"approx" poems
They were masked
with obedience of terrorism on their lips
shoot people mercilessly
played with their souls
in their eyes, no sign of remorse
that dreaded night
when Mumbai cried rivers of blood
death toll increasing with the politicians giving zero *****
ten men killed approx 164
so many injured
so many scarred
lest we forget them from our hearts
martyrs left a legacy
they were many other than Salaskar, Kamte and Unnikrishnan
They played with blood in
Taj, Oberoi, Cama Hospital, Nariman House, CST and Leopold Café
their minds were moulded to be like this.
the innocent tried to hide in hotel lobbies
she watched her husband die
and then she died a silent death
they shot her unborn child
they ignored the infant's cry
they killed humanity
they came with guns
tied their hostages to a pole
and had fun.
The bomb exploded
shattering all their body parts
nothing but chunks of human flesh here and there
the innocent hid themselves in a room
took up the phone and fumbled words
they found the innocent
and...nothing.
the phone line went dead
6 years later,
we still can't forget
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
More folk need to learn
About Cause and Effect
Respecting others
Is fundamentally what earns respect
My dad was raised Christian
Episcopalian
But left
No disrespect
He just wasn't convinced
So when I was a child
Our attendance at church was
sporadic
Sometimes a source of contention
And, usually, more pain than joy
The summer of 1969
Men walked on the Moon
And my parents
Split
My dad moved across town
I saw him one day each weekend
The most time we had ever spent together.
When I was twelve the earth moved
Sixty-four people died
And my father embraced Buddhism
And Buddhism embraced him
In a way nothing else ever had
and he learned moderation
Regaining his freedom
What got him was the Law of Causation
Cause and Effect
What goes around comes around
The Golden Rule
Unencumbered
With the baggage from his past
The philosophy of common sense
His pianist's artist's teacher's mind
Could comprehend
Grasp and hold for good
My twelve-year-old mouth
Would not be denied
And so I one day announced
That chanting
Was simply another form of prayer
A fact he acknowledged
reluctantly
but ultimately
with humor and grace
And was it my father's turn to Buddhism
That sparked my own
Journey into Spirit?
In 1972
With Godspell on the radio
I saw Jesus Christ Superstar
At the Universal Amphitheatre
Twice
And when my sister joked
"Let there be light"
And all the lights came on
Then she genuflected
Before taking her seat
It was only partly in jest
For there was reverence in the air
And a sense of the Eternal
The foundation of the story
Of every story
Cause and Effect
Later that year I was baptized
Before I realized
That no church held the key
For the key was within me
As it resides within us all
More folk need to learn
About Cause and Effect
We are here on earth to Love.
And respecting others
Is fundamentally what earns respect.
6/7 July 2005 Approx. 2 AM
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
Cats are Iambic Pentameter
Light-footed cats are nature’s iambics
Each subtle feline step unstressed to stressed
Across a lawn, a counterpane, a heart
As a tail-twitching cat ballet, all grace
But dogs are four-beat Anglo-Saxon1 lines
Galumphing heavily and clumsily
Across a moor, a sleeping-bag, a heart
As a tail-wagging country reel (gone bad)
Soft-footed cats are nature’s iambics
And dogs are four-beat Anglo-Saxon lines
1Old English Anglo-Saxon (approx. fifth-twelfth century). Applies to four-stress hemistichal alliterative verse, e.g. Beowulf.
- Stephen Fry, The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
a
malignant cancer grows inside this test
tube today in longing abundance escaping
with our humanity equally adherent to this
cause of death in ***** where theater
diametrically opposed will cherish it again
with leprosy approx sort of this vacation
that's well in remission with heredity again.
.
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
the beauty of english nakedness, look at it for long enough
and you get to retract or at least crab-walk east
into the pincer plateaus of the frozen tundras and see
again, proustain afresh in the cork-lined room:
what bothered me was the acute stress on the faroese a -
english really is a blank canvas: or a complex canvas with
many unique distinctions of individual words - perhaps
the dementia crisis in english-speaking societies -
also why the accent diversity between all those who come
to learn it, and those who live in the zeitreich
of the absteigen sonne - but theories are theories.
so back to the blank canvas, which allows so see
the dynamics, although as i said, the acute faroese a
(acute, because derived from the latin verb of needlework /
puncture) - ~etymology (approx. because not
related to words but phonetic units, i.e. letters)
thus reveals that the latin accents died, truth tooth
of the phrase latin is a dead tongue - but not as dead
as when you see remnants of the transformation,
in that certain latin activities (verbs) spawned the stressing
revisions on letters to appropriate the nordic and germanic
slavic, *** and celt into its ***** acute to puncture -
like the polish acute o (ó), meaning to puncture the o
and make a U sound, although when otherwise acute is
needed, but the geometry is less obvious it means not to stress,
but sharpen, cut-short, exfoliate into a range of onomatopoeic
comparisons: sneeze - wheezing - high pitch flute -
play the clarinet - pincer the tongue - pliers -
god knows what instrument i'm really playing: ć, ń, ś, ź -
cut the letters from cen nan sap zed into the uniqueness
of the actual first letter, go into roman do re mi fa so la
****** musicology) rather than greek omega omicron
alpha beta. so this acute faroese a, what bothered me
was the suffix -áp... the p you see, if the accent dynamic
was to end with a german umlaut -äp or with a
māori macron -āp... i would have said the p...
rather than ending with a b.
*"heimlich" tongue-numbing d.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
םתוח
השׂטן
and i thought that ancient egyptian
was retarted...
looks like there's a contender!
hebrew!
this language doens't know left
from right, or up from down...
hebrew is, by html encoding... a dodo project!
it's retarted!
hebrew can't survive in the html age...
it's retarudus proximus!
oh, you think arabic is any better?
don't think semites should
be laughing at this point...
trying to write hebrew script is like
juggling pineapples...
what does it say?
the seal of satan... satan?
well that implies guardian
of the tetragrammaton...
i still agree hebrew evolved from
ancient egyptian script...
but hebrew wasn't used in writing
html or any other computing script...
that's why it's so retarted when trying
to write it in html mode...
nope, can't convince me...
you can't really write hebrew in html mode...
i call this the extinction precipice...
if this ****** is going to keep up
its copernican acid tripping not knowing
left from right...
might as well leave it at the roman
long-handshake... where hands
don't actually touch, but hands touch
nearing the elbow... namely
forearm-grip.
as the original stated:
the smaller the audience: the greater span of historical worth, and desire to upkeep: that pangloss citation from voltaire's candide: better us tending to our own conerns, that bother ourselves with the concerns of others.
oh, i know what a small audience implies...
didn't christ have only the 12,
didn't pythagoras only have the approx. 30?
there's something quite telling
about a small audience...
not exactly cultish...
but something beyond the realm
of influencing people within a single
lifetime...
take en sabah nur and his 4:
oh come on... rewrite tolstoy's
war & peace in a comic form:
just to ease the gates for poets,
and leave barren, the boring narrator...
let's keep it at just that:
there's something telling about a small
audience...
look at the 1 and the 12,
and now look at the billionth marker -
funny, isn't it?
what am i claiming though?
ah, that's simple, that's a revival of
"judaism" - i say "judaism" because
i am the one ordained with neither prophecy
or anything worth mastering:
i am the guardian of the tetragrammaton...
and sure, the god within the confines of
philosophy has to necessarily not exist...
but?
well... you can't really evaporate
the tetragrammaton out of existence!
whenever the right time comes,
i loose the title: chief prosecutor, and become
chief defendant.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
*where cello was semi-colon, where violins (always plural, no one's weeping or playing to beg) are colon, where Bach's (church pianos) organs / castrato livers kidneys hearts... where comma was the trebling silver triangles... where full-stop was the composer turning into a conductor, to detach himself from the act of composition and into a drama, a staged drama, a Sisyphus ram against the stable coordinate of perpetuated slam dunking bullseye for only a: knock knock. who's there? knock knock nowhere. nowhere where? here. where what? knock knock open the ******* door!*
i lived to the age of 70,
i loathed hating people,
and i loathed loving them
hence the reason i never married,
i could have lived alone
but the monetary system absolved that
wish...
tribalism would never give us
mozart's symphony no. 40 because
we would be exchanging favours
instead of monetary funds...
via solipsism and the ugly synonym autism...
****** instead of wives... well, there you go...
her eager libido explains much,
as a teenager ****** eager (rhyme rhyme rhyme)
explains her escapism into outliving man;
her satan's bargain truly did favour hair,
oh **** her, while he died a splendid death
aged approx. 30, she with a **** salute
saluted him: i'm worth 90 autumns!
yeah, 90 autumns and arthritis.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
and today i invented the sport of dribbling,
got tired of walking and philosophical thought,
an abandoned football on the street,
took it,
starting dribbling the **** out of it (approx. 2 miles),
drinking beer and smoking -
i was waiting for the heart-attack,
although teaching people to walk down
a high street and cross a country road
without bumping into bad manners and death:
walk... look at the ball... look... dribble the ball...
**** traffic... pause from dribbling...
then dribble on... i swear i sweated out half a can of beer
with that idea... oh wait, i did, here's the ball,
and i have a number of eye-witnesses...
dribbling is like jogging for those who can't give up
drinking and smoking - i know i'm not a ronaldo,
but this is a tight pavement, and not a green pitch
illuminated by floodlights and t.v. cameras,
i'm simply exercising... n'ah, this will never catch on,
it's too english, not enough american spandex in it
or kite surfing or VEGANS FOR
SAVING THE POTATO PLANET -
ah, oh well: at least i have my dog my leash on it and chores;
well no, i don't, i have two lazy pets and my lazy me.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 6:13 PM UTC
Day 1:
Smoothie (approx. 154 calories)
Kind Bar (150 calories)
Red Rhapsody Odwalla (200 calories)
Fudge Bar (more calories than it should have)
Handful of almonds (264 calories)
Half a box of dove chocolates (too many calories)
Half a Nalgene of water (0 calories)
Thoughts:
I have a friend who used to say she was
“Fasting for religious purposes”
like every Tuesday and Thursday.
Okay,
I’m sorry,
but what ******* religion fasts twice a week?
Like Karen , you’re not ******* fooling us
you’re starving yourself.
We all know it’s how you maintain your
~gorgeous~ stick like figure
skinny ***** you’re not fooling anyone.
I mean just say you diet, but as I mentioned in the title
DIETS ARE A ******* JOKE!
I’ve got a great idea kids!
Let’s go not eat good food and see how we feel.
***** you vegans)
Sounds like ****
I wanna eat pizza, and fudge bars, and cake, and literally
EVERYTHING
and not feel ******* bad about it.
Like is that too much to ask?
Whatever. Peace out. Don’t die on the way home.
Day 2:
Fasting for religious purposes.
Thoughts:
**** me.
1 Karen does not exist; Karen is a fictional character who I created to fulfill the requirements of my artistic vision. The only Karen I know is like forty-eight and works with my mom, trust me she doesn’t starve herself.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
As proved by my good friend Archimedes,
in his _Measurement of a Circle_,
the area enclosed by a circle is equal
to that of a triangle whose base has the length
of the circle's circumference &
whose height equals the circle's radius,
which comes to π multiplied by the radius squared:
Area = pi r^2.
Equivalently, denoting diameter by _d_
Area =pi d^2/4 approx 0.7854d^2,
that is, approximately
79% of the circumscribing
square whose side is of length _d_
The circle is the plane curve enclosing
the maximum area for a given arc length.
This relates the circle to a problem
in the calculus of variations,
namely the isoperimetric inequality [of course]
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
Spent three days in jail, waiting for computer error to clear.
Automated customer service has me on hold, for what seems like years.
Debit card at the grocery store doesnt want to scan,
had to put back half of the groceries, not enough cash on hand.
Now they got these games,that let you bowl or fish,
all done in PJs, indoors.
Seems like no one wants to put on bug juice or bait a hook
around here any more.
Got Teenagers playing Combat games, up to level four.
Bet they would crap their pants if they had to go out of an aircraft door.
Drop their **** in middle of the night,
where bullets fly both ways
and if you make it but your buddy dont,
then your left with the blame.
Laugh at me and my simple ways, really dont give a ****
wonder where we all will be when they start scanning our hands?
.........Your call is important to us , your approx wait time is......
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 11:26 AM UTC
EXT - SUMMER NIGHT - THE INCLOSED COURTYARD OF A CONDEMED HOUSING BUILDING
I'm on a balcony on the third floor. I'm on my own. It's my first time trying Salvia. It's a mild form. The experience lasts approx 10 mins. I feel timid and tired afterward. It took strength not to leave my position on the balcony over the railing.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
-------------------------------As seen on Taste.com*-----------------------------
Ingredients:
One will need a portion of the following:
1) 50g of self-imposed isolation (optional: w/ drawn curtains)
2) a tablespoon of misguided misanthropy (store brand does the trick)
3) a propensity for experiencing negative stigma
4) ethyl alcohol enough to form parasitic relationship (approx: half bottle of grey goose)
5) 1kg of pervasive fear of the unknown (found in Future aisle amongst acquaintanceships, unwelcome hypotheticals)
6) a 3/4 cup of ground self-loathing + the root
7) lettuce
8) tomato
9) cucumber
10) onions
11) avocado
Method:
Step one: place self-imposed isolation in a slow cooker along with misguided misanthropy. Cook on low for 8 HOURS. This will make LONELINESS.
Step two: preheat oven to 200C fan-forced. take loneliness from slow-cooker then douse in alcohol before placing in oven. it's meant to burn (you're meant to burn.)
Step three: bring a *** to boil and throw negative stigma in to cook until it softens.
Step four: cut pervasive fear of the unknown into strips and braise.
Step five: plate pervasive fear and negative stigma. this combination is the foundation.
Step six: chop vegetables and mix into standard garden salad, then plate (one may plate how they wish, presentation -- to you, at least, matters not, or little; here's the one who wears tracksuit pants to parties. your parents have to remind you to brush your hair). garnish with self-loathing, decorate plate with the root of self-loathing.
Step seven: plate loneliness. truest to the recipe if loneliness is focal point of the plate. if it's cooked properly it will bleed. so will you -- just give it time.
Happy cooking!!
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 10:23 AM UTC
Life is full of fun;
But without batten
Of values beacon
Life will be just a ***
If you want in life won
Approx values bidden –
Not money, values one
Can lead to success done.
Difference between bison
And you is not a billion
But values based action.
It sets your steps begun
From beast to a good human.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 11:26 PM UTC
*a roman's reply to the greek graffiti concerning nero-χξς... and that seven
headed hydra of roman numerals... I V X L C D M... you hava a reply from rome... u h η μ ν υ, m n w v (ω)... oh look... a "decalogue", alternatively: the 11th of every other month.*
the title?
a common expression
regarding genitalia...
zwisa? dangling: a *****
powiewa? the ********
as in:
swung by the wind
to & fro.
but it's also an
expression of apathy...
that thing, beginning
with a-,
that says to all pathologies:
well... i'm, out;
can't be bothered to realise
a sense, for a need, to
employ a psychiatrist, or
a psychologist...
i deem them confusing
materialists anyway...
their basis for a psyche?
a sense of freedom, a soul?
just systematisation;
all they do is throw a unit (ego)
into chaos... and then try to organise
it...
in clinical terms atheism
isn't discussed... but there's something
more potent than atheism... apathy...
some people would say:
there's nothing worse than apathy...
sure... cut-off the protective
membrane
that shields you from all sorts of
pathos...
as one could end up saying
to conclude:
mi to zwisa, i powiewa...
(to me it's just dangling,
and pendulum honing,
asking for some breeze to swing it).
- just replace the w with a v to pronounce
it proper, and then
add some diacritical pointers...
i.e. zvisá (to hide the h),
approx.? visa... veezah... vißá...
and then into povievá,
******** and the bells of notre-dàme...
otherwise it would be pronounced
the english way, i.e. dame, lady, dane,
danish: to prolong the example
of missing diacritic...
so the e is, but actually isn't there;
well, for the eyes it is, but for the tongue?
n'ah ah... it's this funny ****
concerning auxiliary "bilingualism".
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 6:58 AM UTC
Female, male, novi-, pan-, trans-, cisgender,
questioning, agender, non-gender, alia! inter! apora!
andro, bi!
chuckchi ne'uchika, guevedoche,
maverique, winkte,
xanith...and approx 60 others.
When list is done, perhaps we can finally just be
Jun 15, 2022
Jun 15, 2022 at 10:00 PM UTC
the devil
puts hair
on your chest
but takes it
from your head.
mother’s mirror
catches lice.
I am working on my tongue because father is late.
his speech
on narcotizing
dysfunction
is longer
now that mother
wrote it.
where no surgery
is
is where
brother
has an itch. we call it
trouble
in the garden.
there was trouble in the garden
when I filled my father’s
foot
with blood. I had seen
a woman’s
legs
turn
inside out
as she ******
the poison
from a gas nozzle. legs
she didn’t need.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC