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g Dec 2017
you made me laugh,
you made me smile,
while you were hurting inside
all this while.

i just wish i knew more
when you were still breathing
now all that's left
are our grieving

wherever you are now,
i hope you're happier,
i hope you achieve optimum
i hope your smile is brighter

it will always hurt,
knowing you chose this path
and knowing i couldn't help
nor could anyone do 'nough

kim jong-hyun,
there will not be a day
the world doesn't mourn
there will not be a day
your sacrifice go unseen
there will not be a day
i won't miss you.

rest in peace,
my dear childhood idol,
you did well,
you did well.
i'm looking at blue skies, and i know you're looking back down at me. my heart is in pain, but i know, i just know, you're free now, and as selfish as i am, free is what i wish you to be. thank you for so many years of hard work. rest in peace, i love you.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
[Infernal Dialectic of Ongoing Struggle]

Spoke Mao Zedong to Kim Jong Ill:
We languish here in deep red hell—
Let us confer and analyze
What factors revolutionize
The contradictions still.


Replied Lil’ Kim: The running dogs
Beguiled by class and capital
Have overdrawn and overspent.
They bank on debt, and make lament
And flounder in their fogs…


Kim chee does stink, but tastes so good
Do have some more, oh comrade Mao.
Fermented cabbage goes so well
With Hennessey and blondes (in hell)
when
Juche’s in da hood!

The Fearless Leader (now a shade)
Responded thus: Just give them time.
Our doctrines spread, their God is dead
Their sons shall sing ‘The East is Red’
Our party’s got it made.


Ill Kim displayed a wicked grin:
Our rocket-launches make them fear
They scold and cluck, and then they duck
While Hillary tries to pass the buck
I think we still could win…


The Chairman thought and sipped some fire
in communistic reverie, and feeling very clever, he
Replied to Ill: This place we’ll fill
with dead reactionaries still—
fifth columns to inspire.

Now let the thousand flowers bloom
And let one thousand thoughts contend.
Remember **? Remember ‘Nam?
We triumphed over Uncle Sam—
He’s limping toward his doom.


A wizened ghost now drifted in
Because his name had been proclaimed
A wispy beard (as yet unseared)
Revealed the mastermind once feared:
Old Uncle ** Chi Minh !

** **—old friend! Draw near! Draw near,
Spoke Mao: In solidarity
We hail your work upon the earth
You showed them what a war is worth
You’re always welcome here.


Ill Kim and I were wondering
How best to make the forward leap—
conspiring ******* their cow
and smoke their duck and drain their sow
while they are buying bling.

** Chi, old warrior, why the frown?
Upon your wisdom now we wait.
The forces red you bravely led
You staked your claim until they bled
And brought their nation down.


Old uncle **, the sage revered,
did smolder with his cigarette.
Viet Cong thought is hard to grasp
It slithers like a jungle asp…
** paused and stroked his beard:

You speak without the people’s light!
I criticize in strongest terms
Your revolutionary thought.
We need to ask our friend Pol ***
How best to steer this fight.

Such gradual change, a halfway measure
stalls the Bourgeoisie’s demise.
Our true Khmer Rouge was not a stooge
of Kapital. His fame was huge
for plundering their treasure.

True, he had to purge his nation
such is revolution, gents…
The traitor classes see the masses,
through reactionary  glasses.
Death or re-education!

We ought to sow his rural seed
for pure agrarian reform.
The bodies in the rice can rot
to fertilize the harvest plot—
the people’s mouths to feed.


When Pol *** heard his tactics lauded
he flew in to join the jabber:
Take a tip from Kampuchea!
Listen well and I will teach ya!

Kim and Mao applauded.

City folk are useless eaters
glasses-wearing foes and cheaters!
let them slave – and always save
their corpses for the fertile grave
Until they love their leaders.

From the barrel power grows—
(I don’t mean kim chee barrel, boys).
Now learn my way.We’ll have our say
Their weakened states will wither away.

The Red dictator rose.

Prepared to ramble on for hours
(the way Fidel so loves to do)
Pol ***’s harangue now fired the gang
like rockets falling on Da Nang
emitting sparks in showers.

Hell is known for lack of stasis—
Sudden throes of quaking fire;
fitful flares from from Satan’s lairs
and constant similar affairs
the population faces…

Thus Saint Pol ***, still naming names
along with Mao and Kim-Jong Il
while ** Chi screamed, and then blasphemed
were swept en masse, and unredeemed
into the surging flames.

Yet still they plotted in the blaze
with dialectic deviousness.
Philosophizing, strategizing
stinking sulphur brimstone rising;
ghosts in the yellow haze . . .

        ☭ END ☭
http://tinyurl.com/q6uyx34

Homunculus Jul 2016
A few days ago, North Korea said that the imposition of sanctions by the United States amounted to an open "declaration of war" and went on to state that in response to military exercises to be carried out by the US and South Korean armies, that they are "fully ready to cope with them with nuclear weapons any time,” Okay. Let me just make one thing abundantly clear: these jokers have been talking this game for the last four decades, and it has all amounted to precisely nil

As regards Kim Jong-Un, I will ask that I be excused by my reader for the brief detour into contemporary African-American Vernacular English that this piece will now take. (crack knuckles, clear throat, hawk phlegm, adjust junk) Dear Kim: You ain't ****. *******, and your little ***** *** on some old *******. You ain't ****, you ain't never gon' be ****, and you never was ****. Furthermore, you ain't standin' on **** but a failed state and a fast-fading personality cult. All we hear is talk, talk, talk, talk, every year from you and your decrepit, syphilis riddled father before you; and quite frankly, it's getting old. Boring, even.

Do it, we dare you. See what happens, you glorified, overfed man-baby. You blurry greyscale xerox of Mao's bloated corpse. You, who have mistook a flimsy house of cards for an ironclad fortress. You naked emperor. You, whose very 'empire' is the deformed and emaciated plant which reluctantly sprang from a salted and desolate earth. You, whose 'hermit kingdom' constantly shrinks toward zero while the entire world watches, laughing!

We rest assured of the emptiness your threats. We can topple your house of cards at the flick of a wrist. In one fell swoop, our elite tactical urban forces will subvert and destroy your poorly trained, weakly organized, and honestly pitiful excuse for a nation. Why, if we wanted it, you'd be gone in a New York minute. And don't even try to come at us with tough talk about nukes. *****, we been had nukes, and here's the thing: ours are bigger, better, and more numerous than yours. You push that button, and we bomb your sorry little ***** back into the stone. You EMP us, our allies bomb you for us. Bearing all these considerations in mind, I once again reiterate:

WE AIN'T SCARED OF YOU. COME TEST US!

(drop mic, walk away)
But in all seriousness: There's just something deep down in the collective consciousness of this country, perhaps even humanity generally, that secretly yearns, that requires, desires, and *pines away* for the glorious spectacle of the theater of war, isn't there? Something in us seems, beneath a surface layer of fear, to ask, nay to *implore* with all the swaggering braggadocio of a drunken frat boy: "Fight me. I dare you. See what happens." That subconscious, primal need to attain brute superiority in outward, tribalistic displays of dominance projects itself onto the global stage: But how, then, are we to understand this mechanism, and what are some of its consequences? Upon closer inspection, we will find the practical consequences of this act to be twofold. On the one hand: By generating this spectacle, the media are able to use it as a tool for maintaining within the public a mixture of frenzy at one pole and detached complacency at the other. By giving them a violent conflict to participate in vicariously, the war at once (a) creates for them an abstract, nationalistic identity, (b) sublimates their violent impulses, and (c) distracts their attention away from the material conditions of life in the country where the spectacle is being broadcast; effectively stifling the imperative to rebel against those conditions where they might otherwise have been taken as unjust. War pacifies, war stupefies, and above all war unifies. On the other hand, the previously mentioned tendency to outwardly display dominance serves as an effective means for geopolitical elites and those striving to be such, to affirm reaffirm their hegemony on the world stage by making ****** examples of those that would presume to cross them. In this regard, there is perhaps no greater or more apt an example than the twin bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the second world war.

There is much more to be said about these matters in seriousness, but for the sake of brevity, I leave it here.
Daan May 2019
Ik ben te jong om te begrijpen,
hij om aldra te verslijten.
Ze kunnen er geen automatismen
meer in slijpen, zeggen ze.

Hij is niet meer aanwezig,
zelfs zijn hersenen zijn pezig,
uitgemergeld, vel over been.
Hij is te jong om heen
te gaan, te moe
om het nog lang te rekken.
Voor mij is hij te jong om voor altijd
te vertrekken.
Lieve papa,
ik zie je graag.
Tommy Johnson Apr 2014
Winnie the Pooh is trying to think
As are Plato and Socrates
While The Little Rascals get rambunctious
And The Marx Brothers cause calamities
Jim Jones stirs the Kool-Aid
And Georgie Porgie makes his move
Bo Peep and Miss Muffett start to blush
Red Ridding hood just swoons
The Muffin Man does a deal
With Johnny Apple seed
These beings and people our real
In our Surreal Reality

******* lets the paint splatter
And Moses parts the sea
Belushi buys an eight-ball
Bruce is on trial for obscenity
Rorschach is on the case
Right behind Sherlock Holmes
John the baptist goes for a swim
Along with Brian Jones
Jack and Jill meet Hansel and Gretel
They're hungry, they're thirsty
These figments of imagination do exist
In our Surreal Reality

Rasputin was so evil
As bad as Captain Hook
Now was it ** Chi Minh or Nixon
Who said "I am not a crook?"
Mao Zedong looked at Stalin
With a shared murderous grin
Booth stormed the Ford theater
And shot President Lincoln
Kennedy and King we're both casualties
Of the process of the deciphering
Of our Surreal  Reality

Zeus said to Aphrodite
"Wow, you look real good tonight"
And Handel says "Hallelujah!"
As the Wright Brothers take flight
Baby Face Nelson
Teams up with Dillinger
Moe, Larry and Curly
Mengele, Mussolini and Adolf ******
Three bears, three little pigs
Along with three blind mice
Sit together, while Maurice Sendack
Cooks them chicken soup with rice
Charlie Bucket had a buy out
Wonka gave up his factory
Fiction or nonfiction it's all a apart
Of our Surreal Reality

Chicken Little tried his best
To warm The Little Red Hen
Of the sly trickster
They call Rumpelstiltskin
Rimbaud applauds Leonidas
And his 300's final stand
Da vinci  paved the way
For both Newton and Edison
Folklore and war heroes
And those with intellectual mentality
Are all just pieces
Of our Surreal Reality

Wee Willie Winkie's scream
Wakes up Rip Van Winkle
But not Sleeping Beauty who's been asleep for thirty years
But has no acquired a single wrinkle
Caligula has lost his mind
And Nero's lost his fiddle
What does Beethoven's hearing aid
Have to do the March Hare's riddle?
Abbie Hoffman fights for civil rights
Thomas Jefferson for democracy
Products of the conceptual
In our Surreal Reality

Berryman writes an ode
To Washington's wooden teeth
Manson speaks of Helter Skelter
Neruda damns the fruit company
Charles Schultz frames the story
And Seuss gives it rhyme
Some where far, far away
Taking place once upon a time
And the villagers all had omelettes
Thanks to clumsy Humpty Dumpty
It's all food for thought
In our Surreal Reality

Santa brings us presents
And Cupid bring us love
But we can never get back
The members of the 27 Club
Warhol makes his movies
And Buddha meditates
Joseph Smith reads the golden plates
Mohammed and Jesus save
Theses figures bring people hope
In life's dualities
Trusting faith
And our Surreal Reality


Han Solo is in carbon freeze
Don Juan's preoccupied
Sinbad sets his sails
Simple Simon didn't get his pie
Caesar looked at Brutus
Brutus looked at Saddam Hussein
Hussein looked at L. Ron Hubbard
Who prayed to Eloheim  
Dionysus can out drink us all
We cringe at Achilles fatality  
As Ra soars through the skies
Of our Surreal Reality

Aristotle says to Shakespeare
"Well Billy you old bard"
Frodo trades the ring of power
To Fidel Castro for a Babe Ruth Baseball card
Biggie and Tupac write their lyrics on paper
Ted Bundy is put in jail
They're making another skyscraper
For King Kong to scale
Hemingway is too far gone
Kant's take on morality
Einstein says it's all relative
In our Surreal Reality

Churchill said victory
John Lennon said peace
Judas gave back the silver
Then hung himself in a tree
Tojo and Kim Jong-il
Wanna be as cool as Brando and Dean
George Carlin warned us all
Now Hermes leaves the scene
So do the butcher, the baker and the candle stick maker
Followed by Old King Cole and his Fiddlers Three
As they make their way to find
A sense or Surreal Reality

Odysseus pines for Ithaca
Paul Bunyan chops the trees
The Jersey Devil has not been found
Noah herds the animals by twos not threes
Anubis wraps the mummies
And Augustus leads Rome
Bugs Bunny laughs with Pryor
All at the expense of Job
So what can we all make of this
Is this all actuality?
Symbolism or nonsense?
Realistic Surrealism or Surreal Realty?
Aaron LaLux Mar 2017
We’re Gonna Need Some Sunglasses For This Mushroom Cloud

Gonna need some sunglasses for this one,
it’s 6AM I’m in LA it’s been a long night for sure,
just gotta get into that cafe get that cappuccino,
then get safely unnoticed and back to the idling car,

Jar,
of Flies,
sorry I’m not sorry,
that’s a bad reference to 1995,

bad because Jar of Flies was a different year,
different year different name,
’95 was self-titled,
‘Alice In Chains’,

remind me again,
what the heck we’re talking about,
this poem has no parameters,
it’s off course but still going along,

gonna need some sunglasses for this one,
like my glasses like I like my roast,
with my Valentino’s and dark cappuccino,
and you with your mimosa my dear Yoda let us toast,

“To the Next Episode!” let’s go,

No Dre though it’s more of a Good Day,
not to be rude to Ice Cube but I got ice cubes in my flute,
in perpetual motion from chronic transitions of change,
and when I say Change I’m not talking about Rock The Vote,

because we all see where voting got us,
now we got ‘ Donald Duck Mr. Talk A lot of Nonsense’,
we got that stone cold soviet ****** Kim Jong-un launching stunner missiles like Steve Austin,
dropping finishing moves ’Cold Stunning’ but instead of a drop kick he’s bomb launching,

we can’t even stop him as in Kim Jong-un with bad movies and meetings with Dennis Rodman,

Oh My God Son!

We’re really gonna need some sunglasses for this one,
have you ever seen the magnificence of an Atom Bomb,
a mushroom clouds of the most beautiful hues,
a moment of infinite Light just before the moment we’re all eternally gone…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Oh Fck...
Matthew Roe Oct 2017
With each
CLICK
Our breath is held
Will he,won't he
Will he, won't he
The suspense is killing me
And....****
Door left open still
Pestered by the plebeian chill

In this gay little coffee shop
Surrounded by the unrecognised talent of Brighton:sketch artist staring at me, writer on his laptop, songwriter etching vigorously with his pencil.
All of which aren't closing the door.

The eyes roll.
Labouring my body up, hammering my legs across the floor, turning the factory handle.

All is ask is for some carrot cake,filtrate water,polo jumpers, avocado salads,tiger bread, slimmer trousers, slipper sock , a toyger.
Click
And then images of Kim Jong un pass through my head.
If I ruled you'd all be dead
Firing squad for an open door,
Loud music on the train'll be no more.
Stop the screaming misbehaving brats
The rabble of Spanish students
All this PC stuff on the news, train seats filled with cans of *****

Suddenly
The artist strolls up
Let's down his cup.
Closes the door swiftly
And slips back in his chair

Oh, so there is a god.

I guess Jesus didn't lie.
Inspired by a time I was sitting in a coffee shop in Brighton, where a ton of customers kept on leaving the door open. It is about becoming aware of ones own social class and how it can create a sense of barriers/isolation, be it from upper or lower. Specifically arising from the 2017 snap election, when the Labour Party demonised the middle and upper classes, demonising a minority the same way they mocked Trump for doing.
KD Miller Apr 2015
I
"We spoke of men
as often as of poems.
We tried to legislate away
the need for love –
that backseat ****
& death caressing you.
"
–Erica Jong

ah, this side of paradise!
there's no comfort in the wise,
no comfort at all. I roll it up how I was
taught to, half cancer half plant,
wait around for the next one.

ever feel like a ******? I'd asked her
once, waiting on a corner, fishing for a lighter.
no, but I feel like Sylvia Plath.
I had responded: can I be Anne Sexton?

it seemed right, that is, my severe rejection of emotions via denial, via wanting to tear out my hippocampus,

stomp on it, trying to forget every walk to every room and back, to every house and back.

she herself was severe, though, this friend, more sad in an intrinsical way, more dull and rotten than I, via bad chemistry, while I was just a
case of depressive charlatanism gone bad.
Right?

I searched for acceptance in every bed cover's crease and dollar bills I handed them to buy me smokes.
I searched for it, hands on me, and then before then I had searched for it while he asked what's wrong?
You need to tell me what's wrong!

I love you! You need to tell me! Are you ok?





You are funny if you think I responded.



I likened my staring state, I fixed it in my head as a piercing quixotically sad one, once.




My silence was a story in itself.

II*

"
You loved a man who spoke
like greeting cards.
'He ***** me well
but I can’t talk to him.'"
– Erica Jong

It was ultimately guilty,
this time removed from pleasure.
The whole situation, blows to the face
and little slaps of course,
I felt the need to send myself into
a sort of temporary sleep so I forgot
but then would wake up again
because that would mean they won
and this is why I concussed myself once.

He tells me he cares and it's not
that I don't believe him but
it's that I don't believe myself.

I apologize for my being a burden and
he asks me why.
I suppose I am used to it

and if I could stare at him
it would be the same old stare.





"We shared that awful need
to talk in bed.
Love wasn’t love
if we could only speak
in tongues."*
– Erica Jong
this is about being schizophrenic, a **** victim, and depressed all at once Whoo
july hearne Jul 2015
Finally got my second chance,

The other night or other day
I  had a dream I sent this man I work
with an email, I think from my personal email address,

Revealing something I can't remember now
that was too personal in nature.
As soon as I sent it, I realized it
was the end of the world. I knew I couldn't unsend it

so I braced myself and told myself so what.

Then I woke up and was relieved this was just a dream,
this whole thing that never happened, just one less thing
to worry about.

But it felt like so close of a call.

That was last week or something,
Today I work, I go on too loudly,
He can always overhear me.

Sometimes I pass him in the hallways,
I look the other way.

Maybe it wasn't a second chance at all,
Just a retelling of what really does happen,
every day, every day.
MARK RIORDAN Mar 2017
OH DEAR NORTH KOREA
THERE IS A NUCLEAR THREAT
THE U.S. JAPAN AND CHINA
HAVE AN EACH WAY BET


KIM JONG-UN IS CHALLENGING THE WORLD
COME ON NATIONS LET PLAY
IF WE ARE TO DANCE
WILL WE HAVE A NUCLEAR DAY


WHAT CAN WE DO TO HOLT THE THREAT
AND BRING THE WORLD TO PEACE
COME ON KIM JONG-UN WHY DON'T YOU WATCH
OLIVIA NEWTON JOHN IN GREASE
KIM JONG-UN IS CHALLENGING THE WORLD AND OUR RESPONSE WILL DETERMINE THE FUTURE.
Bob B May 2017
You can tell a lot about
A person by the ones he admires.
Another telling factor is
The people whom he inspires.

Donald Trump, for example,
Praises Putin, a leader who
Has jailed dissenters, squashed human rights,
And done away with opponents, too.

After a questionable referendum,
Which restricts in many ways
Civil rights, the leader of Turkey,
Erdoğan, received Trump's praise.

Duterte of the Philippines--
Authoritarian and leading official--
Has had thousands of people killed
In a manner blatantly extrajudicial.

So that's his way of solving the problem
Of drugs in the Philippines is it?
And guess who wants the blood-thirsty,
Despotic leader to come for a visit?

And then there's the leader of North Korea,
Kim Jong Un. Only a rookie
Would say that the mad, unhinged and murderous
Leader was a "pretty smart cookie."

Trump's had business ties with three
Of the above countries. There's no mistaking.
But does this mean that a Trump Tower
In Pyongyang is in the making?

-by Bob B (5-3-17)
Traveler Aug 2017
Don't aim those bombs at Michigan
O Canada ant gonna Stand Idly by
Just saying, if that's your mission
I guess the nukes are gonna fly

Good to remember Red October
Forget Custard's Wounded Knee
Surely a stepping stone
In line with broken statues
Like The Fallen General Lee

Never mind the little man
Behind the neocons
Who just said everything
We know is wrong
Don't believe we come in peace
You know we're not that strong
..
Traveler Tim
Francie Lynch Jun 2018
We're mostly gregarious and polite,
Like most of you.
We too have our diplomatic trips 'n bumps;
We never cozied to Dicky;
But welcomed ex-pat refugees
For safe and sound reasons.
After the jimmy-rigging, how many re-pated?

And we gagged on the impeachables, all fuzzy and bitter.
He called the father that ******* in Ottawa;
And Pierre wore that moniker like The Order of Canada.
When you're not liked by one, you're a dove.

You should visit CANDU.wow
It has it all.

How is Supreme Leader managing?
Are his...
Are my people... sitting at attention.

We could real news a bomb a la Kim Jong,
Or flip a stone down at Port Huron.
We won't.
But we could if we weren't
The Great White North, so accommodating, so polite,
So Coo loo coo coo coo coo coo cooo! nice...
(for now)
The thing about dictators is, you don't know you have one til it's too late.
The CANDU is the largest nuclear reactor in the world, and used for all the ingredients needed for heat and intense heat.
There are 35 million Canadians who are the biggest importers of merchandise from 35 States, south of the border. A lot of people are going to be out of work.
"Coo loo coo..." is the theme song to the Bob and Doug McKenzie show on Second City.
zebra Nov 2021
I've been reading a lot of nonsense about ****** objectification, like objectification is some kind of moral transgression. It's not, unless you want to indict others and yourself for thought crimes.
The term objectification is unfortunately mistaken as a stand in for ****** exploitation. 
 
 Objectification, for some, makes us feel attractive and desired, that we are beautiful, that we attract love and admiration, that we are recognized for our magnetism by strangers. That's certainly one of the motives for working out, watching the waistline and dressing well. 
For others it is about the understandable resistance of an unwanted approach, gaze, or suggestive body language, and while it may create within us a feeling of resistance, it is inherent in the human drama that has always been a part of us and, of course, these two experiences are not mutually exclusive.
But one thing objectification is not, is ****, manhandling, or ****** exploitation. We are all human beings, irrespective of our gender, ****** preferences or ****** sensibilities, with a commonality of desires for love and passion, and while we need to respect each other, we also don't do ourselves and others any favors by being to distressed or rabid about feeling another's heat for us.
Many of us are a great swooning web that wants to swallow and be swallowed in lust and love in search of a special someone, a kind of pre-objectification, for the purpose of future recognition.
****** OBJECTIFICATION is described as "the act of treating a person solely as an object of ****** desire". Objectification more broadly means treating a person as a commodity or an object, without regard to their personality or dignity:  sometimes referred to as "the zipless ****", a phrase coined by Erica Jong in the book "Fear of Flying". As described by her: -"It is a ****** encounter between strangers that has the swift compression of a dream and is seemingly free of all remorse and guilt. It is absolutely pure, there is no power game and it is free of ulterior motives". It has also been described as the perfect one night stand.
She cumed like a cinematic hissing pillow of flames
 
 The point of confusion is that the concept of objectification is mistaken for exploitation, and while sometimes associated, they are radically distinct from one another. Objectification is a DNA-driven biochemical prime directive to create .
Wetter than an otters pocket
 
****** EXPLOITATION: is a crime, meaning taking ****** advantage of another person without effective consent, and includes, without limitation, causing or attempting to cause the incapacitation of another person in order to gain a ****** advantage over such other person; causing the prostitution, or trafficking of another person; recording, photographing or transmitting identifiable images of private ****** activity or knowingly and intentionally exposing another person to a significant risk of a sexually transmitted infection.
OBJECTIFICATION: 
When we find another attractive, the brain has a tendency to flip out in a kind of eclipse as in a black out, like an electrical short perhaps, causing physical symptoms like heart rate increase, asinine nervous talking, sweaty palms, dry mouth, jumpy stomach, hot flashes, or more broadly speaking in a confused gibberish inspired by a spectacular entrancement of obsessive haywire desire. Objectification is the first door we walk though when we recognize our desire for another.
HYPOTHALMUS: part of the brain plays a masterful role in this, stimulating the production of the *** hormones testosterone and estrogen from the ****** and ovaries While these chemicals are often stereotyped as being "male" and "female," respectively, both play a role in men and women. As it turns out, testosterone increases libido in just about everyone. The effects are less pronounced with estrogen, but some women report being more sexually motivated around the time they ovulate, when estrogen levels are highest, which is why men tend to be more sexually aggressive. Women who are introduced to Testosterone for the purpose of body-building or gender change are often astonished by the huge uptick of libidonous desire.
Eeeeek, I could eat you like cherry pie !!!!!
"According to a team of scientists led by Dr. Helen Fisher at Rutgers, desire is broken down into three categories: lust, attraction, and attachment. Each one of these attributes is characterized by its own set of hormones activated by the brain"
LUST… Is driven primarily by Testosterone and Estrogen
ATTRTACTION… dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin motivate attraction
ATTACHMENT… oxytocin and vasopressin mediate attachment.
LOVE…When combined these three take us from us from pure objectification to the wholly trinity of love. ~~~~~
ARE YOU OBJECTIFYING ME
are you objectifying me?
i can bench 300 lbs. ten times
I'm a rich artist with a graduate degree
sun tanned
good teeth
driving a new BMW six series
with a rag top
big keen blue eyes
like a pretty girl
wavy hair
smooth *****
seven inch *****
nice ***
with the tender heart of a poet 
and a square jaw
want to wine and dine you
always smiling
bay *** kisses
silky tee shirts
Hawaiian 
luau vacations
or is it off to my castle 
in the 
Carpathians
impeccable manners
i smell like lavender coconut butter cream
live in a grand house
on 
beach front property
mucho bucks in the bank
nice as spice
you will never have to worry again
are you objectifying me?
GOOD
because I'm objectifying you
and id rather not hear anymore about it
lets not argue with nature
its like a rock falling
arguing with gravity
all the way down.

https://medium.com/@4zebra2u/******-objectification-the-lie-that-keeps-on-lying-fb79223d016f
We lied we need change
When all we feel is rage
For the government we create
Who don’t feel shake if the economical price inflate

We lied we are happy
When we hide in the bathroom; crying
We lied we are living
When we are striving for surviving

We lied we are grown
When we are yet to be birth
We lied we are strong
And here we are; paralysed

We lied we are in traffic
When we’re still on our bed dreaming
We lied we are set
When with default setting; we’re breathing

We lied we want about-move
From politics of Jong-Un
From government of John Bull
And parliaments filled with masters of Kungfu

We lied we are in love
When the only thing we feel is lust
We lied we are loved
When the only feeling we procure is hurt

We lied we are loyal
When we lust only after the royal one
We lied we are loyal
And when the ox is gored; we run

We lied we are in paradise
When in filthiness we dine
Stuck in a big mess
Living in hell; but not minding our business

We lied we are responsible
When at the sight of challenge; we flee
We lied we are smart
Whereas we are trickening; coz at the sight of themisticoles; we flee

We lied we are beautiful
When our heart is filled with greed and hate
We lied we are pretty
When the pancaked look on our face is manmade

We lied we are the future
Saying we are the leaders of tomorrow
We lied; saying we are injured
Whereas we’re completely trapped in hollow

We lied we’re from the hood
So no one else to talk to
Coz our lifestyle is not good
And that leaves us in bad mood

We lied we are good
When at the depth of our heart; we’re bad
We lied we are confuse
When we’re stuck and which way? We cant conclude
*
We lied to survive the tide
And from the real part of life; we hide
Tell the truth’ man; be freed inside
Francie Lynch Oct 2017
(Think Where Have All the Flowers Gone)

Where have all the assassins gone,
I'm just asking,
Where have all the hit-men gone,
It wasn't long ago.
Where have all the psychos gone,
Ones like Sirhan Sirhan,
Or a crazy red Russian,
Better still, an American.

Where have all the agencies gone,
I'm just asking,
The MI5, the CIA,
KGB, Mossad;
Where have covert actions gone,
When there's guys like crazed Kim Jong;
Or a crazed American,
A narcissistic American.

Where have all our heroes gone,
I'm just asking;
Where have all our leaders gone,
Not so long ago.
Where have all fine Presidents gone,
Obama was our last good one;
When will we ever learn,
Ego-maniacs can't govern.
Read to the melody of "Where Have All the Flowers Gone."
Enlarged and re-posted.
vircapio gale Dec 2015
on the way
to return sociology
to the library
i couldn't read the parking signs
so ended blocks away
at a salvation army

the kind with no books for sale
but an elevator shaft
running up, down
behind a drum-set altar
and a stage i didn't buy.

half-expecting 'the war room' ads
posted here as well
i let a stranger lead me to my muse
saying none would mind

Chuck asked me if i 'needed to pray this morning'
before unlocking -
i said, 'every day'  but thought
  not in his way
- i'm just begging him to play.

i read a psalm and kneel to test hypocrisy.
lotus palms connote release from suffering
wellness for all beings

and then  
i am here now
at the keyboard again
playing music i will never forget
even when my chainsaw body stiffens  creaks
the keys a saving home still  though shy
they hammer heart strings
broken, born -again again again.

praeludium, goldberg, well-tempered
minuets conjure Bach
in his stone church
and i cry for lost souls
my own lostness found
though convinced there is no static single 'self'
no 'soul'-rewarded other-life to justify our own
no 'god'- or science-demolished mystery
no metaphysic causa sui to separate
contempus mundi from the mundi...
no tidy verbal 'beyond beyond'
but that of Thales  Sappho  Gautama  
Laotse  Yeshua
Nagarjuna  Shankara
Duns Scotus  Hume  
Blake  Whitman  Darwin
Nietzsche  Du Bois
Tolkien  Stein  Merleau-Ponty  Sagan  Jong

but i will say we've sung the music of the spheres
in host-guest handshakes
stranger  xenophilic tunes
my earthling family hums my heart anew
as i begin  again
to sing my being into fingertips

skyward breath to lid-closed harmonies of hell redeemed
in Peter's vacuuming
request for 'Dixieland'
and Stacy's parting thanks
for 'we three kings'
Ruth's morning-making compliments and invitation back
my wish to share with them the love i feel
- from them, Gaskell's book
from deep within where no words win
authentic ownmost ocean depth of
less contingent love
historically embracing love
of errancy and freedom in our different loves
an atheist in love with vacuums
saucha and the music of human kindness
receiving gifts in giving thanks








.
10.26.15
saucha is a sanskrit, yogic term for purity/cleanliness

'contemptus mundi' is a medieval concept meaning 'contempt for the world' integral to religious escapism and ecological dominionism

chapel-soup-kitchen-center

he said i had 40 minutes
before the cleaning begins

my mother used to use the vacuum to put me to sleep

the puritanical element, cultural currency/status symbol of driving a recycled prius (totaled and rebuilt); ecology as the new global "religion" the cons of which are hard for me to digest, let alone admit, being an environmentalist, and of an ecological mindset

the first ad i saw for "the war room" was on another church's double-door
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Feathered Fiends
by Michael R. Burch

Fascists of a feather
flock together.

Alternate:

Conformists of a feather
flock together.

I came up with the "Fascists of a Feather" epigram after Donald Trump repeatedly praised authoritarian "strong men" like Vladimir Putin, Kim Jong Un, Rodrigo Duterte, Xi Jinping and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Heroic Americans fought a war against fascism and many of them paid the ultimate price, so why is Trump giving comfort to the enemy of democracy?

The alternate version of this couplet was written first and won a National Couplet Contest sponsored by the Society of Classical Poets. The couplet has now been published in one form or another on the websites of major newspapers and news services like TheHill.com, Haaretz.com (Israel), ******.com (Australia), Cleveland.com (as the headline of a letter to the editor), Reddit Political Humor, and Humane Conservatives Unite Blog. Sometimes the epigram is quoted in reader comments, sometimes by the writers of letters to the editor, and sometimes within articles.

Keywords/Tags: fascists, flock, together, fascism, conformists, nazis, blackshirts, brownshirts, dictator, tyrant, autocrat, despot, totalitarian, cultist, militarist
I went to meet her in a town
just west of Kyoto
she was wearing a colourful flowing kimono.
She greeted me greedily
and she seemed to float ultra easily on her feet
which were tiny
petite.

In the bath house, a tub
an afternoon scrub
and some very green tea.
When the washing was done
Mah Jong
Oh what fun
as I bathed in the glow of the late evening Sun.

Then I woke up in Bow
East London, as if I didn't know
was it a dream?
And yet I was surprisingly clean
except for a tea leaf that clung to my sleeve.
Hard to believe but it's true.
I wouldn't kid you
and it's difficult to see how a tea leaf from green tea
can end up in my bed.

In a town West of Kyoto there's a story they tell
Of a Westerner doing quite well
and getting wed to the belle with the petite little feet
I'd like to meet
him.
july hearne Apr 2016
before i left seattle, and long before i made the mistake of returning,
i was babysitting a fish in a fishbowl,
for my brother's kids.

the water in the bowl was cloudy,
unclear, *****, because of the fish
so of course the fish died,
the bowl just sat on the counter after the fish died
but before my brother's kids came back from california

anyhow, moving back here was a mistake.
the cost of living here is ridiculous,
there is no room to be a middle class person here

only  a little kid who works at amazon
whose mom found him his job.

these little kids work for amazon,
their moms type out cover letters and resumes
so their kids can get jobs at amazon

i am looking for a new job because i can't afford to keep the job i have now,

the little kids who work for amazon have it pretty good though,
they can bring their dogs to work with them
they can jack up the rents, no problem

mom is always looking out for them like that

tonight i applied for a job at amazon
i typed in my first name to submit my application
"jeffbezosisacunt", i wrote a quick cover letter
telling them i was qualified for the job because
my mom didn't have to type out my cover letters for me
and because i had a dog that hadn't been trained yet
that i could take to work with me, then i attached a pdf file of a quick reference guide for aol 9.0 as my resume

it felt good
but not for long and not good enough

mark zuckerberg makes me sick too,
i can just see him running for president one day,
needing a good slapping
the little **** has never known any form of adversity
so he just keeps on being a little ****,
he has a lot in common with kim jong un

when i first moved back here, there were all these orange and white umbrellas every morning. those orange and white umbrellas had already taken over.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2013
aggression must be denied.

******, Pol ***, The Duke,
Kim Jong, Mugabe, Fidel Castro,
Saparmurat Niyazov,
the living bad the dead.
XiJinping
proudly announces in
November 2013,
the year of our lord,
they are doing away with
labor camps in China.

******* total,
renamed them
drug rehabilitation centers.

evil must be refuted.
who will call them out?
not us.

coming home from the opera,
some big **** SUV,
played chicken
with me.

I refused to let
him cut in the line.

He followed me
for ten blocks,
honking his *******,
till he quit,
cause I would not give
the satisfaction of letting him
spit and sputter.

Took the woman home.

Went out looking for him.
searched hundred blocks.
found him, took out my jack.
(trust me I did not key his car).

when he saw what I had done,
I quoted him Verdi's Rigoletto:

He is crime, I am punishment.

you see opera ain't for *******.

aggression must be denied
locally, before it becomes
a national treasure.
Act III
RIGOLETTO: No, no, I want to do it myself.
SPARAFUCILE: All right. His name?
RIGOLETTO: Do you want to know mine as well?
He is Crime; I am Punishment.
[He leaves; the sky darkens, it thunders.] -

See more at:

http://downwithtyranny.blogspot.com/2002/02/2262012-first-third-of-act-iii-of.html#sthash.oDHnh3kJ.dpuf

who among you will have the courage to like, love
or hate this by name?
Cedric McClester Jul 2018
By: Cedric McClester

We’re glad that you have confidence
In Kim Jong-Un
But without sufficient evidence
Maybe it’s a tad too soon
To break out the champagne
Or toast to your success
When the reality of your situation
Is probably so much less

It’s been said that beauty
Lies in the beholder’s eyes
But tell me what does it mean
When they say denuclearize?
Does it mean the same thing to them
That it means to you
And what does it mean
For the  follow through?

You believe a handshake
And a pat on the back
Will get you to the place
Where you wanna be at
And the feeling you get
When alone in a room
Is probably something totally different
For Kim Jong-Un

Indeed there’s no more
Talk of war
Like there might have been
Once before
But you’ve stopped the rhetoric
And that’s for sure, sure
The  nasty names have ceased
So you’re hoping for more







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.
Nienke Aug 2015
rusteloosheid
en vastgeroest verdriet
niemand ziet
het lam tussen de wolven
maar ver komt het niet
waar komt het vandaan
en waar is het geboren
of zit dat tussen haar oren
als er weer eens niemand is
het aftuigen van zelf
nog hopen op meer
lichamelijk zeer
een druppel wanhoop
gemengd met wantrouwen
en al gauw, de wanemmer verzoop
in eigen tranen
dan stromen het doet
en blijft stromen voor goed
rusteloosheid
diep in de nacht
wanneer er niemand op je wacht
behalve de ster achter de wolken
geen woorden maar daden
ja dat zal het zijn
maar het tegenbewijs valt klein
woorden onhoorbaar
een jongen die lacht
het vertrouwen ontkracht
een laatste afscheidsgroet
valt niet helemaal goed
als de duisternis nabij
zoals mijn geboorte
alleen en vrij
later zeer zelfstandig
maar nog geen procent als de rest
verpest
verpest
waarom ben ik zo anders
wat is er mis met mij, zo vrij
iedereen een ander perspectief
en ik begrijp het maar niet
ook al noemen ze mij lief
de wereld redden
met iedereen erin
heeft opeens weinig zin
als het verboden blijkt te zijn
slechts een eenzijdig spel
ach, het lam weet het nu wel
tevergeefs
rennend in de ochtendzon
verscholen in een wolkenbed
de eerste straal licht
uit het zicht
uit het zicht van de wolven
waar anders heen
springend over steentjes
met sterke beentjes
alleen in de grote wei
waarin de stilte zo groot
haar hart stilletjes vergroot
zo ook de klap van pijn
de enorme val
zo jong al
de verhouding van zwaarte
en het verdragen
aan de andere kant het extreem behagen
dat is toch geen rechte lijn
maar slechts twee woorden mochten er zijn
in steen gekerfd, beroerd gepolijst
blijdschap en depressie
maar niets er tussen in
want dat had toch geen zin
voor iemand met sensitieve uitersten
bestaat geen middenin
toch levende in een wereld van het midden
zoek balans, het middelpunt
en *** men het haar ook gunt
ze was nu eenmaal als lam geboren
en niet als schaap..  (noch rund)

blind als een mol
gravend in de grond
het was haar eigen graf
waar ze uiteindelijk op stond
omringd door de vertrouwde pijn
vroeg zich af wel van haar te zijn
met borstkas gespleten door twee
het lam kreeg heimwee
stond half dood op
wachtend op één
met hart nog langzaam trekkend
lekkend
de geur van aarde in vacht
wie had deze terugkomst ooit verwacht
en het worden van schaap
in wolfskleren
wilde zich immers niet bezeren
want moe het al was
met steen gevulde buik
de val nu slechts een kras
en wist niet eens meer wat de val was
de doorn(en) uit verleden
gestoken in vers vlees
al genoeg geleden
dus besloot nu gewoon ook wolvin
je bent een wolf, meisje
je bent een wolfmeisje
met het schaap
bloedend
nog ergens binnenin
Hands Oct 2012
Shaking the fur
off the holes in my skin,
microscopic, little dens
for every fox that comes my way.
They release,
instantly,
and I stand in the room,
bare and naked and bleeding and screaming
for the whole ******* world to
hear and hurt and hug and help and
love
me.
I'm crying and laughing and singing and dreaming
for the whole ******* school to
stop and see and sting and string
me
up
into the jewelry
wrapping their pretty,
little necks.
I am
inexpensive jewelry
to give to your
finest French *****.
Read me like
one of your nudey books,
I'm just a spreadshotted eagling on the
bareskin rug,
bearbottomed with the brutish blues
of the bruises and the bites.
And maybe I
want to hide,
to run and whisper myself
into the secret,
hidden spots behind every
shadowy curtain--
but when you're up and out
and over and through
and wrapped around their evil,
little eyes,
there's nowhere to go.
You're trapped in
every word they say,
the kind,
the cruel;
you're trapped like a rat
stuck inside a cat
stuck inside a dog
which was eaten by
a North Korean man last Kim Jong-il day.
You know,
they call that day
the
Day of the Shining Star--
and maybe the man
plastered on every poster,
draped carelessly on the street signs
and erotically fixating a nation
didn't want to be the Star, either;
maybe he never wanted to
be the constant, single thought
on each of their hateful,
dreadful little minds,
dredged into the
swamps and mires
of their moist
and
sweaty
dreams.
Maybe,
he, too,
didn't want to be the
*****,
drunken,
distasteful
STAR
of their hate.
Bob B Jan 2019
(Can be sung to the melody of Frank Sinatra's "My Way")

For TWO years now I've been
The mighty leader of this nation,
But I can't stand it when
I don’t receive great adoration.

Believe me when I say
My way's the ALWAYS-best-to-lie way.
And you can do it too
By doing things my way.

Mueller is going strong.
I am sick of his **** query.
But they've all got it wrong.
They can't prove their stupid theory.

My fans KNOW my style is NOT
A JUST-lay-down-and-die way.
I have gotten by
By doing things my way.

My tryst with Stormy and my fling
With that McDougal woman bring
So much grief into my life,
Especially with my wife.
But, nonetheless, I will confess
I love things my way.

And now I want my wall;
If I don't get it some will suffer.
I will shut things down
Just to show I'm not a bluffer.

You can dupe the world
With simply the "M" "Y" way.
So I will not deny
I love things MY way.

I've had to fire more than a few
'Cause they say things that are untrue.
And my toadies on the Hill
All bow down; they know the drill.
They know the ways to get my praise:
Just do things my way.

Yes, do things my way.

-by Bob B (1-16-19)


2017 and 2018 VERSIONS:

DOING THINGS MY WAY (1):
(THE INAUGURATION SONG)

(Can be sung to the melody of Frank Sinatra's "My Way")

And so, I'm standing here
To say an oath and pledge allegiance.
Though some will cry and jeer
And accuse me of malfeasance,

The fact that I can stand
Before you now in a tough-guy way
Proves that you can play it through
By doing things my way.

Yes, I've stiffed a few,
But that's my disposition.
That's what you have to do
To carry forth your mission.

I knew what I was doing;
I was acting in a sly way.
Just do what I tell you
And do things my way.

You might not like the things I say
Or what I do, but that's okay.
Celebs like me all have it made.
Just don't drop the masquerade.
It's all the same; just play the game
And do things my way.

I've had three wives. So what!
I've had just two divorces.
The news? Don't watch that ****.
I have found better sources.

I didn't get this far
By choosing the just-get-by way.
Since life is dog eat dog
Just do things my way.

You'll always find someone to cheat.
Remember: don't admit defeat.
There's nothing wrong with being rude.
At times be crass; at times be lewd.
Make up the rules; treat them like fools
By doing things my way.

Yes, do things my way.

(1-19-17) By Bob B


DOING THINGS MY WAY (2)
(SEVENTEEN MONTHS AFTER THE INAUGURATION)

(Can be sung to the melody of Frank Sinatra's "My Way")

Despite all that you hear,
I'm doing great; I'm number one now.
My made-up "truths" endear
Me to my base; we're having fun now.

My ranting and my raving
Show that mine's not the small fry way.
You'll win…you'll win much more
By doing things my way.

I wish the FBI
Would stop investigating.
They know too much. That's why
It is all so aggravating.

I never liked a wuss
Who would take the humble pie way.
No, I am much more ruthless
Doing things my way.

I've told some lies, once in a while…
Well, every day, but that's my style.
My Congress *****, have got my back.
At the right time we'll attack.
I plot and scheme for my regime
By doing things my way.

Putin's my friend, oh,
And Kim Jong Un and I are buddies.
Merkel and Trudeau?
My goodness, they're such fuddy-duddies.

All I have to do
Is just display my evil eye way,
And I'll get what I want
'Cause it is my way.

I am the law; that's plain to see.
And very few are smart like me.
I will say what comes to mind,
And I don't care if it's unkind.
A little greed helps you succeed
When doing things my way.

Yes, do things my way.

-by Bob B (6-26-18)
Francie Lynch May 2017
Kim
Some drive big cars,
Brag of deep scars
To prove they have big ******;
Some grow goatees,
Axe down huge trees,
Or chew on edible *******.
Real men, I've heard, eat Wheaties,
Enjoy lap dance stripteases,
Build towers with their empties,
The bravado is relentless.

Kim Jong Un,
Thinks his long
In his munchkin hands.
He does private battle
With his androgynous name;
While playing with lead soldiers;
Unsheathing a stainless sabre,
Lighting up his candles,
To show he's macho manly.
And I know androgynous names, like Francie.
Cedric McClester Mar 2019
By: Cedric McClester

When he said
He fell in love, with Kim Jong-Un,
I had to ask myself,
Does he fall in love too soon?
Cuz everybody knows
That Un’s a world class goon
And also a despot
As you might well presume

Who arranged to have
His own brother killed
At a foreign airport
Just the way he willed
That’s not the only blood
That he has had spilled
If I were to name them all
This page would soon be filled

What about that man
Does he find so attractive?
Could it be his haircut?
That largely is redacted
Now their relationship
Has become protracted
While trying to cut a deal
He became distracted

All the hand patting in the world
Won’t change a single thing
If Un won’t accept the deal
That Trump intends to bring
Their meeting will be for naught
It won’t result in anything
Other than wasted time
Which has a familiar ring










Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
karin naude Jun 2014
geselsies oor stomende boere troos
kombuis warm gekuier
stemme weerkaats sagkens van mure
my verlore jong meisie dae
as ek maar kon weet
woorde aan die wind
wys en syd versprei
soos die skerwe van my hart
onherroepbaar weg , stof bedek
die inuitputbare gemis
geen ander skaduwee kan begryp
tyd heel niks
jy leer leef in leemte en skerwes
huis met krake en gebreuke
tot als in tuimel
soet versoening
tot dan
siels kreute, hallelujah
Micheal Wolf Apr 2013
The UN doesn't like Kim Jong Uns  posture
I was more aghast at his hair sweetie
So 1950s
KD Miller Jul 2019
My dearest Anne,
I am living by a lake
with a young man
I met one week after you died.

His beard is red,
his eyes flicker like cat’s eyes,
& the amazing plum of his tongue
sweetens my brain.
He is like nobody
since I love him.
His **** sinks deep
in my heart.



I have owed you a letter
for months.



I wanted to chide
the manner of your death
the way I might have once
revised your poem.
You are like nobody
since I love you,
& you are gone.



Can you believe
your death gave birth to me?
Live or die,
you said insistently.
You chose the second
& the first chose me.
I mourned you
& I found him
in one week.



Is love the sugar-coated poison
that gets us in the end?
We spoke of men
as often as of poems.
We tried to legislate away
the need for love –
that backseat ****
& death caressing you.



Why did you do it
in your mother’s coat?
(I know
but also know
I have to ask.)
Our mothers get us hooked,
then leave us cold,
all full-grown orphans
hungering after love.



You loved a man who sopoe
“like greeting cards.”
“He ***** me well
but I can’t talk to him.”
We shared that awful need
to talk in bed.
Love wasn’t love
if we could only speak
in tongues.



& the intensity of unlove
increased
until the motor, the running motor
could no longer power
the driver,
& you, with miles to go,
would rather sleep.



Between the pills, the suicide pills
& our giggly vodkas in the Algonquin…
Between your round granny glasses
& your eyes blue as glaciers…
Between your stark mother-hunger
& your mother courage,
you knew there was only one poem
we all were writing.



No competition.
“The poem belongs to everyone
& God.”
I jumped out of your car
suicide car
& into his arms.

Your death was mine
I ate it
& returned.



Now I sit by a lake
writing to you.
I love a man
who makes my finger ache.
I type to you
off somewhere in the clouds.
I tap the table
like a spiritualist.



*** is a part of death;
that much I know.
You voice was earth,
your eyes were glacier-blue.
Your slender torso
& long-stemmed American legs
drape across
this huge blue western sky.



I want to tell you “Wait,
don’t do it yet.”
Love is the poison, Anne,
but love eats death.
Arek Sep 2019
Jing was meek and shy
never once said hello
never once been with a guy
and only played her cello

and every time she played
all were mesmerised
such lovely sounds her cello made
that most were hypnotised

like Jong who lived next door
she had him in a trance
until he couldn't wait no more
and peered over the fence

in the moonlight glow
Jing whispered to him hello
that night she put away her bow
and silent stayed her cello

— The End —