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Cunning Linguist Apr 2017
S
  p
   i
  r
a
l
   i
   n
g

   d
    o
   w
      n
-
[an
infinite
abyss]
-
A temporal anomaly
peaking your drift
Perusing the cosmos,
within Dude's rocketship

Quarantined as a species
from contact with the Gods-
Odds are they're too busy banging
new milky ways into the stars
While you're pensive, quantum-plating
the nature of existence
Prayers fall unto deaf ears
too apathetic to listen

Godspeed towards the rift,
Time bends at the edge of a black hole
-But only the tip

My seeds melt into the motherverse
So I get down on it,
Cunning Linguist eats his words
Oedipus'd be jealous,
In slow motion
Impregnates spacetime itself;
With a big bang fellatious 
 
Thus, the holy seed of life
Was ****** into the void~~~
Perpetuating strife
Into the *****, of beyond

Its not a paradox if you simply process
0 and 1 at once
1 can go into 0
as many times as it wants

8====D~~(Y)

Preach level = Jim Jones
just the punchline's too long
Your golden idol,
Holy ****,
Bless this nut that I bust
I'll stretch my luck
To the sum of existence
Until it comes full circle

Voracious, bodaciously
Spatial in stasis
Without patience
Inseminating your eyeholes
Through lines of text

Transcendental
Entangled in a
  Δ,
With a devil & angel
Dimensions oughta coalesce
At just the right angle

Y'all haven't the wherewithal
To feel my *****
Slap-happy against one's skull
Put the rock in the hard place
Neanderthal
Meander tall, in the wave of thought,
The photons in your DNA are all but shot

I will abduct your subconscious
To probe through your thoughts
* testing Testing *
are you turned on?
Feel your genitals tingling ~~
I'm simultaneously dichotomic
Jerxin off my dingaling
playing your heartstrings like a harp

Allow me to go deeper
& penetrate your very reason for being.
Is the life that you're seeing
-Just the information eyes are receiving
-Only what your mind is perceiving
-Abstract thought is just too deceiving no
Can you even conceive it?

Why bother

Wanna switch positions
so you can see
where I'm coming from?
Go ahead and tell me,
are the heavens not
what you've dreamt of

A smoldering ember
in a once burning sky
Life of a former divine,
Masquerading as an angel of light
A furnace see:
 **nihl
Tethered,
To the nethers
On the outskirts of the universe
Inspiration May 2016
I will tell you a story
In all its glory
Explaining the
****** *****,
Creating much more than
The eye can see

Its a story about a vibrant flower
So beautiful it needs to be to attract the buzzing honey bees

The story goes some thing like this

So you can see the flowers multiply through the years
Make two
Four and many more

The bee
flys along and sees so many Beautiful flowers
Longing to devour
But which one
So many colours
Shapes
Sizes
Flowers cascading
Parading
So shameless

Stands still

Wow
Striking
Its a big bright pink one
Circular in shape
Bold
Beautiful
Its the one
Open, with so many soft small petals
Glistening with the rain drops
Shining in the sun
Sparkling with beauty from within
Makes the bee meander to thee

The bee needs to reproduce
Suduced

Stops and fills
Spreads the seeds
Allowed to please
Pollunates
Impregnates
Recreates

What you dont see is the story
Combined with the
True glory
Of the extra ordinary *****
The beauty
Of the buzzing bee
Combined
With the  gold assigned
Inside

So free
Flying
Trying
Frantically to find the
The hive

Taking nectar
Making honey, wax, all kind of f
Fascinating lines
Made from hexagon
They divide into the lines

They are full with precious delights

The story continues
The more you learn
The more you yearn
To see a honey bee

Together the bee and the ****** *****
make harmony
The vibrant flower allowed to duplicate
More beauty for all to see
For all to feel

The special honey bee procreate and makes
Wax
creating ambiance
Such a clever bee
A savont; such a worker
Magical tyrant

Buzzing madly yearning to create
the sweetest honey
A honey bee can make

Its like you to me
You're the combination
Make migrations in me
Spreading beauty from within
To others to proceed
And begin

I feel it with you;
Vibrant flower
Honey bee
Coming together
Creating so much sweet honey in me

It's a wonderful story to me
You see
The story of the flower and the honey bee
So my house mate thinks poetry is stupid...he said...let's see if u can do this...write a poem about a flower and a bee and pollination.
Not only that this but the words
****** *****
CASCADING
SAVONT
VIBRANT FLOWER (he mocks the first poem I wrote as an adult, that used this as a description of a naughty part

Listen to The story of the Flower and the Bee by jvalent1 #np on #SoundCloud
https://soundcloud.com/jvalent1/the-story-of-the-flower-and
PaulSta SA Sep 2015
A Man who believes
In word of affirmation,
To love and cherish a woman
Entice with his natural charms
To court a real woman,never
Mistreat her with his immature
Mistakes

A Real Man,A nor womanizer
Who impregnates bunch of girls
To use his babies,as a trophy
For the glory as of a stolen
Diamond to his gang.

A Lad who *******
Of a Lady for dump victory
To find gold.

But,He who takes responsibilities
When they occurs and never denies,is a man.
Who share a burden of his brokenheart
Angel and embrace,
Is whom who wakes up early,
Say a prayer and hustle to care
For his family,and never backs down.

Vanquish life with vasted hopes.

A Man who knows Man's presence
To a Woman's heart...
...**He is The True Essence Of A Real Man
The Universe is our Kamasutra
constellations, red tailed comets
brilliant devas, divine horsemen
prance through the galactic playground
everywhere and in everything
our eyes behold a starry courtship

Romance impregnates the very air
we breathe

billowy breezes caress our bodies
and the sun does not hesitate
to shower us with burning kisses
mysterious lady of the coven night
cools the passions of the day
with dreamy moonlight and
soft melody

Innocent, pristine
we experience, explore and
enjoy the sacred foreplay
blooming in the garden
of our chakras

So vastly turned on
feeling  high
expansive
all inclusive

How can we contain the
bliss that courses
through every particle
and atom towards its
ultimate collective
consummation

Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati
locked forever in the throes of Love
“Spirit and Nature dancing together”
Perveiz Ali Dec 2015
Social Climbing

How many asks what is the way forward?
The lack of thought impregnates our air.
By thoughts and acts we pursue social achievements,
Exhibiting selfishness, chaos and insecurity.
We promote ourselves through groups and individuals,
Paving the way to social fame and glory.
All while our country rivers crest with blood,
Peaked by the sacrifices of those socially conscious.
Their protests to gain our freedoms unrecognized,
By those of us ******* in the hunt for fame.
Is it this the dream, we strive to gain?
Shamed am I that we have not addressed their demise.
Sally A Bayan Apr 2017
Grapefruit tree blooms lush
Its proud fragrance dominates
Stirs senses...in white...

Redolence wakens.....
Mind and nostrils, side by side
Inspire and create...

'neath Sunday's twilight
Branches mate....shadows connect,
Entwine....entangle.....

Curved silhouettes form
An arabesque....of shapes
And my own dance steps...

Night impregnates mind,
Scents, trees, starry nights..are turned
To runes..........some, with tunes.

................................
(A cluster of haikus)


Sally


Copyright April 2, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
...early morning haikus from March 26th, 2017
Should be dead by now,

These thoughts

Shamed by the harsh light of the day.

But even the night is no haven,

For as I hide

There in the necropolis

of my broken dreams,

Your specter beckons

And impregnates me-

verse of gloom  given birth,

ghostly beat resurrected.



This bed should be the grave.

But even sleep you own-

Your name engraved

On the epitaph.

Reverie you claim-

Your story is the dismal chanting

on every corner.



And rising in the morning

Is like of a starved vampire.

No satiety is found,

For everyone walks now

Under the daylight

With cold hearts,

Including you.

Naughty imps on their eyes,

Cruel devils on their heads,

Cunning wizards on their lips.

Their violence I feel,

Harboring on silence.

World is a big necropolis,

In the guise of a glinting metropolis.



I wish to mourn,

Shed more tears,

But redemption never comes

To this warm heart

Molded it self to be filled by you.

For the way to the fire

It sought but never had,

Is bound down, down and down.

Devouring it like a quicksand

But never grants death nor life.



If time comes

That it turn to snowy pulse

Like those of the dead of the day,

Will your tears and the roses

Finally be offered mine?
can also be viewed from: http://dreamweaversplane.tumblr.com
Picture this Jun 2015
Majorca, a playground for the young
a sequinned island, sparkling with gold
sandy beaches, limestone mountains
and sheltered coves
a mediterranean island
rich with citrus plantations
and culture centuries old.
Where tradition seeps into cavities
and impregnates the uninitiated
leaving you saturated
with enthusiasm
and passion.
A spirited place,
a tranquil sanctuary
where you want
your ashes to face
the wind and stay
forever within
it's shores.
Majorca
a wonderful
place with
memories
drenched
into my
pores.
Grishma Rialch Jul 2010
I sit in the dark lane,
a lane of thoughts,
that is called.

Peeping with noise,
i tell them to stay....
stay because i want to unfold myself.

The Self?
Errr..
What is my self?
That self which spills with confused thoughts?
Blinkered,
Blinded.
Or
The silent one,
which smiles deep inside?

I begin to walk,
an awakened walk...
in harmony with both the selves.
want to walk till the  shores of...
the supreme,
that supreme which is the infinite,
and that infinite is in little me!

He is the unreachable,
still i sometimes manage to reach.
But soon he evades,
impregnates me with those two.

And i sit again .
all exasperated in my lane,
a lane of thoughts that is called...
copyright 2010 by Grishma Rialch
Fay Slimm Feb 2017
Cornish spring drips and
all growth becomes riddled with
desire for warmth,
ridden with need for having more.

Freshly risen, green
gets liquid-addiction, an invisible
draw makes sward
swoon for regular fixes of water.

Crafty Spring knows
plants crave doses so being fickle
he drops trickles used
to tease shoots upwards for fuel.

Whoresome he opens
cores formerly hidden, then the
illicit physician lopes
in and flippantly erases hopes.

Bold, he impregnates
the deep sleep of inactive nature,
forcing in secret wet
potions to unclothe closed petals.

Then he may withhold
his advances and allow winter's
return to bring nights
of freeze to show is own might.

Old Spring hangs around
to tickle ground's fancy yet Sol's
hard passion he fears
for at start of heat he disappears.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2017
replying freud...

   what do women want?

to act as if they're "confused"...

and to be honest?

   i can't be bothered with
this question,

    i haven't even asked it proper,
and i'm already lethargic
about it...

   why do women reveal so little
of their nature?

   i guess playing with barbie dolls
really served us to become
puppets in their grip...

what a boring question!
   who asks that sort of quetion
and can't see the obvious truth?

noble page! pour me another drink!
sure thing, don quixote...
     and why wouldn't man
find much more in "madness"
as he might find in a "woman"?

  to be honest, i did prefer buying
en vogue's singel when
the prodigy's album
    music for the jilted generation
came out...
                  
     ha... so long ago that's it's
untrue...
          even though i take to make
imprints on the sand with my feet,
i am nothing short of the sea,
revising the presence with
  being the schrödinger metaphor
existent outside the realm
of box, radioactivity, and cats...

i am the sea...

     sum aequor, etiam sum flumen,
              per se qua: cogito
...

i am the sea, and i am the river,
   as being: being in itself - thought
.

  i am the sea in being, but i am also
a river, as being: thought...

women are not "confused" -
   men know this,
and to break away from the supposed
"confusion" crafted abstraction,
  to allow woman her natural state
of existence,
  but at the same time to break away
from her...
   crafting chess, crafting puppeteering...

i lost the ambition of wanting
to know certain things,
to me i find them exhausting...
i don't like lies to begin with...
   and it's so exhausting listening to
a woman who writes her life into
the grave of fiction, without actually
producing a novel...

(ego) sum aequor, (ego) sum flumen,
(ego) sum: labyrinthus.


for if woman has the heart
to weave her fiction over reality,
      man has his mind to do likewise...
woman in stasis:
              within the ratio of
                                    man in flux;
"irony": influx.

           there is no ontological worth
investigating woman,
for akin to kierkegaard's god,
the never-changing god...

                 woman is a tiresome
ontological endeavour, akin to god...
for neither change,
   for both are a home with,
or without a basilica, a home within a home,
or a home without a basis for
permanent residing spheres of interests...
   man impregnates the woman
for continuum...
   as he goes the idea of a god
by ******* his thought, into "nothing":

       icarus cogito ad res "nihil"...

but i wonder... where do moment of
"prohibited" thought wonder into?
            where do moments where thought
does not exact the coordinates
based around a god (0, 0 , 0) wonder toward?

           luckily, toward things of
spontaneous interests...
     like a feral animal suddenly jolted into
its full sensual enthropy,
   such that we too,
become seemingly woken within
the waking hours, bound to an ingeneous path
of revelation and originality...

beyond the **** sapiens, there's the reversal
of the transgender movement...

     **** in flux -
        femina in stasis.
                          
                         with my feet impressed
upon this earth,
   i see no other gate of entry,
            but the many gates of departure.
Bri Stokes Sep 2020
Time is a trickster;
the ticking clock: its vicious heart.
It impregnates.
It destroys.
It heals.
It unravels.
It dons the skin of an imposter
in the coldest stretch of night:
a magician weaving fantasies
that sear.
Neutralize.
Inspire.
Though I wonder--
I worry--
are the days too long?
Are the nights too dim
and fleeting?
Do I dance through each
crescendo
in a lurid,
patchwork nightmare?
Or are my dreams so full of pain,
that soon,
I'll shatter beneath them
and finally wake up?
A tale of 2020.
Julian Sep 2020
2 Kings 23:3-5 Version? (I found this by looking up the word Mazzaroth in Wikipedia it was the first reference and it is displayed in 23:5 (the hosts of the heavens and constellations)

3 And the king stood on the platform, and made a covenant before the LORD, to walk after the LORD, and to keep His commandments, and His testimonies, and His statutes, with all his heart, and all his soul, to confirm the words of this covenant that were written in this book; and all the people stood to the covenant.

ד  וַיְצַו הַמֶּלֶךְ אֶת-חִלְקִיָּהוּ הַכֹּהֵן הַגָּדוֹל וְאֶת-כֹּהֲנֵי הַמִּשְׁנֶה, וְאֶת-שֹׁמְרֵי הַסַּף, לְהוֹצִיא מֵהֵיכַל יְהוָה, אֵת כָּל-הַכֵּלִים הָעֲשׂוּיִם לַבַּעַל וְלָאֲשֵׁרָה וּלְכֹל צְבָא הַשָּׁמָיִם; וַיִּשְׂרְפֵם מִחוּץ לִירוּשָׁלִַם, בְּשַׁדְמוֹת קִדְרוֹן, וְנָשָׂא אֶת-עֲפָרָם, בֵּית-אֵל.
4 And the king commanded Hilkiah the high priest, and the priests of the second order, and the keepers of the door, to bring forth out of the temple of the LORD all the vessels that were made for Baal, and for the Asherah, and for all the host of heaven; and he burned them without Jerusalem in the fields of Kidron, and carried the ashes of them unto Beth-el.
ה  וְהִשְׁבִּית אֶת-הַכְּמָרִים, אֲשֶׁר נָתְנוּ מַלְכֵי יְהוּדָה, וַיְקַטֵּר בַּבָּמוֹת בְּעָרֵי יְהוּדָה, וּמְסִבֵּי יְרוּשָׁלִָם; וְאֶת-הַמְקַטְּרִים לַבַּעַל, לַשֶּׁמֶשׁ וְלַיָּרֵחַ וְלַמַּזָּלוֹת, וּלְכֹל, צְבָא הַשָּׁמָיִם.
5 And he put down the idolatrous priests, whom the kings of Judah had ordained to offer in the high places in the cities of Judah, and in the places round about Jerusalem; them also that offered unto Baal, to the sun, and to the moon, and to the constellations, and to all the host of heaven. (Mazzaroth)

First I will refer to Job 38 which is clearly indicative of some guarded celestial truths that might be miscegenated of origins of the life forms that believe in synoecy among the dominions of the covert verdure of Earth reigning over us with silence and silentium with solatium for the soilure of the interregnum of times reigning with pollution and in stern rebuke by God I was reminded subconsciously that Climate Change is a truly evocative Lachrymose experience when encouraged by prayer that was a poignant moment of tears when I meditated on the Carbon Tax I immediately started crying even though I was not saddened by the affair in any other way that was palpable. The staddle of Job talks about specifically the tucked vestiges of the thorny imbroglios of intemperance countermanded by the master stroke of the divine interpretation of lightning which is essentially electricity and the clouds it is referring to are the internet where instantaneous communion can be achieved without exertion the line that struck me the most is the “Clods that cling together” because it is a resonant stroke of Islamic virtues that the ***** clot is the seed of all creation by which all have been created in the fungible image of our variegated creator who is not necessarily janiform of a leviathan of many faces but an experimental disposition of a disembodied figment that can assume any form on heaven or earth to dissemble his true cloaked identity of the original protoplasm of the first anointed civilizations in the long history of the Universe. Knowing the true visage of the first sentient civilization to bow beneath the creator with obsequious devotion in a presumably monolithic world where God’s presence was so obvious it might have actually been the first heaven before there was death and this pays homage to Adam and Eve the firstborn of all creation. The creation story might refer to the first sentient animated civilization in the Universe which sinned and then became a diaspora of a mirrored reality of the realty of heaven and  earth where many variegated snakes and beasts roamed about clamoring for God when they turned the synsematic toasts of revivalism to the newfound creation of sentience with rivalry potentially precluding the salvation of Abel who was murdered by Cain. These stories might be extraterrestrial vestiges of the true lineage of the Almighty God we serve and although controversial as it has been Biblical knowledge that Adam and Eve were humans before being tempted by the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, it is possible this process was recapitulations of former times and the former protoplasm that precedes all things because the strokes of glory of sentient life was nurtured especially attentively at the beginning of the first civilization of the Universe where God was probably everpresent and ubiquitous and accessible to all creation and it is even possible that this world was the first heaven for the first death before many subsequent deaths of the lineaments of tribes that supplicated beneath divine mercy for adjudication. My theology is that God is attentive to a broad universe of quagmires and in perfection or refinement at the beginning or the crux of history we are a perfectabilism of God’s attentive scrutiny and we master ourselves rapidly enough so that God doesn’t intervene as often as some might hope but many people don’t understand the time frame of God’s everlasting perspective. So it is potential that the first habitable world in the universe became the utopia of extensive cosseted scrutiny that became the prototype for Heaven that eventually alighted into a cosmic if segregated fraternity of the chosen for the cubic metropolis or the gardens beneath which rivers flow. God can assume any form and he chose the pulchritude of humans to issue a strong statement about the verdure of our plenipotentiary potential perhaps replicated often with minor mirrors of dimpled design throughout the cosmos as it is likely that another civilization which resembles humans in DNA with almost exact precision currently exists and is civilized by advanced life at this current time and that we exist in a multiverse unbounded by the enumeration of infinity. God pays scrutiny to those civilizations that repent and many are saved by the salvation of their orbific longings but it is also possible there exists an operative design of cacotopias that don’t know God but relish prosperity or have derelicted the possibility of God for too long because of either extreme asperity or abundant warmth of luxury. Remember the universe is infinitely vast so the likelihood that God is fungible is possible but not yet confirmed because if other alien civilizations exist that yet know God because of Jesus of Nazareth they are reproved by the divinity of interposition of reality in its mercurial ways conforming to the grand design of perfectabilism and God has operated throughout humanity for thousands of years why now have we reached the pinnacle for repentant absolution? We bend towards the synclastic light of the culminated alien fascination with our pulchritude despite their dearth and they are attentive to God because of Jesus of Nazareth and subsidiary to that Muhammad or potentially the deities of the Egyptians which might be defalcated concepts of the alien version of a pancosmism that is mysticated on the rarefied commentary of the strictures of polytheism that might populate some regions of the universe. The absolute truth in the One God we serve is that human understanding cannot enumerate his truths without understanding its distance and segregation from other worlds as we fight the suffrage of old age to propitiate the longing for tranquility. This is all tethered speculation but I believe that God is regnant in all affairs and in this vast universe is attentive to all our pleas and the questions of heaven and Earth remain unheeded or distorted by our humane totemic versions of truth that all memorialized the pyramid a sequential convex formulation of a stratified system that reaches its apex in the singularity of the hypethral skies above and is the tenure of the majesty of the esoteric secrets that coshered and ushered societies into great divergence but ultimate found consecration on Mount Moriah with Abram’s sacrifice before he was known as Abraham of his son Isaac that was prevented by Yahweh’s messengers of isangelous repute. The mystery of Adam and Eve might be a recapitulation just as the story of Noah reminds us of the travail of other centuries and other worlds that provide the pathways to divergent creations that are ultimately saved by providence and the rich thickets of allegory throughout the Bible all point to the emergence of transcendental truth which is shepherded by the mysticism of this age and the surrealism of knowing we belong to the elect hive-mind cosmic fraternity built on psychism and titanism. The firmament is testament both to our distance from our cosmic neighbors and also our propinquity to their suffrage and suffering in their beatific but arid realities that are draped with the pangs of loneliness in their excursion to broader realms of conquest and in their wallop of time itself they have opened up the lychgates of Heaven and Earth to provide the provisions for a new understanding of history that is rich with the percurrent themes of a monotheism of a fungible God which took the form of Man as he can take any form he chooses in his aseity of being and his judicious providence to select the Earth as an exuberant exsibilation against glaikery but also a profound victoria for the awakening of humanity to its cosmic identity as a favored species young in years but enriched by celestial guardians that are among isangelous repute because of their decisive roles in human history throughout the Creations of their divergent designs that illuminate the illuminism of the pyramid the elemental form of the ultimate capstone of knowledge with the all-seeing eye of providence encapsulated above all ethereal reckoning. So it was the downfall of the utopias of ignorance by learning knowledge that bequeathed the lineage of mortality itself in the beginning in the form of men and angels both that inhabit our broad universe because in several occasions in my life I felt like I encountered human beings with such clairvoyance that they seemed like agents of God. Noah’s flood might refer to a distant or near civilization that was swamped by a catastrophic event or tsunami much like Atlantis and this predicates Noah and explains the longevity of his estimated lifespan and that of Methuselah who lived 969 years which ironically points to the  Apollo Moon landing in 1969. The fumatoriums of human ignorance can now be micromanaged by a swarm of up to seven alien civilizations but most likely 3-4 of them and they are all attentive to these theories and probably inseminated the Bible to begin with potentially with their own theological understanding of the universe transplanted on a human perspective to shepherd humanity into the answers it so desperately sought but found themselves famished by. So in Job 38 we crouch in our dens looking for the prey of the lioness of civilization that is embattled against itself for entirely internecine reasons. There is some temerity but I believe the theopneustic power of this revelation because I am keen to the attuned universe of the largesse of omnified civilization trouncing over the matter and fettle of instinct but Genesis is integral to understanding every cosmic mystery on Earth and in celestial Realms and is probably the seedy repute of Baal and Molech among other idolatries which severed themselves by heterodoxy of eunuchs and saturnalias too profane to expound because their epicureanism outweighed their pragmatic need for the virtues of the conclamation of heavenly authority manifest clearly on Earth at various times by various prophecies that all point to the Sacrifice at Mount Moriah and notice how God always works through mountains like Mount Horeb/ Sinai to provide his flock with everything they need to know to maintain vital sustenance. Surah 3.86 “How shall Allah guide a people who disbelieved after their belief and had witnessed that the Messenger is true and clear signs had come to them? And Allah does not guide the wrongdoing people.” Surah 3.84 “Say, "We have believed in Allah and in what was revealed to us and what was revealed to Abraham, Ishmael, Isaac, Jacob, and the Descendants, and in what was given to Moses and Jesus and to the prophets from their Lord. We make no distinction between any of them, and we are Muslims [submitting] to Him.". Surah 38.1-9 is mandatory reading even for the scepsis of Christians because it proves how farsighted the aliens that shepherded Muhammad really were and how insightful Muhammad really is and still is as an emissary of heavenly recompense in his guarded palace beneath which rivers flow. Surah 85:3 (853 AM) “And [by] the witness and what is witnessed” Lets return to the central thesis of all kerygma that is synallagamatic with mutual respect to the pillars of all civilization that the meeting ground of the jovial joust of gladiatorial conquest of the yobbery of rookery and the apikoros yordim that emigrated too far into esotericism might marvel that God is ultimately vindicated as an author of a true unfiltered version of a slightly redacted history suited for the auditorium of a universal audience that displays with majesty and power his foresight to tend to the distant constellations that are created by the tentpoles of the sky reaching their apex into the aperture of the allegorical veracity of all culminated creation exultant in its self-affirmations of pride that it might balk at the embellishments of pettifoggery by the kirkbuzzers of superstition and behold the true throne of grace and authority bestowed upon the bailiwick of the living and the dead in what might be a segregated heaven to prevent the pullulation of tribal discord even in omniety with eternity. I hope to witness heaven firsthand in my upcoming seances with the extramundane but first we must expound this troponder. Jews first, Christians second and Muslims third were all alerted to this watershed moment in history with exact knowledge probably encased in the Arc of the Covenant or some other divine artifact that embodies it but sometimes we pale in our pallor of substandard evils that lurk within the recesses and alcoves of our destiny that we forget to prophesy with earnest sincerity about an abiding hope for the forward rather than the froward future. A book that changed my life forever and shattered my worldview and made me obsessed with Earthquake science was 1906: A Crack at the Edge of the World because that quake inspired the Azusa Church Revival movement that lead to the resurgence of proselytism of protestantism of evangelical churches. I highly recommend buying that book on Amazon.com right now it gives you such a harrowing perspective on that Earthquake 114 years to the day that beset Northern California. Revelations 5:11-14 NKJV “11 Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. 12 In a loud voice they were saying:
“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
    to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength
    and honor and glory and praise!”
13 Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying:
“To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
    be praise and honor and glory and power,
for ever and ever!”
14 The four living creatures said, “Amen,” and the elders fell down and worshiped.
Genesis 2:1a (reaffirms my theory) NKJV
 Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array
I am going to pause to marvel at the significance of that San Francisco Earthquake because that seismotic jolt shaped the destiny of our aborning nation and was the first time-to my knowledge-martial law was declared and they tried to extinguish the fire with dynamite which further spread the conflagration and San Francisco is obviously named after Saint Francis of Assisi who ironically died listening to Psalm 142 which is about the liberation of prisoners on October 3rd 1226 A.D. His name is also ironic in purely terms of cognomen that should not be expounded. Although depaysed from my original brunt I would like to extend the bronteum of theological reckoning to the absolved polity of the renown of gigantopariahs clamoring for vitality in a time of treachery and perfidy because the valiant insurrection of our adventures in decent music is the chavish of many birds to the itinerant hordes of adoration as in some parallax of reality in the realty of a potentially merged heaven compartmentalized into factions there might be an ulterior reckoning of overabundance but instead I propose a segregation of the heavenly realms postulated on the idea that in omniety we will know of many things that will fascinate entire generations of time as the knowledge of the esoteric percolates through the heavens by riometers beyond calculus and calculation that will one day heed these proclamations with a hortatory weight as the assized Epic of Gilgamesh echoes the same percurrent themes as Noah’s Arc including the forty day ultradian rhythm which signifies temptation and also the contrition of God signified by the flocks of the sigillum of the aspergillum of dignity afforded to all who migrate into tethered territory beyond the yokes of ******* to the dengonins which own all the ulterior praises but serenade lesser patrons in this almighty day of wondrous awakening to the cosmogony of the infinite justification of the allegorical heft of herculean prophecy entwined in the rhetoric of the primordial authors of human sociogenesis bound to the covenant of Abraham and his blessed sons Isaac and Ishmael who both deserve glory and honor. The elegance of the mystagogical parlance of the intrepid bravery of partial rogues but never full-fledged knaves impregnates God’s vibrant experiment with flourish that delights him with the zaktengur of individual raconteurship so an adventurism in life might be warranted as long as it is done gingerly and with love as the ultimate cloak of absolution rather than the self-insulated boredom of an impavid disposition of the self-settled sedentary languor of whilded depositions of thanatousia brought into parturition by the midwives to sorrow and tragedy that besets the human family from time to time but the sorrow of mankind is not beyond the bailiwick of God because perfectabilism is in his very nature in the adolescence of creation which can greatly be prolonged by the conservation of our robust intellectual bastions of energy and the sustainable development of a green planet beyond depredation that heeds some minkumpfs with some peremptory guerdon to save the spate of suffering among our animal brethren. I grieve that my profound plumb into the depths of psychism was abbreviated by the pomp of porlocking purpresture but I renege my former glaikery in sustained suspense over selfsame tridents of musical happenstance and with poignant evocation I convoke a solemn remembrance of all those lost to the spates of disaster and the paroxysms of the unpredictable that is now foreseen in time to forestall turgid tragedy and impregnate the world with a ****** of a thirsty new vogue eager to adapt and learn with laureate belletrist of the aubades of the dawning light of absolution granted the the sacred cross and the lives we relish in history that are dedicated in sincere earnest alacrity to become revenants of the new age beating the whiplash of the second death because the former things have passed away in a figurative manner even though there still is death one day the inventive verve of the quizzical nihilism will try to outfox death itself for a hollow memorial to preserved sentience which is a mockery of transhumanism that is a professed modesty of the ultimate vouchsafe of the transmundane but unnecessary because of the real palpable joy of the resurrection inherent to all segues between life and death that we all might embrace our creator with almsgiving and gratitude with patient forbearance for the virtuosos that memorialize a prosperity worth relishing even in the soilure of privation because no soul should grieve in bereavement when there is so much joy inhabiting this gleeful planet that is hardly glad in any way about the dereliction of spite and anteric schadenfreude of sacrilege on a massive scale that should be a blotch of a bodged chantage of evil. As I digest the memorials of the festive but never churlish traditions I marvel at the synclastic bent of amasthenic enlightenment concave towards certainty in a demarche for the diminished efficacy of viruses to scare us into trepidation but with dutiful caution of proactive measures taken in times of exigency and crisis. There is nothing facetious about God’s exigent deliverance in these times of leniency and fasting as the wineskins preserved from the lineage of old will perdure until they have their fill and the Earth is saturated with the blood of the prescience of a Cattaneo prophecy guarded in his 6-24-2006 set which hints at a catastrophic scenario potentially impending right now or of a future variety where “blood will be pouring like oil gushing out of a well” “respirators will have their fill” “hospitals be closing” etc. and in these steep harbingers we find poise and pause to reflect that the majesty of God is unfurled unpredictably by showcasing the redemptive power of the autarky of the imagination to see the unforeseeable and lurk in the dungeons of the unknown dengonins just to spy with privy knowledge about the circular circus of privation encircling me like the rapture of murders of ravens that are a crow shy of an X-Files repute...Of that situation that the afflictions of the many matter to the anointed few that delegate because of Jethro and through the power of the Levitical orders to abolish some Kosher restrictions among some apikoros Jews that lean on my wisdom because the suffering of animals should be a suffrage for sentient rights of animals not to bleed excessively into a slow painful death. I urge all Jews not to let those cows or other animals suffer so grievously at the hands of malefaction just for a petty consecration which proves a hollow point about sacrifice and thereby seek to abolish some Kosher demarcations on the grounds that they are inhumane sacrilege because the ransom of Jesus of Nazareth’s suffering and agony on the cross-rather than his blood as many people beguiled more on physical manifestations of trauma rather than the emotional toil of suffering that bears more incumbent on the human sympathy-consecrates all virtues of circumcision and makes meat ceremonially clean because we serve a miracle-worker God who hasn’t finished his last work yet because more thaumaturgy is in store. The antagonist of history is congealed human superstition filtered through the siphon of protective scurrilous fears and petty vendettas borne of willborne hatred of tribe and division that was the fettle of preliterate societies of hyperdulia because they knew the iconography of Christ and marveled at his miracles but believed too strongly in retributive justice to scare away the herds of the contrite to a monasticism of plight and blight that consecrated  many great human achievements in scholastic virtue and scientific importance but ultimately found relegation before Gutenberg saved history with his seminal watershed invention third only to the second place wheel and the first place advent of human language itself as the most prominent plucky invention of human revitalization and through the salons of France and the dramaturgy of Shakespeare we found an apex of enlightenment that provoked revolutionary ideas not so guarded by gingerly blackguarded varnish of a superstition for the metal tablets that illustrated magically the future for an abiding audience of the past which must have seemed an abominable miracle to the astounded puritans of the times because songs like Love Story (at least the music video) suggests that the song circulated in the past eras of the English Renaissance before electric lighting was invented. We have all to thank for the invention of rock and roll which is an esoteric title for a sizable momentum of catalyzed verve that enchants the planet still with the majesty of the harp and the lyre to glorify God for all eternity and Allah for all the worlds he possesses in his infinite bounty one in the same for the culminated vision of all hallowed prophets with an emphasis on Surah 2 accentuated to the Christian audience even if neglected by the Muslim audience. I am primarily a Christian but I believe Islam is a divine path worth pursuing on a tentative basis but I have yet to outstretch my hands to try and reach the barnacles of a distant world beyond my womb and bereft of my lineage even though I stand united with the Abrahamic faiths that solidify truth and memorialize the superorganism messiah of humanity in collaboration with our celestial hosts to foist the ribbons of the figurative far-flung Pleiades and the harps of the harpricks of the just as distant but transfixing Orion to envelope the earth in sincere repentance before the holy flock of the justifiable truths found in the candor of devotionals and hymns to the immemorial God of all Creation that is the impetus behind every ambition-if only subconsciously in his universal psyche and consciously the catalyst behind every cohesive machination or orchestration of complex human and alien activity but subsumed in the psychism of God-is the idea that we are living indelible elements that constitute his superorganism in the theoplasm that is circumjacent and adjoined to his intentions that he surveys with such nimongue ease that his wednongues go out of style very slowly because his vogue is the ultimate champion against the misprision of militant psychiatric injustice that needs to be rectified by top-down government action to debrief and inform the necessary travail to surmount my challenges and assume a subsidiary role in the government and the ecclesiarchy to shepherd the shepherds and write for a living with a fair governmental stipend and a partially uncensored internet so my fanfare can envelope a broader portion of the world. I issue a humbled but ultimately otiose entreaty that Donald J. Trump, a personal hero of mine, can be a participant to my plevisable situation by appointing a team of people to work with me on the social engineering of the future and most importantly the ligature of the ecumenical cause for aggiornamento of the ecumenical cause of Abraham and all of his descendants because we all abide by that sacred covenant in the broader world that inhabits our sacred rites and rituals. We should also embrace the boundaries of mysticism to fathom the depths of the theoplasm more fully to understand how the firstborn of all creation is the perpetuity of sentience for the revival of respiration for new species yet to come even more beautiful and prosperous than us and those that already exist frolicking in approximated heavens that we might meet upon transmigration as reincarnated wisps of superior worlds of heavens inhabited by the segues of death but knowing no despair. But I stridently believe in the ultimate promise of an ineffable splendor of a real final resting place or a cradle for the supervisors of the isangelous that orbits above our heads and flutters in our considerations as the vast multitude of worlds.with heroic saviors that spellbind the universe together with a stitchwork of mastery of the fraternal bonds that divide some species from others by insuperable bounds of space and time but through the gift of transcended time ushered by alienesque invention and we have thus been bequeathed a new unexpected emergence phenomenon that is aperspectival in temporal terms but always recumbent upon the prolific dance with a jousting destiny toying with us through swarpollock and other machines of sentinels but never tiring their terrier race as subservient to the human imagination ambitious beyond former bounds.
    Thank God we have a president that presides over the defeat of the strictures of warped and intorted hypocrisies of orthopraxy for the candid endeavor of the plain plaid truth of the vibrancy of germane beating the pulp pallor of the nebbich calculations of uxorious plumage plucky in its resolve to serenade our youthful cadets in their continued resolve to chaperoned campaigns of the barnstorm of the obvious for the conclamation of the ultimate victory of history over its worst proclivities that suspend themselves in the tentpoles of time and space as glaring menaces of affliction. The gated entryway to prosperity should be unfurled with majesty and a welcoming grace to sustain cordial deeds and promote fundamental encounters with vagary not with a vagrant fission but an emergent fusion not of hyperbolic atrocity but rather the subsidence of the chisel of directive ambition that serves the greatest causes of the ****** of dignity to transcend the fettle of disarray. The quibbles of the questermongers and the querulous wernaggles of relative impotence matter greatly to the large bulk of a hibernating humanity but when we all awaken to a universal truth that serves a flickerstorm of revolutionary usucaption of the halidom of tomorrow experienced by the foresight of today. We levy the largesse of a collective bronteum that warns and admonishes gently the people behind the curtains that might find objectionable some of the barnstorms inherent to this missive of doctrinaire but soluble missions to save humanity from its worse caverns of idolatry and to anoint the brightest light to beat the most deafening din of darkness that can be imagined by the sterile vapid retreats of privilege into insularity-we fight not for a mercenary cause but for the valorous insurrection sanctioned by the chartered expedition of new frontiers for a newfound freedom found in fundamental vouchsafes of a freer speech in the lyceum of the knowable reality of noogenesis. We should never suborn the dacoitage of the hybridized compromises of the halvork of mandarism but always tolerate the entreaties of amicable jousts of demarche even when combative with a peaceful irenic resolve that is contempered with virility rather than pomp and not even a hint of virulence because the collective world depends on a quorum of well-spoken and considered thinkers adjudicating a bonhomie rather than provoking a collieshangie. The world should not spurn error but castigate it calmly because the worst errors of temerity are remediated by the ploys of the treacle of the imaginary plane of the supersolid convergence of the ulterior with the pragmatic that serves the working class as well as the shepherds of elite institutions because all deserve a fair hearing in the court of commonwealth justice. There is no treachery in universal irenology that special barleychild of serendipity that shields us from harm while providing bulwarks to stabilize economies and sustain the recognition of our wholesome usucaption of newly acquired deeds and merchandise that spawns an ingemination of technological revolution incumbent upon declassification that leads to a resurgent robustness of economic conditions that calibrates properly on the proper alkendur of the hikkle of hype mixed with disdain. We suppose that the remixed panmixia of virtual insanity doesn’t become an affliction because in many ways it might meet abomination but some people lean on the leniency of felicity to swell the coffers rather than populate the coffins of the agreeable pivot between the sustenance of choice and amicable adjustments in economic security meets a run-on sentence of the levies of strain as the imponderables outnumber the certainties of the covert. We populate the future by going back to the past and this is why the movie is so entitled Back to the Future because if you think about it, it requires a recumbent logic of a recursive incursion of the origination of the future visible to the past to create the impetus to sustain the vitality of a resurgence of travel to the future itself one of the most obvious giveaways in movie titles ever devised by the clever. We encounter the timing of the lightning and thus hear the thunder not of the radioglare but the laskerade and serenade of the pulpit of good deeds rectified by the rectiserial visionaries that balk at orthodromics when the artful bypass of nonlinearity is favored for curiosity rather than missives of emissary diplomacy.
The reparations of tomorrow are the guerdon of yesteryear, the heyday of seminal prophecies that consummated a theological brunt that revolutionized the perspective of eagles nest lookouts all around the world to sempiternal decryption of history showcased by the sheen of prophecies now culminated in the effervescent now is a plangent epiphany in the life of a storybook romance with an artful dalliance with a romanticist ideal of an enlisted destiny recruited to cement its own purpose with concrete action without flagging resolve. The ultimatum of history was a faltered filibuster of the listless historian marveling at the prescient telaesthesia of the unknown visibilia that protrude in remontant certainty that the memorials of yesteryear catapult this cause into the fruition of a dated missive of coded bywords encrypted by the chronological clepsammia of allotted time for special occasions when the entirety of space-time folded upon itself to anoint itself champion of the supersolid reality of the surrealism draped over the tentpoles of abundant absolution that excuses the kisswonks of the glaring threats of Wilkes Booth to entomb a heroic titan of imposture as the real effigy of a slain delay of strenuous calculation to appease the Confederate heart wounded by the diacopes of struggle. In this rollicking turmoil of a roiled time of rookery we can celebrate that the amasthenic weight of the historical certitudes of the docimasy of memorialized junctures in time when all was denuded barefaced in the sight of the world to marvel at the rigged artisans of the artistry of furtive skullduggery that imposes no astringent rebukes other than those reserved for departed gyrovagues of hallswallop before their due time and season, we marvel at the irony that an insular vociferous vehemence of clairvoyance predicated on the absolved shrive of history for aborning and alighted apostasies now stands regnant in triumph of the space-time continuum. This might be an overstatement of the herald of a day signified by a transcendent conversion to a theology reified by the rengall discoveries of the intuitive theopneustic truths of the subsultus of vagary and vicissitude that the day when the code was cracked about the fractures of history converging upon the latticework of ephemeral and ethereal cords of cordial embrace of the cryptadia belonging to the “commonwealth of the aliens of Israel” (Eph 2:12) became evident to the masses was the chosen day of encroachment upon the suspicions of the alerted masons of the American Revolution-to ward off with apotropaic beacons of light glinting in lighthouse caverns of repositories of unknown treasuries-the salvation of the human race from the dudgeons of apostasy by the consecrated creed of the newfangled credenda that borrows heavily from lore to make this fabled date stammer as a freckle in a dimpled time that is cute but eccentric in its flapdoons of memorial that shower history with innumerable examples of the numerological importance of consecrating or desecrating a given day based on the furtive skulks of hidden troves of luxuries the elite have always bestowed upon the elect. So maybe this day wasn’t as transcendent as it could have been and maybe there is a resigned awgrudge that such a pilfer of time would make such a resonant dent on the pride of Britain to provoke their invasion and scuttle the American bastions of prideful reconnaissance of the future bestowed by the patronage of elective privilege, but this day will always be canonical in its ability to reprove the critics that the orchestra of history is not a heterochrony with destiny but a very validation of its truth in serpentine convolutions of the bywords of the guarded synquests of aristocracy. May the doubters gleefully jibe at the overstatement of a heroic task on a filibuster against the cretins that foresaw the trudge of ignominy and still willingly stooped to the levels of evil cadges into prurience that they foisted upon the reminiscence of evil protrusions that they might be forever banished to the barathrum for their pitiable deeds to desecrate and blaspheme that historic wallop of synquest to trounce the trinces of an uncertain future gravitated and mesmerized by certain facts known widely enough to provoke wars and enter the pasilaly of universal knowledge enough to warrant further inspection. The wravel of time is elegant and exquisite and all the glory goes to the coryphaeus dengonin that braved infamy and rebuke to soldier on in demarches to dignify the otherwise seedy drab and daft drolleries of pretense that any uncouth man could ever emerge from the throes of absolute defeat into the vindication that history either by intention or by accident is convex and aimed to entrench the vital truth that accidents are convenient but deliberation is calculus that deserves fanfare. It was because of a seminal theory of theology that this day earned its repute in history because it coincided with such rattled seismic events that are turgid with blessed tragedy that is never gloated over but always solemnly commemorated in hymn and deed of charity and eleemosynary duty. The irony is that the Revolutionary War ended on May 12th 1784 which marked the exact time of the Earthquake in California at 5:12AM PST and that fact makes many subscribers to the scepsis of sebastomaniacal delusion postulates more keen on the acumen of the day that history unraveled at the seams and revealed its circular reference to an ennobled prophecy that was the momentum and excuse for many clarigations of force and many other heralded deeds of posture and gentility or savagery and desecration. All that matters now is that we know that history is not a myth but rather a stagecraft of timing that is predevoted by preordained memorials to the tithes of time to cement its own legacy as foresight transcends hindsight in its own largesse but also its brutal slaughter. If the encroachment of tyranny poaches its greatest champion to excoriate an overstated case of mania they will meet the Army of Me and believe me their exhaustion will no know swift end in the halls of a deep dark purgatorial gridlock cell of eternal torment at the castration of their virility or their spayed femininity because I will not be reduced to rubble because of some hapless Facebook posts misinterpreted by the garbled miscegenated heap of albatrosses of invidious lies trying desperately to dethrone my virtues and seek the ulterior misprision of a  forever vanquished hope that resides in the torment of a plagued future negligent of the sacerdotal duty of the guardians to protect history rather than brutally savage it with dismal reprisals that are pangs of the deepest ire that will provoke a choleric rage enough for them to have to barge into my apartment and break down my doors. They will not trespass into my sanctuary city because I inoculate myself hereby from any incursions foreign or domestic on my livelihood for posts that do not hint at instability but only memorialize cute facts of the gawsy rather than the gawky imposture of the morality police trying to entomb me in the glaikery of a forever sunken refuge of homelessness and ill-gotten subterfuge.
Ethiiochick Nov 2015
Your deceitful lies,
caresses my mind
and
impregnates my heart,
I'm now left
with
the aftermath of ******* emotions...

-Ethiiochick
Inhale these feelings and exhale your emotions...
PoetLeChatelier Nov 2019
“I have been trying to get laid
So should I try lacing up my suspenders and get my *******,
for another fifty shades of drinking a Harlem shake to the
piece of cake fairy tale of nagging paper trail just to impress a **** pony tail
at the dark alley bakery, vending her own cookie with a tight shoulder skirt to this lions in search of an empire from a leverage  point to cleavage, Torching the alley with a naked thigh just like tossing a coin into a fountain in a circus with clown with umbrella about throw some shade until when the tides go out to, you get to know who’s been swimming naked upon the pleasures that are bitter to swallow to this blood ******* roaches chasing strangers who would spread her legs to the canvas and induce seduction as a color scheme……..
She called me sadist and I called myself a dreamer,
She dreamt of pushing me off the bed and calling me a screamer
She envisioned cutting my throat and playing jazz with my vocal chords
She fantasied sarcastically caressing my cuticles just because last night I came in short of breath

Previously
She would sell her own soul to the syringe of morphine drip
for a denial shot that pain heals in the prefix of an outpatient  rehab
now in the bathtub nursing in patient withdrawal ,
She would tie a shoe string around her bicep in search of vein,
so as to squeeze the **** libido version of limbo to oblivion
humiliating the dark clouds begging for a shooting star
to the pages that frustrates the pen unto the novel that prescribes a prenuptial of black bride killing the reader’s digest and buries their heads…………..so……………………

I am becoming a book.
that will induce an ****** with sympathy veil of beggar feeding on their own horses
to the end of the caterpillar misery is **** butterfly confetti to script that syncs the readers perception
Into the ****** abuses of the needle that impregnates the ink and tells the canvas to go get paternity test throughout the history of melting medusa lips
that made a homeless robin without a hood painting a revolution in this concrete jungle
where dreams are made up from silence thought that can
ambush a hive softy through whistling that melts
a bee’s temper in the presence of a queen is a poisonous sting of a artist
dipping his own brush into his own soul with a healing dew that never bruises
the honey in the vein of the garden is the beauty of the wine  
From a vine to flower is a grape in the glass is anarchy

From what I am running from
To misery flowing from the river on
That’s why we are here
To profile the lost identity from the art of war that sun Tzu was afraid of losing his head to another thigh!
That’s why we are here
To profile the slit of the dress that curved the sword another napoleon to conquer Soviet Union
That’s why we are here
To profile a love Ballard from contortionist that melted medusa eyes from cold to flexible
Revolution will wear a mini skirt, squat and kiss the lepers hands for the Benjamin’s banking dump jokes...and still hire Johnnie Cochran for second ****** trial of O.J Simpson ……………
That’s why I still want …………………………….



our culture wore a fabric of circus clothes only dance in the arena like a puppet from the strings of the servants chasing a redemption in the den of thrones getting thrown to the game of throne for guilty pleasure as kings daughters were gambling upon gladiators death to the freedom of escaping their own Sobibor that chopped off my foot in the life of Kunta Kinte
Slavery was blushing teeth with a **** moan of a cigarette smoke
Flirting to the horrors of unshaved groins,
from the growing pains in the hands that planted olive trees
to labor and harvest their oil that has become tears of
cowards staining heaven with obscene imagery of their own likeness
holding their insights captive upon the eyes of the ******
Until our backs were a canvas of whips and brutality, we had tattoos
of pain and graffiti of blood as written the book blue skies
claiming the prepare the way the Lord, judging Esther from a supremacy attire of poverty
termed to be isolated from the world where the corner stone fell into the wrong hands and built a
Tower of babel for the Pharisee living in a glass house



Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal to pleasure
the urges out of the Garden of Eden, Adam had to seek leaves to live with eve,
From a mustard seed renouncing the deception ought to praise the womb that gave birth to the blood sweat and tears to the system planting snares pig’s ears and fears ,
with intent to subdue the cat inside the bag from the smell of the rat that has been suffering a broken rib
We used ashes as lotion to conquer the scratching pains of the unhearing wounds eying the staff that turned into a serpent in exodus to the stiff neck of the system after the death of Moses….we had to succumb to victory,


There was a story of how soldiers got hungry
in the battlefield even they started feeding on themselves
Fighting for peace in the pieces of human meat...
upon pawns that have kept chasing the salvation of in the story that was
made by rats that fought all the dogs and killed the cats is like
Judging a fish with its own abilities to climb trees from the a shadow of small boy reflecting an elephant in the room with betrayal that made Julius have a seizure after gambling with another’s man
life with few pieces of silver sealed by a Judas kiss that killed Jesus,
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
hiding behind images:
rather than standing before shadows...

perhaps it sounds better
in german, in german:
it (being german) is more...
informative...

or at least... that's how i see words
as...

example... DOG...
will i hide behind an image...
or will i... stand before the shadow?

as bad insurgent "translations" go...
this is where you find the "lost"
artefacts...
why would a ****** snuggle
up with some deutsche-spreschen
bollocking: to begin with?

we have settled our difference...
we have to have them...
wir haben zu haben: ihnen!

Plato... and iconoclasm...
christmas is over and i can,
finally! celebrate!
we do like in a democratic pseudo
state of affairs...
no man shall reign for more than
100 years...
even if he is god-bound....
but this little *******...
******* pivot,
it all begins with him and ends:
with him...

before all the greek demigods...
i will seek: being naive...
i will seek... keeping my mouth shut...
i will make minor details:
enlarged protest projects!
perhaps the german will
clarify...

verstecken (the past tense...
i never found it...
the paste of hiding...
to be couple with a present participle
of still... hiding)

verstecken hinter bilder...
lieber als stehen vor schatten!

die architektur aus wörter
(von Goethe... "von wörter"...
'goeRte')

nichts nein!

what is a melancholic arson?
the inflamed heart: its last willing rubric
genesis...
the mind is either automated cold
or stitching up cobweb matrixes of borrowed
time... but the heart...
oh a heart can become something more
than the bundle of clockword muscle...

i have tried to keep this mind
candle-lit and "curious"...
to keep it: intellectually focused...
to be prone of being starved: retaining
being a curious case of:
but i've found extinguishing points
of reference...
the only stupidity i found was...
it was going to be: oh so... predictable...

the modern tongue...
libra! meet the hydra...
i can either hide behind images...
and fuse them with words...
or i can... stand before these shadows...
these skeletons...
and properly disguise an "alternative
arithmetic"...

there's no point arguing over what is,
and what isn't "central europe"...
the masses have spoken...
we know what's fly-over territory when
it comes to h'america...
there's the east coast and the west...

but i will keep borrowing german
to... to the best of my abilities...
pretend to leisure myself in the comment
section, of the serious, sober,
liberal elites!
the true mind grifters and...
perhaps the odd chance of
a dutch puritanical rabbi...
to... "manage" an equilibrium...
to... not... rattle the boat...

common theme: i drink, i want to speak german,
i'm dead: i want to speak german...
i want to tell jokes in german...
-esque buzz lightyear in toy story 3 with
his... hispanic psychosis interlude...

i've experienced psychosis...
most... unsatisfying... i never managed
a complete disintegration of the self...
shame... i almost wish i did something...
that would have kept me in
Broadmoor for the past... 12 years...

i'm still "here"... but it's already apparent...
to have invested in german existentialism...
to have invested in... german idealism...
somewhat... and "then" / only now...
do you realise... you're not going to be part
of some ******* bookclub!

oх dye scheiße!
чoпперс chomp!
их... alternatively in eat... east germany...
isch... so?
ишь... alt. being? ихь...
variations go... where the caron... doesn't...

i will not solve you a crossword
puzzle in english...
i still have not opened a bottle
of jack daniels this very night...
and i'm already making a summary
as to: why i will not open
a bottle of jack daniels tonight...

i will... but i'll sniff the bottle-neck
as if it were a line of *******...
and the sober, sensible people,
can have their fill...
they can have their: formal...
promenade poetic excursions into the night...
and they can rhyme rhyme rhyme!
they can walk their ritual crescendo
of left right, left right...
which will never make them odd...
should Beijing stage an army parade
"impromptu"!

have them! have them all!
too bad for me... to bad for you:
to be of those people...
who read books...
that... makes it hard...
to find someone... who also read them...
and when you have...
done both...
you find out... oh, right...
those books were never supposed
to be talked about...
they were supposed to become
cognitive tattoos...
you were always supposed to...
"think" about them...
in "think" as in: not talk about them...

you would never be able to
mainstream them...
regurgitate them... fall flat on your ***...
donkey comparison...

Balaam's donkey...
Jesus' donkey...
i'll repeat this...
Balaam's donkey... Jesus' donkey...
and those four horsemen...
minus one donkey-jockey...
Balaam's donkey... Jesus' donkey...
if only someone told either of them...
about...

one of the donkeys knew...
as my cat knew when... clear as day...
i remember him utter the word:

яабэł...

he had two names: oscar darshan...
i'm way past being crazy...
being crazy these days is:
being known for making yourself
be accustomed to rules and laws...
outside of the rules and laws
that make stealing a criminal act...

otherwise: christmas is over...
now i get to celebrate the every day...
i'm done with this:
worshipping a baby...
on a day... when... Herod did a
Pharaoinic imitation...
major, or minor improvements?
beside the point...
only he exists... the rest of us...
perhaps some... porridge... will suffice?

oh thank god the c.c.t.v. cameras weren't there...
and the sceptical community...
i wouldn't mind some cynics...
but so the story goes...

because why would i want to...
"persuade" anyone toward, anything?
less of me, less of me on instagram...
ensuring i post the perfect
hot-dog sublime piece of legs
before the altar of a swimming pool...
or whatever chlorine cocktail...
with a "missing link" sombrero for
a stump of wood...
excavated from a sacred forest of Lithuania...
or some other variant bollocking...

christmas is over...
i can forget about being secular and sensible
over these past three days...
so i can return to my cognitive religioisity
in the outcast domain of mingling
gnosticism with qabbalah...
and... i can due those said prayers
in silence with my thought...
the ought-i-ought-i-not:
in that sigma-***-theta morph prefix
exemplification... of translation...

dry-humorless: pedantic...
that's me...
because i can finally! finally! breathe!
i can enjoy winter without these
******* fancy-lights!
i can enjoy x-ray vision of skeleton trees...
balding fully...
i can enjoy winter... after all...
winter can only be settled into an armchair
of comfort... when christmas resigns from
being a calendar event...

i can enjoy winter now...
ich dürfen zu genießen winter, jetzt!
ich, auch, dürfen zu genießen:
bekommen betrunken,
bekommen betrunken genug:
zu necken deutsche-tippfehler-quack-sprechen...
etc.

christmas is only christmas come
the 27th of december...
now i can celebrate...
now i can ******* peacock strut me way
(my my my)... into
the never available "oblivion"...
as you do... you really need procreation...
you need children to appreciate christmas...
otherwise you're ******* stuck...
with a delay button...
waiting for Easter...
the big boy celebration of christianity...

christmas and... the siege of Gaza...
what's the common thread?
human shields... children being:
human shields... excuses excuses ad nauseam...
it's because of the children that we justify
christmas...
i have none so... i don't justify it...
i'll usher in some herr bernstein
in the form of monsieur gauner...
or some... all brothels have a stench of
bourbon about them...
alle bordelle gestank von bourbon!
alle!

and what "good" isn't coincidental
with the advent of spring?
ah... the resurrection "part"...
flight to egypt... josephus ben mathias...
1945... the nag hammadi library...
and... plenty of greco-hebrew politico
propaganda hybrids along the way...

i can hide behind an image
that a word designates...
but... i can also... stand before...
the shadow that the word impregnates...
it just so happens to... rhyme;
bluntly.
Aayushi Anand Apr 2014
How each verse
Rings through the mind
Impregnates the thought
And runs through lines?
That One magnificence that

sings and blows His flute

amongst us

with shooting stars in His hair

and golden eyes like suns

His breath flows through

green reeds on the river banks

and baby birds chirping exuberantly

in their thatched nests

it fills our lungs with song

and impregnates our hearts

with love indistinguishable

when we kiss His shimmering feet

We caress the starry lips of the Universe
New book coming soon
Inspiration Jun 2016
The stars twinkle in the beautiful sky tonight
Four stand out
To my eyes
Show me beautiful sights

The first star is
The brightest in the sky
In the deep and dark night
Looks perfectly shaped
Perfect
Makes me feel that inside
Some time we miss
When the sky does not align with my eye

This second is
The most gorgeous star in the sky
Looks can fly
And they do through my eyes
Once my eyes go inside
The lack of depth
It appears
Dark at the heart
Deceives does this beautiful shooting star

This star
Number three
Illuminates me
It does not always appear
Flickers with light
In the blackened sky
When it does shine
Its so bright
It hurts my insides
I bask in the light
Makes me ache
I miss this star some times

The last star is unusually small in size
Sparkles from afar
Lights up my eye
Slowly building trust
Knowing its always there

What I need to find is my sunshine
The sun that shines consistently through the sky
Finds its way through the darkest clouds
Creating spotlight where ever she shines
Enhancing colours
Takes my breath away
Impregnates Feelings
Displaying different experiences
Helps me to create
Broadens my insides
Helps me fight
To see the light
And beauty in all that surrounds

How sweet she sounds

I will wait until your found
My beautiful sunshine
Donall Dempsey Dec 2017
TWAK!

Twak!
  
A knife embeds itself
  
in the space just
by her left ear
  
as if the wood
gulped it...****** it
  
in
its glint
  
vibrating still.
  
In her head
she plans
  
dinner.
  
She stares
at her husband
  
remembers how
he had come
  
to court her
...twak!
  
Another knife
flashes spitefully
  
narrowly missing
her other ear
  
a little
bubble of blood
  
like a stud
earring blossoming

on a wobbly
earlobe.
  
'Ouch! '
she whispers
  
to herself
guilty
  
at such an over
reaction
  
oh how he had
excited her
  
  
her head
in a spin
  


saying he
was in
  
show business
  

her world
revolves
  

about him
the next knife
  

impregnates itself
in the space
  

between her
legs
  

like a tuning fork  
it hums
  
  
her excitement
builds
  

a splinter of
wood
  

nestles in her
left inner thigh.
  

'Wow...nice! '
she becomes moist.
  

The shimmy of her
spangles
  

as the lights catch
her
  

a little
gasp
  
  

she faces him
boldly
  


afraid &
un-afraid
  
upside down now
her world all topsy-turvy
  
she still so
proud of her

husband's skill
to tantalise her
  

his unerring
accuracy
  
the pride of being
(she the knife thrower's assistant)

as well
as wife.

Twak!
Donall Dempsey Dec 2019
TWAK!

Twak!
  
A knife embeds itself
  
in the space just
by her left ear
  
as if the wood
gulped it...******
  
in
its glint
  
vibrating still.
  
In her head
she plans
  
dinner.
  
She stares
at her husband
  
remembers how
he had come
  
to court her
...twak!
  
Another knife
flashes spitefully
  
narrowly missing
her other ear
  
a little
bubble of blood
  
like a stud
earring blossoming

on a wobbly
earlobe.
  
'Ouch! '
she whispers
  
to herself
guilty
  
at such an over
reaction.
  
Oh how he had
excited her
  
her head
in a spin
  
saying he
was in
  
show business.

Her world
revolves
  
about him
the next knife
  
impregnates itself
in the space
  
between her
legs
  
like a tuning fork  
it hums

her excitement
builds
  
a tiny splinter of
wood
  
nestles in her
left inner thigh.

'Wow...nice! '
she becomes moist.
  
The shimmy of her
spangles
  
as the lights catch
her
  
a little
gasp as
  
she faces him
boldly
  
afraid &
un-afraid
  
upside down now
her world all topsy-turvy
  
she still so
proud of her

husband's skill
to tantalise her
  
his unerring
accuracy
  
the pride of being
(she the knife thrower's assistant)

as well
as wife.

A loud sea
of applause.

Twak!
She had run away to show business. He was exotic...the blindfolded knife thrower who swept her off her feet. Oh the roar of the grease paint the smell of the crowd. Now the circus was just the humdrum ordinary world and she was finding it hard...to get...into...her costume. She still found the act itself exciting especially those near misses. It was the only thing they ever had a row about. The whistle through the air and then the shocking suddenness of the arrival of the knife with its capitalised sharp exclamation point. . .TWAK!
And when she was up she was up and when she was down she was...TWAK! It was always the knife between the legs that drew the biggest baited breath from both the audience and her self. She had to admit it still turned her on but there was dinner to think about and other mundane things like the baby's whooping cough. Oh the exotic...the ****** and the ordinariness as hubby went about his work.
Bijoylakshmi Das Sep 2021
THE SUBLIME UNITY
(Bijoylakshmi Das, 31st August 2021)
I dwell in distant heights of the unreachable amazing Blue
Nothing in my little self remains that does belong to you,
Heaven’s flower may not seek to blossom on the miry earth
Latter is not ready to give shelter to any celestial worth.
Life that blooms afar is beyond matter’s reach
Man of matter has turned into a monster, call it the beast;
The paradise you build far beyond limits of stretch of space
It is only for the One above you love the best.
All that is “You” loves all-pervading “I” in me,
It’s not body, nor mind nor spirit that can see;
The breath that flows in air even though horizons apart
We are the indivisible whole of the omnipresent infinite Vast.
The ripples that reverberate within in rapture’s mystic moments,
New songs are born giving rise to musical accomplishments,
Every word we utter in solitary hours in the rarest inmost depth
It is ether’s treasure immortal and well-secured never does meet mortal death.
Let starry sky shed no more tears in dark night of despair
The elixir of the Elysian bliss is devoid of mundane desire,
The ocean’s expanse knows only the magnanimous eternity’s shore
Life is the perfect manifestation of Absolute - the one unique Whole.
All of ME belong to all of YOU only in Eternity
Creation’s cloistral corridor creates most enchanting ecstasy,
The intransient Intangible impregnates deathless life in each moment to each
Be a part of His endless Love and get bound by is infinite reach.
Donall Dempsey Dec 2018
TWAK!

Twak!
  
A knife embeds itself
  
in the space just
by her left ear
  
as if the wood
gulped it...****** it
  
in
its glint
  
vibrating still.
  
In her head
she plans
  
dinner.
  
She stares
at her husband
  
remembers how
he had come
  
to court her
...twak!
  
Another knife
flashes spitefully
  
narrowly missing
her other ear
  
a little
bubble of blood
  
like a stud
earring blossoming

on a wobbly
earlobe.
  
'Ouch! '
she whispers
  
to herself
guilty
  
at such an over
reaction
  
oh how he had
excited her
  
  
her head
in a spin
  


saying he
was in
  
show business
  

her world
revolves
  

about him
the next knife
  

impregnates itself
in the space
  

between her
legs
  

like a tuning fork  
it hums
  
  
her excitement
builds
  

a splinter of
wood
  

nestles in her
left inner thigh.
  

'Wow...nice! '
she becomes moist.
  

The shimmy of her
spangles
  

as the lights catch
her
  

a little
gasp
  
  

she faces him
boldly
  


afraid &
un-afraid
  
upside down now
her world all topsy-turvy
  
she still so
proud of her

husband's skill
to tantalise her
  

his unerring
accuracy
  
the pride of being
(she the knife thrower's assistant)

as well
as wife.

Twak!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
i can't even digest this "abstract" point of a definition of consciousness, or relate it to a subjectivity / objectivity, or whatever affix you wish to ascribe the ponce of a man his due when you see what see:

cogito ergo sum is not even a debate,
even though it's as orthodox as
a religion with its: mantras
and credos...

                         the whole expression is
no inert, so bogus and so: failing
what i wish to be transcendent...

it only takes one snippet of the world
in which there is an other that
it blunts the mind that's only
useful for spreading butter on a warm
toast that: perhaps my honesty
is worth more than what i could have
done:

        because this observation is
heavily reliant on *what i could have

rather than on what i ought to have
                 done...
        the proposition which is dead lost to
making it a rigid maxim
  is best observed as a
               delay mechanism...
         because it has become just that to me
as of today...
           since it does not entertain
    a reflex that's always there in
high-stress situations...
          cogito ergo sum has
a purely reflective dimension...
           equivalent of saying:
Adam was born ****-naked
   and died, ****-naked...
   but we "know" the latter to be
hardly true: as much as we know
saints die with halos and caesars
are born with laurels on their heads...
as much as we known that kings
are decapitated by the weight of
their crowns...

i abhor the cartesian thought on
the simply example i experienced today...

so i walk into a supermarket minding
my own business by thinking about
how my shoes are comfortable...

  and i pass this strange creature in
the fridge department: staring
              into a single fridge...
i boot up with my usual crap
     of ***** beer and ms. fizzy-candy...
but i'm curious and walk past her again...

she has a ring on her finger:
   but it's not an everlasting ring
of pure mental without ornament...
it has a stud of a rock attached to it:
engagement...
       she's still staring into the fridge
wondering about fish fingers as i eye
her eye contact...
       she has a buggy next to her
and a filled basket...
          the buggy has a child in it:
i presume...
                but the apparent child in
it is silent...
            i can't see it: too many blankets:
which seems just right that:
there's something living and human
cushioned in it...
            
    the delay mechanism of this schematic
is that: hours later have the sudden
impulse to recount the encounter
of a single mother and having the capacity
to approach her and ask her:
           do you want me to buy this for you?

would that have escalated into me fancying
a relationship?
       do i look like a ******* loser?
i might drink and i might do damage
unto myself: but at least i know that i'm
doing it, and not someone else:
just a mere gesture of:
        you can stop staring at that packet
of fish fingers for a while...

   because what sort of woman brings
a baby in a buggy to a supermarket nearing
10pm?
              a witch, a harlot, or just bad luck?
i would certainly sleep sounder had
i discovered a way to bypass the delay
mechanism of: looking up my own ***...

       the problem is: the thought never occurred:
but did - only a few hours later:
      circa 4 hours to be exact...

         i don't like this delay mechanism,
but i then don't like whether there's a more
important social conventions "question"
    when having a "moral" answer
        impregnates the mind hours after
the initial curiosity of the sorry sight...
      
       this whole: minding my own business is
sickly sweet and probably oozing with
a scentless ***** perfume...
     but that still doesn't justify to me that:
i am both intuitively crafted,
  but also intuitively dulled by a question
of a morality...
          
    would i have given her money to buy
those fingers?
              i've been saving money by not drinking
on some days, so i could squeeze in a random
expense...
               it just bothers me that i didn't actually
have access to this thought when it was
most certainly worth having...

       which is why i read philosophy:
i hate it.
                    at what point was there a staged
connectivity of dot dot dot?
           i was in there stashing up and thinking
up about seeing the qualification
    of ski jumping in Pyeongchang!
    perhaps if i left my in situ with this
single mother who just so happened
to be in the supermarket at the same time
i was there: i would have actually
thought about buying the food she wanted
to feed her baby...
                    
                         a random act of kindness
would then haunt me:
             because why did i give her a fish
and not given her the skills to go fishing, right?
well, it wouldn't exactly be a charity
project run by Oxfam is one person did that
to another on a random occassion of:
it just so happened: that a pink elephant walked
into the room.

     there have to be four martix-like
  ante-chambers to the human experiences -
working from the x-ray of god...

     Y (convergence (λ - divergence)
            W (synchronism (M - dissoance)
                  H / H (either / or)

ask the twins why we need λ & M...

               yet the thought occurred only after
i had to take a second look out of
curiosity rather than any
   intuitive precedence over the matter
needing to be resolved...
        a ****** curiosity like some sort
of "freak" show...
                      
                  maybe it's worthwhile having
a drinking habit after all:
to feel this un-inhibition and spot such
aspects of life, akin to a single mother
being abandoned by a future spouse for whatever
reason that was: clinging to an engagement
ring, nearing 10pm in a supermarket with
her baby, staring into a fridge wondering
whether a baby can eat fish fingers:
or could choke on them: because then
the practice of abortion is really worth
debating...

                     give a man a freedom and then
watch man abuse it: by not executing
     the established norm of consensus...
    or later watch the vicar come in and argue:
but what of a future mozart that could have
been?
             yeah, i ask myself that same question
whispering into a tissue and then trying
to hear a reply of the sea in a sea-shell
as i flush the ******* down the toilet...
       have ******* whale sonar on that answer...
i won't replicate it,
  merely concise it to: it's an onomatopoeia.

thankfuly i have a personal account to match...
but she did pick the engagement ring
herself, and she did fling it back at me...
   and she lied about taking the pill...
when i was like:
         a ****** is but the nadir of my latex
fantasy...
                 so: guru who guru what?

i have my observation:
  shame this thought was somehow obstructed
from me having inacted it
when i could have shown the least
amount of decency to a sorry state of
womanhood, on a whim:
  and not for any moral well-being
   gratified by faking an authority for
some godsend suggestion to further it
by setting up an orphanage...
a whim: not a moral obligation...
      a fancy...
                      a random twist of a plot...

it's still going to be a delay mechanism for
me: this "observed" cogito ergo sum...
i've seen Kant mutilated on this *******
wankery long enough to know that
   Kołakowski didn't leave it much smarter.
Jimmy Earl knows what bow-legged Rosalynn's feet and toes need

just a smidgen of rose hips topped in cherries on a bed of rose seed

but not too high as Rosalynn's a Smith, ergo a victim of nose-bleed

Carter's killer plan endeavors to unlocked the minds of those keyed

My cat ignores my pleas to use a wet cardboard box of ****** sand

This cat's stupidity is 1 kitty's rare vengeance farmed on gritty land

Allopathic jive distinguishes not between a country & a city gland

Witchery allopathic discriminates not betwixt mercy & pity banned

Symptomatic quackery invaginates silica gel in a pink ***** planned

Sympathetic butchery impregnates silica jelly in pinkish ***** bland
Donall Dempsey May 2022
TWAK!

A knife embeds itself

in the space just
by her left ear

as if the wood
gulped it...****** it

in
its glint

vibrating still.

In her head
she plans

dinner.

She stares
at her husband

remembers how
he had come

to court her
...twak!

Another knife
flashes spitefully

narrowly missing
her other ear

a little
bubble of blood

like a stud
earring blossoming

on a wobbly
earlobe.

'Ouch! '
she whispers

to herself
guilty

at such an over
reaction

oh how he had
excited her

her head
in a spin

saying he
was in

show business

her world
revolves

about him
the next knife

impregnates itself
in the space

between her
legs

like a tuning fork
it hums

her excitement
builds

a splinter of
wood

nestles in her
left inner thigh.

'Wow...nice! '
she becomes moist.

The shimmy of her
spangles

as the lights catch
her

a little
gasp

she faces him
boldly

afraid &
un-afraid

upside down now
her world all topsy-turvy

she still so
proud of her

husband's skill
to tantalise her

his unerring
accuracy

the pride of being
(she the knife thrower's assistant)

as well
as wife.

Twak!
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
Sleeping with Laura
  and not making love

Lost in her aura
  and thoughts from above

Sleeping with Laura
  all vanity chaste

A feeling impregnates
  —the blame heaven laced

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

— The End —