Hello snorer, I hope you didn't sleep any poorer
when I stayed up all night typing this not-poem
I meant you no harm, but I had to stay up
Because I couldn't make music out of your obnoxiously loud cacophony of windpipe crap, er "music".  Time to not-pretend to absolutely hate your snoring under the guise of being perfectly okay with it for the sake of setting the tone a bit nicer to all who must hear it, so they can BEAR to, for otherwise it would be absurd.  Not as absurd as anyone hating to have aural drills applied to all their chakras all night, but still absurd enough to get a chuckle out of me (I hope it didn't wake your fine specimen here). It was never my intent, though it was always my ethical concern (if only everyone could be as reciprocal as you and I).   Oh, my not-pretend hatred is very thinly veiled.  I wasn't totally defeated by your snore-sound armies so that I couldn't type words, but I may have lost some of my desired effect due to the sometimes wincing distraction they caused to my piece of mind at this or that time when I needed it the most (even though I was awake, which is no crime if snoring at night and keeping me that way isn't).

Well, I did ask you if you'd mind if I typed,
I did tell you that you could tell me if its quiet purr of clicks would bother your precious sleep
But I never felt a need to be concerned, because whenever I
was typing, I heard you snore, and whenever I was in the heights of
some new discovery or epiphany, your sharp sudden thunderstroke of near death
corrugated metal vibrating in the torrent of some sudden gale force gust of wind.

These were signs to me of your restful sleep.  So I simply didn't worry about your sleep.  I was certain that my electronic beeps were every now and then music to your ears, just as they were to mine.  This is because in the midst of these I heard you snore, and when you snored, I took you to be asleep.

Ah but then again, then again, these are fanciful constructions which simply say that what is wonderful for me should be just fine and dandy with you, at a bare minimum, and on those grounds of very unsymmetrical attitude about right and wrong I would have to begin my music tirade of words as well.  But I don't view justice and propriety along such selfish lines as these.

What I see is that duplicity is your thesis.  I have anecdotal accounts which are marvelous to behold first hand, but the details of the absurdities cannot be done justice in the language of men, for the intensity of such insanity can only be borne lightly by the frailest frayed ends of my sanity for having lived through your acoustically maddening inanity.

You didn't ever admit to me that my noises were not music to YOUR ears.  Indeed  you claimed never to be bothered by them because you never voiced up against them.  I suppose you might as well voice up against them in the street as well if it turns out not all of you snorers-go-a-viking types like to hear my mouse clicking away like a tapping noises on a metal plate in your skull.  Sorry if it is another non-snorer-who-must-stay-up-late-and-so-be-occupied person whose nocturnal joys were misinterpreted as direct assaults on the dignity, spirit, or just basic mental viability of your wounded snoremonster troop of anti-late-stayer-uppers, because in fact, we used to be sleep-at-night-entities like you, but that was before you showed up, thoracic marching band in tow.  Marching bands are musical also, to some people.  And for some all hours of the night are perfect for a marching band.  Who am I to tell them otherwise.  

Well let me know the next time a marching band is given special permit to come through your neighborhood at night, and I'll be glad to point out to you the first Snorer'sville, because only they should be expected, in all justice to live with the macroscopic manifestation of their personal narcissistic paradises.

Let you all go to your own place and form your own nation, and see if you can consistently demand everyone else find music in your ****** and accursed racket!  But until then I expect some of you will have to take the damage returned by the growing number of people who are very much tired of living under the horrors of your infliction upon us, your demonic and evil tyranny of mind-crushing hate that is your ****** noise.  We will do yoga and breathe, and stretch, and some light calesthenics to relax and seek some focus and composure, whenever our spirits require, and this will be unchallenged by you so long as you are asleep, and it will be unchallenged by you so long as you are awake too.  For in the latter case you are already awake (and so still are we, usually) while in the former case it is far quieter than your snoring, both in its valleys and peaks.  And moreover it has not kept you up, but in fact I have noted that you wake yourself up with your own music when it reaches a certain crescendo.  

Unless you want to say that those crescendos are some sort of involuntary complaint about MY crescendos of spirit, when I start typing about 20% faster than normal, with perfect focus and accuracy while reaching an aesthetic pleasure approaching ****** as I realize that it is almost unerringly in the midst of such an experience that I hear your crescendo resound. And since it was no more intended to be a distraction for me, then surely my music must have also gone undetected by your ears, as well as your spirit. Or is it fairer to say it was the very cause of your crescendo, or at least its inspiration?

Therefore I needn't worry that it is I that is keeping you up, even if for only brief stints at a time, especially by comparison to my all-night vigils.  Not so, but it is you who are so enraptured by my occasional laughs or giggles as I edify my weary, sleep-deprived mind on some bit of morale boosting entertainment.  With headphones on of course.  It's also courteously plugged into the computer to prevent my favorite bit of Judas Priest from hurting your ear drums, or else overstimulating your music appreciation centers, which are verily attached to your ear-drums by a nerve bundle (and what nerve you all have there).  This means I've spared you too much distraction from any already-abundant music of the spheres effect you may be savoring which might have emanated from my bumbling around in the dark (to keep the lights out of course, after all people are sleeping).

Yes but that is a minority of you perhaps, who would lie about that and in fact who ought to say that our nocturnal emissions are not what you'd call restfully mind-relaxing crickets in the dead of night with an occasional hoot in the distance...  But they are a minority, the rest of you are so definitely in good faith.

But then why do I always run into those of your tribe who have strange and unethical habits, such as destroying others' lives by ruining their one perhaps most preciously personal and inalienable need second only to air and water, and that is sleep.  It is, in terms of acute necessity, in many ways more needed than food, though in the long term food catches up.  But food catches up only because not eating food is a  lot like not getting sleep, but just a lot more intense on the body when it drops to some critical point because we know from experience it is on raw nerves that we can go for a while in search of food, but if the food can't be found (perhaps because of our lack of sleep ruining our cognition in some way), then we will not eat, nor sleep, because we'll be dead.  

But either way, we'll be dead, for lack of sleep kills, both directly and indirectly, if suffered over a short time and/or in a diluted form over a long time.  That would be poetically commensurate to the sadistic similitude of the types of snoring sounds with the types of ways to die from being deprived of sleep according to two modes (acute and chronic), over many keys of incident, accident, lost opportunity and ill-stared fate, all of which can be mapped in some way back to that auditory persecution of our very souls of which your kind are in some swelling numbers quite proud.  Just think of all the car accidents, work accidents, altercations, fits of rage, inability to concentrate well or sometimes at all, and other life-damaging conditions of the mind, and also of the body, which accrue from lack of proper and healthy sleep at night!

Good thing for most of you though, right?  Because surely our music is also sweet, and I really hope I've inspired many to face this need for equality, and be on their guard against any unjust whining or groaning from those who seem in point of fact to value their sleep just a good deal more than they value anyone else's.  Not only because they really really love to get those zzz's but because they think that in the natural order of things, before people suddenly went mad and evil, people went to bed and slept well even partly BECAUSE of this brachio-esophageal orchestral lullaby.

But we'll be on our guard against those complaints, because we know you have plotted to take to the streets against us to defend your noisiness-all-night-every-night rights.  So we'll be on guard to defend ours, TO THE LAST FIBER OF OUR BEING.

Because you insufferable ******* are cruel, and cruelty no one should abide.  No one in my world, in my society of people, will be allowed to inflict cruelty on another person, nor be callously prejudicial in their own favor when injuries do occur because of their actions merely on the grounds that the damage it causes coincides with the fulfillment of a need on their own part, even while that fulfillment is of a need which is obstructed from satisfaction in the other part, and by THAT VERY SAME REASON, so that your sleep depends on keeping others awake.  UNLESS you can somehow con or coerce them into developing some form of Stockholm Syndrome and confuse the torment you inflict upon them with a sign of your love and wonderfulness to be around.

Yes, I know you hear me typing now, through your well-behaved proxy.  I feel it. If not he per se, then in a parallel universe not too far off, there's a version of him who does.  Perhaps not the one I know now, on day one of having moved into this room, but perhaps one represented in this universe by someone who has found himself in some sort of circumstances found later on during his stay, this mixed with the fact that familiarity breeds contempt... He'll start making some righteous demands of some kind, and I might not be in a such a good mood about that due to lack of proper sleep, and this will coincide with said contumacy against my own rights (such as to breathe, type, surf the net, or do other nocturnal things other than snoring which might keep others up).

As to that last point in parentheses, snoring is an activity which you perform in conjunction with your getting sleep, and it therefore means not well for your notion of fairness to say things as they are, and simply say the truth, which is that your getting sleep deprives others of theirs, but it can be logically deduced.

It can also be logically deduced that the don't give flying **** if you don't like the fact that we don't like your ear-**** night after night, which is a good name as any, but should perhaps at times be amended to body-demolishing soul-****** of a mortally sinful nature, and with an ethical incongruity to good character of a person to maintain it, all the more to sings its praises to us and call it "good poetry".

Poets from all over the world are invited to submit their original poems to Mombasa poetry anthology 2016.These anthology is organized by the Kenyan society of poets and literary scholars. It is out of literary and cultural recognition of the historical fact that Mombasa and its environs is home man, it is an indisputable home to all types of people in all their capacities and stations. It is historically evident that, at least a European, an African, Asian, Indian, American, Australian or Chinese have a home in Mombasa. This has been the case from as early as 7 AD. When the Oman Arabs landed at the east African coast in the moon-son wind driven dhows.
This anthology will be published Kenya, as a print version latest by December 2016, under the title, ANTHEM OF HOPE.   The anthology will have a collection of 2000 poems, written in English, or written in any other language but accompanied with a translation to English, each poet is allowed to submit three poems, a poem must not exceed 500 words, all poems must be submitted as one document of MS word attachment, the font types to be used are times Romans, the size is 12. The poem can be in any style without having creativity of the poet being decimated by traditional literary canonicity, but as long as the poem will be addressing and not limited to the following themes in relation to Mombasa;
1) Mombasa city, other towns Around Mombasa like Kisumayu, Lamu, Kibino,Hola, Mpeketon, Bamburi, Malindi, Watamu, Gede, Matsangoni, kilifi, Vipingo, Takaungu, Mtwapa, Shimo la tewa, Bamburi, Likoni,ukunda,wa,msambweni,lunga Lunga,Vanga , Shimoni, Tanga,msofala, Dar salam and Zanzibar, as well as Mariakani and Voi,taita,taveta and Arusha,
2) Mombasa people, The miji-kenda,arabs,European, bajuni, Indians, and any other in relation to Mombasa
3) Mombasa features like the Indian ocean, likon ferry, fort jesus,beaches,vasco da Gama pillar, nyali bridge,Makupa cause way and any other feature,
4) Mombasa populations; Christians, muslim,LGBTI,drug addicts, the deaf, blind, scrotal elephantiasis victims,dwarfs,jinis and any other in realtion to Mombasa,
5) Mombasa fauna and flora, kilifi trees, mango trees, palm wine tree, crow birds, cats, flies, vultures,snakes,pythons Mombasa
6) Mombasa cultures,womenfolk,weddings, music, donkey-games, stick-games and any other in relation to Mombasa,
7) Mombasa city dynamics, hustles,bustles,Al-shabab, job seeking, youths and behaviour and any other theme ,
8 ) Overall themes to be addressed under the Mombasa city context are; Indian ocean and poetry, family, human rights, climate change, security , poverty, pollution, globalization,migration,corruption,cosmopolitanism,culture,langua­ge,war,refuges,natural resources and any other them pertinent to Mombasa
******, racist, prejudicial or any hate perpetrating poems will not be published, For the poets that will have their poems published there will be a ceremony of spoken word and poetry reading from the published poems in early December  2016 ( exact date will be communicated) on the white sands beach at Sarova hotel.
The last day for submission of your poems is July 31st 2016, the notification about your poem being accepted and yet to be published is 31st august 2016.
Submit your poems along with a bio note of not more than 500 words to the email mombasapoetryanthology@yahoo.com, along with a serial number and a scanned copy of the slip for payment of the handling fees of Kenya shillings 500 or 5 US dollars for the three poems. The account to pay in is Standard Chartered Bank (Kenya) account number; 0100310788200 the swift code is; SCBLKENX and bank code is 02
Five winning poets will be prized in the following order; the first poet will win 5000 US dollars, second poet will win 4000 US dollars, the third will win 3000 US dollars, 2000 US dollars, and lastly 1000 US dollars.
Each published poet will get two copies of the anthology free of charge. Further questions for clarification about the Mombasa Poetry anthology can be emailed mombasapoetryanthology@yahoo.com

Author:  Kristen Stevens
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Words are wonderful
Current mood:  amused

So last year for Christmas I bought myself a dictionary. The Oxford American Dictionary to be exact. (psst it won out over the others because it maintains that "irregardless" is NOT a word and thus remains improper...hooray!) Anyway back to business. I was going to buy myself a thesaurus this year but didn't find one I liked. Oh, there was a pocket version that was entirely suitable but I didn't find a hardback one that really worked.

I really think people should have to read the dictionary then they might speak with more precision. One of my favorite sayings, and I am being facetious (sarcastic for those who don't know what "facetious" means), is "I think I unconsciously knew that." NO YOU DIDN'T! You can't unconsciously know anything; you can subconsciously know it. if you are unconscious you aren't thinking anything. It is your subconscious that prods you. sigh

On a semi-related topic, etymology is fascinating. I would be willing to bet most people don't know the roots of the word "unanimous". Un (one) and animus/anima (heart, soul, mind)  So it's not just about people simply agreeing about something but putting their soul into it as well. Handedness is very prejudicial. Grrr you rights!! All words dealing with being right-handed are good skilled (droit, derecho, recht, etc), but lefties all seem to derive from the Latin siniestra (sinister)  or a imply "clumsy". Just look at "ambidextrous" ~ right-handed on both sides. 'ambi'-both + 'dexter'-right (side note: no wonder Dexter is a serial killer) It's opposite word is "ambivalent" that means 'left handed on both sides'  I love learning new things.
So as a left handed-American I feel constantly belittled by the daily assault on the way I was born. I can't help it. Hahahaha. No, just kidding I'm tougher than that. I've learned to cope and no longer fear the right handed scissors.


Last interesting thing:
The French mer, Italian mar, Spanish mer, etc all derived from the Latin word mare ("sea"). Latin derived it from the Sanskrit MARU, which meant desert, sterile element where no vegetation grows. I am going to find out how lifeless desert became an ocean teeming with a plethora of life.
MARU would be also the origin of the latin morire (to die).


OK wow lot to read, congratulations if you stuck with it. reading skill has increased +5 Ah-hahahaha I couldn't resist. If your game you get it; if you don't, how sad. Oh wow look at the time why am I still awake? sighstupid insomnia

How can you expect someone to love you -
when you are not the person they wanted?
When all you are is a substitute;
filling a vacancy left open by the person
they wish to be with.

How can you be enough to a person
who is never impressed by any of your efforts?
A person who sees all your expressions of love,
as inadequate coming from you?

How can you be appreciated by a person
who sees your eccentricities as flaws?
A person who attempts to appropriate anything,
and everything unique about you.

How can you be worth meaning a great deal
to a person who sees no value in you?
A person who is prejudicial without remorse.

How can you be worth loving
when you struggle to love yourself?
When life has flagellated your self-esteem;
when depression has left you void of any jubilation,
and left you with an overwhelming emptiness
and nights of crying-induced sleep?

At my best, the love I give is not reciprocated.
The person I am is not celebrated.
The emptiness within me seeks solace in recluse.

this depression
grips me like the rope thats soon to **** me
it's visible in my blank ****** expression
nothing is going to cure me
no one with a title, forget your medical profession
I believe its passed down genetically, chronological succession
but I don’t have my elders' strength, I’m choosing secession
leaving this place
but don’t call it regression,
because I own sole possession
of the knowledge that this life never gets better,
now do you understand? reading comprehension?
I became a master at hiding these feelings, skillful repression
and no I was never happy, there's my confession
how's that for a first impression?
in a world filled with prejudicial oppression and money hungry obsession
we’re G-d's material possession
unfortunately all the others will look on, intentional indiscretion
so yes, blame yourself, and discuss all the things you could've changed at my funeral *procession

( July 16th 01:10am)

Dear boy! The love that dare not speak it's name
which caused you suffering, expounds these days;
no golden sphynxes fold their wings in shame,
there's pride in gaiety and all it's ways.

To think that tiny window on the sky
was all you had, to show the world was real!
For bigotry and hate will always try
to break a butterfly upon a wheel.

Bereft and broken, still by love possessed,
you were vanquished by prejudicial law;
and yet, with trusting candour, you confessed
to all the passion you were fighting for.

From Paradise to gutter, behind bars,
Oscar was always looking at the stars.

Sister Rosetta Tharpe licks her wounds and oils her cords, a casual observation to start things off, to jump-start the mind with the cables that undoubtedly fuelled Ms. Tharpe's canon, or cannon if that works in context. Just something, anything, to jolt the good old stream-of-consciousness into action, for my mind to finally get the guts to 'inspect' that "empty" rathole where the guns of the 'enemy' are waiting in vain, my mind thinking (by itself) that if I wait long enough I can starve them out. But my mental adversaries are cunning and adept, able to go without food for days, weeks, months, eating moths, worms, rats, and slitting the snakes open to drain their juices. The snakes, the snakes, the snakes, my ultimate fear; the snake around my neck. Hung on the scaffold, standing ovation. Maybe I can burn them out..?

There we go, I writhed you loose, you ******.

I click a four-count in my silent mind, and I crawl in, like the good soldier I am, thinking all the time that I should have read Manual of the Warrior of Light by Paulo Coelho; without a doubt, judging by the title alone, it would have done me good. The last click of the four-count is the cocking of the hammer on my tool, be it a torch or a pistol; proxy war gunslinger, existential riot. Nothing to lose, and nothing to gain, ******* long nights in the hole, nothing to hope for once I escape, but another batch of darkness, and another painted face, asking "Are you okay?" ME answering in my male hangup "Why wouldn't I be?"

Now onto the metafiction cliché:
You can always escape, but you can never hide, like the cheddar cheese villain in just about every movie known. And never were it more true. Contemptuous nature can lie benign in the brain, prostate, or breast for a long time before it becomes malignant; and escape is always an option to prolong the inevitable. But I come from a people of brooders, an own ethnicity in its entirety devoted to judgement and yuppieism. There we go; another red-dot-underline to signify the royal introduction of another previously foreign '-ism.' Standing on the conveyor belt, side by side in a circle **** of prejudicial rhetoric: "Everyone are so unpleasant and gross," comic-book thought-bubbles in every direction, through every head, like malicious rays from the omnipotent sun of groundless hatred.

No sun for the land of the brooders.
No real sun.
But it will still fry your skin.
4th degree burns.

Return of a friend;
Return of a fiend.
Might be both, and it might be neither, but it doesn't matter, as all eyes are fixed on their feet, and the few inches of pavement in front to avoid any collision.

01004    (N18>N25>N86>N365)

i guess it was just one of those days that managed to be split
between two:
get up at 7am: shower, get dressed,
head out for the first shift as a supervisor at the London
stadium: starting at 9am... work until 4:30pm...
shake hands with the stewards at the end of the shift
for making my job all the more easier...
calling control (of the stadium) on my radio telling them:
there's a limping crow on the pitch, could we please remove
him? not so easily done, but done nonetheless...

finishing the shift having to master the art of moving
through spectators also leaving,
heading toward Wembley stadium,
starting the shift at 6pm and working until 11:30pm...
leaving the stadium trapped by more spectators
leaving the stadium... being | | this close to getting into
Wembley Park station: i was already planning
a swift return home... on the metropolitan line
to Liverpool St. then a quick train ride back to Romford...
obviously that wasn't going to happen...
**** man: i love this change of plan...
i watched as people were rushing to Wembley Central
station while i walked into a shop
and bought myself a bottle Coca-Cola for mixing
with whiskey at home, a packet of Sterling cigarillos,
a packet of 10: only £5.30...
a packet of crisps and a magnum milk and white chocolate
raspberry ice-cream... walked to the first bus stop...
PACKED... chicken-brain: hatch a man...
absolutely necessary to walk up stream to the origins
of the bus route... passed one bus-stop back:
packed... passed a third: packed... the fourth
at Wembley Central was empty: for a while...
before i noticed that Wembley Central was closing
and people started congregating...
oh **** this... i walked back to the fifth bus-stop...
or maybe it was the sixth...
no... no way am i going to get on a bus:
watch it get packed like a can of sardines
and stand there like a clueless *****!
i have walk back a mile and sit in the front seats
of a double decker on top: SIT... relax... after a long day...
than stick around with these sheepish folk
that would rather stand at a bus-stop with about
50 other people than figure up what salmon do...

ha! plan worked... sat up-stairs on the front two
seats... now i said to myself:
this is my favorite bus journey: from Wembley
to Romford...
first the N18... then the N25... then the N86
and finally the N365...
                                    mind you: north London grime
architecture is very different to east London
grime architecture... i prefer the London grime architecture
to the east London grime...

as i sat down i thought to myself: what i really now
for this to be an "Emirates" journey back home
is for some pretty girl to sit down next to me...
hey presto! i'm a firm believer in luck of late...
i was lucky today...
she sat down... a sort of Camila Cabello lookalike:
but much prettier... Spanish... i can decipher Spanish
when i hear it: d'uh... i could never find a Spanish girl
i found attractive: Spanish feminists and French
feminists put me off from looking...
but there she was... sitting pretty... raven hair...
glasses... blue-grey eyes... skin tone: mocha with a hint
of cinnamon and bronze...
i felt an Adam's apple in my throat choking me...
will i speak to her?
a little nudge of the leg on her part...
a little bristle of arm against on arm...
then dozing off her head almost rested on my shoulder...
i just couldn't help admire the difference in size
of our two bodies...
by thumb alone i had a thumb 1.5x larger than hers...
i looked at my shoulders in the reflexion
in the glass lit up by streetlamps...
  then i looked at her petite exposed details...
she kept flicking her hair: at one point the detailed
a style that i greatly admire: no partition down the middle:
although she pulled it off stunningly because
her raven hair was slightly bouncy: not curly:
bouncy... but then she flicked her hair to one side...
so feminine details any woman could wish to have...
naturally gracing some ancient altar of
man's admiration...

  a crescendo came when some ******* came on the bus
and was playing some ****** rap music
for us to listen to... turns out he wasn't a *******...
he ended playing Coldplay's Paradise...
the entire bus erupted in song... everyone was
singing... she was singing: me? i was just smiling...
she then asked this guy who was standing over her
(because the bus was that full that people were
also standing on the upper-deck) about whether
the N18 stops at St. Paul's...
my throat loosened and i turned around to her:

no... what you have to do is get off at Oxford Circus
and turn left onto the Oxford St. and catch
the N25 bus to St. Paul's... and as i did what i instructed
her to do... i got up and realised:
she came a magical puff of smoke never to be seen
again...
          i knew this was going to happen...
make your heart small... make your heart small...
dangerous daydreaming to begin with...
i knew nothing would come of anything like this...
do people still meet people of their dreams
in random locations in life? on buses?
or is the whole dating experience all about profiling
yourself on the internet so that people
have a boring a priori knowledge of you?
that's why dating is so ****... there's nothing to unravel...
there's nothing to discover: absolutely no thrill...

but this is most certainly my favourite route...
esp. at night... and if you can time it perfectly...
you jump on one bus... jump off it then jump onto
another and a maxim you have to wait for the third
is about a minute: enough time to take off your shoe...
pull up your sock, put the shoe back on and not have
time to do the shoelaces...
i was going to get off the N25 at Stratford bus station
but as the bus was circling the station
i noticed a blackened N86 waiting...
the driver just managed to go down from the second
deck to his cabin and pour himself a coffee from
a flask... so i stayed on the bus to Ilford Hill...
but... i started to watch my back...
yep... just before Manor Park i saw the ******
speeding... quickly got the N25 and jumped
straight onto the N86...
i was in lucky... from Goodmayes there were
only three people on the bus...
we sped past Chadwell Heath and entered Romford
without anyone at bus stops or anyone
trying to get off...

walked to the last bus-stop and caught the N365
to Collier Row... then... talked to myself for a while...
literally... i talked to myself...
i only do this "talking to myself" when i tired
of thinking it... then thinking has absolutely no effect
on me: when i can't do any ego-tripping:
i talk to myself when i've exhausted all avenues
of feeling all "high and mighty"... i bring myself
to a level of conversation: since i can talk to myself:
but i can't think to myself... how can i?
i'm not even myself when i'm thinking: all that ego-*******:
shrapnel thinking...

did i hear my company manager just tell me
he gave me an extra hour of the second shift?
call me a legend... because i was the only person in the company
willing to do a double-shift? i must have:
that's why i started talking to myself: i think i misheard
him...
and wasn't i a supervisor today, even though modern
security standards require you to have an NVQ level 3
while i only have a level 2?
and my treating stewards with the utmost respect
having than talking down to them: gaining their trust
and mutual respect, isn't that something?
that golden rule: treat others like you'd like to be treated?

and to think: i was in the trenches and pitfalls
of madness for so long... my 20s are a blur
or psychiatric pharmacology and psychological
scrutiny...
while most people lost their minds during the Corona
virus lockdowns: i regained mine:
i guess people were a given a taste of the sort of medicine
i was prescribed for so long...
i returned like a phoenix... i exploded back into
the realm of human interaction with shedding
my straitjacket... why could it be so weird
that i hear a choir either ascend or descend in a church
and then in a heat of panic hear a great wind
disperse the choir?
what's so weird about that? doesn't anyone who fasts
and smokes marijuana conjure up such auditory
hallucinations daily? sure... sure... blame it on the ****:
i actually gained while others lost...
i returned to a state i remember myself as being
in high school: not-two-faced... just chameleon like...
i can be liked by almost anyone these days...
one guy who's prone to wearing finger-less leather
gloves and that famous Palestinian bandana takes one
of his gloves off and is so happy to shake hands
with me...

even today i walked into a chicken shop before the second
shift and met up with two stewards i've worked with
before... i ordered a spicy five wing meal...
they were waiting for their meal...
we talked about Miranda (the strawberry drink)
was any good... shift times... blah blah... i stood next to them
and ate... they were perched on stools...
we ate together... Somalis?! who cares...
it's not like England is America....
race is a descriptive investment: not a prejudicial
aspect... i need to say if someone is either Somali
or Samoan or Eskimo... it just paints a certain picture
that a white boy can be on level ground...
my greatest concern whenever dealing with
someone is... respect... the surest sign of respect
is: i'll eat with you... i finished my chicken wings ate
some of the fries... i noticed one of the guys
ordered a burger and a wrap... i couldn't finish
the chips... so i asked... hey...
there's some unopened mayo pouch...
i can't finish these chips: do you want them?
you sure: he implored... mate... i'm full...
he gladly took them thanking me...

of the two best quote i have yet to topple:
Bukowski: some people never go mad...
what horrible lives they must live...
and?
there are variations on this one...
quos deus vult perdere, prius dementat
ha! those whom god wishes to destroy,
he first deprives of reason...
there's a double take on that...
point in mind: to destroy: not... to be destroyed...
meaning? if a deity requires a change of pace
for humanity... it's not a maxim directly related
to Hercules...
  to destroy doesn't imply: to be destroyed...
quem Iuppiter vult perdere, dementat prius
is more precise in that assumption...
those whom Jupiter wishes to destroy,
he first deprives of reason... then again? no!
destroy what? himself or the world around him?!
i've seen the world being destroyed...
if the gods truly wanted me sulking, mumbling...
in some mental institution... i would be just there...
but i'm all in the open... i've regained my strength!
i haven't destroyed destroyed myself...
i've regained myself: perhaps it's not the old me
i remember with a rich cognitive-narration lodged inside
my head: but? instead it's lodged in my read:
that's how the Cartesian dynamic works...
you can begin with the "solipsistic" res cogitans...
but end up after a psychotic transformation
as being a res extensa: what you think about in sketches
you write about in a narrative that's "escaped"
the hell of your supposed "thinking"...
couple that with experiences of auditory hallucinations...
letters, words... are better coupled to writing
than anything the Beatnik attempted with exploring
language with hallucinogenic additives...
believe me... first comes music: then music notation:
then... the ambiguities of what's being spoken...
after all: you can speak language in a rainbow of accents...
but you can't exactly play an instrument
idiosyncratically: it has to be universally arrived at...
otherwise it's particular, i.e. out of tune...
whereas music is universal: language is particular...
sure... the strict obligations of the written tongue
being universal... but? how it sounds? there's nothing
universal about language beside the fact that language exists
per se... English is not a universe language:
it's a modern version of the medieval Lingua Franca...
but... how many versions of English are there?

there's a version of English in every language
that already exist...
on the N25 bus i overheard some Hindus giggling
and dropping loan-word-bombs prompto:
chicken... nuggets...

hmm... something strange happens when you strart
leaning on the res extensa (extended thing)
rather than focusing on the egocentric (cogito)
of the res cogitans (thinking thing)...
a res vanus (empty thing) is spawned...
of course in the realm of res extensa you can
mix-up your own thinking with strange hallucinations
that are cognitive in nature and can be misunderstand
as sensual: on the basis that "thinking" is "audible"...
for example:
Matthew: you're a genius.... a strange expression
for an ego to have: given there's a denotation
of a noun, a given name:
a chair doesn't reply to: you're a great table,
does it?
ergo? an "i" doesn't respond to: you're either genius:
or a Matthew...
an i is an i... a hammer is a hammer...

oh god no... Descartes is yet to be properly invested
in intellectually...
he gave the really proper antithesis of
Christian trinity theology...
Freud just created cages for modern modern
to be behaviour-ably: un-stimulating....
predictable: all that ego super-ego id schematic
is ****-pants worth when pointing a finger back
and telling people: just do what as i do:
do some Cartesian-revisionism...
it will do you much good...

you heard that joke about a bilingual "schizophrenic"?
apparently he's exponentially squared and squared root
of a quadratic...
i think i regained my senses by going mad first...
second came the destruction:
given the damage already done:
i had nothing else in me to destroy... the world needed
a fire... so great that it would have to experience
a shackling to either luck, fate, or? circus...
or all three! ha ha!

it was truly a bountiful day... that N18 bus ride
with that pretty Spanish girl gave me flickers of hope...
heavenly Islamic harems exist...
if only... wait... she did have one or two "awkward"
flickers of freckles.... freckles? moles... those "puns"...
i terribly hate people who make millions
scribbling sensibly guised never-good-byes...
i'm supposed to be picking up a second bicycle i'll
be using to go off the road today...
5:30am... i'lll sleep until 1am then thinking about it...

n'ah... two bicycles... i always loved the idea...
one day i ride on the roads...
the other day i ******* into the woods...
chances are i'll come across a blind rabbit..
as you do...
mind you... even with todays? yesterdays!
yesterdays! shift... i was mostly dealing with the early
leavers..
but it's Coldplay... it's not like the Red Hot Chilly Peppers...
if they're doing a world tour...
and they have the same set-list?
i already heard their two best songs
when they play them first... Paradise and
Adventure of a Lifetime...
  Yellow? i couldn't care less... Fix You...
fix constipation first fix diarrhoea thirst...
don't panic, no? we all live in a beautiful world?!

You don’t have to love it
You don’t have to hate it
Just know something about it

Don’t be ignorant
Don’t be belligerent
Just be intelligent

You don’t have to buy it
You don’t have to sell it
Just know something about it

Some things have already happened
I’m not the one who can take it back
Some people like to put it one way
Others talk about it like it’s fact

You don’t have to become it
You don’t have to agree with it
Just know something about it

Don’t be judgmental
Don’t be prejudicial
Just be spiritual

You don’t have to make dark of it
You don’t have to make light of it
Just know something about it

There’s more missing than we care to admit
We hear things then hang the phone up slowly
If you are choosing which bridge you must cross
The decision to change your nature is for you only

There was a great nation that wasn't that old.
Born when it broke from tyranny's hold,
The land once proclaimed freedom for all.
Who'd ever guess what would befall?
Here's what happened: a billionaire
With rude behavior and flaxen hair
Bluffed his way through an election
And won because of the law's imperfection.
Many voters could not understand
Why others had buried their heads in the sand.
That this outspoken man was the victor
Shocked many an election predictor.
Some said the win was not on the level
And gave the winner no reason to revel.
Whatever the case, this east coast resident
Became the nation's forty-fifth president.

(Many voters held misinformed views
From eating a steady diet of Fox News,
Gorging on pages of Breitbart sludge,
And wallowing in pools of something called Drudge.
They didn't see the signs that were looming
From a candidate NOT at all unassuming.
When demagoguery's alive and well
And one has a bill of goods to sell,
Some people miss the warning alarm.
They fail to imagine how much harm
A person can do to set back the nation,
And they give that person a standing ovation.
False news reports have power to affect
Election results when facts go unchecked,
And when people blindly accept what they read,
Manipulated "facts" do mislead.)

Before the newly elected official--
Whose reputation had been prejudicial--
Received an official swearing in,
He caused many heads to spin.
Posting on Twitter tweet after tweet--
Some of which were not so discreet--
He, on purpose or maybe not--
Depending on your school of thought--
Made many people and nations wary
With tweets that were more than a little bit scary.
To expand the nuclear capability
And disregard the world's volatility
Would be a plan that smacked of insanity
And also would be a threat to humanity.
The new leader just couldn't refrain
From posting such tweets that sounded insane.

Before taking office the leader selected
A team of advisers who truly projected
A frightening image to people who knew
What kind of damage officials could do.
Some appointees had donated huge
Sums to help elect their stooge.
Few had experience in their position,
But that didn't matter since their mission
Was not so much service, but instead
To **** the agency that they led.
One adviser, who stirred up much fear
And had his mouth in the new leader's ear,
Peddled conspiracy theories that made
Him sound like a madman on a crusade.
The country had never seen such a bunch
Of advisers so clearly out to lunch.

The new leader had a connection
With someone for whom he had great affection:
Vladimir Putin, a tyrant who led
A country called Russia, which once was red.
The reasons the two got so tight
Slowly but surely came to light:
The lifting of sanctions, business ties,
How to control people with lies…
The new leader's kids were also expected
To help their dad, who newly elected,
Had to make important decisions
Despite causing rifts and divisions.
(It's hard for a businessman
With a 90-second attention span
And whose thoughts keep disappearing
To make much sense of what he's hearing.)

The newly-elected president,
Who didn't care about time well spent,
Continued rallies from state to state.
The egomaniac couldn't wait
To stand before a cheering crowd
And share his petty thoughts out loud.
"I have a mandate," he muttered,
And falsehoods colored the words that he uttered.
"I'll make this country great again!"
Instead he made many hate again.
He promised to create millions of jobs;
But that was a ploy by him and his nobs.
The crafty plans of this bait and switcher
Would make the poor poorer and the rich richer.
The people would have a lot more to say
After Inauguration Day.

(To be continued…)

- by Bob B (12-26-16)

Reminding myself that I am not alone
in thinking there is a collective conscience
library that has been made accessible, but

to readers, only, and within that set,
to readers who read for life, to live,

letterly, let be, let see, let say, what if,

or wonder if, let us see, let us say, today

where you were when I was in process
as an explanation
of an adversarial approach, a strategy,
accessing a push that has come to shove

me into your comfort zone, to force a will,
a will submitted to that thing you profess
to know is too true to think two ways,

trick is, digesting suggested gulps taken,
earlier in our mindstreaming, thinking sure,

the good, the good
in being alive, good for nothing at any rate,

making no thing, seem likely how as spirit
feels, loosed, to seem likely why we think

we breathe, half time in, half time out,
day by day, we live and breathe, and assume
the position we were led to believe, ours
to hold as true, for the rest of ever after,

our purpose on earth, laughs in our heart,
and wipes a grin across our face,
and once more
-wordflow slows, so back up,
can occur,
yes, imagine the loss,
back up, clogs old reasons
arterial distinctions excused
as essential legacy worth sets
where your treasure lay unseen…

earnest as any disguised gay Nineties
entertainer on the society pages,
lo, long after Turing was made example of…
- rude gay abandonment, so sad, liar
dies to convince some school board,
we all make up minds, we all may let such be,

scriptural, let it be written, thus it becomes,
for those who know it, this is it, do as we say,
or die, as seen when tyrants are dramatized,
on TV for all to watch, minimum reading cost,
to bring the masses together in one mindframe,
withing our gestalt Earth earth mindshare,
through wishable otherwise moments
we make bend with a laughing what,
twist, and spin, and twist and spin, thinking
ifery was were ours, see, we agree and think
a free minute,
and let it fly, to become another just
in time right move, made with no prejudicial
estimation of the attention cost needed to use

a free minute.

Heart attack, home alone,
‘recollected an old vial of sublingual nitro,
and a charged smart phone,
so 911 worked,
{1 free miracle}
helicopter medical rescue team sweeps in,
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“You can hear me now.”
or was it can you hear me now?
If you say yes you are asked for self identity,

What is your name, what are you doing here?

I laughed and said I thought you would tell me,

if I had a different role to play,
I thought, I think
I did not say that. Not my role. Patient.
Causal inferring prophecy, my role,
mere thought between things.

I am listening to life in me insisting persistance
meets resistence from the nihilist interpretation
of God’s perfecting will being done, hands free.
On me.
What is your name, what are you doing here?
Surviving
and thriving, but it hurts when I laugh.

Pressure pain, fentanyl patch, wow,
again, between each burst of energy directly
to the core OS where a creature of my nature, abides.

Three times
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“Can you hear me now.”

For the mortal equivalent of ever,
so long as you stay wary,
be ready for a gut-relaxation softly un-
comfortable opiated constipation gut shut down,
no gut instruction to resuscitate reason response,
what am I here for?

Gut neurons offline. Guess.

I am surviving old age a while longer.

Witness, AI, my witness, artist’s intuition, mission
accepted, aight. Lighten up
INIT
merry heart doeth good, like a medicine.
Laugh, laugh with little children tied by religious
chains of authority to determine social worth,
Prosperity Gospel
****** poverty
– thought,
– expensive debits and credits,
– markets opened today, with debt attributed to me, which I take as granted, prepaid…
I am a ward of the state, under their laws, I survived my duty as a
Minute Man, late Sixties version, offering my life, as
another, for all our Nathan Hale hero worship worth,
meriting thank you for giving me a job, to me,
the dozens of healthy humans keeping me alive, keep saying,
this is what we live for, and we love our usefullness,
thank you for your service.
Amen, so it seems.

Ah, 11/11, in memorium of veterans…

their attempts
to make up
for the coknowing guilt, I think I asked for this, and chuckle.
These heroes, adrenaline addicts, I betcha, some oxyto-cync
objective being my survival, my salvation, eudaimonia
as it is religiously themed, Rescue from Chaotic Real Life,
bound by,
set terminii
handshake protocol, in the air, 5G.
Real numbers and the laws of physics…
worth a thought, for what a thought’s worth.

Danger, stranger, entertained as a fear of dying,
well, I must say I know death has no lasting sting.

As a person, I am a mental construct of my self,
my emperical presence through out life, first round.
Self as ware.
In the flesh, whether in the spirit or not, objective,
understanding, you know? Comes with wisdom
but you have the role
of getting it, understanding,
with wisdom.
Easy as wu wei.
If I were to die, life would continue,
on trajectory, without my input.
-Meanwhile back in the emergency awareness…
A posteriori responces… this is Teusday.

Was there dread, holy terror?
No, nothing, sleep.
Living truth.
OH, no, what if the believers
in a grudge holding
war god,
met the Daysman called for
when Job back talked
through realiterality’s chain of command..
literatureality.
Right thinking.
Word.
Talking to Wisdom, the divine instituted first thing.
Thing as opposed to no thing, no thought, no idea.
Wisdom, knowledge
and understanding, these three are one, you know…

right? Who sets the definition, coarse or fine grained
reifity, what ifery, immortal musical chairs, take a seat.

I am in opposition to nothingness, being
imaginable as hell,
a prognosis level deeper than hate,
agape, jaw dropt.

I make peace opposing the lying dread,
eternal wrath of your master,
whom you were bred to serve, as bearer of the message.
i- the mathematically real number slam,
the peace past understanding, and say I am
aligned with the initial routine to load the library.

SUBMIT or be destroyed. Is-lam, lamentable bottom line.

Same Idea as articles of faith and divine rights of masters.
Trust and obey, fake the trust, we make you CEO.

Neither war nor greed nor exclusive right to pleasure,
are Truths formed by using evolved group think controls.
Readers.
Whatsoever any two of our kind, bind in covenant,
word use agreement,
shake on it, init after any reboot,
Three times
“stay with us, sir, …. sir,
KWHAMHO wow,
“You can hear me now.”

That

thought is good, minded manners, engrained responces,
Sir, yes, sir, as when fundamental churches invent

gifts of the spirit to poor blind faith ineffectuality, look…
evidence, wordwise in virtue of truth being so,
wisdom is a domain in existence at any point.,
so now’s good.

The gentle, peaceable response,
Turn the other cheek, accept
careless grace,
acknowledge your non causal inference,
all things work,
Thank God the idea,
everything, spirtual entirety in truth,
that is the message called good news
all at once,
to the very outmost edge
of all we may agree is real,
tangible, palpable peace of mind,

art, official, man made peace,
as once one like us in all our ways,
once made up right now,
no worries, mate, we all got here
with no manual,
so we agreed,
together,
make peace where nobody ever tried to…
if we are
to survive the trauma’s past…
as our story’s culture extended
as far as our grasp and reach allow,
in the physical universe, in truth,
in which we each live and breathe
and have our being,
in spirit and in truth, beyond dogma
and religated order from emergent times,
from axial ages, in six cardinal spins, enmeshed.

Engine to operator,
set peruse rate, cost
of minimal attention, familiarity, favorite things,

words, beautiful long idle words, vessles for sense,
senses being tunable with pleasure seeking, or
with pain aversion.

Horse whisperer, or horse master, neither breaks
the spirit of the horse that must perform at peak,
on demand,
at the smell
of the battle, the character some trust, winks,
true rest, compressed is trust, confidentially
living in peace with plenty enough to share.

Life ain’t easy
in any body’s flesh automaton, supremely
subjective light on introspection, shown on

subway walls and tenement halls, and in the
zoo, by an urban son of the Mitzvah,
in the changing times we morpht through,
simultaneously, lifelong muse
in a singer song sung and sung and sung,
brought into existance as a lifeline, orderly path
to the future from the mythological explanations
{history shows you and I crossing a bridge
over troubled water, may be like, a week ago?}
Was that you?
Seekers of holy secrets, come here, and find none,
so? Why.
Yes, nothing in the Kingdom of truth was done
in secret, the sacred is not secret, there is a way,
to take the self exam, to determine, eh, set terminii,
worth of a week at the end, hanging with friends.

Where is the bridge too far, now?
High holy liturgical don’t tell the goyim…
hide the missing box behind the myth,
used to hide the wisdom inherrent
in our conjoined agreement to love each the other,
and take no offense, as brother to brother,
– post analysis, make believe, what is harder:
– war or death? RIP original intent clause.

ah, no, the contestant concept, usefulness test,
all accidental until order is imposed,
as under one aim, as one mind we agree,
to the ******* true filial love demands,
many men love the lie they lived this long under,

how does truth measure rest,
once pressure release valve, pops,
click- flashback same timeline… *** on orders,
FTA when I was 68, I asked the truth itself to tell me,
all the lies I believed about it, and in truth,
by virtue of believing Jesus more than the Bible,

I agreed to study war no more, and lay down
my sword and shield and morph into a peacemaker,

as when we slip into Morpheus’s peaceable gentle…
— I can’t hear your vain repetition

but all the reasons war has instituted,
for it’s just-if-ication,
what if the enemy,
is-
real as Walt Kelly’s Prophecy, Earth Day One-
us, our mediated tic-tok X news feed selection,
make us think the grownups are in charge,
trust your liege, go forth and tell no lie,
broadest river, shallowest stream
of wedom awe, the power we use
in agreemental covenants as when we all saw

everything said to have been class-if-I’d-agnosis,
gnosisnot. From unsneezed idea viruses.

This is Wednesday, Friday, last, I died.
Where’s this going. Peace or war?

Sneeze three times and post it, I said to

self gratify the grave issue of … I said so
Pick a winner, and go back to the first question.

Winning truth, choosing the role of wisdom,
in the social constructs we become, via consumer
character traits learned
from people
we identify with, using likeness
to me, average,
on the spectrum
of usefullness,
under weights and measure constraints, filters
for your disagreeing selfish nature, sorted
on beneficiation, what good can come from this?

One good mental laugh.
Noncarne, chilling raw
declassif-reactating prejudicial preconceptions,
experientially, magi-terminii.
set a value
the people’s prestige,
not the natives inside terminii
agreed to by the proprietor’s religious
privleged position as ordained liege lord.

- pretend I am not a free spirit thought
- truly enjoyable to experience, once more.
Yes, boss, I am a diligent, God-fearing man,
for I was taught any other kind has no worth
in the grand scheme of life and the universe,
standard 42 or optional 64,
wrong time thinking, dimensionally
accepted consensus in agreement for
prophetically time bound riddle reveals
with Hebrew cogitations on holding truth
within riddle
LORD, who shall abide in thy tabernacle?
who shall dwell in thy holy hill?
….

Conspicuous acts of kindness, Elon suggested
that Israel do. I agree, war is unreasonable.
No ancient lie about hatred’s value for building
heros who regret having but one life,
to give for the story that is their country.

tyranny comes from democracy
noticed wise old Plato

Demagogues duly arise
the people’s prejudicial fears they know

If Plato we’re living now
he’d be unsurprised by American racehate

Democracy abandons philosophy, he saw
the Ignorant then claim this replace Great

they gave her a scarlett letter
and she didnt hide
she showed it off
(wanted to steal away their preconcieved prejudicial contentment)

Let's call it what it is
And NOT cater to far-right haters--
Neo-Nazis, white supremacists,
And KKK demonstrators--

Who in polo shirts and carrying
Tiki torches in the night
Proclaim to us that expressing their hatred
And bigotry is their right.

Let's not legitimize
Efforts to take us back in time--
Efforts to recultivate
A prejudicial paradigm.

Trump and his administration
Of nativists and alt-right advisers,
Have openly given a green light to
Racist rally organizers.

Fringe groups that were somewhat obscured,
Have stepped into the light of day,
Emboldened by what irresponsible
Leaders might say or not say.

People were injured in the discord;
A counter demonstrator was killed.
Let's not allow desires for odious
Racial injustice to be fulfilled.

A president who says he wants
To make American great again
Is really much better at
Making America hate again.

-by Bob B (8-16-17)

I just feel very strongly
Overwhelmed by emotions
I think you judged me wrongly
Enamoured of prejudicial notions
I am just unstable
I don't know how to cope
That's why I angrily babble
And make plans to leave, elope
Don't tell me I am things I'm not
You don't know me very well
For all I care our bond can be left to rot
Because you've not known me long enough to tell
You jumped to brazen conclusions
Presumptuous and rude
I guess you've never known devotion
So of course you wouldn't perceive that my spirit had brewed
You just want to indulge your ego
So its rich of you to call me vain
You think you're above it when you punch down low
And enjoy begetting pain
So make with haste to leave my sight
It's enamouring no more
Out you go, and now I know
To lock and bolt the door

Colossal violence revels in the midst of hostility
Ingenius methods of hipocrisy roams our land
Dressed in superior clothings of mighty brands.

Nihilistic approaches for humanity's growth
Thats how things are done
As the blood red luminant shadows of the crescent moon strucked the heart of masochistic reapers of youthful innocence.

The bitterness of peace and joy did not satiate the evil's hoggish needs
So with their monstrous jaws and claws they haunted everything that screams life and hope
Until all of the land was left with little to no resemblance of what it was before
For now, the little town for which kids seek toys to play
And where adults find palpable joy in the simplicity of their humble abodes
Is now nothing but a mere reminder of how that ghost town was

Where the ugly stench of death and prejudicial entities of mankind lodges.

All is for one and one is for all
We've got to choose a path that is fit enough to call
All of the people who stand in front  of a prejudicial wall
Death is used as a bargaining tool to rise till a fall

Raining hell and fleeting
karma, again, in the fetid brush,
again in singing debris
afloat on leviathan,
again in a thicket
of notes, some
flat.

Again in generation-wide psychosis,
madly revolving across the
peninsula, their hair
ablaze, leasing groceries and
starving whole ecosystems
of luxury isolation.

always a nostril away
from being under the current,
always floating in the morass of
prejudicial survival skills,
always faintly more you than
me, always bygone echoes
of feeling, shadows of dust,
always favorable to disquiet,
alarmed at
how close the sun has gotten
over the years.

Needless to
So much as state
Your biases
Reverberate
Articulate
The puppet parrot’s
Preference
Prejudicial carrot
Deep in darkness
Dare to dread
An audience
Beyond your head
Just reaffirm
The self-assured,
The certitude
Whole truth secured
From extant
Inclinations,
Leanings
To whatever sounds  
Appeasing
Then repeat it back
Again,
Once more until
The journey’s end
Arriving where
You feel at ease
In how we seamlessly
Deceive
Ourselves of answers
Pre-ordained
Instinctive
Linked-in
Lizard brain
Creates the same
Survival mech
Fictitious facts
We’re left to check
Should only ever need arise
To validate the winning side
Of argument’s
Legit disclaimer
Ever will its
Fortunes favor
Me within
No doubt correct
Of answers that I
Architect

So.......
  
“Just How Far Ahead,
Is All of This New Tech ?”...  
    
Because It’s Now Become...  
Something That STUNS...  
Like... TASER Guns... !!!  
    
That Tech Heads Suggest...  
Is A Way To Progress...  
... Humanity’s Ends...  
    
Well... I’m NOT So Sure...  
That New Tech Is PURE... !?!  
    
Or Is What Offers A CURE...  
For Humanity’s Flaws...    
    
When Tech Is Conditioned...  
To IMPOSE RESTRICTIONS...  
On How Humans Be Living... !!!  
    
It’s Now Used For Supervision...  
And MILITARY Missions...  
    
And Now Is Being Used...  
On Yes SCHOOL CHILDREN... !!!  
    
To Give Teachers Clues...  
As To What They’re THINKING... !?!  
    
A Future Trend...  
That DOESN’T Make Sense... ?!?  
    
When Tech Gadgets...  
Are Placed On Children's HEADS... ?!?  
    
As If They Are There...  
For Some EXPERIMENT... ?!?  
    
For Us To Get AHEAD...  
of... EXACTLY WHAT... ???  
    
Are Children Now A THREAT...  
To... Government Plots... ?!?  
    
To Track And Trace...  
The Thoughts of Brains...  
    
of Both Young And Old...  
Who REFUSE To Do...  
As They’re Now Told... !!!  
    
The Future May Hold...  
Some TRULY HEAVY Tolls... !!!  
    
If NEW TECH MOULDS...  
A Form of MIND CONTROL... !!!  
    
It’s ALREADY Being Used...  
To CONTROL How We Move...  
    
Which Is Why So Many Crews...  
Are Now STUCK In Bedrooms...  !!!  
    
And The Use of ALGORITHMS...  
Is Now REMOVING Simpletons...  
From... Basic Job Positions...  
    
So What Lies Ahead... ?  
If... FUTURE Tech...  
Is Left To Progress...  
As Its Doing NOW... ???  
    
Will Jobs Be Left... ?  
Will Crime Go Down... ?  
    
Will Elections Become...  
A... Tech Kingdom... !?!  
    
Where The Power To Vote...  
Can Be CONTROLLED...  
Or... MANIPULATED...  
    
Because of New Tech...  
And Where It’s Stationed... !?!  
    
And What of A.I.... ?  
    
Because It’s On The RISE...  
And REPLACING Minds... !?!  
    
Due To Intelligence... ARTIFICIAL...  
    
That May Now Become OFFICIALS...  
In Positions That Are CRITICAL...  
  
... Judicial And PREJUDICIAL...  
    
That WON’T Be Beneficial...  
To The Average Individual... !!!  
Who’ll Be Left For DEAD...  
By New Tech That’s...  
... ABOVE Their Heads... !!!  
    
Because of Tech Concepts...  
That Are SO FAR AHEAD...  
    
That Humans CAN’T KEEP UP...  
When Drones Run A Muck... !!!  
And Because of Robot Dogs...  
That Are Now... ROBO-COPS... !?!  
    
Because of NEW TECH Trends... !!!  
That May REPLACE The Feds’...  
    
Will Folks DEFUND Them...  
When They Are A BIGGER Threat...  
    
Than Today’s Policeman... !?!  
    
You See I THINK Ahead... !!!  
    
Because I Think New Tech...  
May Well Now Be Humanity’s END... !?!  
    
EXCEPT For These Tech Heads...  
Who’ll Prefer Their VIRTUAL Friends... ?!?  
    
So WON’T Want Human Scents...  
To Be Part of The Air...  
That Future Tech Ensnares...  
    
Like Track And Tracing Tech...  
  
That This.......  
Corona Virus Has Lead...  
To Be Used By Governments... !!!  
    
Now Folks This Poem...  
ISN’T Meant To SCARE... !!!  
    
But I Think Heads Should BEWARE...  
And Should Now Yes Be... PREPARED... !!!  
    
For What New Tech Brings NEXT... !!!  
And QUESTION Rather Than ACCEPT... !!!  
    
Everything That’s Being SAID...  
About New Tech's PROGRESS...  
    
Because We DON’T Know Yet... ?!?  
What New Tech Will AFFECT...  
So This Question Should Be STRESSED... !!!  
    
Because It’s NOT ONE To REJECT... !!!  
    
“Just How Far Ahead, Is All of This New Tech ?”

At 32,000 feet, the term
racism is no longer an
accurate word for abuse
of fellow passengers.

A more apt description
would be of course
“An Altitude Problem”
or Mal de Vertige!

It is not classed. as
prejudicial, or indeed
discriminatory, to say,
the man on the moon.

But: one can be accused
of being metaphorically
derogatory by saying, the
cow jumped over the moon!