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"notably" poems
From the BBC today, Excerpt Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies? "It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master. Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song." That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope. But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody. Excerpt Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech. "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." Rebuttal Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands. ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG. Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity. Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion. One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state. It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE. If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses. If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine. You are not an artist. You are an employee. "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ                                            BECOME                               EVERYONE ON EARTH                ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG                       HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS             NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE                                          HOW BAD                                       artist? or employee?
0
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
Article: Taylor Swift and why rhyme sells,
From the BBC today, Excerpt Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies? "It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master. Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song." That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope. But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody. Excerpt Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech. "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." "They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech." Rebuttal Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands. ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG. Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity. Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion. One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state. It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE. If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses. If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine. You are not an artist. You are an employee. "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." "Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics." Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ                                            BECOME                               EVERYONE ON EARTH                ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG                       HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS             NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE                                          HOW BAD                                       artist? or employee?
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36
electromagnetically feelings occur, responsive to going ons, pineal gland awakens the senses. and almost every woman has heard it "you're so emotional." so electromagnetically aware and we don't remember this, now, the womb, the beat maker, she tunes the energy of the babe. mothers wave of waves fractionally lay a deep foundation of the babes waves. I tell my children if they can't find me to look in their hearts I reside there… my rhythm, my beat, my heat lives on. my womb charged that spark that started the parting of molecules fractionally creating its imagine time and time again, (as we do) until, begin again, a new life. rest your head upon my chest child for a recharge. in our civilized world we send mothers to work in a make believe cycle of need. babes heart searches for mamas tone she only cries short cautious of overspent energy first dose of sickness. and EVERY woman has heard it… "you're so emotional" notably more so during some part of her moon cycle. so obviously the moon is more electromagnetic than we guess. and women are more emotional because we are the heart of the species. we co-create the heart of the species. we require the emotional antenna to summon the essence of the heart. we didn't come from a rib… our ribs vibrate the harmony of life through our time! our hearts beat the pulse of the sun and the dark side of the moon and infinity. we are electromagnetically inclined to emotions. systematically processing the energy of existence. perhaps the first title I will accept a claim upon my being, the feminine sensitive.
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Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
feminine sensitive
electromagnetically feelings occur, responsive to going ons, pineal gland awakens the senses. and almost every woman has heard it "you're so emotional." so electromagnetically aware and we don't remember this, now, the womb, the beat maker, she tunes the energy of the babe. mothers wave of waves fractionally lay a deep foundation of the babes waves. I tell my children if they can't find me to look in their hearts I reside there… my rhythm, my beat, my heat lives on. my womb charged that spark that started the parting of molecules fractionally creating its imagine time and time again, (as we do) until, begin again, a new life. rest your head upon my chest child for a recharge. in our civilized world we send mothers to work in a make believe cycle of need. babes heart searches for mamas tone she only cries short cautious of overspent energy first dose of sickness. and EVERY woman has heard it… "you're so emotional" notably more so during some part of her moon cycle. so obviously the moon is more electromagnetic than we guess. and women are more emotional because we are the heart of the species. we co-create the heart of the species. we require the emotional antenna to summon the essence of the heart. we didn't come from a rib… our ribs vibrate the harmony of life through our time! our hearts beat the pulse of the sun and the dark side of the moon and infinity. we are electromagnetically inclined to emotions. systematically processing the energy of existence. perhaps the first title I will accept a claim upon my being, the feminine sensitive.
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74
The future has no mouth, No tongue, No teeth. The Earth speaks, but it's easy not to hear. Easier still, when drowned by the rising noise of trucks and drills, destruction and greed. And you want more, And you want convenience. you don't want hassle, you don't want consequences, of what you choose. That's inconvenient. You're busy, you've got things to do, you've got a job and a family, and you don't care about much more than that. Excepting, most notably, yourself. So you turn the other way. We sit on the ground before you, we sing songs of generations before us who tried to help the Earth too. We sing the words of those who protected our lands, before the coming of this new age of willful ignorance. And you walk past us, and on top of us. And you blame us for being in the way. You yell at us to move, you've got things to do! Things to ignore! It's easier not to know, easier still not to change, but the teethless, tongueless, mouthless future continues to approach. Melting, heating and shaking. We must hear it, before there is no-one left to hear. I carry these bruises with pride. I carry knowledge of my actions with pride. I will do my best for the future, I will not regret my caring.
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May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
#BreakFree
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.* just your atypical pedantry, a translator's subscript comment - who's richard rojcewicz's... regarding what? heidegger...        das volk,       and the three derivatives - volkhaft (populist),        volklich (communal) und?            völkisch (folkish) - i'm starting to suspect that i'm tapping in the all things folk.... unconsciously, favoring folk music...    see, us central europeans, we bunch together and share the most odd similarities -    i never thought that the song herr mannelig could be translated from Swedish - as it was translated into German... then again... Vikings founded Kiev... and all these loan-words of Germanic origin in Polish...     the only Anglo loan-word that i know of, is, weekend... hence, das volk, people -    by the way... German has "too many" definite articles,    and only one ein - or eine - is that the same rule as in Ęnglish? i.e. N                  in an example,    rather than in a counter example?    two vowels adjacent in separate word, sitting across from the grand chasm of... a spacing itch? but look at German, i never get it... DAS DIE DER...              is there an aesthetic difference, and only an aesthetic difference to mind?         bewildering... if there is such a thing as a western civilization...    that sometime     pompous obnoxiousness, fair enough... no problem:    but learn to hide it,            feel it, rather then feed it... it's not a question of a civilization, but more...     an answer to what is less civilization, and more... a chore... just like western women, notably the english women call motherhood a, "job"...                    it's a... wait... a job? doubt was big in classic philosophy of the Cartesian schematic... so no one knows that the French existentialists brought in negation,     as the driving force to replace doubt?               who the hell sees doubt these days?     either the know it alles - or the hush-hush crowd...            motherhood is a... job? well... then i guess, being a man... western civilization, by that standard of logic...    can't be anything more...    than a.... ******* chore!
0
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
das volk (translator's note)
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.* just your atypical pedantry, a translator's subscript comment - who's richard rojcewicz's... regarding what? heidegger...        das volk,       and the three derivatives - volkhaft (populist),        volklich (communal) und?            völkisch (folkish) - i'm starting to suspect that i'm tapping in the all things folk.... unconsciously, favoring folk music...    see, us central europeans, we bunch together and share the most odd similarities -    i never thought that the song herr mannelig could be translated from Swedish - as it was translated into German... then again... Vikings founded Kiev... and all these loan-words of Germanic origin in Polish...     the only Anglo loan-word that i know of, is, weekend... hence, das volk, people -    by the way... German has "too many" definite articles,    and only one ein - or eine - is that the same rule as in Ęnglish? i.e. N                  in an example,    rather than in a counter example?    two vowels adjacent in separate word, sitting across from the grand chasm of... a spacing itch? but look at German, i never get it... DAS DIE DER...              is there an aesthetic difference, and only an aesthetic difference to mind?         bewildering... if there is such a thing as a western civilization...    that sometime     pompous obnoxiousness, fair enough... no problem:    but learn to hide it,            feel it, rather then feed it... it's not a question of a civilization, but more...     an answer to what is less civilization, and more... a chore... just like western women, notably the english women call motherhood a, "job"...                    it's a... wait... a job? doubt was big in classic philosophy of the Cartesian schematic... so no one knows that the French existentialists brought in negation,     as the driving force to replace doubt?               who the hell sees doubt these days?     either the know it alles - or the hush-hush crowd...            motherhood is a... job? well... then i guess, being a man... western civilization, by that standard of logic...    can't be anything more...    than a.... ******* chore!
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77
/          the aesthete...                              and the athlete, i.e.                the "sophist",                      and the "philosopher"? ah... phonetics, rather linguistics: former: as-feet... but the latter? ancient greek in french: a(h)'f'lé'té. people should, really introduce a chemistry-style subscript for surds, most notably H, hay'chch, when dealing with such deviations from classicaly philosophy metaphysical concerns, and modern, orthography: this, the, now, types of "philosophical" inquiries: and i mean that as "philosophical": because i actualy mean... the favours of pedantry akin to being entertained by the intricacies of Versailles; you'd get more good-luck wishes in the form of horse-shoes hanging over your door in a small village in the ***** of gascony.
0
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
a simple posit question
this peculiar notion transmigrates into a startling potion, one that creates, not slakes human thirst, a consequential first position for those who are in possess of a direct line to gods who hide in the pitch black, perforce one must make discrete deferential inquiries avec une politesse indirecte just in case we are wrong (honest aside: as composition proceeds, ear buds fill me with Music of Transmigration, notably Op. 11, of S. Barber making contradicting souls passing through me tenable and malleable) naturellment, loud radio silence, was I naive to expect otherwise? perhaps god is not the subject of this poem but perhaps the author(!)  who's just  keeping his "hand" in the poem game, spoofing human memes, with a spot of fun even in New Z--l-and-other domiciles after all who has more nominalistic titles, is cursed and blessed, by almost everyone at least once a day, and in a thousand different names with an impishly cruel sense of what this human gig it created. is about tonight I am a composer, tomorrow’s decomposer, or just a funny named follower ah, the answer is in the data
0
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC
god is a follower says the data
Fatalities, Here the criterion for selection is the amount of dowry the Ladies delivers with her, and that they will be a giant a part of the marriage day, procreation and bringing up the next generation, as it'll describe this method in a lot more depth, Be Trustworthy, the Norwegian police discovered the two main paintings on June thirty one, you need to search at the failure or downfall of every friendship otherwise, Are we the trigger of it. Or is this person so damaging simply because of his her circumstances and previous activities. What ever . The trigger may be. Psychological. Erectile Dysfunction Natural treatmentmen who do not want to risk the side effects of medical treatments often look for natural exercises that can help to increase their potency Tods Outlet UK. Until day I realized , Relationship vows, Notably. Marriage enables the couple a lifestyle of enjoy and determination to every other and it offers a secure and protective atmosphere for bringing up the up coming era, One may be the work of purchasing things. In reality, sharing. You might want to find other options that can in shape all of your healthcare Aaron Rodgers Jersey needs. In . Simple fact this is an establishment which if properly understood and incorporated as part of our life Tods Sale Outlet, can support us in evolving as a a lot more refined human becoming who is capable of caring for others and who cares for the character itself Tods Outlet, The state government of Kerala is also promoting high tech healing in hospital kerala of its private healthcare sector as a tourist attraction. To maintain ****** chemistry alive in your connection. Your choices would include Oahu, Most of the marriages which have failed have sown the seeds . Relate Articles: http://www.rils.org/rs/TodsUKOutlet.asp
0
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
Here the criterion for selection
Fatalities, Here the criterion for selection is the amount of dowry the Ladies delivers with her, and that they will be a giant a part of the marriage day, procreation and bringing up the next generation, as it'll describe this method in a lot more depth, Be Trustworthy, the Norwegian police discovered the two main paintings on June thirty one, you need to search at the failure or downfall of every friendship otherwise, Are we the trigger of it. Or is this person so damaging simply because of his her circumstances and previous activities. What ever . The trigger may be. Psychological. Erectile Dysfunction Natural treatmentmen who do not want to risk the side effects of medical treatments often look for natural exercises that can help to increase their potency Tods Outlet UK. Until day I realized , Relationship vows, Notably. Marriage enables the couple a lifestyle of enjoy and determination to every other and it offers a secure and protective atmosphere for bringing up the up coming era, One may be the work of purchasing things. In reality, sharing. You might want to find other options that can in shape all of your healthcare Aaron Rodgers Jersey needs. In . Simple fact this is an establishment which if properly understood and incorporated as part of our life Tods Sale Outlet, can support us in evolving as a a lot more refined human becoming who is capable of caring for others and who cares for the character itself Tods Outlet, The state government of Kerala is also promoting high tech healing in hospital kerala of its private healthcare sector as a tourist attraction. To maintain ****** chemistry alive in your connection. Your choices would include Oahu, Most of the marriages which have failed have sown the seeds . Relate Articles: http://www.rils.org/rs/TodsUKOutlet.asp
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5
right now i'm thinking about angry older gals at the supermarket, i'm thinking: shave the bush, start a razor "wildfire"... let's see your neck and your chin, shave off that beard... the crazy much older than your supermarket attendees are dropping the word viking while you shop for whiskey, onions and tomatoes, even the security guard is looking at you funny... your excuse of: i became bored of shaving is not going to work on these women, in their late 50s, making all the talk the talk and the talk being small talk and trebling in: i really just came in here for a purchase, i don't have the ***** to do the small talk... of course that's always besides the point... viking?! how about a zimmer frame? god, small talk kills me, i don't know how to make a chair out of it to sit on for much longer than feel comfortable longer than 5 minutes on it... and there's always one of these women in the supermarket, she just knows small-talk - kleinsprechen... while i know the großsprechen - alternatively: stille (silence); but she just insists upon her solipsisms, and she does so perfectly, she talks, and even manages to reply for me... at least a monologue of a madman is less claustrophobic when you spot a solipsistic woman in her antics, at least the madman in his monologue feeds you not claustrophobia... given he's so self-engrossed in imaginative cursor workings... a madman's monologue never morphs into a solipsistic claustrophobia intimidation, notably within the guise of women... i'd prefer a madman oblivious to me in his externalised monologue, than a woman in a supermarket, oblivious to her solipsistic take on dialogue intimidation by restraining the other in a pseudo-claustrophobia; that famous echo chamber... please, throw me into the cushioned room with a madman, i'd rather hear his monologue, than her attempt at a dialogue in a supermarket!
0
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
right now i'm thinking about angry older gals
right now i'm thinking about angry older gals at the supermarket, i'm thinking: shave the bush, start a razor "wildfire"... let's see your neck and your chin, shave off that beard... the crazy much older than your supermarket attendees are dropping the word viking while you shop for whiskey, onions and tomatoes, even the security guard is looking at you funny... your excuse of: i became bored of shaving is not going to work on these women, in their late 50s, making all the talk the talk and the talk being small talk and trebling in: i really just came in here for a purchase, i don't have the ***** to do the small talk... of course that's always besides the point... viking?! how about a zimmer frame? god, small talk kills me, i don't know how to make a chair out of it to sit on for much longer than feel comfortable longer than 5 minutes on it... and there's always one of these women in the supermarket, she just knows small-talk - kleinsprechen... while i know the großsprechen - alternatively: stille (silence); but she just insists upon her solipsisms, and she does so perfectly, she talks, and even manages to reply for me... at least a monologue of a madman is less claustrophobic when you spot a solipsistic woman in her antics, at least the madman in his monologue feeds you not claustrophobia... given he's so self-engrossed in imaginative cursor workings... a madman's monologue never morphs into a solipsistic claustrophobia intimidation, notably within the guise of women... i'd prefer a madman oblivious to me in his externalised monologue, than a woman in a supermarket, oblivious to her solipsistic take on dialogue intimidation by restraining the other in a pseudo-claustrophobia; that famous echo chamber... please, throw me into the cushioned room with a madman, i'd rather hear his monologue, than her attempt at a dialogue in a supermarket!
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72
Two Hearts Beat as One Undeniably magnificent Open-heart despair Tougher rhythm dominating bonded purpose I Fall Down Can't wait to get to Berlin Short-sided bravado Notably lacking comparison The edge of nihilism It's New Year's Day, And Sunday ****** Sunday Matured maverick solider Exact achievements contrary to empathetic aspirants Reunion in October Temporarily divided by faith Undeniable spiritual optimism Victory, complete ardor Promising and passionate Rejoice in optimistic reunion Two hearts beat out of control
0
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 3:54 AM UTC
Maverick Soldier
/ *because such examples have to, have to(!) be perpetuated, reiterated, perpetuated, reiterated... these... "things"... these minor quests of establishing being - against, the authoritarian rule of the democracy of beings.* you don't shout, you don't disturb the "social", "peace", of proverbial english society... nope...    shouting does not good, akin to:    silent water eats          away at the shorelines... what you do... is akin to what birds do... you don't gnash your teeth: i.e. clench them molars... gnashing means clenching your molars - a gnashing a gnarling, a pestle & mortar scenario... no...     no shouting... silent movie era of hollywood translated...    you... simply... chatter... you strike incissor teeth against each other... crafting a lightling storm like crackling sound,   like corn flakes...     in a bowl of milk...    you... chatter...                  inspiration? birds... bird calls...     you... chatter...     mind you, unlike the english, looking into my mouth...     the jaw should fit within the confines of the skull...     the upper set of teeth should accommodate the jaw's line of teeth...    but you simply... chatter... which is embodied by attempting to take a phantom bite at "something"... you...           echo:    central incisors against               the lateral incisors... you subsequently: chatter (χατερ)...    i missed the eta (η): given that i also missed the excess of tau - in what isn't, a translation - other than a phonetic equivalent of putting on sunglasses... because, when your neighbour, tells you... that you can't smoke... in your own home, perched on a windowsill, out of the window, implying that the smoke is vacuumed into his bedroom?    and somehow, the law, and the air, we share, is somehow his, and his alone?     and i can't do, what he can, within the confines of his property? NOW WE HAVE A PROPER SHITSHOW! some english are ******* backward hardly insulting the ****** community, with some succumbing to prosopagnosia, while some (notably down syndrome) actually having a memory capacity... that curious look and a familiar expression waiting for a smile... i basically live next to a mental illness example, par uno...           and englishman who "thinks" he's king, rather than a convenient citizen...                        ****** won't budge... guess all i'm equipped with is                           my chatter remedy; and english society still "thinks" that i'm the "mad" one.          - because it's like...   how can you dictate, what someone can, or cannot do, on their property?! like smoking a cigarette,      perched on a windowsill, outside a window, with the accusation:    the smoke is coming into my bedroom... oh right...    so...           erm...                 you own the dynamic of air to suggest such a bias?
0
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
love thy neighbour (III)
/ *because such examples have to, have to(!) be perpetuated, reiterated, perpetuated, reiterated... these... "things"... these minor quests of establishing being - against, the authoritarian rule of the democracy of beings.* you don't shout, you don't disturb the "social", "peace", of proverbial english society... nope...    shouting does not good, akin to:    silent water eats          away at the shorelines... what you do... is akin to what birds do... you don't gnash your teeth: i.e. clench them molars... gnashing means clenching your molars - a gnashing a gnarling, a pestle & mortar scenario... no...     no shouting... silent movie era of hollywood translated...    you... simply... chatter... you strike incissor teeth against each other... crafting a lightling storm like crackling sound,   like corn flakes...     in a bowl of milk...    you... chatter...                  inspiration? birds... bird calls...     you... chatter...     mind you, unlike the english, looking into my mouth...     the jaw should fit within the confines of the skull...     the upper set of teeth should accommodate the jaw's line of teeth...    but you simply... chatter... which is embodied by attempting to take a phantom bite at "something"... you...           echo:    central incisors against               the lateral incisors... you subsequently: chatter (χατερ)...    i missed the eta (η): given that i also missed the excess of tau - in what isn't, a translation - other than a phonetic equivalent of putting on sunglasses... because, when your neighbour, tells you... that you can't smoke... in your own home, perched on a windowsill, out of the window, implying that the smoke is vacuumed into his bedroom?    and somehow, the law, and the air, we share, is somehow his, and his alone?     and i can't do, what he can, within the confines of his property? NOW WE HAVE A PROPER SHITSHOW! some english are ******* backward hardly insulting the ****** community, with some succumbing to prosopagnosia, while some (notably down syndrome) actually having a memory capacity... that curious look and a familiar expression waiting for a smile... i basically live next to a mental illness example, par uno...           and englishman who "thinks" he's king, rather than a convenient citizen...                        ****** won't budge... guess all i'm equipped with is                           my chatter remedy; and english society still "thinks" that i'm the "mad" one.          - because it's like...   how can you dictate, what someone can, or cannot do, on their property?! like smoking a cigarette,      perched on a windowsill, outside a window, with the accusation:    the smoke is coming into my bedroom... oh right...    so...           erm...                 you own the dynamic of air to suggest such a bias?
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91
No, no, no, that's not how it happened at all. Precocious children have never been afforded that much influence and Emperors, then as now are largely unafflicted by shame. And it's a good thing too - why, if the story had gone the way Anderson had it, neither I nor any of the men of the town would have our jobs at the Magic Cloth factory You do realise that the trade in Magic Cloth supports all the world's major economies now, don't you? Nor would the aristocracy look half so stylish, sashaying hither and thon in the glorious altogether, applauded by the taste-makers and notably contemptuous of child-like observation.
0
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
The Emperor's New Clothes
i care, i really do... ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha   ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha    ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha... no, i do... i'm trying...    ha ha...      i'm just imagining what that one word looks like in Hebrew... the...    ha-shem... i.e.      the-name.... laughing, but at the same time saying the definite article over, and over, and over again... the the the the... v'eh v'eh v'eh... "point"?!    what point?! calling a cactus a ******* cactus?    or calling it an semiticl headscarf?   which is which? a skirt just covering the knee?!     better ask your women to wear gloves... i seem to enjoy the fact that the most ****** part of a woman, are her hands... geisha hands...   and wrists i could look at like i might an enjoy an hour with a bottle of wine... aha!                tell me...   what's the difference between a didgeridoo...    and a modern, nordic shamanic chant akin to to the berserker warcry in one of heilung's song, notably          alfadhirhaiti where the audience go mad with fervor & fury...       because didn't you know, they say: don't take to d.n.a. ancestor testing, watch what you absorb culturally... from what i heard... the ugly vikings founded the city of Kiev, so they must have passed past my parts... hidden Baltic - grazing mother of soured milk that intermediates a stasis prior to yogurt - no wolves in england...     i'll pet a a fox therefore...             scoop and swoon - the baronical patience of a shadow admirer.; even if the Jews have abandoned Europe... what the left?           is beside the origin of what the crucifix constitutes...           even if the Jews abandoned Europe, what they pressed was the antagonism of Greece - they pursued ancient Greece - until the world, and all matters Latin - stood to understand -          the Jews left Europe, abandoning the pursuit of Greek - penitent people, noble people...    until the library of Nag Hammadi emerged from the sands of both time, and Egypt...    noble people... penitent people... these Israelites - these Jobs of disgruntled time -    Hiob, Yob, Hiob, Job... i am barren in wanting to "forgive" the Jews...    how they pursued ancient Greek to avenge the emergence of the Second Troy in Rome... with Rome...            no Greek will stand on these words with an Achilles heel...       the Jews pursued the Greek revisionism of their testament long enough...       as what Nero found hilarious... i take to wind and soul with       a drunk mind,                   but a sober heart.
0
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
heilung's shaman and a didgeridoo
i care, i really do... ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha   ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha    ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha... no, i do... i'm trying...    ha ha...      i'm just imagining what that one word looks like in Hebrew... the...    ha-shem... i.e.      the-name.... laughing, but at the same time saying the definite article over, and over, and over again... the the the the... v'eh v'eh v'eh... "point"?!    what point?! calling a cactus a ******* cactus?    or calling it an semiticl headscarf?   which is which? a skirt just covering the knee?!     better ask your women to wear gloves... i seem to enjoy the fact that the most ****** part of a woman, are her hands... geisha hands...   and wrists i could look at like i might an enjoy an hour with a bottle of wine... aha!                tell me...   what's the difference between a didgeridoo...    and a modern, nordic shamanic chant akin to to the berserker warcry in one of heilung's song, notably          alfadhirhaiti where the audience go mad with fervor & fury...       because didn't you know, they say: don't take to d.n.a. ancestor testing, watch what you absorb culturally... from what i heard... the ugly vikings founded the city of Kiev, so they must have passed past my parts... hidden Baltic - grazing mother of soured milk that intermediates a stasis prior to yogurt - no wolves in england...     i'll pet a a fox therefore...             scoop and swoon - the baronical patience of a shadow admirer.; even if the Jews have abandoned Europe... what the left?           is beside the origin of what the crucifix constitutes...           even if the Jews abandoned Europe, what they pressed was the antagonism of Greece - they pursued ancient Greece - until the world, and all matters Latin - stood to understand -          the Jews left Europe, abandoning the pursuit of Greek - penitent people, noble people...    until the library of Nag Hammadi emerged from the sands of both time, and Egypt...    noble people... penitent people... these Israelites - these Jobs of disgruntled time -    Hiob, Yob, Hiob, Job... i am barren in wanting to "forgive" the Jews...    how they pursued ancient Greek to avenge the emergence of the Second Troy in Rome... with Rome...            no Greek will stand on these words with an Achilles heel...       the Jews pursued the Greek revisionism of their testament long enough...       as what Nero found hilarious... i take to wind and soul with       a drunk mind,                   but a sober heart.
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105
When she says she hears voices rattling and battling in the deepest recesses of her mind, then it's time to beware, take care, and make choices saddling you and leave her behind.      Shes a case study of its kind. That even Freud would throw up his hands, make a grand stand in his frustrations and demand a vacation to unwind. She's all that and more. She'll wrap a man around her fingers  make him putty in her hands, leave him babbling in his mirror trying so much to understand. He should feel something, but just can't comprehend, left a mute, numb, mumbling... carcass, of a man. She's like an itch that becomes a scratch that's becomes a pestering, festering **** till you look down horror bound as the ****** swollen thing has taken on a life of its own... then it starts maxing out your cards, throwing your clothes out on the yard, yelling hard. Snooping on your phone. Won't go home. Won't leave you alone. Is it a wound or a woman or a woman or a wound or both  simultaneously, concurrently?  Yes and no. Oh the trials and tribulations I've known! You can really pick em. Daddy used to say, in his haphazard way, and really lay it on me in the harshest of phrases,  meant to dazzle and daze me, rile and faze me, knock me a kilter off my normal day. Son, you stimulate and exhilarate  the spirit of an untamed, pained, wild child woman and it'll be the same, and here this, as an insane drain on the brain most personally and certainly and most notably and you can quote me.  It'll leave you feeling like the beach storming at Normandy.
0
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 5:38 AM UTC
"Son, you can really pick em". Dad used to say.
When she says she hears voices rattling and battling in the deepest recesses of her mind, then it's time to beware, take care, and make choices saddling you and leave her behind.      Shes a case study of its kind. That even Freud would throw up his hands, make a grand stand in his frustrations and demand a vacation to unwind. She's all that and more. She'll wrap a man around her fingers  make him putty in her hands, leave him babbling in his mirror trying so much to understand. He should feel something, but just can't comprehend, left a mute, numb, mumbling... carcass, of a man. She's like an itch that becomes a scratch that's becomes a pestering, festering **** till you look down horror bound as the ****** swollen thing has taken on a life of its own... then it starts maxing out your cards, throwing your clothes out on the yard, yelling hard. Snooping on your phone. Won't go home. Won't leave you alone. Is it a wound or a woman or a woman or a wound or both  simultaneously, concurrently?  Yes and no. Oh the trials and tribulations I've known! You can really pick em. Daddy used to say, in his haphazard way, and really lay it on me in the harshest of phrases,  meant to dazzle and daze me, rile and faze me, knock me a kilter off my normal day. Son, you stimulate and exhilarate  the spirit of an untamed, pained, wild child woman and it'll be the same, and here this, as an insane drain on the brain most personally and certainly and most notably and you can quote me.  It'll leave you feeling like the beach storming at Normandy.
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25
. i'm not an alcoholic, i'm an intermediating construct of blues... i think more about blank canvas i am to fill, than the next drink 'm about to have.... why give a dog's bollock's care concerning yourself with whst other other, proper, "sober", sensible people make of your?   i guess an inhibition of a lost verse...        in poetry we call that a quais take on a paragraph...    something akin to: the same worth of the worth of something worth losing... get the drift?!   Clive Owen... Denzel Washington, Brian Molko... now? breed me, a ******* hybrid Q your nag hammadi perfectionism! you trans-gender eucharist!    breed me an example to my specification! breed it! show me the Frankenstein! breed it!        i want wolf ***** "ingested" in women subjects! i, WANT, THEM!                you want the Frankenstein monster? first you need the mad doctor... you have me... cuffed and teasing!      i am,. dying to waake from what is death, and what is death assured, in the fork form of, shadow...    you, want, the monster... i am giving your the antithesis of the nameless caricature of what man's capability!             i need it, whatever "it", is...        i will not sleep till this "thing" is awake in the womb of my cognition... and i know of its wake!                  it's funeral a birth, it's birth, banshee screech!                  the failed Polish winged hussar charge against the Ukranian Cossack upriing, thick, in, mud...                         i have the desires to damage marking banknotes...       Shelley will always outlast the credibility of Austen...     Mary contra Jane...        horror... Frankenstein monsters... vampires...      werewolves... she's the third of the canon!   you don't do that! you can't do that!                 but you did, do that! there is a shadow of man, he dares to call history to contra the visage for the excuses of journalism...      not here... not now...   as a young boy, i dreamed of mingling the ***** of wolves, being impregnated in human females...         i guess, as a treat... to alleviate the existing product                  of down syndrome' what? what is science? if not the reinvigorated perpetuation of trans-categorical inquiry? p.s. when i drink? the last "thing" on my mind is the activity of drinking, notably, for socially unhinged barriers to be broken... i'm an anti-social drinker... i hate conversation, esp. when drinking... a ******* desert, when it comes to              the calorie intake!
0
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:52 PM UTC
confession
. i'm not an alcoholic, i'm an intermediating construct of blues... i think more about blank canvas i am to fill, than the next drink 'm about to have.... why give a dog's bollock's care concerning yourself with whst other other, proper, "sober", sensible people make of your?   i guess an inhibition of a lost verse...        in poetry we call that a quais take on a paragraph...    something akin to: the same worth of the worth of something worth losing... get the drift?!   Clive Owen... Denzel Washington, Brian Molko... now? breed me, a ******* hybrid Q your nag hammadi perfectionism! you trans-gender eucharist!    breed me an example to my specification! breed it! show me the Frankenstein! breed it!        i want wolf ***** "ingested" in women subjects! i, WANT, THEM!                you want the Frankenstein monster? first you need the mad doctor... you have me... cuffed and teasing!      i am,. dying to waake from what is death, and what is death assured, in the fork form of, shadow...    you, want, the monster... i am giving your the antithesis of the nameless caricature of what man's capability!             i need it, whatever "it", is...        i will not sleep till this "thing" is awake in the womb of my cognition... and i know of its wake!                  it's funeral a birth, it's birth, banshee screech!                  the failed Polish winged hussar charge against the Ukranian Cossack upriing, thick, in, mud...                         i have the desires to damage marking banknotes...       Shelley will always outlast the credibility of Austen...     Mary contra Jane...        horror... Frankenstein monsters... vampires...      werewolves... she's the third of the canon!   you don't do that! you can't do that!                 but you did, do that! there is a shadow of man, he dares to call history to contra the visage for the excuses of journalism...      not here... not now...   as a young boy, i dreamed of mingling the ***** of wolves, being impregnated in human females...         i guess, as a treat... to alleviate the existing product                  of down syndrome' what? what is science? if not the reinvigorated perpetuation of trans-categorical inquiry? p.s. when i drink? the last "thing" on my mind is the activity of drinking, notably, for socially unhinged barriers to be broken... i'm an anti-social drinker... i hate conversation, esp. when drinking... a ******* desert, when it comes to              the calorie intake!
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98
.*but i wasn't obviously going to go far down this "worrisome" route for too long, maybe like ten minutes... i had to think of something relaxing to do... i looked in the mirror: **** the wild-man of Essex! beard, shaggy, the neck barely visible... hair like Mozart composing, or as the Poles say: hair like a wkuriony Chopin ****** off Chopin)... **** better do something about it... ah... there's only one thing that can lighten my mood and this whole, tirade... a visit to the local traditional Turkish barbers... so i ****** off... in went the wild-man of Essex... out came well-groomed human being, not a sign of his werewolf past to be seen on him... ah... this is the 4th time, proper, that i visited the barbers (prior to? long hair... after? a shaved head like a Buddhist monk)... god... just sitting there with closed eyes... i'm starting to think that going to the barbers is better than *** i was never into blocking someone, esp. if someone is liking your stuff, but it happened to me with that poetess on here,        i wanted to know how it feels, to just randomly block someone who really enjoys your stuff...              and then... **** gone, never to be seen again...    Wattpad is basically a fascistic website to boot this thread of thought... who the hell gets booted off a platform for starting a cordial conversation? - but i really did wake up with a moral hangover...    excuses?              irritability...            there's just a certain level of conversation i can take,                               i can't get the pedant out of me... i really can't... i tried and i tried,   notably because when speaking to natives, i see them lazily doing this or that, while i come with an acquisitive perspective, hence the furthered acquisitive impetus to further this acquired language... while the natives are like: blah... it has been given to them from birth...      and conversations, after having completed a...     well for me it was an exhausting poem, the desire to finish it before off the rails with the bourbon instigated a thirst, matched with irritability...                **** i hope i can unblock the guy and apologize... spare of the moment thing...             well... if i can't... i know what it feels like:            not being on the receiving end... so... that's one plus from all of this. p.s. that sort of direct messaging language, aged... 40?              how can i talk to someone who's older than me, on that level... (looks up his profile page)... huh?              so i didn't block him? *Dennis Willis's profile is not visible because they have blocked you.* and i still have the block option handy... mind you... i didn't wake up today recollecting some pretty    trippy ********
0
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
waking up with a moral hangover: the pedant / at the turkish barbers
.*but i wasn't obviously going to go far down this "worrisome" route for too long, maybe like ten minutes... i had to think of something relaxing to do... i looked in the mirror: **** the wild-man of Essex! beard, shaggy, the neck barely visible... hair like Mozart composing, or as the Poles say: hair like a wkuriony Chopin ****** off Chopin)... **** better do something about it... ah... there's only one thing that can lighten my mood and this whole, tirade... a visit to the local traditional Turkish barbers... so i ****** off... in went the wild-man of Essex... out came well-groomed human being, not a sign of his werewolf past to be seen on him... ah... this is the 4th time, proper, that i visited the barbers (prior to? long hair... after? a shaved head like a Buddhist monk)... god... just sitting there with closed eyes... i'm starting to think that going to the barbers is better than *** i was never into blocking someone, esp. if someone is liking your stuff, but it happened to me with that poetess on here,        i wanted to know how it feels, to just randomly block someone who really enjoys your stuff...              and then... **** gone, never to be seen again...    Wattpad is basically a fascistic website to boot this thread of thought... who the hell gets booted off a platform for starting a cordial conversation? - but i really did wake up with a moral hangover...    excuses?              irritability...            there's just a certain level of conversation i can take,                               i can't get the pedant out of me... i really can't... i tried and i tried,   notably because when speaking to natives, i see them lazily doing this or that, while i come with an acquisitive perspective, hence the furthered acquisitive impetus to further this acquired language... while the natives are like: blah... it has been given to them from birth...      and conversations, after having completed a...     well for me it was an exhausting poem, the desire to finish it before off the rails with the bourbon instigated a thirst, matched with irritability...                **** i hope i can unblock the guy and apologize... spare of the moment thing...             well... if i can't... i know what it feels like:            not being on the receiving end... so... that's one plus from all of this. p.s. that sort of direct messaging language, aged... 40?              how can i talk to someone who's older than me, on that level... (looks up his profile page)... huh?              so i didn't block him? *Dennis Willis's profile is not visible because they have blocked you.* and i still have the block option handy... mind you... i didn't wake up today recollecting some pretty    trippy ********
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58
You're properly pro and exclusively first I'm sloppy and slow and obtrusively worse you're steadily shrewd and notably neat I'm sweaty and stewed and bloated and beat you're refreshingly free and benignedly blessed I'm distressingly me and resignedly messed you're gold-plated and awed and hairless and pink I'm outdated and flawed and careless and stink you're so reveled revered you're the death of my will I'm disheveled and weird but with my last breath I'll still love you ©2012 Lyn
0
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
love you
In a sphere of infinite narcissism Wicked homosapiens tread the horizon Daunting threats of turbulent tragedy Dawn upon the hopeless, roaming souls Sheathing them with treacherous shadows Of atrociously, covert crucifixion The elite coquettes hearken The tumultous sound Emanating from multiple, acrid massacres Tainting these notably wounded hearts Within a satanic plethora Of acrimonious equivocation By nightfall a harrowing suicide By daybreak a dreary mourning Catastrophe is all that occupies This infamous wasteland of avarice By Glenn McCrary © 2011 (All rights reserved)
0
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 7:15 AM UTC
Infamous Wasteland
Greetings and salutations m'lady Thou hast been absent and missed Most notably thoust smile and thine choired voice espousing deep longing and opining of distant and never-presentness despite opportunity and invitation. Lulled into sleep by your gently warming coo, flightless i remain. Turn, I will again, 'gainst the mournful draw of your beckoning, and slip into dream, once more. Cool is the pillow upon which i rest my weary head, restless is the mind inside. Tumbled and tossed, like an ocean-dweller upon crashing waves, waiting to be heaved breathless upon your shore. The fire has been ignited, flames dance brilliantly around me, a barefoot saviour, pulling me through the wet sand, offering sweet coconut water and reminding me to breathe. Twinkle, twinkle million stars embedded in desolate black woven fabric, eyes make contact. Blue-green ocean-farer with autumn-acorn islander. Universe unravels, and sits aback allowing truth and impromptu correlations to take hold. For this is the work of God!
0
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 5:38 AM UTC
allow me this introduction
To be left a rotting corpse in the inky depths of my screaming, vacant soul To taste the freshness of the air only to have it ripped so unnaturally from my shriveling lungs Once sitting atop that merciful beacon of hope, I find myself tumbling, grasping, gasping, clasping for some hold onto the beautiful signal And who is to blame? Who? Certainly not you, for it was your hand who found me troubled in the merciless murky vapor Your hand that lifted me from the bowels of hell and so dotingly destroyed my detriments But had it not been for you I would have so happily, so cheerfully accepted my vacant vocation Of restlessly, recklessly, ruefully running around without any remorse for my forlorn reality For it is not the force of you freedom that loosed my heavy chains, but rather the form That vicious vigor that stuffed my spirit with a seemingly ceaseless, incessant self-assurance But for my essence to not identify isolation, to not recognize regret seems so conceited in comparison to yours Which is ever growing, ever loving, ever laughing, ever knowing, ever telling, ever asking, ever showing, ever… After all it was your being there that showed me how lonely I truly was, how pitiful of an existence I truly led So now I state the obvious Why? Why go through all that endeavor, all that effort of effectively and essentially helping me escape my insanity just to throw it out the Door is where you went, leaving me to collect the shambles and shards that was the life you made Leaving me to collect these silly splinters just so that you could prove a point A point well taken, a point notably noted, and a point you called no return Return? Return from what? From the friendship promised, or the friendship broken, or the new twisted friends of which you’ve hardly spoken? And so I take my leave, but I will return I will not leave such a dear thing to burn Burn in the essence of what we call hope For, after all, you were the one who threw me the rope
0
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
To Be Left a Rotting Corpse
To be left a rotting corpse in the inky depths of my screaming, vacant soul To taste the freshness of the air only to have it ripped so unnaturally from my shriveling lungs Once sitting atop that merciful beacon of hope, I find myself tumbling, grasping, gasping, clasping for some hold onto the beautiful signal And who is to blame? Who? Certainly not you, for it was your hand who found me troubled in the merciless murky vapor Your hand that lifted me from the bowels of hell and so dotingly destroyed my detriments But had it not been for you I would have so happily, so cheerfully accepted my vacant vocation Of restlessly, recklessly, ruefully running around without any remorse for my forlorn reality For it is not the force of you freedom that loosed my heavy chains, but rather the form That vicious vigor that stuffed my spirit with a seemingly ceaseless, incessant self-assurance But for my essence to not identify isolation, to not recognize regret seems so conceited in comparison to yours Which is ever growing, ever loving, ever laughing, ever knowing, ever telling, ever asking, ever showing, ever… After all it was your being there that showed me how lonely I truly was, how pitiful of an existence I truly led So now I state the obvious Why? Why go through all that endeavor, all that effort of effectively and essentially helping me escape my insanity just to throw it out the Door is where you went, leaving me to collect the shambles and shards that was the life you made Leaving me to collect these silly splinters just so that you could prove a point A point well taken, a point notably noted, and a point you called no return Return? Return from what? From the friendship promised, or the friendship broken, or the new twisted friends of which you’ve hardly spoken? And so I take my leave, but I will return I will not leave such a dear thing to burn Burn in the essence of what we call hope For, after all, you were the one who threw me the rope
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28
i treat all my physical pains, notably the sponge of an ***** hidden inside my cranium like a testament of hellish arithmetic - that's the easiest way of transcending the pain... treat it like an arithmetic sequence, that not even a genius could work out... but of course learn some humanistic deviation from the pain with de Sade - the charcoal rubbing of sadism against placebo most people crumble under... ponces and puny caricatures of humanity: but that's how i see pain,                 an unsolvable arithmetic sequence... and sure, they can laugh...                         but you're the last one laughing... which means you're basically the last / only person laughing.
0
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
arithmetic
So I, d book my ticket and wear something light You'd pick me up and think wow what a sight! We'd drive around for a while Like teenagers we'd embarrasely smile Once I'd figured out that you weren't a serial killer I'd ask to see your place and double check your chiller I'd meet your kids and we'd play some games They know what you don't and thats my first and last name We'd take it slow and you'd understand You'd simply begin by holding my hand You'd check to see if I was ok  and then lean in to take my breath away You'd kiss me softly and then very hard I wouldn't mind as it was always on the cards You'd scoop me up in your big strong arms It would be easy to see that I had fallen under your charms We'd find some place comfortable and notably quiet I'd wish I had started that **** liquid diet! You'd lay me down and pull me close  My heart beat racing, like god only knows  I'd tease you a little and then a lot All the time hoping you'll find my soft spot  Breathing so deeply and shivering away Our bodies playing out as predator and prey  Thrusting hard and in synch We don't dare move out of place, not a inch Cries and moans released into the night For we both want it there is no fight Sweating and panting are eyes and hearts would lock I'd know you were born to be my rock Feelings of love and the becoming of one Would leave us entangled until almost done So engrossed and swept away You'd reach my core in your own special way Both satisfied and fulfilled  Totally taken aback by this our new thrill
0
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
Our First Meeting
So I, d book my ticket and wear something light You'd pick me up and think wow what a sight! We'd drive around for a while Like teenagers we'd embarrasely smile Once I'd figured out that you weren't a serial killer I'd ask to see your place and double check your chiller I'd meet your kids and we'd play some games They know what you don't and thats my first and last name We'd take it slow and you'd understand You'd simply begin by holding my hand You'd check to see if I was ok  and then lean in to take my breath away You'd kiss me softly and then very hard I wouldn't mind as it was always on the cards You'd scoop me up in your big strong arms It would be easy to see that I had fallen under your charms We'd find some place comfortable and notably quiet I'd wish I had started that **** liquid diet! You'd lay me down and pull me close  My heart beat racing, like god only knows  I'd tease you a little and then a lot All the time hoping you'll find my soft spot  Breathing so deeply and shivering away Our bodies playing out as predator and prey  Thrusting hard and in synch We don't dare move out of place, not a inch Cries and moans released into the night For we both want it there is no fight Sweating and panting are eyes and hearts would lock I'd know you were born to be my rock Feelings of love and the becoming of one Would leave us entangled until almost done So engrossed and swept away You'd reach my core in your own special way Both satisfied and fulfilled  Totally taken aback by this our new thrill
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37
Seen around the crowd She shows her crown Notably she seen proud Claiming her crown as fine and round Unknowingly misled with instructions She heads only towards destruction And with timer far spent She got no lessons learnt Looking up to her throne, She has been down thrown As though washed by the rain She no longer reigns Still on her head her crown lies Weeping her pleads dies But on her head she sees no crown Because her crowns’ been thrown down as frowns (c)Obukov
0
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
Down Thrown Crown
all the ******* leave the party early, attired in cackles, even though stilettos say otherwise, they laugh and squeamish assort a waiting line for a mongol tribe: open all hours minus the sunday, when jesus' ***** was dried; got to love a mother of a culprit readied for sacrifice and prayer lasting 2000 years. in between the party? a man walked idly musing his relevance, he popped a few balloons with his cigarette, his life flashed before his eye, notably an error, pornographic photos flashed before his eyes, not as bad as Gucci and gob anna in twisted anorexia... **** actresses take the catwalk... we all revolve around liking curves... plus **** in *** plus **** in **** plus **** in mouth, a holy trinity through and through; there was no offensive image shown, there was no offensive foghorn sound made, but she's too eager to censor communication, says f**k... hush... oompa loompa augustus needs the loo to **** out the roman empire... what entertains children breeds a fear for adults... what entertains adults makes children divvy... say piston and phallus in a rhyming symbiosis of tact... welcome you, welcome i; what doesn't entertain children does entertain adults? the reality of a mistaken fact that childhood passed? and of those who's childhood was orphanage? the free distribution of wealth... or a free distribution of justice be seriously taken along with vitamins? burp... are we shining with sun and vitamin c? perhaps we wished to have netted brown skin in a spider web of self-producing vitamin d of kenyan origin? ah i see, sneezes from cayenne peppering.
0
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 6:41 PM UTC
oompa loompa
all the ******* leave the party early, attired in cackles, even though stilettos say otherwise, they laugh and squeamish assort a waiting line for a mongol tribe: open all hours minus the sunday, when jesus' ***** was dried; got to love a mother of a culprit readied for sacrifice and prayer lasting 2000 years. in between the party? a man walked idly musing his relevance, he popped a few balloons with his cigarette, his life flashed before his eye, notably an error, pornographic photos flashed before his eyes, not as bad as Gucci and gob anna in twisted anorexia... **** actresses take the catwalk... we all revolve around liking curves... plus **** in *** plus **** in **** plus **** in mouth, a holy trinity through and through; there was no offensive image shown, there was no offensive foghorn sound made, but she's too eager to censor communication, says f**k... hush... oompa loompa augustus needs the loo to **** out the roman empire... what entertains children breeds a fear for adults... what entertains adults makes children divvy... say piston and phallus in a rhyming symbiosis of tact... welcome you, welcome i; what doesn't entertain children does entertain adults? the reality of a mistaken fact that childhood passed? and of those who's childhood was orphanage? the free distribution of wealth... or a free distribution of justice be seriously taken along with vitamins? burp... are we shining with sun and vitamin c? perhaps we wished to have netted brown skin in a spider web of self-producing vitamin d of kenyan origin? ah i see, sneezes from cayenne peppering.
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Crimes gone on and on and against all humanity with a refusal to ever scrutinize Twist the rule of law to accommodate the blatant lies they prioritize on both sides That's the American dream, can only be seen behind closed eyes Allowed to look but can't touch the prize, that's the hook, the bait and switch slight of hand is no surprise A separate set of law books slipped in on the sly, guess the compromise One for the citizen and one for the almighty enterprise, just dollar signs in their eyes All for one and one for all, false bravado, see what happens when a nobody tries See how quick a global problem is prioritized to keep in check a global unrest notably on the rise Also on the rise, fear of a population turned unbiased congregation then weaponized Who exactly are the good guys? If it's a non zero number I'd be surprised Who would have guessed that building an enterprise on the lives of the little guys would be a possible demise? 🎼If you go into my neck of the woods prepare for a big surprise A lone baby cries it's own lullabies through innocent eyes as innocence dies The evil in people is all that thrives, it's never been the best of times🎼 ©2023
0
Dec 13, 2023
Dec 13, 2023 at 6:30 PM UTC
~•§•~ Sleight of Hand ~•§•~
photo-sensitivity of touch devices (notably a samsung tablet) translated via a differential                              content encoding... i.e. expose a touch-screen to excessive heat,    via, such as this godforsaken intake of sunlight in england...    and all the verbal / commentary videos?           start jittering,                            breaking-up... not exactly punk:   as in - scratched transmission, but cyber-             "funk"... music videos?      clear transmission,        no "vinyl scratching" interludes, no instance of a rough coughing edit... mind you...    did you know that if you encode a scratched CD into mp4 format, and load it into an iPod the iPod translates a hardware fault?         yeah... the ****** thing breaks down!             starts getting the "jitters"... as if an auto-censor stuttering... do the same with an mp3 device... no problem...         it's that sort of observation akin to playing the Sims,   and using the VR puppet to play the computer...            while you're playing the computer: that's how i got out of the game... wormhole weirdness... but a scratched CD translated into a mp4 device will break -    mind-boggling!            just like apple computers are immune to trojan viruses (etc.) -     iPods didn't seem to have the same immunity when you followed protocol of copyright, i.e. buy a CD, and translating it into the mp4 format...     reiteration:          a scratched CD encoded into mp4 will break the device... in mp3 you can actually hear the scratch-jump across a music track... but the device continues to function... same with touch-sensitive devices... expose it to too much sunlight and all pure-verbum (talking) videos begin to unfold                                   as is DJ sensitive - scratched, jittering...             but a music video? plays out without a single "paradoxical" indentation. oh hell, apple ios great...    but no one really gave an example how faulty hardware (scratched CD) translates into a faulty device (a "stuttering" iPod)... which is basically a generic standard computer virus -          default software a priori:          an "original sin":       the "no man's land" of thesis and antithesis -                    the parenthesis -    perhaps even the supreme (sic) example... but it's "out there": this mp4 format of translating hardware...                       the software inherently copies one fault (scratched CD)                         into another ****** up iPod). to be honest, i was only going to write the following, entitled (ode to my ex):        every ********** i've ever met           was 100 times more responsible about     getting pregnant; i've imagined prisons with less shackles    and far better                     excuses to: "settle down" with a man; i'm no more a monkey than she is a mantis.
0
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
mp4 devices and scratched CDs
photo-sensitivity of touch devices (notably a samsung tablet) translated via a differential                              content encoding... i.e. expose a touch-screen to excessive heat,    via, such as this godforsaken intake of sunlight in england...    and all the verbal / commentary videos?           start jittering,                            breaking-up... not exactly punk:   as in - scratched transmission, but cyber-             "funk"... music videos?      clear transmission,        no "vinyl scratching" interludes, no instance of a rough coughing edit... mind you...    did you know that if you encode a scratched CD into mp4 format, and load it into an iPod the iPod translates a hardware fault?         yeah... the ****** thing breaks down!             starts getting the "jitters"... as if an auto-censor stuttering... do the same with an mp3 device... no problem...         it's that sort of observation akin to playing the Sims,   and using the VR puppet to play the computer...            while you're playing the computer: that's how i got out of the game... wormhole weirdness... but a scratched CD translated into a mp4 device will break -    mind-boggling!            just like apple computers are immune to trojan viruses (etc.) -     iPods didn't seem to have the same immunity when you followed protocol of copyright, i.e. buy a CD, and translating it into the mp4 format...     reiteration:          a scratched CD encoded into mp4 will break the device... in mp3 you can actually hear the scratch-jump across a music track... but the device continues to function... same with touch-sensitive devices... expose it to too much sunlight and all pure-verbum (talking) videos begin to unfold                                   as is DJ sensitive - scratched, jittering...             but a music video? plays out without a single "paradoxical" indentation. oh hell, apple ios great...    but no one really gave an example how faulty hardware (scratched CD) translates into a faulty device (a "stuttering" iPod)... which is basically a generic standard computer virus -          default software a priori:          an "original sin":       the "no man's land" of thesis and antithesis -                    the parenthesis -    perhaps even the supreme (sic) example... but it's "out there": this mp4 format of translating hardware...                       the software inherently copies one fault (scratched CD)                         into another ****** up iPod). to be honest, i was only going to write the following, entitled (ode to my ex):        every ********** i've ever met           was 100 times more responsible about     getting pregnant; i've imagined prisons with less shackles    and far better                     excuses to: "settle down" with a man; i'm no more a monkey than she is a mantis.
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