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#institutional
A cockroach knows a cockroach— not by insignia, not by the parchment framed behind mahogany, but by the odor of survival, that cold administrative hunger that outlasts every anthem, every oath. They know each other by residue. By the practiced contempt folded beneath public language. By the elegant speech of sacrifice delivered while the people’s bread still clings to their teeth. Neither sovereign nor savior— only leeches lacquered in ceremony, feeding through the arteries of the republic, calling extraction governance, calling decay order. They do not arrive as tyrants do. No drums. No boots striking the square. Only robes, citations, televised restraint— the slow confidence of men who believe institutions belong to them by natural right. And so the rot advances quietly. Through adjournments. Through sealed rooms. Through the grammar of procedure. Like termites in cathedral wood, they hollow the structure from within while praising its strength in public. Their loyalty is primitive and exact: hunger recognizing hunger, filth answering filth, one infestation sustaining another inside the same exhausted machinery. Cockroaches gather where public trust once stood upright. In courts. In studios. In ministerial corridors perfumed with constitutional language and the odor of managed truth. They feed upon justice ceremonially— turning law into spectacle, verdict into theatre, delay into doctrine. Priests of process, parasites of the nation— they inherit the shrine by stripping it bare, then preach sanctity over the emptied altar. And when the streets finally remember themselves, when students, workers, lawyers, families begin speaking in one rising voice, when the screen itself burns white with outrage— the script changes. Suddenly corruption has a smaller face. A safer body. A more disposable name. Now the disease is “fake degrees.” Now the infestation is narrowed to the minor and replaceable— as though the great engines of theft were built by clerks alone. Strange how power launders its language. How an insult hurled at millions returns as precision. How the same mouth that stripped dignity from a generation now retreats into footnotes, clarifications, televised innocence. Even this naming feels too clean— as if language stood outside what it serves. But memory is stubborn. People remember the laughter. The contempt. The rehearsed humiliation disguised as public wisdom. And slowly they begin to understand: the law is not sacred because men recite it. A robe does not cleanse decay. A bench is still wood— still elevation— still vulnerable to the weight seated upon it. That is the terror beneath every failing order— not protest, not outrage, not even exposure— but recognition. The instant the public looks at power without reverence, without hypnosis, without fear— and dares to name the cockroach while it sits upon the bench.
0
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 1:10 PM UTC
The Doctrine of Recognition
A cockroach knows a cockroach— not by insignia, not by the parchment framed behind mahogany, but by the odor of survival, that cold administrative hunger that outlasts every anthem, every oath. They know each other by residue. By the practiced contempt folded beneath public language. By the elegant speech of sacrifice delivered while the people’s bread still clings to their teeth. Neither sovereign nor savior— only leeches lacquered in ceremony, feeding through the arteries of the republic, calling extraction governance, calling decay order. They do not arrive as tyrants do. No drums. No boots striking the square. Only robes, citations, televised restraint— the slow confidence of men who believe institutions belong to them by natural right. And so the rot advances quietly. Through adjournments. Through sealed rooms. Through the grammar of procedure. Like termites in cathedral wood, they hollow the structure from within while praising its strength in public. Their loyalty is primitive and exact: hunger recognizing hunger, filth answering filth, one infestation sustaining another inside the same exhausted machinery. Cockroaches gather where public trust once stood upright. In courts. In studios. In ministerial corridors perfumed with constitutional language and the odor of managed truth. They feed upon justice ceremonially— turning law into spectacle, verdict into theatre, delay into doctrine. Priests of process, parasites of the nation— they inherit the shrine by stripping it bare, then preach sanctity over the emptied altar. And when the streets finally remember themselves, when students, workers, lawyers, families begin speaking in one rising voice, when the screen itself burns white with outrage— the script changes. Suddenly corruption has a smaller face. A safer body. A more disposable name. Now the disease is “fake degrees.” Now the infestation is narrowed to the minor and replaceable— as though the great engines of theft were built by clerks alone. Strange how power launders its language. How an insult hurled at millions returns as precision. How the same mouth that stripped dignity from a generation now retreats into footnotes, clarifications, televised innocence. Even this naming feels too clean— as if language stood outside what it serves. But memory is stubborn. People remember the laughter. The contempt. The rehearsed humiliation disguised as public wisdom. And slowly they begin to understand: the law is not sacred because men recite it. A robe does not cleanse decay. A bench is still wood— still elevation— still vulnerable to the weight seated upon it. That is the terror beneath every failing order— not protest, not outrage, not even exposure— but recognition. The instant the public looks at power without reverence, without hypnosis, without fear— and dares to name the cockroach while it sits upon the bench.
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95
Forgive them for their sins, For they know not what they do They hold the shotguns under their chins But haven't got a clue
0
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 3:39 PM UTC
Cruelty is Cool-ty
I tell myself, can't see ahead, But my path is already drawn? A narrow line in antiseptic light that runs from dusk to dawn. Each morning bleeds from yesterday through walls too white to stain, and prophecy is nothing more than habit dressed as chain. I wake inside a measured room, where padded corners bloom, and silence hums fluorescent hymns against a vacant tune. Who decides what sane is? Who writes the rules for me? If healing feels like suffocating, is that recovery? You call this safety, call it care I call it slowly dying. Tie my hands, dim the lights, but you can’t stop me trying. A canvas binds my restless arms, fabric biting skin; they say it’s for protection I say it cages what’s within. Once I held a voice so clear like winter in the air, now it shatters into swallowed glass and settles into prayer. Save me, smiling martyr, step down from polished wood; your halo shines in sterile light it does me little good. Who decides what sane is? Who names me unwell? If I don’t fit your diagnosis, am I broken — or rebel? You crown yourselves as cures while I am tied in shame. Don’t tell me I am better just because you need the claim. Your Eyes blink in corners of every fragile day, watching lest I fracture or quietly slip away. Rats of thought inside the walls scratch along the seams; they gnaw at former purposes until they feel like dreams. They ask me, will you take the pills? Will you say you’re ill? Will you trade your jagged truth for something easier to fill? Who decides what sane is? What if the system’s wrong? What if the thing that claims to heal is what’s been choking all along? You can catalogue and keep me, file me, lock me still but something in me will not die, and something never will.
0
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 9:00 PM UTC
Antiseptic lights
I tell myself, can't see ahead, But my path is already drawn? A narrow line in antiseptic light that runs from dusk to dawn. Each morning bleeds from yesterday through walls too white to stain, and prophecy is nothing more than habit dressed as chain. I wake inside a measured room, where padded corners bloom, and silence hums fluorescent hymns against a vacant tune. Who decides what sane is? Who writes the rules for me? If healing feels like suffocating, is that recovery? You call this safety, call it care I call it slowly dying. Tie my hands, dim the lights, but you can’t stop me trying. A canvas binds my restless arms, fabric biting skin; they say it’s for protection I say it cages what’s within. Once I held a voice so clear like winter in the air, now it shatters into swallowed glass and settles into prayer. Save me, smiling martyr, step down from polished wood; your halo shines in sterile light it does me little good. Who decides what sane is? Who names me unwell? If I don’t fit your diagnosis, am I broken — or rebel? You crown yourselves as cures while I am tied in shame. Don’t tell me I am better just because you need the claim. Your Eyes blink in corners of every fragile day, watching lest I fracture or quietly slip away. Rats of thought inside the walls scratch along the seams; they gnaw at former purposes until they feel like dreams. They ask me, will you take the pills? Will you say you’re ill? Will you trade your jagged truth for something easier to fill? Who decides what sane is? What if the system’s wrong? What if the thing that claims to heal is what’s been choking all along? You can catalogue and keep me, file me, lock me still but something in me will not die, and something never will.
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60
draking death    features and tones no lust lost in oceans we toss man only   of our presence to be included rudely at the suggestion of the wet nurse thirsty in linen uniform beds her words nourish long as ever is in the business of breath methods of incubation amorated swells in the pattern batten the flourish of our human ilk for the journey would calm our raving losses        and punctuations of breeding
0
Oct 23, 2022
Oct 23, 2022 at 10:10 PM UTC
linen
A true Banana Republican he claims fraudulent results due to American intervention
0
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 9:51 AM UTC
Math
New Zealand culture, a fragility, tainted by violence. Colonisation. Writers have examined, the loss of Maori land. Less common however, is writing concerned with the benefits, accruing to white people as a result of the acquisition of this land. Colonisation has provided, Economic and social advantages, to white people, in contemporary New Zealand. A hierarchy, white Western culture, sitting uncontested, at its pinnacle. The cultural capital that whiteness provides. Unearned advantages at our disposal. Live our lives with greater ease: Homeownership. Health. Education. The ‘Justice’ System. Institutional privilege. A political separation. The white New Zealand system, designed for whites. To get through school, have good health, get jobs, get a little justice. If the system was designed, for Maori people it would not be the way it is now. Overrepresentation of Maori, in every negative New Zealand social statistic. The persistence of white power. Society provides greater opportunities, to white people, by disadvantaging those who are not. Unacknowledged, debilitating, racism. Being oblivious, sustains a belief, in white superiority. While factors: socioeconomic status, gender, sexuality, disability, may impact the degree to which, individual white people, can access privilege. On some level, every white person, in New Zealand benefits from their skin.
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Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 6:03 AM UTC
Benefits
As I sit on this assigned desk ears drooling with institution gel I swirl on the seat, the wind pause Musing in evangelised dilemmas Lobotomised to jerking veracities Sagacity amateurs boost egos Stooping and stooging in asylums Barricading others progression Regressed losing solid grounds Jurisdictional custodial supervisions An infused scent of propagandism Scenes of robotic observational modelling Unprincipled to insist on another destiny Calculating targeted risked predictions Regulated to invigilate and unroll a matrix grid Who am I? To forge his,her or their trench
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Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
Propagandism