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"hermaphrodite" poems
Then was my neophyte, Child in white blood bent on its knees Under the bell of rocks, Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas The winder of the water-clocks Calls a green day and night. My sea hermaphrodite, Snail of man in His ship of fires That burn the bitten decks, Knew all His horrible desires The climber of the water *** Calls the green rock of light. Who in these labyrinths, This tidethread and the lane of scales, Twine in a moon-blown shell, Escapes to the flat cities' sails Furled on the fishes' house and hell, Nor falls to His green myths? Stretch the salt photographs, The landscape grief, love in His oils Mirror from man to whale That the green child see like a grail Through veil and fin and fire and coil Time on the canvas paths. He films my vanity. Shot in the wind, by tilted arcs, Over the water come Children from homes and children's parks Who speak on a finger and thumb, And the masked, headless boy. His reels and mystery The winder of the clockwise scene Wound like a ball of lakes Then threw on that tide-hoisted screen Love's image till my heartbone breaks By a dramatic sea. Who kills my history? The year-hedged row is lame with flint, Blunt scythe and water blade. 'Who could snap off the shapeless print From your to-morrow-treading shade With oracle for eye?' Time kills me terribly. 'Time shall not ****** you,' He said, 'Nor the green nought be hurt; Who could hack out your unsucked heart, O green and unborn and undead?' I saw time ****** me.
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2.5k
Dylan Thomas
Then Was My Neophyte
Then was my neophyte, Child in white blood bent on its knees Under the bell of rocks, Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas The winder of the water-clocks Calls a green day and night. My sea hermaphrodite, Snail of man in His ship of fires That burn the bitten decks, Knew all His horrible desires The climber of the water *** Calls the green rock of light. Who in these labyrinths, This tidethread and the lane of scales, Twine in a moon-blown shell, Escapes to the flat cities' sails Furled on the fishes' house and hell, Nor falls to His green myths? Stretch the salt photographs, The landscape grief, love in His oils Mirror from man to whale That the green child see like a grail Through veil and fin and fire and coil Time on the canvas paths. He films my vanity. Shot in the wind, by tilted arcs, Over the water come Children from homes and children's parks Who speak on a finger and thumb, And the masked, headless boy. His reels and mystery The winder of the clockwise scene Wound like a ball of lakes Then threw on that tide-hoisted screen Love's image till my heartbone breaks By a dramatic sea. Who kills my history? The year-hedged row is lame with flint, Blunt scythe and water blade. 'Who could snap off the shapeless print From your to-morrow-treading shade With oracle for eye?' Time kills me terribly. 'Time shall not ****** you,' He said, 'Nor the green nought be hurt; Who could hack out your unsucked heart, O green and unborn and undead?' I saw time ****** me.
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48
i'm walking down the street bare feet, without a care **** uber, metro, I hate public transportation, i'm dirtying up this sidewalk, for a few years already i'm writing down a will, in my mind, close to my eyelids, because i'm on the wrong side of my mind i feel sick, tasting the bitterness of humanity when I wipe mankind on the side of the pavement, at the very deep, there's masculinity mixed with ***** i'm walking down a bridge full of empty shells i pass hordes of girls who are smiling insincerely and again, i feel a boost in my veins and again, i'm louder than mirrors and as in the mirrors, voidness space, and it is me, who takes the best from it i absorb this poisoned air. In the ears of mine, i can hear electro heat, i feel like one man one Jean-Michel Jarre, rain is pouring through me, sticks to me like fog, i wrap myself in the warmth of two MDMA's, someone glances surreptitiously and steals my soul, you have a backpack full of cash, i have a suitcase full of emotions, i'm going on a journey through the cursed city like a hermaphrodite with a broken rod, streets, like stigmas, cry with hollow screams, in front of clubs content abortions on the sidewalk, let's leave this lie, like the walking dead assertiveness and pride to the gutter washed away. And again, this booster is kindling my veins i'm dirtier than a new jerusalem and similar to it, i'm sticking to everything and so I'm taking the most out of my heart and I absorb this poisoned air once again. and so the booster flows through the aorta it is flooding my tarred heart, destination reached. and my wallet is shimmering with bitter crystal nothing will change the course of this chemistry, betrayed. betrayed by their own bodies vidi, no vici, veni on its own, and i'm catching a laugh, standing still in the subway i am still absorbing poisoned air. hatred. jealousy. i've seen enough. today, in my city, sun rises in the morning. you will remember this day forever or forget it for eternity.
0
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
Piotr
Poisoned air
i'm walking down the street bare feet, without a care **** uber, metro, I hate public transportation, i'm dirtying up this sidewalk, for a few years already i'm writing down a will, in my mind, close to my eyelids, because i'm on the wrong side of my mind i feel sick, tasting the bitterness of humanity when I wipe mankind on the side of the pavement, at the very deep, there's masculinity mixed with ***** i'm walking down a bridge full of empty shells i pass hordes of girls who are smiling insincerely and again, i feel a boost in my veins and again, i'm louder than mirrors and as in the mirrors, voidness space, and it is me, who takes the best from it i absorb this poisoned air. In the ears of mine, i can hear electro heat, i feel like one man one Jean-Michel Jarre, rain is pouring through me, sticks to me like fog, i wrap myself in the warmth of two MDMA's, someone glances surreptitiously and steals my soul, you have a backpack full of cash, i have a suitcase full of emotions, i'm going on a journey through the cursed city like a hermaphrodite with a broken rod, streets, like stigmas, cry with hollow screams, in front of clubs content abortions on the sidewalk, let's leave this lie, like the walking dead assertiveness and pride to the gutter washed away. And again, this booster is kindling my veins i'm dirtier than a new jerusalem and similar to it, i'm sticking to everything and so I'm taking the most out of my heart and I absorb this poisoned air once again. and so the booster flows through the aorta it is flooding my tarred heart, destination reached. and my wallet is shimmering with bitter crystal nothing will change the course of this chemistry, betrayed. betrayed by their own bodies vidi, no vici, veni on its own, and i'm catching a laugh, standing still in the subway i am still absorbing poisoned air. hatred. jealousy. i've seen enough. today, in my city, sun rises in the morning. you will remember this day forever or forget it for eternity.
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47
After, a long drawn out burning kiss that opened a never healing wound she leaves for the secret rendezvous in a verdant oasis in a distant desert. He didn't hear about her even after light years, remembrance of that kept on haunting him, for reasons he wanted to find, he burned and burned. On a full moon night after million years, searching in the desert, long hours sweating and tired like a haunted animal he found a magnificent Spinx,felt connected fell for that feminine allure, curved hips hypnotic eyes of a hermaphrodite,swell of ******* that illogically prompted him to caress, towering high at the end of an oasis, wasn't it  a construct of desire? he stood, feverishly desiring those pouting lips, the moment next, missed the one inflicted wound, in a pit inside  forbidden longings erupt when speaking  language of desire, poisoned fruits too taste dark poetry, nature flows to  symmetry "No man or woman, loved me like that" a whisper, then a hiss, in passion proclaims there she was his one time lover, cheat, deserter of his spirit's mating call, still he isn't free from delusions, she abandoned him for another, in that too wasn't sure yet another of her misadventure, does she repent? "I didn't want to miss you like this" she says "you mistook that I was in love with her, him or whatever" entanglements, there were from the word go, her eyes , he observed were sapphires, her bleached white bones, were irresistible, totems he wanted to preserve it in the museum in Cairo her being grew in to him like an oasis in a desert, a weary, insane, traveler reaches just in time for the final peaceful hour before all resolve. "Are you insane, what makes you do this again" a voice asked, another million years would pass without any solace, the sphinx, so magnificent then would be just a sand dune ! They hand in hand, would be walking over it, that sweet oblivion would remain, birth after birth.
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Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
k-balachandran
Her forbidden lover turns to a sphinx
After, a long drawn out burning kiss that opened a never healing wound she leaves for the secret rendezvous in a verdant oasis in a distant desert. He didn't hear about her even after light years, remembrance of that kept on haunting him, for reasons he wanted to find, he burned and burned. On a full moon night after million years, searching in the desert, long hours sweating and tired like a haunted animal he found a magnificent Spinx,felt connected fell for that feminine allure, curved hips hypnotic eyes of a hermaphrodite,swell of ******* that illogically prompted him to caress, towering high at the end of an oasis, wasn't it  a construct of desire? he stood, feverishly desiring those pouting lips, the moment next, missed the one inflicted wound, in a pit inside  forbidden longings erupt when speaking  language of desire, poisoned fruits too taste dark poetry, nature flows to  symmetry "No man or woman, loved me like that" a whisper, then a hiss, in passion proclaims there she was his one time lover, cheat, deserter of his spirit's mating call, still he isn't free from delusions, she abandoned him for another, in that too wasn't sure yet another of her misadventure, does she repent? "I didn't want to miss you like this" she says "you mistook that I was in love with her, him or whatever" entanglements, there were from the word go, her eyes , he observed were sapphires, her bleached white bones, were irresistible, totems he wanted to preserve it in the museum in Cairo her being grew in to him like an oasis in a desert, a weary, insane, traveler reaches just in time for the final peaceful hour before all resolve. "Are you insane, what makes you do this again" a voice asked, another million years would pass without any solace, the sphinx, so magnificent then would be just a sand dune ! They hand in hand, would be walking over it, that sweet oblivion would remain, birth after birth.
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42
I am an eternal freak The keeper of an everlasting mystery Which is the secret of my vanishing grim? Light or darkness makes a difference Sometimes you see it Sometimes you don’t Games of your mind Mirror of your emotions I am me and I am you A light hearted-woman Or a Hermaphrodite? To hold the enigma Is my stigma I am my master in disguise If you really look you can see we are alike I am not the mother I am not the son Since I am both and none I am his masterpiece His life companion His mirror Not his darkest secret But his portrait of humankind I am left and right Masculine and feminine Good and bad The one with two faces Who smiles and cries At the same time Yesterday, today and tomorrow I am the world’s sorrow I keep a mystery that none can borrow I am Mona Lisa So they say, so you say I am La Gioconda The one with the most famous, elegant smile The entire world will ever talk about
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Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 9:39 AM UTC
gabriela-abalo
Essence
I am an eternal freak The keeper of an everlasting mystery Which is the secret of my vanishing grim? Light or darkness makes a difference Sometimes you see it Sometimes you don’t Games of your mind Mirror of your emotions I am me and I am you A light hearted-woman Or a Hermaphrodite? To hold the enigma Is my stigma I am my master in disguise If you really look you can see we are alike I am not the mother I am not the son Since I am both and none I am his masterpiece His life companion His mirror Not his darkest secret But his portrait of humankind I am left and right Masculine and feminine Good and bad The one with two faces Who smiles and cries At the same time Yesterday, today and tomorrow I am the world’s sorrow I keep a mystery that none can borrow I am Mona Lisa So they say, so you say I am La Gioconda The one with the most famous, elegant smile The entire world will ever talk about
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37
The sea shells Their flesh, slowly decaying In the waves Giving themselves back... to the sand That breathes slowly to shore The sun hides Under the water that once was breath That once was blood That once... was another one The hermaphrodite gave birth From its insides Spreading and building The offspring Now, a few moments ago Contemplates And wonders The urge To go give itself back To the void
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Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 8:50 PM UTC
flief
The hermaphrodite
The sea shells Their flesh, slowly decaying In the waves Giving themselves back... to the sand That breathes slowly to shore The sun hides Under the water that once was breath That once was blood That once... was another one The hermaphrodite gave birth From its insides Spreading and building The offspring Now, a few moments ago Contemplates And wonders The urge To go give itself back To the void
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19
Ce doit être bon de mourir, D'expirer, oui, de rendre l'âme, De voir enfin les cieux s'ouvrir ; Oui, bon de rejeter sa flamme Hors d'un corps las qui va pourrir ; Oui, ce doit être bon, Madame, Ce doit être bon de mourir ! Bon, comme de faire l'amour, L'amour avec vous, ma Mignonne, Oui, la nuit, au lever du jour, Avec ton âme qui rayonne, Ton corps royal comme une cour ; Ce doit être bon, ma Mignonne, Oui, comme de faire l'amour ; Bon, comme alors que bat mon cœur, Pareil au tambour qui défile, Un tambour qui revient vainqueur, D'arracher le voile inutile Que retenait ton doigt moqueur, De t'emporter comme une ville Sous le feu roulant de mon cœur ; De faire s'étendre ton corps, Dont le soupirail s'entrebâille. Dans de délicieux efforts, Ainsi qu'une rose défaille Et va se fondre en parfums forts, Et doux, comme un beau feu de paille ; De faire s'étendre ton corps ; De faire ton âme jouir, Ton âme aussi belle à connaître, Que tout ton corps à découvrir ; De regarder par la fenêtre De tes yeux ton amour fleurir, Fleurir dans le fond de ton être De faire ton âme jouir ; D'être à deux une seule fleur, Fleur hermaphrodite, homme et femme, De sentir le pistil en pleur, Sous l'étamine toute en flamme, Oui d'être à deux comme une fleur, Une grande fleur qui se pâme, Qui se pâme dans la chaleur. Oui, bon, comme de voir tes yeux Humides des pleurs de l'ivresse, Quand le double jeu sérieux Des langues que la bouche presse, Fait se révulser jusqu'aux cieux, Dans l'appétit de la caresse, Les deux prunelles de tes yeux ; De jouir des mots que ta voix Me lance, comme des flammèches, Qui, me brûlant comme tes doigts, M'entrent au cœur comme des flèches, Tandis que tu mêles ta voix Dans mon oreille que tu lèches, À ton souffle chaud que je bois ; Comme de mordre tes cheveux, Ta toison brune qui ruisselle, Où s'étalent tes flancs nerveux, Et d'empoigner les poils de celle La plus secrète que je veux, Avec les poils de ton aisselle, Mordiller comme tes cheveux ; D'étreindre délicatement Tes flancs nus comme pour des luttes, D'entendre ton gémissement Rieur comme ce chant des flûtes, Auquel un léger grincement Des dents se mêle par minutes, D'étreindre délicatement, De presser ta croupe en fureur Sous le désir qui la cravache Comme une jument d'empereur, Tes seins où ma tête se cache Dans la délicieuse horreur Des cris que je... que je t'arrache Du fond de ta gorge en fureur ; Ce doit être bon de mourir, Puisque faire ce que l'on nomme L'amour, impérieux plaisir De la femme mêlée à l'homme, C'est doux à l'instant de jouir, C'est bon, dis-tu, c'est bon... oui... comme, Comme si l'on allait mourir ?
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1.1k
Germain Nouveau
L'agonisant
Ce doit être bon de mourir, D'expirer, oui, de rendre l'âme, De voir enfin les cieux s'ouvrir ; Oui, bon de rejeter sa flamme Hors d'un corps las qui va pourrir ; Oui, ce doit être bon, Madame, Ce doit être bon de mourir ! Bon, comme de faire l'amour, L'amour avec vous, ma Mignonne, Oui, la nuit, au lever du jour, Avec ton âme qui rayonne, Ton corps royal comme une cour ; Ce doit être bon, ma Mignonne, Oui, comme de faire l'amour ; Bon, comme alors que bat mon cœur, Pareil au tambour qui défile, Un tambour qui revient vainqueur, D'arracher le voile inutile Que retenait ton doigt moqueur, De t'emporter comme une ville Sous le feu roulant de mon cœur ; De faire s'étendre ton corps, Dont le soupirail s'entrebâille. Dans de délicieux efforts, Ainsi qu'une rose défaille Et va se fondre en parfums forts, Et doux, comme un beau feu de paille ; De faire s'étendre ton corps ; De faire ton âme jouir, Ton âme aussi belle à connaître, Que tout ton corps à découvrir ; De regarder par la fenêtre De tes yeux ton amour fleurir, Fleurir dans le fond de ton être De faire ton âme jouir ; D'être à deux une seule fleur, Fleur hermaphrodite, homme et femme, De sentir le pistil en pleur, Sous l'étamine toute en flamme, Oui d'être à deux comme une fleur, Une grande fleur qui se pâme, Qui se pâme dans la chaleur. Oui, bon, comme de voir tes yeux Humides des pleurs de l'ivresse, Quand le double jeu sérieux Des langues que la bouche presse, Fait se révulser jusqu'aux cieux, Dans l'appétit de la caresse, Les deux prunelles de tes yeux ; De jouir des mots que ta voix Me lance, comme des flammèches, Qui, me brûlant comme tes doigts, M'entrent au cœur comme des flèches, Tandis que tu mêles ta voix Dans mon oreille que tu lèches, À ton souffle chaud que je bois ; Comme de mordre tes cheveux, Ta toison brune qui ruisselle, Où s'étalent tes flancs nerveux, Et d'empoigner les poils de celle La plus secrète que je veux, Avec les poils de ton aisselle, Mordiller comme tes cheveux ; D'étreindre délicatement Tes flancs nus comme pour des luttes, D'entendre ton gémissement Rieur comme ce chant des flûtes, Auquel un léger grincement Des dents se mêle par minutes, D'étreindre délicatement, De presser ta croupe en fureur Sous le désir qui la cravache Comme une jument d'empereur, Tes seins où ma tête se cache Dans la délicieuse horreur Des cris que je... que je t'arrache Du fond de ta gorge en fureur ; Ce doit être bon de mourir, Puisque faire ce que l'on nomme L'amour, impérieux plaisir De la femme mêlée à l'homme, C'est doux à l'instant de jouir, C'est bon, dis-tu, c'est bon... oui... comme, Comme si l'on allait mourir ?
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84
They say it's deer Deer that change shape An ancient Whitman they say caught one once The woman who would not wear fruit to hide herself like Eve on stage refused to wear the shoes a hermaphrodite gave her She ran thru front yards she ran thru bedrooms the shadow she gathered from the oak will keep her sanity so long as she holds the right note in her chest
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May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
mike-arms
Whitman
They say it's deer Deer that change shape An ancient Whitman they say caught one once The woman who would not wear fruit to hide herself like Eve on stage refused to wear the shoes a hermaphrodite gave her She ran thru front yards she ran thru bedrooms the shadow she gathered from the oak will keep her sanity so long as she holds the right note in her chest
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15
Il avait l'âme aride et vaine de sa mère, L'œil froid du dieu voleur qui marche à reculons ; Il promenait sa grâce, insouciante, altière, Et les nymphes disaient : « Quel marbre nous aimons ! » Un jour que cet enfant d'Hermès et d'Aphrodite Méprisait Salmacis, nymphe du mont Ida, La vierge, l'embrassant d'une étreinte subite, Pénétra son beau corps si bien qu'elle y resta ! De surprise et d'horreur ses divines compagnes, Qui dans cet être unique en reconnaissaient deux, Comme un sphinx égaré dans leurs chastes montagnes, Fuyaient ce double faune au visage douteux. La volupté souffrait dans sa prunelle étrange, Il faisait des serments d'une hésitante voix ; L'amour et le dédain par un hideux mélange Dans son vague sourire étaient peints à la fois. Son inutile sein n'offrait ni lait ni flamme ; En s'y posant, l'oreille, hélas ! eût découvert Un cœur d'homme où chantait un pauvre cœur de femme, Comme un oiseau perdu dans un temple désert. Ô symbole effrayant de ces unions louches Où l'un des deux amants, sans joie et sans désir, Fuit le regard de l'autre ; où l'une des deux bouches En goûtant les baisers sent l'autre les subir !
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1k
René-François Sully Prudhomme
Hermaphrodite
Il avait l'âme aride et vaine de sa mère, L'œil froid du dieu voleur qui marche à reculons ; Il promenait sa grâce, insouciante, altière, Et les nymphes disaient : « Quel marbre nous aimons ! » Un jour que cet enfant d'Hermès et d'Aphrodite Méprisait Salmacis, nymphe du mont Ida, La vierge, l'embrassant d'une étreinte subite, Pénétra son beau corps si bien qu'elle y resta ! De surprise et d'horreur ses divines compagnes, Qui dans cet être unique en reconnaissaient deux, Comme un sphinx égaré dans leurs chastes montagnes, Fuyaient ce double faune au visage douteux. La volupté souffrait dans sa prunelle étrange, Il faisait des serments d'une hésitante voix ; L'amour et le dédain par un hideux mélange Dans son vague sourire étaient peints à la fois. Son inutile sein n'offrait ni lait ni flamme ; En s'y posant, l'oreille, hélas ! eût découvert Un cœur d'homme où chantait un pauvre cœur de femme, Comme un oiseau perdu dans un temple désert. Ô symbole effrayant de ces unions louches Où l'un des deux amants, sans joie et sans désir, Fuit le regard de l'autre ; où l'une des deux bouches En goûtant les baisers sent l'autre les subir !
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24
It is a strange feeling, wanting to die but not being selfish enough to **** yourself. It is not a good feeling and it is not a bad feeling. Just strange. Like wanting to step out of a moving vehicle but the door is locked, and you're the one who locked it. It's liberating, in a sense. To sever those stringy limbs that are clutching on to life and all its irrelevant attachments. Unbinded by society. The friendly release of death, all the familiarities of living still in tact. Immortality stolen directly from the suicide note. Shot through the heart, but still very much full of life. Some pathetic hermaphrodite of irony and despair. I think it stems from this futile awareness of a futile existence. I could live with a futile existence, but by some divine cosmic punishment am forced to be aware of my place within society. My place being an insignificant cell in a cell. And no body cares about a single cell within it. If one cell dies, it won't even notice it's gone, but simply continue as it was. But I refuse to give it the power to ignore my death. To stay alive is rebellion. To love and to live, in spite of life, is pure anarchy.
0
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
nemonobody
the anarchist
It is a strange feeling, wanting to die but not being selfish enough to **** yourself. It is not a good feeling and it is not a bad feeling. Just strange. Like wanting to step out of a moving vehicle but the door is locked, and you're the one who locked it. It's liberating, in a sense. To sever those stringy limbs that are clutching on to life and all its irrelevant attachments. Unbinded by society. The friendly release of death, all the familiarities of living still in tact. Immortality stolen directly from the suicide note. Shot through the heart, but still very much full of life. Some pathetic hermaphrodite of irony and despair. I think it stems from this futile awareness of a futile existence. I could live with a futile existence, but by some divine cosmic punishment am forced to be aware of my place within society. My place being an insignificant cell in a cell. And no body cares about a single cell within it. If one cell dies, it won't even notice it's gone, but simply continue as it was. But I refuse to give it the power to ignore my death. To stay alive is rebellion. To love and to live, in spite of life, is pure anarchy.
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4
.                                                   pękł -    reg. a balloon:                                          he burst, in other languages certain words have no gender neutrality, why double the standard for a per se fetish, regarding neither noun nor verb gender neutral, by sole testimony     identifying pronouns as gender neutral?      move to switzerland, and you'll find certain objects having a gender bias... e.g. a grenade is male, a chair is female,                 a table is male... not really: a chair is gender-neutral, a sleeve is male, the sun is female, the moon is male, the bed is female, the floor is female, a house is a hermaphrodite, as is tango. how can you attain           gender neutrality within the framework of pornouns?   sorry, pronouns...                      english is looking, but rather not looking at itself being constrained in a straitjacket... ******* lunatics, a bunch of ******* lunatics...    pronouns are          gender exclusive... other european tongues? their nouns are gender inclusive...                     to me the english language is ******** or at least contrasting the darwinistic bombast:                             neanderthal. and to think, it only took the church being truly established,    the mistaken identity of the dead sea scrolls,           st. thomas' gospel,    and the nag hammadi library... bunch of wanks...       sure, if the atlantic sea is just a pond...    wanks welcome yanks...      in continental    european, a chair can summon a male pronoun association,    while a frying-pan can summon a female pronoun...     england was never going to be as eccentric as iceland...   unless in never never ever land.                                                   pękła,                                        yep, she burst.
0
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
the only time i'll use an acronym, i.e., ***
.                                                   pękł -    reg. a balloon:                                          he burst, in other languages certain words have no gender neutrality, why double the standard for a per se fetish, regarding neither noun nor verb gender neutral, by sole testimony     identifying pronouns as gender neutral?      move to switzerland, and you'll find certain objects having a gender bias... e.g. a grenade is male, a chair is female,                 a table is male... not really: a chair is gender-neutral, a sleeve is male, the sun is female, the moon is male, the bed is female, the floor is female, a house is a hermaphrodite, as is tango. how can you attain           gender neutrality within the framework of pornouns?   sorry, pronouns...                      english is looking, but rather not looking at itself being constrained in a straitjacket... ******* lunatics, a bunch of ******* lunatics...    pronouns are          gender exclusive... other european tongues? their nouns are gender inclusive...                     to me the english language is ******** or at least contrasting the darwinistic bombast:                             neanderthal. and to think, it only took the church being truly established,    the mistaken identity of the dead sea scrolls,           st. thomas' gospel,    and the nag hammadi library... bunch of wanks...       sure, if the atlantic sea is just a pond...    wanks welcome yanks...      in continental    european, a chair can summon a male pronoun association,    while a frying-pan can summon a female pronoun...     england was never going to be as eccentric as iceland...   unless in never never ever land.                                                   pękła,                                        yep, she burst.
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71
Once there was a floating hand and it had nobody and it was in the middle of nowhere and it floaded to the middle of nowhere for a time that was inconceivable until one day I found a floating pencil... And it picked up that floating pencil... and I thought yay now I can make some friends and at first I just threw some shapes and they were awful and horrible and it hated itself so it gave up but then after a while it decided to hone its skills and it drew a dragon monster and the dragon monster came to life and it decided that dragon monsters were terrifying so it got away from the dragon monster but it's still all of its gold and made some chains out of it and became a rapper and it live that kind of life for a while but then it decided that it was tired of that life and its last album was about becoming a better person... Then one day I decided I don't need somebody else I just need to feel complete... So it decided to draw a wrist and an arm and a torso and legs and the neck and the head and a ***** and a ****** because it figured what the hell there's nobody else here to judge me I'll just be a man and a woman... But now that it was a person it became lonely again the way through a bunch of friends and a bunch of people to be around it and once they came to life they looked at it and said growth of hermaphrodite and it died of shame in Exile the end
0
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
mike-1
The floating hand.
Once there was a floating hand and it had nobody and it was in the middle of nowhere and it floaded to the middle of nowhere for a time that was inconceivable until one day I found a floating pencil... And it picked up that floating pencil... and I thought yay now I can make some friends and at first I just threw some shapes and they were awful and horrible and it hated itself so it gave up but then after a while it decided to hone its skills and it drew a dragon monster and the dragon monster came to life and it decided that dragon monsters were terrifying so it got away from the dragon monster but it's still all of its gold and made some chains out of it and became a rapper and it live that kind of life for a while but then it decided that it was tired of that life and its last album was about becoming a better person... Then one day I decided I don't need somebody else I just need to feel complete... So it decided to draw a wrist and an arm and a torso and legs and the neck and the head and a ***** and a ****** because it figured what the hell there's nobody else here to judge me I'll just be a man and a woman... But now that it was a person it became lonely again the way through a bunch of friends and a bunch of people to be around it and once they came to life they looked at it and said growth of hermaphrodite and it died of shame in Exile the end
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1
in this sanctum where no one enters deity distinctly different than devotee she dared is it the audacity of hope? or a star about to crash and burn paying a hefty price for karmas well over five thousand years old that was then.... reentry, this time around permitted only when duality truly ends in unity just like the cosmic hermaphrodite her residual ego already deflated needs to be surrendered at the doorstep before being permitted access into this sanctum sanctorum of love only then this half circle becomes fully complete © 2019
0
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 12:26 PM UTC
rama-krsna
full half circle
in this sanctum where no one enters deity distinctly different than devotee she dared is it the audacity of hope? or a star about to crash and burn paying a hefty price for karmas well over five thousand years old that was then.... reentry, this time around permitted only when duality truly ends in unity just like the cosmic hermaphrodite her residual ego already deflated needs to be surrendered at the doorstep before being permitted access into this sanctum sanctorum of love only then this half circle becomes fully complete © 2019
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25
========================== some are sometimes flower and fragrance i can be both at the same time Written by ~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~
0
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 4:41 AM UTC
yasaman-johari
HERMAPHRODITE
========================== some are sometimes flower and fragrance i can be both at the same time Written by ~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~
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11
What are lies and why are they white? This question throws me on an endless plight. Leaves me wondering for hours and hours, Don’t throw **** at me and tell me it’s flowers. If I ask you a question, you better answer me straight, And if you don’t, it’s a little too late, I don’t accept lies that are white. You have a better chance of turning into a hermaphrodite.
0
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 10:37 AM UTC
Yuno-Nightgale
White lies
What are lies and why are they white? This question throws me on an endless plight. Leaves me wondering for hours and hours, Don’t throw **** at me and tell me it’s flowers. If I ask you a question, you better answer me straight, And if you don’t, it’s a little too late, I don’t accept lies that are white. You have a better chance of turning into a hermaphrodite.
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8
atheistic scissors: the definite article (the) & the indefinite article (a) so as consciousness begins within the context of a- (loss) of ego, it's still a persistent direct article (the)... thus the unconscious begins within the context of no a- (loss) of ego to begin with; meaning: there was never any ego to begin with... i.e. an invoking of an indirect article; the randomness of dreams, and our lack of control thereof... i still persist in thinking that the subconscious if fake, the medium easily abused by sophistry or therefore a lack of... i.e. in proper disguise, guiding the most effective subversion of the righteous vectors... nonetheless, to me there are still only two incissors into an anti-freudian compass of directing a marathon's course, no trinity, no three tier encompass of an "identity"... no **** sapiens* either... the split (schizoi) man... beginning with the scissors that are united within the grammatical category of articles, such that we always seem to be reduced toward legal terms of the american constitution and their amendments: revisions that become reiterations... and what original? what original?! there was never any original by current-affairs' standards! id and the unconscious, superego and the subconscious, ego and consciousness - hence the quasi-noun status of index finger's pressure "pointing" at something, that's a quality focus, that descriptive mechanism conjuring noun-foci, that are nothing but tarantula bites of injecting the venom of frau zensieren, and yes, the practice is feminine, in the continental sense moving outside the safety of approving gender to inanimate objects.... that are also noun-pools of quicker-stepping in a tango of spreschen... some verbs can be elevated to the nonsense in the anglophone zeitgeist of now... gender neutrality cannot exist in the pronoun category... go to quebec, and order a gender neutral noun's worth of a coffee & a bagel... while sitting on a homosexual chair, resting your elbows on a hermaphrodite table... looking at a "cis-gender" wall, while talking lesbian about animal rights... you know that cain was a vegetarian? these days russia looks so much less menacing that mainstream media deems it to be so... in this war, which is cold war II... u.s.a. is the enemy... sorry... but when every citizen turns into a *babushka ****** fuck it, i'm out, i'm bankrupt... i can appreciate a ****** in a position of power within a government... but when ordinary people turn into hitlers?! **** it... i'm out... i'm playing poker with a joker card.
0
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
atheistic scissors / frau zensieren
atheistic scissors: the definite article (the) & the indefinite article (a) so as consciousness begins within the context of a- (loss) of ego, it's still a persistent direct article (the)... thus the unconscious begins within the context of no a- (loss) of ego to begin with; meaning: there was never any ego to begin with... i.e. an invoking of an indirect article; the randomness of dreams, and our lack of control thereof... i still persist in thinking that the subconscious if fake, the medium easily abused by sophistry or therefore a lack of... i.e. in proper disguise, guiding the most effective subversion of the righteous vectors... nonetheless, to me there are still only two incissors into an anti-freudian compass of directing a marathon's course, no trinity, no three tier encompass of an "identity"... no **** sapiens* either... the split (schizoi) man... beginning with the scissors that are united within the grammatical category of articles, such that we always seem to be reduced toward legal terms of the american constitution and their amendments: revisions that become reiterations... and what original? what original?! there was never any original by current-affairs' standards! id and the unconscious, superego and the subconscious, ego and consciousness - hence the quasi-noun status of index finger's pressure "pointing" at something, that's a quality focus, that descriptive mechanism conjuring noun-foci, that are nothing but tarantula bites of injecting the venom of frau zensieren, and yes, the practice is feminine, in the continental sense moving outside the safety of approving gender to inanimate objects.... that are also noun-pools of quicker-stepping in a tango of spreschen... some verbs can be elevated to the nonsense in the anglophone zeitgeist of now... gender neutrality cannot exist in the pronoun category... go to quebec, and order a gender neutral noun's worth of a coffee & a bagel... while sitting on a homosexual chair, resting your elbows on a hermaphrodite table... looking at a "cis-gender" wall, while talking lesbian about animal rights... you know that cain was a vegetarian? these days russia looks so much less menacing that mainstream media deems it to be so... in this war, which is cold war II... u.s.a. is the enemy... sorry... but when every citizen turns into a *babushka ****** fuck it, i'm out, i'm bankrupt... i can appreciate a ****** in a position of power within a government... but when ordinary people turn into hitlers?! **** it... i'm out... i'm playing poker with a joker card.
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106
In Irish mythology it was a homogamous hermaphrodite, bi ****** minotaur that roamed the hills of Con O'Meara, North of Spideal and South of Cliften where Alcock and Brown, by all accounts practiced ********** when they landed in County Galway after their Trans Atlantic crossing from the United States of America.
0
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 8:43 AM UTC
ryan-olearyuu
Cow Pat.
In Irish mythology it was a homogamous hermaphrodite, bi ****** minotaur that roamed the hills of Con O'Meara, North of Spideal and South of Cliften where Alcock and Brown, by all accounts practiced ********** when they landed in County Galway after their Trans Atlantic crossing from the United States of America.
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10
Serpent inverting sense invoking smiles Flash bone to the fruit of the knowing good Taste of the sickening or urgent food Swagging God to appetize necrophiles. Serpent whispers war swallowing souls for miles Each way as a starved out heavenly feud Flames to ruin the body by bodies imbued With gut lust the conflicted tongue riles. A worm burrowing through to eat the turn Will savor seed at core of maggot site, Settled omnivorous as freshly found. Selving **** to cocoon the worm it churn, A hungry untasted hermaphrodite Devouring dainty dead meat now renowned.
0
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 5:46 PM UTC
J1j1
Prophecy
Serpent inverting sense invoking smiles Flash bone to the fruit of the knowing good Taste of the sickening or urgent food Swagging God to appetize necrophiles. Serpent whispers war swallowing souls for miles Each way as a starved out heavenly feud Flames to ruin the body by bodies imbued With gut lust the conflicted tongue riles. A worm burrowing through to eat the turn Will savor seed at core of maggot site, Settled omnivorous as freshly found. Selving **** to cocoon the worm it churn, A hungry untasted hermaphrodite Devouring dainty dead meat now renowned.
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14