"designing" poems
implosions are for starfish and our mission is clear. we have nowhere to be from
and that's half the battle. we are seldom unbridled in the chastity of our carnal bluff...
and our cages are breathing. we are finally designing our most daring Inertia.
both mum on the details in the devil's flotsam. we jot some of the names of the nameless...
on the outside of Dixie cups. like mint julep promise to a tangerine honest.
again and again, we ache through the breeze of our soothing traumas. we court the verity of a sham.
we blast through the congregation of our adversary, snipping varmints from a stale camp
in the southernmost of our due south,; where they fear the bonfire until a vagrant maps
the flaming tongues to a long kiss.... and we crash upon the shore
of Never Asked.
but regret This.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
Earth invents gifts,
On life forms, there's no thrift,
Earth the inventor,
Are humans the predators?
We've wrecked habitats,
Even our own, that's that!
But more Earth inventions,
New form of populations,
Earth always inventing,
Innovations designing,
What's the best invention?
Is man an aberration?
Once a Garden of Eden,
Life we're superseding,
Still, on life forms there's no thrift,
Earth keeps inventing gifts.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I’m still making
From her life that now I’m grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes, bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As Depression stole her ev’ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I’m now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving*
*In honor of my mother, Edla Sylvia Fitzpatrick, on this International Women's Day
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 1:01 PM UTC
Murva fashion collection introduced at Eco Fashion Week has been a life long process for Ivana Knezovic, Creative Director / Designer. This was not only the 29 year old Croatian designer's first collection, but also her first international performance.
She debuted her eco-friendly collection titled Rust & Flow on the runway at Eco Fashion Week in Vancouver, Canada. Her pieces are all made from eco-friendly wool flannel.
Ivana Knezovic made interesting use of symmetrical lines, and I admired the draping from the shoulders framing a dress low-cut in back. One dress had several parallel vertical cut lines on the backside.
Many of her tops had capes, hang from one shoulder or both, paired with slim pants or a skirt. A nice touch of dramatic flare as the models moved down the runaway.
“Fashion design was always in me,” say Ivana Knezovic. Having resided in New York, Toronto, and Switzerland, designing was something she always wanted to do. "Murva is the name of a tree in my village. My company represents a return to my roots, to who I am at my core."
"I like structure. I like hiding the body behind some kind of a structure," said the designer who makes all her own clothes and cosmetics. "Eco is a product of maturity and of wholeness that you can only achieve when you really and truly grow up."
As a designer, she told me that she strives for “pure minimalism,” yet her eco-fashion designs are made for a sophisticated, minimalistic, and determined woman.
Exactly what the eco-fashion movement needs.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
It feels good to know how the head looks like
I have a green pencil
The head is the eraser
In the nite time she picture the future
She painted them green
There are plenty pencils but different eraser
This pencil is breath taking,full of life
With the pencil it feels good that anything is possible
Yes!!! anything is possible
Let's make a new kind of pencil, so that anything can be possible
We can decide to erase the old one,
With a new kind of pencil
We can believe in the new world of ours
Ours is a generation of unending love
Let's stay all night designing a new kind of pencil
Let's be creative, let's be green.
Though we are going to be misunderstood,cause people don't like trying new things
The universe is waiting for us down the lane
I hope we do it right. . .
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
There's an architect designing the world from the skyline downwards, as he believes himself to be a God
The paraffin lamps on Victorian cobbled corners are as dry as the seraph in dust bowls over some arid sea
A portrait exists, of a town covered in mist and the orange cliffs are a thousand bloodied wrists
Somewhere music plays to ghosts, obtuse reverberations of some cave on a mountain... or something
and what a useless skill it is to be a poet, flouting fanciful words as if a single soul cared or could possibly muster anything more than unadulterated apathy
What a lonely life it is, to spend entire days watching *********** and reveling in dissociative stoicism
Watching cam girls for hours on end, swept up in conversation yet never taking part, only watching
They seem as lonely as anybody, holed up in crimson rooms as anonymous DJs play through laptop speakers
Fielding obscene questions with a smile and renting their body in timetables to the highest tipper
and some days the depression becomes so heavy that ************ seems impossible, though it's possible to blame such scarcity on the anti-anxiety meds that have ruined so many-a youthful folly
Is there a more flattering notion, than a story teller being commended for honesty when every word is a lie
Fictional accounts of melancholic lives told in a pulchritudinous verse or a prose of the most regal purples
Using nothing more than psycho-stimulants and a smeared bedroom window for inspiration
There's a writer sat at a desk, typing ridiculous lines of text, as he knows himself to be human
and in that humanity he strives to create a realists interpretation of existence through scattered memories
and derivative styles of his favourite authors whilst using educational texts as footnotes in imaginary diaries
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
1,
you were already 16,
2,
but I was finally turning 15,
3,
you knew I didn't celebrate my birthday,
4,
but you never ask why.
5,
I had a birthday that coexisted around the time,
of valentines.
6,
We we're unable to see each other the week on valentines,
but the week after on my birthday we could.
7,
you faced timed me,
all week,
while working on my gift,
but never showed me your hands,
so I never saw the present.
8.
finally it was my horrible birthday,
a day full of crying at home,
but finally I was here at your house to hand you,
my pay check,
because I really wanted you to get your permit.
I knew how much you wanted it.
so I had 60$ for you.
9.
you came out,
saw me and picked me up and kissed me,
hugged me like a distant relative who was way to friendly would,
and like them,
we both acted in not wanting to let go,
10.
We went inside your house,
and sat on your tiny brown couch,
and your mom was so happy to take pictures,
and I gave you my gift,
11.
you opened it,
and you almost cried,
and I did see the tear in the corner of your eye,
then you left like the sun leaves the day to fetch mine,
12.
your mom got to talk to me,
and was so very happy,
she even made me a cake,
like one you would of seen at a wedding,
I couldn't of said thanks enough.
13.
you came back,
and you gave me a tiny little box,
and a note,
14.
you opened the box first,
and told me to read the note while he put my gift on me,
15.
my note said,
"baby you are my valentine,
and violets and roses combined,
will never be a more beautiful design.
Speaking of designing,
I made you this necklace and its shining,
just like your eyes,
but I cant rhyme,
so I hope you know this was more then for,
being my valentine one special day of the year,
its for everyday,
even your birthday,
so enjoy it more.
love,
the necklace maker"
and everytime,
I wore it,
I was happy,
because I thought of him,
15
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
The western sky sweeps
Darkness to back yards
The dawning east keeps
Designing with hues
Mornings greeting cards.
Nice to see the crews
Active in writing
Fresh magic haikus
Deep in creating
Textures and sinews
With unique mixing
Of color and lures
Interspersed musings
On honeycomb verse
Soft snowflake rhymings
Draught on fragrant wings
Beams of rainbow waves
Fuse sweetness and light
Deeds of Devine Inc
Wrought in suntan ink
Duty with delight
In morning twilight
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 10:16 PM UTC
hey donald trump, why are you thinking people w2ho get wounded in battle aren’t heroes
cause if you think your a hero, your a hero of nothing
because **** fanning battled a shark, mate, and he deserves a reward
but you donald trump deserve nothing, nothing nothing
i have fought tooth and nail to prove that poor people have rights
and i ain’t into the army, but i know they are brave now here is we’re not going to take crap from trump anymore
ya know, when i first heard of him, i8 thought of professor plum or professor plunket
and you will never win my vote, if i was an American, no way hoi zei
i think i might spew, i think i might spew, i think i might spew on you trump, yeah
i disagree with your comment trump, nothing against you, just your comment
you sound so right wing, only allowing rich people honours
i ain’t into john mcCain either, but that is his views, and i hate your views even more
it makes people think you are crazy, a real crazy ************
people fight for the good of the nation , what do you do
i am designing homeless shelters, would you do that trumpet
i will party with all the poor people while rich snobs like trump wrecks the world with his selfish opinions
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn
I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute
In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight
Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last
Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light
She taught me much that I'm still making
From her life that now I'm grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving
The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly
The vision of my eyes bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As depression stole her ev'ry dream
The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I'm now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
I'm not afraid to die of her smile
because no poison
no fuel, adulterated......
and no betray in her mind
when she smiles deep and sweetly
then I want to swim as much as I
and, of her tears like ocean
i wish I could swim, I can fly of her voice
I love her specifically, since
when we had been strangers for a day
for a night of flowering season
and we had smiled jointly by faced
I recalls that moments by heart and silenty
the beautiful moments returning
with holding her shadows --
she was smiled, that pictures arrived again
Like a baby of smallest ages I play
and the pictures makes me happy
as I feel like the climbing on the peak of mountain's
I love her smile
makeup, beautify herself and
everything of her fashion
and designing, and become natural beauty
i love her like a fish loves water
i love her like a bird loves sky
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
I got some drama /Yeah-uh/with some haters
All I can say is I'll have to see you later
Cause I've got my own thing
Yeah, I've got my bling bling
n' now I know you're all just hate'n on my ching-ching
cause I'm so happy designing clothes
Yeah-uhh, you so want a pair of those
it makes me sing out loud/heck yeah/ I'm so **** proud yeah-uh/ I love to own it/yeah-uh--cause I love to show it
n' I'm so happy to be alive/yeah uhh/I'm groove'n with a smile
creating jewelry and, my line of clothes
you're so drooling over those
Oh, yeah-uh/you know ya wanna own it
Yeah/I'm so happy to be a girl who's on her game
I'm make'n bling with my own name
And it's not like I'm all that
uh, hell no/I ain't no kinda stuck up brat
I keep it real/Yeah-Uh-- I keep it low
I keep it classy like a cat-eyed 90210
I pass some girls /Yeah--uh, out on the street
n' when they give me that nasty bitchface look
you know the one with shark fish hooks
it's the one up n' down/then so slyly to the ground
Yeah-uh, you flash up from my face/and, then so slyly to my feet
while I pass them on the street
*they check my ***
Yeah-uh --
the bitchface pass
I got some drama /Yeah-uh/with some haters
All I can say is I'll have to see ya later
Cause I've got my own thing
Yeah, I've got my bling bling
n' I'm so happy to be groove'n to my own thing
So sing it now/Yeah-uh/come join me now
If you can afford this kinda look/you're gonna love the second looks
Cause you gotta swing it like you own it/yeah-uhh you got to get down low n' own it/Yeah-uh/cause girls like us we like to show it/Yeah-uh we love to dress up all couture/n' swagger with allure/
n' when haters pass/as they're checking out my ass/I say...
I'll see ya later
I say goodbye
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
I spent
my life
designing a
border,
between myself
and the
world of
disorder
But the
border was
breached by
a world
so sick,
with hearts
of stone
and minds
of brick
©
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
Poems mean a lot to me
indeed a very lot you see
the society I live in
is reflected in all the lines
love is very important almost a sin
and the always one glasses of wines
the best medicine for our health
they say is also wealth
but I regard love is the most important
remember I am human not a mutant
love is the best for our life
it is obvious that we must strife
love is like the present wind
that blows constantly so tender in
through my thirsty body and mind
I reside in this country oh so kind
a country full of peace, plenty of place and love to hide
that's why I have my domicile here and reside
My beloved likes reading and traveling
we have seen parts of the world a very lot
I have other kinds of interests, like painting
writing essays, listening to music, and praying to God
building websites, designing cards and yes
conducting PC Help desks, accounting, telebanking, and playing chess
in London and Serfaus, going to musicals and skiing,
along the Mediterranean sea, enjoying life, making love while driving
how do I do that, d'you really want to know, dear?
while whatsapping, walking, running, and the music to the ear
really very simple, your love in you, your whole soul in there,
just like our parents using tupperware
but ah, I like most to describe the love in poems I write
then posting them for your most beloved after that heavy night
since love is so important in our life
you must not take it for granted but must strife
we can't miss it in our life its function
like: though sometimes on our highway a junction
it's like the great water of the mighty ocean
it has grip on you, you feel the strength, but it's your addiction
the strong water's ripples too, its mildness
you demand the best, the most but never less
and remember for ever that in the country I live in
the kind of love I'm so addicted to, is never a sin
in the end my heart and being will constantly say Amen
© Sylvia Frances Chan
15th August 2013 -
5.21 hrs a.m. WETime
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
poet
oh poet
artisan
of the message
superbly designing
imagery and mind moods
the world would be the poorer
without your impressive wordage
we rejoice in the stroke of your quill
poet master craftsman sculptor of the page
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 6:25 AM UTC
The Pitch Perfect 2 star has teamed up with plus size clothing label Torrid to create the capsule holiday collection which is set to go on sale in store and online from November.
Items from the 25-piece limited edition line - which includes cute koala-print tees and quirky microphone shaped accessories - will all retail under US$130 (RM466).
The 29-year-old actress - who is known for her curvaceous figure - was keen to design the collection after struggling to find "cool" and "affordable" plus-size clothing herself.
She said: "I've had a torrid affair with buying clothes all my life.
"I've never really felt like there's a brand out there in the plus-size world that is creating cool stuff, that fits well and is good quality yet affordable. So it was awesome to team with Torrid, who I think are doing such a great job in making plus-size fashion relevant and dope.
"I've been loving designing the clothes for my capsule collection. I've been putting my unique style and personal loves into the clothing and literally can't wait for the collection to launch!"
Rebel recently confessed she was encouraged to try her hand at design after realising her fashion choices had started having an impact on her fans.
She told Elle magazine: "It's becoming important for me. I saw a lot of girls were beginning to notice what I wear and I feel a kind of responsibility, because there aren't any women in Hollywood my size and age."Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
Hours, invested in front of the mirror-
Masquerading traces of imperfection.
Artistically designing an ideal 'beautiful'
Subjecting God's product to correction.
Stepped forward a mere lady. Modified-
And strolled away in a goddess' shoes.
You are picture perfect; ideal, just right,
But still lacking divinity's perfect hues.
Your foundation's more rare than most;
Down to earth as if curved out of dirt.
Your inner person's a wonder of nature.
Your unique body language, foreign; curt.
You would never have to alter your looks-
If my hazel eyes were to be your mirror.
Because through them, you would see-
How your positives are much more clearer.
The way your smile stretches on your face;
The tight grip of truth in your soft voice;
The way your body says 'art from heaven;'
The way I stare like my eyes have no choice.
Not the most flashy of earth's accessories,
But still captures the attention of my heart.
Not various items of weighty price tags,
Your beauty is more of God's internal art.
I love every touch of God's image on you;
Dark fair skin, wide hips and daring eyes.
Sweet lips, your nose, chin; your everything.
That's the makeup which money never buys.
I love your makeup. For it is neither worn-
Nor victim of the winds of time and change.
I love your makeup cuz you can wake in it-
And its not so much as to make you strange.
Not mascara, face powder or eye shadow.
Your makeup doesn't enhance your beauty.
I love your makeup cuz come what may-
Your makeup is the you my heart will see.
Keep Smiling
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
In real life I don't have the courage to utter all these words. By stringing them together, I can get these phrases. I am most amazed what poetry made possible, you can read it in: The Audacity of a Poem
*************************************
Poems mean a lot to me
since it is reciprocal you see
the society I live in
is reflected in all these lines
love is very important almost a sin
and the always one glasses of wines
always getting in
the best specialist for our health
they say is also The wealth
but I regard love is the most important
remember I am human not a mutant
love is the best for our life
it is obvious that we must strife
love is like the present wind
that blows constantly so tender in
through my thirsty body and mind
I reside in this country oh so kind
a country peaceful, plenty of place and love to hide
that's why I have my domicile here and reside
My beloved likes reading and traveling
we have seen parts of the world a very lot
I have other kinds of interests, like humming
writing essays, feedbacking, listening to music,
and praying to God
building websites, designing cards and yes
conducting PC Help desks, bank-scanning, and chess
in London and Serfaus, musicals and skiing,
along the Mediterranean sea, enjoying life, love while driving
how do I do that, d'you really want to know, dear?
while whatsapping, driving fastest, and the music to the ear
really very simple, love in you, your whole soul in there,
just like our parents using tupperware
but ah, I like most to describe the love in poems I write
posting them for my beloved after that heavy night
since love is so important in our life
you must not take for granted but must strife
we can't miss it in our life its function
like: though sometimes on our highway a junction
it's like the great water of the mighty ocean
it has grip on you, you feel the strenght, but it's addiction
the strong water's ripples too, its mildness
you demand the best, the most but never less
and remember for ever that in the country I live in
the kind of love I'm so addicted to, is never a sin
in the end my heart and being will constantly see
my one and faithful Man,
for Thy most precious gift, I say to Thee
thank You, my Lord. Amen (fon.: A-'men)
© Sylvia Frances Chan
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 5:25 AM UTC
A summer’s hand on bewildered torso chest,
her love: the best kept secret since their escape
to Brest that time in Spring,
Northwest France with its untamed waves lapping at the
hull of The Sea King in the harbour, half mast.
But with every try, harder than the last,
he did not respond to her see-through glass
appeals for an apology-
over two-hundred-and-seventy-minutes
wasted on the TGV back to Paris,
a holiday cut short by her wandering knees,
wide apart in another man’s apartment.
For money was passed in sweating palms
for a day’s encounter with her good looks and charms,
though the men never knew
about her man back at home,
designing the new tourist information
for a cheap weekend-stay in the heart of Rome.
What he bought to the marriage:
stability, safety, security and their baby.
What she bought to the marriage
mainly tears and daily anxiety.
But they both knew the complications
and the clauses of her contract,
agencies would delve deep into the contact’s history
to make sure they were legit,
but it never hid the fact that she had
intimate encounters in hotel honeymoon, champagne, new linen suites.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
Jiminy Cricket needed a sport
That little Pinocchio could play
He didn't like tennis, the shorts were too short
He didn't like skiing at an Alpine resort
He didn't like squashing in a little squash court
He didn't like pigeons or clay
He dreamt of a game with a bat and a ball
A game that could last all day long
Where all would be welcome, the short and the tall
Where language and creed didn't matter at all
Where it could be played from the spring to the fall
A game for both weak and the strong
He pictured a game that was played on the grass
That all the young kids could enjoy
Where boys stood around, there was no need to pass
Where scoring was easy and points would amass
Where no one would notice or try to harass
A mild mannered small wooden boy
With pencil and paper, he had so much fun
Designing his very own bat
He wrote down the rules so they'd know who had won
With six points for boundaries and one for a run
And proudly admiring the work that he'd done
He decided to call it "HOWZAT!"
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
The careful moon maunders through the glass ceiling
on these long nights
when I try to alchemize my visions into ships.
I imagine the mist moping among the larches—
the dewy bark that wakes,
looking for shadows of loggers in the grey.
On cold nights like this I sleep beneath a sheet, sweating,
dreaming of China’s violet sky exploding with hues
of a butterfly’s paper wings.
The summer air crackles above the pale girl’s tent—
a counterfeit ankh hangs between
her naked, sagging *******
and she sees the future in the reflection of her eye
on an Opinel’s blade—her iris wheezing into shapes.
She tells me there are gales ahead
like ones in schoolbook etchings of Poseidon.
Boys will choke on salt, she says,
or the ice will kiss the little princes to sleep.
But she coos how they look like dancers at a ball.
How many boys will be lost? I ask the girl.
All of them, she says with ***** on her breath,
but this won’t stop you, will it?
In my favorite dream yolk sizzles on a cast iron as mother sings.
My older sister laughs, cheeks full of sourdough and jam,
and father’s wet hair drips onto his paper—
the ink of little letters smearing into bare branches.
The dream helps me forget that rain never ends where I wake,
where guilt’s proboscis feeds on hardened veins.
To whomever’s my son, please don’t put me in an elegy
where the memory of me will rot like wet wood.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
Is it true?
Somebody picked at her fire.
Flames radically grew mighty and symbolic,
newly ignited from the heat of conduction.
No amount of water would drown the luminous light,
she cried out in curiosity.
A lifetime spent designing her peace,
submissive to her needs and wants.
Please visit whenever you'd like,
how heavenly have I become?
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 3:06 PM UTC
There was once a juxtaposition of a silent mathematician,
hand in hand with a melody called fiction.
Fighting to be free, yet fleeing from fruition.
Unure in his conditionm, he is guided by her transition.
This was never going to work.
Fiction's as ignorant as his judgement was missing.
She was vexed by his logic, and his rate of attrition.
Suddenly she see's him far from volition,
Whilst he hears something new - designing definition.
The record plays softly
Finally he understands to feel free from inquizition,
is about more than just logic. It's about his ambition
He returns from his audition
Dressed well with suspicion
Blood on his hands - the endeavour of reason.
Now filled with guilt, this once honourable statistician,
is dynamic and pretentious, it's impossible to miss him.
Because through a bad combination of radio emission,
sounds a shriek from the crowd's world's worst composition.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 7:52 AM UTC
Life ******* heat, sweat dripping
from head to feet. trying my best to stay cool,
hoping I don't look like a fool
sitting here and starting to drool.
God bless America and the designer
of women's clothing everywear.
and yes that's wear with an E.A.R.
Stars and stripes forever, especially
when they cover so little skin.
Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
So much lust and not enough ******
I'm about to bust, don't think I can wait til' dusk.
That's when the real men busk, and they're
hoping to take home a little more than spare dollar bills.
Get your quills ready boys, cause nothing here is steady.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC