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Osiria Melody Dec 2019
On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Three **** men
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Four call girls
Three **** men
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Five **** rings
Four call girls
Three **** men
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Six swingers a-swaying
Five **** rings
Four call girls
Three **** men
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Seven strippers a-stripping
Six swingers a-swaying
Five **** rings
Four call girls
Three **** men
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Eight drunks a-drinking
Seven strippers a-stripping
Six swingers a-swaying
Five **** rings
Four call girls
Three **** men
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Nine ravers a-raving
Eight drunks a-drinking
Seven strippers a-stripping
Six swingers a-swaying
Five **** rings
Four call girls
Three **** men
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Ten drug dealers a-dealing
Nine ravers a-raving
Eight drunks a-drinking
Seven strippers a-stripping
Six swingers a-swaying
Five **** rings
Four call girls
Three **** men
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Eleven stoners a-stoning
Ten drug dealers a-dealing
Nine ravers a-raving
Eight drunks a-drinking
Seven strippers a-stripping
Six swingers a-swaying
Five **** rings
Four call girls
Three **** men
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
Twelve hackers a-hacking
Eleven stoners a-stoning
Ten drug dealers a-dealing
Nine ravers a-raving
Eight drunks a-drinking
Seven strippers a-stripping
Six swingers a-swaying
Five **** rings
Four call girls
Three **** men
Two subscriptions to the Hub, and
A ***** with a **** ton of vibrating glee

Honey, my single, asexual *** don't want none of those things. Goodness gracious, this is absofuckinglutely ridiculous. I can't believe that I conjured such lecherous content from my muhfucking mind.

The only thing that I've been thinking about the most lately is purified water. I lurve purified water since it's very good for my **** health. What the hell. It looks like I'll need to cleanse my brain from writing this piece filled with such lascivious words.

Anyways, I got inspired to write this **** after watching "Christmas Cooking with Brandon Rogers!" by Brandon Rogers on YouTube. Just a forewarning, this video's offensively raunchy and flat-out not what you'd expect for a typical cooking tutorial. If you're up to get your brain twisted into a churro, then check it out if you want to. Like I said, IF you want to. Remember, I warned you.

Also, this ain't that important, but I know the original "Twelve Days of Christmas" by memory. I'll go skiddly-diddly doo now. buh bah!
Alexa Sep 2012
I used to be unique.
Kool-Aid hair dye and all.
Boys wrote my name on bathrooms stalls.
I swore at teachers.
I drank ***** behind the bleachers.
I puked at football games on cheerleaders.
I had black eyes and cigarette burns and soccer thighs.
I used to wear my shirt undone.
I used to have fun.

Now I own a 6-room house,
a 4-door car,
a water-dispensing fridge,
bell jars.
Also, religion,
caffeine addiction,
magazine subscriptions,
diazepam prescriptions,
900 pairs of shoes,
PVA glue,
a self-inflicted curfew,
sexually transmitted virtue,
and many, many cats.

All this between walls painted in 6 muted shades of deja-vu
from whence I commence my pin-cushion voodoo.

I sleep in pajamas.
I set an alarm clock and my snooze allowance never exceeds 4 minutes.
I spend my mornings yawning
through thick oatmeal,
******* in the dark.

I work in a bank
in an office
on a phone,
making friends with dead ends.

I come home to wash, rinse, and repeat,
undress in the dark,
and brush away the question marks
of hair in the bathtub.
s Feb 2019
cat scratches
in the green room
a back stage
more calm than the front.
I ask about the
maroon robe
and picnic-table-cloth choker,
home made.
making my way through
the Bombay Sapphire
highs and lows
Awkward hellos,
over salty popcorn
and Bonobo.

Mc Donald's veg burger
and soft serve updates
'I earn in dollars' she says
a fly in my fries plate.
Share my toothbrush
and my bed like old times
- let us pretend
that nothing has changed.

Groggy Sunday morning
of Chilas
and Break-uppers, half way.
Mustard bed-sheet - full size -
and a nehru jacket for bae.
Peanuts in all flavours for lunch
- a craving for guava -
and always room for
frozen tender coconut.

Payment apps
and gym subscriptions
compared on the way
- a stitch fix for clothes -
monthly and bespoke.
A game of bulls
and cows,
and a reason to drink
before curfews.
quick goodbyes
with hugs to go
and a waiting black scorpio.

Hot engines,
stretchy hair caps,
dodge the lasers,
catch the light traps.
a gun called Marco
and the stench of childhoods
that are hard to let go.
pink bowling *****
and green nylon socks.
arcades smell like
sweat, ginger ale
and fries gone stale.
A catch up cigarette,
recording racing tins
before  midnight votes,
on who is to move in.
Joshua Haines Jul 2015
My foggy mouth tries to hide behind rain-smacked glass.
She says goodbye with complacent stares
and with the sudden flash of an umbrella.

The red of her dress doesn't belong in my life.
Each of her strides carry my resentment and weariness,
alongside the melting grey of the Seattle skyline.
So, I don't yell for her or imagine our lives,
as the windshield wipers sweep her image, out of sight, but not out of my head.

I return home, the half I was for decades.
The tread of my shoe mashing bluegrass,
digging up seeds and insect carcass, with every step.
Storm-soaked magazine subscriptions lay on the porch,
and her name is tattooed on every one.

The dog lays on the carpet, ears and eyes perking up at me.
And he knows he's truly alone, because I'll depend on him.

Eggshell kitchen cabinets are jammed with her:
Vermilion, saffron, and burgundy glasses hold
half-empty hangings of golden flat draft,
keeping her day-old, dried saliva smothered on the edges,
like transparent ocean waves dying on a glass coast
and buried in the bottom of the sun-pierced vortex.

What I couldn't realize is that the cup was me:
marked in so many ways,
letting decaying memories burrow and stay.
Mitchell Duran May 2011
Big old jade earring hung from that haunted necklace, swinging from this and that and the other way where and if that sky upstairs let go of the thing I wanted you to be but a break in the system, no a malfunction in that suction of a love that you tried to forget about but feel those typing keys on the fingers that break knees and the heels up and up with the ***** a lingerin' and thats sounding like a new pounding, the one upstairs with the translucent roof ghostly and guess i got a new boot thats fixing itself to elate another prisoner upstate where the worries are always about the women.

Yeah, that women with the diamond ring with her children by her side thinking about the monastery she never visited a big time act act act in a dress that helped her enough and forgot about the rest. But we all move on quick to detest times test with the burritos that she never ate because of the figure she imposed that she got from her transistor radio and the yearly subscriptions of the ghostly ghost that haunted her in the moat around the castle of stairs up ripunzel with dragons a aflame listening to the same wishy washer story of old uncle Maury and the twenty ten twelve salute to the mastery of the fiction of listening, another riddle in the twiddle beneath the sheets that were once painted gold but her husband done left her and she's moving to seattle to start up some new cattle spreading the seed of 1910 where time stands still with his drink in his hand because the guy has got to get around to something with all that talent, with all that anger with all that impulse that proves itself time and time again it will never be enough for a salvation sanitation with the twisty fro's of yearly ye and ye bouts of fights she twisted in that shout that she knew, she knew she swears, what it was all about.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.

just your atypical pedantry,
a translator's subscript comment -
who's richard rojcewicz's...
regarding what?
       das volk,
      and the three derivatives -
volkhaft (populist),
       volklich (communal)
           völkisch (folkish) -
i'm starting to suspect that
i'm tapping in the all things folk....
unconsciously, favoring folk
   see, us central europeans,
we bunch together and share
the most odd similarities -
   i never thought that the song
herr mannelig could be translated
from Swedish - as it was
translated into German...
then again... Vikings founded Kiev...
and all these loan-words
of Germanic origin in Polish...
    the only Anglo loan-word
that i know of, is, weekend...
hence, das volk, people -
   by the way... German has "too many"
definite articles,
   and only one ein - or eine -
is that the same rule as in Ęnglish?
i.e. N
                 in an example,
   rather than in a counter example?
   two vowels adjacent in separate
word, sitting across from the grand
chasm of... a spacing itch?
but look at German, i never get it...
             is there an aesthetic difference,
and only an aesthetic difference
to mind?
if there is such a thing as a western
   that sometime
    pompous obnoxiousness,
fair enough... no problem:
   but learn to hide it,
           feel it, rather then feed it...
it's not a question of a civilization,
but more...
    an answer to what is less
civilization, and more... a chore...
just like western women,
notably the english women
call motherhood a, "job"...
                   it's a... wait... a job?
doubt was big in classic philosophy
of the Cartesian schematic...
so no one knows that
the French existentialists
brought in negation,
    as the driving force to replace
              who the hell sees doubt
these days?
    either the know it alles -
or the hush-hush crowd...
           motherhood is a... job?
well... then i guess, being a man...
western civilization,
by that standard of logic...
   can't be anything more...
   than a.... ******* chore!
Shawn Jun 2012
i was raised in the suburbs,
that's where i learned my first words,
also where i learned to curb,
any notions of uniqueness,
this bleakness, was fostered,
in our fundraisers, door-to-door,
selling subscriptions, order more,
and don't ask what the money's for,
school spirit for sports, i never played,
go bears, no care, for my awkward phase,
my awkward ways, 2 buses and a subway,
to get downtown, to hear that sound,
of cars, of movement,
home i'd found,
i was homeward bound,
surrounded by people,
the streets became my easel,
the streets became my easel,
the streets became my easel.

the suburban nights i remember best
deserted street, our love confessed,
riding, trying to avoid attention,
fogged up windows, signs of affection,
what did we know? best of intentions,
you were the girl that i met in detention,
feelings fostered in parks
that were well maintained,
neighbourhood watch campaigns,
trimmed grass, cul-de-sacs
sterile sidewalks, no art attacks,
i'd take you out,
to avoid cafeteria fries,
the tears in your eyes,
echoing words of those you despised,
hallway acoustics, erased by a quick kiss,
love notes in lockers,
we swore, we'd come back and prove our validity,
that wasn't me, that isn't me,
i am more than you thought that i'd ever be
in hindsight, that goal was empty.
in hindsight, that goal was empty.
in hindsight, that goal was empty.

i rode this train in an attempt to arrive
at a destination thought mutually suitable,
mutually doable, the journey viewable,
and verified viewed in full,
but our paths differed along the way,
our grip withered from pursuits of gpa,
the sacrifices made for a number,
sweat and anxiety, tears and fear,
from what would occur, if not maintained
in the exact range, expected by academics
i'm a polemic, seen through these false idols,
graduates don't know a thing about survival,
vital signs drained to the point of oblivion,
questioning just isn't how you win, it isn't in,
they're sittin' in their leather chairs,
dismissin' receding hair,
in front of leather-bound books,
leather patches on their elbows,
their vacant look,
behind eyeglasses, so cold,
i tried to ace classes, to sit in the seats
of these empty elite,
to live up to expectation,
and after convocation,
i took my place in a chair
behind a plexiglass pane,
initials after my name on
my orange jumpsuit,
i only now realize the truth.
i have all that i sought,
but lost all that i had.
i have all that i sought,
but lost all that i had.
i have all that i sought,
but lost all that i had.
Ulysses was left in the cloister, pondering on the means whereby
with Minerva’s help he might be able to **** the suitors. Presently he
said to Telemachus, “Telemachus, we must get the armour together and
take it down inside. Make some excuse when the suitors ask you why you
have removed it. Say that you have taken it to be out of the way of
the smoke, inasmuch as it is no longer what it was when Ulysses went
away, but has become soiled and begrimed with soot. Add to this more
particularly that you are afraid Jove may set them on to quarrel
over their wine, and that they may do each other some harm which may
disgrace both banquet and wooing, for the sight of arms sometimes
tempts people to use them.”
  Telemachus approved of what his father had said, so he called
nurse Euryclea and said, “Nurse, shut the women up in their room,
while I take the armour that my father left behind him down into the
store room. No one looks after it now my father is gone, and it has
got all smirched with soot during my own boyhood. I want to take it
down where the smoke cannot reach it.”
  “I wish, child,” answered Euryclea, “that you would take the
management of the house into your own hands altogether, and look after
all the property yourself. But who is to go with you and light you
to the store room? The maids would have so, but you would not let
  “The stranger,” said Telemachus, “shall show me a light; when people
eat my bread they must earn it, no matter where they come from.”
  Euryclea did as she was told, and bolted the women inside their
room. Then Ulysses and his son made all haste to take the helmets,
shields, and spears inside; and Minerva went before them with a gold
lamp in her hand that shed a soft and brilliant radiance, whereon
Telemachus said, “Father, my eyes behold a great marvel: the walls,
with the rafters, crossbeams, and the supports on which they rest
are all aglow as with a flaming fire. Surely there is some god here
who has come down from heaven.”
  “Hush,” answered Ulysses, “hold your peace and ask no questions, for
this is the manner of the gods. Get you to your bed, and leave me here
to talk with your mother and the maids. Your mother in her grief
will ask me all sorts of questions.”
  On this Telemachus went by torch-light to the other side of the
inner court, to the room in which he always slept. There he lay in his
bed till morning, while Ulysses was left in the cloister pondering
on the means whereby with Minerva’s help he might be able to ****
the suitors.
  Then Penelope came down from her room looking like Venus or Diana,
and they set her a seat inlaid with scrolls of silver and ivory near
the fire in her accustomed place. It had been made by Icmalius and had
a footstool all in one piece with the seat itself; and it was
covered with a thick fleece: on this she now sat, and the maids came
from the women’s room to join her. They set about removing the
tables at which the wicked suitors had been dining, and took away
the bread that was left, with the cups from which they had drunk. They
emptied the embers out of the braziers, and heaped much wood upon them
to give both light and heat; but Melantho began to rail at Ulysses a
second time and said, “Stranger, do you mean to plague us by hanging
about the house all night and spying upon the women? Be off, you
wretch, outside, and eat your supper there, or you shall be driven out
with a firebrand.”
  Ulysses scowled at her and answered, “My good woman, why should
you be so angry with me? Is it because I am not clean, and my
clothes are all in rags, and because I am obliged to go begging
about after the manner of tramps and beggars generall? I too was a
rich man once, and had a fine house of my own; in those days I gave to
many a ***** such as I now am, no matter who he might be nor what he
wanted. I had any number of servants, and all the other things which
people have who live well and are accounted wealthy, but it pleased
Jove to take all away from me; therefore, woman, beware lest you too
come to lose that pride and place in which you now wanton above your
fellows; have a care lest you get out of favour with your mistress,
and lest Ulysses should come home, for there is still a chance that he
may do so. Moreover, though he be dead as you think he is, yet by
Apollo’s will he has left a son behind him, Telemachus, who will
note anything done amiss by the maids in the house, for he is now no
longer in his boyhood.”
  Penelope heard what he was saying and scolded the maid, “Impudent
baggage, said she, “I see how abominably you are behaving, and you
shall smart for it. You knew perfectly well, for I told you myself,
that I was going to see the stranger and ask him about my husband, for
whose sake I am in such continual sorrow.”
  Then she said to her head waiting woman Eurynome, “Bring a seat with
a fleece upon it, for the stranger to sit upon while he tells his
story, and listens to what I have to say. I wish to ask him some
  Eurynome brought the seat at once and set a fleece upon it, and as
soon as Ulysses had sat down Penelope began by saying, “Stranger, I
shall first ask you who and whence are you? Tell me of your town and
  “Madam;” answered Ulysses, “who on the face of the whole earth can
dare to chide with you? Your fame reaches the firmament of heaven
itself; you are like some blameless king, who upholds righteousness,
as the monarch over a great and valiant nation: the earth yields its
wheat and barley, the trees are loaded with fruit, the ewes bring
forth lambs, and the sea abounds with fish by reason of his virtues,
and his people do good deeds under him. Nevertheless, as I sit here in
your house, ask me some other question and do not seek to know my race
and family, or you will recall memories that will yet more increase my
sorrow. I am full of heaviness, but I ought not to sit weeping and
wailing in another person’s house, nor is it well to be thus
grieving continually. I shall have one of the servants or even
yourself complaining of me, and saying that my eyes swim with tears
because I am heavy with wine.”
  Then Penelope answered, “Stranger, heaven robbed me of all beauty,
whether of face or figure, when the Argives set sail for Troy and my
dear husband with them. If he were to return and look after my affairs
I should be both more respected and should show a better presence to
the world. As it is, I am oppressed with care, and with the
afflictions which heaven has seen fit to heap upon me. The chiefs from
all our islands—Dulichium, Same, and Zacynthus, as also from Ithaca
itself, are wooing me against my will and are wasting my estate. I can
therefore show no attention to strangers, nor suppliants, nor to
people who say that they are skilled artisans, but am all the time
brokenhearted about Ulysses. They want me to marry again at once,
and I have to invent stratagems in order to deceive them. In the first
place heaven put it in my mind to set up a great tambour-frame in my
room, and to begin working upon an enormous piece of fine
needlework. Then I said to them, ‘Sweethearts, Ulysses is indeed dead,
still, do not press me to marry again immediately; wait—for I would
not have my skill in needlework perish unrecorded—till I have
finished making a pall for the hero Laertes, to be ready against the
time when death shall take him. He is very rich, and the women of
the place will talk if he is laid out without a pall.’ This was what I
said, and they assented; whereon I used to keep working at my great
web all day long, but at night I would unpick the stitches again by
torch light. I fooled them in this way for three years without their
finding it out, but as time wore on and I was now in my fourth year,
in the waning of moons, and many days had been accomplished, those
good-for-nothing hussies my maids betrayed me to the suitors, who
broke in upon me and caught me; they were very angry with me, so I was
forced to finish my work whether I would or no. And now I do not see
how I can find any further shift for getting out of this marriage.
My parents are putting great pressure upon me, and my son chafes at
the ravages the suitors are making upon his estate, for he is now
old enough to understand all about it and is perfectly able to look
after his own affairs, for heaven has blessed him with an excellent
disposition. Still, notwithstanding all this, tell me who you are
and where you come from—for you must have had father and mother of
some sort; you cannot be the son of an oak or of a rock.”
  Then Ulysses answered, “madam, wife of Ulysses, since you persist in
asking me about my family, I will answer, no matter what it costs
me: people must expect to be pained when they have been exiles as long
as I have, and suffered as much among as many peoples. Nevertheless,
as regards your question I will tell you all you ask. There is a
fair and fruitful island in mid-ocean called Crete; it is thickly
peopled and there are nine cities in it: the people speak many
different languages which overlap one another, for there are Achaeans,
brave Eteocretans, Dorians of three-fold race, and noble Pelasgi.
There is a great town there, Cnossus, where Minos reigned who every
nine years had a conference with Jove himself. Minos was father to
Deucalion, whose son I am, for Deucalion had two sons Idomeneus and
myself. Idomeneus sailed for Troy, and I, who am the younger, am
called Aethon; my brother, however, was at once the older and the more
valiant of the two; hence it was in Crete that I saw Ulysses and
showed him hospitality, for the winds took him there as he was on
his way to Troy, carrying him out of his course from cape Malea and
leaving him in Amnisus off the cave of Ilithuia, where the harbours
are difficult to enter and he could hardly find shelter from the winds
that were then xaging. As soon as he got there he went into the town
and asked for Idomeneus, claiming to be his old and valued friend, but
Idomeneus had already set sail for Troy some ten or twelve days
earlier, so I took him to my own house and showed him every kind of
hospitality, for I had abundance of everything. Moreover, I fed the
men who were with him with barley meal from the public store, and
got subscriptions of wine and oxen for them to sacrifice to their
heart’s content. They stayed with me twelve days, for there was a gale
blowing from the North so strong that one could hardly keep one’s feet
on land. I suppose some unfriendly god had raised it for them, but
on the thirteenth day the wind dropped, and they got away.”
  Many a plausible tale did Ulysses further tell her, and Penelope
wept as she listened, for her heart was melted. As the snow wastes
upon the mountain tops when the winds from South East and West have
breathed upon it and thawed it till the rivers run bank full with
water, even so did her cheeks overflow with tears for the husband
who was all the time sitting by her side. Ulysses felt for her and was
for her, but he kept his eyes as hard as or iron without letting
them so much as quiver, so cunningly did he restrain his tears.
Then, when she had relieved herself by weeping, she turned to him
again and said: “Now, stranger, I shall put you to the test and see
whether or no you really did entertain my husband and his men, as
you say you did. Tell me, then, how he was dressed, what kind of a man
he was to look at, and so also with his companions.”
  “Madam,” answered Ulysses, “it is such a long time ago that I can
hardly say. Twenty years are come and gone since he left my home,
and went elsewhither; but I will tell you as well as I can
recollect. Ulysses wore a mantle of purple wool, double lined, and
it was fastened by a gold brooch with two catches for the pin. On
the face of this there was a device that showed a dog holding a
spotted fawn between his fore paws, and watching it as it lay
panting upon the ground. Every one marvelled at the way in which these
things had been done in gold, the dog looking at the fawn, and
strangling it, while the fawn was struggling convulsively to escape.
As for the shirt that he wore next his skin, it was so soft that it
fitted him like the skin of an onion, and glistened in the sunlight to
the admiration of all the women who beheld it. Furthermore I say,
and lay my saying to your heart, that I do not know whether Ulysses
wore these clothes when he left home, or whether one of his companions
had given them to him while he was on his voyage; or possibly some one
at whose house he was staying made him a present of them, for he was a
man of many friends and had few equals among the Achaeans. I myself
gave him a sword of bronze and a beautiful purple mantle, double
lined, with a shirt that went down to his feet, and I sent him on
board his ship with every mark of honour. He had a servant with him, a
little older than himself, and I can tell you what he was like; his
shoulders were hunched, he was dark, and he had thick curly hair.
His name was Eurybates, and Ulysses treated him with greater
familiarity than he did any of the others, as being the most
like-minded with himself.”
  Penelope was moved still more deeply as she heard the indisputable
proofs that Ulysses laid before her; and when she had again found
relief in tears she said to him, “Stranger, I was already disposed
to pity you, but henceforth you shall be honoured and made welcome
in my house. It was I who gave Ulysses the clothes you speak of. I
took them out of the store room and folded them up myself, and I
gave him also the gold brooch to wear as an ornament. Alas! I shall
never welcome him home again. It was by an ill fate that he ever set
out for that detested city whose very name I cannot bring myself
even to mention.”
  Then Ulysses answered, “Madam, wife of Ulysses, do not disfigure
yourself further by grieving thus bitterly for your loss, though I can
hardly blame you for doing so. A woman who has loved her husband and
borne him children, would naturally be grieved at losing him, even
though he were a worse man than Ulysses, who they say was like a
god. Still, cease your tears and listen to what I can tell I will hide
nothing from you, and can say with perfect truth that I have lately
heard of Ulysses as being alive and on his way home; he is among the
Thesprotians, and is bringing back much valuable treasure that he
has begged from one and another of them; but his ship and all his crew
were lost as they were leaving the Thrinacian island, for Jove and the
sun-god were angry with him because his men had slaughtered the
sun-god’s cattle, and they were all drowned to a man. But Ulysses
stuck to the keel of the ship and was drifted on to the land of the
Phaecians, who are near of kin to the immortals, and who treated him
as though he had been a god, giving him many presents, and wishing
to escort him home safe and sound. In fact Ulysses would have been
here long ago, had he not thought better to go from land to land
gathering wealth; for there is no man living who is so wily as he
is; there is no one can compare with him. Pheidon king of the
Thesprotians told me all this, and he swore to me—making
drink-offerings in his house as he did so—that the ship was by the
water side and the crew found who would take Ulysses to his own
country. He sent me off first, for there happened to be a
Thesprotian ship sailing for the wheat-growing island of Dulichium,
but he showed me all treasure Ulysses had got together, and he had
enough lying in the house of king Pheidon to keep his family for ten
generations; but the king said Ulysses had gone to Dodona that he
might learn Jove’s mind from the high oak tree, and know whether after
so long an absence he should return to Ithaca openly or in secret.
So you may know he is safe and will be here shortly; he is close at
hand and cannot remain away from home much longer; nevertheless I will
confirm my words with an oath, and call Jove who is the first and
mightiest of all gods to witness, as also that hearth of Ulysses to
which I have now come, that all I have spoken shall surely come to
pass. Ulysses will return in this self same year; with the end of this
moon and the beginning of the next he will b
Tommy Johnson Jul 2014
We're all ingredients in the humanity stew
The sad clowns
The prescription abusers
The chickens running around without their heads
This dish can never be out done
It's killing me
Ashes from Pompeii
The braces of teenage heart throbs
****** black and blues from abusive relationships
Fill the pots and pans
A homemade meal per say
Chain linked sausage fences
Add some Epsom salt
Some beef chuck
And Simonides of Ceos
Daphoenus bones
A dentist and a retainer
Cornets, pirouettes and percocets
Awkward magazine subscriptions
You can buy the cookbook in all its opacity
See it in the Intrepid Museum
There is work to be done on Mount Olympus
Therefore we should go see a movie at the drive in

       -Tommy Johnson
Robson Guy Sep 2015
I chase these ideals...
These versions of my life that don't exist,
They just become tormenting fantasies,
Sometimes, destroying everything I love in the process...
I begin to analyze the concept of what's "deserved,"
Deserved by whom?
Who's the authority?
The sky's the limit?
Not when you're shackled to the ground, shackled by the wake of your past,
You can't escape your shadows,
Lost in mistake after mistake,
Like a stone of scar tissue,
There's nothing left to wound,
Which exit did I miss?
Maybe I should have gotten off this road a long time ago,
What went wrong?
What went right?
Love, family, life, dreams...
This game full of tricks, fools, dogs, and thieves,
Blessed or cursed,
It's all this relative facade,
Romanticizations and fairytales,
You've got yours and I've got mine,
A nonsensical masquerade,
Wrapped in oblivion,
By dawn, the masks come off,
No one's dancing,  
And we're left standing naked with our truths, our choices, and our pain,
Daily reminders all around,
Everything is dulled,
A shimmering lackluster,
Sensations numbed,
Spare me sensationalization,
Please don't offer me prescriptions,
Don't offer me subscriptions,
They don't disguise the lies,
They don't smooth out the wrinkles of the sweet, euphemistically, sugarcoated descriptions of what is and what will never be...

Clandestine connections,
Undeniable, as we spiral through this network of intimate caves...
Slipped into a hole years ago,
Never seemed to crawl out..
A semi-abstract moment of self-reflection. Take from it what you will.
Dissolving from community
abrogating all responsibility and
finding in the inner me
all I ever need to be.

I shall cancel my subscriptions to
the doctors,
**** prescriptions and
elections,you won't
***** monuments to me
but I am all I ever need to be.
Anna Ray Mar 2013
My world is only clutter
Shelves of long forgotten memories
Crammed into binders of tear stained diaries
That don’t even matter
And rhythms and tunes playing
Over and over
Until it is only chaos, cacophony
The involuntary glancing around
Checking on my subscriptions
And I forget what matters

And I am trapped in a world without meaning
And Even as I sit here
Pounding my fists on the invisible walls around me

Any second
Any hint or vibration
Could rip me away
Until I stop caring even enough to
Bob Horton Dec 2013
Unread correspondence lies in despondence
Gathering dust on the shelves
Journal subscriptions of countless descriptions
Piled on top of themselves

Confirmations of blood donations
That never will be attended
Leaflets unnumbered, the walls are encumbered
Far more than was ever intended

Postcards from the tropics discussing dull topics
Like “them ****** foreigners” and rain
Parcels were ordered, were barely afforded
Never to be mentioned again

You’ve got something yourself, squeezing onto a shelf
That’s as packed as the Vatican’s coffers
But it’s weeks out of date and you’re several days late
To respond to the business it offers
C J Baxter Aug 2015
Me and Mary moved in together almost six months ago now. We moved into a little smelly carpeted paradise on the top floor of pre-war building in Dennistoun . It has three rooms, and that's all we needed: The glowing yellow walled bedroom, the freezing grey tiled bathroom ( that could wake a dead man up for work), and the warm red living room that has a sink and a cooker shoved in the corner of it.

In the beginning it was bliss: childish ****** adventure, and many a burnt stew. We would watch ***** catch up t.v on our laptops until well after midnight, falling asleep in each others arms on the couch, with easy dreams and full bellies; I don’t think we ever slept on our bed then, because then it had a better purpose. But that’s where she sleeps now, and I’m on the couch staring at the ceiling night after night, hoping she’ll call me in. But she hasn’t, and it’s been almost a week since she’s said anything to me. You see thirty days ago I lost my job with the leccy grid, and we’ve had to cut back on a few things as a precaution: First it was our Friday night bottle of wine, and then it was our nights out on the Saturday; then good portabella mushrooms, then it was the Netflix subscriptions and last week I had to cancel our B.T account. I’v tried to tell her it’s only temporary, that I’ll be back on my feet in no time, and all she has to do is trust and believe in me and what we have together. But she's tired from working every shift she can get, and the last thing she said to me was with wet eyes that refused to focus on me:  “ How can I love you without wifi?”.

To be fair to her, it was in the middle of a very heated conversation where we had both said some incredibly non-sensical attacks on one another, but it’s stuck with me. Is that all we are? A ****** little connection that you pay for monthly?
Brandon Mar 2012
Let’s cancel our subscriptions
To the coma we’ve lived in
And soar high above this abyss

I promise we’ve never felt
A rush quite like this

We’ve got an eternity
To leave our uncertainty
Behind with all this adversity

Let’s count the stars
And see how many there are

We can map out our footprints
High atop the constellations
Get lost in all the empty spaces

Let’s forgive the mistakes
We’ll make tomorrow today

We can free our mind
Lose our touch with despair
And be who we were meant to be

Let's fly away together
And never be the same

Let's fly away together
Higher and higher
And never be the same
Matt Feb 2015
Credit Card maxed out
I cancelled online subscriptions

Dang, I can't even afford gas
At least I live in a nice home in America

Debt ridden America
There is no future for this country

Ah well
In the event of some big catastrophe
I'll either be in the mountains
Or on a golf course

I bought the electrolyte powder yesterday
And added it to my emergency bag

No future for America
Madeleine Toerne Dec 2014
Shampoo your carcass.
Lean it against a tree, like a scare-crow in your garden.
You smell very greasy and downright delicious.
It’s impossible to imagine how greasy you smell,
unless you’ve worked in the fast food industry.

Scramble up some soupy eggs for us,
we’re hungry, all of us, all the time.
Your emaciated and good at it, too.
You’re talking on the phone to no one in particular.
You hang up, “bye.”

Don’t tell me when to wake up.
Talk to me instead about hormones,
and poke fun at human anatomy.
Talk about how manic you are, and I’ll agree,
I’ll say, “me too.”

Flash freeze all your groceries.
Cancel your subscriptions, lock the fire-door
and wonder why you don’t like dogs.
Try to think of something to say to someone,
something nice.
Sam Temple Nov 2014
at long last
the gloves can be removed
with a Republican controlled
house and senate
this fascination with bashing
the B-rockstar
can end –
no longer will the focus be
on misinterpreted short-comings
denying reality to encourage racism
separation nation rationing social stations
only giving the elite
power –
the hour draws near
fog blanket encapsulates
hiding the sides from each other
brother against other
and everyone is ‘other’ –
gone is the sweet music
with so many wind gusts
leaving behind a dry California
to bake in the congress created c(LIE)mate
catastrophe –
the shadow of hope lingers in the darkest of hearts
leaving behind change
trading empire for magazine subscriptions
holding the gamer paddle
longing for unity –
As I look back over this last election cycle,
one thing is certain
Americans have misplaced anger
aggression without direction
complicating the scene
the burgeoning proletariat
paints freely –
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
I am feeling the shock of fast change. How to cope with it is of course the question. Listen to Beethoven through the neighbor's window? Look up from the page? Appreciate doves even though they are so numerous? I seem to have limitless choices although this cannot be true. Could I have become a computer specialist? Sure! How to remain still in the ever-maddening mandala. To remain still on the outer edge of the wheel is to ride laughingly and pluck at the gold key. I force myself down into the craw of the black vortex New York until I feel the strong oscillations gather rhythm and expel me or accept me.

What do I find within the black electric walls of this unique vortex? I find there is more space between people than I'd ever dared to hope. That my efforts are unnecessary and hopeless. I cancel my subscriptions and stop eating. I embrace wild roots and run through streets with arm around my girl.


What is important.
That question.
I part my lips in the middle
      and blow
eat corn chips, dipsy doodles
make love, eat grapes.
                                       In their mere chronology
events have no relation. How was making love
different from eating grapes. Differentiation

is essential to bring order from chaos. The chaos
is the accelerated change created by our own species
whose consummations have a quantum effect
      on the environment.
                                          But the chaos
existed long before, and long after us
in both more serene and violent forms.
Again a duality, but here's why.
each duality may then be said to be in a dual
relationship with another duality, forming
             These cubes are difficult to join
with other cubes, unless first they are
somewhat melted.
                                 We were traveling among
these cubes, maneuvering
through a static array of equidistant points
but finding it impossible to avoid striking them.

So why the difficulty adapting. Because no species
before us had to adapt to its own effects upon
environment? No, every species must

but our adaptations (of the world) are so successful
(such fabrications!) One green, one brown

                        Two dead leaves
             ­                       Then a breeze!


                        L­oveliness and loneliness
                        these periodic
                          ­         they sleep apart/together

sometimes not always
        using sheets of white nothing madly
                 connecting, splicing, parturition
                          continuing to birth life and ideals
                                   like ants or any other species.
                                            Tree, each poem, begins
                                                          ­       and ends and giving up
                                                              ­            to life's forms
                                                           ­                        graciously

surrendering to greater force, power, strength
        whatever it is called, the clog of heels
                 upstairs to the door, turning of
                          the key, the taking out of the
                                   garbage down below, car
                                            starting, placed in
                                                              ­   gear, cat
                                                             ­             meowing

anyway, for myself, personally, speaking only
        for myself, because although the Parks
                 Department rakes the leaves as it
                          did last autumn, to keep them
                                   from clogging the sewer system,
                                            I am in a heightened
                                                      ­           state of vibration
                                                       ­                   Quivering

like a long steel pipe banged hard against an
        iron beam. The hard hat feels it in
                 his hand (on the gears) but
                          great buildings are built that
                                   nature destroys in time
                                            with a little wind
                                                            ­     water, fire

air, you glide down through the limpid air
        toward the ninety-seven story abandoned structure
                 remnant of an earlier civilization
                          abandoned but not yet entirely
                                   swept away in slow waves
                                            of change.
Mitchell Duran Sep 2014

Uninspired by:
Finding Faith
Reinventing yourself
The lower-middle-class
Gender inequality
The Holocaust
Hope or
The lack thereof.

The list goes on...

A paragraph
Into a
Building block of what?

Are we
Still fighting?

Are we
Still interested?

Or are we just acting
Like we
Still give a ****, but
Just want to see
What the next season

The subscriptions
Have all
Ran out and all I can think about
Is that trip to somewhere

Isn't here.

How fast
Can you
Run along
The hamster wheel?

What happens when

Fall off it?

Who will

Be then?

Words of passion resonate
In the stellar light
Of the imagined unimaginable.

Taking ephemeral wisps
Of thought and
Molding them like
Wet red clay
On the side
Of some river
With the


Maybe it's all
Just a crap-chute.
Lily pad jumping
Until the
Next Gen. no longer
Needs legs.

No longer
Needs to be

No longer
The work week.

No longer finds it necessary
To be shackled
By said

Maybe everything will change,

Like it
Always has,

Time and Time Again.
M Apr 2017
I'm chasing happiness without realizing I'm running across a field filled with broken promises.
I'm chasing happiness without realizing I'm stomping on hearts I'd sworn I'd never break.
I'm chasing happiness without realizing I'm perspiring beads of bittersweet memories.
I'm chasing happiness without realizing I'm canceling my subscriptions to security.
Still I keep on chasing happiness not knowing what happiness actually looks like.
And if by any chance I failed to recognize the calming face of happiness, perhaps in chasing itself is where I'll find this stranger called
Robyn May 2013
How long will this be?
I ask, sure I won't get an answer
Possibly because I already know the answer
But I'm tired of listening to my own voice
So I ask
When, God, will this end?
I'm tired of being my only friend
I'm tired of everything
Of nothing
Which is all there seems to be
So I ask
Why won't you have mercy on me?
I'm sure I'm made for more than this
Than school, than lust
Than foolishness
Addicted to the things I hate
Afflicted by bitter bait
With a sweet, sweet voice
And sour taste
I beg you Lord, please make haste.*
Will I, can I end it all?
The floor is creaking in the hall
So hide away your past afflictions
Current addictions
Your sin subscriptions
Hide them all and take His hand
I'm so thirsty for you God
But I keep drinking sand
Chris Fernandez Nov 2015
News flash; Must dash.

Alert Bulletin, Networks dial in

Database updating, Query refreshing

Analytics fluctuating, Hits, Clicks, Subscriptions

Trending full swing, #Harbinge

Attention demanding, bittersweet pinging,

Swipe, select,

open link,


my story I’ve made for you.
With respects to the Nigerian Prince who's transferring me $10bn.
nico papayiannis Sep 2016
It was a morning of tranquility
And it was your vile tongue that had this abruptly undone
The birds were singing and inside my head your words were ringing
Intensity spiralling  
As you continue to chastise you really only manage to ostracise
Your red mist has descended and the white flag truce has ended
A battle commences as my back is turned to absorb your barrage of selfish subscriptions
Just another bright day of perpetual predictions
anastasiad Nov 2016
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Usually it is really an continuous as well as a steady method in the event that for the difficulty fixing is done then again there could be a whole new susceptibility produced. Spot supervision procedure have a lot of performs including:

a new)Making use of regarding ideal equipment to detect and search within the device regarding absent safety measures patches.

n)Enable the important changes are not set up then this solidity of the challenges really should be motivated. You'll want to balance the severity of the condition and view when they can affect the setting or otherwise not.

do)And if issue could hardly be motivated many people suitable patch really should be screened to get employed.

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Timothy hill Apr 2017
Lady of the sea, please recite this from me.

I'm the area, am the vessels am the breeze that moves your waves for there speed.

So take responsibility, as too my objective for you.

You are too stop, the hurricanes in there pace.

How am, I to do this task.

You will surge, your waves and move water at different speeds changing the heat.

They would then have taken of you its rage.

Disruption of fury, the hurricane, saying stop, let me destroy the city's and builds.

Am the focal point, of my only Mission
too divinely place chaos into points am chooseful.

Only the objective, is plane to construct.

Going into shelters yet my strengths have been modified, so watch as bridges collapse as my previous attempts where point-less!

Now sea's are higher, in frequencys and boiling my power even "higher out pours of rage".

So scents of "humid rain" back yards you will soon be mine.

For am, making a new Region of Space, for All my Destroyed "Components shall become There".

Spinning winds and scrap and walls.

Cars horns bering north as lighting is in designated local.

So as men, run there tallest builds fail miserable.

My honor, winks "hi" then changes to good bye, the dust fills the lung's of person sadly they couldn't have stopped this.

Long duration, as Weather men ponder how the hurricane, stayed in land so long.

Span, of 4 hours the hurricane changes it's path going for a flame of green.

So tax of yellow, and suits and blue jeans filth of pavements.

Tornados spawned in too eat the gross area's.

Tennis courts ***** then engulf into the spin of raft.

There was only whom, that could reverb the hurricane, he created in pure power.

He had made preportion, to avoid all out comes if successful was achieved.

The device uses all matter, in the range of the path of a power source.

And recalculate it's pressure on the ground.

See when a hurricane, stays in land it messy with the gravity some what strange.

Planes fell out of a rigid now sky.

Super weaponry, where place in a hurry to shoot, in attempts to diulth it's stain.

Sorry the creator, then states there noting the can accomplish.

For my plains are flawless and tip toeing in silent progress.

Only there is no means of transportation, for its matter is right at scene.

Deconstructing and unfilling your subscriptions.

I'm a teacher of metric diameters and master at construction.

So with amps of vocals sted fast with your own deductions.

Should have avoided the blank white of spaces.

For my out lines came and conduct reality mods.

My weather shall, yield pure fury tornados change to EF8 and hurricanes winds reach 344 mph.
Eriko Jul 2015
an overdressed succession
to the painted infatuations
pondering stand still in front of canvases
as the mind toils with suspension
beginning to peel back those layers
those brisk moments
subscriptions in distaste
the same faces repeatedly
beaten to templates
catch a breath
smoke a little
keep those goners sustained
keep a smile
before it slips away
loisa fenichell Sep 2014
Boy sinking boy drowning this is not
the first boy I’ve kissed

boy walking across pavement like streetlamp
it is as if he has no mouth he is so light

boy in his car reminds me of Grandfather in
the nursing home we visited Grandfather
there every weekend until I was 6 years old
and then he died all of the boys I’ve ever loved
have died in one way or another I am sitting
in this car with this boy and my legs feel huge
like claps of thunder and I can’t stop eating
his skin as though it were a consummation of sorts

we are listening to a song with lots of piano
boy plays piano because the keys remind him
of bits of time (the way he presses down on them
lightly like buzzes of flies)

I want these boys to know that
the days on which I miss Grandfather grow further
and further apart like old magazine subscriptions
the days on which these boys remind me of Grandfather
are every morning they all drink their coffee black
they all eat cold pancakes they all die circles underneath
their eyes dark as their coffee dark as their mothers’ wombs
Charles Sturies Feb 2017
I got 3 cute CDs - one a folk-country, the two others jazz
Some "different" clothes, with all their razz-a-ma-tazz
a box of diet candy that I thought was just dandy
and a nice Adele CD from one of the nurses here at the hospital
that ring a bell
Trendiness-wise in my subconscious,
a sweat suit from the state American Legion Auxiliary
So I can go out and jog with Hillary,
just kidding,
that would be too titillating
and exhilarating
for me
two books on conservationism that deserve some study
some toiletries,
two magazine subscriptions
for when things get murky,
nothing for muddiness
but then I'm not outside much.
preservationman Aug 2014
There was a knock at the door
Martha looked through the peek hole in explore
At first she hesitated to answer the door
But Martha wanted know more
Martha then asked the stranger what did he want?
The stranger was looking to sell subscriptions in her apartment
Martha then invited the stranger in and this is where our tail accelerates in begin
As the stranger sits next to Martha on the couch
The stranger begins move swiftly in touch
Suddenly the stranger begins in his **** tour and Martha says yoach
Martha tells the stranger to take his hand away
But the stranger still thinks his roaming is ok
Martha then tells the stranger she is not alone
Suddenly Martha’s dog runs out and attacks the stranger in a bite
But the stranger is too strong for the dog and he knocks the dog against the wall
The dog is knocked out in the stranger’s call
Martha shouts for the stranger to stop
But he continues in his ****** way
Just then, “Martha yells to the stranger she will not be it”
Immediately, Martha found knife and stabbed the stranger in the heart
Now Martha was truly thinking smart
Martha felt it was either her life or his
Neighbors heard the commotion and then call the Police
The Police had immediately arrived and Martha was saved from the stranger’s stride
Yet the stranger was almost dead
But that is what the stranger gets in Martha’s stead
Be careful in how you answer your door
You could be a victim not lucky in the score.
The phone rings,
Or rather vibrates,
As I stir my instant coffee
Because my Keurig is broken
And I haven’t gotten around to replacing it.
The lady on the other end
Of the call
Says she’s with the bank.
She’s selling identity theft protection subscriptions.
I listen to her
What that is
With mild excitement growing in my stomach;
Not with regards to the
But over the
Tones and intonations —
The way she breathes:
I let her run with it,
Feigning curiosity at first.
A question here,
To really get her going.
I wonder when she was last ******?
She asks to verify my name,
She mentions a credit score package
(Ooh la la)
That will provide me with insight as to whether my identity has ever been
(This call
Is getting steamy)
She tells me that in order to receive the package I need to confirm my enrolment in the subscription.
Could you repeat that?’
I can feel it
My soul,
As I sip my ****** instant coffee.
I tell her
That I absolutely won’t enrol,
That I refuse,
But that she should be a voice actor
Or that if she was a voice option for Siri
I would surely select her.
She doesn’t have a response,
Choosing to wish me a good evening instead,
And to thank me on behalf of her employer.
Thank you dear.
Call this number whenever you like.
I don’t want your talents to go unappreciated by other customers
Who I’m sure are all swines.’
I stare at the ended call
And fantasize about your voice,
And when you were last ******.
Too bad the coffee is ****.

— The End —