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Profiling
( A Cops View)

Profiling, it can save a life
Now Im not saying its always right
But we see something thats out of place
And we're supposed to look the other way

Dont judge a person by there looks
What they drive or who there with
No matter what the time of day
We cannot question what they say

Your mind tells you there's something wrong
That this person does not belong
Still im not allowed to question them
About where they're going or where they've been

But commit a crime or someone dies
Then the whole community they question why
For the Officers should have known
That guy, that car, they don't belong

We cant profile all by itself
The law requires we have something else
It is a tool that we can choose
But not the only tool to use

Profiling, it can save a life
Now I'm not saying it's always right
No one tool should be abused
But if it saves a life,..... ill profile you

Carl Joseph Roberts
Apparently I have ticked some people off with this poem. Let me say this again, Profiling alone without just cause and additional actions is wrong. Profilimg because of color of skin is always wrong. Profiling is not however just a color thing. Profiling can be used with other tools to determine if you should take an additional step.  Never used alone and never because of color of skin of weather the person has money or not.
Yenson Oct 2018
Criminal Gang Stalking

Definition:

The crimes committed through gang stalking an individual are covertly done, hence little in evidence is left behind of the crime, and the target is left with little in the way of resources to defend him or herself.

Isolation, through disrupting socio-familial ties in an intense slander campaign, is usually achieved once the actual stalking begins.

A pervasive slandering campaign takes place, projecting the target as an unstable individual, child molester, a person with hidden dark secrets, or a person prone to psychopathic behavior.

The criminals planning a gang stalking endeavor study the target long before the stalking begins. Psychological profiling is done, and this is to assist in the overall campaign that includes intense psychological harassments and demoralizations. Tactics used go well beyond fear, demoralization and psychological harassment.

The tactics used have been the protocol in campaigns against common people implemented by the KGB in Soviet Russia, Nazis of **** Germany, and the KKK in the early to middle of last century in America.

The accumulation of all the tactics and events in this dangerously hurtful organized crime against an innocent human being can led to trauma and will emotionally bankrupt the targeted individual, and may lead to death, as suicide is often induced through the assaults. The perpetrators of gang stalking are serious criminals who do great damage, and the acts done are very serious crimes by any measure.

Gang Stalking is a highly criminal campaign, one directed at a target individual, and one that aims to destroy an innocent person’s life through covert harassments, malicious slander and carefully crafted and executed psychological assaults.

Gang Stalking deprives the targeted individual of their basic constitutional rights and destroys their freedom, setting a stage for the destruction of a person, socially, mental and physical, through a ceaseless assault that pervades all areas of a person’s life.

What drives such campaigns may be revenge for whistle blowing, or for highly critical individuals, as outspoken people have become targets. Other reasons why a person may become a target individual for stalking: ex-spouse revenge, criminal hate campaigns, politics, and racism.

Gang Stalking may be part of a larger phenomena that may have loose threads that extent into a number of differing entities, such as government, military, and large corporations, though it is certain that organized crime is one of gang’s stalking primary sources, or origins.

The goals of Gang Stalking are many. To cause the target to appear unstable mentally is one, and this is achieved through a carefully detailed assault using advanced psychological harassment techniques, and a variety of other tactics that are the usual protocol for gang stalking, such as street theater, mobbing, pervasive petty disrespecting.

Targets experience the following :

A total invasion of privacy
Pervasive and horrific slander
Isolation through alienation that is caused by the slander. 4.Destruction of, or alienation from all things that the target holds dear.
Ground Work: A discrediting campaign is initiated long before the target is actually stalked. They, the criminal perpetrators, twist and fabricate reality through such a campaign, displaying lies that paint the target as a child molester, a person with hidden dark secrets, an highly unstable individual who may be a threat to society, a *******, or a longtime drug user, etc.

The slandering or discrediting campaign sets the stage for the target to become alienated in just about every social-familial- work environment, once the actual stalking begins. This slandering campaign is instrumental in eliminating all resource and avenue of defense for the target, before the actual stalking begins.

This stage is one that sees people close to the target, family, friends, neighbors, and co-workers recruited by the perpetrator criminals, who will pose as law enforcement officials, private investigators, or a groups of concerned citizens.

The Gang Stalking is aimed at achieving one or all of the follow:

induced suicide
financial devastation
homelessness
institutionalization in psyche wards
Once actual Stalking begins: The target will endure a vast array of tactics: gas lighting, street theater, drugging, gassings, scent harassment, mobbing, subtle but frequent destruction of property, killing of pets

Psychological profiling will be done so as to initiate an intense psychological harassment assault. Staged happenings and planned or directed conversations will take place around the target in public or places of work, and serves not only to undermine the targets psychology, but also may be used to cause the target to thinking that he or she is under investigation for horrific crimes.

Stalkers will have studied the target to such a level that they know and can predict the person’s behavior. Again, often the target will think that they are being investigated for crimes that would be absurd for the target to have actually committed. Not knowing what actually is happening, the target is isolated and lives through a never ending living nightmare.

Once the target finds out that they are a target individual for gang stalking, or multi stalking, they may have some relief, but from what I have read, the stalking simply changes dimensions a bit, and continues.

Identifying the exact people who initiated gang stalking campaigns is difficult, or near impossible, and this makes it very difficult for people researching this phenomena to discover, in certainty, the roots and genealogy of the crime. Investigation of a “Gang Stalking” crime would require a great deal of resources, and intensity similar to ****** investigations.
WHAT THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW....THIS IS THE TRUTH.

Background information, please read 'Where Is Justice' by same author on this site.
This horrendous situation is happening in our Great civilised Nation,
There’s a lot to be said for this place.
A near-perfect pitch for diversity,
Diversity:  a neurolinguistic term;
A quaint way to say: miscegenation.
No, just kidding; I meant the melting ***,
A fine blend of Anglo, Hispanic & Indian blood—
That’s Pueblo & Plains Indian blood--
Not that **** masala, chapati & dal Indian blood.
My apologies to "Who's the White Guy?" Bobby Jindal.
New Mexico: “The Land of Enchantment.”
Where 310 sunny days per annum,
Are like money in the bank, earning
Double-plus compound interest for those
Suffering with seasonal affective disorders.
A land of sunshine without the orange juice,
But substitute chili, red or green?
An equitable offset to be sure.
310 days of sunshine:
Even the white people are brown here.
Which does a lot for my self-esteem.
Back east—New York, Chicago & Philadelphia e.g.—
People that look like me, i.e.,
People with dark brown hair, eyes and skin,
Get stopped/***-cheek spread/& frisked, routinely.
Stop & Frisk: NYPD’s spectator sport for decades.
Stop & Frisk: Mayor Bloomberg-defended
Crime-stopping Godsend,
Getting guns off the streets.
Getting homicides down.
Everything’s cool until some slick race baiter,
Starts yelling:  RACIAL PROFILING.
Forget for a moment that people that look like me,
People like me with dark hair, eyes & skin,
Commit 78% of the crime in most cities.
“It’s not racially driven profiling,”
Said Newark’s police director recently
Referring to stops carried out by his officers.
“IT’S CRIME-DRIVEN PROFILING!”
But, again, political-correctness trumps common sense:
August 2013: Judge Rules NYPD
Stop-and-Frisk Unconstitutional.

Well I’ll be a monkey’s *** ******!
I moved to New Mexico to blend in.
My complexion a shoe-in for
The Witness Protection Program or
Any other public or private,
Domestic or international rendition site.
But I digress.
New Mexico: no passport necessary, Babaloo!
New Mexico: be you white or black, Hispanic or Indian,
Or even Roswell extraterrestrial,
The cops here will beat the **** out of you.
Or shoot you dead, Kemosabe.
Brandon Apr 2012
From the cultured hood of Beverly Hills
Young rich white kid rapping
Blonde hair perfectly combed and trimmed
Blue eyes shaded from California sun

Spitting ghetto slang about unfair pain,
Affirmative action, cultural injustices
Daddy’s allowance, racial profiling

****[le] mobile and spinning rims
Gold plated teeth over pearly whites
Slinging 401k’s and time shares

Baggy pants sagging down past his ***
Tugging at his crotch
His hand permanently attached
To his little white flaccid ****

Trying to keep from tripping
While he’s running from the police

Wanted for questioning
On insider trading
And insurance scams
inspired by an aryan type kid rapping on the apollo stage.
oddly enough he got booed off.
Preech Aug 2013
Tapping relentlessly on the warm metal table-top
I wait. I watch my watch to time the waitress.
I hate this. No more to do
than to classify humans; ''advanced'' mammal zoo.

Specimen one: Green-Eyed Duckling.
Looking up at her mother goose you can see
she doesn't seem to be finding a mirror.
If you were to ask me; no difference. Imperfect reflection.
Best not tell her though.

Specimen two: Naive Kitten.
Instantly smitten, with just a little heavy petting
never second guessing a seemingly simple relationship.
Take. Fake. Take some more.
Once it gets real, its too close to home.

Specimens three and four: Sympathy for the Mantis.
There's simply no way he can escape. It's not in his nature
raised to obey. She, can't see herself in the mother-in-law
it would shatter her control complex. Her whole context.
Destined to be consumed, he bows his head.

Specimen five: The Lioness.
She lays like an aggressive doormat
don't get too close, she might bite. Or worse
she might claw the ''not'' off the welcome mat
let you in and then play victim.

Specimen six: The Dreaming Sloth.
Floating on a magic carpet; going with the breeze
distinct aroma. Extinct diplomas.
Wasted. Talents wasted in two relaxed limbs
halfway through life, waiting for it to begin.

"Your coffee sir" she smiles.
A new profile; specimen seven
classified unknown.
Thom Jamieson Nov 2018
I read an article in the news this week,
It was about profiling corporate bigwigs
And the shocking conclusion,
That the vast majority of these pigs at the trough of good fortune
Are psychopaths, a statistically significant majority,
Like eighty percent,
This tweaked my curiosity and so I did a bit of research,
And I learned that a psychopath is someone
who experiences life differently,
they experience all of the positive emotions,
Love, happiness, comradery, all of it.
But they’re wired differently,
When it comes to the sad, bad, mad times.
They don’t feel the way most humans do,
They feel detached from these things
They tend to deal with things of this nature
From a logical and removed perspective,
And this is where the road forks.
Ethical, moral, love-based pychopaths
Release the tension, resulting from the conflict
That arises from this, (aka wow I’m a freak)
through healthy
Or at least, socially-acceptable methods
Others, unfortunately dispose of it,
through darker, more nefarious means
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath,
Not the hack them, slash them maniac you see on film
The ones that just don’t feel like other people.
I was reading a book about self-realization,
About dropping preconceived inhibitions
Quieting the mind,
And finding “the silence within the silence” as they say,
I started to consider this,
I thought back to my transformation in August of seventeen
I moved from subject to passive observer,
I substituted love for fear, in every corner of my life,
And I found the silence, perhaps just a glimpse,
But it was so beautiful, it impressed upon me
An entirely new disposition,
As a passive observer, I’ve been able
To see myself much more clearly
When you look at yourself from a standpoint,
That leads you to recognize that in fact
There is no you at all, only your perception
And in fact, even perception
Consciousness, the core of experience
Is an illusion in and of itself.
An illusion nurtured by
The confines of society
Because at the level of atoms and molecules
We really all are
Intertwined and indistinguishable
And these tiny points of perception
That we think of as us
Are actually one
As though a block of energy
Was slammed through a cheese grater
And from this perspective,
and the Fear/love paradigm,
I find myself alone,
Alone, and happy,
Possibly,
For
The first-time
Ever.
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath.
And though I’m not wishing for the way it was
I do wish
I had a friend,
a sounding-board so to speak
Who knows me as well
As the one that I have hurt, and who has hurt me
To really help me decide,
Is this an epiphany,
Or insanity
A middle-aged crazy man
Writing words no one will ever read
Either way, I suppose
You can look from one of two sides
From the loss, and the sadness
The love and respect for the past
Or from the perspective of freedom,
Growth,
And doing what you were put
In this crazy world to do
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath,
At one point this afternoon
I realized I hurt in my entirety
My body, head to toe
My heart, because I am alone
Self-chosen,
But still alone
And my soul because
I don’t feel the way other people do
I won’t hurt anyone else
At least not on purpose
But every inch of me hurts
Every,
Inch.
And yet, even the sadness I feel
In waves,
By no means all the time,
But when it hits,
It hits hard,
I realize this too is a bad habit at best,
And an illusion at worst
What growth can come,
From pining for the past
Or any attachment for that matter
Because those things
That we can’t stop ourselves from doing
That arise from mind
Such as regret, or loss
Or guilt
Are bad-habits,
illusions
That serve absolutely nothing
But to teach, and move on
To how you might
Make the reality that is now
The best it can be,
For everybody,
Even me!
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath.
#****** #psychopath #love #awakening #enlightenment #truth #perception #illusion #avidya #attachment
Selena Jance Nov 2013
When you know who you are and find out who you are not, how can you bother sleeping at night? When it holds us down and it’s done dreaming of the enslavement of billions because it has come to life inside our minds. The days’ endings are coming and seem worse with each passing slide of childhood memories and tearful age. Who you know is so tired. Each and every of the billions’ voices is stifled.

“I know my heart and I love my family. They give me joy though I watch them suffer every day. Of racial profiling, religious hate and sexism. I pray the young will be spared my fate. So I pretend not to see and enjoy all my moments with them because all I can clutch, keep my control of is now, is this very moment. Now is all I can see. No influence on my future comes from me.”


© October 27th, 2013
I wrote this because I felt very oppressed for being a woman at work, forced to only do certain tasks merely based on my gender, and then I realised what my black colleague who is a mother is experiencing.
Dark n Beautiful Aug 2018
You must never **** the spiders,
While, they are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder?
Kidnapped the poets, instead of the poems
Therefore, I asked of you to stop all useless riots
On poetry, read them, embrace them, and
Learn from them: poetry is disciplined
And disciplined is the most misunderstanding word
In the dictionary: but somehow it is said that

riots is the language of the unheard:
we must never embrace racial riots,
or racial profiling: reach out to racial equity
stop allowing the messages of hate to go viral
plants row of trees, in the name of love,
I recently came across, ants yes, I said ants

When army ants need to cross a large gap, they simply build a bridge - with their own bodies. Linking together, the ants can move their living bridge from its original point, allowing them to cross gaps and create shortcuts across rainforests in Central and South America.

I recently saw human fighting each other, I recently read somewhere
Where children were locked away in cages
,
McALLEN, Texas (AP) — inside an old warehouse in South Texas, hundreds of immigrant children wait in a series of cages created by metal fencing. One cage had 20 children inside. Scattered about are bottles of water, bags of chips and large foil sheets intended to serve as blankets.

We must never **** the spiders,
While, there are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder..
JW Mar 2013
It's funny the things that catch our eye.
My boarding pass and passport are over checked
Student ID,
Admission letter four years old,
Father's death certificate,
My marriage certificate,
Endless documents,
To prove I'm not a threat.
He  waltzes through without a blink.
No boarding pass checked,
No passport in hand,
No red flags raised.
I'm sure it's illegal,
But they don't ask
Or maybe they won't.
I'm the one they check,
The one they search.
3 hours.
Are these your suitcases?
Unpack the suitcase
who packed the suitcase?
Each item scanned
Where was the suitcase after it was packed?
swab,
wait,
second swab,
wait again.
third swab,
That had better be for good luck.
(more attention than the blarney stone)
Did anyone give you any gifts to bring?
Repack,
Rush through check-in.
Second security check,
Go to line 3.
Unpack hand luggage,
Laptop, tablet, phone, chargers, data cables
Scanned individually,
Take off shoes,
Walk through metal detector,
Three swabs more for good measure,
Repack,
Rush to gate
Already boarding
Finally in my seat.
He takes 15 minutes.
It's funny how his time 8-tuples,
When we travel together.
I may be his ben zug,
I may speak their language without the dreaded Mivtah*,
but I still don't belong.
It's funny the things that catch our eye.
*Mivtah: Hebrew word for accent.*
st64 Dec 2013
crackle.. crackle..
flicker-flicker
auburn-licks in tiny-spits
roast a pail on terra firma
then ask.. how steady ground-nutmeg falls in drizzles of mercurial-flow



1.
school girl gets pulled off her books
sorry, gypsy-girl.. but *you no welcome here

   free-style don't cut it here
we give you cash to make like a cow
and go home
surprise as youth stand up against old-guns
then folk get called names and puppets turn ugly
as terms like demografix get flung
like a band-aid over an open-wound

when diva is denied a croc
out of the blue.. plop!
three apples fall to the ground
and cheap bar-lines seem catchy
but get raucous laughter echoing from hay-strewn tree-top rafters
mocking-tirades.. lazy-suitor, hard-recruiter

women wearing missiles on their faces
induce a fear like no man has seen
earth-quaking in boots of unreasonable-fear
near ponds of web-toed frog-giveness
catching the sing of plastic-ridged bullets in eternal-flight


2.
you can work your crafty-*** off
and still be without water or a roof

teabaggers get tagged
and innocence is frisked
while a good man dies
and the world mourns
very few know the real-hardship  
of those soldiers
who served duty-bound years
yet swallow anguish for long whiles after

now learning comes fettered
with resistant-glass to ward off
ricochets of unwanted-strays
and tax is almost everyone's burden
interest defeats pure-growth
as indigent-footsteps keep crawling
while high-flyers keep raking it in.....
on the backs of hoi-polloi

bursaries offer step-up to some
but so many fall along the side
thanks to the malice of profiling
as your mail is leaked to bots and ads
another gun-shot goes off..
and affluenza gets you a cosier cell
as the lesson is sad-skipped
and rats keep lining 'em pockets with fewer parolees
so, who will really bat an eye-flip
when a judge breaks the law?


3.
so correct
it's all rather crazy upside-umop
adolescent-boy remains adamant against expectations
will not cede a kidney
to his father's burst one
drink, daddy.. yes, drink some more!




stoke the embers to keep lit
that which begs life







S T, 15 dec 13
oh, how 'enlightening' the news, at times
oft, I take a deliberate break from news-reads
just to ease the over-raked eye.. a tad :)
.......to.. to.. to style in some harmony in rare muse-curls
even by a full or half-day later

something I read, though.. a touch positive
not to wait for leaders to emerge to effect change.. but to be part of that.. be it.
prends la parole!



sub-entry: hello poetry

hello, poetry
good-bye, doldrums

or is it.. see ya later?
ha!
He was taken into custody on Friday
After he got off a bus in Marseille
That had come from Amsterdam
By way of Brussels,
According to police.
The manhunt began
After he opened fire
At the Jewish Museum
In the center of Brussels,
Killing at least 3 people,
Obviously: an anti-Semitic attack.
He was taken into custody
“As soon as he set foot in France,”
According to François Hollande,
Congratulating himself
For an efficient round up of
The usual suspects, all Jihadi
Round trippers from Syria.
He was taken into custody in a mere 6 days--
A magnifique display of French efficiency,
A sublime achievement by
Our furry friends in
Police-Protective Services.
The swarthy perp was carrying a Kalashnikov--
That’s AK-47 for you NRA gun nuts--
A handgun, ammunition, a baseball cap,
A small video recording device, and a
Copy of The Koran,
All items matching
Descriptions of the gunman,
And, even if not, a known-terrorist
Named Mahdi bin Laden,
Carrying an assault rifle
Would have been enough
To fit the profile,
Justify the profiling,
Sufficient to stop anyone
Passing through Customs,
Except, of course
The French Corps Diplomatique,
Wreaking most of the havoc in the EU these days.
There was once a time when any Thom, Dieter or Heine
Could get outta town on a ratline,
Blessed by the Pope,
Assisted by the OSS.
A white linen suit and a Panama hat:
Was all it took any Schutzstaffel
To pull off another Argentine makeover,
Melt into the landscape,
Speaking Spanish with a thick German brogue.
It’s nice to know
Jew persecution is criminal,
Socially frowned on these days.
Trevor Gates Jul 2013
The Obsidian Theater XII.



You’re all probably wondering why I asked you to come here this evening.

I do not plan to waste any of your time

Regardless if you feel that I do

Now

I’ll get to the point.

But

I’m afraid I don’t have one

And neither do you

Or you
Or you
Or even you

I once spoke to a lopsided journalist who understood what I meant
He once sat where you were sitting and spoke to me in such unique lubricities
I couldn’t help but ponder his underlying tone of voice
A hidden message gargled beneath his throat.
Past the teeth and gums
Sliding down his esophagus and into his stomach
Of voyage of crude judgment on my part

Again
I still haven’t made my point.
But then as I recollect what we’ve just discussed
The point was made
Regardless of what you think
For what I say

Are we confused?
You should be
Because it’s really quite simple

The amount of time you took to read this nonsense is equivalent to the deaths of a handful of people.

Now that’s a lot to think about
But in return many newborns have arrived on this plane of existence
Ready to be embraced by chains and strife

Regardless…

Of where they are
Who they are

No one is born free

We’re all fooled into accepting these rights, or extended privileges
All false

Everything has been orchestrated and arranged to keep your mind in check

How does it feel to be another chuck of human cattle?


Humans are mostly made up of Dark meat


Billions of people have lived and died

Yet

We don’t know them

We don’t remember them

Because of how insignificant their impact was

We only remember a small percentage

A fraction

Because of what they did

Writers

Leaders

Religious figures

Inventors

Artists

Heroes

Lunatics

Monsters

Conspira­tors

Musicians

Rock stars

Bestsellers

Celebrities

Murderers

Rapists

Hunters

tra­itors

Predators

Assassins

And their prey

We don’t remember the normal people

Why should we?


It will take on average three generations to forget you after your death.
All that will be left will be a grave and a tombstone
If you’re lucky

Everyone who would’ve known you
Will be dead with you.

Does this depress you?

Does this make sense?

Do you know what I’m talking about?
Did you hear what I said?

Check your ears because no one said a word.

Did you see what I did there?
Check your vision because I didn’t show you anything.


Nobody will
Show you
The truth
You must search for it

And accept the opaque mucus of circuitry and metal
Interwoven through our biological makeup
And
Hardened flesh

Resilient to innocence
But
Empowered by lost negligence

****** into the illusory overindulgence of ignorance,
Racial profiling
Ethnic intolerance
Class segregation
Wars of Naked greed
Pursuits of justifiable genocide and wrath
Condemned and institutionalized by denominations of Christians
Muslims and non-believers
Who claim to act in the will of God
Or the moral benefactor
Of the meat grinder that is

Modern civilization.

All points made and
Explanations aside

I’m glad I wasted your time

Regardless of what you think
And
What I say or do

I’m glad you came by
I wonder how many people died while you read this…
How many were born?

It doesn’t matter I guess
Only a few will care or remember
The same goes for you
Unless you make enough of a significant mark on the world

The same goes for me.

Will God still exist when all the people are gone?

Without humans, there will be no religion
And no war

So where will God be in all this?

Maybe having that knowledge was part of the plan.

Who knows…

Either way, God made a point.
Thank you. You can turn in your notes by Friday. You can submit your question to Tyler Durden in room 099 on Paper Street.  I’d like to thank the faculty for arranging this conference. I’d also like to mention the little guys who helped organized this: Flying Teapots, Edith Piaf, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Nancy Sinatra, Jeff Beck, Interview Magazine, Starbucks, Smart Water, mechanical pencils, Terrance Stamp, Spike Lee, Rooney Mara, wax paper, coco jelly beans and of course King Candy.

Until next time.
David Barr Mar 2015
Let us mine into the depths of Shakhty, and scorn the Western state of communist superintendence.
We are embroiled in a political and industrial conglomerate where cold wars lay the foundations of unstoppable monstrosities.
Converse with Andrei Romanovich Chikatilo, as you splatter milk across the surface of your psychological cereal, and raise questions around the episodic nature of criminal profiling.
I love the olfactory beauty of a railway station, whose stench is dissimilar to the pastures of raunchy and deadly opportunities which result in Rostov butchery.
Nevertheless, it is rooted in crop failure and the enforced collectivization of agriculture.
Classy J Dec 2018
I’m coming out my coma like a Russian spy sleeper, and I be assassinating these ******* while wearing some fuzzy slippers. I’m a boss, I’m a goat, and if you got a problem with it, imma put my foot down your throat.
Racial profiling defined me, stereotypes and statistics shunned me.
**** my progress before I even start, I can’t even enjoy myself on a sunny day in the park.
All because I hit that racial profiling mark, for the white man only see’s me as a pitbull and aren’t willing to hear me talk,
for all they hear is a threatening bark.
Man that’s ruff!
Better Put em in cuffs!
Better yet put him down before he hurts someone, so I have no choice but to take out my guns.
Grew up with a disadvantage, grew up with traditional racist cultural norms that left me to fend for myself in this garbage. Plus drugs be flowing through my neighbour hood, and that’s the only way you make money and afford school and food.  
So to survive I Gotta do what I gotta do, so why judge me ***** because if you were in my position what would you do? When you haven’t got a chance to prove yourself a winner for capitalism already has decided you to be a loser.
No safety net, nor is there a invisible hand to get ya out of debt.
Gotta fend for yourself in this world full of hyenas, and if there is a God out there why isn’t he defending us?
Hook:
Internalized designs,
Set up the designs that confine,
That blind us from seeing inside.
Can’t sleep when Im under the microscope.
Can’t speak when people in power have taken away my throat.
Verse 2:
With no one wanting to see things from my lens.
From my scope.
When no one wants to hear what I can lend to make amends.
As they just think I’m on dope.
But This is just the inter-scope of an insomniac.
The reason I can’t sleep.
The reason I’m deemed a freak.
The reason there’s a divide.
The reason why many commit suicide.
Because what’s the point of living,
If no one’s willing to listen to your side.
When no one is willing to acknowledge their privilege.
When it doesn’t matter if your indigenous and proud when society still sees you as a savage?
When your given a one way ticket to prison.
When in all honesty where else is there to go?
With most our language and culture lost and land stolen.
Government has taken away everything precious from us like golem.
And totem pole effects leaves us internally broken.
With everyone believing themselves to be the victim.
And never apart of what lead to the problem.
Hook:
Internalized designs,
Set up the designs that confine,
That blind us from seeing inside.
Can’t sleep when Im under the microscope.
Can’t speak when people in power have taken away my throat.
Matadi Jul 2018
The struggle is real
So I've been told
The homie told me yesterday
Licks had to be made
eating with our enemies
sleeping with the Devil
But, Expect them not to be evil
Broke ***** on the strip
Gay Brothas Suckin ****
**** ***** licking *****
***** is you really gay
Or need a sponsor for your ******* kid
Now tell me aint that some ****
Everybody wanna be sucka free
so we say the sweet lovers just thirsty
the dog nighas Got flex game see
Pipe it up , Shut it down, Light it up
Smoking loud in big crowds
Crazy girls and wild ******
Broke ******* styling and profiling
Living in hotels and wiling
For that dolla , she'll let you holla , hit and even spit
JDK Dec 2015
Some people endeavor to portray a persona.
Some people perpetuate the beliefs of their parents.
Some people pretend to be somebody they've seen on TV.
Some people have trouble accepting that they're actually existing.
Some people perceive themselves as being unlike anyone else.
Some people have an aversion to personality profiling.
Some people just can't help themselves.
Some people feel a need to place everyone they've ever known into categories.
"Tiger got to sleep, bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand."
Dyrr Keusseyan Jul 2016
Most people lost in trance,
No moral No virtue, none taking stance,
Corporations, profiling the masses for profit,
Wisdom, a lost art, never a conversation topic,

Most people  lost in trance,
Thinking, intellect seems active...  but at glance,
The masses follow but a single or many devils dance,
Compassion forbidden, ignorance in forever expanse.

Wickedness spreading even in a happy song,
The Path of Ancients, forgotten, what has gone wrong?
Spirituality always seen as an unscientific farce,
A pure state of consciousness, truly: a lost Art.

As a the masses defile, few seek purity,
All with masks on, fearing true reality,
Fools fooling fools, a vicious cycle,
Kings and pawns, dreaming of power and titles.

Lost in trance, for others amusement,
Greed seekers doing even the devil's recruitment,
Pollutants in all, mind, heart and body,
Lost in trance, devoid of potentiality.

A few fools, feeding on ignorance for money,
Truly, lost in trance, a lost humanity.
Indigo Morrison May 2014
They fear for their children,
Their things when our black men come near.
But do they forget that it was the pale faces who were the cruel ones?
They shipped and trapped our brown for sugar, molasses...
For things.
They inspected
Destructed
Degraded
Detained
Stripped naked our black men for money.
They stole much more than our black men today.
Beat, broke, and chained our black men
Only to incriminate the black body
Only to create fear of skin that has been kissed by something not man made.
So forgive me if I say "*******" to the police in their attempts at racial profiling rationalizations.
Have you no education?
Have you no intellect?
Have you forgotten OUR history?
You cannot cancel violence by enacting violence.
You cannot stop a cycle that you have began if you cannot even look at yourself .
LOOK AT YOURSELF.
It must be hard being so **** stupid.
Being so detached
And having the good graces to ignore and not to teach OUR history.
The black body isn't what you should lock your doors from at night.
Are you scared you wont be able to see it?
Are you?
It is the ignorance of our society of the simple fact
That what starts here
Ends here.
And we are doomed to continue
This cycle of shedding the blood of each other
If you refuse to educate on where the violence
                                                        ­the cruelty
                                                        t­he ownership
                                                       ­ the belittling
                                                        of the human body began.
RyanMJenkins Feb 2015
splurge on the urge to serve well colored desserts
binge with no purge.
chomp away conversation and feel it where it hurts

you are more abundant,
than all the currency you could ever carry in your pocket or purse
yet one of those black holes carries anxiety, profiling, while fear lurks

For many moons, mirrors were dispersed to the cursed,
Weeping and wallowing in whispering whirlwinds of woeful words unheard -
preventing
the never-ending spreading by attempting image cementing,
projecting lists with thoughtless flaws causing immediate rejection
with time the mind played a game to cage you in it's name,
draining your pay, benefits, and full pension
releasing the need to sow the seed for an introspective gaze
you hold the key to breathe through the chains of that imaginatory detention space

inhale







exhale

Suddenly walls lift from the maze you assumed was fatal race
Your heart glows
Knowing you're on the path you were hinted at but never faced
To forever flow forward with a loving third eye seeing absolute grace,
emitting energy in everyone, thing, mirror, and place
immediate influx of infectious bliss-infusing airwaves vibrate to the tune  of soul affection~
to realize inbetween scenes you appreciate the mystery,
part of a pinpoint plan, puzzle piecing the learned ability to see -perfection~

It's you.
Jacobe Loman Aug 2016
Deep empathy; a curse.
People watching brings down tears.
Walking miles in someone else's shoes; simply by profiling.
Judgemental, fantasizing about living their life.
Heart bleeds from the weight of grief.

Distaste of socialization.
Draining, devastating, a slipping ego trip.
Sickly, becoming after too much interaction.
Though, yearning to be praised "unique."
Batteries recharge; dark, alone.

Introverted thinking ,extraverted feeling
Intuition guiding eyes; inspiring yet convincing.
Perfectionist, worst of traits.
Vividly; descending into madness.
Dehydrated imagination, feeling ill.

Connecting dots, many abstractions.
Passionate, altruistic, advocate.
Seeking deep down; fetching truth.
Eccentric mystic, entirely misunderstood.
Devoted empathy; punished internally.
Gemini Sep 2017
Home of the free and land of the brave
The home I reside in isn't free and with all these deaths it should've been called land of the grave
So, why should I fear death?
Even when I go about things the right way and subtract bad decisions death will always be left
Keep your eyes peeled and light on your heel
These bullets are like my words, not meant for a specific person can be for anyone to feel
And I'm not trying to disrespect the people that protest
But you'll never see me protest anything because everyday there's a new thing to protest
Dead people found in freezers, protest
Racial profiling, protest
Immigration laws, protest
And while we're talking about immigration, I've seen more marriages at the courthouse than ever
I'm starting to think nursing isn't where the money and success is at and officiating marriages be my new focus
Hurricanes came with pain and aim to level everything so nothing be the same
But if you want my opinion, disasters like these give cities new reason to rebuild bigger and better
Rebuild and reevaluate financial importance
Let's try building more homes and ignore a need for a fence
Many people might call this talent but I'm just speaking facts
During the daytime I'm just a regular college student trying to find my way in life
But at night I'm the dark knight trying to make my city a better place with words instead of bats
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2022
no... i felt like writing tonight...
but no...
it must be a "first"...
i've built up a headache...
i'm guessing she's Pakistani...
or thereabouts...
         first she sends me picture
of her in a Sari...
then? she sends me a picture of standing
naked in a shower...
o.k.... o.k. **** me...
you ever watch that 13th warrior movie?
the deity of the cannibals?
the headless...
armless... legless ******* and stomach?
she just sent me that sort of picture...
i'm getting a headache...
i'm feeling dizzy...
wasn't i suppose to be this western
stereotype of a man sending
his post-******* sized comforting
envies?!
headache... headache...
why would a Pakistani girl reach out
to me... and send me...
a picture of her naked torso in a shower...
ugh... what?! what?!
sure... lovely *******... a stomach
that could eat a camel's ****...
what about the thighs?!
i'm getting a headache...
   even i know that a ******* is
disorientating...
               i tried it once: never again...
         i prefer the company of only one
woman... two women is a fidgety toe in tow...
oh sure... sure...
western women are the perverted ones...
the desperate ones...
they're the ones sending all the ****-lick-picks...
becauae: likewise... the Muslim women
don't send you pictures of them
attired in a Niqab... and then...
full torso... naked... while under the shower?!
like i said:
i have a headache...
**** LIKE A GLORIOUS COW DEITY
THAT'S TO BE GLORIFIED BY CANNIBALS!
i have a headache because i'm
feeling frenzied...
i'm... losing my ****...
                  
what a terrible headache...
middle-eastern people are terrible at profiling...
they are terrible at: giving themselves profiles...
**** me... if i were to send a ****-lick-pick
to a girl i'd be X...
but if a Pakistani girl sends me a picture
of her *******... and her torso... and her legs...
standing in a shower... prior to sending me
a picture of her in a hijab?!

all the while reading ZHUANGZI...
this world is a joke...
   ****'s sake...
this girl sent me a picture of herself as
a WENDOL'S DEITY...
you... you know what that spawns in a man?
the darkest of cravings...
such that: with the shadow
of man nibbling on the extremities
of the night...

i'm having this terrible: headache...
my shadow is starting to eat the night...
a woman sent me two pictures...
one with her in attire that would
make her sensible...
then another: reckless...
like i perhaps should be:
doing... sending her a picture of my post-*******
phallus...

but... she sends me a picture of her glorious *******
and torso...
she's standing in the shower...
please... don't wake the WENDOL
in me...
            i don't want the "mother-deity" near me...
ugh... headache...
my... my...
                      i think it's too late...
mea culpa... so much for proclaiming myself
as this lover-boy with a picture of me
kissing a *******...
   no wonder i was going to attract my innermost
perversities...
   the deepest... most scandalous... most: childhood
reigniting types...

              but what's that ******* about
men sending pictures of their phalluses?!
what about women sending pictures of their *******
and their torsos to men?!
oh... wait wait...
not enough men get those pictures?
i'm getting a headache...
i've just received a picture of a WENDOL deity...
******* that fed Genghis Khan
and a torso that gave birth to Xerxes!

i feel like licking a canvas...
of one of Lucian Freud's nudes...
even though: i abhor Lucian Freud...
but the picture this girl sent me:
i want to: i don't know...
lick more than paint...
or paint more than lick...
i don't even know...

sure... chubby on the "rims"...
but those *******...
dangling... dangling like the branches
of a weeping willow...
i want any eroticism to disappear
as i suckle back to seeing the sun last...
i don't know...
chubby on the rims...
i don't mind... but with ******* like that...
i want to retract her ability to
sustain both *** and reproduction
with what's first arousal and later
milking: those glorious "hang-abouts"
of fully glimming fat... pouches...

it's a headache...
                unlike a child: i see a pair of ****...
and i'm like... no ***** in sight...
there's more reason for this pair
to be so apparent than for merely a child
to use...
         headache...
                
terrible idea(s)...
            of course she's not a model type...
that's beside the point...
she's just willing: she's pulling me: tugging at
my invisible noose...
             the fact that she's pretending
is the biggest turn-on...
she's showcasing herself as this moral
Islamic heiress... while in private?!
    degenerate...
                   feeding monsters...
that's... what's most attractive:
the contradiction... the hypocrisy...
the totality: the summation of what it is to be
human! a contradiction!

since? no other animal is a contradiction
as an ontological summation per se...
only man...
but woman... please!
don't wake up in me the deity of the WENDOL!
mind you:
i'm terribly suspect when it comes
to Asian women...
raven... hair...
   i get a headache even more terrible...
than... what might be associated as
racial-proficiency in up-keeping demands
for / of continuity...

Asian women are a slow-burn for me...
as is their thinking...
i could do with German thinking throughout my 20s...
but... upon a "return"?
it's back to sq. 1...
   Tao...
                        
oh all that's Asian and anti-European...
i'm more copper-necked
when it comes to the "romance" with summer...
i abhor summer..
they... seem: so blanched...
yet... so... those **** i want to milk...
create buter from... remotely:
some cheese...

    WENDOL...
                       mein gott... this headache
is getting worse...
i feel a hard-on is pressing me...
it's a first for me...for a girl sending me her ****...
maybe i should think about paiting?
i always liked the idea of painting clouds
of a canvas of demanding: white...

like i once mentioned:
i could see myself as a veterinarian...
and also as a BUTCHER...
but as a surgeon? no... no thank you...
she has a body on display that makes
me "think" of necrophilia...

why? she's exposing double-standards...
i like double-standards...
i also love those clearly encompassed
curvatures of: body...
and esp. via. a woman...
      and since she's Asian?
double points...
        on prior to existential "achievement"...
within this life:
death is merely a rupture
of what's to be preserved: continued...
she might not be a model...
but the fact that she sent me a picture of her
naked?!
                 i could see a thousand pictures
of naked models...
but seeing her... solo?
            i guess i have a hard-on
worth worths' of a thousand years...
            i like the idea of sand
being the improved ruminating
      cull for the description of time.

count?! count?!
beside sand, what's there implied by water?!
David W Clare Feb 2015
Look at that crap filled bucket of ****
old tv broken chair beer cans
plastic bottles for bums
Why want it ?
Plastic crap Soviet sick society racial profiling and poverty
This is sad lonely old rusty bucket dope joke punks eat from tin cup
ghetto goodies for dopes and hoodies
theft auto so grand
Police cars do wail
cuffed the innocent take us all to jail...that sad ugly Beverly hills dumpster now she's a splintered old spinster...
I once had a design business in Beverly hills my worst client Mrs LOVE boat would beat her two maids Mrs Spell binding on Beverly dr. Until I told her off...
Sam Temple Jul 2015
systematic injustice personified
defended by Constitutional underpinnings
a flag of hate, slavery, and intolerance
waves in the warm July breeze
as a debate rages
over the ideas of heritage
versus
symbolism
becoming the latest social conversation –
systematizing racial profiling
for Aryan officers
lost in the code of silence
giving the badge both a blue
and black image
of bruised pride
the pride of a nation –
poor pigment-ally challenged youth
bound to suffer
indignity of an atrocious nature
at the hands of your teachers,
preachers,
authority figures,
and family members
so culturally *******
that they cannot see themselves propagating
their own despair –
this nation of victim blamers
hates its own multi-ethnic skin
cannot look into the proverbial mirror
without shuddering at the view
in one thousand years
when all humanity is a nice,
even, shade of brown
what will we hate about each other then? –
Brian Oarr Jul 2015
"In Modern Drama we turn a critical eye
   into the conditions of real life and morality." --- Arlen Rambush


           Modern Drama 101

Her life had become an Ibsen scenario,
cloaked, as it was, in furtive AOL chat rooms,
seeking the romance no longer orbed in marriage,
rather to be panned from the internet wellspring.

It wasn't so much inconstancy, as it was whimsy;
more a channeling of Deneuve, than profiling Gabler.
And she found they flocked to her,
pigeons to be shooed away, should they get too close.

Soul of the house, everything to husband and family,
yet, it was in cyber tryst where she flourished,
that informed the powerful intellect at intervals
with mother and a carte blanche ingénue.

It's possible she sought to reform them,
tear them down --- or no --- it was conquest.
It was not she that needed men,
it was she that absorbed them in hedonistic pleasure.
Sean Banks Apr 2014
You see, I’m in this
“relationship”
lets call her
“Kelowna”
for the sake of this story.

I go to visit Kelowna quite often.
Obviously, she is
Tall
Blonde
Skinny
and Stereotypical.
Do you have I type?
Because I sure do,
and Kelowna fits
the mold
I’ve molded
through
past loves
& thoroughbred
narcissism.

Kelowna’s personality?
Well, you see I can’t completely
indulge in that topic
for I only know what I choose
to believe, and what
Kelowna chooses not to tell me.  

I know she owns a cell phone
But, I don’t know her number.
But if I ever snuck my way in
to her address book - file me
under: Weird, *******, Dude.

For Kelowna - this girl is a starry eyed wild child
and my wild is too deeply rooted in weird
to perform the necessary High-speed boat maneuvers,
I’m assuming she is a fan of due to
my ruthless profiling of her.

Kelowna
is my great white buffalo
my blue French horn
my infinite fraction
the heartbreaker soul shaker
my mended heart
has been looking for…

all over Kelowna.



Luckily, there is this other woman.
For the sake of the story
lets call her
“Christina”
Actually Christina is her name.

Christina is that girl,
Who has always been there for me
When the going gets rough
When the money gets tight
When the heart first breaks.

Christina is a small town girl,
with Night Black hair that you can see stars in.
She has capturing lake blue eyes. She smiles
And always says hello
to strangers she doesn’t recognize.
She is pure, clean, and a
personal treasure of mine,
who will always be her own .  

I couldn’t tell you if Kelowna and Christina are friends,
because I have lost complete control of this metaphor.
But for the sake of the story, they are,
and although they live in different places
they remain courteous to each other
and curious of each others lives.

Christina has always loved me for who I am.
Embracing my flaws as though they are achievements
Worthy of being song lyrics, screamed on long roadtrips
for the mountains and the sky to nod in agreement.
Christina is so **** cool,
that I can even ask her to say kind words
About me to Kelowna.
And though she might not, she is always cool
And supportive with me asking.

I can see myself visiting Kelowna soon in the future.
And with what spare change I have I will make
Every attempt to wine and dine, and impress her
Every need.
For she is only what I want.

The funny thing is, that I don’t need the change.
I don’t need the dinner or the wine.
I need clear skies and the transitional period
from day to nighttime.
I need the sun, and the stars.
I need shallow water and a deep breath.
But for the sake of this story,
I expect everything to stay exactly the same.

And when I sing my song
with windows down
as I leave Kelowna
for my home town,
Christina will be there to comfort me.

**With starry nights and silent statements.
RyanMJenkins Mar 2014
Here I am, fragile,
feeling every word;
On the pages
In the songs
as well as those,

left unsaid,
unheard

Trying to pick a single point on the timeline where I could trace this feeling back to.  Isolation, frustration, stagnation in motivation, deterioration of time spent smiling.  Profiling the soul in the mirror according to standards set beyond self.  To this day I still feel like a fool asking for help, leaving me even more foolish.

I distanced myself at an early age
My front door led you into walls that yelled with rage
..Instead of feeling trapped in a cage..

I escaped
and made, anything else, my new stage

This came with new pains

Emotionally vulnerable too often
In other people I would get lost in
Always worried about others' mindstates and the toll I would cost them

Love

Here it is, there it goes.
Bliss-ridden, to ill-imposed

I found sanctuary in trebutaries when searching for a river,
Stayed way too long because I liked to be a giver
Found the lake to be desirable when where I was would no longer deliver

Satisfaction

Quick actions kept me on my feet.
Body language no longer discrete
I had to keep going, when too often I'd retreat, to the other body's will
Inhaled too much agua, messed me up worse than any pill

and there were many

Changing scenery, because the greenery was calling me.
Every space in the land, I would fall in between
Realized I gave more love out, than I did to me

Then I found reflection, gazing into the sea.
On the other side I had told Ryan to breathe
Haunted by disconnects and a dad's passing
Leaving voids where there was no chance to meet
Spent just a little time alone to grieve
But spent too long looking at wounds,
watching them bleed.

Now infected and lightheaded
I'm slowly fading
Seeds of sadness have been embedded
Here I am living for the grading

Still unsure of what life I'm making
Succumbed to sorrow right now, that I can't get to shaking
Say what you will, but I refuse to be faking
I've been roughed up, mind and body scraping,
Knowing I've been the cause of much forsaking.

I'd run too if there was something I was chasing

I age feeling uncomplacent
living in and out of various basements
Feeling the cold like bare skin on the pavement

Date night with a book and a hook in my lip
I'll let you know if I make a move if I can ever get a grip
Drained and increasingly pained with every wasted water drip
Ego, couldn't **** it
So it asks, why do I have to go through this?

...Into the abyss, I slip...

Of course this song comes on,
The universe knows I'm sad
Thinking of the things I possibly could have had,
Dealing with the toxic and absent, I felt abandoned and mad.
Our chance came and went like a fad
But people cross paths like the colors that make up plaid
I didn't ever know where I was going
So I sat and watched the people fly by too fast

I tried making things last
& lost sight of the now
Supplying laughs as a class clown
But underneath the paint I wore a frown.

This is whatever, we all get down.
Tomorrow when I wake
I'll pick myself up off the ground
Until then though, my throat will know no sounds.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
it comes from casual phrasing of / off something, the known pride & joy of any intellectual: coining a phrase. most stick to the cliche zeitgeist, i invented zeitreich (empire of the times, rather than a holy ghoul)... anyway...

so i'm reading this article about the L.A. dating scene,
it's better than a binge on horror movies
in a thunderstorm - the pictures aren't there,
but the words are, words, such is their nature,
the awkward silence amplified with encoding -
pristine ****** and any other -ism you can
think of - amateur psychology for starters,
Nietzsche made psychology so pop as if
it were the once despised arithmetic reinvented
that the calculator looks grim reaper-ish
(and everyone's a psychologist these days) -
writing extended maxims (i.e. aphorisms)
is a chance to avoid dialectics, i trust the rigidity
of the systematic approach, limited vocabulary
and the act of juggling, set parameters, known
formulae, and off we go into the labyrinth of Hegel
or Kant or some other German and his morose boozed-up
persona of a Minotaur - but this article, it just poured ants into my
underwear about the iceberg conundrum (i misspelled
that first time round, the English language, due to
its lack of diacritic marks and too many particularities
cistern, cat, crow, kettle, camomile... chamomile...
cheap... has an inherent dyslexia in it, very natural, this,
it's the least bit surprising, never mind mentioning
text English as written by one girl in the news
at her English G.C.S.E. exam - i can't write it properly,
but it involves the Pandora of U w8 4 me @ th-     -θ
school gates - oh right, the ****? chew but you say ski
resort paraphenelia, paraphenalia, paraphenilia, para
**** **** ****... dictionary! paraphernalia... thank you!
nwt the origin of the negated-ease (disease), what two
compounds am i not remembering to use? etymology,
scalpel nurse, cut open the syllables, technique:
para-     -phernalia...     well from chemistry para-
using the benzene ring is a location, i.e. para meta ortho-,
medieval latin! of course! no wonder i'm dyslexic with
this word, if the origins aren't pure Latin or Greek
then i'm sure to be dyslexic and burn witches at the stake
and believe in omens and hell... this is hell, resurrected,
-phrenalia: cut up further into a derivative of
pherein (to bear, modulated into a dowry), and
the ς-suffix of -al, like et al. i'm guessing, but this is
kabbalistic territory right know, -al doesn't exactly make
aqua sense unlike Al (aluminium) - that's when
chemistry picks up language, and other sciences, picking
up from the little nits (knit, gnome, knife... hush the first letter),
in the end paraphernalia means:
to have bearings side by side, or beside, at one side...
daydreaming? having a meal in a restaurant on a Saturday,
but realising you have mortgage obligations from
Monday to Friday? well, i guess something like that.
anyway, literary coinage, coining a phrase, a catchphrase
moment, so this article about the L.A. dating scene,
horrid mothers of artefacts in the woman's psyche,
the unflavoured Freudian theory of the Madonna-*****
complex... and all the ladies say... it's easier for us
to call these men schizophrenics and shove them into
the hyphenation than acknowledge either Madonna
or ***** in us... i get it, men watch too much *******,
but... here it comes... women watch too much
romantic tragedy (romtra), men go out there and they're
like... this is turning out to be an R.E.M. song
the one i love* - props! too many ******* props!
it's not exactly **** culture, that's about five minutes
simulating an **** with your hand (or if you prefer a
bony ****) and a tissue but no tears... it's not exactly
RomTra culture either... it's the dating culture per se...
and this whole self-profiling like we're all F.B.I. agents
spying on ourselves with either authenticity or lies.
so there, you have your literary coinage, a phrase, a word,
the most belittling quest to some El Dorado ever
invented.
James Floss Oct 2018
Dark days just got darker
The future now bleaker
Our rights soon weaker

Temperatures up
Sea levels rise with
Judicial surprises:

Rights curtailed
Guns for sale
Executive privilege
Press repressed
Marches now riots
Meaner tweets
Free speech costs
Groups targeted
Families disbanded
Profiling preferred
Embryos policed

Emigration in order?
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
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?!
Classy J Jul 2021
As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
Seeing chalked outlines of brothers, I haven’t met,
Cause the cops been harassing and profiling so long,
People become desensitized, pretending nothings wrong.

Seeing so many innocent children that didn’t deserve it,
Have a hoodie in the store, you assume it’s a burglar,
You better watch your chatter, otherwise the gun gonna clatter.
Becoming just another body bag for another mother.
And the news may report it,
But the next day it won’t matter.

I really hate to alarm, but I’m fed up,
Some think it’s silly, saying **** it up.
The same fools that never experienced harm.
Assuming based on colour, that I must be armed.
So, they pull up on me like I’m a terrorist,
Which is pretty ******* racist,
No matter what way you measure it!
Having a knee on a neck,
Like they need a prayer addressed.
Yet they call my people violent.
Very ironic? Isn’t it?

Been spending most our lives,
Living in a colonist paradise,
Could hang as much ***** as you like,
Living in a colonist paradise.
We keep spending most our lives living in a colonist paradise,
Have many have to be sacrificed till we question this colonial paradise?

Look at the situation they got us facing,
We can’t live a normal life, we was taken from our land.
So, now we got to conform to new rules G,
Becoming puppets for the bourgeoisie.

I’m an educated savage with justice on my mind,
Got my Diploma in my hand and pride in my eyes,
I’m a rez’d out desperado, Cree that’s muy guapo.
And my patience is worn, so don’t provoke my fuego!

Fool, death ain’t nothing but are martyrdom away,
Just one spark away,
From lighting the fuse,
That will blow away.
The old narrow minded and rotten society.

Every child matters,
It’s pretty sad, that I even have to say that homie.

Been spending most our lives living in a colonist paradise,
Could slaughter as much children as you like,
As long as you say you’re doing it for your Christ.
We keep spending most our lives living in a colonist paradise,
Have many have to be sacrificed till we question this colonial paradise?

Power and the money, money and the power.
Promise after promise, liar after liar.
Everybody breathing, but half of them ain’t living.
It’s going on in our community, but nobody looking.

They say I gotta get over it, but nobody here see’s the trauma from it!
If they can’t understand it, how can reconciliation come out of it?
I guess they can't, I guess they won't
I guess they frontin', that's why I know my life is out of luck, fool!

Been spending most our lives living in a colonist paradise,
Could imprison as many asians as you like.
Living in a colonist paradise.
We keep spending most our lives living in a colonist paradise,
Have many have to be sacrificed till we question this colonial paradise?
We slip across the border, anonymous and unnoticed, just another tin can of rank sardines. The border patrol paid us little mind. Der Bünden Europa is not like America. This is the land where borders still exist merely on the map. An abstraction. An abstraction, rightly belonging in the realm of the abstract. No all out profiling, no pandering or demeaning behaviour, just a slip. A slip, a slip, the thin veneer, that we all cross. Who could tell? I put my head through the window, and with the punch of one strong breeze passing, we rage full on into Deutschland.
Short excerpt from my work-in-progress, "Elliptical Scopes."
The Trumpoet Aug 2017
Sheriff Joe Arpaio was convicted by the court
for picking on the immigrants of the Latino sort.
Relied on racial profiling and on intimidation;
A redneck cop who'd love to build a bigoted white nation.

Of course, this man loves Donald Trump and though he is a crook,
Trump has come through and pardoned him and got him off the hook.
So ***** the courts and rule of law that's there to thwart each hater;
This "law and order" president's a despot and dictator.

So if you are an alt-right racist, it's your lucky day!
El Presidente Trump makes rights and justice go away.
You can also see this and my other Trumpoems performed at: trumpoet.com.
Link: https://youtu.be/lFaBbtt90GY
Written: August 25, 2017
****!
that **** was multicultural as ****!

Officer of whiteness to my father
“whose that?”
while pointing at me
“My son.”
Thats when they began
profiling
watching
Handcuffing
itching to use their guns
gossiping
slandering
putting me in danger
that thing whiteness dismisses
as paranoia
that is a new driving force
that was once
called sexuality
www.barnesandnoble.com/w/escape-from-liberty-elan-gregory/1125516297?ean=9780997491623

— The End —