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Jana Gracia May 2015
"Today we do not need another lost generation because no generation is lost, and in this ******* school system , where memory is all that is exploited, there are different minds , ladies and gentlemen, we have forgotten the passion and our heart lives caged, our imagination is stuck in a can of Campbell , and the illusion is bottled in cardboard bottles produced in series."
18thlabel (Jana Gracia)
Amitav Radiance May 2015
Many are prisoners
Of their own contradictions
Vacillating between  
The real and unreal
Finally the masks
Wear off
Thus revealing
The real heart
Sitting on
The pinnacle
Of ego
Smiling
Yet, frowning within
Through the lens
Of faulty perspectives
Life becomes
A nightmare
The Academic World, it would seem,
hasn't so much to do now with Philosophy
as with Sociology, Economics, and Dogma.
I wish it to be clear that this is not to dismiss Academia as a resource, but rather to pay heed to that fact that any institution may become dangerous through time, without regard for it's true utility or purity of initial intentions.

An appeal to authority
tends to stand in lieu of understanding,
regardless of who is appealing to whom,
and who's appealed to by whom.

Look both ways before accepting authority.

Caution! No one is innocent.
-
Leal Knowone Apr 2015
I am nothing without this thing called spell check
I have nothing on many of yours education
and many of yours upbringing
and I envy most of your elegance
but I will continue to speak from my heart
hoping you hear me, and hoping you do the same
Homunculus Apr 2015
Making magic make believe, while
Simple subtle lies deceive,
We have no fear; we shed no tears,
We've got our fingers in our ears
We've got our hands over our eyes
Trapped in our dreams of
Bright blue skies, where
All is well, ignoring hell,
Protected by that magic spell,
That shields us from the truth of
Things, and brings peace to our minds,
"Well, I can't see it, so it isn't there,"
"It's not my problem, so why care? "
OH! WOE IS YOU!
OH! WOE IS YOU!
Your understanding,
Blunt and crude,
My dear, you are
The ******* child, of
Wicked fortune's
Twisted smile,
Your heart, it wants  of
Will and wile,
Your mind, it lacks of
Skill and guile,
Your spirit, rendered
Infantile, impotent and
Indolent, my dear,
You are no innocent,
You are as guilty as they,
Your apathy has trapped you,
As your powers, they decay,
Now, you must break the spell, and
Wake your eyes,
Unplug your ears, and
Hear the cries, of
Retribution, on the wind,
That begs us all to join.
For a better understanding of the intended meaning of this piece, also read my "one note song"
Brooke Robinson Apr 2015
The professor mounted himself in front of the dim room. His questions shackled the students, and his beady eyes craved for attention. The jail cell fell silent, and eye contact hid behind textbooks.

Panic dripped through the air while he patrolled the spacious, white room. The slightest movement could target the next victim. One of the few in the front line of fire, a woman struggled to listen. Her hands hid her young face from the interrogation. She held her breath, drowning in the silence.        

A tardy innocent fumbled through the silence when entering the room. The student’s footsteps echoed as he crawled to a desk in the back of the classroom. The interruption allowed the tension to lift, causing the professor to execute the lecture.      

The young lady exhaled nervously, and her attention drifted out of her shackles. The clock taunted through her tired mind. She thirsted for an escape, to be a refugee. The few minutes remaining in class stabbed through her.

Her eyes wandered across the students next to her. They focused on the professor, took notes; they were alive. She continued observing: why could she not be like the other students?

Instead, she rotted in her chair and in her body, waiting for the class to finish. She wanted to escape. She wanted to be free. She wanted to live.
Michael Apr 2015
Everyday we're tested.
It seems the world just
has a vested interest in
what we know and
what we don't.

In what we can handle,
and what we can't
or maybe won't.

It's hard, this testing.
To take everything
we've had a thought
to think, and cut it out,
spread them onto paper,
our worth bled out in ink.
early draft
Erin Atkinson Apr 2015
I remember
                    one night we got so drunk
         on our porch under blankets
     I systematically
covered
     in cigarette
                   ash.
              dusted off
and started again
                                                      I swear
that night, under twinkle lights
                               I always think cast such a warm
                    glow,
          and drip golden,

I swear,
               that night,
Our Passion
                      bubbled like the carbonation in our bellies
And I stopped myself
                                      from saying I Love You.

I remember
                     on Christmas,
we laid on the couch
                                     all day
and didn't see or speak
                               to anyone else.
Watched movie
                        after movie
                                  after movie
Until we both sunk    
into each other
so deep    
                                 half asleep with commitment
              to laziness
      Until I couldn't tell
where my body
                   ended and yours
           began
It was the best Christmas I've ever had.

And I remember
           how you looked
       the night you told me
                              it was over
My breath
                                            caught
and cracked
                             like
                                       ice
Stuck
           between esophagus
                                                 and lung
like our bathroom pipes.

You must have said
                                                  "ex-lover"
hal­f a dozen times or more.

I remember
                     thinking how inappropriate
it was that as I was listening to you
             And all I wanted was
to kiss the anger
             from your lips

I'm not sure why I ever stopped myself
             from loving you until
the very last second,
But I think you're right.
       I thought I couldn't deserve you
and instead of fighting,
                      I put my hands up,
threw down
           a white flag.
In the end, I didn't deserve you
Your quiet power,
                                  Your Moon-child Grace.
If nothing else,
                           this time,
I will learn
      from my mistakes.
Charlie's Web Apr 2015
I am paying 40g's a year to read a ******* book.
Four ******* years I devote to read a few ******* books.

two hundred bucks a pop
I'd be better off with bad credit
from unpaid fees at the public library.

I'll be paying off my social score
for the next forty years.
watch my tight skinned allure fade to menopause grey.

sun rise sun set
I'll forever be a slave
paying off this debt
society's dug my grave
prosperity's crude parade
makes my sanity tranquilized on getting paid.

money makes the world go round but
honey used to be found when
bees buzzing was a common sound
when bees knees meant nothing
trees dropped acorn spreading its breed
expanding the air

now we make babies and they like to eat and breathe
expanding our waistline
instead of our fine minds

oh yeah, apparently we need to to pay for that.
Francie Lynch Apr 2015
What is the difference,
Asked the educator,
Between being skillful,
Such as a *******,
And being educated,
Such as a teacher?

*Well,
replied a prostitue,
One educates skillfully,
The other skillfully educates.


Which is which?
The educator responded.

Depends, said the *******,
On the pay and benefits.
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