"pipeline" poems
Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric
join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes
get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!
did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?
you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade
old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures
there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)
soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)
might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!
headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final
shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
I'd like to tell you a story
It begins in 1492
When dear old Christopher Columbus
Sailed the ocean blue
He landed on what he thought
To be the country of India
He stumbled upon a group of people
Who appeared to be indigenous
Because these native people
Happened to be where he thought he was
He called them all "Indians"
&& somehow that name stuck
They welcomed his group with open arms
Even offered them their feast
Unaware that deep inside
They were but wolves, dressed as sheep
Columbus && his crew
Soon ravaged the land
They took what they saw
Then they took full command
Of the people they found
On the land where they landed
They felt they should rule
So they stepped in, heavy handed
They murdered the people
Who had taken them in
Set fire to their villages
While the victims watched with their kin
Flash forward to the future
It's now 2016
It's been over 500 years
Since the overtaking by the regime
Future settlers decided
To let the survivors live on
They designated them small areas
Of what had not yet been robbed
These Native Americans,
Generally keep to themselves
They get by living off their land
But now they need your help
The Sioux of Standing Rock
Are being horribly mistreated
The state of North Dakota
Is poisoning them without reason
A pipeline has been built
That runs through this Native territory
When Bismarck residents didn't want it
It was rerouted, how discriminatory
People from all over the country
Are seeming to agree
They are making the commute
To protest peacefully
In defense of an oppressed people
Who only want to live
But the government is stepping in
Even blowing off some limbs
"Let them die, they're not like us"
the message the administration is sending
It seems that after all this time
The battle is never-ending
What exactly does it take
For people to see eye-to-eye?
In the end we're all just human
We kiss, we laugh, we cry
So if you have a heart at all
If you know that this is wrong
Please join the Sioux in their mission
By coming together, we can be strong
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
Every time people start to rise up, a whole buncha problematic mess gets thrown around regarding VIOLENCE.
So, what is "violence" really?... It's the use of force. Plain and simple.
What makes folks uncomfortable (who are otherwise comfortable in this system) is that UPRISING IS A SOMETIMES VIOLENT (read: forceful) REACTION TO SYSTEMATIC VIOLENCE: Yes, just like the Hunger Games...
Thus, there are many types of violence...
The fact that we are paying taxes that are funding the genocide and ****** of people of color (here and abroad) is violence.
People with guns (former slave patrols and overseers, now cops) who come from outside our community and treat our folks as criminals on the daily is violence.
Capitalism, i.e. wage/property/ecology-based exploitation in the name of profit is violence.
The fact that LA County spends more $$ than anywhere in the world on prisons and police is violence.
The fact that the US locks up more of its own people than any other country on record is violence.
US aiding/funding the genocide of Palestinians at the hands of Israel is genocidal violence.
From Congress, to the boardrooms, to the classrooms, from the gaze, to the unwanted touching, to the **** to the pay, Patriarchy everyday, is violence.
A few people jacking some **** at Walmart or breaking a window is really minimal violence in comparison.
A couple people throwing **** at armed cops is not serious violence.
The idea of owning property that other must rent to live is violent.
Systemic, chronic, global insecurity in the form of material poverty is violence.
Wage slavery is violence.
Gentrification is violence.
The War On Youth, i.e. the School-to-Prison pipeline, and, thus the War-on-Drugs with its attending 76% recidivism rate in the prison-industrial complex, whose populations are disproportionately black males, is violence.
The fact that people can't go to the doctor and dentist, or eat food every day is violence.
Deportations are violence.
Homophobia is violence.
The world's largest global military that vaporizes people without due process in dozens of countries violating their biophysical and national sovereignty is violence.
The United States government sanctioning the ****** of non-white, but especially Muslim bodies across the world... is violence.
So, when you condemn violence, do you mean resistance?
Because there is a whole lot of violence you should be condemning instead.
Adapted from Emilio Lacques-Zapien
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
across the Liverpool plains
the gas exploration
goes on without
being contained
drilling is never ending
holes sunk
which invariable
cause in the farming community
a disquieting funk
Santos
cares little
for the environment's
well being
its pipeline
must garner
all the gas
in the stream
landholders and those in the green party
have banded together
to protect the agricultural lands
from the rabid abuse
which the company
will wrought on
the water table
flora
and
fauna
they cry ****
as the company
exploits
the countryside
making of it
a harlot to be pillaged
and misused
the state government
is at sixes and sevens
so many competing
interests
must be listened to
should it give
Santos
permits
to
**** and plunder
or
will
it
allow
the
broad acres
to
continue
without sunder
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
I'm trying to meet new people and everything in between.
I like to get drunk on patios, porches, tailgates, and float trips, and any outdoor scenario.
I have a definite weakness for all things sweet.
Pipeline rig welder in the making.
Ask me, voted most likely to succeed in highschool.
I watch too much netflix and enjoy crying over Frank Ocean.
I am going to sue the **** out of you.
I'm a guy that sometimes carries a pocket thesaurus.
Socially conscious dude who probably drinks too much.
Amateur chef. Banjo Jedi.
New to this Midwest life.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:19 AM UTC
Do we have any idea?
Have we even got a clue?
Can it be that we don't give a ****
what others are going through.
Are we so wrapped up in selfish mode?
So devoted to our own.
That we should sit back and watch
as others are gnawed down to the bone.
Should it be that our own offspring
if they were cast away so far?
Would we worry about that pipeline
bringing fuel to run our car?
Or would we stand aloft in horror
as they were thrown unto the ground?
Or for fuel thats cheap and plentiful,
is it ok to make no sound?
We hear about disasters.
Tsunami strikes upon Japan.
Earthquakes raging out in Haiti
Watch death befall our fellow man.
Throw donations in a bucket
at the supermarket doors,
then forget because of shopping.
but we have paid towards their cause.
Could you ever even fathom?
Your children crying as they play,
not for Barbies or Play-stations
but for the pain to go away.
Never asking for the latest
made by Hamleys or Mattel
rather just an handfull of food
to help beat the starvation battle.
Wash it down with poison water
from a river filled with ****
or collect in rusty tin cans
from a worn and stagnant pit.
If this was the plight of our children
things would surely be said.
We would try to move a mountain
rather than our young be dead.
Could you ever really imagine?
Could you ever really get,
that a million hits on You-Tube
turn endangered species into pets?
What if someone could ask on face-book
about your daughter or your son,
saying"It looks so cute and cuddly,
"go on e-bay and buy me one."
If only we could all be happy,
not feel a need to own the place.
If we could learn to be contented
by a childs smiling face.
Treat the world with awe and wonder.
Treat its creatures with respect.
Treat each other in this same way.
Treat nobody with neglect.
Then perhaps we may push together,
make our Governments do right.
Let's lead the World with people power,
no more starvation or blight.
Let's be less materialistic
let us have a life of worh
Not by owning all we see,
rather sharing this our earth.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
how we dress up the imperfect parts of ourselves
presentable flowered smile. lies
cracked porcelain good morning
in a broken jaw breakfast line
barefoot pipeline running the secret underfoot
the railroad's coming and ain't nobody talking
no, ain't nobody telling a soul
sell off the parts of you that you have no use for
but where does it stop sticking to you?
memories, residual dew of choices and transitions
clarity of the third person, but who is that?
wandering the sleeping shores of Sunday
on cracked feet and torn sails flowing strong
in the strange wind blowing through the trees.
sail my ship to shore by candlelight
reflected endlessly across the water
cavernous echoes echoes in the depth
don't lose your heart in the caves of tomorrow
searching for sunshine again
with a lingering song in my heart
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
There just below the surface,
more present than you know
A prophetic Jeremiah,
tracks leading through the snow
His message serves to buttress,
those standing in the light
A pipeline to eternity,
—his vision gifting sight
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
Standing Rock
The pipeline is the bloodline,
of an Empirical Two Headed Dragon,
The Divided States of America used to be united,
can someone please tell me what the heck happened,
Standing Rock just might be the last stand for anyone that’s still standin’,
Standing Rock,
is not a photo op,
it’s not a festival,
it’s Indians and Cops,
more correctly,
it’s Native Americans and Corporate Hitmen,
it’s the crossroads,
where environmental defense intersects with big business interests,
it’s getting intense,
water cannons and flash grenades,
mock democracy and a Trump presidency,
military disguised as cops,
and cops disguised as military,
as the original defenders of this land,
continue to make a stand,
at Standing Rock this is not a photo op,
this is indirect imperial tactics meets Direct Action,
highly ironic,
that I write this on Thanksgiving,
the day before Black Friday,
tell me what you do that’s worth livin’,
Quite fitting,
that I’m writing this on Thanksgiving,
a “holiday” in a way,
but really just a heist by villains disguised as pilgrims,
well then,
where does that leave us now,
several hundred years later,
at Standing Rock having a powwow,
how,
have we gotten here,
and how,
as so little changed we’re,
still in this sticky situation,
battling hearts that are as black as oil,
still ******* the blood out of Mother Earth,
still battling Two Headed Serpent Dragon as it coils,
the pipeline is the bloodline,
of an Empirical Two Headed Dragon,
The Divided States of America used to be united,
can someone please tell me what the heck happened,
Standing Rock just might be the last stand for anyone that’s still standin’.
Defendin’,
the Sacred,
with Love,
over Hatred.
Water Is Life.
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
www.amazon.com/Aaron-La-Lux/e/B00ODPJAOK
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
There’s a crack along this pipeline dream
it’s a line still small but the memories leak
and our friendship crumbles with every bleed
I’ll try to fix it if you’ll try with me.
I am nearly vanquished yet but my hope
keeps me forging forth though my wick is low.
Resilience lays down; her weapons broke
She compels the fates to take me home.
This plot was once ruled by you and me
when I was king and you my queen
but the wage of time changed our motif
to a bitter fate which choked our seed.
In the face of consequence and life
comes the very moment to decide
do we stop our breath from pushing sighs
and in turn we let our history die?
There’s a crack along this pipeline dream
it’s a fracture large and the memories leak
now our friendship crumbles from all the bleed
but it can still be fixed if you’ll just believe…
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 11:46 AM UTC
Across the street,
Live the community of the old.
a network of inbreeding
left the branches of the family tree
entwined like a pipeline of too many years
that swim through the convoluted paths
forever,
sealing in the contents,
preserving the past.
Long bedraggled tresses
brush close to the latticework ground
Not a comb has come close
To break the wild knots that weave.
Nets buoy their authenticity
Forever wild,
Even though,
the world survives
on bowls brimmed with metal screws
The phantoms of depletion rise,
They are weightless, until
Pulverized
and they tumble,
Like hostages
They get caught between
The wisps of eternity.
Backlit sunset,
Illuminates the evergreen leaves,
The bulky necklace of frozen memories
Decorate my stiff neck
I am a victim of too many days spent
Watching screen protected versions of nature
that I forgot how thin skinned leaves really are
How the nervous system of enigmatic veins
hold DNA of their ancestors
Now, bathed in evening light
When heat from the stars erode from the sky
They are nothing but silhouettes of the past
Faceless, like torn out pages of a history book
shunned for its omniscient wisdom
so that the ashes can be planted
burying the past in the ground
standing still in the present
but reminding me,
the future is always as high as the sky.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 10:31 AM UTC
What if I just like reading better?
Can one even be a professional reader?
Im so full, pouring from a creative tap
Yet I can barely write, or create a starting draft
My heart is flooding like a pipeline: one poorly designed
Can someone help me make sense of these dreams of mine?
Thinking with all my might but there’s no glimmer, no light
Hard, Im struggling to keep sustaining this fight with my
Self, I keep my mind in decent health but im still
Drowning, under the weight of this creative wealth
Feb 22, 2022
Feb 22, 2022 at 9:30 PM UTC
Paddle
Paddle
Paddle
Up and on my feet
Falling, thrill of the initial fall
To catch the ride
Colliding currents crash waves
Into mental deadlock days
Winter swells come at shore break
Building momentum and grind
Like breaks at homesick Pipeline
Ride, curl and slide
Rip
Sweep the sides
Slick
Don’t choke this good vibe
Stay on this wave
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 10:39 PM UTC
To say the least, I am lost and confused. Lost and confused in a city that is changing. A city that is growing. And I know it is, because I can feel it is.
Some days, sometimes even several times within the same day, I want to be at the center of the action. I want to be plugged into the social pipeline. A pipeline that leads straight from and directly to the gutter.
I think I just want fun. I know I want meaning. I think I know I want camaraderie. Friendship. Love?
At some points, I feel like all of this is pointless. It drags me down and creates a groove in which I neither fight to get out of, nor have to fight to continue on in. It's resistless and easy. It's not warm or cozy, but it becomes familiar and what's to be expected.
The lines between reality and imagination are ever-increasingly blurred to me. I do not know whether these people are pretending, or trying to hide, or pretending to try and hide who they are appearing to be. Are these walls really rotting and peeling or was it painted like this to look grunge?
I can no longer determine, cliche as it may be, if art imitates reality or vice versa. Is the music these people play directly resulting from and representative of them and their lives, or are they pursuing a highly regarded, in the hep world, a less fortunate and haggard lifestyle or "scene"?
Is the music and its energy a force, a presence, a power, an entity of its own? Inhabiting the body, possessing the mind, and flowing forth from the mouth of those without an identity of their own?
I don't know who I am. I know who I am to myself, as when I'm alone. But I do not know who I am to be or who I am to others. I have always found myself being drawn to mystics, magic, and power. But this is dangerous, weird, odd, foreign stuff. This is not stuff to be dealt with lightly nor to be done out in the light. It is shameful and secret and dark.
I am afraid. I am afraid of myself. I am afraid of the power I may possess, and I am afraid of the power that may possess me.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 6:06 PM UTC
The Girl from Coronado
Dark brown eyes the brownest hair the most captivating was the faraway look in her eyes the painter
Searches for her in lost dreams she materializes on the sharp trumpet blast then she lingers as it turns
Softly as the street in front of the Saint Louis cathedral in New Orleans she was as wistful she was the
Bleeding torment held in battle field shadows her way had the razor sharp that cut through pretense to
The real the meaningful what was that certain something that held you in awe was it the southern sea
Breeze that was absorbed the enfolding touches that were exuded from her depths there are still
Waters then there is Gloria is it fondly promised like flowers floating on the tide the sweet smile that
Cuts and divides the waves like a surfer coming out of the Banji pipeline her brown hair blows softly it
Has enlightened on the breeze as fragrance unspoiled unidentifiable it enthralls as she walks the sandy
Sea swept beach in the distance she passes as a spirit cast improperly in a human role to disturbing to
Fetching she makes appearances in Celtic dreams of misfortune she brings trouble as a winged wonders
Those that are not for evil but hidden in them are clandestine secrets that open new corridors of
Simplicity that brim with honor they are the culminations of promises long deferred now they are at
The door to restore she possesses powers that are seemingly strange but they are beholding the
Glimpses she allows trigger eager disruptions the common falls before her gaze you find establishments
That seemed impossible could she be Isis presumably not but just bearer of her traits one who gives gifts
Of the natural world to artisans from normal items joy is in them as fluid emotions they suppress but
Only for the pure cause of making greater results occur the tiresome is abolished the clay is gold even
Though it be hidden from many to the few it is cherished sought and redeemed by love in a sea side
Town on the southern coast of California her alluring beauty you too can possess this just open yourself
seek the opportunity to give to others your name will be favorably spoken like the graceful girl from
Coronado
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
Bring about a second war,
or pack up - and go home.
We can't accept apologies
from Sicily or Rome.
We can't impart cartography
to mayors without maps.
And no one wades the rivers here,
and water fills the cracks.
And water, liquid power naps,
repels us at the coast,
But draws us in at pipeline ends
and haunts us like Dad's ghost.
I died sometime, the future came,
and everybody smirked
and asked me, while we waited
for my casket, if it hurt.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
You see I am a silent Tao more words count less especially in this letter,
And when you're finished reading it you can laugh at me if it makes you feel any better.
Which is okay with me but what's not is that you all just get to keep on living,
Without me with you during all of your tomorrows so this note is my forgiving;
To my family and friends who have hurt me and treated me wrong...
But maybe no fault of yours but still it hurt and didn't even make me strong.
To all except my daughter who needs no forgiveness from me she's done to me nothing wrong,
Unlike I did to her her whole life but it's like I said...because I'm not very strong.
A coward really! But I'm not gay, a ****** or flamboyant,
It doesn't really matter though anyway I still am a dissapointment.
So I deserve your ridicule I'm no good to others and in my life it has shown,
I don't expect you to except me to forgive me or to even to condone...
This "Pipeline Boy" who in my youth which is how I was raised and I thought it was right,
From behind closed doors was I taught to be feminine and ladylike.
I tried to live my life straight marrying three lovely ladies..."myself" I tried to convert,
I helped to make a little girl (it was my crowning achievement in life) my marriages didn't work.
Attempting to ask for forgiveness I was rushed and sorta fell,
Falling fifty-five feet breaking twenty-one bones and on my way to hell.
Trying to forgive myself in front of God on my way down...
"I'm Still Falling!" were my very last thoughts just before my body hit the ground.
You see I've been treated like a ***** all my life by most these men,
I don't know if it's theirs or mine to own...this unforgivable sin.
So now I partake in the world's oldest profession,
Woman don't do what's done to me being a women's the only way for me to get to Heaven!
So now I am Robin Ashley and hope for as long as I am you'll be my friend,
Because It no longer feels right for me to go around living life just to pretend.
My last name stays the same so she won't feel I abandoned her again,
For she's the only one in this world that I do not want to offend.
So I'll live my life in cognito causing you all no consequence nor strife,
When you're apalled by this letter remember it's not yours-but it's "My" life!
I apologize for posting such an obscene 'b l of distaste,
I'm just so **** tired of living my life with a mask on my face.
I don't know how my family found me here on facebook I guess it really doesn't matter,
My name is now Robin Ashley Latham and its because it makes me less sadder!
Robin Ashley
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Big Oil
the kid at the birthday party
who smashed the cake
with a stubborn fist,
cause he didn’t get enough.
Environmentalists
nerds studying
ants with magnifying glasses
radical methods
to peaceful madness.
Meanwhile
webbed chains
splash like tired confetti
light steeps a seeping cast,
sun-blind eyes fret liquid darkness,
shadows whisper poison.
a necessary evil,
when fingers of ink
strangle ice puzzles?
we say it was not intentional
but selfish risks
under laser lights
for sonic boomers
that will soon die,
leave a deaf horizon.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
Let's master the pipeline
Billabong brands my chest
Let me ride my dreams
On my board and your *******
No plans past tomorrow
Gonna live loud today
Put on that wet suit
And let's make love to the waves.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
When the darkness spreads and the screaming penetrates even my dreams
The seduction of empty space calls at me
It’s attraction is undeniable
My daydreaming naturally becoming more visual
The flavour of death
An ecstasy like no other
My strongest and last ******
So many options but only one to be my sinful romance
Will it be:
My tanned yellow appearance if I take too much
The chalk outline if I take a nudge
The rose stained bath if I dig a bit more
My neck ornament when I hit the floor
The gruesome distance a burst pipeline will go
The sweating and shaking from a hypo
Or simply a collision with a glare of light
Or maybe the ground was never my right
And I would prefer the pull from my lungs’ weight
or the heat off my skin as it ablates
Or maybe you would prefer an accident
Maybe that will help you cover your names
Don’t worry I won’t leave a note
I’ll let your guilt engross you
And when it gets too much you can use your sorry excuses to help suit you
You can blame my unstable personality
My weak mental health
My poverty of speech
But at least you’ll think twice the next time you speak
This will be my sweet everlasting revenge
Jun 28, 2021
Jun 28, 2021 at 5:11 PM UTC
i brushed the tips
of her fingers
amidst the PVC pipe
as we sat
linked together
in lock-down.
our forearms stained blue
from the paint and tar
plastered to plastic,
holding down
the chicken-wire
purposefully designed
to make sawing us out
more difficult.
water protectors
chained together,
risking arrest,
the shackles a symbol
that we were willing
to trade our freedom
to save planet earth
from the 6th extinction.
sweat glued garments to skin
as the sun baked down from the heavens.
even if we failed today
to throw a wrench in the works,
still we rage against the machine,
still we sing our refrain endlessly:
*the people gonna rise like the water.
we're gonna face this crisis now.
i hear the voice of my great granddaughter
singing, "shut this pipeline down."
it's bigger than a paycheck.
it's bigger than a job.
if you won't respect our Mother,
we won't respect your laws.*
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 9:58 PM UTC
Back in my fundie days,
Anyone could be happy, if
They really wanted to.
If you tried hard enough, all
Your wishes would come true.
Love was forever and divorces weren't possible, unless
You were selfish.
Kids didn't disappoint their parents, if
You raised them right.
People had addictions because they chose them, and
They could quit if they'd just stop.
Depression was a sign that
You weren't relying upon God enough.
Back in my fundie days.
Back in my fundie days,
I had a fish on my car, an index finger in the air, and
a pipeline to God.
I was going to heaven and
I knew how you could too.
There was only one name for the Almighty, and
It was “God,” and God was a HE.
Prayers were always answered, if
You had enough faith.
All solutions were found in the Good Book, and
You could look them up for yourself.
Back in my fundie days.
Back in my fundie days,
I lived in a country founded on Christian principles,
the ten commandments and the twelve apostles.
People were poor, because
They were lazy and didn't want to work.
My country was right, and
If you disagreed, you could move away.
Protesters were communists, who were
Trying to tear this country down.
English was the undisputed language,
Both here and abroad.
Back in my fundie days.
Back in my fundie days,
I knew the difference between right and wrong,
With no shades of confusing gray.
There was a place for everything.
You, me, us, them,
God, family, country, life...
It was much simpler, when
There were more answers
Back in my fundie days.
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 7:22 AM UTC
Why is it that I post two writes - my common practice - and don't begin to see any likes for up to 2 weeks. Do writes stay in Limbo?
Yesterday and today I see comments on "Purpose" which I posted 2 weeks ago. What's going on? I have 2 more in the pipeline - where are they? When will anyone see them?
Is this just my writes, or does everyone encounter the same delay?
And how soon will you see THIS one? Posted 5/21.
May 21, 2023
May 21, 2023 at 4:16 PM UTC