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Yenson Aug 2018
But why do they do all this, I asked, shaking my head pitifully.
Its unimaginable  the amount of time and efforts they expend,
over nothing. Not to mention having the inclinations for such
absurdities!.

She leaned in closer and whispered conspiratorially as she puts
down her glass, while she waved at me to lean in closer too.

Her cute lips barely moved as she whispered theatrically,
" this is a secret, don't quote me."
I nodded.

" POST TRUTH" she uttered, " It's all post truth, they have put
all their people in a post truth world and they all live in post truth now"

"Do you know what Post truth means?" she asked, her eyes glaring inquiringly in a straight gaze at mine.

"Yes I do I replied, basically its, ‘relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief’", I trotted out. Leaning back in my seat, I considered this, and what she had just shared.

My plight has been Orwellian, from the very start, but I honestly wouldn't have believed people would be so gullible in this day and age. But then who was it that said " No man ever went broke overestimating the ignorance of the public".

Internally I processed things again, Welfare spounging Crooks burgled me, I gave them a piece of my mind, crooks call on their Socialist mates, who then launched an unjustified campaign of
slander, vilification, harassment, hounding, intimidation, ruining
my marriage, career, reputation and my health. I, the victim of a fowl crime becomes the villain and the criminals gentrified working class heroes.

It all seem implausible in Modern Britain, this day and age, yet it's all true.

My silence prompted her, " I don't like it myself and you already know how I feel about them, but..... and she shrugged her slim
shoulders and the look of sadness and resignation in her eyes says
it all. I felt sorry for her, only God knows the leverage, inducement,
threats or dirt at play for her cooperation, given the nature of the ***** politicking that's been playing all these while
and the  results of former experiences. Poor thing, I mused,
knowing her private life was at stake now..

In Post truth terms, you are a rich arrogant privileged and greedy chauvinistic parasite who deserve all you're getting and more. 
Their propaganda machine is devious and slick. 

I couldn't help acknowledging the disingenuous politicking at
play here by our Red comrades, the nasty racial undertones of my
plight had been white-washed, the theft of my hard earned possessions is bye the bye, the bullying and intimidation by the
neighbouring criminals and their subsequent gangstalking covered up. now, what remains is hapless me, alone, unsupported and just the heinous distortions, the misinformation, exaggerations, slander and disinformation exists, and all these are falling into receptive ears by the bucketloads. The general public's moral compass has been twisted and befuddled if not totally obliterated.  

I sat in silence and for a short while, we both avoided eye contact,
finally we looked at each other. She knew I had got the picture and
for a second I saw sorrow in her eyes. Then it was gone, you could
almost glimpse this was a sentiment she wasn't allowed.

I had seen that look before from quite a number of others, nobody dares act against the wave, nobody wants to be considered a traitor
or a sympathiser.

I tried lifting the mood and changed the topic, we made chit-chat
and found laughter in some places, we finished our drinks and left.

On the street walking I once again felt sorry for her and made a
conscious decision not to see her again. I was a persona non gratia
now, and it's not healthy being my friend. Friends are compromised, debriefed and used as baits or informers. I have become a dangerous person to know and the truth has been murdered, cut into little pieces and then incinerated into ashes.

They had perhaps forgotten that TRUTH lives forever, the truth
is the TRUTH and remains the TRUTH, no matter what you do to it.

FOR NOW HOWEVER WE HAVE POST TRUTH, HOW LONG THAT WILL LIVE FOR?
Your guess is as good as mine!

Goodbye dear friend, I watched her walk away, there was an unusual slowness in her steps and she looked back at me just as I was turning away, I did not turn to look back at her again,

I knew I will not be seeing her again................
Post-truth politics (also called post-factual politics and post-reality politics) is a political culture in which debate is framed largely by appeals to emotion disconnected from the details of policy, and by the repeated assertion of talking points to which factual rebuttals are ignored.
‎History · ‎Summary of the truth is contained in the poem - WHERE IS JUSTICE on this site..·
wes parham Oct 2014
Pour one under the table for those who walk outside.  In memory of Spalding Gray, for what he meant to me...
    Thanks, “Spuddy”, for sharing your inner life.   Thanks for having the courage to bring so many troubles into the light.  You laughed at your troubles and allowed us a way to laugh at our own.  You put a voice to carrying an unbearable shyness or an excess of fear along with us as we go through life.  You strived to care when caring was out of fashion and in short supply.  Thanks for reminding us that life is the journey, and not only the destination.  You wrote a book.  You played a minor role in a feature film.  Those were some of your destinations.  When you shared your journey, you did it with humor, humility, and with love.  Thanks for reminding me that storytelling is all around us.  Thanks for reminding me that it need not be complex.  You were merely observant during your journey,  and you shared it through the lens of your own perception.
    I learned this January that life became unbearable for you.  If only we, your audience, could have comforted you or somehow stemmed the river; the flood that carried you to leave so early.  I would like to believe that, once you died, you might be able to hear our collective voice.  I imagine that you are able to see the people affected by your work, some inspired thus to create works of their own; tell their own awkward stories, sharing them as you shared yours.  I am far back in the line, and I eventually arrive at your table.  You flip a page in your spiral-bound notebook and take a sip of water before glancing up inquiringly.  I only have one thing to say, really.  “Thanks, Spalding.  Thanks for sharing”.
Written after I learned of Spalding Grey's suicide in 2004.   His performances, full of a bare, self-deprecating and personal mania, touched me as they made me laugh.  They said, "I feel this ridiculous *******, too".  They said, "we get by anyway, despite the confusion, the fear, or the pain".  They inspired me to share some of my own self in personal narrative or poetry.  He wasn't any idol to me, I just felt his passing strongly since his own work had inspired me, personally, to live just a little bit more.  Life's a collaboration.
Still dark.
The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.
The little dog next door barks in his sleep
inquiringly, just once.
Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bird inquires
once or twice, quavering.
Questions--if that is what they are--
answered directly, simply,
by day itself.

Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous;
gray light streaking each bare branch,
each single twig, along one side,
making another tree, of glassy veins...
The bird still sits there. Now he seems to yawn.

The little black dog runs in his yard.
His owner's voice arises, stern,
"You ought to be ashamed!"
What has he done?
He bounces cheerfully up and down;
he rushes in circles in the fallen leaves.

Obviously, he has no sense of shame.
He and the bird know everything is answered,
all taken care of,
no need to ask again.
--Yesterday brought to today so lightly!
(A yesterday I find almost impossible to lift.)
Probir Gupta Sep 2017
I am proud
And feel I am upon a cloud
Because of my womanhood
As I have found you
Who almost always
Makes me feel so good

From your turquoise ocean
I gather my scented conversation
From your blue sea
All my sincerity
From your little handsome suns
Of brilliance
Are inspired my hair buns
From the sharpness of your quest
Are born and spread
The tiny mutinies
In my *******

My all happiness
Find their crystals
Their waterfalls
From the sweetness
Your smile exudes
Embracing the light and darkness in me
Both sadness and glee
My gestures lovely
My habits ugly
Unconditionally

Now that you reappear
On my orange spheres
Please come back dear
Let me fall in love
From below and above
From right and left
From clouds in cleft
Let's be together
Into the tendrils we share
The filigree of love
In crimson curves
Let's stuff our love

In this fall
Shadows grow tall
And deeper too
On my ridges
On our bridges
In my sleep your tulip-dream
In my impatient stream
Your swimming fingers
In a  deep pink thrill
I have to take off
All my grills

My roses are for your eyes
My purple finches your intense stimuli
My ships for your lips
My nest for your sparrows
Your fireflies around my nest
Your soft words from your taste
Setting free
Sounds of sea
From my mouth
Spoonbills soar
North and south

Let's make the rhymings
Come along
You do it
Whatever you like
Strike in delight
Whether right or wrong
Let spring songs come out
Sprouts too I do seek
In the lip and cheek

Now
In the moonlight
In the Minoan moonlight
Stand the horses
One of them
Sleek and dark brown
Raise its hoof in air
Inquiringly I look for you
The moon grows dim
A raw smell of fresh hay
And the slush
In moss and marsh
And the smell of horses
Earthy and harsh

Come
Be in love we must
______
Eriko Apr 2017
what does it all mean,*
the pressure of hand and hand
as two people who love gaze
*inquiringly into opposite directions
Zywa Jul 2019
Scanning your photo, who you were
is my fantasy, there is no contact
with you in that flower field near Merano

You looked inquiringly at me
at that moment, in this photo
of my and your thoughts

since then timelessly
frozen on the edge
of a black eternity

Also scanning myself
in the mirror, I see who I seem
to be and not who I want to see

They are irrevocable facets
of my truth and my lies
in traces of my existence
Collection “The light of words”
Kafka Joint Oct 2019
The sky is full of clouds,
And all my doubts
Are going up to the clouds
And are looking down at me,
Inquiringly.
Sam Lawrence Mar 2020
“Love is always shaded
In vanity”, you said,
“At least, all my lovers
Have been vain
Pleasing me
Pleasing me
But in the end
Unconcerned about
Really touching me
That’s not to say
I’m not flattered by
Empty Romantic gestures
I am
But I don’t want to be
Wooed by some
Accepted idea
I just want to know
If two people
Can
Really
Connect
Or if eternal
Loneliness
Is our lot”
And then you looked up
Inquiringly
Coquettishly
Your eyes sparkling
Across the table
Past the candles
Past the wine glasses
Past the single red red rose
Past my lies
Past my gaze
Towards the tumbling
Infinite darkness
Of the night
Jez Oct 30
As i dream and wonder
I evanesce from reality
But its such a revery
And the halcyon of dreaming
you'll wonder inquiringly

In a simple yet cozy room.
Is an idyllic place.
Where you can dream
And wonder, But no matter how far you go
The answer will be abstruse
Yenson Mar 2020
The car was Service due
Sye the mechanic picked it up
I drop it later. he said with a thumbs up
Mrs and I were indoors, the now pensive Mrs
suddenly a loud bang at the front door
the dogs jumped I jumped, the Mrs jumped
I' in the hall way in a jiffy, the Mrs behind, the dogs barking
there stood Tom senior, the burgling thief from next door
he was frozen in shock, the car wasn't there,
he expected an empty house
I expected nothing but got a frozen thief in my hallway
people I confess, yes I confess - I am too cool
any other man would deck this scrawny reprobate right there and then
more so as he reeked of ***** and was now in rigor mortis
what the hell, you just broke into our flat, I said calmly
we stood staring at each other, the Mrs looked aghast
the dogs were at the thief's heels sniffing his ***** stinking trainers
growling
I made the biggest mistake of my life
I felt sorry for this grade one uber loser
there he was, *****, alcoholic, no job, in and out of jail
dysfunctional family, dysfunctional life, trash going nowhere fast
now reduced to burgling neighbours right next door
neighbours he and his wife had countlessly borrowed money from
we had even given them food, bread, sausages, milk, sugar
all this made no difference to this frozen man here
After what seemed like an eternity but was a minute or so
Our Burglar muttered, I'm sorry, The door just flew open
why don't I just deck this thing and call the cops
No, let him go, they have enough on their plate as it is
I'm calling the Police the Mrs said
Just go, I said to the door kicking thief, No don't call the Police
I said to the Mrs, they are not worth the palaver
BIG BIG MISTAKE...please people never make this mistake
the stink ambled out, the dogs looked at me inquiringly
the Mrs shook her pretty head, I think we should call the Police
my head kept on repeating ' Laissez-faire' and give the man a break
I was being stupid, very stupid
a war had been declared though unknown to me
this incident was a shot across the bow
a blatant attempt at intimidation
I did not see the lay of the land
I was later to learn that to Bobby and his gangsters
this merely indicated cowardice or I had something to hide
they ratcheted things up, they were now ready for the invasion
I was reading The Guardian and worrying about my wife
Totally unaware a Teutonic shift had begun.......

— The End —