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Paul Celano Jul 2010
I have dejavu
Why do things keep repeating?
I have dejavu
©2010 Paul Celano
"This is true to all"
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
This is not where this idea began but it ran and I

missed my mark. Mark sin.
-1 deficit reality quotientcy
currency.  Sure.
(Press Sure, to let the bursting pressure equilation expand at will)
Score.

That fine a level of reality
demands more attention than I have to pay.
Patient agent wait and not see or see if/then

you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since

we come in threes, we are some of those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.

Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins,
since God knows when,

time's less twisted than people think it is,
but it is silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments.
Is it?

Apophrenia
or mere
Dejavu, you believe,
what if it is your memory lying by ignoring time
attention ratios determining the observations stored in HD?
What if it's just a glitch?
Blue screen of death.


If you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since

we come in threes, we are those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.

Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins,
since God knows when,

time's less twisted than people think it is, but
is it silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments?

We come and go. To and fro up on the face

messengers bearing news in both directions, watch
the trickster, Jacob, in this story, he sees the messengers from
heaven bearing leaven thither and hither

upon the face of the earth.
the wrinkling mother, smiling now, chuckle head
I ain't no ***** saint.

Jah, I know. Joy is my dance, this is my song.
Is it good Grandmother?

---- on the porch facing my west gate ---

fences don't play exactly, out acted, the role of walls.

The idea that something
there is that does not love a wall,
has frozen my pond

the stillness beyond the sylvan **** crowned head
radiates through the medium of the message to me in time
to you.

Miles to go, you recall the feeling of feeling miles to go
before
I sleep.
That was yesterday, and you know yes ter everything's gone,
roar.

Aslan can pierce the barrier between mere Christians and me,
how would be fun to know, but
knowing why would help us keep the story interesting as life goes on

Who controls my peace?
Am I a mercurial sheen in between chaos and order,
chronus and zeus?
Could be, ya thank so, ye know so, less unlessed as

unlessing means nothing to you,
that means you are visiting here.

Visting whom, vis it ing whom?
Who's in charge, where's the power
short

age, wrinkles in time, rogue waves at the quanta scale,
we were dancing
with the thoughts emanating

from some IDW smart guy proffesing
Critique-technic-magi action, post mode'r'ism
at the point of Dada und Scheizkunst,
the unmass-queque,
the line of lies awaiting unbelief,
idle words lingering,
hoping
to be noticed and added back into the story book of life,

a simple wish.

It could be every child's, should we think that
if we can or may,

sometimes I'm still, and

confusion troubles the water,
it seems,
then another hurt is healed, another lie is gone and life goes on

we won again, this never gets old,
I do love my opposition,
pressure pump
pump pump. De-us-me-can-onbeoffbeyond

five years ago unmasking and rhetoric meant nothing to me
the purpose of learning forever and never
knowing anything beyond all things

our bubble is metastasizing, a mercurial film forms
informing us
in its reflection,

this is the ying yang thang in 3 or 4 d, HD+ chaos one half

order the other,
sharpest imaginable thing
me trick being mag ift just if eye winged show

how beautiful are the feet of them who bring good news,
you see, it flows, sweetwater flows
winged feet
whish through leaving, leavin' leaven…

unleaven that which has been leaved?
Fat chance, all who
eat this bread and don't get gas,
they are our same bread people. Companions.
Vectors of sour dough,
webs of fungal
axions
make a way
bore, pore, poor-with-us, pour

in to it ish, that idea, an opening through,
trickle down good gravity leveling stillness,
gentle rocking earth
roll round and round and round

the pythagorean version
of Euclid's point in his mother's story,

the point of this song? To know the point you must have been

to the point of in-forming the point on which we dance and you recall

we come in threes, and just, we are, just, if it, that idea,
rests in your
back roads, gentle on your mind. We make peace.

Being young is easy from my POV.
I've lived in my future for sometime now

I can't say how, beyond saying aloud, this was never hidden,
in my accounting of idle words I claimed,
upon hearing the stories each contained.

i'da swore i hear that wise *** o'balaam's abrayin'
Braindeem, deemed 'eem. Wham, uptheyhaid. Relig, fool,

or chaos wins and no hero ever lives again!
Drop anchor, wait it out.
let patience blow her nose, gnostic snot caught in the nets,

nonono nothing's wasted in patience work, we make glue
from gnostic snot that patience sneezes
when reality grows cold,

that has happened, you know, temperatures are just now,
oh, wait global warming, bad dam,

Script, bust it,
leveling is essential to eventual temperature
equilibrium.
The heat is on, the bubbles are forming, informing one to another
below the surface
greasy tension, slippery slopes putting pressure on chaos
to conform to the curve

Ying yang, mercury film upon the sea of time and the scene of chaos
in this bubble of all you can imagine real.

Hows' that feel? Why?

You want that? What are you standing under? Does chaos win?
You are, as we say, cognisic magi we-ified,
practical magic at
the moment
the point
is made, then the creation begins fractalling outward

and not before or is this all
unrolling ex nihilo, no magi ever knew…
come, let us reason together,

why am I empowered? To live, first thought wise, that's good but
evil forces me to think again and I see the pattern

life goes on, John Molenkamp, Sam, soldier 4,
(as the credits role by, the name catches my eye)
never in a thousand years,
'cept unbelievable is one of those lies I came to **** by strangling
on bile while
rescuing every idle word ever involved in the infection

from the point in the absolute center of the bubble,
objectively, you see everything
that is
seeable

but would good prevail if evil had no hope?

I know that one, yes. why?
evil has no mind, soul, some think--
same same medium message spoken spelled chanted danced
who care's?
*** 'er done. Life has a chaotic side, the churning creates

number one from none, the cult of one divides itself
go do be
we three we three we three a wavy song ding ****.

Aware? Awaken? Avowed-wowed-wit-wise,
fullcomp, retired
Peacemaker. Me.

All my hero's imagined or real, were Peacemakers.
Just now, peaceful now, mindful now
we remain
the same blessing promised in the package of yeses
stolen from Cain by his older sister, his
bride,
keep that quiet, eh?

Secrets made sacred, always
those are lies, no lie is of the truth,
all lies are about the truth.

What empowers you, poet or poetry? Right, you know,
God, good god knows, resentment lives in lies

the rotting idle words deemed curses at best, secret at worst,
those idle corrupting thoughts sparking as if absolute annihilation were thinkable by rational minds

of ---wait, there's arub, a sore
ex nihilo, the homeless wanderer screams,

"May the whole world perish, may you all go to hell,"

the mad man wept his hell, and imagined his curse,

not mine,
I don't have one. I did, but I went back so often to find pieces of my heart that now I have an Elysian network woven through All-hell, the big idea that broke loose infecting the mind as wisdom's leaven builds her womb
inhabitation
placenta
stem cell informing builders empowered, pressure empowered, what must be, but is not verse, versus
us, the we that be
we must
choose,

let this be, come and see,
life goes on.
Agree, or empower us as we bubble by and
takenallwecan expanding gobbling bubbles,
good
by ye.

Once we flushed the Dada poison and let mito mom
instill the patience gene with
epigenetic peace we can pass on with a touch or a word,

we've never woven lies for no reason,
if a rung breaks
and they can, last straw and all that weight,
you know,
Jacob's ladder is an escalaltor-ladder, wittily invented,
with knots and twisted fibers electricked,
there are automated steps, algoryhmes of reasons to repair the broken rung
with a reason to believe the rung has been repaired,
only believe, take a step,
re
paired again with the idea of meaninglessness masked in create-if-ity

good enough. okeh. don't believe lies.
Don't pass undigested lies to see if farts burn.
Listening to Hicks Explaing Post Modernism after watching Tenant's Voltage Within spark a fire. This reality is storyteller heaven.
For all of them, greatness ekes not on goodness,
but on mysterious and spectacular humility,
semitism  cradled from epileptic Tehra,
Hebrewism from Abrahamic despair,
Jewry from shrewd Israel of Isaac,
Christianity from lame footed jesus,
Islam from an epileptic desert oat;Muhammed,
Africanism from warped emotionalism,
Hinduism a mere avatar of godly imaginations
all these calls for a pious dejavu
Natasha Meyer  Dec 2014
Dejavu
Natasha Meyer Dec 2014
Here we are again
this cross road again
passing the beginning
and collecting nothing
A chance card is all we have
Maybe this time
Maybe not
Here we are again
Dejavu... my friend.
Softly spoken Oct 2011
Been ******* ova a thousand times
Result of that is trust isnt on my mind
Thats one thing i dont have
So i kno any relationship i start wont last
I try to believe that your not like my past
But after you gave it all its hard to redo that
I have put my heart on the line
Covered my eyes to lies i played blind
Closed my ears to gossip in the streets
Of her cheating and not claiming me
Who would of thought the one you give your soul
Would trade it for what they thought was gold
Make you out to be the fool when time of approach comes
And i loved her so much i believed her how dumb
So now you come in singing a song i have heard
How you would love me forever and my heart you wont hurt
Sorry to be the barrier of bad news
But i must be real and say i dont believe you
Yes i heard you when you said you'd love me on dieing knee
And your promise to never cheat
But your words are oh to familar
I have dejavu with your words this is a bad delima
Trust isnt something i can give easily
As well as my heart my mind cant you see
Take it slow with me i cant go fast
I refuse to get out of us what i did in my past
I be ****** if i get hurt again
Having to hear gossip from my friends
I will not hold the sign of pain any more
Before i go thru it again i will show you the door
I dont want to wait up at night for you to walk in
Or get scared when i see you around another woman
I want to be free of playing the fool
And to be honest i just want to love and be loved without trust issues
Atlas  Dec 2013
Dejavu
Atlas Dec 2013
Oh hello again
Familiar feelings
Feelings of vacancy

I remember
When I thought
I could fly

I remember
Learning about
Gravity

Hello again
Old feelings
I remember
How empty I was

I remember
Floating
It only lasted a sort while
Then time went by
As I was deflated

Falling is a  familiar feeling

This desire keeps coming back
It wont escape me
Every single dream
Emptiness escapes
I suffocate every time

Mistakes keep coming back
One after the other
Rows and rows
Reminders
Of the emptiest time
In my life

Why
Do
You
Keep
Coming
Back?
ajit peter  Jun 2014
dejavu
ajit peter Jun 2014
I had seen this
A dream
Now I feel this
reality of the dream
was my dream true
or I see future without clue
Laurel Leaves Sep 2017
Escape
My belly emerges above the ripple in the water
While the rainbow hue of small delicate bubbles pop the moment they make contact with my skin
Exposed the goose bumps grow around my areolas
I think of the small toes
Bumping, tickling the inside of me
While a heart beat
Moves rhythmically with me
How the butterflies sing me to sleep when
Her eyes glow
A burdening row of uncontrollable
Addicting
Protection
I watch as his fingers trace the porcelain
The water cascades in
Roaring, boiling
My lips purse together
While the steam
Emerges from the ends of the mug
Water dripping down my shoulders
Pooling at the ends of my hair
Breathing deeply
Embody
Eternity
Dreams recently
R  Jun 2019
dejavu
R Jun 2019
i look around and have seen this all before,
we tell ourselves we discovered something new,
but we have lived this all before.
- that feeling when everything modern feels ancient, and i feel like i'm looking into the past
Towela Kams Sep 2015
To the boy I met two days ago,
With words designed to suit the solitude I've wanted me heart to cave in.
And the smile that made security no longer appear as a faraway myth but was now as close to me as your inhale and exhale across my neck.
I could feel your heartbeat,
And the way it raced marathons to convince me that it wasn't just oxygen you were taking in, but with each inhale was a piece of me I'll never be able to recover.
And when you held me, I reluctantly allowed the walls of my mind to romp into temporary forevers
But soon I was yet to discover an abstract truth
From what you whispered in my left ear.
You'd given me detailed descriptions of your childhood games that were enough for me to conclude that you liked to play -
With stones
And sticks
And Lego bricks
But never,
Never did I think you were capable of playing a round of hide-and-go-seek with my feelings.
I feel kisses on my cheek,
As I continue reminiscing about the first words you spoke to me,
that night.
If only I'd known your "Hello" was filled with deceit that concealed it's rise to defeat me.
I was under the impression that a fall into an empty ditch of your promises wouldn't leave me scarred.
To the boy I met two days ago,
You asked me why I struggle with trust issues,
Knowing **** well that two days later you'd reaffirm my bitterness for your entire species.
Don't call me stupid.
Don't even mouth the word, "Crazy"
I remember.. that night.
Being oblivious to everything you uttered,
I took all of it to heart.
And everyone knows I usually doubt a guy's intentions at the start
But this time
This time I was just as naive as those girls I tease for believing in guys like you.
Hypocrisy -
That's what I became a product of.
Even now, I'm still trying so desperately to have a little faith in the things you're telling me.
This - This isn't a merry-go-round, right?
You won't take me to Cloud Nine and then tell me to jump off, right?
Tell your girlfriend I said hey.
Go hide the fact that you asked me out that night,
Then made me feel guilty for saying no.
The next time you see her, look deep into her eyes and tell her that she's the only girl you're currently seeing
Be tormented by the clips of dejavu when you realize you that you;ve said those words to me before.
I want you to know that it took a lot for me to actually believe you,
And to have you take that for granted is obscene.
So I've made up my mind:
No more tossing and turning trying to get sleep at night,
No more getting to close to a guy that they can almost smell the vulnerability in me.
No more sweet talks.
No more intimacy that I feel the temptation rising to give in.
No more being another soul ready for your hands to take advantage of.
No words that seem to good to be true that they aren't.
No more smiles and no more laughter will ever have to be seen.
To the boy I met two days ago,
I left out one thing that night:
I'm an artist.
And I've drawn an all-new perception of you now
The old one, wasn't honest enough
And now, neither is your love for me.
I met a boy two days ago that turned out to be deceptive.
Maman Screams Feb 2014
Broken glasses beneath my roots
Scattered memories of a girl I knew
Penetrating fragments through my open wounds
Would it be simpler to be abuse
Leaving taints as the march's wind blew
Opening circles of rendezvous
Dreams may now seems like a dejavu
Was it really you the girl I knew
Now just became part of the muse
The girl I once knew

©2014 Maman Screams
Fidel  Nov 2018
Long Showers
Fidel Nov 2018
~For Baby Beast
It started out,
With what it could have been,
What we could have done,
And what I could have said,
It may be too late now,
But better late than never.
I stand in the shower,
As if my mind was traveling through time,
Creating new puzzles and challenges,
That fulfill my nights.
What once was,
Will never once be again.
I stand and think,
As water drips down my neck,
I remember of those rides,
When it was raining outside,
And I looked through my window to the sound of Dejavu,
Just imagining what I could be.
Long cold thoughts,
For my body to feel relieved of the pain.
Long burning waterfalls,
For my body to never love again.
I once heard that we make our own luck,
At the time it sounded nice,
I tried saying it a couple of times,
But never came out the same,
Sometimes it was for help,
Sometimes it was for knowledge,
And sometimes it was the answer.
I walked in the shower,
Loud voices screaming to the sound of Lund,
I closed the doors and the storm started,
The ceiling was the cloud,
The shower was the rain,
My fears turned into acid,
As my tears turned into steam.
I remember feeling my stomach crumble,
My hands shaking,
Eyes sweating,
I hit the door the first time,
The second, she came into my mind,
It felt so real, so real that I could hear her laugh,
Begging me to hit her,
But crying for me to help her,
How could I hit such a beautiful being?
I want my voices to be heard,
Want my screams to be considered,
Want my sweat to be seen,
And want my poetry to be read.
Sometimes I swallow my own nothing,
Feel the emptiness bouncing,
Feel the guard calling,
I created my own little world,
For those who fear,
To escape and explore,
The beauty of my mind,
I see, a clearer world,
With no belongings and no money,
Simply a pen and paper,
A world with no rulers,
A world in which you feel,
The same old sad stories,
But with a happy ending,
With the dead walking freely,
And their causes flying swiftly,
With a pretty bird by my side,
And a bright blue sky that cries.
As I walk through the main forrest, I see a very tall hill,
And so I walk and climb,
For him to be satisfied.
As I approach the top,
I hear a familiar voice,
That sounds like the one,
But screams like the two.
My mind is now back to the lab,
Where thoughts come and go,
Water keeps dripping,
And tears keep sounding fake,
This so called shower,
The one in which I sigh,
For my life to become so high,
That no shall be capable to buy.
I now stand, one thousand feet in the air,
Yet still hear Broken being sung,
I once again, open my eyes,
And check the time for answers,
Dry myself and walk,
As now I face a detective,
“Why the long showers, my dear?”
Well, that’s where my mind finds peace.

— The End —