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Kim Jong Il  Nov 2012
5minutes
Kim Jong Il Nov 2012
is transparency of a soul is to be admired?
im so tired
so many things and so little time
id rather have my hands wired
your mouth lied
i've put my believes in a wrong person
my thoughts of you are better than your being
i was willing
did not happen
keeps me happy
maybe ill get a chappie
words are like water,
taking whatever shape  you please
there is no release
from mandatory human form
rosehip has the most thorn
makes no sense anymore
my soul is a little sore.
Alienpoet Nov 2016
I wasn’t born in generation X
I got lost well before we got to that letter
I wasn’t born a jet setter
I just make use of air travel
I find myself trying to find a reason
For my life somewhere between God and evolution
I think I will find the solution
In between trying not to get drunk with my mates
and getting a job that I can enjoy with better pay rates
I find my generation is lost in comfort driven fashion craving
It is my generation that I think needs saving
From ourselves.



A generation lost its head to computer games
A generation lost its morals for 5minutes of fame
A generation lost its battle with drug addiction
A generation has lost its sanity
Oh calamity
A generation has lost its faith in modern life
God and evolution and theories
make this generation groan and feel weary with despair
This generation counts the cost of being branded lost
and believing that it is so
but help them to know
that they need to follow their own way
and not to stray from that path
because the aftermath of following your own path can be success.
Kaycee Hurt  Nov 2011
atraxi
Kaycee Hurt Nov 2011
silence will follow the day
that you find me and i will
see you in mild {disarray} and
apples with faces carved 12years
ago. i'm staring and you're
curious and he's embarrassed but
i don't care about that anymore.
you promised 5minutes and it's
12years and 4psychiatrists later and
istillthinki'mcrazy

"leaving is good. never coming back is better."

we are two parts of
space and time that should
never have touched and so
i force us apart to create
something new but he's
frightened and i'm lonely
and you're anxious for something
that doesn't even exist anymore.

*"prisoner zero has escaped."
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
and he said: 'may you falter at every turn when you ask to depict in masonry, as a literal fake, a joke'. what did he imply? you just keep looking at "beard" of ancient antiquity... the egyptian "beard" of the pharaoh... just a strap-on form of, what could probably be misrtaken for a *****... and the babylonian? can you really get curly beards, like the hairs on your head? ****** hairs are brutish, sure, they can seem curly at a centimetre's height... but in a beard? you're not going to get curls on it... plus the depiction... the fact that there are three different layers. i''m sure he left the latins be, since they respected an accuracy to the true image represented in idol-form of a statue, and that they treated these idols, simply equivalent to lamp-posts... and yes, some have very large heads (like michelangelo's david) - disproportionate to the body... as to roman emperors in "idol" form.. a large upper body... but very short legs.

just as latin has been dubbed, a dead language,
so too, has the history embedded with
the latin phoneticism (i.e. the alphabet),
thanks to darwinism, we can erase all the history
embedded in these letters,
             and, perhaps return to the sanctity of
phonecian... or even better...
                            hieroglyphics...
                                 to me, nothing memorable is
actually happening these days,
       i know that something is happening,
              but then darwinism comes along and goes
back thousands of years to a "beginning",
that seems contradictory to the joy of watching
the *bali
macaques of the uluwatu temple stealing
tourists' possessions (eye glasses, cameras, etc.)
    and holding the tourists' possessions to ransom,
in exchange for food...
            plus i can boil an egg for a runny yoke in 5minutes...
all i'm saying is...    i need the now,
                    the immediacy of sensations!
i'm talking through a microscope of history,
    a day-to-day...
                     these journalists in the papers are talking
through the perspective of a telescope of history...
                    and by journalists, i mean, the proud boys
of england... who are standing on one leg (darwin)
since newton was debunked by einstein;
        please don't mention standing on two legs by citing
shakespeare...           it's a different barrel of herrings.
Laura  Mar 2018
One Truth I Know
Laura Mar 2018
I will always remember the curve of streambank drive. The way the definitive black Pontiac would make any neighbour incapable of getting home. Always sitting there blocking the entrance of my street. Swerving into oncoming traffic was a chore, but something about it made you feel alive.
Charlotte and Hannah Tarr's house was 37 and a half steps from Saginaw. Their driveway was winding and inviting to my gaze. I was never far. I remember when I ran away from home at 4am on an unusual Sunday morning impulse. I spent a whole hour throwing on my warmest red fleece sweater and packing a backpack full of Dunkaroo's and fuzzy childish socks. I went out the back creeky tin door from my basement, and made my way.
Charlotte was asleep, and her blinds were drawn. I spent another hour tapping light enough on the glass to wake her and not her dad Bruce. She never woke up.
I ended up walking through the crisp morning to Woodeden park. It was only 5minutes from me, but I knew it could be a dangerous venture. As I walked slowly and quietly down the street, I had passing strangers on runs question why a small little girl might be up at 5am:
"Is there anything I can do for you sweetie? Are you lost?"
"I'm okay thanks", and I ran. Just like that my attempt to prove a point to my parents was over. I ran all the way back home.
My mom asked how I got up so early and I told her I was outside testing the weather.
"It's cold Laura. I could have told you that."
"Sorry."
"Go get ready for church. DigaDiga is going to be over any minute."
DigaDiga is my grandpa. He smells like Nutella and has a button nose. He's not quick like he used to be with my 20 year old brothers, but he chases me around and yells DigaDiga until I lose a shoe. He's the only person I like.
"Is everything okay Laura?"
"I'm okay thanks."
Reese Starr  Feb 2020
Inside
Reese Starr Feb 2020
Inside I feel empty, like my heart forgot it’s way home
Inside I feel numb, like my souls forced to always roam
Away from where it should be and frankly it hurts like hell
Because I’m loved by many and needed by more and I know that **** well

Nobody seems to understand what this feels like
Imagine being happy but never being able to see the light
Every day you wish for death and everything causes pain
But who are you to change when everyone stays the same
You miss who you used to be and you miss how it all was
Before your life went down the drain and your brain was replaced by static fuzz
You’re incapable of feeling whole for more than 5minutes or so


So if you’re Able to imagine all that... answer your own question.
Would you be ok?
The streets of Mexico, have plants and chairs to eat on.

The house of Mexico, "Casa Mexicana" has a chef who says the occasional hola to me whenever I see her, and the DJ plays any Mexican songs, from Mariachi bands no one here in Abuja really knows to songs from Coco, so all your dreams of Mexico become just more than feels.

If you take a deep dive for hidden gems then you might be lost for 5minutes, with all the pieces which makes the walls and fortifies this Museum gallery feel.


There's more to Casa Mexicana than this.

Almost everything on the menu is organic, so you sit to this coffee with warm milk, and the coffee is lighter, it's traditional and you can open all your caffeine inhibitions.

It tastes almost surreal.

I almost always go for the chicken wings which are well sauced and come with actual home made fries, no embellishments what's so ever, so it seems like what you made or your mum made, without the sweat or having to eat at home.

With deserts for your beating heart, you could lead with a slice of the triple milk Mexican cake.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2021
i understand: it takes time...
it probably takes so much time (in fact)
that the time needed
has to be allocated
to a post-mortem...

with regard to what?
readership!
one example is nibbling at
30-thousand views...

30-thousand...
i'll use cricket before football...
the full capacity at Lord's
stands at 28-thousand...
i passed that by eager
readers alone...
i didn't have to utilise
a stage and perform all
regurgitating nervousness upon
it... spill my guts...

no, i'm still strapped high-up
in my "ivory tower"...
it helps to inquire into
what it is the hell i have
"accomplished"...

it takes time, though...
i would sacrifice everything to not feel
this immediacy of "passing"...
of leaving something readily
available for scrutiny: for audience...
me and making a video...
not enough wine
for what i'd want to entertain with:
no exasperated staging of
ooh: ah... etc.

         there's never ever enough wine
for what's absolutely necessary...
but what has to be surrendered to is
this measure of dimensions...
a single poo'em of mine
managed to attract an audience
that... if ever the Lord's cricket
stadium could fill...
then England would have to be
guaranteed to win the Ashes...

ashes? some idiosyncratic tournament
that only matters on these isles...

it takes time though:
i appreciate the fact that i can leave
something freshly
archaeological...

    
let's brush this notation
under the carpet...  /ˌɑːkɪəˈlɒdʒɪk(ə)l/

it simply... quite simply doesn't work
on a bilingual...

it truly takes time:
of which i know so much
of so much i know so little but also know
that space can sometimes diverge from
time...
time can diverge from purpose
when the purpose of 5minutes is
to boil a runny yoke egg in a shell...

lately i transcended the bully
of a poached egg: perfecting it...
but having to sorrow myself
over overdoing the soft yoke
egg in a shell: prim-ready to be
poked at / dipped into by
toasted bread slithers of
"soldiers"...

i distrust words that gravite
toward grand events
of which they are not part of...
even if Homer was a cook
in the Trojan...
he evidently wasn't going
to be either Achilles or Ulises...
spare a thought:
if i were to go back in time
would i go back as a "plagiarist"
writing Shakespeare before
shaking-the-pear was...

    well: i i left behind something
from this time,
i'd probably leave much more
than a wince than what
some original arrived at
having it kept thus...
against what's kept
and can't be "invigorated" or denounced...
claustrophobic i
having to weave around this...

it is raining
and i'm only happy because that's
not important and because
i'm listening to Beethoven's
ode to joy on my earphones
and there's no gramophone
no opera house to usher
in an addition of volume...

egregious: no alternatively wiping my
own ***:
etymologically... egregious...
best in deutsche: for comparisons...
ungeheuerlich -

yes.. the usually assorted "oops"...
because that's how best to invest
in "looking back"
at structures such as words:
one minute an atom...
a word a brick...
then fudge or custard...
of spinach-spew...

octopus fiddly.. fickle and
morose: which could be a colour
code - associated with maroon...
or...
claret...
which is less diarrhoea onomatopoeia
than: any: syllable:
scrutiny...

or excess vowels with, borrowed,
ancient Pompeii and mt. Vizu-Visu...

it takes time and sometimes
it doesn't... luckily for me i'm banging on
prospect for: when i'm... ash...
god and no god...
dog to the leash...
cat held by a whisker's get-funny... va!

something terrible might happen
should very little be written...
i exact conscience (at idea: no
practice involving moral dichotomies:
if such could be allowed
to exist)...
on a small matter of:
purpose without perpetuation...

solo project scrutiny...
   Lenin i suppose was no *******
Mongol...
            Tartar... or Uzbekh:
                  heaving mother superior
and... the nibble of the Caucaus...
loot Siberia i still say...
even if salt is elemental in what's
required for food to transcend mere
animal...
if the sub-continent of India
was not sourcing gold etc.
then it had the spices...
blue indian spices
the mile up the skyline of Doha
or Dubai couldn't conjure...
for time and extending into...

              the crest...
"they" kept them counting teeth
and pearls and praise for
their advanced cuisine...
not much can be said
about the raw dough of the Cherokee...
can it?
it would it must be necessarily
allowed or ****-faced forced into
a cook...

they survived basing their strategy on
their cooking...
perhaps the whole Hindu
reincarnation dog-in-a-kennel worked
but i'm pretty sure
fenugreek and cardamom and
that plethora of spices worked more
miracles
around a broken elbow than...
Tibetan raw dough surprises...

lick this spoon, ******, Xi;
being dragged into the salt mines
an echo of.... EL-EVEN!
EL-EVEN!
              
         -  i can't find enough i what's enough
to be "trusted" / yielded
of an exasperation tactic
at best made summary within the confines
of a "haiku":

the wine is drunk... raw...
like a pepper or an onion might be
eaten.. raw...
no spices are added...
there's so much less of what's allowed
a breath and a living that might
gravitate toward a wage...

- toward the fore of death's grinding
grip... knuckle-counting
a clench that's a pear of a fist: too...
i heave a breaking of the tooth:
to craze for the marrow of bone(s)...
words to instruct:

stare widzi... mi... sie...

           contrasting contractions of:
pospolite anglo-saskie...
  bed the widow...
call her the ****** of Aquitaine...
call "her" otherwise
the nibble and tonsure sheath...
upon the altar
of the tongue the uvula
und bell...
ripe bleu tender meat:

warm ***** and well-done
doubly-butchered beef...
Wittgenstein & tautology vs.
the thesaurus...
red wine: for getting drunk: purpose
solved... raw carrots for
fluorescent teeth: for teeth that apparently
might glow with a tinge
of lavender in the dork-poise of:
exfoliation of schatten...

concentrated balsamic vinegar...
allowed a "hightening"
with a dash of:             dzius: juice:
               herbivore diet: peel me
a grape like than mythological blonde
jazz shinger...
tells you to: whip(ping) cream readied...

something about linear B:
like it might be cryptic and no one knows:
true:
few have, interest in this...
falling asleep to christopher young's
hellraiser soundtrack...

yes... so much effort for the otherwise
blaise
"omelette" /  shrivel of a floral bouquet
of a worth of ****...
like it might shrivel and god-forbid
a karma sutra excavation
of ***** envy... in reverse:
coalmining ****** giggle...
  
   she 'as a trout's worth of a length
& elbow... still she's screaming
******* und... creaming softest juice
parody pairing... with a poaching
of pears...

for the dog that's allowed to befriend
a leash...
a cat's must: concerning a pillow...
a grain of a mother's mother...
grand as prefect...
for no purpose other than...
making summary.

— The End —