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D Awanis Apr 2017
She has lost count on how many nights she spent alone,
spoiling her thoughts while sipping her whiskey at the balcony
looking at the stars and the moon with intimate longing,
and wishing to be one of them as if she was one, once

They say that to live is the rarest thing in the world,
as for her, life is always a puzzle with one missing piece,
an endless labyrinth with no way out, let alone the dead end
an unsolved riddles with no absolute clues, let alone the answer

Sometimes at times like tonight, she'd let her mind wander
to streets she has never walked before and people she has never met,
with language she barely understands nor familiar with,
thinking maybe solitude is not a bliss after all—it's an agony
Hisham Alshaikh Jul 2018
I will be honest like every time or at least most of the time
I do not even know where to start or begin

I rather to say I do not know where this journey would end
The graveyard or the warm heaven’s arms

I still do not know if I want to fight and hold my weapon high
I am still wounded from some of previous fights

I am currently kneeling with my sword exhausted and tired
On my knees scarred because of battles only god knows

I’ve a feeling that I want to stand up with my sword raised up high
Turning obstacles and differences into triumphs

What a strange feeling I get when we are even a little apart
A feeling that motivates me to pick this novel fight

Not sure if I’m trying to build a one-sided bridge between hearts
A bridge with destination of nothing but a pool of fire

Everyday I wish for hints, clues or whatever helps
I just need to know that this is not just a vacation’s play, cause I'll pay

There will be no hurt feelings every journey has it own lessons
Things that need to be known in the beginning of every such journey
laura Jul 2018
stone cold killa
knockin' fellas off
they feet, ****** on the bay
writing poetry and
pushing bodies in the lake

she's a killa, man
get off on false promises
of commitment
no 5-o's, no weapon clues
no witness

i'm dead broke
i'm her next target
spending money on happiness
a poem like a wandering outlaw
us, causing sinister stares under the sunset
pitch black god8 Aug 2018
~a question of a thousand dreams~^

“Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness?  Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see”

this one composes itself
for all dreams go unremembered
the first, the thousandth, the  every in between,
erased by the push button of opening eyes

but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel
the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an
unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen

these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting,
leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come
in black and white

elementary clues,
a pillow indentation,
single hair that stretches
across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red  
but
certainly unmine,  
dregs of soured sentiment linger like the
aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers

heated summers breezes give no succor or relief,
and the rain following gives no pleasure,
for now you are hot and soaked,

but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed,
and eyes widening in major league surprise,
the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted  

she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she
provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair,
and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain,
and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated

and what you do and what you see
is the abraded night ahead, and
you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think,
the question answered, and you beg relief by
uttering
perchance to dream

3:49 pm

see the notes!!


someone accuses me of Plagiarism
because  I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago

so here is my response to
“just saying”

congratulations on ******* me off
and yes I agree, you do not know the rules

“#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim
Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume  that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“

http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
lyric  from “Carry On”
by Crosby Stills Nash and Young

which is why it is in quotation marks

but you knew that already

my god strikes me dead ic I ever plagiarized in my life; no splotches of apologies needed
Seth Keplinger Jul 2018
I keep pretending I'm alone.
Even after losing my seat
to her new prince.

it's spellbinding,  
enough to make my dog wince.

I still love the sad songs her puppy dog eyes dispense.
it was never her truth, per usual;
per his glimpse,
into the future of my demise.
I pretend to appreciate the gent in the white coat.
A self diagnosis wouldn't compromise
my vulnerability.  
Don't, she won't, undermine my competency
it lends itself to my daily routine,
I self prescribe with perplexing potency
and abide
an unprecedented golden rule.
This wasn't preconditioned,
not an act of repetition.
Like Pavlov's shepherd
I implore and drool.  

I pretend its a new found happiness.
it's for the birds
and deveivers
I believe it's for the ignorant
the boring
the people with white picket fences
and golden retrievers.
Beware of the conformist
the ones who did well on geometry tests
their smile so luminous  
like diamonds between her *******.


I'm a lose leaf in autumns first frost
hanging on the edge of winters righteous freeze.
the shackled, the .22,
let it be me.  
I'm a warning sign, Cuba 1963;
Why's the gent in the white coat swinging that Triangle hammer at my knees?
I can barely sleep as it is
from this dusty room
I garner for clues inauspiciously
the obtuse path back to the life i once lived,
obstructed by the 4 seasons, the 4 reasons, the 4 walls,
the 4 grains in this whiskey.

Life outside of her box is a bargain.
Before the flies, where my heart lies;
her highfalutin jargon.
Coping with this void gives me nightmares.
joe and daydreams, I
anxiously begin to slur.
I wish he'd stop cutting his pen through the air,
reminds me of my geometry teacher,
lecturing vicariously through a sorcerer
maybe the boring one's preacher?
everyone in this coffee house likes to stare.
ThePoet Oct 2015
If only there could have been
Some type of an in-between
That could take me for awhile
To a place that I've never seen

It's not that I want to come
It's just I don't want to go
It's not that I want a high
It's just I don't want a low

I don't want myself without
But I don't want myself within
I don't want to commit the good
But I don't want to commit a sin 

It's not that I want to win
It's just I don't want to lose
It's not that I want a mystery
It's just I don't want the clues

I don't want to say hello 
But I don't want to say goodbye
I don't want myself to live
But I don't want myself to die

If only there could have been
Some type of an in-between
That could take me for awhile
To a place that I've never seen
ryn Feb 2015
How many more Valentine's
How many more birthdays
How many more New Year's
How many more of tomorrow's rays

How much more strength
How much more perseverance
How much more fortitude
How much more despondence

How many more circles
How many more misleading clues
How many more loops
How many more déjà vus

How much more sadness
How much more to be paid
How much more discomfort
How much more to be laid

How many more questions
How much more time
How many more answers
How much more must I rhyme

How many more roses
How many more seasons
How many more Valentine's
How much more to achieve balance
Mara Jul 2018
Send me hope
And dead roses

Wake me up when the sun is rising
and never let me sleep alone

We use to be static sounds
I'm so happy we came around

All I heard was white noise
draining down the plastic feeling

Told me you knew how I was feeling

I want to be your friend first
I want to hear your truth
Melt away the lies

I'll give you love letters
and a smile

I'll give you my head for a while
P E Kaplan Apr 2014
First I spied the neck, sagging innocently enough,
one might even say blissfully, reflected in the glass laptop.
The phrase "whodunit" came out of nowhere,
and a low, silky, voice whispered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The villain left a few clues; the wispy hair strands;
some scattered age spots, skin tags, a few moles,
listless, crinkly, skin pale, lightly pimpled,
and a weird, wrinkly crevasse teased,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

Totally hooked, curiosity piqued; southward I spotted
where a once perky treasure "chest" was hidden,
two solemn, half-empty grain sacks, laying sideways,
basically lifeless they lazily muttered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The final chapter, the mystery solved,
no crime, no villain, nothing stolen, just flesh alchemy.
Where once a taut, flat, plateau of supple skin, resided
now a lumpy, bumpy, flabby belly, murmured sweetly,
"Boston Creme Pie and a cup of tea would hit the spot."
Short-Termed Maiden of one's Friendship's expect
Then blast my Will to incapacitate
For sharing those Clouds; Though rained your affect
Were twisted to Pure Actions constipate
Just weakened I am to even advise
Why such Hallowed Plug pulled this New Sparkle
If Profile be cased and just inconcise
Ask the Author first if you be Humble
Though such Clues do bear, un-needed to Probe
If my Key was too Foreign for your Door
I suppose, like his Age, you chose that Road
Where Blokes just party and stomp on the floor.
The Korean was right; His Dance we can learn
Though never again your Trust I can earn.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Michael Aug 2018
The spirit world has spoken
In a dream a consciousness awoken
"Take my hands" says Granny Draughn
They are your hands and will be strong
And the one (of two) feathers you've seen
Is the wisdom gained from where you've been
And where you are going is the second one
It is wisdom to get to a place you've yet come
Rest child you've paid your dues
Wait on tomorrow it'll reveal new clues
to the women I have loved (who longs to be a little girl), and her dreams and odd occurrences about her (3X) great Granny Draughn. It wasn't my intention but the shape of the poem is an arrowhead (LOL); Copyright 2018
CK Baker Nov 2017
Written by Drew Arnott

You're on your own and meet a friend
Who doesn't **** but wounds for life
The sun blinds you through the trees
While watching clues fall from the skies

And she smiles

At the point of a knife
You never see anyone
How the strong will survive
At the end of a gun

We run

Frozen smiles for men returned
They never even left this place
She kissed me softly on the cheek
And a shadow cut across her face

And she smiled

I walked for miles and miles to the sea
I know you never tried to deceive
This lyric was written by Drew Arnott (Strange Advance).  I contacted Drew and asked if I could share on HP.

He agreed, and voila!

What a wonderful piece!
Morning Jan 2018
My problem is that I don't follow my intuition, even though it always comes to fruition.
It took me some time to really you down. You had my head spinning, round and round.
Ignoring the clues and the giant red flags. I still blame myself for everything you did that was bad.
I trusted you with secrets, bit by bit. Was it all just too much for you? So, you had to split?
Why should I feel guilty for being ignored? I'm the only one wondering, should I have done more.
But that's the whole point of your fun and games. You emotionally strung me along like I was shackled in chains.  
How many times have I apologized, for you hurting me because you're emotionally desensitized?
for you
Sharon Talbot Aug 2018
Fingerprints and fibers,
Accumulated talk,
Whispers in the corners,
Bodies demarcated in chalk
On the marble courtroom stairs.
His misery became a pall.
With mourning signs in splattered pairs,
Red flowers on the wall.

All that he had left behind was grief
And powerless rage,
A Tansu chest in high relief,
A coiled brass clock fatigued with age.

Retreating to a white house in Simrishamn,
He’d walk his dog along the shore,
Find sterile clues amongst the sands,
And travel a ferry between two lands.

And now: An experiment! Blame Google Translate for this weird (?) Swedish translation: Please tell me if this is a bad translation!

Fingeravtryck och fibrer,
Ackumulerat samtal,
Viskar i hörnen,
Kroppar avgränsad i krita
På marmor rättssal trappor.
Hans elände blev en pall.
Med sorgsignaler i splatterade par,
Röda blommor på väggen.

Allt som han hade lämnat var sorg
Och maktlös raseri,
En Tansu bröst i hög lättnad,
En spolad mässingsklocka utmanad med åldern.

Att återvända till ett vitt hus i Simrishamn,
Han skulle gå sin hund längs stranden,
Hitta sterila ledtrådar bland sandarna,
Based on the show and novels of Henning Mankell, "Wallander", an existential, chronically depressed detective from Ystad, Sweden, is unable to leave his police work at the office. He alienates everyone and loses anyone who gets close. In the end, he is left burdened with Alzheimer's and tragic memories.

Och resa en färja mellan två länder.
Baserat på showen och romanen Henning Mankell, "Wallander", kan en existentiell kronisk deprimerad detektiv från Ystad, Sverige, inte lämna sitt polisarbete på kontoret. Han alieniserar alla och förlorar den som kommer nära. Till sist lämnas han av Alzheimers och tragiska minnen.
Big Virge Feb 2015
Do you ever ... " Find " ... ?
that words ... sometimes ...
keep on running ...
through your mind ...

Sometimes ...
My Rhymes and Words
are ... STUNNING ... !!!!!

These days ... I find ...
My ... " Word Designs " ...
" Refine " ... and dine ...
just like ... " Fine Wine " ... !!!

So ....
Here's ... A few ...
to give you ... clues ...
as to ... some of the ways ...
My wordplay ... moves ...

Wordplay just ... RIDICULOUS ... !!!
Volume ... Straight Up ... INFINITE ... !!!

Inception is ... SYNONYMOUS ...
with Big Virge ... " The " ... EPONYMOUS ... !!!

Conception ... NOT ... INGLORIOUS ... !!!
******* ... " Nope " ... ERRONEOUS ... !!!

My use of verse is ... GLORIOUS ... !!!
In fact it's ... MERITORIOUS ... !!!

because it's ... "TIGHT" ...
NOT ... Porous ...

Chorus ... NO ... !!!
because it flows
and has ... NO PLACE ...
on ... " Talent Shows " ... !!!

TALENT ... Whoooooaaaaa ....

You'd ... BETTER KNOW ... !!!

What I construct ...
may ... one day ... BLOW ... !!!

A hole in all these ...
shows for ... " **'s " ...  

" Prostitution " ... NO ... !!!
NOT ... how I roll ... !!! ...

Talking of those ...
NO TIME ... for Coc' ...
or YES ... ******* ...
because my nose ...
Does Not ... house notes ...
where air should flow ... !!!

Flows ... I got those ... !!!
Quotes that ... " Rock Boats " ... !!!

Races Places ...
So Many Faces ...
Sometimes my mind ...
DEFINES ... INVASIVE ... !!!!!!

Wait ................................... ..........

I'm just ... " Playing " ... !!!
and ..... Relaying .....
words of verse ...
from the thought of ...

... BIG VIRGE ... !!!

My head ... IT HURTS ... !!!
just like ... MY ARM ... !!!
because I write ...
like those who ... fight ...
and wear the garms' ...
of those who choose to ...
YES ... Bear arms ... !!! ...

Violent ... Naaaaahhhh .... !!!!!

Big Virge is ... calm ..........................

I'd rather ... " Charm " ...
But ... Please Be Smart ...
before my words ...
get in ... Your Claaat' ... !!!!!
or your ... " Rasshole " ... !!!!!

Am I Bajan ... NO ... !!!
But ... Here's the quote ...

I'm English born ...
So ... know of ... Their Scorn ... !!!

But am now ... REBORN ... !!!
with ... " Caribbean Views " ...
just down the road ...
from my ... New Bedroom ...
On ... Bajan' Shores ...
NOT COLD ... but ... " Warm " ... !!!

I'm ... HAPPIER NOW ... !!!!!
that ... I have found ...
A place for myself ...
on my ... " Parents' Ground " ... !!!

Africa ... " Next " ... ???
Well ... More or Less ...

So much of this world ...
I haven't seen yet ... !!!!!!!!!

Girls ... that's where  ...
This poem ... ends ...

SO MANY ... " Look Fine " ...
but I just ... Can't Find ...
one who's down ...
to ... " FOOL AROUND " ...

With ... The Man ...
..... BIG VIRGE ....

The ... " Connoisseur " ...
of .... Spoken Words .... !!!

I guess that's why ...
I write ... These Rhymes ...
and ... Put in Verse ...

Words that ... " Traverse " ......

That I now find ...

" Run Through My Mind " .....
Literally, words just started, running through my mind, and these ended up being what came of them .....
Tommy Randell Oct 2017
I know you've made a list of me
A balance sheet of sorts
That adds up all the numbers
Into a reckoning of faults
But what use is a spreadsheet
On this cold grey Monday morning
When the bedroom smells of night farts
And there's a recognition dawning
That this one night stand is over
That we both need to get out of here
That whichever one of us slept over
Had better get their **** in gear

Do it slowly find the bathroom
Make some noises, work the clues
Whose flat is it yours or mine?
Take some time to think it through
Give your self a moment to yourself
To play the script out on this drama
Don't be embarrassed, flash the flesh
Get the smile on like the Dalai Lama
We had a **** nobody died
It was probably fun if we could remember
Whether our scores are High or Low
Or even if we are different gender …

+tmy+ 14th October 2017
Just one of those Bi-Moments in Life ... Might have dreamed it, Might have lived it ... it's 30 years ago ***
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Drunk, we staggered home.

Aware of having been
some
other where
a while

That woman, she could answer

any question rebbi axt,
Ohhhhmyyy

she laugh and say, Dude, I got the Intent-net,
in my hand

That's more than a list of numbers, this
accounting idle words going on, on going, as fast as

lightning, at the scale, of, say

cat-ions ifiying an-ions
at random,
seen systematical, from a distance
zoom out
at the scale, of, say
Great Deep Field.

Center you, I'm no matter.

synchro
now

zoom out
Use that steam program
Universe Sandbox,
you gotta see that to imagine this, right,

and next is what you keep saying is unbelievable,
but its not.

Good things come to them
to whom
good makes more sense.

Earth from the moon POV

Confusion flux, spurtual,  caused by the solar flare of all solar flares,
one side

Whooshing the Ice left from Patton's flood
into steam, the stuff, not the app,

which swooshhhesssssssssss smack
into the freezing repurcussions
from the daark side…

The Noah event, that was bad,
This one, the last one, this just previous one,

was spiritual. Magnitudes incomparable
(save in parable and example, exemplar gratis,
says the bodiless being, with a roll of  my wrist and a bow)

At that very time on the side away from the flare,
the daark side of the planet, this one…

a Donald Patton nitrogen snow ball
that nearly breached Roche's limit,

too not nearly enough,
dis -integration
The atmosphere freezes
to the quark level, snap,

the cold
explosive
forward momentum
booms a nitrogen bubble now
minusminusminus
solid nitrogen
melting

any heat locked in flare fired steam,
what was once the water
that washed away the gods and locked their cities
of ivory under the ice

on the sunny side,
where now, then,

a solar flare like legends build empires upon
has passed, fires rage

there were survivors who lived to tell

and old stories never die. Old story tellers do,

Only miners survived, gold digger mostly,
few alchemists who knew the mystery in mercury,
Lost was all knowing but to a very few,
who truth be told had been the owner's
well kept servants, ministers of this and that
they perished with all the fires touched

we diggers, we only marvel

How bits of time, exact as ours, can be seen happening
all in bubble of Mercury. Cooked out red rock like these.

"Blood o' the gods of old, swat I'astold."

Messages from the gods, grandma, said, "Mercury calls for gold, gold listens, when fire's hottern fire can be,
unless
the breath of men blow on the coals", we all said that last part and blew out the light. G'night


but a story told a wee bit here a qubit there
here a little, there a little
line upon line,
precept upon precept,

'cept no body knows what I know about cept,

capere, a story starts, a provisioning tale. Wait.

it means grip. like a tool. rock breaks nut.

Paper covers rock, but scissors are so far in the future
that now, my time, my mind wanders after whys

this authoritative telling of the story, in it,
none know the terminal tale.

As in times past, there were survivors who lived to tell

and old stories never die. Old story tellers do,

Tho' here's a clue.
Meek's not bad,
stupid, for no reason, is.

Living long for the sake of a song heard once,
in dream luring me on, promising right now, I'll

know what it's like to see, oh

POV I made this clear some time ago,
time is less predictable than any imagined, before 2018
when, you know…

Even those tales old drunk Hesiod sold
in the Hittite tavern at Delphi,

Chronos thought wrong in those,
he ruled but for the merest gleam o'

Time, then a bubble gen erated by the thought of
opposition to transition,
nothing to something,
pushing /pushing back
stretch/snap/spark
that takes power, pulsing power, throbbing power

push/stretch
glow/snap
you know, imagine, glowing - cheat, think 2018 CG
glow/snap
Planc time,
each time the bubble pushes back
a ripple
imagine a clock, later, if you believe then, you must.

Now, see the bubble of all men have imagined,
since the time when such a bubble was only evil,
continually.

It went viral.
Noah we know for sure, almost, survived, ? Cushites kept records. In Africa.
Akkad kept record, too.
Some Hopi survived somehow and they have a tale.

They say they know the story is ten thousand years old,
I've been to a crossroads
on their journey,
stories
tell of it, still, today.

Holy means marked for good reason.
Marked with clues, not riddles, maps

Sacred means secret means hidden away for use,
not common, every day, quotidian use, right use.

Time, the opposing force, is precious to us all.
In time, we do all we can and die,

in ever, we expand, in no time at all. I imagine.

You fill it. Now, Your expandable mind's time,

time pushes from the outside,
wisdom pushes from the inside,

And so it goes, life goes on and music grows on ya,

Amusing how they do that, teeny muses dancing
shiva on the tip of my tongue,

singings songs in tongues I've never known
if they
are words on tongues
or sounds on tongues,

notes,

Baysian Binary Cross Validation
still ends with some people thinkin'
"it is finished" left them with a ton o'weight,
that's wrong, insist resistance.

Some, heavy duty, leaders of lambs, they claim
power in their mouths, spoken from fixed hearts,

but fixed upon, is truly the song,
said, words are only
little bits of whole sym ulacrum of re-ify-ing

where broken things re-pair, and life goes on…

"fixed, my heart is fixed",
no, your heart is machine of the most magnificent design, perfected,
a time at a time.
Flexing, pacing time itself, faster slower,

try some time
alone
be still, pond still

I know the story broke,
I could not hold it.

In the night, bitter cold
Frozen fragile...

There are pieces scattered every

where, everywhere
there is time, there is at least, a point

a story may stand upon and ask an angel
to dance.
Dance, give it some flare, what do we care?

Nobody's watching, but that fly.
This is read, by me at http://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton
Life is good at my house, thankyou. A reader is needed more than words can tell. My posts are a book now, few stand solidly on their own. Thank you if you spend your time perusing them please tell me where I muddy the flow, or break the story.
Welcome home.

this show
is like compassion .

I’m
the high king
of hiking ...........

flows indigo
like companion

understanding
this is everlasting
even so I seem to be crashin'

I’m out the hell hole but listen
I still hear the bell toll
**** sings wisdom


̥̫̩̩͓̘ͫ̒̒̊͡Aͦ̄̕P̸̰̅ͣ̎͛P̰̪̆ͨ͝L̠̖̭̣͋ͩͦ̌ͦ̐̓͟Y͖̻̼̜̻̌̾ͣ͛ ̨̭̔̐ͤ̊Ǎ͇̻̹͓̪͇̠͛̐̑ͫ͜L̥̹̯͇̇ͤͨ̑Ẇ͊̊A̘̟̔̀Ỹ̩ͧ̏͐ͧȘ̞̣:̻̳̞̲̇:̥͇͙͉͉̆

r­itual tool
ritual crew
rippin' through fools nihilism
like that Rick and Mort to


Ȃͣͪͥ̇̀̐ľ̒ͮͬ͑ͦ̌l̏̎͋̄̃̓ ̈̔͒ͧ̾t͗̊͌́͒h̓̅̔ͮ͌i͂̾͌s͊͆̾͒̅ ̆́̏͗s̔̋͐ͬ̄ͣhỉ̍̈́tͬͧ̓̀ͥ ̾͆̿̈m̀́̊͐ͩ̒e͛aͧ͋ͦͮͪͨń̂ͤͥͪ͂́s̉̄̐̏̃ͤ̚ ͧ̋͐̈̔̏͋sͧͫomͦ̄͌̃ͯeͯ̾̈́͂th̑ͧing͑.̔͐͑̚

Society structures rigid rules
based in ethical clues

.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚But.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚the.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚waters.­̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚still.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚crash.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚upon it..̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̚­̔͐͑.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̚­̔͐͑.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̚­̔͐͑.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̔͐͑̚.̚

Careful

through these two teeth, 2 hands, 1 pen;

reality peaks through as the morning does through the dew.

With the pouring of this cup the sacred drain true

you can question everything
but still the g̵̖̞͇͓͕̔͗̈́̽̌̈́o͓̬͉͕̟͐ͯͩ̃͢d̳͈̰̣͔̉̍ͦͦͥ͒ḥ͙͈̤̙̔̀̓͂ͮͧ̾ë͚̜̯͚́ͬͭ̇͒͗́åͦͤ­̖̜͇̊ḏ̌ͮͣͥ̓͒ͨ́ speaks you.
Easteregg?

Scriabin, born in Russia in 1872, was a gifted pianist whom at a young age was drawn to philosophical and spiritual avenues. Early on he was considered a “mystic”— a man with the desire to find harmonic correspondence with the ethereal worlds. In the years that led up to the social, cultural, and political explosion that was the Russian Revolution of 1917, the brilliance of Scriabin pushed the rich Russian musical tradition forward. Held by the pillars of Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky, he began his exploration in his ambitious first symphony by writing every single note based on the sensation of color, light and ‘time’ that was found in the blood and bones of our common human anatomy. He believed in the completion of Mystic Conquest of the 20th century the human enzyme; that the body itself was a complete harmonic system that responded to specific tones and specific colors in a very organized and intelligent way.
Bibliography:

https://hekint.org/2017/01/30/alexander-scriabin-incarnations-of-mysticism-and-philosophies/
Nick Burns Aug 2018
My alarm clock screams.
Been awake for three hours;
so ahead of the game,
unaware of my powerless range.

I’ve been tossing, turning, creaking,
coming up with new names;
another attempt to link together
all of my fireless plains.

Hey, I’m running on fumes.
Hey, I’m Eugene Tooms;
stretching, twisting, warping,
got you reaching for clues.

It’ll all come together,
posted up in a small room;
just typing up a dichotomy
of life as a lifeless plume.
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