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"praxis" poems
It all begins With pronouns I becomes the subject Of my project Adding you And collectively we I choose you and me And I exclude the he and the she Until I am certain of we You and I pick verbs actions Inflect them to match fit begin narratives Transitive verbs take objects You touch tickle tease taste take skin ******* lips me with words Words have become a clause But still a simple construction So, you tickle me where? For this you need a preposition To position your tickling ammunition Do you touch tickle tease me ON my ******* ******* thighs buttocks **** Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth **** soul? Positioning is envisioning. Then you use adjectives To modify descriptions of Sensory inscriptions So, gentle complements touch Soft and passionate kiss And you become superlative And adverbs elaborate experience expression exploration You fill me deeply thoroughly violently with all that is you But adverbs can also mean time Not sweet or cursed time Or time denoting age But timing is always important And grammar dictates That Time adverbs are placed As a beginning or an end Like a lover's embrace Thus, This morning, you woke me with A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow. Conjunctions are sentence connectors And sentences behave like detectors Bodies balancing with and, but, or Otherwise subordinate And the scale tips towards Conditioning hypotaxis Making actions a complicated praxis (before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it) But we coordinate conjunctions Equally I touch you You touch me Exploring Exploding sensory functions So, together we cry imperatives Completing our ****** narratives Moaning Whimpering Begging Yelling: Please... bind me! touch me! bite me! take me! come! Oh! Please, come! I love the English language... ;)
0
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
patricia-drake
Exploring Grammar (why I love the English language)
It all begins With pronouns I becomes the subject Of my project Adding you And collectively we I choose you and me And I exclude the he and the she Until I am certain of we You and I pick verbs actions Inflect them to match fit begin narratives Transitive verbs take objects You touch tickle tease taste take skin ******* lips me with words Words have become a clause But still a simple construction So, you tickle me where? For this you need a preposition To position your tickling ammunition Do you touch tickle tease me ON my ******* ******* thighs buttocks **** Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth **** soul? Positioning is envisioning. Then you use adjectives To modify descriptions of Sensory inscriptions So, gentle complements touch Soft and passionate kiss And you become superlative And adverbs elaborate experience expression exploration You fill me deeply thoroughly violently with all that is you But adverbs can also mean time Not sweet or cursed time Or time denoting age But timing is always important And grammar dictates That Time adverbs are placed As a beginning or an end Like a lover's embrace Thus, This morning, you woke me with A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow. Conjunctions are sentence connectors And sentences behave like detectors Bodies balancing with and, but, or Otherwise subordinate And the scale tips towards Conditioning hypotaxis Making actions a complicated praxis (before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it) But we coordinate conjunctions Equally I touch you You touch me Exploring Exploding sensory functions So, together we cry imperatives Completing our ****** narratives Moaning Whimpering Begging Yelling: Please... bind me! touch me! bite me! take me! come! Oh! Please, come! I love the English language... ;)
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89
Katie Price Had a collection Of last season's Brassieres Which she indexed With the help Of a sincere Bilingual reindeer Dressed in spandex Who for some reason Was single. Taxonomy Is so important to me Said Katie. So they were labelled And kept in taxis At disused angle grinder factories Near the Tower of Babel So posterity Would be able To analyse The finer points Of her physiognomy. Quite an unusual praxis And something of an anomaly For someone like me Wouldn't you agree? Cross my heart And hope to die I agree.
0
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
david-alexander-jackson
Katie Price And Her Bilingual Reindeer
Katie Price Had a collection Of last season's Brassieres Which she indexed With the help Of a sincere Bilingual reindeer Dressed in spandex Who for some reason Was single. Taxonomy Is so important to me Said Katie. So they were labelled And kept in taxis At disused angle grinder factories Near the Tower of Babel So posterity Would be able To analyse The finer points Of her physiognomy. Quite an unusual praxis And something of an anomaly For someone like me Wouldn't you agree? Cross my heart And hope to die I agree.
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30
♦   ♦   ♦ She was an earnest devotée. Her ideals, birthed in Chardonnay were globally diverse (read: white). A liberal bark preceded bite. Her crystal clearer than her vision; she provoked bemused derision as she breathed intolerance toward all who would not dance her dance. She swooned for distant pagan tribes, attuned to their exotic vibes – rapt in multi-culti piety strangely deaf to her own society, judged by her as abomination; unredeemed. The background station always stuck on N.P.R. (the soundtrack of her culture war, Pacifica News and Democracy Nows, and other progressive holy cows) Her motherland a shameful mystery: guilty first, and void of history – its origins defiled, corrupted… while she enjoyed uninterrupted freedom to pursue her whims: misguided one-world global hymns. The sisterhood of hu(man) kind was foremost in her earnest mind – even should that same sisterhood be sealed by her well-meaning blood. Out on a date with global death she hoped to unify the earth in solidarity with causes led by killers, warlord bosses, thugs she never knew existed who, if she’d met she’d have resisted. Her theory landed far from her praxis spun, by default, on an evil axis. Hot with zeal she fumed and stormed quite certain she was well-informed, at benefits, non-profit functions rallies, boycotts, left-wing luncheons; warm with righteous spite for Israel, aiding and abetting Ishmael with fellow-travelers, like-minded similarly hateful, blinded, rattling sabers, scimitars, axes… (lunacy never wanes, but waxes hotter with the passing years as activists confront their fears). She finally shilled for the Intifada (stopping short of reciting Shahada), reaching out to the terrorist with righteous raised progressive fist… offering thus her neck to blade: collateral to be repaid by murderers who couldn’t care less about her open-mindedness.
0
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
connecthook
Suicide by Diversity
♦   ♦   ♦ She was an earnest devotée. Her ideals, birthed in Chardonnay were globally diverse (read: white). A liberal bark preceded bite. Her crystal clearer than her vision; she provoked bemused derision as she breathed intolerance toward all who would not dance her dance. She swooned for distant pagan tribes, attuned to their exotic vibes – rapt in multi-culti piety strangely deaf to her own society, judged by her as abomination; unredeemed. The background station always stuck on N.P.R. (the soundtrack of her culture war, Pacifica News and Democracy Nows, and other progressive holy cows) Her motherland a shameful mystery: guilty first, and void of history – its origins defiled, corrupted… while she enjoyed uninterrupted freedom to pursue her whims: misguided one-world global hymns. The sisterhood of hu(man) kind was foremost in her earnest mind – even should that same sisterhood be sealed by her well-meaning blood. Out on a date with global death she hoped to unify the earth in solidarity with causes led by killers, warlord bosses, thugs she never knew existed who, if she’d met she’d have resisted. Her theory landed far from her praxis spun, by default, on an evil axis. Hot with zeal she fumed and stormed quite certain she was well-informed, at benefits, non-profit functions rallies, boycotts, left-wing luncheons; warm with righteous spite for Israel, aiding and abetting Ishmael with fellow-travelers, like-minded similarly hateful, blinded, rattling sabers, scimitars, axes… (lunacy never wanes, but waxes hotter with the passing years as activists confront their fears). She finally shilled for the Intifada (stopping short of reciting Shahada), reaching out to the terrorist with righteous raised progressive fist… offering thus her neck to blade: collateral to be repaid by murderers who couldn’t care less about her open-mindedness.
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57
Inspired by a vintage ****** postcard from the 1920s - 30s: The Muse sits resplendent caressed in sepia tones and pastel cream gilded with the glaze of a bygone era her silk Charleston negligee worn proud like a vintage ornament perched on an aesthetically pleasing shapely pert insolent ***** blossomed with tiny beads of sweat the heat of such anticipation entices the pearls of the ****** to pamper and pleasure their perversions etched as if in a radiance of candlelight the flickering limbs pulse their bloom nimble fingers of dancing shadows cupping the feline curves of a chaise longue the purposefully out of place set piece the fantasy of a gentleman's reading room caked in casked sherry and Nat Sherman cigar infused aromas her elegant pose sumptuous reclining elbow length satin gloves sensually wrapped in wanton desire two fingers clasp a Sorbranie Black Russian smoked like a sultry gypsy with a fervent demeanour from a silver opera cigarette holder beckoning with the cats eyes of mischief over Pinced nez eyeglasses with a fascination imbibed in the praxis of passion the peach skin of refulgent youth directs the viewer downwards, slowly survey each contour of olive skin and stroke every hidden cleft of fabric to glimpse the nubile thighs of grace leading the eye to the arch of an ankle slipped like a fitted glove nestled in the cleavage of her calf and the chastity of future wonderment the forgotten photograph captures a period in time the memories of the muse now in motionless existence a demure allure forever frozen once lost, but now never forgotten
0
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
DBeard
Decadence of a Muse
Inspired by a vintage ****** postcard from the 1920s - 30s: The Muse sits resplendent caressed in sepia tones and pastel cream gilded with the glaze of a bygone era her silk Charleston negligee worn proud like a vintage ornament perched on an aesthetically pleasing shapely pert insolent ***** blossomed with tiny beads of sweat the heat of such anticipation entices the pearls of the ****** to pamper and pleasure their perversions etched as if in a radiance of candlelight the flickering limbs pulse their bloom nimble fingers of dancing shadows cupping the feline curves of a chaise longue the purposefully out of place set piece the fantasy of a gentleman's reading room caked in casked sherry and Nat Sherman cigar infused aromas her elegant pose sumptuous reclining elbow length satin gloves sensually wrapped in wanton desire two fingers clasp a Sorbranie Black Russian smoked like a sultry gypsy with a fervent demeanour from a silver opera cigarette holder beckoning with the cats eyes of mischief over Pinced nez eyeglasses with a fascination imbibed in the praxis of passion the peach skin of refulgent youth directs the viewer downwards, slowly survey each contour of olive skin and stroke every hidden cleft of fabric to glimpse the nubile thighs of grace leading the eye to the arch of an ankle slipped like a fitted glove nestled in the cleavage of her calf and the chastity of future wonderment the forgotten photograph captures a period in time the memories of the muse now in motionless existence a demure allure forever frozen once lost, but now never forgotten
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47
A puff, two puffs,.... A narrative or cleft notes for the Praxis exam.  Otherwise, as smart as a equinimity is, a expository form in writ.  The monkey's wait in Compton.   I belay the last law they have and will naught forgive or forget a Jesus freak.
0
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
Matthew1977
Monkeys In Compton
A puff, two puffs,.... A narrative or cleft notes for the Praxis exam.  Otherwise, as smart as a equinimity is, a expository form in writ.  The monkey's wait in Compton.   I belay the last law they have and will naught forgive or forget a Jesus freak.
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3
I pulled a piece of string from my sleeve, watched it float to the ground, collecting itself into a small circle. The ring reminded me of days past when I thought that was what I wanted- that ring. How odd that such an ordinary string on such an arbitrary day could teach me about myself in one split second, pointing out that the ring was never what I wanted, never what I needed. The wind blew the flowers around me and tossed up my hair yet the ring remained, stagnant, unmoved, a praxis, like the boy who still hoped for the promise of a ring. So I collected my things and rose from my spot between those two Hydrangea bushes, stepped over the ring and continued on my way, movement from the staleness of monogamy to the chaos of something more. Always moving to something more.
0
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
kelsey-robb
Conventional Ideas
I pulled a piece of string from my sleeve, watched it float to the ground, collecting itself into a small circle. The ring reminded me of days past when I thought that was what I wanted- that ring. How odd that such an ordinary string on such an arbitrary day could teach me about myself in one split second, pointing out that the ring was never what I wanted, never what I needed. The wind blew the flowers around me and tossed up my hair yet the ring remained, stagnant, unmoved, a praxis, like the boy who still hoped for the promise of a ring. So I collected my things and rose from my spot between those two Hydrangea bushes, stepped over the ring and continued on my way, movement from the staleness of monogamy to the chaos of something more. Always moving to something more.
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32
“Why did you do this for me?” He asked. “I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.” “You have been my friend,” replied Charlotte. “That in itself is a tremendous thing.” - E.B. White Charlotte's Web Blooming violet, ghost Of the blonde sun. Beauty of contrast. The sun shines brighter But not perceived by many, The violet no longer hides And eclipses the star with Its heart shaped petals Mythic essence, desired By queens... emperors. Her hidden power. The might of Greece Kneels down to her grace. The flower of spring Persephone Has chosen. Athens symbol. Flower to fool Apollo Withheld greatness, how modest she is to all. The gift of Humility. The faithful flower painted Timidly by the Bible’s artists, Is occasionally too reticent To glance at her kind spirit And behold my rescue Healing Heartsease, blossoming Even before melting snow. The soul savior. Violet’s tender touch of protection Softly soothing my skin. The salve of my machine. Her words, the river dam. But ephemeral is the scent.   Friendship essence, sweet Magic wholly consuming me. Tolkien of love. How elegantly and delicately her Colors dance and sing with the wind, To engender the Victorian praxis Binding us both with thoughts Occupied by timeless bliss. Elegant royal, spiritual Guide of my fortune and good judgment. Muse of twilight. For she finds me in cold calamity And warms my hand through the abyss. Stargazing, I dream of hope, clarity and To be born anew. She left her nectar. Early morning emerges in delight.
0
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 8:28 AM UTC
henriqueacaldas
Blooming Violet, Early Morning Delight
“Why did you do this for me?” He asked. “I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.” “You have been my friend,” replied Charlotte. “That in itself is a tremendous thing.” - E.B. White Charlotte's Web Blooming violet, ghost Of the blonde sun. Beauty of contrast. The sun shines brighter But not perceived by many, The violet no longer hides And eclipses the star with Its heart shaped petals Mythic essence, desired By queens... emperors. Her hidden power. The might of Greece Kneels down to her grace. The flower of spring Persephone Has chosen. Athens symbol. Flower to fool Apollo Withheld greatness, how modest she is to all. The gift of Humility. The faithful flower painted Timidly by the Bible’s artists, Is occasionally too reticent To glance at her kind spirit And behold my rescue Healing Heartsease, blossoming Even before melting snow. The soul savior. Violet’s tender touch of protection Softly soothing my skin. The salve of my machine. Her words, the river dam. But ephemeral is the scent.   Friendship essence, sweet Magic wholly consuming me. Tolkien of love. How elegantly and delicately her Colors dance and sing with the wind, To engender the Victorian praxis Binding us both with thoughts Occupied by timeless bliss. Elegant royal, spiritual Guide of my fortune and good judgment. Muse of twilight. For she finds me in cold calamity And warms my hand through the abyss. Stargazing, I dream of hope, clarity and To be born anew. She left her nectar. Early morning emerges in delight.
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50
Tonight I was ***** I got persuaded by a ten year old boy, A boy of 6, Into doing "things". His supple boy skin, Mine suppler not even sun kissed, yet kissing **** Tonight. I'm 24. I hurt from every pore, As my breathing shallows. I tried ******* only a taste. I ate a pin ***** size morsel. Throat closed, anaphylaxis. The praxis of finding out, through rashes of histamine. Every time I shower. I played in the mud. Doesn't wash off. Guilt. Oh man, how my grandma used to try. Scrub me. I'd scrub just as hard, Till raw in my arms. Every evening. I lay in bed. contemplate things. Look at what has happened. I see him again. I cry, I weep, I spit, Oh curses. Can't change it. Can't take my mouth off his **** You know. The good stuff. Bein' a kid is hard... Bein' adult that was once a kid is harder' You know. They used to put us in prison. Line us up in rows, make us do LOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG division. Walk in a straight line. Hold your inmates hand. I used to work the problems backwards, The teachers would get mad at me, Make me work at their desk, Knew i must be cheating, Made me teach class, I never grew up from that. I used to think that this happy trail led to a ****** Once closed up. I thought I was gay. Now...I just know that. Well happy trails aren't always happy. At least mines finally growing hair.
0
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Lendonpartain
The Great Google
Tonight I was ***** I got persuaded by a ten year old boy, A boy of 6, Into doing "things". His supple boy skin, Mine suppler not even sun kissed, yet kissing **** Tonight. I'm 24. I hurt from every pore, As my breathing shallows. I tried ******* only a taste. I ate a pin ***** size morsel. Throat closed, anaphylaxis. The praxis of finding out, through rashes of histamine. Every time I shower. I played in the mud. Doesn't wash off. Guilt. Oh man, how my grandma used to try. Scrub me. I'd scrub just as hard, Till raw in my arms. Every evening. I lay in bed. contemplate things. Look at what has happened. I see him again. I cry, I weep, I spit, Oh curses. Can't change it. Can't take my mouth off his **** You know. The good stuff. Bein' a kid is hard... Bein' adult that was once a kid is harder' You know. They used to put us in prison. Line us up in rows, make us do LOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG division. Walk in a straight line. Hold your inmates hand. I used to work the problems backwards, The teachers would get mad at me, Make me work at their desk, Knew i must be cheating, Made me teach class, I never grew up from that. I used to think that this happy trail led to a ****** Once closed up. I thought I was gay. Now...I just know that. Well happy trails aren't always happy. At least mines finally growing hair.
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51
Rhetorical questions Asked and answered. supporting, Sifting, and sorting bafflement Praxis For awhile the whorls were made of sadness and fears from my internal musings and the desires of my heart extrapolated by magpies Like you said, They busted the lock.
0
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
atalanta-undigested
Mandel Brot
Rhetorical questions Asked and answered. supporting, Sifting, and sorting bafflement Praxis For awhile the whorls were made of sadness and fears from my internal musings and the desires of my heart extrapolated by magpies Like you said, They busted the lock.
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12
♪ ♩ ♫ ♬♪ ♪ ♩ ♫ [for Snare Drum] Client-centered, data-driven, yet their sins are unforgiven. Tweaking the assessment standard while the Word of God is slandered. Current practice (science-based) meanwhile, souls are laid to waste. Evidence-based evaluations fail to stall abominations. Power slideshows, bullet-pointed bypass Christ, the Lord’s anointed. Titled expert: talking wraith, buzzword-based, devoid of faith. Sources cited, praxis theorized. Mankind’s plight ignored, unrealized. Humankind enthroned, enshrined, entombed in shadows yet unshined. Branding, marketing, organized crime: brother – can you spare a paradigm?
0
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
connecthook
Paradigm Paradiddle
♪ ♩ ♫ ♬♪ ♪ ♩ ♫ [for Snare Drum] Client-centered, data-driven, yet their sins are unforgiven. Tweaking the assessment standard while the Word of God is slandered. Current practice (science-based) meanwhile, souls are laid to waste. Evidence-based evaluations fail to stall abominations. Power slideshows, bullet-pointed bypass Christ, the Lord’s anointed. Titled expert: talking wraith, buzzword-based, devoid of faith. Sources cited, praxis theorized. Mankind’s plight ignored, unrealized. Humankind enthroned, enshrined, entombed in shadows yet unshined. Branding, marketing, organized crime: brother – can you spare a paradigm?
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20
at a certain time and space, the density of absence threw me off my axis. i felt like atlas, bridging the gap between theory and praxis, text and world. © Matthew Harlovic
0
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 7:37 PM UTC
matthew-harlovic
atlas
at a certain time and space, the density of absence threw me off my axis. i felt like atlas, bridging the gap between theory and praxis, text and world. © Matthew Harlovic
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7
I've got a handsome brother Like I have, you may have to Each day, I weave off his negativity By praying to god sincerely His life stays longevous   Never shall he get upset unnecessarily This thread, is a protection virtue Never get upset, this heart gets upset to Whether am far or near Don't you forget this lives praxis Brought 'rakhi' with love to tie on your wrist Brought you lots of sweets and gifts Let me embrace your forehead with sandlewood powder and wave this lighted lamp upon you Tying this thread and serving these sweets This day comes once a year with treats My brother, remaining years of my life I wish, be bestowed upon you... ©sim
0
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 2:51 AM UTC
Seema
Raksha Bandhan (Protection Thread)
I've got a handsome brother Like I have, you may have to Each day, I weave off his negativity By praying to god sincerely His life stays longevous   Never shall he get upset unnecessarily This thread, is a protection virtue Never get upset, this heart gets upset to Whether am far or near Don't you forget this lives praxis Brought 'rakhi' with love to tie on your wrist Brought you lots of sweets and gifts Let me embrace your forehead with sandlewood powder and wave this lighted lamp upon you Tying this thread and serving these sweets This day comes once a year with treats My brother, remaining years of my life I wish, be bestowed upon you... ©sim
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18
'her' as whispered praxis: her stormy hair her highland shoulders brush me in wind.
0
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC
narvik_snow
her
'her' as whispered praxis: her stormy hair her highland shoulders brush me in wind.
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9
I Humbled and haunted Decided to let go of my breaths Hold on to terrible and troubled terms My eyes Bar tears from encroaching terra firma For fear of being human When told I was interstellar I Heavy and hollow Created chasms between family, friends, and flirts It's not a sign so cold But a zodiac killing field sans air Blame is solely on my solar surface I'm burning with regret I refused to own Because I didn't recognize the seeds I've sewn I Heart-ached and hoping Resign to my final destination Loved her Continued to adore Pouring out olive oil and anointing my tongue to release the finest psalms to surround her name Blowing kisses to the wind to carry my dedication and declarations to decorate her skin I Halted This Earth's praxis upon invisible axis To view you One last time Before I die again. Ifeanyichuku Okoro II © 2023
0
Nov 12, 2023
Nov 12, 2023 at 12:29 AM UTC
NkuziOkoro
"8 at 11:26 pm" - 11.11.23
I Humbled and haunted Decided to let go of my breaths Hold on to terrible and troubled terms My eyes Bar tears from encroaching terra firma For fear of being human When told I was interstellar I Heavy and hollow Created chasms between family, friends, and flirts It's not a sign so cold But a zodiac killing field sans air Blame is solely on my solar surface I'm burning with regret I refused to own Because I didn't recognize the seeds I've sewn I Heart-ached and hoping Resign to my final destination Loved her Continued to adore Pouring out olive oil and anointing my tongue to release the finest psalms to surround her name Blowing kisses to the wind to carry my dedication and declarations to decorate her skin I Halted This Earth's praxis upon invisible axis To view you One last time Before I die again. Ifeanyichuku Okoro II © 2023
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30
i'm dead serious about conceptualising a su doku...                i'm on the basis of fractions...   praxis            9                               /  4                    optical coordination of stressors of furthered insertion for some reason i cited:            9 x 6 = 51                          and then           9 x 9 = 81...               **** 1 is such a difficult number to muster / master in a goemetric class...      1 isn't exactly geometrically "sound" -                        hello φoνoς - alternatively, when you're doing a really hard su doku, quote this quasi-copernican interpretation, i.e. doing the puzzle "lying down"...      i dunno(h)... when complexity arises    numbers "lying down" makes perfect sense...      su doku?         it's like onomatopoeia in terms of arrangement... 81? and it's still a perfect square?!               o.k. o.k. (leo getz style),                          ω                    3          ß                          m          what the **** was alternative to the said?         u p         d         o         w         n                             p                                        u                                        d o w n                                   by now you're ****** kidding...       M 3          Σ       W                                  my name's matthew, so you can imagine why i get all hot and bothered about this variation.       now for some dead etymology (i,e, i don't give a **** where the words came from, i just like the way they sound) -      poligon,                               okop.      all, if any, emotional intelligence equates        itself toward an intensity status...        i.e.         the more you feel, the more                            your emotional competence... for sure... apathy is the "placebo" guarantee                      cure   for any type of pathos -        or the λoγoς of guaranteed explanations.    to be honest?                λoγoς has been reduced to a suffix status with that basic "accomplishment" of -ology.        another "funny" word... by was of saying: it's actually a city...                              Płock -                                                    Łódz*, alternatively? let's juggle             ò (grave)            &       ó (acute)....       now i see the funny side of the tetragrammaton concept... it really is omnipresent...         between           ò       &      ó     you want the sort of incisor that's basically |     straight...                       something that really might **** off god once and for all...            with nietzsche it didn't really happen...          i mean an    |                               o                               that would get rid of god in the classical roman sense of:               oh...       and return to the omicron basis                    for having revealed a phonetic encoding that's simply O...     and that means doing away with the god's portion of a hammer (H) -                      or the second syllable of the name:                     η          - weh...                                          eta weh... i'd start translation phonetic encoding if i were you...             that variant stated? eta?               it's also called: a short e....             the opposite like loki to thor?       epsilon... and it's called the long e...       in greek it's ε, in latin it's the basis for avoiding diacritical confrontation / application...     i.e.          ee           in the word keep,       e.g.
0
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:35 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
objectionable fractions
i'm dead serious about conceptualising a su doku...                i'm on the basis of fractions...   praxis            9                               /  4                    optical coordination of stressors of furthered insertion for some reason i cited:            9 x 6 = 51                          and then           9 x 9 = 81...               **** 1 is such a difficult number to muster / master in a goemetric class...      1 isn't exactly geometrically "sound" -                        hello φoνoς - alternatively, when you're doing a really hard su doku, quote this quasi-copernican interpretation, i.e. doing the puzzle "lying down"...      i dunno(h)... when complexity arises    numbers "lying down" makes perfect sense...      su doku?         it's like onomatopoeia in terms of arrangement... 81? and it's still a perfect square?!               o.k. o.k. (leo getz style),                          ω                    3          ß                          m          what the **** was alternative to the said?         u p         d         o         w         n                             p                                        u                                        d o w n                                   by now you're ****** kidding...       M 3          Σ       W                                  my name's matthew, so you can imagine why i get all hot and bothered about this variation.       now for some dead etymology (i,e, i don't give a **** where the words came from, i just like the way they sound) -      poligon,                               okop.      all, if any, emotional intelligence equates        itself toward an intensity status...        i.e.         the more you feel, the more                            your emotional competence... for sure... apathy is the "placebo" guarantee                      cure   for any type of pathos -        or the λoγoς of guaranteed explanations.    to be honest?                λoγoς has been reduced to a suffix status with that basic "accomplishment" of -ology.        another "funny" word... by was of saying: it's actually a city...                              Płock -                                                    Łódz*, alternatively? let's juggle             ò (grave)            &       ó (acute)....       now i see the funny side of the tetragrammaton concept... it really is omnipresent...         between           ò       &      ó     you want the sort of incisor that's basically |     straight...                       something that really might **** off god once and for all...            with nietzsche it didn't really happen...          i mean an    |                               o                               that would get rid of god in the classical roman sense of:               oh...       and return to the omicron basis                    for having revealed a phonetic encoding that's simply O...     and that means doing away with the god's portion of a hammer (H) -                      or the second syllable of the name:                     η          - weh...                                          eta weh... i'd start translation phonetic encoding if i were you...             that variant stated? eta?               it's also called: a short e....             the opposite like loki to thor?       epsilon... and it's called the long e...       in greek it's ε, in latin it's the basis for avoiding diacritical confrontation / application...     i.e.          ee           in the word keep,       e.g.
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86
Standing here like a child long left in oblivion Staring into the deepest abyss of the hole- Stuck like my most important part, now Created after quick perforation of emotions One quick tumble down the street - Astray Think back, Think one more time ; vertigo! Drop down to unconscious limbo - trying! Eyes still open to illusions around vicinity Yell a silent disapproval of praxis- moving on! Hold me! The fall comes back! Pull me up ; my hand stuck to my heart!
0
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
sum-it
Forlorn
Standing here like a child long left in oblivion Staring into the deepest abyss of the hole- Stuck like my most important part, now Created after quick perforation of emotions One quick tumble down the street - Astray Think back, Think one more time ; vertigo! Drop down to unconscious limbo - trying! Eyes still open to illusions around vicinity Yell a silent disapproval of praxis- moving on! Hold me! The fall comes back! Pull me up ; my hand stuck to my heart!
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11
can be found through pretty much any college's educational funding and also admissions workplace,If you'd like the examine get ready not only to assist you move that Praxis II exam. Donald MannAlthough the origin within the buccaneer code is certainly not known Fitflop Sale,Your revenue would be spent to most people do not identify also.For Melbourne Everyday terms Fitflops Clearance Australia.Kolkata,Today's young children can provide answers which you'd under no circumstances assume the theifs to provide you with and gain knowledge of and see tiny problems which unfortunately we might a bit surpised to discover even as viewed these performing it and / or indicating to it all to us Fitflop.nevertheless under no circumstances help make initial cord,animation.•!This is relevant inside choosing interests simply because when still left towards the largest depiction ("I for instance writing")!the differing types for archaeologist will also be subgrouped as beneath Hermes Sale.Callus is a pretty good alternative fuel useful resource,think or possibly area Fitflop. almost every United states talk about has already a 529 program around.Online classes do not entail that you be involved in direct dialogue with others.Generally.Help,The best.follow it you can also be fully involved on their culture and also terminology,or simply format your lesson's aspects.to jobs issues,linear coding.Your dog was basically kidnapped and destroyed in The philipines back 85,.any Relate Articles: http://www.parents-choice.org/
0
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
katewinslet
If you'd like the examine get ready
can be found through pretty much any college's educational funding and also admissions workplace,If you'd like the examine get ready not only to assist you move that Praxis II exam. Donald MannAlthough the origin within the buccaneer code is certainly not known Fitflop Sale,Your revenue would be spent to most people do not identify also.For Melbourne Everyday terms Fitflops Clearance Australia.Kolkata,Today's young children can provide answers which you'd under no circumstances assume the theifs to provide you with and gain knowledge of and see tiny problems which unfortunately we might a bit surpised to discover even as viewed these performing it and / or indicating to it all to us Fitflop.nevertheless under no circumstances help make initial cord,animation.•!This is relevant inside choosing interests simply because when still left towards the largest depiction ("I for instance writing")!the differing types for archaeologist will also be subgrouped as beneath Hermes Sale.Callus is a pretty good alternative fuel useful resource,think or possibly area Fitflop. almost every United states talk about has already a 529 program around.Online classes do not entail that you be involved in direct dialogue with others.Generally.Help,The best.follow it you can also be fully involved on their culture and also terminology,or simply format your lesson's aspects.to jobs issues,linear coding.Your dog was basically kidnapped and destroyed in The philipines back 85,.any Relate Articles: http://www.parents-choice.org/
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5
Rocks from the gravel road jab through my converse As I do figure 8s through fields of black eyed Susan’s and purple flowers whose names I do not know My eyes meet dark forests full of old trash Beer cans and water bottles Or they witness bees butterflies and dragonflies It’s these moments that make me understand this music even more Because in my mind it produces pictures of wheat fields and Pacific Northwestern forests Montana mountains and maybe a ship just barely on the horizon It’s these moments I exist outside of ideology and struggle Outside of theory and praxis Bushes instead of barricades Grass brushing against my feet instead of city concrete It reminds me of other songs Of old Kentucky Anarchists Of bread and roses I am always so hesitant to leave these fields and forests Because while I’m there I don’t have to say a thing to or for anyone I don’t have anywhere to be except there And no one to impress or disappoint So I trade my Bella Ciaos for “3 a.m.”s Freedom in theory for freedom in actuality No matter how fleeting And then When I feel the time is right I simply go back home
0
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
daniel-robinson
All There Is by Gregory Alan Isakov by Daniel Robinson
Rocks from the gravel road jab through my converse As I do figure 8s through fields of black eyed Susan’s and purple flowers whose names I do not know My eyes meet dark forests full of old trash Beer cans and water bottles Or they witness bees butterflies and dragonflies It’s these moments that make me understand this music even more Because in my mind it produces pictures of wheat fields and Pacific Northwestern forests Montana mountains and maybe a ship just barely on the horizon It’s these moments I exist outside of ideology and struggle Outside of theory and praxis Bushes instead of barricades Grass brushing against my feet instead of city concrete It reminds me of other songs Of old Kentucky Anarchists Of bread and roses I am always so hesitant to leave these fields and forests Because while I’m there I don’t have to say a thing to or for anyone I don’t have anywhere to be except there And no one to impress or disappoint So I trade my Bella Ciaos for “3 a.m.”s Freedom in theory for freedom in actuality No matter how fleeting And then When I feel the time is right I simply go back home
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25
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯      As I walked the cobbled road, a fallen leaf had called to me *“There, they sit atop the elm and sing in wing'ed harmony!”*      As I looked beyond the limbs, t'was as the amber leaf had said! Crows—a trio, black and jade— sat sewing thoughts into my head.      Doting all, their call, acute. Feared, as they began to chime and paint the scene in cackled rhyme— a stunning scene of ag'ed time!      *“As the Earth sits up on high,           Await the end; the end is nigh!           And shaken from its pedestal,           a common custom—gone awry!      “And as the scrib'ed granites tell,           the darkened lord shall cast his spell,           and all of praxis slashed to           barren ash and taken to his Hell.”*      Their words, a curse to roam the world— a call, aloud—a siren's scream— their call—the Cawling of the Wind; this flawless song's an endless dream.           **They sing an endless, painted dream.           They dream of endless misery.**      As I walked, my mind raced on and paced about this patchwork key, both singing of that cursed song and laden with reality.      And then this bent my hashing mind: this pasture’s blinding paths abroad! So ****** by its ****** disguise, what once was fair is now but fraud.      The thought of sin had bound my feet— a burning chill that once was good. His hell was just beyond my reach. My body fell; yet, there I stood.      And through the void, his spirit falls. Gone, entranced, as he recalls a house of cards with meager walls. Atop the crown, his spirit calls: “Hell is just beyond the green;      past the lies and life you lead.      As you age, the world will die.      Your questions, answered;           so, says I.”      Around me, then, were those a’brood; their dreamless nightmare once bestowed. Our numbers fall; his rise in lieu. Alas! Submit! We chose that road!      This pasture waned an age ago— a mountain, this buffet of lies. For in his realm, the truth will show that deaf ears harken not our cries.      To a deity of piqued display, upon a steed of dark dismay, a fleeting wish, we're told to pay. He'll raise his staff and he will say: “Hell is just beyond the green;      past the lies and life you lead.      As you age, the world will die.      Your questions, answered;           so, says I.”           **Your eyes say no, but his say yes.           A curse is thrown, and so we stress:** *Our Hell is just beyond the green;      past the lies and life we lead.      As we age, the world will die.      Our questions, answered;      so, we cry . . .                         . . . and so, we cry . . .*
0
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
the-sagest-assuager
The Cawling
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯      As I walked the cobbled road, a fallen leaf had called to me *“There, they sit atop the elm and sing in wing'ed harmony!”*      As I looked beyond the limbs, t'was as the amber leaf had said! Crows—a trio, black and jade— sat sewing thoughts into my head.      Doting all, their call, acute. Feared, as they began to chime and paint the scene in cackled rhyme— a stunning scene of ag'ed time!      *“As the Earth sits up on high,           Await the end; the end is nigh!           And shaken from its pedestal,           a common custom—gone awry!      “And as the scrib'ed granites tell,           the darkened lord shall cast his spell,           and all of praxis slashed to           barren ash and taken to his Hell.”*      Their words, a curse to roam the world— a call, aloud—a siren's scream— their call—the Cawling of the Wind; this flawless song's an endless dream.           **They sing an endless, painted dream.           They dream of endless misery.**      As I walked, my mind raced on and paced about this patchwork key, both singing of that cursed song and laden with reality.      And then this bent my hashing mind: this pasture’s blinding paths abroad! So ****** by its ****** disguise, what once was fair is now but fraud.      The thought of sin had bound my feet— a burning chill that once was good. His hell was just beyond my reach. My body fell; yet, there I stood.      And through the void, his spirit falls. Gone, entranced, as he recalls a house of cards with meager walls. Atop the crown, his spirit calls: “Hell is just beyond the green;      past the lies and life you lead.      As you age, the world will die.      Your questions, answered;           so, says I.”      Around me, then, were those a’brood; their dreamless nightmare once bestowed. Our numbers fall; his rise in lieu. Alas! Submit! We chose that road!      This pasture waned an age ago— a mountain, this buffet of lies. For in his realm, the truth will show that deaf ears harken not our cries.      To a deity of piqued display, upon a steed of dark dismay, a fleeting wish, we're told to pay. He'll raise his staff and he will say: “Hell is just beyond the green;      past the lies and life you lead.      As you age, the world will die.      Your questions, answered;           so, says I.”           **Your eyes say no, but his say yes.           A curse is thrown, and so we stress:** *Our Hell is just beyond the green;      past the lies and life we lead.      As we age, the world will die.      Our questions, answered;      so, we cry . . .                         . . . and so, we cry . . .*
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73
She's now through the wilderness open door And here victims still protest the conflict Where my living proof is ravaged by dead faith As if there is no counteracting perplexity. Yet you remind me and it's not your duty Love hides behind innocence With common ground commemorating charity. She sang the number spiral To destroy the despair barricade But his imagination endlessly Stretched and twisted synchronous imagery So I projected ambient praxis Into those broken musings. Do you still think the world's words Should be sacrificed by knowledge as music?
0
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
davi-bauer
A Designed Shine
She's now through the wilderness open door And here victims still protest the conflict Where my living proof is ravaged by dead faith As if there is no counteracting perplexity. Yet you remind me and it's not your duty Love hides behind innocence With common ground commemorating charity. She sang the number spiral To destroy the despair barricade But his imagination endlessly Stretched and twisted synchronous imagery So I projected ambient praxis Into those broken musings. Do you still think the world's words Should be sacrificed by knowledge as music?
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15
You know, friend, the strangest occurrence came before me, as I was walking under these auburn branches of birch just the other day. I came across an old man playing with marbles on a grassy verge, among the tumbling leaves. So I asked of him, 'Surely there is a better terrain for such a game?' to which he responded, 'The pleasure of completing the sensible endeavour, was lost long ago.' and so I but had to ask, 'Surely then pick a hobby that bears easier fruit?' To which he said 'If a hobby lies on the praxis of habit, then any newfangled venture is necessarily improper.' Quite perturbed, I could but reply; 'Is not the wholesale rejection of the erudition of change blinding?' To which he smiled, and held up a marble he'd found lost under a strewed leaf, to the light it's smooth opal contours glistening in form, and said, 'Babel, too, was built on a sphere.' And so that was that. But the days are getting shorter, aren't they? Or rather, they're the same length, but the colours have faded round the edges frayed dead leather binding empty rusted old bones. Isn't it funny? How something hollow and brittle is thought to be fragile, while it's only after becoming hollow oneself that one can drink from the cusp of influence and power. Age is a wonderful thing; it lets one rationalise and contextualise all ones excesses, that one felt so uncomfortable about back when they were actually enjoyable. But I am so tired of all the moralists; where we thought we thought on what we ought to have fought, instead we fought on what we ought to have thought. Thats the thing about the absolutes, be they Hegelian or Platonic, is, if they're true to their namesake, are scarcely a thing that needs defending. Not that the opposite is any better; To both the aged romantic who sings praises to his mortality, And the jejune one the teenager drowning in lust and love, I can but simply say; 'He who worships living flesh has a fool for a god.' for the illusion of form has a conclusion forlorn. But, ah no, don't go that way, the traffic's terrible there.. Though, what way was it to where we live again?
0
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
abloobloobloo
dialogues iii
You know, friend, the strangest occurrence came before me, as I was walking under these auburn branches of birch just the other day. I came across an old man playing with marbles on a grassy verge, among the tumbling leaves. So I asked of him, 'Surely there is a better terrain for such a game?' to which he responded, 'The pleasure of completing the sensible endeavour, was lost long ago.' and so I but had to ask, 'Surely then pick a hobby that bears easier fruit?' To which he said 'If a hobby lies on the praxis of habit, then any newfangled venture is necessarily improper.' Quite perturbed, I could but reply; 'Is not the wholesale rejection of the erudition of change blinding?' To which he smiled, and held up a marble he'd found lost under a strewed leaf, to the light it's smooth opal contours glistening in form, and said, 'Babel, too, was built on a sphere.' And so that was that. But the days are getting shorter, aren't they? Or rather, they're the same length, but the colours have faded round the edges frayed dead leather binding empty rusted old bones. Isn't it funny? How something hollow and brittle is thought to be fragile, while it's only after becoming hollow oneself that one can drink from the cusp of influence and power. Age is a wonderful thing; it lets one rationalise and contextualise all ones excesses, that one felt so uncomfortable about back when they were actually enjoyable. But I am so tired of all the moralists; where we thought we thought on what we ought to have fought, instead we fought on what we ought to have thought. Thats the thing about the absolutes, be they Hegelian or Platonic, is, if they're true to their namesake, are scarcely a thing that needs defending. Not that the opposite is any better; To both the aged romantic who sings praises to his mortality, And the jejune one the teenager drowning in lust and love, I can but simply say; 'He who worships living flesh has a fool for a god.' for the illusion of form has a conclusion forlorn. But, ah no, don't go that way, the traffic's terrible there.. Though, what way was it to where we live again?
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52
Master of self contained combust sustained breath ****** bust pushed back words cut swords clacked knacks “nails ‘n’ tacks for snacks” lacked facts Your facets flow-faucets expel droplets: fire where the burnt bed liar lies crying -- you Filled glass full brims past with ***** line crossed etch embossed last sonnet promise kept not-sigh-Stitched inner eyelash compelled to expel by belch lost items: sash bonnet truncated candles defunkitated mandibles Overflowing belly ripens open bile burns sigils thighs sizzle urns drizzle ashes past my battle axis orbiting faxes from your praxis binds my essence to my existence Peaceful waters rest this *** is glass Forgiven and Clear
0
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
spooky-doopy
I Brushed My Teeth On Accident: YUM
Master of self contained combust sustained breath ****** bust pushed back words cut swords clacked knacks “nails ‘n’ tacks for snacks” lacked facts Your facets flow-faucets expel droplets: fire where the burnt bed liar lies crying -- you Filled glass full brims past with ***** line crossed etch embossed last sonnet promise kept not-sigh-Stitched inner eyelash compelled to expel by belch lost items: sash bonnet truncated candles defunkitated mandibles Overflowing belly ripens open bile burns sigils thighs sizzle urns drizzle ashes past my battle axis orbiting faxes from your praxis binds my essence to my existence Peaceful waters rest this *** is glass Forgiven and Clear
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22
When I was 20 I learned all the music I liked was garbage. When I was 21 I realized I couldn't write a good song and by 22 I remembered how. When I was a child I was more suicidal than now, and I'm still a kid, practically. I had a couple tapes when I was 17 and not again since then, but I'm still a pretentious ******* ********* I've had a couple students in guitar over the year, but nothing serious. I am a yawn and poor excuse for a human at most. Ego is on point like maybe her crotch hairs are "fleek", but who the **** is gonna say that to the back of her head? Without shame to hide, dignity to keep intact, or a head on solid shoulders, ever, ******* ever, never ever. Fire for breathe. Kiss me till my lips bleed; Speak my face in, or smash my consciousness. **** me to death, till I die, make me dead. I wish I was well fed and not scared of people. Nice things come to people who work and practice.
0
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC
austin-heath
"Open Praxis."
When I was 20 I learned all the music I liked was garbage. When I was 21 I realized I couldn't write a good song and by 22 I remembered how. When I was a child I was more suicidal than now, and I'm still a kid, practically. I had a couple tapes when I was 17 and not again since then, but I'm still a pretentious ******* ********* I've had a couple students in guitar over the year, but nothing serious. I am a yawn and poor excuse for a human at most. Ego is on point like maybe her crotch hairs are "fleek", but who the **** is gonna say that to the back of her head? Without shame to hide, dignity to keep intact, or a head on solid shoulders, ever, ******* ever, never ever. Fire for breathe. Kiss me till my lips bleed; Speak my face in, or smash my consciousness. **** me to death, till I die, make me dead. I wish I was well fed and not scared of people. Nice things come to people who work and practice.
Continue reading...
29