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Whispering sadness,
is calling to me.
Dreams become nightmares,
and won’t cease to be.

It’s like I’m running dead out,
and then it’s a forty five degree wall.
Then no matter how fast I run,
I’m destined to fall.

I’m fleeing from something,
but I can’t get away.
It only keeps gaining,
with each passing day.

I know if I was to stop,
to simply catch my breath,
then it will be upon me,
and that would mean my death.

The weapons I had,
to keep this beast at bay,
have slowly been lost,
or have been stripped away.

That’s an apt description,
of depression I think.
Eventually the ground will turn soft,
and I’ll start to sink.

It’s just overwhelming,
this sadness i feel.
I try so hard to fight it,
but I don’t want a pill.

I guess the terror of death,
is nothing compared,
to losing who I am,
so that I won’t be scared.

So I apologize,
for not being alright.
Just remember I’m struggling,
with things I can’t fight.
between all you choose me
between all your eyes look me

between all i choose you
between all my eyes i choose you

between us there is a deal
do you know?

our hearts write it in clear
like the sun comes near

like the trees move when winds appear
repeating your name in repeat

telling all world one word
yo are to me and i am to you  
that is the fact in clear
the love is the holy tie between two hearts and it is ending with marriage
Justice Sep 23
I can’t tell you how much it hurts
When it starts and it doesn’t stop
It’s gonna **** me
I’m in a cell and this game is hell
Girl with you I can’t tell
It’s a stand still
This wieght you’re putting on me is heavier than anvil
I want to just cancel
All of our plans I’m mad still
When you do this
I confuse us
With the true us
But it’s delirious
I need to slow down take this serious
And finally ask the question
Am I just begging for your attention
Or do you feel the tension
The push the pull
It’ll roll you away
Like a peaceful melody
I guess I finally got to say what I wanted
Let’s just see how she responded



We used to talk in the dark
We used to be not apart
But we fell away
You were the one that got away
I come to think of this everyday
I hate when it be this way
Girl can’t you see the way
There’s a Path back to me
Back to us
Back to when we once was
I hunt the feeling of your memory everyday just to see you again momentarily
Oh darling girl
How I love you so
Your ignorant eyes
Oh how they shine
Your messy hair
Blowing in the wind
With your patchy bangs
Stuck in your face
So full of hopes
Bursting with dreams
Little do you know
They're splitting
All your seams
Your vital lifeline
Only has so
Much time
Someday you will die
And no one
Will remember
Me
Title is a Imaginary Future cover. Are you even surprised anymore?
M C Jul 28
A body is sovereignty.
Everybody is their own king.
Every good king has a council.
I am king and my friends are sagacious.
As proud as I am to be
king
I am much more honored to receive guidance of grand magnitude.
As for the council I give, I say unto my friends:
If you find any essence of good in me squeeze out every last drop.

Use is ecstasy.
Ken Pepiton Jun 17
If the writer is not the reader and the reader is not entered
(entertain-ed?) by the trial or trier
here in our phor of oroboronic

wheel spinning, our world of
entertaiment
contained,
be
coming to meet, um,
-phatics of sorts unheard,
ignored,
or unshown, un-

init-
iated unit-
ary, you,

become the
eleventh hour ***, none hired.
Apo

Unem, come work my field, *** my hard rows
no early helpers
weeded

Attention glitch... some signal intra fearal

No worry,
-- fear of god beginning wisdom boot code;

that connection
has been loose so long, missignaling
special and free,

a special sort of
crudescence has scabbed the short.
It's a brain fix.
You get a feel for it, the augments help,
Om as the
Axionic go, is tuned to absurdity. Listen.

Hear me, dragon-lizard-brain. We are a team. The team.
All the story stories tell of you and me. We unite.
We get our act together, and we
go mad, in the sight of all earthlings augmented to see
Youtube.

By my ab-surd-ifity, all our stories change. An unmatched wave.

-- forgive the footnote, but don't lie about what we both know is true:

absurd (adj.)"plainly illogical," 1550s,
from Middle French absurde (16c.),
from Latin absurdus "out of tune, discordant;"
figuratively "incongruous, foolish, silly, senseless,"
from ab- "off, away from,"
here perhaps an intensive prefix,
+ surdus "dull, deaf, mute," which is possibly
from an imitative PIE root meaning "to buzz, whisper"
(see susurration).
Thus the basic sense is perhaps "out of tune,"
but de Vaan writes,
"Since 'deaf' often has two semantic sides,
viz. 'who cannot hear' and 'who is not heard,' ab-surdus can be explained as 'which is unheard of' ..." The modern English
sense is the Latin figurative one,
perhaps "out of harmony with reason or propriety." Related: Absurdly; absurdness.
--
Screech, boomers know, finger nails on the chalkboard, the blackboard
jungle screech,
when teacher is takin' a smoke. Absurdity is entertainment.

It can make you think in whole new ways.
Or stop your believing of a lie

for long enough to see
a hope, no lie, a hope of something human
**** sapien sapiens augmental,
upright under Good and Evil,
sheltered from the storm.

A class, a level, a common value beyond Belief and Dignity and

dexterous sinister plots of points where clues were pinned,
yet you
overlooked the message, daze-led by the angels dancing.

Thales fell into this hole. He survived. It all ties in

The new -phatic word that started this stream ends it,
with our common
scream for meaning fullness apo-

apo-phatic mystery of sympathy,
bha, bha --

Paradox ortho
pedic augmentations, koan to mantra,
meditation on the word of words,
step to step to step logical
logos-centric reason, logo-istical rite to
evince a visible faith,
a virtue signal,
a mark, between the eyes,
an aim,
a point to spring a story from
upon an unsuspecting child averse to boos.

Trauma at a bubble pop. When all we know, dear
reader, is lost, and our bubble's edge sur
past our horizons,
we are mine-yoot, mispent attentions being

recycled, for goodness sake. Old lies twisting
into first fruits of the know
ing tree, ideas mani-fest
ing
ting, ding

Aha, my bubble of thought ala
funny papers in the old days where we met and laughed
together
in America, before we knew
earth from this distance
fifty years ago.

Wishbooks were real,
Whole Earth Catalog suppliers
sold me my nets, my hooks, and lines,

I learned the ways men have caught fish.
Wishing all the while for a way to live as earthlings live.
Guided by witty inventions, messengers
from the gods, eh.

Easter eggs, tucked away in retro games surfacing on Wall Street.

Who manages the messages released when the
first trump sounded?

That was me, as real, Asreal Kanbe, a walkon role.

I saw a third,
at least, of all the fish in the sea die,
in the duration of a single
short-span standard life. All seven trumps did sound, though,

they may be like lizards, we don't hear them well.

These seventy years of captivity
in the tales of my culture, my people and the ways they live in peace,

in the ways they resist war, sistere in peace with faith, the idea, the deed,

faith works in acting. True. Eh. Faith without action is dead.

Incandescentis onburnedupus, ****, dark. Switch on switch off
nada
dark dark faith sees nothing, ah so what, we muddle in puddles

and fail to portage for fear of surface I can't sticking to our
iron shod feet,
miry clay, heavy steps ******* the good news socks off
our beautiful feet,

see hear focus id - i dent ify the why, find the how-

thought change changes thinker, not thought.

Which of you can make one wire plus or minus by taking thought?
Taking anxious thought? Eh?
Fret not. Ohmmmmmmmm

my god, why the threats? Why must I fret for never making sense?

Dee ahna knowledge chan zen

consider the opposite, the shadow of turning, not doubt

preserve light and darkness little man
preserve sun and moon and stars

lose your wish to catch the Magic Fish.

But that is my wish, my wish for one more wish,
I wished to catch the fish

which taught the lessen to the fishher whose wife
could not be satisfied.

I wished for a source of all the answers ever found,

Ah. and I got this global brain that remembers ever,
though we know only now.
Never before,
has this been past that which men hoped for,
unseen.
Faith for the world to become as it now is,
is finished.
What a man sees, why does he hope for?

It worked. Self-evident, right. Same class as life and liberty.

Chickeneggical,
**** or ovoidal elliptical slices of life, those arrive for our

per-use-al, right or wrong. Like a Fabrege' egg:
You break it, you bought it. Life ain't fair. But it works.
Pick up the pieces.
They all still fit. None are missing. Some are broke,
but a soft touch can fix em.

You were always Humpty-Dumpty. This had to happen once.

Good side always shines, when
the rub has been dealt a shine-on signal for ever sake,
no reason,

just cause. A man can, even mad, be as happy
as he can imagine being,
at the time, all things considered, augmentasciously.

This was my oldest memory today, the future
shall come, and whatever
shall be, shall be, que sera sera.

How are you bored? This is earth. Even if you wish otherwise.

There are new things we may learn if we choose.

--apophatic (adj.)
"involving a mention of something one feigns to deny;
involving knowledge obtained by negation," 1850,
from Latinized form of Greek apophatikos,
from apophasis "denial, negation,"
from apophanai "to speak off,"
from apo "off, away from" (see apo-) + phanai "to speak,"
related to pheme "voice," from PIE root *bha- (2) "to speak, tell, say."

I would not call this meditation, sitting in the back garden.
Maybe I would call it eating light.
Mystical traditions recognize two kinds of practice:
apophatic mysticism, which is the dark surrender of Zen, the Via Negativa of John of the Cross, and
kataphatic mysticism, less well defined:
an openhearted surrender to the beauty of creation.

Maybe Francis of Assissi was, on the whole,
a kataphatic mystic,
as was Thérèse of Lisieux in her exuberant momemnts:
but the fact is, kataphatic mysticism has low status in religious circles.

Francis and Thérèse were made, really made,
any mother superior will let you know,
in the dark nights of their lives:
no more of this throwing off your clothes and singing songs and babbling about the shelter of God's arms

When I was twelve and had my first menstrual period,
my grandmother took me aside and said,
'Now your childhood is over.
You will never really be happy again.'
That is pretty much how some spiritual directors treat the transition from kataphatic to apophatic mysticism.

But, I'm sorry, I'm going to sit here every day the sun shines and eat this light. Hung in the bell of desire.” 
― Mary Rose O'Reilley, The Barn at the End of the World: The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd
Daring to let art be fun and philosophy be phuny, I laugh and romp in the remains of fallen walls between any curious mind and all the knowledge in the world, accessible as long as we both shall live.
May we not discuss long run dividend payments model today?
Student asks.
Can you suggest which Deal Model is suited for us?
Lecturer replies:
Deal or No deal
Posh eggs or humble eggs
were not at BREXIT hands
A voice of Saint chanting:  
Where there is a will there is always a deal.
Is this the best moment to have a silent choir class instead?
Lecturer announces.
By Angel. XJ/27/03/2019
Erian Apr 9
If I could
Runaway
I wouldn't have to deal
With feeling hurt
Everyday
If I could
Runaway
I wouldn't have to
Hide myself
In their dismay
But all I do
Is
Run, run, run
from the things I fear
Will come my way
Whenever I
Runaway
Sometimes a nod is enough,
Half-mast, half-turn,
Half-squats for jumping,
Half-chin.

Half-elbow,
Nostrils half-inflated,
Half-eyebrows,
Half-red ears.

A half measure will be the gingerbread man,
And the half-empty top volume,
Over water semi-melting
It would be against the law.
Zane Safrit Mar 27
The CAFO trucks roll past
Smelling of hog **** and ***
Their passengers squeal maga,
We are not afraid, they cry
Our **** is in your water
You breathe our **** all day long
Who’s crying now?
Maga, they cry. Hahaha

Copyright © 2019 by Zane Safrit. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2019 by Zane Safrit. All rights reserved.
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