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Yenson Jun 2022
The poor girl said
I so sorry, but I'm afraid they may turn against me, please understand

The near brownies said
please forgive, they will start picking on us if we don't go along and do as ordered

The Preachers says
we have to be as them, we are cultists and already marginalized, if we didn't they'll isolate us more and it helps our recruitment

The weak and insecure said
this is a no brainer mate
for once we get the opportunity to feel relevant and play the fool without the usual disapprovals

The reluctant ones say
we feel oppressed and bad but they are coercing us daily and we just don't have a choice

So their moral compass compromised, their free-will imprisoned
their integrity abused and disrespected, their brains washed, their dignity rubbished, their minds poisoned and internally they are stressed, uncomfortable and feel enslaved. They have been dehumanized because their Narcissistic masters decides so...







Anyone who remembers watching the Wizard of Oz as a child will probably remember how horrifying the Wicked Witch of the West’s flying monkeys were. These monkeys were sent by the witch to do her ***** work, and the phrase has since become synonymous with people who end up doing the ***** work of a narcissist.

Flying monkeys get caught up in a narcissist’s plan — often to damage the life of another person. The narcissist may use their flying monkeys as piggy in the middle, carrying information from party to party. The flying monkey may use gaslighting tactics, open aggression, and guilt-tripping in order to make another person feel bad and weak, whilst shoring up the narcissist. And they’re often involved in pleading the case of the narcissist. Narcissists love having flying monkey, as it makes them feel important and means they can appear to be above the people below them who are caught up in the messy parts of the drama.

Some of the reasons people become flying monkeys include:

Self-preservation and protection.
Forming an alliance with the person perceived as like us or our organisation is one reason people adopt this role. Telling tales, spreading misinformation, and using gaslighting techniques against anyone who dares to question the narcissist might just mean you get to keep your job and don’t find yourself on the receiving end of narcissistic rage.

Rescuing the narcissistic "victim."
If you tend to fall into a rescuing role, you may feel compelled to jump to the defence of the narcissist who blames everyone and everything for whatever is going wrong in their life. Sticking up for the narcissist meets your inbuilt need to feel valued and needed because of your rescuer role.

A loss of sense of self.
Some flying monkeys are so browbeaten by the narcissist that they have far less capacity than otherwise might be expected when it comes to knowing right from wrong. They may have experienced years of emotional abuse at the hands of the narcissist and have lost a sense of self and independent decision-making along the way.

Loving the drama.
Some flying monkeys really thrive on the drama. When you’re involved with a narcissist, it’s almost inevitable that you’ll be involved in a few dramas along the way. What can beat the adrenaline of being caught up in lies, secrecy, and deception?

Being a narcissist.
Flying monkeys often have strong narcissistic traits themselves, including a desire for attention, a lack of empathy, and a desire to bully and manipulate others. They may be involved in a work, or other situation in which they know that their best opportunity to fulfill their narcissistic desires comes from allying themselves with a more powerful narcissists.

Being used by a narcissist to take care of some of the least desirable aspects of their business is always going to place you in a compromised, stressful environment and you should ensure that you have the appropriate support in place when you choose to change your role.
Andrew Rueter Jan 2018
You see me as the bacteria
And yourself as the antibiotic
I see you across the cafeteria
Acting psychotic
Because of what I find ******
You treat me like I'm toxic
But you're seen as normal
So I hide beneath the coral
To avoid your aggression
That will teach me a lesson
About correctly guessing
Where your fists will go next
You tell me I want it like ***
This is your way to flex
To show you have an edge
You single out the marginalized
There's no way you'll hedge
When you have harm in your eyes
And then use charm as a disguise
To make me cry over spilt milk
Because I am not of your ilk
For I am as soft as silk
Like the sheets I want to roll in with you
Instead you shoved my face into poo
As my ***** grew

I think of killing myself
With my gun
When I think of filling myself
With your ***
While pretending I'm your son
And swallowing you like gum
Those are my ideas of fun
Yours is to tell me to run
From your intensely penetrating fists
That make me regret my penetrating wish
As you brandish the weapon
From the movie Inception
That launches you into my dreams
Giving my thoughts a singular theme
As my mouth continually screams
I was born on the wrong team

You wanted to exhibit your power
In this seemingly arbitrary hour
So you broke my nose
To show off for your hoes
An off the cuff
Attempt to be tough
But I found it deeply affecting
When I could feel your hatred injecting
Making me wonder if I'd ever be free
After I saw the only ending I could see

You move to strike me again
This time I have my mac 10
That I brought to school
For a one sided duel
You changed the trajectory of my life
By changing the trajectory of my bullets
You taught me about strife
You taught me how power is the coolest
You taught me to move on to your friends
Their lives I must remember to end
This is the message I'm choosing to send
When they sat back and watched the hate
Like it was 1938
I lost my sympathy
After being treated differently
And gained a ruthless anger
That turned me into a stranger
So I let the automatic gun spray
Faster than they could pray
For their hoots and hollers
I shoot their collars
Creating shade in the halls
That I make when they fall
The feeling goes to my *****
I become strangely intoxicated
By the death of those who hated
So I go back to your dead body
And do what you felt was so naughty
And now there is no one even around for you to tell
That I ****** your corpse while you watched from Hell
Derartu, Haile, Tirunesh
Kenenisa, Meseret, and all
With a similar footfall!

Displaying a superb
Long-distance athletic feat
When many superstars
Awe inspiringly you beat
And as a result of it
When your sought-for
Fought-for
And nation- prayed-for
Dream proves a hit
And also with kudos
A stadium full of people opt
You to greet
And when spectators
Accord you a high five
It is for your country's  flag
You  immediately dive!
Also on the podium
while Ethiopia's row-wise
Green,Yellow and Red
Emblazoned flag,
Shoulder high,
Soars above
You express
Your  umbilical cord-tight
National love
With tears that
Trickle down each of
Your cheek,quick.

Is it because
Reminiscent of
Each living hero
With a life sacrifice
That brought colonial
Aggression to zero?

Is it because
The bounty of the land
You grew up
Seeing first hand?

Is it because
The cherished corner
You cut in the heart of
The poor but prideful
Ethiopian neighbour?

Is it because
The unity in diversity
That showcases
Ethiopia's identity
Or citizens hospitality?

Is it because
At heart strings a tug
Or ,among others
Gratefulness to
Your iron-strong lung
When you hear
Ethiopian anthem sung?

Is it because a secret another
Deep down you harbour?

Is it because the Fertility
Hope and Sovereignty ideals
The flag advance,
Also Ethiopia's being
A beacon of independence
What is more
The nation's renaissance
Which in a curtain of mist
Before your eyes dance?
A poem I prepared this time in connection  with the celebration of the flag day,Ethiopia
Ashanti Apr 2015
If aggression is at the heart of creativity then I don't apologize for the way these words slowly peel back every layer of skin and leave you aching. Exposed. I don't apologize for the way that each letter in its own just happens to set you ablaze. Not for every syllable, roll of the tongue and accent of voice that is the very candle I will gladly light in the presence of what you are not. That this flame of a candle is the one I want to watch struggle in the wind. I don't apologize for the way that everything that is right now and later on has its own sharp tongue. Of mine and not at all. But I do apologize in advance for the way you will be obliterated into exactly what you are. Pieces.
Andrew Rueter Oct 2017
I'm on the run
And not for fun
The police are chasing
My heart is racing
When my life is at stake
My morality I'll break

The police release the hounds
I can hear their deadly sounds
They want to maim me
I want to stay me
I decide to fight the charging canines
Because I just snorted a ******* line
My judgement loses length
To my influx of strength
I break the dogs' legs
Until they beg
That's not enough
Sorry Scruff
The steel gun I fire
A furry cop retired

The police attack me
For defending myself
They refuse to see
The danger to my health
They chose to use crazy canines
So I feel the fault isn't mine
That doesn't change their decision
For me to die slowly in prison
I am in the teeth of the government
Much to my human wonderment
This is the way I'll spend the rest of my life
For the decisions I made at the end of a knife

The irony is cops **** dogs all the time
Yet they obstruct their vision of the line
Where it ceases to be man versus society
And becomes man versus nature
When a man is in peril
He must turn feral
But in a country that blindly idolizes aggression
The police don't acknowledge this discretion
They dig their teeth into our skin
While draining us financially
The only way we'll ever win
Is if things change substantially
Sadism fervently fuels the flames of conflict
With an exasperated public sick of being kicked
Cruelty is what they witness
To lose their mental fitness
How can they protect their babies
When the police have rabies?
The police relationship with the effected public will never shift
When there's a Cereberus between them maintaining the rift
Cat Fiske Apr 2015
And Maybe we started off loving each other,
Or maybe we Pretended the hate we had for each other,
wasn't what Begun.

But Maybe the Lust
was just Lost
in our Hostility,
Because we only showed our true affections,
though our every aggression.

Maybe Obedience on my part,
Led you to your obsessive,
Threatening tendency's,
Some that led you throw your clammy fists at me,
But you Threw Terribly,

Sometimes I think you were being Empathetic to me,
When you didn't really force your fake Expression of love on me.
Because sometimes,
I just had blow you,
To prevent our blow outs,
But Every time you Exposed me,
You Excuse yourself,
by saying you love me.

Sometimes,
Love and Hate
Start off the same,
But we wont see it,
Until the ending letters,
end with E,
for Ending.
this is about a relationship I had, that has lead to more problems with my PTSD, I honestly write this on my hand a lot, and I finally transferred it. to my laptop, so I hope you like it, that is who ever reads it.
evolove Nov 2021
Travis scotts concert was 100% a satanic soul harvest. He sent those souls to another dimension.
Think I'm stretching? READ ALL THE WAY THROUGH.
First off. He called his event a "festival".  The definition of a festival is a feast. Did you see a large amount of food?
Or did you see a feast of souls?
His stage was the symbol for alchemy.  The egyptian ankh. The Egyptian ankh has to do with life. Because the wealthy know when you die and when you are born, you create a ripple in time and space for your soul to come and go. The best way to describe it is like a pool. Imagine you are about to jump into your local swimming pool. The water will break your entry and you will safely hit the bottom. Now. Imagine there is a person at every single part of the edge and you all jump in at the same time. Now you've got a problem. Soul harvesting is the same way. When you die your soul creates a ripple and it can safely leave. But. When you have a bunch of people dying in the same spot the spiritual realm becomes stressed in that location due to the high amounts of energy our souls resonate as they are leaving and entering the in between of this realm and other dimensions.  Therefore they have created machines that have tapped into the in between to ****** your soul. Who gets it and where it goes?  Other things are possible as well. Like the exchange of a good soul for whatevers on the other side?. Have you ever heard of cern? The large hydron collider. It's the largest machine in the world. This is NOT knew technology. The Mayan indians knew about this. The egyptians knew about this. THIS IS WITCHCRAFT AT THE HIGHEST DEGREE.
Let me break it down.
Travis Scott is a WITCH. The microphone is his wand. He is a (M.C.) (Master of ceremonies).  
With his wand he uses his voice (frequency) to help bring in the energy needed to open the portal. He brings a crowd of 50 to 70 thousand people who are generating IMMENSE amounts of energy into a low vibration. Love is the highest. Aggression is the lowest.
Then the design of his stage along with the lights become the sigil to help open the portal. Remember his stage was the symbol for alchemy?
YOU can't see the portal. You just see a fancy light show.
But those who are dying and their souls are separating from their bodies can.
The only way a living person MAY see through the portal is if they had taken an Elixir like Ayahuasca.
Do you ever wonder why all these "rappers" want to date the highest ranking Arminian witch family Kardashians?
Could it be because they are witches?

They do these kind of rituals behind closed doors all the time. What you saw was them coming out in the open.
The goal for you is to pass on and move to a higher dimension. You are drawn to the heavens because that's where you came from.
When you start gaining wealth, you start the search for immortality. Wealth is a drug that most refuse to part with.  So this is where satanism comes in. There's a theory of  reincarnation if you can create enough negative energy for yourself, you can weigh your soul back down. This is where the technology of transferring your consciousness back into another avatar has its place.
You can see why we are at a cross roads of transhumanism and luciferienism.
Some believe the elites WERE once humans and during the days of Atlantis that changed. Their technology hit a point they no longer needed human bodies. And they became the pinnacle of Transhuman. But no longer human. Something else. Maybe this is what "sanat kumara" is? A.K.A. Satan.
Truth. Facts travis scott Hollywood
Nabs Feb 2016
brimstone and fire
ready to engulf anyone
to burn or be burned
Shield that destroys
Mike Fashé Oct 2013
Sunset of Apollo
Rises upon the goddess of the moon
Graceful
Love of all
Drifting by the lake
The soul,
Once a fulfillment
Of delicate
Symmetrical
Structures that held
A deity together
The spiritual duality  
The love,
Flourishing through
The celestial azure
Between veils
Of Embers
Spreading like haze
Upon tranquil blaze
Soothing by the arctic breeze
Textural glaciers
Like indigo crystals
Seas of endless art
To pass on
To what feels like a dream
The life,
That felt incredible
Amity between
Forces that were inseparable
The hand
Upon the soil
Of the crimson stone
To feel rhythm of the velvet heart
An ocean that spreads
Scarlet sheets
Nourishing the seeds
Becoming the verdant children
With halos of blissful pigments
Into a mixture of tears
Blessed by mother Gaia
Blossoming for all to see…

Every layer that covers the sky
Beneath the end of every lullaby
Holds a gift
That lies and says goodbye
Driven & deprived to be nocturnal
Sleepless nights Cursed in vain
Any man to have you…
Thorns of pain that feels eternal
Magnificently a breath taker by divine  
Hallucination of the fibbed eye
To tell such lies
You were created by Aphrodite
Crafted by serenades
Beauty carved by the finest blade
Hazel diamond shades
It’s often said, weakness for elegant grace
Drives the loveliest man insane
Reminiscing in the hollow mind
Echoes from the cryptic name
I close my eyes
To hear the melody of the rain
Indulging in each drop that makes a note
Forming an orchestral perception of a dream
Recollection of memories…
Gentle flowing through the entrance of the stream
Anything for one more glimpse…
Lamenting the past
Voices
As I wake
Wrapped upon the cloak of the sea
Glancing at the beautiful moon
Spiraling my soul around her celestial body
As if I Projected
From the stars to the ocean
Reflection of my Luná
I hear the symphony
She sings
Calmly and peacefully
As I daze away
Float away
Losing grip of the moon
I pray
Just to stay…

Lonesome heart
That walks the fields of heaven
Arise upon accession
Through the meadows
With no aggression
Pleasant aura
Sphere that shines down before me
The stream
From the vessel
Aqua that is the key
That carries life
The dust & bones
Becoming false love that turns into stone
My failure for another
Misunderstood compassion
Misconception for love is lost
Despite of my action
Empty like deep space
Searching from dream & reality
For the sweetest taste
Asking questions from the wise Oracle
Will my heart ever find a mate?

Eden
My home
My soul
I don’t feel whole…
Harps of the angel
Tones played
Ever so gentle
Like a gust of euphoric fragrances
Scenting the air
As if the wind could
Recite poems
As marvelous as
Jade stones
Upon golden thrones
Visions of sunset mountains
Portraits of ocean blue fountains
Parallel between the Elysium fields & Sorrow acres
Blocked by shields of prayers
  Empyrean
The land
Of ecstasy & enlightenment
As I grasp a breath of air
I close my eyes
A vineyard of pleasures
And grassy lands that seek adventures
With bouquets of red wine roses, but with
Thorns that end sentiments
And decomposes
Gazing one poses
Forbidden until time fades…
Grab both your hands
Maybe the next lifetime
Where daylight shows its beautiful anthem

Never in all the life times had I lived
For this aesthetic moment
It’s a beauty of torment
A commitment of energy
Time and century
From one past to present
The future flourishes
From the tiniest grain
That grows life
To where our souls might cross one day
In the sphere
Of Gaia
Green plants from the beautiful ground
Blue skies
Surrounded by the beautiful white angel
Look after her soul
Protect her from who they once stole
Care for her
For she brings heart & soul
As the story goes,  
  The weak & the needy
Dream for no blackheart
Shot by the arrow that purges
Life
Love each other
Never fall apart

As Apollo sun sets
Silhouettes of the appealing moon
Dream I’ll soon
To what becomes
A forest of past memories
Sketches of my truly dearest
Along the midnight blue river
An ensemble of creatures
That roams and creates pieces
Played to unburden the soul
As I lay beside the oldest tree
To watch the night sky
Fireflies’ prance
The beautiful moon
Amusement to the eyes  
To stare upon this
Enchanted aspect
Of green nightly shine among the forest
Amber glowing
Shaded night
To see it
Would be a lie…
Privileged to have created a night
A sea of enjoyment
From the one dream
Failure to grasp beauty
Until now
As if kismet intended to be…
Love each day
As if it’s your last
For one day
Maybe we could lie in the grass
Consume life
For all it’s glory
One day will write a story
If not now
Then a lifetime is worth waiting
FYI: If you don't understand my poem then just take a guess at it. My writing revolves around symbolism and I like to keep the meaning to myself because guessing is more fun :) Interpret your own meaning!  

It's been forever since I posted a poem here. School is drag lol I hope to post more writing here when I'm not busy. Did a version 2.0 of my favorite poem (recycled some old stuff in it) I'll add more stuff later, but for now enjoy what I have!
Please take me away
Troubled times have haunted me
Stop my aggression
Darkness plagues me
the day when my uncle ray became sunday rose kidman urban




you see when my uncle ray pocock died in 2006, buddha was having a hard time trying to put him in

another family, and then uncle ray asked cronus to force keith urban to have *** with niciole kidman

to create a new life, and ray has been trying to search for a way to enter nicole’s body, it was like a

blessing for my uncle ray, you see my grandma who died in 2004, 2 years before ray, decided to

hold a sunday roast when her family went to bed, you see they had methane plants and chicken

and potatoes, and uncle ray decided to die and enjoy this sunday roast of the cosmos, ya know like help make it

and my grandma said, ray, how about when you reenter this world, your earth bodies name will be sunday rose

but you will force barry to hate the name, trying to explain that it sounds like sunday roast, which is cooked by me

and then my grandma invited cronus and buddha and athena to the sunday roast, so that uncle ray can be reincarnated

into nicole’s ******, with the help of keith and when they did the initial bit, it was a good wait, and then in 2008, sunday rose

was born, and it was ray pocock, and ray brought on the roast in her name, sure ray is a girl in his current life, but whether

he is a she or vice versa, it doesn’t matter, you see from the day that sunday was born and then named, this was going to

be a bumpy ride, seeing that ray pocock was a reverend, and died to be apart of the celebrity life, you see from that day ray and

my grandma has been hosting a big nightie conference with the whole family, to reform violence in the family unit, and ray brought

barry allan up there to get him to change the way he talks to brian, and also ray would invite nicole and keith in to meet his

previous life’s family, you see as nicole and keith are preparing to be good parents to their two kids sunday and faith, and ray

was given a job as our family’s joining, so he can make sure we are alright, and that is why sunday rose, is just walking around with keith and

nicole instead of being big youtube junkies, you see they were famous, but they wanted to be there for sunday and faith, for every turn

of their lives, ray was brought toward nicole in a party on jupiter and they bonded, just like mother and daughter, and ray went to buddha

and said, i want to be nicole kid man’s daughter, i want to learn how a famous person goes about living their lives, i like to bring barry allan

closer to liking the famous way of life, and i want to be named sunday roast, and force barry to get puzzled, so the name was not very long away

as the name was sunday rose and then ray was given the new life and buddha and cronus said i now pronounce nicole and keith’s new daughter

as sunday rose kidman urban and in the rose, r meaning ray and o as the second letter of pocock, but nicole and keith has a better meaning to the word

rose, and now sunday rose is 7 years of age, and ray pocock is considering himself the new GOD, flying around keeping all the families together, but the

problem is, families aren’t perfect as we are still having kids being kidnapped and people being stabbed or murdered, and ray has a lot to do

and another thing ray wants to do, is reform brian allan, by getting into his mind and telling people what is going on, even if it destroys other families

but if it destroys the family, ray explains to brian to write with a messed up brain, so you don’t reveal much about what cronus is doing, but if it makes

you as messed up as a hooligan, you must tell, and expect people not to like it, and then ray said, he is the NEW GOD, he is trying to keep domestic violence

and aggression out of his old family, now every time a picture of sunday rose goes on the internet, you can feel that ray pocock is at peace, you see sunday

is enjoying her life on earth, and i suggest to nicole and keith, that they have a little angel amongst them, and this was the sort of angel to lure brian away from

his old mate, because he was too negative, and from that moment  brian’s mate was getting panic attacks, and ray and ivy forced brian not to help him, as

he was a little negative ****, and he needed to stand on his own two feet, as ray got another mate to tease him and getting another mate to make ******* comments

driving him mad, and ray knew this was a hard job, so he made brian rave on about sunday rose and forced a conversation about when celebrities have babies

and then ray teased my mate, by making him think he controlled the world, to, i don’t know, lure him away from brian, because brian was trying to keep positiveness

with his mate, and then as it was hard to get his new mate out of his life, ray pocock forced an old friend to tease brian in his mind, treating brian like a little negative ****

to get rid of his negative friend, so that ray, can enjoy life as sunday rose and ivy can enjoy life as annie from brattayley and lucky can be baby **** and barry can enjoy life

as betty campbell, and not worry about, brian’s stupid mate unleashing his negativity onto brian, because what ray was thinking, brian would be positive without his mate

constantly around sprouting negativity in his head, and hopefully find out what brian really wants to do to keep positive, and one thing brian likes to do, is write out his hooligan

and cronus is a hooligan, because he is old, and brian needs to tell us all what is going on with cronus, to clear his mind, and one thing is, to never have brian and his mate dan

walk past and ray pocock is watching over his old family as well as watching over his new earth body sunday rose
Writing for me is simple..
Lyrically ready to maximize my potential..
I have something to say I don't blow hot air like a inner tube...
Tell them liars they need to relax..
I am the type to push it to the max..
Switching gears and lanes until the governor snap ..
I cannot be contain..
Like the green hulk fighting the thing
I wish you could take a walk through my brain..
You would see different things depending on the time of day...
Like dead people, relatives that passed in my memories they live...
Times of my youth when I was a kid...
I didn't smile much.
I was a good kid I didn't wild much...
Pops sold crack so I styled much ...
Gun shots in Baltimore, my pops  died once...
In my mind I question a ****.  
Like are they always ready to ****
Or does life have them Close to the edge..
Of a cliff a jagged hill  
And they don't want to die in this dog eat dog world..
So they let blood spill..
I wonder if I was a G would I bang.
Red or blue claim a gang.  
Be like Larry Hoover...
A young shooter...
In and out of prison I maneuver
Run the block like a ruler...
Be part of the the trash like manure
Be a coke runner a drug mover..
Corrupting the body of drug users.  ..
Would I be known as a survivor
Escaping death more than MacGyver
Embrace the streets as truth knowing that's it a liar...
Nickname my gun human torch cause it fires
I wonder cause honestly I don't have a gun
This poetry is my weapon..
I am only gangsta through my lyrical aggression

Day 1 down...I am up to the challenge.
A poem a day ..to test my talent...
Chapter XXI
Hegira to Patmos

They dropped their moorings from Cala Cogone early, when the tide seemed to be separated from the waters like a head distanced from its body. On a lavish and romantic day they went to Genoa, to continue the logistics of the trip to Piacenza. During the trip Etréstles was stretched out in the bow under a Sun that seemed to be fearsome as it was a digestive task that would make him ingest his own dream, which perhaps he aspired to be more than a journey. While he slept, at the helm Etréstles dressed in a black robe and the comrades also sleeping with dreams that they painted with sign gestures on their faces.

Dream of Etréstles: "With the memory off-center ..., I was still in Izzana, dancing by the clouds on gray tulles of the layers of the sky that tried to stop being a Kingdom without a Crown and Sword". They glimpsed the stones melting and turning into gauze juxtaposed to the aerosolites that unfolded from the Sorcery, landing on the hands and heads of Vernarth and Himself. As he continued his dreamy journey, he dialogued with the auxiliary legate of his own dream. “He tells her that he sees them beyond where their liturgies collide. They cross eroding the vanished and itinerant reason”. He gets up and takes the moorings of the ship and ties them to his neck. Then everyone cooperates to walk along the edge of the ship, which all moved barefoot. This is how I would wake up!

Vernarth tries to wake him up, shakes him, but doesn't wake up. And when he tried to avoid him from sleep, he saw that he had the moorings around his neck, along with two Unicorns who were escorting him and were looking towards infinity, auspicious that Genoa was already coming in front of their horns. The others began to wake up and ate reclining, almost as if without any desire to get up from the deck full of self-sliding linen, which allowed everyone to pass their own meals, including those that were semi-consumed rolling on the deck. Etréstles,  transferred the dream to Vernarth, once he went to his bedroom to rest before they touched the roadstead at the foot of the homonymous promontory, 36 km from Genoa.  Portofino, close to the hydro form of the Portofino Regional Natural Park.  Being able to find different entrance doors through S. Rocco, Portofino Vetta and Nozaregoino  that led you to paths with different levels of accessibility and landscape. On the route of the path that traveled from Northwest to Southwest on the same promontory, he received the full beauty of the Mediterranean vegetation, with its beautiful pines, bluish and clean waters of the Mediterranean, which filled his lungs and especially his stem, which silenced of peace to those who accompany you through this interesting and beautiful Natural Park with deep blue eyes.
Vernarth is wrapped with two layers of linen and stands in between eclipsing each of the Unicorns. They pass her horn through her pectoral, as if wanting to insinuate affection. But her propitiated gesture was to crown her with the Power of her phalanx, the impetus in Gaugamela, an Onyx Crown, to lighten the burden of sleep and wake up before reaching the shores of Genoa.
Calling in Genoa, they all descend in a separate part and say goodbye from afar, gesturing with their hands. Their ramblings revealed multi-level radiographs of the resolved aura that invited them to an enclave hostel, to re-enter the world of their daily chores. The Unicorns who would return back to Sardinia stayed on the ship that was in the blue bay. They positioned themselves at the bow one and at the stern the other, to lighten the sails and return to Izzana.

Vernarth and Etréstles walked with their bags, letting go of their feet towards La Via ** Settembre, they travel in an east-west direction, next to Corso Italia, the promenade that runs along the promenade, which is one of the favorite places to reform the destination of Piacenza. From this road they moved near the adjacent carriage station to the Caruggio neighborhood in Sottoripa. Here they entered an inn to eat and drink liqueurs made from natural herbal recipes and sweet citrus, some fish with bread, sauce and Genovés sourdough. to satisfy their hunger.
They had dinner and opened the exit to the terminal. Before, they went to the Ponte Monumentale where the church dedicated to Santa Rita is, called Iglesia de la Consolación, whose entrance, at the level of the old streets, is slightly lower than the current street. They pass a porch and enter. "Almost like a grand cloister sensation they perceived during their stay, as if centuries had passed, but which never ended in the wanderings of any secular period. It was the impression once entered and soaked on this road, which still remains active. From this original cloister, the invocation of images on the sides placed towards the church towards Via ** Settembre, as well as the closed portal in the market access plaza on Via Galata, recur, while the other two sides are they completed attractions to admire when the eastern market in Genoa appeared before them ”.

When they entered, the masks were passed over the bones of their faces, indulgent towards both faces of the visitors, under a freshness of gravitational atmospheric fragrance, perhaps from the connected baptismal font or the lateral nave or the three naves separated by square pillars illuminating them. This is where Vernarth places his right hand on his forehead and his mouth, as a sign of catechesis detached from The Vault, the central nave and the counter-facade that were painted in fresco in 1874 by Giuseppe Isola, after reading about the intertextual verifying thus Vernarth. (Visioni dell'Apocalisse, Gloria di Nostra Signora della Consolazione and Giuditta rientra trionfante in Betulia), while Etréstles frenziedly admitted the frescoes through the side aisles that are the work of Giovanni Quinzio at an angle close to him. Observing everything, he was already indoctrinating to reprint new vigor to enter Piacenza triumphantly and head to the Region of Patmos. Giuseppe Isola's fresco was the great motive that struck his reason for being where he was to continue the threads upon threads of his lineage as the great Commander of the troops of Gaugamela and his Phalanges. Here is the church in its first tune with the duty of limitlessness before its steps to dominions that will make it recover their powers, from where they were first seen dressing in the clothes of an innocent child.


In the apse, there was the choir singing baroque pieces, and followed by elaborate wooden stalls from the 17th century. In the Altars on the left, on the Fifth Altar, Etréstles, captures a simultaneous vision. From that moment when it was the disappearance of this Santa Maria della Pace church, which could have been one structure on top of the other, perhaps in ruins but if the columns could go further from where their originals are born. Until then both had separated from each other, and they would meet again here in the apse, where they never lose sight of each other again, to turn towards the exit that required them to leave the sacred precinct. In the terminal, a grayish float awaited them, with silver trim on the edges of the structure, at the top of the front roof it said "Where you must never go and be". It was just the transport of an allegorical float. They were theatrical traveling artists, who had places available for travelers to Piacenza. The one that they just approached to move to the home, where they had to register at their own will and rejoin this excellent session "Parapsychological Regression".The Trebbia valley, a few kilometers from Piacenza. Vernarth noted that a shaft of the chariot made a strange sound. To which he notified the driver, telling him what he caught on the rear axle of the carriage. They go down to inspect all; not being able to detect anything that it would suppose would be an anomaly of filming of the instrumental east. Etréstles sees that some steeds were grazing on some meadows and he tells them all. Vernarth warns him and immediately heads to them. It reaches only a sorrel that was running its tongue over its hoof. The others flee. Vernarth approaches, and notices that he had a wound in his left hoof, noticing that in the center there was a strip of Green color, He takes his leg, and examines it. He takes out his dagger and begins to remove the stake that was inserted into his damaged leg. The others were gone, restarting the trip to Piacenza. Etréstles managed to climb a steed, and followed him - The float remained without them supposedly to arrive safely at Piacenza. But at 5 km, before reaching the city they are struck by a lightning bolt from a sudden storm. What misdirects his route - the passengers were left intact, only fatally suffered the loss of the driver. (It was verified by Vernarth when he arrived at his home in Piacenza).   As  Vernarth rode fast in the storm, trying to catch up with the carriage. Stress them towards the same to reach their brother. They rode propagating the pastures that passed near the forests of Val Trebbia. When the storm intensified instantly, it was wise to take refuge and wait for the flood to decrease. They were always close to each other. Etréstles about 18 km from Vernarth, they did not know it, but the horses sensed each other. They already distinguished, that they were close to each other, but it was necessary to take care of the horse, and have to check its hoof again. He checks it and notices that it had a green stripe in the four parts, like a pigment already placed concentrically in the middle of each hoof.


Ellipses Gaugamela - Final War
Vernarth bids farewells farewell. Once the Achaemenides are surrendered, he prepares to review them. Walk with Alikanto across the ****** plain. Reviewing his five hundred dead and three thousand wounded, he goes to recirculate in the footsteps of the attack, manages to see lead as a sentinel gathered wounded horses, but not serious. He approaches him and says Khaire; asking what unit they came from. He tells them of the Hosts of the command of Hefestion. The sentinel tells him, that he was enraptured by the fact before his eyes to see that all the horses of the line of Hefestion, Alexander the Great and Vernarth, to fascinate him that they had a green stripe on his left hoof. Wedge riders are formed, lining up the stable, towards the court of the guards and Macedonian monarchs. She dismounts from Alikanto and checks the chestnut trees, managing to insinuate that it could be Medea's ploy of the smiling charm towards her Hetairoi dancers, whose elite had bracelets on each leg on each chestnut. Also with the offensive weapon, they acted as the Macedonian's personal guard. Vernarth recalled that, before starting the offensive, with his blessed Xifos he inflicted light wounds on the left foot of his Phalanges in the act of "overtaking them before being stained by the enemy"

Vernarth says: Here is the cavalry that has received so much praise for «hammer» in the strategies, because it crushed the enemy units retained by the «anvil» or the «phalanx» that I had to command and lead the charge, intoning the riders. And even more the circumcisions that he gave them before entering combat. With the Hetairoi I was organizing squadrons of 200 to 300 soldiers, while they were checking the chestnut trees. In the campaign, they would ride the best horses, ******* or on the blanket, they were awarded the best weapons available. Each carried his long throwing spear Xyston, accompanied by a Kopis sword, for hand-to-hand combat, which in the interlude would defend his flax and bronze breastplate, with respective protective armbands and helmet, before lightly tackling his aggression . The horses were also partially protected, but not their hooves! I gave them the final instruction by decree to take them to the altarpieces and attend to them, so that they check their left hoof.Thus giving signs of great concern about the green stripe on each of its left hooves. Sentinel Hetairoi, with some of his servants, gather the animals and transport them where they have been ordered to tend and examine them. As the designs collapse over the night in gloomy litanies, Medea bursts into a great green outfit saying:

Medea: Vernarth, rancid are on my memory the potions and designs of those who want to talk about me or offer me in their lust.Where the zeal of anxiety deceives the wishful arms that welcome the victorious pleasure. Hooves are my skeptics and famous decisions, because I am weak in will but not in character. Green is the pouring of my converted powers into the veins of the horses. They were carriers in their eloquent ferocity. Instead of blood, I had sap from the magic vessels that I transferred to them so as not to doubt the doubts. Their object is that a green band was encased in their hooves as a sign of the Hipnos promontory through their Son Clovis, to plunge all the forests of the raging underworld, towards the heart of each "Valiant Hetairoi".


Outside ellipsis / near Piacenza
Vernarth and Etréstles in a post-storm clearing, a soft breeze greets them and they meet again, they greet Khaire! And together they reroute to the empty pastures, which would gradually begin to venture them through the farthest forests of the Val Trebbia. On some brown plains with poor colors that visited him falling as they faded on his mirage. From this unusual crossroads they will supremely perceive the closeness of Piacenza in their breathing.
Now they are in the vicinity of the Cimitero de Piaceza. Then they will have to go home on the Via Giovanni Codagnello, on the calendar of January 2020. The Parapsychological Regression continues.


Piacenza Cemetery, January 20, 2020
Vernarth and Etréstles entered the necropolis long before sunset. They were carrying a cake to celebrate Vernarth's birthday. Night Patrol joined the visit. In particular, they followed a night watch service that was active, trusting their guide Piacenza or the surrounding area, with 3 internal night patrol passages 365 days a year, for the rest of lives beyond all material life, perhaps turned into marble statues.
They hired a special service dedicated to the approved service for 2 people .; They were active during the caretaker's office opening hours (the same opening hours as the cemetery). With this service they overcame difficulties to walk after so much traveling. They leave the green-hoofed horses, now turned into statues. They request authorization from the entrance cemetery offices, to honor their belonging and to please those who visit them on their behalf. In Genoa, after having passed through the exterior without entering, they were ecstatic with the Staglieno Cemetery in Genoa (the most monumental in Italy).But if they enter the Piacenza, where the sanitary monumentality passed through the real function of such an enclosure in the contingency. It was commented by the neighboring offices that the migration of corpses from Bergamos were moved to Modena, Acqui Terme, Domodossola, Parma, Piacenza to carry out the respective ceremonies. Due to the great Viral Pandemic that decimated a great majority of Italian citizens in these areas. Vernarth became aware of the current reality, saw how a gravedigger conversed with the crowds, there was a nurse, a doctor and a prodigal man who concentrated on uploading moods to those who were there, almost like a caster, to relieve them of this transitory despite humanity.
They continue past the pyramidal pines, to the central pavilion. They sit on the edge of some flagstones, and take the cake to celebrate their birthday. They sing a hymn and they both enjoy it lovingly. Etréstles saw that he had a little cream left on his nose and cheekbone, running his hand to remove it. In the instant, the guard calls them; it was time to go because it was time to close the compound. They say goodbye with a monumental hug paying tribute to their brother!


Etréstles says: Honors Vernarth, for your immeasurable Valor! It is a great contribution that we divide our work and commitments. From here I go to the Messolonghi Cemetery. I will only wait for the crescent moon to meet the Charioteer, then leave with him and my beloved Drestnia. My Xifos Sword in my right hand and the head that I cut off in my left hand, in Gaugamela before that rugged fate! Khaire, My honors Commander Etréstles!. It remains in the shadow of some pyramidal pine trees of this sublime night, and then they distance themselves. Vernarth leaves the compound heading towards his house relatively close to the cemetery, on the Via Giovanni Codagnello.


Final session in Vía Codagnello, Piacenza:
Vernarth enters opens the door and everyone is waiting for him. Huge groups of friends, work colleagues, family, their pets, and especially the Parapsychologist, who had commanded this whole great session. They all approach her and in the instant, Vernarth awakes abruptly from the parapsychological session. They stabilize it and check your vital signs. There were many days of this odyssey. His awakening was mediatic, since they were attentive to him to question him and confess everything, but he was clear that his purpose would lead him to the confines of Patmos along with Raeder and Petrobus. It remained only to wait for the tenuity of a simple immortal warrior to assist in the services of John the Evangelist. The parapsychologist says you have to wake up, you can no longer be AND stay here in this temporary tube!
Once he has refused to wake up, he takes the itinerary to return to Macedonia. The visibly worn and stunned parapsychologist demands that he give up and obey his command. The effort was unproductive, only letting himself be carried by the grip of his right hand, taking his other with great vigor to remove it from shamelessness, from whom he does not suppress his pride to who still remains wounded by the swords that bleed his soul in Gaugamela. "Everyone is amazed and resigned !, pointing out that he must have always been in the surroundings of his beloved Macedonia, cutting the bursts of succulent insolence on the same temperate cliffs, where some variation of the sounds of the wind would make him saddle his Alikanto to acclaim the gods who came looking for him ”

Vernarth is engulfed in ambivalence, almost celebrating his birthday and waking up from his parapsychological journey. Both will take place, but the session will continue irrevocably. After a few days close to the first day of the crescent moon, he greeted him from a privileged place on his house Etréstles de Kalavrita who was with the Charioteer in his car and Drestnia, they went in that masterful car to join the chores of the Koumetrium Messolonghi (Editorial Palibrio - USA) .So returning to Messolonghi, to meet his disciples and essences of the foundation of his naturalness.


Hegira to Patmos
On a gray day in July 1820. Piacenza slept under the ambush of the revolution, in Italy there was a situation similar to that of another European nation. Vernarth was preparing his last details with the parapsychologist, to undertake his Hegira to Patmos, since he was a revolutionary and this was of great motivation to emigrate from this constant stage of Wars and sociopolitical processes. Manage to be a participant in this revolt in the Piedmont area. Its ideological axes were liberalism and nationalism. Given that the most affected countries were those of southern Europe (episodes from other areas, such as Germany or France, were much less important), with Spain as epicenter of a movement that extended to Italy and Portugal, and on the other hand Greece; It has been called the Mediterranean cycle as opposed to the Atlantic cycle that had preceded it in the previous generation (the first liberal revolutions or bourgeois revolutions, produced on both sides of the ocean: the Independence of the United States -1776- and the French Revolution -1789- ). As compromised great principalities of much of Europe were banned, it participates in great dissolution of collisions and invasions that involved it. In this way he would liberate his Homeland, especially his province of Piacenza.

Although the "Kingdom of Italy" as such did not exist, there were two great kingdoms that participated in the Revolutions of 1820: the Kingdom of Naples and the Kingdom of Piedmont. However, most of the revolutionary movements were driven by secret societies, such as coal. The Kingdom of Piedmont was also one of the most affected, since it was at the epicenter of Italian nationalism. It was controlled by Víctor Manuel I, member of the House of Savoy and defender of the Old Regime. The monarch had only been on the throne for 6 years, since he returned to Turin in 1814 due to the defeat of Napoleon. Since his return, various factions within the country advocated for a unification of all the Italian kingdoms. The unstable situation of its neighbor, the Kingdom of Naples, caused the carbonarians within Piedmont to revolt in March 1821.

Conclusive Hegira ellipsis to Patmos:
After this great conflict, he orders his parapsychologist to resume his final session in Patmos; he begins the procedure for the era that he had to trespass anachronistically, returning to the era of the Macedonian Empire. The parapsychologist asks him time, place, dates, clothing, customs, and manages to meet his request. He enters the portal, and in the backwaters of Messolonghi he meets Raeder and Petrobus. They were close to this heroic land, Messolonghi in the Gulf of Patras, the capital of Aetolia-Acarnania. Nothing less than in the land of his Brother Etréstles "Koumeterium Messolonghi".


"They all approach the vicinity, pray three times to heaven, and manage to be abducted to the underworld of Messolonghi. When they were snooping through the catacombs, they make out the surroundings of a luminous vault, thus distinguishing a woman passing by with others. It was the beautiful nymph Eurydice inaugurating The Constitution of a new Government”.
Eurydice and the gravediggers worked for the new government to be instituted. They were reviewing the last ground plans that converged on the tenth cemetery.
Eurydice ...: with the absence of Etréstles and Drestnia we will make her awakening continue, whose awakening phase closely relates to her wife.
Grave ...: Where do we start?
Eurydice ...: by the southwestern statue of Ashurbanipal, to pay tribute to Botsaris. Then, we will go up to receive the cordoned off tomb of Bramante and Ghiberti, so that the latter can advise us regarding the work to be erected.
They climb the northeast pavilion to the foundations of a mausoleum. They approach the slab of Ghiberti, who was loosening his fingers, sitting on the shore of a Pyramid-shaped cypress. Bramante vanished into the gray beams of light...

Ghiberti ...: I already know your mission. I am summoned to the Council on the day of the sailors' return. To start, they went to the mines to look for precious stones, stones to build Markos Botsaris.
Eurydice ...: Good! Well, in nine moons and nine suns they will return from the coasts of Morocco, the last docking point, so that they can then return. At the moment they are already warned.
Just back, there was a Lover with her right hand holding her chin.

Inamorada In Love ...: Five centuries ago I awaited my awakening, my lover promised to return ... with these verses...:
"I want to be different,
I want to take you my love...
and tell you that by missing you
there is no greater sadness than not seeing you ...
Forgive me for not coming back...
before my absence caused your death,
Wait for me ... I'm going to tell you ... how I miss you
Along with my immortality of feeling...!  How I miss you...!!

... He still tells me this, but from here, under the embankment of the cemetery I feel that he is far away and I can do nothing. Also, I have it in my memory and one day we will meet here. The Enamorada continues to sit and watch armies of soldiers being thrown into graves, their bodies severed. As she continues; ... there is more life here than on the surface, and the trenches replace the concave wombs, as vessels! As everything here lives, even the flowing and hallucinatory invocations are perceived from the Poets, Alchemists and Astronomers. They make the invisible go in a formidable adventure to the site of their magical hallucinations.
Eurydice ...: Stay on your stone, with your chiffon dress; here you will see the arrival of Etréstles. He will bring news from other lands to answer you. Now dispense if we delay, sadness will fall on the other beings who are being buried and transhumated. The Enamorada remained on the stone with her knees resting on her chest. Eurydice and her assistants went to their rooms. "
All this they manage to witness, and then go in search of Etréstles on the same tenth cemetery floor. Raeder and Petrobus were laughing and at the same time they were impressed, as if wanting to remember him when they have to leave directly from Messolonghi to Patmos, towards the Dodecanese region. In the meantime Vernarth was searching for his brother in all the nearby areas of the catacombs flashing penetrating light, unable to find him. He arrives at the ninth cemetery and is fascinated by a feminine image that would seem like a phantasmagorical chimera ..., it was Drestnia moistening some ferns on some crypts making gestures to see them already grown, even if they had just been planted...!

They approach her intimacy and ask her greetings, Drestnia answers them abstractedly that Etréstles traveled to Patmos to applaud the maiden ceremonies that would be wed in the spring in the nearby meadows. Being able to settle in The Monastery of Zoodochos Pigi, and who later went to the hills of Castelli, as it has been known that everything has been celebrated on a hill that many hundreds of years ago has sheltered our historical fragrances in the unity of the ethereal until the present. Such ruins among some works as well as the Temple of Apollo that will continue to survive with its prevailing mystery not revealed.
Etréstles gives them their congratulations and wraps his arms around Drestnia. They evacuate the cemetery, remaining abstracted in the internal darkness of the catacombs with fewer lights than a feasible twilight of darkness, as if immediately leaving Etréstles to be with him in the spring, shedding light on herself taking them to the Castelli hills, which they would figure in the sweetened exaltation of the pollinations of the nymphs on the maternal and ****** maidens.

They go out and spread their impulses over the promontory of the Koumeterium of Messolonghi with Raeder and Petrobus on Raeder's shoulders. Vernarth invoked the north with her staff where Alikanto would appear with her hooves with greenish stripes.

Raeder says:  Let's go. On those warm currents to follow we will not unite you Vernarth. Smiling, the fantastic boy danced, forming figures that enlivened him to hold on to the legs of Petrobus. They both stared at Vernarth and raised high above the warm clouds. Beneath the Messolonghi miniature, she had Vernarth's sights on them; she was putting reins and her Hoplite tunic, to mount Alikanto. He looks around and makes a big sign to Raeder to follow him to where he was, they suspend themselves and manage to go back to the highest mass of misty airs that would take them against the clock towards Patmos to meet Saint John and Etréstles.
HEGIRA TO PATMOS  /  COPYRIGHT
Anna Brown Sep 2014
"YOU SHALL NOT PASS"
lord of the rings fanatics, typical
Somehow controlling thousands of people turned us all into Gandalf
I guarded the food, you two the door
Most people don't tell you how healthy it is to assert yourself,
They crave passivity, fear aggression
Assertion doesn't mean aggression
Patriarchal society
How good it feels to stand tall
Huge like a mountain, wise like a wizard
If we are Gandalf you're the ring
I hope you get thrown into the pits of Mordor
Aa Harvey Jul 2018
Revolution: Part one.


The first French King sentenced to death,
Must have a new execution invented;
So that this day shall be forever remembered.
The execution of your King, this invention of evil;
This is how he will finally meet his end and go to the Devil.


The man behind the mask, the executioner;
Will lead us to change to a new world order.


A declaration of civil war, to stop the oppression,
Has lead France to say, we must fight to stop the aggression.
We must be revolting and begin the revolution;
To put an end to the executions.


The fall of the guillotine, for a life time spent,
Writing the encyclopedia, which lead to his death.
There is no place for God, in an encyclopedia of Man;
This writing is illegal, you are blasphemous!  *******!
So the time has come, to take your last breath.
Remember when you see the guillotine... don't lose your head.


Until it's chopped off and ends up in the basket;
Another case of basket case madness.
No fiction necessary, for us to live here on Earth;
But this execution, you surely don't deserve.
So the poets leave France, before the revolution;
All of them heading, back to England.


These prison bars to entrap the young.
Taken prisoner for writing a book.
Follow their rules; free thinking is wrong.
The encyclopedia is evidence enough.


Man is born free and grows to imprison himself;
Then he must follow the orders, of somebody else.
Frances revolutionaries, said let it be, let it be;
But the nation is ruled, by the monarchy.


Imprisoned for what they think, the poets and the artists;
But there are no walls, in the prison inside their heads.
Begin the revolution and make us all classless,
Because they’re chained by society,
For the thoughts that they think.


A fight for equality, a modern day philosophy.
Man is born to think for himself; a revolution is on the way.
Liberty!  Liberation for one free state;
A jaded nation must make a change.


Revolution began, after the fall of the blade;
Now the guillotine of power will stop us being slaves.
Preaching revolution, we must free ourselves of these manacles.
Preaching liberation for the masses
And freedom for the individual.


This new guillotine, the machine of death,
Makes the severed head fall into the basket,
As they take your last breath;
But they can't take your words, from the books you have written.
So fight the power!
Revolution!  Revolution!


We must have a revolution, that is televised.
Che Guevara, Malcolm X, me, myself and I.
All of us willing to join the fight;
All of knowing our view is right.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
David Walker Aug 2013
**** on my hands
Feet steeped in dirt
My back pains to stand
My raw **** begins to hurt

Excuse my vulgarity as it is not my intent
Excuse my anger as it tends to become violent
Excuse yourself for your ignorance and malice
Excuse my voice, if you want quiet crazy go ask Alice

Watch my face as I start to grin
It kinda ***** to watch you win

My aggression teaches lesson
My death is all that is left

Watch the water as it turns black
Black as my soul
Black as coal

My sin is your deliverance
My goal is your difference

Can't you see how blind I am?
Cant you feel how hurt I am?
Wash the blood of of my hand
Wish you luck I don't give a ****

Can you people guess my direction?
It has become hard to maintain *******
The voices blend into a shout
Hard for me to figure it out.

If you want sleep
Don't be a creep
For your soul will weep
For your eyes will start to bleed.

I can hope you decipher my message
If not well **** my guesses
Of your thoughts and intentions
All apologies of which I speak
Can't help when my eyes don't blink
Jeremy Rascon Aug 2014
In a ****** society
Chicanos thrive
culture changing
as we try to survive
the vatos in the calles
**** our own kind
our culture we can't find
Aztec ancestors
Spanish savages
the blood of warriors
but our native tongue is tied
family from mexico, access denied
a fence divides
we act out in aggression
now la raza has tension
tattoos with meaning unknown
ignorance is whats really shown
our culture is lost
Mitchell May 2011
Assembly line broke down as the mirrors crashed and cracked.
"Angelina!!!" the crooked boss man yelled.
"Get in herre" the crook socks rang like bells.
Angelina poured sweat of the yellow blouse she had bought two days before for another interview in another office and another profession altogether. The room spun for her even though she would rather have it stay still.
"How much longer till this mechanism shifts and all of this stops altogether. Have their been madder women then me? Has there been madder men then me? Have their been madder times or are the times the same just with different tools and gears and nuts and bolts to tirelessly continue, heaving the corpses through the concrete cracked and littered streets?"
"Angelina!!!"
Another nail gun dropped to the floor, firing twenty rounds into fifty blue collared men's tie clips, deflecting them all to the near by wall which held the coats, the hats, the work shoes which the men were not allowed to wear due to "safety intrusions" and "labor union by lateral horizontal negative dairy laws". Another unfortunate fortune from the cracked mirror case but that, of course, is not the story, our story is...
"Angelina!!!"
Angy hurried up the hungry, empty metal n' holy stairs. She lost her high heels in a crack in the stairs but left them there due to the fear. 2011 had been a good year until she had been forced by her landlord, also her boyfriend, to get a real job rather then stuffing her knitted socks with her poetry and trying to haggle them to new age modern morons of the hip near sighters whom glasses were unintelligible but necessary. The mirrors of the conveyor belts reached the top of the platform but the door was shut. The mirrors bent and shattered leaving the splintered pattern of the world outside of them multiplied by the millions.
Noon was her lunch break and it was noon oh two. Angelina would be late with her lunch and the landlord, Nick, was planning to stop in with some home made sandwiches and home made potato chips.
"Nick will have to wait." Angelina thought to herself. "Nick hates to wait."
Angelina entered to stand in the wake of a shaking, sweating purse wearing, purse lipped boss boss. His hair was tossed to one side, struggling to hide his baldness. The subtelty of their relationship was difficult considering Angelina had slept with boss boss to get tossed this job. The act was actually enjoyable, Angelina thought him a good lay, but boss boss was not a fun person to be around, and he was a much worser boss.
"Angelina!!!"
"Hi."
"Your FIRED!"
"Bye then sir..."
"ANGELINA!!!"
"Yes sir?"
"AREN'T YOU GOING TO ASK WHY YOU WERE JUST SO HASTILY AND VIOLENTLY FIRED?"
"It is not my place to inquire why I was fired sir. If I was not doing my specific duty well enough I trust you, as my superior, to have thought what this subtraction would do to your company. If I had questioned you I would be questioning yourself as a boss and I would never want to do that...sir."
"VERY GOOD. DISMISSED!!!"

---

"So he just fired you, no explanation, nothing?"
"There was nothing really to say after the fact."
"You could have demanded an explanation."
"I was in a hurry to meet you. I know you hate to be late for our dates."
"That's sweet."
"And boss boss shouldn't have to explain himself, he IS a professional."
"He works in mirrors which doesn't make at all make him a ropes course supervisor."
"He's very handsome when He means what He says."
The home made potato chips had been burnt because Nick had fallen asleep while watching old re-runs of run marathons from the 80's. Nick had trained for the Olympics in 83' but while home after training and drinking an OK shake, Nick had stubbed his toe while drinking the OK shake and trying to get to a ringing telephone. Nick had collided so perfectly, so quickly and with such for that his right big toe had bent all the way back, his big toe fingernail touching the hairy patch on the top of his foot. The doctors said amputate the toe and save the foot or chop the entire thing off altogether. Nick, not being a dumb ****, opted for the entire foot. He never raced again.
"Are you going to try and get your job back?
"I don't know"
"Well. It's the 28th tomorrow and I need the rent either way. The insurance agency I'm with has been bugging me about percentages and utilities and...well, you don't want to hear about my worries."
"I don't mind sweety."
"Thanks doll. What're you gonna do?"
"Find more work I guess. I haven't written anything in a while, maybe it's a good time to get back on that train, see what comes up."
"I saw a help wanted sign at the mall nail salon."

---

Baby stroller wheels lined with pink and grey gum were lined up against the overwhelming glass wall enclosing the shops from the streets. Trees reflected green with the sun light lined across the clear wall. Birds flew at the top of the block near the ceiling crop, they wanted to come in but were confused how to do so. Children came through the valley with lollipops and balloon powder and strings lined with meats, they were headed to the capitalistic circus, a wonder land that only brought guilt from lovers and their future children's shame.
Angelina stood outside the electronic moment to moment receivers. She was afraid of not being allowed entry. Everyone entering entered easily, but what of she? Would she be accepted? Clicking her unpainted fingernail atop her leopard print clip purse and what was worse she had no cash to get her orange Julius or perhaps see a film if she couldn't conjure of the courage to stop off at the salon. That was why she had come here, right?
"Where had the salon been?" Angelina said aloud.
The mass of the mall was vibrating with a ferocious congruity. Through the fog of meaty torso's lay blank and content faces. Gripping their wares, their steaming quick food, some of it dropping to their foot only to be kicked around on the dirtied floor. At times a rat would scurry from underneath a traveling underwear salesmen to grab a piece of fried bread, half cooked meat, or small pieces of children's hair which floated softly down to the wet and mud streaked floor. Mall cops waved their sticks to each other, some kind of HAIL or CHEER that they were the one's in charge round' these parts and there wasn't nothing no one was going to do about it.
"Do I really want to work here?"
There was no choice though. Angelina needed to pay the rent or her landlord/boyfriend would kick her out on the street and from there, she had no clue where the blue sky would take her. Her parents, both dead thirteen years ago, would be a terrible place to set up camp, especially in a graveyard. Angelina's brother lived over seas working at a ***** clinic trying and failing to heal the weak and unwanted. He had tried to heal her through voodoo practices he gathered up drunk through his 6 month stay in New Orleans but it had only given her a bright blue and red rash for three to four weeks. She never longer trusted her brother with any kind of healing or "feel better" techniques and was no prepared to make the trek to Europe anytime soon, she was in a relationship at the moment anyway and she had a feeling she might be in love.
Angelina stepped through the glass exchanging doors in unison with a family that was entering at the same time. The door seemed to open for any body but was tentative if it would accept hers, this time, it seemed to.
Inside she made her way up "the miracle marbled stairs" which shined bright and blinded Angelina in certain parts of her eyes. They flashed bright red and greens and whites so visciously and fast Angelina thought she might have some kind of seizure. She planted her feet directly on each step as she walked up the 20 to 30 stairs, going very slow and gripping the handrail. People started to gather around behind her shouting "HURRY UP LADY" and "WE DON"T GOT ALL DAY" and giggling to themselves.
"Were they not seeing these lights?" Angelina thought to herself.
"Do you kind people know where the nail salon is?"
Angelina then realized that what she had just said made no sense. Her eyes were gripped shut, her hand tight around the shiny gold handrail, her feet pointed strictly out like some kind of paralyzed summer penguin. The people which had gathered behind her stood bare, jaw slacked, wondering who would step forth to help this poor helpless creature.
A little girl with red sparkled shoes and a orange bow atop her head stepped forth. She smiled even though she knew Angelina had her eyes tightly shut, maybe she would feel the warmth? The girl's mother reached for her so not to get to close to that "crazy lady" but the little girl pulled away, her father saying "If it's her time to go, it's her time to go".
"Miss lady with the tiger purse, I think the hardware nail pull on is on the 8th floor next to the people that sell bread with meat sticks inside."
The little girl stepped gingerly back as Angelina loosened her grip on the now stained golden handrail. She shook her hair out and ran her fingers through it, straightening herself up as if she were about to perform a song or late night poetry reading. Angelina opened her eyes and peered down at the girl.
"Thank you little girl. What's the best way to get there?"
The girl child said nothing. She pointed to a large metal box shooting up and down the length that looked like a rocket straight to heaven. People were gathered all around its foundation, oooing and ahhhing at the sight of the one's which entered. There was a sign over the line of tubes reading "A Shot at the Void".
"A shot at the Void..." Angelina tentaively breathed to herself.
Angelina stepped up the last couple glittering stairs and made her way through the thick crowd of stale clothes, cheap tricks, obsessed teeny boppers, hardware for wear, shoes with no laces, strips of bacon hanging from mouths, lettuce all shredded, soda cans with their lids torn clean off with small splatters of blood lined on the rim, and a perfectly painted fingernail was drawn on the number eight where the long lines and rows of numbers were there to guide the one's to the shot.
"Number eight. Easy enough"
Angelina pushed the button.

---

Inside the tube there was a slow light hum of jazz transfusion and children breathing. There were three little daughters gripping their mother's hands as they bit into their soda pop straws, ******* up the soda inside the plastic and cardboard cups. All three children stared up at her, maybe wondering what she was wondering, which was exactly what Angelina was wondering, a combination of mistaken telepathy, an accident of consciousness that would be never be talked about between the four of them but most surely existed between them.

Smooth as clay they drifted up the translucent clear glass tube, shooting skyward like a man made rocket shot from a man made gun. They passed shops hocking wears of angelic colors: clear pearl pastels shone through the clear blue glass shining into Angelina's eyes forcing Her to squint, dog barks could be heard through the whistling air begging for treats of black and brown, teriyaki chicken strips and duck heads spun absurdly fast with a rhythm that resembled the wave of a crowd at a baseball game waving wildly like children flying from swings never wanting to land in the sand; all this as the three and one flew higher and higher and higher.

---

Ding.

---

Angelina stepped forward, leaving the three children behind Her to fend for themselves. From the looks of the button they had pushed they were headed East. She gripped her bag and peeled Her eyes, twisted her hair in a tight knot to show her aggression, her vigor, her confidence and stepped into the rabid salmon like crowd.

She saw no signs of the nail salon. She saw only posters of rabbits holding artichoke legs and nail guns firing rockets of ice cream and corn bread. These were the mirrors of the supposed revolution but had nothing to do with her nail salon, she needed the cash and she needed it NOW! How hard were the numbers to acquire? How long must she wait before the envelope is sent and the letter read and thrown out? How long Lord, how long?

Questions for a time when the pay checks were easy coming and Her man was by her side. She passed by a little boy playing William Tell with her sister. An apple on the little tots head and in the boys a small, tight and silver ray gun. The boy pulled the trigger but only a small plume of smoke came from the top making the boy ball over crying and wailing and kicking and screaming, nearly catching Angelina in the shin, what a mess...The little girl stayed still in Her spot though because her brother told her "Now don't move a cinch." Wise move my girl, wise move...

At last! Angelina, reaching Her destination saw the brightly neon colored corner of her beloved Nail Salon. The windows shone with pure red glitter, miniatures of poodles lapping up puddles of ice water, women laying out on the sun to catch rays from the Earth, and husbands shaving their backs all in a circle and row.

"How beautiful..." Angelina breathed out.

She entered the store front. Greeted from every corner were beautiful young cupid like angels faces shining divine but with no torsos, floating heads of angels ***** but crying and smiling. Asking Angelina "What would you like today miss?" or "What are you after?", beckoning for her requests, begging for her touch of vulnerability and lack of knowledge of where she was or what she needed.

"Just an application...I heard you all were hiring?"

"Hiring!!!?" the cupid heads screamed in unison.

"You want to become one of us?"

"Yes, part-time...?" Angelina said hesitantly.

As soon as the words "part" had been uttered from Angelina's wise and brave mouth the many heads of cupid began spinning and spinning around Angelina's body. Faster and faster they spun until Angelina herself was spinning with them, unified in a quadruple hurricane stripping her of her former self and slowly manipulating her body, her hair, her other self into her new self.

As Angelina's torso lay in the corner of the store un-bloodied, clothes tattered as well as some scratches  on her elbows from the toss, Angelina's head was floating in the perfect center of the other three hovering cupid heads.

"How beautiful...how beautiful...how beautiful."

"Isn't it?" the three cupid heads answered.

"Yes, everything here is so beautiful," the four of them whispered.

And as soon as Angelina had entered, she just as soon had left.

END
Big Virge Nov 2016
People are ... Funny ... !?!

They Now ... make me laugh ...

You talk ...
They DON'T ... listen ... !?!

MP's ... keep restricting ...

IGNORANCE ... in people ...
has now become ... SICKENING ... !!!!!

Kinda gets me to ... " Thinking " .....................

What a ... CRAZY WORLD ... !!!!!!

Girls ... Loving girls ...
Men ... Killing men ... !!!
Abuse of our children ...
by some who ... Teach them ... ???

But ......
What about those ... ?
with ... Abusive children ... ?!?

Those who ... Don't Care ...
about those ... who ... Made Them ... !!!

Adults are now ...
being chased by ... Children ... ?!?

Teenagers ........

RAGE ... !!!!!!!

Their acts of ... Aggression ...
are now ... OFF THE GAUGE ... !!!!!

Words on ... This Page ...
are my feelings ... Today ...

What more can I say ... ?

I write things ... This Way ...
to avoid seeing life
behind bars ... in a cage ...

Seems like ...
... " End of Days " ...
is Not ... far away ... !!!

But Many ... DON'T LIKE ...
The things that I say ...

because .....
Things that I say ...

Reflect on ........................................

What's TRUE ... !!!!!

But Many think wrongness ...
is just .... TV News ....

But ....
" Some of it's " ..... True .......
and can happen to ... YOU ... !!!

So ....
What would you do ... ?
if ... Sadness and Misery ...
Tainted ... your view ... !?!

Probably ........

LOSE YOUR COOL ... !!!!!!!

Be an *** ...
or it's ... Mule ...
Give in ... to clues ...
that you ... HAVEN'T BEEN ... true ... !!!

True about ... " Things " ...
that ... Luxury brings ...

Like ... " Flash Golden Rings " ... !!!
or ... Diamonds that ... BLING ... !!!!!

Well ...
Here's the ... " Dilemma " ... ???

Life is for ... LIVING ...
but now we see ... KILLING ...
for ... Mobiles that ... " Ring " ... ?!?
or Jewellery that ... BLINGS ... !!!?!!!

So ....
What will you choose ... ?
to think you're a ... KING ... ?

cos' of ...
Your .... Diamond Ring .... ?

and .... wait for the ... KILLER ...
to come with ... " The Sting " ... !?!

Oh now ...
Just for you ladies ...
Let's ... " Rework " ... the scene ...

You've got to ... Realise ....
Luxury's ... for a ... " Queen " ...

But .....
to those who ... Don't have them ...
Your Bling ... is ... OBSCENE ... !!!!!!!!

Then YOU ...
like the ... Fellas' ...

Might find that ... " Your Dream " ...
is SHATTERED ... One Night ...
by a ... RUTHLESS ... " Street Team " ... !!!

I'm CHANGING ... like seasons ...
because of ... " These Reasons " ...
cos' actions ... some make ...
are Equal to ... TREASON ... !!!!!!!!

I REALLY ... am Dark ...
like that man ... Liam Neeson ...

This life has ... MORE MEANING ... !!!
than ... " Custom Made " ... Jewellery ... !!!

Like Bruce ...
when i'm writing ....
My fists ... bring the ... " FURY " ... !!!!!

cos people act ... CRAZY ... !!!!!
Their outlook seems ... " Hazy " ...

to make themselves money ....
Their Slim's ... REALLY SHADY ... !!!!!

Do you ...
Trust your lady ... ???

to bring up ... " Your Baby " ...
When Coc' ... is ... " The Drug " ...
she likes to take .... DAILY .... !!! ? !!!

Well ..........
Maybe just ... " Maybe " ... ???

If you see ... what I see ...
when you ... look around you ...

You may just agree ...
with ... A Brother ... like me ...

The world we now live in  ...
is TRULY ....

..... " CRAZY " .....
Well, now Mr. Trump's been elected, Americans, in many cases, are acting CRAZY, following Brexit', and whatever else is coming next, we are in some pretty crazy times........
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
Shut your bloodshot eyes
Release your tight fists
Take a deep breathe
And come to your senses

No not sight
Not hearing either
Neither taste nor touch
But something more

A gut feeling
Instincts
Emotions
Instinct

Listen to your heart
And your unconscious mind
Thoughts can betray you
Or can they aid you

There it is again the question
The quandary that’s reoccurring within me
Do I go on emotion or thought?
Feeling or thinking

If I close the door the room shall implode
But I want the door shut
Maybe threes a way
Can’t talk it out

The volume turns up
The blood boils and my nerves percolate
Howling obscenities then hyperventilate
Striding in a cloud of lust searching for an outlet to release my demons

The walls shake
The sound bouncing off of them
Tears fall to the floor
Bonds are broken

The table does 360 in the air
Who had done that I have no idea
I am grabbed
No way

Fighting and grappling slamming against the walls
Pulling screaming
Punching

Pushed into the door
Push through the TV
Runs to the phone
To alert the police

Cast out
Forced to leave
Out in the streets
Presenting to the neighborhood our dysfunctionality

A heated punch to the car
A bone broken
A bridge burned
I walk away

I sit on the curb
To catch my breath
To calm down
3 cops pull up

Hot and ready to bust some heads
Firing questions
Ulterior motives are obvious
I can see their 2nd face

They come as friends and open ears
The tale is told
And their friendly aura disintegrates
And they treat me as a criminal

Putting me down
Talking down
Looking down
I spit at them

No respect
Talk to me as if I was a human
An equal
Not some animal

Come back to earth
You say the same thing
You think I’m on mars
But you’re all the way on Neptune
And I’m right here on a curb in a suburb
Of the county of Bergen

Or were both lost
Deep in the Milky Way
Neither is right
Let’s agree to disagree

My hands busted
My family’s torn
My girls crying
I fall

This is where going on emotion got me
There was no thought
And if there was it was evil
And spiteful

I begin to think
Using logic
Reasoning with all that occurred
I’m caught between the two

Can’t have one without the other
In all decisions
Over thinking
Over emotional

Balance
Balance is key
Mermaid Sep 2013
In this entry, I would like to underline the big importance of the "body", and why we have to accept it as an element of the material sacred being.

Body has very long history of acceptance and "rejection", specially concerning religions and different sects in many cults. Since the history, the living body is accepted as equal to the living being (means soul) and the dead body is accepted as the dead being - in materialistic point of view. In all religions though, we can see totally different view. The Body is not eternal, but it doesn't contain the limits of the being, as long as we believe in eternal soul. In course of religion understanding and history of religious practices, no one could accept the person as equal to the body, and only body. We can see some elements in the this direction, which are significant for the term body :

1.... it is not eternal - it's subjected to the changes of time;
2.... it's growing and developing in time;
3.... it has specific needs, in order to keep it alive (water, oxygen, food)
4.... it has inner instinct of survival;
5.... it has inner instinct of reproduction (****** desire)
6.... it has unique characteristics in every individual ,special genetic code;
7.... it has system of accepting, and system of "cleaning" products;

I'm sure there is a lot more to be said, but as I want to be short, I will continue. Now from all we can't come to the conclusion, which is one of the most important in aspect of God and religion : namely- the Body is Sacred and It's gift from God.
If we assume that the spirit and soul is center of the being  and life does not finish with the death, we have to take in mind the special role of the body -as a sacred ark, or unique box, which is made to preserve the inside. In this respect, Body is sacred and all actions made to harm the body is equal to committing a great sin. The actions, which we have to absolutely claim as Sinful and against God, as well as against the essence of being are also sinful in all religions:

1. Killing someone (which is act of taking his freedom and his essence forever)
2. Act of conscious suicide (which is also the same as "killing" but you don't have right on it)
3. Act of harming or "punishing" anybody with aggressiveness, beating or any other way.
4. Act of cruelty (which is the special list of sins) of harming parts of body by cutting it.
5. Act of any cruelty to human and animal.
6. Act of forceful ****** ******* to any human being;

As we can recognize, all possible black sins are connected with the body. The kind of some punishments in some religions (as stoning in Islam, flogging, cutting a head of and others, very close to the Medieval times of tortures) are also equal to black sins and provoke Inevitably bad Karma on anyone who is involved in them. Take care, that the act of suicide, no matter what the reason is - is also sinful, as this means total disgrace of God's will.
There was one case (or rather many cases in my country) in XXI century : a woman, depressed from the poor and miserable life throw herself under the metro, but she didn't succeed to die. Instead her both legs were cut off. As we ca think, this act of cruelty against herself is sinful and will bring for her even worse karma. That means, the suicide is egoistical - except from some special cases, connected with strong unbearable pain or illness, which is out of recovery). This woman should have children and husband, or any relative, who would need her help. Now she makes them not only suffer with her action, but also burden of herself and her body. It may sound cruel too, but it's the fact. Here we come to the next important conclusion:

We don't won our body! The same as we don't "own" anything connected with material things around, so we don't own our body too, as we don't own our destiny. It's very easy to think that: as in first place we born not in the place we choose to, we born not from the parents we choose to, and not in society we choose to! All that facts are enough (plus we don't die also in moment we choose to.) to be certain, that we don't own our body. First of all, the force, which create it own it only - God. Here is time to say also : nothing and totally nothing is our property, except what this Sacred body contains! (spirit, soul, thoughts, aura) that is only what we really own. If we think deeply, we could see that's the truth. We don't own our children, no matter that we are responsible for them all the time! We are also not property of our parents, or anyone else. The wife is not a property of her husband, as well as the opposite, but she belongs to him in the way of heart and love.

As anything in the world is changing, developing and degrading by the time, so the human body has it's own changes. Even so, we need to know : we don't own our body, but we are it "caretakers", guardians, and take our responsibilities on our body. And that is without a doubt Obligatory. It means the following: if my body is in bad health, or I suffer from something, no matter of that I didn't choose it, but I choose if I can change that condition or not. If I smoke for example, and feel something is not well in me, and I have cough- just that- I'm obliged to stop smoking, as that harms my body, Any other act - of not taking care -will be a mistake - if we don't use here the strong word-sin. Body- mine or of others- is a sacred gift. We have to cherish it all the time, since birth. Most of all the children are vulnerable to anything, so we have to create in them love to their bodies, and not opposite. We have to protect them, as we want later on they to protect themselves and their children. but most of societies are too ignorant about that.

Examples of alcohol and aggression in the family are millions. Examples of **** and abuse in any country - specially of more poor and ignorant societies - are millions. Example of slaughter, cruelty and anti-humanity actions, extreme movements, covered by religious /Devils masks- are millions and growing.

As the world is going wild, without to have any idea of sacred things, what about sacred body and life, we become so little responsible for our actions, as we forget the law of karma in the nature.

We are much behind, than we were some centuries ago. And the reason is the change of living order and what is "priority" for all human societies. We are much behind, going backwards. and just a few individuals could see the light, even less- to touch it.

:: In conclusion I would like to say: as the whole body is sacred, it's a precious box, containing unique code for us. We have to take care - and it's a real obligation, not to possess, but take care of our bodies, the same as our soul. Each part of our body is sacred, means if I have pain in an part and I don't take care of it, the fault and punishment will be only mine, and the suffer too. By taking care of body means very simple things : live in natural way, take care of the foods you eat, as that is substantial for the body. Take care of each part of our body, and if you notice any sign of illness, take measures to prevent it. Do some simple exercises and rules for having the good shape of the body you want. Purity of the body reflects on all your being. (the same for ****** life).

Be familiar with needs of your body and provide them in any moment! Be aware of pains and the week points, don't accept harmful ingredients (drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, strong medicines, chemicals), and try to live as close to the nature as possible. That is the only way.
As many Chinese wise men say, "Healthy spirit in a healthy body" and that is part of the purpose.


:: mermaid  ::
:: September-08-013
:: 3.36 pm ::
{not a poem} Sorry about mistakes, I appreciate any help!
At this precise moment.
I'm nothing but a human being under the intense influence of dopamine, norepinephrine, epinephrine and testosterone.
The infuriating effects will last, as will my aggression.

There's a reason why this is all happening. You.
Because of you.
I have no hatred nor much of the love I had for you.
For you have taken that away from me, and given it to him.

I have no words for you.
All the best.
I'm beyond hurt at this precise moment, and I have held this is for too long. To this day I am still unable to let this out. I hate it.
Rondu McPhee Aug 2010
I look out the window--an endless sky. The clouds are like nothing else--bold explosions and everywhere in the sky, infinite, above and still in time and space--Madness and Horror are said to have their own faces and names. Can't Beauty? Beauty has its own life--not a distinctive face, not a concrete identity--Beauty is breathing, standing, growing above us--the Clouds. I know that it's a bit foggy, I know what is actual is only actual for the one time and standing moment that it is there--maybe the Clouds move, travel, fade--but they never leave us. They're long, still and colossal enough to be viewed, admired, stricken, crushed beneath. I'm on a bus, travelling through San Francisco--a mystery on its own, mad like a spiral or giant--one with a heart and soul that is difficult to pinpoint and seemingly jolting, constantly moving throughout--down streets, through alleys, intensifying in the dazzling Golden Gate Bridge and boundary-less San Francisco Bay--a testament Olympian and profoundly simple, such a straightforward bridge with so many possibilities and tragedies. It's my destination, too.

I go to the Podesta Baldocchi--a flower shop, quaint, small, almost non-existent in the vertigo of San Francisco, but immortalized in another Vertigo--and inspiring search and enigma on its own--the vision of James Stewart chasing hills, corners, all the trails and paths for Beauty--a Beauty with two feet, a name, experiences--Beauty named Kim Novak. He follows Her, from the shores to the grave--She, praying at a cemetery, a faded figure in grief, He, watching obsessively like a predator--He finds Her on the cold shores, of the endless, alien seas--along the Golden Gate Bridge--on the verge of jumping. He saves Her, a metamorphosis of prey and personal freedom is triggered.

That's one of the many beautiful passages of Vertigo that I remember--passion, memory, disappearance, insanity, aggression. "Here I was born, and here I died", says the woman, named Madeline--a fatal, empowering woman of Beauty and melancholy, complex and deceiving. Chris Marker saw this too--a reservoir of thought from his Sans Soleil--the movie, the moment in time where memory and the Great Enigmas had finally been touched by skin and light. February, 1983.

Memory works that way.

That is one of the things I love most; memory. Memory is fading and escaping from me. I look down at my wrinkled hands--grief and nothing else--losing myself. I step onto the cliff where Madeline, where Grace stood. The sea is a rapture. Endless, everywhere, surrounding me from all corners--dozens of people have taken their life here. They jump from the bridge, they slip into the water and drown. Their entire breakdown and loneliness and humanity is silenced and stated in a small slip into the bay, or a thin, white splash--a miniature, but Greater Fall--beneath the bridge in all its magnificence and profundity, beneath the clouds, a silent act of Tragedy and Horror with a face, surrounded and drowned in Beauty and Rapture--breathtaking and cruel.

I am tired and lifeless. I can't stand it. I remember all the beaches, skies, nights, visions of the sun and daughters I've seen in my life, all the smiles I've faked, breaths I took--I hadn't thought of this until the nineties or so, in my wrinkled, tired years. I was remembering Marie--my only girlfriend and wife one I had met in the 40's--compassionate, dangerous, magnificent she was, like Madeline. Perfection and grace and danger. I had grown, loved, lived, watched everything and took every step with her--before she had died in 1989. She was my only care, my only love. I couldn't grip myself then. I hear my parents speaking, my mum and dad--dead now--my children, beautiful things--I couldn't keep them. I couldn't. I couldn't, their eyes porcelain--I went insane over all of it, a time to foggy to look back on. Time is the same stretch, place is the same and distilled--but memory is everywhere--one thing I love and can't stand.

And now I am here. The beauty is pastoral, distant, glowing and also deadly--like cloudy figures of steel and glass, concrete with fountains and blood in the shape of landscapes and towers--branches, cold, in a lonely place, fading from truth and Truth, identity and Greater Life--a thousand misty passions and poses stretched and scattered. I'm hopeless, I'm lonely, I'm cold. I'm wary, tired, confused with nothing left in me. I'm leaving, Reconciling beneath, below, and everywhere around Beauty.

I understand any doubts. I cannot take my nerves or my senses. They've failed, broken down on me--I've lost myself, very permanently this time.

I fall. I see nothing, feel everything crushing, me lying in the crystal bay--it fades. I can't see. I can't speak--I can't love, embrace, understand--I open my eyes, dizzy and faded, in a house, a rather cluttered, yet homely one. I believe I am small, looking up to my great pale towering mother, breats and lips and glowing limpid eyes... a fireplace, some warmth, some haze and some tears of joy. It is falling apart, where I am, but it is of embracing memory. I'm being looked and smiled at. I don't know where this is.

I close my eyes, I stand and open them seven years later. Cold water at my feet and sand--I look around to see a beach, stretched infinitely--past boundaries or understanding. The sea is dizzying. I look up to see that Beauty--still standing, moving across and thinning--that Beauty is sunless. Nothing but Clouds--an illusion, foggy and slippery of sorts--impossible and unbearable to experience. I stumble.

I look up, and there's now a ceiling--tall, blazing gold, marmalade and kaleidoscope--everything is blurring and melting. I'm in a hallway, with parents--a father and mother, loving, caring and safe; the only thing in front of me is a painting, swirled and swerved shore to thunder and graceful and passionate so distant--Holy, Andalusian girls from a Utamaro madman; thinly, finely lined, velvet in color and delicacy, colliding and cracked in shape, memory or sense. The painting falls, crashes, and the ceiling falls and opens to voices and laughs. I stumble, tremble, get knocked staggering, look down the hallway. It's crashing to black--I stumble to anyone; my father, the mad size of him, I rush and cling still around his arms--a shadow--then his terrible branches rising, fading, and everywhere--complete pitch black--coming for me? Far and off and a way a place cold and a lone in the Fall long and thundering--rippled--moving--then white--then clearly.

My next vision I can comprehend without running terrified is in Japan. It's 1964, I am 25. A television set, murky like playing out my dazed oxygen-starved hallucinatory real-fake mindbursting memories. Headlines, people, looking down at me. I can feel my knees again, and my heart. It's the Year of the Dragon, I'm nervous uncontrollably. Night after night, each one passing by as I blink, walking, everything changing, changing from me, I can feel. Or maybe I can't. I keep my eyes open, and don't lose my breath, hiding in rooms and feeling and apart torn so vast. I look at my surroundings--I don't know where I am--I think in my last passage? passed on through a thousand miles and faces and every conscious and spirit. My last one. I can't hide, though. I'm dying, my last breath and vision being me fading through time--such a quick thing--spinning and burying the Earth As I Have Watched It Through The Years in snow and rain and static and the Dead--I can only stare at the streets. I'm with my girlfriend Marie, it's November 28th, 1975.

She says to me, "What's wrong? You're on the balcony alone. You've been there for hours."

Marie, hold on tight, please. I'm lonely, terrified, frightened--I made a mistake, life is coming and going with all radiance and fleeting and darkness and closing doors. I've witnessed my birthday from another room. I've thought of my life again. I've seen it, distorted, everywhere, in colors and in heaps of broken fragments, images and ruins. I need your help--

"Nothing, just enjoying the city. It's beautiful," I say. It's nightfall, blinding rain, in Paris. That's where we spent our vacation, me and Marie. I love her; she'll be gone the next morning.

Then I go back. Different times, warm times, times like beauty and solid, everything going racing and wayward that I can't see a color and then white then eyes pale and hyacinths all over the place--I see Marie in the distance, oh Yes like poised like drips like canvas all around surround floating laying, kissing me, the Day I'd wrapped gently around her now I can see it like a reflection, and O I can't take it--that very last look, her face vivid--and I can't look back and I can't look down or up--just her face, lovely, wrapping more and Closer and oh Yes all around me and my mouth is going insane so tired and limpid losing words and tract and

And I can see you so lovely so gracefully and yes I will kiss you and gently cradling and your skin like rose and blossoms with the smooth touch from an Eve in flesh shrouded red and raw and when I feel anything else running through my veins like clockwork oh Yes it blazes all lovely like a reflection and the last lonely place left to fade to is only the Clouds and Sea and oh yes with all the magic of the Rite of Spring and the fogs and streaks of August O but then now I see I see O Lord I see the one-thousand-one dead poses and faces like this marie not the one I know but her Beauty erased a lying a loft a living Girl a shape a branch and yet still loving in her stone face-without-a-face so Anonymous so Kiss Me Deadly leave me taking me sprawling around me creeping crouching touching growing up my skin and veins and conscious watching all the artifice leave me and all colors and thought coming up lashing melting seething roiling yes oh yes just like a reverie like genuine insanity haunting and boiling like sweet crazed Narcissus in all the Moorish vines so thorny so lost so complicated and savage rose gardens is all one can see like solid waves--in the distance, the bold-coifed Wooden Duke, the blue Queen, away from the warped, whirling war scape outside and cold and I'm taken back a bit now bundled away from all the rows and thorny laces of buildings among buildings way in the distance out the window like crooked Van Gogh details and the noir jagged edges and tete-a-tete feeling of Life and Hope that the neons floating down streets give you when all seeping and spraying in your eyes and O the tangled webs and thorns and spiders of the panes and glass and shards and sharp'n'smooth curls and spiraling rings of it all and O the strewn of flesh like insect and myth and negative space and city all coated and sprawled I'm going to explode and I look up to see every bit of sand, waves, bold lines and streaks above and beyond me, all those curves and rods very dizzying and all beating and throbbing like mad and my vision went like some frothing beast held and dissected under light and shape oh Yes I say and I tell you while being dragged through all the Andalusian flowers and raindrops beside and above me and the Universe and the Love that could've been it's all above me too like a rose growing and blossoming with all the melting grace of a Holy girl oh Yes I say and state as clear again so rapturously like a living poem and as I leave everyone and leave this illusion I can sigh and pause and oh my goodness it's all spinning and apart and transcendent like the first Clouds and Grace above a monochromatic world--a speck--Nothing in its embrace--I stop, gaze with the recollection of every gesture of love and love's death in my life--I'm somewhere, everywhere, from the cosmos to the sea--and the ****** comes before me--Marie, Marie--and I burst and split like dust--she speaks to me. She listens, she hears, the only thing, milky, porcelain eyes and skin like nothing else--I ask her where I am. She opens her mouth, bestridden and humbled like a shadow or a monument. Glowing like birth, she told me--solemn, silent, fuzzy--she told me that I'm dying. "Life is slipping--all of you, your raw hands, your face, your memory--everything is slipping, gently. You're being erased from the world, experienced, dismaying--you're far from it."

I asked, "Where?"

She stared, bled, disappeared into thin air and continued, "I always get lost, thinking or looking into the sea or sky. Infinite, lovely. It never ends. Never, ever ends. I look at it and cannot help but forget about every bit of land, forget any shore, stone, or war, or the clearest whisper--because it fades away from me, so clearly, and I can't help but stare down the endless waves and curls, because they go on forever. They're everything. They're all mist and unbearable, simple and Everything--I think you're at the end of Everything."

My last Beauty.
Honestly
I've been honest
with you
since the beginning,
I think,
but there is this
lingering
note on your face
that keeps me
in dis array
about what was
true and what was
fake,

Can you give
me a hand
and stand
in a way
that displays
a truth about
the inner ways
beneath that gaze?!

PLEASE
try something
like this
or that,
like,
Because I'd
hate to see
what you mean
to really
say
is that you might
be waiting
for someone
who was displaced,
Or is that just me?

Long gone and late
in a phase
that's out of place
and perhaps,
well,
my love,
with your torn soul in
two
and into my lap
like a warning tap
on the top
of my arm,
It told me,

It told me not
to trap you
because,
well,
what's
Harmful to you
is often too
strong on me,
four weeks times
three,
or maybe four?
Oh god and
with these mistakes
(as you know),
I seemingly need
it to bleed,
stream down
my eyes
like tears
and in fear,
Because time
is often
too long here,
(As you know),

Honey,
can you hear me?
Deep inside please
give me a sign
because it was coming
to be about that time
in the road!
And that fork
told me
that it's going to
need more
from you
to recuperate
because
so much time
and effort
makes repair
so much longer,

Because sweetest,
the love I have
is the trash on its way,
the ash still burning in the tray,
The blast
still shaking
with waves
but,
the mast is
facing the wrong
way.
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2022
~
Daydreams
in passing with the clouds,
and their weary structure,
and their idle loneliness,
and their struggle for tomorrow.

You and me and the image of an immense tree; satellites hanging from its branches like minacious ornaments; sending frightful messages to far out places; convincing us television is real but our lives are fake.

Nightmares
in passing with the shadows,
and their elusive silhouette,
and their active aggression,
and their march for tomorrow.

You and me and the image of a school bus sliding down into the ice...
~
Crystal lived alone in the cabin Ray had built for her. Ray had left long ago but she thought of him often and sometimes went to see him in the city. She was an artist and a dabbler in many fields. Her house was a kaleidoscope of stained glass windows and half finished art projects. It was built almost entirely of wood with a beautiful stairway to a loft bedroom replete with a skylight window on the stars. Set in the mouth of a valley next to a clear stream the cabin looked almost as if it had grown there.

Crystal spent most of her time on her art projects, in fact she made her living that way. She was well known for the macabre nature of her works and they sold well at the local art fairs. Most of the scenes she painted could not possibly have existed on earth. Take for example the orange sky and purple mountains of Mariners Delight or the river of blood in Cosmic Conception.

Often Crystal would meet Ray at the art shows and they would discuss his books or her latest works. It was just such an occasion that preceded the first of her dreams.

Although Crystal had often dreamt of playing in a large meadow surrounded by reflections of her art work this dream had been different. She awoke from a scene in the woods where she had been the object of a grotesque conclave of creatures almost beyond description. There had been a huge goat like creature leading a chant, "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Rada nema nestos Yreba", for a group of creatures that resembled animals. There was a black toad sitting on a rock of seemingly impossible crystalline form, while an agile spider danced on the spokes of its luminous web above her. The smell of blood, the heat of the fire, and the constant and oppressive chant, "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Rada nema nestos Yreba" with all eyes directed at her. She woke with a start, it was early morning, her bed was a tangled mess, and she was covered with sweat. She felt she could almost smell wood smoke, and somewhere in her mind she could still hear the echos of the horrible chant.

It wasn't until almost a year later that the dream repeated itself. She had just completed what she considered her greatest work, a large mural like painting called Id Conclusion. It was a matrix of human forms in contorted and deformed conditions against a backdrop of misty images of human holocaust, war machines, and atomic clouds. She had gone to bed in a storm of thoughts on human depravation and greed. The scene was the same, the spider, the goat, the half human animals, all seemed the same, except for the chant, it was different. "Rada nema nestos Yreba, Raga mantra nestos reale, Yreba Yreba Shiva kommt da." Lightening cracked and a creature appeared. He seemed a man but was built more like a large monkey. Light seemed to follow him like an aura. He was the obvious master of the conclave and all stood back at his approach.

Crystal was lying on the stone altar in the center of the glade and although not bound she was incapable of motion while held in Yreba's gaze. That this creature was Yreba was obvious since all had bowed down now and the chant had changed, "Yreba Yreba teach us to grow." Crystals eyes were glazed and her naked body shown in Yreba's light. All her past works were floating across her mind like a collage. Lost in ecstasy she responded to his aggression like a wanton beast, screaming and writhing in the flow of his energy.

She woke to find her cabin in shambles and she was lying in the center of the living room on the floor, she panicked and ran to her car, slammed it into gear, and sped off down the road.

Ray was sitting in his office at the University that morning when Crystal burst into the room. "Ray, Ray, I've had a dream, a horrible dream, it was, I was!" "Slow down Crystal! You've had a what?" said Ray. Crystal sat down in a ball of frenzy and continued.

About an hour later Crystal had finished her story. Ray spoke, "So you say this is only the second time you've had this dream. Tell me more about Yreba. Does he resemble any of your art works?" "No", she said, "He seemed a lot more like that creature you told me about that day we were discussing witchcraft. The one who was supposed to be the personification of ****** desire evoked for the *** ****** of the ancient Persians."

Ray walked to his bookshelves (he was a professor of ancient mythology and religions) and pulled out a book called Necromancer by Abdule Azerod. "As I recall" he said "that creature was also a god of fertility." He thumbed slowly through the book, "yes, here it is. What did you say this creatures name was? Yreba? Very strange that's almost exactly this Persian deities name, Youruba. It seems he was evoked every year on the vernal equinox to assure ****** reproductivity and if you think thats frightening, feature this, last night was the vernal equinox." Crystal was stunned. "Do you think there's a connection" she stammered? "Don't be silly girl, this was seven thousand years ago. Why don't we drive out to your cabin and see if we can find some clues."

Twenty minutes later they were standing in Crystal's cabin. What had seemed so disorderly to Crystal in the morning was now clearly a purposeful state of order. All of her sculptures were arranged neatly on the stairs to the loft, and her pictures were arranged so as to face the spot on the floor where she had awakened. On the floor where she had lain was a large five pointed star. "What does it mean Ray?" "I think it's a pentagram" he stated. "Is anything missing?" "Not that I can see" she said. "I don't think we had better stay" he said, "Find what you need and we'll go back to my house. You can stay there until we figure it out."

Crystal never returned to the cabin. Ray sold it for her and bought her a new house in the city.

Crystal got sick a few weeks later. She was sitting in the doctors office now awaiting his return. "I have good news" he said. "Good news" Crystal groaned. "Yes" he said, "Your pregnant."
I named my bird dog Yreba, I'm in so much trouble!
Riz Mack Apr 2019
I want to smother you
with my pillow hands
suffocate your skin

Scoop out your eyes
so you see no evil
blind you from all sin

I'll wrap you in chains
secured to my heart
control your brain
take away your dark

Twist your words
around my tongue
scratch them back
in your back
verbatim

I could cut you up
so you fit in my pocket
bleed your soul
into a precious locket

Smash your skull
to ease your mind
clawing my way
to your insides
cute aggression is that thing where you squeeze a kitten so hard its eyes pop a little because it's just so magnificent
yeah, that thing
Safwan Barnawi Aug 2015
Oh, on earth I swore, never to get married again
After getting divorced, glad to relinquish the pain
Trapped in a filthy cage
Filled with painful rage
Great depression
Little Self-obsession
And Hurtful emotions
Clearly feels
Like oppression
Harsh aggression
Without confession
Wanted to mention
Tell a suggestion
For all I know, my beauty is not of such a great exception
Anderson M Oct 2013
Soft underbellies of corruption, impropriety and moral decay
Blatantly masquerade as societal bulwarks to aggression and disintegration
Minions fine-tuned to dance to the tune
Of godfather functionaries champion  
Progressively retrogressive causes that follow
The course of destruction.
Is there light at the end of the tunnel?
Reason and logic persuade otherwise
It’s thus “safe” to conclude that
A compassion filled individual
Quintessentially embodies a positively radicalized individual
Wielding immense unbridled power
To impact society in ways unfathomable
Whilst in complete understanding of the fact that
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely”
Are you that compassion filled individual??
Society's dynamic...a conglomerate of mismatches literally baying for each other's blood
Carrie Ross Feb 2013
big ***** Judy
had some
i guess you could say
body
image
issues
you could call them
body
issues
there was some
i dunno
in utero
conflict
and she
some how
head butted
her twin brother in the womb
but not in the way you're all
probably
so quick to think of
THINK ABOUT IT
but actually
uhh
don't
think
too much
about it
because it is
in fact
too much
back to Judy
she didn't much like
her patootie
nor did her mother
and nor did
many of the mothers
of others
i don't want to be
too quick
to say
that Judy had "problems"
but sure as ****
sherlock
quick to fit
oh yeah
Judy had
PROBLEMS
she couldn't handle
most of what we call
school
the work
the stress
the this
the that
set to a soundtrack
of shouts and clamors  
from ******* classmates
fatty fatty
boom
ballatti
2 by 4
can't fit through
the kitchen door
really?
um
pardon me
but
what kind of narrow
French
Doors
in what kind of kitchen
are we talking about?
anyway
a stones throw away from that *** ed period
oh ****
let’s talk about her period
Curse of Eve?
**** my ****!
Her in house aggression seemed to say to herself
and naturally
to no one else
returning to that **** but not so much
educational period
it was a nightmare
judy can't help but remember when "it"
suddenly
became
one nasty *** personal pronoun
that only meant "***"
so sadly
on the way to girl scout camp
when judy turned around
to tell the motormouthed ******* in the back seat
to watch their language
because it'll become a crutch
and they'll start
"doing it in school"
all of a sudden
Judy
is some sort of deviant
only because of
"it"
what is
and was it
about being a little bit overweight
that made the boys and girls
treat the little bit
like it was
I dunno
a lot
wrong question
Judes
what is it about
being shy
seemingly vulnerable
and weak
that made the boys and girls
latch on
with unceasing enthusiasm
most people
young ones
especially
are troubled by the same things
that taunted Judy
but most of those others
had
uh
what?
an “outlet”?
**** that
Judy
Judy
JUDY
human beings
are *******
joey
james
johnson
dickshit
who always called you fat and such
is probably shooting ******
into his insignificant toes
or maybe his genitals
hope for the worse
hope it’s his genitals
back in middle school
when everyone thought they were more important
than they actually are
were just as terrified
but ****
they had that ******* “outlet”
unlike  judy
but the new judy
with a lesser but mostly the same patootie
won't worry
and won't dwell on it
because
one day
she's going to satirize the **** out of you numbskulls
enjoy yourself
while you can
because Judy
has already dissolved
into laughter
hardy har har
******
and mimbos
*******
how do you feel now?
Lyss Brianne Mar 2021
To the man on the street that called my ex girlfriend and I ******, I forgive you. We were nineteen and in love, I’m sorry that you were raised in a way that made you look at two girls holding hands and laughing as something that wasn’t to be shown in public. I’m sorry that my happiness made you feel insecure in that moment. My happiness was not on display to offend you. My love life was never an act of rebellion against you. I will forgive you for how you were raised but I will not apologize for showing love in a way you don’t deem appropriate for wandering eyes.

To the people I went to high school with, I’m sorry I never heard the rumours you spread about me until you were already out of my life. I’m sure you meant to break my heart when you called me **** in the hallways but your words never made their way back to me. Your aggression towards who I chose to love never stopped me from falling in love with girls I never imagined could be real. I refuse to hide away my love. I will not let your words shame me back into the closet I was scared to admit I was stuck in.

To the people who used to send me anonymous messages telling me to **** myself I hope you’re in a better place now. I often think about how my big secret made you so upset that you couldn’t stand to live in the same world as me. I’m not sorry that I’m still here now. I still feel sorry that you were so sad with yourself that you needed to make me feel as hopeless as you were.

To the people who voted no towards same *** marriage but watch ******* girl ****, I’m sorry my love is only okay when it’s for your pleasure. I’m sorry that you have such a skewed view on life that you see women as objects and not as people. I would forgive you but I don’t think you’d fess to your wrongdoing to be forgiven. There is nothing to forgive if someone won’t admit that they are wrong.

I’m twenty three now and I’m still not sorry for writing love poems about beautiful girls. I have stopped apologizing for being something that I’m proud of. I no longer hide behind my assumed heterosexuality. I proudly proclaim my attraction to women because I spent too many years being ashamed of being in love. I will never again sweep hatred under the rug to keep peace. I have never needed your approval for my love to be valid and I never will.
MRR Nov 2013
Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, *******, Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)

Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs

Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created

A philosophy based on your experience

Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition

****** for feeling to much

****** for not feeling enough
Epic Monkey Jan 2015
Standing there
With a mute stare
Amazed by you
Paralyzed by you
I became a speechless poet
No free-flowing words to inhibit
Stuck in redundant phrases
Running around in silent mazes

My bright poetry is suddenly evanescent
How did you freeze my precious talent?
My fancy lies
and my sincere confessions
My angry cries
and my serene discretions

My skill dies
distorted by your presence
As my voice tries
hardly a single expression
Then my brain denies
your acute aggression
As my fixed eyes
scream my inner passion

Then you left.

You left
But I stayed there
With my mute stare
Speechless because of you
Brainless because of you
My stupidity crystal clear
My creativity in denial
And you left me here
wishing you stayed near
Suffering from your withdrawal

~Epic Monkey
Toned, muscular, powerful beasts.
This is the way the world chooses to see.
Outraged, aggression, and dangerous too.
Scared one day, they might bite you.
Not even a second, by the looks, instant fear.
This so called 'reputation' makes us tear.

Continue to breed,
Continue to Buy.
Opt. to put them on a chain so tight.
Opt. to make them fight.
Judging them, at just first sight.
Not bad dogs, just bad owners.
When will the world see the light?

Toned, masculine, powerful features.
Beautiful and intelligent creatures.
Ever so loving, ever so loyal.
So goofy, and eager to please.
Eager to love, Eager for affection.
This is the way the world should see.

A family dog, a protector.
A comedian in ways.
A runway model with natural beauty.
A visitor, for those in pain and lonely.
A caregiver for rehabilitation.
A simple, lasting smile,
A kind that sparks and stays for awhile.
A partner against crime.
A team mate whose there all the time.

A worker, a player to love you at best.
A companion beyond special.
A dog, beyond the rest.
A love, in life, with whatever is next.
A best friend, to say the least.
A Staffies not A beast.
Staffies are the best.
David Walker Jul 2013
Boredom kills
cheap thrills.
Nothing to do,
no one to *****.
No drugs
No *****
No smokes
No fun
Think I will sit
for a bit.
Think as I scratch and twitch.
Neurotic fears
****** fantasies
Sociopathic comments
Psychopathic actions
I don't care anymore.
The fuse has been lit
and there is no water for miles.
Bang bang *******
bang bang boom.
Amongst the rubble a bitter poem
A poet in trouble that shouldn't have been left alone.
Burnt
Charred
Dead.
Smells like...
Agony
Fear
Dumbness
Numbness
Aggression
Depression
Hate.
­Hate.
Hate.
Hate.
JM Romig Apr 2016
Afterward,
I asked “Where to?”
“The beach?” She replied
“Too cold.” I said.
“Fine, whatever. Take me home, I guess.”
She’s too much like you.

Even now, ten years later,
she still swims in my old hoodie.
The pink and blue butterflies on her fingernails
barely escape the sleeves.

We’re sitting in the sand
she is looking at the water
as if searching for something far out in the distance.

Remember when we babysat
all those years ago?
She stole my hoodie
called it her “Cloak of Invincibility”.
She meant Invisibility,
we were watching Harry Potter.
Today, I wish it were the former.

“Are you going to tell my mom?” She asked.
“No.” I said “But you should.”
I wanted to tell her about what happened in ‘92
about her mother’s battle with depression
after a similar thing happened with her
but that’s your sister’s story to tell
so I did what you always say I should
and let the quiet between us be.

I watched the waves roll in
and crash against the shore.
I noticed heavy grey clouds heading toward us
“It’s going to rain” I said
“Let it.” she replied, with a calm acceptance.

She’s grown up so much
since the cancer took you from us.
You wouldn’t even recognize her.

She looks nothing like her mother
Or her father, for that matter
She looks
…well, she looks like you.
The spitting image.

“Why the beach?” I asked
after a long while of listening to the waves.
“This is where it happened.”
I felt an anger rise up through me
and I was already clenching my fists
before I realized there was no direction
for that aggression to go.

I took a deep belly breath,
and refocused.

“Why come back here?”
“to see if it felt different.”
“Does it?”
“…a little.”
More silence.

I watched her writing things in the sand
with a broken stick she found
and then pushing her palm across the words,
wiping the letters into each other,
cleaning the slate,
and again, writing in the sand.

“You know…” She said, finally,
“I was thinking for a while,
about keeping it.
if I had,
if it were a girl,
I would have named it after her."
she didn't have to say your name out loud
for me to know
“I miss her,” she added

"Me too".
The waves kept hitting the shore
and eventually, the rain came.

I drove her home,
she offered to give back my hoodie
“Keep it.” I said, smiling
she shrugged and took it with her.

On the way home,
I drove passed our old house
the new owners are letting the grass grow
too long for my taste.
It seems everything has been growing in your absence.
Except me.
ConnectHook Dec 2015
Multitudes will be liberated by that recognition;
and although multitudes obtain liberation in that manner,
the number of sentient beings being great, evil karma powerful,
obscurations dense, propensities o too long standing,
the Wheel of Ignorance and Illusion becometh neither exhausted nor accelerated
.

           The Tibetan Book of the Dead
          translation:  Lāma Kazi Dawa-Samdup


Free Tibet your sticker tells me…
Yes, I think, perhaps I should –
and the noble thought compels me,
uninformed, half-understood.

Will their freedom help my Karma?
Upgrade my reincarnation?
(Soul who could not dare to harm a
fly… much less a Buddhist nation.)

Not to justify aggression
by the ever-brutal Commies,
let us grant no glib concession
to the Maoists – or their mommies.

Slogans echo in the void,
shining in bardos of the dead;
stopped by the light, I am annoyed
impatient for the change from red.

A bumper crop of human woe
beams forth a mandate to my brain
while red Dakinis circle slow
in Buddhist hells of karmic pain.

The eastern concepts here diverge
and bow before brutality.
They make this driver long to merge
with incorporeality.

Then I glimpse a monkish fellow
swathed in saffron, calmly seated.
His, the cloud-borne sage’s pillow;
mine the traffic; stalled, defeated.

In his gaze of stern displeasure
I perceive the orient stars
calculating man’s mismeasure
trapped, exhausted, among the cars.

Flanked by Spirits wreathed in fire
he extends an accusing hand:
Western slave of base desire:
come and  liberate my land !”

I meditate before the stop light:
am I ready for the task ?
Should I just refuse it outright
Can’t it be someone else ?  I ask…

Must I free this mountain nation
from the Buddha, demons and Reds?
Shall your sticker’s declaration
shatter the yoke and raise their heads ?

Somebody ought to free Tibet,
and heed this Himalayan cry.
Maybe we should get upset…
The red light changes. Cars pass by,

predestined for benign events
and unconcerned for persecution;
oblivious to dissidents
awaiting execution.

— The End —