Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
1969 Hartford art school is magnet for exceedingly intelligent over-sensitive under-achievers alluring freaks congenital creeps and anyone who cannot cut it in straight world it is about loners dreamers stoners clowns cliques of posers competing to dress draw act most outrageous weird wonderful classrooms clash in diversity of needs some students get it right off while others require so much individual attention one girl constantly raises her hand calls for everything to be repeated explained creativity is treated as trouble and compliance to instruction rewarded most of faculty are of opinion kids are not capable of making original artwork teachers discourage students from dream of becoming well-known until they are older more experienced only practiced skilled artists are competent to create ‘real art’ defined by how much struggle or multiple meanings weave through the work Odysseus wants to make magic boxes without knowing or being informed of Joseph Cornell one teacher tells him you think you’re going to invent some new color the world has never seen? you’re just some rowdy brat from the midwest with a lot of crazy ideas and no evidence of authenticity another teacher warns you’re nothing more than a bricoleur! Odysseus questions what’s a bricoleur teacher informs a rogue handyman who haphazardly constructs from whatever is immediately available Odysseus questions what’s wrong with that? teacher answers it’s low-class folk junk  possessing no real intellectual value independently he reads Marshall McLuhan’s “The Medium Is The Message” and “The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci” he memorizes introductory remark of Leonardo’s “i must do like one who comes last to the fair and can find no other way of providing for himself than by taking all the things already seen by others and not taken by reason of their lesser value” Odysseus dreams of becoming accomplished important artist like Robert Rauschenberg Jasper Johns Andy Warhol he dreams of being in eye of hurricane New York art scene he works for university newspaper and is nicknamed crashkiss the newspaper editor is leader in student movement and folk singer who croons “45 caliber man, you’re so much more than our 22, but there’s so many more of us than you” Odysseus grows mustache wears flower printed pants vintage 1940’s leather jacket g.i. surplus clothes he makes many friends his gift for hooking up with girls is uncanny he is long haired drug-crazed hippie enjoying popularity previously unknown to him rock bands play at art openings everyone flirts dances gets ****** lots of activism on campus New York Times dubs university of Hartford “Berkeley of the east coast” holding up ******* in peace sign is subversive in 1969 symbol of rebellion youth solidarity gesture against war hawks rednecks corporate America acknowledgment of potential beyond materialistic self-righteous values of status quo sign of what could be in universe filled with incredible possibilities he moves in with  painting student one year advanced named Todd Whitman Todd has curly blond hair sturdy build wire rimmed glasses impish smile gemini superb draftsman amazing artist Todd emulates Francisco de Goya and Albrecht Durer Todd’s talent overshadows Odysseus’s Todd’s dad is accomplished professor at distinguished college in Massachusetts to celebrate Odysseus’s arrival Todd cooks all day preparing spaghetti dinner when Odysseus arrives home tripping on acid without appetite Todd is disappointed Odysseus runs down to corner store buys large bottle of wine returns to house Todd is eating spaghetti alone they get drunk together then pierce each other’s ears with needles ice wine cork pierced ears are outlaw style of bad *** bikers like Hell’s Angels Todd says you are a real original Odys and funny too Odysseus asks funny, how? Todd answers you are one crazy ******* drop acid whenever you want smoke **** then go to class this is fun tonight Odys getting drunk and piercing our ears Odysseus says yup i’m having a good time too Todd and Odysseus become best friends Odysseus turns Todd on to Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” and “Ariel” then they both read Ted Hughes “Crow” illustrated with Leonard Baskin prints Todd turns Odysseus on to German Expressionist painting art movement of garish colors emotionally violent imagery from 1905-1925 later infuriating Third ***** who deemed the work “degenerate” Odysseus dives into works of Max Beckmann Otto Dix Conrad Felixmulller Barthel Gilles George Grosz Erich Heckel Ernst Ludwig Kirchner Felix Nussbaum Karl *******Rottluff Carl Hofer August Macke Max Peckstein Elfriede Lohse-Wachtler Egon Shiele list goes on in 1969 most parents don’t have money to buy their children cars most kids living off campus either ride bikes or hitchhike to school then back home on weekends often without a penny in their pockets Odysseus and Todd randomly select a highway and hitch rides to Putney Vermont Brattleboro Boston Cape Cod New York City or D.C. in search of adventure there is always trouble to be found curious girls to assist in Georgetown Odysseus sleeps with skinny girl with webbed toes who believes he is Jesus he tries to dissuade her but she is convinced

Toby Mantis is visiting New York City artist at Hartford art school he looks like huskier handsomer version of Ringo Starr and women dig him he builds stretchers and stretches canvases for Warhol lives in huge loft in Soho on Broadway and Bleeker invites Odysseus to come down on weekends hang out Toby takes him to Max’s Kansas City Warhol’s Electric Circus they wander all night into morning there are printing companies longshoremen gays in Chelsea Italians in West Village hippies playing guitars protesting the war in Washington Square all kinds of hollering crazies passing out fliers pins in Union Square Toby is hard drinker Odysseus has trouble keeping up  he pukes his guts out number of times Odysseus is *** head not drinker he explores 42nd Street stumbles across strange exotic place named Peep Show World upstairs is large with many **** cubicles creepy dudes hanging around downstairs is astonishing there are many clusters of booths with live **** girls inside girls shout out hey boys come on now pick me come on boys there are hundreds of girls from all over the world in every conceivable size shape race he enters dark stall  puts fifty cents in coin box window screen lifts inside each cluster are 6 to 10 girls either parading or glued to a window for $1 he is allowed to caress kiss their ******* for $2 he is permitted to probe their ****** or *** for $10 girl reaches hand into darkened stall jerks him off tall slender British girl thrills him the most she says let me have another go at your dickey Odysseus spends all his money ******* 5 times departing he notices men from every walk of life passing through wall street stockbrokers executives rednecks mobsters frat boys tourists fat old bald guys smoking thick smelly cigars Toby Mantis has good-looking girlfriend named Lorraine with long brown hair Toby Lorraine and Odysseus sit around kitchen table Odysseus doodles with pencil on paper Toby spreads open Lorraine’s thighs exposing her ****** to Odysseus Lorraine blushes yet permits Toby to finger her Odysseus thinks she has the most beautiful ****** he has ever seen bulging pelvic bone brown distinctive bush symmetric lips Toby and Lorraine watch in amusement as Odysseus gazes intently Tony mischievously remarks you like looking at that ***** don’t you? Odysseus stares silently begins pencil drawing Lorraine’s ****** his eyes darting back and forth following day Lorraine seduces Odysseus while Toby is away walks out **** from shower she is few years older her body lean with high ******* she directs his hands mouth while she talks with someone on telephone it is strange yet quite exciting Odysseus is in awe of New York City every culture in the world intermingling democracy functioning in an uncontrollable managed breath millions of people in motion stories unraveling on every street 24 hour spectacle with no limits every conceivable variety of humanity ******* in same air Odysseus is bedazzled yet intimidated

Odysseus spends summer of 1970 at art colony in Cummington Massachusetts it is magical time extraordinary place many talented eccentric characters all kinds of happenings stage plays poetry readings community meals volleyball after dinner volleyball games are hilarious fun he lives alone in isolated studio amidst wild raspberries in woods shares toilet with field mouse no shower he reads Jerzy Kosinski’s “Painted Bird” then “Being There” then “Steps” attractive long haired girl named Pam visits community for weekend meets Odysseus they talk realize they were in first grade together at Harper amazing coincidence automatic ground for “we need to have *** because neither of us has seen each other since first grade” she inquires where do you sleep? Todd hitches up from Hartford to satisfy curiosity everyone sleeps around good-looking blue-eyed poet named Shannon Banks from South Boston tells Odysseus his ******* is not big enough for kind of ******* she wants but she will **** him off that’s fine with him 32 year old poet named Ellen Morrissey from Massachusetts reassures him ******* is fine Ellen is beginning to find her way out from suffocating marriage she has little daughter named Nina Ellen admires Odysseus’s free spirit sees both his possibilities and naïveté she realizes he has crippling family baggage he has no idea he is carrying thing about trauma is as it is occurring victim shrugs laughs to repel shock yet years later pain horror sink in turned-on with new ideas he returns to Hartford art school classes are fun yet confusing he strives to be best drawer most innovative competition sidetracks him Odysseus uses power drill to carve pumpkin on Halloween teachers warn him to stick to fundamentals too much creativity is suspect Todd and he are invited to holiday party Odysseus shows up with Ellen Morrissey driving in her father’s station wagon 2 exceptionally pretty girls flirt with him he is live wire they sneak upstairs he fingers both at same time while they laugh to each other one of the girls Laura invites him outside to do more he follows they walk through falling snow until they find hidden area near some trees Laura lies down lifts her skirt she spreads her legs dense ***** mound he is about to explore her there when Laura looks up sees figure with flashlight following their tracks in snow she warns it’s Bill my husband run for your life! Odysseus runs around long way back inside party grabs a beer pretending he has been there next to Ellen all night few minutes later he sees Laura and Bill return through front door Bill has dark mustache angry eyes Odysseus tells Ellen it is late maybe they should leave soon suddenly Bill walks up to him with beer in hand cracks bottle over his head glass and beer splatter Odysseus jumps up runs out to station wagon Ellen hurriedly follows snow coming down hard car is wedged among many guest vehicles he starts engine locks doors maneuvers vehicle back and forth trying to inch way out of spot Bill appears from party walks to his van disappears from out of darkness swirling snow Bill comes at them wielding large crowbar smashes car’s headlights taillights side mirrors windshield covered in broken glass Ellen ducks on floor beneath glove compartment sobs cries he’s going to **** us! we’re going to die! Odysseus steers station wagon free floors gas pedal drives on back country roads through furious snowstorm in dark of night no lights Odysseus contorts crouches forward in order to see through hole in shattered windshield Ellen sees headlights behind them coming up fast it is Bill in van Bill banging their bumper follows them all the way back to Hartford to Odysseus’s place they run inside call police Bill sits parked van outside across street as police arrive half hour later Bill pulls away next day Odysseus and Ellen drive to Boston to explain to Ellen’s dad what has happened to his station wagon Odysseus stays with Ellen in Brookline for several nights another holiday party she wants to take him along to meet her friends her social circles are older he thinks to challenge their values be outrageous paints face Ellen is horrified cries you can’t possibly do this to me these are my close friends what will they think? he defiantly answers my face is a mask who cares what i look like? man woman creature what does it matter? if your friends really want to know me they’ll need to look beyond the make-up tonight i am your sluttish girlfriend! sometimes Odysseus can be a thoughtless fool

Laura Rousseau Shane files for divorce from Bill she is exceptionally lovely models at art school she is of French descent her figure possessing exotic traits she stands like ballerina with thick pointed ******* copious ***** hair Odysseus is infatuated she frequently dances pursues him Laura says i had the opportunity to meet Bob Dylan once amazed Odysseus questions what did you do? she replies what could i possibly have in common with Bob Dylan? Laura teases Odysseus about being a preppy then lustfully gropes him grabs holds his ***** they devote many hours to ****** intimacy during ******* she routinely reaches her hand from under her buns grasps his testicles squeezing as he pumps he likes that Laura is quite eccentric fetishes over Odysseus she even thrills to pick zits on his back he is not sure if it is truly a desire of hers proof of earthiness or simply expression of mothering Laura has two daughters by Bill Odysseus is in over his head Laura tells Odysseus myth of Medea smitten with love for Jason Jason needs Medea’s help to find Golden Fleece Medea agrees with promise of marriage murders her brother arranges ****** of king who has deprived Jason his inheritance couple is forced into exile Medea bears Jason 2 sons then Jason falls in love with King Creon’s daughter deserts Medea is furious she makes shawl for King Creon’s daughter to wear at her wedding to Jason  shawl turns to flames killing bride Medea murders her own sons by Jason Odysseus goes along with story for a while but Laura wants husband Odysseus is merely scruffy boy with roving eyes Laura becomes galled by Odysseus leaves him for one of his roommates whom she marries then several years later divorces there is scene when Laura tells Odysseus she is dropping him for his roommate he is standing in living room of her house space is painted deep renaissance burgundy there are framed photographs on walls in one photo he is hugging Laura and her daughters under big oak tree in room Laura’s friend Bettina other girl he fingered first night he met Laura at party is watching with arms crossed he drops to floor curls body sobs i miss you so much Laura turns to Bettina remarks look at him men are such big babies he’s pitiful Bettina nods

following summer he works installing displays at G. Fox Department Store besides one woman gay men staff display department for as long as he can remember homosexuals have always been attracted to him this misconception is probably how he got job his tenor voice suggesting not entirely mature man instead more like tentative young boy this ambiguous manifestation sometimes also evidences gestures thoroughly misleading after sidestepping several ****** advances one of his co-workers bewilderingly remarks you really are straight manager staff are fussy chirpy catty group consequently certain he is not gay they discriminate against him stick him with break down clean up slop jobs at outdoor weekend rock concert in Constitution Plaza he meets 2 younger blond girls who consent to go back to his place mess around both girls are quite dazzling yet one is somewhat physically undeveloped they undress and model for Odysseus radio plays Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly With His Song” both girls move to rhythm sing along he thinks to orchestrate direct decides instead to let them lead lies on bed while curvaceous girl rides his ******* slender girl sits on his face they switch all 3 alternate giggle laughter each girl reaches ****** on his stiffness later both assist with hands mouths his ****** is so intense it leaves him paralyzed for a moment

in fall he is cast as Claudius in production of Hamlet Odysseus rehearses diligently on nights o
Set of cave genes If you could read... pluri freedoms of the dark light of ignorance teach understand that breathe under the Naturality Natural Nature is not necessary to have an understanding heart and store on their empty heads of knowing ancient rain where wisdom possess. If dance on every grain of chickpea for each foot plant what could a plant obey; foot, Plant, and Plantation...

Resulting in kingdoms on my animals, fungi, plants, and protists, media freedom as a seed to reach our evolutionary lack of ceased hopeness...

First  Ellipsis Angle loneliness"God felt Chained"

Chained down by dragging the last link of its multiple arcane freedom in which transfigured recent swings where he collapsed with the latter being of himself whose life lies lifeless alive but lost. The latter that child not to know and deprived of nascent freedom that will never be born and come knowledge in our genome of Independence.

When the caveman thought to be a complement to the world is enslaved by the mystery of lost in himself... The born and born, never dies, that's so naive and innocent... is still full unaware of their free will, rather it is he who must re-literate and be a living part of the ancestral genome Cavernario component. Oh Heavenly Lord of the steppes I look because more of you today without having lived what you lived, as he would have played with my gaze to succor and keep you had fallen into the fangs of an animal, or you had fallen on the glacier cliff where he has separated you from your Clan Cave.

Emancipation means to be always innocent, my blood runs through yours,
I read and understand any phenomenon of deprivation exist without you lack wisdom satiate if all your generations crushed by the ignorance of falling subject will be well, me and my being I take my precognitions as a tormented child's worst nightmare before about sleeping. Sixth Papal almost, almost kneel before the creation of memorizes creation. This prerogative Lord lives Bread’s God Minor remaining....of whose iconography will not leave this fifth fraternal dimension will not come, if not more will enter the latter end of absolute solitude... and shorter than the last thousand years of Neandertal.


Cavernary Political and Ellipsis:

On a day of gentle wind and tense rain proclaiming Clan joined, they all shouted running, the ground shook and the children slept in terror... the 10 infants who were talking about the Sign from above, but the nines they crossed his arms remaining to create solidarity roof that protects the man in your imagination...
The eighth child of the clan ran quickly into the arms of his mother and she imagined how far, how far would never come... uncharacteristically who came with his brother seventh had in their hands the word of entertainment of Being, to be a plaintiff political all of braiding them together with lines enabling the hermit may decide that creation is a mass of lines of certain fashions together, everything sings like the slightest cyclamen dew on the line pointy rough fallen fungus. All arms folded on the upper porch of the Vatican Macario in Franconia, saying that many who unite in their fevered requests large modern man ceased to be autonomous when it came out of their caves and charnel pit.

Ran all she enjoyed doing that almost without knowing whether or not they fall...
Ran because of every day the sun ahead of them a lesson for a man of the future...
They are running to be released the day of his birth chained to stars of light, to carry him to his mother and father, sneaking to his brothers.

Brother worn eleventh birth to her existence as another being evolved Eukaryotic: Surely those provided beings of cell membranes rhizomes reflected in higher liberty lives purged of ectoplasm walk without a discounted subsidiary. Shakespeare in Helsingor appeared immune to a blood brother to all that limits the Draconian feel in the pinnacles drawn 700 greened steeds. From the deepest swoon in the underworld subway Helsingor, follow the prevailing souls presided over by the great ear of the hard sandcastle, stressed hard Ghosts of Stratford upon Avon.

Freedom plague spits words of pancreatic poisoned exordium, spits verses of confusion disorders without permission, without solid bass sound without liquid sea that resists mad edges followed by solid sound...
But smaller stones give priority to conjugate final sentence and noble verses Guardian
to mission how important would Liberation:

Maybe it's a synonymy of Astral Solar...
It is not Solitude, is a free nation that has its own kind prosecutor's office for even when Euthanasia closes your eyes to the astral, will run the stones of the Sea of joy believing that neither you dare if there is no healthy grass to clarify the rainy day terror.


Reverse walk creeks aggravated birds feet, walking great playful ruse.
Reverse run my comrades preparing festivity meals with chandeliers and singing lay plenary., Singing Avenue pine port Firenze, Second run subtracting minutes and hours the minute is enough for me with your face in my arms to recognize your longevity anathema times oblique faces for lip-smacking hailstones Templars.

In 1297 in northern Italy nearby rural families migrate to chalky Venice, Perugia came the exiles walked to find their independence south of the Iberian Peninsula. They were so atoned as in the echoing flutes, harps, zithers, and harpsichords field temperate; They invited the blunting of intemperate monocordio.

Golden Chariot Carrenio

The golden carriage carrying them came without a single space rather than inheritances acquired goldsmiths of ancient noble and chaste solid shine. Carrenio; the coachman wore on his left arm bracelet thousand mobile travel without stopping to drink more water and to feed their horses. After revamping its gold pieces bartered by a slave who was getting Carrenio Christians fleeing the Romans. Well, they fled as far as the plains of great earthly squandered his memory and that end of the end should come.

How am away from my land more I learn it's back to her,
There is no ground for the first time, but that which is foreign
Carrenio of Perugia and sensed that ****** was Jewish ashes,
Luther King black paste of burnt forest,
Mandela and Biko Ogre garage from Victorian Empire,
Gandhi in his humility is always put behind the Sun
to figure out the small
Tagore trashed my heart caressing the entire universe uncorrupted
Hölderlin together in the cabin waiting for his mother at Zimmerman,
That my beloved Borker forest should shine gold teeth with black resin,
Theresa of Calcutta was eaten and swallowed all diseases lepers knowing good taste proverbial dessert psalm,
Jose Miguel Carrera was more than a trench, clay bullets in each of his temples where he received
To be doubly Lonco is to be halved, lacerated by lay his head on his land, not galloping on his back throngs of wit and hope out Nazareth trembles when an F-16 diluted ***** covering landless caravans Heritage continues to lead the people killed but the mosque wall has been Fe Erecta.
Helena plenipotentiary Kowalska at Vilnius, Faustina Divine Mercy Diadema
The agonizing deprivation of millions of people with cancer in every continent of private well-being analgesic, weighed down by increased pain, almost as strong as the Master Hammered Golgotha, so it was that Joshua has cancer always to slow it down on us. Benigno whether metastasis, malignant albeit benign finance.
The death of an innocent little angel devoured by the beast remains as a fluff hairless sardine in the jaws of a shark baron.
Khalil Gibran writes that with both hands to support the reviewer behind in Bicharri and bohemian Paris,

Salvador Allende Gossens was born since he was deceived by his parents who would heal politics, would rather dig their ancestors in their brains scattered in the currency in face seal or tail of.

Frei Montalva that today has to receive the Macro Augusto Heaven their arms, their sorrows, and regrets, although his worst military executioner.

Legion is an offshoot of liquid central gray material, which defers well done becoming but not defeated, it is the decree of the divine threshold space Living or ceases to live, that failure does not exist, it is the postponement of success - success.

The Genocide September 11 in New York was a ritual, who produced was a small wrath strength of the Rotary world, as the camshaft is upset in the history of trying to make more alphabet in schools where the flag hoisting and found scholars in West and East, so they can learn more than reading of both unlettered, lip and water to possess it to write with it. The worst disaster is read with the memory that will never happen... I write my greatest need with lipstick and my greatest need I write eagerly to participate. Yesterday I passed by a boutique and buy lipsticks that are closer to the language, written with the mouth and not the hand. !

Freedom, debauchery, libration, drawer, Bookstores..! Carrenio..: he said see I'm right! Raise and educate has a great synonymy with autonomy because the ancestors wrote everything that deprived them and made them fear, but do not have to eat the autumn gives me to dress the return of spring, bread orchid, and cineraria. Hence by that inner syllabic singing hunger sated that sought sheet to sheet rid of everything until the end of the book as the encounter between night and day without considering oblivious to anything or anyone on the track window swing wind, wind seeping.


It was old Zeus or Hera of Antique,
Cavern to house geometric polyphonic, angular seeds to create fashions kiss kissed everything that any vertical plane does not fit with the closed horizon
For hands and angels, Hebrews the inner soul of every carpenter and stonemason shrunk, wash their eyes and cheeks with songs of vibration and idyllic comfort,
Everything resembled and sounded Bethlehem 2.0 deities choirs sweeping grasslands,
The similarity of this clairvoyant child is born in a cave...
Rising motherly free Soliloquy Papini sitting to the right of ruminant cattle,
So archaic that to be born is not born in a clinic mega Cristus but hundreds of kilometers and hundreds who are born with the undergirding whispers and servitude being.
Where the multi gray impetuous born star is a healthy gauze story in the present tense... this angelic child grows by Miriam washes his feet in a belligerent abolished stone. His father must wash their hands on a stone which is where measured his ecclesiastical mystical stature, stone Madonna to heal his feet where he leaves to free himself, to free us... Marble gamete fémina vault, where he sleeps without knowing whether it is due, the ***** fell from the sky.
How wise is the Wise, it makes permissible for much more than two thousand years we stone quarry wheel and wheel, homily, and blessing to not wake at night to sleep startle middle and uphill.

Me of the referent of antiquity is not me of today is polished cobble stone,
Useful weapon quarry road there and backtrack to have blisters stone and soft thoughts under my pillow soft stone as a whole.

If you're ****** private living and have a free soul choosing coexist, then you are low in the cemetery on a tombstone of heresies.

Neolithic early 4500 after Hildegard von Bingen and his entourage and prowled full and channeled, swooning in her swoon with flowers in his hands and his followers planting forests on top of Stonehenge.

Carrenio says...: you see I'm right, we coexist, I die like the worst ****** cancer and then put a tombstone Stonehenge conspire in my honor black pain prayers of Salisbury. It blooms in vibrant red rubies that detonate in chromaticity and life. The stream itself is exceeded the aquatic plant Macarenia.

Call us and civilize us, outdated as far as my tired feet though I come not ashamed to see my new tracks.

Carrenio says...; see I'm right Joshua has traces of gold from other Caterpillar shod feet. Antique everything is prescribed according to their legacy today is Lent Pro that came before it was Lent vestige Pentecost came to be a nickname of the mystery of the passion in less than a rooster crows.

Beside it is the mystery of the disappointment of stubborn demon, which helps you all carry the cross, but not the entire load. Fire and Light at dawns where the splendor born...


Genome Freedom, even today every centimeter of my witness of each component, if the basic origin of the signs of the primitive world, is that we have lost the bark of the lexicon, which does not allow us to understand the meditations to ask for something, not You need to ask something. Today genome is requesting something because thousands of people who asked for millions of years, now it's time to cater to them. They were wrapped in cloth shroud of spiritual sacredness, today cemeteries mega dance their souls leave no sleepers both much grass on their heads not yet sullied by the puppet Azrael.


Impossible not to decorate the rocks forged empires that fall into the rubble, they bring 476 d. C., a new opening Middle age freedom of travel both in history thousands of years begins a new axis Golden Carrenio’s Chariot.

Carrenio Wagon

This great colossal ship Carrenio time is a timber that holds the sky, a beam that does not faint or distended thousands a. C, and the old age of King's large musings that were forgotten. It is astride ship millennium, their history of oppression has seen in the wheel, instrument wise rolling like a wheel before 5, 000 years ago, here  We fought and prostrated to distant lands millennium after millennium him away.

Golden Chariot is the structure that freedman us to enforce a new life on earth, even the Gods prided themselves move the stars to constellations called her noble Auriga sailing in full the Universes and Cartwheel Galaxy or cart Wheel. As if to say that when the Universe and its own mythology, were visited between them inch by inch by wherever they shine.

Carrenio mask and frame used had strength, temper, and tittle. When the first libertarian squall of antiquity came closer, Rome was already small and nobles populate what is a quote, Piccola. The executioner always frightened and starts out of his own wickedness. Markos Botsaris as did in Greece, and surrounding towns Messologhi remote, they were free more than tuned in massif Arankithos high wind. He was riding to Kanti once again with the golden rider Etrestles of Kalavrita. According to the Chronicle that came from distant millennia has envisioning promote its neighbor's heroic to free Messolonghi of ****** wars. All this I saw with his own eyes Carrenio, every thousand years styling with Etrestles, cleaned their nostrils so that new breed of horses to thrive,

Avignon, in the necropolis, witnessed as Azrael was cleaning his wings Jade antipopes, another story begins... even he seeks to candela who can read this story, and who can provide it from hand to hand cutting semicolons who disclosed.


Second  Ellipsis Angle  New Era:

Ara released the ropes throwing a big ship, History makes a man is at the center of the world. Revolutions, thinking, communication, and especially vindicate man in his right-libertarian. artists with their creations flowing all over the world, mutating classic Renaissance to abstract overlook. Family appearing welfare and needs. A ramble and so many broken laws. Mankind is distracted l film and theater artist of tradition. Art now has sound and movement, then social and political revolutions are industrial that unite everyone behind the pivot deployment of social classes.


Everything evolves until we get tired of doing so. It rests and then continues. This is modern reality, we wrote about the history of events on facts that have never been told. The world has tired all the Eras, but each pause time that has happened has been recharged, nothing finished if not started again. After so many wise lawyers, clergy plunged into great towers bound books. Is evident again can not read or understand. Our realities are missing valid without knowing I close and then open another door. human and civil rights, fair wages, so excessive autocracy monarchy. Freeman can walk along the paths, even if they were trenches.

Zephyr soft murmur which clutters in the Irises by Van Gogh, the painter is the biggest star trek, called with his feet images and colors that would make his own liberty to live naturally insane. And many others Brueghel "Triumph of Death" that roam the countryside, perhaps a medieval piece of Tarskovski; Andrei Rublev in futile painters decorating steps in the fontano chignon Androniko Monastery Moscow, extinct Rublev 70 years, Tarkovsky 54.

Early ellipsis - Campo dei Fiori in Rome to see die at the stake Giordano Bruno by order of the Holy Inquisition. The irruption of the Inquisition, but their feet are touching the flowers, the seasoned cassock continues to haunt the universe of Faith Dominica Trastevere, it is seen to lectures on how to be bold with the informers and the Whistle Blower dies without shade in spring, you resist the star on the asphalt on the magical island of holiness.

Carrenio says: Come I'm right, we can not read, because the brutality of the Cosmos is manure per ton weathered in the backyard of the aristocracy. I will continue with respect and crosed in Crete. Lila Kedrova means the fear of bunk bed tied to her bed and is free in foreign lands leg. Queen insular matriarchy, she lives more than any Greek Goddess, waiting for his Adonis, to fill out honors. Win an Oscar but lost to Zorba, he loses his house but won a Tony Awards. How many women teach us that to win you have to give everything to lose his brains, and thus count as the lost number remains to be retained. Zorba whines in her arms, she moans in the arms of her husband Zeus Steve, proof of a new era. Onyx for his tomb, plate of this great tragedy.

On the evening of December 14, 1964, attended the premiere. Soul of Carrenio was with them but was denied his attendance at the banquet, finally running out and watching the glasses lips and stoles spent his neck.

                                          
          ­                      Numbered Mysterious Death
                                                  Mané

If I have to feel floe on my feet and cold in my prayers will be the Dark Glory. What is slimming rays of the day, everything smelled of silence, maybe it was Kennedy, or better was The Mané.

Closure of my glory suffers the wind...
Flowers lying silence my soul alight,
Thick square displays the song of my voice...
When they speak Quadratils one to one order their
Spirituous voice.

And the spirit singing fiber of my heart told me:
Never you say I Exist ¡ not exist because they do not exist!
Only face daily the different reflection of your body
In front of yourself with another face and another body...

I want to talk with the thought
And this same subtract my little silhouette,
Lavishes wingless bird that flies only in their theology...
That is the duty and melt with my look,
Solid colors components
Crunching the altars of heaven retaining its pale warmth of anorexia.

Yellow Glory hair good event...
If you receive yellow lights, plus I do not sing my own game here in my empty veins,
Yellow my heart...
Yellow my heart
Yellow my collective heart.

They are run by large green and sunny meadows, children who had Mane in this major milestone in its last gasp. Now she is the mother of his children; it up and them in the last temptation of the mystery of death.

Carrenio keeps rolling, the brightness offered his Golden wagon to the ground. Gold grooves ago, and looking at where it realizes that it's landmass light mud. Since he felt whispers from the confines of time he had never felt as if you were finishing your journey or the world. It raining years and years and continues because nobody mends the mysterious death Numbered.

Heaven and Earth did not hold, the bottom fell precipitously pocket Lord and denied several times uncontained. She shivered in the World and the rooster crowed several times to never be heard or the Pentagon.

He is walking and knees bent,
we embraced by the golden chariot and oxen nor held
we bent us all lying on his knees,
up shoulders not hear from where came the bad grace of his departure,
numbered all the time of complaints of how then she would come,
It is unknown who would be but brought wine in his hand on the crispy mask
We ran from side to side and nothing was real

Everything seemed to sing in the chapel on a sad day,
But I hear loudly like Latin and watchfulness,
Those who know his mystery is no stranger to them
They all look but transgress the sin of silence.

Carrenio still absorbed in the hallway,
Angulo ellipsis she comes winged like a star burning tar,
A high speed to give us the new
No garden can deprive greet in speed visit
Dome comes, it comes on the eve of the new moon.

Numbered Widow mysterious,
Mané is a land of golden color and no celestial whoever wants in his cell,
A breath test, and feeding the Toffy and his henchmen
That sustaining more lively detail, there is no one that can not be targeted

It was modern, it was night, it was his torn life as an accomplice of his exile abandonment in his allegory of tender dismissal. Carrenio achieved so say goodbye to the beams of light that told him of the mysterious death Numbered. He sat on the roadside and drank some wine. Then dry with his handkerchief his neck, and have never wanted to experience such an event in a toast ever drunk.

Third Ellipsis Angle  of  New Era

Independence of Chile, it concerns Mapuche atingent case. Araucania pound, then 1818 central Chile. In Brief, Earth makes free an entire nation. His naive and primitive braves inhabitants emancipated themselves from all sides, they came to save a people who were just following where nobody can reach. Independence of the United States separates us for approximately 42 years, breaking up owners of nowhere. Industrial Abolitionist and South Slaver and Agraria. The biggest event that more than 640, 000 men and fallen activists planted safely from repression fields.

In Chile all rule resembled this secession in today's Araucano man prays for his fallen by almost more than 3 centuries in Chilean lands of Araucanía’s men. Lautaro genius and his supporters the heart of Pedro de Valdivia ate; Map ever made to your battle mapping Tucapel. "Initiation and final symbol occurred after 282 years of fierce war" and Mapuche land forever their independence from the Spanish Empire Captain-General important in foreign lands never subjected to foreign rule would eat.

The Machis and Loncos make supplications in native forests falling on them pollen on its back as if nothing out 10 times better...

To Libertas strengthen in the west is necessary to push the limits of the earth beneath his tongue and penance for the greedy entangled in the lines of bloodied sky, rebellions Chieftains death-defying all together at the edge of a cliff. 1769 The Pehuenches led by Lebian Cacique, joined the Mapuches razing Yumbel and Laja, the most peaceful Huilliches also joined mass alerting perhaps innocent people land blood-stained war and the Mackay Luchsinger.

No doubt portals military rebellion trigger blood, where they opened a tip and swords in the past. Here's reading concern is that the succession is timeless time, a sword without a sword, but on the tip of her blood is seen where there were herds and warriors crushed by their own footsteps. Here the phenomenon of freedom begins; Humanity runs treading his own footsteps, to save his family from a threat, but not strange forces that force you to use your defenses, because in the groves populate many helpless souls with his sword unused at the expense of being forced to use.

Freedom genome; It aims to reach where it has not come without looking back,
Chalices pour out is where the troubadours do not cuddle her close looks like time, singing while watching the changes are not of a new life


Heaven star,
Come to me,
I ask a sign to see them arrive,
Because I want to thus been dragged
Being together Eager to feel...
Those respites without being comforted
going to the mouth of the serpent.

About the Garden,
My home is to put my love,
He has to put the days imagining close...
To enjoy yourself is nonexistent...

Oh, my house tormenting me...!
Because in it I feel your smell
They are alone lights
Where I would wait for me to be in the dark...

In the coming future,
You will not see or hear my anger...
Perhaps my happiness nor peace praying
As the spear in the hands of the perpetrator.

You know a storm of whispers
I do sow your name in the wilderness,
It's because my judgments of hope
They mount up arable land deposited in my frenzy
Misled by a love which is my love.

But you never understand,
Because time has invaded my dwelling,
Invading my brain to give
It has invaded my choosing to love...

On the grass path,
Every time I move away from you,
I turn to see if you have not been...

Love came,
And I think that leaves us alone to avail ourselves
Ranging in our time...


But I can not resist his silence,
For my house want the noise of its action,
Why keys to the gates that serve my understanding.

Tramples my heart the fragmenting oddities into smaller pieces,
Your answer that call.

Tur love be like if I had created...
As if only you had appreciated your beautiful creation.

Do not destroy your work expresses in his mystery give life to your dreams!
Man aiming better earth, ask some of you to join your dreams...

! Your wife of this land does not procrastinate your misfortune,
I discover far peaceful landscapes like an echo in the spring,
As large and deep as your forgiveness for loving me more


It tells the Earth to the Sun in its perky tear benefactress of new opportunities as good and healthy smile rainbow on the back of Oviedo sheep valleys of freedom of Pietrelcina life.

To be continued…
Genoma Freedom , by Jose Luis Carreño Troncoso - Under Edition
Brody Thompson Oct 2012
It is the song the bird memorizes every morning.
It is the movement of an inspired dancer.
The swift movement of fingers on an instrument,
And the beautiful sound that follows it.
It is emotion via colors on a canvas,
Or a melodic rhythm in song.
Is is a visual discussion of something worth
Knowing, learning, and hearing about.
It is a satisfying photo symbolizing life, and love,
And yet, a graphic, detailed piece explaining sin,
Death, and the wrong of human nature.
The release of built up emotions, both positive
And negative, creating something unique that
May only be significant to a single person,
Or able to grasp the attention of the world.
It is usually expressed through agony, and longing.
It is ourselves through a visual metaphor.
It is a spell, that's been cast upon you, that you
Express to others, expanding the impact of this magic.
It is the explanation of your own being.
It can explain your self views, and opinions.
It is something so beautiful, you cannot explain
Or comprehend the meaning unless you've experienced it
Yourself.
It's the realization that we are here to love.
It is deep thoughts coming to you from nowhere
But your own mind, using the one incredible thing
We're given that can unlock anything.
It is the face that we're present, we're
Alive, we are discovering, we are creating, we
Are learning, and we are living.
If that isn't art, then what is it?
Maria Mitea May 2022
april,
full pink moon,
it snowed yesterday, and still today
many
many clouds of light, like a

statue

i wonder if the light remembers itself,
if the moon knows when it's called  (by nasa) the supermoon  or the pale moon,
when it brings frost, rain,
*******,
ovulation
if it takes any credits,

last week at the corner of my house the storm ripped apart half a tree,
does it remember where?
does it remember the putrefied roots, dry branches blown by the wind,
does it remember the one that still fights,

i look out the window,

the cat jumps from branch to branch, plays with the blue jays,
who memorizes who? initially, it seems, that the cat is provoking the birds,
squatting on a thicker branch awaits the next move,
i have my moments too,
i understand, the truth never barks,
and does not caress you like a kind mother
it also doesn't  kiss you where you want to be kissed

for thousands of years,

it is rumored that many know it, but
the raw reality is that truth is autistic,
the gifted child
genuinely likes the same food, the same road, the same coat,  color,
stops at the red pass when is green, it simply knows what is right,
like a donkey clings to the same people,
roars at the same gate,

it is the only one equipped with the kick under the belt,
it  hits the careless on the scruff,
the rest on the forehead, in the belly,
it hits with a  fist,  feet,  or sledgehammer, like a rumble of  thunder,  a bomb,
it bites by the ear, by the nose,
it's mike tyson,  the greatest puncher of all time,

despite it all

net theater, all kinds of reinvented creatures, weird characters talking about the belt,
they want to abort it and  flutter it on the (right) cheek of jeofrrey de peyrac,
more than likely, to cover the cracks in the palace of culture (the experts
explaining: it is an adaptation response to fresh rehabilitation),

no joke

the truth has nothing to do with adaptation, those in  trend, the saviors of the world,
a boomerang doesn't know about smart people, bullies, or others…

a boomerang is a boomerang

try to make a bow from a boomerang, or a parachute
and you'll have princess diana's headache on her  wedding day; migraine sweet migraine
cancer, brain tumors,
titmouse constipation, broken teeth on TV,
viol in viol, - in,

i don't want to write about what I have  in mind,
i know nothing (tell yourself: big deal), and
i don't want to wash my brain with your memorized truth

*
reality is much harsher than a halloween decorated pumpkin,
when memory mocks you
every morning you wake up smaller and smaller
a shrimp,
stretching back and forth like tasteless chewing gum
promising
hailstones solidified between tangible and inaccessible
free play up and down the column
abandoned (does not mean we are free from mistakes, and responsibilities)
whether we happen or not, all that is not only ours
here or there we are bubble-to-bubble
missing
the freedom with respect to destiny
...
but how about the parrot?
when the truth happens like the full moon, live
în pink flesh
once a month
ones a year,
per century,
once in the millennium
...
Denel Kessler Feb 2016
He loves
with rapt attention
his nearest neighbor
an unattainable beauty
a temptress
veiled in aquamarine
and evergreen
she has forever been
his only muse

he reaches
invisible fingers
across the void
seeking warm earth
against the bone
chilling blackness
for he cannot
turn to face
the sun

she is breathless
beneath his fullness
her every landscape
willingly unfurls
his forceful touch
swings her tide
from crest to ebb
she can only spin
in ecstacy

she memorizes
each scar
on his luminous skin
for she is wise
to his lunar ways
love that borrows light
to show its face
is surely meant
to wane
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2013
The fifth poem I put on HP; few* read it so I resubmit as Lost In Space III.
I tinkered with it slightly... O yeah, based on a true story....

Multi-tasking your body

Kissing your eyes,
Sense the tipsiness of your
Trembling lashes,
Drinking a poem from
My poetry birthing place.

Between  kisses and rapido exhales,
Stutter and lisp
Uttered word-wisps,
Shockingly bad love poem stories.

Right hand strokes thy chest,
sensing/sending heartbeats upon my palm to the
Forever keep part of my
Treasury memory chest.

All the while my left finger
Catalogues, indexes.
It, mesmerized, it memorizes,
The curvatures of thy face
To be stored in the
Never-forget, always-place.

My tongue restless to participate
Goes wherever it feels like,
For the tongue is the only body part
With a mind of its own,
And enjoys getting into
What it calls, the best kind of trouble.

My eyes, my eyes, see only the
Totality of this moment.
When mastery of multi-tasking
Is the single best poem this man ever
Penned with his entirety,
Of which not word survived
For its unspoken silence was its glory....

May 19th
Laguna Niguel, Ca.
With the exception of the High Priestess of HP, Lori C., as usual...so this one goes out to her!
Erin Melody Jun 2012
with jealousy,
the water memorizes the embezzled sky
and copies it with every spark.
the insects have awoken
rising from their grasses and bark.
with a pulsating surge,
the night breathes.
smitten with the silence, the birds
are sighing, killing the quiet.
this is where the night lives,
this is where it waits.
with the joy of a child, the twilight
bursts across the horizon
killing the fear of darkness.
wildflower fumes intoxicate the air,
vanquishing inhibitions and disguising them
for romance.
the night is wild with static,
but there's nothing to fear.
Amulek and Alma always proselyte amazing;
Almost always after afterlife for the aching!

Big ballin' brethren gettin' bros, and we warn 'em:
Better bring a brave, bold business to my quorum!

Casually we call communities to come to Christ,
creating the cool cats that testify communing!

Dicing up the devil's deeds doing what I've done.
Definitely, dominantly make the devil done!

Eager as evangelists in every single era ever,
ending evil - Make it epic - Exit in the Exodus!

Following forth faithfully - Fast tracking!
Forward to the presence of the Father, fear - lacking!

God given gifts that we got are glorious!
Giving gifts given - Making God victorious!

Hear it high, hear the hype: High holy calls - Hey
Holy Ghost hackin' hell - Holler that you're Mormon!!!

Idols of Idolators I'd incinerate!
As an itching - I'll increase as I'm irate!

Just as I'm justly jukin' through for  Jehovah -
Justly jots and tittles jive in my journal!

K for the kind of King over all kingdoms!
Killer High lightning - He could strike a king dumb!

Let me learn to love the lessons - lively, lyrical;
Light-lifted, luminescent - Longer in the life source!

My mind memorizes Mormon Mastery
Many more marveling - Mimic how I master!

Never not loving neighbors so naturally!
Never not willing - I serve them naturally!

Operating open-minded, On in my residence.
One eye, one heart, oscillating occupants!

Preach of the prophets! Powerful, prophesying!
Ponder on the punch lines given in their prime!

Quit quick questioning quotes from The Quorum!
Quarrel can't disqualify them in the Forum!

Rockin' so right! Rising up royally!
Raising up the righteous in loyalty!

Superficial scientific stabs are spurned!
Superseded silently - Still, small burn!

Teach truth taught till' time takes toll!
Totally takin' charge - Test my soul!

Under one God, united, uncursed!
Unanimously under one universe!

Versed with vice, we're valid and vested.
Viciously vilified - vigor and bless-ed!

What a well word written by a word Smith -
Who wrote it down well without a real writing whit

X's we Xerox, preamble in the notes!
Exact X - Preface: Excitable tones!

Yonder in yesterday: Yell back "Yea!"
Youth, teen, elderly, Y.S.A.!

Zip it way back: Zero days from the Zenith!
Zig and zag zealously zooming to the Zion!!!!
Kaitlyn R Jan 2015
snowman-flesh flutters across the threshold
melting into the Jack-o-Lantern-Welcome-Mat
disappearing faster than its supposed to;
the door closes by an auto-piloted-hand
while the other tugs at tangled earbud chords
the little white knobs are dislodged, interrupting
that song she has listened to 14 times today
because when she falls in love with a song,
she falls into each note and memorizes
                                         every single breath.
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
So many lost ones, can you find me now?

Resubmitted for your tender consideration.
It fell between the cracks of us, but I love it so,
remembering its birthing, like it was but a moment ago.
~~~~~~

Multi-tasking multi-sensations

kissing your eyes,
sensing the tickling
of your trembling lashes,
between kisses and breathes
someone utters word-wisps of
love poetry.

right hand strokes thy chest,
sensing/sending heartbeats
upon my palm to the
forever to keep part
of my
treasury memory chest.

all the while
my left finger indexes,
it mesmerized, it memorizes
the curvature of the face
to be stored in the
never-forget-always place.

my tongue
restless to participate
goes whatever it feels like,
for the tongue is
the only body part
with a mind of its own.

my eyes, my eyes,
see only the
totality of this moment,
when mastery of multi-tasking
becomes
the single best poem
this man ever penned
with only
his entirety.

May 19th
Edited Nov. 17th.
blushing prince Dec 2016
Beginning with the swagger of my palm to the squeezing sensation in my ribcage
I realize that the modern woman is alone among everyone else
from the creative orthopedic doctor whose joints resemble that of an
air craft plane your father designed in 1953
to the zany business owner that counts their own steps and
watches the calorie intake of the television dribble
there’s a bit of resentment on her polished fingernails as
she watches feminist prose on stage of a bar with no name
and she drinks cordially, the same intake that a midnight taxi driver
takes to keep his sanity, just enough to recognize street signs
and forget people’s faces
she sits in her dining room table and admires the lump in her throat
never feeling at home with dinner guests so she invents
party games that freefall off her legs into the carpet
that used to belong to a woman with no legs and a smoker’s mouth
but she doesn’t know this because she got it for three dollars
from her neighbor who isn’t alive anymore
and the blood stains of the old woman’s breath have long
disappeared and it’s appealing, yes very appealing
the modern woman is alone among everyone else
that comes foremost, thus the shy boys become isolated women
and the cycle of who is who begins to spin but the laundry won’t stop
piling in a corner of a room
and as soon as it stops the clothes drip from gender to gender  
between the tiles of the convenience store, between the
local gas station where men sit in their pickup trucks staring
at the spit on the ground and wondering whose mouth
it regurgitated from
and the lights become more fluorescent, more menacing  
so the solitary companions start coming later and later
until the sun sets and the lights are off and the only way to
know if another heart is beating is by crawling on the floor
hoping to find a pulse instead of an unsteady table, or a broken
chair or window howling but one acclimates to such conditions
while the modern woman is most intellectual of all
there’s a primitiveness, a strange longing to look behind her
to continue with watchful eyes darting long glances at the past
and sighing with relief that this is now and the future looks down with
convincing not conniving glares but still she falls into the
pit of her own stomach and memorizes the world upside down
the words jostle about,  the approaches of curious hands
become welcoming and the universe that once was an oyster
melts into a pearl with a sharp edge, a tooth made
out of pretty godforsaken, the speculated
creation of something eternally ****** will always be ******
but you don’t have to agree with it, there’s no reason to
shimmy into a container of shouts when you could
easily assimilate into a vat of unknowness, to
belong to something so you don’t have to be anything
yes indeed the modern woman stands alone in these dark ages
but the swagger has been reduced to a soft calamity, the
squeezing sensations in my rib cage have been swallowed to a
slow pull, grasp, released clench of a heart
Kimberly Lewis Oct 2016
Repetition and boredom,
Like the little shrew
     who painstakingly
     memorizes the
     safest path then
     takes it forever more.
Swiftly
     Blindly
          Mindlessly
Waiting for an obstacle to break the monotony.
Exhale Your Mind Feb 2018
His hair beams dark gold glitter
like it memorizes sunshines.
No wonder why it always feels like summer
when my fingers surf between them.
Clindballe Sep 2014
Pictures; For remembering the good times.
Alcohol; For forgetting the past.
Boxes; For keeping old memorizes.
Shoes; For walking away.
Books; For getting lost.
Speakers; For expressing feelings.
Mirror; For finding flaws.
Clothing; For covering up.
Lamps; For looking for monsters.
Junk; For never letting go.
Bed; For giving up.
Flag; For fighting for my dreams.
Written: September 14. - 2014
daniela Mar 2015
my mother is a journalist
and my father is out of work
she’s spinning stories
and he’s just staring out the window
you are recording my mistakes
and i am selling yours onstage.
so i’ll give myself to strangers,
and flinch away when you touch me
it’s always too much and not enough.
i’ll plaster my heart all over the world,
and refuse to read you anything.
i write too much and i don’t speak enough,
my entire bibliography a tour de force of silence
and the things i wish i’d said.
you could cut out my tongue and
not notice the difference.
sewn shut lips with a poem slipping out,
i'm too scared to read it out aloud.
but i’ve been learning that being scared
just means that you give a ****.
words have always been easy,
saying them is so much harder.
and i’m not looking for anybody to color me in
but i’ll keep writing you poems until you feel something.
i love like somebody’s always
looking over my shoulder
and i know, i know
that’s no way to live.
how should i expect to bare my soul
if i’m still scared of it,
don’t i know that half-truths will
never compare to it?
cause and effect, expose and protect
i’ve got a notebooks full of ****
i wish i was brave enough to say to you.
but i'm tongued tied;
half of me is still in my head,
and the other half is stuck in my heart
and i’m trying not fall apart,
i’m trying to keep my ******* head
separated from my ******* heart.
i’m trying, i am, but i think there will always
be part of me that sees you
and memorizes everything new like a line in a poem.
it’s a song without a chorus
it’s an anthem without a single verse
we are actors with no lines to rehearse
we are missing everything we were supposed to find.
but if i tried to tell you this
i’d just stutter my way through
and all the sentiment would get lost in the  
“um, but, uh, like, i, er”
on its way to you,
my nervous system’s got anxiety
and i want to be seen but not scrutinized.
i am in the room full of my mistakes
and they are telling me ghost stories about you.
i’m stuck so deep inside my own head
i can’t find my way out,
i’m just hiding out in the ruins of my own life.
my mouth’s not good at small talk
when gravity’s holding me down,
these words are loaded but the gun is empty.
and i remember the way
you used to talk about your dreams
like you’d forgotten them, tongue heavy
with nostalgia as you told me
about all these bright-eyed ideas
that you now called delusions of grandeur
with a shake of your head and a grim set in your mouth.
and i remember how you looked at me;
i don’t want to be just another thing you regret.
and i’m tired of being less afraid
to shed my skin onstage than in front of you,
i’m tired of choking all the things i’ve never said.
a penny for your thoughts and
a dollar for your heart
ask me what i’m thinking,
i swear i won’t flinch.
to be real, this poem isn't about anyone in particular just some musings on how i find it easier to share parts of myself like my writing with strangers than the people i'm closest to. life's funny like that.
Nat Lipstadt May 2013
Multi-tasking

Kissing your eyes,
Sensing the tickling of your trembling lashes,
Between kisses and breathes
Utter word-wisps of
Love poetry.

Right hand strokes thy chest,
sensing/sending heartbeats upon my palm to the
Forever keep part of my
Treasury memory chest.

All the while my left finger indexes,
Mesmerized, it memorizes
The curvature of the face
To be stored in the
Never forget always place.

My tongue restless to participate
Goes whatever it feels like,
For the tongue is the only body part
With a mind of its own.

My eyes, my eyes, see only the
Totality of this moment.
When mastery of multi-tasking
Is the single best poem this man ever
Penned with his entirety.

May 19th
Laguna Niguel, Ca.
Walking, your gait memorizes
Not when you know it
That doesn't count
Because that's different
When you don't know

That's special
A moment removed from
History, unremembered
And is all mine, no one else's
It's not a bounce, or a walk
Almost a combination of both
When every foot touches the ground

Your eyes glisten, uncried tears
And I hope you never cry again
I've been paying more attention
Just lately, and they're so animated
All around back and forth,
But with a sort of tunnel vision
Focused, but in the past

Hands move every word
Flying across the room
Around and around,
Blood tipped nails, work words
Crafted by the sharpest rapier tongue
Building, emphasizing every thought
A crazy, flurry of words, fingers and hands

It's with every breathe you take
Every action, you flow, glow
Fingers to toes
Eyes to heels
Absolutely

And always, yes, I do
Jewel M C Apr 2017
please accept the terms & conditions before you proceed...

& *please
, enter at your own risk!



Will you allow technology to fully access your identity?

yes *or
□ NO!

did you even
read
the terms&conditions?

also known as

monsters' diction
/ modernistic snot
condemn its riots
not stoicism, nerd
or crimson diets;
demonic tort sins

disclaimer:

perhaps you should pretend
to feign interest in
those lists of lengthy descriptions
never quite captured by our cognition
though not lost upon our inhibition
that may more or less explicitly detail
all the vicious ways in which
we are being unmistakably,
blatantly blackmailed
against our will / with our own consent
when we check the box that reads; "accept"
we exploit our most private content
to the highest bidder
so dare yourself to reconsider...

Welcome to the 18th year of century 21; the new millennium.

we are living in a world where
our most significant intimacies are shared
between the tips of our fingers
& the touch of a screen

reflecting our digitized lives
before prying eyes
that magnify
the things we hide

(but you can't hide,
don’t try)


while we wander through life
roaming via cellular connection
guided by the gentle misdirection
of the electronic dimension

seductive despite the apprehension
lurking beneath the tightening tension
that tethers us to the tender touch
of technological temptation

hypnotizing us in its animation
as it memorizes us & analyzes what
we think, say & do online upon every occasion
while we continue to ignore the trepidation
lingering within our realization

that children today will be born
with fluorescent addiction
flowing through their veins,
a condition nothing short of inhumane

you might say society's to blame
but no one prepared us for this high-tech hurricane
humankind's claim to fame
a reality we deemed difficult to obtain
artificial intelligence will never be worth more than a brain
but we've created a world where eventually nothing else will remain

whatever humanity is
we seem to be losing touch
with what it used to be

Who would have ever guessed that our fingertips could crave a screen's touch to a human's?

we have become parasites that feed
upon the delights emitted by the blue light
of our digital paradise
where precious memories are measured by megabytes
archived to our favorite device
to which we automatically sacrifice our rights
without thinking twice
so here's a word of advice:
don't roll the virtual dice
because this wi-fi powered world won't play nice


*Is this the real life?
Lucy Oct 2017
I’m broken up about my thoughts never being spoken  

I hold onto those words, my eyes have barely opened

My thoughts are consumed of memorizes we use to share

But now I must strip them off, I’m bare

In the shower I let the scalding water, drop by drop run down my skin

Afraid that I made a mistake by letting you back in

I have bruises, tenderness surrounding my heart

I’m having cold feet, I should have known from the start

That you would create this electric shock passing through my veins

I feel as if we will never really be the same

I scrub off the smell of your cologne from my pours

Just the feeling of your plump lips leaves me sore

I try to wash off the feeling of your finger tips from my scalp with shampoo

But this routine will inevitably bring me back to you

Because I love your touch, your lips, your smell

But that’s a secret I’ll keep from you, will never tell

I’ll count the days until I’m back under your blue satin sheets

But for now I’m left with the mental pictures I keep
maile tuaone Mar 2014
she's slowly starting to forget things
but she preps her mind in stride
she constantly worries about this
i can tell when she tries to hide

and i know that it's absolutely frightening for her.
to lose her mind. to lose herself. to let worry win her over.
she focuses more out of fear and concentrates fiercely.
she practices her sounds and her faces. she memorizes scriptures and places.

"remember when we did this" - "it feels so long ago that we did that"
and i don't have the heart to tell her that i wasn't there.  
and my soul hurts for this dear woman of mine...who is slowly losing her mind.
as she tries to grasp the sanity that was never meant to stay long.

my mama is getting older. so i'll continue to use that excuse and comment lightly
that it is only stress that's getting to her. that she needs a holiday.
she'll take those reasons for now...but i know she still hides.
not a poem at all...just a cry of frustration. i feel/fear for this woman.
Vonshay Jan 2014
VCR
push me up against the projector
& let the motion picture of US start playing
touch me, like your lost in the dark & my body gave you guidance
play in me as if i was a broken tape & you sworn i could be fixed
don't worry if you get breathless you can press pause
& resume when the time  is  right.
fill my holes in with tops that couldn't be unscrews  
so the memorizes of US can live within.



i need you to miss me , so we can rewind
i need your energy to keep me going
i need you to be the director
i need you too be my VCR
Sha May 2017
Take your heart and wrap it in fine silk.
Love elegantly like candle-lit dinner and aged wine.
Slow dance to jazz or juke box
Until your body memorizes every step
to the beat of hearts loving.

But do not forget to guard that fragile thing.
Remind yourself that your heart is too precious
To be broken easily by unworthy knights.
subbu moolera May 2014
The soul memorizes
All pleasant past;
Then it agonizes
The departure of fond ones.

Such were the times  
By-gone by the journey,
That occasionally chimes’;
Memories sweet as honey.

As years rolled by,
Far flung the great times;
But those moments stood by,
In the melody of her rhymes.
When I was young and in school there was a singer who  I was inspired by, she soon became my friend. Things fell apart after schooling. She went her way and I mine. Even after many years her melodious voice still wriggles in my ear. In this age of multimedia browsing, I hope that I’ll  find her elsewhere. I wish to conclude this poem  after I contact her.
The man that was
I tried to tell him
They will put him down out of aggravation
It's still a steamy nation
They climb the rocks
act like hawks
and found the man whose not down with the glock's
He doesn't carry the dog
He carry's a notebook and a bible
He memorizes every line and tittle
He puts his pin to paper and instantly there's a hater
They know, they sit back and say whoa they instantly decide
if he doesn't abide this man will die
theres nowhere he can hide
it's time and choices were made
there lay the man
ashes to ashes dust to dust
they inhaled the smoke of the man that was
abby Apr 2014
I am as hard as a diamond,
my edges are cut sharp into cubical quartz.
I harden and I process; you can strike me against a rock
and I will not shatter.
I don't shine like a diamond, I'm as dull as an old razor blade;
the remnants of sharpness are there
but who wants to shave with an old razor blade.

My dandelion hair flows with the breeze,
and the salty sweat from my head
makes the fragrance drift
like tentacles into the air.

I sit in corners and sift my brain,
searching for gold that is not there,
but constantly thinking and thinking and thinking;
I go crazy and turn into liquid,
I am the ocean turning and the high tide crashing into the shore.
I drift until I'm calm,
until I'm a rainbow fish in the sea,
swimming under sail boats and sea gulls
and wrinkled fishermen upset with their love lives.

My hands are question marks,
punctuation that I cannot answer, I cannot understand.
My toes curl and I cringe as I remember who I am,
the person that cannot be saved
or brought in with a lasso around my neck.

I am a half-finished metaphor and your deja vu,
you must be a sorcerer if you can make me love
like the old-fashioned movie screen.
My voice is raspy from the attempts at screaming my own name
in order to hear something,
to feel something in this empty cavity of a body.

I will dye my hair aquamarine and magenta
and all the colors with the fancy names,
before I make up my mind to understand anyone else.
I will fold myself in like a thousand paper cranes,
and paper cranes do not fly.
I will write on the walls of my insides that I do not need anyone,
until my brain memorizes my own handwriting.

*(a.m.c.)
Nash Wolfe Dec 2014
Today is a brand new day


Yesterday just fades away

I am running in circles again

Where is my dignity?

My heart pounds harder everytime I hear your name

My mind so oblivated to the image of your face

If words could only describe the feeling I always receive

when I am lost in the in between

With you in this dream of reality

Moments I ponder in circles til I lie in your arms

Counting down every second til I am close to your heart

Whats in a fantasy?

When you can wake and love in reality

Stumbling over my feet, can you catch me?


If I fall, if I break, if I lose myself and tumble

If I give all I am, when I’m ready to take

Will I be strong enough to fight, as I wait?

If I search will I find, the answers that are hidden

All that I have forsaken

All the openness, all the brokenness

Here I am, Here I am

I’m not breathing, no I’m not dreaming

To sacrifice, to let go

To lose at a battle

My heart gets fainter, as you get closer

I lose control, my body in despair, shaky and scared

I tremble with each step, afraid to fail, to make a mistake

Grasp me in your arms tonight

Be my blanket, the black stary night

Wrap your body arounde me

Make me feel like you did when I first gazed through your eyes

I was seeing through Heaven's gate

The angels flying based upon fate

I get lost for days

Allow me to embrace your touch

It makes me lose my breath

Memorizes me with every kiss

Like pain doesnt exist on the prosperity of sernity

But when I lose my way will you be my light?

If I fall, if I break, if I lose myself and tumble

If I give you all I am, will you be ready to take?

To be strong enough to fight, will it be worth the wait?

If you search, will you find all the answers that are hidden?

All that is forsaken

With all the openness, with all the brokenness

If I convey to you all my secrets, will it keep you from running away?

To allow fate to guide your way

Will there be enough time to seize before its too late?

But here I am, here I am

Will you catch me as I fall? Mend the pieces when I break

Be a cane to lean on when I lose myself and tumble

If I give you all I am, will you be ready to take?

Strong enough to fight, even if you lose the battle

Will you still search for the answers that are hidden?

Redeem what you have forsaken

When your expose to the openness, expose to the brokenness
Amulet Atari Mar 2016
Everytime you look at me
I feel sick

My cheeks flame
A fever blossoming in my chest

Casual touches
That my body memorizes
Filing away your movements
So I can fret about them later

I feel nauseous
Butterfly's climbing up my throat

You make me want to hide
Guard myself from embarrassment
But you also make me want to
Leave the house
Just to see you

I feel sick
Infected with your voice
Everything is funnier when you say it
Everything is brighter when you talk

I hate this
I hate me
I like you
Ugh ugh ugh
Reese Jun 2015
I've always craved the side of you that no one gets to see
I've always wanted to understand the place inside of you that felt the most misunderstood
I've always wanted all of you
Not the you the world chooses to see based on the mask you wear for that day
Not the you that memorizes what to say and who to say it to because its easier that way
I crave the moment you fall asleep beside me
Your eyes closed you're at peace
You're the most you in your dreams
You're who I want in your sleep
You're a better you in your dreams
You're a lot kinder to me in your sleep
You hurt less when you're just laying here beside me and I cant sleep.
I always wanted to know when you became a better man asleep than when you're awake
I always wanted to know when you became someone else the minute you woke up from your dreams
N
Julia Munoz Jan 2015
Yes, i've had my fair share of sins but who was to decide that my punishment be my innocence ?
Who was to decide that it not happen once but three times ?
Who was to decide i was going to live a life in fear and shame ?
Now i can no longer be grabbed in any form of way, oh how i've grown so uncomfortable to the simple compliment and sheer form of loving gesture .
Looking in the mirror , i feel ashamed , ashamed i feel everyday.
Those memorizes a continuous reminder "will i ever have control of what's mine ? Can i please have some sort of power ?". But you do ! Who's to choose you'd be unhappy, who's to choose you'd be a victim but a survivor.
Who's to choose you wont turn this world upside down and make it something worth living for ?
You're too choose . You are, dont you ever forget that. You're worth it.
devante moore Aug 2015
Leaving the past behind is hard when it scorched your path
The future covered in ashes
A steady breeze blowing it back in your face
Choking on memorizes that can't be erased
Making it hard to forgot
Polluted airwaves
From a tragic event
Now the trek you on has been permanently marked
Each step taken
The ground gives at your feet
Beaten to a pummel in advance
Now every advance you take makes you think it will all end the same
The future, today's past
Makes moving on impossible
When you have a scorched past

— The End —