Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Words
"subordinate" poems
It all begins With pronouns I becomes the subject Of my project Adding you And collectively we I choose you and me And I exclude the he and the she Until I am certain of we You and I pick verbs actions Inflect them to match fit begin narratives Transitive verbs take objects You touch tickle tease taste take skin ******* lips me with words Words have become a clause But still a simple construction So, you tickle me where? For this you need a preposition To position your tickling ammunition Do you touch tickle tease me ON my ******* ******* thighs buttocks **** Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth **** soul? Positioning is envisioning. Then you use adjectives To modify descriptions of Sensory inscriptions So, gentle complements touch Soft and passionate kiss And you become superlative And adverbs elaborate experience expression exploration You fill me deeply thoroughly violently with all that is you But adverbs can also mean time Not sweet or cursed time Or time denoting age But timing is always important And grammar dictates That Time adverbs are placed As a beginning or an end Like a lover's embrace Thus, This morning, you woke me with A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow. Conjunctions are sentence connectors And sentences behave like detectors Bodies balancing with and, but, or Otherwise subordinate And the scale tips towards Conditioning hypotaxis Making actions a complicated praxis (before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it) But we coordinate conjunctions Equally I touch you You touch me Exploring Exploding sensory functions So, together we cry imperatives Completing our ****** narratives Moaning Whimpering Begging Yelling: Please... bind me! touch me! bite me! take me! come! Oh! Please, come! I love the English language... ;)
0
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
patricia-drake
Exploring Grammar (why I love the English language)
It all begins With pronouns I becomes the subject Of my project Adding you And collectively we I choose you and me And I exclude the he and the she Until I am certain of we You and I pick verbs actions Inflect them to match fit begin narratives Transitive verbs take objects You touch tickle tease taste take skin ******* lips me with words Words have become a clause But still a simple construction So, you tickle me where? For this you need a preposition To position your tickling ammunition Do you touch tickle tease me ON my ******* ******* thighs buttocks **** Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth **** soul? Positioning is envisioning. Then you use adjectives To modify descriptions of Sensory inscriptions So, gentle complements touch Soft and passionate kiss And you become superlative And adverbs elaborate experience expression exploration You fill me deeply thoroughly violently with all that is you But adverbs can also mean time Not sweet or cursed time Or time denoting age But timing is always important And grammar dictates That Time adverbs are placed As a beginning or an end Like a lover's embrace Thus, This morning, you woke me with A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow. Conjunctions are sentence connectors And sentences behave like detectors Bodies balancing with and, but, or Otherwise subordinate And the scale tips towards Conditioning hypotaxis Making actions a complicated praxis (before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it) But we coordinate conjunctions Equally I touch you You touch me Exploring Exploding sensory functions So, together we cry imperatives Completing our ****** narratives Moaning Whimpering Begging Yelling: Please... bind me! touch me! bite me! take me! come! Oh! Please, come! I love the English language... ;)
Continue reading...
89
Off the train I hit the streets and start laughing. This is ridiculous, incomprehensible. How can innumerable bipeds have individual inner lives. Why are they doing what they’re doing? I have no answer New York City but to also go about my business in this case prepare for surgery, survival. But why survive with so many exact replicas to replace me? A swarm of ants or hive of bees, social organisms they’re called, climbing over each other, avoiding bumping and amazingly making way, anticipating the sudden turns and straight paths of others, strangers but brothers, sisters incubating, the cells of a small ***** nodes of a single semi-conscious organism. The concept of a higher power that cares for me is also risible yet how else can I explain the surgeon and his team, robots and magnetic resonance imaging machines, all primed and trained to save my life. They are not particularly interested in what I do with my time. I am immediately in love with the Irish brogue of the head nurse, the Indian skin of the physician’s assistant. The long extraordinarily thin fingers of the famous surgeon. All mine to savor (and the other cancer patients). Despair, lose all hope that’s what the sign says at the gates of hell and at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center the sign says Be kind to our customers who are waiting and suffering. Yesterday’s suicidal thoughts: the mind is a clever servant, insufferable master. Therefore, meditate on this: absolute need, dependence on the Other. I still like Hombre, The Shootist and Ulzana’s Raid but realize those dead heroes were subordinate to society: the gun manufacturers who armed them. Thus, I go for cancer tests, accepting, not predicting results. Hero accepting help. A torrential rain following five days of flooding, tornadoes out west busting up wooden towns all because too many of us are hoarding plastic, herding electrons. None of us know how it will end, what the outcome will be (of our surgery). The best that can be said is Don’t forget to breathe. And you might as well believe in that higher power.
0
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC
robert-ronnow
Upper Manhattan Medical Group
Off the train I hit the streets and start laughing. This is ridiculous, incomprehensible. How can innumerable bipeds have individual inner lives. Why are they doing what they’re doing? I have no answer New York City but to also go about my business in this case prepare for surgery, survival. But why survive with so many exact replicas to replace me? A swarm of ants or hive of bees, social organisms they’re called, climbing over each other, avoiding bumping and amazingly making way, anticipating the sudden turns and straight paths of others, strangers but brothers, sisters incubating, the cells of a small ***** nodes of a single semi-conscious organism. The concept of a higher power that cares for me is also risible yet how else can I explain the surgeon and his team, robots and magnetic resonance imaging machines, all primed and trained to save my life. They are not particularly interested in what I do with my time. I am immediately in love with the Irish brogue of the head nurse, the Indian skin of the physician’s assistant. The long extraordinarily thin fingers of the famous surgeon. All mine to savor (and the other cancer patients). Despair, lose all hope that’s what the sign says at the gates of hell and at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center the sign says Be kind to our customers who are waiting and suffering. Yesterday’s suicidal thoughts: the mind is a clever servant, insufferable master. Therefore, meditate on this: absolute need, dependence on the Other. I still like Hombre, The Shootist and Ulzana’s Raid but realize those dead heroes were subordinate to society: the gun manufacturers who armed them. Thus, I go for cancer tests, accepting, not predicting results. Hero accepting help. A torrential rain following five days of flooding, tornadoes out west busting up wooden towns all because too many of us are hoarding plastic, herding electrons. None of us know how it will end, what the outcome will be (of our surgery). The best that can be said is Don’t forget to breathe. And you might as well believe in that higher power.
Continue reading...
46
1279 The Way to know the Bobolink From every other Bird Precisely as the Joy of him— Obliged to be inferred. Of impudent Habiliment Attired to defy, Impertinence subordinate At times to Majesty. Of Sentiments seditious Amenable to Law— As Heresies of Transport Or Puck’s Apostacy. Extrinsic to Attention Too intimate with Joy— He compliments existence Until allured away By Seasons or his Children— Adult and urgent grown— Or unforeseen aggrandizement Or, happily, Renown— By Contrast certifying The Bird of Birds is gone— How nullified the Meadow— Her Sorcerer withdrawn!
0
6k
Emily Dickinson
The Way to know the Bobolink
1279 The Way to know the Bobolink From every other Bird Precisely as the Joy of him— Obliged to be inferred. Of impudent Habiliment Attired to defy, Impertinence subordinate At times to Majesty. Of Sentiments seditious Amenable to Law— As Heresies of Transport Or Puck’s Apostacy. Extrinsic to Attention Too intimate with Joy— He compliments existence Until allured away By Seasons or his Children— Adult and urgent grown— Or unforeseen aggrandizement Or, happily, Renown— By Contrast certifying The Bird of Birds is gone— How nullified the Meadow— Her Sorcerer withdrawn!
Continue reading...
25
There are boys that cry, There are girls who have dry eyes. There are boys that dance or play volleyball, There are girls that wrestle or play football. There are boys who drive VW Bugs, There are girls that drive trucks. There are boys that bake, There are girls that shred. There are boys that like the Notebook, There are girls that like Transformers. There are boys that are romantics at heart, looking for love, There are girls that aren't into flowers or love songs. There are boys with hair to their knees, There are girls with shaved heads. There are boys with diaries and journals full of memories, There are girls who have no desire to write down all the details. There are boys with names like Aubry, There are girls with names like Sam. There are boys with insecurities about their bodies, There are girls who don't weigh themselves ever. There are boys with eating disorders, There are girls who work out for the ideal 6 pack. There are boys that prep endlessly for a date, There are girls who take 5 minutes to get out the door. There are tidy, neat boys, There are messy, whirlwind girls. There are boys in dresses, There are girls in baggy jeans and a pullover. There are boys who shop endlessly, There are girls who can't stand the mall. There are boys that talk about their emotions, There are girls who would rather not. There are boys that look after the kids, There are girls that work full-time. There are boys who are nurses, There are girls who are engineers. There are boys who cook, There are girls that change the oil in the car. There are boys who are complacent and subordinate, There are girls who are dominant and overpowering. There are boys with no desire to get it in on the first date, And there are some girls who wouldn't mind if they do. And those are all okay. Gender stereotyping only limits what you can and can't do. Let the boys cry and write poetry and eat chocolate when they're sad and talk about their feelings. Let the girls be aggressive and wrestle their buddies and play ball and drive sports cars. Let people do as they please. You're born as you a are, you can't decide what gender you are. You can decide what you do with your gender though, or rather what it won't keep you from doing. Your gender is only an aspect of who you are, don't let it dictate your actions to appease a society that has deemed what is and is not okay for you to do simply because you're either a guy or girl. There are boys and girls that can grow up to be what they please, do as they wish and speak as they will. Don't be the one to tell them otherwise.
0
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
Mgpe
There are boys, there are girls
There are boys that cry, There are girls who have dry eyes. There are boys that dance or play volleyball, There are girls that wrestle or play football. There are boys who drive VW Bugs, There are girls that drive trucks. There are boys that bake, There are girls that shred. There are boys that like the Notebook, There are girls that like Transformers. There are boys that are romantics at heart, looking for love, There are girls that aren't into flowers or love songs. There are boys with hair to their knees, There are girls with shaved heads. There are boys with diaries and journals full of memories, There are girls who have no desire to write down all the details. There are boys with names like Aubry, There are girls with names like Sam. There are boys with insecurities about their bodies, There are girls who don't weigh themselves ever. There are boys with eating disorders, There are girls who work out for the ideal 6 pack. There are boys that prep endlessly for a date, There are girls who take 5 minutes to get out the door. There are tidy, neat boys, There are messy, whirlwind girls. There are boys in dresses, There are girls in baggy jeans and a pullover. There are boys who shop endlessly, There are girls who can't stand the mall. There are boys that talk about their emotions, There are girls who would rather not. There are boys that look after the kids, There are girls that work full-time. There are boys who are nurses, There are girls who are engineers. There are boys who cook, There are girls that change the oil in the car. There are boys who are complacent and subordinate, There are girls who are dominant and overpowering. There are boys with no desire to get it in on the first date, And there are some girls who wouldn't mind if they do. And those are all okay. Gender stereotyping only limits what you can and can't do. Let the boys cry and write poetry and eat chocolate when they're sad and talk about their feelings. Let the girls be aggressive and wrestle their buddies and play ball and drive sports cars. Let people do as they please. You're born as you a are, you can't decide what gender you are. You can decide what you do with your gender though, or rather what it won't keep you from doing. Your gender is only an aspect of who you are, don't let it dictate your actions to appease a society that has deemed what is and is not okay for you to do simply because you're either a guy or girl. There are boys and girls that can grow up to be what they please, do as they wish and speak as they will. Don't be the one to tell them otherwise.
Continue reading...
44
Totalitarian menace refined, tailored pants bleed malignance and fear. What stalks the passage, normally? Tear off my clothes, with subordinate cruelty and tortured fiefdom from the sun invading damp alleyways and musty cement corridors abet you enthroned on that sidewalk stump. I curb, the habit blindly happenstances about yore salty ruins we yodel, indiscriminately.
0
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 2:22 PM UTC
sansara-justinovich
The Hydrant
Totalitarian menace refined, tailored pants bleed malignance and fear. What stalks the passage, normally? Tear off my clothes, with subordinate cruelty and tortured fiefdom from the sun invading damp alleyways and musty cement corridors abet you enthroned on that sidewalk stump. I curb, the habit blindly happenstances about yore salty ruins we yodel, indiscriminately.
Continue reading...
17
Be yourself Be yourself You are stay-in-the-line Be yourself Be yourself You are achieve-in-school Be yourself Be yourself You are parrot-the-teacher You’re an individual, so I know that you can do as well as them, because you’re unique You can be just like them just as good as them Be yourself Be yourself You are buy-these-too Be yourself Be yourself You are create-your-self Be yourself Be yourself You are mimicking-the-6-foot-model You’re one of a million, so how about you pick one of these six lipgloss flavours, because it’s you You can pick one of these support the institution with your you-ness Be yourself Be yourself You are corporate-climber Be yourself Be yourself You are defining-your-strengths Be yourself Be yourself You are do-it-for-the-raise You’re indispensable to this project, you as you as you as a subordinate because you’re important you can get where you want in life if you smash a few heads as you climb
0
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 8:44 AM UTC
aj-enemie
"Individuality"
Be yourself Be yourself You are stay-in-the-line Be yourself Be yourself You are achieve-in-school Be yourself Be yourself You are parrot-the-teacher You’re an individual, so I know that you can do as well as them, because you’re unique You can be just like them just as good as them Be yourself Be yourself You are buy-these-too Be yourself Be yourself You are create-your-self Be yourself Be yourself You are mimicking-the-6-foot-model You’re one of a million, so how about you pick one of these six lipgloss flavours, because it’s you You can pick one of these support the institution with your you-ness Be yourself Be yourself You are corporate-climber Be yourself Be yourself You are defining-your-strengths Be yourself Be yourself You are do-it-for-the-raise You’re indispensable to this project, you as you as you as a subordinate because you’re important you can get where you want in life if you smash a few heads as you climb
Continue reading...
39
aesthetic is etiquette is: what is & isn't either: yet is both: in that they are the same: disparaging meanings... nouns: the source of ultimate meaning, crux words... and the source of the thesaurus... i wasn't looking for a mathematical conflation of grammar either... but... aesthetic ≠ etiquette... but... it does! to keep up with the formality of norm, of power, then (the) aesthetic = (the) etiquette, but there is no "the" to begin with... yet... if the aesthetic ≠ the etiquette... why, either?! dumb questions usually prescribe a continued willing to perpetuate: unquestioned... hence the dumb questions... my dumb question lacks any elaborate ploy to topple the status quo for the sole reason that... my alternative matches no genius of the originator basis... wordings are not simply chanced to be worth debating a miscarriage of implementing the averted coin-flip... (funny, how the articles prop up, miraculously)... etiquette? a macabre variety of aesthetic... nothing more... but... etiquette is still subordinate of aesthetic... isn't it? hardly: etiquette is still subordinate off aesthetic... is it?! a month spent in a monastery of a novel... cradle these words unto a course of nullification... if i'd utter them in a clutter of sparrows: i'd be a equivalent to a mute stone... if i'd utter them in a lion's harem: i'd be a cat's meow (if not less)... if i'd utter them in the crow's shamanism of all shadows... i'd still be less the croaking hark of a voice that might dictate: obey... so... so... ah... was kommen: was ist... und alles was: ich, ich sterben... ich war geboren? ich war nie sein: geboren.... ich war sein: sterben!
0
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
the shortest true sentence
aesthetic is etiquette is: what is & isn't either: yet is both: in that they are the same: disparaging meanings... nouns: the source of ultimate meaning, crux words... and the source of the thesaurus... i wasn't looking for a mathematical conflation of grammar either... but... aesthetic ≠ etiquette... but... it does! to keep up with the formality of norm, of power, then (the) aesthetic = (the) etiquette, but there is no "the" to begin with... yet... if the aesthetic ≠ the etiquette... why, either?! dumb questions usually prescribe a continued willing to perpetuate: unquestioned... hence the dumb questions... my dumb question lacks any elaborate ploy to topple the status quo for the sole reason that... my alternative matches no genius of the originator basis... wordings are not simply chanced to be worth debating a miscarriage of implementing the averted coin-flip... (funny, how the articles prop up, miraculously)... etiquette? a macabre variety of aesthetic... nothing more... but... etiquette is still subordinate of aesthetic... isn't it? hardly: etiquette is still subordinate off aesthetic... is it?! a month spent in a monastery of a novel... cradle these words unto a course of nullification... if i'd utter them in a clutter of sparrows: i'd be a equivalent to a mute stone... if i'd utter them in a lion's harem: i'd be a cat's meow (if not less)... if i'd utter them in the crow's shamanism of all shadows... i'd still be less the croaking hark of a voice that might dictate: obey... so... so... ah... was kommen: was ist... und alles was: ich, ich sterben... ich war geboren? ich war nie sein: geboren.... ich war sein: sterben!
Continue reading...
96
competition.                                                                                the art of                                                     discrimination. its product, the inferior, whether by speed, smarts, billiards or darts. (a race to the end-all 'i am victorious') a winner and a loser, for a stalemate cannot be met with ease when such players practice with expertise. rebellion, revolution. two words that can stand alone when we all stand together. i feel an uprising of the subordinate few, growing and brewing beneath our very shoes. who had a clue? maybe i, but you?
0
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 12:06 AM UTC
noel-irion
stalemate
competition.                                                                                the art of                                                     discrimination. its product, the inferior, whether by speed, smarts, billiards or darts. (a race to the end-all 'i am victorious') a winner and a loser, for a stalemate cannot be met with ease when such players practice with expertise. rebellion, revolution. two words that can stand alone when we all stand together. i feel an uprising of the subordinate few, growing and brewing beneath our very shoes. who had a clue? maybe i, but you?
Continue reading...
15
It should not come as a surprise Though the right posture A subordinate doesn't lack "Do in Rome as Romans do" With a curved back S/he has to walk! It shouldn't come As a surprise Watching journalists Praise that shower On a tyrant government In power!
0
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 8:37 AM UTC
alem-hailu-gkristos
Do in Rome as Romans do
It should not come as a surprise Though the right posture A subordinate doesn't lack "Do in Rome as Romans do" With a curved back S/he has to walk! It shouldn't come As a surprise Watching journalists Praise that shower On a tyrant government In power!
Continue reading...
12
Lexical littorals illiterate foal Talus and cirque shore and shoal Iconoclast anarchy vortex knoll ****** matrix vertex peak Semantic regalia flux and seek Torrid allusions own and keep Dichotomy paradox surge and swell Primordial integumence purge and fell Contiguity confluence dirge and knell Reliquiae requiem show and tell Accession assertion deliberative need Transcendent ascension expiate seed Subordinate ancillary exigency deed Subliminal subjunctive sensorium seethe Uxorious usury detinue blithe Contiguous currency decimate tithe Tractive proximity critical lithe Delusory phantasm futurity kithe Alacritous tactile acuity interstice Accidence ambience resonance quipy pith Scenario synopsis resilience gist Endergonic protensive progressiveness rift Prestissimo preterite retroactive gift Poignant puissance piquant myth Fable fantasticate legend list Preternatural gesticulate proclivity pith Propensity assimilate diabolical mist    ********** fornicate zooidal mist Parenthetical erudite erumpence fist Quiescent gossamer lecherous wrist Militant mercenary actuator aorist
0
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
toreinss-pinwinkel-iii
****
Lexical littorals illiterate foal Talus and cirque shore and shoal Iconoclast anarchy vortex knoll ****** matrix vertex peak Semantic regalia flux and seek Torrid allusions own and keep Dichotomy paradox surge and swell Primordial integumence purge and fell Contiguity confluence dirge and knell Reliquiae requiem show and tell Accession assertion deliberative need Transcendent ascension expiate seed Subordinate ancillary exigency deed Subliminal subjunctive sensorium seethe Uxorious usury detinue blithe Contiguous currency decimate tithe Tractive proximity critical lithe Delusory phantasm futurity kithe Alacritous tactile acuity interstice Accidence ambience resonance quipy pith Scenario synopsis resilience gist Endergonic protensive progressiveness rift Prestissimo preterite retroactive gift Poignant puissance piquant myth Fable fantasticate legend list Preternatural gesticulate proclivity pith Propensity assimilate diabolical mist    ********** fornicate zooidal mist Parenthetical erudite erumpence fist Quiescent gossamer lecherous wrist Militant mercenary actuator aorist
Continue reading...
31
I am flabbergasted, ashamed, and angry after philosophy homework which straight up flabbergasts myself because I’ve always questioned everything after reading a selection of Seneca’s letter’s ( ancient spanish philosopher) Spastic Fury is an understatement I understand this was written in a different time period but I have to discuss this **** in class. **** like why crying is for the weak or how practicing habits less fortunate than one is subordinate to will strengthen thy noble soul for future preparation of fortune/misfortune blah blah blah I get all of that **** I understand the validity of living a pure, un-judgemental, strong willed life. what I can’t get out of my OCD head is all of the **** I’ve been through that was and continues to be detrimental to my sanity and no it’s not out of vanity you naive ****** it’s called PTSD and it can be debilitating. I know this portion of reading is designed for the average freshman unsoiled mind, free from trauma and full of promise but I’m not your average person. I never will be I remember the times I didn’t want to be a ******* person and those moments remain anchored right on top of my mangled innocence. Seneca claims crying is a form of selfish weakness I claim crying is stronger than taking a razor to the skin crying is stronger than puking until you’re dizzy crying is stronger than getting high until you can’t remember why you started crying in the first place It took me 17 years and disgusting amounts of therapy to accept my hurricane emotions are not a form of weakness because everything I feel is a million times more real than the ******** we hear, see, or talk about I know tragedy occurs everywhere to anyone unfortunate enough to be there but in terms of my salvation there is an expiration date on how long I can play in the sand before I’m choking and gasping “i’m sorry’s” in-between scratchy breaths I knew college would be hard, but at least in group therapy there was actual motivation to speak up
0
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
haley-12
Spastic Fury
I am flabbergasted, ashamed, and angry after philosophy homework which straight up flabbergasts myself because I’ve always questioned everything after reading a selection of Seneca’s letter’s ( ancient spanish philosopher) Spastic Fury is an understatement I understand this was written in a different time period but I have to discuss this **** in class. **** like why crying is for the weak or how practicing habits less fortunate than one is subordinate to will strengthen thy noble soul for future preparation of fortune/misfortune blah blah blah I get all of that **** I understand the validity of living a pure, un-judgemental, strong willed life. what I can’t get out of my OCD head is all of the **** I’ve been through that was and continues to be detrimental to my sanity and no it’s not out of vanity you naive ****** it’s called PTSD and it can be debilitating. I know this portion of reading is designed for the average freshman unsoiled mind, free from trauma and full of promise but I’m not your average person. I never will be I remember the times I didn’t want to be a ******* person and those moments remain anchored right on top of my mangled innocence. Seneca claims crying is a form of selfish weakness I claim crying is stronger than taking a razor to the skin crying is stronger than puking until you’re dizzy crying is stronger than getting high until you can’t remember why you started crying in the first place It took me 17 years and disgusting amounts of therapy to accept my hurricane emotions are not a form of weakness because everything I feel is a million times more real than the ******** we hear, see, or talk about I know tragedy occurs everywhere to anyone unfortunate enough to be there but in terms of my salvation there is an expiration date on how long I can play in the sand before I’m choking and gasping “i’m sorry’s” in-between scratchy breaths I knew college would be hard, but at least in group therapy there was actual motivation to speak up
Continue reading...
43
A white abstract silence falls heavily like phosphorous snow… odd and oblique with nervous intensity of random limitations… sensitive and fragile in its unremitting generosity…A fluency of motion of imaginary realisation in silent turbulence descends in tenebrous shadows of illusion detonating the unconscious… the symmetry and exactitude of silence beyond all compass…. an intricate camouflage… meticulous and consistent. Disinherited it tries to sanctify the air….. a silence in where stars evaporate vibrational loud and inquisitive…. freezing time by the velocity of its inner momentum of silent adrenalin. Concealing its true identity isolating me in unknown realisation of what is to occur.. It resonates with constant tension waiting for unpredictability’s of indispensible voices that don’t speak….. This is a realisation of the imagination…. a vibrant insensibility…. density of unravelled thoughts that vaporise within me causing a vibration that fractures the equation of time and space in the burning crucible of my mind. Intractable proportions of silent thought…. hovering… a constant mirage of irrational calculations….. This silence forces all the tears of consequence to fall upon my face with no avail…..Then in this thunderous silence see graffiti on white walls…abstract and meaningless….Like primitive lives…those with meaning yet possess no meaning… an ungovernable democracy of fruitless endeavour… of non factual fastidiousness… a glimpse of life and its fallacy. Yet the words were spoken and written… by whom… And for why.. Now the silence punctuates and instructs…. phosphorous extinguishes itself and hides behind another truth…..The noise of the world cascades in torrents deafening… attempting to defeat… subordinate the senses in atavistic cruelty… Prowling searching for the silence… but it has gone…. disappeared in the imagination of my inner self…. an abstraction I call me….. But I know where the silence has gone….
0
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 7:07 PM UTC
edgar-whitman-wilde
My Delirium
A white abstract silence falls heavily like phosphorous snow… odd and oblique with nervous intensity of random limitations… sensitive and fragile in its unremitting generosity…A fluency of motion of imaginary realisation in silent turbulence descends in tenebrous shadows of illusion detonating the unconscious… the symmetry and exactitude of silence beyond all compass…. an intricate camouflage… meticulous and consistent. Disinherited it tries to sanctify the air….. a silence in where stars evaporate vibrational loud and inquisitive…. freezing time by the velocity of its inner momentum of silent adrenalin. Concealing its true identity isolating me in unknown realisation of what is to occur.. It resonates with constant tension waiting for unpredictability’s of indispensible voices that don’t speak….. This is a realisation of the imagination…. a vibrant insensibility…. density of unravelled thoughts that vaporise within me causing a vibration that fractures the equation of time and space in the burning crucible of my mind. Intractable proportions of silent thought…. hovering… a constant mirage of irrational calculations….. This silence forces all the tears of consequence to fall upon my face with no avail…..Then in this thunderous silence see graffiti on white walls…abstract and meaningless….Like primitive lives…those with meaning yet possess no meaning… an ungovernable democracy of fruitless endeavour… of non factual fastidiousness… a glimpse of life and its fallacy. Yet the words were spoken and written… by whom… And for why.. Now the silence punctuates and instructs…. phosphorous extinguishes itself and hides behind another truth…..The noise of the world cascades in torrents deafening… attempting to defeat… subordinate the senses in atavistic cruelty… Prowling searching for the silence… but it has gone…. disappeared in the imagination of my inner self…. an abstraction I call me….. But I know where the silence has gone….
Continue reading...
5
Very few men could live with her. She was one who couldn’t get along with a man-any man. She planted her love for men in a bitter root and sweet water that contaminated her perception about men and interrupted her peace. she loved the way his sweet smell lingered when he left her presence- but not anymore. Thoughts running through her mind, she would think ” I gave him all I had, what more would he have wanted?” ” I gave her all I had”, he said. He was always there for her, showering her with love and pocketful of romantic warmth. He was her morning dew that moisturized the wholeness of her heart. But somewhere along the line, his love for her had become an ugly scene. To a man, women are wicked. To a woman, men don’t deserve to live. Human beings aren’t fair. That’s a fact! But you should take some time out to think about this, is life fair ??!!! Pure love becomes a fairy tale when love knocks us hard to the ground. It could take some of us days or years to recover from our emotionally transmitted diseases (ETDs). I went blank for weeks and my experience within that period felt like paradise in hades. I preferred to bottle up my hurts. I couldn’t trust anyone because I was shattered by the darkened side of my beloved. Candle lights were signs I could converse with. Stirring at them in the dark and knowing that time was only waxing away. I had faith in those candle lite forgetting about the Author of time who isn’t a subordinate to time but I’m subject to Him. A heart ripped into pieces is uneasy to mend. I went to places, met new faces, smiled and laughed my head off when I met my old pals but the thoughts of my beloved was like a leech in my heart ******* the breath out of my life. Love all you can and expect the worse from love. Be willing to take the risk. A love story could either uplift your potentials or un make you completely . To my young fellas, be careful who you let in to your heart Priscilla Adams(AraSoul)
0
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
arasoul
LOVE STORY GONE HADES
Very few men could live with her. She was one who couldn’t get along with a man-any man. She planted her love for men in a bitter root and sweet water that contaminated her perception about men and interrupted her peace. she loved the way his sweet smell lingered when he left her presence- but not anymore. Thoughts running through her mind, she would think ” I gave him all I had, what more would he have wanted?” ” I gave her all I had”, he said. He was always there for her, showering her with love and pocketful of romantic warmth. He was her morning dew that moisturized the wholeness of her heart. But somewhere along the line, his love for her had become an ugly scene. To a man, women are wicked. To a woman, men don’t deserve to live. Human beings aren’t fair. That’s a fact! But you should take some time out to think about this, is life fair ??!!! Pure love becomes a fairy tale when love knocks us hard to the ground. It could take some of us days or years to recover from our emotionally transmitted diseases (ETDs). I went blank for weeks and my experience within that period felt like paradise in hades. I preferred to bottle up my hurts. I couldn’t trust anyone because I was shattered by the darkened side of my beloved. Candle lights were signs I could converse with. Stirring at them in the dark and knowing that time was only waxing away. I had faith in those candle lite forgetting about the Author of time who isn’t a subordinate to time but I’m subject to Him. A heart ripped into pieces is uneasy to mend. I went to places, met new faces, smiled and laughed my head off when I met my old pals but the thoughts of my beloved was like a leech in my heart ******* the breath out of my life. Love all you can and expect the worse from love. Be willing to take the risk. A love story could either uplift your potentials or un make you completely . To my young fellas, be careful who you let in to your heart Priscilla Adams(AraSoul)
Continue reading...
18
and who's to stop me? management have managed their time productively.                                        shudder to think                                        they'd begrudge a                                        subordinate the time                                        to blast their feelings                                        off the clock. leaning over window panes that lack balconies to catch their workers.                                      my 1-1s have started and ended                                      with a heart in my mouth                                      making it harder for the words                                      'i quit' to get out. can i just pivot off of can i just piggyback can we just swivel can i put a pin in you and sew up the wounded look that face carries to the coffee machine every lunch Oskar take some sick leave or just leave at this point we haven't identified your fit and our culture of inclusion excludes delays in action i just don't understand how personal problems seep into the workplace what its been five months which is half the time you were with him can't it just be let go? just let me go you're being let go i want to let go.                                                     ~ HR will be in touch. ~
0
Aug 19, 2022
Aug 19, 2022 at 5:52 AM UTC
OskarA
HR ASKED ME TO TURN OFF THE OFFICE SPEAKER PAST 8PM
and who's to stop me? management have managed their time productively.                                        shudder to think                                        they'd begrudge a                                        subordinate the time                                        to blast their feelings                                        off the clock. leaning over window panes that lack balconies to catch their workers.                                      my 1-1s have started and ended                                      with a heart in my mouth                                      making it harder for the words                                      'i quit' to get out. can i just pivot off of can i just piggyback can we just swivel can i put a pin in you and sew up the wounded look that face carries to the coffee machine every lunch Oskar take some sick leave or just leave at this point we haven't identified your fit and our culture of inclusion excludes delays in action i just don't understand how personal problems seep into the workplace what its been five months which is half the time you were with him can't it just be let go? just let me go you're being let go i want to let go.                                                     ~ HR will be in touch. ~
Continue reading...
23
Demented is not a subordinate grey nor subbed to explain, But instead every color there is And self evident; Cream: Which is no tone But texture to grow. So stop with the divination and calling my name I'm right here On this, honest Double take I'm looking forward And not clinging to dreams Ones I must obey and perform the practice of wishful thinking for in the name of A mighty god When I am right here So stop the divination And name Calling I'm alright and I know it I didn't need you to tell me that I was another thing to worry about Reluctantly finding the answers in my subconscious I will sooth say Loosening the gates And letting all the folks in, Into my humble castle With exotic carpet hospitality All are welcome And we will be friends And join forces Without illusions of sums greater than wholes But with a purpose to share what's worthless and worth all
0
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
thibaut-v
Demented is not a subordinate Gray, Looking Forward
Demented is not a subordinate grey nor subbed to explain, But instead every color there is And self evident; Cream: Which is no tone But texture to grow. So stop with the divination and calling my name I'm right here On this, honest Double take I'm looking forward And not clinging to dreams Ones I must obey and perform the practice of wishful thinking for in the name of A mighty god When I am right here So stop the divination And name Calling I'm alright and I know it I didn't need you to tell me that I was another thing to worry about Reluctantly finding the answers in my subconscious I will sooth say Loosening the gates And letting all the folks in, Into my humble castle With exotic carpet hospitality All are welcome And we will be friends And join forces Without illusions of sums greater than wholes But with a purpose to share what's worthless and worth all
Continue reading...
36
Somedays... I just feel like losing my voice To be voiceless I don't want to speak That's not you It's me I can't bring myself to speak To silence myself Subordinate myself... Someday... I feel no one listens As though I simply am invisible If I wasn't there, would they notice? If I simply wasn't I want to become a mute There is nothing I wish to tell you So don't look at me with your sad eyes I simply wish not To speak Please...let me lose my voice...
0
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 12:10 AM UTC
sparkticas
Voiceless
Somedays... I just feel like losing my voice To be voiceless I don't want to speak That's not you It's me I can't bring myself to speak To silence myself Subordinate myself... Someday... I feel no one listens As though I simply am invisible If I wasn't there, would they notice? If I simply wasn't I want to become a mute There is nothing I wish to tell you So don't look at me with your sad eyes I simply wish not To speak Please...let me lose my voice...
Continue reading...
20
.while some people hijack planes and fly them into the anti-thesis of the Jenga game, others hijack things more... metaphysical... like language... oh... over 20 years in England... there was that French girl, the Australian girl, the Spanish girl, the Bulgarian, the African lass, the Russian... and count my stars lucky.... no English girl. in terms of how much **** is a racial slur... is it the syllable count? should i ask an Afghan? **** pure laziness...       so not the prefix... how about the suffix, i.e. -stani? Stanley...                  auburn Stanley... never mind, apparently nothing short of a sense of humor outside being on the receiving end of: identifiable vermin... oh, right... identity politics...          i'm a mongrel,    a hybrid...                          really... i don't exactly know what this tongue is doing in this body...      inorganic English... acquired -   psyche mongrel... to your suspicion of half caste; because i was going to feel obliged to feel subordinate to a former colonial        subject on the basis that... what? what, exactly? RAF RAF RAF...     last time i checked.
0
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 6:51 AM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
politico
.while some people hijack planes and fly them into the anti-thesis of the Jenga game, others hijack things more... metaphysical... like language... oh... over 20 years in England... there was that French girl, the Australian girl, the Spanish girl, the Bulgarian, the African lass, the Russian... and count my stars lucky.... no English girl. in terms of how much **** is a racial slur... is it the syllable count? should i ask an Afghan? **** pure laziness...       so not the prefix... how about the suffix, i.e. -stani? Stanley...                  auburn Stanley... never mind, apparently nothing short of a sense of humor outside being on the receiving end of: identifiable vermin... oh, right... identity politics...          i'm a mongrel,    a hybrid...                          really... i don't exactly know what this tongue is doing in this body...      inorganic English... acquired -   psyche mongrel... to your suspicion of half caste; because i was going to feel obliged to feel subordinate to a former colonial        subject on the basis that... what? what, exactly? RAF RAF RAF...     last time i checked.
Continue reading...
35
There is a balance between science and intuition; only the myths of priests can disturb that account, can sadly arrest the bloom of human consciousness. As we look deeply with telescopes into the cosmos or inward to the radio-waves of cranial thought, the No Smoking sign of religion holds humanity back. There is no Paradise Lost, only that not yet attained. Silencers muffle, as if the skyes were empty, the mind subordinate to some Proper Name. If we are to Live, we must go there.  Out where the nebulae birth new stars, in there, where the id recklessly whispers, Good-Bye.
0
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
brian-oarr
Partir a Tribord
There is a balance between science and intuition; only the myths of priests can disturb that account, can sadly arrest the bloom of human consciousness. As we look deeply with telescopes into the cosmos or inward to the radio-waves of cranial thought, the No Smoking sign of religion holds humanity back. There is no Paradise Lost, only that not yet attained. Silencers muffle, as if the skyes were empty, the mind subordinate to some Proper Name. If we are to Live, we must go there.  Out where the nebulae birth new stars, in there, where the id recklessly whispers, Good-Bye.
Continue reading...
12
the afterlife so much is said speculation and hope.. after all of this might new perspective bring fulfillment Now..? this mystery Now claims amazing power sculpting a modern but most ancient tower.. Now diminishes rank of our favorite tools.. space and time stand subordinate to the encompassing Now.. Now ever transforming becoming the richer when in-sights lift.. Now seems both home and pathway these two faces creating each other.. Now.. removes that "after" from worn afterlife... Now is Life...?
0
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
charlesc
Home and Pathway
the afterlife so much is said speculation and hope.. after all of this might new perspective bring fulfillment Now..? this mystery Now claims amazing power sculpting a modern but most ancient tower.. Now diminishes rank of our favorite tools.. space and time stand subordinate to the encompassing Now.. Now ever transforming becoming the richer when in-sights lift.. Now seems both home and pathway these two faces creating each other.. Now.. removes that "after" from worn afterlife... Now is Life...?
Continue reading...
25
now I’m sweating, sweating and I remember walking really heavy and fat at seven-teen- it was like ninety degrees a walk-in oven. what did I know then? it feels like that time happened to someone else, some girl who happened to die or fade into obscurity with stretch marks and cesarean scars a passive husband and grimy faced children- but then again I catch glimpses of that girl in my own long mirrors and realize it was my life a long time ago. so I was trying to get a job at some grocery store and was walking home from the *** test, nothing to worry about such as the vanilla life I was tame- (a subordinate in denial) walking from the lab in a sweltering haze wanting to die frizzy hair stuck and humid some boy I thought I loved some boy I thought I would die without sleeping sound in the air conditioning in my bed- and I lurched on busses passing me with the mild hope I would never sit in one again- and that I could please a dandruffed haired and acne scared boy who harvested dreams of my toil. as I showered clean and fell like a fleshy tree with yesterday’s make up still clinging beating self-loathing with sleep, I woke a decade later, a slim shadow free and wish that the old me knew what I had starved to learn- I smile and think, I don’t even have a picture to remember all this by.
0
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
yokomolotov
Now I’m Sweating
now I’m sweating, sweating and I remember walking really heavy and fat at seven-teen- it was like ninety degrees a walk-in oven. what did I know then? it feels like that time happened to someone else, some girl who happened to die or fade into obscurity with stretch marks and cesarean scars a passive husband and grimy faced children- but then again I catch glimpses of that girl in my own long mirrors and realize it was my life a long time ago. so I was trying to get a job at some grocery store and was walking home from the *** test, nothing to worry about such as the vanilla life I was tame- (a subordinate in denial) walking from the lab in a sweltering haze wanting to die frizzy hair stuck and humid some boy I thought I loved some boy I thought I would die without sleeping sound in the air conditioning in my bed- and I lurched on busses passing me with the mild hope I would never sit in one again- and that I could please a dandruffed haired and acne scared boy who harvested dreams of my toil. as I showered clean and fell like a fleshy tree with yesterday’s make up still clinging beating self-loathing with sleep, I woke a decade later, a slim shadow free and wish that the old me knew what I had starved to learn- I smile and think, I don’t even have a picture to remember all this by.
Continue reading...
49
Your embrace, like being pressed against a fridge door Painful, but I couldn't rub the pain in public, but endure it as I walked away through the silent quad Your goofy smile as I gave you your birthday present last year when there was that heat And when I touched your heart like your mother once did and you tried to hide, but couldn't resist You are coming Looming large Coming yes, with your newest girlfriend They come and go and come again, swirling around you backs arched, hands splaying as they reveal their inner thoughts to your rapt attention, cross their legs, uncross them, flip their estrogen hair, your little subordinate girlfriends What pleasures you could have if only... You come to judge me, with your eyes and hers. Your eyes I used to watch, but now you avert most times You must maintain your detachment and judge me and converse about me with her, as you "mentor" her Meld with her. It must be a palpable connection between your center and hers. Teach her how to think like you, feel you, be a part of you Let her accept you into her And me, up there, trying to impress both of you to keep my job to save my apartment, my unpaid bills, my cats my dented car, my anti-depressant pills, my life sans trifles, but deep and thoroughly lived I am a slave dancer, unclothed and unprotected, but skilled and nothing can take that away from me, not even you As you will not look at me, only at your little electronic pad and at her, As she sees me perform for the first time and she won't have any idea that I was once in her place and you were not detached And I can only hope, that through it all, my skill will prevail And you, now detached little man That I mourn, will keep me at my job And sad as I will be to watch you watch me and feel the energy between you both, as I an experimental animal under a scientists eye As I am there, and she is next to you I still hope you stay detached and let me keep my job and I will be free forever.
0
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
zulu-samperfas
Steel Power Over Me
Your embrace, like being pressed against a fridge door Painful, but I couldn't rub the pain in public, but endure it as I walked away through the silent quad Your goofy smile as I gave you your birthday present last year when there was that heat And when I touched your heart like your mother once did and you tried to hide, but couldn't resist You are coming Looming large Coming yes, with your newest girlfriend They come and go and come again, swirling around you backs arched, hands splaying as they reveal their inner thoughts to your rapt attention, cross their legs, uncross them, flip their estrogen hair, your little subordinate girlfriends What pleasures you could have if only... You come to judge me, with your eyes and hers. Your eyes I used to watch, but now you avert most times You must maintain your detachment and judge me and converse about me with her, as you "mentor" her Meld with her. It must be a palpable connection between your center and hers. Teach her how to think like you, feel you, be a part of you Let her accept you into her And me, up there, trying to impress both of you to keep my job to save my apartment, my unpaid bills, my cats my dented car, my anti-depressant pills, my life sans trifles, but deep and thoroughly lived I am a slave dancer, unclothed and unprotected, but skilled and nothing can take that away from me, not even you As you will not look at me, only at your little electronic pad and at her, As she sees me perform for the first time and she won't have any idea that I was once in her place and you were not detached And I can only hope, that through it all, my skill will prevail And you, now detached little man That I mourn, will keep me at my job And sad as I will be to watch you watch me and feel the energy between you both, as I an experimental animal under a scientists eye As I am there, and she is next to you I still hope you stay detached and let me keep my job and I will be free forever.
Continue reading...
47
I watched in awe as Nikolai faced his wife, not like a husband, but like a soldier. His countenance was the essence of a nation hardened by animosity, his pale face clean shaven, his black hair slicked back, his eyes bloodshot and world-weary. He was leaving his wife for a country he no longer loved, no longer pledged allegiance to, despite her pleas for him to stay. I knew not why he had to leave; I knew not why he chose to comply. He never acted of his own accord; he only followed orders, the devious wishes of his superiors. His broad imposing figure towered over us, steadfast and unaffected, his face bearing neither smile nor frown. He only clasped his wife’s hand and looked into her tearful eyes. До свидания, моя дорогая. With a slow, statuesque dignity he affixed his military cap upon his head and departed, stoically descending into battle virtually unaffected by the bitter and ruthless Russian gusts, with me in tow. To me, he was not Nikolai anymore; now he was Lieutenant Colonel. We were not brothers anymore. He was my commander. I was his subordinate. We weren’t familiar with each other anymore. After all, I was only a child Who had never known war And he was a man Who had never known peace.
0
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 5:16 PM UTC
kate-dempsey
Nikolai
I watched in awe as Nikolai faced his wife, not like a husband, but like a soldier. His countenance was the essence of a nation hardened by animosity, his pale face clean shaven, his black hair slicked back, his eyes bloodshot and world-weary. He was leaving his wife for a country he no longer loved, no longer pledged allegiance to, despite her pleas for him to stay. I knew not why he had to leave; I knew not why he chose to comply. He never acted of his own accord; he only followed orders, the devious wishes of his superiors. His broad imposing figure towered over us, steadfast and unaffected, his face bearing neither smile nor frown. He only clasped his wife’s hand and looked into her tearful eyes. До свидания, моя дорогая. With a slow, statuesque dignity he affixed his military cap upon his head and departed, stoically descending into battle virtually unaffected by the bitter and ruthless Russian gusts, with me in tow. To me, he was not Nikolai anymore; now he was Lieutenant Colonel. We were not brothers anymore. He was my commander. I was his subordinate. We weren’t familiar with each other anymore. After all, I was only a child Who had never known war And he was a man Who had never known peace.
Continue reading...
39
Live life learn lessons Nothing to have faith in This ensnaring world can't be trusted One day all this will deteriorate chopping my dignity into molecules Nothing is eternal except God Relinquish my soul in His spirit Prayed for so long He never answered on my Realizing my blessing after all the stressing And misdirection being a subordinate Having misconceptions about life maturing into a black man Always in someone’s shadow No role model to model to emulate. Walking a narrow path in self-pity Time Patience wearing thin Young and angry at my lowest point puffing a joint Exhaling the Holy Ghost limited happiness Clouded by negativity I cursed Him out everyday When I was overwhelmed He lifted my gifts that I was negligent to see Mistaken recollections reversed Not being analytical heaven and hell are transparent X-ray eyes see what mind ejected from heart After a decade not being faithful to myself. © 2006
0
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
belizeanprofit
Staggering down my path
Live life learn lessons Nothing to have faith in This ensnaring world can't be trusted One day all this will deteriorate chopping my dignity into molecules Nothing is eternal except God Relinquish my soul in His spirit Prayed for so long He never answered on my Realizing my blessing after all the stressing And misdirection being a subordinate Having misconceptions about life maturing into a black man Always in someone’s shadow No role model to model to emulate. Walking a narrow path in self-pity Time Patience wearing thin Young and angry at my lowest point puffing a joint Exhaling the Holy Ghost limited happiness Clouded by negativity I cursed Him out everyday When I was overwhelmed He lifted my gifts that I was negligent to see Mistaken recollections reversed Not being analytical heaven and hell are transparent X-ray eyes see what mind ejected from heart After a decade not being faithful to myself. © 2006
Continue reading...
25
it's almost like saying:    atheism                                    and theism, or deism or whatever.                                   it's rought comparison, but that's the best i could ever hope to allude to...       concerning the aye, eye, i...                        oko:                 eye,                               okno:               window      oczko:                                        a little eye, typically                        of a baby; judasz / judas: the peeping hole                                             in your front door.                    bilingualism is like a mongolian horde in terms                                  of etymological "struggles", i.e. introspections... i can't even begin the platonic                      assertion of form-morphing that's translated into      darwinism of           monkey into an ape...   as someone who's into artistotle more than into plato, because he's more into shakespeare's dialogues than plato's...     i don't buy the platonic crap in darwinism...                                   it would be, perfect, if we were all reduced to monkey form, and picked out one type of monkey as our origins...              what, ******* point, would, a shit-brick sized gorilla ever need to evolve?       a gorilla that could wrestle a tiger and pin him to the floor, while breaking his jaw? the **** is this?!                   or right... choose a chimp... but not a macaque monkey...                                  i'll just do what atheist youtubers do...           in terms of language:                                               ******* imbecile! pointless platonic imbeciles!               darwinism = platonism...                   god, in the now, now, now...         now i should be exhibit (c) in a zoo... or playing that ******* wormhole of a game that's the sims...          eugenics didn't move it far along the argument scale, that we needed to play "god" while playing the sims... there's nothing worth an aristotle in the framework of darwinism...                darwinism is platonic...        it arises from the head, and the abstract, rather than on the basis of the senses, that said:                as one hindu guru said: why aren't there more monkeys evolving, turning into neanderthals?              the more atheists call others ******** we'll be swimming ad infinitum ad nauseam in circles, concerning ourselves with    arguments, that... well...                      are best summarised by a cat's meow of concern for                    the arguments in themselves...            bo'h-                              -ring! oh look,                  retards either direction; if that's what humanism has come down to... seriously... if i were a gorilla... why would i want to devolve?                               so i can be subordinate to beta-males' taxation rules of governing me?     punch the ******* in the face, and move on... to me, aristotle would have rejected darwinism, but plato? ooh hoo hoo... he'd be darwin's first disciple; ******* ponces. don't bother questioning whether poetry requires objectivity... it's a non-objective form of expression... as it was never supposed to be... take your 1 + 1 = 2 elsewhere, and ponder it there.
0
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
etymology & bilingualism
it's almost like saying:    atheism                                    and theism, or deism or whatever.                                   it's rought comparison, but that's the best i could ever hope to allude to...       concerning the aye, eye, i...                        oko:                 eye,                               okno:               window      oczko:                                        a little eye, typically                        of a baby; judasz / judas: the peeping hole                                             in your front door.                    bilingualism is like a mongolian horde in terms                                  of etymological "struggles", i.e. introspections... i can't even begin the platonic                      assertion of form-morphing that's translated into      darwinism of           monkey into an ape...   as someone who's into artistotle more than into plato, because he's more into shakespeare's dialogues than plato's...     i don't buy the platonic crap in darwinism...                                   it would be, perfect, if we were all reduced to monkey form, and picked out one type of monkey as our origins...              what, ******* point, would, a shit-brick sized gorilla ever need to evolve?       a gorilla that could wrestle a tiger and pin him to the floor, while breaking his jaw? the **** is this?!                   or right... choose a chimp... but not a macaque monkey...                                  i'll just do what atheist youtubers do...           in terms of language:                                               ******* imbecile! pointless platonic imbeciles!               darwinism = platonism...                   god, in the now, now, now...         now i should be exhibit (c) in a zoo... or playing that ******* wormhole of a game that's the sims...          eugenics didn't move it far along the argument scale, that we needed to play "god" while playing the sims... there's nothing worth an aristotle in the framework of darwinism...                darwinism is platonic...        it arises from the head, and the abstract, rather than on the basis of the senses, that said:                as one hindu guru said: why aren't there more monkeys evolving, turning into neanderthals?              the more atheists call others ******** we'll be swimming ad infinitum ad nauseam in circles, concerning ourselves with    arguments, that... well...                      are best summarised by a cat's meow of concern for                    the arguments in themselves...            bo'h-                              -ring! oh look,                  retards either direction; if that's what humanism has come down to... seriously... if i were a gorilla... why would i want to devolve?                               so i can be subordinate to beta-males' taxation rules of governing me?     punch the ******* in the face, and move on... to me, aristotle would have rejected darwinism, but plato? ooh hoo hoo... he'd be darwin's first disciple; ******* ponces. don't bother questioning whether poetry requires objectivity... it's a non-objective form of expression... as it was never supposed to be... take your 1 + 1 = 2 elsewhere, and ponder it there.
Continue reading...
84