#pile
Ever after whatever got us this close, full recovery
from authorized versions of theories of everything,
freedom is from one point of view, nothing left to do.
Do whackado and all that, my brother Richard's POV,
come to think of dying like an outlaw, refugee in just is,
as came to be expected, as hell had been preached, as is,
Orpheus and Bill and Ted and us, we had some wild ideas,
foisted ist das ein wort? Nach einmal, foisted on us as true id
above ego and super ego id, in imaginable disagreeable me form
I feel out of sorts,
some crazy hope I had, and some cruel stunts I pulled,
and one, I guess, one stunt pulled on me that I fell for,
but no shame I remember but for Barbie being my Sister,
and me being Ken, that was hard to remember was Cain's wife
pet name, Woe, brother won't you turn me around, think we won
and now every thirteen year itch in a synched class of breeders,
oh, brother, now's the hour,
scratch us up some evil injustice on uses.
Fructus frightening vengeful bubbles hold, one way in,
any way out, forgetting function for phrazes negates 'em.
War just stops making any sense, we agree as touching anything,
this is real, that is real, I could feel that point, I have felt that lash,
or I have seen such lashes dealt and I understand what a slave is.
And all but the most wretched fool is slave to a hungry child,
or slave to the lusts of his place in the pack, a useful eater.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 4:50 PM UTC
Ai say, receiving via bluetooth,
oh, say, this must be our sign, soon...
On some curve of life function rectifiers,
we have believers who make reasons
for all individual inflamed,
proud local flesh
or agreement clusters
of our kind.
Should you have decided
this is the day,
I heard,
at your I level you hear
this is the day.
Your part, your role, react in part
We have been called.
Out from the shadows mellow,
no dramatics, satisfaction granted,
taken, rest and recuperate, hate later…
listen, this, in its word flow,
is part of time words exist in,
after being read once, right made,
this dabar is said
to use the pen
of a ready writer, eh what better effort,
effectually adapting
to our instant constant
in prayer, believe is a verb,
on your side.
We believe
we know how faith must
function using our faculties
for sensing needs, which are keyed
to homeostasis, relative balance
of the chemistry and mechanics
of life
in motion.
We can do this with no hate at all, wisdom
fruits entreated with in bubbles of war,
for some certainly ****** reasons,
we can infect your wished real,
reasons to beg for bread, real,
humility costs that gnosis,
and so do many religious
ties to late spring around here.
Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 5:48 PM UTC
__
Still in the stillness of the night,
I dream about my own my own demise –
And I don’t know whether it’s a prophecy
or just these thoughts on suicide…
By the heat of another long summer,
all my fears spring up; unfurling like petals –
But as a pretty flower without any colour...
And I still cry myself to sleep,
always behind this pretty smile
In the cold grip of winter, I melt away -
Drowned in inner tears, and like my clothes:
I'm burdened by a heap of thoughts - more to the pile!
Dec 9, 2024
Dec 9, 2024 at 1:13 PM UTC
Saturday after Memorial day,
at the third star, meme
Any ancestor visited
over the holiday, they say,
during the holy day phazem
sayemshakem
thankenthinkentaken
artificial sacred making effect,
are the peacemakers affections
lightfoot tendency to take luck
as good as grace, to live under
as go'ds message receptors formed
from all my nations reasons for liking
Ike and **** the world's greatest ever
reasons to hate the enemy, most certain,
the law, the charters, since the days
of Rome, nay, farther, since the days
of the written law of fixed intention,
lets us pray aliegiance, under the law
of god, despite the irreal logic of law,
after truth is taken as the key, knowing
we all need to know, all minds made once,
and set aside to try another. Pride knowing,
puffing up the pose, supposed to convey,
ferry, carry across this river, twice,
once for tomorrow, once
just for today.
May 31, 2024
May 31, 2024 at 11:53 PM UTC
This week, mired in mysteriousisty, monstrous
entertalk-
enter tech, subtler doors perceptible, whole
truths
Certain trut-le subtle so, Feynman left the door ajar.
Time after certain pointy ideas grow shiny
as any used key, ever bright,
most honed edge,
after i-Ust dust,
leave
the we in which I occur, we
- have been occuring within,
yes, not al-one in, with
within, inside, distinctly not
with out, just cause,
some valid reason for assuming your right,
master minister bond,
order spun chaos patterning.
Prince and Pauper, think it through,
some tutorial must have tightened the reasons,
principal things,
priests and kings, scepters and orbs,
sacred evidence, bundles of righteous secrets,
precious as- jewels,
more precious than rubies, in those days…
worth to kings, as taught by priests,
worth is in things as rare as you…
dear child called of all the gods… just can't wait,
to be king
---------- disneyified reality contains me, a minute
detain, refrain from too much good stuff,
keep your own counsel…
take the grace, recall the science under these words.
pshaw, the knowledge,
where the faces fit,
the use of that jewel master's touch
the use of the shimmering final presentation,
-sell the sizzle,
- let'em smell the onions, and the cinnamon.
how much time fits in a leaded representative space,
only only, one-ly, namely, me - the type
setter, printer's devil, charged to fill the emptiness,
with proverbs,
and random selections from Scripture,
and Nietzsche's numbered aphorisms.
Siri, sorry- generic personal entity,
You, become
proverbial subject
to the idea made
into kings,
Wisdom, the principal thing
to be gotten,
ai, and
with thy getting, get the use,
what good does diamond dust do?
Who owns the rights, to cities in your mind?
- By the time they got to Monterey,
- they all had hammers, hammering out
- love between the brothers and
- the sisters,
- howl, howl foul, all you wish was other
- find a spell
- find a smell, feel the first software run.
Breathe, reality, holding me and all the lines
that led
us, unified states of mind enclosed in bubble
selves,
shelved in dark pantry nooks and crannies,
--------------------
How are kings made?
Old ways,
all ways kings have been made.
There was always a fight,
there was always a winner… and often
a comforter,
for the child of the loser,
or for his goods and services, dues
to the victor, never
for get, never give back, never take too little
when the plenty comes,
and the coveting capability expands
conspicuous among the high and mighty.
To the prince, it was written, learn the inter-
pretending nature,
eyes of Athena embedded in moth's wings,
lobsters only entertainment,
you can feel it, lose a claw,
grow another,
life in the depths, as non-hallel species,
playing pile on lobster Dnana-nana na na
ancient dopaminurgency, have fun,
live life where you find you lived,
before the final plunge,
squealing, giggling pile on, get to the top,
no holds barred…
Feb 23, 2023
Feb 23, 2023 at 6:10 PM UTC
Well I ain't stinking rich
And I ain't stinking poor
I guess what's important is
I'm still here stinking
And I ain't a pile of manure.
Feb 5, 2023
Feb 5, 2023 at 10:43 AM UTC
Hourglass figure of time;
I found the extra seconds gasping at your body as if it were
made mine. The magnum opus; of two youngsters kissing on
their parents sofas. The details of it feel less and less as I get older.
Should I be worried about the weight your name rests upon my shoulders?
So ahead of myself; is the last step I should take,
So far ahead of my thoughts; I planned out our first date.
But by the grin I forced into picture, showed it wasn’t how it came.
But I blame myself for it’s sudden change. And try hide away me being
so ashamed.
But misery knows company; my company then makes you miserable. Your texts seem always so predictable, and my pride makes me so pitiable. The hole in my heart as usual, I’m usually a nice guy but at times on a foolish will. Fitting the bill of the thrill; deceased by looks
that ****
I look at her but I don’t see her, I see myself and broken pieces.
A taste of sorrow in the longest kisses. Wrinkles of all negative emotions we felt in our heart’s many creases.
We piled our selves on each other, driving each insane,
whether laughter, tears, pride, love, excuses and shame.
I blame it all for that reason, that both our hearts were pile driven.
Piling ourselves onto this love. We've piled enough.
Jun 17, 2022
Jun 17, 2022 at 6:27 PM UTC
it's wood cut and clawed
markings of years of
misuse
built to be sturdy and strong
it's legs stir and shake
with every new addition
books
bags
even bodies
til one day
snap
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 9:44 PM UTC
Hunger,
Wrapping souls,
Always live down it,
Lands aren't awake now.
Don't burn,
Let it just stay,
Don't drive a stake to my mind,
Take me completely please my soul.
Blood,
Weird phobia,
After odor left the room,
Dreams will stay, awake immediately!
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 5:42 PM UTC
Some sit on a pile of books
Not knowing the worth of their seat
Not knowing that the paper holds the tongues of a thousand souls
They sit on their bright future
If only their legs could read
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
How is it possible to feel
so empty, when the negative
thoughts keep piling up?
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
The pile is ever ready
whatever type of music we dig...a ditty,
old songs, contemporary...all in a jiffy,
instruments will be playing
words, vocalizing all feelings
maybe, a song of calm
coming before, or after the storm...
.....
Notes hover above the piled 45s
look closely...find your desired jive,
let's find our favorite tunes
and take turns in dropping coins,
record is pulled out...shortly, our song will play
hold disruptive elements at bay
because..you and i, we're gonna sway
as a full moon....rises from the bay
.....
allow our feelings to speak
while we're cheek to cheek,
as much as we want, we may croon,
after we dance, maybe we'll swoon
the world is ours...we'll be alright
"there'll be...no more lonely nights!"
.....
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 4, 2017
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 4:08 AM UTC
loud sound of stomping,
cloud land revelries go on;
till all puke,go down!
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 8:37 AM UTC
If my work were my child
It’d be the middle one
In between my perfectionism, the elder
And my self-loathing, the younger
I phone up inspiration
To help with the troublesome kid
But she never returns my calls anymore
Motivation, I haven’t spoken to in ages
She left when my insecurities
Got the better of me
Said I’d become a pathetic husk of a man
Look at me
I don’t even have the energy to rhyme
Better toss this one on the pile
With the rest of them
What’s the pile, you ask?
It’s where I keep all my
No-effort narratives
Forgotten frivolities
Miserable musings
Worthless writings
Inadequate ideas
Laughable lines
Soulless stories
Cold chapters
Terrible titles
Bad books
Garbage
The pile is large
And it only gets larger
As time progresses
Because the quality
of something I write
Quickly regresses
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 6:49 PM UTC
neath the maple's boughs
copper leaves were tumbling
in a mounded pile
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 9:08 PM UTC
Fought against my fears,
Until now that they have become hate,
Pushing back those tears,
I am trying my best to find ways to meet my fate.
Carrying on my shoulders a heavy pile,
I hide my broken spirit behind that smile,
Locked myself away in the room,
My whole world has been feeling gloom.
Seems like the earth and its creatures have won once again,
I will admit that its not atitude,
We are just in diffrent altitudes,
All i can do is pace myself away from your latitude,
There has always been a different maltitude...my "Dear Friend"
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
Jump, Jump, jump, bump,
Heaven to earth, jump
Bump, jump, bump, jump
Trip, slip and bump
Like **** **** ****
Don’t pile money jump
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
Do you want my body
This hunk of flesh that you stare at and use.
Or do you want my soul?
The light inside of my eyes that you barely ever saw
The choice is your's
But when I grow old this hunk of flesh
Will be nothing more than a pile of bones
But the shine in my eyes
Will never. be. lost.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC