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Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.do you really need a disclaimer, for this sort of work? no, not really... it's not exactly being allowed the equivalency of dropping an in excess of 2000mg of paracetamol.

the one aspect of legacy media, that still has some viability, akin to rekindling the famous extract from the movie: all the presidents men... is concerns for metal health issues of youngsters, who didn't have, the, "privilege" of being exposed to internet ergonomics, other than within the confines of gaming, they came far too late for, what replaced mp3 sharing.... ideas are not exactly sound-bites of copyright infringement...

**** me... do i really have to slap then punch
myself in the face, to remotely stay
awake while drinking ***** like pepsi
sharpshooters?
     i guess so...

   i too, "suffered" from roman bulimia,
the classical kind...
   don't ask me how i managed to make
the esophagus contender of the heart,
muscle...
                 at first it was cheap choc down
the throat, missing on brushing my
teeth for 48 hours...
   then... ******* down the throat,
like the ****-style gimmick of the Watergate
informant...
       came back up, bundled in quasi turds
packages...
               classical Roman bulimia -
eat, regurgitate, eat some more,
hell, now you have a Pompeii style
banquet of the coming of age...
laxatives?
that's no bulimia...
  bulimia is an extension of an ancient
Roman practice, akin to throwing yourself
****-naked into a nettle shrub area...
to get the "itches"...
     that method, involved in energizing
the neuron extension of the skin...
              it's a "placebo" itch...
   nettles, ancient Romans,
and bulimia like the rite of a loss of
virginity of kings...
      festering at its core... of the French court...
with a *****'s teaching apparatus,
leveraging the use of, a single "tool"...
           and even though the ancient Romans
never reached my people...
i get to abuse their phonetic encoding stratum...
bulimia... sure... i, "suffered" from it...
not really, no... i ******* enjoyed
the regurgitation process...
   anti-Grecian pederasty gimmick...
(a) taking a ****
   (b) oral regurgitation
   imitating an ancient Roman banquet
(c) / (d) ensuring the two entry points
are filled by an external source -
wishing for vanilla custard *******...
none to be...
    oops...
               so no one taught these girls
about ancient Roman bulimic
practices?
   you work on the esophagus...
                       by the time i finished
the transition period...
  i automated the esophagus reaction...
like training gymnastics for a six-pack...
no longer ******* down the throat...
you say charge? i think of
a rhino juggernaut...
           so no one bothered these girls
introducing ancient methodologies
to their predicament?
    no training of the esophagus,
no two (index + middle) fingers down
their throat to ease their larynx from
a gagging order?
    none of it?
   they'll grow out of it!
i did...
       drink a liter of ***** per day
and i'm feeling: shimmy!
          upon each nocturnal investment
that i translate into writing...
      anorexia?
    give them excess coffee...
              or strong cider...
      the most pristine aperitif...
    you can't cure anorexia with either
drips or syringes...
   you need aperitifs...
                     but please don't give them
white vinegar...
           you need a balance of alcohol
overcoming the sugars...
     strong beer is alcohol overcoming
starches... won't work...
     coffee and sugar helps...
  both simulate the pristine form of
the marijuana *****...
             it's not poison...
so why should i care?
   oh but i do care... reading this article...
troubled teenagers dodge Instagtram
   curbs on photos glorifying self-harm
...
ever tried burning out a cigarette tip
on your knuckle?
   ever wondered about
    warming up a hand of scissors and
giving yourself an indie tattoo?
   while at the same time...
relying on the mouse principle?
i.e. remaining pipsqueak clean from
making any noise?!
              cutting is so crass...
so unimaginative...
  you will not achieve the adrenaline *****
status of a stab-victim...
   there is no element of surprise...
but...
     if you really want to ingest pain?
hmm... hmm?
            heat up a scissor arm...
   and put it against your skin...
            and then... EAT... the pain...
with what you can surmount in and with,
silence...
                   cutting is too... dramatic...
at least burning yourself you have
not achieved the stature of a shedding blood...
cleaner, more effective,
think of orange recycling bags
collected at the start of the week...

              **** me though...
you seen the comradely behavior
of competing athletes, at the european
championships in Berlin,
   with the pole vaulters?
   Armand Duplantis -
congratulated for having crossed
the 6m benchmark of respectability...
now... that's sport!
football, soccer, basketball,
call it what you like...
   that's not sport, that's business,
that's advertisement...
     that's concussion cover-ups...

Epke Zonderland? also a doctor...
communist Poland believed in
sport, sport on the side,
   sport was never to reach status
of a mono-career investment...
            most of the local football
players from my hometown,
also worked less hours in
the metallurgy plant...
                  that's sport...
   a healthy balance...
which, mainstream sport is lacking...
oh look...
   the women doing the hammer throw,
or the discus...
   not exactly Vogue / Chanel catwalk
material...
    mandible beauties...

    to be honest? the doping affair
in the Olympic sports?
   but a minor setback of credibility...
     i rather watch that...
   than those pitiable 22 ballerinas in soccer.
brandychanning Jul 2023
some years back, not too difficile to recall,
revive and animate those memories of love and disasters,
but the distance is comparable to half-a-dozen
eighty day trips around the world, many frequent
flyer  miles accumulated with trips to love disasters,
interspersed with the days of shock and awe believing
(sigh) that stumbled, fumbled my way in what we silly
call true love, which is really the high of believing
that you deserved the easy way, but now know, there
is no easy way, and romance is a hard earned privilege,
and sensory deprivation can  fool you, absence makes
you vulnerable, don’t be vulnerable, stand up right,
**** out, and eyes smiling but phasers on full, nonetheless…

this not a downer, but a dis-claimer, even I claim the
never be sure of the 100% foolproof methodologies for
discerning the genius of genuine,
when the risk is the reward
maybe when your 22, even 23,
you’ll be better at true discernment,
but until then be wise,
there is no saving the day,
till your knees are scraped,
and crackling and cracking
heart seem like the same thing


but they’re not
do not confuse
causality with correlation
love is not your cause, be-all,
or even the end-all, do the  work
on your self to betterment
24/7, knowledge to be wiser
comes with vive les expériences!
and

someday you’ll senses will be tickled,
and the aroma of possibilities will
arose that dormant hunger, and may
be a correlation to another human in the
immediate vicinity, a man, swimming
in your moat without permission, then,
check him out and maybe, jump in,
once you’ve passed the red cross lifesavers
test, cause the murk is murky, and is never
fraught with just rose water, but jump a
few toes in and if you’re still sinking,
hell he’ll
find away and give him the rope to help
you climb a board, yeah, a broad tough as
clear varnished nails with a heart radiating
the nuclear fission of Strontium 90.
Strontium-90 has applications in medicine and industry and is an isotope of concern in fallout from nuclear weapons, nuclear weapons testing, and nuclear accident, and fallen love

Wikipedia
Fullfreddo May 2015
~


not a fan of reality TV,
plenty of "unreal" episodes
of my own direction stored,
available for further review
in the storage units of
neuronic black and white prison brain cells

which is why I have free~will chosen
to enumerate my poem~videos;
for easy retreat retrieval resurrection
of the travelogue of mind own insurrections

a garage of mobility devices,
car, rollerblades, cross country skis plus,
a potpourri of escape methodologies
that by definition are all round trippers,
returned to their storage unit after use

and I count them Noah~like,
two by two, as they come on board,
and when they disembark for days of
rest and recreation


this one, #4,
is born
among headstones,
just anther memory storage unit
specialized,
flag decorated,
but different

This is a one-way,
no return,
unit

but
it can be viewed at anytime
by those who care to be users,
by speaking this:

Read to me poem number four,
on a day we celebrate,
about free men of every color and persuasion,
who are calling out to
open the door to storage unit four,
so we to can perform
our once-a-year
Tour of Duty
to the those who called,
and answered with limb and love,
for by their glory,
we are
free too


to remember in any way we choose



~
memories of a veterans parade,
on a May Memorial Day
there is paint
it peels from my eyes
in long gaseous ribbons
it is punctuated by
a bright blindness
where methodologies
reach no conclusions
paint peels from my ears
in uncontested echoes
projecting a self
generated audible universe
paint peels from my mouth
in black storms
of expanded consciousness
leaving behind a particulated
paralized partition
that leaves me disconnected
in a correspondence of color
A field of snow
turning blue under moonlight
in accord with the peeling of paint
like a light emitted by relative thought
paint peels, paint peels, paint peels
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
Disordered Thoughts, Naturally

the ceiling fan overhead
shakes back and forth,
beginning, a train of
disordered thoughts,
this poem,
the caboose.

reimagined, the fan,
it becomes
a yeshiva boy
fervent praying,
his version of ***** dancing,
shaking rocking swaying fervor,
shuckling.

for what does he pray?

for advance forgiveness
for he is simulcast
requesting getting lucky,
to be knowing
the miracle of being
with a woman or a man,
thus, getting closer to
God,
naturally.

He will be excised
for being human,  
he will be excused  
for by definition,
by succeeding and by failing,
in his desire
to be close to divine,
he best divines the
tragicomic nature of the
human condition:
the joy of sin,
the sin,
of a life without joy,
naturally.


Clean sheets nightly,
turn down service,
chocolates on my pillow,
good night kisses
on each eye,
even spooning,
are not among the
six hundred and thirteen
positive commandments
in the Bible.
why not?

why,
cannot this be
constitutionally amended,

by voice vote
of anyone who cares
to shout out a yay,
or blink approvingly,
or signs by fingers
sugar snapping and
hands, toe tapping?

all methodologies
intended to indicate the satisfaction
that comes from changes
made not in,
but also
from
the human tissue of heartbeats,
naturally

Somewhere
a solitary fish
swims upstream,
against the current,
defying odds...

weird,
the ways things should be,
never thinking,
wondering out loud,
why compulsion impels
so many living things
to do the opposite of logical,
natural in so many ways.

never asking,
why a fish must struggle to spawn,
upwards and onwards
to die so it, and the
the man, the bear,
he will feed,
the progeny released
can live?


for if this is the
natural order,
then is not nature,
too oft logically discordant,
and thus
disorder is the
state of being,
naturally.

Something makes me
awestruck and wondrous silent,
ever time I touch a
young child's skin,
joy instantaneous takes hold,
true shock and awe
succumbs me.

cannot be just miracle mine,
the sensation of life so sweet,
wondrous on my fingertips,
that repeated stroking is
******* addictive,
naturally.

what would be the harm,
if this soft shell of derma-finery
were a permanent condition,
a constant reminder,  
we all share,
born and bred,
a premier clean slate of
natural innocence unblemished,
perma-frosted prima face facile,
naturally.

this was how
we were created,
why perforce,
was it deemed orderly,
'better'
to evolve into something
grizzled, cracked and roughened slowly,
naturally.

Strange thoughts
are my normal fare,
if you only knew
the laugh of it,  
you might recommend,
keeping them closer still,
and me
far away from you!


maybe there is a God above,
but if there is,
he be
responsible for the sleepless nights
where stanzas of
whimsy, pain and joy are soldered,
ironed into a coalescing coalition,
denoted as a
restless and disordered mind,
but of course!
not my fault,
naturally!

next time we meet,
see smiles irregularly sweet,
turning,
reversing to and fro,
for such is the
inchoate state
of what transverses
on my cellular network
these rambunctious dark hours,
naturally.
these disordered thoughts, are nature allied, nat-urally...
Left Foot Poet  Jun 2017
I, #2
Left Foot Poet Jun 2017
I, (Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself)


how I would, honor this with ecstasy joy effervescent,
the simplest of methodologies, if only I,
reasoned how one safely permits  
to love myself, if only I,
knew how to love an
I

to self love well,
not a university course,
no simple answers like thirst, yet how I thirst,
hunger, burst, curse for this peculiar wisdom, please,
instinct me to navigate murderous shoals of take but give
I

who teaches this to the children?

I, parents, teachers, not ****** or pastors or
TV the great substitute for all of the above,
myself is not a selfie, no glorying got in I,
I, burdensome, never comprehended,
love thy neighbor better, love actually, no mere pretense,
if well executed, perhaps is when the trapeze line is at last

cleanly indistinguishable,

your I, my I,
both wicks will be joined, brighter lit for it,
one flame, one godlike burning, fusing,
with neither consumed, wax fusing,
but teaching easy loving
to explode the
I,


~

9:24am EST
6/2/17
airborne over the Western US of A
see I, published May 31
Poetoftheway Oct 2017
Growing Hazelnuts in the Pacific Northwest
(a conversation between two coastal poets)


we periodic update each other by
email or poetry...writers choice

~~~
my turn but
not an easy poem to commence,
for its eminent domain fraught
with relative comparisons favoring one side,
emphasizing the differences that life prefers to offer
a magnetic choice,
attract or repel

a language conundrum
an iron-strong irony that the poem's ending,
its commencement, its ceremonial completion,
far easier for me to forecast before the real work initiated
<•>
commanded  by you to write of me and mine,
with detailed, careful accuracy
as if it were a poem!

So Why Not a Poem Then?**

my hasty notes emailed upon my current status
you dislike for they are both brief and oblique,
poorly scripted, yet generous
with typological confusion, writing in this genre of
self-evaluation always is concluded by me as:

devolving into either boring, pompous or delusional aggrandizement or the final infinity-indignity of
mealy mouth whining

so an updated poem will be writ,
the happenings of my life have not changed greatly,
the struggle to earn daily bread that supports a familial universe, grows more difficult as demand for buggy whips drops even more ferociously with the onset of miracle
self-driving cars

your son fights fires, commands the earned allegiance of men who fight that which threatens the survival of others life and limb, mine, fights for the his daily bread which is only equivalent in its mind numbing insidious mental exhaustion

I make no judgements or place any emphasis erroneous

the California fire, your sons volunteered absence,
leaves living holes in your family to be filled,
and the burden shifts with the Oregon wind, northward,
upon your old-er tired-er shoulders,
a somewhat similar etching on my body
carved in Eastern Standard Time worry lines

reading between the lines of your concerns,
read of all the plans in process,
feel the cares and concerns that  lself-sacrifice impose,
among them the 75 acres of hazelnuts harvest ready
that need his missing hands to do the harvesting work

which makes my daily shifting of financial instruments
seem very, very, petite bourgeoisie

I have studied in some detail the minutiae of hazelnut harvesting methodologies which makes me into another
east coast expert poet - confident in his opinions validity,
tho devoid of any hands-on experience and would not recognize a hazelnut from the ones (nuts) floating in my head

well, here must also admit into evidence that every potted plant or tree I ever purchased in the Flower District (West 30's) died. ignominiously. that a delicious word deserved of being spoken aloud for the
accuracy of its sounds

as predicted ending this poem, far, far easier than the writing

we cross pollinate each others lives; selfishly think, nay,
convinced, each, I am the possessor of the better half of the deal, for me the loving of your ordinary of soil and ash,
*** wee football, the honest labor of building things
is getting an honors degree in sharing

though,
though worrying about our children
seems to be deemed a bi-coastal commonality

perhaps the Yankees will win tonite, (nope)
perhaps the Giants will upend the Seahawks tomorrow, (nah)
items of passing interest that will soon pass,
for your real serious worries are
combulated confabulated and combusted with mine,
what is yours - now mine shared

this intersection happens when two poets from opposite ends of these united states cross pollinate via manly hugs,
75 acres of friendship that need harvesting,
and the earned respect of insight into our singular
psyche so rich-earth deserved

with manly hugs and respect

your friend the n-man
Oct 20-22, 2017

~~~
3:31am
onlylovepoetry Nov 2016
(I) Love Thy Neighbor As Thy
self

~

how I would
honor this with
joy effervescent,
this simplest of methodologies

if only I,
could permission myself
to love myself

if only I,
knew
how to love


~~

(II) redemption: the city of man reinventing himself

busting bursting, this city,
ceaseless change,
old discardation,
how blind am I,
skyscrapers built in a day
how have I failed to notice

the estate changes
a master plan unknown,
the reasoned limits ever stretched.
in defiance of taste and sense,
obedient to Babel tower's net-result,
the miscegenation of language

but this is a ruse issue,
an example of me/man,
this new born spawn,
a wagging tail of

a man I know,
a failed inventor,
nary a patent
to his name

years on years
he patiently awaits
for one true inspiration
a redefinition, a redemption,
a reinvention, a new cornerstone
to lay upon it a new foundation

just a clue, a single block,
he can clean erase
start over, inaugurate
a recommencement celebration
to  begin the same mistakes

here be the rub,
the irritation,
the seed comes implanted
and then
wind spread
can be only repaired, replaced
when cross pollinated

with the love of a foreign body
and his only crime, love poetry,
his crime alone, for unopened
it, and he, both-awaiting the time
when others come impatient

to bulldoze him aside

~~~

(III) Three

three

an oddity
an uneven symmetrical imagery


"only love poetry"

a three sum,
- three legged stool-

there is nothing new under the sun,
whispers the Psalmist


this I whisper
only, alone, one,
be no such!



only love poetry
until


~~~~


postscript

*if only I,
knew
how to love
RyanMJenkins Feb 2013
But Why, and whom does it affect?

Where is it, that the actions will reflect?

When will answers show themselves, when concludes the test?

"I've been wondering for too long!" I protest.



Will I reach, a desired level of clarity?

Will the feat, be much more than a dare to me?

...Curiously I spy forward...


My head's an over-animated scoreboard, emphasizing the score of the opponent


Yet.. Today is a new day.

If the chance is taken, isn't there a possibility that I too fall prey?

True, just like the cat that was killed, or so they say.

Maybe it was just a tale of a tail, given from those too scared to change direction.

Those who follow suit now live in a certain detention, without mention, or ever expanding into the next dimension.  

But what if they had taken the next step?

The conclusion of the saying was something I could not accept,

Now using the unknown as fuel, I leapt..

Not knowing if I could make it

My head was perplexed, riddled with anxiety, I didn't know if I could take it!


With a thump,

My eyes opened up,

Revealing a new reality.

I was guided by faith, and truly believe I've touched on a divine sense of spirituality.

I let go of the naysayers and everyone that had tried using hassling methodologies,

Because I took a necessary leap of faith, in order to better me.


If I failed, I would die trying,

but at least with false beliefs I would not be confined.

Before my eyes, a natural goldmine, beauty previously undiscovered.

I had trusted myself and have never felt so full of wealth, now standing in the land of the lovers.

Everything and everyone had a bright and shiny aura, radiating bliss.

Had I known such a place of magnificence exists,

I would've trusted my intuition more, rather than certain people, and came when we were kids!

Alas, in the midst of all this thinking, I don't even want to be blinking my lids,

Because I no longer want to miss any, of *this
.

What matters is right here and right now,*

It's seems I've ascended, like I'm on a cloud..

No negativity here, I don't think that it is allowed!

Because this is a new land of possibility

I haven't even moved yet but I'm so glad I didn't retreat!

Then something tickled my legs, right by my feet, looked down and was surprised to see,

A short-haired cat, walking elegantly.  In disbelief I watched it so free, when it popped in my head,

"Are they still talking about me?"

.. Had this cat really just used telepathy??

I wondered if I had been living a dream, and then the cat turned back and winked at me..
Edward Coles Mar 2015
Another cup of coffee,
another last cigarette,
waiting to get over that something
I had never managed to hunt
and pin down in a display case.

Chase the thoughts with endless distraction,
habitual reactions to commonplace panic;
the skin on your milk,
the lines in your face-
the colonies in your bedsheets.

A futile blur of words,
ancient shapes and poems,
I scour neurotropic fields of sunflowers:
some organic high,
a steady-state escapism.

Houdini would be proud.
This brave escape from detection,
'till only odour and circumstance
can pick me from the crowd,
this red-eyed happiness,
this stalwart blue.

Chase love down with a box of wine,
old methodologies to find something new;
the drunk-dial confession,
the marks on your arm-
the lies in your back pocket.

Another cup of coffee,
another chemical cloak;
another hourglass intervention.
Meaning slips through hands like sand
when you decorate your life

with obsessive mirrors
and uncontrollable smoke.
C
As long as we choose to move forward,
we can find the inward strength to…
hold onto our Hope; pain ends, when
we look to Christ and His Love for us.
Therefore, let’s adjust our backward

thinking, by cleansing our thoughts
with the beauty of His Holy Word; as
we begin to trust Him and apply Truth
to our lives, positive results occur.
Are we gambling, rashly casting lots

for ungodly outcomes to succeed, based
on Worldly methodologies? Can we learn
to be patient and rightly divine God’s
Word? What will it take us to remain,
in His sight… pure, holy and chaste?
Inspired by:
Rom 15:13; 1 Tim 1:1b; Psa 3:2-6; 1 Pet 1:3-6

Learn more about me and my poetry at: amazon (dot) com

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Joseph Martinez May 2016
I see others friendly, looking well
I'm in Hell, I think

What a sad feeling to stumble into all the old familiar footfalls

The suffering still fresh
And there
I feel the omnipresence
of the bleak shadow of the
world upon me
in malignant faces
at the grocery store
check-out
they operate in slow, sedated
methodologies of madness
I am sprung up from the
cool tile floor
like a misplaced statue bound
in frozen forms of observation

I park in a thrift store parking lot and cry
for you and for myself
mostly for myself

Time's ashes are diffuse and ever-present
living history in the living now
a ******* of the sacred cow is laughing
on coasts of crooked filth
and candy wrapper oases where
dead bird bones mingle in the
putrid ferns

No time to be found relaxed
no patience to be born to anything
but
slow agony of empty wishes called back
reflections, false assumptions
selfishness and neglect

Thank god for this momentary reprieve
from pointless self-analysis in the
broken mirror halls of control

no no no
thank you

I feel saddle-bagged
lost with worry
in some constant vague arrest
plucking at the chicken's feet

the fear itself unreal
broken, beaten, gone
phantoms of this self
all the world is polished chrome
and I am but an image
looking back

amazing how at time minutes
stretch off to infinity showers
& I **** the thicket therein
gone is now but
never ending
shalom
shalom
again

I'm sheltered in the maggot crop
Made right by them will be the cry heard,

make right by them and by us all is the flag draped over the heads and graves of all the victims of a world so cold.

Make right by them that have stood long and strong in you windows pane.

Make right by them who have suffered the manipulations, deceptions, accusations, and judgments for all the windows pains.

Make right by them that have tirelessly stood against the tyranny and reign of the braggart, ******, authoritarian wielded heavy handed.

make right by them that have revealed the horrors of a present and future which threatens the very soul of all mankind, all while they were held down, mislead, lied too, limited, edited, and called out for the very same deeds and means for which all mankind has indulged.

Make right by them that withstood the virtual casting couched parts and rolls, rolled out to play the thorny crown , the king Aurthur and Merlin round, as they rounded the round tables so roulette  and black jacked in their get it all but play this part tick for tat all without a fact offered or even a word of truth spoken back, nor the hand shaken in an eye to eye, hows my driving doing, **** son, he did **** fine and not claiming he was a god as was seemingly offered and even demanded at the time.

Make it right by them who forced themselves to walk the longest miles in all directions with conflicting directions of supported desire, all the while waking and gracing a smile and a nod to all with un shaken eye and bold *** soul to the core of the thing that was important in all.
To find a recourse, a show and tell of who or what the hell was killing so many soldiers and lost teenage and adult souls in these treacherously invasive windows.

Make it right by them who withstood the storms and the reign ( not to be confused with the covering rain ) of un tempered temptations of the harsh and hasty delegations of self pains, unanswered questions and self doubts that were as in all people there the whole way, and at the end of the day, while the moon was high, and even high and shinning in the sky, were bold in the face of things that cause kings to take a knee and sell their souls for the fear they have of those very unbelievable yet very real and indeed powerful things that also live and breath or so it sure as a man made hell be, they sure as hell seem to truly and without a doubt live and breath. for the game of "Go" is one that was being on the table of a field in a desert don't you know, houses full and yards of the laser light shows and lightning clouds rolling slow, where oh where did all those boastful men of opposition seem to go, did they not find these things so interesting a show as to stick around and introduce themselves to these folks or critters? Oh, by the way no offense though, the critter thing is a shifting shiftless thing of me as well , or as it is told.

Make right by them who under the longest of heroic hours pressing the pressed flesh of distress and bested half dead with no rest and the bank over drawings to paint a picture as best they could of the events and stirring as they withstood, for the chances and ****** amazing dances of switch backs and double meanings did they overcome the forceful pushing and the mental screaming.  They who showed the world all they could, of what had happened, what was possibly real, fake and misunderstood. They who walked the Moon and not as the dates and times of changed time and rhyme would have one believe, oh no dear child, did you not see? For this of them that walked the Moon as the claims were made that they walked him first, but lets not mistake, a mind c an recall a change of things, things you think are here first, they have on occasion caused a good eye to reverse and remember how it was not so, in a time that they recall in their mind, so. is there a complaint against the mental weapons and struggles that he had to wield, being the one thing they against him could not fell, the child and not the father, not the husband, not the man, not the trained operator or James Bond double oh seven of the real and fine *** gentle man, but that of the child he had inside, that rocked your heart from the darkest down and brought it to light?

Make it right by them who stand to this day, even in the stains and the judgments of mans simple and funny ways, they that cranked out the nights to get a handle on what had happened without a mere relief insight, without a truth been told, a fact or compensation for the games and losses and gains of others ever to them been told though they have been accused of their souls being bought and sold, as the offer and promises of wealth and freedom and all that they ever needed or wanted were to unfold, funny, they still never sold their souls nor their names, nor their right to stake a real and true claim to it all, yet no bank over filled with resources that spelled in their names make life  good to live and sure a **** never wanted your fame, yet framed they were, all along the way.

Make it right by them who asked for the proof of their wrongs, extraordinary accusations need extraordinary proof, and of these things, they provided the only proof to any and all as they walked the walk that you could not, would not and dare not walk for you know how bad we all do fall. Yes they fell, sure as hell they fell just the same as your *** would and if they not be made right by a short time sight, they are willing to bet , all bets are off for you ever finding freedom, free will, free your child from the enslavement that they witnessed in the darkest of nights. For what was seemingly missed  by all, I fear was the revealing of how bad and deep this sinister thing is.

Though they relied on all to record, document and notice the things wrong, as they walked and suffered for the benefit of all those in the world whom are not the wealthy, powerful or fortunate to not fall victim to these technologies and soul ****** methodologies to win a war so insidious that time and the perceptions of all mankind hang in the balance it seems, though indeed they were limited in what they could see, they kept pushing and pulling, they kept raising and falling, they kept failing to find the relief and justice for all victims and their families, nor for their own family nor their own sane mind to find and kind hand or word to say, honey he is coming back, don't forget you had a plan.... hang in their sister, he is a true and honest if not flawed man.... where just these sorts of words arranged in a sentence of sequenced alignment one could have saved the family future damage and embarrassment, yet, we did find, no play in the way of lets help them and save at least this one day for them to in the future say, .... what would they have said on that day. and meant it in every soulful way, ****, guess we may never know if it keeps going this way.
But then again, I never was a fan of John Dee, Jack parsons, Alister Crowley and Franchise Bacon, Shakespeare or what ever it is that is that ******* name, Nor were it I ever a fan of their "Great Work" that this seems to be in its fame and glory , or there the lack of, Son. wink

Make it right by them who with faith , hope, love, skill and at times dumb luck made this whole play for the nations heart and the enslavement of us all, a bit harder to pull off and maybe give the people what is needed to wake them to the horrors and the depth of how wronged we all have been wronged.  for if you disagree then surely you must be none to a friendly fan of the X of a man and his fam.

Make it right to them, is the battle cry that should be sounded from the hearts of the very souls that have been also wronged and held down.

Made it right by us all, this is the all in all, and all in all you bet your *** i;m all ******* in.
Rise Today by Alter Bridge Lyrics
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U8hvyj00k3M

Blackbird by Alter Bridge Lyrics
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjMPdgZC2xA

All Ends Well Lyrics
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=akykqrWbNKM

Not to be too needy, greedy or demanding, but, is it time to make it right by us or are we the only ones to be seen as unforgiven and unworthy of mankind's notion of salvation?
Or is that only left up to the task of some fictional guy and his friend called Batman and the Joker (Bane) ?   and you thought i had jokes.

— The End —