"encephalon" poems
let go, brother
let go of your forest
your ocean spray
your frantic
manic
tendencies
the ability to wipe it all away
lost somewhere in the wind
let go of your rain
let go of your shaky hands
and hold your pencil straight
with your teeth
don’t fret, forest
don’t burn, brother
hold
hold tight
the hallucinations of what swims
a polished stone skipping
in one endless encephalon cycle
fogged and
fogged again
the forest smokes
and the rain to put it out wanes
steam
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
Encephalon is the flagitious syndicate target
To imprison the saintly and resistant population
In the research agenda which is classified
We are selected guinea pigs in a nightmare
To the unethical secret operations
Unknown to many, is the silent suffering
Of isolated victims living amongst the community
Satellite surveillance includes electromagnetic harassment
That burning, thought stealing, control of limbs feeling
I was done by the hoary Navy's sonar
Poor dolphins washed up Cornwall's beach(1)
After sonar echoed in my right lughole
Mind control technology has evolved
The community are recruited by false propaganda
Thats the local police, council, library, not restricted to neighbours
Old style Cointelpro is in play
Discredited, slanders, and victim blaming
Who can we share with but other targets
Nobody asked which human is for "use" in trials?
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 10:37 AM UTC
On a school trip to a gallery,
Teachers and curators will always tell you
Look upon, examine, appreciate the art!
But they’ll never instruct you
On how to be certain
That your appreciation is acceptable and right.
Conundrum of the contemplative,
Judgement of the partisans,
Cogitation of any aware,
I’ll ponder until my encephalon
Subsides under impactful pressure
Until the logical or the just is no longer right.
Through incandesce of the morning,
In the cloak of the ever-mantling night,
Here I revel in the concept of
Eternal glee through appreciation
Of nostalgic kitsch, and graffiti—
And hyperrealism as well as photoshop
Because love isn’t just omnipotent,
It’s incomprehensible.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
Looking for an exit in life, perhaps other option that is rarely available. Time travel, utilitarian way to modify the past and the future.
Trapped in a matrix of flesh and bones controlled by my encephalon, it controls every part of my daily life, from breathing and blinking to helping myself memorize.
A feeling of antipathy in life that could never bring me happiness.
The inculpation for the misapprehension in my past relationship and future.
What does a man like me to do? How can one display their philia when they're not certain of that emotion?
My endurance in this life is on a perpetual edge. I perceive with attention toward happiness.
A deprivation I share with others. An absent of happiness.
A happiness of dominance; a switch that is only controlled.
Today he can be happy; switch ON. Next week he can be unhappy; switch OFF.
I walk on egg shells in this relationship and have to be careful that it won't break. I'm sad and lonely, this is what I get and deserve.
God nor I could change this, but I don't see it happening during my remaining life.
Stifles with silence deploying infantile plots. A day at a time I enunciate as my composer easily is un-maintain.
Hidden arcanum among a number of these unidentified entities lashes out at me discreetly.
Posing no threat I conceal the pass deep in the abyss in an unmarked grave sealing off the hippocampus that only the Creator can breach.
Unannounced the gravestone is turned my past is breached which I assumed that only the Beneficent can release.
Once an inhabitation, but no longer my domicile. Set aside and noted as a lost monument.
Ascendency barbarous with words of articulation fatal to ones self esteem, grossly spoken enslaved. An inclination to the predisposition of my life.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:46 AM UTC
Everybody needs a *****
No thanks I can create on my own
My idiosyncratic thinking
Is bouncy as the suns atom
Looking for a reason to capitalise
On mind control apparatus
But read on please you
Can become my apprentice
Because this poetry can heal
Dimensions of the brain
A poetic analeptic that heals
When feeling down at heel
The bidirectional pulse wave
Of another person is not a desire
My encephalon is creative
Enough to excite you on the microwave
So adjust the frequency
Even try shortwave to find life
In space because this poet
Has no ***** dependency
My style is cramped with the BCI
Purloin’s my opportunity
To be unique in writing
Being a survivor & spry
The invasion of privacy is deplorable
Taking advantage of the poor you do
You have privacy so should I too
Reading people’s brain is irreconcilable
Don’t need two people to write a pen
I don’t want to be a ***** in the pig sty
And get ***** with other ranks of pigs
Every person’s brain is a personal den
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 11:54 AM UTC
As I look up, sad,
snap. nerves snap and neurons in my head,
finally I am there
I know what I want, nay, need.
It is connection, to sink myself into
the roots of the Earth and it's societies
take steps, whole or half
and just be
be connected
stay connected
alas, distraction.
always distractions. never can I stay.
never do I have control.
can I return?
spiraling. thoughts evolve and yet decay
all while
I think, am I ruined? why do this to myself?
connect. feel. enjoy. last. love.
ignore all else
deep, true
connections
they have it, they can do it
why don't I have it
it is too soon, time will pass I will get there once
again I assure myself but when, when will it be real?
I worry that it's over, I worry that I'm alone.
how does it work, why can't I find it
be connected
stay connected
connect
notes up and down guide me through
that gray matter that
dark gray matter
the Encephalon.
it does not matter
it will get better
connect
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
A sad sad notion is held captive in my encephalon,
My island prison known as the brain,
Which is in the upper echelon
Of every vital *****
Despite my determined mental exertion
Towards this difficult action,
Still on the impenetrable question
I stall;
And my poor dumb cranium
Does richly smart in frustration,
And my apertures of vision
Are filled with tears yet to halt.
And even if I one day straighten
The crooked mark out,
I am left then at a loss for the answer
That I want to gain right now.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
There is a glass dome given by father
enforcing an encephalon enclosure
citizens claw at the wall for freedom
testing the structure's durability
but they only scratch the surface
desperately covering all 360°
and the temperature only rises from there.
The citizens form an insurgency
against their flesh ruler
measuring their humanity
determining inadequacy.
The militia inside fights internally
arguing against acquiescing to aqueducts
barring bridges from being built
while legions fracture over stagnant water
until the entire nation contracts legionnaires' disease.
Bewildered beleaguerment brings bulky breathing
fogging up the inside of the glass
until the citizens can't see out of their own bubble
floating around—ready to pop.
The citizens bang on the glass
staring at their own reflection
the only way out is inside
a place they've come to despise.
Feb 7, 2022
Feb 7, 2022 at 2:39 PM UTC
Copper walls insulated the cold heart of gold,
with limbs of steel extending out,
touching the comparably icy concrete floor.
The perfectly symmetrical skull of bronze contained
an inhumanly small encephalon of cobalt,
packed with scarlet wires and a
near invisible flashing microchip.
Alone in the sterile room,
the infantile Adam,
now standing for the first time,
observed his surroundings as he further
extended out his limbs – taking his first steps.
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 5:20 PM UTC
On Meditation
A gateway to the brain,
Doorway to You,
You and your brain in essence one:
Encephalon: a part to focus on
And concentrate.
This only a suggestee-on,
You and your brain halves one.
He said, “Me and [my] God are one”
(a paraphrase, a rendering)
What did he mean?
What could he mean?
The only you is body/brain.
Ergo, a god in origin.
Not easy to experience when
You’re the type
Who needs the hype of separation. Then
It’s near impossible, and certainly hard work to think on
You and God as being one.
That said, it’s worthwhile and rewarding
To initiate, train, and pursue
A life of meditation
For its sake alone.
On Meditation 9.1.2016
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 6:35 AM UTC
A form shifts from mighty spit; fermented knowledge.
Across our land these feet will sift, isolating ignorance
To this world, a gift, skin holding potent opinion.
Encephalon encased in cogitation, thought born
To burn through waste made from infantile contemplation.
A cerise snake slithers through grey; cerebral circulation,
With intelligence it’s stained, rusting the cave of veins.
Plotting mischief, flesh is torn and split; by way of swift tricks,
Life is drained of blessed crimson; a torpid ocean of wit
Spilled into cursed vases. A liquid meant to pass lips,
To share what was been gifted; mixed with honey drips,
A nectar sweet mead conceived by the passion of ugly greed.
Given to gods, and accomplished artisans to savor and drink.
While lesser beings taste that which has been excreted.
-SLuR
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
He opened my limbs, slowly he poured his warm breath between me, so warm that it felt like a candle wax. Hankered so he could stroke in one of his fingers. Derided I was that I wanted to sink my teeth into him. Rainy his tongue was,that the drops felt like glaciers, moved by the tongue delicately that couldn’t move my corpse. Pricking every sense that I had left..... Ou he was divine
Devine that I splattered his image with my sap, finally he gave me a savor taste of my encephalon .
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 6:10 AM UTC