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My 115 personalities don't crash with cracked-up loser Sybil whose
furry *** wins love in the dark, 2 sips of cream in a bowl of kibble
543 spooky incarnations ain't wrecked wacky schizoid Sybil whose
**** is prized by Central Park hobos ******* in kitty-littered dribble
or whose ****'s holy with crack hoes shooting dope without quibble



The Selves of Sybil from Wiki:

    Peggy: A nine-year-old girl who believes she is still in the small town in which Sybil grew up. Peggy holds the rage Sybil felt at her mother's abuse and frequently expresses her anger through temper tantrums and breaking glass. Like many of the selves, she enjoys drawing and painting. She fears hands, dishtowels, music, and the colors green and purple, all triggers to specific instances of abuse.
    Vicky: A very sophisticated and mature twelve-year-old girl who is aware of all the other personalities and knows everything the others do, though Sybil does not. Vicky speaks French and claims to have grown up in Paris with many brothers and sisters and loving parents. The dominant personality and the only personality to undergo hypnosis.
    Vanessa: A young, vibrant, red-haired girl about twelve years old, she is outgoing and full of "joie de vivre". Falls in love with Richard and helps Sybil build a relationship with him, until he moves away.
    Marcia: A young girl obsessed with thoughts of death and suicide, who tries to **** herself (and thus Sybil) on several occasions. Dresses in black.
    Ruthie: A preverbal infant. When Sybil is extremely frightened, she regresses into Ruthie and cannot move or speak.
    Mary: Named for and strongly resembles Sybil's grandmother. When Sybil's grandmother (the only person Sybil felt loved her) died, Sybil was so bereft that she created Mary as an internalized version of Grandma. Mary speaks in the voice of an old woman and frequently behaves as one.
    Nancy: A product of Sybil's father's religious fanaticism, Nancy fears the end of the world and God's punishment.
    Clara: Around 8–9 years old. Very religious; critical and resentful of Sybil.
    Helen: Around 13–14 years old. Timid and afraid, but determined "to be somebody".
    Marjorie: Around 10–11 years old. Serene and quick to laugh, enjoys parties and travel.
    Sybil Ann: Around 5–6 years old. Pale, timid and extremely lethargic; the defeated Sybil.
    Mike: A brash young boy who likes to build and do carpentry. He builds bookshelves and a partition wall for Sybil's apartment, frightening her badly when she doesn't know how they got there. He and Sid both believe that they will grow penises and be able "to give a girl a baby" when they're older.
    Sid: Younger and a little more taciturn than Mike, he also enjoys building things, as well as sports. Identifies strongly with Sybil's father and wants to be like him when he grows up.
It's Yosef shining from the East north south and the west
Keep a tech next to my girls breast blessed
Ya heart rate increases then ceased
soon to be deceased
I just released ya soul back to the depths of hell
From the paths of a pistols travels as I unravel
Mysteries without a miniseries better yet an autopsy
Its hard for me to be moved in this industry
See what it does to heartless foes who envy
Breedin' jealousy cuz I spit it so wickedly
Game clutcher like Kobe or Horry feel the gory
Once my vocals touch the booth begins a horror story
Straight to the core I give ya that raw
Word to Amen raw son of an
outlaw
My Pa was raw with his southpaw and in the South all they
saw
Was grande killers guerilla
tactics
nocturnal beef made
eternal
If you gotta problem with the
general
And my chick be the colonel y'all get burned by the inferno
Pop more shells than
kernels
I thought you knew my heat
Made eternal so brace ya self for the halo
And the pendejos love to talk is soon to cough
Up a blood storm as I swarm intentions harm
For all critics talkin' **** ya soon to feel the backfires of  karm
thelonious Aug 2020
Does it really matter?
Matter (n) - the substance of which a physical object is composed

Does it? (really matter?)
        It it it

What is it? (they say, “what is it?”)
        It (p) - that one —used as subject or direct object or indirect object of a verb or object of a preposition usually in reference to a lifeless thing

It is a 1986 horror novel by American author Stephen King.

It (also know as Stephen King’s It) is a 1990 American ABC two-part psychological drama miniseries directed by Tommy Lee Wallace and adapted by Lawrence D. Cohen from Stephen King’s 1986 novel of the same name.

Woh (English: It) is a Hindi language Indian television horror-thriller series which aired on Zee TV in 1998. It is an adaptation of the 1990 American TV miniseries It.

It, retroactively known as It Chapter One, is a 2017 American supernatural horror film based on Stephen King’s 1986 novel of the same name.

It Chapter Two is a 2019 American supernatural horror film and a sequel to the 2017 film It, both based on the 1986 novel by Stephen King.

John Wayne Gacy was an American serial killer and *** offender known as the Killer Clown who assaulted and murdered at least 33 young men and boys.

John Wayne was an American, too.

John William Gacy is caught in endless cycles of reincarnation, but you thought I was talking about William H. Macy.

They say that history does not repeat itself, but that it often rhymes.

Mark Twain said that. Mark Twain was also an American.

Mark Twain didn’t actually say that. Mark Twain didn’t say a lot of things.

John Wayne isn’t actually John Wayne. He’s Marion Morrison.

Mark Twain isn’t actually Mark Twain. He’s Samuel Clemens.

Stephen King is just Stephen King. (but also Richard Bachman, and John Swithen, and Beryl Evans.
Dennis Willis Feb 2019
This bit of time
I occupy
a running edge
a spill spreading
onto dry
the change
sudden

i am running
maybe surfing
somedays
tumbling against
the rasp
there is always a rasp
against

depends on which way
you run
doesn't it
agin it
or wit it

in your bubble spreading
we should surf
this day
more
this now
flowing

This bit
this nth note
of a star
in a galaxy
a little one
lost
in the sea
of galaxies

and i want to rumble
rhyme louder
stanzas of screaming
and singing
oh the singing
look out
ahma a gonna
sing at ya
duck

a miniseries
on scribblers
mercifully
short

and i ring
in the ringing
on now
on glass
gorilla glass

this under glass
spelling out
in radiance
a new radiant
instant

hello


Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis
Katie Bedger Oct 2020
Why must you hold on to my every word in such fashion that makes me feel like I'm staring in my own miniseries and can't forget my lines.. allow me to be human as I do for you
("shared madness," or "madness for two").

I suffer in silence, though not alone
kvetching old curmudgeon (me)
(once upon a time, a promising
long haired pencil necked geek)
buzzfeeding off life's miniseries
of unedited miseries in tandem

with ideal counterpart ofttimes
easily mistaken for a clone
Matthew Scott Harris
unable to function without her
(zee wife), he doth espouse as integral
to calculus of his existence

plus attributes wizardly
powers within (yours truly)
derived, highfived, and thrived courtesy
(think symbiotic), quietly riotously quintessentially,
nevertheless beloved hen pecking crone,
we carrion and cavort

(our respective wings
beating at speed of sound)
generating humming drone
beehive ving amorously
exhibiting unchoreographed tableaux
long practiced routine

equilibrium intermittently punctuated
with dynamic pantomime tour de force
communion words superfluous
since telepathic communication
predominates the unspoken wavelength
long established modus operandi

since... before pledging our troth,
while each ourselves in utero
womb during fait accompli
vis a vis gamely matched
think arranged embryonic marriage,
thus marital covenant

essentially linkedin since conception
both of us coaxed when livingsocial
no longer being tethered to umbilical cord
as lifelong playmates
forging compatible association,
now a gratuitous nod to our long since

dearly departed mothers
unbeknownst to them
how like firmly attached barnacles
each handily, snugly, and warmly fit
(esse mitten hand over fist gal love)
vicariously experienced reciprocal

trials and tribulations
whatever fate visited head of the other
permanently anchoring
nsync out rolling - rock of Gibraltar
across metaphorical stormy seas
trying against all odds

to weather strongest
emotional/psychological tempests
wallowing, née drowning in despair
at aging body, fading senses,
and thinning hair
which last named
akin to Samson

bolsters mein kampf
since... infancy, whose
counterpart betraying me like Delilah
wishing and threatening
(albeit jestingly) to lop off golden locks
each hair reed stranded longfellow
woolworth more'n fine spun gold!

— The End —