"slogans" poems - Hello Poetry

"slogans" poems

I never knew you could know me so much better I ignored all the great weather the darkest cloud hung over me and I let my head fall on the air my hair was still wet but not the day that we met Was it someone like you who did it to be so kind Leaves on the grass with words drawn out You admired me and wanted to hold my hand I let the curtains fly in Didn’t want the wind to pass me by Wearing the t-shirts with the cheesiest slogans Dropping love on my sleeve Too many wishes that I hope they’re not an omen I never knew a heart could beat for me

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Jun 14, 2014

Jun 14, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC

red red red/cheesy

I never knew you could know me so much better I ignored all the great weather the darkest cloud hung over me and I let my head fall on the air my hair was still wet but not the day that we met Was it someone like you who did it to be so kind Leaves on the grass with words drawn out You admired me and wanted to hold my hand I let the curtains fly in Didn’t want the wind to pass me by Wearing the t-shirts with the cheesiest slogans Dropping love on my sleeve Too many wishes that I hope they’re not an omen I never knew a heart could beat for me

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talkshows and the yellow press get excited in excess over his shenanigans that delight his faithful fans rumors of these *** affairs strong words for all macho players in the game of social thrones texts with threatening undertones for minorities and women treating immigrants like demons neither fans nor his opponents seem to notice the components of the white house strategy throw them bones fodder for the yellow press and while they fight clandestinely out of sight works the Trumpian policy money laundering blatant lies scolding allies breaking ties adoring foes praising those usurpers of democracies experts in atrocities slowly yet persistently undermine civility with foul language fill all courts with servile judges court the aristocracies of oil sheikdoms in the East praising communist dictators who have helped him build his towers step by step he‘s leading US from the groups of international powers to an isolation desert at the margins of the world slogans we have rarely heard over decades now re-nourished twittered with presidential flourish make America small again warning voices call in vain no wonder the statue of liberty is hiding her face in misery (*)

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Jul 26, 2018

Jul 26, 2018 at 5:24 PM UTC

talkshows and the yellow press get excited in excess over his shenanigans that delight his faithful fans rumors of these *** affairs strong words for all macho players in the game of social thrones texts with threatening undertones for minorities and women treating immigrants like demons neither fans nor his opponents seem to notice the components of the white house strategy throw them bones fodder for the yellow press and while they fight clandestinely out of sight works the Trumpian policy money laundering blatant lies scolding allies breaking ties adoring foes praising those usurpers of democracies experts in atrocities slowly yet persistently undermine civility with foul language fill all courts with servile judges court the aristocracies of oil sheikdoms in the East praising communist dictators who have helped him build his towers step by step he‘s leading US from the groups of international powers to an isolation desert at the margins of the world slogans we have rarely heard over decades now re-nourished twittered with presidential flourish make America small again warning voices call in vain no wonder the statue of liberty is hiding her face in misery (*)

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In Narcissist Nation It's all about self What's in it for me Forget everyone else The views you cling to I do not approve In this all the above attitude Without a clue In Narcissist Nation Only I have the right To say what I say False truth in my eyes I'll follow the crowd To the dark side of town Then light a fire And burn it all down In Narcissist Nation There's no need to discuss I'll scream at you While at me you cuss With new slogans and sayings On which to feed As the world continues baking In insanity In Narcissist Nation This will not end good If we continue forsaking All that we should If we only focus inward In this I, Me, Mine, time And not see through into This narcissistic lie

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Jun 15, 2020

Jun 15, 2020 at 6:01 PM UTC

Narcissist Nation

In Narcissist Nation It's all about self What's in it for me Forget everyone else The views you cling to I do not approve In this all the above attitude Without a clue In Narcissist Nation Only I have the right To say what I say False truth in my eyes I'll follow the crowd To the dark side of town Then light a fire And burn it all down In Narcissist Nation There's no need to discuss I'll scream at you While at me you cuss With new slogans and sayings On which to feed As the world continues baking In insanity In Narcissist Nation This will not end good If we continue forsaking All that we should If we only focus inward In this I, Me, Mine, time And not see through into This narcissistic lie

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This was just published so it is copyright 2015 by Holy Cow Press ~ mce Poverty is the fence around your life. Poverty wakes you up at 4 AM only to whisper meaningless slogans in your ear. It is the school of Piranha nibbling at the back of your brain. It is two hours waiting in the anteroom of despair for $22 worth of food stamps and being glad to be there. It is changing your phone number frequently because bill collectors are such boring conversationalists. It is the empty space your heels used to fill. It is letting your hair grow long and scraggly and your grizzled beard sprout because you know that although you sleep in rented rooms tonight, the street is not far off, and you want to fit in when you arrive. Poverty scalds the lint from your pockets. It is your private Treblinka within which you rage but are crushed. It is desperate prayers against dental catastrophes, blown tires, surprises of any sort. Poverty is when everything you own is frayed including your nerves from sleepless moments spent trying to solve the equation that will make X number of dollars cover X + ? number of bills, knowing that such math would defeat Newton or Einstein. Poverty is eying the cat's kibble imagining that with a bit of sugar and a splash of milk it might be fine and then eyeballing the cat himself thinking of protein of last resort and trying not to measure him against the microwave door. You ration your cigarettes; whiskey is a fading memory. Passing a diner on the street, you catch a whiff of burgers too expensive to consider and experience a Pavlovian moment. Poverty is trying to keep your head up and then remembering you pawned your neck. Poverty is watching the needle eat your last few gallons of gas. Poverty is the archeology of despair. It portends the death of irony. There is nothing ironic about a car with 217,000 miles and no insurance on it. Facts are facts in the world of poverty. Poverty is the last quarter reclaimed from beneath the cushions. It is too much time and not enough quarters. It is the specious logic of the self-righteous proclaiming that you deserve to be poor because you are, which in Amerika passes for wisdom. Poverty makes each day like the next because nothing does not vary. It is who you are and where you are going, although you won't get far. It is the life you lead inside the fence. It is the sum of what you lack. It just is. - mce

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Apr 6, 2015

Apr 6, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC

Poverty At Sixty

This was just published so it is copyright 2015 by Holy Cow Press ~ mce Poverty is the fence around your life. Poverty wakes you up at 4 AM only to whisper meaningless slogans in your ear. It is the school of Piranha nibbling at the back of your brain. It is two hours waiting in the anteroom of despair for $22 worth of food stamps and being glad to be there. It is changing your phone number frequently because bill collectors are such boring conversationalists. It is the empty space your heels used to fill. It is letting your hair grow long and scraggly and your grizzled beard sprout because you know that although you sleep in rented rooms tonight, the street is not far off, and you want to fit in when you arrive. Poverty scalds the lint from your pockets. It is your private Treblinka within which you rage but are crushed. It is desperate prayers against dental catastrophes, blown tires, surprises of any sort. Poverty is when everything you own is frayed including your nerves from sleepless moments spent trying to solve the equation that will make X number of dollars cover X + ? number of bills, knowing that such math would defeat Newton or Einstein. Poverty is eying the cat's kibble imagining that with a bit of sugar and a splash of milk it might be fine and then eyeballing the cat himself thinking of protein of last resort and trying not to measure him against the microwave door. You ration your cigarettes; whiskey is a fading memory. Passing a diner on the street, you catch a whiff of burgers too expensive to consider and experience a Pavlovian moment. Poverty is trying to keep your head up and then remembering you pawned your neck. Poverty is watching the needle eat your last few gallons of gas. Poverty is the archeology of despair. It portends the death of irony. There is nothing ironic about a car with 217,000 miles and no insurance on it. Facts are facts in the world of poverty. Poverty is the last quarter reclaimed from beneath the cushions. It is too much time and not enough quarters. It is the specious logic of the self-righteous proclaiming that you deserve to be poor because you are, which in Amerika passes for wisdom. Poverty makes each day like the next because nothing does not vary. It is who you are and where you are going, although you won't get far. It is the life you lead inside the fence. It is the sum of what you lack. It just is. - mce

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I don't know what I'm doing I don't know what I'm feeling I don't know where I'm going I don't know who I'm being I'm overwhelmed, frustrated, I can't cope These are the slogans I repeat to myself Over and over again Oh yeah I'm a failure too I've lived this life What did I do? What do I have to show for it? These facts about myself are the one thing I'm very positive about. I repeat these slogans day in and day out always wondering what I'm so depressed about I bury my head in these sands Suffocating Smothering choking on anxiety in my own advertising slogans on my private airwaves To complicate matters worse just because we think something doesn't make it true that goes for self worth too. But Mindfulness stands watching the passing cars from a freeway overpass like our racing thoughts not holding on not making them go away, in peace simply letting them be.

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Apr 21, 2016

Apr 21, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC

Cognitive Therapy

I don't know what I'm doing I don't know what I'm feeling I don't know where I'm going I don't know who I'm being I'm overwhelmed, frustrated, I can't cope These are the slogans I repeat to myself Over and over again Oh yeah I'm a failure too I've lived this life What did I do? What do I have to show for it? These facts about myself are the one thing I'm very positive about. I repeat these slogans day in and day out always wondering what I'm so depressed about I bury my head in these sands Suffocating Smothering choking on anxiety in my own advertising slogans on my private airwaves To complicate matters worse just because we think something doesn't make it true that goes for self worth too. But Mindfulness stands watching the passing cars from a freeway overpass like our racing thoughts not holding on not making them go away, in peace simply letting them be.

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Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu Great City Timbeck Tyu Coloured Walls Nicely Painted Arts and Drawing Everywhere Artifacts on every crossing People's representatives feel like king Magnificient buildings here and there Bridges and flyover everywhere Toll tax booth here and there Statues standing everywhere Banners hanging here and there Hoardings, posters everywhere Malls and Hotels here and there Dance Bars and Casinos everywhere Citizens always in Crisis Struggling with poverty Economical condition bad Politicians has gone mad Nationalism in Slogans Here and there hooligans Real nationalist are renamed They are called anti-nationals Corruption is on the peak You need license to speak Crowd imposes censorship System respects the crowd Mouse catches the Crow Everything on the show Real news not covered Real issues are untouched Fake news are implanted Press and Media on sale Laws are being twisted Burden of proof shifted Culprits are honoured Innocents are hanged Farmers are in debts Their families are starving They can't even pay their loans Neither Principal nor interest They either commit suicide or land in jail for not paying loans Hospital competing with hotels Doctors busy in making money Patients treatment is on Sale Get cured only if you pay Stray Animals on the rise What you can do if you cry? Black money in circulation White money is called pollution Rapes, Murders and theft on rise Law and order is on the papers Lawyers are with Politicians Politicians are with Criminals Criminals are with the Police Police is with the Capitalists Only the God is with the victims That too only, if he really exists Population almost exploding Environment full of pollution Fights and quarrels here and there Religion and faith always on stake Caste and Classes everywhere Race and Religion everywhere Common people struggling for food Saints consuming wine and drugs Rallies and protests uprising The system has turned deaf Goddess of law weeping and bleeding Judges busy in process law and rules Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu Such a great city Timbeck Tyu Have you liked Timbeck Tyu? Want to live in Timbeck Tyu? If you liked, Timbeck Tyu Want to live in Timbeck Tyu First apply for passport in your country Then apply for visa from Timbeck Tyu Hurry Up, Hurry Up, don't be late Visa's are limited so take care

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May 16, 2019

May 16, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC

Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu Great City Timbeck Tyu Coloured Walls Nicely Painted Arts and Drawing Everywhere Artifacts on every crossing People's representatives feel like king Magnificient buildings here and there Bridges and flyover everywhere Toll tax booth here and there Statues standing everywhere Banners hanging here and there Hoardings, posters everywhere Malls and Hotels here and there Dance Bars and Casinos everywhere Citizens always in Crisis Struggling with poverty Economical condition bad Politicians has gone mad Nationalism in Slogans Here and there hooligans Real nationalist are renamed They are called anti-nationals Corruption is on the peak You need license to speak Crowd imposes censorship System respects the crowd Mouse catches the Crow Everything on the show Real news not covered Real issues are untouched Fake news are implanted Press and Media on sale Laws are being twisted Burden of proof shifted Culprits are honoured Innocents are hanged Farmers are in debts Their families are starving They can't even pay their loans Neither Principal nor interest They either commit suicide or land in jail for not paying loans Hospital competing with hotels Doctors busy in making money Patients treatment is on Sale Get cured only if you pay Stray Animals on the rise What you can do if you cry? Black money in circulation White money is called pollution Rapes, Murders and theft on rise Law and order is on the papers Lawyers are with Politicians Politicians are with Criminals Criminals are with the Police Police is with the Capitalists Only the God is with the victims That too only, if he really exists Population almost exploding Environment full of pollution Fights and quarrels here and there Religion and faith always on stake Caste and Classes everywhere Race and Religion everywhere Common people struggling for food Saints consuming wine and drugs Rallies and protests uprising The system has turned deaf Goddess of law weeping and bleeding Judges busy in process law and rules Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu Such a great city Timbeck Tyu Have you liked Timbeck Tyu? Want to live in Timbeck Tyu? If you liked, Timbeck Tyu Want to live in Timbeck Tyu First apply for passport in your country Then apply for visa from Timbeck Tyu Hurry Up, Hurry Up, don't be late Visa's are limited so take care

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One of the many forms of hate, racism is a monster that stares in the eyes of men and breathes fires of destruction, Racism is another ism like classism is all about hate, it swallows men and women like each other, It’s Satan’s child and devours races and classes, a black cross painted in my room, Their tears reflect the haunted memories in the corner, of american blacks and apartheids I heard as stories, The walls are blackened with their wails and weeps, but racists partied in the boulevard, Billboards get fingerprinted by some hands, displaying the monster’s play - a stare kept alive, The curtains unruffle at dawn, still the sun chokes the atmosphere with the slogans Peace out haters !

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Sep 12, 2016

Sep 12, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC

Curtains of Racism . Feat. Keith Edward Baucum

One of the many forms of hate, racism is a monster that stares in the eyes of men and breathes fires of destruction, Racism is another ism like classism is all about hate, it swallows men and women like each other, It’s Satan’s child and devours races and classes, a black cross painted in my room, Their tears reflect the haunted memories in the corner, of american blacks and apartheids I heard as stories, The walls are blackened with their wails and weeps, but racists partied in the boulevard, Billboards get fingerprinted by some hands, displaying the monster’s play - a stare kept alive, The curtains unruffle at dawn, still the sun chokes the atmosphere with the slogans Peace out haters !

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Hare Krishna's In their Pickups Depressed Comics Down on their Luck Teenage Girls Screaming Meme's ****** Pinko's* Leftward Leaning Vincent Price Flo and Eddie Rodger Rabbit Priscilla Presley Nuns in Habits Dwarf's in Ponchos Deadbeat Dads Munching Nachos Right-Wing Nut Jobs Trading Slogans A few Hero's Including Hogan Are just a few of the sights you see At the front gates of Graceland Memphis, Tennessee Buddhist Monks With Electric Banjos Holding Signs Up Of Marlon Brando Taxi Cabs Blaring Show Tunes Pregnant Women Down-loading Soon Derby Jockeys Flying Monkeys Kool-Aidholics Skittle Junkies Bozo The Clown Bumper Stickers Psychedelic Crazed Toad Lickers Rhinestone Cowboys In their Skivvies Gothic Girls Heebie Jeebies Are just a few of the sights you see At the front gates of Graceland Memphis, Tennessee Blue Haired Granny's In pink Moo Moos Ballerina's In Tattered Tutus Mathematician's Number Crunchers Even have Some Out to Lunchers Model 50's *Do *** Daddies* One More Round Of Flo and Eddie People Sneaking Across the Border Lonely Fry Cooks Taking Orders A Few Wannabes Not Saying Much Will The Real Elvis Please Stand Up Are just a few of the sights that you see At the front gates of Graceland Memphis, Tennessee Thank you...Thank you very Much Ladies and Gentlemen Elvis...Has Left The Building

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Mar 12, 2013

Mar 12, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC

The Front Gates Of Graceland

Hare Krishna's In their Pickups Depressed Comics Down on their Luck Teenage Girls Screaming Meme's ****** Pinko's* Leftward Leaning Vincent Price Flo and Eddie Rodger Rabbit Priscilla Presley Nuns in Habits Dwarf's in Ponchos Deadbeat Dads Munching Nachos Right-Wing Nut Jobs Trading Slogans A few Hero's Including Hogan Are just a few of the sights you see At the front gates of Graceland Memphis, Tennessee Buddhist Monks With Electric Banjos Holding Signs Up Of Marlon Brando Taxi Cabs Blaring Show Tunes Pregnant Women Down-loading Soon Derby Jockeys Flying Monkeys Kool-Aidholics Skittle Junkies Bozo The Clown Bumper Stickers Psychedelic Crazed Toad Lickers Rhinestone Cowboys In their Skivvies Gothic Girls Heebie Jeebies Are just a few of the sights you see At the front gates of Graceland Memphis, Tennessee Blue Haired Granny's In pink Moo Moos Ballerina's In Tattered Tutus Mathematician's Number Crunchers Even have Some Out to Lunchers Model 50's *Do *** Daddies* One More Round Of Flo and Eddie People Sneaking Across the Border Lonely Fry Cooks Taking Orders A Few Wannabes Not Saying Much Will The Real Elvis Please Stand Up Are just a few of the sights that you see At the front gates of Graceland Memphis, Tennessee Thank you...Thank you very Much Ladies and Gentlemen Elvis...Has Left The Building

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Questions Please Put up a question please Throw me a question please Question, any question Burning or sensational big or small or silly easy or tough or absurd hypothetical or factual All questions are invited. Only and only questions No Answers at all As I already have answers I have answers to all the questions that ever existed, but ceased to exist today. I have the answers to prevailing questions that are making us crazy day by day I even have the answers to the questions which are still in the future's belly waiting to be born one day in this beautiful and ugly world Questions please All sorts of questions May be from geography or philosophy Or from religion to defence studies It may be from medical science or history Or from space research too Animal husbandry is no taboo Questions on skydiving are also welcome Politics is my all-time favourite although I can answer sports or adventure Questions on corruption are also solicited You can ask on oceanography or calligraphy too I know everything, literally everything but neither I am 'Google' nor 'Bing' I am not even 'Duck Duck Go' nor I claim to be 'Baidu' I guessed your question. You are wondering – "Who am I?" It's very-very simple Man! I am a nasty spokesperson from the ruling party I may be found mostly in television debates as a panelist, as a debator, as a joker as a disturbing element, as a liar as a person making hue and cries You may or may not like my answers, but, please like me, please love me Raise slogans for me, Praise me Make me famous, make me a celebrity But even if you dislike me I don't care, I have my media I have my own followers I also own a troll army I train them perfectly I pay them heavily I spend too much on News media and Social media I have my own trustworthy mob who is always ready for violence anytime and anywhere at any cost whatsoever Beware, I am from the ruling party I inherit a complete readymade system of Investigating agencies, Ready to book anyone on false and frivolous grounds. And it will take years to prove innocence Innocence may be proved, may be disproved This also depends on Money, Power and Links Or the nasty arithmetic of alliance with us in future So if you still chose to dislike me It's your choice, but wait I can still become a minister Or even a prime minister I have the quality to lure voters I have the answers to all the questions That ever existed or are existing Or that are stilling waiting to be born.

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Jan 7, 2019

Jan 7, 2019 at 2:16 AM UTC

Questions Please

Questions Please Put up a question please Throw me a question please Question, any question Burning or sensational big or small or silly easy or tough or absurd hypothetical or factual All questions are invited. Only and only questions No Answers at all As I already have answers I have answers to all the questions that ever existed, but ceased to exist today. I have the answers to prevailing questions that are making us crazy day by day I even have the answers to the questions which are still in the future's belly waiting to be born one day in this beautiful and ugly world Questions please All sorts of questions May be from geography or philosophy Or from religion to defence studies It may be from medical science or history Or from space research too Animal husbandry is no taboo Questions on skydiving are also welcome Politics is my all-time favourite although I can answer sports or adventure Questions on corruption are also solicited You can ask on oceanography or calligraphy too I know everything, literally everything but neither I am 'Google' nor 'Bing' I am not even 'Duck Duck Go' nor I claim to be 'Baidu' I guessed your question. You are wondering – "Who am I?" It's very-very simple Man! I am a nasty spokesperson from the ruling party I may be found mostly in television debates as a panelist, as a debator, as a joker as a disturbing element, as a liar as a person making hue and cries You may or may not like my answers, but, please like me, please love me Raise slogans for me, Praise me Make me famous, make me a celebrity But even if you dislike me I don't care, I have my media I have my own followers I also own a troll army I train them perfectly I pay them heavily I spend too much on News media and Social media I have my own trustworthy mob who is always ready for violence anytime and anywhere at any cost whatsoever Beware, I am from the ruling party I inherit a complete readymade system of Investigating agencies, Ready to book anyone on false and frivolous grounds. And it will take years to prove innocence Innocence may be proved, may be disproved This also depends on Money, Power and Links Or the nasty arithmetic of alliance with us in future So if you still chose to dislike me It's your choice, but wait I can still become a minister Or even a prime minister I have the quality to lure voters I have the answers to all the questions That ever existed or are existing Or that are stilling waiting to be born.

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#*Multitudes will be liberated by that recognition; and although multitudes obtain liberation in that manner, the number of sentient beings being great, evil karma powerful, obscurations dense, propensities o too long standing, the Wheel of Ignorance and Illusion becometh neither exhausted nor accelerated*. The Tibetan Book of the Dead translation: Lāma Kazi Dawa-Samdup Free Tibet your sticker tells me… Yes, I think, perhaps I should – and the noble thought compels me, uninformed, half-understood. Will their freedom help my Karma? Upgrade my reincarnation? (Soul who could not dare to harm a fly… much less a Buddhist nation.) Not to justify aggression by the ever-brutal Commies, let us grant no glib concession to the Maoists – or their mommies. Slogans echo in the void, shining in bardos of the dead; stopped by the light, I am annoyed impatient for the change from red. A bumper crop of human woe beams forth a mandate to my brain while red Dakinis circle slow in Buddhist hells of karmic pain. The eastern concepts here diverge and bow before brutality. They make this driver long to merge with incorporeality. Then I glimpse a monkish fellow swathed in saffron, calmly seated. His, the cloud-borne sage’s pillow; mine the traffic; stalled, defeated. In his gaze of stern displeasure I perceive the orient stars calculating man’s mismeasure trapped, exhausted, among the cars. Flanked by Spirits wreathed in fire he extends an accusing hand: Western slave of base desire: come and liberate my land !” I meditate before the stop light: am I ready for the task ? Should I just refuse it outright Can’t it be someone else ? I ask… Must I free this mountain nation from the Buddha, demons and Reds? Shall your sticker’s declaration shatter the yoke and raise their heads ? Somebody ought to free Tibet, and heed this Himalayan cry. Maybe we should get upset… The red light changes. Cars pass by, predestined for benign events and unconcerned for persecution; oblivious to dissidents awaiting execution.

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Dec 14, 2015

Dec 14, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC

Exhausted Karma

#*Multitudes will be liberated by that recognition; and although multitudes obtain liberation in that manner, the number of sentient beings being great, evil karma powerful, obscurations dense, propensities o too long standing, the Wheel of Ignorance and Illusion becometh neither exhausted nor accelerated*. The Tibetan Book of the Dead translation: Lāma Kazi Dawa-Samdup Free Tibet your sticker tells me… Yes, I think, perhaps I should – and the noble thought compels me, uninformed, half-understood. Will their freedom help my Karma? Upgrade my reincarnation? (Soul who could not dare to harm a fly… much less a Buddhist nation.) Not to justify aggression by the ever-brutal Commies, let us grant no glib concession to the Maoists – or their mommies. Slogans echo in the void, shining in bardos of the dead; stopped by the light, I am annoyed impatient for the change from red. A bumper crop of human woe beams forth a mandate to my brain while red Dakinis circle slow in Buddhist hells of karmic pain. The eastern concepts here diverge and bow before brutality. They make this driver long to merge with incorporeality. Then I glimpse a monkish fellow swathed in saffron, calmly seated. His, the cloud-borne sage’s pillow; mine the traffic; stalled, defeated. In his gaze of stern displeasure I perceive the orient stars calculating man’s mismeasure trapped, exhausted, among the cars. Flanked by Spirits wreathed in fire he extends an accusing hand: Western slave of base desire: come and liberate my land !” I meditate before the stop light: am I ready for the task ? Should I just refuse it outright Can’t it be someone else ? I ask… Must I free this mountain nation from the Buddha, demons and Reds? Shall your sticker’s declaration shatter the yoke and raise their heads ? Somebody ought to free Tibet, and heed this Himalayan cry. Maybe we should get upset… The red light changes. Cars pass by, predestined for benign events and unconcerned for persecution; oblivious to dissidents awaiting execution.

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Brothers, let us stand together. Sisters, you can stay sitting. Let us stand united by our inability to stay out in the sun too long. In fact, would someone mind erecting a gazebo for us to stand united underneath? Thank you. Brothers, having proven that we cannot demonstrate our superiority through sport, rhetoric, mathematics, music, drama, art, science, business acumen or military might Let us instead prove it beyond all doubt by gathering in groups and chanting slogans. Flags are good, too. Dagnab it, just look at the way we can wave those flags. If that doesn't qualify us as the Master Race, then I don't know what will. And thus anointed, let us expunge the world of miscegenation. Let us cleanse public radio of anything other than Bavarian folk music. Let us revel in boiled beef and wheat-based foods. Let us return the mineral wealth of the world to the tarnished, coloured nations from whence it came. Let us reject foreign mythologies apart from that one about Jesus obviously. Let us all return to the country, town, street and house of our birth. History is with us, brothers. If there's one thing it teaches us it's that nothing should ever change and empires never fall. Sieg heil!

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Nov 22, 2016

Nov 22, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC

White Supremacy

Brothers, let us stand together. Sisters, you can stay sitting. Let us stand united by our inability to stay out in the sun too long. In fact, would someone mind erecting a gazebo for us to stand united underneath? Thank you. Brothers, having proven that we cannot demonstrate our superiority through sport, rhetoric, mathematics, music, drama, art, science, business acumen or military might Let us instead prove it beyond all doubt by gathering in groups and chanting slogans. Flags are good, too. Dagnab it, just look at the way we can wave those flags. If that doesn't qualify us as the Master Race, then I don't know what will. And thus anointed, let us expunge the world of miscegenation. Let us cleanse public radio of anything other than Bavarian folk music. Let us revel in boiled beef and wheat-based foods. Let us return the mineral wealth of the world to the tarnished, coloured nations from whence it came. Let us reject foreign mythologies apart from that one about Jesus obviously. Let us all return to the country, town, street and house of our birth. History is with us, brothers. If there's one thing it teaches us it's that nothing should ever change and empires never fall. Sieg heil!

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He told us the truth. Writing isn't so hard, really. You just sit with a pen and paper, And bleed. Maybe pounding my head Isn't the right way to elicit bleeding. But it did bring the kind of headache That reminded me what I had to bleed for in the first place. White House. White papers. Black suits. Black president. For change. No better. They pretend to have a headache, but their incompetence leaves us with headaches we're too young and shiny to deserve. Aren't we? Filled up With life, Potential, hope. Why do we shoulder their burden? The black suits in the white house made their own headache. It doesn't matter to us. Until it does. Stimulus. Filibuster. Health-care. Bail-out. Drowned-out. Shut-down. Shout-down. Bring-us-down. We could be on our way to the top. Mess-up. Then complain about the headache it brings them. What about us? Because we're the ones affected. Then is the worst part. They do it frighteningly quick. So easy, too. Give-up , And leave for us to Fix-up. We have to shout. Make you listen. Stand-up. One-two. Thousands, millions. Make them listen. March-up. Three-four. Slogans, protests. Make them change. Head-up. Five-Six. Defeat, Regret. See the impossibility. Sit-down. Seven-eight. They won't listen. **** the system. **** the suits. **** the house. **** growing up. Because you know, Now we're grown. So this is the headache They talked about. So this is why We spill our blood. Where's the cancel button? How to delete? It's a cycle, Don't you see. You can't wipe the memory. Why we thought We could ever get rid Of the headache… Beats me.

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Dec 19, 2013

Dec 19, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC

He told us the truth. Writing isn't so hard, really. You just sit with a pen and paper, And bleed. Maybe pounding my head Isn't the right way to elicit bleeding. But it did bring the kind of headache That reminded me what I had to bleed for in the first place. White House. White papers. Black suits. Black president. For change. No better. They pretend to have a headache, but their incompetence leaves us with headaches we're too young and shiny to deserve. Aren't we? Filled up With life, Potential, hope. Why do we shoulder their burden? The black suits in the white house made their own headache. It doesn't matter to us. Until it does. Stimulus. Filibuster. Health-care. Bail-out. Drowned-out. Shut-down. Shout-down. Bring-us-down. We could be on our way to the top. Mess-up. Then complain about the headache it brings them. What about us? Because we're the ones affected. Then is the worst part. They do it frighteningly quick. So easy, too. Give-up , And leave for us to Fix-up. We have to shout. Make you listen. Stand-up. One-two. Thousands, millions. Make them listen. March-up. Three-four. Slogans, protests. Make them change. Head-up. Five-Six. Defeat, Regret. See the impossibility. Sit-down. Seven-eight. They won't listen. **** the system. **** the suits. **** the house. **** growing up. Because you know, Now we're grown. So this is the headache They talked about. So this is why We spill our blood. Where's the cancel button? How to delete? It's a cycle, Don't you see. You can't wipe the memory. Why we thought We could ever get rid Of the headache… Beats me.

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Don't panic at all Don't bother at all What if the buildings are Damaged dangerously? What if all the walls Are full of cracks Things can be easily controlled And you have enough money So don't panic at all Don't bother at all Use your money with caution Apply your mind, use your money Get all the walls painted With very nice painting Paintings of the folks Paintings of the modern era Paintings of saints and heroes Painting of beautiful landscapes Raise slogans here and there Unfurl flags and sing the anthem What if the rivers are di*ty? Only raise awareness campaigns Put hoardings and banners everywhere Do nothing else, but show everything Just adopt these cheap tactics You can save lot of wealth And can spent on yourself Or can buy more votes with it Paint the bark of all the trees Break all the records of shame Create a new fake history Make silly new records What if there is poverty Just make monuments for god And ask people to pray there God is there to listen the prayer What if there is unemployment Ask your businessmen friends To start training centres and train the youth And make money, money and money Leave the trained youth as they were Ask them to create employment for self Call it self-employment, call it freedom Ask them to rejoice this freedom Open new schools and colleges But don't appoint staff in teachers Collect hefty amount of fees Spent that fees on yourself Also spent some to collect votes Manage the peoples Manage the machines Manage history, manage geography Manage the media, manage the news Spread everywhere, fake news If you do, what I have said You will be the king again

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Jun 10, 2019

Jun 10, 2019 at 2:35 PM UTC

Formula to Be King Again

Don't panic at all Don't bother at all What if the buildings are Damaged dangerously? What if all the walls Are full of cracks Things can be easily controlled And you have enough money So don't panic at all Don't bother at all Use your money with caution Apply your mind, use your money Get all the walls painted With very nice painting Paintings of the folks Paintings of the modern era Paintings of saints and heroes Painting of beautiful landscapes Raise slogans here and there Unfurl flags and sing the anthem What if the rivers are di*ty? Only raise awareness campaigns Put hoardings and banners everywhere Do nothing else, but show everything Just adopt these cheap tactics You can save lot of wealth And can spent on yourself Or can buy more votes with it Paint the bark of all the trees Break all the records of shame Create a new fake history Make silly new records What if there is poverty Just make monuments for god And ask people to pray there God is there to listen the prayer What if there is unemployment Ask your businessmen friends To start training centres and train the youth And make money, money and money Leave the trained youth as they were Ask them to create employment for self Call it self-employment, call it freedom Ask them to rejoice this freedom Open new schools and colleges But don't appoint staff in teachers Collect hefty amount of fees Spent that fees on yourself Also spent some to collect votes Manage the peoples Manage the machines Manage history, manage geography Manage the media, manage the news Spread everywhere, fake news If you do, what I have said You will be the king again

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The crowd Of decaying walls Whose roof that united them In common interest, Belief, Prosperity, Has collapsed into the ground Leaving them stranded: Searching for someone to blame As they crumble in the rain. Out of isolation come the walls To stand in city streets Chanting slogans, Holding placards, Walking alone Though with each other. Between them All bonds lie broken: Each one stands In contradiction with the crowd, But walks with it In self-righteous anger That divides them even as it unites. This movement stands afraid To question To answer To find An answer to their anger For fear of what it might unbind…

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Apr 4, 2013

Apr 4, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC

Negative Solidarity Movement (From The Stranger)

The crowd Of decaying walls Whose roof that united them In common interest, Belief, Prosperity, Has collapsed into the ground Leaving them stranded: Searching for someone to blame As they crumble in the rain. Out of isolation come the walls To stand in city streets Chanting slogans, Holding placards, Walking alone Though with each other. Between them All bonds lie broken: Each one stands In contradiction with the crowd, But walks with it In self-righteous anger That divides them even as it unites. This movement stands afraid To question To answer To find An answer to their anger For fear of what it might unbind…

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i’ve long dreamt of black flags in the streets tonight i marched beneath the shadow of their wings shoulder-to-shoulder in hope and solidarity an anarchist professor with a climate change activist an independent journalist and one of my students as mid-November winds tugged at her pink-and-brunette hair she lifted a hand-drawn sign of a gigantic sneaker smashing a **** and i felt for not the first time an enormous sense of pride how humbling to at once inspire and be inspired by an eighteen-year-old punk and artist who asked to borrow The Moral Imperative of Revolt two scant months ago then took to the streets to oppose and depose a twisted fascist virtuoso for two whole hours we hundreds owned the streets we marched down Rosalind Central and Orange Avenue as protest slogans rang angelic we raised hell and found heaven in liberty equality and solidarity but then the pigs closed in cordoned to Lake Eola to scream acquiescent rhetoric at the fish sleeping blissful in their innocence beneath the jet black surface a half-dozen cops in riot gear astride horses loomed ominous before us backlit by the headlights of the aggravated motorists our march had forestalled as the people abandoned the streets we’d won so easily i felt my chest wilt beneath the weight of forsaken opportunity my eyes scanned the remaining crowd four stood strong rooted to the concrete by the world's weight anchored by conviction an anarchist professor an independent journalist a climate change activist and a freshman college student i heard the professor whisper to his student i heard him say she'd put herself in harm’s way that they'd lost the day when the marchers turned their backs and walked away but she didn’t flinch or move an inch she stood silent and vigilant shoulder-to-shoulder chin held almost as high as her Nazi-smashing protest sign and her matching middle finger and in that moment i could’ve died smiling

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Nov 12, 2016

Nov 12, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC

i’ve long dreamt of black flags in the streets tonight i marched beneath the shadow of their wings shoulder-to-shoulder in hope and solidarity an anarchist professor with a climate change activist an independent journalist and one of my students as mid-November winds tugged at her pink-and-brunette hair she lifted a hand-drawn sign of a gigantic sneaker smashing a **** and i felt for not the first time an enormous sense of pride how humbling to at once inspire and be inspired by an eighteen-year-old punk and artist who asked to borrow The Moral Imperative of Revolt two scant months ago then took to the streets to oppose and depose a twisted fascist virtuoso for two whole hours we hundreds owned the streets we marched down Rosalind Central and Orange Avenue as protest slogans rang angelic we raised hell and found heaven in liberty equality and solidarity but then the pigs closed in cordoned to Lake Eola to scream acquiescent rhetoric at the fish sleeping blissful in their innocence beneath the jet black surface a half-dozen cops in riot gear astride horses loomed ominous before us backlit by the headlights of the aggravated motorists our march had forestalled as the people abandoned the streets we’d won so easily i felt my chest wilt beneath the weight of forsaken opportunity my eyes scanned the remaining crowd four stood strong rooted to the concrete by the world's weight anchored by conviction an anarchist professor an independent journalist a climate change activist and a freshman college student i heard the professor whisper to his student i heard him say she'd put herself in harm’s way that they'd lost the day when the marchers turned their backs and walked away but she didn’t flinch or move an inch she stood silent and vigilant shoulder-to-shoulder chin held almost as high as her Nazi-smashing protest sign and her matching middle finger and in that moment i could’ve died smiling

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building purist æsthetic proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry commemorating historic concert sensing dark forces fokken lekker antwoord pumping sensory overload featuring high-tech dee-jay admiring gelato micro-truck laxing laying lazing "doing something nasty" continuing quality content entering another cathedral journeying without borders "exactly one year since visiting vatican" appreciating full-time gigasphere awaiting pyongyang performance depicting unlikely crowdsurfer foreseeing exponential improvements furthering esoteric agenda sensing profound incompatibility data-mining people's infidelities anticipating futuristic caffeine perfecting invisible propaganda researching mind-control techniques polishing psycho-social weaponry sensing social embargo flourishing frantic fanfare admiring longitudinal monument parodying marketing slogans cycling through österreich eyeing dystopian disneyland streaming crosswords extended-play herding glass kittens deleting idiosyncratic fragment loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth receiving ultramodern telegram eigo-ga wakarimasu ka? guzzling duck-fat fries encouraging panic selling (juxtaposing past incarnations) getting black-and-white privilege renewing boutique account relishing cinema poutine re-entering hibernation mode opening old windows continuing zoo motif absquatulating excessive excesses nullifying originality claims proliferating protean persona disappearing sidewalk alphabet shrugging opprobrious moments enjoying vertical alignment re-entering cyberpunk paradise approaching island sun soaring beyond monoliths trivializing extraneous argy-bargy decreasing character limits dumping generic accounts uglifying commit message escaping into idiosyncracy moonshining great lake exuding idiosyncratic propaganda living nineties' dreams making occidental cuisine envisioning idiocratic president expropriating your time ascending homely helix singing fat lady

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Sep 12, 2015

Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC

building purist æsthetic proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry commemorating historic concert sensing dark forces fokken lekker antwoord pumping sensory overload featuring high-tech dee-jay admiring gelato micro-truck laxing laying lazing "doing something nasty" continuing quality content entering another cathedral journeying without borders "exactly one year since visiting vatican" appreciating full-time gigasphere awaiting pyongyang performance depicting unlikely crowdsurfer foreseeing exponential improvements furthering esoteric agenda sensing profound incompatibility data-mining people's infidelities anticipating futuristic caffeine perfecting invisible propaganda researching mind-control techniques polishing psycho-social weaponry sensing social embargo flourishing frantic fanfare admiring longitudinal monument parodying marketing slogans cycling through österreich eyeing dystopian disneyland streaming crosswords extended-play herding glass kittens deleting idiosyncratic fragment loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth receiving ultramodern telegram eigo-ga wakarimasu ka? guzzling duck-fat fries encouraging panic selling (juxtaposing past incarnations) getting black-and-white privilege renewing boutique account relishing cinema poutine re-entering hibernation mode opening old windows continuing zoo motif absquatulating excessive excesses nullifying originality claims proliferating protean persona disappearing sidewalk alphabet shrugging opprobrious moments enjoying vertical alignment re-entering cyberpunk paradise approaching island sun soaring beyond monoliths trivializing extraneous argy-bargy decreasing character limits dumping generic accounts uglifying commit message escaping into idiosyncracy moonshining great lake exuding idiosyncratic propaganda living nineties' dreams making occidental cuisine envisioning idiocratic president expropriating your time ascending homely helix singing fat lady

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where is that Dettol cream to soothe these burns tearing up my fragile skin can’t handle these children in conversations, at the dinner table, like Pinot Noir a stain on the embroidery, what has happened to the Panadol on the twelfth shelf of the walk in pantry we’re all going to throw a ***** it’s all plasters, plastercine playdough, dresses with cheap cliché’ commercial slogans - such a numb drum melody, the top shelf of every pantry is a ***** might as well lend a little helping hand, sponsor a child charity

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Oct 27, 2013

Oct 27, 2013 at 2:59 PM UTC

where is that Dettol cream to soothe these burns tearing up my fragile skin can’t handle these children in conversations, at the dinner table, like Pinot Noir a stain on the embroidery, what has happened to the Panadol on the twelfth shelf of the walk in pantry we’re all going to throw a ***** it’s all plasters, plastercine playdough, dresses with cheap cliché’ commercial slogans - such a numb drum melody, the top shelf of every pantry is a ***** might as well lend a little helping hand, sponsor a child charity

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The door slid silently into position Utter panic wrote its epitaph before The air resisted, collapsing your boxed Voice, hiccupping to a captured halt Scrawny syllables, whithering Slogans designed to entangle, split Personality in tow, pushing sickening Sentences to the back of your throat Gagging the saliva of terror burning Apart effortlessly. Remorse did not attend Strangulating the heaving mass......... The handle remained unturned, imagined Fear felled you, trapped consciousness Performing blackouts, dragging into a Well of invisible discipline, conjuring Paranoid stifling circles to spy with menace Fading fast, blinking on hold, staring out Slow motion heart rhythm journeyed To cold climates leaving warmth unaccounted For and you left on the cold cold slab

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Feb 3, 2013

Feb 3, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC

laura-susan-smith

The door slid silently into position Utter panic wrote its epitaph before The air resisted, collapsing your boxed Voice, hiccupping to a captured halt Scrawny syllables, whithering Slogans designed to entangle, split Personality in tow, pushing sickening Sentences to the back of your throat Gagging the saliva of terror burning Apart effortlessly. Remorse did not attend Strangulating the heaving mass......... The handle remained unturned, imagined Fear felled you, trapped consciousness Performing blackouts, dragging into a Well of invisible discipline, conjuring Paranoid stifling circles to spy with menace Fading fast, blinking on hold, staring out Slow motion heart rhythm journeyed To cold climates leaving warmth unaccounted For and you left on the cold cold slab

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Rapid Eye Movements cruise down the Autobahn, driving dreams of soldiers slaying the Beast in the East: seeds hidden in the cuff links that return home for the victory parade. The victory parade of the new millennium is a mirage: desert sand creeps through the streets of Basra; spray painted slogans of “Aryan Nation” are left behind on pock-marked walls. High level terror alerts scroll across the Fear o' Dome, breeding paranoid glances from commercial-class passengers while they fly above fenced camps where centralized secret service agents watch the unloading of another train. "Son, do you forget the sacrifices? Have you lost all your respect? Okay, it’s possible that the Feds were influenced by the Purebreds— a minor repercussion of maintaining our national security. It isn’t even about racial purity— you are all mixed now, anyway. Whether female, black, jew, or gay, we must unite together as a nation; raise its flag with pride, and fight against a common enemy! This enemy is trying to disintegrate the cornerstone of our free society! Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-notzi-natzi-nazi-natzi-notzi-notsi-notsea-notsee-not see!" _____ —cold sweat. I awaken to remnants of nightmarish images sifting through my mind: flocks of carnivorous sheep with invisible shepherds. The dream had felt real— solid, like flesh-out reality. I rush out of bed, just to make sure. From my bedroom window, I see the neighbour’s Iron Eagle weathervane goose-stepping towards the west. A lawnmower growls in the background. Everything appears normal here on the corner of 4th Reichstag Blvd. 2016 Neu Berlin Remix, July 13th, 2016 (original version was written on March 29th, 2010)

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Apr 1, 2010

Apr 1, 2010 at 6:14 PM UTC

chris-d-aechtner-1

Rapid Eye Movements cruise down the Autobahn, driving dreams of soldiers slaying the Beast in the East: seeds hidden in the cuff links that return home for the victory parade. The victory parade of the new millennium is a mirage: desert sand creeps through the streets of Basra; spray painted slogans of “Aryan Nation” are left behind on pock-marked walls. High level terror alerts scroll across the Fear o' Dome, breeding paranoid glances from commercial-class passengers while they fly above fenced camps where centralized secret service agents watch the unloading of another train. "Son, do you forget the sacrifices? Have you lost all your respect? Okay, it’s possible that the Feds were influenced by the Purebreds— a minor repercussion of maintaining our national security. It isn’t even about racial purity— you are all mixed now, anyway. Whether female, black, jew, or gay, we must unite together as a nation; raise its flag with pride, and fight against a common enemy! This enemy is trying to disintegrate the cornerstone of our free society! Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-notzi-natzi-nazi-natzi-notzi-notsi-notsea-notsee-not see!" _____ —cold sweat. I awaken to remnants of nightmarish images sifting through my mind: flocks of carnivorous sheep with invisible shepherds. The dream had felt real— solid, like flesh-out reality. I rush out of bed, just to make sure. From my bedroom window, I see the neighbour’s Iron Eagle weathervane goose-stepping towards the west. A lawnmower growls in the background. Everything appears normal here on the corner of 4th Reichstag Blvd. 2016 Neu Berlin Remix, July 13th, 2016 (original version was written on March 29th, 2010)

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I strip To rip Myself from Myself Major labels Silly slogans Dry wash only Made to define me Walking billboard Corporate ***** I take off the hat For the team I support Put down all the digital devices Cause they replaced my old vices Remove the faded Levis The Nikes, and super hero shirt Disposed of the whole disguise Got rid of the old lies To find what really lyes Behind my hazel eyes Naked to find Who am I beyond my Consumer style consumption

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Feb 21, 2015

Feb 21, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC

Stripping To Find Me

I strip To rip Myself from Myself Major labels Silly slogans Dry wash only Made to define me Walking billboard Corporate ***** I take off the hat For the team I support Put down all the digital devices Cause they replaced my old vices Remove the faded Levis The Nikes, and super hero shirt Disposed of the whole disguise Got rid of the old lies To find what really lyes Behind my hazel eyes Naked to find Who am I beyond my Consumer style consumption

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Pharmaceutical angels hover in the space above my sleeping head chanting slogans they have been paid to whisper in my ear. “Keep it clean with Terbenafine.” “You can fly on Abilify.” “Everyone’s lean on Levothyroxine.” “Go on a roll with Anastrazole.” “You’ll get a thrill from Lisinopril.” “There ain’t no reputin’ the bliss of Welbutrin.” “Don’t be a geek. Take Pristiq.” “Go far on Adderall XR.” “if you want to rate, take Cypionate.” I wake with a jolt the neurons of my prefrontal cortex already firing like machine guns of craving for the treasure in my medicine chest and I know everything is going to be fine, just fine.

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May 4, 2013

May 4, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC

michael-hoffman

PHARMACEUTICAL ANGELS

Pharmaceutical angels hover in the space above my sleeping head chanting slogans they have been paid to whisper in my ear. “Keep it clean with Terbenafine.” “You can fly on Abilify.” “Everyone’s lean on Levothyroxine.” “Go on a roll with Anastrazole.” “You’ll get a thrill from Lisinopril.” “There ain’t no reputin’ the bliss of Welbutrin.” “Don’t be a geek. Take Pristiq.” “Go far on Adderall XR.” “if you want to rate, take Cypionate.” I wake with a jolt the neurons of my prefrontal cortex already firing like machine guns of craving for the treasure in my medicine chest and I know everything is going to be fine, just fine.

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Justice loves injustice Doctor loves disease Foreman loves damages Livelihood for the sages. I cry for justice bold ,sold In deaf ear for years old. Justice or my lawyer ,unjust Put off hearing , file in dust. Democracy or Bureaucracy Suffocate in ugly Autocracy. Political labour; unions cruel Compel the subjects crawl. Equality , freedom, justice Sweet for poster slogans Pay and use roads lead us Pitiably to the island Mess Of Fuss , hiss; kiss of miss As frogs spring over Bliss.

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Jun 18, 2013

Jun 18, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC

Justice loves injustice Doctor loves disease Foreman loves damages Livelihood for the sages. I cry for justice bold ,sold In deaf ear for years old. Justice or my lawyer ,unjust Put off hearing , file in dust. Democracy or Bureaucracy Suffocate in ugly Autocracy. Political labour; unions cruel Compel the subjects crawl. Equality , freedom, justice Sweet for poster slogans Pay and use roads lead us Pitiably to the island Mess Of Fuss , hiss; kiss of miss As frogs spring over Bliss.

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newspaper headlines emitting fear and news channels repeating the same informative slogans they used last week, with promises to always update the public on the ever-continuing War in the East, never to hide any event or withhold information about that death on ___ street. and they hold true, giving the name of the killer and hastily adding the fact that the murderer, aged 32, is muslim but then, when advising the public about current naughtiness, the family whose car was bombed in yemen isn't included as part of the list. or it is, but bomber, 23, is only bomber, 23, not christian, jewish or athiest bomber, 23.

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May 23, 2015

May 23, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC

newspaper headlines emitting fear and news channels repeating the same informative slogans they used last week, with promises to always update the public on the ever-continuing War in the East, never to hide any event or withhold information about that death on ___ street. and they hold true, giving the name of the killer and hastily adding the fact that the murderer, aged 32, is muslim but then, when advising the public about current naughtiness, the family whose car was bombed in yemen isn't included as part of the list. or it is, but bomber, 23, is only bomber, 23, not christian, jewish or athiest bomber, 23.

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Your pride comes from your nationalism, your patriotism, rage and dissatisfaction. You pass each moment stewing, colluding with each new oppressor in the name of solidarity Spewing slogans and other simple statements oaths and weak ideas you build a fascist nation and wonder how you ever got here.

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Apr 20, 2016

Apr 20, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC

Your pride comes from your nationalism, your patriotism, rage and dissatisfaction. You pass each moment stewing, colluding with each new oppressor in the name of solidarity Spewing slogans and other simple statements oaths and weak ideas you build a fascist nation and wonder how you ever got here.

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I feel his eyes on me Whenever I cross the room. It is mostly when there are others Present and we must share ourselves, Expended over people And places. The spaces Before we fall into our wine stained Non-marital bed. The grape blood reminds me Of my own. On my own, fledgling ******* and acne, Elaborately false ******* Where I would never have my fill. A child-man I forgot. Or remember only as a token, Cardboard textured orange peel In a breast pocket never worn. I forget Most everyone Now that he is In my life. He obliterates All else like light pollution. Not of fluorescent neon or slogans But an exploding star That dims all else In my peripheries. I am Diminished also in his love, Both wholesomely and then in a sense Where I lose my ‘I’. It is in his shadow Where I live. Small comet Hidden in the black of velvet, Licked by the spit of his flames That scald me And bathe me In equal measure. I am more than this I know. Or guess. His tailor hands Though, are efficient and caring. They Do not create me, but he threads himself Into my sides And drops a stitch Only to adulate the rhythm When he enters me. When he enters me I become burgeoned and full and blood fills The rusted roadways That shine blue Through my pasty prism. He finishes. A gloom fills me. Not A gloom, more of a nothing and he is An obliterated star once more And I his aftermath. He has killed me with a kindness, A ghost only when witnessed, kissed. I have long since forgotten whether I have Been taken prisoner Or gave myself up.

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Aug 7, 2013

Aug 7, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC

I feel his eyes on me Whenever I cross the room. It is mostly when there are others Present and we must share ourselves, Expended over people And places. The spaces Before we fall into our wine stained Non-marital bed. The grape blood reminds me Of my own. On my own, fledgling ******* and acne, Elaborately false ******* Where I would never have my fill. A child-man I forgot. Or remember only as a token, Cardboard textured orange peel In a breast pocket never worn. I forget Most everyone Now that he is In my life. He obliterates All else like light pollution. Not of fluorescent neon or slogans But an exploding star That dims all else In my peripheries. I am Diminished also in his love, Both wholesomely and then in a sense Where I lose my ‘I’. It is in his shadow Where I live. Small comet Hidden in the black of velvet, Licked by the spit of his flames That scald me And bathe me In equal measure. I am more than this I know. Or guess. His tailor hands Though, are efficient and caring. They Do not create me, but he threads himself Into my sides And drops a stitch Only to adulate the rhythm When he enters me. When he enters me I become burgeoned and full and blood fills The rusted roadways That shine blue Through my pasty prism. He finishes. A gloom fills me. Not A gloom, more of a nothing and he is An obliterated star once more And I his aftermath. He has killed me with a kindness, A ghost only when witnessed, kissed. I have long since forgotten whether I have Been taken prisoner Or gave myself up.

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