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“The Silicon Tower of Babel”
The over utilization of technology, its abuse, is unweaving humanity at the seams. Human health, sanity, and spirituality are under attack. The boom of accessibility over technology has increasingly subtracted from the frequency of face to face human interaction as well as human interaction with nature. The result is a declining emotional and psychological health and a ******* of spiritual values. Each individual who values holistic health should limit the time he or she spends using technology that isolates them to less than twenty-four hours in a week. They should make more purposeful efforts toward interacting with nature daily and for periods of at least an hour at a time. Lastly, these individuals should labor to replace reclusive technologies with modes of technology that encourage face to face and group social interaction such as movies, Skype, etc.
Self-limitation of the use of isolating technology will begin to correct the twisting of our spiritual values and the social and physiological damage that has been caused by the overuse and abuse of technology. In James T. Bradley’s review of Joel Garreau’s book discussion of radical evolution, called “Odysseans of the twenty first century”, Bradley quotes Garreau when he says that technology will result in human transcendence. In “Odysseans” it is said that “The nature of transcendence will depend upon the character of that which is being transcended—that is, human nature.”  James. T Bradley, scholar and author of this peer reviewed journal says that “When we’re talking about transhumanism, we’re talking about transcending human nature. . .  One notion of transcendence is that you touch the face of God. Another version of transcendence is that you become God.”  This is a very blatant ******* of the roles of God and man. When the created believes it can attain the greatness of its creator, and reach excellence and greatness on par with its God, it has completely reversed the essence of spirituality. This results in the ability to justify the “moral evolution of humankind” according to Odysseans. And this “moral evolution” often results in “holy wars”. In “Man in the age of technology” by Umberto Galimberti of Milan, Italy, written for the Journal of Analytical Psychology in 2009, technology is revealed to be “no longer merely a tool for man’s use but the environment in which man undergoes modifications.” Man is no longer using technology. Man is no longer affecting and manipulating technology to subdue our environments. Technology is using, affecting, and manipulating the populace; it is subduing humankind into an altered psychological and spiritual state.
Technology, in a sense, becomes the spirituality or the populace. It replaces nature and the pure, technologically undefiled creation as the medium by which the common man attempts to reach the creator. The common man begins to believe in himself as the effector of his Godliness. Here there is logical disconnect. People come to believe that what they create can connect them to the being that created nature. They put aside nature and forget that it is an extension of the artist that created it. Technology removes man from nature (which would otherwise force an undeniable belief in a creator) and becomes a spiritual bypass. “According to “The Only Way Out Is Through: The Peril of Spiritual Bypass” by Cashwell, Bentley, and Yarborough, in a January 2007 issue of Counseling and Values, a scholarly and peer reviewed psychology journal, “Spiritual bypass occurs when a person attempts to heal psychological wounds at the spiritual level only and avoids the important (albeit often difficult and painful) work at the other levels, including the cognitive, physical, emotional, and interpersonal. When this occurs, spiritual practice is not integrated into the practical realm of the psyche and, as a result, personal development is less sophisticated than the spiritual practice (Welwood, 2000). Although researchers have not yet determined the prevalence of spiritual bypass, it is considered to be a common problem among those pursuing a spiritual path (Cashwell, Myers, & Shurts, 2004; Welwood, 1983). Common problems emerging from spiritual bypass include compulsive goodness, repression of undesirable or painful emotions, spiritual narcissism, extreme external locus of control, spiritual obsession or addiction, blind faith in charismatic leaders, abdication of personal responsibility, and social isolation.”  Reverting back to frequent indulgence in nature can begin to remedy these detrimental spiritual, social, and physiological effects.  If people as individuals would choose to daily spend at least an hour alone in nature, they would be healthier individuals overall.
  Technology is often viewed as social because of its informative qualities, but this is not the case when technologies make the message itself, and not the person behind the message, the focus.  To be information oriented is to forsake or inhibit social interaction.  Overuse of technology is less of an issue to human health if it is being overused in its truly social forms. Truly social forms of technology such as Skype and movies viewed in public and group settings are beneficial to societal and personal health. According to a peer-reviewed study conducted by John B. Nezlek, the amount and quality of one’s social interactions has a direct relationship to how positively one feels about one’s self. Individual happiness is supported by social activity.
Abuse of technology is a problem because it results in spiritual *******.  It points humanity toward believing that it can, by its own power, become like God.  Abuse of technology inclines humanity to believe that human thoughts are just as high as the thoughts of God. It is the silicon equivalent of the Tower of Babel.  It builds humanity up unto itself to become idols. In extreme cases overuse of technology may lead to such megalomania that some of humanity may come to believe that humanity is God.  Technology is a spiritual bypass, a cop-out to dealing with human inability and depravity. The misuse of technology results in emotional and psychological damage. It desensitizes and untethers the mind from the self. It causes identity crises. Corruption of technology from its innately neutral state into something that negatively affects the human race results in hollow social interactions, reclusion, inappropriate social responses, and inability to understand social dynamics efficiently.
It may appear to some that technology cannot be the cause of a large-scale social interrupt because technology is largely social. However, the nature of technology as a whole is primarily two things: It is informational; it is for use of entertainment. Informational technology changes the focus of interaction from the messenger to the message. Entertainment technology is, as a majority, of a reclusive nature.
Readers may be inclined to believe that nature is not foundational to spirituality and has little effect on one’s spiritual journey, it is best to look through history. Religions since the beginning of time have either focused on nature or incorporated nature into their beliefs. Animists believe that everything in nature has a spirit. Native American Indians like the Cherokee believe that nature is to be used but respected. They believe that nature is a gift from the Great Spirit; that earth is the source of life and all life owes respect to the earth. Christians believe that it is the handiwork of God, and a gift, to be subdued and used to support the growth and multiplication, the prosperity and abundance of the human race.
In a society that has lost touch with its natural surroundings it is sure that some believe that nature has little effect on health, as plenty of people live lives surrounded by cities and skyscrapers, never to set foot in a forest or on red clay and claim perfect health. However, even in the states of the least contact possible with nature, nature has an effect on human health. The amount of sunlight one is exposed to is a direct factor in the production of vitamin D. Vitamin D deficiency has been determined to be linked to an increased likelihood of contracting heart disease, and is a dominant factor in the onset of clinical depression. Nature has such a drastic effect on human health that the lack of changing season and sunlight can drive individuals to not only depression, but also suicide. This is demonstrated clearly when Alaska residents, who spend half a year at a time with little to no sunlight demonstrate a rate of suicide and clinical depression diagnoses remarkably higher than the national average.
Dependence on technology is engrained in our society, and to some the proposed solution may not seem feasible. They find the idea of so drastically limiting technology use imposing. They do not feel that they can occupy their time instead with a daily hour of indulgence in nature. For these individuals, try limiting isolating technology use to 72 hours a week, and indulging in nature only three times a week for thirty minutes. Feel free to choose reclusive technology over social technologies sometimes, but do not let technology dominate your life. Make conscious efforts to engage in regular social interactions for extended periods of time instead of playing Skyrim or Minecraft. Watch a movie with your family or Skype your friends. Use technology responsibly.
To remedy the effects of the abuse of technology and the isolations of humanity from nature, individuals should limit their reclusive technology use to 24 hours in a week’s time, indulge in nature for an hour daily, and choose to prefer truly social technologies over reclusive technologies as often as possible. In doing so, individuals will foster their own holistic health. They will build and strengthen face-to-face relationships. They will, untwist, reconstruct and rejuvenate their spirituality. They will be less likely to contract emotional or social disorders and will treat those they may already struggle with.  So seek your own health and wellbeing. Live long and prosper.
Rebekah Lamb May 2014
If I kiss a woman, I am a lesbian
If I kiss a man, I am straight
I have this illogical need to scream at the heavens from atop a cliff
To scream I’m here in this world; I exist!
To say I am just bisexual is wrong
To say that certain aspect of me is the most oppressed is wrong
I am a woman, I am bisexual, I have tourettes, I have depression
I could go on for hours saying I ams
Saying statements that describe me
I am oppressed and stereotyped by the society I live in
So why is being bisexual the one I defend the most?
I asked myself this daily
Until I found the answer
Every other fact about me is undeniable;
I have a ******
I have diagnoses
That is tangible evidence
I have no sheet of paper with a signature of some fancy M.D.
Nor do I have some body part that labels me as bisexual
There is no definite way to tell if I am bisexual
Which makes it easier for people to say You’re just confused or It’s just a phase
And no matter how often I say it’s not; they won’t believe me
They don’t believe me because I don’t have the evidence they want
I don’t have an M.D.’s signature
I don’t have that ‘bisexual bodypart’
All I have is my own knowledge
And I don’t give a **** if that’s not good enough for you
Because I do exist
And I am here to stay
This is an old poem that I wrote quite a while ago. I think some people may enjoy it.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.oh ****! now i remember, now i remember that other school of English thought... pragmatism! everything is so rational these days, no wonder that so many mental illness diagnoses exist... apparently every deviance of, "success" is, "magically" worthy of psychiatric scrutiny... but then you get psychopaths in the upper eschallance of society... and they're immune to psychiatric scrutiny... so much for pragmatism... whatever that means these days... what?! e-scha-llan-ce... usher-lance?! oh right, ****, i was going for an adjective... echelon... my adjective? feeling up to the level / rank within an organization, and subsequently, perfecting stated rank with robust, pompousness and erudition, matching up to a pedantic exercise within the confines of either, grammar, or, diction; my bad. see... i don't get it... i could somehow couple up the ancient Greek concept of the Stoic school, and the Epicurean school (of thought)... it became crystal clear... but... but when it comes to the English school of thought? i can't make the logical-leap of a worded multiplication concerning the schools of: egalitarianism, and... pragmatism... maybe i'm just *******... but i... i sometimes can't come at a worded equals sign, or at least: a mutually inclusive / mutually exclusive sharing processor of looking at both attempts to revise 1 + 1 = 2... then again, i'm not bothered... English liberalism doesn't bother me... the English were never libertarian in letting go... who are the English? they have their equivalence among the Prussians... but, yes... i was looking for this noun, this last remaining school of thought from the Anglophone world... i was thinking... what goes well with the cognitive spaghetti that exfoliates egalitarianism? ****... what else? pragmatism! so help me god, i can't concede making this dualism of ideas, perhaps contradictory, perhaps not, as i did with classical thinking... stoicism and Epicurean school i can justify... but the English, somehow complimenting within the realm of pragmatism, and egalitarianism?! good luck, i can't do it.

currently i only identify two schools
of thought in English...
i might change my opinion
in the future...

how, just how petrified people
are of exploring dialectics,
the fear stemming out
from... having opinions that
do not deserve questioning,
such blatant solipsism...

but i do identify two schools
of thought from the English
speaking world...
o.k. three... ****...
four...

egalitarianism...
egalitarian idealism...
unitarism...
utopian-ism...        

****... four, five...
how many in total?

scholasticism, in general...

  there's one more...
i'm sure there's one more...
it's related to egalitarianism...

what's the word i'm looking
for?
a morphed liberalism
of: one freedom can eventually
over-compensate
another statement of freedom
and deride the former liberty
with a... ore ******-up
liberty...

but there was another mode of thinking,
i'm sure of it...

you know that people
are afraid of experiencing dialectics,
when they have to phrase
their opinions:
but these are my personal
opinions...
   yep... stated in a public sphere...
why is it that i don't
make videos?
      your freedom of speech
is one thing...
mine? constricted to the comment
section...
   this? an extension of thought,
since i'm bashing a blank piece
of "paper"...

what was the other root of the English
school of thought?!
no... it wasn't universalism...
England, given the stated terms...
is a covert communist state...
a subdued communist state...
a dubiousness from the empirically
tested experiment...
where did Marx and Engels
concentrate their observational
capacities if not in England?
weird...

  communism originated in England
under, said, sociological observations,
was tested in Mongolia...
and then returned via Russia to
Eastern Europe...

*****... gets to my head...
it might come to be two days later,
but i'm sure i wanted
to work with another school of thought
from the English demand
for the egalitarian take on things...

looking at the English,
i see a people burdened by a desire
to make "things"... fair...
          i see people teasing Utopia...
a people who haven't experienced
a momentary transition period
of a quasi-Utopia of communism....
within the countries that
received the Bolshevik mantra
and not the Marshall Plan payout...
even Sweden (neutral, source of inspiration
for the Nazis) and Switzerland
received Marshall Plan funds...

       but the English...
              what an oddity...
oh i don't imply a demeaning
interpretation...
       but the English are teasing
a revival of socialism...
you know how many archetypical
human emotions socialism curbs?
you can't do it unless
subjected to foreign rule...
given the current Brexit agreements:
now's your chance...

but socialism really did originate
in this fine, fine land...
Marx didn't look alongside
Engels outside of England...
they looked at Liverpool...
and children being employed...
German children had Krampus...
English children had
work in the factories...

this probably is an over-simplification
of history, but all the details
are there...
personally?
i find English existentialism
(if there is such a "thing")
over-powered by Darwinism's
over-simplifications...
Darwinism, having killed modern
or pre-modern history,
having to expand beyond
our known, and kept history...

a big bang theory i can deal
with...
i can congest it into a subscript
of words, via a conceptualization
of atoms...
and bigger atoms,
suns... protons, neutrons,
planets...
and electrons...
lost in the realm of sub-atomic
particles and antimatter...

but when i go back to Poland?
you know what i don't hear much of?
overly simplified existential
explanations pivoting on
nothing, but Darwinism...
in England it's all Darwinism,
and not much more...
i guess when Einstein disproved
Newton,
the only thing motivating
English culture boiled down
to focusing and pivoting on Darwin...

outside of England?
you know how important Darwin
is?
          in Poland... Mickiewicz...
a poet...
                         Copernicus...
            a astronomer...
            and in Russia?
Dostoyevsky...
          Tolstoy...
                     Mendeleev,
Tchaikovsky,
Rasputin,
                      Prokofiev­,
Bulgakov...
        Kandinsky...
               Anna Andreyevna...
Chekov...
                      how much is
Michael Faraday worth these
days in England,
if you're going to celebrate
only the scientists
and shove every artist
into the shadow of Shakespeare?!

i really shouldn't drink
*****...
                       i go crazy crude,
mad and... it's *****!
       you can't mellow out like
you could mellow out with
ms. amber, of the Scottish highlands!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i once loved, and it's a shame to
agree to: better have loved and lost,
than to have not loved at all.
and as i browse the pages of
a saturday newspaper article
i like to think about virology applied
to mental illness...
and how they: life is ****
   story could really be a viral infection...
i don't know, it's not exactly
h.i.v.,
                oh i can contain my own
*******, i'm writing it on the flag
of colour white,
next time you get a brain haemorrhage
and then get diagnoses as schizophrenic:
i'll take you the crucifix on golgotha:
and imbed your head into
the cross... silent anger, contained:
and all the more concern for inhibited
humour... because as Borat said: jak sie mash:
i like. so please, don't tell me
you weren't gagging for the new golgotha...
because i wasn't...
         and i know, most of the time i have
my mouth attached to a head of a struś
gagging himself in a pit of sand...
yes an ostrich, the grand inspiration for
francis bacon attempts to redefine geometry...
oh coming out of communism and into
capitalism, for a kid?, can be a rough ride...
you don't know what ideology to appease
and what ideology to dictate...
         but i'm wondering whether or not
mental illness can have the potency to
        become virus-like...
     and drain,
and i mean: drain the soul out of you...
or whether man as mammal ever did exist...
or whether this new fashion of
feline existentialism can ever take off,
narratives about spending time with your
bonsai tiger... you'd really think japan was
a bit freakish... but it just has a large
ageing population and no one thinks
that euthanasia is a standard of humanism,
unlike ******* ***** into a face of
a woman... because right there, no
one died... if had any of those anemic
tadpoles actually lived...
    which brings this about to concern me:
so... we live for nine months, in, let's
basically say: in an environment without
oxygen, you got gills stashed in there
with that umbilical chord...
how can it ever be a miracle of birth...
that's what a god might say...
a human would look at it and say:
huh? you joking? i'm part of this horror?
     but not until you have a brain
haemorrhage and get diagnosed as schizoid
and then you think: so what was the point
of forgiving your enemies come into this?
      i can't believe it has become so, so personal,
to actually have this nagging, decapitated
doll-head on your shoulder telling you to:
repeat! repeat!
       i could literally be writing this in
Auschwitz and be like: Neddy needs a jumper
and a diaper... cos like that really needs
you to fathom the logic of assembling an
Ikea chair...
                          i mean, talking in the west
is a bit like farting into a hippotamous' nostril
for a ******* jackuzi effect...
  jack! i said ***! what's with this jacuzzi?
English, mein gott... confusion everywhere
you pigeon **** onto a top-hat.
by the way: everyone becomes
dyslexic on the word hippopotamus -
there's a reason why hippos exist...
        you want acronyms, you get shortening...
and yes, since english society has abolished
asylums, the society has become a breeding
ground for asylum instigators,
rich russians, bewildered chienese...
it's en masse, one, massive, cesspit...
   i mean the part where you don't get the brown
steamturd floating about like some
  celebrity you'd love to slap with much
more than mere paparazzi epilepsy...
because violence matters, esp into language games...
i was just asking, because there i was,
working on a roof on some construction site,
and she calls me up and says that
she hears voices...
          that's what i mean certain mental
delinquents and their choice of Samaritan...
  what does a roofer know about "voices"
if it doesn't equate to a bad conscience?
    that's why i'm wondering whether certain mental
illnesses have a virus-like profanity attached to them...
oh yes yes, the unison: bob marley: we're one
type of ******* to boot, like i'm supposed to get
a hardy and a 'ard on about it...
               ******* spoof of a light-bulb moment: PING!
and there... ain't that just dazzling?
phantasmagorical blurp at the feet of
Eros at Piccadilly Circus... my ego is a canon
that just simply shoots out viagras! and questions.
and yes... that's what we call being part
of the clown...
    and if there's a lord of flies...
what's the guy mentioned by beelzebub drunk
doing about the mosquitos?
           ah... boundless at the crucix, once more!
i'm just wondering where
does mental illness become solipsism,
  and when in fact it becomes a sort of virology...
   i can romanticise mental illness as a type
of solipsism, that it has a cage, that it can be contained...
but when mental illness goes outside of the novel,
strolls outside its cage and becomes
something akin to kissing a *****,
     i want to know.... because i swear i have been
affected by someone's mental illness being
hidden in the shadow of taboo...
   look... i'm ******* exfoliating with vocab!
        how can you become normal after someone
exposes you the symptom of "voices"...
that's demeaning given the past history of
having relationships with angels and demons,
that's like a neuter noun.... voices brings up
more concern for a pronoun-****-up than
a clear, noun association... angels, sure,
i could start looking more closely at pigeons...
demons, doubly sure, i could start
chasing bats...
              but i need to know whether mental
illness is worthy of taboo, i.e. it's worth
the category of being physical, in that it can be
contagious... whether it can act like a virus....
whether it can become an epidemic...
    and to be honest, i think it can,
but that seems pointless, since western society
has exchanged asylums for taboo...
                  look at me now,
a once budding roofer, reduced to writing poetry,
i might as well be an ******...
            safe-guarding king Solomon's harem...
oh sure, eunuchs were able to **** his *** slaves...
they were slaves themselves,
what they weren't allowed is to usurp
    the ******* crown of the king passing his
d.n.a., mind the frivolity, never the seriousness
of geneticist, yawning when their genesis was to come...
    i'd love to see hans andersen on the trail of
dolly... the sheep... and dolly really does become
a trinity of animal prior to human in the out-reaches...
what with laika (man's best friend)
and later fiztgerald... oh wait (man's worst enemy,
the money) Baker....
   thanks to de Sade and baron Sacher-Masoch
we could truly begin the orthodox occult of science...
   how the two patron "saints"
interpolate... it really is a dualism worthy of
dangling a crucifix... shame the first monkey in
space wasn't called Brian...
    i don't know, then, perhaps, the Caesars at
the coliseum wouldn't boast so much about
   the: lacking the ambidable thumb
(yes!) googlewhack no. 4 / 5 -
mandible thumb you idiot! d'uh...
but still, a googlewhack at the end of it...
type in: lacking the ambidable thumb
and, yes = 1 result in the google algorithm...
http://www.experienceproject.com/stories/Have-Thumb-Deformity/728760,
i call this the alternative version of, or rather,
the digital version of fishing...
     a tail like a thumb, the grip baron...
   but my peacocking the tongue shouldn't
be deemed as: straitjacket panic button prone...
  why would it?
****! he used the colour azure in his blue period,
that picasso did! chain him! gag him!
stash him in a kitchen stove!
i mean the inspection of genuine viriology
dynamic concerning mental illness,
the anti-thesis of solipsism, as the proper counter...
or should i say: membrane / barrier?
    can mental illness make ranks, i.e. spread?
like a virus can?
            well, if you take to explaining a zeitgeist...
ideology akin to communism and ****** can
become virus-akin... so i guess... yes...
it had to become a self-serving question easily
answered... mental illness can be very much
akin to a common cold... it's not really a case of taboo
being the lock-and-key to contain it...
nor the asylum... i suppose the best prescription
is the idea of solipsism...
              but isn't this grand,
i'm actually lethargic, coinciding with
    a tax on robots... and the French slashing
their 35 hour working weeks to 32 hours...
    and the Finns paying their unemployed
    (2K, placebo dosage for the actual
   237,000 unemployed) - a random €560 a month...
such are the times...
           it really has become a sort of
year 0 orientation lesson... because it's just
gagging for a guillotine to snap it awake,
so a decapitated head of Charles I at Whitehall might
say it's final farewell...
              and is mental illness capable of
being akin to a viral infection...
     it probably can... you probe the waters in an
environment of poets... they're good enough
to succumb to a white rabbit experiment...
              question is: do you apply the rule
of solipsism or an actual asylum? in a post-asylum
society, i don't think there's an option
whether solipsism should, or shouldn't be used
to counter the more serious form of the flu...
   but, as ever, it comes down to the age-old
cartesian model of dualism... or as any siamese twin
might attest: i'm not that further away from
my sister as you might think...
  the dualism that served so well for so many years
to appear "peaceful" became a real dichotomy...
  the ergo suddenly failed... when people realised
that the fact "i think" didn't necessarily
precipiate into "i am"... given what the media is
interested in, and how many people become missing
and all that... the numbers were too much
for player uno to simply give up the canvas
of newspapers and t.v. to some poor schmuck
trying to impregnate his canvas on which he worked
his paint-brush (power) and paint (wealth) onto...
   the cartesian ergo simply failed...
    oh sure, the other two facts worked... but they
didn't necessarily congregate universally
in the crux of ergo,
        i was told it would be a monsoon of thought
established on earth... instead i got a light-shower
   and the Gobi desert.
in the same way the subconscious exists
as a fake of the trinity...
           to me it has no need for a chisel...
as a realm... treat the conscious as a realm
akin to Hades, and it becomes wholly
de-personalised... there's not individual in it
that might require it... it's a covert mechanism
of subterfuge... but if we're talking
making rabbit heads with our hands
   in the shadow form... we're talking
nothing but puppeteering...
   or like saying, let's create an evolved
version of the definite (the) and the indefinite (a)
article...
                      well... there must be
a direct and an indirect article...
                well there is...
con                                 and sub-con,
       un-con is an indiscriminate article...
meaning: what are the evolutionary gains
of dreaming, given the cinema?
Vernarth and his companions delighted in the company of the biosphere since he was in the Eclectic Spiritual Portal, and in this dimension only he could be. Later, they communicated only through his donkeys, when they wanted to send them messages or share with him, they mounted one of these equids and they could pass into this atmosphere of ultraviolet light that separated them. More than an egregious Pythagorean calculation, he already stood out in his eon of matter-spiritual energy Vernacentricus, as a quantum station of the geodesy of the Megaron that has already begun to be built. At this precious moment the secular and demiurge satellites of him arrive, they came with the foundation of the points to refer to definitively raise the Ultramundis Vernacentricus. From the Vóreios or boreal the apocalypse of San Juan will be intertestamental with the canons of Zefian that transmigrated from the powers from the transversal valleys of the Horcondising, essentially following the sensory track of the Nothofagus Obliqua to attract the iterated populations of the forest.
The patriarchs and the orthodox mountain range appeared in the cords of the fungi called Ambrosiella ceratocystidaceae, to provide the Ambrosia Mercurial, as a nutritional addition to the main pilasters of the temple, with great influence of fungal fungi. Everything was beginning to demarcate from the eruv of the Zefian arrow that was named Tetarto Vélos, or fourth arrow that was already beginning with its culminating operation with the borer beetles, demarcating the urev of the Vóreios throughout the region and on the oaks of Patmos, that began to be located from the Meli Witran Mapu Mapuche winds, beginning with Pikún-kürüf Northwind with the first two arrows of the Taxotas, and Sur Waiwén, of the Pezhetairoi, of the quantum of transmigration of the Horcondising-Panhellenic sub-mythology. Then the Puelche drags the borer beetles with more force to lift the uprising fungi of the Mandragoron by the eastern vertical, to culminate with the Lafkén-kürüf all attached to the axis that supports them from this great bilocation. The boreal is demarcated, so that the Necromancer Ezpatkul with his Augrum and gold teeth, twisted the tendency of the beetles to move the main columns of the frontispiece, being colossal in reality with twice the diameter of the central ones. Then the conclusive and posterior ones of the rectangular quadrant of the Beit Hamikdash were bilocated, to bilocate the Bern Olive Trees from Gethsemane so that they finally joined the Meltemi, and towards the aeolian winds of Tramontane Eolionimia falling on the Tekhelet of Paul of Tarsus, dropping relevant heights of some cranes with gravitating silt on their extremities, and with garbeas that were secondarily colonized on the banks of the desert areas of the rocky Hamada. As was previously proverbial, three birds climbed reflecting the crown of the kings in Bethlehem, Arriving at the sacred native city, and beginning the choirs of Nativity and passion for the hiss in tenuity on the twelve Giant Camels, where they paid special attention to rebuild another temple with a sigh greater than a Sheba Dean. The canon of Policleto was renewed with Zefian who agreed with San Juan, for this kanon that will be the relevant line of topographic surveying. Thus the basal measurements of the golden number will begin with the acroteria concerted summer seats of prosperity next to the Metopes. Ezpatkul would bring with his magic the red blood cells of Betelgeuse along Leiak with all the Templar three-dimensional morphology, naming this singular parapsychology of Pope Urban II who proclaimed the First Crusade at the Council of Clermont, in France, on November 27, 1095, to delineate the paradigm in the anatomy of Gaugamela bled into Vernarth's breastplate, as the archaic and first crusade that would inspire Christian supremacy, which was already anticipated before the Christian era to come. It will be visible gestures of the trajectory of the arrows of the Zefian Torah that were deposited with their hallelujahs from the ***** of Crete. The sulfur yellow and red blood cells marked the radiosity of the Eclectic Portal that opened to give Vernarth material egress, so he would take his tools and go with his donkey's escorts for the chromatic that will be sulfur yellow and red blood cells, both dependent on the complementation with the Cinnabar, and in the raised bodies of Court V of the Helleniká Necropolis in Kímolos.

Under vileness or absence of light among darkness or apocryphal light of Evil, in contrast to the robust equanimity of light and shadow partisan of Saint John the Apostle, for the hegemonic good of his incorruptible vision. The naturalness made the world apologetic with the immune defenses of the polish textures, they invoiced proportional mathematical measures ibidem of the Hommo Novis, and of the Geometric Pythagoreanism for a body seven and a half times of Polykleitos, starting from the base to the feet as the base of the plinth or frieze until reaching near the capital that exemplifies the chin, before reaching the cornice, highlighting the figure of the capital with the front of the proportional ligament between the trunk, and the columns duly. Here the seven-headed Kanon of a David would recite the measures of the psalms, or beads in degrees with hoped-for dimensions. The kinetics was earth towed by towing carts in tetra bronze arrows, which balanced the unbalanced balance and harmony of the created whole. The symmetry of the transverse poles was muscled to make kinetic centripetal in the inertia of the bolt when hitting the faint glow of the canon rays. Making himself the sustenance in the stone and the mound, towards the Vernarth counterpose when the Himathion was tried, he appeared disguised and in composing. After this initial task, they approached the fire and scalding water to **** herbs, which pretended to be the formula of the backhoe extracted from the palimpsest of the generals of Alexander the Great, when they distributed their illegitimate Ark with royal titles; they were Perdiccas, Antipater, Crátero, Eumenes de Cardia, and others like the satraps who came to be enunciated as kings; Antigonus, Ptolemy, and Seleucus. Residing only the most substantial military colleague of them in this parapsychological saga Vernarth; and his brother Etréstles de Kalavrita who seconded and predestined him in his monolithic, and in the constituent sovereignty of Polis, for the purpose of reigning and raising his Kopis and Xifos intertwined in aldehyde manumissions and in the alcoholic carbonyl residues emanated from the Backhoe ferment and Nepenthe, depositing LSD in substantial amounts to align itself with Seleucus, and materially present itself in the sphere of Patmos as two representatives of both empires, one ancient Christian and the other Panhellenic, placing Seleucus in that totalitarianism over that of Alexander the Great, now extinct. On the last day after working and being satisfied with the construction work of the frontispiece, and its major columns, Vernarth joins them after temporarily leaving the eclectic portal, they sit by the fire to review the plans of the subsequent construction process del Megaron, along with his seven donkeys, mentioning Borker's necromancy. Since the omens of Wontehlimar, the linemen before Borker became reigning, for the static balustrade that will surround the Megaron, where all the Ibics rings were enlisted chorally by the patronage of the Hellenic Orthodox legacy of Alexander the Great after he was rescued by Wonthelimar from Babylon, and finally take you to your physical and spiritual shelter. The eruv of the Nótos was demarcated, surpassing the limits of the rings of stefánes Íbix, or Hoops of ibix, like nano kvantikoí daktýlioi, Nano-Quantum Ring auguring sensitize the dermis and its carpal phalanges. From the intertestamental, such as in Vóreios, passages from the Old Testament are explored here that says…: “The temple that was the only legitimate sanctuary of the Israelite people contained within it the Ark of the Covenant, a golden altar, and candlesticks of the same metal. , a table with sacred loaves and other utensils used to carry out the worship of the god Yahveh. It was located on the esplanade of Mount Moriá, in the city of Jerusalem, possibly where the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa Mosque are located. From this dome the larnax of the Great Macedonian, a prioris, the schismatics of ancient Christianity, and orthodox Judaic will be derived, separating from each other, after the fall of the second temple. Of this class and previously this was detonated due to the undivided troops of the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II, who destroyed it in 586 BC, also taking captives a large part of the inhabitants of the Kingdom of Judah, to Mesopotamia, giving rise to the exile and captivity of the Hebrews in Babylon. A reflective Borker of this premonition, he takes the Ibics Rings and selects one of them to join them with the first Zefian Arrow, as nano Kvantikoí Daktýlioi, quantum Nano-ring, to ensue in future similar events, avoiding invasions that cause looting and destruction. of the temple to be built on Patmos.

Nano-scales for Borker's nanotechnological conception, and estimates of threats of invasions and climatic changes, in one billion (109) and one billionth (10-9). In a meter there are one billion nanometers or, in other words, a nanometer is one-billionth of a meter. For those who will have to configure the dimensions of the Mandragoron "Temple of Vernarth" with carbon atoms, the support will be made in chemical units for the re-conception of nature, and its two- or three-dimensional networks. The nanotubes with 60 carbons, distributed in 20 hexagons and 12 pentagons, according to the geometric patterns of the cellular scale, in the conformation of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, being in this way concealed by the Ibics Rings, for each linear meter and cubic, traced by a nanometer which is one-billionth of a meter. Here, the borer beetles will catch the fungi ambrosiella ceratocystidaceae and will displace the virals that move geometrically from the beams of the Icosahedron.

The ranks of Falangists moved triangularly in multiple directions, to reach the Austral del Nótos de Borker, thus they would form the magic vectors of the polyhedron internally, triangulating at the top of the ram that carries an illustrious triangular phalanx, opening up the areas with its prop. vulnerable, to consolidate the buttress of the façade; the Áullos Kósmos, and pay homage to the apse that was filled with rejoicing. Sones of the philosopher Plato, made them regular or perfect in convex polyhedra, such that on all their faces were regular and equal polygons were made, and in all solid angles also equal. From this boulevard, the theology of Vernarth and Alexander the Great, fully professor and Platonic guide, will follow, making nomenclatures of nanostructures that affirm the volume and structure of the central sections of the radier, and their foundation bases shielded by the icosahedron in the nanotechnological scale, having physical material cells, for adaptation of structural changes and their environment.

The volume will be adapted microscopically, to analyze small particles with the return of the fourth arrow or Tetra Sagita of Zefian, absorbing nutrients and discarding the environmental threats based on carbon dioxide, to make a limiting membrane beauty, which moderates the nanoparticles that borer beetles were developing. The solidity of the partitions and walls will have the exact proportion of the nanomaterials, to adapt to the general area of the Mandragoron Nótos, which will ooze the surpluses due to the porosities, towards a volume highly resistant to invasions of limestone nanomaterials, and boulders that are made from the flow of the buttress of the apse that rises towards Aorion. The interior and exterior faces will be supplements of prayers of Prochoro, in didactics that will shield with the Antiphons Benedictus, and the hive of Plato's Icosahedron, becoming a consular material organism, and solid in interstices or leftovers from the feces of the Borers, until pasting and to reach the volume of the polyhedron, and its twenty faces pointing towards the physiognomy of the boulevard, tracing the general volume of the Mandragoron, and intercommunicating the quantum support and its theological harmony.

Says Borker: “if the organic cells operate with homage and with greater multicellular fields, here are the nanoparticles, in greater fields of fiatto, and in the slides that will recirculate in favor of the throat of the Mandragoron, and in the carbon nanotubes, essential elements of the biosphere and in useful layers of life that retrace the rest. There will be 20 linear meters in the area that lavishes the width and height, the projection of this scale of nanotechnology, will make the three-dimensional shape and a large voluminous serial in the Austral Nótos ”Vernarth's purging dimension, made him materialize at times and laugh out loud because he knew that everyone who was with him loved him! and from this fraction of faith, the Angel Raphael diagnoses them bread with archangelic essence; herb with great healing powers, especially in the dimension of the eclectic portal that allowed Vernarth to concern himself with material living beings.

Definitely, the second step of consolidation of the Megaron was established in the linear that the seven donkeys eagerly left, as masons and cabinetmakers who worked together with the Hexagonal Primogeniture. From this moment everything begins to have an inter-dimensional aspect, from the Invisible Eclectic Portal to the majestic geodesy and orography of this temple, which incorporated everyone for a charitable epiphany together with everyone in the Profitis Ilias, which was already crowned as the cusp Spiritual World of the Vernarthian Eclectic.
Áullos Kósmos
MRR Nov 2013
Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, *******, Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)

Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs

Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created

A philosophy based on your experience

Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition

****** for feeling to much

****** for not feeling enough
Judy Ponceby Jan 2011
There once was a crazy nurse,
She drove around driving a hearse,
Whenever she hit a victim,
She would cry out "Admit 'em!"
The prognoses couldn't have been worse.
My first limerick ever!  A bit morbid I must say.  Insomnia does strange things to the mind....
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Peak temperature water levels fake diagnoses white psychopaths starving hunger jingoism violence [systems that deprive us] guns entitlement shots fired accidents grief/mourning choking hazard corporate mascots corporate favoritism corporate bailouts corporate people ideology without monitor nationalism patriotism conservatives patriarchy ******-****-suicide victim silence lack of conviction religious ******* false history infant mortality job insecurity invisible hands trickle down economics union busters corporate police brutal police evil police secret police debt bankruptcy foreclosure homelessness lost confused prisoner criminal banker war preparations propaganda ballots commercials advertisements campaigns money power puppets figureheads armies genocides **** bomb gas fire no survival violence wealthy lawyers assassinations heart complications death sleep.
Leah Rae Aug 2013
I'm A Suicide Bomb.
A Nuclear Explosion Of Unexplainable Inadequate Ambition.
A Hand Granade, Pull My Pin And  Watch Me Self Destruct.
A Land Mine Beneath Seven Inches Of Soil, Tensed Like Piano Wire, Ready To Sing Under Pressure. Ready To Scream.
Genocide Of My Own Veins. Pull Them One By One, Out Of Their Homes And Send Them Off To Interment Camps, Built To Hold The Blood Of A Body That Only Betrays Me.
I'm Holding Each Limb Hostage, Each Finger A Prisoner Of War, Every Fingertip A Monument Where Everyone I Have Ever Loved Will Mourn The Tragedy Of My Own Destruction.
Gas Masked And Gagging, They Will Always Ask Why I Did It.
A Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Diagnoses To Give Them Some Closure. I

Know They Didn't Understand The War I Was Waging Beneath My Ribs.

Waking Every Morning, Clawing My Way Through The Wreckage, With Knees And Palms Painted Filthy Black, Ears Ringing, Like The Sound Of A Thousand Dead Voices Vibrating,

I Have To Tell Myself It Must Be Happening For A Reason.
I've Been Wearing A Kevlar Vest Made Of Lies, White Ones, Stained Red.
A Purpose Born Inside Me, I Have To Ask How Much Longer Must I Keep Running?
I Have To Believe The God You Pray To, Prays To Someone Like Me, Because Who Else Would Declare War On This Kind Of Humanity.  

Every Day Is A Battle, Every Aching Moment Is A Last Attempt At Redemption,
Every Bone In This Body Is A Bayonet Aimed To Splint Apart My Skeleton.
This Isn't A War Anymore.
This Is Terrorism.
Terrorized My Paper Thin Skin,
Handed Me Black & Blue ink, and Told Me To Write Out My Surrender On My Skin, Like Bruises

Branded,
Wrapped In Kelodial Bandages.

I Am Damage.

I Am Destruction.

I Am Savage.

I Am. Terrified.

My Home Is A War Zone, Scabbed Over And Still Bleeding, No Where Is Safe, Not Even Inside My Own Skull.
I Am Eyelid Explosions And Neplam, Burning One Hundred Thousand Degrees Above My Own Boiling Point.

An Open Wound. Bullet Bomb Shell, Left With More Holes Than Whole.

Had Spent 6 Years On This Planet, 2,190 Days Too  Short To Understand What It Meant To Watch Twin Towers Fall.
They Said The Word Attack.
Lived Eleven More Years In This Body, In An Existence That Seems To Only Be Fighting Against It's Own Skin, Cutting It Into Pieces, Cutting Corners, Cutting Edges, Looking For Answers Beneath Whatever Remains Of Me.


How Can You Win A Battle When The Only One You Are Fighting Is Yourself?

I Think My Violet Eyes And Indigo Insides Believed In A Peace Treaty, But I Have Shrapnel Wedged So Deeply Inside Me, That It's Become Difficult To Understand Existing Without It.

How Do I Fight An Invisible Enemy, With Kerosene Lips And Matches For Fingertips?

I Am A Solider.
There Was A Draft And It Consisted Of A Single Six Digit Number That Matched My Birthday,
Like A Bad Joke,
I Can't Remember When It Began, All I Know Is That I Haven't Lived in A Time Without Bloodshed.

Mental Illness Runs In My Family,
A Weapon Of Mass Destruction,
Built Into This Blood,
O Positive,
Unsure,
Yet AB Negative
Of Where It Will Take Me,
Except To Live A Life Wondering If I'll Catch The Family Flu,
They Call This Biological Ware fare.

How Do We Wash The Blood Out Of Our Own Genes?

Us. The Sick Of Soul, The Diseases And Dying, The Psychosomatic, Sociopathic, Undiagnosed And Overmedicated,

Must Tell Ourselves

That Atleast Suicide Bombers..

Die For Something.
Sarah Flynn Dec 2020
when I was a child,
my mother was never there.

I believe that her absence
was a factor in my fate,
part of the reason that
I went searching for love
in all of the wrong places.

I believe that her absence
is one of the reasons why
I became a mother so young.

it wasn't her fault, not entirely.
it wasn't fully my fault either,
nor the fault of the man
who had fathered my child.
it was no one's fault.

I was pregnant, and placing blame
couldn't change that fact.



I was still a child
when I learned that
my own child was
growing inside of me.

I was scared
and sad and lost.
I wasn't ready.

when they put that
cold goo on my belly,
and my son's little body
formed on that screen,

I already knew that I would
do anything for my child.
my son was my world
before he even entered it.



but before my son's eyes
opened on this planet,
tragedy struck.

I woke up in a hospital bed.
I was told that I was alive
and that my son was alive too.
an emergency C-section
was able to save him.

the first time that I saw him,
I wasn't allowed to hold him.
he had tubes coming from
every part of his tiny body,
and a ventilator was
breathing air into his lungs.
he looked so fragile, almost
like a porcelain doll.
it almost looked like
none of it was even real.

the NICU doctors
read me an entire book
of my son's diagnoses,
medical terms with words
too long for me to understand.

the only part that I heard was,
"you might want to start
saying your goodbyes."

I refused to say goodbye,
and my son refused to give up.



my baby was a fighter.
he beat the odds over
and over and over again.

he grew stronger and
healthier every day.

eventually, I was told
that I could take him home.
I was also told that his time
with me would be limited.



my son's father
read one page from
that long book of diagnoses,
and he was overwhelmed.
he walked out on us.
I wasn't angry at him.
I was overwhelmed too

but I wouldn't leave.
I would be there for
every moment of his life
and every breath that he took.

it was me and my son
against the world.
we were inseparable.

I read him books
every night before
I tucked him into bed,
even when he was
too young to understand me.

I kissed him on his forehead
and I told him that
I would never leave him.

I promised my baby
that I would be the mother
that I never got to have.



my son fought
harder than anyone
who I have ever known.

despite the hospitals
and the medicine
and the surgeries,
he was a happy baby.
he had no idea that he
wasn't like every other kid.

he laughed and he cried
and he smiled that big smile
when I held him close to me.



and then the day came
when I had to say goodbye.

I had that same
heartbreaking feeling
that I did when I first
learned of his existence.
I wasn't ready.
I would never be ready.

all that I have left of
my baby are photographs
and memories and a
small, pale green urn
sitting on my dresser.

my son is gone.
my baby left this earth
not even a few years
after he had entered it.
my only child
was taken from me.



I still have these strong
maternal instincts.
I feel a need to protect
someone who no longer
needs my protection.

I am missing a child
who will never come back to me.
I am broken.
I am so broken.

this gaping hole
in my life will
never be filled.




I was a child
with no mother,

and now
I am a mother
with no child.
You will never truely know
If the person you are talking to
Is real... or a mask

We live in a time where more and more people are suffering
Depression
Bipolar
ADHD
All kinds of mental illnesses
Masks are needed just to survive
Because like the illness
You get trapped in your head
Screaming for help as you mutter
"Im okay"
                                                                                               "just a cat scratch"
"Sorry, my sharpener is broken"
Fear paralizes those who want to reach out

"They are my friends"
                                                                              "They dont care about you"
"Ive known them my whole life!"
                                                                     "Yet they barley know you at all"

How can you help yourself when you cant even stop those voices?
The doubt and hopelessness whispering in your ear...
How can you be confident asking for help when people just leave?
Mental illness is a disease spreading across the world
No, We may not be able to cure
But we as people owe it to those suffering to recognize their pain
And to stay and help those we can
Everyone deserves a saving grace
Dont walk away when you can help.
skah May 2023
04
the loneliness is killing me alive
it’s feasting off my fragile being
alone, locked up in my own four walls
i’m slowly starting to go berserk
i need something, just something
that does something to me

a lonely tear rolls down my face
a trembling ocean underneath my eyelids
maybe i do suffer from dopamine deficiency
maybe i am for being against it
and maybe i just have to stop believing all of the diagnoses of the frauds around me

as fast as the loneliness took me in
and the tears came
it stopped again
and the only thing remaining
was this irrepressible desire
for more more and more
anonymous Feb 2016
Health anxiety.

You google one thing and it says another.

You have a headache and it says its cancer.

Countless trips to your family doctor.

The test was negative, you will recover.

Everything is fine but you’re feeling awkward.

Maybe everything IS fine, perhaps you’re like an actor.

Acting out the symptoms you should get an oscar.

Sue me for feeling like somethings not right, get me a lawyer.

To everyone around me, i’m like a destroyer.

I need to rebuild my life from being an over reactor.

Theres a fine line between normal worry and anxiety.

Theres a fine line between being labelled from society.

Theres a fine line between being sick and being healthy.

But even those who are wealthy are not protected from being unhealthy.

And thats where this fear has developed.

Knowing the highest of classes still are not protected.

CEO’s can get cancer.

The president can get Alzheimer's.

Investors can get tumors.

Is it really so peculiar that I fear that this will occur.

Occur in me? Effect my family? Increase mortality?

Maybe i’m not a clinical case of a hypochondriac, but I feel that sometimes I can be.

Maybe i’m not a maniac, but I know I over worry.

These thoughts don’t keep me up at night, but when I’m sick I always think...

What if its this, what if its that, what if this thing can **** me.

But I guess thats just normal anxiety.

Evolutionary instinct.

Our human kind won’t go extinct.

I don’t need to talk this out with a shrink.

So this cold is lasting more than a few days, maybe i’ll just go to a doctor.

Stop fearing that this is the end, see someone and you’ll feel better.

You can get sick from being stressed, or even change from weather.

Its not strange if you catch a cold, no need to worry it won’t last forever.

When you feel like the doctor is wrong, please try to remember.

A runny nose isn’t cancer, forgetting to check the mail isn't alzheimers, and a headache isn’t a tumor.

Those are all just internet rumours.

Google isn’t your doctor.

Worrying isn’t hypochondria, no need to add that to your self diagnoses list.

While disease is a real thing, worrying is the real *****.
Sixteen years old
Another night
Another one
FADL guard*
She smiles
the leather belt
around the stomach
is tight
i can see
the sun set
through the window
with the lock
it hurts
in my heart
and
my cracked
ribs


I break down
in tears
and I tell her
about the assault
about the humiliation
that now
on the seventh day
occurs
forced
to derive stools
in a parcel tray
urinate
in a flask
with both hands
bonded
in leather
injected
by force
with anesthetics
denied all movement
Deprived of all freedom
deprived of all dignity

Still
She smiles
while she
calmly
skims
my hair
and softly whispers
the doctor is on his way ..
He's bringing anesthetics...
* FADL = danish union of medicinal studies, used to do graveyard shift at mental instituitions.
Maple Mathers Feb 2016
“I have something for you to remember me by,” said Tim.

    He held a little foam Hippo – the lone play animal supplied by the loonybin to patients in need.

     It was brand new – just as every Hippo looked – and I wondered why he’d chosen something seemingly impersonal in comparison to his other, odd gifts.

     However, what he did next made his hippo – my hippo – absolutely ideal. To people like Tim and I, that is.

     For, to my astonishment, he casually took the toy in his hands, twisted, and ripped it cleanly  in two.

     He ripped off its head, which he gave to me, whilst he kept the body.

    I will never get rid of that mutilated, foam hippo head. For he understood what no one else had ever come near.

     In this way – perhaps – Tim and I became synonyms. Synonyms for what ignorant perceptions would later christen ******, or merely, crazy (the latter - coined by those who remain too depressingly colloquial to invent unfounded diagnoses).

     These epithets, catalyzed post personifying such societal taboos as Tim or I committed, follow me still, and have yet to disperse.
  
     A criticaster disaster, personified.

     Yes; in this way – Tim and I became synonymously insane.



Chapman University destroyed my life.

(Edited out(?): My failed death-wish, and subsequent involuntary hospitalization, would render malicious and ignorant individuals to alienate and shun my entire existence. My former allies, friends, and peers - those who had "loved" and "supported" me - would soon slander and sabotage me simply to maintain their own fabricated facades.
     Associating with someone who failed at suicide is a social deathwish, apparently; yet, if I'd succeeded, they'd lament and mourn their "loss.")

(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
Sally A Bayan Dec 2013
Visitors had flown back home
The much awaited respite
Finally, was at hand.
It felt good...to be on your own
Leaning on the bed, alone, though
Still nursing a cold from two weeks past.
To catch up with sleep
Was all that mattered.

Quietude was a blessing.
There was no noise at all
At 5:00 in the morning.

What?   5:00 AM?
No rushing footsteps?  No showering?
No flushing of the toilet?
On a school day?
This can't be!

Wondered why
Rising from the bed was a struggle,
Everything seemed light...floating,
Turning...spinning
Panic lurked in all corners of my room,
Loomed, it did, and spread all around,
In the midst of a widening cloak of fear.
The vacuum...in the right ear
Cleared those fuzzy thoughts.
The
Truth
Stood out
Transparently:
My right ear could no longer hear.

Whether lying cringed or curled,
Prostrate, or supine,
Grieving, worrying
Predominated in the days that followed
Diagnoses and prognoses, all were bleak
The cruel, deadly virus did it all
The loss superceded, and
Displaced every strand of confidence
A downward pull was imminent.

No phone calls were accepted.
Unexpectedly, true colors surfaced,
Real friends came forward
Family, other voices kept whispering:
"Shibashi waits, tai chi helps,
Both can alleviate, heal the heart,
Heal the mind, to be able
To accept the unacceptable."

Fourteen days seemed a year already,
Moments spent in soul-searching
But...restlessness won.
With prayers and courage, gathered within,
I dared cross that busy street,
Though shaking, quivering from fear
And from the cold winds of February
Almost got hit by a car,
Cursed by its driver,
But reached the church grounds in one piece.
Practice started at 7:00 AM, sharp.

Movements were calming,
Healing,
Strengthening
Concentration was perfect!
It was sunny
Wind blew softly,
Carrying small things, floating, flying
Tiny strips that went with the wind
What I thought were garbage
Strips of thrash paper, from a shredder,
Thrown from a house I passed by
Blown even further, higher up
I walked back home,
With strips of paper on my head.

Two weeks were too short, I was still confused,
Unaccepting, mad, sad, felt cheated,
Still in denial, of what had occurred
Standing in front of a vanity mirror,
I pondered,
What could be God's message this time?
Those strips of thrash paper,
What if they were confetti from Heaven?
My situation wasn't a festive event!
Could I have overlooked something here?
Was God trying to call my attention?
I wasn't sure...all I knew was,
I was depressed
I lost equanimity, I lost my serenity
I was distraught, I was everything but happy.
But, those strips of paper
Falling on my head
Made me look up to the sky that morning.

There were no tears before, and even today
I am a bit afraid, but
There is a calmer me
There is solace in the fact that,
God gave me two ears
I could still hear with the other
I live quite an active life 'til now
I move briskly
I sit where the speaker's voice is clearest
To my left ear.
When something is difficult to hear, or understand,
I get so frustrated
Sometimes, I forget about it,
It has its good effects.

It would soon be seven years after
I have learned to
adjust to my limitations,
Still wanting to know how to overcome
Or resolve these limitations
One day, I might just
One day, I might just
Accept what should be accepted

I can get myself through this
I hope to be understood
And not pitied.


Early morning ,December 11, 2013
    (From journals of 2007-2008)

Sally

Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Tradition.
Ever since I can remember, there has always been a drum kick somewhere.
There was always a slight hum,
Or the faintest whistle.
Ever since I was in my mother’s womb,
My heart has beaded to the sound of the drum’s snare
And as I was born,
I whined with the sound of a guitar.  
If you ask me what my favorite childhood memory was,
I will simply say music.
When I was little
I noticed that everyone had a favorite type of music,
And I, being as independent as I was,
Decided that I was not going to like music at all.
But, as music does,
It took me away
“Like the moon rules the tide”
And if you know what song that’s from, I’ll love you forever.
Now I realize,
Music is my soul
It makes me feel whole,
It’s something that cannot be stolen.
My family always has had music,
Music led me from the deepest hole of mourning,
And it is digging me out of this current diagnoses of depression.
Music is a universal idea,
Every culture,
Every person has their “soul” music.
My family started with the deep roots of rock
Metallica, poison, and Guns & roses.
My parents where the stereotypical punk rockers of the 80’s.
So it was only natural for me to follow their footsteps,
Except a lot more *******.
And as I grew,
I gained more of what my family had to offer me,
I found out that my mother was amazing at the flute,
And my dad was a beast on the drums,
But somewhere along the way they passed on the urge that music is life,
And one day, it will be the performance of a lifetime.
This tradition fuels me today,
I see it in my everyday actions,
Wherever I am there seems to be music playing somewhere.
I am fueled by rock to this day,
Though some call it devil music,
I find it rather heavenly.
I heard a quote once that said
“you hear screaming
I hear meaning”
And this is more than true because as you hear savage screaming,
I hear and understand their words and pain.
The stereotypical people always think those songs are about worshiping satan,
But what they don’t realize is that beautiful lyrics such as,
“That little kiss you stole,
It held my heart and soul”
And
“I am the ocean, I am the sea,
There is a world inside of me”
Exist
I don’t know if there are any fans of this band here,
But that was from one of my favorite bands called Bring Me the Horizon.
Anyways,
The thing people have come to know as “screamo” has become my tradition.
It has brought me to know so many good friends,
And tons of amazing conversations.
Even if it starts when I wear my “My chemical romance” t-shirt, and get a ton of compliments on it.
And im sure music unites you as well.
We all have different tastes,
But in the end there is something everyone can agree on.
If rock isn’t your cup of tea than maybe rap,
Or hip hop,
Or R&B.;
I dunno,
Its up to you!
But music is where my roots started,
And those roots are growing a powerful tree.
Music inspires me so much, and can you genuinely say the same?
Do you ever have those moments when that perfect song comes on,
And you stop everything to hear it?
I do.
And its normal.
It is human nature to sway with the music when you think no one is watching.
This tradition is so delicate,
And it will live on because there is always new music ideas to be had.
New lyrics popping up every day,
And who knows,
Are you the next protégé?
I never thought I would write a poem about music but yet here I am,
Following my tradition
Of music.
will be performed
Hayleigh Oct 2013
And I wander why I'm here
And your there and there's nowhere inbetween for us to go
And why if there was
You couldn't take me anyway.

Wind mills in our skulls
So fast we can't get a grasp on.
Pretty pills
As we stare out
Of barred windowsills

You tell me you don't understand,
as you hold my hand and demand to know why.

And I sit and cry and tell you I wish you could, I wish you understood
But how can I expect you too
When I have no clue?
Cos your mind isn't fractured
Into hundreds of unrecognisable pieces
Creases
That they try to iron out
And glue together with
Sedatives and weight gain
And cognitive behavioural therapy
That they insist will numb the pain
&fix; the problem.
But i don't know the problem
Because I've skipped in and out of diagnoses ever since i was
Placed into this space
A taste of hell and heaven all at the same time
Where it's okay not to be okay
But it's not okay to be okay
And you get named and blamed and excused and used as examples
For nurses to observe
You're a learning curve
In their degree. Or for a student studying psychology
And no matter what anyone says
It doesn't curb the reality
That you are sick.
Too sick to take care of yourself
To keep safe your health
Your body, your mind
To hold yourself
Together,
An it's strange because
They try to rearrange
All our thoughts and processes
But they don't undress the primary cause
They caress plaus-able reasons
Excluding your explanations
Satisfied with their own gratifications.

2013 ©
I never thought I would be a teacher,
even if I am an assistant teacher, I am
helping to shape the minds and spirits
of my students.

I teach students with autism, and sometimes
I wish I was like Professor Xavier and that I could read the
minds of the kids I work with, who are a mystery
to me.

I don't have mutant powers, but I do have the
capacity to love.  I learned and honed the skills
of listening to my heart at L'Arche, which is
often called the school of the heart.

I do my best to learn the lesson plans and provide
reinforcements for positive behavior, but
mostly as I engage my students I pray a simple
prayer of "Thank you. I love you."

My students are not a cumilation of data, facts,
and their diagnoses.  Each one of us including
me has value, because of the breadth of life of the Creator.

Divine presence, may I treat each child with love and
with an open heart, so I may give and receive.
May I teach and be taught lessons of the heart
from my students. Thank you. I love you.
I currently work with children with autism and was a member of L'Arche GWDC for 3 years. More info on L'Arche communities as a whole: http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/L'Arche
Edward Coles Nov 2015
Now the working day got me blue again
and the taxman takes all profit from my sanity,
lining the pockets of the rich in this top-heavy system.
I fell to the delusion that the left is always right
in this fight for centralised power,
but now the working day got me blue again,
and I'm tired of watching the news at ten.
I'm tired of seeing the human race **** each other,
so I turn off the television, and I try to live again.

Try to live past that working day,
past the need to keep artifacts from yesterdays
that can never effect the here and now.
Try to live past the event horizon,
the Great Electron in the sky;
the awful weight of uncertain futures-
but the working day got me blue again,
and those twelve hour shifts **** my strength
before I can punch through the wall that separates
you and I, from the happiness we earned,
the tears we cried.

The working day got me blue again,
and I've been quitting smoking for five years now,
But bad habits accumulate when you have no time
to file all the information that passes your way-
like dust across a construction site, when they promised
things would change. Though I've been breathing since birth,
I still turn to cigarettes as if they were the only thing that will calm me
in this sea of high expectations, sugar and caffeine; an isolated reality.
The working day got me blue again
and only music seems to talk above timesheets
and all those titles given to fools that you must obey.

I try to live past this humdrum panic,
this commonplace, day-to-day emergency.
I have been waiting for the paramedics,
for a team of experts or an expert lover
to frame all my fears into words, into diagnoses,
into myths and fallacies that tell me everything will be okay.
Everything will be okay, despite the finger on the button,
despite the chaos in my brain.
The working day got me blue again,

the working day got me blue,
and so all I can think of to do is to
fall into the grooves, into the static sheet of familiar melodies
on midnight walks, only my headphones and a cloud of smoke
to keep me company. The constuction site is always under new management,
the disabled are always ****** over by the government,
and its a surprise the fire service can still afford the price of running water-
double the price of Coca-Cola, and all the sheeps left to the slaughter.

I try to live past the bitterness that kills invisibly
like Carbon Monoxide; a fog, a cataract, that occludes the vision
so steadily, so incrementally,
that you cannot see the Scrooge in you,
until you find yourself alone in your room,
when only yesterdays remain, tattoo on your skin
in a series of callouses, of scars; photographs of guilt or all those better lives
lived by better men. Better women: better blades of grass and ameoba.
We stare into our phones in some punch-drunk hypnosis,
glowering at the world that distracts us from distraction.

The working day got me blue again,
and so I fall into a retreat. Into a fox-hole of self-delusion,
of puppetry in the world through my ugly words
and solemn verse; as if being clever with my tongue,
as if being cursive at the microphone is enough to save the world-
or at least, to save myself. You see, I've been a beacon of poor mental health,
I've been a victim of my own crimes for too long,
but the working day got me blue again, and before I find that strength
to punch that wall, or to make a change,
the working day got me blue again,
the working day got me blue again.

I try to live past the elevator jazz, as I stand on hold
for a company that would just as quickly drop me,
despite the smiles on their logos, despite their slogans of delight.
The lights went out a while ago,
and so I'll work another weekend,
I'll fix up my future pay, I'll sing sadly into my guitar
after a twelve hour shift, my ode, my unrequited love,
my poetry for Saturday.
You see, the working day got me blue again
and though I've spent my time saving up,
putting in the hours to fill my cup,
the working day got me blue again,
the working day got me down.
A beat poem

C
Allison Rose Nov 2011
A booth Made out of Fed-Ex blocks
Tongue depressors Still lingering with the taste of fudgesicle
Diagnoses Of cat-scratch fever
Of applesauce flu
Of –itises and –idias
One end of a jumprope
Held to one ear
And the other
Tracking the thump of a human heart
When the only illnesses
Were those of a sun-spent day
And playdate fatigue
We were all doctors
We could all
Save
           Lives…
Eloi Jul 2016
My house is filled with ghosts,
That only I can see,
I try to tell my mother,
But she laughs at me.

They haunt my every step,
Whispering past events,
telling me their stories,
Filling me with worries.

I lay in bed at night,
Full of anxiety and fright,
That one of them might try to hurt me.

I see jet black figures in my mirrors,
And deformed silhouettes in my windows,
I close my eyes and pray for them to go away.

I guess I'm just intruding,
Living where they once did,
They have followed me around since I was a kid.

My mother takes me to the doctor,
Who diagnoses  me with schizophrenia,
Says' it's all in my head,
That I can't see anyone who's dead.

Locked in an institution for days,
They still wouldn't go away,
They never left my side,
They haunt me still to this day.
This is a true story, that happened to me not so long ago.
Hell will be a waiting room
You’re sitting in an uncomfortable chair
With dingy magazines five months old
The couples on the covers have split
Someone has already torn out the coupons, filled in the quizzes and crosswords
Twelve letters across another word for your damnation?
The answer scrawled out in red ink
Anticipation
Waiting for the news that is never going to come
Waiting
That anticipation is worse than the diagnoses
You could have five months to live this afterlife
Five weeks
Five hours
You could drop undead in the middle of that waiting room
Where no one would do a ******* thing
Because God doesn’t dwell down here
Here the devil is king
And then it begins again
A different waiting room
The same dingy magazines
Except this one smells like a dentist’s office
You’ll just sit
Wait
The walls read
If you have been waiting more than fifteen minutes please notify the receptionist
Alert staff if you are experiencing flu-like symptoms
HAIL SATAN
Thank you for not smoking
No smoking
No talking
No texting tweeting or reading
Waiting
Just Waiting
In this ***** dusty hell of a room
Please take a seat
A nurse will call you to the back shortly
I would really appreciate any feedback on this poem. It's for a class I'm in.
Lost And Found May 2015
Words spill like ink from a ***
or blood from a wrist.
And let's be honest...
There isn't a difference anymore.

They scratch their suffering on skin
and scream their love like diagnoses.
Diagnosis, a death sentence,
bated breath because *"I've fallen in love."
Mental illness makes "love" a heady thing.
Since the omens of Wontehlimar, the linamen before Borker became reigning, for the static balustrade that will surround the Megaron, where all the Ibicos rings will be enlisted chorally by the patronage of the Hellenic orthodox legacy of Alexander the Great after he was rescued by Wonthelimar from Babylon, and finally, take you to your physical and spiritual shelter. The eruv of the Nótos was demarcated, surpassing the limits of the rings of stefánes Íbix, or Hoops of ibix, like nano kvantikoí daktýlioi, Nano-Quantum Ring auguring sensitize the dermis and its carpal phalanges. From the intertestamental, such as in Vóreios, passages from the Old Testament are explored here that says…: “The temple that was the only legitimate sanctuary of the Israelite people contained within it the Ark of the Covenant, a golden altar, and candlesticks of the same metal. , a table with sacred loaves and other utensils used to carry out the worship of the god Yahveh. It was located on the esplanade of Mount Moriá, in the city of Jerusalem, possibly where the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa Mosque are located ”. From this dome the larnax of the Great Macedonian, apriorism, will derive into the schismatics of ancient Christianity and orthodox Judaism, separating from each other, after the fall of the second temple. Of this class and previously this was detonated due to the undivided troops of the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II, who destroyed it in 586 BC, also taking captives a large part of the inhabitants of the Kingdom of Judah, to Mesopotamia, giving rise to the exile and captivity of the Hebrews in Babylon. A reflective Borker of this premonition, he takes the Ibics Rings and selects one of them to unite them with the first Zefian Arrow, as nano Kvantikoí Daktýlioi, quantum Nano-ring, to ensue in future similar events, avoiding invasions that cause looting and destruction. of the temple to be built on Patmos. Nano-scales for Borker's nanotechnological conception, and estimates of threats of invasions and climatic changes, in one billion (109) and one billionth (10-9). In a meter there are one billion nanometers or, in other words, a nanometer is one-billionth of a meter. For those who will have to configure the dimensions of the Mandragoron "Temple of Vernarth" with carbon atoms that will forge the support in chemical units for the re-conception of nature, and its two- or three-dimensional networks. Being immanent and masterful, the nanotubes with 60 carbons distributed in 20 hexagons and 12 pentagons, according to the geometric patterns of the cellular scale, in the conformation of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, thus being concealed by the Ibics Rings for each linear meter, and cubic traced by a nanometer which is one-billionth of a meter. Here the borer beetles will catch all the ambrosiella ceratocystidaceae fungi and will displace the virals in a calculated manner from the beams of the Icosahedron.

The ranks of Falangists moved triangularly in multiple directions, to reach the Austral del Nótos de Borker, thus they would form the magical vectors of the polyhedron internally, triangulating at the tip of the ram that carries an illustrious triangular phalanx, opening the areas weak, to consolidate the buttress of the façade; the Áullos Kósmos, and pay homage to the apse that was filled with rejoicing. Sones of the philosopher Plato, made them regular or perfect in convex polyhedra, as in all their faces where regular and equal polygons were made, with holistic solid angles also equal. From this boulevard, the theology of Vernarth and Alexander the Great, fully professor and of Platonic pattern, will follow, making nomenclatures of nanostructures that affirm the volume and structure of the central sections of the radier, and its foundation bases shielded by the icosahedron in the scale nanotechnology, having physical material cells, for adaptation of structural changes and their environment.

The bulk will adapt microscopically, to analyze small particles with the return of the fourth arrow or Tetra Sagita of Zefian, absorbing nutrients and discarding environmental threats based on carbon dioxide, to make a limiting membrane beauty, which moderates the nanoparticles that were developing. borer beetles. The solidity of the partitions and walls will have the exact proportion of the nanomaterials, to adapt to the general area of the Mandragoron Nótos, which will ooze the surpluses due to the porosities, towards a volume highly resistant to invasions of limestone nanomaterials, and stony grounds that will be elaborated from the flow of the buttress of the apse that rose towards Aorion. The interior and exterior faces will be supplements of prayers of Prochoro, in didactics that will shield with the Antiphons Benedictus, and the hive of Plato's Icosahedron, becoming a consular material organism, and solid in interstices or leftovers from the faeces of the Borers, until pasting and reach the volume of the polyhedron, and its twenty faces pointing towards the physiognomy of the boulevard, tracing the general volume of the Mandragoron, and intercommunicating the supporting quantum and its post-Byzantine Greek patristic theological harmony, passing through vectors of time that run through the pre and post of temporality of the Invisible Eclectic Portal, with remarkable poles and penumbras of the contemplative orb as seven steps of liberation, and as a manumission of the wheel of time forward, where Hermes will bind him with serpents to a fiery wheel that will spin without ceasing, stopping the naivete of the 7 donkeys, and their autonomy of self-consciousness, crushing each serpent with their hooves.

Says Borker: “if the organic cells operate with homage and with greater multicellular fields, here are the nanoparticles, in greater fields of fiatto, and in the slides that will recirculate in favor of the Mandragoron throat, and in the essential carbon nanotubes elements of the biosphere and useful layers of life that roll back the rest. There will be 20 linear meters in the area that lavishes the width and height, the projection of this scale of nanotechnology, will make a three-dimensional shape and a great plump serial in the Nótos Austral ”Vernarth's purging dimension, made him materialize at times and laugh out loud because he knew that everyone who was with him loved him! , and from this fraction of faith, the Angel Raphael diagnoses them bread with archangelic essence; herb with great healing powers, especially in the dimension of the eclectic portal that allowed Vernarth to concern himself with material living beings.

Definitely the second step of consolidation of the Megaron was established in the linear from the seven donkeys eagerly left it, as likely masons and cabinetmakers who worked together with the Hexagonal Primogeniture. From this moment everything begins to have an inter-dimensional aspect, from the Invisible Eclectic Portal to the majestic geodesy and orography of this temple, which incorporated everyone for a charitable epiphany together with everyone in the Profitis Ilias, which was already crowned as the cusp Spiritual World of the Vernarthian Eclectic.
Áullos Kósmos II
MoonChild Jul 2013
but I had to go mad
to become real
a diagnoses of mirrors
permission to feel,
I miss the drugs
when I swallow the medication
mind numbingly beautiful
with veins like seaweed
wavering in water
salty
thirst never quenched
I crave it like he does.
Holly Salvatore Jul 2013
Men with rambling fever
Are born not bred
Their diagnoses are terminal
No cure but to go
And they sell their souls to the devil
For a train to hitch a ride on
And they'll die along the highway
While their women stay home
Remaking beds
That have never been slept in

I slept in this morning
Even though I didn't need to
I stretched my limbs
Out into the ocean
Trying to stay afloat alone in my bed
And through my spyglass
I still couldn't find the edge of it
No body of land to stand solidly on
I concluded that beds must be round
Orbiting microcosms floating through apartments
I got up and didn't tuck the sheets in
I got up and didn't make it

I didn't make it through college
Because as soon as I got settled
Into my air mattress
I un-made it
Everything called my name
I tried to ignore the voices
I tried to avoid them
But the mattress deflated quickly
The sails inflated cleaner than a cloudy day
The maps on my wall needed navigating
I had too much exploring to do

I've read about explorers
Men who made their fortunes
Hunting gold and looting temples
Never returning home
Because the beds they left, they had already met
Men who mapped the oceans
And gave their names to continents
Practically for free

I will freely admit that I'm like them
Unable to stop myself
From risking it all
For a chance at nothing at all
Unable to stay in one place
For long enough
To make my bed and lie in it
I will freely admit that rambling fever
is not ladylike
I will freely admit I'm an
Unsettled woman
I will freely admit
I shed lives and beds with purpose
I shed lives and beds like skin
So this happened after work yesterday. I don't know what to make of it really. I don't know if it's done or if it's edited right or not.
Lizzy Dec 2013
You were rudely awoken from your dreams of happiness
Like a reoccurring nightmare
That never seems to end

No matter how many diagnoses are made
Pills you take
And fake smiles you show
You can never wake up

It's like an addiction
Anything you can get your hands on
Anything you can do
You'll always find away
To sneak into the dark once again

You whisper the words
That your life revolves around
Between forced gags
And broken tears
"You should be better"
Michael Hoffman Apr 2012
Gotama was unlicensed
went to graduate school
in caves along rivers
eating one grain a day
seeking the happy place
where great beasts and ships
gratefully anchor and lie in the sun.

Christ laughed at thin laws
refused to relent
poured glowing love
all over the Pharisees
and isn't it sad
that officious therapists
blindfolded to the heart
spew grey diagnoses
to describe pathologies
ignoring the daimons
of each soul
labeled in their great sad files.

Rumi cut a great poem
into his thigh with a dagger
and loved when people read it . . .

Smell the wind. Eat mutton.
Do not waste your days
inventing litanies of sadness
looking for broken places
in your heart.
When the doctor asks for his fee
reach inside your chest
pull out your heart
hold it before him
say nothing.
Kate Richter Feb 2013
my hair is smoked with diner eggs and bacon
because I was lucky enough to eat this morning
using the change I found in my pocket.

I have plenty of change on me
some of which I used to purchase
beautifying products
to conceal my blemishes-
imperfections that seem so trivial now

I am ashamed
passing by the Cherry Street Coin Begger
eyes casted in different directions, sitting upon a thrifted walker

it seems my compassion is faltering,
maybe it is these salt stained streets or self diagnoses or
layers of grime surfacing under melted snow

but her and I are no different,
trying to avoid the same soot puddles
like land mines hidden
under sidewalks of putty
Stephanie Oct 2019
Her gaze steady, without blinking she exhales the words as if she's been holding her breath...
"You have generalized anxiety, major depressive disorder, panic disorder, and a touch of OCD"
She looks at me curiously as if she's just let out a terrible secret and is waiting for me to freak out
Unable to read my expression, her concerned voice cuts through a faint ringing in my head,  "How does that make you feel?"
Relieved?  - my erratic behavior has a name, well name(s), naming your demons renders them powerless..right?
Hopeless? - the way she reads the disorders like reading off a grocery list, so many diagnoses, how could i not be a lost cause?

Fast forward to every relationship I will ever have with another person.
I usually end up apologizing, as if I’m hurting them with my slightly crooked smile and fingers that won’t stop tapping
He asks me "Why are you like this? What's wrong? How can I help?"
(I'm exhausted from trying to pick apart which diagnoses I'm battling at the very moment someone asks "What's wrong?")
So I default to ambiguity -  I shrug and I tell him "I don't know, I'm just sad...or something."
shika Sep 2013
I've watched you struggle and I know not what demons you've been fighting against. and know only seems to matter after you've won or lost.

Jacob didn't know who he was wrestling with at first, he only knew he mustn't give up.
just like you.
don't give up.
The problem with the past and with secrets is that until we confront the truth and deal with it. and win against it, and banish the lies, we will always be hurt by it.

So here's the truth.

Growing up was hard, even hell. It's a miracle that anyone survived. There was egregious wrong, even evil and too few moments of joy or happiness.  You had the first hand experience of it. I had the knowledge of it after. And to survive it, compromises were made: HAD to be made. Embracing the truth and letting it be known was too dangerous and difficult for children. So every one kept quiet. And then as children got older the instinctive habit stayed.

I marveled that you all didn't go mad. But I think you guys did, in your own way. Isn't repeating the same actions and expecting different results the definition of crazy?

If I have learned anything it's that desire alone to not become something does not prevent it from happening. I am my parents and their relationship every day until I mold healthy and better habits. I am the victim, the aggressor, the *****, and the bully.

Until I stop putting myself first.Being the one who does wrong or is wrong makes me into a monster.

And a victim is a helpless wronged one. Lets be honest, we're not helpless. We're not victims. We do this to ourselves.

I haven't been on speaking terms w/God even bore she died. I think the moment of greatest disconnect was when she claimed his as the reason for her destructive behavior. I knew God was not in this . But I still stepped away. Months later, when she was taken from me, I didn't blame God. part of me knows that this is going to be made into something good. And I know, that for this to happen means that he had to allow it.

But for me to admit that means that I have to admit she is gone. It means I have to embrace a world w/o her and embrace a God, who knew it would be this way. And I just can't let her go yet.

And I know that sound .crazy.

She's............. .

But I'm not ready for her to be gone. This is NOT my timing. And morever, since the diagnoses and break down, I have been waiting and hoping for the day that she would come back.

'Cause I lost her before I lost her to a sickness of the mind. And I just want her back. And now all I have her in is memories.

Now, I'm terrified that I'm going to lose You. But here's the thing. You are stronger than she was. She was sick, and unable to pull herself up.

You and I both knew that this was not her, that she would have never done this, not this way

and not to you.

She didn't **** herself to end the pain of the past. She killed herself to end the pain of the future.

She lost all hope.

And she caused us to lose hope.
But to not grab it back, would be worse than what she did.

We are stronger than our weakest moment.

And you are stronger than this.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
don't do it, it's modelled like speed-dating, i've been to one of those horrid Loserville events and it wasn't pretty - please don't get ****** into this vortex where you reveal everything about yourself, what music you like, what films... you're just showing me everything i'm not supposed to know before i even meet you, it creates a complete and utter lack of conversation... all the fun stuff to talk about comes flying out of the window... all the good stuff, all the DVDs and CDs and books in a suitcase... and all that's left in the house is your ***** laundry... and on dates all you end up talking about (crucially) are your ****** problems!*

it just got me thinking about prostate cancer
and how they shove a thumb up your ***
to see if your prostate glad still has a hard-on;

the western illusion of "not enough time",
not enough time to speak about music, films and books?
i guess the new thing is psychology and how
many diagnoses you can think of,
a symptom of a: not taking interest in philosophy beyond
quotations, maxim, toothpicks instead of pine trees.
krista Oct 2013
i used to think i was the bravest girl in the world, the one
who was going to reach her arms out to grasp sunbeams
and absorb hurt like inverse constellations into her skin.
i'd go up to doctors and dare them to stick me with their needles
and diagnoses, taunt coaches to push me harder in practices,
shed tears like fallen leaves to humor myself on occasion.
i was a tiger shark, alone and comfortable in my shadow, but
knowing that any pause could stop the water from becoming
air in my lungs; i'd kiss and sometimes i swear i tasted blood.
but now i know friends who have lost things in darkness that
they can never reclaim, no matter what lights they turn on,
and nineteen seems closer to both everything and nothing.
now i love like someone who is more afraid of drowning
in her own cup of water than the ocean, even though the
waves have never been anything less than welcoming.
i've seen talent and courage drain into a needle and bottle,
a hoodie and dark skin become the uniform of suspicion,
a country of the free bleed onto its own striped flag.
listen, it's forgotten the words to its own national anthem.
so then where, in the mix of war paint and firewood,
is there a place for the fierce but not fearless,
the ones who want nothing but need everything, and
who are still sometimes afraid of their own voices?
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
i found that people who try to make you happy
are the saddest people of all,
they don't speak their mind,
give an actor mask guise
and when they start falling off limb-like limp
you encounter the lost abbreviation, i,
of what thinking could have been without them prior,
but now lost to you simply "thinking" things out
as simply stressing the coordinate with
the over-stressor once known as an abbreviation;
but what can you do, when plato's cave
was sold to every household, plato's cave? yeah,
the television, without many having read into the metaphor,
even on an academic level!
plato's cave was sold with the digitalised shadows
known as reality t.v. stars,
we were sold this! and you need to seriously complex
the youth as necessarily complex with diagnoses
aged four? well, hell's yours! who does this
psychiatry first, climb a tree second?
where there are no bruises without a bike
there's a little astronaut ready for a stage:
karaoke samurai in the vacuum of time singing:
style! labrador with fringes! style! bob dylan singing david bowie!
style! zebras polka dotted!
a bit like women telling men: you can't cry!
concludes with? woman! you don't understand opera! get out get out!
tell me you're honestly helen for the ships to sail
for you to encounter tears!*

then the 21t dinosaurs come, complex thirty somethings
redeemed by a twenty something trying to build a cool -
odd in the 21st page flick,
with a library (not just a bookshelf),
and music to the liking to deceive the radio
from ever cluttering the atomic spacing of c#, chequers i
say, we hardly entered the gambling measures of chess,
but we got a robot in to beat russian brainy porridge fudge;
we're the oddity, bigger than someone 1901 to **** a ***
and suckling on hindu conversation by burning
"offensive" books aged on the deathbed with the year '61.
we're dinosaurs, we are,
we have the 20th century features in our 21st bedrooms,
libraries instead of floral *** encounters ready for a scented candle burning,
and we have the music we like,
even though they told us that digitalising music
made musicians more settled in their original take on things, taking
the flute up ben nevis and fluting standing on one foot,
because we told the musicians: you're as free as the music you try to sell,
we'll curb you into industrial submission, we'll take your
essence away, we'll take your end product for free,
and take your freedom with it,
and then... well... we'll be satisfied with the priests' pulpit song
and sea waves. some say the africans are really hungry
given the charity adverts... all the while the africans were
advertising free culture of the lanky and alkaline and anaemic children of europe
taking culture for free, knocking on wood to get the rhythm of venetian bongos
in byzantium.
Sawyer Apr 2013
I feel broken
Shattered
My existence split in two
One lives with him
And the other quickly fades
A whisper in the dark
Of my hollowed breast
These things should never happen
Words erased from language
Pain drawn out in syringes
And burned in brilliant holocausts
We did not ask for this
For the eyes of God
To shadow our lives,
Apparent pity abound
But no mercy from His hands
Where are you now, O God?
How doth thy affection lie?
Prostrate on the ground,
Bury my face in unholy text
Chanting diagnoses
And the time he has left
My Marine friend has a tumor. We don't know yet if it is malignant, but he is scheduled for surgery on Tuesday.
Danielle Rose Dec 2012
He wore a stripped shirt
that resembled the twist of serpants
though he smiled warmly his eyes were
steady on the dollars
placing labels and badges on all
the soldiers fighting to pay rent
and live in times so far from purpose
I kick back and watch him scribble
false notice
prescribing a pill to every effect from
this life
its left me purging
I hate the institutions
the corrupt unjust
sick ***** sedating my
passions and
numbing me up
smart went to another place
outside your local village where
the villians mix the chemical
perserves in your children's fillings
I cant help the way I percieve what
I have seen
I cant help that my fall from innocents
was rougher and obscene
I cant stop thinking of the misuse
of power and money mongers
I want to burn the kingdom
hoping it'd grow back to something better
misguided we walk off cliffs and to the slaughter
or we come back as our fathers paper back novel
excellence for me has fallen to resistence
because I simply cant stand this kind of exsistence
go ahead and direct me to another perscription
corrupt everything in my mind that makes me human
I'm ODD to the extreme !
I reject most of you and the latest thing
and now this man sits here
telling me I'm sick and spiraling
as he shakes hands with satan
defiling minds from eyes that only see green
and I pay my way to see this jackal conspiring?!
You can keep your advice your diagnoses and the dice
I'll leave you now to gamble with the rest of the villager's lives

— The End —