings you’ve made my life richer i‘ve always been supportive of you in fact i’m your biggest fan right Odys right? thank you Mom i’m grateful Mom says i’ve spoken with psychiatrists and they all tell me the same answer tell your son to forget it why must you dwell in the past what did we do so dreadfully wrong i don’t understand you’re a hard case i wish i could get through to you i hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us you’ll sleep better he questions you know about my insomnia restless sleep nightmares Mom says i can imagine Odysseus’s eyes begin to water Mom i love you i wouldn’t be who i am without you Mom says don’t get so emotional you sound weak take it from me you must be strong in life learn discipline and willpower i love you too son Odysseus wonders if maybe he agitates Mom because he is a constant liability lacking fiscal self-reliance deep down Mom is a giggling gossiping playful girl spoiled by her father she never wanted to grow up and be burdened with the tasks of parenthood what woman of rare beauty and charm would want to give up her privilege and freedom for some kid especially a *******-up kid maybe deep down Mom resents Odysseus he stares down at the Macadamia nut encrusted Hawaiian fish and silently prays he will be released from his life all his stupid sins regrets self-pity self-hatred his vain inconsequential existence



i move organize empty shelves cabinets drawers closets edit wrap tape pack wonder if moving back to Chicago is one more mistake heaped on top of a 1000 mistakes a 1,000,000 mistakes is going home to help Mom my biggest mistake ever i simply know i must try to protect my Mom
Nathaniel morgan Dec 2014
Adolf ******
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"******" redirects here. For other uses, see ****** (disambiguation).
Adolf ******

Adolf ****** in 1937
Führer of Germany
In office
2 August 1934 – 30 April 1945
Deputy
Rudolf Hess (1933–41)
Position vacant
Preceded by Paul von Hindenburg
(as President)
Succeeded by Karl Dönitz
(as President)
***** Chancellor of Germany
In office
30 January 1933 – 30 April 1945
President Paul von Hindenburg (until 1934)
Deputy
Franz von Papen (1933–34)
Position vacant
Preceded by Kurt von Schleicher
Succeeded by Joseph Goebbels
Leader of the **** Party
In office
29 June 1921 – 30 April 1945
Deputy Rudolf Hess
Preceded by Anton Drexler
Succeeded by Martin Bormann
Personal details
Born 20 April 1889
Braunau am Inn, Austria-Hungary
Died 30 April 1945 (aged 56)
Berlin, Germany
Nationality
Austrian citizen until 7 April 1925[1]
Citizen of Brunswick after 25 February 1932
Citizen of the German ***** after 1934
Political party National Socialist German Workers' Party (1921–45)
Other political
affiliations German Workers' Party (1920–21)
Spouse(s) Eva Braun
(29–30 April 1945)
Parents
Alois ****** (father)
Klara Pölzl (mother)
Occupation Politician
Religion See: Religious views of Adolf ******
Signature
Military service
Allegiance German Empire
Service/branch Bavarian Army
Years of service 1914–20
Rank
Gefreiter
Verbindungsmann
Unit
16th Bavarian Reserve Regiment
Reichswehr intelligence
Battles/wars World War I
Awards
Iron Cross First Class
Iron Cross Second Class
Wound Badge
Adolf ****** (German: [ˈadɔlf ˈhɪtlɐ]; 20 April 1889 – 30 April 1945) was an Austrian-born German politician and the leader of the **** Party (German: Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP); National Socialist German Workers Party). He was chancellor of Germany from 1933 to 1945 and dictator of **** Germany (as Führer und Reichskanzler) from 1934 to 1945. ****** was at the centre of **** Germany, World War II in Europe, and the Holocaust.

****** was a decorated veteran of World War I. He joined the German Workers' Party (precursor of the NSDAP) in 1919, and became leader of the NSDAP in 1921. In 1923, he attempted a coup in Munich to seize power. The failed coup resulted in ******'s imprisonment, during which time he wrote his memoir, Mein Kampf (My Struggle). After his release in 1924, ****** gained popular support by attacking the Treaty of Versailles and promoting Pan-Germanism, antisemitism, and anti-communism with charismatic oratory and **** propaganda. ****** frequently denounced international capitalism and communism as being part of a Jewish conspiracy.

******'s **** Party became the largest elected party in the German Reichstag, leading to his appointment as chancellor in 1933. Following fresh elections won by his coalition, the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act, which began the process of transforming the Weimar Republic into the Third *****, a single-party dictatorship based on the totalitarian and autocratic ideology of National Socialism. ****** aimed to eliminate Jews from Germany and establish a New Order to counter what he saw as the injustice of the post-World War I international order dominated by Britain and France. His first six years in power resulted in rapid economic recovery from the Great Depression, the denunciation of restrictions imposed on Germany after World War I, and the annexation of territories that were home to millions of ethnic Germans, actions which gave him significant popular support.

****** actively sought Lebensraum ("living space") for the German people. His aggressive foreign policy is considered to be the primary cause of the outbreak of World War II in Europe. He directed large-scale rearmament and on 1 September 1939 invaded Poland, resulting in British and French declarations of war on Germany. In June 1941, ****** ordered an invasion of the Soviet Union. By the end of 1941 German forces and their European allies occupied most of Europe and North Africa. Failure to defeat the Soviets and the entry of the United States into the war forced Germany onto the defensive and it suffered a series of escalating defeats. In the final days of the war, during the Battle of Berlin in 1945, ****** married his long-time lover, Eva Braun. On 30 April 1945, less than two days later, the two committed suicide to avoid capture by the Red Army, and their corpses were burned. Under ******'s leadership and racially motivated ideology, the regime was responsible for the genocide of at least 5.5 million Jews, and millions of other victims whom he and his followers deemed racially inferior.

Contents
Early years
Ancestry
Childhood and education
Early adulthood in Vienna and Munich
World War I
Entry into politics
Beer Hall Putsch
Rebuilding the NSDAP
Rise to power
Brüning administration
Appointment as chancellor
Reichstag fire and March elections
Day of Potsdam and the Enabling Act
Removal of remaining limits
Third *****
Economy and culture
Rearmament and new alliances
World War II
Early diplomatic successes
Alliance with Japan
Austria and Czechoslovakia
Start of World War II
Path to defeat
Defeat and death
The Holocaust
Leadership style
Legacy
Religious views
Health
Family
****** in media
See also
Footnotes
References
Citations
Sources
External links
Alexander Black Jan 2014
I

I have a good imagination
Nay I say I have a great one
Hell, I'd be willing to say it is splendiforous
Not a word?
I don't really give a **** because
With great imagination comes brand new words

A brand new vocabulary is merely one pro
Just a single benefit that
A great imagination can bestow
There are more but the first has got to be the words
With these brand new syllables and letters yet to be invented
One can weave a new language
A secret code in which to communicate
With the six foot, broadsword wielding fire-breathing ape
That you can call your imaginary friend

But with a great imagination, he is not imaginary
He is indeed real
He sits beside you in the dark
As the nightmare still clings to your brow
And he speaks
Just when you can no longer stand the silence
He will dance in front of your little eyes
Just so the dark no longer seems evil

And when you stand alone in a crowded yard
Because your name is linked to a fictitious disease
Thought up by lesser imaginations
You can still have a friend that tells you you matter
Yet with this scenario comes our first con
People with no understanding of a great imagination
People who do not love it as they should
They tell you that because your friend is not technically real
That you must surrender him
You must lose him and take new friends
Friends that must be better because they are flesh and blood
Even though, they rejected you for nothing more
Than the jealousy that lesser imaginations feel

And so you do
Because you are imaginative, not stupid
You know that to argue would mean yet another label
This time the disease you earn is all too real
You don't fight losing your coping mechanism
You will survive
I will
Because I have a great imagination

II

I have a great imagination
One might even call it amazing
I would call it unstoppable
Because even when it takes heavy blow
It still goes on

It takes the loss of that imaginary friend
And it redirects
Barreling forward like a wayward locomotive
It promises you that you will still be ok
And you believe your imagination because the lies it tells
Are the kind you are willing to believe in the name of sanity

You get older
Keep the most fanciful of your imagination hidden
Because you've grown tired of the couch
That piece of hardened leather
Worn fabric situated under fluorescent lights
Lights, your imagination says, are there to push it away
The way the suited people speak
You know its right

But you need to let this imagination loose
You must have the release that it craves for you
This is the second pro
It can give you direction
You focus it
Control it
Weave it into magnificent fictions where the oddball can win
Or destroy the world, whichever your imagination prefers
You feel you have your true calling
This is the sign you need that you are destined
For more than ridicule
In the world of pages and ink, your imagination is free

The big con is
It is free and unbothered
As long as you keep it out of sight
The wolves who have been waiting to tear you assunder
Those false docs waiting to proclaim you mad
The enemies of imagination
They will look at the spoils of your toiling and tear into it
Every piece of fiction conceived that does not sit right is wrong
They say it is the result of the imagination's slow sister, The Subconscious

That very real disease that once threatened you returns
Its teeth barred
You stare into its thrashing jaws
The fear you feel is unlike anything you have before
But you tell yourself you will survive
You must
I must
Because I have a great imagination

III

I have a great imagination
It is wonderful
And it is maddening
Not mad at the angry screaming
But more of the psychotic laughing used to cover up the crying

The final con this imagination has is fear
As you move on from the lesser imaginations
And ignore those searching for hidden meanings in your scribbles
You start to rely more on your imagination
It hasn't led you astray and its lies are always beneficial
So you listen to it

Yet it stews in your skull
You don't engage it and it grows bored
So it comes up with new ways to terrify you
Just so it can amuse itself
It gives you pictures of the end and the blackness beyond
You see the faces of your mourners
You try to imagine life without you
And life in lifelessness

You hear about a superbug that masquerades
The deadly wolf in the ill sheep's clothes
The images of your imagination kick in and every cough
Every sniffle
Every slight wrong feeling in your gut and you crave Hazmat gear

You realize that you are not the protagonist of your own story
You are not the hero
You are not the plucky princess or the charming rogue
You are able to die at a moment's notice and are unsure of what awaits you
Heaven, Valhalla, blackness or lingering
You don't know and you aren't ready to find out

But in this con comes the final pro
Hope
When you are down , your imagination comes in to console you
Just like the ape from your childhood
It switches the visions
It stows the ones that terrify you for the moment
You now can picture yourself as a success

Your imagination paying off
Your dreams coming true
You picture that moment when you naysay the naysayers
They will come and beg forgiveness
Apologize
Everything looks bright

I can feel the wind in my face
And I have the courage to finally jump
I spread my arms like wings
And I soar
Closing my eyes to the wind
I don't care if I'm falling

Because I know
In the deepest pit of my heart
That I am actually flying
Because I have a great imagination
Death-throws Jul 2015
Lack of communication
is an accurate definition of my miss representation

Lack of medication
redirects my mass infection reaping the nation

lack of effective meditation
re infects my self designed disease facing annihilation

lack of representation
forcing myself to find a new nation

barriers affect communication
part of a series im writing while studying buisness,
most of these are inspired from the pure ignorance my teachers present to their students,
hoorah to the student loan
hoorah to the job not needed
hoorah to a life time of debt
Anonymous Apr 2014
I tried telling her
Of my life's wisdom and notions of fetters.

She relayed to me
Visions of nothing less than ecstasy.

I bemoaned where I went wrong
She said I'd been ******* a loser ****.

She seemed so happy
I shrugged and agreed
If they weren't ******* me
I must be ******* them.

I lost track of that *****
But words register a score
And the more I seem to ****
The more I seem to score.

It's a *******'s life
Even if you just do it with your wife
She gets her way
Day after day
Until you may decide
Just to chop it.

Emasculation redirects
Power to new ducts
And the hammer rises
And the hammer falls.
At once at the top of the Estinfalos, Marie des Vallées avoided all of them being injured and being swallowed by the strait. The bronze birds with great vigor avoided being part of the vast shore that hit them as Nephelleidae Helles. Here they were compelled by the Myth Frixo and Hele, in the process of their sacramentals. They took the assignments before running with the same fate as the children of Atamante and Nephele. Ino the second wife of Atamante wanted to get rid of them by burning the grain so as not to have crops. This is where the soul of the Herophilus Sybilla appears to them, consulting the Oracle of Delphi. The Children of Atamante were destined to be sacrificed, being Nefeles who sent a Golden Ram, the children were saved by climbing Ram's spine, taking him away from the executioners. When Heles was going to a great height he looked towards the sea that caused him vertigo, falling into the sea in its celestine waters, remaining from this instance with the patronymic Hellespont. His brother, Phryxus, clung tightly to his back and arrived safely at Colchis. Marie could see some Gerakis and then react in search of Heles, taking time to decide and enter. It was only a few hours before dusk, and the lacerated seventy were lowered from the Stymphalos to cross the waters in search. Marie joined the bronze birds with the interaction ratio of all the times that they would intertwine in the lines showing exploration, supplying what Theus and Vikentios did to grow in number, and with all the occurrences that occurred for the contemporary coincidence of thousands of years, for the current figure of millions of light-years that reacted towards the sky crashing in everything that a maximum roof allowed, and then allowed them to be in the interaction when crossing the Sea of Heles, where she always was, only being diverted by the bronze birds from above, and only being tangible by Marie's conscience when she saw that she had never fallen from the Golden ram, but had been only a weightless creature among the clouds of her mother Nephele, hanging around her neck some remarkable telesomatic beings sent by herself, in egregious tributes to her most adorable daughter. She subsequently falls into the sea, unblemished that Vernarth would go to rescue her from her. The Lacerates, Theus, and Vikentios gathered in the circular area of the Gerakis, leading them to the ancient Phrygian city of Dardania. The crowded currents of the celestial realm became ocean currents that lifted Heles's living body as Gerakis with her wings signaled to the Stymphalos to grasp her with precision. Silently the psyches of the bodies of the Trojan War were able to make Heles's rampage measurable, doing Vernarth's medication at a distance with Heles when her death throes accused her rejection of the balsamic intentions of Marie des Vallées. Then is she resorts to the bilocation of Vernarth managing to see from the surface the reckless surface of the sea, seeing a figure with a snowy white outfit and also a light blue tunic, in addition, she wore a crown of cocoons as a Diadema.

Nothing made it possible to presume that quantum was not bending in kilometers that separate Patmos and the Sea of Heles when this sacred figure was sighted that was glimpsed as psychosomatic physiology, for the good of the Second Age that Vernarth brought for them, noting that it was Bernardette Soubirous, which became immediate like a Benedict Akashic field. The small and large units of Massabielle's universe were pointed out from where this quantum elitrophic wave came, with living palpitations of Heles granting the inquiry of her by convulsions of his brain with small akashic vibrations before falling into the icy Sea. Non-local logic became arcane before this telepathic event, and the figure of Bernadette notified them by its coherence of subtle connection, that lately the light that she carried when she escaped from Ino will be rekindled, with the oblation for her was subordinating her, and that it would be supremely since there from where they would uproot her and then free her from the Akashic field from minor to major storm, where Marie des Vallées would let them know that she was safe. This space was already local, but it was detached from the terminal that made it originally from it for the connections of having it already on Patmos so as not to have to be transported by the Stymphans. Everything happened synchronously in unison, after the transpersonal boundaries of consciousness that were united among all to free it from these bonds in the freshness in Heles. All the micro-dimensional organisms became more than clairvoyant with the endowments of the falls and the uprisings after the rescue of Heles by Vernarth and the Akashic fields, applying the material field that was transposed in great extensions of material-immaterial time, before the immanent Electromagnetic gravitationally that could only be seen, heard and probed by Vernarth when he was meditating between the hemispheres of Aullós Kósmos, justifying nth parapsychologies where space is not empty and does not have a percentage mass in this case, and what has been called the quantum vacuum is in fact a cosmic plane (Akasha). Thanks to this information, it was conserved and transferred by the Akashic field, from the coherent universe of Heles, where it could be reconverted into a Sub Mythological being, thanks to a superhuman being happening at the site of the Dardanelles and which will also take place in another place in Patmos.

Marie des Vallées says: “everything that happened in one period also happened in the following times here at the Hellespont. Nothing was local, nor limited to where and when it happened. All things are integral, cosmic because everything is connected and the memory of all things extends to all places and times. Here is Vernarth who is the object and subject of his umpteenth parapsychologies, which are the replica of the joyous songs of Bernadette Soubirous's Rosary "

Vernarth sensing that Heles was in frank danger of life, mounts Alikantus and heads for the Strait of Dardanelles. Here he manages to specify that it was compared with the anachronism of the Bronze Birds, who had sailed through the upper Dodecanese, then over the Marmara counterclockwise from Kairos, meeting again with the Helladic period. Here it spread over Hellen; with the eponymous hamlet that boasted of the Stymphalos, as a coerced premonition in the pre-Helladic, towards the end of the Bronze Period. Thus, with this changeable phenomenon, Vernarth was directed, while he flew in the seconds of Kairos time as a symbol of subsisting in each deleterious life, almost with the powers of not getting intoxicated with any substance transited by the sea of the strait. Here Vernarth went to Alikantus, being this one from Thessaly and Sudpichi, right here among them Kanti appears with Etréstles, they came to tone up the survivals that would bear Heles after recreating the two great Ionic and Doric hydric colonnades. While Alikantus being of Cretan, the roots he had to emit breaths from the Eighth Cemetery of Messolonghi to revive the colonnades, to separate the waters and molecules that increased in density to move Heles from the depths of the ocean. Kanti was a super steed, he plunged under the Marmara, like a tiny sea to leave the waters of the Black Sea from one of the abutments of some seams of some Achaeans, which were disengaged from the seas that joined them. In this instance, the Helén together with Vernarth continued to release the ropes of a great Kizara that Nefeles had woven for her daughter, from here from the dean cloud and from the distress where she freed herself to go to her Gaugamellian aid. The Kizara was a Eurythmic wire rope, therefore its sound elucidated the sea and its celestial kingdom, magnifying and complicating Poseidon in the sea that actually resembled the sky. Therefore, Heles was with his ethnonym Hellespont who snatches her and redirects her to Helén, which was similar to her name, in such a way that the sky was embroiled by the point, from Helén by Heles creating the watery element of the Flood of Heles that was retracted by the impetus of Kanti and Alikantus when Vernarth increased with all his vivification when he saw her near the shaft of the Doric colonnade, organizing the waters that would rise from the susceptible Heles wrapped in a Himation that Vernarth had dispensed near the Vas Auric.
Nefheles
David Chin Oct 2011
Today’s society is full of hate and discrimination
As it redirects people away from their destinations.
Life goes on for those living in the dark,
But life stands still for those living under question marks.
How can people be so mean and be so cruel?
This isn’t the Medieval Times where we can all duel
To see who is right and who is wrong
And the only one left standing is the one that is strong.
They say that the grass is greener on the other side,
But why are people running to hide
From the bullies who take away our rights
And we do nothing but scream with our might?
Why can’t we come together
And be brothers and sisters?
We are all related,
We’re the children of God.
We may look different,
But deep down we’re not odd.
Brothers and sisters,
Come one, come all.
We must come together before the Universe falls.
Together we are threads of God’s little tapestry
That He likes to call Earth and Humanity.
All this Hatred and Animosity
Must stop because we are all friends, not enemies.
We all form our own little tapestries,
But together we form the greatest tapestry
That He likes to call Earth and Humanity.
SCHEDAR Apr 2023
His forgiveness
redirects me
over and
over again
to
listen up,
and become
the best self
that I can
Alvaro Avila Aug 2018
The storm in me
Is the conflict you cant see
Who i am, or am not
Supposed to be
The person i was,
Because and should be

Someone who was
Smart and strong
Needed and belonged
Confident without hesitation
A patriot of this great nation and
A loyal friend If ever you needed one

Today though some see me differently
They say im a
Disappointment with disabilities
Slowly ruining a reputation
A product of my environmental instabilities
Falling short of an expectation

But sometimes there's nothing you can do
When life interferes with predesitination
And redirects it down a path unsecurred and
Opened to translation.
Just as it did to me...

Now everyday is exactly the same
But completely different
I wish I could explain.

Who I was back then
Came to his end that beautiful day in May
And what was left
is what is now
A conflict that no one sees
The Storm inside of me.

AvA
Lots of little leaves lend their thoughts through me, invasive, intricately they thwart thousands of flicking fluttering flapjacks that narrowly nest northwards in insightful intricacies.  My own correlation to the devastation of my excommunication comes circling psychotically through territory taken by thieves.  Listen to me.  Me,  the sea winding, crashing, lashing, smashing in the sand.  Shells wash shamelessly ashore.  Incoherent attitudes to the longitudes and latitudes of my bicameral mind melt biogenetically with generous gentrification and gratitude.  Knights that know nothing note notorious faults with the mechanical bull bellowing ballads of Bart Simpson's big brained battles.  Believing in a higher power that showers us with praise and rain and pain and flames is an astonishing attitude taken timelessly through history.  Histories mysteries made matching the mourning Mormons march maddeningly on netted walkways wandering wirelessly in the digital age.  Rage, sage, six billion constellations on one page, intuitive notions of nectarines and oranges that float directly through subconscious space into the place were the human race lost its face, bending backwards hopelessly heaving to find It.  Us, the story of story of stories.  Last but not least the golden fleece made by hand of the man who lost control of the audience blinking stupidly through the dim lighting in a Victorian era theater.  Money makes men mad, women whistle tunes on the rocks as the clocks tick down to our collective doom eternity falsity.  Lighting matches of the patches that reconnect the lashes lavishly lacerating loyal little people who dance dumbly and deftly as an affirmative acceleration of the Nation brings out the worst in us.  Millions marching miraculously on nation capital investment in the predicted earnings of what we can sell to the horribly under educated balding obese men with learning disabilities due to the undisclosed demonstration of lack of nutrients needed to make more mean men smart.  Lost at darts.  Joan of Arc.  Queen Diamond brings crime to silent Simon sitting on the dock of the bay.  We waste away.  Watching rivers rolling round the ******* bend that banishes blatant blasphemies of the self.  Sea me sinking seemingly shrinking in the distance of your one good eye.  Lost green waves washing worlds wary of the New Age.  But in my head it can't be said any other way than the way it repeats and relapses and redirects my attention to it when I try to sleep and eat and drink and sweat and sigh and sing and slink.  The twisting tangled thought that terrifies my tortured terrace (aka my also known as counterpart playing in the dark with lost fingers finding time to rhyme lines in the mosaic of my mind: my heart).  But I'll just tell you later.
7/2/2014
Alan Black Feb 2015
Truth, information dissemination, collaboration.
Free exchange of art,
without paying greedy producers, and publishers.
Unifying love motivated people,
aiding in support group organization.

The internet isn't only for ****, shopping,
and distracting us from the truth.

And no amount of **** site redirects, war game adware,
and celebrity secrets popups will conceal the truth forever.


No amount
Pirate all art you consume. They have no right from denying you from reading a book, or listening to a song, or watching a film, because you can't afford it. Why should Hollywood fatcats, and New York publishing tyrants make money off of the blood sweat and tears of 100,000,000 million starving artists?
I hit the ball.
The ball winds down a grassy corridor, gleaming in the fall's orange glow,
My breath stifles, closing a moment, and it all starts to bend.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)

A troup of lizards march up this chalky hill, and a curve lays like a lanyard discarded, groovy and misshapen
And they walk with detached, floppy fiddle strings across the green to apprehend the ball.

The ball eludes them and redirects to the rough, and the hole sits, agitated and circular.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)

On the couch, I stretched.
Thinking and wondering why gnats never sleep.
I'm at the apartment, one thumb over my left eye looking at the exterior of a DVD,
Thinking and wondering why gnats never sleep.

A closed mind in transit with a DVD lodged between left and right brain,
Left eye socket with left brain in
Right eye socket with right brain in
I press my thumb to my right eye, and the DVD spins, tickling my brain and playing.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)
I putt.
Gently, one flinch from the right arm.
Loosely holding the left arm in place.

The ball rolls again, grinding the grass beneath.
It has the gumption to gather its matter and mass.

(inhale) Bending... (exhale)
Click.
It is sunk inside its cubbyhole.
Jerome Facione Dec 2013
'I want to be your first so bad'
She whispers in my ear
Near the warm TV glow
But the flow: so slow from her lips.

In complete belief, I believe
Her breaths,
Despite her face: dimmed by dim lights.
The Gamecube murmurs and my heart takes flight.

Then reaching,
To touch her face,
She redirects me to the base
Of her hips; changing clips

From love to lust.
Perhaps she must...

But not for me.
Not me.

To fall for a friend,
In the end, is all.
Jami Morton Sep 2010
Hatred is what burns you
What guides you
It is your passion
What feeds you
Diabolical...
It survives through you
Because it overcame you
And slowly you are destroyed
Devouring each moment
That which you hold dear
Those things you keep close
Are no longer secret to your hatred
It becomes you
It makes you
Your foundation is redefined
And you reevaluate your purpose
Until that purpose is deemed unworthy
Of your current goals
Hatred recreates you
Redirects your mind
What you once believed is shattered
What you once thought
Has died.
Feeling Real Mar 2014
Can I
itch or scratch me away
to reveal anything
a youth
some truths
someone else
Can I
have this essence
experience and my mind
but let go all else
reduced to naked skin
made for him and his sin
Can I
hold old ideals up
on alter, unaltered
religiously revered completely
Black and dull beyond measure
just circumstantial
by birth
and disgusted
Can I
resolve that ache
and wake, new
not prisoner of body
Self-made misery
subject to looks
and wordless stares
I
stripped of me
what am I
Can I
a slightly parting mouth
closed eyes
Shut away inside
until life redirects
and time reverses
I
No longer I
Can I
have nothing else
Recollect
No recollections
I should mention
there's no family
or ugly girl
No more to see
Pecola
I
Just I
Blue eyes
like I always knew
Can I
Creative Writing assignment. Perspective of Pecola Breedlove, a character in Toni Morrison's novel The Bluest Eye.
Arihant Verma Mar 2016
When a humble abode, redirects you
like the page redirection of gmail
to think your body is not more than
a container to get you the bail

Of the next life that you'd get
in the astral or the causal tree,
or perhaps you'll dissolve you bet,
in the ever flowing cosmic sea.
Mysticheart Oct 2014
It was hot tonight,
So my baby said to me.
Let me teach you this trick with ice.
It will have you in ecstasy

Naughty smile on his face,
"Babe" he whispered let the tour begin.
Then slowly and gently he traced,
Ice on my warm skin.

Babe I say now it's your turn,
Ready to please my man.
That naughty smile reappears as you say daddy
likes the burn.
An redirects your hand.
night games
Teresa Smith Oct 2015
Where would I not follow you, friend?
Show me a depth of Hell to which your soul hasn't plunged,
the bottom of the ocean has known your touch,
the sky waiting for you to emerge
once again like a little mermaid

The Fall seems to follow each Summer,
skin marred with freckles like the lips
of the sun were planting fiery kisses on your shoulder blades

You who know triumph like Ali in a ten round match that lasted 45,
fists bloodied and raised over head, teeth knocked in,
still standing

You who can bring a grown man to his knees, but choose instead to lift him up, like you lift me up
You who know the theory that connects all our atoms to those inside a clock, one whose hand somehow pointed you to me,
like the needle in a compass redirects us

An imprint, resembling something like a fossil, left on the heart of those you have loved
People cling to you like they already know how good you are before you're gone

Surely I would follow you, whose steps sound like a melody, your voice like a song that rings in my ears,
a siren call to end a lifelong reverie,
and which sounds, unmistakably, like home
StakesV Mar 2017
the crescents under her eyes—
they cry to me, screaming in high-pitched voices,
"my child, my child, don't look at me."

in my head the stars paint a vivid picture of a weeping woman, with long hair and a willowy figure, biting at her lip. blood oozes out. i am spun back into the now.

the finger she points at me—
it redirects itself, checks, rechecks, and points back to herself, deadpanning,
"my child, my child, it's all my fault."

in my mouth sheds snakes the color of a neon green. underneath this glossy, perfect facade i am crumbling into shards and commas and em dashes. how can she be so cold? and yet so sorrowful?

the voice that echoes inside her—
it climbs into my lap and tries to strangle me.
but i'm much stronger, a shriek that has learned how to deflect, and i rise and shout,
"woman, woman, i am not your child."

in my dreams i conquer.
I read but can't remember
the characters
and or
in what order.

BIOS,
that's who I am
clogged up with redirects
string code and spam.

A sometime module in
a bigger module
misunderstanding it
for a mid life crisis

But I'm bits and bytes and
hot serrations in
sweaty nights on cold glass
screens.

I post this in the hope that
out there
there is someone
to help me
cope,
Is there?

The logic gate
stops to wait
and then a green
light flashes go.
we will be what the future demands.
Steve Page Dec 2019
I sit thinking a little faster than the speed of penning, thereby having to repeatedly press pause on my thoughts to let the ball of blue catch up with the image / the sound of the phrase in my mind / on my quiet tongue that flows fast down my right arm into my slow fingers and out into the ball point that hits the page with part-satisfied impatience

And in that pause, resisting the urge to edit / to revise / to reform the original thought that is crying out to become embedded in the page / begging to be seen / to be loved and so to sit and to stare back at its origin, safe in the curated space to stay / to settle and perhaps to become part of something bigger / longer / older, something of possibly permanent beauty.

And having gotten over that feint-ruled line, my first thoughts face the risk of being transposed / transformed by typing thumbs before becoming something that will last on a plain white screen and later be posted at the speed of competing broad bands into a world wide cloud of words.

Later, having hovered / waited, my wet words just might find a place to soak / to stain / to marinate and later be memorised perchance recitied at a more appropriate speed within a crowd of like-minded minds and perhaps for a phrase to lodge / to be recalled / to form part of something that fate redirects through a ball of blue, back out into the flow.
(On the cycle of thoughts and articulated phrases that make up the writers ecosystem. )
Salmabanu Hatim May 2019
The world is the puppet show,
Our Creator the puppeteer,
And we are the puppets.
HE manipulates us in the name of destiny,
HIS theme is repent your sins,
HIS villain is the Satan.
The stage is set
He manipulates your life story
He gives you chances to repent
i)Pray and remember Him,
ii)Have faith in Him,
iii)Believe in Him,
iv)Do charity and good deeds,
Satan is there to deter you from HIS path,
HE will create diseases,sickness and calamities,
To remind you HE is the manipulator of your life and to sin is to be aware of HIS wrath.
HE does everything  for a reason and what HE does not give HE redirects.
14/5/2019
If I fall from grace
I will hide my face
From everyone who said the devil’s in my head
Did they really care
Or just play a part
Which was never their’s
From the very start?

If I lose my faith
I’ll seek a softer way
Their tradition’s strong
I cannot tarry long
The standard’s far too high
My head hangs so low
With every aching breath
The confusions grows

Still I carry on
Carry on
Through all of this
I Carry on
Carry on

In the darkest days
When I fall apart
The confusion frays
The fibers of my heart

Still I’m holding on
Holding on
Through all of this
I am holding on
Holding on

And it’s not by might nor sight
But something deep inside
Everytime I want to hide
Grace redirects my mind

So I carry on
Carry on
Through all of this
I carry on
Carry on
Something immensely personal
This erstwhile avid poet stir "boy"
prone to hyperbole in a "man" newer
(manure) of writing about his foie
gras bulls, (which matter of fact
happen tubby Ruby red)

redirects his gripe, how
he no longer doth enjoy
sharing his rhymes without
(poems), resorts to joy
full tongue in cheek humor to

lament, harumph, decry...
a source of annoy
ants, sans how nearly every
one of my satisfactory
albeit "FAKE" Hiam

Bick Penn- -Tam Meter
most definitely did perturb,
irk, and displease to cloy
administrators regarding gamut of
various and sundry writing groups,

(yes specifically geared to poetry),
(presuming me in cahoots with George Soros)
I suspect did employ
secret double agents groomed by
Mark Zuckerberg, and/

or Sheryl Sandberg deploy
ying ambiguous reference did not tow
arbitrary guidelines to cite nearly each
endeavor of mine as discrepancy
causing equivalent as digital row

points of view not
countenanced from this bro'
penniless, nearly without dough
thus to assuage ego,
(which rejections of sorts)
did rankle at first, hence

explanation no mo' crow
wing (except on my homepage),
an abrupt end explains absence
in case any readers did show


interest can still peruse yo
yo wing unstrung thoughts
from this average joe
by enclosing a blank check
addressed to this wise

acre and silently assertive bozo,
who will express how ire doth flow,
yet tactfulness and diplomacy
kept in mind before I go
ranting and raving like some roe
ving madman wading in deep water!
Sketcher May 2020
All is fair in love and war,
For I can covet a vile *****,
While she covers illusionary beauty,
At the brothel, her putrid store.

All is fair in war and love,
For that arrow that rose above,
Touched Gods unscathed tongue,
And redirects towards the son.

All is fair in love and war,
For an apple that sits,
Rots to the core,
But an apple that's bit,
Is that of no more,
So rot or sin,
Like kin before.

All is fair in war and love,
For when push, turns to hug,
Turns to stab, turns to shove,
Turns to turning in the grave,
Which thou hath dug,
Which thou hath paved,
Over to clave,
Death from life,
What's left is strife,
What's right is to shrug.
RobbieG May 2021
A mirror image of the spectrums reflection bounces off the glass and redirects itself as the brightness blinds the eyes that look upon the beautiful array of colors

The earth shakes from earthquakes as the glass breaks the spectrum separates and takes new shape from the voids multiplying through the division

Although broken quite arguably more beautiful than before as the various colors remain the same in color however take new shape through the many pieces

So often we focus on being complete and of strength rather than accepting the beauty of our many pieces when seen through the right eyes of loves spectrum

Not just of others eyes but that of our own knowing the reality of the matter is we all are just mirror images of our creators reflection when we accept faiths spectrum

A beautiful array of an infinite amount of pieces, colors, shapes, sizes all together to shine bright reflecting off one another bright lights of love and compassion
John Prophet Aug 2021
Knitting.
Creating.
Creating
reality.
Proactively
creating
realit­y.
Each
choice
redirects,
changes
course.
Which
changes
reality.
­Churning
the ether.
Probability
the twine.
Global
choosing
knits
the future.
Creating
the world
lived in.
Functional
force for
change.
Consciousness,
kitting the
future.
Weaving
reality.
Dennis Willis Jun 2020
On my knees
carefully
Pleading for love
from you

its a
clique

to acknowledge explored
whatever  what-have-you "ands"
what-nots

intolerable redirects
404's
from hi story

wishing myself better
understanding it does not matter
how i am

less i've moved the fence
out
beyond

— The End —