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the good old nights^

roam the recesses and the abscess of
our too small apartment in the the very
large, very long, very inescapable wee wee
hours of the dark session of the day, lifting
my tablet to inscribe/ reorder/ recorder her/
this one more in my personal history, with
rant, word elixir, a note to our plural selves,
thinking of English gardens drinking up my
water freshly flowing and flying to you, via
nighty nite storm clouds, or your rural falls

and white clouds cumulus do  not return, and I too,
as my mind ***** and slugs but all attempts to
pierce the walled in somber slumber FAIL.

The creative comes besty beast like when I am driven from my dreams to wakealate (dream+speculate with eyes open)
dream of our realities and the tv (she never
remembers to program to shut down), drones
on about some product with XL in the name
that will make the unsleeping walkers feel
so much-better.

but not, not us, for we turn exploratory and
listen to the humming, beeping, tiny little diodes
of Joseph’s colored coat, all the mini stimuli,
the lights that mark the modern blacker hours
of rhythm, even those who can’t dance, can sleep,
‘cept for me, for I am a tune disturbed, needful of
minding, all these a rhythm busters ghosting me,
as a prelude to a poem vision now freshly etched
on my mind and now upon your flesh, an animation,
of reanimated images of ancient statues, ancient
advertisements for fertility, the dream continuum
of our lives, beyond our clearly demarcated time
line, the human, gene based need to outlive our
bodies in-the bodies of our progeny are a recurring
motif…female fecundity,  statues, many cracked or
missing limbs, come to life and move around, wailing
with grief and anger and hope and desire

alas, alas, another ole good time night ramble,
amidst familiar places and new abscesses,
and I wonder, how am I writing this when both
hands cover my face, and yet I still envision?

Tuesday Apr 16
(the year escapes me,
for notions of big times
are measured in multiples
of I can’t remember)
^ there was a time in my life that many years I woke in the middle of the night and wrote furiously. Less often these days, but nonetheless, the Devil *** angel ***  Genie comes, to remind me, who is the boss of me
Malia Mar 31
I think I actually
Hate this feeling.
You’re not supposed to
Make me nervous.
You’re not supposed to
Plant seeds in my mind,
Strange seeds that grow strange fruit.
Or, at least you didn’t used to.

I don’t know why I bother at all.

I never did say
That it was a good idea
Did I?
Jeremy Betts Mar 27
This "fairytale" I call life is Brother Grimm, too messy for Disney
Separate the good, the bad and the ugly
Or lump all three together and just label it me
Who or what is responsible for this travesty?
That's easy
Place me in font of a mirror and you'll see

Jeremy Betts Mar 5
It's simple...
There's no heaven, there's no hell,
Only good and evil
Atrocities carried out by people
One of the biggest cover-ups is under the steeple

...and even still,
Just to shiit and giggle a little,
Let's say da bible is factual
Then heaven is empty & hell is full

No one can live up to that mantle
Not a single soul
And if you do, by some miracle
Don't forget about his branding of a sin original

I'm not getting tossed in hell
To burn eternal
Because I couldn't unravel
Some self fulfilling riddle designed to be impossible

And as a whole
"Where the Fuuck've you been?" That's all we'd like to know
I'll go one step further, I want him held accountable
As the trinity or individual

I can't wait to ask questions that make a "GOD" uncomfortable
To watch him back track and stutter a little miiiiiiiiiiight be worth it all...
...okay, here we go...

Jeremy Betts Feb 4
Let's talk honestly shall we?

It's easier to have a face to face with the devil
To communicate with the dead and summon evil
Draw a circle, scratch a pentagram in the middle
With a flame dancing on the peak of a candle
Flickering at the outmost tips of the symbol
Sandle wood incent lit, hit a gong or crash symbol
Then a little rhythmic hum to conclude the opening ritual

Pretty simple

The theatrical aspect varies culture to culture
But the critical structure, the essence, the flavor
The nature of "just call and I'll be there" is there
Let's be honest here, you don't get that with prayer
You'd have better luck with a comatose soothsayer
A blind palm reader, or and end of days sandwich board holder
The one on the corner screaming about unspeakable horror

Just think about it

What do you got to do to talk to your lord and savior?
Is his policy open door?
Does he have your back while going through your personal war?
You're trying to survive the unjust life he made and you're in store for
He just stands back and tallies the score
This is straight from his written lore, though purposely vague on what's real and what's a metaphor

What are the odds you're right?

He designed you to never be able to directly interact,
Explain that
It's a wildly overlooked fact
It's what knocks his believability off track
You look at him and you go blind as a bat,
Why would he do that?
His voice will cause your ears to bleed if your head doesn't explode on first contact
He didn't have to design it like that!
The only answered prayers are those of musicians, athletes and the beautiful people who can act
The rest of us? Good luck Jack
If he hears your prayers then most of the times he's just like, "naw, fuuck that."
What's up with that?

Pretty convenient

Shying away from universally decided "just don't bring it up" topics, politics and religion of course the two biggest examples, will hurt societies (globe, country, state, county, city, town or cul-de-sac) more than it wil divide them. There's extremist on every side coming from every angle but they must not be allowed to roost at the top lest we forget how long and dire the fall would be.
Thanks for reading, I appreciate you.
Strangerous Apr 2023
Relationships of divers nations
          crystallize in Terrible Times:
alliances divide along
          Terror/Anti-Terror lines.

The paradigm is surgical:
          eradicate the cancerous cells.
So privy nations operate
          on Terror's malignant network of Hells.

The human species balances
          upon the precipice of Fate:
voices clamor on Freedom's side;
          dogma grips the side of Hate.

And one God watches, knowing They
          have and will defeat the Beast.
But who's the Beast? "It's them!" points each.
          May the best team win, the other cease.
© 2001 by Jack Morris
Psych-o-rangE Jan 20
Nice, trick, you can't trick me into not being depressed.

"Just you wait, I got something up my sleeves"

I would like to say many have tried and failed, but I think the failure is more on my part.

"Its eggs and they are going down my sleeves"

Not even cooked, just raw eggs?

"Well, who doesn't want more protein"

Your sleeves.

"I wear my heart on my sleeves, and protein is good for the heart"

****, ok, not bad.
Cracking a cold egg open with the boys
Jeremy Betts Jan 17
Good times are so few and far between
Hardly seen
Never lasting
If I never find another, what do you think that could mean?
Blink and you'll miss 'em
So I remove the eyelids, see, I can listen
And I don't sleep for a reason
I hear that's deaths cousin...'s not the weirdest thing to believe in

Mark Wanless Jan 6
if a good man
goes on a journey
will he arrive there
Safana Dec 2023
I love the world
I hate the world
I love friends
I hate friends
The world is a friend to committing righteousness
The world is a friend to committing wrongdoing.
I want to live in this world
I want to live out of this world
I want to be an aliens to a lunar circle
I want to be far from solar circle
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