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"castration" poems
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea. At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate. This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land. “Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment. Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement. Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused. Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control. The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed. In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
0
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
Municipal Gum
Municipal Gum was written by Oodjeroo Noonecaal. Municipal Gum is about the changes in society and the tendency of people to want to control everything. Oodjeroo uses various techniques to convey this idea. At the beginning of the poem Oodjeroo is addressing the tree. This immediately creates empathy for both the tree and her people. By the last line she has emphasised this with the pronoun “us” to show that they suffer a similar fate. This poem expresses how life in Australia has changes especially for Aboriginal people. In the first half of the poem Oodjeroo is talking about how life was for her and others. It explores the changes in society and the displacement of the Aboriginal people from their land. “Whose head hung…Its hopelessness”, the author uses this as further re-iteration of the immorality of the situation and by the use of analogy comparing the tree to her people to further emphasise the shame and lack control of that the Europeans have inflicted upon her and the environment. Oodjeroo uses extended metaphor technique in the very first line of the poem ‘Hard bitumen around your feet’. This means that the gumtree has been placed in the city scape where it is suppressed and not allowed to spread out and be unique in its own way. This is clear and immanently direct link to the pain and suffering endured by the Aborigines post European settlement. Oodjeroo uses vivid language to present these ideas. For example the use of the word castrated is very effective. The connotation of the word is very demeaning. With castration often comes a sense of a loss of pride and power. The word castration is symbolic of how Oodjeroo feels the European have treated Aboriginal people and the environment. Castration also refers to the fact that what is done is done. Nothing can undo what they did and the damaged they have caused. Other symbolism includes the title “Municipal Gum”, municipal meaning community, implies that the gumtree belongs to the community. One of the vast differences between European and Aboriginal law is that Aboriginal people did not believe in the ownership of land or of animals and plants. Municipal Gum is a reference to the Europeans assumptions that everything is theirs to own and control. The rhetorical question, “O fellow citizen, What have they done to us?” is the conclusion of the implications that have been made throughout the poem. Oodjeroo, is advocating for her people and all things wronged by the controlling behaviour of the Europeans. Rhetorical questions are used to provoke thought and to stimulate a pre-determined response. “What have they done to us?” They have “castrated, broken… strapped and buckled” and ultimately changed things to a point that they cannot be fixed. In conclusion, Municipal Gum is a poem about the constrictions and change that the European invaders forced upon the Aboriginal community and the environment she believes that the Europeans have deemed themselves ever powerful and practice their power in a manner that is immoral.
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9
I let the hate overtake me like a bull chasing a fool, my horns focused deep into your chest, my anger becomes my tool. Taking a step back I can see how much I really hurt myself, I feel so gone, am i sadistic or something far beyond and more wrong? Watching you bleed, I still feel nothing but hatred in myself so I'll peel off your face and separate you from your spine, I can feel something clinging on but its just too hard to find. Perhaps this is an act of greed or maybe i'm just a monster that needs to feed. You're so deceiving, you throw around trust just to see how long it takes to rust, you're so misleading, you laugh in the face of your creation before you give a slow castration, you deserve all the pain your receiving.
0
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
Bull Chasing A Fool
To prolong such an absence of vexatious jove Denying the will of instinct to arouse elation Self-inflicted desolation in which we all strove To create an empty shell like a fronted castration All the while being comforted by a depressing superiority As the uniqueness of our struggle blends in with conformity Yearning for our relations to meet with a tragic end Anticipating the consequence of a self-appointed woe Glorifying our character as we passionately pretend To endure an exclusive emotion that we all undergo This proclamation of individuality through insipid gloom Conveys nothing but the relative depiction of what I assume
0
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
Dominance Of Immiseration
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality, is waking up in dazed desolate imitation, that creases and crinkles euphoric principality. Blades of grass, sharp tipped spears of unreality. A chilling, a challenged negation; to lose the robust and ephemeral vitality. Spinning round the ugly formality, are snickers, unshy sneers of an evil salvation, that creases and crinkles euphoric principality. Thrilling no longer a verb, piano key pressing its precious mortality into her throbbing thrashed temple dictation. To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality. A ****** numb soul with the criticality of skeptics, chewing their lips, a dead cell castration emotional stripping, slipping into complete impromptu filtration. That creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
0
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
Depression: An Explanation
I Can barely put up with this ****** frustration that can't be cured any longer, with furious ************ it's like every one but me across this great nation has known the flesh of another, it's like mental castration to not know the taste of a woman's flesh To caress her body while fondling her ample ******* To drunkenly sup from her womanly cup Am I going to die alone? is that my plan from above? Now I know that my body is supposed to be sacred But I can just barely, just barely take it That primal instinct, that feeling deep in my bones to finally live out the ****** desires of my own The stigma that's with a guy who's the age of 18 "Ohh you're still a ****** get out there and drink lean!"
0
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
It ***** Being A ******
I'm not sure what it was about that day Perhaps the child in me wanted to play Between the Rad and the Chemo I needed to pray But I knew the pain wasn't going away I walked to the counter to ask for advice And there she was this angel in white I couldn't believe such a beautiful sight She told me "Don't worry you're going to be fine" The chills ran rampant up and down my spine She told me my life could use some direction I knew I  was in dire need of correction I long for the day to see her again But deep in my heart I know it's a sin She comes at night and visits my dreams I need her so badly I just want to scream A relationship would be purely platonic For the issue I have they tell me is chronic I'm sick and tired of all this frustration The chemo resulted in chemical castration I look to the day to see this reversed But up until then my life is a curse.
0
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
My journey with cancer
Is it infatuation combined with the new lovely scent With saturation would the hail begin to make a dent The flirtation fades with each and every hour spent The deflation sets in on our slow inevitable descent The stagnation creeps up like another month's rent As temptation calls out wondering where you went A Castration can't compare to this type of torment No frustration in the world like time"s resentment If you could only flaw less in your never ending search Go back to the drawing board or maybe even try church History repeats itself, feelings of heartbroken violence As you lay next to me breathing a beautiful soft silence She"ll never truly be free, never let down her guard Ironically we can never be, both emotionally scarred Shared memories framed by another fleeting exposure Shall never come close to providing adequate closure No matter how this ends my soul will still need a cast Smiling big as it mends, for moments lived like our last Optically delusional to the pastures of greener grass so vast Finally destined to arrive yet can"t stop longing for the past Tragically we are meant to be, only if we are actually apart Insane levels of pain tearing through the veins of my heart Today we are again away, but our time I shall forever cherish Tomorrow"s just another day without you until I finally perish
0
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
Flaw...less
You ask in a moment of affection afraid of any sort of rejection but your desperation is volcanic. Your strangled ******** mangled flesh is stressed by over handling. Blood vessels over expanding till there is a little bit Of blood in your **** and it is a little sore. You are tired of those lonely ejections, messy ejaculations that shoot up and over your head making it hard for you to *** then go to bed. Not to mention you got to be a ************ ninja in the bathroom or your bedroom hoping no one catches you. All that ****** frustration you’re facing if you knew ahead of time perhaps you would find chemical castration a more preferable option.
0
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
***** Teenage Problem
Twisted  thoughts  aren’t awful things They are my things! Great things to be exact.   I wish upon a star for blood, Blood dripping down the face of a horrible creature called a man. Wounds so deep in his chest he can’t breathe. Are my thoughts so twisted if they live inside soft lace? A spider within the lace Waiting to bite you I’ll never hurt you but I dream of hurting other people.   People who are bad, evil, who deserve punishment.   A spider within the lace. Poisonous.  Unfelt. Obscure. I crawl in and out your body.   I dream sweet dreams of castration.   Bright and brilliant A hidden world of rainbows Meadows of sweet flowers Drops of rain on ****** spring petals. I creep between love and hate, daisies and death.   heaven and hell.   A beautiful spider in the pollen of your bloom. I’d cry for you.  I’d die for you. I’ll protect you.   And I’ll leave them drowning in their blood. Eyes open.  Still.   And I’ll erase it.   And take you back to the field of flowers and the gentle rain and I will keep you safely tucked away there.   In the pasture, staring up at the sky.
0
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
Spider Personality
Application of misinformation Falsify a failed nation, Eradication of all creation Misinterpretation Of representation Deny the station Granted by occupation And the inhalation Of justification No prerequisite information Just accumulation No moderation, Their determination Through stimulation Cultural ************ Communal degradation Societal desecration, Dehumanizing revocation, Worldly humiliation, Mortal sterilization Never achieving mobilization Lack of communication Excelling in vile persuasion, Proponents of procreation Birthing digitization, Destroy civilization, Indications of adoration Isolation in delineation, Irrational indexation, Fluctuating indignation, No innovation, Divination Retaliation, Immolation, False ovation, Lacking limitations, Contextual intonation, Divine fabrication, Private publication, Evolving fornication, Give me extermination, Notwithstanding annexation Of dismaying oxidation, Of valued perpetuation, Global mass-castration, Redundant rhetoric, dictation, A donation, a dilation, a fixation, An annotation of fibrillation, We are personification Of Contamination Through globalization Praising idolization And finalization Through ********** No pragmatic exoneration, In all frustration We see not utilization Nor stabilization, Fearful implications Of wayward stations, Surplus mutilations, Seeking militarization Of worthless nations, No conservation, Just excavation Of the population ******** on education, Spitting on graduation, No validation of aspiration, Indoctrination of baptization Mitigating litigation, murdering habitation, Quelling all vegetation We will end in radiation Through faulty navigation, Abdication and abnegation, All worldly agitation Leads us to expiration, Self-made annihilation. There was never an end in sight, We’re lost, and hope is a lie.
0
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
We're Lost.
Application of misinformation Falsify a failed nation, Eradication of all creation Misinterpretation Of representation Deny the station Granted by occupation And the inhalation Of justification No prerequisite information Just accumulation No moderation, Their determination Through stimulation Cultural ************ Communal degradation Societal desecration, Dehumanizing revocation, Worldly humiliation, Mortal sterilization Never achieving mobilization Lack of communication Excelling in vile persuasion, Proponents of procreation Birthing digitization, Destroy civilization, Indications of adoration Isolation in delineation, Irrational indexation, Fluctuating indignation, No innovation, Divination Retaliation, Immolation, False ovation, Lacking limitations, Contextual intonation, Divine fabrication, Private publication, Evolving fornication, Give me extermination, Notwithstanding annexation Of dismaying oxidation, Of valued perpetuation, Global mass-castration, Redundant rhetoric, dictation, A donation, a dilation, a fixation, An annotation of fibrillation, We are personification Of Contamination Through globalization Praising idolization And finalization Through ********** No pragmatic exoneration, In all frustration We see not utilization Nor stabilization, Fearful implications Of wayward stations, Surplus mutilations, Seeking militarization Of worthless nations, No conservation, Just excavation Of the population ******** on education, Spitting on graduation, No validation of aspiration, Indoctrination of baptization Mitigating litigation, murdering habitation, Quelling all vegetation We will end in radiation Through faulty navigation, Abdication and abnegation, All worldly agitation Leads us to expiration, Self-made annihilation. There was never an end in sight, We’re lost, and hope is a lie.
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81
If I were a man I would ask out a girl just for the hell of it Because either way ive been waiting far too Long to try that restaurants grilled halibut I would sag my pants down low In any given social situation I would wake up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat Fearing that doctors castration And in the same situation I would burp real loud Because I drank too much beer Or ate too many chips And what is a man to do other than flip his own scripts and rip on other men’s trips and say, “dude you’re so gay” if I were a man I’d probably put bumpin’ speakers in My Honda civic And id bust out loud rap as I turned and whipped it In front of all the pretty girls The ones with hair curled and necklaces made of my pearls Ones I wouldn’t call back because I paid attention in math And knew the male to female ratio was 1 to 4 And that left me with 3 other girls to score But sense I am not a man And according to them I am some-what less than I’ll belt my pants suffer your ****** glance Deny you a dance and instead of implants I will wish for a transplant.
0
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
Poetry Slam, Man.
In school we learn to be Not intuitive nor ambitious Or creative even In school we learn to take Not the path with the Most vibrant colors But the flattest one. College is charged With the castration of young minds And too often we forget Just what is left behind Do I want to write this essay On the interesting or the easy
0
Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 7:55 AM UTC
Ode to Clarkson
1 The Clowns in Brussels Sprouts have sent me a notebook. Tossers. The latest thrilling instalment from ******** Creek. The Animal Events Recording Notebook — fits in your pocket, if it happens to be a school bag. A little picture on the cover Jack, the farmer, a cow and her calf. Equally gay as it is oxymoronically inaccurate. No sign of a tag on either the cow or calf. The cow has a pair of horns that would **** any animal, never mind the farmer, statistically dead. Plus, the calf’s a bit too healthy looking and the cow ain’t trying to **** the farmer either. Between the covers coloured-coded sections chronicling the animal’s progress from Foetus to Fork. 2 Though, I do thoroughly enjoy filling out those additional comment columns. De-horning Next to castrating lambs, I love this job — all-the-more if there’s a gang. The first has no idea what coming and the last wishes they weren’t. But seriously, I’d say it hurts. A lot. Castration See Revival, issue 6 P.14 — revised in Inheritance P.26 Weaning Always good for poem. I laugh from the comfort of my bed. Ye’re only halfway lads And how far along are you? They inquire back. 3 Ok, I get it. Seriously. Stop depleting the rainforests please … I have my own notebook thanks. I understand their dilemma. They fear mindsets will be inherited form the old flock, the old stock — the canners and brass tags — who never converted. It’s like auld women and the church engrained since birth and no amount of jibber-jabber will sway. So they concentrate, groom us weanling growing up in the Age of A.I.M on BETTER Farms 4 Regardless, the second you tag a calf, the cunt’ll croak. So wink, wink: so not to jinx yourself and have to write a cheque; adjust your Balance Sheet, invariably affecting your Gross Margin. I know … I know S.M.R 6, 7 and all that $*@# But it’s so cold the frost is complaining. Plus, they said on the radio: be kind leave food out for the birds. I’m just thinking of the foxes. And, if anyone asks — she never came in calf
0
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:27 PM UTC
For the record
1 The Clowns in Brussels Sprouts have sent me a notebook. Tossers. The latest thrilling instalment from ******** Creek. The Animal Events Recording Notebook — fits in your pocket, if it happens to be a school bag. A little picture on the cover Jack, the farmer, a cow and her calf. Equally gay as it is oxymoronically inaccurate. No sign of a tag on either the cow or calf. The cow has a pair of horns that would **** any animal, never mind the farmer, statistically dead. Plus, the calf’s a bit too healthy looking and the cow ain’t trying to **** the farmer either. Between the covers coloured-coded sections chronicling the animal’s progress from Foetus to Fork. 2 Though, I do thoroughly enjoy filling out those additional comment columns. De-horning Next to castrating lambs, I love this job — all-the-more if there’s a gang. The first has no idea what coming and the last wishes they weren’t. But seriously, I’d say it hurts. A lot. Castration See Revival, issue 6 P.14 — revised in Inheritance P.26 Weaning Always good for poem. I laugh from the comfort of my bed. Ye’re only halfway lads And how far along are you? They inquire back. 3 Ok, I get it. Seriously. Stop depleting the rainforests please … I have my own notebook thanks. I understand their dilemma. They fear mindsets will be inherited form the old flock, the old stock — the canners and brass tags — who never converted. It’s like auld women and the church engrained since birth and no amount of jibber-jabber will sway. So they concentrate, groom us weanling growing up in the Age of A.I.M on BETTER Farms 4 Regardless, the second you tag a calf, the cunt’ll croak. So wink, wink: so not to jinx yourself and have to write a cheque; adjust your Balance Sheet, invariably affecting your Gross Margin. I know … I know S.M.R 6, 7 and all that $*@# But it’s so cold the frost is complaining. Plus, they said on the radio: be kind leave food out for the birds. I’m just thinking of the foxes. And, if anyone asks — she never came in calf
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70
Our prez is now Donald J Trump Who has promised to clean out the sump       Well he's certainly no wussy       When groping a ***** What more to expect from a gump? In charge of the Vice, Michael Pence Said some things that embrace little sense,        "Global warming's a myth"        But's now taking the fifth In attempting to straddle the fence We all recall general Flynn Put in charge of security spin       A trained atomiser       No more Trump's advisor - His deal with the devil's his sin The billionaire Betsy Devos Making plans for a school albatross       Hating free education       Backs private castration And kids will be bearing her Cross. The Congress approved Jeff B. Sessions Ignoring his racist obsessions       He seemingly cares       More for foreign affairs While forgiving Klan's toxic transgressions. Chief strategist Stephen K. Bannon Develops the Great Again Canon:       The Goldman Sachs Bankster       Turned yellow rag gangster Flings crap from the New Order cannon Says EPA ruler Scott Pruitt "Instead of dry facts, we intuit..."       (His work as denier       Keeps profits much higher) "... If everything dies, well, just ***** it" The war whoops of Mad Doggy Mattis Awaken the death apparatus       With boundless expense       For a doomsday defence - Armageddon administered gratis The magnates no longer need lobby Or fight regulations thought snobby -        Now set in the saddle       They're herding the cattle And pulling the strings as a hobby Now the Don can start wielding the axes Truncating the tariffs and taxes       The Mafia boss       Is dismissing the dross And poverty's pain as it waxes
0
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
Lotsa Limericks ... Politicians Per Verse
Our prez is now Donald J Trump Who has promised to clean out the sump       Well he's certainly no wussy       When groping a ***** What more to expect from a gump? In charge of the Vice, Michael Pence Said some things that embrace little sense,        "Global warming's a myth"        But's now taking the fifth In attempting to straddle the fence We all recall general Flynn Put in charge of security spin       A trained atomiser       No more Trump's advisor - His deal with the devil's his sin The billionaire Betsy Devos Making plans for a school albatross       Hating free education       Backs private castration And kids will be bearing her Cross. The Congress approved Jeff B. Sessions Ignoring his racist obsessions       He seemingly cares       More for foreign affairs While forgiving Klan's toxic transgressions. Chief strategist Stephen K. Bannon Develops the Great Again Canon:       The Goldman Sachs Bankster       Turned yellow rag gangster Flings crap from the New Order cannon Says EPA ruler Scott Pruitt "Instead of dry facts, we intuit..."       (His work as denier       Keeps profits much higher) "... If everything dies, well, just ***** it" The war whoops of Mad Doggy Mattis Awaken the death apparatus       With boundless expense       For a doomsday defence - Armageddon administered gratis The magnates no longer need lobby Or fight regulations thought snobby -        Now set in the saddle       They're herding the cattle And pulling the strings as a hobby Now the Don can start wielding the axes Truncating the tariffs and taxes       The Mafia boss       Is dismissing the dross And poverty's pain as it waxes
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50
Accepting brute fact would permit a sad self-induced mental castration.
0
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
Wonderlust
*oi! Bronson! **** ya matey! i'm a sardine oiled up! that paddy is gonna hang like a dog on a serpentine of a leash's worth of walkies... that paddy's gonna hang and ask for the relay gun at the Olympics going off... paddy was never the bricklayer... paddy always gangrene flex, got lucky in Arizona and New York, forked St. Petersburg and only forked a steak nibble... Bronson settled into retirement just fine, came out a ******* act-tor! pepper the bobby with parking meter fines for his bureaucratic funfair study... sooner or later Jimmy the literate will turn up, and replace Bob the illiterate swine cuffing someone ******* in an alley.* oh, i'd probably become an english teacher and sing fuck-yeah when the drone army of Amazon couriers fed us the next 21 hour trip in defence against the Koran... so i guess ha ha is in order. and with every mythical Mrs., you tell 'em about the castration in the synagogue, and never about the baritone in the morgue.
0
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
Bronson
*it's just a selfie... don't forget my face is mandible and is non-representative of whatever idealism you have of dundee / glasgow. you ever noticed it's only paris that's mentioned in 20th century classic literature? oi! **** why not oslo schweggenladder stockholm or edinbrugh? so 20th century of you to mention any place south of london.* when i hear modern poets wheeze and ooh and ah and climb the everest... i think of the bee gees or michael jackson, not one wrote the illiad... but it’s still memorised - what’s the point... poetry begins with the thought: i can rhyme bling with bee sting... **** i’m in! heave of relief interlude with abba’s super trouper in the background to breivik’s slaughter... now that’s taking satire to the extreme of absurdism: you know that french thinking movement that changed hammering a nail in with the elbow rather than the hammer. ‘orchestra!’ ‘ yes maestro?!’ ‘play me the divination of vivaldi in #strauss for winter!’ ‘yes maestro!’ ‘ah the autumnal leaf waltz via psychadelia of femininity given to the beast of feminism of lost ego, what splendour... and the reindeer, ah... it’s only missing the alcohbolic reindeer of the puffed-up cheeks and red noses of burst veins to hue the canvas of red with streaks of blue.’ as benny hill said... it’s not called black english humour for reasons that might suggest it was the oxford rowing team losing against h.m.s. belfast that made the cambridge rowing team sing the chritmas carols in halloween costumes: the wise pumpkin, skeleton and hybrid tarantula sang in soprano: the shepherds put on castrato opera for a reason that became apparent with roman authorities despising celibacy but turning quiet fond of castration for the pope's opera: plus the **** orgams sounded more feminine with guilottined ********
0
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC
maestro!
*it's just a selfie... don't forget my face is mandible and is non-representative of whatever idealism you have of dundee / glasgow. you ever noticed it's only paris that's mentioned in 20th century classic literature? oi! **** why not oslo schweggenladder stockholm or edinbrugh? so 20th century of you to mention any place south of london.* when i hear modern poets wheeze and ooh and ah and climb the everest... i think of the bee gees or michael jackson, not one wrote the illiad... but it’s still memorised - what’s the point... poetry begins with the thought: i can rhyme bling with bee sting... **** i’m in! heave of relief interlude with abba’s super trouper in the background to breivik’s slaughter... now that’s taking satire to the extreme of absurdism: you know that french thinking movement that changed hammering a nail in with the elbow rather than the hammer. ‘orchestra!’ ‘ yes maestro?!’ ‘play me the divination of vivaldi in #strauss for winter!’ ‘yes maestro!’ ‘ah the autumnal leaf waltz via psychadelia of femininity given to the beast of feminism of lost ego, what splendour... and the reindeer, ah... it’s only missing the alcohbolic reindeer of the puffed-up cheeks and red noses of burst veins to hue the canvas of red with streaks of blue.’ as benny hill said... it’s not called black english humour for reasons that might suggest it was the oxford rowing team losing against h.m.s. belfast that made the cambridge rowing team sing the chritmas carols in halloween costumes: the wise pumpkin, skeleton and hybrid tarantula sang in soprano: the shepherds put on castrato opera for a reason that became apparent with roman authorities despising celibacy but turning quiet fond of castration for the pope's opera: plus the **** orgams sounded more feminine with guilottined ********
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33
Flushed red from the anger of the situation. The blade pressed into your neck, shaking with anticipation. Should I cut your lips, or just go straight for castration. Don’t beg, sadly there can be no negotiation. I can’t feel it, but I can see it. The knife in my back, Words form perfectly in my mind, but my mouth hangs slack. I can’t cry, yes I have tried. I should probably cut this short, all because you lied.
0
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
all that's left is anger.
walking through artificial American Dream where the air tastes like $100 shirts and the fraternity of extravagance the light shines through the perfectly spaced trees to turn everything filigree and all of the people walking tall and confident like plastic action figures of success the silver spoon tastes bitter when it’s been in someone else’s mouth just like the $30 dollar entrees and the four story department stores these people are not my people my people sport scars which they wear like tattoos my people sport second hand cars with junked up speakers A ferrari engine sounds like a the cries of every young kid who falls into ghetto trappings of big dreams gone unmatched and even the homeless people were eating ribs drinking starbucks with cups filled with ten dollar bills the prestige drips down the wall like fresh spray paint to drip into storm drains where diversity goes to die this alien land of hostile takeovers and university donors where the **** is non-existent but ******* cirroc, and xanax flow freely chemical castration of the lazy philosopher an injection of man made ambition where the hands on the Rolex keep tight around throats because being late to that meeting is no option Children being driven around by chauffeurs in Bentleys women being driven by the promise of security I think to myself I’ll never see the benefit in the scheme which leads to El Dorado and Atlantis is just a myth maybe I just bleed the black and Gold and Richmond like the ink dripping off my hungry fangs to see the benefits of injecting a syringe of Hoya blue liquid sapphire to get so high that I lose sight of the ground forever
0
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
Hoya Blues
walking through artificial American Dream where the air tastes like $100 shirts and the fraternity of extravagance the light shines through the perfectly spaced trees to turn everything filigree and all of the people walking tall and confident like plastic action figures of success the silver spoon tastes bitter when it’s been in someone else’s mouth just like the $30 dollar entrees and the four story department stores these people are not my people my people sport scars which they wear like tattoos my people sport second hand cars with junked up speakers A ferrari engine sounds like a the cries of every young kid who falls into ghetto trappings of big dreams gone unmatched and even the homeless people were eating ribs drinking starbucks with cups filled with ten dollar bills the prestige drips down the wall like fresh spray paint to drip into storm drains where diversity goes to die this alien land of hostile takeovers and university donors where the **** is non-existent but ******* cirroc, and xanax flow freely chemical castration of the lazy philosopher an injection of man made ambition where the hands on the Rolex keep tight around throats because being late to that meeting is no option Children being driven around by chauffeurs in Bentleys women being driven by the promise of security I think to myself I’ll never see the benefit in the scheme which leads to El Dorado and Atlantis is just a myth maybe I just bleed the black and Gold and Richmond like the ink dripping off my hungry fangs to see the benefits of injecting a syringe of Hoya blue liquid sapphire to get so high that I lose sight of the ground forever
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mazes of fire and ice mazes of notes and letters on pages or dreams re-written at pages seams slip the triple disked knife and plow through the world vision seen as a prisoners gun using mental capacity to over rule mental castration , take the blue pill NEMO!!!! and swim - in the all pervading ( surrounding ) magnitude forces of universes glow - making possible all to be known. . stalling into the oceans 78654610978893836485048262537859694826284949505958585575674652424242416112 Binary code is the internets verse throwing up pages and screens that look nothing like numbers but are in actual fact the elephant in the room a magnitude of worlds - exist on inter fabricated planes plane 1 - 'real life' plane 2- macro cosmic plane 3 - micro cosmos plane 4- number plane ( this is the binary code ) Plane 5 - mental world plane 6- dream world sixteen dimensions further than christian or Buddhist invention but a plethora of random incidents that seem to have a pattern that sinks deeper into oceans magnificence arn't we all fishes ? arn't we all snowballs? aren't we all just culminations of distractions dissertations born and thinking well maybe we should do something now we are here....
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Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
Wolfy.
Castration of inward vibrations reverberates through these impetuous echo halls Catapult cadavers over scrupulous formalities I choke on every word I hold Let us baptize our divine ineptitude in a mortar of glorious lore Most of them are oblivious to the revelation of rushing thunder Dripping needles, perfidious servitude teetering on the precipice of war
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Jun 19, 2021
Jun 19, 2021 at 4:35 AM UTC
Dripping Needles
( • ) ~~~ ^^^ ~~~ TROLL : ( one who tries to control the narrative and bend it toward some desired end ---- destructive for the naive reader / most often used to describe implanted government operatives ) •• VULTURES : Feeding off youthful innocence and uncertainty •• Most of the poets here seem to be TROLLS // The debasement of youth sexuality is no accident ! •• The image of STALKING the ****** object In order to capture them and control their emotions And to deny them their FREEDOM THIS IS A PURPOSEFUL PLAN To weaken the nation by driving its children Into confusion To turn the sexes against each other To destroy all future families And all possibilities of a united front Against the fraud and criminality of our Poisonous leaders ! THIS IS NO ACCIDENT! These are not poets ! These are TROLLS ! • Read them carefully Their techniques are subliminal But become obvious • Oh They SOUND like they are kids too ! • They SOUND like they are HURT BROKEN etc But underlying it all is HURRY HURRY DO IT HURRY HURRY BE LIKE US ! SO ADULT LIKE IN OUR EXPERIENCE ! ( TROLLS ! ) //// They teach that if you OPEN YOURSELVES ( note the violent imagery ) Allows you the status of VICTIM allows you the option of VIOLENT REVENGE • And in a way reminiscent of our adult torture culture With threats of DISMEMBERMENT CASTRATION Etc Not only for the LOVED ONE (sic ) But for FAMILY and FRIENDS ! ///// And all this described as a NATURAL COMPONENT OF LOVE !! •• TROLLS !! //:// Here to destroy you To destroy the nation's Youth to forever make you unable to truly love at all ! // TROLLS ! Promoters of EVIL ! Agents of Alien Entities ! Disguised amongst us as poets ! /:/ To rip you up and spit you out as good as dead
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Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
Trolls
( • ) ~~~ ^^^ ~~~ TROLL : ( one who tries to control the narrative and bend it toward some desired end ---- destructive for the naive reader / most often used to describe implanted government operatives ) •• VULTURES : Feeding off youthful innocence and uncertainty •• Most of the poets here seem to be TROLLS // The debasement of youth sexuality is no accident ! •• The image of STALKING the ****** object In order to capture them and control their emotions And to deny them their FREEDOM THIS IS A PURPOSEFUL PLAN To weaken the nation by driving its children Into confusion To turn the sexes against each other To destroy all future families And all possibilities of a united front Against the fraud and criminality of our Poisonous leaders ! THIS IS NO ACCIDENT! These are not poets ! These are TROLLS ! • Read them carefully Their techniques are subliminal But become obvious • Oh They SOUND like they are kids too ! • They SOUND like they are HURT BROKEN etc But underlying it all is HURRY HURRY DO IT HURRY HURRY BE LIKE US ! SO ADULT LIKE IN OUR EXPERIENCE ! ( TROLLS ! ) //// They teach that if you OPEN YOURSELVES ( note the violent imagery ) Allows you the status of VICTIM allows you the option of VIOLENT REVENGE • And in a way reminiscent of our adult torture culture With threats of DISMEMBERMENT CASTRATION Etc Not only for the LOVED ONE (sic ) But for FAMILY and FRIENDS ! ///// And all this described as a NATURAL COMPONENT OF LOVE !! •• TROLLS !! //:// Here to destroy you To destroy the nation's Youth to forever make you unable to truly love at all ! // TROLLS ! Promoters of EVIL ! Agents of Alien Entities ! Disguised amongst us as poets ! /:/ To rip you up and spit you out as good as dead
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