Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
jake aller Mar 2019
World According to Cosmos Updates March 3, 2019

Note: I am taking a two week trip to Vietnam and will update my blog when I return with my reflections on my trip, updated publications etc.

Cosmic Dreams and Nightmares

I don't dream dreams.  I dream movies complete with action, music, food, smells everything.  In this one I had a vision of  a possible future. it was so vivid, almost as if I were watching the hearing take place.

Three stories

Dream Girl (true story)
General Zod (flash fiction
Sam Adams Vs. the Social Cleansing Board
Six Poems
Morphing Images from Hellish Nightmare
Endless Movie
Worlds within Worlds Lost in Hell
Rafting to Hell
Satanic Torture
Micro Stories

Don’t Go Jogging in the Middle of the Night
Don’t touch this button!
Don’t open the door
Don’t go to the theater tonight stay home with me
Don’t go to Dallas I have a bad feeling about the trip


Dream Girl
Cheating Death 100 Times
Guardian Angel
Medical Mystery
SLA Hit List

Dream Girl – A true Story – reprinted from Dreams and the Unexplainable
You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.

Author Unknown

The dreams started when I was a senior at Berkeley High School in 1974. About a month before I graduated, I fell asleep in a physics class after lunch and had the first dream:

A beautiful Asian woman was standing next to me, talking in a strange language. She was stunning—the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She was in her early twenties, with long black hair, and piercing black eyes. She had the look of royalty. She looked at me and then disappeared, beamed out of my dream like in Star Trek. I fell out of my chair screaming, “Who are you?” She did not answer.

About a month went by, and then I started having the dream repeatedly. Always the same pattern.

Early morning, she would stand next to me talking. I would ask who she was, and she would disappear. She was the most beautiful, alluring woman I had ever seen.

I was struck speechless every time I had the dream.

I had the dream every month during the eight years during which I went to college and served in the Peace Corps. In fact, when I joined the Peace Corps, I had to decide whether to go Korea or Thailand. The night before I had to submit my decision, I had the dream again and it made me sure that she was in Korea waiting for me.

After the Peace Corps, I still hadn’t met my dream woman. I got a job working for the U.S. Army as an instructor and stayed in Korea. I kept having the dream, until I had the very last one:
She was standing next to me, speaking to me in Korean, but I finally understood her. She said, “Don’t worry, we will be together soon.”

Why was that the last time I had the dream? Because the very next night, the girl in my dream got off the bus in front of me. She went on to the base with an acquaintance of mine, a fellow teacher, and they went to see a movie. I saw her and found the courage to speak with her.

We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet that weekend.

The next night, she was waiting for me as I entered the Army base to teach a class. She told me she was a college senior and she had something to tell me. I signed her on to the base and left her at the library to study while I taught, and then we went out for coffee after class. She told me she was madly in love with me, and that I was the man for her. I told her not to worry as I felt the same.

That weekend, we met Saturday and Sunday and hung out all day. On Sunday night, I proposed to her. It was only three days after we had met, but for me it felt like we had met eight years ago. I had been waiting all my life for her to walk out of my dreams and into my life, and here she was.

Her mother did not want her to marry a foreigner. One day, about a month after we met, she invited me to meet her parents. I brought a bottle of Jack Daniels for her father and drank the entire bottle with him. He approved of me, but her mother still had reservations. After a Buddhist priest told her my future wife and I were a perfect astrological combination, she agreed, and we planned our wedding.

The wedding was a media sensation in South Korea. My wife explained it to me years later. At the time, I was overwhelmed just by the fact that we were getting married and I didn’t fully understand how unusual this was. My wife was of the old royal clan, distant relatives to the former kings of Korea. In the clan’s history, only two people had ever married foreigners: my wife, and Rhee Syngman, who was the first President of South Korea. My father, who was a former Undersecretary of Labor, came out for the wedding, which fueled even more media interest. Our marriage defied the stereotypical Korean-foreign marriage where the women married some hapless GI just to escape poverty and immigrate to the U.S. We were the first foreign/Korean couple to get married at a Korean Army base. Over 1,000 people came to the wedding, and my father was interviewed on the morning news programs.

This all happened thirty-seven years ago, (45 years since the first dream) and I am still married to the girl in my dreams. Now in my dreams she watches over me when we are apart.

General Zod Conquers the World
SETI and the search for extraterrestrial life goes on overdrive when scientists report what appears to be radio and television broadcasts from a planet eight light years from earth, the same planet as the Vulcans came from in the Star Trek universe.  The programs show a world where dinosaur-like creatures are running the world and there appears to be a civil war.  Over the next six months, the world is transfixed watching the alien broadcasts which are translated in English via a supercomputer program.  In the broadcast, a nuclear war has occurred. The surviving party regains absolute control and announces the formation of the Galactic Empire.  General Zod is the First Emperor.  They have discovered Earth as well. The aliens launch a crash project to develop interstellar travel so they can come to earth and conquer the earth.

The revelations that there is an external threat to the planet causes the United Nations to get together with the help of the United States and Russia another space powers, they put together Space defense International organization and also invigorates efforts to make the UN a real Planetary government including finally conquering climate change.

But it was too late. General Zod’s son arrives to take over the earth. He makes a broadcast saying that they were liberating Earth in the name of the Galactic Empire and that resistance would be futile.

They land at the White House and when President Trump comes out to greet them,

General Zod cuts off his head, and then cuts off the heads of all the staffers as they come out White House. After an hour of unimaginable horrors, including mass rapes, blowing up the Pentagon and the CIA,  General Zod announces that he had taken over the world.

Life will continue as before as long as people behave and follow the rules they would be fine Resistance to the new empire will be met with instant death.  Life in the Empire is not a democracy. They would not tolerate Freedom of speech, and Freedom of Press, and Freedom of Assembly And the freedom to oppose the State. The state is everything.  As long as humans remember that they would be just fine. They took over the United States because it was the biggest country in the world. And that his forces will take over the rest of the world but in the next couple weeks. If people on earth accept the new order, their safety would be guaranteed. Companies would be taken over by Galactic Empire companies, and everybody would have to learn Galactic standard. Within one year older languages will be banned.

Sam Adams Vs. the Social Cleansing Board

the summons
Sam Adams was worried. He could not sleep. He got up at 4 am and wrote in his journal and tried to cope with the dread that was overwhelming him. He had received the summons yesterday that he was to report to the social cleansing board for a review on whether he would allow to continue to be on the automatic permit list or would be referred for final status determination. Sam was a retired Federal worker trying to live on dwindling savings.

Sam had Alzheimer’s and was rapidly depleting his life’s savings. Two years before he had been released from prison, one of millions of ex political prisoners. His crime? Authoring anti-government poems just before the beginning of the Christian States of America, right after the second civil war. Unfortunately for him and his millions of ex-prisoners, his side lost the war. He wanted to flee to the United Provinces and settle down in California but lacked money to move. And getting a job at his age, with Alzheimer’s and his political rating was proving difficult at best.

All of which added up to a 90 percent probability his last days were approaching.

Under the new rules imposed by the Christian republican party in the newly established Christian states, all citizens over the age of 18 were on the permitted list if they met all of the following criteria. He tried to think why he was being referred to the board. Perhaps it was because of the recent crackdown on social deviancy. Millions of homosexuals, transgenered people, atheists, drug users, alcoholics, and non-religious people had been rounded up and eliminated according to the rumors. Perhaps someone had fingered him as a possible deviant. He fit the stereotype, no children, known drug user, known alcohol user, suspect politically, atheist and now Alzheimer’s patient. And he was not racially pure having some black blood, some Asian blood and some Jewish blood. And he had married across the racial divide which was now illegal.

The story was that if you flipped and named names you would sometimes be spared for now, and if your info was correct, you could be rewarded. Of course, those whom you flipped were not too fortunate. That was probably the story or someone could have heard that he was an ex political prisoner, or simply that he had Alzheimer’s’.

He had no children. And he was a secret atheist and had been involved with the dissent movement and had spent five years as a political prisoner at the start of the Christian Revolution. He was determined to make a stand and denounce the whole rotten system before the board although that would probably seal his fate.

As an Alzheimer’s patient he could no longer work. His wife had died the year before while he was in prison after she had been deported to her native Korea. She left him some assets but he had little idea how to manage his finances and he was behind in his rent and had received an eviction notice which had probably triggered the visit by the social cleansing staff who recommend a final status determination. But it was just as likely he was on the list because someone flipped on him.

He also did not make it last time when they came for him at midnight. Always at midnight the story goes.

The soldiers came took him away from his wife and locked him up for two years. They deported his wife whom he heard had died shortly afterwards. He spend two years at hard labor in the dessert near Las Vegas and was released into Las Vegas.

Las Vegas was a different town now that the casinos had left town. All that was left were back office operations, and underground ***** and *** operations and underground casinos. It was a hot bed of political dissent and there was an underground railroad to California, which was not part of the Christian states. Sam had been preparing to leave which was a crime and perhaps that is why he was on the list.

The hearing would be at 10 am. He was meeting his lawyer at the hearing board but his lawyer was not too optimistic.
the Permit Criteria
The basic criteria for being on the permit list were:

For Males

Age 18 to age 70
White race
Married to a white woman with children
Must be either working, in school full time, serving in military duty, or working in prison if convicted of a crime.

Homelessness was not allowed. If unemployed and or homeless, would be referred to social cleansing department unless one had a relative who was willing to take care of your needs.

Since there were no pensions or social security anymore and no government provided health care, one must have sufficient assets through one’s work, or savings or through one’s relatives to provide for one ‘s needs. If not you would be sent to the social cleansing board for final status determination.

For Females

Same basic rules applied but if one were married, and had children one would be on the permitted list, if children are older, if spouse’s income is sufficient one would be on the list.
If single or divorced, and homeless one would also be subject to social cleansing unless one’s relatives would willing to sponsor you. Since there were no pensions or social security anymore and no government provided health care, one must have sufficient assets through one’s work, or savings or through one’s relatives to provide for one ‘s needs. If not you would be sent to the social cleansing board for final status determination.

For Aged People

Additional requirements for the age you were expected to take care of your basic needs through employment and savings and the help of relatives. If you were evicted for non-payment of rent, or judged to not have sufficient assets left to sustain your basic needs including medical care, you would be referred for final status determination.

For all people additional requirements applied.

****** deviancy, drug use, alcohol use, gambling, *** outside of marriage, homosexuality would result in immediate referral to the social cleansing board as all were banned conduct that could result in final termination.   Being a member of a prohibited religious class could also be grounds for referral as would a pattern of not attending Christian services. Finally, if one had been arrested for political crimes one would be marked forever.
<h2>Sam's Rating</h2>
One had a government social rating. Sam knew that his rating was a D meaning that the government would be watching him all the time, and it would be difficult to get a job. Only the A’s and B’s were guaranteed to be on the permit list.

To be a A you had be to a true believer, had to be white, had to attend church on a regular basis, and had to be employed naturally.

To be a B same thing but you could be a B if you were a minority, or had engaged in alcohol or drug use under the old rules.

C meant that there was something wrong with your background, you were an atheist, you were a minority etc.

D mean that you were a serious threat to the regime.

E meant that you would be terminated.

F met you were terminated as it met Failure to survive, and family members of F were also labeled F as they were usually terminated at the same time.

Being associated with banned political movements, including reading banned materials could also lead one to being referred to the social cleansing board as all were grounds for either termination or criminal prosecution if under the age of 70.

The board has three choices - granted temporary status extension, referral for termination, or referral to criminal prosecution.

The termination would be carried out quickly. There would be an optional funeral at your Church, then the execution through the method of your choice - firing squad, beheading, electric chair, or gas. The default was gas where you were put in a room with up to ten other people and put to sleep.

Afterwards your body would be cremated in an electricity generating plant with the ashes turned into fertilizer products. There were no burials allowed unless one was rich enough and connected enough to request a burial exception. Most people did not qualify.
the Hearing
The hearing started. The presiding Judge, Judge Miller was a stern face white man in his 70’s and a true believer. He was sent to Las Vegas to clean it up as Las Vegas was the wild west, a hot bed of dissent, illegal drug use, illegal prostitution and illegal casinos. It was also near several political prisons so many ex cons lived there.

The Judge was the chairman of the Nevada state committee that did not exist and was a senior official in the Federal committee that did not exist that brought together government, business and church leaders to coordinate government policies and that secretly ran the Christian States of America.

Probably a score of A thought Sam.

The judge announced that he had reviewed Sam’s file and was shocked that Sam had escaped final termination. He said that the previous board had erred in simply sending him to prison. He should have been eradicated as a social evil, as a cancer that needs to be removed from the pure body politics. Sam and his ilk sickened him. Sam was a free thinker, an atheist, a mix race mongrel, married to a non-white and was therefore guilty of crimes against the white race which was a crime. The Judge was determined to see justice done.

He asked Sam a series of questions. Sam’s answers sealed his fate.

Sam, what is your occupation?

None for now.

You realize that under the law you must be working, in service, in school or in prison?

I can’t find a job due to my age, my Alzheimer’s; and my political record.

That’s irrelevant. You are just a lousy atheist *******. You deserve no sympathy. And have none from me.

Are you white?

No, I am mixed race, part native, part Asian, part black.

I see you were married to a non-white and had no children. Good for you we would not want to see more mongrel children. Such children should be eliminated at birth in my opinion and will be starting next month when we begin enforcing the racial purity laws.

What was your crime? Let’s see reading prohibited writings, keeping a journal, publishing an anti-government blog, authoring anti-government poems and stories. You served two years at hard labor?

Yes

Do you still write?

Yes, everyday but I no longer publish on line.

Good. No one would want to read that trash anyway.

Do you go to church?

No

Do you believe in God?

No, I do not believe in an imaginary man in the sky.

One more anti-religious statement from you will result in an immediate ruling of termination.

Do you drink?

If I can find it yes

Do you gamble

Yes, when I can

Do you support the Christian Republican Party and the Christian States of America?

No, I do not.

Okay, I have enough for a ruling. Sam Adams, you are hereby sentence to termination. Tomorrow morning at 7 am you will be turned into electricity and fertilizer. Take him away.

Next please.

At midnight there was a knock at the door. A black man appeared and said he was a friend and he was being smuggled to California. Sam rejoiced and went with his new friend and reached SF in the morning, escaping death for the 23rd time in his life.

the End

Poetic Nightmares

Morphing Images from a Hellish Nightmare
Note: From a real nightmare End Note

I am in a room
Drinking at a party
And smoking ****

Watching people all around me

Change into hideous creatures
Monsters from the deepest depths of hell

Everyone in the room
Has been transformed except me

The Chief of them all
Wears a Trumpian mask

Complete with orange hair

Half human half pig

His deputy
Wears the face of Putin
But his body
Half human, half horse: if

The other creatures wear masks
Many of them wear
Green Pepe the alt-right
Symbolic frog masks

And have T-shirts
Bearing alt right slogans
And **** symbols

And as they prance about
They chant alt. Right slogans
And neo-**** chants

Jews will not Replace us

And the rest of these creatures
Are hideous ugly beasts
With only a vestige of humanity left

And these monsters are engaged
In all sorts of foul evil deeds
****** violence death

All around
And non-stop
violent drug-fueled ******

As these creatures
Half human half monsters
Half male, half female creatures

Snort coke, *******, speed
Smoke **** and drink ***** shots
Scotch, bourbon and beer

The Trumpian Pig leads the charge
Starts engaging in ****** with Putin
Who chases after people

Cutting off their heads with his sword
They turn on to their fellow creatures
****** and killing each other
and eating their fellow creatures

All night long

Then they attack me
Screaming

Jews will not replace us
And I wake up
Screaming

As the sun comes up
Just another nightmare


The Endless Movie

Watching the TV coverage
Of the great government shut down
Of 2018-2019

I am reminded of a movie
As I fall asleep
Listening to the TV

Blather on and on
About what it all means

Mr. Natural pops up
And screams

"It don’t mean s….

“Dude, the endless movie
Is about to begin”!

A middle-aged white man
Down on his proverbial luck
Just been fired

Replaced by a foreign worker
Or a robot

Or just fired
Because he was no longer
Deemed useful
To the masters of the universe

If he was lucky
He'd  be given a watch
And an IOU worthless pension

And the man wanders into a restaurant
Pulls out a gun

Eats his breakfast
After the official breakfast hour

Puts on a Pepe the green frog mask
Drops acid, Snorts speed
Drinks a shot of *****
And coffee smokes a joint

Snorts ******* for good measure
and smokes a cigarette

And walks outside
steals a bus at gun point
Filled with passengers

He tells them
They are hostages

And he puts on his vest
With the dead man switch
Next to the bomb

He announces
Via tweet

He is going to take the bus
To the proverbial *** of gold

Hidden deep in a cave
And when he got there

He would release the hostages
And disappear into the mine
And never be found again

And as the bus careens around the mountain
At 100 miles an hour
The dude sprouts out

Conspiracy after conspiracy theory
About Obama the Muslim communist

secret gay working with George Soros
the Jewish money people
in league with the shapeshifting lizards

and Mueller is one of them
they are all after him
because he knows the deal

And the passengers are transfixed
Half hoping, he would make it
Half hoping, he would be blown away

And as the bus careens out of control
With the wheels falling off

And the cliff looming ahead
You realize we are all doomed


Worlds Within Worlds Lost in Inner Space
A man woke up one day
Lost in inner space
Went so far down
The proverbial rabbit hole

That he did not know
Where he was
Nor what time it was
Nor when it was

As he stared out
At a bewildering world
A world lost in inner space
Deep down in his dreams

Filled with nightmarishly real
Monsters, demons and ghostly apparitions
He saw them and began running
Running running running

With the hell hounds behind him
Leading him to the edge
of the pits of hell itself

abandon all hope
ye who enter here
the sign read
above the entrance to the pit

and there was a devil standing there
armed with a clipboard
and a computer spreadsheet
Satan was the ultimate bureaucrat

Name barked the devil
Date of Birth ?
Date of Death?
Don’t know? That won’t do at all
Hmm

Car accident due to drunk driving
And you killed a child
Bad on you

But here in hell
The punishment fits the crime
And the devil laughed
Joined in by the hell hounds
And other nightmare creatures

A bell ran out
In the purple crystalline sky
And slowly the worlds receded
And he found himself alive

In his room
And vowed
That today
Was the day

He would quit drinking
Quit taking drugs
And quit chasing strange woman
And having wild libertine ***

He picked up the phone
It was Satan’s aid
Be careful what you vow
We are listening

If you fulfil your vows
You might find yourself
Escaping life in Hell
It is up to you to choose

And the man got dressed
Went to work
Thinking deep thoughts

And drove off a cliff
And back down the endless
Worlds within worlds

Satanic Torture

I find myself
In a dark room
Strapped to a bed

The light turns on
The large TV comes on

A smiling image
Of Satan fills the TV
He is dressed
In a conservative business suit

Looks like he came
Out of a corporate
board meeting

surrounded by demonic aides
who constantly shove papers
at him

He looks up from his lap top
And smiles
A deadly so insincere smile

His voice booms out

Welcome to Hell
My satanic slaves

I am Satan
Your new master

Each of you
Has been sentenced
To an eternity of torture

And the punishment
Must fit the crime

So, for you
Mr. Jake Cosmos Aller
Failed aspiring poet
And novelist

Your torture
Is to be strapped
To that bed

Unable to move
As you are filled
With the need
To **** and ****

But you cannot move
And your skin
Is crawling with bugs

And itchy
as Hell so to speak
and you are so sleepy

but you cannot sleep

the TV will play
endless repeats

Of some of the worst TV
and movie shows
ever produced

Starting with my favorite
A Series of Unfortunate Events

Featuring your favor annoying little girl
Carmetta! Singing for you forever
As you are the ultimate cake sniffer

Welcome to Hell


Rafting Towards Hell
I woke up
To find myself
Rafting down a river

I looked up
At the cliffs
Towering above
the roaring torrent

and see the dark demons
of my terrible nightmares
chasing the boat
firing flaming arrows

and I see werewolves
goblins, ghosts and monsters
running along the river bed
screaming obscenities

as they chase me
to my doom

and I see the waterfall ahead
and see my pending doom

as I rush over the edge
of reason



Micro Stories
53 word stories regarding unheeded warnings
Don’t Go Jogging in the Middle of the Night
It all started with a jog in the middle of the night. Despite my wife’s warning don’t go jogging in the middle of the night.  Broke me heal in a million pieces, 14 operations ensured, mutant MDR Staff almost killed me, almost lost the leg. . should have listened to her warning.

Don’t touch this button!
Don’t touch this button the former President said.  I said, what this button? And that led to the launching of nuclear weapons, going to defon three, and world war 3 with millions of people dead end of civilization moment. Should not have touched the red button.
Don’t open the door
When you find yourself running for your life chased by demons from hell and backed into a corner in a burning house filled with flames and are about to die in a million horrible ways you remembered that they warned you not to open door number three in this crazy reality TV show.
Don’t go to the theater tonight stay home with me
Mary Todd Lincoln had a vicious headache and was not in the mood to go out.  The President though ignored her wishes and told her that he had to go to the theater that night to show the world everything was okay now the war was ending.  Should have listened to her.
Don’t go to Dallas I have a bad feeling about the trip
Jackie was known for her moods and her premonitions. Something the President found both amusing an annoying. She told him that she a vision of death waiting for him in Dallas that day.  The President dismissed her foolishness as he put it and went to Dallas to meet his fate.
true love story.
In 1974 I had the first dream. While sleeping in a boring class, I saw a beautiful Asian woman standing at me speaking a foreign language. I fell out of chair yelling who are you?   I began having the same dream month after month for eight years.  One day I realized she was in Korea so I went there in the Peace Corps to meet her. In 1982 I had the last dream.  She said don’t worry we meet soon. That night she walked off a bus, out of the dream and into my life.  We’ve been married 37 years.
Cheating Death 22 Times
Also, a true story.
I have cheated death 22 times in my life.  I was born a preemie, almost died at birth, and had all the childhood illness at once.  In 1979 I came down with Typhoid  fever in Korea in the Peace Corps.  In 1991 almost got hit by a train. In 1996-1997 had 14 operations due to a mutant drug resistant staph infection, almost died several times.  In 1997 I had an acute stomach ailment that almost killed me, due to excessive antibiotic usage, if I had waited 30 minutes more would have been dead.  And had dengue in 2010.
Guardian Angel Saves My Life
Another true story
In 1990, I was teaching ESL in Korea.  My wife and I drove to the East Coast of Korea for a weekend away. She was in the US Army then.  As we drove towards Sorak mountain, I was filled with the need to get off the road right then. I had a premonition of doom, so did my wife. We got off to drive around another park returned a few minutes later and saw a 25 car pileup. We would have been dead if we had not listened to that inner voice telling us get off now.

Medical Mystery
Another true story
Back in 1996, when I was in the hospital fighting a mutant staph infection after a disastrous jogging accident that led to 14 operations, the internal medicine doctor said that there was something else going on. He finally discovered that I had a rare parasite, a tape worm of sorts that remained inert, its only becomes active if you take steroids then it blows up like a basketball killing you instantly. Six months later I had to take steroids due to frozen shoulder syndrome, and if I had not gotten rid of it, I would have died a medical mystery.

SLA Hit List
True story

Back in 1974 my father was a local politician in Berkeley, California who was on the SLA’***** list as “an enemy of the people, a fascist insect that needed to be killed”.  His crime?  As President of the community college district, he began requiring IDS for students and staff to combat campus crime at the local community colleges.  We had 24/7 police coverage for a while. One morning I saluted my father, “good morning fascist insect”.  My father, being of Germanic stock did not like the joke as jokes are alien to the German DNA.


the End
based on dreams and nightmares
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
as any german might, or a student of
the philosophy -
applying nothing's worth of a hammer
to the lexicon, rather,
a scalpel -
          what is ontological about
the term dasein,
and what is metaphysical?

        well... -sein is pure ontology...
am i to make apologies for
the given?
       sein in German is "self"-implosive...
given that it originates
in the Kantian noumenon,
per se...
                   but it never reaches out
to trans- physics of
gender...
        and, doesn't, meddle,
in grammatical constructs...

          da-?
   what is there, to a here?
to a now, a then, a then?
    metaphysical questions...
          so...

                    Dasein...
it'­s both a metaphysical conundrum
and an ontological scoop...
but, what it isn't is
a metaphorical inquiry...
   the mind is never to be displaced...
there is no mind displacement,
the brains along with the mind
retains its intact posit to counter
the materialism of the brain
being equivalent to the heart,
  but no mind,

no mind? no emotion...
     i thought the heart was a mindless
pump for the rivers (veins)
  and tsunamis of blood (arteries)...
am i wrong?
          
   if there is this post-Hegelian
grand dialectic taking place,
to displace the classical approach,
with a globalist canvas...
  my bad...

                if you need more schizophrenics
than you can handle?
fair enough...
               if you suddenly face up
to the Hippocratic oath...
which deems bilingual individuals
as being schizophrenics?
fair enough... i'll wait...
i'm good at waiting...

       i'll have my fifth drink and
attempt to play the mythical
Mongolian harmonica...

and wait: who's about to look...
STUPID!
               but if there's a grand dialectical
working its way into conversation
outside of the academic circles...
then there's also a dichotomy...
  
  and schizophrenia?
      is the algebraic X
    rather than a grand +
                 in the intermediate
interwoven basis for discussion...

              da- is a metaphysical
proposition...
    given? there could also be a
hier-... or a nirgends (nowhere) -
    or irgendwo (anywhere) -
    
   the prefix of heidegger's concept
is purely metaphysical,
it doesn't have to necessarily translate
into concern coupled
with the purity of the ontological
compound suffix of -sein...

       to be honest? the problem with
dasein in the 21st century?
let's face it, the man wrote this thesis
just when mainstream journalism was
taking off, then tyrants exploited
radio broadcasts...
   now the broadcasters abuse the medium...

there's too much of the "da-" -
      die welt...
   which does not encourage
the -sein...
to encompass or even entangle itself
with the imminent,
   die hier, die jetzt...
          the "myopic" version of
the diabolical res extensa of
the cartesian model...
                
              the study of ontology has
to regress from the prefix da-...
         the metaphysical jargon of this
posited prefix needs to be
stumbled onto, then rejected...
                new coordinates of ontological
investigation need to be minded...
closer to the nose...
   and the index finger touching
the tip of it...

                 again...
          i can only "read" French philosophy
books by the German antagonists...
and i will never read anything
by English philosophers... Locke?
forget it...
   i hate English philosophers...
they're too practical... too sensible...
too pragmatist...
              basically?
boring as ****...
                         sensible people do
not philosophize -
  they don't create meta-narratives...
ha ha! they create trans-gender!
sensible people get hard-on salivation
tendencies to craft no
original contribution to the scholasticism...
they love to read the ****...
but hate to write it...
subsequently relieving themselves
of the originality of a cognitive genesis...
the english were always in
a Germanic cognitive exodus;

i'm speaking to the father,
i don't need some
  ****-pants half-removed son of
a Saxon ***** to tell me
what i can, and can't make
this language into.
Robert Zanfad Dec 2013
there's a fat plastic tube taped sub-clavian carrying ruby fluid
from a clear bag that hangs overhead
draining mysteries of modern alchemy
into your body, its lifetime measured, silent droplets
inside a hermetically sealed hourglass we can only watch, not touch
but they don't change you

by protocol your nurse wore her nitrile gloves doubled-up
lest she get this stuff on her fingers - it's toxic -
advised you to flush the toilet twice,
making certain to eliminate stray molecules that might
be exposed to sitting innocents

i should be in the next chair, holding your hand

we might share complimentary raspberry danish,
stare at a silent TV on the wall
as it broadcasts flashing pictures of calamity from
the latest war or storm savaged country
but we’ve been living there for years already
our home not populous enough to draw serious media attention;  

we’d wrestle sips of anemic coffee from free paper cups
yours going into a red can when you've finished
because that brilliant color insinuates itself into saliva, eventually
as it does to blood and *****;
i could take mine home

i'd read moving captions at the bottom of the screen
to know what's going on in the images
while you'd feign interest in this tedious world and remind me, again,
how life is tenuous

ask me the name of that dripping liquid just to see if i was listening,
an appellation alien - if life were fair it would be easier
but i’d get the pronunciation wrong
maybe it could be a French word i remember reading to you from a menu in Paris
we might paste it thickly, soft cheese onto torn chunks of baguette
savored between sips of cabernet from long stemmed glasses;
pronounce it “good” as if we could own it

****** and gigolette -
we’d stolen the whole earth that moment,
grinning like a pair of cat burglars at a cafe table where i'd held your hand
but here we are, old again, bitter enemies
for the moment, i'm glad for Ativan and Motrin,
the only names i can remember from your tray of saltines and ginger ale

instead, i'm sitting alone at home with cigarettes and bourbon,
more congenial poisons
staring at a white, unmoving ceiling, pretending I’m working
we're like that, you know, tug and tow - where you go,
i'm heart-bound to follow
Doctor Jack insists i'll live much longer, a little sicker after
i might adjust expectations for a worn-out liver, headaches,
possible blood pressure elevations; short warnings written on the label

while yours smile, with more tricks than carnival barkers
they say, now, a handful - or only two - more tricks up their sleeves,
the grinning, white-coated thieves
Jack smiles, pats my hand, a warm man

smoking is prohibited in the clinic
i'd hang from the window ledge to get the next nicotine fix,
but it won't open to alive, mowed grass outside -
these proceedings always sequester hidden behind curtains in private,
a secret art of undertakers doctoring flesh to look still-living,
love making in mid-evening darkness we've long forgotten

i’d draw deeply chemically-treated air, forget it’s now happening
remind myself a paternal need to stay healthy for survivors
while trying to avoid living in midst of your horrors,
a preoccupation that subsumes my mind

if you’re right - and you always are - how could i bury you?
when the dog died,
i dug her hole in our garden myself, deep through tree roots to bedrock,
then beyond, depth a measure of devotion;
carved a stone with my own fingernails, her name in a crossed heart
and we two cried like shivering babies
as we shoveled all the dirt back in to cover her

these are words of a weak man, selfish ******* that i am
and really, all of life's slumped over in my lap right now,
just this little girl sleeping
but i should be in the next chair
if you'd only let me sit there
again
Michael R Burch May 2020
Hiroshima Poems

Let Us Be Midwives!
by Hiroshima survivor Sadako Kurihara
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Midnight . . .
the basement of a shattered building . . .
atomic bomb survivors sniveling in the darkness . . .
not a single candle between them . . .
the odor of blood . . .
the stench of death . . .
the sickly-sweet smell of decaying humanity . . .
the groans . . .
the moans . . .
Out of all that, suddenly, miraculously, a voice:
"The baby's coming!"
In the hellish basement, unexpectedly,
a young mother has gone into labor.
In the dark, lacking a single match, what to do?
Scrambling to her side,
forgetting themselves . . .

It appears that my translation above has been used by Hiroshima University in a new field of study called International Peace and Coexistence. I found my translation on the university’s Peace and Coexistence Facebook page. Being a longtime peace activist, I am particularly happy with the name of the course!



Now the remaining Hiroshima survivors are aging, and they must wonder what the world has learned from their harrowing ordeal:

See: whose surviving sons
visit the ancestral graves
white-bearded, with trembling canes?
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



We should always consider the fates of innocent children:

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
―Michael R. Burch, "Epitaph for a Child of Hiroshima"



The intense heat and light of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bomb blasts left behind ghostly silhouettes of human beings whose lives were erased in an instant:

Hiroshima Shadows
by Michael R. Burch

Hiroshima shadows ... mother and child ...
Oh, when will our hearts ever be beguiled
to end mindless war ... to seek peace,
            reconciled
to our common mortality?



Poets remind us that we all share a common destiny:

Grasses wilt:
the braking locomotive
grinds to a halt
―Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Something
by Michael R. Burch

Something inescapable is lost―
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.

Something uncapturable is gone―
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.

Something unforgettable is past―
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
and finality has swept into a corner where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.



Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch

Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable ...

Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this―
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss ...

Brief mayfly of a child,
to live two artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her tears ...



Lucifer, to the Enola Gay
by Michael R. Burch

Go then, and give them my meaning
so that their teeming
streets
become my city.

Bring back a pretty
flower,
a chrysanthemum,
perhaps, to bloom
if but an hour,
within a certain room
of mine
where
the sun does not rise or fall,
and the moon,
although it is content to shine,
helps nothing at all.

There,
if I hear the wistful call
of their voices
regretting choices
made
or perhaps not made
in time,
I can look back upon it and recall,
in all its pale forms sublime,
still
Death will never be holy again.



The day the Cloud reigned
by Michael R. Burch

The sky was clear on Hiroshima,
sealing her fate.
The report of the weather plane,
neither early nor late,
was certainly plain.

The few innocuous clouds did not refrain
from abandoning the city.
Only the silence, monstrous in its complicity,
regarding man’s error
acknowledged the horror.

Only the small, astonished victims
understood the immaculate heavens:
the inconceivable light
igniting their bones;
the Cloud, all of a sudden,
billowing unbidden,
and then the apocalyptic rain
descending again and again.

So that where white chrysanthemums
had once whispered with bemused tongues
instantly only ashen ruins remained
the day the Cloud reigned.



War Close Up
by Hiroshima survivor Kurihara Sadako
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Stirring bugles! Rousing martial music!
The announcer reporting "victory"
like some messenger from on high,
fanning, fanning the fervored flames of battle!

Masterful state magicians materializing
in a wizardly procession,
spreading cleverly poisoned words
to bewilder reason!
Artistic expression abracadabra-ed into state-sponsored magic!

The sound of boots, guns, bombs, cannons
as our army advances, advances, advances toward the enemy!
The thunder of our invincible tanks advancing! Alleluia!
The sudden, sweet gurgles of drowning enemy ships!

The radio broadcasts the sounds of battle:
A war hymn resounding to the skies,
sung by courageous men and women
who worship this cruel idol, War.

Oh, so powerful the merest whiff
addles even the most independent spirit―
the ***** of patriotism!
the religion of race!

While on scenic islands
scattered like stepping stones across the globe,
and on farflung continents,
driven by boundless avarice,
the landlords rage and rave again,
instilling hatred in indigenous populations
then prodding, driving them into battle.
Full of high-sounding pretexts
inevitably adapted to expediency
they raise indisputable banners―
God is on our side!
Righteous war!
Holy war!

"Right" becomes the password of thieves.
They square their shoulders:
"To secure world peace
annihilate
the evil opponent!"

They bark commands:
"For ten years, a hundred years,
fight to the last man, the last woman!"
The master magicians' martial music
resounds magisterially;
fanatic bull-mad patriots
roar and run amok;
completely bewitched, the people carol in unison:
"O, let me die by the side of my sweet Sovereign!"

Keywords/Tags: Hiroshima, Nagasaki, atomic bomb, Japan, Japanese, translation, nukes, nuclear weapons, nuclear war, epitaph, child, children, mother, mothers, father, fathers, WWII, apocalypse, Armageddon
Live[[Division I]]North.Dakota.State .vs.Illinois.State..Live.Online.NCAA.College.Football.Game.North Dakota State vs Illinois State Live stream:NCAA Division I College Football Championship,


http://w.atch.me/gGWOnt


http://w.atch.me/gGWOnt



North Dakota State vs Illinois State Live College Football streaming NCAA Football is very Interesting Football match. Watch and Enjoy NCAA Football between North Dakota State vs Illinois State live Live Stream NCAA Football 2015 online hd tv week 11.Hello NCAA Fan's,Don’t mistake to start watching NCAA Football North Dakota State vs Illinois State live Football Live stream NCAA Football .This exciting match between North Dakota State vs Illinois State live live stream online TV link.

North Dakota State vs Illinois State Live

North Dakota State Bison - ESPN.com - Go.com
ESPN
North Dakota State Bison football scores, news, schedule, players, stats, ... vs. 1:00 PM ETToyota Stadium. Illinois State Redbirds. Conversation » · Tickets » ...
Illinois State Redbirds - ESPN.com - Go.com
ESPN
Illinois State Redbirds football scores, news, schedule, players, stats, photos, rumors, ... vs. 1:00 PM ETToyota Stadium. North Dakota State Bison. Conversation ...
In the news
Preview: North Dakota State vs. Illinois State
KSPR‎ - 19 hours ago
North Dakota State can become only the second football team in NCAA history to win four consecutive national titles when it meets Illinois State ...
Too Much TV podcast: Bison, Redbirds meet in FCS final
Sioux Falls Argus Leader‎ - 1 day ago
A pair of crowns on the line for Illinois State, North Dakota State
Chicago Tribune‎ - 3 days ago
More news for North Dakota State vs Illinois State Live
Illinois State vs North Dakota State Live.. Stream.. Watch ...

reddit
2 hours ago - Illinois State vs North Dakota State Live.. Stream.. Watch.. valley Football Game 2015 Online..Illinois State vs North Dakota State Live.....
North Dakota State vs Illinois State live .. stream ... valley ...

reddit
2 hours ago - North Dakota State vs Illinois State live .. stream ... valley Football.. Online .. NCAAF .. .Gameday .. videocast. Exclusive...North Dakota State...
Live Stats - South Dakota State University Athletics

South Dakota State Jackrabbits
Sat Jan 31,2015 1:45 PM (CT), Basketball-W, North Dakota State vs South ... Feb 18,2015 6:00 PM (CT), Basketball-M, South Dakota State vs Western Illinois, -.
Live Events - South Dakota State University Athletics

South Dakota State Jackrabbits
Women's Basketball: South Dakota State at Western Illinois [Audio], Link available at start ... North Dakota State (women, 2 p.m.); South Dakota State vs. Denver ...
North Dakota State Bison

North Dakota State Bison
7 p.m.. Fargo, N.D.. Men's Basketball. Omaha. 7 p.m.. Omaha, Neb. Saturday, January 10. Football. Illinois State. 12 p.m.. Frisco, Texas. Sunday, January 11.
North Dakota State Bison - GoBison.com

North Dakota State Bison
North dakota state bison Logo North dakota state bison Official site. Sports. Men's Sports .... Watch Live. Chris Klieman ... NDSU Football Dominates Sam Houston State 35-3 in FCS Semifinals. NDSU Players ... Football. Illinois State. 12 p.m.
Multimedia - Live Broadcasts - Official Website of the ...

Missouri Valley Football Conference
Illinois State Indiana State Missouri State North Dakota State Northern Iowa University of South ... Saturday, Oct. 18 -- South Dakota at Missouri State (HC), 2 pm ... Internet connection or video subscription from an affiliated service provider.
Chris Voss Sep 2011
From a distance designed for instant intimacy you begged me
to satisfy your earthbound,
dirt-grounded fallen-star needs with hands carved from the Moon.
Writhing between wildflowers and weeds
I danced my discretion on the definition of ecstasy;
pleasing your pleas with partial gravities—
like Atlas with sweating palms.
And I felt compelled to apologize as habit has trained me to
for loving you less like great lovers do, and more like
a high school “C” student who can’t remember the answers to the test.
But you kissed me mute.
We are daunted by the constant reminder—
from history books,  reality television shows and A.M. radios—
that, today, fame is a cannonball’s shot away
and insanity is as volatile as gunpowder.
But you,
You told me that beneath a sky bombarded by the broadcasts of bad news,
my skin made you convinced that the rest of the world were skeletons.
So under the thunder and crack of artillery facts,
for a moment we dawned the ignorant crowns of amnesia and
allowed ourselves to forget, as you let
your fingertips orbit the cores of my crater-faced palms.

We’ve both
(at the same time but never together)
mourned empty shells filling themselves with liquor and beer
at mid-morning barstools.

When we talk, we don’t need words to fill the space between smiles.
You’ve perfected the art of the gently bitten bottom lip,
while all I’ve got to offer is this goofy grin—
flashing a mouth full of teeth like typewriter keys,
craving to spell out in some brand new word,  
that I’ve never used and that you’ve never heard,
how wonderful you look today.

I bet you’ve left stronger men than me kissing sparks out of wall sockets;
craving something that shocks like your electricity,
but I’m just happy that your static touch has got my hair standing on end.
And even though I’ve never known the face of God,
You’ve given me belief in rebirth.
You make me feel funny and young:
Like Saturday morning cartoons.
Like midnight skinny dipping
And *** with socks on.

The truth is, you make me want to fall in love like it’s 1945.
I’ve been shipwrecked on war torn foreign banks.
Lullabied to sleep by the ratta-tat-tat of
machine gun harmonies and
the horseshoed hoof beats of in-sync cavalries,
and your portrait warming the breast pocket
of my jacket is the only thing reminding me
that there’s real music in a place called home.
And even though I’ve never been the gentleman
that the storybooks promised
when you were young,
someday I’ll wear a three-piece suit and learn the piano for you.

After three years digging in dirt,
weaving roots and planting seeds
in the most unnoticeable lingering looks.
thing I’ve learned it’s that gardeners
make the best lovers,
and together we’ve grown a grove out of un-regrettable mistakes,
midnight stairwells and
out-of-state license plates.
There are things about myself that were nameless until you
embroidered them a set of initials on the insides of my eyelids.
Now my rapid eye dreams read about the best parts of me –
and the long nights, they don’t idle so much
when I have something to be proud of.
aloadhar Jan 2015
On 10/1/2015 , fans can watch The Montpellier vs Marseille live streaming online. Ajaccio vs Nimes Streams can be watched with iPhone and iPad devices as well as tablet-pcs like Nexus, Xperia and Galaxy.

Click Here To Watch Montpellier vs Marseille Live

Video feeds from are provided by bookmakers and visitors may have to bet to stream the event. Some video streams are transmitted in high definition for the The Cottagers Ajaccio vs Nimes event.
Ajaccio vs Nimes streams ~10/1/2015
Watch Live
tags: Ajaccio vs Nimes free live streaming on iPad, iPhone, computer, laptop and mac devices.Montpellier vs Marseille live online broadcast with commentary to listen live. Full screen streaming of Montpellier vs Marseille live online for free on Sunday. Watch Ajaccio vs Nimes free live stream from the internet with the latest flash and html5 streaming links for the match. View the Ajaccio vs Nimes feeds live online today with our free streaming links. You can watch working Ajaccio vs Nimes streaming links on the internet with coverage just like tv broadcasts.

Enjoy the latest Montpellier vs Marseille live broadcasts and enjoy Ajaccio vs Nimes on a pc, mobile or tablet with LS - live
Glenn McCrary Sep 2012
This tongue broadcasts
hushed tones of satanic nature
And strange snickers
resounded throughout the canyons
Chanting nocturnes as irking
as a rhino horn against a chalkboard
yet the prophecy remained clear
I had to find this beast
Joseph C Feb 2011
There was a young boy sitting on a porch swing
Thinking about the nest of wasps nestled under the gutter
He had been attacked by the nest after venturing too close
And his legs and his arms were swollen like a mosquito pregnant with blood

He was thinking of war and he was thinking of his father
Who had gone to war and left without a trace of him

His grandmother was calling out his name but he did not hear
As he was lost in thought

His grandmother had lost her legs to diabetes
And now was rotting in this house, in her final years
She would call out to him for help and he often wouldn’t hear
And she would berate him with promises of nothing for him

She would sit and listen to an old clock radio
That only picked up religious broadcasts
And she would listen to the gospel being barked distorted
Through the tiny speakers that garbled the words

He began to watch the wasps from a safe distance
To pass the time or for distraction
After her disease took his grandmother
He did not eat for three days

Not that he was traumatized
But he didn’t know how to cook
And nobody had noticed
That she had died

While watching the wasps towards the end of the summer
In a dry day
He began to wander and wonder about her
And he turned on her radio

All he heard was static
My life is a fraud
Posing greatness, I go home to empty bed
I remember a girl
It was heavenly lying next to her
Talking, walking, being with her

Countless fissures fitted, amazing minutiae
She was the one, paradise once
Dilapidation is order of the day
Death dwells among the living
Seeped deep in floorboards, forcing hands

Death is more real than God
Death is God
Why is this night different from all other nights?
I rouse from anxious nightmares
Awakening to truer horrors

What is believable?
Her lips were the best
Scattered into tiny unrecognizable pieces
Where she licked
I didn’t realize it was all her New York City connections

I thought it was simply
Her eager tongue
One last remark
This is not poetry
Who am I to utter

Ice-cream truck ***** broadcasts
Tomorrow guarantees new beginnings
To an unforgivable forgiven past
I miss her presence
My life is a frog
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
since the first pop use of the phrase
window of opportunity
(was it Bush or Stargate SG-1?)
politicians big and small
corrupt and incorruptible
fallible and infallible
have all bombarded
the media – on radio, in their blogs
and personal sites
newspapers and journals and broadcasts
and through any speech
they get a chance to make
with that ready phrase:
window of opportunity

Oh, turn on the radio
as you drive maybe
and some glum Finance Minister whispers:
* …grab the window of opportunity…
read the papers and some plump Minister of Health says:
…we must grab this window of opportunity…

Oh, whole speeches in the English Language now
are bullet-ridden with that cliche
and of course the financial planners
and educators
and doctors and even unimaginative lovers
they have all jumped in
into this *window of opportunity

till I’m so irritated and angry now
that if I hear one more eminent personality say:
window of opportunity
Oh, the next time – just one more time –
if I hear anyone use that phrase
window of opportunity
I’m going to send in contract window cleaners
and they’ll grab the window-of-opportunity-user by the collar
and throw them out through the window
and clean the window after –
and I’ll assure you,
those contract window cleaners
will not miss that window of opportunity!
Aaron Amrich Aug 2011
The first time I ever watched someone die was at the age of ten.
On a hospital-like bed,
in a non hospital living room, her chest heaved
in the final gasping seconds of a life
cut off by cancer.
My father placed a call, and the only
words I remember him saying were,
"Yes, she's passed."

I don't know who he was speaking to, and,
at the time,
didn't really understand why he said "passed"
in place of "died".

I still really don’t understand the shyness
with which we treat a word that is truly
the only commonality between each being that crosses the threshold
into this world.
We apply it frivolously,
to computers,
mall traffic,
freeways,
the in-betweens of radio broadcasts,
but are almost afraid to apply it where it makes the most sense,
attempting to blunt the edges of a sharp blow
to our own mortality.

Is it poetry for sanity’s sake that we
create alternate egos of a common thread
which ties all persons to one another?

My mother is dead, as I will be, one day,
as all men and women reading this will be.
Whether a failing heart,
or sudden stop of a long fall,
or at the hands of another,
or the very hands with which one has carved a life
into the fabric of other interlocking lives, it is certainty,
and it is unavoidable.
Perhaps this is what makes us so keen
to speak of it as if it were merely a transference
from one room to the next,
or one country to the neighboring country,
or one plane of consciousness to
some place that we merely dream of, creating as we go,
once we pass through
the veil that limits us from seeing those that has walked through.
The mortal coil, this state of being,
this firing of synapses and neurons and senses….
Clung to so tightly that the antithesis is taboo,
\as though if we speak of it,
he will come and claim someone else
that is dear to us or even
the very person that uttered those words.


I have seen the face of death,
in all its form and function, and I find
that death is not interruption to life for anyone
but the soul to which it has adhered itself.
From the body that is buried, the greenest grass
and most beautiful flowers grow.
Into the gap that is left floods
more beautiful friendships,
loves,
lives…

Ever right behind me,
breathing on the nape of my neck,
whispering nonsense until finally it is my turn,
Death only spurns me onward.
All the friends and family that have heard their names called,
buried in the back of my mind,
bear the most delicious fruit,
and blossom into the most intricate garden imaginable,
all due to this taboo concept,
this unknowable condition,
this edged blade that cuts deep enough to plant the lessons
we choose to put there in the place
where that person stood in our web of interconnecting strands of life, taking root in memory and glorious daydreams
of all the moments that endeared their life to ours.
Only the dead have this sort of power,
and only the grasp of the real concept,
in all its unshielded, raw, bitter, uncaring, blunt, ******* horrible form can birth the greatest treasure our lives will ever experience.
I do not miss, because my thoughts make them immortal.
I do not mourn them due to their gifts they leave
in wake of the immense impact they have had upon my life.

Maybe I am merely shielding myself from some horrible truth
that I cannot grasp,
yet I truly cannot fathom what that would be.

From Leora Tracy Amrich, to my grandparents,
to every man and woman that I served with,
to the Buddha, I have felt my way through what seemed
a dark, twisted, ugly hell until I opened myself to what I feared,
and ended up fearless, unbroken, and with a
foundation of friends and family that I stand on
with all of you,
the tangible and bleeding and
tear jerking friends and family
that I want to share this amazing fruit and otherworldly beauty
that people we both know have left behind
for us to live with and love in place of their faces.
Riq Schwartz Jun 2014
Thy blowing blue breakers
sweep overboard,
take color away from
the faces of the men,
washed in white walled foam
and cyanotic sapphire
speak novels in seconds
no well placed punctuation
such is the way of the sea

I'm searching the heavens
for happy notes
over sour tones
and mis-pitched harmonies.
As I stargaze, I'm trampled
by depressive episodes and felonies.


Now,
your bold bone breakers
bring drought and salt
but nothing savory here.
Nothing ventured and
nothing gained,
streets washed of life, weeds,
wear and tears
the only water to be found
wasted on self expression
instead of survival.
Such is the bane of our fathers.

Women's feet shuffled like playing cards
and men's backs bare a striking resemblance
- striking? stricken -
to the laugh-lashed shaming
of their own emotional dilapidation.
And might your mind be free
from weather and tears
you have but to hear/see/smell the broken
to become undone
Like so many pages, dead dry leaves
nestled inside leather-bound luxury with a broken spine.
Thy mindless diction fixes
namebrand problems to
hot button topics,
trafficked into pipelines
down polluted broadcasts of
girls girls girls...

Your voice bellows and breaks.
We are nothing.
Whatever color or shape you take,
We are nothing.
Whenever you go and
whichever language you abuse,
remember in your heart that we are
nothing
like
you.

Women's feet shuffle on hardwoods
bringing heart to the beat
as men's whitewashed canvases carry
the quintessence of quixotic movements
in and about key changes
the same as we paint our love
around the fringes of each other
and frame unfamiliar faces in lip-locked sepia
blushing, brushing
we carry the color of previous strokes until
we are each our own historic hue
staining others for future use
in cobalt, mauve, maroon, chartreuse

We harness our pain
in the alchemy of experience
to create beauty.
Jordan Frances Jan 2015
You and I
Are like fire and gasoline
You continue to spew sparks
Into my gas tank
And expect me not to explode.

When you start on a turbulent trail
With your anti-Muslim slurs
As your speech begins to slur when you've had too much to drink
I prefer your intoxication to your ignorance any day
And your "facts" from Fox News
I try my best to cup my hands over my ears
As if I am closing floodgates
But you keep pushing me over the edge.

Floodgates are what you open
When hate spills out of your waterfall mouth
The waves ebb and flow violently
Crashing into me
Crashing into my best friend
A follower of Islam
Who would never hurt a soul
But the flood she faces on the daily
Makes her believe that she will be a casualty
Of the war the water wages.

When a father has to lie to keep his job
The one he has rightfully earned
Just because of his religion
America no longer seems like the land of the free
You complain about persecution of Christians in
The workplace and mainstream media
You don't know what persecution is.

Your acid tongue is volatile.
It spits venom into my cuts
That have yet to heal
You think you are saving me
But you just make the wound more painful.

You do not know the consequences of your words
Of the things you blindly support
The casualties are not
Dollar figures
Your right to speak freely
No matter who it hurts.
The calamities of these sentences
These mindless broadcasts
Are people.
to my Dad, and Fox News
for Norah
Irate Watcher Aug 2014
1991

I realized
We were both born
in rotting soil,
plastic toys fed
by Arabia's oil.
Eyes closed,
ears behest
to broadcasts, we,
could NOT protest.

That was the beginning
of our mass destruction,
but cribs offsides,
we slept soundly,
thanking our stars,
proud to be Americans.

10 years dormant,
the lyrics laid,
enough to stick,
but their irony to fade.
Until grade school,
recess goaded,
as burning buildings
on our side exploded.
The imminent threat preloaded,
in airports we shed shoes,
forever coded.

The broadcast — our center
was the theorem
that planes, oil, and Arabs
risked everyone's freedom.
But when we raised hands,
to ask why, teachers said
hail red, blue,
and especially white.
We forgot our roots,
because the Ellis Island trip
was obviously cancelled.

So we read headlines,
instead of Orwell,
the day 911
called for a police state.
Trusted the government
and ****** Muslims,
the day turbans
meant hijacking planes.
Pledged allegiance
disguised as freedom,
the day war
was declared
on Saddam Insane.

Our flag revealed
a sham feeding flames,
angst-ridden
teenagers
we became.
With raised middle fingers,
instead of hands,
to Green Day lyrics,
**** Amuricans.

Because only idiots
press a red button twice,
when mass destruction is the price.
And only villains
make children orphans,
while victims drown
in New Orleans.
And only gluttons
eat caviar with silver spoons,
tainting forever
a nation's youth.

Entrenched in dunes,
we boarded blind,
to debt,
death, and
jaded minds.
Blamed by perpetrators
in dollars and change,
for a guerrilla war
fought in vain!
Voted Obama,
with Osama slain,
and soldiers withdrawn,
we hoped for change.
PLEASE, we cried,
JUST STOP!
We are CHAINED —
to a bulldozer
that has NO BRAKES!



So the broadcast said recently:
We are losing control
of the Middle East. And
Al-Qaeda is far from weak —
ISIS: THE PHOENIX OF HUMAN GREED,
We just turned off our TV's
and looked up,
the kids who gave up,
thanked Musk — our atlas,
not yet shrugged,
whose vessels of stars
will rocket toward Mars,
from this godforsaken
civilization
built on hate.

And when you tell me, ***,
"We were both born in 1991,"
I can only sigh,
and breath sympathy,
for our dark history.
Thank you Justin for inspiring this poem. I am performing it next Tuesday at Da Poetry Lounge in LA so any feedback is appreciated :)
Keifus Aug 2014
We are like neutered mutts,
drowsily as we sate on.
100 years of 24 frames per second
left too many of us wondering about the future
while reflecting on a past
never engaged in the present
always being.

The radio is concerned,
a voice drones on
flies over our head
and broadcasts into the living room.

This energy is a wave, follow the sin
Your body already knows how to covert the pressure
into electricity for your receptors.

Later, we stand at the altar
of boys with guitars
of boys with mics
The aux cable beheads his neck
we pardoned a sea of excuses
The F/A-18 drops the mic.

Women salivate the crowd.
That other gentile touch.
Throw a burka on that *****
Magazine dictate should we be?
Clip up pandora,
the liquid streams on.

There was never a box.
You were just born with fingers and toes
to touch ears to hear eyes to see a brain
to think to receive a nose
to breath a mouth to kiss and say,

"There is disappointment everywhere but still I love."
Brent Kincaid May 2017
This nation is in Fool School
Taking all the classes
Taught by a clique of nearly
Brainless evil *****.
Making up the facts, they do
Exactly what they're told.
They’re replacing our integrity
With lies they are sold.

Do you believe in equal rights
And children who are fed?
The monsters in charge all say
You’re crazy in the head.
You’re so in love with nonsense
You fill your empty heads
With play-pretend broadcasts
Of what the top cats said.

Did you want to go and vote?
Maybe, maybe not.
Possibly this next election time
Freedom's no longer hot.
These days things are changing.
It all depends on luck
And what the ruling class believes
And who spent enough bucks.

The Dean and faculty now
Of the current Fool School class
Doesn’t really give a ****
If we fall on our ***.
They’ll take the country with us
And sell it to those who hate us
While the Dean always does his best
To openly denigrate us.

What kind of person is it who
Pays for his own execution;
Chooses those who caused the mess
Begs them for a solution,
Then whines about small things
While ignoring bombs and guns
That are about to blow the world apart
That's what Fool School has done.
politics traitors freedom collusion fear hope poetry Kincaid
david mungoshi May 2016
The morning breeze
Puts the freeze
On bygone grudges
And we start anew
Life rises with us each new day
Though our hearts are the grim graves
Of the hopes and dreams of others
The morning breeze
Tells us ever so gently in whispers sweet
That the world can go on without us
So, like the rivers and the lakes we must flow
Into the cupped hands of the destiny that awaits us
Doing what we must do as matter of course
My prayer to the morning breeze
The breath of life incarnate
Is that it broadcasts to us, news of the future
rsc Feb 2015
It's the end
Of the world
As we know
It, so how
Do you know it?
Did you gather all
Your knowledge from
Radio broadcasts or
Did you spend time
Devouring the
Pamphlets of Paine
And Hamilton and Adams or
Did you sell your
Soul to the world
Wide web in exchange for
Little finger pin ****** of
Dopamine every few
Clicks and whistles?
How is brunch treating you?
Do you know
How to eat an apple or
That they exist?
What finish did you pick
For your gold toilet seat?
Do you have enough money
To buy food to eat?
The cats growl at each other outside,
Fighting off the heat.

Spoonfuls of honey exist
Within the heat death apocalypse but
My mouth still tastes like
The lingering scent of quarters
Leaving sweaty palms
After swallowing the sweet
Sugar down, as
Distracting as it is.
I distract myself from
Something(s) in my use of
Metaphor, but what?
The answer lies beneath the
Underbelly of some suburban
Monster with concrete teeth and
A camouflage of fleshy forest,
Frying like a hot egg in the sun
Behind corporate warehouses and
A strip mall where all of the shops
Are owned by the same person.

To see or not to, to be or not to?

Humanity could not collectively
Know all of the history we
Ourselves have constructed,
Let alone the dynamics of the
Cell mother planet or the
Secrets of the whispering cosmos.
We tipped the point a long time ago,
And we now sit back and enjoy
Our euphoric hallucinations before
Death by drowning.
It could be death by
Auto-****** asphyxiation, but
Who's to say until
We see the autopsy report?
Maybe we should have another
Done by an outside source...
Outside solo flyer questioning
The ubiquitous while existing
As an insider in trench coat and
Fake moustache feels faulty for
Not yelling from the fringe in.

I would like to factory reset my phone.

The internet lets us know what
We know that
Others know about us
While blocking us from ourselves.
Balance and moderation,
Sure yes just fine,
But please define those
Words in the language
Of the twenty first century.
Shall we fail to mention daily that
Our rivers, oceans, and streams
Bubble with reminders of
Our own mundane mediocrity?
Shall we continue to pretend
We don't see that we can see?

To see or not to, to be or not to?

To breathe in hot glue,
Death by acrid smoke and
A broken bottle,
Or a slow decline
Into madness by
The hands of a
Pixelated Nosferatu
Coming out of the screen
To haunt you,
Vibrating under your pillow,
Strangling your lucid dreams?
Natty Morrison Feb 2012
He broadcasts a misprint offender.
He is advised to question plutocracy.
He is deformed at birth and then again later.
He goes to war with a violin case as a a weapon.
He grabs all the paintings off the wall at once.
He is in an art museum.
He is in a grassroots rebellion against the free market society.
He is crashing a boat into the Pentagon.
He is chewing on a metal bottle cap and his teeth are all breaking off.
He is not allowed into the back seat of his own car.
He is watching a play from very far.
He yawns in a diner.
He lies in his bed.
Everyone overwhelms a giant.
Everyone recovers the disappointing vehicle throughout the famine.
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
He stands solidly still, a malformation
Rush hour commuters about him whirl
Arrival or departure in subway station?
Intrans intelligence, subconscious swirl
Isolated, his mind in  most violent hurl

Facing whole extent of impertinent data
Comatose commuter suffers info slow-mode
Wife, boss, kids all part in sub-matter
Too much for one brain to devour, decode
Cell phones, microchips, transistor’s overload

Components lack tactile connection
Wavelengths of broadcasts, meltdown occurs
Keeping too connected, causing mind ejection
No app for that on tablet to refer
Now stuck in commuter rut with no transfers
Are you a comatose commuter?
Natty Morrison Feb 2012
He broadcasts a misprint offender.
He is advised to question plutocracy.
He is deformed at birth and then again later.
He goes to war with a violin case as a a weapon.
He grabs all the paintings off the wall at once.
He is in an art museum.
He is in a grassroots rebellion against the free market society.
He is crashing a boat into the Pentagon.
He is chewing on a metal bottle cap and his teeth are all breaking off.
He is not allowed into the back seat of his own car.
He is watching a play from very far.
He yawns in a diner.
He lies in his bed.
Everyone overwhelms a giant.
Everyone recovers the disappointing vehicle throughout the famine.
Tadiwa Oct 2020
I wait on a little island
Marooned in the sea of traffic
The grey sky broadcasts sweet outcomes
To the farmer in me
But the lack of an umbrella
Makes my mind jittery
I'm vulnerable in my suit, tie and all
If the sky should burst open its floodgates
Where will I find shelter, with my laptop and phone?
Hurry Mr. Driver
Spur on that staff bus!
Glenarah and Robert Mugabe roads intersection in Harare
Tom McCone Dec 2012
those
countryside colours
dug deep in the pantries of
longlost obsessions and falling pinecones
stowed between rifts in woodwork-framed floorboards,
leaving vague lessons for the sunday crowd who'd
finally groomed their hair and walked out,
sunglint balding projections soon crawl

under the drainpipe circle of light ancestors ago would have thought god,
with revelations through seven now
each night broadcasts photon showers,

leaking through drying eyelids, blaring and spinning,
a stranger sits home,
feels so alone,
hadn't been taught to deal with transmission,
recursing discourse in patterns
in static of two
one where life went fine, and the other where we went on,
keeping tact forever and feeding geese on sunday afternoons
as the sun
shone through chemical ceilings,
*we had
tiny
birds
in
our hair,
then.
Marshal Gebbie Feb 2011
Notice how the whisper dies
When strangers near a gathered few,
How laughter dwindles in the air
Where yesterday, free breezes blew.
Our public forums disappear
Like dominoes, they fall in turn
And each in turn consumes a truth,
Like ******* in a flame they burn.

And everyone’s opinion fades
As nervous glances flit the room,
A menace in the silence felt
As whispers hush, suspicion looms.
The banks call in the mortgages,
The Cops demanding hard
The language of the press subdued
And every one’s on guard.

And the failing economies
Across the whole globe,
And contrived **** happening
With oil price hikes disrobed.
Grinning cartel monopolies
Who manipulate fare
To cause catastrophic collapse
In the market elsewhere.

Government’s tone has altered
From homilies of home,
(God bless our land & honour the flag)
To harsh Corporate drone.
Big Money’s in the mix you see,
Pharmaceuticals and Big Oil
And the Military have the casting vote
In cashing up the spoils.

How has it all come to this ?
Where have our freedoms fled ?
If they ever really did exist
Were they... only in my head ?
Restricted private ownership
With travelling curtailed,
And the information black out
Shows the freedom press have failed.

But the repetitious broadcasts
Which they want us all to hear,
And the droll propaganda
Which confuses the  ear,
Those brainwashing dogma’s
Which stifle the mind,
Oppressing the rational
To keep we souls aligned.

Why, my friend,
On this bright summer’s day
Should my heart be bleeding
It’s freedoms away ?
Who sanctioned oppression,
Who opened the gate,
To admit the dark forces
Who thrive on the hate ?


Marshalg
Feeling the vibe of what is beginning out there...EVERYWHERE!
AUCKLAND
20 February 2011
Raven Dec 2012
Stab these antennas in my head
And a thousand government watchdogs
Are barking at my door
I shall deny no more
The existence of a greater evil

Tune me in so that I may see again
The ****** broadcasts of what I would imagine hell is like
Just like tonight
When silence besets my windowsill
And snow pours forth into my bloodshot eyes
So cold out there in the darkness
Where every winking star's a satellite

Looking down upon the fallen masses
Images so troublesome and more to come
A swift and steady marching army
Onward! We die tonight!
Fall in men!
Keep moving!
Move out!

And so on, it goes on
We tamper with our
"God-given" boundaries
Shock therapy

And can you see the dead eagles,
All piled in the courtyard?
Some melancholy symbol of our chaos.
when he shows interest in any lady
he is often avoided, mistreated, or misjudged.
He wants to love and enjoy beautiful  kindred -ship
why is the stereo station tuned
to type "his age and outer shell"
as the announcer broadcasts ads for "the better gentleman."
He has become "everybody's fool"
His favorite song details this soul near ruined...
"Actions are speaking louder than words"
Deaf ears cannot hear, however, they see the words
His motives are questioned as "absurd."
what is it that he must do to pass the "social equality test?"
As he tries to simply "show his true and lovable self"
and enjoy being accepted
and allowed?
to be in social groups
with all of the accepted rest
of society
who passed such requirements?
He studies for the exam
another try in the morning
Will, he beat the odds?
and meet all of society's
acceptance through presenting the right "prerequisites?"
john oconnell Jul 2010
The owls line up
in the vicinity,
the street lamps
switch on;
traffic trundling by
with homeward bound
hungry crowds.

The kitchens hives
of domestic industry
as broadcasts
prepare to invade
the living rooms
of the temporary retired.

Night falls.
Shaun Meehan Nov 2014
Infant hands
gripping thumbs.
Tired arms encircling adult neck.
Your first smile,
first laugh—
first tooth, step, and word, our
first shared glance.
Moments, landmarks of your life, the
joy of my own.

Infant eyes so full
of wonder,
even the meagre astounds.
Constellations,
planets and moons, asteroids
creeping through space,
world destroyers and raisers of new.
The universe, its
infinitely vast magnificence, at
molecular level iris comprised.
The pupil—centre ajar
serving soul's route,
a window into 'nother realm, the
place of spirit's hailing.
True self temporarily encased,
the pathway to which
in resides of corporeal existence
the pith of life.
Your eyes—as much wonder possessed
as perceive.

A wish;
you might stay young forever, each
day spent together, that
your innocence,
your heart, may
never know break's suffering.
That cheek, tear might never dampness vandalize.
Your life—unspoiled joy,
mere childish disappointment to claim,
might always remain.

A shelter from hate,
from hunger and strife.
The broadcasts of the world
that their weighty burden might never
find home upon tiny shoulder.
In my palm, Atlas' strength I possess,
to keep at bay
war—its further result.
Disaster.
Death,
thunder wind lightning,
the monster under your bed.
The fear of all things fear inciting,
a paladin whom you I serve.

But in that wish
I might deprive,
an incalculable love—life's
blessed comprise.
The force by which
a patriarch's drive—
the reason for being.
By selfish pinning of youth,
fulfilment you may never know

As much to protect you,
I do myself.
A fear of my own finale.
Residing forever in this happy dream.
Terror realized,
contrary to that my inevitable absence—that
I might never leave you, but
that you might never leave me.
My son, I love you, and
in time you will see.
Frisk Jan 2015
every memory ends up like a kamikaze airshow,
where they end up hydroplaning on the air in
panic during the most vulnerable moments,
and the crash leaves demolition and a small
indention in the creases of my skin. my pain
is broadcasted to an audience of one, myself.
my name does not end up in the history books
nor does yours, but the pain still broadcasts
itself on the theater screen inside the crown
of my skull. it is like watching a kamikaze
airshow, where the planes are aimed towards
me. i wonder if it's just me in the planes or
if you have many different lives and it's normal
for you to die so many times and not feel pain.

- kra
Jun Lit Jun 2018
Among faded photographs piled up
in this grey-haired archive
your faces still shine like the smiling suns
that used to greet me - that little child
you called bunsô, the dawn’s speck
still in these brown eyes -
in the quiet and cold early mornings,
as I stared to the eastern skies
orange above the dearly missed Malarayat
of blues, and greens, and cones, and salakot
and as the last of the kabag bats
- guts filled with the insects of the night -
go home between our roof and ceiling,
the warmth of your call were tight hugs.

Your old picture comes alive -
like the first gulps of kapeng barako encouragements
that drained down the bullied throat of yesteryears
- the old radio broadcasts loudly the silenced tears
as the dozen hens were cackling the latest from the Beatles
and the lone rooster belts the Only You of the Platters
That time I tossed and threw far
the white grains of tattered notebooks to scatter
for the newly hatched chicks to patiently gather
Everything was an Amorsolo-replica, a summer
of joyful harvesting, harvest time, harvester . . .

Hope was the bottomless well beside the mango tree
The pig pens my palace, the chicken shed my tower of ivory
The rabbits are lords- and ladies-in-waiting
I was their prince in a kingdom that I made free
from hordes of aswang, tikbalang, kapre, dwende . . .
nothing to fear, really
but for the hairy caterpillars
hiding among the yellow confetti
of ******* trees, in the backyard
of distant day-dreaming days of dreams.

You made the noontime suns brightly lit
the roads and crossings the three little pigs
of my inner self have to trot,
for the distant future was a pack of cunning wolves
ready to devour all my mortal miscalculations,
infantile indecisions, and immature decisions,
and loud and strong they huffed, and puffed and blew
my self-esteem, whatever was left, beaten black and blue.
A hero plays mahjong, nothing really new,
as my teen life’s pages fell, no Redeemer ever knew
It was like tiles of dominoes - one after the other - on cue.

And yet at the siesta time of this human life,
your guiding photons allowed
this tired body with a ******* soul, yet beating heart
to rest, picking up each of the pieces
and the jigsaw of experiences
now make sense, a rainbow shows
as the skies emptied their jars
of tempting clouds like cotton candies
into a downpour of doubts, of tempests
of feelings of emptiness, of cyclones
of thoughts of worthlessness –
the suns were shining always
after all
behind the clouds
those clouds

In the sunsets of your lives
the rays still shone far beyond
the twilight time and in these humid tropics
your mem’ries are auroras in the darkest of my nights
even in my sleep, the dreams are video clips
always set inside that old Marauoy home
reminding me, there was that child in there, alone . . .

These days, the skies, the winds, remind me
of stormy days in the forgotten simplicity of Lipa,
you tied the windows as the gusts
threatened to grab them,
and then, the warm jackets and blankets
of your reassuring words, “we’ll be alright”
erased the traumas, blew away the fears.
reminding me, there was that child in there,
you dried his tears . . .

That child’s still here inside my decades-old heart,
like a prayerful devotee in an agnostic cathedral,
missing your hugs
longing for your cheers.
Notes on some Tagalog words used in the poem:
bunsô - youngest child
Malarayat - name of the group of mountains to the east of Lipa City in Batangas
salakot - native wide-brim hat, usually woven from palm leaves or fashioned out of hardened skin of gourds; one of the Malarayat mountains is shaped like it
kabag - small species of bats, usually the insect-eating kinds
kapeng barako - brewed native coffee, usually of the Liberica variety
aswang, tikbalang, kapre, dwende - names of feared elementals in the native folklore/mythology, respectively referring to: flying, bat-winged, half-bodied woman that eats internal organs; half-horse, transformable half-human; giant cigar-smoking male being inhabiting big, usually fig or banyan trees; dwarf or gnome
mahjong - Chinese game of tiles
siesta - midday resting time, usually for quick naps
Marauoy - old barrio (village) in Lipa City
Lipa - old town in Batangas, which became a city, the first in the province, after the second World War
Edward Coles Sep 2014
D.B
The white-noise sends him off to sleep,
a sedative pill to ensure a peaceful stay.
The nurses look on through the peep-hole
at night, and thud knuckles on the door
come morning. They are watching for signs
that he is still talking to the stars.
He claims multidimensional beings
can manifest as light,
and correct old constellations
into broadcasts for today.
As the students peer into his cell,
they scowl with concentration
and write furiously on clipboards.
'A high-functioning romantic'
he wrote in self-diagnosis,
and the pills helped with that
in the only way that they could.
He has learned to **** under observation,
a Gorilla in the leaves.
They fog the glass in fascination
at the sleeper in the cell.
Once they caught him *******.
He thought that he should put up a show.
That natural function too hard to swallow
or compress into a hand-book.
In the evening he watches
the sports-news revolve,
wishing his soda water
was something a little more severe.
By night the inner-city light pollution
near-destroys any hope of a message
The pill is slipped before
he has begun to lay his head.
He may be losing his sweet imagination,
but he happily chose sleep instead.
c
the little strong man
gives orders
to ****
    to cleanse
         to resist
he reminds
his frightened people
     of the glorious      
old
     victorious times
     and the soul of their nation

and when he is sure
     that no real news
     is shown on state-controlled TV
he broadcasts
     his rousing speeches and
     those heart-warming
patriotic
          movies
of another war
to elevate the fearful

he pretends
     not to be afraid
of laser-guided bombs
cruise missiles
stealth bombers
and unseen stratocruisers
that hit
   or almost hit
carefully selected military targets
and spare civilians

or so they say

the thought that one of my friends
   over there
might die
   as a non-selected target
because of this maniac
heats the blood in my veins
    clenches my fists
       chokes me
        with a wild
fierce
    ravenous
        cold
   ANGER
Originally composed while the Balkan war was raging about 60 miles down the road from where I live; alas, it seems to fit some contemporary situations as well...
Emma Erbach Apr 2013
Every story is a sad story.
Everything is sad.
Too many tragedies, not enough time.
They pile up on top of one another,
Clamoring for attention.
Bombing tops earthquake tops ****** tops ****—
Burying us under the weight of too many
Bodies, their cold eyes pleading
See me, hear me, remember me but

Every story is a sad story
So no one stays sad very long.
When sadness is ever-present it becomes normal.
So now we don’t even blink, just
Scroll through our newsfeeds thinking:
The world is horrible and what’s for dinner
Simultaneously. When reality is too sad
Sadness becomes a simulation, acted out
On the stage of nightly news broadcasts and
Candelight vigils, as if:
If we all just felt sad enough for long enough
That would solve anything. As if:
If we could compartmentalize our sadness into
New national holidays and moments of silence
We could stop feeling everything so sharply.
But I am running out of room in my closet for charity t-shirts.

Every story is a sad story.
I am starting to become cynical.
One child dead from a drive-by shooting is no longer newsworthy.
Give me more bodies, more pictures
of distraught mothers crying,
More suffering.
We have fought too many wars in too many places to remember
that the bombs in Boston that shut down the entire city
Are an everyday occurrence everywhere else.
Except sometimes they are our bombs.
But rarely are they our children.

Every story is a sad story.
Everything is sad.
I am not sure which is worse: constant sadness
Or no sadness;
Constant tragedy or constant denial.
I am becoming too sad to write anymore.
The world is too horrible.
What’s for dinner?

— The End —