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Many people have been told to do the Catwalk and they do it,
but many have rebelled and chose to do the Dogwalk.
It
Cherry blood is always good, because it's dark and it means no artery was hit. You're still alive. You're living. That's why I sometimes don't understand the big fuss my principal made when I took off the sweatband on my wrist. Or maybe it was the vice principal. Either way, the school counselor was called in, and so were my parents. Looks of shock. Confusion. Why? They all asked. But I had no reasonable answer. I was young and innocent -- a feeling I'd love to regain, but at the time, I wanted the opposite. Maybe I did it for the excitement; the thrill. Some said I was just "a troubled child"; it will pass. Others said I was "disturbed" or "depressed". But these are just words. I know what I was. I wanted the attention; I wanted to get caught, until it actually happened. After my mom paid a psychiatrist $350 three different times, I told her I was okay; I stopped doing it; Please don't make me go back. And she never made me go back. And I never did it again.
Homunculus Oct 2015
Feeling at this time, that I should really go to bed, but
Still I lay awake, and contemplate, what Fred Hampton said:
“If you dare to struggle, then you dare to win, if you dare
Not to Struggle, then you don't deserve to win.”
They shot him dead in his bed, tell me how long has it been?
10, 20, nearly 50 years, since the things that happened then,
What happened to the Panthers, Malcolm X and Dr. King, or
The Anarchists in Spain, the songs of victory they'd sing?
What happened to the world of struggle, in which they all used to live?
Where liberation's sweet embrace propelled the efforts they would give
You see, we need to put the ‘unity’ back into ‘community,’ and
That begins with you and me, living side by side, and
Working with each other, taking measures to deride, the
Ills of our condition that serve only to divide,
Those old notions of race, those old notions of gender, with
Raised fists, as we march, taking heed to engender,
A whole new way of life, and a vision to render,
Filled with class consciousness, making us a contender,
Maybe I could lie down, and I could find some rest now,
If we would only stop to realize that we're the real ‘how.’
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fred_Hampton
madrid Oct 2015
"we were brave,

                        for all the wrong reasons"
Homunculus Oct 2015
Learn to recognize lies, while they stand at
Their podiums, and proselytize,
Like so many Sunday preachers,
You can see it in their eyes, and
Their shifty ****** features, though
Their words seem sincere,
Their subtle cues, serve as
Teachers of their inner intent, so
Don't forget your diligence, and
Let them **** your dissent, with
Empty promises and rhetoric, to
Fill your head with lies about,
How war is for the betterment, of
Nations abroad, the sentiment
Is laughable, the premise is a fraud.
Cause when it all boils down, and
When push comes to shove,
Democracy has grass roots, it's
Not imposed from above, and
At the end of the day, money is
The factor prime, it's the secret
Justifier for this terroristic crime,
First, they bombed Iraqi cities,
In a trial of "Shock and Awe"
That killed even more civilians,
Than what 9/11 saw, and
Once the cities were demolished,
Halliburton then rebuilt them, and
Reaped enormous profits,
To the tune of 40 billion, and
Among other things, in this
"Just" war's spoils, were
The underground oceans,
Flowing full of crude oil, and
We all fund these atrocities,
These lies, these hypocrisies, well
If you decide this ain't the type,
Of thing that you can stand for,
Write "exempt" on line 7, of your W-4
Aside from the W-4 approach, you can also refuse a token amount of any monetary sum on tax form 1040, be it $5 as a symbolic gesture, or a larger amount equivalent to the share of income tax that funds defense/military . Note that if you actually do this, the IRS will try to retaliate. Don't let them intimidate you, people are rarely arrested for low profile tax offenses. There is an establishment called the "War Resisters League" that has been active in the States for over half a century. Their website is an excellent resource for strategies and  guidelines for those whose consciences will no longer allow them to be complicit with this sort of behavior. Please consider this, and spread the message far and wide. If enough people did this on a given year, it would make a powerful statement.
Kerri Sep 2015
I want to bask in your presence,
and revel in your smile,
meditate in your peacefulness,
and sing with you a while.

I want to share with you your glories,
and weep with you your fails,
praise you in your Heaven,
and suffer with you in your Hell.

I want to observe you in your spotlight,
and draw the curtains when you're not,
Be your sidekick in your rebellion,
and lie for you when you're caught.

I'll greet you in the morning light,
with my blurred line of wants and needs,
If the Universe grants my wish,
so begins the journey of you and me.
<3 Love <3
xie Sep 2015
All of their parents are afraid
Not wanting their children to be like me
I know, I’m a bad influence, I’m mean
But at least my fun doesn’t seem to fade

a.v.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
Rebellion – for too long the status quo,
is, in our day, a predictable show.
Antichrist irony, absurdity
shockingly daring incongruity
no longer shock the bourgeois, you know…

Alone in the temple of glass with a rock,
you’re out of traditional symbols to mock.
Surrealists did it much better than you –
and it meant a lot more in ’32.

You chew your cud on the cattle-wagon
overused shock-tactics (moo ! ) now draggin’
(or herding) aboard the iconoclast train
(b)lowing through boxcars your bovine refrain:
“to, um –  make people think…”  Oh Lord, how uncouth.
Nihilist narcissus – tell me, what’s Truth?
Must creative always be subversive?
I discern, in your frenzied discursive,
a dull and predictable lack of life.
While you brandish that plastic butter knife
I  seem to note, in your constant ******,
dearth of artistic ability.  Must
bohemian acolytes (some yawning)
ever be deer in the headlights, fawning
before the ironic gesture? It’s sad;
the bitter is sweet but the art is bad…

They circle hors d’oeuvres on opening night
like moths around white wine in candlelight,
cerebrating in a modernist void:
contemporary aesthetes, overjoyed
to know once more that life has no meaning;
the planet is doomed; that kings are queening;
that chic just arrived, escorting philosophy
(Forgive us, Duchamp, for all this monstrosity).

I long for Hudson River School sunsets
Old Dutch Masters, religious art, portraits,
Red, green, or black propaganda-art?  NO !
The view does not merit the price of the show.
I’m dada-ed to death, beyond the surreal.
Conceptual gimmicks have failed to conceal
your want of ability, values, and faith
In the book you despise it is written: “thus saith
the fool in his heart: that there is no God…”

You: Postmodern Art – **to the firing squad!
http://tinyurl.com/ogn6354

  ► ¡ BANG !
mk Aug 2015
they were just kids
begging for a taste
of the outside world
waiting for a hint of freedom
which could be used
just like a lighter
to set aflame the bonfire
they'd been building all year

when the heat set in
and days begun to get longer
the glimmer in their eyes shined brighter than ever
school ties were lost
& backpacks were filled with
anything but books

summer by the beach
under the stars
in each others arms
making memories
bound to last them
far more than a lifetime
leaving a mark
everywhere they went
so that once all this was over,
they'd continue to live on
with the legacy they left behind

lies & guys
kiss curls & girls
bars & cars
jubilation & intoxication


oh, they never thought it would end
and to be honest,
they didn't care
because nothing could compare
to the way the grass felt against their bare legs
or the way the sun burnt their rosy cheeks
they found all the needed within one another
whether it was arms to hold them
to keep them from falling apart
a smile to remind them
they were never alone
or lips
to help them remember
that there was more to life
than the nine to five routine

but as the cool winds begun coming ashore
taking back with them the summer love
the ecstasy was bound to start wearing off
back to black hair ties, black shoes & black hearts they went
back to the reality of it all
the summer spell broken
but reality could only keep them bound for oh, so long
because 9 months later
they'd be back
stronger
faster
brighter
smarter

with untethered souls
& shattered hearts
willing to throw it all away
for a night worth remembering



*[ a tribute to summer ]
// here we go watching the sun go round, sitting on a rooftop making time stop. i never want to come back down //

theory of a deadman- end of the summer
Emma-Leigh Ivy Aug 2015
When I was young,
& dumb,
& drunk,
caught in that summer between teenage rebellion
& shipping off to towering landscapes
begging for rigid responsibility held
in the embrace of adulthood,
I sought to sharpen my wisdom
by dulling my senses and searching
my timid teenage soul.

When I was young
& dumb,
& drunk,
trespassing on the high school roof,
staring out over an empty parking lot,
I told myself,
and beside me
the fellow undiscovered,
misunderstood teenage dreamer,
the basis of the harsh reality we face:

Everybody is looking for
the right person.
But no one is trying to
BE...
the right person.

The silent gasp of sudden
drunken realization
elapsed his lips before he could lasso it.

The realization that neither of us
could claim we were just,
or striving to be
anything beyond bewildered and lost in
the confusion accompanying coming of age
kept us company through
that dusty summer night.
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