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The Good Pussy Nov 2014
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kalpana nayak Jun 2015
Jee aur aieee k sadme k mare ** jte h anjne anokhe unvrsts k hawale,nya clg nya jgh nye dost sb kch hta h nw nw,clg k strtng s hr ksi k dil m hta h rgng ka dar....2nd yr m cnr bnne ka hta h sbko gurur,frnds kai grp m bat jte h,hr koi dkhte h nye luks m,3rd yr m sbko ati h apni jimedari ka ahsas aur fnl yr ata h dston m fasle bdhte h...rah dkhe the is din k kbse,age k sapne saja rkhe the njane kbse,sb bde utavle the yhn se jne ko,zndgi ko dusre trke se dkhne ko....pr njane aj dil m kch aur he ata h,piche ja k waqt ko rok k apne andr sare lmhe ko samet lne ka jee krta h....at d strtng f btech kha krte the bdi muskil s y 4 sal bitenge lkn kse pta tha y sb chd k jne ka mn ni krga...na vulne wali kch yadein reh *** o yadein jo ab jine ka sahara bn ***...na jne aj q un palon k yad bht ati h jin baton ko lekar tab rote the ,aj un palon ko yad kar bht hsi ati h....y sch k ankhein nam ** jte h k mri tang ab kn kncha krga,m apne bton s kska sar khaungi,pranks ksk 7 krngi,ab mjhe kn itna jhlga,ksk smne ntnki krngi,jin dst p lakh kurban whn 1 rupye k ly  kn ldhnge,kaun rat vr bina soye bt krga,kaun bina pche 1 dusre ka chj istml krga,kaun nya nm rkhga,bina ksi bt k m ab ksse ldhungi,bina ks tpc k fal2 bt kn krga,bkws q kn krga,xam k ek din phle o tyri o rate,kn rat var 7 jag kr pdhga,kn fail hne p dilasa dlyga,y hasin pal ab ksk 7 jiungi....yad ati h o rec k choti si cntn bar bar jhn kch v ni mlta mre yar fr v na jane q hum gye hnge so bar...tum jse kmine dost khn mlnge jo khai m v dhaka de ayen sale srs mtr ko v joke m cnvrt kr de,par fr tmhe bachane khud v kud jye....mre hrkton se nakhro se jid s prsan kn hga ,ksk 7 brng lctrs jhlngi..bina mtlb k ksko v dkh kr pglon k trh hsna,na jne y fr kb hga....ky hm y sb fr krpaenge....bdy clbrt,ek h rm p bth k 1 dusre s wtsap p bt krna...rat k 3-4 bje khna pkana....bina ksi mtlb k rat ko chilana....mlk pina...pgl jse hrkt krna..mlk ghumna....kaun mjhe apni kabiliat pr vrosa aur jyda hawa m udne pr zamin p lyga....mre khusi m sch m khus kn hga,mre gam m mjhse jyda dukhi kn hga....keh do doston y dubara kb hga....dil m ek kasak hoti h jb hr ankhein nam hti h,fir mlne k wade se hm ek dusre se juda hte h,kv na akle rhne wle dost bas yadon k sahare zndgi bitate h....lkn jb v y clg k din yad ate h ankhon m hasin aur ansu ek 7 late h...engnr bnne k khusi v ansu rok na pai ,q k njr aa rai t doston s judai...ab jo hna tha o ** gya akhir m sbse juda ** h gye....aj v un palon ko yad kr k ansun rok ni pte h ....nkl he jte h...aur yuhi lkh lkh k apko pka rai hn....char sal yu he gye hmri beet..ab khn mlnge wo dost wo mit...dua krt hn sb k ly race y zndgi k jao tm jit....
I ms my clg clg dys.....
caitlin Oct 2016
i cnnt xpln wht s n my hd bcs ts nt my hd bt t s my hd
vryn frm my ld schl s jst a fc nw nd tht mks m sd
i dnt tlk t nyn nymr
i dnt hv ny frnds bt i hvnt hd rl frnds vr whn i thnk bt t
hmns r scl crtrs bt i hv crpplng scl nxty t th pnt whr i st nsd dng nthng ll dy
s m i hmn r nt
n dy i thnk i wll bcm sm srt f psychpth wth n mrl cmpss bcs vn nw m a crl prsn
whn i tp vr th dg i wll b s ngry t vryn nd i wnt b frd t shw t
i thnk bt swngng knfs rnd t ppl nd tht scrs m
i ls thnk bt swngng my fsts t my rms ntl i brs nd tht scrs m t
i dnt knw wht t thnk bt bcs vrythng i thnk bt s bd
i hv nthng nd ve lst vrythng
i m trd nd bd
*** sd t b n tlt fr m bt nw i cnt wrt wht i fl nymr whch s bd
i dnt hv nythng lft
t hrts t wrt
t hrts t bcm
i wnt b bl t d ny schlwrk
i cnt lk t ppr fr t lng
i cn hld y cntct thgh whch s ncrdbly rr
m styng p n prps
i gt ncmfrtbl t th slghtst lttl thng nd ts s s nnyng
ts rlly dffclt t gt p vrydy s t s wtht bng ncmfrtbl n th clths tht v plld vr my hd
i m nvr cln nd tht scrs m
m lwys wshng my hnds whch s bd
my hnds r s dry
mstrsr s stcky s i wsh t ff bcs t fls drty
i fl drty
i fl lk m nt m
i wnt t gt t
i nvr fnsh nythng nd i lwys mk nw thngs nd thn lv thm
i cnt mk cmmtmnts bcs thy scr m
bt i ls thnk tht smtms i d mk a cmmtmnt bt t nds bcs f n rsn r nthr
vrythngs ndng nd i wsh i wld nd
m thnkng bt slf hrm
i wnt t b smn ls
i m smn ls bcs i m nt wh i ws r wh i wld lke t b r wh i shld b
i m ls smn ls bcs i m gng thrgh n ntns prd f dprsnlstn
i fl lk m lwys bng wtchd r m n a mv r smthng
ts ncmfrtbl
i cnt b myslf whn m by myslf
m i sclly nxs t th pnt whr i cnt b rnd myslf
i shld lve myslf
i dnt wnt dctrs t lv m ln
i dnt wnt fmly t lv m ln
bt i wnt t b by myslf r i cnt hndl nythng
bt thn i gt s lnly nd t hrts
m s srry fr ll f ths mss
i dnt thnk i wll vr b bl t d schl wrk gn vr
gcss r fr yr lvns bt i prbbly wnt vr gt thm dn
myb ll jst b a brdn frvr
vryn wll frgt bt m nd ll b stpd nd dmb wtht n dctn
i wll hv n prps
wht s th mnng bhnd ll f ths bcs vrythng shld hppn fr a rsn
wht rsn md m lk ths

i wll b gn sn
.. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / -... . / --. --- -. . / ... --- --- -.
jake aller Apr 2019
April 15, 2019  

Prayers for the Future of the Planet

A shaman priestess
Is deep in thought
Engaged in Meditation
on the fate
Of the earth

She is deep in the cosmic woods
In the world between worlds
Where she is communing
With the spirits of the universe
Who listen to her tale of woe

She tells them
Of the rise of the neo fascists
And the refusal to address
The possible end of the world
Due to run away climate change

She prays and prays
And finally
She receives an answer
More a prediction
It is all up to humans

She has two visions
Of a possible future
Two contrasting visions
One a dystopian nightmare
The other an optimistic vision

The first
The neo fascists
Seize control
And usher in a dystopian nightmare
That ends with utter destruction

Nuclear war
Nuclear winter
Ends climate change
As civilization ends
And mankind retreat to caves

And it happens
In a blink of an eye
In less than five years
The world will end
Game over civilization ends

The second vision
The optimistic vision
Humanity wakes up
From their collective night mare
Throws off the neo fascist cabal

And begin to change the world
Making the economy works
For all of us
Not just the corrupt 1 percent
The so-called masters of the Universe

They are overthrown
In a people’s power revolution
All over the world
People wake up
Demand change

And slowly the world
Begins to recover
And overcome
The dark hours
Of the present age

The shaman priestess
Returns home
To spread the word
It up to us
To choose our fate

The end is indeed near
It is darker than you think
But it is not over yet
If we choose the path
Of the cosmic light

And overthrow
The neo fascist cabal
And restore democracy
And peace will break out
And all will end well

If not
Well she says
You have been warned
The universe has spoken
So, mote it be


April 16, 2019
Why do all fake Natives call themselves “Cherokees”?

Erasure Poem
So many fake Indians these days
Elizabeth Warren is one
And according to my DNA results
I am too

But my grand-parents spoke Cherokee my mom claims
And they disappeared into the hills
She claims

Is the DNA test wrong?
Was I adopted ?
Or is it possible
That I am a real deal

A real Cherokee
Or am I fake Cherokee???

A Cherokee weighed in on this on Quora

First, I would never call them “fake Natives”.
They are 99% white,
mostly Blue-collar, and New Age Hippie,
Anglo-Americans

who are simply
lost without their own specific identity
that they can proudly Claim,

so therefore,
they search for a certain Popular,

Romanticized segment of Indigenous People
that will “fit”
into their Family’s historical Lore.

Second, it just happens to ALWAYS be …
the Cherokee …

sometimes,
either Blackfoot or Lakota.

AND, “My GGM was a Cherokee Princess”,
as an add-on VALUE.

This is primarily
because of the vast area
formerly inhabited by the Cherokee.

However, the tribes’ interaction
with European immigrants since colonial times,
led to a great deal of intermarriage
with non-indigenous populations.

In many cases people have limited knowledge
of the other Native American nations,
that inhabited the areas in which they live.

However, a lot of this is wishful thinking,
and these people have African American
or other non-European ancestry.

It is fashionable to claim indigenous ancestry ,
in an attempt to legitimize t

Their sense of belonging on our lands.
The reason is simple,

they don’t know the names of the other tribes.
There has never been a song called
“Indian Reservation” about Apache People
or any other tribe but, the Cherokee.

“Indian Reservation”
by Paul Revere and the Raiders.

So if those people aren’t Cherokee
by blood at least it’s in spirit.

And so I conclude
I may be part Cherokee
Part of the lost tribe
Of the Cherokee

But who really knows
My mother took many things
With her to the grave
Lots of family secrets

Things I will never know
But in my heart
I know
That I am part Cherokee

And so I will proudly
Claim I am part Cherokee
In spirt
If not in blood

Source document:

Source quora
My great grandmother was a Native American, why doesn't it show on my results, not enough DNA samples from that tribe or is the extent of the genocide a possible reason?

Sam Morningstar, Native American, Ground Combat Veteran (Iraq)
Answered Apr 5
Statistically speaking, most Americans claiming their great-grandmother was Native American are just passing on family lore, and the ancestor in question wasn’t actually Native American at all, or the the lineage was much further back in their line (if it’s accurate at all).
The second thing is that there is now this recent narrative that is going around the internet that says the sample set of Native Americans in the DNA testing databases is too small, and that is what is throwing off the results for Native American admixture in North America. That’s just more of the rationalization from people fall into the scenario I described in my opening paragraph. Meaning, these are White Americans with the bogus lore that are surprised when “their Native American ancestry” isn’t showing up in DNA tests that they are taking. So, since they already believe or “know” that this exists and great-granny was a Cherokee/Native American they look for alternative narratives that help to explain or rationalize the “false results.”
It’s easier than delving into the actual genealogy and correcting the false lore they’ve inherited (and frequently internalized as their “heritage” or part of their identity).
The third possibility which is statistically slim, would be that great-granny was Native but of mixed blood, and through random genetic inheritance variation, you just didn’t get enough genetic sequences that can be identified as Native American. Usually, the range where DNA from distant ancestors gets sort of lost is at the GGG grandparent level. But, I supposed it could happen at lower levels for a mixed blood great-grandparent.
But, even then, a great-grandparent that was an actual Native American - whether full or mixed blood - would be found with genealogical records confirming their tribal affiliation. The family would be easily traced, and would tie back to a small and finite population.
The Native population in 1900 was just around 250,000 people, representing 500+ tribal nations, living in distinct communities. Most weren’t even US citizens until 1924. And they were very well tracked in records from the 1800s through the 1900s (and into present time).
It’s very easy to corroborate your “missing” Native American results by doing standard genealogy. Extremely easy
There were no communities that hid out or remained in the Ozarks. There were Cherokees that removed west prior to Trail of Tears, moving first to southeast Missouri, then Arkansas. But, they were only in that location briefly. This Arkansas population then moved to Indian Territory when the Eastern contingent was removed in 1838-1839. A few stragglers perhaps lingered on into the early 1840s, before heading to Cherokee Nation west. No community persisted there (just a few individuals families, perhaps).
The eastern Texas group wasn’t re-founded in Rusk County until the late 1840s and into the 1850s (prior to Civil War). They were mixed bloods, and were always a small community. They also weren’t hiding.
The ones that stayed in the east also weren’t necessarily hiding. A few hundred took up allotments in 1817-19, around the Nantahala and Econluftee River valleys in western NC. They were joined by a few hundred more (that were hiding or escaping the Removal) in the late 1830s, for a total of about 900-1000 souls. The other group that stayed in the east were mixed bloods married to White spouses. They did not have to hide, as they were choosing to stay according to the terms of the Treaty of New Echota.
All of these groups were found on the Siler and Chapman Rolls in the early 1850s. Then, there was the Hester Roll in 1884. They were not hiding or passing for white.
Also, the intermarriage with Blacks was always historically low for the Cherokee. And it was even lower for the mixed blood Eastern Cherokees. It happened from time to time around Qualla Boundary. But, it wasn’t necessarily common (and it wasn’t escaped slaves).
“…my grandparents spoke Cherokee, but none were considered Indian as they were never enrolled anywhere.”
The only place where Cherokees continued speaking Cherokee after Removal in 1839 was within the Eastern Band Community. That’s it. Your grandparents most certainly did not speak Cherokee unless they were members of this band. There is effectively no exception this. This community was just around 3,000 by 1924-1928. And the full blood Cherokee speakers would be a smaller subset of this total number. We are talking well under a couple thousand, tops. And you would almost certainly be a member of Eastern Band today if this were true.
My great grandmother was a Native American, why doesn't it show on my results, not enough DNA samples from that tribe or is the extent of the genocide a possible reason?
I’d say there could be a number of reasons.
How do you know your great grandmother was Native American?
Which side of the family where these things on. If it is on your father’s side maybe your father really isn’t your biological father.
Maybe there was an adoption, you, your relevant parent or your relevant grandparent was adopted.
Maybe your sample was mixed up with someone else’s or maybe where you got your DNA sample done was not really reputable.
Genocide isn’t going to be the issue with these tests missing something like that.
There is also the chance that you don’t have any of your grandmother’s genes.
Your relevant grandparent will have half of her genes. Your relevant parent you’d expect to have about 1/4 of your great grandmother’s genes but it could be that your relevant parent ended up not passing on any of your great grandmothers chromosomes or very unlikely, but still possible, doesn’t themselves have any of your grandmothers DNA.
Many people do not understand the profound differences between genealogy and genetics.
Genealogy is a cultural-defined theory about how people are descended from their ancestors. We imagine that we have one-half of our inheritance from our mothers and half from our fathers. In turn, we imagine we have one-fourth inheritance from each of our grand-parents, and in turn one-eighth from each great-grandparent, and so on. This is a useful model for thinking about the inheritance of property rights, or thinking about who is line next for the throne.
Genetics is the study of the biological inheritan...
Why do all fake Natives call themselves “Cherokees”?

You must be reading Sam Morningstar…we have SO many jokes about the wannabe Cherokees. Cherokee is probably the best known among key indigenous peoples in the colonial US, the most accessible, one of the most successful and very much already organizing themselves like Europeans. The Trail of Tears gives a rather convenient contrived heritage, as well. It’s very probable that many, many people had a Cherokee ancestor, if they were born from seven generations in the South or in the Appalachians. It’s an easy one to catch. By contrast, few people are going to claim Navajo, because of their dis...
Not “all,” but many, if not most fakes out there will claim this.
This is just part of the larger Cherokee blood lore phenomenon. A lot of these people are from older eastern colonial ancestral roots, and many legitimately have this blood myth or lore about “Cherokee blood.” Meaning, it’s a thing that gets repeated in their families, and they are just running with the claim. Some just take it for what it is, unproven lore. But, some of these people really latch onto this pseudo-identity. The more zealous and those with true mental issues will spin it into much, much, more. So, that’s when yo...

Dream 511 fake foods – erasure poem not for posting add fake things

So many fake foods
These days
Hard to keep track
Of them all

9 Popular Foods That Are Total Frauds

Whether you’re dining out
or whipping up an easy dinner
at home,

you like to think
that the foods you eat
are as advertised, right?

But even though you probably know
that Cheez ****
is a far cry from organic aged cheddar

and bottled fruit juices
don't grow on trees,

Who knew, right?
that these foods
are masquerading
as something they're not.
1. Red Velvet

A lot of people
obsesses over red velvet cake
But if they knew

that the ruby-colored dessert
was really just artificially colored
chocolate cake,
think they’d have the same reaction?

2. Wasabi

If you’ve ever
dipped a chopstick
into that creamy green substance
on your sushi plate

(and got a runny nose
and burning throat as reward),
we’ve got another
surprise for you:

That spicy stuff
is parading as something it’s not.

Traditional Japanese wasabi
is freshly grated
(it loses its heat
within a few minutes of being served)

and can cost up to $100 per pound.
To save a major chunk of change,
your local takeout spot
likely serves a substitute

that’s really a combination of mustard,
horseradish,
and green food coloring
for the characteristic hue

(95 to 99 percent of American sushi restaurants do).

The horseradish mixture is still super hot
but genuine wasabi has more of a pleasurable kick,
and less of a searing, bitter taste.
3. Crab Meat

Sorry to bust your bubble again,
sushi lovers
(especially if your go-to is a California roll):
Those crab pieces aren’t,
in fact, meat from a creature
that lives on the bottom of the sea.

So what are you eating?
Imitation crab,
which is technically called kamaboko,
a processed seafood made of surimi
(the pulverized paste of white fish flesh).

It was invented in Alaska
In the late 50’s
As a way to salvage
Some value

From the left over
Wasted fish pieces
Left over after flash freezing
Fish

It soon became
A huge seller
In Japan
Then the world

The paste is frozen,
shaved into flakes,
and ground in a vat

with starch, egg whites,
and crab-like flavorings.
Oh yeah,

and then it’s
colored with orange food dye
to make it appear more “crabby.”

How’s that for appetizing?
Imitation crab meat
is like the hot dog of seafood,"

100 percent fake
And tastes so good

4. White Chocolate

File this away for Valentine’s Day:
That box of white chocolates
isn’t the heart-boosting sweet
we’ve come to think of chocolate

Real chocolate contains
three must-have components:
chocolate liquor, cocoa butter,
and cocoa solids

But the white kind
lacks chocolate liquor and cocoa solids
—which means it’s also missing flavanols,
the antioxidants that give the authentic stuff
nutritional benefits.
5. Pomegranate Juice

Studies suggest that drinking pomegranate
juice may help prevent certain health
conditions like high cholesterol,
high blood pressure, and congestive heart failure .

Sound too good to be true?
juices claiming to be pomegranate
were actually made of grape juice and grape skins.

And in 2014,
Pom Wonderful successfully sued Coca-Cola
for false advertising

after its Minute Maid
Pomegranate Blueberry blend
turned out to be

made almost entirely from apple
and grape juice, with only 0.1 percent pomegranate juice.
6. Breakfast Syrup

Whipping up a batch of waffles
this weekend?
You may want
to think twice

before adding your toppings.
Most breakfast syrups
found at the grocery store

are nothing like traditional maple syrup,
which can be a healthy choice.

Instead of the real stuff
from maple trees,
lots of commercial versions
are made of two types of corn syrup
along with a ton of artificial additives
and zero nutritious value (sorry, Aunt Jemima).

Again 100 percent fake food
Designed by the evil food industry
Scientists to addict us to their
sweat tasting poisonous food
7. Bacon Bits

From popcorn
to soap and even deodorant,

bacon

bacon hmmm bacon hmm bacon must have my bacon
screams
my inner dog

continues to be all the rage.

But fans of the fatty pork product
won’t be too pleased to know
that those “bacon bits”
are technically vegan!

Lacking any animal products,
these crispy bites
are made of artificially flavored
textured soy flour
and other ingredients

including caramel color,
maltodextrin, yeast extract,
and flavor enhancers

called disodium inosinate
and disodium guanylate.
100 percent fake
Remember if you can’t pronounce it

It is probably bad for you
Not all vegan food
Is health food

8. Veggie Burgers

A vegetable-based patty
certainly sounds
like the better-
for-you option

over a juicy, medium-rare burger.
The problem is that veggies
masquerading as meats

are usually made of few,
if any, actual vegetables!

Instead they’re often filled
with over-processed ingredients,
including wheat gluten,
soy, and vegetable oil.

A report also found
that some patties
contain hexane,
a potentially toxic by-product
of gasoline refining.

*** Who knew?

As if that’s not enough,
some veggie burgers
are packed with sodium
(as much as 400-plus milligrams—

more sodium than a single-serving
bag of potato chips—per patty).
They are in fact
The ultimate example
Of Fake food
9. Popcorn “Butter”

You know that liquid
that squirts out of a canister
at the theater?

No spoiler alert here:
It is (dangerously)
far from the real,
grass-fed deal.

This “buttery topping”
(as it’s called on manufacturers’ websites)
is typically made
mainly from hydrogenated soybean oil

(a trans fat), artificial flavoring,
beta carotene for color,
and preservatives.

One tablespoon of the topping
delivers nine grams
of saturated fat—
half a day’s limit—

plus half a gram of naturally
occurring trans fat,
the really bad stuff that lowers
“good” HDL cholesterol
and raises “bad” LDL cholesterol

. Even more:
One common flavoring agent
is diacetyl, a toxic substance
that has been associated with lung disease.

Bottom line

Best to avoid
These fake foods
And all the other
Fake foods

That the evil food industry
Continues to foster on us

Falsely proclaiming
It is good for you
So very good for you

Source document
9 Popular Foods That Are Total Frauds
BY LOCKE HUGHES
Whether you’re dining out or whipping up an easy dinner at home, you like to think that the foods you eat are as advertised, right? Choosing fresh, whole foods is the easiest way to know you're getting what you pay for, but sometimes the convenience of a restaurant (or Seamless) wins out.

EDITOR'S PICK
12 "Healthy" Snacks That Make You Hungrier

But even though you probably know that Cheez **** is a far cry from organic aged cheddar and bottled fruit juices don't grow on trees, we had no idea that these foods are masquerading as something they're not. (Sadly, we'll never look at sushi the same way!)
1. Red Velvet
We all have a friend who obsesses over red velvet cake (and of course, its signature cream cheese frosting. Mmm frosting.). But if they knew that the ruby-colored dessert was really just artificially colored chocolate cake, think they’d have the same reaction? Sadly the trademark red hue doesn't signify any special flavor: Most red velvet recipes call for around one or two tablespoons of unsweetened cocoa powder as well as about one teaspoon of vanilla extract to create that distinct (and delicious) light, chocolate-y taste. (But some chefs work around it by naturally tinting their tasty treatswith beets.)
The Need-to-Know: A slice of red velvet cake or a cupcake isn't going to hurt you, but it's best to consider it an occasional indulgence, and not just because it's packed with sugar. "I try to minimize my exposure to artificial colorings, even though the negative impact of artificial food colorings is still controversial," says Greatist expert Mike Roussell, Ph.D., founder of Naked Nutrition.
2. Wasabi
If you’ve ever dipped a chopstick into that creamy green substance on your sushi plate (and got a runny nose and burning throat as reward), we’ve got another surprise for you: That spicy stuff is parading as something it’s not. Traditional Japanese wasabi is freshly grated (it loses its heat within a few minutes of being served) and can cost up to $100 per pound. (And you thought adding guac at Chipotle was pricy.) To save a major chunk of change, your local takeout spot likely serves a substitute that’s really a combination of mustard, horseradish, and green food coloring for the characteristic hue (95 to 99 percent of American sushi restaurants do). The horseradish mixture is still super hot but genuine wasabi has more of a pleasurable kick, and less of a searing, bitter taste.
The Need-to-Know: On the bright side, horseradish, like real wasabi, may offer some antibacterial health benefits . But with the horseradish mixture, you're ingesting some artificial flavors and colors as well. However since you're eating such a small amount (unless your mouth has gone numb!) it probably doesn't make much of a difference. Bottom line: There doesn't seem to be any real harm in the fake stuff, Roussell says.
3. Crab Meat
Sorry to bust your bubble again, sushi lovers (especially if your go-to is a California roll): Those crab pieces aren’t, in fact, meat from a creature that lives on the bottom of the sea. So what are you eating? Imitation crab, which is technically called kamaboko, a processed seafood made of surimi (the pulverized paste of white fish flesh). The paste is frozen, shaved into flakes, and ground in a vat with starch, egg whites, and crab-like flavorings. Oh yeah, and then it’s colored with orange food dye to make it appear more “crabby.” How’s that for appetizing?
The Need-to-Know: "Imitation crab meat is like the hot dog of seafood," Roussell says. "Once in a while it isn't going to **** you, but you should do better for your body." Sushi can still be a healthy choice, but stick with salmon or yellowfin tuna to ensure you’re eating what you think you ordered. Also, Roussell recommends steering clear of tilefish, shark, and swordfish due to their high mercury content.
4. White Chocolate
File this away for Valentine’s Day: That box of white chocolates isn’t the heart-boosting sweet we’ve come to think of chocolate as (and use as an excuse to eat it regularly). Real chocolate contains three must-have components: chocolate liquor, cocoa butter, and cocoa solids (often in addition to other ingredients). But the white kind lacks chocolate liquor and cocoa solids—which means it’s also missing flavanols, the antioxidants that give the authentic stuff nutritional benefits. In fact, in 2004 the Food and Drug Administration ruled that in order for a product to be called “white chocolate,” it has to contain at least 20 percent cocoa butter and no more than 55 percent sugar or other sweeteners. (This was to stop many manufacturers from using cheaper fats like vegetable oil instead of including cocoa butter).
The Need-to-Know: Despite the FDA ruling, there are still some imposters out there, so look for high-quality white chocolate with cocoa butter, which has an ivory—not pure white—hue. Even better, switch to dark chocolate.
5. Pomegranate Juice
Studies suggest that drinking pomegranate juice may help prevent certain health conditions like high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and congestive heart failure . Sound too good to be true? It might be if you’re not picky about which bottle you grab. A number of reports in the U.S. Pharmacopeial Convention’s Food Fraud Database found that juices claiming to be pomegranate were actually made of grape juice and grape skins. And in 2014, Pom Wonderful successfully sued Coca-Cola for false advertising after its Minute Maid Pomegranate Blueberry blend turned out to be made almost entirely from apple and grape juice, with only 0.1 percent pomegranate juice.
The Need-to-Know: Since there is some science that points to pomegranate's superfood qualities, you don't have to give it up entirely. Just take this as another reminder to read labels (fun as that is, we know) to be sure your drink is 100 percent pomegranate. Or learn the best way to deseed a pomegranate and reap all the health benefits in your own kitchen.
6. Breakfast Syrup
Whipping up a batch of waffles (or even better, protein pancakes) this weekend? You may want to think twice before adding your toppings. Most breakfast syrups found at the grocery store are nothing like traditional maple syrup, which can be a healthy choice. Instead of the real stuff from maple trees, lots of commercial versions are made of two types of corn syrup along with a ton of artificial additives and zero nutritious value (sorry, Aunt Jemima).
The Need-to-Know: Try to avoid the colored corn syrup and go for a bottle that lists 100 percent pure maple syrup as its one and only ingredient. Not only is it a sweeter way to top your flapjacks, but it also contains nutrients like zinc, which helps support your immune system, Roussell says.
7. Bacon Bits
From popcorn to soap and even deodorant, bacon continues to be all the rage. But fans of the fatty pork product won’t be too pleased to know that those “bacon bits” are technically vegan! Lacking any animal products, these crispy bites are made of artificially flavored textured soy flour and other ingredients including caramel color, maltodextrin, yeast extract, and flavor enhancers called disodium inosinate and disodium guanylate.
The Need-to-Know: Whether you eat meat or not, you want to skip this fake food. If you want bacon on your potato, simply chop up a slice of the real thing and sprinkle it on—one tablespoon of bacon isn't going to hurt you, Roussell says. Or try some of these delicious ways to top your spuds with actual food instead.
8. Veggie Burgers
A vegetable-based patty certainly sounds like the better-for-you option over a juicy, medium-rare burger. The problem is that veggies masquerading as meats are usually made of few, if any, actual vegetables! Instead they’re often filled with over-processed ingredients, including wheat gluten, soy, and vegetable oil. A reportalso found that some patties contain hexane, a potentially toxic by-product of gasoline refining. (What?!) As if that’s not enough, some veggie burgers are packed with sodium (as much as 400-plus milligrams—more sodium than a single-serving bag of potato chips—per patty).
The Need-to-Know: Make your own tasty version at home. Or opt for gluten-free, soy-free versions like the ones from Amy's or Beyond Meat.
9. Popcorn “Butter”
You know that liquid that squirts out of a canister at the theater? No spoiler alert here: It is (dangerously) far from the real, grass-fed deal. This “buttery topping” (as it’s called on manufacturers’ websites) is typically made mainly from hydrogenated soybean oil (a trans fat), artificial flavoring, beta carotene for color, and preservatives. One tablespoon of the topping delivers nine grams of saturated fat—half a day’s limit—plus half a gram of naturally occurring trans fat, the really bad stuff that lowers “good” HDL cholesterol and raises “bad” LDL cholesterol . Even more: One common flavoring agent is diacetyl, a toxic substance that has been associated with lung disease.
The Need-to-Know: You’re much better off popping and flavoring your own corn at home (try one of these 30 delicious and healthy variations). You didn't hear it from us, but if you pack your homemade snack inside a shoebox, no one will suspect anything (except that you scored a new pair of kicks before coming to the theater).


Catching the Trump Madness

It seems that every day
The trump madness deepens
As our leader descends
Into dementia and madness

And his followers continue
To follow having drunk the Kool aide
They don’t see the madness
That Trump has engendered

They are immune from all criticism
It is all fake news to them
Nothing but nonsense
Part of the anti-Trump cabal

And as the world descends
Into more madness
Led by the mad king
I despair

Wondering if and when
The world will wake up
And shake off this madness
This trump fever


Releasing the Trump Monsters

The Trump madness deepens
And the world grows darker
The evil ones have been released
The wild things are growling

The dogs of war
Satan’s hell hounds
Are on the loose
Howling at the moon

Running amuk
Infecting us all
With their madness
As we all turn into mindless zombies

Filled with hatred
Jealousy and insanity
As Trump and his neo-fascist
Cabal unleash the monsters

Of their dangerous id
Devouring all reason
Turning all they see
Into raving lunatics

As they set the world on fire
Ushering in the ends of days
Armageddon looms
Will Trump be raptured away?

Only God knows
And he is not telling
As we descend
Into the maelstrom

Hoping against hope
That we can overcome
The monsters
That Trump has unleashed

In the end
Perhaps it does not matter
As the world careens
Deeper into hell

There is no end
Nothing but despair
Forever and ever
The Trump madness never ends

President Trump International Fire Fighter in Chief?


Our dear leader
Our favorite President
President Trump
Once again

Interjected himself
Into areas that he knows nothing about
Making a fool of himself
In the process

Why does he do this?
Time after time
Talking nonsense
It is because

He is the smartest man
In the universe
Knows more than anyone else
And so he feels

He has to comment
On everything
Under the sun
And then some more

Even when he
Does not know
What he is talking about
So painful to watch such a fool

Mark Twain had sage advice
If you want people to think
You are a fool
Open your mouth
and remove all doubt

In the midst
Of the devastating Paris Norte Dame Fire
He tweeted

“So horrible to watch the massive fire
at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris,”

“Perhaps flying water tankers
could be used to put it out.
Must act quickly!”

Later, Mr. Obvious noted,

They’re having a terrible,
terrible fire,”

Mr Trump later told reporters.

“It looks like it’s burning to the ground.”

The French were not amused
By the unwanted advice
By the fire fighter in chief

France’s civil defense agency,
Sécurité Civile, tweeted —
once in French
and once in English
— less than two hours after Mr Trump

sent his tweet
and appeared
to directly respond to the US president.

“Helicopter or aeroplane,
the weight of the water
and the intensity of the drop
at low altitude

could indeed weaken
the structure of Notre Dame
and result in collateral damage
to the buildings in the vicinity,”

the agency wrote in French.
And despite never posting updates in English,
the agency then sent out a second tweet.

Hundreds of firemen of the Paris Fire Brigade are doing everything they can to bring the terrible #NotreDame fire under control. All means are being used, except for water-bombing aircrafts which, if used, could lead to the collapse of the entire structure of the cathedral.
— Sécurité Civile Fr (@SecCivileFrance) April 15, 2019

And the French provided
This helpful advice
To the Fire Fighter in chief

When California burned
you did not seem to be a fire expert.
Please, shut up.
It is a tragic moment
for the cultural heritage of humanity.

US President Donald Trump lashed
https://edition.cnn.com/2019/04/15/politics/donald-trump-notre-dame-fire-boeing-737-max-twitter/index.html
for ‘ignorant’ tweet about Notre Dame
World leaders mourned with France as the country watched its historic landmark burn. But Donald Trump’s Notre-Dame tweet fell flat.

Notre Dame fire: Thousands watch as cathedral burns

As a catastrophic fire tore through one of the world’s most beloved cultural treasures, US President Donald Trump assessed the response from the other side of the globe and offered unsolicited advice for firefighters.

“So horrible to watch the massive fire at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris,” Mr Trump tweeted earlier today as more than 400 firefighters tried to save the Notre Dame cathedral.
“Perhaps flying water tankers could be used to put it out. Must act quickly!”

The spire collapses as smoke and flames engulf the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. Picture: Geoffroy Van Der HasseltSource:AFP
Mr Trump had tweeted from Air Force One, minutes before he landed in the US state of Minnesota for a speech.
“They’re having a terrible, terrible fire,” Mr Trump later told reporters. “It looks like it’s burning to the ground.”
France’s civil defense agency, Sécurité Civile, tweeted — once in French and once in English — less than two hours after Mr Trump sent his tweet and appeared to directly respond to the US president.
“Helicopter or aeroplane, the weight of the water and the intensity of the drop at low altitude could indeed weaken the structure of Notre Dame and result in collateral damage to the buildings in the vicinity,” the agency wrote in French.
And despite never posting updates in English, the agency then sent out a second tweet.
Hundreds of firemen of the Paris Fire Brigade are doing everything they can to bring the terrible #NotreDame fire under control. All means are being used, except for water-bombing aircrafts which, if used, could lead to the collapse of the entire structure of the cathedral.
— Sécurité Civile Fr (@SecCivileFrance) April 15, 2019
Mr Trump’s tweet was almost universally slammed, with many of the president’s Twitter followers calling his advice “ignorant”.
When California burned you did not seem to be a fire expert. Please, shut up. It is a tragic moment for the cultural heritage of humanity.
— PabloMM (@PabloMM) April 15, 2019
Flying water tankers would damage the building, nice try


Hundreds of firemen of the Paris Fire Brigade are doing everything they can to bring the terrible #NotreDame fire under control. All means are being used, except for water-bombing aircrafts which, if used, could lead to the collapse of the entire structure of the cathedral.
— Sécurité Civile Fr (@SecCivileFrance) April 15, 2019

Wayne McPartland, a retired New York City Fire Department battalion chief, told CNBCthat aerial tankers are not the answer at Notre Dame.
“If you hit that with tons of water from above, that’s going to collapse the entire structure and make the situation worse,” McPartland said. “If you miss, you might hit civilians in the street.”

Little Man Child President

A little man child
Is our great and glorious dear leader
Filled with hatred and jealousy
Fear of failure haunts his every step

The little man child
Covers up his failures
With bluster, bravado
And constant attack

The little man child
Always attacking his enemies
Plotting revenge all the time
Consumed with slights and insults

The little man child
Lost millions of dollars
The little man child
Lost the popular vote

The little man child
Has lost the respect of the world
And 60 percent of Americans
Want to see him gone

The little man child
Has infected the body politic
With his insidious poison
A slowly growing cancer

The little man child
Will end up destroying
The country
Before he is through

The little man child
Can’t leave office
For fear of going to prison
So we are stuck with him

The little man child
Will never leave us
Until he is resting
In peace in hell
Licenses

Bankers have a license to steal
money from their clients
if you make a mistake
the bank can steal your money
as part of their banking license

Governments have a license
to steal money
from the public
its is called taxation
or confiscation

It seems
that police these days
have a license
to ****
unarmed brown people
but only brown people

and the president
has a license
to lie
as he lies
all the time
just because he can

and I have
the ultimate license
the poetic license
to write
these verses
to enlighten the masses


April 21
it is darker than you think

It is darker than you think

an old hag
an old witch
strictly old school
is talking to young people

She tells them
that it is darker
than they think
the end times approach

She proclaims
she sees the world ending
and is warning them
of what is to come

She is following
the dark master
of the universe
waiting for the end

and she is afraid
she sees the world
the end of things
the end of life

She is afraid
she tells her students
to boldly face
the coming end

with fear
and trepidation
and anxiety
waiting for the end

and in the end
of the world
they will be born
again

as things circle back
to the beginning
of the end and the end
of the beginning

thus it has always
played out
in the world
endless nightmares

and in the end,
she will wake up
and embrace her fate
at the end of time


April 22, 2019

Spring Time Sketch in Youngchando, Korea

In the early morning dawn
I like to go for a walk
Down among the cherry trees
And flowering plants

Just to welcome
Another fine spring day
As the sun comes up
Dispelling my dismal mood

And filling me
With love
Hope and peace
As I walk the path

Of the world peace forest
Near my island home
Near the chaos of the airport

Through the forest
and over the mountain
breathing the spring time air
alive filled with life

and I think to myself
this moment
is the moment
that I am meant to experience

life itself
and nothing more
nothing less
Just breath in life
poems written for April month of poetry challenge  using writers digest prompts can be found at all poetry, writers digest and at my blog, https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com
Everyone, after all, was killed:
he who was crucified,
he who died without skin,
he who died without a head,
he who was drowned,
he who was thrown down
from the wall of the Temple,
which shortly after that
ceased to exist.
Everyone, after all, was tormented;
he who was put at the mercy
of lions and Neros,
he who was roasted on the bonfire,
he whose eyes were gouged out.
Everything was justified
on the excuse that no one
can live eternally
and that it is impossible
to avoid death.
Through the narrow gates of paradise
passed so many martyrs
that the gates in the end
had to be widened.
Kudos to the executioners!
Corona Harris Dec 2015
"Baby I love you" No you don't love is just a illusion
"No fr, I truly love you" You love the feeling I give you,  you love the image you percieve me as, You DO NOT LOVE me.
"You starting to hurt my feelings" It's better to have your heart scratched now instead of torn later.
"Wow, do you even care about me" Do you even care about yourself?  I'm trying to help you.  **** Save You.
"This is why I don't trust people now" I never asked for your trust, I never asked for your time.
"Your just like the others Corona" If I was like the others I'd let you keep falling for what you can't have.
"****** *******" I know I am,  that's why I'm staying single.

        ~ Corona Harris ~
Steve Jun 2018
.                               ^
                           FrOm
                     ­ LittleAcorns
             MightyOaK
                               Trees
                            GRow
                               EngliskOak
          ­          EuropEanOak
             HardToDiStinguish
    ­                            !
                                !
                                !
                      brexitwrecksit
To me the world needs to get smaller by people feeling joined, not by giving up their individual or national identities but by working together in cooperation and achievement.
Of Man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th’ Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples th’ upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know’st; thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat’st brooding on the vast Abyss,
And mad’st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
  Say first—for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell—say first what cause
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his will
For one restraint, lords of the World besides.
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?
  Th’ infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
If he opposed, and with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God,
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud,
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms.
  Nine times the space that measures day and night
To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew,
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf,
Confounded, though immortal. But his doom
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay,
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.
At once, as far as Angels ken, he views
The dismal situation waste and wild.
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames
No light; but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all, but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.
Such place Eternal Justice has prepared
For those rebellious; here their prison ordained
In utter darkness, and their portion set,
As far removed from God and light of Heaven
As from the centre thrice to th’ utmost pole.
Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o’erwhelmed
With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,
He soon discerns; and, weltering by his side,
One next himself in power, and next in crime,
Long after known in Palestine, and named
Beelzebub. To whom th’ Arch-Enemy,
And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:—
  “If thou beest he—but O how fallen! how changed
From him who, in the happy realms of light
Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine
Myriads, though bright!—if he whom mutual league,
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope
And hazard in the glorious enterprise
Joined with me once, now misery hath joined
In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest
From what height fallen: so much the stronger proved
He with his thunder; and till then who knew
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,
Nor what the potent Victor in his rage
Can else inflict, do I repent, or change,
Though changed in outward lustre, that fixed mind,
And high disdain from sense of injured merit,
That with the Mightiest raised me to contend,
And to the fierce contentions brought along
Innumerable force of Spirits armed,
That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power opposed
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,
And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?
All is not lost—the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?
That glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace
With suppliant knee, and deify his power
Who, from the terror of this arm, so late
Doubted his empire—that were low indeed;
That were an ignominy and shame beneath
This downfall; since, by fate, the strength of Gods,
And this empyreal sybstance, cannot fail;
Since, through experience of this great event,
In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced,
We may with more successful hope resolve
To wage by force or guile eternal war,
Irreconcilable to our grand Foe,
Who now triumphs, and in th’ excess of joy
Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven.”
  So spake th’ apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair;
And him thus answered soon his bold compeer:—
  “O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers
That led th’ embattled Seraphim to war
Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds
Fearless, endangered Heaven’s perpetual King,
And put to proof his high supremacy,
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate,
Too well I see and rue the dire event
That, with sad overthrow and foul defeat,
Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host
In horrible destruction laid thus low,
As far as Gods and heavenly Essences
Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains
Invincible, and vigour soon returns,
Though all our glory extinct, and happy state
Here swallowed up in endless misery.
But what if he our Conqueror (whom I now
Of force believe almighty, since no less
Than such could have o’erpowered such force as ours)
Have left us this our spirit and strength entire,
Strongly to suffer and support our pains,
That we may so suffice his vengeful ire,
Or do him mightier service as his thralls
By right of war, whate’er his business be,
Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire,
Or do his errands in the gloomy Deep?
What can it the avail though yet we feel
Strength undiminished, or eternal being
To undergo eternal punishment?”
  Whereto with speedy words th’ Arch-Fiend replied:—
“Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable,
Doing or suffering: but of this be sure—
To do aught good never will be our task,
But ever to do ill our sole delight,
As being the contrary to his high will
Whom we resist. If then his providence
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good,
Our labour must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil;
Which ofttimes may succeed so as perhaps
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb
His inmost counsels from their destined aim.
But see! the angry Victor hath recalled
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit
Back to the gates of Heaven: the sulphurous hail,
Shot after us in storm, o’erblown hath laid
The fiery surge that from the precipice
Of Heaven received us falling; and the thunder,
Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage,
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep.
Let us not slip th’ occasion, whether scorn
Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe.
Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,
The seat of desolation, void of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend
From off the tossing of these fiery waves;
There rest, if any rest can harbour there;
And, re-assembling our afflicted powers,
Consult how we may henceforth most offend
Our enemy, our own loss how repair,
How overcome this dire calamity,
What reinforcement we may gain from hope,
If not, what resolution from despair.”
  Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate,
With head uplift above the wave, and eyes
That sparkling blazed; his other parts besides
Prone on the flood, extended long and large,
Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge
As whom the fables name of monstrous size,
Titanian or Earth-born, that warred on Jove,
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den
By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast
Leviathan, which God of all his works
Created hugest that swim th’ ocean-stream.
Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam,
The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff,
Deeming some island, oft, as ****** tell,
With fixed anchor in his scaly rind,
Moors by his side under the lee, while night
Invests the sea, and wished morn delays.
So stretched out huge in length the Arch-fiend lay,
Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence
Had risen, or heaved his head, but that the will
And high permission of all-ruling Heaven
Left him at large to his own dark designs,
That with reiterated crimes he might
Heap on himself damnation, while he sought
Evil to others, and enraged might see
How all his malice served but to bring forth
Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shewn
On Man by him seduced, but on himself
Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured.
  Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool
His mighty stature; on each hand the flames
Driven backward ***** their pointing spires, and,rolled
In billows, leave i’ th’ midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air,
That felt unusual weight; till on dry land
He lights—if it were land that ever burned
With solid, as the lake with liquid fire,
And such appeared in hue as when the force
Of subterranean wind transprots a hill
Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side
Of thundering Etna, whose combustible
And fuelled entrails, thence conceiving fire,
Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds,
And leave a singed bottom all involved
With stench and smoke. Such resting found the sole
Of unblest feet. Him followed his next mate;
Both glorying to have scaped the Stygian flood
As gods, and by their own recovered strength,
Not by the sufferance of supernal Power.
  “Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,”
Said then the lost Archangel, “this the seat
That we must change for Heaven?—this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he
Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid
What shall be right: farthest from him is best
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor—one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reigh secure; and, in my choice,
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,
Th’ associates and co-partners of our loss,
Lie thus astonished on th’ oblivious pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy mansion, or once more
With rallied arms to try what may be yet
Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?”
  So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub
Thus answered:—”Leader of those armies bright
Which, but th’ Omnipotent, none could have foiled!
If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge
Of hope in fears and dangers—heard so oft
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge
Of battle, when it raged, in all assaults
Their surest signal—they will soon resume
New courage and revive, though now they lie
Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire,
As we erewhile, astounded and amazed;
No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height!”
  He scare had ceased when the superior Fiend
Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield,
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round,
Behind him cast. The broad circumference
Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening, from the top of Fesole,
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,
Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
His spear—to equal which the tallest pine
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand—
He walked with, to support uneasy steps
Over the burning marl, not like those steps
On Heaven’s azure; and the torrid clime
Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire.
Nathless he so endured, till on the beach
Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called
His legions—Angel Forms, who lay entranced
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where th’ Etrurian shades
High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge
Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed
Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o’erthrew
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry,
While with perfidious hatred they pursued
The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld
From the safe shore their floating carcases
And broken chariot-wheels. So thick bestrown,
Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood,
Under amazement of their hideous change.
He called so loud that all the hollow deep
Of Hell resounded:—”Princes, Potentates,
Warriors, the Flower of Heaven—once yours; now lost,
If such astonishment as this can seize
Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen this place
After the toil of battle to repose
Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find
To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven?
Or in this abject posture have ye sworn
To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds
Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood
With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon
His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern
Th’ advantage, and, descending, tread us down
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf?
Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!”
  They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung
Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch
On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread,
Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake.
Nor did they not perceive the evil plight
In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel;
Yet to their General’s voice they soon obeyed
Innumerable. As when the potent rod
Of Amram’s son, in Egypt’s evil day,
Waved round the coast, up-called a pitchy cloud
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind,
That o’er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
Like Night, and darkened all the land of Nile;
So numberless were those bad Angels seen
Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell,
‘Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires;
Till, as a signal given, th’ uplifted spear
Of their great Sultan waving to direct
Their course, in even balance down they light
On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain:
A multitude like which the populous North
Poured never from her frozen ***** to pass
Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons
Came like a deluge on the South, and spread
Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands.
Forthwith, form every squadron and each band,
The heads and leaders thither haste where stood
Their great Commander—godlike Shapes, and Forms
Excelling human; princely Dignities;
And Powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones,
Though on their names in Heavenly records now
Be no memorial, blotted out and rased
By their rebellion from the Books of Life.
Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve
Got them new names, till, wandering o’er the earth,
Through God’s high sufferance for the trial of man,
By falsities and lies the greatest part
Of mankind they corrupted to forsake
God their Creator, and th’ invisible
Glory of him that made them to transform
Oft to the image of a brute, adorned
With gay religions full of pomp and gold,
And devils to adore for deities:
Then were they known to men by various names,
And various idols through the heathen world.
  Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last,
Roused fr
Mahesh Hegde Jan 2014
The Hour Glass represents us. Confused how.. Let me elaborate it to you.
You do see the sand that is seeping slowly off the orifice between the two bowls..
That sand shows the flow of love from ur heart to mine. But wen the flow stops. U just have to revert the glass and u vl see that Ur love is not just taken in, it is adored, processed, felt. Its warmth and the care that is hidden in it is scrutinized. And then it flows back into u.
This is the way we are. Due to this our love always wins from our fights.
U widout any selfishness and greed give me all that u ve got inside u, planting banyan trees of love to make it live for years.
And here, Its me, trying to provide the carbon dioxide and water for helping the tree to grow and feel the fresh oxygen, extracting each amount and inhaling it wid full greed. This greed, Which Comes like a reflex only fr u, is not a devil's one but a Loving one. How can it be possible to share u wid anyone else in the whole world. I cant help it. I cant share u. And I am proud of being greedy fr u.

This sand which keeps on seeping consists of all memories stored in it about us.
All of them, Staring wild eyes with the rays of Innocent Infatuation, Then the seed of frndship that we planted (Actually u planted), And then My extravagant feelings converting that seed of frndship directly into a plant of love, Then the rains and the hot sun that the plant faced between these paceful yrs we were together, Then the Era of wisdom that attacked me and made me construct a good shelter to protect this plant from heavy rains and hot burning rays of rageful sun..
All these memories. That we lived together. Which we now remember and smile, sometyms cry and sometyms even laugh after crying. And I promise to give u more, good, to be confident, fresh and best memories in this lyf ahead so that while taking our last breath these wud give u the best smile u ever had in ur lyf.
And if this hourglass, ever, accidently or unfortunately breaks, dont be sad. cuz these memories are stored in every pinch of the sand it contains not the outer body that consists it.
Love You
PROLOGUE:

“’We must stop this brain working for twenty years.’” So said Mussolini’s Grand Inquisitor, his official Fascist prosecutor addressing the judge in Antonio Gramsci’s 1928 trial; so said the Il Duce’s Torquemada, ending his peroration with this infamous demand.’”  Gramsci, Antonio: Selections from the Prison Notebooks, Introduction, translation from Italian and publishing by Quintin ***** & Geoffrey Nowell Smith, International Publishers, New York, 1971.

BE IT RESOLVED: Whereas, I introduce this book with a nod of deep respect to Antonio Gramsci--an obscure but increasingly pertinent political scientist it would behoove us all to read and study today, I dedicate the book itself to my great grandfather and key family patriarch, Pietro Buonaiuto (1865-1940) of Moschiano, in the province of Avellino, in the region of Campania, southern Italy.

Let it be recognized that Pete Buonaiuto may not have had Tony Gramsci’s brain, but he certainly exhibited an extreme case of what his son--my paternal grandfather, Francesco Buonaiuto--termed: Testaduro. Literally, it means Hardhead, but connotes something far beyond the merely stubborn. We’re talking way out there in the unknown, beyond that inexplicable void where hotheaded hardheads regurgitate their next move, more a function of indigestion than thought. Given any situation, a Testaduro would rather bring acid reflux and bile to the mix than exercise even a skosh of gray muscle matter.  But there’s more. It gets worse.

To truly comprehend the densely-packed granite that is the Testaduro mind, we must now sub-focus our attention on the truly obdurate, extreme examples of what my paternal grandmother—Vicenza di Maria Buonaiuto—they called her Jennie--would describe as reflexive cutta-dey-noze-a-offa-to-spite-a-dey-face-a types. I reference the truly defiant, or T.D.—obviously short for both truly defiant and Testaduro. T.D.’s—a breed apart--smiling and sneering, laughing and, finally, begging their regime-appointed torture apparatchik (a career-choice getting a great deal of attention from the certificate mills--the junior colleges and vocational specialty institutes) mocking their Guantanamo-trained torturer: “Is that what you call punishment?  Is that all you ******* got?”

If, to assist comprehension, you require a literary frame of context, might I suggest you compare the Buonaiuto mind to Paul Lazzaro, Vonnegut’s superbly drawn Italian-American WWII soldier-lunatic with a passion for revenge, who kept a list of people who ****** with him, people he would have killed someday for a thousand dollars.

Go with me, Reader, go back with me to Vonnegut’s Slaughter-House-Five: “Billy Pilgrim has become unstuck in time . . .”
It is long past the Tralfamadorian abduction and his friendship with Stony Stevenson. Billy is back in Germany, one of three dingbat American G.I.s roaming around beyond enemy lines.  Another of the three is Private Lazzaro, a former car thief and undeniable psychopath from Cicero, Illinois.

Paul Lazzaro:  “Anybody touches me, he better **** me, or I’m gonna have him killed. Revenge is the sweetest thing there is. People **** with me, and Jesus Christ are they ever ******* sorry. I laugh like hell. I don’t care if it’s a guy or a dame. If the President of the United States ****** around with me, I’d fix him good. Revenge is the sweetest thing in life. And nobody ever got it from Lazzaro who didn’t have it coming.  Anybody who ***** with me? I’m gonna have him shot after the war, after he gets home, a big ******* hero with dames climbing all over him. He’ll settle down. A couple of years ‘ll go by, and then one day a knock at the door. He’ll answer the door and there’ll be a stranger out there. The stranger’ll ask him if he’s so and so. When he says he is, the stranger’ll say, ‘Paul Lazzaro sent me.’ And then he’ll pull out a gun and shoot his pecker off. The stranger’ll let him think a couple seconds about who Paul Lazzaro is and what life’s gonna be like without a pecker. Then he’ll shoot him once in the gut and walk away. Nobody ***** with Paul Lazzaro!”

(ENTER AUTHOR. HE SPEAKS: “Hey, Numb-nuts! Yes, you, my Reader. Do you want to get ****** into reading that Vonnegut blurb over and over again for the rest of the afternoon, or can I get you back into my manuscript?  That Paul Lazzaro thing was just my way of trying to give you a frame of reference, not to have you ******* drift off, walking away from me, your hand held tightly in nicotine-stained fingers. So it goes, you Ja-Bone. It was for comparison purposes.  Get it?  But, if you insist, go ahead and compare a Buonaiuto—any Buonaiuto--with the character, Paul Lazzaro. No comparison, but if you want a need a number—you quantitative ****--multiply the seating capacity of the Roman Coliseum by the gross tonnage of sheet pane glass that crystalized into small fixed puddles of glazed smoke, falling with the steel, toppling down into rubble on 9/11/2001. That’s right: multiply the number of Coliseum seats times a big, double mound of rubble, that double-smoking pile of concrete and rebar and human cadavers, formerly known as “The Twin Towers, World Trade Center, Lower Manhattan, NYC.  It’s a big number, Numb-nuts! And it illustrates the adamantine resistance demonstrated by the Buonaiuto strain of the Testaduro virus. Shall we return to my book?)

The truth is Italian-Americans were never overzealous about WWII in the first place. Italians in America, and other places like Argentina, Canada, and Australia were never quite sure whom they were supposed to be rooting for. But that’s another story. It was during that war in 1944, however, that my father--John Felix Buonaiuto, a U.S. Army sergeant and recent Anzio combat vet decided to visit Moschiano, courtesy of a weekend pass from 5th Army Command, Naples.  In a rough-hewn, one-room hut, my father sat before a lukewarm stone fireplace with the white-haired Carmine Buonaiuto, listening to that ancient one, spouting straight **** about his grandfather—Pietro Buonaiuto--my great-grandfather’s past. Ironically, I myself, thirty yeas later, while also serving in the United States Army, found out in the same way, in the same rough-hewn, one-room hut, in front of the same lukewarm fireplace, listening to the same Carmine Buonaiuto, by now the old man and the sea all by himself. That’s how I discovered the family secret in Moschiano. It was 1972 and I was assigned to a NATO Cold War stay-behind operation. The operation, code-named GLADIO—had a really cool shield with a sword, the fasces and other symbols of its legacy and purpose. GLADIO was a clandestine anti-communist agency in Italy in the 1970s, with one specific target:  Il Brigate Rosso, the Red Brigades.  This was in my early 20s. I was back from Vietnam, and after a short stint as an FBI confidential informant targeting campus radicals at the University of Miami, I was back in uniform again. By the way, my FBI gig had a really cool codename also: COINTELPRO, which I thought at the time had something to do with tapping coin operated telephones. Years later, I found out COINTELPRO stood for counter-intelligence program.  I must have had a weakness for insignias, shields and codenames, because there I was, back in uniform, assigned to Army Intelligence, NATO, Italy, “OPERATION GLADIO.“

By the way, Buonaiuto is pronounced:

Bwone-eye-you-toe . . . you ignorant ****!

Oh yes, prepare yourself for insult, Kemosabe! I refuse to soft soap what ensues.  After all, you’re the one on trial here this time, not Gramsci and certainly not me. Capeesh?

Let’s also take a moment, to pay linguistic reverence to the language of Seneca, Ovid & Virgil. I refer, of course, to Latin. Latin is called: THE MOTHER TONGUE. Which is also what we used to call both Mary Delvecchio--kneeling down in the weeds off Atlantic Avenue--& Esther Talayumptewa --another budding, Hopi Corn Maiden like my mother—pulling trains behind the creosote bush up on Black Mesa.  But those are other stories.

LATIN: Attention must be paid!

Take the English word obdurate, for example—used in my opening paragraph, the phrase truly obdurate: {obdurate, ME, fr. L. obduratus, pp. of obdurare to harden, fr. Ob-against + durus hard –More at DURING}.

Getting hard? Of course you are. Our favorite characters are the intransigent: those who refuse to bend. Who, therefore, must be broken: Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke comes to mind. Or Paul Newman again as Fast Eddie, that cocky kid who needed his wings clipped and his thumbs broken. Or Paul Newman once more, playing Eddie Felson again; Fast Eddie now slower, a shark grown old, deliberative now, no longer cute, dimples replaced with an insidious sneer, still fighting and hustling but in shrewder, more subtle ways. (Credit: Scorsese’s brilliant homage The Color of Money.)

The Color of Money (1986) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0090863 Internet MovieDatabase Rating: 7/10 - ‎47,702 votes. Paul Newman and Helen Shaver; still photo: Tom Cruise in The Color of Money (1986) Still of Paul Newman in The Color of Money (1986). Full Cast & Crew - ‎Awards - ‎Trivia - ‎Plot Summary

Perhaps it was the Roman Catholic Church I rebelled against.  The Catholic Church: certainly a key factor for any Italian-American, a stinger, a real burr under the saddle, biting, setting off insurrection again and again. No. Worse: prompting Revolt! And who could blame us? Catholicism had that spooky Latin & Incense going for it, but who wouldn’t rise up and face that Kraken? The Pope and his College of Cardinals? A Vatican freak show—a red shoe, twinkle-toe, institutional anachronism; the Curia, ferreting out the good, targeting anything that felt even half-way good, classifying, pronouncing verboten, even what by any stretch of the imagination, would be deemed to be merely kind of pleasant, slamming down that peccadillo rubber-stamp. Sin: was there ever a better drug? Sin? Revolution, **** yeah!  Anyone with an ounce of self-respect would have gone to the barricades.

But I digress.
M Solav Sep 2018
La porte qui claque
A creusé un trou
Plus noir que noir
Dans le silence
De ta mémoire.

Le silence qui frappe -
Qui luit partout -
Quand vient le soir,
Il plaie les panses
Et te rend fou.

Les plaies ouvertes
Se taisent et pleurent;
Le vacarme discret
Te couvre de secousses
Et disparaît.

Enveloppé dans tes draps,
La lumière devenue ligne,
Une porte entre-ouverte -
Tu voudrais qu'elle t’explique
Cet état d'alerte.

Le temps fait violence
Mais s'apaise comme le vent.
Très vite tu t'endors,
Et les mots se font tendre
Arrivé à bon port.

La veille se couvre d'un voile
Enroulé sur tes nuits.
Toujours l'éclat de noirceur
Qui alors t'attaqua
Luira sur ta vie.
Écrit en Janvier, 2018.
SmArTy Jan 2018
Hiiiii....u knw what aaj ky hai....
aaj bhot special prsn ka bday hai...
meli bestieee.... kaaa
paglu ka
bhot special tu duffr mere lyee...
&
chalo kuch meethi meethi yaade yaad dilata hu...
apni....
yaaad hai jab humari fst tym baaat hui thi....wo cmnt k rply me
ladai se hui thi startng
ki pata tha itne impo ** jaynge ek dusre k lye
fr wo humara din bhar choti choti si baat pr ladna
manana
fr draaame dikhana ki tu lunch ni kalega to b ni kalungi....
tu gannna ...tu gannniii
hihihihihi
bhot misss krta hu m bo ladaiyaaa
punishment b inni pyali ki galti krne ka man kre
....
school se aate hi beg rakhne se phle....mobile on krna...
net on hone se phle whatsappp pr msz type krna....
agr ek mint b reply late hua to bawal ,machana...
fr shaq wali nigaaho se dekhnaaa.....
hihihi binna galti k es masssom bacheee se solly bulbana.....
pure pure din baat krke b pet ni bharta tha
deere deere baat krte krte special one bn gyi merelyee....
fr kisi se b baat ni kalta tha m
muujhe aaj b yaad hai wo din
8/4/1999 mela bday gifttt
maine tainu 1st tym dekha tha...
hihihihi...
apni yaari ese hi bni rahe hamesha....
bs yadi pray krni hai... mainu...rab se.....
i love u my....bestieee...... happy bday tooo.....uuuuuuuu...
ab bta babu ky gift chaahiye teko.
.
Friendship memo..
Packed away
fr fr from a speeding bullet
a night time bmx ride to the beach and back again
and again
she's in here
too far too fearless for you to survive this warmth
i'm not souless, just a girl in love
i made me own way here
there is no taxi cab awaiting my drunken ramblin
i am good in bed
i am happy for you
i fell apart a long time ago, ago, ago
i hear YOU scream
i am not that person long ago
you all fell in love with me
and it really it was not me
i decieved you with the cut of my jib
with the line of my skin
deep beauty within
ha hahaha hahahaaaaaa
i will have you
i won't want you
i won't want you
you drunk too much
you take far too much speed to be a queen
la la laaaa la alaaaa
you don't know this but it was not me
whisper me sweet nothings
i've been hurt before,
**** it,
they are nothing compared to you
my bittersweet tears were cried when i left you there
i left myself in your bed
and i knew you would hear me
and dream of me calling your name
i am a pill you hate to swallow
some nidnight ****
you begged and borrowed
to be happy....
are you such a thing?
no methinks not
and you know i know this
and i am in love with you
so deep, so hard i have fallen
2 hours was all it took
2 months was all it took
my world exploded in your hands
you couldn;t handle me
you could not handle this....
i am a cyclone of astute proportions
too much for your shallow heart to bear
and yet i am here
too much far gone
i am her shadow
the beat of her drum
the second glance of her dance moves
she looks at me...
and i can not look away
i knew before i met her
i knew when she got in the car
i knew before i met her
and **** me....
thats all i have to say
"Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!
                 It is, — it is my husband's voice!
             Oh hasten, to his succour fly,
                 No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.
             He calls on thee, perhaps his foes
                 Environ him on all sides round,
            That wail, — it means death's final throes!
                 Why standest thou, as magic-bound?


             "Is this a time for thought, — oh gird
               Thy bright sword on, and take thy bow!
           He heeds not, hears not any word,
               Evil hangs over us, I know!
           Swift in decision, prompt in deed,
               Brave unto rashness, can this be,
           The man to whom all looked at need?
               Is it my brother that I see!


           "Oh no, and I must run alone,
               For further here I cannot stay;
           Art thou transformed to blind dumb stone!
               Wherefore this impious, strange delay!
           That cry, — that cry, — it seems to ring
               Still in my ears, — I cannot bear
           Suspense; if help we fail to bring
               His death at least we both can share"


          "Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen,
               No cause is there for any fear,
           Hast thou his prowess never seen?
               Wipe off for shame that dastard tear!
           What being of demonian birth
               Could ever brave his mighty arm?
           Is there a creature on earth
               That dares to work our hero harm?


           "The lion and the grisly bear
               Cower when they see his royal look,
           Sun-staring eagles of the air
               His glance of anger cannot brook,
           Pythons and cobras at his tread
               To their most secret coverts glide,
           Bowed to the dust each serpent head
               ***** before in hooded pride.


           "Rakshasas, Danavs, demons, ghosts,
               Acknowledge in their hearts his might,
           And slink to their remotest coasts,
               In terror at his very sight.
           Evil to him! Oh fear it not,
               Whatever foes against him rise!
           Banish for aye the foolish thought,
               And be thyself, — bold, great, and wise.


           "He call for help! Canst thou believe
               He like a child would shriek for aid
           Or pray for respite or reprieve —
               Not of such metal is he made!
           Delusive was that piercing cry, —
               Some trick of magic by the foe;
           He has a work, — he cannot die,
               Beseech me not from hence to go.


           For here beside thee, as a guard
               'Twas he commanded me to stay,
           And dangers with my life to ward
               If they should come across thy way.
           Send me not hence, for in this wood
               Bands scattered of the giants lurk,
           Who on their wrongs and vengeance brood,
               And wait the hour their will to work."


           "Oh shame! and canst thou make my weal
               A plea for lingering! Now I know
           What thou art, Lakshman! And I feel
               Far better were an open foe.
           Art thou a coward? I have seen
               Thy bearing in the battle-fray
           Where flew the death-fraught arrows keen,
               Else had I judged thee so today.


           "But then thy leader stood beside!
               Dazzles the cloud when shines the sun,
           Reft of his radiance, see it glide
               A shapeless mass of vapours dun;
           So of thy courage, — or if not,
               The matter is far darker dyed,
           What makes thee loth to leave this spot?
               Is there a motive thou wouldst hide?


           "He perishes — well, let him die!
               His wife henceforth shall be mine own!
           Can that thought deep imbedded lie
               Within thy heart's most secret zone!
           Search well and see! one brother takes
               His kingdom, — one would take his wife!
           A fair partition! — But it makes
               Me shudder, and abhor my life.


           "Art thou in secret league with those
               Who from his hope the kingdom rent?
           A spy from his ignoble foes
               To track him in his banishment?
           And wouldst thou at his death rejoice?
               I know thou wouldst, or sure ere now
           When first thou heardst that well known voice
               Thou shouldst have run to aid, I trow.


           "Learn this, — whatever comes may come,
               But I shall not survive my Love,
           Of all my thoughts here is the sum!
            Witness it gods in heaven above.
         If fire can burn, or water drown,
             I follow him: — choose what thou wilt
         Truth with its everlasting crown,
             Or falsehood, treachery, and guilt.


         "Remain here with a vain pretence
             Of shielding me from wrong and shame,
         Or go and die in his defence
             And leave behind a noble name.
         Choose what thou wilt, — I urge no more,
             My pathway lies before me clear,
         I did not know thy mind before,
             I know thee now, — and have no fear."


         She said and proudly from him turned, —
             Was this the gentle Sita? No.
         Flames from her eyes shot forth and burned,
             The tears therein had ceased to flow.
         "Hear me, O Queen, ere I depart,
             No longer can I bear thy words,
         They lacerate my inmost heart
             And torture me, like poisoned swords.


         "Have I deserved this at thine hand?
             Of lifelong loyalty and truth
         Is this the meed? I understand
             Thy feelings, Sita, and in sooth
         I blame thee not, — but thou mightst be
             Less rash in judgement, Look! I go,
         Little I care what comes to me
             Wert thou but safe, — God keep thee so!


         "In going hence I disregard
             The plainest orders of my chief,
         A deed for me, — a soldier, — hard
             And deeply painful, but thy grief
         And language, wild and wrong, allow
             No other course. Mine be the crime,
         And mine alone. — but oh, do thou
             Think better of me from this time.


         "Here with an arrow, lo, I trace
             A magic circle ere I leave,
         No evil thing within this space
             May come to harm thee or to grieve.
         Step not, for aught, across the line,
             Whatever thou mayst see or hear,
         So shalt thou balk the bad design
             Of every enemy I fear.


         "And now farewell! What thou hast said,
             Though it has broken quite my heart,
         So that I wish I were dead —
             I would before, O Queen, we part,
         Freely forgive, for well I know
             That grief and fear have made thee wild,
         We part as friends, — is it not so?"
             And speaking thus he sadly smiled.


         "And oh ye sylvan gods that dwell
             Among these dim and sombre shades,
         Whose voices in the breezes swell
             And blend with noises of cascades,
         Watch over Sita, whom alone
             I leave, and keep her safe fr
Frank Russell Aug 2014
You know that I am
the needed release,
the paramount sanction.

I come after
the denial of yourself.

I cause your desire for
physical, psychical, spiritual
liberation.

I alone can create you anew
by reversing the *******
back into your core -

Forcing the nakedness and cleanliness
of holistic wedlock -
of merged bodies and souls -
of the intensity that
splits and destroys the ego.

Here in these arms and ***** -
Here in these fluids and caresses -
the holy mystery
will lovingly envelope you.

My sacred sexuality
will anoint you king.


- fr
Frank Russell Mar 2014
Never feel alone, my friend -
dormancy is also transient,
same as your winter depression...

Only yesterday I heard a flock of geese
overhead in the twilight
announce their return
while a heedless scampering squirrel
repeatedly circuited the trunk of an oak.

The Pervasion is always complete;
embrace it in your awareness
as the Sun's virility will soon
embrace the fields and countryside.

Regrouping the sacred elements
through delicate processes,
rugged mating rituals,
and rebirth -

Forming a symmetry
of vital love incarnate
dispelling all loneliness.


-fr
Clone re Eatery Jan 2015
Thee Artiste Carvó's "Fartistic Wind"*

A ****** seeps into Thee's loft and lispers...

"F-f-f-fartistic s-s-s-soul, I would like to be a fr-fr-fr-freak and ooze in your **** cre-cre-cre-cretinivity"...

Thee fartistic soul then cuts cheese, and says...

"If you are to reach true degeneration, you must first crap a work of ****"...

The ****** then begins to swirl round and round the **** bowl...

A can of trash then pervades the room and spills these words...

"Without a lisper there is no ******, without a ****** a lisper ceases to be"...

The ****** then collides with the can of trash...

A masterpiece of p-p-p-puke...


Original ('Artistic Wind') by:      Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator
This is the seventh in a series of reconstructions of the drivel of "Thee Artiste" aka Logbrain Crappó which has been previously posted on HP.

True, nothing could possibly make Thee's mindless nonsense less lousy, but at least it can be put into a neater, though still steaming, pile...
Jay Oct 2014
She smelled like you today...







                                                 ­     ...It felt like I cheated
You just won't go away, will you?
harlon rivers May 2018
"From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story.
A story says, I survived." - Fr. Craig Scott

... a tribute to a fallen brother ― R.I.P  Les
... you were with me every step of the way to the top



crampon cleats tickle her bedrock
far below the frosty powder dusting;
released from where her majestic peak
parted yester night’s obstinate clouds.

the alpine atmosphere
first chilled and then plummeted
as the starlight glistened;
illuminated ice crystals sparkle
like diamonds in the rough.

I am overwhelmed
by the peaceful aura
surrounding me.

watching how
"these"
footprints
mark the snow
...arousing
a lucid,
stirring awareness
of my existence;

...inciting
a conscious moment,  
extraordinarily deepening
the realization of being.


harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2528185/beyond-the-telegraph-road-a-poem-in-memoriam-of-the-love-of-friends-brothers-promises/

postscript:
the poem above is notes turned prose poem...still stirring from a moment remembered. We were best friends from the neighborhood just shirt of 20 years.  When we were teens, skiing, we used to look up to the tip top of Mt Hood and say: "someday we'll climb up there together and look back down here from the top";  four years later i saw him drive away down our gravel road for the last time ― you never know which goodbye is the last ―

This is a piece inspired by climbing a snow and ice packed, 12,000 foot dormant volcano in the cascade mountains of the Pacific Northwest.   The original, that this is intended to be an intro for, is "Beyond the Telegraph Road"
  
Edited to say: Thanks for the encouragement Laim...without it I may not have shared the rest of the Memorial day story here at HP...
ryn Nov 2015
.
  •
            sing to
                   me a  song
                           so melodious...
                               •one of  sweet so-
                                    unding timbre•let it
                                        ••   capture and numb
                                           ••             me senseless•
                                            ••        ­          take me to a
                                             ••                ­       place and
                                             ••              ­             time so
                                              ••                               fami-
                                            ••             ­                    lia-
                                           ••               ­                   r•
     ••
     ••
     ••
where fond       ••                      
memories linger free•fr-                                  
om all worldly constraints•                                    
where our ears can see•the                                      
passing bliss in heaven's                                      
godly paint•                                      
.
Concrete Poem 16 of 30

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
.
jaelyn Aug 2016
the rain falls
as i try to forget it all
the bad memories swarm my mind
like little bees she left behind
all the scars
and all the pain
just wont seem to go away
now again the rain will fall
and now again i forget it all
Adasyev Jun 2017
Za plotem v zahradě pár bývalých přátel
plameny k nebi šlehá

Západní slunce nad hrází
si do korun stromů sedá

Po břehu korzující dívka s harfou
a větrem zčeřená hladina s kameny a trávou.
Holá alej s pahýly.
Zastav se na chvíli.

Džungle v zámeckém parku
a jaro za oknem léčebny, z které se už nevrátíš, babi.

V suterénu dech vlhkých zdí a torza laviček v parku.

Lítost se právě probouzí,
minulost ukládá k spánku.
Frank Russell Feb 2014
Barring a robin
nothing sacred
at the vacant church

- fr
Jeremiah Winters Feb 2018
Been so sleepy all day, rain often makes me feel this way,
I wanna slumber by the window n hear it pitter pat,
I like to listen to the puddles as they splatter back,
kitty kat lazily layin on the sill,
bending grey light in accordance w his will,
Grey skies bounce grey in my eyes, I'm finding time for realizing
dreams start inside, then work their way out into life
Thriving ain't easy, but then again it ain't that hard,
I stay the course while I play my part,
Gazing at the fire, I watch the shadows dance,
the little licking flames lull me into trance,
advancing visions I put forth into heat rising fr the flame,
fantastic spirits, I whisper their names,
Silently calling out to the skies, this is no game,
a living dream, layers of reality melt away at the seams,
seems to me the dream is real,
all these these magnificent sensations I feel,
all the while my heart beats slow n true,
Remembering skies bright clear n blue
Like an Alaska river, the course is always changing,
And my hearts waters fill up when the day stays raining.
Refraining fr wasting creative free spaces,
I keep it tightly contained in a most pious of places,
A den of meditation, thought congregation,
magic seems real n even contagious,
Outrageous as it seems,
Living life is but a dream,
I'm writing my own book, turning my own pages,
Highways quickly lead me, byways more scenic,
Looking skyward tends to bring my life meaning
And o wait, what's that, was I again dreaming,
Cause all the sudden now its really seeming,
That the window has an almost 45 degree angle
And the burning heart on fire pendant fr the rear view dangles
And the fire don't got that familiar orange glow
It looks more like the blue of my car stereo
So that's what's up, this dream is really going along with my plan
Cause the den in my mind is really the back of my van
Mahesh Hegde Jan 2014
Sitting there in a mist I was lookin at the turning,
Holding onto what the heart was yearning,
50 percent was it about u concerning,
50 percent fr the nasty end determining.
Cold was the blood from the brain returning,
Soul was chilled but the body was burning.
Body was in a trauma, its insides churning,
And the soul inside that body just kept mourning.

She was there in front of me,
Questions raising in mind lyk a hue.
It was lyk we were meeting,
Somewhere out of the blue.
Her eyes brown and cold,
Like those prepared to hold,
Clenching my heart with her softest touch,
She was Silent but extravagantly bold..
Hair was like the flowing river,
Ears covered with small rings of gold.
Her Lips were saying something,
Eyes depicting back the love which was once sold.

We'd been so beautiful together,
But then u smashed and made it all fall,
Then I went on walking aimlessly,
About the world, I hardly cared at all.
What did u think I was made of,
Body of wood And heart wid abstract walls?,
And then the gasoline u took by,
Spilled it, lit it and made it burn all.
Now u come again to see the burnt ashes,
And wid those lips, to this, love u call.
U'd been so enormous to me,
Now u r the same but u look so small.
The only fear that now concerns me,
Is if u ask for forgiveness I vl forget it all.

Sitting there in a mist I was lookin at the turning,
Holding onto what the heart was yearning,
50 percent was it about u concerning,
50 percent fr the nasty end determining.
Cold was the blood from the brain returning,
Soul was chilled but the body was burning.
Body was in a trauma, its insides churning,
And the soul inside that body just kept mourning.

COPYRIGHT 2013 © MAHESH HEGDE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
A L Davies Sep 2012
i've got me a ***** black cadillac,
stretched out—front windows rolled right down—on the curb.
with a French girl waiting inside, legs long as sin, sitting against the wide dark window
legs extended 'cross the backseat.
hiding her eyes behind big round sunglasses, smoking oily moroccan cigarettes
—writing about the way i talk.

there's a whole lotta crisp, cold money in the trunk,
waitin' to be spent on the furs she wants;
old books for me.                                                 and why not??
old books on art,
and i can't even paint!
just sit around not talking—read about Brughel or som'thin,
wishing my over-large, complacent hands knew to render the face
a fifth so well.
a fifth of whisky's 's close 's i get,
i get drunk and further away,
out now in that devil of a car, parked presently out
by the shed where i go most nights to sit in musty chairs 'n scratch ink lazily
on pages nobody ever reads..
            —but it feels ******
                       g  o  o  d  .

my frenchwoman would like to know what i think of old Proust...

REPLY: he took too ****** long! // (a sigh can be a story)
—one could write a novel in the time it takes to
toss your load on a pair of trembling *******, held up in offering—oh i can't help but be uncouth!!
—i mean just the other day fr christ's sake i moved a friend in Waterloo
to her new apartment and when carrying up the stairs two bags of clothes and a toaster
saw wonderful little second year heading up as well so i
let her go first (at first glance you may think me chivalrous) and while climbing up behind her
composed in my head the following pome, which i dashed off later on a post-it
and dedicated to her exquisite ***:

“all legs blonde climbin' the stairs, lamp in hand, yoga pants
hot & clinging like wee-ooo / hot enough in this cramped old stairwell as is,
carrying all these bags & boxes & couches up for a friend.
—hey when you're all moved in / you could come sit that thing on my lap.
share a cigarette while i carve slices of apple & offer them to you,
impaled on the end of the knife.”
rough/first sketch of a dream and then some thoughts and then some truth.
(dear upstanding: sorry about that last bit.)
heather leather May 2015
i fell in love with this boy who would paint the
horizon into a stanza, and the moon
into a phrase and he had hazel eyes and
a beautiful smile and i used to count the minutes
until i could see him and feel his warm embrace

you are no longer him

you are no longer him, the boy who wrote me
songs and you rarely write poems anymore and
it's been a while since you've said you loved me
and meant it, and so that i suppose is why i
must let go of you my darling
because i have been craving and loving and
missing someone who i wasn't meant to love,
and in the end i suppose i did only
love you for the words you spoke, the image you
so clearly conveyed, and the memories
that still make me smile to this day

i fell in love with someone who is not you, and i have
spent a long time trying to figure out why i was
so stuck on your love, so attatched to who you were
but then i realized you would never again be
the boy who's poetry i would tattoo on my skin
and who's songs i would scream at the top of my longs
you are no longer him and i am no longer the
carefree, naive innocent girl you fell for either
so i suppose i can forgive you for changing because
i only did the same

forgive me though, because i still dream sometimes
about you and i, and i secretly hope you do too
though perhaps it would be for the best if you didn't
for wilted flowers are better off dead than barely alive

(h.l.)
i suppose you could call this me letting you go
stacie Jun 2018
fr
I add gas to my own fire
don't need anyone to do it for me
Frank Russell Apr 2018
Because we are earth.
Because we are not here
And nature over there.
Because it is a dysfunctional mental habit
To conceive of ourselves as separate
From the flowing energy of the planet
- the air, water and nourishment -
That we transmute to our own energy.
Because we set aside a day to recall
How dangerously mistaken it is
To treat as a lowly inexhaustible slave
One that is both single-minded parent
   and sustaining comrade,
Worthy of love and respect.



- fr
Frank Russell Aug 2014
A body,
consciousness,
and a name -
all this in certainty.

Yet I often sense
I am nothing more than
a question asked.


- fr
Sugandha Verma Sep 2012
no its not black
it cudn't be white
grey hz been the line fr me to stay!
i ain't no fun
i ain't no bore
judgement z what i make neway!
not a coward
neither do i fight
somehw i knw hw to survive!
no sort f genious
definitely not dumb
but what's important z that i hv a say!
i don't hate
i can't love
calculated its been what i ever felt!
rich is minus me
poor i dun include
either way fr me is rude!
not f sins
no way a saint
to get away wid extremities, i wzn't meant!
nice doesn't appeal to me
being crass certainly is insensitive
IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE probably, i shud live!
398

I had not minded—Walls—
Were Universe—one Rock—
And fr I heard his silver Call
The other side the Block—

I’d tunnel—till my Groove
Pushed sudden thro’ to his—
Then my face take her Recompense—
The looking in his Eyes—

But ’tis a single Hair—
A filament—a law—
A Cobweb—wove in Adamant—
A Battlement—of Straw—

A limit like the Veil
Unto the Lady’s face—
But every Mesh—a Citadel—
And Dragons—in the Crease—
M Solav Jul 2019
Ô toi qui hélas aura daigné t’ôter la vie,
Mettant un trait au dessein que tu dessines;
Grande n’est-elle pas parfois la jalousie
De qui partage la misère qu’on te devine.

Ô toi qui aura su mettre fin au jour
Pour enfin écourter la longue nuit
En soufflant d’un seul et court souffle
Sur le scintillement de tes bougies.

Jamais ne sauras-tu
Qu'il fût un monde
Et quel monde!
Qui t'eût compris.

Comme il en prend du courage,
Et il en prend du mal de vivre
Pour faire la traversée de l’enfer
À l’origine de toute la vie.
Écrit en mai 2018 - pour un vieil ami disparu.
Frank Russell Aug 2014
What you ask of me
       is not possible
              nor desirable.

Unconditional love is reserved
       for the soil, the seedling
              and the blossom,

Not for the overgrowth
       of errors, weaknesses
              and shortcomings.

I don't even love that
       in myself -
              why, then, in you?


- fr
I'm going to write this poem how I talk in real life so... don't judge how I talk!

T-The S-shy One
T-The S-Skid-dish One
Th-Those are m-my nickna-ames
E-Everyone s-says that I-I'm j-just like H-Hoodie from C-Creepypasta
Oo
W-Which I am
B-Because h-he stammers t-too
L-Look him u-up

E-Everyday I'm l-limping down the h-hallway because m-my foot is b-bad and I h-hear:
"There she goes!"
"What's up with the limp?"
"Hey! Hoodie! I have cheesecake!"
S-Seriously
E-Everyone knows a-about C-Creepypasta
M-My best friend is C-Crystal
S-She is my M-Masky
W-We both <3 ch-cheesecake

O-Or I could b-be Canada
Fr-om H-Hetalia
Hetalia i-s an anime o-on Netflix
So yeah that happened O
o
J Novic Sep 2014
i wish i could finish.
The thought i had.
The poem I meant to write.
The thing that made me sad.

All cracked and frazzled.
Split up into fragments.
A dream I don’t remember.
How did it all start again?

Where are the pieces?
The puzzle I started long ago.
Can i turn nothing into something?
Or is that something just nothing?

— The End —