Earth’s sixth mass extinction has begun, new study confirms


How long before the rhino joins the list? Gerry Zambonini, CC BY-SA
We are currently witnessing the start of a mass extinction event the likes of which have not been seen on Earth for at least 65 million years. This is the alarming finding of a new study published in the journal Science Advances.

The research was designed to determine how human actions over the past 500 years have affected the extinction rates of vertebrates: mammals, fish, birds, reptiles and amphibians. It found a clear signal of elevated species loss which has markedly accelerated over the past couple of hundred years, such that life on Earth is embarking on its sixth greatest extinction event in its 3.5 billion year history.

This latest research was conducted by an international team lead by Gerardo Ceballos of the National Autonomous University of Mexico. Measuring extinction rates is notoriously hard. Recently I reported on some of the fiendishly clever ways such rates have been estimated. These studies are producing profoundly worrying results.

However, there is always the risk that such work overestimates modern extinction rates because they need to make a number of assumptions given the very limited data available. Ceballos and his team wanted to put a floor on these numbers, to establish extinction rates for species that were very conservative, with the understanding that whatever the rate of species lost has actually been, it could not be any lower.

This makes their findings even more significant because even with such conservative estimates they find extinction rates are much, much higher than the background rate of extinction – the rate of species loss in the absence of any human impacts.

Here again, they err on the side of caution. A number of studies have attempted to estimate the background rate of extinction. These have produced upper values of about one out of every million species being lost each year. Using recent work by co-author Anthony Barnosky, they effectively double this background rate and so assume that two out of every million species will disappear through natural causes each year. This should mean that differences between the background and human driven extinction rates will be smaller. But they find that the magnitude of more recent extinctions is so great as to effectively swamp any natural processes.


Cumulative vertebrate species recorded as extinct or extinct in the wild by the IUCN (2012). Dashed black line represents background rate. This is the ‘highly conservative estimate’.  Ceballos et al
Click to enlarge
The “very conservative estimate” of species loss uses International Union of Conservation of Nature data. This contains documented examples of species becoming extinct. They use the same data source to produce the “conservative estimate” which includes known extinct species and those species believed to be extinct or extinct in the wild.

The paper has been published in an open access journal and I would recommend reading it and the accompanying Supplementary Materials. This includes the list of vertebrate species known to have disappeared since the year 1500. The Latin names for these species would be familiar only to specialists, but even the common names are exotic and strange: the Cuban coney, red-bellied gracile, broad-faced potoroo and southern gastric brooding frog.


Farewell, broad-faced potoroo, we hardly knew ye.  John Gould
These particular outer branches of the great tree of life now stop. Some of their remains will be preserved, either as fossils in layers of rocks or glass eyed exhibits in museum cabinets. But the Earth will no longer see them scurry or soar, hear them croak or chirp.

You may wonder to what extent does this matter? Why should we worry if the natural process of extinction is amplified by humans and our expanding industrialised civilisation?

One response to this question essentially points out what the natural world does for us. Whether it’s pollinating our crops, purifying our water, providing fish to eat or fibres to weave, we are dependent on biodiveristy. Ecosystems can only continue to provide things for us if they continue to function in approximately the same way.

The relationship between species diversity and ecosystem function is very complex and not well understood. There may be gradual and reversible decreases in function with decreased biodiversity. There may be effectively no change until a tipping point occurs. The analogy here is popping out rivets from a plane’s wing. The aircraft will fly unimpaired if a few rivets are removed here or there, but to continue to remove rivets is to move the system closer to catastrophic failure.

This latest research tells us what we already knew. Humans have in the space of a few centuries swung a wrecking ball through the Earth’s biosphere. Liquidating biodiversity to produce products and services has an end point. Science is starting to sketch out what that end point could look like but it cannot tell us why to stop before we reach it.

If we regard the Earth as nothing more than a source of resources and a sink for our pollution, if we value other species only in terms of what they can provide to us, then we we will continue to unpick the fabric of life. Remove further rivets from spaceship earth. This not only increases the risk that it will cease to function in the ways that we and future generations will depend on, but can only reduce the complexity and beauty of our home in the cosmos.

You are a bird flying near.
A simple graze of my arm
a feather kept, a loss of fear.
And this is not temporary.

You are a parade.
Your trumpets, your drums
reinventing the copyrighted charade.
It's not a trick-it's rudimentary.

You are fresh squeezed lemonade.
When the sweat cannot be quelled,
you forge trees for shade.
But speaking of you is just supplementary.

You are the long drive back.
Every worm in the miles of dirt
can hear this counterattack-
especially those four days of January.

You are my trustworthy veins,
our frivolously necessary games,
and the smell of relentless rains.

These senses, put blunt yet gently,
manifest nothing less than your infinite trajectory.

Those who were marginalized by the braids and serpentine lights, devotions were made in San Juan allowing electromagnetic discharges from the imperceptible space-time of Vernarth's parapsychological quantum; alluding to clarities that achieved everything by having Patmia in the material and incorporeal from the start of the stained glass windows and archetypes by Transfer Quantum that burned the chins of hominids who believed to be immortal as if they were looking in this position for the direction between the eyebrows and the chin , for the Euclidean incidence crossing all the pools that are between quantum means of transfer of ions and cations. The oscillations of the sparkling field of consciousness of the containers were of ethical variables that became perpendicular to the space of draft or levitation of the designations that originated with accelerated electric charges on Patmos, developing albiceleste skylights over the harmonic equations as they elongated in proportions of quanta that They argued greater than those that circulated elliptically from Grikos to Skalá, and then to Profitis with assiduous progenitors of long-wave quanta. The magnificence of the halo became rectilinear up to the high altar that was atomized from the unskillful penumbra to reabsorb the inclinations of physical life in the Macedonians and the Achaemenides when they were trapped by the loss on the propagation of the Lux, which was imposed in hemicycles where they were they reclined to relax in the lux of rest of the path of the reasoning that made pederasty in the links with the minuscule obtuse lights, reeling from the clothing and its finite speed of what measures the ability to be undetermined in the margins of error of the antagonists when originating flow rates, greater in his dermis to regenerate towards any other that could be clothing of greater speed.

Thus was the scenario of dimensional magnitude between the powers that did not have contact, but their dimensionless energies on a surface that reached absorbent to the one that rectifies the concretive of the error that partially abused them. Their legacies would pass to a supplementary electromagnetic plane, separating their masses and retaking orientation from where they returned, where if the ideal of the final rational was refracted where everything would be vivid darkness. The obstacles classified them in the closure of the average height and the average surface, to then redirect to the maximum height and maximum surface propagating in irregularities of the Ego "Believing that they were never overcome in the diffuse perception of the metal mirror." The incident rays of the Lux would go to meet the multi-incident plane of the Mashiach, the wave angles were refracted throughout the sinuous law as radiosity passed over the greater mass that was normalized from the tangent that was projected 180 meters above the eyebrow. and Vernarth's chin, along with the recharged electromagnetic strengths of Alexander the Great's reactivation bezels, which at times seemed to levitate over the Lux's high frequencies and vary independently with its crowded functionalities, among scattered restraints that it presented to both weightless behind. from the decayed marble sawdust, separating from its phosphorescence that bounced between the rigging of solid surfaces and semi-solid ones, when realizing that the sea and the silica were confessed to the Pronoia of Delphi. Inducing Vernarth for the first time into a Pronoia versology on the Athena of Delphi, prompting them to separate from the world and it's holistic to divide into three portions of the dissociation of consciousness from the end of the Lux of Parapsychology, which had hosted them for centuries and centuries. . The Pronoia conspiracy systematized the reaction that would reunite them after this oracular parapsychology, making the adversaries believe that they were discrepancies of clinical parapsychology, equating warlike causes in the containment of Delphic neuroscience. From this quantification, the predominance of Vernarth's Lux de Pronoia was announced, linking peculiar segmentation of submit logical historicity in this work as a starting thesis, which speculates the same for those who have to make an analysis of historical dogmatic imperialism as a justification for mythological normality. The Lux thesis aimed to show that the dimensions of the mythology and the submitology, when exposed in physical quanta, made a tendency of irresolution in the abode of spiritual Tractatus reasoning and not in the instinctual one, which watches over recitals where history and its collective memory indicate outbursts of moderation. The role of the submithology  is to pretend that this normality is made close to the instruction after yours temporary for causes of your deep patrimonial, that makes them captives from the social complexity, with the disambiguation of certain criteria by maximizing the hidden truth of the ascending opposition forces that they have generated great conflagrations, intuition being the unreflective pseudo-reality with historical formalities that stumble into the terrified directionality of the myth that was to be reality. The tiny spaces of the verve left by the silent mechanics of the Persians became defensive when they saw their emissaries incoherently in the verticality of Allah when they saw that the confusing world with anxiety exaggerated predictions and failures invulnerability of a lineage that always had. been condemned to the desert.

Everything conspired with a Pronoia of siege, before the exegesis that sought purification and that was how they headed and misdirected their mistakes in the active train of the recess of their abstracted retreat, in a universe that also abandoned them after the subsequent train of Aurion waking them in their illusions with swords, and stealthy spears in dreams that specified safe rest. The ferocities of the proto-souls of assault carried away the translucent bodies of the Persians, and the Hellenes in acts of honor made such congenital paths of the understandable vocabulary that he did not speak. The prism was located in the cautious measure of its contractile dispersion with white separations of mantles, earth, and water scalded by dynamics that formed colorful activations with their withdrawal phenomena in the immaculate albino Lux that dissolved all of the facet optics that it made. Lux's great brain in the instant that the Thuellai airs transfigured the nuances of the Atros monastery, with objects that refused to be absorbed by the black hue, generating mechanical waves of equivalence in their identical interference that caused two opposing forces to distill the coherent differential that had to be overexposed in the category of historical Submitology. The two inverted waves separated, the Hellenes moaned and hiccupped for having to become identical when separating from their immaterial bodies, doing wonders that would house additional souls that would complement a transitory becoming towards the garden of the angels that provided them with identical beams of light, interfering in what animated the lights of pageantry, with the antithesis of interference where they resided in constancy knowing that they felt possessed of benefits of the eternal length of existence, but with pressures of mutable in some involuntary constancy and amplitude of having parallel directions with Saint John the Apostle and the Siblis. The phenomenon of polarization of both empires was denatured in a transverse way in all the electric fields after this feat, inciting unique fields of the pure and selective ascending ecosystem, which generated polaroid substances at the angle of ninety degrees above the browbones and chin of Vernarth, to approach the Pronoia of concatenation with Alexander the Great refracting unscathed hyper-vital and transcendent faces of infinity. Like any other phenomenon, the Lux crossed both bodies like two Xiphos swords that processed the electromagnetic valve, by iridium that converted with all the coarse Lux that crossed the succumbed immateriality and stopped the shaft and the nail that hang in the typology of electromagnetic radiation from the Hellenic world between them, making an ominous redemptive fire that was regimented to leave them both in the middle of a farm where there were farmyard animals, stockpiled pastures and a house that absorbed them as parents who would love them as beings of Lux. Thus, this primary parapsychological quantum network penetrated the level of the archangels that made them be together in planes of manumission, and that does not admit bi-quantum personality or bi-parapsychology that can cancel out the portent of the helmets and the lineage that does not dazzle if they are not made of iron.

The life of the other world began to be encompassed in all the Subtraigus beings that would correspond to the astral plane that was confirmed after the Kalidona Romantics deduced the Unicorn Uilef or Uilef Monókeros after Pronoia. Kalidona being an uninhabited island and the Uilef sleeps in between copulating with Spinalonga and Kolokythas along with other smaller islets, plus two hundred that will make up six islands of the twenty-six tetragram of Alef. Here Drestnia went with her consort of Etréstles from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi to find fateful encounters of Pantheism based on the majestic copulation of beauty, among twenty-six numbers that prevailed in virtuosos who took refuge in Kalydon or Kalidona, preparing for their rampage with grafted grotesque derived bodies of the Falangist Hellenes who were arranged of their musculature, so that they directed the finesse of the civility of Hesiod, Terpando, Archiloco, Baquílides, tragic like Etréstles, Aeschylus Sophocles, Euripides and comedian like Aristophanes.

I have known this much talked about search for true love for over 10 years and I am aged 22 years now. There was this unforgiving loneliness till I was 17 years of age given that I am the only child of my parents who lives with them in a lonely campus of a research institute away from the small city.

A tumultuous relationship filled with resentment to the brim about my parents keeping me their only 'issue' was brought to the hilt and I was weary of being their arguably most beloved 'machine' who was supposed to live sticking to the 'guidelines' laid by them as the ideal only son.

We aren't from a landlord's family and have limited resources, so I was supposed to suffice in my parents' love and affection, studying at a fairly consistent dedication to bring forth the results worthwhile landing me a good job.

But who has been able to control a Romeo-in-the-making?

Answer: Nobody!

But my Juliet wasn't yet on the horizon till age 17, when I mistakenly took my first girlfriend who was my classmate till class 7, to be my last love. Period. Then for the first time I was introduced to the idea of 'love' by this sweet girl whom I dub "G3" over 11 months elder to me. I had proposed her, but it was not a pre-emptive proposal.

Our period of courtship had started over Orkut which was the most popular social website at that time. It was just friendship initially until I had unsuccessfully proposed two bimbets other than my first girlfriend. One of those two unsuccessful attempts was with her best-friend-once-upon-a-time.

I had told her about them both, she had even tried apparently helping me propose her best friend when I had told her that I had even written a song for my childhood crush over the years I had been away from my old school.

Her first reaction was, "I would die for having such a boyfriend! Wish it was I for whom the song was composed."

Then when I proposed my childhood crush, G1, I couldn't even mention about the song and she rejected my proposal. Period. I was distraught, I was broken & I was amazed at how easily she could've undermined my liking for her from the past 7 years.

To take my attention off the disappointment posed by my first rejection. I proposed a different girl, G2, non-seriously, knowing that another rejection was lurking behind the curtains of time.

Rejection 2 successfully diverted my mind away from the mess created. Anyways, I did have a girlfriend for myself. After all, people love guys who sing melodiously and can play guitar apart from having decent appearance, and believe me- I used to look this chocolatey young guy until I was 19 years of age.

The girl who later went on to have the place vacated by my first crush was her same best-friend-once-upon-a-time 'G3'. She went on varied lengths in narrating her own break-up story with the guy she was with. I got a second-hand  piece as my first girlfriend. It was no issues, at least till she was bickering about how he had broken her 'heart-of-a-self-proclaimed-princess' and we started having arguments and serious tiffs over what had been happening in her life.

We broke-up. I had enough of the hardships brought by myself upon her. She had taken to crying harshly over phone. I resented myself. I failed to identify that it was not true love indeed but only a mirage of the idea.

I next concentrated in studies and this time I prevailed over the hurdles offered by examinations and a second girlfriend, 'G4', who refused to openly accept she was going about with me was attracted to me. She'd go see the Taj Mahal at Agra and the Hawa Mahal at Jaipur with me apart from spending the night in the same hotel room but would still reckon me with my pending reappear supplementary exams and wouldn't openly accept a failure as her man. I was frustrated by her autocratic behaviour and opted for a different girl, 'G5'.

G5 was the prettiest of my first 3 GF's as far as looks were considered. We romanced around Delhi's historical places and malls; holding hands around cinemas and Old Fort walls in New Delhi. But still I was as ****** as I was when I was born.

May 7, 2010 was a scorching hot day with the sun ablaze overhead and me going on the busiest highway of India. I was going back to my home and met with a serious road accident en route that kicked me out of my senses into a frozen comatose state.

I somehow survived the life-threatening coma and was moving around in 52 long weeks, limping heavily all thanks to my parents and the kind physiotherapist. Thanks to a poor memory, I initially performed extremely below average at college.

Then I was all prepared to attack at all future examinations and nothing could stop me. I breezed past another girl 'G6', this was my last failure. She was confused between me and a different guy. Neither me nor any other guy with a high self-prestige would entertain the idea of being weighed as an option. I again moved on.

Then comes the continuing story of my true love. True love is the one that lasts forever successfully. She is incidentally my 7th chance upon the love pathway and last. I am sure this is her- my soul-mate.

She is my gateway to the 7th heaven, I find her presence in every aspect of my life. She is 6 years and 9 months younger to me and her descent in my life has been the best thing in my life. I celebrate and rejoice each day in her presence. Our tastes are so similar that we feel merely our X- & Y-chromosomes are different.

We patiently wait for time to last till the day till we perish after blessing our grandchildren. We live 250 kilometres away from each other and have only known each other through voices and photos. We are yet to meet. Till then I wait for the day my master degree gets over and she gets into a medical college.

Now I will end this post by saying that there's no end of love and no beginning of it - you just have to wait, identify and hold on to your truest love.

Love trusts, lust twists
Love rains, lust drains
Love reaches, lust catches
Love couples, lust combines

Love retains, lust detains
Love relies, lust relays
Love cares, lust caresses
Love binds, lust blinds

Love floats, lust flees
Love belongs, lust longs
Love ascends, lust descends
Love fames, lust defames

Love creates, lust recreates
Love commands, lust demands
Love chooses, lust chases
Love boosts,  lust boasts

Love at heart
Lust in mind
Love in lust is good
Lust in love is better
  
Love likes privacy
Lust looks for piracy
Love opens lust
Lust closes love

Love is slow, lust is fast
Love is steady and stable
Lust is mobile and fragile
Love is reliable, lust is liable
Love is long, lust is short
  
Love is homogeneous
Lust is heterogeneous
Love is defensive
Lust is offensive
  
Love is precious
Lust is pernicious
Love is supportive
Lust is supplementary
  
Love is refined
Lust is defined
Love betters life
Lust batters it.
  
Love has character
Lust has conduct
Love wins over
Lust weans out
  
Love combines
Lust divides
Love is cool
Lust is crazy
Love is peaceful
Lust is pleasant
  
Love is wholesome
Lust is piecemeal
Lust comes first
Love becomes best

Love is progressive
Lust is aggressive
Lust laminates
Love illuminates

Love is slow n steady
Lust is hasty n nasty
Love is dense, lust is tense
Lust is conditioned,
Love is air-conditioned
  
Lust is lovely to begin with
Love is lustrous to end up
Love heals, lust wounds
Love owns, lust disowns
  
Love is onus, lust is onerous
Love is basic, lust is allowance
Love conforms, lust confuses
Love binds, lust blinds

Be aware of love
Beware of lust
That comes like
wolf in sheep’s clothing

Let the fair blend
of love and lust
rule  the roost

she's a jumping bean,
bouncing off walls,
breaking in her velvet muscles.

a princess crown encompasses her cranium,
eyelashes like butterfly wings,
fluttering in a breeze.

wearing tic-tacs for teeth,
a smile designed by blind men's hands,
construction of a masterpiece.

eyes aglow with eagerness,
bleeding aquamarine,
flooding my pupils with luminosity.

giggles like dandelion seedtips,
a supplementary appendage,
attached to my forearm.

she blankets me in gentle bear hugs,
curling around like pink yarn,
frayed at the edges.

give me the pleasure of knowing
that i can please you in ways that not even you can
i want to detain your innermost secrets
i want to become more familiar with your body than you are
tell me your favorite fingers
    let’s discover your favorite toy
i want to know which spot makes you shiver
i want to know which spot makes you moan
   i want to know exactly what type of stroke makes you shake
i want to know which spot makes
                        your eyes
                            your hips
                                 your head
                                             roll
                    so that i know precisely when to roll you over
                            and vivaciously assault you from behind
                                   while i croak romantic entities
       and watch them travel down the notches of your spine
       and wrap themselves around your earlobes
and curl their exclamatory hands around your throat
                            and reach around your body
     and diligently massage your ****
           while the planes of your forearms give out
          due to the weariness of supporting not only your body
but also the head on your shoulders
whirring with the fact that this moment is almost
too large for you
         just like the member pumping
              in and out of you is
and just like that member
               these moments were at first
               difficult to swallow

  let me stop
         and take a moment to admire the way sweat
gives your curves a flattering spotlight
and provides the candles in the room more reason to
      applaud and reach their crowns in the air
            almost as if to detach themselves from
their own wax and join us
                      in order to extinguish
                                             the fire deep within themselves
            by allowing me to drown them in their own juices
                                                        ­just as you have
        i want to admire the way sheets of sweat
                                       glaze your skin
           in the same way your juices glaze
           your opening

let me enter you
    as you pucker your mouth
bite your lip
and beg for more
i want to know exactly what makes you
denounce me to the dirtiest of things
give me a title only worn by those wearing sweat
  and exhalations

scream my name
pull those eyebrows together
and spread those legs further apart
and let the part of me
that isn’t me
(but is me)
deeper inside of you

let me carry you to ******
             afterwards i'll lean down and bury my mouth
between your legs
and taste what meal your supplementary pair of lips
  have prepared for me
i want to digest my libidinous progress
and mount this triumph in my heart
as the first of many
powerfully lecherous
conquered temptations


k.n

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, inspiration: favorite book---Invisible Life In A Miserable Age version two :>


Henry
met her at the library
rasped the portrait in ancient poetry
booked her love in print of coffee calligraphy
vanished curses of September from the entire history
remembered eyes bared and fell at feet so complementary
one-eighty degrees the fine line supplementary
deviled angelic
marveled hurdled
seven freckles and stashed in memory
celebrates venus and mercury


                                                       ­                                     -----ravenfeels

Here are three hundred and seventy-one letters

write gibberish aimed at me.

We can warm up with haughty language,

cumulus white skies that brim with rudimentary quarrels,

as we watch an apprehensive apprentice appreciating an amateur.

Perhaps a devils activist entertaining a lawyer,

might spin supplementary lie- swathed webs,

Appeasing an imaginary stranger that whispers at night.

Liberate the unsheltered side,

In merely ten lines.

-Mariah: "what makes you different"?
•Johnathan: "I don't want you, I need you"
-Mariah: "what do you need from me"?
•Johnathan: "I need your heart and I need to give you mines"
-Mariah: "What are you gonna do with my heart"?
•Johnathan: "I'm going to cradle it right aside my own, I'm going to compress them together so I won't miss a beat of your life"
-Mariah: "well you already missed every beat up until now. My heart has taken a beaten and I don't think you can heal it"
•Johnathan: "I can't heal it by myself you have to help me"
-Mariah: "If you're good enough of a man then you can do it alone"
•Johnathan: (interrupting) "wrong"
-Mariah: "I need a man to be able to carry the load. I'm right I don't think that you can do it, and if you can't do it by yourself you can't do it"
•Johnathan: "So you're telling me that you want a man who put up all the effort to comfort and please you but in return his heart remain empty; what are you gonna do to keep love loving you?"
-Mariah: "I usually make a guy prove to me that he really love me before I can show him my love, I'm worth it. Right?"
•Johnathan: "it's not all about worthiness. Worthiness doesn't always consist of how much value another person place upon you. Especially if a person don't get the results from what they invested all their time and mind in. If the person isn't satisfied themselves, they're only tired, then where's the "worth" in that deal? That's only gambling"
-Mariah: "So you're telling me that I'm not worth it"?
•Johnathan: "Mariah listen do you think I would be here trying to fix something that's broke if it doesn't mean anything?"
-Mariah: "I don't know would you? And how am I suppose to know that you're not just trying to break me more?"
•Johnathan: "because if I was trying to break your more I would tell you that you're only useful for pleasure. Besides if you remember, I said that I wanna give you my heart as well; therefore, I'm putting my feelings on the line too. I can get hurt as well as you could. You do know men can hurt huh?"
-Mariah: "Every man that I came across seem not to care, so from my experience I don't know if men hurt. Men only seem to think and feel with their penises. Look I heard it all and I'm tired of men I don't wanna hear anymore lies"
•Johnathan: "Well have you ever thought that it was just the men that you are attracted to? And have you ever thought that you are attracted to boys and not men? And have you ever considered the fact that boys only do exactly what it is that they think they can do? So mistreating you, lying, and relying solely on ****** relations they thought was well within their rights; moreover, the rights that you granted them".
-Mariah: (She storms off angrily without saying anything)

The truth is blistering to lies told and  lies lived.
Hearing the truth kills all disputes
But if she's scared of the truth then she'll find herself comforted by lies
Men try to be supplementary to souls
And boys deter lives
They chase thrilling moments
And if she run off of fun as well, then let the games begin
But the heart is so dramatic that excitement always ends
Serious men...
Come along and by then pain is plain
She's used to it like a pilot in a plane soaring over terrain
And love is a joystick
She only had a demo
Mistakenly she judges the entire franchise from the games that the rookies played
Discrediting hall of fame names and the ones who has not yet been  inducted
She handed her heart to freshmen and they muffed it
They were too inexperienced to coach her that when she  hear the truth to trust it

Mariah is used to liars
Johnathan is a honest man

Along the valleys of Llandegfan



Fluorescent lavish she glimmers


Battling arousal unyielding I strain


As the sweltering blood simmers




Fervid quivering she assigns


Peaking atop the apex of my spine


With each stroke swift I succumb


For this moment forever I've pined




Forgive my heightening appetite


Supplementary to my avid lust


Quite the unbearable sensation


Equally as hazardous to trust




In vivid colours may we flaunt


Fornicate to lecherous taunts





© 2012 (All rights reserved)

They were once meaningless
I write and in one, two and three
The transgression made its way to you
They became lyrics,
My hymn towards you.

Eradicating you made me at ease
Til lines intersect
There was no division
The strategy became a multiplication
Where the factors were lost as digits
There’re no emotions at all.

We were destined
To know the factors
To solve the x and y
Then, sections were subdivided.

I was in y, you were in x
As if we’re in supplementary angles
Why’re we apart?
Can two junctions be aligned?

The triangle was secluded
With the main angle,
The base, the height
The hypothenuse uploaded the main formula.

Never will I resolve this
For formula was never been taught
As if I’m doing such trials and errors
Til I get tired
And be drowned by head and heartaches.

The compass would never shape you
The ellipse would not offer you mass
There were no vectors at all,
Now, its just the dot
The single one which may point me
Towards the possible focus of such lines.

(2/23/14 @xirlleelang)

You,
fall through my fingers like rain.
mixed with the residue of some delusional things that we can’t help but
feel.
because inside we’re just children, really excited about going to the
movies downtown (on cheap Tuesday!), 7-dollar tickets clutched in our fingers,
like your fingers clutched in mine.
I lean against you, you lean against me, and it’s just the way that we lean,
the angles are complementary. or was it supplementary?
I don’t think this is love.
but it sure feels like Splenda instead of real sugar.

Who understand me more than myself?
Exactly!!
That's why I never look around for help
Love been scarce every since I was whelped
Into this world when no one cares if you whelm your resistance
Here, there's no value of tradition
No nature of culture
Just individuals
Lack of spirituality
So many different religions, but no one speaks to humankind
...Just their own kind
If it doesn't matter to them they don't mind
If you don't see it how they visualize, then you must be blind
Leave it up to them, they wouldn't even want the rest of us to synchronize
The world run on the fact of us being divided
And it is the innocence in me and you that is being misguided
I was raised to be a menace
But The things I witnessed
Made me wanna change positions
Come to realize
That good intentions can conclude in your non-existence
But don't let me persuade you to resistance
Especially if you're not from the bottom of the hill
If you never had to deal
If you always had cooked meals
Always had crisp bills
To me all the things that seemed so surreal
But I still know how you feel
No one get a break
But coming from where I'm from
We were never fixed in the first place
Only thing free is negativity
Shaped to destruct the streets since elementary
Teachers weren't even supplementary
Everyone who surrounded me was drowning
And if we tried to sniff out a plan we were hounded
They never prevented crimes, they just enforced the law
So we got what we wanted, but we couldn't keep it
They allowed us to do our dirt, in order to sweep it
That's why I'm offended when America fear me
When all I did was play defense
I'm trying to put a end to this disastrous sequence
Someone told me I was too ridiculous
And that I needed to show lenience
I replied
That's the reason why our entire skin tone has been living with grievance
We just need all allegiance
We don't need no alliance
The hell with compliance
Amongst ourselves we must have reliance

Because without everyone's input we will never reach our triumph

Find me the conditions conducive to life,
and I will be unable to find any fulfilled.
It is in our nature always
to want, mass, more, supplementary.
Without quench will be need.
Possibly more?
Will one brave; lonely and just, be enough?
Life only prolonging a barmy parody
until confronted with one of seven?
Found guilty on all accounts,
failing even, to screen their future.

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This is definitely way up massively because of 1973 when ever 57% of property obtained one particular set in place in addition to 11% have a variety of. As due to the number of Television sets on real estate, i am blowing more hours previously monitoring these individuals. This can cause all of our commonplace pretext involving not needing sufficient time during the daytime. With the usual your home, the tv screen is normally excited with respect to eight hours, 17 a short time plus the average person is actually enjoying designed for 4 hours, 25 or so minutes. Think on the subject of some of those information to have a hour. Let's say another person informed you that they are going to offer you another 4 hours on your time of day? Wouldn’t a majority of you love to have recently a little more time to find matters undertaken?

Should you do not first start up the telly that's what you'd get. Can you loss the preferred demonstrates that allows you to start to take great yourself? Through an supplementary four hours, you would probably eventually have the time to have near to all of of such things you concept you did not have enough time to get. Most of the facts we would execute should help you decide all the way to bettering our wellbeing and partnerships. We might prepare dinner and not just receive takeout mbt online sale, attend the gym designed for A half-hour of exercising, spend more time with our children yet another beloved. Natural meats even make amends for numerous forfeited sleeping.

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Well organized and tidy
Murals, collages, trophies, crafts
Feelings, emotions, blood, sweat, and tears all captured , saved and put on display

Studiedly  I walk station to station in amazement

Recalling and recollecting, but hesitant to reminisce on the bliss and carefulness that's swept and swift

Taken out of humanity to share, and placed into a strategy for only eyes to stare

So the only way that we can become engaged is on field trips or when we vacate?

Hands off the glass , and please no pictures sir!!!
Is the blockade

Well may I at least purchase a souvenir?

But I Thought love didn't cost a thing?

I also thought love was suppose to be balled into my heart , not placed onto the wall for art.

This museum has artifacts that date back;  way back , prior to the common era in fact

Love was used all over the world, evidently it didn't discriminate , but it separate ones from others, sometimes it hesitates because of it's density , because  if no reciprocity then the love become logically lessened

Love taught a lot of lessons , and raised a lot of personal questions

Hearteologists seems to have it all figured out

They say centuries ago love evolved with a color , a shape, a phrase , and a holiday.

An image
More so an image and no longer a feeling
The image that allowed Hearteologists to dig up, find and study any evidence , empires, households... the culture of love

The past half of a century the television developed and became everything except supplementary

So as viewers look at the screen they witness love as only being inside the characters jeans

When really love is hereditary, a trait that we all carry in our genes from the first beings

Now to be placed on the wall, behind plexiglass

Only to be put into perspective from 10am. until 6pm.
Mondays through Saturdays

As for the human race
You, I and true love can never link

Love is in a museum because love is extinct

uninvited GUESTS linkedin as the themes of mein kampf.

Despite countless factorial permutations
& combinations, this cyber surfer
avails left and right alm
seeking succor Out Of Human *******
invisibles shackles bind head,
shoulders, knees and toes
mom mee **** sic cured courtesy grim reaper,
boot metastatic cervical/ovarian
carcinoma snatched such balm
when tethered in utero umbilical connection,
etched bromide, which hankering calm
embryonic sensation this corporeal being lacks

constantly subjected to exams
from the brutal school of hard knocks,
which I bewail sets back and glom
mine aim to revel in blissful contentment
but circumstances decrees otherwise
cursing this chap tubby haunted
by veritable elfin grotto dwelling phantoms
hovering over sweet clover - dials a mirage
yes...iris sieve blurbs from gals and guys numb
burred in the billions,
that span the World Wide Web, and exude

premature ejaculatory ecstasy, puzzled if fie
totally tubular trod a tedious trek
along the boulevard of broken dreams,
what happenstance oft finds thyself to flail
amidst difficulty to maximize
optimal opportunities searching for Holy Grail
or whatever constitutes such lofty
personal objective, perchance being hale
and hearty of body, mind and spirit
spurs the furies of fate tut test this primate

while he aims to gallop with mighty industrial
vim and vigor leaving a virtual soundcloud
of dust, though mindfulness helps
to pass go, and chance avoid jail
time, then maybe monopolized feedback offered
to this toothless married quasi herbivore
enjoying poetry stone soup, yet also subsisting
on supplementary vitamin packed glue tin free
NON GMO fruity tall tales for a male
thirty six years shy sans Bing a centenarian,

which span of life best cut short with a nail
(possibly nine inches) hammered into
faux coffin, cuz this imp doth turn pale
at the prospect to fill up a space of land
best utilized by birds - such as quail
Mongoose, or ibis (though aye ne'er saw
one), where cremated ashes sail
across some verdant plain under
cerulean skies putting to rest every travail,
which thoughts of dem eyes spells

relief since potential homelessness,
pennilessness, and wretchedness,
the main impetus explaining
this rambling, shambling, and troubling spiel
the warp and woof ova gauzy veil
imperceptibly looms closer upon
turrets of my digital sea faring gunwale
and thus desperation finds
pleading for monetary
and  spiritual salvation.

Before mine danse
macabre doppelganger draws dagger
punctures the skein tight
as a yank key notched belt
housed within mine impenetrable
hermetically sealed invisible bubble
drapes with blackened Hades
hued habiliment therein dwelt
sinister saboteur mastermind
marauder of the Hubble

tattooing and piercing fiery
oculus rift presence unseen but felt
demands sacrifice to traverse
river Styx with unadulterated gelt,
which known phantasmagorical double
diabolical self amidst aftermath
from Armageddon rubble
astride charred global
ruins entire civilization melt
planetary paroxysm prognosticated

by Maya sages with 11th hour stubble
birthed Darth Vader nemesis
with evil upon earth he did pelt
annihilating, decimating, and hashtagging mankind,
the derelict species that fueled trouble
hence evil twin appointed
apocalyptic malevolence spelt
desiccation, humiliation, and laceration
upon once verdant veldt
with mass crematorium
desecration left horrific blistering welt.

Countdown to **** sapiens extinction
predicted millenniums in past
never occurred as predicted on December 21
two thousand and twelve after common era,
whereby catastrophic spark
detonating inferno incinerating blast
eradicating extant flora
and fauna bereft sans hegira
with no means to interrupt
the die since the dawn of civilization cast.

Impossible mission to escape ominous
predetermined fate of human rat race,
nor turn back hands of time
with origin of species on clock face
thus ticking closer to hour of doomsday
without faith to brace
allowing, enabling and providing Gaia
to redeem terrestrial space
vestiges of teeming billions
soon erased criminal minds without a trace
forcefully relinquishing simians
planetary stranglehold amazing grace
proffering tabula rasa
for another dominant species
to claim the place.

Sirens promulgate emergency
toward impending inescapable cataclysm
yet no place to run or hide lest
one boards a rocket light-years away
which makes suspense thrillers
birthed by countless dystopian authors
enviable plot to keep
total Earth's destruction at bay.

Matthew Scott Harris,
a lifetime America Online
Meme bur hastens to convey dire
crisis sparking to offer electric nom de plume
duyeer93, a papa who did sire
deux darling daughters,
yet for ages hive stung
with hurt early, whence fatherhood did fire
meow n childhood's end fostering people
strangers even fork
getting this communication,

per S0S sprinkled with auk shucks corny,
Egret - letting opportunities take flight aspire
now pleasures soft as gossamer feather bedding
down play hardened angst
riddled psyche, where ire
Ronny gully stubbornly thrives
amidst adversity as father time spins gyre
row scope at greased lightning speed,
intimating with dead reckoning to hire
grim reaper, who **** patient

as Job, and exemplary at ridding mire
and muck bogs down this dada robbing
existence with joie de vivre, where funeral pyre
doth flickr-beckoning GoDaddy, cuz
Juno I haint gonna hear angelic choir
or equivalent enlightenment re:
home sweet home, this atheist doggedly tire
so haim trying keep sea legs
one step ahead of tipping point
envision self pitched into abyss -
thus end of poetic wire.

lowering myself onto you
passionate; raw lust
sliding down, cork and corkscrew
your lips, deep ******

silence breaks with a mourning dove
pure pleasure
no longer disguised- undeniable love
supplementary leisure

your tongue dances on me
listening to the music i make
everything you do with sensuality
to heal the heartbreak

then its 3am and im filled with you
resting my head on your chest
the sky is a paler blue
our love; now professed

and now i look at our star
and think about last night, in the backseat of your car.

Supplementary beauty, outside of
what we call our home, inside of
what we call our working space.
We can't stay here forever, it pays
to travel, it works out to change,
it helps to work and improve our ways.

Talents, oddities, special equipment,
all additions to the perfect creatures,
imperfect perfection is so perfect.

So if you ever find a mark in your book,
or a number in your phone, a name in
the back of your head. Don't hesitate,
reconnect with that addition,
it just might have been an imperfect
perfection.

Poets speak in spills of sarcasm and satire
Soul searing and smooth saying sentences salvaged from their sins
Stop starting signs and sigh soaked sincerities seep from their seething seams
Soap suds sit in their mouths while supplying
supplementary information seemingly from a somber soul
sought after by so few socialites
Poets speak solely from the soul, as no other place would suit their words a safer home

One in the morning and I'm wishing upon the whistle of a passenger train that you were here with me.
Counting down the days until I am able to see you again.
I want to say I have never felt this way.
Standing in the shower, water running down my face.
You and I are more than just two frames.
We are supplementary.
You are not just a soul case.

I am a qualified post-graduate engineering degree holder from NDRI Karnal now and I am trying to complete a PhD program. I completed my Bachelor of Technology degree in Biotechnology from MDU in spite of a terrible road accident that imposed a partial physically challenged state on my life. I already wrote one inspired by my life till the 4th semester of my B.Tech degree and imagining the extreme consequences of the unfortunate caste-based (instead of the only economic criterion) reservation fiasco which are about to take place now.

I am guilty of wasting my precious time in the untimely search for love. I wrote about it in a creative form.

It also has some situational poetry in English and Hindi apart from few dialogues in languages other than English.

You will be surprised to know how accurately I predicted the fuel crisis and the protagonist named Akshant Kautilya Sharma does his research towards developing better supplementary fuel to help the economy.

Akshant’s search for love ends in a girl who loves him since their childhood days.

Akshant Kautilya Sharma teams up with an unlikely ally to defeat the hijack attempt by the currently only-fictitious anti-caste based reservation system terrorist organisation named Shuddh Rakt.

Amazon.com: 7 Seconds: A Typical Guy, Atypical Life eBook: Atul Kaushal: Kindle Store

If faith is a test
do you think you'll need to do
some extra credit
                                Kelly McManus

Nothing scares me the most,like my death day
The fact that it's unknown
Makes me wonder if I'm qualified to go to Heaven
I know the requirements
But out of  my 7300 days of being alive,I would be lying to myself if I say I've met the requirements
I pray that God offers me a supplementary examination and have mercy on me
To get my pass through the gates of Heaven
Because surely the repercussion of my actions got the Angel of death doubting my existence

and generation of heat in particular
cuz yours truly
spoiled with trappings
of Western Civilization.

How ideal I imagine
to dwell in a self sufficient domicile,
where thrum of the central heater...
automatically activated
upon advent of twilight,
or self adjusted/regulated
based on outside temperature
since writer of these words
thankfully linkedin to PECO grid,
(counts CAP and LIHEAP programs

for low income earners a dogsend),
subsequently scribe of Schwenksville
not resident within "smart home",
nevertheless manually pressing button
invites emulation of
Donald Trump zippered smile,
when mechanisms set in motion
to spark convection currents
warming cockles and muscles
versus skin feeling cold and clammy.

One anonymous **** sapien appreciates
basking, and luxuriating,
within climate controlled environment,
whether bone chilling
deep freeze when/where old man winter
furiously blows frigid air
into lovely bones of mine
sets indentured jaws chattering,
as on this dreary
and rainy April 30th, 2023,
or contrarily when sweltering
hazy, humid and hot
dawg days of summer
necessitates setting air conditioner
at refreshing sixty six degrees fahrenheit.

I could never survive
alone in the wilderness,
which dependence on creature comforts
inured me since birth,
but all the more power to people
(such as **** Proenneke
pronounced pren-icky)
who lived off the grid,
and minimize their carbon footprint.

Truth be told, a non impactful lifestyle
tantalizes, teases, titillates...
yours truly, a garden variety generic human
dependent I vow woolly admit
on consonant contrivances
and conveniences conditioned
courtesy capitalistic consumeristic credo
decrying his dependence
upon flow of electrons,
whereby flip of switch
(rather than fight)
when systems of a down fully functional

instantaneously allows, enables,
and provides electricity
with absolute zero ability
to stave off blackout
attributed to sudden disruption
regarding power outage
linkedin with severe
kickstarted meteorological phenomena
or terroristic machinations
(possibly even homegrown unrest)
worst case scenario signaling the end
of the webbed wide world

reducing to rubble
(think being bombed
back into stone age)
annihilating comp fur table trappings
of twenty first century civilization
forcing survivors to learn basic skills
cooperation, integration, proletarian
and utilitarian virtues
altruistic, democratic, humanistic,
mechanistic, and socratic zest
begotten, distilled, and forged
nsync with opposable thumb.

Angst crimps existence
generating dystopian thoughts
despite countless factorial permutations,
differentiations and combinations,
this cyber surfer avails two alms
boot Grinchian genes snatched such balms
when tethered in utero umbilical connection,
etched bromide, which hankering calms
embryonic sensation this corporeal being lacks
constantly subjected to exams
from the school of hard knocks,
which I bewail sets back and gloms

mine aim to revel in blissful contentment
but circumstances decreed otherwise
cursing this chap tubby haunted
exhibited by sweaty soles of feet and palms
by veritable elfin grotto dwelling phantoms
hovering over sweet clover dials a mirage
where dreams comprise psychedelic qualms
yes...Iris sieve blurbs from gals and guys
that spans the world wide web, and exude
premature ejaculatory ecstasy, puzzled if fie
totally tubular trod a tedious trek
along the boulevard of broken dreams.

What happenstance oft finds thyself to flail
amidst difficulty to maximize
optimal opportunities
searching for Holy Grail
or whatever constitutes such lofty
personal objective, perchance being hale
and hearty of body, mind and spirit
spurs the furies of fate tut test this primate
while he aims to gallop with mighty industrial
vim and vigor leaving a virtual cloud

of dust, though mindfulness helps
to pass go, and chance avoid jail
time, then maybe monopolized
feedback offered and accepted
to this married caucasian
nasty and shortish brute
with one percent Neanderthal
toothless though I possess gumption
pseudo quasi-vegetarian
enjoying poetry stone soup,

yet also subsisting
on supplementary vitamin
and mineral packed glue tin free
NON GMO fruity tall tales for a male
thirty six years shy sans bing a centenarian,
which span of life best cut short
acquiring tetanus courtesy
rusty nine inch nail
hammered into faux coffin,
cuz this impossible mission

(aery faced nincompoop) doth turn pale
at the prospect to fill up a space of land
best utilized by twittering
and tweeting birds - such as quail
mongoose, or ibis (though aye ne'er saw
one), where cremated ashes sail
across some verdant plain under
cerulean skies putting to rest every travail,
which thoughts of dem eyes spells
the main impetus explaining

this rambling spiel
warp and woof ova gauzy veil
imperceptibly looms closer upon
turrets of my digital sea faring gunwale
unwittingly capsized courtesy
Moby **** sized whale,
and thus desperation
finds me pleading for salvation
while swinging from vestigial yellowtail.

I

I recall in tranquillity

Fever-dive hours.

Once I saw a sailboat listing

Upon a great-waved sea

The sea was I and so was the boat

I could not see any stars

For the blasts of ocean-spray



In what quiet cove can I go hiding from a storm

Blasting up the cartoid artery and flooding through

The cognitive estuaries, over-spilling memory’s tributaries?

Tell me where I might make my stand against my wrath?

Might a clever present play the future off against the past?

Am I to live only in the lacunae between foretelling & recollection

In the times between guilt and dread when, exhausted of mental flight,

Whether backwards or forwards, the mind drifts in easy content?



We shall build a tower

let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth



II

Behold, a shattered glass bowl that held doubts

They multiply in shattering

As each beam of light

Crosses every glass splinter

It breeds a new splinter

And a new lance of light

Fecund heresiarch



Absolute clarity lies within

That lit glass rubble but the trouble

Is that so does everything else

As in Borges’ library up in that tower



III

Do you know where your right hand is? Walking through a shop and not knowing whether you’ve assaulted someone heedlessly. Analysing each moment of your past like a sicko prosecutor. The fears iterate by sinister Darwinism, seeking cognitive blind-spots. Did I mutter threats of violence to that child? Did I insult that shop attendant? Mixed memory and aversion form a rancid bin-juice born decaying.



IV

I came to the stairs

There was a wobble in her voice

By each step her voice rose higher

So I rise to her and she calls with greater urgency

And I rise to her with greater urgency

She and I can only meet after escalation shatters

Past the horizon of panic and further-

Past the sea rock of worn defeat

She and I must be one.

I sprint.



V

Imagine that someone came to you in the middle of the night, stepped into your mouth and began to grow through your capillaries. They were not content merely with habitation, their constant insistence was that you must keep grafting dead organs and limbs onto yourself. You become a born-again Frankenstein (don’t be a pedant) with all the zeal of a convert to an undead lifestyle. The new limbs are heavy, and stink, and burn up your flesh with septisemic fire and ****-flood, but the man who stepped inside your mouth begs you stitch on more.



VI

The inside of a head becomes lonely as it becomes crowded

The only things that elbowed through those crowds

Were other hauntings

Brief dune-sedge love in salted ground

Warring wrath against money made world

Twin engines of raging-love and loving-rage

Racing for diversion and the exaltation of rebellious motion

Circulation round the track kept my blood in motion

Rammed down winds to bellow my lungs



Political contention, war, courtship, frenetic study

Vain dreams of greatness, discontent

Which gave me a little contentedness

To declare permanent war or endless love

And so to terminate surrender in unutterable resolution

“Optimism of the will!”- clenched hands, though they wobble

In the obsidian lands where resistance gave no comfort

Resistance still gave sustenance

Just as all the previous Sugatas



VII

Life is so long. Are you so innocent? You are tired. You dream of a gentle place. You saw it as anyone might imagine it- holy light on wild-flowers, easy with its comforts, free with its joys. To be such a place it had to be distant from this world and sealed against you.



VIII

Maybe I just wasn’t ******* often enough?

Victorian life is better novelised than lived

Hysterical, neurotic, guilty, phantasmal

Maybe I wasn’t drinking enough?

A friend called me the Ayatollah

In respect of my beard and sobriety



Hume and the Buddhist sages pronounced that persons are aggregates without greater unity. I find myself a bundle but there is no liberation here. The parts rub against each other like cans in a grocery bag bruise fruit. Or perhaps I am the curate’s egg.



IX

Give me a seabird’s wings

On the cliffs, about forty meters over the crab pools

I dream of ascending with the gulls, but higher

Diving and again rising in alliance with wind

What waves perturb the gull are brief

And if it is to end by hawk, that too is brief

Yet I would rise higher still, till I sat on a perch

Overlooking time and the jolting succession of moments

Above the waves of kings, ministers, exchequers

Yet if I am not to reach that exalted perch

I will be low enough to observe the bright net

Of refracted sun that plays upon the hills of water

Give me a seabird’s wings



X

Easier perhaps to talk of the accoutrements of terror and the reflections it invoked. Easier to do that then to photograph medusa. Yet I do remember being confused as to whether I was more guilty or more afraid. It seemed important that I be more guilty than be afraid, but it is hard to feel guilt while facing knives. Consequently, I felt supplementary guilt at my thin guilt.



We shall build a tower

let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth



XI

The future is boundless, not only ahead but sideways

The patterns of your inferences only ever ape

The subtle causal chains which bind the forward momentum

Of the world whose surface you cling to

The mind is stretched between times and possibilities,

Beyond any accommodation by mental sinew and bone

The heart successively roars and fizzles



XII

I came to the living room

And it was filled with ash

Though I never smoked

Or sat by fire

I made an ink of that ash

And began to write these verses

upon my arm



XIII

He is there, and I smile into his oblivion

He never loved you, so ideas of romance

Had the character of Banach-Tarski’s sphere

He is gone now, other suburbs, other worlds

I do not miss him, except on special occasions

My affections were never lost, except perhaps at the first moment

Dead on arrival

Yet still worthwhile



It is right to rebel against most things

But not you, oh sweet tyrant

It’s good odds you kept me breathing



IXV

We do not sit upon heaven’s throne

Nor are we the rebel, cast down like a slash of lightning

We are the flesh that raised our gaze

Half wondering, half begging

The dance is ending, where is the bridgegroom?



XV

How rash are those who clamour for justice?

(I have been among them)

Life is wide, deep and changing. We are excesses

Of identity, act, motivation.

Of miscalibrated judgement and selfish grasping.



Do you think you would be clean under heaven’s eye?

Were there a book that contained each numbered thought and small deed

Of yours wouldn’t you shred it, burn it and eat the ashes?

I wouldn’t. I would give you that book. Press you to read it.

I do not think you would like me, but my terror is to be misunderstood

I fear that you will think I am a different kind of monster than that I am.

So I give you my promise, that should an angel scribe that book

I’ll give you a copy.



And I promise that if you ever give me a copy of your celestial biography

I’ll try to shut the my eye of judgement and open that of mercy

It’s simple self interest. Chesed pro chesed.



XVI

Can we remember pain? In our mind’s eye we might

See rose fluids or, under that, a startling glimpse of pearly white

Laid open by a scalpel. We shudder back. We peer forward.

But who has the pen by which to bind agony?

“Sharp”, “dull”, “throbbing”, “irritating”, “intense”

Wholly feeble, as if a snake tried to wander with its vestigial leg bones

But that is where we find ourselves- thirsty for conveyance in a desert of names

We can only hope to articulate pain through our inarticulateness

Just as, by chance, static on a television set captures a snowstorm



I remember wandering the streets, sobbing and calling for divine fire to **** me and all the other wicked. As I wept I listened to pop on half smashed headphones. What would it take to make you march through city streets weeping and calling the fires of an unknown God?



XVII

I ascended to the attic

To store, retrieve, invent

A mnemonic parade

Without volition my hands

Raise the dust in small incantations

How does one dislodge a fake memory?

Or terminate the routine of shuddering



I see

He and she are here, interlocked eye-beams

I am not in either eye

In this attic I lay in the pattern of my veins

I am sinews. Whether these gobbets

Be thought or flesh I am in neitherway free

I am chained by my own substance

Above me powers contend in the air.



XVIII

Think now

Life has many cunning passages, contrived corridors

And issues, deceives with whispering trepidations,

Guides us by vanities.


After such knowledge what forgiveness?

Forgiveness after such knowledge what?

What forgiveness after such knowledge?

Knowledge what forgiveness after such?

Such knowledge what forgiveness after?



IXX

In metamorphosis the tissue is not merely subtracted from and added to inside the pupae, rather the whole flesh devours itself, save for microscopic clusters (imaginal bodies), becoming a soup of cells. What unites both life-stages is scarcely more than a double-helixed teleos. Yet memory persists.

We shall build a tower

let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth



**

If I could but seize the wax of Icarus

The tailor of Ulm’s fabrics

Etana or Bladud’s crown of feathers

If I could but fly, I could seize the sun’s silver

Forge a mirror by which to demonstrate

The storm that rends the head

Of some shivering soul you know

Forgive a thief that stole for you and

Shelter all, for you cannot see their weather



XXI

To find a point of collapse at which

loss and victory die.

And that sea is now

A vast lake that

Night or day

Forms a perfect twin

To the sky

Over the stones of the tower

Drift currents and sweet, lazy fish

The waves will dance again

But I might hope to dance

With them

what's wrong with 100 units in a week?
the headline of
the times's T2 supplement
magazine, from Tuesday,
August 21st 2018...
what isn't?!

            i figured, since i can't solve
crossword puzzles,
i'd give myself a handicap
solving a sudoku puzzle...

  100 units?
   wait... wait... let me do the arithmetic..
on the odd occasion an
extra 4.1 units from the cider...
most days?
           40 units... per whiskey / *****
bottle, per day...
    x7?

               ****...

4 x 7?
           3 x 7 = 21...

oh... so what's wrong with 280 units
per week,
per year,
per year in the count of 7+ years
with the odd "rehab" break visiting my
grandparents
for the holidays for a month,
where i, not once...
experienced cold turkey withdraw
symptoms...

cleaned my grandfather's room...
read Prus' magnum opus novel
doll... etc...
   fixed up my grandparent's kitchen...
100 units per week?
*****...

              if you're not hitting
the magic 280 units number...
what are you drinking? ***** juice?!
ha ha... let me guess...
red wine...
     dare i say:
          ******* on rosé pop-sickles?!

****... if not the magic cider...
then always a beer walking back
from the supermarket with a pint of
some Bavarian or Dutch brew...
give or take...
let's just call it 280+ units per week,
per year, for the past 7+ or so years...

   but, if my guess i bull's eye...
i hate coffee...
    my zenith epitome of a dinner?
oven fries,
   pulled pork, a fried egg...
some english tomato chutney...
and a smoothie...
bananas, granny smith apples
from south Africa...
natural yogurt, milk...
a bit of sugar...
   and vanilla extract...

                 it's like binging on your
own farts, or something equivalent,
in a really crowded public space,
preferably a space, designated
for transit, at peak hour,
like the london underground at 5pm...

naturally, there is a funny
proof for the theory of solipsism...
the saying goes...
everyone, EVERYONE "loves"
the smell of their own farts...
men? can sit on the throne of thrones
for 40+ minutes
massaging their prostate
by relaxing their **** into
the throne of throne ****
expansions, and never mind the smell...

there you go... solipsism...
people like their own stink...
can't deny it...
              
(insert snigger):
100 units per week...
   but of course... it has to be "MAJOR" news
supplementary "reporting"...
     i do 280+ in week and
rarely slur my words (since i rarely
speak when drinking)...
and?
     ah, you know...
circa 2 alcohol poisonings in public...
so?
   i stopped drinking with people...
it's enough that i'm the sort of nagging
drunk that pushes the ******* from
mush brain to relocate the alphabet
into words and sentences.

Despite countless factorial permutations
& combinations, this cyber surfer avails two alms
seeking succor asper Somerset Maugham.

Mom mee **** able to sic cure human *******,
boot metastatic carcinoma snatched such balms
when tethered in utero umbilical connection,
etched bromide, which hankering calms
embryonic sensation this corporeal being lacks
constantly subjected to exams

from the school of hard knocks,
which I bewail sets back and gloms
mine aim to revel in blissful contentment
course out of Homs way,
but circumstances decreed otherwise
cursing chap whose sweaty palms
foretold veritable haunted
elfin grotto where dwelt operatic phantoms
hovering over sweet clover dialing up mirage
yes...I iris sieve blurbs from gals and guys
that span World Wide Web,
who forewarn and exude against
premature ejaculatory ecstacy, puzzled
yours truly (a garden variety generic bloke)
detects giant bellowing fee fie fo fum
I smell the blood of an Englishman.
Be he alive or be he dead.

Meanwhile mine tenderfeet
totally tubular trod tedious trek
along the boulevard of broken dreams
what happenstance oft finds thyself to flail
amidst difficulty to maximize
optimal opportunities searching for Holy Grail
or whatever constitutes such lofty
personal objective, perchance being hale
and hearty of body, mind and spirit

spurs the furies of fate tut test this primate
while he aims to gallop with mighty industrial
vim and vigor leaving a virtual cloud
of dust, though mindfulness helps
to pass go, and chance avoiding jail
time, then maybe monopolized feedback offered
to this toothless mwm quasi-vegetarian
enjoying poetry stone soup, yet also subsisting
on supplementary vitamin packed glue tin free

NON GMO fruity tall tales for a male
thirty eight years shy being a centenarian,
which span of life best cut short with a nail
(possibly nine inches) hammered into
faux coffin, cuz this imp doth turn pale
at the prospect to fill up a space of land
best utilized by birds - such as quail
Mongoose, or ibis (though aye ne'er saw
one), where cremated ashes sail

across some verdant plain under
cerulean skies putting to rest every travail,
which thoughts of dem eyes spells
relief since potential homelessness -
the main impetus explaining this rambling spiel
(clumsily crafted near ten years ago)
the warp and woof ova gauzy veil
imperceptibly looms closer upon
turrets of my digital sea faring gunwale
and thus desperation finds pleading for salvation.

Before mine danse macabre doppelganger draws dagger
punctures skein tight yank key notched belt
housed within mine impenetrable
hermetically sealed invisible bubble
drapes with blackened Hades hued
habiliment therein dwelt
sinister saboteur mastermind
marauder of the Hubble
piercing fiery oculus rift presence unseen but felt
demands human sacrifice (me) to
traverse river Styx with unadulterated gelt,
which known phantasmagorical double

diabolical self amidst aftermath
from Armageddon rubble
astride charred global
housing ruins entire civilization melt
planetary paroxysm prognosticated
by Maya sages with 11th hour stubble
birthed Darth Vader nemesis
with evil upon earth he did pelt
annihilating mankind,
the derelict species that fueled trouble
hence evil twin appointed
apocalyptic malevolence spelt
desiccation, humiliation, and laceration
upon once verdant veldt
with mass crematorium desecration
left horrific blistering welt!

Countdown to **** sapiens extinction
predicted millenniums in past
ordained but never occurred December 21
two thousand and twelve after common era
whereby catastrophic spark
detonating inferno incinerating blast
eradicating extant flora and fauna
activating bereft hegira
with no means to interrupt the die
since the dawn of civilization cast,
but last minute reprieve granted.

Impossible mission to escape ominous
predetermined fate of human rat race,
nor turn back hands of time
with origin of species on clock face
thus ticking closer to hour of doomsday
without faith to brace
allowing, enabling and providing Gaia
to redeem terrestrial space
vestiges of teeming billions soon erased
criminal minds without evidence traced
forcefully relinquishing simians
planetary stranglehold amazing grace
proffering tabula rasa
for another dominant species to claim the place.

Sirens promulgate emergency impending
toward inescapable cataclysm
yet no place to run or hide
lest one boards a rocket light-years away
which makes suspense thrillers
birthed by John Grisham
enviable plot to keep
total Earth's destruction at bay.

Matthew Scott Harris, a lifetime America Online
meme bur hastens to convey dire
crisis sparking to offer electric nom de plume
a papa who did help sire
deux darling daughters,
now grown into young gals
yet for ages hive stung
with hurt early, whence fatherhood did fire
meow n childhood's end fostering people
strangers even fork getting this communication,
per S0S sprinkled with auk shucks corny,
egret - letting opportunities take flight aspire
now pleasures soft as gossamer feather bedding
down play hardened angst riddled psyche, where ire

Ronny gully stubbornly thrives
amidst adversity as father time spins gyre
row scope at greased lightning speed,
intimating with dead reckoning to hire
grim reaper, who **** patient as Job,
and exemplary at ridding mire
and muck bogs down this dada robbing
existence with joie de vivre, where funeral pyre
doth flickr-beckoning GoDaddy, cuz
Juno I haint gonna hear angelic choir
or equivalent enlightenment re:
home sweet home, this atheist doggedly tire
so haim trying keep sea legs
one step ahead of tipping point
envision self pitched into abyss -
thus finally ends discombobulated wire.