"originated" poems
ugly men burning their bay leaves
in pots of static gardens
underneath all this cement
your past is looking at you indecently
so change the words around you
you can shift their meaning
its all a game and no-one's winning
your tired emotions accent your poetry
umbrellas are scars that carry symphonies in their hearts
you held my hand as we welcomed god back into our skylines
her face is as familiar as the stars
we originated from
with ulcers open in quiet hurting
your youth are wordless and distrustful of angst ridden authority
in unsuspecting situations love’s vacation is ending
her wedding gown got quite *****
since she literally spent her entire honeymoon
wandering idly into banks of muddy water
humanity is worthy of justice and sweaty romance
i breathe your flesh into my bottle
and we take boundless walks upon the clouds
that straddle mountains, graveyards and cemeteries
fresh from wading in the rice fields
i peeled you a ripe banana
under pressure your sweater came off
and revealed a perfect metric for us to emulate
your eye sockets are two umbilical chords
and your voice is a curved sword that cuts through fear
like the moon slices through the sky
i have held all of this inside for far too long
and now it comes shattering forth
spilling itself over every page
every letter an escapade almost as long
as an Eskimo's pilgrimage to safety
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
*** was transmitted from chimpanzees to humans,
Eating chimp meat in Africa they thrived,
Most not realizing the sanctity they destroyed,
And chimps got it from mangabey meat,
New SIV+SIV gave *** at the lethal end for humans.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
That morning i awoke.
I felt the rising sun.
A glimpse of true restoration,
with kings crying, emperors imploring mercy, world living,
earth within.
The light of the rays
throughout magnificent pieces
of hollow stone.
I'm happy.
I'm happy.
The sun it did shine.
The sunrise, it was beautiful,
sitting in between the vast open crests of the mountains.
The sky's color orange.
The mountains a deep pink.
This view was a sensation of the universal language.
And the best part had to be the sun's
fiery,
multicolored,
rays!
Where the glory of this moment,
this sunrise,
originated.
What a bountiful moment.
It was filled with glory and strength.
The firefly lighting
inescapable and somewhat inexpressive.
Because of this, all insecurities melted away.
There was something comforting about this rise.
It was as if it was a message from God.
It had the energy of a new day.
No, not a new day.
Not another day to wake up.
Not ANOTHER PLAIN DAY!
No, this was a "new day".
The beginning of a new era.
That's what this sunlight told me.
Situations will now explode and dissolve.
In a benevolent way.
It said,
Feel the warmth of the sun.
Let it's warm welcoming waves of light
surround and caress your being.
Feel its care and courage.
Connect and let its power become yours.
Once i connected i no longer reflected.
The time for reflection ended.
And being pushed aside,
the time or immortality began.
The invincible
irresistible,
sensational,
nature of the sun brought a new wave.
The nine waves of the sun,
They touched me on that sunrise.
They touched my heart.
Just as they mixed and breed with
the unusually blue but now pink mountains.
The loving amalgamation of sunrise and environment.
It was truly a spectacle to behold.
This was a true sunrise.
The first true sunrise of my life.
THE SUNRISE OF THE NEW DAY.
MAY YOU SEE IT AS WELL!
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
written at the Herzl Camp
"A drunken man got mad at him / Because he barked in joy / He beat him and he's dying here today / Will you call the doctor please / And tell him if he comes right now / He'll save my precious doggy here he lay / Then he left the fluffy head / But his little dog was dead / Just a shiver and he slowly passed away."
This extract comes from a poem called Little Buddy, and is controversial. Allegedly written at the Herzl camp there are claims it might be originated by someone else by the name of Hank Snow.
5.7k
Profile:
Yuwen Chengdu is the son of Yuwen Huaji, who was a general of the Sui dynasty. He is a warrior of Sui, only secondary to Li Yuanba, who is naturally super powerful. As recorded, he was as tall as ten feet with strong waist and body. In the appearance of golden face, long beard and thick eyebrow, he often hold a weapon as heavy as 350 pounds.
Introduction of ****** makeup:
****** makeup, or Lian Pu, refers to ****** designs for Jing and Chou roles. It originated from daily life experience, describing such changes of expression as white for fear, red for shyness, dark for suntan, and sallow for illness. Most ****** designs attach great importance to the eyes. The ****** designs for the Jing roles are made by painting, powdering and coloring in the basic forms of Zheng Lian (keeping the basic face pattern), San Kuai Wa Lian (three-section face) and Sui Lian (fragmentary face). These types are widely used to represent generals, officials, heroes, gods and ghosts. The Chou actors can be recognized by the patch of white in various shapes painted around the eyes and nose. Sometimes these patches are outlined in black, hence the term Xiao Hua Lian (partly painted face). The Chou roles fall into the following two categories: Wen Chou and Wu Chou.
Features:
****** makeup bears three main characteristics. Firstly, it is the unity and contradiction of beauty and ugliness. Secondly, it is closely related to the personality of the characters. Lastly, the patterns are stylized.
Beijing opera is one of the most popular drama widely welcomed and loved, no matter home and abroad. It is now acknowledged as a sign of Chinese traditional culture. The photos of ****** mask can be found on large buildings, product packages, various porcelains and clothes. It has gone beyond the stage, from which we can see the deep influence of ****** makeup. More and more foreigners have interest in it and begin to explore the secret of ****** makeup.
http://www.toywill.com
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
On that fateful day of Pentecost,
power came down from on high.
For it originated with God’s presence
and His Kingdom, that’s far beyond our sky.
The ascension of Christ had been witnessed,
with Him clearly rising above the clouds;
He was no longer bound by planetary constraint
and the opinionated amazement of the crowd.
Upon the Earth, a violent breeze blew;
it brought forth ‘winds of change’ into the hearts of men.
This first outpouring of the Holy Spirit reinforced
God’s abundant Love, for us all once again.
The power of Jehovah had appeared,
as ‘tongues of fire’ above the people’s heads -
Thus fulfilling an Old Testament prophesy,
as the prophet Joel had previously illustrated.
The spiritual battles are fought today
inside the imagination of our minds;
cleanse your thoughts with The Word
and shift your ideals with His holy paradigm.
God has promised in The Scriptures
that He will never leave us nor forsake us.
His comforting Spirit remains along side
as we now await - the final return of Christ Jesus.
Author Notes:
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2010, All rights reserved.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 6:25 AM UTC
Baucis and Philemon,
Elderly souls, never empty of
Love,
Opened their doors for two strangers,
Whom
Unbeknownst to them, originated from
Above.
Zues and Hermes, cloaked in the robes of the
Poor,
Were turned away from every household,
Until they rapped on Baucis and Philemon's
Door.
"Come in, come in, shed your cloaks, and warm your hands,
Baucis,
Go!
Use our last loaves, grab the roast, the ham!"
Never mind their
Poverty
Never mind their
Nearly empty
Pantry and Cupboards
Baucis and Philemon possessed the rarest trait,
One the God's most
Coveted.
And while the two strangers ate their foods, and consumed their
Wine,
Baucis noted their cups never lowered beneathe the
Brim Line.
"God's... Divine!"
Cried the two elderly
Lovers.
"Follow us up the hill, Baucis, Philemon,
Do not look back as you climb,
Only to each other."
The two followed the Gods, still cloaked in the garb of strangers,
Never looking back at their village
Below.
Until, reaching the top, and turning back, their eyes didn't fall back upon their
Home.
Zues had called forth a flood, sent to destroy the once ungrateful
Village,
But where Baucis and Philemons cottage once lay,
A beautiful temple had risen from the filthy
Sullage.
Their wish to take care of the temple was swiftly
Granted,
As was their second wish, one that was almost
Demanded.
"I must die, as soon as my love does, I can't ever be without her."
The rest of their lives were spent glorifying the Gods for their kindness and love,
And when the time came for them to take their last
Breath,
Squeezed hands and warm souls crossed the River Styx,
And their broken and withered bodies were
Left.
The wrinkles on their
Skin,
Were made brown, and beautiful
Again
As their flesh turned to bark, and their hair to
Leaves,
The two elderly lovers, became intertwining
Trees.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
SpongeBob SquarePants is an American animated television series created by marine biologist and animator Stephen Hillenburg for Nickelodeon. The series chronicles the adventures and endeavors of the title character and his various friends in the fictional underwater city of Bikini Bottom. The series' popularity has made it a media franchise, as well as Nickelodeon network's highest rated show, and the most distributed property of MTV Networks. The media franchise has generated $8 billion in merchandising revenue for Nickelodeon.
Many of the ideas for the series originated in an unpublished, educational comic book titled The Intertidal Zone, which Hillenburg created in the mid-1980s. He began developing SpongeBob SquarePants into a television series in 1996 upon the cancellation of Rocko's Modern Life, and turned to Tom Kenny, who had worked with him on that series, to voice the titular character. SpongeBob was originally to be named SpongeBoy, and the series was to be called SpongeBoy Ahoy!, but these were changed, as the name was already trademarked.
The series was previewed on Nickelodeon in the United States on May 1, 1999, following the television airing of the 1999 Kids' Choice Awards, and officially premiered on July 17, 1999. It has received worldwide critical acclaim since its premiere and gained enormous popularity by its second season. The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie, a feature-length film adaptation, was released in theaters on November 19, 2004, and a sequel is currently in production, with a projected release date of February 13, 2015. On July 21, 2012, the series was renewed and aired its ninth season, beginning with the episode "Extreme Spots".[2][3]
Despite its widespread popularity, the series has been involved in several public controversies, including one centered around speculation over SpongeBob SquarePants' intended ****** orientation. The series has been nominated for a variety of different awards, including 17 Annie Awards (with six wins), 17 Golden Reel Awards (with eight wins), 15 Emmy Awards (with one win), 13 Kids' Choice Awards (with 12 wins), and four BAFTA Children's Awards (with two wins). In 2011, a newly described species of mushroom, Spongiforma squarepantsii, was named after the cartoon's title character.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
Isolated in academics
To finish my final days
Honored with a chance to fly
To an Ancient World
For a journey unlike any other with friend
Of New and Old
We all gather to the skies
From points of two
Dependent on which part of the pan
We originated
Many seeing each other
In the flesh
For the first time
Immediately we become friends
Unified by simply excitement a nervousness
For something entirely new for all of us
We each gather for the skies
To wait six hours short of a day
To begin our journey
In the oldest of lands
Many of us resting
Some simply lying back
We talk among our members about our paths
Leading us to this point and where we hope it goes
We come closer to our destination
Excitement grows among tired minds
Our blood rushes through our veins for what is to come
As or passage in the sky suddenly changes and burns
To be extinguished by the salty cries of Ryūjin
And swallowed whole to gain passage to
a New World
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 1:03 AM UTC
1.
On a nameless planet, in ferment we first met,
eons ago, tiny microbes, evolving we were still,
yet love a flickering light, bound us together.
As two galaxies were merging fiercely then,
to turn us and our nameless pang,to worthless dust
there wasn't any time left for a future together.
In a microbial kiss pathos ruled,we melted as one,
promised to remember this tryst, imprinted so deep
wherever in cosmos we would meet in future
in whatever form we may be at that juncture.
2.
This morning at the Metro that pang did revisit,
seeing you gazing at me in goosebumps I stood,
two galaxies within, I sensed were closing to to merge,
coming to my senses again I find you've vanished
a microbe, you are in the air that every minute I breathe.
We will conquer time, go beyond, love has power infinite,
the encounters in flashes would intimate our impending union.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 7:33 AM UTC
Mark Twain to Helen Keller
“Oh, dear me, how unspeakably funny and owlishly idiotic and grotesque was that “plagiarism” farce! As if there was much of anything in any human utterance, oral or written, except plagiarism! The kernel, the soul—let us go farther and say the substance, the bulk, the actual and valuable material of all human utterances in plagiarism.
For substantially all ideas are second hand, consciously or unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources and daily use by the garnerer with a pride and satisfaction born of the superstition that he originated them; whereas there is not a rag of originality about them any where except the little discoloration they get from his mental and moral calibre and his temperament, which is revealed in characteristics of phrasing.”
Mark Twain
Dec 1, 2021
Dec 1, 2021 at 3:39 PM UTC
Nobody ever taught me how to love myself.
I was never told to love the way my hair falls into light curls,
or the healing scars on my wrists, hips, and mind.
I was never told to love my stomach, my eyes, or my lips.
I was criticized all my life for the size and shape of my body.
Ever since I can remember I was told not to like myself,
to think of myself as nothing,
to always put others first.
I was never the number one priority and I never wanted to trust.
Even at home, I was told by the ones I loved the most that I was not good enough.
This is where the question originated: do the ones I love actually love me?
Maybe it was just an illusion in my mind,
that maybe they really don't.
I pictured my relationships with my family members as I thought they should be.
I thought that because they were family they would automatically
say "I love you",
support me through it all,
respect me,
keep me safe.
But it's not like that.
It took me quite some time to realize that just because you are related by blood,
all of these aren't automatically there.
It took me quite some time to realize that maybe they don't love me,
that if these things are lacking... it is not love.
It took me quite some time to realize that I was wanting the love and attention that all desire,
yet not all receive.
I was taught from a young age not to love myself,
which led to my thought that I was not loved as I grew older.
Maybe if I was taught to love myself then I wouldn't be the wreck I am now.
Maybe I would have more self-respect and wouldn't destroy not only my own body,
but my mind.
Maybe I would have avoided those toxic relationships.
Maybe my first love wouldn't have been able to take advantage of me,
and neither would have the other four boys.
Maybe I wouldn't have ended up in that hospital,
more than once.
Maybe if things were different in the beginning,
I wouldn't be so damaged now.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
I don't know what love is.
I can't tell where it originated,
nor it purpose on earth.
I don't know how one feel
when he is in love,
nor what one will do as a lover.
All I know is that I care for you.
I wish to put smile on your face.
Take part in your happiness
and share in your sorrows.
Walk with you in the rain.
Stay with you under the harsh sun.
I think about you all night in my bed ,
and dream of you always.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:45 AM UTC
///
After born, a child subconsciously
engaged with the nature
she (nature)doesn't play well as usual,
all the time of his life
because someone somehow
plays the negative role with her
He who does not know the life,
and doesn't know how and why
she originated the waterfall,
And generated a vigorous stream
but when someone cuts in the face of a river,
and moving water whatever he liked
otherwise, his own purpose ( in a negative sense)
Day by day the river moved slowly
slowly and slowly,
water didn't carry,
the overdue sediments toward the sea
day by day,
the river grew inflated
and becoming a silted bed
One day the rain came as cats and dogs
slowly and slowly,
it has made the flood over the flood plain
and swift away lands and roads
then the water has seemed useless
The child grew older
now he feels consciously
about the worst work
that someone did with her
And he (older child) thinks,
what does he feel?
when someone cuts in the face of a river
///
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
My Poet:
*tho evening draws nigh,
on this our wedding day,
the stars, guardians of our canopy,
reminder twinkle it can never be
fully complete, for you always make
a moment in time for me,
today we wait, synchronizing seconds
until both pronounce,
I do
let my hands,
in my tenderest embracing grasp,
perforce, when I hold you face,
still cannot hold your entirety,
for you always make and leave a space
for me to seal our universe
today, you need me to fill you,
so together, ever forward,
we will define and explore
the edges of our redrawn,
now, single unified line,
our ever expanding contiguous boundary
our blood is not commingled
but when our bodies unified,
the physics of our conjoining,
illustrates that those in our
surround of time and space,
in the aura we create,
not so very great,
and yet our oneness
'tis a shining upon the countenance of our place,
a luminous emittance upon this earth
when you write your poetry,
it always finishes with me,
I am the native child of thy words,
I am the filament webbing
illuminating the spaces between each line
but more than this,
I am your beginning,
you are my destination,
together we make,
The End
they ask me to vow,
demand I swear, make promises,
certify, preserve, record and store
the solemnity of this marriage born,
in ledgers of the city,
before an invisible god
I eschew all this
for nothing in life
ever guaranteed by words secured,
but this I know true*
My Poet:
*what I shall give to you,
and you to us,
cannot be spoke,
the words, not yet,
have we originated
for each day
will we compose anew,
each day, shall be
a new combination
under new stars,
our canopy unfolded,
our joining sanctified,
by the simple truth of us*
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
“Words are beautiful, but emotion is divine” (patty m)
~these are the divine words of a beautiful soul, patty m~
this Missouri grandmother writes and I am willfully, duty-bound,
to comply for she commissions a poem with every insightful pithy and
ever one of her dear hugs, of which these is no limit and each one a treasure of a gratitude that flows contra-directionally, surpassing given-grace and lawful gravity, for all of her words flow simultaneously north and south, heavenwards, and earth planted, east / west, magnetic poles attracting divinity wherever it can be found
and all I can do is proffer
just one more only love poem, which is the blessing and the curse the lord blessed me with, love is beautiful and it is divinely originated in each of our humble hearts, plucked from trees and fed to us wherever fruit of the fields grows, shaped like sweet and **** berries…not all that is divine, of necessity to be beautiful, words, them too, a mixed blessing, vulnerable and subject by the abuse of human weakness and fragility…but this much I assure myself with confidence,
and you too,
her words, well,
limitless, her every poem is hand woven, unhid, in the fooling
plain earthenware that the potter’s wheel created,
all gifts to each of us;
*But my fragility mandates I speak slow and hesitantly of things beautiful that contain the white glow sparkler light of divinity, for I have attracted and deserved many failures, far greater than the rarer success, so my knowledge yet oft suspect, is mostly merely well imagined but know this:
her skill,
her expertise
her intimate comprehension
within the beautiful and divine expressions of her kind appreciation she deigns to share…words like a mighty, beautiful like a powerful Missouri river, driven by all specie of love…but none more powerful, more divine than that of a loving womanly grandmother*
this, yes, only a love poem to be sure,
for the beautiful,
The Divine Miss (Patty) M.
Jul 24, 2023
Jul 24, 2023 at 5:44 PM UTC
How can I explain to you
What is within me?
I am African
I am American
I am both
And I am neither
I am something
And I am nothing
And yet…I am everything.
But I cannot be like you
Trust me.
I’ve tried.
You say “Welcome back”
Like my roots are in this soil
But how can I explain to you?
Yes.
My body originated here.
But not my soul.
No.
My soul was born in the arms of Mama Africa
She is not the ancestor of my skin
But of my spirit
And my roots run deep in her red earth
Her drumbeat, my hear.
Yet here I am…
I look like you.
I sound like you.
But I am not like you.
And when I try to explain
What I’ve seen
And done
And known
And how I became
You feel as though I am big
And you are not.
But it isn’t true.
I am not bigger.
You are not smaller
We are just…different.
I contain a vastness
That is misunderstood
That vastness holds so much
Yet often feels so empty.
And I cannot be like you.
Trust me.
I’ve tried.
But when I do it feels like chains
Shackles of iron
I try to deepen my roots
For you.
But when I try
I can only seem to spread my wings
And I am sorry.
I am sorry that I cannot make my home in you.
I am sorry that I make you feel small.
I do not mean to.
I am sorry I cannot find the words to explain
What it is like
To feel as though your skin is too tight for your soul
To feel as though you are always
Nowhere and Everywhere
Nothing and Everything
No one and Everyone
Too much…and never enough
I am sorry.
But I am trying.
So when I try…
When I share with you these tangled feelings
When I crack open the door
To the whirlwind within
Do not ask me to shut it.
Please, do not ask me to hide away
Because you cannot relate to the chaos behind my eyes.
Don’t see the mess.
See me.
And love me.
For the mystery that I am.
To you.
And to myself.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
A clay *** holds your happiness.
It's halfway tall,
reaching up to your thigh,
Narrow, blown up in the middle, narrow.
Simple lid with a spherical dot for fingers to grasp,
and a black drawn line
that curls from base to lip,
and over.
Insides encumbered by sweet darkness,
shaded glory,
because outside,
gleaming.
Spiraled gold that must have dribbled off the sun's ice cream cone
leaked through the bottom where the end had broken
and flavor escaped
to land on your mirthful urn.
Blue so clear,
the sky surely lost a piece of itself
as a crack appeared
and a fragment cascaded downward
to shatter along your pleasant chalice.
And in between,
are lines of green
that could have only originated
on pinewood trees
in a forest so dark
that monsters beware.
Bordering a little town
where children played
and only truth was called,
never dare.
Because there is red on your delighted decanter.
Spattered droplets
of coagulated sparks.
Jaded needles saturated,
with pine fresh essence
emanating from your zesty flagon.
And a single spot,
Barren.
Bereft of treasure.
Parted from cerulean.
Robbed of Viridian.
And severed in the roots of a blushing Amaryllis.
Occupying there,
a white blemish,
a shape of infinite corners
immaculately defined
and so small,
you will never find it on the canister
that harbors your smile.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
i guess darwinism
originated
on the islands
of gallapagos,
turtle turtle turtle ********
but not on syracuse
or cyprus or corfu
watching mortality
when watching ***** develop
into arthritis and ****
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
Life is like a battlefield
it could hit you mentally, emotionally or physically
days when you feel angry
manipulated
discombobulated
like you originated
in a world that is meant to confuse
about the rules
like a rat race
where you are tryna to find your place
how can I define what is mine
so I can refrain
from feeling disdain
about things that will make me feel pain
and make me cry
because they were never mine
how can I refine
so I do not get denied
So I can feel useful
and not feel useless
clueless
ruthless
asking myself every chance I get
what is going on?
all I want is for it to go on
I mean life!
all I want is for it to go on…..
like the picture in my head
it isnt perfect, not at all
its not like I want it all
just a chance to make the call
to make a way
and see a day
a chance to win this race
moving at a steady pace
so I can define the gravity in which..
I exist.!
but..
I am not done
there is more to this, than this.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
The most beautiful lie I ever heard in my entire life
Can I keep hearing again and again?
Inside mind
Waiting in the very back
Teasing all day
Forgot place it originated from
Patiently rested there so long
Where am I with no trace of these words?
Now I am forcefully facing the truth
Calling friend in my time of need
Just crying out to deaf ears
No one listens
They take advantage of what I am missing
Pretty flowers have wilted and died
Butterflies in tummy flew off
Ripping the band-aid off as fast as I could
You strode into life without my permission
So I wonder why it hurts this much to watch you walk out of it
I've never felt whole as I did the moment you murmured those three perfect words
So scary thinking back how many emotions I experienced
You shared none of them
Me
And myself alone felt gravity pulling towards you faster than a magnet springs toward metal
Keeping tears as trophies to put up for show in your mental display case
Waiting for me to topple so you could catch me in your net
A specimen shown off
To use
Everything ruined with the shattering realization that when you said
"I love you"
Were merely lying
It all was a lie
Nov 17, 2023
Nov 17, 2023 at 5:28 AM UTC
I wonder what would happen, if you came through my hood
Sitting back for hours, wondering if you should
Will you keep your eye over your shoulder, at the man behind
Just because he looks, like he’s on the grind, in a bind
Or maybe cause your thoughts, are already intertwined
You judged us from the start, step one till the end
When you came around the corner, now your acting like a friend
Now I’m beginning to wonder, what your willing to spend
So I won’t expose the fact, that your friendship is pretend
What’s more important, your wallet or well being
Looking at your stance, your on the verge of peeing
Scared out of your mind, is it a ghost that your seeing
You think were gonna hurt you, well were not disagreeing
Hand on your phone, calling cops for your freeing
Now step back from your fear, see who really needs to be freed
Stuck in this world of prejudice, originated from greed
When can I move on, from the hatred that I’ve fleed
Treated different and tortured, cause I’m not of your creed
Now I’m gonna make up for my pain, get even with this deed
Let’s see how you handle it, when your soul begins to bleed
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 4:51 AM UTC
the blatant frustrations of live feed editing.
enter the tablet, joystick free, one touch games,
quiet interesting that it’s so hard
to get a gaming addiction with such games
as candy crush soda, family farm,
bubble witch 2...
you will not see an adrenaline tornado on these
platitudes, no movie like involvement,
no plot... just time contraints, money constraints,
the adequate reflection of life: hey mort! when you coming?
hey forthnight debility cheque! when you coming?
(i too thought tetris originated in japan,
but it was actually of soviet design!
so in conclusion: games designed to be as reflected
by someone doing a crossword - i'm crap at
those, being bilingual is obstructive -
i'm in constant translation mode looking
for picturesque synonymity - or doing sūdoku -
which i'm not too bad at.)
a bit like that jesus debacle, so gott insisted on giving
proof of his existence to a baby... bad move...
the kid grew up in a bubble and thought he could do anything...
elijah just said to the priests: but if your god doesn’t exist,
what’s the point of having you? later he repented
on mt. sinai where god was but a whisper...
like the whisper of the dream of what rome was at first:
a republic. i believe in republicanism, i don’t believe
in that shamble that’s known as democracy, and is currently
the biggest export from america... exported to usurp
other nation’s republicanism - the elders of afghanistan
will never be modern family mr. jason wordsmith and
mr. jack wordsmith, raising an adopted / surrogate mother’s
kid... not in a million years... nor will revised buddhism
in western europe ever be original shinto of japan...
not in a million years... we’re not a monochromatic people.
back to jesus: there’s not one shred of christianity in
jurisprudence (philosophy of law /
etymology: prudence of having a jury) - but when you’re faced
with an enemy who’s a lawyer, and has connections...
and you’re a poor idiot who was forced into a paranoid schizophrenia
simulation for 7 years... you don’t set out to attack
and get compensation like that woman schopenhauer pushed
down the stairs... you set out to prove god -
and subsequently leave the ******* in his own waiting
line for karma - i hardly think there will be an oliver twit
in him to ask for some more.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
On the flip side
of the bright side
of the ocean
you will find me
behind the rock pool
beside the standing stones
is where my footprints
used to be
amidst the water vapour
and tiny salted pebbles
is where my breath lies
and resides in waiting
waiting
waiting
waiting
For you.
On the dark side
on the lip of the crescent
of the moon
you will find me
behind star HD 107821
in the constellation of Crux
is where my dreams
originated from
crushed by enormous forces
and caressed by toxic gases
is where my heart lies
and resides in waiting
waiting
waiting
waiting
For you.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC