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jonchius Sep 2015
checking potent aftershock
observing seismic anniversary
checking another tremor
resuming constrained writing

annexing hidebound constituents
hugging incoming eschatologies
fighting pervasive insomnia
battling invasive fatigue

damning incompetent fools
awaiting furtive escape
abandoning corporate wasteland
summoning celestial syzygy

detesting spaghetti code
protruding riparian dolphin
establishing unilinear escritoire
glowing cybernetic cynosure

avoiding eternal invisibility
supporting valued customer
performing lexical gymnastics
scrooping notification sounds

restoring usual happiness
glorifying darkwave fanfares
collapsing old relationships
raising ambient awareness

defining wolf people
propagating yesteryear's spectre
achieving hemispheric virality
testing weekend legerity
installing iron curtain

propagating today's spectre

developing niche audiences
transmitting abstract propaganda
disappearing thought experiments
overusing various condiments

double-checking hyper-real emotions
rubbernecking celestial explosions
observing splendid holiday
exploding volcano day

erupting bucolic mountain
disrupting hectic shouting
perfecting suggestive triptychs
checking festive pyrotechnics

drifting across multiverse
regifting glossy paperwork
writing six-lined hexagrams
liking two-toned instagrams

recalling pygmalion sculptures
brawling tatterdemalion cultures
"rambling corporate shill
rattling rapid prosody"
"battling hamburger hill
ambling hundredth library"
"sensing ideological schism
pending guttural neologism"

glowing verdant background
foreshadowing palmyra takedown
developing geopolitical mess
geminating quasi-couplet stress

"hugging cultural diversity
shrugging irrational adversity"

distancing spooky raindrops
avoiding potential burnout
implementing lexical databank
approaching crash-scene sudser

becoming increasingly selective
escaping tyrannical bureaucracy
perpetuating cut-throat capitalism
purchasing contrived happiness
incorporating chance elements
relaxing rigid structures
reheating your retweet

holding theoretical design
smiling beach life
scrutinizing eternal simulation
rushing artificial apothegm
annexing facetious document
freaking creepy centipedes

writing neural structure
congratulating yestreen's warriors
encouraging seatbelt usage
boosting abstract setting
sensing frivolous ochlocracy

keeping hypothetical metropolis
blurring metaphorical æsthetic
scrutinizing computational festival
memorializing towel day

raising six-fingered paw
eternizing fragment schedule
liking subtextual repository
quoting quintessential quidnunc

finding ideological style
disregarding their slovenliness
planning spatial factoid
spinning glacial ellipsoids

enjoying eternal spreadsheet
deleting repetitive tweet
awaiting festival lineup
gainsaying unethical startups

observing turgid experiment
contemplating conniving contrivances
enjoying dynamic project
dropping two-toned simulation
finding harmonic space
finalizing warring cavaliers

detecting enigmatic apathy
retrieving potential exchange
meddling middling muddling
baking hypnagogic pizza

spinning galactic dinosaur
building trans-pacific partnership
finishing theoretical mission
giggling agog googlers

crashing atypical tessellation
cherishing precious hexagons
proliferating western lottery
cretaceousing funkaholic skeletor

blurring turgid gallery
cancelling tsunami warnings
extemporizing incoherent neologisms
transmitting harmonic rave

gliding black hawks
hiding quacked ducks
archiving animated light
googling moonbow imagery

ignoring relatable messages
observing unfinished world
generating optional content
continuing exponential growth
May 2015
Simon Oct 2019
Probability isn’t the luck it deserves for wanting desperately to be noticed by any appeals. Generating new focuses never thought possible. If so… Who is the recipient? Who is the lawmaker? Who being the justice department? Goods to making essential markers on productive velocities. Justification is outweighed by department alone. Growing ever scarcer without benefiting attitudes in place. Conjecturing solvent pleasures across many fields. Fields of accessory dependents ensuring a collective term is agreeable. Except, what if probability is outweighed not by something further from its own attitude? What if it can’t benefit itself? In question, becoming misshaped, mispronounced, or misinterpreted. Depending on who’s right, or who’s wrong shouldn’t matter until claims are assured. Propagating across the many fields of accessory dependents. Dependents outweighing the logic one is misshaped by. Demonstrating probabilities mispronouncing sense of terms for oneself. Wrapping up in a crumbled conjecture. Propagating a newer field of already surveyed products. Truth is in the stream that propagates those fields. Accessory moments dependent on gaining tension through the rise of the recipient. That’s the only way probability will ever learn. Hence why it shuts down if it ever involved itself. Itself without its own recipient. Its own justice department. Lawmaker without any dependent ideas would ever appeal to its own logical making, if it’s never dependent on itself. Only flashing the accessory dependent on other influences. Influences going way down the line of certainties without pleasure. Urges relapse. Furthering its own clustered rut! One without mistakes diverging deeper into uncertainties. Taking risks isn’t noticeable. When probability taking risks enough to (blush) down the line of certainties without an aim involved. Scattering their rut from within. But how does it involve probability? It doesn’t. Probability is the representation of how one constant judge itself for pleasure. When pleasurable actions are dependent with a blank impression never sought out. To focused on probability. When probability isn’t fruitful by its own design either. Only way it works. Never looking back in itself. A reflection of tempted attitudes fluttering in a swift, but rigid wind. Wind never tempted by its own sway. If one is to admit what they aren’t even aware of changing. Another shutdown happens! Justifications for probabilities own reckoning depends on other solvents. Solvents who don’t even understand the probabilities of there own life makings. Able to learn what is dependent onto others. Never within themselves directing their starry performance. What happens when things are finally noticeable within probabilities that will exceed probable actions of the force that dictates fates majority complexes? Complexes without variety. Varieties misshaped by mishappenings of trust. Which includes a basic awareness of some factor never hesitating to judge within the core of being itself. A view fate designs in its weapon of probability very well. What is fate up to…? Never can guess when probability shuts down all appliances out of contact with no one but itself left in the dark. Probability is. Everything has just become disowned. Fate exchanging glances with itself for one last second, before rapping up this little diverse expression. Pinpointing its weapon of probability without knowing why that is? Hinting at fate not being the only recipient to follow in its weapons obstructed desires.
Probability without luck is forever undetermined. Having faith in itself, will redeem the actuality of actions placed without words. Luck? Faith? Lots of hints one hasn't fully realized.
RAJ NANDY Mar 2016
Dear Poet Friends, and all true lovers of Jazz!  Being a lover of Classical and Smooth Jazz, I had composed first two parts in Verse on the History and Evolution of Jazz Music. Seeing the poor response of the Readers to my Part One here, I was hesitant to post my Second Part. I would request the Readers to kindly read Part One of this True Story also for complete information. Please do read the Foot Notes. With best wishes, - from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.


THE STORY OF JAZZ MUSIC : PART-II
               BY RAJ NANDY

        NEW ORLEANS : THE CRADLE OF JAZZ
BACKGROUND :
Straddling the mighty bend of the River Mississippi,
Which nicknames it as the ‘Crescent City’;
(Founded in 1718 as a part of French Louisiana
Colony),  -
Stands the city of New Orleans.
New Orleans* gets its name from Phillippe II,
Duc d’ Orleans , the Regent of France ;
A city well known for its music, and fondness
for dance.
The city remained as a French Colony until 1763,
When it got transferred to Spain as a Spanish
Colony.
But in the year 1800, the Spanish through a
secret pact, -
To France had once again ceded the Colony back!
Finally in 1803 the historic ‘Louisiana Purchase’
took place ,
When Napoleon the First sold New Orleans and  
the entire Louisiana State, -
To President Thomas Jefferson of the United
States!     * (See notes below)

THE CONGO SQUARE :
The French New Orleans was a rather liberal
place,
Where slaves were permitted to congregate,
For worship and trading in a market place,
But only on Sabbath Days, - their day of rest!
They had chosen a grassy place at the edge of
the old city,
Where they danced and sang to tom-tom beats,
Located north of the French Quarters across the
Rampart Street,
Which came to be known as the Congo Square,
Where one could hear clapping of hands and
stomping of feet!
There through folk songs, music, and varying
dance forms,
The slaves maintained their native African musical
traditions all along!
African music which remained suppressed in the
Protestant Colonies of the British,
Had found a freedom of expression in the Congo
Square by the natives; -
Through their Bamboula , Calanda, and Congo dance!
The Wolof and Bambara people from Senegal River
area of West Africa,
With their melodious singing and stringed instruments,
Became the forerunners of ‘Blues’ and the Banjo.
And during the Spanish Era, slaves from the Central
African Forest Culture of Congo,
Who with their hand-drummed polyrhythmic beats ,
Made people from Havana to Harlem  to rise and
dance on their feet!      
(see notes below)

CULTURAL MIX :
After the Louisiana Purchase , English-speaking
Anglo and African-Americans flooded that State.
Due to cultural friction with the Creoles, the new-
comers settled ‘uptown’,
Creating an American Sector, separate from older
Creole ‘down-town’ !
This black American influx in the uptown had
ushered in,
The elements of the Blues, Spirituals, and rural
dances into New Orleans’ musical scene.
Now these African cultural expressions gradually
diversified, -
Into Mardi Indian traditions, and the Second Line.^^
And eventually into New Orleans’ Jazz and Blues;
As New Orleans became a cauldron of a rich
cultural milieu!

THE CREOLES :
The Creoles were not immigrants but were home-
bred;
They were the bi-racial children of their French
Masters and their African women slaves!
Creole subculture was centred in New Orleans.
But after the Louisiana Purchase of 1803,  -
The Creoles rose to the highest rung of Society! @
They lived on the east of Canal Street in the
French Sector of the city.
Many Creole musicians were formally trained in
Paris,
Had played in Opera Houses there, and later led
Brass Bands in New Orleans.
Jelly Roll Morton, Kid Oliver, and Sidney Bechet
were all famous Creoles;
About whom I now write as this true Jazz Story
gradually unfolds.
In sharp contrast on the west of Canal Street lived
the ***** musicians,
Who lacked the economic advantages the Creoles
possessed and had!
The Negroes were schooled in the Blues, Work Songs ,
and Gospel Music;
And played by the ear with improvisation as their
unique characteristic !
But in 1894 when Jim Crow’s racial segregation
laws came into force,     # (see notes below)
The Creoles were forced to move West of Canal
Street to live with the Negroes.
This mingling lighted a ‘musical spark’ creating
a lightening musical flash;
Igniting the flames of a ‘new music’ which was
later called ‘Jazz’ !

INFLUENCE OF THE EARLY BRASS BANDS:
Those Brass Bands of the Civil War which played the
‘marching tunes’ ,
Became the precursors of New Orleans’ Brass Bands,
which later played at funeral marches, dance halls,
and saloons !
After the end of the Civil War those string and wind
instruments and drums, -
Were available in the second-hand stores and pawn
shops within reach of the poor, for a small tidy sum!
Many small bands mushroomed, and each town had
its own band stand and gazebos;
Entertained the town folks putting up a grand show!
Early roots of Jazz can be traced to these Bands and
their leaders like Buddy Bolden, King Oliver, Bunk
Johnson, and Kid Orley;
Not forgetting Jack 'Pappa' Laine’s Brass Band
leading the way of our Jazz Story !
The Original Dixieland Band of the cornet player
'Nick' La Rocca,
Was the first ever Jazz Band to entertain US Service
Men in World War-I and also to play in European
theatre, came later.     (In 1916)
I plan to mention the Harlem Renaissance in my
Part Three,
Till then dear Readers kindly bear with me!

CONTRIBUTION OF STORYVILLE :
In the waning years of the 19th Century,
When Las Vegas was just a farming community,
The actual ‘sin city’ lay 1700 miles East, in the
heart of New Orleans!
By Alderman Story’s Ordinance of 1897,
A 20-block area got legalized and confined,  
To the French Quarters on the North Eastern side
called ‘Storyville’, a name acquired after him!
This 'red light' area resounded with a new
seductive music ‘jassing up’ one and all;
Which played in its Bordello, Saloons, and the
Dance Halls !         (refer  my Part One)
Now the best of Bordellos hired a House Pianist,
who also greeted guests, and was a musical
organizer;
Whom the girls addressed respectfully as -
‘The Professor’!
Jelly Roll Morton, Tony Jackson author of
‘Pretty Baby’, and Frank ‘Dude’ Amacher, -
Were all well-known Storyville’s ‘Professors’.
Early jazz men who played in Storyville’s Orchestra
and Bands are now all musical legends;
Like ‘King’ Oliver, Buddy Bolden, Kid Orley, Bunk
Johnson, and Sydney Bechet.      ++ (see notes below)
Louis Armstrong who was born in New Orleans,
As a boy had supplied coal to the ‘cribs’ of
Storyville !          ^ (see notes below)
Louis had also played in the bar for $1.25 a night;
Surely the contribution of Storyville to Jazz Music
can never be denied!
But when America joined the First World War in
1917,
A Naval Order was issued to close down Storyville;
Since waging war was more important than making
love the Order had said !
And from the port of New Orleans US Warships
had subsequently set sail.
Here I now pause my friends to take a break.
Part Three of this story is yet to be composed,
Will depend on my Reader’s response !
Please do read below the handy Foot Notes.
Thanks from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

FOOT NOTES:-
New Orleans one of the oldest of cosmopolitan city of Louisiana, also the 18th State of US, & a major port.
Louisiana was sold by France for $15 Million, & was later realized to be a great achievement of Thomas Jefferson!
Many African Strands of Folk Music & Dance forms had merged at the Congo Square.
^^ ’Second Line Music’= Bands playing during funerals & marches, evoked voluntary crowd participation, with songs and dances as appropriate forming a ''Second Line'' from behind.
@ Those liberal French Masters offered the Creoles the best of Education with access to their White Society!
# ’Jim Crow'= Between 1892 & 1895, 'Blacks' gained political prominence in Southern States. In 1896 land-rich whites disenfranchised the Blacks completely! A 25 year's long hatred
& racial segregation began. Tennessee led by passing the ‘Jim Crow’ Law ! In 1896, Supreme Court upheld this Law with -  ‘’Separate But Equal’’ status for the Blacks. Thus segregation became a National Institution! This segregation divided the Black & White Musicians too!
+ Birth of Jazz was a slow and an evolving process, with Blues and Ragtime as its precursor!    “Jazz Is Quintessence of  Afro-American Music born on European Instruments.”
++ Jelly ‘Roll’ Morton (1885-1941) at 17 years played piano in the brothels, – applying swinging syncopation to a variety of music; a great 'transitional figure' between Ragtime & Jazz Piano-style.
++ BUDDY BOLDEN (1877-1931) = his cornet improvised by adding ‘Blues’ to Ragtime in Orleans  during 1900-1907, which later became Jazz! BUNK JOHNSON (1879-1849 ) = was a pioneering jazz trumpeter who inspired Louis Armstrong.  KID OLIVER (1885-1938) =Cornet player and & a Band-leader, mentor & teacher of Louis Armstrong; pioneered use of ‘mute’ in music! ‘Mute’ is a device fitted to instruments to alter the timber or tonal quality, reducing the sound, or both.
KID ORLEY (1886-1973) : a pioneering Trombonist, developed the '‘tailgate style’' playing rhythmic lines underneath the trumpet & cornet, propagating Early Jazz.  SYDNEY BECHET (1897-1959) = pioneered the use of Saxophone; a composer & a soloist, inspired Armstrong. His pioneering style got his name in the ‘Down Beat Jazz Hall of Fame’! LOUIS ARMSTRONG (1890-1971) = Trumpeter, singer, & great improviser. First international soloist, who took New Orleans Jazz Music to the World!  
% = After America joined WW-I in 1917, a Naval Order was issued to shut-down  Storyville, to check the spread of VD amongst sailors!
^^ ”Cribs”= cheap residential buildings where prostitutes rented rooms. Louis Armstrong as a boy supplied coal in those ‘Cribs’.
During the 1940 s  Storyville was raised to the ground to make way for Iberville Federal Housing Project.
ALL COPYRIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR : RAJ NANDY **
E-Mail : rajnandy21@yahoo.in
My love for Jazz Music made me to dig-up its past History and share it with few interested Readers of this Site! Thanks, -Raj
Pearson Bolt Sep 2015
they say you'll never forget
where you were on 9/11
i was nine
i sat in the kitchen
and watched the television
play out the violence hour after hour
my child-like mind conflated the Two Towers
in Tolkien's literary fantasy
with these acts of misanthropy  
and i was taught at the dinner table
that very evening
that all of life could be reduced
to capital letters defining a
cosmic struggle of Good vs. Evil

and yet
regardless of their affiliation
on this defunct
political spectrum of
left left
left right left
politicians canonize a legacy of
injustice and oppression and
in order to suppress
democratic expression
they propagate the notion
that dissent is treason

because the wars we wage are blessed
by the sagely insight of rich old men
who sit safely in mansions protected by
picket fences as white as their skin
while they play off our emotions and
turn us into thoughtless sheep
content to stomach the whims of
politicians propagating vengeance

i will speak this out even
when my voice shakes
because i have seen the hypocrisy
of this war on terror
that relies on terror
to cultivate more terrorists
in order to perpetuate the notion
that Orwell posited

war is peace
freedom is slavery
ignorance is bliss
isn't it

in my naïveté
i rejected the reality of
torture and murdered children for
i nursed a secret hope that
despite the pictures and videos
that served as empirical evidence
we were still somehow
the good guys and
they were the bad guys

but Americans rained white
phosphorous on Fallujah
dropped the world's first
and hopefully last
atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki
we toppled democratically elected socialists
whose interests betrayed our self-serving agendas
cultivating a policy of extra-judicial assassination
regime change is the name of the game
just ask the CIA
they'd tell you
business is booming but
then they'd have to **** you

so i switched off my TV screen
and picked up books
i read Slaughterhouse-V
and treasured the way Vonnegut
looks at the lives of even
bees and butterflies as valuable
intoning "so it goes"
every time a living thing dies

i read O'Brien's
recollections
of Vietnam
a month later
he said that
like white lies
tall tales and
fishermen’s yarns
every war story
has a bit of truth

and i've seen the proof
in the photographs of
Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay
in the aftermath of drone strikes
that left pieces of kids scattered
across the desert sands of foreign lands

i see the toxic side-effects of
systemic violence in the eyes
of homeless veterans suffering
on the streets with PTSD
a flicker of fear livens a
deadened gaze at the sound of
every backfiring engine
as if they're a thousand miles away
on some distant shore

betrayed by their own
government once again
a Purple Heart is
a death sentence
when there are 22
military suicides a day
thanks for your service
now die in silence

like bad religion the phrase
war crime is rather redundant
and i testify not because i
aim to disrespect the
men and women in uniform
on the contrary

when i say
**** war
it is because i
cherish every brother
and every sister
who has perished in the
churning gears of conflict

they shoved tall tales of hope
for a collegiate education
and far-flung travel
down our throats
just sign here
right along the dotted line

we want you
to march into hellfire
we want you
to send missiles into
tiny huts and villages
tracking cell phone signals
we want you
to sit down
shut up and
just do as you're told

to every fallen human who
has been sent off to fight on
behalf of this
or any other
corrupt nation
i sincerely apologize
for not taking to the streets to protest
a vitriolic ideology

i regret filing my taxes
when 54% or more of our budget goes to
military expenditures so they could
stick an M-16 in your hands
and ship you off to die for abstract
and so often arbitrary phrases like
freedom and justice for all

you were robbed of your liberty
by a capitalist system that seeks profit
like a false prophet for
bank accounts soar in times of war  
and in my apathy i hammered
nails into your coffin

and i pride myself on  
being an anti-militaristic
non-violent anarchist because
i don't hate soldiers
if i did i would remain
silent and apathetic
and let the government
abuse its youth

i celebrate humanity
regardless of ethnicity and creed
which is precisely why i despise
this system that sacrifices
generation after generation for
conquest and imperial notions

pray tell
will we turn from the
error of our ways
wake up from
this terrorist daze
before it's too late
and say

the State can try to
whitewash history but
i refuse to let them
brainwash me
I wrote this poem when a woman walked out of the venue after I read a poem about overthrowing the government. She told me her son was in the military and said he had buddies who died so I could have free speech. I wish she'd stopped so I could've responded to her the way I'd have liked to. Guess this will have to do.
Lux
Those who were marginalized by the braids and serpentine lights, devotions were made in San Juan allowing electromagnetic discharges from the imperceptible space-time of Vernarth's parapsychological quantum; alluding to clarities that achieved everything by having Patmia in the material and incorporeal from the start of the stained glass windows and archetypes by Transfer Quantum that burned the chins of hominids who believed to be immortal as if they were looking in this position for the direction between the eyebrows and the chin , for the Euclidean incidence crossing all the pools that are between quantum means of transfer of ions and cations. The oscillations of the sparkling field of consciousness of the containers were of ethical variables that became perpendicular to the space of draft or levitation of the designations that originated with accelerated electric charges on Patmos, developing albiceleste skylights over the harmonic equations as they elongated in proportions of quanta that They argued greater than those that circulated elliptically from Grikos to Skalá, and then to Profitis with assiduous progenitors of long-wave quanta. The magnificence of the halo became rectilinear up to the high altar that was atomized from the unskillful penumbra to reabsorb the inclinations of physical life in the Macedonians and the Achaemenides when they were trapped by the loss on the propagation of the Lux, which was imposed in hemicycles where they were they reclined to relax in the lux of rest of the path of the reasoning that made pederasty in the links with the minuscule obtuse lights, reeling from the clothing and its finite speed of what measures the ability to be undetermined in the margins of error of the antagonists when originating flow rates, greater in his dermis to regenerate towards any other that could be clothing of greater speed.

Thus was the scenario of dimensional magnitude between the powers that did not have contact, but their dimensionless energies on a surface that reached absorbent to the one that rectifies the concretive of the error that partially abused them. Their legacies would pass to a supplementary electromagnetic plane, separating their masses and retaking orientation from where they returned, where if the ideal of the final rational was refracted where everything would be vivid darkness. The obstacles classified them in the closure of the average height and the average surface, to then redirect to the maximum height and maximum surface propagating in irregularities of the Ego "Believing that they were never overcome in the diffuse perception of the metal mirror." The incident rays of the Lux would go to meet the multi-incident plane of the Mashiach, the wave angles were refracted throughout the sinuous law as radiosity passed over the greater mass that was normalized from the tangent that was projected 180 meters above the eyebrow. and Vernarth's chin, along with the recharged electromagnetic strengths of Alexander the Great's reactivation bezels, which at times seemed to levitate over the Lux's high frequencies and vary independently with its crowded functionalities, among scattered restraints that it presented to both weightless behind. from the decayed marble sawdust, separating from its phosphorescence that bounced between the rigging of solid surfaces and semi-solid ones, when realizing that the sea and the silica were confessed to the Pronoia of Delphi. Inducing Vernarth for the first time into a Pronoia versology on the Athena of Delphi, prompting them to separate from the world and it's holistic to divide into three portions of the dissociation of consciousness from the end of the Lux of Parapsychology, which had hosted them for centuries and centuries. . The Pronoia conspiracy systematized the reaction that would reunite them after this oracular parapsychology, making the adversaries believe that they were discrepancies of clinical parapsychology, equating warlike causes in the containment of Delphic neuroscience. From this quantification, the predominance of Vernarth's Lux de Pronoia was announced, linking peculiar segmentation of submit logical historicity in this work as a starting thesis, which speculates the same for those who have to make an analysis of historical dogmatic imperialism as a justification for mythological normality. The Lux thesis aimed to show that the dimensions of the mythology and the submitology, when exposed in physical quanta, made a tendency of irresolution in the abode of spiritual Tractatus reasoning and not in the instinctual one, which watches over recitals where history and its collective memory indicate outbursts of moderation. The role of the submithology  is to pretend that this normality is made close to the instruction after yours temporary for causes of your deep patrimonial, that makes them captives from the social complexity, with the disambiguation of certain criteria by maximizing the hidden truth of the ascending opposition forces that they have generated great conflagrations, intuition being the unreflective pseudo-reality with historical formalities that stumble into the terrified directionality of the myth that was to be reality. The tiny spaces of the verve left by the silent mechanics of the Persians became defensive when they saw their emissaries incoherently in the verticality of Allah when they saw that the confusing world with anxiety exaggerated predictions and failures invulnerability of a lineage that always had. been condemned to the desert.

Everything conspired with a Pronoia of siege, before the exegesis that sought purification and that was how they headed and misdirected their mistakes in the active train of the recess of their abstracted retreat, in a universe that also abandoned them after the subsequent train of Aurion waking them in their illusions with swords, and stealthy spears in dreams that specified safe rest. The ferocities of the proto-souls of assault carried away the translucent bodies of the Persians, and the Hellenes in acts of honor made such congenital paths of the understandable vocabulary that he did not speak. The prism was located in the cautious measure of its contractile dispersion with white separations of mantles, earth, and water scalded by dynamics that formed colorful activations with their withdrawal phenomena in the immaculate albino Lux that dissolved all of the facet optics that it made. Lux's great brain in the instant that the Thuellai airs transfigured the nuances of the Atros monastery, with objects that refused to be absorbed by the black hue, generating mechanical waves of equivalence in their identical interference that caused two opposing forces to distill the coherent differential that had to be overexposed in the category of historical Submitology. The two inverted waves separated, the Hellenes moaned and hiccupped for having to become identical when separating from their immaterial bodies, doing wonders that would house additional souls that would complement a transitory becoming towards the garden of the angels that provided them with identical beams of light, interfering in what animated the lights of pageantry, with the antithesis of interference where they resided in constancy knowing that they felt possessed of benefits of the eternal length of existence, but with pressures of mutable in some involuntary constancy and amplitude of having parallel directions with Saint John the Apostle and the Siblis. The phenomenon of polarization of both empires was denatured in a transverse way in all the electric fields after this feat, inciting unique fields of the pure and selective ascending ecosystem, which generated polaroid substances at the angle of ninety degrees above the browbones and chin of Vernarth, to approach the Pronoia of concatenation with Alexander the Great refracting unscathed hyper-vital and transcendent faces of infinity. Like any other phenomenon, the Lux crossed both bodies like two Xiphos swords that processed the electromagnetic valve, by iridium that converted with all the coarse Lux that crossed the succumbed immateriality and stopped the shaft and the nail that hang in the typology of electromagnetic radiation from the Hellenic world between them, making an ominous redemptive fire that was regimented to leave them both in the middle of a farm where there were farmyard animals, stockpiled pastures and a house that absorbed them as parents who would love them as beings of Lux. Thus, this primary parapsychological quantum network penetrated the level of the archangels that made them be together in planes of manumission, and that does not admit bi-quantum personality or bi-parapsychology that can cancel out the portent of the helmets and the lineage that does not dazzle if they are not made of iron.

The life of the other world began to be encompassed in all the Subtraigus beings that would correspond to the astral plane that was confirmed after the Kalidona Romantics deduced the Unicorn Uilef or Uilef Monókeros after Pronoia. Kalidona being an uninhabited island and the Uilef sleeps in between copulating with Spinalonga and Kolokythas along with other smaller islets, plus two hundred that will make up six islands of the twenty-six tetragram of Alef. Here Drestnia went with her consort of Etréstles from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi to find fateful encounters of Pantheism based on the majestic copulation of beauty, among twenty-six numbers that prevailed in virtuosos who took refuge in Kalydon or Kalidona, preparing for their rampage with grafted grotesque derived bodies of the Falangist Hellenes who were arranged of their musculature, so that they directed the finesse of the civility of Hesiod, Terpando, Archiloco, Baquílides, tragic like Etréstles, Aeschylus Sophocles, Euripides and comedian like Aristophanes.
Lux
jonchius Sep 2015
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
second week of September 2015
RAJ NANDY May 2017
Dear Poet Friends, I had posted Part One of the Story of Jazz Music in Verse few months back on this Site. Today I am posting Part Two of this Story in continuation. Even if you had not read part one of this true story, this one will still be an interesting portion to read especially for all lovers of music, and for knowing about America's rich cultural heritage. I love smooth & cool jazz mainly, not the hard & acid kind! Kindly do read the ‘Foot Notes’ at the end to know how the word ‘Jass’ became ‘Jazz’ way back in History. Hope to bring out a book later with photographs. Thanks, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.


STORY OF JAZZ MUSIC  IN VERSE PART – II

    NEW ORLEANS : THE CRADLE OF JAZZ
BACKGROUND:
Straddling the mighty bend of the River Mississippi,
Which nicknames it as the ‘Crescent City’;
Founded in the year 1718, as a part of French Louisiana
colony.
New Orleans* gets its name from Phillippe II, Duc d’ Orleans,
the Regent of France;
A city well known for its music, and fondness for dance!
The city remained as a French Colony until 1763,
When it got transferred to Spain as a Spanish Colony.
But in 1800, those Spanish through a secret pact,
To France had once again ceded the colony back!
Finally in the year 1803, the historic ‘Louisiana Purchase’
had taken place, -
When Napoleon First of France sold New Orleans and the
entire Louisiana State,
To President Thomas Jefferson of the United States!
(See Notes below)

THE CONGO SQUARE:
The French New Orleans was a rather liberal place,
Where slaves were permitted to congregate,
To worship and for trading in a market place, on
Sabbath Days, their day of rest.
They had chosen a grassy place at the edge of the
old city ,
Where they danced and sang to tom-tom beats,
Located north of the French Quarters across the
Rampart Street;
Which came to be known as the Congo Square,
Where you could hear clapping of hands and
stomping of feet!
There through folk songs, music, and varying dance
forms, -
The slaves maintained their native African musical
traditions all along!
African music which remained suppressed in the
Protestant colonies of the British,
Had found a freedom of expression in the Congo Square
by the natives, -
Through their Bamboula, Calanda, and Congo dance forms
to the drum beats of their native music.
The Wolof and Bambara people from Senegal River of West
Africa, -
With their melodious singing and stringed instruments,
Became the forerunners of ‘Blues’ and the string banjo.
And during the Spanish Era slaves from the Central African
forest culture of Congo, -
Who with their hand-drummed poly-rhythmic beats,  
Made people from Havana to Harlem to rise up and dance
on their feet!   * (see notes below)

CULTURAL MIX:
After the Louisiana Purchase, English-speaking Anglo and
African-Americans flooded that State.
Due to cultural friction with the Creoles, the new-comers
settled ‘Uptown’,
Creating an American sector separate from older Creole
‘Downtown’.
This black American influx ‘Uptown’ brought in the elements
of the blues, spirituals, and rural dances into New Orleans’
musical scene.
These African cultural expressions had gradually diversified,
into Mardi Gras tradition and the ‘Second Line’. ^^ (notes below)
And finally blossomed into New Orleans’ jazz and blues;
As New Orleans became a cauldron of a rich cultural milieu!

THE CREOLES:
The Creoles were not immigrants but were home-bred.
They were the bi-racial children of their French masters
and their African women slaves!
Creole subculture was centred in New Orleans after the
Louisiana Purchase of 1803,
When the Creoles rose to the highest rung of society!
They lived on the east of Canal Street in the French
Sector of the city.   @ (see notes below)
Many Creole musicians were formally trained in Paris.
Played in opera houses there, and later led Brass Bands
in New Orleans.
Jelly Roll Morton, Kid Oliver, and Sidney Bechet were
famous Creoles,
About whom I shall write as this Story unfolds.
In sharp contrast on the west of Canal Street lived the
***** musicians;
But they lacked the economic advantages the Creoles
already had!
They were schooled in the Blues, Work songs, and Gospel
music .
And played by the ear with improvisation as their unique
characteristic,
As most of them were uneducated and could not read.
Now in 1894, when Jim Crow’s racial segregation laws
came into force,       # (see notes below)
The Creoles were forced to move west of Canal Street to
live with the Negroes!
This racial mingling lighted a ‘musical spark’ creating a
lightening flash, -
Igniting the flames of a ‘new music’ which was later came
to be known as JAZZ !

CONTRIBUTION OF STORYVILLE :
In the waning years of the 19th Century, when Las Vegas
was just a farming community,
The actual ‘sin city’ lay 1,700 miles East, in the heart of
New Orleans!
By Alderman Story’s Ordinance of 1897,  a 20-block area
had got legalised and confined, -
To the French Quarters on the North Eastern side called
‘Storyville’,   - a name which was acquired after him.
This red light area resounded with a new seductive music
‘jassing up’ one and all;
Which played in its bordellos, saloons, and dance halls!
The best of bordellos hired a House Pianist who greeted
guests and was also a musical organizer;
Whom the girls addressed respectfully as ‘The Professor’!
Jelly Roll Morton++, Tony Jackson author of  ‘Pretty Baby’,
and Frank ‘Dude’ Amacher, -
Were all well known Storyville’s  ‘Professors’!
Early jazz men who played in Storyville’s Orchestras and Bands
now form a part of Jazz Legend;
Like ‘King’ Oliver, Buddy Bolden, Kid Orley, Bunk Johnson,
and Sydney Bechet.    ++ (see notes below)
Louis Armstrong who was born in New Orleans, as a boy had
supplied coal to the ‘cribs’ of Storyville!   ^ (see notes)
He had also played in the bar for $1.25 a night,
Surely the contribution of Storyville to Jazz cannot be denied!
But when America joined the First World War in 1917,
A Naval Order was issued to close down Storyville!   % (notes)
Since waging war was more important than making love,
this Order had said;
And from the port of New Orleans the US Warships had
set sail!
Here I pause my friends to take a break, will continue
the Story of Jazz in part three, at a later date.
                                               -Raj Nandy, New Delhi
FOOT NOTES :-
NEW ORLEANS one of the oldest cosmopolitan city of Louisiana,
the 18th State of US , & a  major port city.
LOUISIANA was sold by France for $15 million, which was later
realised to be a great achievement of President Jefferson.
*Many African strands of Folk music and dance had merged at the
Congo Square!
^^ ‘SECOND LINE MUSIC’ = Bands playing during Funerals & Marches evoked voluntary crowd participation, with songs & dances as appropriate forming a ‘Second Line’ from behind.
@ =THOSE LIBERAL FRENCH MASTERS OFFERED THE CREOLES THE BEST OF EDUCATION WITH ACCESS TO WHITE SOCIETY!
#’JIM CROW’= between 1892&1895, blacks gained political prominence in Southern States. In 1896 LAND-RICH WHITES DISENFRANCHISED THE BLACK COMPLETELY! A 25 YRS LONG HATRED &RACIAL SEGREGATION BEGAN. TENNESSEE LED BY PASSING ‘JIM CROW LAW’. IN 1896, THE SUPREME COURT UPHELD THIS LAW WITH ITS ‘’SEPARATE BUT EQUAL’’ STATUS FOR THE BLACKS ! THUS SEGREGATION BECAME A NATIONAL INSTITUTION. THIS SEGREGATION DIVIDED THE BLACK & WHITE MUSICIANS ALSO.
+ BIRTH OF JAZZ WAS A SLOW AND EVOLVING PROCESS, WITH BLUES AND RAGTIME AS ITS PRECURSORS . “JAZZ WAS QUINTESSENCE OF AFRO-AMERICAN MUSIC BORN ON EUROPEAN INSTRUMENTS.”  See my ‘Part One’ for definitions.
++ JELLY ‘Roll’ Morton (1885-1941): At 17 yrs played piano in the brothels, applying swinging syncopation to a variety of music; a great Transitional Figure- between Ragtime & Jazz Piano-style.  ++ BUDDY BOLDEN (1877-1931): His cornet improvised by adding ‘Blues’ to Ragtime in Orleans; which between the years 1900 & 1907 transformed into  Jazz! BUNK JOHNSON (1879-1849): pioneering jazz trumpeter, inspired Louis Armstrong; lost all teeth & played with his dentures! KING OLIVER(1885-1938): Cornet player & bandleader, mentor& teacher of Louis Armstrong; pioneered use of ‘mute’ in music. KID ORY(1886-1973): a pioneering Trombonist, he developed the ‘tailgate style’ playing rhythmic lines underneath the trumpet & the cornet, propagating early Jazz !
SYDNEY BECHET (1897-1959): pioneered the use of SAX; a composer & a soloist, he inspired Louis Armstrong. His pioneering style got his name in the Down Beat Jazz Hall of Fame!
Louis Armstrong(1890-1971): was a trumpeter, singer and a great
improviser. Also as the First International Soloist took New Orleans music to the World!
% = After  America joined WW-I in 1917,  a Naval Order was issued to shutdown Storyville in order to check the spread of VD amongst sailors.
^ ’cribs”= cheap residential buildings where prostitutes rented rooms.
# "JASS" = originally an Africa-American slang meaning ‘***’ ! Born in the brothels of Storyville (New Orleans)  & the Jasmine perfumes used by the girls there; one visiting them was  said to be 'jassed-up' . Mischievous boys rubbed out the letter ‘J’ from posters outside announcing  "Live Jass Shows'', making it to read as ‘'Live *** Shows'’! So finally ‘ss’ of ‘jass’ got replaced by 'zz' of JAZZ .
DURING THE 1940s  STORYVILLE  WAS RAISED TO THE GROUND TO MAKE WAY FOR ‘IBERVILLE FEDERAL HOUSING PROJECT’ .
  *
ALL COPYRIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR : RAJ NANDY
Chapter XXI
Hegira to Patmos

They dropped their moorings from Cala Cogone early, when the tide seemed to be separated from the waters like a head distanced from its body. On a lavish and romantic day they went to Genoa, to continue the logistics of the trip to Piacenza. During the trip Etréstles was stretched out in the bow under a Sun that seemed to be fearsome as it was a digestive task that would make him ingest his own dream, which perhaps he aspired to be more than a journey. While he slept, at the helm Etréstles dressed in a black robe and the comrades also sleeping with dreams that they painted with sign gestures on their faces.

Dream of Etréstles: "With the memory off-center ..., I was still in Izzana, dancing by the clouds on gray tulles of the layers of the sky that tried to stop being a Kingdom without a Crown and Sword". They glimpsed the stones melting and turning into gauze juxtaposed to the aerosolites that unfolded from the Sorcery, landing on the hands and heads of Vernarth and Himself. As he continued his dreamy journey, he dialogued with the auxiliary legate of his own dream. “He tells her that he sees them beyond where their liturgies collide. They cross eroding the vanished and itinerant reason”. He gets up and takes the moorings of the ship and ties them to his neck. Then everyone cooperates to walk along the edge of the ship, which all moved barefoot. This is how I would wake up!

Vernarth tries to wake him up, shakes him, but doesn't wake up. And when he tried to avoid him from sleep, he saw that he had the moorings around his neck, along with two Unicorns who were escorting him and were looking towards infinity, auspicious that Genoa was already coming in front of their horns. The others began to wake up and ate reclining, almost as if without any desire to get up from the deck full of self-sliding linen, which allowed everyone to pass their own meals, including those that were semi-consumed rolling on the deck. Etréstles,  transferred the dream to Vernarth, once he went to his bedroom to rest before they touched the roadstead at the foot of the homonymous promontory, 36 km from Genoa.  Portofino, close to the hydro form of the Portofino Regional Natural Park.  Being able to find different entrance doors through S. Rocco, Portofino Vetta and Nozaregoino  that led you to paths with different levels of accessibility and landscape. On the route of the path that traveled from Northwest to Southwest on the same promontory, he received the full beauty of the Mediterranean vegetation, with its beautiful pines, bluish and clean waters of the Mediterranean, which filled his lungs and especially his stem, which silenced of peace to those who accompany you through this interesting and beautiful Natural Park with deep blue eyes.
Vernarth is wrapped with two layers of linen and stands in between eclipsing each of the Unicorns. They pass her horn through her pectoral, as if wanting to insinuate affection. But her propitiated gesture was to crown her with the Power of her phalanx, the impetus in Gaugamela, an Onyx Crown, to lighten the burden of sleep and wake up before reaching the shores of Genoa.
Calling in Genoa, they all descend in a separate part and say goodbye from afar, gesturing with their hands. Their ramblings revealed multi-level radiographs of the resolved aura that invited them to an enclave hostel, to re-enter the world of their daily chores. The Unicorns who would return back to Sardinia stayed on the ship that was in the blue bay. They positioned themselves at the bow one and at the stern the other, to lighten the sails and return to Izzana.

Vernarth and Etréstles walked with their bags, letting go of their feet towards La Via ** Settembre, they travel in an east-west direction, next to Corso Italia, the promenade that runs along the promenade, which is one of the favorite places to reform the destination of Piacenza. From this road they moved near the adjacent carriage station to the Caruggio neighborhood in Sottoripa. Here they entered an inn to eat and drink liqueurs made from natural herbal recipes and sweet citrus, some fish with bread, sauce and Genovés sourdough. to satisfy their hunger.
They had dinner and opened the exit to the terminal. Before, they went to the Ponte Monumentale where the church dedicated to Santa Rita is, called Iglesia de la Consolación, whose entrance, at the level of the old streets, is slightly lower than the current street. They pass a porch and enter. "Almost like a grand cloister sensation they perceived during their stay, as if centuries had passed, but which never ended in the wanderings of any secular period. It was the impression once entered and soaked on this road, which still remains active. From this original cloister, the invocation of images on the sides placed towards the church towards Via ** Settembre, as well as the closed portal in the market access plaza on Via Galata, recur, while the other two sides are they completed attractions to admire when the eastern market in Genoa appeared before them ”.

When they entered, the masks were passed over the bones of their faces, indulgent towards both faces of the visitors, under a freshness of gravitational atmospheric fragrance, perhaps from the connected baptismal font or the lateral nave or the three naves separated by square pillars illuminating them. This is where Vernarth places his right hand on his forehead and his mouth, as a sign of catechesis detached from The Vault, the central nave and the counter-facade that were painted in fresco in 1874 by Giuseppe Isola, after reading about the intertextual verifying thus Vernarth. (Visioni dell'Apocalisse, Gloria di Nostra Signora della Consolazione and Giuditta rientra trionfante in Betulia), while Etréstles frenziedly admitted the frescoes through the side aisles that are the work of Giovanni Quinzio at an angle close to him. Observing everything, he was already indoctrinating to reprint new vigor to enter Piacenza triumphantly and head to the Region of Patmos. Giuseppe Isola's fresco was the great motive that struck his reason for being where he was to continue the threads upon threads of his lineage as the great Commander of the troops of Gaugamela and his Phalanges. Here is the church in its first tune with the duty of limitlessness before its steps to dominions that will make it recover their powers, from where they were first seen dressing in the clothes of an innocent child.


In the apse, there was the choir singing baroque pieces, and followed by elaborate wooden stalls from the 17th century. In the Altars on the left, on the Fifth Altar, Etréstles, captures a simultaneous vision. From that moment when it was the disappearance of this Santa Maria della Pace church, which could have been one structure on top of the other, perhaps in ruins but if the columns could go further from where their originals are born. Until then both had separated from each other, and they would meet again here in the apse, where they never lose sight of each other again, to turn towards the exit that required them to leave the sacred precinct. In the terminal, a grayish float awaited them, with silver trim on the edges of the structure, at the top of the front roof it said "Where you must never go and be". It was just the transport of an allegorical float. They were theatrical traveling artists, who had places available for travelers to Piacenza. The one that they just approached to move to the home, where they had to register at their own will and rejoin this excellent session "Parapsychological Regression".The Trebbia valley, a few kilometers from Piacenza. Vernarth noted that a shaft of the chariot made a strange sound. To which he notified the driver, telling him what he caught on the rear axle of the carriage. They go down to inspect all; not being able to detect anything that it would suppose would be an anomaly of filming of the instrumental east. Etréstles sees that some steeds were grazing on some meadows and he tells them all. Vernarth warns him and immediately heads to them. It reaches only a sorrel that was running its tongue over its hoof. The others flee. Vernarth approaches, and notices that he had a wound in his left hoof, noticing that in the center there was a strip of Green color, He takes his leg, and examines it. He takes out his dagger and begins to remove the stake that was inserted into his damaged leg. The others were gone, restarting the trip to Piacenza. Etréstles managed to climb a steed, and followed him - The float remained without them supposedly to arrive safely at Piacenza. But at 5 km, before reaching the city they are struck by a lightning bolt from a sudden storm. What misdirects his route - the passengers were left intact, only fatally suffered the loss of the driver. (It was verified by Vernarth when he arrived at his home in Piacenza).   As  Vernarth rode fast in the storm, trying to catch up with the carriage. Stress them towards the same to reach their brother. They rode propagating the pastures that passed near the forests of Val Trebbia. When the storm intensified instantly, it was wise to take refuge and wait for the flood to decrease. They were always close to each other. Etréstles about 18 km from Vernarth, they did not know it, but the horses sensed each other. They already distinguished, that they were close to each other, but it was necessary to take care of the horse, and have to check its hoof again. He checks it and notices that it had a green stripe in the four parts, like a pigment already placed concentrically in the middle of each hoof.


Ellipses Gaugamela - Final War
Vernarth bids farewells farewell. Once the Achaemenides are surrendered, he prepares to review them. Walk with Alikanto across the ****** plain. Reviewing his five hundred dead and three thousand wounded, he goes to recirculate in the footsteps of the attack, manages to see lead as a sentinel gathered wounded horses, but not serious. He approaches him and says Khaire; asking what unit they came from. He tells them of the Hosts of the command of Hefestion. The sentinel tells him, that he was enraptured by the fact before his eyes to see that all the horses of the line of Hefestion, Alexander the Great and Vernarth, to fascinate him that they had a green stripe on his left hoof. Wedge riders are formed, lining up the stable, towards the court of the guards and Macedonian monarchs. She dismounts from Alikanto and checks the chestnut trees, managing to insinuate that it could be Medea's ploy of the smiling charm towards her Hetairoi dancers, whose elite had bracelets on each leg on each chestnut. Also with the offensive weapon, they acted as the Macedonian's personal guard. Vernarth recalled that, before starting the offensive, with his blessed Xifos he inflicted light wounds on the left foot of his Phalanges in the act of "overtaking them before being stained by the enemy"

Vernarth says: Here is the cavalry that has received so much praise for «hammer» in the strategies, because it crushed the enemy units retained by the «anvil» or the «phalanx» that I had to command and lead the charge, intoning the riders. And even more the circumcisions that he gave them before entering combat. With the Hetairoi I was organizing squadrons of 200 to 300 soldiers, while they were checking the chestnut trees. In the campaign, they would ride the best horses, ******* or on the blanket, they were awarded the best weapons available. Each carried his long throwing spear Xyston, accompanied by a Kopis sword, for hand-to-hand combat, which in the interlude would defend his flax and bronze breastplate, with respective protective armbands and helmet, before lightly tackling his aggression . The horses were also partially protected, but not their hooves! I gave them the final instruction by decree to take them to the altarpieces and attend to them, so that they check their left hoof.Thus giving signs of great concern about the green stripe on each of its left hooves. Sentinel Hetairoi, with some of his servants, gather the animals and transport them where they have been ordered to tend and examine them. As the designs collapse over the night in gloomy litanies, Medea bursts into a great green outfit saying:

Medea: Vernarth, rancid are on my memory the potions and designs of those who want to talk about me or offer me in their lust.Where the zeal of anxiety deceives the wishful arms that welcome the victorious pleasure. Hooves are my skeptics and famous decisions, because I am weak in will but not in character. Green is the pouring of my converted powers into the veins of the horses. They were carriers in their eloquent ferocity. Instead of blood, I had sap from the magic vessels that I transferred to them so as not to doubt the doubts. Their object is that a green band was encased in their hooves as a sign of the Hipnos promontory through their Son Clovis, to plunge all the forests of the raging underworld, towards the heart of each "Valiant Hetairoi".


Outside ellipsis / near Piacenza
Vernarth and Etréstles in a post-storm clearing, a soft breeze greets them and they meet again, they greet Khaire! And together they reroute to the empty pastures, which would gradually begin to venture them through the farthest forests of the Val Trebbia. On some brown plains with poor colors that visited him falling as they faded on his mirage. From this unusual crossroads they will supremely perceive the closeness of Piacenza in their breathing.
Now they are in the vicinity of the Cimitero de Piaceza. Then they will have to go home on the Via Giovanni Codagnello, on the calendar of January 2020. The Parapsychological Regression continues.


Piacenza Cemetery, January 20, 2020
Vernarth and Etréstles entered the necropolis long before sunset. They were carrying a cake to celebrate Vernarth's birthday. Night Patrol joined the visit. In particular, they followed a night watch service that was active, trusting their guide Piacenza or the surrounding area, with 3 internal night patrol passages 365 days a year, for the rest of lives beyond all material life, perhaps turned into marble statues.
They hired a special service dedicated to the approved service for 2 people .; They were active during the caretaker's office opening hours (the same opening hours as the cemetery). With this service they overcame difficulties to walk after so much traveling. They leave the green-hoofed horses, now turned into statues. They request authorization from the entrance cemetery offices, to honor their belonging and to please those who visit them on their behalf. In Genoa, after having passed through the exterior without entering, they were ecstatic with the Staglieno Cemetery in Genoa (the most monumental in Italy).But if they enter the Piacenza, where the sanitary monumentality passed through the real function of such an enclosure in the contingency. It was commented by the neighboring offices that the migration of corpses from Bergamos were moved to Modena, Acqui Terme, Domodossola, Parma, Piacenza to carry out the respective ceremonies. Due to the great Viral Pandemic that decimated a great majority of Italian citizens in these areas. Vernarth became aware of the current reality, saw how a gravedigger conversed with the crowds, there was a nurse, a doctor and a prodigal man who concentrated on uploading moods to those who were there, almost like a caster, to relieve them of this transitory despite humanity.
They continue past the pyramidal pines, to the central pavilion. They sit on the edge of some flagstones, and take the cake to celebrate their birthday. They sing a hymn and they both enjoy it lovingly. Etréstles saw that he had a little cream left on his nose and cheekbone, running his hand to remove it. In the instant, the guard calls them; it was time to go because it was time to close the compound. They say goodbye with a monumental hug paying tribute to their brother!


Etréstles says: Honors Vernarth, for your immeasurable Valor! It is a great contribution that we divide our work and commitments. From here I go to the Messolonghi Cemetery. I will only wait for the crescent moon to meet the Charioteer, then leave with him and my beloved Drestnia. My Xifos Sword in my right hand and the head that I cut off in my left hand, in Gaugamela before that rugged fate! Khaire, My honors Commander Etréstles!. It remains in the shadow of some pyramidal pine trees of this sublime night, and then they distance themselves. Vernarth leaves the compound heading towards his house relatively close to the cemetery, on the Via Giovanni Codagnello.


Final session in Vía Codagnello, Piacenza:
Vernarth enters opens the door and everyone is waiting for him. Huge groups of friends, work colleagues, family, their pets, and especially the Parapsychologist, who had commanded this whole great session. They all approach her and in the instant, Vernarth awakes abruptly from the parapsychological session. They stabilize it and check your vital signs. There were many days of this odyssey. His awakening was mediatic, since they were attentive to him to question him and confess everything, but he was clear that his purpose would lead him to the confines of Patmos along with Raeder and Petrobus. It remained only to wait for the tenuity of a simple immortal warrior to assist in the services of John the Evangelist. The parapsychologist says you have to wake up, you can no longer be AND stay here in this temporary tube!
Once he has refused to wake up, he takes the itinerary to return to Macedonia. The visibly worn and stunned parapsychologist demands that he give up and obey his command. The effort was unproductive, only letting himself be carried by the grip of his right hand, taking his other with great vigor to remove it from shamelessness, from whom he does not suppress his pride to who still remains wounded by the swords that bleed his soul in Gaugamela. "Everyone is amazed and resigned !, pointing out that he must have always been in the surroundings of his beloved Macedonia, cutting the bursts of succulent insolence on the same temperate cliffs, where some variation of the sounds of the wind would make him saddle his Alikanto to acclaim the gods who came looking for him ”

Vernarth is engulfed in ambivalence, almost celebrating his birthday and waking up from his parapsychological journey. Both will take place, but the session will continue irrevocably. After a few days close to the first day of the crescent moon, he greeted him from a privileged place on his house Etréstles de Kalavrita who was with the Charioteer in his car and Drestnia, they went in that masterful car to join the chores of the Koumetrium Messolonghi (Editorial Palibrio - USA) .So returning to Messolonghi, to meet his disciples and essences of the foundation of his naturalness.


Hegira to Patmos
On a gray day in July 1820. Piacenza slept under the ambush of the revolution, in Italy there was a situation similar to that of another European nation. Vernarth was preparing his last details with the parapsychologist, to undertake his Hegira to Patmos, since he was a revolutionary and this was of great motivation to emigrate from this constant stage of Wars and sociopolitical processes. Manage to be a participant in this revolt in the Piedmont area. Its ideological axes were liberalism and nationalism. Given that the most affected countries were those of southern Europe (episodes from other areas, such as Germany or France, were much less important), with Spain as epicenter of a movement that extended to Italy and Portugal, and on the other hand Greece; It has been called the Mediterranean cycle as opposed to the Atlantic cycle that had preceded it in the previous generation (the first liberal revolutions or bourgeois revolutions, produced on both sides of the ocean: the Independence of the United States -1776- and the French Revolution -1789- ). As compromised great principalities of much of Europe were banned, it participates in great dissolution of collisions and invasions that involved it. In this way he would liberate his Homeland, especially his province of Piacenza.

Although the "Kingdom of Italy" as such did not exist, there were two great kingdoms that participated in the Revolutions of 1820: the Kingdom of Naples and the Kingdom of Piedmont. However, most of the revolutionary movements were driven by secret societies, such as coal. The Kingdom of Piedmont was also one of the most affected, since it was at the epicenter of Italian nationalism. It was controlled by Víctor Manuel I, member of the House of Savoy and defender of the Old Regime. The monarch had only been on the throne for 6 years, since he returned to Turin in 1814 due to the defeat of Napoleon. Since his return, various factions within the country advocated for a unification of all the Italian kingdoms. The unstable situation of its neighbor, the Kingdom of Naples, caused the carbonarians within Piedmont to revolt in March 1821.

Conclusive Hegira ellipsis to Patmos:
After this great conflict, he orders his parapsychologist to resume his final session in Patmos; he begins the procedure for the era that he had to trespass anachronistically, returning to the era of the Macedonian Empire. The parapsychologist asks him time, place, dates, clothing, customs, and manages to meet his request. He enters the portal, and in the backwaters of Messolonghi he meets Raeder and Petrobus. They were close to this heroic land, Messolonghi in the Gulf of Patras, the capital of Aetolia-Acarnania. Nothing less than in the land of his Brother Etréstles "Koumeterium Messolonghi".


"They all approach the vicinity, pray three times to heaven, and manage to be abducted to the underworld of Messolonghi. When they were snooping through the catacombs, they make out the surroundings of a luminous vault, thus distinguishing a woman passing by with others. It was the beautiful nymph Eurydice inaugurating The Constitution of a new Government”.
Eurydice and the gravediggers worked for the new government to be instituted. They were reviewing the last ground plans that converged on the tenth cemetery.
Eurydice ...: with the absence of Etréstles and Drestnia we will make her awakening continue, whose awakening phase closely relates to her wife.
Grave ...: Where do we start?
Eurydice ...: by the southwestern statue of Ashurbanipal, to pay tribute to Botsaris. Then, we will go up to receive the cordoned off tomb of Bramante and Ghiberti, so that the latter can advise us regarding the work to be erected.
They climb the northeast pavilion to the foundations of a mausoleum. They approach the slab of Ghiberti, who was loosening his fingers, sitting on the shore of a Pyramid-shaped cypress. Bramante vanished into the gray beams of light...

Ghiberti ...: I already know your mission. I am summoned to the Council on the day of the sailors' return. To start, they went to the mines to look for precious stones, stones to build Markos Botsaris.
Eurydice ...: Good! Well, in nine moons and nine suns they will return from the coasts of Morocco, the last docking point, so that they can then return. At the moment they are already warned.
Just back, there was a Lover with her right hand holding her chin.

Inamorada In Love ...: Five centuries ago I awaited my awakening, my lover promised to return ... with these verses...:
"I want to be different,
I want to take you my love...
and tell you that by missing you
there is no greater sadness than not seeing you ...
Forgive me for not coming back...
before my absence caused your death,
Wait for me ... I'm going to tell you ... how I miss you
Along with my immortality of feeling...!  How I miss you...!!

... He still tells me this, but from here, under the embankment of the cemetery I feel that he is far away and I can do nothing. Also, I have it in my memory and one day we will meet here. The Enamorada continues to sit and watch armies of soldiers being thrown into graves, their bodies severed. As she continues; ... there is more life here than on the surface, and the trenches replace the concave wombs, as vessels! As everything here lives, even the flowing and hallucinatory invocations are perceived from the Poets, Alchemists and Astronomers. They make the invisible go in a formidable adventure to the site of their magical hallucinations.
Eurydice ...: Stay on your stone, with your chiffon dress; here you will see the arrival of Etréstles. He will bring news from other lands to answer you. Now dispense if we delay, sadness will fall on the other beings who are being buried and transhumated. The Enamorada remained on the stone with her knees resting on her chest. Eurydice and her assistants went to their rooms. "
All this they manage to witness, and then go in search of Etréstles on the same tenth cemetery floor. Raeder and Petrobus were laughing and at the same time they were impressed, as if wanting to remember him when they have to leave directly from Messolonghi to Patmos, towards the Dodecanese region. In the meantime Vernarth was searching for his brother in all the nearby areas of the catacombs flashing penetrating light, unable to find him. He arrives at the ninth cemetery and is fascinated by a feminine image that would seem like a phantasmagorical chimera ..., it was Drestnia moistening some ferns on some crypts making gestures to see them already grown, even if they had just been planted...!

They approach her intimacy and ask her greetings, Drestnia answers them abstractedly that Etréstles traveled to Patmos to applaud the maiden ceremonies that would be wed in the spring in the nearby meadows. Being able to settle in The Monastery of Zoodochos Pigi, and who later went to the hills of Castelli, as it has been known that everything has been celebrated on a hill that many hundreds of years ago has sheltered our historical fragrances in the unity of the ethereal until the present. Such ruins among some works as well as the Temple of Apollo that will continue to survive with its prevailing mystery not revealed.
Etréstles gives them their congratulations and wraps his arms around Drestnia. They evacuate the cemetery, remaining abstracted in the internal darkness of the catacombs with fewer lights than a feasible twilight of darkness, as if immediately leaving Etréstles to be with him in the spring, shedding light on herself taking them to the Castelli hills, which they would figure in the sweetened exaltation of the pollinations of the nymphs on the maternal and ****** maidens.

They go out and spread their impulses over the promontory of the Koumeterium of Messolonghi with Raeder and Petrobus on Raeder's shoulders. Vernarth invoked the north with her staff where Alikanto would appear with her hooves with greenish stripes.

Raeder says:  Let's go. On those warm currents to follow we will not unite you Vernarth. Smiling, the fantastic boy danced, forming figures that enlivened him to hold on to the legs of Petrobus. They both stared at Vernarth and raised high above the warm clouds. Beneath the Messolonghi miniature, she had Vernarth's sights on them; she was putting reins and her Hoplite tunic, to mount Alikanto. He looks around and makes a big sign to Raeder to follow him to where he was, they suspend themselves and manage to go back to the highest mass of misty airs that would take them against the clock towards Patmos to meet Saint John and Etréstles.
HEGIRA TO PATMOS  /  COPYRIGHT
Simon Oct 2019
Like probability. Fate exhibits the constraints to a more tolerable atmosphere at heart. The heart of an atmosphere, is the atmosphere functioning with a heart. Completely one sided. Never admitting who’s mentions are who. Whose opinions mattered the absolute most. Options become tiresome. Tolerable frequencies through pure hearts devoted without contract to inner self awareness. Prompting the judgment of what atmosphere has over the heart of the problem. There are problems within hearts? WHAT!! Contrary to the balance of symmetries without depth. Hearts full of many brimming effects. Only determined to sending out there resume for better times. And which one is disclosing from the standard developments rotting the better picture into ruin? Pictures printed with resumes aren’t fruitful. When dynamics in the surface, isn’t comparable to challenge. Challenge lays claims to birthing the right focus. Take charge! Listen carefully to directions! What does that all haft to do with fate being exiled? It doesn’t. Well, not conclusively anyway. Fate is a thought manufactured behind the scenes. It won’t show it’s face directly. Too imposed in everyone else’s business. A directive with no claim in its heart. An atmosphere unsocialized with parts never discovering inner desires. Concluding fate never trusting itself. Fate exiled… Means to test one’s own claims of basic will. The hint is why does fate act? Rather then think the way it’s acting? Could simply be a perspective too old for the majority to classify broadly about. Justifications rise and fall. Birthing the right assorting facts, isn’t a focus. It’s diverging away. Imprints full of empty reassurance. Concluding something different in a basic platform the majority concentrates on. Fate just stands taller than the rest. Filtering all unsuspecting protocols from the inside out. Propagating pressure with insolence. Insolence flowing in-between the rough exteriors of right and wrong. Abiding time for another surface. Triggering the inside out dynamics at large. A picture finally noticing a part of itself without deciphering what complexes itself apart from the others. All this is a much-discovered piece of evidence. But it lacks companionship. No light or dark. A patronage not as diverse as the one heeding influences out with a weapon changing velocities around left and right. Pieces of quietness is an illusion. The surface being what it is. Underneath is where fate discloses further information completely. It’s weapon of probability is just that. A surface area too big for noticing details in itself. Rather picking others to commune a wishing sentence. Hinting at probability being a fake! There isn’t probability in the logical area of flat platforms without big thinking specifics. It’s all hogwash! Fate determines exilement to rush the borderline potential awareness of others. Except that’s probability maneuvering as a mask in the light. Tricking typical surface dwellers in an area too complex for delusional purposes. Even it’s claims are full of doubt. So why does everyone bounce from one flaw to the next? Practicing what it means to put one step after the other. Exercising doubt completely as a waypoint to a better tomorrow. More like a fruitful one-minute moment of standards too gray for focuses to admit. (Tricking won’t get you anywhere, if your full of bland statements.) An assertive quote straight from someone who exiles themselves onto others for practices into the next benign claims. Resumes with a statement that’s only delusional to what tricking isn’t. Showing you exile is the right future for an atmosphere with a heart. Which functions its heart towards the atmosphere. Switches in claims divert the true knowledge around in circles. So, who is fate, exactly? What possibly could they decide amongst themselves for the better future to the surface area of majorities? Try flipping yourself inside out. You might just want to write (Exile) on the permission slip of your own determined mark. Welcome to your identity in exile!
Fate claiming its own rights to act for itself, rather then wanting to break down others interpretations completely. Exiling every piece of information in one’s heart forever! A trick amongst claims.
People say they want to try
to fix the World's problems,
yet few do more than simply imply
that the Symptoms are the problem;

We need to stop simply treating Symptoms
and begin again to seek the Source;
only then can we begin to progress
and begin again to Harmonize.

But they don't really want that;
you see, they like the World's problems:
Perhaps they see it as Vindication
for propagating their vitriolic Dogmas.
Perhaps they seek to seize control
of Earth and her Inhabitants,
or perhaps they seek to establish
lucrative business contracts.

In any case, it seems to me to be the case
that they'd have stopped some problems, just in case;
that is, if the case was that they truly and earnestly sought to:

The World's Problems ensure future Business
for the Military-Industrial Complex.

The World's Problems enure future Business
for the Pharmaceutical-Industrial Complex.

The World's Problems ensure future Business
for the Disedification-Industrial Complex.

The World's Problems ensure future Business
for Banks, Demagogues, Tyrants, Corporations and Thieves
(sometimes all are one in the same!)
-
We need to stop dwelling upon the Symptoms
and do something about the ******* Source;
It's about time we, as Humans, stood up to this; our Wretched System,
for precisely the same ideals it so facetiously claims:

Justice, Equality,
Freedom, Liberty,
Tranquility, Solidarity,
Opportunity, Prosperity;

We have strayed.
We have been betrayed.
We are being played:
We should be ******* irate.

Irate, and yet Calm.
Non-violent, yet resisting:

Civil Disobedience is a Virtue
in a World such as This.
Civil Disobedience is a Symptom
of a World such as This.
The IRS, King George and United States Connection

 

1. The IRS is not a U.S. Government Agency. It is an Agency of the IMF. (Diversified Metal Products v. IRS et al. CV-93-405E-EJE U.S.D.C.D.I., Public Law 94-564, Senate Report 94-1148 pg. 5967, Reorganization Plan No. 26, Public Law 102-391.) <p> </p> 2. The IMF is an Agency of the UN. (Blacks Law Dictionary 6th Ed. Pg. 816) <p> </p> 3. The U.S. Has not had a Treasury since 1921. (41 Stat. Ch.214 pg. 654) <p> </p> 4. The U.S. Treasury is now the IMF. (Presidential Documents Volume 29-No.4 pg. 113, 22 U.S.C. 285-288) <p> </p> 5. The United States does not have any employees because there is no longer a United States. No more reorganizations. After over 200 years of operating under bankruptcy its finally over. (Executive Order 12803) Do not personate one of the creditors or share holders or you will go to Prison.18 U.S.C. 914 <p> </p> o wait theres more <p> </p> 6. The FCC, CIA, FBI, NASA and all of the other alphabet gangs were never part of the United States government. Even though the "US Government" held shares of stock in the various Agencies. (U.S. V. Strang , 254 US 491, Lewis v. US, 680 F.2d, 1239) <p> </p> <p>"SOCIAL SECURITY FRAUD!! SSI was made to monetize the soul of every human being</p> and to think it didnt even exist until 1935 and ratified by congress in 1936 well we pay homeage to private corporations and to think we live under this illusion called "freedom" <p> </p> 7. Social Security Numbers are issued by the UN through the IMF. The Application for a Social Security Number is the SS5 form. The Department of the Treasury (IMF) issues the SS5 not the Social Security Administration. The new SS5 forms do not state who or what publishes them, the earlier SS5 forms state that they are Department of the Treasury forms. You can get a copy of the SS5 you filled out by sending form SSA-L996 to the SS Administration. (20 CFR chapter 111, subpart B 42 2.103 (b) (2) (2) Read the cites above) <p> </p> 8. There are no Judicial courts in America and there has not been since 1789. Judges do not enforce Statutes and Codes. Executive Administrators enforce Statutes and Codes. (FRC v. GE 281 US 464, Keller v. PE 261 US 428, 1 Stat. 138-178) <p> </p> 9. There have not been any Judges in America since 1789. There have just been Administrators. (FRC v. GE 281 US 464, Keller v. PE 261 US 428 1Stat. 138-178) <p> </p> 10. According to the GATT you must have a Social Security number. House Report (103-826) <p> </p> 11. We have One World Government, One World Law and a One World Monetary System. <p> </p> <p>12. The UN is a One World Super Government.</p> 13. No one on this planet has ever been free. This planet is a Slave Colony. There has always been a One World Government. It is just that now it is much better organized and has changed its name as of 1945 to the United Nations. <p> </p> 14. New York City is defined in the Federal Regulations as the United Nations. Rudolph Gulliani stated on C-Span that "New York City was the capital of the World" and he was correct. (20 CFR chapter 111, subpart B 422.103 (b) (2) (2) <p> </p> 15. Social Security is not insurance or a contract, nor is there a Trust Fund. (Helvering v. Davis 301 US 619, Steward Co. V. Davis 301 US 548.) <p> </p> 16. Your Social Security check comes directly from the IMF which is an Agency of the UN. (Look at it if you receive one. It should have written on the top left United States Treasury.) <p> </p> 17. You own no property, slaves can't own property. Read the Deed to the property that you think is yours. You are listed as a Tenant. (Senate Document 43, 73rd Congress 1st Session) <p> </p> 18. The most powerful court in America is not the United States Supreme Court but, the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania. (42 Pa.C.S.A. 502) <p> </p> <p>19. The Revolutionary War was a fraud. See (22, 23 and 24)</p> <p>20. The King of England financially backed both sides of the Revolutionary war. (Treaty at Versailles July 16, 1782, Treaty of Peace 8 Stat 80)</p> ...and as history repeats itself, Prescott Bush, father of George HW Bush and grandfather of George W. Bush, funded both sides of World War II. The Bush family have been traitors to the American citizens for decades. <p> </p> "Sarah, if the American people had ever known the truth about what we Bushes have done to this nation, we would be chased down in the streets and lynched." <p> </p> George Bush Senior speaking in an interview with Sarah McClendon in December 1992 <p> </p> 21. You can not use the Constitution to defend yourself because you are not a party to it. (Padelford Fay & Co. v. The Mayor and Alderman of The City of Savannah 14 Georgia 438, 520) <p> </p> 22. America is a British Colony. (THE UNITED STATES IS A CORPORATION, NOT A LAND MASS AND IT EXISTED BEFORE THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR AND THE BRITISH TROOPS DID NOT LEAVE UNTIL 1796.) Respublica v. Sweers 1 Dallas 43, Treaty of Commerce 8 Stat 116, The Society for Propagating the Gospel, &c.; V. New Haven 8 Wheat 464, Treaty of Peace 8 Stat 80, IRS Publication 6209, Articles of Association October 20, 1774.) <p> </p> <p>IRSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS</p> 25. A 1040 form is for tribute paid to Britain. (IRS Publication 6209) <p> </p> 26. The Pope claims to own the entire planet through the laws of conquest and discovery. (Papal Bulls of 1455 and 1493) <p> </p> 27. The Pope has ordered the genocide and enslavement of millions of people.(Papal Bulls of 1455 and 1493) <p> </p> 28. The Popes laws are obligatory on everyone. (Bened. XIV., De Syn. Dioec, lib, ix., c. vii., n. 4. Prati, 1844)(Syllabus, prop 28, 29, 44) <p> </p> 29. We are slaves and own absolutely nothing not even what we think are our children. (Tillman v. Roberts 108 So. 62, Van Koten v. Van Koten 154 N.E. 146, Senate Document 43 & 73rd Congress 1st Session, Wynehammer v. People 13 N.Y. REP 378, 481) <p> </p> <p>30. Military Dictator George Washington divided the States (Estates) into Districts. (Messages and papers of the Presidents Vo 1, pg 99. Websters 1828 dictionary for definition of Estate.)</p>

ill be back for more peace n blessing folks

 

31. " The People" does not include you and me. (Barron v. Mayor & City Council of Baltimore. 32 U.S. 243)

 

32. The United States Government was not founded upon Christianity. (Treaty of Tripoli 8 Stat 154.)

33. It is not the duty of the police to protect you. Their job is to protect the Corporation and arrest code breakers. Sapp v. Tallahasee, 348 So. 2nd. 363, Reiff v. City of Philadelphia, 477 F.Supp. 1262, Lynch v. N.C. Dept of Justice 376 S.E. 2nd. 247.

 

34. Everything in the "United States" is For Sale: roads, bridges, schools, hospitals, water, prisons airports etc. I wonder who bought Klamath lake. Did anyone take the time to check? (Executive Order 12803)

 

35. We are Human capital. (Executive Order 13037)

 

36. The UN has financed the operations of the United States government for over 50 years and now owns every man, women and child in America. The UN also holds all of the Land in America in Fee Simple.

 

37. The good news is we don't have to fulfill "our" fictitious obligations. You can discharge a fictitious obligation with another's fictitious obligation.

 

38. The depression and World War II were a total farce. The United States and various other companies were making loans to others all over the World during the Depression. The building of Germanys infrastructure in the 1930's including the Railroads was financed by the United States. That way those who call themselves "Kings," "Prime Ministers," and "Furor."etc could sit back and play a game of chess using real people. Think of all of the Americans, Germans etc. who gave their lives thinking they were defending their Countries which didn't even exist. The millions of innocent people who died for nothing. Isn't it obvious why Switzerland is never involved in these fiascoes? That is where the "Bank of International Settlements"is located.Wars are manufactured to keep your eye off the ball. You have to have an enemy to keep the illusion of "Government" in place.

 

39. The "United States" did not declare Independence from Great Britian or King George.

40. Guess who owns the UN?

Like
Olivia Kent Sep 2013
Tiny blue flowers that spread like wild fire.
Self propagating they truly are.
Trust in me.
When in your wild garden frontage they appear.
Always hold me dear.
No fear.
Vagrant angel.
Fear not to ever tread.
Destroy not the images I left painted in your head.
Whenever those images enters your eyes.
You shall ever remember me.
And ever want me more.
In a subtle heart beat you will remember.
Your sparkling angel.
Filigree wings bonded.
Tied tight until released until you set me free.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Ari Dec 2011
OM
Om
In The Beginning
Sound
needed a medium
for dissemination
space and time
was born.
As I sleep sitting cross legged I know these things to be Truth.
All things consist of matter
matter of molecules
molecules of atoms
atoms of  atomic particles
atomic particles of subatomic particles
subatomic particles composed of strings
yes strings
the vibrations of strings at certain resonant frequencies --
Sound
I’m referring to Sound --
accounts for the creation of all things
all things composed of matter --
I matter You matter --
and Sound is the variation of pressure waves propagating through matter
through You, and Me, We
are hereby beings of Sound
Per-Son
Earth, Sun
the birth hum permeates us all
all things soak in the amniotic ocean of Sound
it is the background, the foreground, before Sound
was Silence
Silence is the antithesis of hissing existence sibilance is diametrically opposed to nothingness antimatter to matter in an asymmetrical universe.
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there as witness, it still fell and the timbre transpired, to be
is not to be seen, perception exists within existence
Real is a three inch wide magnetized Mobius Strip spinning counterclockwise in a corroding
centrifuge of perception carbon dated to The Beginning
and The Beginning occurs every second
in an umbrella opening in a firestorm
the collision of soapy bubbles
clay in a snow kiln
uranium decaying
a sari being wrapped
the chopping of wood
ice capped volcanoes
an oily rainbow
the exposure of negatives
the grinding of coffee beans
a cobra swaying
You can charm a cobra by biting an apple
the blur of sweat and palms on stretched animal skins
congas bongos tablas djembes tom toms snares timpani
hands at warp speeds in an innate rhythm inundating time
four four two four four three seven eight twelve o’clock
what is time to Sound but a permanent witching hour for feet to frenzy?
each stomp a falling star that sears a crater, each crater a subwoofer for the Earth’s movements
Sound is time being rendered elastic
quantized digitized equalized filtered phased distorted compressed processed
time has been tamed
fast forwarded paused rewound slow motioned skipped
from one timeline to another, Sound is the de-lineation of time
the unraveling of space the curling of dimensions dementia in rhyme
minds are traveling back to the present, pre sent from the future, the future has passed
We are light, massed
night is just another shadow our auras cast
mating calls
jarred halos
woodwinds in an airlock
disemboweled factories
pyramids of electric chairs
pipelines in the desert
grief slumped shoulders
paper lanterns in a whirlpool
poems read in darkness
laughs sobs shrieks cries cackles yelps howls laughs whimpers
worlds ending with a BANG
an infinite piece quantum philharmonic orchestra clamoring to be heard over the revolution of the spheres
We sing
reverberating to replace Saturn’s rings
every single note a secret love letter passed ear to ear read instantly
all sounds converging to singularity
an accretive disc of sonic entropy spinning around one point
all We have left to do is drop the needle
call
and let the response cascade into us
Chain Gang of the Universe swinging old ***** spirituals
the momentum of our pulsing song accelerates beyond relativity
the amplitude of our vibration transmits from soul to womb
each newborn tongue blessed with a honeyed Om
My son, Your daughter, I taught her, You taught him
and now they can play cat’s cradle with their strings
tap dance on quarks and make fiddlesticks sing
So even now the Rabbis sing
Hear O Israel, the Lord is Sound…
As I sleep sitting cross legged I know this Truth to be all things.
Om
every day there's millions propagating*
propagating young for human survival
survival of mankind lies in future births
births fertile by score sheet number

these cherished gems a large bounty
bounty of potential covering the earth
earth requires them to also populate
populate with treasures of life

the expiring old replaced by the new
new vitality bequeathed on our planet
planet replenished in fresh living beings
*beings fecund of breeding's line
jonchius Sep 2015
entering year 2000
rewinding vhs tape
installing napster client
anticipating victorious gore
bursting dot-com bubble
blocking tomorrow's nostalgia
commemorating festival tragedy
examining supersonic concorde
watching election coverage
recounting inconvenient truths
puzzling interface design
booing nuc-u-lar president

rising black monolith
editing non-linear encyclopedia
feeling inaugurally bushed
reliving century's dawn
unchanging state flag
processing royal massacre
escaping insane asylum
sensing impending collapse
perusing city guide
collapsing contemporary structures
initiating quixotic peacekeeping
ignoring conscription threats

entering year 2002
reporting unfortunate pearl
relaxing shotgun porch
exploding roadside bombs
addressing thousand followers
hugging financial meltdown
writing resembling skylines
shocking archipelagic bursts
processing theatrical disaster
tightening homeland security

entering year 2003
proliferating elegant telegnosis
rejecting freedom fries
blazing wartime trails
toppling dictatorial statue
unfurling "mission accomplished"
handling continental blackout
ejecting coronal masses

entering year 2004
flashing multiple sobriquets
populating dorm-roomy website
high-grossing aramaic movie
generating tunnel vision
rushing national anthem
parading goth athletes
letting games begin
accepting soviet passports
continuing obscure flumadiddle
lunar-eclipsing world series
two-terming republican regime
declining personality cult
glowing orange revolution
eroding periglacial drumlins
inundating lacustrine basins
exciting geomorphological processes
enduring tumultuous tsunami

entering year 2005
blasting "galvanize" repeatedly
unforgiving cyclonic scenario
printing controversial drawing
sketching cartoon prophet
overturning hurricane alphabet
rigging medal count
preparing new horizons
rejecting flash sites

entering year 2006
setting plutonian destination
synchronizing new horizons
sighting stellar foison
maintaining feudal system
emerging microblogging service
reading ancient tweets
rotating golden statue
mounting social debt
protesting planetary demotion
forecasting catastrophic recession
executing "innocent" dictator

entering year 2007
declining share prices
building ruby railroad
lifting presidential term-limits
perpetuating oil-rich dictatorships
falling interstate bridge
slugging giant bonds
clothing blackwater mercenaries
disappearing internet personalities
unforgiving writers strike

entering year 2008
stealing variable thunders
relaxing domain names
letting games continue
exploding sunrise propane
requesting birth certificate
electing another suit
disappointing orthodox republicans
microblogging maximal meltdown

entering year 2009
inaugurating new president
encountering bear markets
cackling risible laughter
dying pop king
deleting neolithic internet

entering year 2010
collapsing presidential palace
prospering cinematic avatar
pronouncing eyjafjallajökull effortlessly
"kettling riot police
flaming cop cruiser"
blasting text-based vuvuzelas
leaking diplomatic cables
fading pre-twitter memories
self-immolating street vendor

entering year 2011
"enervating nine-point quake
propagating harbor wave
inundating nuclear plant
irradiating unclear fates"
raging mid-eastern spring
throwing body asea
locating trojan asteroid
penetrating financial throughfare
resonating oral amplifier
blazing verdant material

entering year 2012
rising chubby dictator
gentrifying weird twitter
exploding next month
intriguing "fake" passport
proliferating single-hued avatars
surging sandy cyclone
inhabiting alternate universe
manipulating another election
rigging people's ballots
perpetuating manipulated world
fulfilling megalomaniac urges
surviving previous apocalypse
surviving another baktun

entering year 2013
descending rogue meteor
encoding festival weekend
obfuscating's very own
approving snow den
searching yaya island
soaking wet veld

entering year 2014
missing plane geometry?
annexing peninsular territory
printing powdered medication
forecasting meteoric boomtime
prevailing monochromatic identity
avoiding aviation accidents
determining auspicious date
revising deactivation plans
reliving years 2000-2014
JAM May 2015
Hello, allow me to introduce myself.
My name is Jocund, The Gardener.
Living lucid, a fellow mind traveler.

That’s kind of like a chill Childe wanderer
Of the flowing forest floor,
Feathered cotton or greening words
On the wind unravel-er;
Gone’a’wandering in untraveled soils,
A seed settler.

Tragedy left my face sneer metered,
Mouth stretched sideways,
Toothy as a dumb grinning jester.

Yearning to make one stupid gesture,
So you’ll see I’m not too interested in being above or lesser.
Just on a mission,
Learning how to be both student and teacher:

Drawing abyssal blueprints,
Joining the disillusioned,
Describing a dynamic curriculum
And coding oaths like Odin’s to bind Cosmic-Woden’s
--Mr. Omnipotent to us rodents—undying reticulum.


Re-programmed to generate runic music
Nomenclature shaped in the underlying resonating
That is every particle operating in unison.

So I'm riding the chronicled-Euclidean space-time continuum
Of balance known to us as equilibrium,
And can you feel me breathing?

It’s the giving and taking and pushing and pulling of gravity propagating,
Bending light under and rending sight of what will be and what has been.

Oh well,
[Where], (when), {how} I am is what matters most to me.

“Jinkies!”
“What is it Velma?!”
“I think that’s Relativity.”

So, speaking relatively
I’d rather deduce from what’s relevant to me,
Lather rinse and reduce the divine to dust in the winds of time,
And maybe see the truth behind {who}, [what], (why) I’m-

[{assburgian]}: high functioning and genius,
Mumbling, s-st-stutterin', tic tic-ing and tremblin’.
it's ****-chilling and tedious.

But wait! There’s more.

{(Bipolar}): slightly manic, and comically dramatic.
Severely depressed and in a silent panic.
Practically sleepless, it’s fairly fantastic.
My memory I mean,
If all my senses witness a scene
The info is sealed within me perfectly,
Perceptually and verbally,
Non-mutational, stability.

In the short term, unfortunately,
My focus is overloaded with scenery
Of bullies, abusers, and over-users.
It’s misery listening to scratched records on repeat,
Immune to wrecking.
For that I thank my ([ADHD)]: predominately inattentive
Wtih dsylixea, definitive alcoholism, drug addiction, and the list goes on.
So yeah, I’m on the spectrum, I’m a functional positron.

“That guy’s *******, He can’t even act right.
He’s emotionless, a mindless robot.
There’s no empathy in that golem.
That ugly alien’ll never be like you or me,
He’s clueless, aloof and downright foolish.
So let’s just forget that freak, he kinda scares us.”

Oh yeah?
Well keep that **** in your ******,
Order the facts and double check’em.

“We're not so different you, me, and them.
We just built a bent border 'round the word disorder.
Sure, that’s the preference, to make no inference.
Ignorance is bliss, right?”

For my defense?
Well golly-gee thanks, that’s all lovely and great.
But now the neurologically typical person
Thinks they can fix me, without knowing my burdens
Like, “you’s gots a d’zeez cuz’a factseens”

This "cray" **** gets me irate.
Diagnoseez wrapped in fear-mongering, seen with hate,
And convinced to wait for a miracle.
Well too bad so sad,
The difference is anatomical.
So treating me means training me
To be “normal, deviations nominal.”

(Am I ******’a dog, what the ****?!
Wait, back it up and mix that bit up.)
“What the ****, am I a ******’ dog?!
Oh, if they knew the truth they’d think I’m a ******* demigod.”
(Ha right, more like a log full buried eternally in'a boggle.)

My parents tried and tried for my birth,
They almost considered me impossible.
I was nearly inconceivable.
Then the multi-verse cursed,
And that message was receivable,
I heard it was a freakin’ miracle.
Not that mom cared, she was irresponsible.
Wanted to be a free mirth queen.

Aww, she just needed security.
Even after my birth on Friday 3/13/92 into a noose,
Loosely scorned and hardly lyrical.
They had to remove me surgically from the womb and
Now I've grown oddly into a super human body.

I’m physically atypical with an extra lumbar vertebra.
Some think me mythical, my hearts cage is even, part of a
Hard skeleton wearin’ *** appeal and a
Strong fresh sheath of flesh that’s quick to heal.
Ask me to speak, out comes a voice so deep you’d think the sky fell.

I’m mentally inexplicable,
Thinking in infinite Voices simultaneously painting imagery indefinitely.  
It has me lagging in a neuronal-conundrum.
I’m containing a brain wound up and
So over-wired it's redundant.

Making my head so heavy the ground is over-tired,
Barely overcoming addiction to dilating mundane details.
And a bit slow to obtain'em,
Those growing verbal-perceptual rains of information.
It's why I'm highly aware of the visual-spatial patterned puzzle pieces of existence.

So my mind is orbiting off in the distance,
Oblivious to non-verbal relation,
Just spaced-out communication.
I'm nearly incompatible
With most people in this global nation.
Everyone's got recipes for lemonade,
And I've got durian, that's **** ironical.
I told you, the difference is anatomical.
Can't be changed, so forget being normal tragically!

“That’s great and all,
But you still can’t communicate,
Associate,
Or surmount your human viewpoint
And recreate.
So what’s the point, you’ll never amount
And you shouldn't be allowed to procreate,
Just **** yourself.”

Shut the **** up, mate!
No one is beyond help,
And I'm in good health.
So who says I need your help.

I’m a catch-it-all trainer,
Long distance sprinter,
Heavy weight lifter,
Martial arts practitioner,
And Muay Thai fighter
Of the metaphysical plane or
Flyin’ my x-wing, taking out tie fighters.
Muckin’ up misinformed storm troopers,
Shovin’ **** back down their word poopers.

Yeah, I’ve tried playin’ The Game
That society designed.
But that sick joke
Was painfully lame.
And the punchline,
All but broke me.


I died philosophically.
Spent three days regenerating.
Re-writing my subconscious poetry
Like The Doct-uh,
The Boo-duh,
Or Mist-uh
Believe-in-me.

Pulverizing words into compost,
Composing metaphor to re-code seeds
Set to regrow self-trees from the ground up.
Splitting myself up into three categories,
(Mind), [body], and {me} all clowned up.

It is a truly significant allegory,
Greening my being with jocundity.
Creating profundity for gardening,
Generalizing and broadening the concept
And applying it metaphorically.

In the attempt
To join fantasy
With reality
And become truly
One with “we”;
Livin' and loven'in
Disparity and hilarity
Of you,
Me,
And every fellow
There is to see.

So, “hello
i am the gardener and
i am jocund and
…|[{(i am)}]|…
quite pleased
to meet
we.”
JoJo Nguyen Jan 2015
In the beginning
there is a class
of creatures we call Gods
that much later
we realize are just mono-
instances of god.

From the tower
I babble tongues,
coded messages and ciphers
that you implement
in your daily rituals
and obsessive behaviors.

In R, it's something like,
christ <- god(moral compass)

In Ruby it could be
buddha = God.new

And perhaps a nihilist or we
would find happiness in

10000.times do
pushRock = buhdda.take(me)
end

It's all pidgin for me,
unstructured glimpses at a world
that's moving and changing
faster than my non-existent
grandson can comprehend.

It's all a network
of +1 and like'd
firing mix media,
reinforcing a nascent
thought stream,  
back-propagating our legends
and fairy tales, Grimm
reminders of epic Odyssey |
5 Armies in film |
Warring States |
loping dog with a severed hand
in Akira black & white mouth
repossessing Spaghetti Westerns
back into our feudal *****.

Fire, firing
into the Monsoon rain.
Always in the Hemingway
rain of symbols and Matrix
green code.

And in my cupped hand,
I catch glimmering fireflies,
instances of Gaiman's
American gods, Tricksters,
Coyotes, and my faithful
Dog smiling at me.
Untouched by inactivity.
Untouched by activity.

Unmoved by push.
Unmoved by pull.

Impossible to affect
Impossible to revert me back.

Unfuckwithable is what they called it.
I will call it sturdy.

I will not be changed by you.
I am happy and I will not change because of you.

You.
You you you you you.
I wish you cared.
Idonotexist Jan 2014
Undisguised not camouflaged
Standing out, A bright sun
in the blue sky stars hidden
within go unnoticed by the
Indifferent world Trapped
in their own cocoon of delusions

Unable Unwilling to metamorphose
to the beauty of kindred nature
into a free fall spiraling down
into the mundane

Illusion of Solid crust
beneath which the turbulent
molten lava flows
sometimes bursting out
yet another times causing
Tsunami and tremor

And yet the indifferent world
lays blinded by floodlights of duty
warming blanket of empathy
shredded by scissors of hate
buried within the grave yard
under the tombstone of misery

The different who rise up
from time to time are consumed
by the indifferent
like  a flash of lighting absorbed
by the indifferent earth as storms
of war thunder around in dusky
skies and innocent plants take refuge
in purging rains only to be flooded
out into the indifferent sea of documentaries
only to make  a trickle of frozen blood flow through
the chambers of tranquil heart
and indifferent yet try to contribute
subduing the thorny vines of growing guilt
by a click of like or share or Tweet

Sometimes the silent song
is heard  through the sonorous
souls within mind and winds
of change blow nucleating through
an idea propagating through words
symbols of art hitting the conscience
and arise the single conscious crowd
not the raging temporary mob
new sprouts of  generation rise up
through the barren land
and art forms inherently provide
what people need dragging from
the oblivion of what people want?
as bright illusion of illumination
is smoldered through enlightening
darkness as indifference transforms
into glowing luminous flowers of empathy
alice Jun 2014
In these restless days
we fight
for a bigger picture;
more broad of a scope,
to pull back the curtain.

We're building potential,
with preceding
relentless
force,
through these
mental worlds.

Strutting around
savvy *****,
sauntering by
like we know
no better.

Selling ourselves
one phony token
at a time
to a Devil
wearing leather
stilettos.

Insulting our own
intelligences
by propagating
more absurd nonsense
to the masses.

We are institutionalized;
stricken
with a historic fate
that deep seated roots
reminds us
does not need
repeating.

Be the founder
of your mind;
your
house of cards.
Inhale completely,
releasing the one breath
that matters;
yours.

Smile and worry not,
you have only destroyed
the home
the misinformed
have built for you.

Pick up the Aces
and begin again.
Inspired by the genius of Terence McKenna.
Evenoer Nov 2018
Part 2.

The cracking smile on her face, faded as he lifted her hands away. Propagating a gap between them, granting the cold air a territory,
to crawl among the spaces.
There was an interval silence before she broke it.
"Would it hurt you if I chose something beautiful?".
Deep down, she truly wished that it wouldn't.
She then profoundly started studying him who was strenuously absorbed into fathomless thoughts.
Another deadly silence filled in the room.
To her great misery, he murmured, "I don't know."
Along with a vulnerable gaze and a despairing smile, she let the words escape, "Tell me the truth then, will you?"
He raised his eyebrows, "should I?"
She nodded, as she barely knew that he was slightly nervous,
"This," he paused, "thing between us, I don't want it anymore."
She was in a dazed, having a hard time to conceive his sentence and approbate the bitter fact that he quit loving her.

Evenoer
Samuel Klistoff Feb 2013
Earth: our ominous all-mother,
   she, the greater good:
the interminable fountain out of which stems life and vivacity itself
always reaching
                        and grasping for the abstruse azure heavens above.

her hair never stops growing. the mites and parasites never cease to fester her scalp. She is growing and changing and rotting and dying.      but where death comes, there is no long interval until more

life.

the liveliness is everywhere; it promotes to all faces and regions and niches. Multiplying, begetting, propagating. all for the greater good of our orb and its inhabitants. Most dwellers are humble and solicitous toward her, and learn to keep a vigilant eye
as she can be so
forceful and violent.

She does have, however, one rascal who believes that the globe belongs all to Himself.
He is the man.
He has a masterful gift, yes. He is profound and competent. He forges the impractical query into a conclusive answer. He, however, is also egocentric and pompous, and He sees her as a specimen to which
He has the rights to dismember and pervert.
He makes a mess of her unique vistas. He tramples and stamps on her face, running about as if she were the coliseum in which the gods gather to view the Species fight itself to extinction. He works her to the
core, always asking for more, more, more, more,
until she has little left to give.

But she never loses courage in His asinine and moronic views and His sprawling village,
for she created Him
    out of herself
she is the framework out of which the mind is able to mundanely manifest itself.
Without her, He would be nothing.
And she is so immeasurably loving and benevolently caring and forevermore giving;     for
    She is life,           she is love.
       We are love.
Mike Essig Jan 2017
my tongue in my cheek…

I despise the word relationship, singular and plural,
as it inevitably applies to swooning couples.

I’m old enough to remember the time
before Woody Allen made it a permanent part
of everybody’s everyday *lingua franca.


That was his truly heinous crime.

Finally, I have banished them from my life.

I can leave dishes unwashed for weeks,
sleep on the whole bed with all the covers,
allow the trash to grow into mounds,
and, best of all, never have to shave again.

I like not having to read anyone’s mind,
satisfy anyone’s endless, mysterious needs,
or do things I really do not want to do.

Selfish of me, surely, but such sweet relief.

Relationships mostly lead to too many
conversations, usurpations, explanations,
denunciations, recriminations, vivisections,
and, finally, to rancorous separations.

They are necessary for the romantic young
and for propagating the species, but
I am old and well past propagating.

I keep them lodged firmly in my past where
I can remember the best and forget the rest.

I prefer my cat, my books, solitude, silence,
microwave tacos, and peace of mind.

Hey, I’m not kidding about this!

And yet, there is the loneliness factor…

So I might welcome a companion who
was not desperately “seeking a relationship.”

But that is no woman I have ever met
and, I fear, no woman I ever will.
#humor
Sal A Jun 2017
This world is a beehive.
Studs and dimes all over.
Mingling and propagating.
Dancing like bees in search of honey.

Mortal men searching for nectar.
Is the sweetness worth it?
If I were to be honest,
I couldn't resist a taste of you either.

I've been exercising my wings.
Dusted off a blazer and a necktie.
Haircut and a smile to complete the look.
Just to cross-pollinate with you my dear.

I must be doing something right.
When everyone tells me how perfect I am.
Then why can't any queen choose me?
I guess I'm just a worker bee.
copperots Jan 2014
If I swore to tell you
          (wild eyed and breathless)
of what lies
inside my pandora's box
    the blue velvet decaying
    under my flesh
          the whispers in my head
          like supple breeze
          through follow oaks
             (eerily adrift)

would you still dare hold me
at the dusty ledge
of this 85-storey high building
(my crumbling paper body)
as the concrete cracks
submissively
and the walls fall apart
instinctively

because
i would give up
the last of my flicker
to light
your final cigarette
and make
your lonely bed warm

If i held your echoing heart
                   in my hands   (with frantic devotion)
as it throbs rhythmically
in these fire brick palms
   propagating at a frequency
   of long found anxiety
a dim soul
trapped
in an antique olive wood clock
(tick tock tick)

would you dare still trust me
to dance
with those charred demons
(your most profound secrets)
the ones sworn to be
memories of disgust
the bad taste
at the back end
of your tongue
buried deeper in the Earth
for Hell to bare and hoard

because
i trust you
to embrace
the flaws we share
and
tears we didnt

(but most of all)

the discovery of our story
rapidly unfolding in this unashamed
polluted atmosphere
tiny ones emerging in propagating boxes
towering giants stand in tropical forests
timber is yelled when felling a tree
thousands chopped down everyday
talented craftsmen designing cedar chiffoniers
teak wood makes a lovely dining suite
thick layers of sawdust on a workshop floor
Vi Aug 2022
Still more, in words

In experience

Confusing Familiarity with Comfort

Confusing Comfort with Peace

Reifying confusion, but not successfully

Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky

Forgetting

Seeing through, a single pinhole in a perfectly realistic backdrop

Pinholes everywhere, more than can be contained

Not containing

Torn all over

Dispelling everything

Stripping away the Stripping away

Trying to stand very still and very quite so I can feel, hear, sense

Perfect realism

Wanting to be convinced by rage

Agitation, but only conceptual

Feeling tight

Feeling rehearsed

Feeling like an imposter

Wanting to impress

Wanting to be convinced of Self, of Realness

Fortified by others knowing, or preferably- admiration

Like being constructed out of sets of other peoples' eyes

Like being made real by propagating in more minds, many more minds, specific minds. In countless beating and virtual hearts, likes, thumbs up

Not wanting to be forgotten, while alive, while dead

Taxed by maintenance and constant imminent collapse

Compassion, like collapsing into a safe lap

Relinquishing

No pretense

Bare being

More naked than when unclothed

Total exposure

Outed, in the light of knowing

Self forgetting and glimpses of freedom

Trusting sighing

Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad

Feeling continuous

Feeling fragmented

Feeling like motion, like flow

Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering

Grasping at impermanence, visceral

Resting in the middle

Dancing down the tightrope

Knowing perfect poise, brief equilibrium

Reifying stability. Gone.

Everything is hysterically funny

Hysterically

But also, sometimes, just plain humorous

And absurd

Crying

Loving people

Grateful for people

Seeing beauty everywhere

Encountering this, intimate, me, indistinguishable being, but everywhere

Ouch

Awareness

Always coming back

Like an epic

Like a great love story

Like the last wring of that silk dress you weren't supposed to squeeze dry

Feeling like I shouldn't know what I know, like I couldn't. This must be illegal, cosmically illegal

Knowing the inside of my hand

Knowing teenage shame

Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small

Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong softness

Loving with understanding

Loving with teeth and nails

Music, lacerating

Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving

Becoming one single, concentrated point

Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. Like physically with my body.

Knowing I am not this voice

Or this writer

Or this narrator

Though I am also all that
I couldn't edit my previous Poem for some reason. There is therefore repetition here from "The Art of Selfing". I do not prefer it this way.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
when teenagers "think" they can
take over the "internet"...
from us... the 20th century
teenager pioneers...

   you're kidding me, right?!

**** it, let's get delusional:

i am the shadow at the birth
of dawn,
i am the shadow on the moon's
face...
   i am, i am, i am...

the hunting figment
of your imagination....

     teens don't own the internet...
freaks, geeks,
pioneers...
   these softball parenting skills
and their ****-wit...

wait wait...
you let them snap-chat...
and at the same time censor?!
swoon-smooch-flake
these *******?!

you have to be kidding me...
no, you, seriously,
have to, be, kidding, me....


    next time i hear,
growing a beard will be deemed
offensive...
******* snowflakes...
that's what calling us millennial(s)
your "supposed children":
how about?
*******!

         i'm tired of listening to
20th century artifacts!
tired of them giving their
tenure of insurance!
   tired of them propagating
Jane Eyre rather than
Frankenstein!

            begotten not made,
forthwith:
with no one uttered to be
sanctified to be made to serve!
i am:        übergebieter....
    i serve no belittling English
feudalism...
   nein! nein nein nein!
        **** my **** and call me Charlie...
you! *******! English!
ponce!
                   für meine vater!
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? –
Vi Aug 2022
Doubtful of Self, of Realness

Fortified by others' knowing, or preferably- admiration

Like being constructed out of sets of other peoples' eyes

Like being made real by propagating in more minds, many more minds, specific minds. In countless beating and virtual hearts, Likes, thumbs up

Not wanting to be forgotten, while alive, while dead

Taxed by maintenance and constant imminent collapse

Identity is a social construct

Awareness is not
Ahmad Cox Dec 2012
Bombs are going off
All over the world
People are fighting
Dying every second
Every minute someone
Else passes away because
Of war and hate and pride
Bombs go off in the night
They go off during the day
Snatching life in their wake
Leaving nothing but a hole
In the ground as they wound
The Earth and wound each
Other as bullets fly over head
Not always finding their target
But always leaving damage
Somewhere as the fly along
Carnage and destruction and
Hatred all over the world
The world needs a healing
She is weary of the wounds
That bombs and bullets and
Man inflicts on the Earth and
Even to each other in the
Advancement of war and
Anger and hatred and greed
Propagating death and disease
Destroying the Earth and her
Children as well and leaving
People without a place to stay
Without a home as they wonder
The globe wondering how they
Are going to feed themselves
And their families when they
Have been violently torn away
From everything they know
Because of war and what has
Been claimed that was never
Meant to be taken in the first
Place to begin with and staking
Claim on the land and on the
Hearts and will of the people
That just happen to be there
At the time just trying to live
Their lives their way until
Bombs fly over head and
Death finds them like a
Thief taking everything
They have ever known
Forever changing them
And the world around them
We need a healing and the
Earth needs a rest from all
Of these bombs and wars
And bullets that tear through
Our mother's heart as she
Watches her children destroy
Needlessly for no good reason
The GameCat Mar 2014
I have a tiny ****
Like a crooked little finger
Everybody else's ****
Is inevitably bigger
If six inch as an average
Can truly be believed
Someone here in this room
Must be twice the size of me
If you can do your algebra
Already you will know
Four inches is the maximum
My **** will ever go
For the engineers among you
I'll express my ratio
My little one inch wonder
Up to four times it can grow
I'm glad to hear you laugh
It shows you understand
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man

My ***** they can grow longer
Into a comfy little nest
With a little acorn sat
Upon the very crest
Rummage in my fly and
Wish that I were blessed
Searching frantically
I recover just the head
Get a little **** drip
Up on my finger tip
There's absolutely nothing there
For me to get a grip
If I sit to *** I must
Be wary of my jet
The angle of my dangle means
My trousers may get wet
Then dribble on my ball bag
For my **** does not overhang
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man

I **** it with one finger
If you really want to know
And no I can't imagine
The feeling of *******
When I look down I can
Still clearly see my toes
But my little ***** hides
Beneath my belly folds
Sometimes it is inverted
Even when it isn't cold
Like a little turtle
Inside of me it goes
Girls they like to tell me
It is a cute surprise
Until I have to tell them I
Left the ****** stuck inside
I'm hung like Micky Mouse
You've just got to understand
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man

Now why would I admit to this?
By now you know it's true
I'm such a little babydick
Exposed in front of you
But the greater pain exists
In propagating myths
According to the internet
Real men have massive *****
So for anyone who feels small
Let me reassure you all
By bringing down the average
With my little four inch *****
So if you're sat with five or six
Feel the relief
And if you really want to,
Then have a laugh at me
You no longer have to hide it
Give a **** or give a ****
You no longer have to let it
Be the measure of the man
And I guess I kinda like it
When I am being teased
These are such the shortcomings of
A short **** man like me
Ryan O'Leary May 2022
|||||||||||||||||


Your wall cast a flowing

tide shadow on our side

of the mutual morning


It grew and grew then

ebbed backwards the

direction it came from


Scaling the masonry,

returning, propagating,

germinating, a nightfall.
Call me haphazard
your toot-sweet boutique of skill
a pillpopper's dream

I'm not impressed by
the tongue your mediocre
narcissism speaks

what fading color
propagating hues, faker
saturate the blues

drown that puppy right
pay your ******* dues, tighten
the knot of the noose

Now is your never
you wrought the wrong from the right,
shoddy forever

Now is your never
sever the tongue that divides
wrong from the Right Now

Blasphemed the subtle,
broke the trust, popped the bubble
and wandered away

Call me a savior
I'll interrupt with a lie
truth can never repay

Defenestration,
when the face meets the pavement
your artifice blooms

Sitting stagnantly,
in the shade of the tower
it's toppling soon
My regards to the city of cross-less roses.
If there were any doubt, each stanza is a haiku. And toppling is 3 syllables because I said so.
It wasn't what you imagined; blessings did not flood,
when you gave me a shell of bones and blood...
You have an unfathomable mix of bravado and audacity;
wearing rose-tinted parenthood glasses out of stupidity...

As a child, did you actually believe in fairy tales?
Believing in white dresses and veils,
believing in propagating your subpar genes
are your happy-ever-after means...

Seeking for happy-ever-after as if a princess in a fable
when you grew up with bare minimum food on the table?
Tying the knot early before advancing your career;
  being brainwashed into spinsterhood fear...

Schooled you were, but never interested in knowledge you are.
Concerns of my social abilities are far from your care.
You love to demand respect by brandishing parental authority
while you were meeting only the bare parental necessity.

Yes, the world doesn't owe me anything
but you owe me everything
for giving me a meaningless shell of bones and blood.
I wish wasn't born, then I don't have to die or think about the afterlife. I have been lonely for most of my life and will probably be lonely until the day I die, which I hope will not be too far off from now.
Anyone who says things will get better is more often than not lying through their teeth.
Paul M Chafer Aug 2014
War is all around, everyday,
Mother’s and children dying,
Yet, ask any politician, any,
They could tell you, instantly,
(No they won’t, not honest enough.)
War is good for lining pockets.

They could also tell you,
If we don't supply arms,
Then someone else will.
(Is this not obvious to all?)
Yeah right, of course, my, my,
How stupid we are; so unseeing.

Truth is, we folk of conscience,
We vote these people into office.
Sure, freedom has to be defended,
Alas, humanity - bah! what humanity?
- has gone way beyond defending,
Into extremes of propagating.

It hurts so much, so very much,
That I have no feasible solution,
I think, you think, we all think,
Yet, we cannot think, or act,
In any possible way,
To halt war!
Sad.

(While reading this, somewhere in the world, no doubt, another innocent has died in a war. Religious zealot’s justification, politician’s justification, perpetrators of organised violence justification, arms dealer’s justification; we have a surplus population. Fine, then cull all those who justify war; problem solved.)

© Paul M Chafer 2014
Inspired by Sjr-1000 aka Steve.
Sam Temple Aug 2015
trolling the doldrums for crumbs of gold
selling old caldrons to witless witches
wearing goblin teeth and dragons blood
earrings from Hot Topic
I languish in the Emo village that is the United States –
Self-serving ******* preserving their precious habitats
while habitually encumbering the global ecology
drinking biodegradable Starbucks in Buick Escalades
escapade-ing ***** raiders afraid of Mercury in retrograde
staying clear of the mayhem
and playing fear propagating madman
I stoke wildfires with gasoline
prodding the populace into premature ******* –
poorly formed ideas the norm
the scorn for the figureheads shows on the shoreline
boorish oarsmen, moored, pour their kerosene blood
onto the floor…. Sure,
pure Fuerer fodder,  but newer shoes
were never shod
and the godhead faces west into the sunset –
druidic fluids escape wiccan slits
as the children of the Azure seas never get to be born
Pleaedian starships collide inside Antarctic subterranean dwellings
indiscriminate shelling of uninhabited caverns
as ravenous reptilians eat the jaw muscles
and left eye sockets
of organically fed Dairy cows…
espoused louse houses in Fall fashion blouses
trounce the infirm in clown shaped bounce houses
again, the sin goes unnoticed
as the blood of the innocents grants the elitists
another thousand years of power –
The tower on the hill still shines in the moonlight
on the 5th night of delighting the religious right…
mighty flightless birds self-assured and fed
on bramble burrs
purr at the sight.
bodies strewn all askew;
the moaning few with skin turning blue
true to the stories of old
as lack of oxygen blends with the biblical beast mark
and staving for air the impaired dare not to ask for Jesus aid…
instead they lay, waiting to be saved –
Samara Nov 2020
You're my September sun
I see you're there
You show up every day
but still I'm cold
Shivering in your light

the universe is a hall of mirrors
reflecting my anxieties
refracting my good intentions
indifferent to it all

tumbling around in the density
over and over again
trying to see it through
but only seeing through you
be gentle when you're chipping away
i want to hold it together

propagating eternally
Jon Shierling Nov 2014
I once stood upon the threshold of madness
looking in upon a city of wasted limbs
and batwing eyelashes crusted with tears
flung like sapphires from Tiresias eyes.

How now Great Baron of Lust do
you justify the endless legions of lonely
life sick suicides and the saints burning
upon grotesque piles of dollars brightly?

So much sacrificed and sold in the land of
plenty, mana falling from supermarket shelves
and young girls getting ****** in the ***
by sycophantic strangers full of malt liquor
in the backseats of gestating vehicles
screaming in pleasure because the pain
is the only ****** thing that makes sense.

There is a place and a time for writing
of green fields and summer days
life in Technicolor and flowers abounding
kisses sweeter than the purest nectar
and true love that only ever comes once
in a thousand years of birth and rebirth.

This is not that place and it is not this time.

Bought white carnations and a cheap vase from
the shell of a Winn-Dixie to give to a friend I'd
like to love and know that I won't because on my
bad days I ******* in a torn easy chair to forget
drunk on liquor and memories of a love
writing **** in her own blood on a bruised thigh
that had seen too much of a thing called hate.

I have no illusions about what I am or
where I come from and why I churn out
this scathing miasma of filth and shame
directed to the powers that be sitting
supposedly quiet and content on their
thrones built from infant's starved skins
and the backbones of all those nameless
and forgotten proles ******* down cheap
gin and 305's morning noon and night.

Build them then ye cowering babes in suits
those monuments to the all powerful phallus
conqueror of that mysterious prize virginity
stealing innocence and penetrating the veneer
of perfect femininity that you fear will steal your
shriveled testicles if you don't strike first.

****** you captains of business and human capital
profiteers of human suffering and human
fears that can be turned against we weak
chattel stumbling ever onward to the chopping block.

****** you whatever your name is
that slithers into peoples wet dreams in
the middle of the night to whisper horror
and abuse propagating the will to violence
against innocents because of some half-forgotten
past full of parents and ****** and smashed dreams.

**** me whenever you like but know this:
I WILL NEVER SUBMIT

— The End —