"specialists" poems
Blondes illuminate
The dizzy world of men,
Confident and forthright
And simply, oozing acumen.
So sensually brazen
In a silly sort of way
Yet intuitively capable
Of leading all of them astray.
Blondes are irresistible
When they catch the errant eyes,
When their pearly, sky blue peepers
Irradiate and mesmerize.
When they catch him glancing
At a nicely rounded ***
When rosebud lip's apouting
Leave him breathless, limp and numb.
Blondes move in a manner
Which defies all things right,
It's a sweet undulation
Which turns day, straight into night.
It's suggestion incarnate
And quite breathlessly so.
Causing pulses to race
And his expectations to grow.
Blondes think in straight lines
Periferals are lost,
And woe betide myopics
Who underestimate at their cost.
Golden locks breed pushiness
The will to have her way,
And the man who calls a challenge
Won't survive another day.
Blondes are soft and fluffy
Dimpled cheeks and curve of thigh,
And are specialists in the art
Of come hither to the guy.
But just beneath the garnish
Is a mind that calculates
And a passion for success
And a taste for wealth that rates.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
19 January 2010
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 10:30 PM UTC
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
The infinity of lights made her feel infinite
Safe
Like all the light would drive out the dark in this glowing city
One
She was as vast as the vast city around her
New York
Chicago
Seattle
all
or
None of the above
Dream World
Safe
Safe enough to jump
Not really to jump
Maybe more to fly
The fear did not affect her action
In her hazy dream world city
She could fly she thought
She places her feet on the slippery unforgiving iron
Stepping Up
Looking Down
The fear was still not there
This was not a suicidal act
She wanted to jump
Not so much to jump as to fly
King of this concrete jungle
The ***** of the heart
The pulse of the hand
The breathlessness
The final step
Shes soaring now
Shes falling now
flying:soaring:floating
falling:flailing:breaking
you won't break yourself if you believe you can't
There's the confliction
The child that believes she can fly
The grown girl who lays broken to die
Her body is broken like a cartoon
Like Wile E cayote after falling off some boulder
There was a whole body
There was not
blood
guts
or reality
Hazy dreamworld city
In this flowing capital she beams with a twisted sense of perseverance
She sustains no injuries
Like tripping on those uneven breaks of pavement
They say you're never supposed to sleep through the falls in the falling dreams
The pit of the stomach
Winded
Clammy
Punched in the stomach
Falling Dreams
Yet she did
Why was the fear not there?
It was not in her sleep cycle
not on top of the skyscraper in hazy dreamworld city
She saw her broken body rise to life
Why could she sleep through the fall?
And the next sky scraper she fell from
...Not in hazy dreamworld city
...Would she walk away?
Was she jumping from the money that built that skyscraper?
Or the classic Freudian symbol, dream specialists might contend
Translation of one image onto another
So I was jumping away from men
Commitment
What's new?
Spend money and time
Loose friends and crime
Jumping away from reality
Soaring now
Falling now
Falling into the flowing light of the hazy dreamworld city
As flies will always return to fluorescent light bulbs, naive
Like if she got close enough to it
She would become it
She would consume it
The light would consume her
Illuminated
The dark expelled to the smallest corners of this earth
flying in this hazy dreamworld city.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
Highway Heart
Mobile Replacement Specialists,
Exchange and Mart
‘Phone for personal quote.
Highway Heart
Can offer you Life,
By renewing That Part
With a razor sharp Knife.
Highway Heart
Buy and Sell,
For the sake of Art
Sometimes never tell.
Highway Heart
When you begin to Fade,
We’ll give you a new Start
Never mind who paid.
Oct 10, 2009
Oct 10, 2009 at 12:15 PM UTC
We used to play billiards
and fight all the fire.
We'd drink tea
from cheap mugs,
read The Economist
or newspaper,
chat about boyfriends,
girlfriends,
what was and wasn't a rumour?
The printer munched on paper,
lounge about on scratchy chairs.
50% revision, 50% laughter.
Psychology was me
with a group of girls.
How many people, where, when,
and what was it Freud said again?
Spanish was the same,
me, L, C and E.
Picasso's view of war, a bull and a flower,
grammar overload in the afternoon.
And then there was English.
Can you hear me Fitzgerald?
On a row of females (not just one),
roses, four stories and a single trumpet.
On the garish bus
to see the Manor or the specialists,
to walk up and down aisles in Asda,
talking music with baguettes and meatballs.
Two years came, two years went.
Exams, goodbyes, brown envelopes arrived.
After tapas and a holiday
came sly September.
Here I was with fresh men,
different faces from different places.
So I walked up the steps
into the next avenue.
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
The infinity of lights made her feel infinite
Safe
Like all the light would drive out the dark in this glowing city
One
She was as vast as the vast city around her
New York
Chicago
Seattle
all
or
None of the above
Dream World
Safe
Safe enough to jump
Not really to jump
Maybe more to fly
The fear did not affect her action
In her hazy dream world city
She could fly she thought
She places her feet on the slippery unforgiving iron
Stepping Up
Looking Down
The fear was still not there
This was not a suicidal act
She wanted to jump
Not so much to jump as to fly
King of this concrete jungle
The ***** of the heart
The pulse of the hand
The breathlessness
The final step
Shes soaring now
Shes falling now
flying:soaring:floating
falling:flailing:breaking
you won't break yourself if you believe you can't
There's the confliction
The child that believes she can fly
The grown girl who lays broken to die
Her body is broken like a cartoon
Like Wile E cayote after falling off some boulder
There was a whole body
There was not
blood
guts
or reality
Hazy dreamworld city
In this flowing capital she beams with a twisted sense of perseverance
She sustains no injuries
Like tripping on those uneven breaks of pavement
They say you're never supposed to sleep through the falls in the falling dreams
The pit of the stomach
Winded
Clammy
Punched in the stomach
Falling Dreams
Yet she did
Why was the fear not there?
It was not in her sleep cycle
not on top of the skyscraper in hazy dreamworld city
She saw her broken body rise to life
Why could she sleep through the fall?
And the next sky scraper she fell from
...Not in hazy dreamworld city
...Would she walk away?
Was she jumping from the money that built that skyscraper?
Or the classic Freudian symbol, dream specialists might contend
Translation of one image onto another
So I was jumping away from men
Commitment
What's new?
Spend money and time
Loose friends and crime
Jumping away from reality
Soaring now
Falling now
Falling into the flowing light of the hazy dreamworld city
As flies will always return to fluorescent light bulbs, naive
Like if she got close enough to it
She would become it
She would consume it
The light would consume her
Illuminated
The dark expelled to the smallest corners of this earth
flying in this hazy dreamworld city.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
in 2012 i experienced an incident with a rifle. my friend spinned it around and hit me in the face. the hit was hard enough to break my nose and make me fly backwards and land on the back of my head.
after that i started having seizures. cluster seizures which mean seizures back to back. they have to be stopped by iv or i can go into status epilepticus meaning continued or back to back seizures that can **** people. there have been several times where my heart has stopped or i stopped breathing from it. its hard to live with. soooo many pills, and doctors, specialists to help diagnose me. just about a month ago i was diagnosed with tbi (traumatic brain injury) before i was diagnosed i was so upset with everything. my health my relationship, my family problems. it just piled up so i decided to numb myself with drugs and alcohol. i no longer can do that because the last time i did i woke up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. i have right hemisphere disfunction and it effects my motor skills, speech, memory, decision making, confusion, and at this point the doctors say that my memory and confusion is dementia. sometimes i try to tell myself i don't need help, im fine, i don't need anyone, or that the doctors made a mistake. but they didn't and that was proven to me today when i saw my eeg, and mri. i have built up white matter in my brain. and it only gets worse . i can never regain anything ive lost but i can learn how deal with it and move on from now. i can never be independent in the part of just living alone. i would like to marry the man of my dreams but i don't think i want to put him through all of this. he would have to take care of me when i get sick, and i get sick often due to my weak immune system. one hit in the face and my whole body went out of whack. we also recently discovered that i have a bundle branch block in my heart which means it is a condition in which there's a delay or obstruction along the pathway that electrical impulses travel to make your heart beat. i have a dog that can smell my auras which are mild seizures like warnings that a big one will come. but he can only do so much . squeeze under my head and bark for help.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
A-Artifacts of long ago they're ever searching out
R-Relics in the Earth's soil layers interred deep
C-Curios from cultures past they're excavating out
H-History is alive in the things buried so deep
A-Abroad and at home their trowels seeking out
E-Enlightening the world with fragments of the deep
O-Open our eyes to the objects they shovel out
L-Lasting stories of past societies entombed down deep
O-Ongoing discoveries made with what they dig out
G-Great civilizations lie in quietness beneath the deep
I-Interesting journals and facts these specialists put out
S-Saving the ken of ancestries which are lodged deep
T-Times way back in eons past to-day bought out
S-Surfacing from the ground out of a sleep most deep
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
the other day
seated in his office
I asked my stubborn, mean-looking
bushy-eyebrows editor
if he’d consider two books:
“Short Stories for Real Short People”
and “Truly Tall Tales for Tall People”
and he sat back with that air
(actually, made you think he wanted to release air)
and he said:
*“You’ll get shot for titles like that…
'Short Stories for Real Short People'
will directly offend people
who are vertically challenged
And the same people would shoot you
for excluding them by implication
in the epithet 'Tall' –
They’ll sure shoot you for that…
They’re both just politically incorrect”*
And I leaned forward
(releasing air myself –
anything he can do, I can do better!)
and I said:
*“Sure, it’s not politically correct – but it sure
ain’t psychologically correct, given our times,
to speak of shooting while we are in an office”*
I hear the Editor no longer works there
and is now in some publishing house
who are specialists in books on Accounting
and Engineering
where he knows, for sure, I’m never likely to go
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
Hello mom, I know we haven't talked in a few years because I left without saying goodbye but I've been thinking of you a lot lately, I'm sorry I left in a hurry but I wasn't strong enough to stand there and vent my reasons without telling a lie and I'm starting to regret it, well I dont know I might be. I saw my reflection in the window of a passing car and it reminded me of when you would make me stay home from school and lock me in the closet filled with mirrors after you would beat me and get too drunk to stand, I remember going to school after a morning when you'd turn up the heat on a faucet and place it over my hand, I used to wait in anticipation for when the skin would boil, bubble, peel, and fall. How could you think I'd forget about it all? Like when it would rain and I'd run outside light as feather, excited to swim in 30° weather when it was really you holding my face in a giant puddle filled with bugs that would slither out from the gutter runoff so can you blame me not being able to keep it together? I grew up with everything except love, every time I tried to chase the idea of it you would wrap plastic around my head but I was so small that I never realized it was just a rubber glove, I remember everything. I tried so hard, I even tried when I saw you crying one night after you got beat by some man I put my hand on your shoulder and said it'll be OK, you screamed then bent my wrist back and threw it in the blades of a moving fan, that's the real reason why I left and ran. I know I missed your funeral but I dont feel bad, I'm sitting in a hospital talking to specialists and they keep saying I just dont remember anything and that's what really makes me sad but its fine because when I get depressed, mad, or want to swallow a fist full of pills I just look at the scars you left on my legs when you pushed me into an oven when I was four. How can they say I dont remember anything when I can recall everything? I dont know but I'm writing this letter so I can clip it to the crime scene video they show me every day of your body parts washing up on shore near the old harbor, but I guess ill probably just forget until I see this note again so I'll have to repeat the same routine forever and force my brain through this mental labor.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Take me on a journey
Whisked away by your poetry
Let me exhale my mind
And be at one with your kind.
Lead me away like the fey
To poetry journalists
And HB specialists
Who like Toreinss Pinwinkle
Sprinkle fairy dust upon words and phrases
Until all who gazes are stunned.
Take me to where sk abdul
ski slopes
Where words formed
With ice cold precision
Fall soft as snowflakes
Forming landscapes in my mind.
My mind wanders with Luiz
Until with an elbow crack, I’m back
Tuned in a spin, by Ryn
Heeding Laurent’s call
Away from the dark places Mr Woods may take me
To be at one with the shadow in the dark,
Because as someone anonymous once said
“it’s sometimes light
but can be dark
as poetry is not
just a walk in the park”.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
Aged twelve i lost my faith in the world. Opened my eyes to my own demise and what followed was a sadness with seemingly no explanation. I looked at the world and how shallow it is and I drowned in it. Where being kind and considerate seemed to get you nowhere.
Where we were getting taught to accept all that was unfair and unjust made me feel if you care you can't trust. And most of this was from our education system, I could see that hidden curriculum. So being the most unlikely rebel I dropped out of school, point blank refused to go, dragged kicking and screaming literally grabbing onto the doorframe until they gave up, and though I was relieved it should be believed that you never really get over someone giving up on you.
So I was left , set adrift. Sit in my pyjamas though I never slept, stay inside and limit my contact with it. Protect myself from it, I wanted no part of it. But the effects of isolation should not be underestimated, it just added to it, introspective perspective, curse of the sensitive proved deadly to my spirit. I'd Watch my friends play out from my window and wonder how can they be happy, don't they know? Don't they see the worse it gets the more you grow ? It seemed not, so maybe I was just crazy.
Self awareness too early made me wary, it was scary and I didn't understand so I surrendered to that white coat "helping hand" Your child's withdrawn, depressed and suffering from social anxiety, but was that really me? Could they not see?! They asked so many questions but never asked themselves why? Not that I could express what was going on in my mind at the time.
So I took it for gospel as I could no longer hear GODS call. (My faith in him died slowly as I'd pray every night hoping he'd show me the way but he never did) Traded it in for the words of professionals and specialists, cause they must know right? Little did I know it would shape my life for a long time.
Give an obedient child a label and they will stick to it, give an overwhelmed and confused child a label and they will thank you for it! Unlucky for me I was both. Any opportunity to make sense of the world I now saw I took willingly. Turned out mentally ill is what it would be.
The effects of isolation on an already overactive mind cannot be overstated. The battle I fought was with thought. This is why I had no time to speak to or see anybody. It was all consuming in my tiny anatomy.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
What is it really like to be old?
Read along, and you'll be told,
Well, there's spectacles and hearing aids,
Also along the way, by the way,
There's dentures in glasses,
Zimmers on greys who want to make passes,
Then there's incontinence aids, bad hips,
Appointments at medical specialists,
Then you're off to the pharmacists,
To get all your scripts,
Then there's the alphabet song,
Read along, read along,
A is for Arthritis,
B is for Bursitis,
C is for Constipation,
Always a grey consternation,
D is for Diarrhoea,
And no doctor wants to know ya!
Finally, Z is for the big sleep at the end,
No wonder geriatrics go round the bend,
Yes, greys, these are our golden years,
Have fun learning, no need for tears!
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 5:50 PM UTC
Realisations of common knowledge lurk around us like shadows in the darkness.
Don’t close your eyes. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn a corner too quickly. It’s just the wind. It’s not the same car. It’s too big of a city to find you.
Dear authorities, what are you doing to help?
People from generations before mine have raised their children to be hateful. They have taught them that if they don’t feel like respecting people, they shouldn’t and won’t. I’m sure you’ve guessed this next one, but they’ve let their children get away with a smack here and a smack there to those who don’t obey their every demand – and even to those who do. But I am not the only one. I am not the only unlucky punching bag to experience the hatred of someone much older, more mature, wiser and certainly, not just a kid. Is that it? Is that why you let him go? I was four when it started and fifteen when it ended. To you, that’s a child. Children don’t know much, do they.
Dear authorities, that’s where you’re wrong.
I was four when it started and if you think it stopped at fifteen when my abuser walked out, think again. It never fully stops, not yet. I am nearly twenty years old and I still flinch if someone holds out their hand for a handshake or raises their voice just a notch because they’re a little out of earshot and I needed them to repeat.
Dear authorities, I can’t live because you won’t let me.
Oh, you like Budwiser? Corner Gas, the T.V. show? Do I smell steak? Potatoes baked on the BBQ? You need a plumber? Handyman? Oh look, you’re wearing red. Do you think I appreciate being reminded by the stupidest things, that my abuser is out there? Why is that? Could it possibly be because nobody has bothered giving the man any possible discipline?
Dear authorities, I’m tired of being told, “it’ll be okay, it’s not that bad.”
People after people have continuously told me to go talk to someone. I’ve seen multiple counsellors, doctors, talked to teachers, specialists, friends and family. But what are you doing to help? I moved away from my mother and siblings, in fear. Fear, because every time we moved anywhere the lawyer told us we had to give our address to the abuser. We could not deny him access to us, we could not cut off communication with him. I had to leave, as an attempt to protect myself and hide in a big city with lots of people and hopefully I could blend in.
Dear authorities, you have failed me.
Stop telling me things will be okay, when he is out there and things only seem to matter when a death occurs.
Dear authorities,
Dear authorities…
Dear me, you’re not dead so authorities don’t care.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC
They build tall towers around my neglected home,
Filling my weakened heart with jealousy and pain.
All they want is respect, the power of muscle and money.
The empty huge structures will host thousands,
For ages of birth and deaths, far away from the human world.
While in the human forms their minds are stone
They can not feel or think of any human weakling.
When free from the human case, they are specialists,
Mechanically repeating lives of existential happiness.
Who puts them on top, stamping on our human race?
Gods, Humans or Stones?
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC
three specialists travel in their car
down Victoria, Australia
through rural Mildura
and they see fields
and a black cow standing in one
“Cows in Mildura,”
announces the astronomer
“are black”
“Tchk! Tchk!” says the logician
(Eminent Professor Emeritus)
“Some cows in Mildura are black”
“Let’s express it with precision,”
says the Mathematician
*“It is exact to say
there is at least one field
in Mildura
with at least one cow
of which at least one side is black”*
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 5:19 AM UTC
Welcome
Initiate
to the
Big Room
of the Summit
County Jail.
Specialists
will handle
the theft
of your blanket
while you're
watching TV
The game of Hearts
shall be played
each morning
after the pancake
with cold coffee
and the
entertainment
features your
inaugural public
performance
on the alfresco
commode
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 8:42 PM UTC
you take the the money i sweat blood for
pry the coins from my starved fingers
shake my pleas from your pant-leg
as you walk away flipping the papers.
i talk endlessly to paralysed specialists
i type to infinity about the injustice of it
i threaten and shout
i worry and budget even tighter
i am the nothingness
greasing the cogs of your profit
with the blood of my suffering
my bones the pillars of your success.
**** you
MTN
I will chain my body
to the doors of your evil abode
and not move untill i am appeased!!
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 2:06 AM UTC
Rapturous and overjoyed with the prospect of bridging innocence into essence. Preparations and organisations as the raw love and affection fill your aura. Guiltlessness chastity swells and animates inside the womb. A blank page ready to embark on life, never before experienced the sensations that should follow. The words don’t reach the blissful state of mind at first. Realising the reality of the dreadful situation collapsing into an abyss of hate. The once shinning beacon of life and innocence lost into inanimacy. Still birth is no option; stress and depression are ripping the edges of the soul. Crumbling like stale bread, horrid and sadistic thoughts begin to bloom like mould. The structure of everything positive begins to decompose like the departed carcass inside. Rid of the tiny dead beast that has caused such pain. The hatred begins to mingle with the guilt and the shame. The specialists give negative reactions towards the longing for detachment. Bad they say, recovery is essential now, detachment is the later. As you arrive into the kitchen, the harsh taste of alcohol lingers in your worthless mouth. Neither God, nor the devil will grant forgiveness for what happened next. The half shattered bottle of poisonous alcohol embedded in the belly. The tiny lifeless carcass still not quite developed lay peacefully on the ground. Broken but departed the doctors were right. Twisting the bloodied bottle to the jugular the eyes close. From love to death the pattern will follow. The mercy of above is non-existent.
The heart stops. Life ceases.
By Joseph Burns
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
When she stepped out of the shower
In pale wet skin
And splendor
She wore water like a queenly robe
Dripping *******
Made of gold and treasure
Such beauty deserved
To be inscribed
Something no man should forget
In case I couldn’t memorize the bite of her
Kiss
The trembling release of her depth
In case I might forget the flavor of her
Cries
The excited rasp of her breath
I needed a photo of that naked pout
A vision
Never to forget
“Don’t take my picture,”
She warned me
In ferocious warrior tongue
Daughter of Nordic barbarians
Beauty unlike anyone
What did she think I would do
With the image she might surrender?
Sell it to the highest bidder
For thirty pieces of silver?
Send it to perverts and *** addicts
Specialists in self-pleasure?
Post it on church walls
So celibates might be tempted?
Raise it upon a flag
For an entire nation to be offended?
“Don’t take my picture,”
She warned me
In ferocious warrior tongue
Daughter of Nordic barbarians
Beauty unlike anyone
But I defied her fierce instruction
Spit from heroic luscious lips
Picture snapped
In a flash
Naked beauty captured
At last
And
Never saw that warrior again.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
Are you still beating your babies?
Are you still punching your kid?
Are you still calling it discipline;
Not the worst thing you ever did?
Is it always a case of deserving
The punishment you mete out?
Where you teach them what is what;
Call them disgusting names and shout?
Break out the heavy leather belt
Go cut me a big switch
You kids are ******* me off
You’re giving me a big itch.
Bend yourself over here
Don’t run and make me catch you.
Remember this is all your fault.
You’re making me do this to you.
When you get in the mood to punish
Do dress in a special costume?
Does it have to take place in a woodshed
Or in some special kind of room?
Do you double up your fist and hit
Or do you have special equipment?
Does the physical treatment you hand out
Contribute to your fulfillment?
Break out the heavy leather belt
Go cut me a big switch
You kids are ******* me off
You’re giving me a big itch.
Bend yourself over here
Don't run and make me catch you.
Remember this is all your fault.
You’re making me do this to you.
In a world of deserving irony
You’d have to wear a disguise
So neighbors would know about you
And authorities could be made wise.
Then someone could call in specialists
To give some of what you give
And teach you eye-for-an-eye truth
About the way you live.
Break out the heavy leather belt
Go cut me a big switch
You kids are ******* me off
You’re giving me a big itch.
Bend yourself over here
Don't run and make me catch you.
Remember this is all your fault.
You’re making me do this to you.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:54 PM UTC
oh, are you scared to be a little
pumpernickel buttocks readied to be baked?
mm, mm hmm, i bet you
are... i bet you have gingerbread legs
readied for a sprint, that will only
add the necessary crunch: like blueberry
jam in a muffin, toothpick blues
of disuse when the fingers are licked.
huh?! when was baking synonymous with horror?
should i send for the psychiatric paramedics?
you're talking spaghetti helter skelter!
will that be a salad entrée too? i know you're
sensitive, ask your daddy's daddy why he's
censoring right-wing politics and i'll just say this:
use the rhubarb and make the ******* crumble!
because we have psychiatric "specialists" running
around without censors, educated in something
else, resorting to feeding their self-esteem with
vague knowledge of psychology, and they're not
even considered mad... they're the mad ones...
they think all philosophical prose is a crossword
undecipherable jumble!
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 7:58 PM UTC
None of this should be surprising in light of the following:
In February of 2010 the Internment and Resettlement Operations (FM 3-39.40) was leaked, a U.S. Army manual outlininghow to process detainees into FEMA camps.
In 2009 the National Guard posted advertisements for job as they were looking for Internment and Resettlement Specialists (31-E) to work in “civilian internee camps”.
he National Defense Authorization Act For Fiscal Year 2011, which was signed by Barack Obama on New Year’s Eve of 2011 and it allows for permanent detention without due process oflaw.
Civil Disturbance Operations (FM 3-19.15), describes the “operational threats of the civil disturbance environment,” the “general causes for civil unrest,” weapons deployment, the legal considerations of “control force operations,” the legal considerations of “apprehension, search, and detention,” and recording the “number of cadre and inmates injured or killed.” The manual contains rules of engagement regarding the use of “deadly force” in confronting “dissidents,” which were made disturbingly clear with the directive that a “warning shot will not be fired.” This is a shoot to **** document.
Could it be anymore clear? And this is only the tip of the iceberg.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
Forcing imagination to reestablish itself, after prescriptive onslaught of docs, scientists, specialists and quacks, lacks for ease of descriptive purpose, genuine motivation. The pills, darling, the pills usurp rational outmode. This to counteract that, which causes symptomatic supersession of more to set aside a succession imposing supplant more supplements. I submit! This breaking down of the other and then an other in a pharmaceutical battery of which ***** next? Can common sense overrule? Overruled! As another script is scribbled, a blank gaze overcomes, and the drool drips and overruns.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
I have been hoping
that the visible invisibles
of Keystone Solidarity Republican
Militants
will soon come and tether a black horse
in front of my front door
to put their famous Doubt in my mind
that I am actually a horse
and not a human being
Why this simple act is taking so long
baffles me given they are specialists
in formatting doubts
perhaps they doubt horses have our legs
as I have three legs myself
though the middle leg
is not usually used for trotting
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 2:36 PM UTC