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"activists" poems
♦   ♦   ♦ She was an earnest devotée. Her ideals, birthed in Chardonnay were globally diverse (read: white). A liberal bark preceded bite. Her crystal clearer than her vision; she provoked bemused derision as she breathed intolerance toward all who would not dance her dance. She swooned for distant pagan tribes, attuned to their exotic vibes – rapt in multi-culti piety strangely deaf to her own society, judged by her as abomination; unredeemed. The background station always stuck on N.P.R. (the soundtrack of her culture war, Pacifica News and Democracy Nows, and other progressive holy cows) Her motherland a shameful mystery: guilty first, and void of history – its origins defiled, corrupted… while she enjoyed uninterrupted freedom to pursue her whims: misguided one-world global hymns. The sisterhood of hu(man) kind was foremost in her earnest mind – even should that same sisterhood be sealed by her well-meaning blood. Out on a date with global death she hoped to unify the earth in solidarity with causes led by killers, warlord bosses, thugs she never knew existed who, if she’d met she’d have resisted. Her theory landed far from her praxis spun, by default, on an evil axis. Hot with zeal she fumed and stormed quite certain she was well-informed, at benefits, non-profit functions rallies, boycotts, left-wing luncheons; warm with righteous spite for Israel, aiding and abetting Ishmael with fellow-travelers, like-minded similarly hateful, blinded, rattling sabers, scimitars, axes… (lunacy never wanes, but waxes hotter with the passing years as activists confront their fears). She finally shilled for the Intifada (stopping short of reciting Shahada), reaching out to the terrorist with righteous raised progressive fist… offering thus her neck to blade: collateral to be repaid by murderers who couldn’t care less about her open-mindedness.
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Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
Suicide by Diversity
♦   ♦   ♦ She was an earnest devotée. Her ideals, birthed in Chardonnay were globally diverse (read: white). A liberal bark preceded bite. Her crystal clearer than her vision; she provoked bemused derision as she breathed intolerance toward all who would not dance her dance. She swooned for distant pagan tribes, attuned to their exotic vibes – rapt in multi-culti piety strangely deaf to her own society, judged by her as abomination; unredeemed. The background station always stuck on N.P.R. (the soundtrack of her culture war, Pacifica News and Democracy Nows, and other progressive holy cows) Her motherland a shameful mystery: guilty first, and void of history – its origins defiled, corrupted… while she enjoyed uninterrupted freedom to pursue her whims: misguided one-world global hymns. The sisterhood of hu(man) kind was foremost in her earnest mind – even should that same sisterhood be sealed by her well-meaning blood. Out on a date with global death she hoped to unify the earth in solidarity with causes led by killers, warlord bosses, thugs she never knew existed who, if she’d met she’d have resisted. Her theory landed far from her praxis spun, by default, on an evil axis. Hot with zeal she fumed and stormed quite certain she was well-informed, at benefits, non-profit functions rallies, boycotts, left-wing luncheons; warm with righteous spite for Israel, aiding and abetting Ishmael with fellow-travelers, like-minded similarly hateful, blinded, rattling sabers, scimitars, axes… (lunacy never wanes, but waxes hotter with the passing years as activists confront their fears). She finally shilled for the Intifada (stopping short of reciting Shahada), reaching out to the terrorist with righteous raised progressive fist… offering thus her neck to blade: collateral to be repaid by murderers who couldn’t care less about her open-mindedness.
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57
sometimes i get suicide bombers, rapists, killers, robbers and thieves because their motives are visible through their actions. but i never once in my life bothered understanding businessmen, pastors, priests, muslims, religions, politicians, and people whose motives in life remain hidden until caught red handed, and also those people who choose not to see the world naked for what it is. maybe the UP activists are right and that i shouldn't think of them as brainwashed kids or just paid heads to do what they do but their actions, my thoughts and this poem doesn't change anything. i bet 100% of you who are reading this would either think i'm deranged or seeking for attention. i could go on and on writing this **** and explain thoroughly but the people's brain are now wired to ex b's hit single and yes, mentioning that made this a little bit funny but no. as a ******* filipino who should be typing this in tagalog, working overseas, i've seen some fellow countrymen showed some pride against their oppressors from work but they don't get anywhere but jail. i must've forgot, the movie about manalo trampled the one about heneral luna. see how helpless we are in reality? what's your photo that comes with a bible verse got to do with others? are you spreading the word of God? what does it do to you? Sometimes I get The New People's Army. But I don't get Muslims who runs businesses and the Chinese too. Sometimes I wish I could spread fake news that doesn't harm others and last but not the least, I hope someday the world would stop not and smoke Marijuana all at the same time including North Korea. I couldn't stop. I also hope that these people, those who has a lot of followers use the attention properly but no, people are so ******* dumb and Salinger is right with Holden's, "People never notice anything" and nothing's too big if people will stop creating bigger things that'll only add up to the congestion clogging up the world. and Allen Ginsberg is right, we are breaking our ******* backs just to lift ******* Moloch. **** your Mosques, your INC branches, your corporations, your religions, your borders and divisions, your trends that kills the minds of the youth. **** your laws, about making Marijuana illegal. **** your disguise and your intelligence. I almost believe world cleansing is the answerbbecause the ant colonies are so much better ruling the world. I don't know anymore, my smartphone's ****** and I am not smarter. . .
0
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
My fellow Filipinos, my phone's ****** and the frustration in me wrote this.
sometimes i get suicide bombers, rapists, killers, robbers and thieves because their motives are visible through their actions. but i never once in my life bothered understanding businessmen, pastors, priests, muslims, religions, politicians, and people whose motives in life remain hidden until caught red handed, and also those people who choose not to see the world naked for what it is. maybe the UP activists are right and that i shouldn't think of them as brainwashed kids or just paid heads to do what they do but their actions, my thoughts and this poem doesn't change anything. i bet 100% of you who are reading this would either think i'm deranged or seeking for attention. i could go on and on writing this **** and explain thoroughly but the people's brain are now wired to ex b's hit single and yes, mentioning that made this a little bit funny but no. as a ******* filipino who should be typing this in tagalog, working overseas, i've seen some fellow countrymen showed some pride against their oppressors from work but they don't get anywhere but jail. i must've forgot, the movie about manalo trampled the one about heneral luna. see how helpless we are in reality? what's your photo that comes with a bible verse got to do with others? are you spreading the word of God? what does it do to you? Sometimes I get The New People's Army. But I don't get Muslims who runs businesses and the Chinese too. Sometimes I wish I could spread fake news that doesn't harm others and last but not the least, I hope someday the world would stop not and smoke Marijuana all at the same time including North Korea. I couldn't stop. I also hope that these people, those who has a lot of followers use the attention properly but no, people are so ******* dumb and Salinger is right with Holden's, "People never notice anything" and nothing's too big if people will stop creating bigger things that'll only add up to the congestion clogging up the world. and Allen Ginsberg is right, we are breaking our ******* backs just to lift ******* Moloch. **** your Mosques, your INC branches, your corporations, your religions, your borders and divisions, your trends that kills the minds of the youth. **** your laws, about making Marijuana illegal. **** your disguise and your intelligence. I almost believe world cleansing is the answerbbecause the ant colonies are so much better ruling the world. I don't know anymore, my smartphone's ****** and I am not smarter. . .
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68
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions. It’s born out of the head of ignorance, it resides in the heart of the blind. It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body, until fully enslaved by inaction. It turns agents into sun tanners, activists into office workers, outlaws into accountants. It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws, it places crowns on faceless leaders. It slaps a smile across the ***** the beaten, the neglected, the racially profiled. It mutes news casts, veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings, glorifies the paycheck. It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb, corruption, and death proof. It allows sleep at night, it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet. It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear. It insures, “birds like to be caged,” and “pain is just part of the human condition.” It whispers these misconceptions like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress. Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy. Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control. Progress has forgotten it’s maker, just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee. Contentment leaks from the Western world and infects all those around it. When you are no longer content you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life, and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before. When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
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Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 9:09 PM UTC
Contentment
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions. It’s born out of the head of ignorance, it resides in the heart of the blind. It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body, until fully enslaved by inaction. It turns agents into sun tanners, activists into office workers, outlaws into accountants. It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws, it places crowns on faceless leaders. It slaps a smile across the ***** the beaten, the neglected, the racially profiled. It mutes news casts, veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings, glorifies the paycheck. It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb, corruption, and death proof. It allows sleep at night, it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet. It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear. It insures, “birds like to be caged,” and “pain is just part of the human condition.” It whispers these misconceptions like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress. Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy. Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control. Progress has forgotten it’s maker, just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee. Contentment leaks from the Western world and infects all those around it. When you are no longer content you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life, and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before. When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
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34
West reality made so that people forced to consume whatever material or unmaterial goods here any protest is legalised in form of demo which is necessary surround by police northeless there are people exist who are illegal beside of refugees from east lands there also socalled  insane people who are locked in closed loony bin or hunted like amok untill they really get insane if you take separately each after other their fate and observe it precise you will find there all the evil of patriarchal repression what is the consequence of capitalism patriarchal repression which is so masterfully comuflaged in west but since the victims, the renegades live on rand of society no one ever take their lifes and deaths under lenses just example: feminists dont fight for the rights of the debased woman  in their neigbourhood but just speculate about arbitrageness in Iran not ever able to change something in afar lands they simply ignore evil which happens beside them every day, every night there is pseudo-publicity in capitalism since those who rebel against become mostly so oppressed that they never ever get any chance to speak out loud and revenge! While those anarchists and punks who squats in city and towns will never give political asylum to the one who's life circumtances penetrate to be betrayed by friends living on the streets and parks and hunted by psychiatry during anarchists and punks are not real activists of underground but just kind of subculture which live quite comfortably in capitalism it just funky to be anarchist or punk and nobody knows how they will act in critical situation I lost my believe on socalled leftists in fact they are same equal part of society like bankers or yuppies with a difference that they pretend  they still had some ideals! known to many believed by the few as the truth Accordingly my individual struggle their claim is nothing as fallacy whom believe? Whom with resist in action? Where hides real iconoclasts?
0
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
reality for anarchist struggle (in west)
West reality made so that people forced to consume whatever material or unmaterial goods here any protest is legalised in form of demo which is necessary surround by police northeless there are people exist who are illegal beside of refugees from east lands there also socalled  insane people who are locked in closed loony bin or hunted like amok untill they really get insane if you take separately each after other their fate and observe it precise you will find there all the evil of patriarchal repression what is the consequence of capitalism patriarchal repression which is so masterfully comuflaged in west but since the victims, the renegades live on rand of society no one ever take their lifes and deaths under lenses just example: feminists dont fight for the rights of the debased woman  in their neigbourhood but just speculate about arbitrageness in Iran not ever able to change something in afar lands they simply ignore evil which happens beside them every day, every night there is pseudo-publicity in capitalism since those who rebel against become mostly so oppressed that they never ever get any chance to speak out loud and revenge! While those anarchists and punks who squats in city and towns will never give political asylum to the one who's life circumtances penetrate to be betrayed by friends living on the streets and parks and hunted by psychiatry during anarchists and punks are not real activists of underground but just kind of subculture which live quite comfortably in capitalism it just funky to be anarchist or punk and nobody knows how they will act in critical situation I lost my believe on socalled leftists in fact they are same equal part of society like bankers or yuppies with a difference that they pretend  they still had some ideals! known to many believed by the few as the truth Accordingly my individual struggle their claim is nothing as fallacy whom believe? Whom with resist in action? Where hides real iconoclasts?
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60
your eyes are not oceans and you are not a natural disaster you are manmade and you will topple and i will be the one to topple you because you are a literal bag of human **** and if you think that telling me that i deserve **** will impress your fellow man friends, you had better watch the **** out because i am coming for you with a taser and a buzzsaw your mra t-shirts can't help you now, ****
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May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
ode to mens rights activists everywhere
Maybe we're not mistfits Maybe we're just as we should be This world doesn't need Another prom queen We're in desperate need Of the outcasts       The activists             The artists   The conspiracy theorists Trying to break the system We don't need more people Trying to teach us polynomials We need to see kindness First hand Someone to set the example Maybe we're not misfits Maybe we're just crazy enough To make a difference
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Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
Mistfit
What happened? Oh wait I remember A president was elected But we didn't get him Instead we a got a dictatorial regime. Freedom of speech was the first right to go Slowly but surely Prisoners of war Accumulated in the prisons. College kids and Activists Beaten, ***** shot, ridiculed. They might as well have been tarred and feathered How sick do you have to be to shoot at a girl Sitting With her eyes closed Crying for her country? How sick do you have to be to paralyze a 15 year old boy Walking With the rest of us For his future? And don't get me started on the grandpa Who was marching with his grandchildren Or the violinist Dedicating a tune to his country All trying To escape from this country Plagued by insecurity, inflation, and corruption. The only thing we have left Is a small scrap of hope.
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Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 1:09 PM UTC
homage to the homeland
Everything: pronoun. a.) every thing of particular of an aggregate or total; all. This is what I’m told you are but I’ve never been one for deities. You hear my thoughts but command me to speak. You know my human ways but still expect to have me all to yourself. You’re jealous- a “jealous god” but I’m to believe you’re perfect? The book says your ways are higher but the coincidences and rules that surround your mystery just don’t add up enough for me. Enough: adverb a.) in a quantity or degree that answers a purpose or satisfies a need or desire; sufficiently. I have a desire to change, I have a desire to love, hell, I want a Ferrari! I don’t have those so are you really enough if I use the book definition? But, no, seriously, some people are starving while others cant stop killing or lying or stealing or hating. Are you enough for them too? Im still waiting, but we at least have that in common. They say you are too. “They” being the activists, the followers, “yours” and yet you’re still waiting for surrender. Surrender: verb a.) to yield to the possession or power of another; deliver up possession of on demand or under duress You want me ever so much -or so I’m told. When I want something I have to ask or initiate. Where are you? Are you planning on ever speaking to me or asking? Where is your humility to simply ask? Waiting for what you don’t ever request is more foolish than I ever assumed a deity of great power and might could be. You astound me for sure, but not in a good way. I thought the zealous screamed something about you being the definition of everything, but I don’t seem to be able to define you that way at all. I ask these questions innocently, yet still I hear no response. Did you perhaps, in your infinite wisdom create the world and forget to give yourself a voice?
0
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
Definitions
Everything: pronoun. a.) every thing of particular of an aggregate or total; all. This is what I’m told you are but I’ve never been one for deities. You hear my thoughts but command me to speak. You know my human ways but still expect to have me all to yourself. You’re jealous- a “jealous god” but I’m to believe you’re perfect? The book says your ways are higher but the coincidences and rules that surround your mystery just don’t add up enough for me. Enough: adverb a.) in a quantity or degree that answers a purpose or satisfies a need or desire; sufficiently. I have a desire to change, I have a desire to love, hell, I want a Ferrari! I don’t have those so are you really enough if I use the book definition? But, no, seriously, some people are starving while others cant stop killing or lying or stealing or hating. Are you enough for them too? Im still waiting, but we at least have that in common. They say you are too. “They” being the activists, the followers, “yours” and yet you’re still waiting for surrender. Surrender: verb a.) to yield to the possession or power of another; deliver up possession of on demand or under duress You want me ever so much -or so I’m told. When I want something I have to ask or initiate. Where are you? Are you planning on ever speaking to me or asking? Where is your humility to simply ask? Waiting for what you don’t ever request is more foolish than I ever assumed a deity of great power and might could be. You astound me for sure, but not in a good way. I thought the zealous screamed something about you being the definition of everything, but I don’t seem to be able to define you that way at all. I ask these questions innocently, yet still I hear no response. Did you perhaps, in your infinite wisdom create the world and forget to give yourself a voice?
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57
To write a poem properly That is my dream But I can't even Remove my mask I don't even dare To think quietly All my poetry is failure Spies that pretend To be activists A violent movement A laceration That bleeds black bile Violence circle my mind Like vultures around corpses The sky is touched By the redness of my cheeks And I end up crying Until night comes What remains of my poems Are dead organs Words that fail at being words Mouthful gibberish What's left of my tears? Acid rain
0
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 4:32 AM UTC
Writing
Adjectives continue their downward spiral, with adverbs likely to follow. Wisdom, grace, and beauty can be had three for a dollar, as they head for a recession. *Diaphanous, filigree, pearlescent*, and love are now available at wholesale prices. Verbs are still blue-chip investments, but not many are willing to sell. The image market is still strong, but only for those rated AA or higher. Beware of cheap imitations sold by the side of the road. Only the most conservative consider rhyme a good option, but its success in certain circles warrants a brief mention. The ongoing search for fresh metaphor has caused concern among environmental activists, who warn that both the moon and the sea have measurably diminished since the dawn of the Romantic era. Latter-day prosodists are having to settle for menial positions in poultry plants, where an aptitude for repetitive rhythms is considered a valuable trait. The outlook for the future remains uncertain, and troubled times may lie ahead. Supply will continue to outpace demand, and the best of the lot will remain unread.
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Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
Market Forecast (by Alexa Selph)
Teen model Shonali Khatun strutted the catwalk as the audience cheered at a fashion show in Bangladesh's capital. But Shonali is no ordinary model, and this was no ordinary show. She and the 14 other models are survivors of acid attacks, common in this south Asian country, where spurned lovers or disgruntled family members sometimes resort to hurling skin-burning acid at their victims. The fashion show, held Tuesday night in Dhaka and attended by fashion lovers, rights activists and diplomats including the US ambassador to Bangladesh, aimed to redefine the notion of beauty while calling attention to the menace of such attacks. For 14-year-old Shonali, the event was nothing short of empowering. She was attacked just days after she was born amid a property dispute involving her parents, and was left with burn scars on her face and arms. She spent nearly three years in a hospital and underwent eight operations. Her attacker has never been caught. "I am so happy to be here," she said. "One day I want to be a physician." The models, including three men, walked the catwalk, dancing and singing and showcasing woven handloom Bangladeshi designs. The show was choreographed by local designer Bibi Russel. Organisers said they hoped to highlight the fact that acid victims, too often overlooked, are a vital part of society. They deliberately chose to hold the event on the eve of International Women's Day. "We are here today to show their inner strength, as they have come a long way," said Farah Kabir, country director of ActionAid Bangladesh, which organised the show. "I often take inspiration from them. Their courage is huge." Bangladesh has struggled to deal with acid attacks in recent decades, and has instituted harsh punishments for the perpetrators, including the death penalty. The country has also trained doctors to treat such sensitive cases and attempted to control the sale of acid, but has failed to eliminate the scourge entirely. In 2016, some 44 people were attacked with acid in Bangladesh - an annual number that has remained relatively stable. "I am ashamed of having such things in the country," Kabir said. "Unfortunately, in Bangladesh we do have acid victims because of either gender discrimination or violence, or because of greed. And we want to remind everyone the kind of injustice that has been meted out to them."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
0
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
Bangladeshi fashion show sees acid attack victims take to the catwalk
Teen model Shonali Khatun strutted the catwalk as the audience cheered at a fashion show in Bangladesh's capital. But Shonali is no ordinary model, and this was no ordinary show. She and the 14 other models are survivors of acid attacks, common in this south Asian country, where spurned lovers or disgruntled family members sometimes resort to hurling skin-burning acid at their victims. The fashion show, held Tuesday night in Dhaka and attended by fashion lovers, rights activists and diplomats including the US ambassador to Bangladesh, aimed to redefine the notion of beauty while calling attention to the menace of such attacks. For 14-year-old Shonali, the event was nothing short of empowering. She was attacked just days after she was born amid a property dispute involving her parents, and was left with burn scars on her face and arms. She spent nearly three years in a hospital and underwent eight operations. Her attacker has never been caught. "I am so happy to be here," she said. "One day I want to be a physician." The models, including three men, walked the catwalk, dancing and singing and showcasing woven handloom Bangladeshi designs. The show was choreographed by local designer Bibi Russel. Organisers said they hoped to highlight the fact that acid victims, too often overlooked, are a vital part of society. They deliberately chose to hold the event on the eve of International Women's Day. "We are here today to show their inner strength, as they have come a long way," said Farah Kabir, country director of ActionAid Bangladesh, which organised the show. "I often take inspiration from them. Their courage is huge." Bangladesh has struggled to deal with acid attacks in recent decades, and has instituted harsh punishments for the perpetrators, including the death penalty. The country has also trained doctors to treat such sensitive cases and attempted to control the sale of acid, but has failed to eliminate the scourge entirely. In 2016, some 44 people were attacked with acid in Bangladesh - an annual number that has remained relatively stable. "I am ashamed of having such things in the country," Kabir said. "Unfortunately, in Bangladesh we do have acid victims because of either gender discrimination or violence, or because of greed. And we want to remind everyone the kind of injustice that has been meted out to them."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
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12
Everyone loves to talk **** Poets Activists Novelists Academics Professors the most Summon them up get a consensus (the kikuyu are a model not the annoying vermin of the jewish suburb) Fear is the core. America, Fear is yr core. Capitalism and all its intricacies and its lies its imminent failure (anorexics in red shirts laugh in hell) Marx and Chomsky and Precious Open a window- crack that- BREAK OPEN A WINDOW IN THE WALL let the mist leave it will only consume you if you learn to use it instead of oxygen A clear room will be a safe space to paint and film and write and dry off To talk a los otros sobre Spanish y la omkeer
0
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
1776-2011 America: your favorite white devil returns as part of his performance series *EXPERIMENTAL FEAR*
Tu me ves como una mujer muy fuerte (you see me as a strong woman Estoy feliz y fuerte y feminista (i am happy, strong and feministic Mi ****** es mi major amiga (*my ****** is my best friend* Juntos somos activistas (together we are activists Mi pelo esta corto y tengo confianza (my hair is short and i have confidence Te aparecio como una esposa, hija, hermana, amiga. (i appear to you as a wife, a daughter, sister, friend No me pinto. (i don't wear makeup Mi cuerpo es bonito y no me interesa que otras piensan. (my body is beautiful and i don't care what others think No necesito hombres en mi vida. (i don't need men in my life No se amo mi novio (i don't love my boyfriend Ni mi padre(nor my father Me abandono.(he abandoned me quiero a mi mama (i want my mother Mi hermana(my sister Mis amigas (my friends Y mi vida. (and my life Pero, en la noche (but, at night Cuando estoy solo (when i am alone Mi espejo transforma en un monstruo. (my mirror turns into a monster Mi pelo es largo asi que puedo esconderme detras. (my hair is long so that i can hide behind it Pienso que no puedo estar solo (i don't think i can be alone Estoy triste sobre mi padre, (i am sad about my father. Me abandono. (he abandoned me Me odio. (i hate myself Mi cuerpo es mi enemigo. (my body is my enemy Solo quiero dormir y comer (i just want to eat and sleep Mi vida significa nada (my life means nothing Mi cara es diferente (my face is different Cada dia (every day
0
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 6:52 PM UTC
soy mierda
selfless self sabotage intertwined tight ropeless walking down America street where the best activists actively left the broken dialogue actively left the broken blood stained culture actively went to sleep some from violence some for money make a living because in America the art of killing obviously open abierto! activist activity process of whiteness on its fall from white-centricity desperate many pay to see many feast their eyes on screens galore life is not as exciting anymore entertained by activists instead of acting out out of white-centricity not like out from the heart but like out of a self sustained hell that wouldn’t ask for its son to be soaked in bleach and implanted violently with blue eyes a white-centric optometrist surgeon general for other innocent children to drool over with lust someday wanton to be a fake white Jesus desperately inactivist getting a lot more business than those many valiant men women and children who fought white-centricity for our freedom so we could love a new language like a universal galactic super hero whiteness in children yearns for to be human again and allowed to be also allowed to be human while also being human not selfless sabotage
0
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 10:08 AM UTC
selfless self sabotage
it’s 3:00am again i think to myself that seeing my clock read 3:00am as often as i see it read 3:00pm might suggest that i really ought to get more sleep it’s hard though when protesters are shot in Egypt when journalists are detained with false pretense when activists seek shelter in embassies when hackers rot in prison cells when whistleblowers are put on trial with all this chaos and injustice i don’t understand how anyone in their right mind could sleep in peace
0
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
shadow
Every generation has the leaders and the followers. The popular kids and the geeks, the kids who get high on the streets and the kids who get high on cloud nine. The artists and the poets, the skaters, the stoners, the musicians and the actors, and we all have the kids who are all of the above. We all have the kids who are none of the above. Times change, yes and trends come and go but don’t tell me that I’m exceptional not because of what I know but because of the children that surround me. Don’t tell me to speak my dreams and release my strife in the form of rhyme because “few others you know do it”. Passion is limitless, passion is ageless and while I’m being raised in a generation of technology and dramatic social media, yolo and swag, pregnant teens and 55-hour marriages- I’m growing up in a generation of artists, a generation of dreamers, a generation of doers, and a generation of freethinkers. Freethinkers whose words drip from their tongues like honey and stain their pages in the world like wine. Students who get bored with teachers wanting them to think in 1’s and 0’s, fit into standards, speak in slanders and begin to hyperventilate because they can’t translate what they think. Kids who haven’t forgotten that breathing in binary isn’t healthy. Apparently, those that find enough creative destruction in life to cheat the system are going against the greater public’s better judgement, feeling free to sit and glare at those who swear that they’re normal, but I’m not growing up with those kids. People who sit back and cry crocodile tears for those who don’t know what to think of themselves, sitting back and laughing at those who shudder and shake at the thought of being caught in between different sides of their minds that they don’t know it’s okay to have… but I’m not growing up with those people. I’m growing up in a group of rebels, a group that will one day run the nation- a nation of tenacious activists, wearing their minds more professionally than politicians wear their suits- and with better ideas. Because we have voices, we have pens, but most important we have ideas, ideas that can change the world, change the world more than poker-faced suits and hate commercials and picket signs ever could.
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Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
Ideas
Every generation has the leaders and the followers. The popular kids and the geeks, the kids who get high on the streets and the kids who get high on cloud nine. The artists and the poets, the skaters, the stoners, the musicians and the actors, and we all have the kids who are all of the above. We all have the kids who are none of the above. Times change, yes and trends come and go but don’t tell me that I’m exceptional not because of what I know but because of the children that surround me. Don’t tell me to speak my dreams and release my strife in the form of rhyme because “few others you know do it”. Passion is limitless, passion is ageless and while I’m being raised in a generation of technology and dramatic social media, yolo and swag, pregnant teens and 55-hour marriages- I’m growing up in a generation of artists, a generation of dreamers, a generation of doers, and a generation of freethinkers. Freethinkers whose words drip from their tongues like honey and stain their pages in the world like wine. Students who get bored with teachers wanting them to think in 1’s and 0’s, fit into standards, speak in slanders and begin to hyperventilate because they can’t translate what they think. Kids who haven’t forgotten that breathing in binary isn’t healthy. Apparently, those that find enough creative destruction in life to cheat the system are going against the greater public’s better judgement, feeling free to sit and glare at those who swear that they’re normal, but I’m not growing up with those kids. People who sit back and cry crocodile tears for those who don’t know what to think of themselves, sitting back and laughing at those who shudder and shake at the thought of being caught in between different sides of their minds that they don’t know it’s okay to have… but I’m not growing up with those people. I’m growing up in a group of rebels, a group that will one day run the nation- a nation of tenacious activists, wearing their minds more professionally than politicians wear their suits- and with better ideas. Because we have voices, we have pens, but most important we have ideas, ideas that can change the world, change the world more than poker-faced suits and hate commercials and picket signs ever could.
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(this festive traditional Central-Italian dish serves entire populations of citizens)     INGREDIENTS:      ♦  faith in God if unavailable, any stable moral-ethical framework can be used      ♦  esteem for traditional cultural values      ♦  willingness to say what you think      ♦  hatred of Political Correctness 1)   Wake up in the morning and breathe rinse your mind and other ingredients well from previous day’s brain-washing 2)   Refuse to believe media propaganda ask friends/family members to ignore mainstream media & close Facebook accounts 3)   Believe that God created Man and Woman in Genesis 4)   Refer to God as He main ingredient, beware of fire if Feminists/Genderqueer activists are near stove 5)   Define family as 1 man + 1 woman joined in marriage producing children let ingredients simmer. Add a pinch of absolute Biblical doctrine if desired 6)   Critique Cultural Marxism in ALL its overt & disguised manifestations 7)   Dissent from the One-World Techno-Narcissist mindset algorithms and search-filters complement this dish, but feel free to serve it on its own Persona Non Grata pairs well with a full-bodied Tuscan Chianti, or Montepulciano, but is especially enhanced by any vintage where the Grapes of Wrath are stored.
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Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 5:55 PM UTC
Persona Non Grata
impassioned fascists lash facts together working to bash brash young activists envisioning a lasting planet ****** Janet congress loves the Jews and the blues of today means we’ve all flown over nests impressed with obese flying flesh.. resting festival goers flow over Bohemian Grove with row boats toting goat cheese and if it please the court I will bring back Bermuda Shorts and with elegant reports on contortionist’s abortion risks and whisk farm fresh eggs with Barbie Doll legs in May under the sway of a fine cognac Black light heart attack on the first night after the fourth Blood Moon bring gloom to the tomb of the unknown soldier, whose older brother drank Folders crystals whilst ******* about the listless whisperers still recklessly wishing for some environmental recognition or maybe a shift in the disposition towards deep sea net fishing and phishing scammers flooding servers in service of the undeserving reservationists…….. native brethren living together in harmonious balance with the nature around us astounds me and if’n we could only see that, peacefully we could be free…. is it only a dream to me as if Frank and I were going home, together –
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Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
Impacted activist
This time is precious, every moment infectious. One minute in a parking lot, parking cigarettes in the dirt, outside a library no less. And from one minute to the next, shaking hands with a councilwoman. Just her presence, was a good omen. This is a community meeting, ahead of a strike, on May 15th. Our fight? Our cause? Wage parity. The resource vitality, of every worker, and every family. Every human deserves dignity. Repeat it with rapidity. We are all created equal. This is a civil rights sequel. You can't survive on $7.93 And if it were up to me, No job would pay less than FIFTEEN. The rich can't inoculate, what they didn't anticipate. Fry cooks, cashiers, drive-thru tellers, (these ain't no "bums" or beggars!) They met up with activists, and labor leaders. They've walked off the job and into the streets! They've come out, to take a stand, to shake off their chains, and make some demands! $15 and a union!!! If you haven't taken notice, I don't what you've been doin!!! I hope McDonald's, Wal-Mart, and retailers galore, value the profit-producers, running their stores. The notion upon which, both capitalists and socialists can agree, is that labor produces value according to theory. The media are watching, in case you need reminding. Watching you rake in BILLIONS, while paying and STEALING, POVERTY WAGES. We call this condition, hard-working ENSLAVEMENT, with pay-as-you-go debit card "paychecks"... And all this "part-time" just to make sure workers are best nickel'd and dime'd!! But what you don't seem to understand, is that this movement is long overdue. Do we need a historical inflation review? And this $10.10 business? Please! What is this 1993? You can't sanitize, Baptize, nor televise, this struggle. These are a people who've had enough. 'Ya Basta!' they say! 'Enough is Enough!' Enough struggle, enough hustle, Enough putting in muscle, and your time, and blood, and sweat and tears, many with children, many for years, without a pay bump that keeps pace, with the basic cost of living these days. Still a minimum wage, of only $7.93?! I say 'Ya Busta!' if you ask me.
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May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
The Service Sector's #FightFor15
This time is precious, every moment infectious. One minute in a parking lot, parking cigarettes in the dirt, outside a library no less. And from one minute to the next, shaking hands with a councilwoman. Just her presence, was a good omen. This is a community meeting, ahead of a strike, on May 15th. Our fight? Our cause? Wage parity. The resource vitality, of every worker, and every family. Every human deserves dignity. Repeat it with rapidity. We are all created equal. This is a civil rights sequel. You can't survive on $7.93 And if it were up to me, No job would pay less than FIFTEEN. The rich can't inoculate, what they didn't anticipate. Fry cooks, cashiers, drive-thru tellers, (these ain't no "bums" or beggars!) They met up with activists, and labor leaders. They've walked off the job and into the streets! They've come out, to take a stand, to shake off their chains, and make some demands! $15 and a union!!! If you haven't taken notice, I don't what you've been doin!!! I hope McDonald's, Wal-Mart, and retailers galore, value the profit-producers, running their stores. The notion upon which, both capitalists and socialists can agree, is that labor produces value according to theory. The media are watching, in case you need reminding. Watching you rake in BILLIONS, while paying and STEALING, POVERTY WAGES. We call this condition, hard-working ENSLAVEMENT, with pay-as-you-go debit card "paychecks"... And all this "part-time" just to make sure workers are best nickel'd and dime'd!! But what you don't seem to understand, is that this movement is long overdue. Do we need a historical inflation review? And this $10.10 business? Please! What is this 1993? You can't sanitize, Baptize, nor televise, this struggle. These are a people who've had enough. 'Ya Basta!' they say! 'Enough is Enough!' Enough struggle, enough hustle, Enough putting in muscle, and your time, and blood, and sweat and tears, many with children, many for years, without a pay bump that keeps pace, with the basic cost of living these days. Still a minimum wage, of only $7.93?! I say 'Ya Busta!' if you ask me.
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Today I met... A man with sea blue eyes shining from fiery hair I said "you should be a pirate" Then Effie piped "Let's turn this bus into a ship" He mined for gold in Australia Working 12 hour days and nights Visiting home he found bad repute In Coromandal's strong anti-mining activism. He complained about the packaging Of the tourist L&P; ice-cream he'd bought "It should all be cardboard and wooden spoons" The miner turned environmentalist? Did the activists hear him out? Behind him, A man with eyes enclosed in triangle parentheses, A tattoo of reminder. - Reminder that being locked up is a waste of time, of life. - Realization that being in that crowd caused trouble. Drugs ain't the thing. And - Regret. It caused him to care for young minds, to teach what he had learnt. "I was only in there for drink driving" but for two years? He left at Paeroa College, "take care", Not hearing our "thank you for sharing" At our transfer we serenaded In happy gratitude and spontaneity The pirate watched, intrigued. The drivers; our faithful who had driven us so far And our newly acquainted about to shuttle us forth; They watched 'Til ye old faithful lost faith and went on with his duty A boy stepped off the bus Listening shyly, hiding. My bow slipped over out-of-tune strings Effie's voice rang true, feeling and joy, Hand strumming, familiar and fond. A mess of black hair from Colorado Complained "there's too many guns" But was a gunsmith "For hunters... I love it" I held a rifle once, Scared of its kick and its bite, A man shouldered it for me, I pulled the trigger. Paused. Then relief. - The clay bird flew on, Its demise instead the ground It hit and crumbled.
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Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
A bus journey
Today I met... A man with sea blue eyes shining from fiery hair I said "you should be a pirate" Then Effie piped "Let's turn this bus into a ship" He mined for gold in Australia Working 12 hour days and nights Visiting home he found bad repute In Coromandal's strong anti-mining activism. He complained about the packaging Of the tourist L&P; ice-cream he'd bought "It should all be cardboard and wooden spoons" The miner turned environmentalist? Did the activists hear him out? Behind him, A man with eyes enclosed in triangle parentheses, A tattoo of reminder. - Reminder that being locked up is a waste of time, of life. - Realization that being in that crowd caused trouble. Drugs ain't the thing. And - Regret. It caused him to care for young minds, to teach what he had learnt. "I was only in there for drink driving" but for two years? He left at Paeroa College, "take care", Not hearing our "thank you for sharing" At our transfer we serenaded In happy gratitude and spontaneity The pirate watched, intrigued. The drivers; our faithful who had driven us so far And our newly acquainted about to shuttle us forth; They watched 'Til ye old faithful lost faith and went on with his duty A boy stepped off the bus Listening shyly, hiding. My bow slipped over out-of-tune strings Effie's voice rang true, feeling and joy, Hand strumming, familiar and fond. A mess of black hair from Colorado Complained "there's too many guns" But was a gunsmith "For hunters... I love it" I held a rifle once, Scared of its kick and its bite, A man shouldered it for me, I pulled the trigger. Paused. Then relief. - The clay bird flew on, Its demise instead the ground It hit and crumbled.
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Chicago, what's going on? Killing after killing like it's just a game of darts. In fear of gangs claiming territory they simply don't own. And if the government takes a gang eradication approach to deal with it. Then we would make it a racial attack. Mainly because the Chicago raging coming mostly from gangs that's black. Then you hear these ministers crying foul to the news. But ask yourself? What? Are the ministers trying to do in your neighborhoods? Like many, they preach sermons in church on Sunday talking about storm warnings. But not true activists like the old guards during segregation. Take on these gangs like Jesus took on his distractors. Be brave, be strong, what do you have to lose? Except for your life. Sometimes, it's a challenge you have to pay. Through stupidity, we go for locking these gang members up. When just maybe they deserve the chair? Once fear is placed in many. Then many gang members comprehend the consequences. Can't always blame the police force, or the mayor for the stupidity of a few. Young youth thinking in a gang they must show their loyalty. Forget what color your gang claims? At the end of the day to them, your blood of death means not a thing.
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Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
Chicago Raging
social justice activists online P.C. warriors are ending free speech
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Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
online shaming (haiku)
The people were scattered, like ants crawling the succulent juices of freshly grown peaches. The people were scared, humble, but somewhat agitated by fear that swallowed them. The people were ruthless, fighting against the morals of a higher society. The people were calm, resting their weary heads into the warmth of glorious companionship. The people were lonely, even the dilapidated warehouse found friendship amongst the city lights. The city lights were carnivorous, tall obnoxious buildings towering over the insects that abused their territory. The world was resting, only to be awoken by a homeless man seeking guidance. We found peace, even though war devoured every sense and emotion encapsulated within the human body. We were free, but activists charm and goodwill were impeccably out numbered by the senseless warriors. A universe that sought a planet. A planet that cried no mercy. A continent that escaped humanity into vindictive territory. Dictators stumbled into leadership, hindering the lives of families through disturbing and violent hatred. The people felt anguished, scraping empty purses only to disdain the dream of a third world country. The people felt happy. This wasn't a place for intruders, our hearts speak different yet it is the path of the covetous mind we follow. We are those people.
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Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 3:30 PM UTC
Who are these people?
dead bodies moving dead bodies you know the theme, the scheme, the thought and the idea the bodies, dead, paying the bills, moving dead past the dawn eyeballs rolling up as windows closing and doors close and open the bodies, mass production, lots of bodies Monday, Tuesday, Shitday Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Christday Neighbor Allah never greets anyone and he talks to himself in echoes Buddha is all smiles and virtues but no muscle, Buddha's daughters are out clubbing tonight ******* their oriental curves, selling their oriental scents and cold white skin to Allah's *** deprived sons Christ is the only father and he disowns his nieces and nephews, I knew years back that I am a distant relative just dead bodies, yours and mine produce, corporate livestock, labels from the heaviest bills handed over in sinister alleyways, sinister exchanges, hitman to hitman, extraction to extraction, fraction by fraction, bodies serves as platforms, nonliving chopping boards for the butchers dressed up as elves the bodies, limb by limb, sagging skins, rivers of hairfalls, scratch marks, Ms. Universe stretch marks, the *** tapes of the cheerleaders whom silent and wise boys yearned for all through years of fading innocence Closeted gay professionals keeping their pointed ******* when nothing's wrong with them until consent turns from probationary to mandatory and hate and red and blue and green and yellow flags and pedophiles and bigots and white supremacists and Allah whisperers and Allah fanatics and Buddha hypocrites and China takes over the world and feminists, and third and fourth and fifth and so on genders and Trump and memes and Filipinos and mental health and memes and mental health and memes and literature and literature and activists and who ****** who and politicians and what Americans, Australians, Chinese, Japanese, British, Candian, Irish and and North Koreans and K-Pop plastic lips and hips who young girls and boys from isolated islands gets ****** for and hipsters and the nine to fives and the ***** to give and the snobbish *** girls in parties, in clubs, in alleys who wants to get ****** by all the celebrity status ***** all just becomes a tiny pinch for the dead bodies not to see and point the flower and shoot the gun to end the human war.
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Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC
resurrection in smokey mountain, Philippines.
dead bodies moving dead bodies you know the theme, the scheme, the thought and the idea the bodies, dead, paying the bills, moving dead past the dawn eyeballs rolling up as windows closing and doors close and open the bodies, mass production, lots of bodies Monday, Tuesday, Shitday Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Christday Neighbor Allah never greets anyone and he talks to himself in echoes Buddha is all smiles and virtues but no muscle, Buddha's daughters are out clubbing tonight ******* their oriental curves, selling their oriental scents and cold white skin to Allah's *** deprived sons Christ is the only father and he disowns his nieces and nephews, I knew years back that I am a distant relative just dead bodies, yours and mine produce, corporate livestock, labels from the heaviest bills handed over in sinister alleyways, sinister exchanges, hitman to hitman, extraction to extraction, fraction by fraction, bodies serves as platforms, nonliving chopping boards for the butchers dressed up as elves the bodies, limb by limb, sagging skins, rivers of hairfalls, scratch marks, Ms. Universe stretch marks, the *** tapes of the cheerleaders whom silent and wise boys yearned for all through years of fading innocence Closeted gay professionals keeping their pointed ******* when nothing's wrong with them until consent turns from probationary to mandatory and hate and red and blue and green and yellow flags and pedophiles and bigots and white supremacists and Allah whisperers and Allah fanatics and Buddha hypocrites and China takes over the world and feminists, and third and fourth and fifth and so on genders and Trump and memes and Filipinos and mental health and memes and mental health and memes and literature and literature and activists and who ****** who and politicians and what Americans, Australians, Chinese, Japanese, British, Candian, Irish and and North Koreans and K-Pop plastic lips and hips who young girls and boys from isolated islands gets ****** for and hipsters and the nine to fives and the ***** to give and the snobbish *** girls in parties, in clubs, in alleys who wants to get ****** by all the celebrity status ***** all just becomes a tiny pinch for the dead bodies not to see and point the flower and shoot the gun to end the human war.
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