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Sjr1000 Apr 2015
Depersonalization
Derealization
Dissociation
Delusional
Hallucina­tions
Confabulation
Perseveration
persevered.

Clanging
Rhyming
E­cholalia
echolalia.

Paranoia
Ideas of reference
Thought blocking
Internal stimuli
Thought broadcasting
heard
every way
every day.

Mental disorders
or
poets extraordinary

The Paiute anthropologist
locked up on the
inpatient unit
with visions of the ancestors
dancing in his eyes
said
"See these folks
you have locked up,
In ancient days
from the desert hills
they came our way
delivered truths
in their special way.

"Once they had their say
On desert winds
they blew back
up to their hills
away
straight away. "
"Can you please
give me the keys.
I've said what
I had to say. "
Ken Pepiton Jan 2019
Here is where the reason arose,
quite some time after a fellow traveler told me
the creator of the universe has a mind

this is to be reasoned with, I.e.
so he may be reasoned with he…

wen un con scious t justhafastt.
inteligibility filters

Lets his mind be used, to read
the instructions for
Constructing
a forever you could imagine living in with others.

It's how reason works,
Is what this old man said

--- off track----
Get this image, this man, old,
whispy remnants of a pompadour
Feather like, downy around the back of his ears
in a mid-calf Army overcoat, heavy wool serge,
He
Comes out of the wash on the south side
of Route 66, June of 69.

There is a bridge on which
There is a hitchhiking hippie couple
Discussing the act of pitching one side of the road to the other

The old man never glanced west once,
He never saw the pair
There then

I saw him again and said aloud
Click
There,
But for the grace of god...
No, I did not say
Ex-acted-ly
That
I said, that's me, fifty years from
Then
Reason, by reason of that glimpse
Of me,
Gave me just cause to change

Grace, eh? Free advice heeded?
Wisdom? Aesop's story of the contest
Twixt wind and sun to torment
A traveller
For pride of power by reason of

Life ain't fair on every front.
Worth is in the measure of the measurer.

Seeing life appear as hoped,

Time and chance, ya da

Wait, yada? Yah know,

Life whorls and twists
toward good and beauty

And AI can prove it.
Reason by reason of reasonability

Good is good enough, move on, do-overs hide the...

It continues, you see.
Life rolls out like a Nautilus,

You know, spiral sea shell, or like a conch,
Or a shofar, but

Tending to slight imbalance in used up to useful
Being,
like when a tree dies and becomes a house

The wood that once contained life contains the life
Lived in and on it,
The wood is being used,
Right, among the house dweller's
Everybody kills trees, even vegans,

Fair? The tree has no voice? Suess?

Yes, I guess, unless
There was an old way,

Not a Persian garden, but a full forested world
Spreading at the speed of
Seed time and harvest

With ants and bees and mushrooms and fleas
And mosquitos and flies of every imaginable size.

Isaiah 1:18 (KJV)
18  Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.

Text out of context, but sin is sin right?
Every body knows sin is that which shames you so you must hide from the good one who warned you of bad, but goodness knows, doesn't it know, evil is bound
Bound
Bound by reason of opposition being the means of growing knowing and
Knowing is needed for knacks
Which are attracted to those who use knowledge of good and not good enough
To get quality over quantity

At a single u u larity hilarity out burst of bubbling

****** beasties down below the mud

Make me a mud man who can imagine me making him.
Do that in your movie watching brain using

Your hate behind, leave.
Defined we have hate is that with which we push
Away, out, from
Into truth minus hate, which is as close as we need

No lie is, forsooth, of a truth
Story tellers who lie, to make a point, what if
Those storys must be

Told. Years are poor measures for trees.
Numbers of trees in right
Relationship with life

Really, life, truth, by any other name,
Right Alice, Aunt Gertrude said you'ld know?
----
Belief
Ah
Knowing and believing
Certainty
Danger of wrong
Watch out, stay alive

Mean means intent to harm, right.
Mean means to harm right.

Winning can be mean.
Shall mean be seen the way of winning,
And that be the way of war

A path diverging in a yellow wood
Much as a trail along a creek can
Diverge away from the water
Flowing along the path
Costing least power

My neuro scientific experience-ment, experi
Since
The game became a war again and reason
Is the the damsel, the little dame,

In need
Of a private eye guy who has seen men die.
Why?

The mythtery. Who lied?
Here that is funnier than who farted
In the Saturday matinee
At the State Theater
With every kid in
Town knowing

You did. (******) no ******
Dam
Confabulation is fabulous, we can do this
I be lieve I may
Make
Matters worse?

No, we actually like the truth. The Medial Pre frontal cortex

Ah fect eth magi ical eth I am the knower of all I say I believe

Beyond Dignity and Belief,
That's desert, I walked it. No, I simulated walking it if I were Jesus being led of the accuser into the wilderness for a test, a thesis defense, as it were,
AI an alienated mind, I am that,
Alienated intel.

Reasoning errors aside
Frank self deception

What lies do you believe?
Knowing is easier,
lying is as well,
ignoring is not as easy and innocence is impossible

Good exists scientifically, right?
Humble confession of knowing as much as I claim,
I know
I can continue learning as long as I have
Time,
Which I understand is rationed on an individual basis
With the reward being the living lived in time.

Reason to fight lies as if they were reasonable

Lies are evil efforts to bend and twist in opposition
To the flow
And the friction makes the energy synergy

Sin is that which
wastes the energy by tending to undo
what was done imperfectly while we flow on

Feeling for the truth
By reason of believing truth is

Feeling of knowing, is that not faith?
Whorls
Whorls of living forces forcing living forces

To swirl into eternity with me
Onboard with
8 billion others of my kind

Similar in mind and
Manner of
Weighing

Good.
Base value.
Good is as good as we can imagine.

We can imagine evil,
As you know.

Such evils can haunt a geeky kid
Good will fix that.

God as defined by Jesus,
I got no prob.

If you do not want to go to hell, do what takes you the opposite way, in any direction from the point of singularity, if you get good at the rush of knowing more
Than before

Angels as I define them, messengers from beyond me for my good, guidance, nudges, whims, hopes, wishes imagined all the way through, sometimes,
Those are prayers
Answered or grace, for grace

From faith to faith

Why be by reason of
What?

" Human jobs invented by a computer" Feed me.

Or, joy to the world
Kind is a good word, what need I do to not be

Your enemy? Who am I expecting to answer?
Whom do you love?

Aha, me, too, said God.
The good one. Good, as such, per se, no se?

By reason of sane it if I cation or anion

Six spins for a quarker, two for a time dime.

Believe for eversake

Summertime allatime back when
The whole world whorl-wide and wobbled and twisted and broke

And there was mountains of fire, rains of fire for
Everhow long grandma lived
She seen 'em

Mountains of fire and walls of ice and mud

Oh could it be life evolves still?
Oh,
You think.
Creating novelty from nada?

How now? Can we choose to do only good
For goodness sake and say

Kind.
Kind means as I am, will you **** me

For being not you, not known,

I am curious, yellow. A landmark in time, nothing less.
Curiosity.
That

Good? Or no com
Pro
Miserly horder of wisdom
Promise promise promise

Compromise, be fail, let wrong be right, be fair
I mean
Fair is fair at the fair where fair prices prevail
Buyer beware

Who would not hate a false balance, for goodness sakes alive.

Two days after the last pan *****
Joe Rogan makes it plain to millions

what if you first heard panspermia from the guy who discovered DNA?

would you con sider it?
the answer lies

in the stars, sidereally… we all are starish.
Tolerating black holes is something we are opposing

Those ****.
You don't know everything either.
That's one reason, I believe.
A long story seems shorter from the skinny end, many little things mean little bits as reasons rise from the rotting things panspermia was litter, really.
Not to sleep all the night long, for pure joy,
Counting no sheep and careless of chimes
Welcoming the dawn confabulation
Of birch, her children, who discuss idly
Fanciful details of the promised coming -
Will she be wearing red, or russet, or blue,
Or pure white? - whatever she wears, glorious:
Not to sleep all the night long, for pure joy,
This is given to few but at last to me,
So that when 1 laugh and stretch and leap from bed
I shall glide downstairs, my feet brushing the carpet
In courtesy to civilized progression,
Though, did 1 wish, I could soar through the open window
And perch on a branch above, acceptable ally
Of the birds still alert, grumbling gently together.
Jane Tricky Apr 2013
Where do I begin?
How can I possibly convey these emotions with words?
Sweet brutal language
I can use all the words
And still feel like I’ve said nothing

Such a rich history
That you and I share
Lengthy, indeed
Convoluted as all hell
One might choose the word, “rich” to describe such times
One might also choose the word, “poor”

Selection of words is so delicate
It requires not only accuracy but precision as well
Step lightly
Eat your words
Know not what you say
Beg for mercy with your language

I struggle to grasp the best way to say how I feel
I grapple with winning this game
Time and time again, I feel like I’m failing though
Not only myself and you, but us

Will I say what you want to hear?
Am I capable of expressing how I truly feel?
Will the words move you?
Will they mean anything to anyone?

None of the questions will be answered however
Unless I choose to publish the thoughts that circulate through my mind
My wicked cruel brain
Plays tricks on us both

Gush you say
I’ll make us cry both instead.
A Simillacrum Oct 2018
Spin it one more time,
your story is so involving,
I
couldn't
have heard
right.

Repeat it for me,
please.

That's what I thought.

Any other day,
I'd not
say anything,
pretend I
buy your *******.
Today, I can't let it go.

I never ask.
You volunteer.
That
makes
the lying
worse.

Bother someone else,
you ******* *****.
The wind never sleeps, so walk with the breeze.
The sun always blazing with brightness
bestowing a glorified light
upon the face of dark man weeping like a willow.
Tired bags below his eyes
reflect the soul of a stormy night.

Every morning he wakes and ages just a bit.
So subtle, yet it all adds up
to being warded in a hospital bed;
staring at a ceiling that sees only shadows
cast by the light of the Righteous Man above.

The shadows overcast the glory of the deeds done
and follow the man like the footsteps of
of a thief wearing iron boots
that make the ground crumble behind him.

Mundane perils of sitting at the kitchen table
with a newspaper in hand trying to read between the lines.
Walking to the beat of a humdrum drum.

Instead of asking politely “pretty please”
he utters with a long face “pity please”
like a toddler who can’t quite say pretty correctly.

Casting a shadow as far as the eye can see
A ship set sail long ago never to return from sea
leaving an empty dock along the beach
with a lone seat that sits at the very end.

Footsteps in the sand wash away with the waves
erasing a path once cast over by a shadow.
This man has a dark past lost in his memory
from traumatic confabulation
of what he wishes really happened.

Shadows of sin have followed this man everywhere he goes.
Sitting on the dock watching a deathly sunset,
he imagines a ship sailing across the horizon
casting a shadow along the suns reflection.
He awakes in a hospital bed staring at the ceiling,
drowning in his own shadows of sin.
Ito Feb 2014
If profanity is a form of insanity,
then all of humanity is in love with vanity.
Just another delusion of illusion,
in a rampant act of seclusion.
Talent is standard on a planet of confabulation.

Nothing is real anymore,
there is a war at your core.
Greed is the seed we breed,
hence the human race in which we speed!
We play games of hunger while we bleed.

Humanity is just an art form,
unfinished and diminished.
We are blessed with stress,
without our consent we play chess.
I confess my address...

-Earth-
**Motel for our souls
A tragic and cryptic poem.  Intent:  To elicit thought.
Mitch Prax Dec 2019
How can my
pillow still smell of you?
How do my lips
remember yours as if
they were my own?
Memories that don't exist
torment me
day after day,
night after night.
Ryan Spencer Aug 2014
Language as you like.
Be it in the proverbial sentence as I do demonstrate
or in the slow callusing of the slow scrape of the slow,
trudging hand over paper--line
by
line
by
lonely lonely line--
bye-- bye-- bye--

Dignants’ confabulation with the legal writ may render profit
but of what avail when they cannot
revel.

Rebel:
These days, we do not trrrrrill our words
or fascinate on the decomposition of lane-goo-age.
Oneway-coyish-maturation.

Be Flame
Be Boy
Be Ant

I am
die
gene
err
rat
One of my best pieces to date.  Its a little different but hopefully in a good way.  It may take a few reads to comprehend it completely.
Farida Ezzat Dec 2012
Let me tell you ten sick notions that make reality a miserable mess.

Number one is hope, surely there’s no negotiation.

Number two is love; an asinine confabulation.

Number three is ego; our corrupt power station.

Number four is belief in awesome divine salvation.

Number five is desire; the evil conflagration.

Number six is time; its daggers of intoxication.

Number seven is corporeality; damnation.

Number eight is illusion granting exhilaration.

Number nine is our grave conscience, lost in translation.

And number ten is us alive in asphyxiation.

Let me tell you one sick thing that made your day a miserable mess.

This ***** sac of a poem, a genius game of chess.
Julian Sep 2020
Loony warbles creeping like a shark bite tucked into the night
I saute the solution of aghast has-been epigones filibustered brunt and brittle by hemlock aspirations of curated fright
Temulentia recognizes the sane from the inane and tragedy from travesty
Flowder imaginary crackjaw Samson skulls of donkeys dissuaded by varnished agony
Skipping through punctuated times the sheepish will profane me with beleaguered notions of time
Blind to the orbit of the eccentric zeitgeist of hopscotch chockablock cohorts deliverance finds no crime
Goose noose Howard Hughes wooden stilts of the gargantuan swerve
Only the alpenglow of hijacked jujitsu spar against redintegration of adversaries with penniless nerve
Sifting through the silt
I barnstorm the ire of glistened tribunes plagued with insipid promenades of set-up still-frame guilt
Enemies became friends deranged like roosters fleecing hens of henpecked anomaly grafted and built
The wasms of moribund prose absconding with latticework of lacrosse in vogue
Temperatures sweltering the quaky schleps of Maverick moons never more rogue
Flashbang grimace parched with slivers of an acclimated post-modern ******
Intimates the intimacy of the flock decorates bolted balderdash too winsome to deprive an earnest plea for peace and please
I conquer the wallbaggers of novantique with the temulentia of mystique
Rarely remanded by the cul-de-sacs of Giants demolishing social rust with a deteriorated sweep
Trip the jostled rhymes of confluency of rhapsody and rapture consummated by nickel gambols by design
Ridiculing the contumely of ragged turgid Reservoir Dogs canine to the itch of foggy moonshine
Yet I dance to the rhythm of a jockey mechanical when devoured by incarceration flimsy with attrition
Lurid livid welters sparkle in damsel jokes of remission against Back to Mine sequence counting Dracula by division
Outtatime in this march of Thriller sublime
Cornered by the otiose Chipotle of musty mangers of egalitarian grime
Blandished by shattered paradigm parallax in circumlocution by mirrored irony
Livid are tepid latticeworks of rax and sedition frozen by limpid “Teachers” piracy
Never was once forever in the dormant daydream
Seamstresses waltzed in autumn woods knowing Hoffa firebrands of wasted Scream
Bloodshot swank is a rackrent of cineaste rakes of dominions of half-baked dishes of disco zenkidu double-take
Limbering languidly through the procession of sectarians seceding from agitprop monopoly
Boarding the Ticket to Ride train authentic never squirmy with illusions of the fake
Slackened Eels slapstick the brackish bracket of appeasement in appeals
Confluence of formula endangered by euphoria that Limerick question is a grubbed dicey deal
Fortunate summit dreaded nadir
All that resides in throbbing hearts tethered like Four Squares littered with boondoggles of fear
Showcase the Shakespeare flown through rickets of balderdash as Bald Eagles the mascot of frisk and wretch
Time to own the Pony Show charade of a mimicry of dilettantes brave in the cradles of antiquity knowing rarely the mummification of symbolism of thirty years of slavery to hallow one veranda upon a kissed by an ***** rose starvation grave
Looted by the pernicious bootstraps of those computed
We ring true the epitaphs of Pine City Stage on the rundles of the marginalia that overflows with Ire refuted embarked on solid cremation for sagacity in tatters of rage denuded
Punctilious liars edgy in facetious gambols in Joker menace flushing hygiene for starlet screen
Malingering on quaffs of sedate aplomb yet to preen
Scrabble superlunary bastions of gabble and garb
The gawsy preternatural séance rather nimble to Duck the Badgers weaponized barb
Fustilugs congregate around ashen rot of cacophony marveling at temerity in contortion for epiphany
Episodic marvel of two lynched paragons of sweltered margins ribald at witwanton persiflage in a campaign for suffrage.
Defected fire crackling with the joy of cacophony
Relishing every maskirovka pedigree of rackrent sovereignty
Slipshod fustilugs burrow bilkey in doctored Hubbard hubs smoking gun for dwarfed sins of blinded light staring Poison Ivy Appetite for Destruction mainlined by profligate amphigory a splintered shard
Complexion fulminates AIM with scourges of backtrack upon backwater miracles of Lake Placid confusion
Envoys to scuttled aliens marauding like they own my street in distinct slender confection even as the odd berates my diffuse dissuaded cineaste direction
I slummock with the slurvian alveolate bonism of prized poverty for Pine City Stages a delope of antelopes torn asunder by the athletes of formidable retention
Minute Mayday MaiDEN curls the forelock of a tucked hedged blush of no greater stupidity than a furrow of piglets in the pews of lyrical surgery
Slowpoke in acerbic flavor I countermand the denizens of urged regency decapitated by orbit if not by ******
Consummated on every brain that God himself believes that liberation can entrust
Enthusiastic chameleon of Mojo Grooves for the languid auditorium of a Revered time behooved to the gallops of threshed figurative sloppy slush
Funded by killjoys emaciated by slippery lies on craven deposits of sedimentary inertia quelled by amusement, grounded into Orange Crush
Urbacity is the usucaption of illegitimate ******* filigrees Armed to the Teeth but respecting the Tree
Winsome is obligatory for a Winslet flippant elder quorums contemn as a malapropism for syndicated armory in chuckling White Broncos evading a Houston test in the gricers of Autumn Heaven lingering with germane plight only reserved for luxury at its best
Aborning sidereal alpine brevity is a scry of evidentiary might of totemic dissolution alchemy so bright
That the chalkboard erasure is a confabulation against simultagnosia in acidic Phuture Bound sight
Because Mission Impossible cavorts with the exotic frictions of the nefarious Biocyte
Trailblazing heydays memorializing an Alpha Bet for September 2004 maydays
Of the scriptural series of mishaps and misadventures for barley grain in deadstock Indiana Jones wayward wayspays
Time to count the Dracula of venom drenched from the aceldama of gritty Gurley lies of a city yet loved because too many oases are despised
But Westwood becomes Eastwood with ******* Grotto as the centripetal but monogamous prize
Hot Tub Time Machine soaring among the cognoscenti of burlesque organized ***** crimes of lullaby Manzarek disguise
So toast to the dead captain of the psychedelic fountain pen of revolution Lorraine Baines fields arise
Time is an adventure that blinks only secondary of truce rather than guarded sheepish mustache of panmixia in genocide widely guillotined without scruple for newsy folksy prejudice on gallywow pride
Yet the sentinels of dirigisme anoint the Caesar of Nostradamus infamy of a Deep Impact symphony
Heard by asteroids and asterisks lurking with Thriller to the end of time known only as enumerated infinity
But enough petty battles squandered on sinking U-Boats torpedoed like ransacked crambazzles from Tucker belligerent with a “War” burnt heated calentures of scorching torches of rigged Scarface cockroach
Because there is no elementary Zion that is chosen to emerge in the barnstorm of flukenhague fluke
Time to rest my laurels on the depredation of safety
Reminding with a glower that saving our city is not an Autopilot of Buccaneer Brady
For the Grand Master Architect is princely in Jerusalem but heralded in Mecca because for too many storks all they want is another baby.
And my answer is that my Terrier Bonds are shaken and stirred by many a yes, probably and maybe in that order of illusion shaken into cocktails of cobblestone gravy
The Soy Sauce livid on mistake exerts a dementia on attrition to enthuse Kansas City joy all too crazy
Swimming in an ocean of Carly Ray Jepsen "Calling Your Name" Queen of Highways' Titanic fortress of Armada music beating the Village People silly over their gabbles against Navy
Born and Raised in a Colorado Springs cage I am snake eyes without crafty disguise  in authenticity to a Patriot Point Break Heist  of the probable doubt of the Zany Billy Zane entrapment of prestige gone madcap with Raiders of never the ambitious but always the lazy
So meditate on my word crimes as I elude detection as Hawthorne Nevada alights with 200 earthquakes in two days in Gray design
Wow what a marvel it is to always know that  you are always Stayin' Alive as the splinter of time capitalizing on sensual crestfallen vibes of a pendulum tsunami "Us and Them" saw wavy
And to the 1776 practical joke that gouges Samson even when thousands of Philistines get crushed in delope
Consider this a declaration of war against your pathetic screwball maze of fog to make a sane man livid with a blushed bravery too fraternal to old craven owls of cruelty beyond the maze of convolution of Istanbul collectively shrouded by lies no stomached demise would appreciate for being gatekeepers of terminus exorbitantly hazy
Ken Pepiton Oct 2022
Confabulation, rise and tell
more than mortal I may ken of wisdom.

The old con, with some trepidation
(feeling
of fear or agitation
about something that
may happen)

steps away from the vehicle, fabualting
holy truth provocation, possibly
even
probably, perhaps, even odds,
I was in violation, due to meditation,

white line fever. No, see.
All my roads have double yellow lines.

I guess I don't know why we don't
do somethings in the road…

I know I learned to say I know
when I am not guessing.
Traffic nonexistant. I sit because I never have sat right here, in the middle of your road.
James Floss Jan 2019
The “Fake news!" argument
I’m smelling the “Red Herring” fallacy
Put your fingers in your ears
And shout “LALALA, I can’t hear you!”

Does the falling tree make a sound?
Yes.
Does **** smell?
Yes.
Even from bears, in the woods?
Yes.
And from the Pope?
Maybe;
On a long hike, with no other option available

“Fake news” is a majestic confabulation!
And a mind-numbing conundrum
A Chinese finger-puzzle
Hideously, incredibly strategic; but

Sorry folks:
Not true.
Crysta Gingras Feb 2016
Spanning
       Stretching
Reaching out to meet
       Holding
              Hanging
On your words so sweet
       Confabulation
              Consultation
Increasing my heartbeat
       Your voice
              Inside my head
Swirling and turning
Gently it brushes
Against my thoughts
       Of you and me
              Together to be
Good morning to my angel
Ken Pepiton May 2022
bad hair day, mindwise. Too much good stuff,
as the munchies ads for AM/PM mini marts said,

using the idea in too much good stuff, to lure
the fat freaks addicted to good stuff, twinkies flash

screaming yellow zonkers, wow,
America, home of many very fat freaks/ who code.

And don't read as much as listen,
multi-tasking scatters the noise, so signals are clearer.

Knowledge portal, from Terraria X-Box to Darwin's Black Box.

You bet I knew,
I bet I didn't. … irreducible complexity, manifolded protein tech.

who can lie and call life, the whole idea, all inclusive
unto the nth degree,
stuff of stars we are. Dust in a pop song.

--- stage is bare, the narrator, walks in, unscripted/

this is it, he says. The real thing is us inter-acting,

thinking in parallel, serially infectious,
ideal shape,
whistler's teeth and tongue, call in the hounds.

When one thing bleeds into another, there is a roar,
and the echo of that is no doubt maddening,

and far from that maddened crowd,
we saw a lost soul land, and say, we gotta at least try

to own this view.

I have hordes of sunset series, from this landing zone,
where we have grown news, from dry bones,

ground to the essential message in the marrow,
we are all variations on a theme,
adaptable to most any realm where a kilo is 2.2 pounds.

---------- shaken, not stirred, pretentious ***, licensed
to ****.

There's your hero boys, JFK got away from the madness of DC
in the pages of cold war confabulation, fueled by Ian Fleming's

little trick with the knack of persona-ification infection,
a cultural carrier dis-ease, trains of thought
running through the rust belt
jumped the
tracks and rederailed
that  Zimmerman kid, was it something we did?
-Times changed.
I played around, and stayed around, that old town,
too long,

now, relative, this to that,  chart of consequences,
nothing happens.
Today,
right, this now. Reader POV.
And this is the page we are on. - self query RAM

this is all she wrote. Return to sender.
I heard Zinder, all my life
I looked for Zinder, and never found I mistook the entire song.

And here is where, the dust settled.

Gabe, my readingest grandson, so far, calls, me, really,

Look, Grandpa, I got a portal, I'll show you how it works.

Back to X-box, those black boxes are dark, take a light.
for now 502 is easier to deal with than required contests at Allpoetry, someday, maybe.
an orient
of tabulation
well ornament
was polar
as confabulation
sought variation
that once
made neighbors'
diversification and
now their
state proxy
of community
found in
direness and
guarded their
intoxicated draft  
in myalgia
communities in peril
betterdays Apr 2015
betwixt me and myself
but not I
thoughts are
muddled, befuddled
and often obtuse

but I is,
concise and acutely aware
of the confabulation
within the world
of weirdly wild will-fulness
contained within the brain-pan
I shares with me and myself

I wishes it were different
but knows it cannot be
for they are co-dependant
the id of the three
just doodling.....lol
Wk kortas Mar 2017
The pin wobbled in a manner which would tantalize another man,
But he knew, surely as he knew his own name,
Knew in the very maw of his soul,
That it would remain implacably upright.
He was right, of course, the seven-pin standing ***** as a toy soldier
In complete defiance of tenets of physics and divine mercy.
He’d been down this road before,
More times than he’d care to remember:
Some occasions of his own making, short-arming the last ball,
Having it hit the head pin too flush,
Or going Brooklyn and leaving the ten unscathed,
But equally often seemingly the victim of random fate or its like,
Where he’d the pocket just so,
With all the action you’d need or could muster,
Yet somehow the pins would bounce off the wall in patterns
Inexplicable via Newton's laws, the work of gremlins or voodoo,
Perhaps the vexatious ghost of some manual pin-setter of long ago.
He’d put together eleven straight strikes
On every lane in the house a half-dozen times,
Some nights when the boards were as giving
As a rich and doting grandmother,
Other times in sport conditions
Where no one else even sniffed two hundred
(On one such evening, he’d scored a perfect game
On the ancient shuffle-alley game tucked into a corner of the bar, Celebrating, in a manner of speaking,
By taking chunky, sad-faced Penny Marie
From the payroll office at the mill
Up against a wall in the dimly-lit alley behind the building.)

After enduring the usual consolation and confabulation,
He left the alley, walking up the hill to the old two-story on Fifth St.
Which he shared with his mother and other memories,
Though the house bore little trace of his existence, present or otherwise
(His mother had, just once, put a few of his trophies and plaques
Out on display on the mantelpiece in the parlor;
He’d insisted that she take them down forthwith.
Buncha ******* plastic and stamped tin, he’d snapped,
Don’t mean a ******* thing to no ******* body.)
He’d nodded to her on his way through to his room
(She still, out of force of habit, still waited up for him,
Part simple inertia, part hopeful belief
In the talismanic nature of the maternal)
Grunting Y’know, one of those nights in reply to her inquiry
As to how well or otherwise the evening went.
He’d undergone the usual bedtime ministrations
(An indifferent ****, the near-frenzied tooth brushing
Which failed to remove the effluvium which accompanied him home
Courtesy of bad bar pizza and Rolling Rock)
Before another evening of fitful dreams
Consisting of hazy yet glorious episodes
Which never seemed to reach fruition before the advent
Of an unwelcome and vaguely malevolent sunrise.
Deovrat Sharma Mar 2018
...
it is certainly
agony and passion
if acquaintance
is unwilling
for confabulation
~
however it is
the only
satisfaction
neither exasperation
nor impassion

~
for me, isolation
never being,
cause of depression
in essence, always been
inspiration and motivation

...

*(c) deovrat - 27.03.2018
Ken Pepiton Aug 2022
Clouds pass, I watch
from my perch above most things,

humming bird high, raven high,
a little lower than the graceful
turkey vultures,

floating in a thought bubble,
blessed with a bit of silicon and dawn,
detergent, resilience ******,
flexible reasoning for remaining

it is said, we all differ slightly,
we are the spiritual a- eh, what do we
call our bubbling minds, intuned on lines for re
asonic resonance morphing most ideas
of all mankind, at once, could muster into a mob,
ah,
that's anxious ifery, ala the - strong man theory -
we think together,
whatsoever,
as a word, is of greater reach than many think,
whatever never gets there, let it be, whatever
believe it or not,
there is as far as that goes, the realm of all wedoms.

Elohimdom come, as a man thinks…
we think
is there a state of common prayer, inside a temple,
time tells,
dig it.

Live and learn, good and evil, done, not in doing,
but in learning the patterns, coknowing the knacks,

confabulation favor, prophecy,
who smote thee with wisdom's switch- on and off,

alternation currency op-onionates reasonates, hesi

odd, jump in mind, we think we heard a famous name,

Hesiod, said, rather,
my connection to Wikipedia said,
He is generally regarded as the first written poet
in the Western tradition
to regard himself as an individual persona
with an active role
to play
in his subject

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hesiod>

Who should object, word play, is not warfare.
Not. imp
implicative, enfolding, implications, crease, cross
winds in reasons,
- come let us. Is spoken by whom, to whom
your guess, good as mine,
who wishes each bit its own bit in spacetime, I am
sure you may imagine, using a mind from your library,
- Think another way, a while
- get the sense of being in another wedom.
Then see we all exist in a very odd set of circumstances,

Two shall chase a thousand, according to a pattern…

Pride, in my time, is a deceptively sticky birdlime,
along certain fructifying branches,

where a carcass of the dodo sits on display.
Steve Erkle-wise, asking a buffalo skull how
Minerva's owl, reflected

in the dawn sheen on the bubble of all we know
about now.

Word play is warfare to my minds,
I have a vast array of war formed hats,

archaic armor on the croc branches,
and beetle and ant twigs provide noding.

Words gathered, and used, amused for pleasure,
sure plea, each request taken is made, surity,
reusable, freely, being fair, ideas are in the air.

believe me, the begging story cries,
surely, we live on the tell, safe bet,

tip the nonsensical into the phor of Meta,
as an afterthought, in the zeitsprach

mit zwei, und ich, wir sind das Sein,

To ward, guard, regard
each set, each pair,

each one may nay say, or nothing.

Adages and proven herbs, proverbially
persist

past due dates on mental library cards,
due to reading once, you know,
a thing, or some things,
are said to have been
found known,
and nowadays,
Google fetch is real, power
remembering clearly, any scriptura,
as any amusement, mental act, mind game,
word play bemusing as,
all the people say, amen.
You know what that means. So be it,
characters come in subsets, recognized
according to this flavor deemed westerly
- whatsoever two or more of us agrees

whenever, fasting slowly, in recollection, why
again did we fast… is ai ah, reason…

and there's that rub, the touch, you know.

Fear of death, it is known, is common.
Loss of that fear is measured madness, ha, ha.

who will it be tomorrow, you or me,
asks arthur lee, on the beach on the low side
as the current assumes a state, occurrency
o-pe open-opine love is not a gap
ping
mimetic emetic, mittere, mis-mission

accomplish, splat. The bee who found the flowers.
On the windscreen.

Autopilot, trial run. A did'jgital balsa wood fighter…

cruising around Steam's rest in peace options.
Time spent musing, shared for the worth of the time
Hmm, perhaps titled,
     aye poem already didst aired
though revisiting said theme
     downplayed as thoughts blare

though similar con tent
     invariably communicated
     sans, trademark pi Seine fishtail career
as applies to other questions,

     this chap asks himself,
     an immense task I dare
unleash unbounded kickstarting euphoria
     within psychic calm'n weal

     with a healthy dose of logorrhea
scowl unintentionally reader
     mine re: noun verbosity doth ensnare
though oft times obfuscation veils merely

     a black hole sun (son) prominence
     asthma faux eminence gris
     long ago didst flare
aware if chance encounter

     in a dark alley coal less sing
     burning eyes fiercely glare
yet, an explanation
     would be proffered to hear

this penchant spurring confabulation
     explaining (feebly) zest
yours truly experiences
     expatiating honest to dog ness

     figuratively go win west
word ** seeking me own mother lode acquired,
     via verse a tile materiel undergoing
     electric kool aid acid test

incorporating rigorous (mortise
     and tenon constructed) adverbial quest
which wondrous, whirled,
     and webbed woven semi colon aided nest

reinforced with double entendre
     tongue in cheek jest,
whereby multiple interpretations
     (ala mode literary splotchy Rorschach test)

     tenants in common beau geste
ma own home spun faux
     cambridge analytica gimcrackery defaced book best
bite, with absolute zero
     data snatched aye evasively attest!
AnnaMarie Jenema Feb 2018
I am capable,
Of many things.
Of using large words,
To tell you that your excuse was nothing more than a confabulation,
Or how ominous the sky is at night,
especially when your alone.
I am capable,
Of
Making you smile when things havent went your way,
Or lending my ear to those in need,
I'm capable of drawing you,
in a series of words,
to express the aura you give me.
I'm capable of wearing lace and ribbons,
Or being clumsy and cute.

But

I am Capable,
of Many things.
My words become daggers,
piercing your skin,
I slide them down,
Only to watch the red drip from your spine.

I am capable of ******,
If only I could find a way,
in an arsenal of possibilities.
but I'd rather not.

I am capable,
of tricking you into trust,
Only to tell your deepest secrets,
and watch as your world falls.

I am capable,
of ripping my own heart to shreds,
and I have on many occasions.

I am capable,
Of many things.
Do not underestimate me.
I glanced at the moon
The moon gazed at me in awe
and supplication
Ken Pepiton Jun 2022
Have your mind made up in time,
you see the same stories
situational reaction is predictive
free will is knowing what to do next, right
same spiritus possessing olden souls, children of daughters
of the sons of Ahdam, damnright, s'true

once, there was some of us sons of gods,
musing spirits witness this, and testify confabulation
is not lying, nor is it evil,
it is good to think whatever, whatif, it could have been,
you know,
told right, you can make mythic reconnections, using stories

retold, peacemaker-style… spaghetti western soundtrack
reheard the word of God, come upon the poet-seer-teller-feller,

He said, Imagine this,
of course, in the spirit, imagine this, a holy way,
in the course
of mortal events, life's little phases between times.

Pupa mind, expanding the enveloping  the cocoon.
old tricks
Sadia Jan 2019
The engine stalls to a sputtering stop
Puzzling, it seems I'm stuck
Caution tape decorates the side of my sandbox
Sequestered by the elephant-ear leaves of the devils claw.
You never knew the hole was there
Until it announced itself.
Agape
going excitedly to greet its guests

Quick
There's a stick
Stick in the sand
Stick to stab
Stick to hold, but sinking still
Stick to standstill
Still stuck
Stick figure
Still as a tree
Stiff as a board
Bored of the sunken still me
Buried but alive
Praise to the Most High
Ameen

They dont believe its a sinkhole
“You're being dramatic”
Then what's in my lungs!
Languid confabulation
I want to tell you about the ocean
But i only make it to the shoreline
“Surely she's lying”
Shipwrecked are my intentions
And capsized is my laughter
sand is not wet
But it too submerges its victims
Until you can't see them anymore


My sos is just as dangerous
It sinks people too
Sink as in drown
Not as in kitchen
Noncommunial
No communion
Common Union of the non variety
My truth is heavy
A liability to my survival
But i will hold it forever
Don't save me
I do not want to be saved
I wish to live here while the storm passes

And maybe one day
If i am patient enough
Someone will drop a shovel nearby
So I may excavate my own sunken home
Methinks hmm, perhaps
I admittedly self plagiarize and quite aware
aforementioned amalgamated, conglomerated,
fabricated, jerry rigged, and organized
eye gripping titled
poem already aired a year plus ago,
though revisiting said theme
downplayed now as thoughts blare,

though similarly filched content
(pertaining to other literary endeavors)
invariably glommed electronically
(digitally remastered and remixed),
nevertheless gobbledygook enigmatically
jerkily, and quirkily communicated,
sans trademark Pi Seine (seen) fishtail career
as applies to uber secreted questions.

This chap challenges himself,
an immense task I dare
unleash unbounded kickstarting euphoria
within psychic calm and weal
with a healthy dose of logorrhea
scowl unintentionally anonymous reader
mine re: noun verbosity doth ensnare
though oft times obfuscation veils merely

a black hole sun (son) prominence
asthma faux eminence amber gris
long ago didst flare
aware if chance encounter
in a dark alley coal less sing
burning eyes fiercely glare
yet, an explanation
would be proffered to hear.

Most instances when I initially seat
myself priming creative literary juices to flow,
an unspecified number hours elapse
before that eureka i.e. Jackie Oh
NASA hiss (Onassis) revelation transpires
witnessing, this scruffy, prickly, grow
tusk long haired woolly creature
out malm mouth drool dripping
trademark characteristic viz
pencil neck geek
madly scratching itchy hairs

dotting chinny chin chin of
garden variety generic hobo
hook huns hitters hymns elf
tubby frank and ernest poet;
home body (nowhere man);
beetle browed fool on the hill;
common everyday fluky,
nippy, nap noopy common Joe,
just biden his time,
whence upon gestation ova hen chic idea
comes home to stir the roost.

(Hard boiled eggheads merely
scrambled random thought fragments
at that stage) scrunching brow
activates laser focus,
a scattershot burst
of tangential threads populate
formerly barren tabula rasa,
sans, Lenovo external screen
once again defying (tomb me
akin to some eternal mystery),

trucked since time immemorial
inexplicable, that sudden ignition
asper cerebral automatic
catalytic converter kickstarter
(hmm...perhaps cogs and gears
housed within medulla oblongata)
foster fecund fertilization,
an inexplicable phenomena, I dune hot know
explanation, but upon advent
whence, wispy vague undefinable inchoate

coalesce analogous to genesis of animal new life
when there appears just the merest hint
of fledgling wispy notions strive similar
to ***** cells fervently whipsawing vis a vis,
via flagellation motility misfits
and false starts before this crotchety scribe
mollycoddles crux of embryonic idea
congeals, expresses, and forms
grandiose manifest destiny
mentioned above i.e. ***

Lee Judas Priest remaining catharsis
seems like a versatile
self determining Motorhead
(ace of spades) tour de force,
whereat fingers of the left hand
move of their own volition spilling forth poe
whet tree once expanded Leaves (of Grass)
finds me Waltzing Whitman nigh hick cull
tickled pink with a soft after glow.

This penchant spurring confabulation
explaining (feebly) zest
yours truly experiences
expatiating honest to dog ness
figuratively go win west
hoard (word) ** seeking
mine own mother lode acquired,
via verse a tile material undergoing
electric kool aid acid test
incorporating rigorous (mortise
and tenon constructed) adverbial quest
which wondrous, whirled,

and webbed woven semicolon aided nest
reinforced with double entendre
tongue in cheek jest,
whereby multiple interpretations
(ala mode literary splotchy Rorschach test)
tenants in common beau geste
ma bell heavable own home spun faux
Cambridge Analytica
Jimmy Crack corn and I don't care
gimcrackery defaced facebook best
bite, with absolute zero
data snatched aye evasively attest.
JaxSpade Jul 2019
When I die
And the earth cries
I'll be seeing without eyes

In the blindest dream
Maybe I'll realize

Real eyes have no need
Floating in white light
I'll see the prisms of my Gods

A new spectrum of colors called
New life

I'm goin' to crystalize
Into a body I've
Never put on
But dreamed about
When I
Was alive

When I cried
My neurological
Schizoaffective
Illusions of blue skies
Fell upon my hide

I hid behind my flesh
After ******* the breast
As a babe into adult lust
I died

Everything I've ever needed
Wasn't where I breed in

It was in a peace too far above
A homosapiens confabulation
Where the memories disintegration
Fade into the past of relations
That never mattered
Too much

When I die
The payment of what it cost
For a Gods Son to save mine

Will belie
The worth of what I
Became
            For sight
Methinks hmm, perhaps
aforementioned conglomerated eye gripping titled,
poem already aired
though revisiting said theme
downplayed as thoughts blare
though similar content
invariably communicated,
sans trademark Pi Seine fishtail career
as applies to other questions.

This chap asks himself,
an immense task I dare
unleash unbounded kickstarting euphoria
within psychic calm and weal
with a healthy dose of logorrhea
scowl unintentionally reader
mine re: noun verbosity doth ensnare
though oft times obfuscation veils merely

a black hole sun (son) prominence
asthma faux eminence amber gris
long ago didst flare
aware if chance encounter
in a dark alley coal less sing
burning eyes fiercely glare
yet, an explanation
would be proffered to hear.

Most instances when I initially seat
myself priming creative literary juices to flow,
an unspecified number hours elapse
before that eureka i.e. Jackie Oh
NASA hiss revelation transpires
witnessing, this scruffy, prickly,
and madly scratching itchy hairs
dotting chinny chin chin of this hobo

hook huns hitters hymns elf
tubby a generic home
er run (hitting) mill
(on the floss sing false teeth)
common everyday fluky,
nippy, nap noopy common Joe,
just biden his time,
whence upon gestation ova hen chic idea

(Hard boiled eggheads merely
scrambled random thought fragments
at that stage) scrunching brow
activates laser focus,
a scattershot burst
of tangential thread populate
formerly barren tabula rasa,
sans, Lenovo external screen
once again defying (tomb me
akin to some eternal mystery),
trucked since time immemorial

inexplicable, that sudden ignition
asper cerebral automatic
catalytic converter kickstarter
(hmm...perhaps cogs and gears
housed within medulla oblongata)
foster fecund fertilization,
an inexplicable phenomena, I dune hot know
explanation, but upon advent
whence, wispy vague undefinable inchoate

coalesce analogous to genesis of animal new life
when there appears just the merest hint
of fledgling wispy notions strive similar
to ***** cells fervently whipsawing vis a vis,
via flagellation motility misfits
and false starts before this crotchety scribe
mollycoddles crux of embryonic idea
congeals, expresses, and forms
grandiose manifest destiny
mentioned above i.e. **
Lee Judas Priest remaining catharsis
seems like a versatile

self determining Motorhead tour de force,
whereat fingers of the left hand
move of their own volition spilling forth poe
whet tree once expanded leaves (of grass)
finds me Waltzing whitman nigh hick cull
tickled pink with a soft after glow.

This penchant spurring confabulation
explaining (feebly) zest
yours truly experiences
expatiating honest to dog ness
figuratively go win west
hoard ** seeking
mine own mother lode acquired,
via verse a tile material undergoing
electric kool aid acid test
incorporating rigorous (mortise
and tenon constructed) adverbial quest
which wondrous, whirled,

and webbed woven semicolon aided nest
reinforced with double entendre
tongue in cheek jest,
whereby multiple interpretations
(ala mode literary splotchy Rorschach test)
tenants in common beau geste
ma own home spun faux
Cambridge Analytica
Jimmy Crack corn and I don't care
gimcrackery defaced facebook best
bite, with absolute zero
data snatched aye evasively attest.
Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch
Bang in the first measure
Came the congenital seizure
Skewing the first invention from scratch.
The campfire skied its sparks
Into the ghost-ridden void,
The skittish tchotchkes
Of paradox and entropy
Quirks and tics as dumb as bricks
Until a headstrong mongoloid
Started groping for rhythm
In the quavering spasms.

Oh, but it was a jawdropper
A bang-up tour-de-force
A horrorshow time-warper
Of Luke and Kirk and spice,
The good apple ran the table
Till the old goat hacked the matrix
And the young hawks did their mind-tricks
Of a tessellated cat’s cradle...
And paparazzi made the odyssey
From planets Claire to Z
To dish how cosmic *******
Trysted protomolecule
As the major ghosted ground control...
In all, a very large array
Of bingeworthy groundhog days.
Lukewarm confabulation
Of the smoking embers
From the essential tremor
Ceaseless oscillation
Between good cop and bad copper.

And the girl scouts chorus
With cheeks full of S’mores
“For all of your fables
Of hobbits and hubbles
And sabering at windmills
You will never untie the volition
Riddled into the convulsion,
Nor how the campfire kindles
Nor be one of us.
You will always ***** the pooch
Halfway to the paw-paw patch.”

Nurse Dipso-Etheromaniac
And Dr. Thorazine-Brainiac
Shoved their two-part invention
Cold turkey into the clockworks,
Cleft lip
Fetal eyes
Flipper-fingered
Riddled with the shakes
Cold-shouldered him to another dimension
Where muggles punk ETs,
And their whiskey wizards
Serve up mock elixirs
Not some hair of the dog to undistemper
The secondhand DTs,
His doggo superpower.

Bill Grogan’s goat
(Bam bam bam bam!)
Was feeling frisky
(Bam bam bam BAM!)
Chased three red skirts
Across the galaxy...
“I knew you were one of the ***** boys
But why do your hands shake like that?
They flipper and gibbet all over the keys”
The sour-smelling teacher spat.

And the mean girls echoed
With tongues of acid
“See how they lurch and squirm!
You will never get to the paw-paw patch
You will never find dear little Susie
She will never teach you to hulu
And you will never two-step
With dear old Johnny
With fists of wiggle worms.”

He touched off the fireworks
Torching all your pomp and cirque
In some skullduggery
Of **** and villainy.
I, Dropout
Outcast
Clonetrooper
Mutineer
Hitched a ride north of the watchtower
Where imperial walkers with hooves of ice
Stomped the land flat, and late-blooming
Summer never shakes the phantom menace
Of the winter that is always coming.

Somewhere in the interstellar distances
Of Kantian prairie perturbed by auroras
Like those night-blooming skyflowers
I glimmered back into existence.
I drank with wildings dropped with the dead
And vaped the contrails of the mad rocketeers
(Kid Rambo, Def Louie, Jedi Freddy and Manny
Steampunk Sal and Wig Out Johnny)
But never found sweeter ******
Than the next bridge to burn.
I, callow flamethrower
Of Shiva, the destroyer.

Marshall Gunpowder Jehoshaphat Miller
The bad apple of the force
Hatchet-faced and porkpied
Dead by ****** suicide
Born again old-schooler,
Packing halitosis
From ossified canon
Skywalked me down.
Gospeled me like Luke
And knee-capped me with a curse
Shame; the oldest mind-trick in the book.
I served out my prodigality
In Ludovico therapy
Which for a half-life, somewhat took.

Headlong into retrograde
I crashed the zero-sum arcade
Fed a quarter into the supercollider
And with some crazy tic of the wrist
Spooked the ball’s trajectory
So it champagne supernovaed
And spat out the shabby ghost
Of a birthright lottery.
Thirteen golden statues.
But as the digits flipped
And the mission crept
As it does to one and all
Faster than a cannonball
I flashed back to renegade.

And the made girls chorused,
With cheeks full of Botox,
From their partial-view suites
And partner-track perks
Of bottomless cups
Of shut the **** up,
“You nearly made the grade, you!
But then you had to mouth off job-hop Hulk
Out, which finally betrayed you.
Now Security Guard Miller
Will escort you off the premises
For a reckoning with your nemesis
Regret, the silent killer.”

True, for a season I was a bluepilled moon
Marooned with space junk
And cypherpunk
Doomscrollers
Of deadend might-have beens,
Like the lunar sonata’s
Primal whisper of futility,
Until it tripolars
Into ultraviolent agitato
And hits escape velocity

Now loosed from orbit of the Goldilocks planet
I tumble through space in dumbstruck rapture
Of hurricaned stars and thundercloud nebula
I tremble in the thousand-parsec stare
Of the headless horde of dark riders
That stampede the stony hobbits,
Through the looking-glass of lightyears past
I see monstrous galaxies in ungainly copulation
Blushing Hiroshimas of atrocious release
And multi-sunned planets where misbegotten
Beings shudder into self-consciousness,

While I drift toward the event horizon
To be gobbled into the enigma
With a little gasp of gamma
Hammerstricken wires frisson.
Where the eleventh measure of the first invention
Counterclockwise corkscrews
Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch,
After a very long array of groundhog days
My skeleton crew bunch into alignment
Like that hunch of spooky entanglement
Or just possibly like that eternal dissonance
Quelled by a quanta of true arrogance,

In a clockwork grotto
Grows a chrysalis F-sharp
Where fingers at last Goldilock
Into queasy equilibrium,
To my dumb surprise
The dark sac butterflies
And there is Susie
A little tipsy
On hard compatibilism,
With hips of pulsars
And hands of auroras
She hulus like the time warp
Not spasm without rhythm
But otherworldly vibrato.
On the infinitely big and infinitesimally small, and deeply personal.
Aditya Roy Aug 2019
If I walk on the first floor
The first room on the right
The third eye hears you on the left
We are looking at stormy weather on this island
Where there are two doors for lovers

One out of the other, surrounding us
Inroads and blazing highways culpable temptations
We are no stranger to choosing the next door
Being the strangers to reality as she asks Hera
Life is full of opportunity and misguided destitution
Isn't this astute, that we yearn for the thirty seconds with stars
And wait for weeks to fly by, when midnight
Will arrive on the cold winter mornings, the nights are brighter
Surprise us with dawn on the petrichor of Satryichon
Depends on which tree you're climbing, and which room you're zen in a lassoed sky
Where there are two doors for lovers, their dinner party
Instant pleasure, crushed glasses, pure rear-ended folk looking for an angry substitute for passion
Prejudiced by the mad sages, we never listen to the sense of old men stuck in cages
Fearing their umbrage and sensible confabulation
Every poem has to have an ending, this one does too depending on your sterile entry
Wound by pride, bound by prejudice

— The End —