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Mem zepper Mar 2014
Amputated from man
Amputated by man
Implanted to the outside of a wall
A foreigner refused entry into the family
The patern is as such: evrey need I fill
Opens up another two in me
One morning I awoke an amputee

And so it continued the whole life through
"How sincerity made a mad man of you"
If I ever face the mirror that's what I would say to thee
But me and my reflection have gone our seperate ways you see
Half a coffin for the amputee

I know they blame me and say how it's all my fault
Just cos I don't have a hatred for others
Which clearly they have got
Selfish to the core...vanity pride and greed..
Trick a poor stranger for an extra penny
Charge an arm and a leg from an amputee

God has unlocked my heart
But not the padlock on his gate
Heaven may be within reach
But hell is on a plait
So shall I DIE now??..is that what it will take ?
To make happy those so called "near to me"
To beautifie the amputee.
SøułSurvivør Mar 2017
A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection


MARILYN

"Her weapons were her crystal eyes... driving every man mad... (dark) as the dark night she was... had what no one else had..."
BANANARAMA "Venus"

Upon first meeting with Marilyn the first thing I was struck by were her eyes. If the eyes are the windows of the soul, hers were the stained glass of Winchester Cathedral. They were absolutely beautiful. Polished obsidion orbs that seemed to have an inner light for all their blackness. The second thing I noticed were her teeth. Strong. Perfectly even, and glistening white. Lastly her height and *figure
. Again, I shall use the Winchester Cathedral metaphor... she was positively that... not just a brick house, she was marble! Cantilevered, with flying buttresses everywhere! WOW!

Now, I'm not a lesbian. But if I were, Marilyn would have been in trouble! I was to notice flaws in her looks as time went on. Her thick, shiny raven hair was poorly cut, and her face, while striking, was not all that beautiful. Her features were even and well proportioned, but she was not a classic beauty.  She was of arabic/caucasian liniage. If I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I noticed these imperfections because I was somewhat envious. She was a man-magnet. Ms Pac-Man! I'm not an ugly woman. But I couldn't hold a candle to Marilyn!

As fate would have it, I became her "twin". We were on the buddy system at the beginning of our Sea Org training, and I was paired up with Marilyn. As luck would have it, we hit it off. Even though I felt like a shadow next to her light, I also really liked her. And she liked ME. She never lorded her looks over me. Her brilliant smile could melt the stoniest heart. And we enjoyed the same things. Though she was no artist, she really appreciated art. I actually drew her portrait (which she kept and framed, she told me many years later). We would take long walks around the Hollywood area, and, when time allowed, went to the beach. Santa Monica Pier. She had a droll sense of humor which i could appreciate, and i made her laugh, too. We got along very well.

Our Mission, should we decide to accept it (or NOT), was to write letters to people who had, at one time, been interested in scientology, or the Sea Org (not necessarily in that order). We were told that we to up our "statistics" daily. All jobs were measured statistically. Now, even at THAT age, I knew the Samuel Clemmons quote, "There are lies. **** lies. And statistics." But i thought it prudent not to mention that to anyone.

So, we were to write letters. We worked out a system for staying "upstat". We figured if we wrote LONG letters, and took breaks at first, then wrote shorter letters as time went on we could "beat the system". So we did. We never competed with each other. I was slightly faster than she (I'm a writer, obviously) but she didn't care. I could write. But she could spell. I was never good at that (I HAVE autocorrect on my phone, lol!).

Our I/C (in charge) never really bothered us. We were "upstat". So we joked around and had fun with it. We were allowed to go out and have a little time off occasionally.
I remember going to see the first STAR WARS movie with Marilyn and another dude who was totally smitten with her. She didn't even feign interest, even if he WAS very funny, and good looking in a diminutive way. But he was around her in a holding patern! Like a hummingbird to a honeysuckle! Shaharizade had mesmerized him with her seven veils! But the poor man never got anywhere. So he started to evince interest in me! But got nowhere in that arena either! Poor dude! So, that's how it worked. Marilyn would draw masculine attention. And, eventually, I would be "second pick". Oh, well. I knew better than to "get involved". There was a strict rule about "fratenization". A polite term for ***". THAT was VERBOTEN! It was grounds for RPF, should the partners be unmarried. And since I had NO desire to marry any of them, those dudes were out o luck.

Time went on. FRU  (Flag Recruit Unit) didn't seem so bad! And then there was the lure of my final destination. Flag Land Base... Finally I was ready to take my

...*1,300 mile Greyhound bus!
The next installment in my tail will be a poem I wrote a while back. I went 1300 miles by myself from Los Angeles California to Clearwater Florida. Actually to Tampa as there was no bus to Clearwater. I had a harrowing ride from Tampa to Clearwater over the Tampa Bay Causeway... but that's another story...

IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN THIS "RELIGION" PLEASE READ THIS ENTIRE BOOK! YOU WILL CHANGE YOUR MIND!

I'm sorry if I haven't read your poetry lately. I've been very busy writing this book. And I've been going down repost rabbit holes. I'm sure you can relate! I love you guys! This is the best poetry site ever! I'll be reading again soon...

♡ Catherine
Kareena Oct 2017
I'm a slave to the words
A marionette in the music
As I'm assuaged I've moved on
Muscle memory's proven

I can pick up the patern
Feel its reverberating sound
Emotions heightnened, rising action
Then I collapse to the ground

I hoped I wouldn't have to
Ever again play my part
But my name's in the playbill
I know the motions by heart
It felt the same like it did then
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
at a hospitalier's request...
i heard...

   'ask them to drink a little...
or at least gradually...
alone... absolutely alone...
come night and at least
an hour before setting of
for the land of nod...
before their grand imitation
of death with sleep...
ask them to drink a little...
anything except beer...
wine or ms. amber...
             ask them...
  to drink alone...
  and tell them: would you
please be inclined
to listen to templar chants?
le chant des templiers -
organum marcel peres - harmonia mundi:
salve regina...
          da pacem domine...
                nunc dimittis...
ask them to drink a little...
to drink alone... and listen
to these chants of the templars...'

i have been here before: dear hospitalier...
i have... i have seen
diamonds be fathomed
in waterfalls -
i have been here: gnashing my teeth
with an agony from the aesthetic!
i was here: tortured by beauty,
once...

  'i've been here, prior! teuton!
i've seen what aesthetic blows
can be dealt on the hearts of man!
i've seen men weep from
the agony of beauty!'

ask them: implored the hospitalier
to listen to the chant of
the templars...
ask them to sit aside: alone...
ease their hearts with a little bit
of liquid-fire...
baptise them thus...
ask them to take this sacrament...
let these new men
be baptised by wedding themselves
to the tears they will about to
shed...

baptise them with all the ingenious
beauty of song!
tempt them into this agony
of beauty...
no Bach no Beethoven...
forget all the polyphonic composition
complexity of classical music:
to the bellowing guts
of angus dei...

        i don't want intelligent music:
i want music that replicates
the herded animal: for the chant of the choir!
excuse me worship for
the fox calls of the night:
in england one cannot find
wolves - only dogs barking...

at a hospitalier's request:
'weren't the templar the more vicious
adamants of faith -
a cross became a sword...
yet after a slaughter: they would repent
with song...
to feed a contradiction that
came with a completeness of
heart...'

te deum patern ingeniturn -
  i can't stall the teutons from singing!
the teutons must sing!
these black cross cladding
over a whitened reservoir of following
yet uncovered details...

ease their hearts: strain them against
such ferocity of beauty...
let me find a grain of universal
truth in all of this...
and share it among all the reigning
particulars...
detail some excursion
into mathematical schematics
of "explanation":

the universal fraction / percentage
the universal is... only...
0.00000001%...
the particular is 99.0000009...
to solve the socratic mystery
of consolidating universals
with particulars:

concerning myself with genes:
by the time i might have
joyed myself with grandchildren:
i would have been diluted to...
a quarter...

             please ask them to
reflect on a: my self...
rather than be so agitated and prompt
boundless with
a compounded of nervy-
reflexive myself...

      give them an hour
to concern themselves with conjunctions...
give them the scissors of
atheism: notably in english
the only dimension this explanation
works in...
a- (indefinite)
                   and -the- (definite) -
an -ism is an -ism is an -ism...
is perhaps a variation of shorthand
explanations: as any decency of
an -ology...

indefinitely but most assured: definitely
this lingering phantom
of a tongue that had to remain
in talk and was never allowed
to sing...

       the hospitalier implored once
more:
'the same can be achieved
with muhammad's adhan...
                            but what if muhammad
himself was... tone deaf?
it does little to the reality
of the french caricatures:
yet another beheading...
             some elsewhere like france
has become...
this masochistic statue of glass...
this ice forge that salt is thrown at!
please let them listen to the templar
chants... ask the men first...
let the women disguise themselves
into the experience...
but tell them...
there is only your heart
upon entry... and there's only
your heart upon leaving!'

and i have been accused of
sociopathy and psychopathy...
   lies have dwarf-esque legs to sprint on...
2007: my descent...
it has been oh so... coincidental...
i have a testimony of Abel...
the earth doesn't cry out for me:
i'm still laughing upon it...
it's so impossibly just to have
not disturbed a finger of evil
that always points with accusation
at its own tongue...

i'm a big boy now: i can allow
myself metaphors of evil
i can allow myself metaphors of good...
i want these templar chants
to be aesthetic torture chambers...
i want men to be baptised by
the tears they shed...
expecting results...
oh of course... if they don't cry
having drunk enough...
then...

           clearly: the latin men wouldn't
require their letters to have names...
an A would never become an alpha -
a connotation of association with
male...
king alpha prince beta - B -
the latin men didn't conjure names
for their letters... at best... syllable
constructs for their consonants...
or vowel-catching sighs and laughter
reliefs for the vowels...

Bee would never be most certainly
beta...
               Oh would not become
omicron...
                that the greeks gave names
to their letters:
why is it that they are the most
scientifically "biased" people of this world...
Es: or sigma - a sum of:
which is why they sing such
godawful songs!

the castrato assembly of
the nuanced teutons!
would i be lucky to be stolen from
this future in a choir...
and forced into... deeds...
that can be agglomerated
when celebrating the defeat
of the mongols at the hands
of the mamluks...
or who the turkish janissaries were...

immediately slaves...
immediately converts:
easily pawned zealots!

- what a kind expression:
i clutter... my smile... with teeth...
then again...
if i am supposedly smiling:
would i require the use of teeth...
if i'm therefore employing the use
of teeth:
i'm not exactly smiling:
i'm pouting with an off-putting
grimace...
and by showing my teeth...
i am "unconsciously"
attempting to sharpen them
with instigating both fear
or paranoia...

     i have wed myself to the tears...
i have left nothing to hsve
to make it conumate upon stressing
this aesthetic torture...

augure of either sigh or the forlorn...
with my tears i wed myself
to the lakes and the rivers...
beside spite:
from an authenticity basis:
i was made lacklustre i was made
hindered...
if i were merely trampled on:
tampered with:
that i feel more than i think
i might have been egregiously taken
advantage of...
it's oh so...
    synchronised...
as if an Abel: but this new-Abel
would not die from a wounding
of a stabbing sensation:
if would require covert
murderous mechanisms...
an ingenuity of chemical employment...

let the world rot to appease the bloodthirst
of the demiurge...
i will only serve to laugh...
as laugh i did:
so many years prior...
come! share my universal attention
to detail!
let the teuton sing!
let this borrowed Cassidy sing his
shoes and suede off!

how they would
untie the feet of bogus bodies
of chinese pump-out
machines...
toe-tied this naked night
from afar....
this naked stark horror...
cut them at every available limbs!
gauge their eyes out!
cut their tongues out!
leave them womb-esque
most pristine!
that's all that was ever required
of them!
they dare not prance around:
peacocking...
when the subtle man
is being circumcised...

and they can... toy with
a lottery of... flesh; edible...
how i impersonate...
this quest fetish for...
i'll celebrate eating
a chicken...
by succking out the marrow
in the bone...
i will... celebrate the crunch
of cartilage...
           i will feast on the tender-bits
of liver and heart...
i will swear allegiance
to a handful of poultry hearts to
best remind myself:
what lifting a volume of
chickens would have to feel like:
heaving them...

guess i just spoiled a "poem":
there i was also looking for... a rhyme...
to also look for geometric antics...
yes...
it has come to my attention
to be clumsy enough...
i too would have liked
to have spent the better part
of my yet to be: envisioned
life in buenos cyres...

if i were more than the name
prescribed unto me:
i were more darius than matteo...
if i were a xerxes and
athena was my bride...
i like questioning being
given a name:
with such hightened expectation...

      conrad of masovia...
it's like it was necessarily to be...
humming a belief in:
china ≠ tibet ≠ mongolia

kind augur: in china they give noun status
to their syllables...
since they don't own concept for
either vowel or consonant...
"concept": what a grand branding
need...
the beijing squints from lemon
sherbert are... shy for giving:

no... there's is no vowel:
there's the consonant "proper":
ka                                                            cha-se and che-st...
ke                                                chew
ku                                         chi
ki                                     cho
ko...           and there's

herr: fat-bang-****
when black rice powder made peoples
explode...
such generic life
and holding on...
the mediocre ambitions that
would never pierce the ambition claimants...
as having a heughtening
impetus of / for elevated strategy...
in beijing:
it's so necessary to have as many people
without heaving ambition...
as is necessary to have
a Lenchenstein and have so few...
arrogantly prized antagonists...
there have to be status quo converts
and bravado
architects of same...

i'm wondering: how will "they" ever...
multiply us to their assured
presence of number...
and weaken us intellectually
to fraction out a count of the celebrated
counter count of 1..

we must be so impossibly to conquer...
when herded: herded...
yet when not...
so biased against...
the already persisting antagonism
of a chinese "concept" of "individualism"
to borrow from...
well... basically... ****-all to do with!
Emma Jun 2019
Thoughs whirl.
They writhe and rest,
float and sink,
shout and whisper,
coalesce
and
dissolve.

The constant and deafening cacophony of thought,
deep and wide and long,
stretches to the horizon and beyond,
Seemingly endless.

I shudder at the thought of thought sometimes,
memories meeting ideas,
but I'm deafened by the constant white noise
of its gently frothing waves.

It's beyond me, as they should be.

This ocean is serene
and the parts indiscernible from the whole.
I can sit at the shore safely if I dont wade in.
I may simply view
whatever might float to the surface.

They lap at the edges of my consciousness,
Tingle against the anterior of my skull,
But,
Thankfully,
Remain incomprehensible in their awful entirety.

It is only when my ocean
of memories and ideas organize that I need be afraid,
for I can comprehend a patern.

It is only when the gentle lapping becomes a treacherous bombora,
crashing against white cliffs,
That I am struck with their crippling ripples of anxiety,
because I begin to understand their enormity.

When
thoughts
writhe,
float,
shout
and coalesce,
They slam into me,
Eroding my delicate posture.

I am
unzipped,
unbuttoned,
unlaced,
in ribbons strewn across the bed.

I become undone,
at my own mercy.

Another one makes it's way yo the surface.
Perhaps this will be a calming memory?
No,
it's my own
               grasping
                          hand.

I grab my ankles as I flee
the oncoming tide,
and drag myself into the depths.

I sink,
clutching myself,
struggling
to escape myself.

I can feel myself begin to weaken and descend,
my cries muffled and my flesh diffusing in my own malefactory clutches as I gnaw at my spine visciously.

I pity me as I mercilessly tear into myself at my own digression.
Battering myself into submission
and eating away at my delicate chassis;

I leave a pitiful puddle to sink into my sheets.
Yes I do mean digression, not discretion.

— The End —