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Dan Filcek Apr 2015
consciousness conceived as complex matrices
patterns contained within patterns.
magnetic anomaly brainwave synchronization
unrecognized vortex activity locations.
correlation amplification phenomena resonance.
measurable parameter brain wave activity
highly sensitive field fluctuations.
transducer low frequency geomagnetic pulsations
electromagnetic patterns: their associated chemical changes.
Weak intensity complex magnetic fields
generated earth hum technology affect
flux-gate sample collapsing fields
amplifier filter stages couples into analog digital converter.
experiments correlating local geophysical anomalies
earth's magnetic field changes consciousness.
single electromagnetic coupling mechanism
including spin-mediated neurons.
upsurge solar activity alters brain rhythms, hormonal levels
healing nature mystic experiences
anomalous cognition ******-physical phenomena.
internal model reality - subjective consciousness
addition computational capacity
existential status may need exotic physics
quantum entanglement and new forms of physical interaction
magnetic sensory cells induced meditative states
direct correlation shifts magnetic flux.
No active effort required.
Magnetic mineral aligned crystal chains
embedded biological membranes.
atomic sublattices of ferrimagnetic material
plausible theoretical mechanisms
mechanosensitive membrane ion gates
specific synergetic properties for transduction.
cuboctahedral morphology properties
jitterbugging vector equilibrium matrix basis tensegrity.
basic geometrical biological building blocks.
mystical red rock temples
Tracing disjunctive dislocations
Mother Earth speaks
Questions remain.
This year for Poetry Month, I decided to post a "found poem" every day. If writing a poem is like painting, a "found poem" is like sculpting. source - https://jcer.com/index.php/jcj/article/viewFile/318/343 - The Sedona Effect
Paul Hansford Sep 2018
Many people write a "bucket list" of things they want to do before they die.  Now in my 80th year, I don't have the time or the energy to do things that others might aim for, but I have during my life visited many places, seen many things, and enjoyed many experiences that I would have been sorry to miss. There have also been some events that I would have preferred not to experience, but which have enriched my life in different ways, and which I remember with a kind of sad affection.  
Some of these are very personal to me, and would not be interesting to most people, but read the note if you wonder why I chose them.

Here then is what I might call  
                                                My Reverse Bucket List

Towns and cities – architecture & atmosphere
   Barcelona, Spain
   Venice, Italy
   Oxford, England
   Jerusalem, Israel
   Luxor, Egypt
   Varanasi, India
   Hiroshima, Japan
   Pompeii, Italy

Other locations
   Galápagos islands, Ecuador
   Great Barrier Reef, Australia
   North Woolwich, London

Churches
   St Paul's Cathedral, London
   Sagrada Familia, Barcelona
   Coventry Cathedral
   Córdoba Cathedral, Spain
   Blue Mosque, Istanbul

Other structures
   Taj Mahal, Agra
   Auschwitz concentration camp, Poland
   Royal Festival Hall, London
   London underground system (because it was the first, and I rode it for a long time).  Also the more splendid underground railways of Mexico City and Moscow.
   Avebury Ring, Wiltshire, England (the largest prehistoric stone circle in the world, and much more primitive than Stonehenge)
   Bayeux Tapestry 
   "Angel of the North" statue, Gateshead, England
   "Christ the Redeemer" statue, Rio, Brazil

Events
   Messiah at Royal Festival Hall, Feb 1959, with the girl later to be my wife
   St John's night, Spain, early 1990s (?)
   Death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, Aug 1997
   Oberammergau passion play, 2010
   Destruction of World Trade Centre, Sept 2001
I haven't added explanatory notes, but a lot of them are easy enough to look up, and if you message me about any mysterious items, I'll answer as best I can. There are poems in my stream connected with some things on the list, though not all are obvious.
DivineDao May 2016
You were the first poet, who had managed to alter the most famous mysterious smile and transformed it into the language of carefully depicted symbols and blushing words.
Reading the formidable plots of the wandering bullets in your cosmic time lapse thrilling poems makes me swoon every time I focus on the inside story,  like a desperate detective subdued to the retrograde reconstructions, sniffing out the unbelivable alibi for ali-baba, the modern space cadet, who leads me to the secret passages - to long lost treasures.

We were build internally as the same nation brigadeers sharing the alpine tea essence as a pejorative for ~Primavera showing off her newest gossamer in different locations at different nano moments.
               The post stamp you had glued to a white envelope of packed dreams come true, has the curved edges-->untill today and I am sure your saliva was the closest proof of your body next to mine, next to your poetic words. So dear to me!!!
             
 We are old fashioned poets, the virtual paper ******, slightly anxious anarchistic dreamers allured by the crevices of any black hole willing to  slurp and **** in the majority of our most beloved, yet unborn poems. All the 'Torn to pieces' poetic words are long gone, fluxed out through the glittery and deviousely hypnotic tunnels of time and space speed transmisson teleportations.

To our world the rumour has arrived that in the closest sibling~mirrored galaxy lives a lonely guy who looks up at the night skies and searches for the truth. He has black green eyes, green hair and loves Gandalf the grey-grin. He uses binoculars only because his lovely spouse adores to gently take them off ... then reads him a poem or two about the beauty of elves ... those kings and queens living eternally in vigorously vivid and unutterly ineffable woods. Elves are being smart enough to never give an advice to any stranger who has yet to find his integrity and purpose in life.    

Life seems to be a delicous set of intrigues,  paradoxical extremeties, harmonious ideals and wicked irony lessons upon our free will. The man's name was William. He loved her profoundly, without reservations, as a summer's day's Ode.
LOVE YOU
KiraLili Apr 2015
Industrial work camp construction
Where nothing is light and everything is heavy
Leviathan's and Titan's move rock and earth
Steel structures are stacked by crane like Leggo blocks
Grinding noise and flying sparks are everywhere

These are remote locations where men from everywhere work in the middle of nowhere
Trailers in geometric shapes serve as homes and offices
Handshakes and high fives are replaced by fist bumps
Gatherings of people in smoke pits stand in for water coolers

Days worked are measured in shift weeks , sounds smaller
Schedules drive the pace and weather fights the progress
Overtime is daily, it's just a matter of how much
Everyone here comes for the pay check inflated by the locale

There is only one answer people say to one question
No matter how often they are asked,    " how are you doing?"
Tired eyes always raise and one things ever heard
All is said is , " livin the dream..."
first I smell myself.

the deep bass tonality of my musk,
hot, creamy, sweetness unique, of coffee and creamy,
my owned sweat oiled secretions massaged into her skin
emplaced by vigorous parts rubbing and tongue caressing,
under the fading shadows of my glancing, desirous admirings


then I smell herself.

sinking sunset glimpses of last nights parfume parfait,
scattered in random strategic locations architecturally planned,
some flavors come over me like modest waves,
others spelunking found in crevices, cracks and caves,
where humans tread in guileless search of guiltless pleasure

then I smell our sharings.

lemon and thyme, paprika, sea salt and pepper,
a basted rub laid upon animal skin consuming, and consumed,
the vinaigrette balsamic and California yellow raisins, pine nuts,
decorating leaves of red soil spinach and spicy arugula,
word salads, so miraculously ingenious, you swear off eating flesh

then I smell our combinations.

the air conditioned atmosphere that blends us properly chilled,
the olive oils pressed from two colored differing skins,
the mortal and pestle finely grinding our own fresh crumbled dirt,
appearing in places where dirt is wet panko crumbs encrusting us,
our combined liquidity, shaken and stirred, drying in martini tandem

it is 8:17am and this recipe of reciprocity,
at its most pungent peaking,
for soon raining waterfalls of potable city water
and the sophistry of French soap,
the pseudoscience of modern chemical shampoo,
together erasing, scrubbing away this poems aromatherapy tapestry,
your perplexed complexing nostrils will mock you once more,
for ever disbelieving, thinking you could no longer write of
only love poetry that crested high above the trite


Friday, March 29 2019
Aroma olp musk balsamic paprika sea salt ***** martini olp
jcl Apr 14
It was starting to snow as I entered Pere Lachaise cemetery. The few that had ventured in, were streaming out, as daylight faded, fast giving way to twilight, on this 1st of February night. I had 30 minutes of daylight left, to take the shots that I’d planned for all year.

I knew where I was going, having visited the cemetery in the summer, to scout locations for this moment. I walked up l’Avenue Principale towards Le Monument aux Morts and took the first right on l’Avenue des Puits. My pace quickened, not wanting to waste a single second, of the dying light.

I crossed path with the the last stragglers, most likely having paid homage to Chopin or Morrison. I was entering the oldest and most forested area of the cemetery. It sent a chill up my spine, not because of the cold February air, but because of the surreality of what was in front of me, a cobble stone path, lined with old trees, surrounded by an ocean of tombs, fading into the white and gray of a snowy afternoon.

I arrived at my location, the tomb of Heloise and Abelard. I set down my tripod and camera bag. I stopped to take it in. It was eerily beautiful, the snow slowly falling, lightly covering the tomb, the flowers, the love letters, laying around the plinth.

I was surprised at the number of single roses and love letters that were strewn in the yard, between the wrought iron fence, and the tomb. Even during the dead of winter, young women pilgrimaged to the tomb, leaving letters and prayers, hoping their love will last forever, in life and in death. Sadness overwhelmed me, as I felt the longing and pain of their and my,  unrequited loves.

I pulled out my camera, turned it on, double checking the battery indicator and exposure. I put the viewfinder to my eye, slowly pressed the shutter till I heard a beep, as the auto focus sharpened the view and my world became crystal clear. I zoomed in and out, composing my shot. I was too close for my lens. I picked up my tripod, turned around, and surveyed my work area.

I moved up the path, three tombs over, next to an old wide trunked chestnut tree, set my tripod and bag down, and recomposed my shot. The snowfall had intensified, to a heavy flurry. The snowflakes were thicker, fluffier, slowly drifting down like dandelion seeds. I was swimming in an ocean of white magical specks. Everything around me was dusted in ******, pure white powder.

I unfolded my tripod, mounted the camera to the head, and verified it was securely attached. I zoomed in and out till I composed my shot, stepping down the aperture and up the speed, till I achieved the dark, moody, feel I wanted. I pressed the shutter and captured the shot.

I was looking through the viewfinder when a woman stepped into my shot. For a split second, I was angry, then confused, then intrigued. I looked up, stepped back from my camera, to see and understand what was unfolding before me.

She was wearing a full-length white Lynx fur coat and cap, black leather gloves and boots. She was stunning, breathtaking. Was I hallucinating? Was she real? She hadn’t seen me, as I was behind her, catty corner, partially hidden by the chestnut tree.


She was holding something. I couldn’t quite see. I looked through the viewfinder, zoomed in on her. She held a single long stemmed blue rose in her left hand.  Instinctively, I pressed the shutter, captured the shot, the photo, the image, of this unworldly scene.

It was late, almost dark. What was she doing here? Was she praying, why, to whom, Heloise, Abelard, or both? She moved up to and placed her right hand on the protective wrought iron fence. I took a shot, then another. Then with her left hand, she gently threw the blue rose, time slowed, I pressed the shutter, never letting go, as the flower arched in the air and landed perfectly, on the plinth, at Heloise's side.

I released the shutter, still looking through the viewfinder. She placed her left hand on the wrought iron fence, bowed her head, just stood there, in the darkness, in the snowfall.

She pulled her right hand away from the wrought iron fence and wiped her eyes. Was she crying?

She slowly turned around. I pressed the shutter, held it down, for a continuous shot. I saw her face, her raven black hair, her incandescent blue eyes. Like a cannonball hitting me in the chest, I realized and recognized who she was. It was her, the woman from the metro.

She looked up, turned her head, and looked directly at me. I zoomed in, framed her face, continuously pressing the shutter. Her face expressionless, her eyes aglow. Had she seen me? I don’t know. She took a step, turned her head, and walked back up the cobble stone path, and faded into the night, into the falling snow.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 27
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy

~~~

the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none

~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”

“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”

“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word  wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life

“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
                                                         ­­ of the vaguest of dearly departed

skin is not the only mot shed,
                                                sloughing of woeful words

“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
excerpts from a few old poems, after reading an interview with Bernard-Henri Lévy
https://www.newyorker.com/news/q-and-a/bernard-henri-levy-on-the-rights-of-women-and-of-the-accused
March 27, 2019 4:48 am
Glory Apr 2018
Words
Are fluid
They drip from mouths
Like blood
They are passion
Anger
And Tears
Words spoken
Galaxies built
Rivulets of
Liquid pain
Reaching into
Souls
Like poison
They are
The first chill of autumn
Holding all locations
They spend decades
Upon a page
Clinging to dark ink
Slashes and smacks
Hisses and kisses
Words hold
The secrets of people
And sometimes
The whole universe
yurf Jul 2018
All of sudden reality happens
Ruining my mind that's already jumbled
"where the hell did i just go?"
I ask to myself no one listens
Obsecurity is still in me
Recognizing situation where i have been
Looking up the sky it's already dark
Worrying something, i need to get up
Home, i need to find home
Stepping forward to pass the crowd
The longer i go, the quieter it's so
Taking my glasses off because its fogged
Focusing my lens but the blur shows
sigh
Now melancholy does it again
Lack of knowledge about locations
Lack of someone to be asked for
And there is no light to guide me on
Vision, direction, companion
I wish i could make them clearer
But in reality, they just disappear
(i already self-published this poem in my blog; quirkysnob.blogspot.com)
against the nations
  oceans, locations
       Wayfaring
Harriet Cleve Oct 28
Crags head old folks home was said to be impregnable.
Set high on the hills of an ancient monastic settlement it was renowned for its disciplined security. No one ever dared to escape for fear of the white uniformed nurses patrolling its perimeters.
Each one armed with a Glock and an AK-47.

Strict curfews starting at ten thirty a.m were enforced. Visitors entering and leaving were strip searched.

Not one unwarranted letter, book, magazine, denture repair kits
monocle or pair of eye glasses went undetected.

Massive search lights were placed at strategic locations around the buildings; on permanent loan from an old **** German who traded them for a recuperative month in the home. Adolf Heidler was never seen again. His fate unknown. Relatives who traced his last whereabouts were refused entry to the premises and the chief supervisor of Crags head denied any knowledge of his existence.

Terror reigned in the home and the drill sergeant rousted the octogenarians out of their bunk beds at three a.m and after a quick thirty minute jog around the buildings, regardless of the weather, they were given their rations of rice, gruel, and stagnant tap water.

These were the conditions then that former parachute member of the fearless SAS regiment, Harry Balderdash, faced on entry into the most secure old folks home in the whole of the British Isles.

Harry stood six foot two in his hush puppy slippers and still had one tooth in his head. A glint in his one remaining eye and the countenance of a man who had stood at the gates of hell, gave the devil a boot in the proverbials, and still made it back to old Blighty for his morning brew of Earl Grey and salmon sandwiches. He was a holder of the V.C and carried a letter from King George V citing his bravery in the jungle wars of Burma.

Harry would need every one of his remaining ninety two year old wits to escape from Crags head old folks home.

The tale I am about to relate to you, dear reader, would go down in legend in the hallowed halls of Westminster and send spine chilling shivers down the spine of every nurse on duty in Crags Head. This then is the story of Harry Balderdash V.C.

It is not for the faint hearted. Fear not those of you reading this who happen to be in an old folks home far from your loved ones. Take courage from the exploits of Harry Balderdash. You are not alone.
Harry's exploits will follow soon
Cat Lynn Apr 17
I am not here, I am not there
You will not find me… Not anywhere

I have not run away, I have not disappeared
I am close. I am closer then I appear

Not sure how to type what I feel
When all of these feelings just make me feel so lost and ill

This is not a rebellion. This isn’t out of frustration
You are not the enemy; I have nothing against your radiation.

In the night I have gone like the wind
But I am alive and well, this is not out of sin.

I am not gone, just hidden away for a while
You know all my locations, all my places, you know my style.

I could be anywhere, but you know where I go
I am not gone; I’m just no longer home… I’m solo

My number code now a mystery, but you know my accounts
You know and have more then what you realize. You have the amount.
You know my people, you know my spots
Although I am physically cold, my heart is burning hot

Forgive me for the pretty little lies, and for my acts and stories
My wrong, my bad, I am sorry. I greatest my apologies.

I am not fooling around with strangers, or with the fools of this earth
I am safe, and I am close by. I am not shutting you out, I’m building my own turf

Watch the black now fade away, the spikes dim and become dull
For I am independently going on this journey on my own, it’s quite the hull

I’m sick of disappointing, I’m sick of the back and forth, I want to truly know
Jesus in the desert for days, Moses on the Mountain, and Elijah with the birds sought Him alone.

Days, and weeks of isolation, alone with Him.
I want to know!!! I Need to seek and find!!! I am so sick of guess’n!!!

As far as I can tell, this is God’s leading, and if it isn’t, He can work it all out
I won’t know until I take the first step into this unfamiliar world. I promise I am safe and sound

Trying to be discerning, and wise with every step I take, as far as I can tell
I can’t hear him when many are shouting. When too many feel the need to yell.

Not abandoning the problem. I’m not abandoning His Call
I am looking for peace and answers. I want to be his Princess. He won’t let me fall.

I don’t hate you, there is no anger or disappointment in this heart
I swear I leave in peace and love, for I am hurting with this part

Dad, I know everything you said and did was only out of love
I know you didn’t mean to hurt and scar me, so I hid my scars with gloves
I know I disappoint, but I contain no anger. I need a moment and time
To ask and then receive, and to seek what I am trying to find
Answers

Mom, you are wonderful and beloved, I’m sorry if I made you feel so worried
I promise you; I am fine and safe and treasured and in good care. Please have no fury
I loved working alongside you and doing what I could to help
You did so much for me, and prayed like a warrior, breaking every spell
Blessing, that is what you are ♥

Rachel, it’s time for me to be trained on how to be a woman of service
I am on my knees like I’ve seen you done so many times. I’m encouraged
I’m sorry… But He has shown me his leading… So, I am just walking forward
I may not know where it takes me… But I swear it is HIM I am walking towards
Boldly

Dennae, I am praying for you and the things you struggle and ache with. I know the look
I’m going to miss your *******-up phrases and your unintentional jokes
But I need to go on a journey with my Savior for a while to know Thy way
He will change your heart, and your desires, you keep seeking His face.
Everything will change when you pray

Amy, I am sorry, but I tried to do what I could to be there for you
I tried to be the big sister I needed to be. I did what I could so you could see Him through
I love you little one. He has an amazing job planned for you ahead.
He has not forgotten nor abandoned you. Because for you, he bled.
Remember His Love

You can come, and see, and visit! You know where you can stop by
I am not dead; I can assure you, that I am very much alive.

Take care of my baby fluff, and the fish down below
Trying to follow His leading, and not drench myself so low…

Time to grow up, time to discover and learn.
He is the greatest teacher; He will protect me from the fires that burn

Gone indeed… But to really seek and discover what is in store
Alone and Solo, I depend on Him to really speak and show. My body on the floor

Don’t be worried, scared, or frightened, for I am in good hands
I love you; I miss you. You are not locked away from my stands

From the darkness, I escape, but only to seek the light
Forgive me, my beloved family… but I need to take this step… I’ll be alright

I may have crossed the line
But I know as long as I seek Him… and Surrender to Him, He’ll make everything fine…

Till I can see you again, Beloved Family
April 13, 2019 - 1:00 am

My Move-Out Poem Letter to my family before I left...
Journeys I've embarked on
near and far I've gone
places I've visited
variegated locations
evoking divers emotions
but none could quite duplicate
all the sensations
I feel when I'm with you

Love
-love can almost depict it
but not quite
harmonious shades
and dulcet sounds
can almost describe it
but it is much more
yes, much much more!

This ardour
unselfish
not boastful
winningly considerate
never keeping records of wrongs
patient
kind
understanding


The sweet  sensations
that emanate  from you
leave me with a warm feeling
what on earth shall I call it
it is much more
yes, much much more than the word
love.
Liz Alvarez Sep 2018
I think about the day I was born.
I had a leg deformity due to a stupid *** nurse ******* up.
They gave my mom to choose between a lifetime of surgeries to correct them or break my newborn legs into place and hope for the best.
My mother choose none.
She put me in double diapers till she noticed my legs growing back to normal.
And for her, I am grateful she choose to ignore them.

I think about the day my dad left my mom and I.
He choose 5 minutes of *** with an already adulterous married person than to be with his loving wife and only child.
My mom before and even after the demise of their marriage, would still pick up my biological father from unknown locations.
Too drunk to even remember, he wonders how he got there and why his now ex wife and baby were in a strange unknown car with him.
Too dumb to remember the person he's sleeping with, they didn't even bother to look for him or even care to notice he was out.
Those moments that I've soon to know about, I acknowledge my mother's strength in all the chaos that was to come about.

I think about the day my mother, my aunt and I got assaulted right in front of our home.
The man had a large machete sticking towards my throat as he asks for my mother's car keys.
She throws them out and quickly grabs me and pushes my aunt into our apartment.
My mother calls the police as my aunt tries to comfort me.
I cry for my biological father.
My mother tucked me in and kisses me to sleep.
I learned that day to never depend on anyone for security but myself.

I think about the day we lost our home.
My mother and I were to be evicted from our first actual home because of a disgraceful woman who had been defrauding us.
We moved in with my uncle in a tiny room he spared us.
It seemed it would wonderful living there, as I saw my uncle as my father.
A new life came into the house and everything changed.
My mother and I were now felt to be confined in our room.
I witnessed a paper by mistake of some apartments for rent on his wife's desk.
Who else would this designated for? Obvious right?!
We were then forced to look for a home as soon as we even just moved in.
I learned that day that *** is more important than helping out your own flesh and blood.

I think about the day I decided to end my 6 year relationship.
The beginning was great until he saw his potential with others.
Secret messages and meet ups began happen behind my back.
Yet still, I forgave him after finding out this later on.
Of course he continued as I turn a blind eye.
The last first time of our day, I began to see his un-interest in me and our future together.
I began to unravel and truly see for the first time that history was and would be repeating itself.
I saw myself caring a child as he would be off drunk and being with adulterous women.  
Just as my mother.
Later found out, he had physically cheated on me.
On our last first day.
I learned to let go of what was hurting me emotionally, of what was to be my future and what was the future of my children to come.

I think about the day this person hurt me.
He was to be my savior.
He helped me through a nasty breakup and what emotions I had coming out of it.
He comforted me as I comforted him as well.
He listened to my secrets I never even told my past lover, not even my best friend.
I heard his dark secrets as well as we hanged out in a beautiful cold beach.
What was to be our place of solace.
Our place.
Things couldn't go on anymore for him with our complex relationship.
He ended it as while he ended my trust.
I began to feel things I thought you could never feel with someone you cared for deeply.
But it was too late.
He had said goodbye before I could even say thank you for at least being there for me when no one else would.
I learned that the person you are meant to be with is the one.
Your soulmate, your sun to your moon.
But it's just not the time or even the right moment in this current lifetime.

I think about the day I wanted to end my life.
I cleaned my room spotless. Cleaned the bathroom, the backyard, everything.
You get the gist.
I placed a note on my bookcase.
Each note was to be dispersed to an individual in whom I love deeply.
I wrote down information to all my accounts to everything I was connected to.
Instructions were even put in place to what to do with my body as well as my belongings.
I had a plan.
Everything was set.
I looked around my house for what was to be the last time.
Swallowing a container and preparing a knot, I glanced at my dog and the picture of my best friend.
He looked curiously at the knot I was preparing.
He cried of course, being the crybaby he is.
I sent a message to my best friend saying I love her and I'll be watching over you.
No reply back of course.
Life moves on.
I know she was busy working.
I got on a chair and wrapped the knot around my neck.
I breathed in and out as slowly as I could.
Preparing of what was to be my escape from all the pain.
I began to cry, thinking about my mom.
How devastated she would be.
She would have to witness my lifeless body hanging in the closet.
Cutting off the knot so viciously and giving herself every ounce of her strength to bring me back.
Knowing what I know about my mom, she would 100% join me soon after.
That is how much we love each other.
For we could not live without each other.
I felt a tug at the chair I was standing on.
My dog wouldn't stop trying to get on the chair with me.
He began to cry and of course wanting my attention.
I loosened the knot and throw away everything in such a rush.
I immediately made myself ***** as much as possible.
And then cleaned up, and hugged my dog.
Even though he hesitantly hates hugs, he willingly let me.
I learned that even though things seem tough, there will always be a shining light waiting for you. It just wasn't my time to go yet.

I think about the day I needed to do something with my life.
I finally and unwilling let go.
I went on a couple dates.
Finally meeting someone that loves me for me.
I thought of before how some people look for certain characteristics when looking for a potential partner.
At this point of my life, I don't care anymore.
I don't look for a a person with money, with a extravagant home, rich lifestyle or any of that mess.
He was nothing at all what I had expected to fall for.
He cares for me as I care for him deeply.
He wants a future with me as I just want a future with him as well.
He builds me up and I encourage him up towards our dreams, our hopes and our desire to be better people for each other in this ever growing world.
I know I have a purpose here on this earth.
I just gotta keep looking forward.
And hope it will continue this way until it is my time to go.
Dedicated to my mom. She is the strongest person I will ever come to know. And to those who are starting to lose hope.
CharlesC Jan 11
doors of perception
when cleansed will reveal
our true nature..
this is the sage advice
of a statured voice..

the cleansing
clears away beliefs
which have imprisoned
for so very long..
beliefs of locations
and of timespans
which have locked
the doors of access to
our infinite blue sky..

freedom awaits
as in hasty fashion
we release the hold
of stifling beliefs
and sink into the blue..
then from the viewpoint
of an infinite self
we understand that
the doors were never
closed...
"If  the doors of perception were
cleansed everything wold appear
to man as it is: infinite."
~~William Blake
Nyx105 Feb 3
I’m stuck in a loop day in and day out
A cycle that never ends
A cycle I can not break
No matter how hard I try to escape
It is a leach holding onto my time
Draining me of my mentality
I can’t control it no matter how hard I try
Luring me sweets and all kinds of treats for my brain to devour
It leads me to different locations
I for it so it keeps me happy
I used to be able to say goodbye whenever I wanted
But now I am chained
Being held underwater
Floating up for a second for a gasp of air
Then being held down
As the waves wash over me
It promises more fun

I know what to
I know what is right
The choice is easy
So why don’t I choose it
Again and again
It does things that I hate
It does things that others hate
Even though it makes me sad
Even though it hurts me
Breaking down trust and friendships
Everyday another rule is being added on
I don’t want help
It doesn't matter what other people say
Even if I know they are right
I know I need to leave
But I am trapped
Inside my own brain
It has a name
But I don’t like it
For some reason I still follow it
Procrastination

— The End —