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onlylovepoetry Mar 2019
first I smell myself.

the deep bass tonality of my musk,
hot, creamy, sweetness unique, of coffee and creamy,
my owned sweat oiled secretions massaged into her skin
emplaced by vigorous parts rubbing and tongue caressing,
under the fading shadows of my glancing, desirous admirings


then I smell herself.

sinking sunset glimpses of last nights parfume parfait,
scattered in random strategic locations architecturally planned,
some flavors come over me like modest waves,
others spelunking found in crevices, cracks and caves,
where humans tread in guileless search of guiltless pleasure

then I smell our sharings.

lemon and thyme, paprika, sea salt and pepper,
a basted rub laid upon animal skin consuming, and consumed,
the vinaigrette balsamic and California yellow raisins, pine nuts,
decorating leaves of red soil spinach and spicy arugula,
word salads, so miraculously ingenious, you swear off eating flesh

then I smell our combinations.

the air conditioned atmosphere that blends us properly chilled,
the olive oils pressed from two colored differing skins,
the mortal and pestle finely grinding our own fresh crumbled dirt,
appearing in places where dirt is wet panko crumbs encrusting us,
our combined liquidity, shaken and stirred, drying in martini tandem

it is 8:17am and this recipe of reciprocity,
at its most pungent peaking,
for soon raining waterfalls of potable city water
and the sophistry of French soap,
the pseudoscience of modern chemical shampoo,
together erasing, scrubbing away this poems aromatherapy tapestry,
your perplexed complexing nostrils will mock you once more,
for ever disbelieving, thinking you could no longer write of
only love poetry that crested high above the trite


Friday, March 29 2019
Aroma olp musk balsamic paprika sea salt ***** martini olp
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2022
...
Dear Mr. P - [stop] -
...
I was your knife in the water, a credit card kept exclusively for killing - [stop] -
I was a gingersnap on your sugar train, a flower-filled glory box to swallow your whole wide world - [stop] -
I was night, night of the electric insects, praying mantis and ladybug — nervous animals, lotus eaters, enjoying a ceremonial after meal
- [stop] -
I was slivers of pseudoscience poisoned by man-made seasons — a new and beautiful and interesting disease - [stop] -
You and me, we are now the same — snapshots in sheared time, before the closedown of our impossibly ****** impulses - [stop] -
...
Best wishes, V
···
Arthur Balmoral Dec 2020
That flesh’d vizard – does it decay,
So much alike the ******.
My mortal stature – emaciated –
Forthwith; it’s programmed.

Do those lines – like trenches deep –
Carve moats for tears to flow.
And do they flow – like rivers march
My countenance; fallowed.

To rejuvenate – vials and vials,
Ointments in plethora.
I rub and rub, till the vizard cracks
Lo! Restore my aura.

Pseudoscience, falsehoods galore –
A vice of fiscality.
Like a cyst, does it tremor,
Melting my vanity.

Visage – deep – a pick inside my soul.
Those flakes of ego crumb.
A mien so ******, yet so loved…
Can they not see how numb
                         I am.
Ethan Chua Oct 2015
I remember behind the bookshelf,
by the young adults’ section,
how she picks off a paperback spine,
rests her finger on a half-forgotten name,
holds the edge against her skin and feels out a page.

we read the backs of books that day. run through twenty different blurbs,
let plotlines curl up into the air and swirl into the scent of musty paper reams,
wander past secondhand copies of Murakami novels and pick up pseudoscience theories,
flick through encyclopedias and chemistry theses while our voices entangle into
first-person points of view.

in the afternoon, we wonder at syntax. fix misplaced alphabets and authors left out of order.
on the eighth aisle she spots the old sci-fi series I read back when I was twelve,
and we laugh at the blurbs, at words like warp drive and plutonium capacitor which
would’ve thrilled our younger selves
until tired, we lie down on carpets and pretend to stargaze,
with old paperbacks as pillows -
ink rushes through our breaths.

There,
underneath the bookstore’s cheap fluorescent lights,
her hand reaches for a half-opened book
at the same time as mine;
a soft brush of fingertips on fingertips.

I look up and find words on her lips,
lifted from my synonyms and grafted onto her skin,
think - poetry.
think - all the punctuation running in disarray skipping syntax in the spaces of my synapses relapses and sonnet turns pentameter heartbeats run in free verse feel my chest grow too light and too heavy like all the voices that they kept measured in their stanzas were let loose into her smile,

until the hours grow long into closing time.
This is it, baby.

All we are is each other.
All we have left is the right to eat passion.

No. Not Now. Not with my back turned to time.
I'd like to face apocalypse, please.

"Entropy is a pseudoscience"
  Says my dad.
  But so is love.
         And materialism.


What happens when...
           My dreams come true and my life reveals itself as irrational?
            The humans are forced to realize they're already dead?
             I've lost everything, even nothing?
              We all have disamnesia?
               The communities of resistance are bought out?
                 The sustainability movement comes to terms with its own mortality?
                
                                                                                                         Love abandons us?
Pockets Aug 2020
She makes small talk feel like a TED talk
She makes me feel like I know nothing at all
She’s too smart for me
I stumble when I speak
I’m drunk driving through this conversation
She is an agnostic angel
I’m a whiskey priest
But I only wanna get drunk off what she can teach
And I don’t know if she cares about how I preach
A lesson in pseudoscience in her backseat
Leaves us in an afterglow of creative problem solving

We agree to disagree
Raul M Murray Feb 2021
I am so sick that I feel
I am so sick that I hear
I am so sick that I smell
Sick of the patented experience

I am so insane I can read books
I am so insane I can converse
I am so insane I can see
Insane because of pseudoscience

I am mentally ill because of what I hear
I am mentally ill because of what I write
I am mentally ill because of what I see
Mentally ill because of segregation & isolation

I am mad because of audio software
I am mad because of video software
I am mad because of editing software
Mad because of channels & mixers in a studio

We are sane because of witnesses
We are sane because of kindness
We are sane because of love
Sane because of strangers
"Whoever wishes to ascend to the knowledge of anything must first believe in that without which such ascent is impossible."
– Nicholas of Cusa, 15th century


Foundations built on lies,
Or nonsense most absurd,
Turn minds to hollow skies—
Salvation needs the Word.

To grasp the truth’s embrace,
The Spirit must come first.
Material paths debase,
And lead to Hell’s dark thirst.

Among pseudoscience's brood,
False servants ply their trade.
Their premises, so crude,
Are shadows poorly made.

Their fruits—delusions deep—
Envelop all in night.
In slumbered death, they reap
The Soul’s eternal light.

Beneath their poisoned lore,
Dark schemes and foul disguise,
False theories wage their war,
And dim the Spirit’s rise.

Yet Spirit forms life’s core,
A truth they’ve torn away.
Through theories they implore
The world to fall astray.

When minds are led alone
By intellect’s vain hand,
The toxic seeds are sown,
And lies infest the land.

Their fumes of rot infect,
Corruption thick as pitch,
As cunning schemes collect
The Soul into their niche.

But cast off lies with might!
Let Spirit be your guide.
Through clarity of sight,
The choking haze will slide.

And then, you’ll find the key—
A premise pure and strong—
To grow the strength you need
To tread the Path along.

Reject pseudoscience, friend,
Its hollow truths abort.
To Light your flight ascend;
From darkness, cut your course.



In Russian:

Вымарывание Духа из ложных посылок лженауки

"Всякий человек, желающий подняться до познания чего-либо, необходимо должен верить в то, без чего он не может подняться".
Николай Кребс, XV-ый век.

Исходные посылки
Нередко ложь иль чушь —
Тогда в умах опилки.
Спасенье наших Душ

Познания задача —
Тогда первичен Дух.
В матерьялизм иначе
Впадёшь средь Ада слуг.

Средь слуг тех лженауки
Продажные сыны.
В свои посылки суки
Поверили. Лишь сны

Итоги навевают —
Всеобщий мира сон.
В нём Души убивают,
Коль сатанизм закон,

Сокрытый в гиблых дебрях
Теорий под заказ:
Мразь гонит непотребье,
Тем оглупляя нас.

Сплошь Дух основа жизни.
Но вымарали то
С теорий эти слизни,
Мир превратив в НИЧТО.

Ничто, когда умишком
Одним руководим.
Токсичны "знанья", книжки,
А мерзких СМРАДов дым

Всё больше отравляет
Мирок, погрязший в лжи.  
Так ТВАРИ разлагают
Умы чрез пиздежи.

Отринув ложь, Душою
Одной руководим,
Ты станешь вновь собою,
Развеешь едкий дым

Вокруг себя и сможешь
Посыл такой найти,
С чем Силы приумножишь.
Духовного Пути,

Не лженаук, дружище,
Всегда держись — вперёд!
И, покидая ДНИЩЕ,
В Свет устремляй Полёт.


СМРАД - средства массовой
рекламы, агитации, дезинформации.
Got Guanxi Dec 2015
One day Dostoyevsk talked to me in dreams.
In my early teens, way before the time of my life.
A stripling adolescent,
misspent juvenile youth.
I sat on the roof of the bakery,
reading The Devils.
Over and over again,
until it started to make sense.

Before Kierkegaard,
I found life hard,
no meaning, no dreams came true.
Quantified in my mind,
applied to doctrinal differences I found within,
authenticating the delusions and disorientation of this absurd world we live in.

It all Sartre(d) with being and nothingness.
A cultural movement brought to public providence.
Ominously before I was born,
but I was still torn between being,
and nothingness,
like everyone else.
Distinguishing secular humanism,
rejecting pseudoscience,
apparently.

Now the Blade run’s across my skin.
Married to the cause,
with the force like Harrison,
can you appreciate the retort of
my existential crisis.
We could get lost in the Matrix,
in the “necessary absurdity of the human condition and the horror war”
Like Kubrick.

There’s beautiful new tricks I use to wake up each morning and go about my personal piece of silver screen.
Alex Smith Oct 2018
I remember when I was
Self-conscious.
Sure, I still have my struggles-
Little negative thoughts navigate
Through nothingness natively out of
My mouth.
But, sometimes I like to think
I am the greatest.
Sometimes, I like what I do.
Through and through,
I try to keep this thought true,
Take something I learned and
Share it with you.
I feel new,
Just sometimes.
As if I am not who I was back then.
As if depression never took me,
And if social anxiety
Was a construct of pseudoscience.
Sometimes I feel stronger,
As if I can take on the world;
By my own hero,
And save the ones I love.
Sometimes, I feel the sunshine
And the weight lift from my shoulder.
The older
I get, the longer it stays.
I am getting better,
Or maybe I was never
Ill in the first place.
I can do things
Other cannot,
But also learn from those same people.
I can grow as me-
Stop the burning and cutting
And constant lonely late night crying.
I am free to be balanced
And to be me
And happy.
Sometimes, just sometimes,
I get a glimpse of the time if those moments
Became my everytime.
And then I smile, and breathe
Just breathe.
And continue to think of myself
As broken, but still beautiful
Antino Art Jan 2020
The law of attraction says that you attract what you think.

So, there's a chance you're attracted to me
because I think about you often.

Except the law of attraction fails
when walking into a sliding glass door.

Ever done that?
It's like stubbing your toe, only it's your face.
And though it's your face that takes the hit,
it really just hurts your spirit.

Nothing about it looks attractive.

Like the other day, a hawk — a widely respected bird of prey —
flew straight into my office window
with a humiliating thud
because it thought the reflection it saw
was more sky.

Hawks are supposed to see everything!

So the law of attraction
causes blindness.

It promotes crash landings.
Or at the least, awkward tripping
over words
or the lines we drew in sidewalk chalk.
It's just a friendly game of four square, right?
I’ll wait to step into your circle
only to stumble and fall for you
with a humiliating thud.

sorry, did you hear something?

It sounded faintly like a dream just shattered,
but I think you said this is your fiance.

so
nice
to
meet
you

I hope your wedding has an open bar.

I mean, I hope your wedding sets the bar
for
your
marriage
to reach limitless heights.

And don’t mind the mess. I’ll just sweep it up like nothing happened and catch up with you love birds later (never) - watch out for the glass.

This law sounds a lot like gravity, and it too
is flawed because people fall
for people that don't fall back.
And then you get the odd man out
walking into closed doors and wanting to curse on impact,
but I will hold my tongue.
Because cursing will attract curses.
Instead, I'll bring gifts — I know,
a stuffed teddy bird —
and I'll leave one at the foot
of every sliding glass door
that doesn't open.

I realize that sounds creepy.

So I’ll just leave them by the window
(my window)
where I can watch the moon I shot for
behind the clouds.
Until another blind hawk goes down.
Then it's a less attractive view.

It's hard to get sleep in an empty bed,
to wake up in front of a fake tree in late January
and open the gifts I never got to give.

The law of attraction:
it’s an ugly Christmas sweater.

If I can't attract who I think,
then I'll repel the cold that I feel
until I'm convinced that this empty feeling
is freedom - the kind that precedes flight.

I believe in defying the gravity of my emotions.

Therefore, I don't believe in laws.
They just break.
I once believed in marriage
until it broke
and I want my daughter
to believe it was no one’s fault

This is a lawless country — think feudal Japan —
where lovers are fighters and who is to tell the masterless heart what to do.
It's a teenager
who never made it past high school
because it keeps skipping class.

Fear not: I am a grown up.
I am too old to be falling
for the pseudoscience of false hope
even if our chemistry doesn't lie.
Except our math doesn't add up.
And my history is an essay on wartime aviation
crumpled and thrown out of an open window
because I used the word 'alone' too many times
to describe what it feels like to fly solo

Alone means nothing on paper
It should be torn in half:
All and One no longer together

Anything that isn't one
must be in pieces,
and being with some One
is not the end all, be all

God was a lonely man for Christ sake

I’ll think of other words:
Alone, all one, no.
One.

Thinking attracts no one.

I'll make up a new law:
don't think. Move

Just not near anything made of glass.
It’s bad for the birds.
I got nothing but love for the birds.
InfinityLight Jun 2018
Teachers never liked me because i asked ''too many questions'',
that's when i knew the whole sistem was failure,
creating obedient slaves to not use their brains,
locked in invisible chains,
force feed them with trends,pseudoscience and ''intellect'',
while they shouting ''we are free'',
having weak mindset,
killing your brain cells with alcohol,drugs and pills,
followed by excuse ''we are just having fun'',
they forget some things can not be undone.
Classy J Feb 2021
Trying to keep these emotions in check,
Instead of going for enemies necks,
Like a hyena on the defence,
I’m Stuck in a trance.
Trying to protect,
A heart so pure,
Yet also so insecure.

Why do I let it get to me?
Got me all chemically imbalanced,
Looking more of an *** than a donkey.
But, I’m ******* if I speak out or remain silent.
Trying not to step on glass,
Getting told I should be careful where I’m stepping.
For if I step on that glass,
I’m treated as defiant.
With my words becoming,
Nothing more than pseudoscience!
Perhaps I care too much?
After all society tells me to toughen up.
So, I build up these barriers.
But it’s never enough.
For my hearts still fragile.
Got me feeling like a bad child.
Fighting back against demons like I’m Madchild.
Got me wondering if trauma,
Truly can be reconciled?

For now though I’m just...
Trying to keep these emotions in check,
Instead of going for enemies necks,
Like a hyena on the defence,
I’m Stuck in a trance.
Trying to protect,
A heart so pure,
Yet also so insecure.
Bard Dec 2021
Gods sick threw up all over the floor
The odds slick slidin towards war
A ***** an skin splits with black tar
Tin soldiers march after a dark star
We molder under a tyrants charge
Flickering compliance on the verge
Without defiance suffer the purge
Silent laughter after every surge

A tyrant who defies sense and science
Irate eyes die and fry in noncompliance
Half a brains alliance with petulance
Ants who think themselves giants
A gross death squashed by pseudoscience
Until the breath stills they rave and rant
Many a contrivance for the easily pliant
Really dyin because of words on an appliance
Meghan Poorman Mar 2018
i woke up thinking of you just now
and how you snaked your arms
around my waist and breathed
your hot lies onto the skin of my ear
just so that you could remind me that
you were there.

ironically your pseudoscience;
you know,
where you presented your false
admiration and adoration and affection towards
me, led me to believe you
actually cared.

you could not go two weeks without speaking to
her. but what is wrong with me?
all the words escaping your lips
of her inadequacy and my perfection.
were they lies— or just false truths?
to me and you. these are not the same.

i hope one day you can walk through
a hall of mirrors and not feel empty anymore.
i stole your reflection once you refused
to see it in my eyes. my tears have flown miles.
i would have sailed miles for you.

you… you
knew all of my entrails in the
****** and beautiful ways.
you filled my heart with the innocence of love
and ripped my soul out with betrayal. god
i feel so sorry for you.

i pity you for losing me. i am the
purest of flowers in the crystal palace, and
whether i be a daisy or a tulip,
although your calloused hands may have plucked
me, i have put my own vase on a pedestal and
no, you may not damage my petals.


of course, along with a grain of salt, i
remind myself of all the things you have taught me:
i am best when i create my own happiness.
you cannot build your own facade and expect others to
follow your cues. and
i will never let go the fact that you hurt me.

from you, to my ******, to the boy who i thought loved me then
threw me down the stairs because i thought i was pregnant,
each of you have pinned me down like some strange form
of taxidermy. the prowess being stripping —
clipping me of my wings and framed amongst the rest of your empty cadavers.

i hope you will never forget the night
we sat in your car in silence. you raised your
hand to caress my cheek and i flinched. i was so used to being
hit instead of held. you promised me,
on your grandmother’s grave, that you would never hurt me.

i would have preferred a black eye over snapped heartstrings. i will never know how long you planned on leading me on.
most likely nine months, as it is difficult to conceal not only an affair,
but a baby as well. how mesmerizing is it that you have the
ability to provide such an innocence to the world?

it will be sad to see you raise a child,
as we had talked about our desire for them. and
to know that i never made a lasting impression on you.
i was always a doormat, never the door. you never
opened me up and saw me for what we could have
been.

through the door, a wilted flower sits. just beyond
there is you and i.
we refuse to look at eachother.
i hope. i
hope you hate the taste of Dr. Pepper,
and you can never get my perfume out
of your bedsheets.
Bob B Oct 2023
Interestingly, it seems that Kentucky
Enjoys incredible satisfaction
In boasting the Ark Encounter, which is
A strange and bizarre tourist attraction.

Noah’s Ark--an allegory--
Is presented as history.
That folks believe the pseudoscience
Involved is a total mystery.

Misleading information awaits
People who choose to visit the park.
For example, replicas
Of dinosaurs are on the ark!

The park's creator believes that Earth
Really isn't so very old--
Only around 6,000 years.
He tries to prove it, so I am told.

What he's doing is misleading folks--
Brainwashing kids, or so it appears.
Dinosaurs predated human
Beings by millions and millions of years!

The structure itself might be amazing--
A massive work of art. Who knows?
But being something described in a popular
Tale is about as far as it goes.

The story of Noah is interesting;
However, depicting it as fact
Is an inaccurate practice, which
By logic and reason cannot be backed.

-by Bob B (10-30-23)
"Knowledge expands ignorance."
— Anaximenes, 6th century BCE


Deception, fraud, and misbelief
Are twisted in a mighty rope.
It's thick, though rotting underneath,
Yet minds still cling to it in hope.

The world hangs high, the Pit below—
The yawning Hell, the deadly traps.
But ignorance will grow and grow...
And when it snaps—they all collapse.
Dreams of the Future

To dream of days that lie ahead
Feels pointless when the now is bare.
Not just despair and fear we dread—
Delusion hangs thick in the air.

Cause and effect: the course is set,
Tomorrow sinks below today.
You'll wake to find your world beset,
Where ******* leads—and you obey.



---------------------



Phantasmagorias of Pseudoscience

"The progress of knowledge requires constant reformulation of previous viewpoints."
— Jean Piaget


To rewrite theories—what’s the use?
They’ve turned to specters, lost in haze.
No longer serve the mind—abused,
A tangled web of hollow maze.

They serve but evil, clear as day—
CowID has shown the world this plight.
And progress withered, slipped away—
Too many parasites to fight.



---------------------



Degradation

To blend an actor with his role—
A warning sign, a troubling mark.
This way, the world will lose control
And soon descend to rot and dark.

It happened once, yet now we see
The agents push them more and more—
"Stay in your script, let life agree!"
Both on and off the film set's floor.



---------------------



Pseudoscience Is a Curse

A cunning game, a wicked scheme—
It buys the crowd with market wares.
Then floods the world with hollow dreams,
And nonsense reigns, yet no one cares.

They mix in “proof” to prop the lie,
So Creatures thrive in grand deceit.
The fools believe—don’t question why,
For “science” serves to bring them heat.



---------------------



Movie Stars

No bright life to live—
They stare at the screen.
Think your light can give?
It’s long gone, unseen...

Reflections remain,
Fake shine in its stead.
That's the price of shame—
Spirit left for dead.

Choice was sold for dust,
No strength to say "no."
Stars are dim in trust—
Their films? Hollow show.

Madness, dull decay—
Slavery at core.
If no light remains,
Feed on movie lore.



---------------------



Coal and Diamonds

The world is filled with empty chatter,
A flood of words without a mind.
Yet fools keep speaking—does it matter?
A diamond’s voice is hard to find.

And few will hear its rare reflection,
For coal is valued far above.
A gem, squeezed out through pure compression,
Is prized by those whose wealth is love.

The ones who treasure thought and reason—
True nobles of the soul and wit.
But fools prefer the void's cohesion,
For nothing clings to nothingness.



---------------------



The Smoky Lamp

"Some speak with grace, yet void of thought, their words but empty air.
They light a fire—not for warmth, but just to fill the room with smoke."
— Peter Abelard, 12th century


A smoky lamp of hollow talk
Has wrapped the world in ashen haze—
A vast, unending vault of mock,
Where idols set the air ablaze.

Through choking clouds, a light may gleam,
Yet barely flickers through the night.
We suffocate in fumes of scheme,
Till dizzy heads confuse the right.



---------------------



Effort

Nothing is lost, though all may seem
Defeated in the human eye.
Only when the soul gives in
Is all forsaken, left to die.

No effort—then comes helpless strife.
Fight till the end, resist the wrong!
But first, expose the web of lies
That made you blind and led you on.

Too often, you will chase the shade,
Wasting strength in aimless flight,
Wandering down the hollow ways,
Lost in dreams that blur the light.

Yet fate is false—a mindless thread,
No law can bind the spirit's will.
Defy the dark, and fear will shred—
Deception fades when movement's real.

But bow before the chains of spite,
Then you're no more than dust and grime.



---------------------



Virtual Sailors

Goebbels-media took hold—
CowID, then the Russian threat.
We have sailed where darkness rolled,
With minds polluted—drowned in debt.



---------------------



Head Against the Wall

The world’s a prison, cell by cell.
Heads keep striking stone in vain.
The Jailer sleeps, immune to hell—
No knocking breaks the iron chain.

A storm must tear these walls apart,
For that’s the only path from pain.
Few will reach a world restart—
The ones who shunned the dark domain.



--- Total 10 poems. ---
Johnny Noiπ May 2018
Manners of articulation
Obstruent
    Stop
    Affricate
    Fricative
     ­   Strident
            Sibilant
Sonorant
    Nasal
    Approxima­nt
        Semivowel
    Vowel
    Vibrant
        Flap/Tap
        Trill
Liquid
    Rhotic
    Lateral
Occlusive
Continu­ant
Airstreams
Egressive
Ingressive
Ejective
Implosive
Nonexplosi­ve
Lingual (clicks)
Linguo-pulmonic
Linguo-ejective
Percussive
See also
Articulatory phonetics
Aspirated consonant
No audible release
Phonation
Place of articulation
Voice
Voicelessness
v t e
In phonetics, a stop, also known
as a plosive or oral occlusive, is a consonant in which the vocal tract is blocked so that all airflow ceases.
they told me
      witches were scary &          .
      ugly so I
wanted to       =      **** witches;
they                                               told me         prostitutes                     were
                 *****
so I wanted to               .              .                           
    ­                        **** prostitutes; they weren't         .        .          ***** at                   all but they can                    get expensive  .
I heard                *****                .      .            wer­e easy so    .      I wanted to
  .                     ****                            *****; they were too easy I didn't want to **** them           after I saw them
                     literally                         **** every guy they knew including me
I never            wanted     .                .                   ­          anything       .        to w/                       as more people become poets & start reading & listening to poetry everyone will realize computers
can't write or speak in poetry computer                     s have no sense or
                                       expression        computers a fad & a hoax
             mothers,   .              .       daughters,              .      ­        .    sisters or moms but when I go out to
.              get                               laid  AI is                                      *******              
     psuedotechnology
that's all there were what the                Front Central Back
Close
Blank vowel trapezoid.           used to call pseudoscience
•iy•ɨʉ•ɯu•ɪʏ•ɪ̈ʊ̈•ɯ̽ʊ•eø•ɘɵ•ɤo•e̞ø̞•əɵ̞•ɤ̞o̞•ɛœ•ɜɞ­•ʌɔ•æ•ɐɞ̞•aɶ•äɒ̈•ɑɒ
Near-close
Close-mid
Mid
Open-mid
Near-open
O­p
A "scientific breakthrough"
Is rooted in belief—
In vague and hazy theories,
Yet proof is just as brief.

A test confirms the hunches,
Or bends to fit the claim,
And tangled minds will stumble,
Deceived by twisted games.

For faith is all that matters!
Without it—nothing stays.
The rare, cold skeptic shatters
Illusions with a phrase:

"Absurd!"—but none will listen.
His voice is drowned once more.
While blind belief’s dominion
Drags reason to the floor.

The scholars turned to preachers,
Yet wear a different guise—
Their sermons built on profit,
Their dogma sold as lies.

Yes, truth still leaves its traces,
Yet nonsense floods the land—
Like fleas upon the spirit,
Like chains upon the mind.
Cedric McClester Jan 2022
By: Cedric McClester

On the anniversary of
The January 6th violence
Only two Republicans
Stood there in silence
It was almost as an act
Of defiance
Those absent revealed
Their servile reliance

On a former president
Who defies science
Which has been demonstrated
By his noncompliance
With even the most basic
Acts of reliance
On his prescriptions
Of pseudoscience

On the anniversary
Of a fateful date
Most Republicans feared
Being crushed by the weight
Of the former president’s
Penchant for hate
And his innate ability
To complicate

Their present and future
Political ambitions
Which has most of them
On various missions
To avoid being made
Acts of attrition
And having to show
Their true contrition







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.
Oh God,
it's neuro this
and you know that,
there's nothing like
being crazy.

The ways we try
to compromise
to get the grit out
from our eyes
until at last we
realise
we only see
what we want to see.

A full lobotomy
is available to those
who follow me,
but let's face it,
if you do
why would you need one?

Sick of pseudoscience
and of those who think
it's real and
of those who make a
meal of it,

let me out of here.
Daan Feb 2020
Pseudoscience and political discussions
are like ***** and stereotypes of Schrödinger's Russians.
They may or may not be related
and they may or may not be true
as long as there's no proof,
there's nothing you can do.

I have grown distasted regarding
left and right and alt and fright.
Why does everyone need recognition
and a border on their gender definition?

We are people, we are human, men and women
or whatever name you want to have and give.
I was always taught to live
and let.

Things new and weird are fine by me,
just let people be. It doesn't matter what we say.
As long as it doesn't affect us in
a negatively connotated way.
And to break it to you, it doesn't.

The only value I like to preach is
to not enforce your values onto others
Is that a bad thing to do?
Michael Marchese Feb 2020
Intrinsically mind
Is a crime
Of defiance
Each rhyme defies reason,
Vies not
For compliance
From logic’s
Inscrutable,
Useless appliance
Reliance on gods’
Claim to feign
Pseudoscience
Is of their own making
A seed of deception
And truth
At root-taking
Forsaken life forms
To beyond the pain-staking
Awakening to
What divines inspiration
Confined in the absence
Of its intimation
Implied,
Deified,
Or denied
Realization
Remaining forever
A mortal endeavor
To render a purpose
From service
Indentured
As masterpiece puzzles
Of willing submission
To passion’s
Fine works of heart’s
Artful ambition
Conditioned to love
And to hate
Its creator
To take its place,
Seal it’s fate,
Make its world
Greater
So-Called Scientists

Newton’s laws won’t light the way,
Second’s just a dull cliché.
Force? An abstract, crude distortion,
Spreading lies in full proportion.

Pseudoscience rots the brain,
Meant for fools—its prime domain.
Faith, not thought, they take as guiding,
Thus, to Hell, the doors swing wider.

Hell seeps in through half-truths, fables,
Smashing Truth beneath its tables.
Spirit's wiped from all their lore—
"Knowledge" fit for flies and more.

Spirit forms the world's foundation,
Science sells it for damnation.
Fear and nonsense shape their quota—
Just like CowID... their own quota.


---------------------



We serve for gold, with **** we mingle,
Yet fear alone drives all our ways.
The soulless lords need slaves to swindle,
While "God’s own serf" finds hell his praise.



---------------------



Cain and Abel, Magdalene—
Tales for fools, a dull routine.
Want some horror? Here you go:
Christ’s own blood in wine will flow...



--- Total 3 poems. ---
Johnny Noiπ May 2018
princess
.                     power ranger pink                          .               &
                      purple                  I believe her b/c she's                   orange
                      she sighs blue eyes                               like                          
                      Julius Caesar
.                          calm & peaceful
      her love         is
    .                 chaos    absolutely               like            ****           ­      doves in  love                                       is clearly
                                                    mount­ain                  temple
  chaos               she is a river                                     .                      ­          & her lover is                       burnt                         toast
                   man & a shallow
       she sighs,           .                          pool friend to politicians         filled w/ well paid
     naked                  women;
gladiators                         ­        tour the burnt                   countryside;
              .                                     ­               the jeering crowd                                 mocks                     .­            the          
heroes;
all           of the                                    female              astronauts in times            turned to  the                                 dark                              
    chocolate-covered            *****    
models          filling                                       .
.                                    wheelbarrows     as if the                  legs up                  *****                   blood in the                             dusty avenues               torches        .
.   &                streets of liv         ing     in Lagos where the
                               third world sits on  
   top                 ; Jesus suffers    sagaciously            .
                             ­                                                     Bourgeois liberalism
.                             Bourgeois nationalism
Bourgeois                                         pseudoscience
lover
clergy lie &                        in seven-inch stilettos
she is the golden \                                    witch who  lives behind the
.                        mirror                  watching us at all times            ;                  making            me speak;
I call out                                   to the one lord;
                      calling             .               o­n the might         .         of the whole             universe; I have                     trusted
                   strawberry     Kush                                                     Bourgeoi­s I think of her
  as my everything          Nihilism              the god  of the universe;
I can say                                     hey man,                              pass the joint;
                   .                                   thi­s is the future of
how much                love is there                in the
blind                        universe; her                                                           one trusted friend    .
.                redhead                         babes in colorful           love           string bikinis                       every where there                                                    wise old women
                 are stars otherwise              what       all of the     sequins                    Miss USA rejects                        from every year
                  flapperss        judged        by their looks               in the womb                            going all the                    
         Miss USA           way back to the                                             founding of the country                               is the purpose             female soldiers                    
                                 golden                a queen w/out a coronation            for my life until they grow old                      life amen Miss USA 1774, daughter  j                                                t
    ­      Spirit                     of the revolution
                           mother                    of four not a      t     *****, just grabbed off the street    like a                   comfort woman

                                 & serving                       seven years          mother
                      of four                       & e
           no motor no                skip                        .            three dead ******* Miss                                                             ­    USA 1776
       pirates                                gang-***** at    Sarah-Jane             Valley Forge       she's a                        revolutionary era                          hero like                                               Crispus Attucks
Johnny Noiπ Jan 2019
The ouija (/ˈwiːdʒə/ WEE-jə), also known
as a spirit board or talking board,
is a flat board marked with the letters of the alphabet,
the numbers 0–9, the words "yes", "no", "hello"
occasionally, and "goodbye",
along with various symbols and graphics.
It uses a small heart-shaped piece of wood
or plastic called a planchette.
Participants place their fingers on the planchette,
and it is moved about the board to spell out words.
"Ouija" was formerly a trademark belonging
to Parker Brothers, and has subsequently become a trademark of Hasbro, Inc. in the United States,
but is often used generically to refer to any talking board.
According to Hasbro, players take turns asking questions
and then "wait to see what the planchette spells out" for them.
It is recommended for players over the age of 8.

Following its commercial introduction
by businessman Elijah Bond on July 1, 1890,
the ouija board was regarded as a parlor game
unrelated to the occult until American spiritualist
Pearl Curran popularized its use as a divining tool during World War I. Spiritualists claimed that the dead
were able to contact the living and reportedly
used a talking board very similar to a modern ouija board
at their camps in Ohio in 1886 to ostensibly
enable faster communication with spirits.

The Catholic Church and other Christian
denominations have "warned against using ouija boards",
holding that they can lead to demonic possession.
Occultists, on the other hand, are divided
on the issue, with some saying that it can be a
positive transformation; others reiterate
the warnings of many Christians and caution
"inexperienced users" against it.

Paranormal and supernatural beliefs associated
with Ouija have been harshly criticized
by the scientific community, since they are characterized
as pseudoscience. The action of the board can be
parsimoniously explained by unconscious
movements of those controlling the pointer,
a psychophysiological phenomenon
known as the ideomotor effect.

Occam's razor, also Ockham's razor or Ocham's razor;
Latin: novacula Occami; further known
as the law of parsimony (Latin: lex parsimoniae)
is the problem-solving principle that essentially
states that simpler solutions are more likely
to be correct than complex ones. When presented
with competing hypotheses to solve a problem,
one should select the solution with the fewest assumptions.
The idea is attributed to English Franciscan friar
William of Ockham (c. 1287–1347), a scholastic philosopher
and theologian.
Autisma Feb 4
Defined by enhancement
The facts were at a left
And bromide and citrus were kind
To the plasmic interference

Whereupon the aims choose alliance
Bargaining with the Sceptre and sepsis

Origami charmed the fort of forlost
(the real meaning for that word)
As pylon upon pile of trajectory of change
Persecuted the xenophobia
Like pond pebbles ruining it for the fish


Nelly the elephant sparked a mission
A millenia or so ago
And feeling it was dichotomous to write about
Felt herself constantly backtracking into lost thoughts, brainwashing and passivity

Meanwhile the clocks were whirring round like animals in a zoo
Unafraid of the gianormous bullies who wanted to destroy time.

But the latest edition of the New Yorker was filled with pseudoscience
And so even times stillness could not be stopped.

The bread was doubled to interfere with an already accomplished challenge
And as the seas surface energy was spent
A young man discovered that rice was only for the poor.
Proportions and Final Sums

The doubtful ones are far and few,
The blind believers crowd the way.
And so, in lies, without a clue,
Pseudoscience fades away.

Doubt was cast out from the masses,
Propaganda rules supreme.
Now the world, ensnared in ashes,
Feeds the Beast’s eternal scheme.

Filth has shown its face unshaken,
War now writes the next grim page.
Fools embrace the doom awakened,
Slaves to madness, vice, and rage.

Few remain whose minds aren’t taken,
Doubt’s the cure, but thought is banned.
Evil’s reign is now unshaken—
That’s the sum, as fate had planned.



---------------------



The Path of Doubt

Doubt leads the way—rejecting lies,
Relying on your mind alone.
You’ll leave the fools, the blind, unwise,
And find the light of thought your own.

Don’t seek the sane in herds that cower,
Obedient to evil’s call.
Their only goal—preserve their power,
By wrapping fear in lies for all.

And those who dare to doubt and see
Are rare amidst the mindless throng.
Yet now the word spreads endlessly—
That such as they don’t quite belong.



---------------------



About Predators

A barracuda isn’t worst—
There’s one more vicious, cruel, and vile.
It walks the earth, its soul accursed—
A Judas lost to truth and bearing guile.



---------------------



Subspecies

A Judas, a fraud,
A word-twisting lord,
Far worse than Pol ***—
Sends fools to be shot.

With lies they command,
The beasts rule the land.
Through filth and through war,
Their words **** much more—

Yet fools march along,
For “safety” they’re gone.



---------------------



The Path to the Pen

Read to escape,
Watch, drift away,
Don’t interfere—
Let **** betray.

They rob, they lie,
Yet none resist.
The fall is nigh—
A fate unmissed.

The price—your mind,
Your soul in pain.
Honor declined—
The sheep remain.



---------------------



Opinions

Self-regard is still opinion,
Fleeting all, they fade away.
Entropy brings decomposition—
Rotting stumps still dream of may.



---------------------



The honest science fades away,
But ads are sharper than a knife—
Those ******* fool us every day
And dumb down almost every life.



---------------------



To seek a fool’s acclaim is vain,
For talent, it’s a deathly snare.
So die alone—but soar again,
And leave behind the world’s despair.



---------------------



The taxman is the devil’s blade,
Dissecting all with greed displayed.
He takes his tithe—no less, but more,
Yet idiots endure the chore.

He carves the world, a lifeless heap,
And tears off chunks to hoard and keep—
All for a rule where slaves obey,
Schwab-style, in the modern way.



--- Total 9 poems. ---
Economic Cattle

Greed-born troubles, minds decayed,
Fruits of folly on display.
Deaf and dumb, no thought, no plea—
Livestock for economy.



---------------------



A Murky Tale and a Frightful Fable

A fable’s just the start, they say,
The tale is darker far:
A fool obeys and strokes away—
The devil’s penned in char.

Now dreams and life are intertwined,
A "fantasy" untamed.
Do thinkers still remain behind?
Whom do they praise and name?

So few are wise—their idols lie,
Deceit is crowned instead.
The world sinks lower, scraping by,
Its soul already dead.

That fable—once creation bright—
Now fuels the flames ahead.
A tale of rot, of doomed delight—
Of ruin’s final spread.



---------------------



A Poet’s Bliss

These "autumn" tunes in verses ring,
So strong before the end—
For Satan’s madhouse, laughing, sing,
As darkness claims its land.

The filth will fade—its time is short,
Though now it floods the way.
So dare to speak—no fears to court,
When death stands but a day.

Yet death must meet your steady gaze
In every fleeting spark,
Then greed won’t lure your soul to waste,
You’ll break, yet leave your mark.

Then knock on walls—no fear, no chains,
For poetry is fight.
And if you fall, a voice remains—
One stronger will ignite.



---------------------



"Refined" Vulgarity

****** turns to "deep" instead—
A twisted mind, a snob well-bred.



---------------------



Babbling Freaks of Pseudoscience

A "fact" is bent to fit the mold,
The fool keeps silent, bought and sold.
For science false, the rule is plain—
Just empty words, a hollow chain.

What breaks their claims, they’ll never see,
Blind fools won’t hear what truth might be.
They trust their modern prophet clan,
Where "proof" and nonsense go hand in hand,
And faith in lies corrupts the land.



---------------------



"Faith," So to Speak

To "trust" means twisting all through lore,
A mind-disease, a fever sore.
And in delirium’s embrace,
I’ll "find" my "savior"—fall from grace.



---------------------



A Servile Mind

Like lambs, they march without a fight,
To slaughter—glad, convinced they’re right.
They only dare to doubt and fear
Themselves—so simple, so sincere.



---------------------



I lay to rest by cannon’s side
Amidst the war’s mad, raging tide...
— What curse upon these people fell?
— They failed to see their captive cell.
For "freedom’s" lash still drives them blind,
And once again they trust the Lie.



---------------------



This "culture" drill—I've had enough,
Its hollow rules—just twisted stuff.
The fools preach "virtue" loud and clear,
While scoundrels drive the herd with fear.
They fool the minds, prepare bullpen,
Then send the weak to die again,
While idly chatting all along:
"Stand up! Stay strong! Keep fighting on!"



---------------------



"It's just a business," they will say,
Excusing all in greed's embrace.
Then sink still lower day by day—
No depth too dark for their disgrace.



--- Total 10 poems. ---

— The End —