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Rob Rutledge Sep 2013
There was a blinding light,
Then silence,
Then a hiss.
Air escaping,
Gasping bliss.
Glass shatters,
Shadows play.
A nuke hit the stern,
Evacuate!
No delay.

Days passed,
No one came.
No one heard the message,
No one 'brought the rain'
The solitary escape-ship
Suitable only for one,
Headed forlorn to the next
Inhabited sun.

"Nine thousand, seven hundred light years away"
The computer said in its monotonous way.
"And what of our air,water and fuel?"
"Approximate range is 6.2365r light years,
Will that do?"

"No" he said with a sigh.
Confined to his coffin
Not much to pass the time...

Internal recording 00001// lifeforms:1// life support: 97%
"This is Hal Katurn of the trade ship 'Endeavor'"
"Can anybody read....?"
"It's just me here......
In the vastness of space...
A grain of sand..."

Internal recording 000012// lifeforms:1// life support: 88%
"It's been a while now just me alone,
No contact friendly, or otherwise
In any nearby zone.
The quadrant is quiet....cold..."

Internal recording 000021// lifeforms:1// life support: 67%
"The stars....They....
They look so peaceful...hehe
What do you say?"
"Was that directed at me?"
Said the ships AI.
"Not you, the ones outside silly!"
"............?..........."

Internal recording 000037// lifeforms:1// life support: 24%
"Row...row...row....
Your...mind......
Gently out to space....
Lonely lonely lonely lone
Life is but a race...."

Internal recording 000042// lifeforms:0// life support: 0%
"..............................."


The farmer heard a roar
And stopped his toil for
A moment,
No more.
He saw the heavens fall
And knelt in prayer and awe.

He hurried to the hole left in his land
Where a voice spoke in a language he didn't understand....

"This is Hal Katurn of the trade ship 'Endeavor'"
"Can anybody read....?"
"It's just me here......
In the vastness of space...
A grain of sand..."
A kind of poem story, if you got this far thanks for reading till the end!
Jonny Angel Mar 2014
I wonder if other lifeforms
have Twitter & Facebook,
watch You Tube,
or if they are more advanced
& use other forms of social media,
like anti-gravity billboards,
clairvoyant message boards
or mind-implant videos?
Morgan Mercury Aug 2013
Pick yourself up and dust off your shoulders
because you're a soldier and have no time to rest.
You can't escape this life because you sold your soul for this
and in the next year, you'll be buried right under your feet, six feet deep.

Will it be your hell?
******* alone surrounded by nothing but chains
for years and years.
Calling out to empty shadows and swallowing dust over these times.

Will it be your heaven?
In the summer of ninety-six
with the night lite up with fireworks on the fourth.
Chasing the sparks because you're a child again.

Pick your feet up and march to the drums of your family.
You promised to always protect your family
and this is all you know to do.
Giving up your life for your brother's
is what you were trained to do.

Your heart is weak but warm.
But you will not be needing it for long.
You find peace in the night
but always keep a candle lit,
to keep an eye on your brother
because he is all there is.

Things can't be rewritten or reversed.
You've just got a confused mind
and acted out of grief.
But you're always able to rewind to the night
a bullet took your brother.

These lifeforms made a deal for you, that they knew you'd take.
They could care less about your feelings.
They could **** without warning,
but you trust them with your brother's life on this one.

So now you stand a man with a deal to die
but it's all worth it because now your brother can live.
Selling your life so he can have his back was the best birthday present
you could give.
Supernatural
Dean Winchester
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
.comes the floundering over foul language, like it's a sin to speak with a cascade of oath taken words, to: never mind the beat and rhythm, that will continue, as long, as long you play the solo... never you mind keeping-up-appearances, why be distracted, better yet: why talk during ***? isn't that worse than saying ****, casually, in a conversation of: pardon my french? i will tell you, it's far worse dragging "god" (words) into the "satanic" pit of actual procreation, than it is to say **** and let it be treated as a conjunction, akin to: and... since what words are sacrificed on the altar of *****-*****? bad, boy, who's your yummy, mummy... who's your daddy... i tell you: **** in between some jane austin snippets, and those prunes would be on, fire, should any words be uttered from their mouths having been staged completely ****... no... foul language is free language with all the chanel and gucci to attire you with away from furr-skins... but talking, uttering words, while procreating? that's just plain scandalous! i bet those prim goodie-two-shoes care more for: pardon my french during conversation, yet they probably squeal like about to be castrated pigs in a slaughterhouse come the synagogue of ******... ******* never wish to accomplish syllables or vowel cubism with contorted mouths during ***... but they say: brush your teeth while speaking... if hey-zeus saw hypocrisy in the jewish sects... full circle... who are the modern day pharisees? somewhere in h'america... beastly contortions... if not pedophiles, then at least the sort of pedantic hypocrites that could share the same tier of Dante's inferno... why talk, during ***? why not eat the ****** during the zenith? wow, don't you think? because bukowski might call me a star-gazer... well... if you look up and see what i see? you too would be looking up... but just in order for you to get a feel of what i feel? three song summary when i look up at night at the sky:
   penta - come in,
     gloOMy PhAntOM - only the beginning,
Matutero - pure evil...
             hell... a fourth song: matutero - exorcist...
i'm no ******* copernicus...
   or a galileo...
                              still: to keep one's mouth clean
is to not utter god: words during the wedding
of "satan" to his shadow...
                                 to keep one's mouth clean
is to not speak during *******,
     *****-stars know the deal...
   tell me what you want, and i will not give it...
don't tell me what i want: and i will surprise you...
even after the act, she said...
'this has only happened to me once'...
when she was paid,
   and didn't expect to reach ******...
                    2nd man in...
  1st man with a hydra in his mouth for paying
an extra 10 quid to perform oral ***
on a *******...
                      good... evil...
well: good is as good as it gets,
but good can also imply: the purity of evil...
evil of the highest quality is in a position
to move down an incremental path toward
good: as spectator...
       as a tease of what is itching the incremental
path toward evil: the omniscient, omnipotent etc.
god...
      oh sure... night sky *******, romance my this
that and whatever *** looks more like:
pork chop cleopatra meets
   cherry 16 tight trim of milk and quicksilver
reflection teasing...
                      you'd be gagging for the goosebumps
and the prickled tiny hairs... performing...
what plant-speciments do with their...
   phototropism...
                                    against all: stereotypes...
            this, lunar base of imagining, not otherwise.
so this is to be my antithesis Golgotha?
for who stands on Har Megiddo
certainly not the skull-baron of the crucifixion...
   blitzkrieg imagery: and suddenly...
   the words... become...
   s               a
h             r                                       l
                   p                   e
                           n      
simply?
      for the supposed foul language used
as barrier between flow and conjunction
necessity... a rhetorical tool of the modern use
of language: no one is standing in any
oratory pulpit speaking to the "masses"...
      but... if i could invent an inverted niqab
for the tongues of christians during ***?
reduce them to moans, groans,
exfoliations of an onomatopoeia...
               less daddy please, who's the naughty boy
*****-***** *** tantrums of:
having ****** so much, the next ****
acts like an anaesthetic to numb what's already
become a numbed pain / pleasure non-differential...
well!
                like i really might need to venture
into the dark-web...
   i'll just bring myself to the party on the "safe" web...
and some poo'em i wrote once,
which doesn't even compliment what i just,
just now: pulled out from my bowels...
again: there's zero-net-worth of feeling in the heart...
emotions? bowels...
   the heart is too preoccupied with rhythm...
akin to how:
    the brain was a metaphor for the soul,
even though the soul is a sigma,
of all known organs and its preoccupation with them,
or not...
    given the current explanation of the brain?
coordination and what not?
evidently the soul is, equivalent to a metaphysical
and biological definition of an *****,
given: the brain doesn't entertain the existence
of thought...
       so... if the brain is not responsible for
thinking, then nothing else in the body is...
                  so soul, or the sigma "conundrum" /
is a metaphysical *****, or whatever you want it to be...
brain = fatty sponge... that can die...
when attacked by killer proteins in the light
of Alzheimer's... like a sort of inverted anorexia...
weird... starvation? fat goes first,
then the carbohydrates... no, wait...
carbohydrates first, fats second...
and then... proteins cannibalise themselves...
that's starvation... in Alzheimer's?
the proteins attack the brain sponge-fatty-blob...
so the brain is not involved in thinking...
so... well, mein gott: god i guess...
   some external source of "inspiration"...
motivation, will... oddly enough?
that coincides with both the + and the - of
such a source of thinking...
             both sides: theistic and atheistic have it
covered... right now? chosing the middle ground
is the only sensible posit to succumb to
...

what's the difference between
a polyamorous society
and a polygamous society?
  well... there's not much
of a difference...
   i've been a subject to the former,
and the "covert" latter...
suddenly prostitutes are
above priests and psychiatrists...
well...
  either being sold the body,
or being bribed with
prayer or the pharmacological cocktail...
only because:
i was...
         "being uncomfortable"
for the rest of society...
    polyamorous societies
descend into make-shift
polygamous societies...
             the whole incel problem...
that's really representative
of a polygamous society....
  20% of men get 80%...
    sure... lesbian frolicking
in a harem,
    strap-on-******...
     and eunuchs are missing...
but...
akin to a manic street preachers'
song:
   the walking abortions...
   in all honesty...
the top-down influence
of a polygamous society has crept in
and created
the polyamorous society buffer zone,
so shy right up to now,
but:
before the **** hits the fan
   waiting game...
and how much
of the madonna-***** complex
is currently true,
and how much of ******* dysfunction
is due to...
  being pulverißed
by overtly sexualißed material
exposure?
                 hell...
  if i'm always going to be stitched
into a frankenstein hard-on
potential...
when it comes to the actual deed?
why wouldn't the answer suffice
mostly associated with a *******
and not a woman on her third date?
because i'm pretty sure
that erectile dysfunction isn't
a problem with my experience
of prostitutes...
    but it is... with "free" women...
given that i'm no psychopath...
  and when *** is staged,
it follows that there's a case for relationship,
intimacy...
           a ******* hard-on
is an objective fact...
which is why prostitutes rarely
fail to "conjure" it...
         the violence is simmering...
it's... titillating, nibbling at the toes
of Venus like some
sado-******* fetishist...
        **** me...
   the nazis dropped less bombs
on London via the world war I
zeppelin raids than
how many ****** insinuations
leave me quasi-limp-**** / ******...
   well... not so much ******...
***** just keep bulging with
goosebumps,
   i sometimes forget the ******...
which isn't even associated with
the actual *******...
   it's neurologically associated
with tingling sensation
            of the shaft...
    ***** has nothing to do with it...
    should have asked
me when i was 8...
                  "self-harm",
or...
                 what others rarely see...
no wonder i gravitated to
reading marquis de sade in my early teens...
but like chuck rhodes
said in billions...
             truth...
            if it's not comfortable,
and if its not a wager...
a shadow compensation...
  if its not the intellectuals'
demise of truth being treated
  as a fluctuation,
  a perpetual change,
   bias one minute,
        critique another,
                         a noumenon,
                                  then... what is it?

oh i'm pretty sure
that the current society,
the current:
polyamorous society
is a direct consequence
of a polygamous society's influence...

i don't even want to begin thinking
that man,
was the pinnacle of all lifeforms
on earth...
   notably in this region of "debate"...
because there's no "debate"...
is there?
     not with the elevated mating
norms of... say...
swans... how you actually can...
find widows and widowers
in the swan populace...

          with man having evolved
from monkey:
  well no surprises...
swans have devolved from
dinosaurs...
   the feathers are the fake...
but like lizards...
  born from an egg...
no?
                 swans understand
monogamy...
           humans?
    not so much...
         well... if you're lucky...

but i'm pretty sure:
oh i'm pretty sure
that the current society,
the current:
polyamorous society
is a direct consequence
of a polygamous society's influence...

am i, bothered?
clue me in...
    revolting *****' song: *****...
could a **** ****
a ****...
         without a strap-on?
n
Coop Lee Sep 2015
bottlerocket,
ski click &
shoot.

         [empress impressed.]

petrol souls drift the skin & aetherous
of our holy mother lake midday.
by alpine,
lymph node,
spine of glimmering fish;
i never truly thought that love could destroy.

       [to display the paradise boon and boom salute.]

her knife atop the stump.

*

yon machines construct art-form of reservoir (yon being short for yonder),
knee-boarder-boy wake to wake, he wags his tail when he dreams.

        [lakeside.]

tribal the beach: a family drunk on juiceboxes.
rolling rocks. tall boys
& boulders/ bountiful canyon kids
with their beautiful gasping dogs.
****** knee **** and gallop at the foot of a mountain/mound &
sugar ants stomped, longing to empire.

mom bunches her fists into sand
of stolen crag, listening closely for her childhood in the whistle
of a casio conch.
margaritaville will do.

          [to **** or kiss beetles.]

kiss;
the bitty prince.
maintain a steady alliance with all lifeforms and flora.
life is programmed as thus;
algorithm of love.

bright honeydew soaked slabs of wood,
or plank, tabletop treatise.
wet pile of seeds.

young small birds hoard seeds for winter;
teeter into spring;
& upon summer find solace in swift slip-n-slide daylights.
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Tis
Ive got only this one life to giveth,
So I choose to giveth
To mine aimer,
#ea
Ronald D'Aguilar Dec 2014
All I want to do is be.
To live as close as I can to free,
and know what it's like to taste, smell, hear and see,
and to touch things that live, like a bird in a tree.
But they are not only birds, things that live and int'rest me,
things that are alive come from the land, air, and sea.
To say one form of life is the best, would be a travesty,
For what can make a bird more alive than a bee?
I draw great joy and comfort from life's diversity,
but not only in difference, is founded my glee.
There are things the same in lifeforms, from elephant to flea,
like how we rush to please our instincts, so compulsively.
But unlike the lustful wants of others, humble is my plea,
to pass this genuine love for life from my own, on to thee.

I want me and thee to be free to see an end to travesty and plea that adversity flee, for we to love compulsively and treasure our diversity, live a life so full of glee, that it will suffice to just be.
“I had a plan for you, my dear;” her whisper ruthlessly pounded at Matvei's overwhelmed senses. His entire environment shifted and trailed off; his vision useless, a muddy smokescreen of shapes and colors bleeding into and breathing out of one another.

“A glorious plan, indeed,” she continued, her whisper becoming the hiss of a rattle snake, then slowly shifting pitch, going through every mode, until it was in perfect tune with the deep resounding purr of a well pleased kitten. Which, as fate would have it, was exactly the creature that had taken a seat in front of Matvei's double. The double, still suspended in mid-air, continued wrestling with his chains and screaming madly at the swirling pool of blood at his feet; the vision of the dogs violence still dominating his feeble mind.

Being so occupied, Matvei's double took no notice of the small black kitten as it lapped at the blood between its long and bassy purrs.

“You're without that precious body of yours these days, Sweet Matvei!” The woman explained.

“Or, maybe you've yet to notice that as well? You thick headed pig!”

Stolovsky's vision returned; he was back inside his body. He was the double.

“How's that, dear? Better?” the blood stained kitten at the edge of the swirling pool purred sweetly.

Stolovsky didn't respond and turned his gaze upward. He saw her for the first time; she was beautiful, ungodly so.

“Clean your head up, you animal! How dare you think of me that way!” she laughed.

Her voice returned to what one would expect from such a beautiful creature; the sweet vibrations of a woman, flirtatious and soothing to the ear of any man.

“I'm flattered, really, but we hardly know each other. At least, you hardly know me. Though, sometimes it is best that way, I admit!” she mused, finishing the thought.

“But, on to business then, shall we?”

“I don't suppose I have a choice, do I?” the words escaped Stolovsky's lips as though they were not set free by choice, but of necessity, by reflex alone.

“No. By the looks of it, you really don't, do you?” the spirit retorted.

“Who are you!?” Stolovsky screamed, unsure if he wanted an answer.

“I wouldn't raise my voice to her if I were you, dearie.” purred the kitten, as if it were attempting to instigate some sort of violent reaction from the spirit.

Those kittens, one must always be wary of a blood stained kitten! It is a thing to avoid, afterlife or otherwise. Be that as it may, the kitten's attempt at being the provocateur seemed to have quite the opposite effect.

“My name is not important.” she sang, her voice continuing to astound Matvei's senses, the sweetest evil you'd ever want to hear.

“You can call me Jehovah if you'd like!” she laughed as she spoke.

“Right now, you are my child, my sovereign property. I can do with you whatever I wish!” she paused for a moment, to allow Stolovsky the opportunity to recognize the gravity of the situation.

He did not.

She continued on, her voice shifting again,

“And let me tell you, boy, you've been a great disappointment! Did you know that?”

The rumbling of her tone, the changes in her pitch, were beginning to drive Matvei mad; he'd never heard anything like it! It was absolutely nauseating.

He attempted to gather himself; this was all so confusing. After all, wasn't he dead? Should he fear this, this, whatever it was? He controlled his anxiety enough to ask,

“What are you?”

“She's your new master, Matvei! And a wonderful master, indeed. You are very fortunate!” chirped the blood stained kitten.

“I believe he was asking me, X. Away with you, you ***** kitten!” Immediately, X vanished into thin air. Stolovsky stared downward, mesmerized, as his double was, by the pool of blood swirling beneath him.

“Am I dead?” he asked the goddess.

“You don't even know what that means, you idiot! Besides, you'll be worse off than whatever you think you are now if you keep asking silly questions. Now shut up and listen to me!” she replied.

“There is someone I'd like you to meet.”

As she said this, it appeared to Stolovsky as though the layer of existence that he had, until this very moment, believed himself to be in full occupation of, swelled outward at an amazing speed. It was as if he'd become as tiny as a quark and yet, he continued to become tinier still. He could see nothing recognizable; the sheer brilliance of giant photons zapping through space was enough to blind him. Even as he noticed this, they became infinitely larger, like suns themselves.

Stolovsky felt as though he were falling through it all, becoming smaller and smaller; or, was everything else growing larger and larger? He struggled to reposition his body. The intense pressure of the experience was becoming unbearable.

He could feel his rib cage sinking, his heart struggling, his lungs collapsing as he desperately clung to whatever consciousness this was that he was currently experiencing. X, the blood stained kitten, appeared to him just as she had been moments before.

“It feels strange doesn't it?” she asked.

“What is happening to me?” Stolovsky replied, struggling with the words.

“You're dying the Second Death. Don't worry, it'll only take a minute.”

Before the kitten could finish the sentence, Stolovsky's eyeballs popped, hurling frozen droplets of organic material in all directions.

The frozen droplets would continue to fly on for many years, some straight through into eternity. A few would be so fortunate as to crash into other, much larger, groups of particles and give rise to some very interesting lifeforms. Who, as fate would have it, would go on to destroy one another, along with one-third of their known universe, trillions of smaller universes, and something that may amount to a shoelace being vaporized in my level of existence, in a great war a few hundred billion years later. But alas, a story for another time.

“Oh, wow. That was much quicker than expected, Old Boy!” purred the kitten, pleased at this unforeseen turn of events. "Dr. Orville will be so pleased to learn of our improvement! I must tell the Master straight away!"

And once again, that silly blood stained kitten disappeared. Things were about to get very interesting for Mr. Stolovsky. The Third Life awaits.
The first part is buried in my poems somwhere...
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
the internet wasn't originally intended as the playground for the young, who have no reason to convince themselves of a need to either dogmatise proper spelling, or proper diacritical-punctuation... hálo humpty-dumpty! utter that hark like a dragon!

i have something more volatile than atoms
to construct an atom bomb and
cite Oppenheimer -
i have letters as atoms, words as minor
twitches, and language as Samael:
the death-breathing harvesting resurrector...
  i call the film *a beautiful mind

a perfect case of a beautiful propaganda
machine that backfired...
  if that mathematician who died "tragically"
in car-crash was anything to go by
with having his negation of ease hijacked,
exemplified, magnified to scare the public,
then Gabriel must have been a really sweet
soothsayer in Muhammad's ear...
   because someone with that kind of imagination
to conjure up people should have never
worked for the emerging C.I.A. or F.B.I.:
but Walt ******* Disney... to be sure of it:
Bukowski run parallels with the story:
staying drunk: to keep up with the sober-imaginative
collective: i would have done the same...
can you believe i've passed the 50h mark
on not sleeping under a self-imposed
example of what's barely a scratch of the
siberian gulags?
                   can you imagine that i...
simply had a fetish for it? imagine being awake for
over 50 hours... and having a nearing-****
audacity to not fall asleep for a minute?
can you imagine the military rigour of such
an endeavour?
   must have been self-taught and therefore, very
much indie: selling to the highest bidder.
oh please don't take my literal Monday's worth
of vocabulary truthfulness on it:
i'll play truant on it:
   i don't have people-friendly devices to keep
up with gossip, the rule is:
you can only go mad once,
you can play double jeopardy with madness...
    talk going mad a second time...
        i'll talk about recreating carnage park
in essex... you know what's scary about
that horror movie? it happens at high-noon...
there's nothing eerie about the night...
with the night i think the solace of death
and the never-ending and the never-shifting queue
of names, dates, and the ultra sensitive invocations
of faking epitaphs, i mean, inscribing things
on graves the people who "own" the graves
never had the capacity to say, in the first place.
but you know what scared me about
the film carnage park? the first horror movie
based upon Hitchcock "resurrected" -
but it was never about it... there's no close-proximity,
you actually see the culprits face...
   the idea being: humanising the man executing
moral justification by tugging the guillotine
or pushing the switch on the electric chair...
it's all about moral ambiguity,
hence the horror is all about daylight,
daylight representing the quasi-assurance of your
own judgement: and could you do the justice
by bypassing all jurisprudence paperwork?
  daylight is important in this movie...
                 nothing is hidden, nothing is romantic,
because the man in question is a ******,
he's not a torturer... the invocation of agoraphobia
is seminal! no... subliminal! Greeks invented little
fears and allowed them to be wedded for magnification
given that theatre is extinct... little phobias
create big budget exploits...
   but this is a first of exploiting agoraphobia...
       and agoraphobia could only be exploited in
high-noon... when i think of night these days
i think of the j. r. r. tolkien romance novels of
what man once had... adventure...
these days? plain talk? tourism.
                            i never could think it could be done:
but apparently is has been done...
           the ever distant voyeurism is also gone...
how can anyone be voyeuristic in an agoraphobic space?
   you're basically knitting and deforming
a large space into a pixel... there's no sadism either,
no loch ness barrage of torture methods,
only what man employes to capture animals...
   it's militarism: solo...
        the true essence of a renegade:
   antidote to indoctrination...
             exemplified by the fact that no matter what
mask you give the horror, the mundaneness of it
doesn't go away: because it's not hidden,
  the placebo horror scenario -
          we fake hiding from it... horror these days
is medicinised by fantasy... which is the abhorrent
quality of our times: over-assurance...
    our times are too self-servient, too self-assured...
too comfortable... we're championing
arrogance, calling our predecessors incompetent
*******... oil on the flames? maybe...
                       we prefer to imagine dragons than
see actual dragons among us...
                       that's why we seem to begin with
congratulating dinosaurs into having begun
   as abstract spines that the serpents of our times are...
us? to our inheritors? brains in pickle jars.
we have already started the process of pickling ourselves
by extracting as much as we could from our being
and encoding it into artificiality...
        anyone with a global invasion tactic can easily
tap into this "economy"... it's not an encyclopedia...
it's an economised unitary model readied for
exploitation for invasion...
       do i share the film's culprit paranoia?
well... i share his defence of environmental study...
but having provided the most adequate striking-point
             with the utmost drama of cyber-warfare debate
and all counters against ourselves...
            would i choose this maniac over a wall st. yuppy?
          what's that... vomito ***** vs. huey & the news?
if only i was paranoid after having watched this
movie... i'd see it spread akin to the bubonic plague...
but it's apathy that's the bubonic plague:
since it's the most effective safety-mechanism virus...
you get that docile look and try to suddenly say huh?
with surprise, but you get a choking sensation
as if you just swallowed a hazelnut.
      people get these fantasies about other evolutionary
lifeforms... it's not ******* c.i.a. crap about
      everyone working for them being called mr. &
mrs. smith... just so they can dodge bullets
   and buy milk at their local supermarket...
                      without being asked for autographs and
selfies... and have you ever seen a film critique engaging
with a character that says very little, and then
hysterically laugh, with a sense of music akin to
playing front 242's album 06:21:03:11 up evil?
      the true test of horror is music... the visuals can
be Marquis de Sade in Disneyland... and no number
of groans will do it... if the music has
         transylvania's chant of the chastity of anti-sodomites
written all over it... you're in for a knee-jerker...
the diabolical thing about this film is that it
has the double-effect whether it's watched at night
or during the day... the first horror movie that
doesn't invoke close contact between predator and
the prey, along with not even making the night
as something orthodoxically necessary to craft
                                      horror thematism.
well... plus it's a testament to existentialism
in the case of the hostage being "unrightfully"
attested in a crime... the existentialist would
simply conjure up: possible bait / excuse and
unwillful thinking necessary for his own
             victimised self-reflecting-counter-via
the reflex-of-against-self-discriminatory-collective-input...
radical­ised into a reflex puritanism:
   abiding by cohort norms was not enough
                for the cohort minimum:
                    pyramidal elevation was necessary,
               and there was no human explanation
beyond certain matters, all else was justified
in the three digressions: diabolical, angelic or genius:
the madness only came when one claimed to
hear instructions from the devil, or from god,
                        or claimed to be a geniusº.
  disregarding the two fabrics of a self,
the one prior and the one post collective-input
    regarding a doctrine needing a "self", an "individual",
nevertheless: but a pawn.

      ºthere's no articulation of god, which is why
we have no article ascribing a definite or an indefinite
nature toward him, which is why paupers reduce this
argument, debase it to the level of pronouns -
the reason why we cite a genius and the devil...
is because only angels have names...
                              even the fallen ones...
           for they have a misnomer of god, as we have
a misnomer for many a good things.
stargirl Jun 2014
what will become of me when i die?

will my body offer itself up
to the lost, and lonely stars?
or will i spend eternity in heaven
maybe even possibly hell?

will i just decay
in a wooden box underground?
or become a ghost,
and haunt human lifeforms?

when we die,
do we become something,
or nothing?
death is such an interesting topic, honestly. none of know what happens to us when we die
Patricia Drake Feb 2013
In the dark we form
From the nebula
Of hydrogen and dust
We compress
Under massive gravitational force
Slowly rotating
we increase
In matter
But pressure from others
And our own gravitation
Causes our collapse
We cool down
Emitting infrared light
And radio waves
And we spin faster
As our spin increases
Temperatures rise
And once more
we form
With centrifugal force
A central core
Stable
And a revolving disc
Of future planets
Soon orbiting
Our heat
Caused by the friction of bodies
Makes us glow
Our fusion
prevents further contraction
And begets jets
Intense beams of radiation
For lifeforms to enjoy
Or fear

But we know
That when the hydrogen fuel is spent
This star too
Will begin to die
Sean Pope Jun 2012
O! Happy day!
For on this day I find myself
In love with every girl:
In the innumerable masses of licentious courtesans
Parading their every facet,
Every inch of bare supple flesh
Their thread-bare scraps of clothes
Can tastefully expose,
I have chosen a mere handful
That do so skilfully!
And so I act;
Mutilating the leafy genitals of lesser lifeforms,
Pruning them into a pleasing shape
That it might entice them to reciprocate
And replicate;
Presenting to them dashing symbols of consumerism,
Such as ingots of saccharine fat
To please them now
And spurn them later
When they wish to regain their shapely shape,
Or compressed ichor borne of ancient remains,
Cut into a pleasing sparkle
To please their primal preference for shine.
Surely this will win their affections!
O! Happy day!
Aya Domingo Nov 2014
You are the pavement
Cracked,
Spat on,
Walked all over,
Yet,
Lifeforms sprout
From in between your broken pieces
Life grows in you still
Milkyboy Oct 2018
Dark is the Well to the bottom of my heart
Deeper than Joseph's cistern in Dothan
Should you try to fetch a water for a drink?
Where moss and mosquitos give life and live.

Shepherds and Herders pass by and spit
Said "its a curse and empty abyss"
Yet mosquitos live and form there families
And other lifeforms here they sleep.

For them its "The Well of Life"
Though its stinks and useless for your needs
Your spit and curses can be there food
Forming new life and birth.

Foul and useless this Well maybe
But someday a Living Water will be fetched
For I heard a One Shepherd who drank and bathed in this pit
He said "I will reach this abyss and pour Living Water in it"
My heart stinks!
Pearson Bolt Apr 2015
twenty-three trips around the sun
just another insignificant planet
crowding a broiling ball of
hydrogen gas in one
of some hundred
billion galaxies

it's hard
not to wilt
by comparison
not even a quarter of a
century and for all i know i could
very well be dead tomorrow buried
three days hence never to walk the earth again

i am an amalgam of every person i meet
each event in this tumultuous tragedy
modifies me just as i alter the
universe with ripple effects
expanding ever onward
out into the cosmic
embrace of the
abyss

squeezed
out like paste
stretched like string
theory across parchment
paper—thin and fragile as i
hope in vain for some semblance
of significance to be lent to me on loan
if i want it i'll have to make it all on my own

but i'm growing older with every passing
moment and i'm not so certain this is
the route i've chosen anymore
i'll still carve my name into
this Earth but not for me
i'll lay down my life not
for my legacy but
for my neighbor
for all those i'll
never get to
meet

not out
of some youthful
idealism or ardent
child-like naiveté but
for an idea that's bigger
and brighter and better than
myself: universal brotherhood
peace and love goodwill towards
all lifeforms with whom we share this
tiny blue dot that we call planet Earth

and while i know i will hardly make a
difference in the grand scheme
of things at least i can say i
died a lion never living
on my knees

instead
i tried to live
my life so *******
brilliantly that even
Death feared to take
me into the nothingness

twenty-three trips around the sun
almost a quarter of a century
i won't let them steal my
hope from me i refuse
to bow to apathy i
stand strong on
my own feet
and say i'm
free
Having a birthday on Earth Day gets one thinking about the planet and its insignificance in the cosmos. If such a gigantic floating rock has no meaning, then our lives pale in comparison. Yet, however inevitable intelligent life may be in a universe with some 100 billion galaxies, each with hundreds of millions of stars, I like to think that there is still merit in choosing to treasure this moment. The entire universe has distilled infinite uniqueness in every organism on Earth. We are all star stuff.
It feels so vivid (frequency)

---—---------->>>>>
                
                                    <<<<<<   ------------------------


Constantly thinking every minute. ^ v


Huh **** un be  defferent ?
            
If the NEW sttlyle is toby differant.



If these words were a drug

(  Cough- needle hits arm.  )    


                                               I will never kick it.  


----—--—-———--




Peep the will in me.





Emotional stability.




Responsibility.  ( Freedom = responsibility )




In  Truth  ,  Love  ,


& symmetry. 



My patience...

..........................                          ­--—-----------------------





                             ---------------------



My life After death



Only a lucky few shall recycle my genius.


 The lack of human stimulation



did not amaze him..


Annoyed with their commotion.


Lifeforms


distracted through mixed emotions.

The catacombs. the dead resurfaces  as I write this poem.



This is all expressed to my ocean.

Trust it.

Climb the summit.


Learn to rise above it.


My communication.

My operation.

My construct.




     He had a schizophrenic disease.
I'm NOT SCHIZOPHRENIC.  BUT it seems my disobedience is what sets me free.

Simply put, spelling and grammer are simply
CONTROL mechanisms for the weak minded. It
diverts the TRUE purpose of LANGUAGE - which
is to CONVEY A MESSAGE. The cattle on the other
hand thinks language (due to the concept of
grammar) is some sort of sport, where you get
points for doing things 'correctly' and with 'skill'
and for 'following the rules'.
NO! YOU can say, write, or express whatever,
or however you want to.
Renard Jackson Feb 2016
You are like Water on Earth moving continuously through the water cycle of evaporation and transpiration (evapotranspiration), condensation, precipitation, and then run off, usually reaching the sea to my heart. Evaporation from one and transpiration to another contribute to the precipitation over land(my life). Like Water you are used in the production of a good or service is known as the virtual you.

Safely drinking you is essential to me and other lifeforms even though it provides no calories or organic nutrients. Access to safe drinking you has improved over the last years in almost every part of my world, even though approximately one billion people still lack access to you and over 2.5 billion have access to adequate sanitation.
#visualization #perspective #thoughts
Sometimes I walk the ground
in just socks.
So all my socks are made of dirt.

I let brambles scratch
warrior plants attack
It won't detach me from my thirst
for community, unity, passion,
compassion swells.

The rain is welcome here.
It washes me
dripping
clean I am
blossoms realizing themselves.

My oils are pungent.

Sometimes my sisters give me a rash.
I kind of like it.

Sturdy hands
Green-blue thumbs
spur my growth

Bugs like to crawl into my mouth
when I am hungry.

The river takes my pain downstream.
It sheds glass
as I shed.

And you
gleaming from afar
Your silky grace
sips my spine
licks up my mind
and spins me into
timeless lifeforms
awaiting
          the lightning.


Sometimes.
Ninny's Narnia May 2015
Rocket-ship footie pajamas and stars from the galaxy on his bed
Running 'round the yard with a fishbowl on his head
He'd stutter the names of the planets and stars
with no desire other than to walk on Mars.
The boy created his own ship:
cardboard box, crayons, and a paperclip
3
2
1
BLAST OFF
The roar of the rocket drowned out his nemesis' scoffs
Days, months, and even years past
His big chance was here at last
He looked upon Earth with shock and awe
A bluish green dot was all he saw
Distant lights and strange color specs
No sign of alien lifeforms to detect
Everlasting darkness engulfed him
His life-long dream is actually quite grim
With the stale taste of toothpaste food
His heart sank with the lonely journey he had pursued
He longed for his loving mother and his dog
He'd had enough of the Milky Way's fog
He pined for the place he had aspired to leave
That blue-green dot forever he'll cleave
With a homesick feeling he reached for the throttle
Unfortunately the fuel was at the end of the bottle
With tears in his eyes and hopelessness in his chest
He decided to try a deadly quest
With the last of the fuel he blasted his jets
It was his last possible effort and he had no regrets
With a million to one odds;
He had to contribute his success to one of the Gods
He hit the atmosphere and exploded in flames
Busted the cardboard and ruined all of his games
The boy rushed back to reality
Relieved he didn't reach his fatality
Exhausted and satisfied
His adventure had only just been outside
Looked upon his fishbowl that now had a big crack
The little boy decided his journey warranted a snack.
Lover of Words Sep 2013
I feel like over chewed gum,
Dried and loss of flavor I've become,
I'm a broke rubber band,
A piece of string with no purpose,
And I'm hanging on by this tiny piece of thread,
clinging onto the mouth of my bed,
A loose tooth,
Wanting to be set free,
Yet holding on with it's hole entirety.
I'm a broken frame, a car low on fuel, and I'm breaking into two different lifeforms,
I am halves
Purcy Flaherty Jul 2021
We are all evolved from the same microbe;
A microbe which evolved into every known species, using just two dozen ingredients; drawn from the same chemical soup.
(We are related to every living thing)

Each and every species is evolving at it's correct / specific survival rate, yet the more we humans progress, the more distance we choose to put between us and our fellow lifeforms; often choosing to alter their evolutionary progress, not for our own survival! but for bit coin, vanity or prestige.
**** our fellow lifeforms; I want a packet of crisps!
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Morse code proofreaders
A type face to many covers
Dialect's go to many tongues
Many get old
Behind enclosed encounters!!!

Sensual time Desiree's
Moans louder
And louder

Achromatic lifeforms
Are all Blisses to me!!!

Tabernackles of keys
Wherein dark dungeons
Thou shalt confess

Adornos adobes
Good for tribal success!!!

Amrinones
You'll need from her to kick start thy playful heart
Wherein keepers push buttons
And buttons play all parts!!!

Koolaid mixes
Tingle with pleasure zone scores
Where board makes board

Four score!!
nivek May 2016
some lifeforms would **** and eat you
lions, tigers, alligators....
but mostly life slowly kills you
and the longer you live the closer you come to death
Young Soda Sep 2014
conventional vocation
on carnival with the night
shadows cast from each rotation
lifeforms move too quickly
pointless repetition while they advance
real complexities lie far in the distance
far in the deep black expanse
scattered with millions of diamonds
go the extra mile, for instance.
far past our mindless reach
Rob M Jun 2013
I've shouted questions at the sky-
Hard ones, nearly unanswerable-
hoping against hope that somewhere,
Something might answer.
I've screamed until my throat grew
hoarse from the effort,
and stared up,
waiting-
wishing-
begging
for some kind of answer.
A sign.
Anything.
But there was only silence, ringing
deafeningly over the black expanse.
The stars went on shining as they had before.
It was then I realized.
The Cosmos doesn't care about me.
The Cosmos has cares of its own-
Forging stars and galaxies from dust;
Compressing the very essence of time into
unimaginable singularities;
presiding over the evolutionary cycles of
innumerable lifeforms.
Why would it care about one,
comparatively insignificant life,
on a world teeming with it,
in the outward spiral of a
galaxy very likely filled with other life.
It was then I realized.
Maybe I should look out for myself-
find the answers I seek on my own,
give up/leave behind my fear of the unknown,
instead of expecting the answers to be handed to me.
It shouldn't be that easy.
Noe Pineda Aug 2014
Has it ever mattered?
The words that were spoken
Like stars falling from the sky
Straight into my esophagus
I regurgitated them into new lifeforms
We called them love and trust
But for some reason they acted more like
Deceit and broken promises
So I have to ask
Has it ever mattered?
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
.get to a million get to a million...
it's no dickens or a shakepeare... but...
get to a million get to a million...
it's not your everyday tabloid column...
but... get to a million get to a million...

all words outside of the italics...
said... really... real... slowly...
         Eeyore: sore...
                           i like how...
sodden sad i am with... a spike
milligan rendition of...
by the barrel of the rhyme -
this nonsense has to... be gloated...
float... 'ted...
             ballloons and buzzing... etc.

and those italics?
   gerbil on asteroids... and on steroids...
and... on amphetamines...
basics: on a cocktail...
   nibbling ferociously...
so ferociously that...
                      the tongue disappears...

i already have a: tomorrow will be...
"good"...
i don't like being pandered...
and this is that story of
a princess sleeping on twenty matresses...
agitated by an uncooked pea...

needle in the haystack for me...
this most perfect day...

   i'm using this old post-soviet
piece of equipment and...
it works brand new...
none of the samsung cheap ***** made
in china...
if i'll have my may...
and the garden needs no imporvement:
a new shed... blah...
it already looks like a building site...
i managed to tranfer a tonne of
birdseye pebbles from
the service road into the garden...

imagine the fate... of those...
sentenced to: kamieniołomy...
a quarry... i'm not exactly deluding myself
in the act already deluding me...
a hammer... perfecting what was
a farmers' suntan just below the elbows...
so i rolled my sleeves up...
for compensation...

   imagine sentencing a man to work
among stones... friko! gratis!
for... the "blessing"...
       but if i take the walk...
this, walk... i'm keeping up appearances
up to a point... then the masquerade is over...
nothing to hear but ***** horses...
magpies... woodland pigeons and crows...
nothing of assorted competing
propaganda placentas...
no cushions: no bed: count sheep...
that, tiresome, task?
how about making out: complex
"geometry" from clouds...
see castles? see swans?
see devils charging into battle
having donned the men-yoroi?!

the past... and so much for the romance...
the vikings should be known as:
the warlike gypsies... ******* pikeys and all!
sword for a harmonica...
a longboat for a... heap of castanets...
and... that... accordion? no?
the new... "napels"?
the violin... the new sax...
new: yo! ollie!
    *******...
  
         - i said i'd ******* walk it!
i did it once come sunset...
i said... i did it once in reverse: got lost:
feet became muddied...
i returned...

             this is where we'd part...
i'd ******* from the B175...
parallel to the orange tree pub...
next to the bower house...
   when walking? no point taking
the B175 up to A113... no... seriously...
there isn't...

into the havering country park...
how many times...
did i walk this "short" and "narrow"...
letting off the body known
that the breath is bound
to a duality of soul...
and "more lungs to uncover...
major major"...

       exercise: gym: pristine **** film
perfect... swimming is fun...
riding a bicycle is fun...
the rest remains a vanity project...

         i might as well be hoarding...
so from having made an exit via
B175... i end up coming back into
contact with traffic... at...
via hainnault forest of course...
at... A1112...
          
when it was especially crisp...
and winter was the *****...
watching the widow and widower swans...
at moonlight...
that's the only:
that's the best time to appreciate swans...
come a fullmoon... come the trickling
of mercury into the details of:
ghostly white: for the worth of swans...
and none other...

  and if i meet a Wordsworth on the way?
i'll strangle him with a shoelace...
hell... i'll hang him by one...
tell 'im to sniff a boot on the way out...
and a soggy sock: for practice...

from what i read:
so much for the countryside while at the same
time having... to entertain...
the garden prior to the fall:
a ****-buddy of a sister...
the foreboding mid-west...
televangelists and a-o.k. ******:
   like that physicist... who said:
brother and sister have a get together:
as long as: rubbers included...

caricature on the simpsons...
google-whacking won't even allow me
search results...
then again: sloppy seconds...
    'ere we go: lawrence krauss...
simpsons guy...
  
robinson crusoe ahoy! quick!
sink... this... ******* ship!
let's me it look like a melodrama
for environ... mentalists...
let's make it look like a beached
whale... rather than a ghost wreck
holding lost secrets of lineage:
among the arabs? muhammad ibin...
         ibin...
among the jews? yeshua ben...
   ben... blah: ibin! blah ben!

- so so much for solo...
  solo violin, solo piano...
solo... rubbing chicken with carribean
**** sauce... slaughtering a lamb,
kosher, also solo...
    ham solo... solo: project undertaken
with concern for...
no concerns except for: solo...
soloist... soliloquy... solipsism...
bored mushroom head: kanughonzagi
shimoto hiroshimmyshimmy oops...
bulldozer... machine 'ed on... 'ed off...
a party twick: don't look so surprised...

that's: "not me in your third person"
gemoetry...
well... within the trinity, secular...
of the son, ego, the father, superego...
and the holy spirit of id...
jerking off is on the same platitude
of performing *******...
in verse of reverse: eating an oyster
or a floral "pattern"...

here's to not having to find strangers:
notsably pakistani men willing
to convert...
thank be for the jews: at least they can't
convert you: ****** in them the concept
of being chosen...
like this mirage of static...
perhaps the wind does disturb this
equilibrium... then again... does it?

upon the altar of the sky before me...
a curious "star"...
that it isn't...
it has to be a planet...
i'm guessing that it's either
Venus or Jupiter...
and if my naked eyes were able to
decipher the experience...
from what the postcard of
Saturn looks like: truly:
flesh, blood and eyesight to
compensate:
why do almost all alien lifeforms concern
me with microscopic items?
i had to wrestle a mammoth
i had to overcome a tiger...
i didn't exactly find myself:
finding *****...
champagne and l.s.d. but not
mushrooms...
the fungus hitchhiker of 1960s
psychadelic intelligenstia...

i need to only die this once...
there is no god: there is no god...
"god"...
this is a house... that requires
a breath to deem it: an abode...
a home is a foreign concept in the mouth
of a mongolian horde...
crimea if a capital...

      a tartare steak... a raw herring
in yogurt sauce with apples and gherkins...
a spice for the palette...
if tomorrow is supposedly a day...
i will sacrifice a dream: all dreams!
for a day like i plan for tomorrow...
to come into contact with reality...

no love is ideal... even that of a madman...
or a gisberg... homosexual latex gimp
plaything... savvy?!
two to a rucksack
of the tow of beers i need to give birth
to a quasimodo...

"broken": to have broke - sober -
then drunk... the barking of a drop load
of ******* of an alsatian...

   we so tire... we all must tire so...
such: we! sire: i! oh... but i'm not bargained
to don a crown!
pontius pilate... the escapade
of the thief... of the coward...
or the status quo tactician...

by now... does it... would it...
even... even ******... *******... matter
to parade in all that pomp and desires
for a spontaneity of... ahem...
"spontenity"?!

better worded: i agree: genius to genius...
one would never curse...
etiquette! my boor and bore...
one must be well fashioned
to stage the pirouette of "proper"
knife and fork handling...
as... the napkin is to supposed to be bound
to never find any better use!

the air i want to breathe...
              is it... really...
the complications of chemistry...
curb... no new: every old...
           one always has to find it necessary
to fall in love with paris...
and grow perptually boring
within the confines of london;
apparently all else... vivo per se...
is supposed to "happen" & "here"!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
it truly only exists in english-speaking societies...
after spending 3 weeks in poland,
god bless the pine woods and the number
of birch trees... and the -18°C temperatures -
   i can't but feel this aura of insanity hanging
over any western society...
        it's this languishing in people censoring
each other in a vocabulary battlefield -
               it's this persistent need to censor yourself
when the word best used, is deemed by others
to hurt their ears... as if i were standing over them,
with a drill to their ear, or
    a raven claw about to gauge out their eyes...
         i never understood it, but it's happening
in western society...
no wonder society stands firm with the lynch mob of
Ełk... it wasn't a scene from Nice,
nor that bloodbath in Paris...
                       a toll of only one soul, stabbed
in a kekab shop...
      Islam will be hardly welcome in Poland:
you need a very ridiculous version of catholicism,
as is the case, from where i reside.
                    there was no candlelight vigil...
there were only his contemporaries
    lynching the poor Tunisian...
            his shop was destroyed...
and a few other, innocent people got smacked in the gob:
like the 21 year old's death: for no reason:
  just to fill in the rubric.
                       the hashtag from Poland circa
December 16th? #wolne media...
            apparently the media were no longer welcome
in the sejm...
    i just can't tell you anything grand about that,
i was watching it from a public television set,
in a cafe drinking strong coffee...
      while four Ukranian women were eating chicken
and other eastern european delicacies...
waiting for their coach to Kiev...
                   and that pauper making a sandwitch in
the bus-station...  no butter: a slice of ham
slapped into two slices of bread...
        and god: that frost below zero...
finally i could breath air! free from African and
Arabian pathogens... like they say:
bacteria, viruses and parasitic lifeforms require
heat... you get cryogenic treatment in Siberia...
    for a long time: i felt ethnically completely...
mind you: it snowed in England today,
   but it was a teasing type of snow...
  it's practically not there anymore...
                         why did i write certain ''poems''
invoking racial slurs? at the frustration of being
dislodged from whiskey,
and the keyboard...
                       i rather throw enough negativity
into a blank canvas than a punch on someone...
       but it's there: citizen versus citizen and how
we are to speak, so unfeelingly: so un-freely...
                          and the curse of having that nagging
justification for what we said while exhaling
      helium...
                       i am, however, after something more
serious... namely why there are only two diacritical
marks in the english language, and they are closely-proximated,
on the ι (iota) and the j... and nowhere else!
               it's a bit too tad presumptious that these
letters received the treatment for accent-prone recipient
mandates...
                                  english has so many examples
it deviates from when diacritical rules are invoked...
     tri-                 tripple           try  and              tip -
   random, i know...
                         but given the ι, there is no reason why
a dot above it should be the sole incissor...
     why doesn't í exist? yes: the acute iota?
                             much concerning the
lost trill of the Ar...
                                              and if i were to rewrite the
alphabet, you'd have clear beginnings,
   and even clearer borrowing to put the masculine
sound last, as in the case of Ar...
     so to borrow from the periodic table...
a...    be... ç.... (so s ***** off)
                     deed...                 e...
                         ef (e minor, F needs e to exist as distinct,
but because of f being at the back, beginning with e,
     we'll not count it as an autonomous letter)...
              gee....
                                ­                             aye-chitty-chitty h...
                        laughter knows no alphabet...
ah forget this... it's getting muddled!
  the greeks used original names to encapsulate phonetic
units, apart from η (eta), μ (mu), ν (nu), ξ (xi), π (pi),
  ρ (rho), τ (tau... hence no taoists),
                            φ χ ψ (phi, chi, psi) -
question, why not pha cha psa?
          evidently vowels were used to stabilise
  the consonant grounding, but you could have used
other vowels to stabilise the sounds φ χ ψ -
  evidently the h when coupled to a p or a t is only an F...
     but in Greek that's future: not effigy.
        thank god i took to chemistry at some point in my life...
i can fiddle with these curiosities...
           Latin has exhausted its musicology...
it's no longer an alphabet that might give us a mozart,
or some poor castrato choir...
     and from chemistry, is has to name certain
letters nouns...
       like omicron or omega... being names
more than mere sounds designated the o & ω symbols...
latin will not sing anymore for us...
   we need to strenghten the alphabet recitation...
  some letters can remain simple,
but others have to involve an: o into omicron rigidity...
  or an ω into an omega mystique...
     which translates into quick-speaking and slang...
and i don't know: 3 weeks without the internet...
strenghtened by being sober... and actually being able
to read a book of 400 pages by kraszewski...
      and i come back,
   i wish someone on the periphery of London have
         the same European experience as i had in my native
soil...  a strange experience of a monochromatic society...
       western people my age had to resort
to the internet...
                           it's so less exhausting...
                             you start to think about going fishing,
rather than shouting your point of view into
   a dajjal-eye of a video channel...
                                                 i've only been back from
a mono-cultural society, and i didn't even think about
  drinking my loyal share of whiskey...
      it's so so exhausting, beginning with learning words
in order to later censor them...
                          and yes, i wish i could go back...
      i would have been a third-generation metalworks
worker... but globalisation happened...  
                    mm hmm... what am i doing here?
       well, i'm certaintly not thinking about it...
                          england has become exhausting,
using english has also become exhausting...
      no wonder i started listening to finnish folk bands...
   i need a ******* breather.
Jimmy Desire Sep 2014
What A Life

I do the things I shouldn't do

to say I did and have "gained a lesson" from it

when in reality I'm just trying to prove

that what's usually the "right way" is not always for everybody

foolish child you look for a glimpse of chance

where countless fools before you had as well

I just thought that maybe I,

with all that I've said and proclaimed about love,

with my ideals and my upbringing to the melodies of R&B;

that helped ease me into sleep

and induce dreams in which I would finally find the courage to have my voice heard,

serenading to lost queens about their substantial worth and beauty...

man I just thought that I could've had it different

but don't we all...

well if anything its a constant reminder that the world can be cruel

but theres a lot you'll see thats breathtakingly beautiful

like hearing another brother of ours has been slain by none other than his own kin

funny isn't it?

that as the most advanced lifeforms (that we know of anyway)

that we hinder ourselves more than anything

with all the potential dangers that could arise from day to day

we on top of that are a danger to ourselves and others

not all of us of course

but enough that its publicized and causes riots in the streets

and with good reason too.

I'm more impressed by the passion presented by the ones on their feet

fighting and making a stand about something they know is wrong

exactly the kind of action we need more of

it simply saddens me because I believed we were past all the racism

and just when you start to question the direction of the path we all seem to be taking

you are blessed with a moment of pure gratitude

and someone who works at Starbucks is willing to pay for your drink,

even when you have the money to pay

she simply said, “you’re a nice guy and I probably wasn’t going to use this free drink anyway”

hugs and a tip for the girl who only wanted to make my day a little better

and it’s something we don’t have enough of

people who are genuinely nice

like honestly what does it cost you?

I like to look at myself from afar in this grand scheme called life

and sometimes lose the importance of my existence

making too much of a big deal of what’s to come

wanting not to miss out on it all…

Just tell me I can win this thing

and leave my loved ones with memories of my laugh,

my smile and words

because they are what I am made of


product of my environment,
I am clearly blessed.
People are shapeshifters
They change their skin from time to time
Sometimes they are preys
Lovely and faerie
Innocent lifeforms
Unlike the evil norms lurking on earth.
But mostly, they are killers.
They'll **** you upfront
They'll **** you while you're not watching
There's no catching for there is no justice
For no one notice

No one notices because they've changed their skin again.
Just a random thought.
Cunning Linguist Jul 2019
Tremors resound
Shaking the infinite Celestials
The final sign

Ominous force
Striking the core of all sequential life
Unknown terrors

Orchestration
Eliminates the mental divide
Face the unknown

Inanimate,
Corpses flying towards the genesis
Temples reborn

Fade
Slowly
Merging my visions through meditation
Weave dreams as reality

Release
Frequencies resonating
Buried in fantasies captivating
Memories disappearing

Haunted by altered consciousness
Restore the mind's eye
Glimpsing a broken existence
Capture the last light

From a vengeful dynasty
Severing the timelines, crossing paths
Eviternal embers searing the
Gateways to abandoned dimensions

Forge
Perpetual pathways
Emerging from
Ancient genesis

Endless eclipses
Circling the reddened skies
Spawned by chaos
A rampant multiverse

Fates
Lost within illusions
Cyclic omens
Creating wormholes

Break through the shadows
Impeding harmony
Save the dismal expanding universe

Projecting from
Astral realms centered in the cosmos
Through the portal

My mind escapes
Sail away from the pain of waking life
Shape creation

Arcane nightmares
Appear before the end of ages
Dying remnants

Cosmic horror
Shatters my mortal coil to pieces
Lucid dreaming

Fade
Slowly
Merging my visions through meditation
Weave dreams as reality

Release
Frequencies resonating
Buried in fantasies captivating
Memories disappearing

Haunted by altered consciousness
Restore the mind's eye
Glimpsing a broken existence
Capture the last light

Hate
Flowing through all lifeforms
Spectral terrors
Deceiving mortals

Into the unknown
I voyage here forward
Absent icons
Decipher the patterns

Fates
Lost within illusions
Cyclic omens
Creating wormholes

Break through the shadows
Impeding harmony
Save the dismal
Expanding universe
© Subnuba December 2018
Lyrics by Reid Donovan, Adrian Ocaña
Jackie Jul 2016
I can feel my heart break into pieces and I just let it happen
This world is full of glass jars and I'm choosing to step on every single one in front of me
I can't tell if I'm getting better or if I'm getting more numb
I don't leave my bed because the outside is bright and I might find purpose
I don't want to find purpose because that means expanding and I can't really bend over backwards anymore
I am in a new town with all new faces and they have no clue that demons hover above me
They all seem shallow and closed off from real life and that's probably why they already hate me
They smell my individuality and it is not pleasing to them
The craters in my head are attracting other lifeforms and I can hear them when I sleep
I toss and turn a lot because I dropped my anchor out at sea
A lot of people try to figure me out but they don't believe what they can't see
And I really want to die
But the girl with the big eyes will not let me go
And I don't know if that makes me angry or grateful
But I'm seeing life through a one way mirror and I am on the outside
I am seeing everything
But they don't see me
And I am watching and listening for a reason to stay
Despite my need to fly away constantly
Then she looks at herself in the mirror and smiles
And my heart doesn't break as much as it once was
seshi Mar 2018
"It was... magical." They would gush
Stars orbiting just for them
A moment where two minds
Choose to be one
You can roll your eyes
Say you've heard the story five times-
Six now
But they aren't even listening, they can't
Above the crashing waves
Of their passion

This party wasn't made for two
Gravitating toward one another
Not even socialising with the outside lifeforms
The moon and his sun
The day and her night
The sand and his ocean
Ten plus ten fingers still equals ten
Two hands superglued like crafts
In the middle
Money and papers forgotten
A universe built like a cottage roof
Above two bodies
One soul

Ten years pass
And suddenly one home becomes two
All the secret smiles
And inside jokes
Are screams and shouts and curses
That you think echo across the street
But live inside your head

That first story
The way they met
So long ago
Is the story you wish you'd hear
Instead of this exit song
That will never stop playing
Until one or the other
Finally gives up
Leaves orbit
To be the only star
Of their lonely galaxy.

— The End —