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Aaron Mullin Nov 2014
Reconstituting globalization to
re-imagine democracy.

By throwing out scale we
the economizers are forced
to turn into misers
and the satisfisers
might rid themselves
of their pacifiers.

It's all about story and
consuming someone else's
turns you into
an actor, an automaton.
Was it prescribed?
Were you imbibed?
Then you are impaled
on an un-truth and
living out a script
that is not your own.

Time to get ruthless and
cut those strings that
lead us to, plead us to
buy, buy, buy (and cry, cry, cry).
Of course, we might find
a guru
to lead us to promises
of promised lands but
this ain't the way to
Yahweh

Unlock the path that lies within.

I'm talking 'bout multi-spectrum bridges
resonating in frequencies
that ring true for you:

this is the story of Power Geometry
re-constituted
From Wikipedia: Power geometry, according to Doreen Massey, is how the time–space compression of 'globalization' affects people differently. She describes power geometry as the "very distinct ways in relations to [the] flow and interconnections" between different social groups and different individuals.

According to Massey, power geometry concerns not only the issue of who moves and who doesn't; it is also "about power in relation to the flows and the movement" in distinct relationships among different social groups in regards to mobility. Those who move freely have power.
Eventually we'll get implants
to sedate and
make us compliant.

There is no choice here
we have to fight them,
be defiant
buck the system.
Kunzite Hewitt Aug 2010
First, I would like to introduce Grayasety. She was a young girl, had soft strands of medium-short caramel hair, and she had green-blue eyes that looked like miniature earths. She was indeed a pretty girl and she was of average height, and had a healthy body. She also had a slight southern drawl; her mother was from Texas. She loved going on boat voyages as her father was the captain of a ship named Gray Asety, named after Grayesty, so she was often training to go on voyages.
                  One morning, just like any other ordinary morning, Grayasety left her house for the next-door stable with her baby sitter, Kinberly, which was part of her father’s crew.  Today was the big day, the day when Grayasety was going to go on a voyage with her father as an official crewmember. Today was Grayasety’s 13th birthday; today was the day when she was old enough to work on her father’s ship! Therefore, she gaily whistled and skipped along the road. It had always been her dream to work on her father’s ship, and today, finally, her dream was coming true. When she got to the stable she blew her small, pink whistle that, to human ears would make no sound, and like every morning her best friend, (which had the ability to morph into animals) trotted tiredly out of the stable in the form of a beautiful brown mare. The huge animal yawned and said, “Morning Kin!” And then addressing Grayasety she said, “ Well, well, little missy what do you want me to be today?” Today Grayasety wanted Mila to be a green parrot, Grayasety was obsessed in the color green, and Mila had reluctantly obeyed, the trio set off for the fresh smelling bay.
Kinberly, and Mila worked on the Gray Asety. Mann Forumest, or Captain Daddy as Grayasety called him had met Grayasety’s mom working as a crewmember on the Majesty, a steamboat. Grayasety’s mother, Magnolia Scott Forumest was the assistant cook. They married, but kept their jobs until one day when Grayasety was about five, the Sea Bandits, a notorious group of pretty woman stealers, kidnapped Her mother.
                        While on sea, Grayasety shared a rather large suite in the ship with her father. In the Bedroom were two desks, one big and one small, and in the corner was a bunk bed, the top bunk badly painted in green and the bottom bunk still bearing its natural mahogany color. Grayasety was sitting in her little green desk, scribbling madly in her deep green diary. Grayasety *** a liking of scribbling and those who have know her long enough could read her scribbles like one would writing. She could read and write although she was nowhere near a strait A student.
                   After a while Grayasety decided to bother her father and, forgetting to switch into her lime green boots, shinnyed up the main stairs to the deck in her faded fluffy mint green slippers. Mila, perched comfortably on Grayasety’s shoulder, started telling her that she was wearing her slippers when Grayasety shoved a faded green pacifier in Mila’s mouth; Grayasety often did this to keep Mila quiet.
Mila, not enjoying the dusty, stale taste of the pacifier unhappily decided to keep her mouth shut until Grayasty got in a better mood. In truth Grayasety was in a marvelous mood and rather liked shoving pacifiers in Mila’s mouth. As the girl got closer to the deck, she started to hear chanting from the kind crew. She especially heard Kinberly’s familiar raspy voice chanting,” Laaa dee daaa, the Gray A rolls along,” and as she emerged to the *****, wet deck she noticed that her father was talking to someone else already. “Botherin’ will have to wait some,” she whispered to Mila. Then she took the pacifier out of Mila’s mouth and scolded,” why didn’t you tell me that I was still wearin’ my slippers eh? Wanted to make me look like an idiot?” Mila simply rolled her eyes.
                    Right then, Captain Daddy, apparently finishing his conversation, came over to the pair and said affectionately, “How are my darlings doin’ today?” Mila especially enjoyed this for Captain Daddy always gave a loving stoke on her back and a whole chocolate chip cookie if he had one. Although Grayasety always stole some of the cookie Mila was happy enough with half. Grayasety, on the other hand was happy with a whole cookie so she begged Captain Daddy to give her another one. Captain Daddy gave her another cookie but chided her not to steal any more from Mila.
                    After the lecture on not stealing other people’s food, Grayasety clambered up the crow’s nest and almost knocked over Franz, a tall, but gaunt boy a couple years older then Grayasty getting in. ”Anythin’ unusual yet?” asked Grayasety hopefully. “Nope,” answered the calm boy quietly. ”Hi Franz. Do you have any cookies?” asked Mila mockingly, Franz just laughed and said,” If I had any I would of eaten it by now! Gray, can you get me somethin’ from the kitchen?”.
                   Grayasety got Franz a basket of food and got her self the same amount; Grayasety was basically always hungry, and had a little picnic on the roomy crow’s nest. After they finished their meal Grayasety decided to let Franz rest and did lookout. Franz had a small room to himself, which was about the size of a normal bathroom with all the stuff taken out. In the corner was an old, squeaky army cot and next to it was a rotund desk with a stack of blank paper, a jar of Indian ink, and a fountain pen laid precariously on it.
                    Franz was quite a writer and he spent his free time eating, sleeping, or writing and unlike Grayasety he actually wrote not scribbled. He was working on a story about gargoyles that came to life at night. It was an interesting story, really. He would of loved to stop working on the Gray Asety and go get his books published but he stayed for his family was a poor one and needed his help to make a living and also, Captain Forumest provided free paper. And, his daughter was the first friend he ever had; Franz was convinced that she was the best one.
                   Grayasety enjoyed being on ships. She liked feeling the cold air rush through her hair and she enjoyed the great view of the vast sea that surrounded her. She even liked the feeling of being so small compared to the humpbacks that swam by. She thought that the ship food was good, and she felt that the sea was truly where she belonged. Grayasety was very cranky when she was not at sea, (though she did like their big, ocean green house), so her father tried to include her on as many voyages as he could.
                     Captain Daddy, or Mann as I will call him spent most of day in a booth on the deck. He often worried about his daughter’s mental health (even though it was completely unnecessary). He talked to Grayasety’s doctor about this and Dr.Metalos, Grayasety’s doctor, gave them a list of mental deceases she could have, but none of them seemed like some thing she would have. Mann was sure that his daughter did not have one sickness; Much Too Much Time At The Sea Syndrome. If any one knew where Grayasety belonged it was Mann and he knew perfectly well that his daughter would go insane if she wasn’t at sea for too long. For one thing she preferred to sleep on her uncomfortable bunk at sea rather then on her fluffy green bed as soft as a feather at home.
                        Right then the ship did a tummy- flopping lurch and knocked off the map and compass from Mann’s desk, which interrupted his thoughts for a while. Below deck Franz’s desk toppled over, and Franz accidentally made a long and ugly scribble across his writing and on the crow’s nest Grayasety was having trouble standing up and she almost vomited right onto Kinberly’s hair. This was rare for Grayasety for she lived on the sea and was used to lurches; she had once survived a shipwreck, which explains her golden earring on her right earlobe.
                   That night as Grayasety lay in bed Mann quietly crept out of his bunk and scurried up the stairs to the deck. He wanted some time to himself. Ahead was Cape Horn; a very dangerous place where so many ships had sunk it could fill the biggest port in the world, but more personally, this was near the Sea Bandits main head quarters, 8 years ago the beautiful Magnolia Scott Forumest was captured here. Even though it was impossible in the foggy mist, Mann tried to make out the cave that marked the entrance to the headquarters. Only few people knew this entrance, and publicity stated that it was a “mere mystery” why most captives were capture near Cape Horn. Mann felt a chill run down his spine and then he thought he felt someone’s hand grab his shoulder. He looked down and saw what he dreaded most; a hand tinged with brown firmly held his shoulder.
                      Grayasety woke up feeling wonderful but apparently Mila didn’t. She kept screeching something about Captain Daddy being kidnapped and soon she found that what Mila had just screeched in her ear was true. She stormed into Franz’s cabin and told him what she discovered and they soon agreed to do what no one else wanted them to do; steer the boat right into the Sea Bandits’ headquarters and take back what, and who was theirs no matter how hard it could be.
                      Grayasety had Franz steer the boat and she herself navigated, Kin was lookout and the rest of the crew helped out. Franz dropped the passengers off at Puerto, and Mila morphed back into a human; what she really is, and helped out. Separated from the frenzy, Grayastey was quietly thinking to herself. She wondered why the Sea Bandits captured her father. They were well known for capturing pretty woman but not average looking men. Just then she heard a knock on the door. “Grayasety?” said the raspy voice of Kin. “There ya are. I just thought ya might wanna know why ya daddy was captured.” “Can you please tell me,” asked Grayasety, trying not to sound too eager. “Well rememba when ya daddy would be gone when ya woke up at mid night an’ I told ya that he had gone to the store to get some groceries? Well if you had thought some you woulda noticed that the store was closed.” Grayasety interrupted Kin in mid-sentence and said irritably, “Of course I rememba. Just get to the point Kin!” Kin flinched at Grayasety’s frustration and mumbled,” Well ya daddy was a spy. One of the best ones at that. He did all he could to stop organized crime, an’ he specialized in the Sea Bandit’s. They captured him ‘cause one less police the better for them.” Grayasety sat with her mouth hanging wide open. She never imagined that her father was a spy. But now every thing made sense. “ Sorry I didn’t tell ya before. Ya fatha simply wouldn’t allow it.” Kin apologized. Grayasety managed a squeak and then Kin left her.
                      After she repeated this to Franz and then Mila, Grayasety went down to her bedroom, she hated having to be near Her father’s belongings but she hated having people see her crying much more and cry she did, leaving her father’s mattress a soggy mess. Then she decided to clean that mess up for if they rescued her father she was sure he did not want to sleep in a soggy bed. Noticing it, she picked up her dad’s picture of her dad and mom’s wedding and became suddenly aware of how much she looked like her dad. The hair, the eyes, the quirky grin, every thing. Her mother had soft blonde hair and violet eyes that almost made you smell the pungent smell of lavenders and had a beautiful smile with bright red lips. All in all she was the most beautiful woman Grayasety had ever seen. She almost made Grayasety feel jealous.
                     “Hey! Gray. So are we gonna bring any weapons? Kin was a whole chest full of ‘em!” Said the distinctively low voice of Franz. “Well, I dunno. I suppose we should bring a couple guns. Always nice to be well prepared.” Replied Grayasety.

                     Franz was on lookout when the carrier pigeon came. The note it had on its leg was from Mann. It said:

Dear Grayasety and friends,

Do not come to save me. I’m with my wife in their dungeon but they want you guys to come too. You see, I’m like a bait. You’re the fishies. They want to erase all traces of the Forumest family. That means they have to dispose of those who would remember them. I will manage okay. Kin, Please take Grayasety and Franz home and forget about me for you and the children’s sake. Grayasety, I love you. Dispose all of my belongings and try to tell yourself that Kin is your mother. Believe me. It’s all for the better. Franz, I meant to tell you but your parents caught tuberculosis and died the other day. Your sister committed suicide soon after. Please take care of Grayasety.

             Mann

                    The trio stood silent for a long moment and then without warning Franz burst into tears, and scrambled to his cabin. Kin and Grayasety looked at each other sadly and went to their cabins themselves. Grayasety tried to sleep that night but images of Mann and her mother strapped up in chains kept her staring into the darkness with wide eyes. She reached over and got her personal music player, trying to distract herself but after a few seconds she turned it off again, for she could not bear listening to the lyrics; “It’s past midnight and something evil’s lurking 'round the dark” of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”.
            The next morning, Mila and Kin steered the boat near the cave that marked the entrance to the Sea Bandits secret headquarters. Mila then morphed into a seagull and flew into the old, damp cave. From a safe distance Grayasety and her crew awaited Mila to return with some news. After swooping into the creepy cave Mila found the opening to the headquarters and perched on a ledge near it. There, she morphed into a rat, and scurried up into the opening.

                 After crawling along several hallways, Mila came across a steel door bolted very firmly marked “CELLS”. Luckily Mila was small enough to crawl under it. Scurrying along the bureau of prisons, Mila finally saw a cell with Mann and a stunningly beautiful woman captured in it. Mila slipped between the bars and trying not to gain the woman’s attention for fear that she would scream, climbed the steep hill of Mann’s arm to try to reach his ear. “Mann?? Don’t make any sound OK?? I’m Mila. I’m the rat on your shoulder. Kin, Grayasety, and Franz say they miss you a lot.” Whispered Mila. Then she saw a humongou
A short story instead of a poem, but I hope you enjoy!
Any corrections, edits, suggestions etc. and greatly aprecciated!
Nigdaw Feb 2022
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
It's the ritual
the need to make time
to die a little
opening a new pack
shiny cellophane
the lid flipped back
paper seal for freshness
pulled out to reveal
20 happy moments spent
inhaling, coughing, thinking
the soft packets
where you flicked the
cigarettes out like movie
stars and the Marlboro man
who are all dead now
roll ups, kit form bronchitis
liquorice flavour papers
combining childhood flavours
with adult life takers
the smell clinging to clothes
and hair dragon breath
but we all looked so ****** cool
so adult so grown up
so ****** clueless, *******
on our manly pacifiers
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
just don't have the courage
some how
kMargaret  Jan 2013
Parachute
kMargaret Jan 2013
My head tilted back like I was
Tasting raindrops
But what fell to my mouth was you
Cradling my jaw in your hands
Steady
As if I were a porcelain doll you might drop
It felt like goodbye
Because it was
And now I am afraid to turn corners
Locked in a haunted house
What will drop from the ceiling
Grab my leg
What will scare me back into submission
Besides you mounting someone outside
Which is perhaps
The most disturbing of all
How you wanted me until suddenly
You didn't
And how I didn't believe you
And how you fed me excuses like pacifiers
Quieting. Comforting. Soothing.
But I spit those out
Realizing their purpose was to
Quiet me into letting you go without a fight
But I took out my fists and fought like hell
You held them and pleaded with me to put my guns away
Surrender my weapons
And let you go in peace
This was all for you.
It was easier
For you
And only you
But what about me.
Grabbing at every part of myself
Pulling hair from my head and scratching flesh from my bones
Slowly and painfully pulling myself apart
Abandoning parts of me in gutters and streams
out windows and in ditches
I can't be myself anymore
Every inch of my flesh has your name written on it
Scratched in a pen using your own blood as ink
You sacrificed for me
And I for you
And we sat on a rock and smelled ocean and let the water spray our faces until we were sticky and wet and still we sung.
We had songs
Some silent, but I could hear the music when there was none.
I still do.
I can't look up down left or right without some yellow light telling me to
Slow down to a stop and take caution,
for a reminder is coming hard and fast your way.
Airbags go
*****-slapping me in the face for being stupid
For having been smart and throwing my morals to the wind
I'd like to regret you
But I don't
I'd like to hate you
But I can't
This makes me weak yes I know this
But
I gave you all the parts of me that were strong
And mere visions of you take the wind from my lungs and you use them to set your sails
You're a deep sea diver.  Swimming. Living. Lying.
And I drown here.
You told me once that when I jump from a plane
The moment my parachute refuses to open
You'd be there carrying me to the ground
I won't let you fall, you said.
Christina Lau Dec 2015
Someone’s world jumped
onto a cold set of tracks
at Jamaica station
early last week.

Someone’s world jumped
into the universe next door,
leaving us all for
being too human.

At the time,
I was trapped at Penn Station.
A pain spread
about my stomach
like a pen pressed against
a sheet of looseleaf.

MTA officials made announcements,
calling it a mechanical malfunction.

9 to 5 businessmen in
deep black suits with bluetooth headsets
groaned and bargained
for passage home,
ready to ride
through a stranger's graveyard.

Little kids ran through shops,
fingers sticky with frozen yogurt
and popcorn- surprise treats
used as pacifiers.

I sat in a well known coffee shop
pondering life and death.

The word suicide didn’t hurt
like it used to, but I felt
connected to this stranger.

I thought about
that person’s lover,
that person’s sister,
that person’s mother,
that person’s friend.

I thought about how
all of their galaxies stirred and switched gears.
A planet of theirs- tremendous or trifling in their own imagination-
collapsed and changed the course of everything.
I wondered if their galaxy halted and
each star and planet mourned or
if their galaxy smoothed over the craters
and dodged all the meteors and
didn’t even blink.

My galaxy shifted and
clouds laid thick.
Stars dimmed their lights in harmony.

A few years ago
or even a few months ago,
I would’ve cried
and thought
about following this
stranger to train station heaven.

But now,
I thought about
my sister’s galaxy,
my mother’s galaxy,
my best friend’s galaxy.

Now,
I felt sadness
but I also felt love.
an old poem re-written
Nora  Jun 2015
Untitled
Nora Jun 2015
We are the children of children.

How old we get we are still trying to figure it out.

I've learned that the biggest mistake I could ever do to myself is to think that I know it all.

You can know a whole lot but you'll never know it all.

******* on pacifiers with wrinkled faces.

Sharing wisdom before knowing how to even crawl.

Drawn to the mother figure, the father's forgiveness.

Cradling the teachers.

Finding wisdom in students.
This is a subcultural song

Free energy efficient enthusiasts
Replaced the iroquois punk style
Alternatives, noisy *******; ear
Damaging drum bass boxes in da
Clubs. Ravishing rave parties in
Mini skirts, glam glossy brass on
Ecstatic strobe-light synthesis - a
Synthetic mainstream paradise
Submerged to hypnotic sucklings
On the colourful plastic pacifiers
A gummy retreat before waterless
Collaps. A dehidrated dream that
Tried to shut the world off by the
Tendrils of regression resemblance.
Adult babies aboard going back to
The false long forgotten innocence.

There is no subculture in being above
The depth. Superficiality seems a posh
Pose and a good hiding reason for socially
Awkward childish rebels without material
Issues. The sore tissue of contemporary art
Is people don't believe in subjective objective
Selves anymore. What authorities put on the
Shelves there - it has to be good-when on the
Real deal discount. You think im not of such
Kind. Sheepishly blindfolded herd lives some-
where else. I pity them. Mock the socially meek,
Unajust, fat, poor or a greek profile. It has to be
A button hot child candy nose to **** her or to
Call a beauty per se. Per american dream team.

***** are hot untill they have pneumatics, man
Are man if they whirl the banknotes under bank
Accounts. ******* act like man in disguise greedy
For more. I inhabitated all this inherently ugly
Preachy words instead of puking into a labdab
Lavatory and cleanse myself from repulsively
****** cultural intermittent artifacts. And how
Can i not subdue to its overwhelming pressure.
I'm just an indigo child of flower children. Don't
Throw me the bones fueled with the black golden
Marrow. I'm a new alternative peasant, growing
Carrots and celery at bio degradable villages. . .
Its not a contra cultural venture if your socks
Are made out of industrial cannabis, and yet
There's no need to. Think. Love. Play music.
Listen. Breathe. Live life as if yours favourite
subcultural song is repetedly on...going along
Kylin Luna Sep 2010
There are several truths that float here
Like leaves on winters infinite pool
And sometimes sink after hours, further,
Into the depth of my breakable mind.

I am almost always clothed to the body
Of an undetermined tomorrow,
Suffocating in the sleeves
Of any hopes shirt.
Keep you, I have been, for there
In the dirt road of my eyelids
You play with the riddled veins
Light cables unmet by reason.

It is not a tragedy, because
sideshow children were once living
And in their surrounds
Alive, beautiful people breathed.

I will be eluded by a string of pacifiers
A mobile above my head at night
But in-between lies of mystic creatures
And pearl planets, I will always be met by myself.
Renie Simone  Mar 2013
Quiet Jane
Renie Simone Mar 2013
Quiet Jane,
Your mind was insane,
Your thoughts fell to the
bottom of the earth into
a pit of burning fire and
as it fell, it yelled out your name.
Oh, Quiet Jane.

Pictures around the room,
Framed with macaroni and glue.
Windows stained with the cracks from
the fist of Quiet Jane.

Empty cartridges laying on the floor,
Holes in the wall and in the door.
Twenty old bottles of Gordon's gin,
Smoky room, the walls are caving in.
Pacifiers scattered around the table,
Unused, but open nappies in a cradle,
But no small child seen wandering the hallways,
What's going on, where's Quiet Jane?
Mateuš Conrad  Feb 2016
Kara Oke
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
currently poland has a catholic conservative organising party of power, which means you'll get great pop hits like: africa by t.o.t.o. in clamour karaoke format... kara oke... new form of hara kiri... get that ******* mike into the wheat fields and bury it! so inventing new japanese phrasing... KARA OKE means plagiarising a song so so hard, that arteries start bulging out of your neck... which makes sense to never spot it on opera singers... because they're bubbly bubbles phat... pass me the hairbrush... i'm about to shing in the singing cubicle of running water.

there's a reason why
rock stars et al.
are famous...
they're basically crowd
control, crowd control
stewards, pacifiers
of the mob who have
a guillotine hidden
under one girl's skirt...
and aristocrats don't like
that... no precious...
so now in encore all together:
CLAP IF YOU'RE HAPPY
CLAP HAPPY CLAP IF YOU'RE HAPPY;
****** my pants i did,
thinking it out... feels good
to not feel jealous about
such professions designated a stage
and a *thank you speech
,
but oddly enough such crowd
control professions attract the biggest
dross of jealousy...
while the one hundred and ten year old
sikh guy keeps jogging, at his age so fast,
that his turban falls off...
no one's jealous of him;
he's got twenty great-grandchildren
and i'd rather be jealous of that...
the definite concentration of mortality
extending into a comparative blink of a god.

— The End —