Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aaron Mullin Oct 2014
The first time I truly stepped into the mystic
For a suspended period
Those close to me watched with amused
Concern

Later on I would find out that this place was called hypo-mania
A lower energy level than mania
Recognized by the p-doc's as a creative place
But also a place of warning

Cause what comes next?
Mania
For me it was spiritual; I was playing in the aether
I was living the Tao; I instinctively called it Source

I was studying to be a scientist at the time
So this didn't make a lot of sense
The data didn't support the hypothesis
Had I just eaten one to many mushrooms as a teenager?

I already had a psychiatrist
I was being treated for ADHD
He had prescribed something called Concerta
An amphetamine; a ******-stimulant

At many points along the journey
I cursed the day I ever heard of psychiatry
I'm sure that the neuro-chemical pathways opened up by Concerta
Had something to do with my awakening

Those first days near Source made me realize I needed some guidelines
Mine were informed by my indigenous heritage
Only take what you need (i.e. sip, don't gulp from the River Tao)
Find your foundation: my rock was integrity, eventually leading to authenticity

Even with these guidelines, I couldn't maintain the healthy place they were calling hypo-mania
I had too much toxicity in the relationships around me
I couldn't fully elucidate what I was seeing and feeling
And my 7 kettles were on a full rolling boil

I was draining myself
I drove myself into madness
I was trying to sip from source and live my truth
But I wasn't honouring the nature of the Tao

It was Helter Skelter:
'So you go back to the top of the slide
And you turn and you go for a ride
And I get to the bottom and I see you again'

Over the next 3 years
I would lay down what I now think of as my
4 pillars; four hospitalizations
Well over one hundred days in the Cuckoo's Nest

The first hospitalization I went happily
I was going to teach and inspire the sickies
It's hard to get healthy in a place of illness, though
I came out still a little hypo-manic but went into a deep, dark depression
After finding out what those around me really thought

The second hospitalization, I went against my will
The doctor's were inconsistent, I found flaws in their logic
They looked at me like I was a flaw
They tried to prescribe health at me; I told them to *******

At that point I was not happy with the Canadian health care system
Health, first and foremost, was a public good
This ******* the individual's rights
I wasn't a danger to myself or others but I was a risk so there goes 70 days of my life

I was fortunate to have the support of some important people
They made sure my finances, among other things, were maintained as I tried to make it back to the ordinary
After my second hospitalization I really began to delve into the idea of holistic healthcare

It was after my second hospitalization that I made my first Hero's Journey
I was playing the role of a white blood cell for Gaia
I had my first three sweats within a month of each other
I met many shaman and I'm pretty sure I began my own residency

I put 10,000 km on my trusty steed
Chasing windmills
Sancho Panza by my side
< --- -- - Vancouver, NYC, Los Angeles, 'da bridge - -- --- >

My third hospitalization was the third act of this Hero's Journey
I was pushing it, reckless; I stopped taking my prescribed medicine
I ended up in the City of Angels of all places
Straight outta Compton!

My fourth hospitalization (and final pillar) was last summer
This time I ended up in Billings, Montana
The American model places the onus of health on the individual
I could have stepped out of that hospital at any point but I now had the wisdom to know what I did and did not need

Even though I speak of four pillars
There is always a fifth element
Her; the one
She woke me up to my soul's purpose

We met shortly before my fourth hospitalization
(You've got to use the fourth, Aaron)
She was a stranger in many ways
Still is but why does she feel so familiar?

She walked me through Dante's Inferno
She had spent time in her own non-ordinary reality
She left behind a map and published it
Through her bravery, I was able to find my way out of the inferno

And through her bravery, I was able to publish my map
http://www.bipolarorwakingup.com/
Bella Feb 2019
I never wonder what it would be like for me to not have my disease
But I do wonder what it would be like to be someone without it

What it would be like to not miss school to see a doctor whose specialty my classmates can't even spell
What it would be like not to take a pill every morning
What it would be like to not face the repercussions of not taking my pill one morning
What it would be like not to pay for the Synthroid
What it would be like to not know anything about it

I think it would be quite ordinary
I think I would be weaker for it
not being able to endure the symptoms
I think I would have less initiative
Not having to take my pill for myself at a young age
I think I would be less curious
Not wanting to know more about myself
I think I'm better off for it

I know more about myself
I know more about the world around me
I know more about perseverance
I know more about medicine
I know more about budgeting
I know more about individuality

I would never want for me to not have my disease
I'm a better person for it
hypothyroidism
Not any character of the jungle,
At the time power was kept by the single
Lion kind, risked jumping into the lions’ jaws,
Against their rapacity raising paws:
The hares and hyenas they could strangle
And devour; in their minds best were their laws
Providing rights of the mighty
As common and full sovereignty.

The era was worsened by men-hunting,
Whose guns were used the wildlife menacing.
The weak of the forest saw that succumbed
The lions, who were the first shot at, welcomed
The hunters and their faces showed, smiling.
They were deceived when the first seen were harmed
Like the lions by the same haughty
Men set against their sovereignty.

Some lions who survived called the animals
For a meeting, and the men-criminals
Were the main topic of their discussion.
The lions warned, “Will wipe us away those men
If can’t stand together as animals,
Fight them and save lion, hypo, hare and wren…”
Mocked and heckled the assembly
That ne’er had enjoyed sovereignty.

Each one’s motion was that there was no need
Of obeying on the lions, who to feed
Their cubs with their flesh used to take pleasure.
They thought their forest had become seizure
Of the men for lack of unity; freed
It’d be with or ‘thout a lion as major:
They’d trust who would bring unity
And help them enjoy sovereignty.

There came a time and there came protectors
Of the animals to stop the hunters
From destroying on the environment.
They showed in killing there’s no contentment.
So the hunters ceased to be predators,
And the fauna had no more sentiment
Of hating the humanity
That brought them peace and sovereignty.

Some of them were kept in zoo
And the kingship of the lions they did boo.
Cows, rabbits, goats - were domesticated,
And more than ever they were protected.
Such treatment them gave of humans new view:
The protectors or authors of the deed
Looked like who’d brought brutality,
But in their hearts reigned sovereignty.

Later on the lions found that in the strong
Claws dwelt no good power, but can be for long
Which is applied to all comfort giving,
That a king marching in front of trembling
Souls, as if to hell angels would belong,
One day will see his strength brought to nothing,
But where freedom ain’t scarcity
Kings and subjects share sovereignty.

What the beasts failed to know was the keepers
Of the zoo were children of the poachers,
Who’d found unfair deed what their fathers did,
To take good care of them had decided
And did not want to be called game-seekers’
Generation. In the action could read
Great kindness and humanity
The beasts savoring sovereignty.

A former foe may become a good friend,
Who breaks off with the past and turns his hand
Into protector, support provider –
Like Human Rights Activists. No wonder
Where they are from, people’s torn hearts they mend.
A protector has ne’er been intruder
As long as for tranquility
He works and preserves sovereignty.

A sovereign nation is not like a house
With its closed doors, and inside, like a mouse,
A wife is beaten and loses her life
Without neighbours’ intervention as if
Not hearkening the victim, and the louse
Of man not stopping is to save the life.
Is a land where people’s safety
Is denied full of sovereignty?

If at The Hague someone is indicted,
It means not people he has protected,
Nor that he has well governed Liberia,
But ‘cause people’s hearts he has filled with fear
And a lot of trouble he’s invited.
After shedding blood there and here,
The lions who’ve made their claws *****
Should be there washed for sovereignty.

Wherever the lions rage it’s no matter:
Matters the will to keep the world better.
Some Devil’s advocates would call nations
Not in Syria to find indications
Of crimes as if is found a wife-beater
At Holy Land or brothels it opens.
In a place where reigns sanctity
Won’t dwell breakers of sovereignty.


A rot of conception of sovereignty
Reeks when gangrene holds sway o’er a country,
In which Democracy swings at cannons;
Debates are feared that aim ruling with brains;
Wear noose as necklace who would change carry,
And the song “Independence” is hangmen’s.
Where lions and lambs live with loyalty,
There is unshaken sovereignty.
This poem aims to think of what sovereignty is and especially of its true concept.
http://www.amazon.com/author/bonim007
A big curtain
As if on fire
Separates us from them
Real from fantasy
Gods from mortal me

It drapes
And tumbles
Like an elegant ball gown
Though what they wear
Is mostly bare

And I long
To kindly shout
Redirections because I see
How much better
The choreography would be
If entrusted to me

Arrogant
Is what I am
And fearful when the time does come
To take charge of my own art
But separate, I can play the part
Much better than I do
When it's MY show that's about to start
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel know Sense touch feel  

Lying spirits. Those are real you know. You know? Don't you?

Mad is ill defined, dis-ease, decease, desistere, eh? You Roman?
You serve a mad man you know.
And the Roman said,'I serve the empire, a' and he stopped…

Might right be virtuous and power called might
be not-right,
like hands, chirality? Right and not.

Shame, we should not know that.

Perhaps the vector was the chirality connection.
Hers was upgraded.
So when the shame bomb hit, it was him,
not her, who blew it?
He did that?
Yeh, I see how now,
It's the hypo-thalish, estrogen receptor steward system.
Who named that ****** thing?

No, left-right brain variablity was designed
to counter the estrogen-tester if it went mal.
This is the Left HIS Branch, a resistor,
it changed the way breath gets to that "It is,
good" receptor complex just inside
the ventricles
where the first sparks releaze
the ozone reaction.
The reaction to that lost loving feeling,
That was the shame bomb.
The action taken to a switch burned out
in a rush of knowledge of good and evil beyond
the heart's experience with expansion.
The opposite seems to have happened in the wombedman,
he comprehends hope is a new treasure.
Hope. Who coulda seen that coming?

A witness.
Some mind saw that happen and it was never washed into the sea of forgetfulness, so

Wow.

Like in the mountains, that ozone,
first breath feeling, that's great!
No, like that first free hit. That's it. You will pay…

Like, this first reaction is not "That's wonder-filled",
but it's
"that was not deep enough,
not good enough,
too shallow,
faked it".

On every breath the man takes,
a voice in his head is saying,
"not good enough, keep
trying/dying/breathe/harder.
Sweat it all.
Shame on you."
Shame.
That was the trick.
Make him think he is not related to God,
on any level?
Make him think he does not have a knower
in good working order,
save for that tiny electrical glitch in the
official HIS bundle builder gene. That's nothing,
Who told him she was naked?
That's evil.
What he knew was good, what he believed was evil.

How did it work out?

Okeh. It took several millennia longer
than first estimates.
Starts out kinda dun'dat, don't it?
Things get brighter near the end.
According to the legend I learned.

Knowing liars lie does not make every man a liar, I think,
Only the ones who say they do not
lie have no truth in them,
if they can truly believe that.

It's a chapter, a colloquy of consciousness grounding out.

The story is told,
this is the way men were built, original specs,
able to do anything they agreed to do.
But their hearts had been corrupted because
the whole heart building system in Adam
was dis - turbed, mixed up with that sweet deceit.
If it weren't for mitichondria the sifting needed,
could have taken forever.

By Noah's first beard, the gene pool was so turbid, no one could see the bottom.

Living water flowing from men's bellies,
ta, lemme say,
that be some evolvin' involvin' some
a priori
somethin' or anotha.
Ax that wombedman at the well, what the hell?

There, here, is a whole story about ****** and the seeds of all the myths that point so straight
to Jesus as they red-shift into historical
mysteriums twisted and warped by time and chance tyrannies.
Holiness hierarchical hegemony funds
that sprang from Eve's first hope,
have no hope at all for
cowards and fools and fraidy cats.

Heroes, those compound interest, all things are possible,
except
God can't lie, or die, or fail.

Is living heroic, no. We choose to live.
Life favors life.
That's easy.
All things are possible with life,
as a whole.
Very complex plots and schemes and schemas and media
and magi-level tech
this is working, you know.
We agree. Who could make us enemies?

Still, any plan men made was clear in the minds of all the planners
and the builders and the men they used as tools to
multiply the strength of the ideas that possessed them.
They built cities that way.
By agreeing together to do it. Gobekli Tepi?
You know, what was that ? A
thousand years of CCC park bench building and trail
marking benignly buried with never a mark of destruction?
They, the men planners and builders and laborers, right after the Ice pulled back from the Caucusus
or the Levant lifted up, 12,000 years ago, or so,
somebody builds this place called Gobekli Tepi
about a morning walk, a Sabbath Day's Journey, from
Terah's Local god shoppe in Urfa
the Turks are said to say..

----
Original specs, reset, it's all software.
We can cipher this out,
if we keep our heads
while others about us are losing theirs.

Men with the new softer hearts can do that, they can,
when they put their heads together,
they can make anything happen.
Knowledge is increasing, as we know it.

Nothin''s done in darkness that shan't be made known.

That's no threat.
Never was.
It's a promise. Like, the meek inherit the earth.
This is raw. I am hoping for feed back that tells me if the voice and time and pov swirl I am attempting harmonizes with the idea of a golden meaning in life that spins out from the source of life it self. It is a sc-fi-fantasy poetic philo-loving essay, esse. How can it be better?
Blackbird Love Oct 2015
Hypothetically speaking, if i could rewind time
I'd pause in the middle of seperation
And maybe you'd be real this time 

Hypothetically of course, there wouldn't
Have been a break up . about your feelings
I couldnt care ... and in your arms ...
I wouldnt wish you were there

Hypothetically of course, i wouldn't
Crave your embrace . you wouldn't
Have went from meaning to much to me ...
To just a random face

With chemistry at first sight
I was bonded to you by a force .
If i cared about you i'd miss you ...
Hypothetically of course
Sugar rush rush rush oh yeah rush
I have a sugar rush
I deserve a coke and a nice cream bun oh yeah let's party on
You see sugar hangs around at parties
I wish it fucken wouldn't
But it does you see it can pump up the young
And provide muscle which
Could later be celiate
I love to have a sugar rush
Like a nice finger bun with honey oh so tasty as
I need to have a sugar rush
Like a nice vanilla milkshake
And a mud cake yeah it tastes so great
What about bubble gum or
Chewing gum the best items for your sugar rush
You see ***** cranberry has
Sugar as well as alcohol
So you get your sugar rush and alcohol fix
How cools that
The reason why kids are hypo active because they have a sugar rush that happens every day
Sugar rush rush rush oh yeah
Come in to the witch's gingerbread house to taste more sugar to fatten you up
But you must say to the witch
You can't get me dude
Sugar rush sugar rush
Rush rush rush
Enjoy sugar every day dudes


Sent from my iPhone
Trev is a young dude and he needs to be liked by all




Trev is having a hard time getting teased by his little bro Markie, who was a real little cool kid, and when I say cool kid, I mean he does all the popular things, and all the rough cool kids loved my his brother Markie a lot, and Trev, is just a regular joe who likes to just go down the shop and have drinks, sitting down talking about fathers who were fairly strict, mind you Trev had all respect for his father, but that doesn't stop him from ratting him off to friends over a nice cold can of coke.
You see Trev had a main best mate named Heath, who was a real friend, well at least Trev thought that as Heath always seemed to listen to him, but Heath wanted really to be a cool kid, while Trev just wanted to talk about the things he watched on the TV, and he said a lot about that new music show named Later with Jools and Trev said that Jools Holland was a real hero for music fans to see their favourite music, and I know that sounds like what cool kids talk about, Trev, who, yes I haven't told you, as autism, and he gets obsessed with music, and every conversation was about music and being cool calm and collected.
Heath, didn't want to upset Trev but really he didn't want to listen to every conversation about music, you see it drove him nuts, and Heath didn't have it in his heart to tell Trev, because it could hurt his feelings, but really Trev could throw a tantrum, and Heath cared too much for that.
So Heath became Trevs only friend and came over to his house every weekend to play with him, but when Trev bought out the toys and started to talk about baby talk, you know he was only 8, but Heath didn't speak like that, and even Trevs younger brother Markie who still was using his mothers pet name as his name at 6, he was more grown up, and Heath often tried to tease Trev with his brother, and yes they teased Trev, and Trev was getting very angry, but he kept on trying to talk to his friend, he said ' who do you want to win today in the first round of the AFL, and Markie said how about we choose the team you aren't going for, and then Trev told Heath to come to the shop to buy a drink, and talk about problems with our families, cause Trev was thinking that just because your family has enough money to support you, it still can be a nightmare trying to grow up in a family like that, and Heath, who was getting sick of Trev winging and whining, just said to him that he liked him, and despite of what he says to his brother, it is just a joke, but of course Heath is a kid, and he was a poor kid, so instead of saying what I just said he said, that is what he meant, he actually said, you know , yo, man, wots, happning, ya fams orye qui comply, which you know Trev thought was complete jibberish, and started to think that Heath didn't care about him and sort of gave him the cold shoulder treatment, and Heath sort of noticed the chemistry trying to actually understand, and said his jibberish, which was yo man wots up,
Yo dude, ya nid ta liten up, and Trev was tired of this language and started to wonder why a friend of his was talking like this, this talking isn't proper talking, it'total jibberish, sure he is nice to me, but he speaks this real spastic jibberish, it drives Trev nuts, but really, he has no friends, at school, but he was honest, in that he couldn't figure out what language he spoke, and his brother Markie who heard him wonder what these words were in his mind on his bed, Markie started to teaee his brother saying, you are so ****** *******, you don't know anything that cool kids know, you stupid old ****, he is being cool, you see, ******, he say, yo, ya doin nuttin rye, ya stipid and yo a fu-en ritarded, spaz and Trev really was hurt, mainly because of the way he said it, because really those words meanr nothing, you see they are just words to suggest that kids can tease people who are disabled, so they can't figure out their goings on.
This kind of teasing was going on for days and days, and Markie was a real cool kid, everyone liked him, yes, like all kids want, Markie was popular and then Trev and Markies father noticed that Trev was starting to feel low, and really he tried it make Trev feel better, and yes Trev was normal enough, but his autism kept him from expressing how he feels about Markie and his friends teasing him, and his father and mother sort of were starting to figure things out and when Markie got home, their parents told Markie to behave himself and stop teasing his brother, and then Markie jumped up and said yo da, u
No tes ma bro, u spikin I tun, and then their dad said, maybe, but he ain't like the other kids, he has autism, and you know he needs to feel like people care about him, and Markie  moved around saying I ain hippin he, and then their dad said, if you don't I will ground you for weeks, and Markie promised to make an effort to be nicer to Trev, and Trev really was excited, so excited, be started treating his brother Markie like Heath, and then he thought he was a cool kid, and yes, Trev wanted to treat Markie like a ******, but unknown to Trev, their dad told Markie to go easy on him, but Trev got hypo over the fact that he was a cool kid, kids even said he was like us, man, but still Trev was still too disabled to know young words, but it didn't worry him, because the time his new cool friends noticed it, they were getting too old to tease people that way, even Markie moved on in the adult way, yes maybe This is the time for Trev to be an adult and not worry about being told he's stupid, because only losers tease like Markie used to, because that is just childish, and everybody lived happy through their lives, even Trev, the end


Sent from my iPhone
Amour de Monet Feb 2018
You found me on the floor again not wearing anything
I'm so sorry baby sometimes I just get weak
I didn't mean to scare you
yes, I can hear you

You fill me up with honey and tell me it's gonna be fine
We'll get through this together, You're not alone this time.
Yes, I can hear you
I just can't feel you - at all

You don't know what's in my head It's like I'm losing ground
For a moment I'm up just to crash back down
I can't seem to handle my own two feet
I get so ****** tired and I feel so weak

Yea I know I'm moving slow but Im trying my best
I don't need your angry tone on top of this burden on my chest
It's not good enough for you
but it's the best I can do

Two feet on the floor again I think I've lost my mind
The whole world's gone a blur, No, I'm not alright
My hands are shaking, I'm going crazy
It's hard enough to just get by
I know it makes you angry
So, I'll turn my head while I cry

You say baby look at me and I stare right into you
You say baby listen to me and I am listening to you
But you're miles away
We're miles away

Two feet on the floor again, no, I'm not alright
r Mar 2016
I've worked with shovel and
trowel half of my life but right
now if I could recall the hypo-
tenuse of a right triangle I'd
try another angle for putting
those tools to use digging a rect-
angular hole so neat and six feet
deep then sew my mouth shut
just so I can't tell the devil where
to go when it's cold and I'm sleeping
with white slugs behind my ears like
big Beltones so I can hear the mock-
ingbird sing those words on my stone.
jessiah Jun 2014
responsive wordplay resizes
double entendre to single line
call blocked the writers
got more out by dialing 9

touch screens to text readers
read text and seem touched
the ringing in your ears
was from a cellular punch

I plan to limit my data
but I always over share
mastering dastardly dactyls
pushes my meter to bare

if you only think 1x
you might struggle to get the picture
take a 4G dose to flex
your brain with crack and fissures

lithium ironic that my low battery
turns hyperbole to hypo
I got you charged with flattery
alas, you're not my typo
I got carried away with my excitement about being able to create poems on the go with my cellphone
Cecelia Francis Apr 2015
Hypocrite tournament
put the hippos in a
tourniquet

Turnt a bit
too turned up

Two ton tummies
summo wrestling,
who will win?

Mounted champion
munching on
mountains:
A hypo-hippo-perbole
Paul Gilhooley May 2016
Thomas, Edward, Percy, James,
There is a point, not random names,
Scarlet, Kevin, Stuart, Bob,
I've not gone insane, become a ****.

Manny, Diego, Granny, Sid,
I've not gone hypo like some kid,
Twelve random names that mean great fun,
When watching telly with my son!

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2016
Lunar Jun 2021
When the darkness spreads and the screaming penetrates even my dreams
The seduction of empty space calls at me
It’s attraction is undeniable
My daydreaming naturally becoming more visual  
The flavour of death
An ecstasy like no other
My strongest and last ******
So many options but only one to be my sinful romance

Will it be:
My tanned yellow appearance if I take too much
The chalk outline if I take a nudge
The rose stained bath if I dig a bit more
My neck ornament when I hit the floor
The gruesome distance a burst pipeline will go
The sweating and shaking from a hypo
Or simply a collision with a glare of light
Or maybe the ground was never my right
And I would prefer the pull from my lungs’ weight
or the heat off my skin as it ablates

Or maybe you would prefer an accident
Maybe that will help you cover your names
Don’t worry I won’t leave a note
I’ll let your guilt engross you
And when it gets too much you can use your sorry excuses to help suit you
You can blame my unstable personality
My weak mental health
My poverty of speech
But at least you’ll think twice the next time you speak
This will be my sweet everlasting revenge
However for now my battle isn’t over. I just refuse to be taken to the enemy side. I would rather stab myself with own spear than have my soul be tainted.

When It’s do or die, I feel electrified
- Autumn Kings: Electrified
Purcy Flaherty Aug 2018
[]{}#%^*+=_\|~<>€$¥•.,?!'-/:;()£&@".,?!'
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
Look once more,
look back and see the way, to now
from
when reason first was used
to master the frame
of mind, embodied, as mine,
informed with shapes of things solid,
shapes of things inside,
shapes of thing outside,
shapes of thoughts stacked in sequence,
after the hallelujah,
as per holy orders of worth appraisal,
services rendered,
magic performed,
life administered, for another week,
any body can handle one more week.
After the hallelujah.
learn that definition once, and you never
see sequential activity in ritual
as before,
magic effectuation, affection, as joy
one mindful, chewy, gustatory morsel,
of child-like faith, to be conserved.
Conservatively speaking,
Whig-wise, knowing one's prepositional relativity.
We labor, not in vain… to become worthy
to tread, with shoes, on streets of gold.
where milk needs no cow, and honey bees
never need be busy all day.

Riches and sweets, both
take more than either promise, aimed at
via entertain-mental mmm-usings tight
at tension, mind's time spaced taut
edge of me, edge of mine,
edge of ever aimed at
thus far… where we suffer this is so…
- measured timespace in mind agone…
Then we live through the last now, to die.

Becoming the author, fisher for being bubbles
afloat in ever after all.

At my funeral. To spare the hassle, imagine.

Friends and loved ones,
most are dead, or far away;

but we recall times, vague days
incidents for which we each hold bits,

instants, reality instantiated, pastense,

feel the kiss, feel the shame, the joy,
the hope, the loss, the win, the terror,
the truth of no perceptible way,

away from quit.
--------------

Infancy instants, perhaps, we guess,
we recall being babes, for briefest
recollections of perceptions kept, some how

to be reformed from shards of information
stored some where in an image of a moment

seen from the frame of a seer, not me, seeing
me, infant me, tossed and caught by a laughing
man in a sailor suit…

and, the oddity, of the singular infantile memory
stored some where for reconstruction, living
entertainment…

like unto Agricultural Entertainment, an art form
ancient as harvest festivals,

when locals picked the orchards, and our worlds
were edged in otherwise wild hedge rows,
where little creatures live at child level,
where words miss heard give stories twists,

too odd to be retold while holding any of the small
awe, aw, so sweet, too dear to let be meaningless,
but
as truth been told,
mean is bad in dogs and men, mean is bad in mankind,
mean is common,
mean is most common,
mean is measured, granted
mathematical reality, mind my means, you know
"intend, have in mind;"
Mental meaning application, folded man-kind wise…
Sometimes connected to root *men- (1)
"to think,"
which would make the ground sense of man
"one who has intelligence,"
but not all linguists accept this.
Liberman, for instance, writes,
"Most probably man 'human being' is a secularized divine name"
from Mannus [Tacitus, "Germania," chap. 2],
"believed to be the progenitor of the human race."

~~~~~~~~

Institutional minds, adapted from drama,
worn like Superman's or Bishop Sheen's cape.
Übermmench, **** sapien augmentacious,

**** habitus, us, as we think, we are.
We are no other way,
as a man thinketh truth, as a mind may think,
fine, so is he, in his own mind, right or not,
limited fineness, judged, discerned, quarkishly
ever finer, to this very point,
where mind being time being comes to mind,
in you.
We, momentarily, agree, aggressive face to face
point, fair call
at the inner edge of the inverse square
practical fractal constant…
gravest of issues, at thought
speed of intention to grasp. Percept perceive
link touch… flowing listing seeping soaring

bemused become
amused and entertained, feeding on ensamples,
as sorted characters,
defined societal aspirational imaginal
roles in reality aboard 1950's era Spaceship Earth.


Standing, unbowed, before kings,
bowing before mean men, thinking

all ya'll are said to be created, made
equal…
valued worthy
of opinion expressed as yours, as
wings put on wishes, shoes on prayers,
for warding reaching pulling pushers
-list as wind, in cognitive bias, right
lean as wild grasses launch new seed,
- double helix, twisting up
- from down,
feel massive missal push us on,
orbital, for a lifetime,
be maker of a being bubble
be a minding creating creation,

as weighed in balance, or mass, as gold
or wind in force testing wills for making

a way, where no way was.
Dead end. No way from now, but through.

Wind beneath my down swung pinions,
lifting my imaginal self over my useless

wait state, ever learning, never learning
the whole truth we are sworn to tell,
as soon as
we begin to see as others see, subject,
object
seer
seen seeing, saying

we may be minders of findings, guardians
set to watch,
set to see,
set to say look this way, these invisible limits

terminal connection looping past through
you
as my word choices,
pass the blood brain barrier and pierce
eternal you, in stasis.

- ---------------
- post radio war, not so long ago

"how ' we gonna keep 'em down
on the farm, after they've seen Pairee?"
- enter the era of the salesman
Total war, full power propagation of faith,
in practice, words are empty, meaning
is made- hate festered pride
of whiteness, same color as the rich, qualia
as equally mistaken in terms we call common,
****** speech of the non-reading classes,
stupid peasants, children of useless men.
Lower by far than, Biblical men
of the baser sort. Belial's
sons of total depravity,
two rungs lower than average
working classes, labor, any collared man willed
to pay sweat for bread and circuses.
And a dry, warm place to sleep.

Man, the reasoning creature, is what he eats.
Man does not live by bread alone.

Imagine grooming a gimp, from puberty.
Imagine Michael Jackson, "the kid is not my son!"

Look out, Howard Bloom. Duck.
Watch the boy do a thousand shoulder shrugs.
See the fantasizing worth of awe in focus, this
is us,
we paid to see the man perform, in a role made
from lies a child uses
to make just now,
reasonable, just
cause,

I can, I have power given me by Life, look,
who can imagine being the fan,
aw, man,
nobody longs to be
in the nosebleeds, being there
is not being you,
when all you can become has become true.
Just imagine,
fakes never make it.

And truly a big tragedy to be avoided, next.

We interview… the biggest nobody,
an entity insisting formless information imagines
bubbles of being limited
-- some strings of pearls rolled up

roll into little *****
of gnoshit pearls, treasure true, in essence
from dried gnosisnot. These we cast not to pigs.
To think a readers reasons
for writing, become one
of the rare breed born
to become readers
of one thousand books, once before you die.

------------------
If Warhol made action seem so mundane,
might I not make fun seem so slow a function
to make perfectly reasonable,
picking a fight with a lie,
because I can… being created equal to that task,
I can recognize lies I told,
I know where the handles are, I know what holds
the handle to the secret meaning of things,
can seem material, where free will
is culture locked as impossible.
Thingo no hypo.
Action movie, opening sequence,
as liturgical as any measured reassurance,
enter in, become the entertained,
we live in another realm, we only play at
while being entertained, we only watch roles

being presented for judgement,
test your will to link a mind projection,

from a former time shaped mind, aimed
at drawing an audience, a crowd,
all agreeing upfront to pay
for the mirror neuronic stims,
in a darkened room filled with fools such as I.

Who allows possible a gunfight with ***'s,
at goal-to-go range, taking five minutes,
and no named characters die,
all blood is non player blood,
only a child's mind never exposed, flash,
allows that to feel real, for five minutes,
into a nonreal mindtimespace
reality
of ever once,
and ever after, onces

such as once, seeing a gun in your face,
once hearing the bang, from a gun in your hand,
once
upon
recalling that was a movie, and I never killed a man,
but by osmosis, I imagine I can see
how hate
works the same as ******.
Relax.
Recall the unbelievableness.
--- so what are silent action movies feeding,
young Aldous Huxley, a bright well educated lad.
{We are all alphas}
-----------
"His uniqueness lay in his universalism.
He was able to take all knowledge for his province."
-------
Only a rich man's son may so say.
Even, as limiting to level, if such leveling
evens the odds, serves to increase resolve
to square the circle and fix pi to simple, once
and
for
all. As events in the heaven occur, fractally

added in fine ality… at you, dear reader, enlivening me.
Infinitely, relative to yesterday.

Of course, comic books count. As in the future,
classic video games shall seem poetic code.
I appreciate the reader's task more than the writer's. Writing is easy, reading what you write from the outside is the reader's task, unless it feels like a game.
Zulu Samperfas Jun 2013
A pair of flip flops
are delivered into his lair
also known as my apartment
they have been coated with some dust
from alongside a lake, where wild things roam
then washed in the lake,
just for his enjoyment
and he tears into them, kicking and biting
in the morning, they are presented to me
in a new style: the corrugated look
a bug he's found on the patio and killed
is brought in and he sets it down in the middle of the living room
freshly vacumed rug shows it off well
then back to more stylizing
Last year's Walmart's purple flip flops
are now objects d'art
and now eating the expensive hypo-allergenic food
meant for the old cat, his foster father/mother
who used to chew off his whiskers when he was a kitten
and then, time for nap
Anais Vionet Dec 2022
It’s December, it’s foggy and rainy, but that fits. Of course, a rainy Saturday means gathering in the common room with my roommates and watching either “The Hunger Games” or “Twilight.” Leong’s never seen Twilight, believe it or not, what are they DOing in China? We were explaining that It’s ok to talk through Twilight because it’s completely senseless. Yeah, good times.

We got back from Thanksgiving break, and we had to hit it - grinding to squeeze half a semester into 18 days. It’s a cornucopia of pressure. Yes, we’ve hit the books, but we’re still us.

Here’s a question: What’s the first season in December? “Spotify wrapped” season! EVERYONE has Spotify and once a year you get a summary of your listening habits. The reports came out this week and it’s all people are talking about. Comparing their lists, artists, tastes. Those lists say a lot about someone and it’s ok to not have taste, we should normalize it.

My top artist was Taylor Swift (duh) my top song was Taylor Swift’s “Renegade,” Spotify says I listened to it 285 times but that’s biased because more than once, when writing a paper, I put that song on a loop for 6 hours. My second most listened to song was “Champagne Problems” By Taylor. That song is so Rory, Gilmore Girls coded - like Rory saying, “you're on your own.” My other top artists are TV Girl, the backseat lovers and hypo campus. Yeah, I roll big.

Taylor’s also been in the conversation because Sophie has an ex-fem-friend (a freshman) who started seeing a 45-year-old guy. Let me ask you, what does a 45-year-old man have in common with an 18-year-old girl? We have Yale friends in their early 20s who consider themselves still teenagers and children and THEY are horrified. It’s naked fracking *******. (Sorry, that one foamed over.)

The whole situation is ripped from Taylor’s 2010 masterpiece “Dear John,” which is about her dating John Mayer when she was 19 and he was 30-something. Her friends warned her, but she wouldn’t hear. Taylor Swift can be corny, and I love the corn, but she can be topical too and even though I was 7 when she released “Dear John” (2010), it’s a timeless lesson.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Cornucopia: “an inexhaustible, overflowing abundance”
WendyStarry Eyes Jan 2018
Time to time on my
Headache daze
I feel as if
Some may say
She is a hypochondriac
The day I die
They may say
She's not dead
It's all in her head
Ashley Rodden May 2014
I am intelligent
One of the smartest people you'll ever meet
I am unique
I follow my own drum to a different beat
I am funny
With tons of charisma
I am witty
I have a silver yet sharp tongue
I'm tired
I can sleep for hours upon hours at a time
When I'm awake
I'm always up for some fun
I am sad
Down in the dumps again
Detached  
I will leave you
Because I can
I will lift you up
Just to tear you down again
You will thinks it's over
That you got it all figured out
Then I'll remember why I loved you so much
And how I need you to come back
Because without you my life is not complete
And you need me too, so don't try to decline
We are meant for one another,
You and I
I will come and go over and over again
So you can hold fast or let go of me instead
I have compassion for others
Because of the way I am
But I feel sorry for myself
time and again
I like my own routine
Yet I want to give you all you need
I want you to stay
Please don't abandon me
Now I want you to leave me alone please
I need down time
Just for me
I need to vent
To my best friend
Where is she?
I am a dreamer
With an unquiet mind
I am reasonable and grounded
Yet I want to fly
I try my best to understand
and be sensitive to your wants and needs
I give
I take
I try to hide myself for your own sake
I constantly battle these thoughts in my mind
I fight with my demons all the time
I love a bed
I can stay there for days
I struggle with who I really am
Me or this disease?
I will love you like no other person possibly can
Deeply, passionately, with ever molecule of my heart
At first glance you fall and hard
But My love will be a huge double standard
With my constant battle against entropy
Between ideality and reality
Seeking a way out of this mundane, humdrum existence
I'm in
I cannot tell sometimes where my personality
ends and this illness begins
My daydreams turn to hypo-mania
With all these gray areas
All my choices are not rational all the time
I chose to react
I chose to get help
I chose to be better despite my illness inside
I will be passive aggressive and egotistical
All symptoms are different and coping mechanisms
are tailored for each individual
Religious fervor
Shopaholism
Insatiable libido
Are all hard for you to fathom
Along with my mixed state of mind
Sometimes I'll just want to die
You will feel pity
Then you will feel inspired
And it's admirable of you to weather
the storms with me
But foolish to let me always be the one under
the umbrella and you left in the rain
This relationship cannot be a competition
with my disease
I regard my illness as an intimate part of me
Something you will never understand
It's easy to confuse love with mania.
The problem is love is fleeting
there is no cure for bi-polar
Doctor visits,
blood tests,
complicated regimens of medications
until they find the magic combination
Delusions and hallucinations
Being misunderstood by a population
generally unfamiliar with my condition
You just don't understand.....
I hate myself for everything I think "I am"
andy fardell Feb 2011
Baby sugar baby .....I need you now
honey sugar honey .....my thirst you so

taste so good ...feel so light
gliding down ones throat

body rejects ...has no regret
I thirst you so

hypo no no
i know the way

jabby happy
Tedson Daniels Jun 2015
Couldn't find her in the States
US or those I was in
From Maine up to Mania
From Hypo down to Sin

I scoured the Vol State
She wasn't even there
Remember the one I spoke of
I was choking on her hair

So I tramped out to Texas
Sandbags were all I found
Drove up to Collyrado
Crusted Butte, Drunk Unsound

The wrong color Orange caught me
Where the Gators turn blue
Didn't make No ****** sense
So I left abused without truth

Up to recovery
From the Damage that I've done
I lost my fears in Knoxville
Even though I still have some

Couldn't find her in the Ivy League
Nor at Oxford, UK
Caught my Baby down in Nashville
She has the Stones to Swing away

Pyreneaic granite told me
That French was the Langue
Even though I speak Spanish and Italian
I think I've found the true Romantic tongue

**** what a woman
What a spirit indeed
I'm gonna shed my last coat
Forever cause she's my Queen

I found my higher power
Linguistics it used to be
I might drop off this continent
Because Saving's what I need

Chirping like a som'*****
Is that Aviary Queen
of my globe/world/universe
My Archaeoloverix, Baby

Kisses Hugs Baby Bird
i can hear her coo at me
I'm gonna quit my scribbling
And call her heart to me
Convenience and entertainment has turned us all into hypocrites.
We all want to save the world
But the task too big to even try
Plus, plastic bags are so convenient
And Styrofoam keeps coffee hot longest
This is the hard part.
Knowing that in a moment ,
my living determines who dies next.
When there' s no "blood thirst"
that' s the real danger
...considering context.

This is the hard part.
Being reminded of those claims.
'A ferocious Marksman'
somehow scared to take aim.
Whether the prey is ready or not
what will it change ?
When I should be set to ****
I fret the pain.

IT HAS TO DIE.

Now this...THIS is the hard part.
Now He' s talking to you.
Let it be known
there' s no way out of it...only through.
Nevermind all that was done
be inclined to know what you' ll do.
If the guess is that you' ll walk away
and wait for another day...
will it be true ?
What if another day never comes
and you don' t even get a clue ?
And now all is dark , so dark
you can' t feel Me
and I don' t see you.

That will be the hardest part.
Being amongst the dead
but none of which I' ve killed.
Regretting the one time
I should' ve taken a life
and a shackle kept me still.
This is no painkiller
but
very much a tough pill...
I am now the prey
and they ,
hunt for thrill.

This one here...
this is REALLY the hardest part.
In comparison ,
all the other parts seem fine.
Grappling with this question...
I' ve spent a lot of time.
A lot of time.
Hypothetically ,
if I never win the hunt ,
if I never take it' s life ,
when it' s all done...
My Lord , Will You Claim Mine ?
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
the **** am I doing here, I've stashed the milk
into the basket,
I stashed the kiwi lime soda
for grandpa... and a Czech beer...
now I'm standing in the heavy
machinery aisle..,
looking at shelves of,
about... 15 different types
of *****... behind me, coco chanel...
or as ***** drinkers like
to call the whiskey,
the bourbon... perfumes...
i'm scratching my head,
15 types of *****...
am I really making a ****** choice?
apart from the labels...
I'm standing, looking at
hundreds of identical bottles...
it's a supermarket,
it's not a indie brewery...
akin to the edradour distilkery...
serving tokai whizz...
sure... the trip would have been
great, but a Russian,
a Jewish a Belarusian
and my then Russian scoop
talking Russian and making
me feel like a Dostoyevsky novel...
n'ah ah sour grapes...
           blood was indeed shed,
on a waterfall...
mind you.., what the difference
between  western slav drinking
whiskey, and a Russian pleb /
actually a son of a lecturer
in residence at Edinburgh university?
the ******* Pole sniffs the glass
to get a bouquet of flavours...
the Muscovite pleb gets all philosophical...
peering into a glass...
it's hardly an insult
when it's a nibbling...  
                   more came looking at
amber gems of the baltic,
than looking at this, Pict ****...
    hardly the cas with *****...
5 minutes in and I still attempted
to make a choice...
thing with *****...
         you only receive critical
feedback from the a posteriori script...
now, I can be a civilised drinker
in company... i'll have one beer with you...
but that's where the trail ends...
that 500ml of kłosówka?
that's for me, in the company of
candles flickering,  and my shadow
dancing...
        5 minutes though, spent
trying to pick a ***** for a Saturday
excavation...
        god forbid the macabre love
bound to the cinema of
the notebook...
                 dogs really have
eyes more beautiful, than women...
notably viril Alsatians...
        mind you...
in the western slavic tongue
the are animal names,
and human names
     for certain correlations...
a human has oczy...
while an animal has ślepia...
a human has a buzie,
while an animal has
pysk... or... akin to a pig:
                     ryj...
no wonder... since
buziaki means kisses...
snogs...
          a dog kisses oral...
self-oral...
        slobbering the best he can...
and sisters always say
of the girlfriends of brothers:
coincidental with edradour distillery,
and her idea of Loch Lomond...
I brought the lonely swan though...
in general, men without women...
'oh tbut he wouldn't have seen
so much of this world without her...'
oh this, oh that... sigh...
and I'm cure he wishes...
to have seen Eden... peace...
than: one man's *******'s
worth of the taj mahal...
     postcards will do, just fine...
hated the equator weather
of Kenya mind you...
kept to the shace...
    watched people make proof
of holidaying,
scorching themselves for a tan
like buying Svarovky crystals...
back at the supermarket I finally
decided on the painkiller...
a shaft of wheat soaked in
the bottle...
   western perfume behind me...
scotch ****... ice tea...
and as ever,  the rule holds...
the civil beer in company...
but when it comes to 500ml
of straight Vladimir...
                     conversation is glum,
the graves open,
there is no party, no social unibhibition,
no drinking games,
no boasting...
     just a severe glued to
the marrow stare into
        a conversion of blank into
script...
      down below, two locals
talk into midnight
with a Yorkshire terrier on a leash...
5 ******* minutes
chosen a *****...
        like a gorilla, scratching its head,
looking for a straight banana
in a pile of the atypical curvatures...
5 ****** minutes...
mind you, there is compensation...
late evening, nearing half past 8,
mid-April...
continental spring,
lack of light pollution,
more stars than the outskirts of
London allow...
    and susumu yokota's grinning cat
album...
     albeit the missing Scorpio
constellation, bound to the British Isles:

                  
              
                           ●
      
                                    ●

                  
                    ●
                 ●



●                                  
                      ­             ●


no algorithm no search engine
no dictionary... will equal
asking a grandmother for botanical nouns...
namely, the blooming forthynsia tree,
****** yellow almost neon
against pale kiwi green of April spring wake...

and the electric pale green,
or woken from slumber
blooming baby leaves of
a wierzba...
    a willow...
     electric in that,  almost
quicksilver drooling over
platinum in th spring night
              with a missing moon...

casually, a talk with woman,
and the technical nouns
of botanical expedience...
no algorithm to boot...

always the anticipated digression,
from the most mundane posit of
unraveling pidgin...
I compensate for my father not
speaking pristine english...
but certainly doing a chore
of industrial roofing,
than most, spaghetti finger
pancake arm coming of age bistro
*******...
        the more they aspire to sing,
the more we can hope
to be cured by karaoke on
a Saturday night...
  
    and always the anglophone perspective
of... bellybutton, Greenwich
syndrome... said the English,
so must say th rest of the world...

his shortcomings are my...
what he might as well have said...
tak your toys,
and take a warm dump in their sandpit...
then move into the next sandpit,
and **** in it...

personally I don't unerstand
the attack on grammar...
this antithesis of etymology,
this quasi slang... or rather slang
in a straitjacket...
of... well, at least the orthodox
communists had an economic model...
it was going to fail
because it was going to fail...
        but how lonely...
it must be... being unable to compete
with an external counter,
and merely, implode...
          must be lonely in the current
economic asylum...
imploding all the time,
having to compete with 600 years
after golgotha, and rí'bāh...
      
   5 ****** minutes picking out
a ***** for a Saturday night solo...
went for the shaft of wheat,
akin to a lodged locust corpse
in an absinthe bottle bought
in Amsterdam...

               apparently, there is a difference,
but most notably...
only when, drinking alone...
   the talk of sober people
bores me, how they can hide their
apathy behind so much gesticulation
and **** fakery...
    silent as a grave...
drunk people talking
is..
    perhaps outside the party mentality...
and th sudden spurring of
amnesia, a moral hangover,
a loose tongue comes across
darting eyes...

                   hardly a conneisour of
beer, or *****...
      more, on the lines of...
a conneisour of the knockout
falling asleep method...
      and... not allowing myself
be impregnated with dreams...
strange thus... how people
allow unknown forces to impregnate
them with dreams...
               **** them with dreams...
I deem a sleep impregnated
with dreams to be far from rest...
either sleep and the night
of today, with a morning of later on
today... or nothing...

                    perhaps the safety of the sleep
environment,
of the naturalally produced
hallucinogens that are called dreams...
surely the brain must secrete
a hallucinogen when in th state
of sleep...
              as far as I am concerned,
there is no need to interpret dreams...
coincidentally, this implies...
the counter to the stigma surrounding
lucid intoxication...
     because aren't dreams,
the byproduct, of the brain secreting
hallucinogenic compounds,
      when in a hypo-conscious
state of sleep?
   medically induced coma...
naturally invoked
psychedelic carousel...
             which might explain why...
people wanted to tap into this
chemistry dynamic via the 1960s...
of waking into a dream...
        but there must be some sort of
chemical, secreted by the brain
during sleep...
        that allows for the conjured phantasma...
symbiotic to the state of safety...
the brain, not attached to
spacio-temporal coordination...

   and some would argue that all drinkers
at noon, are dancing sloppy tango
with their shadows.
Wait for it. Our brilliant extinction, we've figured something out, and expand, go forth, take it, cherish and entitlement to dignity, however never superiority, virtue is present in every hedonist, and every holy man has a hard appentige that is ready to burst, re fluidity of philosophers and the hypo **** of artists, reaching out for truth and finding death, artists seeking out death and finding love and bursting with the stars, the relative dignities am take hold and we decide and the breaking point, between defeat, surrender and the possibilities, the senses being able to detect the grass growing, our ears finding the correlations of melodies but sifting and uniqueness comes through and always shines, we are careful of black and white thinkjng but then suddenly the truth is illuminated, we must bust our chains! Take what is ours!  And history will recycle, to hell with libear progression, let our ecosystems battle and let gray area be black and white, our brilliant departure from where we started, born with eyes wide open, without limitation
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Diary filled with,
Test strips
Carb counts
Calorie graphs
Old reports
Appointments
Hotlines
Expenses of a bills
This can be life, all about.

A contempt face,
With a sweetened blood
Scrolling a display to dial
Curiosity of hypo and hyper,
A big nightmare
Obesity in gene
Sedentary chills,
Sympathetic rush,
Diabetes, by default.
Defective B-cell
OHA on trial
Complications close by,
A vial of longevity, stand by
1/2/3/4/5, shots a day
Seems everything is ok
Elemental peace
Though, to be precise,
With a sugary comfort, future is diabetic.
Genre: Clinical
Theme: World Diabetes Day, Nov 14
Chris D Aechtner Nov 2021
I've pondered on whether or snot Sun Tzu
was psychopathic. Sun Tzu might've been a
good man and a bad man strange variant of serial killer/Apex Prime Exterminator within
his theories and experiments.
Every successful contemporary military, government, politician, global health advisory control panel, corporation, and CEO practices The Art of War.

Sun Tzu added a trident to each prong of
the pre-existing "Three-Pronged Approach". Instead of there being three main paths and results only, there were now many possible combinations and results, especially when
Dark Sun Tzu added a trident to each of the
expanded 9 prongs for 27 possible results,
then did that again for 72 possible results
that can be arrived at from many possible
combinations and pathways.

The fork is an often primal, psychoapathic thrusting force—a thrusting force of nature
on many levels of instinct, natural Earth laws
and universal laws, and sociopsychology—
the fork is code, icon, symbol, archetype,
metaphor, Meta, in parallel with the trident,
unsheathed sword, the thrusting ***** *****
and hypodermic needle:

Hypo dermis: beneath the skin:
Ancient Greek etymological root that moves
through Latin and Auld English, from deeper
symbology and metaphor, to the technocratic
medical and clinical, to a chrome or chrome
plated hypodermic needle.

The most maniacal journey and result within Sun Tzu's expanded and multiplied "Three-Pronged Approach" is to use heavy
psychological direction to assist the enemy to disembowel itself before your feet while the enemy believes that you're reaching down as friend to help it. The enemy believes that
you're a saviour who is offering it a cure-all healing apple. The "apple" cuts through the enemy's belly. Now convulsing in pain on the ground, the enemy believes that you're a benevolent angel reaching down to help as the enemy pulls out its bowels onto the green grass, with greasy, slickened hands.

Trident. Forked Tongue. Snake in the grass.
Apple. Belly of the Beast. Snake bite: The
chrome fangs of the one-eyed technocratic
serpent on the Rod and on the Staff. That

was later adapted into Marxist, ****,
and Democratic medical practices on the national and corporate levels, and on international levels within foreign diplomatic agendas: Get the enemy to **** and/or sicken
itself within the belief that its actions are
saving itself, loved ones, and free society.
When Sun Tzu's momentum is used, an
intended target enemy can send Sun Tzu
orbiting back around in various forms and
forces that are usually far worse and forceful
than its previous forms and applications.

The enemy cries out for, begs on its knees for, the medicine.

"Ask and thou shalt receive."

The enemy dispenses the medicine to its offspring, enforces the absorption of the medicine, crawls back to its hive of maggots
to dispense the medicine

on its last dying breath.

Many people misunderstood the implications of "Flatten the curve". For how many more centuries will the cycle of not quite "normal" and not quite "novel" continue? Will the adults ever understand the fairy tales.
Vatican Witches and Federal Government
poison that need to be burned and purified
in their own fire. Good Cop/Bad Cop politics and The Welfare State breaks the family,
steals the bread crumbs, and the children
are lost in the woods again, hooked on candy and Federal Government endorsed dope.

It's amazing, aside from the miracle of Earth and life, I finally believe in miracles: A person can read a story 10,000 times and fail to apply it when needed most of all.
11 13/14 2021
Delton Peele Jan 2021
Verily i say unto you
My friend
I know that somewhere out there
There is a answer for me
Waiting ...  
For it knows
Eventuality shall arise
In due time and
I will have

need.
Proverbs are a dark mirror.
In reflection
Without rebuke.
giving life and
Words to live by
And should be questioned
Whole heartingly
I assure you for I know within these verbs of which we speak
Are  
answers to to everything
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
yep, yep, girls buy books,
while boys lay bricks...
nothing but a ****** huh(?)
either way... what do you
call a construction
site filled with
english builders?
it was once called ireland,
now it's called eastern europe...
******* only know
how to make content,
they never master the context...
twitchy-***
          mother-*******,
they know as much
about construction sites
as a butcher knows
about baking a loaf of
bread...
what a bunch of pathetic
losers!
        they travel to london
from gloucestershire
to manage a construction site...
and what do these
peasants do?
   they do the tourists...
   **** the english
trying to manage a constuction
site... the wanks and the yanks
and the spandex totting
  pervs do the least...
   **** em... infest them
with islam, they deserve it...
   wankers...
             yanky doodle d'oh d'ee
mc'           oh-kneel...
   fucky-d'ooh d'ah 'ad aye faum...
******* paddy,
                    mc'pancake;
the english know nothing
about building,
let's begin with nations, e.g. iraq...
the **** did they build there?
the **** they built in eire-land?
the potato turn into a rice patch
of edible bog?!
              now you're incubating
me in an irritant powder...
   once i scratch to my own bone,
i'll scratch into your bones,
until i start ******* at the marrow
imitating playing an ivory flute!
          it's a bit too late for
an oops or a sorry
                 honey p'ooh bear
                              dearest daisy...
bloom! tickled gummy...
             laugh my dearest
             rosy petal!        blush!
        that doesn't mean you will
see the construction industry
revised...
    any time soon...
    yo' bo'yah iz lay-zee!
                      how many operas do we
need?
                how many rejected
hungarian doctors will we see?
   for some reason,
the supposed "industrial" revolution
never took place in england,
given that england has turned
into the laze of jamaica...
  given that its hypo-critical in
having to import labour from
a dedicated ethnic group...
these days,
     england wishes it was jamaica...
what, with its pebbled beaches?
       am i supposed to treat
my hemorrhoids sitting down,
or am i supposed to get a sun-tan
lying down?
               next time you mention
english cuisine,
   i'll be ingesting pebbles,
        and ******* out sand,
  for lack of a better concern for
fibre...
    who, the ****, packs, crisps,
            into a bun, and calls it lunch?!
you wanna see my face?
                  ******* degenerates;
you had your turn,
now it's my turn...
   now **** the american ******...
tell me if you don't come back
with the templar's idol of baphomet
to curse the cancer patients
   with a fetish for the nag hammadi
*** change credo.
Allison Wonder Dec 2019
All my demons are liars
placing fear into me
they tell me this is forever
and never shall I be free

There’s anxiety banging at my door
giving me lots of worries
he has a monstrous grip and
with one hand my fun he does seize

Depression slips right in
like a serpent on the loose
always telling me life should end
and to stick my head in a noose

Bipolar jumps around the room
making each wave greater than the last
Hypo-mania is her companion
with long nights thinking of the past

PTSD sits in the corner and waits
for the opportune moment
just when you think you’re safe
he pulls his gruesome stunt

Addiction’s constant nagging
to let her com on in
will have me in a bottle
or a blade dragging across my skin

Yes all my demons are liars
they’re constantly in my head
dealing with them every day
fills me with never ending dread

— The End —