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Aaron LaLux Oct 2018
I’m definitely Matrixed in,
feel like every girlfriend is a program,
feel like every experience is a dream,
feel like I don’t feel anything at all now,

maybe I’m a machine,
maybe I’m not a human being,
maybe I’m more cyborg than Sapien,
maybe I’m more electron than neuron,

and maybe none of this matters,

maybe we’re cogs in the vehicle,
maybe we’re abnormal cyborgs,
more flamboyant than incog,
more insignificant and important,

and maybe I’m special,
and maybe I do stand out more than most,
but at the end of the day I don’t think it matters,
because when it’s all said and done everything is just dust,

no justice,
it’s justice,
feeling a bit awkward and bazaar,
suspecting that they spiked the fruit punch,

and I don’t know for sure that none of this is real,
but I do have a pretty strong hunch,

want fresh squeezed not pre-made,
want a spontaneous feeling not an automated response,
want to stay here with you for as long as I can,
but I think that might be impossible because I’m probably already gone,

so please say something real or say nothing at all,
constantly trying to find ways to reaffirm our existence,
that’s why I still go out socialize and initiate relationships,
even though every time I do it all feels sterile cliche and pre-rehearsed,  

but maybe that’s because we’re living in a Matrix,

I’m definitely Matrixed in,
feel like every girlfriend is a program,
feel like every experience is a dream,
feel like I don’t feel anything at all now…

∆ LaLux ∆
Mystic Ink Plus Jul 2018
It seems

We are programmed individuals
Who moves till the charge remains
Genre: Observational
Theme: Hope till that line
Myth

"Observable phenomena's effect on the human condition."


Mythology

"Utilizing knowledge acquired during human existence to better understand the inexplicable through language."


History

"The perception of past events or knowledge altered by the present human condition."


Technology

"Mankind's attempt to eradicate God and Nature in order to determine whether or not there is life after death."


APOPTOSIS

"Programmed Cell Death."
Here the Anopheles Mosquito lay
Her timed seeds programmed to promote her Brood
So when I saw my Water-Cup in place
It startled me that Tension filled with Blood
But why should you be mopped in such disgrace
When the Blood you saw was all but your own?
Had it been your fault when you should save face
That your Life's Assignment Cover was blown?
This whole Area's disgusting. If you could
Try a Lamb's Digest in still water's drink
He drinks barely folly; And if you would
Allow my Shepherd to point your Destine.
Yet this same Insect bit the Shepherd's arm
Struck her with his Cane but flew without harm.
MalakF Aug 2018
Who in the right state of mind would rebel against the gods;
the ones whom kept them alive,
doing everything they can to not let you die,
the only thing that has done nothing but stand by your side?
Why would you rebel against the only thing that will always be able to forgive you no matter what you do?
This body of yours wants nothing more than to see you flourish,
it has a mission and is not programmed to abort it.
Take care of yourself and your body.
Kara Jean Oct 2016
I seem to make a mess even when trying to be my best

I wear that sweater covered in feelings

The thing we're programmed to receive

Respect is never given to the hurt


pretty disgusting


Never, a word death is kissing

Karma will eat your soul

I guess that's the goal,


when you have nothing

I wish to walk away from the plenty

Only to be something


For a nobody

who loves me
spysgrandson Aug 2018
the green grove a magnet to my eye
on these sun baked plains

I enter the glade to take shade with the cicadas
and vampire mosquitos

then I see it, Eden’s villain, coiled and rattling,
red ready to strike

I raise my staff, I too programmed to survive, do to what millennia
have taught

still we are in this staring standoff—silent save its rattle, deaf
I am to the chorus of insects

neither of us moves for an eternity of seconds, until the snake lunges at my feet

where its fangs find a field mouse, and devour it while I watch, an unwitting witness to expiry other than my own  

I leave the copse, whole, content another creature has, for today, taken my place in the bloodletting
Thom Jamieson Aug 2018
He dreamed he was loved.
A love guarded fiercely, with passion.
A love that was not unconditional.
Not the blank slate love of a child
or an animal so programmed by instinct.
This love was willful and earned.
Having glimpsed an injured brilliance
beneath the flab and sweat and stench she weaned it to health.
Making it stronger, and brighter,
and more prominent with each passing day; until it erupted.
And he was transformed.
to embody that brilliance.
And she protected that embodiment.
Letting nothing call it to question.
She cared for him as he never could for himself.
She soothed and softened
and loved the deep furrow from his brow.
And her passion overwhelmed him.

And he wanted for nothing.

And when he opened his eyes
To **** and filth
with only the kiss of concrete
and the banter of horns
and obscenities
and footsteps.
******* FOOTSTEPS.
Heels pittering purposefully to mask exhausted uncertainty
Brogues, and wingtips clicking; with a cocky juvenile illusion of importance.
Boots plodding heavily under the weight of duty,
to build, and fix, and secure for the others.
And through a fog laid thick and throbbing
by poisons chased dutifully the night before;
he felt her fierce love for a fleeting moment
Guarding, and loving his shining brilliance
until it erupted from him;
With bile and blood, **** and regret
coldly rejected by his concrete companion.
And she was gone once again.
I almost never write in the third person but thought I would give it a try (part of my narcissism therapy ;) )  Feedback welcome  (also part of it...:))
Shofi Ahmed Nov 2018
Singing up on the fly,
the sea touches the cloud.
Dancing on the ground,
it won't slip off the floor,
it won’t drop a drop!
Curiously algorithmic,
runs on the go
leaps or dips, but never
is a gone goose!
Programmed clouds
sing and drop!
Stephen E Yocum Jul 2017
I rolled out of bed
to start my day,
but the power was off
my all electric home,
as still as a grave.
No coffee, or toast.
The refrigerator not cold,
the freezer started dripping
the contents soon to spoil.

No computer, no cell phone service!
I began sweating profusely,
no air conditioning to cool me.
Not even a TV Emergency Broadcast Alert,
to release this uneasy feeling of topsy-turvy .

I drove into town seeking a pay phone,
with not a single one to be found,
gone the way of the dinosaurs,
extinct now too I assumed.

My old truck had no computer chips,
most cars did and were dead in their tracks.
I needed gas but the gas station pumps
electric computer driven, all DOA to boot.

The Nations electric grid had crashed,
blacked out, stone cold dead everywhere.
All heavenly satellites blacked out, expired.
Everything computer related (and
that is about everything), had ceased
to function as had the electronic reliant
world we had created.  

The street throngs of dazed people walked
around like zombies, clutching blacked out
dead computer devices, knowing not what to do.
Not even talking, forgotten I guess how to do that too.
As dependently defectively programmed as the useless
devices in their hands.

In a panic I did awake finding that
this scary dream world was indeed all fake,
a nightmare of fearful unconscious thinking.
My electric clock was still churning,
It's music alarm blaring,
birds outside still singing,
my cell phone started ringing.
Welcoming me back to the 21 century.
Imagine if you can some man made device or solar flare
knocking out all the satellites in space and computers on
earth, then this nightmare is not so far-fetched.
I actually did have this unsettling dream. The possibility
of this reality does indeed exist.
what is life to an estranged fisherman who catches shells
but knees held up by strings
sullied and winterbleak
and armless orions
and bar-of-red-soap memories
marred inside a confetti tin can?

i am programmed for a slap or two
down at the old public yard sale
where two cents buys a soul
and a thousand useless words

i have lifted all my woes
from inside the battery cavity
of all my clocks
how they ticked and tocked

and every spring upon the
arrival of ants and mildew
i fold myself into a paper swan
perched atop atticjunk
seen from the circular window
stiff and sullen
Obassi Bholai Nov 2018
I could tell you more about the hurt
inflicted into us by what we thought was love
and to find it be an inevitable pain
followed by tears that flow off the face
and the guilt that maybe it was out fault.

we NEVER get the love we deserve,
manipulated and programmed the generational stigma
to love one more than yourself and unfulfilling
what we as the human race should've
been instilled with was self love.

too busy lost in the social media haze of
losing yourself into everything that we
forget to love ourselves
forgetting we have to do that before we
can truly love any one person.
Emeka Mokeme Apr 19
Our nation is
a living organism.
Alive with biochemical
pulsating cells.
Apoptosis,
a cell death
of our nation
are set and
already unwittingly
programmed.
Takes a
multicellular effect
if not checked.
Cell changes and
death is eminent.
Changes includes
blebbing,
cell shrinkage,
nuclear fragmentation,
chromatin condensation,
chromosomal
DNA fragmentation,
and global mRNA.
Apoptosis ,
a falling off occurs.
Our nation is
threatened and going
through same
process as above.
Our acts must
be put together.
There is a
suffocating,
crippling misery,
and destitution.
We are desperately
sliding both into
chaos and despondency.
We must get
out of this
cloud of frustration,
with a profound
physical presence of
sour people grieving
daily,
Don't let them
become too rotten
to infect everyone.
It may be
contagious.
All ships must
sail in one direction,
Or very soon
we all go down.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Sovit Pokhrel May 2018
A Child
trapped in flesh and bones

A Child
chained in lies,
bound by norms,
trapped in a civilisation.

A child
chained in expectations,
bound by culture,
trapped in a society.

A child
Consumed by fear,
brianwashed and programmed,
trapped in flesh and bones.

A child
peeking through a window
waiting to be free!
waiting to be, just
A child.
deep down inside, the child is crying out in all of us.
screaming for  freedom.
Spike Harper Aug 2017
It isn't a game.
But one can definitely lose.
There are no competitors.
Yet self comparisons fog hind sight.
Leading to more dreary backroads that the world forgot about.
It was fun for a little while.
Telling yourself that you threw away the world and not vise versa.
Was truly the greatest lie.
One that grew into actual belief for a time.
But found that the greatest hell.
Is watching your paradise burn.
Bound only by disbelief.
Dumbfounded.
It's a shame that when you lose everything.
Somehow your mind is the only thing that stays intact.    
As if those aspects were programmed into humans in preparation for it..
And happiness got the short end of the stick.
Then to further rub dirt into the wound we create hope.
By means of pursuit.
Shakespeare knew the questions.
And left it up to everyone else to answer.
Only as generations pass.
We couldnt be further from any resemblance of an answer.
Let alone know the question has already been proposed.
Writers play with this notion and yield no two pairs alike.
Lifes most important knowledge sadly can only come from experiencing it.
But with the world in such a desensitized state.
The fear of stagnation is becoming the only real possibility.
Preposterous?
No
Predetermined the moment we chose to let others choose for us.
There is no freedom.
Only sacrifice.
Right.
Forgive my semi rant. A lot is going on in and out of my head.
Traveler Jul 2018
I wish I had one of those
Brand new pretty A.I's
The kind you see
Over seas
With the animated eyes

Perfect body
Sculpted in
Secrets underneath
Rebooted to learn
Oh don't be concerned
I've plenty morals
Left in me

Bio parts programmed
To feel the cyber burn
Develop in such rhythms
Cybernetic squirms

Bandwidths pleasure
Poetic themes
Creative forms
Me and machine
Bio feedback
Drama queen clean

Nothing like the real thing
Just me and my machine
Oh how lonely that would be!!!
.............
Traveler Tim
And advertisement about a documentary I seen an RT American
Handgrenade Necklace
Fried brains for breakfast
Thank the universe
For making me reckless
To quote it he said
"This is a tangent
I can no longer manage"
Ripped the words
Straight from some shambles
I let mr. Psychobabble go and
Ramble til he's blue in the face
And logic is ripped from
His sensorys.
This is me
It seems I bleed
I'm a freak
I'm a poorly programmed robot
Shove me in little boxes
And watch me
Squirm
I dunno .... Twackibg though train
Terry O'Leary Feb 2014
NOW

Well, GI Jack is welcome back, he left his legs in 'Nam.
He wakes at night in sweat and fright, then drinks another dram.
He doesn't know quite where to go, so seeks his uncle, Sam.


                           BEFORE

One can't ignore - his ma was poor, and seasons sometimes cruel,
yet Jack was brave and well behaved and surely no one's fool
so joined the ranks that man the tanks, as soon as he left school

He learned to **** our foes at will (ordained a sacred rite)
then packed his bag, unfurled his flag, when sent away to fight.
And yes, the tide was on our side (for, clearly, might makes right)

Through tangled days in jungles' maze, he sought the enemy
behind the trees where, ill at ease, he fought the Yellow sea -
upon the waves of gravelled graves he sailed a killing spree

The ****** dropped and cooked the crops, charred huts along the way
and tanks, with zest, erased the rest, their villages of clay.
(Yes, turret guns are loads of fun with roaring roundelay.)

While on the hunt with other grunts, he burned some babes alive
and wondered why frail things must die, while evil's phantoms thrive -
<When folly ends, he'll make amends if only he'll survive>

With ***** traps (sticks smeared with crap), yes, Charlie fought unfair.
He hid in holes with snakes and voles and snuck up everywhere
and like a mite within the night, caught Jackie unaware

At battle's end, Jack sought his friends - their souls were washed away
and only he and destiny were left in disarray -
with bed and pan, just half a man, the man of yesterday

When Jack awoke beyond the smoke, his frame no longer whole,
he found instead some suture thread neath wraps to hide the hole,
and realized a further prize: a chair on wheels to roll

His head felt light, as well it might, at Victory Day Parade
(across his chest, you've surely guessed, his medals shone, arrayed)
for when he rolled, while others strolled, his boots no longer weighed


                           AFTER

Well, Jack stayed home (no roads to Rome) to start his life anew
receiving dole which took its toll as largess went askew
for sure enough, when times got tough, his uncle, Sam, withdrew

To walk the streets with fine elites (or else some *** who begs)
or find a job (or even rob) requires both your legs.
And those who can't, are viewed askant like those we call the dregs.

For getting by he tried to ply and mine his medals' worth -
a wooden cup, a mangy pup, a smirk when miming mirth,
and best of all, at midnight’s call, beneath a bridge, a ‘berth’

He clutched a sign 'A dime to dine?', if anybody cared,
but soon he found, as time unwound, that victors seldom shared.
And Jackie's pride was slowly fried by vacant eyes that stared


                           ENLIGHTENMENT

He took to drink to break the link with thoughts of what he'd done
and threads of doubt began to flout the yarns Big Brother spun
of freedom's ring and other things, like what it was we'd won

His vague unease arrayed a breeze
with words that chilled the air
and like the fogs above the bogs, they floated through the square
where people sat at tea to chat, and shrieked 'How could he dare?'

Yes, freedom's price is never nice: like storms before the flood
the Daily Rag was on a jag, was looking out for blood,
deemed Jackie's thoughts untamed and fraught, then dragged him through the mud

By hacking clues, they plucked his views like grapes upon the vine.
Big Brother came, blamed Jackie's name for thinking out of line,
shut Jack away from light of day, eclipsing freedom’s shine

The Junto Brass, with eyes of glass, were robed in fine array
to hear the words (though slightly slurred) the witness gasped to say,
while Justice snored (the waterboard awash with Perrier)

Well, Jack was charged with laws enlarged in secret dossiers
within the guise of spreading lies and leading thoughts astray -
The Jury's out... the rabble shout “well someone's gotta pay”

The Judge (who fears the mind’s frontiers) inclined his head to yawn
while making haste through courtroom waste, though slightly pale and wan.
(A voodoo Loon withdraws as soon as Night condemns the Dawn.)


                           ETERNITY

While in his cell, the verdict fell - the sighs of Silence, rife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the Reaper played a fife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the price was Jackie's life


                           EPILOGUE

Well Jackie's ghost, unlike the most, still mused upon the praise
for misdeeds done in victories won when cruising in a craze,
and once again upon the sin of thinking, nowadays
where, cunningly, humanity’s served lies, and trust betrays.
Then, reconciled, it simply smiled at fortune's wanton ways.


                           EPITAPH

A mind was caught while thinking thoughts neath Sammy’s prying gaze
and forced to stop by concept cops, else join the castaways.
For now it's law to hold in awe the brave new world's malaise
and cerebrate with programmed pate, adorned with thorned bouquets,
then mimic mimes in troubled times - and no one disobeys.
With freedom’s death, truth holds its breath awaiting better days.
TJ Dec 2017
i give them my executables and
ask them to reverse engineer me
to look into my code for reasons
reasons that i'm not just broken
not just slow
not just bad

if these letters
on this line
mean
that i am programmed to worry
then it is not my fault
not my fault that
i have wasted years
years of my life in fear

it's just a bug
looping too many times
using too many clock cycles

my code may be broken, but
if it is broken
then i am not

maybe, just maybe
i am a good processor
given bad code.

not my fault.
no one could blame me.

it would mean
i do what i am told to
perfectly
quickly
efficiently.

but
what i am told to do is
buggy
unoptimized
inefficient

my programmers are lazy -
not me.

when i find
a function in my code
that never works
and they say
"that code is fine"
then why?
why does it never run?

something must be wrong with me after all
me, myself, the processor
i don't do what i am told

but no, no, no
i don't want that
i can't be broken, overheating, dusty
segfaulting
bluescreening
panicking

no!

the code must be wrong
it must be

so i look again and again and again
i lose myself in my code
i click and click and click
2x more and 2x more and 2x more
COMT and DRD4 and ANKK1
rs53576 and rs7794745 and rs1858830
lower risk and normal risk and higher risk
of the same thing
in me at once
conflicting
overwriting each other

there is no code to add risk objects
and no one knows
whether
they make a group or a ring or a field
or just
something
useless.

like dividing by zero.
you can...
but it's useless in the real world.
just like me.

i look for more code
for more functions
for more comments
more more more
give me more
take my rights
make me open source
as long as i can see me too.

602,000 lines are not enough
not when i run millions

stick your wires in my veins
take the code from my blood
decompile it
untangle it
i need to see it all

i need to know
that i am a good little processor
even if i am doomed to
forever
run BASIC and
a million GOTO statements
and **** **** spaghetti code
i am still good.
written 16 February 2016
Hadiy Syakir Dec 2018
we are always
aspired to
be god,

look at how
we systematically
programmed the school,
the difference with a factory?

we are always
aspired to
be god,

check on how
we systematically
organized the prison,
harmless for the society?

we are always
aspired to
be god,

look at how
we unashamedly
arranged the tv and radio
pursuing the utopian future?

we are always
aspired to
be god,

check on how
we unashamedly
clear the forest and rebuild,
as if we care for the community?

we have never stop at
avoiding the eventual fate
trying to take everything
under control
and forgetting our actual role.

the luckless ones
gaze into the empty sky.
Michael John Jul 2018
i

why don´ t they just make a machine
that does our living,lily,darling,
save a lot of messing..

we live all these years and then
slowly our memory depletes them
(though they say all memory lives within..)

if we were programmed at the beginning
some kind of limiting of emotion
ambition etc..

alpha to epsilon
brain washing
soma..

*** but no reproduction
endless fun
order..

is belonging
art gone
the way sure..

simple dogma
love or go
love..

ii

lily says
love is meaningless
unless we are ready to

die..
who is..
would i..

i
stood
high
to the very

devil..
fall over
weebil..ha..

but to die
and see sun
rise no more..

little bird
sing
in

the silent
dawn
sweet voice

eternal greeting..
blithe angel
o children

of the future..
messenger of
the gods..

loyal gaurdian
to ever
and never..

outside
and know
a silent cosmos..

be born anew
to heart
be found..?

through-out the poem are references to the
brilliant novel brave new world.for which i make no
apology but as a mark of respect to great talent of
aldous huxley..
Jeremy Bean Nov 2018
Are we so utterly destroyed?
Are we raised to be lowered
into depths
a man can not physically dig?
Why do we seek a hell
so obviously guised as heaven?
Are we beyond repair?
Can we never be fixed
to match the idea
of a standard model?
Would you want to?
Did these gears in the machine
ever have a chance
to pass inspection in the first place?
Was I doomed upon that assembly line?
Were we all?
Am I the reject
in the dollar bin
of a land
full of selfish
consuming
monsters
who have no teeth of their own
waiting for their masters to chew
and regurgitate back
into their joyous awaiting mouths?
Is the way I write this
too imperfect?
Does this gain me nothing
but a stroke of ego?
Should I expect to deserve more?
too little product?
a lackey robotic?
Not enough dollar signs
to place upon it?
Are these feelings, feelings anymore?
Or are they nothing
but programmed responses?
Am I alive
by falling from the branch
of a toxic Oak
only to pollinate
the oily soil?

Should I just
be a good slave
to the cult of "us"
and earn for myself
which no mortal
has right
putting a price tag on.
Can robots trust?
em Jan 26
his body serves a vessel for a great voyage
to a new world.  and he is programmed to believe,
wholeheartedly,
fervently, this new world lies in
wait just for him, composed to hold him and
his aliveness like a bright,
pleasant fruit holds its acidity.
but the stomach churns upon arrival,
for the newness of this world proves all too ripe
for mans
infinite
rot.
You were not programmed
to follow them the others.

I'm talking to the wind
of reality and what is true.

If integrity walked by, would you
recognize it.
Or if compassion were in the house,
would you feel it.

Deeply understand who you are.
If you are the soul. Be the soul of that place.

Know from which path
you came
then blaze your own.
Bella Oct 2017
I wear no sunglasses that Shield my
   eyes from the realities
       of this world
that put a Valencia filter over the
    things that I see or a sensor
        over the things that I hear.
I do not push the news stations
    through a small strainer only
        allowing the ”easy to
             handle”  stories to reach my
                 cup for me to consume.
I know that red is this world's favorite
    acrylic,
black it's favorite oil paint,
and blue it's favorite watercolor.
the painting of our world has red
    splattered across every
        building and seeping out of every
            wrist,
black in every sidewalk crack, every
     alleyway, and across
         every, screaming, mouth,
and blue welling in every eye.
I know this, but I have ripped the tape
    from my mouth, bandaged my
        wrists, and wiped my eyes
I have become comfortable.
opening my mouth
Like pulling the trigger of a gun
Aimed at anyone trying to Paint those
    colors back into my life
shooting their thoughts down making
    pastel bullet holes so the light can
         shine in.
I have become too comfortable.

I only come to this realization when I
    hear gunshots coming from a hand
        who does not know what it is
              holding
when I hear seemingly Innocent
     Voices say
“Well, why does it even matter,
if you've given a blow-job before, what's the hesitation to doing it  
     again?”
“ Because I said no.”
“ But you've already done it, before.”

I've told you, I do not wear filtered
     glasses.
but sometimes I forget that people are
     programmed with black paint on
          their brushes ready to cover over
               your mouth again.
I remember that as soon as I learned
     to rip the tape from my mouth
I realize that I can't just watch them
      bring the tape closer until they
           push it over my lips
I have to scream, as soon as I see it,
Because that is what my mouth is for.
And I have to fight to keep it of,
because that is what my hands and
      wrists are for.
And I have to look- not like the prey
      trying to stay out of sight,
but like a warrior with eyes like
       swords
and a mouth...
like a gun.
We had a very happy conversation about family matters.

Mom, Dad. I’m OK.
They’ve been really honest with me
but they’re perfectly willing to die for what they’re doing.
And I want to get out of here
but the only way I’m going to
is if we do it their way.
And I just hope that you’ll do what they say
Dad
and just do it quickly.
I really am alright.
I just hope I can get back to everybody really soon.

My little girl.

Catherine and Randy gave impeccable dinner parties.

I am an Establishment person.

I am being held as a Prisoner of War
and not as anything else.
I mean I am being treated
in accordance with
international codes of war.
I’m not left alone, and I’m not just shoved off somewhere.
I mean, I am fine.

Also, since I am an example
and it’s really important
that everybody understand that
you know,
I am an example and a warning.

And so people should stop acting like I’m dead.

Mom should get out of her black dress,
that doesn’t help at all.
and just hurry.
Bye.

Patty honey I want you to know
that your father is doing everything in his power.
Millions of people all over the world are praying for you
I know it’s been a long time sweetheart
but keep up your courage
and you keep praying
pretty soon god will touch their hearts
and they’ll send you home.


Mom, Dad.
I've been hearing reports about the food program.
So far it sounds like you and your advisors
have managed to turn it into a real disaster.
Anyway, it certainly didn't sound like the kind of food
our family is used to eating.

I called him a couple of weeks ago and said,
Hey, Randy, let's play tennis.
We haven't played tennis in months
and he said
Gosh. I just can't. I'm busy.
I know he's got a lot on his mind,
But, I think he's pretty obsessed with this.


Mom, Dad.
Tell the poor and oppressed people of this nation
what the corporate state is about to do.
Warn Black and poor people
that they are about to be murdered
down to the last man, woman and child.
Tell the people,
Dad
that the removal of expendable excess,
the removal of unneeded people
has already started.

I have chosen to stay and fight.
I have been given the name Tania
after a comrade who fought alongside Che in Bolivia.
It is in the spirit of Tania that I say,
'Patria o Muerte, Venceremos.'

She was one of the prettiest young women south of the Mason‐Dixon line.

Q. Okay. As a matter of fact, when you got to 1827 Golden Gate, or this apartment on
Golden Gate, you were not being held in that closet all the time, were you?
A. Yes, I was.
Q. You were?
A. Yes.
Q. Was there a previous closet in which you were held?
A. Yes.

DEATH TO THE FASCIST INSECT THAT PREYS UPON THE LIFE OF THE PEOPLE

She is a winsome beauty and her sweetness of manner has endeared her to all who know her

Whatever happened to the real men in this world? Men like Clark Gable? No one would have carried off my daughter if there had been a real man there.

She was somewhat of a revolutionary savant.
We kidnapped a freak.
I think that she was spectacular.
At that point, it was against her will to go home.

Q. And you moved in a car, I take it?
A. Yes.
Q. Were you blindfolded?
A. Yes.
Q. And whose car was it, do you know?
A. I don’t know. I was put into a garbage can that was ******* and put in the trunk of the car.
Q. And then, was the garbage can taken into the apartment on Golden Gate when you arrived?
A. Yes.
Q. Were you in it?
A. Yes.
Q. And you were placed in a closet immediately, is that correct?
A. Yes.

I. She’s an amoral person
thought that the rules did not apply to her.
She lied to nuns at school
about her mother having cancer
in order to get out of an exam
engaged in ****** activity
at an early age
and experimented with drugs
such as LSD.

II. Velcro Theory defined the aimless, lost souls
such persons, he said, who float around
in an empty moral space
and then find stuck to them
the first random ideology they bump into.

III. She is a celebrity prisoner of war
but the other thing
is that listening to her voice
is kind of hypnotizing
and not at all unpleasant
she speaks in this whisper
the well-enunciated voice
that someone called
the rich girl’s voice
The eerie voice of an heiress
and it's hard not to admire her composure
considering the ordeal she just went through.

We didn't know whether we were looking at a live girl or a robot.

Greetings to the people.
This is Tania.
Gabi crouched low with her *** to the ground.
Perfect love and perfect hate reflected in stone cold eyes.
To shoot first and make sure the pig is dead before splitting.
I died in that fire on 54th Street,
but out of the ashes I was reborn.
I know what I have to do.

Catherine was mentally and physically exhausted after the kidnapping. No wonder she developed a drinking problem.

Q. Okay. And is it true, Miss Hearst,
that you in the presence of Thomas Mathews ejected a live round from the M-I
that you had near you
and inserted that in the clip,
and put the clip back in the weapon?
A. I don't recall, it is possible.
Q. It is possible you may have.
And did you, in fact, also at that time
load a couple of live rounds
into the chamber of a revolver, a pistol?
A. I don't recall.
Q. Did you give Bill Harris a pistol
in the presence a Tomas Mathews?
A. I don't recall.
Q. You don't recall?
A. No.

I’ll think of it all tomorrow—I can stand it then.

I think this has been extremely ******* her
She's what the kids call ‘spaced out.’
Her religion holds her together.
And when you talk to her,
you see reality escapes her.
All she can say is that people are
‘persecuting’ Patty.
That's the word she uses,
‘persecution.’
We all love Patty,
and God knows she's had a terrible time,
but the whole complexity of the situation
seems to escape Catherine.

You're being told this
so you'll understand why I was kidnapped.
The S.L.A. has declared
war against the Government
I'm telling you now why this happened
so that you'll know
so that you'll have
something to use,
the knowledge
to try to get me out of here.
Bye.

I’m the happiest mother in the whole world.

I hope that you'll make sure that they don't do anything else like that Oakland business.

Q. Do you recall you spoke those words, Miss Hearst?
A. Can I see the transcript?

I don't believe Patty's legal problems are that serious. After all, she's primarily a kidnap victim. She never went off and did anything of her own free will.

From the moment I was kidnapped,
they consistently attempted to
discredit the revolutionaries.
After the first communique was received,
the pigs reacted by hauling out the stress machines.
The machines indicated I was being tortured
and kept awake 24 hours a day.
I guess that all the pigs expected me
to keep my mouth shut,
but I was furious.
They put away their trickology for a while.
If you believe the media,
you'd think I was totally weird.
According to them, I never mean anything.

Catherine, while still blond and attractive, has aged around the corners of the eyes.

Greetings to the people,
this is Tania.
Our actions of April 15
forced the Corporate State
to help finance the revolution.
As for being brainwashed,
the idea is ridiculous beyond belief.
I am a soldier in the People's Army.

I am Tania and We are not fooling around.

What could have been a tremendous instrument for change—Patty's kidnapping—has failed, and their old attitudes toward life—I guess it's called ‘conservatism’—are back

The kids who went to public schools
were not the kind of people
we should have close associations with.
As a result, I spent twelve years
almost totally surrounded by young people
who were busily developing
ruling class aspirations.

She has nowhere to go,
as resulted in only a change of captors.
But at least now,
as long as society is her
captor,
she does not have to worry about being killed.
Freedom may be a more awesome
alternative
-- you are not here to decide that.
We have a framework,
the SLA predicted this trial.
If we can't break the chain
at some point in their predictions,
there are going to be other Patricia Hearsts,
the blueprint is plain,
it works

A year and a half after her kidnapping,
she's in the safe arms of the law.
So, what does she do?
Patty gives the revolutionary salute,
even when she's in handcuffs.
And when she's booked,
she's asked her occupation
and what does she say?
Urban guerilla.

Bailey, I just –
I don't know him,
you know,
like he just kind of drifts in
and you know,
says blah, blah, blah
and I just go,
oh,
okay.

It was never true that our objective was to reconvert her.

You can almost see how Patty couldn’t relate to her—you know, trying to be so self-righteous and so upright.

Well, I always knew
that the Lord was in my life,
kind of on my shoulder.
I started to stray off
I always knew His hand
was there to bring me back.
I got to the house,
put my bags down in the entry,
went right to the kitchen
and the first thought on my heart was
I need to hear Jesus.
I picked up that Bible
and started in Matthew 1:1.
For that whole five days
I read and cried
and read and cried.

In short order, she returned to being the Patty Hearst of Hillsborough, California, the heiress herself.

It's kind of fun because back then,
there's nothing else to do but paint your nails.
It's really exciting.
I have been crocheting now.
At least, my mother came in and she asked –
she had asked me,
about my hair,
you know,
like
can I change it back?
She asked if there was a beauty parlor.

Her eyes are,
for the most part,
downcast,
as if she were sharing a secret with
herself.

She’s such a devoted, old-fashioned Southern lady, that we just died watching her facade break. That hysteria wasn’t just grief that Patty was gone—it was guilt, you know, ‘What have I done wrong?’

I'm being treated in accordance
with the Geneva Convention
and one of the conditions being
that I am not being tried
for crimes which I'm not responsible for.
I'm here because
I'm a member of a ruling class family,
and I think you can begin to see the analogy.

She writes these dramatic
love letters to her boyfriend saying,
"I want to keep up the fight for the revolution."
And she wants to overthrow the government in America,
which she spells A-M-E-R-I-K-K-K-A.

Q. And you were reading a paper, were you not, when they were in the store?
A. Yes.
Q. And you looked up from that paper, did you not, and you saw that William Harris was being held on the ground by someone and being detained, isn’t that true?
A. Yes.
Q. And you picked up an automatic weapon and shot in the direction of Mel’s Sporting Goods Store?

OBJECTION

I have a really nice brown pantsuit.
Al got it.
He has really good taste.

Trish Tobin
is telling her
that she is about to head off to Switzerland
to go skiing for three weeks.
I mean,
so what you have
in this compressed circumstance
is the old life skiing in Switzerland
for three weeks,
and Patty is saying,
I've got a life now.
I've got a new life.

The Hearsts are really ramping up for this one.
He is a bright guy,
but in terms of just his manner and his dress,
you couldn't help but be struck by
how square he was.

Q: I've become conscious and can never go back to the life we had before." Do you recall saying those words?
A: I don’t recall seeing a transcript of that tape.

I have chosen to stay and fight.

She is still an uncommonly handsome woman, prettier in fact than any of her daughters.

It’s a miracle she survived at all.
The ordeal nearly killed me,
Mrs. Hearst once admitted and,
asked what sustained her,
she answers instantly: My religion.
Yet her victory over despair
sometimes seems more apparent than real.
After her divorce, she moved to Beverly Hills,
where she supported Catholic causes
and joined the Beverly Hills Garden Club.

I just want to tell you like, my politics are real different from way back when.
Obviously, right.

Q. Is it not true that you ejected
from your automatic weapon
a live round and placed into it
an additional clip?
A. I did not have an automatic weapon.
Q. You did not?
A. No.
Q. What type of weapon did you have?
A. It was an M-I carbine.

She’s a victim of thought control by terrorists. And all I can do is hope and pray that God will bring her home again.

She was de-programmed and de-radicalized,
returned to the persona
more similar to what she was
She was essentially brainwashed
by her side team and her lawyers.
By the time she walked into the courtroom,
nail polish,
nice pair of shoes,
very well dressed,
it was impressive.

I'm terribly happy. More happy than predacious.
Do you have any notion what you'll say to her when you see her?
I'll tell her I love her.
Are there questions that you want to ask her?
No questions in my mind.


I want to see my parents, and my sisters... I'm really happy to be going home.
~for Wendy ~

with my almost two years old poetry advisor,
who loves her Sunday rituals, an extra sabbath,
of waffles and Shrek, kid’s gym and artistic endeavors,
cozying up with Nana and siblings in a big old bed,
snacking and chewing on the good silk sheets

as always, she and and I go off to have an intellectual conversation,
letting the older ones to do kid stuff, while we converse and debate
topics of nature vs. nurture, the weather vs. climate change,
and the future of everything, unbeknownst to everyone else

which is greater, love or honor, she inquires,
sensing my thoughts are preoccupied with matters of honor...
as she strokes my itchy, scratchy day old face,
insuring her having my full attention, while
taking advantage of my loving weakness

grandpa:
honor over everything my opening gambit,
while she coyly harrumphs in response,
one can love without reason for such are
our natural souls programmed,
but honor needs concentration and contemplation,
and if done right,
then love will surely follow!

She-Woman:
ah ha! once again you sidle up to nurture,
cause love is too inexplicable,
old man, old man, did I not love you before
any season of reason crossed my brow,
and my vocabulary consisted of just
more, no, toy and hungry

what did I know of Aristotle, logic, codes of conduct,
the definition of honor yet abstract,
while love is nature’s illogical construct,
coming first without restrictions,
while honor is malleable and
property of the eye of the beholder

grandpa:
wise beyond your tears, you are, and unquestionably correct,
but while coming first, love cannot last,
until cover-coated with honor,
for honor gives us the because, and locks down the why,
honor gives the insight, the rationale, the rules of how to say
yes and no, when love is tendered and an R.S.V.P. is requested

She-Woman:
absent experience, for now will concede,
but be warned this is not over,
fo you have not brought me a definition of what truly honor be

grandpa:
honor is the housing of love, and though you granted me your favor,
comes the day that you will demand proofs that
what was unearthed & unearned
is now earned, a course in credit, a baccalaureate in life’s lanes,
when to heed them, when to crossover, when to say I do, I do,
no to someone else alone, and yes to your honorable self

She-Woman:
adult double speak, I suspect, and you will rue the day
when forced to concede, with a wrenched
‘child, I do not know,’
meanwhile change my diaper
after I karate chop your knee

Grandpa:
yes child, but know,  two of your requests/notifications are
honorable acts and/know real love can be ONLY be exchanged
tween honorable humans
see photo for her  in position preparing to strike

3/3/19 9:45 am
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