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Delta Swingline Apr 2017
When you are working on that really important history project, before you can even begin, there is always that one person who asks: "So how much is this worth? How much will this count towards our mark?"

Ugh. Welcome to the Bauer state of mind everybody!

All that matters in life is how successful you are. And as long as your average is a constant 100%, you do not need to worry about anything else.

What a life huh?

These people are the perfect people for office job life. Nothing but numbers, no life, no soul.

Nothing else matters to them.

And singling these people out in high school is the saddest thing, and the most hilarious thing I've done.

Because these people brag at 100% and cry at 99%.

Wait, what?!

How can you not be satisfied with anything less than overdoing it?

I mean, you go on and live your life.

But I'll stay here with a more than satisfactory 85%.

I can work with that.
Some days, I want to punch the tryhards in the face.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
.a very prominent interlude of bitterness - something that needs to be drank as an antidote of the aftertaste of a brothel... bourbon - sickly-sweet bourbon of a brothel... otherwise the best beer on these isles: the original stout: st. guinness - second, 13... hop house lager by the same culprit... i don't know about you but a regular IPA doesn't float my boat... stale pale ale of 3 day old sputnik ***** excavation of bio-matter living off of iron shrapnel and termite ****... let's not go over-board with the bitterness of fenugreek seeds added to a curry... but... a hop lager is not an indian pale ale... because? well: because of the excited circumstance of extra bubbles! once upon a time that horrid absinthe period... last time i checked i became the st. peter of the drug details... ***** tells you too many truths come the moral-hangover the next day... but ms. amber in her guise of adele bloch-bauer by klimt: take her for a whiskey, take her for a bourbon... a chanel no. 5... or a brandy or a cognac... please excuse me from drinking the ales... goldwasser: athens, sparta, venice... dan dan Danzig... i'd call the genesis of world war II to be... that envy of the city-state... the little cosmopolitan high-heavens of a concentrated locum... of affairs of both tourism and the subsequent merchant class... that Danzig didn't belong to anyone: not really... does it even matter now? the current city-state model is... don't bother filtering the excesses... it has to become diluted... you'll find pockets of concentration near them... yes... homogenous... therefore solaced by that fact alone... only teasing incorporating outside influences... it's not going to be a replica venice or danzig... for that you'd need a window... st. peter designated the window into europe as a capital with an access to the sea... not land locked... even though i'm pretty sure that moscow has a river running through it... jump-start the window: a capital by the sea... hey presto! a window: the baltic sea into europe... words that become apparent: microcongestion of undigested souls... a schrödinger's cat... one foot in limbo... another foot in reicarnation... lob it or nutmeg the footie: it's a particle when observed and a wave when not observed... an orbit for the schematic... but a cloud when getting into the nitty-gritty details: specifics oblong... misnomer... if my ******* into a tissue, subsequently flushed... then a baptism of a shower... is not a genocide? then... bullseye... the ***** that made it into the ****... it's an abortion mid-week... i'd count that ****** come a certain count of months... otherwise... well... there's that cat of his... one foot in limbo and one foot in reincarnation... wasn't it the western exhausted theological mind: from that god of the omni- litany looking toward the budding-ha-ha? abortion... prized ***** makes it to the egg... ah... ****** from the argument of effort... me and the basic schematics of genocide... otherwise: schrödinger's cat... one foot in limbo... one foot in reicarnation... better still... Farinelli! drop the ******* don a niqab! the muslims and an eye-fetish... mind you... i do have a hand-fetish... "fetish"... i can count five of hers and only four of mine... fingers! unless she is a proper Arab bride with roots of synonyms in the Ukraine... and she has butcher's hands... hot-dog fingers... and a kardashian thick-*** that is just readied for a 12" dung-digger of ******... while at the same time... breaking the floral patterns of a porcelain geisha's... "missing tongue O"...

manícorona: peanut-crown!

               in between the hype and...
in between the trough...
and the happy pigglets of prop
and grandour...

little charlie little dervish of
a dar: gift...
                        win-win scenario...
i'm worried about...
constipation...
           terribly bothered...
                    
         but there's also the fact that
i haven't seen a dentist for...
a donkey can count a decade:
at least that's my hope...

my tooth filling has become lose...
having finished with yesterday's
etc. i tried to fall to sleep...

the pain came as a blunt object
in need of sharpening...
it wasn't a sharp object per se:
to begin with...

the radio was off...
the dream of falling asleep to the sound
of rain like it might be
a song off the cure's disintegration
album: lost...

                 i concluded:
it must be a dream...
how else explain this trivial pain
of a tooth when all the bones lay
intact in a body in an impeding grave?

to have been lullabied by a trivial
pain of a loose filling...
                   i'll give it until monday
to check a dental clinic...
i'll wait... because:
god only knows i am bound
to learn something new from
this crazed - infuriating pain -

          but at least that has
constipation covered...
    fear not: ****** **** of the golem heights!
no chelsea smile up your alley:
any time soon...

        the crown virus...
sooner or later: yes my liege...
yes my sire...
i'm sure the africans will... jump the queue...
we've been raising money for
a malaria vaccine...
i'm sure they'll be quick-on-the-mark
to raise money for the crown-virus
epicenter! europe!

oh... come come... komme komme, meine liebe!
it's true!
the europeans will be fundraising
money for malaria...
while the africans will be fundraising
money for the peanut-crown virus...

or... i like that one quote i heard,
"somewhere"...
   a stewardess asks a mother whether
or not her son would like some peanuts...
the mother says... he's allergic to peanuts...
he's allergic to maize... air...
glutten... ******* haribo gelatin and all...
he's allergic to hiccups...

                           there's a winking match
involving imitation chess between
the very sick psychiatrists
and the mildly sick schizophrenics...
a bilingual comes along into their foray...
and asks: who's multiplying
and who's in charge of division?
all a splendid metaphor... wouldn't you agree?
there... metaphor...
already the focus is gone... splinters...
some go to metaphysics,
some go to metaphors...
some go to orthography...
some go to: telepathy...
        some go down the para-
hello, my name is Norman...

         it's natural then... darwinism in action...
hold a peanut to a crowd of
people allergic to peanuts...
the joy of cashews...
the joys of pecans...
   cashews, pecans, brazilians...
macademians... hazels and waldorff's...

no other feeling...
like a ripe hop lager in between
a bourbon's drip drip drip...
      
                   horrid breaking up an already
comfortable ideology... isn't it?
when something like this speaks for itself
and the "lamm von gott" is brought before
the altar...
                           darwinism sings!
sings! like the brian jonestown massacre...
this is my body... my peanut...
brought to a cult of peanut-allergy-riddled
anemics and haemophiliacs...
        
the darwinian ideology fizzles out...
when it's not longer looking up through
the telescope of a primate's ***...
but looking through the form most primodial...
i've been gardening for the past week...
i've watched an earthworm here...
an earthworm there...
        life without eyes without ears
without music... but this idiotic god-given
impetus, imperative, "will": "freedom"...
virus... crown virus...

sooner or later we'll all be kings and queens,
sneezing and waiting for the entire
small intestine to come out of our noses
like glue: glut and gelatin pieces
wobbling where once bones stood
to be later broken...

a beer in between these slugs of bourbon
will do just that...
all good when it concerns
of apes and men...
           the similarity greatly helps...
but of course we'll borrow from other
skeletons...
                  no one ever heard of a headache
from having "too much"...
i.e. od przybytku: głowa nie boli...
o ale boli boli boli...

      constipation...
            the peanut crown virus...
and a loose tooth filling...
                ***** blondes and "how many"
light-bulb jokes it would take
for a tsunami of bleached ***** hairs to turn
into a happy cousin itsy-bitsy:
a spider cravat... what else?

otherwise history...
   either a wet-dream or a castration...
              or the bull wrestled by the horns...
or a dog wrestled by either kicking it in
the ******* or wrestling with its mandible jaw...
echoes of warriors...
warriors and pirates... the lesser muscles
of a farmer? a blacksmith?
              either a wet-dream or a castration...
lost avenues of "heroes":
all leading to: up my ***... otherwise known
as my original churchill's V...
the welsh longbow men: ditto the fwench...

such a shame that so much of history
is to be filtered when the children learn of it...
and whenever returning to it...
it's as stale as an antique's roadshow...
or it's: skimmed over...
whatever natural selection gave...
i don't know whether it's natural
to witness this historiological selection...

some would say:
too much of a congested toilet: n'est-ce pas?
too many of the dead are still haunting us...
natural selection contra:
historiological selection...
                             the ape versus the virus...
it is over-inflated...
where are the boils, the blisters...
the glutton spew of ****?
                              
                     this is... it?
panic riddled neurotics?
   so... so... twiddle-thumb-twiddle-toe...
where are all the psychotic:
airing of the soul examples?
smoke and mirrors...
   if i see a *****?
   i'll let you know!
          we'll huddle and watch
tom hanks win an oscar for
Philadeplhia...
                          show me a *****
******* a zombie...
         this, this grand disguise as flu...
it's almost a precursor
to a greater joke...
       of... phantom limbs that
had grenades worth of champagne
bottles being uncorked as
the origin of the demise of...
if only they named the ship Prometheus...
Titanic is so general...
     Atlas... Hyperion...
                  Oceanus...
                                   you can't expect
to keep an adjective as a noun: afloat...
or could have... could you?

but about time you listen to all the darwinists...
when the seas are: a'rough...
ask them about not looking up from
that telescope via a monkey's ****...
about the darwinism of a...
very original... very basic: a first...
first in line end result...
that might have been us...

                 tough luck bringing
no wine and no bread...
to the congregation...
nut-allergy riddled whisperers and soon-enough
to be drop-off counts of: the sieve...
the peanut! crown - and:
if only it was as simple as a reconquista
of what the goths left behind having
stalled spain's worth
and having died off in north africa...

now's the time to stop looking through
a darwinistic: famous detail of:
the peeled banana on the inner-sleeve...
the root or yellow...
teasing you unpeeled for all that was
the velvet, the velvet and the underground...
a very pushy bladder...
i mean: fickle bladder little gremlin
with a yappy-yappy for a mouth...
and it's not the sort of mouth that echoes:
hungry! hungry!
the sort of mouth, though...
give it the plumber...
                          
        how very pedestrian of me.
Mirlotta Feb 2018
What was Kafka thinking? Felice Bauer-
blonde, in a homely sort of way- couldn't
think of him the same way after. He'd asked
her that question (hidden behind his obsession
with his own self-hatred, his surety that she hated him too).
Could you- might you- do you think you'd be able to bear it-
M a r r y i n g  m e?
History tells us they didn't tie the knot.
Kafka, probably, didn't mind a lot.
Franz Kafka: that hopeless man,
couldn't look in the mirror without shying from his own reflection.
Kafka, who'd balk at the slightest hint of romantic attention.
More story than man, really. Had more eloquence in his
smallest finger than ever came out of his mouth.

No wonder Felice had her doubts.
Emily Miller Oct 2017
One can almost hear the operatic chorus
Cry out in emotion,
As they ascend the marbled stairs,
Hands shaking so in excitement,
That the ornate metal railing cannot be felt beneath them.
Down a hall, feet gliding on the polished floors,
Around the corner,
And there it is,
On the wall like an altar,
Mountain range of colors,
Geometric patterns,
Like gilded windows into other worlds,
And a resting place of alabaster skin,
The calm prairie
Amidst a festival of shimmering lights,
Celebrating with vigor
The peace
The eye of the storm
In her expression,
The Woman in Gold.
Her figure rising from the extravagance
Like the simple and graceful tendrils of steam
From a cup of tea.
Amiable and tender,
In the middle of a bustling cafe.
At once, you are spun onto a dancefloor,
Crafted by Midas,
Twirling and dipping and dancing,
With explosions of royal sunlight,
Before the gentle partner takes you by the hand,
And leads you into a steady, yet balletic waltz.
Say her name,
This secret woman,
She deserves more than anonimity,
Say her name,
In a whisper as quiet as her poised hands,
Or in a glorious cry of admiration,
As cacophonous as the color of the robes
She is swathed in.
Say her name,
Like a prayer,
Or a pledge,
Or a dutiful anthem,
With your hand to your heart,
Say her name,
And never let the memory of the sound slipping off of your tongue.
Say her name,
Like you survived the war in her honor,
Say her name,
She is not just a woman,
Say her name,
No matter her religion,
Say her name,
Because she was forgotten,
But no longer,
Never again,
For you, we’ll remember,
Adele.
Jennifer Weiss Dec 2014
Can you believe it?
They're evil,
them heathens
we have all elected.
////////
"It's okay,"
they told us
on the same channel as the news
that "beating, and burning, and water boarding
is just something we do!"
"Jack Bauer does it,
so our government must too!"
/////////////////////////////////////////
It's normal to torture,
It's something we've all just accepted.
What our world has come to.
Accountability has been neglected.
////////////////////////////////////////////
We gain nothing from it,
but everybody loves it!
Media.
Lie to me some more.
Give me what I want.
Truth?
....I never heard of that before...
////////////////////////////////////////////
"Who will guard the guards?"
I seen it on Charlie Rose!
Does he look like some conspiracy guy?
Isn't there more than even he showed?
/////////////////////////////////////////////
The world has come alive,
there is information that we know.
The internet will set us free,
let it bring truth to our souls

///////////////////////////////////////
I hope you seek the light
and always ask questions.

////////////////////////////
Remember that your soul guides
you
like a moral compass
in the right direction
/////////////////
Don't forget your North.
Don't forget your lessons.
/////////
You're a warrior in this world.
*God's greatest blessing.
http://www.truthdig.com/avbooth/item/russell_brand_need_to_know_people_are_being_pointlessly_tortured_20141211
Wk kortas Apr 2017
Oh, we’d talked of other lives in other places,
But where would we have gone, anyway?
(It was rural Pennsylvania in the thirties,
And being well-off meant you ate three times most days
And could afford meat every other Sunday)
So we carried on in anguish and guilt as old-maids-in-waiting
As there were dinners to cook and cows to strip out,
Fireplaces to stoke, any number of chores to do
While our mothers and fathers waited patiently for that day
When we would, each in our turn, don a grandmother’s wedding gown
And march steadfastly down some acceptably Protestant aisle
While Gert Bauer, default church organist
Though she was past eighty and nearly blind,
Tortured the wedding march, flubbing notes and stomping pedals
The tune lurching forward at an inconsistent
And unusually adagio fashion.

As it turns out, Tojo and Adolph Schicklgruber
Interceded on our behalf,
For, as the young and able-bodied men of Elk County went off to serve
(Farm boys from Wilcox and Kersey, pool sharps from Ridgway,
Fully half the production line from the paper mill in Johnsonburg)
Someone needed to man punch presses and die casters,
So we were able to find work making propellers
In a windowless and airless factory
Which didn’t have women’s rooms
Until we’d been there for three months
Allowing us to set up house together
(We told our parents
It would allow us to save up toward our weddings,
And still let us give them grocery money each couple of weeks.)
Eventually, Johnny came marching home again
And back into his old job,
Which left us somewhat at sixes and sevens,
But, like Blanche DuBois,
We came to depend on the kindness of strangers
Who believed in the value
Of strong backs or the primacy of civil service scores
And so with our steady if unspectacular incomes,
We were able to carry on keeping house, as it was said,
(Our parents sadly unpacking hope chests.
Sullenly gifting us the linens
They’d purchased for our marital bed at Larson’s,
The hand-made quilt stitched and fussed over
For nine months by Aunt Jenny)
And maintain an uneasy truce with the good people of the town;
Indeed, we were all about “don’t ask, don’t tell”
Long before it was somewhat fashionable.

When it became apparent that she would not carry on much longer,
Or, as she put it, Now I’ve got an expiration date,
Just like a can of soup,

It was as if the populace had decided, after some sixty years,
To take their revenge upon our ******* of the natural order,
As if they were a pack of wolves,
Having identified the lame and the sick among a herd of whitetail,
Tightening the circle before moving in for the ****.  
In truth, I shouldn’t have been surprised,
But the pettiness and the tight, self-satisfied smirks
Were no less painful in spite of that.
And what was your relationship to the deceased?
They would say with their half-knowing, half-offended smiles.
I’d wanted to shout at the top of my lungs that for fully six decades
She had been the love of my life,
Without question and without deviation,
Not like the banker who dallied with his fat secretary,
Or the claims rep who, taking a personal day when her pipes froze up,
******* the plumber right on the kitchen floor,
But years of secrecy and compromise exact a toll,
So I simply, quietly, matter-of-factly would reply
I am the executrix, thank you.

We had talked of perhaps heading west
To make honest women out of each other,
And, later still, of burying her in Paris or San Francisco,
But tight times and walkers and wheelchairs
Made such plans unworkable;
It’s only parchment and granite, she said,
What do they mean at the end of the day, anyhow,
And so when the time came
She asked me to take her ashes up to the top of Bootjack Hill
And scatter her to the wind.
Make sure to go all the way to the top, she insisted,
*I want to get good and clear of this place.
sunprincess Feb 2018
Dear Poets and Readers

This poem page will be dedicated
to our men and women in Blue
To those who have given their life
for me and you

These are only a few of our fallen

★ Heroes ★

Castle Rock, Co
Deputy Zackari Parrish - 29
December  31, 2017

Harrisburg, PA
US Marshall Christopher Hill - 45
January 18, 2018

Brighton, Co
Deputy Heath Gumm - 32
January 24, 2018

Colorado  Springs, Co
Deputy Micah Flick - 34
February 5, 2018

Locust Grove, Ga
Officer Chase Maddox - 26
February 9, 2018

Westerville, OH
2 officers shot in the line of duty
February 10, 2018

Chicago, IL
Commander Paul R. Bauer
February 13, 2018

Mobile, Al
Officer Justin Billa
February 20, 2018

These officers were true heroes
So very sad they are gone,
And now we are left to carry on
Without them
Many prayers and thoughts for their families
and friends
Lawrence Hall Feb 2019
I Miss my Northern Exposure Tee Shirt

We could drive into town for a beer at The Brick
Listening to the radio as Chris-in-the-Morning
Reads a chapter from Doctor Zhivago
Connecting Yuri with Uncle Roy Bauer

We could drive into town for gas at Ruth-Anne’s
Marilyn and Ed will talk about movies; Maggie and Joel
Will argue some more on the sidewalk outside
While Maurice preens before his reflection in the glass

And then to The Brick: Shelley behind the bar
Holling and Dave-the-Cook wrestling the grease trap -
I think I left my Northern Exposure tee shirt
In the laundromat in Cicely, Alaska

We could drive into town and look for it
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Jeff S Sep 2018
i cannot try every flavor
of ice cream on every summer afternoon
when the restless sun stripes the
empty vinyl booths of the
dated 1960s parlor in
gauzy, burnt yellow.

but you ask anyway.
you always ask, wearing
that faded blue baseball cap
that has no place in your burnt-yellow 50s
and a sari velcroed too high up your torso.
you look like a colorful burrito, i laugh
so you don't hear.

"stop pretending," i want to say
between the vanilla and the
strawberry, because that's
all i ever have.

i never do, though. instead, you remind me
i get the vanilla on my Eddie Bauer sleeve every
time the sun spies
and the gauzy strips of afternoon
slide across my face.

"i like vanilla," i say, apropos of
nothing. you nod, i think, or else
you take another cream-starved lick of
your cone, stacked like a lego plaything
with vanilla, strawberry, and
vanilla again.

sometimes, but not every time, after ice cream
we walk the long oak-lined boulevard
that leads to the house. many of those
totems have stood for 100 years.

"good for you," i nod,
staring up at their petrified limbs and cagey leaves.
and with a vanilla moustage hugging my upper lip,
i thank the oaken giants for living 100 years
and never leaving.
Check it, I'm from the streets of Texas, wait that's Houston reigns,
All day and all night mayne, temple dented from a shot, another dead mayne,
Traveling on death lanes, so I had to switch the lanes, looking for a pinky to give me brain, wait I'm speaking Louis Lane,
I'm superman, flame lit like a butane, check the boys whos game, no name,
But I'm making a name, **** the game, got a Benz over a Range, Rov
Bigs up to Freeway Beanie and Hov, yo I keep it hotter, than food on ya stove,
Turn me up, to the hottest degree, you'll see the birth of a new pedigree,
Come from the spitters tree, hip hop ancestry, peep my whole family,
Ain't to many can see what I see, some seek for poor, some seek for the money,
I'm just tryna up my community, speak unity,  like latifah a lost queen bee,
**** it's so much tragedy, in this day in age to be, a seed of the Gen Z,
I know y'all feel me, ogs to tgs, feel these keys, of life everyday melody,
Says who says me, we all talk alot of **** but we still family,
I remember when pops was handing me, short buckets of money,
Didn't peep the whole scenery, lost as Keanu Reeves be, on the movies,
Wait I'm the one, like Neo, kin to desert eagle, watch it fly, and put holes in evil,
Evil everyday is a new sequel, I try to talk to the people, without speaking in riddles,
Eat egg mcgriddles, only the real know, psychopaths feel no,
Remorse for those, in power who love to see others take blows, woooah,
A black Mob, waiting to rob, see I got the power like Moses, with his rod,
Hands of God, giving me powers spite all enemies with electrical shower,
Now feel me out every, minute and every hour, life's sweet and sour,
Hope in the classic Eddie Bauer, fresh kicks with fresh bricks of powder,
Nah let me no tell on my self, cuz rap snitching aint good for ya health,
Too many name dropping, seethe fours I keep hopping, Kevin X with the propping, put a sight, cuz I'm show stopping,
By pictures of a drive by, funeral music hard to cruise to it,
Everyday they pray, for my downfall, cuz death is only a one way phone call,
And we ride for the cause, and cause we ride for, something to die for,
Like Shakur, real name Brooks, I'm a **** I'm a crook, that's how I get the ***** looks,
Don't dress to their style,
They call it wild, I was touched by an angel, since I was child,
Hold the mic, concrete grip, overfill watch the flows drip,
Off the tone, smooth baritone, spin in it own my own, one man throne,
Nah, spit so hard so it's hard, to make a clone, more thugs than bone,
Ouija are with me, the demons tempt me, creep with me,
Walk backwards, through the door like Eazy, please believe me, never do it cheesy,
Only when the rats close to me,
Let the poison conquer thee, respect ya noble majesty, y'all cats small to me,
Compare me like Jordan to Kobe, killer instinct shinned up my third jewelry,
That's my eye why lie, still let the sun graze my my eyes, til it forms a sty,
Visions of gods, beaming on my dreams, showing me how to intervene,
These lizards all over the screen, they live wasnt just a movie screen,
Sublimes told within a theme, y'all chase the cream, and I chase Solomons redeem
Babatunde Raimi Jun 2020
On today's menu
Killers of our dearest Uwa
Pursue them like a pride of Lion
Those Buffalloes must be preyed

We might not get along so well
But when the jungle matures
And the order is from above
It is just a couple of days
We will see their faces

Where is our Jack Bauer
"That team dey burst my brain"
Fish out those carnivorous creatures
Then Officers happy hour afterwards
As the whole of Mami market awaits us

We are on the same page on this
This is one too many
Please help us find closure
Should we find somewhat of a clue
We will turn them in
Godspeed our gallant NPF

— The End —