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olivia grace Sep 2013



can’t remember

which substance?



fill up my cup

fill up my pipe

fill up my syringe

fill up my veins

fill up my heart til it’s beating hard enough for me to feel alive

feed the mermaid in my kneecaps with glitter liquid

any kind

to make me forget

just want to use

to make me forget the pain
when he lays hands on me
lays his own
on me

someone once told me, substance abusers are weak
face your problems head on
why do you need to see stars before you wake up
why is coke your coffee
why is whiskey your orange juice
why is **** your pancakes

and I say
if I am weak
then how come I can cling onto the clouds

perhaps, if I could live to be 1000 years old
I will have clinged to the clouds long enough for them to get sick of me

but for now, those clouds are my demons
and I’ve never loved the color red
so much
Nemo Nov 2013
There once was a boy with too much substance.
He breathed mostly in sighs
He battled heavy eyes
He had too much substance.

He thought life would be easier if he was like the rest.
If he didn't over-think everything
and if he didn't fall in love with every girl who smiled at him.
He sighed.

He wished he could listen to happy music
and that his bed was warmer.
He thought the substance should keep him warm.
It did not.
He sighed.

He did not consider himself to be particularly intelligent
or better than his peers.
He longed for someone cursed with substance.
He was lonely.
He sighed.

He did not wished to be loved,
but to be understood.
He sighed.

He wished he did not have to write poetry.
But poetry has substance.
He had a strange love for metaphors
and hidden meanings.
He sighed.
He had too much substance.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
it's just a word among many others,
as ridiculous in over-usage as the word ego,
it's not exactly referring to a being
that could give you a skateboard or an aeroplane
gratis, i treat the word: less allahu akbar...
and more: red in conjunction with yellow
gives us orange: no church, no deity,
only a way of perfected communication
to a inclusive rather than a exclusive - or god
forbid a chiral - interpretation
(much of what i write that i cannot understand
by my self alone, is due to slack punctuation,
for punctuation in both speaking as in
all relevant musicology is misunderstood
via anomalies in punctuation, the higher
tier of syllables, in ref. to).*

the pre-secular world defined itself
with the word god,
the secular world defines itself
with the word ego:
amusing... considering you use
a blender, a kettle, a smartphone
and you can't associate yourself
with the thing fully:
we're hardly the ones who meddled
in designing it, manufacturing it,
or distributing it, alias:
when Descartes met Freud...
the it and the i bit... the substance bit
is fluid and ineffectual in terms
of argumentative trouble, but the extension
bit is necessary:
on the great Libra...
when Descartes met Freud the dispute ended with
like a poker game:
- o.k. Freud, i'll give you the extension
   if you'll concede that the extension is defined
   by dreams, and thinking remains a substance.
- Descartes, i think that thought is an extension
   and that dreams are the substance.
- you're sleepwalking then!
- you're not thinking then!
- o.k., but we're agreed the prime suspect is the ego?
- no, the prime suspect is the id.
- so you're telling me i can only identify myself
   when boiling water in a kettle and not
   nonchalantly perched on a windowsill smoking
   a cigarette?
- i didn't say that.
- so what are you insinuating, changing id from that
   to it, i've checked the scrambled dictionary,
   it's an omelette to say the least.
- the ego extends within the substance differently
   and outside the substance differently than the id.
- thank god you didn't mention your zygote superego
   monstrosity that would give me trans-role theatre
   where as a son i'm the father, and as a father i have no
   son... or is that too new testament for you?
- it's perfectly adequate.
- so to settle the matter, we have a unit,
  we have the end result and we have the multiplier,
  the unit is respectively split as:
  a. i - the noun collector / the noun user / the identifier,
      abstracted toward talk of identity is meaningless
      if you remember things based on their communicated
      bias of their inability to spontaneously explode
      into nothingness, memory erasure to boot... and
  b. i think - the non denoting activity, thinking while
      walking, sitting, eating... the inability to think
      while asleep produces dreams... it's non denoting
      easily the most complex expression of its ontology
      as in writing / not speaking / not really expressing
      the need to / optical entertainment on the page /
      a black & white movie encoded with letters...
      there is very little grammatical association with the
      action, almost all categorical associations are deviant
      when cognitively vectored, in cognitive terms
      vectors become tangents, the grand crushing wheel
      of thought only also a butterfly kiss of comprehension
      to necessitate rubrics of sloth slouch and hunchback
      years spent over an open book...
- Descartes! you're trailing off, i don't know where you're
  going with this!
- this, my dear fellow, is called abstracting consciousness,
  it's not really a representation of heraclitean consciousness
  or that irish jive of joyce far from dublin,
  i know i missed a point when i became over excited
  on the two themes of the unit, the spare unit
  and the engaging unit: one unit the vocabulary
  and the other unit the sedimentary composition
  of wrinkles and experience and replicas...
- but where are we? i feel i'm the dante and you the virgil!
- one's own depths are the chasms within the chasm that's hell.
- but in all honesty, i could have spent hours talking
   to jung, and with you i want the conversation to be
   as brief as possible.
- ideally i already mentioned everything i needed to mention,
  you basically do not identify your prime unit
  (the id) as a possessor of any activity, i already told
  you that the reason we dream is because we can't
  think asleep, dreaming is the by-product of the
  cognitive inhibitors we have in place asleep,
  we can walk and sit and eat and think,
  we can't sleep and think, hence we dream,
  that's the mediating extension of things,
  your substance is the unconscious
  my substance is being conscious (consciousness,
  as if that added any quality to being),
  your unit is the id (which is like a cursed scalpel
  cutting into nothingness), my unit is
  the dissociation from nouns and the association
  with action, primarily thinking, whereby
  thought doubles up as categorisation of substance:
  consciousness the glass, thought the water in it;
  etc. etc. etc.
Asta Viola Bro Feb 2015
A psychedelic substance
A psychedelic substance
Drugs. Drugs a unrelated substance.
familiar states of consciousness, familiar states.

A stimulation
A stimulation of the body
in my body
the drug, with the familiar states of consciousness
familiar states

Oh God, oh Jesus
The hallucinogens as known as drugs

Jesus, a pusher, a dealer
a psychedelich *******
a Psychedelich mushroom
like the substance
the psychedelic substance

Capture your attention
in a box
in your mind
in your psychedelic jesus mind

Jesus was a pusher
jesus was a drug addict
a psychodelic drug addict with drums around his neck

Feelings, euphoria, empathy
for Jesus
Love, heightened self-awereness
only for Jesus
Only for my dealer

Increased sensuality, increased awareness of sensation.
Creativity, paranoia
Paranoia over Jesus
A poem written based on Wikipedia's knowledge of the psychedelic drug
Yellow Boots Apr 2015
It's when I write about you
that everything gets clear again,
the compass points North again,
I'm found when it's you I write about.
Silly, you, my last cigarette
that it's today, then it's tomorrow,
then it's never
(might denote substance abuse on my part,
lack of substance on yours,
plenty of essence, silly eyed you).
Your stubble-ness that never hurt
my skin, my drama queen attitude
that's so last year.
We've both grown, now
irony is free, a laughter
that wakes up the neighbors, mine,
your sobriety, sober shirts, sober posture;
you don't get my jokes anymore, do you?
Silly serious grown-up haircut,
stick my fingers up your nose,
teach you how to be stray and free again,
tell you all is good, I still love you
like an orphan a passer-by, you
so northerly cold, fierce, insecure, mask
behind which my golden silly one lies sad
unaware of substance, essence
caught on a leash that's his own free will.
absinthe Jul 2018
sat next to the man with two phones
i asked him to hold my hand
and he laughed  

sitting in his ‘96 civic
for three hours we fell asleep
till six since three

he’s one of the many men
whose substance
far from the moral field
leaves many men with little substance
and you and me victims
of victims of you and me

he’s the type who feeds fiends
and he’ll keep making a killing
off children we perceive
as grown men and women
living to **** themselves
it’s how he makes a living

don’t him you belittle
for you are no different  

i know the thought makes you livid
you wish he was lined up and shot with the likes of him
but your white lies are their white lines
and the front lines in his line of business
so you would lie alongside and
wrong right
where you were digging

as far as i’m concerned
he’s not a man without substance
and one of much substance
one of few and far between
and certainly could you defeat

because while you let savages ravage me
he held my hand for free
and never demanded their standard fee
of an arm  
and a leg
and everything in between

Allie Dotson Jan 2019
How can you be so infatuated on a single substance
A single thing that can ruin any connection that may try to sprout
To make what is already grown
fragile enough untill they all have been shattered

As it is a wall blocking those who choose it
from the real world
and yet you choose the foreign substance
but do you consider how dangerous that something is
That you can loose your own body
your own mind
your own life

People talk about aliens
or if mind control really exists
but the undeniable is already reeping the nation  
with the acceptance age being 21

you have given over your mind and body
The contract signed
A signature with your name finished in a lithal red
It might as well of been your will
For the only life you will live
won't even be lived as as you

you choose to be isolated
accompanied by something you've only know for a couple of years
and leave behind the people whom you have known all your life
or worse all of theirs

The life where you have choices
to not be bounded
To be in control
Is gone with a simple existence
a baneful prison
A fate which you solidified
with setting a reminder in the back of your head
A nag that is eating away any sanity  
Deteriorating each sip that goes by

The mind so weak
though so always frail
easy to be controlled by a simple substance

yet It is only though that
when your body looses way
and the pain from with in seeps through
with the physical limitations having been met
For then you finally say
I shouldn't of started
Yet how come you still won't stop?
like know just time mind life feel world lost say we're things think love there's does people night away way thought got words long reality want better left make end eyes day man human dark experience remember really right death memory going place high good live city thoughts soul meaning great pain home sky believe shall change living oh fall light choice god consciousness existence years cause hard feeling thinking fear times 'cause dreams ask alive heart need past felt days dream sensation truth true use power knowledge wrong stars understand baby tell state thing face wave broken old you'll wave new broken nature you'll **** mental look far ah drug moment best ago air lose sleep dare try leave beautiful blue born lives escape sublime doesn't body dawn friends waiting feels young daze game control perception gone story mean sun head given writing act difference reason poetry philosophy psyche little trying touch deep greatest wonder choose drugs exist we'll moments score hold play set run self forget coming hope word future dead wish burn music emotion rain stop gaze pleasure glass one's what's lies sense wake hit remain real work bad stay open brain art seek space present happy spent acid pill social we've they're half-light used land held gotta help lie path finally listen actually longing rave water cold seeking caught energy reflection information anymore venturous goes came red hide start truly hand evil divine subtle matter kind lonely yes told eternity keeps line black edge ego context dusk horizon gonna spiritual tripping dimension data die white **** seen means care getting saw places sure freedom looking hurt fool wind flow search chance la took broke existential summer content flowing belief praise empyrean empathy discovery chemical aeon couldn't who's turn forth bit question eye judgement pray passion sound personal worth memories sanity accept universe embrace lack knows free makes rise language decide consider temporal society gain wander conscious stuff religious comprehend particle psychedelic metaphysics you've entheon absurdia entactus maybe ready fate realize family meant return perfect learn miss spirit doubt rest loved minds health moving mortal bring expression sleeping cast lines purpose quiet known strange infinite king months madness haze depths ate party patterns oneself psychedelion inside guess crowd later silent clear soft breath hours hate dust forgotten arms drink fast year war longer close searching morning ashes calm beauty darkness different justice fell friend shadows knowing fine youth heavy standing sweet enjoy explain vain simple chasing hidden ends smoke gold heaven follow point person breaking necessary today relief action cool possible bass generation lying listening machine yeah substance hath engine forlorn problem subject intangible study effort quantum definitions dopamine psychedelics we'd sigma cybran apotheon isn't empathion clouds practice gave warm wanted stand poem wait storm met asleep course skies crime surely grow depression write loose fair ecstasy knew dreaming humanity waves share taken simply faith playing sands view fix winter afraid began wise welcome comprehension sought late big zero table says bliss changed repetition everybody blame unto maze understanding mr explore states ignore addiction venture define teenage american humans billion she's wasn't 'til sonder walk smile tonight speak dance skin blood breathe fears illuminate worse peace girl crave easily emotions feelings **** having force ways lets catch meet hair doors worlds hearts destroy heard walking near hurricane wisdom lights second suicide ignorance fresh waking sadness grand happiness appear rising scared save join adventure neon outside alike liberty particles wonderful compounds killed somebody grace merely closer company desert master twisted realm respect trance ridiculous *** exile pondering noble dangerous absurd nation progress culture contradiction perceive irish urban phenomena cyberspace scoreboard psi ain't you'd mydriasis entheogenesis **** ones taste throw watch painting room alas lay history spend apart sea staring poet fact cut smell happened admit river wasted brought leaves making answer sorry glow learned decided grasp breeze bed begin pretty floor lived sole sand cure awake sight tears barely kept running safe roam willing prefer mist heads asked prose wandering sounds imagine looked hour growing recognize soon falls mirror treat ***** brother climb hero problems granted digital proud changes birth quest age spring aware doing witness names amazed ****** despite takes condition intoxication level beginning worked pupils decision object insanity rhythm medium quality weather physical false process strife individual journey doth code effects abandoned channel judge notions moral swear experienced greater chain natural thunderous cleanse determine shivering hallowed plus reckon caused adolescence media superposition addict connection indigo ethics survived definition reasoning internet feedback vibrancy serotonin cyclone hacker sardonic surreality virtuality here's he's sunyata temporality ******'s empathos apotheotelos flash shining green forever anger carry son moon selfish written supposed feed ya quite loop hooked pure feet hole paper flag sick voice burning attention fly utter wicked tremble endless form infinity talking piece shores verse chest rules food placed plan hallelujah called gun fading drinking emotional measure inspiration suffering belong west read sly instead bear erase furious shame conclusion drunk roll ******* depressed calls taught died defined tire everyday answers sacred acknowledge speaks perfection games ground spoke stood motion sway keeping pretend hell movement magic park key spin kick sake jump hanging animal begins orange streetlights fade crazy honest warp puppet chained survive apathy chains claim prey science diamonds begging grip tale hang powerful wonderland heal dealing plant twice 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remains stained insane reached lot discovered plain poison streets killing ending tried session vs poor woke stare watching grass slick emptiness falling box painter series children virtues awareness clean rolling reach advice heavens rend half cherish bay started relax focus laughed ashamed fiend melody drop exhale void occurs beneath win chose robes thrall shield ended sons normal sunrise road forged onward burden actions unlike colors curious street observe chosen silence shades returns technology race vengeance swept bag civilization strive reconcile trouble cloud described replaced substances whilst finding euphoria dear chemistry events deal message eternal masses beliefs vision apparent honestly dr seeing idea domain soar books frames rule law pleasures eat dread bare blaze raise compassion kindness wandered objects expressed sin declare mistake smoking drum heavenly honor lands fountain renew happening aspect gotten issues divinity teach matters pills goal follows significant 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chances abuse palm week existed ignorant blind dice sheep agree joke spy spill odds immeasurable *** pushing wanderlust softly midst presents blade guided ripped round ball lovely rhythms beats cars glaze wash fates evening vein gloss juvenile sides faces graces month circular rung wheel rises permeates father supreme portal liked rip fades october sitting grin showing surrounded explored opened confused wall quietly deftly scene sighs lingering radio altered evaporated suns dreamed vibration important appetite exactly devil inhabiting brains ordinary beckons constant local organic soothing linger meditation moonlight lads height ethereal simplicity kinda cigarette suggest violence blew bombs arise trips predict surface guy movements grey car stepped large bank forward landed lied ancient purely crash direction inspired release warned melodic rhythmic telling mysticism blues riddle blur floating drama neck lover nerve poisonous glare factory wage character suburbia escaped gates suspended followed pierced hall marks ruled influence functioning contained losing stopping effect electronica relate fed temper facts dependent malleable convey bent delve horror wolves won lacking certainly fooled temple oblivious watches extension molecular random subtlety rem price sear covers truths judging stage frost conditions victory millennium realised confront trickster eve daughter defines awoke terror remembere
Composed on 00:53, 21/09/2016 using Hello Poetry's 'Words' algorithm. We don't assume this means something.
Madeline Jun 2012
white clouds into her lungs, the pretty girl,
ripping her clothes on the sink -
stumble into the smoke, and gasp its illusions.

we're all wretched,
and no one rises.

she lies back on the man-dirtied bed of hers and
we're all substance, and we're all abused.

we're all wretched,
and no one rises.

climb if you can, little girl, or just lie back and let the whiteness
shroud you in its powdered lying.
the things we'd all do for a little substance, the things we all do for a little abuse.

your clothes are too fervent, aren't they?
and removed too fast, and all for this substance,
all this abuse.

rip your clothes on the sink
into it.
a woman of substance the magazine proclaims
and what are these "substances" may I ask?

Its her grit and determination
her will to succeed
to overcome and defend her rights
if need be
loving and nurturing are not her only duties
she can also break your heart or break your bones
messing with her is not a risk you need
she creates her own space
she finds her own niche

She may be a social butterfly, a business woman,
a sports star, a housewife or a maid indeed
but a woman of substance is one of a kind indeed
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
jake aller Apr 2019
April 15, 2019  

Prayers for the Future of the Planet

A shaman priestess
Is deep in thought
Engaged in Meditation
on the fate
Of the earth

She is deep in the cosmic woods
In the world between worlds
Where she is communing
With the spirits of the universe
Who listen to her tale of woe

She tells them
Of the rise of the neo fascists
And the refusal to address
The possible end of the world
Due to run away climate change

She prays and prays
And finally
She receives an answer
More a prediction
It is all up to humans

She has two visions
Of a possible future
Two contrasting visions
One a dystopian nightmare
The other an optimistic vision

The first
The neo fascists
Seize control
And usher in a dystopian nightmare
That ends with utter destruction

Nuclear war
Nuclear winter
Ends climate change
As civilization ends
And mankind retreat to caves

And it happens
In a blink of an eye
In less than five years
The world will end
Game over civilization ends

The second vision
The optimistic vision
Humanity wakes up
From their collective night mare
Throws off the neo fascist cabal

And begin to change the world
Making the economy works
For all of us
Not just the corrupt 1 percent
The so-called masters of the Universe

They are overthrown
In a people’s power revolution
All over the world
People wake up
Demand change

And slowly the world
Begins to recover
And overcome
The dark hours
Of the present age

The shaman priestess
Returns home
To spread the word
It up to us
To choose our fate

The end is indeed near
It is darker than you think
But it is not over yet
If we choose the path
Of the cosmic light

And overthrow
The neo fascist cabal
And restore democracy
And peace will break out
And all will end well

If not
Well she says
You have been warned
The universe has spoken
So, mote it be

April 16, 2019
Why do all fake Natives call themselves “Cherokees”?

Erasure Poem
So many fake Indians these days
Elizabeth Warren is one
And according to my DNA results
I am too

But my grand-parents spoke Cherokee my mom claims
And they disappeared into the hills
She claims

Is the DNA test wrong?
Was I adopted ?
Or is it possible
That I am a real deal

A real Cherokee
Or am I fake Cherokee???

A Cherokee weighed in on this on Quora

First, I would never call them “fake Natives”.
They are 99% white,
mostly Blue-collar, and New Age Hippie,

who are simply
lost without their own specific identity
that they can proudly Claim,

so therefore,
they search for a certain Popular,

Romanticized segment of Indigenous People
that will “fit”
into their Family’s historical Lore.

Second, it just happens to ALWAYS be …
the Cherokee …

either Blackfoot or Lakota.

AND, “My GGM was a Cherokee Princess”,
as an add-on VALUE.

This is primarily
because of the vast area
formerly inhabited by the Cherokee.

However, the tribes’ interaction
with European immigrants since colonial times,
led to a great deal of intermarriage
with non-indigenous populations.

In many cases people have limited knowledge
of the other Native American nations,
that inhabited the areas in which they live.

However, a lot of this is wishful thinking,
and these people have African American
or other non-European ancestry.

It is fashionable to claim indigenous ancestry ,
in an attempt to legitimize t

Their sense of belonging on our lands.
The reason is simple,

they don’t know the names of the other tribes.
There has never been a song called
“Indian Reservation” about Apache People
or any other tribe but, the Cherokee.

“Indian Reservation”
by Paul Revere and the Raiders.

So if those people aren’t Cherokee
by blood at least it’s in spirit.

And so I conclude
I may be part Cherokee
Part of the lost tribe
Of the Cherokee

But who really knows
My mother took many things
With her to the grave
Lots of family secrets

Things I will never know
But in my heart
I know
That I am part Cherokee

And so I will proudly
Claim I am part Cherokee
In spirt
If not in blood

Source document:

Source quora
My great grandmother was a Native American, why doesn't it show on my results, not enough DNA samples from that tribe or is the extent of the genocide a possible reason?

Sam Morningstar, Native American, Ground Combat Veteran (Iraq)
Answered Apr 5
Statistically speaking, most Americans claiming their great-grandmother was Native American are just passing on family lore, and the ancestor in question wasn’t actually Native American at all, or the the lineage was much further back in their line (if it’s accurate at all).
The second thing is that there is now this recent narrative that is going around the internet that says the sample set of Native Americans in the DNA testing databases is too small, and that is what is throwing off the results for Native American admixture in North America. That’s just more of the rationalization from people fall into the scenario I described in my opening paragraph. Meaning, these are White Americans with the bogus lore that are surprised when “their Native American ancestry” isn’t showing up in DNA tests that they are taking. So, since they already believe or “know” that this exists and great-granny was a Cherokee/Native American they look for alternative narratives that help to explain or rationalize the “false results.”
It’s easier than delving into the actual genealogy and correcting the false lore they’ve inherited (and frequently internalized as their “heritage” or part of their identity).
The third possibility which is statistically slim, would be that great-granny was Native but of mixed blood, and through random genetic inheritance variation, you just didn’t get enough genetic sequences that can be identified as Native American. Usually, the range where DNA from distant ancestors gets sort of lost is at the GGG grandparent level. But, I supposed it could happen at lower levels for a mixed blood great-grandparent.
But, even then, a great-grandparent that was an actual Native American - whether full or mixed blood - would be found with genealogical records confirming their tribal affiliation. The family would be easily traced, and would tie back to a small and finite population.
The Native population in 1900 was just around 250,000 people, representing 500+ tribal nations, living in distinct communities. Most weren’t even US citizens until 1924. And they were very well tracked in records from the 1800s through the 1900s (and into present time).
It’s very easy to corroborate your “missing” Native American results by doing standard genealogy. Extremely easy
There were no communities that hid out or remained in the Ozarks. There were Cherokees that removed west prior to Trail of Tears, moving first to southeast Missouri, then Arkansas. But, they were only in that location briefly. This Arkansas population then moved to Indian Territory when the Eastern contingent was removed in 1838-1839. A few stragglers perhaps lingered on into the early 1840s, before heading to Cherokee Nation west. No community persisted there (just a few individuals families, perhaps).
The eastern Texas group wasn’t re-founded in Rusk County until the late 1840s and into the 1850s (prior to Civil War). They were mixed bloods, and were always a small community. They also weren’t hiding.
The ones that stayed in the east also weren’t necessarily hiding. A few hundred took up allotments in 1817-19, around the Nantahala and Econluftee River valleys in western NC. They were joined by a few hundred more (that were hiding or escaping the Removal) in the late 1830s, for a total of about 900-1000 souls. The other group that stayed in the east were mixed bloods married to White spouses. They did not have to hide, as they were choosing to stay according to the terms of the Treaty of New Echota.
All of these groups were found on the Siler and Chapman Rolls in the early 1850s. Then, there was the Hester Roll in 1884. They were not hiding or passing for white.
Also, the intermarriage with Blacks was always historically low for the Cherokee. And it was even lower for the mixed blood Eastern Cherokees. It happened from time to time around Qualla Boundary. But, it wasn’t necessarily common (and it wasn’t escaped slaves).
“…my grandparents spoke Cherokee, but none were considered Indian as they were never enrolled anywhere.”
The only place where Cherokees continued speaking Cherokee after Removal in 1839 was within the Eastern Band Community. That’s it. Your grandparents most certainly did not speak Cherokee unless they were members of this band. There is effectively no exception this. This community was just around 3,000 by 1924-1928. And the full blood Cherokee speakers would be a smaller subset of this total number. We are talking well under a couple thousand, tops. And you would almost certainly be a member of Eastern Band today if this were true.
My great grandmother was a Native American, why doesn't it show on my results, not enough DNA samples from that tribe or is the extent of the genocide a possible reason?
I’d say there could be a number of reasons.
How do you know your great grandmother was Native American?
Which side of the family where these things on. If it is on your father’s side maybe your father really isn’t your biological father.
Maybe there was an adoption, you, your relevant parent or your relevant grandparent was adopted.
Maybe your sample was mixed up with someone else’s or maybe where you got your DNA sample done was not really reputable.
Genocide isn’t going to be the issue with these tests missing something like that.
There is also the chance that you don’t have any of your grandmother’s genes.
Your relevant grandparent will have half of her genes. Your relevant parent you’d expect to have about 1/4 of your great grandmother’s genes but it could be that your relevant parent ended up not passing on any of your great grandmothers chromosomes or very unlikely, but still possible, doesn’t themselves have any of your grandmothers DNA.
Many people do not understand the profound differences between genealogy and genetics.
Genealogy is a cultural-defined theory about how people are descended from their ancestors. We imagine that we have one-half of our inheritance from our mothers and half from our fathers. In turn, we imagine we have one-fourth inheritance from each of our grand-parents, and in turn one-eighth from each great-grandparent, and so on. This is a useful model for thinking about the inheritance of property rights, or thinking about who is line next for the throne.
Genetics is the study of the biological inheritan...
Why do all fake Natives call themselves “Cherokees”?

You must be reading Sam Morningstar…we have SO many jokes about the wannabe Cherokees. Cherokee is probably the best known among key indigenous peoples in the colonial US, the most accessible, one of the most successful and very much already organizing themselves like Europeans. The Trail of Tears gives a rather convenient contrived heritage, as well. It’s very probable that many, many people had a Cherokee ancestor, if they were born from seven generations in the South or in the Appalachians. It’s an easy one to catch. By contrast, few people are going to claim Navajo, because of their dis...
Not “all,” but many, if not most fakes out there will claim this.
This is just part of the larger Cherokee blood lore phenomenon. A lot of these people are from older eastern colonial ancestral roots, and many legitimately have this blood myth or lore about “Cherokee blood.” Meaning, it’s a thing that gets repeated in their families, and they are just running with the claim. Some just take it for what it is, unproven lore. But, some of these people really latch onto this pseudo-identity. The more zealous and those with true mental issues will spin it into much, much, more. So, that’s when yo...

Dream 511 fake foods – erasure poem not for posting add fake things

So many fake foods
These days
Hard to keep track
Of them all

9 Popular Foods That Are Total Frauds

Whether you’re dining out
or whipping up an easy dinner
at home,

you like to think
that the foods you eat
are as advertised, right?

But even though you probably know
that Cheez ****
is a far cry from organic aged cheddar

and bottled fruit juices
don't grow on trees,

Who knew, right?
that these foods
are masquerading
as something they're not.
1. Red Velvet

A lot of people
obsesses over red velvet cake
But if they knew

that the ruby-colored dessert
was really just artificially colored
chocolate cake,
think they’d have the same reaction?

2. Wasabi

If you’ve ever
dipped a chopstick
into that creamy green substance
on your sushi plate

(and got a runny nose
and burning throat as reward),
we’ve got another
surprise for you:

That spicy stuff
is parading as something it’s not.

Traditional Japanese wasabi
is freshly grated
(it loses its heat
within a few minutes of being served)

and can cost up to $100 per pound.
To save a major chunk of change,
your local takeout spot
likely serves a substitute

that’s really a combination of mustard,
and green food coloring
for the characteristic hue

(95 to 99 percent of American sushi restaurants do).

The horseradish mixture is still super hot
but genuine wasabi has more of a pleasurable kick,
and less of a searing, bitter taste.
3. Crab Meat

Sorry to bust your bubble again,
sushi lovers
(especially if your go-to is a California roll):
Those crab pieces aren’t,
in fact, meat from a creature
that lives on the bottom of the sea.

So what are you eating?
Imitation crab,
which is technically called kamaboko,
a processed seafood made of surimi
(the pulverized paste of white fish flesh).

It was invented in Alaska
In the late 50’s
As a way to salvage
Some value

From the left over
Wasted fish pieces
Left over after flash freezing

It soon became
A huge seller
In Japan
Then the world

The paste is frozen,
shaved into flakes,
and ground in a vat

with starch, egg whites,
and crab-like flavorings.
Oh yeah,

and then it’s
colored with orange food dye
to make it appear more “crabby.”

How’s that for appetizing?
Imitation crab meat
is like the hot dog of seafood,"

100 percent fake
And tastes so good

4. White Chocolate

File this away for Valentine’s Day:
That box of white chocolates
isn’t the heart-boosting sweet
we’ve come to think of chocolate

Real chocolate contains
three must-have components:
chocolate liquor, cocoa butter,
and cocoa solids

But the white kind
lacks chocolate liquor and cocoa solids
—which means it’s also missing flavanols,
the antioxidants that give the authentic stuff
nutritional benefits.
5. Pomegranate Juice

Studies suggest that drinking pomegranate
juice may help prevent certain health
conditions like high cholesterol,
high blood pressure, and congestive heart failure .

Sound too good to be true?
juices claiming to be pomegranate
were actually made of grape juice and grape skins.

And in 2014,
Pom Wonderful successfully sued Coca-Cola
for false advertising

after its Minute Maid
Pomegranate Blueberry blend
turned out to be

made almost entirely from apple
and grape juice, with only 0.1 percent pomegranate juice.
6. Breakfast Syrup

Whipping up a batch of waffles
this weekend?
You may want
to think twice

before adding your toppings.
Most breakfast syrups
found at the grocery store

are nothing like traditional maple syrup,
which can be a healthy choice.

Instead of the real stuff
from maple trees,
lots of commercial versions
are made of two types of corn syrup
along with a ton of artificial additives
and zero nutritious value (sorry, Aunt Jemima).

Again 100 percent fake food
Designed by the evil food industry
Scientists to addict us to their
sweat tasting poisonous food
7. Bacon Bits

From popcorn
to soap and even deodorant,


bacon hmmm bacon hmm bacon must have my bacon
my inner dog

continues to be all the rage.

But fans of the fatty pork product
won’t be too pleased to know
that those “bacon bits”
are technically vegan!

Lacking any animal products,
these crispy bites
are made of artificially flavored
textured soy flour
and other ingredients

including caramel color,
maltodextrin, yeast extract,
and flavor enhancers

called disodium inosinate
and disodium guanylate.
100 percent fake
Remember if you can’t pronounce it

It is probably bad for you
Not all vegan food
Is health food

8. Veggie Burgers

A vegetable-based patty
certainly sounds
like the better-
for-you option

over a juicy, medium-rare burger.
The problem is that veggies
masquerading as meats

are usually made of few,
if any, actual vegetables!

Instead they’re often filled
with over-processed ingredients,
including wheat gluten,
soy, and vegetable oil.

A report also found
that some patties
contain hexane,
a potentially toxic by-product
of gasoline refining.

*** Who knew?

As if that’s not enough,
some veggie burgers
are packed with sodium
(as much as 400-plus milligrams—

more sodium than a single-serving
bag of potato chips—per patty).
They are in fact
The ultimate example
Of Fake food
9. Popcorn “Butter”

You know that liquid
that squirts out of a canister
at the theater?

No spoiler alert here:
It is (dangerously)
far from the real,
grass-fed deal.

This “buttery topping”
(as it’s called on manufacturers’ websites)
is typically made
mainly from hydrogenated soybean oil

(a trans fat), artificial flavoring,
beta carotene for color,
and preservatives.

One tablespoon of the topping
delivers nine grams
of saturated fat—
half a day’s limit—

plus half a gram of naturally
occurring trans fat,
the really bad stuff that lowers
“good” HDL cholesterol
and raises “bad” LDL cholesterol

. Even more:
One common flavoring agent
is diacetyl, a toxic substance
that has been associated with lung disease.

Bottom line

Best to avoid
These fake foods
And all the other
Fake foods

That the evil food industry
Continues to foster on us

Falsely proclaiming
It is good for you
So very good for you

Source document
9 Popular Foods That Are Total Frauds
Whether you’re dining out or whipping up an easy dinner at home, you like to think that the foods you eat are as advertised, right? Choosing fresh, whole foods is the easiest way to know you're getting what you pay for, but sometimes the convenience of a restaurant (or Seamless) wins out.

12 "Healthy" Snacks That Make You Hungrier

But even though you probably know that Cheez **** is a far cry from organic aged cheddar and bottled fruit juices don't grow on trees, we had no idea that these foods are masquerading as something they're not. (Sadly, we'll never look at sushi the same way!)
1. Red Velvet
We all have a friend who obsesses over red velvet cake (and of course, its signature cream cheese frosting. Mmm frosting.). But if they knew that the ruby-colored dessert was really just artificially colored chocolate cake, think they’d have the same reaction? Sadly the trademark red hue doesn't signify any special flavor: Most red velvet recipes call for around one or two tablespoons of unsweetened cocoa powder as well as about one teaspoon of vanilla extract to create that distinct (and delicious) light, chocolate-y taste. (But some chefs work around it by naturally tinting their tasty treatswith beets.)
The Need-to-Know: A slice of red velvet cake or a cupcake isn't going to hurt you, but it's best to consider it an occasional indulgence, and not just because it's packed with sugar. "I try to minimize my exposure to artificial colorings, even though the negative impact of artificial food colorings is still controversial," says Greatist expert Mike Roussell, Ph.D., founder of Naked Nutrition.
2. Wasabi
If you’ve ever dipped a chopstick into that creamy green substance on your sushi plate (and got a runny nose and burning throat as reward), we’ve got another surprise for you: That spicy stuff is parading as something it’s not. Traditional Japanese wasabi is freshly grated (it loses its heat within a few minutes of being served) and can cost up to $100 per pound. (And you thought adding guac at Chipotle was pricy.) To save a major chunk of change, your local takeout spot likely serves a substitute that’s really a combination of mustard, horseradish, and green food coloring for the characteristic hue (95 to 99 percent of American sushi restaurants do). The horseradish mixture is still super hot but genuine wasabi has more of a pleasurable kick, and less of a searing, bitter taste.
The Need-to-Know: On the bright side, horseradish, like real wasabi, may offer some antibacterial health benefits . But with the horseradish mixture, you're ingesting some artificial flavors and colors as well. However since you're eating such a small amount (unless your mouth has gone numb!) it probably doesn't make much of a difference. Bottom line: There doesn't seem to be any real harm in the fake stuff, Roussell says.
3. Crab Meat
Sorry to bust your bubble again, sushi lovers (especially if your go-to is a California roll): Those crab pieces aren’t, in fact, meat from a creature that lives on the bottom of the sea. So what are you eating? Imitation crab, which is technically called kamaboko, a processed seafood made of surimi (the pulverized paste of white fish flesh). The paste is frozen, shaved into flakes, and ground in a vat with starch, egg whites, and crab-like flavorings. Oh yeah, and then it’s colored with orange food dye to make it appear more “crabby.” How’s that for appetizing?
The Need-to-Know: "Imitation crab meat is like the hot dog of seafood," Roussell says. "Once in a while it isn't going to **** you, but you should do better for your body." Sushi can still be a healthy choice, but stick with salmon or yellowfin tuna to ensure you’re eating what you think you ordered. Also, Roussell recommends steering clear of tilefish, shark, and swordfish due to their high mercury content.
4. White Chocolate
File this away for Valentine’s Day: That box of white chocolates isn’t the heart-boosting sweet we’ve come to think of chocolate as (and use as an excuse to eat it regularly). Real chocolate contains three must-have components: chocolate liquor, cocoa butter, and cocoa solids (often in addition to other ingredients). But the white kind lacks chocolate liquor and cocoa solids—which means it’s also missing flavanols, the antioxidants that give the authentic stuff nutritional benefits. In fact, in 2004 the Food and Drug Administration ruled that in order for a product to be called “white chocolate,” it has to contain at least 20 percent cocoa butter and no more than 55 percent sugar or other sweeteners. (This was to stop many manufacturers from using cheaper fats like vegetable oil instead of including cocoa butter).
The Need-to-Know: Despite the FDA ruling, there are still some imposters out there, so look for high-quality white chocolate with cocoa butter, which has an ivory—not pure white—hue. Even better, switch to dark chocolate.
5. Pomegranate Juice
Studies suggest that drinking pomegranate juice may help prevent certain health conditions like high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and congestive heart failure . Sound too good to be true? It might be if you’re not picky about which bottle you grab. A number of reports in the U.S. Pharmacopeial Convention’s Food Fraud Database found that juices claiming to be pomegranate were actually made of grape juice and grape skins. And in 2014, Pom Wonderful successfully sued Coca-Cola for false advertising after its Minute Maid Pomegranate Blueberry blend turned out to be made almost entirely from apple and grape juice, with only 0.1 percent pomegranate juice.
The Need-to-Know: Since there is some science that points to pomegranate's superfood qualities, you don't have to give it up entirely. Just take this as another reminder to read labels (fun as that is, we know) to be sure your drink is 100 percent pomegranate. Or learn the best way to deseed a pomegranate and reap all the health benefits in your own kitchen.
6. Breakfast Syrup
Whipping up a batch of waffles (or even better, protein pancakes) this weekend? You may want to think twice before adding your toppings. Most breakfast syrups found at the grocery store are nothing like traditional maple syrup, which can be a healthy choice. Instead of the real stuff from maple trees, lots of commercial versions are made of two types of corn syrup along with a ton of artificial additives and zero nutritious value (sorry, Aunt Jemima).
The Need-to-Know: Try to avoid the colored corn syrup and go for a bottle that lists 100 percent pure maple syrup as its one and only ingredient. Not only is it a sweeter way to top your flapjacks, but it also contains nutrients like zinc, which helps support your immune system, Roussell says.
7. Bacon Bits
From popcorn to soap and even deodorant, bacon continues to be all the rage. But fans of the fatty pork product won’t be too pleased to know that those “bacon bits” are technically vegan! Lacking any animal products, these crispy bites are made of artificially flavored textured soy flour and other ingredients including caramel color, maltodextrin, yeast extract, and flavor enhancers called disodium inosinate and disodium guanylate.
The Need-to-Know: Whether you eat meat or not, you want to skip this fake food. If you want bacon on your potato, simply chop up a slice of the real thing and sprinkle it on—one tablespoon of bacon isn't going to hurt you, Roussell says. Or try some of these delicious ways to top your spuds with actual food instead.
8. Veggie Burgers
A vegetable-based patty certainly sounds like the better-for-you option over a juicy, medium-rare burger. The problem is that veggies masquerading as meats are usually made of few, if any, actual vegetables! Instead they’re often filled with over-processed ingredients, including wheat gluten, soy, and vegetable oil. A reportalso found that some patties contain hexane, a potentially toxic by-product of gasoline refining. (What?!) As if that’s not enough, some veggie burgers are packed with sodium (as much as 400-plus milligrams—more sodium than a single-serving bag of potato chips—per patty).
The Need-to-Know: Make your own tasty version at home. Or opt for gluten-free, soy-free versions like the ones from Amy's or Beyond Meat.
9. Popcorn “Butter”
You know that liquid that squirts out of a canister at the theater? No spoiler alert here: It is (dangerously) far from the real, grass-fed deal. This “buttery topping” (as it’s called on manufacturers’ websites) is typically made mainly from hydrogenated soybean oil (a trans fat), artificial flavoring, beta carotene for color, and preservatives. One tablespoon of the topping delivers nine grams of saturated fat—half a day’s limit—plus half a gram of naturally occurring trans fat, the really bad stuff that lowers “good” HDL cholesterol and raises “bad” LDL cholesterol . Even more: One common flavoring agent is diacetyl, a toxic substance that has been associated with lung disease.
The Need-to-Know: You’re much better off popping and flavoring your own corn at home (try one of these 30 delicious and healthy variations). You didn't hear it from us, but if you pack your homemade snack inside a shoebox, no one will suspect anything (except that you scored a new pair of kicks before coming to the theater).

Catching the Trump Madness

It seems that every day
The trump madness deepens
As our leader descends
Into dementia and madness

And his followers continue
To follow having drunk the Kool aide
They don’t see the madness
That Trump has engendered

They are immune from all criticism
It is all fake news to them
Nothing but nonsense
Part of the anti-Trump cabal

And as the world descends
Into more madness
Led by the mad king
I despair

Wondering if and when
The world will wake up
And shake off this madness
This trump fever

Releasing the Trump Monsters

The Trump madness deepens
And the world grows darker
The evil ones have been released
The wild things are growling

The dogs of war
Satan’s hell hounds
Are on the loose
Howling at the moon

Running amuk
Infecting us all
With their madness
As we all turn into mindless zombies

Filled with hatred
Jealousy and insanity
As Trump and his neo-fascist
Cabal unleash the monsters

Of their dangerous id
Devouring all reason
Turning all they see
Into raving lunatics

As they set the world on fire
Ushering in the ends of days
Armageddon looms
Will Trump be raptured away?

Only God knows
And he is not telling
As we descend
Into the maelstrom

Hoping against hope
That we can overcome
The monsters
That Trump has unleashed

In the end
Perhaps it does not matter
As the world careens
Deeper into hell

There is no end
Nothing but despair
Forever and ever
The Trump madness never ends

President Trump International Fire Fighter in Chief?

Our dear leader
Our favorite President
President Trump
Once again

Interjected himself
Into areas that he knows nothing about
Making a fool of himself
In the process

Why does he do this?
Time after time
Talking nonsense
It is because

He is the smartest man
In the universe
Knows more than anyone else
And so he feels

He has to comment
On everything
Under the sun
And then some more

Even when he
Does not know
What he is talking about
So painful to watch such a fool

Mark Twain had sage advice
If you want people to think
You are a fool
Open your mouth
and remove all doubt

In the midst
Of the devastating Paris Norte Dame Fire
He tweeted

“So horrible to watch the massive fire
at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris,”

“Perhaps flying water tankers
could be used to put it out.
Must act quickly!”

Later, Mr. Obvious noted,

They’re having a terrible,
terrible fire,”

Mr Trump later told reporters.

“It looks like it’s burning to the ground.”

The French were not amused
By the unwanted advice
By the fire fighter in chief

France’s civil defense agency,
Sécurité Civile, tweeted —
once in French
and once in English
— less than two hours after Mr Trump

sent his tweet
and appeared
to directly respond to the US president.

“Helicopter or aeroplane,
the weight of the water
and the intensity of the drop
at low altitude

could indeed weaken
the structure of Notre Dame
and result in collateral damage
to the buildings in the vicinity,”

the agency wrote in French.
And despite never posting updates in English,
the agency then sent out a second tweet.

Hundreds of firemen of the Paris Fire Brigade are doing everything they can to bring the terrible #NotreDame fire under control. All means are being used, except for water-bombing aircrafts which, if used, could lead to the collapse of the entire structure of the cathedral.
— Sécurité Civile Fr (@SecCivileFrance) April 15, 2019

And the French provided
This helpful advice
To the Fire Fighter in chief

When California burned
you did not seem to be a fire expert.
Please, shut up.
It is a tragic moment
for the cultural heritage of humanity.

US President Donald Trump lashed
for ‘ignorant’ tweet about Notre Dame
World leaders mourned with France as the country watched its historic landmark burn. But Donald Trump’s Notre-Dame tweet fell flat.

Notre Dame fire: Thousands watch as cathedral burns

As a catastrophic fire tore through one of the world’s most beloved cultural treasures, US President Donald Trump assessed the response from the other side of the globe and offered unsolicited advice for firefighters.

“So horrible to watch the massive fire at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris,” Mr Trump tweeted earlier today as more than 400 firefighters tried to save the Notre Dame cathedral.
“Perhaps flying water tankers could be used to put it out. Must act quickly!”

The spire collapses as smoke and flames engulf the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. Picture: Geoffroy Van Der HasseltSource:AFP
Mr Trump had tweeted from Air Force One, minutes before he landed in the US state of Minnesota for a speech.
“They’re having a terrible, terrible fire,” Mr Trump later told reporters. “It looks like it’s burning to the ground.”
France’s civil defense agency, Sécurité Civile, tweeted — once in French and once in English — less than two hours after Mr Trump sent his tweet and appeared to directly respond to the US president.
“Helicopter or aeroplane, the weight of the water and the intensity of the drop at low altitude could indeed weaken the structure of Notre Dame and result in collateral damage to the buildings in the vicinity,” the agency wrote in French.
And despite never posting updates in English, the agency then sent out a second tweet.
Hundreds of firemen of the Paris Fire Brigade are doing everything they can to bring the terrible #NotreDame fire under control. All means are being used, except for water-bombing aircrafts which, if used, could lead to the collapse of the entire structure of the cathedral.
— Sécurité Civile Fr (@SecCivileFrance) April 15, 2019
Mr Trump’s tweet was almost universally slammed, with many of the president’s Twitter followers calling his advice “ignorant”.
When California burned you did not seem to be a fire expert. Please, shut up. It is a tragic moment for the cultural heritage of humanity.
— PabloMM (@PabloMM) April 15, 2019
Flying water tankers would damage the building, nice try

Hundreds of firemen of the Paris Fire Brigade are doing everything they can to bring the terrible #NotreDame fire under control. All means are being used, except for water-bombing aircrafts which, if used, could lead to the collapse of the entire structure of the cathedral.
— Sécurité Civile Fr (@SecCivileFrance) April 15, 2019

Wayne McPartland, a retired New York City Fire Department battalion chief, told CNBCthat aerial tankers are not the answer at Notre Dame.
“If you hit that with tons of water from above, that’s going to collapse the entire structure and make the situation worse,” McPartland said. “If you miss, you might hit civilians in the street.”

Little Man Child President

A little man child
Is our great and glorious dear leader
Filled with hatred and jealousy
Fear of failure haunts his every step

The little man child
Covers up his failures
With bluster, bravado
And constant attack

The little man child
Always attacking his enemies
Plotting revenge all the time
Consumed with slights and insults

The little man child
Lost millions of dollars
The little man child
Lost the popular vote

The little man child
Has lost the respect of the world
And 60 percent of Americans
Want to see him gone

The little man child
Has infected the body politic
With his insidious poison
A slowly growing cancer

The little man child
Will end up destroying
The country
Before he is through

The little man child
Can’t leave office
For fear of going to prison
So we are stuck with him

The little man child
Will never leave us
Until he is resting
In peace in hell

Bankers have a license to steal
money from their clients
if you make a mistake
the bank can steal your money
as part of their banking license

Governments have a license
to steal money
from the public
its is called taxation
or confiscation

It seems
that police these days
have a license
to ****
unarmed brown people
but only brown people

and the president
has a license
to lie
as he lies
all the time
just because he can

and I have
the ultimate license
the poetic license
to write
these verses
to enlighten the masses

April 21
it is darker than you think

It is darker than you think

an old hag
an old witch
strictly old school
is talking to young people

She tells them
that it is darker
than they think
the end times approach

She proclaims
she sees the world ending
and is warning them
of what is to come

She is following
the dark master
of the universe
waiting for the end

and she is afraid
she sees the world
the end of things
the end of life

She is afraid
she tells her students
to boldly face
the coming end

with fear
and trepidation
and anxiety
waiting for the end

and in the end
of the world
they will be born

as things circle back
to the beginning
of the end and the end
of the beginning

thus it has always
played out
in the world
endless nightmares

and in the end,
she will wake up
and embrace her fate
at the end of time

April 22, 2019

Spring Time Sketch in Youngchando, Korea

In the early morning dawn
I like to go for a walk
Down among the cherry trees
And flowering plants

Just to welcome
Another fine spring day
As the sun comes up
Dispelling my dismal mood

And filling me
With love
Hope and peace
As I walk the path

Of the world peace forest
Near my island home
Near the chaos of the airport

Through the forest
and over the mountain
breathing the spring time air
alive filled with life

and I think to myself
this moment
is the moment
that I am meant to experience

life itself
and nothing more
nothing less
Just breath in life
poems written for April month of poetry challenge  using writers digest prompts can be found at all poetry, writers digest and at my blog,
George Krokos Feb 2013
A brief statement about certain controversial questions and issues relating to some core religious topics such as:
What is God?
Where is God?
Who Is God?
and a new or old philosophy and perspective (depending on the readers views) offering an explanation to these age old questions.

The proof of That which is not restricted to any construct of the human mind and is beyond imagination is Divine. This is sometimes revealed to a select few in the form of a revelation or philosophy from time to time and is what history calls religion and is also uplifting and blissful.
The ordinary human mind and intellect cannot comprehend or fathom that which is beyond it but only staggers at the attempt, bewildering as it is to the ego which is the seat of the mind and limited individual personality. (See Note #1)

Standpoint 1
It is generally stated that neither the existence nor the non-existence of God can be proven. But if there is absolutely nothing or everything is somehow taken away, then whatever is left or there is that remains can only be the place, source or state from which everything is brought into existence and sustained for a while within its own infinite being and by its own infinite or unlimited latent capacity of power, knowledge and blissful freedom of imagination and creation.

Standpoint 2
The state of absolute nothing (colorless, formless, odorless, indivisible, unfathomable), if there ever was such a state, would then be the complete and infinite unmanifest state or prior condition of this Boundless and Eternal Being or God from where all the universe, as we have come to know and see to date, has come and in which it still must exist without any exception regardless of what there appears now to be.

Standpoint 3
All the planets, moons, suns, stars, galaxies, nebulae and whatever else there may be are nothing other than, relatively speaking, like the atoms, molecules, compounds, cells etc that go to make up the body of a living physical entity, and in this specific and particular case, the manifest cosmic being known as or called the universe, and the so called black holes would then be found to be the arterial pathways of the energy or substance known as dark energy and matter which is of a non atomic nature (See Note #2). It should also be noted that the simplest and first atom or atomic substance or element is hydrogen, which is made up of just an electron and a proton, and is the most abundant atomic substance in the universe. In other words from the one formless substance of dark energy and matter come hydrogen, helium, lithium, etc (in the order of the atomic scale), from the simplest and lightest to the most complicated, densest and heaviest.

Standpoint 4
This then is the reason why we should consider the infinitely large of the outer universe with all the cosmic forces and objects known and unknown on the one hand, while its opposite, the infinitely small, being that of the inner universe, in the form of man’s mind and emotions together with the sub and atomic forces on the other, both co-existing at the same time without an apparent beginning or end, that make up the whole visible and invisible creation which is seemingly expanding, until the endless end, in something greater than itself, for how else could this ever be? (See Note #4)

Standpoint 5
The preceeding points help to validate the statements in the scriptures which say “as above so below” and that “we are made in the image and likeness of God” (ie: our soul or spirit within), and an aspect of Einstein’s theory of Relativity that mentions or postulates of ‘the curvature of space’ and certain aspects of Quantum Physics. The preceeding points also bring together both views of the so called ‘Big Bang’ and ‘Steady State’ theories that have gained popularity in modern times and where the former seems to be the more widely accepted view.

Standpoint 6
The five so called elements of Earth, Water, Fire, Air and Ether mentioned in certain philosophical texts and which correlate to the five lower energy centers (or Chakras) of the human body are complemented by two higher ones being those of Light and Sound of the two higher centers. This also explains the scripture where it is written “in the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God” and where “God said let there be light and there was light” (See Note #3) which indicates that from the ‘Word of God’ or primeval sound came light, then ether, air, fire, water and earth in a descending order. The last five mentioned elements deal specifically with life and conditions on our own world and also other worlds where one, some or all of the seven kingdoms of evolution are to be found in various stages of development. (See Note #5)

Standpoint 7
If man is made in the image and likeness of God then whatever can be seen outside can also be seen inside in the sense that there is nothing but God that really exists and that the essence of God is in man's soul and spirit. An analogy of this would be to look at a drop of an infinite ocean (without boundaries or divsions) and to recognize or realise that the drop of the ocean is nothing other than the ocean itself which may apparently seem to be separate or limited due to a bubble of ignorance and limited perception (the effect of duality or God's Cosmic Illusion or Maya). The illusion of duality becomes less apparent and is indeed negligible to the point of non existence as man evolves spiritually and realises his oneness with the essence or real part of his inner being which is non other than a drop in (not separate from) this indivisible infinite ocean of God. When this 'essence' is made the focus of an individual's consciousness and is continually invoked upon by various means it then becomes activated or awakened, so to speak, from a dormant latent state, to one of a highly charged and source seeking intelligent energy that is returning back to its real home or state from the lowest center of consciousness (gross, dense and material) in the human body to the highest centers being those in the higher parts of the body which are of a much finer or subtle consciousness and associated with light and sound (i.e. the primeval sound and light of creation) which come from God or the state of infinite consciousness.  This is also the state of Absolute Nothing mentioned in Standpoint 2 above from where Absolutely Everything has come from or manifested within its own Being and the Infinite Existence (all that exists does so within God) due to the infinite latent capacity of power, knowledge and blissful freedom of imagination and creation (Standpoint 1).  
(#1) See also my other prose titled "God is the Highest Good".
(#2) The universe is the infinite creature or creation of God. It resembles more or less the atomic structure of a living infinite organic entity and is the physical manifestation of an Eternal Un-manifest and Unfathomable Divine  Existence or Boundless Being which is the Only Reality or God.
(#3) See The Old and New Testaments of The Holy Bible.
(#4) We use a telescope to see into the body of the universe being incredibly large and use a microscope to see things or signs of life that are incredibly small.
(#5) The Seven kingdoms Of Evolution are: 1. Gaseous forms including stars, suns, planets etc, stone and metal. 2. Vegetable forms 3. Worm forms including all insects and reptiles 4. Fish forms 5. Bird Forms 6. Animal forms 7. Human forms.
This is my contribution to the world of philosophy and to those who are curious about the nature of religion. Written in 2010. I will welcome any commentary or feedback on this whether it be good or otherwise.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
why I love certain men

it’s a raining and writing Saturday,
a washout for the beach visitors who chose their
calendar lottery tickets poorly

but hurrah and huzzah for the poet
in the no-sun-today-room with
steam collecting on his face from his 20 oz. Canadian mug,
the rest of him cozied neath a
wooly mohair knitted and tasseled blanket,
from a now naked and shivering alpaca goat in Turkey or Tibet

perhaps we’ll make a tiny dent
in the 1319 poems,
in the ‘sorta started to do’ list

new one sneaks in demanding immediate satisfaction
and threatening my mind’s incarceration unless,
serviced and unleashed as the Frenchies say

Frites, immédiatement!: (french fries, now!)

I love most men; certain men more than others,
not because they are soft to the touch,
look great in thigh highs, can fix a backhoe,
lay hands on animals, just as they do upon their grandchildren,
or write better poetry than me,
they make me weep from zealous delight at
their capricious unprecedented constancy of their
honorable actions

they are soft to the core, which is itself
wrapped in a leather soldered steel,
which defines them by their self-questing constant,
asking themselves preface and postface,
doing it well, in between,

what is the honorable thing?

this honor idea of which writ previous
doesn’t dissolve - indeed grows crescendo stronger,
like the miracle of the Yom Kippurs rams horn
crying out to heavens at the concluding end  
on the holiest judgement day,
a shofar miracle for it inhumanly grows ever louder,
ceasing only when nightfall marks a new day begun,
reminding both sinners and saviour each,
to inquire of their colluding selves on this forgiveness-giving day,

what is the honorable thing?

some are borrowers and some lenders,
of anything, the substance or the whom matters not,
but the bonding bonfire from which the deal is done,
is of a uncharted organic chemical matter unrecognized
but millennium ancient

here I stop

the call to breakfast must be obeyed,
for it’s with lovely made, menu man-poet requested,
this is too an honorable thing to do,
and the 1319 half blood~half writs poking my eyes,
can be faced with new courage afterwards
on a perfect raining and writing Summer Saturday
for the next one hopefully and woefully

may not come till the September (Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year) when acorns fall

certain men will greet that fall Sabbath/ New Years Day,  
when Atonement begins, a ten day process to the final conclusion,
by asking of everything living and of every act human performed,
for the forgiveness requested inherent in the absolute bar setting of

what is the honorable thing?

which by the by,

is why I love certain women too...

and all who are honorable
will read this honorific and remain
clueless as to whom it is addressed...

oh god, I do so love that best!

what could signal honor even more...
like know just time mind feel life world say people things lost we're does love think there's away long way thought night got words want better day human left right remember man dark end reality memory experience going make really eyes place 'cause good death tell great feeling soul home high consciousness live pain thoughts fear understand fall thing city sky believe god meaning thinking lose change oh felt hard ask heart times years shall need past light living existence choice use dreams power days cause poetry talking state we'll alive knowledge **** true moment little hope old wrong mental stars wave ago gone broken look brain dream far given truth feels head you'll best sensation baby try leave forget young sleep face stop escape blue dare drug lives wish doesn't drugs work earth new acid game nature bad sublime gods break beautiful ah writing hold born trying coming friends hold writing ah space daze burn body reason rain real moments wonder music memories exist psyche control waiting dawn future act philosophy word choose emotion lies deep one's difference self score truly perception actually finally what's story sure spent play happy greatest help start used lie took listen touch run belief fool glass hurt we've gaze goes cold set seek they're yes information anymore longing lonely qualia social land water afraid kind getting came dead hit present keeps gotta pleasure reflection free rave line held pray path sense art black half-light wake question quiet remain longer pill stay course open ego matter places worth lack horizon saw dusk beauty hand makes energy looking gonna data told seeking die **** seen subtle bit caught venturous means freedom yeah divine eternity empathy later rise perfect minds edge comprehend spiritual write couldn't evil care ashes summer knew turn content context accept existential white red sound chance who's consider hide judgement friend 'til realize dimension cast gave tripping praise health la enjoy search universe winter broke 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psychedelion ******* apotheon substance isn't study bliss selfish ends warm dopamine explain fix addiction culture respect wisdom calm hurricane problem contradiction heaven forlorn vain gold sweet hidden effort fast she's breaking changed engine faith dance maze alas girl sigma watch grand heavy justice wait tried doors appear phenomena definitions somebody ignore feelings process sonder cybran soft depression chasing taken throw answer action relief having wandering compounds quantum necessary effects empathion ethos begin everybody rising clouds emotions indigo falls ecstasy fresh american walking glow outside speak force grow physical says view voice happiness shame sought age understanding lay individual billion explore crave pretty lights comprehension tears big sands crime waves taught forever venture adolescence welcome humanity comes zero storm wise claim swear sounds pass **** met he's internet mr table company repetition heard playing ***** mirror lets awake sorry doing dreaming states pondering ridiculous simply greater heal hear natural mydriasis mydriatic substances fades asking measure worse scoreboard destroy erase blood leaves worlds abandoned skin twisted walk grace smile fading illuminate hearts bed food ignorance admit drunk spring exile apart killed talk master meet waking chose neon adventure join **** mist aren't breathe psi laughing feet river trance wonderful floor hair desire breeze birth desert fade looked urban continue nation probably second belong willing alike criminals progress cyberspace sole survive names pills fears beginning digital you'd sadness easily depressed perceive surreality poets merely remains sober closer prose fact growing died save insanity defined session soon realm empyreal taste suicide science skins quality peace raise ashamed azure quit yearn piece notions absurd noble liberty entheogenesis reckoning feedback particles object reconcile baseline chain sardonic false weather hallowed intoxication wasted 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won't medium empathos essence events reflect apotheotelos actual determine house issues worked begging virtuality swore gleaming sly gentleman wicked abyss feed lands tea moon miracle honest streetlights tale lust nights early chained allow placed life's actions emotional plant plan drizzle speaks spin hypocrite conviction watching rules jump application chains forged angel fail reflections lot illuminating flag grip fly sick wonderfully create freeman shine job supposed eggs draw pupil dripping tremble mescaline singularity subjective darkens alpha needed atlas orange discover rabbit warp joint wonderland perfection ponder souls silence ahead roll magic ease bag sorrow escapism sake chest magnitude chaser cloud infinity replaced revelation survived vs carry yearning school slip games begins curiosity heavens powerful typhoon furious theory hypothesis apathy serenity mind's marks window humankind cybernetic fraternity liberate cut movement excuse stopped thunder tire apparent mastery occurs motion paper masses throes falling race hanging bear follows sardonicism endless burning idea ideas burden court ya verse consume kick method stood temporary flash realized eat kindness occur advice shades properties shores hang shining ink rolling minutes street deem tools autumn empatheon entheos reach echoes remix diamonds gets worthy identity thoroughly stuck happens recall conclusion choices fiend dealing finding gun son stimulant experiencing depth twice starshine whilst chosen thereof hooked confused enables painful desires serotonergic teleology prey loop wishing relation neural animal hallelujah ultimately projection communication actuality significant experiences remind transcendention notion proposition works illusion puppet offers chalk series occasion calling degrees ended sin figure slick ending ash sentence glance rend november eve drum rainy destruction romantic drawn shadow observe ghosts bodies wandered atmosphere box familiar children honor road serve beliefs strong avoid lessons returns poison relax exhale whispered intention liquid stare dope needs ****** smoking club relative glitter reached fractured stones junkiedom aspect ketamine heavenly scares domain excess robes vast euphoria grass thrall elation buzz renew dr waste let's morality wanna bottle immortal owe intuitive wouldn't teachings transcendent nocturnal education eternal divinity drive aligned illegal lamplight sell sail insomnia curious beatific seeing insane continuum kiss beta void soar roar fog basis **** town cost regrets appropriate brave threat using emptiness fountain short stole shield riot shade ghost numbness stained steam dreampt october ion derived hazy money message sing quote metaphysical scene swept plain colors nirvana alright unlike dear low teens nonetheless pick considering teenagers beneath door electronic kids build pulse teaching kid mistake teach tear contextual political civilization vision dissociation completely tells normal nevermind raised brings laughed melody spot streets holding coffee praying violence appreciate vengeance law trust exploits slowly trouble mirror's refrain compassion eats recognition discovered blaze otherworldly pieces darkest angst brothers sit win buckfast vicious binge breaks undead forgot demands able notice lucid dimensions evolution sunrise plans philosopher killing produce working cloth produced painter gazing favourite track bunch haul arrives started chemistry prevent awaits definitive strive versus rule dread bare slow stayed onward altered helps lifestyle losing followed woke fight event innocence charade child ventures higher y'all acceptance pay any-more bay vicissitudes codex cannabis pleasures planes doses awareness steal beat zero-summing narcotic lest strength matters reading easy sons drift solstice half formed normality weren't hungry hopes declare research tales envelope regret tired breed release honestly haven't it'll blow entheogenic stories amidst insofar technology direct binary 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Composed on 01:33, 27/02/2017 using Hello Poetry's 'Words' algorithm. We still don't assume this means something.
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the
distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing
of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and
dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of
the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields
and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising
from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the
earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of
all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the
beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and
increase, always ***,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of
To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well
entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery here we stand.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not
my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age,
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they
discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.

Welcome is every ***** and attribute of me, and of any man hearty
and clean,
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be
less familiar than the rest.

I am satisfied - I see, dance, laugh, sing;
As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the
night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy
Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with
their plenty,
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is

Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and
city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old
and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss
or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news,
the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is *****, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to
And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over
upon me,
And parted the shirt from my *****-bone, and plunged your tongue
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass
all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see
and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the ******* of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out
of their mothers’ laps,
And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken
soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe, and
am not contain’d between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and
fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the
mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be
shaken away.

The little one sleeps in its cradle,
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies
with my hand.

The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,
I peeringly view them from the top.

The suicide sprawls on the ****** floor of the bedroom,
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol
has fallen.

The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of
the promenaders,
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the
clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-*****,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs,
The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his
passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and
give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls
restrain’d by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances,
rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the show or resonance of them-I come and I depart.

The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load,
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-****’d game,
Falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my

The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle
and scud,
My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from
the deck.

The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me,
I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.

I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west,
the bride was a red girl,
Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking,
they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets
hanging from their shoulders,
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his
luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride
by the hand,
She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks
descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her

The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside,
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile,
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and
And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him,
And brought water and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d
And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some
coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north,
I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean’d in the corner.

Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,
Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;
Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,
She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.

Which of the young men does she like the best?
Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from their
long hair,
Little streams pass’d all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass’d over their bodies,
It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.

The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the
sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,
They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending
They do not think whom they ***** with spray.

The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife
at the stall in the market,
I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.

Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil,
Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in
the fire.

From the cinder-strew’d threshold I follow their movements,
The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms,
Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,
They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.

The ***** holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags
underneath on its tied-over chain,
The ***** that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and
tall he stands pois’d on one leg on the string-piece,
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over
his hip-band,
His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat
away from his forehead,
The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of
his polish’d and perfect limbs.

I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop
I go with the team also.

In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as
forward sluing,
To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing,
Absorbing all to myself and for this song.

Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what
is that you express in your eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and
day-long ramble,
They rise together, they slowly circle around.

I believe in those wing’d purposes,
And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,
And consider green and violet and the tufted crown i
Empty days practiced by people all hiding from the realities that stand in front of us, daunting us, taunting us, casting shadows on our heads. Empty days practiced on purpose by people all hiding from realities due to fear of substance but we long for substance. Substance that casts the shadow looming over our heads, taunting us, daunting us. Laughing at the endless circles we run in hiding from the substance we yearn for, we long for but would rather lose our breath for because our fear is far greater that our need for understanding of truth, understanding of ourselves and the things that surround us. Empty days practiced by people conflicted between fear and need. Empty days practiced by people discontent with a stunted growth but no motivation for nurture. We would rather live in a false pretense of what we are and what the world is than face our fear of honesty and confrontation. Truth is substance and substance gives us depth. Depth feeds our understandings and allows us to grow as people. But we would rather digress than progress because as a society we cannot accept that flaws are not permanent and we cannot accept blame or acknowledge that we create pain. That we are apart of the darkness. Empty days practiced by ignorant people, practiced by me, and practiced by you.
Johnnie Rae Feb 2014
It hurts to know that you,
could slip through my fingers,
like sand through an hourglass,
over something as simple,
as substance.
It's always been love over substance,
has it not been clear?

But yet I'm finding it,
hard to let go of something,
that's held me, and propped me up,
for ever so long.

It's always been love over substance,
but your trying to change my habits,
my way of life,
and all I'm trying to change,
is your mind.
This is becoming increasingly tiring.
I'm sorry I can't seem to please you.
The bees build in the crevices
Of loosening masonry, and there
The mother birds bring grubs and flies.
My wall is loosening; honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty; somewhere
A man is killed, or a house burned.
Yet no clear fact to be discerned:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

A barricade of stone or of wood;
Some fourteen days of civil war:
Last night they trundled down the road
That dead young soldier in his blood:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The heart's grown brutal from the fare,
More substance in our enmities
Than in our love; O honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
What's wrong with you, with us,
what's happening to us?
Ah our love is a harsh cord
that binds us wounding us
and if we want
to leave our wound,
to separate,
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us
to drain our blood and burn together.

What's wrong with you? I look at you
and I find nothing in you but two eyes
like all eyes, a mouth
lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful,
a body just like those that have slipped
beneath my body without leaving any memory.

And how empty you went through the world
like a wheat-colored jar
without air, without sound, without substance!
I vainly sought in you
depth for my arms
that dig, without cease, beneath the earth:
beneath your skin, beneath your eyes,
beneath your double breast scarcely
a current of crystalline order
that does not know why it flows singing.
Why, why, why,
my love, why?
Allen Robinson Jun 2016
Are you of
can we relate
Can we converse
and trigger dialogue
that compels
Is your
linear based or
free flowing
Are you just words
spread about
like a deck of cards
thrown to the floor
Is your
real or common BS
are you true blue
Fill me with wisdom
shape my understanding
open my mind
give me
Saniaa Shah Feb 2012
At a time when I’d never seen
What chaos love creates in the mind,
I wrote a Valentine’s poem.
Chocolate and flowers won’t do, I announced.
I want a man of substance.
As if I was full of substance, me:
This silly little girl pining over boys
Instead of doing her homework.
Substance, to me, was only words
That came straight from the heart.
Those pretty ripples on the surface of the water
Embodied the essence of everything.
What gems lay on the floor of the sea,
Raw, sunken and hardly visible,
Did not matter in the least.
Today I swim about with flailing arms
Like a lost snorkeler in the deep Caribbean
Reaching out for the slightest glimmer I see.
Diamonds and pearls, please come to me!
I’ll treasure you till eternity.
But alas, it is dust sparkling in the sun
And nothing more. I find I must
Let go of my dream of spotting gleaming
Jewels floating above the ocean floor.
This silly little girl is now pining over dreams
Instead of living a dry reality.
Perhaps a man of substance has no need
In this world full of deceptive discoveries.
Perhaps chocolate and flowers can
Shroud my thoughts in their sweetness,
Just to keep me happy.
And perhaps movies are made cheesy
To reflect our shallow truth,
Wrapped in cellophane and ribbons,
Straight from the nearest Archies Gallery.
Derrick Feinman Feb 2015
We institute procedures as a tool to obtain substance.
We design metrics as a tool to track and ensure that substance is obtained.
But then, the tool becomes holier than its own purpose.
When we value procedure over substance,
we sacrifice substance for procedure.
Even the judges value procedure over justice as illustrated by a Justice on the US Supreme Court: “Mere factual innocence is no reason not to carry out a death sentence properly reached.” J. Scalia in Herrera v. Collins, 506 US 390 (1993).
J. W. May 2013
Ishmael Run; So begins the Journey.

Thoughts lead thusly; there is no death, only the fulfilment of purpose. We live relatively long and for that period of being and becoming  we mostly find a petty meaning for ourselves but in this we stand wrongly. This is a sick joke we are involved in, there is a dark underlying purpose that eventually swallows us all into the ground to become a part of something monumental; the compilation of events known as history.

I am no cynic, and neither am I depressed, ashamed or even slightly darkened by this thought, on the contrary it is this knowledge that allows me to live. Without such inspiration life would be empty, totally and utterly discredited. Because there is enlightenment, to know the meaning to life as it is to end it, there may be ease within the world and no pitfalls of delusion or false hopes to fall into. I need not to push beyond myself or anyone else, I have no reason to attend to anything, is this a freedom?

Although, do not listen or take heed too much of what i have to say, we are afterall only the blind leading the blind

The knack of evolution has been lost in a flurry of Televisions, computers, fast food, consumer complexes, all devices to steal the process of thought and create an illusion of contentment.

this is no revolution.

But who am i? Who am I to comment so boldly on the degradation of man and lay out the pathway to salvation? Well, in truth I am no one. No one particularly adverse in anything at all, I simply exist. Like the underground man, I was spiritually sick and that sickness drove my spirit to death, and now  I am free!  I am enlightened and my burden is lighter for it, but if the truth is to be told there is nothing special about me. It is the conclusion of a lifetime that anyone could come to, before my eyes were opened, I knew nothing. Now, I know I knew nothing and I now know I still know nothing since it is simple; there really is nothing to know. Since everything you know you only think you know, why think of it? And this is the trouble with our current state of existence; we are duped into believing there is something to know and something to gain through the advancement of knowledge when really, it is to no gain to gain knowledge. They say knowledge is power but, the trick my friends, is that knowledge is a pack of wolves dressed in snowy coats. People who are in the know are so sure of themselves that nothing else could be right, people in the know believe their words are powerful, how wrong they are. You may say knowledge is power because those who have the knowledge to build bombs are powerful, they are powerful ideas and powerful Ideas are stolen by nations for their own purpose and gain. It is not knowledge, but resource. However if all these intellectualls are wrong, how even more wrong we are for elevating them on pedestals! Those who know believe their vast knowledge amounts to something but in truth brothers, it leads to nothing since we all share the same inevitable fate. Some may talk about how those who are wise or those who know, live a life that matters, a life with substance, but unless they abandon their meaning of, and the importance they place on knowledge they will never live a life of substance. If the world is based upon paradox, then it is in nothing that the substance of true life is. That is half the point in life, right? To find meaning and truth and all that guru fulfilment crap we have shouted at us from every corner, but I speak logical sense brothers when I say that the world is corrupt, and due to its self inflicted corruption you can trust nothing that comes from it. Because of the nature of truth, truth is something that can be portrayed through lies and so continues the pattern of the paradox, in that way a misanthrope does more for humanity than the praised philanthropist.

Something we must all look into at one stage or another on this terminal walk called life is who are these fellow pilgrims? The drunks, the smackheads, the dropouts, the insane, the depressed, the clinical, the lost and beyond, the type of people who colour life with variety. Just where are they? Those who have overcome life and succeeded its brutal shapes, forms and sizes. It is something everyone ought to ask and they are a people whom everyone ought to seek out.

indulge me and let me tell you a story of something I knew once.

An untimely death**

I met with something remarkable today, an experience I have not to this moment known, I fear it has crashed like a meteor into my brain and will leave its weighty crater for some time to come. I witnessed the death of a young man; an untimely death. The fulfilment of his journey caused by his own actions and now, where is he? He exists in memories, he exists in my memory. He has handed his existence over to me and I must choose what to do with it; whether to discard it and have him lost in the shadows or whether to create something of significance to him and he will rest in the illuminated paths of history? If I discard him he will continue in another memory, in a number of other memories I’m sure but to me, he will be dead and no one will see or know him ever again, what anyone else might think of him, is by definition, meaningless to me.

My memory of him is this; as a blur of colour and heightened emotion he rain past me on the platform at Waterloo underground, I barely caught his face except for a piercing glimpse of his eyes. Dressed in bohemian colours he was there and like the most eloquent dancer he jumped with glory, his legs bent back and up, his arms raised to praise his fate and then he was gone. Replaced with a loud crashing thunderous echo and flashes of red and white, red and white and then, everything was gone, all was calm on Waterloo underground. Everyone seemed amazed, people around me covered their faces in their hands, or hid their eyes, I could not stop gazing at the spot from which he made his final leap into a state of conclusion. That was it though, he was concluded and everything he may have ever worked for, lived through or experienced was concluded in those final moments; the most magnificent and pulchritudinous thing i, or anyone of us could ever only watch, performed by the greatest actor of our lives.

You see my comrades, the truth is the greatest theatrical shows are those that make an impression, the ones that take a lifetime to forget, and witnessing a death so splendidly done is something no memory, no matter how much amount of intoxication or denial would ever erase. To attempt to destroy that memory is to dishonour the greatest person one never met, or possibly did. Those of us who understand the meaning in life also understand that those who conclude life on their own terms and by their own means are martyrs, the martyrs of life who are usually all too readily forgotten. You will find plaques and statues commemorating those who died to save the ungrateful masses, or died to save their motherland; a more noble, albeit pointless cause. To those who die for the cause that life has become unbearable because society has pushed them to the edges of high cliffs and gently, tenderly, lovingly lowered them down to be smashed against the rocks by the rising tide; well, where is their remembrance? We will engrave the names of those who we sent to be murdered into the pages of history, but when it comes to those we ****** ourselves? Well I think those are the ones who we would rather sooner forget out of guilt because they are the evidence of our failures.
A woman of substance

I'm sceptical of the Dutch
One of them stole my beloved
He was a painter
Made her beautiful on canvas
And she fell in love
I wrote a poem on a torn
Piece of paper-
And I’m not a Lutheran-
Nailed it on her door
The usual stuff of the aching heart
The painter got arthritis
In his hands  
Could not hold a paint brush
She sent him to nursing home
And now she smiles at me
Lame Poet Oct 2013
I want to be a substance abuser.

I want the vapidity
of my own words
to evaporate.
I want the void
to rev itself up,
and spin itself into
a voracious tornado.

I want to extinguish
the emptiness
with this epitaph.
I want language
to bend to my will,
leaning and looming
as an entity of entirety.

If I should be so lucky,
I hope to die
of an overdose.

Lynda Kerby Sep 2013
No one told me
so i'm telling you
i expected grief to feel like sadness
but i wasnt told that
that it makes your whole body ache from morning until night
and even in your sleep
and that it makes your hands sting from numbness
making buttoning your jeans impossible
and that some days clumps of your hair fall out
but having a good hair day is the least of your worries
and morbid thoughts attack like being ***** slapped upside your head
hurting so bad you actually pass out in mid sen--
But it's nothing like the sadness i had expected to feel
i've known clinical depression since age 4
and that feeling of curling up in the fetal position
waving the white flag of surrender
trying to make yourself into the tiniest ball of nothing
But grief is a flammable substance
and you can feel it as it ignites the flame of your soul
it feels like being angry in a righteous way
like when jesus knocked over the flea market vendor's tables at the temple
like being so ******* at all of the scales that are inbalanced
and it is the fuel that makes you want to correct the injustices of the world
and become larger than you are
and shower love compassion and truth over evil
no one told me that grief feels like this
so i'm telling you
Bamboo Bean Mar 2013
She taught us to talk
you see,
we were fearful.
unwilling to make that walk,
pride chaining us in our chairs...
insides churning,
and we are the captors.
so we pray:
for courage to stand
and the humility
to not notice the thoughts they aim at us
because awareness of self is a vital element
of you and me.

let us free our minds
to hell with the fear
lift our heads up and out of the pit--
up and out
for and against
black and white
we have it in us
to spit so hard and so far
that every oppressor gets a heart hit
so hard
by words so full
of substance
that even they will feel
yes, they will feel it,
Valora Brave Nov 2012
I'm living with a cloud
angrily trapped, separated from belonging
expressive, loud

I'm living in stormy weather
hidden protection from the sky above
attacked by wind, blown like a feather

I'm staring at the unforgiving sun
seeking out superior potential
sifting through ideas
before I'm undone

I'm delivering a speech
bounded to my emotion
I bear it, desire to reach
full potential, operate in purposeful motion

I'm thriving and its not enough
I hear my voice
full of nonsense and fluff
it angers me. I search for substance
by traveling a further distance

I resent the forced truth
I can lose my shoes eternally
where I stand, but I can never escape
the limbs that fill them

I'm echoing off the rim
circle back, I wonder
where these shoes
have been
Genevieve Apr 2014
When I say I feel empty,

it's not the way I haven't eaten
in days
and vomited so much
my teeth are rotting.

It's not the loneliness,
when I am lying in bed alone
At 3am and all I hear are
The monsters in my head

It's not my parents fighting again,
Throwing glass at each other
In anger and rage
Right infront of their children.

It's my life.

My life has no substance,
I mean nothing to the world
Empty space
Wasted air.

I'm not sure how to fill this hole
But I'm trying to get better
I'm stepping out of old habits
Finding something new
To focus on
To fill the time
Day by day
As it passes right before your eyes.
Julian Jul 2016
Hip Service
By Julian Malek

The zeal of cobblestone tolerance arrayed in fashionable hues masquerading as crimson secrecy, elevates the tide of man but some boats leak in their foundations. Therefore a cork to every exuberance and a triumphant torch for every sorrow lives onward in collective time. Larks that abound because prescience and PUGET sound, that brown has become the new orange which in turn prowls as a concealed swarthy black. To antagonize the willful and frenetic pace, a prodrome of lasting but memorialized disgrace. Should I move to a state by first or last name, or is the final appellation worthy of much more lasting fame. I scurry down the aisles, bemused by shimmering tiles and the beguiled audiences who see much in my limitation but doubt little about my debited elation. Ringmaster Barnum, how much horticulture is needed for assured superstardom, how many cloisters must we evacuate from the incendiary plumes of a metaphorical Harlem..  But know that no virtual reality can supplant the reality that does truly exist, or at least our time is too infernal and purblind to resist. Carrey the tops of mountains in the humor of wellsprings and fountains, we engage a menagerie of egos lilting of an etiolated pragmatic concern. Evicted from paradise, littered with say-cheese demise ensnaring three blind mice eaten alive by snake-eyed vice. To feel good without incorporated tyranny, we must see blue and red as alternatives to the same destiny. A world that reckons with the futilitarianism of pacified malcontent and astroturf monikers that lead the impressionable into a slaughter shed. Established or not, any enchantment under the sea must include fishes once a pastiche of me, but to them I avoid their courtesy flush and never even faintly blush as my egalitarian statements are lavish thrush.

Five TO Won baby one in 99, everyone here aboard the titanic stays alive, you got your boat baby and I got mine, gonna make it with babies numbered in surreal primes. Halt the slots game the nines, a stitch in time is going to turn out to be Mine. Flanger goals, girded piles, liminal like an aborted Harry Styles, we climb mountains we issue tithes, and the turmoil is etched into 45-notched bludgeons and two-tucked knives. Excuse you, where have you been all day, have you been sauntering in a gentle rain or a genteel pain, have you wallowed beyond the mires of doubt and ranked above David Blaine. I hope you tell me of your magic tricks, rather than your other flicks endeared I stand to fight an ineradicable itch. But if not, you placid pond dented by so many rocks and so many ripples give your heart over to me, before I clinch the special Olympics *******, we ran, we span the homespun garments of your left and right hand, but death is a specter that ghoulishly carouses along the carousel terminal disease we call life. I beseech your deepest affection and want to console you for your deepest struggle, to be there every time wed with time rather than a throttled scuttle. Moons make you guarded but maroons leave me desiccated, don’t ever let that wilted flower die, always water it with a rich but gentle ties and widened deck for all to at once marvel and pry.  Monsters of Mars Attacks once flanked my bed, as though the **** brain scared every gooseflesh and restrained every frisson of mystery. I lampoon myself for those cold Dark Knights and the protection ended by the plight of the poor mattering nothing to the deliberately internecine rich. I struck gold in a valley somewhere, an oxymoron of paradox that now you have the privilege to dock, to stay aboard to be a vessel of peace less widely deplored. Even if we don’t sprout wings, we garner the exactitude of measured things and our glass elevator though easily shattered by the glower of enslavement is actually our vista to heaven or listening to brethren tingles for rich mans trinkets and other things. For humanity deserves a legend and a princess, a regimented desuetude and a flanged lust but in our mistakes wildly flouted in momentary moments we become purified by the temptations of an alabaster palace.

***** the left-field wisdom of a pragmatic paragon ellipsis in prison, slip between the cracks and let my suburban muse become your urban ruse. To enchant a caged world beyond a reality delicately and deliberately unfurled. Squirming toads on highways enchanted but dead, are graves for the blue becoming purple in every dignified red. Gainsay assaults me with platitude, a repeated hitter quit on the first bunted ball into foul-line territory. Those gripes are swiped right in all circumstance no matter the plight. The pronged hearing of a trident sensitive to ambient collection, and suddenly we are all in the mad house even though the house of profaned pain is much worse. Glimpses of gambits that gambol for nickels in transit as occult grenades and known dice waddle through without artifice or device, and the laughter and slaughter that trains collegiate minds, differs no more than the tropes of a glamorous violence articled in sordid rhymes. This surfing movie means so much more than Surf Wax America pristine in limited but sacrilege nirvana. Teen spirits smell muskier than 90s pop dreams, the grasp and grunge of gouged eyes becomes a mummified staid, a scarecrow to those who disobey. Childhood flashes with blinding light, and new sight illuminates darkening blight, A blight eradicated only by two magazines and including one that houses the bullets that ***** themselves between death and comatose dreams both within astral sight. Littoral harbor on a seaside town, a shanty with a brackish gown that glides the gourmand to the cosmopolitan eatery on the outskirts of lost & found. But forever lost in embonpoint and forever gained in chavish that exonerates the gaunt, the etiolated prince in heart becomes irrefutable marrow in minded souls.

If I am a spy you are an ESPY, and if I cry than you are a baby,but since neither are the case my wiseacres will cultivate lava lamp dreams for a new generation and suddenly Boston bets on Harvard, but who knows of this piped blather squirming for relevance rather than voguish but temporary chatter. My regatta knows how to swim, my life now knows how to cringe and yet still win and in stilted plays of bungled sincerity the God of peace reminds us of our transcendent personalities. That we in sincerity top the barnacles of invention a novelty but a rarity. But the guillotine quill of emboldened unscripted parvenus ruthless in their eager dues, outdate and outlive the sued swayed blues that indemnify Clinton and make the atomic dog an amazing Winston hill a church often in sheltered disuse. Imps and urchins sting the sentiment, cloy the alimony of repentant betterment, but neither touches the gilded skies of pleonasm striving for raspy disguise as to dissuade further diatribe investigation. Lurking in those scared days of youth, the gore of unalloyed horror scourged me with a limp, that compassion itself could ever become a gimp. Now years later athletics better and scoring goals making the mildew sweat and the years wetter, not a global warming that can be alarmed by global mourning. Take peace at heart if distanced spears of separation make Idiocracy as a pastiche look exceedingly smart. And spar only with the true antagonists bridging malevolence with expedience. Killjoys sure, will joy even more sure, but still boys fluttered heart stopping dead at a stop-watched alarm the worst tragedy of our sordid sort. Give an African Child a real home rather than a spatial roam, a palatial desiccation of momentary Jonas Brothers snapping back at captives with sexualized foam.

Narrative blinds shuttered in an Island among mountains hardly ever wiser to sanitize the sanitarium among the wasps of stung power. Police crumple their uniforms as they prowl down the avenues, looking for misfits and widened platitudes. Somehow that the vigilance of those corrupted by their very career choice, look even worse when megalomania of private is the limelight of public, to their defense few turrets I can muster but castles in the sky will be the apartheid judge. Those that cling to virtue to eradicate Porsche-driven faked or real deaths at the most breakneck speed, that Fast & Furious operation if disclosed completely would turn the Shire of the ring into the hatred curtailed by a song in Sing-Sing. Immunity must not Yoda implore, that livery Liverpool marooned on islands can also to deplore the R.E.D. and still whet the sharpened stead and the fly-by-night Manchester United alights like militant peer pressure for wranglers in tights. But beating the Beatles at a game of Walruses and egg-shelled eyeful towers likely impedes rinkside hockey from anything over bellicose ballyhoo…it exists as a transient fixated glower. But who knows about soccer speculation when love is the transcendent temptation, when nest-egg hens rather than neglecting rig Bens of clockwork and clocked words designed arise better for their token ken. Do I must repeat the subtext of submarines, yellowed as though ugly unused as though unseen, as though the quixotic earthquakes of tintinnabulations Avatar dreams. Wafted souls console the disheartened thoughts of a dashed dream that Berlin hates more than a Furor’s unbridled and useless scream.
Demotic clips slinging from the bedridden silence of a token moon and its token friends, swimming in a shore of ambiguity whether history mellows or whether its furor melts away momentary doubts. I want to avoid the sting rays exorcised by due providence and become the amalgamated talents gentry and of course the upstart swagger of Jack Dawson. But with the psy-op going on, the people manipulated on all sides of a gray picket fence will the relationship bloom without muttered dissent or pretended smiles. Will we take upon the shuffled shuttle and dig with shovels deep-rooted Christmas trees and toast our lives to Dos Equis. We may never go out of style, but the treacle of illuminated imagery when divorced from sentiment bristle shows a swagger that prioritizes rather than amalgamates all love. I love being brash and brazen and honest because when she finally ditches the grandstand of delayed frenemies fandoms of other tinsel decorations without any substance beyond meretricious thrill. You want a roller coaster on some days, but most often you want the nutcracker to elope to secret hiding places. Swim with adventure not just in love, not just in affection with the starlight now matter how luminous, sixpence all the richer is no centuries any poorer and we could be that gilded couple of star and screen and if we ever have to scream, let our screams unite us in passion, rather than a milquetoast deference to pedestaled beauty. but of course the end times don’t laugh at your crumpled wizened relapse. Not out of convenience wed by a discriminating genetic harvest moon but a deeper engagement that flatters when stylish and bristles when romantic but never defiled, never riled of specious pretense. Promise me that you will always remember me in my flaws and my faults, in my scause factory destructions and the penults of PEN-ULTIMATE wisdom that comes before the grace of God in the annihilation of passion for eroded omission. If your goal is to be remembered, check that out…but the most admirable goal is as the propinquities of souls dusted in the wind returning to a spring equinox of passion and if you find in yourselves reservations do not depart from sacred land, and never jilt me because of a boisterous and menacing friend. You are everything to me right now, and I Hope this persists despite the vicissitudes of star-favored afflictions mixed with utter benediction without the pontification of stilted Benedictines  or rather the hyped ludic effrontery of termagants being made of younger and younger women. Leave it at this ,32 leaves the royal secret in royal hands and the Knights Templar and us we altogether hold hands, if only a prelude for a masquerade ball. But the stilted embarrassment of crestfallen time, let that be relegated and emphatically lets embrace what is like to not ever need a real white horse to get back into your favor, because we never go out of style we can brandish the best elements and reject the sentiments of the too newfangled and the too stodgy. We in our crenellated pleonasm can eager ride the lightning to another tomorrow and another yesterday and if even not that, we virtually make an indelible impression of embroidered love not too distant in ivory towers and not to vulgary( catering to popular sentiments) to become a trash glam movement. We soar, others deplore but let their purblind doubts render them blind to our burgeoning love.

Forget the brisk trees dangled in the wind on winding paths through haunted forest or remember them because of ghoulish fortress but with our apotropaic lamp we can avert most evil and call the rest fun and gains and shun but fames never profaned, never inalterable a destiny to magical to be some whimpered catcall. Or we could linger beneath lambent street lights disguised as though wilted garb, attrition of circumstance waiting patiently for the matinee and the vintner to escort us beyond the garb of pretense in a city so abundant with it that it deserves castigation. But I digress, a beachside cliff overlooking tepid waters tumultuous in their power but august in their noises, the cadence of love will sing a half-moon bay on full-moon nights and we will frisk each other like grasping at straws of permanent tracks trammeled of the elite and a sidetracked basque bet. Trim those antlers and instead grow metaphorical wings, to us we all sing but few can match your elegance and everyone would be crazy not to see your ennobled age and together thrilling songs to emulate thriller in sales we will collaboratively sing.
Haughty sneers from lifeless lycanthropy straggling furtively along the pastiched sidewalks of grime, livid because they can’t share the lingering limelight, with as many guarded perks of privacy clambering like a hive of snarky sharks. Lets ditch the big town dreams in terms of posh and stature if only for a caressed moment beneath the unadulterated stars and if you find spars **** to the extent they are amiable than I say guess what my name is Lars! Or wait a second, paused in the big city spotlight our stenciled hearts will guide whatever progeny is yours or mine or ours together we will sing the most comforting lullaby, and caves no longer must we abide. Yearn and earn every inch, as I gripe with my delicate saddened pinch but I think the innuendo speaks . Ripen with our trips to Napa, long afternoon sunsets swim in our hearts as we taste the vanguard’s toast on elegant wine.I console with entreaty to disavow the omen of that San Franciscan church October 2008, the doom implied by Einstein, the raillery of a world grinding down the endless decadence of a railed future inalterable in destiny or partialy amenable to widespread coquetry.

Forget those rumbles in your past that made you feel partial to insecurity and learning the ropes you transcended all and live in all eternity. Thimble and brook, tolerant of all those tokes I took your rebellious side flattens the yeast of Exodus raspy in its begrudged clapping. But the Pharaoh of the modern world sheltered me under his prickly thorns, shielded me from the sickly things that life adorns. We have the numbers on our side, the weight of destiny on our shoulders, dedicate yourself to yourself and I will preen the most vibrant wisdom and love will leap like Apollo across all borders not for camel-****** hoarders. We are culminated destiny in the wings of the best daydream
Life, Love and No Mathematics to God and Gain
La Mer Sep 2014
Eight pounds of thorough *******
split between two brothers of Zaragoza, Spain
the love for substance has lost all of it's hope
time for family split between hours of dope
there was a newborn with wings, without a full day
because the love for substance stood directly in the way.
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But, ah, thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that, so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time’s leisure with my moan,
    Receiving nought by elements so slow,
    But heavy tears, badges of either’s woe.
What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since everyone hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new.
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,
And you in every blessèd shape we know.
    In all external grace you have some part,
    But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
High on a throne of royal state, which far
Outshone the wealth or Ormus and of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence; and, from despair
Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires
Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue
Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught,
His proud imaginations thus displayed:—
  “Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven!—
For, since no deep within her gulf can hold
Immortal vigour, though oppressed and fallen,
I give not Heaven for lost: from this descent
Celestial Virtues rising will appear
More glorious and more dread than from no fall,
And trust themselves to fear no second fate!—
Me though just right, and the fixed laws of Heaven,
Did first create your leader—next, free choice
With what besides in council or in fight
Hath been achieved of merit—yet this loss,
Thus far at least recovered, hath much more
Established in a safe, unenvied throne,
Yielded with full consent. The happier state
In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here
Will envy whom the highest place exposes
Foremost to stand against the Thunderer’s aim
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share
Of endless pain? Where there is, then, no good
For which to strive, no strife can grow up there
From faction: for none sure will claim in Hell
Precedence; none whose portion is so small
Of present pain that with ambitious mind
Will covet more! With this advantage, then,
To union, and firm faith, and firm accord,
More than can be in Heaven, we now return
To claim our just inheritance of old,
Surer to prosper than prosperity
Could have assured us; and by what best way,
Whether of open war or covert guile,
We now debate. Who can advise may speak.”
  He ceased; and next him Moloch, sceptred king,
Stood up—the strongest and the fiercest Spirit
That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair.
His trust was with th’ Eternal to be deemed
Equal in strength, and rather than be less
Cared not to be at all; with that care lost
Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse,
He recked not, and these words thereafter spake:—
  “My sentence is for open war. Of wiles,
More unexpert, I boast not: them let those
Contrive who need, or when they need; not now.
For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest—
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait
The signal to ascend—sit lingering here,
Heaven’s fugitives, and for their dwelling-place
Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame,
The prison of his ryranny who reigns
By our delay? No! let us rather choose,
Armed with Hell-flames and fury, all at once
O’er Heaven’s high towers to force resistless way,
Turning our tortures into horrid arms
Against the Torturer; when, to meet the noise
Of his almighty engine, he shall hear
Infernal thunder, and, for lightning, see
Black fire and horror shot with equal rage
Among his Angels, and his throne itself
Mixed with Tartarean sulphur and strange fire,
His own invented torments. But perhaps
The way seems difficult, and steep to scale
With upright wing against a higher foe!
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still,
That in our porper motion we ascend
Up to our native seat; descent and fall
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear
Insulting, and pursued us through the Deep,
With what compulsion and laborious flight
We sunk thus low? Th’ ascent is easy, then;
Th’ event is feared! Should we again provoke
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find
To our destruction, if there be in Hell
Fear to be worse destroyed! What can be worse
Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned
In this abhorred deep to utter woe!
Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Must exercise us without hope of end
The vassals of his anger, when the scourge
Inexorably, and the torturing hour,
Calls us to penance? More destroyed than thus,
We should be quite abolished, and expire.
What fear we then? what doubt we to incense
His utmost ire? which, to the height enraged,
Will either quite consume us, and reduce
To nothing this essential—happier far
Than miserable to have eternal being!—
Or, if our substance be indeed divine,
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst
On this side nothing; and by proof we feel
Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven,
And with perpetual inroads to alarm,
Though inaccessible, his fatal throne:
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.”
  He ended frowning, and his look denounced
Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous
To less than gods. On th’ other side up rose
Belial, in act more graceful and humane.
A fairer person lost not Heaven; he seemed
For dignity composed, and high exploit.
But all was false and hollow; though his tongue
Dropped manna, and could make the worse appear
The better reason, to perplex and dash
Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low—
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds
Timorous and slothful. Yet he pleased the ear,
And with persuasive accent thus began:—
  “I should be much for open war, O Peers,
As not behind in hate, if what was urged
Main reason to persuade immediate war
Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast
Ominous conjecture on the whole success;
When he who most excels in fact of arms,
In what he counsels and in what excels
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair
And utter dissolution, as the scope
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.
First, what revenge? The towers of Heaven are filled
With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable: oft on the bodering Deep
Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing
Scout far and wide into the realm of Night,
Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our way
By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise
With blackest insurrection to confound
Heaven’s purest light, yet our great Enemy,
All incorruptible, would on his throne
Sit unpolluted, and th’ ethereal mould,
Incapable of stain, would soon expel
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,
Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope
Is flat despair: we must exasperate
Th’ Almighty Victor to spend all his rage;
And that must end us; that must be our cure—
To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated Night,
Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows,
Let this be good, whether our angry Foe
Can give it, or will ever? How he can
Is doubtful; that he never will is sure.
Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire,
Belike through impotence or unaware,
To give his enemies their wish, and end
Them in his anger whom his anger saves
To punish endless? ‘Wherefore cease we, then?’
Say they who counsel war; ‘we are decreed,
Reserved, and destined to eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more,
What can we suffer worse?’ Is this, then, worst—
Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms?
What when we fled amain, pursued and struck
With Heaven’s afflicting thunder, and besought
The Deep to shelter us? This Hell then seemed
A refuge from those wounds. Or when we lay
Chained on the burning lake? That sure was worse.
What if the breath that kindled those grim fires,
Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage,
And plunge us in the flames; or from above
Should intermitted vengeance arm again
His red right hand to plague us? What if all
Her stores were opened, and this firmament
Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire,
Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall
One day upon our heads; while we perhaps,
Designing or exhorting glorious war,
Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled,
Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey
Or racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains,
There to converse with everlasting groans,
Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved,
Ages of hopeless end? This would be worse.
War, therefore, open or concealed, alike
My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile
With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye
Views all things at one view? He from Heaven’s height
All these our motions vain sees and derides,
Not more almighty to resist our might
Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles.
Shall we, then, live thus vile—the race of Heaven
Thus trampled, thus expelled, to suffer here
Chains and these torments? Better these than worse,
By my advice; since fate inevitable
Subdues us, and omnipotent decree,
The Victor’s will. To suffer, as to do,
Our strength is equal; nor the law unjust
That so ordains. This was at first resolved,
If we were wise, against so great a foe
Contending, and so doubtful what might fall.
I laugh when those who at the spear are bold
And venturous, if that fail them, shrink, and fear
What yet they know must follow—to endure
Exile, or igominy, or bonds, or pain,
The sentence of their Conqueror. This is now
Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear,
Our Supreme Foe in time may much remit
His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed,
Not mind us not offending, satisfied
With what is punished; whence these raging fires
Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames.
Our purer essence then will overcome
Their noxious vapour; or, inured, not feel;
Or, changed at length, and to the place conformed
In temper and in nature, will receive
Familiar the fierce heat; and, void of pain,
This horror will grow mild, this darkness light;
Besides what hope the never-ending flight
Of future days may bring, what chance, what change
Worth waiting—since our present lot appears
For happy though but ill, for ill not worst,
If we procure not to ourselves more woe.”
  Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason’s garb,
Counselled ignoble ease and peaceful sloth,
Not peace; and after him thus Mammon spake:—
  “Either to disenthrone the King of Heaven
We war, if war be best, or to regain
Our own right lost. Him to unthrone we then
May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yield
To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife.
The former, vain to hope, argues as vain
The latter; for what place can be for us
Within Heaven’s bound, unless Heaven’s Lord supreme
We overpower? Suppose he should relent
And publish grace to all, on promise made
Of new subjection; with what eyes could we
Stand in his presence humble, and receive
Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his throne
With warbled hyms, and to his Godhead sing
Forced hallelujahs, while he lordly sits
Our envied sovereign, and his altar breathes
Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers,
Our servile offerings? This must be our task
In Heaven, this our delight. How wearisome
Eternity so spent in worship paid
To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue,
By force impossible, by leave obtained
Unacceptable, though in Heaven, our state
Of splendid vassalage; but rather seek
Our own good from ourselves, and from our own
Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess,
Free and to none accountable, preferring
Hard liberty before the easy yoke
Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear
Then most conspicuous when great things of small,
Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse,
We can create, and in what place soe’er
Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain
Through labour and endurance. This deep world
Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst
Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven’s all-ruling Sire
Choose to reside, his glory unobscured,
And with the majesty of darkness round
Covers his throne, from whence deep thunders roar.
Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell!
As he our darkness, cannot we his light
Imitate when we please? This desert soil
Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold;
Nor want we skill or art from whence to raise
Magnificence; and what can Heaven show more?
Our torments also may, in length of time,
Become our elements, these piercing fires
As soft as now severe, our temper changed
Into their temper; which must needs remove
The sensible of pain. All things invite
To peaceful counsels, and the settled state
Of order, how in safety best we may
Compose our present evils, with regard
Of what we are and where, dismissing quite
All thoughts of war. Ye have what I advise.”
  He scarce had finished, when such murmur filled
Th’ assembly as when hollow rocks retain
The sound of blustering winds, which all night long
Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull
Seafaring men o’erwatched, whose bark by chance
Or pinnace, anchors in a craggy bay
After the tempest. Such applause was heard
As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleased,
Advising peace: for such another field
They dreaded worse than Hell; so much the fear
Of thunder and the sword of Michael
Wrought still within them; and no less desire
To found this nether empire, which might rise,
By policy and long process of time,
In emulation opposite to Heaven.
Which when Beelzebub perceived—than whom,
Satan except, none higher sat—with grave
Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed
A pillar of state. Deep on his front engraven
Deliberation sat, and public care;
And princely counsel in his face yet shone,
Majestic, though in ruin. Sage he stood
With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear
The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look
Drew audience and attention still as night
Or summer’s noontide air, while thus he spake:—
  “Thrones and Imperial Powers, Offspring of Heaven,
Ethereal Virtues! or these titles now
Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called
Princes of Hell? for so the popular vote
Inclines—here to continue, and build up here
A growing empire; doubtless! while we dream,
And know not that the King of Heaven hath doomed
This place our dungeon, not our safe retreat
Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt
From Heaven’s high jurisdiction, in new league
Banded against his throne, but to remain
In strictest *******, though thus far removed,
Under th’ inevitable curb, reserved
His captive multitude. For he, to be sure,
In height or depth, still first and last will reign
Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part
By our revolt, but over Hell extend
His empire, and with iron sceptre rule
Us here, as with his golden those in Heaven.
What sit we then projecting peace and war?
War hath determined us and foiled with loss
Irreparable; terms of peace yet none
Vouchsafed or sought; for what peace will be given
To us enslaved, but custody severe,
And stripes and arbitrary punishment
Inflicted? and what peace can we return,
But, to our power, hostility and hate,
Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow,
Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least
May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice
In doing what we most in suffering feel?
Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need
With dangerous expedition to invade
Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault or siege,
Or ambush from the Deep. What if we find
Some easier enterprise? There is a place
(If ancient and prophetic fame in Heaven
Err not)—another World, the happy seat
Of some new race, called Man, about this time
To be created like to us, though less
In power and excellence, but favoured more
Of him who rules above; so was his will
Pronounced among the Gods, and by an oath
That shook Heaven’s whole circumference confirmed.
Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn
What creatures there inhabit, of what mould
Or substance, how endued, and what their power
And where their weakness: how attempted best,
By force of subtlety. Though Heaven be shut,
And Heaven’s high Arbitrator sit secure
In his own strength, this place may lie exposed,
The utmost border of his kingdom, left
To their defence who hold it: here, perhaps,
Some advantageous act may be achieved
By sudden onset—either with Hell-fire
To waste his whole creation, or possess
All as our own, and drive, as we were driven,
The puny habitants; or, if not drive,
****** them to our party, that their God
May prove their foe, and with repenting hand
Abolish his own works. This would surpass
Common revenge, and interrupt his joy
In our confusion, and our joy upraise
In his disturbance; when his darling sons,
Hurled headlong to partake with us, shall curse
Their frail original, and faded bliss—
Faded so soon! Advise if this be worth
Attempting, or to sit in darkness here
Hatching vain empires.” Thus beelzebub
Pleaded his devilish counsel—first devised
By Satan, and in part proposed: for whence,
Undecided I am
As to whether or not obsessing over you is wrong
I may never know
If it must be wrong, then I only wrong myself
For I am addicted to you,
and it is not long before i feel the withdrawal
Of your poisonous beauty
Far more potent than any substance
Far more desirable than any liquor

Thirsty for you I am
As to whether or not the thirst is quenchable
I may never know
If it must go unquenched, I will surly die of thirst
For I have had a dose of you,
and so your poison will remain in my heart
Until it gives way
After my hit of you I desire no other
After my fix of you I need another

I can not be rehabilitated
Or cured thanks to you
So i must adjust,
and aspirations must be met
I'll start off small,
and see if you've noticed me yet

Conclusion or delusion
I wonder in my state of euphoria
I think obsessing over you is right for me
Having learnt to embrace this love sickness you have brought unto me
This feeling is human,
so I must be too
Well a man has needs,
and what I need is you
This is an old poem I wrote at around age 16 during my final year of secondary school. Take what you will from this, I think I was way in over my head. At that age though you don't really understand that when you feel a certain way (about a girl or boy) and start to put stupid things in your body you are in for a whole world of confusion and conflicting emotions. I originally titled this piece 'Addicted to you' and wanted something more original so I wrote 'Are you back on it again?' as a reference to the typically crass, English question: Are you getting on it? (When a mate asks if you are involved with a girl or boy.)

— The End —