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Emily R Jun 2016
If we are all here
to mope
whine
and rage
how
please tell me
how
have we survived so long
It's because we were happy once!
bright sparks of creativity
turns our world inside out
and back again
you can  make a difference!
reach into your brilliant brain
past the muck
and self doubt
into the bright corners
of yourself
bring it out of hiding
and into the world
let them judge you!
become impermeable
let the insults slide off
like the rain off of a goose's downy back.
help turn our world
into one of light
and empathy
where everyone
can speak
or look
or act
as they wish
without being criticized
you can do it!

and don't forget
Be happy!
Never Give Up!:)
syncopation Oct 2018
That’s what it felt like when we lost you
To the complex maze that became your truth.
A self-enlightened mind
Impermeable to light, to touch, to time.
An inner sanctum of make-believe so outrageous, so utterly unbelievable
Made of illogical truths only you sought achievable.

What led you to this I can only hazard a guess
Was it divorce, insecurity, a lifetime feeling like you were less.
Why has it come out now when time has already been the test
Was it the lack of medication, a lack of rest.

My brother you are wounded.
Your mind an open sore.
Rest your weary soul.
Torture and pain no more.
londin Sep 27
It’s been sixty days since I kicked my addiction
I’m thinking why I loved him
and all the reasons I didn’t
I’m thinking about the seven years I spent by his side
and all the times I fantasized bout being his wife
I’m thinking about my dad
and if he’ll ever recover
thinking bout the relationship between him and my mother
I’m thinking about Neli
and if she’ll ever stop
but that’s another thought I should probably drop
only two months in
but I think I’m getting the hang of it
I’m thankful for this life
even if at times I truly hated it
but there’s nothing to complain about
I’m proud of myself
redefined perseverance
worked though every condition
weathered through the storms of any degree
I’ve been through hell and back anyone who knows me agrees
I don’t need to reminisce on all the hardships I faced
but I know I made it though, and I did it with grace
next mile stone I make is technically 90 days
but honestly I celebrate every single day
this is a blessing
and I don’t wanna mess it up
you won't see me poppin bottles
you won’t catch me in the club
my new idea of fun
is sitting down in that chair
and listening to whatever the elders have to share
for me there is no going back
I give what I can
cause it’s a fact, what you give you attract
I don’t have another relapse in my body
cause if I do I’ll be dead
so like I said imma give it everything that I can
this life’s a blessing
and you cant shake away my faith
you can try but I am impermeable to the hate
they say it only gets better
so I’m patient and I wait
I don’t make split decisions
I run it by my sponsor cause I still have blurry vision...
and she treats me like a daughter.
crawled my way through my hell and came out whole lot stronger.
This is from when I was two months sober, I’m over a year now.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
'Put my hand in the hand of the man from Galilee,

that song keeps playing in my memory, and I recalled

Or I thought I did, I imagined he'd walk with me
and talk with me
Along life's merry (or was it narrow?), way

a light touch, his arm around my shoulders,
as boys are wont to do,
I axed 'im,
help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which I think may have been blind, at that time,

I have memories like that.
packed away in old memes. That mean something...
Gold-something...
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom.
Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, Howard Bloom,
where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but these,
heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Here a seeing being done, words appearing...

fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made,
and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble collapses by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tension-power-loss collapses the bubble?

You should think, you know atoms work, this way.

Touchy bubbles disappear when their form is disinformed,
the wall of a bubble,
one quanta of power thick,
vanishes
as the charge that formed it flees.
That bubble,
not cloud-based, random super positioning,but
elect
tric-magi-tech, a touch screened
at the quantum accounting point of real-ification,
but, probably,
a bubble,indeed,
powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
(I charge thee, son Timothy, go)
That's all an electron does.
It goes, as soon as any sense can be made of it,
outa here, oughta hear it, clear,
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...
No, ah, when I think about that..

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin musta hapt one time,

but ya'll take no heed, this voice,
m'fallin angel, Tantan, droppin' in ol-fren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth
found in wines that moved themselves aright,
slurry tongued, and laughin' but pisstoff.

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Old story, God damened 'em, not me, I just
built the box.

Who told you I was naked? Noah queried Shem.

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe could be forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.
Forgot can't be forgiven it seems, sometimes...

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

I've looked so long through that lens,
that I began to see the bubble formed around me,
charged powerfully with fear,
'yond my bubble monsters lurked.

But, my bubble bumped another,
purest of happenstance,
the bubbles merged and merged again,
their power building to a wave,
crashing to the shore and no more
was I bubbled in my safe place.

I found this trail up from the beach.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
Did you regret the defeat at Ai,
or were you
Aachen, bold?

No, irrelevant, obtuse allusion to Yahshua,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Information unformed begins to boil deep in me.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick. Elect trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening as an event, in the Deep Field,
is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  
Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,
to learn. Fifty year'r longer.

Everything that's old and still works is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the potential worth of all your eyes behold,
behind the curtain,
lies the prize.

If, if, if you are a luckywinner and
you arise when I call your name
to come on down,
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, 'smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize, what's the diff?
How comes a thing to be worthy,
in your estimation? Tell me no lie.

A feeling? What's it worth?
Depends.
Safe? Priceless! Don't shout. There's money to make.

'Got a busy-ness pre-positioned high above the rest.
A super-positioned superstion. The darkness.
See, safety is a human right.
So we sell walls, impermeable. It's always, lights on
within, then
We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened
by those we make
feel safe, from the dark unknowns seeping in.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we saw the Power in Myth and
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Within these walls workers will work for food and a feeling.
And Facebook.
They choose a place and stand, and do what comes to hand.
Heartily
grip what's easiest for you to hold on to,
they are told.

Attendants bring the meds, settling every disruption
of the peace the patient craves in his comfort.
The price ain't right, m'mouthmumbles...

You are absolutely co-rect-allatime, tekayepeel.

There are wishes being made,
on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters.

If wishes were askings, what if
connecting to the source of haps which,
every expert knows, haps are
all happiness can possibly
consist of.
Oh, consist.
That sticky, gluteny idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand.
Sistere. Shield-wall and all that. Turtles all the way down.

A disruption!
Day room Now! Granpa's shouting,

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!
I'll drop it. I swear.

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted... in my meander.

What if, nothing is immaterial,
as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
If nothing can go wrong, it won't.
Ask the pilot flying by faith in his checklist.

What if,
asking for help helps?
Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea? An answered prayer?

Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore,
quoth the raven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories,
telling eventualities that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,

Stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
Grandpa made some sense and we built a fort, of pillows
This is a reworking of Good news from a far country, I am attempting to rein in my scattered mind. Let me know if you see improvement or parts in need thereof.
Tammy Cusick Aug 23
Withered through these relinquished lips,
softly lays an embellished, embroidered, carcass.
Torn across flesh-like soil
caressing gently into this impermeable being,
you're only human.

So allowing in the presence of indigenous, oblique thoughts
slanting into the belly
never feeling so bare
the hunger deprives.
The nails of your eyes piercing into the forefront of mush you call a brain,
feeling the earth distinctively tremble with each step you chase closer to the ledge

Clutching onto the white knuckle breast
your hands pounding at your fingertips
its electric running through your veins
feeling it at the core
so helplessly, lost.

Your throat knots into one-thousand splinters
splicing relentlessly between your core
the wedge of your mortal body becomes noticeable to your soul
detaching,
jumping.

Slithering one step closer,
pull the rope
you leap
you rot

one more inch closer,
you can feel it
separating your surroundings from comfort ability
picking up between each breath
shaking at your own wake.

there you have it
at the brim of the edge
you've push yourself this close
whats one last jump out of this skin?
SassyJ Aug 2018
The handheld ticket of the worldly escape
takes its turn as moments take a cease
the time has ripened in season
where all erodes and is left behind
as I dream of a place far away
that empty castle waiting to be filled
decorated with stars and special furs
overlooking the meadows on the lake
where their reflection says more than words
where their straws and reeds sway and raise
Upon valleys of truth, by the grooves
where my heart will cruise and parade
The song is perfused in the air
showing the other part of me on a distance land
without a care, impermeable and floating
as I feel the change, by the touch of the roses
and how the petals drool to testify the variance
Olivia Jan 8
To whomever loves her next-

Make sure you remember to leave out some Arizona tea.

Take her on downtown dates and ask her just why she loves the city lights so much.

Picnic under the stars and remind her that the abyss isn’t as lonely as it seems.

Listen to music far too loud and have dance parties with her when she’s sad.

Remember that she likes to go on walks when she’s upset but she also likes when you run your fingers through her hair.

Offer her all of your shirts; she’ll take each one and wear it to think of you... or because it’s cute.

Always bear in mind that her heart is far more delicate than she makes it seem and you should care for it well.

Know that to you, she’ll speak soft words and laugh loudly and you must cherish every phrase as gospel for she is everything.

Buy her mochi every now and again, preferably red velvet or blood orange and make sure you don’t forget how much she loves when you rub her back.

Ask her if she’s alright often, for she hides her pain behind a veil of bubbly effervescence that seems impermeable until you remember her delicate heart.

Hold her at every chance, and make sure not to knot her hair when you play with it because she won’t let you play with her hair if you tangle it.

Cause her to smile constantly, for it is like the sun and the moon and the stars and the cosmos and all of your favorite things combined into one glorious human being who is happy because of you.

And don’t forget the Arizona tea.
Jesus A Jan 16
the thought of you has been buried deep within me
seeping through the walls I put against everyone
my "impermeable" shell

the vision of this working is more visible than the colors i see

It's all an illusion

the brain dreams of possessing things it never can.
it will only ever be a dream
and that's for the better.
the bittersweet taste of the reality we live
tastes sweet as honey to you

the blissful ignorance of the life you live is what lets us have peace
that ignorance is a blessing I'm not worthy of.
I think too much.

im cursed.
cursed with loving love
cursed with the lingering thought of you
and the cure is you.
and im not worthy of that cure.

I'm well known
far and wide
for causing more problems than the mind can handle
more than you and I can handle.

im no good for you
regardless of how well you'd compliment me.

my thoughts will only ever remain as thoughts.

you are my curse
and thank you for that.
Dahlia May 5
Burial grounds stand
Where guarded walls once stood

The shots blazed through,
Shattering impermeable pieces

Now I’m laying here,
terrified,
wounded,
defenseless.

— The End —