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K Balachandran Feb 2016
The dark purity of the night, I lustily sought,
to juxtapose it with the exhilaration filling in me
seeing her lush,**** body's eager anticipation.

Each cell comes alive, in her libidinous embrace,
Her erogenous silken touches,blends with the satin sheen
of sheer black cover darkness unfurls one end to the other,
the  dreamy lighted spots, embellish the nightscape's  opulence.
Night, anointed us with the fluence of love, when our supple bodies,
entangled in the bed till we drunk slept, blissfully lost the world.
Negative Creep Mar 2016
we were taught we are disposable
and equipped with liquids, minerals and gold to preserve our fading beauty
because our charm is our only fluence
and it's a language with an expiration date
Brother Jimmy Feb 2018
And while we are in
Conversation here
So many humans
Have expired, I fear...
 
Each moment brings
New life and new death
Final words spoken
And baby’s first breath
 
Life’s currents unbearable
Meand’ring through confluence
The sublime and the terrible
Don’t know their own consequence
 
The rush and the curve
Create oxbow crescents
The vim and‪ the verve
Ensure each one’s presence
 
And all we can do
Is react and observe
(Our own bent deeds too)
And endeavor to serve
 
Either the self
That glutton of grease
Or somebody else
And attain inner peace

Or at least a brief break
From worry and strife
Hold on to the harness, take
Joy in this life!
Jayantee Khare Dec 2019
when comes
the fluence in silence
and
solitude in crowd
you are ready for poetry....
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
i never, ever, never ever got my head around this... you know that they needed healthy slaves to export to america, yes? yes, yes, we know that white men can't jump, as taught by wesley snipes, that said: black men can't swim; but how the **** did these white boys catch a usain bolt, without injuring him?! you smell that? i swear i'm getting a whiff of salmon, or cod, definitely not haddock, maybe, but certainly not herring... how the **** do you catch an agile african when you can't (a) injure him or (b) out-run him?! probably as mysterious as the: ******* architectural endevour at giza!

this has to be, the shittest song,
  with, probably the best intro ever conjured...
and that qualifies it as a carlsberg moment of
inquisition - none other than?
   iron maiden's
    *the loneliness of the long
distance runner
...
from the album lost in time...
competing?
well, obviously
with a solo section
from afraid of the dark song
afraid to shoot strangers...
a solo that's an
   anti-solo ****-project...
a solo section that
doubles up as a rhythm section...
with paul di'anno
they're hardly metal -
more akin to punk...
sure some accents of high-tier
guitars,
   but they were still heavy
on the rhythm;
and if they kept him?
they'd be regarded as punk:
are we agreed that
the fun part outside of
philosophy in applying
dialectics is also beyond
that reach of diacritical markers,
that simply
invokes the pleasurable debate
of music?
   seems the only thing
worthy of applied dialectics
is music bound, and music alone...
afraid to shoot strangers
has a rhythm solo that nothing
can beat...
    and the loneliness of
the long distance runner
the best
intro, but subsequently the shittest
follow up...
   you begin listening and drinking
a carlsberg, which ends up
as dog's ****:
i really hope they rewrite
that song...
  i'd love to hear it, one more
time: as it should be heard,
invoking the melody
from genesis,
           to the zenith of an exodus
    into silence;
with paul di'anno they're still
punk to me...
    defining a newly emerging genre:
trash metal, post-scriptum to punk...
oh forget thrash metal...
      jeff hanneman died...
   as did the "****-fluence" -
                ****** was in the driving
seat... much of what the album
reign in blood was, was his
wehrmacht heritage...
                  now that's missing...
   so there's really nothing else to really
talk about...
              oh yeah... my grandmother
was given opiates to stop her from screaming
when my great-grandmother / father hid
from the army of the wehrmacht...
                          when they raided the villages
and killed my great-grandmother's brothers...
yeah, she lived to be 91...
   i still remember summers playing
with my aunt and uncle (conceived late,
nearly my own age at the time)
over the past span of memory reaching
toward the 3rd decade...
which makes someone who's english
or american suggest i'm ****...
          that bit is ******* hilarious!
it's almost the same moment
(with regards to feeling) of feeding these
idiot to wild boars in that
   famous hannibal scene...
i just want to hear their moaning-in-agony
joke regarding pigs:
    oink...        oink?! you sure?
pretentious half-caste ******* sons
of wenches...
        i said it already!
a stick had to ends! you think the seesaw
doesn't allow someone to grip the staff
once being hit with it, on the opposite end
of the spectrum?
well, **** me! sign me up!
     maybe you knew memebers of
your family, directly affected
by the second world war...
                let hear that recital
about the horrors of the london blitz...
i'm just... dying to know
   about horrors you endured...
and how you bred these ignorant,
half-baked cookies of a worth of a people...
who can spend hour concentrating
on an advert,
   but treat actual books as
                                         doorstops.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2020
2020 -day 84

Tuesday, March 24, 2020
8:55 AM

Seeing wrong,
seeing all the light available,
swallowed
in the shadows.

The unknowable turns believable.
Seeing monsters made up of

fears, non knowns, and warnings of what if;

how does the seer ever see
the absense of

all that never was as it all

appears as real
is now
visible in the light of day after tomorrow.

Expect, see, out there, ex-spectate, wait

what if this all passes

----

Meeting death in the barren market place,

this old man insisted on standing, to see past

pasts claiming causal friction grows slicker

sticky corruption shorting
utilities to
ground us.

{about five hundred million functional on-offs
fit on the silicon in a single grain,

a finite grain, in the finite sand, FYI}

pearl essence,
a layer of lacquer on a rough cut stone, a single
granular bit of silicon,
not sand, not silicone leaked from cracks and cleavages.

Real natural silicon, minus the dioxide cubist sand shapers that
seem to hold silicon in three-d
inside an oyster gut,
but smooth
silicon, slick
flat silken surface,
formed via imagi-tec-hative prognostication of holo
grammatical

bubbles shaping spheres of in fluence where once were

only circles
and every thing was as simple
as pi and Bohrian atoms.
from 1905 to now,
in some boxes men think in, imagining
orbiting electrons is how authoritarian sci using folk explain
chemical electricity,
and some try to say gravity is the active force at work.

Word, we know better... in the two d reality of words and flatness, here
psy psi sci
wist ye not- known knowns trump unknown unknowns.
Yes, we won.

Wisdom first, as a force, knowing, sci itself comes first,

by any name you claim you know but can't say,

for fear of the power in such names, no,
for fear
of the power
that makes such words, magic words,

words only magi-techs can utilize
safely in low light conditions,
adding matrices in
layers of little lies, informing the evidence chain
back to the idea of taking, and using, perhaps,

the idea of acting like only certain sorts of minds
may imagine knowing how to use
God - big g, all emanations and flavors
's name in vain.

Jot that down. Yod heh heh heh

here, have a sound track for the battle being set in array...

Don't Fear the Reaper

40,000 every day, la la, la la la

-- blue oyster cult mythic edge of sixties band

rock rollin' music for happy Sisyphus fans,

who find links to Camus in Covid 19 news, oh no

knowing growing must go on,
we leak out a spurt of

pearl essence, warning, this could be slippery,

keep your balance, walk don't run, listen we

survived, there is no guilt in that.

Nor must we do more than mortally possible, to believe
this life is temporary, at best.

consist, insist, resistance is futile, tiny grain

irritant emanating signals

secrete the pearly essence, encompass us

so smooth, so full of potential beauty
in this light
Bright and early, I remembered any music I wish for is probably on YouTube. And some times, I sing along
Riz Mack May 2020
A willing captive
gripped tight by her eyes,
steely, grey
and sparkling bright
in love
I watch her talk,
a loquacious fluence,
and study her lips like
a foreign language

your attention is slipping.

not at all.

well, she said
haven't you ever been in love?

I must have been
surely, I think
or something more akin
to time standing still,
the sands sculpting a moment
of a thousand lifetimes.

of course I have.

where is your love now?

right here, I think
chronic and immutable,
boxed into lines,
safeguarded and sound
in dreams and reflections,
vicarious,
a farce of mimicry.

well travelled,
I would say.

like blood from a stone.
well, she said
I'm glad you came,
will you come again?

and she went,
leaving me
with a pocketful of sand.

of course I will.
I have no idea what I am doing
neth jones Jun 2019
the emergency of life
the spot lit fight
vigorous
apparent
the thrashing of the harvest
in the threshing of our night cares
sew what you mourn
in the blot of the moon

it’s all a swallow
one gross reactive swallow

your time perception
is gourded
your feelers
are fluence and torted

everything’s fun today
the sun spills the sun today
all fur is on end
all eyes are refreshed
fleshing mirrors
absurding the observed
playing with mother’s scissors
dog sugar dog sugar
attend to the worlds genitals
re-open The Eden for business
and theatre
Surreal style piece..

— The End —