"convene" poems
but have you noticed, have you noticed how all mental health problems
stem form a seemingly aether virus that attacks the pronoun category;
i mean with proper justifiable schizoids you will not hear of the nouns
being ransacked for an equation that equates itself to misnomers;
it's all categorised negation of ease within the framework of pronouns.
it's strange that philosophers stress the pronouns so much these days
and those countless prior, but why do mental health diseases
attack the pronouns and not the nouns? they attack the verbs
thoroughly, but prior to the verbs exposing an illness
the pronouns are attacked, so that many considering the singularity
of expressing thought are ill because of being forced into a plural expression
of thought: "voices." i find it hard to understand, but it's the reality,
the aether virus attacks the pronoun
on the backdrop of a king's casual expression / use
of pronouns, when a king casually says
of himself as omni or multi with one and we respectively;
so why are pronouns so weak and nouns so strong
that a tree cannot be a misnomer attaché of timber
and rock not a pillar, or mountain as the verb: mountaineering?
the pronoun category is weak from day one,
because it suggests photographic duck animation on the lip pursed
into a quack quack, but if we constructed thought
without knowledge prior, eating the fruit of knowledge
rather than the fruit of thought, using the starting point
of the genesis metaphor, it's sometimes a no brainer
to have weak thinking and strength in knowing,
for if there was strength in thinking and weakness in knowing,
i'd be the one chiseling these words in the ice age on a cavern wall.
so, given, that diseases such as the famed premature dementia
attack the pronouns but not the nouns the schizoid one
will convene life with: pizza is pizza and sunshine ray down the drain
clock the millionth dead parting of grasshoppers in decimals -
while man unto man lusts one man's parting in decimals,
but should dire said, part man with integers, and insects with decimals!
but still, in the terminology of a cartesian understanding of illness,
in that segregational aspect of things "sorted,"
why are mental illnesses tattooed in a weak pronoun usage
compared to a strength in other grammatical categories?
why are not mental illnesses ******* the life out of the nouns?
the nouns are intact, the pronouns attacked,
and the verbs chess piece the pawn from the casually speaking clown king
into a beast imprisoned, for while the pronouns are attacked
and the nouns left intact, the attack on pronouns expresses itself
fully in verbs of the never existent tact: with such magic
as to claim knock knock on plank is the same as knock knock on veneer.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
Parallel tremors follow your heavy footsteps through the moss that carpets a maze of tired oak. Solemn warnings calcify soft thoughts and point you at the coal on the horizon. Its splinterglow peeks hot squints through the arboreal tangle. Topaz streams convene and braid themselves around your spine. The stones in the riverbed grow smoother and each becomes a grain of sand. You let the sand console your roots as you curl your toes and fall asleep.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
There's a voice on the phone
telling what had happened.
Some kind of confusion,
more like a disaster.
And it wondered how you were left unaffected,
but you had no knowledge.
No, the chemicals covered you.
So a jury was formed
as more liquor was poured.
No need for conviction;
they're not thirsty for justice.
But I slept with the lies I keep inside my head.
I found out I was guilty.
I found out I was guilty.
But I won't be around for the sentencing
'cause I'm leaving on the next airplane.
And though I know that my actions are impossible to justify,
they seem adequate to fill up my time.
But if I could talk to myself like I was someone else,
well then maybe I could take your advice
and I wouldn't act like such an ******* all the time.
There's a film on the wall
that makes the people look small
who are sitting beside it,
all consumed in the drama.
They must return to their lives once the hero has died.
They will drive to the office,
stopping somewhere for coffee;
where the folk singers, poets, and playwrights convene
dispensing their wisdom;
Oh dear amateur orators.
They will detail their pain in some standard refrain.
They will recite their sadness
like it's some kind of contest.
Well if it is I think i'm winning it, all beaming with confidence
as I make my final lap.
The gold metal gleams,
so hang it around my neck.
'Cause I am deserving it: the champion of idiots.
But a kid carries his Walkman
on that long bus ride to Omaha.
I know a girl who cries when she practices violin,
'cause each note stands so pure
it just cuts into her,
and then the melody comes pouring out her eyes.
Now to me, everything else,
it just sounds like a lie.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
We met through proximity,
but didn't use that to convene.
We learned so much about each other through a screen,
But we've let each other truly be seen.
With our many shared interests,
and our vastly different pasts,
help us clearly see our paths.
How enchanting this has all been,
to now call you a friend.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
mmm, palce lizać, albo wsadzić je w dúpe i nadawać sygnał wriggly-wriggly alter: wriggly-pigglety; counter-alt? calling it: the miracle of five croutons, and two pieces of sushi... c'mon, let's go crazy! and take it to the excesses permitted by the original feat! (yes, i mean the fish parts of sushi, there's enough carbohydrates in the croutons, so yes, no rice-bed for the tartars).
ć is the puritan's aversion to cz / chai;
or at least an exfoliation curbor.
i write honey,
honey honey honey,
i write honey,
honey honey honey
p'ooh bear
droned in on it.
when i write,
i write honey,
honey honey O'Milee.
from serving in the US and A
navy, to a beach-buggy
accident.
when i write, i write
honey -
*** e -
Atilla styled liquorice -
lee co reesh - not
liquidated rice -
ghosts of latin almost everywhere;
quadruple that.
convene and converse -
contrary collective.
some say this might as well
be the famous goldberg sardines;
when i write, i write honey,
i write: honey honey honey...
will you be my Duracell bunny?
honey, will you be my
******** par excellance?
i see... no, you won't be.
the museum of Greek sculpture
was vandalised!
guess what they took,
the ****** fiendish crooks!
with a wet splash of colour
comes the cold marble artifice -
a bit like the cool-mouth
refrigerator of a woman during
felatio... still don't know
how she gets that gob down
below room temperature.
(heresy input, never start a
sentence with an) and
there you have it,
writing, catering for
abstractionism,
just after he said: they're on a diet.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing
a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards
The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”
on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet
Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone
I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement
“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask
“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.
“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five. The ******
******** took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”
She went back to
tilling the sand.
Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf
standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche
the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
sounding
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting
seaside symphony
the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes
grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary
Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo
Grand Isle
2/20/17
jbm
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
Melancholic misadventures and misanthropic moments make meeting men more and more meaningless,
Meaning less and less to those who undress to convene in the act of adulterated ***
Flex:
Point!
Sit down,
Smoke a joint,
Go to sleep,
Work,
Eat,
Wash
(sometimes, not too often)
Feign attraction
and smile with your eyes as you die on the inside
Darkness outside
Whilst wintery winds whistle,
the worldly-wise whittle on and on in their wordy way of the other-worldly wonders they have witnessed.
We can but wish that their wily whispers will soon diminish with the melting snow
Or else go,
Turn your back on all that you lack before you step on a crack, break that back and see it refract through the prism of the microcosm of your mind
Colour-blind
Lost
Trying to find
Be found
My heart beats yet I hear no sound
As plasma pumps passionately through my pallid passages and I ponder partially perceptible pursuits that preside in my past
Digging deep down into the depths of my ***** deeds discloses a discerning dichotomous divulgence of doctrine and dogma
Two mothers
Three brothers
One sister
And a whole load of Misters!
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
Our world was built to control us impeding our ability to thrive,
induced into a system designed for wealth, power, and lies.
Most of us end up broken enslaved for what little we have,
the enemy divides our family as we follow another false flag.
A price is paid for not conceding to an affirmation worth repeating,
as our minds are all but defeated our souls are lost in a hidden war.
History repeats itself as we are kept under control,
when we accept defeat, we allow the enemy to grow.
I was a victim just like you as degenerates overtook my home,
life in the wake of calamity, cast on a pile of innocent bones.
I am not the one you want to convene because I question everything,
I am just a voice of honesty who was finally set free.
Who finally broke through the construct of lies,
the lies we were taught to believe in the construct of humanity.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
Just as the pyramids would,
In the deserts of Cairo,
Snow-capped mountains gleam distant,
As if Kings on the Main.
This distance complete,
Through the eyes of the beholder,
As from a sea-sided office,
We with watch with wonder lust.
Bright streetlights,
And red lights, and green lights,
And stop signs,
As decadent name-change,
Perceives as if older,
As bigger, as bolder.
Musicians and artists,
Poets and Marxists,
Authors and boxers,
All convene to sing songs,
As egalitarianism,
Sings us a calm, blinded lullaby,
As the idea to be grasped,
In this young mind of mine.
They call this no small town,
In which not one arcade resides;
Gun crime is never,
In percent, as we ride,
A wave of communal,
Small-town "world peace,"
We'll take some money,
Off the governments lease.
In a sense we are distant,
Different, contesting,
A world which conforms,
As if all can and will be,
A slave to a master,
Sociopathic disaster,
As we run faster and faster,
Away from that stream.
We are the masters of our fate,
As we rate the world's hate,
On a scale from 1 to 10.
We are secluded,
Yet unconfused, not diluted;
We are more aware of this world,
Than it is of itself.
We set the sidelines,
As guidelines to life,
As we watch with some bias,
As we remain neutral to strife.
We are the Power,
And we are the River,
Ripped from the main-stream,
We create; we are free.
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 10:29 PM UTC
Deep within her stare value-laden eyes bare
Thou liketh compete with disciplined man
Prim proper equanimity assembled as plan
Serve glory to God; begone any despair
Grasping thy reality of excellence profound
Access vast depth of emotion- drowned
Dangling medals reaching out to touch
Through tranquility, stand by your ground
He pushed me open like a book untold
Words of the gospel used by mean
Daring as His veracity He loved me as bold
By sworn duty, I shall perpetually convene
Jul 20, 2023
Jul 20, 2023 at 12:01 PM UTC
We are not the voice to elect a king
We are anonymous
I am not the one you want to convene because I question everything
I am just a voice of honesty as degenerates overtake my home
Life in the wake of calamity cast on a pile of bones
It’s the new order of the ages, welcome to the end of days
The beast controls our lives impeding our ability to thrive
induced into a system designed for wealth, power, and lies
A price is paid for not conceding to an affirmation worth repeating
as I join the enlightened ones and wage a massive war
A circularity that deviates from its path is not a circle anymore
They will invoke internal and external threats
then establish many secret prisons
Slowly restricting the freedom of the
Press while surveying ordinary citizens
Chem-trails from government jets
will be dismissed as urban legends
Mandatory vaccinations
designed to lower urban intelligence
Radio-frequency identification chips
mandatory for men, women, and children
Man-made global pandemics
separated for segregated sterilization
Espionage becomes the new word for criticism
And dissent will be the new word for treason
In the name of self-preservation
they will subvert the rule of law
We are broken beyond repair, slaves for all we have
As they divide our families, we ignore another false flag
As history repeats, we are kept under control
But we are not the voices to elect a king
because we are anonymous
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:07 AM UTC
The Elders of the Elven Mists, at the Death of the Old Queen
From all around the Realm they came a Conclave to convene
The fair haired Golden Locks of young Azky they did Crown
Queen Azky Rode a Royal Beast of All Dragons he was King
The Queens Beast Yaz Kere Loved Soaring About on Wing
Yaz Kere knew it was his Royal fate to Protect Queen Azky
And Carry her aloft his Back Steadfast so Her Elf Arrows Fly
The Dragons lived in Erehwon upon the Chrysenal Trees
The Elves harvested the Leaves for Enchanted Wizardry
Much Magic came from those Potions as Magical Notions
To protect both Elf and Beast in Battle against enemy Hovens
The Mordel slipped in by night to Steal the Magic Leaves
but Yaz roared Alarm to dragons as swords Pulled from Sheaths
Queen Azky, Quiver, Elven Bow and Yaz Off to the Sky they go
Blades clashed and Arrows Flew as Dragons passed above the war
As Elven arrows hit thier Mark, hordes weakened to rearward
The Mordel tried but Only failed and thus ends the Battles Tale
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 6:20 AM UTC
Maybe the way the curve of your spine fits into me is an indication
of how the earth meets the sea.
Frothing, frigid and free
Maybe the way our lips convene is an illustration
of a star being born
Colliding, rising, expanding
With every breath we whisper to each other
the wind caresses the mountains in such delicate manners
Maybe the way our eyes meet
searching for a long lost landmark
{Home at last,
or at least until tomorrow}
reveal the discovery of deeper mysteries
Cold, comforting, coalescent
Maybe the simplest brush of skin
brings earthquakes to our veins
Seeped with unspoken words
warmth and peril rolled in one
Maybe, just maybe, the first ****** between two lovers
is the modern tsunami,
a flood of pleasure, teeming with emotions and laughter
The rain that lulls us to sleep
is the same as the water that cascades down cracks and cliffs
Racing to meet her soulmate,
Salt water
Fresh water
Two hearts beat in solidarity
Melting one into the other
Tongue on tongue
Fingertip to fingertip
Maybe the way we started is the way we end,
with nothing but empty space and deafening silence.
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
Why do you stand at the door frame wanting a hug?
Even when the blood within in our very veins separates us
Even when one noticeably meaningful tug
Would make their eyes see suspicious
Why do you stand at the door frame wanting a hug?
Even when the many flaws have become obvious
Even if all the numbness is avoided by a simple shrug
All this needs to be absent, all this is prosperous!
Why do you stand at the door frame wanting a hug?
When my ultimate power proclaims"that's enough"
When a bond so strong, but when noticed, forced to convene with the drug
Oh how could you take such a chance when a hug will make time tough
Yet, you still stand at the door frame wanting a hug.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
Oh, stay away with your blanket so warm.
Wrapped in the comfort of lies you have borne.
Like clouds with weight, convene upon my chest.
In the fog of emotion, it is fierce.
To confess this feeling, true to my core,
Unleashed in admission, dead heart, no fear.
Like waves in a fury, they toss, they pull;
The wind scatters much, not this does it touch.
The steadfast burden, comfort of despair;
Depression is gray to those unprepared.
To free this blanket of anguish and woe;
The ear of another to hear your hurt,
Shiver your shiver, acknowledge your quake,
This blanket of depression will soon yield.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
She is like no other, always in her necktie.
I knew her before the necktie, before many
the body manipulations, but not all. I'd stare,
engrossingly, at elongated lobes, the wardrobe.
I, now, her technophobe, longing to digital
age do her. "It's complicated," we call it.
How I long to stand next to her at the bus stop,
like we used to do. Waiting, staring, baiting,
glaring, like we used to do, at Fillmore and Haight,
while we'd wait. Didn't care if my bus came and
left, sometimes I'd just wait for hers, to follow
her aboard. I think she liked the way I stalked her.
Me in my blah corporate attire and necktie,
her in her outlandishly wonderful. Going to work
those days were keen broad bean, where we'd
convene, sometimes out on the scene, or where
folks ought not be seen. And we'd just look,
for long periods. If we spoke, it was egg white polite.
But that was then and this is now and now we
chat all naughty fun. I call her my baby, my honey-bun,
my long distance impassioned one. Virtual realities
do often please, something I like about the tease.
If ever again together, I'll be on my knees. She's
my fiancée and we plan to tie the knot.
Guess I'll be tattooing a matching necktie.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
A Mean machine in obscene gang green
The Candlelight flicker in busted T V screen
Scream queen Ilene in paralyzed dream
Dean Irene exploded her spleen
It seems when she ate some beans
Kathleen drank from a canteen of benzene
Said sardines soaked in saline make the best cuisine
Eugene came between Kristine and Janine
When they went to the ravine in Racine
Teens hopped up on caffeine convene
With Thirteen marines on Halloween
On routine to clean and preen the latrines
I’m keen to notice the things that you’ve seen
?
? ?
? ? ?
? ?
??
? ?
? ? ?
? ?
??
? ?
? ? ?
? ?
?
What if you could unseen what you've seen
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
A seedling tiny of good remembered still
transformed uniform in vastness wavering
roots small of succor turn trunks huge sprouting
back from joys earthy,seeking skies many above
rejoined both, re rooted in mother earth eagerly,
hands and feet merged indistinguishably stoic
in an existence pure, to one being impervious.
a sapling soft now time twisted,gnarled,knotted
to an entity unique, massive of heart fused in soul
then just a being existing simply as one ordained so
by time!
sweet birds in me sing
on me your kids swing
around me in a ring
the gods now impinge
to them maidens cling
for a nice manly thing
under my cool wing
do elders advices bring
I amidst stand like a king
impassive to everything!
A thought in my mind as I see the ancient tree in my village."Hemmara" in my native language of Karnataka, a state in India, means literally an ancient and massive tree.Normally and in some mysterious way this invariably will be a Banyan tree in the village center which has its roots growing out of the earth and joining the branches and branches stooping down and joining the earth to become roots! Around the tree over time idols of innumerable Gods spring up,Elders convene and advise the folk,kids play and village belles flock to pray for a good husband!!
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
with your little moral superiority complex
and your unfathomable left-wing british politics
as the road to take,
let's just say i wouldn't be here,
and i wouldn't complain as i do:
i'd rather have a communist life with wife
and kids rather than iron maiden and commercial
bliss - maybe then i'd be talking
serious medical conditions and not allowing
amateurs to preach me psychology
instead of reading philosophy like some
secular evangelists should, because that's what atheism spawned:
psychological Evangalist advents:
no god = no soul, highest prime invoking thought,
even though ****** traffic accidents
to convene with what thought excites: a serenity
that's contradictory when tested.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
Gawking at the screen
I convene here
What words should I accumulate?
Tonight
Vocabulary building up
Structuring the tallest and widest of sentences
One hand, I hold a dictionary
At the desk,Is my thesaurus
Matching wits with myself
How do I use partial vowels?
Grammar mostly perplex
To a perfect sentence
No other quotations is near
An average line is over due
What imprison me from being incomplete?
An unexplainable sentence
Of writing
On a foggy Monday
As I awaken
By touching
A blank sheet of paper
Jan 27, 2010
Jan 27, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC
i mean, who the hell needs an individualised
orchestra? Mozart doesn't, Beethoven doesn't,
Chopin and Liszt is all piano
so never mind the punk renegade violinist...
how the Indians or the Chinese orchestrated
a population of a billion is staggering,
western powers ********** blanks by comparison,
it's like a body and a virus, translated
with optometry the way we say things,
Sanskrit or the Beijing Ouija - looking at it
is like ingesting the Swiss champagne miracle - nausea
or alternatively lysergia -
it's ******* me up acquiring this tongue
given the history of celebrated colonialism -
proof of the Hackney populace being solely
Caribbean - what a desecrate groundwork to begin with,
maybe Irish maybe Scout maybe Scot,
on the word of honour dynamic pledging
conveniences with the Vatican - look
no further, we're naturalised sadists, football matches
and the sickbed eventualists rather than
evangelists, former nonsense reductionistists...
so they preached their Darwinism exactly against
the theologically roundabout of the pyramids
and the celestial intervention - but expected
nil barbarism... kingly kindness was at least
the expected norm, but if you preach Darwinism
you'll hardly convene on kindness as
the standard norm of expression -
track 12 of the beach boys' pet sounds is elevator music,
i'll be honest... pop music drama of
the band... you never hear of it with orchestras;
the point of genius: you're not really there,
absentee, you do the sacrifice, and make others
make the dough for the bread that's a house and
a family of four, e.g; and just by petting
cats i learned that all animals, petted or wild,
are naturally / intrinsically autistic.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Society, the people's forum
Where they learn about the rules and
Meet each other, understand the game
That they play every moment
They each introduce themselves
As one who abides by the social law
And convene in larger numbers
With those who are very much the same
They chit and chat and shoot the ****
They liff and laugh and moot on it
But what of those who aren't a part of it?
Simply because they just don't fit?
This is learned at a young age,
From our childhoods, life's book's first page
Rippling, growing, til' it reaches a stage
Until you're all alone, trapped in your head's cage
And God can't play the shepherd to the sheep
Can't bring you back to the flock
You're tired, worn, can't breathe or sleep
You age faster than the clock
The paranoia inside your mind grows strong
You're anti-social, not after long
Sideways thinking, upside down
A kingdom of one, you bear the crown
Psychotic sins and torture played
Thanatos and Eros, pleasure forbidden
More real to oneself, to the others, one fades
And appeals to oneself to make it all forgiven
In the social circus, in your own ring
Universes you ponder, death songs you sing
You recluse your mind, lost without intent to be found
For solitary freedom bests being amongst company, bound.
Dec 2, 2009
Dec 2, 2009 at 11:18 AM UTC
Jingoism at its very best is still zealotry, and anyone with good sense can tell you none of that is good. Where has good gone? Narrowness is boasting ethnocentricity. The mind game of villainous blame furthers unkind possibility. Worse yet, demise of soul, to tout a right to defend, assaults a riffling on pith and marrow with no sane sense of psyche to lend. Basically then, we are told to "blend."
I cannot.
I am fanatical. My colors must be seen. This weathering of dark storm has unbiased relinquishment that must convene, upon a rainbow. With all heart and soul, given to Orlando.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 7:59 AM UTC
it's nice to know it's not for naught
there's value in what can't be bought
where my plans convene with thought
i invest different kind of plot
honeycomb are to the bees
as madness is to mysteries
and are polite priorities
nectar of insecurities?
the recounted sheep are bleating/(bleeding)
cry of wolf to deaf misleading
as i bray again repeating
every note so self-defeating
thrown about the limbs of trees
chaos with-in-discrepancies
that which we melt just to freeze
wring tangles such as these
my journey is while they sleep
shepherdess lost counted sheep
the edge, again, to fall or leap
for flight first failure grade so steep
My white whale wild in the seas
This ship no sail, nor north agrees
Ever-spurning taste of tease
I am ahabs intricacies
to illusion am i ******
eternally roaming the land
through burning thirst for empathy
-i'm plagued with insecurity
in an old biblical story
mortal glimpsed our father's glory
From that instant's blinding light
was driven mad took his own sight
if i could measure and define
truth and where it draws the line
which cliff faces only mine
encases truly, i am fine
chronic illness violently
supressing luminocity
onlookers hang silently
as ash consume ferocity
speed builds on tracks in my train
I know this is too fast, again
upon myself, 'you dare complain,
without reference to real pain?'
all avert their eyes, refrain
saying nothing is my bane
am i alone and insane?
this focus that i can't explain?
creating reason for my pain
purpose for and by diseased brain
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC