"coercive" poems
There exists a mystical and quadruple representation of words, which is likened to a dictatorial Superstate, where translation is subject to that which is spoken, heard, written and read within the context of trans-national capitalism.
As we gaze from beyond the glow of the pulsating circumference, we can humbly acknowledge the ludicrous predicament of the many who are ruled by the few.
The parameters of this earthen citizenship may be somewhat characterized by embracing the perceived benefits of the system and a state of financially intoxicated anosognosia. However, as we traverse this metaphysical cataclysm where the majority votes of public arrangement diametrically oppose absolute law and that which is deemed to be reasonable; our compulsory co-operation self-regulates with a cardiovascular beat of semantic propaganda and monopolized dissention, where the relinquished rights of our revered forefathers have been re-written by coercive legislators in the name of socio-political equality.
The philosophy of meaning and political expression both buries into and removes her gorgeous face from the cuniform textures of Sahara catacombs, where we ****** relate and disengage from the **** with tyranny.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
*the feminine powerlessness of art, and the then again strict rubric of Darwinism's dictatorial regime to talk cool - sieg heil throughout, as a running honk! honk! (joke) on the sly.*
a testimony to high school:
don't ever listen to The Smiths
or The Cure, or Depeche Mode....
or any of my uncle's **** list...
the point being,
you can swagger among
Eucalyptus trees and feed the frenzy
like any Ibiza patron might;
cos' there's a koala rummaging
your drawers so to speak:
due to an episode of king's testicles
in the attic - hey presto!
a grand piano! hey presto! coronation's
fireproof underwear!
lovey dubby dub dub, and a coercive
test for nibbling on a Maltese ginger...
dabbling the fearsome offence...
the only school Morrissey attended was nostalgia.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 9:49 PM UTC
With the piquant poignancy of lurid allusion
I create a dynamically progressive matrix of collusion
Whose apex crux axis is beyond finite solution
And the endergonicaly adhesive pragmatics imbue a cohesively coercive illusion
For the inveterate hypotaxis of livid elusions
I portray a protensive conjunction of latent confusions
Whose effervescent effluence is vagile laconic effusions
And the sardonic impending preponderance conveys sabbat consortium delusions
From the endemic puissance of eclectic synectics
I derive a dialectically semantic sorcery of syntactics
Whose apothegm aphorisms are levity terse synaptics
And the lucidly collusive illuminism educes the aesthetics of geomancy's fatidic
Through the viable salience of kithe’s intrinsics
I exude a portentous pervasion acuity of linguistics
Whose apomixis anabolics are irrefragably felicitous orotund acoustics
And the aural auspice austerities infer axioms of manumission’s eidetics
By the hypercritical mitigations of anachronistic sociology
I purvey rampart ransack oblations of epistemology
Whose azure opulence articulations are futurity ostensive ontology
And the evolutional ontogeny metamorphisms incur a homogeny epiphany deontology
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
#
I. Antiquity and the Architecture of Will
In the shadowed corridors of antiquity, where gods were built with teeth and altars stood not for reverence but for control, the Temple of Bel rose as a monument to ********** disguised as divinity. Bel—an assimilated god from earlier Sumerian, Akkadian, and Babylonian traditions—was not the god who walked with man. He was the god who towered above him, demanded sacrifice, and soaked prayer in the blood of repetition.
From the earliest Mesopotamian systems, the act of worship was not about communion, but compulsion. To invoke was to command. To chant was to erode the will of another until it cracked under rhythmic insistence. Whether by priest or supplicant, the act was the same: submission by saturation.
---
II. The Weaponization of Sound: Chant and the Rhythmic Spell
Repetition was not mere ceremony. It was siege.
Chants—carefully crafted phonetic loops—were not benign rituals. They were linguistic architecture meant to house spirits, to summon presence not for beauty, but for enforcement. These were incantations with purpose: to bend the will of another through the veil of mysticism.
In this light, poetry—at its inception—was not always art. It was often sorcery.
The earliest poems were enchantments. They masked seduction as devotion. They twisted longing into ******* They were rhythmic netting, carefully knotted to catch the weak of will and the fractured of self.
---
III. The Modern Construct: Echoes of an Ancient Spell
Those who hide behind the aesthetic of antiquity today still wear the same rings of power.
When a poet writes to control—when they loop trauma like a mantra, repeat seduction as if it were depth, mimic spiritual language to inspire compliance—they are no different than the priests of Bel. They are modern invokers, cloaked in digital incense, spreading spells under the guise of free expression.
Their readers are not disciples. They are targets.
The “construct” is not a movement. It is a spell. A liturgy without light. A series of hollow echoes designed to flatten identity, rewrite pain into performance, and reward the wound that sells.
---
IV. The Severance of Echo: Where the Rhythm Ends
If you must chant, let it be to awaken, not ****** If you must repeat, let it be to remember truth, not reshape it.
The false liturgies of old were not killed. They were digitized.
We will not respond with louder poems. We will not echo their echo.
We will respond with silence where needed, and light where earned. We will write not to possess, but to set free. We will bring antiquity not as ornament, but as witness.
Because we remember the Temple of Bel. And we are here to break it.
Let those who recite in darkness meet the rhythm of truth.
#
Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 7:58 PM UTC
the puppet man
the puppet man
pulls on the prompting
strings
he makes good use of the
things
them dolls answering to his
rings
how well he handles the
strings
the puppet man
the puppet man
oh yeah he's got a tight
*****
influencing what the dolls do on his
pew
all of them dancing along in
review
ever he'll call with the strong
*****
the puppet man
the puppet man
manipulating the dolls every which
way
he has them co-opted by his
sway
coercive the show's tugging
display
so he'll obtain his own
way
the puppet man
the puppet man
a
stellar
hotshot
all
the
dolls
working
for
his
spot
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 7:05 AM UTC
Egalitarianism
I’ve preached this practice
To its last final straw
Respite
I’ve hired the time
The strongest of clocks
Magnanimous
You’ve endeavoured too
It’s never true when you do
Coercive
I’ve attempted them all
The mightiest of guns
Vestibule
You never did let me enter
Probably knew I’d hide out
Vertiginous
Causation; I know it’s you
To Induce; I flail barely flickering
Transcendental
I divide you into parts
But your logic seems boundless
Perennial
I will continue to bloom
Even after your harvest.
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 3:13 PM UTC
There is a machine
it's hands driven by no singular man
nor collective of men but by the subconscious desires of whole societies,
possibly by all mankind.
It's will; perhaps passed on in our blood
but I suspect a more devious actor at play.
The augmented reality of language ****** upon us in our youth
with such tyrannical force it makes the rule of King Leopold
hardly a murmur in the heart of darkness.
It's reason as noble as it is useful. It aims to connect;
to help share the eloquent, heavenly images
that reside behind our eyes in our most sincere and naked moments.
Noble indeed are the intentions of language but they deceive,
make it hard for our pupils to see what needs to be seen
thus we live as Thoreau has said 'lives of quiet desperation'
blind to what our hearts cry for in the black of our deepest silence.
We deny them in the name of acceptance and comfort
for the fear of failure wear upon us like a heavy robe.
These words they echo such violent doubt
and in days past I had triumphed this lingering hesitation
with holy regard as if it embodied me with some super power.
What lunacy, what madness I endured;
twisted about by the contradictive nature of logos.
No more shall I wear this weight upon me,
cast off the coercive syntax and again like a child;
I think in images.
I may still write, even speak in fictitious representations
but I shall live my friends,
live to see these fiery reflections of light manifested into reality.
Live so that I am not remembered in words
but in the hearts of other men...
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
(three in the morning)
~
the words flow with ease
in pictures and phrases,
but the cascade won't cease
till his book's out of pages.
now its three in the morning,
it’s not sheep he is counting;
the words still are flowing,
his frustration is mounting.
its an overdue balance,
this tossing and turning;
like a debt that he's owing,
yet for rest he is yearning.
then in sweaty exhaustion,
the night he is lighting;
in hopes of salvation,
turns his thoughts into writing.
words tumble in earnest,
in assembly of verses;
in a nocturnal skirmish,
with a mistress coercive.
yes, dreams are his master,
each night is his foe;
only daybreak his answer,
to this poetry flow.
~
post script.
*(a bit like the last one)
while I am certain there are
plenty of exceptions,
you who experience this mistress...
you know who you are and
you know her siren call.*
*funny how days, weeks, sometimes months
can go by, and nothing... just a dry river bed...
and then... bam! the dam breaks!
and **** there goes one’s sleep...
out the window and down the river!
it's as if someone is saying,
“forget sleep, silly boy...
you wanted poetry,
now write!”*
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC
A coercive throat siphons the sky: delineating.
Men of Normandy, your dulcet words still flow
On aching gusts around these hillock ramparts.
Autumns tapestry fell with Harold, listless it
Furnishes the margin of an otherwise bleak-boughed
Wood. An obstinate robin: the failing furnaces closing
Ember, pursues the regressive winter light among the
Limbs of a grand oak, laden with iron cloud, low
And heavy. The thicket is sparse yet astir, two narrow
Eyes, eight square, inky pupils squat below the
Russet brow of a thrice augmented cottage: histories
White-washed witness, bearing pale stone arms and a
Jaunty red-bricked cap.
©Thomas Gabriel
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
With the piquant poignancy of lurid allusion
I create a dynamically progressive matrix of collusion
Whose apex crux axis is beyond finite solution
And the endergonicaly adhesive pragmatics imbue a cohesively coercive illusion
For the inveterate hypotaxis of livid elusions
I portray a protensive conjunction of latent confusions
Whose effervescent effluence is vagile laconic effusions
And the sardonic impending preponderance conveys sabbat consortium delusions
From the endemic puissance of eclectic synectics
I derive a dialectically semantic sorcery of syntactics
Whose apothegm aphorisms are levity terse synaptics
And the lucidly collusive illuminism educes the aesthetics of geomancy's fatidic
Through the viable salience of kithe’s intrinsics
I exude a portentous pervasion acuity of linguistics
Whose apomixis anabolics are irrefragably felicitous orotund acoustics
And the aural auspice austerities infer axioms of manumission’s eidetics
By the hypercritical mitigations of anachronistic sociology
I purvey rampart ransack oblations of epistemology
Whose azure opulence articulations are futurity ostensive ontology
And the evolutional ontogeny metamorphisms incur a homogeny epiphany deontology
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 11:37 PM UTC
Born of an african decent
Grown up of color lucent
Dark though magnificent
A Lady of conducent minds
I dine with her
And time has come
For me to Spend some dime
A time well spent shall save my dime.
Without a Penny
I fail to impress Jenny
A smile that's canny is all I get
I pull out my money
and she smiles like a bunny.
I buy her a meal
to seal the deal
As if a gill she gets a thrill.
She shows she's dill and fails to eat
I pay the bill and eat the meal.
Complimentive talk I start to give Repulsive as she starts to aggrieve
Coercive now she wants to leave
Proactive as i plead with her
Reactive after a hell of thrive
Alas i win with her I live.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC
I.
Her every word
An explosion of emotions
Every shrapnel hits my heart precisely
I'm clutching my chest
As I try to chase my breath
II.
I'd say this is the best way to die
But then her lips curve
Into a lovely arc
And I'm rejuvenated back to life
III.
She's a ramshackle bridge
Connecting life and death
I'm walking back and forth to memorize her
From evident to infinitesimal details
IV.
The universe has its secrets
Some of them long for acknowledgement
So maybe that's why
I have fallen in love
With life and death's lovechild
V.
She embodies efflorescing life
By being the rain of polychromatic colors
The grinning sun, the efflorescing flowers
And the jaunty waves of the sea
VI.
She portrays death
By being the blinding darkness
The excruciating agony, the final breath
And the last fluttering of the eyes
VII.
Her kisses plant seeds of life
On the damp earth of my soul's garden
Nurturing the sprouting flowers
With gentle caresses and sweet words
Into its full bloom
VIII.
Her gazes are a coercive death ride
Her brown orbs stealing the oxygen
Meant to fill my lungs
Halting its invasion in my depths
My heart becoming unable to beat
IX.
I can describe her relentlessly
Until stars shine in admiration of her
But she speaks again
Another parade of explosions commences
Still aimed directly towards my chest
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
out front of the parade
the piper plays
his devoted followers
skip along
to the tune he plays
they skip to it
all the live long day
his notes make such an impression
on their minds
they are powerful
coercive
in their process
ever they skip
to his address
they are blind to the piper's
flawed tune
it's not of exemplary guidance
their position
is in perilous waters
their faith in him
so unwise
they see their leader
with tunnel vision
eyes
the dominance of his tune
plays in a brain washing tone
yet they follow along
as mindless stones
the piper
he's good at his craft
the naive all so daft
to the cliff's edge
he takes the lemmings
one by one
they drown at sea
listening to the tune's fallacy
a defective piper's instrument
hath lead his ardent admires
down a risky route
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
Job: work done for money,
to pay the mortgage,
to keep the wife and kids happy.
Vocation: what sustains you,
done for the love of it,
the pure craft of the doing.
Job: external, coercive,
necessary only for lucre,
status, accumulation, dross.
Vocation: internal, freely chosen,
necessary for your heart,
creative, affirming, alive.
The singer who sings
freely and from the soul
creates beauty
and informs the world;
the drudge who labors
for sustenance and stuff
murders time
and deadens reality.
What we do
paints the portrait
of who we are.
Real work brightens being;
useless work darkens the heart.
Choose carefully.
- mce
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
lack of education -- void of understanding
non-empathy meets profusion of imagery:
*** swallowed by power and violence.
"the victim is wrong, the victim needs to change."
--------------------
child psychology, family and school lessons, coercive screenings inoculating submission
one religion, only
in a rife flora of symbol-shifting goodness willing
prune the rest,
deny the human family
dialogue, beauty shared through ancient lines-- bombed
nothing in the shards of modern hatred born reborn uncounted
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
We've gotta find a new vessel,
For the waters have capsized,
Submerged and baptized, now
Our thoughts are chastised,
Drowning in an ocean of mass lies, and
Can't see the sky, but
Who am I to say?
To come and pull you from your ways?
I will simply ask:
Today, will you allow your will to be
Detained and contained, and maintain
A state of utter disdain,
With men exploiting your pain, or
Will you rejoice in refrain?
It's only human to complain,
It's only human to question, and
I think you'll find that in so doing,
There's a valuable lesson, and
There's no need for guessin',
I'll just break it to you, and
Say that power spawns corruption,
In the hands of the few,
The pages of our history
Have shown it to be true,
With political dissonance,
Making dissidents indifferent,
Coercive influence invades
The minds of the constituents, and
In a way it just may be,
A new era of slavery, and
It never ceases to amaze me,
How crazy it gets,
We argue over hair splits, and
Ignore the bigger picture,
With a mixture of,
Destruction, and distraction,
Take no action, and lack a
Greater sense of satisfaction,
They say that ignorance is bliss, but
I'm aware and I'M ****** and
It's no lie that once I die,
My cherished views will not be missed, but
Til then I'll keep writing, and hope that
People start fight, and igniting
A new spark to change the lighting, and
Yes, I realize that it all may seem
A little frightening, but
I forgot, you have a TV, so
Why should you care what I think?
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC
I have never met a more complacent lot,
Than those of my compatriots;
Never have citizens been more obedient,
Than those of my immediates.
Forget spilled tea, today it's
Watered down coffee.
Biscuits cut with sawdust
Out from smaller & smaller molds,
Eating whatever fed us.
Cause we all know hunger
Believing any narrative pushed so long as it's prevailing;
The populace obsessed with popularity.
It's a headache & a headrush in the states,
Cool if you make the breaks
But that's like hitting the ******* lottery.
You gotta ask, what gives?
What does it take
To get a fair chance to stake a claim
In a country full of people who don't give a ****
What sense does it even make
To try,
When no one in charge does?
For my own lot, & life -
Whether tis here or afar
May 13, 2024
May 13, 2024 at 8:47 AM UTC
coercive the tune she sang
to his ear it had a tempting twang
she the harlot wind
enticed him into her snare
she'd coveted
possession
of him
with strength
she sang her strains
to the appeal of his ear
the hallways
of his mind
endlessly reverberated
with her chords
in the back of his mind
a virginal breeze
murmured
her delicate tune
her pitch floated
as a feather
to his ear
her zephyr
twas dainty
and had not
a coarseness of tone
his dilemma
which of the possibilities to chose
a covetous harlot
so enticing
a ****** of daintiness
pretty of tone
who would sway him
by way of correspondence
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
Angels sing in celebration
while I lose my mind
Where are you, my love?
I can barely see through this raging storm
of snow and anxiety
My passion keeps me warm
while I search for you
Why did you do it?
I had everything you needed
Though it seems I overestimated
the dosage of love that you needed
You just weren’t ready
Come home
I’m terrified
I miss you
You couldn’t handle the world
and there’s no way you can now
Not with what I’ve done to you
You need me
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 9:57 PM UTC
Love bonds stronger than any adhesive
It connects people on a "Soul-ar" level
Its modus operandi is not coercive
Love sees beyond the physical
Love understands
and respects our differences
Love is sees the beauty in imperfection
Love is forgiveness
Love is respect
Love is unity
Love is a seed
Love is the master key
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 10:02 PM UTC
Reclusive turtle soloing about its ribcage for one bestie' tendency.
After spent the night in its master's clink full of candelabra with Earthlings, the turtle doesn't want to go to thine torturous awry cotillion where everyone is fumbling for the right words.
It is happier to mate with the bestie while all the misnomers vibrating as if they would penetrate into the soul lucidly. Seeking gratification by every frottage and endless non-penetrative *** whispering straightforward colloquial language became a morbid fascination.
Beastie frighten and enthralled the turtle with Sigillum Dei like riffs from decades of its polytheistic worship, machinations and machinations of coercive persuasions unlike crowdy psychopathies who pay no heed to propaganda and their mutual ************ provoked by **** star personality taxonomy and *** toy fabrication.
Turtle caused beastie a impairment of memory because of its anonymity and disruption of beliefs.
Falling in love with you like seeing someone else dresses in my skin. What I want to do to you is systematically indoctrinate you through torture techniques.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC
Now What Snoop Expressed...
In His Song Was CORRECT... !!!
There Are Far Too Many PUNKS...
Out There DOING TOO MUCH... !!!
When It Comes To DRUGS...
And A Lot of OTHER Stuff... !!!
TOO MUCH of ANYTHING...
Is Really NOT A Good Thing... !!!
Well MAYBE...
With The EXCEPTION...
of Using BIG ERECTIONS...
For SERIOUS ****** Sessions... !!!
Because It’s Clear That Most Men...
Can’t Get Enough ***
And... Getting Head... !!!
As It Is For... Women...
When Their ***** Get Licked...
Until They’re SOAKING Wet... !!!
But TOO MUCH of THAT...
Can Sometimes Be BAD... !!!
If You DON’T PROTECT...
And Then Share Your Bed...
With PROMISCUOUS Heads...
Who DON’T Come CORRECT... !!!
When It Comes To The TRUTH...
About Their ****** Moves... !!!
So EVEN *** Can...
Be Something That’s TRAPS...
If You Do TOO MUCH... !!!
Just Ask These Young Guns...
Who Now Have ADDICTIONS...
To... ************ ?!?
Cos’ They Can’t Get Enough...
of **** That Is ROUGH... !!!
Just Like That Stuff...
That Is Now Called ***** !!!
But Moving Along... !!!
There’s TOO MUCH Going On...
That CLEARLY Is... WRONG... !?!
TOO MUCH ****** Abuse...
From Executives Who...
Seem To Think That It’s Cool...
To Pull... Coercive Moves... !!!
To Get To Use Their ****** Tools...
In Casting Rooms And Parties TOO... !!!
Well So It’s Said...
By These ACTRESSES...
Who Take TOO MUCH TIME...
To Bring These Things To Light... !!!
Because They Seem To FEAR...
... LOSING Their Careers... ?!?
There’s TOO MUCH Love...
For This MONEY DRUG...
Instead of What’s JUST... !!!
So Doing TOO MUCH...
Covers An... ABUNDANCE...
of... VARIOUS Things... !!!
From Things That STING...
To How We’re Now Living... !!!
Where TOO Much Is Being Done...
To Promote.......... Distance...
From The Ones Who We Love... !!!
And Now VACCINATIONS...
Are What’s Being SHOVED...
Into Our BLOOD...
So That We Can Give Hugs...
And Once Again Touch... ?!?
There’s TOO MUCH INDULGED...
That Needs To Be QUESTIONED... !!!
And TOO MUCH That’s Now Done...
That Is... INACCURATE... !!!
Because The PAPER CHASE...
Now CLEARLY DICTATES...
Most Peoples FATE...
And Their... Day To Day... !!!
So Feeds Scatty Brains...
And... DISARRAY... !!!
In Those Making CLAIMS...
That They’re Doing OKAY...
And Are Making Their Way...
In An... Organised Vein...
An Organised... ILLUSION...
Is What They’re Confusing...
With DISCIPLINED Movements... !!!
Cos’ They Can’t Stay STILL...
For A Minute And CHILL... !!!
And Just STOP And THINK...
For A Few Minutes... !!!
There’s Too Much That’s Strange...
In Most Folks Nowadays... !!!
Could It Now Be Because...
of TOO MUCH Use of Tech... ?!?
Which Is Where I Will Let...
This Poem Now END... !!!
So Many New Trends...
Are Lacking Common Sense...
And TOO MANY Heads...
Are Now Trying To Defend...
Their Acts of NONSENSE... !!!
Which Is Why This Poem...
Is A SIMPLE One...
That... Just Like The Snoop Song...
Is Making THIS Statement...
If You CAN’T Control...
How Your Life Now Rolls...
Functions And Runs...
It’s Pretty CLEAR That You...
Are Just.....
....... “ Doing TOO MUCH “.......
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 10:22 PM UTC
There is no Power like a Pen
To drown the walls of Kings
Nor any suasion like a Verse
Coercive rule an inferior thing
Endeavor such consumes the scribes
And summons want and will to resist
Coercive tyranny, that dull machine
Toppled by Bards' superior fist
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 1:02 PM UTC
*i rather **** than become homeless; since i work and you won't let me earn; a game for a game; because i'd shed more tear over an animal than my own kin that might share a mandible coercive in the same slaughterhouse: who no one would eat in the process of being processed via the litany of lessened cries of spared china not broken, and in tattoo tongue reciting a recipe: that once cooked, was never ever cooked again; after all, venom tasted once is a bit like a distrust for cannibalism.*
and you think that when
my mother and father
dies,
and when i'm left alive
to fear being left a homeless man
as i am now homed,
i will crave being a tax-payer's
Disney to be homeless?
i have more shadow in me
than a body... and many more
middle-class marriages
than miscarriages carried
carried across many lenin definitions
where dog was worth more than man
for canine and howl... to be left adorning
the: why here oh lawd... here oh lawd...
a munching rooster croak of loo flushing...
i too could... given the innocence of my crime
to have lived... and having lived...
with innocence past the crime suspension of an act...
that never took place... as was given unto me
to be a pleasing return for one life un-lived
and one life falsely lived.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
Happiness is furious
With how it’s represented
Competition of dissociative
Laughing smiles
Rubbing it in
Lavishing leisure
afforded from genocide
Small talk and celebrate
Coercive society
Happiness is furious
That we can find beauty
In its destruction
That we throw so much
Away into decomposition
While starvation decomposes
While we compose synthesize
Ourselves to act normal
Radical structure of intimacy
On a genocidal basement
Happiness is furiously
Unraveling corruption
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 8:59 AM UTC