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dvalentines Aug 2016
Monster
Trianna POV
It took me time to accept what I was being pushed into. Ever since I was young, my mother and father told me that one day, I might grow to hate myself. I know, what parents tell that to their child right? But they saw no point in lying to me. It was going to happen. I was going to hate myself.

I am half-vampire.

Not because of my mother, not because of my father. It was my paternal grandfather.

It was a miracle my father got none of the vampire symptoms. It was the best miracle. My grandparents were one of those unbelievably fated couples in the world. A vampire and a human fell in love and got married and had my dad. They were prepared to have to deal with a vampire child, but, miraculously, it did not happen. My father came out normal, as normal as any human could ever be. It was not surprising; he had more of my grandmother’s genes. Eventually, my father met my mother, fell in love and got married. I came along. That’s how the equation works right?

They had nothing to worry, for they were both human. However, something was not right. When I was 3, my eye color changed. The color was nothing like my parents’. Their eyes were a nice shade of hazel and dark brown. Mine, was green, dark, forest green. As a kid, my treats weren’t sweets. They were blood, small droplets of blood from my parents. But by the time I was 7, my parents and grandparents helped me grow an addiction to lollipops, making me turn to them whenever I had a craving attack. For blood that is. But craving attacks were rare, very rare. I was only a half-vampire anyway.

As the days passed, I grew into a teenager, my parents and grandparents aged, except my grandfather. My grandmother long got used to the fact that my grandfather would not be able to age with her. After a while, I found it weird that my father was starting to look older than my grandfather. Things all went well, until the night before I turned 18.

It was taboo.

All a taboo.

I really hated myself now.

No one saw it coming. So we didn’t make precautions.

I killed them. I killed my parents. I didn’t even know what happened. I couldn’t even remember. I only remembered that I was enjoying a movie on television with my parents alone at home as my grandparents were out for a friends’ gathering dinner or something. And the next thing I remembered were my parents, lying in their own pool of blood, not breathing. My hands and face, stained with blood. My grandfather tried to stop me but feeding me his blood, but it was too late. It was all too late. I held onto my grandfather’s bitten arm and lay there, just staring at my parents. The clock struck midnight and everything turned black.

I woke up the next morning in my own bed, an urge to puke filled my guts as I rushed to the toilet to throw up. Nothing came out, just regurgitation. I looked up in the mirror, and blinked. I blinked again, harder this time, making sure I was not hallucinating. My eyes were, green, not dark green, but a lighter shade. I pulled the side of my mouth to reveal my canine teeth. They were sharper than before. In a state of shock and panic, I ran down the stairs, where I knew where my family would be. The moment I reached the first floor, I saw my grandparents outside, in the backyard.

I hesitated to move. Someone tell me the nightmare I had was not real.
“G-Grandpa?” I murmured. My grandfather turned, making my grandmother do the same. My grandmother had a tear-streaked face and a handkerchief in her hands. My grandfather looked the worse ever since I knew him. I swallowed hard before walking closer to them, and I noticed two coffins being laid on the ground.

Tears fell down my cheeks as I realized who those two being laid there were.

“Grandpa… Tell me this isn’t real…” I struggled to believe what was happening in front of me. My grandfather held onto me before I could collapse.

“Trianna, please don’t be like this…” he pleaded.

I knelt in front of my parents’ tombs and bid them a last farewell before they were being cremated. The fire was burning away so many memories. I almost wanted to walk into it, almost.

“I’m sorry…” I whispered under my breath and said a deep prayer. I lifted myself up from the ground and dried my tears. Walking to my grandparents, I gave them both a tight hug before my grandfather could go on another trail of apologies about how it was his fault I am what I am now. Worse, I am not a pure. And that is making things so hard for us to decipher. It was something none of us wanted. However, I had to blame myself. And I blamed myself, a lot. But I never mentioned anything about my parents ever since my 18th birthday. I wanted to escape.

For one year, we continued to stay at that same house. And every day without fail, I would walk to the backyard where my parents were cremated and kiss the ground, apologize then do whatever I had to do for the day. I stayed away from school which my grandparents obliged. I doubt anyone is ready for me to have a sudden craving attack again and start ******* the blood out of my classmates since my cravings were stronger now. I used to only have to **** on lollipops whenever I see blood. But now, I had to have a lollipop in my mouth 24/7, considering the fact that we are in fact staying amongst humans, and most probably have to for the rest of my life, and I start wondering how long my life would be.

To start things anew, my grandparents decided we needed to shift to a new state. If we continued to stay in that place, as they assumed, would be bringing me way too much pain. I had no opinions; I just needed to follow them wherever they wanted to go. However, I did mention there was not much need to actually move, I was over the whole blaming myself about my parents’ death thing… I think.

We settled down in a small town called Kingslet based in the United States, where Grandpa once lived with his family. I heard that that town was secluded, but definitely still populated with humans, moreover, rich humans. And probably some vampires.

We moved into a cottage that my grandfather bought over from an old friend. And when I said old friend, I meant like, a really really really old vampire friend of his who happened to want to move away to another town with his family. My grandfather drove a van that he had rented from near the place where our private plane landed to the location where we were destined to live. Upon arriving, my jaw dropped. That isn’t a cottage, more like a mansion, for goodness sake. Alighting from the van, I took one breath and knew it was the signal for me to be ******* on lollipops again. I took one out from my backpack and opened it before popping it into my mouth.

“The smell getting to you already? That’s fast.” My grandfather, who was obviously already immune to the smell of blood, chuckled.

“Shut up.” I mock-glared my grandfather and smiled as I helped with moving the luggage into the house. Being half-vampire, for the moment, was not half bad. I get extra super strength, a cliché vampire gift. I did my own research of my own kind. We get super human strength, sense of smell increases and super human speed. But I figured maybe because I was only half-bred, I wasn’t sensitive to the sun, nor to garlics, or crosses. I consider myself lucky.

Entering the cottage, I placed the luggage on the floor before taking a look around the place. The place was really not bad. It was huge, comfortable and very cozy. My grandmother would definitely love it here. Well, she would be the only one hanging around the house 24/7. I don’t really want my 75 year old human grandmother wandering just anywhere she wants alone. High chances are that she was going to get hurt or something. But touch wood. And true enough, my grandmother was already taking her place on one of the sofas furnished in the living room by the fireplace, smiling at my grandfather.

“It’s wonderful here, Xavier dear.” She complimented.

Both grandfather and I smiled at her then at each other.

“Glad that you like it here, Katrina darling.” He said to my grandmother, making me quiver at their sweetness, but it was not like I was not used to it. “Come on Tri, let’s start moving the things.” He turned to me and suggested. I nodded with a smile. As we were at moving, I was told my room is on the second floor, in which I get to choose between three bedrooms, and the other two would become any room I want them to be, and that most likely means I would be having the whole second floor to myself. This really doesn’t sound so bad. I picked the biggest room, and poked my head in, realizing that the bed and all were already furnished perfectly. It must be grandpa. He knows me really well. Too well.

I threw both my luggage onto my bed and opened them, revealing my clothes and all my other belongings and started unpacking. First, my one and only family photo left after grandpa decided to keep the rest away from me at our old home. He only allowed me to keep one, the one we took when I was 15, in which I really don’t look much different compared to the present me. Staring at the photo, I wished so much that they were still here with me. It didn’t matter if we were going to move either way, as long as they were here, things would be perfect. I quickly put the picture frame at the side of my bed before I could actually start crying my green orbs out again. I proceeded with the rest of my unpacking and once I was done, I had also finished my lollipop. Being lazy to open another open, I chose to leave the empty lollipop stick in my mouth and chew on it instead.

Heading downstairs with my headphones hanging around my neck and smartphone, I hopped onto the longest sofa that was facing the wide screen television, switched on the television and started to channel surf, deciding to figure out the town’s frequency, hoping they have my favorite music and drama channels.

“Trianna!”

I heard my name coming from behind me, before turning to my grandmother. She merely shrugged at me, so I pouted at her and responded to my grandfather. “Yes, grandpa?” turning to meet gazes with him. I instantly felt a bunch of papers being shoved into my hold.

“What is this?” I asked, flipping through the pieces of paper, which I realized had my name and identification number printed everywhere.

“Your new school registration confirmation. I have already settled everything for you. And you are reporting to school the day after tomorrow, on Monday.” My grandfather said, taking a place next to my grandmother as they cuddled up.

“Isn’t this a little bit too soon?” I frowned. I really did not hate school. I just hated the fact that if I have to hang around humans, I have to deal with my control over my craving. It’s stressful and tiring.

“You are not getting away with anything this time, Trianna. It’s been a year since you last went to school. And the sooner you go out there to train, the better. Eventually, you will need to walk out of the house.”

Crap. I struggled to find another excuse. And light bulb!

“What about this and this?” I pointed at my eyes first, then my teeth.

“Don’t fret about it. I’m stocking up on your contact lenses for you, and your lollipops. Plus, your teeth aren’t obvious either, those lollipops are grazing them off.”

“But-!”

“Trianna!”

I bit my lips, “Yes grandpa…” I knew there was no way I can argue further. My grandfather was right; I have to deal with this someday, somehow anyway. Why not just go out there and face the music, get it over and done with? He had already obliged to me for a year, it was my turn to listen.

Dinner was spaghetti with carbonara, my grandfather’s best cuisine. Nothing beats this. It was my favorite behind lollipops. After dinner, it was sliced fruits and television. Once I felt I had my fair share of the night, I kissed my grandparents goodnight.

Third Person POV

After Trianna headed up to her room, her grandmother frowned.

“What’s wrong, Katrina?” Trianna’s grandfather asked, caressing his wife’s cheeks.

“Xavier, don’t you think it’s a little too harsh on Trianna? Making her go to school now? Go out there with the humans?” she questioned, as worried as her face portrayed her to be.

Xavier sighed. As much as he did not want to risk his one and only precious granddaughter, he had to. “Katrina, we have to let her go. She is very unlike me. If we don’t let her go, we will never have our answers about her. I know I promise to ask my friends more about Dhampirs. I will. But Trianna still has to go. I cannot protect her forever.” Xavier let out another sigh, “I don’t even know for sure, if she is a Dhampir.”

Trianna POV

The morning sun shone on my face indicating the new day. I struggled to open my eyes as I lifted myself off my bed. I stretched uncomfortably and yawned. This new bed sure needs some getting used to. After combing and tying up my shoulder-lengthed dark brown wavy hair, I washed myself up before heading down to the first floor.

“Good morning Grandpa. Good morning Grandma.” It was a habit to greet. A good one, I know. It was pancakes for breakfast, I could totally smell it since I was upstairs. Popping my head into the kitchen, I took another deep breath.

“Pancakes?” I asked, excited.

“Bet you smelt it the moment you woke up.” He laughed.

“Not exactly, but when I was upstairs, yes.” I chuckled along, moving to hug him.

“Good morning Tri.” He greeted, hugging me tightly.

“Where’s Grandma?” I bobbed my head around, not seeing her anywhere in sight.

“In the backyard trying to do some exercise.” He answered.

You are seriously letting a 75 year old woman do exercise alone in the backyard. Call yourself the best husband in the world. Creep.

I ran towards the backyard and saw my grandma doing some stretches to the morning radio slowly. Like literally, really slowly. I skipped over to greet her, shocking her a little before I pounced slightly to hug her and give her a daily dose of her morning kiss. Sensing that my grandfather was almost done with the pancakes, I led her back into the house and sat her down on her seat at the big round dining table. After helping my grandfather with laying the table, we three finally sat down for breakfast.

Picking up the maple syrup, I poured enough to cover my pancakes before placing my block butters on them, melting them and coating the pancakes. Love them this way. The silence during the meal was perfect, until my grandpa decided to break it.

“So,” he coughed slightly, “Any plans for today?” he asked, looking straight at me.

“No… Why would I have any plans made in a new town?” I asked, avoiding eye contact with my grandfather because I knew exactly where he was getting at.

“Why don’t you take a walk around the new town?”

I cursed under my breath. I think I forgot to mention. My grandfather’s vampire gift, was reading minds. That was exactly why, he knows me very well. ***** to be me, sometimes.

“Sure, doesn’t sound like such a bad idea before the start of school?” I replied. I was not out of my mind. But since I had already promised to go to school, there should not be a problem with just walking around town and try to get used to humans one day earlier. “Are you two coming with me?”

Grandpa nodded and said that he had already suggested to grandma about taking a walk around town, to let grandma know the place better as well as get to know a few faces around us. He felt it wasn’t nice to not greet if you are new in town.

After getting changed into a simple tee and shorts matched with my favorite pair of converse shoes, I hung my headphones around my neck again, plugging the end into my phone and opened one lollipop to pop into my mouth before heading out. The smell was already overwhelming at the door. Thanks, you pathetic piece of body. But if grandpa could get used to it, so will I. I saw my grandfather picked out his favorite hat and placed it on his head and I smirked. At least I can handle some sun.

Walking around town, we got to know a few people. Like Uncle Tyler, owner of the Italian restaurant along the streets, and a few other people around my grandma’s age or slightly younger. I merely greeted and smiled at them, not knowing what to say. Sadly, my grandpa had to introduce himself as my grandmother’s son. Very heartbreaking, to me at least. My grandparents long foreseen this and had been mentally prepared, I really sal
Rachel Gosby Sep 2015
Happy Grandparents day
to the most beautiful and wonderful
woman in the world.
Happy Grandparents day
I wonder where you keep your wings
LOL are they hung in your closets with
the rest of your things
Happy Grandparents day
you have a very special gift, the gift
that keep on giving. the
woman I call Grandmother
I feel I blessed by God to be under
the umbrella of your tender love and care
Happy Grandparents day
to the woman who we can lean on
when needed it. the one who is strong for
everyone even when you think your not.
Happy Grandparents Day  
the one who ears that always listening and
arms that always open, the love
that never end's and a heart that's made of
pier Gold
Happy Grandparents day
poetrychick Feb 2014
Grandparents are just like us,
But older, and smarter
they know what to do with life

Grandparents are just like us,
but they have more experience in love
Grandparents love us, and want us to be successfull
Love grandparents
Patrick Austin Sep 2018
Our Backgrounds before we met...

I'm an only child born in Montana in 1983, from a divided home. Parents divorced at seven, Mom was unstable and unfaithful. Dad obtained custody of me and we moved to Oregon Coast to live with my Grandma. I had unhealthy visits and relationship with Mom thereafter. My Grandma died at 12 and at 13 my Dad remarried an alcoholic woman, I had a strained relationship with them until adulthood when she stopped drinking. I had exposure to trauma; alcoholism, mental illness, verbal abuse and juvenile troubles. I rebelled by using drugs in my late teens and early twenties, I lived on my own for a few years after high school but had little direction.

My bride is the eldest with two little brothers, parents stayed in same area of Portland during childhood with lots of family support and her parents stayed married. They had Christian values but some anger and anxiety issues at home. She was sexually assaulted at 17 and never had good closure with this. She told me her parents didn't provide her enough help with things like this growing up. Status quo was the backbone of the family dynamic, challenging emotions were discouraged. She rebelled by being reckless with herself, financially and sexually. She decided to join the Navy at 19. She lived alone briefly, but mostly with Grandparents & Parents before our marriage.

I loved how we both grew up reading Archie comics. No other girl I had ever met had that in common with me. I think we wanted a surreal life like the one in Riverdale.

2002

She and I were 19 when we first met in my home town on the coast at an arcade. We became friends and secretly liked each other. I was too nervous to ever make a move on her. We traveled together, she stayed with me, we used drugs together and drank at times. One night she drank too much and had *** with a guy I knew at a party. I was devastated by this. She was Navy bound and I didn't see a real future for us. The next morning she left and I didn't talk to her again for two years. I figured she would be gone with the Navy soon and that she must not have been interested in a relationship with me despite the time we spent together.

2003

I was depressed about this rejection. I dated an older woman who was interested in me but was no substitute. I eventually moved to the Portland area to work and live. I still had few plans and was lonely, in or out of the few brief relationships I attempted. I never found someone that I felt safe with or had a true connection, let alone true love. She ended up not following through with the Navy and continued working her way up in her job at the call center. She attended community college and dated a few guys. She dated one guy for a couple of years who was not a good match for her but stayed with him off and on despite issues. His family was wealthy and treated her well. He slept around on her as did she. At one point he gave her an STD. She also had an ongoing affair with a married man in the military that she went to high school with. He had a child and a wife with mental health issues. She was still hurting a lot at times and not always doing well.

2004

She reached out to me via email after two years of no contact. We emailed back and forth a couple times over the next few months. We talked about meeting up. We spoke on the phone and eventually met up in Portland. We had an amazing night getting to know each other again and work past the confusion of our earlier days of friendship. I realized that she did in fact like me before but since I was timid and trying to be proper and take things slowly she didn't understand my motives. She apologized for her actions at the party as well. She claimed she was in a really messed up place and was making bad choices at that time. Getting our feelings out in the open was good and she appreciated my attitude towards being slow to make moves on her when we first met. I was worried about falling for her based on our history but eventually I was determined to give it a shot. We soon after starting dating and being intimate. Our love was extremely powerful and beyond all others we had both experienced. She broke ties with other suitors and shortly after we talked about marriage and started planning a wedding for the next year.

I remember when we first held hands. We were so shakey and she was quivering on my couch as I had my arm around her. We felt so safe with each other. We could finally be ourselves and do what our hearts desired. We knew we were on to something new and so amazing. We were so patient with each other as we navigated our new love and emotional thresholds.

I remember when we saw Matisyahu in concert together. That was a once in a lifetime experience and a life-changing moment for us. I feel it set the tone for things to come in our future.

I remember how creative my proposal to her was, in the Arcade where we first met. I hid the ring in a prize container from one of those claw machines. Pretending I got the ring from inside by reaching into the machine on one knee I was so nervous and wasn't sure if I could pull it off before she caught on. She looked so shocked and surprised. I was so excited she said yes! We took pictures in the photo machine and had burgers afterwards, I'd do all of it all over again just to see her face in that moment.

2005

We found an apartment for us in Portland. I moved in while she was still living back with her parents until the wedding. She had to change her number because the married man she was previously involved with kept calling her about changing her mind about marriage and continuing their relationship. She was offered a job in Denver and we decided to move away together after our sandy wedding in Cannon Beach. I still had a very hard time and was embarrassed with my past history with her. Many of my friends knew what had happened at 19 and how much it hurt me but I was so crazy about her I think I tried to pretend it didn't happen or that it was not a big deal because we were younger. We got married and moved to Colorado soon after. We made friends at a church, I became more active as a Christian and really loved being married. We were very involved in keeping spirituality in our marriage. I began to notice her poor financial decisions and practices more. This caused conflict but we always tried to communicate and work on things.

I remember when we went down to my folks for New Year's in 2005. We sipped tea in my Datsun as we drove to the coast over the snowy mountain pass. We told them of our engagement. We were all so blissful and excited. We never knew what was to come. We didn't even know about the opportunity in Denver yet. Our story is amazing!

I remember when I wanted to go see her in Portland and the roads were iced over. I left my car at a park and ride before I caused a wreck. I took the light rail across town then rode a bus to the Eastside shopping mall. The bus to her house was not running because it wasn't safe so I walked the rest of the 4 Miles sometimes having to crawl on my hands and knees to make it up hills in the ice and then I finally made it only to just spend a couple hours with her and fall asleep on her parents couch. Her Dad drove us back the next morning to my car so I could get to work. It was all worth it just to see her for that little extra time. I would have done anything for her.

I remember when she was interviewing for the new position in Denver? I drove all over Portland trying to find little toy cars to help with her illustration about how a team is like a car having all four wheels and how they work together to accomplish a goal. I was so proud of her for giving it her all and succeeding at earning that position. Now that I think of it, that car analogy applies to our family and us. We all need each other to be better and keep on track and be a team. I am so motivated by that and our boys. I lose my way without that and I want to be her reflection and motivation as she has been that for me. I truly thought we brought out the best in each other when we were together.

I remember when we were given tickets to see Fiona Apple. That was so spontaneous and a great way to kick off our time in Denver together. We always used to watch our same movies over and over again. Like the Friends DVDs and White Christmas every winter break and The Wedding Singer. We walked everywhere and lived simply. "I wanna be the guy, who grows old with you"

I remember in our first Denver apartment when we took baths together in our claw foot tub in the big bathroom. We put a board over the top and played cards. I liked playing Uno with her in bed too. She was so funny being slightly color blind and in the dark, mixing up the greens and blues. We played Uno in Breckenridge too at that cool bed and breakfast in the fall.

2006

We had continued fun and adventure in our new home of Denver. She was doing well as a trainer for the bank and I started working in health foods. We went camping in New Mexico a couple times with friends and we both took individual trips to Oregon as well as one together for her uncle's wedding. We had marital spats on occasion but always bounced back. The issues we had seemed like part of a normal marriage and were far better than what I had grown up around. I realized that marriage was a lot of work but I was up for the task. She occasionally became aggressive throwing things at me or breaking things during conflict.  I believed I was the problem and tried to change for her in many ways. With two incomes we still had trouble making our bills at times. She had debts that I never knew about that started to catch up with us but I took care of getting them settled and we paid off her car and traded it for an older Volvo Wagon that we both loved, I even had it repainted her favorite color for a birthday gift. Overall things seemed like they were progressing in a positive way.

I remember when we saw Midnight in concert in Boulder. That was the peak of our hippy days. We were alive with pleasure in our healthy vegetarian diets and practices living in a time and place like no other. I want to be like that again. Reggae was our music. We had much in common.

2007

We really fell into our roles in our marriage and the community; church and culture, friends etc. Things seemed very balanced and appropriate for us at that time and that age (24-25). We had separate bank accounts and jobs. I had money in savings. We started the process of buying a house so we could invest in something. She became pregnant shortly after. I embraced the challenge with positive energy but we were both in for a big change. We started having more fights. I didn't have many friends and would write to old friends via social media just so I could to catch up and tell them things were going great with being married to make myself feel better than I actually did. She hated the dawn of social media and also felt isolated I'm sure. She felt I should be doing more for her and I didn't know how to do what she needed but I failed to ask a lot of the time. After one argument, she left the house. My instinct told me to look at ******* and ******* as a retaliation. I had not done this much once we were married because she always met my needs but when things were difficult between us I felt more emotionally isolated. She walked in and realized what I had been doing. She was very upset, and because she was pregnant, thought I was not attracted to her. The truth is I found her even more beautiful and in fact when I looked at ******* I tried to look at women I found less attractive than her so that I feel good about what I have. I mostly fantasized about how these women were more submissive and loving than her. That is the part I needed to feel good about and feel better about myself with because I felt very dominated and controlled. She has never forgiven me for this and I will never stop feeling sorry to her for my brokenness. During one particular argument that year she was getting close to being violent towards me again and I pushed her away on the chest with my fingertips. She got very mad and said I hurt her. I immediately felt terrible and apologized. I never let something like that happen again. I have always avoided violence towards others especially women and of course her. I was defenseless against physical and emotional abuse.

2008

Our eldest son was born at the beginning of the year, it was a traumatic birth for everyone. We wanted a natural birth with a midwife but we were transferred to a hospital and she ended up having an emergency C-section, nothing went as planned. We had a really hard time coping with the emotions of this experience. A lot of buried feelings and trauma from both of us started coming out. We moved a month later into our new home outside of town. No more walking or biking to places, we had to drive everywhere. This house was next to our friends from church. We thought this would make us feel less isolated but we didn’t really have the community with them that we had hoped for. They were upset that they didn't have a child of their own yet and being around us might have been hard for them. My wife stopped working and stayed home with our son. All these changes made for a very difficult time. I did my best to support them but this was the first time we shared a bank account and needed to follow a budget more than ever before. We had no debt at the beginning of the year with money in savings but then the hospital bills put us down about $7,000 and rising with new home and moving expenses and baby needs. My job could barely keep up. She and I had a hard time adjusting. We could not afford to travel home to Oregon and visit family as much and we felt more and more isolated. She started showing me more signs of instability, locking herself in the bathroom with kitchen knives and scraping her legs which continued off and on for years to come. Talks of divorce and suicide threats seemed to happen more than before. I felt responsible and tried to fix her ever changing issues with me.

I remember when herr ******* were full and swollen with milk. It is so beautiful the way she could feed our babies. I wanted her in every way, our bodies belonged to each other. I was there for her and our shared pleasure. I loved it when she told me that she was mine in the heat of passion. This spark could only be a bandage for so long but I didn't know that yet.

2009

I tried to promote within my company but was not selected, they were cutting budgets and employment all around me. I felt worried about our future. I had always thought the military might be a good opportunity and could move us closer to family back home. My father-in-law encouraged me to look into the Coast Guard. I felt this would be a good way to get moved closer to Oregon.  I ended up joining the Navy because we found out we were pregnant again with our second son and that was the only way I could join a military branch. She worked off and on as a nanny and later in the year at a coffee house working nights. We barely spent time together and when we did it was a lot of hard conversations or arguments about finances with making up intimately in the middle of the night between times of caring for the baby. She once scratched my neck with her fingernails during an argument. People I worked with noticed. It was a hard time and we knew change was on the horizon with jobs and moving. We did visit Oregon that summer though and had a great vacation at the beach with a borrowed 4x4 and staying at a hotel and picnicking out of a cooler as well as going to her brothers wedding. I was 26 and about to join the Navy to provide better for my family at all costs sacrificing myself for their benefit because I would have rather died than look like I didn't try my best for them.

I remember when our babies would kick and move around inside her belly. I loved laying by her and feeling her tummy. I would hum to the baby and hear them move and squirm. I loved giving our boys baths when they were babies too. We had our little bundles of our love, wrapped in a towel in our hands, so tiny and vulnerable. I miss those days and want to remember them with her, aside from this state of melancholy.

2010

The Navy recruiters would only take me if we rented out our home and had her stay with family during boot camp and training. We moved to a furnished apartment in Denver and put our things in storage. She was 5 months pregnant and our eldest was two. I shortly after was let go from my job. Our second son was born in April. I got a contract with the Navy at the last minute but didn't leave until August. We sold our beloved vehicles and lived off retirement funds for six months and moved down to Florida where her parents had just moved out of the blue for work, to stay with them until I left for boot camp. I applied for temporary work in Florida at a dozen places but had no luck in my three months there. I took care of our eldest a lot while she took care of the new baby. Being in Florida was a culture shock for us but we had our moments of romance and made the best of it. Eventually I left for boot camp in August. It was really hard and sad to be gone. She stayed in Florida and came to visit me with the baby at boot camp graduation in October. I then went to Connecticut for five months of training. It was also hard but at least I could call home every day and be in the same time zone. I visited Florida during the winter break and saw my boys and her. We went to Disney world and had a great time on her parents. We also made a romantic home movie I could enjoy while away from her. I flew back to Connecticut and tried to make the best of things. My roommate was very abusive of substances and I resisted the temptation for a long time but the threat of being submarine service bound and missing my family pushed me to drinking every weekend and getting messed up to escape before I left.

I remember when we drove to Key Largo, Florida and stopped at a crazy bird wildlife center. I remember our oldest was so amazed hearing a bird say hello back to us. It was so foreign and fun there. I am glad we all shared that experience together.

I remember our trip to the citrus grove in Florida. That was such a great day for our family. I always look back on that with really fond sentiment. I felt like I was in a beautiful family music video with them.

2011

I finished Submarine Training and got orders back to the Northwest. The plan was all coming together. I arrived first and bought a car and got our items moved from storage in Denver to our townhouse rental in Washington. She and the boys joined me a month later. I didn't report to my Sub for another month as they were at sea. She became pregnant again with our third son right after arriving. We had just bought a small car and were not planning on another child. Towards the end of the year I was working a lot and having a really hard time, being bullied and treated poorly at work plus our financial situation was still very difficult. Adjusting to the military was hard among younger men being 28. I dreaded each day in that environment but I tried to endure it for my family. I went to sea for a couple months at the end of the year stopping in Hawaii and California. During this time She reached out to her ex married affair partner after six years of no contact. She didn't tell me until later. She said she needed closure with him, we were not in counseling yet but she decided this was appropriate. I flew home early from sea and wanted to surprise her. The stress and trauma of this quick transition home after being to sea for the first time (which was also traumatic) made me want to drink and get messed up before flying. I arrived home and surprised her but I seemed off to her which I was but didn’t explain why, I have never done that since. I got to be home for two months almost work free while we celebrated the holidays and prepared for the new baby to be born. She started getting more involved with a church and building a community for us which was great. Our financial struggles almost led us to foreclosure of our home back in Colorado but by the grace of God we got it sold with a short sale just in time.

I remember when I came back from Hawaii and brought her a beaded necklace and she wore it naked with her big beautiful pregnant goddess belly and we made passionate hippy love together. I want to grow out my beard again and spend my life making hippy love and feeling free again.

2012

Our third son was born in January. It was a very positive birth experience and much less stressful than the other two. Shortly after I flew out to finish the other half of the deployment I had missed. I really focused on being positive and spiritually connected by reading my Bible at sea which was helpful. I called her when I arrived in Japan halfway through being gone. She was upset because she tested positive for an STD while trying to get on birth control. I became suspicious of her yet she was suspicious of me. We both got tested again and I was clean, she told me she had a false positive after all. This put a big strain on our trust, especially being so far away. This forced us to be honest with each other about some things such as her contact with her ex lover and my drinking to cope. We were both very upset until I returned home and we could start some counseling to work through things. Forgiveness seemed to be difficult for us. It brought up hurts of the past when we were 19. She also had severe postpartum depression that became worse after each birth. I was still having a hard time with work and the submarine environment. Our church friends tried to counsel us but it was not the most helpful. My submarine was scheduled for extended repairs and not going to sea for three years, I would be transferred before the end of that period. I used this time to bond with her and my boys. I wanted to get better involved in our community and do volunteer work and side jobs to earn extra money. Our boys were all given diagnosis's for autism which begun to fill our lives with appointments and challenges for years to come but we were a good team in dealing with all of it. It gave us something to work together on but took our focus away from working on our own personal issues and relationship with each other as much as we should have.

2013

We had new years with both sides of our family in a snowy mountain setting in Oregon. It looked like it was going to be a great year until her Grandpa passed away suddenly. It ripped our entire family apart but especially her. He kept the family grounded and she was very close to him, he really loved all of us. She and I started going on dates again because we had Navy sponsored child care. It was the beginning of a really good thing for us. Tragically one night after a date we were dancing with the boys on the patio and I tried to pick her up and I lost my balance and fell on her, breaking her collar bone severely. She needed surgery and was very mad at me for years to come. She has a scar, a metal plate and numbness in her chest. We worked through it with our community from church but she still is very mad at me. I feel more terrible about this incident than she could ever know. I would lose a finger in place of that incident if I could. I continued having a really hard time in the Navy and I didn't want to stay in but She insisted our boys needed care only the Navy could offer. She also said she would divorce me if I ever left the Navy. I took this threat seriously even though she assured me later that she would never actually do that. Against my own convictions I reenlisted because I wanted to do the best thing for my family. We moved into base housing at the end of summer and didn’t go out to do things as much anymore. The house was nice but it ****** us in, we also had less community with people around our home. I started volunteering at church more and doing work with special needs people. I felt like I was doing good things and that I had purpose all around. I think she appreciated this about me.

2014

We started seeing a professional counselor together and individually. It became a regular event. I worked on myself and she worked on herself. I had a lot of issues with my Mom and eventually broke off communication with her for my own well-being and the betterment of my family. I got past a lot of the bad feelings I had. She worked on her traumatic experiences and our relationship dynamics. Just when things were going well I got a new boss who made things hard for me and others at work and I started messing up more. I got in trouble for messing up a job at work and was given strike one on my record. She lost respect for me as a provider but I tried to stay strong showing her that I would continue to do my best.

I remember when we had an appointment in Tacoma and we had a brunch date together afterwards. She looked so beautiful that day, I took her picture and was so proud to enjoy  huevos rancheros and momosas with her. I remember going to the Tacoma Art Museum seeing the Georgia O’Keefe exhibit, we have a great time together doing new things and feeding each other's interests. I loved laughing with her too, sometimes we just bust up like nobody's around. I loved the sound of her laughter. I loved watching Portlandia with her, it is so funny to remember the funny place where we became close and be able to relate together.

2015

I kept working hard and being involved with family and appointments for my boys and her. I still maintained my volunteer work and part time side jobs. I got strike two with the Navy for messing up again... I had just gained orders to leave the sub for local shore duty. I could not get out of the extended repair situation soon enough. She was very disappointed in me and not so understanding. I worked through this situation with our counselor as did she. He always told her I am a good man and that I do a lot for her and the boys. It's true, I care more than anything about them, I made mistakes and I feel bad especially when I cause my family stress. I left for shore duty in April. It was a hard time adjusting to the new routine but eventually we seemed to make it work. That summer we took a trip to visit Texas where her parents had just moved from Florida. We spent a great night together for our 10th anniversary in a hotel in Texas and went dancing. We had a lot more time together as my work schedule was less. The more people we had in our home working with our kids on issues the less useful my input seemed. I was not included as much in making family decisions because they all seemed to happen while I was at work, despite my objections. We tried to get our budget under control but she still had anxiety discussing spending. She continued to struggle with depression and was put on medication because she had still been harming herself. She was put on Prozac daily and anti anxiety medication as needed. He family members were not very supportive of medication which upset her but I always tried to be supportive in seeking help and continued care for both of us.

2016

We had a busy routine of kids in school now and home school and preschool and appointments for all of us. She wanted to go to church less and less. I started drinking a couple beers at night almost every day. I tried to mask my stress from her mood swings. She decided not to go to church at all anymore and focused teaching the boys about Jewish traditions exclusively which was hard for me to adjust to and confusing for the boys. I loved her and wanted to be supportive. As usual I was submissive and removed myself from the Christian church and some friendships. I feel like we lost our community at that point. We searched for a good place to have a new community with Jewish people but it was like starting over. I felt like I converted to Christianity for her when we got together and now I had to convert again, either way I would have done it for her because I loved her that much. The kids were confused by this change. After trying and failing at many synagogues we finally found one that seemed right for us.

2017

We finally had some money in savings because I kept it a secret and ended up planning a trip to visit her parents in Texas but it fell through due to lack of military flights. Instead we spent three nights away in a nice hotel resort as a family in February. We had three days of pure family time. Playing Battleship and other games in our room as a family, watching movies and eating at all the different restaurants and getting room service. Going swimming everyday in the foggy pool. I love our family and how we can have a great time together doing nothing but at the same time so much. That was so peaceful and relaxing. I wanted to keep doing things like that together as a family before our boys got too old. Shortly after this vacation she wanted to go back to school, then we bought a third vehicle so she could. Shortly after this she changed her mind about school and wanted to buy another house instead. I went along with it to please her and we practically killed ourselves trying to get the move accomplished with not much help or money. We had a good year over all. We got away for a romantic anniversary together in the summer. Just before the boys were going to start public school in the fall, her parents moved back to the area. She had anxiety with this and cut off contact with her parents and brothers for a while. Her Dad called me very upset and I tried to keep the peace until they reconciled. I was doing better with work and made up for lost progress as well as making arrangements to change jobs in the Navy to something more fitting. Since the boys started public school, I planned on leaving for Navy training in my new position after the beginning of the new year when they would be at a more settled place in their routine.

I remember when we went to the Olympic Club for our anniversary and we stayed there for a night away. We drove the long way through the countryside talking about new music that she wanted to share with me and she made notes of it on my phone notepad. We brought our own cooler and picnic that included Session Lagers and chocolate. We checked in to our room and made noisy bohemian love on the edge of the creaky bed in our small European room inches from the door. Then we went to the theater downstairs and watched the late showing of a really interesting Sci-fi movie "Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets". We took showers and slept sweetly together. We made love again in the morning before we had a delicious brunch outside on the patio. We took the long way home and drove around on new roads and found our way out of cell phone reception. We figured out the road less traveled to get back to our home. We loved being alone and away together, just one night can make such a difference and mean so much.

I remember going to the Forest Theater to see Tarzan with our boys. That was such a great time. I would love to get our boys into theater and go see them someday. I wanted to keep our dreams and goals together alive and not lose opportunity and fall short by losing our partnership.

I loved going camping in Seabeck. Loading the truck with all our gear and getting away. Archer got sick from the cowboy caviar and I had to clean him and the tent up in the night. I was glad we had each other to be a team in our marriage in that situation as with all the other times. These sorts of things are what escape a person's mind when they are determined to get a divorce.

2018

We had a lot less money than the year before, again buying a house took its toll on finances as did the boys school and after school activities. I stayed very involved taking the boys to appointments and sporting practices. We stopped going to synagogue but tried to practice Judaism at home as much as possible, which I was very supportive of and involved with. She was still depressed and talking about suicide at times. I encouraged her to get help as I always had. Eventually she was diagnosed as Bipolar 2 and manic depressive by a new provider. She started taking new medicine for this and was worried I would want to leave her. I assured her I would never leave her and that I always wanted to work on things with her and help her. I left for training in Mississippi February 8th. It was going to be hard but I thought it might be good to have some time apart from each other to miss one another and reflect on things as well as prepare for times when I would be away at sea. I got in trouble in Mississippi for giving junior personnel a ride and being negligent of people who might be underage and possibly drinking, this became strike three. I never thought this could happen. I became recommend for separation from the Navy shortly after and was stuck in Mississippi for six months instead of six weeks. She was supportive through most of it but seemed to fall into hopelessness. Money was spent by her that we didn't have without discussion. She quietly leased appliances and tires and purchased a vehicle as well as having a secret bank account and email address. I discovered through our insurance company that she wanted to leave our policy for divorce. I didn't know this and she had even told the boys she wanted a divorce before I even knew. I was caught off guard and confused. I kept trying to communicate and reason with her but she didn't want to talk. I refused to give up and wrote emails and a letter but it only seemed to push her away further. By the time I left Mississippi she had filed for divorce and a restraining order against me saying I was unstable and a threat. I couldn't return to my home. My whole life fell apart in just a couple months. I found out she had been talking to other men in the Navy and keeping more secrets. I assumed this was her way of taking control during a difficult situation. I really needed her support during this hard time of transition out of the military. I became homeless, jobless and without my family in a month. I prayed to God that given time things might change between us but it was of no use. Bipolar had consumed whatever was left of my bride and there was no turning back.

I felt that our love was not one to be cast away. Other people might not understand or agree but what we had was truly special. We may have surely needed some time and space to get counseling as well as reconfigure and repair our marriage but I didn't feel like our relationship was irretrievably broken. She was so important to me and I thought she was the love of my life and would always have my heart. I wanted to be her partner in love and life, watching our boys grow up and being there to support each other. Being that she is Bipolar I knew she will need a lot of help and I was more than willing to assist her in making sure she was taking care of herself and not throwing herself into harm's way, ensuring she sticks with a plan we agree to for consistency. I cared about her deeply and had much compassion for her. I didn't believe she was thinking this through or thinking about the future. I really wanted to look at the long and short game with her, neither seemed appealing to me if we progressed but here we are. Things are not going to be easier. She will still have to face her problems and deal with me on a regular basis for the rest of our lives no matter what happens. She can believe her lawyer when they promise she'll get the moon and stars out of this in the end but they only see half of the story. Above all they want our money. It would have been good for her to face me in person and tell me she wanted to divorce and we could have started talking about it with a counselor to figure out how that could even work. Instead she chose to avoid as much responsibility for her actions as possible by doing everything in my absence as if I am not a real person. I had to find out about it from our insurance company and was last to know.

Immediately after I hear the word divorce I looked into her cell usage history and find she has a new military boyfriend that she talks to 20-30 times a day. She felt she owed me no explanation for this and it was none of my business. A mature person would have let me know about this months before and I would have seen it coming but there was no sign until it was seemingly too late. She strayed down a dark path and never turned back.

Her proposed parenting plan was cruel and had no thought put into it. Two hours a week with supervision, no holidays but father's day? She said she’s not trying to keep me from the kids but this is the exact opposite of what she’s saying with the paperwork she filed. She seems very mixed up and still you continues to make rash and sudden choices. Like a completely bogus restraining order against me that contradicts so many facts she has stated herself on record during my Navy retention process. She was so bold as to want to change her identity and even put it in ink on the divorce paperwork as well to a whole new name. That is not the actions of a stable person. She has since changed her mind again on that just as quickly as everything else in her recent life choices. I can't trust that any decisions she is making right now are for the right reasons or that she is of sound mind. I have never seen her so conflicted and confused, grasping at straws and running scared from herself.

Using the legal system so carelessly and going back and forth makes me feel like she is not ready to be making big choices and changes for her and our family. It is very unfair that she can’t consider my feelings on things and what I wish for the boys as well. Very reckless behavior. She can’t anticipate that the day would come where she has to face me and talk to me like an adult. She wants to hide behind the legal system which only leaves much to be unresolved. Ghosting me is not really an option in a marriage of 13 years with children.

Having relationship conversations is too difficult for her at this time and she would rather avoid it and skip to divorce because she thinks that will somehow be easier. I suspect she knows she is making poor choices, possibly out of fear and lust for something new and less painful than the reality of things right now. Our marriage was nowhere close to divorce when I left. She was sad to see me leave and woke with me at 3:30 am to say goodbye, making me coffee and cookies for me to take with.

Our community and accountability seems to be gone due to the continued trend of isolation that she is drawn to. The God fearing loving committed wife I thought I had is gone or trapped inside a terrified shell of herself. She cut me off from her family members and I can't discuss my concerns about her with them either. She only seems to have community with those who are not going to discourage her from these destructive choices.

I understand we have had issues and struggles but we are no worse off than other couples during challenging times. I think that because we loved each other so much it just hurt more when things got hard. I can't accept or believe this is justified or the right choice based on the positive trend we were on before I left. This was the longest break we have ever had from each other and I think she just needed someone to be there more for her, no matter who it was. Time can heal all wounds and I hope that is true for our relationship as co-parents.

She still refuses to tell me about why she wanted a divorce or talk about anything beyond caring for the kids. I have fought the restraining and I can see my boys again but I am still not allowed to my home without her permission.

I have risen from the ashes in just a couple months. I rent a room from a nice couple from our old church and obtained a good paying job while I continue paying the household bills.

This is a really hard time, this difficult spell could have been a tool to better our relationship. I wanted to experience more beautiful memories with her. We had so many more beautiful memories and dreams left to create. This is what marriage looks like to me now as I lower the casket.
This is a timeline of the major events during my 13 year marriage. Amidst the reality, I injected all the lovely memories that refuse to leave my mind.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.wow, i never thought it would ever be possible,
i'm sorry, i have no empathy for these youtuber "creators",
any idiot can regurgitate the news,
venture into vulture journalism,
  then again: gone are the days of closely associated
with people like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein...
they are really gone: what the hell was gamer-gate
compared to watergate? gate after gate,
and all i'm hearing is response videos,
it should have never come to this,
whereby journalists are as untrustworthy as politicians,
and of what remains, come the saturday and
the sunday editions, when the petty bourgeoisie
come out of the woodworks of a week,
album reviews, book reviews, t.v. reviews,
restaurant reviews: real, real journalism,
all the grit you'd expect from a warzone...
           journalists forgot they were not kindred spirits
of politicians: but immediacy historians...
the front-line history chroniclers...
i find... these days, esp. these days...
    you know why i like heidegger so much,
and forget the fact that he joined the **** party?
in 1938 he was already disillusioned by it...
so the ad homine fallacy bites the dust...
   even a **** deservers a redemption...
but i find that these days, of all days...
   man, as a historiological creature has to bow
before the unshakeable facets of the biological man,
esp. in the english speaking world...
    in terms of history and biology:
     history has all the fun stories,
and a sensible "concern" for time,
   well... if not "concern" then at least a bearbable
time-frame...
                  after all, i am the one who said:
all the great deserts of the world,
akin to sahara? they were once great
mountain ranges... you already know where
to look between a mountain range akin to the alps
and a desert... bound to h'america...
   monument valley: utah...
  a mountain becomes a rock after a while...
while the desert expands...
    ayers rock (uluru)... but monument valley (utah)
is a transition period between a mountain range
and a desert, if we're going to stand outside
of all space and time, and look back in...
we have plenty of time to catch-up on...
           just like i believe that black holes
are actually 2-dimensional objects:
   that spin really fast, giving an impression
of them being 3-dimensional objects:
as usually represented by a gravity dip associated
with them pulling matter into themselves...
i think that black holes are paradoxes...
since how can a 2-dimensional object
actually exist in a 3-dimensional space?
   that depends on the size of the "3-dimensional"
object / space... the universe is a medium,
it's defined as a "space" but to me...
      it's beyond space... it's only space on the grounds
of isolated time, 365 days,
the time and space it takes for the earth
to orbit the sun... which is an isolated example,
outside? well: there's atmosphere on earth,
outside? vacuum!
who's going to prove my theory wrong?
               not anyone in my lifetime -
besides the point with these youtube content
"creators": where credit is due, credit is due,
but once might have cared for their vulture
journalism... two old farts akin to felix (black pigeon
speaks) and sargon of akaad talking about how:
the youth are congregating to youtube to listen
to music: that's what i've always done...
  i discovered these youtube "creators" by accident,
i just wanted my jukebox back, man,
i wanted my algorithm back, my imprint back,
now that the devil's dozen scenario took hold
of the platform: 1 video playing, 12 back-ups...
and they're all the same, unrelated, *******...
        talk all you want, please, just give back
my algorithm imprint, where i can discover new music...
again... i never thought i'd see another
compilation video, 173 videos bound to one...
and, mind you... after finding about 6 googlewhacks
(googlewhack? when you use the sort of
language that provides you with only one search
result on the behemoth platform of billions
of results, 1 is grand, but 6? it's becoming too
predictable)...
                        so here's what i found
   (band - song):

wooly mammoth - mammoth bones / kyuss - space cadet,
rainbows are free - last supper / grand magus -
                                                mountain of power,
zed - lies / om - cremation chant I & II,
    smoke - hallucination / weird owl - white hidden fire,
orchid - son of misery / witch - seer,
               unida - you wish / black mountain - old fangs,
b.r.m.c. - ain't no easy way /
              jack daniels overdrive - ****** to death,
shrinebuilder - blind for all to see,
                   datura - mantra / the heavy eyes - voytek,
the machine - infinity / clutch - the regulator,
   colour haze - mountain / maligno - son of tlalocan,
dozer - twilight sleep / gomer pyle - albino rattlesnake,
blockback - dead mans blues / greenleaf - witchcraft tonight,
cactus jumper - right way / borracho - bloodsucker,
alabama thunderpussy - motor ready,
                    earthless - sonic power,
my brother the wind - death and beyond,
   zaphire oktalogue - carrion fly / siena root - reverberations,
unida - slaylina / pothead - toxic / sungrazer - mountain dusk,
   rotor - costa verde / blizaro - it's in the lighthouse,
planet of zeus - woke up dead,
     kongh - pushed beyond / ufomammut - smoke,
high on fire - to cross the bridge,
              the secret - bell of urgency,
      unida - wet pussycat / dozer - big sky theory,
cavity - chloride / brutus - swamp city blues,
the grand astoria - something wicked this way comes,
sasquatch - the judge / pharaoh overlord - skyline,
baby woodrose - love comes down / kamni - **** of satan,
lay with me - the flying eyes / cowboys & aliens  -
                                                out of control,
sons of otis - liquid jam / hainloose - recipe,
    ridge - rancho relaxo / bongripper - ****** sutherland,
skraeckoedland - cactus / grails - satori,
    lo-pan - chicken itza / five horse johnson - people's jam,
blind dog - don't ask me where i stand,
     wiht - orderic vitalis / hisko detria - nothing happens,
liquid sound company - leage for spiritual discovery lives,
   goatsnake - black cat bone / gandhi's gunn - rest of the sun,
the egocentrics - wave / propane propane - it's alright,
heliotropes - ribbons / mother mars - price you pay,
che - the knife / annimal machine - condenado,
   earth - tallahassee / the whirlings - delirio,
orchid - heretic / maeth - horse funeral,
siena root - rasayana / graveyard - longing,
           tia carrera - hell / hainloose - recipe,
      burner - five pills (and a bottle of whiskey),
dala sun - guilty for ****** / vulgaari - lie,
        slo burn - muezli / stonehelm - zombie apocalypse,
smallman - evolution / spiders - fraction,
         shakhtyor - e. jaspers / earthmass - lunar dawn,
evoke the lords - dregs / colour haze - silent,
     sutrah - el septimo viaje...

  

who are "these" people,
who: "supposedly" live for the future...
they always cite it,
as the one motivational
momentum of the present -
it's as if they've never seen
a bull itch the ground
with its front hoofs -
   imitating building up momentum
before a charge...
or how a slingshot,
or how a bow works...
   to these people,
the ******* sideways movement
of a bow against a violin...
sometimes...
      you do not retreat into
the past, to hide, to amount
to nostalgia...
     sometimes
the only reason for the reflexive
affirmation, confined to maxims
and aphorism, nay: even poems!
is to look back...
     to reap what was once
sowed, rather than sow blindly,
and reap: what no one wants
to reap...
    drunk? getting there...
       it felt so relaxing paying off
a 100 / 250 part of a debt
i owe her...
            while buying a russian
standard liter,
   asking for a 100 cash-back
of the supermarket cashier,
- the limit is 50,
   but if you buy something else,
i can give you another 50...
- oh... ok...
   so me went to and took a bottle
of shveedish cider...
   rekorderlig...
   mind you? the swedish,
what they perfected fermenting
better than what the the irish claim
to fame is?
    sorry... magners:
               irish? stick to the guinness...
(it's actually the only cerveza
i'd go into an english pub to
drink from the tap... bottled? canned?
not the same)...
     but with such swedish delights
such as the above mentioned,
  ålska and K  ö   nigsberg
                            *œ
?
no competition... the suede(s) just
do one thing grand...
    cider...
- what was i talking about?
  ah... the "dreaded" past...
     the people who say:
  but you can't live out a life,
   holding onto a private past,
a memory...
    so... these other ******* were
allowed to implant a false
past, unrelated to me,
teaching me whether it was
Newton, or Leibniz who first
invented the infinitesimal calculus
method?
                i'm betting on Leibniz...
after all... he took the position
of a ******* librarian...
   and he wasn't buried with pomp
& circumstance at Westminster Abbey...
sometimes...
         one person can't have it all...
but if the education system
is a system that is indicative for
the erosion of memory, esp. private
matters... and juggernauts in
with these selective rubrics of science
and history...
fair enough the basic
implants: numerical arithmetic,
and lettering arithmetic -
    and then... lessons in mental
entertainment... when applied
           to menial labour...
memory is: supreme...
          i can't give my memory up...
that's what: killer proteins
eating the fat tissue of the brain
like starvation in reverse
        of a case of Alzheimer's?
memory is: cameo cinema -
    however distorted it might be,
although i beg to differ on
whether time per se,
  is not the better psychedelic
component
when coupled with memory -
esp. the cinematic aspect of memory...
there was never a "living" in
the past -
      there was a point about memory
to sharpen the edges of
    "dasein"... all speculation and
questions regarding consciousness,
as championed through
a chimpanzee's *** are somehow
pointless:
    given there's a higher tier of
conceptualization -
   working from dasein...
            hierjetzt -
      or in english?             presence...
- because why would i treat
a personal memory,
like some inorganic entity of
a schooling system,
under Catholic measures,
  that made it necessary to include
Pythagoras... but not Horace?
that's inorganic memory...
and unless i turn into some
inorganic entity -
   the organic aspect of my psyche:
my past, my cameo cinema?
   that's going to be a leech,
attached to me...
  and i'm not going to give it up,
just like... when i walk about
my door, and enter the england
that i know on the peripheries...
i'll speak the lingua franca -
     but with my privacy?
    you'd better cut my tongue off
before i stop speaking
my western slavic heritage...
    and it pains me...
when certain groups of immigrants...
don't know the POINT
where immigration becomes
insensible... self-lacerating...
           i once hated their approach...
now i just pity them...
anyone ****** can juggle
     two oranges rather than three...
p.s. old school cure for a cold?
forget the pills...
   glass of warm milk,
  an egg yolk,
     and a good scratch of butter...
  (on the rare occasion,
  milk infused with garlic)

mixed together...
before bedtime...
  if the ****** won't sweat out
the bacteria during the night...
     well... stick to the synthetics...
i'm pretty sure i know why i drink...
certainly not to: PARTY PARTY PARTY...
i always aim for
the one safety net of "pharmacology"...
ssssssssleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

p.s. so much for children loving their
parents...
        in vitro and the whole
m.g.m. debacle:
so, sweet little *******,
       no *******, no chance for your
for a quickie satellite launch date from
Tehran, under all the weight of
monotheism turned secular...
christianity: the only "monotheism"
with overt tinged of polytheism,
lutheran, baptist, catholic, orthodox...
just today i opened my door twice...
once to a confused curry house delivery man:
did you order some food:
i too replied with a confused look
and the word: huh?! no.
then a black woman with a a white ol' granny
came by with a leaflet...
the jehovah's witnesses were on my trail...
lucky of my grandfather,
   the profanity brigade of the hebrew name
i will not dare utter came by...

  and if you have lived a good enough life:
memory? memory beats hollywood
technicolour and CGI...
at least in the cinema of memory i always
get to play the cameo (role)...

oh i get the youtube creators:
   living with his parents... still. aged 33...
funny that i don't mind them,
since they're getting older they're settling
into their solispsism,
        annoying as ****, but i stand them,
thank god the protruding caduceus veins
on my phallus protected me from
a circumcision...
  i can ******* like a girl with a web-cam...
no scented candles:
the no. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones...
the toilet, simultaneously masaging my ****
and prostate...

men were not exactly supposed to derive
pleasure from ***: they were,
supposed to give pleasure,
and in giving pleasure to one outlet,
they were subscribed to finding out what
best pleases them: ergo?
women would always derive more of
the people from *** than men would ever...
*** is not a story of bragging about
a harem... the woman lies flat...
the man pumps her...
after all... she is the one burdened
to carry a child, why wouldn't she be
the one deriving more pleasure from *** than
a man could ever?
72 virgins! ha ha!
   ah ha ha!
             what's the ratio?
   last time i checked... a 3 hole caravan...
of a woman's worth...
   mouth, ******, ****... and man?
only two points of entry, well...
"entry"...
                    seems that the tomatoe,
really is a fruit, but is treated like a vegetable
nontheless!
homosexuality in the 1960s...
william burroughs in Tangiers...
                    when Islam was quiet radical...

well... i cook, i clean...
                what are my other options of continuing
to write and living the ed gein "lifestyle",
i tried getting social housing in england,
but, i'm not a somali with two wives and a dozen
kids...
              rent, in london?
extortion...
                   housing shortage...
                 well there's me hating my parents,
the outside world just needs to see
an ed gein imitation...
               or there's me living off acorns
in the woods, or rummaging on the streets,
making the N25 bus from oxford st. to ilford
my own personal mobile hotel as a homeless
man in london...

   i think it's time to succumb to your
parents prejudices, if only for the jokes,
no point in making ethical high judgements
to fit into a zeitgeist narrative surrounding
yourself with people: you'd never eat a meal with...
that's how i define the highest form of respect:
if i'll eat with you: implies that i respect you...
i drink alone...
a high school fwend once thought he could
bribe me with his company,
that i "had to" drink with him...
      no... not really...
          i much prefer drinking by myself...
these days you're not expected to honour your
mother and your father,
i.e. make them proud...
               honour is a double-edged sword...
just don't be ashamed of having
a mother or a father...
not that hard: given western divorce rates...
i.v.f., frozen eggs... yadda yadda yadda...
lucky me in having went to university...
oh... really? so much cooler in a cosmopolitan
environment with your contemporary
flat-mates?
               get the picture?
                 paying rent while literally living
in a diguised cardboard box?
i can't help the fact that poetry doesn't pay...
that there are economic factors beyond
my control in play...
   maybe if i was the grandson of my parents,
born in england, and not elsewhere,
there would be some sort of + leverage...
for a bricks and mortar start-up...
plus... i hoard...
         books and music...
                     mind you:
neither of my parents spoke english as their
mother tongue...
  neither did i...
they didn't teach me this tongue:
i had to teach this language by myself:
for myself...
           aged 8: thrown into the deep end
of the pool: now swim ******, swim!

i just feel sorry for the immigrant parents
who gave birth to their children into the *****
of the land they immigrated to...

two days ago i found a heartbreak,
a romanian couple, with a child...
the father was stubborn in teach his daughter
his / her native sprechen...
romanian... but she was already speaking
perfect antithesis of accent kindergarten english...
and almost non-responsive to her tongue
alligned to her biology...
    clearly she was born in england,
but her parents were both romanian...
i've had that conundrum in my head
for a long time...
   what if i married an english girl...
and i was unable to teach my offspring
my native language,
what if i had to silence my native tongue,
"forget" it, or only speak it by myself,
via reading a book in western slavic?
what if the woman i married:
wouldn't see the benefits of bilingualism,
outside of the mainstream economic
mantra of ensuring your children
learn either german or mandarin or arabic?
that worried me...
          oh believe me, i enjoy my lapses
into english: since i am providing the groundwork...
but in the case of having offspring...
e.g. teaching them the western slavic tongue
so they could speak to their grandparents
(i.e. my parents)...
       even my grandparents lament
the scenarios when a woman would marry
an austrian... and she wouldn't teach
her children her native tongue,
and when the grandchildren would visit their
grandparents... they'd be speaking
a crude variation of braille, morse,
   sign-language: na migi...
               i know that my mother is alive
in me even under this veil of english...
because she's more than the womb,
the genitals of my conception, the breast fed off...
she's also the Atlas of my vocabulary
of the "hiding" tongue beneath this one...

i already knew the "game" was rigged from
the get-go... i've seen how one hindu woman
suffered being married to a scouser...
she never managed to pass on her language
to her children,
she bought a library, thinking her children
would succumb to learning: however poor
they might end up being...
but she was suffocated by the english
tongue of her husband...
and her children didn't express even the most
vague of desires to learn their mutterzunge...

that's what worried me to begin with,
marrying an english woman i was afraid
of the ignorance that someone bilingualism
was en route toward a psychiatrist disorder
i was diagnosed with: schizophrenia...
this anglophonic ignorance still scares me...
like: everyone is expected to speak the revisionist
globalist lingua franca: this anglo lingua...
if i didn't meet a bilingual / polyglot woman,
i'd return to rearing idiotic children...
anglo lingua was only supposed to be a middle-ground,
a "no man's land"...
             a language of trivial economic transfers...
a language primarily orientated around usage:
rather than an ethno-centric basis for "englishness"...
to **** with: god save the queen...
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
                 old scot dragoons': auld lang syne...
those where my forever anthems...
see...
        what gave birth to a jihadi john?
his mother "forgot", his father "forgot":
his "mother" forgot, his "father" forgot to speak
the "ancient" tongue...
there's a point to integration of the immigrant,
an immigrant is a forgetful creature,
an ever pleasing creature...
never to mind himself as an ex-pat...
you ****** forget your mutterzunge...
you'll be speaking in cockney accents
with broken affairs of arabic beheading people
for zombified reasons of grandeour!
*******...
          you, you: you are to blame!
you were so ashamed of your parents that you
delved on honoring them to the point
of thinking giving pride unto them was very
much akin as keeping shame away from
their girdle of the wedlock of your own existence!
death has not made your a martyr...
i guess you deserve those 72 mishaps,
those 72 annoying voices...
and i pray to god that you receive your reward!
i hope that among the 72 you will never find
a chance a repose to find your: self!

integration is one thing,
pandering to the "elites": plebs who think they
are kings among the plebs,
is quiet another...
plebs who go places and think english
is a universal tongue: just because
uncle sam says so...
of those i respect:

y cymraeg: pwy dal eu tafod...
an gàidhlig: cò fhathast bruidhinn an cuid teanga...
i nawet moim: co ma mówić
to nawet tyle: co znaczy tak niewiele!

there are boundaries... learn the customs
of the natives, but ensure you retain the customs
you were born with...
a child, born in a foreign land,
ought to ensure his parents teach him
the words to speak to his grand overseers...
complete immersion,
this cultural abortion,
this cutting of the umbilical chord
from: i have never met a people so
content at having been subjugated outside
the indian sub-continent,
cricket... for ****'s sake...
       as to demand other europeans
to treat them as superiors,
when sitting alongside an englishman...
****-bud-bud, the **** are you on about?!
once again: england has become the circus
for the grounding of what began
with engels and marx...
   wasn't communism born from
engels and marx observing english society?
sure... first experimented en masse in
mongolia... but its origins?

   so of course i had problems finding a suitable
mating partner... i was afraid that my nativ-zunge
would die a slow but solemn death...
that an english bridge would not consider
the worth of a bilingual child, or a polyglot,
or that she would repress the chance of my
"biological continuum nuance" to respond outside
of the anglo lingua refrain of: beside the english language?
there are quiet a few one might want to learn...

it's not easy being a first generation immigrant,
esp. if you moved aged 8, mute as a wolf
to a domesticated dog's barking...
but hey, no jihadi john in me...
           jihadi john should have been raised
bilingual... i wouldn't be the one speaking broken
tourist arabic while beheading someone...
jihadi john spoke tourist arabic...
the dichotomy of the mind to the biological
reality, beside the current, western,
"biological relativism" debate...
      clearly darwinism was "wrong"...
man is, these days, left with neither a biological
reality, nor a historical reality...
              but there is a historical reality:
but it's so knit-&-picky...
come on... philip augustus of the capetian
dynasty?
                 casimir III...
                        jeremi wiśniowiecki...
konrad I of masovia...
                           kuno von lichtenstein...
alles ist gott: und gott ist alles -
  gott mit, uns!

              mit eine leben wert leben:
    erinnerung ist die nur kino
             wert sehen eine film beim;

hell... could be worse:
   i might have translated some latin
of horace into pig-trough comfort food.
Francis Duggan Aug 2010
His Grandparents were Romany people from his maternal side
In Countries of Eastern Europe they travelled far and wide
But the most basic human right their right to life of them even denied
In Belzec Concentration camp where a million people died.

I never knew my maternal Grandparents with sadness he recall
Due to circumstance of birth and their way of life misfortune them did befall
My gift of music such a marvellous gift to them I feel I owe
In Belzec Concentration Camp they were murdered decades ago.

A tall and handsome man in his early thirties with wavy raven hair
With the marvellous gift of music a great accordion player
In silence we sat and drank our beer as we listened to him play
The beautiful old gipsy tunes from Countries far away.

That all things do come to an end in some cases a lie
In Belzec Concentration camp the gipsy music did not die
But that the gift of music does live on should not come as a surprise
Something that those who commit crimes against humanity seem to fail to realize.

He played at the pub on passing through him I never more may see
But the beauty of his music will live in my memory
His maternal Grandparents who died at Belzec their lives were not in vain
Their music in their Grandchild has come to life again.
Shannon Perry Dec 2015
You are the water to my seed,
you push me to grow, blossom and succeed.
You are the hope whispering in my ear
when my despair is growing near.

You are a superhero in disguise and inspire me
to become a strong independent woman and be the best I can be,
I hope that when I'm older I'm even half as remarkable as you are -
you are the most supportive, caring, beautiful person I know by far.

You are so special to me and every day we spend together is so sublime,
and no amount of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months or years with you will be enough time.
And out of all the grandparents in this universe so divine,
I'm so glad that you got to be mine.
Every day is Grandparents' Day
when you sit outside and watch them run
play, kick ball, laugh and cheer
it makes it all worthwhile
their loving smiles
their joyous laughter
hoola hoops
somersaults that soon
become full handstands
and cartwheels

Have you ever watched the ball game
if not, you need to go out back
and root for your favorite team
or even kick a ball or two with them
oh, but it's worth every minute
the joys, the smiles...
they're not always the children's
but it's definitely Grandparents' Day
Paula Swanson Jun 2010
They ask, "What's the sweetest thing that's happened to you"?
I would have to reply, "It started when I was two".
That is when I, Mother, sister and brother,
went to live with our Grandpa and Grandmother.

They both sacrificed, from that day forward,
working long, hard hours, always undeterred.
To give us a home and happy memories.
It couldn't have been better, for Mom and us three.

Mom worked evenings at the Sears and RoeBuck store.
Grandpa at the publishers, working on the printing floor.
Grandma changed jobs to the school cafeterias,
so when we were home from school, she could be near us.

Grandpa was our dad, in our hearts and minds.
Growing up with two Moms was a terrific time.
Yes, living with our Grandparents was a special world.
I grew up to be a very thankful girl.

What's the sweetest thing that has ever happened?
It started when I was two, and has never slackened.
Winter Vacation was coming
The kids were all set
They were thinking of Christmas
And the gifts they would get

But, Millie sat waiting
Thinking of nothing but snow
Watching the class clock
That was moving so slow


They did arts and crafts
Made cute cards for their folks
Sang old Christmas songs
And told old Christmas jokes

But Millie, our Millie
Was miles away
Thinking of Michigan snow
In which she'd soon play

She packed up her things
Then the bell filled the air
She waved to the teacher
And burst out of her chair

Faster than reindeer
She was gone from the school
Off to get packed
For a vacation so cool

She ran all the way home
She had sweat on her face
Left her books at the door
And grabbed her pink case

Millie was ready
With one thing on her mind
She was off to see snow
And leave the sunshine behind

She'd packed and unpacked
Twice every night
Now she was sure
That her bag was packed right

Winter vacation
In the north in the snow
She'd be there in hours
Just one night to go

She tossed and she tumbled
But she woke right at five
She showered and dressed
She felt so alive

They loaded the car
And they left in a rush
Millie was set
And gave her hair a quick brush

They got to the airport
At nine twenty two
They checked her small bag
Which was nearly brand new

They went to the gate
They met a woman in tan
He said "Hello, there Millie"
"I'm your steward...names Anne"

"Before we go on"
"There's someone else you should meet"
"He's a pilot, our Captain"
"And his name is Pete"

She kissed Mom goodbye
And she kissed her dad too
Anne took her aboard
To sit in seat number two

Millie was nervous
But, excited as well
She told Anne her feelings
Anne said "I won't tell"

The plane taxied out
Left the ground with a roar
Millie's tummy, it rumbled
Like it had never before

Anne came and sat
In the seat by her side
She said "Look over there"
"Those are clouds right outside"

Millie and Anne
Talked all the way there
Of the Christmas to come
They made quite a pair

The Captain announced
They were all set to land
When the plane hit the ground
Millie grabbed Anne's right hand

The big door then opened
They got off of the plane
At the end of the ramp
She saw her cousin, named Jane

Her Grandparents met her
Thanked Anne, said good bye
Anne said "Have a Good Christmas"
Millie said "I'll certainly try"

Jane and her brother
Had come for Christmas as well
With her Grandparents and cousins
Christmas was sure to be swell

They went to pick up her luggage
And then go out to the truck
Her bag came out first
It was her Christmas luck

The first thing she saw
As she held Grandpa's hand
Was no snow on the ground
This was not what she'd planned

Her parents had told her
About the Michigan snow
About snowmen, and snowballs
And the wind, how it'd blow

She kept quiet, said nothing
There was no snow to be seen
As she looked out the window
The grass was still green

Maybe, just maybe
I'm early she thought
It'll snow here tomorrow
Today is too hot

She played with her cousins
Called her folks about four
Rode bikes that her Grandpa
Bought them all at the store

Nothing was different
It was just like at home
No snow blowing white
Nothing fluffy like foam

She went to bed early
It had been a long day
She kissed her grandparents goodnight
And then hit the hay

She dreamed of the winters
Of the snow on the ground
She dreamed about snowmen
And climbing up a snow mound

The next morning she woke
Ran and opened the drape
Wrapped it round her neck
And looked outside, with her cape

Green as could be
For as far as she looked
There was no snow here
Millie felt she'd been rooked

She sat quiet at breakfast
Made barely a sound
Then she asked Grandma
"Why's there no snow on the ground?

"My big Christmas wish"
"Was to snow, snow...for real"
"It's just like at home"
"Grandma, what's the big deal?"

"We've had some strange weather"
"It's been warm every day"
"They just do not know"
"How long it will stay"

"I'm sorry dear Milie"
"This is just how it's been"
"I'm afraid that this Christmas"
"Is one that is green"

Millie, sat silent
Went outside then to play
There was no snow coming
There'd be no snow today

Depressed as she was
She had fun, best she could
Riding bikes around town
It was fun, but not good

With one day till Christmas
She called up her Dad
In the call she then told him
Of how she felt sad

She loved both her cousins
And her grandparents too
But, she just couldn't go
And do what she wanted to do

She'd come up to the north
To have some fun with the snow
She wanted to leave
But, she'd not let them know

They had dinner at six
Millie went up to bed
She was asleep in a moment
Christmas dreams in her head

At seven oh three
She woke up, looked outside
And she stood at the window
With her eyes open wide

The front lawn was covered
There was snow all around
She woke up her cousins
Down the stairs they did bound

They opened the door
To a yard full of white
Christmas had come
Bringing snow in the night

Out on the road
She says other kids too
All in their pjs
And some with no shoes

They were all throwing snowballs
Making angels as well
this was what she had wanted
Christmas was gonna be swell

During the night
While the kids were asleep
Out to the arena
Grandpa did creep

He'd called in some favours
Got the snow from the rink
Then they brought it out here
"Christmas magic" they'll think

The kids can't have Christmas
With no snow to be seen
It just isn't Christmas
With a yard that is green

Phone calls were made
To some other rinks too
And the ski hill as well
Knew what they must do

A parade of dump tucks
And machines that both blew
Came to help Grandpa Joe
Make Millie's Christmas wish true

It lasted four hours
Then it melted away
But, for Millie, our Millie
It was her best Christmas day

Wishing is magic
And dreams, they are too
So, believe just like Millie
And make your Christmas wish true
Patricia Tsouros Nov 2013
The dogs chasing the late autumn leaves
Fluttering down the lane way
The sound of the train as it passes by
Peaceful afternoon walk
The cottage walls and porches
Flourish of colour
Enwreathed with ivy green
Bellflowers, hollyhocks, hydrangea
Scents of lavender and sage
Evoke
Memories of childhood days
Visiting grandparents cottages
One in the Irish Wicklow mountains
The other in the suburbs of Athens city
The free flowing sound of the river
Smoke billowing from chimneys
The cottages have no pretense or grandeur
Just a sanctuary of comfort in the silence of the lane
Reaching the darkest corner of the soul
Elise Law Aug 2014
Hugs from mothers.
Hugs from fathers.
Hugs from grandparents.
Which hug do you prefer?

Hugs from aunties.
Hugs from uncles.
Hugs from cousins.
Which hug do you prefer?

Hugs from girls.
Hugs from boys.
Hugs from friends.
Which hug do you prefer?

A loving hug from my love is what I prefer.
Who loves hugs? I certainly do!!!
Which one do you prefer?
Christopher Lowe Feb 2015
Small and quaint
But felt like a mansion
For so long I never knew
Just how much they gave away
Comfortable places to sleep
And food filled plates
How little they had
But still the richest in my eyes
Several generations sleeping on floors
Tracking in mud
Now of course
I leave my shoes at the door
The rooms are still filled now
Even in their age
And the food is still delicious
And the rooms still warm
Who knew such a small place
Could hold such a big part of my heart
It has never just been my grandparents home
It has been their bed and breakfast
And there is always a vacant room
My grandparents are the most caring and giving people I know.  I stayed with them this weekend and was reminded of how much love of kindness my family shares because of those two.  They don't have much, but they give everything they have taking care of our big family.
Alexandra C Nov 2016
You can spend time on your iPad
At any time you please
But you can't with your Grandma and Grandad
You know that he and she's
Getting older
And only older they'll get
So if you can
Make sure to visit them

When you are old and gray
And wait
And pray
That someone will come
To take your loneliness away
Remember and realize
That back then this scenario was the same
When you left your Grandparents' house
And they stood there in pain
Just thinking
"When will they come again
To ease our lonely hearts
To make us smile
Even as our bodies slowly fall apart?"
And they wait
And they wait
And they wait
Until it is too late
For you to visit once more...

Please, I beg you
Visit them as much as you can
That last visit
Might be your last time with them
Even if you're shy
Sit there and listen
Even if you're busy
Somehow make some time
Even if they are cranky
Always be kind
Realize nobody is perfect
And that everybody feels
A loneliness that can never be healed
Until a hand reaches out
And holds their hand tight
And keeps them company
Through the night
I lost my grandpa just a couple days ago. I didn't visit him as often as I should, and I regret it deeply—after all, he was very lonely... Please, everyone, visit your grandparents as much as possible... They need that company more than you know.
Michael P Smith Mar 2013
Ode, my grandparents
I wish you all were here
Without your strong guidance
My mind has failed to come clear
It was such a better place
When you all were here with me
I pray you all have glanced down
To see the man I've grown to be
I give you all the praise
You've laid down the foundation
For this plentiful family we have
Scattered across this vast nation
The sacrifice you've made for me
Allows joyful tears to flow
Til this day our family is still close
Entwined in love we endure to grow
With each sweet conjured thought
I think of every great story
My loving parents told me of you
I reminisce of your past glory
You have done everything for me
Just as God has groomed
Without lessons to my parents
My future would've been doomed
Your beautiful faces
Oh! How we resemble
I take in traits from you all
So much so, in glee, I tremble
You mean so much to me
I promise to make you all proud
Despite all of my minor failures
My love for you screams aloud!
I am grateful for your work
From each of you I take heed
A shot at my heart, no broken skin
I bleed for you, and for my seed
Thank you all so very much
From my cuticles to my hair
I love you all dearly
I'll see you when I get there...

©Michael P. Smith
Kayla Kaml May 2013
I have this theory that butterflies taste like bubblegum.

When I was a kid, my tongue was a permanent shade of bright pink.  Shoving as many pieces of BubbleYum into my mouth as I could fit was the epitome of happiness, and when I could fit an entire package at once I knew there was nothing I couldn’t achieve.

And I’m sure that right now if you cut me open my stomach would be a fluorescent pink, because
when I see your face in my mind as I’m sitting in class or
when your name is on my tongue before I fall asleep,
that’s what it tastes like.

Bubblegum.

But please don’t cut me open. My dissection would be too ****** anyway, and far too colorful to detect butterflies…
Because my blood runs red, white, and blue.
When I was younger my mom would always tell me that as I grew older my tastes would change.  Of course, she meant that eventually I would grow to like peas, but even though that still hasn’t happened, she was right.  

Back then red, white and blue tasted like
      hamburgers
               and apple pie
                       and baseball.  

But just recently I cut my finger –
and as I brought it to my lips I tasted
      lingonberries
               and fish and
                        skiing.


Have you ever wondered why blood tastes like metal?  It is the
SWORDS and SHIELDS
that flow through my veins,
passed down from ancestors of millennia past.  And every time I am injured it pours out in protest, those ancient warriors urging me to fight against this strange land and this strange culture.
I was born away from home, as were my parents and grandparents before me. And as I feel the shapes of foreign words in my mouth they taste like meeting an old friend. Because I’ve come to realize that my blood never ran red, white and blue.  



                                                      ­            It runs rødt, hvitt og blått.
Emanuel Martinez Jul 2013
500 years of conquest
500 years of oppression
500 years of struggle
500 years of resistance

500 years of globalization
500 years of plundering
500 years of capitalism

I am a child, of the children, of the masses
Rising from Latin America
Of the and in alliance with...the oppressed of the world
White brothers and sisters haven't you seen your chains, too?
Because us colored children have long forgotten ours

But I'm tired of the chains...searching...where's my liberation gone?


Afro-Caribbean
Afro-Latino
African American
African
Indigenous
Asian
Middle Eastern
My people of color
Why can't we come together

Because we continue to be lied to
We continue to be denied
We continue to be subjugated
To the fact that we are subordinate
To something that is not us

That we are devoid
That we are empty
That we are workers and masters
With no mind or soul

We are the people without license
No legitimate place, in the periphery
Outside the margins
A threat to the safety of societies

Always the other, never part of we within discourses

We are the black slaves
In your blood and heritage Caribbean children
Your negation of us has been your ploy to secure your servitude to white supremacy in exchange for your economic stability.

We are the indigenous
That harvested and nurtured these beautiful Americas
Pests of conquest, you exploited our black brethren because we were not suitable for your exploitation. Instead you massacred us. Ever since confusing us with your mestizaje fodder.

We are the peasants, the servants, the broken families, the broken communities, the displaced peoples, we are the casualties, we are the unmitigated collateral damage:
Of revolutions, of wars, of conquests, of western civilization, of capitalism, of profit, of misanthropy

We are Trayvon  Martin, we are the 25 million families affected by Texas decision on abortion, we are the masses being left out by the recent reversal of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, we are the LGBT binational couples fighting for our rights, we are the undocumented community in solidarity asking TO BRING THEM HOME, we are the Brazilians demanding to be heard over the government's preoccupation with the preparations for the world cup, we are the everyday poor and homeless

From our peripheral places we are the ones that resist because otherwise we will die.

We are the ones that cannot afford to oppress anyone, because we are the most oppressed
Living in a system that pushes even those who are the most oppressed to mimic the system's usage of oppression
When there's no one else to oppress, still being aware of ourselves, we try

My Latin American brethren don't tell me that Haiti's silenced past does not pertain to you
They fought for the universal rights of everyone, doesn't that include you?
And because of that its revolutionary past has been dismantled within history discourses
So that other colored children of the world like you would not dream to resist their own oppression

My Latin American and Caribbean brethren stop negating your blood, culture, history...Don't you see it has been deliberately silenced so that you cannot understand yourself? Because to understand yourself, is to love yourself, is to realize the potential of you, is to resist anything that doesn't allow you to be you

African, and indigenous historical actors laid down their lives so that you could exist
The puddle that formed out of the rivers of indigenous and black blood is all red. Isn't that enough for you to understand that our oppression is tied, that we must defend each other.

Our tool against oppression is not money or guns.
The greatest fortress of the oppressed is our mind.
History is our weapon.

Our histories are powerful
Granting us consciousness
Giving us bravery
Dispelling lies and shattering the silencing of our power.

Let us nurture our colored children to love their histories
That they may understand the common experience of oppression of the masses the world over
That they will be ready and able and accountable
To the continued act of resistance of the oppression of any human being.

We are the ones that cannot afford to rely on ourselves, we are the vulnerable ones, we are the ones with targets on our backs, we are the ones in constant threat, we are the beautiful middle eastern peoples being targeted as terrorists and extremists, we are the poor with undiagnosed PTSD, we are the undocumented parents and adults with lost dreams, we are the inner city kids who have been lost to drugs, crime, and STDS, we are the ones that let others decide our rights

We are ones that must form alliances with each other, we are the ones that find strength in numbers, we are the ones that need allies in positions of privilege, we are the ones that must create the revolution through the power of our minds, not the wars, tool of the oppressors.

We are the hopes and the dreams that have faded from our parents, and grandparents, we are the revolutions that never came for the slaves, the servants, and the peasants of our heritage

We are the most dangerous obstacle to oppression.
Dormant in us is the promise of the liberation I've lost.
July 27, 2013
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
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
.    like cardinal Leto remarked, having received news from Versailles... why is it always the ******* French?

perhaps in a less crude manner,
drinking wine,
while eating raw fruits -

  always a bad combination...
no *****, no meat?
   bad idea... wine, and raw fruit
akin to strawberries?
    irritable bowel movements...

- and that's because Einstein
didn't discover the concept of
gravity, in the format of: sideways?
in the form of orbits?
   expansive waves...
   that allowed for the elliptical interpretation?
like the old
              argument:
      (heliocentric) oval...
             contra the (geocentric) circular
"concern" for...
   whatever is up / down
            sideways in
      the Copernican terminology...
because there was ever a "shape"
concerning the universe,
  and not a medium,
            an extraction for the metaphor
for water,
   gas, liquid, solid...
              and the fourth aspect
of ancient elements:
   its existence in a vacuous "space"?

- but i can't fathom the French at this point...
once upon a time...
one Frenchman equated the motivation
for a "summa summarum"
    to be bound with a thinking,
and a curiosity...

            the current fashion of Latin
abbreviations...
   this... cogito ergo sum?
   it's nonsense...
    speak it long enough...
   and you'll find yourself inclined
to suppose that cogitans per se:
is a motivation, an impetus to exist...
yet... so much of thought it "wasted"
or, rather, to craft an impetus to
"doubt", within the confines of fiction...
but the motivation has lost its
origin within the confines of doubt,
and has been replaced by
the Freudian unconscious,
   a serialized phobia fest... notably
including a, clown...

originally, thought (per se) was
a secondary motivational outlet
that precipitated into being...
    first came... doubt...
   but... these days?
               doubt is a conspiracy theory,
no longer an emotional thrill
to prop-up thinking...
   and we have the French existentialists
to thank for this...
for they subverted their own
idea...

             negation has replaced doubt
as the origin, and motivation
for thinking...
        yet... this sort of "thinking",
has made, its materialization, so, so...
obscene...
    i can hardly find it surprising while
i took to propping two worthwhile
economic outlets...
   prostitution (since they will spend
the money i give them...
on things... i wouldn't even care
for propping up)...

    and... alcohol (scotch whiskey,
russian standard *****...
    shveedish cider...
                     german beer)...

but how can you even claim an existence,
if...
       there is no thrill...
of what is the secular expression of faith:
i.e. doubt?
  how can you replace doubt -
a motivation for thinking, materialized
into being... with negation?
  jean-paul Sartre attempted this inversion -

doubt has been replaced with negation
in his system...
             it's like that cliche of an English
1960s ***-joke / ***-like...
       this... frivolity over a blatant lie...
a lie so... bogus...
    so ineffectual in translating a hidden truth
that... you allow it...
   to care for the cheap comic aspect
of the execution...

but how can the French suddenly
feign to disbelieve their secularism -
   resorting to the antithesis,
namely:

  original

  doubt motivates thinking,
  which subsequently motivates
   being within the confines of reason,
or rather, reasonableness...

20th century existentialists

negation "motifs" thinking,
   which subsequently motifs
"being" within the freedom of non-reason,
or rather, unreasonableness...

   and by negation,
   i don't mean the atomic conceived softening
blow...
   akin to: dis-ease...
    i.e. (as i explained it to one old man
in a park, walking his dog):
  a negation, or ease... a denial of...

how can the Cartesian model work,
when the 20th century French existentialists
began with the presupposition:

   i deny, i think, therefore i exist?
where is the original thrill of
the secular aspect of faith, within the boundaries
of doubt?
              gone... vanished!
****! a **** on the London tube,
during the rush hour,
  during the heatwave
                of the past month!

                   perhaps this only comes
as a method of assimilating an increased population,
within the confines of the Taoist maxim:
the best way to aid the world,
is to forget the world, and let the world
forget about you...

             perhaps... the Andy Warhol 15 minutes
analogy...
      that in order to encompass the individual,
the world, and the individual within it...
   the approach had to change
from the original, exciting, exploration
genesis of thought, bound to the genesis
of doubt...
             having to be replaced by
a genesis of denial...
      the second tier of a secular society...
    the zeitgeist of Herr Censor...
to filter through what we see so often,
faces, bodies...
  but would be much more comfortable
having been bound to Plato's cave,
         of complete shadow theater...

perhaps... but the original tier of
secular societies' alternative to church prescribed
articles of faith...
                     to have replaced
the thrill of doubt...
      with this... Byzantine pillar of denial
as motivational groundwork for
thinking impetus
   that becomes an article of being?
am i the only one to see the frustration,
how, people abhor their being,
being founded upon an act of denial,
rather than an act of doubt?

     the once thrilling maybe (gnostic):
   has become the stale, "i don't know"
    (agnostic) - as if... people can't tell you
whether zebras have stripes!
   where there was once an article
of secular faith (doubt) -
   now?
                        there's not even that!

p.s.
  there has to be a much needed new mantra,
all publicity: is bad publicity -
unless of course you're riding that
fame juggernaut and are paying
for your all-inclusive status akin
   to madonna: since fame dies off
and you, none-the-less invest in the momentum...

one day where i drink a bottle of wine,
half a liter of whiskey,
   and i'm apparently not "screaming" in
my sleep from the heat,
the whole, "apparently", as i retorted:
at 5:15am? i was alseep! i was asleep!
how can i stop screaming in my sleep
like a banshee:
the sleeper and the blind man both see
eye to eye regarding the future to come...

one day without engaging in internet
content: of my own accord,
next day? this... this... lethargy builds
up in me... i end up thinking:
i can't do this any more,
this insomnia culture globalism of
24h news reels is tirying me,
i pick up the sunday newspaper
which i found to be respecteable...
the sunday times,
  i peer into the magazines...
toxic masculinity,
    desire: what three women want...
i'm bored...
well more tired than bored,
bored-tired...
                 what women want:
what an exhausting question...
**** fantasy, beta-male provideer...
yada-yada-yada...
                    
    the only relaxing aspect of the day
(apart from the shade) is watching
england beat india in the cricket...
i always loved cricket sport terminology:
50 overs... innings...
wickets... 6 throws of the ball in an over...
the rest? i'm no atlas...
i don't like the world crashing in on
me with all its problems...
not because i don't have the right
advice to give,
but i remember the most modern secular
motto about giving advice borrowed
from Athos of the creation of alexandre dumas:

the best advice? to not give advice...
you cannot be held accountable
for giving bad advice: and people complaining,
or good advice and leaving
people in your sphere of influence...
asking for more - non verbatim... of course...

second categorical imperative?
tao...
              the best way you can help
the world: is to forget the world,
and let the world forget you...

                        you only need two absolute
maxim vectors to orientate yourself
in this world,
a third is nice, but: it can be kept loose...
at least two on a tight leash...

but one night spent drinking,
not writing anything:
and i am... spent!

                            the boogieman of england's
persistent complaints...
the muslims are not integrating,
the english: we should give them more
ground...
           o.k., o.k.... joe peshi in the role
leo getz in lethal weapon II...
            i too had to integrate!
i said: like **** if you think i'll give up
my native tongue when spoken in private...
you're not getting it...
i'll spreschen ihre zunge, no problem,
i'll even write you pwetty free verses to boot!
but, guess what?
  i will not force you to eat my
sauerkraut, my schnitzels,
                           my smoked sausages,
my raw herrings etc.,
                      integration does not work
within the confines of: pampering to a people
expected to meet you half-way...
what happened when the polonaise attempted
to meet the english half-way?
brexit...
oh come on guv'... is there a ******* tram
echoing its way out of my eye
when you peer into it while i attach
an index finger to the bottom lid to give
you a clearer picture?
           25 years in england: no englush girlfriend:
i guess all the english girls just love, just love love
being ***** by 9 pakistanis
daubed in gasoline...
                   hey: they **** thrill...

i'm tired of the weakness of the english,
the humpty-dumpty nature they are imposing,
self-cencorship,
    appeasing, like neville chamberlain...
bringing back the munich agreement...
not on a piece of paper,
instead... waving a scrap of a toilet roll...
so the english could wipe their own *****
on the promises of the germans...
if this really hurts the northern monkies...
guess how much it hurts the sourthern fairies...
(well... fairy, is a designated region surrounding
devon, bristol, hardly a ******* fairy in essex)...

   why am i foreigner and i share
the same nausea of the natives,
                     exhausted by the narratives?
i guess the english didn't like the polonaise:
but the polonaise are to blame...
came here with a list of benefits they could claim:
without having even lived 5 years among
the natives... housing benefits, child benefits...
believe me: the polonaise are the only
people in the world that hate each other...
to the extent of citing bitter criticisms...
whenever i pass through warsaw to see my grandparents
i am gripped with a sickness:
this homogeneity is too much for me...
shove me back into the east end of London...
too much of the same genetic material...
and that's when the language i am keeping
(seemingly for vanity reasons) fizzles out
into your basic encounter and that basic reminder
that circa 40 million speak it too,
better or worse, but they speak it...

of all the festivals? download...
                                   i wish...
    glastonbury?       not my thing...
kylie? i'll concede: slow? live, with instruments,
rather than the studio original...
wasn't that a cover of
   bowie's fashion?
                  sure as hell sounded similar...
but i heard the cure were playing...
so while writing my father's invoice
i made myself a paperclip bracelet...
   i figured... "let's just pretend to be there"...
and no, the 1980s weren't that bad when
it comes to music,
not now, by comparison...
the cure's kiss me, kiss me, kiss me (1987)
release?
one of those rare albums you can
listen to akin to reading a book...

                       but there's still that persisting
exhaustion... i came from under communism,
from under the iron curtain,
but at least there was the economic aspect
of communism involved...

   only today i watched the story
of the terrible inversion of english jursprudence,
i.e.: guilty until proven innocent...
the 1975 case of the silesian vampire...
an innocent man was hanged...
the original vampire?
    smashed his wive's head in,
then his childrens', then he set himself
on fire...
              then again: the tragedy of those
rare cases of being presumed guilty
rather than innocent...
then the reverse: presumed innocent rather
than guilty and getting away with it,
through the parody of death
and the non existent god...

   there could not be anything more exhausting
than communism without a communist
economic model...
this current state of affairs in the west:
cultural marxism and the yet to be discovered
antithesis of cultural darwinism...

i'll use the cartesian chirality for a moment:
sum ergo cogito...
i don't like using political terms...
but... liberal (classical) - i don't even know
what sort of thinking goes into the label -
in the east? the liberals are exhausted
by a resurgent nationalism within
   the newly acquired capitalist system...
in the west? the liberals are exhausted
by an insurgent communism within
an ageing capitalist system...

         on a side: seriously, why even bother
engaging in any sort of "public intellectual"
debates when the public are only
discussing two books: 1984 and brave new world...
**** it, might as well talk to a camel jockey
who only own and rides the waves of
time in this world only using one...
muhammad...
   whom Khadija **** Khuwaylid
would probably whip into his young
respectable shape...

                  and this is how Ezra Pound comes
into rememberance:
usura... at least the muslims do not
play into the game of usury:
of interest... borrow a quid,
pay back £2.33...
            that's the only way you can
gain respect of the muslims:
if they truly were the money lenders
of this world: which they aren't...
unless a newly blessed...

   among the philistines and the proselytes...
england is such a tiresome project,
even on the outskirts of London...
i'm being dragged down by this intervention
of marxism: on a whim,
on a whimsical projection...
of "adding" values...
            
           communism would have worked...
in exceptional circumstances...
poland... circa 1945 - 1990...
syria: the current year...
  to whatever year is demanded...
exceptional as in: war torn...
where was the marshall plan
   for poland, when there was one
for sweden (neutral) and switzerland
(also neutral)?!
        black youths bothered about
the summer holidays,
having to live in council flats,
  concrete goliaths...
           want to know what it feels like
when entire cities are like council
estates,
with only pockets of remaining
   free-standing houses among
overshadowing council flats?
                                    nee bother...
sure... in a country where:
the house is the castle and there's a labyrinth
of castles constituting outer suburbia...
balconies... that's what the soviet
models had... balconies...
where women could grow flowers...
concrete staccato gardens in the sky...
the blocks of flats in england
didn't have balconies (sky gardens,
          esp. the early ones, massive fault)...
i spent one summer reading
bertnard russell's history of western philosophy...
lying in my grandparent's balcony,
in the shade...
watching passerbys among
          the barking dogs of the neighbours...

one day, one ******* day!
   and i'm already exhausted from the castrato
english narrative...
pandering to the people you expected
to integrate...
  no! you're not changing your standards...
your standards are perfectly reasonable!
i'm tired of the english pandering
to the sort of people who, will, not,
integrate!
               i integrated in a way
of respecting both the english culture,
as well as hiding / preserving my own...
why don't i just do the following:
   pisać po polsku?
                      like some czesław miłosz?

ah... good point... at what point
is the standard of integration appreciated?
when nothing is preserved?
surely integration is supposed to
accommodate some variation
of preservation?
     i might add: that's a fine line...
preserve all? no integration...
preserve some? integration...
                    preserve none? no integration...
food is a cheap target to example
with...
                   it's a low hanging fruit...
given that even i find indian cuisine
   the most superior in the world...
food is a cheap target concerning integration...
but the niqab?
  when the local english authorities
are employing face-recognition
technology and when testing it...
are forcing people to uncover their faces,
subsequently arresting them out of protest...
but not the women wearing the niqab...
out of? out of what?
   a secular society shouldn't be allowed
to discriminate against any religion...
it should discriminate against: all religions!

                isn't that what the secular ideology
is all about? the... softcore version
of soviet atheism?
        secularism of the west (miltary-industrial
complex)...
"vs." soviet atheism of the east
  (scientific-industrial complex)...
           i'm still so ******* tired
               of this bogus trap of "necessary"
                       commentary.
Taylor St Onge Mar 2016
After My Little Black Dog Died of Melanoma.
After the Lumps on Her Small Brittle Body Slowly
Burned to a Pile of Ash in the Vet’s Office.  After My Step-Father
Drove in His Ostentatious Truck to Pick Up Her Remains.  After I Cried
in My Dorm Room and Tried Not to Wake My Roommate.  
Realization that My Loss Does Not Make Me Different.  There Are
Graveyards That Span For Miles and They Are Filled With More
Dead Bodies Than I Have Ever Seen.  There Are Hundreds of
Thousands of Children in the Foster Care System That Have
Never Met Their Parents or Maybe They Did and it Just Didn’t Work Out.
Kids Who Might Have Lived With Their Terminally Ill Parent(s) For Years
Not Just Days.  Kids Who Never Sat in the Opened Up Trunk of Their
Mother’s Black Nissan Pathfinder at the Drive-In Movies.  Kids Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Old Grandparents or Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Dead Grandparents.  Kids Who Were Never Told Not to Throw Snowballs Because There Might be Big Chunks of Ice in Them.  Kids Who
Never Had a Childhood Dog to Cry Over.  Kids Who
Don’t Like to Read Because They Were Never Read
Bedtime Stories When They Were Younger.  Kids Whose
Mothers Never Called Them Tweetie or Pumpkin or Honey or ***.  
Kids That Were Not Told to Just Go to the Bathroom When
Their Tummies Hurt Instead of the Health Room.  Kids Who Never
Listened to the Spice Girls’ Album Spice World on Cassette on the
Way to the Store.  Kids Who Never Got a Peach Drink Out of a Vending Machine at the Pick’N’Save on 27th  Street and Still Don’t Know
Exactly What 50¢ Peach Drink Their Mother Bought For Them.  
There Are Thousands of Dogs Euthanized Each Day Because of
How Sick They Are or Because They Were at a Shelter For Far Too Long
or Because They Are a Pitbull or a Rottweiler or Some Other
Irrationally Feared and Disliked Dog Breed.  We Didn’t Euthanize My
Stage-Four-Cancer-Stricken Dog or Even Get Her Treatment Beyond
Pain Medicine Because We Were Selfish.  We Do a Lot of Things Because
We Are Selfish.  We Waited Five Days to Pull the Plug on My Vegetable
Mother Because We Were Waiting For a Miracle That We Knew Would
Never Happen Because She Stopped Breathing the Moment the
Aneurysm Burst.  My Sister is Getting Married in June and My
Grandfather is Going to Walk Her Down the Aisle in My Mother’s
Place.  My Grandparents Had to Move In With My Sister After My
Grandmother Fell Down Too Many Times and Didn’t Take Her Health
Problems Serious Enough.  There Are Repercussions For Thinking
You Are Safe When You Are Really Not.
Imitation poem of James Shea's "Haiku."  Written for my Advanced Poetry Workshop.
Le Lotus Feb 2015
Breathing the modern air,
living the old way.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
why didn't existentialism every take off in England?
fair enough, the Poles aren't exactly saints, but they'e not
exactly  vermin... one Muslim should have learned
his history better: two naked swords, against the Northern
Crusaders - but, n'ah ah, he didn't, i told you,
never trust an Egyptian with monotheism,
he'll bury the artefacts in a desert for
2000 years... and then we'll
have the cult of Baφoμet and
the prickly skinned crusaders saying:
better the extra-**** and **** than
the headscarf... and they burnt at the stake...
got crackly pork skins with them
as if it was a hoax to remember: that's what really
happened. μι or qui or any softened
carrot: yellow gets van Gogh, blue gets
Picasso... i guess orange gets O'Hara...
it is the age of Baφoμet and the Knights
Templar... you sorta think that
agitation with amateur terror will slow
down the process of coherent and systematic
far-right activities? i swear you shipped those
Syrians into Germany for a revision
of the holocaust... i'm ******* sweating with
anticipation while i swipe left for a
kippah scalping and get a Syria monk
out of it... perhaps a date... but you know...
i'm not that much of a talker...
my mother spent 3 months in 40 degree heat
that kills... the arabs are heating the cauldron up...
soon, you'll be wishing you'd have lived in
Siberia... and i'm not kidding,
global warming is debatable in Iceland, Britain,
and New Zealand... not on any continent
we know of... 40°C... **** the **** old me!
i'm not even wishing for old age...
when this thing we cal an orb and relate
it to only one Grecian element: earth
isn't air... and we call the vest godly Venus
and Mars and Juniper -
well... why bother even thinking
about keeping up-to-date
when nothing we write will be written into
stone? i like the delusion it will be,
blame Chinese employment of youthful
unemployment in countries where beauty
is fixated on tourist vomiting down your wedding aisles,
the existence of european communism
curated the beneficiary of competition
capitalism gagged for like a sad gimp clad
in torched and fetish leather...
but that went, went to the chinese...
or a russian Babushka said: democracy, whaaaa?
ca Ching the Chinaman...
                    n'oh h'oi! thirty thousand
eyelash strokes to a pictured idea per second,
all i have is Mongolian far way, in Kazakhstan:
chum Chou chew - juggling out the dribbles -
                     hey, you're on the verge of
equipping the cinnamon men their potency
to breathe a billion ***** in a square mile...
   of hillbilly... i'll bet you a 100 to 1 and say:
               pucker blow-lobe chips are on the house:
hence the cheesy smile: anthropoid digital tunnelling
        all the way to Palestine, and the new U.N.
                  and that fake thing you have:
no matter how many billion dollars,
it won't equal a single spoon, or hammer.
it's that sort of thing that's meta-metaphysical -
or some other benzene variant prefix -
get smart, live love, hurrah Marquis de Sade!
patron of old age; while your granny said:
lessen the lesion by probing it darling.
       Tokyo tribes? the weirdest film i've ever seen,
the **** aren't even Asia... stop telling me the
sun is too bright... Buddha walked with excess squint...
and he managed it without a tap-tap-boom stick
to mark out 2 square metres...
   happy are those living in a greenhouse,
  surface mirrors, and sea,
but on the continent, they joked that palm trees
would be grown in the Baltic circumference...
hello dodo... but then the amateurs appeared...
   beheading, blowing themselves up,
a library of one... what they have birth to isn't
as spectacular as giving your voice to Cabaret Voltaire...
   they are creating a new breed of khaki stiff-necks -
ostriches and the gargantuan plan of over-easy -
i know the ***** ones, the ones siding with the left,
they think they're political, only in the sense that
their politics is a proton-neutrality,
the idle life... the life worthy of no political involvement...
the easy life...            the life of respected repudiation,
centrist silent populist party name and manifesto
combined: status quo.
     the only generation that might talk of old
age as a zenith, an ultimate goal enshrined in
the furtherance of mankind's potential is the generation
of my grandparents... only my grandparent's generation
can boast about achieving old age...
   which means no artistic profit -
      only my grandparents won the lottery that's lasted
for donkeys' years... my parents haven't,
i haven't... my parent's, and yours, haven won
the mortgage lottery... so communism was a failure
because it was deemed to be a failure
   in the span of not even a trans-generational decade?!
   trans-generational decade?
   me... father, grandfather, great-grandfather,
  great-great-grandfather... etc.
               it was a failure because i inherited a bicycle
that didn't have two wheels... how am i supposed
to join the ******* circus in capitalism on a monocycle?
this ain't ideological warfare... this is 1 billion Chinese
we're talking about... and they're not going anywhere.
but my grandparents are the only success story of
communism reaching its potential -
                  sadly, you ought to know,
i'd rather invest in euthanasia than in retirement plans,
given the fact that most of you, don't even
have a potential to begin with a mortgage.
the reason why existentialism never took off in England,
is because Darwinism got mingled with history,
a timescale crushing next week's Monday -
and gone to hell the whole joy of routine -
routine the parachute, routine the sloth of time -
existentialism in England never took off
because current affairs in life were too problematic
to be thought of as boring: the canape of / for philosophers...
come on, Heidegger: being and beyng? obeying?!
Darwinism sorta of gave history a quantum dynamic:
a scratch of 19th century, a nibble from Hastings...
bish-bash-bosh... 19th of September 2016...
existentialism never took off because of the dichotomy
between the synonyms: life and existence -
as if the two differed so much -
well, the Pope knew how to deal the theological
*****: death and the after-life - same ****,
different cover. where these words ever so despairingly
coupled? life: no mention of: out of every instance,
and existence: out of every instance - rekindled
fetishism of avoiding mortality's river of set-out
change? it looks like it's just that...
                               currency of political correctness
these days?   the grand implosion:
    Ritter Templer und Zeit βaφoμeτ.
Corey Dec 2014
Join us this evening
As we enjoy this feast
Help to let it not go to waste

Stay for the morning
We will cook for you
A breakfast unlike any you've had

Hang out until lunch
We have a special meal
We planned just for your company

Join us this evening
As we bombard you with food
And questions that cause discomfort

Join us this weekend
We have fun in store
And we have gifts to give to you
Farah Hizoune Apr 2014
I had hoped to find on this trip to Morocco, like countless great ones before me, the scent of my youth, to create the volumes of my own tale. To find beauty in the colors of my heritage, to reinvent all that I am and all that I am destined to be. The joy of knowing that some of the greatest writers, artists, musicians, poets, have found solace, inspiration and true peace in the country I am blessed to call my home is unmatched. I wanted to be able to hold the sunshine in my soul, the world in my mind and the fateful nonchalance of destiny in my heart.

From what little I saw of Paris from the aisle seat on the relatively small Airbus 370 was magical. It was a glimmering and sparklingly beautiful city that filled me with a nostalgia that was not my own, but of the stories I'd read set in 1941 Paris. I pictured Henry Miller and Anais Nin meeting there in secret along le Rue de Provence. The fear that I held within when I stepped through customs into le Royaume du Maroc was smothering. There has to be a word for the fear of new beginnings, the fear of your heritage.. But as soon as I was out of the airport and in the back seat of my fathers rented Dansia, driving down the scenic coastal highway, I found my relief.

The relief came from the overbearingly-beautiful smell of honeysuckle and jasmine, with slight undertones of burning *******. It hit me and I no longer felt that overpowering fear. I started gulping for air, this time not because of a panic attack, but for memories sake. I never wanted to forget that smell. It smelled like my childhood, something long dormant, suddenly released. All of the places that I had ever tried to fit into and this was the closest to perfection. The beauty of the beggars, the commotion of the families of six packed tightly into the back of a speeding fruit truck, the droves of young punks taking over the sidewalks, they all brought me instant comfort.

The drive from Sale to Harhoura was, to put it lightly, riche. They were modernizing my roots with bypasses and tunnels built underneath of centuries-old, roman-built fortresses. New sidewalks and high dollar condominiums built on the edge of a brand new, man-made medina. The water was occupied by artesian fishing boats and the frail, brown men who powered them for measly pay or a days meal. My father was uncovering all of the wonders of his country in a booming, baritone voice. Showing me old stomping grounds and schools, and teaching me the history of everything we passed.

The vernal equinox, waning crescent moon on my first night was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever been privy to. Unable to be adequately described or properly photographed with the tools I possessed. It was the color of a blood-orange toadstool, hanging dubiously on the horizon. Barely visible but for the every-other peeks between the shantytown. It was enough to move me to tears and to fill me with a childlike wonder about the lunar beast and it's meaning relative to my being. She hung there, heavy and forbearing of the adventures I was about to partake in and the layer of my soul that was yet to be discovered. When I lost her I became frantic, craning my neck every which way just for one last glimpse at her celestial magnificence. When I lost her I gained realization - that although something was not with me, it was always there, watching over and hanging in time.

My first real day in Morocco was well spent, sleeping until 3pm, buying a SIM and minutes for my cell (of which I used all almost immediately on nonsense communication), and smoking hashish in the locale café. The hashish and the rolling techniques were very intriguing, I watched astutely for future reference. They used cigarette tobacco and white Moroccan hash and rolled it into a paper with the cigarette filter on the end. I wondered about what the people I was with and around me were talking about, due to my lack of fluency in either Arabic or French and their broken English that was too much effort to decipher.

What I really craved was a nap and to know where my father was since he had disappeared early in the day with my step mother, which was less of a surprise and more of an annoyance. The Marlboro cigarette smoke was extremely dense & bothersome and it became hard to breathe. I stood out there and everywhere like a token, sore thumb of an American, despite my demure outfit of boyfriend jeans, white tee shirt and Louis Vuitton scarf tied around my head á la Lou Lou de la Falaise in 1970.

On day three, I went to visit my potential 6 month employer. His vision was impressive. Khalid ran a small, local travel agency in Centre Temara, specializing in appealing to the nouveau-riche of America & Europe. His tours were of quality rather than quantity and consisted of showcasing the small co-ops of Morocco, argan oil production being one of the biggest. American sows will eat up any exotic cosmetic product that claims anti-aging benefits. They're all trying to fight time to keep the attention of their ******, manic-depressive spouses. My position in the company, if I stayed, would be to appeal and connect with the American market, to take my honed, Yankee accent and throw pretty words at the yuppie clientele. It wasn't a bad gig but it felt like I would be ******* my heritage. Aside from that I was dying to go on the tours myself.  

My father was still battling me on the never-ending war of my outfit choices. Again, despite jeans, leather sandals & my favorite mans' t-shirt. I think it may have been the heart-shaped sunglasses he disliked, or maybe it was just too early in the AM. For him it was all about "blending in", "not attracting attention", "sameness". It almost brought me to tears to hear him say those words. It wasn't in my nature to go with the masses. Twenty-three years of uniqueness and he was trying to strip it from me under the guise of "protection from harassment of any sort".

To me, it was natural to want to adorn myself with bright colors, sheer fabrics, intricately designed scarves not traditionally worn as head pieces. He dropped the topic but I knew it wasn't the end in the twenty-three year old argument. We were in the middle of life, I wanted my dress to reflect the elation and bustle around me. Everything was full of depth and ornate decoration. From the stones we walked upon, with their repetitive, diamond patterns, to the grand architecture  of what would be considered "the slums" in America.

I was trying to convince my father that I would be a great candidate for a moped or a motorcycle. He wasn't buying it, something about heart attacks and my lack of attention span. The beauty of the travel agency was that there was a small cosmetic tie-in via the argan oil and rose water co-ops. I was given the outlines for his guided tours and asked to edit them, which I was more than happy to do. Following a small me once back home, my cousin and I headed to La Plage de Temara.

The beach, how do I put this kindly, was less than spectacular, but the view was breathtaking. Once you got passed the scattering of soiled diapers and broken glass bottles from the vagrant winos, there was mile after mile of cerulean blue Mediterranean sea outlined by a coast made of porous volcanic rock. The hazy, white, almost-Grecian inspired homes that were stacked against the bank were technically dingy but beautiful still. I was praying for the sun to burn away my psoriasis and the brand new, but entirely expected, mosquito bite on my cheekbone.

The shoreline was terrifyingly littered with human detritus that almost ruined the picturesqueness of the scene. I waded in up to my kneecaps, saw a roll of toilet paper drifting like a jellyfish and ran out as fast as I could. After about an hour of sunbathing, we walked through the run-down, once beautiful coastal beach town, Casino. Our destination? The rooftop of one of the abandoned buildings to meet with a friend of my cousins. My first impression of the domicile, with its staccato flooring and the multicolored, crumbling walls, was trepidation.

The open plan of the rooftop, line with hand-strung bamboo walls & open wrought-iron roof was very Rabat. The view, an over-whelming 360 aerial, of the bounding city and the crystalline, raging sea. The cooing doves flapped about lackadaisically from roof to roof, landing near me on the branch of a blackened, dead rose tree. The high walls of the dilapidated homes were lined with broken glass bottles to thwart trespassers and graffiti artists. Although, it didn't stop them from defacing the outside walls with proclamations of "FAMINE OR FREEDOM", "BLACK ARMY 06" & "BEAUTIFUL DEATH" .

There was one, lonely grazing sheep tied to a frayed, red rope claiming him as a family meal. I could relate. Albeit, here the slavery was less pronounced. Everywhere I looked, I found inspiration, which is the closest thing to freedom we human animals can hope for.

As I prepared my bag the night before I was to head to Marrakech, my head was filled with visions of the spectacular. I had read stories and seen pieces on the fabled city and all of the magical things there was to be seen. It was a 4 hour, beautifully scenic drive down the auto route through hilly countryside and passed the city of Casablanca, covered in a dense brown haze. The difference in the quality of the air once you go out of the city was hard to believe. The one complaint I have to write about this 'god's country' is that the inhabitants have no respect for the land.

I don't mean that they don't appreciate the food that comes to fruition or the sea that supplies the freshest fish. I'm talking about their complete and total disregard for littering. When I drove passed the outskirts of Casa and saw a beautiful village with a backdrop of the famous Atlas Mountains, surrounded by a summit of garbage, I had to ask myself, "why?". Why do the people of a gracious and humble culture, not to mention an endemically CLEAN culture, throw their disgusting waste wherever they want? I'm straying off topic, but you understand my woe.

We arrived in Marrakech in brilliant time, around 1 PM, just in time to throw on my high-waist bikini & hit the pool. After sunbathing for a few hours, I readied myself to be astonished by the wonders of Djema el-Fna, the Mosque at the End of the World. In simple jeans and a tee-shirt once again, we headed out around 6 o'clock. The square was packed full of tourists from all over the world, of all ages, races, sexes.

When we entered into the square I was quite disturbed by the looks on the faces of the locals. They had the dejected look of what reminded me of the Chateaux Marmont, like 100 years lived in only 25. Like love lost and lack of options. There was nothing magical about the aggressive competition of the young and old men alike, vying for a bit of coin from some idiot tourists. The Barbary apes in captivity, dressed stupidly and piteously in women's clothing, the children of 4, 5 & 6 hustling those god ****** tissues, sickened me. The beauty of the place lay in the landscape, surrounded in the West by snow-capped cordillera.

There were charming things about the center, the smells of the many cooking tents, the sunset that left me gasping, and at night the stars shone and the moon was bright, but it all felt jaded. The old city was awash with men selling the exact same things for a higher price the farther in you walked, the jewelry was cheap and there were so many mopeds in the alleyways that it was dangerous to not pay attention for a moment. All in all, I saw the reason that UNESCO saved the location as an officially protected "cultural space", but I saw no magic, no story tellers, nothing  bewitching of the spirit. Sure, there were snake charmers, but half of them were fake. It was all smoke and mirrors.

The day following, my party and I took a guided tour into the High Atlas. Now this, this is where the enchantment laid, miles of blue-brown rock, stretched the length of as far as you could see all around. We had to travel into the mountains about an hour through deep country and the Marrakech of the locals, the real Marrakech. Through the towns that the government created when the foreigners started coming in, in droves of poisonous tour busses, and inflating the native infrastructure.

I had notions of grandiose to come and realizations of just what a small part I played in a large production. I had left selfishness on the air France flight into Rabat and quickly learned that peace is a relative thing here. People were not going to stop asking you questions but you realize that if they weren't questioning you it meant that they didn't give a ****. I felt loved undivided and genuinely, nothing comparable to the falsities I had thought were love previously. I learned of real beauty and to welcome, not fear it. That there were sad things in this world, yes, but I was a lucky one. I could not afford depression because I was taking it from the ones who had the right to own it. I still held my dark passenger inside but she's was lighter and quieter, she no longer bogged me down or spit vulgarity at all that I contacted. I still felt longing for my lost, lost lover as I would always but he no longer brought pangs at the thought of his eyes. I looked virginal in all white linens against a cerulean Mediterranean back drop, I felt virginal as I had taken no man in a month. I had been scrubbed and cleansed and covered to attain my rebirth and I had never felt the emotions that unearthed me. I clamored for more life, I hungered for it.

The way I used to be weak for him, I now craved strength with a sense of urgency for everything. I had new eyes for the world and the world, for me. I felt the pull and flow of the Andalusian and Berber blood that poured through my veins and nothing, not even not even the scorn from strangers calling me a daughter of the devil for my ensemble, could deter me from owning it. I had maddening notions that I was omnipresent, akin to a demi-goddess. I was earth, sun, ocean and blood - but unlike my peers and relations I was the only one who could find contentment in the peacefulness of silence. Still I would have liked so much to kiss you, with your full mouth and straight teeth, after a year of absence. For you to grab me by my neck and pull me into you hungrily, in the way only distance can make you sick for me. I fell asleep on the way back from Spain and I was awoken by me uncontrollably calling your name in my sleep. Yet how I longed to strike out on my own and meet a man of my future. I would not, like my dream, lie chaste and whole while in gods country and wait for you. No matter the poems I've writ nor the words I've scribed indicating so. I wanted something deeper and more deserving, though I will always love you, of my fullness and my crass, broken nature. My journeys were worth writing in diamond ink on golden pages and I needed someone who lived to review them at the peak of their worth.

I had mostly humdrum days in between which bled together until the day my father left for the states, sans me. It was an emotional scene and I was reminded about just how unprotected I really was without him. I took journey to Fes the following day with my Aunt and grandparents. It was a breathtaking drive through rough terrains from which masses of vegetation magically sprung forth to feed a nation. There were fields of wildflowers, all red peonies, brilliantly yellow buttercups, butter-colored daisies, intricate and massive wedding lace. Thousands upon thousands of sacred olive trees littered the landscape, it was perfectly picturesque. We journeyed into the 2,000 year old city and you could feel it's pulse. The stench was my only complaint, a mixture of ripe sea-water and rotten meat in some areas. It was a standard medina with hundreds bustling about, the most distinguishing difference being the beauty of the architecture. You had a feeling of heaviness from the age on the buildings and the locals looked as if they had been there since the beginning. I was in a pure state of wonder and vowed to look everything up about Fes that I could during my next peaceful wifi moment. We bartered and shopped and went as far into the twisting alleyways as we felt comfortable. For lunch we traveled into a small outer lying town in the hills and had the best kefta I
this is just the beginning
Ryan Bowdish Sep 2013
School was always humuorous to a degree in my opinion because of the underlying idea
that the more damaged you were, the cooler you were in the eyes of the rest of the school.
I have heard numerous conversations that began with something along the lines of, "Oh, you
think YOU got it bad, well my dad blah blah and my best friend blah blah and my life is hell."

I decided to get a little personal and share with you guys something I have never actually
told anyone in entirety yet. I am pretty sure the whole story is still only here in my brain.
I will, out of respect for these people, change their names.

It's October 31, 2012. It's about noon, and all of us sixteen to twenty-two year olds are just waking up.
Brianne woke up probably a few hours ago already to tend to her son, Aaron. He is adorable, one
and a half, blond hair, blue eyes. I have been living here for nearly two months. I am supporting her,
Aaron, and myself with food stamps. I get two hundred dollars a month to basically smoke **** and drink
on the government's budget. Trust me, I'm not proud of it either, and if I could I would pay it back.
Since Brianne is a single mother and an adopted child, she has a single-digit monthly rent (I was *******
baffled to hear this) and receives support from her foster parents. Basically, if I want to stay here forever
with absolutely no consequences save to miss out on a life of my own, I can.

Brandon is putting on clown make-up so he can troll the streets as a juggalo. I find this amusing as I always
liked to mess around with ICP fans, but he's a really cool kid so I let it go and I even help him perfect it.
I notice he has a bottle of Stolichnaya in his backpack and it's practically full. That, to me, is temptation.
I ask if he would mind me taking a few drinks here and there from the bottle and he says it's fine, so I proceed
to get a nice one p.m. buzz. It was always my favorite drunk, very light, and airy, almost like you're still asleep.
Something bogs you down, but it doesn't bother you, somehow it makes you lighter.

For the rest of the day, we hook up with a few friends, go out and trick or treat in the pouring rain, get soaked
and wait for two hours under an overpass while Brianne goes and gets her car. From there, we proceed home.

At this point, everyone is over at Breanne's and we're all making dinner and drinking beer and having a good time
(Aaron is with the grandparents tonight). I guess I started getting angry about the recent events (for about a month,
everyone in our group with the exception of Brandon have been slowly losing items...but they're obviously being stolen.
At a point, a few of us did some research and determined the only person who could possibly have stolen
a good deal of these things has to be Brandon) and I decided I was tired of sitting on the news waiting for no one to make
a move after a solid two weeks of being certain that we had our guy. So I called him out... and proceeded
to begin burning bridges slowly and very surely for the next few days. I am pretty sure a fight would have broken out
if Bri hadn't taken me into her room to relax. When I finally do, it turns out I woke up the upstairs neighbor,
her baby, and everyone in the house has left save for my friend Jeff and his girlfriend Marissa. This concludes night one.

I later learned that Brandon was not actually the person who was stealing from us (unless of course
he just happened to not get caught when we found out who had done most of it) and I feel bad for bringing the whole
thing up because I would have liked to stay in touch with him. We got along swimmingly and he actually did have
a lot of interesting things to talk about. Smart, nice, hilarious... Well, maybe he'll turn up one day.

The next morning, I woke up to find the house empty save for Jeff and Marissa in the next room, but where I am,
it simply appears empty. I don't know what happened but I intuit that I have been sleeping all night without
my girlfriend. This upsets me and I begin to weep like a confused child, which is exactly what you do when you're
helpless and too drunk in the brain to figure out how to pull yourself out of a helpless situation (trust me,
I own the handbook). Marissa walks in and begins to explain to me that I had scared her too much and she slept
on the couch and that she had left to go pick up her son. So I realize I need to calm down, but I can feel
Jeff is not happy with me in the slightest, considering he will not come and talk to me (this is extremely painful
because he is probably one of the best friends I have ever had, with a mind that vastly exceeds that of everyone
I have met save one other, and he's a different story). They leave and I decide to stay in the house all day.

This is a very bad idea. I stay home, watch re-runs of a show I have seen billions of times, and considering
that Brandon and I are no longer on good terms, like a complete *******, I drink the rest of his *****.

In walks Bri, it's around 7. She's not happy. She proceeds to tell me that the night before I asked out a friend of mine
and she said yes. And I was a bit shocked because I couldn't remember it at first. Then it all hit me.

A few days before, Aaron called me "dad." Now remember, this is not my child. I am dark, dark, dark, and she had this kid
about two years after we had any past relationship. I am extremely worried in my mind and I realize I am headed toward nothing.
That I am stagnant and can not even afford to go back to school. This scares me, so I drunkenly asked out Tanya.

Tanya...we had been friends for about five years, and I had tried to get with her so many **** times... she was like
one of those girls you see and you're instantly reminded of an anime character. Tall, thin, beautiful hips, perfect
proportions, lovely hair, eyes, voice, and a personality I can liken to a Disney princess/black metal lumberjack.
The kind of girl who has a tough exterior, but inside, she just wants someone to tell her everything is going to be ok.

After about two hours of pleading with Bri to let me stay, I finally send Tanya a message, and we hang out for the next
two days, whence I whisper in her ear that everything is going to be okay and we proceed to have quite passionate ***
for those nights, where I discovered the secret to making a woman ****** with my tongue (tip: if the underside of your
tongue isn't completely torn apart, you're doing something wrong). But alas, I could not stay.

This is the part I dreaded, because I know I have to go back to Jeff's house and ask him if I can stay there for a while.
And I got the answer I expected.

The words he used...

"I'm *******...extremely ******* at you, and disappointed." It was like a father saying it to you. And him and I
have a very interesting friendship built on such an extreme understanding that I knew exactly how badly I had been spiraling.
I began to leave and he gave me a slice of pizza, with that slight smile that told me "just go find yourself, we'll be fine."

I hobbled off into the night drunk, with one piece of pizza and all my food at Bri's, which could have lasted me another few days,
easing the transition into homeless. And it could have prevented a horrible occurance that took place the following afternoon. I
was crying, because I knew I was dying, but I didn't want to ask either of my parents for help, because this was the first time
I was out on my own and I was far too proud to give up and let the world make me its victim. So I walked...

Sixteen ******* miles...

To the next town. Took me all night because I was dodging traffic, easing into trees, avoiding on and off ramps, trying to stay
away from any police that may exist on the road. When I finally arrived in the next town (where I knew I may have one contact)
I decided to sleep until the morning came so I could have the energy to find my next venture.

It was five thirty am. I had 3 hours until sun-up, I had just walked enough to be burning, and there was plenty of whiskey in my veins.
I had left my sleeping bag with Tanya hours earlier, wishing in the park that I had not been so naiive as to think I would be allowed
back in the house. So I pulled out a pile of ***** clothes and put them over me like blankets, in some random corner of the local
park, under some bushes, hidden from cold and sight, with great hope...

Fifteen minutes pass. My eyes shoot open. I am freezing. The sweat has dried and frozen to my body. This is hell.

I grab my things and with the worst effort I can ever remember myself mustering, I drag myself to the toilet.
When I open it, the first thing I check for is cleanliness. It's spotless. I am so relieved. I sit in the corner of the room,
which my knees to my chest, head in my hands, wrapped in a leather jacket I had gotten from Jeff (ha, he really is my
guardian angel, though he would laugh to hear it).

I catch winks, occasionally looking up to check if the sun is rising. When it finally is, I get up, change my clothes (I had
ONE clean set of clothing and it had been rotting with the rest in the backpack) and immediately head to a thrift store where
a family friend is working.

On my way there, I notice in a little parking lot near the store a sight I had never actually come across but I always thought
would be the most amazing luck, and it was timed in such a spot in my life that it was the ultimate miracle...and a curse in
disguise.

In front of my eyes (this miracle appeared in my path as I was walking looking down, so it startled me) was the worst possible thing
for me: A half finished fifth of Smirnoff, and a half smoked pack of Marlboro 100 Reds. I open the pack and sure enough, the celophane
protected every cigarette inside from any water damage. I am ecstatic. This is not only amazing, but highly unlikely.

So I down the bottle in one go and take the rest of the smokes with me.

When I arrive at the thrift shop, it turns out I am there on a day when my potential savior is not working, so I get her number from the clerk
and head over to a payphone and realize... I have no money. So I decide to go on a quest for dropped pocket change.

Before I even leave the parking lot, I see a young man, no older than 23, sitting on a nice red classic-style Corvette and he's
reading William S. Burroughs. So naturally, I decide to strike up a conversation with the young man. Turns out he's the nicest guy
and his name is Jordan. So him and I got together and decided to go out for a game of disc golf (some may not know what this is;
Imagine frisbee but with a golf theme, so you need to get from a tee pad into a basket. Really fun, centering, and extremely popular
with potheads, Californians, beer-drinkers, and hippies) and before we go, he asks if I would like to snag a few beers first.

I tell him a piece of my story and he can tell I am down on my luck and broke so he decides to help me out. He buys us both some beer
and we proceed to disk.

Turns out he's an ex-****** and has been through quite a bit of hell himself, so we find that we're in a good position to help each
other make some better decisions in life. After the game, we go over to a payphone and he gives me money to call my friend.

Buzz (this the only name I am not changing because her name is ******* badass) answers the phone and unfortunately informs me that
though she would take me in any day of the year, she just moved in to a house with one older lady she takes care of, and its a single
bedroom apartment, so there is just no way it can work.

So I go back to his car and tell him the news, and he says he thinks he may be able to put me up for a few days until I can sort
everything out. We go back out to the store and grab ourselves a fifth of *****.

We end up in the park playing music, talking, performing standup for one another, and I begin to realize I am drinking too fast,
so I try to ease back a little. He was playing a version of a Radiohead song I had never heard before

"Everyone this way. Okay, get your hands against the wall. Spread your legs. Don't move."
The doors clanking, some ******* won't shut up in the next cell over.
More slamming of doors, someone rubbing my body all over trying to find my knives, no doubt.
And my AK 47 I conceal, and my ****, and my ... oh ****, I really did have **** on me.

"Move forward. Turn around. Alright, go to bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

"Get up. Come on, slowly... There you go. There's a few more coming in so we got to get you to another cell."

Clank, clank...

"Pick a bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

Something is wrong. This bed is not covered. There is no comfort. It's just a mat. And I have no pillow. This is not a house
of any sort, my bag isnt what I am sleeping on. Something is very wrong here.

I am in jail. Oh of course.

I know the answer before I hear it, but I ask anyway: "What are my charges, ma'am?"

"Drunk in public."

-------------------------------------------------------­------------------------

I'm about thirty miles or so North of inner Seattle. Not a bad place to be. I'm working for a Safeway. It's somewhere around
the first of June. I receive word that Bri has been on ******. And I may have left at a crucial time in her life thinking
only of myself, but I needed to go somewhere I could be productive. Yet my decision left her in a position where she turned
to hard drugs...

I can't help but feel I am to blame. I am listening to the dull, stupid words of my ex boss, Rod, who is telling me
that even though I may feel like I need to help her, there is nothing I can do for her, so I should bury myself in my work
instead. He tells me this in about six hundred different ways before I leave the room after twenty minutes. Well great.
I may have no focus here at work today, but at least I killed almost a half hour of the day just listening to someone
*******.

I am at a loss of what to do here, but I eventually get a hold of her, and after a long time not talking, we come to
somewhat of a closure, and she is beginning to sober up herself. I realize we were both in incredibly hard times, and I still
wish with all my heart there could have been some way I could have helped her raise that boy and stayed and been her
love, and at the same time, still go to college, and progress and get a good job...but I was in a small Northern California
town. There was nothing left, all the old shops were out of business. It was time for me to move on then, and we have
all seen better days for it. She looks incredible these days by the way. She lost an insane amount of weight, and I know
a lot of it had to do with the drugs, but if she truly is sober like she says she is, she'll be getting much better.

A few weeks ago 3 people I used to know and hang out with died in the span of a week. It was a terrible tragedy, and I have been
thinking back on all the names of people I used to love very, very much before they got lost in some way.

There's Lorne Holly, who killed himself after a few weeks of detoxing from crank.

Layla Harmon, who died in a car crash, blunt head trauma, with a drunk driver (I have a tattoo for this, I will never drive drunk).

Heavy Eagle, who killed himself after years of drug problems.

Chaz Lipman, who died in a car crash as well.

Ren Rain, who I am still not sure about...

And of course, Tray Beraldi, who was my closest friend's cousin... I wish I were there to mourne with him...

Last night I got a text from my best friend, who said he couldn't sleep and he barely eats anything anymore, and he feels like his throat
is going to explode, and he cant swallow and his neck is killing him constantly. He has been this way for a year, and he is talking constantly
about getting a gun and blowing his head off. And no one believes him because he constantly talks about it because he is in so much pain.
No doctor can diagnose him so far, he has no idea what's wrong with him, he's been tested all over the place, he has no hope, he's barely
cligning and he doesn't know how much longer he can hold on.

All I really want to say is

Lord? What I have done? I don't pray, I never pray, I don't even know who I would pray to. But WHAT ELSE DO I HAVE TO DO?!

I bring myself across hell and I pull myself from the worst depression I h
This is autobiographical...so be prepared for somewhat of a story.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
poet, or philosopher, it doesn't really matter which is which, or whether the two are indistinguishable, notable in the former scenario, when someone has an eclectic bounty of interest is simply not love-scorned or love-nostalgic, love-idealistic, does it really matter? i was once called a philosopher: a teenage girl said in third person (as if she was a puppet and some-thing was moving her tongue): 'talk to this philosopher'... not in that sarcastic way that philosopher is an misnomer or an abused term of: self-gratifying grandeour, it was quiet genuine, but: imagine my shock... i had an ambition in life, it was to perform a service to thinking: without doing as much as hammering a nail into a plank of wood, that's the ambition of any thinking man: to borderline on telekinesis or telepathy... that was Hegel's modus operandi, his categorical imperative... after all: ego is a metaphysical tool, while thought is its metaphysical canvas... the mere suggestion that a copernican inversion can happen in physics "contra" metaphysics... it's already apparent, any word can behave like a hand touching the sacred object / subject of transfiguration and become something else, even a misnomer can find itself given solace to the user... for now i've forged a belief in the ultimate: away from the absolute in relation to omni in unum - one first has to learn to think, before having to learn to feel... mind you, i don't like the current nietzschean inversion of the cartesian equation: (ego) sum ergo (ego) cogito... esp. among the youtube political commentators, too many examples to give: i'm a classical liberal, i'm a progressive, i'm a liberterian... i don't really like seeing: i am, precede i think... i don't even like the origin-argument of this inversion: i exist for the sole purpose of thinking... after all: i think prior to being, since i can also daydream and not be what my thinking suspects as a possible truth-outcome... that's the nature of the freedom of thought: i don't have to be what i think, i can find thinking to be a pleasure, when the senses do not offer me any pleasure derivative, e.g. eating can sometimes be boring, chewing, chewing, *******... i eat because i need to live: i don't live to eat... i really have under-appreciated Hegel, i should really visit my grandparents for two months and read the phenomenology of the spirit: i'm trying to replicate the saying attributed to him (verbatim), but i doubt that i will, i don't have the patience to sift through all the quotes, but it goes along the lines of: beware oh wordly man, to not be a pawn in a thinking man's game... hence my suggestion of philosophy entering into the realms of telekinesis and telepathy: you get to see things play out and people express the origin story, of your own memetic generation of the original idea... how are poets finally alligned to philosophers? good thing that i studied chemistry at edinburgh university: we return to atoms, words are no longer enough, sure, they are, contrary to the statement...  (why did i under-appreciate Hegel? ah... had my head stuck up heidegger's and kant's *****...

  integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
    i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
  i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
   i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...

   if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
          ringo star h'ahmed...
  george ali...
                paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
  i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
              and sun-burnt bananas!

a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
        but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
        right on the plonker...
                 i'm not finished!
                        i'm just getting started!

gehirnablassen:

perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...

so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!

i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
   4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
  (one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
                   12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!

    gehirnablassen...
                   brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
   for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...

1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha       khaos
2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
     graphemes: sz phi theta
      compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
       brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
    virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
   german 19th century fascination
with islam...
     θought and φilosophy...
   greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...

1.

chamaleon tongue,                    shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.

p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.
Leenie V Mar 2017
In soft afternoon sunlight, flopped on my small yellow couch, I look over to the shadowed side of the room.

My apartment is pretty sparse, but in pride of place upon some modular furniture there is a white marble mantle clock that used to belong to my grandparents.

It is imperfect: part of the pedimented top is gone; it only works sometimes when I wind it up.

But it is beautiful, particularly its face of ornate numbers surrounded by a bronze filigreed bezel.

I majorly coveted the clock when I would go visit my grandparents as a girl.

After once being shown how to open the glass cover over the face—such a satisfying click when it opened—I  was unable to resist doing so each time I saw the clock, lightly touching and pushing its hour and minute hands, probably contributing to its current damaged state.

Looking at it now takes me back to my grandparents’ home and those moments when I would wander around the house and yard while the adults conversed in the kitchen, the hush of the house a little nerve-wracking.

Where were my grandparents when they bought this clock?

What did they think would happen for the rest of their lives?

I research the clock’s provenance online, looking for the maker and model, and imagine my grandfather selecting this particular clock with care, wanting something to fit the house, the family.

I open a YouTube video of a horologist—who knew?—and he greets me amid a pleasant patter of ticking from the collection of clocks behind him.

I look again at my clock.

Find the meaning in the marble.

Those ornate numbers, that shape of classical architecture—they quietly reproach me.

Am I going about my hours with the dignity that these shapes suggest?

In the face of the clock I see the face of my grandfather, and while the clock does not strike, I hear the voice of my grandfather intoning slowly and deliberately—maybe trying to sound a bit wiser than he was—but wise all the same.

I am still attracted to all things shiny, but hopefully am more restrained now.

I stop the video, and the room is quiet again.

My smartphone is the only accurate timepiece in my apartment, and it of course does not tick.

It has its own sort of shine, a friendly colorful brightness from the dotting of apps on the home screen, but to save the battery I have set it to go black after a few minutes.
Tyler J Perrin Apr 2016
my grandparents lived on the side of a mountain
to the west a coast and in-between a railroad track
in the mornings, I would lay
stationed in my grandfather war cot
it is soaked the tears and blood he shed for this country
I was too young to understand this
I am only waiting for the train
my dog barks and growls at the rattling picture frames
of the locomotives clackety warble
I crept upstairs to find my grandparents having coffee
my grandmother a white plump cigarette
my grandfather a gentle grey bear
a toy carousel waiting for me
I sat under a dim table lamp
moving the carousel around with my fingers
watching the horses twirl and my dizzy boyish gaze
sparkle at the wonder of my grandparents
who finally want me around
who finally asked me to sit with them
as they have their quiet morning
I was not always so quiet
when my brother was awake we would throw rocks
and sneak into my grandfather shop to peek at his gun collection
he did not like this
my grandmother never had the patients for rambunctious adolescent men
waking the dead with the television
and screeching for us to play outside
I never knew my grandmothers love or never felt it
unwelcome on her stage
always playing the role of nuisance
not until this morning
this significantly raw occasion
just maybe I wasn't such a burden
but after that morning when night swiftly moves in
and tired eyes feel like old college roommates
I still wait for the melody of trains
I still creep upstairs to find my grandparents drinking coffee
and they tell me to go back to sleep
To my Grandma Pat and Grandpa Jim.
Months of stale, cigarette smoke
and spilt **** water pleasantly
offset the stench of cheap cologne
and ratty, abused furniture.
    
Fictitious stories occupy this tiny, dim
apartment, birthed on the lips of
rebellious juveniles whose tongues
pierce the ears of our elders.

In a forsaken corner, Jeremy lounges
awkwardly on a grubby-plaid sofa that
suitably complements his button-down shirt.  
I join him.

Behind his right ear rests a lonely cigarette, while
another sits snug between his lips, set ablaze
by the 1968 Slim Model Zippo he inherited from
his beloved grandfather.

His transparent sense of self-worth emanates
from his grubby, grease-stained hands, scuffed boots,
blotchy-checkered flannels, and faded blue jeans
that are completely obliterated with holes.

I look into his pale blue eyes, the depth of which
often goes unrecognized.  Jeremy is a soft-hearted,
pudgy youngster with the kind of chunky cheeks
that all grandparents love to torture.  

But his marred, acne-ridden face betrays the transition
that has been forced upon him.  Slowly, his trademark
grin appears across his face – subtle, mischievous, and
typically without reason.  But this time it appears justified.

Jeremy takes a moment’s break from his cigarette to drop two
hits of acid.  A new drug for him, he hopes to find relief from
his seething anxiety, evidenced now by the wide expansion of his
chest as he takes another, more lengthy and powerful pull from his cigarette.

The mundane chatter that fills the room continues, a seeming
necessity to offset any potential awkward silence. I feel as if
this noise is closing in around us.  But just as suddenly as I
feel overwhelmed by this sensation, the noise stops.

I look around, noticing everyone’s eyes staring in my
direction.  Jeremy is still next to me, now giggling
like a little school girl.
I begin to feel sick.

Jeremy swiftly leans forward, giving his
cigarette a premature but honorable
death, eliminating its glow as he smashes
the cherry into tiny bits against the ashtray.

As he sits back against the couch, I can see that
his eyes are now indifferent. Foreign.  With a perplexed
and fascinated stare, he watches the pearly-white smoke
slowly slither upwards towards the ceiling.

There’s no question in my mind that his
soul has fled. Jeremy sinks further into the
couch, turning his vacant eyes in my direction.
I want to *****.

His high-pitched giggle has now subsided into a
low whimper.  Gradually extending his left arm into
the air, he tilts it from side-to-side, examining it as if
an infant discovering his genitals for the first time.  

Bike wheels appear in the corners of the room.
Entertained, his eyes rapidly zigzag from the
corners of the walls to his hands. He asks me
if I can see the wheels. I don’t respond.

Intervals of psychotic emotion begin to cycle. Jeremy’s eyes
fill with tears as he tries to understand the hallucinations
engulfing him.  The expression on his face betrays the reality that
he has stepped onto the never-ending theme-park ride from hell.  

Together we leave and walk to the bus station, Jeremy
walking slowly and whimsically. The bus arrives,
and I hand him a few crumpled, single-dollar
bills as I attempt to instruct him where to get off.  

All I can envision is his mother’s first reaction to her son’s arrival.  
Would she collapse at her son’s knees, crying like a mother whose boy
has come home from war?  Would he forever be an awkward guest
at the dinner table? Would she disown him?  Would he become a feral child?






I no longer know what day it is. I am surrounded by lockers
and students, trapped in a tunnel of shadowy walls.  As I stand
alone, I find myself entranced by the blinding, January sunlight
that floods through the double doors a mile away.

My vision is unexpectedly blocked by a figure
standing in front of me. Clothed in little but jeans
and a bright, white t-shirt, Jeremy stares at me, his eyes
mirroring the emptiness I now feel.  

“Do you have a lighter?”  My hands pointlessly search my pockets for
what I already know is not there. “No, man. Sorry.” A look of confusion
spreads over his face, and I suddenly cannot help but notice the sick irony
of the scene in front of me - Jeremy flooded in light as if born again.  

My thoughts linger here too long, and just as swiftly as Jeremy
appeared, he is a mile away sauntering out through those double
doors. Estranged, I continue to stand here, hoping with
futility that this isn’t the last time I have looked upon him.
Year: 1995
Craig Harrison Sep 2014
When you look at the world what do you see
what do you think each morning and each night
do you see a different world or the same one your grandparents lived in.
When you breath in the air
drink the water
eat the food
do you feel a difference do you sense the damaged world

The planet is old
we are young
but we attack it like it's a threat to us
it gave life, so much life
it continues to give
maybe younger generations
the young people old people moan about
can fix the world, can fix the problems created
previous generations tried destroying things
maybe younger generations will be able to repair them
Miranda Apr 2015
Sometimes I sit and stare
At my grandparents
Admiring the love they share.
It's beautiful
And true
Evident
In everything they do.
It's a relationship
To be jealous of
To strive for
To look for
Not many of us find it
But the lucky ones do.
They were young
He was wild
She was innocent
But something in them mixed
Now it's forty years later
And their kids had kids
They make me believe in love
And look forward to the future
I see the possibilities
Never-ending
Always there
I hope someone will love me
Like they love each other
To be like my grandparents;
The perfect pair.
Graff1980 Sep 2018
Swiftly,
I soared with
Tarzan level
agility.

Up in the air
only a couple of
feet,
barefoot flying
in my grandparents
garage
out in
a town so small
it should just be called
country.

A leap
imagining I am
flying fiercely,
daydreaming
then landing.

A piercing
pain pressing
through
the first foot
I landed on.

I looked down
shocked to see
a pointed top
of a rusted *****
staring up at me
right through
my foot
without a shoe.

Thus, the adventure
ended with
a wounded warrior
under ten
stumbling back in
to my grandparents’ house
after pulling that
pain in my foot
out.
Thanksgiving never will I forget

Hopping in the car for a very long ride to grandma's house

With heavy white frost on the grass, glistening in the sun

Singing songs and counting grain bins to pass the time

Now the frost is melting, we are getting close to the grandparents

Rounding that last bend and then their lane up to the house

Riding up to the house I can see smoke coming from the chimney

To the door and into the house, I see my cousins playing, and smell the Turkey

Grandma's brown and gold tablecloth, covered with her silver

trimmed grey dishes and crystal goblets ready for us to eat.

Have to sit and chat while watching the Macy's parade

Saying our blessings and giving our Thanks as we begin the feast

Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
ChinHooi Ng May 2015
Happiness is like,

grandpa's smoking pipe,

breathing tranquil frequencies,

like grandma's needlework,

knitting sweaters with embroideries,

like a radio,

antenna of thanksgiving,

the harvest of beautiful melodies.
Jamie Lee Oct 2018
It has been a while since we've spoken
I have been tugging on a broken line
May be too gone this time, Lord
Been too low to be grounded
My demons dancing in a conga line
I am surrounded

You made me in your image
But what if I don't like what I see?
Is that insulting?
Is that absurd?
I made almost all my angels flee
It keeps me knocking on heavens door
So tell me, are you listening??
I'm not feeling assured

They say you turn water into wine,
But none of that tonight
I can settle for a bitter cup of coffee,
For a bitter state of mind
To keep me up so I won't dream of
Grandparents who can't walk
Or my lifelong companion
In a wild dogs jaw
Or an angry pair of sapphire eyes
I know I've failed them all

Water into wine, maybe two or three
Will make me numb enough to remind me
Of what their love was like,
Like the warm screams secreting
From my windpipe, do you hear me now?
Can you listen to me tonight???

I know I can be cowardly disciple, even a sheep
In lions clothing- wasn't your book written for
People like me
No, I don't want to be
Self loathing, another fallen angel
You lose hope in, don't let me go
Off the deep end, let the bitterness
I've been sipping on be sweetened
Please
Sam Conrad Dec 2013
So I've got this story...
And it goes a little something like this-

There's a girl that I hurt really bad on way too many occasions that I love more than anything. Pretty much everything I write on here is about her. She became the love of my life, and I told myself she was the one I wanted to spend my life with. Except I was a ****. She was going somewhere to an event that lasted 2 weeks and was really important to her and let's just say I ****** it all up really really bad. She made a lot of friends there and it was a great experience for her, kind of like camp is for some people, how boy/girl scouts are for some people, and she learned a lot there, and had lots of fun too. I was so horrible to do what I did.

At least we're young though, and there's still time to grow...right? I'm only 18, she's almost 18, and we both have lives to live ahead of us. I feel like I need her though. She treated me perfectly in our relationship. I mean, looking back, there's nothing I can fault her for, at all. I just got ****** at stupid crap that doesn't even matter.

Except, she's into somebody else now and probably thinks I'm no good for her. She doesn't talk to me anymore. Anyway, I'm rambling, I haven't gone to bed, I took a bunch of pills, am getting sick, and it's 7 AM...so here goes. This story is somewhat censored, though.

_________________­___________
"The Worst Weeks of Our Lives"

I met this girl and she became the love of my life. She took me places I'd never gone before and her and I fell in love like some people wouldn't believe. Ask my friends. Ask her friends. No, her friends probably wouldn't admit to it anymore. But I choose to remember the things they said. Kids were like totally rooting for us all day every day. We were so perfect. It was great.

So with a few mistakes here and there, (mostly me...all me, really) we realized we weren't perfect. But it didn't hamper out love. Nobody is perfect, right? We realized that. Overcame.

But then, we went too far. Her parents drew lines we weren't supposed to cross. Oopsies. Her mom really put me in my place. I'll just leave it at that. Asked me when my 18th birthday was, so she could mark her calendar as the "day she could touch me". Told me I was a liar. Husband in the background drunk and screaming, as usual. Except screaming "that ***** ain't sorry. He ain't ******* sorry, ******* ******* marking up my ******* daughter I can show him how to be ******* sorry"

Lots more. I'll go crazy if I speak the rest. It was a hickey on her neck. We didn't do much more.

I got really scared. I mean, they were brutal. I wasn't used to that kind of brutal. Psychotic levels of brutal. All of the sudden I became numb. I stopped being so intimate with my girlfriend. They told me not to come around their house anymore. I started doubting myself. If I was any good for her. She cried and cried. Told me how sorry she was. For getting us in trouble, and for what her parents did. But it wasn't her fault. After all, I am the vampire that bit her neck.

After a few weeks, her parents dropped it completely. I didn't though. I was so traumatized. I'd been getting flashbacks. Nightmares. So scared, I was. I kept avoiding her, not only her parents. I mean, I didn't have a car anyways, so the only place I could go to see her was at her house. She reassured me I was allowed. But with no contact with her parents since the phone call that changed my life I was reluctant.

This was around 2 months before she was going to go to a 2 week event. A special event to her. One I'd even wished I'd gotten involved in. Really, I did wish. I just missed the application deadline. Throughout the next two months, we grew more and more distant. I was harsh on her. I hurt her. I'd get mad at her and then call her and talk to her until 3 in the morning. I made her hate herself, and then she felt bad about me feeling sorry too. "You always force yourself to be nice to me just so I feel better, but I'm ****, I'm trash, I'm nothing, I'm so sorry" she would say. Most of the time, she didn't even do anything wrong. One of my best friends died at the same time her parents killed me inside, I spent all my days sleeping and crying and when I wasn't doing that, I was getting angry at her (and quickly regretting it), manufacturing conflicts that were completely unnecessary. Not to mention I'd had health issues, and my parents kicked me out of my house a few months beforehand.

In the time before she left to her special event, I really tore her up. I said the dumbest things I've ever said to someone in my life. I'd never even said such dumb things to even an object, or myself. Why I would say them to a girl who saved me from suicide (I was very unstable and depressed when coming out of a bad relationship, and getting kicked out of home) and why I said it all to someone I wanted to spend my life with I'll never know.

The dumbest things I'll ever say to anything that breathes in my lifetime. I told her one night that the "only reason I was still with her was because if I left she'd hurt herself" (she had a history of self harm, even though she's the sweetest girl I've ever met) and another night I told her "If only she were going somewhere important I'd understand" and lots of other insensitive and selfish things that I can't even believe came out of my mouth. I mean, the whole basis of it was that her and I hadn't spent much time together (really because of my own selfish fears) and I was going all *** on her testosterone-fueled-rage style for days over and over and over.

Don't I sound like a horrible person? I was. I was horrible to her. As much as I hate to say it, I'll probably make similar mistakes again someday - It's like relapsing - but I'll make every effort I can to learn from my horrible past and never be that person again.

So when she went to the event, I was with my grandparents out of state and I downloaded my favorite sad playlist (Staind, great band) to listen to on the trip.

Yes, seriously. I told her that stuff and called her event unimportant and then I went away too. How stupid I was for what I said. I should have been slapped or something.

A day or two after I'd left, I realized how stupid it was of me. For the whole thing. That whole time. That whole span, those two months where I not only neglected her, but emotionally ****** her.

There's a song called "Tangled Up In You" that has the most wonderful and intimate lyrics and I listened to it and sung to it over and over and over late into the morning (I'm talking 3-4 in the morning) every night for like 10 days and along with a song called "Right Here" by the same band. I cried myself to sleep so extremely ashamed of what I'd just done to her.

I knew I was wrong, but what I didn't know was that she was crying her eyes out wrapped up in (someone else)'s arms at that event...
I didn't know she was getting all kinds of love and support.
I had no idea...not that it was bad, it was good because she needed it.

But it got her to thinking about me, what kind of person I was.
When we both got back, I started making more of an effort to spend time with her and go out of my way to talk to her, make her happy, and basically, stop being such a ****.
Except she just got confused and conflicted because she was numb and falling out of love, because I was nothing that anyone should love, to her, over that prior time.

Her mom broke us up about a month later, after some...you know what, I'll just leave that bit out...
I told you how the first phone call went. The phone calls I got from her and her husband in the end were just so much worse. I don't even want to think about them. I went into convulsions and kept dropping the phone.

I went back to these two songs to help keep my sanity and I belted out "Tangled Up In You" every day in my car... so loud I was losing my voice.

I'd had some communication with her, surprised her at her work one night, bought her flowers, wrote her my true feelings on some napkins, showed up when she got out of school one day, when she was deathly afraid, and surprised her with a smile and drew a heart on her hand...

Her and I were on the same page. She still loved me. She was just hurt. I still loved her. I was just trying to make up for the compromised mental state I spent so much time in. I had compromised hers too. I needed to get her out of it. She told me she would wait for me. That we were in a speed bump, that it would all be okay.

So some weeks passed, a month, and she still had my back. As strong as ever. Her parents found out I bought the flowers. They found out I'd been talking to her. But...

Knowing she still had my back, that she still loved me, and that she would wait for me...she called what her mom did (in breaking us up, in our break) a "speed bump"...I was okay with it. I mean, I really wanted to be a part of her life, but man, her parents HATED ME! (In retrospect, probably with good reason. Shame on me for the things I did to her. Really.)

We had some major issues (mostly due to my inability to shut my stupid mouth) and I decided that maybe some time to ourselves to focus on ourselves and think was a good thing. She could focus on loving herself again and I could focus on becoming a better person.

I mean, when her parents found out her and I were still talking to each other after they broke us up, they blocked my number on her phone, went to my church and made up extra stories to my pastor, (told him I'd came and banged on their door at one in the morning one night), when I called to apologize to them they didn't pick up, called me back later to cuss me out and hang up on me, logged into their daughters facebook account and blocked me, then told their daughter that I had called them when she was sleeping and cussed them both out, and that she was to have nothing to do with me again. They threatened legal action against me, too. Tried to make my life hell. They didn't want me around their daughter, ever again. A blind rage that went on for a very long time until every communication route was blocked.

She went to school and told her friends the false stories her parents told her, and her friends already didn't like me...I mean just look at what I had done before...it wasn't good. Not for me, anyway. Also her. She felt duped. Used. By her parents. She didn't know who to trust or what was real. Everyone was telling her how horrible I was.

I got a chance to talk to her one day. We talked for hours, face to face. Sat in the cold and talked. It was an amazing talk. We caught each other up completely on our lives. We talked about our love. Our past. Our emotions. All of them. Good and bad. But we told each other we'd always love each other. She stuck by me, and also reassured me that she always would. I left that conversation feeling so secure. The most I'd felt since way before I'd become a total **** to her. When her and I were so deep in love.

She's always wanted to go far away from college. She told me stories of her past and what her parents did to her, what she did to herself that were not good. Not good at all. She wanted to get away from her parents.

Meanwhile I was so caught up in the feelings she gave me when I was in her arms, I almost couldn't handle the fact that she wanted to leave. I pleaded for her to stay, in a time that her and I were both unstable and it was already taboo that we were even on the same property. But still, she said "she wanted to stay" because her and I work so well together...when we work together, that is, and I and her were both determined to work together. I told her I would do anything for her. In all of it though, I told her that the decision was in her hands and I would still love her the same if she left, and that I would wait for her. Because I loved her more than anything.

After that talk, things got quiet. I guess, too quiet. I was legally bound to stay away from her. I talked to someone she worked with and asked them to tell her hello for me. I thought though, we were on good terms following the talk, I thought she'd be elated to hear from me.

She never responded.

One day, a couple weeks later, she told me I really needed to get over her. That she didn't love me like that anymore. She told me she'd been falling out of love since the summer, and she'd gone crazy and needed space. She said she wanted to be friends, but no relationship. No relationship anymore. She said she couldn't handle it. She said she couldn't handle a relationship in general.

She made that message a bit accusatory. I'd been talking to two friends, one who I'd known for years and a new one I'd just made. Both overlapping friends with hers. Those two helped keep me sane.

She started that message with "I heard you've been messaging my friends, and to be honest, I haven't had the heart to message you back." She repeated multiple times that I needed to get over her. She told me that it wasn't anyone else's influence too. She even listed people. People who'd separated us. Hurt me. Hurt her, in a way, but encouraged her in others.

At the same time, she blocked me on facebook again. She had unblocked me when she found out her parents did it for her. Odd though...I thought she wanted to be friends. I mean, it was like the only way I was able to have her in my life at all. To read her facebook posts and her read mine. To have discussions with friends. We have a lot of overlapping friends.

Man, she killed me. One second I thought she was my soul mate and the next I was in the bathroom puking my guts out because she was telling me we'd never be together again.


So fast forward to today...I still love her. And she's basically in a relationship with someone else. She's also either on the fence about her sexuality, or decided she doesn't like boys anymore. I feel bad about that too. Its like I ruined male relationships for her. It's only been a few weeks since she told me I needed to get over her. She doesn't talk to me anymore. I go to high school events even though I graduated last year just to see her. When I don't approach her, she ignores me. I'm just another person in the room. When I do approach her, she has such a scared look on her face. She doesn't want to talk to me, but she can't be mean to me. She's falling in love with someone else and she's getting happier. She doesn't need me showing up everywhere just to depress her.

Yet I keep bothering her. Because I'm a sucker for her. I can't help it. I love her. I want her to be my future. But at this point I'm grasping at straws. So hard. I shouldn't be trying anymore. But I'll end up trying until the day I die. And only then will I stop believing in her and I. I know it's a pipe dream. But I'll hold onto it. Because it's the only thing I have left of myself now.

Last night, (I mean, right before I wrote this around 5 AM, it is now 8 AM) I played those two songs again. I forgot they were at the end of my playlist and I started shivering and crying my eyes out. I got chills. I got so cold. The tears just ran. They ran down my face faster than I've cried in a long, long time.

I'm only okay right now because I took a bunch of pills. Pills that have this kind of effect on me. They make me kind of numb. Kind of happy. Upper and downer both.

That's pretty much, my sad ending to a sad story.
I'm living the kind of life that only people like Shane Koyczan know how to explain to people.

Ironically, she loves Shane Koyczan.
I do too.
We grew up in broken homes and lived broken lives until we found each other.
Then we broke each other.

But she's falling for someone else, because I wasn't what I should have been to her, and she knows
But she doesn't believe in me anymore, the way I believe in her...because I wasn't what I should have been to her, and she can't hold onto me when I'm a 50/50 chance, of bringing her down again.
If only she would let me hug her again, kiss her one more time...I could die happy, knowing I poured all my heart and soul out into that last kiss.
But I'm a gamble. And she can't put her heart out on the line for someone who wasn't always good to her. She used to call me her "sweet boy" and she still tells me I'll always be her "sweet boy", but the fact of the matter is, it doesn't cut it to only be sweet s
I needed to write this. I've been going crazy. I told her I needed to talk to her but she's been avoiding me. If she reads this, I know its hard for her. There are more explanations I need to give her, I hope she will let me speak to her someday. I've found out a lot about myself in just the last few weeks. Stuff I don't talk about in this story. To you, my dear...if you read this, I'm sorry. I know it's tough. Its very tough. But look at the positive, dear. I'll keep living. Maybe I'll be okay someday. Your happiness is what matters to me. If you're happy, I'll keep myself going. I'm going to go to sleep now. Finally, I have some peace.
You feel the thunder in my life
in the body of my world
you look at my forehead at my mind
you sigh at all the overwhelming pressure
information, words
you shake your brain, oh those Americans
you look at it like shelves, each person a library
you shut the door and say it's dramatic you know.
And the things you tell yourselves to push; the quotes
all the mouths that quoted the first time said what good words
but they're not just for your ears you know
you're a whole being, 80% of your 'body' is below your head
like holistic health providers say, it's not the North where we should go,
East West and South are the everywhere here
Remember your hands
like your grandparents' cooking souls
Remember your feet like your grandparents dancing souls in the 20s, even Catholics (it's true)
Remember the beat, the peaceful instrumental song without a black sea of letters on white, but a sea of movement, feet on a white kitchen floor
Instead of washing your soul in more words
the scribbles were by a full hand, dropping it across an entire shoreline, more water for the ocean
if you could only write in 96-point font, like in an ant's eyes, what could the poor swallow
we write with one of our hands, the tip of a pen a rocketing thing, and I just want an angel to cry on me
Remember Remember like your grandparents whose parents' words or Bible were seperate from a flat flat piece of paper
Hold it, a round thing, that goes in your mind, tangible and sweet
forget that your stomach fills like a penny jar, a mistake
sell the wisdom and buy everything
a pair of blue jeans with 2 pockets
so that you do not fill with pennies, so many words that lose meaning
and then when you sell everything to buy wisdom, your eyes will not be so eager and wide
and you will not be lost in the fortune of quantity
Copyright Chelsea Palmer July 20

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