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"comparatively" poems
Author: Kristen Stevens Current mood:  frustrated Anthony got a firetruck Lego set. The packaging says "ages 5-12". It also makes the claim "designed for easy building and instant play." Now I know he's only 4 but he's smart and not that far from 5 comparatively. I on the other hand am 28. Well outside the parameters age wise. Yet, this smallish box of tiny toys baffled me for over an hour. I have the directions, I've dug through the pieces, and am still mystified on occasion. As I'm searching for yet another microscopic piece of siren or whatever it was, I'm thinking..."5 years! I can't see any 5 yr-old sticking with this for this long without losing his mind. Then Mom would take it away because of the temper tantrum and never gets built. This is stupid! Where did that tiny loopy thing go?...etc" What part of an hour is "instant play" do they not own a dictionary? I could tell them. Then once it's together, somehow Anthony keeps taking the windshield off. He's not  actively disassemble it. He's just rolling back and forth on the floor going "whoo-whoo!" Lego's the most touchy toy on the planet. Maybe he'll get some more when he's 15.
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Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 7:52 AM UTC
legos LIE!
534 We see—Comparatively— The Thing so towering high We could not grasp its segment Unaided—Yesterday— This Morning’s finer Verdict— Makes scarcely worth the toil— A furrow—Our Cordillera— Our Apennine—a Knoll— Perhaps ’tis kindly—done us— The Anguish—and the loss— The wrenching—for His Firmament The Thing belonged to us— To spare these Striding Spirits Some Morning of Chagrin— The waking in a Gnat’s—embrace— Our Giants—further on—
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3.1k
We see—Comparatively
At the risk of sounding sexist I’d like to pay my highest respects today to the girl at my accountant’s with the beautiful ******* Usually the only things that jiggle there are the numbers on the ledger, but today a couple of numbers stuck out for me to admire. She knew it all added up spectacularly well as she bent down obligingly and pointed out where I should sign and showed me what I needed to see. She knew and I knew that capital gains and expenses were comparatively insignificant here. Saucy insouciance was the obvious upside. Of course, I shouldn’t have noticed, but then I'm afraid that's what happens when you’re more of a ****** than an entrepreneur. Mike T Minehan
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Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 8:43 PM UTC
At the Risk of Sounding Sexist
People live forever in Jacksonville and St. Petersburg and Tampa, But you don't have to live forever to become a grampa. The entrance requirements for grampahood are comparatively mild, You only have to live until your child has a child. From that point on you start looking both ways over your shoulder, Because sometimes you feel thirty years younger and sometimes thirty years older. Now you begin to realize who it was that reached the height of imbecility, It was whoever said that grandparents have all the fun and none of the responsibility. This is the most enticing spiderwebs of a tarradiddle ever spun, Because everybody would love to have a baby around who was no responsibility and lots of fun, But I can think of no one but a mooncalf or a gaby Who would trust their own child to raise a baby. So you have to personally superintend your grandchild from diapers to pants and from bottle to spoon, Because you know that your own child hasn't sense enough to come in out of a typhoon. You don't have to live forever to become a grampa, but if you do want to live forever, Don't try to be clever; If you wish to reach the end of the trail with an uncut throat, Don't go around saying Quote I don't mind being a grampa but I hate being married to a gramma Unquote.
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2.8k
Come On In, The Senility Is Fine
Comparatively speaking, It's grand to live In Canada. It's as free as one can get, Comparatively. We have one hundred percent Control over our destiny And our bodies: That is, Until we near the end. Then, Our government decides How we die. I suspect they want to know That I'm one hundred percent Disposed and dispossessed.
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Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
One Hundred Percent Disposed
Boeing 777 MH17 17/7/14. “ Most of the passengers had no race, But today they gained a nationality. Today, we are united in grieve. “ Tragedy struck again, One strike after another, One blow after another. Today, we lost 295 people, Out of a grand total of 7.046 billion people. To an individual, The figures may mean nothing, Comparatively. But as a nation, This was a hard one to accept. How do you digest the fact that 295 people lost their future, Overnight. How do you digest the fact that 295 people are gone just like that. How do you accept the fact that Your country is falling apart, Slowly, But surely.
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Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
MH17
I I am him, the man seeking solitude I am him, the boy annoyed afraid and hates being Alone A flea, fleeing man traversing fleeting moments. Burning away oil, soaked fleece. North Face coming home feels more and more of a disgrace North Star I want to follow that sweet shoulder with that brainwashing LOGO LOGOS save me logo log logarithm love My jacket pulled over her legs freezing she says shivering chills Withdrawal, hence we are en route to the corner to get well. sitting silent and innocent (comparatively with the deranged driver). in the backseat as this driver drives lives nowhere and the only place we all want to go everywhere all at once into oblivion we go sullen eyes and veins soaked with ****** and ******* I am him the man looking in the mirror with disdain I am him The man afraid of what he sees. Maybe dolorful colorful Colorado can save Him. This is my Howl This is my Purge save me save me save me me I fear of Art becoming dead to me If fear of God dying to me Dan is dead II The neighborhood is dim snow falls I smoke on the porch 5 years before what you just read Dan is still alive and as I smoke on the porch snow falls I watch the people commuters college professors middle class lower class intelligent stupid rich poor white black doctors trash man *** heads junkies young girls grandparents my community America These people enclosed in there cars on their faces just regret anger disappointment I start to wish there was something I could offer them but I have nothing myself only fog of dreams in my head
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Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
silver teapot, sugar bowls and cream pitcher(paul revere)
I I am him, the man seeking solitude I am him, the boy annoyed afraid and hates being Alone A flea, fleeing man traversing fleeting moments. Burning away oil, soaked fleece. North Face coming home feels more and more of a disgrace North Star I want to follow that sweet shoulder with that brainwashing LOGO LOGOS save me logo log logarithm love My jacket pulled over her legs freezing she says shivering chills Withdrawal, hence we are en route to the corner to get well. sitting silent and innocent (comparatively with the deranged driver). in the backseat as this driver drives lives nowhere and the only place we all want to go everywhere all at once into oblivion we go sullen eyes and veins soaked with ****** and ******* I am him the man looking in the mirror with disdain I am him The man afraid of what he sees. Maybe dolorful colorful Colorado can save Him. This is my Howl This is my Purge save me save me save me me I fear of Art becoming dead to me If fear of God dying to me Dan is dead II The neighborhood is dim snow falls I smoke on the porch 5 years before what you just read Dan is still alive and as I smoke on the porch snow falls I watch the people commuters college professors middle class lower class intelligent stupid rich poor white black doctors trash man *** heads junkies young girls grandparents my community America These people enclosed in there cars on their faces just regret anger disappointment I start to wish there was something I could offer them but I have nothing myself only fog of dreams in my head
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74
*I hate people who trivialize any sadness. If they're suffering, why should they be mocked? You answer for me. Don't tell me they're implying They're suffering is greater than others Or that they're intensifying The flighting emotion that need not be exaggerated Because you don't known their pain, Get an insight to their thought, Accept their pain into yourself-- Yes you have suffered, none can deny that But if you don't respect the man Comparatively weaker, or sound How can anyone respect your position? You are a parasite, Lost in the host You feed off sadness You know it's a drought Yet you remain cynical So simple in your name. Your life is filled with hollow anguish You'll never learn in time And in my dread I know you are me...*
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Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
Mocked
I have compared my love to the lazy, the no good and to crazy girls of the past, to my first truck, to a spell, a moth and a bottle, to the hell bending moon, if you could tell, and to a Captain - if not a ship, and to ways you'll come to know too soon, but I have never, ever compared my love for you.
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Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
My love, comparatively speaking
Who said you're not in my life, you are not important to me, I know from past we talk less comparatively, But it doesn't mean trust and friendship content is reduced, Our friendship survived from severe communication gap attack that we both knew, We are carrying this relation because , We know that rude talk and gestures will not make us, who we are what we are really from inside, So our efforts will make the bond better, Ego is not a part of our personality which is **** bitter.
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Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 1:05 AM UTC
friendship bond talk
I am floundering in a new identity often praise is irksome it comes with a cost, so subliminal I'll become, rudderless, I voyage, comparatively as a torrent is to stimulating.
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Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
Assumed Identity
This fish bowl I'm in I am a speck on the bottom of it: I am gullible Mom tells me I'm special: That's not true It was all a ******* lie papers I produce are mediocre comparatively: I  don't do jack **** they make art: speak beautiful words compose music: research human trafficking discuss what the person is: what god is or isn't look into the depths of what it is to be alive configure ways to improve their environment discover and decode molecular diffusion unearth social constructionism link biomechanics to psychological transfer is this wall red? do you think it is red? is this vein blue? do you know why it is blue? is this cup green? do you care about being green? is this person yellow? how is this a historical conflict to be yellow? is this plaster white? how can we transform the white? That's right, now everybody go change the world dive down to the depths of human evil your letter of recommendation will get you real deep however I, I will not even get past the glass the bowl is too shallow I figured out bull ******** a long time ago but not well enough to understand things It was more one of those move your fins and then some how you will be able to breathe That's what happens when you spend too much time inhaling the wrong things you sink
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Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
The College of Arts and Sciences
Can a disease be a pet peeve? This one can. It has taken over my family and torn them apart. It has grown inside of people I love, Tormenting, restraining, and suppressing them. It adds a higher level of suffering, So that my bad days are comparatively fine. My sufferings don't count Their sufferings count too much, making them Dangerous I worry about the things they will do or say I worry about their safety I worry that they'll always feel this way I can never escape this disease inside of people around me I will forever have to be the strong one The one holding it together, so they can fall apart What happens, if I fall apart? I feel alone, and afraid All because of some stupid disease.
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Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
Pet Peeve Disease
They claim I can lead, that they can look up to me. That in a time so bleak, it's nice to see someone so strong. I am a very weak person. I am fragile. My immune system is shot. Any passing pathogen is free to stir me up. My walls are cracked and peeling, they are a poor defense. I've lost control over my feelings, and nothing makes sense. The world ends every day, yet, I remain in tact. I'm a cockroach scuttling through the motions, taking orders from rats. No one seems to think about the life of the insect, that putrid little pest, After the fact... After the blast, conflict is presumed to have passed, But life is not as we're taught it is in History class. Sure, I can survive; I've gotten by. Haven't I prevailed over all of the ants and all of the flies? Still, I wonder why... Why? wonder...why? I don't feel like I've tried? At points on the line I thought I had died, or at least wasted my life. Still, I stand here, watching the others pass by. Expressionless faces filled with blood that's run dry. The only reason I'm not floating on is because my hands were not tied. I'd have drowned with the rest of them if it weren't for where I lie. The ground on which I was born is comparatively high, Though the guilt instilled upon me is pushing me lower to the scene of the crime. Their lungs filled with water, Mine with wasted time. With feet barely wet, and my knees still dry, the guilt presses harder...but I still haven't tried. If I am strong, then this world must be wrong. Oh, so wrong. And for how long? How long must a man pretend to be a king when he is Kong? My legs trembling...twitching...I can barely move. I've been broken, burned, battered, and bruised. Don't look up to me as if I peer down on you. My friends, my enemies, you're all becoming confused. If it is my help you seek, I'm sorry, you fool. Can you not see? I am no better than you.
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Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Not Greater Than, Nor Equal To
They claim I can lead, that they can look up to me. That in a time so bleak, it's nice to see someone so strong. I am a very weak person. I am fragile. My immune system is shot. Any passing pathogen is free to stir me up. My walls are cracked and peeling, they are a poor defense. I've lost control over my feelings, and nothing makes sense. The world ends every day, yet, I remain in tact. I'm a cockroach scuttling through the motions, taking orders from rats. No one seems to think about the life of the insect, that putrid little pest, After the fact... After the blast, conflict is presumed to have passed, But life is not as we're taught it is in History class. Sure, I can survive; I've gotten by. Haven't I prevailed over all of the ants and all of the flies? Still, I wonder why... Why? wonder...why? I don't feel like I've tried? At points on the line I thought I had died, or at least wasted my life. Still, I stand here, watching the others pass by. Expressionless faces filled with blood that's run dry. The only reason I'm not floating on is because my hands were not tied. I'd have drowned with the rest of them if it weren't for where I lie. The ground on which I was born is comparatively high, Though the guilt instilled upon me is pushing me lower to the scene of the crime. Their lungs filled with water, Mine with wasted time. With feet barely wet, and my knees still dry, the guilt presses harder...but I still haven't tried. If I am strong, then this world must be wrong. Oh, so wrong. And for how long? How long must a man pretend to be a king when he is Kong? My legs trembling...twitching...I can barely move. I've been broken, burned, battered, and bruised. Don't look up to me as if I peer down on you. My friends, my enemies, you're all becoming confused. If it is my help you seek, I'm sorry, you fool. Can you not see? I am no better than you.
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37
Maybe tomorrow I'll admit that I was joking. Comparatively walking forward. Pretending I saw what I couldn't. The rustling of leaves, Allocation to how far the fall. The optimism of smiles. After all, I've know this whole time. When & where. Deliberately stealing glances. The second, third, forth Consciously known that you'd find me sooner or later. My role through the renewal of perspective. Maybe tomorrow you'll forget & I'll joking walk up to you. Smile and say "Tag, your it!" Knowing that you've been it this whole time. The rustle of leaves growing louder. Having known that I revealed myself without a word
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Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
Tag
suspected of being problematic, one is a common but questionable model, and an adjustment may be required to address all the nonsignificant differences— how they nonetheless constitute important arbitrary criterions for equivalence the significance test based on observational data is susceptible to (errors of) interpretation over the question at issue namely, do case differences arise because of exposure to a comparatively small sample or because of another variable? Exposure can be only mediated by crude estimates and so may be misleading during the forming of the hypothesized model of one that describes the association between exposure, bias, and the variables, and reconciles difference with equivalence significantly. The model provides little information that is incontrovertible but the results suggest if adjustment for the variable makes no substantive difference ignore it but if your knowledge indicates the adjusted variable to be preferable then prefer it
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Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:25 PM UTC
Confounding
*A Story of Scientology and the Mental Health System Connection* What you are about to read will shock you. Some may find it extremely disturbing. I will tell you from the outset, also, that i am quite "insane". According to the psychiatrists "Schizo-Affective". Manic-Depressive with Paranoid features. I will freely admit that what you will read here will sound crazy. But please read on. It may be horrifying. It may be weird. It may seem extremely paranoid. But it still interests. It is my desperate hope that you will read. And believe me. For, my "diagnosis" notwithstanding, I am as sane as the next "normal" person. *I AM NOT A LUNATIC!* What you are about to read really happened. *To ME*. It has plot twisting tension that could be put to the credit of Alfred Hitchcock. And a psychological horror that Steven King could emulate. How could I compare my writing to the genius of those great & talented men? I don't. Because, dear readers, I did not conceive of it. It was done to me. I merely convey the technology and techniques used to make any "normal person" appear a ****** Toon of 50 mile high proportions! It exists. And it is excruciatingly painful to be the subject of it. So why would a girl from a comparatively small city, with no seeming accomplishments to commend her, and is actually quite unimportant, be the subject of such hateful torment? *What has she done?* I will convey ALL of the reasons. I did play a part in it. I had a tri-fold lawsuit against a once-high-profile video dating club, who wanted to prevent litigation by thoroughly discrediting me. And I had a very virulent and hateful foe... The "Church" of SCIENTOLOGY.
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Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
MADWOMAN ACROSS THE WATER (PART I)
*A Story of Scientology and the Mental Health System Connection* What you are about to read will shock you. Some may find it extremely disturbing. I will tell you from the outset, also, that i am quite "insane". According to the psychiatrists "Schizo-Affective". Manic-Depressive with Paranoid features. I will freely admit that what you will read here will sound crazy. But please read on. It may be horrifying. It may be weird. It may seem extremely paranoid. But it still interests. It is my desperate hope that you will read. And believe me. For, my "diagnosis" notwithstanding, I am as sane as the next "normal" person. *I AM NOT A LUNATIC!* What you are about to read really happened. *To ME*. It has plot twisting tension that could be put to the credit of Alfred Hitchcock. And a psychological horror that Steven King could emulate. How could I compare my writing to the genius of those great & talented men? I don't. Because, dear readers, I did not conceive of it. It was done to me. I merely convey the technology and techniques used to make any "normal person" appear a ****** Toon of 50 mile high proportions! It exists. And it is excruciatingly painful to be the subject of it. So why would a girl from a comparatively small city, with no seeming accomplishments to commend her, and is actually quite unimportant, be the subject of such hateful torment? *What has she done?* I will convey ALL of the reasons. I did play a part in it. I had a tri-fold lawsuit against a once-high-profile video dating club, who wanted to prevent litigation by thoroughly discrediting me. And I had a very virulent and hateful foe... The "Church" of SCIENTOLOGY.
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(For one) I don't want (to know more of) the way seconds never cease colliding into (something, either external or internal to) others in a rippling shimmer of (the consciousness, is) moments that never possess the finality (a divine madness of quantification.) which we cry of to (The Ego, who comparatively weighs) others in re-tellings of (self against anything not defined by) our lives. This (the chemical current of self-awareness,) is a truth too often refused (in accepting such divine madness) from our emotional responses (begins a spewing tornado of self deterioration) to physical objects (as the universe which contains self) and our fluctuating position (begins to fully exist.) to them. Yet, in that (As the universe is more fully known) i live in a continual agony (by constructs of the conscious self,) which knows not the ceasing satisfaction of (the increasingly perceived universe, which begins to outweigh) the total fulfillment of (constructs of self,) a singularity of identity in space and time, (makes existence appear impossible) are the screams of my eternality.
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May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
Time (Space) and Self
Oh No You Don't Won't Need Your Drink I'm just fine I spend the long nights In an intimate dance Touching myself Comparatively, You're not interesting How Dare You Buy How Dare You Scheme What about me? What about me?
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Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
Suffer Summer: "CC Slaughterhouse"
While walking hither and thither Thinking that tonight, the world will set, While lying , wondering what to do now, A headache will come in an autorickshaw The dinner will be skipped But what stung will not be a comparatively harmless water snake That viper will sting during nightly dreams Again and again O my! I am dead! Then ammini, lying nearby Will cry once, Assuming “Oh, oh, father is gone” While I look thinking that she cried in her sleep Lo! She will smile Thereupon, outside, A full moon will laugh with her That smile is enough To lose sleep Then I will get up, Go out While I walk hither and thither Through the full moon’s laughter, On the Devil Tree in the yard, A Yakshi will cry and laugh Then I will get tired Duly I will come inside and lie down to sleep The world I thought had set Will rise in the east Then what do I do? Was it me who died yesterday Or Someone else we thought of? (Salim Kumar , An actor)
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Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
To all drinkers of the world and one Salim Kumar
another day in the woods. on Strawberry ridge looking out over undulating green hills to the next great wall ridge of mountains. the last morning clouds left from last night's storm hanging in the valley mistily. the sun eventually burns them away. the respect between old Paul Karlsen and I continues to exist. even though he's a Mormon and I'm a fallen New Yorker. the work is comparatively easy, lifting hundred pound bags, so you can just imagine what we do other days. in fact, it's fun, especially for young Bates. we get all white (and our lungs dusty). on the way to and from the work site I read in Silent Spring, the chapter against herbicides, gathering inspiration for the upcoming controversy. in the end perhaps I'll be fired for refusing to lay down Tordon beads. realizing this, as I drive with Bates, I see the dark green conifers and begin to miss them.                                          Rocks and rattlesnakes, bluebells and mountain daisies, grasses and cactuses, mahogany bush, lodgepole pine and quaking aspen, lush forest and dry sun-tortured mountainside, wind and seed carried by wind, ants, streams, hummingbird and hawk, deer, badger, ground squirrel, wolverine.
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Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
The Dark Green Conifers
I am lucky, I am, Though I don't always believe it, To live where I live, With the friends that I have. The law of this land, Is comparatively fair, They won't stop me being me, Or from growing my hair. I am lucky. In fact, That I may gain support, And that any surgery I need, Will be completely free. In this country, In general, Attitudes are better, Than almost anywhere else, And I'm mostly protected. I won't be arrested, Or tortured, Or whipped, or hung, For wearing what I want, Or being with a girl. I won't be kicked out, Of my home by my parents, For though they may not understand, Or agree, They're accepting I won't be silenced, Or censored, Hateful comments are rare, And my words can make a difference, Without risk. I was lucky, I was, To be born where I am, Though it's not quite perfect, I am free enough.
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Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
Breaking from the normal
I am wide eyed; Attentive and glittering and eager. Consumed By your incessant stream of enlightened expression. Your eyes, Enigmatically, agressively determined, Seek constant, ruthless contact with mine. I  constrict, I turn away From the acute awareness of my inadequacy. Of my comparatively weak mind, Eclipsed by your emphatic, Evocative words which lead Me deeper, deeper into the black, unfamiliar, Imbalanced analysis wherein you thrive. Elevated, blinded, confounded by your eloquence. But you are only beauty and truth and goodness and power. And even in my stunned state of disordered mediocrity, This I understand with irrevocable clarity.
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Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 10:56 PM UTC
Convoluted Clarity