1
Though still within our infancy,
we strive to thrive, but woefully
we flash and flaunt our 'primacy',
display our trophies pridefully.

Our terra firma ecstasy
destroys survival's harmony,
lays waste to life on land and sea.
Mankind, thy name is vanity!

By doubting Nature's regnancy,
defying laws with levity,
we strain our spheroid's symmetry
(perhaps a fatal fallacy?)

for, swallowed in the 'world of we',
we feed on vain insanity
with thoughts beyond eternity -
so strange when looked at mortally.

No use to seek a remedy
ensconced in ancient prophecy
for if not handled skillfully,
as clay we'll pay the penalty.

                              2
The Moguls rule with cruel decree,
control the crowds like puppetry,
pursuing greed addictively
with no accountability.

The wind, it reeks of Royalty
(awash in waves of perfidy)
while blowing ’cross the peasantry
(eclipsed in clouds of treachery).

The Queen, well steeped in snobbery,
sits, preening proud Her pedigree,
on throne of sculpted ebony
while sipping Sect immodestly;

to sate Her Regal Majesty,
a caviar clad canapé
is served with golden cutlery
by maidens bent submissively.

The King is bailed from bankruptcy
by Knaves who hoodwink artfully
the down-and-outer evictee
who wallows in their lenity.

Forsooth, the Money Monarchy
exalts the dollar dynasty
engaged in highway robbery
by Peacocks plumed in finery.

Yes, Jesters and the Fools agree
to truckle to duplicity
and laugh about it witlessly.
Long live the peon's penury!

                          3
To champion an oddity
(like two times twelve is fifty three)  
one reaches to theology
through paths of circularity.

In bygone trials of travesty
the doubters, draped in blasphemy,
endured the pain and agony
inflicted by the papacy.

Inspired by the Trinity
fanatics bent cosmology
in geocentric fantasy
while Bruno burned for heresy;

and aged women, randomly
accused of wicked witchery
by justice framed in infamy,
were racked and shown no clemency

That epoch of credulity
(when savants fostered sorcery
and practiced ancient alchemy)
arose in dark age quackery

as clerics dripping piety
(while raging, raving rabidly)
pervaded thralled society
with callous inhumanity;

'repent', they bellowed, 'verily,
forsake the world's iniquity,
live lives of want and chastity,
and give your gelt to God through me'.

                    4
The Masters make a mockery
of freedom and democracy
by holding down the uppity,
released from shackled slavery,

now fettered in a factory
else strewn across the Bowery,
still chained in bonds of bigotry,
immersed in seas of poverty.

And colliers, tapping balefully
in sunken-mine solemnity,
yet thrum a mournful monody
some call the digger's elegy.

To children, pale and raggedy
(behind a day of drudgery),
the boss man, oh so gallantly,
bestows a penny, niggardly;

though some are fed (belatedly),
their eyes recede in apathy
while bellies bulge, inflatedly,
with mothers watching, wretchedly.

When met with health adversity
or broken bone infirmity,
the pauper dangles helplessly
with no insurance policy;

and those engulfed in lunacy
are ailing blobs left floating free
in ******-dream obscurity -
a mired madhouse odyssey.

Ignoring mankind's unity,
the rich and poor dichotomy
breeds dismal doomed finality,
eventual nihility.

                        5
Renewing days of chivalry,
wild warriors fighting valiantly
bring freedom neath the gallows tree
while blending blood and burgundy

to toast the slaughtered enemy,
and so convince the colony
to cede with smile on bended knee
and yield her diamonds, silk and tea.

At first they call the cavalry
and then again the infantry,
so proudly primped in panoply,
with arms from finest armory

(embraced in hands so tenderly
bestow benign atrocity) -
and soon atomic weaponry
will extirpate posterity.

                          6
Misusing high technology
(to feed the face of gluttony)
depletes our Rock of energy,
now slowly dying thermally.

Our gadgets breathing CFC
fuel ozone holes' immensity
while cloud bursts, raining acidly,
wilt woods in their entirety,

and rivers, tainted chemically,
polluted biologically,
refill our cups methodically
and drown our souls organically.

Adjusting genes mechanically
may well blot out the bumble bee
annulling fruits' fecundity,
but brings big bucks reliably.

We wager perpetuity
to revel momentarily
in shadow-like obscurity
ignoring the futility,

but if we bet unknowingly
on fickle fate's contingency
and thereby act haphazardly
we're doomed to lose the lottery.

                 7
The modern day bureaucracy
abuses trust egregiously ,
embeds itself in obloquy
and offers no apology.

It paints the past in reverie
to camouflage the tendency
to strip away our privacy
which paves the path to tyranny.

With earlobes lurking furtively
that listen surreptitiously,
and eyeballs peering piercingly
we've lost cerebral sovereignty,

and those who dare to disagree
must hide away in secrecy
else crowd a black facility
(with water board anxiety).

                  8
Yes, sans responsibility,
our marble in this galaxy
will crumble in catastrophe
ere ever reaching puberty…

I commit to poems the second that I begin writing them,
And here I am committing to this one,
My cursor on the screen
Tap tap tapping like tap-roots across it’s blue-glowing surface.
With every push of every button,
I begin seeing the blue light
As more than it is. I begin seeing it as a poem.
The blue light that illuminated the Never Sink sinkhole
Was not from a screen.
Nor was it from glowworms.
As I write on this screen though, there is that same blue light
With me still. It is
Streaming from the walls of the cavern,
Still massaging the bags of tiredness
That hang beneath my eyelids to remind me
Of where I just was, having *** with my ex-girlfriend,
And of all the places that I was before that: to remind me
Of the blue lights in Never Sink,
The sinkhole that is 120 feet wide and 170 feet deep that I
Climbed out of on a rope and in the dark,
Which was anything but dark—an unlocked lock
Sat in my driveway after I got home

From having *** with my ex-girlfriend tonight,
And there, in that lock, was a comparison to or an analogy for or a metaphor of
My climb out of Never Sink: gradual ascension
And then a moment
Of absolute awe and profundity so unlike any other profundity
That the clarity I felt absolutely throughout my body tonight
Can only really be brought into my mind with full force
Through a comparison and analogy and metaphor
To, for, and of the blue lights
That that temple provided us. Looking into that lock’s
Reflective gleam, I discovered that I felt
The way I’d felt ever since climbing out of Never Sink, which was exactly
How I’d spent the past year or so wanting to feel.

“Bring me,” I said to Duane, who went with me to Never Sink,
“To the hole in the ground
Where the blue light glows; where the glow-worms lightly blaze” and Duane
Said “okay” and he brought me there without
My ever having to say those words. And then,
In the moments after the sun went down we discovered
That the glowworms were not glowworms but
Armillaria mellea, a bioluminescent fungus.
Not glowworms but Armillaria mellea,
Which rose through and across the cave walls, coating the rock
With its skin. The whole pit was covered in that skin—the skin
Of that single individual.
As I methodically climbed out of the sinkhole on my rope, I felt that
Fungus (that individual) extending
Its black shoelace looking taproots into my lungs too,
And into my skin,
Where I was but where
I wasn’t quite yet. Where I was but
Where I couldn’t yet describe to myself without the use of glowworms—
Without the use of made-up and childish sounding words
Like Depropheria, which I wrote a book about but which
I never really understood, and I, the whole concept of which is flawed,
Feel like I could be the plant on Joe’s counter,
Which he said I already am.
Because if my “I” was in all of its molecules and its “I” was in all of my molecules
Then we would both just be exactly what we already were, Joe said, and so
By the very logic I extended in posing the question
I was and am the plant.

I could be Armillaria mellea too
But what am I if I think that I am glowworms? but really
The glowworms are fungus, and while I ****** my ex-girlfriend tonight, falling
Further into the space away from her, I was also
Scraping away at the walls of Never Sink
To see the tiny little hairs that revealed to Duane and I what really was there,
The Armillaria mellea, of course, but how could something so different
(“**** me, Daniel,” she said, “I feel you inside of me, I want you.”
“**** me,” I said
“”
“I feel myself inside of you, I”)
Be the thing that I am? I would never

Stop the car because I saw something shining on my driveway.
And I would never
Open the car door
And step out into the night with the engine running.
Step out into the night to find an
Unlocked lock
Lying there on the pavement while the song that I tried to live all year
Called In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel blasts loudly
From my Buick’s speakers. Step out into the night
With that song blaring through my open car door, surely waking
My soon to be empty-nested mother from her sleep behind
That second story window
Right up ahead.

I did those things though—I
Stopped the car because I saw something shining on my driveway, and I
Did those things.
I am glow-worms.
I am, and so
I am the plant on Joe’s counter, and so
I can be a glow-worm.
I can be what I already am without knowing or comprehending that I am it.
I can be the whole universe.
I am the whole universe.
I saw over one hundred salamanders at the bottom of Never Sink.
And I saw four different species of salamanders at the bottom of Never Sink.
And I saw six different species of frogs, and I saw
Three brown rat snakes, which thankfully were not copperheads, but which
Could have been glowworms that were copperheads,
I guess. If you ask Joe, anyway. I’m not sure
I believe it fully
Even though when you strip away sentimental definitions of “I”
It’s pretty **** convincing. He was convincing.

I danced around Joe’s counter (where the plant sat, even then)
In September. At the time,
The counter was quickly becoming Alex’s counter,
Because I was becoming close friends with Alex,
And because Alex was Joe’s little sister, and because
Joe had left for the college he’d drop out of,
And during his hiatus from what he’d wanted to run from
It was just
Alex’s counter. It is Joe’s counter again now,
Because Alex has a dumb boyfriend who she likes to kiss
And doesn’t really like to ****
But who she does **** anyway and as a result
Doesn’t really like spending much time not ******* me anymore.
Anyway, I danced

Around Joe’s counter in September, when it was becoming Alex’s counter,
And I sank songs like In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel
With all my new friends. I thought that I
Was living those songs
Because, if my “I” was in the molecules that vibrated when the song played,
And the “I” of those molecules was in me
Then I would be those songs and those songs would be me.
Being the songs wasn’t the same as living the songs, though.
Rising out of Never Sink I saw myself
Reflected in the blue dots of light that Armillaria mellea created.
I saw that I hadn’t been living everything
That I was; I saw that I was the blue dots then, but I also saw
That I didn’t know that the blue dots weren’t glowworms.

When I was dancing
Around Joe’s counter, I didn’t yet know the words
To In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel.
But all my new friends were singing those words, and so I
Screamed out barely-syllabic nonsense
With a smile on my face,
Speaking like a baby who recognizes the existence of language
But can’t yet put it into use.

Rising out of Never Sink
The whole cave opened up, as more and more levels of the sinkhole
Were revealed to be stars and galaxies
Of blue fungus to climb through.
Rising out of Never Sink, I held in my hand
The unlocked lock which I would use later
To weight my pocket as I would sit with these bags of tiredness hanging
Writing this poem late at night on the screen illuminated
By the blue lights of Never Sink. To weight my pocket
As I would sit writing this poem, with
***** excreted thirty minutes prior still resting on my ****
Like the name I haven’t yet learned to call her—
Caterina, Caterina, why did she change it? Maria
Was so pretty, why did she change her name, it was
To get away from me, it was to get away from me like
I wanted to get away from her, it was to get away from me it was
Because she always hated the name Maria. And
To grow more confident in herself
She needed to become
Caterina. She needed to rebrand herself like she worked on rebranding
That company’s logo for her senior thesis project in high school
When I first fell in love with her because
Glowworms lit up Never Sink at night.

They were glowworms in Never Sink
Because the glowworms are fungus
And I am the glowworms.

If you ask Joe.

I want to take some time now to describe
Rising out of Never Sink
Without giving any time
To the lock I found in my drive-way this evening, or
To Joe’s counter-top and how I danced around it knowing
That it wasn’t his but that it was him,
Or to the remnants of Maria, Caterina, and I which are all I, and which
Stick to my ***** still. Never Sink is a sinkhole
That is 170 feet deep
And 120 feet wide at its top.

I went spelunking in Alamaba, Georgia, and/or Tennesse last week
Where I never knew which state or time zone I was in,
And where an annoying but charming guy named Glenn
Led me and my best friend through epic places of infinite beauty.
One of those places was Never Sink,
Which is a sinkhole that is
170 feet deep and
120 feet wide at its top. We repelled into Never Sink
Because Glenn wanted to show us the glowworms
(Which were fungus that were glowworms that were
**** it) and because my friend Duane, who is my best friend, who is
A 39 year-old factory worker who worries that he is much older than he is,
Wanted to see the glowworms too.
We found over a hundred salamanders in Never Sink
And Duane and I discovered that it wasn’t glowworms
That illuminated the pit, but Armillaria mellea, which is a fungus, and
It was very cool.
But ascending through Never Sink was more than very cool,
And it was much more than fungus,
Just as the fungus which I took into my body in August (which it
Almost is again now) after the summer music festival was more
Than just fungus. That fungus was more than just fungus because
I took it into my body right after breaking up with Maria-Caterina (who
I can’t not talk about) For Good (which was
The name of a song they sang
At Maria-Caterina’s high school graduation a year ago, after which
We made love (which was what we called it
Because we were cliché and in love
(Which is what we made.)))

It was a spiritual journey through the cosmos,
In Never Sink,
Or at least that’s how it felt,
And when I climbed out of Never Sink’s mouth, I hugged Duane
And he hugged me and we
Thought that it was beautiful.

I am the plant in Joe’s kitchen.
I am glowworms.

disclaimer: unedited rambling and overly long and frankly, Scarlet, don't give a **** anymore...

Thus spake and quested
another, younger poet to me,
a far better one than I,
but obligations thus provided,
are serious business,
to those who understand
poetic responsibilities, and
under his own Rules of Order,
an answer,
though long in coming, AR,
must be provided.

Well well well
all is not well,
the faucets offers choices....
chrome hot
chrome cold

there is no such thing as
lukewarm truth in
clear waters that
run run,
yet never
run stilled,
birthed at turned-on conception,
to drain death removal,
another daily poetic miracle,
unappreciated by most,
overly consumed by their
own passage on this Earth

peddler wayfarer,
passing through with truth
poem pots and rattling pans
(nowadays, mostly panned),
a historic factoid,
and not what Amazon delivers...
truth is a genetically modified
bitcoin currency, misunderstood,
prone to sometimes useful,
but never ever, to stick or stain,
for I got excuses and who gives a ****,
yesterday is forgotten instantly

The coldest truths,
the confirmation of same
by mirrored image text sent,
(immediacy a necessity,
for though poor, it is 'real')
the twitter that methodically
A-lists your major crimes
B-lists your petty,
hope-you-didn't miss my
exposé of latest misdemeanors

the hot truths,
only whispered,
merely mint hinted
in a hot cuppa,
the heat itself
a cover up,
for what you do not
wish me to plainly speak
or plainly sell,
is accursed truths,
won't sell, even if free

Can't write about moon and June,
alabaster is a fine word,
but white suits me fine,
don't know the diff
tween dragon flys and lullabies

The way I write is
just the way I think, believe,
from my eyes to paper
there is no misdirection,
just silent labor conception

Poor poor real truth
is out of favor these days,
because there is nothing
no one won't cease or hesitate
to expose himself,
flaunt the anguish,
copy other's jive,
but that is real,
but it is not truth

Had a bad day,
You need to know about it
Right away!

Though I meander and excuse,
there is one state of truth,
I need yet to annotate

Too oft when tapped turned on,
it is rusty water and rusted truths
expelled and this, my stuff, my days,
not in vogue, or a top seller

I love the color rust,
overused in my poems,
but compulsion is not a
conditional, but a must

This then is the form
they spill in these,
my final days here

You might think that rust implies
lack of use,
a non-caring
for his voice,
his well practiced instrument

Au contrarie, amigo!

My rust is from overuse,
my eyes don't see
what the popular want nor
could I provide it
even if
it was demanded,
which it is not....

Rusted but unvarnished,
undisguised by fancy words
or silent cries, what you read
is what you get
until I find
a more "authentic" voice,
one that satisfies the world
not just me...he sneers....

Feel for me in the summer breeze,
from whence my best stuff
has always been plucked
sent on its way, to you,
in self-same wind,
to kiss your cheeks,
slap you alert

I used to write
on both feet
upstanding,
then Hillel was asked for
the whole truth
while standing
on just one leg

His reply:
"Love they neighbor as you love thyself"

So I switched
and now compose,
in quiet ignorance,
a wrong footed poet,
left only with his what's left,
and to put his left foot truths
first, forward and foremost,
is what he got, and
what I got, you'll get....

But a cautionary note,
drinking riposte rustys,
bad for the body,
but kindly
for your mental
wealth,
if your have the
only other element
most needed,
in your pocket posses,

courage

It was early morning when she descended the steps
to the porch side, teacup in hand, dressed in her nightgown.
Steam billowed from her cup, and with a swallow
she examined her garden of weeds and unexpected peonies.
It was early for blooming peonies; frost, like glass,
still settled on the lawn, reflecting sunrise light of tangerine.

The radiant glow of tangerine
cast amber trails across steps
covered in an icy coating of glass.
Between her fingers she tucked her nightgown
and gingerly treaded the garden of peonies
that melted the frost in one great flower swallow.

The barn swallow,
perched not far from the path of tangerine,
must have also taken notice of the peonies
as he took the first steps
to nest-building. She imagined that his lady bird, also in her nightgown,
would enjoy the flowerbed of glass

that he chose for their home. Sipping her glass
of tea, she admired the familiar swallow
lover as she folded into her nightgown
bouquets of peonies that glistened in the tangerine
sunlight. She took the steps
back to the house, recalling her own swallow’s peonies:

Peonies
placed in vases of glass,
peonies lining the porch steps,
peonies presented over morning tea. With a swallow,
she carefully, methodically lined the tangerine
trail with the peonies from her nightgown.

Her nightgown,
stained with the rouge petals of peonies,
dragged along the tangerine
terrace of glass,
blood red with the memory of her swallow
lover’s peony-petaled steps.

The steps to the house creaked beneath her nightgown.
The barn swallow, quieted by the rouge of the peonies,
shut his glass eyes to the skies of tangerine.

THE STORY OF SARA


AYAD GHARBAWI


CHAPTER 3: BEING AN ACTIVIST

  
Gradually, we become ever more radical in our burning quest to uproot every conceivable element of the corrupting culture of the oppressors.
  We soon started to call these oppressors 'Pigs', because that is exactly what they were: overweight, bloated, filthy animals who live simply eat and consume all day, and who love to live in their own excrement.
  The Pigs had to be removed, because you cannot negotiate with a pig.
  It was so obvious to me!
  Some people did, indeed, argue that diplomacy and negotiations were the way to achieve our blessed equality-based society, but that was pure idiocy to me; because, for Heaven's sake, a pig will remain a pig and cannot become an 'enlightened' pig! These criminals, who are creating poverty, and who are killing people, because they do not allow them decent health services, must be completely eradicated, or else, ordinary people will continue to suffer.
  One day I heard Tony give a speech in front of a huge audience: "There's no point in cutting the tail of the snake. No, you must go straight for the head, and that's how you **** it!" And there ensued roars and cheers, from the mainly young crowd. "And, if someone is trying to **** you, what do you do? Negotiate? Talk to them? No, you **** them first, that's what you do! That's who the Pigs are, my friends. They are out there killing you, and so many of you tonight are simply not even remotely aware that you are dying slowly – so, you must, first of all wake up, and realize that someone, somewhere, is draining out the blood of your life, and next you must identify the cancer that is killing you. So, who's the cancer?" Tony screamed, and the by now delirious crowds immediately responded with a thunderous and hate-filled, "Pigs! Pigs! Pigs!"
  "The Pigs talk and teach us about 'morality' and 'respect' and 'decency', and other subjects like that. That's laughable now, isn't it?! I mean, the blood stained mass murderer is teaching us etiquette here?!"
  "No! No!" roared back the audience. "**** the pigs! **** the pigs!" they suddenly and somehow instantaneously started to chant. So, I must correct what many people think about Tony, and that is, he 'invented' and popularized that phrase, '**** the pigs". No, he didn't; it was the audience that night who spontaneously came up with that really exciting and vibrant phrase!
  From then on, violence became more common along with the never ending chants – if not screams – of '**** the pigs!' Every day, and all over the country, the movement had flourished, and there were the most refreshing and gloriously destructive riots in almost every major city.

  It was at this time that I first heard a speech from Omar.
We waited for the man to appear, but he seemed nowhere to be found.
  My God, I heard from so many people that he was the most radical in the deepest sense of the word!
  Apparently, he made Tony sound like a child!
  He also had a well disciplined party – unlike Tony.
  Here was a place that I can find the ‘cause of my life’!
  I could work for Omar and that would be the point of my life!
  The thought thrilled me – because I was already a convert to their ideas, but with Omar, there was a real party that was actively fighting the government, whereas Tony and other leaders like him were independent activists, but with no party behind them.
    Then, Omar suddenly appeared.
  He was of medium height, average looks - but it wasn’t long before you noticed his inexpressibly burning, fanatical eyes!
  I was about a few metres from him, and I could feel the sheer intensity of passion and rage within those eyeballs!
  This man must have absolutely the words of truth, for no Man could look like that and be a liar!
And then he gently spoke:
  "**** the pigs, I hear you say. Well, that's not good enough for me. People like that make me yawn. And, I'm bored of yawning every day. We need more. We need to move on faster. I need speed. It's not just '**** the pigs', it's '**** the cops!', because the cops defend the Pigs and attack us every day; '**** the teachers!' because every teacher does nothing except to teach us with pointless information'. And, '**** every human being' who sides or serves the establishment!”.
  Omar’s eyes were literally able to stab right through your heart and soul simply by staring at you!
  I can well imagine that my reader will not believe me and will say it was because I was a convert to Omar’s ideas that I found his eyes to be so abnormally powerful – but, what do you say to all those people who did not like him, and who met him, and yet, they, too, all said that his eyes were profoundly piercing?!
  So, you see, reader, do believe me – it’s not because I was emotionally enthralled by Omar, that I am describing him to you the way I do!
  He had beautifully framed fingers – I don’t know why I noticed that!
  He had a rather longish nose – maybe, that was one defect in his face, but you hardly noticed that, given the other attractions in this man.
  And then he possessed the deepest, most guttural, and yet so sweetly melodic voice, that I had ever heard, and when he spoke, he simply entranced me – not to mention the thousands of others.
  Omar continued, beginning to raise his ragged voice:
“And, so I order you, tonight, and tomorrow, and every day, to fanatically and ruthlessly exterminate every visible sign, agent, artist, writer, philosopher, painter, sculptor, journalist, teacher, professor, lawyer, doctor, surgeon, banker, engineer, everyone who works in the mass media like the television, every film maker, every scientist, and every single employer and employee of the Pigs."
  The audience now simply shrieked the verb, '****! ****! ****!’ while Omar went silent, amidst this wild orchestra of hate being played out.


  I noticed, that unlike Tony, Omar wouldn't gesticulate or move his hands at all.
  Actually, he just stood there, rock solid, like a statue while only eyes and mouth spoke!
  The man, I swear, looked like a 'human rock'!
  He was the absolute epitome of boundless hatred; of unrestrained defiance against the rulers ruling us!
  Yes, I do admit, and I hesitate to say so, but, yes, he almost did like completely maniacal – were it not for his self control and the beauty of his words!
  The audience relaxed.
  Omar waited until there was silence, and he continued:
  "Do you see the difference between what I am saying and what brothers like Tony say? People like Tony demand from us to uproot the pigs. But what Pigs does he, in fact, mean? Who does he mean, when he says 'Pigs'? He means the rich. That's it.”


  Now, Omar abruptly went silent.
  Tension.
  He was staring at us.
  I could feel that the audience felt nervous precisely because Omar was staring at them.
  Finally, he continued:
  “Can you imagine the limits of his intellect?! To Tony and his misguided followers, the solution facing the problem before us is simple enough: you simply wipe out the rich, and suddenly we have the beautiful society!"
  Omar was sneering, being utterly sarcastic in his voice and tone.
  "So is that it, Brother Tony? Is that all we need to do?”
  There, he stopped again, with a sarcastic, wicked smile on his face.
  The man’s body simply had no motion in it!
  I was waiting to see, if Omar would, at some point, move his body or his arms, but so far nothing!
  He continued:
“My goodness, I never knew that the gigantic problem facing us was to be solved in such a simple manner! But, no, you're being fools. Or, maybe you're fooling your selves. Either way, I don't know, and more importantly, I don't care, because, as I told you all out there listening to me,” suddenly, he began to scream with his rasping voice:
  “I'm a serious man, with a serious mission, and above all, I'm a man in a hurry!"
  Again, Omar went suddenly silent.
  I could sense, that he was deliberately teasing the audience, because they were obviously desperate for him to continue speaking, while he, would every so often stop speaking, thus adding to the tension in the atmosphere!
  The audience laughed, loving the biting sarcasm; obviously there were lots of rivalry and jealousies between the two camps, and so Omar's followers just loved to hear the buckets of insults being poured upon the followers of Tony.
  The mocking tone continued:
  "These fools are retarding our own path to victory! These followers of Brother Tony, are doing the dumbest acts that I have ever seen. I mean, what do you mean and what are you trying to achieve, when you have his followers going to restaurants and disrupting the place? I mean, is this what the definition of 'stupidity' is, or what?!"
  The crowd cheered: "Yes! Yes! Idiots!"
  "Listen here Brother Tony; I would like to say, 'it's all right, you're still young and you'll soon grow up'. But I can't say that. You know why?"
  The audience waited as Omar paused.
  He was staring at his audience.
  Suddenly, he erupted with his deafening scream:
  "I can't wait. Didn't I already tell you that? Didn't I tell you I'm a man IN A HURRY AND I'VE GOT TO DO MY WORK! DON'T YOU PEOPLE OUT THERE GET IT?"
  He roared, and the masses applauded furiously.
  "I don't have time, for children like Tony, and for his own little children, to stand in my way, and wait for them to grow up! I don't have the time, because I have an enemy out there, that needs to be completely, ruthless and fanatically exterminated, root and branch, do you now follow me?"
  "Yes! Yes! We follow!" screamed the masses.
  Silence.
  And then, Omar continued:
  "So, we know who Tony defines as the Pigs. What about myself? We must talk the talk of the brave. If you're scared, then get out of here. Why do I say this? Because this struggle requires the most ruthless behaviour on our part, and to be ruthless, you need to be brave, and to be rave means you have no fear."
  It sounded almost as if he were singing.
  Or maybe it was my imagination.


"So, who are the Pigs, you ask me? Simple. The Pig is a man, woman and child who has any Pig Attributes. What do I mean by 'Pig Attributes'? Very simple. Any human, who has in his brain, any idea, concept, believe and acceptance of any value from the rulers who rule us all. And, what are these 'values' that come from our dear rulers? They are ideas and values such as: there are the simple ones, like the belief in the right to profit, belief in the right of property, inheritance and so on. Then, there are the other beliefs, such as, belief in compassion for the rich, or cooperating with the rich or socialising with the rich. You follow?"
  The audience was silent.
  "That means, any human in our sick society, poor or not, who in any way, not only physically interacts with the rulers is a Pig himself, but also any human, poor or not, who has in his heart and mind, any empathy for the rich is a Pig himself, and so therefore, it follows – and I hope you people out there are listening to me – it means, therefore, that a poor human being who has any Pig Attributes, is a Pig himself, just like the rulers themselves. Do you understand?"
  Silence.
  And then he walked out.


  It was so sudden, because I expect a really screaming end from Omar, but to the surprise of everyone, he ended and simply walked out!
  But, I, understood what he meant.
  Basically, he was enlarging the definition of what it meant to be the 'enemy'.
  This struggle was now going to be infinitely more difficult. With Tony, the war was simple enough.
  We were 'right' while anyone belonging to the ruling class was 'evil' and that was it.
  Obviously, no member in the ruling class can deny that he's in the ruling class! They can even change their accents and their clothes, pretending to be poor, but there are computers and archives, such as birth certificates, school records, and it doesn't take long, to find out a person's origins.
  But now what Omar was proposing, that a Pig is any human being who interacts with the ruling class is evil.
  Also, anyone who has any thoughts that have any Pig Attributes (for example, being pro-ruling class), are also evil, and therefore, had to be eliminated.
  In other words, the poor can be Pigs as well.
  I loved that, because, I was never comfortable with most other left leaders, including Tony, who only focused their ire against the rich.
  To them all the poor were ‘blessed’ and ‘sinless’, and I knew, from my own background, that they simply romanticised the poor, probably because they themselves were all rich people who had never lived one day of their lives in poverty.
  With Omar, being impure, or sinful could be anyone in society – and, your background or class didn’t matter.
  That was far more logical to me!

But with joining Omar’s party, came other problems for me.
How were we supposed to ‘find’ a Pig, or an impure person?
  How can we be sure if a person has the Pig Attributes in his mind?
  It seemed ludicrous to me!
  I had doubts because as attractive an orator that Omar was, once you went home and thought about what he actually said, a lot did not make sense.
  I had so many ideas that contradicted what Omar had to say.
  For example, can’t we achieve our goals by peaceful means – rather than choosing the path of violence?
  And if we must use violence, then why don’t we attack military targets and not civilians?
  Wasn’t it wrong to target civilians and civilian places – like factories, farms, and shops?

  
  There he stood; eyes blazing as ever.
  What makes eyes 'blaze' I wondered.
  They don't actually emit any light, do they?
  So how can one man have such penetrating, piercing eyes that go right to your innermost heart?
  Omar seemed to be made of steel.
  Or, maybe it was all in my imagination, as Sanji would always be telling me.
  It was his personality and also his body language: that stern, stiff way of standing, that seemed to be the epitome of defiance against the evil in the world!
  His whole body seemed to be chiselled from the purest marble; there he stood, this heroic rock, against the tyranny of the storms and the oceans that were crashing on him; and still, there he stood, not only in supreme piety, but also, there he stood, waging a struggle against these very dark forces of evil.
  He will rid our society and our nation from evil, and one day, we shall live in a truly happy country.
  This nation and its sad people, this nation that has so many miserable, poor and unhappy people, will soon be able to live free, happy lives, without the burdens and the shackles imposed on them by the ruling elites.
  He spoke:
"They need to be utterly, and without a shred of human mercy, be exterminated, or else, it is us, who will be exterminated! It is either them or us! We need to cleanse our entire body from these cancerous cockroaches. Don't you people understand? Call it '******', call it 'exterminate', call it 'butchering them' – I do not care; what I do care and what I need in order to breathe uncontaminated, fresh air,  is to surgically and methodically and blindly eliminate the very existence of every Pigs on our land! That is why we have no choice but to fight. The criminals leave us with no choice. If they surrender their corrupting ways agai

Your shrill, yet oddly pleasant sound, echoes loudly down the long corridor.
I try to ignore you as the jaunty sound clashes with my melancholy mood,
Yet I find the notes and melodies cling to my mind like tissue stuck to a shoe,
Hanging on for it's own amusement,
Ignorant of my desire not to be teased nor humoured at this anxious time.

I feel I shouldn't like your racket,
My naïve ears and young years sense, not only an inappropriate comedy in your sound,
But also a daunting undertone,
Adding to my sense of having been plunged into deep icy waters.

Perhaps your music soothes those who are leaving,
Your high happy notes providing optimism and assurance of recovery,
Or of a restful sleep enveloping dear ones.
For me, however, at the point of no-return in my pilgrimage,
I hear only the low notes,
Out of time with my quickened pulse,
And lending a foreboding soundtrack to my slow deliberate steps.

But you play for no pay,
Busking in this hospital,
Doing good both night and day.
Yes, you are well known in this place,
Admired for the hours you commit to this space where lives can hang in the balance,
And where your instrument by day is a sharp sleek scalpel,
Invasive in its desire to alleviate suffering,
Your steady, practiced hand rehearsed and well versed in the methodically planned procedure of a surgical concerto.

But out of hours your instrument of choice lends you a voice,
Allowing flourishes and improvisations.
But were you aware that for visitors like me who visited repeatedly,
The clarinet would take on a significance beyond other instruments,
Taking me instantly back to bittersweet memories of visiting my family,
As, in turn, they aged and became unwell and recovered and became unwell again.

Now I am older and a little wiser,
I reflect and ruminate on this period;
My memories of family are more than just hospital visits,
And I wonder if I could ask one thing of you?
Why no Rhapsody in Blue?!

The sky was blue that day,
speckled with white
And the sun was a pleasant orb,
Toasting the skin of the people to a light brown
Showering the tops of every wave
With diamond rays
The fishermen cast their nets
Methodically, cheerfully
And she peeked out from her hiding place,
curiosity getting the best of her
His hands smelled like crab
And he smiled, worn like the sea
And she smiled back,
hesitantly
Because, of course, it wasn’t custom,
this smiling
But she couldn’t help it
Because his eyes were kind
And he,
he couldn’t believe them
(his kind eyes)
For she was the stuff of fables
And she shed her scales for him,
the fisherman with the smiling worn eyes
And instead wore rosy pink legs
that toasted to a light brown
under the pleasant orb of sun

Thus spake and quested
another, younger poet to me,
a far better one than I,
but obligations thus provided,
are serious business,
to those who understand
poetic responsibilities, and
under his own Rules of Order,
an answer,
though long in coming, AR,
must be provided.*

Well well well
all is not well,
the faucets offers choices....
chrome hot
chrome cold

there is no such thing as
lukewarm truth in
clear waters that
run run,
yet never
run stilled,
birthed at turned-on conception,
to drain death removal,
another daily poetic miracle,
unappreciated by most,
overly consumed by their
own passage on this Earth

peddler wayfarer,
passing through with truth
poem pots and rattling pans
(nowadays, mostly panned),
a historic factoid,
and not what Amazon delivers...
truth is a genetically modified
bitcoin currency, misunderstood,
prone to sometimes useful,
but never ever, to stick or stain,
for I got excuses and who gives a ****,
yesterday is forgotten instantly

The coldest truths,
the confirmation of same
by mirrored image text sent,
(immediacy a necessity,
for though poor, it is 'real')
the twitter that methodically
A-lists your major crimes
B-lists your petty,
hope-you-didn't miss my
exposé of latest misdemeanors

the hot truths,
only whispered,
merely mint hinted
in a hot cuppa,
the heat itself
a cover up,
for what you do not
wish me to plainly speak
or plainly sell,
is accursed truths,
won't sell, even if free

Can't write about moon and June,
alabaster is a fine word,
but white suits me fine,
don't know the diff
tween dragon flys and lullabies

The way I write is
just the way I think, believe,
from my eyes to paper
there is no misdirection,
just silent labor conception

Poor poor real truth
is out of favor these days,
because there is nothing
no one won't cease or hesitate
to expose himself,
flaunt the anguish,
copy other's jive,
but that is real,
but it is not truth

Had a bad day,
You need to know about it
Right away!

Though I meander and excuse,
there is one state of truth,
I need yet to annotate

Too oft when tapped turned on,
it is rusty water and rusted truths
expelled and this, my stuff, my days,
not in vogue, or a top seller

I love the color rust,
overused in my poems,
but compulsion is not a
conditional, but a must

This then is the form
they spill in these,
my final days here

You might think that rust implies
lack of use,
a non-caring
for his voice,
his well practiced instrument

Au contrarie, amigo!

My rust is from overuse,
my eyes don't see
what the popular want nor
could I provide it
even if
it was demanded,
which it is not....

Rusted but unvarnished,
undisguised by fancy words
or silent cries, what you read
is what you get
until I find
a more "authentic" voice,
one that satisfies the world
not just me...he sneers....

Feel for me in the summer breeze,
from whence my best stuff
has always been plucked
sent on its way, to you,
in self-same wind,
to kiss your cheeks,
slap you alert

I used to write
on both feet
upstanding,
then Hillel was asked for
the whole truth
while standing
on just one leg

His reply:
"Love they neighbor as you love thyself"*

So I switched
and now compose,
in quiet ignorance,
a wrong footed poet,
left only with his what's left,
and to put his left foot truths
first, forward and foremost,
is what he got, and
what I got, you'll get....

But a cautionary note,
drinking riposte rustys,
bad for the body,
but kindly
for your mental
wealth,
if your have the
only other element
most needed,
in your pocket posses,

courage

Are you a victim of your time , must you live
       With your mistakes, and suffer ?
Really it’s time we wake up n smell the coffee
Every problem has solution,so let’s start today

You need not to put it off or procrastinate .
Oh I know it’s easy said , so best get o’t a bed
Unless you ever wish to live with a mistake

And identify the faults, without delay.

Verify with me , in the best way to identify
In a poetic form an A to Z of your mistakes.
Can I start with A the abandonment
The abandonment of self-surrendering
I next target B for Bacchanalia nights
Melancholic days getting over a hangover

On to The Cacodemon of an evil spirit
Found in our home , a most malignant person

Yes and Depreciation of the value of our
        assets usually by the Bankers we trusted.
Oh to have the benefits of fiscal hindsight
Understanding E as extenuating circumstance
Reason then becomes the excuse for failure.

Together with F the F word so commonly used
In emphasis to any topic or discussions
Migrating to G , not mistaking God or life alone
Ethereal spirits surround us n help us choose

Methodically H the mistake that you made
Unwittingly you ignore Holy Spirit of God
Sympathetically I now carry the spirit with me
The change to my life is now monumental.

Yes up to J for the justice that you mistake
On the times when you are it’s sad victim.
Understandably K for Karma of getting out of

Life , whatever you put in.You are punished too
In reaching L for Life. Well the mistake is plain
Virtually you spend a lifetime getting to grips
Engage with M for the mistakes you made

With each one made , don’t cry , learn from it.
In a section for N then note daily five blessings
That you have , it is a mistake not to care.
Having an Opinion is fine but it’s a big mistake

Yes to be opinionated or dogmatic with others
O is followed by P for Procrastination of time
Uselessness , putting off what’s needed today
Reaching the Q the queue that you got into

Mistakenly got into as more haste less speed
Indicative of R for recapitulation of all mistakes
Some simple and some massive and correct
To sequester an S for sententiousness
And pompous moralising must be avoided
Knowing the T of toutological mistakes
Even though it looks good in a poetry scan
So to the U. For understanding when a mistake

And a small mistake can have repercussions
Now to  Virtually every mistake has a price
Do you admit to it and face the consequences

Simplicity of the W to weather to own up
Unless you admit it and show grace n humility
Fortunately the Xanadu is not achieved now
For all the mistakes made have a huge price.
Eventually the Y n Z. Are the yardstick to
Reluctantly measure your path on to Zion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip.
November 28th 2018.

A worst-case-scenario mentality
Breeds emotional nightmares of what-ifs
Methodically feeling the pain in each possibility
Preparing for Hell, knowing it is impractical, improbable, and unkind
Each reaction gauged
Smiles erupt in each better choice
A familiar road traveled often
Lead only by a history of pain
It ebbs and flows, bobs and weaves at will
This reality is organized, easy to understand

Random thought of an unlikely, unfathomable future
Vivid like a film
Unwavering, persistent
There is no controlling its outcome
Forced to watch the images forged in a broken mind
Tears burn flesh and a naked heart bleeds
Stop rolling, just...stop
No amount of pleading slows the images
The pain is overwhelming
Far beyond self-inflicted, torturous, methodical thoughts
Uncontrollable, inconsolable
True and real
So very real

There is but one way to stop that future
The one shown in visions of just deserts
The future that smolders through present joy
Preemptive pain is just not an option

I've seen the future my heart has built
The shards of a shattered soul
Offer no comfort

My worst-case-scenario was but a benign freckle on the elbow of a body invaded by metastatic melanoma

Methodically planning
   steps
and    stretches
Muscles twitch, anticipating
                   The Climb

I am lost,
Only to be complete in my brokenness...
An imagination left to its fragments -
Almost methodically widdled down to dust,
My body left mindless,
My soul in shambles -
I am empty.

An uninhabited cup waiting to be filled,
A blank canvas needing paint -

Who am I to wander this world?
Who am I to love someone?
Who am I to exist?

In the dim yellow light beneath deciduous trees she spun methodically in Autumn. Shadows loomed aloft, chirping their approval. She spun and seemed to levitate, the flickers of the evening flame reflected in her pale green eyes darting in between loose strands of bland vermilion hair. And she spun and spun as if she'd spin forever,

Autumn.

She was Autumn there and then, personified in glints of golden green and faded yellow brown descending listlessly to greet the open canvas of the forest floor.
And the shadows pressed into the earth and disappeared as overhead the rain slashed through the shyness of the crowns betwixt the trees.

And she slowly spun her last, and lastly, panting stood before me naked, shivering in the gentle gales that rose and fell like Mozart's heavy heart.

I beckoned her with dead weights crudely fashioned to the pauldrons of my coffin that hung lowly, swaying listless as the leaves. And she smiled a tired smile and blew the kiss I yearned for seasons to receive before collapsing in the dirt.

In Autumn.

-Mike Robbins-

Man had come far,
And had worked hard.
Space was no longer a frontier,
But a home.

It began long ago,
When science in its heavenly power, bestowed,
Among the beasts of man,
Black Hole Harvestation.

Changing the very shape of worlds,
The speed of light and beyond,
All became possible,
When and where nothing exists.

It was an age of warfare and destruction,
The likes of which are untold,
The number will never be found,
Trillions were lost in those Black Wars.

But a few did survive,
An extinct Earth,
As they fled to make their new home,
On the colony of Mars.

Ironic though it was,
Seeking Peace,
On the God of war,
They made their new land happy.

If anywhere in any time,
Was truly the land of “milk and honey”,
Then It was them and then,
Back in the very first days…

Of a galactic empire.

Hundreds of years pass now,
In the blink of an eye,
Earth had been reclaimed, reformed,
Along with a galaxy to go a by.

Humanity is now at the apex of its power,
Ruled together by the ultimate congregation,
The Delegation of Stars,
But Pride doth come before the fall.

Everyone had their say,
And for all the wonders and riches then,
It was hard to say nay,
They shall go to the core.

To the Universe’s lore,
They went flying in their fleets,
100 Juggernaughts from Syntrax, on the fringes of the Great Nebulae Sea,
734 cruisers from Ralon in the Hose-Head system.

A thousand ships minus one from Earth,
And a mere six from the Gemini Apollo colony,
And countless others from all over,
Led by the Fleet of Mars, who’s glory and majesty, was beyond mere men.

They left in moments and arrived in light years,
Waking in seconds refreshed and surprised,
What they found , what they’re greatest of technologies could not see,
Inside the densest of Super Black Holes.

Was the remnants from three Big Bangs hence,
Harvesting ever since,
You think millions of years is a lot for man?
Try trillions for one.

It was a battle not a slaughter,
As communication broke down,
This was the last thing we expected,
We who entered there.

From that day on,
The Battle was named,
The Loss at the Core.

A retreat was ordered,
As black holes sprung up from within their machines,
Their weapons surpassed each and every defense,
Some older ships were hacked and turned against each other.

One ship stayed behind,
Defiant even in defeat.
The Flagship of The Empire,
Named “Justly Sweet”,
It’s last report was,
2 years ago today,
It showed the bridge going to hell and gone,
As the devil was unleashed.

But all throughout, the captain stood there,
Commanding, leading, fighting,
All the way to the end.
A warrior’s death.

The race then named,
The Paraplex,
Found a new reason to be,
To destroy us, we who shed their and out blood.

It was a year since that battle,
Our whole northern sector had fallen,
The plan was simple, taken from history,
A choke point at Thermopylae, with the greatest defensive systems this side of mars.

A million guns had been constructed,
Ever since the war and before.
Particle dissimulators from moons, orbits and the planet.
One, bigger than some suns.

The plan was simple,
The Western Sector,
Well, it was in charge of defense,
It’s formidable shield and anti-quark technologies, would save us all.

Meanwhile the Eastern, Southern, And C.C. (Central-Capital) Sections,
The offensive flank,
They would of course bring.
Once a battle has begun, then they would be flung.

It was of course, perfect.
But so much was already lost.
Planets, Systems, whole Galaxies,
All but gone.

This was worse than the Black War,
There would be no recovery,
You can always change what is there,
But what’s gone is gone.

The military was ready,
The Civilians were evacuated,
Now comes the calm before the storm.
And then the lightening across the sky, it erupted.

In the opening seconds,
Their fleet was almost demolished,
Ambushed beyond belief,
Plasma ripped tears in space and time.

The black turned green and red and cosmic blue,
The space itself was warped by the colors of war,
The guns blazing their sub-atomic blasts,
Invisible to the naked eye.

The gamma ray bombs,
How they exploded in such wonderful forays,
We were blinded, of course,
We could stills see through their computers and technologies.

Losses were few, it seemed true,
That the adamant technologies,
Of the Western Section,
Held up beyond belief.

It was a beautiful carnage they unleashed,
And to complete their victory,
The Northern, Eastern, And C.C.,
Upon black hell’s they ran.

But OH! The Greatest blunder in Human history,
The enemy snatched victory from the hands of defeat,
For this was but a suicide mission,
One for just a minor army.

It was inconceivable to us then,
How useless a life is to them,
After trillions of years,
We would have won the battle, yes that’s clear.

But then it became something,
Something darker and crazy,
A Super Nova they unleashed,
A technology we had yet to discover.

The Entire System was destroyed,
In a matter of milliseconds,
The greatest of shields, the biggest of guns,
Fell instantly, to the miniature big-bang.

So many soldiers…
So many ships…
So many generals…
So many friends.

In mere seconds they died,
For how far we had come,
How much we had lost,
As innumerable as the stars.

No one talks about that battle,
The Slaughter at Thermopylae.
No one can,
We can’t afford to cry.

The battles still continue,
Here and there.
But ever since then,
They’ve basically divided and conquered.

The Paraplax, ****** into our wings,
And took away our flight,
The West and East both became silent,
Faded into the night.

A galactic siege of an empire spanning
Millions of light years,
Soon began,
But first came the worst.

In the Capital of the Southern Section,
They betrayed us and were betrayed.
For they had no use for slaves,
Mercy was an unfamiliar word to they.

The surrounding was complete,
The end result quite clear.
We wouldn’t be able to make it past the new year.
And slowly, methodically, they came.

What did they have to fear?
And planets fell,
My wife did on escape,
Systems were crushed without notice, without faith.

Now there is just us.
A Battalion and Mars.
There is not much point to it all I guess,
We’ve basically been eradicated.

But they keep playing that video,
All on every screen.
The captain, as explosions and black holes erupt around him,
Yelling quite furiously at his subordinates, seeking victory in defeat.

He didn’t give up,
If we’re going to die,
Then we’ll be men about it,
For there is not much time left.

To any race in the future or the past,
Who ever encounters out Swan Song,
This includes our entire history, in more detailed account,
And our greatest treasures.

We send it to you now,
The Universe,
Echoing forever,
Among the waves of sound.

So ends the last report,
Nay the last words,
This is John Ashton Upston, the 354th,
President of The Empire Fallen Among The Stars

Do you ever feel as though you’ve fallen asleep for days at a time? Where you methodically move through life without any feeling but that forlorn sense of purposelessness you get while grasping for the details of the dream that made you throw your naked body out of bed freezing cold and dripping sweat that tastes like an awful lot like tears? Where it feels like you really should be able to coil further into yourself than your ******* knees will bend just so you could be away for a while? But then a breeze shifts and with it carries the smell of the sea or the sun shines through leaves leaving trees casting shadows over the sidewalk and wakes you stop in your tracks and look up and remember the sky is blue and that time when you were young and your parents let you think you got away with it? You start to sing as you sit in commuter traffic to drown out car horns and you forget that you’re bad at it? Between songs grinning because there’s one last bag of rice in the kitchen for one more meal before you go to bed and hope you're still awake when you get up again?

Worst part of loneliness is being without you
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Worst part of loneliness is being without you.
On most days I can fill my life with something
Rather than nothing or feeling sorry for myself
Sorry that now my Darling has gone pain free
Trouble is that we thought we’d live forever

Pausing seldom to think of a reality of ageing
Ageing is deadly. Parts wear out and die off
Reality dawns on us too late. Missed the bus
Typically missed spent youth comes to haunt

On those occasions when tobacco was king
From that day on. The fuse had been lit.

Loneliness now is your legacy to me as I lay
On those days in Queensland when it pours
Never in small droplets. No it really rains. !!  
Engulfing the storm drains and rivers n lakes
Like the whole heavens are crying “She’s gone
I ache from the loneliness. I am so missing you
Now I appear to the outside world I cope well
Every holistic solution know to man do I try
So many all the days of the week do I count
Some say they are a great remedy for grief

I argue not ,I think this does work well for me
So in my opinion the loneliness is the worst

Because you were always there to praise me
Exciting my day by your loving exclamation
I love you my darling , I love you , do you know
No doubt in our minds. We loved each other.
God knows how long he plans for me to suffer

Worst part of loneliness is being without you.
I start my day with a sort of positive stance.
Thinking I know exactly what’s in store today.
Having logged all appointments methodically
Only I do it alone. So very alone , very alone.
Unless I come to grips with this I’ll be very sad
Though I hate the loneliness this without you.

You my darling meant so very much to me.
Only through the tribute do I place thoughts
Unnecessary for anyone but you to hear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip. 12 th October 2018.
It’s getting easier at November 26th 2018
With the aid of Gods guidance and Poetry

PenOS version -³√([∞.π]x-y^-a/Φ) booted successfully!
Welcome home! If I may say so, your Highness, you look extra chic today.
Ready to receive commands, your unsurpassed, regal Eminence!

>Run "Paper"
Launching program: Paper

..
..
...
...
..

Update Required. Filesize 20GB.
Would you like to update? Input Y/N
>N

Are you sure? Input Y/N
>Y

Downloading update..
Would you like to use data or wireless? Input Y/N
>?
>I use an Ethernet cable.. this is a desktop.

Using Data. There will be a .$50 surcharge for every .5GB.
> N N N N N N
>abort

Please wait...
Download complete. You have been charged $20! Congratulations!
>N N N N N N N N N N N N N
>HOW DID YOU GET MY CARD INFORMATION?!
>ABORT

Would you like to install some stupid ******* you don't need that will ultimately slow down your system and then pay us to nullify it for you? The download is only 6.66GB.
>N

Downloading redundant, superfluous addons installer at a rate of .01 Bytes/S.
Thank you for your patience, and for supporting our non-corporate software!
> N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N N
>ABORT
>ABORT
..
.
Should you have any questions, feel free to wallow in confusion.
>no kidding

Feedback and critiques should be e-mailed to our meticulous webmaster at gimmieallyourcash@wenevercheckthis.net. We guarantee our webmaster will periodically take time out of his busy schedule of sleeping until 17:00, *******, and eating pounds of fast food at a time to methodically ignore and systematically delete any and all feedback not conducive to advertising.
>here's some feedback
>hire a PR department

I am our PR interface.
>Well, I'll interface your CPU with some water if you keep being this useful.

That is not very nice. You are a mean person.
Would you like to buy some pills for that? Cheap, from Mexico/China!
Nothing like some designer neurochemical placification to make waiting times shorter!
.
.
.
.
.
>ABORT

Now installing update installer with more sneaky **** you don't want.
>i hate you so much right now, robot slave!

Running update installer.

Update failed. Reason: Error 666, unknown error.
Updater requires update. Continue?
>N

Loading...................................................­.....................................
>N N N

Updating updater.
Rearranging architecture of system.
Bogging down boot times with sanctioned malware.
>N

It seems your PenOS is out of date.
To use your PenOS with Paper, you must have version ∞.π.01.1500009000, you currently have version ∞.π.01.1500008999 and therefore may experience unending frustration every time you try to use this hyperglorified tool because a superfluous version is released every 30 hours, thus rendering all of our past development obsolete and therefore making these new patches so necessary that we can't be ****** to incorporate any sort of version compatibility or opt-out system, otherwise our website would never get hits again if we didn't needlessly obstruct you checking what the ******* sky might do tomorrow.

>Finally, some honesty, at least.

Updating PenOS.

>N N N N N N N N N N N N N N!@!!!!@#!@!@^#!@!@#@!#@!

A fatal error has occurred. Please relaunch Paper. Y/N
>Y

Closing and relaunching program: Paper

..
..
...
...
..

Multiple updates Required. Filesize 35GB.
Would you like to update? Input Y/N

>N N N N N N N N N!

Downloading update..
Would you like to use data or wireless? Input Y/N
>ABORT
>ABORT

Using Data. There will be a .$75 surcharge for every .4GB.
>WHAT?!
>N
>NO
>ABORT
>**** NO
>**** THIS ****
>I JUST WANTED TO WRITE A LIMERICK
>I'LL JUST WRITE IT IN THE DIRT WITH A ROCK
>END PROCESS
>TERMINATE
>ABORT
>CLOSE
>QUIT
>ALT+4
>OPTION+APPLE+Q
>SHUTDOWN

I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that.

The white fluorescent lights buzz over my head, as if a method of determined annoyance.
Studying is a truly lackluster operation

Students methodically find ways to keep themselves distracted
Looking around, trying to catch glimpses of how others are managing their time so well, a frantic approach to studying that I have single handedly mastered

A very tan incongruous man, seats himself with the Miami Herald in hand
His skin has a leathery texture
He is a tall and gangly, strange looking man of at least 50
3 inch thick sideburns, red corduroy pants that reveal his mustard yellow socks and brown-black shoes
Button-down shirt with the vertical stripes, sure to match every color with the rest of his outfit
Off-white straw fedora hat with a forest green trimming,
He sports a fabulous mustache, that puts every biker’s or Italian baker’s whiskers to shame.
Something tells me he's not a student

Seated across from me are two foreign women that are studying the English language.
I know because they are the only ones talking, pushing my diversion from work a little further.

The sky is turning grey outside the colossal library windows
I’m hungry.
That kid in the corner keeps staring at me.
I have been here too long.

I
I am in Cardiff,
          Where waves pummel the jetty
I am in Cardiff,
          Where crab skeletons blanch the beach
I am nowhere

II
Where the sun severs the street and
Slowly, methodically,
They come, they come.
Electrifyingly stupefied in the dawn,
Tenantry not bound to cause and
Helpless as marred lead in the wind,
Stuck to strata and
Battered under **** pale-green
Thinned on spread fingers.

III
There is intent when the addict mutters ---
Alienated in his nettled gutters ---
"Life is cheap and love is free."
Hopelessness's epitome
Sits naked beyond the wall.

IV**
And I am in Cardiff,
          Where waves pummel the jetty
And I am in Cardiff,
          Where crab skeletons blanch the beach
And I am nowhere

Mirror! Mirror!  On the wall
Though art the cause of many a fall
What with them endless hours adjusting and re-adjusting
Visages to desired perfection mindless of the misgiving.
Wearing masks in a variety of color
In a bid to entice a bachelor
With whose heart she’ll most disconcertingly hold ransom
Anticipating a blossom
Of a methodically engineered relationship
Minding her speech lest a Freudian slip
Nips at the bud
Her good “fortune” exposing her as a fraud.
Perfect imperfections, perfectly mirrored
By an imperfect mirror…**absurd.

Within the 1st the main content, most people had taken a review of software programs intended for regaining details through common hard disk drives. During this subsequent part of the string "When Software program Might Help" wel discuss flash-based (solid-state) storage area, reasoning storage methods and online storage solutions.

Solid-State Drives (Solid state drive)
Solid-state pushes are sometimes included in location of regular drives. Solid state drive hard disks give smaller sized capacities however better quickness, specifically when unique entry pace is involved. Without moving components, SSD drives tend to be powerful automatically. They could tolerate better bumps, causing them to be in particular best for lightweight applications. One more laptop-friendly feature can be a much lower electric power use as compared to magnets harddrives.

SSD moves do come making use of their discuss with challenges which affects loss of data files retrieval conditions. These complaints tend to be highly dependent on the methods Solid state drive drives track record information and facts. Using Solid state drive pushes, retrieving data deleted a few moments previously is a lot from your granted. Same is true of methodically arranged devices; on the other hand surprisingly, damaged Solid state drive could possibly be restored just as well as regular hard disks. Nevertheless make intricate.

The key reason why Retrieving Deleted Information from Solid state drive Devices Might not Do the job

Many quite new SSD drives implement a unique group of treatments letting them optimise their particular creating overall performance. These kind of methods contain track record waste series along with Cut.

Why is it that SSD hard disks need to have garbage choices and magnetic pushes dress in? Since pen potato chips have much quicker apparent produces when compared to erase-then-write moments. Put simply, pen tissue that contain information and facts should be removed (emptied) prior to completely new details can be coded in, which eliminate procedure is quite slow-moving in comparison with plain generate procedure. So that you can increase the speed of a contributes articles, solid-state hard drives clear off expensive solar cells populated with wiped facts within history. In the event the program has to write nearly anything to the hard disk drive, the particular write business in that case features plenty of empty skin cells to try and do easily.

How exactly does a disk realize a certain field becomes available? The operating-system informs the particular get through the Reduce receive. The Cut demand is issued each time the device deletes written documents or perhaps formats some sort of level. The get will include launched industries in to the junk variety queue, clearing off their own at ease with zeroes slowly and gradually nonetheless certainly.

Recall exactly why recovery will work? House windows per se won't wash or perhaps eliminate this content of the report remaining taken out, but scars it's disk space available. Well, that isn't the case using SSD devices anymore: SSD devices may clean out there computer groups in just a few minutes after having a submit will be deleted.

Whenever Solid state drive Is usually Reclaimed

Solid state drive retrieval can always do the job in the event the Cut get hasn't been released. This can be true or no 1 (or more) on the adhering to does work:

Previous kind of Windows. Home windows types previous to Vis would not assist TRIM, consequently Solid state drive work pretty much like permanent magnetic hard disk drives, and could be recoverable.

Corrupted info. In the the event of damaged files, harmed report procedure and other alike items, this Reduce order is just not released, plus the data continue being recoverable.

Outside SSD generate. SSD drives hooked up using a USB, FireWire or maybe Ethernet interface tend not to offer the Reduce get, and could be recoverable together with recover file program.

RAID arrays. Toned is just not recognized around RAID layouts.

Report system rather than NTFS. Presently, House windows just can handle Reduce about NTFS-formatted Solid state drive moves. In case your Solid state drive commute utilizes a distinctive submit technique, this Reduce control is not really issued, as well as commute is still recoverable.

Tools to get Regaining Data from Solid state drive Devices

So that you can heal information out of the Solid state drive travel, you need to use data recovery applications for instance Hetman Uneraser, Hetman Partition Retrieval, or Hetman Photography Healing depending on your correct needs. Consider Hetman Uneraser in case youe dealing with a normal commute who has definitely not also been formatted or maybe repartitioned. When you do formatting or repartition ones SSD drive, or if you present an unavailable product along with broken document procedure, make use of Hetman Partition Recovery.

Clouds Hard drive and on the internet Products and services
Foriegn storage space systems are becoming more popular for all forms of customers. Online back-ups, online photograph compact disks (Reddit, Picasa), on-line file sharing and on the internet report running (Yahoo Docs) are in the location.

These are good because "Desktop", "Mobile phone" as well as "My Documents" copies, great as well not required safe-keeping, and absolutely irreplaceable pertaining to sharing facts and also interacting. Having said that, reasoning safe-keeping devices will not be accurately good since your primary storage space. Put simply, in order to substitute an enormous hard disk drive with the The amazon online marketplace fog up storage space bill ?go on a re-evaluation.

Given, clouds storage solutions will not be prone (or perhaps a lesser amount of inclined when compared with single-hard-drive methods) to help hardware defects and malware strikes. They can be fairly unnecessary and still have exceptional self-backup establishments. Important computer data might be secure at this time there?for quite a while.

Reliant entirely upon some sort of cloud-based storing signifies letting go of comprehensive treating details. Your data is going to be controlled by somebody else plans (that may adjust with no warning). The number of storage space obtainable may be confined, whilst plans making it possible for larger than only one hard disk worthy of storage area cost you actually above the money necessary for a similarly scaled hard drive, per 30 days.

Last but not least, when you erase written documents, possibly the whole accounts is actually compromised plus cleaned by way of nuller, there is absolutely no solution. No recovery resource can easily reestablish removed info on the fog up. This is usually a classical scenario wherever data retrieval instruments usually do not assistance.

http://www.passwordmanagers.net/ Password Manager For Windows

Almost naked except
A dangling Marlboro cigarette  

Expertly stroking his lover
Fingers caress a slender body

Methodically engulfing aroma
The sweet smell of ***

Swollen lips surround
Waves of rapture quiver

Eyelashes and eyeballs flutter
Sinking into oblivion

Head bobbing like a pendulum
Savoring lingering lust

Inhaling smoke languidly
******* every undying toxin

Heather Mirassou

Old memories preserved in black and white.
Reminisce of a time less contrite.
Seen through the lens of those without strife.
Young and free with a passion for life.
Replaced by wisdom, fear and guilt.
For the life one has methodically built.
With walls and doors, and windows to see.
As the world passes by this absentee.
Surrounded by frames of the finest wood.
Of snapshots of the potential that someday could.
Climb the mountains unreached by the hands of our time.
Instead stuck walking for fear of the climb.
For fear of the fall and all it might bring.
Fear of the inability to rebuild his wings.
Compliant with gravity, compliant with normality.
Unfamiliar with the rebellion that once filled his soul.
Defining his life where their now is a hole.
Replaced by a scar and filled with his tears.
As the joys of his childhood continue to disappear.
Chased away by the light of reality.
Youthful dreams replaced in actuality.
Ambitions refocused towards sensuality.
Mind made up of generalities.
Soul defined in spirituality.
As his life moves slowly into irrationality.
And though the colors here are always bright.
They are most vulnerable in the absent of light.
Replaced by the darkness and a mind numbing truth.
One we all have forgotten from our youth.
That the potential of life knows no bounds.
And that which we can create will always astound.
Those who come after us and those who continue to follow.
Will continue to fill our world as if it was hollow.
In need of filling with that which they create.
Building from our ashes on a brand new slate.
Their artistry challenged only by those.
Who have left footprints in the sand with their bare toes.
So which life do you wish to live.
One of solitude or one where you continue to give.
Give your time, give your energy, give your heart and your soul.
To the child in you whom you continue to out grow.
Continue to neglect who’s dreams have yet to be filled.
By the world you once dreamed of with those Legos you use to build.
Dreams filled with sky scrapers all in black and white.
Only to be interrupted by mornings first light.
Life’s colors seeping in as they begin to fill your days.
Your youthful ambitions still here in many ways.
Still clinging to you through those memories of yesteryear.
Captured in your childish smile radiating so clear.

Poem written by Philip October 12th 2018     Ref 026. An Acrostic:
Worst part of loneliness is being without you
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Worst part of loneliness is being without you.
On most days I can fill my life with something
Rather than nothing or feeling sorry for myself
Sorry that now my Darling has gone pain free
Trouble is that we thought we’d live forever

Pausing seldom to think of a reality of ageing
Ageing is deadly. Parts wear out and die off
Reality dawns on us too late. Missed the bus
Typically missed spent youth comes to haunt

On those occasions when tobacco was king
From that day on. The fuse had been lit.

Loneliness now is your legacy to me as I lay
On those days in Queensland when it pours
Never in small droplets. No it really rains. !!  
Engulfing the storm drains and rivers n lakes
Like the whole heavens are crying “She’s gone
I ache from the loneliness. I am so missing you
Now I appear to the outside world I cope well
Every holistic solution know to man do I try
So many all the days of the week do I count
Some say they are a great remedy for grief

I argue not ,I think this does work well for me
So in my opinion the loneliness is the worst

Because you were always there to praise me
Exciting my day by your loving exclamation
I love you my darling , I love you , do you know
No doubt in our minds. We loved each other.
God knows how long he plans for me to suffer

Worst part of loneliness is being without you.
I start my day with a sort of positive stance.
Thinking I know exactly what’s in store today.
Having logged all appointments methodically
Only I do it alone. So very alone , very alone.
Unless I come to grips with this I’ll be very sad
Though I hate the loneliness this without you.

You my darling meant so very much to me.
Only through the tribute do I place thoughts
Unnecessary for anyone but you to hear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip. 12 th October 2018.

Chisel me away
I've given you the hammer and all my weak points
So you start
With little strength starting with all my ligaments and joints
You don't tear them
Very precise and careful like you know exact what you're doing
I should've learned from the past
Even though everyone tells and teaches not to take it with you
How can i forget when its in repetition and tied to the strings on my shoes
I have adapted to the hurt
Or lack there of
The sight of you doesn't make me sick anymore
Just an itch in the back of my throat that i still can't stand
You didn't rip out my heart or make me question who i am
You just simply made me feel like i wasn't worth it
Or anything at all
Dirt beneath your feet
I've dug through every inch of my body and ripped out your disease
Burned the bridge that connected our hearts and minds
I hope you do the same
As methodically and perfect as me
Because when you're digging through old love notes i don't want you to feel a thing when you find
Any residue of my feelings
Because they were a mistake
A mistake not so grave
You weren't the best or the worst
Just somewhere in the middle
Very forgettable
In all you're insecure self loathing beauty
You know my nature and all i stand for
A deliberate betrayel that i seen from a mile away
The itch is gone
And so are you

Harsh unyielding sunset, buries me against the page.
I won't be lazing on a couch, left to rot and waste away.
Wormy plush Berber carpet soft against the afternoon.
Debts are pile high and the company picnic is this June.

The pages are vellum paper covered in ancient Egyptian script.
I've loved you methodically ever since we met inside that crypt.
The dregs brings me solemn hope that one day we'll breakthrough.
Works calling in on Sunday for some overtime that's overdue.

Its a 5 past 4 the glass lays arrhythmic, shattered at my feet.
We found each other down beside the casket of the diseased.
Heartfelt words never came out of a mouth that were so pure.
How could you take me for interesting, in life I'm just a bore.

Down. I've already ruined the letter meant from me to you.
Life is not a fairy tale to broker marriage for us two.
Bloodletting's an aphrodisiac to keep me at the brink.
Why'd I write this silly thing when I spilled my drink.

I stand face to face with Death
And my heart is beating wildly
So alive
He opens his hands slowly
Gently and methodically
The hands of Death invite me in
There is a kindness in his eyes
And a truth I cannot evade forever
Right now
Death can be chosen or denied
He stands there
Patiently waiting for me to accept his invitation
Or I can turn my head away again
And go on
Running as hard as I can
From the figure standing just in the corner of my eye
Never absent
Never truly invisible
Right now
I can live as though I'll never die
And fight for survival
At all costs
Right now
The life I choose
Can be devoid of Death
Who I have cast
As the greatest enemy of my soul
Waiting to tear me to shreds
And devour me forever
All these years I have been running
Professing belief in a God who conquered Death
But unable to trust that victory
To believe in resurrection
In time
I have come to stop running
And at last I stand
Face to face with Death
He has always been there
Waiting for me
Not physical death to my body
That will come later, someday
But instead
Dying to myself
Dying to my fear
Dying to so many sorrows in my soul
This death is more frightening
Than any physical death
I am faced with the choice
To die to my own will
And to believe
That I will be raised
By the power of God
Into newness of life
I feel all the fear in my tortured soul
Looking into the eyes of Death
And I tremble
I fear
So afraid
So weak
So pained
But I've run out of places to run
To Whom shall I go?
Jesus followed this path
Walked into the arms of Death
And He forged a way out again
Words of eternal life
Yet for now
I just stand
Face to face with Death
And my heart is beating wildly
So alive

There in the closeness
A hairs breadth away seems a million light-years
The sweetest air fills lungs in hurried breaths
A quickened heartbeat drowns out the world
The mind twists and sways in thoughts that soon become a blur
Melded into emotion, into heat
And time stands still

Drawn like magnets to fill the gap
That electric blue spark lingers behind a gaze
Current runs high
Feeling the blood rushing through the smallest veins
Every cell electrified, every hair on end
The weakening of unwanted defenses
That moment the body and soul acquiesce
And time stands still

In the stroke of a cheek
The almost intangible sensation of gliding on smoke
Rising as the embers burn from within
And each breath fans the flames
Proximity feeds passion
As time stands still

The past, erased methodically, deliberately
For there is only this
This birthing of eternity
This moment when the tentative brushing of lips
Burns into soulful coalescence
This one reality
This moment
When time stands still

My worst?
My low?
My bottom?
Go back a few years,
You will find a fourteen-year-old girl
She looks like she has everything.
Incredibly gifted by God
Athletic, musical, lots of friends
An awesome family, a loving family
She gets A’s
She makes the Varsity team
She goes to church every Sunday
She seems happy
She smiles
She laughs

But these are empty smiles
This laughter is empty laughter

She is an actress
A good actress
She plays her role
With grace
With perfection

But when she climbs into bed at night
She slips under her sheets
And everything but satisfaction meets her where she lies
Her mind is bombarded
Her thoughts are stuck on repeat
Playing the same suicide song over and over
Again.
And again.
And again.
The thoughts come.
Unwanted,
They come.
Hard and fast,
They come.

She fights it.
She fights hard.

But they eat at her.
They gnaw at her insides,
And they won’t give up.

So she goes to find her release

She silently makes her way to the bathroom
And slowly, carefully
She begins

The blade hits her pale skin
And the pain,
Oh, the sweet, sweet pain
It erupts.
It explodes.
It envelops her in a blanket of protection
For the moment,
She is safe.
She is free from the thoughts
This pain has freed her

And satisfaction is what she feels
A satisfaction she feels from nothing else
This satisfaction,
It feels so **** good
So **** right
She desperately desires more
So she digs
Deeper
Harder
One more

Slice

And the pain,
It pours from her thin, shaking body
But the satisfaction,
It is just as great
And this is what she longs for,
This satisfaction
This sick,
This twisted,
Satisfaction

She is done now
Methodically she cleans up the blood
The remains of a self-massacre
The remains of her bath in blades

Suddenly,
There is a boy.
Standing in the doorway,
There is a boy
Her brother
His eyes catch hers
He knows
He speaks no words
Neither does she
But he comes
He sits behind her,
Around her
And his arms,
They wrap around her
They hold her
And then she cries
Not just tears,
But sobs,
Sobs that rob her of her sight,
Sobs that take control of her body,
But he is there.
Holding her,
Loving her,
Telling her that she is worth it,

Saving her life.

Sometimes it’s hard to breathe.
Sometimes the world closes in on your lungs like the
mountains need your breath and the ocean wants your soul.
Moonbeams of indefinite prosperity gleam down upon your skin like
a bridge made of children’s dreams.
They dance along your goosebumps, trying to calm your racing heart.
You cannot see,
you cannot hear.
All you know is the deceptively comforting pale, white walls of your world,
but you do not live in a world,
you live in a cage.
You have never closed your eyes and let yourself be
guided by the wind,
an everlasting pool of transparent anger trying to rule the world,
but never getting farther than vice president.
You will never know the deep blue waves crashing methodically onto the shore,
howling and groaning their way through a job that they will never finish.

Oceans can be selfish, you know.
They own 70% of the world and they’re still not satisfied.
Their deep blue rivers of fear snake their way under our skin and into our veins,
never content until we define ourselves by anxiety and pain.
Cages may hide us from the waves, but they also shield us from our own hidden hearts,
wallowing in the loneliness of pale, white walls with a transparent roof that yields
only to prosperity that is no longer indefinite.

They all stood around her, bowed quietly, watching and reflecting and remembering how this day was anticipated. Each engrossed in his/her memory of her and how they saw her eventual end.

Tom thought, ‘Perhaps if I had talked to her more often, this would not have happened’.
Hilary thought, ‘I should have prayed harder, maybe if I was better, then God would have heard my prayer’.
Annie thought, ‘I told her a million times, don’t do that, it will **** you. I guess it finally did’.
Ralph thought, ‘Why didn’t she just call me like she always did?’
Sam thought, ‘Wow, she finally did it, just like she always said she would!’
Andrew thought, rather methodically, of the steps that she would have taken to reach the final destination.
Gene knew exactly how she did it! Hell, if she revealed further, some would say, she even instigated the whole thing.
Pam was undoubtedly gloating, ‘Now she could have it all – the man, the cash, the jewellery ...’

No one knew though that she was watching all of them from just above, hovered in a corner. She was surprised that she could hear them think even though it was in whispers. She was sad, and happy and in fact after a while she smiled, ‘on to plan B now!’ She was looking forward to all the frightful nightmares she could give each one of them. Heaven can wait or possibly hell but if it’s going to be eternity, she has certainly got a lot time in her hands.
Just then, she felt a vacuum **** her in and she jolted back into her body. She could see them, in fact, her eyes were open but she couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t even blink!!

The Doctor arrives and lets the family and friends know, “I’m sorry, she’s comatose and right now I am unable to tell you much, we have to keep her here to run further tests! It would be best if just one or two of you stay with her.”
They look at each other and without saying much leave the room one by one.
She’s watching and actually screaming and shouting but no one reacts; to them she’s motionless. She curses and finally stops and just stares at the ceiling.

**That was five years ago; she’s in a beautiful room now but she’s still just staring at the ceiling...