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Andrew Rueter Jun 2017
The greatest challenge my nature presents:
Love is harder to find
Hate is easier to find
Within myself and others

Is rejection different for me?
Everybody seems to know the pain of being unwanted
And idle threats and empty words are no stranger to rejection
But when you say you'll **** me if you ever see me again
The intention is clear
The existence of my attraction
Is grotesque beyond redemption
I thought I loved you...

When appreciation comes my way
It's superficiality amuses me
Because I know all that needs to happen
Is breaking down the wall to my mind
Or unlocking the door to my heart
And those appreciators will transform into detractors
Especially if the hideous leviathan approaches their vessel

Not finding women gross frustrates me
Because I have no reference point
For why people hate me so much
Which provides a reference point
For why I hate myself so much

It's difficult not to be dominated by this damnation
But there's no way people could understand
The daily subtle nuances
Why should they?
I don't constantly consider their lives either
Even if someone tried to comprehend my life
I'm not sure it's possible
I've been here the whole time and I'm still massively perplexed

I display my emotions
Disgust
I shroud my emotions
Indifference
I **** my emotions
Hatred
Is there no escape?
Even with sanctuaries along the way
Life feels like
Everybody swims in the ocean
While I'm resigned to my lonely oasis
Is it possible to feel more alone than completely alone?
Like a cockroach consigned to living under the refrigerator
It gets so cold and dark down here
I forage for crumbs only at night
Mortally afraid of human contact
For I know that the boot follows the light
And why not?
In a world where our priorities obstruct our compassion
How much consideration should a real human show
to a lowly maggot like me
When they have to worry about paying the exterminator?
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
The four fundamental forces:
Zeus, Aphrodite, Ares (or Mars), and Adam and Eve.

                            <<0>>                                          >> 0 <<

             Electric field induced by             Electric field induced by
            a positive electric charge            a negative electric charge

"Deutsch thinks that such 'jumps to universality' must occur not only in the capacity to calculate things, but also in the capacity to understand things, and in the closely related capacity to make things happen. And he thinks that it was precisely such a threshold that was crossed with the invention of the scientific method. There were plenty of things we humans could do, of course, prior to the invention of that method: agriculture, or the domestication of animals, or the design of sundials, or the construction of pyramids. But all of a sudden, with the introduction of that particular method of concocting and evaluating new hypotheses, there was a sense in which we could do anything. The capacities of a community that has mastered that method to survive, to learn, and to remake the world according to its inclinations are (in the long run) literally, mathematically, infinite. And Deutsch is convinced that the tendency of the world to give rise to such communities, more than, say, the force of gravitation, or the second law of thermodynamics, or even the phenomenon of death, is what ultimately gives the world its shape, and what constitutes the genuine essence of nature. 'In all cases,' he writes, 'the class of transformations that could happen spontaneously--in the absence of knowledge--is negligibly small compared with the class that could be effected artificially by intelligent beings who wanted those transformations to happen. So the explanations of almost all physically possible phenomena are about how knowledge would be applied to bring those phenomena about.' And there is a beautiful and almost mystical irony in all this: that it was precisely by means of the Scientific Revolution, it was precisely by means of accepting that we are not the center of the universe, that we became the center of the universe."

Danger comes from the root bad brakes and bald tires. Chain saws
      and wildfires. Poisonous
ideologies, housecleaning chemicals and toiletries. Powerful
      industrialists, alcoholic fathers.
Invasive species, illegal immigrants. Concentration camps, attention
      deficit disorder.
Performance phobia, identity enhancements. Pleasure, applause.
      Quiet moments, walking and
talking war buddies. Electoral politics, marriage and divorce. Pest
      exterminator, Yeats seminar.
Love affair, pencil sharpener. Whatever, matter. Ionic and covalent
      bonds, republican hairstyle.
Events in their mere chronology.

"What is a typical place in the universe like? Let me assume that you are reading this on Earth. In your mind's eye travel straight upwards a few hundred kilometers. Now you are in the slightly more typical environment of space. But you are still being heated and illuminated by the sun, and half your field of view is still taken up by the solids, liquids and **** of the Earth. A typical location has none of those features. So, travel a few trillion kilometers further in the same direction. You are now so far away that the sun looks like other stars. You are at a much colder, darker and emptier place, with no **** in sight. But it is not yet typical: you are still inside the Milky Way galaxy, and most places in the universe are not in any galaxy. Continue until you are clear outside the galaxy--say, a hundred thousand light years from Earth. At this distance you could not glimpse the Earth even if you used the most powerful telescope that humans have yet built. But the Milky Way still fills much of your sky. To get to a typical place in the universe, you have to imagine yourself at least a thousand times as far out as that, deep in intergalactic space. What is it like there? Imagine the whole of space notionally divided into cubes the size of our solar system. If you were observing from a typical one of them, the sky would be pitch black. The nearest star would be so far away that if it were to explode as a supernova, and you were staring directly at it when its light reached you, you would not even see a glimmer. That is how big and dark the universe is. And it is cold: it is at that background temperature of 217 Kelvin, which is cold enough to freeze every known substance except helium. And it is empty: the density of atoms out there is below one per cubic meter. That is a million times sparser than atoms in the space between the stars, and those atoms are themselves sparser than in the best vacuum that human technology has yet achieved. Almost all the atoms in intergalactic space are hydrogen or helium, so there is no chemistry. No life could have evolved there, nor any intelligence. Nothing changes there. Nothing happens. The same is true of the next cube and the next, and if you were to examine a million consecutive cubes in any direction the story would be the same."

The 5 colors of sadness:
disappointed, didn't get what was wanted
confused, don't know what to do next, where to go
lonely, no one to love or be loved by
sorry, unable to help or change what happened
depressed, can't get out of bed, want to **** self

"Unless a society is expecting its own future choices to be better than its present ones, it will strive to make its present policies and institutions as immutable as possible. Therefore Popper's criterion can be met only by societies that expect their knowledge to grow -- and to grow unpredictably. And, further, they are expecting that if it did grow, that would help. This expectation is what I call optimism, and I can state it, in its most general form, thus: The Principle of Optimism -- All evils are caused by insufficient knowledge. Optimism is, in the first instance, a way of explaining failure, not prophesying success. It says that there is no fundamental barrier, no law of nature or supernatural decree, preventing progress. Whenever we try to improve things and fail, it is not because the spiteful (or unfathomably benevolent) gods are thwarting us or punishing us for trying, or because we have reached a limit on the capacity of reason to make improvements, or because it is best that we fail, but always because we did not know enough, in time. But optimism is also a stance towards the future, because nearly all failures, and nearly all successes, are yet to come.

As I think of things to do I do them.
Thing by thing I get things done.
That's how my father and his father did things.
I guess my mother and her mother did things that way too.

Sometimes I'm driving and I think how my father and his father drove
      too.
There was weather and they had problems. There is weather and I
      have problems.
Time exists only in the human mind. But if the mind exists, time exists.
Joy everywhere. Joy at birth. Joy at death. All joy, all times.
--Alpert, David, "Explaining it All: How We Became the Center of the Universe", NY Times Book Review, August 12, 2011
--Deutsch, David, The Beginning of Infinity, Viking Press, 2011

www.ronnowpoetry.com
Meat Stevens Jan 2020
While you’re sleeping
The spiders bathe in your nightstand water
As the mosquitos play you Copeland’s “Fanfare For The Common Man”
The worms use you as a blanket
The bees outside your window spread rumors about the Praying Mantis
The roaches climb the bedpost to get a better view
and the ants want to be left alone cause they’re too busy working on their own things
while the Praying Mantis makes a move on the Brown Widow
It’s actually not a widow it’s a  Brown Recluse according my roommate, Charlie
He tells me their bites are harmless
But I don’t believe him
So I take a picture and ask someone on reddit spiders
and they tell me it looks like a Brown Widow but the photo quality isn’t too clear
I mean I got up as close as I could to take the picture
And we should really call an exterminator
Because the Ladybugs now won’t shut up about the Mantis
And the Moths are making a mess in the kitchen
And it’s really Gal the landlords job to handle it
But he’s too busy being a heart surgeon on the side so I guess I’ll have to do it
I’ll call today. I’ll call now.
Jay M Dec 2020
Conflicted
Internally tormented
Butterflies come alive
Just beneath the flesh
Some with
Wings of razors
Others soft as silk

Call the exterminator
The pests won't leave me be
They flutter about
Collide and ****
Dead ones floating in the blood

- Jay M
December 8th, 2020
They flutter about, and I know not why.
Michael W Noland Sep 2012
Strumming the untuned strings, he stares drunkenly into the setting sun of yesteryears songs, sung of lost dreams and the birthed ambitions of the dark, dark days to be.

Happily,  he tears up in the fortunate tragedies, of the reclamation in his dreams, as he seethes out the damnation of his steeds, galloping gallantly through his being.

All seeing, in the finite fleeting when he sings, of strummed dreams to the rhythms of heart beats lost, embossed on the epitaphs of kings.

Sad songs of dreams once had.
Be glad for that, which does not **** you, only to bestow upon you, the gratitude of the weirding ways, in passionate display for us all to play nice.

Shake these dice and jump aboard this bus of wandering poetry, from the porches of poets singing to the sun.

From the morning Moet, to the afternoon beer run.

we sing of dreams

of better things

we blaspheme

and spin the scenes

of our murdered dreams

and just clean the guilt away

I am so awesome as to be devoid of fault.

I am a god that cracks the asphalt.

I am the angel signing the clause, of deserved harm.

I am the indentured servant sounding the alarm, with the charm of a Trojan horse, forced to adhere to the most righteous path.

The first

The last

Laugh of inevitability

Honing in on the ability to capture the longevity of dream warriors, in the lock of predators, in the employ of a senator, from the center of the heart, to impart on you the fear from thieves caught in the plight of those fraught with the graces of an exterminator, exterminating the pro-creators of your world. Soldiers unraveled in the lavished gavels of real criminals drowning in their own subliminal theories of the self imposed heresies of intention.

Free will

A fragile blessing

I cracked, all so long ago, as i gently bestow my  belligerence upon your innocence and **** it all away.

I'm the ******* son

Strumming for the only one.

Once.

Before the lore of the storm.

Born of the swoon of a gun.

More than one.

Once.

As the day faded into night, his strumming turned plucking, as he slightly eased from reprise to silence, in the whisper of nights words, easing him into the blur, of sleep.
Johnnyqu33r Jun 2016
Bright light attracts the bugs at night,
So I got smart and dimmed my glow.
Barely noticeable to untrained eyes,
I just simply glide through the day.
A little less unimpressed at sunset,
Watching all my circles shrink.  

It can get a little lonely here,
But the past comes to remind me;

Sleeping with dogs can give you fleas,
So I adopted a no animal policy.
I haven't had an itch in ages,
But I miss the companionship.
It can get a little lonely here,
but at least I have no bugs.
As of recent,
there has been an infestation of cockroaches in my house.
I want to rid of them, but I cannot call an exterminator.
I do not want him to find the bodies.
So I decided,
I could only rid of them,
by eating them.
And I ate them all,
one by one.
Each roach crunching between my teeth.
The tangy juices,
squeezing into my mouth,
and down my throat.
I must say,
after a while,
they did not taste bad.
They in fact tasted quite delicious.
So delicious, that I started eating them with meals.
Soon, I was only eating the roaches.
Now, all I eat,
is roaches.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Kill me slowly Nov 2015
smoke it on the daily
i do
and
i left the last batch near the window.
the only thing these days waiting on me to come home.

i have an addiction
and it all started
with
you
.

it is thursday today and
for reasons i don't remember
the exterminator is
coming

but i've been hiding out
in my hidey hole
under the patio
playing with needles
all day
and it seems like i have already missed him

he left a note on my door
telling me that there are
bombs in the house
but
i guess
it won't make a difference.

it's already a chemical warfare in these veins
and
nothing i'm not use too

closed into this skin
i won't let myself
out to see the world
too much restraint
the handcuffs are too tight
and i know i'm killing myself
but i also know they won't miss me

grown accustomed
to
this muggy air
and the lack
of
love in my lungs
i have

you can't
phase
the unphaseable.  

i open
the door and wait on the porch
for someone to invite me in
even though this is my home
and chivalry is dead.
sometimes
i expect my love
to great me at the door
but
we play a constant game of hide and seek and i haven't been able to
find her for ages.

the rain has stopped and
my vampire hands
have ceased to shake..
by the time
i
step inside.

the freshly lacquered linoleum floor
hits me in the face with a waft of lemon scented chemicals.
and i know now that
someone has been cleaning
but i purposely don't take off my shoes
and
this smell
of orchard lemon trees
is the false pretense of safety that
dances around my nostrils and tucks me into bed at night

this is home.
for now.
and
i
  guess
    it

  will
have
to
do
    .


i walk in a circle
as to not upset the balance of things
turn on the record player
and
find myself a chair in the kitchen.
only
to witness a symphony of
spiders
fall to the floor
and crumble up into
themselves
with  one
single
crescendo
.

everything is dying
and the air
is barely breathable
but i find comfort
in the thought of you
still loving me through it all.

i'll be sure to call this exterminator again
he really did do a swell job.
even took care of all the cobwebs  
on my bookshelf
which i haven't used in years
because its
where i keep our cardboard box full of memories  
hidden
behind the great gatsby and the
apocalyptic books
i tried to make you read
in hopes of you maybe seeing the beauty in such darkness
but you never liked them anyways
and you stopped reading my poetry
a long time ago
so who was i really kidding
other then myself?

it's newly November
and i hope it snows this year
i don't need a scarf
or mittens
because
i can feel your warmth even though you're not welcome in my house anymore  
and i can feel your lips on my neck
and your hot breath
whispering
***** little secrets to my skin

your hickeys we're love notes written in flesh
but of course bruises were your signature trade mark.

the thought of you calling my name
kills me
even quicker
then
this poison that enters in through my pores
and kisses my bloodstream like
an old family friend

i am not scared
of it
though

in fact i don't even flinch

after my experience with you
i am now an expert at dancing with the devil

i am brave
not fearless
no,

merely

immune to things that try to **** me
whilst loving me to pieces.
i like drugs
and i liked you
but i don't miss either.

seven months  and fifteen days sober today.
Will Mercier Aug 2012
There's a hearse next door,
but I don't know who its for.
The driver is wearing a midnight black derby,
and a midnight black sports coat.
Its plain to see, he's not in a hurry i
I hope its not my fault.

There's an officer at my door,
he has a warrant,
my house he'd like to explore.
There's a goat's head in the tub.
Luckily,
it's invisible.

The rats are building bombs in the walls,
I can hear eggtimers ticking, as I walk through the halls,
sinister squeaking, and cracks in the plaster,
from "The Seventeen dead!" M-80 disaster.
The exterminator says I'm bonkers,
but he runs a white slave ring in Yonkers.

You call me paranoid,
from collected chemical indiscretions,
and laugh as I keep peeking out the blinds,
but even if you don't see them,
they're coming from all directions.
They will get you too, in time.

Maniacs are Golden,
that's why God loves them so much,
they're the only ones that keep in touch,
with both him,
and the Devil.
Maniacs are Golden.
Cut them open and see.
v V v  Sep 2010
Entomophobia
v V v Sep 2010
It all begins with pounding fists
against my door, and men with guns
and yellow tape, and me afraid,
I’m on the floor and crawling toward
the front room drapes to peak outside,
oh what in the world have I done?

A bit relieved, I find out why
a regiment is in my yard,
they say the man that lived next door
has turned up dead behind his shed,
they said he died an awful way,
with eyes ****** out by who knows
what, or why, but either way a
nasty death; poor guy.

The landscape man called 911,
but what he saw he wouldn’t say,
was so surprised to find him dead,
he swallowed his tongue, his face all red,
and there they lie both side by side
the one alive, the other dead.

The EMTs revived the one,
the older guy had long since died,
the guy who lived, they took away
to where? don’t know, they didn’t say,-
but rumor is a padded cell
where all he does both day and night
is moan and drool, he just ain’t right
from what he saw that spooked him.

Within a week I notice things
around the house (not his, but mine)
the porch out back, the wet wood stack,
the shifting earth, the sticking doors,
disgusting insects on the floor,
the pungent stench from underneath
the house, the vents that weep a
sickly brown and soupy ****,  I
must confess in ignorance,
I didn’t know a house could bleed.
I try some bleach, some cleaning spray,
but just can’t scrub the **** away,
it just gets worse, and just when I
can take no more a chasm cracks
behind the stack of sticky wood,
and from the hole a flying horde
of Satan’s pawns and slugs and prawns
and beasts of sorts I swear I’ve never
seen before come shrieking out and
flock about so loud the sound is
deafening.

And now I know what mute man saw,
he saw what’s left, the face of stone
when people die at home alone,
the rigor mortis, gouged out eyes
when killed by things that men despise,
those beasts that creep and crawl and fly
about as Satan’s pawns or slugs
or prawns or whatever else might
make them cry or swallow their tongue.

I really don’t know what the big
deal is -  good god
its only BUGS.

I guess I’ll call an exterminator.
Rose C Nov 2014
It is often said that sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt.
But wait if each word were beautifully carved into stones, the size of each letter.
The smaller the word, the bigger the stone.
The bigger the word, the smaller the stone.
Idiot became much bigger than intelligent.
Dumb became much more common than bright.
Shy became an excuse for exclusion.
And the word friend had a double personality with adversary.

I didn’t understand.

Each stone formed a meteorite,
Hurtling down to destroy my purpose,
Slay my heartbeat,
Butcher my happiness.  

My happiness, however, was too powerful.
The exterminator disintegrated as it peeked at my face.
Each pebble hitting my skin like confused bullets.
It took my hands, then my shoulders
Then my back,
Then my legs,
Then my lips,
Then my voice.
It melted my skin,
Screaming demons lay atop.
Each layer of skin peeling, falling apart.
My smile had been long gone.

PLOT TWIST:
Instead of melting like a witch,
I remained.
Today, I stand before you, stronger than ever.
A message from the universe told me to tell you:
Never give up.
Shrinking Violet Feb 2015
So i tried to be Snow White
And did the whole pin-up girl look
Red lips, black hair, white skin.
then I joined a website
and learnt how to cook
and how to wield a rolling pin.
Then I sat and waited for a charming prince
who never came.
So I got up and made an apple pie
and lo seven guys turned up in a pinch
but most of them were really lame
and short and they didn't like the pie. I cried.
I threw the pie into the trash
where the rats choked on the apples
and waited for their own true love's kiss.

(But then I needn't have worried about making a hash
of things because later on the steps of an abandoned chapel,
The Anti-Pest Society gave me an award for getting rid of all the rats
and that's how I got work as an exterminator -which I am justifiably proud of and good at-
So hasta la vista baby, I'll be back.)
Very quite different from the previous one on romance. Ha.

— The End —