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the dirty poet Apr 2019
playing the ***** at a puppet cocktail party
couldn’t be an easier audience
but my check is still in the mail

saving a skinny woman with chest compressions
single-handedly so-to-speak
i wasn’t alone but i’ll take the credit
the others were weak, i was going heavy
and that’s when she came back

resurrecting my villain for the TV series Heroineburgh
an afternoon shoot with 3 young ladies in tight spandex
acting!

saving another woman with team compressions
went on for 60 minutes before her heart reignited
a christmas miracle
though i unplugged her 2 days later
continuous seizures

getting 3 of my 4 bands on one compilation
that and a quarter would give me a quarter

falling off my bike twice in 5 minutes
car ran a red light, then got doored in the bike lane
today was the first day my sprained wrist allowed pushups
(helps with those chest compressions)

making a money hat for the video i’m shooting for the Dumplings
they’re the Rolling Stones of my favorite bar

went to a hypnotist at the Fringe Fest
failing to get hyponotized
"you were obviously resisting," said my wife
i don’t know
i think i’m just obviously me

playing my ***** on a movie stage
for 8 second segments with the movie
don’t ask
we made $96 and bought tacos for $95

now i’m listening to my swinging new louis prima album
reflecting on this groovy month of spring
Taylor St Onge Dec 2017
If you're a patient in a hospital, wouldn't you want to know
exactly how many people have died in the room
                                                                 you're currently sleeping in?    
                           How many hearts have stopped beating, how many
                                                               lungs have deflated, how many
pupils have stopped responding to light—
                                                          ­                 how long CPR was
                                                                ­             performed before
                                                                ­            Time     of     Death
                                                           ­                       was called?
How many DNR patients waltzed into the afterlife
without so much as a half-hearted chest compression?

Ribs can break during CPR.
How many cracked ribs have echoed
                                                                ­  across the walls of your
                                                                ­            hospital room?

                                                           x

Eve was made from Adam's rib.
God plucked the bone and
                                                                ­                  fashioned it into a
                                                                ­             subservient woman to
                                                                ­               replace the wild one,
                                                                   the first one, the no good one,
                                     the woman made from the same soil as Adam:
      Lilith.

                                                           x

We break ribs, break wishbones, break most things we don't understand. A confused patient will take out his IV, his PICC line, even pull at his chest tube or his LVAD driveline.
If it doesn't make sense, we will try to eliminate it in the sake of
                                                                ­                               normality.

                      ­                                     x

Some time in August, we had two codes within one hour.  After 30 or so minutes of chest compressions, they pronounced the second man dead.  He wasn’t my patient that night, and I didn’t know him.  I think his ribs snapped under Alyssa’s hands when she tried to revive him.
                                                            ­      And what does that feel like?   Not just the desperate rush of adrenaline,
        of trying to bring someone back to life—not just the emotional,
                                                                ­           but the physical of it all.

The cracking of the bone beneath the heels of your hands.  
Your fingers laced on top of each other
                                                                ­ pounding and
                                  pounding and
                                                                ­                                  pounding
                                                           against the sternum.  
One, two.  One, two.  One, two.  
                                                          ­            The bone cleaves in half.
And how much pressure does it take?  
I’m sure science could tell us, but
                              how does it feel in your arms, in your shoulders—
                       will your muscles remember the strength it takes and
                                                      stop you next time?

                                                           x

How hard did God have to try when he ripped out
         Adam's rib to make Eve? And
                           how long did it take Adam to recover from the loss?
(Maybe he never did.)

                                                           x

Healthcare is still so barbaric.  You must hurt to help.  
                               Saw through the sternum to get to the heart.  
                 Insert a painful tube to remove the excess fluid.  
                             Drill through the skull and remove
                        potentially useful brain matter.

I have nightmares of tripping over IV tubing and
ripping out PICC lines.   I am terrified of
dropping someone's chest tube on the floor,
                                                 of it ripping violently out of their lungs.
It's not my blood, it's some else's,
                                               and that makes it so much worse.  
                    Being responsible for another human's well-being
                                             is actually terrifying.

I just want to be helpful.  I don’t want to hurtful.  But so often,
                                         I find myself damaging the ones I love.

                                                           x

I would rather have my brain-dead sternum sawed open than
rot in some hole in the ground like my mother if it
                                                        would mean that I could be useful.
                                                   And all we really want is to be useful.
To feel something.  To be something.  
To be proud like the original sin.

Remove my ribs.  All 24 of them.  
Make them into several new women with
several new names and
                                           faces and
                                                            eye colors and
                       skin colors.
Their lives would be more beneficial than my death ever could be.

Like Eve with Lilith, replace the bad, with the seemingly good.  
                                                         Replace the soil with the body.
                                                  It all has to come from somewhere.  

                                                           x

                     How to keep the self close and yet distant from trauma.
part of a larger work based on my work as a cna in a hospital
Simon Clark Aug 2012
Making that final decision,
When to stop compressions,
To give up on a life,
Create a family depression.

Someone has to cope with calling,
When eternity calls,
We let doctors play God,
They stay professional as life falls.
written in 2009
Pete Badertscher May 2015
Heart attack man lies, fallen
Splayed out like the Vitruvian da Vinci .
The sidewalk his bed of lilies,
while a woman cries over him.
Another man, in a wife beater, kneels down
and starts compressions.
His face turning blue, the same color blue
as his neck tattoos.
The tattoos disappearing-- causing traffic to stop.
One cop car stops, blocking the intersection.
Lights in eye aching flashes
alert others to the danger.
They flash, "don't look here death is prowling"
in an Aldis lamp language only the subconscious reads.
The man in the wife beater beats compressions on the mans chest
while a Nurse pulls over and another cop shows up with a defibrillator.
His blue face looks like mine, I see the resemblance as I drive past the scene.
He's nearly my age and I figure there is enough help.  
Just drive on past like its another day.
I try not to tell myself, as I pass the blue faced ghost with the neck tattoos
just standing in shock,
"Whatever you do, do not make eye contact."
This was a true event.  I wish I knew if the man lived. ...I hope so.
LJ Jun 2016
Train spotted on ancient rail tracks
Mucks and grants on submerged pasts
Copper and ***** metal poles point
Upwards in heaven above the panelled tops
Price all  the intentional conditioning
A paradise of self sufficiency
A dew of ranting , the metal raiding
Price the substitutional compressions
A timber frame of tunnels
The heightened temperature
Price and tag her beautiful mind
An attachment of glorified plinth
The punch of the chaotic medals
Pride and rearrange her plentiful plight
Show all her cast frame in crimson and greys
Foxgopher Nov 2015
I saw a man dead today
Head on
Chest liquid
Legs no longer
The truck he collided with
Totaled
A human sized dent
The bike he rode
Destroyed
The compressions don’t help
Though many try
Human’s banded together for one man
Who stood no chance

In this death I learned
There is good in this world
In this death I learned
There is sadness
Once a friend
Gone for now
Yet he lives on in the friends he rode with
Those who witnessed that horrific incident
I did not know him
I never saw his face
We prayed for him
For those he was with
For those who have seen
For those who grieve
For ourselves

I saw a man dead today
But remembered why we live
Keith W Fletcher Jun 2016
Reflected in the tin foil
Of  time lapse catatonic compressions
"I am the noble Hunter "
Hurdeling  the casualties of uncercumspect confessions
When civility becomes the unruly masterpiece
Of  a nobody candid  enough to verify That the ones who choose to vilify
By paying homage to the usurper
Who... By premeditated lies and false alibis
Seeks to mend that which no one can defend
By ubiquitous and precient endearment Seeking ...to corner the homecoming faculty
With the latest Mantra
Of intersecting idealistic
Yet unrealistic
Expectations
Of a nobody who seeks nobility
As time lapse catatonic compressions Reflected in that wrinkled tin foil
Civility reconstructed
As so many of those inducted
Become the casualties
Of uncircumspect confessions
Flickering impressions
Released in the latest psychiatric sessions
For I am the noble hunter
Idealistic yet unrealistic
In my expectations
But I think.... I think I'm getting better getting better
jerard gartlin Feb 2010
i ride the wave
of brighter days
hoping hard to find a way
to realize & recreate
that blatant stress
        i was so obsessed with,
that violent mess
        to which i made
                a blind investment.
i looked to you for chest compressions
when my veins prayed for resuscitation lessons
but you're a ******* ugly loveless corpse
absorbed in the self-esteem endorsements
i adorned
              & orphaned
                               on your doorstep...
you adopted it but dropped it quick
the first birth on your
                          abortion list
cut the cord legitimate
so i've gained bleeding fetus freedom
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2015
for Catherine,
who did not request this,
whose soul prospers, more than survives,
but forced me nonetheless,
this poem~quest to address

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
do not come,
turn back now,
disjoin from a
voyager to the harshest disheartening,
to the crux,
where essence oils aflame
burn smoke, stymied from being
expulsed, expelled,
through organs that have
no natural orificial cavities
allowing escape

the hell of poetry

no, paeans,
yes, pain swirls,
Greek laurel wrapped headbands
squeezing temples, give no relief,
confusion sewn together,
a mixology cocktail
of the ends and the means,
of giving up yourself
in, and to,
poetry

no tribute,
but only that which,
we must pay,
and pay on
in the coin of the realm,
which expires valueless
at the end of the day,
so you awake,
broke
in every way possible for a human to be
broke

busted bird, wing broke bent,
judiciously waiting for
a capricious time to heal thyself,
but time never healed anything,
where grievous grief knows no horizon,
from the absence of some sounds, voices,
that can never be heard again

toil (a/k/a light),
trouble (a/k/a diamonds)
double that,
then raise it again to the power
of anvil crushed chest compressions
preventing basic breathing

all this to get to
the crux,
that tormenting, familiar place,
where difficulty lives on a
one way street
with a "dead end" sign at the beginning,
a self-mocking "no outlet" at the end

this crux,
inflection point,
****** peak imploding,
*** of brains boiling over,
more crucible,
where molten metal
reformulates into words

why do you want to go there?

the heat of me cannot be measured by
any mortal thermometer,
the pressure of blood cannot be calculated,
the stained consciousness maculated
by past and future sadness

of death, no fear,
writing poetry from the places
where it's well down drawn.
terrifying,
like waking up

this is where one goes,
when your pick up the gun of pen,
in vainglorious hopes of venting
the bullets of gases that seek
an unplanned escape
from a place you have no business
visiting for business,
certainly not,
pleasure

this is here, this right here,
where existence is identified,
where the sun only burns,
word life selection, a humming curse,
and the voracious need to write
boils in your blood,
chokes the throat
with your own two hands


for their is no perfection in poetry,
there is only a voyage to the crux,
the hell of poetry...
where Faustus and I
rue the day we deemed ourselves
more knowledgable than the gods,
selling our souls
for fleeting, human skills


**why do you want to go there?
The only thing you need to know about this poem is
that it's all true...
BC Jaime Mar 2018
is how long
it took the
paramedics

the whole while
we breathed into
you

pumping your still
chest, counting
beats

we brought you
back for a
moment

our eyes met
you gave us
permission

to let you
go but we’re
stubborn

and never stopped
breathing, compressions
counting

pupils dilated, stained
bed and us
failures


[Note: This poem was originally published by Cadence Collective: https://cadencecollective.net/2014/11/01/fourteen-minutes/-]
© BC Jaime 2014 || IG: @B.C.Jaime

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/.
Hannah Franke Mar 2012
How long did you lie there?
Crumpled like discarded waste
Slowly decaying into ash, so
Putrid not even the vultures dare feast.

Did you wait with your body?
Slowly seeping from soft flesh,
Not yet ready to relinquish your grip,
Little fleshy slugs coiling up;
Their heads peaking sideways.

Hands clasp, molding tissue.
Clay so susceptible to indentations,
Yet you had never recognized,
How faulty these compressions are.

How did you realize?
Symmetrical bone understands
What she never will
One palm embraces another,
Knows what hers cannot.

Are we made to intertwine?
When she found you, we waited.
Placing those worms amongst the dirt,
But you found no comfort.

Maggots deliver messages
But the larva is poor with snail mail.
So let go.  
Time to understand has long passed.
Bethany Jun 2010
Sometime after midnight
A chilling sound fills the house
The noise of people yelling
In the distance sirens sound
From the bedroom I peek out
What’s that laying on the floor
Slowly I move closer
A cold feeling fills the air
Much to my horror
I see my dad laying there
His skin was grayish white
His eyes rolled back in his head
My mother yelled to my father
Please don’t leave comeback

In what seemed a flash
The furniture went flying
The room was filled with people
And my mother stood there crying
They did the chest compressions
They breathed into his lungs
But still he did not respond
Or come back to the ones he loved
The paddles were charged
One... two... three... clear
Again and again they tried
But it appeared to no avail

They put him on the gurney
And wheeled him out the door
Loaded him into the ambulance
But something was wrong
The siren didn’t sound
The ambulance didn’t move
What the hell was going on
They never did that before
My mother crying said to us kids
Go quick put on some clothes
We’re all going to the hospital
Wait we’ve never gone before

We quickly got into the car
Rushed behind the ambulance
We pulled into the hospital
Watched them rush the gurney in
We waited for what seemed forever
In the hospital waiting room
At last the doctor came out
But by his look we knew
He looked into my mother’s eyes
Said we did everything we could
But there was no bringing him back
I ‘m so sorry to all of you

They took us back to see him
So we could say goodbye
I approached the bed cautiously
With tears falling from my eyes
There were tubes in his mouth
And wires coming off his chest
His skin was white and cold
His lips were blue and cracked
I didn’t want to let him go
But they said that we must leave
I felt a part of me died that night
As they dragged me from the room
I wish I would have said goodnight
And how much that I loved you.
Life is unpredictable.....Always tell the people in your life how much you love them...for tomorrow may be to late....My dad died when I was 12 and I still regret not telling him that night.
Camila Jul 2013
Hour 20:
The white walls soffocating me,
I'm a walking zombie
and a hero wannabe.

The background sounds
beep, beep, beep
and I just wanna sleep.

I have a worried mother
whose child has fever,
and a not-so-hurt drunk driver
that tonight became a killer.

A 40 year old that's been coughing a few days
and thought of coming to the ER at 4am
because, hey, they are probably not so busy anyways.

I like my job,
and I love saving lives,
but God knows I have to put in order mine.

A heart has stopped in bed number nine,
chest compressions and meds don't make it beat,
I don't want to, but I gotta call it.

A teenager needs stitches,
she's making a mess,
apparently her scar is more important than anyone else.

A few more hours and I can go home,
time is passing slowly.
*Hey, look! There is the sun!
Kj Nov 2015
The doctor closed the fist-shaped hole
Of your absence,
With little black knots,
"Come back in six months;
We'll check up on you"

I'm sitting on the table,
But there is no doctor.
There is me and there is you.
You're whispering
Sweet nothings into my ear,
And tearing my stitches out,
One by one.
I can see the hole again-
"Code Blue"
Only it's not blue,
Your eyes are green.
And I when I wake up later,
You're back.
I try to talk, but you interrupt-
you tell me I'm pretty.
"Begin compressions"
Blood is everywhere.
Months pass.
You are lying in bed next to me;
You kiss me on the mouth.
"Charge to 300"
You are gone.
Please don't come back.
SG Holter Mar 2017
We met as two broken vases
Holding the brittle remains of
Roses never received.
Bruised and scarred, one from
Thinking love is pain, one
From finally seeing that it
Isn't.

Colliding drunk drivers on an
Empty Lover's Lane, both
Alternating between the roles of
Victim and rescue worker,
Mouth-to-mouth and chest
Compressions;
Caresses.

Blue eyes blue lights,
The taste of the blood of the other
As comforting a comfort as any to
Any parched vampire.
We leave the scene as we have
Many: Covered in type O negative  
And hope.
Jacob Oates Apr 2014
Pressed into the issue is my neck into the block

They said "you'd lose your head if you 'unhinged' it" so they'd mock

I'm set to wreck defenses of the bets deception in the case of my detected

degradation in the path of my elation

waiting for annihilation is my sense of violation

I define the vices as a time to track, stack, and counteract my existential missile crisis

Dress this deflected duress invented by these compressions

and pulsing bloodlines distressed, with toxic vision's direction

Repeating the motions but coming short with the payoff

I'm stacking foundations, but the proof seems a way off

I've said to myself I've ordered glory by priority

If it's lost in the mail, good ******* luck with conformity

Candle ends burning and hold my crest til it's fallen

Burn the witch at the stake, cut my head at the block

I'm holding out for the truth, and keeping this as my rock

Your pilgrimage building, and running off with complacence

I'll make a Mission of me, my temple and my new nascence.
Words cannot explain the way I feel
at this moment.
I watched you die, I watched you
slip from this life.

Chest compressions, nurses on top
of your hospital bed giving you
CPR and trying to save your life.

It took you five hours to die-
3 critical codes. cardiac arrest.

I saw your heart, the echocardiogram
Your heart was beating so slowly,
I could barely watch what was happening
outside of the emergency room.

I felt numb, I felt nothing;
in the moment, I couldn't feel
a **** thing.

I have cried many times and
I feel absolutely guilty for going
out to dinner, and spending time
with friends and family without
you here.
I know you wouldn't want me
to stop living my life.
But by god do I feel guilty for
trying to live my life.

This poem isn't eloquent or even
beautiful. However, I feel I had to
release this pain I've been feeling.

It's as though a knife has cut straight
down from my chest to my stomach.

This pain is inconsistent-
heart disease is so common
Most people don't even think
about it until they are in the same
situation.

I can't write anymore,
if I do I'll end up falling apart.
© 2016 Christina Jackson
RIP Dad, April 15th, 2016
My apologies for the terrible rhyming in this poem.
Some on a straight path while others are a taking a more fortuitous route. Some are on a grand adventure and some just along for the ride. Most wonder what waits for us at the end, is there something beyond this life? What will it be like? Would we see loved ones again, the ones who have gone on before? I am just one of the many, many souls who have glimpsed the other side. For some it is but a mere matter of seconds. For yet others the time was indeterminate. For me the experience was indefinite. Not indefinite as in having no definition but indefinite as having no basis in what we know as time. Meaning - directly so as to not be confusing - I was not there for seven minutes in what we call earth time. To me it was as if I was --- hold onto your hat --- there upwards of a thousand years. Indeed to me time was indefinite. I do not want to go into the specific details of the story surrounding my death. I’ll just say that there was a lot going on in my life. More than I believed that I could bear. I decided that I would end my life. How was I to know that it was at this point in my life, this life that I believed would be ending – it was to be only my beginning.

This is my story. Do with it as you will…

At first it sounded like there were two freight trains at opposite ends of my hearing coming straight at me as if they were going to collide into me. I cannot begin to tell you how loud it was. The sound was not only deafening but in the sound it carried with it or brought with it the most bone shaking vibrations that you can imagine. The sound was literally drawing me into it. And then just as abruptly as the sound started it stopped. But I did not stop. For what seemed like minutes – I could see my father and a policeman struggling to help me.  The immediate sensation was that I was floating about twenty feet in the air. The thought – more the idea – hit me that this was impossible because I was in my residence – in the garage. There would be no way that I could be twenty feet in the air and be watching what was going on below me because I would have been above the roof line of my garage. But that was my perception.  The policeman was frantically calling for an ambulance as he was compressing my chest. I could see that my lips were blue and I had a pool of blood around my head. The body, my body, was – it was me and I knew it was me but at the instant that I realized that it was me I felt - relieved. Weightless, void of impediments, free. I felt a strange sense of detachment, as if what was going on below me was somehow unimportant, secondary.  The policeman then started breathing into my mouth and when he rose for a breath he was telling my father to do chest compressions. His voice was echoed, urgent but echoed. He was yelling, “He’s not breathing.”  I could hear my father saying “Oh my God, oh my God don’t let my son die, don’t let him die like this.” Somehow I realized that my father was thinking this and not actually saying this. The commotion had stirred my neighbor to come and he was standing in the doorway to the garage.  I could hear his thinking too though I will not divulge his thoughts because he later asked me not to. I watched this scene for what seemed like a minute when the garage seemed to fill with light. I looked up above me and I could see what I perceived to be the source of the light. At first it looked like a pinhole in the sky. The hole was slowly getting larger. The objects in front of the light – like trees and even the sky seemed to become distorted like whenever you look through a lense – a magnifying glass lense. The light was like a mother of pearl in color – pure - with streaks of blue emanating from it in straight lines that had both depth and resonance (sound). As it continued to get larger the blue streaks would revolve around turning into green and then gold, it was very bright. It wasn’t like looking at the light of the sun which can be hard to do and uncomfortable. The freight train sound started again and it felt as if the sound was coming from inside of the light. I felt myself being pulled upwards towards it. The noise seemed to pass through me as I passed through the opening of light which felt too small for me. The buzzing of the freight train noise morphed into a whishing sound as I entered the opening with a Doppler like effect as I passed through it. As if the train sound was moving away from me. The sensation was like speeding up through a tunnel at incredible speed. Up isn’t the right word. The tunnel wasn’t straight up but it was on an incline. Just as I was – adjusting to the changes I had just witnessed, I could feel the presence of others but I could not see them at first. Ahead was some sort of barrier or dividing line. As I flew through the barrier I realized it wasn’t a barrier at all. It was simply one of those blue beams I mentioned before.  Silver and golden shapes began to form around me as I looked around. At first they were just swirls of light but they soon took a human like form. There were hundreds of them all around me. All of them seemed to be whispering like a crowd in a theater waiting for the movie to start. During this whispered conversation I noticed that I had stopped moving. Three shapes came forward from the crowd. As they came nearer they took a clearer shape but they still seemed to be out of focus or maybe it was just my vision trying to adjust, I wasn’t sure. They were tall and slender wearing bright white flowing robes.

They all had long hair, shoulder length; golden in color and the one in front had a beard. The one with the beard spoke to me in a beautifully calming voice that was neither deep and foreboding or high pitched or intimidating, “You are not supposed to be here yet, you know what you agreed to, you must go back.”

At the instant that he finished the last syllable I could see my eldest child, now in her late teens and my eight year old son.  I felt sadness as I expressed that I didn’t want to go back by simply shaking my head no. I asked, “Do I not belong here either?” They seemed amused by my question.

The bearded one said, “You must go back, you have work to finish, we will send you back soon.”

The crowd seemed to move in closer. As I looked around I saw familiar faces. Friends, family, even known enemies from my life and …. Others. Most of whom I could not directly correlate any known memory of or from where or when I had known them.  But some of them I somehow innately knew that I had known them for a very long time. Visions of these known ones began flashing into my memories, past times, good times, experiences that I had somehow forgotten.  I could feel a connectedness and continuity to all of this and to all of these – beings. A sense of order and purpose that spanned all time. I looked back to the three people directly in front of me and then back to the others, some of which were moving closer to me – these people were timeless and somehow I knew it. As if they were ancient yet still so very integral to this experience. I do not know how I knew that but I knew that they were always there to watch over me. I felt like I was one of their children somehow sprung from each one of them and then the realization came over me that of all those around me, even the ones still farther away from me had also sprung from these three. Maybe sprung isn’t the right word. Connected … as if somehow the three were or could have been the source. I felt nothing like judgement from them. I felt only the deepest love and concern for me – and not any concern for anything that I had ever done or anything that I had ever said. In that moment I understood what unconditional love really meant.

I asked the one with the beard, “Is this heaven?” to which he smiled and replied.

“It can be.” This startled me and he knew it so he continued, “Is that what you want? It can be hell as well – if that is what you want.”

More confused than ever I was trying to fathom the meaning. “So I get to choose?” I asked.

“You always get to choose no matter where you find yourself,” he replied and then continued, “For we are all co-creators, we create our reality.”
“Where is God, I don’t see him?” I asked. The crowd was obviously amused by my question but the three in front of me only smiled.

“How can you see that which you yourself are a part of?” the bearded one asked me. “We are all expressions of God. When you see through your own eyes you see through the eyes of God, God experiences reality through your eyes and your experiences. When you speak to God you speak to yourself for it is you who is the container of God that which he is – is also you. There is only one. There is no division or separation. There never has been and there never will be any separation.  Your eye is no more or no less a part of God than it is a part of you. For without him you would have no eye. So if you have an eye, it must also belong to him. Anything that seems to exist separate from him is simply an illusion. The light that is in us and surrounds us here is God just as the light that surrounds you and is in you now is also God. It is the source of all and is given freely to all. All begin here and return to here. It is the starting point for all journeys.”

My next question sounded odd to even me but I asked it anyway, “When I come back here, can I stay?”

“You may but you always choose not to, you love your lessons,” was the reply I was given.

  This went on for what seemed like an eternity. I asked hundreds if not thousands of questions. Sometimes someone from my past would step from the crowd; they would step forward to help me understand the answers. I would recognize the ones that stepped forward and just by their presence the answer that I was given made more sense. Some of the questions are of a personal nature and I would rather not discuss them in this format.  Some of them I am not supposed to talk about yet. Someday maybe I’ll write a book about it all. I was told that I would remember this entire event and that remembering would be my choice.


  Let me try to answer your questions ahead of time.

I know that I existed outside of my body.

My awareness and acuteness was definitely at a higher state of realization during this event. My mental capabilities were much more focused but in ways that are different in life. My thought processes seemed to be greatly faster having many thoughts occur all at once. I also had feelings during the process that felt like I was in more than one place at one time. My senses were incredibly more vivid. I felt like I could see three hundred and sixty degrees around me all at once.  There was no need to turn or move to “see” something. People seemed to be smeared when they moved as if part of themselves trailed behind. Sounds like voices came from what I can only describe as in my head as opposed to coming from outside of myself. This did not alarm me – as a matter of fact it felt more normal than how we perceive sound here.

Yes I was shown or I showed myself everything about my life. The whole group shared in my experience. I wasn’t forced to do anything. I was pleased to be able to share. I could feel and see everything that I had ever done and said and could feel the effects that my actions and words had had on others. Think of it like this. What you say to your child or grandchild today can affect your great, great, great, great, great grandchild and on down the line. And so it is true of all of your other actions and interactions with all living and nonliving parts of creation. We do leave our mark. In any event I felt united with the world and with all of my experiences.  But the experiences that I shared and was shown by what I’d call “revision” were not just about this life. It was also about past lives and lives yet to be experienced.

Each moment seemed to be non-distinct as if the moment existed in the past and in the future at the same time. My thoughts were coming to me incredibly fast. Time did not speed up or slow down but everything seemed to happen all at once. I’m not sure that there is any correlation to time as we know it here verses time there.  Time seemed to stop or lost all meaning.  Time seemed to be more expansive than it is linear. As if time is nothing but a rubber band around events and not a measurement from point A to point B. As in - here it takes us ten minutes to get from here to there or some other amount of time. There I seemed to exist at all points of every reference point instantaneously so there was no need for any measurement between any reference points.

My religion before the experience was that I was raised Southern Baptist. I was saved and baptized in the church and had later moved over to being a Methodist. I no longer attend church and no longer proclaim any religion.  God is not interested in the past and it serves very little purpose in trying to hang onto the past other than to learn and remember the lessons attained in the past. What is important is that we continue to grow and not get mired down in the dogma of the past.

Everything is connected. Some elements of the experience are difficult to express in words. Not until you experience them will you understand what I mean. I sincerely hope that I am one in your crowd sharing in your experience and look forward to you being in my crowd, should you expire before me. It was real. I have fully remembered the experience just like any other past experience. I dream often of this event. Each time I feel rejuvenated and reawakened into the reality of it all. I look forward to returning.

Yes there were family members and loved ones that had gone on before. As they shared in my experiences I too shared in theirs.  I could see how our lives interrelated. One of whom was my grandfather. In his sharing I was made aware of him having molested his daughter, my father’s sister, my aunt when she was young. I could feel his remorse for his actions and how they had affected my aunt. I knew that a time would be given to me upon my return that I would have the chance to privately tell my aunt of my grandfather’s remorse.  I told her what I had experienced when she came to visit me in the hospital and was in recovery. She cried and stated that she had never told anyone. Today we share a special bond.

The return to this life was much like the exit. I floated away from the crowd and back through the portal. Again there were many in the tunnel with me. I never felt alone. As I crossed out of the portal the horrible train noise happened again. I awoke with the train noise just beginning to go into that Doppler Effect again as I opened my eyes. At first my vision was blurry much like it was when I came before the crowd. I could feel that I had something on my face and that air was being forced into me. I now know that it was one of those clear plastic bottles like devices where the EMT tech can press the sides of the bottle to breathe for you. The EMT tech was a beautiful girl. When I opened my eyes she said something to the effect that I had a pulse. I was in a lot of pain and I surely must have been moaning. While she breathed for me with her one hand she held my hand with her other. She said that I was going to be fine and that I would make it. Then she said “Welcome Back.”

There will be those who will want to know about the three beings that were directly in front of me. The bearded one let me know that his name was Jmmanuel and he made it clear that it was spelled with a J and not an I like Immanuel.  He let me know who he was to most of us. He also made it known to me that in his life he was never known as the name that he is known by us today. He also let me know that while I could use his name that I was not to give any other detail about him other than what I could see. He said this was important that those that are awakened by my experience – you must search for the truth yourself. So I’ll leave you now to your own experiences. I hope that in some way you’ve gained some peace from mine.

Oh, you’ll also want to know what it was that was my task and what I am here to do. My friend you’ve just witnessed what I was sent here to do………

Welcome Back.
Steven Forrester Mar 2018
Girl's got me crushing so hard
I'm like a black hole
Pressure bulding up
On all sides
The compressions so thorough
That even the light dies
And gets ****** inside
And i cant even hide!
Not that I'd want to
My heartbeat
Fretfully flutters
Like its fighting to fly free
From my chest
Breathlessly waiting
For just one glance
Notice me.....
CharlesC Apr 2015
More than a mystery of nature
these severe compressions show us
the extremes of the seeming separate self
of the ego triumphant..
Not separate though but as we
embedded in consciousness whole..
The black hole waiting for evaporation
and  new awakening
as a wave in the ocean
as we in our longing
find Real composition...
background at: polarityinplay.blogspot.com
Kamilla Jan 2021
I got into a car accident today
My fear is rooted in the familiarity that I found
As we collided and in the wavering second after--
As my body stilled
In the sound of the metal crunching from a forward force
And the thump-like drop
That shot from my throat straight to the bottom of my stomach
The sudden compression of metal has startling similarities;
To those same compressions that reside in a realm of loose thoughts
The tension of my fibers contracting into each other
Reaps an illusion of protection
My left leg experienced a shocking pulse of pressure--
One which did not linger
My eyes took position;
Readying themselves to flow
Before the impact my mouth released--
Three
Small
Pitched
Words…
Written November 23, 2020
CharlesC Jan 2013
in times as ours
sharp compressions
pinch our insides..
and mirror
perfect storms outside..
these our possessions
our very own
black holes
out there
in here..
all seeking room
to transmute relieve..
a birthing rise
a burdened delight
a Flow introduced...

our toruSelf...
also, see Mae's "There is evidence"...
Tom Shields Sep 2020
Why don't we worship the amygdala, make it sound exotic, start a fever-fire in the tropics, pour ice over the horizon via helicopter, view the mind's eye like a crystalized Shambala, sell entry to inner-peace to create the illusion and wall the dam, there's no concept of reality without a sham, low as the almighty dollar, processed meat behind bars get your necktie pulled through your collar, I've been all over the world from the edge of my seat, I'm what you could call a stay-at-home road scholar

You braggarts, *******, maggots and fascists
politically correct censorship-sailors and catfishes
you politicians and career-victims, you're all slapstick
you talk too much and don't hold water
you bark at false alarms and pet yourselves because even a broken watchdog is right twice a day
and then ignore every other crisis you called all hands on deck to, raised arms to crush in uproarious righteousness like you were the voiceless minority's own private militant flyswatter
everybody has a voice, we're all screaming or sitting in silence, tired and apathetic
I'm going deaf, I've lost it and I can't keep beating this dead hoarse, the whole world has issues, why are we making such a meal out of ourselves like we were the main course
ever since being put in the spotlight when Columbus sailed up onto the wrong shores
you can recite the diddy of fourteen hundred and ninety two, but you know why Native Americans were called Indians is because he set sail for India initially, don't you?
I have little hope the future will even be able to keep the ocean blue

The only thing I learned in school was psychological warfare, every day since I first set foot on those grounds I've taken live rounds and dealt my hand from the bottom because you can bet on the flop life doesn't turn up fair, it's too much to ask for someone else to care, read from a script for drugs, your alcoholic or *** deviant teachers whisper be-wary of thugs, down sleeping pills, painkillers and my daily dose of brain-fire extinguisher with *** from one of those best dad mugs, it never fails that when you go chucking snails, karma turns around and reminds you why you have to watch out for disgruntled slugs

You might catch one with your name on it
slower than you imagined, this grueling dawn hits
the purple of the sky lines up with the shade of skin under your eye
it's like makeup made to match, a tone only being sleepless for so long
or being on the business end of a fist can really catch, unnatural beauty looks so wrong
it's become normal to manufacture sell and lie, be a product, a marketing scheme
wanting to lean into exposure, explode and fracture and leave behind a profitable footprint to follow at the launch site
it's inhuman, to be switched on for twenty four hours, seven days a week, to be a character, it's obscene
and to defend this are small armies, cute little consumers who don't think beyond the opinion placed before them, placemat bib and all
dissent is negativity, disagreement is not normalcy, it's not okay, you're attacking someone who's so important to me, they literally saved my life
insult and rant, sob and bawl
unless you were personally given chest compressions, or they showed up and held your head so you wouldn't swallow your tongue while you OD'd, and then helped you back from suicidal depression
I don't care if you've shared a stage and danced and sang together, all people are equal
and none of them worth what they think they are, good, moot, or evil
so you can waltz up to a celebrity getting into their car, pop them off and become a shooting star

Sit on the curb and crack a spine, the Catcher Murders loosely spun a web and cast a net all through a grimly imagined fascination of mine, what candid activity to activate a conspiracy for an elected representative on who gets to live, give me the nominee for Manchurian candidacy! Violate the vile walls of a small mind's sanctity, the moral composition of even the purest person is only sound in theory, threaten their family, test their temptations, loyalty and mortality, fill their head with supposition, non-disclosure to time of day, information, no exposure to familiarity, turn what they think is false inside out and convince them what was never real was all along a secret reality, watch them break their neck to stare directly into an eclipse like it was their fealty, to disable themselves in service to pushing out of their skin and beyond their own ability

Mind control is simply too powerful to be stopped at a question of whether or not it's ethical
if I wrote this while someone dictated it, with a gun in one hand while they fed me an acid strip
and I knew they had complete deniable culpability, say for example if they worked for the Central Intelligence Agency
and they were abducting citizens from America and Canada, for one big experimental acid trip
to create Whitey Bulger and Ted Kaczynski
I mean, I know everybody hates to hear other people whine, you fall on your knees in thoughts and prayer for or worship on forums shooters like the murderers at Columbine,
when every day someone provokes a loner, outright pressing them to slip into a violent state
I begrudge myself a few hard feelings against people, but I wouldn't **** time to squash my hate
a child with a gun is an adult making bad decisions, the grey area is a lot harder to see when you're sorting through footage of dead children, bullet-torn classrooms haunting your nightly visions
everything is a joke and everyone laughs in the privacy of their own shadow
when their standards in public are much higher, where there's smoke there's not always a real fire
how can you police yourself, live up to the idea of who you think you are right now,
don't look for an answer, go on and say it, how?
write
please read and enjoy
Rose Claire Aug 2014
Relying on someone for all your happiness is like giving breaths to a C.P.R. dummy and expecting him to get up and thank you for all the breaths and chest compressions you just gave him.
Don't play with dummies all your life! Or they might just take your last breath away....
Compress
1,2,3,4,.....28,29,30
Breathe, resume compressions
1,2,3,4....

That's how it was
Compress the 30, breathe
Do as told, repeat

                     *fight the cage
                     break the wings
                     compress the 30, then breathe


Continue to bang against the door
Slam into it so hard,  pass out, hit the floor

                      fight the cage
                      break the wings
                      compress the 30, then breathe


How long has this gone on
When can I admit it's done

                      fight the cage
                      break the wings
                      compress the 30, then breathe


Finally out
The door came free  

Time of death
                *August first, two thousand fifteen
Rohan P Feb 2018
lights flare and colour
the compressions of mislaid understanding

they turn like
spring without flowers
and spin like
winter without snow

they vacate like faded
concrete and burn like
wasted, pressing aisles

they sway like promises
of heartbreak, and crumple
like sharp, reflected whispers

they move like
formless shadows and
imagine like closeness

to you

—i bend:
throbbing
dully
Olivia Dec 2019
I've grown aware that my brain
is tuned incorrectly.
The antenna that detects frequencies
(art, truth, and death turn things to marble)
of screams and whispers and noise
sticks out obscenely. Pornographically.
Sometimes I give in to it
and thread myself along its wires,
intertwining with the sharp ambiance.
My heart beats faster
An unholy fusion
And I contract, deliciously,
Undulating with the compressions in the air.
They light up the silent ******* scream
coursing through my veins.

Would he have liked it here?
Or would he have sat
Unobtrusively, as I do now
and longed to feel the surf lap against his toes?
Eva Rushton Jun 2019
She walked into my life through death
as I do CPR compressions on her chest
And i hold my own breath
Praying She will inhale ,as I do my best

As she Crashes time after time
I want to scream and tell her to stop dying
Again I bring her back as her heart I prime
All the while my own heart is crying

8 times she is revive in 2 hours
The defibrillator says shock again
I say please lord show your power
Her eyes open , and meet mine with strain

The ambulance is here and she crashes.  
I try to stand but my legs are rubber
Dear God I speak as lighting across the sky flashes

Today,  three years later
She walks into my Work place
A fishing license she is after
Loving her life , with a  smile on her face

Written by E. M. Rushton
This was a medical call I attended and we brought this lady back to life 8 times while waiting for paramedics to arrive . She is alive and well today .tonight I feel all those intense emotions  I felt that night never know if each time she crashed if we could revive her again .Even though the call ended on a piano note ,I suffer from PTSD on-a certain level from it
The Poet Tree Oct 2018
He's bleeding, he's dying, His mother is crying,
Organized chaos we're trying to revive him but my hands just keep sliding,
Keep pushing more drugs and he's fighting, wait, now he's flat-lining,
Can't find a good vein from years of mainlining,
Shock one, two, shock three, for time borrowed not buying,
We can't stop the bleeding from holes we aren't finding,
Doc checks the clock so I know he's deciding, how much longer we go
when the seconds are flying but he just won't stop bleeding, his body is crying,
Call it,
Stop compressions,
Time of death...
Saint John the Apostle says: "Zephian, the computer of the Duoverse of the Verthian world, signals the order of his creation of the world according to the transcendental vegetable living matter in the interstices of time itself that exists within sidereal time. Pointing out that matter and time are governed by mythological beings in a compartment with monotheism defined by atavistic laws, which are the omnipotence of the intense hiding place of procreation, super-providing large contextual residences, for habitat and a world on the scales of non-resident elders who go from passers-by between lines and cosmological phenomena in the Duoverse, facing the vicissitudes of stars and physicality added to the arcs of the reminiscence of emotions. Thus the main task and how the structure of the experience surpasses wisdom, making the orthogonal movement of the Universe fictitious, but Verthian with great explorations of matter that is absolutely quantified and volatilized to the field of incorporeal existence. The laws will be governed by its demiurge organizer Zefián, describing codes that will verify pivotal performances in the reactions of the mutant universe. His refractions when reasoning of the consummated phenomenon start from here in the distinguished biological one, which will surpass the laws of physics, since its ratio-value is above the limits allowed by the brave line of gravity that bounces off the lines and their distances, promoting more criteria to resist the threats of a possible tiring case, a product of some relative dominance not included in all the worlds among themselves or in some judgment that does not rescue us from the loss of links of a certain omitted coordinate, attracting us to a universe ruled towards hemicycles of merely material and non-biological-existential particles. The dimensions range from the beginning of the universe itself, more delayed than the interval of the second limit of space that rests to inaugurate the next one. It will be the orbit of translation twice rotating to the sun, but nth times turning on itself to go out to another stellar dimension not present. Its geometry will be the administration of the resumption of cinnabar in Tsambika and Helleniká, to annul each other by making and integrating it in Patmos, on the shores of Skalá, with curvatures that validate the nullity of successive factions of material lives, among spiritual victims if alive. The oblation and concavity of the Duoverse will be of universal contact in excessive proximity in a few radios to support the equidistant gravity between both atmospheres, adopting the subsequent consequences with a shared micro-existence in both universal Astro units, as a dense but fractal particularity fragmented to changes coercive in the conception of creation, of the original true world, gestated in a pristine Kosmous and resistance modeling of high intermediate masses of temperatures, expanding above what surrounds, under a flexible world that opposes resisting, but that unfolds to relocate to its origins of integrity and adaptable physical material. Duoverso is born and will reappear every time the years are subject to the devastation of everything quantifiable and not, under the dim light that will light up all the darkness, Zefián being in paronymy in what is missing to appropriate sustenance and merit of having it adsorbed. in the tabernacle of the Vas Auric and its namesake Medayllon, in the privilege of appearance itself, adding in what is preserved from physical support without a doubt right there. A fair sidereal speed will have to travel on its own axis of rotating time in the paradoxical gear of the One-Dimensional Beams with the same reconverted into vital angelic luminance, creating orbits of optics in the visions of Christian profanity. It empowers them to enable them in overexcited that derive from disorders of intermittence and physics of time, to reinsert themselves in the sequence that inhabits the residual velocity of the Beam, as a Theo-Philosophical entity, and of the cellular multiplicity in seasonal cells. of the retrograde lapses frozen in Qumram, so as not to depend on its Kabbalah sustained by the regime of a compound past, and of the inconcrete yesterday. The immediacy was surpassed, preserved in the conviction of the One-Dimensional Beams (Kafersesuh), observing itself more densely when all revolutionary extinction admits to being in the proper place to integrate and ponder peremptorily, attracting organic and inorganic matter suspended in the richness of a world of scientific but unique Faith. , and Single incessant prayer, more anti-gregarious and dilapidated than what is supported by vain walls, which do not exist in Verthian emotional matter. Its movement and translation are always advanced, even before we coexist, already being domains of being transposed of what was, is, and will be transposed and floating in its abrogated form!

The movements, being physical, take us over conjectured layers to discern their magnitude by percentage the rigor of their measurement on us, in exchange for Zefián's ambivalence, delivered both chromatics of the Dark and White Duoverse, with the reference of the behavioral alternations of the Diospyros, spring of the arboreal, for the procreation granted in the hands of Leiak. Sustaining from this equational exercise, with less time to design for its genealogy, but rather in its apocalypse reinstalled in null primary unknown spaces, to have it again in the light of consciousness, recognized as an inert matter of the past, and more alive of the immanent eternity of nebulae that personalize the Abrojo earring, taking temporality but null as it does not ****** any hand to tear it from its own. Every divided and subdivided elementary particle of the Duoverse will gravitate under what is speculated, rising in total harmony through the accommodating compressions of a whole material accessory, especially in sudden death processes, which occurred illustrated and not compressed in the percentage eternity of materiality of the dark. (current) and luminous (happened), being those who govern it will manifest anticipations of everything dark (present) and luminous (past-future), for the energetic alternation succumbed so many times, like a uniform cross in the center of the world after so many times having fallen in past-future.

Says Vernarth : "in the rhetoric of the Universe-Duoverse theorem, it is worth noting the topic of the past with a present and future entity as well but atopic or out of place Hellenic, connected to the time of Verthian inspiration, Holderlin-Heidegger indefinite in terms of habitability physical, as a complement to the entity that anticipates the present/future in the vicinity of death in the topical past and future, but tangentially with lively whims of atopic mortal-existentialism, being a way of renting virtual death, and as a way of being dwelling in death itself and its act of embodiment, then having existed but with its own edict after having rented it. The Verthian World appears in this stereotype, prolonging existences from the atopic non-existence, granting it a complementarity of more past scientific romantic life, after an uninhabited death. Ontologically, this theory is born from the One-Dimensional Beams of Kafersesuh, in Ein Karem. Essentially paleo-Christian, as the matrix of existence between Ein Karem (Manger of the Messiah) and Gethsemane, inter nexus of the materiality of metaphysical inflections product of the immaterial purpose of unlived and hypothetical life, as an urgent sacrilegious decline, anticipated of the dimension of the life-death-life process of Comparative Christian Messianism.

Vernarth says: "with the slaves, in my disparate hands I picked up what the other carried. With my right hand, I took the Duoverse, and with the other my bearer; that I had my commands on the maxims of Elpenor before falling to the cliff. One naughty day but with the worst pain in my chest I went to see him in his room, and I structured him as an immortal when it came to forming the world "not even knowing of being part of an identity" favoring him to be part of my deflagration convulsed by the friction of the Universe on the Duoverse. Such was that bravery and affordability, that he decorated me with some unexpected laments of belonging by imprisoning me with superfluous boasting. But his boldness will be mine, and he will have to anticipate it in the middle of a fight, such as in Gaugamela hurting my two spirits, one deleterious and the other not..., Says the Porter: "I have to accede to your mandate, my lord Vernarth, I have arranged my horse emetics to take him to the empyrean, more unusual at nightfall. I know that my own absence will also take her, because we are double lives loving her, falling into a night given over to the seventh Phalangist soldier. Between souls already diluted by the misfortune of the sap, in the figure of eternal death that refuses to receive us discouraged" Says Vernarth: "I don't know if I am or will be brave, therefore I have forgotten to take the herd, rather I don't I know what it is?, but in the midst of the horses and hosts of the block, from the Syntagma in Gaugamela that I have not felt again what it is to take my herd after feeling my hands and legs divided, but not feeling when appropriating some parabens amputated. I know that among the hypaspists we tricked umpteenth arrows in the mobilization of the war machine 665, but in a wasteful jump we gathered the delusion of the Phalangist command in the Seleucid 666 ringlera, rather detached from all men, substantially inclined to Alexandrian life, "Of course it was already in the hands of eternity, which hurts more than the tip of an arrow even if I perjured myself to its annihilation" Vernarth's act of intrepidity and daring would take him over the precipice that even skewed and declined the world as it sustained him, putting his fellow man face to face, as antagonist and protagonist at the same time with his chest flowing over the white linens that they spoke of certainties of a scaffold, still where others surrounded them with peace and Olympian protection, making him..., only today the pair of himself abstracted with contemptuous lineage..., even having to reinstitute himself as Vernarth most elusive of being alive and eternal, still having in its vocabulary the essence of knowing Being Heideggerian, with firsts of erudition, starting from the nova on excitation, having cognition and knowing oneself diligently about the entities alter evidences of the recent-present, and not in the tyrannized Universe, rather of its present-event of the new universe for itself negative, and towards a gift of neatness granting it recklessness that continues to disperse its entity, its dimension, the locus of it, the distances, the matter to welcome in its be. Vernarth besieges his cogitative discursive, raided in tides of tenements and scales of belatedly changing vibration with all the heroics of following and all the world ideologies of harassing technical acumen with the target in the necropolises that he speaks resurrected, not lying the chimera in the best districts to the leisure to revive, more immortal than a district..., and learned steps with constitutive slogans in "cities succumbed, without blemish..., with eternity", connoting after all transfer abolished, in the present infinity between two units of mortal rank, the Carrier and Vernarth, Vernarth and Heidegger, but here the last one bringing the closest radiogram between the herd and eternity with a significant dilemma (End and chaos) and eternity (creation), in the limbo-purgation ratio, as source and potion. The generality of success and affinity in Heidegger's dialectic, a moment signs his reincarnation in the raving of finite eternity, moving away from Verthian ontological and metaphysical reasoning. He magnetically juxtaposed the Universe, bordering on restless ambitions, such a substance of perpetual equanimity towards the unworthy survivor of Vernarthian theories. So far no resemblance that compares to whoever wants it or not is part of any estimate or conjecture sheet of a complex Duoverse, but rather dreaming as an active or vague star without anything or anyone knowing that it springs from it or that, abstracting from the nullity of a nihilistic kosmous of itself in the Necropolis of Hellenika. Within the emerging frontis of a progeny, there are ranges derived towards the first to form rows composed of shelters of the Giant Camels that from Jerusalem escorted them with their planting consciences to Ein Karem, then returning to Gethsemane to end up in the port of Jaffa. Originally arranged by the children of Israel and bastions; Vernarth, Saint John the Apostle, Eurydice, Raeder, and Petrobus with the animality, Etréstles, and Kanti, to finally cite King David and his velvety phylactery addressed to his edicule before they departed for Jaffa, to return west to Patmos. Of this primogeniture, the legatee is Vernarth, being presented as co-first-born by abnegating his portion to Saint John the Apostle for fiduciary assets for the benefit of a third party for both and granting the patriarchal reinstatement to each of his inheritances, the purpose being expedited in liberation from the world that sheltered them inauthentically in the midst of ascending ancestors. This prerogative will be decisive in defining the dimension of the Duoverse and One-Dimensional Beams, since a brotherhood of worldliness, nascent and simultaneous, will diverge them in the beams that support the universe, and from this, they will be transferred to the vision of Vréfos- (child-man) , Child-Cherub, for the purpose of specifying the Universe-Duoverse physically composed of four areas of consistency. Time, Being, Divinity and the Four Wings of the Cherub, as a concept of biodiversity in Lepidoptera, Bumblebees, Bees, Wasps, and Fireflies so that these tetra-winged animal entities cause warnings and impositions on the cardinals poles of its primogeniture, being born from chaos, until now as Duoverse constituting the alpha Vréfos, nascent of the Animalia and "Andres" intermediate perspectives in the heights that guide the material essences of the distributive physics and spiritual and imperishable elemental. The ineffable matter, the stars will prostrate themselves before each pause of advent and herds that carry Secundum Dictus Vivere, in pursuit of a gnoseological doctrine made a pledge of servile an instant rescinding in another, for the study of the sense of conceiving itself in diligent part of a new orb In the dividing lines of the unknown and the repelled nothingness, suspecting himself of a living arterial vile in the skeptical nothingness. We tend two of non-existence that ratifies it, or perhaps of a twin-univiteline Duoverse and of the chaos of non-fertilized nature..., rather empowered towards the first fiduciary by the jurisprudence of the district of the unattachable Messiah. Allow yourself thus, before this premise of history, to continue and be part of an establishing whole looking for Hashem in an unknown world and Kosmous too..., more so swaying before the appearance that sustains you, as cardinal knowledge of values and immobile Certainty. The centric lineage hypothesis will define the blood lineage, unifying the Duoverse.
Pealim Abba
Ntsika H Aug 2020
***
I’d love to rediscover *** with you
Recreate it
Give it a new meaning
I want to learn how to have *** all over again - with you

Ma’am
My attention is on you
This class involves an interactive conversation of more than words


My lips
They will cease to speak but my hands won’t
Your skin and mine need to have a very important conversation


If you turn the page, you will see that I am in love with you. From the start of this sexbook to the last page, you’ll notice that each page is laced with the lace you wear when class is about to start

Class is in session
My attention is my affection so forgive me if I’m practical about my understanding
Theoretically, two are meant to become one without subtraction - it could be a fraction - not mathematically, just according to you and me

Class is in session
Mouth to mouth
You’d think I’m saving your life but you’re the one taking my breath away
Chest compressions turn thrusts
Chest to hips
Mouth to mouth turns to mouth to lips
You’d swear that one was drowning

Class is in session
I struggle to pay attention
It gets different when I have to articulate my understanding to your pleasure
It gets different when my grades are judged on your response

Class is in session
Physical Ed has never been this physical
I’m trying make sense of your moist skin
It went from sweats to streams of your satisfaction dripping down my lips like I just had a meal that left my mouth watering

Class is in session
I’m open to correction
Wherever you hands lead me, I’ll follow
I don’t usually ask, but do you swallow?
It’s not a prerequisite
As long as it fits

Class is in session
My attention is my affection so forgive me if I’m practical about my understanding
Your body is a runway
I plan to land
Your smile lighting up the way
Your eyes - my destination

Class is in session
I love you
I love everything about you
Recreating moments of intimacy will be one class I don’t mind repeating
This is the one class where being bad, is good
Your body
The memo to this test
Straight A’s

Class is in session
I’ve studied you
From head to toe
Physically
I’ve memorized what you look like even on days when your skin seeks refuge in your wardrobe
I’ve watched you grow
I’ve learned to love you seasonally
I’ve learned to love you with the warmth of summer on cold winter days
I’ve learned to Spring to your rescue when your leaves fall
I’ve been dying to make love to you
Spiritually
Emotionally
Psychologically
Ultimately, physically

Class is in session
If I promise to love you and make love to you like I’m falling in love with you daily, would promise to love me while making love to you daily?

Class is in session
Life’s toughest lesson was living without you
That’s a class I hope to never take again
*** and class
Darron Bryant Jul 2016
I'm glad to be able to place a flower in your hair.
You're favorite one you'd always wear.
I'm proud to wear our token of love
Proof you can get the things you dream of.

Until the last drop of the rain
After the stars fall down
You will forever stay
I can never be lost because you're found

Late night chatters on the sand
Waves whispering to our feet.
Frank Sinatra knew about romance
And you flew me to the moon indeed

Flowers hide before they bloom
So love them when they flourish
Spring has left me much too soon
The fall has brought it's gloom.

Flashing lights and eerie sounds
They opened the doors and wheeled you out
Chest compressions, hooked IV
Stay with me love, please don't leave
I'm not too good at eulogies

I'm glad to have been able to place a flower in your hair
Your favorite one you'd always wear
I'm proud to wear our token of love
How's the view from up above.
T Mar 2019
Ask me and I'll lie for sure,
I don't want your pity,
Your little guilt-bourne performance.
If I
       went through
You'd use me like chalk to climb.
More virtual hearts for real bodies.
Chest compressions started three days late,
All the hindsight lives saved half-heartedly.
So either let it grind on or gift myself to vultures,
Scraping bones clean in the desert sun.
Eva Rushton Jul 2019
A white laced dress
Replace the soot
Shinny red lipstick
Heal the chapped
Delicate strapped sandals
Without steel toes
Feeling hands of massage
Instead of mine doing
Life saving compressions
Holding me tight
From emotions I fight
Oh , how beautiful it must feel
to be allowed to be woman .
My dream of it creates fairy tale vision.

— The End —