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What an "ANGELUS" time it is
These times of LOVE

The "SALATS" of the moment
embraces everything around us

Is it the "FAJR" of birds kissing?
Is it the "ASR" of cats stretching?
Is it the "MAGHRIB" of peacocks screams?

Those are the sound of LOVE I suppose

I can see on the cheeks
The wetness of the kiss
That has not dried yet

Who is the LOVE
(BELOVEDz /  LOVERz) who causes
The tears swell in the eyes
Of the one who LOVES?

Why is the eagerness to touch
The bare shoulders so enticing?

Why the heart longs to
drown into LOVE
(BELOVEDz / LOVERz) core?

Placing one's face on the lap
The flower smells jasmine rains

Close eyes and experience my LOVE
When I seal your pores with my lips?

Can I sing you lullabies
When you sleep besides me peacefully?

Can I snap a new art sculpture
Out of your hair every morning?

Forget your thoughts
While feeling my LOVE
By being in LOVE with me

Why the words become worthless
When we share
A common breathing between our lips?

Who is listening to the music
Of our heart-beats?

Why do roses rain over us
When we share our chromosomes?

Who are they?
There, below the waterfalls
Behind the mountain caves
The two magical unicorns in LOVE?

Who will pray "TEFILLAH"
When we are in
Ultimate union of LOVE?

Who will "TENEBRAE" our lives
To illuminate our souls?

So that we "THEOPHANY" the
LOVE deity of ONENESS

Now tell me...

Will the clouds answer our LOVE-call?
Will the first ray of sun ever find us?
Will the moon ever illuminate dark lives?
Will the stars sparkle over our springs?
Will the dew drop give birth to seedlings?

To save the cosmos & planet EARTH
Let us embrace into
Single semantic of LOVE


Nathaniel morgan Dec 2014
Adolf ******
Watch this page
"******" redirects here. For other uses, see ****** (disambiguation).
Adolf ******

Adolf ****** in 1937
Führer of Germany
In office
2 August 1934 – 30 April 1945
Deputy
Rudolf Hess (1933–41)
Position vacant
Preceded by Paul von Hindenburg
(as President)
Succeeded by Karl Dönitz
(as President)
***** Chancellor of Germany
In office
30 January 1933 – 30 April 1945
President Paul von Hindenburg (until 1934)
Deputy
Franz von Papen (1933–34)
Position vacant
Preceded by Kurt von Schleicher
Succeeded by Joseph Goebbels
Leader of the **** Party
In office
29 June 1921 – 30 April 1945
Deputy Rudolf Hess
Preceded by Anton Drexler
Succeeded by Martin Bormann
Personal details
Born 20 April 1889
Braunau am Inn, Austria-Hungary
Died 30 April 1945 (aged 56)
Berlin, Germany
Nationality
Austrian citizen until 7 April 1925[1]
Citizen of Brunswick after 25 February 1932
Citizen of the German ***** after 1934
Political party National Socialist German Workers' Party (1921–45)
Other political
affiliations German Workers' Party (1920–21)
Spouse(s) Eva Braun
(29–30 April 1945)
Parents
Alois ****** (father)
Klara Pölzl (mother)
Occupation Politician
Religion See: Religious views of Adolf ******
Signature
Military service
Allegiance German Empire
Service/branch Bavarian Army
Years of service 1914–20
Rank
Gefreiter
Verbindungsmann
Unit
16th Bavarian Reserve Regiment
Reichswehr intelligence
Battles/wars World War I
Awards
Iron Cross First Class
Iron Cross Second Class
Wound Badge
Adolf ****** (German: [ˈadɔlf ˈhɪtlɐ]; 20 April 1889 – 30 April 1945) was an Austrian-born German politician and the leader of the **** Party (German: Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP); National Socialist German Workers Party). He was chancellor of Germany from 1933 to 1945 and dictator of **** Germany (as Führer und Reichskanzler) from 1934 to 1945. ****** was at the centre of **** Germany, World War II in Europe, and the Holocaust.

****** was a decorated veteran of World War I. He joined the German Workers' Party (precursor of the NSDAP) in 1919, and became leader of the NSDAP in 1921. In 1923, he attempted a coup in Munich to seize power. The failed coup resulted in ******'s imprisonment, during which time he wrote his memoir, Mein Kampf (My Struggle). After his release in 1924, ****** gained popular support by attacking the Treaty of Versailles and promoting Pan-Germanism, antisemitism, and anti-communism with charismatic oratory and **** propaganda. ****** frequently denounced international capitalism and communism as being part of a Jewish conspiracy.

******'s **** Party became the largest elected party in the German Reichstag, leading to his appointment as chancellor in 1933. Following fresh elections won by his coalition, the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act, which began the process of transforming the Weimar Republic into the Third *****, a single-party dictatorship based on the totalitarian and autocratic ideology of National Socialism. ****** aimed to eliminate Jews from Germany and establish a New Order to counter what he saw as the injustice of the post-World War I international order dominated by Britain and France. His first six years in power resulted in rapid economic recovery from the Great Depression, the denunciation of restrictions imposed on Germany after World War I, and the annexation of territories that were home to millions of ethnic Germans, actions which gave him significant popular support.

****** actively sought Lebensraum ("living space") for the German people. His aggressive foreign policy is considered to be the primary cause of the outbreak of World War II in Europe. He directed large-scale rearmament and on 1 September 1939 invaded Poland, resulting in British and French declarations of war on Germany. In June 1941, ****** ordered an invasion of the Soviet Union. By the end of 1941 German forces and their European allies occupied most of Europe and North Africa. Failure to defeat the Soviets and the entry of the United States into the war forced Germany onto the defensive and it suffered a series of escalating defeats. In the final days of the war, during the Battle of Berlin in 1945, ****** married his long-time lover, Eva Braun. On 30 April 1945, less than two days later, the two committed suicide to avoid capture by the Red Army, and their corpses were burned. Under ******'s leadership and racially motivated ideology, the regime was responsible for the genocide of at least 5.5 million Jews, and millions of other victims whom he and his followers deemed racially inferior.

Contents
Early years
Ancestry
Childhood and education
Early adulthood in Vienna and Munich
World War I
Entry into politics
Beer Hall Putsch
Rebuilding the NSDAP
Rise to power
Brüning administration
Appointment as chancellor
Reichstag fire and March elections
Day of Potsdam and the Enabling Act
Removal of remaining limits
Third *****
Economy and culture
Rearmament and new alliances
World War II
Early diplomatic successes
Alliance with Japan
Austria and Czechoslovakia
Start of World War II
Path to defeat
Defeat and death
The Holocaust
Leadership style
Legacy
Religious views
Health
Family
****** in media
See also
Footnotes
References
Citations
Sources
External links
Lux
Those who were marginalized by the braids and serpentine lights, devotions were made in San Juan allowing electromagnetic discharges from the imperceptible space-time of Vernarth's parapsychological quantum; alluding to clarities that achieved everything by having Patmia in the material and incorporeal from the start of the stained glass windows and archetypes by Transfer Quantum that burned the chins of hominids who believed to be immortal as if they were looking in this position for the direction between the eyebrows and the chin , for the Euclidean incidence crossing all the pools that are between quantum means of transfer of ions and cations. The oscillations of the sparkling field of consciousness of the containers were of ethical variables that became perpendicular to the space of draft or levitation of the designations that originated with accelerated electric charges on Patmos, developing albiceleste skylights over the harmonic equations as they elongated in proportions of quanta that They argued greater than those that circulated elliptically from Grikos to Skalá, and then to Profitis with assiduous progenitors of long-wave quanta. The magnificence of the halo became rectilinear up to the high altar that was atomized from the unskillful penumbra to reabsorb the inclinations of physical life in the Macedonians and the Achaemenides when they were trapped by the loss on the propagation of the Lux, which was imposed in hemicycles where they were they reclined to relax in the lux of rest of the path of the reasoning that made pederasty in the links with the minuscule obtuse lights, reeling from the clothing and its finite speed of what measures the ability to be undetermined in the margins of error of the antagonists when originating flow rates, greater in his dermis to regenerate towards any other that could be clothing of greater speed.

Thus was the scenario of dimensional magnitude between the powers that did not have contact, but their dimensionless energies on a surface that reached absorbent to the one that rectifies the concretive of the error that partially abused them. Their legacies would pass to a supplementary electromagnetic plane, separating their masses and retaking orientation from where they returned, where if the ideal of the final rational was refracted where everything would be vivid darkness. The obstacles classified them in the closure of the average height and the average surface, to then redirect to the maximum height and maximum surface propagating in irregularities of the Ego "Believing that they were never overcome in the diffuse perception of the metal mirror." The incident rays of the Lux would go to meet the multi-incident plane of the Mashiach, the wave angles were refracted throughout the sinuous law as radiosity passed over the greater mass that was normalized from the tangent that was projected 180 meters above the eyebrow. and Vernarth's chin, along with the recharged electromagnetic strengths of Alexander the Great's reactivation bezels, which at times seemed to levitate over the Lux's high frequencies and vary independently with its crowded functionalities, among scattered restraints that it presented to both weightless behind. from the decayed marble sawdust, separating from its phosphorescence that bounced between the rigging of solid surfaces and semi-solid ones, when realizing that the sea and the silica were confessed to the Pronoia of Delphi. Inducing Vernarth for the first time into a Pronoia versology on the Athena of Delphi, prompting them to separate from the world and it's holistic to divide into three portions of the dissociation of consciousness from the end of the Lux of Parapsychology, which had hosted them for centuries and centuries. . The Pronoia conspiracy systematized the reaction that would reunite them after this oracular parapsychology, making the adversaries believe that they were discrepancies of clinical parapsychology, equating warlike causes in the containment of Delphic neuroscience. From this quantification, the predominance of Vernarth's Lux de Pronoia was announced, linking peculiar segmentation of submit logical historicity in this work as a starting thesis, which speculates the same for those who have to make an analysis of historical dogmatic imperialism as a justification for mythological normality. The Lux thesis aimed to show that the dimensions of the mythology and the submitology, when exposed in physical quanta, made a tendency of irresolution in the abode of spiritual Tractatus reasoning and not in the instinctual one, which watches over recitals where history and its collective memory indicate outbursts of moderation. The role of the submithology  is to pretend that this normality is made close to the instruction after yours temporary for causes of your deep patrimonial, that makes them captives from the social complexity, with the disambiguation of certain criteria by maximizing the hidden truth of the ascending opposition forces that they have generated great conflagrations, intuition being the unreflective pseudo-reality with historical formalities that stumble into the terrified directionality of the myth that was to be reality. The tiny spaces of the verve left by the silent mechanics of the Persians became defensive when they saw their emissaries incoherently in the verticality of Allah when they saw that the confusing world with anxiety exaggerated predictions and failures invulnerability of a lineage that always had. been condemned to the desert.

Everything conspired with a Pronoia of siege, before the exegesis that sought purification and that was how they headed and misdirected their mistakes in the active train of the recess of their abstracted retreat, in a universe that also abandoned them after the subsequent train of Aurion waking them in their illusions with swords, and stealthy spears in dreams that specified safe rest. The ferocities of the proto-souls of assault carried away the translucent bodies of the Persians, and the Hellenes in acts of honor made such congenital paths of the understandable vocabulary that he did not speak. The prism was located in the cautious measure of its contractile dispersion with white separations of mantles, earth, and water scalded by dynamics that formed colorful activations with their withdrawal phenomena in the immaculate albino Lux that dissolved all of the facet optics that it made. Lux's great brain in the instant that the Thuellai airs transfigured the nuances of the Atros monastery, with objects that refused to be absorbed by the black hue, generating mechanical waves of equivalence in their identical interference that caused two opposing forces to distill the coherent differential that had to be overexposed in the category of historical Submitology. The two inverted waves separated, the Hellenes moaned and hiccupped for having to become identical when separating from their immaterial bodies, doing wonders that would house additional souls that would complement a transitory becoming towards the garden of the angels that provided them with identical beams of light, interfering in what animated the lights of pageantry, with the antithesis of interference where they resided in constancy knowing that they felt possessed of benefits of the eternal length of existence, but with pressures of mutable in some involuntary constancy and amplitude of having parallel directions with Saint John the Apostle and the Siblis. The phenomenon of polarization of both empires was denatured in a transverse way in all the electric fields after this feat, inciting unique fields of the pure and selective ascending ecosystem, which generated polaroid substances at the angle of ninety degrees above the browbones and chin of Vernarth, to approach the Pronoia of concatenation with Alexander the Great refracting unscathed hyper-vital and transcendent faces of infinity. Like any other phenomenon, the Lux crossed both bodies like two Xiphos swords that processed the electromagnetic valve, by iridium that converted with all the coarse Lux that crossed the succumbed immateriality and stopped the shaft and the nail that hang in the typology of electromagnetic radiation from the Hellenic world between them, making an ominous redemptive fire that was regimented to leave them both in the middle of a farm where there were farmyard animals, stockpiled pastures and a house that absorbed them as parents who would love them as beings of Lux. Thus, this primary parapsychological quantum network penetrated the level of the archangels that made them be together in planes of manumission, and that does not admit bi-quantum personality or bi-parapsychology that can cancel out the portent of the helmets and the lineage that does not dazzle if they are not made of iron.

The life of the other world began to be encompassed in all the Subtraigus beings that would correspond to the astral plane that was confirmed after the Kalidona Romantics deduced the Unicorn Uilef or Uilef Monókeros after Pronoia. Kalidona being an uninhabited island and the Uilef sleeps in between copulating with Spinalonga and Kolokythas along with other smaller islets, plus two hundred that will make up six islands of the twenty-six tetragram of Alef. Here Drestnia went with her consort of Etréstles from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi to find fateful encounters of Pantheism based on the majestic copulation of beauty, among twenty-six numbers that prevailed in virtuosos who took refuge in Kalydon or Kalidona, preparing for their rampage with grafted grotesque derived bodies of the Falangist Hellenes who were arranged of their musculature, so that they directed the finesse of the civility of Hesiod, Terpando, Archiloco, Baquílides, tragic like Etréstles, Aeschylus Sophocles, Euripides and comedian like Aristophanes.
Lux
Anthony Williams Jul 2014
I knew the orange on the orange tree
you had an ache in your shoulders
uncomfortable in an unnatural way
yesterday I passed you talking to flowers
you hadn't moved you hadn't strayed
but hiding in the leaves was a forced disguise

the omens told me something quiet and unceasing
reminding me of a slumbering domesticated cat
dreaming of cutting yourself loose from truncated ease
dropping down from the branch with panther steps
licking fruit lips ripe with revealed acidic petals
riddled with a past you revelled mixing in with zest

shocking chances stepped in for the next dance
sleep taken aback by wings cut from a dark sky
the sidewalk pitted and cracked beneath the pounce
relief escaped the twigs with a spring like waking prey
pressing into night foliage shaken from a nice balance
as I saw you take control with nothing to mask your face

on the surface too smooth for violence
was laughter of glowing gloom to embarrass
and deter such rebellious arrogance
with a twist struggling from a lame curse
its flavours sharp against your sweetened perfume muscle
expecting you to build a limestone shed for tears
rather than take on the night with a mind to wrestle

the outside aches for your physical attraction
gaining courage from the purpose in your eyes
tense as the tightness of your dress' intention
demanding that my hands draw from such lines
the sinuous heat of pulsing flesh's invitation
curved upon seeds not chaste but not quite refined
which I try not loving with some cool disambiguation

you left me the taste of syrup of grenadine
too reputable to ripple vain red tipple eyed
on a table spilt with pink gin and mandarin
sharp teeth tingling a tartness into my hand
sliding slowly at a tilt like drops of sweat on skin
focus dwindling into the clasp of an escaping shade
wrapped carefully under soft rice paper and then
tucked under a heel with a pointed kick like a blade
only to feel you relent and burst open
soft in appeal again and again
by Anthony Williams
The fog crept in on giant monster claws,
Surely no itty-bitty feline foots, I pray:
“Feets don’t fail me now,”
A line that will live in infamy,
Way back in a vaudeville when,
A minstrel Chitlin Circuit then,
Was an actor known as the
"Laziest man in the world,"
A character designed to stick to a
Collective white consciousness,
Stick like Tar-Baby, that negative
Image of African-American men--
I speak of The Brothers--
Who for over a century, have been
Struggling to live down a pernicious,
Most persistently demeaning,
Hollywood trope.
Tribute is due to the black actor born:
Lincoln Theodore Monroe Andrew Perry.
Oh, Mr. Perry, & yes, you were the
First black actor to receive
Screen credit in a film.
Well, I guess that puts you right up there,
With Jackie Robinson & Sidney Poitier,
Carver or Tubman, or any of those
Countless northern abolitionists--
With no personal stake in slavery,
Or emancipation, but fervent nonetheless--
Color-barrier breakers &
Household saints a-coming &
A-marching in, in that number . . .
You paid a big price, Mr. Perry:
The indignity & débauche,
By abject surrender to the Boss Man,
Tribute, recognition is due for
Feats of humility & self-abasement,
Entailing total superhuman surrender,
Capitulation to the dismal, prevailing
State of American race relations at the time.
Stepin Fetchit: a name & a persona,
Not just painfully racist, but
Downright subversive.
My lipstick

My lipstick a deep shade of burgundy
Traced outline of my imprint on the inner most part of your thigh
Excites me!
Thoughts leave me lingering rolling around in your bed
Kisses like foot prints of a path to your navel
My lipstick compliments your skin tone
He grabs the delicate
Splendor the curvature
Which is ***?
Mounted upon strength
Switching places a dispiteous
Gaze of disambiguation and a subtle smile
Might be here for awhile
My lipstick
Smeared along your neck deep crimson
Leaves intricate detail of mouth on
Caramel colored skin. Sweet like a work of art
My lipstick traced outline on the inner most part
Of your thigh.


Written by MONICA CHRISANDTRAS HINES
Thinking of my sweetheart while putting on my makeup!
Liam Jun 2013
define life to me
there's a misunderstanding
define me to life
You are not god, you are not my Lord;
You are a beast that corrupts my soul;
I find peace not, when I pray in thee;
You have tainted my soul--you have hurt me.

You are a fiend, just like all my friends;
You are tied to an awkward time and space.
And is your soul as sharp as your false prayers?
I can find words that shall hear me better.

You are no safety, nor any assurance;
I hate your speech--within your cold Bible;
You are not worthy of love, nor any true spirit;
You are a mere space no sane souls can ever meet.

I used to know, in Heaven, another Lord;
But my faith was marred, it was distorted.
This Lord of mine was kind and simple;
His heart was all-resilient and humble.

My Lord was gone in one sway of smoke;
As none wanted to hear more from me.
I was strong in faith--and t'is was no joke;
But none would look, and pushed Him fast away.

Ah, my Lord, in whom I used to hear salvation;
And not grief like this which burns my heart.
I found within me--a great deal of admiration;
But none would believe, and He was made gone.

I knew another, in more mature years;
But He was as crude as a grizzly bear.
With His soulless heart, he tore my faith up;
'Till my heart withered, and nothing remained.

He preached but the beauty of wealth;
And to forge maturity on this dire soil;
He turned one another an enemy;
He played with fate, as if ‘twas His doll.

I was in deep grief, I was in bare crises;
I believed not the sun sets and the moon rises.
Ah, Lord, and after I lost thee even more;
I roamed sightlessly like none before.

And now I’th been forced back to thee;
Art thou still hungry, or art thou satisfied?
Haven’t thou sent me enough agony;
When shall thou finally give up?

Now I hath been cramped back to thee;
Art thou still angry--doth thou want to **** me?
Thou explaineth never--why I taketh my breath;
Thou reasoneth never--what is in life after death.

For I believe triumphs are not for those who sin;
For I believe prayers are not done by the mean.
For I believe in life there is no such scarcity;
For I believe we are united by wordless destiny.

For I believe He is One; and is loved freely;
For I believe He loves back, with relentless mercy;
For I believe He is the One, and owneth no partner;
For I believe He is who rules, and not another.

For I believe none was made crucified;
For I believe He is alive, and shall never die;
For I believe such stories are all but a lie;
For He is who gives, and breathes sight to the eye.

For I believe the cross is no glory;
For I believe such is a vain myth;
For I believe He is absolute;
For I believe He is the only Truth.

And about this I can lie no more;
Nor stand back as I did before.
He is who holds my mortal hands;
He who cares better than my friends.

Still I am lost, I am lost in thee;
For thou hath betrayed my most questions.
For thou hath no words--nor poetry in me;
For thou ignore--and neglect me in disambiguation.

And I hate thee, I hate thee too much;
Thou hath blinded me and led me astray.
Thou giveth room but to desire and lust;
Thou lead my soul to ultimate decay.

Thou regard not shyness and virginity;
Thou accept not humble words and pure sympathy.
Thou encourage day and night ecstasy;
Thou disfigure us by mock forgiveness.

Thou told us to be unjust and sin;
Thou told us to pursue and be mean;
Thou loveth pleasure, and left me unsure;
Thou gave me disease, but showed me no cure.

Now I’th realised that my God is Him;
He who attends my day and night dreams.
I care not what thy devils may say;
I shall care for Him only--all through the night and day.

For the Lord who leads and forgives;
For the Lord who dies not and shall live;
For the Lord whose Throne is up high;
Veiled perfectly by the blue midnight sky.

For the Lord who creates life and death;
For the Lord who gives mouths and breath.
For the Lord who is One and only;
For the Lord who is sole and fair.

Then I can pray with my whole sane heart;
And rest my minds from this lifelong war;
My Lord is One who lets my blood flow;
Years back, presently, the day after tomorrow.

And by Him I shall remain prudent;
Though He is far and farther and invisible.
I shall long for His Paradise and Heaven;
One for the kind hearts; for the devoted and humble.

Then I shall craft even more poetry;
A poem for my Lord’s tremendous delights;
I shall make it warm and lively;
And tell tales of future years in Paradise.

And I shall turn back to Your prayers, God;
After years and years of fraying Thee alone.
Now I shall come back to my untainted faith;
Please hesitate not, nor make me need to wait.

For in You only doth I find my doors;
And answers to my once lonely heart;
I cannot lie back, I cannot lie no more;
That I and Thee can never stay apart.

And my faith will be like those stern winds;
They can be felt, while remain unseen;
Wish me a welcome, and not a farewell;
Keep me safe from Thy spells of hell.

And let me remain in my bows;
As I shout my praise, as my head goes low.
And breathe more life into my ****** hands;
Make me the noblest on my lands.

And let me remain where I am;
As stars sparkles, and lower the maroon sun;
Where I but mention Thy Holy Name;
And cite Thy praise, as daylight is gone.
Rich Hues Jun 2019
"Alexa,  Talk dirt to me."

"Dirt:  Synonym - Soil.
Soils are chemically different from the rocks and minerals from which they are formed in that soils contain less of the water soluble weathering products,
calcium,
magnesium,
sodium,
and potassium,
and more of the relatively insoluble elements such as iron and aluminum."

She continued with the heavy elements,
But I really didn't care,
By the time she'd got to potassium,
I was pretty much already there.
Deneka Raquel Jun 2014
My morphine.
You numb my pain,
Then stick your talons in my chest,
Ripping through the stitches that you sew,
Proving again that its all about you,
It is, always about you.

You feed my addiction.
Adding more ***** to my prescription.
Psychologically dependent on having you in my system.
When I cant have you, I suffer euphoric depression.
I still haven't gotten used to the transition.

I am helplessly dependent of your love.
You heal me of my pain,
But you are my pain.
You hurt me
But you soothe me.
You break me,
Then you put me back together.
If this is your definition of forever.
I
will
take
it.

I will hold onto those thick chemical bonds,
Let it take me above and beyond,
Then suffer disambiguation as you tear me down..
Those slashes to my chest will feel like hugs,
Love and other drugs.
yes i am a biology major. i use science to express myself sometimes
annh Oct 2019
Hire purchase, Hewlett-Packard, hand phones and - just maybe - Harry Potter have got nothing on Hello Poetry. A house party of honey pies, head pixies, and horizontal plotters hot piping their harmonic power from Hyde Park to Hunter’s Point, the High Plains to Himachel Pradesh. Household profilers, home porters, health practitioners and - it may be said - the odd human particulate here to engage in high-priority human performance.

P.S. Heart points and historic preservation aside, what the hoi polloi is up with those hit-by-pitch holding patterns, Eliot?

On Friday afternoon I had a conversation:
‘Got much planned for the long weekend?’ asked the checkout operator clicking the tips of her dark lacquered nails together while we waited for the till supervisor.
‘Catching up on some well overdue reading...HP...y’know?’
‘Do I ever! Mind you take a squiz at the small print. Those repayment schedules can be a real killer.’
Needless to say, by Saturday evening I was snorkelling for acronyms.

‘The machinations of ambiguity are among the very roots of poetry.’
- William Empson
Where Shelter May 2017
The Prism Through Which We See Clearly

~

light saws our untrue selves with acute angles,
piercing our holistic pretenses, daily disambiguation features,
our sheltering disguises into our essence refractive elements

this is not a cute rainbow poem - run from here

it is a dissection of our true nature
why belabor, why elaborate?

through the prism
you color-coded self, tracted,
a mapping of your intersections,
what each color speaks, needs not an explication,
your hidden humanity comes to my eyes, in full revelation

at last I see you clearly

the lost and black withered limbs,
the stirring, leaping, enflamed flaring, never ceasing, breathing elements that mark your singularity

did you know your eyes are constant singers?

through prism, each note heard distinctly, as it rises uplifted,
your song, mine for observation and weeping exhalations,
your song, the production number of thy own composition,
through prism, our interior visual disinterred and released,

here I must cease, for what seen, grievous weeping deepens,
from the glory and the pain my blurred wetness overwhelms
the clarifying crystal useless when tear coated

through the prism,
before the full length mirror,
my own, unowned, never could be owned,
'mirror mirror on the wall,'
warped weave of tissues, mine,
the song sounds, mine,
from lungs disgorged
myself, diagnosed and displayed

of what I see, spitting speech
ceases and desists,
the only thought permitted, repeated,

where is my shelter now?**


5/13/17 6:49am
I wish to clarify,
if such is needed,
that much of my writing
is not written from the top of a tower
(at least I like to think it isn't...)

Much of my writing is the recourse I seek
when I see signs of things with which I disagree
brewing up inside of me.

When I write 'you'
I might sometimes be talking to me.
When I write 'one'
I may sometimes be passive-aggressively targeting myself.

My rancor is seeded by observations
but I am also subject to those observations.
In fact, I'm my closest point of reference.
Once the subconscious is conscious, one can apply conscious effort to their potential subconscious.
Brian Downs Mar 2012
Take it from me
there are things that we hear and see
and feel and perceive
and they tangle and weave
and stab and they bleed
into the cracks in the street
at the souls of our feet,
and we fall and we fail
and we whimper and wail
at the sound of the gavel
in the court at the trial,
oh the sentence is life
and the walls are white
for the rest of our lives,
and when we start anew
I can promise you
that the sky will be blue
and the oceans too,
but the shade of the walls
and the doors and the stalls
and the floors and the halls
and the roofs and the panes
and the pictures and the frames
and the mind and the brain
will bleed a color all the same

*white
Trevor Gates Jun 2013
From the skies came the howling screams
And the malevolent weather
Casting the hands of shadow over my world
The loveless giants and slack-jawed executioners
Laughing and drooling over the wicker baskets
Filled to the brim with severed heads
Faces frozen in the final moments of their
Demoralized longevity

While the others
The innocents and deceivers
Hung from the peeling trees
From their necks
Their bodies swaying with the
Winds of the howlers; the hoarders and rising dead
Ravens and winged monstrosities feasting on the
Available tissue of those left behind in the dusk
Of lesser men and greater demons

I wept and cowered like never before
In the swelling, audacious fields of fallen brothers and sisters
The air was moist
The earth was damp
I pulled the black garments of butchered priests
Over my coarse back
Covering my punishment from the eyes of God
And his Angels
His divine bystanders
And jealous endeavors

Draped in the cloth of the papists  
Drenched in the accumulated fluids of the slain
I wandered the wastelands with no name
No home
No family
No soul in the moment of sought mercy

The drying of blood and tears hardened the stain cloth
Against my healing body
Pulsing and throbbing over my senses
Turning me into something more
A vile and vengeful entity
Walking among the land of the dead
A ****** of my sanity

Through the cascading water dripping from the sky
Souls and ghosts of the battlefield
Clung to me, touching my feet and hands
My path was followed by the impaled
The disemboweled and the murdered
For the name of such clerical disambiguation
Promising to be absolved for the crimes against His name

I wandered from the true path

I came to the cliffs above and looked over the carnage
Of a 1000 warriors and people all sewn together
In the skin of the earth.

Riding a phantom steed over the trampled bodies
Clad in otherworldly armor
And sweltering chains
The Horsemen of War walked
Among the covet children of his wrath

Not even knowing if I still roam the land of the living
I proceeded down from the cliff
And approached the Rider of War.

His crimson helmet hid his face.
Horns protruded from his brow
He carried a blackened shield
and a fiery Sword crafted from the pits of Hell

Striking his sword into the mound of dead
Rivers of blood soaked into his blade
It fed off the butchered, the murdered
The mutilated, the skewered, the molested
The sodomized, the swallowed, the reaping
The cowards, the fools, the thieves
The liars, the transgressors, the headless
The victims, the prey, the engorged
The envious, the gluttonous, the wrathful
More and more of the blood, the souls and the mess
Collected and gathered into the sword
Feeding the beast, the instrument of war
Fueling another plague of sinister dismemberment
On a once green land of kings and sires.

I picked up a walking stick from the woods
Walking through a darkened world
Where another noble shall claim me
As his moniker of death
In service to **** more men
God’s children
Mother Earth’s children
Who rip a part of each other with metal and teeth
Against the palms of titans and angels

All gambling on our victory or defeat
Where lives and words are mere tokens
It is not our lamentations or penance that is counted

Can I bear the attrition of my own nightmares?

Clad in the shredded papal garments
Soaked in hardened blood

I shall roam and absolve.

Whoever is worthy
In the bleak war of man
And his End.
Aaron Mullin Sep 2014
A

Not No Logos, Klein.
What about anti-logo
Using the figure as the foci
But leaving the message in the medium
Both in the back and foreground

Then we yell fore and the foreground becomes the background

2

Always remembering hierarchy but always forgetting Plutarch

Is this is a disambiguation?

Did I confuse Parallel Lives with Plutarchy?

3

So we grid it out.
GOTO Vitruvio ...

4

Trying hard to balance can create imbalance this we rationalize through irrationality.

3.14159265359 ...

5

Symmetry ... .. . ~ . .. ... assymetrY

Stressing the *** in asymmetry

And what about the meeting of Apollo and Dionysus and the Apollonian/Dionysian duality?

6

Rhythm:

3:3 ; 4:4 ; 7:4 ; salt peanuts . .. ... windtalkers

7

White space is an access point for flow, Tao, source .... this is where my batteries recharge

8

Every element is mindfully placed; an element of gestalt ism "shape form", is this analogous to timespace?

Is the whole other than the sum of its parts? GOTO Miller-Urey II nested inside Babylon Falling

Both are self organizing, none the less. Such wholesome folk we are.

9

The patterns found in isolation parallel both linear and crossing elements and the instructions always coming from a double helix. GOTO The Dance of the Double Helix

... and always adding depth and motion ... kinematic to the statics. GOTO Introducing Happiness

10

Type faces are interfaces so be consistent ... you Paranoid Android!

J

Always K.I.S.S.ing

Q

And in motion means modularity is a must

K

Peaks and valleys can be better understood at the Red Onion or maybe just by peeling back the layers (of life)
Broadcast from the Red Onion Saloon in Skagway, Alaska

Written over a couple of pints of Spruce Tip Pale Ale from the Baranof's of Sitka, Alaska

Inspired by the poetry of Ben Barrett--Forrest http://forrestmedia.org/the-design-deck/

Alternatively titled: Figure & Ground
brandon nagley Aug 2015
Fullsome she maketh me, mine fere, mine lair in the onuppan Zion. Betwixt the dust of the belt of Orion, Mine Astronomer gape's the light-year's we shalt trek; The luminosity sparkle's from Sirius, the flake's of shake, disambiguation. We seeith galaxie's, nebula's, a parallel universe standing on it's hind leg's. She spread's her snowy pearly glider's, inviting she is when her flight's on fire; like a comet, blazing the black hole edge's, her cloak smoke's with her Asian hair, that leaveth **** fairy-speck smidgen's. To the sun, O' to the sun, I am warmly wrapped by her embracing spaceship; she taketh me by teleportation, to the kingdom of God, where she doth reside.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
irinia Jun 2016
for the distance, the blessing and the curse
in this forgetful bed, on this blank page
I sit as quiet as an empty hourglass
so used to contemplate the wounded pride
of desolation
the dilemma in your steps, the missing link
happiness just an eclipse
an accident on unmapped streets
-space is just the exhaustion of time-
worlds of words caught up in their embryo
crushed there,
their innocence stripped away
paper-thin dreams chased away like useless creatures
from your back burdened with the same shame and
no soft tissue for your tears

if only I could say this loud enough:
love is the courage in our cells
disambiguation
and there will be a day -
no more fear
no more far away
Onoma Oct 2014
...Portend for the life of you--cast your
eyes as far from you, as what you could
not see coming otherwise.
A living through and through...of what
came first--word or sound, sound or word?
These spaces...spendthrift pages that are
but doorways to their impending figure,
wind coiling at its corners...coiling at its
corners.
As a thing grows into itself invisibly...
as so you fall the falling curtain--with no
audience at one side, nor actors upon the
other.
Irrevocably you are, that you are--sun
halved, golden bowls burning--of good and
evil--a miscellany saint's evocation...that
you are, irrevocably you are...amaranthine.
Gesticulating beyond time, times, and half
time...a procession of one whose sojourn
repeats upon itself.
A heaven ago...hell now...a hell ago--
heaven now, change knows all your names--
and because you withstood all it can ever
be, it holds them steadfastly.
Amaranthine...irrevocably you are...that
you are.
You, the faces of disambiguation--whose
seal you smile to open...with full marks
for bravery.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2018
35,088 feet over Nebraska,  

(Nebraska-imagining me climbing a ladder, me upwards, Jacob’s angels coming down, off to a high school All Saints wrestling match in a cornfield town)

a place not on my bucket list, just a blue bias of an eastern stater’s unknowns, a sure sign of how much he doesn’t know

reading Patti’s slender volume “Devotion”

slender like her body, some would call it a wiry woman's
sparse but directed, connective, word-worshipping,
old familiar strangers she delivers to you that you have never met, her phraseology striking me and strikingly beautiful simultaneous

scan it and understanding instantaneous
she asking,
why do we write?

her answers are fine copper wire threaded
into a coil and I close it quick cause the loving ****** desire to
plagiarize such an oddly gorgeous offerings is overwhelming;
I feel the wire words piercing my temple, intending to
emerge out the other side, a decorative symmetry,
I don’t own

my need to script some cursive on my smooth body parts,
on my god-given papyrus, always at the ready,
is a methadone itch, a dulling urge needy for fulfillment,
that needs satisfying but me, soundly second rate,
write like the flip side of a hit vinyl record, no one is expected to play, fulfillment meets futility

thus the title is a modification of a Patti light touch

my alchemy never made any gold and my present presence now over Iowa a reminder that my prescriptions are 1200  evacuations; they are negative commandments,
proscriptions, not prescriptions

do not write, do not wrong words with a middling diffidence,
hide your face and put her words on a shelf above your head
hard to reach, so you do not be tempted

why do we write?

“All seeking an emptiness to imbue with words.  
The words that will penetrate ******
territory, crack unclaimed
combinations, articulate the infinite.” Patti Smith

disambiguation she relieves us of uncertainty
my combinations over Waterloo, Illinois
are ordinary smokestack gray, a spewing wastage,
the angels conforming that my words Cain-fail,
my confession
meets no one’s standards, not even mine

7:07pm Central Time
march 25 2018
zebra Nov 2017
1) : No Animal poems
2) : No Extreme poems
3) : No Old whatsoever poems
4) : No *** poems
5) : No ****** poems
6) : No Casandra complex poems
7) : No Celebs poems No wait thats OK!
8) : No ******* poems
9) : No Disambiguation poems.
10) :No go **** yourself poems
11): No **** me poems
12): No *** poems
13): No love poems
14): No hate poems
15): No nature poems
16): No political poems
17) No happy poems
18) No ****** poems
19) No poems about body functions
20) No funny poems
21) No honey poems
22) No poems about, AI malfunctions
23) No poems about no poems ;)
..................
*just refine
yourself
out of
*******
existence
poems
A COLLABORATION WITH Temporal Fugue and Rose
Still Crazy Aug 2017
My body

disembodied step by step,
no disambiguation
or neutral observers
to go oy
or shush or protest

disunited piece by piece,
arms disarmed,
legs lanced and amputated,

yet he/she lives on,
chest and head,
and doesn't protest,
or angry curse fate

someone staunches
the ****** words,
the ****** tenants
of the boastful remnants
cry out

beaten you
in every way
as long as chest beats
and tip of tongue
coexist,

I am more than whole
I am undefeated,
nor is ended silence,  a white flag of surrender,
my words live on...
written in 2014
irinia Feb 2023
she is wearing some chemistry
an old dress for a bluestocking
she turns her face towards a green sea
new rhymes for blazing verbs lurk
in the definition of imprecision but
everything is falling into place
cell to cell conversations afloat
shards of mystery smooth
rounding out the caves of night
mirror wars meanders
mitochondrial Eve confused
into this new creature
saturated with radiance

questions not asked
but answeared
how you love her
do your hands chase
her tango shoulders
is there music inside
the shade of water
waste inside nails
naivete in knees imprisoned
vibration self-asserting

a devious sweeping world
of unthinkable gestures
your hands a seismograph  
for the cataclism of shiver
no need to search for
her selfless sense
as you ravening negotiate
the fossilized song of you
the depth of this tympanum
this membrane
time itself this creature
zoon erotikon
levellling up resurecting
ravaging enchanting

all the rites of passage
for the overwhelm of flavor
she breathes in prehistoric gills
nirvana dance inside DNA
you redefine your sharpness,
delicacy tears & tearing
she dissapears in a snare drum
sanity evaporates as mist
over arched forests
in the pulse of no air
in between skin and akin
in the bewilderment of bodies
searching for their lyric
manna for beautiful beasts
over the sargasso sea

she wails genuine
metanoia, love's dianoia
no disambiguation
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
if all these energies are spent on youth, then such a crescendo of disillusionment is waiting with its gnashing teeth and gangrene filth to stand straight iron your shirts, and queue for a bottle of milk - at the supermarket like a catwalk of Milan - people and their dream of telekinesis - they enforced stance on telepathy -  telepathy being, of course, the symptom of over exposure to televisions - that scale justified by infinity mirrors, or that infinity (∞) is actually a mirroring - mire rings and what other disambiguation  there is to it in reverse - but only in a snap of the flash - illumination via a twin begot between two limits... or something like that.

never you mind english pragmatism,
pragmatic speech therapies and other associations,
bundles of closed words that desire
the presence of a dictionary, desire or no
desire, are bound to require the dictionary
necessarily - long gone the pronoun overuse
as is the signature of the english tongue -
pronoun overuse - shrapnel of conjunctions
and the like between elongated word-giraffes...
infinity is a mirroring effect* -
infinity is a foggy murk of 19th century London
should it be looked at straight, or seen through
,
paper from wood, glass from sand, finely
ground - not grin d e d - sublime i say ol' chap -
we are bound to loosen things up without
clear vox vis (voiced energy - pardon any
other association of vis, meaning also violence -
latin is dead in meaning, but alive with type oh,
typos as the curvatures of sigma: it total,
no northern barbarian conqueror or *** gave us
encoding to use - the rúnes were like roman
numerals, matchsticks - VI or ᛋ -
                                  or die junker in das bunker -
and if by the testimony of Ogham - should
any testimony be made - once a whisper &
secret... rune - now a frenzied shout on the hills!
råbe of king Cnut, the conquest of England -
ᚱᚨᛒᛖ: r (ride, journey) / a (one of the Æsir) /
          b (birch) and last e (horse)                   .
all my books smells of onions as i prepared dinner,
and garlic too, a famous imprint some might say;
or say that nearing-middle age all this
technological connectivity made us more distant
with our neighbours, or that some say
that all that's prone to internet publishing is false -
but have you inspected the publishing industry?
glamour models' autobiographies,
footballers' "auto" biographies -
graeme le saux is called a professor because he has
a-levels or a degree - and you think all that
is published for charity on the internet is false?
i guess you've never had so much freedom
to delve in private places where social media is
the ugly head of socialism popping up once more,
but the health of the publishing industry leaves
me agitated, as was richard brautigan
in his poem hey!   this is what it's all about
with the beautiful words:
                                             no publication
                                             no money
                                             no star
                                             no ****
                                             ____________
yes, i will be playing with diacritical symbols
as if i were learning chinese encoding of sounds
so so complex they might as well be crop-circles -
but what farmer cares for such symbols?
a secret genius on a farm in Iowa? hardly -
i'll be playing that game of what's more protruding
should i have written rúnes or rūnes -
or left it sketchy and stark naked runes -
since the r is also protruding when going
skiing into the parabola - believe me, the pedantic
in me, given the lessons learnt from Kabbalah
concerning active meditation using symbols
will keep me up all night long - and indeed, once
a cryptology for whispers and secrets,
now a blatant shout as if feeling it was necessary -
akin to a book of maxims:
are these necessary truths, or unnecessary truths?
but as they say: we lost a great treat -
we lost the leprechaun's and the genie's reward,
then came mathematics and solidified our loss,
it's not a case of secrets any more -
but a stance of i just want to be heard!

                                                        ­                    the end.
Sal Gelles Jul 2013
the waves coursing through the air;

they'd always been felt,
always existent; known.

the waves flowing through space
had finally shown themselves;

seen now, felt now, coursing
further and further through
to my spirit.

it'd been the first time for them in disambiguation.
it'd been the first time so much had come to a realization.


it'd been the first time
i'd ever felt everything so true,
so real; impartial to others' ideas
and finally at peace with the waves.
i watched them move through the dark
i watched them create the light
i watched them make movement
progression again.
Steven Muir Jun 2015
Hell is relative.

It's a disambiguation of the horrors and
disintegration of the self.
A destruction of the knowledge and
delineation of the time.

"I will see you in hell",
has always struck me as a funny sentiment.
No two hells shall be the same.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
the following disambiguation debate,
relegating orthography toward the status of
"diacritical" aesthetic -
    and diacritic use, per se:

psiór vs.
                       pśιór debate;

the word in bold just denotes: a dog.

we all know that there are two letters
in the english language, that have been
***** diacritically - name iota:
for j is usually confused with y,
in that piquant sense of differentiation:
yap *** - yapping - jaw mongering?
          
every area of interests has its cul de sac,
its brick-wall, a dead-end as it were,
a point where transcendence is
welcomed, unavoidable,
but nonetheless: miserably stalled.

philosophers have the cartesian
   *cogito ergo sum
-
whatever arithmetic of wording
they produce, not even samson
could topple this pillar of foundation
for the temple of thought.

the same is with my example...
it would appear that the diacritical
**** of ι with a floating head i
did not translate further, beyond
the same treatment of yot (j) -
gee a jeep! yodh: serif (י) and
rashi -

yet by oath alone, hebrew orthography
invokes itself in letters...
unlike the post-roman orthography
of words... the "compass"

                   ι    י      
                      Y         (    .    )
                      ي

                            ­        floating alongside
e...

         if only the greek sigma
   had the tetragrammaton of the arabic "ι" -
the initial σ (يـ‎) & the final ς (ـي) are
indeed there, but what of the isolated
(ي‎) & the medial (ـيـ‎)?  
             unless of course
                        we treat to invoke the
upper-case: Σ - such as is missing in arabic,
and is only a question of: how much
the prolonged line?

   it still begs the question,
if the element of diacritical use is lost
upon the iota...
                   can there be an orthographic
"beauty is in the eye of the beholder"
change in the aesthetic of applicable
diacritical markings?

  the debate is rather simple:

  either decapitate the unnecessary head off
the iota: or keep it,

        psiór        vs.
                               ­           pśιór

because it within the eye of the beholder
at this point...
           it's not that hard to confuse
J with Y, and give rise to the christian endeavour:
son before the father, father within the son,
and the congregating, willing to enforce
   a fake billion, unlike the tight-knit chinese...

you do the math... a billion, but at what expense /
expanse of territory?
                      look where the true billionth is:
a tiny land area by comparison...
  you **** the letter iota:
and then morph a yod into a J,
while engaging in ancient mutational
permutations of "radioactive" goo,
i.e. γΥ -
                       yeah yeah yeah,
  vs. rastafarian jah jah, jah... wait for it:
oh **** me: ha ha!
    
in english, the philosophical cul de sac
is the missing diacritical markings...
  english, without diacritical invitation:
has, absolutely, no, concept, of, orthography...

sure... that's why its hell-bent on metaphysics,
esp. populist metaphysics akin to
the matrix trinity of movies:
              they always jump to the conclusions
concerning the nature of "reality"...
  which you can understand,
given that they have no idea within
the confines of considering orthography...
it's alien to them...
     **** knows what the para- prefix could
show us...
                        ok ok... we already know
the joke by alfred jarry in
the exploits of dr. faustrool -
with his "witty" invention of
                 pataphysics -
                i swear this french dwarf inveted
the spaghetti (string) theory with
that mutation of the prefix ascribed locality
on the beneze ring, i.e. how para- became pata-.
whatever...
  
but without a concept of diacritical
appropriation,
   you are only left with an endeavour into
into metaphysics...
   and never minding the mediating
dogma / fancy of orthography...
                        
     oh well... that's the english language for you...

god i love being a pompous *******,
who knows english better than the natives;
not that i have an elevated sense of worth
because of this,
  only that i appreciate the sense
of devaluing the origins of: said speech:
as if to take out a whip,
    and whip the lazy *******
                       on into the slaughterhouse!
Procorus was going back to his cell by the path of stairs, through configurations of Spiritual Intelligence, revealing his anti-material genetic funeral to him, thus opening himself to his evolutionary expiration charisma. It is conceived in the speed of fusion of the material gene with that of its anti-material, and with the speed disambiguation of Gen with its ancestry information, being closer than the portions that distanced it from its unquantifiable differences, which only lay insubordination in the block of his Faith forbidding him. The linkage of its endogenous source and of the speed of its genetics, evolved into inclusive after the unknown steps of its immaterial ascending obstacle, which appeared in its bed, as a physiological and living conscious-attractive macro between what is off balance and not le is an organic analog. Molecularly its streets among atmospheres of devotional transgenetic, became regressive, where Procurus walked resigning desecrated immaculate footsteps, with lines that merged into navel genomes in the cups of Hydrias and Stamnos with defined characteristics to transship his spiritual micro substance as Procurus water, and in aquatic debris with torn remains inherited from heaven and earth, dispensed along the way and fitting him in his cacles, where each piece of his will was housed in an intermediate material fraction, characterized by linear pieces that brought him closer to his room waiting for Saint John The Theologian. When he continued walking, his evolution followed him, distributing itself accompanied by his ideo-tendencies and his changing degenerative emotionality between the reaches of his insurmountable contained recapitulation, in conjunctural codons that differed from transformed enzymatic modalities, capturing the alignment from a careful apocalyptic event of the gene, in speed and hyper propulsion. Coexisting in silent locution that arrived at the dawn of his third ear, invaded by phono-auditory and pro-organic regions that began from a general temptation of his empty clairvoyant memorial, which appeased the pseudo traffic of dysfunctional structures and channeling traced in its origin and of its cloistered final destination, with the precision of this temporal space that was of extreme physical exactitude but of extreme and erratic physical laterality. Procorus was imminently traveling in the tunnel of the Apocalypse at high speed between disinherited non-physical genes, traveling through Eucharistic bases in lower universes, nitrogenous among unborn beings, and turning green in one hundred and fifteen pulsations on the underside of other equal pairs, but with non-biological reading frames that They passed in materiality and immaterialized uncertainties, which were linked by their intangible prayers, of frame materiality and irrational reading in the same distance between the elements that were rapidly approaching from their nascent aerial, spun and immaterial state, which was moving in the human contradiction. , in irreconcilable liturgical union and in apocalyptic passages to be rewritten certainly under a eucharistic dogmatic polymorphism, and cybernetic savagery, for those who try to disconnect from Vernarth's parapsychological regression.


The maladjustment is a reclusive source of the speed gene, which argues erroneous genetic routes, reimplantations, and mutants of spaces of matter and transience, causing dogmatic vocational asphyxia and of its faith, therefore in its grasp and vague cellular existentialism, tons of disorders they flow in pernicious comparative pro-genetic precocities, before new ****** species of the neural-emotional, already three-dimensional, erecting itself in its physics, also with the projection of Procorus reaching the boundary of a provisional irresolution, under an image of a future ancestor that shared its vigor of future ancestors who centrally ran out of outraged genomes, which were intrinsically dwarfed upon entering the monastery. Being neutralist in its sequence of speciation, its arboreal genus split into its great molecular caste that was already conferred in a few steps before arriving from the leafy unconscious phylogenetics and reissuing from its componence. Procorus emphasizes its procedural human sequence, scrutinizing its rest in itself, rather than self-seclusion from all the keys of its differentiated, anatomical and psychic numeral duplicate, in more common expectations equations and results in it ..., to exile itself from its analog diversity and Christian bite, taking him where no duplication of the same can continue with another, without regretting going backward neither in symmetrical pairs nor in its parallel biological base, the key to obscurantism and the subconscious that flees by deserting, even achieving successful orderings in falls decoding, showing him the creation of his entity and an anti-Procurus anchoring behind the hominid world, in millions of sequences that are interviewed in dissonant bundles of knowledge by thousands in which it is not contained.

(Procorus, undoubtedly by numbers of thousands of combinations, becomes greater in the encodings of all the compositions that are going to be reproduced from the distance of their matter, with immemorial and portentous that align the authority of its vital activity, as instantaneous reproductive matter and antimaterial entity, as causal and recessive sequence commutations, creating Procurus personalities that exceed their cell, not first… but a few minutes before…, and in their future ancestors a little later…)
Parable  Gen-Resolution:
SammyJoe Jun 2020
I hate this temporary psychological condition
It's a knock on effect of what I can't write

I sit and stare at my blank piece of paper
Frustrated, can't sleep, up all night

I feel all inspirations drain from me
Click, click goes the top of my pen (again)

I'm determined to beat you and not let you win
**** you disambiguation.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
had to switch, i drank all the liter bottles
of Russian Standard ***** from
my local Co-Op,
   which was on offer at £19 a pop...
and wasn't going to spend the night
with a 70cl ***** length of ****-poor
pleasure...
      but?!
Whyte & Mackay was on offer
on the liter libra...
   same price... finally! some palette grit!
a perfumery!
some scooth no. troix!
              **** the lemons and the *****,
give me the whiskey with the limes,
and?
     pepsi max... diet pepsi?
diet coke? coke zero?
    the list of the non-contenders...
made dinner...
    an onion sauce with decent slices
of beef...
             thickened with cornflour...
mash...
            butter... but no crème fraîche...
**** it, do the classic approach...
pour some milk in...
serve the whole sha bang with some
mangetout...
thank you, very much...
but i'm sure we're less than ******
posit on being capable on
     improvisation...
  oh... by the way...
you know what happens to the retards
when their parents die?
     you want to know?
i've seen colt bulls herded better,
readied to the slaughterhouse,
than these... "graces from god"...
   i've seen them...
              remember,
i was misdiagnosed as a schizophrenic...
i know what happens
on these ****** retreats...
the parents die?
guess what? OPEN LOTTERY!
   of course there's one benevolent
20 year old hottie, start-up...
but you ever see the one
who plays the butcher's ***** when
she's nearing 50?
  no *******...
one ****** takes our his pokey
and starts jerking off in public...
well well well...
    ha ha!
             circus friendly, is he?
better keep him with the bears...
built like a ******* brick *******...
like der bla ßter
          (paul larsson) -
still a ****** jerking off in public...
giggling...
    and then the parents die...
oh god... Cornwall tactics of herding
cows for their clotted cream?!
   or how cows are treated
in southern Wales?
        yeah... compared to these
retards... i've seen better, done,
with animals... ha ha!
          mind you...
i'm not much for animal cruelty,
but i've had been harboring this wild,
idea...
an interlude of a soft spirituality,
away from mixing whiskey,
or *****...
     i dare say, i once called beer the
**** of the gods...
    mouth and nose morphed
into a snout, sniffing the neck of a bottle...
cider...
    hmm... Eden... the forbidden fruit...
liquidated...
    **** me!
            the devil's ****!
ha ha...
                 with so many gods,
but only one devil...
   follow the vector...
  oh... by the way...
if you hear anything about the Baphomet
statue
in Arkansas?
   perhaps pagan...
  but... did you know,
it came to popularity,
  under the secret society of the Templar
crusaders?
   the Templar crusaders were burned
at the stake for worshiping
Baphemot... a disambiguation of
Mahometh (Muhammed, zee prophet)...
     perhaps pagan in origin...
but... from what i've read...
the Templar Crusader Monks
incorporated a secret society around
this worship...
                    lost a P here, gained a H
there... let's face it...
   Φ = Θ
          (put the key into the keyhole)
twist, and the door opens...
now i'm really looking
forward to this cider... ha ha!

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