"electrocuted" poems
**** this,
**** that,
**** you
and every ******* lie.
That slid through your
crooked/cracked teeth.
My fists,
consumed with an
angry adrenaline.
Knock out em' out.
You're going to need
an oral surgeon.
Next line you drop.
And Pow.
Talk ****
get hit.
No, get electrocuted.
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
time is an infinite stream of possibilities
may this blessing flow to you across time through love
I pray for you, the me of my past who struggled and
lost your way in depression.
May this blessing find you across time to you, from me the you of the future, to the 26 year old that I was in a moment in time,
where I was lost.
May you find your way out of despair and hopelessness, and
may you find the courage to set the radio outside of the filled
bathtub. I know suicide seems the only way out, but you have
so much to live for. I am you of the future, as I speak to you of my past.
May my love and hope travel across time to help you find joy in that little moment, where you turned on the radio to make sure power was flowing before you electrocuted yourself. But in that tiny moment, reggae music blasted through the speakers bringing a spark of joy and rhythm into a dark moment, where you could not distinguish from the true and false.
May you find the wisdom to know that your pain will not last forever and all wounds heal with time, even heartbreaks. I know, because I am in this very present moment the future self of you. I know that your present feels bleak and each day feels more painful and pointless than the day before. It feels like the whole world is against you and people who are supposed to love you only judge you and ridicule you. Somehow it feels like who you are is not enough and you are sick and tired of feeling this way.
May my love and hope travel across time. Love is infinite and collapses the space that separates us. May my blessing find you
through this dark moment and many to come, so you may know
and experience joys, sadness, and full specturum of emotions
with an open heart. You will someday embrace pain as one of your greatest teachers, because it has lead you to the other great teacher of life, love. May you have the courage to really live, so you may face death, another great teacher. May you live and die with love, and not with fear and hatred in your heart.
May this blessing travel across time in that infinite place in your heart, where hope will rise out of the heavy despair that is pulling you down to depths of pain that goes deeper and deeper. Somehow, pain upon pain becomes comforting, and you begin to be trapped in yourself. All you can see is this moment.
May my prayer and blessing find you and guide you to a future you cannot imagine in your present, but you would not want to miss. Thank you, I love you. I'm sorry for ways I failed you. Please forgive me.
May this blessing of hope and love find you across time and space to bring you home, so you and I can live in that infinite space of love in our hearts, where we are connected to life flowing through and in us. May you find your way to me, to the now that is always being created.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
obviously to think and enjoy it
you have to turn your mind
into a mollusc in an oyster shell,
slow... slow... (yawn)... slower...
then you suddenly get electrocuted!
boom! now you're thinking,
you're not as tense as a running
cheetah, hard rock heart muscle,
not too eager on karaoke of karate,
you're the tortoise outrunning
achilles; because the brain enables
such functioning, it's not exactly
an eager heart in the university of
the body - and why is it that domestic
life has completely succumbed to
the gratifications of chemistry with
toothpaste and bleach and other
cleaning materials; i wouldn't
be against doping athletes, i'd tell them
to embrace it... let's synthesise another
world record sprint in the olympics,
because an analysis would mean
talking about 9.58 / 9.51...
and that would be as interesting as looking
at the rosetta stone for clarification
of ancient egyptian: owl, big fish, little fish
carbohydrates boxed;
and still a flea could outrun you,
a flea, yeah, never mind the cheetah.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 5:46 AM UTC
Framed so poetically, there it stays
Never steps out of its flimsy boundary line but
it takes in everything with him
Inside a a static sea frame, there
roam all the wild guesses you
took:
all blue
all trapped, as erratic and diminishing as it was named.
Was you were to throw that time when
you tried to take to the sea
all into it?
There is no need to make me open my eyes to see something as obvious as this for a even a blind man can see it so crystal clear
in his pitch black vision
I'm closing my eyes and hope it stops
but
***I remember waking up
somewhere in midnight term
drowning in salty seas
and making bitter coffee to
recede the former taste.
I found your diary on the sea
shore with all of the demerara
sugar sand
disconnecting wires in my mind
with overflowing water in the
bathtub
and getting electrocuted.
Alarms when off buzzing with
tick tocks
I found myself with
a pacemaker also
your dying digital clock you had
since forever, displaying
blurs of phobia***
Am I wrong to be trying
to breath underwater
Would it be right to despise
the blue sea that should soothes us
that turned grey for all our
fears we threw in without hesitate
I put all of my fears into this sea,
as a glitched version of your
deceiving eye hue,
demerara sugar on the edge of
your lips lingering in my coffee
chronomentrophobia oh thalassophobia,
yet I was to choose between icy cold ocean air and
falling into clocks' icicle-like hands.
This
is much of an error as it is
a tsunami washing us with a tide of heartache like
over sugared coffee with still bitter taste that melted into
my inner cheeks when I had ulcers
and
you wearing wristwatch while holding my hands.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
for the karens of the street.
The karens of the world,
you ruin out the people's peace.
Your hair is frizzled like a you got electrocuted,
your feet smell like vinegar and your *** hole smells like ****
but wait, not the one at the bottom, yet the one at the top right in front of your lips, that's right it's your mouth and all i ever see from it is the garbage that comes out.
So please kindly would you do,
shut your ******* trap,
everyone will be happier when you're out
with a clap!
Hurray, hurray,
the karens are out,
But wait, here they are coming back again,
to see what's in store for them once more.
Pitches and forks and all things that stork the time between
a karen and the normal people who just want to live free.
**** you, **** you
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 9:50 PM UTC
scratched walls,
horrifying screams,
of dreams,
electric chair stupor,
in the boudoir,
breathing lunar air,
it’s a psychotic affair.
dilated pupil,
the brain was being a cupel,
men in white coats,
injecting drugs,
in bodies like slugs.
soaked bodies in bath tub,
gazing on the ceiling reading what’s written up.
loonies conspiring against the medic,
through the power of psychedelic.
eyeing each doctor from the corner of their eye,
sitting on their chairs high.
burning with desire,
cold as a wire.
the breakout began at noon,
headed by a loon.
followed by a goon,
in the end of june.
the loons,
wanted to escape to the desert dunes,
running away from the chemical fumes,
dodging exhume.
electrocuted,
injected,
infected,
discarded and rejected.
the loons had taken over,
the goons had won.
they were stun.
terrible turn of events,
it was all in their mind tents,
still sulking on the beds and their wheel chairs,
dreaming of the answers of their prayers.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
my hidden shames
are an excellent source of moral fibre,
nurturing, but not nutritious.
we coexist in a quiet
mutual acknowledgment,
coexisting but un-categorizable,
nonetheless,
among my oldest cohorts,
their singular coordinated characteristic,
they are mine alone,
not meant to be shared.
But they will someday
make an excellent poem.
Mon jan 2 2023
6:47am
@here
———————————————————-
the askew
are my oldest companion,
dating back to my naissance,
faithful, eternal, but single-minded,
with a rueful sense of humor,
of course,
refer to my relatively plentiful hairs
inherited from my mother’ genetics.
a morning chore,
to return their antics
to an adult,
dignified pose,
plenty sufficient to be be brushed,
straight back,
the preferred orderly compose,
of older men
who cannot waste time
with foolishness,
the excessive vanities of
curls, parts and pompadours,
and yet,
every day they wake me with
ridicule, mockery, by presenting
themselves.to me,
as if electrocuted,
each
hair raising itself
pointing to the heaven,
whence
their true Creator resides.
no amount of product
persuasive,
they do what they must do,
akimbo, askew,
with inordinate amount of
malice aforethought and
a venomous sense of
hairy (and now hoary)
absurdity .
a splash of water,
a handful of rigorous brush strokes,
returns order
and the pretense of a serious mien,
an adult demeanor.
But their purpose accomplished,
they have reminded me of the
absurdity of human vanity,
to humble myself
before forces
more powerful
than human self-aggrandizement
by accentuating
our human foibles.
7:13am
same time & place
——————————————-
morning prayers are
always
a trilogy
the rounded evenness of three,
provides the necessary gravitas
of sufficiency,
three being
not too short,
not too long,
not too quick,
just three right,
to impart
the seriousness
of gratitude
for having gained
another day upon earth,
with it,
many multitudes of
chances to share
thankfulness,
kindness,
yes,
& love too,
and to write,
one more poem
encapsulating
all of the above.
7:35am
same day
same place,
same cup of coffee
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 9:17 AM UTC
Burning bridges,
so my make shift
bat-wings
can start flying
up and the ****
out of hell.
All the way across
the river
to the better side.
yeah, everyone's go some ****
to say.
Everyone is
full of it too.
You either need
a fistful of laxatives
or a fist in your face.
Talk ****
get electrocuted.
The Lord,
works in mysterious ways.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC
You say that people can never really love someone.
That we are not capable of giving away all of our attention and affection to someone else.
I say that you are a liar
I have loved you since the day I laid eyes on you.
And trust me, I love everything about you.
The way you look so confused when you don't know what I'm talking about.
The way you song, even though you clearly can't.
I love that you remember the tiny little things that I don't.
I'm sorry for that.
I would gladly give you all of my own being if you asked for it.
Or even if you didn't!
I pray that I know you as well as I think I do.
You are more than a friend to me.
When it rains, and there's lightning, I remember to not go outside because you said I would be electrocuted.
Even my memory is dedicated to you.
You are written in the bruises on my skin.
I have given you my skin
The worst of my insecurities.
What more can you ask for?
Or rather, don't ask.
I will wrap up my fears, loves, dreams, insecurities, and longings in a simple brown box and give them to you.
They were yours anyway.
So if that isn't love, if giving yourself completely to another person, isn't what you think love is, then I have nothing else to give.
But if I did, if I did, trust when I say that they are yours.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
dear you,
she's not sure why
she even still brings it up
in her own head
because you are long gone by now
but she stopped falling for your tricks
a very long time ago.
she doesn't understand why
you were so demanding
of her time
and attention.
you were the knife against her throat,
and because she was afraid,
she went with you.
you were the only one on the other end
of the electric wire.
and because she felt powerless,
she let herself get electrocuted.
all she knew you for
was a photograph,
a username,
a mutual friend.
but you seemed to be a ghost
in her head,
unseen but persistent.
you hijacked your way
into the skin behind her ears,
and laughed when she heard
but couldn't see
you.
and when she finally had the courage
to shut you down,
you made her question
her own sanity and existence.
because of your
insecurities.
she can never forgive you
for that.
so dear you,
if she ever sees you walking
down the street
with a smile
painted in yellow
and green
and purple,
she will not approach you.
she will simply clasp her friend's hand tighter,
smile sweetly,
and add
a little
blue.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 9:47 AM UTC
Current coursing through your body
It's time to die, you killed somebody
Thousands of volts, it takes a minute
The electric chair,your sitting in it
Your guts are cooked from the inside
Like a microwave, ten times the size
Your eyes come out ,the weakest link
Your mind it sizzles from the heat
Now your thought,you always think
as your skin, turns a pink
You did not do this crime at all
some one let you take the fall
It is to late, nothing to do
but hope this ends very soon for you
Your found guilty of taking a life
you need to hurry and seek contrite
Your heart it beats one last line
as the voltage seems to take it's time
Now you sit in your last throne
electrocuted to the bone
Your mother crying, for her son
the electric chair she has won
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
I forgot part of the question
what was it?
Learning history your
she was too young, so was I
need a good grade...am at the coffee shop...drank the coffee....ate the cookie
wasted time on FB the question WAS
It pulls on me and someone puts on Death Metal and there's this gutteral gravely synthesized voice
and (what was the que--)
being pulled, resisting, but it's too strong
and I'm in
floating in memory....the question
to answer I have to slit my chest open and let some of the contents run free
as I ... it wasn't all books and pencils and how dare you ask such a question
my life wasn't a hallmark card
she was only 10 and she was my best friend so that means I was only 10
My learning history--how can I even think...we had a psychic bond we did a test
and it showed and she was a little chubby with golden skin and
her father was creepy and he left out his copies of Hustler for me to see and
told me beauty was in the eye of the beholder
but to **** a ten year old that is vile
I remember...a day or so later, going over to her house where she showed me
what she brought home from the hospital
(chalk and teachers, and winning jelly beans for knowing state capitals)
and she had coca cola in her fridge and all the latest appliances from Sears because
her father worked there, like a push button phone and a washer/dryer with a digital display
and clocks, too, like that and when she told me what happened it was like
being electrocuted painlessly for about three hours and I had to leave
because...books. drawing things and teacher don't give a **** about anyone
and today, children are much more protected and people talk about things
but then
(my learning history? I remember desks, and boards and being nervous)
and how can a grown man take a ten year old he knows and tell her
they were going to find someone and instead
stop the van, just looked like her father's van
(today we are doing long division)
demand she goes into the back of the van and take off her pants
and stick his tongue in her mouth
and then kick her out
bleeding so she ran to a vet and they called the ambulance
(and she never came back to school)
and I started piling on more clothes, layers.
You can't show those ... what is happening to you
and my learning history
I can first give you this
caked in blood and no, it's no longer bleeding, thought it was
I have unearthed something
there was something in the way and
that's why I couldn't answer the question
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
Oh to be young and un-requited
Oh to be young and especially invited
All the room smelled of smoke and longing
All the world maintained it’s indifference to the dawning
Of my newly opened eyes
Pale skin against equal pallor
Cowardice foiled with equivalent valor
Crimson scars on ivory parchment
Lost icebergs, lost Titanics
Of newly vacated oceans
Reckless touches result in wrecked armor
Desperate clutches on a soldier’s shoulders
Ruins of empires strewn among our streets
Seven dead businessmen electrocuted for greed
Of the homes that they built with coins
Pages burned in the flames of indifference
All that is slaughtered for love is heaven sent
A ghost twisting through memories
Haunting the April showers and the November breeze
Of the summer of our lives
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
I was going to stick a metal rod in the outlet today
I was already vivid with the excitement
Of taking serious health risks
Imagine, just imagine what it would feel like
O, what sweet ecstasy the pain would be
Shocking, and locking my arm in place
No escape from the unconverted
Power
I was so tempted to put the metal in the outlet
I didn't care what would happen
If it killed me, so what?
If it put me in the hospital, so what?
If it gave me super powers, so what?
The thrill and excitement built up within me
And like a dam about to burst, someone said No
Someone said no no no no no...
The voice in my head chimed in
The timid little good-doer in my brain
Said No
But my arm reached forward
The metal grasped tight between my bare fingers
Grown numb from holding on so tightly
The outlet was near
close close close
My smile was the widest it's been in years
My heart was racing faster than seeing Emma Stone
And then the timid voice came back
Stop being an idiot, Jared. Go back to rehearsing the play.
I threw the metal rod across the stage
And got up
And delivered my lines
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 3:33 AM UTC
A massacre warped becomes justified. A pack of wolves wear the skin of sheep they have killed, as the sheep ran. Swam against the current. Electrocuted, drowned and burnt till they renounce individualism and yell from the rooftop, hanging by their frightened feet, that they were wrong! Then they are sent to a prison to be ***** or killed. A super-power did this because they didn’t like people being themselves and hoping for more. Opposing a regime that wanted no opposition.
Dying foreigners’ swarm wishing that they only had a heart can get one in a week or two. No problem, if no questions are asked.
Those people that only wish to become more than a number become only that which they strive against. A digit in a program. A point on a graph. A blood type can condemn you to death, and have parts of you delivered to those who think kidneys magically sprout out of the ground.
Naivety and gratitude need no backstory in light of their desperation.
Innocence is rewarded and knowledge is condemned.
But, unfortunately this injustice cannot be stopped by signing a petition or shaking a frail man’s hand, so we must ask; is there another way we can mend?
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
I am just
Massive corroded batteries
Inside an electric fence
Turned on
Overused fluids and
Exposed wires
Rolling blackouts
Security breach
Franklin and Tesla and Edison
A backbreaking craft
Destroyed without protection or
High voltage
Floodlights on, flickering
Always blinding, green.
Plugged into
An oil slick
Atomic energy
To power the borders
But throw one switch
A primitive word
The prison is powerless
The wires short circuit
The guards
are all
Electrocuted.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
Welcome to my programmed event
Here in the stadiums
That I built under my innocence
I've working on a new test,
A new subject
That subject is called her
I've been pulling
On a few of her strings
And tested her
To the limit of no return
Remember her?
Probably not
Because
She left that smile
In the waiting room
The one you saw
When You talked her
About Canadians waiting in line
You didn't realize
That I was a ticking time bomb
For her demise
The test are done
The lab is closed
And I am presenting a hypothesis
On how to break someones heart
Lets starts with if's and then's
If you scream ****** ******
Then you execute her buckets
That hold liquid pain
If you look closer
You will see that the patient
Will quiver due to her soul
Being electrocuted
From the shock therapy
That my words
Joyfully give off.
If you you repeat stuff
Then the patient's oils
Will leak off the face
Leaving the hollow,
Evacuated soul
Searching for survivors
In the damaged hearts
If you take her for granted
Then you will be alone
No one to watch movies with you
On a Friday night
No one to make you realize
How lucky you are
If you are alone
Then the oils
Will leak off your face
Leaving the hollow,
Evacuated soul
Searching for survivors
In the damaged hearts
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
PARTY HARD let the music
vibrate your soul, its got
to be done just let go. hands
in the air waving around,
head moving like you been
electrocuted by the music in
your mind.
Lets get this party going, let
the beat **** you, and the
vibrations bring you back
to life. PARTY HARD don't
ever care what others think.
You may end up with no shirt,
swinging it in the air, what
is this 1986. You need to let
your hair down even if your
bald. Lets PARTY HARD like
its the last party ever on planet earth.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
We pose for a photo
Your hand
On the small of my back
Smile, click, flash,
And you forge a path down and away
And I am wide wide awake
We pose for a photo
Your hand
On my arm
Smile, click, flash,
And you trace your fingers down and away
And I am wide wide awake
These shocks you give me
Could power Tokyo
But they're all mine
And I can only stand and be electrocuted by your little touches
While you find energy elsewhere
I need you like an artificial heart needs a charge
You need me like a light switch in a thunderstorm
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
My heart was an abandoned animal,
and your mouth was an umbrella
that dissipated any storm
ready to shake and rattle the soul
that I built as a home within myself.
You shielded my heart as best as you knew how.
Too bad that the lightning of your words
combined with the thunder of the storms
tore apart your umbrella and electrocuted
any hopes that remained for my heavy heart.
Maybe someday you'll see that the temporary
home you had been was never going to be built out
of brick, and one day would fall to the ground
without so much as a word or last breath.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Just fading, fading in and not out. A wide eyed, glazed stare. Looking so deeply, at nothing. Loving deeply, loving intensely.
I must be insane. So clearly, so erotically, insane.
Thinking you'll be here. Waiting for the call. Your words. A surprise, to wake up, to see you, to see you want what isn't there. For it to be fulfilling, and to be my satisfaction.
Wanting to say no, I'd say yes, and then always asking myself why.
So intensely, so lovingly, so delusional. so insane.
Like when you're tired. So sleepy, you nod your head. As if it were 50 lbs and you keep driving anyway. The second your eyes close longer than the average blink, you burst out of the trance as if electrocuted. Startling yourself, ******
So angered at the mere thought of falling asleep at the wheel. No harm done, but still shook by where you almost were. The point you almost reached
I'm done wanting the ring. The sound of the phone. The regret and hope in the tone. Your voice can be heard by another, but not me.
I want to love myself, as much as I've loved the idea, of love.
I heard if i love life, that it will love me back.
What if I'm done expecting anything in return,
Could I still, love life
What if I just let life do whatever it feels,
And I take care of the love part, for myself.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
Encyclopedic mainframes
Lap-top heads
Power-boxes for multitudinous outlets, plugs, chargers
Conduits manipulating
Fiber-optic arteries
Artificial energy
ZAP
Pale lights
Computers aglow in dark cloistered bedrooms
Powered pacemakers stalling at microwaves
Electrocuted blood - cookied fantasies
Ads proclaiming everything free!
Pharmaceutical elixirs for limpness, lumpiness, loneliness
Snake-oil for suffering
Nigerian kings, Syrian refugees
*********** clever memes, whimsical gifs, shocking news, witty banter
Socio-politic-religous-diatribes
Spewing on every thread
Existential *****
Aroma-less cuisines
Vacuumed vacations
Youtubed communions
Suicide selfies.
Crucifixdrones - pedolandia
Jdate.POF.AshleyMadison.Match. Eharmony.SpeedDate.OKcupid
CG. Missed encounters...
Serial killers,
Pixalated ******* vein-throbbed **** shots, cardboard gloryholes
Instagramed I
Inviolate I
Internet I
I I I
No sweaty arm pits, cottage cheese, gray nose hairs or belly fat
Computer [ScreenShot]
While behind, posters hang: The Doors, Tupac, NIN, The Smiths, Hendrix, Joy Division, Nirvana
HandshapedHeart.
2D souls
Text-dating
144 word manifestos
#revolutions
Archetype emoticons
Doodled centaurs
Caged in matrices
Transcendental notes
Need a hit
Of internet smack
A line, a pinch, a drag
A like, a comment, a kudos
A reply, a thumbs up, a share, a poke
One measly view
Baby, come on, give me a fix
Just one
Notification: ding-beep-buzzzz
I want to dissolve like alka-seltzer in tap water
Otherwise I'm a used-up toothpaste tube
Sitting in a dank medicine cabinet
If not, I am
A stick-figure created from matches
Drowning in a drum of gasoline
Not buried beneath pregnant soil
No. dumped into blue recycling bins.
[Ctrl +Alt+Delete]
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
Hey, where did you go?
You have such a beautiful voice,
And though I've never heard it,
And I've only ever read it,
It always sounded so wonderful through your prose.
I miss seeing your thoughts.
I think I've read you,
Straight through,
sEVEN times at least.
It's been since February that
You finished your work from January.
I want to know your mind again.
You started
Me.
You told me I was good,
A shock after my first attempt.
It electrocuted my doubts,
And saw sparks bursting from my creative capacitors.
Then you told me to grow some *****
Well...
You can't change everything.
Then you said you wished somebody would write you the way I wrote her.
Hmmm...
When I call words to mind
And haphazardly plaster my paper with them
They're really just scattered collections,
Lessons in literature I've unconsciously taken from my favorite authors.
So,
Really,
You're already in every poem I write.
My favorite authors are the minds
That create bodies for themselves
From the bodies of their work and skill.
Well,
When you write,
You embody the poem.
All I see in those lines is your hand,
Back bent over your thoughts,
Wringing perfection from English.
Point is,
My poetry is already partly you.
But why would you want
A poem of you
Written by somebody like me
When your own poetry
Is more you than I could ever hope to be,
And when you are such a brilliant writer anyway?
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
we’ll start here, turtle.
this is what I say to the grey thing I’ve been talking to.
the only buffer between engagement & constant engagement
is life
during wartime.
I conceive of a dropper
but hold it empty
above my eye.
because it is the one word without a beginning
suffering
because it is the one word without a beginning
is not limited
by its
vocabulary.
we wanted a sophisticated god
but in immediate
unison
called it
god.
this is the grey cream
that gives her privacy.
I am drawn to a sort of journalism
by association, a campestral formlessness
attached
for example
to the term
carpet bombing.
how is death, here? in an orange ball of yarn
she is not ahead of?
she has to stop, turtle.
to declaw an electrocuted kitten
she didn’t
electrocute.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC