"puritans" poems
All these kids,
They cry,
Scream,
And *****
"I WANT FREEDOM FROM MY PARENTS!"
That simple freedom does not concern me.
I want freedom, but not just from my parents so I can stay out late.
I want freedom,
From my peers,
From my family,
From the government,
And from myself.
I want to be free to walk down the halls,
Hand in hand with a girl,
Who I'm in love with.
I want to be able to do that,
With no fear in my heart.
No worries or names called,
Or punches thrown.
I want that freedom.
I want the freedom to be able to bring a girl home,
And show her to my parents,
And tell her how much I love her,
In front of them.
I want to be able to talk to my mom,
About relationship problems,
About the GIRL who broke my heart,
But I cant.
I want the freedom to marry.
To marry any person I choose,
No matter the gender.
Male,
Or female,
It should not matter.
My happiness,
And the way I spend my life,
Is not something that should be voted on,
By those with half a brain.
I want freedom from myself,
To accept me,
And be who I am,
Without any shame.
But I can't do that,
Unless I have the freedom from others,
To be me,
And be happy with that.
I want the freedom to be gay.
Some may complain,
That the gays are already free,
Too much maybe.
But that is not the case.
We're not persecuted,
But we're not free.
All throughout history there has been movements for freedom.
There was one of religious freedom,
When puritans came to the New World from Britain.
A war was started,
And freedom came out with a victory.
There was one of freedom for slaves,
So that they could live the lives they wanted,
And not have to be owned,
And treated like property,
By another human being.
Once again,
A war was started,
And the slaves were freed.
There was one of freedom for women,
So that women could be the same as men,
Equals.
There were marches,
And protests,
And women rights came out on top.
There was one of freedom for those of color,
So that they can mix,
And mingle,
With the race that whites thought was superior.
There were marches,
And sit ins,
Protests,
And brawls,
But guess who won in the end?
We are working towards freedom of LGBTQ,
lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning/queer,
And one way or another,
We will eventually get our freedom.
Look at all these past freedom movements,
There were always two sides to it.
Which side are you on?
Is it the right one?
This is not the land of the free and the home of the brave.
This is the land of the *** ******* cowards,
And the home of the "You can be free, if we allow it."
I think its about time we either lived up to our motto,
Or changed it.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
Scornful Seed
On this stony shore I bleed for a lost people in highest need
Drowning in the access of privilege abused
From the awe of dawn till bathed sun set quietly we pollute
Our moral heritage decimated while we our conscience sear
A superior man of the bar trembles in anticipation of judgment
Enter the proud the brash untold misdeeds that scar the soul
Soon purist scrutiny all will detect guilt filled torment
What could have been? Serenity still as the moon
Old glory presides over a house newly divided
Space fixed ocean land coexist air tenderly the earth adorns
Nature abides souls of this republic were once to God undivided
Every pore and fiber of their being alive by his word
Assurance our spirit’s armor all enemies vanquished
Envied by the highest monarch individual men set to rule
This new pristine forest green cascading rivers splashed
Master piece of greatest design Puritans by hardship never mashed
With mighty voice and pen they confirmed liberty freedom self evident
Fairness and truth ruled by tempered mercy
Mob rule gave way to reason with in all it is resident
Our collected greatness could be viewed in one B.C. MR President
The price Concord Valley Forge Gettysburg to name a few
Our home land’s safest guard isn’t soldiers and armaments
Prayer the best weapon held by those who have heaven in view
Continued peace and restoration of prosperity is his to renew
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 3:45 PM UTC
.
****
**** *****
Wiener Pecker U
nit ***** Piece T
ool Thing Shaft
Member Doink
er ***** Cack C
hour Chub Pud
******* Wanki
W a n g D ing
a ling Ding Don
g Kielbasa Brat
worst Meat Pop
sicle Meat ther
mometer Bolog
ny pony Salami
Sausage Tube
steak ****** P
orkSword Nood
le Banana Corn
dog Magic wan
d Staff Divine R
od Love muscle
Third leg Tonsi
l tickler Power
drill Jack hamm
er Wedding tac
kle Bat Club Rod
Pole Joystick Ja
ck-in-the-box S
kin flute D-trai
n Mr . Happy B
a ld - headed yo
gurt slinger Lon
g **** Silver Ji
my Johnson Kn
ob Captain Win
ky One eyed W
illy One eyed M
onster Peter On
e eyed trouser
snake The Sala
mander Horse
**** Lincoln lo
g Tootsie Roll F
Lesh trombone
Meat stick Meat
whistle Dobber
Wanger Woody
Shake weight T
iffy Frank and
the beans Ch o
a d t h e dirty
wise man *****
Harry nut cann
on Flesh flute
Satan's clarinet
Sexophone Th e Mayflower ( on
account of all the Puritans who came
on it ) The Wea p o n of A s s
destruction junk mail
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
Let us now decorate the symbol of life and ensure that the protection from Scandinavian and Turkish witches is confidently displayed at our thresholds whilst snowflakes silently fall.
Are you able to recollect the innocence, where the magic circle of Arctic captivation nurtured the sending of burnt letters through anticipatory chimney flues, deep into the twinkling sky at night?
There is a certain connection to the pattern of Odin - the guide of souls.
In wisdom, I have left savoury and alcoholic sustenance for ancestral spirits between the high places of Ounasvaara and Korkalovaara. So, here it is my sibling energy field of eternal carbon footprints. Once again, the Yule buck and its Old Norse master are soon to descend upon us.
So, although it may have been outlawed in colonial America by Puritans in 1659, we must also acknowledge those infinite prints of cloven hooves in the deep snow of 1038 a.d. in this mid-winter nativity of Cristenmasse.
As we celebrate the harvest of Kekri and consult with Joulupukki on the forest ridge, the symbolic colours of red, green and gold will lavish perceptual and spiritual gifts which are unable to be purchased with material commodities.
As this festival has gradually evolved into an obscene Western construct of politico-economical prowess, we must identify one more thing: Santa is an anagram for Satan.
Is this truly Finnish or Byzantine? Perhaps it is just cosmological ethnography?
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
when no man pursues
the truth,
the idea which contains all true ideas, aha
ideas are ideas, roses roses, names names
all true
evil ideas are in the set of true ideas as
sure as pi is in the set of true numbers,
i think
When the wicked rule the people mourn,
I think
How are all ideas equalible?
How is any idea equalible quant wise re
(long turbulent selah, lts)
questing
help, this is a talking point.
(lts)
okeh. for the future, I see.
we can make these faster with ideas pouring
into words flowing from gentled
untame-ible tongues,
----- untame-able is not
----- untame-ible, this may be an object
----- ifier lesson
-tension that re
l-eases
silent
darts, bullets(silent kind), missles, hymns'n'such
pointy grippy handles for cud
chawn story points upon
which any true story
idea must stand.
in spiritarian.
addinph
unitem
spirit and image of your father.
ohmygawd
Ambush
Clam slam shut, swoohoosh
pop
The infer
(implication layer upon layer,
thicker and thicker
naquering laquering query, could be dem pearl-ly gates,
early version o' Feynman's reversible tristatic NAND gates,
which work on ideas harnessed...)
see, there's the rub. one wee tetrahedral
trypointy foursidy sort of pearl maker
with words made
conversation
verses
versus insane unsane saners saved
by grace unmazing ungnostic
mumbling glosalialy
knot knox nor any o'them
puritans detected the
leaven in the game,
the periment
let out the
box,
"a republic, if you can keep it." unsaid went,
we cast all our cares to the gyre giver
guiding the great gulf river of pro
sperity providing us
our perspicacity.
Would that one might see one day,
the outcome of our American
experiment in leaven
in forming idle words mit ganz alte wahrheit
in dem Erste Zepto Planck Sec
just now. The idea that won was thought.
Good think you think.
We shall see.
Call your truth true.
Stand under knowing good and evil,
both, how and why, then chose,
knowing, my side won.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 11:36 PM UTC
******* I really love having them,
I have no trouble raving about them
And have categorized them accordingly.
Just a few have ever affected me boringly.
But mostly they were those I did alone.
Still I managed to get into the right zone,
Later, if I didn’t like the outcome of the game
I really only had nobody but myself to blame.
But it is always better when there are two
Then some cuddling and kissing when through
And if there seems more we want to do
We can start it up all over again, anew.
Of course if an ****** is the entire focus
We may not prefer a repeat with the both of us.
Still, it's possibly good to strongly suggest
A another college try turns out the best.
Who can deny that great feeling one has
When the activity changes from waltz to jazz
And two people manage to forget everything
And let the muscles and the juices sing;
Take our minds gratefully to another place
A blissful, mindless, animal kind of space,
Appreciation of what it means to be a beast
And be glad for that moment then, at least.
Those who tell the young kids to beware
And do their well-meaning best to scare
The young from being what they really are
Are following a teaching that is bizarre
When it tells you some crap about god
Thinking *** is something sick and odd.
People should get on with what they need.
The Puritans were wrong, so pay no heed.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 6:27 PM UTC
You could never picture me in the pockets of my West Coast.
I flew out of your story and into another, and then
Even into another, always the phoenix.
No longer yours, but his.
No longer his, but mine.
Perhaps I suffered these little deaths to forge a heaven with him.
A king, he’d follow me to the ends of the earth, thrice over.
His queen I’m still too shy to let shine through,
A star stubbornly obscured by cloud.
Though before I complained of rain,
On the Island it never bothered me.
Even in the dead of winter it kept the grass emerald-green.
An emerald city:
Ivy shrouded trees; moss fluorescent.
Our castles were those green giants.
Siamese blue to denim blue.
Betwixt the Spit & Seabroom.
It was all I dreamed and ever wanted.
The only thing missing was the garden, the garden,
Sheltered by walls made of cob.
Or a whole house, the air inside delectable.
Tendril of dream,
Is a cinder girl deserving of bees,
Turning honey into mead, of wild things?
No. Exiled to a foreign land,
A barren land; the ghetto forest.
Those halcyon years now only a memory.
Ridiculous to expect the bald
Rocks to yield to a surfer’s paradise, of
Blue-green ocean. Long hairs cannot thrive under puritans’ eyes.
Green things tremble for sun.
For all the rain, I remember the sun,
Filtering down through the forest canopy,
Upheld by the cathedral’s true pillars
Rather than these thrifty spindles. In reverence of true
Beauty, all is quiet & hushed.
The birth of a princess may bring us back.
Pioneers, we’re still in search of our happy ending,
To live lush in nature’s majesty.
I know the Pacific is still out there
Roaring somewhere,
Crashing itself onto stony beaches.
Mists wreath those mountains.
The drums beat.
That muted boom, my thud of heart.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 7:32 AM UTC
How many heroes have chosen this path,
Of least or no resistance?
In the face of overwhelming odds,
Or staring at cubicular, corporate submission;
Elect instead the stance
Of simply
Doing
Nothing?
Victorian ladies thought it amusing;
20th Century Centurions and Puritans condemned it.
The spoon-fed rich live it and lose nothing.
Russian aristocrats sometimes recommend it…
When spurned in love & up against it.
Oblomov, for instance, whiled his time away,
In bed, or staring out at the wood,
Writing meaningless letters and ignoring the day,
Yet it still did him some good.
Marat in his bathtub, Proust in his bed,
Still accomplished SOMETHING
Or we’d have forgotten them instead.
Is there still no virtue in doing nothing?
Against the tide of corporate work,
Aquarians rebelled with dance.
Later on, Generation X
Came to work in a greedy trance.
Peter Gibbons was hypnotized,
To escape his lifeless job,
Destroyed the office as it was downsized,
But was promoted by “the Bobs”.
Some lesson there, for those who strive,
That work alone is not enough.
Attitude is more important to our lives,
That revolt by nothingness is not that tough.
Abbie Hoffman was thrown through windows,
While preaching peace instead of wrath.
Despite nobility of cause, does humanity still go,
The inexorable way of sloth?
Sharon Talbot
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
They say that when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes in only a matter of seconds.
If that is true,
what if this is just our lives flashing before us?
What if we are just seeing this all happen again... as a memory?
Puritans believe in predestination...
I believe they know that happens and just think they are part of the flashback.
If that is true, can someone tell me why and/or how I am dying right now?
I don't want to die.
I know I have said it, thousands of times, that I'd rather die or be dead, but that isn't true.
I have said I want to **** myself before too.
To tell you the truth, I don't have the ***** to do it.
I can't **** myself.
I have had a knife in my hand trying to stab myself, but I got scared and put it away.
I found a gun once too... held it up to my head... put my finger on the trigger... dropped it.
I tried hanging myself too... that also ended in me not following through.
I can't do it... I won't do it.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
In class I’m learning all about
How all these great people
Explained the world,
How their models accounted
For the inexplicable magic
That somehow floats around
The earth.
Emerson had these circles,
He saw them in everything.
The Puritans saw God,
Everywhere,
Joy Harjo had horses.
Oh and Clapton played the blues,
And how can I forget
About Phish and their IT?
Me,
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,
Looking at really hard at fields.
I’m staring at their imperfections,
I’ve been getting down to eye level
With the grass,
Thinking about all of the life,
Right there,
That just grew,
And keeps living,
Just like that.
Those wavering little blades.
I think my meaning of life
Is
You.
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 11:40 PM UTC
the english don't know how to drink *****
sorry...
they don't...
by the way?
the english artifact of saying sorry?
it doesn't actually mean an apology...
the apology always comes too late...
but english nightclubs?
the english? they don't know how to
serve *****
***** is never served on ice...
i'm losing followers? am i?
good...
i like my self-imposed
censorship...
i like weeding out the soft pockets...
of people with weak
stomachs...
for all the celebration of Darwinism?
peer into my eyes...
if you really want to serve *****
***** isn't whiskey isn't
red wine, served at room temp. being
allowed airing...
mind you... funny fact...
six cloves of garlic dumped into
a bottle of red wine, matured for 2 weeks...
3 x 25ml of the wine...
apparently curbs your appetite...
don't ask me whether that's inclusive
of a placebo effect...
but when you're drinking
***** proper?
you don't add ice...
and keep it at room temp.,
you freeze it...
to below -10°C...
vodka isn't whiskey!
i know what warm **** tastes like,
i once fused red wine,
and, having ****** into the holy grail,
and subsequently drank the concoction...
come to think of it...
******* the Vatican colored flag of
extraction into a sacrament?
you need ***** to be served below
the freezing point of water,
given that, 0°C is a baron of quality
differentiating water from *****
alcohol evaporates at around
70+°C...
p.s. interlude:
i was never fond of the imperial rubric
of Fahrenheit and ounces, pounds,
miles, inches...
and all that quirky "genius" of
measurements...
mathematically?
i'm aligned with French...
but you don't serve *****
at room temp. with ice cubes
and a mixer...
given that ***** has a lower
boiling point,
you serve it under the "niqab" of
waster becoming ice...
so you serve it...
as something, equivalent of
gomme syrup...
you drink ***** that appears
syrupy...
like any single malt
puritan when it comes to whiskey?
there are ***** puritans out there...
you don't drink ***** lukewarm,
or slightly chilled...
you drink it at a temp. of
a gomme syrup...
liquid -20°C...
thick...
with all the alcohol poisoning
bacterium dead...
appearing
excessively sugary,
but not really...
night clubs that serve
***** not stashed in refrigerators
like butcher's meat?
don't drink the *****
in those places...
if it doesn't have the smoothness
of a gomme syrup?
sliding down your throat
like a mollusk on amphetamines?
the epitome:
***** and orange juice?!
you ******** me or opening
a ******* parachute while
stranded to the the ******* ground?
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
"...we have to stop being shocked and amazed....when men who are conquerors by nature also chase women....we as a society have got to become a little more anesthetized to this." Donny Deutsch
**Anesthetize your daughters, oh Mighty Men, novocaine their conquered *****
Man guided penises are upon their proverbial hunts!
They seek out your females; chase them from your arms
All at the damnable fault of their ineffable charms
Cast aside the garments you dress your girls within
Then forget the ravages of every single sin
And spread their arms to the world and let them hug it tight
While Weiners of every kind **** with all their might
Puritans are the trouble, religion the rapist’s friend
Bend your daughters over, they’ll get it in the end.
And Natalie, when you are finally through
With this unsavory interview
Lift up your dress and spread your knees
And maybe, just maybe, we will ask you please.**
'and if you were caught with your pants down literally and figuratively, come clean.'
upon the face of every woman you have ever seen.
http://newsbusters.org/blogs/kyle-drennen/2011/06/09/nbc-puritanical-americans-must-become-anesthetized-sex-scandals
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
we walk in the shadows:
it is the time of courting;
we walk admiring the blossoms
and the unruly branches
nudge us closer
and we brush fingers
and feel the warmth
of each other’s palms
and we brush lips
is this how love begins?
in the brushing of skin
to the disappointment
of idealists and puritans;
love born in desire and impulse
that has its origins in flesh
and what is here on earth
and transformed
into ideals by inventive poets
and cunning prophets
come,
let us walk
in the autumn sun now
and stop by below the cypress
when we feel like it;
and we shall draw close to each other
and kiss deep
and we shall feel each other’s fullness
as we close the world out
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 12:14 AM UTC
On a brighter note
a Thames lighter boat,
where the rivermen between the banks give thanks to
tidal waves and wave across between the shores,between the puritans and ******
Southwark never bores the citizens,pitting them against the age where Shakespeare plays upon the stage and Chaucer sits in Tabard Square,
awaits the pilgrims who are milling corn atop the bridge.
Cromwell sells the tickets for his latest gig,to dig the graves and inter the raving lunatics who switch from bedlam down to palaces in the minster where the spinster out of place knits balaclavas for the faces that she sees dropping from a guillotine,
these things I've seen a thousand times, written in ten thousand lines and acted out below the chimes of clocks that stand before the sway of one more 'down south london way' or anyway what do I care if it's share and share alike or not.
I've got allotted but a short spell here,time for dinner,one more glass of beer and then my dear I'm on my way,
to stroll through more of yesterday.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
Now that I reflect, I do like tea,
Though time's no matter I ever drink it,
Thirstily:
Sip it to the dregs
And then having better understanding,
Sip those dregs too.
Eagerly from the mug, so deep, true.
Potent history from bag to cup
And too from hand to hand, word to ear,
Man to men, man to woman to women.
In this tea I taste it all,
The bitterest human emotions: the lowest shames,
Written in confession or guilt or pride,
Debauched or glorified- fixation.
Slowly the taste changes,
And change itself is the sweetest movement,
On my tongue, night, noon or morning.
The swirls, which in a cube would be turns,
Phrases, cuts or corners, if not for their nature.
British, such a short word for so voiced,
so cultivated a culture.
Humanity, so innocuous a term for our mongrel selves;
History must have been kept by humanists,
Else too much revised by euphemists.
Or, I have learned too far and too distanced
Events taught by puritans, in their land, their way.
How violently they subdue us here!
And that is why I do not like our local tea. No,
Give me the thrill of British history.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 8:37 PM UTC
Charles didn't heed the Puritans
He was God's appointed,
Anointed and empowered.
He tumbled from above,
Down through the law,
Lost his head.
Nicholas was placed in the basement crypt,
A cult-like condemnation;
So they stood him against the wall,
He listed to his Monk,
His reasoning debunked,
So they shot the anointed one
On his golden throne.
Benito was above the law,
High on meat hooks.
Could we dare to look?
If you were lucky,
If you were tied to a stake,
And the ******* ignited,
Someone dear would tie a bag
Of gunpowder around your neck.
Why let the crows pick out his eyes,
Make golden nests from his hair.
End the torture. Pull the life-line.
Sever the head from the body politic.
It is the righteous thing to do;
It is the civil thing to do
In pensive state.
Rise up from your ashes.
It is the kindest cut of all.
Nov 18, 2019
Nov 18, 2019 at 12:47 PM UTC
puritans hath been saying
that Dan stepped over the line
by using an expletive
which was not attractive nor fine
by Dan employing
that particular form of phrase
he was attempting to give
the poem a brighter glaze
whatever device of poetry
Dan needs to put in place
is okay if it doesn't cause
him a scintilla of disgrace
those who are pulling Dan
to pieces for his specifics
may need to look at their
out dated type of linguistics
for goodness sake
stop giving Dan a grilling
as he's only doing his best
to make his verses more thrilling
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
The tortures couldn't break them, so they tried to replace them. Mutilating their form
And ripping and shaping their flesh to mould some mutilated plastic doll of conformity they forced. Turning them into outcasts, not to see family.
The 900.
A new birth certificate, an
attempt to **** the persona and replace with moulded soulless form.
Many half finished.
In the military.
Committing suicide after being abandoned.
When a boulder is on your spine, about to snap it,
even a clawed hand,
is seen as a helping one.
1993-The puritans at work again.
injecting oestrogen to force a character into a form they deem fit,
for 'delicate minds'.
In spirit it's all the same. crushing those who don't fit in to the model village. with its identical plastic figurines. Crushing them. in an eternal smile. In a model world. All dead plastic.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 5:58 AM UTC
A hole was cut
In the sheet
*** between Puritans
Must be tidy and neat
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
The Puritans among us,
Like their kin of yesterdays.
Think they know what’s good for us
Oh, if only we would obey,
They hate it when they see us smoking
They despise our thirst for beer.
They long for a world where all are thin-
a world devoid of cheer.
What tortures modern Puritans?
-and leaves them quite undone-
Is the thought that someone, somewhere,
might still be getting some.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
We broke various unwritten rules.
Or as many loves to say protocol.
We kissed in public, that''s just us.
Even when advise many don't love public affection to be shown.
We kissed in church.
Which was as innocent than a cheater confessing.
And again was told, it just isn't right.
It didn't stop us.
We wasn't offending anyone.
Except for the puritans, who most likely has broken rules.
We, who are in love?
Know our limitation of expressing.
We're not going to do it in court.
Or even attend one in shorts.
We''re not going to attend an formal affair.
When the rules states jeans aren't allowed.
We, who in love?
Just refuses to be placed in a corner.
When the things we are doing is innocently shown.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 7:22 AM UTC
Clever more are those of kind who use truth to spin their lies ,
Evil cast are those we find who hide behind their eyes,
Swift to judge and true to form you beguile those in your care
Haunted in your own pretence you are the devils snare,
I need no Puritans allure to tempt you to your fate,
The great deceiver well you be but your deceit has come too late,
For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood,
we fight against the rulers,
Those who set your leash away,
The condemned that tried to fool us.
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 3:12 AM UTC
How proud King Carlos must have been
as the Armada fleet set sail
He could not know that those brave men
would drown, and the invasion fail.
Charles Stuart thought his word was law
and swore the Puritans would feel regret.
Charles, who was already short,
would wind up getting shorter yet.
Consider, too,the Bourbon King;
who married Marie Antoinette;
The guillotine loves royal blood too.
The Deluge came and he got wet.
Banksters lusting for their bonus
who really ought to be in jail
made us make good all their losses
because they were too big to fail.
Our nation teeters at the top
of a twenty trillion dollar debt
If interest rates creep too much higher
I think you know what happens next.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 7:58 AM UTC
mindful...
i still have
a worth of half
a steak's worth
of frying to do...
to the ultimatum:
medium rare...
roses are red:
but only well cooked
steaks are pink...
"chewwy", side note:
bite bite.
by now...
the world is anything
and everything
but a beautiful
place,
to write such words.
for a song to make
you cry,
for a song to make
you itchy...
of this flesh...
but of the same
sense of flesh,
without a sense of
belonging...
and then coming
across
a borrowing of
"reiteration"...
that lost sense of
appeasement...
self-congratulation
was never made into
a charles dickens' novel...
pride, pride: i too 'ide...
and 'yde...
fucking bollocks'
worth of a hidden gem's
worth of a "winner"...
ah wee,
ah chew,
i chewie...
-wwy...
chav and the chavvy
liquorice all-sorts
of the new vatican:
the victorian
puritans...
ah chewbacca...
ah the disgruntled masses...
ah this, ah the other...
ah: and all of england,
but none of London.
so... no part of, velsh?
woe and woo your
parts of...
timid,
and static,
and...
immobile
crippled to me.
the crusades were
not a reply...
to the concept of jihad...
jihad
is not reconquista?
but jihad is,
reconquista,
so what's the word
for crusade,
in arabic?
crescent-
maroondering
(close, almost a google-whack,
2 search results)
crescent-"maundering"?
have to start calling
the ottoman tactic,
the turkic,
the "anti"-arab mind-set,
the expansion into the european
balkans...
milošević:
milo-sh-eh-vee-"c";
there were also the northern
cursades of the teutons
against the prussians
and the lithuanains...
with polacks being the punching
bags...
i almost wish i would relate...
but...
i, "sort of", can't.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 10:59 PM UTC