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"contra" poems
"sly wordplay, it glows, feels like a shimmering address, half warning and half blessing, really alive with cadence" read Kiki Dresden poetry^ once more into the sea trench divide, I dive to devise, Your provoking comment, demands my full attention, you divert me from struggling with ginger & clay, a contra concept that molds and enflames, yet strikes overtly sweet, it does not come so easy as this playful notion But your words deserve the attention immédiate atenção imediata that births this script, tumbling forth in an instantly instantaneously me student, you mistress~master, schooling me on sublimity subliminal, capturing the capering stylistic that bursts forth from within, that my fingertips provide, while my brain connives & connivers continuously you overlay analytics that never are to me revealed, the what and wherefore of the whom hiding within of the im~perpetuity impish essence of i m p ishness by charmingly doing me, not once, but many times better here a spillage: an observational ditty, dressed in a tux, most formally, to render the greatest wordplay ever invented t, the uniqueness of a simple thank you my favorite poem a forever for ever, the song that plys and plays me in the me so often, the linguists have banned the word repeatedly from my lexicon so in its stead, this all-in-one mighty steed (verb phrase, a noun, or an adjective depending on its usage) this phatic expression, here disguised in Portuguese, muito obrigado! muito obrigado! muito obrigado!                                                                     nml 5:39am nyc 10/4, 10/4
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Oct 4, 2025
Oct 4, 2025 at 5:44 AM UTC
Love of Wordplay for Kiki Dresden
"sly wordplay, it glows, feels like a shimmering address, half warning and half blessing, really alive with cadence" read Kiki Dresden poetry^ once more into the sea trench divide, I dive to devise, Your provoking comment, demands my full attention, you divert me from struggling with ginger & clay, a contra concept that molds and enflames, yet strikes overtly sweet, it does not come so easy as this playful notion But your words deserve the attention immédiate atenção imediata that births this script, tumbling forth in an instantly instantaneously me student, you mistress~master, schooling me on sublimity subliminal, capturing the capering stylistic that bursts forth from within, that my fingertips provide, while my brain connives & connivers continuously you overlay analytics that never are to me revealed, the what and wherefore of the whom hiding within of the im~perpetuity impish essence of i m p ishness by charmingly doing me, not once, but many times better here a spillage: an observational ditty, dressed in a tux, most formally, to render the greatest wordplay ever invented t, the uniqueness of a simple thank you my favorite poem a forever for ever, the song that plys and plays me in the me so often, the linguists have banned the word repeatedly from my lexicon so in its stead, this all-in-one mighty steed (verb phrase, a noun, or an adjective depending on its usage) this phatic expression, here disguised in Portuguese, muito obrigado! muito obrigado! muito obrigado!                                                                     nml 5:39am nyc 10/4, 10/4
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67
Toco tu boca, con un dedo toco el borde de tu boca, voy dibujándola como si saliera de mi mano, como si por primera vez tu boca se entreabriera, y me basta cerrar los ojos para deshacerlo todo y recomenzar, hago nacer cada vez la boca que deseo, la boca que mi mano elige y te dibuja en la cara, una boca elegida entre todas, con soberana libertad elegida por mí para dibujarla con mi mano por tu cara, y que por un azar que no busco comprender coincide exactamente con tu boca que sonríe por debajo de la que mi mano te dibuja. Me miras, de cerca me miras, cada vez más de cerca y entonces jugamos al cíclope, nos miramos cada vez más de cerca y nuestros ojos se agrandan, se acercan entre sí, se superponen y los cíclopes se miran, respirando confundidos, las bocas se encuentran y luchan tibiamente, mordiéndose con los labios, apoyando apenas la lengua en los dientes, jugando en sus recintos donde un aire pesado va y viene con un perfume viejo y un silencio. Entonces mis manos buscan hundirse en tu pelo, acariciar lentamente la profundidad de tu pelo mientras nos besamos como si tuviéramos la boca llena de flores o de peces, de movimientos vivos, de fragancia oscura. Y si nos mordemos el dolor es dulce, y si nos ahogamos en un breve y terrible absorber simultáneo del aliento, esa instantánea muerte es bella. Y hay una sola saliva y un solo sabor a fruta madura, y yo te siento temblar contra mí como una luna en el agua. Julio Cortázar.
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Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
Rayuela. Capítulo 7. Como si tuviéramos la boca llena de flores o de peces.
If I'm a plumber then she's my princess peach, if she's Zelda, then I'm her Link. If my life was Contra, then she's my Konami Code. Can't you tell ny Lady is the subject of this ode? If she's Curly Brace then I'm her counterpart Quote, Seriously, I'm in love with her if you didn't catch it I left a few notes, If I'm the Belmonts, then she's the vampire killer, if I'm Michael, she's my thriller. If I'm Pac-Man, then she's my Miss If I'm Alucard, then she's my transformation into mist If I'm Kirby then she's waddle Dee, quite frankly this is getting sappy so I'll get to the point. I love this girl more than a stoner loves a joint. (bonus points if you can name all the games referenced, and the Konami Code)
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Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
8-Bit love(heart container)
Extravagantly exorbitant mentality panacea Pretentious eidetic’s ubiquity mnemonics Extraversion embezzlement extortion mens rea Endergonic laconic cacophony phonics Preterite rendition enclitic equilibrist motion Mystic symbiosis dharma spiritual sky Brusque macabre abjections the gist of the potion Straight up forever ontology on high Obdurately abstruse vituperatively vociferous Juxtaposition apparition myriad avarice Orotund sonorous diction obliquitous Multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis Mirador bartizan phantasmagoria aesthetics Guidon gyration excursion integration Sorcerous alchemizing interstitial endemics   Chaos charisma objectified tribulation Conjurous apothegms clitoral apomixis Exude emote surrogate extrapolation Astral projection littoral hypotaxis Kinetic supremacy homogeneity gravitation Coercible coalescent cohesion dexterities Adjunct conjunction conjecture acuity Platonic pragmatic prosaic austerities Extemporaneous impromptu innuendo fortuity Propinquity habitation harbinger spectra Perplexing paradox tenacity rostra Intensely cogitational abstract mantra Penumbral exigency , umbrage per contra Theoretical incursion grandiloquent ne plus ultra Exogamy of homoplasy sic itur ad astra Quiescent serendipity surreal anestra
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Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:16 AM UTC
Asylum
death mourns a life that succumbs to suicide... classical lawless-ness? calls the jyst... a thieving; a stolen death, a suicide.... bride riddled to a bridge... baking... left half awake and half baked... you count with the number of blinding equations... your 80+ segments? i want nothing to be part of, whether polymath, bilingual, or polymath... you resd yourself into "it".... fuck you, and... **** off... in terms of .gif ***** files... no... the part where we don't parrot? for no worthwhile surprise! death is alal b & w... memory? all invigorating sepia... life? the blooming of color... you take shrooms, to invigorate the colors?! oh look... you're as loony as me... and why would i give a **** about your tall-tales of subversive religiosity?! you're right! like you have been with me to begin with... there aren't any! now?! suffer! you're in good hands... turns out?! i'm a sadist... i somehow tested the pain on myself... i enjoy... the pain, of others, having, prior, teased the pain on, myself! i forgot teasing the pain... i taste it... i welcome it... i've become welcoming in allowing it, a stature abbreviating a transcendence of victim-hood! i need pain, to craft an erasure of ever having the capacity to instruct a modus operandi for pleasure! death contra suicide... a fact contra a premature contest of pleasure... suicide is what death calls thief... there is no moral artifact of a "question"... suicide is the thief, when death is the executioner... what moral question is to be entertained? non! i can't blame the mortality arsonist... less Tartarus and more Gehenna... less S.S. and more khaki S.A. night of the broken windows and less... hyper-Hindu reincarnation, hue hue grey... woo woo the ashen pillage... no... i'm not here for the cinder and the ******** it's enough that i drink the sort of excuse, that sober people could hardly make excuses about... and that's enough... and enough, is, where i'll stick to.
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Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 10:22 PM UTC
death is robbed via suicide, i want to rob death of of its stature
death mourns a life that succumbs to suicide... classical lawless-ness? calls the jyst... a thieving; a stolen death, a suicide.... bride riddled to a bridge... baking... left half awake and half baked... you count with the number of blinding equations... your 80+ segments? i want nothing to be part of, whether polymath, bilingual, or polymath... you resd yourself into "it".... fuck you, and... **** off... in terms of .gif ***** files... no... the part where we don't parrot? for no worthwhile surprise! death is alal b & w... memory? all invigorating sepia... life? the blooming of color... you take shrooms, to invigorate the colors?! oh look... you're as loony as me... and why would i give a **** about your tall-tales of subversive religiosity?! you're right! like you have been with me to begin with... there aren't any! now?! suffer! you're in good hands... turns out?! i'm a sadist... i somehow tested the pain on myself... i enjoy... the pain, of others, having, prior, teased the pain on, myself! i forgot teasing the pain... i taste it... i welcome it... i've become welcoming in allowing it, a stature abbreviating a transcendence of victim-hood! i need pain, to craft an erasure of ever having the capacity to instruct a modus operandi for pleasure! death contra suicide... a fact contra a premature contest of pleasure... suicide is what death calls thief... there is no moral artifact of a "question"... suicide is the thief, when death is the executioner... what moral question is to be entertained? non! i can't blame the mortality arsonist... less Tartarus and more Gehenna... less S.S. and more khaki S.A. night of the broken windows and less... hyper-Hindu reincarnation, hue hue grey... woo woo the ashen pillage... no... i'm not here for the cinder and the ******** it's enough that i drink the sort of excuse, that sober people could hardly make excuses about... and that's enough... and enough, is, where i'll stick to.
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90
Que lenguaje mas hermoso el que produce palabras de alegria como es el te amo, te quiero y te adoro. Dicen que los latinos somos ruidosos, llenos de energia y poca cordura, pero es que no entienden que el español no tiene limites, no tiene volumen, solo frescura. Grita tus palabras indigenas, huracan, coqui, fotuto, Boricua, esas palabras tainas tan bellas que usamos cada dia. Porque tienes miedo cuando te sale el "Spanglish" si los gringos no pueden pronunciar ni "Porto Wico" asi que curate con un  "bad english" porque nunca tendras que procuparte por decir RRRRico como un chino. Mi lenguaje no puede morir porque dentro de sus palabras estan las llamas de un Neruda, la negrura de un Llorens, la fortaleza de un Albizu. Oh cuanto te amo, te quiero, te adoro Puerto Rico por enseñarme el español que uso para enamorar a tus hermosas mujeres. Oh cuanto te amo, te quiero, te adoro Puerto Rico por eseñarme el español que uso para luchar contra los que ya no te quieren.
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Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
Mi Lenguaje No Puede Morir
When I couldn’t find my own love there’s many said to me go find yourself a master who will see to all your needs. I did not true believe them it seemed so contra’ry, that suffering and ******* would so set me free. I fought and riled against it, that was not to be the way that I should be subjected to mindless ***** play. Then one day I met him the one who was to be; he was so softly spoken in no way masterly. But then he looked so very deep as slow his hand found mine, and then as if in knowing me my fears just fell away. I felt a need to surrender self without being ordered to, o'erwhelmed with such desire to know of ******* new. Somehow it seemed so natural to offer him my hands, that they could be so bound to give all of self to him. As knots closed tight upon me it was as I’d been told, a sudden surge of freedom that I thought could never be. And now he is my master he owns me totally and never have I been happier when he takes his whip to me. Or ties me when I need it and sometimes when I don’t, as long as I can have the bonds that hold me in ecstasy.
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Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
Found
/                           beelzebub *(given employs the spider a posteriori and spiderweb a priori, and then back into a bicemeral reverse psyche-analogy - the id est contra the id erat - but there is no latin revival - given that the latin encoding has been translated into a.i. algorithms... forget putting the pandora into a box into a box into a box, into an etc. or what is a russian cultural artefact... forget it... a black fly would not take upon itself to make a dustbin, a ******* maggoty brothel, like a green bottle fly might... black flies have character, style... they're the ones that take to tango, with spider architecture, akin to the theological spider analogy about an ad infinitum a priori argument)*:    a bit like watching a black fly - "washing" itself - rubbing it's front limbs together, "attempting" to start a fire...       god, those awful green bottle hypers -   with maggot excesses - in a potential well expressed into practice - black flies?      i can entertain them - like i might entertain spiders that do not require aquariums - the non-exotica types... so i sometimes find myself rubbing my hands together, like a catholic amounting to an altruistic prayer symbolism... so kommen faust,   so kommen faust,                    so ist pseudo-faust - or rather:    england?              deutschland jr. america?               deutschland sr. and if that wasn't the case?     oh me, little old slavic                     babuшka... i still can't explain rubbing my hands together, like a black fly might...       keeping standards of where to take a maggoty dump's worth of procreation value... black flies? compared to the others? the priests of the whole spectrum...      i sometimes wish they were red,    so i could call them: the cardinals... alas...    not to be, god said otherwise... but i can fathom the priesthood, like i can fathom -    an aspiration of a sleeping samurai, devoid of the zodiac delusion,    encouraged to make chiromancy initiatives                         (readings) to alleviate, ******** monotheism.
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Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
beelzebub (with revision)
/                           beelzebub *(given employs the spider a posteriori and spiderweb a priori, and then back into a bicemeral reverse psyche-analogy - the id est contra the id erat - but there is no latin revival - given that the latin encoding has been translated into a.i. algorithms... forget putting the pandora into a box into a box into a box, into an etc. or what is a russian cultural artefact... forget it... a black fly would not take upon itself to make a dustbin, a ******* maggoty brothel, like a green bottle fly might... black flies have character, style... they're the ones that take to tango, with spider architecture, akin to the theological spider analogy about an ad infinitum a priori argument)*:    a bit like watching a black fly - "washing" itself - rubbing it's front limbs together, "attempting" to start a fire...       god, those awful green bottle hypers -   with maggot excesses - in a potential well expressed into practice - black flies?      i can entertain them - like i might entertain spiders that do not require aquariums - the non-exotica types... so i sometimes find myself rubbing my hands together, like a catholic amounting to an altruistic prayer symbolism... so kommen faust,   so kommen faust,                    so ist pseudo-faust - or rather:    england?              deutschland jr. america?               deutschland sr. and if that wasn't the case?     oh me, little old slavic                     babuшka... i still can't explain rubbing my hands together, like a black fly might...       keeping standards of where to take a maggoty dump's worth of procreation value... black flies? compared to the others? the priests of the whole spectrum...      i sometimes wish they were red,    so i could call them: the cardinals... alas...    not to be, god said otherwise... but i can fathom the priesthood, like i can fathom -    an aspiration of a sleeping samurai, devoid of the zodiac delusion,    encouraged to make chiromancy initiatives                         (readings) to alleviate, ******** monotheism.
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75
~for Maya, the Persian Canadian farmer in the dell~ your poetic riddling questions without hesitation re my claim conceptual refuting with factoids actuarial experiential derived, that cows need milkshake making daily by sunrise nonsense so you wake me up groggy on a Miami Saturday 6:00am with a reciprocal poetic to a dashed off to contra my code of conduct poem-mine; and all that stumbles through my almost reset rested, main stem cortex is an a ancient hebrew homily: on Sabbath Saturday, even the cows sleep late ok; just tween us rare passes the day that a glancing phrase doesn’t register a stabbing whine “of me, of mine do sing” and your point counterpoint incision demands inspiration instant re-mission around 10am when the amiable barn aminals sipping cuppa #3, and the chicken children want a weekend brunch xtra feeding are done, in the yard, put out to pack n' peck n’ play so that’s an intro to this work that jumps the line of a hundreds of other’s poems promised and overdue: insight inside your crafted wake up slam slap was pretty **** near the makers mark bourbon of this distillers bourbon barrels bulbous poem’s bibliothèque that has an  impatient waiting list of poems waiting anointing each a personage~poem of that day it was birthed inscribed this particular one for you, ~ my complexity non-Napoleonic just humanoid each, here are my leaders from and into a veining so lovely colored each poem a waving wheat stalk before these old tired eyes close to closing hear once more “of me, of mine do sing” so I follow all of you by dimming yellow light, for this is the soil of nutriment rich from where my words grow taller and the yellow infusion feeds my wheats, the amber, the red hard and soft, the whites, the durums, and mon préféré, prairie spring white, which is my secret nickname for a duality woman, poet and farmer, posing riddles that deserve answers* maybe —- https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2503650/little-ole-me-a-riddle-of-sorts/
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May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
on Saturday, even the cows sleep late
~for Maya, the Persian Canadian farmer in the dell~ your poetic riddling questions without hesitation re my claim conceptual refuting with factoids actuarial experiential derived, that cows need milkshake making daily by sunrise nonsense so you wake me up groggy on a Miami Saturday 6:00am with a reciprocal poetic to a dashed off to contra my code of conduct poem-mine; and all that stumbles through my almost reset rested, main stem cortex is an a ancient hebrew homily: on Sabbath Saturday, even the cows sleep late ok; just tween us rare passes the day that a glancing phrase doesn’t register a stabbing whine “of me, of mine do sing” and your point counterpoint incision demands inspiration instant re-mission around 10am when the amiable barn aminals sipping cuppa #3, and the chicken children want a weekend brunch xtra feeding are done, in the yard, put out to pack n' peck n’ play so that’s an intro to this work that jumps the line of a hundreds of other’s poems promised and overdue: insight inside your crafted wake up slam slap was pretty **** near the makers mark bourbon of this distillers bourbon barrels bulbous poem’s bibliothèque that has an  impatient waiting list of poems waiting anointing each a personage~poem of that day it was birthed inscribed this particular one for you, ~ my complexity non-Napoleonic just humanoid each, here are my leaders from and into a veining so lovely colored each poem a waving wheat stalk before these old tired eyes close to closing hear once more “of me, of mine do sing” so I follow all of you by dimming yellow light, for this is the soil of nutriment rich from where my words grow taller and the yellow infusion feeds my wheats, the amber, the red hard and soft, the whites, the durums, and mon préféré, prairie spring white, which is my secret nickname for a duality woman, poet and farmer, posing riddles that deserve answers* maybe —- https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2503650/little-ole-me-a-riddle-of-sorts/
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47
*concerning the pop. narrative -    i'm a wordsmith after all - someone gives me the raw materials of islam and (a rainbow) of affixing -phobia and i can't seem to hammer the **** thing into shape...    it's, foremostly: a pseudo-phobia. a misnomer of the phobia compound.* for a people who have an "irrational" fear of islam, it seems strange that the same people gave birth to some form of rationality - let's just call it islamophobia   not an irrational fear - but rather:                       and irritation - the irritable fear of being suddenly forced into the extremities of living the daily life - when something unexpected happens - mind you, the people who have been forced into these situations: stop their want for adrenaline in a base jump, from an aeroplane, or bungee jump off a bridge.    islamophobia is not a "phobia" as such, it's not irrational - it's just irritating - but then again you don't actually believe a spider to be a irrational creature (arachnophobia),   you don't believe an open space with lots of people    (agoraphobia)   to be an irrational circumstance - you're facing yourself being irrational in both circumstances -     since the phobia hides an actual rationale - islam?         that's much harder - since you're being "irrational" while someone is actually being "rational" -                when in fact there's no escaping that contra of you being "rational"    and the muslim being "irrational" - not one side is either rational or irrational: the spider and the open space filled with people already stated:                  you're being irrational; the fear of spiders is irrational -    but there is no rationality from the perspective of the spider: what does a spider know about rationality? jackshit!         there is no such thing as islamophobia: because you're not being irrational about what has its own rationality -      its own monologue and intra-dialogue... whoever coined this stupid word is as dumb as their rationality allows them to make enough people use it; it's only an irrational fear: if there is no                  rationale behind it; point being: there's rationale behind islam, ergo there is no such thing as islamophobia.
0
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
problem with islamophobia
*concerning the pop. narrative -    i'm a wordsmith after all - someone gives me the raw materials of islam and (a rainbow) of affixing -phobia and i can't seem to hammer the **** thing into shape...    it's, foremostly: a pseudo-phobia. a misnomer of the phobia compound.* for a people who have an "irrational" fear of islam, it seems strange that the same people gave birth to some form of rationality - let's just call it islamophobia   not an irrational fear - but rather:                       and irritation - the irritable fear of being suddenly forced into the extremities of living the daily life - when something unexpected happens - mind you, the people who have been forced into these situations: stop their want for adrenaline in a base jump, from an aeroplane, or bungee jump off a bridge.    islamophobia is not a "phobia" as such, it's not irrational - it's just irritating - but then again you don't actually believe a spider to be a irrational creature (arachnophobia),   you don't believe an open space with lots of people    (agoraphobia)   to be an irrational circumstance - you're facing yourself being irrational in both circumstances -     since the phobia hides an actual rationale - islam?         that's much harder - since you're being "irrational" while someone is actually being "rational" -                when in fact there's no escaping that contra of you being "rational"    and the muslim being "irrational" - not one side is either rational or irrational: the spider and the open space filled with people already stated:                  you're being irrational; the fear of spiders is irrational -    but there is no rationality from the perspective of the spider: what does a spider know about rationality? jackshit!         there is no such thing as islamophobia: because you're not being irrational about what has its own rationality -      its own monologue and intra-dialogue... whoever coined this stupid word is as dumb as their rationality allows them to make enough people use it; it's only an irrational fear: if there is no                  rationale behind it; point being: there's rationale behind islam, ergo there is no such thing as islamophobia.
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58
/                        innocent until prōven guilty, contra guilty until                              prōven innocent...   ah!          so the minority report? guilty, while innocent,     based upon a premonition? hindsight with a zodiac type of interpretation...    innocent until prōven guilty has no superiority in practice over the continental guilty until prōven innocent... no... because the principle invokes presuppositions,                   of suppositions... treating the two as propositions - or rather... "verbs" inacted... innocent until prōven guilty - then no understanding of freedom, at least guilty until prōven innocent allows understanding restraint, however unfair,    with 18 years lost...    and then the tears of relief!                      Tomasz Komenda...          an "espionage" case of staging empathy...                en masse...    an innocent man walks away from falsely imposed justice measures... a redemption...        a count de monte cristo allowance...                  but in reverse? the evil man walks free...      succumbing to old age,     and dementia, a pontius pilate pardon... there is no redemption aspect of the saxon course of applying jurisprudence... the... innocent, until prōven guilty, contra: guilty until prōven innocent    schizophrenia?                 the latter overshadows the former...                          because we're not babies... at least with the latter: there's a redemption exegesis -      but with the former?                 bitter-sweet tears within the confines, of an example akin                              to jimmy savile... guilty until prōven innocent    has much more authentic emotional content, with a redemption narrative... innocent until prōven guilty    has?    not much,                                   just a grave, and the stunted emotional expression, what ought to be flowers within the heart,    instead: fungus, growing in the dark... and thus... translating to other hearts:         let's allow this chemo-phobia chemo-philia experiment      be left intact in its the momentum... honestly... the study of law -    is probably the ********* game in the allowance of games of adulthood... one tier above gambling. p.s. because you know there's proof: and that the past-participle thrown into a future, does require an omega rather than an omicron... not an oh, but an ooh... hence? reign from above, on the omicron, with a macron (ō).
0
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
contra-evolution of saxon jurisprudence
/                        innocent until prōven guilty, contra guilty until                              prōven innocent...   ah!          so the minority report? guilty, while innocent,     based upon a premonition? hindsight with a zodiac type of interpretation...    innocent until prōven guilty has no superiority in practice over the continental guilty until prōven innocent... no... because the principle invokes presuppositions,                   of suppositions... treating the two as propositions - or rather... "verbs" inacted... innocent until prōven guilty - then no understanding of freedom, at least guilty until prōven innocent allows understanding restraint, however unfair,    with 18 years lost...    and then the tears of relief!                      Tomasz Komenda...          an "espionage" case of staging empathy...                en masse...    an innocent man walks away from falsely imposed justice measures... a redemption...        a count de monte cristo allowance...                  but in reverse? the evil man walks free...      succumbing to old age,     and dementia, a pontius pilate pardon... there is no redemption aspect of the saxon course of applying jurisprudence... the... innocent, until prōven guilty, contra: guilty until prōven innocent    schizophrenia?                 the latter overshadows the former...                          because we're not babies... at least with the latter: there's a redemption exegesis -      but with the former?                 bitter-sweet tears within the confines, of an example akin                              to jimmy savile... guilty until prōven innocent    has much more authentic emotional content, with a redemption narrative... innocent until prōven guilty    has?    not much,                                   just a grave, and the stunted emotional expression, what ought to be flowers within the heart,    instead: fungus, growing in the dark... and thus... translating to other hearts:         let's allow this chemo-phobia chemo-philia experiment      be left intact in its the momentum... honestly... the study of law -    is probably the ********* game in the allowance of games of adulthood... one tier above gambling. p.s. because you know there's proof: and that the past-participle thrown into a future, does require an omega rather than an omicron... not an oh, but an ooh... hence? reign from above, on the omicron, with a macron (ō).
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79
She drives me away to a perfect getaway She flies me to a land of runaways She makes me want to stay And I've got no say
0
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
contra dicere
.simone biles (the gymnast)...                  miles davis (the trumpet guy)...      must be black privilege; wasn't there a movie... starring woody harrelson and wesley snipes? you sure? i thought it was called: white men can't jump... sure as **** ****** can sing church gospel! how's that for privilege?     if you're going to culturally box, and repeatedly punch below the belt... you're quiet likely going to get a reaction... i have an acne wart growing on my *** the size of a cauliflower, it's itchy my brain, it's differentiating between agitate and: lying back... i guess the excess of... look... you may have the excess melanin...     i have lactose tolerance... we're even?!    no?   so how come some smurf, some European hobbit shackle your N.B.A. Goliath(s)?! explain that one to me... if these people were so cock-unsure... how they **** did they tame the Zulu Apache Goliath bodybuilders?!   what the **** i already said, and it was proven... IQ... i don't like it...      but i'm pretty sure that the whites **** more people in terrorist attacks than... camel-jockeys...          it took 3 or over three... to perform the Bataclan Massacre... three... the third of the IQ that required a Breivik...    130 in France... dissociated among 3 attackers that gorged on testicles after the spree... fun, fun fun fun... like: you're trying to say that without irony...     and how many in Norway?     77... i only look at the IQ of killers... so... what's the ratio?     77 / 1    130 / 3 = 43...          like i said... low IQ...               you really want your little racial insurrection? you'll have it, don't worry.. i'll just the narrative...   must be black privy... if you can mash up a jazz compos., right?                 crackers read from a prepared script... you ******* just, "improvise"...           rapping contra talking... **** come to think of it... ******* boys took it too far from your Oreos...            like... too much drums... not enough wind, or strings... too much drumming... pulverizing the ears with drum & bass and what not... if i wasn't deaf prior, i'm deaf by now; ******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops boy; same **** different cover.
0
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
you want war, you'll have your war: came an Oreo for every *******
.simone biles (the gymnast)...                  miles davis (the trumpet guy)...      must be black privilege; wasn't there a movie... starring woody harrelson and wesley snipes? you sure? i thought it was called: white men can't jump... sure as **** ****** can sing church gospel! how's that for privilege?     if you're going to culturally box, and repeatedly punch below the belt... you're quiet likely going to get a reaction... i have an acne wart growing on my *** the size of a cauliflower, it's itchy my brain, it's differentiating between agitate and: lying back... i guess the excess of... look... you may have the excess melanin...     i have lactose tolerance... we're even?!    no?   so how come some smurf, some European hobbit shackle your N.B.A. Goliath(s)?! explain that one to me... if these people were so cock-unsure... how they **** did they tame the Zulu Apache Goliath bodybuilders?!   what the **** i already said, and it was proven... IQ... i don't like it...      but i'm pretty sure that the whites **** more people in terrorist attacks than... camel-jockeys...          it took 3 or over three... to perform the Bataclan Massacre... three... the third of the IQ that required a Breivik...    130 in France... dissociated among 3 attackers that gorged on testicles after the spree... fun, fun fun fun... like: you're trying to say that without irony...     and how many in Norway?     77... i only look at the IQ of killers... so... what's the ratio?     77 / 1    130 / 3 = 43...          like i said... low IQ...               you really want your little racial insurrection? you'll have it, don't worry.. i'll just the narrative...   must be black privy... if you can mash up a jazz compos., right?                 crackers read from a prepared script... you ******* just, "improvise"...           rapping contra talking... **** come to think of it... ******* boys took it too far from your Oreos...            like... too much drums... not enough wind, or strings... too much drumming... pulverizing the ears with drum & bass and what not... if i wasn't deaf prior, i'm deaf by now; ******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops boy; same **** different cover.
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…These men are worth your tears: You are not worth their merriment. -Wilfred Owen, “Apologia Pro Poemate Meo” When that loudmouth on the wireless machine Alludes to Western Civilization What does he mean? Paradise Lost? Probably not Nor Saint Paul speaking on the Field of Mars The Kalevala, Hagia Sophia With its pendentives lifting up our prayers Horatius fighting to defend his bridge And Wilfred Owen dying bravely on his Lord Tennyson and Idylls of the King Chapultepec, Henry V, Becket The paratroops at Arnhem, Saint Thomas More, His King’s loyal servant, but God’s first The Stray Dog poets of Saint Petersburg The brave last stand of Roland at Roncesvalles Lewis and Tolkien and glasses of beer Montcalm and Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham Hildegard von Bingen, Siegfried and the Rhine Magna Carta, HMS Hood, the Thames The Grove of Daphne, “The Old Rugged Cross” Beatrix Potter and her little pet rabbit El Cid, Anne Frank, John Keats, Saint Benedict “I Have a Dream,” Dostoyevsky, and Greene Viktor Frankl, Dag Hammarkskjold, and Proust Good Chaucer’s naughty pilgrims telling tales The Gettysburg Address, Willie and Joe Stern Saint Augustine of North Africa Wodehouse writing a jolly bit of fun Saint Corbinian and Bavaria The ancient glories of Byzantium Pius XII contra the bombs and lies The 602nd TD Battalion Saint Joan, the Prado, and Robert Frost And far, far more. When that loudmouth on the wireless machine Alludes to Western Civilization What does he mean?
0
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
Western Civilization and Radio Static
…These men are worth your tears: You are not worth their merriment. -Wilfred Owen, “Apologia Pro Poemate Meo” When that loudmouth on the wireless machine Alludes to Western Civilization What does he mean? Paradise Lost? Probably not Nor Saint Paul speaking on the Field of Mars The Kalevala, Hagia Sophia With its pendentives lifting up our prayers Horatius fighting to defend his bridge And Wilfred Owen dying bravely on his Lord Tennyson and Idylls of the King Chapultepec, Henry V, Becket The paratroops at Arnhem, Saint Thomas More, His King’s loyal servant, but God’s first The Stray Dog poets of Saint Petersburg The brave last stand of Roland at Roncesvalles Lewis and Tolkien and glasses of beer Montcalm and Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham Hildegard von Bingen, Siegfried and the Rhine Magna Carta, HMS Hood, the Thames The Grove of Daphne, “The Old Rugged Cross” Beatrix Potter and her little pet rabbit El Cid, Anne Frank, John Keats, Saint Benedict “I Have a Dream,” Dostoyevsky, and Greene Viktor Frankl, Dag Hammarkskjold, and Proust Good Chaucer’s naughty pilgrims telling tales The Gettysburg Address, Willie and Joe Stern Saint Augustine of North Africa Wodehouse writing a jolly bit of fun Saint Corbinian and Bavaria The ancient glories of Byzantium Pius XII contra the bombs and lies The 602nd TD Battalion Saint Joan, the Prado, and Robert Frost And far, far more. When that loudmouth on the wireless machine Alludes to Western Civilization What does he mean?
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39
.                                                 what? between MC hammer... and men at work... there's a choice? come on... you could have given me an easier question, like... Debussy contra Satie... or, like...   egg yolk or egg white?! point being... i'd love to see christopher lambert play the role of raiden in that... mortal kombat game made into a motion picture... you know... if i owned a PS2... i'd still be a gamer... but i never owned a PS2.... or the metal gear solid 2 gaming experience... not the PS1 experience fighting ****** mantis*... you know that hack / cheat... when you switch controller slots... when ****** mantis* is giving his grandiose speech.. and you switch the controller ports, so that in in the game you're not predictable...    final fantasy 7?! completed it with a walk-through... sorry... homework... that being said: all of Friday night and all of Saturday morning... and some Tenchu.... wacky-Jacky...       cow later chow, enter mein...            choppers chop chop... these days? i game...            when i take a **** i figured... if there are people who take a book to the crapper... i'll take a game...     war robots....       you know what's fascinating? the interactive applicability of a game...                      team-work... mesmerizing...                 the whole gaming structure drifted from a narrative, to a congregational dynamism... solipsism unraveled... i dig the whole team work, while taking a **** love it... 5 stars review...      but am i a gamer... do i not think that a.i. is a revamp of Pinocchio? no...      but metal gear solid? a ******* solid game on PS1...        you would be talking to a gamer if i was allowed to buy a PS2 console...          oh right...   i read books and listened to music, and ended up writing anti-routine / anti-technicality poetry / anti-rhyme poetics....                                       my bad; "we're" calling a revision of chess in play; yeah... sorry...    i was never into paragraphs, with dialogue interludes... for me...   poems were always above a structural stature of paragraphs; something to do with haiku or... whatever came out of Godzilla's mouth.
0
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
simple questions for simple people
.                                                 what? between MC hammer... and men at work... there's a choice? come on... you could have given me an easier question, like... Debussy contra Satie... or, like...   egg yolk or egg white?! point being... i'd love to see christopher lambert play the role of raiden in that... mortal kombat game made into a motion picture... you know... if i owned a PS2... i'd still be a gamer... but i never owned a PS2.... or the metal gear solid 2 gaming experience... not the PS1 experience fighting ****** mantis*... you know that hack / cheat... when you switch controller slots... when ****** mantis* is giving his grandiose speech.. and you switch the controller ports, so that in in the game you're not predictable...    final fantasy 7?! completed it with a walk-through... sorry... homework... that being said: all of Friday night and all of Saturday morning... and some Tenchu.... wacky-Jacky...       cow later chow, enter mein...            choppers chop chop... these days? i game...            when i take a **** i figured... if there are people who take a book to the crapper... i'll take a game...     war robots....       you know what's fascinating? the interactive applicability of a game...                      team-work... mesmerizing...                 the whole gaming structure drifted from a narrative, to a congregational dynamism... solipsism unraveled... i dig the whole team work, while taking a **** love it... 5 stars review...      but am i a gamer... do i not think that a.i. is a revamp of Pinocchio? no...      but metal gear solid? a ******* solid game on PS1...        you would be talking to a gamer if i was allowed to buy a PS2 console...          oh right...   i read books and listened to music, and ended up writing anti-routine / anti-technicality poetry / anti-rhyme poetics....                                       my bad; "we're" calling a revision of chess in play; yeah... sorry...    i was never into paragraphs, with dialogue interludes... for me...   poems were always above a structural stature of paragraphs; something to do with haiku or... whatever came out of Godzilla's mouth.
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91
Que voluntad tiene el humano De cambiar su alrededor Como se puede crear algo Que ayude a cambiar al mundo Algún mensaje que difundo Que se trate de lo que sea Basado en lo que esta afuera O lo que pasa por mis venas Porque no todos sienten No todos son honestos Ignoran al pasado Y no corrigen sus errores El pasado no perdona Los sentimientos agobian Y las cosas que pasan Las convierto en historias Es mi hobbie favorito Me desahogo sin piedad Escribir es la única opción Para calmar esta ansiedad Que en oportunidades surge Y honestamente no la espero Pero me da creatividad Para hacer con las palabras lo que quiero Plasmar en un lienzo De una manera u otra Todo lo que pienso Y nadie puede estar en mi contra Después de este proceso Entro en neutralidad Todo el amor u odio a algo Fue expulsado con inteligencia Y en cuenta se debe tomar Porque es mucho mejor Hacer rimas sin parar Que dañar algo por rabia temporal La importancia de la palabra Es mayor que el de las balas Menor que los hechos Pero están relacionadas Te pueden asustar Enojar Destruir Humillar Alegrar Hacer recordar Y sobre todo, enamorar Porque es tal el poder de la palabra Que cambia a la gente Pueden quedarse en la historia Y duran para siempre Asi que si el propósito del humano Es cambiar al mundo Dale uso poético a tu vida Y crea un efecto único y clásico La reflexión.
0
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
El poder de la palabra.
.*oh forget Disney H'america... technicolor H'america was the bomb... gentlemen prefer blondes... oh **** no... the seven year itch... the Rachmaninoff scene... bell, book & candle scene... whoever the genius was behind the technicolor project, outmatched the Disney in 1950s H'america... little town America... big little ******** worth of Europe... eddi reader...more like: keep the cats, a woman may desire luxury, but a man a freedom... keep the town, the summit, the fireplace... keep your luxury... just give me the shadow, the sun, the moon, and the road: perpetually greeting me.* oh forget looking for scapegoats these days... full blown schizophrenia, happening, all over the anglophone world... me? i'm just looking at the lampoons... sorry... lemmings... and the English? top the table in western world... they thought they'd be bailed out by the H'americans... good luck rolling that pin-ball... not gonna happen... they have their own **** to deal with...    it could have... but now it will never work out, no anglophone alliance bail-out plan... it's a ******* farce... it's a bogus in the bogie in the ******* coalmine... forget the canary...    **** i'm seriously flipping the coin on phrases... FDR contra DJT?   magic! no... the politicians were always going to place the card... the joker... free-fall dance-loose feet...          my bet is... it'll fall flat on its face... the eastern European Achilles heel of the europhiles... that's a supposition, not a proposition...                      or thereby, pre-.... but i do love being a spectator of rare sport... en masse schizophrenia... a nation, divided...              what a load of ******** the English thought that their anglophone alliances would last, would encrust them in a new globalization mechanism... even the ******* Icelandic people think they're European... what did the English think? just east of Las Vegas?!            an island surrounded by a massive prehistorical lake "facility"?! no one is looking for scapegoats these days, there's no one to blame... mea culpa, mea culpa...     these days?! everyone is looking for the lampoon brigade! - and let me tell you... mea culpa mea culpa... no one is looking for a scapegoat worth kristallnacht; people are looking for a lampoon...      or...         karmesinrotherznacht, the night of... broken hearts; broken, crimson hearts.
0
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
FDR contra DJT times
.*oh forget Disney H'america... technicolor H'america was the bomb... gentlemen prefer blondes... oh **** no... the seven year itch... the Rachmaninoff scene... bell, book & candle scene... whoever the genius was behind the technicolor project, outmatched the Disney in 1950s H'america... little town America... big little ******** worth of Europe... eddi reader...more like: keep the cats, a woman may desire luxury, but a man a freedom... keep the town, the summit, the fireplace... keep your luxury... just give me the shadow, the sun, the moon, and the road: perpetually greeting me.* oh forget looking for scapegoats these days... full blown schizophrenia, happening, all over the anglophone world... me? i'm just looking at the lampoons... sorry... lemmings... and the English? top the table in western world... they thought they'd be bailed out by the H'americans... good luck rolling that pin-ball... not gonna happen... they have their own **** to deal with...    it could have... but now it will never work out, no anglophone alliance bail-out plan... it's a ******* farce... it's a bogus in the bogie in the ******* coalmine... forget the canary...    **** i'm seriously flipping the coin on phrases... FDR contra DJT?   magic! no... the politicians were always going to place the card... the joker... free-fall dance-loose feet...          my bet is... it'll fall flat on its face... the eastern European Achilles heel of the europhiles... that's a supposition, not a proposition...                      or thereby, pre-.... but i do love being a spectator of rare sport... en masse schizophrenia... a nation, divided...              what a load of ******** the English thought that their anglophone alliances would last, would encrust them in a new globalization mechanism... even the ******* Icelandic people think they're European... what did the English think? just east of Las Vegas?!            an island surrounded by a massive prehistorical lake "facility"?! no one is looking for scapegoats these days, there's no one to blame... mea culpa, mea culpa...     these days?! everyone is looking for the lampoon brigade! - and let me tell you... mea culpa mea culpa... no one is looking for a scapegoat worth kristallnacht; people are looking for a lampoon...      or...         karmesinrotherznacht, the night of... broken hearts; broken, crimson hearts.
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/ *oh no no no... you don't get a jew artefact at this point, when the play of words comes between the son and the mother... no no no... you're target; she should be a **** a stripper, a ***** but when you do what this, "englishman" did? undermining the concept of personal property? ownership? his property infringes on your property, and somehow: my, yours, our's doesn't compute... i'm ******* craving to **** my neighbour... because all i have left to lose is... frothing at the mouth.* at a supermarket: within the confines of a cashier: - 'is this your typical friday night?' say it plain, chubby... **** it: more cushion for the pushin'...    sunglasses at 6am? a reply:       - 'it could be'   - 'if you were part of it'             - 'what?' i'd love to fiddle with excesses of porky...    migrant crisis?   more like a ***** cricis...     import black **** given the white boy lay low... it's not even funny, i find it funny attempting to whistle... which i can't, given that i found laughter... just don't come between me and mt "neighbour": cos i'll **** the ******* **** and "he's" watching me? sorry:      i'll **** the ******* **** fuck-face-tard! no, i will;   i can't conceive retaining the anglophone aspect of comedy within the confines of the monologue, with a cabaret....          i'll **** him... next time we exfoliates speaking to my mother, and not... looking          into my eyes...       "englishman": spew!    you! now! clean up this *********** *******       english! like you bred a people, gesticulating with a hand gesture... new yankies...     britain: home,            of the the wankies. p.s. no... private property contra private property within this ****** vogue...              i seriouslly will throw a **** into his garden, and say...                 not enough fox hunting, d'uh!
0
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 1:18 AM UTC
fly ************ fly!
/ *oh no no no... you don't get a jew artefact at this point, when the play of words comes between the son and the mother... no no no... you're target; she should be a **** a stripper, a ***** but when you do what this, "englishman" did? undermining the concept of personal property? ownership? his property infringes on your property, and somehow: my, yours, our's doesn't compute... i'm ******* craving to **** my neighbour... because all i have left to lose is... frothing at the mouth.* at a supermarket: within the confines of a cashier: - 'is this your typical friday night?' say it plain, chubby... **** it: more cushion for the pushin'...    sunglasses at 6am? a reply:       - 'it could be'   - 'if you were part of it'             - 'what?' i'd love to fiddle with excesses of porky...    migrant crisis?   more like a ***** cricis...     import black **** given the white boy lay low... it's not even funny, i find it funny attempting to whistle... which i can't, given that i found laughter... just don't come between me and mt "neighbour": cos i'll **** the ******* **** and "he's" watching me? sorry:      i'll **** the ******* **** fuck-face-tard! no, i will;   i can't conceive retaining the anglophone aspect of comedy within the confines of the monologue, with a cabaret....          i'll **** him... next time we exfoliates speaking to my mother, and not... looking          into my eyes...       "englishman": spew!    you! now! clean up this *********** *******       english! like you bred a people, gesticulating with a hand gesture... new yankies...     britain: home,            of the the wankies. p.s. no... private property contra private property within this ****** vogue...              i seriouslly will throw a **** into his garden, and say...                 not enough fox hunting, d'uh!
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"...Motus autem veros ex eorum causis, effectibus & apparentibus differentijs colligere, & contra, ex motibus seu veris seu apparentibus, eorum causas & effectus, docebitur fusius in sequentibus..." D. Isaaci Newtoni. There will be a sequence of unexpected statements. We understood, that this was said which likened the beginning to the continuation. It was the orchard from which delicious fruits displayed their love for the taste of them, the meanings. Seeds were harvested through the dimly perceived writings of ancient scholars. { [ c exp tan r ( x ) d w d r ] / ( d x ) } = { [ ( k , h ) tau int g ( r ) d w d t ] / ( d f d v ) } . Visited in the course of evolution, all realized the implication, that seasons would arrive from which the meeting of machines would be complementary like the force of a sports team. The objects gathering into droplets included the growth of sunlight transforming ashes; yet the dictionary is not to change.
0
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
World Wide Webster With Tendencies
**** mit ein(e) gernierung of... ****** MACDONALDS for the protestants MCDONALDS for the catholics... and **** the rest of it whoop di do d'ah whoopsie!    **** it...   i always called the IRA the ginger ninja brigade... ******* ***** ha ha! is that even permitted? like... oopsies?!    oh **** the steam-roller is giving it a shot at reading the earth,.. flat...    map on paper? **** me... no app....              ****** you ever navigate a car through the German Rhine roundabout? what's in it? Dortmund.. Essen...              you know that constipated part of the road map of Europe...                ever navigate that trippy conundrum ******** of navigation? beside me...               can't speak german, won't navigate in german, no matter how many Mercedes-Benz they pump out from the Henry Ford institute of the reclining chair, supposing    die krupps to be squidgy clean... i think the european translation reads: die Dortmund Ringe... das Rhine Ringe... **** allocating yourself to a rally car...    navigate through that sort of German ********           achtung achtung... autobahn ende!                vorwärtskreis might as well salute for a second coming of... hítlear!     shaking Stevens?   huh?!                knee on the no contra the know: bother... the english won't know... isn't that nay?    i listen to too much lawyer jargon...              i'd love to listen to poetry... but... i figured...    lawyers play the slight of the sly of hand that poets exasperate into toying with words to accomplish art... lawyers? the impasse of judgement?   **** me!                   apparently the argument goes: down syndrome... psychopaths... 'ere by god's grace...    much grace, my lord...              too much grace...          two salvation pointers: (a) i won't drink with them... (b) i won't eat with them, (c) there is no "c" that isn't a "d" that isn't an "e" "f", etc! you get a zebra... you get a null bonus! a ******* safari of an automated anti hamster Boston outfit!
0
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
schlang
**** mit ein(e) gernierung of... ****** MACDONALDS for the protestants MCDONALDS for the catholics... and **** the rest of it whoop di do d'ah whoopsie!    **** it...   i always called the IRA the ginger ninja brigade... ******* ***** ha ha! is that even permitted? like... oopsies?!    oh **** the steam-roller is giving it a shot at reading the earth,.. flat...    map on paper? **** me... no app....              ****** you ever navigate a car through the German Rhine roundabout? what's in it? Dortmund.. Essen...              you know that constipated part of the road map of Europe...                ever navigate that trippy conundrum ******** of navigation? beside me...               can't speak german, won't navigate in german, no matter how many Mercedes-Benz they pump out from the Henry Ford institute of the reclining chair, supposing    die krupps to be squidgy clean... i think the european translation reads: die Dortmund Ringe... das Rhine Ringe... **** allocating yourself to a rally car...    navigate through that sort of German ********           achtung achtung... autobahn ende!                vorwärtskreis might as well salute for a second coming of... hítlear!     shaking Stevens?   huh?!                knee on the no contra the know: bother... the english won't know... isn't that nay?    i listen to too much lawyer jargon...              i'd love to listen to poetry... but... i figured...    lawyers play the slight of the sly of hand that poets exasperate into toying with words to accomplish art... lawyers? the impasse of judgement?   **** me!                   apparently the argument goes: down syndrome... psychopaths... 'ere by god's grace...    much grace, my lord...              too much grace...          two salvation pointers: (a) i won't drink with them... (b) i won't eat with them, (c) there is no "c" that isn't a "d" that isn't an "e" "f", etc! you get a zebra... you get a null bonus! a ******* safari of an automated anti hamster Boston outfit!
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90
oh i can tell you why Brexit happened... apparently in light of the European i was not European enough, a mongrel, a ******* Mongol... eastern Europeans are Mongols, mind you...                 i'm pretty sure the Brexit vote happened... because the A8 joined...         when the Eatern European joined the old post-colonial powers... plenty of Pakistanis...      do i mind? do i ******* care?! i don't care... you deal with: the minding!     no...   i have an inheritance tax without any ceremonial                                 past... your **** is your ******* **** plus the Arab, and the curry... **** off!             i'm no ******* *vierte ***** pussy-whip... you ******* yo-yo oreo!         mind you? put me down on this one... i hate the Poles... i ******* hate the Poles...    what they did to the Chernobyl me? i hate the Polacks...     don't like them...                i'd rather spit than talk to them...    i've learned my lesson...                     i hate them more than the Germans, or the Russians... i hate them with the sort of hatred reserved for               patriots...   Judas Priests...    i abhor the ****** catholicism... it makes me... cringe...                 then i think: thickens the thong - better than the Islamic crap to mind making a boot... Brexit only happened because of the supposed invasion of the A8...    the Pakistani mobile gave off a jitter - somehow the "excess" Europeans migrated...               whites combined with whites... Europeans mingled... big problem for the Pakistanis... Brexit only happened because "eastern" Europe joined the *vierte *****   well... "joined"...       some of us had enough sense as to keep the currency...   ******* Pakistani bullshitters...   what?! i thought English girls loved being gang-rape-fucked?!   no?!    my bad...                 the joining of the A8 disrupted the presence of Britain in the EU...          thumbs up on the curry-sauce... thumbs down on the Baltic sauerkraut.... guess what?!                           **** you! you ******* British Empire bonkers...   relief contra racism with an Empire disintegrating!   wankers...                    sure, beseech alliances outside of Europe...   seek them, find them, govern them...       the next time you come shoveling your **** into my: awareness... i'll be asking... so... Rotherham...           no, not really... don't bother me with that sort of **** you deal with your ******** before shoving your ***** into my mouth expecting me to gargle on the produce...                you're closer to Pakistan than i am to Mongolia... you draw the the postcard... i'll draw the pretty picture. don't get me wrong, thought, i hate the Polacks... i don't belong between them...    i'd prefer to be strapped to a Hydra of homeless dogs... than exercise the humanity of a shared tongue with these... mongrels; mind you... the British are just as bad... when it comes to their, mongrel stature.
0
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
the Mongols are coming! / scenes from Warsaw
oh i can tell you why Brexit happened... apparently in light of the European i was not European enough, a mongrel, a ******* Mongol... eastern Europeans are Mongols, mind you...                 i'm pretty sure the Brexit vote happened... because the A8 joined...         when the Eatern European joined the old post-colonial powers... plenty of Pakistanis...      do i mind? do i ******* care?! i don't care... you deal with: the minding!     no...   i have an inheritance tax without any ceremonial                                 past... your **** is your ******* **** plus the Arab, and the curry... **** off!             i'm no ******* *vierte ***** pussy-whip... you ******* yo-yo oreo!         mind you? put me down on this one... i hate the Poles... i ******* hate the Poles...    what they did to the Chernobyl me? i hate the Polacks...     don't like them...                i'd rather spit than talk to them...    i've learned my lesson...                     i hate them more than the Germans, or the Russians... i hate them with the sort of hatred reserved for               patriots...   Judas Priests...    i abhor the ****** catholicism... it makes me... cringe...                 then i think: thickens the thong - better than the Islamic crap to mind making a boot... Brexit only happened because of the supposed invasion of the A8...    the Pakistani mobile gave off a jitter - somehow the "excess" Europeans migrated...               whites combined with whites... Europeans mingled... big problem for the Pakistanis... Brexit only happened because "eastern" Europe joined the *vierte *****   well... "joined"...       some of us had enough sense as to keep the currency...   ******* Pakistani bullshitters...   what?! i thought English girls loved being gang-rape-fucked?!   no?!    my bad...                 the joining of the A8 disrupted the presence of Britain in the EU...          thumbs up on the curry-sauce... thumbs down on the Baltic sauerkraut.... guess what?!                           **** you! you ******* British Empire bonkers...   relief contra racism with an Empire disintegrating!   wankers...                    sure, beseech alliances outside of Europe...   seek them, find them, govern them...       the next time you come shoveling your **** into my: awareness... i'll be asking... so... Rotherham...           no, not really... don't bother me with that sort of **** you deal with your ******** before shoving your ***** into my mouth expecting me to gargle on the produce...                you're closer to Pakistan than i am to Mongolia... you draw the the postcard... i'll draw the pretty picture. don't get me wrong, thought, i hate the Polacks... i don't belong between them...    i'd prefer to be strapped to a Hydra of homeless dogs... than exercise the humanity of a shared tongue with these... mongrels; mind you... the British are just as bad... when it comes to their, mongrel stature.
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Mas vueno pa enterrar Contra perde Mas vueno mira mi cuerpo abajo Contra mira mi cuerpo perdido Si, iyo ya cavar con el tierra, Iyo ya entera complaciente Iyo ya entera na mi cuerpo Pero tu ya dale patada pa adrento Ya basha tierra mas manada na suficiente Ellos ya poner cinco grande piedra ariba Seguro ya yo subir Seguro hinde ya yo vivir Hinde pa campante, ya pone pa colebra Ya entra, yan camang, ya porsa Yan junto comigo, ya besa Ya bira na cabeza y pescuezo No hay iyo luchar y defenderse Hasta cuando kamo mata con el muerto? Hasta cuando kam derramar sangre con el tierra mojado? Hasta cuando yo muri? Svelte Rogue, ACS
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Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:24 AM UTC
Entumecido
Hermano mio, yo se que te sientes cansado y estas confundido, Se a levantado el enemigo para averte herido. Yo se que aveces as pensado darte por vencido, Pues se que facil no hacido (Coro) Pues yo comprendo que lo que estas pasando hoy, Tambien lo he pasado yo, que se me acaban las fuerzas. Pero te digo, hermano esfuerzate al llegar, se que no es facil caminar, Pero Dios es tu fortaleza. Oyeme hermano mio, No te rindas en la batalla Oye ministro pelea, aunque tu sientas que satan se levanta. Yo se que no es facil ver como los tuyos te dan la espalda. Pero no te detengas, No te rindas en la batalla. (nonono) (/Coro) Hermana mia (escucha) Yo se que muchos an marcado con heridas tu vida. Te as sentido muy sola, la victoria conquista. Pues Se que aveces as pensado terminar con tu vida, Pero Dios es tu alternativa. (Coro) No te reindas en la batalla, aunque sientas la tormenta... Oyeme hermano mio, No te rindas en la batalla Oye ministro, evangelista pelea, aunque tu sientas que satan & el gigante contra ti se levanta. Yo se que no es facil ver como los tuyos te dan la espalda.(nono) Pero no, Pero no te detengas, No te rindas en la batalla. Pelea(4x)No te rindas en la batalla. Pelea(4x)No te rindas en la batalla. Pelea(4x)No te rindas en la batalla. Pelea(4x) Y No te rindas en la batalla.(aaa) (No te rindas en la batalla.) Pelea(7x) (No te rindas en la batalla.) Aunque se levante satanas contra ti mi hermano. (No te rindas en la batalla.) No Te Rindas Pelea. (4x) Oyelo Evangelista oyelo Pastor oyelo Ministro! No te rindas en la batalla! Aunque quiera satanas derrotar tu familia No te rindas en la batalla. Pelea No te rindas en la batalla
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Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
Elvin Perez - No Te Rindas En La Batalla
Hermano mio, yo se que te sientes cansado y estas confundido, Se a levantado el enemigo para averte herido. Yo se que aveces as pensado darte por vencido, Pues se que facil no hacido (Coro) Pues yo comprendo que lo que estas pasando hoy, Tambien lo he pasado yo, que se me acaban las fuerzas. Pero te digo, hermano esfuerzate al llegar, se que no es facil caminar, Pero Dios es tu fortaleza. Oyeme hermano mio, No te rindas en la batalla Oye ministro pelea, aunque tu sientas que satan se levanta. Yo se que no es facil ver como los tuyos te dan la espalda. Pero no te detengas, No te rindas en la batalla. (nonono) (/Coro) Hermana mia (escucha) Yo se que muchos an marcado con heridas tu vida. Te as sentido muy sola, la victoria conquista. Pues Se que aveces as pensado terminar con tu vida, Pero Dios es tu alternativa. (Coro) No te reindas en la batalla, aunque sientas la tormenta... Oyeme hermano mio, No te rindas en la batalla Oye ministro, evangelista pelea, aunque tu sientas que satan & el gigante contra ti se levanta. Yo se que no es facil ver como los tuyos te dan la espalda.(nono) Pero no, Pero no te detengas, No te rindas en la batalla. Pelea(4x)No te rindas en la batalla. Pelea(4x)No te rindas en la batalla. Pelea(4x)No te rindas en la batalla. Pelea(4x) Y No te rindas en la batalla.(aaa) (No te rindas en la batalla.) Pelea(7x) (No te rindas en la batalla.) Aunque se levante satanas contra ti mi hermano. (No te rindas en la batalla.) No Te Rindas Pelea. (4x) Oyelo Evangelista oyelo Pastor oyelo Ministro! No te rindas en la batalla! Aunque quiera satanas derrotar tu familia No te rindas en la batalla. Pelea No te rindas en la batalla
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Juegas todos los días con la luz del universo. Sutil visitadora, llegas en la flor y en el agua. Eres más que esta blanca cabecita que aprieto como un racimo entre mis manos cada día. A nadie te pareces desde que yo te amo. Déjame tenderte entre guirnaldas amarillas. Quién escribe tu nombre con letras de humo entre las estrellas del sur? Ah déjame recordarte cómo eras entonces, cuando aún no existías. De pronto el viento aúlla y golpea mi ventana cerrada. El cielo es una red cuajada de peces sombríos. Aquí vienen a dar todos los vientos, todos. Se desviste la lluvia. Pasan huyendo los pájaros. El viento. El viento. Yo sólo puedo luchar contra la fuerza de los hombres. El temporal arremolina hojas oscuras y suelta todas las barcas que anoche amarraron al cielo. Tú estás aquí. Ah tú no huyes. Tú me responderás hasta el último grito. Ovíllate a mi lado como si tuvieras miedo. Sin embargo alguna vez corrió una sombra extraña por tus ojos. Ahora, ahora también, pequeña, me traes madreselvas, y tienes hasta los senos perfumados. Mientras el viento triste galopa matando mariposas yo te amo, y mi alegría muerde tu boca de ciruela. Cuanto te habrá dolido acostumbrarte a mí, a mi alma sola y salvaje, a mi nombre que todos ahuyentan. Hemos visto arder tantas veces el lucero besándonos los ojos y sobre nuestras cabezas destorcerse los crepúsculos en abanicos girantes. Mis palabras llovieron sobre ti acariciándote. Amé desde hace tiempo tu cuerpo de nácar soleado. Hasta te creo dueña del universo. Te traeré de las montañas flores alegres, copihues, avellanas oscuras, y cestas silvestres de besos. Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos.
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2.7k
Poema 14
Juegas todos los días con la luz del universo. Sutil visitadora, llegas en la flor y en el agua. Eres más que esta blanca cabecita que aprieto como un racimo entre mis manos cada día. A nadie te pareces desde que yo te amo. Déjame tenderte entre guirnaldas amarillas. Quién escribe tu nombre con letras de humo entre las estrellas del sur? Ah déjame recordarte cómo eras entonces, cuando aún no existías. De pronto el viento aúlla y golpea mi ventana cerrada. El cielo es una red cuajada de peces sombríos. Aquí vienen a dar todos los vientos, todos. Se desviste la lluvia. Pasan huyendo los pájaros. El viento. El viento. Yo sólo puedo luchar contra la fuerza de los hombres. El temporal arremolina hojas oscuras y suelta todas las barcas que anoche amarraron al cielo. Tú estás aquí. Ah tú no huyes. Tú me responderás hasta el último grito. Ovíllate a mi lado como si tuvieras miedo. Sin embargo alguna vez corrió una sombra extraña por tus ojos. Ahora, ahora también, pequeña, me traes madreselvas, y tienes hasta los senos perfumados. Mientras el viento triste galopa matando mariposas yo te amo, y mi alegría muerde tu boca de ciruela. Cuanto te habrá dolido acostumbrarte a mí, a mi alma sola y salvaje, a mi nombre que todos ahuyentan. Hemos visto arder tantas veces el lucero besándonos los ojos y sobre nuestras cabezas destorcerse los crepúsculos en abanicos girantes. Mis palabras llovieron sobre ti acariciándote. Amé desde hace tiempo tu cuerpo de nácar soleado. Hasta te creo dueña del universo. Te traeré de las montañas flores alegres, copihues, avellanas oscuras, y cestas silvestres de besos. Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos.
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El corazón y su redoble iracundo el obscuro caballo de la sangre caballo ciego caballo desbocado el carrousel nocturno la noria del terror el grito contra el muro y la centella rota Camino andado                             Camino desandado El cuerpo a cuerpo con un pensamiento afilado la pena que interrogo cada día y no responde la pena que no se aparta y cada noche me despierta la pena sin tamaño y sin nombre el alfiler y el párpado traspasado el párpado del día mal vivido la hora manchada la ternura escupida la risa loca y la puta mentira la soledad y el mundo Camino andado                             camino desandado El coso de la sangre y la pica y la rechifla el sol sobre la herida sobre las aguas muertas el astro hirsuto la rabia y su acidez recomida el pensamiento que se oxida y la escritura gangrenada el alba desvivida y el día amordazado la noche cavilada y su hueso roído el horror siempre nuevo y siempre repetido Camino andado                             camino desandado El vaso de agua la pastilla la lengua de estaño el hormiguero en pleno sueño cascada negra de la sangre cascada pétrea de la noche el peso bruto de la nada zumbido de motores en la ciudad inmensa lejos cerca lejos en el suburbio de mi oreja aparición del metro cojo el puente roto y el ahogado Camino andado                             camino desandado El pensamiento circular y el círculo de familia ¿qué hice qué hiciste qué hemos hecho? el laberinto de la culpa sin culpa el espejo que acusa y el silencio que se gangrena el día estéril la noche estéril el dolor estéril la soledad promiscua el mundo despoblado la sala de espera en donde ya no hay nadie Camino andado y desandado la vida se ha ido sin volver el rostro.
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Repeticiones
El corazón y su redoble iracundo el obscuro caballo de la sangre caballo ciego caballo desbocado el carrousel nocturno la noria del terror el grito contra el muro y la centella rota Camino andado                             Camino desandado El cuerpo a cuerpo con un pensamiento afilado la pena que interrogo cada día y no responde la pena que no se aparta y cada noche me despierta la pena sin tamaño y sin nombre el alfiler y el párpado traspasado el párpado del día mal vivido la hora manchada la ternura escupida la risa loca y la puta mentira la soledad y el mundo Camino andado                             camino desandado El coso de la sangre y la pica y la rechifla el sol sobre la herida sobre las aguas muertas el astro hirsuto la rabia y su acidez recomida el pensamiento que se oxida y la escritura gangrenada el alba desvivida y el día amordazado la noche cavilada y su hueso roído el horror siempre nuevo y siempre repetido Camino andado                             camino desandado El vaso de agua la pastilla la lengua de estaño el hormiguero en pleno sueño cascada negra de la sangre cascada pétrea de la noche el peso bruto de la nada zumbido de motores en la ciudad inmensa lejos cerca lejos en el suburbio de mi oreja aparición del metro cojo el puente roto y el ahogado Camino andado                             camino desandado El pensamiento circular y el círculo de familia ¿qué hice qué hiciste qué hemos hecho? el laberinto de la culpa sin culpa el espejo que acusa y el silencio que se gangrena el día estéril la noche estéril el dolor estéril la soledad promiscua el mundo despoblado la sala de espera en donde ya no hay nadie Camino andado y desandado la vida se ha ido sin volver el rostro.
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