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 Sep 2015 Lukoje
beth fwoah dream
streams of the stars
golden leaves
sinking in the fading light
dappled shadows
where the light drowns
its stones and unwraps
the sweetness of the night.
 Sep 2015 Lukoje
Wade Lancaster
A good game needs rules and planning.
Nothing revels humanity so well as the games that play.
Actually you revel yourself best in how you play.
And so it became that.
A truism;
perhaps we are not that original, we are fascinated with the human past. And It's the human future which intrigues us most.
Seems we cannot understand us.
We cannot abide the thoughts of stagnation.
We seek to change into the heart of what we are, but... change into what?
We are hardly original.
Therefore, what will be your rewards?...
For playing the game...
I believe if we fill our life with positive there is no room left for negative. Mastery of your own game is never at the expense of another. That would be negative.
 Sep 2015 Lukoje
JDK
I showed the librarian how Dostoevsky predicted the internet (and what we'd use it for) over a hundred years ago.

She seemed unimpressed.
"We are assured that the longer time goes on, the closer the world draws towards fraternal communion, when distances will be bridged and thoughts transmitted through the air. Alas, put no faith in such a union of men. By interpreting freedom as the multiplication and immediate gratification of needs, people distort their own nature, for they engender in themselves a multitude of pointless and foolish desires, habits, and incongruous stratagems."
- The Brothers Karamazov, by Fyodor Dostoevsky. (Published in 1880.)
 Sep 2015 Lukoje
Panic Theater
I will break my skull
Let every single drop
Of my rushing blood
Trickle down my arm
Past my fingertips
And into eternal scrawls
Of ink on paper.
 Sep 2015 Lukoje
Nat Lipstadt
your poem read,
awoken by lightening flashes of
morning notifications arriving,
postmarked from
"I liked it"

but it does not
end there,
continues,
to a new ending

who and why,
who and why,
did this one find
their own
worthy in it
that was writ unknowingly
just for them

and
you look them up,
guessing
who and why,
rereading your hand's work,
which verse was it,
was it for a blessing or a
curse,
that touched them,
that made them
touch
you

each "like,"
a work in itself

re examined,
re searched,
re imagined
in the
light of
who they are
and
why they are
liking words I wrote

a single poem
bring hours of imagination,
each "like"
individually gift wrapped,
each human liking rapt,
each imagine a rapture,

each "like"
a new poem
about the who and why
each name a disguise to unravel,
each name a title
of a new different,
imagined poem,
who and why,
we
like
each other

~~~
6:53am
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