"communist" poems
talkshows and the yellow press
get excited in excess
over his shenanigans
that delight his faithful fans
rumors of these *** affairs
strong words for all macho players
in the game of social thrones
texts with threatening undertones
for minorities and women
treating immigrants like demons
neither fans nor his opponents
seem to notice the components
of the white house strategy
throw them bones
fodder for the yellow press
and while they fight
clandestinely out of sight
works the Trumpian policy
money laundering blatant lies
scolding allies breaking ties
adoring foes praising those
usurpers of democracies
experts in atrocities
slowly yet persistently
undermine civility
with foul language
fill all courts with servile judges
court the aristocracies
of oil sheikdoms in the East
praising communist dictators
who have helped him build his towers
step by step he‘s leading US
from the groups of international powers
to an isolation desert
at the margins of the world
slogans we have rarely heard
over decades
now re-nourished
twittered with presidential flourish
make America small again
warning voices call in vain
no wonder the statue of liberty
is hiding her face in misery (*)
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 5:24 PM UTC
"A spectre is haunting Europe"
- Communist Manifesto
Ang multong gumagala noon sa Europa ay hindi parin natatahimik. Hanggang ngayon ay patuloy itong gumagala at nanggagambala. Hindi n’ya pinatatahimik ang mga burgis at elitista. Kaya’t patuloy na nagsasabwatan ang ibat-ibang kapangyarihan sa lipunan upang labanan ang multong ito at hadlangan ang kanyang paggala. Ang mga lider ng relihiyon, ang mga kapitalista, ang mga namumuno sa gobyerno na panay oportunista, ang pasistang militar, ang pulisya pati na ang midya lahat sila ay nagsasamasama upang kalabanin ang multong gumagala.
Nasaan na ang tunay na partido ng mga manggagawa na kinakatawan ng multong gumagala? Nasaan na ang mga rebolusyunaryo at mga aktibista na kakalaban sa bulok na Sistema? Bakit hanggang ngayon ay namamayani parin ang naghaharing mapagsamantalang uri? Kinain na ba kayo ng maling sistema at ngayo’y naaagnas na rin?
Nang bumagsak ang Rusya at lumihis ang Tsina ay nagdiwang ang mga imperyalista. Akala nila ito na ang wakas nang paggala ng multo, subalit nabigo sila at nagmukhang mga asong hangal na kumakahol sa sariling suka. Pagkat nagpatuloy ang multo sa kanyang paggala at ibayong lagim ang kanyang dala-dala. Subalit bakit tanong nila?
Simple lang ang dahilan:
Hanggat laganap ang kahirapan at hindi pagkakapantay-pantay hindi sila patatahimikin ng multong gumagala. Patuloy nitong uusigin ang budhi ng mga ganid at sakim sa kayamanan.
Hanggat ang biyaya ng lupa ay hindi nakakamtan ng lahat ng tao ay patuloy itong magmumulto.
Hanggat ang mga manggagawa ay hindi gumiginhawa hindi mananawa ang multo na magpaalala sa kanila na patuloy nilang igiit at ipaglaban ang kanilang mga karapatan na s’yang nararapat.
Patuloy na gumagala ang multo ng Komunismo na nagmula pa sa Europa kailanman hindi nito patatahimikin ang mga sakim sa yaman at sukaban sa kapangyarihan.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 12:36 AM UTC
Dear Poet Friends, Here is a poem by a young Canadian poet named Darien, which I found while browsing the Net! I would like to share this with you as a prelude to my poem about the 'Rise of The Third Reich', - which I hope to post on this Site shortly. Thanks, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi
World War II - ADOLF ******
by DARIEN, Aug 21, 2006
Austria raised a man so vile and vicious
His life was dark, callous and malicious
Passions of hatred engraved in his mind
As he plotted to create his own mankind
A soldier for Germany in World War One
War to end all wars had only just begun
The National Socialist Party appeared fast
Their numbers grew rapidly as time passed
Charismatic oratory and propaganda his tool
False promises made, people he would fool
Were Nazis the one to bring hope? Perhaps
Without their help Germany would collapse
The Reichstag Fire would be a stepping stone
Germany's President died, he took the throne
He became the fuhrer leader of all Germany
And would start the worst war of the century
War had been started with a Nazi-Soviet pact
Together with Russia, Poland they attacked
England and France were not ready for war
Marching of Nazis soldiers was not ignored.
Mussolini became his ally and supported him
For all other countries their chances were slim
Many countries were defeated in a few days
the Fascist and Nazis would give him praise
Blitzkrieg was a strategy that worked most
In defeating all his enemies he came close
The Nazis would spread all across Europe
But it would be at Stalingrad they would stop
Communist regimes were one group he did hate
Yet it was the Jews he would try to annihilate
In all cruelty, bloodshed, war would soon end
There was still so much for people to defend
On V-Day he saw all his armies demolished
****** and fascism in Europe was abolished
World War Two ended the areas were secure
From that evil, monstrous beast Adolf ******
- By Darien. (Canada)
..........................................................................
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
*a child is born free of mind
but is hardened into thought
and by the time one dies
most are fixed and ******* into
worlds of their making,
heavens of their fantasies*
so one thinks one's an Indian, one a Chinese
or an American or British or Swedish
or French or Russian or German;
or one thinks one is a Christian or Muslim
or Jew or Hindu or Sikh or Catholic
or Doaist or Buddhist or Marxist or Communist
or even for that matter, an atheist
- or whatever you will...
one finds a badge to pin proudly to one's chest
and each identity becomes so strong
it becomes so real
it all comes into the question of right and wrong
of evil and good
and it falls into loud declamations
and my tribe is good, your tribe is evil
my brand is holy, your brand unholy...
and so it goes,
with all sorts of justifications
that beat sense out of all loyal adherents
and it squeezes humanity out of the human
as paste out of a tube...
ah, and yes,
the energy goes on into the afterlife
as Christians go into a Christian Heaven
and Hindus and Buddhists into various Lokas
and Muslims in their own Paradise
and so it goes on,
this Human Tragi-Comedy,
yes, yes, certainly all created by the Almighty
who was created by your mind's poverty
so that
a child is born free of mind
but is hardened into thought
and by the time one dies
most are fixed and ******* into
worlds of their making,
heavens of their fantasies
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 7:34 PM UTC
She used to tell me
of math and poetry
by the length of her arm
and rhythm of her heart
conversing verse and fraction
with form following the function
of communist theories
and greek philosophies.
she beat out aesthetics
with a perfect symmetry.
because no one understands
the relationship between
seafoam and shoreline
the way she does
[swimming in saltwater sorrows]
reimagining time in an hourglass,
she shot up infinities with a glance
and left me moondrunk in the night.
she emits sparks throughout my system
breaking and entering--
my kingdom under siege.
her name was an amalgam of numbers
italic1.6180399. . . .italic
and I loved her by design.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
i can not even write this
because it will be anti
american
unpatriotic
and an
insult to
the land
of freedom
i was born in.
I can not even write this
because I am the first
generation
daughter
child
born in
the land
of freedom.
I can not write this
because my abuela
will tell me that I am
lebanese
cuban
and i was
born in
the land of
freedom.
i can not even write this
because my Tio
who came to
America
at the age of 6
and had “adjustment”
issues will remind me that
I
Am
American.
Tio will tell me that
I
am privileged.
because I was
born in the
land of freedom.
Abuela will remind me
that CUBA is
dead.
Abuie will remind me
to hush about all things
Arabic and Lebanese
because I am
American
born in the
land of freedom.
She reminds to hush
about the black
eyes
that see past
this land to the past
of other places
that whisper
my name.
They remind me
that I am
American and
not a communist
not a terrorist
not a girl who
hears her name
sung in the winds
of other lands
which i have not
wandered.
Abuela reminds me
to not yearn for
white sandy beaches
with waves that break
on a rock laiden wall.
Abuie reminds me
to ignore the need
for hot sand
beneath my feet
and wafting smell
of foreign spices
that are
unknown
to those born
in the land of freedom.
In the land of
freedom?
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:09 AM UTC
It's not even romantic
But I'm going to write a poem of every boy I met.Not romantic,
It's not that I had met a lot of men.
On that morning
you played ukulele,
I sang along with the lyrics
Creep, Blur,anything
The morning light shined through your squinted eyes
I can still see the dust swirling, dancing in front of the sun-bathed face of yours.
Naive,friendly,happily
We were singing to each other
The other two are non-existence.
You are so warm, comfortable to be around with
A Belarusian boy ,aspiring to speak good Chinese.
You paint, you cooked and made desserts
Always at ease at hitchhiking
through Kazakhstan and China
I felt that you secretly want to try to escape from what you had
from Belarus to Czech, then to this mysterious Eastern world, a bit communist.
And then to Taiwan.
This is for you Ilya, a friend for only a day and night.
You're too delicate for me to handle as you have
skin like milk and heart of seven seas
Smile like a 5 year old in a swing.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
appearances
appearances
appearances
we aren’t what
we seem,
are we?
but we are
what we seem
aren’t we?
how would
you know about
the drug-takers,
the child-rapists,
the murderers,
the doctors,
the racists,
the writers,
the sports-fan,
the obese,
the rage-filled,
the hateless,
if they didn’t
tell you?
what are they but
average joes
until they go
rob a bank
or
paint a master-
piece?
even
the very perfect,
like the president
or
your babysitter,
is probably hiding
something
maybe they’re
a *** addict
or a pill-popper
or a communist
but if you look
at them and
see a good little
child
or
a perfect
example of
human being
I highly
doubt that’s what
they really
are
I say this
simply because
people are not
perfect
but
society
refuses to let
them be their
misshapen
selves
so we hide it,
like all good
things,
and pretend
like we have no idea
what they’re talking
about
when somebody
makes fun
of our favorite
geeky tv
show
and that’s us
all appearances
all lies
all that we know
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 6:32 PM UTC
resuming vogon poetry
altering website logos
pretending everyone cares
playing "east hastings"
asphyxiating well-nigh denouement
depicting twitter status
obfuscating coincident deletions
translating from Sḵwx̱wú7mesh
assuring Sḵwx̱wú7mesh exists
painting skwiḵw's mother?
decrying micropolitical maelstrom
imbibing fireball fountain
inundating lexical foofaraw
crafting poetic wonders
desiring other mediums
remaining practically invisible
ending internet-only depression
drafting noetic blunders
requesting astute clique
blazing perilous trail
aging ominous grisaille
depicting kmart realism
seeking darker groups
increasing pre-weekend laughter
appropriating communist symbols
making lone chuckle
offending worldwide communists
colonizing hello poetry
colonizing parallel universe
relaxing e-migration policies
пить чистую водку
photographing abduction scene
¿losing consistent format?
increasing bluebird insignia
avoiding frivolous legalities
striking astraphobic comments
assuming near-universal automation
lowering latent inhibition
traversing oneiric plane
laxwadding afebrile loodies
wallscaping pitchsourced chthonicities
closing one-star conveniences
sharing alien-looking alphabet
writing system downtimes
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
not everyone who holds a pen is a writer.
not everyone who rides a horse is a jockey.
not everyone who clips their toenails is a podiatrist.
not everyone who smokes knows the feeling.
not everyone who chokes is a sadist.
not everyone who lies is an actor.
not everyone who wears a moustache is a communist.
not everyone who smiles is the sunlight.
not everyone who tries is a failure.
not everyone who shouts knows the silence.
not everyone who cries knows depression.
not everyone who laughs gets the joke.
not everyone who speaks is a teacher.
not everyone who hears truly listens.
not everyone who died really lived.
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 9:41 PM UTC
There once was a guy named Marx
Who thought the bourgeosie were a bunch of old farts
He proposed a solution
Socialist revolution!
But when will it happen? Don't ask!
Russia's first ****** was Lenin
His blueprint for Russia was telling
Although his hairline receded
He finally succeded!
By stopping those Whites from rebelling
Oh what a poor sap was Engels
He built communism from its fundamentals
He helped write the book
Yet we gave him the hook
Marx, the chorus, and he, the instrumental
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
No, I'm not a capitalist, a socialist or a communist .
I'm not a racist, a fascist or a nationalist.
No, I'm not an idealist, a pacifist or a humanist.
I'm not a Buddhist, a Taoist or an atheist.
No, I' m not an activist, a conspiracist or even an anarchist.
Neither elitist nor philanthropist.
I am just me, there is no twist.
I am simply me, happy to exist,
sick of symbols and ideological mist.
Open your heart and you will see,
it is not me or you, it's we.
Symphony in the cacophony.
Let's tell the king while on his knee,
I am me and we are free and that is how it's gonna be.
You have gone too far, oh mighty Czar,
but we can break any bar, ist das klar?
We are humans, we insist, and from your labels we desist.
We are people and we're ****** oh we promise, we'll resist.
I am me and I am we. I am you and so is she.
We are the leaves of the tree, but what will fall is tyranny
We are I, my oh my, and we shall fight until we die.
We are I so we can fly. We are I and we stand high.
23/04/12
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 3:11 PM UTC
DON’T LET THE ROBOTS WIN
The red sun gazes upon a blue moon’s reveries
While the baker glazes over our doughnuts memories
5-9 TV talks of talcum dreams,
Suicide sweet
****** machines.
Fascist fornication with communist candy
Tastes kinda like Yankee doodle dandy
I whisper over the roar of a glazed man grazing,
Dazed, and drowned,
to the Automated telenation:
“Don’t use self checkout lines,
Don’t let the robots win!”
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 8:36 PM UTC
Sometimes strange things happen.
In the afternoon mostly, after lunch and rest.
Today in was the morning.
A communist asked me
" Did I know the difference between Chinese communism and Vietnamese communism"?
To be honest..I did not.
This is the first time I had been asked this question.
A new experience.
I sensed a passion, a desire for me to answer.
We ascend from time-to-time.
So I said
" The characterization of the struggle"
I put effort into this.
Attention and love.
Was the communist satisfied?
I don't know
But we all learn to do necessary things.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 1:15 AM UTC
Let Christ give his final sacrament to us through the holy Eucharist of his jizzum.
He shall raise the skirts of all boys and decimate the trousers of all who fear him.
I was a kid once and i know this.
Don't worry he ***** me too.
Feels good if you know him in the flesh in fruity underwear tighty see throughs.
Death plague.
He brings to us.
Through the work of his *****
Whacking off each head to ***
Come one come all,
to the shitshow circus called religion,
**** morals owned by slavery and god,
All fallacy is see through like his ******* nightgown
God is the **** of ********
Get a hard on from your violence absolvance.
**** one another destroy.
Empathy is for *******
God is dead.
Shot with led, fed to the Nazis, in their death holes for the unclean,
God is a ***
The **** of earth isn’t me or you
It's the constructs of dogma,
That they abused us with as children.
Come on now we all aren’t bad guys.
It's the ***** in power.
**** ****
Follow, follow,
into a pit like the communist.
I had *** with Stalin and created democracy.
Chairmen Mao is necrophagist.
****** was was the savior of the Semites.
The Popes are the largest mass murderers in history.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
Oh Jesus time by the pink and purple sunset
Thinking of a traveling guitar boy,
of chai sleep broken by dying beggars
all trying to tell me something.
If the ocean lights don't call us home
we could backpack to the crocodile places
eat thirteen camels with the people
smoke tea and rainy day cigarettes.
Heartache sits like snow on the roof
of the hollow hut Connecticut.
The kids tried too many times for nothing.
Mom dream better for me
Wear your peace face
I'm trying to change
You're talking France nostalgia while upstairs
the weaver makes seven-dollar laments
for international slum chickens.
We can't do better than the break-bone average
reading scorched Chalbi newspapers
hacking coughs and statii soup for company.
Bukowski's in Mumbai eating cheddar
My siblings are in cages down in Egypt
The Spanish Communist cowboys
spill Turkana survivors on the floor of the Greyhound bus
Is there a hood idealist, ghetto healer?
My Sacramento roommate's drinking skeleton coffee
in the bathtub, she's got the Arab fever, so have I,
and not much else but these crazy plague jackets
this hungry smoking December
and Rumi's kids in cold-bread streets with protest signs.
We're easier taught the panic than the magic or the save,
There's too much strange and midnight waste.
You didn't know I needed you but you came through.
You're shimmering in clothes of saxaphone
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:03 AM UTC
Crows of brooklyn
payphone goddess
Shakespeare:
old skinny
repeating thin silver words
beneath a sea shell
stolen by a 7 year old girl
in a red rag dress
from the burning contemporary
bookstore
tossing sweat thru
irrelevant back spine tunnel streets
featherless skulls
spitting sour chinese gin
from chimney blow hole
of their decaying dead thieving Fox
revolting death
to mother blessing decay
red blue green white
Fox yellow brown fur
swirling entwined like
melting crayons
on a stone militia crafted bench
researched developed by young Hispanic America Freedom wanderers
too hot
too cold to undress and ****
swirling together like cigar french ashes with
tongue hued wine
feverish coffee
thick as the bulging pregnant belly mother
giving
taking birth to a child
tossed carelessly into the Great Lakes
sipping on bad spoiled milk
digesting salt
hard boiled swan eggs
eating purity
chewing skunk
coughing industrial chemical gasoline
*********** AIDS NYC bright non-existent lights
non-existent Allah
howling North Korea Communist war hymns
sing great religious protest
gunky toe nail'd feet
waltzing in the stomach of medieval
ballrooms chandelier not casted by
infinite diamonds
but by Jewish slaves
Islamic skins
Christian leather
Catholic molested brains children bones
deceased Langston Hughes
hung by Hughes spine and pupil
the size of texas
mass of the ****** female lips and knees
wearing color blind dress
shoes unfound
skin feet walking on rain drizzling beach
washed up skeleton sting ray
the skin unwrapped
like a christmas gift
Santa is starvation
licking the shoe polished long toes
of Death
riding the Downtown artificial lights
artificial scientist crafted classical
elevator time consuming Death songs
Jesus,
waking up,
to his body dry,
like that of Winter's rose and lips.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first:
To offer you now at last my least and my worst:
Minor, absurd preserves,
The shell's end-curves,
A document kept at the back of a drawer,
A tin hidden under the floor,
Recalcitrant prides and hesitations:
To pile them carefully in a desparate oblation
And say to you "quickly! turn them
Once over and burn them".
Now I (no communist, heaven knows!
Who have kept as my dearest right to close
My tenth door after I've opened nine to the world,
To unfold nine sepals holding one hard-furled)
Shall - or shall try to - offer to you
A communism of two ...
See, entry's yours;
Here, the last door!
2.3k
It’s hard to intervene when people fight.
Recall being thumped for “bullying” a lad
Who’d harassed ME.
So hard to tell
Who’s right or wrong.
Who made the first jibe
Or struck the first blow?
The same with global conflicts too:
Irish Catholic or Protestant?
Israel or Palestine?
Communist Country or Capitalist?
The list goes on…
Best keep out of it if you can.
Do not make judgement,
Just mediate as best you can.
Preach fairness and conciliation:
Do your best to facilitate
Peace.
Paul Butters
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 4:33 AM UTC
My anomalous trip thus far has been dichotomous.
Harbingers motivate my advent: a chorus.
Acceptance of frolic ventures sent: a quest.
My sneakers meet familiar soil at last.
Designed to be a panacea, yet I fall ill.
Sleets of rain impact my soul: a slight chill.
Hazed trance, awashed clean of all acrimony.
A lurid stroll, downhill, parallel, perfunctory.
I, a stoic mercenary, avenging my ties tonight.
Arcane magic flow through my veins, my sight.
Moisture sparkle, glistens through my mental maze.
Resistance, control: I attempt to regain ablaze.
Synaptics fuse, burn, misfire, discombobulate.
Higher functions remain: calculus, formulate.
Veritas! Visual focus be on 2D layer sharp.
Disintegrated data sung with melodious harp.
Laissez-faire slayed by Communist meritocracy.
Mental hierarchy arise from wayward sorcery.
My affection for her nets only melancholia.
The amity cease... yet reborn by spying cornea.
Upon a hill from sea to sea brings forth diplomacy.
Lively lads, enshrouded in black; they be prodigies.
Persons of worth: one stranger joins their ranks.
If my creed offend, beg you pardon pranks.
Silent drizzle softly sings of night and majesty.
Lament under moonlight, behold gray sanctity.
Ne'er shall dreadful turmoil befall our facilities.
Literature conceals such divine secrecy.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:15 AM UTC
Moon is getting red
as if it's being strangled
my legs are proving the struggle
the night belongs to a scream
scream of a sparrow
in a gut deep stab
by some homeless from the country far far away
who stomps his feet every time you ask his name
she was rather painted differently
or interpreted differently
but the melancholy woman
I saw in the street selling goody bags
with a huge smile on her face
as I turn around the block
it was alley of the gunshot
people talk here in gunshot
gunshot carols
gunshot lullabies
gunshot romance
gunshot cry
gunshot memories
the subtle is the step you take
the subtle is every trigger you pull
bite you lips and
you are accused of being a communist
sad howl wakes up the city
the feeling of being mugged is haunting every lamp
every star
every eye
everything that glows
and
in a quiet distant direction
voyage continues
on a day
slipping into a moonless night
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
Let us mine into the depths of Shakhty, and scorn the Western state of communist superintendence.
We are embroiled in a political and industrial conglomerate where cold wars lay the foundations of unstoppable monstrosities.
Converse with Andrei Romanovich Chikatilo, as you splatter milk across the surface of your psychological cereal, and raise questions around the episodic nature of criminal profiling.
I love the olfactory beauty of a railway station, whose stench is dissimilar to the pastures of raunchy and deadly opportunities which result in Rostov butchery.
Nevertheless, it is rooted in crop failure and the enforced collectivization of agriculture.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
Composing Hallelujah
Fractious lines crack,
holiday decorate the spirit inferior,
while each note upon the priest's guitar
penetrates the aspirin roughened interior,
face slaps me, daggers and accuses,
you're not composing hallelujah.
So I mislead, big deal,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******** with you,
as you sit across from me electronically
pretending, me to you, you to me.
Lie to each other with smiling faces,
you too have reaped,
been emotionally *****
by what our minds see and sow,
scowls and howls,
we've both grown our own demons.
My secrets, maybe are all there,
maybe, writ loud and clear,
in the songs I choose to share,
and in the unrevealed ones,
buried alive, held in reserve,
but not, for your average, rainy day,
could be today, you have no say.
Are we not all veterans of a kind,
don't we all have ribbons on our chest,
stripes and stars on our khaki blouse,
a record of our own great campaigns,
including the war to end all wars,
the never ending one,
the one the psycho-historians renamed,
"The 24/7 Year Conflagration"?
It used to be just my secret, no more
don't need a cartoonist to tell me that's
the enemy is us, and there are moles, traitors,
hidden deep in our intelligence organization,
planting seeds, urges, pushing to
out the identity of our communist friend,
Depression
I don't mean the ordinary, garden variety,
a mere moody blues recession,
when funk is sourced from gray clouds,
served up proper, cold and wet,
then travels on when sun warmth
clarifies temporarily, the aspirin kicking in.
So I misled,
composing the anti-hallelujah,
yeah, I was ******** with you,
sit across from me and lie to me,
lie to each other with smiling faces
we reap what we own,
scowls and howls.
A chorus of harmonious poseurs
inside your own City Center,
vocalize the lyrics of the anti-hallelujah,
a composition of questions directed at
whomever in tonight's audience deserves it,
asking, nerving, to sing too loud, at decibel speed:
Are these verses, curses
about D,
our mutual acquaintance,
or just research notes for further followup,
part two of a pas de deux, and,
did you go this time, too far,
or still not far enough?
-
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC