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Julian Sep 2020
I famigerate without taciturn timidity the straits of a straightened jury-rig of nesiote narrowbacks harping the accordion zest and zeal of the plenilune consuetude of a scrivello infamy sprung into the rows of rip-tide acclaim hamstrung by the decline in fastidious upkeep of the timberlask vesicles that avoid the phenakism of prismatic reformation fundamental to transmogrified simpers of dismal saturnine darkness encroaching on the parallax of realms within the dominion of the Almighty for the omniety of the usucaption of the fruitful prune in the priggish afterglow of a noontide eclipse bereaved of whispering retreat in the hallowed wasms of stiltanimity becoming an entreaty to ecumenical barbs of propriety selected without intimacy to folksy bibliopolists but rugged in sterling tribute to the true vine of the appointed ways of sacerdotal triage among a roughshod vanity of a derelict world marveling at otiose rejoinder rather than true spasms of tragedy flickering in the recessive alleles of a careworn culture. The travesty of Beirut is the bromide of current leapfrogs of sentinel lust and malapert destruction forming an ironclad camaraderie with chocolate-box langlauf disasters wed uxoriously to the penury of the brackish version of the catadromous bailiwick of despotic nescience pregnant with sophrosyne redemption at the cusp of a plaid perfunctory quip of quisling intimations of the sketchy provenance of humdingers of comestion lurking in the plodding prowl of a ribald wiseacre of a beckoned billow of trinkochre welded into a conscientious blarney that awaits the popinjays that sculpt brittle redshort fictions into awakened carapaces of a limacine reduction of impoverished fulmination into the neatly sworn footprints of a geotaxis shuddering with magnetism only in spectacle without the overhailing zeal of vintners who specialize in curtailed wine drawn from Caiaphas and soaked with the muddy turgid Siloam as avenues toward the repentance of asunder becoming marginalized as a whimper of taciturn choleric war receding not even into an audible delope as the masterful chryselephantine assault of cryptic auditions in the theater of effete refuge sink into the pelagic oblivion of a remarkable blister festering into inconsequence as the rebarbative emoluments to tattered travesty hearken a battle-cry yet emanated in the reprehensible bulwark of the gerendum of a poised plastered humility aggrieved with such friction turgid on rollicking magpiety that even the larceny of brutish renegades of triumph sink beneath the brevity of accident rather than the fortitude of globalized turpitude weakened by the improper demarche of fuliginous homeless depredation of innocent bystanders flocking to the harvest of war found in insight rather than the perfunctory bromidrosis of the macroscian enmity of hidden maleficence spawning a credenda that is spayed on arrival in the faineant zoolatry of a spelunkers’ madcap dash to flex the filigrees of turmoil in resentment of the amicable truces of a God who never tempts and a lurking lie that never itches for trigger-happy hapless rebukes because the skittish skirmish of futilitarian repose is a scoundrel of the profligacy of errant weakness blinkered by the humdrum din of deafening semaphores of provocative thornbush on the threshing floor of cowardly imposture president of all affairs of spirit and all renegades of caitiff megalography of forgotten oblivion despite the curglaff of vindictive and never vindicated assaults on the integrity of the birthright of Lebanon to wager a presumptive gamble of trifling retribution for the alacrity of suspicions eloping with forbidden mistresses in the humdingers of flackey rather than the troudasque harbinger of a lunacy impugned by a restive triumphant fallow time seasonable for a litany of pretenses demassified for a liturgy of seances with eldritch commiseration in the saw-toothed serration of selachostomous bravado wielded by likely or unlikely culprits of ravenous ruin shepherded by the guilty cardinal sins of the complicity of explosive vanity marauding on the ruins of a fortress debased by pettifoggery of internal excuse rather than the wrath of provocative ire in the irksome cauterized wounds of the inured to deliver spectacular reticence despite such grievous diacope. Evil gilderoys of maleficence carve the sapwood of the periphery to aimless subversions miscarried by the modern atrocity of glamour memorialized as a sound-byte underminnow of a roaring rhombos rip tide as stocks wavy at the curvature of edgy demarche despoil the denuded wasteland of cultural despondency a wagtail to the impudence of famigerated affronts that deserve a sterling recompense wielded by the onerous and operose burdens of a prone decubitus of aboriginal bread seeded from Heavenly realms dissipating into the roars of blinded conflagration too meek to even exist on the ramshackle hillside of a barnstorm of aggression powerless to encapsulate the nexility of unspoken allegiance to destruction rather than the halidom of consecrated marriages balking at the caulked provisions of a slugabed monolith of craven capers on the recesses of abeyance in the interregnum of a time where famous people communicate with me. How can such a charismatic bravado of lurking presidency stoop to the denizens of usufruct in licentious latitudes on the outskirts of consideration even pretend anymore that the vacuum of effluvium (Gal 6:7) can be mocked and milked into the row of centuries blistering through the calenture of apprisal and heaved awakening as the zephyrs of the Occident meet temporal juncture with the coenesthesia of a hibernating trumpery formed by the turnverein of listless lethargy billowing through fumiducts of siphoned lavaderos of hypogeiody that the underground spasms of cacophony could marvel at the historic emergence of a magnate with the most powerful magnetism of God shepherding the true flock John 10:27 because he is willing to be the good shepherd and potentially die for his sheep John 10:11. Remember, whenever you hear a Queer Studies Radical Feminist bloviate on emasculated sardanapalian posture John 8:44 and even though personified as a masculine titan of bulwarks of immense otiose wilted inkburch shielding the world from true meaning, the maskirovka of the Devil is present in the dark trespasses of personal abandon among the wilderness of many marsupial jackals of martles wagtails to an invictive proclamation of invulnerable sappy sopanaceous filibusters against hefty sinew forged the bony fragments of the charnels lost to brief epitaphs never mourned in threnodies worthy of remembrance that the departed died with us and live again through us whether in Heaven as participant or on Earth as an acting battalion of the skullduggery of the mystique of shimmers of God acting on Man’s behalf 1 Col 1:15-16. That the firstborn of all creation obtains supremacy through the finalisms that I seek as the captain of trailblazing untrammeled roads we are reminded of the narrow and wide gates expanded by the explosion of thought that trespasses into the hidebound ratchet of a reasonable bleat becoming a harsh outcry of justice for Lebanon that they feel so powerless in implosion what could aggrieve potentate civilizations to the precipice of global maleficence in destruction. Swarming for alveolate hominid hominism as an outgrowth of alienation by design polarized spectral dangles at jaundice flamestun by the ordeal of oppositive barnacles to the chryselephantine habituation of a masked menace of Procrustean authority to muzzle the free license of armamentariums of a latent man keen to the kenspeckel visibilia that we might have punctuation in the poised primiparas of a hearkened unprecedented in modern history that the traipse of lapse is no longer the tenure of mindless calculation of authoritarian gabble sentries of a mobilized fleet of embodied human ignorance but a foisted sprite of whangams of apothegm that deserve in their gnomic respite from the phenakisms of a philogeant kumbaya assertive in its treony of radical compassion for those who dwell in tentpoles of revelry bound not to the covenant that sent us into light and sparkling in hidden obsolescence that the fulgurant words of Mount Horeb (Sinai) are both immaculate and without trace of sin because Acts 17:30 declares a powerful truth lost to the twinges of time that issued peremptory governance of my theology but through remission I admit the grievances of septiferous blockades of ponderous plodding nescience haunting the spectral aubades of paeans to a high-flown sun darting through galactic space apace of the velivolant sails of divine wind that come in the spree of recompense authored by the vines to which all roots belong rhizogenic and immutable because the demarches of time forget the marches against the cauterized grime of new-world suspicions of aleatory fickle gubernatorial proclamations that issue reverb more than sprinkle flanged atrocity in the sight of the holy ramparts of an active double-edged God who reminds us of our many witnesses but provides not a single latchkey of escapism resident to many hapless homes of the drunken sing-song rhapsody nullifying the psychotaxis of the motatory miserly Draconian charades of Leviathan grasping the tridents of warp-speed revisionism in a benighted world overrun by mandarist fictions that fumigate a pasteurized control of cultural malcontent in situations of dearth infested by the concentration camps of China that remain unheralded in brumal and brutish indoctrination spared from worldwide outrage by the tribunes that are complicit more in malfeasance than they are celebrated for the herald of heinous bletcherous crimes of abecedarian abligurition anointed in waste rather than refined like unquenched slakes of eternal water so that no man can thirst hungry for the daily bread without returning to the providence of God awakened. Recalcitrant by the impudent quislings of repugnasket flarmeys of advenient flummoxed besieged clairvoyance I bask and beaze on the light that never fades because of the brackish whisk of a barnstorm of allegiance that is contumely to a bromide society listless in inferiority of intellect to my former streaks beyond jejune reiteration of the Jehu mentality against the canine fate of Jezebel and her faltered ministry of ewnastique waged as battalion gore of a trifling musket of an aboriginal swim through the oceanic gaze of peerless eternity squirming because of flagging resolution among the spandrels of incommunicable largesse lolloped extravagantly not just for the spoils of hyped pedigree but also a chamade to Heaven to enlist the purblind vestiges of a crambazzled Earth rejuvenated in adolescent esprit rather than callow eclat against the outrecuidance of whimpered miserly conscientiousness that exists in a shorter frame of reference than the provident dashes through a furlough of time and ancestry to cobble together a lapidary bristling excoriation of the tumescent squabbles of mystique brave enough to rarefy the humid pasteurization of a mannequin kenspeckel still-frame jilt of jostled infamy brusque in its curt envies borne of still-born promenades of a whasper between the youthful ligony and the intrepid soul of a collective warrior debased by the adscititious participant to elegant effronteries of the newfangled intellectual vogue that is the grombang of the tralleyripped hamshackle of ostentation meeting mirrored paralysis in sheepish ewnastique creations meddlesome in their ironic frizz of recursion as I lounge on the habits of creation by intelligent lurches of design that appointed the demarcations of all creatures and the mysterious bridge between the missing links that remain elusive to the flombricks of the misery of epigenetic rhizogenic imparlance of desuetude cringing at foresight littered with the disaster of ravished hindsight blushing at the limpid degeneration of the vapid varnish of benighted ligony rather than heroic strides of stoic-epicurean compromise in the apolaustic pursuit of the one eternal God present in rebellion but never the temptress of mendacity and mendaciloquence because the tug I have on speed is ratifying a cauterized casualty in the spumid betrothed wicked snuffs of extinguished furor for a time beyond barnstormed racloir rugged origination and faulty phenogenesis that escorts mythos into actionable litanies of the awakened breed scoffing at the inkburch of “Electrolytes”-wernaggle that besets the queer fascinations of a warped generation. The pytherian swank of artrench embodied in the recocted rendevation of hypetrophy in hubris swaddled by the reductive dranger polluting the realm of compliant complicant complaints of the ashowel of albatross astroud in the hibernaculum of langlauf rather than the ultramontane fiduciary tether to the estrockentch rather than the laureates of plevisable courage found in truest shades of vinsky not the subhastation of a gaslighted galvanization of purebred classy swivels of opportunism nor the ravenous incubus appetite for usufruct in subversion belongs to the behest of an insular nesiote flexing the flux of subversion as the candid posies of saccharine immodesty become relegated figments of the everlasting age of promised propriety rather than rigid stultimathy of hackencrude virtues of virtuosos that marvel at troudasque wonders occluded by the girlcott of Team Biden and his militarized soldiers of desiccation of trumpery and the faucets unbounded by swanky concealed epithets of regaled rentgourge by a hapless objection of the runic destruction of apothecary leniency becoming of the betokened emblazonry of scrimshank in every perfuncturation but embodiment of character shouldered by every chasm of power erected in demolition of the warped egintoch radicalism of the submerged wernaggles of the hopeless minority swimming with autodimplage few have to bear but the truest flock of God heeds my voice and has the sapience to spare themselves of contumely and invective to hearsay of invictive triumph beyond radioglare swirk to renege the musical providence of the chamades to the asterongue I often take for granted by immunifacient degrees of the foretold encroaching upon the crux of a pivotal and pivoted destiny not distant from cordial providence. The sweedle of epigones for the risctender of obligation to subvert the coryphaeus with the rigmarole of gentincture borrowed from the Gates’ formulaic effleck of perverse warbles of collectivized contrition for abetted cultural pederasty limpid in its achieved objective of the crudenzy borrowed from a lacking impediment to arentrum belonging to the knowledgeable happenstance of the glorified dengonin is a denostram that forestalls the agelasts behind porsters of culture rather than legitimate mainlined contamination of wellsprings of fliction of paranoiac enthusiasm might swim in kinkativy blinkered blind piebald girouettism but never dauntless in sematic entrenchment of robust dilettantism as the swaddled corrugation of time into centripetal ****** against centrifugal modernism that alienates propriety while estranging by vacuous vacuums the outspoken progeny of the surviving age beyond the Jay and Silent Bob travesty that manifests as a glower of menacing Bushian invention to tarnish with ****** mythos the drapes of a defenestrated realism of the flinkers of sheepish indignation against many drakstings of intonorous sclerotic mandibles of crackjaw chockablock annihilation of core precepts and institutions indelible from the face of a quixotic entreaty of a ragged intrusion of ageotropic monoideism above the secular-clerical fidelity of honest witness borne of triumph and tribulation festooning the nativist hyperbole into a useless effigy of mountebank imposture silly in precision and purblind to gallantry. Yet I must kisswonk rather than truckle under such ponderous pretense because of a sertivine certainty in the thickets of prudence rather than the tomfoolery of humgruffin impudence scaffolds me to a post-modern ****** that shanks through prisons of guilt and burrows an interrogation of reality supreme over all complaint that the virtuosity of the Gifted (the elect flock that comprehends my volcanic diatribes against mandarism and stomachs them without sardonic pastorauling insults of passerby vicissitude) will spare many nations of awakened perjury against human instinct in the fitness of nations to denigrate the populist squalor of lurid and livid ewnastique wernaggles of the listless buttress against my formal modesty encouraged in all affairs even in aggrieved humility belonging to intimidation rather than spawned jostles through the rumpus of shunamitism that might rankle a later age.  Yentrified morality is a personal flapdoon against the promiscuous pederasty of freewheeling ophelimity and the lurking narquiddity of the traindeque of donnist hedonism to hijack my psychedelic tolerance into an unwarranted and inadvisable sanction into the netherworld of the frinterans of cultural modality that curdact religion into a cosmetic cosmogony rather than a soldiered infamy becoming a beacon on a towering hill growing in solidarity with the pleonasm of existence itself which surpasses crude formulas that already abide by the riches of decorum too much to be admired as trigger-happy fools run the asylum of domesticated irony and the librettos to downfall rather than the wassails of “The Man” becoming more masculine in featured charisma rather than defiled against Leviticus among others who preach belonging to nuclear creed without fission but for true rapprochement to the fusion of the treony with legitimate gripes of unsung complaint among the masculine minority. The traindeque of a baseline complaint aggrieved by the kilmarge carapace of stiltanimity for the hackencrude resentment of the inkburch of illiteracy is a profligate degeneracy lurid in hyped enmity that the envied entreaty becomes the despotic shadow masquerading in shadows blossoming into the full wisdom of the mature sophrosyne heart eager to pour out blessings upon a conservation of recycled epitaphs becoming hearsay in a rebarbative convolution of redacted rigmarole incendiary to whittled henpecks of political engineering but never vapid in their flagging insistence upon an ecumenical toleration of the brooks of modernity and compromise upon which much felicity is aggrandized and permuted against the spoilsport frinterans who encage a dodgy moralism in wilted etiolated jaunty pedigree that espouses the maudlin grievous and ghastly ghouls and sprites that haunt the fictional hobgoblins of the Potemkin Village that finds usury convenient and perjury even more facile for the glib facetious engineers of modalities of hatred unsung by the ribald witwanton “I got a Solution...You’re a ****…South Carolina What’s Up” crowd that never marvels at ingenuity or rarely attempts it in the summit of the climacteric jaundice of hidebound whemmles of ridicule sparring against spartan flagitious wiseacres of genocide of ideation for the revelry of armed missives denatured by raw promotion of the questionable ethics of a flavork of needed slakes of unquenchable desire swarming us with daily temptresses not of wayward women but the disarmed pretense of a lapidary rejoinder to a long expatiation or harangue against hackencrude curdles of rowboat injustice masquerading as sentinel savory destruction of the towering edifice of proclamation. There is great menace in the casuistry of sophist philogeant philocubists dicey with destiny for mincemeat puppetry against sciamachy for the gallionic rise of gammadions in the craven lore of baseline pasquinade rallied to the insuperable causes of tribal shibboleth anointed by secular totemisms of fracture and fricative hisses of lineage that amount to pleonasms of brassage rather than mystagogical mystique of the prestige of human fraternity that shatters paradigms of creed and invites an honest vestige of Noble Savages to roam the Earth yet again unencumbered by lugubrious welters of misnomer and malapropism wagered by artifices of guileless supremacy that is cursory prima facie neglect of even the sororal duties not of sophomoric glib facetious cowardice of backbited backlash of venom militarized for the desuetude of entertained visagists sculpting *****-nilly their version or verdict of decisive apartheid when we should all rally behind the united frontier of the chosen flock in the chosen generation to truckle beneath the pews not of ignorance aggravated by the polluted kilmarge egintoch puritan barbs against publicity choices I now regret (as an emolument to an incredibly euphoric track with a poor miserly message to the enchanted flock inoculated from such diversions) because alighted upon the quenched thirst of salvation I will be judged more harshly as a teacher James 3:1 than the rest of my flock but gifted with the gratuitous salvation carved from the chiselers of ribald infamy capering around with dacoitage and ladronism of the bomans of unsuspecting quixotic caprice I must reckon with the burden of ghoulish shadows on the spectral imprint of my eternal soul relishing in vicarious splendor yet bereaved of quintessential love 1 Cor 13:4 that is necessary for the nuclear conclamation of vibrant hues of resplendent and refulgent providence necessary not from a dynastic perspective but from an aimed providence that alerts dynamism rather than chides with mimes of useless schadenfreude carved from the prestidigitation of the wicked condemned in Galatians 6:7 for the mockers of sanctanimity accorded upon me as gratuity that no man can boast my elite ears and my astute wonderworks of imagination qualified me for prophecy and among the most mesmerizing prophecies registered to fulfillment that the world has ever yet witnessed because the watershed isn’t a bridgewater for the chavish of ignoramus hatred congealed into thrombosis but the narrowed gate enlarges to encompass the swath of man amenable to the flocks that escort me into permanence rather than regale the tridents of a hedonism that elected me clairvoyant at a cost of immaculate splendor registered to the holy clergy of the Sacred Catholic Church and the broader Ecumenical Endeavor that tries to be a seamstress and bridge elemental divides inherent to divided approaches to liturgy which flex their strengths in times of robust fortitude rather than become a subhastation to the vestiges of the pilgrimage to false tabernacles erected by people cozened into charlatan endeavors by the pernicious and persnickety whiplash of Least Common Denominator subversion of widely heralded sentience and sapience enriching the lot of human ambition rather than stoking useless conflagrations of refracturism accorded to the swallock of primposition of the hackneyed hackencrude that swivels with the odious ornery pretense of overtures not to apertures and lychgates of the true abiding Heaven felt on Earth by many Christians whether in sobriety or not without the evil maleficence of a misguided donnism of narquiddity for the grambazzles of aged recklessness aborning on vacant responsibility that is rickety in its magnanimity of absolution because of the ulterior chase for bottom-line top-dollar oligochrome foisted by the cartels that blind true spiritual insight from ever reaching the magnitude of ambition required to shape mountains of revolution among the tertiary squabbles of a conversant Earth open to the troudasque gallop into yield and cloveryield for repcrevel reforms the paludism of the swamp remains skittish about conforming to because objectivism is a renegade of perspicuous light blinkering in hubris and gourmandizing the hinderbaggle of cosmetic pollutions aggravated by the plevisable articles of envy and TLDR politics to “Electrolyte” logic that is a sad recursive wernaggle of the useless buffoonery of humgruffins of tatterdemalion spate rollicking in the magpiety of a timid consentient faltering myth of unanimity among the beleaguered rainbows of many lugubrious tears showering bickering blasphemy upon the mockery of God for the pleasantry of self-aware sheepish resignation that professes only that any form of meritocracy is existentially unfounded only because the beehive elected its progeny the scepter of the ironclad kingdom that wages war against idolatry and serenades heaven with luxury simultaneously. We are all shepherds of providence and there is power enough in collective prayer that we don’t fiddle around with bodewash in mistaken identity but riddle the persnickety blemish of the fastidious critiques of biting sarcasm as a tantamount blasphemy and a criminal repartee of sardonic cloys of inanity foisted above truth. The peevish breedbates who scour my evidentiary pillar of chiseled vertebrae of unbroken bones of solidarity with oikonisus will be sorely disappointed in their truthful audits of my true perception because in every single case it exonerates me from the pulpit of menacing idiots who scrawl random gabble in attempts to sound smart while reeking of iniquity wrought by the gavels of predevoted inferiority of complexion and attitude that gravitates them to an insensate benumbed transmogrified bailiwick of an appalling atrocity of mythomaniacal myths spurned by consensus among those who prize my grandeur above the superstitions of the illiteracy of the rancid rankle of otiose stupidity writhing its own sheepish envy of arbitrary dislike motivated by feminist aggressors waging warfare on turf I already conquered by swaying the intelligentsia to beckon my cause rather than pillory me on a false scaffold of frinteran abuses of the nyejays of bernacle that junediggle in the taradiddle of the nanciful excoriation of my leaden corpse weighed down by the witchcraft of connivance trayning its own delicate myths while avoiding scrutiny for appalling contumely that deserves an audience more suited for fracklings of treony belonging to the trinkochre of the rising alienation and suicides among perverted gay indoctrination that is a scourge on the planet because it willfully denies with its portentous hibbles the regaled wisdom of the culminated age against renegades of apostasy and for the behemoths of true monumental change that sizzles in savory circles among the vanguard only to alarm the Status Quo hijack of my entire endeavors as a covert crusade to use wrecking-ball fashion tactics to cosmetically incisively and insidiously perform a harprick of surgery upon a blameless countenance only for being a thorn to wragatek wragapole slavery which wages war against universal salvation because it gripes with inkburch and circular pleonasms about the most obvious glaring lies and feasts upon the serrated edge of the capers of hatred that frolic in meadows too skittish to enter the barbarian fortress of my forested residence robust in fortitude and glowering with a menacing contempt for runaround psychobabble that obganiates the obelisk of the moribund crusade to make normative ethics effeminate and to enthrone inviolable women’s speech as supreme to any male objections like the Cristiano Ronaldo accuser that came forth 8 months after #MeToo one of the most dishonest campaigns in modern history enthroned by Hollywood elites in gammerstang insurrection against pay-gap ethics done manipulatively with the sapwood of mendaciloquence like Blasey Ford whose physiognomy reeked of maudlin pretense that was so ornery in how obvious of a maleficence the intrepid Abortion Agenda has over the minds of selfish women who prefer ecbolic second-term abortions to the servile gripes of primiparas building new life rather than tearing down the scaffolds of new generations. Hominism deserves its rise because-in increasing numbers-men are derelicted by society and coerced into vapid tallespin enslavement that ridicules itself with the perjury of soul to the soulless vanity of recursive cycles of benumbed narquiddity found in “****** Hero” among other atrocities littering the human fascination with the hinderbaggle of our polluted age verging on totemic blistering hegemony of a few rotten apples corrupting the vagrant ingenuity of the forgotten champion who ushered in a new era of candor in the attempted interregnum of the United States government because I Am Hollywood got the name correct considering how many memorials there are to me in the movie industry. The junediggles of sc-ha-den-freud-e which is as deliberate of a German pun as JUDEn JuDEN which shows the German language is as farsighted as you can get and why many of my neologisms have a German tinge to them. German is an elegant language with botched syntax but a peerless repertoire of vocabulary and even though I love French, the Germans are smart because their language is smart not just because of petty arguments of pedigree which are specious at best. Being dontolesque with  the zenkidu of rengall nauclatic mythos is an artful degree which accords nominal prestige to licentiates while excorifying the obvious metaphors of sunblind logic that scours the scorched Earth of internet diatribes of sophistry and dethrones the Marcie Biancos of the world “Heterosexuality is officially OVER...K Bye” with her 145 IQ and a Stanford Degree in Queer Studies (A professed atheist by her own Twitter admission) with the warped logic to equate a heterosexual relationship for a woman as ******* to patriarchy. For someone that well-studied in literature she sure is a dumb-*** and I will demolish the syntagma of those that root against me for Status Quo preservation in the official interregnum of Saturdays during the Trump Presidency. We need an official referendum on the ideas of termagant illogical anti-egalitarian poison that derives from a deracinated worldview that doesn’t contextualize how powerful language is at shaping thought because if the entire world were Anglophonic every single country on Earth virtually would see immediate dividends in terms of intellectual creativity and limber with concepts and percepts because it is no accident the most successful empire in History the United Kingdom, was favored because of its shibboleths of Shakespearean creativity draped with flairs of the irreverent while gilded by God to be a majestic commonwealth. England and France monopolized a huge majority of history by no accident because although English might be a slightly keener language the French culture of salons of freewheeling intellectual enlightenment gilded the 17th and 18th centuries into absolution despite the Panglossian epithets of Voltaire who was ironically dissuaded from religion because of the All Saints Day 1755 Lisbon Earthquake and Tsunami. We need to be vigilant against encroachments of perceived shibboleths and more keen on an affirmative meritocracy that favors the poor and blesses the meek in their poverty and inspire ambition among them to join the coteries of refinement in thought sometimes harder to achieve with crackjaw lollops in pleonasmic languages that fail to articulate with nexility or forceful wit the true abstractions that govern the pataphysics of the unknown. Language is so decisive over human thought that it is incumbent upon every language to refine its vocabulary to trayne compendious verbiage and trim the hedges of global reform to invite the curiosity of the age to favor all creeds and languages of Abraham and the diverse progeny of a variegated panoply of majestic feats common to all parlance and capacity beyond just the Anglophonic snare because the world needs not a chicanery of blustering churlish buffoonery but an Almighty respect for the consanguinity of all to God’s blessed creation that he inseminated by his deliberate hands to enrich the world with diversity rather than cleave the world with piecemeal skeumorphs of radical propaganda that opposes the modern and post-modern egalitarian streak. One wrong must be corrected, however, the underrepresentation of Hispanics in the media and in film because this grave error is much more pervasive than the ******* LGBT inclusion narrative because these days the lollygags of fashionista odalisques with Obelisks to Baal get more say over the common decorum than the marginalized bronteum of the  rich and vibrant Latino culture which is squelched by the poverty of media and Hollywood representation. Synectics showcases how a henpecked aim at the synaesthesis of culture congregated around our Almighty Father blessed among the nations who adhere to the progeny of Abraham can be more blessed when working together rather than tribal with nepotism and aristocratic in sustained affronts to the elevation of affirmative meritocracy to the forefront of discussion rather than the froward backlash of benumbed narquiddity because the synallagamatic nature of complexity needs to be devolved with industrious ambition to all cultures and the savory flair of the vogue needs not merely a wednongue fascination with an eventual terminus of crudenzy but a sustained intellectual reformation on all fronts to standardize the English language through Hollywood and the Music Industry so that the dragnets of appeal etch a permanent trace into the engraved souls of the true flock John 10:27 are consecrated in divine purpose to reverse the Babylonian Diaspora of confused and conflated purpose that stunts the raltention of humane course and the proper pataphysical syncrisis of an evolved mundane temperament that transcends the circular traps of circumlocution common to the milquetoast industrial titans who winsomely charm with toady gestures the elitism of a moribund philosophy of intellectual thought delegation to elevate the common rhetoric to reach new pinnacles in both tribune and political gamesmanship because higher standards are required even when they surpass some common understanding so that every ambition becomes a conclave for the goal of human unity solidified by the truth of the kerygma and proclaimed to all creation as the culminated synclastic reformation of the idea of indulgence and the propriety of regaled moderation that appeases the common decorum with a shared vested interest in Latin America especially which is besieged by the cultural tenets of obrogated specialization and denigrated by the common myths of warped phenogenesis which should be debunked as a wasm of hypocrisy limited because its callous tentacles lack the charismatic fulgurant equipment of future generations to bear the operose burdens of a quintessential time of harmony united by the hymns for God by God to appease the sentries in Heaven and the celestial realms that exist for our merriment more than our detriment. The sprauncy have the  frikmag to recognize the spuria of apocryphal heresies that encourage kinship above matriotism and shared fortitude for intellectual valor rather than “*** talk TLDR” hashtags abounding on the turf of the insensate wernaggle of clueless charlatans wiggling through life not because they were borne into slavery but because they choose to be Helicopter Parents of “Baby Shark” rather than token mantelpieces of enlivened culture shimmering with radiation of Gods glory as cemented in Colossians 1:15-16 because the firstborn of all creation lives in some form in the ligature of Christ 1 Cor 12:12 because there are so many talents that exist in our variegated world that the mastery of expertise in dominions of conversant fluency will abet the variegated crops of a draped humanity corrugated on its own ironies for the delicate sizzle of beatific felicity multiplying itself in centupled design over centuries to overcome hinderbaggle while realizing the fictions of some drawflark. The strigine world concedes to this upstart rooster maybe considered a parvenu of dearth but luxuriant in riches boundless to all that draw near to the kerygma of Christ and feast on his daily bread found throughout liturgy because we should listen to people like Cardinal Timothy Dolan who is exceptionally astute (perhaps an understatement) to guide us on a regenerative rather than degenerative pathway towards universal attempts at salvation that broach a new decorum bridged by aliens to select chosen emissaries to bridle the fissions of repartee reserved for the forlorn that balk at ambition rather than relish a new era of seditious determination against the determinist fallacy and for the mental health of those coping with autodimplage and sheepish regrets and persnickety articles of remorse because all the world deserves our consolation and desperate attention rather than the trumpery of the circus masquerade of marauding agitprop which congeals into thrombosis of toxicity as the vast majority of Democrats refuse to even hear Trump speak when he is discussing discursive solutions to enigmatic quagmires,for, if more people listened to Trump they would be disabused by the specious claims of his misogyny and white allegiances because his candor is brilliant and despite the prominent advocacy of Biden who has considerable prestige in my memory, we deserve a bipartisan syncretism that unites the world and unifies the country away from the swerve of salacious mythos and towards a rambunctious magpiety of solidarity against the secular humanism of a defunct piety to Marxist feminism which is a crudenzy among the awakened men around the world increasingly alienated by the hackencrude of wednongue illiteracy even trumpeted by the vanguard as panacea when it is a comestible form of poison. We need visionary unity where there was once toxic divisive balkanization of exclaves of limited foresight clashing with new wave awakening to the persecution of illumination itself for not a rigid hierarchy but a flexible structure of inclusion that adjusts to cultural expectancy and modifies the traindeque that strands many in institutionalized poverty especially in Latin America and India and obviously Africa too. The stegophilists of language should herald the aubade of the chavish of redintegration over the squawk of din of squabbles of internecine redacted revisionism beleaguering our lyceums with toxic agitprop even at the highest institutions of learning who balk often at the recycled auditorium of useful thought because their venal tilt is complicit in squelching freedom of thought and our schools should open early so that zig-zag-zoom politics around feldtrounds who are eagerly outnumbered by the patrons who police thought become agentic not with outspoken treacheries but inseminations of intimation to hint at the spectral mystagogical reality we are all members of despite hurdles that beset the hemiteries of odalisques who seek inertia rather than mobilization. The ribald underminnow of transparency is a carcinogen of the rampant siege of Status Quo coarse hypocrisy for tentative flings with cadged cloyed saturnine professions of the landmines of atrocious miscarriage as I soldier on in the causes of the poor and the forlorn to become enriched by the glory that God delivers with munificence so that all might be enriched by the emanations of the true vine and in distaste of error I rebuke the armada of belittled armamentariums of the cantonment of deep-state breedbates boiling over potboiler frikmag that exists as a transcendent obscurantism flowering in decisive times to warp the contextual footprint of a life served in the service of all the oppressed people as a kind of Moses figure raised by the elite and fighting for the criminally oppressed and the ****** of mediagenic hyperbole is dissatisfied by my glowering spectacles because they dismount from the equipoise of the righteous gallop towards ecumenical solidarity at untimely punctuations of juncture superseding the flictions of frikmag dethroning my righteous valor and provident sanctanimity to prowl like predatory wolves the fathers of the casuistry of mendaciloquence to accentuate the stridor of inopportune squalor of the selachostomous regimes of teetotaler totalitarian freebooters who prevent bootstraps from manufacture as they gradgrind the world into ergonomic insufficiency while I provide a Kamacho-like galvanization to the broader world that favors the consanguinity of all animate sentience to the aboriginal vine of the universe that plays with the toyed cadge of oppositive support but lends credence to a more evolved view than the crudity of encapsulated travesties inserted with jaundice against the lyceum of freedom of thought and the celerity of headless horseman galloping in partial interregnum to crown the strobic stridor of the stiver of the steven of contarianism engineered for walloped ringleaders of the renegades of heresiarch sedition in their odalisque oaths to Pagan dieties carved from the sapwood of gullible Illuminati naivety that professes allegiance to the worst whangam ever invented Baphomet and his faked cronies of ewnastique free-for-all diminutive crags in the renown of dawning light becoming cagey struthious structuralism embedded in sclerotic wasms of the wanhope of a nullified message becoming a sacred creed to the attentive while the lilt of the otiose drawl in serpentine convolution a ribald pleonasm of circular circumlocution that provides locomotive linearity rather than leapfrogged slogmarches into the province of the territorial alignment of kinship against the partisan hollertrap and the stigmatophilia of obsessive persnickety popinjay beadledom the last stronghold of the rickety resistence to this Saturday interregnum which presides over the better part of the intelligentsia if not the common pedestrian parlance because hortatory weights cannot be described in any other way than metagnostic flickers of Yellow Submarine vandalism of a pristine living animation of the humane spirit that prizes the plight of the poor and the blarney and blench of unjust opprobrium faced by the institutionalized bailiwick of flictions of gammadion gallionic posture when in fact they register as seismic entities engraved upon my Christian conscience that strictly welcomes the emigrants to truth from whatever consecrated virtue they originate from because all are capable of the same light and the same compassion of a beatified humanity rather than the relish of deep-state castophrenia which belies its own ribald gay mockery on live TV as not a single twinge of ****** attraction overtakes me in matriotic sardanapalian effrontery of a hollow but sadly hallowed vainglory of the hierodules that bury the coffers of patriotism in a sad LGBTQ graveyard of landmines that demonstrate a complete disregard of the nuclear family and should be decried as an outcry against redefined Christianity bolted to unshakable irrefragable beliefs in the constitution of man and women wed together in one monogamous flesh with the occasional cuddle of close tithes to the ******* of friendship as the slavery of sin in Leviticus 20:13 falls to the wayside because this patriotic lewdness is a vapid fatuous derangement that is a new low for the United States attempt to inoculate China from religious accord with the broader world and should be seen as a Chinese maskirovka worthy of the heaviest disdain and I will disavow America if it continues to bandy the tripwires of Chinese boondoggles under the American banner and pretend its pretense isn’t lagging under its own bletcherous abecedarian elementary fallacy of psychobabble oblivion of dark saturnine brusque termagants of tatterdemalion cloaks of the selfsame illusion of a desperation of China to wreck the United States economy and inseminate Florida, Arizona and Texas especially with the Coronavirus to swing the election in Biden’s favor with or without US Complicity to expedite the course of a virus which sees no resurgence in any other civilized country in the world while the heroic Russians, Germans, Israelis, French, British and true American Christians banish the barristers of bad taste as an acerbic poison on the wellsprings of a flagitious flag I would kneel for in the knells of disgrace if the pompous and completely inoculated missives of Buttigieg ******* continue to roam shepherded by deep state elitism to wreck the opportune moment of religious revival for petty reasons of chryselephantine gambit and gimcrack for institutionalized poverty which my ambition is to heal completely by sacerdotal deeds and consecrated prayers in the Lord whose peace surpasses the temporal despair of senectitude and comforts the grievances of the aggrieved because Galatians 6:7 is no more true than the fatuous display of muscular idiots waving American flags for turpitude rather than flogging very perverse Gay men in the streets which might be a more fitting outcome even though I must remove the plank in my own eyes first to see the irony of the detested. The doytin is no longer misguided by the nanciful derision of the vociferous clangor of the venal Gates mafia militia wrecking ball vaccination Bezos crew in Medina which is a mettle I can’t match when you own every citizen in the world in a few square miles of nesiote territory the denizens of conquest besieging religious sanctity with profane outbursts of corruptible linchpins on the public lynch of the strepsis of periblebsis that vitiates commonwealths of supreme sputtering regimented clairvoyant superlative alabaster wealth of the isangelous protectorate of the supreme God that supervises his careworn flock into the storge against the scourge of prosodemic stigma stained in bleeding heart liberal bathed tears of pseudoautochiria of Jim Morrison glaring in the face of the triads that Killed Him in the French Connection ******* of 71’ that outnumbered his hobohemia of loyal jewish bohemians livid in the rhapsody of nurture rather than enfeebled by the unfurled destiny of the Soul Kitchen he foresaw to his own pitiable demise at probably the hands of strangulation because no autopsy was performed. Although repetitive Transparent is a real anthem for oracular mystagogical transcendence a mandatory hymn for the ryseolagnus of the poetic verve of a new wave swooning the cordial progressive of atmospheric oneness with the primordial vine and the vintners that congregate on populated soil to feed a desolate destitution of synoecy or synaesthesis in the syncretic rhapsody of the subfocal ageotropic plenilune yet saturnine lugubrious toil of those that shovel through the albatross of ewnastique recapitulation to the same tired “Its got what plants crave, it’s got electrolytes” wernaggle of the hopelessly dismal inkburch of illiteracy crawling like a Hyacinth House on a vacant graveyard turf guarding the legionaires of rapid-fire zig-zags through a serpentine curvature of the ligaments of fabricated space warped through prismatic lenses of aperspectival time aspiring for ventriloquial enamored rapture upon Earthly parallax with tapestries of refulgent cascading wandering wonder that meditates its own lucubration with careworn tutelage against the wasms of dying oleaginous swelters of redshort opportunistic vultures swooping with Raven’s claws against the odometer of viewership surpassing records in unspeakable wisdom that crowds out the crambazzle toonardical wreffelaxity of the tiresome nuisance of ornery brawn muscled into a formidable triage in vengeance for Jim Morrison’s scripted eviction from Earth either by poisoned ****** or by  Asphyxiation by the French Connection avenging RFK and the cultural revolutions of 67’ in Haight Ashbury and the widespread percolation of treacheries fathomed to the most obvious degree in showmanship that it bristled as an affront so severe that even the patronage of Paris wasn’t immune to infiltration. His threnodies will always be sung with Triumph that the hallowed day of a monumental soul eluding the darkness of purgatory into the welcoming aborning light of the noontide progeny of eternal ataraxia awaited him in the stagecraft tub of blasphemy bellowing ratcheted warnings that not even the palatine grasp of a potentially divine being was inoculated from the deep dark chasm of nefarious skullduggery for boasting so widely and openly of his professed foresight to glamorous to be hidden as the beacon of virtuosity that galvanized a generation to flout the  futtocks of a keelhauled vision of sanitized purblind mortality that the fear of death rarely crossed the mind of the greatest fearless poet of an entire epoch that we may pray that Jim Morrison feasts in Heaven atoned for his sins and is at peace with God now. The substratose congeniality of marginalia on the outskirts of pederasty in cultural miscarriage owned by hierodules boundless in their lurid debaucheries that they might be remanded for being custodians of hostage to a prolific nescience  reaffirming their dying posture in the extinction of sardanapalian coverthrow of repcrevel camorras of ladronism and dacoitage always cauponate in imbibed throes of lewd AstroTurf outrecuidance glowering at sanctity with a bereaved psychobabble divorced from the purebred empiricism of true giants of industry that are almost insuperable in their extortion that their darkness in deeds of Kobe Bryants assassination do not go unpunished at least in Los Angeles. His untimely death as with many others registered on the Richter Scale because Come Clean perverts from Kansas City wanted San Francisco to win to clean the mops of janitorial revenge of the subturbary rickety foundations of a flailing moral compass so wicked in arbitrage that no subreption undetected would flourish among capernoited vigilantes of poached titanism and illuminism scarring the vestiges of enigmatic encroachment upon untouchables daring the frights of the Living Daylights of scurrilous rebukes so scathing in their menacing depiction of negligent bromides of token sacrilege and scarred sacrifice of a scarecrow example of how the prosodemic scourge of befuddled turgid pristine transmogrified heralds scampered away with pseudoautochiria that afflicted Jimi Hendrix suspiciously as well. My support is behind the justice warriors aggrieved by the Beirut explosion because they deserve a vindictive outcome that quells the quislings of atrocity of the popinjay beadledom of the unspeakable tremors of seismotic popples of unrest warranted in Lebanon the homeland of Keanu Reeves a saint among men for his peerless grace and agraceries of the smog of myth evanescence becoming perdurable swings of the humdingers of berated jaundice becoming the prerogative of the revenge of a city leveled to the ground by suspicious skullduggery and I am surprised they lay dormant for this long in their protracted grievance over the ghoulish frights of one of the most unheralded major events in recent memory. We need to highlight the plight of Lebanon so that world leaders are frightened even of intimidated people tranquilized by terror rather than enlivened by the propriety of redacted rejoinders that serve the ulterior mission of a Titanic bravery that never sinks beneath the sumptuary treacle of grombang grambazzle and supercherie of the supercalendar of poignant repined repose derailing an emolument to ecumenical solidarity. Lets highlight Lebanon as an inexcusable trespass worthy of some mighty reckoning if not a riveted war but at the very least a devastated twinge of outrage.
alcove Jul 2014
you are like a white crayon
valuable with superseding other colors
you show authority when no one else would

and for you, my white crayon
may i never stray away from objectives
and may you always be simply
a white crayon
useless in the eyes of some, but when used in a correct manner
you become infinite.
Julie Grenness Mar 2016
Earth invents gifts,
On life forms,  there's no thrift,
Earth the inventor,
Are humans the predators?
We've wrecked habitats,
Even our own, that's that!
But more Earth inventions,
New form of populations,
Earth always inventing,
Innovations designing,
What's the  best invention?
Is man an aberration?
Once a Garden of Eden,
Life we're superseding,
Still, on life forms there's no thrift,
Earth keeps inventing gifts.
Feedback welcome.
Yates Mar 2014
I pledge allegiance to the flag of a country that’s done nothing for me.
I pledge allegiance to a ticking corporate time bomb, counting down the number of people left outside of its marketing cage.
Corporate fat cats full of rage, a million dollars isn’t enough,
Give me ten.
Corporate law superseding human rights, tying us tight to the system justifying injustice done to us.
I pledge allegiance to “by the people for the people”, turned “by the people, for the money”, the fuel of the freedom we value so highly as to put a price tag on it as if that is an acceptable measure of its worth,
How can we get much worse than now when there are thousands of people wondering how they are going to survive this month?
I pledge allegiance to impossibility highlighted on HD screens, the clarity not giving us a clear view of reality, our beauty is not,
Should not,
Will not be measured by the numbers on a scale.
The girls in the magazines don’t even look like the girls in the magazines, so why don’t we focus on something that can be reached?
I pledge allegiance to the flag of a country where being smart enough to expose rapists can have greater consequences than ****** somebody,
Where violating firewalls and proxies is worse than violating human bodies.
I pledge allegiance to
“She was asking for it”,
“Boys will be boys”, and
“What was she wearing?”
When a robbery is committed in a home, the police do not ask if your door was unlocked, or if your laptop was in plain view,
So when a robbery is committed on a body, why is that exactly what they do?
I pledge allegiance to a country where love is still illegal in 33 states.
We are the country of change, so long as nothing changes, I mean
Women still get paid lower wages.
I pledge allegiance to a place where who you are does not mean you get to be yourself,
Where masculinity is blue and being feminine is pink.
If you have ever been stared at for wanting to be a rainbow, I will stand by you and stare right back.
And I will no longer pledge allegiance to a country consumed by consumerism, Nationalism,
Commercialism,
Racism,
Sexism,
Fear.
Instead, I will pledge allegiance to the memory of one nation under God,
Indivisible,
With liberty and justice for all.
A slam I wrote/revised for a competition
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
The Blue Canoe*

Had dinner at the Blue Canoe again,
A once every summer ritual,
Open aired, open to the senses, this eatery lies,
Nestled in the grasses, on the bay, in the port...

Had the onion rings that come
Wrapped around a boat mast,
In size order, smallest on top,
With BBQ mayo, superseding ketchup.

Watched the ferries shuttling,
As the sun collapsed, exhausted,
And slipped into the bay for a quick swim.
The ferries must work till 1am.
No dunking for them, either.

The clouds were magnificent.
No, I cannot write a poem about the cloud colors.
Their shape shifting inexhaustible,
Mine eyes high on their creativity,
I'm just not good enough a poet to tamper with that sky.

Green apple wedges and Caramel dipping sauce.
Best desert idea. Four bucks.
After dinner, see Wolverine?
Nah. He'll keep.

After-dinner stroll.
Want to try the carousel?
Suddenly the Nana~Grandma is seven again
Twice? Yay!
Of course, I do, snag the gold ring.
Yes! Red ticket! Free ride!

The band is playing Henry Filmore marching tunes
In the open space nested next to the carousel.
Old people liking old music.
Oom Pah Pah. Cute but boring.
What! No Mraz? We've been had!
Ferry home. Water smooth.
Breeze, a steady, warm two knots.
Time and Temperature? Perfect.

We drank a sparkling rose.
We had a sparkling evening.
Long week, tired at the molecular level.
I think I took my jeans off, nothing else,
Never made it to under-the-covers-land.
Woke up at 245, to write it all this down,
Recalling the last time we ate at the Blue Canoe.
When I was a better-poet
For then, I wrote....

Each of the five senses compete,
Pick me, Pick me, they shout,

The eyes see the tall grasses
Framing the ferry's to and fro life.
Waving bye bye to the
End of day harbor activities,
Putting your ship babies to sleep.

The ears hear the boat horns
Deep voiced, demanding pay attention,
I am now docking, I am important,
The sound lingers, long after
They are no longer important.

The tongue tastes the cooling
Italian Prosecco merging victoriously
With its ally, the modestly warming rays
Of a September setting sun,
Declaring, without stuttering this time,
Peace on Earth.

The odoriferous bay breezes,
A new for that second only smell,
But yet, a very old bartender's recipe,
Salt air, cooking oil, barbecue sauce, marine gasoline
And the winning new ingredient, freshly minted,
Stacked in ascending circumference order,
Onion rings.

These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger, by force majeure,
Declares, here,  poem aborning,
Contract with this moment, now satisfied.*


August 2nd, 2013

Ask me for directions, meet me there, so we can compose jointly, drunk on senses overloaded...
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
god... i can't believe i'm making comments
about this...
but i am.... i'm drunk and rowdy,
not sober & sane reality makes
point at this point...
        in ref. to cheryl tweedy...
"mum shaming"?!
                           not being able to breast
feed in public?
          these critics...
they are not inclined to make a fetish
out out lactating females?
  no? none of these ******* never had
the fetish quest of desiring to drink
milk from the **** of the mother,
so they would not become jealous over
the baby? no? so they jumped head-strong
into the latex gimp-suit fetish?!
handy...
        why would i mind some rat
of a leader worth the vermin of a party
known as the UKIP not bail out?
over a cleavage frenzy?!
             sure sure... **** things up...
bail out... and then jump ****...
good tactic...
                much applause...
******* wankers...
                      i did make one mistake
in my life... believing a 19 year old
Russian girl... to stick to her guns...
and take the ******* contraceptive pills
she promised to take...
i still don't know whether she was...
whatever the hell she was aiming at...
******? i don't mind the rubber...
i'd like some more...
in a latex suit, preferably...
i can't, lie...
   ms. amber is doing the polygraph
"thing" again...
                             i'll lie when i'm
not having fun, then i'm not telling
the truth...
  huh? which milk?
goats' milk... Behemoth's mother
good ****, counters every superseding
cover version of... cow...
              goats' cheese over feta...
you name it... goat has it covered...
creamy yum-yum...
            why would i lie to  begin
with? lying is a focus for serving
an imbalance for both the rhythm
and the tempo...
                              just play me some
drum & bass (base... might as well
throw this one in... bāß)...
i actually hope more mothers
feed in public...
hell... more cleavage...
like... an aversion to seeing a niqab
20 seconds later...
         what?!
thank god some people in Europe
still persist with donning their
sanity kippahs...
         what would the western world
do without them?!
     frown?
            or convert?
         i have actually found an escape
route from the excesses of
*******... the potential bound
to the inanimate picture of a revealing
posit of a cleavage...
   basically a woman donning
an *** on her chest...
and her ******* where her *** ought
to be...
      like fine art...
                     no no no, no thank you
Ms. Frankenstein, i'm not into
your ******- *******...
          but a woman breast-feeding
in public?
                     what's the problem?
you jealous that you're not suckling?
i bet that's it... ha ha...
that must be it...
   not playing out your fetish...
but i mean... like foreplay...
*****-******* and what not...
again... the sunday times
style supplement...
        the life of dolly column...
topic? relaxation...
         how do you guys relax...
one reply reads...
    oral ***; it's the only thing that works.
boyfriends should be incentive-
(please revise the adverb)
           to do it, government- (again...
-ally what?)
well... well well well...
you know what?!
you really wanna know? or are you
just kidding...
all that foreplay begot me thinking...
how about i... play milking
the cow?
       why should the baby
only **** on the ****?
         ooh... double-whammy-mummy
fetish... imploding spiral!
ooh! double-whammy-mummy!
**** that fetish outstretch of
                   role-play *******...
when lactating... let me suckle...
i want to erase the fact that i was
child in the minds of my mother and
father...
i want to be conscious of being
an infant...
                          i want to see
what it feels like to suckle at what...
my father did in a counter
variation of the biological function...
what? Nigel: Nigh-Gel ain't so hot
now... is he?
                      if i was going to father
a child... i'd like to taste what
the child was having...
so we're not competing for
first spot of: mummy's littler helper.
          
i should seriously stop reading
female columns of female orientated
supplements / magazines...
no, really...
              this is worse than ****...
then again... breast-feeding in
public?
          what could be worse...
scenes of Muslims decapitating
veterans, more roughly than
a butcher aiming at caressing
a torso of meat with a toothed knife
?
I have been,
Seen
And returned,
Whilst they were still blinking,

I have felt,
Experienced
And reflected,
Whilst they were still thinking.

I have been through the Stars,

I have bypassed Mars.

I have left this world behind,
On more than one occasion,

I have left reality behind --
Each time it froze-over
And became a Hellish abomination.

I have been to Hell
And back,
More times
Than I care to remember,

I have swum deep into my Abyss
And held my breath,
Many times,
Whilst it begged me to surrender.

But I never did...
I always came back!

I always walked through the woods,
Staying clear of the obvious track.

Only so I could return
To the Universes beyond my mind -- Homeward bound!

Beyond the stars,
Where my soul's serenity
I always find --
Where I always felt found!

'Peace' amongst a zillion thoughts
That continually evolve--nonstop!
They speak in vibrant colours...

Turquoise,
Teal,
Magenta
And Crimson -
Colours superseding
Verbal language;  
Unleashing my Supernatural Powers.

Dreaming, whilst awake,

All for my sanity's sake.

I have...
I do...
I must!

To live...
To be me...
The me, I trust!

Lady R.F. (C)2018
518

Her sweet Weight on my Heart a Night
Had scarcely deigned to lie—
When, stirring, for Belief’s delight,
My Bride had slipped away—

If ’twas a Dream—made solid—just
The Heaven to confirm—
Or if Myself were dreamed of Her—
The power to presume—

With Him remain—who unto Me—
Gave—even as to All—
A Fiction superseding Faith—
By so much—as ’twas real—
Tom Zappone Jun 2014
The holy crusade of tacit masochists
An esoteric, timid terrorist
Led pumps through your veins,
Copper through mine
My lips Israel, yours Palestine

You sweat iron ore to fuel the war machine,
Your tear-ducts producing only gasoline
My nations prime exports,  indulgence and sin      
I fight for my lord, but I crucified him

A xenophobe, a chauvinist
You're the sullen bigot, I'm the narcissist                                      
I'm breaching your periphery, I'm sparing no time
Searing your flag to cinders, Superseding with mine
JR Rhine Dec 2015
I am a tree in Fall.
I stand still and watch my memories change
Color in the cool weather.

I feel them
Growing weaker
And weaker.

I begin to forget them
As they shrivel up,
Detach and are whisked away by the wind.

Their fate lies crushed under thick boots, once
Dancing like frogs in the luminous headlights
Across the ancient highway.

Forgotten.
No longer pestiferous in their existence,
floating on like abandoned enigmas.

Odious infernal vagabonds, tramps  
Camping outside the windows of my mind
Parading pitiful parasites.

Praying away they are swept
Like a room unkempt
At least lock the door so to forget.

The wind remembers.

Carrying their corpses to the world unknown
Ambiguity in promised eternal rest
Frondescent purgatory.

The wind, leaning in close
To hear their last words
Icy dread bequeathing an autumn chill.

She laid them down morosely,
Kissing their forehead,
Quickly turning on its way.

The leaves struggled to follow their stricken vessel,
Tossing and turning in its wake
But they were already forgotten.

By the boots, the wind,
the lights, the highway,
And I.

I look forward to the days of frozen landscapes,
Anonymity in the wake of omitted identity
Superseding a fragile existence.

Closing my eyes I shudder
As the wind seeks to rectify me
Into the uninterrupted blank slate.

A prepared cringe, a response
To impending sobbing at my feet,
Antiquities now quite bothersome.

Like a lost child,
They beg to be cooed and nurtured,
Loved and cherished.

I continue to look ahead,
Ignoring their presence like vexing strangers.
I hear their souls cry out in anguish

As they are tossed by the unwary wind
Bashed into rancorous rocks
Drowned in the rapacious rivers

Crunched under bellicose boots
Burned with their brothers and sisters
Stabbed, scattered,

Chewed and vilely spit out
By the grating teeth of a ravenous
And frightening creature,

Held on a wooden leash by a pair of coarse hands
That float above the thick boots;
They sift between its sharpened fangs.

The days grow colder.
Histories are soon forgotten,
As time begins to slow.

Shedding any remaining sense of self
I am at peace with my surroundings
I close my eyes and take deeper breaths.

The wind's frigid breath fills my lungs
My chest, my stomach;
It resonates through my body

Down to my feet so entrenched in the earth
And up through my outstretched arms
To the tips of my icy fingers.

As I begin to freeze over
I feel that I am about to take
My last breath.

I draw in the cool air around me;
It fills me.
I hold it in.

I am growing still.
There is nothing to hold me back
No past to regret.

There is no present to seek
No journey or quest
No first step or new chapter.

There is no future
For the moment
For time is standing still.

With my eyes closed,
With my last breath held,
The wind and time envelop me.

In their arctic clutch
I succumb to the vast white emptiness
With joy and peace

In my heart.
Time has stood still
And I am asleep.
I must have a slight obsession with foliage.
Robert Ippaso Jul 2023
They were young starry-eyed, yet too soon so many had to die.
Brave to a fault with wanderlust of youth, no challenge spurned however seemingly uncouth.
In azure blue skies with only clouds as friends, they sought their prey through war's myopic lens.
No quarter given and none spared by their foes, incandescent bullets superseding schoolyard blows.
Skill and verve no match for destiny's roulette, to survive another day an all too losing bet.
Still they flew and fought with all their might, for love of country protecting it from blight.
Summoned by that bell with its strident chilling tones, pervading every pore of their worn and tired bones.
Verve and duty each relying on the other, no place to hide but raw courage as their cover.
For all those boys that fast turned into men, saving our isles from sweeping plain to gleaming glen,
We shall remember you forever in our lore, the few that gave so much and often so much more.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2016
~~~

for S.

~~~


six months, two seasons later,
summer poet,  
now a transpositioning,
chilled, blustered & wind blistered,
winter observer,
arm chair couching,
poetry compositioning,
beneath a cashmere blanket of
the lush quietude of an early
Saturday morning
in the city of eight sleeping
millions

you, poet,
stumble upon yourself,
thumbing upon prior dusty
man-you-tell-all
man-you-scripts,#
recalling the where and the when
of an old ecrire composed,
all the while,
the whole world-arounding,
rests, theater-encased,
in the early morn
sound-surrounding
of

true quiet,

for there is nary a visible
source of sound
in this old citified heart &
house

but

true quiet is not the absence of noise

heat-felt fires on a wintered January dawning,
in a silence noisy,
emotionally reverberate,
wild spreading from icy toes, to red nosey,
heck, the body entire,
quiet sweet jam filling,
with the silent crackling fires
of the metaphors of
love

the mind reversely calmed by
fevered puzzlement
mystified by the mystery,
simplistically complex,
how his soul got married
in manner beyond extra-legal,
an internet irregular,
superseding the less-than-the-so-superior,
superior courts of regulatory
administration

to another
currently sleeping, resting only,
a Fitbit confirmed,
thirty nine steps
away,
but a lifetime needed,
to be taken to her,
hidden in a but-a-block-away location,
to find and keep
nearer

in a way, a way,
discovering Columbus-you,
a cacophony of silent metaphors,
waxing, ruminating,
upon the detailing
of a strange and straining
voyage
to this no longer remote,
undisguised visionary land of
love

in the summer the insects battled,
who could chirp most vociferously,
under the trees of competive birds,
mostly mocking the tiny creatures efforts

while the summer ease breeze called out,
in tunes soul-refreshing,
and you were then
quieted
in remote places,
in remote places within
where calm,
rarely claimed knowledge or
kinship

in the city, with sky undecided,
night to flee, day to welcome,
the streetlights flicker in a muted code,
cold air shakes the street signs to and fro
diligently, silently, working
while its underling humans,
all still noisly
dreaming

the racketing pounding of
a love poem escaping,
the whooshing breaths,
all capitulate to the supremacy of a
new testament definitional

true quiet

is reinterpreted,
better understood,
it is a locale precise, a
terminus finale
where calm intersects, perfects, blends,
with a certain warming temperature,
both being,
natural noise suppressers,
both beings,
a combination reflection,
viable only in a
singular coupling

the ending
reached,
a realization
breached,
true quiet comes best
in pairs,
when the heart and mind are
synchronized with
another's
composed Saturday, 5:30 am,
January 2, 2015
nyc

below, the country, summery version
June 7, 2015
~~~
# Lush is the quietude of the late Saturday afternoon
~~~
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn

rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette

resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by

the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
     that true quiet
is not the absence of noise

I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve

the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion

this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented  in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity

here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough

DeadRoseOne
effie ebbtide Feb 2020
the mirror you stand in is a reflection of
a river you stand in, a reflection of a
stone that in the heat of the day
is warm by the coming of sunset

earth's last wrinkling seed is decaying, and superseding it
are the ophanim-head many-winged nightcrawlers who weep
gamma rays and pray, behind their stargazing eyes,
to remember the home they remembered several lives ago

oh sonar, oh radar, oh radiophonic monarchy
please boost your signal so our kin can hear
our pleas for a tomorrow that we begged for yesterday
and let us wade in that river. amen.
a note on homesickness
Connor Reid Sep 2014
A resounding truth sticks to every wall,
Like meat on teeth, beneath.
Surfacing tragic like cyber sugar on the conscious,
Of every intelligent automaton.
Devaluing the humanity we created in sleep,
Harbouring our nylon smiles and effortless chaste.
Ripped flesh on creations, godlike
Burned images, sigil instilled in culture
Nocturnus, bleeding in harmony
Locomotion of self actualisation homunculus cured
Rid of transcendental elements at the first instance
Of empathy, drawn out in an empty tenure
Interlocking lines-moving, spread out against
Aluminium and glass, superseding the law of nature,
Bubbles, echoing through the apology of life
Bursting forthwith and raining bleach and decadence,
On delirious heads-boiled in sand for life eternal.
Your masquerade, a bloodline polluted
By perfumed green shading, eliminating the best
Carrion, complicated sadness, basic molecular print
Our progenitor, poster child for carbon-based reluctance.
Menial beings, occupying space to nowhere,
Hotel rooms full of dust,
Lying figures, tossing themselves on typewriters
Creating a kaleidoscope of prose.
Hands, arms & legs bound by penance,
And the delayed snot of the diseased
Winding amongst this polystyrene city.
Sunken into a cosmopolis refuse,
The anchor to all that is pure,
Heaven is your populace.
And your ego is the gel that destroys our relation.
We started, like all do,
As fresh minds ready to fill
With those lessons that are true
And gain in our own skills

Having fun, our great goal
Superseding all the rest
Remaining as a true whole
We found friends that are the best

Laziness, our weakness
But we keep with all them
Through the times of stress
We shine like no other gem

Now we must part
So comes great sorrow
You all remain in my heart
Through today & tomorrow
Dedicated to JAHS Class of 2011
Love you all :)
I can only summon feelingfulness like the passing of a dove,
postponing its arrival mid-air, somewhere along the tucked
bramble across Poblacion, starting with metaphorical sensibility
or an insensibly bland space to procure wanted meaning.
Girls prefer roses and their bright foreheads diademed with more
flowers, and boys, their chiaroscuro or lack of a color thereof, seems
to be fitting in this maladroit contrast, and so I begin, as always,
with your very vague and caged memory. Your face, the whiteness
of snowcapped alps. Your strut, my slalom in a treacherous course
of words reduced to whisperings, to flutings. Your voice, though nuanced,
flitters with an overtone of arrogance: if sound was clothed, yours would
be flamboyant ermine. And the line in front of you before I, my arbitrary turn,
assimilates into a picturesque form of waiting somewhere in Cubao.
I wanted to smash myself with train-speed towards the metallic turnstile,
which, would then famish me even so, just as much as I wish to be a car crash
somewhere within the outskirts of your town, heavily vandalized by the swill
of squalor hefting itself like the rest of the world conscious of its viscera.
  This is how I start you – like waiting for the sun to emerge by Borobudur,
or the clandestine *** of mildew and grass, a hundredfold of images appear
before me and I cannot choose upon my whims and caprices. Are you a dove?
A spear of Sun? A thunderous crackle of an impending rain? A harlequin?
A moseying cirrus? Or just another by-stander in the crowds where I ultimately
seek your being?
      This answerlessness measures my knowledge of star, and my breath snuffed
out of me while I sigh from exhausted penchants, outweigh dissimilarities and symmetries.
A progeny from all superseding conundrums arises: are you a retrogression of a wave
back to its saltine wound, flailing in brine? Or are you just the vast sea and nothing else
on a fine and lucid day where children skip stones and chant name-callings?
                   I sense the peril in this undertaking, and much to my chagrin, I still
   do not know how to end you.
Onoma Oct 2014
Wings set adrift for a tomorrow that worries
for itself.
Wind's plaything whose opulence restores all
retiring worlds.
As if thought perfected down to its wire connects
and disconnects freely the Whole.
Pointedly that Whole knows of itself, and as yet to
know of itself--that lapse that furthers vision in a
flash.
By all soothing shadows that swim hardboiled things...
resigned amongst the transit of other things,
partaking thereby becoming...momentarily.
The welcome home of thing unto itself whose shadowy
screen blew about a holy commune, bows now to its
place to know of it, as an angelic head superseding
gravity.
By blood geared below the surface lapping feverishly...
till a luminosity assays flesh.
Strange the way, The Way is lit...in an instant a world
forgoes itself without changing its heading.
Lone and left to, what's lone and left to...for what
profits an eternity but that which must attain it.
Dan Hess Jul 2019
“Laughter begets laughter! Sin begets sin!” said the voices which echoed pervasively in the mind of the guardian of the gate of the tower of the wall of the town of the city of Evanshire.

In response to this, he said aloud “Then what would herald a minor flaw to be chosen as beautiful, indeed?”

Beauty is often found within a transient burst of light which turns itself over the surrounding darkness only moments after. Its superseding ancestry is lost to the environment; however, this is not the case with most things delightfully brought on by human empowerment. Humans, being such compulsive creatures, strive for nothing less than perpetuation of order in all things, and beauty be ****** if that means changing a systematic response to something more naturally, intrinsically made to fetter in the palm of the last vestibule of temporal illusion.

Some see the animals which deem themselves superior as parasite; feeding off the presence of life and ore around their very bodies. Unbridled power given to the bearer of serendipity, humanity turns their noses up as if it were anything of their own control. Disgust is what should be shown toward such foul, obscene little things.
    
The man laughed out at the ridiculous rantings put forth by his narrator.

“Is that what you think,” he said “that we’re all just ****? Well maybe you’re right, but this world is **** impressive. Sure more than I’m deserving of.”

Just as that was said, an owl hooted somewhere in the distance. Its hoot was perceived by the guardian, but his perception was fallacious. He heard a fibrous, alien-like sound. So deeply disturbed by this was the man-guard that he fell back in his chair and lay wrought on the ground for several hours. It was not until he was awakened, by himself no less, that he took himself to try his hand at movement once more. He gently flexed, starting at the tips of his fingers and leading up to his first forearm, before he exhausted all his chakra and mustn’t have had any need to persist, for he was already standing there where he had found himself lying on the floor.

“Are you okay?” he asked himself, before realizing he was talking to a ghost and hadn’t been lying on the floor for a bit at all.

The moon had begun to set and was large and glistening in the oblique sky; its blue tint reverberated the light over the countryside, and questioned the very existence of everything excluding the reasoning behind it. However, this need not be mentioned and would be better to leave for another rant of time and loss.
A crow perched itself on the stone windowsill, which had been chipped slightly on the right edge leaving exposed brick and mortar. Just beneath the arc of the sandstone window was the nest, and the crow held in its beak a few worms which appeared to be dead. One could assume the crows effervescent green eyes were a result of secular radiation and shouldn’t be concerned or associated with the fermentation of grapes, but the guard, who is the same as the narrator and the voice in his head, knew better than to act like such a fool and knew the likes of objectivity to be a falsification of the throne. He promptly removed the eyes of the crow as to stomp on them and make a fine wine.

Alas, no gain came of this. When the captain’s right hand came wandering into the tower’s top room and found the guard, the narrator, and the spectre sit in the armchair whilst laying on the floor, holding the eyes of a crow in one hand and the soul of hearthfire in the other, he lurched out his guts and asked whether the weather outside was weather or whether it weren’t.

“What’s that?” asked the guard, before noticing the cap’n’s right hand had entered.

Upon doing so, he took the rest of the crow, eviscerated it, and made it into a finger puppet. 

“You know how the fooligan do. Look at all the fooligan, perched atop the hillside. Laughing and drinking, and clinging their rosy glasses. The sun casts a plastic glow across their cheeks. And as they smile, it seems so real. Ah, yes, the fooligan.”
This is old lol
Selcæiös Feb 2018
The Name's Selcæiös N.V. Witega

The N.V.'ll only **** you if you're a curious cat.

   Your Tech-Age Völva
Onliest Healer
Avant-garde Seeress
& Upping the Ante
Once under my Wing
--a Sui Generis sorta catalyst

   But take note,
I'm only here for your healing
---and occasionally to quench the thirst
for all types of Second Sight
weaving, seething, and
any and all other appealing witchy hype

   And this niche in the Craft
Contingently consecrates
--you know. when it rains, it pours--
the Superseding of Spirit;

   Under the Utopia of Unorthodox Psychotomimetic Wonders
enthralled by your scintillating mishap to wander
Gracefully falling face-first into
     The Empath's Curse
in other words, to come to terms with Sonder

   Dyed in the wool
lies the
Fluorescent & Incanting Sparks
of the
out-of-place-even-for-you
outre wanders

   To me though,
It's vividly violent & evincing
Capitulated roars,
Sequestered howls,

   Once Upon a Time
the proud growls morphed
to crying whines
   'Carpe Omnis Scintilla'
In Perpetuum,
to no avail.

  Your Sui Generis Hedge-Rider
Call me Selaecios N.V.
or Selcaeia, if you like
the sting of serpentine strides

  I'll proudly continue to
uphold this chaotically labile path
as it's my Labyrinthine Rite

  Taking under Wing
Protecting & Defending
Fellow Humans & Spirits alike.
sorrowcherry Jan 2019
momentary muse
ephemeral excitement
cursory conversations

come and go
come and go
come and go
never stay

...or explain
the disdain
we feign
it's in vain

head hits the pillow
the dream is gone
hand grabs the pen
the ink has drawn
heart meets the sleeve
we've become a pawn

searching for
the meeting
the needing
superseding
the retreating
the fleeting

come and go
come and go
come and go
they never stay.
Kelley A Vinal Dec 2014
Softly spoken, send me surges of
Electric energies to emit endless echoes
Silently stirring so to sing, it urges
Encapsulating that so elemental
Superseding the strife with serene sayings
Ending the edges of errant easels
Saving the straying to stay in stance
Embrace to emanate an eternal enigma
We are ashamed, sir dear
We are ashamed.

Neither the earth glistened
In the ray of good time,
Nor we are still
In the way of good time.

Pen is serving, not right
But the mighty lord,
Kneeling bowing bending,
Instead of superseding sword.

Nations still quarrel
To prove them stronger.
Men are being slaughtered
For the sake o f honour.

Men are being burned,
Terror rules the world,
Birth, not the worth
Still fools the world.

War, the monster of iniquity
Has worn different masks.
Somewhere proving pride
Somewhere deadly tasks.

We couldn't bring the good time
The good time once you dreamt.
‘'Let us aid what we can''
We have forgotten what you meant.
Keshan Dec 2016
Escalated had it, through mere words
An argument with a drunk, leaving none sober
Avoidance I practiced, consequential to unity
A day of togetherness, spent alone
My desire to leave, superseding my will to stay.

You were right, I conceded; true or untrue
A waste was it to speak, when I would be unheard
To read was it my choice, to refuse
A key preventing entrance, denying inebriated lectures
Solitude enlightening the festivities, more than company.

The skies were blue as I walked toward a reprieve
Blame was exchanged, for a norm that was apparent
Maybe a little disappointment, wooed me forward
But an excuse does that afford none, for irrationality
Irresponsible was I in not informing ; irresponsible were you in trying to find me.

Your defence would I always assist, to rectify or sway
Good to me were you never not
Imperfections denied by a bond, unbroken
My respect wanting to yield, but not confounding
Your pedestal never lowering, even when your actions requested.

Maybe forgiveness is to be asked, to relieve
An apology would do well, to alleviate
One person, a victor, the other not; egos choosing
Toxins I am unaccustomed to, poisoning minds
I want to hate, but love remains true.
Julian Jul 2022
The loony warbles of a sentient time are the granular epiphany of beckoned realization curtailed by the bamboozled foofaraw of inclement centuries weighing upon freebooter avarice and becoming litigants of their own specialty because in costermongers we find the worst gyrovagues issued by humanity. We spin at warp speed for a dilettante triumph because it issues with it a declaration of inclinations mixed with a desuetude of infirmity that spans the gamut of the global incontinence of dredged infamy becoming a retinoise to a selective fame rather than a bulldozed femicide sparkling in the mist of a wicked ***** rather than a bedecked hypertrophy that sustains us through tachydidaxy as we try and conquer the malingered tropes of kilns of baked bronze.


The balkanized internecine divides that separate the barbarism of the epigones of the past from the belletrist of an upcoming foreseeable future becomes a rejoinder to those who count only as sejungible the boredom of fantasy deprived of fantasia because of the serenade of wistful lugubrious decadence clamoring with clangor to become a self-efficacy of situations rather than a bonanza for separations in civilized affronts of masked time that is the avenger for the saccharine entropy cornered by the capers of a caste of maskirovka because it is a lifeless but livid atrocity to fall into the wrong hands of a delicacy bought by the blood of the innocent when obviously the exculpation of centuries erodes the monolith of draconian tyranny and drapes it with a bemused trope that forswinks duty in order to pasteurize a remontant flower of a wicked spartan negligence of reckless rackrent in the temporal frame that favors the non-linear expression  of ingenuity over the temulentia of advanced decrees to serpentine to flow neatly in the nexility of circumstance by the legerdemain of the circumstantial because the categorical prerogative of lurches in time is that a bypass becomes its own cement that berates the lackluster sheen that is formant to reality only in the conscientious hearth of abandonment. Now that I am flexing my linguistic largesse properly I can fathom the depths of any quagmire of residual endeavors that scrape with abrasive fictions the litany of liturgies competing for primacy because prophecy is a mute dudgeon of the iniquities of our past becoming erased by the sinecures of defalcation from the universal alveolate censure of a decimated mercurial bonanza that appeases simple hearts but evades the evasive prerogatives of willborne triumphs which elope predictably into the cadaster of influence that borrows from nescience the ridicule of the legionnaires that are a bricolage for civilization timid in the reticent squalls of naivety but pregnant with inestimable riches for the keen observation of a reckless carom of a waxing time belonging to the orbital physics of psychic emoluments to a conquest of centuries by the privilege of the  violent torpindage that keeps the immutable certainty of our privy past to become the ringleaders of sedition in destiny that ironically invent serendipity to quell that itch for serotinous barnstorms which are benighted and muddled with borrowed effrontery.


The grandstand of the artifice of the barnstorm is the truth seen only through privileged eyes becoming a simultaneous threat and boon to the safety of the charades of the unknown wilting with etiolation at the first sight of gerrymandered incontinence while proves the futility of all endeavors to outfox the future by relying on the past formulas that are a categorical endangerment of rifled time.




There is a delicacy in convergence because the sinuous architecture of solemn docimasy leads ironically to a cleavage of divergence that predicates the uniformity of time to beleaguer the abortive premises of workaday generations into sharp focus of harmony that swivels with desultory prowess above the carcass of the plaid pedestrian attitudes that simper and jostle through the recessive alleles of time to provoke the ascertained future into strictures of enlightenment because to berate and diverge from the optimal is a sore spotty indigence because the craft of the future become the harbingers of escaped dearth because of cornucopias of amassed conscientious deliberation leading to predictable termini.


The wilted dance of a terpsichorean convolution is that the maximum acme and the minimum nadir both orbit eccentrically around bemused confusion of riddled light becoming the entropy of an unknowable certainty in universal ghastly fright because the prediction arms the predicate symphony into an orchestra of harmony beyond heterodyne blemishes because in every witness there is a conflated belligerence that becomes its own irenic accord when it is siphoned through the limited perception of sapience verging on naive negligence because perception bereaves the sublime and subliminal into an etch-a-sketch mandate of sedition against cordial sympathies. We must then therefore fasten our attentions beyond but between simultagnosia exasperated by spartan entrails and residue of our carnivorous feast of plagued gambols in the lollygag of a useless proctor of diminutive civilizations and find the centripetal pivot that enables us to warp the fabricated bluster of the blench and blarney of masquerades of enthralled piggybacks through  the vicarious thrills of dementia becoming a termagant against the rich troves of destiny.
Time Travel is essentially a rejoinder to the question of why? But never the answer for when because it showcases through the furrows of a groovy rectiserial balderdash unknown to even the vast majority of the litany of man that we can proceed through the interdimensional void but never alter its trajectory because the predevoted is always the capstone words that become parallax trajectories of memory diluted into the wooded halls of an imagined filigree of primordial geometry affixed to conflation just enough so that the delusional palisades of demented destiny always cavort with a misinterpreted boondoggle that ratchets and titrates the proper dose of misinformation so that the world contorts from ignorance into certainty and without the categorical properties of deception we would be lost in a world without raconteur suspense because every heyday has its own plagued infamies that span the canvass of human atrocity becoming  benevolent artifice of calculated negligence rather than bemused harm seen miles away to the extent that the extramundane world is just a serial issue of fiction absconding away from pretense in plight only to arrive at injury because of the throttles of spartan revolt. We need to fumble and botch our crimson endeavors into a recursive cycle because the blemish of foreseeable futures would eventually evaporate into abortive loops of prediction precluding eventuality and the eventual superseding the harmful relics of Potemkin Villages erected to serve the almighty dollar because of the sclerotic dementia of ulterior purpose.
Kundai N Aug 15
The slithering snake slid swift and slow
Past my ear and into my mind,
Shrank to a seed as sharp as crystal snow
And grew to close my ears, and eyes blind .

Woe became to me a pleasant friend
And smeared shame upon my body,
After a bath of stone and cement
And common eyes beguiled at my misery.

I walked on salt, after the sores from broken glass
Knowing the gift of agony is matched in cursing ecstasy,
Why worry in ceremony about superseding onus?
Why smile in agony about the coming bliss here indefinitely?

Light came and bathed me with honey
And flowered beneath my feet a fine feather,
Light watered my eyes to like an open curtain
And the common eye repulsed my treasure.
Chandy Oct 2021
Silence
The most insulting of violence
Small flames burn brightest
Turning darkness to brightness
Yet unification led to the devastation
Weapons of disintegration
Bombs with clear identification
Playing it safe
Every single day
For the ignorant who take heed
Breed a pleading stampede
Superseding the old
While overtaking the meek
How can we root out the weak when we all pray to the antiques?
Falling victim to doublespeak
A boutique of freaks, oblique
Travis Green Aug 2019
I have learned how to calculate
the fabrics of time with the grand
platforms growing inside my mind,
the system of derivatives amplifying
into a circle of equations, circle
of notorious numerals streaming
in sea-light sensation, artistic creations
full of passion and desire, astonishing
paths and alleyways, cylindrical shapes
and symmetrical lines superseding
thought patterns and galaxies,
extreme boundaries meshed
with metaphysics, computer science,
organic chemistry, exhilarating
economics converging towards
celestial Calculus equating massive
mountains of vast knowledge,
genius grounds and high spinning
splendor, giving me great balance
and power to inspire the world around me.
What Poetry Is

You want to know what Poetry is
For the Modern World that’s used to twist
And bend, and tremble in disguise,
Pretending that it’s “neo-wise”,

That, saturated long ago,
To Saturn children pure throws
And that, to Titans owing much,
Them used to Tartar to dispatch?

All right! A Poet’s like them both:
The one who’s innocent and opposed,
Who Might of Elements represents,
Midst Insurrections resurrects,

Condemned by Stupid to be Fool –
The “Holy” one, that’s “not-so-cool”, –
To “crazy” be, by Madness’ Slaves:
He disagrees – and Potent shakes…

And he embodies in his Soul
The Realm of Spirit and its toll,
And pays the price, being poorer than rat
For this demise, - for dice and bet.

And what’s the Principle of that Realm?
The Paradox that overwhelms
It’s Dialectics in it’s One:
Where this is achieved – the Feat is done.

For Feat – the Hero must emerge:
The one who knows Abyss and Gorge,
And finds of Bridges narrow Paths
And Lyrics brings to date with Math.

So here Poetry rises up –
That bears Lion’s skin and club…
You want to hear what’s its Core?
I’m sure you won’t it adore!

You may be frightened, I assume:
It’s not an incense, nor perfume,
Not stench or filth (how this to grasp?!)
It is united Blow and Clasp,

It’s burning Water, boiling Flame,
In Stone and Paper ink and grain,
And Womb of male, female’s Fertile,
That makes their dancing super guile!

And from the Ages to the End
It is for Spirit’s Purpose meant:
To shape the edges of the World
By means of writing spoken Word,

By means of giving birth and cry –
To Death’s decay anew deny –
And this Denial built in Height
To depth of Heavens demonstrate;

From demonstration realize
What’s Understanding’s true devise
What’s motto of deciphered Names
For all the creatures and their games;

To down put the secret Rules  
To make them open, make them Tools
For the Creation’s further Path –
Till its genetic Coding lasts;

To rime those Codes – and to expand
Like RNA transform and grant
To distant corners Distance dense
And build up Flesh Forms of immense

And unforeseen and various Race
(With no “Racism” in the space!) –
And so Tolerance multiply
Through all that vary, - live and die;

To stretch and measure, - and connect
All torn and broken Fragments left
Inside the Puzzle great and one,
That’s called “Existence” to be done –

It’s astronomic Earthly Crust
And Milky Way through dirt and dust,
And stars that burst to planets be,
And satellites that dare break free;

It’s Search of Freedom through the Choice
By Will that seeks to gain, rejoice
And nations build (imagine them,
Imagination’s strata-gems!);

Inhale – that’s Inspiration called,
Exhale – the Story to be told,
Partaking – sharing its Breath,
Abundance, knowing no “less”;

Love guarded both by Truth and Rage,
Good using Evil as her page
Within the Book of Wisdom live –
The Field that’s here to plant and reap;

Creation Day – for Dead and Born,
Of Sacrifices growing Corn,
Redemption that reveals itself
And Judgment that through doom light delve!..

You still don’t know what it is?
It’s Pride with no conceit and grease,
With no arrogance at all –
It’s Truth, not Lies, and so be called!

It is Rejection – to assert,
Like Dominantsept and Cord, –
Of Spheres’ Music, Echoes’ Cube
With force of *****’s pipes and Tubes,

Where voices Interweaving find,
To Poet – Finder – make in mind
All Superseding understand
And all that’s found implement!..

So, now you know! It’s time to hate
Me, who’s just called you to create –
Should you of Genius of Light
Be each and every Perfect Knight,

And not to look for ****** “Excuse”
That is detested by the Muse,
But Explanations give instead
For all who once of clay were made,

Destroying Envy’s jealous sting
And building fiery Worship’s Ring
For all that brings to Common Sense
And Meaning: trust me, it’s immense!..
Onoma Jul 2
the whiff of a prize pig on a

dank, misty morning--corn stuck

in your teeth.

let us make a shroud of that mist

as your intent, minus mystery.

the pudge of situatedness superseding

promises.

squeals of self-love slobbering on

squeals of self-hatred, the later

should be your siphoning state.

dis-gus-ting...

— The End —