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Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
why do they write about what's essential... well... ~essential... there's no universal proof of it, or the exhibition of a certain use of the currency of words... the elevated vocabulary... currency... they're at the mercy of a lion, a fox and a lamb compost heap of bone... they write as if the things they're longing for are essential... they're not... they were never meant to be experienced with democratic uniformity, no man is born equal, hence the dream of democracy... the dream of democracy was born from the obvious tradition of inequality... democracy is what stunted the agile strong man from bringing home the bacon, a critique of Christianity is nothing compared to a critique of democracy... how avidly we spectate in affairs of sports where one beats another in a sprint of a boxing match, and then comes this crucifix whining about equality... if Christianity is Platonism for the people... then Democracy is Platonism for the powerful.

either entertainment or no attainment, make a choice! democracy is belittling me post-Victorian with omni-education - they want me
to write an *X
when i should be writing my name,
why am i suspicious of democracy?
at least in the alternative you have one, clear, target,
in this ****-hole you have too many to aim at,
and i'm sure, dead certain that we're not selling
nappies in Westminster with all the bold speeches,
is that Mr. Blair trying to wriggle out being compared
to a former Mr., Milosevitch (Milošević: Meelohshevitch)?
there goes the linguistic alphabet,
use the placebo language that doesn't use accent stresses
and apply the languages that do, up yours upside down
omega! /ˈhəʊpfʊl/ v. hopeful, e.g. there;
it was a bountiful night, walking home trying to
find a place that sold the Saturday edition of the times,
didn't find one, stopped in a street,
a house without curtains, plain sight view,
like in the old days, one television per street,
after extra time, Germany v Italy in the quarter-finals,
watched the entire penalty shootout from a street
looking into a stranger's house... the old way of
watching television, the feeling? better than HD,
or flat-screen, whatever quality is to be minded,
Œzil missed, Schweinsteiger too....
now image the lost influence on me by a television,
i didn't eagerly sit till the match ended,
took a few beers for a walk, watched the shootout
like a mid-20th century person, through
a neighbour's / stranger's window -
and all this world around me, happening,
and yet in the vicinity... nothing... a pigeon *******
in flight, a dog barked, a car was parked,
a family photo was taken... even with all this
faking of global unity via the internet and the television...
the world is still largely minute, i know
that globalisation allowed astrophysicists and
darwinists (anti-historians) make bold claims
of the encapsulated individual -
an average ape shaved on an grain of sand
orbiting an average star - our ancestors the cavemen
and the flint - **** me, chicken oven baked in an
hour, egg boiled in 5 minutes for a runny yoke,
a marathon: Radcliffe's 2:17:42 (almost like citing
the bible) - you want me to be conscious of
what came prior so many years ago?! this is *******
ridiculous, it only means we're speeding up -
and the crowning zenith prize of our scientific inquiry
is crippling old age everyone seems to be afraid of...
**** yeah! we are speeding up, having this arm's reach
into prehistory isn't slowing us down,
not with 24 / 7 underground of New York,
"christ's" critique of the Sabbath in full swing...
it's a clear and utter barricaded proof of a burn-out,
imagine having the routine of a 9 to 5p.m. when
all the major tasks at hand were mediocre by comparison
to fishermen or coal-miners... what then?
burn-out... the first critique of Marxism didn't work...
the second one will, and it will be silent, less warring,
less prone to national agendas and borrowings from
Hinduism... there is a second Marxist critique coming,
but it will turn out to be a masochism for those that
didn't embrace the first critique - as a way to embrace
the invigoration of the category of species rather than
the individual - we now have a species inside a species:
individuals - not necessarily true to the point,
the stresses of biology were perfectly suited to communism,
the stresses of physics are perfectly suited to capitalism,
Oppenheimer: now i've become death, the destroyer
of worlds - given enough 'heimers and we will not necessarily
need atom bombs, just a carbon footprint and a few
selfies on the beeches of Goa, Morocco or elsewhere.
CH Gorrie Jul 2013
Have you heard of the
gardens clandestines grow?

The neighbors have, although
until today the gardens were usual, not a
pastime no one would seriously guess.
The flowers are conceptual homonyms
bordered by Boxwood africans
no breadwinning cardinal would bless
with its roost.
                         Grass beneath a golden ninebark
is slightly depressed where some pistol was.
For the past few years the neighbors have wondered daily What the hell is it this guy does?
What, with him always vaguely mumbling "...lots of business trips." It's dark
now, blood spatter coagulates on the picket fence.
                                                          ­                               Four tire streaks on the road,
the responding policemen kept it hushed, speaking in code
to disembodied voices on a radio. Not much more than a glance
and shrug at the neighbors' concerned inquiries.
One consensus formed: he was deep
in consequences from promises he couldn't keep.
This was speculative, of course.
                                                         The palm trees
rustled above their heads. "Maybe he was a clandestine,"
one of the neighbors remarked
as another dismissively barked,
"Ridiculous! He kept a garden!"
NeroameeAlucard Aug 2016
There was no joy in Mudville,
The air was cold that night.
For the hockey team was losing
And shorthanded, following a fight.

With 5 minutes on the penalty clock
And 1 minute left in regulation
It seemed as though the season was over
And the team would be heading to the unemployment line by the train station.

The next face off was won by Mudville,
And they dumped the puck down the ice
Wilson raced down after that 3 pound puck, and out of nowhere came Johnson, a pass to score as he fell down the ice!

Tied with about 30 seconds to go,  the crowd gave an almighty roar
Because they tied the game shorthanded,
Johnson, a defenseman had scored.

The teams headed into overtime, and you could cut the tension in the air with a knife,
For in hockey overtime is sudden death, the next goal would win the night.
And after a 10 minute intermission, the teams returned to the ice

The referee skated out to center,  and dropped the puck between two anxious Sticks.
The duel was on,  and both goalies were tested
But neither one would fall for the forwards tricks

With overtime ended, we went to a shootout,
This seemed to be the only way to decide the game.
And after Wilson stepped back onto the ice, he scored giving Mudville a chance to win the game.

But Jeralds would tie the shootout in the second round, and Johnson, following him would do the same. So after a miraculous stop by Mudville's goalie,  it would fall onto Casey to win the game.

A hush fell over the crowd, as Casey stepped onto the ice, he took a deep breath and started on his way,
He skated wide left stick handling down, his head up at the goalie trying to get him out of play.

Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey was shutout.
A take off of Casey at the bat
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
well.. i wasn't wrong... England made it to the European
championship final... coming against Italy...
but wait a minute... wait a minute:
in what style!
                            oh yeah... it's just screaming:
Gieves & Hawkes!

how can this English team win against all
that's gusto that's STYLE: that's ******* Gucci...
once upon a time growing up in England
i managed to spot a few pedagogic
pillars...

everything has to be made fair for everyone
partaking...
meritocracy is key...
racists have smaller brains than non-racists...
ha ha... these days i don't know
how to tell apart racists from anti-racists...
which is always fun: ethno-masochism is
going to stick to me like a leech...

what style?
if all that's English is all Locke and not Rousseau...
the team that plays for... scoring goals as flukes...
and later with no imagination...
has a runner dribble the ball into the penalty
rectangle and... win by... not a penalty shootout...
but a penalty in extra-time?

the "home" of football where:
it's not about playing football... it's about winning...
whatever the hell that means...
cheaper wines have more sulphites...
i can taste the smoothness of
my laughing bird cabernet sauvignon...
naked after the kookaburra...
2016 vintage...

this team for all its passing prowess...
the dull football that is better known
as the north sea derby...

you can't win a championship while the entire
throng of support
is... gasping for air with the words:
IT'S NOT FAIR! PENALTY!
PENALTY!

it was almost amusing to watch the entire Danish
team stand firm and clap at the English team
"taking the knee":
i once went to catholic mass... since
i went to a catholic school:
lo and behold... i am yet to be confirmed:
since i read a little bit of the Gnostic texts....
like Źιźek once made the observation:
****** spoke... waited... and engulfed all
that came with the people subsequently clapping...
he wouldn't clap...
Stalin... subsequently: clapped with
the audience he addressed...

it could have be seen that "taking the knee"
was a good-luck charm?
for what... ethno-masochism?
you can't win a football match playing
without a hunger for a goal...
you can't just run into a penalty area
dribbling dribbling: drooling at the legs
playing for a penalty...
without... say... shooting from outside
the box for the Gucci glamour...

when i look at the Union Jack
i think about... Elizabeth I...
i have to...
what weight of the world on this woman's shoulders...
that woman's shoulders...
what genius...
she instigated the union...
she was playing the role of
ol' aunty Lizzy...
so that her cousin's son would become
the future King of England
and have leverage to craft the union...
whether she lost her virginity:
i get to **** prostitutes: i'm not too bothered
about the body...
but like i noticed: reciprocally...
self-hygiene is important...
now wouldn't be apprehensive
having ****** ******* with the freed
women of Fred... sorry... the Vest...
if i might catch a ******...
or gonorrhoea?

at least in the brothel...
i'll put some acacia confusa bark in my mouth...
i'll work at an *******
then pinch off the excess *****...
then i'll shave the whole region...
i'll shower... i'll slobber on some mint-cream:
ah, refreshing... on the barely touched regions...
i'll shower... shampoo... squat...
stand-up... squat again... bench-press my body-mass
with press-ups... cycle up to the brothel...
i'll scrub my hands with some
fenugreek seeds...
a total **** of scents...
she'll make sure by wiping my working part
completely clean before turning
into a liver-eating nymphomaniac ******...
i'll be fine with that...
i'll ask her if i can photograph her
face in the mirror...

perhaps in the olden days: there was this fear
of visiting prostitutes and catching...
syphilis... where is that... at? these days?
you have more chance of catching "something":
from the freely available flesh market
of dating / hook-up apps...
prostitutes are harem born...
cleanliness is: a white linen niqab...
if men of...

oh we know what the Arabs have become...
docile ***-mad perverts:
you give an Arab a sip of wine...
he turns the entirety of the desert
into... something manageable...
you give an Arab too much of what he already
supposedly has: subsequently imports from
the core of the mythological blonde persuasion:
the same of the same old...

how else doesn't it "work"?
madonna's la isla bonita: the mythological blonde...
coupled up with either Tarzan or
King Kong...
blonde Danes are excluded from her fantasies...
good... this bartablondine is looking
for a Turkic ol' raven haired mystery
of the orient: this is where we part...
a woman's fetish for the exotic can be
matched... i'll be looking for my Constantinople
brothel beauty...
i'll be rummaging in Romania alongside
Dracula...
anaemic beauty to begin with...
slugging white and all that's timid toward
the sun... copper-skinned serpent come summer...
i too can reply... Turkic ol' raven haired
tinged with a tease of black-blue...
to hell with these hypocritical-nuns!

i best keep them as the mythological blondes
that they are:
African ****-leeches...
toward adventure! bring the crab-bucket to the fore!
i'm not going to go as far as
as the English skins preference
for the Thai-surprise... nope...

you can't win a football match with the sole
focus of ballerina tiptoeing
via herr stiletto Grealish or:
"dupka": pristine buttocks: RA'HEEM...
SH-terling... running into the box
for a penalty:
the worst way to win a match...
not lasting to the penalty shootout is...
is making a grift..
the proper:  "English" way:
it's not about the football:
it's about the ******* silverware!

if they win: they only achieved being
in the final by: a fluke...
not chance: by fluke...
fluke is: plumbing per se...
not chance not fate
not luck: if fluke is plumbing per se:
then all the other nouns
and noun-stressors exfoliating
within the designation of adjective
are: foam like ****...
there's no style... let alone: honour
winning a football match
by having the crowd pressure you
to pressure the opposing team to
subsequently pressure the referee to
give you a penalty:
play should have been stopped...
there are two footballs on the pitch...
i must be ******* blind!

oh... the English can fathom preaching
to the choir...
come to think of it...
they don't care about the beauty of the game...
they care much more about
the queen's jewels...
it's not even about: how you win
this championship:
it's only about: winning it...

i cling to the elder gods: surprise me with
something more profound than:
oculus per oculus...
seems thirsty enough... thirst is all there is:
and the many tiers of hunger...

you can't win a football match without
scoring goals...
running into the box hands extended:
taking the knee:
screaming: IT'S NOT FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR!
isn't going to cut it...
for ****'s sake...

i like watching sports without chanting...
watching sport allows me
the only: perhaps the "lost" avenue
of exercising objectivity...
i can measure out what's: fair...
contra... what's blatantly itching me...
England "won" the game against
Denmark... not because they played
better... the English just want
the silverware...
they don't want to entertain the crowd
with football: they want to WIN...
they might be playing footbal:
no... i think they're gambling on a curriculum
of teasing poker...

that wasn't a penalty... it should have been
a shootout... plain and simple...
Italy will make England
want: a deserved: thrashing...
i look at sports: esp. teamed events
and i think about
whatever happened when
the Judgment of Solomon happened...

the English: so centrist so middle of the world
so: sensible: so awe-inspiring...
can't ******* win a football match
without having to pressurise the opposing
team into making a defensive pseudo-
"faux pas"...
             if silverware is all you want...
**** it...
throw as many pearls into the mud
for the pigs to screech while gobbling 'em up!

i've made my peace...
i've just said it...
         England does not deserve to win...
amore! amore!
Frances Marie Jan 2020
Your mouth is a smoking gun.
Reloading for the next reply,

After insults have been fired.
Shoot me down where I stand,

Silence me before the quipped-barrel clicks.
Triggered, you shoot the messenger,

Before our story had finished.
Started out simple but kind of became about the past ghosts who tried to put me down. But I'm back for my redemption. Taking back my life to where I want it to be.
Masha Yurkevich Dec 2018
Please don't fight;
it turns the beautiful day
into an ugly night.
Please don't argue;
it has no value.
Please don't shout;
it's a verbal shootout.
Please don't yell;
I hate it,
can't you tell!?
Nischitha Oct 2013
he started out on a ***** road !
his need for money obscured the mode.
alarmist spoke ...that he had a gun ..
no!  not until then he had ever touched one..
he learnt to fly..without the wings
coming down..was the hardest of things.


when he heard  about the shootout ,
his heart sank ,but without  the faintest of hope ,
he sincerely wished he could cope
he saw  the emptiness in his soul,
and  his innocence burnt!
a little late but lesson learnt .


his boss , the one who pulled the strings
knew what happened to a kin of his
he gave a scornful laugh
for all he was odious ignoble and repulsive bluff

had anyone shown him the light
he would have followed right.
for all he was just a boy,
Gullible timid and coy
again in the  hearts of his heart
a healing fountain could start
he had died; even before he could bloom
it wasn't even time yet he slept on his tomb
louis rams Oct 2012
(love story)

She was only 21-when her fiancés life
Was taken with a gun.
They had three years together
And life was getting so much better.
They had plans for a wedding in June
But it ended much too soon.

He had given her a long stem rose
Then he fell to one knee, and did propose.
She took the rose and with loving tender care
With her diary she would share.

She took the rose and cut the stem
And she knew his love would never end.
She knew with time this flower would wither
And die- and that it was a love between he and I.
So she got the silica gel, And preserved the
Rose very well.

She put it into a plastic bag
and vacuumed out all the air.
Then put it into her diary
Where only she could see.

They said it was a down right shame
That he was in the middle of a shootout
Between two rival gangs.
That was when he lost his life
Before she became his loving wife.

As the tears rolled down her eyes
She started to visualize
Of how her wedding day would have been
Had he not been in the wrong place
At the wrong time.
Their life would have turned out fine.

As she placed the rose upon the diary page
Growing inside of her was a sense of rage.
Why can life be so cruel, and people so full of hate?

But looking at the rose, her heart started to melt
Relieving her of all the anger she felt.
Their love for each other was “ oh so pure”
Of a happy life together she was sure.

Life can be comical, and you never know
What it will bring.
But she got pregnant doing her thing.

Then one night when she fell asleep
Into her mind he did creep
And told her these words:
Now you have three things I left behind
My love, a rose, and a child of mine.

When she awoke, she knew he did not die in vain
For he left a part of himself to relieve her pain.
Dr Strange Mar 2016
Good Afternoon,


The following should not be televised but is sadly the truth


Please support the official release

Bang Bang
Well look at what we have here
Another black boy laying on the ground dead
Bang Bang
Two more white boys on the ground gasping for air
Screaming in pain and agony as the blood gushes from their open wounds
**** it!
When will it end
When will the endless of cycle of violence come to an end
Just last week a four year old was shot in the face in a shootout between the white man and a ******
Call the police someone screamed
No, please don't
They don't understand how to handle situations like this 
They'll only make it worse I promise you that
Run, run like the wind or this really will be the end
No that's my son the ******'s momma screams
Her son is on the ground praying for his life
I don't wanna die,i don't wanna die,he cries at the top of his lungs
I'm sorry Joseph, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, I'm sorry I couldn't avenge you
You see Joseph was his little brother who was shot and killed by a white cop two weeks before
He was a straight A student who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time
Now we are here big bro seeking revenge for his little brother's death
How noble but now death seeks to reap another life lost in the shadows
**** it the 5.0 is here, disperse
Dang it big bro is dead, and momma just froze appalled by what she just witnessed
The sky really is a painted mural made of blood
Sad tale both ended by the hands of a cop

Now the white man's story was a bit different
Long ago he was a proud member of society
He helped a lot of people rise up when they fell to their knees
Then one day he and his family was sitting at the dinning room table eating the dinner his wife just prepared
It all happened so suddenly he proclaimed
Seven black males burst through the front door and gunned them down in matter of seconds
He was the only survivor, in a single night he lost his entire livihood
Now he is just this hollowed out corps floating in a black ocean
He began to hear voices in his head telling him to **** them all
Thus Joseph life was stolen and left in a dark ally behind the middle of nowhere
Bang Bang
Now this story begins once again
Will the violence ever come to an end
spacewalker Oct 2017
I found Jesus
in the trunk of my car

I found Jesus
in the back row of the church choir

I found Jesus
in a shootout with the police

I found Jesus
giving head in a thrift store fleese

he said come home
and to heaven I go
but my singed hairs said maybe not so
Aubree Champagne Apr 2014
I'm the chain fallen loose
from my father's truck
as he drives at night,
chasing him home from
                    ..."business."


My father is Lake Michigan
in January--cold and restles.
I'm the bystander of a shootout
between my family.

My father is a carpenter
painting my goldenness
gray.  He's the voice
in my head, and I am
                 ...worthless.

A Boy never had the chance
to break my heart, because
my father already had.
John F McCullagh Dec 2013
Regulation time was up
and our team one goal behind.
At the referees sole discretion
Is the length of stoppage time.
How much time do we have left?
What difference can we make?
Already we’re shorthanded
And the playoffs are at stake.
We’re like a man whose heart has failed
a time or two before.
Each time nearly off with death
Until revived for more.
Or somebody whose lease is up
And headed for the door,
Waiting only for the truck
to take their past to store.
I heard my pulse race in my ears
As I penetrate their line.
I tuck the ball inside the post
And score in stoppage time.

Just ahead a shootout waits
which will decide our fate.
When playing games of sudden death
What a difference seconds make.
Rasha Omer Jul 2014
It has been 20 something years.
And on a single day within layers of hours.
I've felt a shrug for the first time.
Like pins on the pillow you have
left behind when all the dust have settled.

The ball has dropped. A million times.
And then some.
And on a ***** slippery and distinctly
overwhelmed.

I've felt a beat within my rib-cage
slightly loud that it has shaken me
in sleep.

The dust you have left to shrivel
still dances around my plethora
of emotions, unsettled.

And, I'm standing here, surrounded by
what could have been
but should have never been.

Saved by frantic clicks
on a keypad. Typing into the existential
delusions of your listless memories.

I have stood here, unshaken, by the mistakes
we have accumulated down the polarizing roads.
And the dainty trickling down the drain.

I am standing and withstanding
a shootout of the most frivolous nature.

Like the pins striking this pillow
in a poetic wave of dissonance.
K Balachandran Jun 2018
armies of clouds clash,
shootout and bloodbath all night;
****** morn, quiet!
louis rams May 2013
She was only 21-when her fiancés life
Was taken with a gun.
They had three years together
And life was getting so much better.
They had plans for a wedding in June
But it ended much too soon.

He had given her a long stem rose
Then he fell to one knee, and did propose.
She took the rose and with loving tender care
With her diary she would share.

She took the rose and cut the stem
And she knew his love would never end.
She knew with time this flower would wither
And die- and that it was a love between he and I.
So she got the silica gel, And preserved the
Rose very well.

She put it into a plastic bag
and vacuumed out all the air.
Then put it into her diary
Where only she could see.

They said it was a down right shame
That he was in the middle of a shootout
Between two rival gangs.
That was when he lost his life
Before she became his loving wife.

As the tears rolled down her eyes
She started to visualize
Of how her wedding day would have been
Had he not been in the wrong place
At the wrong time.
Their life would have turned out fine.

As she placed the rose upon the diary page
Growing inside of her was a sense of rage.
Why can life be so cruel, and people so full of hate?

But looking at the rose, her heart started to melt
Relieving her of all the anger she felt.
Their love for each other was “ oh so pure”
Of a happy life together she was sure.

Life can be comical, and you never know
What it will bring.
But she got pregnant doing her thing.

Then one night when she fell asleep
Into her mind he did creep
And told her these words:
Now you have three things I left behind
My love, a rose, and a child of mine.

When she awoke, she knew he did not die in vain
For he left a part of himself to relieve her pain.

louis rams :
Star Gazer Feb 2016
"Bzzir Bzauchi Bzzirya"
Said the treptonite whilst hissing it's tongue to a snakelike reflex,
                 *"Cutreen Cutyl Cuttiness"

Said the gorzolias whilst arms flailing at it's rugged pecs.
                                  "WHAT THE ****?"
Said the human with wide eyes staring at the inhuman abominations.
                            "THEY ARE DIFFERENT, SHOOT THEM ALL DOWN"
Said the human as he reached for his weapon of extermination.
               "We come in pea...."
Said the two inhuman abominations....

                      

News Article : *Creatures unlike man shot down in what appears to be a police shootout. The creatures will be experimented on to determine their genus and abilities. Should any uses for their bodies appear, we will publish all scientific evidence of such to the Journal of Scientific Discovery.
Jodie-Elaine Jun 2020
Beach tunes happy-go-lucky spins around the living room the way you catch me when I launch myself at the kitchen tiles, I just wanted to catch something right like a childhood home and things won’t stop lobbing themselves at the walls like sad, falling existential poets eye rolls bad yarn fingerprints track loosely around this domestic space come in for a slow dance, I’ll tie my hair up and we’ll use the lawnmower as a kitchen table chasing our dinner down the street microwaved bats keep coming through the windows Happy Halloween, my love. Slow lips touch themselves together tiredly at the end of the words fall off the face sliding slowly drum beats pleasantly thoughts die here in this greeting card poster perfection ohh, how nice it would be to have a shootout in a 50’s diner with baguettes the same tune it lollops around the room a little glamorously nothing has ever been this perfectly balanced before I fall off my chair it knows something we don’t.
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
from experience,
Alzheimer's in males is
more bearable
than in females,
given the example of
my grandfather,
there are always
dasein coordinates
of memory laying
siege to the inanimate
present...
under a veil and curtain
of solipsism
and schizophrenia
(respectively)...
"i" play truant...
      not that there is
a gender neutrality of
pronouns, there is also
a neutrality of pluralism...
thesaurus subtleties;
bull riddling *******!
males deflect
memory and coordination
of the present,
hence the "presumptive"
"thought"...
       that,
even if Elijah is to return:
a son's heart will turn
to his father's...
we both share a nostalgia,
me and Joseph...
   how we used to ride bicycles
and went fishing...
now he sleeps, and
I'm bound to drinking
till sunrise I wish will
never come...
irony... the anomaly of
premature "Alzheimer's",
namely the calculative
mind, a Macchievelian
"syndrome":
  Venetian contra
Milanese familiar...
    what? talk! talk!
"he" sure as **** will not
climb down off a cross and
give his Judas due
to another iconoclasm project
akin to: Metallica's
before it sleeps...
      a game of chess
between a schizophrenic
and an Alzheimer's project
uno...
      guess who's bluffing
toying with solipsism...
mind you, both are jacked up
on pharma placebos,
which are, so short of the true
psychedelic escapades...
     then they throw IN
a ******* in a wheelchair to
balance the books,
get a medium,
    churn out a no man's land...
get all body-realistic
and shove the brain
from basic piston dynamics
into artificial intelligence
webbing custard,
which later becomes
dog food, cartilage for
prosthetics,
         and a canvas for
medical students...
     since the blood never gushes
out of grey... mint...  
not even if I tried,
given that certain mental illnesses
are pure pilitoco...
there's market on easily accessible
terminology,
  again, borrowed from the medical
profession...
   the reason they are taboo,
is because they are too politically
useful, unless of course,
the "surprising" happens,
akin to a Texans shootout...
    straight away, gobs into the trough,
eyes into the precursor *******'
worth of **** stipends at
the Vatican...
                   if only...
       **** could run the world...
you ******* donning a bow-tie
to talk such plain-policed-talk?
apparently there's a tomorrow...
to be honest,
to me that only means
a yesterday that just happened
today...
   memory,
outside the schooldays living
plasticine...
   head in a churner,
and the sick vogue of
peacocking psychopathy,
before, the glued eyes to the void
starts swerving his
multifaceted scream of ideas...
see em, dull eyes...
toad eyes... eaten by amphibian
apathy...
    saliva on the oculus...
     and twice the venom
akin to an immovable statue...
like a copper statue of Montgomery,
so too, the one pence,
two pence in the pavement...
copper herald: the screeching
shaman of the collective death...
while tomorrow,
the dead night in sloth's *****
awaiting suckling for a dream...
a kite was flown,
an ice cream was turned into
a fancy quasi-arctic inverted
dollop...
               empire strikes back:
the Rolling Stones / the Beatles
SCHIZOPHRENIA
         was debated by the titilated
public...
         unless you're not
bilingual...
imagine...
       Pacquiau vs. Klitschko...
honey... your depression
narrative isn't going to be some
David contra Goliath anomaly...
    like that *****-whiff of a man
'aving a pint,
sliding into tango...
   while me 'aving a 50cl of *****,
doing an hour's worth of
Buckingham duck-snap
       salutations in:
                         'eet up! 'ed do'n!
sorry...
    there are too many exceptions
at the zenith that are a
turkey-feeding antithesis of
bulimia made believable...
as ever... too few exceptions at
the nadir, that are somehow
precursors to
a grief upon the plateau,
communal...
    altogether worrying...
slyly, rather than shyly,
within e.g., trying to...
      do you know that Rasputin
gave me an old Tsar rüble banknote
from the grave,  via
a Jew, that earned a Monte Casino
cross for bravery?
    the Poles still think
the Mongols are coming...
   like the Arabs...
who still think water is
       a...
                  whatever happens
in Las Vegas...
              doesn't leave Las Vegas?
about time "they" figured
out how to water the plants
with dog ****...
mind you, with a back
to the future hindsight 100 years on...
it wasn't so much that
we were ignorant,
but rather that we were:
                       misinformed...
catch you next time,
experiencing a barage of
information,
and interacting with
a self-modified
          censor-***-filter...
"thing".
EmperorOfMine May 2018
I have a temper
I'm not a toy
I don't get redder
When I destroy
I just start grinning
When I have fuel
Maybe it's sinning
When I get cruel
Not that I'm petty
Though that I am
Shootout confetti
Your chance to scram
Cause I'm distracted
I've lost my rage
I've been contacted
Now sleep by Sage
exposing hypocrites
that hide in
the darkness mark this
day and aeon
far from a peon
can't fade the Don
the only one feelin'
holy but no holes in me
never will I die lonely
enemies be my crony
follow me why don't you
allow me to introduce to you
my gun crew
we got mr Mack 11 mini 14 double m 9
givin' visions of a flatline as ya rewind
the stages of ya life
bumpin" out strife
standing with pride
like Malcolm X
who's next to plex
catch bullets in they chest
peace to those who rest
my enemies I see in a flee
cuz they know the soldiers never plea
**** the courts of course
taking elites down under
no corpse
cuz I'm burned em all
downfall
to Babylon and their imperial
clockin my own serials
revolution two point 0
busting at the systems
cuz I can't take no more
pain suffered since I was kid mayne
puffs of Mary Jane
to keep me sane
can't let the vision go blurry
when I die
I'll be face to face
with hells jury
full of fury
thoughts exposed on a tv screens
makin me a villians
out of everything
cuz I see the way
the world and it really is
**** puttin in the bids
it's all rigged
numbers reserved for yo ***
don't be a *****
chasin the cash
cuz you cop out no doubt
america on verge of a shootout
with Russia and North Korea
ain't hearing ya
no fearin tha
dark side cuz the powers that be
two faced like Jekyll and Hyde
feel this ****
as I bump in ya ride
soon to be homicide
ain't no testing no guessing
guised as a blessing
to the systems I be stressing
trying to bury me
but they don't scare me
citizens arm yo weapons
get ready for Armageddon
huh it's seems like they gonna breakdown
leave em in a frown
as clown with my hallow point rounds
punishment for sins
is back in town
fool as I get around
Semihten5 Nov 2017
from point shootout
high-pitched screams
the last act of the game
ends questions

and waiting for us
look dark

you put a nail too
wall ready
why falls frames
ARuckus May 2018
Girls be checking me wishing they could be me, girls be fronting me always trying to compete cuz they incomplete with no originality they need to check they own reality. seems they get close when they have something to gain when All Is Lost I'm the one slain. Peeps be shooting me down saying what they think is right no one asks if I'm alright. They tell me angels can't fly but I be looking up in the sky all I see is rainbows and stars while I be cut up and left Lonely with scars. Boys be checking me out trying to feel me out trying to throw some game all they want is they claim to fame. I need some peace of mind in this Daily Grind before I lose myself and just unwind. People be looking at me like they know me thinking they in charge and have something to show me. All I see is an endless mob trying to push me into the fog. I get lost, I get lonely, I have no one to comfort me. Everyone who gets close only wants to boast acting like they the king of Mars or a queen of the stars. No one sees the real me they only see what they want to see. They *** their blinders on, while im just tryina find a tomorrow. People be slangin my name as it is they only claim to fame. Gold diggers be mind f* people with they own agendas all acting like they trying to help us. I sing the  Blues with a sad tune, cuz i got no way to vent trying to say what I meant, always misunderstood cuz people think I'm Hood. b be throwing elbows trying to check me trying to test me trying to front me trying to bump me, get in line cuz u aint so divine. Bout to be thrown, cuz ive grown. They call me narcissist I just think I'm sick of this ****, all these games playd tired of peeps throwin flames. Just need some peace of mind to get back to my Daily Grind. These people are blind they walk around people of all kind. They want to call me a racist say I walk  with a white Hood. What they don't know is that I'm from the hood. I be mixing with all type so they need to get off they gripe Cuz I'm the only one leading a lonely life. They want to call me crazy cuz they think I'm having a baby. I'm just begging and pleading for some peace of mind for my daily grind. I be trying to float like a butterfly while they sting like a bee all this negativity is drowning me. These boys be getting heinous and jealous they ain't loyal trying to act like they some kind of royal. You want riches and you want fame get your head in the game, take it out of some other b ***** and be a man not some kind of boy toy wussy. B want to be me, guys want to f and no one wants to claim me. My family abandoned me they all say I'm crazy they don't want you to know what goes on behind closed doors cuz they all in Scientology. You think I'm trash well I know you're just bout that cash. They Chew you up n spit you out, they forget what it's all about. They *** they own agenda when it doesn't meet they own they try n end ya. I only spit lyrics and write rhymes to get me through these tough times. I think Chester was onto something real when he couldn't deal. Sinking down flailing trying not to drown. Head's barely above water sometimes I think I think it's time i take that drink. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words are what really hurt me. Tired of being spit up and chewed out think I'm ready for the shootout. See people going to take these words I write down try and make me look like a clown I'm just trying to turn my frown upside down. I'm sick with angst and lack of loyalty for everybody be walking around thinkin they royalty. Why so down and lackluster he asked cuz ppl walking around saying they want to bust her cuz they know they can't f with her. Tired of these b* stalking me, I'm just trying to be free. Sometimes you need to let the Beast go in peace so as to not have to get the police. Tired of the harassment and mind games cuz all they want is they own claim to fame. Tired of these b trying to stalk me, thinkin they the ****** boss o me, tryina talk to me, tryina rule me, trying to confuse me, ***** you bout to be my muse. You wanna stake yo claim? Get yo own f game
Sarthak Dash Feb 2019
I was born at the midnight
On a stormy twenty second of April.
But I couldn't see the storm,
Or my mom and dad, for that matter.
You see, I was born blind.

I lived a blind man's life for 40 years.
I ate a blind man's meal,
I watched a blind man's TV,
I read a blind man's newspaper every aftetnoon.
I litsened to a normal man's music, though.
Anyways, I got my eyes when I was 41.
The local drug store boy wound up dead in a police shootout, with both eyes intact.

At last, I could see things,
Real ones when awake,
Realistic ones when asleep.

After two weeks of my surgery, I gouged my eyes out.
Billie Marie Aug 2020
Letting God write my story makes it so much more beautiful than it ever could have been if I’d tried to wrench it from the loving arms of the Universe. Looking back. I can’t even pray, help me! - let me! - be! I already am if I only look that way and watch each thought that might arise pass away. And this body, this sense of filling up space with matter, and breathing - of endless, endless breathing - will go away. There are other experiences to sense. Hold nothing in the mind and watch what arises. And don’t analyze it. There is no need to. Not now. You can only look at it. Hmm, that’s interesting. And then it just kind of fizzles out. You’ll see. And there will be ones that you’d like to grab onto. Oh, they just are so delicious, so sensual! And you can begin to feel parts of your body awaken just to the distant tickle of a thought. And you draw it near. Mm Hmm. Or, let it pass. Or, maybe it’s just still distant and didn’t even come close enough to pass. You just saw it off there beyond the misty mountains - Mordor. Where the horrors live. Oh yes, it is there too. What is there to talk about? As Mooji says. There’s nothing to talk about your experience. And what does that make it? Another person. Shaping it, telling it, solidifying it in a million different ways in the minds of these different people and then they recall it later as if it were their own and they always get it wrong every time. Just keep quiet about it and, I mean, you can write, but only write what comes from the silence. Like this. You don’t know what you’re gonna say. You don’t know what’s coming. Nothing is planned. Nothing is thought out or PFFT - it just comes. I don’t even know. And who is I? Puppet. His mouth. This feminine energy is very strong. It has the capacity to do a lot of good and a lot of evil, just like anything. What is good and what is evil though - it’s all God. All this tumultuous weather. I felt it inside me. Is this what we’re going through? I just want peace. I want calm seas and starry nights. The fireworks have stopped. I haven’t heard as many gunshots. Maybe the shootout at the funeral, maybe that was enough to wake some people up. I don’t know. I hope so.
Nikita Tshawe Feb 2023
Things are so bad
I wish
I could catch
A stray bullet
I'm not suicidal
But death
Would slap
Right now
I'm keeping my head
Close
To the window
In case
There is a shootout
My way out
Simon Nader Oct 2019
MDK
Gun blazing
Hell raising
Just another burning day
Everyone shall pay

On a beautiful morning
Many destined to die
As I glide from the skies
The shootout has begun

Got to repel
The aliens from beyond
From different disricts
Must destroy all them pests
Scourges of Earth
Soon to be burnt
Going to blast them all away

That's my eternal fate

(Chorus)----

I'm the MDK
I'm the MDK
Got to make them all pay
I'm the MDK
I'm the MDK
For you shall see me forever to stay
-------------------

(Guitar Solo 1)

From the clouds
I descend into this world

I shall fight them all
Those evil outsiders must die
Can you hear me fall
From the blue sky

From the azure to the turf
Coming back in this Earth
I remain unknown
Ambiguous creature
That I am

Into the laser rooms
Many want me dead
Looking for many dooms
As I move and slide ahead

From district to district
I fight alone

(Guitar Solo 2)

Gun blazing
Hell raising
I am here to stay
Until I end it all
Never losing control

Searching for victory
To create a new history
I am coming once more
Just to settle the score

I'll launch up THE WORLD'S SMALLEST NUCLEAR BOMB!!!

(Chorus)
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2021
just watched the shootout
soccer, not guys with guns

3-2 with a save at the end
Ay! the red team won

Hablo Espanol, pero solamente un pequito
I sit in silence; tacos I can eat though

rain came down came rain
cold and kinda biting

so I am here again
troubled. alone. writing.
Bob B May 16
(This poem can be sung to the melody of the old folk song "Tom Dooley.")

(chorus)
What did you want, Ned Kelly?°
What gave you grounds for hope?
Well, Ned, it can't be fun when
You're hanging from a rope.

Bushranger°° Harry Power…
Was he a loyal mate?
They say he was your mentor
Who led you to your fate.

Victims of persecution--
That's what you said you were.
Victims of your gang's horse theft
Would not at all concur.

Bush larrikins°°° were suspect.
Rather than get a job
You chose a different path when
You joined the Greta Mob.

Some say you were a hero
Who thought he was doing good.
You said the poor need justice;
You were their Robin Hood.

Others call you an outlaw,
Killer, and evil guy.
You killed with no compunction,
So you deserved to die.

(chorus)
What did you want, Ned Kelly?°
What gave you grounds for hope?
Well, Ned, it can't be fun when
You're hanging from a rope.

Your gang shot three policemen
Camped at Stringybark Creek.
Who then would put a stop to
Your game of hide and seek?

You murdered Aaron Sherritt;°°°°
You thought he was a snitch.
Maybe you learned your lesson:
Karma could be a *****.

There at your final shootout
You lost your loyal friends.
Well, Ned, you learned that it was
Too late to make amends.

Right after you were sentenced,
Your judge made it his goal
To say he hoped that God would
Have mercy on your soul.

What he said didn't faze you.
You countered blow for blow.
You turned to him and said, "I'll
See you there where I go."

They led you to the gallows.
Different reporters said
What words you might have spoken
Before the rope fell, Ned.

(chorus)
What did you want, Ned Kelly?°
What gave you grounds for hope?
Well, Ned, it can't be fun when
You're hanging from a rope.

-by Bob B (5-16-24)

°Famous Australian outlaw (1854-1880)
°°Australians who took up "robbery under arms" and used the bush as their base
°°°Rowdies who defied social and political conventions
°°°°An associate of Ned Kelly's gang of outlaws

— The End —