#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.
Dec 21, 2025
Dec 21, 2025 at 4:10 PM UTC
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>
Nov 1, 2025
Nov 1, 2025 at 12:08 PM UTC
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.
Aug 3, 2025
Aug 3, 2025 at 7:39 AM UTC
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.
Mar 6, 2025
Mar 6, 2025 at 10:50 AM UTC
'writing's like mass -
God gets mad if you don't show up.'
- earnest hemingway
Dec 16, 2024
Dec 16, 2024 at 8:28 AM UTC
Technology and mass production
may be the cause of man's destruction.
__________________
Jun 28, 2024
Jun 28, 2024 at 10:02 AM UTC
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
Sep 3, 2023
Sep 3, 2023 at 6:04 PM UTC
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
May 26, 2023
May 26, 2023 at 4:07 AM UTC
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
Jul 7, 2022
Jul 7, 2022 at 2:03 PM UTC
people shall govern,
as the fools will be burned.
mass will reign and learn.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 9:10 AM UTC
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".
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 6:09 PM UTC
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.
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 2:58 AM UTC
Robert Clive.
He was an agent of the Brutish British,
And he brought misery to my Bhaarat.
Jun 10, 2020
Jun 10, 2020 at 12:21 PM UTC
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
Jun 4, 2020
Jun 4, 2020 at 2:16 PM UTC
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
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 8:58 AM UTC
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
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 5:27 AM UTC
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
Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 4:16 AM UTC
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
Jan 10, 2020
Jan 10, 2020 at 7:27 AM UTC
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.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC
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?
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 8:27 PM UTC