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Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                             To the I.C.E. Gangs


          In the dock…slumped in their seats fidgeting nervously…
          They seemed to be a drab assortment of mediocrities. It
           seemed difficult to grasp that such men…had wielded such
           monstrous power…

   -William L. Shirer, The Rise and Fall of the Third *****, p. 1142


When this is over, we will not come for you -
But good and faithful servants of our laws
With warrants, in uniform, in marked cars
Not hiding behind masks –
                                                      they will come for you
Police State, Secret Police
I will talk to rivers
And walk into the sea
To ask the waves for answers,
Do we really need to breathe?

I will sing to landscapes
And whisper to the trees.
Play truth or dare with mountains
Then scream into the streams.

I'll cut my teeth on valleys,
Drawing blood in dreams.
Wake to find my veins are hollow
There was nothing left to bleed.

Now I find myself in exile,
Cast out from lands once known.
A martyr for a war not mine
But a heart that's cast in stone.
I see the shape of things
As they shift
And slowly change.

I feel the weight it brings
As they chisel
And carve their names.

As the clouds move through their lives
They stretch, and pull apart.
No cloud will ever be the way
It was back at its start.

Maybe we are as those clouds,
Reshaping as we go.
No need to be ashamed nor proud.
Simply travel where winds blow.

Maybe we could learn from them,
Who exist but do not fight.
Face reality with grace, and then
Do the same in the windy night.
We’ll hitchhike to mars
on a rocket not a car,
so say your au revoirs.

We’ll steer towards Polaris, the north star
right through the center of the milky-way-bar.
See, the universe is dark and chocolatey.

Stars that glitter like multi-faceted gems,
are just shiny, yellow, peanut M&Ms,
take a handful, if you’d like, they’re free.

We’ll dodge the silhouetted moon,
which is made of enough coconut macaroon,
to make a French confectioner swoon.

As we go streaking, like a comet’s tail,
drag a finger through Saturn’s rings as well,
those are made of marshmallow.

We’ll  pass nebulae made of cotton-kandi,
and here’s a fact Einstein would have found handy,
the speed of light doesn’t apply to candy.
.
.
Ramble on by Toni Jevicky
go to bed  •think bemusingly of you
loop (cond) { tomorrow }
I rise in the morning (5am),
jog an 8K  •thinking of you, wash up
drink some flavored, black coffee
watch the morning sun balloon
eat toast while reading a set amount
write my unique and uninteresting analysis
work on half a dozen, odd assignments
walk .8 miles to campus  •thinking of you
team up, with some older, uninteresting guys
interview a focus group, present dataset interpretations
walk .8 miles back to my flat  •thinking of you
eat while reading a set amount
go to bed  •think bemusingly of you
loop (cond) { tomorrow }
I rise in the morning (5am)…
.
.
Songs for this:
Falling Down a Well by Jack J
Overtime (pt 1) by Mk.gee  [E]
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 06/22/25:
bemused = confusion, bewildered and somewhat amused.

8k is just 5 miles - they always measure runs in kilometers,
I don't know why.
RSD
Every little rejection
Every "I can't"
"Maybe"
Feels like I opened my chest
Giving them access to my heart
And they took it out
Twisted it
And put it back in bleeding
Rejection sensitive dysphoria is something I've always struggled with, even as a little kid. I know rationally that they don't hate me and aren't truly rejecting me, but I just feel like absolute **** every time. I'm not diagnosed with anything, but it makes me feel better about myself to think it's something medical and not just me ******* and being dramatic. Also, it's quite precise to what I feel sometimes so I call it that. Idk but yeah. Love you all ❤️❤️❤️
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