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Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.oh sure, just pass the mortgage payments, i might pay, when i pay off whatever life i lived, and the life i didn't... and some third-party-whatever... oh yeah... just fax me the existentialist details... overloaded with pop Darwinism for the simple answer of a complex question / mode of being... yeah... such the mode of being... give me the mean of non-being... the **** life once was, but became reduced to an epitaph... and only if, if! i am rich enough to afford a gravestone.

don't worry...
if we're just clausit instances
of humanity,
the whole closure chapter...
just wait for the Holocaust
survivors to die with the deniers...
and then you can come
after us...
i'm all up and arms for
en masse euthanasia schemes...
****... let's bypass
the ponces and cowboys...
i'm ready...
   so...
..........................................
tick tock tick tock
tick tock..........................
           missing *****?
****... they castrated you before
they gave you authority
to **** me ethically?!
the *******!
          idiots don't even understand
the whole...
   altar, sacrifice of water mammals...
a beached whale is not
a beached whale...
******* can't even allow
a whale to commit suicide...
even whales ingest a Kamikaze
mentality...
whales don't beach...
but what is the poor ******
going to do...
jump off a bridge?!
   i'm not buying it...
who needs to be saved,
if they can't even be considered
redeemable?!
how can you, "save" someone,
when you cannot provide
redemption for them?
the non-redemption clause:
can't redeem them,
subsequently can't save them...
all you're doing is
prolonging their suffering,
elevating the suffering through
the elevation of failure
in the failure of ending
the suffering...
  so... no one spotted that
the beached whales...
as mammals...
were attempting to commit suicide?
beached whales are whales suicides...
no one saw that?
it wasn't an eye-sore
staring back?
the suicide has already a conundrum
before him...
the lack of suspense,
or rather, the element of surprise...
at least homicide involves
a rush of adrenaline...
       adrenaline... surprise...
     suicide avenue...
     brave people...
                    brave because there is
no suspense of surprise...
absolutely no adrenaline...
          the aspect of consciousness,
the contradictory "choice"...
that contradicts the "choice" of
encountering esse per se,
  or qua vivo...
          i'm not about to solve
this noumenon...
i can't solve it,
because the noumenon of suicide
is already a phenomenon of
a million counter arguments
worth justification...
      but a beached whale?
a whale is a marine mammal...
a beached whale...
what is it? usually a young male...
don't you find it odd...
aren't dolphins intelligent?
aren't whales intelligent?
      so something stupid...
  couldn't exactly elborate the concept
of suicide... could it?
perhaps a stampede...
but surely not a suicide...
         god?
sure... intelligent animals came up
with with god...
but the same intelligent animals came
up with the paradoxical
contradiction, of suicide...
whales...
            beached whales?
you think they were stupid enough
to become, "beached"?
they were in the act of committing
to suicide...
and you were stupid enough
to make attempts at "saving" them...
whatever god is, within the focus of ideal...
suicide is, what god isn't,
within the basis of the inevitability of, will...
we're mortal!
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
Everyone a Sailor

Sept. 2010

Everyone a sailor,
everyone a waiter,
everyone a planner,
everyone an executive chef,
charting courses for grownuphood,
planning meals, banquets.

foolishness, selecting the ingredients for
an award winning recipe of life ,
marking stars,
sextant in hand,
make meetings,
scheduling a conference call,
practice risk taking,
serving, while multitasking

serendipity is mine to
make and behold

marry this one,
add a little cumin,
travel seven seas and
have seven sons,
the eighth I'll discover and
name it after me,
Son of Mine Own Stolen Days

Lighting or storm,
illness and thunder,
ne'er will be disturbances,
on my voyages

But we forget,
we err,
the danger of being becalmed is the one we ignore,
the slowest leakage,
drowned by seepage,
the small risk that transforms us from
sailors to one who
waits,
alone on a lost isle,
with nothing of substance on which to survive,
we slow starve to death on a
diet of our own
mixed metaphors

There was a time,
when I did not value time,
discarded days like seeds
random scattered in garden,
more curious than hopeful
what might appear, and uncaring if
they were all winded away

Who spent days like cash,
thinking I had plenty and
more to make,
gave away in haste
what had no redeemable value,
thinking time was refuse and waste

Becalmed,
what need for chances,
daily escapades,
gave twenty years of mine
away to the undeserving, punished by God, cancer stricken
*****, who made me so miserable for so long,
in one grand gesture,
signed it away,
and asked the devil
for nothing in return

Did not drink,
Did not take pills,
Did not smoke,
But life disdained,
I try to **** myself
By eating TV dinners
six times daily

Do not laugh,
it nearly worked
and my obit
would have been the lead
side splitting ar-tickle in the
New York Times
Science Section!

But here I am
a survivor,
and I have formed
an association of one;
The Society of Explorers, Planners and Plotters
And Those Who Serve By Waiting

We meet once every day
for the rest of my life,
call the meeting to order,
Consult Robert's Rules,
Quorum of one present?
No new business?
Meeting adjourned!

Meeting Summary:
You may plan with good
intent
You may buy or you may
rent
You may be bereft or
content
You may plan or just
wait
**but if you let a day pass
without recording one
poetical truth
in your own manner,
of your own choosing,
then you have failed
yourself,
do not wait,
set sail!
This is one of them...
FYI. I stumbled
On a bunch of poems 2~3 years old.   Very different style.   Hohoho Merry Chanukah to me,   Most very long, will fire at will;  long so not suitable for the 10W crowd....sigh. Oh yeah, one more thing, I wrote them on my cell phone, usually in the bathtub, yes, I went thru a lot of  corporate phones...
Simon Nov 2019
Consciousness is tailored for everyone’s efforts. The software, which includes the hardware it’s circumvented towards in order to specialize the countering of what makes it special in its tip top shape that won’t be the downfall of order itself. But the countering of how one tailors our operating systems day in and day out. Like computers and their operating systems. All are specialized with there own software that makes calculations after calculations day in and day out. Sort of a repeatable process for everyone’s pleasures to invoke upon. Circumventing the hardware that mounts an all-out assault of processes exchanging daily operations both inside and out. Guess you can say a operating system is a computers consciousness. Doesn’t matter how advanced one is to claim by performance alone. Sooner or later, the obvious is in its performance through actions alone. Performance is never equal, until you have a operating system that’s proud to be awake and functioning! Now what’s this about tailoring consciousness…? Nothing… Well, not really anyways. Were all tailored ever since birth. Natural inclinations among our living conditions pits us against rougher life styles then what our own kind is actually going through on the other side of there own spectrum. Spectrum's including a posher life style. Tailoring our consciousnesses proudly without guilt or suffering paying the wages in a more illusional priority to what truly counts for something being a one-sided treating operating system. Operating systems are just that…functioning platforms for our waking states to conjure up on a daily basis. Removing this operating system, would be like removing ourselves. Seizing to exist in our fully established biological states completely! Whatever state your consciousness is divided by, don’t tear it away because yours just seems to not function up to the claims of what lifestyle you (THINK) you should be tailored by. Whether you asked or not. Thou understandably it’s not your fault to what lifestyle you were brought up by. And the poverty that produces those brims full of guilt or suffering pays more wages to what is the true operating lengths of what the world is truly founded upon. Operating systems in computers are safe because there functioning. Tailored to be the tip top and posh lifestyle that one was engineered when sold separately. Which in tune was given to a higher base operating system that’s now channeling the wills and wants of what this engineered system is occupied to function with. More priorities in all! WOOT! Our consciousness sits back while judging harshly based on not feeling, because feeling is made more then just a waking state system. Its functionality isn’t important because it’s drawn out to be a system. Hence a somebody to tailor your own self importance’s up because your awake and functioning. Consciousness is tailored to exist because it’s there to see how the vessel that binds us all together, gives us our self importance in the first place. (Snapping of someone’s functioning width gives rise to friction counting for something jaw-dropping!) Achieving the snapping mechanism in one go. Thou many services kept trying with processes battling for perfection. Forwarding the plan to notion the regards of…what…exactly, pray tell?? They say we mirror our believe system out into the world. We make mistakes which spawn greater examples for the self importance eliciting the lesson of forgone truths straight from our focused conscious could elaborate on. Just like how apparently consciousness could reflect the universes true purpose in (WHY) the operating system acts the way it does. Hiding its true tailoring arts in such a twisting bind, it’s unaffordable to even speculate on. It’s simply beyond our pray tell minds to operate on. Yet we interact with it on a daily basis. Twisting, while binding something isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Not forgetting to include the involuntary postures shooting out the benefits to this natural, possibly biased claim. (What riches foretold such events to come…?) Obviously, nothing to what tailored these operating systems of ours. Electronic computers. Bioelectrochemical humans. Creations or creator. Tailoring their computations and biological processes to the highest degree. Everyone has a operating system that lets you consciously interact with the software that permeates the hardware holding it all together. Just like how a skull holds a brain. Which holds the nestles of mind. And mind carrying out the calculations of software bounded to the hardware that mind is also bounded by the brain. The universe is massive, yes! But a network in itself once said, (that no matter how big or massive your typical construct might seem to absolve all constraints of triumph! You need to look a little closer.) Humans dedication towards operating systems? Tailoring conscious properties?! Computers being creations of advanced operable, functioning exercises which circumvent those daily practices are too beneficiary to the thing that bounces back to a functioning mirroring mechanism playing for keeps with the lifestyle we all play ourselves in our own nestled corners. The universe is no different. But it’s not as big as you truly give it credit for. (Tailoring consciousness hears a snapping of someone’s functioning width giving rise to the friction counting for something without jaw-dropping results!) Maybe tomorrow when your operating system is all deemed redeemable by no good lucky efforts. You might start to benefit yourself among close surroundings that play you to look too far ahead of what is already tailoring you up to play the part directly towards.
Tailoring one's own awareness with the operating system that bodes well with everyday riches, produces harm to the rightful of places.
Opportunity or opposing unity to unify and untie
*****'s lesion sipping each seasonal reason for loving your flowing hair and knowing care

Strike the stench and light the match and throw open the hatch jump inside along with furry-toad-love
*** and lust and the vex of the ****** of what is on the television gone up and through and something grew inside my skull where IT is thus, null
And I speak of course off course because of this coarse curse of your love
Flinching finch-pinch-tense, since she's, hence, a personal goddess
I'm a man of fetus-like love of birth and woman-girth

I like my girls to be bigger
Though perhaps for a less redeemable reason

I am the humanoid-elemental-embodiment of low self-confidence
And most are out of my "league" (at least physically and aesthetically)
If the world were flat I would argue
there would be more suicides,
Jumping from the edge of the earth.
The act would somehow be more redeemable
Than say, swimming into a concrete walkway.
City crews wouldn’t have to wash the mess
and children wouldn’t  see the naked truth.
The news could do an expose
On this trendy new trend
In the inward homicidal debauchery.
I imagine the lower three miles would be much like purgatory
The pale-blue breath holders
With their glass frozen eyes
All floating in the under earth
Not sliced and bleeding,
Or comatose from pills,
Or lessening the brain via bullet,
Or gas like Plath,
Not even rope burn from a hangman’s noose.
No if the world were flat, they would be floating.
Some stitched with government satellites
Payment in the mail for their families.
Why yes there are other benefits too
Like executions,
Orbital burial and visits,
even gps tracking.
But I am no sales man
You should talk to
Samuel Birley Rowbotham
He holds a parallax
Between history and accounting.
Nisha Oct 2017
My father, he always has so much to say,
you know.
He loves weddings.
My daughter,
yes,
she’s always been so smart,
and we’re so proud of her.
He says it like he knows anything about me.

I nod and smile,
and shrink myself in front of the men.  
What is there to do but pretend?
No one needs to know about
the ways that you made me unlovable,
the way I spread my legs,
the way I strike a match.
We don’t talk about it.
It’s cultural values,
or something like that.

Look at the happy couple,
interchangeably
pharmacists, physicists, or physicians.
The groom smiles,
the bride does too,
they’re both so
good.

I sit there
and dream
of it.
A mandap, a
great big white horse.
I would be forcing it,
I knew,
but I wanted them to see me in red.

I wanted to walk
down that aisle alone,
and smile, demurely, smugly –
look what I did.
I got him,
I
wore him down.

I dream like it makes it redeemable,
the things that I’ve done.
How bad is the punishment
if I deviated with best intentions?

We hold onto these tiny ambitions,
the boy
the buffet line
and the bragging rights,
like it undoes the damage.
Rhianecdote May 2015
You and I

Are like faded vouchers.

**No matter what they say

We are Redeemable
You can vouch(er) on that!
Alena Jun 2014
tarnished child
who the zoo
is not new
to

time, present, past and
future
are all
redeemable

and I ought to
have told you
before

it's not a heart
beating
but a drumming
from before that
sounds like

a record of
its own accord

30 years,
bare and white
baring, daring, breathing
Maryam El-Driney Sep 2014
The boys and the girls
Of the town,
Were all lost in the mist
Of a world divided
Into the good and the worse.

They thought justice exists,
And they hoped that
Redeemable their town was.

They figured the fault
In them laid,
And replicas of their grand ancestors
They became.
Sure they were of how
Unredeemable their town was.

The men and tha ladies
Of the town,
Were eccentric.
Were all stuck in a reality,
Which the boys and the girls
Of the town
Believed is quite redeemable
Arcassin B Jul 2016
By Arcassin Burnham

Not redeemable in the slightest bit of having
Better luck to being a big shot while collecting what
Is suppose to be mine,
I have no kinda time to waste time on tyrants like
Yourself,
I'm trying to succeed in wealth,
No luck with getting some help,
And they say life is what you make it,
Well i made it into hell,
And I swear that I can tell nobody cares about
My way of living but all I really wanna do is
Do good for myself,
I can not spend all of my time just sitting,
Choking the life out of my future while
I'm dying from maintaining my wealth.
(;Birthday Boy Here:)!!!


©ABpoetry2016

http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/07/19-ep-official.html
softcomponent Aug 2015
You come out of the dark, and a young Japanese schoolgirl--couldn't be any older than 19--is standing in a heavy-lit archway, the blinkered 'sort-of's' of her eyes only visible in corners due to the convex glare rebounding from the heavy light and onto a parked Miyata windshield, right back into the bloodshot lower-left cleft of each eye, sleepless veins like miniature pipelines slogging her fossil fuel blood to the energy markets of her face (but it ends in death, hopeless economy! it begins in death like OPEC!)

There's concrete, and there's stone: the former a collection of synthetically compiled chunks of the latter. In either regard, it might just be the end of the World, tho just an intermission during an afternoon matinee for the world. There are a lot of things you don't understand. There is plenty more you do, and yet you believe your own humility when it whispers, "You don't," tho you are entirely unaware this is delusion and not humility, but some unconscious form of ascetic worship of WONDER!! You're going coocoo for cocopuffs WONDER! We can remember what J.B.S. Haldane once said: "I have no doubt that in reality the future will be vastly more surprising than anything I can imagine. Now my own suspicion is that the Universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose."

I was born at the edge of the Cold War. 4 years after America's Operation Just Cause deposed Nicaraguan dictator Manuel Noriega using heavy metal music and heavy metal weapons, loaded to capacity with heavy metal bullets. 4 years after the slow-dissolve tablet of the Berlin Wall finally faded upon the German palate. Brian Mulroney was my Prime Minister at birth. I was also alive (tho not 'conscious,' per se--intellectually conscious, that is) during the Prime Ministership of Canada's first female Prime Minister: Kim Campbell (she was only leader for just over 3 months and thus I cannot give her time in office the full credibility it would have deserved had she been a fully elected candidate instead of an inter-election Prime Ministerial appointment; when, for godssakes, will we have a Fist Nations' Prime Minister? I would like to believe the only reason there has been none is because the indigenous people have categorically rejected the game-fantasy we have stomped upon their land and the world and self-righteously crowned as 'realistic, sober, objective;' tho maybe I'm wrong, whispers Humility: "I don't know").

There is the endless and omnipotent consensus that the world's about to end. For those who study history, they will often notice that when 'then' was 'now,' it was often and always the end of history. 'Now' is the always-result of 'then' and it will never change unless we neglect its consideration. That's really all theory takes to disappear: stop thinking about it. (as if that were possible, ha!)
Because the impression has been one of pollution and confusion, our wide un-thought idealization as children has often led us to emulate all the bad habits we witness growing up, even if at one point we cloudlessly rejected them because the damage didn't seem clear, it was clear.

I was 8 years old when I took my mother's cigarettes from her bedroom while she slept, and proudly announced to her the next morning that I had thrown them out. She had become furious, tho I had done it out of a militant concern for her well-being. During my years of primeval arrival on this planet, mom had almost lost her life to breast cancer. I can't remember understanding much as it happened, nor do I recall fully understanding the implications of death until my grandmother died and I watched my dad fight back tears as he read aloud her eulogy, recalling a story I can pick through scattered memories stored in grey matter to resurrect only one fact about it: they were on a boat, pulling up to shore. My grandfather--the cheeky Briton-optimist he is--made some silly joke, and my grandmother pitched in. The rest is somewhere else in space.

However--regarding death-- I feel that even then we never understand the full implications of death in witnessing another's death, but only through dying ourselves. Which is fine. None of us need to understand these implications until the time comes (and even then, it may just drip away once you've reached the Light. Which is fine).

Returning to the cigarettes: I had absorbed the common knowledge they were awful for you. 'Death-sticks' indeed, just like that scene in Attack of the Clones. Tho I understood nothing of the chemistry, a box or a video or an authority explaining their potential 'results' or 'consequences' was enough for me to righteously desire to save my mother from her own acquired vice.

14 years later, I skulk through the streets of Victoria with Chris, high on ******* and chain-smoking Export-A Gold on the subconscious condition that the world will probably end soon enough for none of this to matter. Tho as I said: For those who study history, they will often notice that when 'then' was 'now,' it was often and always the end of history.

History is comprised of an endless succession of losers who sincerely believe they've figured it out. The only redeemable characters in this Human Odyssey are those who have realized nothing in particular. The people who think, believe, and conceptualize as an infinite process; something without a result. Something with abstract 'goals' that only fit for awhile, not forever.

I'm nobody special. Tho, at the same time, I am; and at the same time and in terms of my relationship to this greater Human Odyssey, whether I will matter in this giant plot is in part up to me (should I write a book? 10 books? Relentlessly pursue the arts, whether that be rapping, writing, music?) and in part up to sheer probability (if I do write a book, will many notice? Or will it be swept under the Great Rug of the Present-Into-Past and be forgotten to thought?), and regardless of all this: the rocks will forget. The trees will forget. Both space and dark matter will have already forgotten what I am doing and what I may one day do.

But life can't be approached on a basis of personal impact; honestly, who wants to pursue the writing of 10 books or the creation of albums in the same way the capitalist approaches economy, for sheer attention and accumulation? Those desperado's, those who chase-the-game-of-success, they have already lost. They lost as soon as they tried to win. There is nothing to win, no award great enough to keep, no person you love or have loved who you will one day depart with for the very last time. But to depart with a personality may be tragic, it is only a true void in concept; when one removes the individual (both themselves and the one they love) from the eternal context of the universe--the ebb and flow of tides to the movement of the moon, the soft breeze supplemented by a fan placed next to an open window, how your hand--when clapped to the surface of a wooden table--is one with the matter in that table regardless of how transiently you perceive such a touch as an interaction. In essence, it's all still here; it always was, and never won't be.

tho maybe I'm wrong, whispers Humility.


                                             *"I don't know."
Kida Price Jun 2014
I'm always drawn to the silent kid
Pushed far back in the class.
Grungy hair, never cut back
Flipping his pencil in the air.
I thinks it redeemable that no one knows
Where he came from or where he goes.
It simply goes to show
That he keeps to himself and my curiosity grows.
I don't pine or crush or stalk him though,
I don't know him aside from the hoody logo.
The one he wears days in a row.
And when the teacher called him to speak
His voice was low but hardly meek.
Like a tone that no one hardly shows.
He rarely uses his voice to vocalize prose.
But when he spoke of religious concept
I could hear his sarcastic intellect.
"I don't believe but I accept. It's just a thought of perceptual inept."
That's when I knew I had to neglect
My learning endeavors and speak to this gent.
Inching closer to his desk
I start off slow and ask his opinion of certain text.
He broke his stare and turned it to me
Almost disbelieving I could see past his cloak of invisibility.
Very wary and abruptly short
He told be to turn around.
My brain screamed "abort!"
I lost this one but he was unaware
That we still had a few hours left in there.
And in his silent stubbornness
I simply sat and told him this.
"If William Blake was all devout then in The Tiger why was he calling God out?"
The boy rolled his eyes at me
"Did he who made the lamb make thee?"
Of course he did!
I already knew
That just for a second I was getting through.
"He wants to have the unfailing faith without getting whiny with trials and disbelief."
This took me aback and challengingly seethed,
"If you're defending him then why do you disbelieve?"
He raised his eyebrow in confusion, almost enjoying me
"Hey you're the one who first asked me? Don't ask me a question then mentally ***** at me."
I held back a smile and could instantly see
This shy kid and I would get along perfectly.
The he retorted first asking me,
"You're not some kind of Jesus freak?"
Laughing uncontrollably, I breathed,
"Of course not. Never touched the stuff. Grew up religiously but that was enough. God has my infancy but my adulthood belongs to me."
Then he stopped and looked at me...
I earned a smile
What a blessed sight to see.
And then we sat there together
Silently.
We waited days to exchange names
Though he was my shy kid
And I his crazy dame.
Conversing over theories
And explained
How ours were better.
"No, yours is lame."
We chuckled in the back of class
Quite content for the time to slowly pass
Borrowing pencils
Ripped pages from binded rings
With silent words scribbled
That we were quietly passing.
Never speaking of our other lives
Outside this class of mutual lies.
Just two hours of acceptance thrives.
I use him and he used me
To create a silent under towing
Of our ideas so different and refreshing
It was our home we invented without moving.
This shy kid and I
I can't explain
If you had one to yourself you wouldn't complain.
How honest and blunt you'd never expect them to be.
Go talk to one
You'd be surprised to see.
hopesnotdreams May 2013
I am not the protagonist of this story,
I am not the righteous one.
I am not who you think I am,
I am the antagonist, the obstacle to be overcome.

I'm selfish, reckless, mean; I'll say anything to get under your skin.
I'm vindictive and cruel,  I would betray you in a heartbeat.
I am sad and envious and spoiled and I always have been.
I don't have a righteous bone in my body.

I am rebellious and weak.

I am I am

a sidenote in your story.

So don't give me your respect,
I know you think it'll work.

I don't want your love and admiration
I can't take it.
Give me instead hatred and condemnation.

Write me off as a lost cause, a bully, a weakling.

This I can live with, this I deserve.
If were all redeemable there would be no point
So let me serve the purpose I was meant to serve.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
****** the neo-feminist
anti-...
   the comerady
for the hetrosexual male...
the thai-surprise
having encountered
a bisexual in the park...
sure... my
white maggoty ****
was nothing
to be envious of...
bue: miles davis'
                trumpet was...
i no longer belong to
the world that attempts
to make sense,
in the "world"
that would ever consecrate
itself upon
a necessity of: furthering
the scope of dialogue...
i, punk oblivion,
Korean neon
insomnia...
                   Asia fetish?
whenever i have a desire
to ****...
i start imagining teeth
on oysters...
like:
i've ****** one with
tattoos on her body,
one will do...
thank you...
any more?
thank you, no.
              
see...
being read "pedantic"
backward in finding a seat
in an opera house?
like it was...
something difficult to do?
you know what...
       how about trying
that pedantic lineage
of
argument in a football stadium?
how's that?

yeah: it's ******* dark...
do i look like
a ******* batman
or something?
no...
so...
           i came here to watch
the ******* bolshoi theatre...
not for some *******
english smurks...

wankers...
******* scittle-half-crafts
of what deserves a
social-media frenzy...
and all of them women...

opera: yes...
and i was told by some
god-forbid russian
prized frenzy to stop leaning...
babe:
you're in the wrong seat...
and she was!
i was leaning into her
"attire"...
sure...
but she was sitting
in the wrong seat...
i thought everyone was
sorted in being primmed
when exposed
to such: "high" culture?

no...?
oh.. well...
no... see...
i like the opera,
i love the ballet...
but being told
that i haven't faced
my *** to coincide with
my face,
to sit in the allocate
allowance
of an put-into-place?

i become...
itchy...
  by some...
middle-man
that cannot stomach
killing someone,
simultanoeus
with
   butchering
a squat of pork
for a hungry cat...
at that point?
i become bothered...
i don't like being
the ******-splain
of sitting
allocation in an opera...

it's, *******, dark...
   next time:
stop bellowing at
the opera singer
like a *******
clapping-seal
needing the ordeal
for the encore of senseless
clapping:
or i'll ******* sling around
skinning you...
savvy?!

homosexuals,
trannies...
whatever...
they can have their go...
but being...
           made scrutiny of...
being...
ridiculed...
in an opera house...
by social-climbers?

it's like.... an itch...
  i'm itching...
to bite, slap, stab the living's
worth of said, "unsaid"
person...

               white-trash drama...

oh i don't fear...
the incarcerated and the obese
are never behind bars...

but that smirk remark
at the opera?
like i'm, somehow... "minor"?
i could **** for that...
mind you:
all the worth for the world's worth
of killing,
is a summary of
the most banal loss
of compnesation,
      being made a comparison of.

i could **** for that opera statement...
i was watching
the ******* bolshoi theatre...
what i was given...
was an antagonist...
something worth
a camel i'd pat on the head
for...  imitating:
poiting forward,
with its "oasis" of phlegm
to scoop, for a worth
of coordinate to scrap
the heaving breath
of, all life, from:
and subsequently regurgitate...

such a belittling scrutiny...
kick a ******* ball
toward an aria while you're at
a scissor-kick mid-air
via a baritone tone
beside the...

   ad capricio (capricious paedo:
****** the testicles,
grab and twist them...
but never cut them off,
or attempt ****)...

   or the piedmont: sanctity...
beatified: ad ****, und -ini...
always, counter culture cited,
the Iberian Muslim counter...
as...
a harem of missing testicles
was...
for no blacksmith...
a escape route worth
of...
                            72 virgins...
but there are,
men...
******...
  who... do what
war implores of them...
to no end...
  for a predicament's
worth of peace...
yes... the Muslims were here,
the Muslims were there...
modern Muslims
in modern Kenya...
             a ******* giraffe
on the stripes
up a zebra's ***...
and i'm all, like:
a ******* clapping
coconut army...
because... Elvis Costello...
was... just as much
fun as Simon & Garfield...

      pop up:
all is for basic scrutiny...
   a few people
might remember
the championing
of coal miners...
in the form variety
of edvard gierek:
but me...
citing him?
am stupid steward...

but someone telling me
i'm not sitting in
the right place...
while trying to rummage
in the dark
for a "place of origin"...
being told
"it's not that hard" /
"anyone could
make such a mistake"...

and to think...
that so little became the basis
for the most horrendous
acts of man...
no...
a man can be burdened
by a broken arm...
cancer...
a hybrid of
an over-inflated
negation of ease...
but men...
pet-peeves...
   itches...
tooth-aches...
when people become them...
like...
when people become
pedantic,
or purposively
mis-understanding...
and not semi-acknowledging
themselves
in an exaggeration?

me?
personally?
i too want to implenet
killing...

   since what remains,
leaves to remnant
of a redeemable
quality's worth
of either crux: or beyond
it...
to say say:
i am no sadist,
to ingest a hard-on
from the moaning-&-groaning
of a person
on a plate of:
that most, tiresome ingestion
of... what...
should have never been
the circumstance
for the comparison
                  of caro: qua verbum.
Justin Oberstadt Mar 2019
Who is it
That lit the first flame,
On the darkest night,
Of our final day?

Who is it
That committed a heinous sin-
As the destruction of our humanity
Laid curse to all our kin.

What might become of us
As we walk blindly into darkness?

Will we redeem our begotten souls,
Or leave our redemption to the tales of old?

What burdens shall we carry?
How many millenniums will it take?
Will we succumb to our suffrage-
Or fulfill our forgotten fate?

They say it was long ago
That we crafted the glory of the gods
Stripped souls built their thrones
As we lay hollow, and broke

Dante traveled through the echelons of the afterlife
And returned with tragic tales of our irrefutable eternity
Whether we lay to waste in the River Styx
Or exist solemnly in our blissful ignorance

We conceived poetry, and literature
The likes of which the world had never seen
We told stories of prophets and fiends
All to detail our enigmatic intrigue


Unbeknownst to us we betrayed ourselves
Separate stories became separate beliefs
Bearing swords, we wrought bloodshed
Payment for prejudice, collected by grief

We led crusades, and jihads
As death of men reeked in the fields
Children were taught love, and affection
Years later, we sent them armed to the battlefields

Prophets practiced *******
Politicians purged families for power
The poor became mindless and meek
The covetous grew stronger,
as they overpowered the weak

The tales of our dreaded destiny disappeared
As our humanity crumbled before us
Our dilapidated divinity was lost to the ages
And heaven and hell, left quietly at a cusp

Perhaps we should pray, just one final time
And reach out to the heavens
For our humanity is dying...

Our beloved father, are’t thou still in heaven?
Might we still utter thy hallowed name?
Might thy kingdom come-
And your will be done?

The forsaken are many
And the gates of hell are unleashed
The oceans have turned to acid
And the earth crumbles beneath our feet

Will you forgive us our lord?
For the sins we have made?
Are we still redeemable?
Or will we succumb to the shade?

All remained quiet, for so long, we waited on his word
But the stories were stories,
and I suppose that’s all they really were.
Sarah Spang Nov 2017
Move a little closer
Give me what you've
Planned to take.
We're both numb here
Blue lipped
And wanting around the
Flame
Taking what burns we can.

I know we need this
The way I need to
Lift away and dig around
In search of something
Redeemable
Though this act will only
Add another layer
He won't reach.
I shiver
Wasting away with the taste
Of fine whiskey
As a whisper on my tongue
Of a moment where we felt
Halfway human again.
brooke Mar 2016
maybe i got caught up in that rustic
devil-may-care way that you leaned
on any counter, how the hot oil from
your grandmother's pans shot up and
flecked across the posterior of your
hand and you didn't even flinch, just
sort of sighed through your teeth
and how I spent the few seconds after
that wishing I could press myself against
your back because you are so solid.
But I digress, because I've learned that
idolizing people is a mess of self-inflicted
palsies

Nevertheless, my affinity for compounding
problems manifests in my lack of willpower,
in your forearms that are like thick bristlecone pine
branches, dry and scarred with your
obstinance--

and when you would go to wash your
hands, you'd roll your sleeves in
this rough, intensely **** manner
with your hip pushed up against
the lip of my sink, working the
dirt out of your knuckles.
So as you kneaded your fingers
back and forth; your Venke's
pulsing, I found myself to
be too hungry for you,
for this

I've never been around so much
man,  so much cord and bark
i've never touched a person and
not felt like I was going to slip
through them like some spectral
being, like their spine would
give way before they bend in
two around my palm, barely
grounded by their own
body weight.
The difference is (was?) that
you feel so full, so stalwart
and



(I got to thinking; maybe I wasn't ready.
Because for all your worth, all your
redeemable qualities, I'd cashed in on
the way you made me feel when
I hadn't for so long and that's not
the way I want to,
Not the way I
Want to
Not the
Way )
and we are

(c) Brooke Otto 2016

i wanted to leave this in my drafts but here it is.

written to Death Row by Jimi Charles Moody, definitely sets the mood if you're interested.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.it's not like i couldn't pay my bills at Edinburgh university, we didn't have internet access in our third year at home, but we had it, when visiting the library... so what? paying the gas and electricity bills is rocket science these days? the two of us paid them... so now it's supposedly, "hard"? mobile phone... what?! roaming internet access.... what?! car... what?! not a pair of legs?! oh yeah, i have a choice... either where i'm at... or the roof of star constellations in a forest... BIG LOSER... biggest loser of them all... the one that manages to fix up his grandparents' kitchen, and doesn't "think" his parents are lepers, or something to be ashamed of, basically a non-*****-bank donor's... attache of ******* egoism; your turn.

such a random array of people,
abstracting themselves
on the grounds of love...
or whatever love is...
   i said once:
        buy a dog first, before having
a child...
you can pet a dog for five years,
and then you can father / mother
a child...
             love... seems everyone's
love is just dandy, oh so pristine...
i drink...
        you probably watch t.v.,
match-made in heaven,
or Cerberus' ****...
       i make sandwiches that do not
resemble napkins...
i drink... ****... i said that already...
so basically as perfect as
an avocado on toast...
who does this sort of *******?!
is that crap even edible?!
     i don't want to know...
   i go to a bar,
i turn into a pseudo-Santa...
some smurf, some elf sits on my lap...
'is this the part where i get
a *******?'
      obviously i don't say
those words, i just insinuate
the Christmas metaphor...
          what the hell am i writing...
it's not even like i want
to look my best,
like i want to lie "hoping"
for a date...
           i did speed dating once,
back in Edinburgh...
let's just say...
               stroking a cat's head
amounts to the classification
of the more...
fruitful endeavors...
              dating... is that a western
"thing"? you know,
when people find thinking claustrophobic?
is that the point they start dating?
when a blank space is no longer
a redeemable "friend"?
            that time?
what other time?
              let me guess...
never walked a cemetery alone
at night...
that's one of them, right?
can't help you there...
you're supposed to be on your
own at those crux coordinates.
Zabada Zipporah Apr 2014
where the looming darkness is like searing 50ton gold up against the sun, and the only light is of the moon yet some hides in the hearts of the brave.
only to dance behind the eyes of the innocent.
our sky is not for limitless reaching but for ghosts of memories- tossed over the heads of the hurt. lingering in the air like thick fogs of thunder stinging those who wish to feel.
with each silky wave our seas gray of emotion, step by step its potent.
******* you of all your insecurities and restoring serenity.
we were broken stones unturned in the fields of the weak.
letting fear just dwell..
to a place where emotion is delusional!
because our hearts are cradled by the dark.
emotion is just a seduction of the mind, so we go to a place
where the broken is redeemable
and fragmentary souls mend themselves.
it is only here where the rain cries for the dried eyes
and wraps coldly around the lonely
given a sense of mother to child security.
almost like heaven but not quite there yet.
almost lifeless but you've reached a place..
almost like a different dimension,
something the ignorant would call "rock bottom"  
but I've witnessed the stench of  death the remains
on the gallows dangling like swing sets
because it is not often that the weakened can just stand alone.
i too was a victim of cherry blossom red against silver.
substituting pain for just 2 seconds of a blissful reality.
more accepting of the physical because i could not explain
what my brain was bawling to me.
then i found myself at a place
where it was okay to scream and i could finally breathe
i gave up my old habits when the darkness
started fighting internally.
the a place where my demons could no longer conquer me.
this piece was kinda hard for me, but please gimme your thoughts on it! thanks!
Vernarth calls Theus, Etréstles calls Vikentios, liberation is near! Dyonisius has to leave for Spinalonga with Wonthelimar and his entourage. Particles of liberation were divided with the immortality proposals of Wonthelimar and Marielle Quentinnais, transmitting ribs of the Speleothemes that harassed them extraterrestrially, until they became theologized in Theus, Vikentios's brother, committing himself to Elefthería or Freedom of praxis, before the gold, in their own alienating chance, are distinguished in the centers of knowledge of Spinalonga, as an entity of the five crosses of Theus, for the conceptualization of this human islet as a sentimental skin of the plague in Vernarth's parapsychology, through Wonthelimar for experience the intersection of Theusiles in honor of Theus with his comrade Vikentios for a priori and a posteriori, with events that will take place in this leprosarium. Kalydon bears a strong similarity to Kalidona in Messolonghi's Koumeterium. Being multi-assigned to Elounda northeast of Crete, like northeast Gethsemane, or the affliction ***** of the right lobe of Golgotha. Volume VII, is the compendium of Wonthelimar twice VV, with its double iteration, that is, VII, this acronym would facilitate access to the area of the future Leprosarium, a posteriori near said peninsula, and ditched from the continent that knew how to distance it as its adopted daughter Spinalonga "Long Splinter" who was now divorcing the peninsula. The fortification of the Venetian raids before the attacks of pirates.

Wonthelimar is seen in the mirror of the Chauvet lagoon, and before the prefixed arch of the Manes Apsidas, when they took the island in advance before they entered this artificial island flood of luminescence in 1578 by the Venetians who presumably feared the meddling by the Apsidas to seize the island, then leaving Crete plunged into a hostile coastline elevated in the foundational cavity of the Essene crewed vessels, they fit into the ship's bow that will be placed on the opposite side of the peninsula, thus avoiding that the ships would list by the low bottom that fluctuated between both portions of earth separated prematurely. The Greek impregnability did not bow before the otomanians by hiding, like Markos Botsaris in Messolonghi with themselves thus subduing them, considering more than sixteen hundred years of the chronological gap that separated this grievance that transcended under the ramparts, putting the settlement of the Tome VII, that is, from the acronym of Wonthelimar and its parapsychological union, which finally came to the aid of the Christians who fled from the Otomanians when they were empowered from the island, with the revolt of 1866, here the rebellious Christians pressed for the Turks to leave the site of a siege in 1903. Specifically from Lerapreta, the Kyrios of Vernarth appeared opening paths from Lasithi, the purpose of this a posteriori parapsychology of Vernarth, would bilocate with their expedition masters, preparing to welcome their ***** relatives on the island from the migration of the ottoman us. Forever as a ***** limen, to be bilocated in the Profitis Ilias, after burying all the lepers commemorating them of restored morbidity after forty days, just as it was in Jericho with the Mashiach, and the Apsidas Manes escaping from the Mashiach.

The eschatology of liberation is confessed with the mythological and parapsychological transformation of Spinalonga as attempts at the misery that evaded the wretched custodians of the Christians who organized themselves from the apocryphal prefixal German or acronym of Wonthelimar as Wo "where, and Thelimar, from the Greek Tou Limar, which would mean "decompose." Finally pointing out the hybrid imprint of the appellation granted by the Manes Apsidas who had stayed on the reef since it was abandoned by a priest. This Tou Limen was an appellation that was provided to weaken them from all the deprivation of Faith in the Christians on this island. The schematic parallel stretched between the two stages with the smallest concatenation since the first century AD. C., until 1600, making this quantum leap the Christian science that understood the democratic causality of extemporaneous events, without having any dimension or category of thought for those who differ or not, especially when the bodies and souls of Christians are They pirated everything, and of themselves, generating condemning existential stress as a source of static synergy, and of God-Mundis in the sketch of science that leads religious man to unite with existential cavemen, in the utilitarian health passages in Jerusalem, specifically in *** Bei Himnon, as a bilocation base in Spinalonga on the face of the leprosarium that was created as the first holocaust or body dump in 1900 without the ápsychos (without a soul), asking for compassion towards the praetorian militiamen masses of the remote past.

The dilemma is create-destroy since Wonthelimar had been moving rapidly through the intraterrestrial slabs near the Kalydon peninsula, before reaching the Kyrios entrusted by Vernarth in Lerapetra, Lasithi. Here they would join with Theus and Vikentios, two Orthodox Christians who were waiting for this procession to later return to Kalydon. The coordinates were alienated in the dilemmas of an anxious Anthropokairós or psychic fear of a past that was three-dimensionally present, towards a future between two different temporal quanta. The entourage was united with a great will to move great tons of time that were intertwined with the almost extinct nature, but noble in resisting that so many fools fought in lands that will never belong to anyone, especially when the storm of the apocalypse thunders the primeval. that Atlas sustains so as not to sink us with his pole, and save all unconverted humanity, making servitudes towards the land of putrid leaf and not the other way around, after so many failed attempts of a Hyletica, or usurpations of matters that are alien to him. certain improper uses such as the mantle of the precious ozone of Eden. The enthronement of the creator will be on the created and will be present, and yes it will be! De Spinalonga with his holocaust of matter will magnetize the mutuality of perished matter in the paw of evils that could not understand his soul matter.

Theus enthroned in Kalydon, here he waited for Wonthelimar before crossing to the islet. His brother Vikéntiko was objectifying himself with his spur scientist in the opening of a new rebirth, in this navel that will seek to untie the aphonia that was difficult with the smallest ellipsis that it implies, by intimidating the miserable prospect that nothing will be redeemable, even later to raise the standards of truly real and not virtual freedom, when the Vexillum that Wonthelimar brought to institute the Genius Loci of Spinalonga appeared. He came along with Marielle, Dyonisius, and Vlad Strigoi. The ethical debate from now on will focus on how to exalt the lepers and *** Bei Himnon and Spinalonga after the Manes Apsidas disassociated themselves from the ethical debate on the island after the departure of the Otomaniacs. The critical evolution will be for the hopeless of a definitive residence that conceptualizes the abandoned, and totally destitute of the chamber or convalescence session, taking them to the Mysterium Ecclesiae, carrying in themselves doctrinals that have supremacy and predominance of the relief of the drama of an existence gray and dark, of those who lie under dire diseases, with advanced duels and an exempt dogmatic formula.

The astrophysics of Spinalonga shows here a universe that distances itself from inextricable nothing, and nothing that alludes to navigating or discovering the point of a ba-ab point, with astrophysical interlocutors that emanate from the realities of stories, which occur more prone to whom be able to resist morbidity with total Christian doctrine, although still asserting itself in coming cycles where Christians are observed fleeing the formulations of a great theologian astrophysicist named Mashiach, who will unite them with the lipoid of Orion, or with the two quantum bracers of *** Bei Himnom and Spinalonga. The quantum record can be cited with immaterial alchemy that emerges from a retrograde biological evolution, for those who believe in archaeology as a state and complement of the logic of the omnipresent-bilocated God in Vernarth parapsychologies, going back to times that passed, passed and they will pass in any dimension of the common man, and whoever is added in the impersonal value in a dynasty of Christian thought, which accommodates the Lodging Ghost of Theus, together with the Mashiach, for a holistic with new body prototypes and souls, which would redesign a paradise definitive. The gaps will give guessed…! And the whole will be to create supposed voids under the law of the conjectured whole, here the continents will pilgrim, containing the same Rabbi co-responsible for all dualism that is ingratiated with divine omnipotence.

Low are freedoms as a final cause, an efficient cause that brings together greater merits of acquiring the personal vote, by acquiring inimitable tenors throughout the cosmos and archetype of man, which does not end with its used prototype substance, relating as one created after the creator told him that he would never abandon him, perhaps being Theus? Spinalonga, a city of the leprosarium, was distinguished from the apprehensions of the Anthropokairos and from the privations of the Apsidas Manes, without pain or fears that will redouble the rudders that unite it to this geomantic duplicity, uncreating mutations that would not appear in the limited collective imagination, rather in the existence that everything is at once, especially when the verb recovers the creative act, towards divine infinity, in Vernarth's kenosis or empty will, purging all of humanity ... It will be more meat on Patmos.
Volume VII - Spinalonga, Manes Apsídas
Valarola Nikola Mar 2020
How do I find the words,
And for them to not burn,
Coming out of my throat,
We've been in this boat,
Time and time again,
And I'm sorry my friend,
But how do I say,
That I don't want to see another day,
Don't want to live through another sunset,
I still don't know how to get,
These words out,
They can't be found,
It's like 404 of the brain,
And I'm just so insane,
At this point from these boys,
Who treat me like a toy,
To be put on a shelf,
Only to enjoy me in good health,
But when I'm not okay,
Well them I'm afraid,
They leave,
They always leave,

And I'm so tired of living every day like I'm okay,
But I just don't know how to tell you, to say,
That I need help, because I can't be hospitalized another time,
But where does that leave me to turn, I need a sign,

But God has definitely abandoned me,
If he was ever there like they say to believe,
Because I've done things, I've seen things,
I've smoked things, I've snorted things,
And at this point, He can't love me,
God knows no man can find a redeemable quality,
To stick around for,
And I know we've been here before,
But I can't seem to be alright,
No matter how hard I fight,
How many times I meditate,
How hard they try to medicate,
These feelings of suicide,
Out of my half-dead hide,
I can't seem to muster the will to live,
And any I used to have has drained out like a sieve,
The years drained out all the good,
Leaving nothing but pieces misunderstood,
And always feeling abandoned,
Dark thoughts like friends in my head,
The only one's who truly know,
How I feel on a daily basis though,

And I'm so tired of living every day like I'm okay,
But I just don't know how to tell you, to say,
That I need help, because I can't be hospitalized another time,
But where does that leave me to turn, I need a sign.
I'm alright, just had a dark moment. Panic attacks last no more than 30 minutes, not so fun fact, even though they feel like they'll last forever.
Mikaila Apr 2014
I often think that the only redeemable quality about human beings
Is that you may love one.
All the greed and cruelty and abuse,
All the mindless, pointless politics,
All the power mongering antics of the higher-ups
And the pervasive ignorance of the masses-
Sometimes it makes me wonder
What we are even for
If we are on this earth and choose to pollute it
And refuse to learn from our mistakes,
And avoid responsibility instead of helping those who suffer,
And cut corners so that some may be rich today
While the rest pay the price tenfold in fifty years.
We are a people of billboard ads
Our greed 300 feet tall
On the side of every highway promising
**** girls
And new cars.
From far off we are millions of empty business suits
Headless and heartless,
Puppeting through streets and behind desks.
I have never taken full ownership
Of my humanness.
Humanity- that is another story-
We have come, in our vanity, to associate that word with
Kindness, empathy, and emotion,
But from a big picture point of view,
Those concepts have no place in the description of humans.
I have always rejected, to some extent,
My fellowship with these people
That I spend my life near.
There is something other about me to them,
There is something other about them to me.
But, like many toxic things,
Humans
Are addictive.
Humans are a drug I can't quit.
And I look at all the destruction we cause,
And the horrors we invent and implement,
And the injustice we ignore,
And I wonder why I have such faith in me
For my foolish race.
And all I can think of is that
There is only one reason that we are allowed to exist,
That we are at all redeemed for our crimes,
But that that one reason
Is immense enough to hold:
When I wonder how anyone could justify us as a whole
All I can think of
Is that the only truly wonderful thing about human beings
Is that you may love one.
Hannah Turner Jan 2014
If you’re gonna leave-leave completely
Because the thoughts of you
That consume my mind
Keep me up at night.

I hate the little things
that remind me of you.
I’m still pulling bits and pieces of me
From your quicksand.

And although I do like him a lot
He’s not you.
Why do I have hope
That this is redeemable
When it’s based on nothing?

So-here we are, you’re gone, and you left the door wide open ..
I haven’t had the strength
to close it yet
why can't i get over you.
Lex Dec 2017
"A 5."

I'm a 5?
Is that really what I want
                    Don’t care about what they think you’re beautiful
Wow. I thought at least a 6 or a 7
But a 5?
                     You are perfect. Their opinion doesn’t define you.
I should do it again.
                     No. Please. You know how bad for you that is.
I’m going to do it.
I have been gaining recently.
What’s it going to hurt?
                      Me and you. Please don’t
…..
         …..
I feel better now.
                      I wish you would listen to me.
He said I look good.
He said I’ve gotten skinny.
He said I’m better now.
                      Don’t do this love, please.
She said I look good.
She said I’ve gotten skinny.
She asked me how i’m better now.
                     You are more than enough to me,
                                             You have always been and will always be.
This is working well i’m happy again
Can’t you see i’m now a 10?
                     Oh lovely daughter you are so much more than
                                             words can tell you
                     One day someone will love you just like this, like
                                             I do.
I’ll keep going it’s doing nothing wrong.
                     I know you can’t yet see
                     But the pain you are feeling is just hiding
                                             underneath
…..
                     Please.
He said I look unhealthy.
He said i’ve gotten ugly.
He told me i’m a 5.
                     I promise you my love you are not a rating on a
                                             scale
                    You are smart, kind, more stunning than I can
                                            explain.
She said I look unhealthy.
She said i’ve gotten ugly.
She told me i’m a 5.

cries
                   If you can hear then listen close.
           You are Lovable.
           You are Valuable
           You are Capable.
           You are Redeemable.
I don’t know.
           Love, I created the stars.
           The shining light from above that meets you in the
                                           morning.
           I created you.
          Why would you doubt me?
          The very one who created beautiful?
Society has made me fear it the most.
I was feeling like this need to be said. Too many young women especially are hiding behind this fake facade. Wishing, trying to reach unattainable social standards.
And it's gone way too far a long time ago.
I hope next time you look in the mirror. You remember LVCR.
Lovable,
Valuable,
Capable,
Redeemable.
                                                                              Lots of love,
                                                                              Lex.
Mike Hauser May 2015
The world takes out its blade
And whittles away
On all that you do
On all that you say

Pared to the bone are you
Naked without cover
All of your dignity stripped away
Nothing is left in the souls bay

Sometimes though its blades
Are ***** and dull
As it whittles you
Into something you're not

The disfigurement of you
At the cruel knife's behest
Where a lasting scar
Stays ingrained in your breast

You find you slowly bleed out
From what you once were
Beginning to end
Carved up by the world

The redeemable pieces of yourself are pasted together
To go forward with the tools of hope
The spirit within is broken
But in this life you find a way to cope
Another collaboration with my friend from down under!
Cydney Something Sep 2019
I can't sleep
When I think about
Your ruthless race of men

You could say
That I'm just bitter
But hear me tf out-

They've said,
The respected among you,
That I inherently
Think
I'm supposed to be
Stupid

They've said
That my skin
Causes
Irrational and violent
Aggressive
Hypersexual behavior

You've believed them
Because
Let's ******' face it-
You trust each other
Ugh

But I'm
Just playing
The RACE CARD

Ya know?
The worn-out card
I've had since birth
That works so well
At what?

I'm not sure...

My coloring
Has earned me praise
For "rising above"
Above what?

I'll tell you:

Rising above
The white opinion
Of what is real
And what is fact
And becoming what THEY see
As an anomaly
Huh.

My RACE CARD
Is full of punches
Redeemable for
A lifetime of
***** looks

Why do I do this, again?
Oh, yeah-
I'm angry

I'm angry at Rick
I'm angry at Stephen
I'm angry at Jim
I'm angry at Donald

But that's natural

Like the Fact that I'm
Less Evolved
Less Intelligent
Less Civilized
Naturally

Black-on-black crime
Is out of control
In this country!
Pull up your pants
And take care of your children!


But I **** white boys
To the dismay of proud sisters
That don't ask me why

Here's why:

They are e a s y
And w e a k
And I don't mind
Seizing my *******
And their self-esteem
Because they know
Who's ******* who
By the end of the night
Their *****
Are MY s l a v e s
My ****
Is their M A S T E R
Truly, this is ¡JUSTICE!

I will think on my
Hypersexual conquest
My feast of white flesh
With triumph!
The only victories
I claim

And I
Will sleep
Less
Robin Carretti Apr 2018
The 14th day of the month
Gold exquisite birth

Worth   $ * % ++ =

A ton of Gold  & $$$
See you in September
He's 24 karat gold I phone
(Bee sting gold weight
all new)
-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -  
My 14 karat gold toilet
Such a rarity very few
only wants to flush you

Just hush the crush go posh
to lush hell get ya gush
Around the mulberry bush

A dasher, not the slasher
Shabby chic selling her
goods of trash to the
pusher
She lights up like the
refrigerator he's the

"Jumping Jack Flash"
Rolling Stones
Brown sugar turned
14 karat gold
*     *     *     *     *     *
Gold turned to sugar
Raw
Drinking her lips
Screwdriver
Overly Folger the dirt
warm brown dew
Change me to gold new
Beyond any redeemable
Hope inside gold-finger
folder

The Grecian Islands robe
The thousand island
of dressings
Seance 14 karat globe
confessing
14 karat shined on
She schemed him on
She tied him in like
rope
All the judgment days
Just one day bring on
hope
Honesty is the best
rivalry her gold you will
get linked to her sanity

How there pledging went out
But she saw something of
purity
-     -     -     -     -     -     -     -
Too much gold on her door
Let's be "Planet Clean"
so repugnant
Hands coming out like
green mutants
Mother in gold monster
Wicked spray repellant
So gallant goldwork
Scrollwork fine lines

Show and tell me
All his crimes
"Impersonator"
You just love to
hate her $

honey, I will
see u later
She always flushes her
loves down
the toilet

All Gold Mr. Bond
4 your eye - - only
14 karat

She's the Sire
of magnet's
She sticks like
Orange petal
blossom huh?

Oh! honey this is about
Gold  duh he
doesn't orange me
But she will never
Bee plain honey 10 times your $ $ $
as you see
14 karat always goes up in price this tile she loves to flush his spice
Dan Apr 2019
One of the only redeemable qualities
Of the mass transportation system know as the modern highway
Is occasionally I’ll catch a glimpse of a hawk on a light pole
Patiently standing watch for the next in a long history of casualties
A majority of these casualties are non-human and so acceptable as long as we all still get to work on time

And I still remember the hawk in the woods
Clutching a blue jay in its talons
Not far from where months later I’ll find the body of a deer
I stand and observe it for quite awhile
Half expecting it to get up and start walking again
There is a strange feeling you get when seeing the lifeless body of an animal that large
Almost as if you are being entrusted with a secret
Between me and he trees and the flies that buzz around it’s head

Every time I pass the body now I leave a stone as a sign of respect
A silly thing to do maybe
But I’d hope people would do the same for me after I’m 6 feet under
And the question always arises in my mind if I will ever live a life
That matches the freedom that deer experienced until it met its end
These are not topics to dwell on too often or for two long
Something this existential is best left for the coffeehouse crowds
whether you choose to join them or not
Instead I think I’m more jealous of the community of the pack,
the group,
not a mindless collective blindly following the one next to them but the conscious collective
How together they are stronger
Maybe I’ll bring back the way of the warrior poet
Enlightened, but without the boastfulness
Strong, but without need to prove it
But maybe for now,
I’ll just keep an eye out for any hawks by the highway
And the deer hidden deep beneath the trees
S Bonney Apr 2015
haven't you?
Where in the world has it taken you?
Successful or not
chasing a sensation
over and over and over
again
What are you going to do?

You don't know
I don't know.

Some end up
broke and broken
Some end up in jail
Some end up with shame and remorse
the desire to fail
Some end up at the edge of bliss
with out a care in their world.

I know.

Sometimes you gotta lose your mind
pain comes and it stays
you're afraid.
Admit it.
Every day
Every ******* day.

Hey.

Is there another way
or is it what gets you through the day.

Hey.

Put your life on the line
one more time
it'll pay you premiums
every day and that's no lie
will it get you sicker
will it get you well
either way
redeemable at the gates of heaven or hell.
Aditya Roy Jul 2019
The derision of the derided of the dedicated to the storm
The fire and the ice and the love and the rights and people of the demise of the dear and the redeemable
Medication and rumination sounds rather medical can you take through the bridge and preamble
Without the rhyme and pressing matters of the youthful climb
This is just a success ladder and a rare woman
Lugging a leather bag, pursed lips ready for sudden panging hunger
Like a feather fad endemic and indolent in nature, the droll *******
You telling me I'm alacrity and criminal in the numinous nimble loss for words, the fake feeling
Bewwushteinshlage tell me I'm not rising with the tide, the dyer maker
Hot dripping and filling and dryer head full of hairy dreams
The seeds and searching for the demise of the promising song
And the fresh feed of afraid and fearful peaceful people in this clouded age and premise obsessed by flippant speech
Of hungry people acting so foolishly and speaking through their teeth for the representatives of the burning heart of education
Good glaciers are this a revelation and puerile pride and repeat the same behavior if it's so lyrical
Can I tell my sorrows, and the thorough and boughs rescinding of the glances
Advancements come and go, the gut feeling is good to row
The feeling of building and the bullish ****** find of joking kindred spirits
Drilling pleasantries into ole' midterm me losing my feet and losing my need for finishing school
From the rise of the morning, the time is frolicking and not easy
Someone's running from the hopeful and the ****** and the futon for the shrink's naysay
Daydream and rolling dear ad veritas in this vine of dwindling nations, just a glass domino
Words falling like a little limerick and it hurts just distress others
Taking sister act and the distance doesn't matter to someone obsequious and robed
We are stunned by your logic and your jokes, but, you need to shut the **** up
Finally, awaken the human up and stare at the cellar and have a drink
Before the new fire sails through your life instead of the old flame you remember
Jamie L Cantore Apr 2016
I composed for my breath of life an essential structure of essence, one wherein thence only this, I do dwell in innocence, yet to mine only soul I may not speak of recompense, for the loss of my worldly investments was of no other's world, or their doing hence: but mine own and I them own. Guilt, I naught did then admit to it, and furthermore would do I this,unfurl it for sake of my lonely soul, or the sake of admittance -and for all this didst I sow mine own, mine own Reaper in mine own soil, much to my greatest Woe! Therefore I ask for forgiveness in this, my lost but redeemable world below.
Delta Swingline Sep 2017
I'm not going to beat down on any religion.
That's a battle I don't need to be a part of.
Let alone, get on the wrong side of.

But here's the thing.

Something is very wrong with me.

What? I don't know.

It's not something under diagnosis or investigation, but it can **** as far as I can tell.

Long story short, I don't want to hear the good news.

We make it so easy to complain about nothing, and yet we stick to the things we hate.

Don't want homework?
Don't go to school.

Some people will take that advice, and most people will rebel against it and stick to school, because something will benefit surely...

Don't want to put up with the parents?
Leave home.

Don't want to feel pain?
Don't start feeling love.

Don't want someone to forget about you?
Become the worst possible version of yourself.

People can't seem to forget everything bad about the world.

Don't want to deal with the guilt of being a terrible person?
Then don't acknowledge anyone.

Don't want the pressure of being surrounded by people who hate you?
Then don't go anywhere.

You see none of these suggestions seem appealing at first.
But when you face this everyday, every answer comes out bland, and boring, cynical.

Like emotion you say them with.

Don't try.
Don't care.
Don't live.

It's too easy to give up!

But I do it anyway.

I can't handle hearing good news.

Or rather, hearing good things about myself.

Do not tell me I am better than this, I know I'm not.
Don't tell me I'm special, or that I'm redeemable, or worthy of anything above this.

Because I know...

I know deep down in this body there is a monster who's been uncaged before.

It's dying to get out...

And I'm dying to live.
It's easy to give up, what can I say?
kirk Dec 2017
It's okay when I'm being kind and your borrowing my tools
The agreement is that you then stick to the lending rules
There comes a time when it's done and I need the item back
Instead of time elapsing and your losing lending track
Please return my items I am only being reasonable
Don't forget about the favour when its easily redeemable
You don't need to take the **** but too much time has passed
Its getting a bit too much now and now I can't be arsed
I can't wait for too much longer not meaning to be brash
What I want returning is from my own ******* stash
So take particular notice this is only a reminder
What I'm really asking is where's my ******* grinder

— The End —