Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
This article is taken from Dr Vernon Coleman’s Health Letter. It gives general material and opinions for information only and is not to be considered an alternative to professional medical advice. Readers should consult their family doctors or other qualified medical advisers on any matter relating to their health and wellbeing.

Do Vaccines Work And Are They Safe?

Most doctors and nurses genuinely believe that vaccines have helped wipe out some of the deadliest infectious diseases. Many members of the medical profession would put vaccination high on any list of great medical discoveries.

The perceived value of vaccination is so great that even though I have, for many years, been a vociferous critic of some specific vaccines (see section headed Whooping Cough) I have up until now always been reluctant to **** all vaccination programmes as worthless and dangerous.

The mythical power of vaccination programmes has for years constantly been sustained by governments, and bodies, such as the World Health Organisation announcing, apparently with complete conviction, that such and such a disease will be eradicated when the relevant vaccination programme has been completed.

The principle behind vaccination is a convincing one.

The theory is that when an individual is given a vaccine ‚Äď which consists of a weakened or dead version of the disease against which protection is required ‚Äď his or her body will be tricked into developing antibodies to the disease in exactly the same way that a body develops antibodies when it is exposed to the disease itself.

But in reality things aren’t quite so simple. How long do the antibodies last? Do they always work? What about those individuals who don’t produce antibodies at all? Vaccination, like so much of medicine, is a far more inexact science than doctors (and drug companies) would like us to think.

Vaccination is widely respected by doctors and others in the health care industry because of the assumption that it is through vaccination that many of the world‚Äôs most lethal infectious diseases have been eradicated. But this simply isn‚Äôt true. As I have shown in many of my books infectious diseases were conquered by the provision of cleaner drinking water and better sewage facilities. The introduction of vaccination programmes came along either just at the same time or later when the death rates from the major infectious diseases had already fallen. There really isn‚Äôt any evidence to show that vaccination programmes have ever been of any real value ‚Äď either to individuals or to communities.


One of the medical profession’s greatest boasts is that it eradicated smallpox through the use of the smallpox vaccine. I myself believed this claim for many years. But it simply isn’t true.

One of the worst smallpox epidemics of all time took place in England between 1870 and 1872 ‚Äď nearly two decades after compulsory vaccination was introduced. After this evidence that smallpox vaccination didn‚Äôt work the people of Leicester in the English midlands refused to have the vaccine any more. When the next smallpox epidemic struck in the early 1890s the people of Leicester relied upon good sanitation and a system of quarantine. There was only one death from smallpox in Leicester during that epidemic. In contrast the citizens of other towns (who had been vaccinated) died in vast numbers.

Obligatory vaccination against smallpox was introduced in Germany in around 1816, largely as a result of state by-laws, but these vaccination programmes had no influence on the incidence of the disease. On the contrary, the smallpox epidemic continued to grow and in 1870 the war with France led to the gravest smallpox epidemic in Germany history. At that point the new German ***** introduced a new national law making vaccination against smallpox an even stricter legal requirement. The police were given the power to enforce the new law.

German doctors (and medical students) are taught that it was the ***** Vaccination Law which led to a dramatic reduction in the incidence of smallpox in Germany. But a close look at the figures shows that the incidence of smallpox had already started to fall before the law came into action. And the legally enforced national smallpox vaccination programme did not eradicate the disease.

Doctors and drug companies may not like it but the truth is that surveillance, quarantine and better living conditions got rid of smallpox ‚Äď not the smallpox vaccine.

When the World Health Organization campaign to rid the world of smallpox was at its height the number of cases of smallpox went up each time there was a large scale (and expensive) mass vaccination of populations in susceptible countries. As a result of this the WHO changed its strategy. Mass vaccination programmes were abandoned and replaced with surveillance, isolation and quarantine.

For example, in the 1960s Sierra Leone had the highest rate of smallpox in the world. The country got rid of smallpox in just over a year ‚Äď largely by the simple process of identifying and isolating patients with the disease.

The myth that smallpox was eradicated through a mass vaccination programme is just that ‚Äď a myth.

It is worth pointing out that Edward Jenner, widely feted as the inventor of the smallpox vaccine, tried out the first smallpox vaccination on his own 10 month old son. His son remained mentally ******* until his death at the age of 21. Jenner refused to have his second child vaccinated.


Vaccination against tuberculosis is often given as the reason why this disease stopped being quite the threat to life that it had been in the 18th century.

But again, this isn’t true.

Robert Koch discovered the pathogen that causes TB back in 1883. After that BCG vaccination was introduced and then, subsequently, mass treatment programmes were devised with chemotherapy.

None of these discoveries or introductions had any effect on the incidence of tuberculosis.

Contracting TB doesn’t provide any immunity against a second infection. And if a natural infection doesn’t provide protection then a vaccination certainly won’t provide protection. How on earth can it?

It was noticed decades ago that in the lung sanatoriums that specialised in the treatment of TB patients there was no difference in the survival rates of patients who had been ‚Äėprotected‚Äô against TB with BCG vaccination when compared to the survival rates of patients who had received no such ‚Äėprotection‚Äô.

The tuberculosis vaccination (the Bacillus Calmette-Guerin ‚Äď known as BCG) consists of a weakened, living bovine mycobacterium. The vaccine was used for many years but a WHO trial in India showed that the vaccine offers no protection against the disease. Indeed, when new cases of tuberculosis increased annually in the areas where people had been vaccinated against the disease the trial seemed to suggest that there might be a link between the vaccine and outbreaks of the disease.

Many countries have now abandoned the TB vaccine ‚Äď and have no plans to reintroduce it even though the disease is once again a major health problem.


Vaccination against diphtheria was introduced to Germany in 1925. After the introduction of the vaccine the number of cases of diphtheria steadily increased until, shortly after the Second World War, production of the vaccine was halted. There was a decline in the incidence of the disease which coincided with the fact that the vaccination was no longer being used. When the vaccine was subsequently reintroduced the decline in the incidence of the disease slowed down.

As with whooping cough, tetanus and other diseases the incidence, and number of deaths from diphtheria, were in decline long before the vaccine was introduced.


Paralysis caused by poliomyelitis is now unheard of in Germany. But every year there are some cases of paralysis caused by the oral polio vaccine.

In America the incidence of polio increased dramatically (by around 50%) after the introduction of mass immunisation. In some States the incidence of polio roughly doubled after the polio vaccine was introduced. The number of deaths from polio had fallen dramatically before the first polio vaccine was introduced. As with other infectious diseases the significance of polio dropped as better sanitation, better housing, cleaner water and more food were all made available in the second half of the nineteenth century. It was social developments rather than medical ones which increased human resistance to infectious diseases.

Proof that the introduction of the polio vaccine wasn’t the success it is often made out to be isn’t difficult to find. In Tennessee, US, the number of polio victims the year before vaccination became compulsory was 119. The year after vaccination was introduced the figure rose to 386. In North Carolina, the number of cases before vaccination was introduced was 78, while the number after the vaccine became compulsory rose to 313. There are similar figures for other American states.

The fact is that polio (like many other infectious diseases) comes in cycles. When a disease is at a high point in its cycle the authorities (egged on by doctors and drug companies) will use this to frighten citizens into agreeing to be vaccinated. And when a disease is at a low point in its natural cycle it is often vaccination programmes which get the credit. This is exactly what happened with polio.

However, whether or not the polio vaccine actually works is, for many people, a relatively unimportant health issue.

Of far more significance is the fact (revealed in my book Why Animal Experiments Must Stop in 1991) that millions of people who were given the polio vaccine as children in the 1950s and 1960s may now be at a greatly increased risk of developing cancer.

Although an early breakthrough in the development of a polio vaccine was made in 1949 with the aid of a human tissue culture, monkey kidney tissue was used when the first practical vaccine was prepared in the 1950s. The monkey tissue was used simply because that was standard laboratory practice, but no one realised that one of the viruses commonly found in monkey kidney cells can cause cancer in human beings.

(As a side issue this is yet another example of the stupidity of using animal tissue in the treatment of human patients. The popularity of using transplants derived from animals suggests that doctors and scientists have learned nothing from this error. I sometimes despair of those who claim to be in the healing profession.)

Bone, brain, liver and lung cancers have all been linked to the monkey kidney virus SV40 and something like seventeen million people who were given the polio vaccine in the 1950s and 1960s are probably now at risk. Moreover, there now seems to be evidence that the virus may be passed on to the children of those who were given the contaminated vaccine. The SV40 virus from the polio vaccine has already been found in cancers which have developed both in individuals who were given the vaccine as protection against polio and in the children of individuals who were given the vaccine. It seems inconceivable that the virus could have got into the tumours other than through the polio vaccine.

The American government was warned of this danger back in 1956 but the doctor who made the discovery was ignored and her laboratory was closed down. Surprise, surprise. It was five years after this discovery before drug companies started screening out the virus. And even then Britain had millions of doses of the infected polio vaccine in stock. There is no evidence that the government withdrew the vaccine. In Britain official records which would identify those who received the contaminated vaccine were all destroyed by the Department of Health in 1987. Oddly enough this means that no one can take legal action against the government. Gosh. Another surprise. How do these ******* sleep at night?


Throughout the 1970s and the 1980s I was a critic of a number of vaccines ‚Äď most notably the whooping cough vaccine. The following essay on the whooping cough vaccine appeared in 1988 in my book The Health Scandal.

The story of the whooping cough vaccine provides us with a remarkable example of dishonesty and deceit in medicine.

There has been controversy about the whooping cough vaccine for many years but in the UK the Department of Health and Social Security has, through the years, consistently managed to convince the majority of medical and nursing staff to support the official line that the vaccine is both safe and effective. The official DHSS line has for years paid little attention to the facts. Put bluntly the DHSS (on behalf of successive governments) has consistently lied about the risks and problems associated with the whooping cough vaccine.

I will explain exactly why I think that governments have lied to their employers (the public) a little later. For the time being I would like to concentrate on the facts.

The first point that should be made is that although official spokesmen claim otherwise, the whooping cough vaccine has never had much of an influence on the number of children dying from whooping cough. The dramatic fall in the number of deaths caused by the disease came well before the vaccine was widely available and was, historians agree, the result of improved public health measures and, indirectly, the use of antibiotics.

It was in 1957 that the whooping cough vaccine was first introduced nationally in Britain ‚Äď although the vaccine was tried out in the late 1940s and the early 1950s. But the incidence of whooping cough, and the number of children dying from the disease, had both fallen very considerably well before 1957. So, for example, while doctors reported 170,000 cases of whooping cough in 1950 they reported only about 80,000 cases in 1955. The introduction of the vaccine really didn‚Äôt make very much, if any, difference to the fall in the incidence of the disease. Even today (1988) thirty years after the introduction of the vaccine, whooping cough cases are still running at about 1,000 a week in Britain.

Similarly, the figures show that the introduction of the vaccine had no effect on the number of children dying from whooping cough. The mortality rate associated with the disease had been falling appreciably since the early part of the twentieth century and rapidly since the 1930s and 1940s ‚Äď showing a particularly steep decline after the introduction of the sulphonamide drugs. Whooping cough is undoubtedly an extremely unpleasant disease but it has not been a major killer for many years. Successive governments have frequently forecast fresh whooping cough epidemics but none of the forecast epidemics has produced the devastation predicted.

My second point is that the whooping cough vaccine is neither very efficient nor is it safe. The efficiency of the vaccine is of subsidiary interest ‚Äď although thousands of children who have been vaccinated do still get the disease ‚Äď the greatest controversy surrounds the safety of the vaccine. The DHSS has always claimed that serious adverse reactions to the whooping cough vaccine are extremely rare and the official suggestion is that the risk of a child being brain damaged by the vaccine is no higher than one in 100,000. Now, leaving aside the fact that I find a risk of one in 100,000 unacceptable, it is interesting to examine this figure a little more closely, for after a little research work it becomes clear that the figure of one in 100,000 is a guess.

Over the last decade or two, numerous researchers have studied the risks of brain damage following whooping cough vaccination and their results make fascinating reading. Between 1960 and 1981, for example, nine reports were published showing that the risk of brain damage varied between one in 6,000 and one in 100,000. The average was a risk of one in 50,000. It is clear from these figures that the DHSS has simply chosen the figure which showed the whooping cough vaccine to be least risky. Moreover, the one in 100,000 figure did not come from any rock solid research. It was itself an estimate ‚Äď a guess.

These are just a couple of the important facts about the whooping cough vaccine that have been ignored or overlooked or disguised by the DHSS. But they are not the only facts that have been distorted.

Although the DHSS consistently claims that whooping cough is a dangerous disease, the figures show that it is not the indiscriminate killer it is made out to be. Whooping cough causes around four deaths a year in Britain. Compare that to approximately 300 deaths caused by tuberculosis and 100 deaths caused by meningitis. Most of the victims of whooping cough are babies under three months old. That fact is particularly important because the vaccine is never given to babies under three months old.

The truth about the whooping cough vaccine is that it has always been a disaster. The vaccine has already been withdrawn in other countries because of the amount of brain damage associated with its use. In Japan, Sweden and West Germany the vaccine has been omitted from regular vaccination schedules. In America two out of three whooping cough vaccine manufacturers have stopped making the vaccine because of the cost of lawsuits. On 6th December 1985 the Journal of the American Medical Association published a major report showing that the whooping cough vaccine is, without doubt, linked to the development of serious brain damage. And even here in Britain the DHSS has been so worried about the vaccine that for ten years it has been paying research workers at Porton Down to search for ways to make a new, safer, more effective whooping cough vaccine. At long last, after a £5 million research programme, a new vaccine is indeed being tested on children.

The final nail in the coffin lid is the fact that the British Government has already paid out compensation to the parents of some 800 children who have been brain damaged by the whooping cough vaccine. Some parents who accepted damages a few years ago were given £10,000. More recently parents have been getting £20,000.

It is a startling fact that for many years now the whooping cough vaccine has been killing or severely injuring more children than the disease itself. Since 1979 around 800 children (or their parents) have received money from the Government for vaccine produced brain damage. In the same period less than 100 children have been killed by whooping cough. I think that makes the vaccine more dangerous than the disease. And that, surely is quite unacceptable. So, why has the DHSS continued to encourage doctors to use the vaccine?

There are two possible explanations. The first explanation is the more generous of the two and concerns the Government’s responsibility for the health of the community as a whole. The theory here is that by encouraging millions of parents to have their children vaccinated the Government can reduce the incidence of the disease in the community. In the long run this (theoretically) reduces the risk of there being any future epidemics of whooping cough. In other words the government risks the lives of individual children for the good of the next generation.

The second, less charitable explanation is that the DHSS is looking after its own interests by continuing to claim that the whooping cough vaccine is safe enough to use. In 1987 there were 258 sets of parents preparing to sue the DHSS for damages. They claim that the whooping cough vaccine damaged their children. They are claiming something in the region of £250,000 each. If the DHSS withdrew the whooping cough vaccine, it would be admitting that the vaccine was dangerous. And it would obviously lose its court cases. Such an admission would, therefore, cost it 258 times £250,000.

And that would be just the beginning for there are, you will remember, 800 sets of parents who have already received payments from the Government of either £10,000 or £20,000. If the DHSS admitted liability (and those payments did not include an admission of liability) then it is fair to assume that the DHSS would find itself with several hundred more lawsuits and a damages bill running into billions of pounds.

Whatever explanation you consider most accurate the unavoidable fact is that the government (in the form of the DHSS) has consistently lied about the whooping cough vaccine, has distorted the truth and has deceived both the medical profession (for the majority of doctors and nurses who give these injections accept the recommendations made by the DHSS without question) and millions of parents.

The DHSS may have saved itself a tidy sum in damages. But the cost to the nation’s health has been enormous. And this, remember, is merely one more example of the way in which the truth has been distorted by those whom we trust to provide us with honest, accurate advice about medicine and health care.

(The above account of the whooping cough vaccine is taken from The Health Scandal by Vernon Coleman, published by Sidgwick and Jackson in 1988.)


As the years have gone by the number of vaccines available has increased steadily. Modern American children receive around thirty vaccinations by the time they go to school.

A decade or two ago the only vaccines available were against a relatively small number of diseases including smallpox, tuberculosis, polio, cholera, diphtheria, tetanus and whooping cough. Today, the number of available vaccines seems to grow almost daily. In the past vaccines were produced against major killer diseases. Today vaccines are produced against diseases such as measles, mumps and chickenpox which have been traditionally regarded as relatively benign inconveniences of childhood.

In the UK the death rate from measles had dropped dramatically decades before the vaccine was introduced. Today the incidence of measles is rising again.

In attempts to persuade parents to have their children vaccinated against measles governments and doctors around the world have thought up an apparently unending ‚Äď and hysterical ‚Äď series of scare campaigns. Now that there is a vaccine against it measles has, by a strange coincidence, stopped being an annoying childhood disease and has, instead, become a deadly killer.

Scares often consist of claiming that a major epidemic is just around the corner and that only vaccination can offer protection. I have lost count of the number of whooping cough epidemics which governments have wrongly forecast. Governments and their advisers are either unbelievably stupid or else they are deliberately lying to help boost drug company profits.

Of course, countless scientists around the world have spent vast fortunes trying to create a vaccine against AIDS (in view of the fact that AIDS may not exist ‚Äď see later in this edition of VCHL ‚Äď they may find this trickier than expected).

And scientists have apparently developed a banana vaccine by creating genetically engineered banana plants. There are plans to develop bananas which ‚Äėprotect‚Äô against hepatitis B, measles, yellow fever and poliomyelitis.

Other scientists have developed a genetically engineered potato which it may be possible to use as a vaccine against cholera. The active part of the potato remains active during the process of cooking and so a portion of genetically engineered chips could soon be a vaccine against cholera. (I am not making this up.)

Naturally, the pharmaceutical industry is constantly searching for more and more new vaccines. I have lost count of the number of times I have read of researchers working on a vaccine to prevent cancer. Every year new flu jabs appear on the market. There are, so I am told, vaccines in the pipeline for just about everything ranging from asthma to earache. There is a planned genetically engineered vaccine which will provide protection against forty different diseases. The vaccine, which will contain the raw DNA of all those different diseases, will be given to newborn babies to provide them with protection for life. Oh, goody.

I don‚Äôt know about you but I can no longer keep up with what is going on. I have long since given up trying to work out which vaccines are very dangerous and which are just a bit dangerous ‚Äď and to whom.

Nor can I keep up with which vaccines might work a bit and which don’t seem to do much good at all. Does anyone know what the hell happens inside the body when all these different vaccinations are given together? Do different vaccines work with or against one another? What about the risk of interactions? Exactly how does the immune system cope when it is suddenly bombarded with so much foreign material?

I am an enthusiastic supporter of the principle of preventive medicine. It is usually much easier to avoid an illness than it is to treat one.

Vaccination programmes are usually sold to the public as though they are an integral part of a general preventive medicine programme.

But over the years I have steadily come around to the view that vaccination programmes cannot truly be described as preventive medicine but are, rather, a part of the interventionist approach to medical care.


One of the big problems with vaccination is that it has, for many years, been nigh on impossible to discuss the issue of vaccination without arousing great antagonism from doctors and politicians. Many parents who have tried to discuss vaccination programmes offered to their children have been startled by the response. Doctors who will discuss other issues in a rational and understanding way suddenly become hysterical when it is suggested that the value of a vaccination programme be discussed. Doctors, nurses and health visitors often put a great deal of pressure on parents to force them to have their children vaccinated. It is common for doctors to refuse to discuss the issue and it is common for doctors to use a great deal of emotional blackmail to force parents to have their children vaccinated. All this is made even more worrying by the fact that these days doctors often have a personal financial interest in making sure that their patients are vaccinated. (For example, doctors in general practice often get a financial bonus if they can show that a high percentage of their patients have been vaccinated.)

Instead of providing members of the public with the facts politicians and civil servants have frequently introduced blatantly misleading and downright dishonest advertising campaigns in an attempt to bully patients and parents into accepting vaccination. Diseases which are often short lived and relatively harmless may be described as deadly and lethal while the side effects associated with particular vaccines are often ignored, minimised, trivialised or even hidden completely.

In my experience it is often extremely difficult to find the truth about a particular vaccine. GPs who rely upon official information (from the government) probably find it difficult to discover the whole truth and I suspect that most of the doctors and nurses who are such enthusiastic supporters and promoters of vaccination programmes do so because they innocently and naively believe what they have been told and have no idea of the real facts.

One of the arguments often put forward in favour of vaccination is that if a large enough number of people are vaccinated then the community will benefit because fewer people will catch the disease in question. The individual who does not get vaccinated (or who refuses to allow his or her child to be vaccinated) will be accused of being irresponsibly selfish. In some parts of the world it is now illegal for parents not to have their children vaccinated. Children in the US have been arrested for not having valid vaccination certificates.

Apart from the fact that it is odd to see doctors and drug companies (most of whom are hardly left wing in their day to day approach to life) embracing this curiously communistic approach to health care (with the rights of the individual being regarded as less important than the future prospects of the community) the big flaw is that all the evidence shows that vaccination just doesn’t work this way.

Survey after survey has shown that the incidence of a disease in a community simply isn’t related to the number of people who have been vaccinated.


The whole business of vaccination is riddled with flaws and myths.

Here are just a couple of the most obvious ones.

First, vaccines simply aren’t very effective. Much to the annoyance of doctors and drug companies, viruses and other organisms don’t just sit still and remain the same for year after year. They are constantly changing. And new organisms are being formed all the time. Attempts to prevent influenza by giving flu jabs are, in my view, utterly futile. Every year scientists, drug companies and doctors enthuse about the latest anti-flu vaccine. But each year’s new vaccine is based on last year’s brand of flu. And it will not necessarily provide any protection against the latest flu bug.

While your doctor is busy jabbing you and your family with the latest vaccine a new flu bug is probably on its way from China, Australia or South America. The result is that vaccines are, at best, unpredictable and at worst utterly ineffective.

During outbreaks of whooping cough around half the victims are people who have been vaccinated. (At least one important study has shown that whooping cough epidemics mainly occur among children who have had the full vaccination course.) Research from Sweden and Italy has shown that the whooping cough vaccine is effective in 48% and 36% of those to whom it is given. Hardly reassuring when one considers the risks involved.

Measles vaccines are similarly often ineffective. In an attempt to cope with this doctors usually simply suggest giving booster shots. Naturally, this has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that abandoning the vaccine would damage drug company (and doctor) profits whereas giving booster profits would increase drug company (and doctor) profits.

Measles used to be a relatively mild disease that usually affected children. Today it seems to be a more serious disease which often affects young adults. Measles is now a significant disease among college students who have been vaccinated against it. (Incidentally, there is now some evidence to suggest that trying to stop children getting the typical childhood infections isn’t a good idea for another reason. It seems possible that children who don’t get many infectious diseases in childhood may be more likely to develop cancer later in life. The explanation for this is that those childhood infections help the immune system to develop.)

Failure rates with other vaccines are also high. There is much evidence to show that the polio vaccine may fail (some outbreaks of polio seem more likely to affect the vaccinated than the unvaccinated) and one study showed that a vaccination given to protect against meningitis increased a child’s risk of contracting the disease by five times.Other studies have shown that the vaccine increases susceptibility to complications.

The vaccine against tuberculosis has been estimated to be effective between 0% and 80% of the time. (The Heaf test which is used to measure tuberculin sensitivity can be something of a mystery. False negatives and false positives are possible. A positive test could mean that the patient is allergic to the test, has had a TB infection or is immune to TB. Take your pick.)

Second, the side effects which may be associated with vaccines are invariably worse than those who give and enthuse about the vaccines are prepared to admit. There is no such thing as an entirely safe vaccine. There are today more people in Germany suffering from vaccination damage than there are people suffering from AIDS. (This is probably true for most other so called ‚Äėdeveloped‚Äô countries.) The amount of money being wasted on AIDS research runs into billions of any currency you like to name. (I am not saying that research into this disease is inevitably useless but that the research which is being done is probably useless.) The amount of money being spent on studying vaccine damage is approximately nothing.

Some side effects are relatively mild but nevertheless inconvenient. For example, the flu jab regularly causes symptoms which are virtually indistinguishable from flu itself. Other side effects may be crippling. For example, the side effects which may be associated with the whooping cough vaccine can cause serious, life long damage.

For over two centuries doctors have persisted with vaccination programmes despite the fact that there has never been any convincing evidence to show that they work or, indeed, are safe. Moreover, to their eternal shame, doctors have consistently refused to debate the issue of vivisection and have done everything they could to prevent the public discovering the truth about an activity which has been extremely profitable both for the medical profession and for the drugs industry.

In the 1970s, when I wrote extensively about the hazards of specific vaccination programmes (particularly the whooping cough vaccine), I was widely blamed by doctors and politicians for the fact that many parents were refusing to have their children vaccinated. My only weapon against the propaganda techniques employed by the government was the truth. At the time I was writing a syndicated newspaper column which appeared in a number of local newspapers. Time and time again doctors put pressure on local newspaper editors to encourage them to drop my column on the grounds that by printing the facts about the whooping cough vaccine (as far as I know, no one ever disputed the accuracy of the facts I printed) I was threatening the safety of the nation!


Evidence that vaccines may do more harm than good is supported by experiences with animals. Between 1968 and 1988 there were considerably more outbreaks of foot and mouth disease in countries where vaccination against foot and mouth disease was compulsory than in countries where there were no such regulations. Epidemics always started in countries where vaccination was compulsory. This experience clearly shows that the alleged advantage to the community of vaccinating individuals simply does not exist.

Similar observations were made about the hyena dog, which was in 1989 threatened with extinction. Scientists vaccinated individual animals to protect them against rabies but more than a dozen packs then died within a year ‚Äď of rabies. This happened even in areas where rabies had never been seen before. When researchers tried using a non-infectious form of the pathogen (to prevent the deaths of the remaining animals) all members of seven packs of dogs disappeared. And yet the rabies vaccine is now compulsory in many parts of the world. Is it not possible that it is the vaccine which is keeping this disease alive?

Horses are regularly and repeatedly vaccinated with a whole range of vaccines. Some vets now believe that these vaccinations damage the immune systems of the animals concerned (though most vets, like most doctors, are frightened to speak out and attack vaccines).

Similarly, what evidence is there to show that the many vaccines given to family pets are of value ‚Äď other than to the companies making the vaccines and the vets giving the jabs?

Those who eat meat should be aware that cattle (and other animals reared for slaughter) are regularly vaccinated. The meat that is taken from those animals may, therefore, contain vaccine residues in addition to hormones, antibiotics and other drugs.


I have for decades argued that some vaccines may be unnecessary and/or even potentially dangerous in some circumstances, and may sometimes be promoted too enthusiastically by both politicians and doctors. Tragically, many doctors seem to know very little about the vaccines they advocate. In my view, if a doctor wants to vaccinate you or a member of your family you should insist that he confirm in writing that the vaccine is both entirely safe and absolutely essential. You may notice his enthusiasm for the vaccine suddenly diminish.

The first vaccine which really attracted my attention was the whooping cough vaccine. For years now whooping cough has not been a major killer disease ‚Äď not, at least, in most westernised, developed countries and for many years I have believed ‚Äď and publicly argued ‚Äď that the number of children allegedly brain damaged by the vaccine has, during the last decade or two, probably exceeded the number allegedly killed by the disease itself.

Many readers who have tried to discuss vaccines with their doctors have complained that their physicians simply insist that the whooping cough vaccine is perfectly safe and won’t even discuss it with them. I firmly believe that all parents should be told the facts so that they can make up their own minds about the value of any vaccine. Deciding whether or not to have a child vaccinated is a big decision. It isn’t something to be done lightly. The wrong decision can easily lead to a lifetime of regrets. Sadly, however, one big problem is undoubtedly the fact that many doctors simply don’t know very much about the safety or effectiveness of vaccines. They know what the government tells them and they may know what the company which makes the vaccine tells them. But I don’t trust governments and I don’t think that drug companies are always the best source of unbiased information about effectiveness and safety.

In my view all parents should have the right to decide whether or not their child has any vaccine. They should not just be told by their doctor that they must accept his assurance that the vaccine is perfectly safe and completely essential.

‚ÄėMy doctor implied that I was just being stupid when I said I wasn‚Äôt sure that I wanted my child vaccinated,‚Äô complained one reader. ‚ÄėHis attitude was that it had nothing to do with me and that I should just allow him to do whatever he thought best.‚Äô

‚ÄėMy wife came home crying,‚Äô complained another reader. ‚ÄėShe had had the temerity to question her doctor about vaccination. He told her that if she refused to have our child vaccinated he would call in the social workers since in his view our refusal to allow vaccination made us unfit to be parents. What really upset me is that my wife hadn‚Äôt refused to have our child vaccinated. She just wanted to talk about it.‚Äô

This paternalistic attitude seems strong among doctors and other health workers, most of whom seem to prefer to answer any questions with abuse rather than facts.

I believe that all parents should make up their own minds about whether or not to have their children vaccinated. Before you allow your doctor to vaccine your child (or you) ask your doctor some questions. Essential questions to ask include:

How dangerous is the disease for which the vaccine is being given?
How effective is the vaccine?
How dangerous is the vaccine?
Which patients should not be given the vaccine?
And, finally, as I said earlier, I advise patients to ask doctors to give them written confirmation that they have personally investigated the risk-benefit ratio of the vaccine and that, having looked at all the evidence, they believe that the vaccine is safe and essential for that particular patient. How could any doctor object to signing such a confirmation?
I cannot give you specific advice about whether or not you should have your child vaccinated against whooping cough, measles or any other disease. It would be dangerous and irresponsible for me to try to offer you specific advice because we are all different and circumstances change from day to day.

My own personal view is that vaccines are unsafe and worthless. I will not allow myself to be vaccinated again. Readers of VCHL must, however, make their own judgements based on all the available evidence. I strongly recommend that anyone contemplating vaccination discuss the issue with their own medical adviser.

The bottom line is that infectious diseases are least likely to affect (and to ****) those who have healthy immune systems. I no longer believe that vaccines have any role to play in the protection of the community or the individual. Vaccines may be profitable but, in my view, they are neither safe nor effective.

I prefer to put my trust in building up my immune system. (See VCHL Vol 1 No 8 and VCHL Vol 2 No 10.)
Freds not dead Mar 2011
Everyone around me
      I guess I‚Äôm at the center
Is coughing, coughing in the warm sunny day
                        The blue bright happy day
They cough like they dig at life
They cough the toy-factory worker’s cough
The cough dressed in summer dresses
In high heels and red shoes and tuxedoes
Cough up wine cough up cheers and congratulation
Cough out their
‚Äúdon‚Äôt worry about it‚ÄĚ sickness
cough out pop songs, cough up boppin’ along
cough out vows and Hallmark poetry
cough deathbed knock-knock jokes
‚Äúit‚Äôs me, Death, coming for your blue-eyed boys‚ÄĚ
cough out laughter like phlegm
cough up black bile as a party trick
cough up recollection of stuffed animals
(you and I are in there)
gasp for breath, their faces filling up with blood
going from apple-red to royal purple
eyes dishing out tears
a pat on the back
and everything is okay
people are wrong
about the center holding.
Micheal Wolf Dec 2012
Cough cough cough cough
And now I get it
A subtle play upon words
A sarcastic delivery
Only those privy heard
I shall be giving four tomorrow
In under breath tribute
Just to lighten the day
Cough cough cough cough
To those who deserve
joe jones Mar 2015
Cough cough cough
the cigarette is passed around the group
cough cough cough
the cigarette makes its way to you
and your stuck wondering what to do
you can smoke and be cool or
not and be left out

so you smoke with no doubt
that you made the right choice
you are still a part of the group
cough cough cough
5am, I sit alone my mind feeling so bright
is it early morning or the middle of the night.
The wind still howls winters tune
and trees are dancing in the dale.
I yearn for sun and summers warmth
but all I get is cold and hail.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

The days start dark and keep me hidden
as if to say that it's forbidden,
to laugh and sing and have the fun
I get from walking in the sun.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

I long to see the flowers smile,
the shadows form on my sundial.
The smell of grass that's freshly mown,
the shoots from seeds so freshly sown.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

Smiling children everywhere
running around without a care.
Winter woollens stashed away
and let's forget those rainy days.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

Take away this winters cold
it only makes me feel old.
Bring the sun and bring the light
and take away this awful night.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

Early morning sun please shine,
and as I sit with glass of wine.
I'll try to not let my mind splinter
and forget all about the winter.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
and take away this cold disease.
Once again to see you glow
and throw your warmth through my window.
8th January 2015
Salmabanu Hatim Jan 2019
Cough! Cough!Cough!
Try this cough syrup,
In no time you will be up.
No infection, no inflammation, no allergen,
In a jiffy, everything gone.
My onion sugar cough syrup is better,
All you need is an onion and sugar,
And a jar.
Cut the onion into round slices
Round rings, not tiny pieces,
Place an onion ring in a jar,
Cover it with sugar,
Place a second slice on top,
Cover the same with sugar on top,
Till you are done.
Close the jar tight,
Leave it overnight.
The next day, your honey coloured cough syrup is ready,
Wish your recovery is speedy.
Tivonna Apr 2017
No prior warnings,
it has come to visit me!
Minimal luggage,
travelling by expressways,
and greeting all fervently.

I'm to be its host
while it explores all of me,
filling its wants,
leaving me helplessly spent,
cough, cough, hold belly, cough, cough.

Fevered in its lust,
I succumb to ravaging,
held by its power,
with no strength to overcome,
hiding for comfort‚ÄĒcough, cough!

Its visit a mess!
A trail behind it does leave,
my space disarrayed,
imprinting all with its touch,
sore belly held to clean‚ÄĒcough!

This rare visit brings
no joy and puts life-on-hold,
changing its disguise
in hopes of finding new hosts;
open door policy?  Cough!

NaPoWriMo-Day 8
A repetition of word or phrase
LifeBeauty13 Dec 2015
Being sick, isn't it lovely,
Sore, scratchy, throat,
Body feels like I'm stuck in a moat.
Boy I feel great more chicken soup please,
No... I want popsicle's, why am I hurting in my knees?
Please take care of me I say with doe eyes,
Who was the Knuckle Head who gave me this dripping surprise?
You? Husband? me you will meet your demise.
But before that rub my back and get a new revise.
Matalie Niller May 2012
Nudge a numb cockroach and he'll love you for life
just ***** little lemonheads
can't actually survive a nuclear explosion
but can cause catastrophic evolutionary queries
like "Why do the good die young?"
Can you believe
that long ago only the bad died elderly
and were witches with elixirs
potions and spells to make God blush and his **** turn to mush
so powerful
they made people go crazy with
judgement and micromanaging
but I'm the real witch
right-o I ride broomsticks and eat toads for snacks
my back is a lump of coal from the Devil's morning hookah
smoke billows from my ears
cockroaches my best friends
we cut off our heads and run into fridges
my pelvis is frigid except
for those **** roaches.
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
Her hair was long, brown, and wavy, like homemade brownies.
Her eyes were different shaped blues, lighter than sapphires.
Whenever she blinks, I look forward to seeing those sapphires again.
Her teeth are perfect imperfections, retainer and all.
Her bite is one of love but packs a punch.
Her nostrils flare when angry but remain miniscule.
Her mouth a light pink, like Starburst, my favorite by far.
Her smile brings me back from the darkness every. Single. Time.
Her tongue is exotic and playful, and I long for it.
I have never heard her whistle, but I know it like the back of my hand.
Her laugh is intoxicating and contagious; I find myself acting the fool just to hear it.
Then she coughed and I patted her baby back.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, we lie still, thus foreshadowing what will come.
Our arguments are stupid, but they happen nonetheless.
Her neck is thin and ripe for the taking.
Her *******, much like Goldilocks: not too big, not too small, but just right.
Her spaghetti arms flail about when I act the fool, and then that precious laugh again.
Her elbows are full of cream, and you will never find them itchy like mine.
Her wrists are disproportionately large for her size, which makes her all the more unique.
Her handshakes are delicate. Ladylike.
Her long and skinny fingers were weird to me once, but they have contracted and fit perfectly between mine.
Her palms tell the future, and she has great things in store for her.
Her thumbs have no story to tell, positive or negative.
Her shadow is smaller than hers, but no shadow can overcome her.
Her cats keep her company, but luckily we found each other.
Her heart is as big as her brain, and thankfully they mutually agree on most occasions.
Her ******* are stumpy and droopy; this is no Snow White fairytale.
Her shoulder blades are tense but minute.
Her belly button (an innie, not an outie, not an Audi) never collects ****.
Her private parts pulse like her heart above with passion.
Her backside is small and smooth. She has no hourglass figure, yet she does, too.
She has no stretchmarks in my mind, but I have enough for the both of us, anyways.
Her whole system is that of a heavyweight fighter; she’s a little spitfire.
Her legs are perfect and skinny; she has ‚Äúthe gap‚ÄĚ, not that it matters.
Her knees buckle and wobble in my presence. I should know: mine do when she is near, too.
Her ligaments reinforce her, much like her willpower.
She has the calves of a dancer, but she has not trained in years.
The ***** of her feet are poised, ready to spring into action to tap tap tap away.
Her toes curl against mine, in an attempt to hold hands.
I have never seen her footprints, and I have no intention of ever seeing them. Ever.
Her promises elate me since I know she is good for her word.
Her one-liners are worse than mine, and I laugh all the harder for it.
Her grin, or rather her smirk, warms my heart like a furnace in the winter.
The last time we spoke, it was mumbled in bed, a hushed goodbye for that awful biology class.

She is my rock, ever leaning forwards
with nothing but my Dunder-Mifflin shirt to keep her warm for the foreseeable future.

I told her, Te amo,
well before she was ready to say that inane phrase back in English.
Inane since words do not do it justice.

But then she broke my heart.

My hair was tearing at the roots, unable to stay attached.
My eyes were set ablaze with passion anger, if it weren’t for my sorrow to drown it out.
Whenever I blink, I see a snapshot of what it was, what it cannot be, what it will never be again.
My teeth were her favorite: buck-toothed and all, but that was when I smiled. They hide from you.
My bite isn’t nearly as big as my bark, but do not tempt me.
My nostrils have hair creeping out; it’s hard to keep clean after something like that.
My mouth is louder than all my thoughts combined, but I still can’t find the right words to say.
And my smile would be what brought her back from the darkness every. Single. Time.
My tongue, like my private parts, is limp and dead; phallicly flaccid, there is no passion here.
I have never whistled, but why should I learn now? I keep quiet to quell the roar.
My laugh is contagious, or so they tell me. It’s high pitched. Effeminate.
I cough. I get stares. My cough makes you uncomfortable. Your infidelity makes me uncomfortable.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, I lie still, and for a minute, just a minute, I die. I’m at peace.
Our arguments were stupid, but now there’s nothing left to talk about.
My neck is fat and swollen. **** my thyroid. This vitamin D deficiency is taking its toll.
My ******* are fat, but a momma’s boy would be: too much in the trunk, not enough under the hood.
My arms are as big as her thighs. We measured. Maybe it gave her peace knowing she was small.
She tells me I have a black woman’s ***, and elbows, to boot. Not enough cream. Not enough carrots.
My wrists are the cankles of my life.
My handshake is firm, but is it firm enough?
My short and stubby fingers claw upwards, desperate for air. Her hands are nowhere to be seen.
My palms have no future, and I worry I’ll follow suit.
My thumbs tell all the best stories when joysticks are underneath them.
My shadow eclipses me. It’s not how you feel, it’s how you function.
I’ve never owned a pet. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel possessive.
My heart was full of love, but the love spilled out when you broke it on Friday, December 6th ‚Äď Saturday, December 7th, 2013, 5:00 AM.
My ******* are tiny and ***** from the cold. I feel the cold indoors, too.
My shoulder blades are dull and sagging with the weight of my world on my shoulders.
My belly button (an innie, not an outie, not an Audi) collects all of the ****.
My private parts, like my tongue, are limp and dead; phallicly flaccid, there is no passion here.
My backside is large and rough. Are you getting the point?
I have all of the stretchmarks, for I am her antithesis.
My whole system is that of down and out former has been; I’m all out of gas.
My legs are thick and fat; I suffer friction with my tree tunks.
My knees buckle and wobble in her presence; I’m weak around her because I’m weak.
My ligaments are partially torn, which perfectly exemplifies me: hanging by a thread.
I have the calves of a soccer player out of shape. Hashtag truth.
The ***** of my feet sting -- unable to carry two hundred plus pounds of failure.
I have finally seen footprints; I’m just glad they were mine.
Her promises mean nothing. My trust is shattered. My faith withdrawn from this or any other world.
My one-liners make everyone laugh but me; I know I mask the pain. Do they?
My grin was effectively wiped off my face when you told me.
The last time we spoke, it was on good terms. But how good are those terms with this double size?

I was comfortable, lazy, ever dependent on her
with everything in my life, especially that which she didn’t need to deal with.

I told her, You deserve to be dumped.
She nodded slowly, crying, and whispered back, I know. My hate described by inane words.
Inane since words do not do it justice.

Then, it hit me.

Our hair is fairly short together, not unlike our time apart since the incident.
Our eyes well up, and the only drowning I hope we get is of love.
Whenever we blink, I want to make sure that I am in front of you, and you in front of me.
Our teeth, much like our personalities, are disparate, and that’s okay.
Our bite is one of teamwork: you can’t bite with one row of teeth.
Our nostrils could use some work. Hair and flare rhyme, but neither fits in our time.
Our mouths chat chat chatter away. We have nothing to talk about. We have so much to talk about.
Our smiles are the reason why people find us cute, and they’re the reason why they were shocked. Let’s give them another reason.
Our tongues dance across language barriers. Mi espa√Īol no puede vivir sin tu ingles.
We have never whistled. Finally! Some common ground (opposites attract).
We’ve been told that our laughs are nearly identical, like a choir singing in different pitches. Sing.
We cough together, because we know we can take care of each other.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, we take a deep breath, hold on tight, and move forward.
Our arguments ARE stupid. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Our necks are like the Happy Meal and the Super Size Me. I love to see us smile.
Our ******* are life; I don’t know what mine do, but I know yours will come in handy someday.
Our arms have their ‚Äúthings‚ÄĚ; you have that birthmark, and I have unseemly hair growing everywhere.
Our elbows could be a rom-com: one smooth, one rough, but they can’t get enough.
Our wrists make sure our hands can keep us afloat.
Our handshakes are delicate but firm.
Our fingers latch onto each other, like a bear trap.
Our palms SMACK together when you high five me. Goofball.
Our thumbs are bound to get sore if we keep caressing our hands while holding onto each other. Raw.
Our shadows slink away when they see us shine so bright.
I hope to God that Rosie the pug is as derpy as your heart can take.
Our hearts have duct-tape all over them…it’s a work in progress, but bones get stronger when broken.
Our ******* are disproportionate. There, I said it.
Our shoulder blades dance across each other when we lie back to back.
Our belly buttons (innies, not outies, not Audis) keep us close to our moms; you’ll agree someday.
Our private parts tingle as we move in motion and rhythm. It’s been too long, mi amor.
Our backsides are like Venn diagrams: yours could easily fit in mine.
I have all the stretchmarks, but I hope you get them after birth someday. We share everything else.
Our systems are the underdog rising up, straight to the top; it took its time, and its chances.
Your legs could fit in one of my own. Please refer to the stretchmarks line.
Our knees buckle and wobble. Please refer to the private parts line.
Our ligaments have taken a beating, but somehow, there’s a strand holding us together.
We have calves of different passions, but we both know what the sweet sting of success feels like.
The ***** of our feet touch down as we’re back to reality. The honeymoon stage is over. Cloud 9.
Unfortunately, we’ve seen footprints, but I think they’re circling back around to meet up again.
This promise should be the last until the most important one comes up. This is it.
Our one-liners keep us close to our dorky sides. Honestly, something is probably wrong with us.
Our grins (or smirks) show that we can’t really stay mad at each other for TOO long.
The last time we spoke, it was yesterday night (or was it earlier today?), but I’m sure you woke up.

We ******* up. Admittedly you more than me,
but I digress: one mistake is not enough to throw away two years of work.

I forgave you.
You were elated. Let’s try this once more, with feeling!
I’ll inanely tell her again, *Te amo.
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
love¬†¬† apple¬†¬† like¬†¬† time¬†¬† know¬†¬† feel¬†¬† heart¬†¬† bed¬†¬† little¬†¬† life¬†¬† home¬†¬† red¬†¬† boy¬†¬† georgie¬†¬† sleep¬†¬† away¬†¬† left¬†¬† dear¬†¬† ruth¬†¬† gone¬†¬† just¬†¬† right¬†¬† long¬†¬† mind¬†¬† hope¬†¬† hair¬†¬† mi¬†¬† parts¬†¬† say¬†¬† fear¬†¬† met¬†¬† laugh¬†¬† makes¬†¬† sailing¬†¬† make¬†¬† tell¬†¬† hands¬†¬† day¬†¬† poem¬†¬† different¬†¬† small¬†¬† words¬†¬† private¬†¬† wish¬†¬† legs¬†¬† child¬†¬† man¬†¬† free¬†¬† te¬†¬† welcome¬†¬† easy¬†¬† apples¬†¬† meteorite¬†¬† smile¬†¬† flower¬†¬† want¬†¬† way¬†¬† arms¬†¬† look¬†¬† eyes¬†¬† better¬†¬† war¬†¬† lie¬†¬† good¬†¬† thing¬†¬† truly¬†¬† teeth¬†¬† passion¬†¬† thought¬†¬† work¬†¬† seen¬†¬† letters¬†¬† friend¬†¬† talk¬†¬† brought¬†¬† future¬†¬† fingers¬†¬† knew¬†¬† imagination¬†¬† sure¬†¬† told¬†¬† space¬†¬† cold¬†¬†la¬†¬† mask¬†¬† black¬†¬† big¬†¬† bite¬†¬† age¬†¬† size¬†¬† shadow¬†¬† petals¬†¬† inane¬†¬† stretchmarks¬†¬† medic¬†¬† we've¬†¬† wouldn't¬†¬† hear¬†¬† tap¬†¬† really¬†¬† best¬†¬† goes¬†¬† face¬†¬† gray¬†¬† maybe¬†¬† things¬†¬† dream¬†¬† tongue¬†¬† forever¬†¬† hate¬†¬† set¬†¬† room¬†¬† death¬†¬† need¬†¬† truth¬†¬† comes¬†¬† night¬†¬† lost¬†¬† calves¬†¬† pain¬†¬† end¬†¬† years¬†¬† brings¬†¬† touch¬†¬† feet¬†¬† blades¬†¬† memories¬†¬† new¬†¬† core¬†¬† times¬†¬† dead¬†¬† favorite¬†¬† finally¬†¬† minute¬†¬† brain¬†¬† hearts¬†¬† getting¬†¬† belly¬†¬† far¬†¬† rain¬†¬† blue¬†¬† knees¬†¬† filled¬†¬† stupid¬†¬† woke¬†¬† cream¬†¬† fit¬†¬† young¬†¬† brown¬†¬† se¬†¬† fat¬†¬† tan¬†¬† cough¬†¬† spoke¬†¬† says¬†¬† unlike¬†¬† footprints¬†¬† ******¬†¬† rough¬†¬† forward¬†¬† buckle¬†¬† blues¬†¬† task¬†¬† shoulder¬†¬† grace¬†¬† *******¬†¬† reason¬†¬† nostrils¬†¬† firm¬†¬† juice¬†¬† palms¬†¬† someday¬†¬† mis¬†¬† thumbs¬†¬† screams¬†¬† arguments¬†¬† wobble¬†¬† *****¬†¬† elbows¬†¬† *******¬†¬† wrists¬†¬† headaches¬†¬† amo¬†¬† pesky¬†¬† ligaments¬†¬† one-liners¬†¬† thoughts¬†¬† later¬†¬† ash¬†¬† clouds¬†¬† lips¬†¬† dreams¬†¬† breath¬†¬† mouth¬†¬† hold¬†¬† sense¬†¬† taking¬†¬† world¬†¬† bit¬†¬† speak¬†¬† dance¬†¬† gave¬†¬† shall¬†¬† ready¬†¬† skin¬†¬† air¬†¬† single¬†¬† breathe¬†¬† button¬†¬† peace¬†¬† choices¬†¬† hill¬†¬† wrong¬†¬† weak¬†¬† close¬†¬† use¬†¬† quite¬†¬† sky¬†¬† phrase¬†¬† darkness¬†¬† justice¬†¬† sound¬†¬† unable¬†¬† brave¬†¬† holding¬†¬† deep¬†¬† grabbed¬†¬† ****¬†¬† try¬†¬† building¬†¬† paper¬†¬† lunch¬†¬† think¬†¬† kind¬†¬† stay¬†¬† days¬†¬† smooth¬†¬† perfect¬†¬† learned¬†¬† care¬†¬† fair¬†¬† hard¬†¬† grant¬†¬† sweet¬†¬† high¬†¬† fruit¬†¬† short¬†¬† terms¬†¬† kept¬†¬† relationship¬†¬† underneath¬†¬† presence¬†¬† water¬†¬† looking¬†¬† fool¬†¬† sorrow¬†¬† tree¬†¬† second¬†¬† delicate¬†¬† nearly¬†¬† happy¬†¬† line¬†¬† tall¬†¬† tried¬†¬† sad¬†¬† satisfied¬†¬† point¬†¬† feels¬†¬† falling¬†¬† purpose¬†¬† game¬†¬† lazy¬†¬† que¬†¬† amor¬†¬† agree¬†¬† known¬†¬† naught¬†¬† loss¬†¬† broke¬†¬† failed¬†¬† games¬†¬† limp¬†¬† grin¬†¬† final¬†¬† spring¬†¬† act¬†¬† south¬†¬† flare¬†¬† race¬†¬† sake¬†¬† car¬†¬† large¬†¬† wishes¬†¬† neck¬†¬† blink¬†¬† knife¬†¬† seeing¬†¬† idea¬†¬† steve¬†¬† company¬†¬† greens¬†¬† spread¬†¬† ship¬†¬† lo¬†¬† sally¬†¬† sum¬†¬† drowned¬†¬† december¬†¬† weep¬†¬† sting¬†¬† smiles¬†¬† lessons¬†¬† promises¬†¬† successful¬†¬† whistled¬†¬† drowns¬†¬† perfectly¬†¬† pleasing¬†¬† failure¬†¬† brothers¬†¬† cliche¬†¬† harder¬†¬† thirteen¬†¬† ale¬†¬† signs¬†¬† limit¬†¬† serenity¬†¬† mundane¬†¬† origin¬†¬† chat¬†¬† sapphires¬†¬† handshakes¬†¬† skinny¬†¬† contagious¬†¬† succeeding¬†¬† super¬†¬† refer¬†¬† maturity¬†¬† destination¬†¬† civil¬†¬† uncomfortable¬†¬† collects¬†¬† clack¬†¬† liz¬†¬† beatles¬†¬† vez¬†¬† attract¬†¬† accomplishment¬†¬† backside¬†¬† throes¬†¬† flaccid¬†¬† audi¬†¬† oneself¬†¬† beastie¬†¬† applesauce¬†¬† naivete¬†¬† bungalow¬†¬† outie¬†¬† there's¬†¬† couldn't¬†¬† isn't¬†¬† they're¬†¬† let's¬†¬† 'n¬†¬† primos¬†¬† primas¬†¬† cantuta¬†¬† fronton¬†¬† redd's¬†¬† mott's¬†¬† innie¬†¬† phallicly¬†¬† tiny¬†¬† fight¬†¬† yo¬†¬† para¬†¬† walk¬†¬† ****¬†¬† hello¬†¬† light¬†¬† flash¬†¬† silent¬†¬† stone¬†¬† does¬†¬† forth¬†¬† conversation¬†¬† polite¬†¬† green¬†¬† minutes¬†¬† ****¬†¬† clear¬†¬† flesh¬†¬† couple¬†¬† wake¬†¬† anger¬†¬† throw¬†¬† torn¬†¬† tangle¬†¬† play¬†¬† shattered¬†¬† soldier¬†¬† land¬†¬† victim¬†¬† carry¬†¬† battlefield¬†¬† came¬†¬† darkest¬†¬† blood¬†¬† battle¬†¬† warm¬†¬† shine¬†¬† reminds¬†¬† lose¬†¬† eye¬†¬† dismay¬†¬† hide¬†¬† impossible¬†¬† fast¬†¬† earth¬†¬† grab¬†¬† stand¬†¬† die¬†¬† worse¬†¬† year¬†¬† people¬†¬† white¬†¬† story¬†¬† hit¬†¬† god¬†¬† anxiety¬†¬† realize¬†¬† fall¬†¬† asleep¬†¬† dark¬†¬† course¬†¬† apart¬†¬† morning¬†¬† remain¬†¬† beauty¬†¬† ****¬†¬† slowly¬†¬† start¬†¬† happen¬†¬† remember¬†¬† pray¬†¬† past¬†¬† easily¬†¬† straight¬†¬† mean¬†¬† hand¬†¬† driving¬†¬† instant¬†¬† thunder¬†¬† messages¬†¬† friends¬†¬† old¬†¬† coming¬†¬† pen¬†¬† seeds¬†¬† shape¬†¬† wasted¬†¬† word¬†¬† living¬†¬† tore¬†¬† shadows¬†¬† knowing¬†¬† bad¬†¬† class¬†¬† joy¬†¬† trust¬†¬† leaves¬†¬† path¬†¬† sun¬†¬† ways¬†¬† leave¬†¬† meet¬†¬† broken¬†¬† head¬†¬† weight¬†¬† means¬†¬† mountain¬†¬† boys¬†¬† true¬†¬† stars¬†¬† learn¬†¬† sliced¬†¬† naive¬†¬† decided¬†¬† player¬†¬† actually¬†¬† reality¬†¬† ease¬†¬† music¬†¬† hood¬†¬† desperate¬†¬† promise¬†¬† wishing¬†¬† begin¬†¬† miss¬†¬† caressing¬†¬† moan¬†¬† thighs¬†¬† heard¬†¬† pretty¬†¬† emotion¬†¬† figure¬†¬† floor¬†¬† exotic¬†¬† sand¬†¬† hits¬†¬† angel¬†¬† awake¬†¬† dreaming¬†¬† probably¬†¬† wins¬†¬† seek¬†¬† stretch¬†¬† loved¬†¬† tears¬†¬† heartbreak¬†¬† punk¬†¬† walking¬†¬† piece¬†¬† furniture¬†¬† unreachable¬†¬† roots¬†¬† near¬†¬† deserve¬†¬† simple¬†¬† cats¬†¬† tail¬†¬† precious¬†¬† lovers¬†¬† loves¬†¬† mother¬†¬† tongues¬†¬† clueless¬†¬† share¬†¬† taken¬†¬† yesterday¬†¬† faith¬†¬† freedom¬†¬† ripe¬†¬† cursed¬†¬† running¬†¬† yes¬†¬† unknown¬†¬† feeling¬†¬† going¬†¬† stairs¬†¬† opposite¬†¬† wonder¬†¬† afloat¬†¬† packed¬†¬† bones¬†¬† acting¬†¬† playing¬†¬† wind¬†¬† passions¬†¬† dismissed¬†¬† hourglass¬†¬† reached¬†¬† stares¬†¬† mouths¬†¬† singing¬†¬† shaped¬†¬† trapped¬†¬† toll¬†¬† dies¬†¬† rock¬†¬† trunk¬†¬† discovered¬†¬† especially¬†¬† dull¬†¬† choice¬†¬† awful¬†¬† patient¬†¬† great¬†¬† indoors¬†¬† attached¬†¬† thread¬†¬† shoulders¬†¬† warms¬†¬† bright¬†¬† bring¬†¬† ending¬†¬† drowning¬†¬† sadness¬†¬† winter¬†¬† baby¬†¬† looked¬†¬† cute¬†¬† beating¬†¬† tight¬†¬† kids¬†¬† crying¬†¬† ran¬†¬† intoxicating¬†¬† growing¬†¬† saying¬†¬† opposites¬†¬† melancholy¬†¬† gives¬†¬† follow¬†¬† clearly¬†¬† dove¬†¬† tu¬†¬† soon¬†¬† entwined¬†¬† juicy¬†¬† drown¬†¬† laid¬†¬† took¬†¬† moved¬†¬† bear¬†¬† anyways¬†¬† shirt¬†¬† negative¬†¬† clean¬†¬† guide¬†¬† sore¬†¬† location¬†¬† faux¬†¬† nodded¬†¬† glance¬†¬† caught¬†¬† chances¬†¬† week¬†¬† started¬†¬† today¬†¬† obvious¬†¬† sweat¬†¬† ***¬†¬† quiet¬†¬† laughed¬†¬† worry¬†¬† round¬†¬† ladies¬†¬† mama¬†¬† smack¬†¬† goodbye¬†¬† rising¬†¬† sides¬†¬† wished¬†¬† beds¬†¬† infinite¬†¬† positive¬†¬† scared¬†¬† admittedly¬†¬† mistakes¬†¬† meal¬†¬† common¬†¬† rises¬†¬† toes¬†¬† bullets¬†¬† bound¬†¬† suited¬†¬† birth¬†¬† clothes¬†¬† belt¬†¬† pounds¬†¬† ground¬†¬† barren¬†¬† sitting¬†¬† table¬†¬† woe¬†¬† swimming¬†¬† stick¬†¬† deepest¬†¬† motion¬†¬† cleared¬†¬† sing¬†¬† angry¬†¬† action¬†¬† sons¬†¬† smiled¬†¬† bedroom¬†¬† wall¬†¬† wiped¬†¬† grins¬†¬† mad¬†¬† july¬†¬† store¬†¬† road¬†¬† snow¬†¬† pulse¬†¬† important¬†¬† adventure¬†¬† exactly¬†¬† foundation¬†¬† trap¬†¬† colors¬†¬† floors¬†¬† neon¬†¬† outside¬†¬† language¬†¬† summer¬†¬† north¬†¬† fifty¬†¬† served¬†¬† wavy¬†¬† kick¬†¬† raw¬†¬† thirty¬†¬† row¬†¬† changed¬†¬† hanging¬†¬† lied¬†¬† drenched¬†¬† companion¬†¬† begins¬†¬† strength¬†¬† flies¬†¬† direction¬†¬† okay¬†¬† stories¬†¬† inky¬†¬† stubborn¬†¬† cloud¬†¬† track¬†¬† described¬†¬† lover¬†¬† replaced¬†¬† pit¬†¬† packs¬†¬† circling¬†¬† honest¬†¬† wage¬†¬† dinner¬†¬† slave¬†¬† paradox¬†¬† faking¬†¬† screamed¬†¬† lightning¬†¬† exterior¬†¬† stopping¬†¬† complete¬†¬† deal¬†¬† rifle¬†¬† dependent¬†¬† gifts¬†¬† dancer¬†¬† vision¬†¬† students¬†¬† horror¬†¬† punch¬†¬† anymore¬†¬† pack¬†¬† sagging¬†¬† folk¬†¬† honestly¬†¬† tearing¬†¬† prepared¬†¬† creatures¬†¬† listening¬†¬† rhythm¬†¬† unique¬†¬† roar¬†¬† card¬†¬† glass¬†¬† stage¬†¬† desert¬†¬† offered¬†¬† fought¬†¬† suffer¬†¬† awoke¬†¬† master¬†¬† eating¬†¬† furnace¬†¬† glad¬†¬† choir¬†¬† graceful¬†¬† *****¬†¬† treasure¬†¬† ships¬†¬† bark¬†¬† musical¬†¬† strand¬†¬† bee¬†¬† finished¬†¬† pink¬†¬† slink¬†¬† stronger¬†¬† disclose¬†¬† gravity¬†¬† schedule¬†¬† march¬†¬† medicine¬†¬† hates¬†¬† weird¬†¬† brush¬†¬† laughs¬†¬† helped¬†¬† june¬†¬† pitched¬†¬† dumped¬†¬† tense¬†¬† sin¬†¬† withdrawn¬†¬† stem¬†¬† proved¬†¬† whispered¬†¬† anew¬†¬† amazing¬†¬† louder¬†¬† english¬†¬† knocked¬†¬† chilly¬†¬† boots¬†¬† false¬†¬† mistake¬†¬† toffee¬†¬† whistle¬†¬† smirk¬†¬† gas¬†¬† poised¬†¬† buttons¬†¬† bet¬†¬† necks¬†¬† elate¬†¬†vi¬†¬† bleak¬†¬† decades¬†¬† intention¬†¬† plane¬†¬† swollen¬†¬† unseemly¬†¬† en¬†¬† sir¬†¬† creeping¬†¬† tells¬†¬† success¬†¬† doth¬†¬† ***¬†¬† balance¬†¬† ant¬†¬† fourth¬†¬† fits¬†¬† matters¬†¬† pan¬†¬† shook¬†¬† tingle¬†¬† dusty¬†¬† reaching¬†¬† thanked¬†¬† careers¬†¬† pile¬†¬† tempt¬†¬† ix¬†¬† xi¬†¬† xii¬†¬† xiii¬†¬† moms¬†¬† hushed¬†¬† spears¬†¬† twinkling¬†¬† works¬†¬† fairytale¬†¬† double¬†¬† fighter¬†¬† shocked¬†¬† barriers¬†¬† boot¬†¬† thanks¬†¬† solitary¬†¬† lesson¬†¬† owned¬†¬† systems¬†¬† groan¬†¬† weekend¬†¬† tomatoes¬†¬† cider¬†¬† calculating¬†¬† drawer¬†¬† partially¬†¬† handy¬†¬† stumpy¬†¬† album¬†¬† appealing¬†¬† pet¬†¬† unfortunately¬†¬† jokingly¬†¬† hotel¬†¬† teacher¬†¬† tag¬†¬† eighteen¬†¬† leg¬†¬† dash¬†¬† peep¬†¬† betwixt¬†¬† swear¬†¬† attempt¬†¬† inescapable¬†¬† venues¬†¬† worker¬†¬† suit¬†¬† coughed¬†¬† remembers¬†¬† rhyme¬†¬† listed¬†¬† chatter¬†¬† stuff¬†¬† assist¬†¬† blocks¬†¬† sheen¬†¬† stanzas¬†¬† jobs¬†¬† cleaned¬†¬† handshake¬†¬† natural¬†¬† moi¬†¬† fantasy¬†¬† cheers¬†¬† smaller¬†¬† curl¬†¬† nay¬†¬† leaning¬†¬† frequent¬†¬† eggs¬†¬† cuando¬†¬† el¬†¬† desayuno¬†¬† tus¬†¬† beige¬†¬† imperfections¬†¬† difficult¬†¬† darlings¬†¬† overcome¬†¬† oranges¬†¬† keys¬†¬† newfound¬†¬† fairly¬†¬† occasions¬†¬† stats¬†¬† ponder¬†¬† pools¬†¬† ablaze¬†¬† rushes¬†¬† fret¬†¬† quell¬†¬† breads¬†¬† progress¬†¬† comfortable¬†¬† settling¬†¬† desks¬†¬† tile¬†¬† trails¬†¬† rainy¬†¬† homemade¬†¬† stunned¬†¬† cemetery¬†¬† plus¬†¬† ideas¬†¬† avocados¬†¬† bananas¬†¬† apply¬†¬† latch¬†¬† rocky¬†¬† digress¬†¬† experiences¬†¬† vacation¬†¬† sanctuary¬†¬† earlier¬†¬† rocket¬†¬† precise¬†¬† various¬†¬† author¬†¬† pie¬†¬† explosions¬†¬† *******¬†¬† lighter¬†¬† matched¬†¬† plunged¬†¬† isaac¬†¬† jefferson¬†¬† abe¬†¬† measured¬†¬† saturday¬†¬† claw¬†¬† welcoming¬†¬† gear¬†¬† trained¬†¬† suffocation¬†¬† leapt¬†¬† gap¬†¬† lee¬†¬† disturbed¬†¬† es¬†¬† thrill¬†¬† alarming¬†¬† grill¬†¬† frankly¬†¬† importantly¬†¬† una¬†¬† fray¬†¬† candied¬†¬† amalgamation¬†¬† nasty¬†¬† american¬†¬† optimism¬†¬† guns¬†¬† craters¬†¬† contracted¬†¬† rampant¬†¬† unattainable¬†¬† spilled¬†¬† courts¬†¬† carrots¬†¬† shuffled¬†¬† combined¬†¬† blonde¬†¬† forgave¬†¬† artillery¬†¬† sandwich¬†¬† comfier¬†¬† limitation¬†¬† personalities¬†¬† friday¬†¬† strongly¬†¬† crude¬†¬† banana¬†¬† tennis¬†¬† limits¬†¬† quaking¬†¬† recesses¬†¬† loot¬†¬† andromeda¬†¬† shells¬†¬† playful¬†¬† luckily¬†¬† area¬†¬† upwards¬†¬† flail¬†¬† largest¬†¬† sappy¬†¬† freckles¬†¬† biology¬†¬† fruition¬†¬† cases¬†¬† overtook¬†¬† pinks¬†¬† instruments¬†¬† brownies¬†¬† birthmark¬†¬† reinforce¬†¬† laptop¬†¬† pirates¬†¬† blinks¬†¬† frontier¬†¬† forwards¬†¬† resonate¬†¬† capacity¬†¬† mumbled¬†¬† marched¬†¬† scraping¬†¬† prompts¬†¬† multiply¬†¬† haiku¬†¬† football¬†¬† como¬†¬† function¬†¬† unfeeling¬†¬† eighty¬†¬† backsides¬†¬† prompt¬†¬† raced¬†¬† blare¬†¬† likewise¬†¬† pro¬†¬† chrome¬†¬† gran¬†¬† pears¬†¬† puede¬†¬† corazon¬†¬† elated¬†¬† indecisive¬†¬† basketball¬†¬† burgundy¬†¬† synonyms¬†¬† braced¬†¬† effeminate¬†¬† mutually¬†¬† duties¬†¬† companies¬†¬† honeymoon¬†¬† flailing¬†¬† patted¬†¬† mayo¬†¬† headon¬†¬† pero¬†¬† misma¬†¬† marveled¬†¬† aforementioned¬†¬† abhors¬†¬† forefront¬†¬† hesitating¬†¬† identical¬†¬† creepy¬†¬† possessive¬†¬† screeched¬†¬† gotcha¬†¬† infidelity¬†¬† friction¬†¬† barrage¬†¬† nonetheless¬†¬† disparate¬†¬† itchy¬†¬† apex¬†¬† gettysburg¬†¬† lunchtime¬†¬† pickup¬†¬† muchas¬†¬† then¬†¬† and¬†¬† trading¬†¬† distinguishable¬†¬† pitches¬†¬† bunk¬†¬† ven¬†¬† ladylike¬†¬† encompasses¬†¬† diagrams¬†¬† underlying¬†¬† spaghetti¬†¬† soccer¬†¬† trashcan¬†¬† papa¬†¬† disarming¬†¬† finalmente¬†¬† clashed¬†¬† rosie¬†¬† smirks¬†¬† snapshot¬†¬† pug¬†¬† songbird¬†¬† spitfire¬†¬† yanks¬†¬† thankfully¬†¬† mesa¬†¬† flexing¬†¬† virginia¬†¬† effectively¬†¬† variations¬†¬† eclipses¬†¬† tambien¬†¬† outrun¬†¬† incident¬†¬† vitamin¬†¬† willpower¬†¬† underdog¬†¬† hardboiled¬†¬† miniscule¬†¬† checkerboard¬†¬† entrust¬†¬† siento¬†¬† heavyweight¬†¬† davis¬†¬† thyroid¬†¬† foreshadowing¬†¬† frances¬†¬† heresy¬†¬† starburst¬†¬† deficiency¬†¬† sawing¬†¬† peruvian¬†¬† leche¬†¬† antithesis¬†¬† villanelle¬†¬† alliteration¬†¬† hora¬†¬† vivir¬†¬† clacking¬†¬† droopy¬†¬† whizzed¬†¬† britney¬†¬† futbol¬†¬† parameters¬†¬† disney¬†¬† mangos¬†¬† disproportionate¬†¬† orbiting¬†¬† tanka¬†¬† stubby¬†¬† intro¬†¬† listo¬†¬† goldilocks¬†¬† teamwork¬†¬† pbj¬†¬† exemplifies¬†¬† rey¬†¬† retainer¬†¬† tenia¬†¬† triples¬†¬† espanol¬†¬† estuvo¬†¬† castillo¬†¬† ferrying¬†¬† suficiente¬†¬† racecar¬†¬† dorky¬†¬† garganta¬†¬† veo¬†¬† julio¬†¬† peripherals¬†¬† labios¬†¬† rojos¬†¬† foreseeable¬†¬† frito¬†¬† groggily¬†¬† venn¬†¬† macbook¬†¬† inanely¬†¬† hubo¬†¬† goofball¬†¬† you've¬†¬† she's¬†¬† weren't¬†¬† wasn't¬†¬† we're¬†¬† others'¬†¬† you'll¬†¬† should've¬†¬† haven't¬†¬† what's¬†¬† you'd¬†¬† they'd¬†¬† man's¬†¬† boys'¬†¬† god's¬†¬† woman's¬†¬† fruit's¬†¬† orion's¬†¬† newton's¬†¬† lincoln's¬†¬† adam's¬†¬† momma's¬†¬† ******¬†¬† jackson's¬†¬† audis¬†¬† dulces¬†¬† disproportionately¬†¬† charon's¬†¬† deseos¬†¬† avocadoes¬†¬† hailey¬†¬† eran¬†¬† beatles'¬†¬† ingles¬†¬† he¬†¬† she¬†¬† it¬†¬† rackets¬†¬† --¬†¬† hashtag¬†¬† sixty-three¬†¬† duct-tape¬†¬† joysticks¬†¬† sherman's¬†¬† 15¬†¬† 6th¬†¬† 32¬†¬† 500¬†¬† 7th¬†¬† 2013¬†¬† extra√Īo¬†¬† barenaked¬†¬† tamales¬†¬† 6-year-old¬†¬† tierras¬†¬† derpy¬†¬† ewell¬†¬† rom-com¬†¬† themit's¬†¬† adan¬†¬† mudpits¬†¬† puddlepits¬†¬† war--hell¬†¬† culp's¬†¬† shitpits¬†¬† completaron¬†¬† chocolatada¬†¬† levantanse¬†¬† duraznos¬†¬† n'sync¬†¬† huevo¬†¬† cholitos¬†¬† levantaron¬†¬† manzanas¬†¬† endurece¬†¬† wozniak's¬†¬† dispara¬†¬† nuez¬†¬† open-endedness¬†¬† innies¬†¬† cankles¬†¬† dunder-mifflin¬†¬† tunks¬†¬† buck-toothed¬†¬† outies¬†¬† grief-blown¬†¬† a-gawking
I uploaded all of my past work onto the site already, so everything from here on out will be new and original. This is sort of an experimental idea of mine: take all the words hellopoetry has tracked for me, put it down as if it were a poem, and see how it flows. It actually kind of works sometimes, but I'm not sure. I'm sure it's mostly terrible, but I wanted to try it. Let me know what you think in the comments below!
Madds Mar 2012
When the smoke engulfs you,
smothers your lungs
cough cough splutter
and your head spins
in the indulge of pleassure
cough cough splutter
Swarmed by the rush of people
in Sydney minding their own business
walking these twisting streets
cough cough splutter
it's at that point that you realise
this is where you're supposed to be
who you're supposed to be
and what you're meant to do.
Kelly Lutz Aug 2010
If I had better hand writing, baby, I'd write to you every day.
It doesn't help that I forgot what half the alphabet looks like in cursive, or I'd try that instead.
And my type writer is broken...
I knocked on your door about a week ago.
But when I heard your footsteps, I ran away...
I'm sorry.
I'm all out of excuses.
Maybe I should call...
Lenore Lux Nov 2014
My stool is black again, I've been smoking
She said, "I thought that you quit"
I said, "I never meant-" cough "I never meant"
She said, "You said you could anytime, anytime"
But what's the worth of words spoken,
when you never meant, you never meant

To give the impression
you'd follow through
Only to sate the voice of reason in a poisonous
miasma of destructive and ambivalent
tendencies held too long and too deeply pressed

Uh oh
Cough, cough, cough, cough

. . .Cool.
Mitchell Duran Nov 2013
It was 98'.
No, it was 99'.
That was the year.
Yeah, that was the year.

I had just landed abroad and knew no one.
Well, I was there with my girlfriend, Page.

I knew her.

We had to get out of the states.
There was nothing for us there.
We were drowning in that nothingness - that lacking future.

Cookie cutters everywhere.

Everything I saw was like an outline of something that had already happened.
I couldn't sleep.
I couldn't ****.
I could barely call my parents to let them know what I was doing.

Nothing really.

Floating downward like a leaf broken from its stem.
I was scared.
I'll admit it.
I was terrified of the next four years.
Twenty-five seemed so far away and so close, all at the same time.

We had a found an apartment to live in while in the U.S.
We were lucky because people we met later on said it was hell trying to find a place after arriving.
I was never too good at that stuff anyway.
I always felt like people were trying to cheat me or something.

It was small.
You would have said you loved it, but secretly hated it.
One could barely stand in the shower.
Want to spread your arms wide?

Forget about it.

There was a balcony though and you could watch the street traffic from above.
People look so small when your high up.
Down the street, there was a large theatre where they filmed movies.
I rarely saw them shooting, but I could tell it was a good place to.
It was beautiful at night when the lampposts would flicker on, orange spilling on the street.
Everything was damp in the Fall when we first arrived.

"What do you want to do today?" I asked her. She was laying face down on the bed.
Whenever she was hungover, she would do that.
All the covers and pillows over her face, blocking out the world and its light.
I did the same thing, so I couldn't really say much.
We were hungover a lot those first couple months.
Then came the jobs and everything changed...mostly.

She moaned something that I couldn't understand.
I was standing by the window, staring at the pigeons and crows perched on the roof across from us.
They had made a little nest under one of the shingles.
Clever little ******'s.

"Look at those things," I said.
The coffee I was drinking was bitter and made from crystals.
It gave me a headache, but it was cheap and we were broke.
I stepped back to get a better look at their nest and knocked an empty beer bottle around.

She moaned again and rose up from bed, kind of like a stretching kitten or a cat.
Her back was arched like a crescent moon and she stunk of ***** and Sprite.
The blankets were twisted and crumpled and she was tangled in them like a fly in a spiders web.
I went into the kitchen and poured out my coffee, thinking of what to do with the day.

"Breakfast?" she asked me from bed.
My back was to her, but I knew she wanted me to make it.
I put the electric stove on and opened the refrigerator.

"No eggs," I said back to her, "I'll be right back."

She moaned and slithered back into bed.
I threw my jacket and slippers on and made my way downstairs.

"Dobry den," I said to the cashier.
He was a tiny vietnamese man with a extremely high pitched voice.
I struggled to stifle a laugh every time I came in.

"Dobry den," he said back, sounding like air escaping from a balloon.

"Dear God," I thought, "How does his voice box do it?"

I went straight to the eggs, pretending to cough.
All around me were packaged sweets and rotten vegetables and fruit.
There were half loaves of brown, stale bread wrapped lazily in thin plastic.
Canned beans, noodle packets, and cardboard infused orange juice lined the shelves.
Where were the ******* eggs?
We needed milk too.
Trying to drink that crystalized coffee without it was torture.
I don't even know how I did it earlier.
"I must be getting used to the taste..." I thought.

I opened the single refrigerator they had in the place.
It was stocked with loosely packaged cheese, milk, beer, and soda.
There they were, those ******* eggs, right next to the yogurt.
I looked at the expiration date of a small carton of chocolate milk and winced.
"Someone could die here if they weren't careful," I whispered to myself.

"Everyding O.K.?" I heard the cashier squeak behind me.
I turned and nodded and showed him the eggs.
He was suspicious I was stealing something.
It was ironic.
I put the eggs on the counter and handed over what the cash register told me.

"There you go," I said and handed him the 58 crown in exact change.

"Dńõkuji," he peeped.

His voice sounded like a stuffed animal.
I nodded, smiled, and quickly got the hell out of there.

"You know the guy that works at the shop across the street?" I asked the body still in bed.
Well, she was up now, back up against the wall with her laptop on her lap.
"You mean the guy that has the voice of a little girl?"
"Exactly. I was just in there - getting these eggs - and I nearly laughed in his face."
"That's mean," she frowned, staring at her laptop.
Many of our conversations were with some kind of electronic device in between us.
We needed to work on that.
"I didn't laugh at him directly."
She smiled and nodded and moved down the bed a little more.
Only her head was resting on the pillow.
I cracked two eggs and let them sizzle there in the butter and the salt.

"So, what do you want to do today?" I asked Page, "It's not too cold out. We could go on a walk."
"I don't know. Over the bridge and maybe down by the water."
"It's going to be so cold," she shivered.
"I was just out there in slippers and a t-shirt and I was fine."
"That's because you're so big. I'm tiny. I don't get as much blood flow."

I flipped the two eggs and looked down at them.
Golden and burnt slightly around the edges.
******* perfect.
Now, just gotta wait a little on the other side and make sure to not let the yolk harden.
I hated that more than anything in the world.
Well, that and hearing **** poor excuses like it being too cold.
It was nice out.
She'd be fine.

"Come on," I sighed. I did that a lot. "It'll be fun."
She looked up at me from her computer with a dead look in her eye.
"What?" I asked her.
"You're such a...nerd," she said.
"No I'm not."
"You're so weird. Some of the things you say sometimes..."
"Like what?"
"Let's go on a walk."
She exaggerated the word walk.
I laughed and knew I was being a little too excited about a walk.
"Yeah. So? What are you doing? You're just laying there doing nothing."
"It's my day off," she scoffed, jokingly.

We were unemployed.
Everyday was a day off.
This was not something to bring up.
It was touchy subject.
One had to go about it...delicately.

"We need to find jobs," I stated, "And we can probably ask around or look for signs in windows."

"Oh JESUS," she gagged, coughing and diving back under the covers.

"I'm just thinking ahead so we can stay here. There's got to be something out there we can do."

"Like what?" she asked, her voice muffled by blankets.

"I don't know...something," I mumbled, trailing off as I flipped one of the eggs, "Perfect."

After breakfast, Page finally got out of bed and took a shower.
I tried to sneak in there with her, but, like I said before, one could barely fit themselves in there.
We compromised to have *** on the bed, though I did miss doing it in the shower.
As Page got dressed, I watched her slip those thin black stockings on, half reading a magazine.
I had gotten a subscription to The Review because I was trying to become a writer.
I thought, maybe if I read the stuff getting published - even the bad **** - it'll help.
Later, I realized, this was a terrible idea, but I enjoyed the magazine all the same.
Page finished getting dressed.
I jumped into whatever clothes were on the floor and didn't stink.
Then, we were out the door on Anna Letenske street, looking at the tram, downhill.

"I can see my breath," Page said, "It's cold..."

"Alright," I said as both of us ran across the street, "It's a little cold."

"But it's ok because I'm glad were out of the house."

"If we would have festered there any longer, we would have stayed in there all day."

"And missed this beautiful day," she said mocking me, putting both of her arms in the air.

The sky was gray and overcast and a single black crow flew over us, roof to roof.
No one was out, really.
It was Sunday and no one ever really came out on Sundays.
From the few czech friends I had, they explained to me this was the day to get drunk and cook.

"Far different then what people think in the States to do," I remember telling him.
"What do you do, my friend?" he had asked. He always called me my friend.
It was a nice thing to do since we had only known each other a couple weeks.
"Well," I explained to him, "Some people go to church to pray to God."
He laughed when I said this and said, "HA! God? How many people believe in God there?"
I had heard through the news and some Wikipedia research Prague was mostly atheist.
"A good amount, I'm pretty sure."
"That's silly," he scoffed, "Silly is word, right?"
"Yep. A word as any other."
"I like that word. What else do they do on Sunday?"
"A lot of people watch football. Not like soccer but with..."
"I know what you talk about," he said, cutting me off, "With the ball shaped like egg?"
I nodded, "Yes, the one with the egg shaped ball. It's popular in the Fall on Sundays."
"And what is Fall?" he asked.
You can see our relationship was really based on questions and answers.
He was a good guy, though I could never pronounce his name right.
There was a specific z in there somewhere where one had to dig their tongue under their teeth.
Lots of breath and vibration that Americans were never asked or trained to do.
Every czech I met said our language was a high contradiction.
Extremely complex in grammar and spelling, but spoken with such sloth.
I don't know if they used the word sloth.
I just like the word.

As we waited for the tram, I noticed the burnt orange and red blood leaves on the ground.
"Where had they come from?" I wondered. There were no trees on the street.
Must be from the park down the block, the one with the big church and the square.
There were lines of trees there used as leaning posts for the bums and junkies as they waited.
What they were waiting for, I never knew.
They just looked to be waiting for something.
I kicked a leaf into the street from the small island platform for the tram.
It swept up into the air a couple inches, and then instantly, was swept away by a passing car.
I watched as it wavered in the air, settling down the block in the middle of the road.

"Where's this trammm," Page complained.
Whenever it was cold out, her complaining level multiplied by a million.
"Should be coming soon. Check the schedule."
"Too cold," she said, "Need to keep my hands in my pockets."
I shook my head and looked at the schedule. It said it would be there at 11:35.
"11:35," I told her, still looking at the schedule. There was a strange cross over the day of Sunday.
"You mad?"
"No," I said turning to her, "I just want to have a nice day and its hard when you're upset."
"I'm not upset," she said, her teeth chattering behind her lips.
"Complaining I mean. We can go back home if it's really too cold. It's right there."
"No," she looked down, "Let's go out for a bit. I just don't know how long I'll last."
"Ok," I shrugged.
I looked up the street and saw our tram coming; number 11.
"There it is," I said.
"Thank God," Page exhaled, "I feel like I'm about to die."

Even the tram was sparse with people.
An empty handle of cheap liquor rattled in the back somewhere.
I heard it rock back and forth against the legs of a metal seat.
"Someone had a night last night," I thought, "Hope that's not mine."
We had gone to some dark bar with a lot of stairs going down - all I really recall.
Beer was so **** cheap there and there was always so much of it, one got very drunk easily.
I couldn't even really remember who we met or why we went there.
When everything's a blur in the morning you have two choices:
Feel guilty about how much you drank, lie around, and do nothing or,
Leave it be, try not to think about it, and try and find your passport and cell phone.

We made our transfer at the 22 and rode downhill.
Page looked like she was going to be sick.
Her sunglasses were solid black and I couldn't see her eyes, but her face was flushed and green.
"You alright?" I asked her.
"I'm fine," she said, "Just need to get off of this tram. Feel like I'm going to be sick."
"You look it."
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah, a little bit."
"Let's get off at the park with the fountain. I don't want to puke here."
"Ok," I said, smiling, "We'll get off after this stop."

We sat down on one of the benches that circled around the fountain.
It was empty and Page was confused why.
"Maybe to save money?" I suggested.
"What? It's just water."
"Well, you gotta' pump the water up there and then filter it back out. Costs money."
"Costs crown," she corrected me.
"Same thing," I said, putting my arm around her, "There's no one here today."
"I know why," she stated, flatly.
"Because it's collllllllld and it's Sunday and only foreigner's would go out on a day like this."
I scanned the park and noticed that most of the faces there were probably not Czech.
"****," I muttered, "You may be right."
"I know I am," she said, wiggling her chin down into her jacket, "We're...crzzzy."
"We're what?" I asked. I couldn't hear her through her jacket.
She just shook her head back and forth and looked forward, not wanting to move from the warmth.
Dogs were scattered around the brown green grass with their owners.
Some were playing catch with sticks or *****, but others were just following behind their owner's.
I watched as one took a crap in the center of the walkway near the street.
Its owner was typing something on their phone, ignoring what was happening in front of him.
After the dog finished, the owner looked down at the crap, looked around, then slunk off.

"Did you see that?" I asked Page, pointing to where the owner had left the mess.
"Yeah," she nodded, "So gross. That would never fly in the states."
"You'd get shoulder tackled by some park security guard and thrown in jail."
"And be given a fat ticket," she said, coughing a little, "Let's get out of here."
"Yeah," I agreed, "And watch for any **** on the way out of here."

We made our way out of the park and down the street where the 22 continues on to the center.
"Let's not go into the center. Let's walk along the water's edge and maybe up to the bridge."
"Ok," I said, "That's a good idea." I didn't want to get stuck in that mass of tourists.
I could tell Page didn't either. I think she was afraid she might puke on a huddle of them.
We turned down a side street before the large grocery store and avoided a herd of people.
The cobble stones were wet and slick, glistening from a small sliver of sunlight through the clouds.
Page walked ahead.
Sometimes, when we walked downtown in the older parts of Prague, we would walk alone.
Not because we were fighting or anything like that; it was all very natural.
I would walk ahead because I saw something and she would either come with or not.
She would do the same and we both knew that we wouldn't go too far without the other.
I think we both knew that we would be back after seeing what we had wanted to see.
One could call it trust - one could call it a lot of things - but this was not really spoken about.
We knew we would be back after some time and had seen what we had wanted to.
Thinking about this, I watched her look up at the peeling paint of the old buildings.
Her thick black hair waved back and forth behind her plum colored pea coat.
Page would usually bring a camera and take pictures of these things, but she had forgotten it.
I wished she hadn't.
It was turning out to be such a beautiful day.

We made it to the Vlatva river and leaned over the railing, looking down at the water.
Floating there were empty beer bottles and plastic soda jugs.
The water was brown, murky, and looked like someone had dumped a large bag of dirt in there.
There was nothing very romantic about it, which one would think if you saw it in a picture.
"The water looks disgusting," Page said.
"That it does, but look at the bridge. It looks pretty good right
Cold n cough,cold n cough,
very tough, very tough.
caught on 16th december
Amid  cold and thick fog cover.
first made sore throat,
Then made nose tight.
In the night  robbed rest,
That led to lose sleep the best.
Tried  haldi-milk of grandma
But  sleep was still away .
Tried tulsi kwath of mama
that led pass  the night anyway.
In the morning nose started
  Used the  wife's formula of
Warm salty water gurggles
As sun started setting down
Cold n cough again  grown.
Amid this   called to daughter
She advised to go to a doctor.
Doc  gave antibiotics n advised rest,
O my god what a bad  taste.
You made recall  four generations ,
You're  great for those nice reasons.
Lack of sleep led introspection
That led scanning thought congestion
That is why thanks  for coming, 
For the  reasons of my inner cleaning.
Forced to wear coat n jackets
Paving  the way for hot snack- packets
Reminded me to  stop sour & curd
Start milk ,cheese and bread.
One week surrendered to you,
But still I owe a lot of you.
Dress well and eat warm .
You would be whole year in form.
DP Younginger Nov 2014
Red streaks of thin hair, finely cured,
Sugar-coded skin, sweet yet sticky inside…and then you sniff,
Freshly sliced with soft cries for help, the grass grows,
Dried in the most delightful setting; a miniature shadow of the sun,
The initials share a basketball in one palm-
-The pop from the stereo reflects the ripple of a king-
A complete package within, once the engine has revved- the liftoff-
Find yourself inside of her powers; the majestic magic maneuvers the mind,
Mend many memories and flick the switch on the motionless projector,
Guilty pleasures please the people and protect peaceful guidance,
Keep close the cultivation of a captivating lover-
-She will rise in your soul like helium in the lungs-
She, who I breathe for, calls my name; forever entering the cave,
I broke off a chunk of everything she has grown to be,
Crumbled, chalk-like pollen, piles into mounds of distraction,
I set flame to the lone match and touch the wick- a silent sway-
She burns, her hair still a fiery-ruby blend, but like all living expectation-
-The ash separates and with the wind…she performs flips-
The poem is supposed to look like a gorgeous nug of ****.
Hayley Jul 2018
Cough syrup
Leaves you dead
Filled with kodine
I leave a note filled with
Tears & love
This is not your fault i reapeat
Over And over
like a catchphrase
After I have written my last words
I sneak off into the darkened bathroom
The shadows in the corners
Amplyfiying my anxiety and the darkness in my head
The emptiness of my bed
After a moment of hesitation
I bring the bleach bottle to my lips
the mint smelling liquid burning away
the skin on my soft lips
I hold the liquid on my tongue
Oh how it burned
Oh how that first drink burned
I sip two more times
Two more times
The flesh of my tongue
And throat
I cough and gag
I walk back to my room
I am not dead
Suddenly as I sit in my lime chair
A red gleam catches my eye
Cough syrup prescribed to me
Months ago
Three teaspoons gone from it
I unscrew the cap
Guzzling down the vile liquid
The smell, and taste enough  to make me gag
I down half of the poison
Letting it purify my insides
I smile for the first time in days
Finally free from
Burdening all who care for me
I stand my body diminishing from the inside out
My once pink insides
Now dyed a ****** red and happy
Happy to be rotting
After a few agonizing hours of awaiting to  become a rotting corpse i stumble to my kitchen and examine my mom's set of knifes
Each one has sharpened teeth designed
To cut me open like a tender cut of meat
My eyes gleam in childlike wonder as I try to pick which one will slice my veins
I choose one like a kid choosing candy
Selective and critical
Finally i pick one and slide it quickly d across my wrists
I am shocked at how much blood comes pouring
From my wounds
But i quickly become addicted
Addicted to my blood
Addicted to the pain
Addicted to the thought of my death
After several cuts
I walk to bed to see if I can become a corpse in my bed
When i awake
I am dissapointed and relieved all at once
Relieved to be alive
Disappointed to be alive
Over the day my sticky red insides
Reject any nourishment
Expelling any of it through my mouth
My thoughts run a mile a minute
I find myself unable to focus on anything
My muscles feel ghostly cold
Meanwhile my skin is boiling hot
Once my mom comes home
Rushed to the hospital
Ordered not to fall asleep
in the rumbling car
But all my tired brain
And sticky red insides want
Is a permenant
But i was never given that sleep
That oh so sweet release
Water was washed through me to get rid of
The toxic red in my system
Now my insides are pink and truly happy again
Happy to not be rotting and decaying
Happy to be alive
Johnny Zhivago Aug 2013
Spanish influenza
walking pneumonia
icepick headache
common cold
whooping cough
getting old

flat foot
bad back
heel spur
heart attack
tongue tied

my weakness
is my forte
my sickness is  my skill
my illness
is my realness
it makes my life a thrill

Trying to fight this
runny nose
tooth decay
hat hair
broken bones

bed bound
flea ridden

wom­b fever
winter fever
black water fever
remitting fever
ship fever
jail fever
camp fever
or schizophrenia

scarlet fever
American plague
rock n roll
Got gas
In both holes

and SARS
man flu
bird flu
swine flew
from Mars

multiple sclerosis
tennis elbow-sis
stomach ulcers
and leukaemia
night blindness
lung cancer
sickle-cell anaemia

French pox
Knocked right

Sleep walker
Sleep talker
Absent minded

Tourettes, ****
Food poisoned!
Warted over
My Psoriasis
(Will I survive this?)

Worm fit
Water on
the brain

seeing things
rattly chest
bad breath
la duzi
black death

lice and
leg bone

bubonic plague
black *****
feeling ****
bone shave
falling sickness
wanna stop
just cant quit

Huntington's and
Parkingson's and
Hay fever
Typhoid fever
Glandular fever
Night fever
And Hysteria

cancer crab
stillborn twin
bad blood

Parking spot
all the wounds in
all the militaries
pity thee with
lost agility
lost babes or

ear infection
E to A
chicken pox
cow pox
what a day

panic stricken
star struck
headless chicken
bad luck

in the void
stomach ulcers
feeble pulses

wrists and knees
bad digestion
quinsy palsy
ticks and fleas

heart failure
bad behaviour

By gosh, no!
Poorly are ye?
‚ÄėFraid so.

        suffer me
suffer me
suffer me
let me be



its complicated
im superior
its complicated
im inferior
its complicated
im a short man
got ingrown hairs
got a bad tan

im suffering
im suffering
im suffering
and nosebleeds

toxic shock
got it down
irritable bowel

yellow nail
restless leg


post rubella
riley day
straight back

we are prone
drug addicts
we are prone
mind benders
we are prone
fortune spenders
we are prone

My illness, my illness
My illness is my realness

*Pick it up
Tide it over
Fight it off or
Cave in

Save it
Suffer it
Pass it on
When its Raining

bleed him
restrain him
shave his

he went from being
quite well
to being quite
unfinished but did you bother to the end?
Valarola Nikola Jul 2018
Mommy I'm sorry I manipulate you for,
The alcohol I feel I love more,
And Daddy I'm sorry I pretend I'm naive,
About all of my bad deeds,
I tried so hard to stay dry,
But the rain it pours inside,
I'm drowning in my own self,
I'm suffocating with my mental health,
And I try, I try so hard,
To be who you care for,
The girl who laughs just cause she can,
Who asks for hugs before bed,
But I'm not her anymore,
And I'll never be moving forward,
But really I'm just someone,
Who feels way too much at once,
I cry at night when I'm all alone,
Dancing with my demons on my own,

Please don't hate me, I couldn't survive,
I do that enough for myself, and I can no longer hide,
That I don't have a problem with substances,
That I can recognize when I've had enough of them,

I'm so tired of pretending it's under control,
This feeling of alcohol that sings in my soul,
The cough syrup that makes my shaky thoughts,
Become shaky feet, legs, and hands,
I'd rather feel physically ill,
Than continue to be mentally unwell,
So I will continue to veer off the tracks,
And spin out of control, it's just a fact,
I have no sense of when to stop,
Please don't make me stop,
It's so hard to be in my own head,
Every day it's like a death,
I die a bit, a piece of me fades away,
And I'm sorry to inform you, to say,
I'm not okay, I'm just not alright,
With myself I will continue to fight,

Please don't hate me, I couldn't survive,
I do that enough for myself, and I can no longer hide,
That I don't have a problem with substances,
That I can recognize when I've had enough of them.
Riley OHalloran Mar 2019
The cough in my throat turned into a sandpaper burning sensation,
and yet I sang so loud today that someone complimented me.
Nothing will keep me silent, but I know you want it.
Every cough is an abrupt clap of the vocal chords:
that's what a voice teacher once told me,
and I can feel how right they are every time I cough
and feel like my throat is burning and bleeding all at once.
I want to not do anything with my throat except sing,
not cough, not breathe, not swallow,
just sing, loud enough that you can't help but hear.
I have no self-preservation, but who are you to call me out?
tread May 2013



  she's we, you see

        creep. liquor. creep. sack of ****, that's what that is. creep.

Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
I scoffed at my minor cough
Until I was immobile as a sloth
I had to press pause on my life's tale
After I became a beached whale
And my body turned frail
In my illness jail

My stoic resolve tested
My pain threshold crested
The way I act is antisocial
The way I feel is anti-hopeful
For I treat others poorly
When I'm hurting sorely

In sickness for health
I give away my wealth
To feel one hundred percent
That's the physician's intent
To make me experience drainage
But I need the healing medicine
So I can practice the discipline
Of removing my diseased shark's fin

Ramses II, known as Ramesses the Great
Had a permanently fractured finger
And his teeth were significantly rotten
The pharaoh's excruciating pain
Must have effected his reign
A massive amount of men slain
Is discomfort what's to blame?

When there's no pain relief
We give each other grief
And there's a lion with a thorn stuck in its paw
Eventually that simple thorn becomes a claw
Vanidy Oct 2017
Sneeze. Sneeze.
Sneezing in the breeze.
Sniffing my nose.
My hands freeze.

Cough. Cough.
The cold wind blows.
My whole body is shaking.
I seem more hollow.

Cough and sneeze.
Sickness with me.
I'm sick and tired.
So stay with me.
Third Eye Candy Nov 2012
a soft cough is often lost in ramble, turned and double-crossed.
a lunacy of macaroni, and quite tasty paste -
the usual gods decanting the vinegar of all hope lost...
and a wasteland just going to waste.

what doom is this ?
does it trouble rainbows, or climb spikes in blood sugar ?
does it still keep you where the dark-side of the moon is the first light ?
a soft cough, a red robin, and a thought

thought ?
Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2014
My Second Letter to Allen Ginsberg
Dear Allen,
Almost five years ago, I wrote you a letter, and in
That letter, I purged my drunkenly woeful cries
That seem so first-world now and na√Įve ‚Äď
The things I grimed over with luxuries I didn’t
Realize that rubbed against my plump limbs
Like millions of felines poised at the
Tombs of pharaohs.

Oh, Allen, I‚Äôm so tired ‚Äď
These politics, and poly ticks, so many ticks that
Annoy my tics. Allen! I smear your name so liberally
Against this paper like primer because the easiest way
To coerce someone into listening to you like
A mother
or predator
tugging or nibbling on your ear ‚Äď
Swatches of velvet scalped from a ****’s coat
Are you and I talking to ourselves again?
Candid insanity : Smoky hesitance.

Dear Allen, I‚Äôm so tired ‚Äď
Yes, I love wearing my ovaries on the outside like
Some Amazonian soapbox gem glistening from beneath
The iron boots of what the newspapers tell me while
I cough at them with the hurdled delicacies of alphabet soup.
Give vegetables a gender and call them onions, Allen.
Sullied scratch-hicks pinioned feet from slapping
Society’s last rung on the ladder.
Ignore the swerve of small-town eyes.
Scapulas, stirrups, pap smears, and cervical mucus ‚Äď now do you know who we are?

That fingernail clipped too short, Allen. We’ve all got AIDs
And AIDs babies, haven’t you heard? Hemorrhaging from the political
****** and out ‚Äď they haven‚Äôt reached the heart.¬†¬†
Since when have old white men given a **** about some
13 year old’s birth control? I’m riding on the waves of the
Parachute game and I swear this abortion-issue is just a veil outside Tuskegee University
Being further shove over plaintive eyes, swollen and black.
Pay up and
shut up.

I still remember my first broken *****, Allen.
Can you tell me all about your first time?
The vasodilatation that made veins rub against skin,
Delirious brilliance : unfathomable electricity.
I made love during an LSD experience, Allen,
And I am not sorry. I see cosmic visions and
Manifest universal vibrations as if this entire world is
A dish reverberating with textiles and marbles, and
All are plundering the depths of the finished wine
Bottle roasting in the sink like Thanksgiving Turkey.
The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.
The opening, between you and you, occupied,
zoned for an encounter,
given the histories of you and you‚ÄĒ
And always, who is this you?
The start of you, each day,
a presence already‚ÄĒ
Hey, you!

Ah, Allen, if you are not safe, then I am not safe.
And where is the safest place when that place
Must be someplace other than in the body?
Am I talking to myself again?
You are not sick, you are injured‚ÄĒ
you ache for the rest of life.

Why is it that I have to explain to my students that
sometimes what I'm spouting is prescribed by a pedagogical pharmacy --
but all they want to know is "what do the symbols on the television mean?"
I am completely aghast against the ghosts of future goners --
I am legitimately licensed to speak, write, listen like some mothers --
I am constantly cajoling the complex creations blamed on burned-out educators --
I am following the flagrant, fired-up "*******"s tagging lockers --
Pay up and
shut up.

Yes, and it’s Hopeless. Allen.
Where did we get off leaping and bounding into
The dogpile for chump change jurisdiction, policing
The right and the left for inherent hypocrisies when
Poets are so frightful to turn that introspective judgment
Upon ourselves?
We didn’t see it coming and I heard the flies, Allen.
Mean crocodile tears. Flamingo mascara tracks
Up and down : up and down: bow ‚Äď bow ‚Äď bow ‚Äď bow
Buoyant amongst the misguided ******* floating around
In the swirlpool of lackadaisical introspection.
What good is vague vocab within poetry?
Absolutely none.
Would you leave the porchlight on tonight?
Absolutely, baby.

Dear Allen, would you grow amongst the roots and dirt
At the knuckles of a slackjawed brush of Ever-Pondering Questions
Only to ask them time-and-time-and-time-and-time-again.
Or pinch your forehead with burrowed, furrowed concentration upon those
Feeble branches of progression towards something that recedes further
And further with as much promise as the loving hand
Attempts to guide a lover to the bed?

Allen, I wish to see this world feelingly through the vibrations of billions of bodies, rocking and sobbing, plotting and gnashing like the movement of a million snakes, like the curves collecting and riding the parachute-veil.

Ah, Allen! Say it ain’t so! Sanctified swerve town eyes.
And everything is melting while poets take the weather
Too personally
And all the Holden Caulfields of the world read all the
*******’s written on the walls and all the Invisible Men
Eat Yams and all the Zampanos are blind and blind
And blind and blind and blind and blind
Yet see as much as Gloucester, as much as Homer,
As much as Oedipus.

Oh, Allen, do you see this world feelingly
and wander around the desert?
Colored marbles vibrating on the curtailed parachute paradox.
Lamentation of a small town’s onion. Little do we know, Allen,
That what you cannot see, we cannot see, and we are bubbling
Over in the animal soup of the proud yet weary. I can see,
However, how the peeled back skulls of a million
Workboots and paystubs may never sully the burden
Of an existential angst in miniscule amounts.
Pay up and
shut up.  

My dearest Allen, there is always a question of how
The cigarettes became besmirched with wax to complement
What was once grass, and
What was once a garish night drenching doorknobs.
The night's yawn absorbs you as you lie down at the wrong angle
To the sun ready already to let go of your hand
As you stepped, quivering, on to
The shores of Lethe.
i Mar 2014
take the cough syrup,
it will help and heal
your sore throat and
bitter soul.
Richard Apr 2013
corinth picked up the ball and tossed it up into the air as high as he possibly could. the energy it took for him to do so left him gasping and his muscles stung a little, but to watch the ball arc high above the sky, black against blue, was worth it. when the ball started to sink back down, he ran after it, bumping past athens who had been watching mere inches away.

the enclosure was a backyard to a white building surrounded by concrete walls that cut open hands when rubbed too hard or when scuffles turned sour. in the corner, there was a patch of green grass. the rest was stained yellow from lack of water or from too much sun.

sparta sat in the dust, his hands red with dirt and blood. the stains wrapped around his fingers and wrists and spiraled up to his elbows. he rubbed the pads of his fingers along the dirt, picking up small twigs and stones along the way, as he drew circles around the bird. the bird was dead, long dead, but its brown and grey feathers still stayed in its skin most of the time and the blood was drying so sparta’s hands wouldn’t be red for too much longer. the cracks of flaking blood opened like wounds on small boy's hands: palms big for holding bigger hands and fingers short to keep everything close. sparrow feathers and tears smeared comets into the dust while he cried for his mama even though his mama never came.

corinth ran after the ball, his breath short and his face glowing pink from exertion. as he ran, his hand running along the concrete wall, he started coughing. catching up with the ball started the initial coughing fit that turned into a rattler. he held his hand against the wall, clinging to it with white knuckles, as he hunched over to cough and cough so hard he could feel his throat start to stretch ragged, could feel lunch starting to come up. athens kicked corinth's foot gently before backing away a few feet while corinth continued to cough. when corinth's lungs and throat settled, he stood up straight, grabbed the ball, and threw it up again, this time out of anger rather than play. the ball went sailing backward and athens ran in order to try and get to the ball first, having had a head start. corinth was still faster and managed to shove athens away with a rogue elbow to the ribs in order to claim the ball again. athens didn't argue against the bone.

play continued until the sirens sounded. sparta stopped crying, corinth dropped the ball, and athens picked it up. all three of them hurried quickly and clumsily inside the bunker, shutting the door behind them. as they crawled down the narrow passageway, sparta started to hiccup, a leftover symptom of crying. corinth stopped and glared, and sparta murmured an apology before wiping his sniffles away with the sleeve of his shirt. corinth led the way until the three boys dropped inside the hollowed out room. it was round and the walls were mixtures of concrete, dirt, and chalk drawings. they each had to hunch, especially athens, as the ceiling

they sat in a practiced circle around the center of the room. after a few moments of quiet, hushed breathing, athens began the processions.

‚Äúwe all here?‚ÄĚ

the other two boys raised their hands. sparta’s fingers trembled while corinth raised his arm as high as it could possibly go. his ******* scraped against the ceiling in his earnestness. the three then began the tradition discussion of their names. sparta, forgetting conduct, almost gave away corinth's name, but corinth shut him up quickly. sparta apologized quickly and shoved his fingers in his mouth to keep from saying anything more. dirt and blood mixed with saliva in his mouth, and as he swallowed he ended up choking and gagging on the combination. he coughed and coughed, and corinth slapped him on the back. it didn't help, and the more sparta tried to stop coughing, the harder it lasted. eventually, he had to turn and face away from the other boys as hot bile slid up his throat and onto the floor with a small splat. athens grimaced and edged away.

"alright… show your lungs. everyone."

all three boys began the process of reaching under their shirts and pressing the smooth button under their ribs that unlocked the hatch. the hatch was a small door that ran from the bottom of their ribs up to their collar bone. when they found the smooth button, no bigger than the pad of their thumb, then a small click allowed them to open up their skin. underneath their torsos was a small plastic box that kept everything inside. it helped protect their bones, their heart, and, especially, their lungs. their lungs were frequent targets for doctors; they needed to be accessed quickly. fewer and fewer doctors came by to see the boys recently. corinth wiggled his shirt until he could shove most of it into his mouth, opening his body up and showing gray and green lungs that expanded and collapsed with every breath. his lungs were swollen behind his rib cage, and he experimentally reached in to poke in between his third and fourth ribs. the muscle that was there had been replaced by plastic, and had come loose when he'd pressed the button. his lung shuddered underneath his touch, but he felt the odd relief of pain swoop over him. two blue shirts tumbled to the floor as sparta and athens decided to take off their clothing and help each other find the buttons to unlock their hatches. the boys clung to the small moments of touch when the effects of their touh felt so alien, even after all those years after the surgery.

athens’ lungs were pink and perfect. he coughed and corinth couldn’t help but watch the way his diaphragm moved as he did so, and he felt jealousy pang in his stomach. sparta’s lungs were purple and blue, bruised and small, and they merely fluttered.

‚Äúlungs in order,‚ÄĚ athens said quietly after a quick inspection of everyone‚Äôs insides. sparta immediately closed his hatch, flinching when his finger got caught initially between his inside and his outside, and started to put his shirt back on. corinth stole athens' shirt and slipped it on over the one he currently wore, his other hand slamming shut his lung hatch. athens blinked but let corinth stare at him greedily as he quietly shut his own hatch.

as they waited for the background noise of wailing sirens to disappear, corinth hugged his knees and athens started to draw people in the dirt with his forefinger.
cozy april Mar 2014
Cough Syrup
when you don't
have a cough
is ironic,
because in
you are sicker
than you thought.
I. Song of the Beggars
"O for doors to be open and an invite with gilded edges
To dine with Lord Lobcock and Count Asthma on the platinum benches
With somersaults and fireworks, the roast and the smacking kisses"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.
"And Garbo's and Cleopatra's wits to go astraying,
In a feather ocean with me to go fishing and playing,
Still jolly when the **** has burst himself with crowing"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.
"And to stand on green turf among the craning yellow faces
Dependent on the chestnut, the sable, the Arabian horses,
And me with a magic crystal to foresee their places"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.
"And this square to be a deck and these pigeons canvas to rig,
And to follow the delicious breeze like a tantony pig
To the shaded feverless islands where the melons are big"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.
"And these shops to be turned to tulips in a garden bed,
And me with my crutch to thrash each merchant dead
As he pokes from a flower his bald and wicked head"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.
"And a hole in the bottom of heaven, and Peter and Paul
And each smug surprised saint like parachutes to fall,
And every one-legged beggar to have no legs at all"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.

Spring 1935

O lurcher-loving collier, black as night,
Follow your love across the smokeless hill;
Your lamp is out, the cages are all still;
Course for heart and do not miss,
For Sunday soon is past and, Kate, fly not so fast,
For Monday comes when none may kiss:
Be marble to his soot, and to his black be white.

June 1935

Let a florid music praise,
The flute and the trumpet,
Beauty's conquest of your face:
In that land of flesh and bone,
Where from citadels on high
Her imperial standards fly,
Let the hot sun
Shine on, shine on.

O but the unloved have had power,
The weeping and striking,
Always: time will bring their hour;
Their secretive children walk
Through your vigilance of breath
To unpardonable Death,
And my vows break
Before his look.

February 1936

Dear, though the night is gone,
Its dream still haunts today,
That brought us to a room
Cavernous, lofty as
A railway terminus,
And crowded in that gloom
Were beds, and we in one
In a far corner lay.

Our whisper woke no clocks,
We kissed and I was glad
At everything you did,
Indifferent to those
Who sat with hostile eyes
In pairs on every bed,
Arms round each other's necks
Inert and vaguely sad.

What hidden worm of guilt
Or what malignant doubt
Am I the victim of,
That you then, unabashed,
Did what I never wished,
Confessed another love;
And I, submissive, felt
Unwanted and went out.

March 1936

Fish in the unruffled lakes
Their swarming colors wear,
Swans in the winter air
A white perfection have,
And the great lion walks
Through his innocent grove;
Lion, fish and swan
Act, and are gone
Upon Time's toppling wave.

We, till shadowed days are done,
We must weep and sing
Duty's conscious wrong,
The Devil in the clock,
The goodness carefully worn
For atonement or for luck;
We must lose our loves,
On each beast and bird that moves
Turn an envious look.

Sighs for folly done and said
Twist our narrow days,
But I must bless, I must praise
That you, my swan, who have
All the gifts that to the swan
Impulsive Nature gave,
The majesty and pride,
Last night should add
Your voluntary love.

March 1936

VI. Autumn Song
Now the leaves are falling fast,
Nurse's flowers will not last,
Nurses to their graves are gone,
But the prams go rolling on.

Whispering neighbors left and right
Daunt us from our true delight,
Able hands are forced to freeze
Derelict on lonely knees.

Close behind us on our track,
Dead in hundreds cry Alack,
Arms raised stiffly to reprove
In false attitudes of love.

Scrawny through a plundered wood,
Trolls run scolding for their food,
Owl and nightingale are dumb,
And the angel will not come.

Clear, unscalable, ahead
Rise the Mountains of Instead,
From whose cold, cascading streams
None may drink except in dreams.

March 1936

Underneath an abject willow,
Lover, sulk no more:
Act from thought should quickly follow.
What is thinking for?
Your unique and moping station
Proves you cold;
Stand up and fold
Your map of desolation.

Bells that toll across the meadows
From the sombre spire
Toll for these unloving shadows
Love does not require.
All that lives may love; why longer
Bow to loss
With arms across?
Strike and you shall conquer.

Geese in flocks above you flying.
Their direction know,
Icy brooks beneath you flowing,
To their ocean go.
Dark and dull is your distraction:
Walk then, come,
No longer numb
Into your satisfaction.

March 1936

At last the secret is out, as it always must come in the end,
The delicious story is ripe to tell the intimate friend;
Over the tea-cups and in the square the tongue has its desire;
Still waters run deep, my friend, there's never smoke without fire.

Behind the corpse in the reservoir, behind the ghost on the links,
Behind the lady who dances and the man who madly drinks,
Under the look of fatigue, the attack of the migraine and the sigh
There is always another story, there is more than meets the eye.

For the clear voice suddenly singing, high up in the convent wall,
The scent of the elder bushes, the sporting prints in the hall,
The croquet matches in summer, the handshake, the cough, the kiss,
There is always a wicked secret, a private reason for this.

April 1936

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

April 1936

O the valley in the summer where I and my John
Beside the deep river would walk on and on
While the flowers at our feet and the birds up above
Argued so sweetly on reciprocal love,
And I leaned on his shoulder; "O Johnny, let's play":
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O that Friday near Christmas as I well recall
When we went to the Matinee Charity Ball,
The floor was so smooth and the band was so loud
And Johnny so handsome I felt so proud;
"Squeeze me tighter, dear Johnny, let's dance till it's day":
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

Shall I ever forget at the Grand Opera
When music poured out of each wonderful star?
Diamonds and pearls they hung dazzling down
Over each silver or golden silk gown;
"O John I'm in heaven," I whispered to say:
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O but he was fair as a garden in flower,
As slender and tall as the great Eiffel Tower,
When the waltz throbbed out on the long promenade
O his eyes and his smile they went straight to my heart;
"O marry me, Johnny, I'll love and obey":
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O last night I dreamed of you, Johnny, my lover,
You'd the sun on one arm and the moon on the other,
The sea it was blue and the grass it was green,
Every star rattled a round tambourine;
Ten thousand miles deep in a pit there I lay:
But you frowned like thunder and you went away.

April 1937

XI. Roman Wall Blues
Over the heather the wet wind blows,
I've lice in my tunic and a cold in my nose.

The rain comes pattering out of the sky,
I'm a Wall soldier, I don't know why.

The mist creeps over the hard grey stone,
My girl's in Tungria; I sleep alone.

Aulus goes hanging around her place,
I don't like his manners, I don't like his face.

Piso's a Christian, he worships a fish;
There'd be no kissing if he had his wish.

She gave me a ring but I diced it away;
I want my girl and I want my pay.

When I'm a veteran with only one eye
I shall do nothing but look at the sky.

October 1937

Some say that love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world round,
And some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway-guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like classical stuff?
Does it stop when one wants to quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't ever there:
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn' in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
Or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories ****** but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on the door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

January 1938
Meg Bray Apr 2014
My words are seldom,
Barely a whisper,
Lost in the wind of literacy,
I am entirely sure,
I am afraid to be heard.

The truth is hard to swallow,
Like a gulp of cough syrup,
We gag it down.

Words will taste bitter on your tongue,
Like the cough syrup,
We choke on the words we wish to speak.

But swallow the truth whole,
And bring your words forth,
Do not make the same mistake as me:

Be heard.
n)Ethno-spirit and Biodiversity (Diogiversity)

Given its ethnikos factor and contribution towards a common origin of multiethnic and languages, in values and traditions, its morphological factors of Verthian sub-mythology, are provided with content, features, colors, and textures of neutrality, focused on a biosphere ecosystem, where the air conditioning, flora-fauna will make Sub-mythological Biodiversity, where the beings that inhabit it and will be in the range of evolution of mythological living beings, whose diversity of genetic seizures, will adopt natural and compound patterns, but always predominant in the biological pattern and organic. Wandering the world in desert places, in alloys and classified plant compounds, emptying their species through the hollow of the atmosphere and through the green grasslands in the reviving surviving evolution of organisms and species that for the first time see each other as a biotype between rocks and plantations, reciprocally among themselves, and extemporaneously generating mythological genetics heritages. Considering millions of years in evolution with explosions of multicellular and fossilized species extinct in massive and occlusive memories. Inert matter and geological strata will make millions of years converted into microseconds in the Verthian Biodiversity of the Duoverse, in a Psychic and spiritual Universe, emerging in all macroscopic perspectives and parapsychological regressions. Impact They will cause the maturity of all the diversity of externality and sensations in new topologies of anonymous universes and species of biodiversity, under a pillar of culture based on the Sub-Mythological biosphere process, encompassing all mythological species where the hope of Life and Super life. Transforming systems of functionality under the protection of spontaneous generation and in a matter that is availably underlined in the mountainous tissues of the mechanics of the subset of the air mass, water, climatic biospheres, and biogeochemistry, that in the unreal juncture of, and inter-procedural reality of carbon, that factor the species key and specimen disclosure, in the collection and in sinks, water drains but without carbon. encompassing all mythological species where the Life expectancy and Super life unfolds.

Hyperdisis, the galaxy connected to the Duoverso, in its biotic diversity, reinsert thick clumps of Nothofagus Obliqua forests, in waste processes, to domesticate the Leiak ethno-forest species, as balance nutrients and repair the disgraceful disgrace of unnatural toxicity and fragile of the agrosystem, maturing cultures and preventive pollination in succulent transfers for purposes of food webs and the environment. Making the appearance of species more effective and perceptible, reunited in community chains of coherence, to amortize low-resource needs and distance economic-political impacts, in view of new base resources and the sustainability of balance of allopathic crops, for the good of driving the extinction of plagues or flagrant excesses not converted, Hyperdisis has a mass of inert matter that creates accesses of resilience, for salinity, rainfall, and human adaptive mythological innovation, given its versatile opening of complement and generation of substances, for the convenience of living beings and No. Having adopted in the context of mythological Galaxy, related to beings of light comparable to distant elements, by means of Psychic Trisomies and tell transportation, for energy sources and soil and water mechanics with Leiak, constituting molecules for the simplification of phenomena of exacerbation of chronic diseases and endogenous. Forests and parks of Hyperdisis in the symbiotic open air, for more airs in microbiological space, in the intimate portion from greatest to least challenge of elements exclusive of antinomies of hieratic human bio culturalization, in a showcase of communities with an interest in technologies and renewable empirical usability, each part doing its scientific role and biodiversity in the portico of its home. As a hieratic quality, presenting amendments that are glimpsed and more existing, although it passes before our eyes without a Carbon Footprint, figuring logical mathematics by sponsoring its count more than a shadowy synthetic body, anticipating super-appraisal measures, averaging them in tiny theological portions, with varied and dissimilar levels of genetic habitats and alleles or heterozygous in the taxonomic functionality of reproductive and approving biological elements. The wealth and abundance of this item are delegated to Leiak, in all the revolutionary processes of the oak forests and the high mountains,

Within the gasifications of Cinnabar, there was Carbon in its Life cycle, being Zefi√°n; the curator of the Duoverse, destined for a lifetime, under Universal and intergalactic effects. Claiming innocent beings with greater attributes of predation survival in the ecological chain, with the mix of Tsambika and Theoskepatis, granting multidirectional dynamic residual matter for green energy emissions. Feedback quantifies offset options in carbon circulation, offsetting multipurpose CO‚āā inventory. Through the darkness Zefi√°n and Vernarth traveled in the streets of Rhodes, and in Tsambika looking for the distilled portions of the carbon and sulfur emanated by the Cinnabar. In the same way Etr√©stles in Theoskepatis initiating with the Archpriest by virtue of the honors and the rubies of accumulations of water mass and of sulfur and carbonated air, which hung over the low sky of Rhodes and Kimolos. They were going to the Necropolis of Hellenika, when the gnostic rampages were glimpsed in the surrounding slab, minting half of the gold bars for the great goldsmith who erects the conventionality of having the physis imperturbably established, as a matter of patriarchal character. They entered Hellenik√° and the souls that wandered were ringed under crescent-encrusted rings, lavishing the independence of the night in the hands of Borker, which was reflected in the capitals of a mausoleum. Borker is consistent in saying that he is free in Hellenik√°, In the myth of the dustbin woodworm of the frieze where Etr√©stles perched next to Zefi√°n's strap, who would manipulate the gold and alabaster chain, to pull its ascetic and rubies from it, approaching a final night in the astronomical autumn, in the last parapsychological regression of the god Vertumnus, which would embody the expiration of the Hellenik√° friezes by Kashmar branches decayed from vegetation and the tears of the Etruscan god Vertumnus. Making the branches of the Kashmar, the epithet of heraldry in the noble metals and woods of the autumn, and the mountainous temple of the one that follows the equinox in the meridian of seven days towards the southern and northern hemisphere. in the last parapsychological regression of the god Vertumnus, which would embody the expiration of the Hellenik√° friezes by Kashmar branches decayed from vegetation and the tears of the Etruscan god Vertumnus. Making the branches of the Kashmar, the epithet of heraldry in the noble metals and woods of the autumn. They enter the Necropolis of Hellenik√°, by upper and lower trays, cordoned off by obelisks in a series of petrified labels, in the square sections of the convergent ones and the linearity of the central pyramid, where they sponsored all the sectors of the stones of the prismatic geometric body, next to some piloneos that flanked the third of those that were in the figurative memory of funerary monuments of Vernarth. In harmony with the radiosities of the Cinnabar, they purged the carbon emanations in the intra-bodies of petrified breaths, expanding in the segments of frenetic life of the behavior of the inert matter, crushed by the organic, polishing the degrading character of the excavated prayers, under a superfluous shade. It was already dawn, Etr√©stles and the Archpriest broke the loaves to deposit them in the bowl of the Day, stretching in the arms of heaven under the gargle of the god Vertumnus who forged from the materiality of Jupiter. Vernarth nodded his head to the movement of the winds that cut the profile of a Citarista yawning on the frieze that raises all the crowns of the princes of the living-dead, making them part of the royal occasion, preparing petty spaces and tyrannies for devouring vassals in Hellenik√°, from the lair of his rib one, sees Diogenes of Sinope emerge, splitting with his doctrinal staff all the Isthmian paroxysms, which declared the cell of his life as Diogiversity.

"There were murmurs of astonishment at the surprising response of the wise man because no one dared to speak like that to the king. Alexander the Great asked: "Why do they call you Diogenes, the dog?", To which Diogenes replied: "Because I praise those who give me, I bark at those who don't give me, and the bad ones I bite." Again, more murmurs, but Alejandro was not moved by those answers and said: "Ask me what you want." So Diogenes, undeterred, replied: "Get away from where you are, you cover the sun for me"..., Vernarth replied: "Look for him in the bones of those who refused to die and fear beyond expiration who rejoices in the cold of the dean ossuary seed, without heat or memory here in Corinth and its Diogiversity ".

o)Reflection space length (ŌÄ)

The hemispheres were out of proportion, one another was modified in the air, leaving the horizon exorbitant and the poles out of square. Coastal the lengths of the sun around areas that some Hellenik√° countrymen had never put on the crowns of their consciousness. Certain pressure changes dislocated other modules in the filaments that had rudimentary inaccuracies, creating reflection space failures in the installation of the Duoverso, due to the due calculation defect. The observations of Hyperdisis, generated superpositions of the Zigzag Universe, before the crescent moon, after the full moon, again de-calculating the sphere of Hyperdisis in relation to the ecstatic length of itself in the hands of a third of a second a day, to overflow in impositions that They revealed Dekas Cove in Kimonos(ŌÄ).

The value of the opinion of reflections will be the originality of breaking of statics, of the motors of the verb and the conscience of the flushed being, and of erudition of the naive contrast when decanting the perceived morality. They concur with the moral value in every sub-mythology of an ambivalent being of supernatural human co-belonging, not dependent on gnoseological reflections, rather spontaneous under the embankment of reason. The latter being absent in the shadow of its shadow, no reflection can take hold of anti-values, self-valorized in contingencies under the effects of the drug of lies or truth, in a difficult equation to refer to in gnosis treatises, declaring the absence of consciousness to species without reflection or length of their molecular evolution, in evidence of mythological humans. The triangle Patmos, Rhodes, and Kímolos, make up a Venusian adonis, of stimuli in the nostrils of Aion, which sneezed on the integrity of the reflex arc at high speed superseded in the tremors of Athens until Hyperdisis, flashing anatomical and pejorative on the optic nerve of the Colossus Rodino, and the twisting of the multi-personal muscles..., but already depersonalized..., with little telluric reaction in the core of the symmetry of his legs, dodging as he thrashed on his frowned arms, behind the legs of the lycaons..., digging his jaws in reflex arches, for ages that only an immemorial one would enchant him, and be it the throbbing of the earth in the crust and seams of the calcined Colossus. Existing like this their reflection of attenuated light, they shook through the sea full of sinewy pieces of precise length. Frequently in the hydronium cations, undermining the temporality of Tsambika in random stones in the humid, and dark narrowness of the anthropic reflection, having lived in the heavenly paradise that formed them by the volcanic tube and its syngenetic, by the erosion of the subsoil of Rhodes. In Helleniká, everything that is expected, flows with the Meltemi tubularly, so that they are polyps of fluctuating desolation or placed above all zephyr or anti-wind, in ammonoids or ammonites; reviving from the seas it flows with the Meltemi tubularly, so that they are polyps of fluctuating desolation or placed above all zephyr or anti-wind, in ammonoids or ammonites; reviving from the seas from Devonian to Cretaceous, escaping from the ferocities of the Etesios and these same escaping from the roars of Vernarth.

p) One-Dimensional Beams II

When their ears fell in love with the Orthoptera or Grylloideas before Joshua, the night became restless, abandoning them from their shelters, they brushed the seeds of the thistle that trembled with the new millennium of the Duoverse. Levitating their ailerons in the tenors of their birth and dilettante sounds, before an ovipositing candor of the remains of the abdomen that remained in their jaws, always being from one of the Beams, for the largest Enciphers that hung from their antennas in search of Joshua's telepathic messages in the manger. Sappho of Mytilene, also known as Sappho of ****** or simply Sappho, pretended to be a marigold proliferating in the twenty corridors of the Greek poet, and also as the tenth poet in the other ten that was reflected with transparent wings of the dew that stuck, phenomenal of physique -Saphonic and in the recent rain of wind and condensed air, in the form of drops due to the sudden decrease in temperature in contact with cold surfaces. Sappho's dew was talked about in Kafersesuh, usually when it comes to condensation on a Poetic Grylloidae surface, naturally on the ground cover or artificially in a dull cloudy crystalline, in the amount of supernatural tradition, heroes, superheroes, and anti-heroes conspiring with the territorialities of hexagonality.

The Aramaic message comes forward with vigor from the orthopterans and birds that piled up on the journey, going back and forth. The Beams shone from the celestial kingdom holding on to the Cherubim and the Archangels, through the paths of conversion and the support of the bizarre Christian time, in implacable hegemony for the propaedeutic of phylogeny, but more than perfumers chemistry and the same creation. carrying Lepidoptera winged tetra and Sand Crickets, on the interlocking and obfuscated pheromones from a nascent-elemental child, in his own evangelical philosophy, from a winged dimensionality and in the gloom of Manger shouted and aligned, before the compendiums of double pyramidal landmarks and of inflection, of his word in the Grylloids and panaceas created in the affinities of the world and Animalia, stylizing muleteers carriers, phrasing acronyms and parabolizing the polygonic nomenclature of the child made a territorial man on the wings of a Cricket, already being it !, but representing himself as a lifeless man in the entirety of an advantageous canon child, from a sudden bi-dimensionality of Grylloideos. A great Zohar light gathered all towards a whole in those vantage points of terrestrial columns and orthopterans that Joshua felt in advance in his resined ears, like irreversible entropy giving back his wise existence to prepare them for the day of his holocaust. Pre Existing in catharsis and busilis substance of divinity connected with the Grylloid phylogenetic species, classifying until the Aramaic crackle, pontifying pheromones settled in the lithosphere site of Gethsemane, coincidence in the wading of a Libraco period, or in the phenomenological simultaneity of Eukaryota and Glaucophyta until late Animalia, giving relation parental in the characters of the vibrational timbre of the Beams and the atavistic pedestal, readapting in the evolutionary ellipticals of tetra-winged species, allowing to change the ancestral linguistic accouterments in processes of redesigning the genetic historical tree..., divine and increasing.

Inter-Duoverse, in space demography, has been frequented since today in a nuptiality between the Sun and Earth, wrapping the inter-generational homes that have prostrated themselves to the One-dimensional Beams, evolving millions of years between links of angels from the north and the south., for each year between half years and decades that the ancestors are passionate about, unleashing in what they aged in their youthful lives and eternal ideals, as an atom not guaranteed in families that did not get to know their Duoverse. When they walk through the urbanized farm of their parents they go in their shoes and in the paternal and inter-parental sun barefoot, the children travel far from the monographic patriarchy, declaring themselves between psychic families and unstable plots of core conformity and procreation.

The line of supra healthy cerebral is born from the Beams of deforested family trees and treasured in the Trunk of the seventh ascending generation, towards a nefarious tribal of industrious and vegetating regressive parapsychology, bringing zombie societies, to great lethargy that disorganizes the parallel emotion of the Being descended from a Messiah, with the prophetic organization. There in the Koumeterium of Messolonghi, in past generations, the "IO" was omitted to limit them from the spellings like Ghost Cemetery lost in other lost sacramental ancestors. The inappropriate location of our ancestral duties has guided us in the axis of the pabulum, before the second coming of Messiah Parousia, to continue the re-sprouting foliage of the Universal theological tree. The children of the seven intergeneration generations, will be from the endearing of a patriarchal family, and those of Exo family lineage will be from outside the non-generational family, where everything flourishes according to the requiems of ******-domestic economies, and in the new chimera from new shocks and reprimands, already being spouses the Sun and the Earth after being divorced from a deluge of immolations and inter-millennia and rotations, further than those of any prophet wandering without advancing or rotating, enlisting and expiring in succumbed and pre-historicized generations of other prehistoric ones. Pre and post Flood; not presenting itself as the object of linking a thousand decades where not even a holy chirp from the Thrush, praises on the windows of the world bringing us babies that are born without past or future quantum generations. Ready to the hint of Duality and its nuptiality with the Sun and the Earth, They will make us magical creditors of the increase in demography and of unions that will marry in inter generations, not seeing passions in exhaustion, under the grass of the allegory of defeated love. Giving ourselves conjugal virtuosity, but of immanent dogma for the purposes of multi-figurative coexistence, under the Yoke of an individualized Faith, in the passing of millennia, we continue to crawl on the floor of the nebulae, and we do not rise to establish ourselves as masters of ecstasy, and the pendulum of the stars, creating us more in the orthogonal egalitarian of the cosmos and its Vernarthian architecture, of poly productivity, of Sun-Earth and its post-genetics, of high-grade clay, expanding with halberds on the self-insolated Suns, and highly calorific inherited towards a rupture of Solar freedom leaving us in the horizontal, not having ascendants of sin enriching their illicit chromosome. Made a beast, from the inertia of a paradise full of hidden public and private exchanges, but not secular, for those who pay tributes of ecstasy in a reborn and weakened state. This is how Diogiversality is verticalized (Diogenes's anthological action), concluding the variants that weaken the nexus of the denatured society of its atavistic social nuclear concomitant, extending eco-life gaps, but eco-unstructured and crucial inter-generational nature, being of arbitrary passion and of seismological doctrines, of haughty morality and of sociology fabrics without body or motor, with frail of castes and generations evolved age in a retrograde and elemental psychic sense, but biologically and reversibly to their boomerang lineage.

q)Amphibology Cosmogonic, Sub-Mythological root

The threshold, as a minimum rubric, must be in force from the Constellation of Orion, with barely a hundred millionths under the same eye of Orion and his psychophysical space, sensitive to the falcado charioteers and the water vessels on the backs of the probable Barnard Loop., and its nebula presence. The icy impulsiveness brought her under her right shoulder and the lean hollow under her arm unraveling from a staircase, at the entrance point of Betelgeuse coming from the cosmogony of Eridanus and in tune with Ptolemaic astrology. In the Sibyl and with a hint of a metric brilliant mass triplet, Betelgeuse Orionis, is the scale of the Aulos and piccolos expelling hydrogen as an Ace in 240 scales of harmonies and in sounds of light, for cycles and years of Light. The binary of Orion, is pre-born of the sub-mythological root, with binaries of Poetic Parapsychology, or Para-poetical; which is the trapezoid and the kinetics of the hunter Orion arrowing the Pleiades and its nebulous plains, with diametrical diarthrosis in his synovial joints, with the third militarizing joints already formed by the hyaline cartilage, which joins the two bones with the synovial fluid, before reaching the deltoid of Hunter Aurion, to awaken the Asleep world.

Vernarth in one of his adventures in Pella, scapula with his arms the force of the friction discs of the Olympics and corrected his hands and shoulders, for this purpose of Aurion and his dilettante Astro Betelgeuse, with giant arrows against matters towards the sky of its Constellation, embedded in beaten Odyssey and turpentine in the sullen Hellenistic, being for May its amber trapeze of trunk and arm, in each hand a Xifos and Dorus, always in right-handed hemispheric pathologies of their shrewd hands in Kopis swords, and in the memories of the wind that throws pain to the whistle of the combatant, when the meteorites decay in the Tyrrhenian Sea. With his brass-bronze club and Vernarth's corrosive breath, he proceeded to file odyssey on Eos's ******* and peduncles; Goddess of the Dawn, in Dionysian beauty in bulk, Mintaka, Alnitak, Alnilam, (The Three Mariah), For the twelfth lunation of the Celestial Vault, together with Pleione, in its bolometric Oceanid matrix; against borderline stellar magnitude in the major and minor dogs, and in there a priori waves of misdeeds lending measurements in the eyes of Aurion, always henchmen on their Pleiades.

From this intricacy, Cosmo-is born the Vernarth Duoverso incited towards the Horcondising, so that it is mythical co-property at the origin of the universality of the Duoverse in the Vernarth scapulae, bleeding towards the cosmos that was born from his stellar blood, conjuring chaos and uncertainty in messenger Gonies, facilitating community life free of ethnocentric, psychic, intersubjective life, the metaphor of myth and dogmatic, by the imaginary struggle that leads its bleeding back over the Cosmos, and its demiurgic brilliance over the atmosphere of the earth like bronzes that twist in the necks of oxen, that urinate on the officers of the Barnard Loop, and its polyphonic magnetic exciter, on it the ***** of Orion falling on the poles, like flagrant Amphibology.

The Kanti Steed and the Aurion nebula, to the beat of a waltz ionize, lavish chemical ions free of electrons, on the neutral molecules of Betelgeuse, to proclaim in the nerves of the shoulders and its bronze club, as musical praxis and harmony net, giving way to the nebula and the art of the Duoverso, which shows the pristine astral days, how his alchemical arm sprouting in chemo-astralities of the pectoral, and his armpit that joined in its maximum stick, cutting down roots of Olive Bernar, behind Barnard's Loops, in the midst of runaway stars that are systematized in their ionized bleeding esplanade, such as Stellae Novae, who retrograded the astronomical ritual into cosmogony, and in her escape by going at night to sleep near her father Poseidon and Euryale, who cheered him near the grassy fields to paste explosive clay on the sheet of his drunken smiley face with Ionic wine, in advance of spreading the nascent Duoverso throughout the new world.

r) Hyperdisis

Sitting on the edge of Andromeda, in his planetary chamber Zefi√°n; The Duoverso computer separated the parasitic inter-chamber from the Duoverso, which would be born from the Auriga, which in his buggy would unleash the senses of structures and luminosity between this colossal interplanetary chamber. Being between points that venture through the axon of time infinitesimal and longitudinally for light-years, which even so, will intervene from the Duoverse, for thermal purposes and other changes of the remnants, when especially the luminosity will speak of the destruction of the darkness inherent in the eyes of the universe, which can only stabilize areas that have not been fused in the discs of the Universe-Duoverse spatiality, long before the initial explosive between the Constellation of Orion and Andromeda. Globular clusters that will make up the perfect delay of transfusing the blood and no other, which makes the character Hyper naming and hyper-pectoral blood, which flows from this tri-astral polynomial, compromising the method of area, shape, and refinement of the sagittal profile of Hyperdisis in the Duoverse in the reversible intergalactic plane. Going from lenticular to irregular over the keystone of the trapezoid, towards the right arm of Orion, where its radius becomes hypocentral sequentially, but it takes advantage of interstellar matter, to generate its own light. Some explicit explosive arms of Andromeda were expelled from their center towards the right arm of Orion, for the purpose of implosions in the effect of the clubs or snails, as a sublime effusion on other stars, which lost essential stellar mass, to differ from one another.

Radio-Patmos, or galactic energies of Andromedian origin, would arrive as devout prayers at the border of Skal√°, such astro-omegas and Invisible Universes, which inhabit the flaccidity of the Universe of Consciousness of the pole contact with the Xifos or Kopis, when Andromeda contacts the spur of the clubs or snails, inciting the capos of Astro-Omegas spaces, which would begin to take the front and front, after having been the atrium of invisible stars, only visible in the spurs of the swords, which were only moistened with the viscous blood draining from Orion, towards Hellenic lands as Omega age, for Vernarth early when he carries the keys of the Omega World, towards the shadowy proto galaxies, knowing that the Milky Way and Andromeda come so close in their stellar mass, being able to collide in a few million of light years, in advance, since the Duoverse of Hyperdisis will be formed as a Galaxy of change, to interact with each other, dismembering, but re-transforming into the new speculative nucleus of the Duoverse as a great Black Hole, embedded in the Kardi√° of Patmos.

Hyperdisis, navigates from the most ancient confines, from the origin of nothingness itself on the threshold of the Universe, but now it is already converted into the Duoverse, re-implanting itself in helical polarity, and in bifurcations of luminosity, of colorful reincarnations or astral, to consent to the cessation of darkness and valuing luminance, possessing colorimetry and chromatic steps of childish tales in infant galaxies, which in all the lives of Greece and Vernarth delivered for their ancestors, articulating the iconology of Orion, in candlesticks per square meter, in vigils of:

LV is the luminance, measured in Nits or candela per square meter (cd / m²).

‚ÄĘ F is the luminous flux, in lumens for the Andromeda triad, Milky Way e Hyperdisis in conjunction with Orion.
‚ÄĘ dS is the surface element considered in the triad of K√≠molos, Rhodes, and Patmos.
‚ÄĘ dő© is the solid angle element, from Vernarth Omega and the origin of the Duoverse.
‚ÄĘ őł is the angle between the diameter of Andromeda and the Milky Way (2.5 million light-years)

The luminance can be defined from the radiometric magnitude and the radiance without more than weighting each wavelength by the sensitivity curve of the eye. Thus, if LV is the luminance, LőĽ represents the spectral radiance and V (őĽ) symbolizes the sensitivity curve of the Vernath's eye of the Betelgeuse area below, dumping plasma and bruises on the galaxies and the Orion Eyes.

s) Zigzag Universe

The Zig Zag Universe was and will be excluded between time and space, in a world adjusted to the senses that are driven within the contextual totality, the world and the biosphere framed in the phenomena of the Zig Zag Universe, being born on a stellar night when Our life searched the earth, being able to see how cordial matters of the cosmos caressed its cosmology, making it its magistracy and descendants of the Hellenic cosmos, in constant caresses of the universe already predisposed to the Bing Bang, emerging from another type of self-observation, seeing ourselves in the face of Horcondising anti-material and Universal Biomass. We preexist under science that models the system of energy and matter in causes of ancestors, with whom their vital and ours sneakily crashed. Gravity made great paternity in the Vernarth Biomass, being in the Dodecanese, being cosmos in its arcuate curvature, which makes us screen with the moon in its romantic astrophysical swings, and with the exaggerated geometry of a zigzag. We are the versatile and multi-dynamic mass that expands simultaneously in the head that pauses in the Nothofagus Obliqua of Vernarth's Horcondising and also time2-space2, which has not been troubled by the origin or abscess of the stars that move irregularly in zigzag, for the fractality of its component, which is clearly Aramaic blue light, in circuits of clusters and movements brushing the air, attracting the attention of the entire order of the hypnotized universe and making the duplication of the universe itself appear before them; in Duoverso that is the Universe shaken and young of its gratitude's ".The distribution of nearby galaxies are keys to the paleo universe already arranged in macro waves, which are percentages of spaces in the Trisolate energy fields, which interact with the Mashiach of Gethsemane phylogeny, now tending to a stagnant decomposed future, towards a specific frozen present. Its final station is to bet the Zig Zag Universe on the re-expanding temporal Medieval chrestomathy, in gregarious qualities of Sub-mythology, already conformed here in Archangelos. The implosion of gravity has created worlds of visibility in great astronomical yearnings, in some fractions of time zigzagged by millions of fractured light-years, as an irregularity that resembles the measurements of everything quantifiable, being omniscience or not, acquiring the hexagonality of the birthright in the passage, Here the Mashiach emerged and died in its abstraction in the One-dimensional Beams and in the foreign eyes, eroding those who are mortal and do not see with divine eyes in the self-resemblance, of our hypochondria and of the failed plan to amplify the size of the unknown analytic, of this new dimension in the implosive movement of the Verthian Duoverse. The nature of the snowflakes in Bethlehem are natural fractals, detailed in their nature and in the natural infinity, here the privileged new world was envisioned, for self-similarity in the speculative and cosmogonic functions of Vertnarth, at intervals in each space of the shadowy walls, bringing accelerated courier bombs from Gethsemane among mutated olive trees to other humans. "Its correlation is an infinite fractal with reversible observable time.

Finite is the curvature, between the time that walks between the grove of the Duo-Universe as an alternative of energy Zig Zag and Duoverso, which triggers our subconscious observable world, which is a great reflecting lantern eye, which ignores and prescribes extreme distant and focal parts of the One-dimensional Beams of Kafersuseh in Ein Karem, since the Duoverse is the trial Universe that the Mashiach had, before coming to the Holy Land, provided by his form of Hyperdisis escorting him from Betelgeuse and in Orion. Change from arduous colors to the gradient in Avant-Garde, for the confines of perspectives and verbality, in amendments of physical fields, interwoven by an external gravitational means. The macro waves, are exposed matter not contained in the abrupt changes of the optical selection of the Mashiach with the One-dimensional Beams, attracting selection crystals to atomize them, in reaction disturbances and recreation of multiform plasma saviors of Christian cosmic. The double expression of macro waves and the equation of them over the axial of the universe turned into the universe Duoverse, in millions of light-years will continue in the Duoverse, for ectoplasmic reconversion energy with great margins of assertiveness. The cartography in hyper diction will correct errors of the current universe, losing itself in the second thousandths of figures that separate us from the Universe, but all being more than time... !, remaining at the expense of the wick of all electro-matter " The double examination of the macro waves and the equation of them on the axial of the universe turned into Duoverse, in millions of light-years will continue in the Duoverse, for ectoplasmic reconversion with great margins of assertiveness. The cartography in hyper diction will correct errors of the current universe, losing itself in the second thousandths of figures that separate us from the Universe, but all of them being more than time... !, remaining at the expense of the wick of all electro-matter. The sub-mythology having already been constituted, Hestia appears, having slept a great slumber. When he appeared before Vernarth in Tsambika, he was seen changing in size, when he was six meters away he looked dwarf and when he was already two meters from him he looked monumentally huge, but in a versatile physiognomy, therefore he was already appreciated in his last steps, with her domestic Goddess figure that emanated light-years from the chimneys of the habitable galaxies. The critical immanence will happen, pre-existing of the perfectible plan for the Universe Zig Zag and Hyperdisis, as Hyper-Hestia, bringing torn words for those who were approaching the main altar of Vas Auric, which was in the great ratio of the proscenium in the vicinity of Tsambika, between Mind / Meditation for constant mechanisms of Wisdom / Meditate, according to the cosmological constant, taking them perhaps to the beginning of a decade and the third universe called Traverse. The oscillations of all these fantasies, Vernarth observed, but he knew that he would have to collide with these worlds finally already precipitated, and of temperature that acted on the average of the normal range, therefore it was imminent to mutate it to the provisional Christian Duoverse, which moves backward. among the dizzying lights of creation. Immediately afterward, the Universe has torn apart and lost among those around it, establishing itself in units of millions of years of light compressed in the piccolo Aulos, which Hestia carried in one of its golden hands, from the prytaneion, igniting with the flames of the Kardi√° on fire and the passion of consanguineous love, "Prytaneum", the omphalos stone, marking the navel of the world with the boast of wandering towards the island of Delos, in the daily warmth of a spring afternoon in Rhodes. She is a woman with veils on her face, always walking to and from her virginal abode, in the house of foolish or vestal virgins, there is no Hestia, only maybe there are some similar ones staying in the cold fire of her menopause, losing fertility afterward. that his father swallowed it, and then it was expelled from himself, regurgitated in flames of love candles in a blessed house and full of immunity, giving the Duoverse another geometric category with never contained angles, sliding vibratory between the distances that discount minutes of the Hestian space, for such a corollary by approaching its finitude, and inaugurating the sub-finite, that it will never be the source of the end of a disconcerting end of time, neither equationally consummated nor physical. "This consolidates the Duoverse into Duo-Universe, expressed in figures that moderate the length of a physical state before it is finished and restarted in a process that does not end (sub-infinity)

t) Vernarth Omega (ő©) - Preface

before facing the Achaemenides. Being Omega and Micron in the warlike primer of their cause, within the prophetic in all necropolises of tiny omega (ŌČ), towards an Omega that reaffirmed the good hand in Saint John the Apostle by rewriting the Apocalypse twice, coexisting the same but with the voice of Vernarth commanding the ten thousand Falangists, who made up inter-generational gaps, of camouflaged alien ancestors. For this purpose, he opened the windows with their pillars sheathed with tetrachloride of chlorine, at solid angles of ő©, in what was Virgo institutionum / Aurion-entity that interfered by projections and leaks, which converged on the strut of the omphalos of his heavenly father dealing frequently and bled his immortality, constituting from a helper being to the planes of subconscious reprogramming and perspective. With his arms raised, in each hand a raised sword to pierce the vanishing point, between the spaces that were ascribed, under the solid projection, from an observer that inhibits ad limits the biomass in all the masses of aqueous filter and lumen flow, towards the throne of the angelic guardian of Avant-guard by the stereotype and sclerosis of Zeus in his dissociated physicality, even though he is an amorphous entity with pulverized magnitudes, between Pi and Golden numbers, fading away without area or volume. Vernarth in the humanoid apocalypse was transfigured from a solid point in Hyperdisis, as a direct escape settlement to Aurion, towards a surface of conical vestige in three-dimensionality towards Andromeda, the Milky Way, and the shoulder of Betelgeuse,

Vernarth distracted the emeritus stars in the corner of his room and in the convex the points of his celestial patriarchs in the conical spheres of perenniality, leaving only solid angles in each of the two parts of space-delimited by two semi-planes that start from their common edge, under the ideal geometric concept and that it is only possible to partially represent it as duplication in parallelograms with a common side, symbolizing two half-planes, making from all distances seclusion of visions in the culmination of imagination and apparent angles, seen from any point of the Celestial Vault in invisible counterpoint.

The decalcified cells of Vernarth solfying together with Sophocles in orpheons after the victory of Salamis. Already being a tragedy in the next act of the prologue and their friendship bordering on his tragedy, he continues to exist in energetic arms to write, and Vernarth to dispute the characters from a regular prologue writing with his own blood hematology verses, which traveled meters and that they shrunk from the anti-verses scarring their declaimed intra-breath, in corals that only the wind clarifies of what precedes and happens towards the suffering, in the metrics of the Areimos chorus that were lectured anti-verses, and that they tried to ****** him from the hands to Sophocles, in immortality that refined him by abandoning him in sub-units. With masks and mythical cycles, he mixed the metaphorical facsimile of momentum and the separation of friendship with him, seeing him in an episode of his works, and instead of Vernarth's transcript sheltering him in the origins of the volatilizations of his orpheons, converted into physical waves of a dramatic-oracular order. Gods re-transformed into divination and futuristic germination, they were hidden dormant and forgotten in times of subconsciousness in the Selenite collection, felt in the Colossi signs of parliamentary, where the oracle leans on the lines of vibrational words and how they cough their " p√°this "in the place where the language dissociated from the heart nucleus speaks. In misguided divination, the oracular mantic brought the cold of loneliness and the fiery heat that guesses in the laurel forests in oracular daphnomancy, Vernarth omega self-erects as a versatile column that temporalizes the threads of his organic brain, creating synaptic logos in Pashkein or the alert regret of abandoning the arm that rewrites his heroic Sophoclean and tragediographic biography, in ancients transiting in disintegrated emotionality and ****** Hellenic neurotransmission, "Two omega men or omega speedometers, carrying neurons from ankylosed and frustrated herd of pleasure, for tripartite meson form of routine grinding in Alzheimer's lost, lost in sympathetic and para-sympathetic routines, with probability of Hellenic gray matter; That is to say, of all memory that does not sin of ignorance in the ancient world, in more than nineteen hours of vehemence, the dangers will brighten when reliving nth times in the twilight of omega, Vernarth, was already narrowing on the tracontero Eurydice, to save his pains, deposed in terms that would renew anti-economies by supplying unsustainable in liquefactions and in synaptic melts, extra energetic vesicle of pure natural law of the eyebrows, of lunation that rests in the inter millennium, beating with ecstasy in the Buddhist suttas, and in the adaptation of the flesh of the hypersonic fissures of the Meltemi, and attachments that still beat over the dermis of pain. Vernarth draws his sword Xifos of phenomenal structure and he cuts on the Sutta or sermon that mimicked him at the time of the lunation, doing sabotage of redemption of the anti-verse from the court of Sophocles, as a myth-saboteur and anti-value, overvaluing the wiles of the same utilitarian tragedy, conquering in the curtain of mourning and sadness, unguarded and overcome by the stoic duel of jubilation. From here Vernarth, opens the gates of hell, eight hundred times going mad with omega value, by reiterating omeganymy, creates the numbering of the anti-verse and the suffering that does not even sleep further from the departure of a soul and a body only asleep of concave omega, overlapping in golden transfinite chests, which reorder the natural numerals with the ordinal transfinite omega, but on frictionless wheels of other omegas that break in recirculation rules on alpha, in supra omega levels such as parades, stamens, episodes, and Vernarth-omega paradigmatic exodus.

Omega I Prologue: "Once upon a time, amidst a rain of clouds full of drama, in a time that was oriented regime of the armpit of Betelgeuse and Aurion, 334 BC, it was the penultimate breeze of Tsambika, in the spiritual devotion that hovered over the unison voice in the magnanimous Zeusian chorus, as an alternate event of imprisoning past and next in an episode of the present act. The expectant was curious about the retouched makeup of the drama's superlative consonant, in a disembodied place, but with a good narrative source when it came to fruition. Here the myth is plausible, among everything mythical, more than all the super sums of expectations of the Ismo "

Parod I: "For the submissive words on the stage of the trident fire, where I have to warm my hands with ashes of eternal fire"
(Directing the scenes through the coripheum, there is the master lord who, in flames and by unequal numbers, pawned in the Aulos and piccolos, whose bare feet bordered the risk of the bellies of the Maenad damsels united in processions, between princes, powers and Dionysian dances holding on to the Pufios; in Baquian and ceremonial liturgy near Vernarth, taking a glass every seven minutes in animosity, in cages of his stuck little finger, whistling from organic pimping, next to dancers raising an arm and directing the palm towards the heaven, while the other remained down with the palm towards the earth; in this position, since he was like Vernarth buried by the tides of Patmos wandering him in times that marked the entrance from Mars to Jupiter, and from autumn to winter in fifteen times agreed with Sophocles, hanging from the penultimate to the entrance with his trembling voice desalted..., tolerating himself in his own tragedy)

This is I: "Through the right hemi-body, Vernarth intoned his laterality exposed in harsh penumbras, while Hera brandished over his existentialism clouds of oatmeal and candies in a liturgy, a homily that personified the Stasis, in the choral intermission resisting his angry hands in tragic passion and frenzy, unleashing oratory of self-blame, unraveling drama-tragic, and in each pause the emotion that was accompanied in new episodes when it was stoked "

(Vernarth says: "submitted in parts that are not its parts, my pain has blinded me, where it has embittered the conflict of ethical interest if the stars as a public cheer are anointed, sentencing the opposition of other lesser stars who cheer what that does not shine. The principle of the voice violates the normal parenthesis, which is governed by itself in the omega voice, mocking the modal in four magistrates, in martyrdoms of an ideal of the procession, each one being with his super-private toga, before me It must not be who recognizes if I will be who I am, on the seventh judgment of my surviving ethics)

Episode I: "Vernarth extrapolates the values of his judgment, which override the first, the coryphaeus directs his promenade from the countryside on his Horse Alikantus"

(Vernarth says: "I have instantiated the steps that my chestnut crossed with you in the future if I am to sing with a sorrowful voice, no choir will be able to follow me when you are gone. However, I have to define what personifies who, more than a thousand miles away, carries with him the lamp that opens the light of your roguish contemplation... "
Alikantus wailing says: "From the luster of your heartbeat, I obfuscated the jailer from your ribs, for the preference of the one who takes you even further in tempestuous pro-hedonistic prose "

Exodus I: "Sometimes the endings smell like fields of lavender, where the call of the almighty is heard, to take him over his loaded plantations, which are emerging from the dialogues in the afternoon with its twilight, as well as stanzas that smell of lavender anointing, separated in syllables and tonic that flex my charm, not to say that I was anointed with Lavender when I was prepubescent "

(In fifteen times, in syllables and rakes, the sentences of its paragraphs are sterilized, leaving the audience speechless, without a gesture or word that emanates from a sacred paradise, rather from the Stasis that never purged the omission of the syllable that is not of proscenium nor trident, but it is umlauts on Omega, between syllables of fire that burn from its proscenium)

With few and precise changes of consciousness, Vernarth approaches his Omega Point, as the end of his self is identical to his consciousness. He was leaving Tsambika and Kímolos, diligent towards Theoskepatis, warning Etréstles for defiance goods in the aftermath of the Eschaton. His spiritual cerebellum faded identically when he wandered through the distances of the entities that competed and are prominent, transforming his Hetairoi reliquary, here his tendentious impulse begins and dehumanizes him by becoming a Celestial entity, but with Noosphere endowment. The tendencies are established hyper-connected, with him Tsambika, Theoskepatis, and Patmos were triangulated for consummations and finality from the rudiment of Universal deity, reprogramming the end of restricted humanity to a mere boundary of dogmatic morality declared existential.

Within the Omega points, his unfolding acted as a disembodied statue and redemption of similarity and humanity, leading him to a self-conspiracy, by abandoning himself to his own equal, for the duration of the final sulfurous sublimation of the Cinnabar's margin of abstraction, after joining in all the quantum, physical and biological lines, making the Duoverse an inter chamber of the prior Master in a process of change, to sensitize his image of physical-chemical Man, but of God in his rigid powers. Cataloged as hommo sapiens who expresses himself in fallen beings under the arms of his sword in a limpid target, rather than in his own pointed tongue, and steely towards the point of unification in the hyper-dimensional of good achieve spatiality and volume, only contacted by his devoid of a Xifos hand. Consciousness rarely loomed in its compendium in nth bytes and data, much more than those recirculated in astrobiological quantum, creating blind exclusive and patrimonial universes, on the basis of nth bytes, which kept reorganizing itself in the personality of the unknown, fewer than four bridges of consciousness united in their own gregarious universe. The transcendence of the basic data of consciousness will lie in the Maenads, and their deliberate acre magic, extending through the limbs of the Nymphs, to re-possess it and take them to the confines of mystical paranoia, perhaps towards the embodied Vestal Virgins, purging their paths that they notice a variant of licentious departure in the stanzas when seeking final swings, which are not for the sake of shedding everything before the Universe rescinds its intellectual limitations, contracted in an orgiastic Imaginary Universe, and the precariousness of the concept transporting us to the origins of the species and its behavioral rapture of loss of sensation, and reason, for this reason, Vernarth takes them with him for his ******* and alienated perceiving of inherent reality and its opposite sunset. The ministry of the sacramental mystery is the consciousness of the Dionysian being in gestation, wanting to be the paroxysm of its equivalent, in an eternal Omega effect, for the purposes of omeganymy of conscious chaos, being the same portion of omega ad limit of its secondary reluctant personality of being, to found the hermit solitude on his revived empty ego, residing in his being by bilocating with two idiosyncrasies for a Venarthian Thiasoi, succumbing to weightlessness over all the Maenads and the intoxication of community in its opacity,

The madness was a transcript of reasons lost by the Vernarthian Omeganymy, sometimes the disproportionate of his steps by more than what should be generated was objected to in the circles of the Tsambika monastery. The unification of blood was confused by the viscous wine of the mysterious foliage of the Diospyros tree that led them through the enigmatic unaware, in primary practices that tore apart some somatized ones of the order of a third body, which still transmitted the last organic matter, refusing to spread at the omeganimic points. The consciousness of replicated beings of themselves challenged themselves towards the perfect copy of their transcendent alter ego, in an understanding of the present-future elucidating for whom or those who demystify the visions of an arbitrary creation, allied to the evolutionary myth-truth, in the face of any real and human maturity gap, the conclave of the near pious Christ, bequeathed in us and in the venerated hominization, at his sole and directional will. Now we are all in the aqueducts of Christian Science, for specimens of eternal categorization and frontally in view of a God-Mashiach, as ordinal inclusion and in greater ecumenical diversity, with variables of independence range, for staggering motor skills, retaining the attention of all the powers of the Christian world at an Omega point that seemed to be Alpha. The sense of the Duoverse in Vernarth Omega makes us rethink the central phenomenon of thought and frustrations, by the socialization of distant species from prudent dogmatic ostracism, towards refractory empathic and ultra-rational reasoning.

The supra intelligence has to become in them and those, the pre-existing point of duality, to reunify them in Patmos, as the only spirited meaning, and biomass evolving on the super-dimensioned materiality, in a greater radius where it will have to be delivered to whoever speaks with words. of living energy, and not complex towards all processes of emancipatory concord of personal authorship, on levels of relative lust in the absolution of medium integrity, and towards an elemental unitary totality of animal instinct guarded by the instinct of Being, that from its similar awakened rebirth of the sleeping mass matter, and in the animal purifying multiplicity. The man stands in his memorandum bend, like a haughty memorial, evolving in the cosmic expiration of the molecular transverse, admitting us in its vestige of complex extinction, but not in human slip, nor in acid and self-instituting scenery, on the real creation of its DNA, which reverts from the formality of helical reiterative rings, by heights of whoever oscillates in their coupled pairings, and their silent probable associations, in the nature of real origin and their structural perfection. The acceptability scenarios derive from the feasible concretion, and the approval of their tendencies and mobilizations of the structure of life, and codes greater than those that limit them to reside, to more than one body, residing from an incorporeal body, capable of its quantitative life and the extension of existence, super existing in the heights of the helical rings, which may vary more than they are, and which could be, without being seen under a scientific gaze. "Becoming a mechanics of maturation and prayer, which the energy from the material world to the spiritual, as a moving particle of inert matter in parasitized free radicals, which are re-energized by the mystery of the helical trans-threshold of the Aramaic mystery of the Olives Bern. "Vernarth disintegrates in omeganymy in laxity towards Aurion, descending pro-tenebrosity towards the profanity of Patmos, engulfed by Love in a dark summer, brushing the silos of DNA in the will of the automated world"

— The End —