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Andrew Sep 2017
I can't hear the choir from my couch
It becomes a funeral pyre in a pouch
Like the unnatural fire in my slouch
That is where I retire
To superficially admire
A world I'll never see
Placing trust in the screen
I'm as lonely as can be
Until couches set me free
From a life worrying about others
The couch becomes my banal brother
That is where I concoct my cowardly plan
To avoid my fellow meddlesome man
Living a life in silence
The couch creates pylons
Determining where I can go
Determining what I can know

This Ottoman Empire
Lights the world on fire
With cushions that fuel
Flames and drool
I attempt to stand
But life seems bland
With feeling constant comfort
So my personality I import
From the images on TV
And my brain it impedes
When I can't think for myself
I put my life on the shelf
And flee into furniture
The couch my burning cure
Johnny Noiπ Aug 2018
In Gothic architecture,                          light is considered
                       the most beautiful revelation of God;
                    Beauty is a characteristic of an animal,
                    an idea, object, person or place that provides
an experience of pleasure,                           or satisfaction;
                    Beauty is studied             as part of aesthetics,          [culture],
                    social psychology, philosophy & sociology;
An ideal beauty is an entity;
admired; possessing features
widely attributed                            to beauty in a particular culture;
       to perfection:

Ugliness [commonness],  [          ]  commonly                          co­nsidered to be the opposite
                  of beauty,
annihilated as an intellectual concept,
                                  no longer exists;

      The experience of beauty is     often
involved in     an interpretation of some
entity     [being in balance & harmony];
                  the experience of nature may                lead to feelings
of attraction                                               & emotional well-being;
                                    Because perception is a purely   subjective experience,
                                    it was once said that beauty
                                   is in the eye of the beholder;                  
                                    a­ sentiment long debunked;

There is evidence                               that hypothetical       perceptions
of beauty involve                               determining
aspects of                      things,                              peop­le & landscapes;
                            beauty is typically found
in situations likely to enhance the survival
of the perceiving collection
        [of chromosomes]
Bullet Oct 2018
I lived through these worlds
Some I've eased
Some are permanently marked
These years determining
Failure or Success
Directions leave me etch-a-sketching
A destiny at a desk
Make sure that ***** is in the right dress
Before you gain more to lose n' you leave with less

I can't stop thing of
The demons that have
Laid dormant
All the people have
Entered my door
Just to leave dirt on the door mat

People come and go
Nothing lasts forever
Love, ****, n' lost friends
Have no longevity
I'm stuck in this frame of mind due to the gravity
Hopefully one day I'll leave this painted picture
Then life will maybe stop torturing me
I'll be able to have gave it my all

21 dimensions I now have to mention
Too everyone who enters my attention
Tension between me n' reality
I'm tightly strained in the mind
The 22nd might be my last
All it takes is 20 seconds
To lose a life
Doesn't mean I can't write these wrongs
To be right  
Traveling across dimensions
This will be my 22nd
Hope I will be set or
* will be placed
Welcome to my home
Where years determine
Details directing me
Towards these new dimensions
Matthew Roe Sep 2018
This is it.

Your big moment.
Taking time at these crossroads.
Your decision determining destiny.
A moment all your own, never to be replicated.
skittering circuits buzz, obedient to your commands.
Hours lay ahead of you, stuffed and bulging with the static you will consume.
Channel 2 or channel 4?

This is it.

Your catastrophic downfall.
An outcry was made, now the civility is shattered.
the acquaintances you once held as companions,
may now cut icy glares as the senate did to Caesar.
alarms ring, as you feel reduced in their eyes.
You got the wrong change at the cafe,
so you ask for a fiver.

later on,
your banquet awaits, golden and sunbaked.
stewed for months, in rich and creamy crop of the land.
taking your throne, in the cool shaded flank in your garden of eden.
A cup of soup and a bag of crisps.

these grand odysseys still raise up those same emotional epics,
as moments in youth locked in the past.
like lying on a blanket at the very edge of one of the seven sisters.
alas, you are still perched upon oblivion,
cup of tea in hand.
Although written before it, this one is closely connected to my other poem, 'the kind one', thematically. The bit about the couple on the cliff edge is something I actually saw when visiting Beachy Head earlier this year.
poetryaccident Oct 2018
Evidence becomes the coin
determining worth on the scales
already rigged from the start
with no measure to dissuade

when morality is the judge
of a world they’d like to purge
all will fall beneath their gaze
when the virtue is misplaced

evil witnessed outside a book
or experience of the self
both are seen as paradigm
to the ones that are assured

madness lays down those paths
even while hearts are pure
identifying outside the lines
the normative is put aside

deviants by their choice
that’s when nature is most pure
without deceit verbalized
even though the masses cry

normative becomes the chant
damning all that are unique
now proof condones everything
or lack thereof to place the hate.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181001.
The poem “Proof Condones” was inspired by the actions of people who demand evidence for the legitimately of the LGBTQ spectrum.  People from both binary ends are quick to exclaim that the middle does not really exist.  There seems to be a call to provide proof dating, intimate encounters, and chromosome level testing.  These calls are requested for the sake of evidence-based credentials.  Sadly this discredits what the spectrum knows is true for themselves.  Regardless of experience and appearance, the B, Q, and T of LGBTQ are in a position to KNOW who they truly are.  The need for proof, especially proof tied to supposed moral or purity standards, is both hateful and destructive.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Thinking of Eve Seeing First the Shiny Thing
The subtile beast, she saw eating of the tree she was
would **** her
if she ate it and she believed,
if she even touched it, she would die,
though die was something of a mystery.
What, she thought, is happening here?

The shining serpent thing
is living and eating the fruit of knowing
some thing known to this thing,
unknown to me, this shining serpent can't speak, needn't, but 'tis a beguiling
a scoff-god swallowing forbidden fruit
as nothing happens. Not dead,
what ever that may be,
why should I? Curioser
and curiosum it says, with its eyes,
"you shall know, as God knows, you shall not
surely die".
(those Kachinas, I imagine dancing off in time,
singing as the chorus of snakes,
"we hold such things as men can't hold in hands")

Oh, no, wait and see. We, you and me, we play no
past roles, no deed is redone, thoughts are rethought.

Everything has been thought, the object of thinking
is to think them again. Mr. Goethe made note of that fact,
when he thought, everything, excepting what I know,
is temporary at the moment, I recall the idea of

God knows what, but it ain't accidental,
and it ain't the misperception of decept-icons dancing
on the head of a pen.

You got that right - question - quest ions symbolize what
you do not know, so, who knows? Question marks
Symbolize the act of questioning. It's a primal need,
Wisdom, the principal thing of which
more is always desire-enabling.
Somebody beyond your knowing imagined that  right.
Would you believe the algorithm needed to program
perception of a who'll-go-rhyme,
or an I'll-go-rhythm positive knee-**** response
to the ***** of a pen or the whisper of a word,
which it is supposed, was written
by 100 monkeys with typewriters,
whacking away endlessly, balancing precariously
on the edge of the first 100 turtles
in the stack? What are the odds, eh?

Life has a plan with no plot, ought we think?
We shall not surely die, we know now, that's a lie.

Beyond believing lies, we know now, how and why
we are *****, by our own cognition.
We told us we are *****.
We, now, know that,

but here, in the pages of the book of life,
we are no longer subject to the ******* of fearing death.
Here, there is no more condemnation.
Believed lies re-cognized here,
affect no fear, we know,
the final foe fell. "It is finished" was no lie.
Take comfort here. Be still, and know,
rest prevents any
re-triggering viruses left by
the lying messenger's old fables, told as prophecy
or fair-tales oft sung as epics
pre-determining the possibility of evil winning in the end.
The words that built the lies remain,
not the lies. Evil never had a chance, life isn't fair.

The basic plot is a man-made thought, the purpose is not.
Life goes on, death never could have won
and now its power serves
to make eternal waves that keep thinkers thinking things differently.
Loneliness, after all is said and done,
is not
as common
as one might think. There's always
Details, details, details
God only knows.
Saying such a thing idly is vain.
Unless, you know, God knows.
****, that, too.
None of that here, you know.
no condemnation
Socrates was a joke, nothing new under the sun,
beyond that is no mortal's concern. Believe me.
Knowing nothing is far more difficult than men imagine.

Tongue in cheek was an old clue in fair play,
your gramps
could poke out his cheek like he had a snake in his mouth
struggling to break through sealed lips.  
Then he' tells a
fish-story and claims the magi know it true.
Tongue in cheek, so to speek, I see some missed conceptions
fructify from spores spat idly as ****** hells and damns
from tinkers tinning pots with crazy making lead solder.
Which meandered my other me to lead
Lead soldiers. I led the boys to war, that's what they were for.
It's all in the plot to make men of boys so we can help God
defend Heaven, in case…

Good versus evil and all that whole lie.
Or is it faith we must defend?
How reasonable is that? What can **** an idea like
one of the big three?

Eve knew knowing good and evil cost her.
She paid attention to
the truth of all she so suddenly knew.
she could not attempt the task of bringing
Able into the world, after the pain of Cain.

Oh, please, let Cain fulfill the promise, I cannot bear the pain,
said Adam in his shame.
Eve, on the other hand,
knew hope for joy she found in every
birth, and there were many twixt Able and Seth, all girls.
Cain had been gone for decades ere Seth came along.
Eve was o'er-joyed at the boy whose son would somehow
bring to bear the final sacrifice of travail and pain to
manifest the sons of God to play the role pre-ordained
for sons of God and their sons to play, wombed and un,
each, in his own way, the one creation groaned for,
the missing, wanted, desired, one, an
only begotten with just exactly your DNA,
one in 8 billion, a rare element, indeed.
You know.
this is another poem
about ****.

I know you’re
exhausted from
hearing them.

I know it makes you uncomfortable.

There I
go apologizing again.

Ok. Reframe.
Start over. Own it.

This is a poem
about **** and you better
******* listen.

Ok too harsh,
too harsh.
They’re not gonna listen now.


Ok, uhh...
personal story.
One time my
best friend and I
were ***** by the same

Ok wait, no...
too personal.
They’ll just pity me,
instead of seeing the
larger issue.

Ok, I think I finally got it.

To give you an idea
of the numbers,
all of my friends and I
have been victims
of  ****** assault.

Great, perfect,
not too personal,
we can talk about it in the abstract
like nothing terrible
happened to me,

That’s it. That’s it.
That’s how we can talk about.
Submerging our feelings
with facts.
Statistics are our best friend.

So here it goes:
Did you know false reports of ****** assault are
rare, ranging from 2 to 10%
of all reported ****** assaults.
That the percentage
I just quoted was
from a study that
collected data over 10 years
from reports on a college campus,
after determining in a meta-analysis of 20
other studies on false reporting that the
FBI data used was "unreliable."

Conversely, about 63% of
****** assaults go unreported.

Wouldn't it make sense
to air on the side of
believing women
then? As opposed to
insinuating they could
have ulterior motives
reporting ****** assault,
political or otherwise.

That isn't an argument.
That is fear talking.
That is guilt talking.
That isn’t us having a conversation –
that’s just you blabbering illogically,
crippled by the fear you’ll be next.

You are wrong.
You are wrong!
Your arguments are baseless.
You are completely ignoring the facts.
There is no evidence.
You need to stop talking,
and politely listen.
Because you have a lot to learn.
And while we are not obligated,
many of us are willing to teach you:

The only ulterior motive women
have 'outing' people,
for a CRIME
they committed,
the only benefit,
is to make sure the person responsible
doesn't **** someone else.
And you not believing us,
you chastising us,
you rolling your eyes,
you silencing us,
lets that person walk free.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
This is not where this idea began but it ran and I

missed my mark. Mark sin. -1 deficit reality quotientcy
currency. (Press Sure, to let the bursting pressure equilation expand at will)

That fine a level of reality demands more attention than I have to pay.
Patient agent wait and not or see if/then

you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since

we come in threes, we are some of those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.

Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins, since God knows when,

time's less twisted than people think it is, but it is silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments? Is it?

Dejavu, you believe that, what if it is your memory lying by ignoring time
attention ratios determining the observations stored in HD?
What if it's just a glitch?
Blue screen of death.

If you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing? All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since

we come in threes, we are those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.

Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins, since God knows when,

time's less twisted than people think it is, but it is silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for the meta-gnostic moments?

We come and go. To and fro up on the face

messengers bearing news in both directions, watch
the trickster, Jacob, in this story, he sees the messengers from
heaven bearing leaven thither and hither

upon the face of the earth.
the wrinkling mother, smiling now, chuckle head
I ain't no ***** saint.

Jah, I know. Joy is my dance, this is my song.
Is it good Grandmother?

---- on the porch facing my west gate ---

fences don't play exactly, out acted, the role of walls.

The idea that something there is that does not love a wall
has frozen my pond

the stillness beyond the sylvan **** crowned head
radiates through the medium of the message to me in time
to you.

Miles to go, you recall the feeling of feeling miles to go
I sleep.
That was yesterday, and you know yes ter everything's gone,

Aslan can pierce the barrier between mere Christians and me,
how would be fun to know, but
knowing why would help us keep the story interesting as life goes on

Who controls my peace? Am I a mercurial sheen in between chaos and order, chronus and zeus?
could be, ya thank so, ye know so less unlessed as

unlessing means nothing to you, that means you are visiting here.
Visting whom, vis it ing whom? Who's in charge, where's the power

age, wrinkles in time, cute, ****** costumes, beside the point here

we were dancing with the thoughts emanating from Mr. Hick's
Critique-technic-magi action, post mode'r'ism at the point of Dada und Scheizkunst,
the unmass-que, the line of lies awaiting unbelief,
idle words lingering,
hoping to be noticed and added back into the story book of life,
such a simple wish.

It should be every child's, should we think that if we can or may,
sometimes I'm still,

confusion troublest the water,
it seems,
then another hurt is healed, another r lies is gone and life goes on

we won again, this never gets old, I do love my opposition, pressure pump
pump pump. De-us-me-can-onbeoffbeyond

five years ago unmasking and rhetoric meant nothing to me
the purpose of learning forever and never
knowing anything beyond all things

our bubble is metastisizing, a mercurial film forms
informing us
in its reflection,

this is the ying yang thang in 3 or 4 d, HD+ chaos one half

order the other, sharpest imaginable thing
me trick being mag ift just if eye winged show

how beautiful are the feet of them who bring good news,
you see, it flows, sweetwater flows winged feet
whish through leaving, leavin' leaven…

unleaven that which has been leaved? Fat chance, all who
eat this bread and don't get gas,
they are our same bread people. Companions. Vectors of sour dough.

bore,pore, poor, pour

in to it ish, that idea, an opening through,
trickle down good gravity leveling stillness, gentle rocking earth
roll round and round and round

the pythagorian version of euclid's point in his mother's story,

the point of this song? To know the point you must have been

to the point of in-forming the point on which we dance and you recall

we come in threes, and just, we are, just, if it, that idea,
rests in your
back roads, gentle on your mind. We make peace.

Being young is easy from my POV.
I've lived in my future for sometime now

I can't say how beyond saying aloud, this was never hidden,
in my accounting of idle words I claimed
upon hearing the stories each contained

i'da swore i hear that wise *** o'balaam's abrayin'
Braindeem, deemed 'eem. Wham, uptheyhaid. Relig, fool,

or chaos wins and no hero ever lives again! Drop anchor, wait it out.
let patience blow her nose, gnostic snot caught in the nets,

nonono nothing's wasted in patience work, we make glue
from gnostic snot that patience sneezes
when reality grows cold,

that has happened, you know, temperatures are just now,
oh, wait global warming bad dam,

Script, bust it, leveling is essential to eventual temperature
equilibrium. The heat is on, the bubbles are forming, informing one to another
below the surface
greasy tension, slippery slopes putting pressure on chaos to conform to the curve

Ying yang, mercury film upon the sea of time and the scene of chaos
in this bubble of all you can imagine real.

Hows' that feel? Why?

You want that? What are you standing under? Does chaos win?
You are, as we say, cognisic magi we-ified,
practical magic at
the moment
the point
is made, then the creation begins

and not before or is this all
unrolling ex nihilo, no magi ever knew…
come, let us reason together,

why am I empowered? To live, first thought wise, that's good but
evil forces me to think again and I see the pattern

life goes on, John Molenkamp, Sam, soldier 4,

never in a thousand years,
'cept unbelievable is one of those lies I came to **** by strangling on bile while
rescuing every idle word ever involved in the infection

from the point in the absolute center of the bubble,
objectively, you see everything
that is

but would good prevail if evil had no hope?

I know that one, yes. why?
evil has no mind, soul some think
same same medium message spoken spelled chanted danced
who care's?
*** 'er done. Life has a chaotic side, the churning creates

number one from none, the cult of one divides itself
go do be
we three we three we three a wavy song ding ****.

Aware? Awaken? Avowed-wowed-wit-wise, fullcomp, retired
Peacemaker. Me.

All my hero's imagined or real, were Peacemakers.
Just now, peaceful now, mindful now
we remain
the same blessing promised in the package of yeses
stolen from Cain by his older sister, his
keep that quiet, eh?

Secrets made sacred, always
those are lies, no lie is of the truth,
all lies are about the truth.

What empowers you, poet or poetry? Right, you know,
God, good god knows, resentment lives in lies

the rotting idle words deemed curses at best, secret at worst,
those idle corrupting thoughts sparking as if absolute annihilation were thinkable by rational minds

of ---wait, there's arub, a sore
ex nihilo, may the whole world perish, may you all go to ****,
the mad man wept his ****, and imagined his curse,

not mine,
I don't have one. I did, but I went back so often to find pieces of my heart that now I have an Elysian network woven through All-****, the big idea that broke loose infecting the mind as wisdom's leaven builds her ****
stem cell informing builders empowered, pressure empowered, what must be but is not verse versus
us, the we that be
we must

let this be, come and see,
life goes on.
Agree, or empower us as we bubble by and takenallwecan expanding gobbling bubbles,
by ye.

Once we flushed the Dada poison and let mito mom instill the patience gene with
epigenetic peace we can pass on with a touch or a word,

we've never woven lies for no reason, if a rung breaks
and they can, last straw and all that weight, you know

there are automated steps, algoryhmes of reasons to repair the broken rung
with a reason to believe the rung has been repaired

paired again with the idea of meaninglessness masked in create-if-ity

good enough. okeh. don't believe lies.
Don't pass undigested lies to see if farts burn.
Listening to Hicks Explaing Post Modernism after watching Tenant's Voltage Within spark a fire. This reality is storyteller heaven.
i thought
if i loved you enough
you'd eventually love me back
                                                            ­                                               i thought
                                                         ­                         if i waited long enough
                                                          ­                   it wouldn't hurt me as bad
but what i thought
and what happened
were two different things
                                                          ­                    now i know how you feel
                                                            ­                    is the determining factor
                                                          ­                                     not what i think
Joy Aug 2018
Start something with no desire and without much intention embedded
Like knitting fabric without thread
Collect the strands after the silk from the worm that hangs on the sleeve of the tree
Seek capital and foster determination as much as possible

A moment of consciousness
What I am doing this time is not something easy
Some time to come will feel heavy and not for a moment
Dictate education and learning that must be boring
It is not easy to deepen what I have decided
But in other words
Choosing is a path that must be taken by anyone
Regardless of what and how the choice is made
Of course the greatest consequence is to accept and run everything with the best treatment

Choosing does not mean losing one thing to another
But choosing is the form and attitude in determining the way to achieve something
Although there will be a lot of opposition and even rejection within
It is not the end
Make every difficult thing a whip
And what feels easy
Becomes the power to fulfill the difficult

For what will happen in the future
All attitudes and treatment must be embedded from this moment
Having chosen is courageous
Ready to live and wrestle all the races and obstacles ahead
So far
All new preparations have been collected
While walking slowly
Follow the directions and learn to read nature

What I have started
One day
I have to reap
If you're help. Im a hope.
Marissa Mar 10
over time i’ve grown to hate the mirror
because i stand there pulling my skin back
trying to help my skeleton stick out
and i’ll stare until i hate what i see

sometimes i miss the feeling of a constantly empty stomach
where i could feel light on my feet and compress more easily into an invisible shell of insecurity

they still watch me whenever i eat
to make sure im not just rearranging my plate at the dinner table
and they refuse to accept the excuses to why I’m not hungry

nothing tastes good anymore
because i can only feel it adding to my stomach or my thighs
nothing tastes as good as skinny feels

on the billboards and the tv i see nobody that looks like me
and I’m sick of a number determining my worth
but that’s the price of being a woman

whether it’s being strangled with a measuring tape or told to lose ten pounds
then being told that you are too skinny to bear children
why does it always define me?

at least at the end of the day
i can trace my collar bones
and remember when i was thin enough to be called beautiful
and before i learned how much my body would determine my life
Anya Sep 2018
I found out during class one day
That there’s no way to satisfy everyone
No matter what you say
Talk too much
Sullen eyes turned your way
Tucking away agreivement to mutter about later
Talk too little
They barely notice your presence
And eventually,
Slowly but surely
You’re gradually disincluded
No longer the one they think of
When they have nothing to think of you by
So where is the balance,
How do you satisfy everyone?
One can’t go about their life being apologetic
Although I’ve certainly tried
So isn’t it about time we stopped determining our self worth on what others think of us?

— The End —