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Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
you sowed this **** into my brain...
why do you even "think"
that i want... you?
             i, want your children...
the meme-mutation is what i'm
after...
   and there are plenty of useful idiots
to allow me to process
the intermediating processes
for: the sigma, "accomplishment";
which is unlike
what infected mushroom's -
  trance party track sounds like,
outside of my own head.
why do these people even
think i'm after their genes
of memes?
                i want, their infantile
replicas...
                 i want to craft a
worthwhile curiosity,
on a canvas, that that they call
their gene replicas, children,
and... like why called me...
easy meat..
                 einfachfleisch...
what?
    i'm not here for these news' anchors...
i'm here for their children...
nibble nibble nibble chew chow
cow tow and main...
            prawn crackers...
ah... news anchors are
easy targets...
    slightly pointless
20x bulls eye honing devices...
it's their children...
     i want their children...
    i want their cognition
to become replica of wheelchair
bound infirmaries;
why?
    oh... you know...
football and wrestling,
given the Qatar investment plan...
the whole sport "thing"
became a tad bit boring...
  had to resort to secondary sources
of entertainment;
children of news anchors?
the secondary, "last",
albeit, the best resort;
   schindler...
  required a list,
     to become reincarnated...
and revive a **** a heartlessness
of an reincarnation
    anomaly:
  i.e.: what, a limited number
of people, to begin with?!
     so the rest is primitive "a.i."?
now i'm starting to think...
thank the blue indians
for their culinary innovations...
but when it comes
to their theology?
                           **** 'em;
did i advocate that?
if i did... within what pronoun
guarantee of advocacy?
playing the grammar card...
        which pronoun?
the plural singular,
or the singular plural,
or the gender neutral?
   thank you jean-paul sartre,
     for the...  "i"...

i simply love, this revised concept
of a unit...
           the revision clinging
to the royalist affirmation of pronouns...
i.e. 1 would say... so...
         and 1... would, so, will, do so.
**** the pronoun debate
in Canadian politics...
   if i have to resort to this?
then i will...
like your plain citizen...

     may "i" speak within
the confines, of the royal, one,
given the example:
   one might suppose...
to be the former, and the current,
highest, etiquette?

gender neutrality of pronouns...
last time i checked...
one was never allowed
pronoun stature...
    why not address this
conundrum, to begin with?!

oh, right... too late...
too many loud mouths
without a guillotine...
so, basically, a cow ****'s
worth of argumentation.
Jhonhary Mayorga Dec 2015
In this life, I have seen the valley of broken dreams filled with the souls of taqueria entrepreneurs. I have seen gleaming grills, Hispanic frills, greasy thrills. I have seen spirit thrive in the eyes of men armed with bank loans and family recipes. I have eaten their food, delicious beyond necessity. I have experienced the magic of taquerias and restaurants.

And I have seen that magic die.

I've observed the life unfold, unfurl with a magic to behold. I have seen that magic served in a half-empty restaurant that Frontera has outsold. I have had the magic gone, replaced by payday lenders and takeout from Taiwan. I have seen empty storefronts and the straggling last days of taqueria entrepreneurs. And I grieve every time at the lost loans and lost hopes left behind. But tonight, there will be no grieving. Instead,

Let us eat magic in their memory, enjoy the grease that will surely send us to infirmaries. Let us celebrate the time they had, the tortas, tamales, and leftovers taken home in a bag. Let us celebrate the doomed Mexican restaurants.
TheSaneSaloon Sep 2019
I wrestled with God
and I won,
Victory now marked by a limp.
I shuffle through life.
My infirmaries the people's jest.
Yet I know-
The roles She willfully exhanged.
She looks above from my footstool.
She does not grovel,
She is no sore loser.
She knew Her opponent.
She knew the game She designed-
The rules She made for man.
She stepped down to contend in my arena.
She shook my hand,
the Referee set aside,
She raised my arm.
At last, Atlas rises...
And Creator and Sabbath are one.
Originally, I had He instead of She.
Then I remembered how past/even current cultures portray the devine creator as female.
So as a male living in a household of 3 females- who I admire and respect more than any other-I thought " **** it, lets make it different, make it something Im not used to."

And yes, I know the title was left with "He"
I gotta bait my fundamental christians=P
skyy omalley Jun 2020
ed,,zinger suivante,,tels handknits finish,,cagefuls basinlike bag octopodan,,imbossing vaporettos rorid easygoingnesses nalorphines,,benzol respond washerwomen bristlecone,,parajournalism herringbone farnarkeled,,episodically cooties,,initiallers bimetallic,,leased hinters,,confidence teetotaller computerphobes,,pinnacle exotically overshades prothallia,,posterior gimmickry brassages bediapers countertrades,,haslet skiings sandglasses cannoli,,carven nis egomaniacal,,barminess gallivanted,,southeastward,,oophoron crumped,,tapued noncola colposcopical,,dolente trebbiano revealment,,outworked isotropous monosynaptic excisional moans,,enterocentesis jacuzzi preoccupations,,hippodrome outward googs,,tabbises undulators,,metathesizing,,sharia prepostor,,neuromast curmudgeons actability,,archaise spink reddening miscount,,madmen physostigmin statecraft neurocoeles bammed,,tenderest barguests crusados trust,,manshifts darzis aerophones,,reitboks discomposingly,,expandors,,monotasking galabia,,pertinents expedients witty,,chirographies crachach unsatisfactoriness swerveless,,flawed sepulchred thanksgiver scrawl skug,,perorate stringers gelatine flagstones,,chuses conceptualization surrejoined,,counterblasts rache,,numerative,,delirifacients methylthionine,,mantram dynamist atomised,,eternization percalines hryvnias pragmatizing,,reproachfulnesses telework nowts demoded revealer,,burnettize caryopteris subangular wirricows,,transvestites sinicized narcissus,,hikers meno,,degassing,,postcrises alikenesses,,sycophancy seroconverting insure,,yantras raphides cliftiest bosthoon,,zootherapy chlorides nationwide schlub yuri,,timeshares castanospermine backspaces reincite,,coactions cosignificative palafitte,,poofters subjunctions,,aquarian,,theralite revindicating,,cynosural permissibilities narcotising,,journeywork outkissed clarichords troutier,,myopias undiverting evacuations snarier superglue,,deaminise infirmaries teff hebephrenias,,brainboxes homonym lancelet,,lambitive stray,,inveigled,,acetabulums atenolol,,dekkos scarcer flensed,,abulias flaggers wammul boastfully,,galravitch happies interassociation multipara augmentations,,teratocarcinomata coopting didakai infrequently,,hairtails intricacy usuals,,pillorise outrating,,cataphoresis,,furnishings leglen,,goethite deflate butterburs,,phoneticising winiest hyposulphuric campshirts,,chainfalls swimmings roadblocked redone soliloquies,,broking mendaciousness parasitisms counterworld,,unravellings quarries passionately,,onomatopoesis repenting,,ramequin,,mopboard euphuistically,,volta sycophantized allantoides,,bors bouclees raisings sustaining,,diabolist sticks dole liltingly,,curial bisexualisms siderations hemolysed,,damnabilities unkenneling halters,,peripheral congaing,,diatomicity,,foolings repayments,,hereabouts vamosed him,,slanters moonrock porridgy monstruous,,heartwood bassoonist predispositions jargoon dominances,,timidest inalienable rewearing inevitably,,entreating retiary tranquillizing,,uniparental droogs,,allotropous,,forzati abiogenetic,,obduration exempted unifaces,,epilating calisaya dispiteously coggles,,vestmented flukily ignifying complished hiccupy municipalize,,pentagraphs parcels sutler excavates,,stardust miscited thankfulness,,fouter pertused,,overpacks,,guarishes hylotheism,,pi Fresh blood seeps through the line parting her skin and slowly colors her breast red. I begin to hyperventilate as my compulsion grows. The images won’t go away. Images of me driving the knife into her flesh continuously, ******* her body with the blade, making a mess of her. My head starts going crazy as my thoughts start to return. Shooting pain assaults my mind along with my thoughts. This is disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. How could I ever let myself think these things? But it’s unmistakable. The lust continues to linger through my veins. An ache in my muscles stems from the unreleased tension experienced by my entire body. Her Third Eye is drawing me closer.
MOVE

This Christmas, let us move from me to us

Move to protect our environment, by not cutting Christmas trees.

Move to feeding Turkeys not eating them away.

Move to buy little gifts for the poor street children, when we buy for the family.

Move to get back our old parents home from infirmaries or old age homes.

Move to rebuild relationships with old friends and relatives whom we have ignored.

Move to plant at least ten trees to save ourselves n our children. To increase oxygen levels.

Move to save sweet water by reusing it in many ways. E.G. From washing machines to flush tanks.

Move to make things better, brighter and our Earth a better place.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
dichotomous Aug 2020
the end is nigh in a grocery store parking lot
full of lost trolleys turned batting cages,
barren shelves seemingly feeding the hysteria
there's another clean up on aisle 3
a gallon of 2% milk coats the floor in white
then turns a sickly shade of strawberry
when a woman unknowingly cleans it with her bleeding hands
No one is left to check us out
so we'll wait until the stains are gone
it's only a minute but that's all it needs
so we eye each other behind masks
and clutch our bread flower
not able to distinguish a glare from a smile
because all our squinted eyes look the same
Especially in 5 o clock lights
when we come home from offices
that double as playrooms and bedrooms
infirmaries and wards
but we're all itching to crawl back into our cages
and to be fed when the zookeeper makes his rounds
in morning updates and nightly news
we pay and run
jump in our cars, still full of gas
wipe off our milk
and sing happy birthday to the trickle of the faucet
written 5 months ago, oh how the times haven't changed
The genome tilts on its axis, spilling memes of shame,
mutation and death, tattooed on plasma walls.

Coronavirus latches onto a lowly cell, clamps down,
spews pellets of bubonic plague as fleas flee disaster.

1666. Eyam Village barricades its boundaries: No going in.
No going out.
The population dies like convulsing rats,

bodies stacked high in the street: cords of firewood. No one dares
light the flame. Pestilence obeys the border's blockade, contained

behind thick, golden stones. Tiny cottages mutate to infirmaries.
Judgment seeps through window panes. Mercy aligns with death.

We build no blockades, boundaries shift in the wind. Virus obeys
no one's laws, vandalizes the body, sets fire to the human touch.

Eyam beams prettiness now. Neat, manicured lawns, well-swept streets,
no trace of plague save on the village entry sign. Tourists flock like fleas,

soaking up history's survival, sobering on its showcase of blight.
Who deserves to die from nature's aberrations? *Who goes in, who out?

— The End —