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#mass
The problem is not in Washington. It's right  in the house. . In the nightstand.  In the drawer you hope your kids   never open.   The most common thing done with a gun  is NOT  self defense. It is suicide. Roughly 75   males a day    EVERY DAY  they put a gun to their own head and pull the                                                                                    .....                                     T R I  G G E R  ...        Every day.     Fathers.   Brothers. Uncles This    is    NOT    ideology . This     is   anatomy and physics meeting easy  over  availability.   And you wonder why the prisons are so full.    Because there's nobody there raising little Johnny.       But  you  know  YOU  are    busy    you   already  have your   spoon  fed outrage focused on   what  ?   plastic grocery bags ?  and whether or not people are smoking in designated areas. Suicide attempts with other methods   Pills, cuts, exhaust . etc. ALMOST ALL  fail. Gun attempts do  Not . A gun turns a temporary spiral at 2:30am into a permanent outcome    for everyone.    Not just the person who pulled the trigger.   Everyone.     Kids  , neighbors,    etcetera. THEY  pretend guns are tools.     They are not    . Tools fix things.    They build.    They create.    Guns do none of that.     They cannot fix a roof. They cannot start a car . They cannot get you to work. Triggers produce one result only.     Corpses.       ( Maybe NRA paychecks   or  lobbyists, but those have never done anything good for us either.) We pretend guns prevent harm. They do not. They escalate it. They make fear louder. They make rage final. They make mistakes irreversible. Reality is shaking ******  hands,  panic,  missed shots, wrong place targets, kids finding guns in drawers next to socks. So  preventable . No one should have the right to turn an impulsive moment into permanent death. Not you. Not me. Not anyone. Rights are about living together. Guns END   ANY HOPE FOR  conversation.   They don't fix anything. You can't overthrow a king or a dictator with one. You can't stop a cruise missile, a tank or a jet. It doesn't matter what guerrilla tactics that you use. The ****** weapon itself won't do the job. It's not capable. People who   horde  guns are not heroes waiting for villains. Look at the statistics. Nobody protects their home from somebody breaking into it daily, yet people shoot college students and kids. Daily and shoot themselves every day, whereas someone who stops a robbery or an assault is literally once every five or six years. If that. Now compare that to daily death. The  shooters  are   too  often  disturbed  mislead  people   people in crisis. People in    Maga  Trump  inspired  bunker  building  rage. People scared out of their minds    with  no real  answers  or  beliefs    that aren't  lies .   The  2nd  amendment   BAH  ! A ****** weapon is useless. It's a little pop gun compared to the military. It's nothing compared to a tank to a jet to a missile, no matter how effective you want to argue for guerrilla tactics. And hit and run, blah blah blah . You won't change anything like that. You won't overthrow regimes or take down kings or dictators. Not in this modern time, not in this age. It's a John Wick meets Rambo revenge. fantasy. Stop pretending this is complicated.
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Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 4:10 PM UTC
God, Bless the 2nd Amendment ?
The problem is not in Washington. It's right  in the house. . In the nightstand.  In the drawer you hope your kids   never open.   The most common thing done with a gun  is NOT  self defense. It is suicide. Roughly 75   males a day    EVERY DAY  they put a gun to their own head and pull the                                                                                    .....                                     T R I  G G E R  ...        Every day.     Fathers.   Brothers. Uncles This    is    NOT    ideology . This     is   anatomy and physics meeting easy  over  availability.   And you wonder why the prisons are so full.    Because there's nobody there raising little Johnny.       But  you  know  YOU  are    busy    you   already  have your   spoon  fed outrage focused on   what  ?   plastic grocery bags ?  and whether or not people are smoking in designated areas. Suicide attempts with other methods   Pills, cuts, exhaust . etc. ALMOST ALL  fail. Gun attempts do  Not . A gun turns a temporary spiral at 2:30am into a permanent outcome    for everyone.    Not just the person who pulled the trigger.   Everyone.     Kids  , neighbors,    etcetera. THEY  pretend guns are tools.     They are not    . Tools fix things.    They build.    They create.    Guns do none of that.     They cannot fix a roof. They cannot start a car . They cannot get you to work. Triggers produce one result only.     Corpses.       ( Maybe NRA paychecks   or  lobbyists, but those have never done anything good for us either.) We pretend guns prevent harm. They do not. They escalate it. They make fear louder. They make rage final. They make mistakes irreversible. Reality is shaking ******  hands,  panic,  missed shots, wrong place targets, kids finding guns in drawers next to socks. So  preventable . No one should have the right to turn an impulsive moment into permanent death. Not you. Not me. Not anyone. Rights are about living together. Guns END   ANY HOPE FOR  conversation.   They don't fix anything. You can't overthrow a king or a dictator with one. You can't stop a cruise missile, a tank or a jet. It doesn't matter what guerrilla tactics that you use. The ****** weapon itself won't do the job. It's not capable. People who   horde  guns are not heroes waiting for villains. Look at the statistics. Nobody protects their home from somebody breaking into it daily, yet people shoot college students and kids. Daily and shoot themselves every day, whereas someone who stops a robbery or an assault is literally once every five or six years. If that. Now compare that to daily death. The  shooters  are   too  often  disturbed  mislead  people   people in crisis. People in    Maga  Trump  inspired  bunker  building  rage. People scared out of their minds    with  no real  answers  or  beliefs    that aren't  lies .   The  2nd  amendment   BAH  ! A ****** weapon is useless. It's a little pop gun compared to the military. It's nothing compared to a tank to a jet to a missile, no matter how effective you want to argue for guerrilla tactics. And hit and run, blah blah blah . You won't change anything like that. You won't overthrow regimes or take down kings or dictators. Not in this modern time, not in this age. It's a John Wick meets Rambo revenge. fantasy. Stop pretending this is complicated.
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61
not a sailor, nor a ****** the fish I meat, usually, ends up swimming inside me, though this one grew up but a mile of a smile from the Atlantic, and my grade school fronted "beach bungalows" where the teeming, yearning to be free, went back to the ocean they crossed, escaping the grief of pogroms, for salt water swims to gain relief from the summer heat on Coney's island all this an aside, if you do not know by now, then you shamefully haven't read by poems sufficiently well, even today, live on islands water arounded, and draw my insertions from rivers that all empty into the "Ocean" nearby my ancestral two family home (we the tenant renters) yo!to-day I come to be poetic about about the ocean annoninted within me, the 70% of mass that is the water within, upon floats, my peculiar brain.                                                                   <nml>
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Nov 1, 2025
Nov 1, 2025 at 12:08 PM UTC
The Mass of Water, Your Own Ocean
Augustus was on his way home beneath the scorching sun when he heard a group of people arguing — loud, hostile, nearly violent. He already knew what it was about. Supporters of Julius and supporters of Marcus, locked in yet another pointless clash. Augustus sighed. He was no ordinary man — he could see what others couldn’t. He knew Julius and Marcus would never argue like this themselves. But their followers? They fought as if their gods demanded blood. Curious, Augustus walked over to hear what the chaos was about. Cassius: “That pale light in the dark sky — that’s the real sun. Look at those tiny sparkles around it!” Felix: “Have you lost your mind? Marcus said this—the bright yellow one—is the sun. The other is the moon.” Cassius: “Ha! Don’t make me laugh. Julius proved the sun is milky white, with dark patches across it. Maybe you should shut your mouth if you don't know anything.” Lucia: “What are you even saying, Cassius? According to science, the one shining above us right now is the sun. The one you’re talking about is the moon.” Cassius: “Whose science? Marcus’ science? Julius has his own research too. He said the moon emits light, and the sun just reflects it. So who’s lying now?” Lucia: “A part of what you said is technically right… but you swapped the names.” Cassius: “I didn’t swap anything. Marcus did.” Felix: “Marcus is right. Your Julius is full of lies.” The argument kept spiraling — logic against loyalty, facts against faith. Augustus stood still, watching them like a ghost among the living. Not one of them wanted to understand. They just wanted to win. He turned and walked away. That night, he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, haunted by what he had seen. He was not even sure too - which one's the sun and which one's the moon. The sun still burned outside. But no one could agree on what it was anymore.
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Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 7:39 AM UTC
The Art of Manipulation
Augustus was on his way home beneath the scorching sun when he heard a group of people arguing — loud, hostile, nearly violent. He already knew what it was about. Supporters of Julius and supporters of Marcus, locked in yet another pointless clash. Augustus sighed. He was no ordinary man — he could see what others couldn’t. He knew Julius and Marcus would never argue like this themselves. But their followers? They fought as if their gods demanded blood. Curious, Augustus walked over to hear what the chaos was about. Cassius: “That pale light in the dark sky — that’s the real sun. Look at those tiny sparkles around it!” Felix: “Have you lost your mind? Marcus said this—the bright yellow one—is the sun. The other is the moon.” Cassius: “Ha! Don’t make me laugh. Julius proved the sun is milky white, with dark patches across it. Maybe you should shut your mouth if you don't know anything.” Lucia: “What are you even saying, Cassius? According to science, the one shining above us right now is the sun. The one you’re talking about is the moon.” Cassius: “Whose science? Marcus’ science? Julius has his own research too. He said the moon emits light, and the sun just reflects it. So who’s lying now?” Lucia: “A part of what you said is technically right… but you swapped the names.” Cassius: “I didn’t swap anything. Marcus did.” Felix: “Marcus is right. Your Julius is full of lies.” The argument kept spiraling — logic against loyalty, facts against faith. Augustus stood still, watching them like a ghost among the living. Not one of them wanted to understand. They just wanted to win. He turned and walked away. That night, he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, haunted by what he had seen. He was not even sure too - which one's the sun and which one's the moon. The sun still burned outside. But no one could agree on what it was anymore.
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23
Heavier than ever, I lost my strength. Such a difference— Never! I wish to go any length. This is no tale of mass, For I would carry the world. It's a burden, that would fail Atlas Even his grip couldn't hold. Yet, no tale of mass, Mass by people. Feelings, heart all clash I succumbed to this whirlpool. Alone, a name I harness, While I didn't heed For I never learnt of loneliness, Until you were all I'd need. All I'd need.
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Mar 6, 2025
Mar 6, 2025 at 10:50 AM UTC
Weighted Loneliness
'writing's like mass - God gets mad if you don't show up.' - earnest hemingway
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Dec 16, 2024
Dec 16, 2024 at 8:28 AM UTC
hemingway's warning
Technology and mass production may be the cause of man's destruction. __________________
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Jun 28, 2024
Jun 28, 2024 at 10:02 AM UTC
Simple Observation #365 - Technology and.....
the wild west's still with us it isn't gone at all 8 shot inside a high school 11 at the mall Tombstone is no longer Dodge City, it's now dust But, the wild west's still with us Believe me...in disgust They no longer use revolvers And have show downs in the streets They've moved it to the school room Where children hide beneath their seats The press are there like vultures The NRA cries foul 11 dead inside the mosque But people wail and howl They've the right to carry guns You can't take that away So, when you explain that to their folks Just what do you say? The wild west's still with us It's a fact, that's true It's not the same as it once was This wild west is new Shootings in the workplace Shootings at the schools Shooting in the churches Are there any rules? Each night the news is showing A new shooting, it won't stop The shooter dies a victim And it's always death by cop The wild west's still with us It isn't gone at all 7 dead inside the church 11 at the mall
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Sep 3, 2023
Sep 3, 2023 at 6:04 PM UTC
the wild west
Man is a wild animal in a herd, a group that organizes to be tamed but it's not easy to get the systems right There are unexpected effects or oppressive requirements No one is responsible Deposing leaders, killing dictators makes no difference The people tolerate the successor Help is needed From the outside, but the borders are deadly to humanity So I must appreciate little things, a glance the clouds, fresh bread once and dream what is forbidden
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May 26, 2023
May 26, 2023 at 4:07 AM UTC
Bad Dream
the air is the dust the air is the mass the dust is the pane the pane is the mass the pane is the air of dust the pane is the air of mass mass is a pane of mass the air is the chemical the air is the pane a chemical is a pane of chemical a chemical is a pane of air a chemical is a chemical of mass a dust of air is a dust of mass a dust of air is a dust of chemical air,pane,mass dust,pane,mass intelligent is a air of intelligent intelligent is a mass of intelligent a pane intelligent is a pane mass of intelligent a pane intelligent is a pane air dust is dust of a air intelligent
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Jul 7, 2022
Jul 7, 2022 at 2:03 PM UTC
a dust of pane,a dust of mass
people shall govern, as the fools will be burned. mass will reign and learn.
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Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 9:10 AM UTC
mass
I will make you remember our first mass in the dark. I followed you into the shadows, I was lost for a while, but somehow I found you. And we were not ourselves anymore. Breathing heavily while our eyes were closed, You kept calling on God's name, but I know you were not praying. I heard you singing the psalms while I was worshiping you. I love the way you pulled my hair as I was taking my communion. I don't need a bread, because your flesh is more than enough. I kept on coming back for this until your wine poured Silence came, and we stood up but then you kneeled... I wonder why, but you just look at me with a smile and said "It's my turn now".
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Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 6:09 PM UTC
First Mass
People are dropping dead. People are dropping dead, Not many in my town But in big cities, They are dying en masse And the silence is scaring me. Yet again. Yet again, I can hear my own blood Gushing through my ears, Silly me, I am scared, More for my loved ones, And less for myself. Will we? Will we all die soon? Or shall I survive this? I hope that if my loved ones die, I do too. Because I'm afraid of loneliness, I have a serious kind of autophobia. Nay! Humanity can't go extinct! Humanity won't go extinct. It will soon be alright. Just wait and watch, How Vishnu takes care of us, How Shiva takes out the evil, How the world will turn for good.
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Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 2:58 AM UTC
Eerie Silence
Robert Clive. He was an agent of the Brutish British, And he brought misery to my Bhaarat.
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Jun 10, 2020
Jun 10, 2020 at 12:21 PM UTC
I Shall Remind You Of A Mass Murderer
a criminal is a dust of ashes a criminal ash is a criminal dust of ashes mass is mass of masses mass is mass of ashes ash is ash of ashes ash is ash of masses a criminal ash is his ash of ashes dust to mass,mass to dust dust to mass,mass to ashes dust to mass,ashes to ashes beauty is a mass of beauty beauty is a mass of ashes beauty beholds beauty to its ashes beholder of beauty is beholder of a mass criminal a criminal is a mass criminal of beauty a mass criminal is a mass of beauty a mass criminal is a beauty of ashes a mass criminal is a dust of dust dust of dust,ash of ash,beauty of beauty dust of dust,ash of ash,beauty of ash dust of dust,ash of ash,mass of mass
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Jun 4, 2020
Jun 4, 2020 at 2:16 PM UTC
a mass criminal
if you don’t know by now, going to early mass is not my thing, as I am one of those peeps of the tribe that for your sins, died and then, again, and again ‘bout 6:00am, exchanging messages with my fellow Indians (nooo, I’m not Indian) poets on mundane subjects like tradition, grandchildren, nagging wives, profits, revenues and earnings, expenses (of that, more later) now that we are living on the isle-no-elation, the distractions are numerous though varied, so I find myself unloading the dishwasher, chopping, peeling, red, yellow peppers, cucumbers then to a puzzle I am sent, how to fit in two big cases of water into a Manhattan-sized closet which shall we say, with largesse, isn’t large-esse, comes pre-crammed from urban foraging which means it’s coffee prep time so more cleansing of yet another device, which happily annoys by providing step by step, non-negotiable demands, what me, just another human pretense machine, must execute ménage a trois, three poems are pre-forming in a mind that says concentrate, please don’t slice a fingertip, but if you must, that romanesque nose, certainly could use a trimming, if you are so energized & inclined and it’s Sundae morning and I deliver the coffee, making the route I’ve been plying for many morn, this one is black, this one is oat milk, extra hot, this one is awake, cause she’s giggling at **** emojis oh yes indeed, a liturgical motet, a prayer to a lord, I’ve never seen, but who insists on interrupting me, when the mood is upon him, as if we humans were his own coffee machine toys, don’t forget to make him herbal tea and you say this is not a poem, and you whine, overly long, and I laugh and say please, please, don’t read it, I’ve got plenty others that garnered accolades of multiple thousands and love this one better feeling so holy, feeling so hollywood, my tasks nearly completed, return to bed, when the nagging begins, what have I forgotten, **** my own coffee hides, in the microwave and by now needs a reheating twice and while I must off to write of Indian traditions,^ the gains and losses of grandchildren, grandmothers, a new debate rages, how shall I end this morning-prayer, and I offer myself three choices, in a language I speak in the original, Hallelujah, Amen, and Selah. 8:49am Manhattan Island May 17 2020
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May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 8:58 AM UTC
The Sunday Early Mass Liturgy (sorta)
if you don’t know by now, going to early mass is not my thing, as I am one of those peeps of the tribe that for your sins, died and then, again, and again ‘bout 6:00am, exchanging messages with my fellow Indians (nooo, I’m not Indian) poets on mundane subjects like tradition, grandchildren, nagging wives, profits, revenues and earnings, expenses (of that, more later) now that we are living on the isle-no-elation, the distractions are numerous though varied, so I find myself unloading the dishwasher, chopping, peeling, red, yellow peppers, cucumbers then to a puzzle I am sent, how to fit in two big cases of water into a Manhattan-sized closet which shall we say, with largesse, isn’t large-esse, comes pre-crammed from urban foraging which means it’s coffee prep time so more cleansing of yet another device, which happily annoys by providing step by step, non-negotiable demands, what me, just another human pretense machine, must execute ménage a trois, three poems are pre-forming in a mind that says concentrate, please don’t slice a fingertip, but if you must, that romanesque nose, certainly could use a trimming, if you are so energized & inclined and it’s Sundae morning and I deliver the coffee, making the route I’ve been plying for many morn, this one is black, this one is oat milk, extra hot, this one is awake, cause she’s giggling at **** emojis oh yes indeed, a liturgical motet, a prayer to a lord, I’ve never seen, but who insists on interrupting me, when the mood is upon him, as if we humans were his own coffee machine toys, don’t forget to make him herbal tea and you say this is not a poem, and you whine, overly long, and I laugh and say please, please, don’t read it, I’ve got plenty others that garnered accolades of multiple thousands and love this one better feeling so holy, feeling so hollywood, my tasks nearly completed, return to bed, when the nagging begins, what have I forgotten, **** my own coffee hides, in the microwave and by now needs a reheating twice and while I must off to write of Indian traditions,^ the gains and losses of grandchildren, grandmothers, a new debate rages, how shall I end this morning-prayer, and I offer myself three choices, in a language I speak in the original, Hallelujah, Amen, and Selah. 8:49am Manhattan Island May 17 2020
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53
What would Santa Claus say, I wonder, about Jesus returning to **** and plunder? For he’ll likely return on Christmas Day to blow the bad little boys away! When He flashes like lightning across the skies and many a homosexual dies, when the harlots and heretics are ripped asunder, what will the Easter Bunny think, I wonder? “And I will **** her children with death; and all the churches shall know that I am he which searcheth the reins and hearts: and I will give unto every one of you according to your works.” (So much for grace according to Revelation 2:23, where Jesus, or someone speaking for him, vows to personally ****** children for their mother’s sins!) Published by Lucid Rhythms, Poet’s Corner and translated into Czech by Vaclav ZJ Pinkava Keywords/Tags: Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Jesus Christ, Bible, Revelation, mass ****** serial ****** homosexuals, harlots, hookers, prostitutes, heretics, atheists, agnostics, nonbelievers, non-Christians
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Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 5:27 AM UTC
What Would Santa Claus Say?
Pfennig Postcard, Wrong Address by Michael R. Burch (for the victims and survivors of the Holocaust) We saw their pictures: tortured out of our imaginations like golems. We could not believe in their frail extremities or their gaunt faces, pallid as our disbelief. They are not with us now ... We have: huddled them into the backroomsofconscience, consigned them to the ovensofsilence, buried them in the mass graves of circumstancesbeyondourcontrol. We have so little left of them now to remind us ... It was my honor to work with survivors of the Holocaust as we translated their poems and prose accounts into English as a way of preserving them and making them available to larger audiences. Unfortunately, time waits for no one and the Holocaust survivors I worked with are no longer with us. But their words and testimonies remain, if we will only take the time to read and consider them. Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, victims, survivors, mass graves, pictures, images, tortured, frail, gaunt, skeletal, emaciated, thin, malnourished, golemic, horror, terror, inhumanity, madness, racism, antisemitism, slave labor, slavery, death camps, concentration camps, gas chambers, ethnic cleansing, genocide, memory, remembrance, memorial, tribute
0
Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 4:16 AM UTC
Pfennig Postcard, Wrong Address
an ocean side park duly attract yet take the break surf punk depth to its hull and the frequency spark paladin there yet his arc afield in the streams that remark in the night
0
Jan 10, 2020
Jan 10, 2020 at 7:27 AM UTC
albas
You served the Latin Mass with the priest Father Jones who had a deep affection for St Thomas a' Beckett you prepared all his items before Mass began and listened as he muttered the Latin prayers as he dressed in the various items in the vestry you heard sometimes when one of the little boys was there say at the mea culpa I'm a cowboy I'm a cowboy I'm a Mexican cowboy but you glared at him hoping Father Jones never overheard after Mass you took the boy aside and whispered and said It is mea culpa mea culpa mea maxima culpa not cowboy nor Mexican cowboy he stood there wide-eyed What does it mean? Through my fault through my fault through my most grievous fault he nodded and said So no cowboys? No cowboys you replied nor Mexican cowboy so he went off disappointed and you said nothing to the priest although be may have heard and smiled being kind and understanding the child.
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Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC
No Cowboys 1957.
In an ideal joy-and-happiness-society: would people not use guns to **** each other? Would malevolent people not be allowed to have guns? Would mentally-ill people not be allowed to have guns? Would children not be allowed to have guns? Would law-enforcement use guns as a last-resort?
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Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 8:27 PM UTC
Guns?