"cohesiveness" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
I am a stranger to myself.
I do not know how to be gentle, compassionate, or loving, to any part of myself.
I have always been able to present myself well in most public situations,
be it work, school, parental obligations, parties.
I can be calm and level-headed.
I am able to problem solve in logical and intelligent ways.
I can be humorous and glamorous when need be.
But it seems as though that power and confidence,
that grace and strength, is only a mask.
I now have more days when that mask feels heavy.
And when I lack the strength to put it on, I have to hide myself.
And I’ve been hiding a lot lately.
I hid yesterday.
I am hiding today.
I hear the words of care that others speak,
but they don’t feel real to me.
Sometimes I can accept their words while knowing
that they do not realize that I am a disgusting person who deserves to be treated badly.
They see what I want them to see.
I watch them interact with the humorous Nita, the intelligent Nita,
and I watch it all from the outside.
I want so much more for myself.
Who is this Nita that is respected by so many?
I want to be loved and to feel love.
I want to be free from the father and the host body.
I desperately wish to be free from them, and not just in a surface way.
I want them out of me forever.
My soul cries out for kindness and gentleness
and yet when it is offered I cannot accept it.
I want to be respected and loved
and yet I do not know how to love or respect myself.
I know how to pretend.
I wrote the book on how to hide your feelings.
I know how to smile, I know how to laugh.
I know that I have been given gifts but I don’t know how to use them.
And the ones who were abused, ***** assaulted, degraded…
they are afraid to dream that there is more to life than this.
They cannot fathom that there exists a world
where they can be loved in a gentle way, touched in a way that does not hurt.
They stopped dreaming a long time ago.
I want to stop fighting so hard,
so much of the time...fighting myself, the therapist
the fighting stubborn one just comes out in full-force at any perceived threat
and I want her to stop fighting when there is no reason to fight.
I want to learn to trust in myself and others.
I want the chaos and confusion inside my mind to clear
and I want some sense of cohesiveness and togetherness inside of me.
I want to believe that there is more to life
than pretending behind an illusion of imaginary togetherness...
more than just feeling ashamed and degraded.
I want to trust that I am allowed to heal.
I want to believe that I am worth the time and the effort it is taking,
and the pain I endure every day.
I want to believe that I am not what they said I am,
that real love actually exists,
and that I am worthy of receiving it.
And even as I write this, there is that voice inside speaking to me,
"But what if you're not worthy, Nita? What if you are what they said?"
She is a big part of me~ she has a loud voice.
And if I don't believe in myself...
how can I convince that part of me that I am good and I am worthy?
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 5:29 AM UTC
My heart I bequeath you
O’ stillness of my universe
I bequeath you my sanity
Spreading this cloak of being in your dust
I bow to your twinkling stars
To the waxing sun and scented grass
I bow to your springing rivers
To the parched grain and blossoming flowers
I bow to the warmth of my lover
And want of my beloved
I bow to your saccharine figs
And honeyed nectar in chalice filled
I bequeath my mortality to your transiency
Blinded by this light in game of ruse
Into your cohesiveness, I fuse
In blinkers to win the race
Espying a king in glass
Presage of being a slave
Yet when darkness falls
I furl my cloak and solemnly rise
For I bow not then
To your barren fields and waning suns
I bow not to your garish colors,
To the cloying drupe and wilted blossoms
Bracing my feeble transience
With my tenet and trail of faith
I bow to the King of kings;
Whilst I beseech for emanating hope,
In my tigers clasp, my God’s rope
I beseech,
Till the noise becomes music again
And as I gaze in the glass now,
All I espy is a beseeching slave
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
Friends, there are many(I think, I hope). So, to be fair, I will respond with this.
"Stricly an Opinion"
October 20, 2014 8:40a.m.
On August 28, 2013, strictly as a novice, and not having posted anything, anywhere, I posted my first two pieces of "literary art" on the HP site. I had previously searched other similar sites until finally deciding on posting with HP. I'm glad I did. Why?
Not knowing what to expect, I threw "1894", and "Folklore and Fairy Tales" into the "mixing bowl". Pradip and Sally were the first to comment, and I will never forget the encouragement their words gave me. Never! Quite often, I go back and re-read them, particularly when I get a little discouraged when the "writers block" syndrome decides to attack. Thank you both, so very, very much!
But that is the core of the HP Family. There is an aura, a special atmosphere of cohesiveness among its contributors, willing to offer(in most cases) constructive criticism without being cynical, and always encouraging each other. Making friends whom we may never see, whose hands we may never shake, but a friendship none the less, that is spread throughout the globe, with the thoughts that will always be there. It is a feeling I did not sense with other sites.
One thing is for certain. We never know what our readers are going to like/dislike on any given day. When we post a piece, of what we may think is the work of "pure genius" could go by the wayside in seconds. On the other end of the spectrum, what we believe is not so great, could trend in minutes.
We will keep trying.
Richard Riddle
copyright: October 20, 2014
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 12:19 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Dear, let me tenderize you like meat slap the silliness from heat bubbling bubbling bubbling to a boil.
Dear, let me technically arouse you by letting each word escape like exasperation, a depletion of the senses as every finger or pressure point examines your body from head-to-toe.
Dear, let me be no longer ashamed to touch or hold you close, let our breathing and beating submerge into higher thinking.
Incinerating flames that lick the grate.
Dear, let me dive deep into the crevice of your brain, all mushy grey matter, all the same.
Dear, let me slice it open and **** out all the juices, licking licking licking each curve and crevice,
My supple pink snake-like tongue reaching deeper deeper deeper into your mind.
Dear, let me sink into your reality, bit by bit, and piece by piece until cohesiveness lays its eggs inside the deep hole within you.
Dear, let me scratch the surface, trading dimes for dust and pecs for fluff.
Let me swim in the depths of your hectic personality.
Let me get to know you and all your originality.
Let me breathe in your values and slurp up your mature decisions.
Let me caress your life like two bulbous lights that hang from the existence of time.
Let me illuminate you, serenade you, quiz you while ********* your sense of self-esteem.
Dear, let me dream your dreams.
Dear, let me sink my ***** mind games into your wet social brain.
Don’t let the pressure get to you.
Passion may play a key part in the sway!
Let me suckle your sweet thoughts, play with your deriving initiatives.
Let me hold your ideas in the sweat of my thighs, burning with desire to see myself through cobalt eyes.
Let me feel the hot ***** of your ethical intentions and clear apparitions.
Let me analyze your prerogatives and **** with your distribution methods.
Dear, let me fiddle with your political views, (in the “other room”) and tickle your soft solutions on creating a world of doom.
Let me ****** your sustainability, flirt with your progressive mindset, and squeeze your plump ambitions until they burst!
Dear, let me push gently on your sensitive issues with your parents until they become less apparent.
Let me stroke your disagreements with foreign policy until they shriek with mercy!
Let me take you further and touch your blind senses to a pink paranoia of retentive defensive pretenses.
Let me cuddle and snuggle your sense of self-worth and pleasure your brain with mind-bending words.
Dear, let me dance with your intelligence
until we sink into oblivious mind-sex bliss…….
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
Perhaps
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The cohesiveness between us, you may remember, or perhaps not.
Our solemn oaths of faithfulness, you may remember, or perhaps forgot.
If something happened that was not to your liking,
the shrinking away that produces silence, you may remember, or perhaps not.
Listen, the sagas of so many years, the promises you made amid time's onslaught,
which you now fail to mention, you may remember, or perhaps not.
These new resentments, those old rehashed complaints,
these lighthearted and displeasing stories, you may remember, or perhaps forgot.
Some seasons ago we shared love and desire, we shared joy ...
That we once were dear friends, you may have, perhaps, forgot.
Now if we come together, by fate or by chance, to express old loyalties ...
Our every shared breath, all our sighs and regrets, you may remember, or perhaps not.
Being
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
You are so close to me
that no one else ever can be.
NOTE: There is a legend that the great Urdu poet Mirza Ghalib offered all his diwan (poetry collections) in exchange for this one sher (couplet) by Momin Khan Momin. Does the couplet mean "be as close" or "be, at all"? Does it mean "You are with me in a way that no one else can ever be?" Or does it mean that no one else can ever exist as truly as one's true love? Or does this sher contain an infinite number of elusive meanings, like love itself?
Being (II)
by Momin Khan Momin
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
You alone are with me when I am alone.
You are beside me when I am beside myself.
You are as close to me as everyone else is afar.
You are so close to me that no one else ever can be.
Keywords/Tags: Translation, Urdu, Momin Khan Momin, love, close, closeness, unity, farness, afar, memory, remembrance, forgetfulness, remember, forget, forgot, time, silence, mrburdu
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 5:53 AM UTC
October 20, 2014 8:40a.m.
On August 28, 2013, strictly as a novice, and not having posted anything, anywhere, I posted my first two pieces of "literary art" on the HP site. I had previously searched other similar sites until finally deciding on posting with HP. I'm glad I did. Why?
Not knowing what to expect, I threw "1894", and "Folklore and Fairy Tales" into the "mixing bowl". Pradip and Sally were the first to comment, and I will never forget the encouragement their words gave me. Never! Quite often, I go back and re-read them, particularly when I get a little discouraged when the "writers block" syndrome decides to attack. Thank you both, so very, very much!
But that is the core of the HP family. There is an aura, a special atmosphere of cohesiveness among its contributors, willing to offer(in most cases) constructive criticism without being cynical, and always encouraging each other. Making friends whom we may never see, whose hands we may never shake, but a friendship none the less, that is spread throughout the globe, and the thoughts that will always be there. It is a feeling I did not sense with other sites.
One thing is for certain. We never know what our readers are going to like/dislike on any given day. When we post a piece, of what we may think is the work of "pure genius" could go by the wayside in seconds. On the other end of the spectrum, what we believe is not so great, could trend in minutes.
We will keep trying.
Richard Riddle
copyright: October 20, 2014
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
just because your problems are bigger than mine,
doesn't qualify you as being
better than me;
but sure, we need apes, like we might encourage
buying stake at the butchers and
a quasi-Narcissus reflection in Darwin...
that's what happens when presupposing
someone's supposed idiocy, it happens
that way in democracy, without a autocratic godhead
of authority, many more are prone to being
prescribed madness, because being sadistic
with dementia patients and those disabled is all
that more rewarding than when a "patient" can punch
you back, bloody-nose your face...
and this is how Christianity makes sense?
might as well call the adherents of Christianity
children wetting their beds and fuelled by a desire
to maim their fellow examples of the species...
Darwinism will not do... it's a farce...
the animals involved to a categorical grouping
would not do what humans do to each other...
so we evolved from monkey to escape the tiger
and the snake? i hardly think tigers or snakes killed
with sadism involved... for pleasure...
but if the sadistic impulse was always ours...
we evolved for no good reason...
i'd rather experience the hunger of the tiger
or the snake than experience the sadism of a fellow human being...
and that's a humanism, it doesn't invoke a god
or morality that should be kept...
i'd rather a tiger **** me for sustenance than some
trivial bog-standard thief from the London estate knifing me
for a ******* bike... i'd rather end up in a tiger's digestive
system than in the "evolved" court-of-law debating
bicycle theft -
animal-cohesiveness knows no sadism,
human-overpowering of animals knows everything
but humanism, hence the need for humanism per se,
poetry and a novel... we write poetry but at the same time
perform holocausts... if we are evolutionary products,
we are by evolutionary standards a successful paradox...
we contradict the pluses with the negatives we produce
subsequently... we have evolved / transcended
the original parameters... but we did so paradoxically;
i'd still rather die from a tiger easing my death
by the vampire-bite of my neck that
the exfoliation abiding with the electric chair or
the iron maiden... the author of the Bonfire of Vanities
got it wrong... we really did use our imagination...
we used imagination for the expression of torture...
Disney can do **** all than quack like a duck
to quiet simply approve the endemic continuance
of the practice... because most people will
simply apply for t.v. and come dine with me
spectaculars.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 9:10 PM UTC
A curtain of impatience
Descends upon your day
An urgency for completion
Comes intensely into play
Emotional Intensity
Is largely in the frame
But your judgements equilibrium
Holds the dominance of blame.
Stability is vulnerable
Through a three dimensional fan
And a questionable tangent
Will have them querying your plan.
This belligerence is natural
When integrity is crossed,
When intentions are criticized
And cohesiveness is lost.
But a rational track of history
Goes far towards your cause
And a creditable performance
Will surely open doors?
So swallow your urgency,
Ease passion’s twitching arm,
Put a hold on your aggression
And show the scrutineer’s your charm.
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
8 April 2009
Oct 30, 2009
Oct 30, 2009 at 9:27 PM UTC
English teachers were right when they told us always to finish our sentences. They said that fragments lead to grammatical errors and a loss of idea cohesiveness. They said that ramblings overexcite the mind of the reader into a state of faulty comprehension. Full sentences engulf the paper; there are no thoughts left behind. Maybe that's why poets are so **** sad. You see, when I started using fragments, I began to exclude ideas that were too ridiculous to put into words. Now I am haunted by the thoughts I never finished and the words I was convinced were better off silent. The fragments couldn't connect in my mind and they couldn't find their syllables and they wandered off looking for you when you could only be found in commas and periods and sentences containing only one conjunction. Fragments create halves of moments and halves of feelings and maybe if I was more careful I wouldn't have created a fragment of you. Each sentence has a subject and a verb but the ambiguity of the subject in a fragment does not mean that you were not there all along. Nowadays, it's too hard to read my writing without wanting to burn it in the fireplace. I want to watch the flames flick away the broken rhythm of our past and join the fragments into whole sentences and whole paragraphs and whole stories but I can't find the punctuation. Maybe I should have listened when my teacher told me to combine ideas and make whole. Maybe then I'd know that complex sentences do not always lead into complexities. Fragments cannot stand alone and make sense. You could not stand alone and find your sense in me.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
I’m searching for my muchness,
As the mad hatter always said,
I’m looking for the lively part
Of me inside that’s dead.
Scrambling after my Integrity
That crashed against the floor
Wondering about cohesiveness
Between who I am and was before.
Bits and pieces scatter an awful kind of mess
Still that bottle of adhesive
nimble hands and held breaths
Still add up to time spent on things
You can’t fix.
They all call me their rock,
I think im more of a brick.
I say I’m a bad *****
But they all call me a ****
And when the ground slips and mask crumbles
When I lose my grip on my cover
And I sob like a kid, no one will love me
Like I always thought that they did.
So back to the puzzle
Hand me the crazy glue.
I need a few eons and patience
an I’ll be good as new.
Given for contingency
I’ll be as good as you.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to its progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to its innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of its conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of its relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of its interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of its conjunction yet the totality of its ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet its diversity exceeded its physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 2:52 AM UTC
when Everyone searches for
Originality
Cohesiveness is lost
A web reduced to unused fibers
drifting chaotically in the wind
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
I never knew love like Yours
In all my darkened years.
I never knew patience like Yours
In all my mental institutions.
I never knew what it was
To be whole in heart and soul
Until You came in
And kissed my lips
And took my hand
And led me home
Without one thought for my darkest demons.
You loved me and held me.
You fed me and clothed me.
You made Your home mine too.
And when my heart broke
And the nightmares spilled out
Like a child's box of trinkets
Scattered across the floor,
You picked up each shard of broken heart
Without so much as a second thought
To whether they would cut You too,
And gently put them back together
With meticulous finesse
Until my heart matched Yours
In perfect cohesiveness.
I must confess Your love has made me whole.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
October 20, 2014 8:40a.m.
On August 28, 2013, strictly as a novice, and not having posted anything, anywhere, I posted my first two pieces of "literary art" on the HP site. I had previously searched other similar sites until finally deciding on posting with HP. I'm glad I did. Why?
Not knowing what to expect, I threw "1894", and "Folklore and Fairy Tales" into the "mixing bowl". Pradip and Sally were the first to comment, and I will never forget the encouragement their words gave me. Never! Quite often, I go back and re-read them, particularly when I get a little discouraged when the "writers block" syndrome decides to attack. Thank you both, so very, very much!
But that is the core of the HP family. There is an aura, a special atmosphere of cohesiveness among its contributors, willing to offer(in most cases) constructive criticism without being cynical, and always encouraging each other. Making friends whom we may never see, whose hands we may never shake, but a friendship none the less, that is spread throughout the globe, and the thoughts that will always be there. It is a feeling I did not sense with other sites.
One thing is for certain. We never know what our readers are going to like/dislike on any given day. When we post a piece, of what we may think is the work of "pure genius" could go by the wayside in seconds. On the other end of the spectrum, what we believe is not so great, could trend in minutes.
We will keep trying.
Richard Riddle
copyright: October 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
#the forming of substance 04
Stephan W
*"For years I’ve wanted to live
according to everyone else’s morals.
I’ve forced myself to live like everyone else,
to look like everyone else.
I said what was necessary to join together,
even when I felt separate.
And after all of this, catastrophe came.
Now I wander amid the debris,
I am lawless, torn to pieces,
alone and accepting to be so,
resigned to my singularity and to my infirmities.
And I must rebuild a truth–
after having lived all my life in a sort of lie."
~Albert Camus*
~
*Worlds apart,
there is a tension
an alienation--
now, strangers-
in a not so strange land
So many parts..
fighting the glow
fighting each other-
These parts, hiding--
From having to be seen- when needed,
From the pain of
having to need the other parts
who also are so unable,
From the visibility--
from having to be asked to join in-
to the process of
an integrated internal functioning;
the metabolizing of things.
From the pain of it all-
and the despondency that will come
from any attempt
to even try.*
~ ~
*The spirit--
its dimly-lit distant memories
of a wholly different time
now afraid to ingrain itself
into a body- that is as of yet
wholly unable to even know itself--
Fragmented parts of the heart;
broken spirit,
a lonely longing-
There is a division
a separation
immersed in a dank mist of fear--
Parts-- nearly touching
but, so unable to see..
or even feel each other in the dark
And the greatest loneliness
becomes the one that is lived within oneself--
An unlived-living
within the broken internal-world
of fragmented parts-
now huddled into remote corners
with such large spaces in between;
parts, isolated from
other parts.*
~ ~ ~
*One day they will no longer be
so afraid of each other--
Even in its dimly-lit state of being,
the spirit yearns for a cohesiveness,
a wholeness--
a re-integration of all the parts;
a reassembling.
Until that time, everything will be partial;
dis- assembled
fragmented.*
#
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 10:41 PM UTC
1) "An unstable political situation, marked by sharp social divisions and usually, but not always, by a foundering or stagnant economy." Check.
2) " A political objective, based on firm moral and ideological grounds, that can be understood and accepted by the majority as the overriding cause of the insurgency, desirable in and of itself and worthy of any sacrifice." We have yet to achieve that cohesiveness among the various factions and break-away groups within our society.
3) "An oppressive government, with which no political compromise is possible." As yet to be determined. The situation remains fluid.
4) " Some form of revolutionary political organization, capable of providing dedicated and consistent leadership toward the accepted goal." As yet, there is no organization that can muster the popular support or bring disparate groups together to make any sort of legal headway against our common enemy.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
I always think of different fantasies.
That you and I will be on disparate galaxies.
I can see us holding hands,
Walking on the obscure lands.
Making you feel safe and loved,
That’s all that I want you to have.
In a world full of doubt and uncertainty,
Your smiling face is my clarity.
Sadness, worries and emptiness,
All will be gone if there is cohesiveness.
You are my light as I sail into the night.
Even though I'm alone I know everything will be all right.
As I open my eyes in this dubious reality,
I will never be awakened by the truth and actuality.
I let myself be drowned with assumption and mendacity.
When can I wake up from this unrealistic insanity?
Where facts are visible and evident,
I still remained blind and confident.
Even if it's just make-believe,
I'll just let myself be deceived.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
You had left me reeling
under the bluebells,
like a trembling leaf, like wheels
in human conflict.
Trying to learn the democracy
of honeybees, like the
cohesiveness of fireants,
Handcuffed, staying in
solitary confinement, hitting at
the walls. Chipping away
the ungrateful.
The triage will leave me
unattended. The road...
do you think, it will be visible?
The stars will listen,
night will not.
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 11:39 PM UTC
"Visitational Voids"
Your veins hold stardust and we have the beginning and ending of time within ourselves. I'm not looking for more time or untarnished love. I'd just like for a quiet to come over me as it does when we sink below a broken surface. Matter belonging to my ancestors and of my unborn children, I return to simplicity that's so pure and so dark, raining a timeless, stagnant glory. A temperatureless void in space where infinity contains answers. Where we wed to one another to exist in inevitable, unquestionable cohesiveness. Where fear isn’t scary. Where it comes uncaptured and intangible. Where what's tangible is our cosmos souls. Your human ego and mine, left behind, and the forever living that you and I do, conforms to the human theocracy about Big Bang. Our indivisible held hands expel so much passion, heat, human, lively things that we create new life. This is the quiet. Take me to space, where it's a hum of stars. We can waste away into rebirth and recycle elemental allocations of consciousness and moral sounds.
-d.r 12.16.15
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 4:49 AM UTC
Never mind… a few more starving civilians that were gunned down to quench their hunger…
A few new gas chambers…
A few more parasite bombs dissecting the flesh of youngsters…
It will all sort itself out soon…
A few less teachers…
A few less writers and reachers…
People that can tell us what life means to us…
Never mind….
It’s too late now to turn this around… At least in the interim…
Soon there might be another intermission…
That’s fine, that will work in my favour… buy me some more time to waver… I can deal with this global assumption that I’m a monster…
I can quieten this down, phase this one out…
I don’t need collective cohesiveness, understanding and education…
I just need a good lawyer, some good half truths, a suit and tie and my foolproof patter…
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 5:11 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the immitigably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Oct 1, 2021
Oct 1, 2021 at 12:53 PM UTC
When will you stop
Hiding in the bushes,
Of bannered hourglass
And deal breaker muses,
Of mysterious voyages
And undecoded patterns,
Drenched in your lips
Coated with wine;
Guarded in sublime.
When will you etch
Your lone marches,
Upbeat through spectrum
Of your impulse purchase;
Of the things you dream for
And the extravagant churches,
Of your complaints and pains,
Of your rigid achievements.
It's all mysteries
And twisted verses;
Of all the missed mid weeks
Of all the inside curses;
At the cohesiveness of stories
With all the vague bars
We are at the same range
Fighting different wars.
When will be the endings,
Of should be happy endings;
Of all the struggles and fake friends;
Lurking in your future wedding.
When is the moment,
The blooming of the fields
Your mornings and my night wields
Raising our shields
Improving our builds
With all these crates
We suppose to create
Is it too late
Or is worth the wait
For time's sake
Will you flake?
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC