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I well remember the Hermit who
Lived up in the public park,
He never ventured out of his cave
Til the sky and the fields were dark.
He was, ‘…the only Neanderthal
That survived the coming of Man!
Don’t get too near or you’ll rouse his fear
And he’ll chop off both your hands!’

The cave was deep and mysterious,
It hadn’t been there for long,
The entrance had been uncovered by
The blast of a German bomb,
As kids we’d run in the daylight sun
Right up to the entrance there,
And scream ‘Hello!’ in a long echo
When the other kids would ‘Dare.’

Then deep within came a rumbling
Like an Ogre, clearing its throat,
In seconds then we were tumbling
And I tore my best blue coat.
Just once we saw him out of the cave
With a beard, down to his waist,
Shaking his fist and grumbling
So we screamed, took off in haste.

The years went by and I asked my Dad,
‘Just who was that Hermit guy?
The one that you used to scare us with
In the public park, near Rye.’
He pursed his lips and his face was grim
‘Aye, that was a tale, my son,
Back in the war, a soldier there
And a ****** great Ack-ack gun!’

The Germans used to come every night
And the guns would open up,
With searchlights all criss-crossing the sky
We’d get no sleep or sup,
The guns would go, ‘Ack-ack, Ack-ack,’
Which is how they got their name,
The Home Guard took it in turns to shoot
Each time that the bombers came.’

‘Well Martin Shaw was an older man
And he shot a Heinkel down,
He stood and watched as it burst in flames
Then dived, and hit the ground.
But then a Dornier dropped a bomb
And it hit beside the gun,
It blew a hole in a cave below
Surprising everyone.’

‘The gun fell into the cave below
And so did Martin Shaw,
We said, ‘That’s it, poor Martin’s gone,
We won’t see him no more!’
But he survived in the cave below
And refused to come on out,
So when they were trying to rescue him
They were looking up the spout.’

‘The first one trying to come in here
Is going to lose his head!’
Martin screamed at the rescuers,
‘Come in, and you’ll be dead!’
He fired a couple of Ack-ack shells
To underline his case,
So they all backed off, and went to tea
And left the gun in place.’

‘The years went by and he stayed in there
Long after the war was done,
They knew that he didn’t have any more
Shells, for the Ack-ack gun,
So he’d only walk abroad at night
Catch rabbits and steal his veg,
They said he suffered from shell-shock
And was pretty near to the edge.’

My father had almost had me there
‘Til I saw his sneaky grin,
‘You’ve had me on again,’ I said,
‘You really suckered me in!’
He laughed, ‘I haven’t the faintest who
He was, but just a loon,
But there, that’s something to tell your kids
On a Sunday afternoon.’

David Lewis Paget
Francie Lynch Aug 2015
Use all the combinations of consonants,
Blends, short and long i's;
Try intonation or diphthongs;
Resort to linguists;
Spell in Welsh.
You can't approximate
The muted sound
Of a breaking heart.
Jeuden Totanes May 2014
I went to bake some cupcakes
I was in such a merry mood
I miss the sweet creamy taste
I miss the smell of food

Human food, Monster food
Oh, its just the same
What matters is how to make it good
I call this a cooking game

A cup of flesh, and mix it well
Those smelly rotten eggs
Light the fire, the flames of hell
Let's chop these human legs

Ahh, fresh flour - I stole from the store
A little bit of sugar, a little bit of salt
Let's knead the dough, let's fetch the coal
Surely, this is not my fault

For a sudden twist, I suddenly thought
Why not stir-in some blood
The jar of of red, I quickly sought
Where's that stirring rod?

So I baked it in the ancient oven
And waited for some time
Ping! It sprung open!
Now let's give it a try!

Nothing like a meal
For a hungry half-breed
Wasn't such a deal
It was just what I need

Nothing like a Sunday
When you're not feeling mad
Nothing like cupcakes
Nothing like fresh blood

Oh, human bones!
Ack! Ugghh!!
I'm a monster,, and I find this offesive.. haha lol
Nik Bland Oct 2012
Take me as I am, please
No. Please is too understanding
Take me as I am!
Wait. Maybe that's too demanding?
I don't think we understand each other
Maybe we're over analyzing
It's just that when I look into your eyes I stop
They're hypnotizing
Stop. No. Rewind please!
But I can't, the words are out
Could you give me a backspace button for conversation
That would relieve some doubt
I want you
Argh! Too lustful!
I need you!
ACK! Too needy!
Let's just say the world's a candy jar
And for your jolly rancher I'm greedy?
No? Not subtle? Too subtle? Argh!
Why is it so complicated to speak to you!?!
I'm like a 3 year old whose trying to make a picture out of glitter and glue
And the supplies just keep sticking!
Do you understand what I mean?
I see the perplexed look on your face and...
**** it, woman, you're pretty
Ack! Rewind rewind rewind!
Stupid stupid stupid!
The only way to catch an arrow is to say you DON'T want Cupid
So I don't want you....yes I do.
No I don't!
But I do!
No I don't!
Yes I do!
NO! I! DON'T!
Look at her!!!
....okay, I do.
But you wouldn't give me a second thought if I told that to you
I mean let's face it, you're so out of my league that we're not even in the same sport
I'm playing with the tiny tikes and you're in the pro team's court
But I would be a fool if this wall was all I feel on my fingers
And as perverted as that sounds I let the joke just linger
Because you're beautiful and I'm me
And who am I to attain a girl like you
The boy whose glasses fall down his nose and is missing one or two screws
I just want a dance... and a kiss.... okay, just a dance
No, what I want from you is the guarantee of a second, maybe third glance
To see you in the hallways tomorrow and know I make you smile
To know that you affirm we danced and liked it all the while
I want to be more than wallflower material and I want the prime
So with shaky legs, a corny disco ball, and a bad song, I stand and I greet you
And ask could this dance be mine....?

Your move. Gulp.
Patrick Kennon Sep 2017
TROUBLE * *
PRESS <ACK> TO REVIEW
FIRE=0 PRI2=0 SUPV=0 TRBL=1
FIRE PRIORITY Z SYSTEM SYSTEM POWER ALARM
ALARM ALARM SUPERVISORY TROUBLE ON SILENCED
DISPLAY TIME ALARM ACK ALARM ACK SUPV ACK
TBL ACK ALARM SILENCE DISPLAY TIME
SYSTEM RESET
Nomen Jun 2020
Jason and the Argonuts

I heard about it from a coworker who thought it was a joke. Had seen it on an internet message board. Found it hilarious. I don’t. I’m certain I know what’s really going on. What’s hiding in plain site. And I want to see it for myself. Seems that most people who’ve come across it just write it off as kids messing around. After all, who would take this sort of thing seriously? If somebody were to do so, goodness knows there might be a pretty big mess.
Follow the directions I found online to this place called Joe’s Pizzeria. Find the brick oven. Press a secret button. The oven changes form. There's a mahogany door. I descend a stairwell, which opens into a small basement room. There are a number of chairs arranged in a circle. Four of them are occupied.
Without making it too obvious, I try to determine the safest place to sit. Across from some hipster with a pencil-thin mustache, I see a pair of identical, androgynous twins. Both wear identical jogging suits. A few chairs to the twins’ right sits a Native American looking fellow in full headdress. He stares blankly at the wall, making a slow chopping motion with his right hand. I take a seat closer to mister moustache.
Well, this is it. There's nothing to do now but wait.
A few minutes pass in almost complete silence, save for some giggling on the part the twins. Suddenly, the basement door swings open. In walks a portly redheaded man, wearing a neon yellow shirt and green cargo pants. He smiles and waves to everyone, then sits down next to me. I try to ignore the stench of what I believe is asparagus.
“Well, I see we have a new face here tonight!” He exclaims; “Always happy to see a new face!”
He looks at me and I realize it’s time to do what I came to do.
I stand.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Hello, my name is Dan, and I’m a serial killer.”  
“Hello, Dan,” the group responds in a collective droning voice, resemblant of worshipers at Catholic mass.
“Yes, hello to you, Dan!” the man in the yellow shirt huffs out, getting to his feet. “It’s splendid that you are able to join us. I’m the group leader, Jason. Welcome to Serial Killers Anonymous!”
I simply stare at him. I have no idea what to say.
“Okay, first and foremost, I want you to know that even though you’re new, I trust you like I would any of our more established members. Call me crazy, but I think we’re all in this together! So, it should go without saying that what happens in this basement stays in this basement. All members are prohibited from discussing group with outsiders, except when promoting the idea that it’s only an internet gag. Also, to help newcomers feel more comfortable, I like to share my personal history with them right off the bat, along with how it relates to the founding of this group. Once I’ve finished, one of our older members, I suppose it will be Mark, will tell the story of how he came to join us. And after that, you’ll get a chance to speak, if you choose to do so.
“Now, as should be obvious, I am a recovering serial killer. The news media referred to me as the Coat Hanger Killer. I was credited by our local Olympia County police with the murders of twenty prostitutes. In reality, though, there were a half dozen more. And there’s no telling how many more women I would have killed if I had not confronted just what it was that drove me to commit such atrocities and dealt with it.”
I return to my seat and it hits me...this man is the Coat Hanger Killer? The Coat Hanger Killer, also known as Hanger-Man to true crime aficionados, was a hero of mine when I was younger. He got the name because he was known for inserting straightened coat hangers into his victims’ vaginas. After the Coat Hanger Killings inexplicably stopped, authorities presumed Hanger-Man to be either dead or incarcerated for other crimes. There’s no way he could be this ginger with the loud shirt.
“I was born out of wedlock to a teenage mother,” he continues. “Raised in a strict Christian household. As a naturally rebellious person, my mother resented her puritanical upbringing and began engaging in promiscuous behavior at an obscenely young age. She thought it would be liberating, but her sleeping around led to an unwanted pregnancy It is not even clear who the father – my father – might have been.
“Well, my mother wanted to get an abortion. And knowing how desperate she must have felt, I cannot blame her. But when she went to a clinic, she learned that legally speaking, minors are not allowed to decide such things on their own, which lead to my being born. Mother was less than thrilled about this. In retaliation, she became more promiscuous than ever. And it did not take long for her to get pregnant again. However, this time, she decided to take matters into her own hands –’’
The narrative is interrupted when one of the twins suddenly blurts out,“With a coat hanger!” This elicits some chuckling from the other, which dissipates upon a severe look from Hanger-Man. He continues speaking.
“Yes, that's right. She went into the bathroom and after what must have been a grisly spectacle, my mother was no more. And there’s no denying just how much this damaged me. I spent a good deal of my childhood crying alone in my room, thinking about my mother’s licentious behavior. Thinking about her death. It absolutely tore my mind to pieces! To pieces! And eventually, all my obsessing over promiscuity and coat hanger abortions led me to become the Coat Hanger Killer.”
All the true crime books I’ve read dealing with the Coat Hanger Killings suggested that the killer did not hold himself in high esteem, which accounted for his tendency to violate his victims with an object so lacking in circumference. It's amusing how wrong they seemingly were...unless there’s some oedipal thing going on here, which wouldn’t surprise me.
“I was utterly consumed by my desires.” he continues. “I obsessively thought of new ways to ****** prostitutes and not get caught. Yes, the sad truth is that my entire life revolved around serial killing for a number of years.”
He stops talking and stares up at the ceiling, letting out a deep breath, apparently orchestrating some sort of dramatic pause.
“When I finally realized that serial killing had taken over my life, I knew I had to change. And I did. And you can change, too!”
At that, he looks at me with pleading puppy dog eyes. This man, who has taken at least a score of human lives, is now using the cutesy approach in an attempt to establish a connection with me.
“Do you want to change?”
“Yes,” I lie.
“Then let’s get to it! Let the healing begin!”
And it begins.

The moustached man rises from his seat.
“Yeah, I’m Mark You all know me, except for the new guy. I’m Mark and I’m a serial killer.”
I mouth along as the group drones its greeting.
“I don’t wanna be here, but I don’t have a choice. If I don’t go to these meetings, my wife says she's gona leave me. See, this one night, I had just finished up with something I saw in a Ranch Burger parking lot. Wound up getting caught by my wife, stuffing it under our bed! I like keeping my finds under there after I’m done. It helps me get my rocks off when I’m nailing the old lady. Trouble is, before you know it, the body starts to stink. Then you gotta toss it. Good thing my wife has asnomia! Anyway, I almost had the whole thing hidden, when she comes in the bedroom. I didn’t even realize she was in the house! See, I was having some trouble getting the head underneath the bed frame, 'cause this one, lemme tell you, this one had a huge ******’ head. And my wife, she starts screaming and ****. Says something like, 'Mark, tell me you aren’t shoving a corpse under our bed! Please, tell me you aren’t!’ So, I told her I wasn’t.”
Mark’s witticism leads to raucous laughter from the twins, again ended with a severe look from Hanger Man. I stifle a yawn. The Indian remains impassive. Our orator continues with his narrative.
“I’m glad you guys find it funny, because my wife sure as **** didn’t. She fell to her knees and started crying. I swear, if there’s one thing in the world I can’t stand, it’s to see that woman cry. Breaks my heart. Except all of a sudden, she stops crying and starts screaming about how she knows what I’ve done and wants a divorce! So, I go up to her, put my arm around her shoulder, and tell her how sorry I am. Then I promise I’ll never shove another body under the bed. She asks me if I mean it and I say yes, figuring that’ll be the end of it. But then she starts begging me to swear that I won’t even score anything anymore. That I’ll quit. Quit for good!
"Well, I’d do anything to make my wife happy, right? So, I kiss her on the forehead and tell her nothing bad like that is ever going to happen again.
“But I’ll be ****** if the very next day I didn’t start getting that old itchy feeling as soon as I woke up. It was so strong I just couldn’t ignore it! Knew I was gonna have to score something soon as I got the chance. Of course, being so desperate, I wound up snagging this ***** that was all fat and gross at some supermarket. I did my business, then drove home and decided to leave the body in the garage, because I thought my wife never went in there. But go figure, she just had to pick that night to go ******’ exploring! Winds up seeing me ***** ******’ the ugliest, grossest, fattest score I ever made in my life. It was embarrassing, you know? Especially with how flat-chested my wife is.
“Anyway, to my mind, I had sort of kept my promise. I mean, I wasn’t putting anything under the bed, was I? But she didn’t see things like that. Just ran off in tears. Went right upstairs and locks herself in the bathroom. I eventually talk her out, but get the silent treatment for a couple days. Eventually, when she’s finally willing to talk, she tells me about this group. Says I go or else she’ll pack her **** and leave.”
“Excuse me, Mark,” Hanger-Man interjects, “but you are misrepresenting the character of your marriage! At last week's meeting, while you were occupied in the bathroom, your visiting wife revealed very much indeed about how you really treat her!”
At that, one of the twins decides to speak at length.
“Hey! Our dear leader isn’t going to let you get away with lying about your spouse, you know. Why, I bet he likes your wife so much, he wants to stick a coat hanger up her ****. After all, that’s the only way of showing affection he really knows.”
Both twins again erupt in laughter, this time so strongly that they fall out of their chairs. Hanger-Man leaps to his feet and begins chastising them for their lack of respect, which only seems to cause them to laugh even harder. Sensing failure, he throws up his hands in frustration and apologizes to me for not getting to my story, then announces that the meeting is to end early due to Nat and Richard's unruly behavior.
I wonder which one is which, but my interest fades. I head to the exit. Walking past Mark, I hear him talking to himself. Think I catch him say something about his “***** wife leaving,” before he sits down and buries his face in his hands. It occurs to me that a group of serial killers meeting in the secret basement of a pizzeria is strange enough without one of them bringing along his wife.
Open the door and head up the stairs. A man with flour on his hands, who was not here when I arrived, watches me coming out from behind the brick oven. I’m sure I see him wink as I leave.

Five minutes pass. I am standing in front of Joe’s, having decided to take a taxi home rather than walk. I'm trying not to stare at the Indian, who's situated next to a woman who'd been waiting outside in a **** nurse costume. He rests on his haunches, slowly rocking back and forth, still steadily chopping away at nothing. Everyone else from group has departed, the twins notably in a chauffeured limousine, whose driver bore a striking resemblance to Gene Wilder.
I feel uncomfortable. Perhaps I should try to make conversation.
“I’m pretty tired. Hope a cab comes soon.”
A grin appears on the strange man's face, which seems to stretch all the way back to his ears. The tomahawking stops. I wonder what would happen if I were to reintroduce myself.
“My name is Dan, as I said inside, but I think I should make a more formal introduction. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve never met a Native American before.”
“Chief Killing ******, round eye. Pleasure is all mine. And the reason you haven't met any of us is because there are not that many of us.”
A taxi mercifully appears.
“Yes, you’re right. See you next time, Chief.”

Romance

All alone in my apartment. I can find no reason not to give in to myself.
Down the stairs. Make my way through the vestibule and onto the street. Experience love at first sight with the anorexic looking woman standing on the corner of Seton Place and Ocean Parkway, waiting for the R-13 bus.  Approaching her, I get aroused. Ask for the time. She turns to speak with me. I pretend to examine the bus schedule. I have not looked a woman in the eyes since I began ******* at the age of eleven.
She tells me the time and I thank her, then quickly turn away so she will not notice my arousal. Our brief conversation replays itself in my mind until the bus comes.
We board and I sit as far away from her as possible, trying to position myself in such a way that my ******* will remain unseen. I wonder what stop she’ll get off at. I’ll get off there, too.

Our stop happens to be 2nd Street, between Peters Avenue and Chambers. My ******* has subsided. I am able to rise from my seat without concern. She exits from the front and I from the back.
Hide behind a minivan. Peer around it and see her enter a nearby apartment complex. She lives right here. As she fumbles around in her handbag looking for the right key, somebody wearing a U.S. Navy “Fear the Goat” baseball cap storms out of the building, slamming into her. She loses her balance and falls. The man continues on his way. He reaches the corner and turns out of view. She stands and regains her bearings, giving me time to ready the handkerchief and chloroform that I always keep with me.
Soak the handkerchief in chloroform.
Look to the left. To the right. Nobody is coming. Dash out from behind the minivan and head for my patient, who is just now opening the door.
Before clasping the rag over her mouth, I realize I have not planned our session very well. Where will I take her? Will we be seen? It doesn’t matter. I’ll think of something if the need arises.
After a brief struggle, my patient slumps over, dropping her keys. I bend over to get them, trying to cop a feel on the way back up. Enter the building and head for the nearest apartment door. Suspect it will be hers.
I keep her arm over my shoulder. Hold her by the waist, keeping her semi-*****. The feeling of having her limp by my side I can barely describe.
Now we’re almost there.
Almost –
I feel the rudiments of an ******* forming as I lock the door behind us. Home sweet home.

We have been in her bedroom for long enough to prepare for our session. I gaze at my patient, supine and unmoving. Seeing such perfection makes me lose control. Open my zipper, reliving each moment of tying her wrists to her bedposts. How I bound her with old, unwashed *******. ******* I found balled up, forgotten under her dresser, just waiting to be sniffed. I start jerking myself off. And this, I believe, means our session is ready to begin.
"Well, to start things off, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself? Just whatever comes to mind."
Silence.
“How about your your name?”
Silence.
“What do you hope to get out of therapy?”
Silence.
“Where do you tend to purchase your feminine hygiene products?”
Silence.
“Do you generally get along well with your family?”
Silence.
“What is your favorite color?”
Silence.
"What’s your favorite word?"
Silence.
“Are you perhaps feeling a bit uncomfortable at the moment?”
Silence.
“Do you find me attractive?”
Silence.
“Assuming you no longer do, at what age did you stop believing in the tooth fairy?”
Silence.
“Can you name a word that begins with the letter ‘s’?”
Silence.
Stop mid-stroke. My patient has not yet moved a muscle, made a sound, nor otherwise offered any response. Perhaps it’s not surprising that she would show so little trust in her psychotherapist.
"If you are going to be this uncommunicative, there is no reason for our session to continue. Good riddance to whatever is lurking around in your id; I see that I have no choice but to terminate our relationship."
Shove my ***** back into my pants. Hands won’t stop shaking. Stumble out of the bedroom. Out of the apartment. Onto a quiet, empty street. Still shaking. Head for the bus station, but can’t make it halfway there before feeling on the verge of collapse. Make a detour into an alleyway. Fall to my knees. *****. Curl up on my side and my mind slips away...

Going Under

Apparently, time passes. I find myself standing in front of my place of employment, the Pointer Funeral Parlor. Grasping the doorknob with my handkerchief, as I can't stand to touch it with my bare hand, I open the door. Head in. Immediately see the old man, Mr. Pointer, the owner. He approaches me. As I put my handkerchief away, he shakes a newspaper in my face.
“Singer!” You know the news about that ****** downtown?”
“The ******..?”
“Look at this paper!”
He slaps the newspaper into my chest.
“Somebody smothered a woman to death with a rag soaked in chloroform. Used so much that her heart crapped out. They found traces of it in her nose and throat. Seems she died pretty quickly.
“But guess what? She came from a loaded family and we’ve got her! Sam’s downstairs with the body right now. Probably almost done.”
“I am aware of what happened, Mr. Pointer. I knew the girl. She lived just a short bus ride from my apartment. May I go downstairs? I’d like to pay my respects.”
The old man eyes me suspiciously.
“That’s what funerals are for. I pay you to keep this place tidy, not ogle the clients.”
“I will have to sterilize the embalming room when Sam finishes, anyway.”
The old man gestures around the room, “What about all the garbage here that needs to be cleaned up? I can’t have my place of business looking like an embarrassment.”
“Shouldn’t take longer than a moment, Mr. Pointer.”
“Make sure everything is immaculate! I don’t need a custodian who is unwilling to do his work. I know what you're up to. Did you think that I’d believe your story about knowing the client?”
“She was…something of a casual acquaintance. I did not know her very well. She was not in the habit of opening up. A quiet sort of person, really.”
“Well then your grief shouldn't hinder you in performing your duties here as my employee! I swear, if not for the fact that there just aren't many people lining up for jobs cleaning funeral parlors, I’d have fired you years ago. Now get to work. You can do the downstairs later.”
              Mr. Pointer scowls at me and takes his leave. When he is out of sight, I make my way to the basement.

                “Dan Singer! You little snake in the grass, what are you doing down here? Don’t you have work to do upstairs?”
“Your grandfather said I could take a break and see you.”
“Ha! I’m sure he did. “
Samantha rushes in my direction. She smells strongly of formaldehyde. I pretend to find the odor unpleasant, so as to be able to look around the embalming room as she approaches me.
“I’m so happy you’re here. I could use a little break, myself.”
My eyes settle on the body of my former patient, which rests on a table on the far side of the room. Everything else seems very far away.
“…I don’t know why I ever got into the profession of ******* around with dead bodies. Stupid family business. It’s gross. Well, I do tend to enjoy the macabre. But the way you Jews handle things is far better. Just put the corpse in the ground. Be done with it. I know you haven’t been religious since you left your family, but…”
Our session seems as if it had taken place a lifetime ago. It's almost as if it couldn't have been real at all.
“…And the fact that I’m stuck working for my grandfather is just one more pain in the ***, you know? He really is one stereotypical grumpy old man. Hey, Dan? Hello! Earth to Dan!”
“Oh, sorry about that. I’m a little bit distracted. I was a friend of that woman over there.”
Samantha’s voice takes on an almost annoyed quality.
“You were? I’m so sorry. A close friend?”
“No. More like casual acquaintances, really. I just find it strange that she'd wind up here.”
“Pretty ****** up, isn’t it? So many young women disappearing, or plain turning up dead these days. It had me on edge for a while. Remember a few months back when that lady disappeared from the Ranch Burger? I eat there all the time! Couldn’t believe it. Thank goodness I read about that goof serial killer group. Helped me laugh about the whole thing.”
“I’m sure whoever thought it up must be a real character.”
“Oh! You should totally check out the site it was on, if you haven’t. Didn’t I send you an email with the link? I forget the name offhand. With the Slinkee logo. It has all sorts of weird ****. There was a great joke on there yesterday. Something like, ‘Did you hear about the guy who liked to play Russian roulette while *******? He really shot his load!’ Ha!”
I force a smile.
“Samantha, don’t ever let anyone tell you that you don’t have a great sense of humor.”
She seems very pleased and smiles back at me, drawing a bit closer.
“Uh, Sam. What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
Closer.
“Uh, Sam?”
“Huh?“
I turn toward my former patient, looking for help. She is in no position to offer any. “Dan, are you all right? You don’t need to be so shy when I’m around. We’ve known each other for years. I know that you're upset about your friend. You can talk to me about it, if you want.”
“I'm sorry, but I don't.”
Samantha frowns.
“Well, if you do, you know where to find me. Anyway, I’m going to take a trip to the  restroom upstairs, then speak with my grandfather. Maybe you can say goodbye to your friend while I’m gone.”
“Oh, yes. It was nice chatting with you, Sam.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Samantha fusses with her hair a bit and heads to the stairs.
Up the stairs.
The basement door closes.
Now.
Rush across the room. Within seconds, aroused and exposed, I empty myself over the face of my object of affection. Fumble about in my pocket for the handkerchief. Clean her nose and mouth. Run to the stairs. Out the basement. Out the building. This is the last time I will ever pass through that door. I do not even think of looking back.

The Golden Fleece

It's that day again. On my way to group. I have not returned to the Pointer Funeral Parlor since reuniting with my patient. Samantha has called me several times and left messages inquiring as to my whereabouts. Mr. Pointer has called once and informed me that should I not return to work, I can consider myself fired. He seems to not have considered the possibility that I might have quit.
Approaching Joe’s Pizzeria, I see the twins. They are engaged in what appears to be a lively conversation.
“You see, ****, here’s what it is. I fear death just slightly more than I hate life. That’s what keeps me from offing myself.”
“We all appreciate that you're hanging in there.”
“Oh, *******. I’m glad you can find satisfaction being a nabob trust fund baby, but I’ve never given enough of a ****.”
“I employ my position in a number of ways that enhance our fine city’s cultural standing.”
“What? You mean like giving money to museums and the opera? You think anybody cares that you’re a patron of the farts? Opera only exists so that fat Italian guys can get laid.”
“*******.”
The twins stare at one another for a bit.
“You know, I appreciate the arts. Really, I do. I once stuck my **** in a copy of Hamlet.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. Your copy, in fact.”
“Disgusting.”
“Then I stuck it in a copy of Othello. After that, Hamlet just wouldn’t do it for me anymore.”
Both twins are overcome with fits of laughter. After the better part of a minute, it subsides.
“Ah, Dan. Good evening to you.”
“Hello, Dan!”
“Hello.”
“Off anyone recently?”
“Oh, don’t put it so boorishly.”
“No.”
“Oh really?”
“Even my sibling reads the Times.”
“There was a great story recently.”
“A crime story.”
“A ******.”
“A woman was found dead in her apartment. ******* all *****-like to her bedposts with her underwear. Nothing was taken and the woman hadn’t been sexually assaulted. She hadn't even been undressed. She'd simply been given a fatal dose of chloroform.”
“How strange so much information would be given in the paper.”
“It is curious, indeed, ****. But this is a strange world and these are strange times. And I’m willing to bet that our friend over here has been contributing to the strangeness of things. I mean, this chloroform killing was quite obviously not done by us.”
“We prefer little boys.”
“No. You prefer little boys. I also like little girls. And I have to endure as best I can our monotonous and boring escapades. Ours, as you know, is an associated effort.”
“Little girls irritate me.”
“Well wouldn’t you want to ******* **** them, then? Ugh. Brother. Anyway, we know we didn’t do this last ******.“
“And it certainly wasn't Chief Killing ******. He’d have made a far bigger spectacle of the thing.”
“So, since Jay’s no longer active and leaving bodies behind isn't Mark’s style, that leaves you.”
“It might have been somebody from outside of group,” I suggest.
A half smile spreads across one of the twins' faces.
“What! Are you denying it? Why the **** would you attend a serial killer support group if you aren’t going to dish out all the greusome details of your ***** deeds?”
“Some things are best left private,” I respond.
“Yeah, like a *****’s privates?”
One of them chuckles quietly.
“Hang on, are you intimating that our friend was unable to perform sexually?”
“I think he was limp as the left side of a stroke victim.”
“Oh, was that the case, Dan? Were you unable to attain arousal?”
“I do not want to talk about this.”
“Oh, of course you don’t. I wouldn’t.”
“Me either.”
“Well then, about what would you like to talk? We do so love making friendly chit chat, you know.”
“Nothing. There's no time. Group is about to start.”
“Oh, he's right. We should get heading in. I bet Mark has some great stories about his **** of a wife for us this week.”
“I am certain that he does.”
Wondering why I even came back for another meeting and strongly wishing that I were not in the twins' company, I enter the pizzeria. They follow closely behind. We make our way to the basement.
Everyone from last week's meeting is present, along with an excited seeming man. He wears a grey fedora and grey trench coat, under which he appears not to be wearing any pants.
“Welcome, welcome!” Hanger-Man exclaims in greeting. “We've all been waiting for you, but me especially. I must make a very important announcement! We will not be having regular group. Sadly, this means that Dan will not be able to tell us his story. Sorry, Dan. Still, everybody please be seated, so that we may begin.”
Everyone takes a seat.
“It is so wonderful to have the whole lot of you here. The twins. Mark. The Chief. Dan. What a splendid group! Truly, just the sort of people I think I need to begin the first stages of a wonderful project on which I have been working with my very good friend Marvin. Say hello, Marvin.”
“Hellooo, Marvin!” exclaims the guy in the trench coat, waving his arms above his head.
“Really enthusiastic guy, isn't he?” sneers Mark.
“I find his enthusiasm infectious!” retorts Hanger-Man. “And I am certain that you all will as well, once you hear a little bit about what he and I have been planning. You see,  I have always seen our meetings as potentially being much more than just a support group for individuals sharing our particular affliction.
“So much more! You guys don't even know the half of it!” Marvin exitedly chimes in.
“That's exactly right!” exclaims Hanger-Man, giving a thumbs up. “For you see, given my personal history, I knew I could help others overcome their murderous desires. After all, I was able to overcome my own. However, I realized that beyond simply assisting people in learning to control themselves, it would be better to also focus their energies in a new direction. Yes, to focus their energies in a new, profitable direction! For what I envisioned would function not merely as a support group, but as the core of what can only be called a great exercise in entrepreneurship! Isn't that right, Marvin?”
“Yep. Jason used to talk to me all the time about how he had these wonderful ideas, but lacked the people he needed to put them into action.”
“Excuse me!” interrupts one of the twins. “But just who's this Marvin guy, anyway?”
“I was wondering the same thing, myself,” adds the other.
Hanger-Man slaps the palm of his hand to his forehead.
“Ack! I suppose I should have made a proper introduction, what with the sensitive nature of our dealings here. Well, you see, Marvin is an old friend of mine. We grew up together. The two of us lost touch as teenagers, but rekindled our relationship a few years ago, after bumping into one another at an upscale cat house in Las Vegas.”
“I was there to **** a ******,” explains Marvin. “I'd never ****** a ******. Always wanted to, but never had the chance.”
He looks around the room as if hoping for a sign that someone else might share this particular interest. Not finding one, Marvin sighs.
“I'd seen a TV show where a guy went to Vegas and was able to **** a ******. It's how I got the idea.”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat, Marv!” shouts one of twins, barely able to refrain from laughing.
“All right, all right,” says Hanger-Man. “As I was trying to explain, Marvin and I wound up reconnecting after many years of not having seen one another. It took no time at all for us to pick up our friendship right where we had left off. And even though I was a bit wary of doing so, I found myself admitting to him that I, his old friend Jason, was the notorious Coat Hanger Killer.”
Marvin solemnly nods his head.
“It was a bit of a shock.”
“I know it was, Marv, but you took it in stride.”
“Excuse me!” again interrupts a twin. “But why the **** isn't this guy wearing any pants?”
Marvin, apparently embarrassed by this remark, attempts to adjust his trench coat so that it will hang lower below his knees. It doesn't.
“Enough!” erupts Hanger-Man. “No more interruptions! I'm trying to tell a story, here!”
He scowls at the twins. They adjust themselves in their seats and cross their hands in their laps, each smiling mischievously. Hanger-Man clears his throat, then resumes his tale.
“All right, it was not too long after my confession to Marvin that I began to reflect upon what I'd been doing with my life. I suppose finally opening up about my activities to someone else allowed me to also be more honest with myself. I searched my soul and was able to trace the origin of my behavior back to what had happened with my mother. Not too long after that, I abandoned serial killing. Yes, Marvin was the catalyst for my abandoning serial killing.”
“I was very proud of you,” says Marvin. “It was a big change to make.”
“Indeed it was, my friend. But I was able to make it, thanks in no small part to you. And so,  after forsaking the murderous path on which I was traveling, I began contemplating what I next wanted to do with my life. And it was at this time that I first began to develop the idea of forming our group.”
“We started discussing it, you see, over drinks at a return visit to the ***** house,” adds Marvin. “Jason told me that he wanted to do some outreach. I told him it would be a great idea and everything picked up from there.”
“It occurred to me,” continues Hanger-Man, “that the group should encourage its members to focus their energies on something other than committing murders.”
“You mean that entrepreneur ****?” asks Mark.
“Entrepreneurship, yes,” answers Hanger-Man.
“Jason had such a great idea, I immediately signed up,” says Marvin, “and I think all of you should as well.”
“Signed up for what, exactly?” Mark asks him.
“A no fail money making opportunity!”
The twins look at one another, grinning. Mark's face lights up.
“Well, ****! I could use some extra cash,” he says. “I need to buy a taller bed frame.”
Hanger-Man smiles in elation.
“I think, Mark, that this might be just the thing for you!”
“Well, how's it work?”
“It's quite simple, really” explains Marvin. “You first join the program, which Jason has named 'The Golden Group,' by paying an initial fee. Then you convince others to join. With their payments, you begin making back your original investment. When the people you recruit begin finding new investors, you get to collect on what they earn. So, as time goes on and more people join, the money just rolls right in!”
“Stop! Hold it right there!” cries out a twin. “You're trying to get us involved in a pyramid scheme!”
“Why, you scoundrel!” shrieks the other.
“Now just a minute, guys,” whines Marvin. “You have not even heard us all the way out.”
“Nor will we!” say the twins in unison. They clasp hands and rise from their seats.
“Hey, what gives?” asks Mark. “You telling me that this whole time we've been here, the group was really some scam?”
“That's right,” says a twin. “Jay and his friend have been waiting for enough people to arrive so that they could begin fleecing us all out of our money.”
“Come on, now,” pleads an offended looking Hanger-Man. “If I were really trying to do something like that, why wouldn't I have just targeted the two of you? You’re so well off that I'd imagine you have more money than everyone else here combined will see in their lifetimes!”
Chief Killing ******, who has been sitting silently throughout the meeting, suddenly springs to his feet and cries out at the top of his lungs. Everyone in the room looks at him. He shrugs his shoulders and walks out as if nothing happened.
“What the **** was that?” Mark wonders aloud.
“Who cares?” snorts a twin in response. “My sibling and I are out of here, too. Let's beat it.”
The Twins bow toward Hanger-Man. Before he can make an attempt to dissuade them from leaving, they turn and begin skipping away. I hear them laughing as they make their way up the stairs.
Hanger-Man tells them to wait.
“Will somebody explain to me what the **** is going on?” Mark demands. “This group's seriously just some scam?”
Hanger-Man looks at him pathetically.
“No, no, there's been a misunderstanding, Mark. Only a misunderstanding, that's all. Perhaps I should not have invited Marvin to sit in tonight. I thought that with the recent addition of Dan, the time had come to introduce everyone to my greater plans.”
I have had enough. Stand and rush for the door. Head up the stairs. Hanger-Man and Marvin yelling at me all the while. Exit the pizzeria and light a cigarette. I am halfway up the block when I hear someone call out to me from an alley not far off. I go to investigate.
“It is true, indeed, what they say. You cannot trust the white man.”
Peer into the alley and see Chief Killing ******, standing idly with his hands by his sides.
“Come here, I have something for you.”
Not entirely sure why I am doing so, I drop my cancer stick and enter the alley and approach the Chief. He smiles strangely and removes a silver whistle from behind the feathers of his headdress.
“I wonder, do you know why I am called Chief Killing ******?”
“No, I do not.”
“Then let me show you.”
              He places the whistle to his lips. A piercng shriek echoes through the alley.
               “Now you will see.”
              Nothing seems to be happening. I stare at the Chief in confusion for a few seconds, before I hear the clinking of high-heeled shoes. Dozens of pairs of high-heeled shoes, all of which sound like they are heading for the alley.
“I would like to introduce you to my *******.”
I see a series of strumpets, walking single file. They break line. Cover the wall to my left, to my right. They take formation in front of a dumpster at the back end of the alley, then finally close off the entryway. All wear pink miniskirts and black corsets. Black garters. Overly large, golden hoop earrings dangle comically from their ears as they take their places. The Chief stretches his arms above his head and yawns.
“Now they will show you what they do.”
More quickly than I can react, several of the prostitutes grab me from behind. One whispers into my ear that it will be fun to **** on my severed ****. She kisses me gently on the cheek. I am unable to refrain from getting an *******.
“Farewell, friend,” says Chief Killing ******.
A short, Arab looking ****** emerges from behind those standing at the alley's entrance. She makes her way in my direction, licking her lips and slowly drawing a forefinger across her neck. She holds a machete in her left hand.
I make no effort to struggle as I am forced to my knees. The ***** raises the machete above her head.
“This will not hurt a bit, my beloved.”
Close my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. I know it won't.
An ironic and contemporary take on the classic Orpheus myth by a modern Beatnik
You paint the room blue
LOVE’Z interiors are colored Red ash

You see faces and flower-Z
My BELOVED sees it Red-Z

Your 'delicate' is your ship-wreck
Mine – Oh.. it is my BELOVEDz deck
Who is so deep and "BLUE" till neck

Just to say that..
Embers do not lose LOVE
Because it creates those Red-Z
That LOVERz adorn in their eyes
When they cry the tears of blood red

YOU keep the doors & windows open to
Let LOVERz moon light illuminate heart's fires
Let inner blood's red embers glow
To light up our BLUE SOULS slow

And when we see our sparkle & glow
Don't look under - our past demons - below

Let no one revoke the lost nightmare
That destroyed every LOVER'z dream

Even when our lives are vanquished
Our LOVE still glitters
Through the embers of RED ashes
Through our monochromatic Cold BLUE Tears

In our curiousness & consciousness
Let us “let go” our synthesized reasoning
To play our parts honestly (without faking)

Let us deal a new pack - Cards of LOVE
The Queen and the Jack

Oh..., Let LOVE be their savior
"The Quee(R) and The (Z)ack"
Attempted Explanation of the Poem:

Blue is the color of LOVE and Red is the blood. The Queen is the LOVER and the Jack the BELOVEDz... This poem is a conversation between two LOVERS who are not with each other, and one tells the others about the pain of LOVE that flows out of tears. Even claiming about LOVE, most people do not allow to come in their open doors. And when they see LOVE, they get scared of the demons in their head. The poem reassures that even in terrible pain - LOVE and loving is fine...

Thanks to the Poetess "Priyam" for extracting this out of me. Check her Poems.
E Patrick Heeney Sep 2014
•Copyright 1993-2014 snipet by EPH
E. Patrick Heeney from pg. 1 of 2
CRA-A-ACK MONSTER
WHEN WILL YOU EVER LEARN?  CRA-A-ACK MONSTER
DON'T WAIT UNTIL YOU BURN.

You just **** on a can to get your high
and do odd things until you die
first it was snorting, then you tried base;
you knew it was risky when you burnt up your face.
This is less than one third of the poem, my first poem. In honor of my long lost relative Seamus Heaney, who passed August 30, 2013, I remained reserved.
annh May 2022
Ducks wrestle doubly
Wet from rain and river flow;
As above…qua-a-ack…so below.
‘Some people talk nonstop, but say nothing. Ducks speak only one word, quack, and communicate everything.’
- Jarod Kintz, Ducks are the Stars of the Karaoke Bird World
MICHAEL SHADDOX Aug 2011
u texted.
u called.
sorry i haven't
called b(l)ack
or written b(l)ack.

truth is...
i've
f
a
l
l
e
n
into
a
deep
deep
deep
[••••••••••]
sleep
s­leep
sleep.

sometimes i feel like i could sleep forever.

i could tell you my dreams...
(but my dreams are my dreams.
(and i am the dreamer))

i could tell u my thoughts...
(but my thoughts are my thoughts.
(and no one's really interested))

sooooooooooo
what now you ask?
good question.
i was wondering
the
same
exact
thing.
Arborvitae Nov 2014
Ahh-he-che'em ack-ahem. Sorry, let me clear my throat.

One day I set out galavanting, looking for a high.
I meandered to the ocean shore and set a lively stride.
My eyes were wet, my heart was light as I looked out at the splendor,
About that time I heard a rumble, a sudden yearning for a chicken tender.

I galloped to an eatery in hopes of a hearty meal,
But had a measly handful of coins, so I opted for a deal.
The only place I found tat would accept my sum of coins
For anything sufficient enough to satisfy my *****
Was a gritty place called Taco Bell, but it was my only choice.
The cashier was a voluptuous dame and my trousers became quite moist.

She said to me, "what will you have?", in a shockingly low-pitched voice.
I was taken aback for a moment, but stuttered, "a number six, I think".
"Comin' right up honey", he or she said with a wink.
I just smiled shyly and went to go fill up my drink.

My food was finally ready, but I was a bit wary,
I could't tell what was in my taco - squirrel, beef or canary.
My hunger pushed me through my fear and I finally took a bite,
Although skeptical at first, my taste buds did delight!

I had finally finished with my meal and was satisfied and full,
But down below my abdomen I felt a mighty pull.
I had no time I knew at once and dashed to find relief.
The single men's room was in sight, but who should be a thief?!
The cashier with the arousing bosoms had stolen my salvation...

As I stood there in that Taco Bell I felt a curious sensation.
When normally I could have held it, a complete bowel prostration.
While the **** was pouring out like a broken sink,
My mind started to wander and I couldn't help but think,
*If the women's  room is out of order, I wonder which she/he has,
A set of both, a meat-locker or a **** and nads?
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
so... what's wong
    in that's ****...
with the ol'
        squint eye?
******* a lemon?
f'ack'ah f'ack'ah...
dream of south korea?
must be it.
aww....
you so porcelain?
give me a moment...
let me call the Iberian
bull to give you
      a tax analysis.
i'm not even joking!
you ******* chinks!
last time i checked...
the Vietnamese
were not the Korean
southern *******
playing the pride card
of a premature hard-on.
Nina McNally Nov 2017
Back to the beginning;
A** time when we didn't know anything and
Cared for each other no matter what. Not
Knowing who

They are, but not caring about that.
Only knowing we're all in this

Beautiful world, living
Each day
As it is. Can we go back to that?
Understanding that the past has past, but
Time is forever and we should learn from it.
In this world, we got this one life and we should never take it
For granted!
Understand we're all living this
Life together! Let's make it a peaceful one!
McNally/Flanders, Inc. 2017.
Wrote this acrostic at the beginning of a work day earlier this month.
Sometimes these don't make a lot of sense but the message is clear; PEACE!
We're all in this together!
Song title- Sofia Carson
Nina McNally Jul 2015
Just in the nick of time, I
Escape from the world and
The crazy people that live in it.

People in a hurry, going nowhere fast
And not stoping to enjoy the beauty. "Our
Culture are vultures" not
Knowing when enough is enough. Let's go

Back to the past when
Life was simply and people actually cared.
Understanding that we can change the future.
Each day we have a chance to make a
S**tance and change the outcome of our future for the children!
©2015
McNally, Inc.
Title and influenced from Fall Out Boy.
"We are in charge of our destiny!"
"We make our own luck!"
Chris Slade Sep 2021
Night raids on Salt End
were legendary… It were a
giant chemical works with ship docks,
silos, storage tanks, fuel dumps,
an ideal 'drop off point' for Gerry…

But Salt End plant’s night raids
on Hedon Road
weren’t gonna daunt our lot,
they lived a mile or so down the lane to Preston
and seemed unafraid of gerri’n shot.

But they built a shelter across’t main road
in a field… On the outside It were a haystack
within the walls, six foot thick… proper beds
on hay bails to the front and back... cosy.

Down the middle was a ‘lounge’ with chairs,
lights, a radio - electric run from’t big ‘ouse
It’s better than being at’ome our Charlie used to say
For the eldest (and the architect) he’d not much nowse.

Me mam (then 19) told me she bussed it into Hull
“****** the Doodlebugs” She needed Jitterbugs…
and they still danced at City Hall.
******* to Gerry and his mates.
Margie & her pal René,
dauntless, they had a right ball!

Last Bus to ‘Withernsea’ from town
dropped her off at the junction
by the Speedway on Hedon Road.
Just as her way was lit by fire bombs - all about
when Gerry dropped his final unaimed load
Maybe ack-ack’d sort him out.

She was 2 miles from home… every few seconds another blast.
Scuttling …dodging whistling incendiaries,
running fast, whippet like…
any second could’ve been her last
anything too close she’d have to jump in't ****.

She couldn’t mek it t’t shelter or house so picked
the coal shed - instead… threw herself down
on coals…noise lifted - silence dawned… all clear
heavy breathing - not hers -  she wan’t alone
What if it’s one of them - a downed ***** airman.

Nervous, terrified more like she let out a little shudder
a gentle cough… to test her nerve
“Is that you Margie?… You daft ******!”
It were brother Tom… He’d been t’t Nags Head
and he’d run the opposite way from the village instead.
Dave Martsolf May 2015
Krack-ack-rack fleeing,
tree limb limb
swinging

Bank bank dip slipping, tail flipping, pout snout

Soft mud ooze soothing,
  hippo sun funning

Soft eyes      scanning,   flatboat
Nina McNally Oct 2015
Back to the beginning
And back to the start. Let's
Change our future and raise our
Kids right!

Time to stop robbing banks and
Others; stop being racist, sexist, or whatever

Everyone--STOP! We are the same,
All on the inside. Doesn't
Really matter the color, ***, who we love- we are all
The same-human beings-mammals-
H**ope that helps-if not, we are like M&Ms; *fighting over your favorite color only to realize they're all chocolate on the inside.
Inspired by and song title from Steve Aoki and Fall Out Boy!
I can't remember where I heard the M&M;'s comparison but it was from a celebrity.
©McNally, Inc.
9/5/2015
Thorns Apr 2019
idk it's wen. day my dudes...

"Oof."

"Ack!"

"XD"

"Sometimes you just wanna be an eboy, you feels?"

"Gang, gang uwu."

"Well, stupid as in evil."

"Your. Eyeliner. You look like a raccoon on crack!"
Oof...
idk
My father was mowing the lawn.
He called me over and asked,
"Where's your brother?",
I replied, "I don know",
He said back, sharply,
"Use your mind!",
so I thought in my head
about it, and he went,
"Ack, go find him!".
As I was walking away,
I thought, "Use your mind?
I wonder what that means?"
Someone May 2015
(A) gloomy night with the rain falling on my
(B)ack, yet you're not here, you're never here. Please, just get in your
(C)ar. Come to my place, meet me at the
(D)iner where we first met. Turns out, it's
(E)xactly how we left it. And that's not even
(F)air, because we aren't how we used to be when we first
(G)ot here. We're different now, we drifted and you no longer love me and it feels like
(H)ell. Because I still love you. I always loved you. You were always my one and
(I) loved you. But that's the past, and now I'm
(J)ust a figment of your imagination- who the hell have I been
(K)idding? I was just a passing thought, the
(L)ittle rain droplet on the window that you follow, but,
(M)arvelously,
(N)ever remember.
(O)h lover, come to my place. I can make you your favorite kind of
(P)ancakes. I still remember how you
(Q)uestioned if I was ever really alive. I suppose you have your answer now.
(R)un, run far away because you're over me, but I still remember your middle name.
(T)ucker, your middle name was tucker and your first name was as
(U)nique and beautiful as you are. Do you remember how I would kiss your freckles? You'd get embarrassed, but that was my favorite kind of
(V)ernacular. Your cute, embarrassed language was so enticing, and I longed to hear you speak. The rain is falling on my back, and you're not here. That's probably a good thing. The rain is falling and its
(W)ashing away what remains of you from my
(X)enophobic skin. You're washing away and I'm so glad it finally happened.
(Y)ou're gone, you're ******* gone. You've been gone for a while now, you left a while ago, but it was me, who refused to let go of something so disgusting and yet somehow still amazing. You're gone now. You're gone, and I finally feel completely,
(Z)aftig.
Madokaxplorer Aug 2014
dark ravens
in the sky
feeling sad
and i just dont know why

tear apart
everything i had
anything i would
ever say

dont look back
mcdonalds
silver sky
dragon
firefile
inside cabinet
businessmen in suits
in suits
my internet explorer floppy disc
i feel
dominaiyyyy
ayy lmaoo
ALIENWARE
soft '09 fest
inside piercings
form of experimentation also expression
dark ravens
geometric polynomi09 uo i/o sunm CEREAL code this krkkkr k ack!
si loooo euop! skkkkgggg io gooodd ohhh oh, goodbye days venus to ALIENS darkravens b-tuple exterior layers of nomonoalistic solumidism through the n(x+1)
Upon further experimentation, n(x+1) proved to be a b-tuple DARK RAVEN. While SADBOYS2001 demonstrated that flakisimatory polydeciheliotuples could expand our understanding of LIFE, THE UNIVERSE AND THE GHETTO-VERSE, there is still a larger area to explore regarding this matter.

It's like something's missing
from my life
that can't be captured in conversation.

I want this box I hold to be translucent, with flashing L.E.D.s, and excluding all pain and ugliness,
but instead I live my life like I'm on deviant art,
at 13 years of age,
attempting to sketch portraits of an idealized Sasuke,
blissfully unaware of the gross distortions and geometric proportions
I don't want my box to have a normal beetle inside of it
I want pokemon inside my box, and them to be real
I want Sonic and Tails to be real so I can go on adventures with them
but the dark ravens
dissipate
all evil
darkness
crawling
in my skin
these wounds
they will not
-heil (2020, Philosophy of Mind, published by Routledge)
believe it me 2009
ManVsYard Nov 2014
Speedy data transfer vine
indexed in junk DNA
Instantanious communication
no possibility of delay?
Holo-fractal hookups.
Is everyone on the line?

or

are we listen--ing too slow
are our ears to big to tell
ack from nak, yes from no
The solution? maybe
Quantum time!

Just one eternal grandfather clock
with only a TIC,
never a TOC
delays maybe caused by reneade gyres
like intestellar,
"slowdown feller"
invisible, swirls, with gushing spires.

E-fracting for minutes, hours, years
decades, eons, epics and more.
As pools of whirls slow,
there appear open doors.
but
The locks are no where to be found
The keys?
All scattered on the floor.

What is that, hissing sound?
Sometimes when I write, I'm quite trite, but I feel like it's alright
Because cliches shine bright for a reason,
And even that adage is one that's grown to be cliche in the passing seasons.

I'm trying to find my niche in this clique with that ******* Nietzsche,
But with only a quick hit of cynicism so I can better allay
My wicked mind and others like it when they're led astray
In this filthy ******* ashtray we call society.

****, I just relapsed, to my dismay,
Back to this pessimistic disarray.
Time to relay the baton back to positivity.
The track is winding and long and it might take a couple days,
But in the end it's worth the race to dispel this malaise.

Existentialism's universal insignificance seems quite insignificant
When you're surrounded by an unprecedented presence that gets spent
Embracing your spirits and relieving the stress
Presented by the pretense of living in the present tense.
I'm receiving presents of intertwining limbs wrapping up tight
And smiles that stretch on all through the night.

These gifts provide stability to cognitive dissonance and
Bring silence to internal cacophonous disturbances
Presented by the manifestation of autophobic tendencies
Being faced as a penance for pretending to be
A tenant of a higher intellect, when in actuality
I was evicted from the rental life
Because I spent all I had on observing internal strife.
Deducing "important" conclusions that are now more or less lost in the abyss of adolescent confusion.
Flicked away with the butts and roaches to fertilize the pavement.
I still haven't quite learned how to behave yet.

Time to reconnect with my potential.
Time to spit something influential.
Thinking about time is bound to make you go mental.
Just rip the arms off the clock and stick them in your back pocket, or pin them to your chest and wear them as credentials.
By the power of Chronos!
Did someone alter the past or is this just coincidental?!

Jack of all trades, being mastered by none.
I don't believe we should sell all our passions and possessions to invest in just one.
See, I'd prefer to do it all, skip the cash, and just run.
Might as well do what you love for the sake of love and having fun.
Motivational status. Learn this, you must, young padawan.
See, this stanza's so hot-topical it can reach anyone.
Am I speaking your language or cookin facts well past well-done?

Everybody's a contradiction, so why be a slave to an opinion?
I'm just a student of the human condition.
I'm adjusting my brain sack to sit back in the academic position.
I wear slacks like a hack because I was cut too much in the past,
And you know what they say,
"You are what you eat" or "You wear your heart on your sleeve",
In this case, though, my sleeve is my pant-leg, and I ate so much slack
That during the bereavement of my beliefs I dry-heaved so painfully that
Eventually I couldn't help but to yak.

Now I'm cut from a new cloth with a diamond-tipped saw
Because I reaped what I had sewn into the fabric,
Ripped what I thought I had known to bits out of habit,
Scattered the remnants into the super-heated granules mixing alchemystic magik.
Combined the metals and materials to make this beautiful stained glass in the attic.
It's cool now. Fragile though.
But when the light shines through, oh,
Would you look at that? The world's painted to look so much more colorful.

Mercury Rising fresh out of retrograde,
Shines through the colored spots in the window pane,
And casts long strands of shadows where the lead is laid.
It's quite a **** night to be alive in this place.
But too much mercury and too much lead
Will leave you with rot in your gut and sick in your head.
You have to be sure the planets are aligned and the elements are balanced before heading off to bed.

Tisk tisk, don't forget about the task, Pat.
You can't carry all of your eggs in one basket.
The weight of the ones on top will eventually overcome what's beneath the surface and crack it.
Now, I'm not saying that you can't have it
Or that you should run away and never look back.
ACK! That ****'s so wack, Pat.
Carrying a pack dripping with shells and splattered embryonic sacs.

Don't walk in the ditch on either side of the path, stay right in line with the fulcrum.
Don't get the thread loops crossed in the side-saddle stitch, or swing too fast with the pendulum.
Stop yourself from having a fit and throwing a tantrum  
When people slip your name between their lips and slap you with a diss, brat.
They only know the this side of that, and you don't even know the half.

Oh, brother. Rats. Nuts. Crap. Drat!
I went for the kick and fell flat on my back.
Hang your head and shuffle your shoes like an old Schultz cartoon.
Nah, kick rocks, you buffoon, I don't need your **** blues,
Especially if it comes in the form of a security blanket.
I will bring a towel though, in case I panic or get wet.
The galaxy is nuts. Peanuts to be exact.
Here's a complimentary pack for your flight.
Shut your red eye and recline.
Relax, everything is *fiiiiiiiiiiiine
And they keep growing and growing and growing...
Margaret Sites Mar 2011
I'm obsessed with the ideA
I'm enraged by the lack                      
I want it for m[y]self
S[o] I can j[u]st feel.
Feel it in my body
Live it in my mind
Caress me with the REality
That maybe one day it can find

Me.
_________________­___

It'll never be.
What you want it to be.
Everything seems perfect.
From the other side.
And when you get there,
It's nothing like you thought.
Nothing.
Never is, never was
Never will be.

Get used to it

-
'11
Originally, strikethrough and underline were used, but I cannot use those options on this website, so Caps and brackets were used for emphasis.
Sean Fitzpatrick Apr 2014
Born to be a bumble bee,
Bumbly more than acceptable,
Bumbling opportunities,
Dim at best, shh ghmm ack ole

Friends we are
You, we, bumblers
Bumping things too far
Until off with our bums

In prison will write book
"Bumbler Chronicles"
I'll put that I bumbled first
And that you bumbled
Ever
After
Wary of bumblers and their cohorts
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
before i begin, a pre-scriptum...
         in my hand, this minute?
                   what a rare delight...
the Beauties of Sterne:
                                with some account of his life...
printed for J. Walker,
published by J. Walker, Paternoster Row &
   J. Harris, St. Paul's Church Yard...
London... 1811!
    and being a big "fan boy" of the fiction
that a bibliophile might have an adventure:
Roman Polanski's the Ninth Gate...
   now, for a book that's... 208 years old?!
it's not in bad shape... sure...
the hardcover is missing by a half...
but all the text is intact...
              obviously colouring of the pages...
but hey... i'm not a museum...
             the book is still fiddled with...
ha ha, the opening page with a picture
reads as follows:
   there are worse occupations in this world,
than feeling a woman's pulse...
perhaps a quote about... insensibility?
   it reads as follows:
       it is the fate of mankind, too often,
to insensible of what they may enjoy at
the easiest rate (sermon XLII)...
   besides, lucky for me youtube continues
to glitch from time to time...
    now looking more in line with channels
than individual artists...
   notably? Harakiri Diat (channel)...
eh... :wumpscut, the soft machine,
demdike stare, vomito *****, feindflug
weren't enough...
          turns out... there's more...
beyond penta, matutero and GloOMy
PhAntOM... well, please, allow me:
   filmmaker - the love market,
              la ***** bianca - demian...
hell... if you want to venture into the past?
i know one band that freaked out
my ex-girlfriend... gong - flying teapot...
or that song by greenskeepers, lotion...
               i thought i'd never see someone
become freaked out about music...
curios and also highly curious, yes...
but freaked out?
                 primitive knot - puritan...
demolition group - you better...
          1986 Yugoslav minimal electro...
Bruce Roach - Gut...
              and as it turns out...
    i look from this corner of the internet and find
absolutely no need to delve into
the dark web... install Tor...
           if you really want to...
  you'll find all you need... but you need
to sift through a bibliography of a book prior
to... it's all here... this sort of material
has an inbuilt filter... it filters out
             mainstream consumers of content...
i should know...
    3 websites that banned me,
1 suspended me...
                   i crossed the threshold...
    normie poetic: outcast *****...
           yet i still sometimes happened to chance
upon a will...
           lao che - soundtrack (the whole album
is decent) -
              


.i once heard it was based upon the following maxims: bogatemu wszystko wolno (the rich are allowed anything), siła razy gwałt (force multiplied by ****)... well... over the years, that much was true... but then i conjured a reply: nie wszystko wolno bogatemu (not everything is given an allowance to be expressed by the rich) and wola odiąć gwałt (will, having substracted ****): otherwise it's still wola razy gwałt (will, multiplied by ****).

****, i only just "woke" up from
this game,
you know that game...
oh i'm pretty sure you know it...
it's called
   pass the jew along...
   rudolf höss
      cited, among the list:
ibrahim ibn yaqub,
         radhanites (there's a surd
H in there, rad-'anites)
    casimir III...
esp. the latter...
           so.. give the current h'americans,
we're still playing the globalist
nomad game of: juggling the jews,
yes, no, maybe?
so my mother tended to
two old jewish women,
because, just "because"
their sons were active in
the "economics" of passing law
and techno-literacy?
oh... right... i "see"...
                            i... "see"...
in defence, of the "neglected" ones...
makes perfect sense,
de facto 51,
                  area 51 was always
a propaganda convert term
for Israel, rather than some area
bound to Nevada, wansn't it?
wasn't it?
                      ask me again
one year from now,
did we live peacefully among the jews?
they'll tell you the joke...
didn't the jews shoot,
with riffles,
   with bent barrels / sights
aiming at themselves rather
than the nazis?
       no, no soap jokes when
it comes to yews...
the yids...
      everyone in poland just
wondered: why so pacified?
        so blatant in walking into
an inferno?
                      you know...
it took Poland longer to surrender,
while being attacked by both
the Germans and the Russians,
than it took for the Fwench
to be attacked by the sole effort
of the Germans?
    funny... that...
                               i truly admire
some nazis, for their ingenuity...
notably? erwin rommel...
   lothar von arnauld de la periè(re)...
(subtle, i give you that one,
per-y'eh...
                 'old 'ack 'old 'ck
   h-b-h-b,
                                    rein in...
otherwise perié... ergo without
                                           the -re)...
michael wittmann...
and i'm a ******...
      **** me...
they didn't bomb paris,
might as well state:
they also didn't bomb
  marienburg or most of danzig...
Warsaw? taken down,
levelled, brick by brick,
        until no brick stood on brick...
              what?!
i thought the western capitalist-ico
communist insurgents
wanted target practice?
          i thought these people
wanted nazis, no?
          i'll admit... tiki torches?
you must have never looked
at european football hooligans...
tiki torches?!
you having a bbq?
            never heard of flares?        
- mind you...
you know what's worse beside
beind ridiculed?
having your intelligence
insulted...
i.e. do i look like someone
who managed to ****
your mother with a *******
harmonica,
or, am i, bound to the responsibility,
of your parents playing
the irresponsibility card,
attempting to convey a child
into existence aged circa 50
circa 45,
and what comes out is
an autistic cucumber?!
    **** me...
try giving ****** lessons
to circa 50 year olds;
and now the paradox...
   "i'm" the "schizophrenic"...
cool cool, coolio...
     i'll just hide in that "harem's"
worth of a brothel with
the prostitutes who tell
me they get s.t.d. checks on
a regular basis, o.k.?
_____

what am i to add to this?
not much, is there...
was the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald
ever great?!
  how satisfying it is to be unable
to please the crowd....
words, after all, are not bread...
how one wishes
for an anathema rather than
a martyr's embrace...
            one begins to imagine...
then one loses interest...
then...
                    peering through
the eye of a needle
watching a camel walk through...
one spots something outside
the realm of the metaphorical miracle...
do i have to?
      what if i remain to this side
of the eye of the needle?
what riches do i have that i cling to...
books & music...
does that make me rich?
what are the sort of riches where either
people plunder readily (music),
or do not engage with to begin
with?
who are ready to read...
i can claim to be a book thief...
i stole two books from my high school
library... the quran and the scarlet &
the black by stendhal...
            "stole"... i extended their
licance of being borrowed...
how am i rich: if my riches are the riches
no one would want to steal?!
i am rich... though...
               but i am rich in a both
materialistic / non-materialistic paradox
frame...
                what i own no one wants to
steal! why steal a first cheap edition
of a dickens' novel if you're not going
to read it!
              
       **** **** ****.... if they were such
philistines... when blitzing London,
why did st. paul's remain intact?
   "coinicidence"? i don't think so...
and why did they steal all those
art-works? again, "coincidence"?

                    they were people:
i find it uncomfortable to suit them up
in transcendence,
to be: epitome evil...
  to be the übermensch...
                   they loved art as much
as they loved being the antithesis
of the golden horde: gucci, dolce & gabbana
zz top: well dressed men...

     nazis loved art and fashion,
by far the best dressed army in the world
and history...

   ol' herman and otto came back
from the eastern front to a scared wife and mother...
people! they weren't mythical creatures...
the nazis can hardly become
chimeras as they become in the minds
of pseudo-communists of the western lands...

they are hardly the epitome of evil,
i know the 21st century narrative
deems them: "the perfect example"...
come on... they're not evil embodied
with not subsequent examples to be given
to... historical capitalism of evil:
there's always someone waiting,
some group of people to stage
a competition libra... and they will...
overcome the nazis...
it's only a question of ingenuity /
imagination...
           gas chambers was only industrial...
it will become personal in the years to come...
methodologically trained cultured
barbarians woken from a slumber...

the nazis were not: philistines...
   in no defence: didn't they speed up the creation
of the state of israel?
   didn't they? **** uncle:
   lavrentiy pavlovich Beria is going to state
the matters differently?
like hell he is...

        my family also suffered in that war...
sure, not in a concentration camp:
but on the front...
             there's even a joke that my
grandfather remembers:
the jews were shooting with bent nozzles
of riffles...
   as he also remembers two ss-men
who he asked for sweets,
and they would give them to him,
he'd as them: herr! bitte bon-bon!
   sweets so sweet that he would have
to rinse his hands under water
to unglue them from the sickly in-between...
how all the insurgent soviet soldiers
were teenagers and preferred to
sleep in pigstys and among the goats
in the hay...

how did the nazis become mythological
i will never understand,
at uni i had a **** history teacher,
canadian, she really liked my essay
on napoleon... how he was a great
strategist...
akin to?  

   erwin rommel wasn't a ****...
erwin rommel was, erwin rommel...
a great strategist...
        am i supposed to thrive in this
current year of polarized *******?
it's the current topic,
i can't escape it,
  sure, i'd love to have a Wordsworth
moment, lurking in me,
or an anna akhmatova breakthough...
instead?! i'm given this sort of *******
on a platter,
  and all that's missing are the wedges
of lemon and the eager oysters to
be gulped down... lucky me!

no, i don't like how the nazis are misrepresented
as both the übermenschen:
these mythological epitomes of evil
(no greater evil is to come? really?!)
and at the same time
as philistines: they stole art,
they ensured that critically cultural
documents of architecture were left
undisturbed... st. paul's cathedral...

         it's not like some otto or moritz
didn't come back home to a wife
and children... no...
he came back to the shadow cult
of the ******* hanging over him...

you know what the most haunting experience
i have ever experienced was?
Ypres... world war I site...
visiting a german cemetary...
compared to the allies cemetary?
**** me, what a meagre sight!
           the allies were burried with marked
graves, each man to his own cross...
the german burial ground?!
  mass graves....
eh: one marker: 200 bodies in one pit...
                 and here's the 21st century with
games about shooting: zee nat'zees...

   just visit the world war I cemetaries...
the ally cemetaries? square miles...
each man with his white cross...
german cemetaries? as mass graves go...
one marker per 200+ troops...
so... not that much space required...
less: bombast!
               pride & prejudice /
   pomp & circumstance...
   which the english speaking world is...
of the latter convenience to suit the narrative.

to reiterate...
   as a ******... the whole german fetish
isn't my kind of gig...
what with my grandmother being born
on the front... given opiates at an early
age so she would not cry and allow
the soldiers to locate her and my gread-grandparents...
but...
   they were the best dressed army in
the history of warfare...
they were not philistines and they certainly
weren't the mongolian golden horde...
i.e. they stole art, notably jewish artwork...
and if a luftwaffe squadron were to drop
a bomb on st. paul's? they'd probably
be shot...
  after all... Posen wasn't destroyed,
Breslau wasn't destroyed...
        Danzig wasn't destroyed...
Cracow wasn't destroyed...
             o.k., half of Warsaw was,
but we know why that happened
(or at least i do... idealist students who
thought they could fight the enemy
with slingshots and air-pistols)...
why? the Germans were simply thinking:
oh... we'll just be moving back...
i once explained it to myself...
they weren't exactly some mythological
grand evil template...
so i started thinking about them as:
Hans von Seeckt...
  or Otto Hertz...
              or some other german random
soldier...
      well... you should travel to Ypres,
Belgium... and visit a German cemetary
from war world I... then visit
the allies graveyard...
       each soldier, individually buried...
with his pwetty pwetty weißkreuz -
mostly named...
                 now visit a german cemetary...
mass.... graves...
                they just dumped them,
heaped them...
                        to me they were people...
you can't exactly reason with a mythological
evil - an archeological evil,
   an archetypical evil...
          for an archetypical evil?
try the nuclear family...
                         ******... that sort of thing...
child abuse... too many actors
were involved in this story,
too many mistakes, too many naive blunders...
evil on this scale is easily diluted...
which is why it's taught as history,
in schools...
   no one will teach children about...
oh... say... the Wiener Blut scenario...
   Josef Fritzl...
                    i'm pretty sure this will not be
taught in a history class...
                or... the H. H. Holmes Hotel story...
but it might become a jack the ripper
tourist-fetish... might it not? well, it already is.
She was so beautiful
And like a rose
She had thorns
And like a dagger
She pierced my heart
My soul
My sand of time
Vial dropping sand grain by grain
And oh the pain
Plain in the rain
I saw her
And like a stain
On my life
I now live in strife
For the loss of my wife

And sweet melodies sung by the greatest church choirs
the greatest castratos
could not compare
to the love we had there
it was but a bright flare
burnt right
in the shadows of night

and you you you
you were so you
and the slew of oooohoooh
was it true?

Ack cough
I can’t go on
Make me poem of the day
Please…
PK Wakefield Feb 2011
I1
a who
so what
that nays
or nary
a not
a knot of narys
guggled to
from shrill    th
                    roat
                                                            she called the kettle B
                                                         l
                                                              ack
Nina McNally Jan 2011
As the rain falls on my head
Below the bridge, I think
Back to the days when
You and I were so young and
So in love and happy.

So now, older, wiser, and the days long gone, I just have
Our memories and our song.
Now I'm out on my own once again--
G**one looking for that someone to complete Abby's Song.
copyright; 2011
McNally, Inc.
everyone has that special someone who will complete their song, you just got to find them.
-So I came to the conclusion that this is one of my favorite poems I have written. Every time I read this I get this feeling, that feeling you get, when you get over that horrible break up and you're ready to move on and you know that "someone special" is still out there.
That's the feeling I get every time I read it. I never grow tired of it.
Thanks for reading my poetry and commenting. I appreciate it.
-idea came from a Good Charlotte song, "Harlow's Song"-- From When Times Get Tough....Write Poetry
Mey Dec 2016
For once I thought that I won't make the same mistake again
It seems that the world revolves just like the past I've burned
The friendship I've carefully handled and preserved
I even invested time and concern

I thought we were true friends
Separated when we were trying to surpass our own dreams
It seems that you're like the others
Leaving when you've find someone you've once dreamed

How could you turn your back from me?
Friendship should have no boundaries
Aren't we even allowed to laugh?
Or just talk all night about nonsense things

I asked you
When should I only be allowed to message you?
And then you just told me
The most bull**** response I've ever heard  of
I'm totally fine
mike dm Nov 2017
habit is at
my elbow, tho
crouching
scenes not small too
flank the left
ulna. hell,

w a flick
of the wrist
i could commission
a fistless head squawk bloom. but this

hag
viscous, if
lag of lead and
cadmium sapped, ack-

nowledges
a vision,
also. all

have a voice,
no matter how
crude or

elemental.
the hydra, for
instance, has a mouth-
ful of
membranous
know
how.

jet-void smaller daff-
odils milling and
mauling tall, i am beautiful
because i  
am here
amid it all
for such
a little bit
Patrick Kennon Jul 2019
Amani, Shalom, Salaam, peace
Humanities' goal is to release original sin
Meat grinder ball spins and we still fightin'
Warrin', not-rightin', iron sighting
birds in flight'n
Amani ani nawae 94b, for helping me
Made it clear with a shot glass of Halidol and pretty pills
It spills out this morning, doing laps to pass time
Apparently being Muslim is a crime
Do some **** and do a dime flat
Put you on your back with a gat goin' ack ack
Once again you got the short stack, short straw
Psych ward thaw, I want peace with them all
But they want to hurt me for praying to loud
Just another in the crowd, I need help too
I served this country just like you
Borders and flags are the symbols of fools
This species can come together given the right tools
94b
The Good Pussy Dec 2014
.
                              How
                          is ***  like
                      math?  Half the
                    time I  get an o d d
                     result. If  my  han
                     ds  aren't  enough
                     I end  up  using m
                     y  head.  I  always
                     wonder  how  the
                     person next to me
                     is doing on  his w
                     ork.My average at
                     each is p retty  dis
                     mal.What's the dif
                     ference between a
                     cheap ****** and
                     an elephant?  One
                     rolls  on  it's  b ack
                     for   peanuts   and
                     the  other one live
                     s in a zoo.   Why is
                     *** like air? It's no
                     t a big thing  unles
                     s you're  not gettin
                     g any .  What  do y
                     ou call a man with
   a 1 inch *****?                 Justin.   I was hanging out in an         Internet cafe when
my server went              down on me. I like
my women like               I like my math
problems - simple           and easy
Stupid *****!
Darren Mar 2015
ack then I  used to believe in forever.
Call me naive but when we together
time no longer had any meaning.
The world was ours for the taking.

We built a shack and called it home.
There was room for the two of us
and that was all we ever needed
our own private forever.

Back then I used to believe in love.
When our lips met I mistaken the rockets
for fireworks but, this was no longer Children's play.
This was not the story we were promised.

Sometimes between the sheets I forgot about the war.
I forgot about those who were dying.
Pretending that these walls were a sanctuary.
Pretending that we, young and alive could not bleed.

But one can only make believe for so long.
These walls were built from wood
and our skin was not armour
and that was not a shooting star.

Back then I use to believe in forever.
Fire does not share my belief.
Flame does not know mercy.
And now all I believe in is ash.

— The End —