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J L James Nov 2018
Memories
are like fire,
they can execute
or inspire,
satiate
cooked on a plate,
deforest
when
filled with hate.
Running like lava
through
varicose veins,
embers smolder
ready to ignite,
or extinguish the
remembrance.
Exploring the power of memories.
it wasn't your honey
that got me

nor was it
your smolder

they may be
most dimpliest lines
but what shook me
from numb to sprung
violent stripping
my own *******
what woke me
from prison slumber
was

your dent fingers
shaking crimson

still
reaching

strife gone strive
leaning into lightbloom
curled in a corner
dim pulse knocking

how in the center
of rage-iced pain
tornado torn lone
you felt it

reflecting my own
pushpull oblong halo

still
orbiting

even our fuckits and flails
have aftertaste
of skies slid
Two years old, he totters towards his mutti's skirts
She turns away, for the decanter, and locks him in his room
Oh! He wails, pounding his little fists against the floor,
But she finds him asleep on the rug, clutching an old poppet to his breast
She lifts him to his crib and kisses his sodden cheek, checking her abuse at the door
Her smile is smug, folded away into her adulteration of love.

Five years old and he asks after his sire,
Tracing the beading of her mourning dress, as she kneels with him
As if he were a snake and she was stricken,
she drops him squat on the cold floorboards. Pulls herself within,
Then reaches to him,
Whispering condemnation and condolence
He backs away, burning his hand on the fire grate, the love in his eyes as dim.

When he is seven, the boy takes up a twisted love for architecture, swears he'll become a sailor, far from home
Her eyes are a cooling, somber grey-blue, they alight then smolder with a hiss
The boy's eyes are green, flush with life and innocence
They're his .
as my mother let her sorrows rule me
Vexren4000 Aug 2018
A country of people,
Reaching for castles in the sky,
Breaking their arms on high,
Breaking bones and bodies in the process,
Dreamers sacrificing lives,
For dreams that smolder in their souls,
Even after men die,
Those dreams and embers,
Burn on, for all of history.

©BAS
Kayla Oct 9
Have you ever felt a flame?
Have you ever seen something hot enough to melt the bitter ice block you call your heart. It’s scalding.
Sensual ****** flames that kiss your lonely corners and make you wonder how the fire department isn’t on stand by. Have you ever felt desire burn so deep in your bones you taste magma and blood?

What does that yearning bring you?

Why havnt the got **** fire alarms gone off yet? Do you wish for release? Or do you beg the embers to dance a little longer on your skin.
Is hot a temperature? Or does heat echo in your sweat and pores everytime you hear me? **** the ******* extinguisher. Set me ablaze! Light me up everytime you combust.  I just want to feel fire.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
[Infernal Dialectic of Ongoing Struggle]

Spoke Mao Zedong to Kim Jong Ill:
We languish here in deep red hell –
Let us confer and analyze
What factors revolutionize
The contradictions still.


Replied Lil’ Kim: The running dogs
Beguiled by class and capital
Have overdrawn and overspent.
They bank on debt, and make lament
And flounder in their fogs…


Kim chee does stink, but tastes so good
Do have some more, oh comrade Mao.
Fermented cabbage goes so well
With Hennessey and blondes (in hell)
when
Juche’s in da hood!

The Fearless Leader (now a shade)
Responded thus: Just give them time.
Our doctrines spread, their God is dead
Their sons shall sing ‘The East is Red’
Our party’s got it made.


Ill Kim displayed a wicked grin:
Our rocket-launches make them fear
They scold and cluck, and then they duck
While Hillary tries to pass the buck
I think we still could win…


The Chairman thought and sipped some fire
in communistic reverie, and feeling very clever, he
Replied to Ill: This place we’ll fill
with dead reactionaries still –
fifth columns to inspire.

Now let the thousand flowers bloom
And let one thousand thoughts contend.
Remember **? Remember ‘Nam?
We triumphed over Uncle Sam –
He’s limping toward his doom.


A wizened ghost now drifted in
Because his name had been proclaimed
A wispy beard (as yet unseared)
Revealed the mastermind once feared:
Old Uncle ** Chi Minh !

** ** – old friend! Draw near! Draw near,
Spoke Mao: In solidarity
We hail your work upon the earth
You showed them what a war is worth
You’re always welcome here.


Ill Kim and I were wondering
How best to make the forward leap –
conspiring ******* their cow
and smoke their duck and drain their sow
while they are buying bling.

** Chi, old warrior, why the frown?
Upon your wisdom now we wait.
The forces red you bravely led
You staked your claim until they bled
And brought their nation down.


Old uncle **, the sage revered,
did smolder with his cigarette.
Viet Cong thought is hard to grasp
It slithers like a jungle asp…
** paused and stroked his beard:

You speak without the people’s light!
I criticize in strongest terms
Your revolutionary thought.
We need to ask our friend Pol ***
How best to steer this fight.

Such gradual change, a halfway measure
stalls the Bourgeoisie’s demise.
Our true Khmer Rouge was not a stooge
of Kapital. His fame was huge
for plundering their treasure.

True, he had to purge his nation
such is revolution, gents…
The traitor classes see the masses,
through reactionary  glasses.
Death or re-education!

We ought to sow his rural seed
for pure agrarian reform.
The bodies in the rice can rot
to fertilize the harvest plot –
the people’s mouths to feed.


When Pol *** heard his tactics lauded
he flew in to join the jabber:
Take a tip from Kampuchea!
Listen well and I will teach ya!

Kim and Mao applauded.

City folk are useless eaters
glasses-wearing foes and cheaters!
let them slave – and always save
their corpses for the fertile grave
Until they love their leaders.

From the barrel power grows –
(I don’t mean kim chee barrel, boys – )
Now learn my way.We’ll have our say
Their weakened states will wither away.

The Red dictator rose.

Prepared to ramble on for hours
(the way Fidel so loves to do)
Pol ***’s harangue now fired the gang
like rockets falling on Da Nang
emitting sparks in showers.

Hell is known for lack of stasis –
Sudden throes of quaking fire;
fitful flares from from Satan’s lairs
and constant similar affairs
the population faces…

Thus Saint Pol ***, still naming names
along with Mao and Kim-Jong Il
while ** Chi screamed, and then blasphemed
were swept en masse, and unredeemed
into the surging flames.

Yet still they plotted in the blaze
with dialectic deviousness.
Philosophizing, strategizing
stinking sulphur brimstone rising;
ghosts in the yellow haze…

        ☭ END ☭
http://tinyurl.com/q6uyx34

Outside Words Nov 2018
Like a flame igniting an old engine
A frisk of energy sparked
Turning my rusty, frozen gears
And restoring my memories of you.
In a hidden corridor in time -
A dimension since locked away
We two share an instant -
An unobtainable, infinite moment.
Like a fog creeping in on my soul -
An ironic, melancholy nostalgia;
I dream of sunlight on canopy roads
In a place I once called home.
Trapped in a reality without you
We've since broken our promise,
Extinguishing the embers
We swore to smolder forever.
This life is a sort of purgatory -
A spiritual test and journey;
A short waiting period before
We again walk hidden corridors.
© Outside Words
At rest, the motions seem sublime,
as we prepare our circular climb;
The winding 'round of colors' whims,
beneath the rock's exotic gems.

As the tale entrusted to our elders,
life's epic journey starts to smolder;
The planet's rage urges from its core,
and soon our days will be no more.

So moving quickly to escape our fate,
from the destiny of trials and hate;
Now gathering missives from the sun,
no longer fooled by anyone.

We face the climb just as we must,
before our hearts turn into dust;
and cheering on are clouds of rain,
Which spill onto our wounds with pain.

But then we see the course return,
exempting souls from hurt and scorn;
While climbing high yet much too far,
we've failed to capture heaven's star.
Keeping our 'eyes on the prize' can be dangerous ! Proceed with caution.
BJ Donovan Jan 22
It feels like a funeral pyre.
    I've outgrown today's relevance.
    I'm not getting old; I'm old and
    near my pull by date. I still
    remember youth's fierce passion,
    unyielding principles and desire.
    Ashes smolder inside my shell as
    a mute cry to my naive progeny.
carpe diem
Wordfreak Dec 2018
When I'm called home,
And the halls of Valhalla
Ring with recollections
Of love, loss and redemption.

Remember Me.

When the children scream
For their parents,
The thieves confess to the ******,
And the blood of the lamb washes over,

Remember Me.

When the Gods strike the earth,
The trees smolder and cry,
And lightning batters your cities.

Remember Me.

When your buildings fall into the sea,
When your allies are raiding your lands
When the sand and the snow trade forms.

Remember Me.

For I warned you that this was coming.
And I'm not coming to save you anymore.
Added passages updated 11/18/19
Erin Jul 1
Some pesky emotions
stick to my insides...
They cling just under
my skin,
vacationing
in rosy-cheeked 98.6° temps.
I try to shake them off,
they slide around,
bloom up to my chest, crest
over my shoulders, smolder
the insides of my elbows, rove
across my ribs, rummage
into my stomach, and
smack
stuck again
snug again.

Not sure if they ever dissolve.
I imagine I have developed
layers of them by now.
But I guess we all have.
in my feelings, as the kids say
Berenice Jul 28
to A.

Mythical creature
Feather on fire
Half-bird, half-women
Born is desire

Fireworks of feelings
Awe and thrill
Heartbeat stopping wonder
Love and fear

Watching from distance
you can admire
How it flies closer
And then again higher

Don't try to catch it
Lock it in a cage
It will break free
Or else it will rage
After the storm pass
She will just smolder
Suffer in silence
Tired and older

If her fire is what you want to keep
Show her your love
True and deep
Tell her she can always fly
Just on her own
In the sky
That you will wait for her
Guarding her nest
Being the earth for her
When she needs rest

7.7.2019 Prague
written by Olga, known as Swan.
When you first came, we built a fire.
You told me we could both stay warm.
Stirring it with compassion, curiosity, and pure desire,
taking turns to add more logs and fan the flames became the new norm.
We would talk and learn for hours and hours,
laughing so hard as to even block out the storm.

We were warm and the fire burned bright.
But slowly, the longer we spent together, the shorter the night.
I continued with the work,
I'd find the fuel and fan the flames.
Soon, you'd stop talking, caring, trying.
I felt shut out and confused as ever, but stayed awake for nights on end so you could stay warm whenever.

I began to get tired, looking for you I slowly crept.
I called, you didn't answer, but still I stopped and slept.
The fire went from a brilliant blaze to glowing smolder,
quickly, the room got colder.
I began to freeze.
The dark began to creep in and I was afraid.
Afraid of the dark,
and of the cold,
and of anything that could be.
I reached for you and you weren't there.
I looked all around for you, but you could be anywhere.
And of all the things that could ever be,
the places I looked, was only writing. "Trust me."

I trusted you to help me fan the flames.
I trusted you to help me find logs.
I trusted you to help me keep out the cold.
I trusted you to calm me down during a storm.
I trusted you to keep me warm.
But then you stopped.
The room got cold.
And now the fire won't burn.
I trusted you, and you left me cold and in the dark. Please don't try to bring the fire back.
Apathy Mar 24
A passing thought of your soft grin
Tugs my heart strings taut and humming
They play sweet songs like violins
Adrift in clouds of silk and honey

A sun burns bright within my heart
It shines for you a world apart
I feel you there reaching for me
And in your arms I long to be

I feel you here within my heart
A world away, but not apart
In dreams I play our first embrace
picturing your smiling face



the quiet warmth of knowing
you exist with me tonight
soothes me into peaceful sleep
as I bathe in morning light

I watch the window to your world
Dreaming of reaching through that glass
I'd crawl into your sleeping arms
And leave behind the past

Catching a glimpse of your soft smile
I feel my own heart beating
but opened eyes tear you away
for dreams, the fickle things, are fleeting



Embers smolder deep within
Spreading, rising to my throat
A gasp of air, I catch my breath
As flames of desire ignite

But desolate winds gather in my chest
As the fires fight to stay alight
I hold myself, a hollow shield
This empty space inside grips tight
a few small poems written for you, some new some old
Jude kyrie Oct 2018
There's a time of reflection of memories that hide.
We were drenched in youth and passion back then.
She was all the poems that ever were scribed
her steel grey eyes show  all the love that has died

We were drenched in youth and passion back then.
In time all raging fires will smolder and glow
her steel grey eyes show all the love that has died
nights are a place where lost  hours go

In time all raging fires will smolder and glow
Ghost haunt the soul that's as cold as the snow
nights are a place where lost hours go
There's a time when you learn all that you know

Ghost haunt the soul that's as cold as the snow
Are shadows just memories that won't go away?
.There's a time when you learn all that you know
Regrets are a meal that is  eaten so slow

Are shadows just memories that won't go away
Loves now a poet that loses all rhyme
Regrets are a meal that is eaten so slow
memories leave scars that can't fade with time
Not a form poet
but I had a go
Jude
October Dec 2018
It's not a fairy-tale
It's just love, you and me
Learning to give
Learning to be
Don't get me wrong, your love
It's true
And deep
And Strong
But it's not a fairy-tale
It never will be
Not like it was with him and me
But a smolder still creates heat
It's not a fairy-tale
But it's not defeat
Rayven Rae Jul 2018
chapter one;

“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds
Because you're mine, I walk the line...”

i was yours
the first time your fingers
burned lust
against my neck

lunch time lunch break
45 minutes stretched
to find the beats
within the beats

“Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you
Because you're mine, I walk the line.”

you grabbed my hand
hurried feet across hot pavement
a sudden coolness
my back
brown sun kissed skin bare
against rigid metal
pressure
suffused with a smoldering
you ignited
in places i didn’t know
lighting matches in me
just to swallow up the flames

“You've got a way to keep me on your side
You give me cause for love that I can't hide
For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide
Because you're mine, I walk the line.”

your hands
(how i came to love
the way just the anticipation
of their pressure
the sight of
fingertips dancing across a countertop
would make me wet)
slid slow almost slick parallel against my chest
crept slowly
upwards delicious slow race
breathing becomes optional
then forgotten
your fingertips are magnets
push back expose sweet surrender
salt kissed sugar spice
all spice

“I am not ashamed anymore
I want something so impure
You better impress now, watching my dress now fall to the floor
Crawling underneath my skin, sweet talk with a hint of sin
Begging you to take me
Devil underneath your grin, sweet thing, but she play to win, heaven gonna hate me.”

they say opposites attract
north seeks south
that is normal

this is not normal

we are heat seeking missiles
homing in one on the other
burning beyond brightness
when love sometimes feels like a fist around your throat
you command me to open my eyes
to look at you
into you
your eyes stay blazing
i am blind i can’t blink
i have never seen
more clearly
we are all stardust
mysteries inferno
your mouth tastes
i want to be the ashes in your mouth
you build my church of scars
you give me permission to be
you give me permission to
you give me permission
you give me
you give
you

fingers meeting my throat
for the first time
feels like home
our stardust becomes shrapnel
shrapnel draws first blood
i taste it on your lips
iron salt desire ***
my teeth your lust
your eyes smolder grey
so much heat
all hardness and promise
permission granted before
the question is even asked
your eyes
my eyes
close
first

round one
you win.
**This poem is a work-in-progress as it is one of many active books my life is writing for me right now.  This is just chapter one.  I would love feedback, suggestions, criticisms, etc.  You don't have to be gentle....I don't break easy.  If you're anything be honest...

**The song references that are in quotations are lines borrowed from Johnny Cash's "I Walk The Line" and Halsey's "Not Afraid Anymore".
Julian Mar 31
Tantalized by the fractious limerence of a vestigial habiliment of the old order, we conclude that hypertrophy leads to a limbo where random permutations alloyed by the rickety limits of concatenation subsume concepts that are equivocal but populate the imaginations of newfangled art forms that jostle the midwives of rumination to lead to unique pastures that are intuitively calibrated to correspond to definitive unitary events in conceptual space that sprawl unexpectedly towards the desultory but determinative conclusion of a meandering ludic sphere of rambunctious sentiments cobbled together to either rivet the captive audience or annoy the peevish criticaster when they dare to inseminate the canvassed and corrugated tract of intellectual territory created ad hoc to swelter the imagination with audacious ingenuity that is an inevitable byproduct of lexical hypertrophy. In this séance with the immaterial realm of concept rather than the predictable clockwork reductivism of a perceptual welter that is limited by the concretism circumscribed by spatiotemporal stricture we find that an extravagant twinge of even the smallest tocsin in the interstitial carousel of conscientious subroutines compounding recursively to pinprick the cossetted smolder of potentiality rather than extravagate into the vacancy of untenanted nullibiety can spawn a progeny of utilities and vehicles for dexterous abstraction that poach the exotic concepts we fathom by degrees of sapience malingering in lifeless bricolages of erratic abstraction in manners useful to transcend the repose of abeyance and heave awakening into the slumberous caverns of still-life to make them dynamically animated to capture ephemeral events that defy the demarcations of wistful indelicacy of the encumbered bulk of insufficient precision.

Today we embark on a quest to defile the anoegenetic recapitulation of canon that litters the dilapidated avenues of miserly contemplation that has a histeriological certainty and feeds the engines that enable novelty but ultimately remain rancid with the stench of the idiosyncratic shibboleths of synoptic alloyed impoverishment that leads to the vast wasteland of cremated entropy that is a stained foible of misappropriated context interpolated usefully as botched triage for daunting problems that require a nimble legerdemain of facile versatility that we easily adduce to conquer the present with the botched memorial of a defunct salience. Despite the travail of scholars to retreat from the frontier into the hypostatized hegemony of recycled credentialed information, we often are ensnared by the solemn attrition of decay as we traverse the conceptual underpinnings of all bedrock thought only to dangle precariously near the void of lapsed sentience because of transitory incontinence that is contiguous to the doldrums of crudity but nevertheless with mustered mettle we purport that the very self-serious awakening to our hobbling limitations is akin to a prosthetic enhancement of ratiocination capable of feats that stagger beneath the lowest level of subtext to elevate the highest superordinate categorization into heightened scrutiny that burgeons metacognitive limber. Marooned in the equipoise of specifiable enlightenment countermanded by the strictures of working memory we can orchestrate transverse pathways between the elemental quiddity of impetuous meaning and the dignified tropes of transitivity that bequeaths entire universes with feral progeny that modulate their ecosystems with both a taste of approximated symmetry and a cohesive enterprise for productivity that rests on the granular concordance of the highest plane to the indivisible parcels of atomic meaning that solder together to exist as intelligible if strained by the primordial frictions guaranteed by the brunt of motion incipient because of the metaphorical inertia created within insular universes to inform sprawling conurbations of mobilized thoughts designed to reckon with the breakneck pace of the corresponding reality to which they explicitly and precisely refer to.

We must singe surgically the filigrees that amount to the perceptible realities that transmute temperaments into the liturgy of routine conflated with the rigmarole of neural dragnets of reiterative quips in an elegant game of raillery with our supernal contumacy against the rigid authority of aleatory vagaries mandated by a dually arbitrary universe in a probabilistic terpsichorean dance with the depth of our dredge for subliminal acuity or the shallow bellicosity of common modes of glib contemplation characteristic of the basic nobility of improvisation. This basic interface with the world can either be mercurial or tranquil based on the interactionism of the enfeebled trudge of surface senses or blunt intuitions and the smoldering impact of the vestigial cloaks that deal gingerly with the poignant subtext evoked in the cauldron of immediacy rather than pondered with the portentous weight of imperative singularities of uniqueness derived from the plunge into the arcane citadel of microscopic introspection so refined that the ineffable drives we seek to fathom become amenable to the traipse of transcendental time that rarefies itself by defying the brunt of compartmentalized bureaucracies administered by the fulcrum of stereotypical notions of acquired gravitas imputed to mundane pedestrian quidnunc concerns that defile humanity rather than embolden the subaudition of gritty punctilios that show the supernal powers of the axiomatic divinity of sharpened sentience to reign with supremacy over the baser ignoble components of bletcherous nescience that leads to knee-**** platitudes that provoke folksy peevish divisions. We should rather orchestrate our activity by heeding the admonishment about the primogeniture of poignant sabotage buffered by the remonstration of innate tranquility and finding a whipsawed compromise of rationalization with true visceral encounters with the fulgurant quips of brisk emotions that grind industriously into amorphous retinues of the trenchant human imagination to either equip or hobble the leapfrogged interrogation of veracity and more consequently our notions of truth and fact.

When we see the hackneyed results of default ecological dynamics, we find ourselves aloof from purported transcendence because the whimpered bleats and cavils of the importunate masses result in a deafening din of cacophony because we strive throbbing with sprightliness towards the galloped chase of tantalization without the luxury of a terminus for satiation. Obviously a growth mindset is the galvanic ****** that spawns the imaginative swank of the pliable modulations of our perceived reality that, when protean, showcase the limitless verve of our primordial cacoethes for epigenetic evolution rather than the stolid and staid foreclosure of impervious sloth that memorializes the gluttony of speculation about fixed entities rather than imperative jostling urbanity that dignifies the brackish dance with dearth and the exuberant savory taste of momentary excess because it engages the animated pursuit of limerence rather than the exhumed corpse of wistful regret. Nature is a cyclical clockwork system of predatory instinct met with the clemency of the prosperous providence enacted by the travailing ingenuity of successive cumulative generativities that compounded unevenly and unpredictably to predicate a fundamental zeitgeist calculated to engorge the fattened resources of the resourceful and temper the etiolated dreams of the fringed acquiescence of a hulking prejudiced population of dutiful servants that balk at the diminutive prospects of a lopsided distribution of talent and means but slumber in irenic resolve created by the merciful hands of defensive designs that configure consciousness to relish comparative touchstones rather than absolute outcomes that straggle beyond a point of enviable reference to shield the world of the barbarism of botched laments clamoring for an uncertain grave from the gravity of the orbiting satellites of apportioned wealth both sunblind and boorish but simultaneously inextricable from the acclimated fortune of heaped nepotism and herculean opportunism. The intransigence of the weighted destiny of inequity is a squalid enterprise of primeval abrasive and combative tendencies within the bailiwick of the indignant compass inherent to the system that fathoms its deficiencies with crabwise and gingerly pause but airs a sheepish grievance like a bleat of self-exculpation but simultaneously an arraignment of fundamental attribution erroneously indicted without the selfsame reflexiveness characteristic of a transcendent being with other recourses to clamber an avenue to Broadway without malingering in the slums of opprobrious ineffectual remonstration against the arrangement of a blinkered metropolis of uneven gentrification.

We flicker sometimes between the strategic drivel of appeasement and the candor of audacious imprecation of the culprits of indignity or considerate nutritive encomium of the beacons of ameliorated enlightenment because we often masquerade a half-witted glib consciousness lazily sketched by the welters of verve alloyed with the rancid distaste of squalor and slumber on the faculty of conscientious swivels of prudential expeditions with an avarice for bountiful considered thought and wily contortions of demeanor that issue the affirmative traction of adaptive endeavor to cheat a warped system for a reconciled peace and a refined self-mastery. We need to traduce the urchins that sting the system with pangs of opprobrious ballyhoo and the effluvia of foofaraw that contaminate with pettifoggery and small-minded blather the arenas better suited for the gladiatorial combat of cockalorums tinged with a dose of intellectual effrontery beyond the span of dogmatism rather than the hackneyed platitudes that infest the news cycle with folksy backwardation catered to the fascism of a checkered established press that urges insurrection while tranquilizing dissent against the furtive actions of consequence hidden behind the draped verdure of pretense whose byproduct is only a self-referential sophistry that swarms like an intractable itch to devolve the spectator into a pasquinaded spectacle of profound human obtuseness that pervades malignantly the system of debate until the reductionists outwit themselves with the empty prevarication of circular logic that deliberately misfires to miss the target of true importance because of the pandered black hole easily evaded by creatures of high sentience but inevitably ensnaring the special kind of dupe into a cycle of bellicose ferocity of internecine balkanization. The vainglory of the omphalos of entertainment is also another reckoning because it festers a cultural mythos of glorified crapulence parading a philandered promiscuity with half-baked antics that gravitate attention and the lecheries of gaudy tenses of recycled tinsel alloyed by debased aberrations of seedy grapholagnia that magnetize as they percolate because of the insidious catchphrases embedded in pedestrian syncopation that ignite retention and acclimate to mediocrity the sounds of generations discolored by faint pasty rainbows rather than ennobled by majestic landscapes of ignipotent mellifluous sound that stands a supernal amusement still for the resourceful trainspotter.

Despite the contumely aimed in the direction of contrarians for deviating from the lockstep clockwork hustle of stooped pandered manipulation that peddles the wares of an entirely counterfeit reality, I stand obstinately against the melliferous stupefaction of entire genres of myth and subcultures huddled around the sentimental tug of factitious sophistries regaled by thick amorphous apostates that cherish the vacuous sidetracked spotlight with fervor rather than pausing on the enigmatic querulous inquisition about the penumbras that lurk with strained effort beneath or above the categorical nescience of the shadowy unknown that often coruscates with elegance even in obscurity. I fight with labored words to spawn a psychological discipline that invokes the incisive subaudition of the pluckily pricked exorcism of true insight from the husk of buzzwords that constellate auxiliary tangential distractions from the art form of psychological discernment that predicates itself on the concept that the rarefaction of rumination by degrees of microscopic precision enables the introspective hindsight of conscious events that can be parsed without the acrimony of cluttered conflations of the granular prowess of triumphant ratiocination that earns a panoramic perch with the added luxury of perspicacious insight into the atomic structure of the rudiments of our phenomenological field and the abstractions that linger beyond perceptual categorization. When we analyze the gradients of anger, for example, we can either be ****** into a brooded twinge of wistful resentment or we can decipher that through heuristics designed to cloister the provenance of subconscious repose with ignorance there exists a regimented array of tangential accessories embedded deep within the cavernous repository of memory that designates a cumulative trace of compounded symmetries of concordant experience immediately perceptible because of the tangible provocateur of our gripes and the largely subliminal tusk that protrudes because of primal instinct that squirms with peevishness because of the momentary context preceded by the desultory churn of smoldering associations swimming with either complete intangible sputtered mobility through the tract of subconscious hyperspace or rigidly fixated by an arraignment of circumstances with propinquity to the deep unfathomed flicker of bygones receding or protruding because of the warped and largely unpredictable rigmarole of constellated spreading activation.  
When we examine the largesse of the swift recourse of convenience we forget by degrees the travail that once bridged the span of experience from patient abeyance in provident pursuit to now the importunate glare of inflated expectations for immediacy that stings the whole enterprise of societal dynamics because it vitiates us with a complacency for the filigrees of momentary tinsel of a virtualized reality divorced from the concretism that used to undergird interaction and now stands outmoded as a wisp beyond outstretched hands straggling beyond the black mirror of a newfangled narcissistic clannishness that shepherds the ostentation of conceit to a predominant position that swaddles us with fretful diversion that operates on a warped logic of lurid squalor and pasty trends becoming the mainstays of a hypercritical linguistic system of entrapment based on the apostasy of candor for the propitiation of fringed aberration because of the majoritarian uproar about touchy butthurt pedantic criticasters with a penchant for persnickety structuralism. With the infestation of entertainment with the ubiquitous political cavils engineered by the ruling class to have a common arena of waggish irreverence we forget that sometimes the impetuous ****** of propaganda is cloaked by the fashionable implements of a rootless time writhing in a purported identity crisis only to gawk at the ungainly reflection of modernity in the mirror and remain blissfully unaware about the transmogrified cultural psyche that feeds the lunacy of endless spectacle based on the premise that one singular whipping post can unite an entire generation of miscegenated misfits looking for commonality to team up against the aging generations that cling to the sanctity of cherished jingoism against the intentionality of a revamped system that malingers with empty promises using exigency and legerdemain to obscure the mooncalves among their ranks that march on with quixotic dreams that tolerate only the idea of absolute tolerance and moderate only when feasibly permitted by the anchored negotiation of the fulcrum of totemic governmental responsibility between factions that wage volleys of invective at each other to promote a binary choice of vitiated compromises of mendaciloquence that ultimately endanger the republic with either the perils of hidebound conventionalism and nativist fervor or the boondoggles of fiscally irresponsible insanity cloaked with rainbows and participation trophies. Reproach can be distributed to both sides of the aisle because ironically in a world where gender is non-binary the most important reproductive ***** in the free world is a binary-by-default despotism that polarizes extremely ludic fantasies on the left met with the acrimony of the traditionalisms on the right that staunchly resist the fatuous confusions of delegated order only to the sharp rebuke of the revamped political vogue that owes its sustenance to a manufactured diplomacy of saccharine lies and ubiquitous lampoons that are lopsided in the direction of a globalist neoliberal bricolage of moderately popular buzzwords and the trojan horse of insubordinate flippant feminism that seeks to subvert through backhanded manipulation the patriarchy so many resent using lowbrow tactics and poignant case studies rather than legislating the egalitarian system into law using the proper channels. I myself am a political independent who sides with fiscal conservatism but libertarianism in most other affairs because the pettifoggery of law-and-order politics is a diatribe overused by sheltered suburbanites and red meat is often just as fatuous as blue tinsel and sadly in a majoritarian society the ushers of conformity demand corporate divestiture in favor of an ecological system of predictability rather than an opinionated welter of legitimate challenges to a broken system of backwards partisanship and wangled consent. Ultimately, I remain mostly apolitical, but I am a fervent champion of the mobilization of education to a statelier standard that demands rigor and responsibility rather than the chafe of rigmarole that understates the common objectives of humanity and rewards conventional thinking and nominal participation to earn credentialed pedigree when the bulk of talent resides elsewhere.
Life is a vitriolic vortex,
it's useless to be deceived by its beings' shiny wax.

All too soon that coating will smolder away,
revealing a  waterfall of bugs and decay.

It's only then that you'll realize,
that all your aspirations were just lies.

People you trust with your life,
see nothing in piercing your bent-over back with a knife.

You are truly alone in this no-man's land,
after everyone has refused to lend you a hand.

The only time to feel like you're not worthless,
surrounded by the downy duvet of darkness,
where dreams reign like diamonds.

As soon as dawn comes knocking,
those gems will turn uncut and need locking.

And when the time comes to get out your polish,
you feel the incoming threat of demolish.

Now you're down below,
trapped in a wooden box exempt from flow.

Suddenly...they care,
bring your resting place flowers to wear.

Once the bell has tolled,
and your skin is cold,
the sympathies unfold.

But the time has passed,
for niceties that last.

One giant globe,
millons of statues lined with withering wax,
life is a vitriolic vortex.
©Laure Winkelmans

— The End —