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Jeremy Betts Feb 2018

What in the actual fuuck are we doin'?
Shootin' one another equals out to a no win
Showin' only that we are capable of goin'
Where we've already been, it's been provin'
That even good men can watch sin turn into addiction
Jonsen for a fix 'n looking for a substance to mix in
To distort your perception of the mess you're in
Crossing that line between wishin' straight into non fiction
And once you do that you've gone way beyond fixin'
But don't nobody listen to reason, we witnessin treason
As the agonizingly slow killing season eliminates believin'
So we turn on our kin and every non-citizen with different skin
And every US born citizen with a different complexion or opinion
We lack the discipline to avoid the tail spin
That we've gotten ourselves in, onboard this doomed zeppelin
A people forsaken so that the one percent can rake in a few more billion
This creates a toxin, affectin' everyone from grandparents to children
Shortenin' the distance to your coffin
A foundation of sand, yeah, we all know how that'll end
I gotta question, who pays the dividend?
When push comes to shove, and it will, who gets the win?
When all the frustration of an entire nation comes to a head and his orange *** is on another vacation
What's it going to take to tip the scale in our direction?
Maybe its to late to take any kind of action
At least any that will bring some sort of satisfaction
Only living a fraction of your life and the rest through a corporation
No line, no separation, just a part of the consumer relation
And they don't want you to awaken and realize what's been taken
That's the reason for conspiracy, call it a theory to add complication and feed the confusion
Make the equation so impossible you raise fear to an elevation where you can strike with no confirmation
The laceration that severed any credibility will be our damnation
This great nation of ours quickly turned into the greatest abomination
Almost as if we set up and executed or own assassination
A goal of global ******* has always led to a civilizations extinction
History has proven to repeat itself and over and over again...we miss the lesson
So let it sink in...if this is our new direction we're destin to lose the beacon
No hope of a better tomorrow to believe in
If only it was as simple as leavin but it's not, this won't even stop if we destroy the villainous demon
So what do we do?...I have no ******* clue but this boat is sinkin'
Ken Pepiton Oct 31

Man's gotta do to be, no se?

Who tried to contain your little mind, conserving things,
when America was great, like in Disneyland.

Take me aside for a pep-talk, exactly
as one might imagine, no lolly-gagging …

Peace in patient repose, supposing your
prepositions are herein, exposed to the air
we breathe, and can, by common POV, see,
from ground level through eyes located half way
to the moon,
Alice, to the moon, a social reflux
from the drunk juggernaut's dream… typical crass buffoon.
Mensur proven class.
Given a taker's disciplined mind, a priest can form a king thing.
S'true construed to seem the way the rules is writ.
Hell been formed by men with ****** scars, long before
Victorian mores,
let holiness be declared, ratio
to rank in the time of the Magne Charta, nicht wahr?
Heads held high, stiff upper lip, think like a stone.
- or be as happy as a pearl in petrified pigshith,
kings are imaginary things, built, not born.
But the taste of the order in battle, earned.
For the might to rule, the feeble folk
submit, allow the lie to tie your children, using
chains you forge, being either really you,
or are you spirit, come to guide the guardians,
to holy sacrifice, seed of Nathan Hale, taken to
total AI universal soldier in a New York minute.
Inspiring first principle, lad, proud to be
an American,… got me 3rd place,
behind a future Major, 2nd place,
and a future Nuclear sub Captain, good Mormon.

In real novel events, universes where Miramar,
belongs to the Marines, who practice East Mediterranean
Air War tactics, around Yuma, semper fi, and always ready.

Sad state of mind to pretend to hold true, in the instant,
its your trigger to pull, or your turn to die, it happens,
all the time, life's not worth killing for, really,

the mind of the soldier can so easily mime Bismarck,
and hear Stonewall Jackson sing, "every puppy's got it's day"
- squint, and put the sun at y' back, what better way.
A royal burden being discipleship, the lieutenants,
at least the lieutenants, then the sergeants,
all the little plastic men, lay down to pave the way
for the tanks, and the tanks took Tinnanmin Square
***-toks of the looks on the faces
of the entire race of kings and priests and servants
of the temple guarded by the most loyally conditioned,

the Devil Dogs, they proudly call them selves, semper fi.
Fi, is faith used to tie us to our task, are we not the few,
the proud, the brave, or
are we mere hewers of wood,
and drawers of water, oh lad,
without any noble pedigree,
become the athletic supporter,

who has not vowed, if given the chance
to stand firm for God and country,
with the boy standing on the burning deck, in values deep

enough to stink
of underlying rotting bodies of brave enough lads.
Life at the moment is too chancy to imagine not worth the effort, to make some minds imagine playing in peaceful games of liar catching, like poker, kinda.
Tony Tweedy Oct 11
Oh the things that my eyes have seen,
the many places walked I have been.

Upon peak and trough did I roam,
rarely knowing a place called home.

So many turnings along my way,
passing on through to seldom stay.

Staying as long as life allowed,
more times alone than in a crowd.

Beautiful faces that came and went,
both good and evil sometimes sent.

With words sometime of the softest kind,
echoing shrill calls yet within my mind.

Words once soft now turned to stone,
where faces vanish until left alone.

Upon road so full of twist and turn,
until a heart can no longer yearn.

Corners met that were never turned,
unseen paths that were never learned.

Future's short path left to travel on,
in time memory fades and it too is gone.

Things I was and all that I saw,
gone forever through the closing door.

How long then be there just a trace,
that my soul and I ever saw this place.

To dust and particles we all will decay,
those once met too will just fade away.

Until even memories of all are no more,
of a life full lived that no one even saw.
The stream of life and human existence.... a species long journey along an unknown road. Was there a beginning? Is there an end?
Anais Vionet Sep 30
I’ve slept in church
that must be when
I missed the answers.

“When will Christ return?”
I asked, waving my phone,
“I have this handy calendar app.”

"My child," he said, putting a
fatherly hand on my shoulder.
I wiped it off, like a spider web.

I’ll never get to heaven,
I lack the plasticine
malleability of belief.
**plasticine malleability = Play-Doh like*
Ken Pepiton Aug 8
The grand canyon runs between
the part of Mohave County blessed
with coverage
after the fallout
from the fifties,
and the lower part, south of the river,
east of the bend, there at Topock swamp.

Cancers above the line made by the river,
were rewarded, cash in some cases,
class actions and such, after the bloom
in GI Bill Law School Degrees…

leukemia in babies,
Downwinders in Mojave County,
just ended, dead, of northern afflictions.

Things like that and Julia Roberts,
got the voters to agree,
Lawyers should advertise,
- leading to what we have today
free speech, facing a true Kuhnian shift,
Directly presented, plain
for all
to see,
What freedom of the press was
to the owners of all means of exploitation,
freedom of speech, after internet, aight, is to any.
Any who, even you.
should any ask what Marshall McLuhan
continues to do, through 'is link to all you know,
text in context, denoting informed consent, you
think, as you read, and so
doing you do the deed, done so. We read,
thinking back
only one long mortal lifetime ago, we mostly did not.
On the whole,
have you never imagined
how many more of us know,
what was against the law for beings of the baser sort,
to learn, long
a tradition among the power elites, owners,
of all the national resources,
in a global syndicate,
entities, interests, trusts 'n'such, which
follow the pattern of the jewel merchants,
control the sources.
Restrict library cards immediately,
Carnegie is laughing from his grave… his will
- he did appreciate his Kipling
written in Indian Ink, under the Raj, If inspires yet,
as does Gunga Deen.
Film. Yes. Won't last. that medium,
too much trouble to watch it again, when
one can read a play, or a novel, or a poem per
haps forever, if the terminii are all out of sight.
As a lad, I was allowed to watch all the television,
I wished, and I wished I had a thousand channels,
in 1955, when Wyatt Earp got his life and legend

into the worth cube at the core of mankind…
for all American boys, pun is there, naturally, all
of us American boys, no matter what our mommas were,
we, 1955, had been pledging five days a week, aliegiance,
we were sons of soldiers who had won the last war,
the one in all the inspirational Hays code cleared war movies.

Realist mind game art, in context, humbled,
by the giants tuned into, before the contest began, Truth
who dares, all comers. Common mental trope, all comers
come on, oppose my point and fall across my edge.

Little children, keep your selves from idols, such as
hold I role in all active avatars at any given point
in time, in tyranny over your bit in the mind of man,
taken to play mind games that are crafted for enjoying
the peace of selective reality powers we all can attain.

Write your self a tower to watch from, and watch,
Carnegie reading Kipling
by kerosene Rockefeller sold… meld into if

if you wish, imagine lampblack ink, or better,
squid ink, infused with carbon so pure, it seems
invisible, finest dust of diamond waste, used once
to shine a patterned steel san-mai blade.

Imagine the very smartest, not Einstein, person
alive when decisions were being discussed, crossing
swords with science use and useless social controls,
e.g. you know,
gra-acious example, interesting times, sifting selectors
goodness gracious, we have, in point of fact, too much
to filter with no reason,
why should one care to know why secrets are de rigueur,
poor soul asked what is going on, replys,
regular stuff, I suppose… ah, ag me on, suppose,

I invited Ben, Voltaire, and Nieztsche to cheese,
as I morphed into the Disneyified U.S. Certified myth.
The mouse in Ben and me, was the voice of the NPC.
- we had Verne's spinning disc libraries since
- drop a name from the hagiosphere of AI and IT
- Grace Murray Hopper… she's a memory.

Such books, we hold, as factual data, they hold words,
we, the current people, the fluid factor through which
CG NPCs pass in movies and games and entertainment,
- each pass think
who notices other people?
All the time, I mean, who cares, most of the time?

Crazy edgies, mad folk, filled with insights some time
passing left as artifacts, if you can believe this,
your world view shall encompass all one need know
we speak of the fall, and of original sin, we allow
priests and politicians and attention pimps, to lie.

Today, own self, and whole self,
declare adaptive lettering tech, publishing far and wide
art insisting, dare do,

think it through, couple thousand words,
what if you learn one cool new way
to think unthinkable things good
to know… post hoc.
We live as loudly as we must... life is simple, not too simple, more is sublime,
not empty of all hope that any thing you believed was a little bit true. Hard to think, but after all easy to get past... life, as a whole.
Zywa Aug 4
Could it be a sign?

Oh no, signs only appear --

when you don't need them.
"The Queen of the Tambourine" (1991, Jane Gardam), § Morning of mornings

Collection "Chance"
leeaaun Jul 15
i am silent most of the days
i have have learned this hard way

that when you are vocal
about something

the more your voice will spread
the more you will lose people
from your life'

i am not good with risks
that's the only reason for my silence

now i just observe
and pass a smile

not  because its easy
its all about what i can loss over
what i can gain
Sadie Grace Jul 9
I'm bruised but I'm alright
cut and bleeding but still in the fight
I'm needing a reason ~ maybe a few
to get through this season
on to something new

We're halfway through the year that wasn't supposed to come
Halfway through the fear
I won't succumb to it
The tears I've become numb to drip down my hard face
A scarred ankle ~ the place I ran back to when I thought He ran out of grace for me
Zywa Jun 30
My hand wants to know
what I, what they
want, do, and to
understand what is happening

to my body, and what
it has to do with me

My soul also wants to
know in order to know
and to laugh about it
when I think I know something

Laugh relievingly
Think about why

others do what they do
and then, what hold
my hand has
to help

I think ahead
behind my clouds
the sun shines
the sun smiles
Tarot 19. Sun
Prometheus thinks ahead
I too work according to plan
I think

For Maria Godschalk

Collection "Bruises"
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