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noor ande Jul 2016
Beloved wanderer,
What are you running after?
your external commitment to reach crassness is taller than a benevolent Tikbalang
you are quicker than its long legs to lead a soul astray
But my beloved,
where is your soul?
your Passion is non-existent
like an ondine, all you seek is an immortal soul to waste
on your blinded fate
on the woes you continue to create
and your petty blown up mates
a thick, bold flesh they’ll never extricate
surrounding the empty stems from which they originate
My beloved,
your eyeballs were so viciously extracted and replaced
with poisonous bile
your hellhound eyes are so vile
if one stares at them twice
they’ll be seized, and they’ll be sacrificed
and their souls disintegrate
their roots begin to decay
they merge with your spirits
and they aimlessly gyrate
around in circles,
my beloved, you **** the souls
dumping their bodies in holes
indulgent in mutilating the skin around your heart
vandalising your worth and claiming it's art
but my beloved wanderer
where is your drive?
where is your start?
I **** on your grave for I have had too much to drink!
A glass 'o ginger beer and shrimp crackers I ate today.
Thou art not to fall! To tartuffery for a drink is as good as the last.
But alas, I am not to drink.
For my heart is heavy with woe.
Those stoics! They bring me much misery.
Oh the stoics, with their logically given truths that are naught but prejudice! Prejudice in truth they claim, liars.

Oh the stoics, with their ****** analogies of nature and so fourth.
To be! Like nature, is to be indifferent and prodigal.
That's probably why we love the intelligent uncaring character. He is nature.
She too! O' who's heart is full of love! She brings me roses and kisses upon my lips. She too, is nature. Stupid also, unbelievably crass.
Is crassness then, what we call nature? Then it is he! He! Who bring us our daily news who is unnatural. But then who is the preacher?
No, nature is to live. To live! Hah! A joke! To live is not a command for you cannot conceptualize living without living.
You'd do better as a pretty little scarab, but he doesn't drink ginger beer.

So too, our conclusion is to be natural. But not the scarab. To live, obviously. To be correct! by our own prejudice. And to reject divinely given truths. I do not know how I would feel about children of my own, we'll see when I have one.
******* ****
Mitchell Aug 2013
Ten hours past the seven hand
She says she wants heaven man
And I let her go
Through the fog
Through the mist
Through whatever way she must

Lies layer their own bent betrayal
A fair maiden enters brazen through the double doors
Shouting out, "She wanted more!"
The young are promising
Fallacies hot and empty like a dried river bed
Later unable to recall
That anything was ever said

To breathe onto your neck
To kiss between the specks
Of the echo chambers of nubile love
Experiencing adolescence in its pitter patter
We are the doxies of death
And the ministers of shifting frames

Telling typewriter you are the only
One that does not ask for forgiveness
Only begging for the serene and true
When the light shines brightest
The darkest doth flee

I roll my shoulders forward
So all can be pushed toward
A name to recognize
Yet with a face to terrorize
Each character in this play
Is a prize yet unpaid
In death we are the ones
That have not yet won the prize

Taste the florescent blast
Of a mercury cast
She prays to the song
Of a nymph born in the past

I hear you old one
You wheeze with your creased' delight
When you made your way
To the elderly street
The only one there
Who was wishing to meet
A soul who knew you
Before they saw you

And so you stood there
Underneath the birch of the born
And all mystery wavered within the song of the old
I saw it once within the eyes of the river
They asked for rhyme
And I gave them freshened time
All then grew quiet
Before I could dare to forfeit the next song

Near the mountains
Frost pressed against the rock and
We talked of the liquidity of love
While the tiger stalked the flighty dove
While whatever we were caring for
Was a rifle cocked in an aim forlorn
To the core of what we were wanting so
Was something other then satisfactions caress

Every secret that she met
From her mind past the teller store
What was more the can colored green
Was trying to see what the other had seen
Running along the other side of the conversation
As she dances and ridicules within
Her own forbidden and accepted restraints
To tell the difference between fear a la' hope
Is to kiss the devil amidst the gentile pope

Candle light glides across her freckled eye
The sigh of the angels is the same as the
Howl of the dogged' wolves of the afternoon
The soon to be forgotten sons inside Egyptian caskets
Make all the baskets made of wicker wrapped in plastic
Nothing more than a lie within the panoramic frame
Of hallow enthusiasm shrouded in rubber crassness

Can't you see my friend?
Can't you see you're made to believe?
There's nothing left to tease you with
Other then what is told to you
Venture out
Past the cities
The orchards
The towns, valleys, and the streams

She's a notch on your belt and
And a smell you've never smelt
Making you believe she's the only for you
Though inside
You know she's only going to make you blue

Tear the blinds from your eyes
The whispers are only quieter cries

A knotted wind surges through the waves
Outside a window shutters in a craze

There we sleep amongst the fray
Waiting for the morning
The only one we wish to obey
There is no other place that we can stay

For this is our home
And we will fight
And we will die
And we will live
So in the end one of us

Can see another day
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
State of our Being
I want to shout at life complain about where we have ended up I found the perfect allegory for this
Piece a western magazine has this written on a barn that is seriously in need of a paint job it says
Every barn needs a little paint and in the open door there stands a baby colt paint horse we could all
Use a reassessment a new coat of paint we the baby boom generation changed our world we shook
American society to its core there was things wrong with the country as now but there is more wrong
With us as a group I just want to take us on a trip that use to be a standard saying you all right man yes
I’m just tripping man the tripping has turn to fitting man were tied in knots having fits its because we
Forgot who we are and where we came from hey presidents build libraries and museums and put their
Names on them and well they should well I think a whole generation is worth a museum on the out side
One word ROCK says it all then the building itself a great arching entry has three neon three inch bands
Red green and yellow it looks just like the front of a juke box inside are the different rooms that depict
Times and different phases some is told in paintings still photography and videos it starts with gold solid
Gold all the gold records that lined the walls of the coolest talent found anywhere in their wake we
Found our sensation cool swirled and rolled as a torrent sweeping us a long on a great musical wave
The king of Memphis stole the show he was show cased in one of the rooms on video by wedding
Southern gospel country bop rhythm and blues he turned music on its ear not to mention the hearer’s
Heart sent racing it was the call to be in a sense anointed leave you’re stayed void self behind come alive
To possibilities long they have been lying dormant you’re invited to score life at a higher free level and
We did ultimately we gave and increased society and then the dream room the voices enchanting other
Worldly so beautiful you entered a trance whatever your state of mind you were effected and your
Companion reaped the highest benefit maybe you were just dull well in no time you were sharpened
More sensitive more considerate you realized deeply what you had and you gave expression to a heart
That was released to its full potential to care and give love we were on a mission and the rest of the
World got it steel away and love me was a innocent anthem that drugs and crassness never touched
We were besought we lived on the crest of a wave that embraced a glorious future and we delivered
On that knowledge how we need to return to that primary truth now we fall for the lie it’s all over
We are past it we could have missed it the first time if we had lived by that dead thinking we are not
Dead and far from it they should hear from the baby boomers again defying achieving against all odds
Give our best lets add on to a great museum let have a whole lot of shaking going on
Alan McClure Mar 2015
Oh my
how they flap and slither
shades of shades of
ghastly crassness

Haven't harnessed
their atoms' fickle spins
spilling, instead,
through the strong and wise and deserving
befouling their blood

Gulping and gaping their own small slice of evil
while we will guard ours
in cages of guilt and fantasy

Spill then
spill slickly,
sick, stupid spectres
You strengthen my bars
beyond imagining
Hal Loyd Denton Dec 2012
Old pathways what wonders they restate we know not what the future holds but what loves
The past offers lost loves friends that had measures of greatness they instilled in us riches that
We still give to those we know we let them slip from conscious but at certain times their
Excellence flares white hot we in that moment trim our sails as sailors far out at sea a
Noticeable change of character occurs a trace of intense emotional savvy rest in our words and
The actions we perform at that time we recall school friends they stood out as different they
Had a class about them they were ladies or gentlemen in a sea of crassness they were game
Changers they beatified an otherwise normal picture they had those special times budded into
Heroes in those years they were never told such things I have several in mind that it is long over
Do know you were special and as time goes by your riches only grow more precious they stood
For something they caused you to look at yourself and say I can do better they were a comfort
When outside maters were painful life is a great work of art all in parts that make the kindest
And greatest whole their lives in miniature was the showing of who they would become and in
It all they were investing in all of our lives what kind of flat and lackluster world would it be with
Out them I know my heart longs for them in memory for whatever reason that they are lost
Truly as the poet John Donne said it so succinctly no man is an island to himself no all of the
Ones I know I see the streams of so many beautiful souls flowing into your life from the past
Some was invigorated with tears or laughter sock hops or sporting events and so many ways
The Torrent flows without restraint in doing so you were made stronger kinder and at time
Weaker So that you could draw from those that were stronger what a difference just little acts
Make when they reach you in timeless perfection the value can never be adequately
Understood or told here I’m going to speak of some in my life and I would like you to do the
Same it will truly enrich this time of the year little girl with the most beautiful curls that used to
Live behind a grocery store now married to a young man that set many hours out on his porch
Because his mother was gone I have never stopped sitting with him in that long ago sorrow
I knew what it felt like to ne motherless I had a life with rough spots but I knew a guy
That was a pure gentleman even as a teenager I grew by his calm and lovely life my first days in
School were rescued by someone who was kind hearted his heart as only grown larger over the
Years I don’t tell him or so many others how I appreciate them so I’m doing it now God bless
You all and thank you I will name one she just passed through a rough spot and Donna I wish
You all the best dear one Happy birthday Doug Happy birthday Cheryl thanks for the richness
Of your lives that truly grows and blesses this life
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i always wondered what
je ne sais pas might sound like in german...
   ah, **** it, let's put
this prosthetic limb together,
you never know, a siamese twin
might just pop out to steal the show...
ich      (je ne sais.... ah.. ha ha ha!
i was thinking of je ne sais qua...
ok ok... je ne sais quoi, quo-oh-e...
    e. e. cummings, come ere!
fiddle this violin to a fine tuning
that a deaf man might 'ear)...
and when language does indeed
as diabolical as this, you really should
stop using Poles as antibiotics to
German then Islamic fascism...
or kidding yourself that it's really
just a pardonable dream you're having...
so the prosthetic limb is coming...
  no point schmoozing me with
anything else... oh please please:
just dance the one legged tango a while
longer, i'm working on it... honest...
  look here... je, ich
   ne, nein, nein-stimme... no steam:
bog **** choo choo!
     meaner: neinschtimme -
   kinder dicht... why would i say kid-tight?
well... ballerinas begin their careers
at an early age... maybe that's why...
   otherwise? dunno...
let's feed this alcoholic cold-sweat -
finding the tutti-frutti hyper-delusion,
trying to say much more than the sound
of knocking on a door can ever provide...
that's one way to go about it, for sure...
and every part of me wants to be a serious
novelist, and be sober, and chop wood,
but then every other part of me
wants the poetry, and the drinking,
    and the scarcity of the adventure...
  to feel, having only slaughtered one pig,
that i was able to feed a billion ching chongs
in Beijing...
           china... ching chong...
a focus on the prefix ch, and the suffix cha cha cha?
no? different joke, on a different continent...
   i swear there was this guy from Bethlehem
who also made the same conclusion...
     can't remember his name...
you know, like: two fish three loafs of bread,
you can satiate a coliseum...
   ah! delirium! that's what alcoholics experience
sometimes... i love delirium...
      it just shows you, that if you're really
serious, you can experience many more facets of
alcoholism...
    hidden gems... and if you're really
hot-headed, have enough crassness about
to write about it...
    delirium... when other drugs have the after-effects
of paranoia, alcohol prescribes you delirium...
   in polish slang also called a delirka...
   but i'm not drinking purple denaturat /
ethynol substitute to chanel no. cinq...
    or should i say: çank?  yep, that ship sank
once it gave a smoochie to an ice-berg...
                                 hail Titanic! ave Titanus!
but i really was trying to find
je ne sais quoi (qua... ******* French,
excessive spelling and a gob that later
says much more throng... and that nasal
cavity needs fixing, seriously -
  but they write so beautifully,
and later slobber it with their local...
or should i say: locál! or perhaps: locállé?!
depends how you make do
with a syllable dissection) -
so how would it go? the je ne sais quoi in
Swabian?
   ich tun nicht was kennt...
              well... there are worse things than
mutilating a language...
      you could do worse, like mutilate a body...
   like in that film...
   with colonel sisi... the last king of scotland...
ah, what's his name? that guy
reminding me to never travel to uganda?
    yeah, had a wife, she cheated on him,
so he cut off her legs and arms, and sewed them
back onto her torso so she really ended up
with a confused pair of cranium hemispheres...
    and i'm the mad one...
just because i drink and have a vocabulary
equivalent of diarrhoea...
       but, so it goes...
   i'll never say the correct way of saying
je ne sais quoi in Swabian... because je ne sais quoi
is a complete package... like faux pas is
a complete package, like carpe diem is a complete
package... like coup d'état is a complete
package... like déjà vu is a complete package...
    there's absolutely no way to unravel it
or furthermore: translate it...
      a German once complimented my language
on the cushion-like effect of the word
  kurva...  *****... he loved the trilled -r-
and the waterfall of -va / wa wa... va to english speakers;
and so he did, relieve himself of stress
saying the word... and with such malice as
to no hurt anyone... and what's happening in
english? social-cool, prescriptive dyslexia...
        one step away from really, i mean
really being o.k. with watching **** and all
forms of perversity, and not o.k. with seeing
the correct spelling of the word ****...
      yes... mm... so ******* agonising seeing
a correct spelling...
                                   i better gouge my eyes
out having seen that....
or that case of ultra-proximity...
     kręt                        vs.      skręt...
kręt (a pathological liar, on a building site in
England usually called a Romanian) -
skręt? a rollie... a cigarette, you know the type,
you buy the tobacco, you buy the papers,
you buy the filter... and you actually roll
a cigarette... a variation of the word skew,
i'm sure... kręt does actually mean a meddler...
a swinddler...  and if you having been exposed
to the reality of a construction site in england...
you should see the ******* that's written
in the toilets...
     i really shouldn't have gone to university,
i wasted my degree in chemistry to merely drink...
**** good wine though, home made juice...
   hyper! hyper! hyper-ventilating on the silence
that's gathering around me...
  and if you ever spotted a lightning bolt
and never heard a thunder... you're bound
to be as itchy as me -
and by the way: the karma term for a German
in Poland is: schwab - or szwab...
              of shvab... it's getting dizzy... pfoo...
bilinguals can't be proud polymaths...
         i'm seeing alternative spelling in different
linguistic geo-political zones.
Jordan Fischer Jun 2013
It's here I sit, looking at beauty's start
Yet here, I laugh at my bewildered heart
Her eyes match that of starry skies
Feelings for her greater than family ties
If I lost this there will be a great demise
  
Set sail amongst troubled sea's ,this boat corroding
Against the oceans heaves, my will is being broken
For my words lack the skill of spoken
And this ship is going down, In lieu of a captain
Neither, took lead of this troubled vessel
My mission is now to end this situation deemed stressful
  
  
Now, to her I am god yet, strange and unfamiliar
To me, I am a goblin, beautiful and familiar
It's a shame I have to end this, Now the darkness begins to overcome her
I now live in a world of undetermined reality
I apologize for my obscenity and crassness
I lay her down to sleep, For I am a prisoner in this madness
I am the warden in this madness
I lost all sense of what is real
I gave up all sense of what is real
And now, I lay her down to sleep.
Marshal Gebbie Feb 2014
When bit by proboscis of bullying *******
When flayed by management’s moneyed constraints,
When cowed by political pressure’s publicity
….Irrepressible positives will cut the restraints.

For regardless of age or the state of the body,
Regardless of worriment carried in lieu,
Your irrepressible “up” shall rise to the surface
To wipe negativity’s blemish from you.

Irrepressibly, positively beaming in sunshine
Gleaming blue eyes in the sweet morning air,
Sprinting ahead of the crassness negated
We won the moment with wind in our hair.

Marshalg
In beating the odds
AUCKLAND
6 February 2014
Tommy Johnson Sep 2015
This is my desire, my single cause
I can't let it never ever fade away
I'd do anything and I mean anything
I'm going crazy
I could never forgive myself
It can't be all for not
This is mine
My precious time
I can't let it never ever fade away
It's my only shot to make it, I'll take it
I would never forgive myself

Sweet relief, can't even speak
It hasn't been reached, no not yet
The brow sweat set out for a conquest
Spread me across the hood of the car because "I looked suspect"
Outraged protest ignited by civilian unrest
Caused by unlawful ****** and arrests
I guess because I'm young I deserve this knee on my chest
Barking questions , being all threatening, patting me down saying if I got nothing to to hide why do I seem so stressed?
It's just another one of those days, I know I'm still pulling through
But right now I need something to make me smile
Or at least something to get this off my mind for a while
But that's reality, not TV
The fight to avoid fatality
They ask for respect but I won't
They see my detest I make it known

This new age rebellion has ushered in a brand new millennium
Chanting the hymn for Yesterday's requiem
So it's safe to say that we're making history
This is us just taking a few liberties
         -Tommy Johnson
      
They think they have us tunnel visioned stuck to out phones
Think they can turn their youth into drones
They think we can be easily bought and sold
Think they own us along with our souls
But now right at this instant
We're coming to the conclusion that we are infinite
Try to distract us with stimulants and scare us with payment increments
Then start to get militant because we're so insolent
When an incident occurs to the innocent and they begin to implement beatings with their instruments
Whether it be a gun or a club because their so impotent    
Then we become impudent and riot, then their fate becomes imminent

I want some **** rest and some fresh air
And somebody to talk to me like they actually care
I need a moment to clear my head , it's too much to handle
The pressure, the exhaustion I blow out the candle
I close my eyes and make a wish that it did't have to be like this
Because I feel like all these burdens will make me lose my grip
But then again tomorrow is a new day, it could go any way
I'll try my best again, like I do everyday
I wanna bring the truth to the masses
And equality to the social classes
But it's hard when they just harass us
So please, do excuse my crassness
But I gotta do what do
I mean what say
I say what I mean
I give it my all, I give everything
Because I want what I came for
The odd are in my favor
As for the consequences, I''ll deal with that later
And in regards to the haters and naysayers
Go do your thing, I'll say a prayer
It is what it is
And I am who I am
You can either understand that or you can't
Either way don't underestimate what I can do
Because in the end it'll say less about me and more about you
Lyra O Dec 2014
stumble over the rhythm you create
as if it wasn't yours.
trip over the syllables in haste
as you attempt to overtake them
before they run out of control.
this is not poetry;
this is just plain crassness.
you're a verbal klutz,
and it hurts our sensibilities.
you can't hear what you're saying,
you are driving blind
in the blizzard of words
and you have the audacity to think
you'll get out of this unscathed;
somehow revered
because of your valiant effort
and mediocre product.
a bad combination,
and you're bound to be
called out on it, for sure.
luck won't cut it.
you have to know what you're doing
and you have to be good at it.
so if you have nothing to say
that you'll be saying right—
nothing that will squeeze flesh
through clothes or break skin and teeth
or kick and scream—basically,
don't
even
try.
26 Oct 2014. A love letter from my imagined critics.
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2014
So hollow in intensity, so shallow in it’s depth
A crassness to integrity, opaqueness so bereft,
A shadow of its former self, this champion of the State,
Arcane in miss-performance with mistake upon mistake.
How is it taken seriously, Why be now, so bizarre
This monolithic monster like a spider trapped in jar?
Writhing in confinement, convulsing from within,
In ranting forth obscenity with florid faces grim.
All dialogue refusal then a storming into view
Of hoodlums clad in camouflage waving weaponry at you.
To barge over borders with a reckless disregard
Mouthing blame at all the vanquished in a parody’s montage.
Abuse at reaction from an outraged world out there
Derision to the sanctions and a startled, people’s stare.
Russia in the only mode it knows to bridge defence
Attack, attack all comers then barter recompense.

M.
29 July 2014
Auckland.
Ken Pepiton Jul 2022
Grow win groan… mark off/28jul2022, upgrades check…
I  said I would, if I believed I could, gain, that actual
ever interest turning every fifty years, on unpaid
Jubilees among the feeble minded,
all of the people, some of the time.
- Interesting times, since ever I was aware
- compounding mistakes as hates, oy vey
- Travail, travel, wanderer drawn away
- Covid positive
by an un-listed wind,
an anomoly
on a nano
scale
- not that either, I lost count, yes
weight as value - {always} a war making ideas heavy,
salt thirsting from inside the wall, the system
makes the body drink so I may think, all is well
with my soul.
Weight-wise, I am alive,
worth then is measured
in might as might may prove choice of - el, yes, well
el, we all nod, we find the sound early to disting-wish

so. way say it, we are right our way, we drink
from our own wells, tanks we make, when we may.
We save on the surface the sheen, squinting eye tech
see in snow pieces of eight,

right
-- self assembling nano tech with a
built
in
programing language. But, I add, in my mind
but, on or off- but on, in breath
the living things are
running programs
built. Built in ifery ever, if the system forms,
the system must be activated or nothing occurs
to you to
bring
life
--- I'm not clear, is right conscience or conscious, with use
of science sense signals set
to know
when
intentional design is a tribe ID-word.
- we designed this thing we are in, or on, or about/
- maybe
(rules against saying intelligent design rule the teacher,
not the peacemaker, being minded to know all the magi-tech,
and more, when it comes to rules
in love and war, life,
per se, ain't fair.
Pay the piper and the mind that tuned the whistle
in my denture
to this peculiar signal)

morought-othephic resonance vector infection- Þ
check
genome editing crisper- thorny issue
check
Þ
humanizing pigs, honest.
craig ventor lifemaker?
He is known
for leading the first draft sequence
of the human genome
- using a mind formed after the bomb.
- there is a mark in time, for each first time.

tools, yeast synthesis, is this a war?
Physical war being planned
against our eukariotic soul mother, brother

is this
from Wonderbread,
an antibiotic problem or mere remaining wrong ideas?
Is it like…
cancer - or Chaucer in the shade, as the lackeys towed that
barque, 'n'**'st that bale, bo andoncha know
nobody steals a $400 bale o' good Montana hay for no reason…
there was a needle in that role,
a piercing maddening cross-referrent occurrence implicated
as interference pre'ferencing prefer not all you wish,
pre-referencing the author's op-own imagined experience…
meaninglessness is hard to market.
- I already read the writing on the wall metaphor
- I know the names I'll find, I just
- can't remember those two.

---checksums all the way down if/then/else
find a way to live.
Identify the man you were, read him in.
When he's his old, he'll seal the exploit.
Cancer decides, for itself,
that's all I can make from the confusion here,

there must be some kinda way outa here

You recall, said the Joker, to The Thief
meaningful work.
Guiding to death.
Shall I solve your meaningless ness, or my own?
Or might I

find the meaning built in,
that black box with the built in
programing language that
Singularity University guy said is so important,
the built in
programing language that
is so important,
the built in
programing language that
is so important,
the built in
programing language that


… interest, drew me, what drew you?
compounding
Life. Me, too.
Divine interest in life, especially the mortal aspect,
as pertains to life and godliness and all,
that came with this acceptance
of dominion, within the bubble I am pre-pressured
with somewhere
- so excited- jumpy-ohshit-spot
- runs
between plumb and puredy **** sure.

Having entered again the as-if realm, that m on the end of real

means money maybe maybe not knot ex-acted
see
a door? a narrow way few see? mmmm
Follow or flee, ennui, as for me,
I believe I've heard treasure is truth.

I dare be, yond all I ever knew, to make answer-able
prayers. I be for no other reason my reasonability
allows, but to trouble the water and watch it settle
- silver screen in the thymus meme-ory device
Sno-globe meditation technique, practiced in secret since…
who knows, but crystal ***** did do something.
People can look at sno-globes for ever,
and never grow weary of the novelty.

For some, simple is good, good is simple.
God is light.
Where light is…not
nothing is.
Evil thing in my mind, you have been certified nullified.

Wind war? I inherited the wind.
I know why the broad Sargasso sea is so still, willo'mywinds
whisper
Peacemakers come from homes troubled in the making.
The fecting up of the Peacemaker, protrudes
effective peacemaking is more
preclusive
unsettling,
Dear Rhea rumbling at more
pressure boiling for her to loose some
air.
Cultures sharing antibodies for old evils.
Once the evils men imagine are exposed,
refreshen the air. Take another hit,
message accepted,
we can handle those
acting-as-if the losers won,

but none need lose, for life, per se,
in the realm of mega-we,
life is seen
most precious by all men.

Some men may dare to despise their own flesh,
(despise means not look at, spek means look at, in many tongues)

however,
never shall life despise some men and look kindlish at others.
Salt, be salt, water, water, you, you
-insert Markov blankness
life has proven itself in you. Be or not is not the quest.
Go, be more alivening, is the quest.
Be a little leaven, a viral bit of peace,
just past understanding,
well within reach.

Be alive, and where you live, make peace so life may
may -be empowered to- make peace so life may
dub thee Troen Ridder
truth-be-told, teller
maker-of- peace so life may
increase abundantly good forever
for no better reason

than if you had your own way we would be friends.

Search for a video of sanctioned war in germ terms
eleven days from minimum

survivable dose MSD

to total ******* and

destruction of both sides, unless
the bubble of all they have learned can be

pressurized, from the insides,…
Thanks, yawn. stretch, sneeze
Pop.

I heard about Alamogordo. Thanks for that, too.

rightnow. what does fear of not knowing a known

feel like, suffering wise, scale of 1 to 10?

How about (odd phrase, eh) we suffer, instead,
the fear of the un
known

Nova Sanctorem sorta stuff. Book learned
spells mispoken by orphans

sifting through the ashes of all that went before,
enchanting, if one child finds a drum,

safe from the fire in the secret place,
child strikes the drum one time

wait
echo

Did your home place echo?
During day, or during night?

In my desert, it is both.
- go to where stories lie at rest.
With this drum and my echos,
we may finish your migration

Walk a mile with me, let me help you
with your bag,
your thing, trip, scene

Remember then?
Enchanting times with different echoes

Ancient, old as dirt, snake clan secret
extreme mental challenge trials.

Now. What's the missing or broken
ness you all are murmuring

how about? May I?

May I understand comprehension of perceptions
in the interest of interesting times,

which, when I was told that

"may you live in interesting times", is
alleged, an Imperial curse,
which, first,
by then, I had all ready taken if-that for
granted as good will toward me.

I considered it diligently
I sought the sweet influence of Pleiades,

I did. Lucky Luciano and the Polish word Lekka

Luck is a factor if luck is originally
onto logical epi stem strateg-ic
clear light, magi-tech-wise.

There is evidence. The rocks bear my significance
-in 2022
If I can, try sign if I can, and no sir not can sir
but breathe sir
censor, sweet sense or else

the most benign of the self-righting models
to embody
the six spins in one bubble.

could stumble and fall and have no means to right,
get the signal, right itself, per se,
if wrong fail of function better next time…ping
we wer- yea, verily ver-ifity confirmed
it-ify-ing evil, first
really.
Life in mere terms,
words live here, we know
Intentional wrong precedes right
in my experience of living while waiting for you.
but once you have a grip on evil
as a thing in your own realm,
under your dominion;

then, don't miss a wink.
sleep tight, don't dis-integrate and wake up crazy.

When Ezekiel saw the model, if he saw the model,
he'd, he 'ould have been well and truly
amazed, aclaimin', in awe, I saw

"wheels within wheels within wheels bubblin'
bib-lin' bubblin' in my soul"

banjo and fiddle, painful for an orphan
yearnin' to learn ttdrr drum that drum

My drum. The drum I found in the secret place
I knew was there, after the fire.

-----
Ah, Christmas, the message with its own,
built in medium to grow in with no competition.

The least suspected are all infected.
That Usual Suspects, all those sick social memes, as if

the war of numbers was a game for cannon founders

Krupp and whom, Red Shield in the ghetto?
I don't think that makes
all the sense in the world.
who was Warburg…{question or mark of timing}

-- we had things between scenes, glyphs, right
let's have a gliph,if we edit- I am this-Þ, as an after thought
Þ is the th sound among certain ancient tongues,
deafness separation and blind singers grown wealth in wine.

The act has formed another wedom,
and we have joined them on fi, okeh, fi-semper
in fiduciary, and rests, in truth compressed
Trust. On the dime
flip. Truth rests.
On this page again, a different me,
indeed, as different time, I'm
certain, fluidity of space, currents

swirling up three dimensions, six ways
measured from now at the center, once,

now at the edge, stretching one point,
to a pivot,
turn around and wonder what we do,
we mortal watchers, consuming life to live…

questing questions ion-
state, condition, or action, quest
quaerere "seek, gain, ask"

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=quest>

Can you think slowly? I can. Several volumes back,
we, discovered Jello-timespace, blinkable
and rubbable dry bubble eyes, murine
is accessible, state conditions or act

as if I were a maker of peace,
on the grandest scale,
would I fret living
for no reason
but one I made up, from bits of others,
made up from matters cogitated to troubled
state conditional actions
made up, fantasized, built to imagine going past,

a mountain of a man, big bad Yohan,
mean, mean, mean man,

I mean it, always.

6-19-2022 2200
- not so long ago, then
Father's day, lotsa laughs,

little error allowed, the fineness,
sorting racist fear from awareness,
the culture does produce to patterns,
common genetics, tend to produce
select models of all the options,
over and over and over again,
a loss
a complete misconception of my reason
able faith, applied, no lies, only big stories,
yes, I cannot remember what was real
and what was what I would have done,

then I remember the gun, I did tell that
guy with the gun
to stop. And he did.

Then the other guy, the one with the
shot gun, he has in my face,
and I am ready,

see, I say, to me today, I am ready

if I were you, you would think nothing
p-- I am too
tired and slightly drunk to care,

of course, the course is parseltongue tested,
listen, hiss, you know, the warning,
I own this space this time,
the serpent says to me,
I laugh and stomp it,
I made that snake,
it was not real.

You know how I feel,
daring, don't give a dam
gonna do another show,

rock and roll reality, believe me,
we have the Sisyphus's, happy
engine wound up and ready,

but Sisyphus quit.
Got to the top and said, that's it
I quit.
And time stopped in that sector.

Go look.
Nothing changes and Sisyphus
is happy as Hell to have nothing to do.

I want something cooler, reader five,
blackbandit-double-ought shot
pick a sigel jelly sidgil  sign damint spel chek
you know what I mean, magic it sigil -right
I guessed that.
My son in law cringes at my cultural crassness.
I think jews come in more recognizable patterns
than cultures that abandoned the marriage restrictions.

"At least --- did not marry a ------" Oy, right, mix race,
half-breed
race as a what, eh?
what we weigh is race, we do not know,
they said we know, but we don't so, no more, race
is a wrong idea,
not right.
The flavor, the leaven and spices and plagues of
cultures, idea - a we of one earth
- call Covid leaven,
- we all been co-leavened
- we all share simbionts,
- earth is our home and our calling is to be good.
- Spirit inspire expire ssssssss
that is a people, idea that shapes a people
cultures, symbiosis chimera are we, carriers
post all we all survived, we are carriers of all it took.


Quiet, the ride, holy silencio, yohan let it be son,
grow old and burn your pages/
slow skip staged events…

Okeh, from the beginning I am the auth-oth- or that
maker up, of my faith, author and glosser, shiner, finisher
on elements at work in melody and har,mmmmoney
echoes, eeeee
we agree, that is no reason to dare see it so,
we are all, by nature's god, double-minded,
doubt not is a trick of the trade,
ɤ thistledo-find a phoneme that fits kid
unify, un yonder run un if un if un if I die I knew
you know, knowing good and evil, was the plan,

nothing was a secret, once in a life time you may know.
yvonne cleland Sep 2015
‘We’ve got chemistry. She laughs at my jokes’, you said.
You slayed me with crassness. I imaged me dead.

Body brain jerks with racked cravings for you
as days upon days, and nights without break.
I willingly grew an addiction to you.
I can’t white the black or forgive my mistake.

I began to need you. All else fell away.
I designed my defeat, by saying yes that day.

Where women were, yes there you were;  
oozing charm like hot melt summer sun.
Those rabbits in headlights; blinkingly
they burned, flap-fluttered, couldn’t run.

She’s kicked you out once. Did she notice you hunt?
Did her heart die when seeing her end?
How can she know you better than me?
How is she more friend than me, ex friend?

You’d never survive on your own, big man.
You don’t even understand bills.
All you know is your stage and your fans -
how to extract the maximum thrills.

I now zombie glaze-like; undead. I howl for my friend and my lover.
I wanted to keep you like real, but living and high highs are over.
Sam Temple May 2015
unable to shake this slight pain in my head
it has become as consistent as the rising and falling tide
looking at crystals and tea leaves unread
seeking a new place of perception in which to reside
doing my best to avoid getting caught up in dread
feeling myself peeling apart like toilet paper, multi-plied
attempting to maintain what’s left of my street cred
eyes puffy from crying after my mother went and died
seeing dignity flee leaving me not even a shred
no one notices how hard I have tried
never once being the man who turned tail and fled
thinking back to the moment when so softly she sighed
my crassness overflowing cracking jokes about the ******
seeing the anger flash across eyes fit to be tied
grasping for something to prevent a trip to the woodshed
a long piece of kindling, seasoned Maple, and wide
giving me something to think about before bed –
The boogey man is not a man,
But a monstrous cavity in the minds of the men.
Black corners and shaded wardrobes,
What deamon, boggle, hobgoblin the bedstead-dark holds?


Eyes are sticked on the darkness,
Noble nowhere: the wide pupil is seeing far less,
While the truth is under your nose:
Thousand lies' eyes lie upon you that no one knows now.


Spiders? Rat snakes? What's hidden there?
No one knows and no one cares by-chance you barely dare;
It's you and your mind - your demons
Who barely care - its self-destruction deepens itself.


Dark room, wardrobe and under-bed;
Darkness dwells in none of among them, but in your head.
Empty-headed pics of crassness,
Made by no boogey, but an ignorant's recklessness.


Put away your holy water;
No need for illusive Jinn-conjurer Gin-tonics.
Darkness knows one weapon: homage;
Nightmares can be killed only through the light of knowledge.


Black corners and shaded wardrobes,
What morbid poison, what fearful drug your brain cells hold?
Embrace no torch, no crucifix;
The thirst of knowledge dries out every grim-naughty pics.
22.05.2018
Keenon Brice Feb 2016
what gives you new life?

- the underpinnings of the artist
- mischief (and hellishness
- (becoming friends with nothingness)
- devotion to (healthy) destruction
- becoming friends with nothingness
-----------------------------------------------------­-------
hellishness (being hellish)
(the shadow)
exploration of the shadow
the unconscious
rage
callousness
violence
killing (things)
crudeness
crassness
- healthy outlets for destruction
- becoming friends with nothingness
rage

wbu?
its an important thing to know
------

mischief and hellishness
becoming friends with nothingness
the underpinnings of the artist
-------
memories of musing privately
(good memories
of musing privately)
---
(waiting) to be moved, egoically
--
confident ignorance
i try to be unconscious and let things shape themselves
(things shaping themselves unconsciously)
---
the familial greif inbetween my teeth
----
i cant control this beast
the beast that is my creativity
Bob B Oct 2016
PC
It's very disturbing to hear people say
That they wholeheartedly object
To being forced to weigh their words
And having to be politically correct.

Forgetting the crassness of earlier times,
They want to return to the careless days
When Jews were called horrible things;
When blacks weren't "blacks" and gays weren't "gays";

When Native Americans were called "redskins";
When despicable names were given to our foes,
And children were taught horribly racist
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moes."

People didn't "cheat" you, they "gyped" you;
The Irish and Italians were both called names;
"Eskimo" was a generalized term;
Men referred to women as "dames."

Mute people were "dumb" back then;
Latinos and Asians were called names, too.
It seems that derogatory words
Were seldom if ever considered taboo.

Will decency and respect both
Be tossed out the window? Please say no.
We can't return to the ignorant days
Of racist jokes and slurs and Jim Crow.

Being a considerate human means
Sometimes bearing a heavy load.
Our lack of sensitivity
Can lead us down a dangerous road.

- by Bob B
Whitavius May 2020
I love to flirt and dance with suicide
Counting death, as if I’ve already died
It’s a fantasy date with destiny
The thrill of that last and final ride….

I’ve gone over the edge… I think
Into a melancholy void I sink
Where flights of imagination take over
Memories and projections, with no apparent link …

Do I long for the end? Sure…
But allas, there is no cure …
Death being but a transitional doorway
Into another state, not necessarily pure…

I cannot shed this sadness
Nor it’s selfendulgent madness
Its all adding up to imbecility
And an attitude of crassness!

Ah! More time spent in morbid revery
Emotional Back-sliding and mental mortality
But never you mind!
The worst catalyst is any sympathy ….
The Fire Burns Oct 2016
With my claw hammer
I pry out the label
releasing the love
that is trapped in side

I crack the hard shell
created by the
crassness of others
with lies and deceit

With a brush of my hand
and the press of my lips
I sweep away the remnants
and release the angel beneath

Stepping into the light
emotions renewed
ready to try love
with no labels
While traveling down relentless highways,
still trying to discover where to find;
The essence of tranquility and love,
to halt the turmoil poisoning our minds.

Emotions streaming in an endless fury,
enraged by all the purposeless of life;
Fraught and fearful of misguided echoes,
that dampen spirits' cause to surmount strife.

But worlds of raging anger climb above,
in perilous words that lack civility;
As the crassness of each mournful missive,
tends to feed upon the public's sanity.

Yet in the air a solemn pledge will rise,
from past histories defying caustic themes;
And suddenly the storms are put to rest,
by brave revolts against satanic schemes.

As if a bridge appears amidst the haze,
where highways cross the ocean's mighty force;
While following our hearts to greener pastures,
we're set upon and clear and righteous course.
Yenson Nov 2020
what does it feel like
for those obsessed fans
in fervent devotion and attention
to the subjects of their adoration
can't be easy, me thinks
especially when caught
between their fixation
and what it says about them

even more puzzling is the fact
not for them buying and playing idols music
or just simmering lustfully over photo shopped posters
or even hanging round venues
in hope of a sight or a touch
No these obsessed fans I know
live in a mind or not of their own

day and night their minds occupied
looking, talking, imagining, projecting
fantasizing, objectifying and pontificating
totally consumed to the point of crassness
and we ain't talking children here

what's so laughable though
they spend valuable time and efforts
writing litanies and absurd proses
hourly, daily,' morningly' and deep duskily
wow, not even Jagger or Paul McCartney
gets such attention
some call them stalkers or raving loonies
I say same difference

— The End —