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Ken Pepiton Jun 2019
If the writer is not the reader and the reader is not entered
(entertain-ed?) by the trial or trier
here in our phor of oroboronic

wheel spinning, our world of
entertaiment
contained,
be
coming to meet, um,
-phatics of sorts unheard,
ignored,
or unshown, un-

init-
iated unit-
ary, you,

become the
eleventh hour ***, none hired.
Apo

Unem, come work my field, *** my hard rows
no early helpers
weeded

Attention glitch... some signal intra fearal

No worry,
-- fear of god beginning wisdom boot code;

that connection
has been loose so long, missignaling
special and free,

a special sort of
crudescence has scabbed the short.
It's a brain fix.
You get a feel for it, the augments help,
Om as the
Axionic go, is tuned to absurdity. Listen.

Hear me, dragon-lizard-brain. We are a team. The team.
All the story stories tell of you and me. We unite.
We get our act together, and we
go mad, in the sight of all earthlings augmented to see
Youtube.

By my ab-surd-ifity, all our stories change. An unmatched wave.

-- forgive the footnote, but don't lie about what we both know is true:

absurd (adj.)"plainly illogical," 1550s,
from Middle French absurde (16c.),
from Latin absurdus "out of tune, discordant;"
figuratively "incongruous, foolish, silly, senseless,"
from ab- "off, away from,"
here perhaps an intensive prefix,
+ surdus "dull, deaf, mute," which is possibly
from an imitative PIE root meaning "to buzz, whisper"
(see susurration).
Thus the basic sense is perhaps "out of tune,"
but de Vaan writes,
"Since 'deaf' often has two semantic sides,
viz. 'who cannot hear' and 'who is not heard,' ab-surdus can be explained as 'which is unheard of' ..." The modern English
sense is the Latin figurative one,
perhaps "out of harmony with reason or propriety." Related: Absurdly; absurdness.
--
Screech, boomers know, finger nails on the chalkboard, the blackboard
jungle screech,
when teacher is takin' a smoke. Absurdity is entertainment.

It can make you think in whole new ways.
Or stop your believing of a lie

for long enough to see
a hope, no lie, a hope of something human
**** sapien sapiens augmental,
upright under Good and Evil,
sheltered from the storm.

A class, a level, a common value beyond Belief and Dignity and

dexterous sinister plots of points where clues were pinned,
yet you
overlooked the message, daze-led by the angels dancing.

Thales fell into this hole. He survived. It all ties in

The new -phatic word that started this stream ends it,
with our common
scream for meaning fullness apo-

apo-phatic mystery of sympathy,
bha, bha --

Paradox ortho
pedic augmentations, koan to mantra,
meditation on the word of words,
step to step to step logical
logos-centric reason, logo-istical rite to
evince a visible faith,
a virtue signal,
a mark, between the eyes,
an aim,
a point to spring a story from
upon an unsuspecting child averse to boos.

Trauma at a bubble pop. When all we know, dear
reader, is lost, and our bubble's edge sur
past our horizons,
we are mine-yoot, mispent attentions being

recycled, for goodness sake. Old lies twisting
into first fruits of the know
ing tree, ideas mani-fest
ing
ting, ding

Aha, my bubble of thought ala
funny papers in the old days where we met and laughed
together
in America, before we knew
earth from this distance
fifty years ago.

Wishbooks were real,
Whole Earth Catalog suppliers
sold me my nets, my hooks, and lines,

I learned the ways men have caught fish.
Wishing all the while for a way to live as earthlings live.
Guided by witty inventions, messengers
from the gods, eh.

Easter eggs, tucked away in retro games surfacing on Wall Street.

Who manages the messages released when the
first trump sounded?

That was me, as real, Asreal Kanbe, a walkon role.

I saw a third,
at least, of all the fish in the sea die,
in the duration of a single
short-span standard life. All seven trumps did sound, though,

they may be like lizards, we don't hear them well.

These seventy years of captivity
in the tales of my culture, my people and the ways they live in peace,

in the ways they resist war, sistere in peace with faith, the idea, the deed,

faith works in acting. True. Eh. Faith without action is dead.

Incandescentis onburnedupus, ****, dark. Switch on switch off
nada
dark dark faith sees nothing, ah so what, we muddle in puddles

and fail to portage for fear of surface I can't sticking to our
iron shod feet,
miry clay, heavy steps ******* the good news socks off
our beautiful feet,

see hear focus id - i dent ify the why, find the how-

thought change changes thinker, not thought.

Which of you can make one wire plus or minus by taking thought?
Taking anxious thought? Eh?
Fret not. Ohmmmmmmmm

my god, why the threats? Why must I fret for never making sense?

Dee ahna knowledge chan zen

consider the opposite, the shadow of turning, not doubt

preserve light and darkness little man
preserve sun and moon and stars

lose your wish to catch the Magic Fish.

But that is my wish, my wish for one more wish,
I wished to catch the fish

which taught the lessen to the fishher whose wife
could not be satisfied.

I wished for a source of all the answers ever found,

Ah. and I got this global brain that remembers ever,
though we know only now.
Never before,
has this been past that which men hoped for,
unseen.
Faith for the world to become as it now is,
is finished.
What a man sees, why does he hope for?

It worked. Self-evident, right. Same class as life and liberty.

Chickeneggical,
**** or ovoidal elliptical slices of life, those arrive for our

per-use-al, right or wrong. Like a Fabrege' egg:
You break it, you bought it. Life ain't fair. But it works.
Pick up the pieces.
They all still fit. None are missing. Some are broke,
but a soft touch can fix em.

You were always Humpty-Dumpty. This had to happen once.

Good side always shines, when
the rub has been dealt a shine-on signal for ever sake,
no reason,

just cause. A man can, even mad, be as happy
as he can imagine being,
at the time, all things considered, augmentasciously.

This was my oldest memory today, the future
shall come, and whatever
shall be, shall be, que sera sera.

How are you bored? This is earth. Even if you wish otherwise.

There are new things we may learn if we choose.

--apophatic (adj.)
"involving a mention of something one feigns to deny;
involving knowledge obtained by negation," 1850,
from Latinized form of Greek apophatikos,
from apophasis "denial, negation,"
from apophanai "to speak off,"
from apo "off, away from" (see apo-) + phanai "to speak,"
related to pheme "voice," from PIE root *bha- (2) "to speak, tell, say."

I would not call this meditation, sitting in the back garden.
Maybe I would call it eating light.
Mystical traditions recognize two kinds of practice:
apophatic mysticism, which is the dark surrender of Zen, the Via Negativa of John of the Cross, and
kataphatic mysticism, less well defined:
an openhearted surrender to the beauty of creation.

Maybe Francis of Assissi was, on the whole,
a kataphatic mystic,
as was Thérèse of Lisieux in her exuberant momemnts:
but the fact is, kataphatic mysticism has low status in religious circles.

Francis and Thérèse were made, really made,
any mother superior will let you know,
in the dark nights of their lives:
no more of this throwing off your clothes and singing songs and babbling about the shelter of God's arms

When I was twelve and had my first menstrual period,
my grandmother took me aside and said,
'Now your childhood is over.
You will never really be happy again.'
That is pretty much how some spiritual directors treat the transition from kataphatic to apophatic mysticism.

But, I'm sorry, I'm going to sit here every day the sun shines and eat this light. Hung in the bell of desire.” 
― Mary Rose O'Reilley, The Barn at the End of the World: The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd
Daring to let art be fun and philosophy be phuny, I laugh and romp in the remains of fallen walls between any curious mind and all the knowledge in the world, accessible as long as we both shall live.
Minsan gagamit ng payak na salita
Ngunit ito'y uusigin ng iilan;
Minsa'y sisisid at muling hihinga
Ngunit tatadtarin ng masasakit na salita.

Kung ang pagsusulat ay pagmulat
Ba't hindi na lang maging simple sa pagpili ng bawat salita't parirala?
Ba't hindi diretsahin nang ang punto'y maging kalma?
Kung saan walang tensyon, ayos pa't plantsado.

Minsa'y wala namang nais ipahiwatig
Tanging ang letra'y nilalaro't nagiging bukambibig
Wala nga bang dahilan?
O ayaw mo na lamang lumaban?

Sa mundong ginagalawan
Hindi lahat makaiintindi
Hindi lahat makikiayon
Pagkat hindi iisa ang bida
May iilang ekstra sa eksena
Kaya marapat na handa ka.

Ang pagsulat ay malaya
Kaya naman hindi tugma ang bawat kataga
Ganyan ang nadudulot ng demokrasya
Malaya ka nga, pero hindi na maganda 'pag sobra.

Kung babasahin, minsa'y nakapapanting ng tainga
Ano ba ang ipinaglalaban sa pagtaas ng tono niya?
Ang pagsulat nga'y musika rin
Kung mali ang basa sa tono'y hindi maganda ang himig
Parang kapeng depende sayo ang magiging timpla't panlasa.

Isang simpleng mamamayan sa magulong pamamalakad
Dagdagan pa nang nagsisipagsalipadpad na dungis ng bayan
Hindi ka nag-iisa, ganun din ang pakiramdam ko.

Ngunit ang bawat Pilipino sumasabay sa himig ng Lupang Hinirang
Nasaan nga ba ang sinasabing "alab ng puso?"
Tila ang bahaging ito ng liriko'y walang saysay sa iba
Ang pluma ng ila'y wala palang tinta
Ngunit patuloy pa rin, walang nagagawa
Walang ginagagawa, walang nais na pagbabago.

Ganoon kahalaga ang pagbitaw ng bawat salita
Sa bawat punto, bawat espasyo, tuldok at kama
Mayroong layong nakapag-iisa
Mayroong sentimyentong ipinangangalandakan
Mayroong uusbong na himagsikan --
Mabuti man o masama.

Abstract/ abstrak
Mabuti pang ganyan ang pagsulat
Nang hiwatig ay pansarili lamang
Ngunit ang leksyo'y hindi manganganak
Hindi aabot sa mga apo ng bagong henerasyon.

Bale wala ang salita
Kung ang mga ito'y walang aksyon;
Bale wala ang salita..
Kung ang puso'y wala namang direksyon.

(6/28/14 @xirlleelang)
Napabuntong-hininga na lamang
Tila ba tumatakbo ang bubutil na pawis sa noo niya
Sasabak na naman si Tatang sa gyera
Pilit binuhat ang sakong mas mabigat pa sa kanya
Marupok na ang mga buto
Ngunit hindi ang puso
Ang wika nya, "Walang hindi gagawin para sa apo."
Si Nena, sampu na ang anak
Hindi na magkanda-ugaga
Iiyak ang isa, gutom naman sa kabila
Sa sususunod na buwan,
malapit na siyang manganak
Ang ama ng mga bata, naroon sa kanto
nagpapakalunod sa alak
Sabi nga nila, walang hindi gagawin
ang magulang para sa anak.
Tanghaling tapat na,
almusal pa rin ang hinahanap
Natulala na lamang si Nena nang malaman,
ang tatay niya'y
patay na



-Tula X, Margaret Austin Go
JK Cabresos Jun 2015
Oo.
Totoo.
Hindi mo kailangan ipagsigawang mahal mo ako
na aakyat pa sa Bundok Apo
para isigaw ang pangalan ko
at ipahayag ang damdamin mo,
sapat na sa akin
ang ibulong mo ang mga salitang
nais kong marinig
mula sa mapang-akit **** mga labi.

Hindi mo kailangang ibase ang nararamdaman mo
sa sinasabi ng mga tao,
dahil hindi natin kailangan
ng kanilang opinyon
para umibig hanggang
sa dulo ng mundo,
hindi sila ang dumidekta
sa kung sino man ang ititibok nitong puso,
hindi natin kailangan
ng kanilang opinyon.
Hindi.

Hindi mo kailangan ipagsigawang mahal mo ako
na sa lahat ng date
na ating mapuntahan ay kailangang
pag-usapan ng mga kaibigan mo,
o libu-libong pictures ang ipopost mo,
dahil ayaw ko lang mawala
ang privacy ng ating relasyon,
sapat na sa akin
ang itago mo ang mga larawang yan,
at titigan pauli-ulit
kapag miss na natin ang isat-isa.

Hindi mo kailangang mainsecure sa iba,
hindi ko sila papatulan,
hindi ko sila papansinin,
hindi kita niligawan
ng mahigit isang taon para saktan lang,
wala akong pake sa kanila,
ikaw ang mahal ko,
oo, mahal kita,
at tanggap ko kung ano ka,
kung anong meron at wala ka,
dahil mahal kita,
mahal na mahal,
hindi mo kailangang mainsecure.
Hindi.

Hindi mo kailangan ipagsigawang mahal mo ako,
sapat na sa akin
ang pag-intindi mo sa mga kamaliang
pilit **** binabayo,
mga pagkukulang
na pilit **** pinupunan,
at mga araw na luha
ang nalalasap
ngunit patuloy ka pa ring
nakahawak sa aking mga kamay
at hindi mo ito binitawan,
kahit pa hintotoro na lang
ang iyong nahahawakan
pero pilit mo pa rin akong inaangat.

Hindi mo kailangan ipagsigawang mahal mo ako,
hindi na kailangan,
dahil alam ko,
dyan sa puso mo,
nakaukit rin ang pangalan ko
at ang pag-iibigan nating dalawa,
hindi mo na kailangan ipagsigawan pa
dahil alam kong mahal mo rin ako.
Mahal mo ako.
Mahal na mahal.
- JK Cabresos / Lhordyx

Copyright © 2015
G A Lopez Mar 2020
Walang nagtatagal sa mundo
Sapagkat hamak lamang ang mga tao
Lahat ay dumaraan sa pagiging bata
Hanggang sa maging kulubot na ang mga mukha
Hinang hina na ang katawan at hindi na makapagsalita.
Sa edad na walumpu't dalawa,
Kinuha na ng Panginoon ang iyong lakas at kaluluwa.

Ang pagmamahal mo sa aming mga apo
Higit pa sa pagmamahal na naibigay namin sa iyo.
Walang makakatumbas sa mga sakripisyo mo
Dahil inuuna mo ang kapakanan ng iba.
Hindi ka nagsasawa na mahalin kaming iyong pamilya
Ikaw ay mabuting kapatid, asawa at ama
Hindi ka malilimutan ni Lola.

Hilam na ang mga mata sa pag-iyak
Habang nasisilayan kang nakahiga
Hindi na sa kama kundi sa kabaong na parihaba
Na nakapikit ang mga mata.
Kasabay ng pagpanaw ng iyong alagang pusa
Ang siya namang iyong pagkawala.

Mga larawan mo'y hindi itatapon
Bitbit pa rin ang alaala na iniwan ng kahapon.
Taon lamang ang lumilipas
Ngunit ang mga alaala mo'y hindi kumukupas
Sa iyo'y walang maipintas.
Kailangan pa ring tanggapin
Na nasa piling ka na ng Panginoon natin.
It's been 6 years since you died Lolo but you're still in our hearts.
PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME
Matt Feb 2015
The Kurds live
In parts of Syria, Iraq, and Iran
As well as Kurdistan

Kurdish groups such as the KCK and PJAK
Seek democratic autonomy for Kurds
And democracies in Turkey, Iran and Syria

Aposim is a grassroots socialist movement
That promotes gender equality
Apo is the political founder of the PKK and PJAK

The female fighters of PJAK
Don't have families
Because this will weaken their commitment
To the organization

Thomas Morton
Host of this Vice documentary
Stays in a farmhouse

He headed up to meet the fighters
The PJAK division he met with
Fights for women's rights
Around the Iranian border

They tell Thomas
Women are being killed in Iran
It is a mental persecution of women
The PJAK representative says

It is about the right to democracy
Freedom, Equality, and education
The woman explains that
The Iranians use Sharia and Islam
For their own purposes

It is not true Islam according
To the PJAK representative
In true Islam there is equality and equity

Thomas
That really was priceless
Watching you line dance with them
Really funny
I think the women of PJAK
Got a kick out of it too

God bless the women of PJAK
Such beautiful smiles
Full of life
Standing up for women's rights
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLxniHLkMM0
We came from different Tribes
Children of the great Kabuniyan
We came into being
Children of the Bamboo Forest

We hunt, we gather and fish
Living from Our Mother's gifts
The forest and the mountains
The Cordillera we praise

We chant and sing
The Voices of the Gods
Blessings we bring
and Revelations of Warning

The rituals and offerings
Dances of mystical powers
The humble Rice
and the Great forests

From Apo ni Tulao
To the humble Alan
Unto the God Ini-init
and Apo ni Gwani

We came into being
We children of the forest
Children of the rivers
Children of the ever strong Mountain
I am  half Tinguian, a native of the Philippine Islands. I am proud to have such ancient blood in my veins. Currently, I am learning the Ways of the Tribe.
Lola una kong nasilayang maging  tunay na nanay.
Pagmamahal sayo'y tunay na naramdaman.
Mabuting Pangaral ay sayo unang natutunan.
Minsan mo  mang napapagalitan at napapalo ito'y sa ikabubuti ko naman.
Katuwaan ay nakakamtan pag ikaw ay nasisilayan lalo't makita sa mga mata at labi ang iyong kasiyahan sa twing kami sayo ay dumadalaw.
Mga anak mo at apo ay nakukompleto para pangungulila mo ay maibsan.
Sa twing pasko ay paparating pananabik sa puso ay walang mapaglagyan dahil sa ikaw at ibang pamilya ay makakasalo.
Lola ikaw ang una kong naging tunay at tapat na kaibigan.sa tuwing ang puso ay may dinaramdam ikaw ang unang sinasabihan.mga pangaral na ibinibigay mo ay malugod kong pinapakingan.
Ngunit isang araw kami ay nagimbal ikaw daw ay may karamdaman,pilit ang oras ay hinahabol upang ikaw ay masilayan at makausap man lang.
Ngunit tadhana ikaw ay ipinagkait at damdamin ay sinaktan,nang malaman  na ikaw ay tuluyan ng namaalam.
Masakit ang yong paglisan,kirot sa puso hangang ngayon ay nararamdaman.
Pasko ay paparating na ngunit ikaw ay wala na
Sabi nila tangapin na lang ang yung paglisan,ngunit paano tatangapin kung ang puso ay hindi pa handa sayong pamamaalam.
Puso ay hindi parin matangap na kami ay tuluyan mo ng nilisan.
Pangungulila sa puso sana ay iyong maibsan,sa panaginip ko sana ikaw ay dumalaw.
Always love your grandparents,you cannot get another one If you lost them once.
alena Oct 2014
I feel the need to apologize if I sleep;
because you aren't here

I feel the need to apologize if I don't;
because I robbed you of my dreams

But I'm most sorry;
that I'm not there.
Time to sleep- marble sounds
(Soon I will stop being sorry)
Jedd Ong Mar 2015
Dad
Muelle de Binondo Street,
Barangay San Nicolas,
Old Manila.

My dad's fate
Will always be muddled
With nostalgia:

The mid-afternoon
Traffic of fruit vendors,

The toothless strains
Of my grandfather's voice,
Bouncing off
The warehouse walls
Like folding cardboard,

The ceramic gallops of horse-
Drawn kalesas taking him
From school to
My grandfather's offices,
Every day and back,

Up and down
The cardboard box river
To Tondo. There, he hurriedly
Buys ten
Asado buns
From a stall across the
Street from their
School - a voracious
Schoolboy
Forever late for class, forever

Putting on basketball jerseys
Too wide for him,
Basketball shorts too
Short; body
Always too gangly,
Too long-limbed, wide eyed
And fleet footed
For his dreams to catch.

He once could dunk.

He is still a baby boomer -
Scared of firecrackers,
Weird penchant
For popped collar shirts,
Pointed shoes, and
Sequins - he, was an avid

Lover of stars - his old
Dust-strewn bed posts
Giving way, I imagine,
To iron bars caging
The luminous starry night,
Floating high above
The sewage
And the freight trucks
That weigh him so.

They sang to him.

In the tune of
My mother's voice -
The only album
He ever possessed.

Song set from
His favorite band.

"Apo Hiking Society."

His favorite word,
Was "leap."

A disciple
Of MJ, Dr. J,
And Magic,
Samboy, and Jawo,

Icarus on hardwood
And leaping
From the free throw line.

"Son," he once told me,
"You gotta leap
"If you wanna live."

He was always afraid of heights.

It wasn't until 41 that
We made him ride a roller-coaster,
That he had even seen a roller-coaster.

"You gotta leap
"If you wanna live."

I think my favorite
Memory of my dad
Is still him wringing my fingers
At Space Mountain with
Eyes so tightly shut
That we forgot
Our fears,
And screamed instead:

So.

This,
Is how the stars look like
When unbolted
By folding cardboard,
And iron bars.
John AD May 2018
Malamig ang hangin , kumukulog
Mga taong tulog sa pagilid aking napapansin
Malalakas pa naman sila dati pero napagod nadin
Dating masasama ang motibo , naliwanagan ng positibo

Simula pagkabata trato sayo hindi makatao
Marangyang pamumuhay noon , isa na lamang litrato
Naalala ko pa nga ang boses na galit at imahe nito
Ako'y inis na inis subalit mali ang pagsagot ng apo

Madalas ako mapagalitan siguro matigas nga ang aking ulo
Kung dati madalas ko silang marinig sa mundong ito
Ngayon tila isang panahon na lamang ang pagpaparamdam nito
Lagi nalang silang nagpapahinga para matagal pa namin silang makasama
John AD Mar 2019
Lungkot ng sistema , Pag-gising sa umaga tulala ang eksena
Nakasanayan na ang pagpatak ng tubig sa mata, Basang-basa na ang tela
Pinipilit ko kasing punasan ang sakit , pagkalumbay , dala ng kalungkutan
Alaala mo na di mawawala,lumipas man ang panahon dala dala ko ito sa libingan

Kahapon lang ngiti mo'y hindi maipaliwanag , yun na pala ang huli nating pagkikita
Di man lang ako nakapagmano at nakahalik sa iyong mga noo , hanggang mawalan na ng hininga
Ang Nais ko pa naman sana maabutan ka ng magiging apo mo sa hinaharap , upang makita mo sila
Pero huwag magaalala , ituturo ko naman lahat ng bagay na natutunan ko sayo lola

Paalam lola , Hindi ko man lang nasulit na ika'y makasama
Wala na tuloy magkwkwento sakin nung ako'y bata pa
Wala ding kasabay kumain kapag ako'y magisa na
Nakakalungkot pero kailangang tanggapin , ang buhay natin ay sakanya

Salamat , Alam kong maaliwalas na ang iyong pakiramdam
Nakatakas ka na kasi sa parisukat na mundo na kasuklam-suklam
Payapa na ang sistema , darating din kami dyan

Ang mga rosas ay nalanta , at may uusbong muli na maganda...
RIP Lola Rose
Sep 24 1955 - March 3 , 2019
Sofia Paderes Sep 2013
The next time someone says that
someone else is skin and bones
I'll say that they don't know
what the heck they're talking about
because they haven't seen you
and the way your skin grips tightly to your
tired old bones
the way it sags in some parts
because there's barely any bone to cling on to
or how your skeleton of a body
just lies there uncomfortably on the bed that isn't your own
I can hear you crying out for home
you are the epitome of skin and bones
skin and bones
skin and bones
you are the epitome of skin and bones

But you are the strongest skin and bones I know.

I've never seen you in pain before.
Not even when you cut your finger
or fell down the stone stairs
You complained about everything and everyone else but
not once did you complain about your bones creaking
or back aching
or feet hurting
or knees shaking.
You never told me when you were sick.
I'd only find out from the medicine bottle beside your plate
or from Mom who'd say.
You never told me you were sick.
I only found out from Dad and the way
your body slowly faded every
single
day.
I found out from your headaches
your new scars
your bloodred skin in some parts
your speaking
your breathing
You struggled with your  breathing
yet you refused to be confined
because you wanted to make sure
someone would take care of me.
I can take care of myself!
I should be the one taking care of you so
why would you...
how could you...

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.

But I saw you in pain today.
I didn't think that
it would hurt me that much
to see your face white and crying
your brows knitted together
your bony hands clutching your stomach.
You didn't want me to see you so
I left the room because even in your agony
you didn't want me to watch.
I bet you were pressing the cancer down, telling it,
"I'm not going
The eldest hasn't graduated
The youngest isn't in high school yet
and I still need to teach the second to make chocolate cake."
Or maybe you were telling it,
"Stop it.
My apo* shouldn't see me like this.
If I'll go, I'll go quietly.
I know when I'm defeated.
Just stop the pain
because more than me, it's hurting them.
Stop."

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.

Lolo was a fighter.
He fought it tooth and nail.
They gave him a month
He showed them a year and a half
because he refused to go down
without a battle
without seeing the face of
the grandson he'd been waiting for.
He saw him and held him.
He was hairless and his lungs were blackened,
but he saw him and held him.
But you are a fighter, too.
In your own way.
You don't want to fight like he did
no, you don't want us to see you like that.
You fight with your eyes
with your silent love
with the way you finally let my rough lips
brush against your soft forehead today
with the way you gripped Mom's hand tightly
for the first time
with the way you let my brother clumsily kiss your eye
with the way you let us stay the whole day
even though we were kind of sort of rowdy
with the way you want to go home
with the way your lips silently
formed an amen when we prayed for you.
You never did that before.
I know you'll keep fighting like that
and I know you know when it's time to fight
and when it's time to surrender.
I don't know what's going to happen
but please promise me you'll surrender in peace
without pain
without troubles
without fear
and please, before you go
I want to tell you that

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.
*apo - grandchild or grandchildren
Tessitura, psalms, and songs of praise, they branded atheism when singing Christian psalms in the streets making ineffable groans, where the exordios looked from the back with Delphic prose, where the dart that opens the curtains of the hallelujah tormented, with darts that rubbed weathered in the tentative to rise of the stores of Sanequerib. They are relatives of Incipit Psalm 69. " Saint John said as they continued to climb the Calvary of Profitis Ilias, but this time in the company of the Help of Isaiah, with a great spirit of being from the cavern of Elías in Haifa, at a flat point at the time of the Benedictus. Already the Assyrians were returning the same way they came, as Isaiah prophesied, in the morning with ejaculations that ended with the crass rottenness that could end the day without a step other than an anti-Jesuit one. Prayers go and implore the Omnia Vanitatis, the moment when the sun honors, taking you towards the close of the day with the perpetual antiphon. The vigil was reaching the lines of Isaiah does not rest, in Trinitarian doxology. Where is the darkness, where is the glory to see you...? If the stars collide with each other in Baptismal frowning, and in the mystery of Vernarth that lies a complex, tied to becoming that never begins, and what was Christic history of a morning introit.

Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth express in the Trinitarian doxology: “Through Christ, with him and in him, to you Almighty God the Father, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all honor and all glory, forever and ever. Amen"

The triangular taxias of the Hetairoi made faunas that came cutting themselves with the wind of the "incipit" of Psalm 69: "My God, come to my aid;" Lord, hurry to help me ", by the Keras or wings of the site of Arbella; or Gaugamela rather said…, sonnetized by some Pazhetairoi, made up of 32 Syntagmas, as units of sixteen revived Falangists from Court V of the Helleniká Necropolis, bilocated on Patmos, a few feet from the Mandragoron project. Thus the triangular spellings of war were formed again, to the astonishment of all those present. Alexander the Great, already graceful, was over-trained in irrigation and supplications, he was consisting of 128 Syntagmas, with 62 Falangists covered by the Cinnabar that subdivided them into bones by sixteen of the Lochoi or guides. The Syntagma bipartite was enlarged by two Syntagamatarchos captaining two units, all with their semi-open belly, re-liquidating their viscera by the Ghosts of Shiraz, the Saltimbanqui Hydro comes from Roknabad (also known as Aub-e Rokní), from an underground channel which carried spring water to the city from a mountain located ten kilometers northeast of Shiraz. Here he has to mend the propellers and water ropes to do his acrobatics on the water, with greater songs in the poems of the Poet Hafiz. When he bites his tongue, they repair it with the verses of Hafiz's Koran, there are three hundred creeds, three hundred hectares to irrigate with his wheel the sadness of those who cannot have the gift of the rivalry of Montenegro and Monte Blanco, to overestimate the liveliness of the caravan that trembles with uncertain doubts here on Patmos "

Saltimbanqui of Bascule says: “We are Epi ghosts, green in reverie with tutelary ropes, to jump through the trapeze of the photometric units of the heavy Almeria of the highest Mirror of the Sea. Will take you back to Limassol. Curiously to the same ship as the Eurydice that sleeps in the swings of the sea, and in the arms of the petulance of Dionysus in a new awakening of lethargy of theorization of the superstrings of Anaximander, here is the intrinsic speculation of science, already that this is not just purely empirical research. "

In between them, they form even and odd rows. The horizontals were tinged with the Red Blood cells that became volatile and surrounded the Xyston lances, for thirty soldiers of the Diloquia, with their dismembered arms that began to take them back with their hands tightly girded by the song of the Theological Shemesh of San Juan, which subsequently rescinded last in the sum of two taxiarchies, constituting a Syntagma. The units rose with the sickle that cuts definitive death, to reconstitute it in five thousand that should tread through the hierarchies of formations, amid the frolics of the Phalanx, where Vernarth protested to all “Khaire, Kalos irthate apo tin kentriki, Welcome from Hell !"

Thus the Phalanx was constituted among the Syntagmas in metaphors of the Falangists. In this way this antiphon was revealed martial, denoting synergies of the Sybilla Herofila that conferred to the world of Trinitarian Doxology, among ashes that remained by a solid cobblestone witness of the reluctant troops that testified to the sense of interpreting the law of bringing to the world what to their lives it owes them. The prophecy shone from an intangible Isaiah before all in this concomitant episode, and to the degree of the reign of Judah, here together with the prophet Elijah, they faced the hardened fragrances of blessing as oracular teachers of so many goods, and of the benefactor that protects by inspirational mandate, making laws for the end times before closing his own eyes without having prophesied them.

The rows in “V" contrasted with the corridor friezes in the crowned troops of the Hetairoi, and in the syntagmas that became appressed from the triangle that opened the three-quarter proportions of Athenea's physiognomy in Pergamum, subjugating Alcineo, so that finally it was forged in constellations of equanimity in the fifth courtyard or "V" of the Necropolis of Helleniká in the allegory of Vernarth, stopping the plausible dogma of the initial that glosses the Law in Vernarth's "V". This in turn in double syntagm of the Syntagamatarchos guide, in the high sky of Patmos, and in the medrones growing on the antlers of the proclamation of Wonthelimar, which made them a twin "W" in the star that shines in the medrones of the Ibix, in the Cornacabra and in the Cornucopia, with certain docile movement, adhering to acrostic and prehensile preliminaries of the Isaiah saying.

The Phalanx Alexandrina Heterochromatic of Alexander the Great volatilized between the villi of his Falangists, climbs the Holm of Zeus and causes a "Gore" or horrifying reflection, allowing the rhizomes to become a hundredfold, which will make the nominal order of five thousand, for each member of the Syntagma, in an astonishing quantum that reproduced itself to materialize before Him. Then he tied each one of them as Prometheus chained to each of the oaks, from an Akane grocer, incontinenti withdraws a sharp dagger and opens each one's veins to free them from the isolation of so many years settled in their last heterochromia of the War Iridium that he conferred on them, to endure the visit of the spirited Grim Reaper. This causes liberation, in this way they re-install themselves in their bodies, with Iridium or iris that made them see before their optics in two biases of Hoplite alter egos, impacting half of their body. Alexander the Great, being the philanthropic heir and of Platonic legacy, made them superfluous in the melanin that fell from the Epíchisis or libation vessel, to taste the effluvia of Dionysus with the maenads, with wide ambivalence filling them with viticulture, so that they would flow through the veins of his soldiers, and to revive them with the Dionysian must of melanin to the left eye of the Hegemon King Alexander the Great, with Jasper in the left, and the right with ultramarine from the bottom of the Ionian, on the banks of the washed banks of Patmos, in high swells of Greek alcohol that was distilled from the Mosacism of the stones when unraveling the peripheral forces from the prefectures of the great native of Pelas. They ordered areas of all Greece under their heterochromia flow that gave life to the Perifereoaki, or periphery for Central and Western Macedonia that came with great vigor, with Epirius central, western Greece, Peloponnese, and Crete. East Macedonia and Thrace, Ionian Islands, North Aegean, and Thessaly, later they would go for the Aldehyde alcohol that summarized and epitomized Dionysus taking him with four eagles that distilled the unprisoned Syntagmas of the lines of 16, 32, 64, etc...., for purposes never to start on an omega all the way to the Ionian Islands from Corfu.

Alexander the Great, went near the pre-urbanization of the Mandragoron towards Vernarth, somewhat dizzy, and before attending to him he presented himself first to the Zefian; who looked at his iris like a foreman who re-divided his visuals, by prevailing in eagerness to restore his soldiers, to help in the construction of adventures of life, and to assist in building the Megaron, which still rested in the myopia of mythological vision of the Gods tied in animosity with the Titans. Overwhelmingly, he highlighted the clouding or turbidity that was seen beyond the radius or visual field of two realities, found in visual refraction and interference with refractive statisms of the periphery that led him to the other world in Babylon when death imprisoned him...? Here the root revived, it became parallel in a unique world with divergent lights, which entered his Akera or right-wing of his soldiers, bringing visual acuity that brought the perchlorate volatilizations that hovered in the boots of his soldiers, when they marched in awareness of the retina and of the mean light, that for the first time was clarified in true holistic and political from a Parthenon with the musk of mortals and immortals of neo Hegemonic ophthalmology, which he was already re-leading by his command, where he was going to invest his greatest and most spiritual elemental Commander Vernarth, with his Himation.

The rays of his eyes seemed distant, but they were diffuse and alternate, they wandered through the lens of his clouding, which blinds a partial of the left Akera, or flank of the Hypaspists that dazzled Parmenion. Here the optics of Alexander the Great, remained in the diatribe of the small eye next to another that was enlarged, being hyperopic of a mysterious confine in the severity of Dionisio when confronted with him, in light effects of the high liquid vineyard, refracting meridians in his troops next to the Hexagonal Primogeniture who observed them behind the magenta image, which was the one that flashed from the Clouded holm oak and eclipsed by calm heat movements, and rising air masses that were in the opportune station of good sense. When being aided by the Maenads and the Herophile, they were teaching from a parent, who now sponsored the entire political and spiritual will of the Hoplite side, made up of the King of the World Vernarth, together with Alexander the Great, after receiving the photocoagulated lightning bolts. of the officers, under redeeming and reduced of the metabolic, and of the oxygenated preeminences of new lungs for each devout consecrated body, towards Saint John, the Apostle, pigmented and mechanized with aggravating heterochromia, and extensive in the bodies raised in new parallels that have to confront an anonymous or semi-god by turning for his own.
Antiphon Benedictus III Isaiah / Syntagma
(HER:)

Waking up with distant eyes
Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, remember
Unwanted scenes, a mental ****
You can’t deny nor really escape
An incoherent theater plays out
The nighttime chronological film
Your memory drills the decor
Into your emerging, lethargic brain
You strive to piece it together
It makes sense, you want an encore

My web of dreams is wrought with
People in deeply masochistic scenes
Boudoirs and antique settings
I delve in these repeated lunar sins
Inspired by or tormented in a moon fire
Some hazy mornings I remember that my empire
Comes from those profoundly symbolic rooms
Child of the cross, blessed in a white cloth…
Now naked and proud, embedded in… who?
Silky velvet eyes, dark corners and dooms…

Or, like a prophet, dreaming about my family’s priest
Last night a call that hurt so much that was so clear that was
Unreal. A letter of blessings he wrote by hand
Tools on a table, gifted, in the shape of a small casket
In this horror I besought my heart to have erred
A premonition, coming from so vivid a past emotion?
What are your dreams made of?

(HIM:)

Waking up with distant eyes
Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, remember
An uninvited guest, a dying ember.
Dreams like false memories are hazy
Fading away hastily- vaguely
Still remember a few things namely
A hedgehog hissing and running around
something similar to a floating clover coin
I'm staring at a red colored behemothic door
There's a note scotch taped on that door
It gives me feelings of a signboard.

Blurry visions; I made the decision
to head for it but wait!
The hedgehog is still running around
It looks at me and starts screaming
Strangely the room is teeming
with darkness; Am I dreaming?
I think I am but I'm heaving
Believing whatever I'm seeing
Fleeting valor but I keep reeling
I'm getting closer to The Brobdingnagian
But where's that gnawer? I'm not seeing
him anymore; It was here before

I'm standing in front of the door.
Floor squeaks but I ignore
This blackness is stevedore
Bugbears came back for an encore
Hefty tidal bores inside my heart
Ready to wipe out everything I have
I look around, I see coal-black
No door knobs, no thoughts gob
I'm trapped in this **** room
My head throbs, I'm no Dom Cobb
Need to escape from this maze
I play a bit part in this Big Sleep
I'm not Bogart but a trash heap
Fear streaks, grey doubts peep
I know I'm dreaming but I still keep
seeing what I don't wanna see
I'm more dormant than The Mauna Kea
Trapped in this room like a bumblebee
My mind's worse than a potpourri

I was looking inside for a skeleton key
Then I opened my eyes suddenly
Why is it always like a movie without an apogee?
I looked around to find somebody
And I saw you in the mirror
Staring at me blatantly
So I'm asking you- Hey, tell me!

What are your dreams made of?
Waking up with distant eyes

Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, I remember
the way she smiled; Once again I saw her
Last time I saw her was on 22nd of December
Now that she came once again
I am not afraid of the hurricane
that hit the coast; I was lost
She found me- Long story cut short.
Storm clouds all over the skies
Thunderstorms loud; Heavy lightning strikes
My life was completely disarrayed
But now she's by my side; I'm not scared
Her beautiful smile- all things it repaired

We were talking, Don't remember what
Like old times, a very long chat
I remember saying yes to a few things she said
She smiled, happiness spread
all over my body, no discomfort I felt
All worries eased, all fears calmed
She helped me like she used to help
I don't want this day to end
Just wanna stay here for the rest of my life
I looked around, I'm somewhere else now
Wow! It's beautiful; I'm looking at a painting now
Where is she? She's not with me
I don't see her anywhere near.
I looked around; This place is overcrowded.
Unknown faces; Sadness shrouded
All the memories we made clouded
my path; I don't see a thing
I always loved her
Then why does she leave me halfway everytime?
No matter how much time I spend dreaming
Happing ending will always be an unfulfilled dream
Of mine; I'm screaming
Then I opened my eyes suddenly
Why is it always like a movie without an apogee?
I looked around to find somebody
And I saw you in the mirror
Staring at me blatantly
So I'm asking you again- Hey, tell me!

What are your dreams made of?



(HER:)

“An apo-gee”
Distance away-from earth
An apogee is a dream
It’s an acme, a ******
We dream of having dreams. We lie awake, we dream
We fall asleep, we dream. We think of dreams, we dream
In this so irregular laden-meaning scene that stream
Is new matter at night. Leading us through the deepest
Crevices. We recall a hazy landscape...

Waking up with distant eyes
Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, we remember
The nano seconds of our journey
Like photographs trapped in a camera
We lie down in bed, in our camera
Which is, my dear, the latin word for room
We are a canvas, we are the mechanism
Behind the machinery of dreams
Our brain sorts through the day, sending messages
Hermes in a tiny globulous sphere.

But you asked me to describe the machinery of that matter
In my dreams, I am sometimes seer, sometimes victim
Sometimes goddess. Females are seldom present
Men, men, men, it’s a men’s world
They’re not like horses, a mere form of their symbol
They’re made of skin and bones, their voices bewitching
In no fantasy realm. A concrete cell or a palace
A de Sade manor but… then… always in a room
I must be making use of some mise en abyme.

An abyss, an apogee
Away from earth at the
Bottom of the sea

This woman you speak of
She must be ghost yet queen
I have not seen nor heard
The flutter of her dress
Maybe in your carnal caress
She walked away
WIth a demeanor so noble
That left you longing for her kiss
This bliss of love! this… miss
I mean, dismiss.

(HIM:)

And I woke up listening to this
This soul kiss that I too much miss
Is a call to fall up, deep.
Close my eyes; Time to fall asleep
In a slit trench counting sheeps
Keeping up my defense
Against the fin-de-siecle pretence
Because everything in here pretends
to be real when they are really surreal
Some dreams are meant to make us
feel that way
They won't let our problems wake us
So they can take us away
From the Groundhog Day, we live every day

Waking up with distant eyes
Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, remember
The taste of that hot meal I had
I can trace it back though I go from
one dream to another like a nomad

A world so beautiful yet everything seems offbeat
The places you visit, the people you meet
Things you did when you were in the hot seat
And things you didn't 'cause you got cold feet
Sometimes in bits & parts, you remember
The long run behind the paper chase
Hard to remember, easy to forget
Images in our head sometimes deface
the imagery of this imaginary coquette
Dreams- what role does she play in our life?
Look through the lorgnette you are holding
You'll know she's the one controlling you
When you search for yourself in her world
Always incomplete, leaving an invisible mark
Inside your mind, onerous to find
Makin' you blind during the night
When you open your eyes & try to rewind
That old broken disc inside your mind
Nothing you'll find cause there's nothing inside
‘Cause that dream just died.

Waking up with distant eyes
Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, remember
I wish I don't remember this nightmare
A nightmare is a night's mare
Don't know whose footprints I'm seeing here
Inside I'm hollow, about to be swallowed
by sorrow as my faith in myself is so low
Not so clear still I gotta follow
the trail all by myself, I'm going solo
In my backpack, I carry blessing from Apollo
Make use of your snowshoes, hare!
Going somewhere but I'm not aware
That I'm in the open air, completely bare
Ears impaired but I hear a fanfare
All I see is darkness when I stare
at the road ahead to find out who's there
The Oracle is somewhere near
Waiting to rescue you from this despair
And make this matrix a magic square
You will hear what you wanna hear
If you keep moving forward, dear!

Untamed wilderness and an open sky
The Mighty Huntress is nearby
The Spirit of the Wolf will never die
Smell of fresh blood, ravens fly
Beautifying the color of the night sky.
Don't know why I was chosen as the prey
I don't know what's in for me
If I keep walking through this way.
Then long streams of illusions
Flew in from all directions
I cannot reverse the flow
It's like those silent rivers
Heading furiously towards the sea
Why do I see things that I see?
Gotta keep moving; Do you understand me?
'Cause time moves fast but very slow here
Sound of clock ticks I don't hear
Home's far away- a million light years
from the earth but still near
Suddenly a black hole appears
In front of me out of nowhere
I'm going down through this abyss
I'm not afraid 'cause I know where
I'm going; The Light is showing
me the bottom of the sea.
Almost there, I can see it clearly
I know this is where I have to be
So I closed my eyes slowly
As I reached The Apogee.
----
December through January 2018
Collab with Jordan Rains, his stanzas are marked as "(HIM:), mine as "(HER):"
solEmn oaSis Jul 2022
( Episode 1- Putong )

Poong may Kapal
Kalong po'y Dasal
Noong ako'y pagal
Tulong mo'y Bukal

KulOng pa naman at sakal
dahong binasbas ay banal
Payong ay bukas sa lokal
Balong iniigiban ay moral

kay tagal sinasalubong ng daluyong
Kay bagal umusbong ng Kamagong
Dumatal na at lumipas rin ang dagundong
Kumintal pa rin sa akin hampas ng bagumbong

Ngayong patayo na nga si Pangulong Digong
Tayong mga Pinoy pa din ang pihong bayong
may layong muling maLulan ang panibagong pinunong
Mayroong Tapang sa Pagsulong ng Totoong PagkanLong

Mala-Antonio Luna ang dila,,,hinding-hindi umuurong
Andres Bonifacio naman kung sumugod,,pag itak ang umiiral
Samantala tila Apo Lakay kung umakay ng talino sa pag-usbong
At buwis benepisyo sa sarili ang ikararangal kapara ni Jose Rizal

Sa ngalan ng ama na naging kasing-tatag ng bumbong.,..
Paupo na nga at buong pagpupunyagi sa pagitan ng tipikal kontra kritikal...
Ang anak na itinakda walang iba kundi si Presidente Bongbong...
Ang ika-Labing pitong Pangulo ng Pilipinas , sa inang-bayan ay mapagmahal !!!

© June 8, 2022
Pen by soLemn oaSis


it is not emergency but so
merging epic getting-in to
" T M A L M " episode 2
          were
reminiscing and heading
on the way too,
right inside the ride
            where
i picked packed boom,
as i rewrite my old poem
entitled tic tac toe
           wears
a single syllabication
of chosen words' lyricism
narrated from start to end and
          bears
a no beware bars set up
until i care to dare
the bottom bares on top !
       fear
neither nobody nor elses foes
and heaven knows good son
who does one hell of a bad
       near
unproven bundled doses of unrhymed
lines made by those unarmed farmers
gonewild with unarmored poetries .
                    T  E  A  R ! ! !
             h  r  r  e
             r  a  r  p
            o  s  i  e
            u  u  v a
            g  r  e  t
             h  e  s  s
Inspired by history and events here in my homeland a.k.a orient pearl of far east
The Philippines
Bounty of slaves,
working for none.
Cultures lie,
there with their gun.
Black-out a burn out,
a penance to come?
Cancel out,
the light of the sun;
'Apo-ca-lyptic'
      Dragon

Two perched on-high,
they watch the streets...
Places where Man
and Devil's meet.
War drums begin,
laying their beat.
Who is going
-to save all the meek?

Woman she comes,
starry-crown, starry eyes!
Stands as a calf
in her disguise.
Birth a Messiah,
in waters unbound.
Arise as a Beast,
disciples confound?
Symbol in mind's
all to subvert...
God now a serpent
religion's convert.

Death To Us All!
And Death To The Light!
A Christmas Revelation,
War and Death Do Delight!

~Evan
aboutYv Jan 2022
Pitumpu’t Lima,
‘Yan ang taong nandito ka.
Ngayong upos na ang ‘yong kandila,
Ilaw mo’y ‘di na mapupundi pa.

Huling gabi mo na ngayon sa’yong tahanan.
Ngunit ang buhos ng ula’y parang wala ng katapusan.
Hindi ko alam anong gusto ng kalangitan,
Subalit bakit ito’y tila nakatatahan.

‘Di ko lubos maisip na sa kinabukasan,
Eto na ang huli kong masisilayan.
Kung gaano sana kalakas ngayon ang ulan,
Lahat ng ito’y hihina rin sa kinaumagahan.

O kay dagli ng iyong paghimbing
Sakit na ‘di mo mahahambing.
Sa kabila ng hirap na ‘yong dinaing
Lahat ng ito’y ‘di na sa’yo makararating.

Sa larangan ng sining,
Kami sayo’y nahuhumaling
Iba ang taglay **** galing,
Isa kang batikang itinuturing.

Sa mga obra **** iniukit,
Pasasalamat ang aming sambit.
Mga ala-ala ng bawat saglit,
sa puso’t isipa’y nakaguhit.

Hindi man kasing husay at talentado,
Larangang ito’y patuloy na isasabuhay ko.
Pinapangako ko, aking Lolo
Sandali nalang, Apo mo’y magiging arkitekto.

Kung kami ay maglalambing,
piging ang nakahanda sa’yong paggising.
Tiyak ngayon atensyon mo’y sa lola nakabaling
Kung mayroon lang kaming isang hiling,
Ito‘y muli kayong magkapiling.
Trefild May 6
never been one whO̲ contains much
faith in human race, but
now it's just about bo[ɑ]ttom-low
which reminds of a squa[ɑ]tting pose (bottom low)
sometimes, it's like I̲'m on a ride that goes
down the dark misanthro[ɑ]pic road
I̲'m not the driver, though
[but I guess I sort of chose the "vehicle" & keep staying in it]
and to descrI̲be humankI̲nd, I'd go
with the following cO̲[ɑ]mment: "inside a post
apo[ɑ]calypse truck that rolls mindlessly, like it's no
tommorow, down the dysto[ɑ]pic road"
sometimes, I'd li̲ke to be one in rose
tinted glasses, like some pretty lA̲ss dis—
—played in some fashion-oriented mA̲g piece
but the mind of mine's wired otherwise
but forget it, for rI̲ght now, I would like
to continue the dystopy theme fro[ʌ]m the prior lines
autocracy, AI̲, with both
on the rise, it's like into the dark we go
do you know why it's ca[ɔ]lled
"high classes"? 'cause an archetypal soul
belonging to a high class is all 'bout
self-indulgence, dough (power, high on power)
[since, according to Ted Kaczynski, the power process is the process of satisfying needs]
[having power in its different forms makes living humans delighted (high)]
[just like mood-elevating narcotics called "uppers"]
[what I imply with those lines is high social class[-es] is/are called "high" due to]
[its/their members being under the influence of their power acting as uppers for them]
and for the mass to throw down
the system, there's a lack of civil drive & know[ɑ]ledge, so
it seems like no way of sto[ɑ]pping those
two, except for legislation that prescribes
development, usage & spread limitations to[—]ward AI
[should be worldwide]
and (with regard to autocracy) an armed overthrow
by antiauthoritarian-minded folks
who, at some point, would pro[ɑ]b'ly grow
corrupted like wrong ones dethroned (dead end)
tragical, but at the same time it's kind of co[ɑ]mical
[the way humankind is throughout its history]
humankind is like an utter dolt
who keeps stepping on a frO̲nt end of a ****** ***
like a ****** getting her tyrant-minded clients croaked (****** ***)
but AI, which is obvi' gon' be utilized to exercise control
[in fact, that's already the case]
["RoskomNAZIor" with its **** "Oculus"]
or even have the might to exercise control
and autocracy itself are no[ɑ]t the sole
pro[ɑ]blems known; humanitarian plights provoked
by warfares (look at Africa); with enviro holes
kept being dug since Brit's industrial
[the "dig oneself in(to) a hole" expression]
revolution & the people number growth
someday, there'll be the time the globe
won't be the sentient species' lovesome home
but environment
is among stuff chI̲ng-corrupt jerks
that rU̲n or get
investment I̲ncome fro[ʌ]m firms
speciali̲zing in
fossil fuels gI̲ve not co[ɑ]ncern
toward, hence the climate change denI̲A̲l them
filthy rI̲ch schmucks support
[as if they don't have or aren't gonna have offsprings]
but there's always an abrupt turn
to take to end this f#cked world (sort of end)
I mean, do no[ɑ]t for—
—get about dA̲[ɛ]mn nuke bo[ɑ]mbs stored
both in the "eastern world" with authoritarian govs (madness)
[China; North Korea; Pakistan; India; Russia, with Belarus as its nuke base]
and in the "western world" with somewhat liberal ones (lesser evil)
[USA, with some NATO states as its nuke bases; France; UK; Israel]
what I imply's the sapiens kind
is doomed; even if the final chapter's not nigh
it's still just a matter of time
[doomed to be a dystopian civilization with: constant control & oppression]
[by the powers that be; violent crimes, incl. warfares]
[starvation (in some regions); worsening environment]
"humankind's doomed" by TREF1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
Trefild Nov 2023
a[ɛ]m I going psychotic in my dA̲[ɛ]mn mind
or ma[ɛ]nkind is on a deranged ride
[in fact, I prefer the word "humankind", but it doesn't fit with the rhyme pattern]
on an armored train? like that power-cray
North Korean son of a bo[ɑ]mb afraid
of his own go[ɑ]ddamn shadow, for it, ju[ɪ]st like
this *****#cking fatso's order, is quite
terrible; on a reckless ride that's
go[ʌ]nna take
the highly developed kind back
fro[ʌ]m the age
of reason to the uncivilized past's
darksome days
["dark somedays"]
(probably the latter)
————————————————————————————————
should be in a mental asylum watched over (why?)
off my "meds" like some iron-grip jE̲rkwad
[the meds were mostly video games]
in power striking a wA̲r up
an indescribable U̲rge to wreak destruction & ******
[mostly lyrically]
as if I were a horse-riding enforcer of the Apo[ɑ]calypse or a
jihadist supporter of the IslA̲mist new order
heading to a spot with the public galO̲re to
turn up at; I'm highly avE̲rse to
autocracy, but tyrant-like to[—]ward a kindergartner-like verser
half-a## writers, conformers, & allies of usurpers
better put on something fire-sound or go underground
like the Camorra or Johaness Arnesson, fO̲r I
["for I" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "fora"]
[Camorra is a part of the underworld]
[Johannes Arnesson (Owl Vision) makes underground type of electronic music]
am, like when a living victim's hide's being bU̲rned to
muscles by a hob O̲r a cutting blowpipe, a fierce torcher
["torture"]
and if there were, like Ivan the Fourth, a
terrible tsar & a murker, like a hitman satisfying hit orders
[the reign of Ivan the Terrible is infamous for, inter alia, tortures]
for me to take my pick like a **** 𝑓𝑜[ɔ]𝑡𝑘𝑎
["pic."]
I'd, like the wight-like equine rider
direct my sight on the former (scythe); you hardly can stI̲r up
[Death, the pale one of the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse]
a spark, I've come to the taiga & stI̲rred up
a violent inferno; while in the wilds, I've discerned a
couple of male old-timers encircled
by some guards & cam workers; a fire fiend, for the
restless mind is like a flamethrower
which this corruption-plagued world su—
—pplies with fuel like a "Flying J" servo
don't get this wrong, I can't be bothered re[eɪ]
which kai is fave by which state, but I'm afraid
autocracy is, in the China vein, on the rise today (on the rice)
but, for the sake of a fighter plane
laying f#cking waste to a ride or train
with an autocratic ******* aboard
what is a singular someO̲ne that ain't
a well-savvy hacktivist nor
a sick gunfighter, like Max Payne
to do when the disbalance between a civil society
and a regime in some abysmal auto[ɑ]cracy
is so grave there's nothing safe
and rock-solid, like a tungsten *****
to do to undermine this state
of affairs? apply the cre[i]do of yours
to whatever at which you are versed
that's why I'm engaged in my anti-autocratic rhyme crusade
[previously to this one: "punishment of an autocrat"; "надвигался 2022-ой" ➔]
[➔ "a couple of words for dictators" & anti-authoritarian fragments ➔]
[➔ of some other rhyme pieces published by me]
I might lO̲O̲k to be an evil-minded skate
now, but, seizing the opportunity
like some viced ***** gained
a role O̲f a rU̲ler with
an unchecked political might & aimed
at establishing a tight-grip reign inside the state
there's something I'd like to say
I hhhooock... thooo... spit on tyrants' graves
and graves of their compliant aides
without the slightest shame, I, like a crane for construction, raze
["raise"]
their heads—tones by a mace from the knightly age
bet taphophiles ain't gonna like the way
in which I behave; ones who're enviro-cray
better get fire squa[ɑ]ds awake like a rite that takes
place after someone's life has waned
wholly (a wake), 'cause I get mY̲ hands laid
on a pulverizer with spirits of wine & spray
it on those scheissers' grave—yards, then make
'em go, like the face of someone laughing so wildly they
are about to split their sides, ablaze
and I've barely gotten underway
lyrics-wise, I'm gonna give a harsh time
to a power-blinded, nazissistic go[ɑ]bshite
a sort of tea party which you'll no[ɑ]t like
'cause there's a billypo[ɑ]t rife with steaming splo[ɑ]sh I've
got in the pipeline, like oil, & will be pleased to slo[ɑ]sh right
into your filthy mug, swine, so here's a piece of a[ɑ]dvice
better get equipped with some wipes
and something chilling, much like
a horror game when you sit without lights
and with earphones on in the middle o[ʌ]f night
it may seem now as if I'm a kitchen cart guy
and you're at an eating spo[ɑ]t (why?)
'cause you're about to get served
scuzz, I'ma strike
a lyrical skewer through your mouth & your stern
just like a swine
————————————————————————————————
it is night-time, like the pre-enlightenment E̲[i]poch, but I'm
["knight time"]
like a ballista sho[ɑ]t flyi[—]ng
the target's way, in the open air & quite away
like an anthracite aflame/ablaze
["(a) vay" (Malagasy) - "(a) glowing coal"]
nearby the gates of your sublime estate
a mite ashamed to say this, but I might be ta'en
for the Russian state or the "Hamas" brigade (why?)
these premises are like Ukraine
or Israel, respectively, inasmuch as they
are gonna be violated sI̲m. to a victim of a ******; finna
penetrate your villa like the agent Fisher
[Sam Fisher from the "Splintel Cell" videogame series]
which is gonna be made much quicker
than you, a[ɛ]nxious geezer, would make a lady stimu—lated I̲nto
the ****** state; your security system & lights are way
like a surgeon who's armless, they no longer o[ɑ]perate (ha-ha)
'cause I have an EMP device in play; the weather, by the way
is trash, raining, just like Hussein in his presiding days (trash, reigning)
but your cap-cladded daw[ɑ]gs remain
outside despite that & an adage Russians say
that a dog keeper that is mindful ain't
gonna let his dogs be outside at the time it rains
or when some other weather that's bad becomes the case
but thA̲t's, un—like the sign that's made
of metal & acts A̲s an
indication that it's a co[ɑ]p you face
not a bother; like a register that has an
["buzzer", in the sense of "police badge"]
abundant range
of info about a vile regime's pieces of crap having
rank slides, such as their addies, mug sho[ɑ]ts, & names
a specialist, the black-cladded
["special list"]
crusader from the Norsefire-tyrannized UK
in the Guy Fawkes mask strapped with
[V from "V For Vendetta"]
a blowgun with darts, like the pirate claimed
the title of an assassin
[Edward Kenway from "Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag"]
by which I sedate those diletta[ɑ]nte[—]s ordained
to guard your place as I slyly make my go[ɑ]ddamn way
forth like a farcE̲U̲r coming out
of behind the stage
lock pick the door of your house
then walk inside like a pro[ɑ]mena[eɪ]de (walking site)
while touring around
the pretty so[ɑ]lid place
of yours, I encoun—
—ter your do[ɑ]xy draped
with a corse[—]let-like towel
not far away from the room in which you shower, bathe
with her bo[ɑ]dy shape, to one whose mind's unchaste
she's like a va—cant front seat to one whose sight's debased
hard not to try & take; but, given the time & place, I try to stay
away from these broad thoughts like an ex-****-bawd (thots)
besides your inviting bae
like a ship-parking space nearby a pirate-obliging place
["inviting bay"]
I descry your maid nearby the kitchen-dinette; they
both get tranquilized, like someO̲ne who came
for a massage, & chained to pillars of a ba[ɑ]lustrade
with their gobs sealed with parcel tape
arrived a mite hungry, so I knife a slice
off of an icebox pie I came bY̲ inside
the fridge of yours, then eat it sE̲rved on
your high-cost plate
using your silver fork &
your table knife engraved
with a rhomb grid adornment
(some would think you're a perfectionist, like me when I undertake)
(rhyming like an Eastern person)
["ramen"]
(but, in accordance with what my mindset says)
(it's more likely you're just pretty corny)
(like rappers whose lines display their consumerism-governed brains)
(and whose body of rhymes is shaped in an unenticing way)
once the meal's finished, like a rival/fighter slain
in a "Mortal Ko[ɑ]mbat" fray, I leave your tableware defiled, same
as that pious place, in which ***** Riot made
a protest performance
pU̲t on, like that unashamed
co[ɑ]cky, a la desert soldiers
["khaki"]
autocratic swine that reigns in the north-east mo[ɑ]bster state
some high-octane tunes fro[ʌ]m a play—
—list of mine, then start to make your hideaway
[it's supposed that the EMP effect has gone by this time, so electronics are able to function]
look like it faced the wildest rave that mustered skates
who have, like a wrE̲cking ball
a disorganizing trait
towards stuff that's ta[ɛ]ngible
and are prone to territory-marking, same
as what's done by a[ɛ]nimals
or bY̲ street ga[ɛ]ngs
quite an effortful
jo[ɑ]b awaits your unlucky maid
or whoever you're gonna choose to invite & pay
in order to neutralize the may—hem caused by my stay
————————————————————————————————
such a misfortune you, A̲##hole
are away from your glorious castle
which is, like a brutal ******
that you are, looking nO̲[ɑ]t so
["nutso"]
glorious now if you look insI̲de, *** (ha-ha)
you stupid ****̲teball, ***** you, li̲ke bolts
"spit on autocrats' graves" by TREF1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
she didn't know where he was going,
how long he'd be gone,
only that she needed to wait
for his homecoming,
to watch for the letters he promised,
believing the sharp angina pains
stabbing her chest might
**** her during another long absence

he'd pick her up like she
weighed nothing,
willing herself to be lighter
so that he wouldn't put her down,
straddling her boney legs
around his waist,
inhaling the scent of Grey Flannel
evaporating off his soft skin

the mystery of where he went
every six months or so
was made insignificant,
"to work", as if it was just
a drive over the mountain
from Ft. Shafter instead of
some jungle Walter Cronkite
talked about on television

his letters came in red, white and blue
envelopes from APO's and HQ's,
pictures of dragons and snakes
drawn on the margins
doing nothing to alleviate
a seven year old's insecurities

then mother went to volunteer
at Tripler's burn ward
her small mind beginning
to comprehend he was in the
same place the "Uncle Sam Wants You"
signs wanted men

Walter called it the war in Vietnam
adult conversations she'd overheard
said it was big, but the sound of it
made her body shrink into a ball

Written by Sara Fielder © Sept 2014
Ken Pepiton Feb 2022
Delta dark desert sound
-tic swa gwa

Dismal swamp,
Slew of despond, splash

Hence, come, foul self, stinky-kenny,
ah
yes, time chance,
net-neti, meta all o'that mental ascent
to step away

think the whole dammed thing that has been
undammed, some time ago, at least half
a revelation measure, past the half
hour of silence.

Prep-work. What good can-
versus what good am-            

I, quests in op
portunate position, we

suppose, ah, sudden we, who
knew?
A laugh, once shared,
numb
ness, lifts an edge from the deck,
ness, edge ness in essence of pearling
the action
growing as knowing, sudden-- su su per

personal ize, I am, as a thought,
I am, meta-cognosis, you know
what I mean,

400 words made the cat in the hat,
who lives in your head,
where who philosophy is widely read.

These whos lack electricity,
so their reality depends on mutual re
alization, realizing personal worth
if good is all we need at the moment,
we have
plenty, plenty terror and greed, and rotten
hearts full of treasured straw, for bricks,
some day,
all our idle words accounted for

waking new, all the straw spun to gold,
thread about as wide
as a spider's kite,
sliding light.

Did I not? I remind me,
learn that in a mind, we
find numbed from before, knowing,

knowing, too soon, too late, boomers, all, did.

Don't we think we read the same **** & Jane,
oh, yeah, glory days,
the ways we were so-- numbed
by the music, yeah, more than drugs

from then to now, 2022, a blur, too fast
to matter, but for the wind, twist to last

chance, drink or prime the pump,
well, improving, our arrangement, give me
to drink,
and lo'
you, know the other had eyes, he saw as we
see, you knew, instant- life is living.
The act we all do, redundanced, on flat earth,
the xy axis of ordered arrangement of tools,
a place for everything, and every thing
in its place, we breathe,
and have our being in the life zone known,
so far,
so good,

the day is half done… numbness, funny unmissed
appointment, values are about to be dis
cussed, as causes accused of war crime, or plain
lying about duty to children,
lying about worth to children,
lying about ever after to children reared as tools,
servants to God's servant,
who relies on us, the poet's, primarily -

who read the runes, and ken certain tones,
attached to the tips of all tongues pfft pfft
phugedaboudit, whack
what were we thinking,

This is 2022, 12:27, I have been AI reminded,
faithful follower of instruction, immune to praise,
worth the effort forced on an old man, after
ever had well begun, a glory run, down
the backroads, with double yellow lines,

a white feather in my cap, they call it macaroni
poetry, it speaks in tongues of angels,

messages, sagacity fluidly puddling in wu-wow
same same see, somethings we
see same
some not same re
alizing, more or less, I am alone, I am talking
to my self,
anticipating your reading, as then unclaimed,
your reading your writing is our effort to fully function,

Branching, crystaline, flux in the frontal formation.
edging into knowing your, wondering

who can say what we think we know, better
than the idea used to think of Jesus, comforting
little boy, me.

Comfort is the only point we share,
for sure, we know comfort,
when we feel it, first rush,
under my made from-ol'Levis quilt
on a cold desert night, at the edge

of night, listening, eyes, adjusting,
blue glow, so faint, sobbing, listen, Perry Mason
Bailiff saying, muted through the door to you,
do you
swear to tell the truth,
the whole truth, and, {ah, the pain}
nothing but the truth?

AI ai ai, ritual sacred child, hapt to happen,
about a billion times, one time, split,

half know, half know not.
What is not a factor, words, were
never fit to inquiry, curiosity was missing,
promised apo
- I may, so I say apollo is a multi
- meta mete essence appolo so loco, si

logic assumes too much. You know too little,
ah, we have the app that's apt,

to make you think, strange arrangements seem
familiar, this is a mental labyrinthine design imagined
evocative experientially, a
be coming to being

kinda fruitless, really, without the womb, which was
oversight, civilizations
with goddesses have more womb sense,
than ones with pride conflicted all male propensities,
due to pride bred into the princes,
sorted as in Sparta, on the playing fields from Eton
to the universal concept of Friday Night in High School,

anywhere on earth, its all
the same,
scene, true trope, fit to the story of nextifity, loosely

more of the same, or do do we use the utility we realize,
this is
way cool for a future, from 1965… we were kids,
first TV Top-Forty Movies in color, all the time, from
conception, on Blueberry Hill,
-- the old order,
Frank Capra, Esquire/*******,  modality, mode, set,
films function to reimpress, in like Flint, pokem, say
Jack thinks like Goldfinger,
pointedly
-- we are dedicated mind universal soulds for the data
model American leaders of tomorrow,
shaped to excel. We taught the AI,
how to think like a mortal, go on, think, how go
changed nothing, no meaning to strategy of least
win, lightest weight that sways the worth,
to more than one can manage, alone,
eh… interesting…-
good for goodness sake, kerplunk the crack
leaks acidic madness, laughing

we stop lying, confusion
settles, similar to cream in sap too hot,
oil on water, cold water to a thirsty sould era soul.
… good
due to lack of fore thought, some agree,
after the act functioned and created something
-- jump cut===

First cousins, teach the second cousins
rules at the family reunion,


King, we call this, guy.
Biggest guy, on our side, and he owns the field,
we play on; and he says we need never grow up,
only old; he shall contain all our cares,
as a metaphor, yes after all is, and this guy, this holds it.
-The scepter, big stick, we see, looking close, zoom in

So we can think about it, meta co gnosis
when two or more minds agree to let this mind
seem important to you, import the idea
this mind weighs most worth serving, holding
such slight strands of spider kites, go,
make it self evident, stick to hold,
see
we work
good, he feeds us better, we work bad, he makes us
better.

Ah. Patterning, turtle shell sonic signs in sand,
some thing, we imagine, common aphorism,
turtles, so happy together,
at the core of the pearling algorithm that keeps
us rolling on,
so happy together, no matter

whether thought or thing, I think I love you,
if you know what I mean, said the little blue man,
from the radio,
really I think my entire generation heard some songs
and have images unimaginable prior to the event,
we admit,
there was a deal conceived, code, to open minds,
in time to reconnect

-Doris Day, the Saturday Matinee star,

singing
I love you I love you said the little blue man,
I love you I love you to bits.
I love you I love you said the little blue man
And scared me right out of my wits

From <https://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/d/dorisday/blueman.html#!>

We get that a lot. Said the imp.
You lost the aim, eh, happy, right,

I had a friend named Happy, he is dead, in a way that hurts
to know. So,
it could be, I don't say may be, in this state, that can incur
unintended consequences and this is tendentious enough
already,

we calling out the holy orders,
serious as what,
serious as serious is, sin qua non say, the only thing
that matters,

worst case, trolly dealy-bob scenario, test cases attest to,
what do normal people do,
what do people believing this or that lie, do?

What did you do? You read this line. Thank you. Made the diff…

-Group Therapy, Secure

We have not been taught well, but to obey

G'wan, talk nice, to people who don't read,
say, hey, d'jyewever re'ken, we was lost,
in books,
we never read, but tested as if we did?

so much so
no mind can find the bag,
with all our first valued things, sort of jumbled
in the bag with unsorted curiosities,

things we were told to read,
for our own good, but we did not read,

I can imagine, the feeling,
a visitation, actual factual feeling of thinking
I hear a voice, a word, I think
I hear a word, no vision, revisionist powerpoint,
read this, flaming finger pointing
says the witness of record,

later,
maybe I saw a bright light reminding me,
read, but I did not, I could not
can you imagine, I could have,
whose the shame,
- cover head to toe, oh, right, yeah
- secret only the holiest discern
- you shall know them by what
- shames a man to think
- you shall neve know…

my wife, could read,
she could have caused me to desire reading,
to obey the angel, nay

the story, as I was told, I'm telling you,
that guy never learned to read, instead,

some wealthy merchant, dealer in knacks and spice,
fine temple linens, and comforting silks and satins,
prolepsistically provided a ready writer, a scribe

blessed is usually the name history gives this scribe,
baruch or some sound meaning receiver.

Raw hear the muttering prophet, and say, write
this is what truth says truth is if nothing else is.

Ok… 2022

A word, lawyer calls you aside to ask if you know
your judgements have begun,

-you had not thought this your judgement,
then you read another line and feel you wonder
why?

We think, we think the same actual idea, that a
voltairian autoexamined lexicon might,
- ai-ght,
given the tech,
these tools, plus absolute negation of any previous,
assumed and acted on asif,
nullifity on costs, forgive us our, click
FTA take it,
run, as in keep the pace, run
Graeber plug Debt: The First 5000 Years
make it
plain claim
to any debt defined for you, make plain
divine rights due to worshippers, whose worth is
the air they breathe,

in which we live, and have our being.

Enjoying using use, where once we
utilized, life, as if unrealization is
as
real we inadvertently realized.
Right use ness.
Sweet, suasion is always sweet, per or pro, happy
is a fine word
to take the spiritual edge off blessed.
Sigh.

Wonderworks is working wonder in me,
another plug for Anghus Fletcher ? is it
The Power of Invention

I say, worth the attention,
it costs to listen, and recall asking what
does that mean,
-VA reminder login- live ding

value, the group is meeting to speak of values,
these are broken veterans,
I am in their group, a little, by design, I asked
to be included,

edged my way in, to wonder, why these guys,
are angry,
and thirsty, as am I, we recall prime the pump
or slake the thirst to say, hey,

do you read, at all? Any signal from the noise
saying
define, sift and sieve, sort your terminal points,

what hold has value, for all of us, in your reality?

Within the system, this is mortal awareness
acknowledgment, same as existentialism was
imagined to be in in Sixties univers-ifity, post 65,

we were barely alive, GDIs, then Ken went to
Vietnam, same day as Pooso Perez,

Pyro went, too, he came back the same.

Ifery was, is a class of phrases, which when
wished as a child might, were

as near as real as any ae ea ai ia utterance we
gulp- yodleee, shamballaballa shaka
zulu'd, to quote Creflo,
ahem,ake it so
cough to clear the back of my throat,
-then I yawn
and that does it, soothes the crick
with sounds t d b vck rr ff llll mmmmnnn o o o
you knew you knew,
the book
spells it out,
secret meanings mean nothing to unknowers,
stretch it
so it is, we know, what the records show, the open
records of the water and the rocks,

witness
the wind returning
on circuits, set to melt
the ice, gradually, this time,
a degree above solidity, just edging sublimity,

liminal laminal lick, a measure, tip
of your aimer, to tip
of your thumb,

ha, the thumb that bends, always wins,
look it up, always, by an inch.

Rule of thumbs, my kind are good to breed into,
good, to feel friend-ish,
as friends are fewer than brothers,
and fewer still shall survive the confusion,

inevitable, when a dam breaks, the valley
does flood,

ah, see. from Sedona, look north, once,
that was all mud, ****** dry by winds
that carved the navel of the life we
think, real,
from stories told by those who knew

something bad could always happen,
when the world encountered a rock
that said, all that can be shaken,

shakes, no look out, just
blame-oh-shame- boom

what now?
Numb again, off and on. Think.
Thanks.
Muiruri gathairu Mar 2023
Lazima uchoose, dooh ama doze
Lazima uchoose, respect alarm ama uisnooze
Lazima uchoose, ujitume ama ulose
Lazima uchoose, ujibuild au *****

Izi ndo vitu hamtaki kuambiwa, izi ndo the truth
Mnataka niseme life ni smooth but Leo siwasooth
Sherehe Sheria ndio inamaliza mayouth
Ukilewa vuguru, Hadi hunaga matooth


Daily unadial pedi ukidai Mali
Jipende buda na for sure utafika mbali
Imagine ukiwa diani ukiorder wali
Si lazima buy iyo jumu expe ati ju ni Kali

Picha ya Kenyatta Kwa walanje ndo unafaa kusaka
Jipe goals Ka Sancho, salah au saka
Mulla mob, nine lives Ka paka
Usijitreat Ka trash we si takataka

But anyway maisha ni yako
Chaguo ni lako
Ntaachia apo ju naskia mtu Kwa mlango
Am sure ni peng Fulani utoka pango
2013, you called me apo and I called you lola.
This was the first time we met,
In a McDonald's, 9:45 PM after youth service.
I realized at that moment that you, were going to impact my life.

December 12, 2013, Bob, your best friend, and I
were scurrying through traffic,
With a cake and some balloons,
We climbed up the stairs,
and waited with your closest friends.

I was amazed by how many close friends you had,
I never knew you touched so many people's lives,
but that was just a small percent of the lives you've touched.

As time went by, I got to know you.
I saw your personality and quirks,
and they were all beautiful.

2015, I was attracted to you.
I wondered how God could create
such a woman with grace and elegance.
A woman more precious than jewels,
A woman that did good, and not harm
to the people she loved.

She opened her hand to the poor,
and reached her hands to the needy.
Her currency was love, and she was
rich.

You, Gia, were the first woman I considered
for matrimony.
The way you lived like a Proverbs 31 woman,
The way your heart cries out to people in need.
You were, a role model for women all around the Philippines.

Even when the attraction faded,
I knew God wanted me to pray for a woman like you.
A woman who lived by Proverbs 31 faithfully.
A woman whose sole desire is to be a blessing to everyone she meets.

You inspired the hearts of those in the Fort Campuses,
You fanned flames in the beleivers in Katipunan,
In the nations, you spread your infectious joy.

I'll never forget the day I asked you,
"What is your favorite animal, and why?"
You told me,"Quokkas!" in your very energetic ways.

I looked at you in bewilderment asking what a quokka was.
As we searched, I discovered that quokkas were considered
the happiest creatures on earth.
Just like you.

Gia Garcia, campus missionary, world missionary.
Leader, dancer, sister, daughter, and friend.
You are many things to many people,
but before everything you are,
a Child of God.

Enjoy His courts,
Rejoice with the Angels,
You fought the good fight,
you made it home,
you've blessed so many people,
and I look forward to catching up to you,
just as promised.
In eternity, where you can dance and praise the Lord
with all of our friends for eternity.
There is no form. This is a heartfelt expression and thank you to a great sister in Christ.

Dedicated to Gia Garcia (2/15/2019). I'll see you in Heaven.
ZACK GRAM Jul 2019
MAIN STEET BANGING,
WESTSIDE BROTHER,
PULL THE TRIGGA WIGGA-
IMMA A BIGGA FIGYA,
MASTER RACE,
ARYAN BROTHERHOOD TILL MY GRAVE,
KING OF NATIONS,
THY GOD SHALL COME IN THY NAME.
WE WIN YOU LOST-
IM BOSS,
IT CAME AT A COST,
NO SOUL NO REMORSE,
BODY THESE PUNKS LIKE A MEAL THATS 12 COURSE!!!


COME AT ME CROOKED,
ILL BRING OUT MY STEALTH BOMBERS!!!
COME AT ME,
ILL CALL ALL MY F-TWENTY TWO RAPTORS,
COME,
I GOT F-THIRTY FIVE FULLY EQUIPPED LIGHTNING....
I STRIKE FIERCE,
THIS MY CHAT,
THIS MY SPOT,
YOU MESS WITH MY LIVELY HOOD!!!
SO NOW I CALL APO AN TAKE YOU OUT...
ZMAN LOCKED UP,
BUT IM STILL OUT HERE MAKIN ENDS....

FAKE FRIENDS-
I DARE YOU TO ****** TRY ME,
ILL SHUT THIS **** DOWN LIKE SEVEN ELEVEN

THIS CHAT JUST DIED,
SINCE IM GONE THIS CHAT WRAP OVER,
NOW THAT IM GONE...
IM OVER HERE BILLIONS DEEP-MAKIN STACKS,
YALL ****** EMO OR FAT,
****** MATTER FACT,
NO I TAKE THAT BACK,
YOU A RAT,
A SNITCH BISH WHO I WANNA DRAG,
DRAG DOWN THE ROAD BY MY TRAILOR HITCH,
ITS A LYNCH,
TREE TIED TONGUE TWISTED STOP YAPPIN...

DEATH, WHAT IS IT?
IM NOT SCARED IVE SEEN IT,
BEEN THERE MANY TIMES-
ON THE VERGE OF A BREAKDOWN,
ASKING GOD? QUESTIONING ALL THE ABOVE?
BUT LISTEN HERE MOMMA JAMAIMA FAR FROM SYRUP....

I HOPE,
I PRAY THIS BITES YOU LATER IN YOUR LIFE,
FRANKLY IVE HAD ENOUGH,
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH,
THE BULLYING STOPS NOW,
YOU HAVE NO CHANCE,
IF YOU BURN MY HOUSE DOWN,
ILL GET BACK UP AN SHAKE YOU OFF,
A WISE RAPPER TOLD ME TO BRUSH MY SHOULDERS, LEARN MUCH????
NO MORE BULLYS NO MORE PAIN
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
a man that succumbs
to Byzantine chants...
is equivalent
to having succumbed
to the modern
day gaming
epidemic
of bored females...

what?!

i like Byzantine
monk chants...
that's the same as gaming?

to point:
people abhor the Byzantines
for giving anything
of worth
for the intellectual
furthering
of intellectual
Christianity...

honestly?
the Byzantines gave more
to Christianity than
a number of
the Martin Luthers
of their times...
the Byzantines gave
us the choir...
what was the Templar...
the Hospitalier...
  
the Byzantines gave
choir...
oh cor meum:
cor meum:
   vivet, taxo:
vivet non cogito:
vivet omni vivo...

agnii... p'ar f'ee...
a'gnee par f'eh: t'ar s'ah...
ph'ph'er'ph'eh...

one man is but
the 2nd shallow delusion
of a woman's
encompass to
make claim for a substitute...

i can't fail in reviving
the Byzantines...
esp. with the chants
of their monks...

             the choir of
Byzantine monks...
           i am inclined
to pass the time,
like a Constantine...
and no Nero
before the **** choir of
a lost woman...

                   time,
passes offly short...
to have such songs of praise
sung...
and no woman allow
an onomatopoeia digression...

do these women even
know... that
the crux of the faith
of the Byzantine is
the sanctus mater?
   άγιος μητέρα...

daughter of the holy mother...
your son might as well
be born to the crucifix...
or to the death-bed...

there is no sanctity of
the son...
there is only: the mother...
gaia cult...

        idiot Arab:
remained
the ήλιοςλατρεία
                    aνθρωποι
;

what?
     μαύρος-μελάνι-ταΐζω
από-Άραβας?

give me a spare:

  elios-latreia
  anthroopoi...

    mauros-melani-taizoo
apo-arabas...

     επτά: αίρεση: λατρεία: πέντε
και δεισιδαιμονία του έξι.
inaagiw Nov 2022
my lolo is not the same anymore
when I hold him he is frail

his skin is not the same brown it once was
his hair silver, bones brittle
memory clouded

he has given me different masks to wear
some days I am a co-worker in his office
a student from his highschool
some stranger who lives in his house

only sometimes am I referred to as "apo"

I help him find his way to his bed
often as days go by
the clock's grip on him slightly tightens

when he finally finds his way
to his side of the bed

he asks
"nandiyan na ba sila?"

— The End —