"relatively" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
i. when I was young, I was never complimented. I never felt good enough and it hurt and somewhere along the line I began complimenting everyone because I was never complimented and I never wanted anyone to hate themselves the way I did. just because I call a girl pretty does not mean I want in her pants.
ii. we live in a country where a gay poet spoke at obama's second inauguration, where five openly gay senators serve, where all fifty states have had a gay elected officer in some capacity, so if I were to be gay, what's the problem with a relatively unknown sixteen year old girl from a relatively unknown town in a relatively unknown state being gay?
iii. do you want me to be gay? do you want a better, more socially acceptable reason to make fun of me? is my weight not enough?
iv. I was taught the term fluidity by my best friend Alyssa. she firmly believes that sexuality is a spectrum, like many other things. I have a different view on sexuality because I see it as a spectrum, not something that's set in stone.
v. I like making people happy, I like completing people, I apologize a bit too frequently and I was taught how to accept people.
vi. just because I call a girl pretty does not mean I like her. just because I say a dog is cute does not mean I want with the dog. just because I say a painting is pretty does not mean I am going to **** the painting.
vii. aesthetic is a very important word.
viii. there are three kinds of attraction, aesthetic, romantic, and ****** just because you have one does not mean you have all three. just because I like the way something looks doesn't mean I am going to have *** with it.
ix. sexuality is an Identity. not a YOUdentity.
x. I'm not gay, but if I were, trust me, I wouldn't go for such a whiny little *****
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance.
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique.
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion.
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression.
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms.
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all.
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural.
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate.
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success.
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race.
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’.
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for.
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism.
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism.
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights.
This is mandate.
The republic for which we stand.
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
Though in dexterity my physically challenged carpenter father,
Than the physically fit proves better,as a source to his anger,
With contemporaries a level ground he enjoyed never!
From late childhood there was one thing that me used to bother, why my so discriminated father
On his turn true to cultural dictates,ill treats my domestic chores saddled mother
And heeds not her say though by the sweat of their brow
As responsible parents they were happily bringing my sister and I together?
I still wonder why ,why ,why my sister who has IQ
On par with me if not better,to help out mother
Suffering a cold shoulder even by her mom was denied the right to pursue education further
While I was given a chance to prove a man of letter(s)?
I remember, crossing many a pool, barefooted, I used to trek
A long distance to a nearby town's a school,
Where for my provincial and shabby clothes I was seen a fool
By the relatively rich in showing courtesy far from cool.
Though stationery they didn't lack , sad,I had a hand tied behind my back.
Alas,up on joining campus where I yearned for the sagacious a chance
There too in my class,I was looked down by students
Hailing from families of the top brass.
When I went abroad for a higher education enjoying fellowship and donation
Worse still, I met many, colour has coloured whose vision.
Ironically my dissertation was drawing attention
To why should the broad mass be standers by
And with ill-fate marked die
While the favoured ,racist and the corrupt few gobble over 3/4 of the pie? /
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 3:11 AM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Ophelia, Ophelia,
voracious daydreamer,
how dare you
upset this delicate orbit.
your hands were the kiln
for my sloppy and misshapen mind,
but that was nothing,
relatively, compared to the way
your eyes reflected lost souls.
my dear, it's a catastrophe.
now when the moon chides me,
and the stars reek of your smile,
I run my hands across
the fronts of empty dresses
that you wore years ago.
Ophelia, Ophelia,
I recall the way your eyes shone
like the peak of madness
and how your shoulder blades
touched in a subtly avian manner.
how simple are the remnants
of your existence, of your melancholia,
I cling to them like a ***** to touch-
and I know they will bring you no closer.
stale shadows haunt my lingering eyes;
where you should be standing
I see only lost time.
Ophelia, Ophelia,
smoldering star in my hindsight,
stone in my chest-
I'm sad to see you go.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
If I could be a fly on Einstein’s wall
I’d buzz about from chair to curtain
watch him check out plans and gadgets
and scratch remarks on his papers.
When the clock edged to noon
his stomach would growl,
he’d fold up the prints and say,
“It’s a relatively short walk to the café.”
With Albert out I’d take the run of the place -
practicing banks and dips and vertical lifts.
I’d munch on scraps of Brie and fowl
left fused to the edge of his table.
When the tumblers turned
I’d buzz back to my wall, eager to witness
whatever this sage would chance to say.
He’d go to his desk to file reports
and stack them neatly into a tray.
Without warning he’d rise from his chair
scattering papers across the floor.
“MASS AND ENERGY ARE ONE, ” he’d shout, -
“CRUSHED TOGETHER BY TIME! ”
I’d buzz and swoop and fly circles and loops
and taxi in on his collar.
I’d beat my wings to cool his brain.
But wait…Whose voice do I hear?
Oh, it’s you gentle reader.
“Stop, hold it right there, ****** pest!
It couldn’t have happened that way!
Have you no shame or respect for God’s truth? ”
But I’d stare you down with my compound eye
and scornfully twitch my wings.
Consider this, troubled sir,
you’re the one scolding a talking fly.
July, 2006
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
I stopped waiting for letters which never arrived;
when it started costing me minute per mile;
per smile;
per song that I'd skip for a while.
Making it rain with my valuable time
-wearing a coat in the summer time.
Stopped avoiding my postbox,
to the relief of my landlord,
and happily paid the bills so long ignored.
Drank less, ate more,
much more- self-assured
with one less page in my passport.
I stopped "letting you know,"
popping up,
"just to say hello,"
and "wondering if you fancied coming
or going
to some place relatively unknown."
Cleaned out my head;
cleared out my lungs;
wrote once again, for myself, just for fun;
listened to every song on the album;
all whilst lying naked
underneath the summer sun.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 3:03 AM UTC
As comes the night
And the stars shine
We sit in our balcony
And switch on the fairy lights.
We talk all night long
And maybe banter in between,
A smile playing on our lips
Never seeming to disappear
Yet remaining unseen.
It's relatively cold
But we don't feel the chill,
Because our hearts are warm
And our eyes so bright,
That would dim even the moonlight.
May 18, 2023
May 18, 2023 at 2:27 AM UTC
Uncle Christmas was mucking out happily mucking in and wondering what might have been had his twin not been sneakier and the first to emerge to claim the 'Father' moniker.
Uncle found to his surprise he was quite content to be the deputy and not have the pressure at the top of the Christmas hierarchy. Rather he was happier working with the reindeer, being grubbier, a little smellier, leaving his brother to bear the fur lined mantle that was heavier.
However,
at each and every Christmas dinner when the family all got together to enjoy the post-advent breather, Uncle would still insist with his Christmas pudding grin that compared to his older twin he was far harder working,
a little better looking
and definitely
relatively
slim.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 4:13 AM UTC
Contrapuntal
— adjective, Music.
- pertaining to counterpoint.
- composed of two or more relatively independent melodies sounded together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If we set this site poetic to music,
there would be two
contrapuntal melodies.
A harmony of disharmony,
met and matched by a
single refrain,
a harmonizing voice
meeting the needs
of the sopranos, the altos.
the low of the lowest basso.
I am in love,
life painting me beautiful.
The dawn is cracking,
opening my heart with love.
*I am a heartbroken shell,
in a living hell of neverending.
There is no light
in my bed at night, bulb broken.*
Let's write of joy,
celebrate reunification, singularity,
of our place,
our happy collision,
our universal location.
For where you are,
I exist,
no where else.
*Less than nothing,
gave and given in,
found a lost plateau
where there is no substance, only
pieces of broke,
pieces of ache,
pieces of brown glass*
I live you.
I die you.
There is but one color, and it is the color of us.
There is but one color, and it is colorless.
There is one vow for two,
the vow is one!
Keeping it,
natural, easy,
time is unrecorded,
forever is immeasurable.
*There are no vows ever kept,
only lies,
passing promises of vanity.
Never is the only time
that can be recorded.*
A new world symphony
that never ends.
What then
the unifying
refrain
uniting joy and pain?
Write it down.
Write it up.
Write it and believe.
We will listen,
and care,
having been there,
both ways,
both sides now
we are
write
alongside you.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:22 AM UTC
I look into her face, curiously more familiar, more frequent now on her departure. And particularly more prominent in profile.
I look into her face and see the easy smile that comes with age and with the assurance of knowing herself and her place in the bigger scheme of things, particularly in the scheme of relatively earthly royalty and the ultimately heavenly King.
I look into her face and recall it in prayer at her husband's funeral, and imagine it now at rest, in darkness and in joy, in a brighter light.
I look into her face, on my pound coin, in the corner of my letter, on the street bill board, on the front of the paper, on every channel, an image etched in my mind's eye, a loud echo of a lifetime of consistency and service.
I look and then in a prayer thank her God and my God for gifting us this servant queen, who lived well and only fell once she had done enough to help ensure others' lives were better for her being there.
And I pray for our king, that his long apprentiship in her firm serves him well and serves us well as we walk on together, into the unknown, in thanks for the service of leaders.
Sep 16, 2022
Sep 16, 2022 at 12:12 PM UTC
One of the famous "Barry Hodges Memories" sequence
People think that Waterloo is a fascinating battlefield,
Relatively near to Brussels (where the sprouts come from
and, which are, as you know, a great cause of **** fart-gas).
But believe me there is more to it than that:
As I was wandering around checking out the graves
And generally having quite a nice time when...
A load of drug-crazed German bikers appeared
Sky-high on excess intake of moules avec pommes frites
And several gallons of extra-strong Belgian beer.
And they leaped on us and bashed the living ****
Out of my poor 99 year old mother-in-law, Deidre,
And left her lying there spasticated on the battlefield.
And for what, a few lousy packets of French cigarettes;
And I needed a metal scoop to rescue her remains to take home;
Dear God, I shall skip any more 19th century champs de guerre.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 7:47 AM UTC
For my craving, satisfy me
of this spicy, loathsome
inclination of my restless soul.
You, from the Caribbean Sea--
Santiago, let your
ambrosia signifies of how
your people colloquially
refers you, as "Rock".
Santiago, a refuge
you were once for the Jews.
As desirably firm as you are,
abolish me of these crisp desires
for they renders me with nothing,
but mere pertubation.
Oh Santiago, obscure me
inside your dry rain - shadow
areas, relatively.
For a while, conceal me
so I may somehow be
healed of this tempestuous outburst.
Sing me a lullaby, Santiago.
With such unique culture
of yours, infect me.
To be vibrant, and
to become Jamaican.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 2:39 AM UTC
The Intersection
of Interruption and Intermission.
Act 2 has been delayed.
We will come right back
After a word from our sponsors.
Remember when
Remember when meant
More than just a week ago?
When the hill was only
30 years high,
And still,
nothing held the urgency
that seems to permeate
our every desperate action.
I swear we had time, then,
It seems,
So much more than
Aging naturally eats away.
But the multitudes
have multiplied,
as they are want to,
And as the telegraph cables
Come down for corridors of Light,
The speed of time Grows,
Relatively accordingly.
And so, the second part
Of this two part play
Starts 10 years later,
while we dash madder than ever,
racing each other,
to first summit the Crisis Peak.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
Once, I was excluded from love,
in bitterness I cursed all that I saw,
not knowing that this bitterness made me anathema
to the very sensations I pursued.
I spread hateful ideology,
made every effort to share my misery,
shouted condemnation at every pair of clasped hands,
every kiss I saw made me retch.
The bitterness welled up
and poured forth from me,
reppelling loves valiant attempts
at liberating me from my tower cell.
From my relatively pleasant existance
I fashioned my own tailor fitted hell,
which I wore everyday, steadily collecting filth,
so soiled I had become.
As I lifted the last shovelful from my early grave,
and prepared to climb down within
with my list of grievances against God
stapled to my shirt, so I might never forget,
my foot stepped out into the pit
but a gentle hand clenched my shoulder
and pulled me back from the hole,
and I turned and discovered love...
It does exist,
none need be excluded, if the feeling exists for some
all can be included.
Love not for the pleasure of it,
but for the pain, and strain,
so that we may constantly measure it against the ache of loneliness
and remind ourselves, that while love may be a neverending battle,
surrender to hate brings nothing but ruin.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 11:28 AM UTC
I didn’t know you. We lived in different worlds and lived different lives. We were strangers. You were just a random beautiful face that I thought I would soon forget not because you are not worthy to be remembered, but because I was not worthy to remember you. You were art. I was just passing by.
You didn’t know me. The things that keep me up at night, the shadows and the clouds that I have lived with. The corrosion and the gunk in the gears of my mind that contaminated my relatively peaceful heart. My underrated, silent suffering.
I don’t know you. I had no plan to, but the universe decided otherwise. Suddenly, you were not random anymore. You were art, and you remembered me.
You don’t know me, but you saved me. You don’t even know it either. How your words and the simple things slowly lifted the smoke from my eyes, making me see the world that I’ve been missing. I never realized I needed saving until you did.
I wanted to know you. I wanted to think you were an angel sent from above, but angels eventually go back to the heavens after they’re done, don’t they? So I wished you were human. As human as I was, in this forsaken, fractured world together.
I still don’t know you. I don’t know what makes you cry at night or what cracks you up in the middle of the day. Your soul is still a mystery to me. I know your favorite color and your favorite food, but these are meaningless things in your bigger and beautiful universe to be explored and understood.
You still don’t know me. I still haven’t got the chance to offer myself to you. Time and circumstance made sure of that. You still don’t know about my dreams and desires. You don’t know about the world inside my head, constantly whirring and exploding in activity.
I know something about you. You are not an angel, you don’t go back above to report an accomplished mission and take on another one. You are human too, wandering this world with your own shadows and clouds. Maybe you also need saving.
I wish I could know you. I want to see the demons lurking under your bed, and the dreams you try so hard to protect. I want to see you weep and know the reason why, to see you smile and laugh and never wonder why.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
who is she?
i’m not saying that in a cute, quirky, self-confident way either, like
genuinely, who is she?
i don’t remember when i morphed from a
bony, pimply, bowlegged teen into a
soft, dimpled, hunchbacked “adult”.
there are still remnants of her--
my forehead still bears the marks of farms of blackheads
and my collarbones are still visible when i allow them to be--
but her
this “woman”
looking back at me is still as foreign as blood pudding.
i still feel the same, relatively, as i did when i was 5 years younger.
i still tend to wear clothes that are comfortable over flattering.
i still feel my stomach tied into itself at the thought of making a doctor’s appointment on my own.
i still feel like me.
but her?
i don’t recognize her.
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 4:54 PM UTC
In my home city of Dhaka, there is an abundance of bananas. Their sickly sweet aroma hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the stench of human toil and chemical wastes to produce the true odor of despair. The lives of these bananas are relatively short. They start off in a poor farmer’s tree, dragged to market in a broken-down truck, and sold at a cut-throat price to the vendor. In a well-rehearsed play, vendor and consumer haggle over bruised bananas. The tired consumer brings the bananas home and hangs them in the kitchen where cockroaches stalk empty cupboards.
The next day, we, the children, will carry the bananas in empty lunch boxes to school. Together, we will sit through vapid lectures, tailored to make the clock tick slower. Not once will the teacher pause to encourage us to achieve. During lunch, we will devour our bananas with unwashed hands. Despite our best efforts, we will be corralled into our parents’ lives and become the next generation of factory workers and office clerks.
Sometimes though, a child manages to get a glimpse into the other world. I was fortunate enough to be one of these children. One afternoon, my father came into our tiny living room with a smile on his face and an object protruding from his shirt pocket. He told me that he had a special present for me. With a practiced flourish, he took out an orange from his worn shirt. My eyes widened with amazement.
To me, oranges were objects only celebrities and corrupt politicians could afford. They were luxury items, myths seen on television. Yet here I was, nothing extraordinary, holding a real orange in my palm. Slowly I peeled the orange, feeling my old impoverished self peel away simultaneously. As I tasted the first tangy slice, I heard the shackles of the banana chain fall. It was then that I truly felt that I had the power to become anything I wanted. That day, I was liberated from the vicious banana cycle.
From that day forward, I looked for positive events in my life, for signs of hope and change. One day, I saw my strict, condescending teacher discreetly hand an orange to a classmate whose family was unemployed. For the rest of the day, the child stood a little taller. For that day, he was no longer living in a destitute environment, but residing in the warmth of human nature.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
Teen model Shonali Khatun strutted the catwalk as the audience cheered at a fashion show in Bangladesh's capital.
But Shonali is no ordinary model, and this was no ordinary show.
She and the 14 other models are survivors of acid attacks, common in this south Asian country, where spurned lovers or disgruntled family members sometimes resort to hurling skin-burning acid at their victims.
The fashion show, held Tuesday night in Dhaka and attended by fashion lovers, rights activists and diplomats including the US ambassador to Bangladesh, aimed to redefine the notion of beauty while calling attention to the menace of such attacks.
For 14-year-old Shonali, the event was nothing short of empowering. She was attacked just days after she was born amid a property dispute involving her parents, and was left with burn scars on her face and arms. She spent nearly three years in a hospital and underwent eight operations. Her attacker has never been caught.
"I am so happy to be here," she said. "One day I want to be a physician."
The models, including three men, walked the catwalk, dancing and singing and showcasing woven handloom Bangladeshi designs. The show was choreographed by local designer Bibi Russel.
Organisers said they hoped to highlight the fact that acid victims, too often overlooked, are a vital part of society. They deliberately chose to hold the event on the eve of International Women's Day.
"We are here today to show their inner strength, as they have come a long way," said Farah Kabir, country director of ActionAid Bangladesh, which organised the show. "I often take inspiration from them. Their courage is huge."
Bangladesh has struggled to deal with acid attacks in recent decades, and has instituted harsh punishments for the perpetrators, including the death penalty. The country has also trained doctors to treat such sensitive cases and attempted to control the sale of acid, but has failed to eliminate the scourge entirely.
In 2016, some 44 people were attacked with acid in Bangladesh - an annual number that has remained relatively stable.
"I am ashamed of having such things in the country," Kabir said. "Unfortunately, in Bangladesh we do have acid victims because of either gender discrimination or violence, or because of greed. And we want to remind everyone the kind of injustice that has been meted out to them."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
Enigma entity’s ethology entelechy as it relates to clairaudience clairvoyance
Everyone has a personal futurity fatidic or existential metaphysique
What we need is a universally acceptable form of id conclusion
Unfortunately we can’t even agree on the social stigmatisms of ego’s expression
We are relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity that succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integrateable forms
There is no functional deontology, even though its visage would seem to portend cogently fecund probity for all
We are not ethereally sublime, we are corporeally preternatural
Objective is individual; obligation to each other is not a mandate
Though many might find it inherently indispensible to some it impedes success
The depths of debauchery this debacle ensues are almost intrinsically endemic to our race
How am I going to get there becomes more important than ‘what are we fighting for’
So, if there’s no unity of purpose how do we decide who we are fighting for
Will it be good for all or lead to oligarchy and subjugation, the seemingly inescapable byproduct of capitalism, the inherent decadence of socialism
It’s times like this that make me love the constitutional fortitude of Americanism
Theoretically I have an inalienable right, hypothetically this leads to anarchy so I’m not allowed to mess with your rights
This is mandate
The republic for which we stand
Mendacious tales of unity, not merely the obstinate tenacities of I, but also the cogent fecundity in the infamous we-ness of us
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
since the end of December 2013
a sad pall has engulfed out village
residents continually
have tears in their eyes
people we've respected and loved
are suddenly dying
yet another of our village folk
we laid to rest to-day
so may souls taken
in such a short period of time
all of them relatively young of age
we're shocked
we're in a state of disbelief
how can a village
bear the endless grief
of recent time
our village only hears
news of demise
we're in requirement
of brighter tidings
to lift the dolefulness
from our village skies
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC
I thought you cared for me
Because, your words had always conveyed that to me
I was supposed to be your best friend
However, our relationship, you decided to end
You said you were my sister
But you left me feeling rather bitter
Because you cared only about yourself
And left me hating myself
For something as minor as a Facebook comment
Never did you have any good intent!
I thought you cared for me
But it was never "we"
It was all "you"
Our friendship had no value
Because you were obsessed about yourself
You and your anaconda sized ego
Which you could never let go
You and your precious Mumbai Indians
Were the only **** sapiens
Who truly mattered to you
Apart from your "bestest friend"
You, would he blindly defend
As though you were a Nobel Prize winner
While you were actually a sore loser
With an extremely domineering personality
Masked by a deceptively sweet tongue
I thought you cared for me
But you never let me be
Because, all that mattered, was your precious image
Often, would you take umbrage
Over relatively insignificant matters
Such as me not marking you present
When you were LITERALLY absent
No wonder, did you have your haters
Because, YOU came before everyone else
Never did you take a pause
And empathise with anyone
In fact, YOU were everyone!!
I thought you cared for me
But you never truly cared for anyone
You thought you were a special someone
Who deserved all the attention in the world
On the other hand, often did you fold
At the slightest hint of pressure
Though you were so sure
That you were always right
Oh boy, never were you a pretty sight!!
I thought you cared for me
But you never took the trouble to understand me
You called me your best friend
But I was nothing more than a means to an end
Because you were a narcissist
And as a friend, one of the worst
Seriously, accepting your offer of friendship
Was nothing short of a mishap!!
Anyway, you will get what's coming to you
Your friends will eventually leave you
And then it will be just YOU
Left to fend for yourself
As you deserve to be
Because you are so obsessed with yourself
However, the world is for all
It's time you learned that
Once and for all!!
Mar 3, 2024
Mar 3, 2024 at 11:30 AM UTC
I am a certified expert in the sequential pushing of buttons,
this pushing performed, on a good day, in concert with the
expensively purchased, somewhat rare mental model of
the workings of a recently commonplace variety of machine
dependent at its core on the minuscule presence of increasingly-rare
earth metals allowing for the conditional flow of groups of electrons.
These machines, like their precursors, are further dependent on
the supply of slightly less increasingly rare combustible material
for which armed conflicts are routinely fought and many have died.
My interest in the machines began at an early age,
enticed by the illusion of control, and on the whole,
I think, motivated by the idea that these machines
processing information, the core mechanism of reality,
might be used to create understanding.
In the interceding years, it is increasingly apparent to me
that while some are used for this purpose, most,
like most things around me, are controlled and engaged by
multi-personed organisms concerned primarily with:
1) self-preservation AND
2) the collection of, and limited divestment of,
unit notions of rarefied value, insured by the
existence of another similar organism valued for its
1) self- and nearby-environs preservation AND
2) recent track record of insuring continued relatively easy access
to the aforementioned important combustible materials.
—it is generally considered to people's credit that this notion
of value is thus-derived and no longer as frequently derived by virtue
of possessing a metal which, while of certain non-combustible use,
is basically just pretty rare and really, really shiny.
I find myself again shortly in a need of convincing such an organism
that my button pushing is of sufficient quality,
on sufficiently frequent good days,
that it should consider me a temporary part thereof and divest,
of itself to me, sufficient units of value that I might happily
continue to push buttons on its behalf in the pursuit of further units.
I am, for some reason, somewhat less than thrilled with this prospect
finding it, despite its marketability, a maybe less than important enterprise.
I am existentially concerned by the idea that my whole value may derive
from my button pushing, and is thus further dependent on
the availability of rare-earth metal and also-rare combustibles.
In some delusion of importance amongst 7 billion plus similar primates
and a unfathomably vast universe,
I thought you might be interested to know
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC