Here you go again.

Confiscating another House of Allah's. In a precious land. In a historical place.

When will you man up. When will you assess your arrogance of the past and your arrogance of the present and STOP.

STOP thinking you are superior.
STOP believing you are entitled.
STOP acting in ways that are unfair.
STOP executing in ways that destroy, in ways that ****, in ways that harm.
STOP dominating ruthlessly.
STOP being threatened by a faith growing the fastest in the world, a faith apart of your history.

Here you go again.

Confiscating another House of Allah's. In a precious land. In a historical place.

When will you man up. When will you assess your arrogance of the past and your arrogance of the present and STOP.

STOP the madness.
STOP the evilness.
STOP hiding behind lands with money and power.
STOP partnering with men dressed in thobes on thrones drenched in oil.
STOP being a thief - taking things that don't belong to you, occupying places that aren't yours.
STOP the ego.

Here you go again.

Confiscating another House of Allah's. In a precious land. In a historical place.

When will you man up. When will you assess your arrogance of the past and your arrogance of the present and STOP.

STOP discriminating.
STOP hating.
STOP colonizing.
STOP cozing up with missionaries who divide Muslims, who **** Muslims and innocent others.
STOP listening to your loud-mouth desire to control and start listening to the calm, just voice of your God.
STOP being the bully of the world.

Here you go again.

Confiscating another House of Allah's. In a precious land. In a historical place.

When will you man up. When will you assess your arrogance of the past and your arrogance of the present and STOP.

When Muslims and others begin to think.
When Muslims and others aren't afraid to think.
When Muslims and others individually and collectively don't fear speaking up.
When Muslim lands with Muslim leaders start practicing what they preach and stop turning their heads and putting their fingers in their ears.
When non-Muslim lands with Muslim leaders stop being fearful and start preaching using the Quran and the life of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), with an understanding of God's words in the Quran and the words of the Prophet.
When Muslim leaders and other leaders abandon their pre-occupation with making money to provide comforts for their own families and children and begin concerning themselves with speaking the truth and doing right to ensure the comforts of all families and children.
When Muslim leaders and other leaders stop playing politics and begin speaking about politics and the hard issues affecting Muslims, humanity, our world.
When Muslims start holding themselves and holding their religious leaders accountable.
When Muslims and others start supporting their God-fearing, truth-telling, justice seeking leaders and role models.
When Muslims and others really believe Allah hu Akbar/God is Greater than and La ilaha illallah/There is no God or Authority but Allah or God.
When Muslims start seeing and understanding those who perceive and practice Islam based on a particular school of thought...Sunnism or ****'ism or Sufism, etc. and those who do not align themselves with one particular school of thought or ideology as all one Ummah, one brotherhood, one body.
When Muslims and others end resorting to the cultures of their countries and ethnicities and begin relying upon God's culture, one that unifies and strengthens all.
When lands of the world start making alliances with Al-Quds and with Palestine.
When humanity acknowledges the hypocrisy of Zionist Israel and the disaster and mayhem it has caused the world.
When the world realizes the criminality of Zionism.
When people of the world start thinking and acting globally and not individually or nationalistically.
When people begin to see, understand, and act in ways that reflect that the Muslims of Al-Quds and of Palestine are oppressed, grieving, struggling, bleeding members of one human family.
When each of us STOPS and thinks of them and their situation and the siege of the sacred Al-Aqsa Mosque and what role we all play.

by: Najwa Kareem

Bon Fire Stories for Around My Tombstone

The bells toll to signal the end of a life characterized by failure.
A failure to reach ascendancy and win over his hero’s favor.
A failure to shake the darkness plaguing his broken soul.
A failure to break the suicidal habit that lead so many others to burn in the coal.
A failure to maintain a healthy relationship long enough to find a wife and produce an heir.
A failure who was never able to pull himself out of the pit of despair.
A failure who never achieved a decent career.
A failure who never figured out God’s plan for his life that the good lord laid out right in front of him o so clear.
A failure to rediscover himself and build himself into a proper person.
A failure who pushed everyone away and allowed and disease in him to only worsen.
He failed his entire life, from birth to burial.
A failure who drove his parents hysterical.
A miserable failure, isn’t he just terrible?
This will be a small, quiet memorial.

Only family members and a few close friends gather around this *******’ casket.
They shed a few tears, say some kind words but deep down, don’t feel bad for the rascal.
He was the black sheep of the family and not really loved by anyone anyhow.
There is an overall sense of relief that he’s gone now.

Everyone ignored his please as he cried out for help through is art.
Everyone ignored him as he walked around slowly dying of a broken heart.
Everyone ignored him even after multiple books were published describing his pain and inner turmoil.
Ignored he no longer will be as his body rots away underneath the norths cold soil.
As the bells toll to signify his end, a few close friends gather around his tombstone to say their final respects.
They understand the fallen man to have been complex.
They don’t judge him for never practicing safe ***,
or for losing his invisible war and getting ****** into a vortex.

The men and woman begin a bon fire and set up chairs.
These a sense of peace tonight in the chilly spring air.
They crack open a cooler and pass around the beer.
This is how the fallen would have wanted it, just to be clear.
They begin sharing stories of the man he used to be,
Hoping that now, from his inner pain he is free.
They share stories surrounding his dark times dating Autumn,
amazed that from his downfall there, he was able to climb back up from the bottom,
but was unable to do the same here today.
Everyone has an expiration date and his just happened to come out and play.

They share embarrassing moments he thought they had long forgotten,
and share time’s where his greatness really blossomed.
They rip on him for never using a ******
and say be belonged living in *****,
but *** wasn’t meant to be contained,
it was meant to be raw and natural, like he always explained.
The group shakes their heads at his crazy theories.
He had so many unnatural ideas he could have written a book series.
They shake their heads and laugh at the discussion of his strangeness,
always shaving his body when no man was meant to do so.
His feminine traits when he claimed to be a real man.
He lived a strange existence during his short life span.

One friend, his best one of all, takes out his books of art and begins reading them aloud to the group.
They all share their thoughts and opinions openly on what they think.
Twisted, tormented, genius, freak, he was all of them.
An outcast to many, but a hero to some.
His words are laced with venom and strike hard.
In person, you could never tell, he always had up his guard.
His friends don’t care; they are here to celebrate his life and do him one last solid.
After all, it’s the least they can do, it was a group promise.

As the group laughs, drinks and celebrates, a man watches on from a distance.
Even in death, he is still facing resistance.
His soul is charred, beaten and worn down,
but he’s not sad, his face isn’t even supporting a frown.

With the angels above him in the sky calling out to him,
and the demon’s below him reaching out for him,
he’s just happy to see his friends celebrating who he was while he was alive.
He wishes he could go give them all a high five.
Sharing campfire stories around his tombstone is how he wants to be remembered.
Drinking beer, sharing laughs all for him, it warms his soul.
Reading his art out loud, it how he wants to be remembered.
At least his death wasn’t all in vain.

My friend Gerard, (who is alive), looks like an Arabian slave-boy, though swarthier and longer of hair than Tony Curtis; an olive –skinned Mowgli, ape boy of Kipling’s  “Jungle Book”, although I have never seen Gerard swinging through any trees, nor eating any insects, nor even kissing a sultan’s foot. But looks can be deceiving, or receiving, with the proper pen, the zen pen of a poet, this proper poet who lives upstairs with his multitude of books piled on the floors, walking on Whitman, sitting on Shakespeare; tripping over Ginsberg, sleeping on Sartre; not a single shelf for this Jung man.
“A place for everything, and for everything it’s place”, he stands and stares out of a window overlooking the jungle of five-foot high weeds that serves as our backyard and wonders aloud “whither Oregon?”; questions our alleged enlightened sense of awareness, his disposition toward liberalness in a world gone madder than usual. Have I convinced him yet, my naïve, trusting neighbor? Yes, he realizes with a sigh that it is so, now that he has finally succumbed and bought a thirteen inch, black & white television of his own, now he can see with his own brown eyes in his own living room, far off wars, instant coffee & instant karma, depersonalized tragedies, faceless fatalities, insidious soap operas and humorless sitcoms, adverse advertisements, Howard Stern; “whither sanity?” we both cry and laugh out loud at this mediocre media, the global sewage, the Marshall McClueless, me and Gerard Rizza, my friend who is alive.

Gerard, (who is healthy), is gay, yet straighter than most men, and has been complaining quite a bit about the ferry service lately; contemplating a move off of Staten Island, and leaving his sporadic substitute teaching gig at a nearby high school, a mere six block walk from our house atop Winter Hill, where he is trying to convince me, a wide-eyed cynic, that a blank, white, unused canvas, surrounded by a wooden picture frame hung upon his wall is indeed a work of art; the job is very convenient, but again the ******* about the ferry, not the boat ride per se, but the incongruities of the ****** schedule, which anybody who has ever just missed a three a.m. boat and had to wait for an hour in the Hierynomous Bosch triptych known as the Whitehall Ferry terminal ,will definitely attest to; and Gerard has this thing about Staten Islanders, like the homophobes at a recent anti-peace rally in New Dorp, supporting the carpet bombing of an oil rich yet still poor third-world country, throwing beer cans at him and his companions while shouting “we know where you live, *******!”. Rizz came home that evening, visibly shaken and pale, (not his usual olive-skinned self), knocked on my door and pleaded “whither ******?”. I went upstairs, sat on his couch and rolled a joint. Gerard puts on the new 10,000 Maniacs tape and tries, once again, to bait me in a conversation about his “work of art”, my work of naught; he speaks of the horrific details of his day. “Isn’t this picture of Doc Gooden on my refrigerator door proof enough of my manhood, my patriotic intent, for those *******? The ******’ Mets, fuh chrissakes!” We sit out on his porch, watching the sun set over our backyard jungle as Natalie sings wireless Verdi cries, and I pass the burning joint to Gerard, my friend who is still healthy.

My friend Gerard, who is *** positive, was quite possibly a cat in a former life, probably a Siamese, thin, dark and aloof; yes, I can see ol’ Rizz now, sprawled out on an old tapestry rug, getting his belly scratched by his owner, perhaps Emily Dickinson or Georgia O’Keefe, Rizz purring like the engine of an old bi-winged barnstormer; abruptly rolls over, gets on all fours, tail waving *****, slinks over to lap water out of a bowl marked “Gerard”. He’d sleep all day on books and original manuscripts, and play all night amongst oil & acrylic, knocking over an occasional blank canvas, which he, in a future incarnation, will try to convince me, in his feline manner, is art. Sitting and staring from his usual spot on the windowsill, his cat eyes blink slowly as he wonders, “whither dinner?”; and begins to clean himself with tongue and paw, this cat who might be Gerard, my friend who is *** positive.

Gerard, who is sick, recently moved to Manhattan, Chelsea, to be precise, in with his best friend; and has stopped ******* about the Staten Island ferry, having far more pressing matters to ***** about, i.e. the ever-rising cost of homeopathic medicine and the lack of coverage for holistic and alternative care; any number of political and social concerns (Gerard was never the silent type); the lateness of his first published book of poems, entitled “Regard for Junction”; his rapidly deteriorating health, etc., etc.; and is now a true city dweller, a zen denizen, a proper poet with high regard for junction. That’s all that remains when it’s all over anyway, this junction, that junction, petticoat junction, petticoat junction – “I always wanted to **** the brunette sister”, I’d once told him; “I prefer uncle Joe!”, he laughingly replied; dejection, rejection, reclamation, defamation, cremation, conjecture, conjunction, all junctions happening at the same time, at now, a single place, a single moment, this forever junction with Gerard, my friend who is dying.

My friend Gerard, who is dead, officially passed from this life on a Saturday morning in early April, a mere two weeks before his junction with publication, although Gerard my friend passed away much earlier, leaving a sick and emaciated body behind to play host to his bedside guests, to help bear the pain of his family and friends; so doped-up on morphine, no longer able to remember any names, he called me “*****” when I entered the hospital room, where this barely physical manifestation of what had once been Gerard Rizza was being kept alive like the barest glimmer of hope, and displayed like some recently fallen leader, lying in state;  “whither Gerard withers” I thought, saying goodbye to this Rizza impersonator, this imposter, this visitor from a shadow world, an abstraction of a friend, whom the nurses told us, his disbelieving visitors, was our friend Gerard, who though technically still alive, was already dead.

My friend Gerard, who is laughing
My friend Gerard, who is singing
My friend Gerard, who is coughing
My friend Gerard, who is sleeping
My friend Gerard, who is holy
My friend Gerard, who is missed.

915

Faith—is the Pierless Bridge
Supporting what We see
Unto the Scene that We do not—
Too slender for the eye

It bears the Soul as bold
As it were rocked in Steel
With Arms of Steel at either side—
It joins—behind the Veil

To what, could We presume
The Bridge would cease to be
To Our far, vacillating Feet
A first Necessity.

Children, I come back today
To tell you a story of the long dark way
That I had to climb, that I had to know
In order that the race might live and grow.
Look at my face -- dark as the night --  
Yet shining like the sun with love's true light.
I am the dark girl who crossed the red sea
Carrying in my body the seed of the free.
I am the woman who worked in the field
Bringing the cotton and the corn to yield.
I am the one who labored as a slave,
Beaten and mistreated for the work that I gave --  
Children sold away from me, I'm husband sold, too.
No safety , no love, no respect was I due.

Three hundred years in the deepest South:
But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth .
God put a dream like steel in my soul.
Now, through my children, I'm reaching the goal.

Now, through my children, young and free,
I realized the blessing deed to me.
I couldn't read then. I couldn't write.
I had nothing, back there in the night.
Sometimes, the valley was filled with tears,
But I kept trudging on through the lonely years.
Sometimes, the road was hot with the sun,
But I had to keep on till my work was done:
I had to keep on! No stopping for me --  
I was the seed of the coming Free.
I nourished the dream that nothing could smother
Deep in my breast -- the ***** mother.
I had only hope then , but now through you,
Dark ones of today, my dreams must come true:
All you dark children in the world out there,
Remember my sweat, my pain, my despair.
Remember my years, heavy with sorrow --  
And make of those years a torch for tomorrow.
Make of my pass a road to the light
Out of the darkness, the ignorance, the night.
Lift high my banner out of the dust.
Stand like free men supporting my trust.
Believe in the right, let none push you back.
Remember the whip and the slaver's track.
Remember how the strong in struggle and strife
Still bar you the way, and deny you life --  
But march ever forward, breaking down bars.
Look ever upward at the sun and the stars.
Oh, my dark children, may my dreams and my prayers
Impel you forever up the great stairs --  
For I will be with you till no white brother
Dares keep down the children of the ***** Mother.

Let me tell you a secret
I am bored

I'm bored of corporate America flashing their endless subliminal ******* in my face every second
So much so that sometimes without me realising I adopt their accent and mimic and quote what they want me to think and say

I'm bored of reality TV
Of keeping up with the Kardashians and how their name fits so nicely in my mouth like a chunk of poison apple

I'm bored
Of skipping past adverts of skinny black children starving to watch skinny white children starving themselves pretty
I'm scared that I'm the only one whose minds those adverts cling to,
I can only do so much and I can't even trust that I'm helping

I'm bored
Of seeing perfect white girls on TV in their perfect clothes with their perfect hair and their perfect families in their perfect churches with their perfect god who somehow claimed dominance over all the other gods, over my gods
and called me backwards for worshipping the sun and the moon for giving me life and light as opposed to a man who may or may not have existed who they claim split seas

I am bored
I'm bored of being the supporting role
never being pretty enough
but being hot for an Asian girl
being told 'when I think of a beautiful Asian girl I think of you'
being asked 'what are you?', 'no where are you really from?' 'are you gunna go back?' 'were you born on international waters?' Always followed with a 'If you don't mind me asking',  I do,
Let me tell you about the waters that broke and brought me here on this home soil,
let me tell you about the struggle of my mother and the mothers before me and the lightness of being dark skinned in a community of dark skinned beings,
let me tell you about my heritage not like it's a story in a child's book like or a myth, it is real history,
let me tell you about the struggle of my people about the beauty of our most simple words and minds,
let me tell you about how our bodies moulded from the dust and sand around us is no less than yours,
let me tell you what it means to be nothing in your eyes.

We are the products of your mishandling, broken artefacts caged in a glass box with a steel rod stuck up our **** to keep up still in a viewing room in the media's museum
keep us down and keep us quiet keep us looking brutal try to tear us apart from the inside,

Try and tell me I'm a terrorist not a freedom fighter for daring to breathe to speak.
Try to blotch out your wrongdoings by scapegoating us as a region as a religion I don't even belong to as a pigment in a skin colour I can do nothing about I couldn't change it even if I wanted to
Just wait and see how we react

I'm bored of your Islamophobia
I'm bored of you telling me to hate myself
I'm bored of trying to be middle man for two cultures whose only real difference are climate
So *******
**** both of you
Excuse my English
No my Punjabi.
No
I'm done with your negotiations and attempts at tolerance I'm done with trying to blend you both together within me I can't be what either of you want me to be
I can't do this
I won't be a part of your glamourised butchery
Anymore

Stirs its ashes and embers, its burnt sticks

An eye powdered over, half melted and solid again
Ponders
Ideas that collapse
At the first touch of attention

The light at the window, so square and so same
So full-strong as ever, the window frame
A scaffold in space, for eyes to lean on

Supporting the body, shaped to its old work
Making small movements in gray air
Numbed from the blurred accident
Of having lived, the fatal, real injury
Under the amnesia

Something tries to save itself-searches
For defenses-but words evade
Like flies with their own notions

Old age slowly gets dressed
Heavily dosed with death's night
Sits on the bed's edge

Pulls its pieces together
Loosely tucks in its shirt

In the meantime in the Állos kósmos or Ultramundi, Wonthelimar after hearing the speeches and paragraphs of the speakers saw from paradise how Calypso Lepidoptera appeared, approaching in great magnitudes on the dry land on the banks of the blue and golden stones of Skalá. In torrents of rushing from the water-sky with wind-water, by geomorphological hydraulics of the collapse of the irresistible capacity to harass each other in the ears of Seleuco's dialogues, after they piled up in the sneaking curds of him on the island of his speech. Right there it settled from the koelum or sky of the Lepidoptera from the Orofí or ceiling, on the natural arches of aeolian erosion and its devastating plumage, appearing in the subaerial splendor of Chauvet and its gloomy darkness, changing the morphology of the bank of Skalá turned into enchanted turquoise light also with Calypso nuances. From here Wonthelimar obscures the circumflex arc or circumflexes, which pierced and eroded the surface, piling up the ex-generals of Alexander the Great, to skewer them on the stump that was languidly seen supporting them, after the tides of Lepidoptera that avalanche in destined per capita towards the destined underworld of Wonthelimar.

Wonthelimar was separated from everyone by the moat that was separated from the gods of the surface, but now where the supporters of Seleucus were predestined by imbibing themselves in the bilocated kingdom of Chauvet and its darkness, where they were put into agreements of suitability and clarity of words discursive for the eagerness to persuade his major general. But they all fell into the middle of a dark Ultraworld, judging themselves to be dying in stockpiles of biosystems where no one helped them and gave them some indication or diagnosis of being separated from the canopy that drained them from spectral affairs, speaking as vivid visions of benefits and sovereignties that escaped from themselves without contemplation or quietism of the human race, which procreates xenophobia to kings without throne or nation. Under the Attic, calendar were the months here were only eighth, Anthesterion, received them with the name directly of the main festival celebrated in this month, Anthesteria. In goods of name contests in the semester of Pyanepsia, Thargelia, and Skira where they were relatively significant, in some of the greatest celebrations in the life of a Polis, which is not recognized in the name of the month. Some sparkled in the sound of the Great Dionysia celebrated in Elaphebolion (ninth month), and the Panathenaia in which they are only indirectly recognized in Hekatombaion (month one), named after the hecatomb, of the sacrifice of "one hundred oxen" celebrated at night. End of the Panathenaia. This is where the suspicious fondness of both families of Seleucus and Alexander the Great differed in the accent that marks the written line of the infra Polis, where the leaders of Haides or Hades are lost, for the purposes of Aïdes, as not indivisible, but with the presence of Wonthelimar, who is invisible but epically static on his balustrade in all the rings that chorally wore them for each patronage of the diádocos generals, even so he had betrayed the Hellenic legacy, by a Hellenic-Orthodox one in the disappearance of Alexander the Great in Babylon without knowing that it had been rescued by Wonthelimar, surpassing the limits of the rings of stefánes ibix, or Aros de íbiz, as nano kvantikoí daktýlioi, quantum nano-ring that augured to sensitize the dermis of its carpal phalanges, from the eighth, Anthesterion to Elaphebolion (ninth month), minus the one hundred and twenty days of gestation in a month of the attic of imníbiz, that it was of wise advice to receive him in the new engend rivers of Wonthelimar in the depths and bundles of marrow with gestation forms of an Ibex goat, with their embedded bases of stalagmites, filing the meaning of each life that was lodged in the depths of the caves and its opacity. The Eygues of Valdaine was the Acheron, but with half the deceased who sat in rows and unleashed their laurels that possessed poor aids tormented by mandrake root hands.

The underworld was a swamp that covered the heels of the diádocos in the immense blackness of the cavern that wounded them one and the other with its Kopis, by more than a hundred blows and slashes that covered them with mud and moans in their buried half bodies. That they had been intruded from linear entrances to the underworld of Wonthelimar. In the thick musts of the quagmire where objects with ornaments of fear and cavalier materiality lay, such mangrove deserts satiated with gloomy fibromyalgia and amnesia, refiguring in the wandering bones, that sinned in lights and destinies that were adopted in the sub-world with incorporeal needs., more than the exhaustion that tore the skeletal muscle of each one behind the meager compromise openings, in the strong ligaments of the host Wonthelimar that took them at forced steps towards paradises where there will never be consciousness from a Theseus typology, but from a sub taxonomy - Verthian mythological, for purposes and among others that unleash it by propelling self-infernos that are not those born by a Macedonian force or Satrap into puny kings turned into a servile, mute and decayed.

It is necessary, that solitude of all the entrances from the abyss into which they fell, was titanic and of ultraphobic acquiescent inspiration, and in the acid gestures of search of Persephone or Aerse that in random gestures fled from their persecutors, like females who ended fleeing from themselves falling into the back room where the end of souls is never exceeded or Psyché re emigrating from the punishments of a satire or a static that resulted in a ghostly wandering, or in tendentious spinners that tribulated in belated bundles of repentance. From primitive times, subjugations have been longed for in kings who would never think of leaving their cracks and washing their hands behind the backs of others who stood by, leaving the courage to lose themselves in the perversity of a body deposited in the Tartars, having to give them their prehistoric debts and meadows of carpeted debts and caged rooms.

The generals commanded by Seleucus walked barefoot along with the stump that wounded them in seams for their plantar areas, and in extreme distress, they did not dare to ask mercy from the cave host who transported them through the deep pit of perpetuity, where the frigid bullet of angina of Wothelimar, filled them with memories that protected their survival. In unworthy caprice and watery *****,… it ran frivolously down their legs, even after each impulse to recover the flashes of estimating being scared of oneself, after finding dead fruits subsisted halfway, feeling voices from the origin of the abyss that I quoted them.

Etréstles says: "Mashiach allow me to enter this grave, I do not know if I should go to rescue them, because I know what will happen..., I only ask that if I enter with courage, help me to find the same light of the exit, with the same memory of not to waste arrests, and not to lose myself in my entrustment by those who I know will not return”

Behind some Sabine poplars, it is seen how the elytra of the Lepidoptera were opened for those who crossed from the darkness without the appearance of their fruitful eyes that tickled praises of surrender, and not of ibid in the ibid that surrounded them, as if they were violated that heal at the moment when their faces departed from the miracle of privacy, and from the solitude decreed of non-existent company, companionship calming any dogmatic symptoms and hypoxia that the glimpse of the Eygues and the Acheron left them, further behind in which Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth, Reader and Petrobus to bring Etréstles back.

Saint John the Apostle says: “Vernarth go for your brother,… he wants to protect the souls of Seleucus and his comrades, go soon because there is little left to fill them with darkness which will even besiege in their reasoning and anti homelands that will not be from the din of the campanile, out of tune with joy that runs on the graces of the gift that frees you from the worst virus by not being anti-viral… ”.

Vernarth replies: “Etréstles is the slogan of Erebus, perhaps of Bumodos…, I have to stop him for his profession, since the comrades of Seleuco will not return, the effigies of Wonthelimar have made them of his children in Ultramundi, and what is Solstice of the underworld, it is only a small Sun that fits in the buttonhole of the orthogonal slot that confines it”.

At that time Raeder paraded where he before they reached the omega of the gully pit, running swiftly over the eyelets of Wonthelimar, leaving both completely naked, to tear them away from the contrived spell and bring Etrestles back all the way together and running., but both stripped of lightness and acceleration escaped from the centripetal bodies. After the tortured walls of the pit, they no longer supported themselves in their Skotos or Erebo of Wothelimar in such a primordial deity of this theogonic and fantastic event in the bilocated cavern of Chauvet in Skalá. Here all the densities and units of physical genres, from above and below surrounded them in the thick sulfur atmosphere, Ananké in such a goddess of inevitability ran after all who tried to reverse the situation of the diádocos, for the purpose of consenting their paragraphs Hellenics and to save their lives, but the mother of the Moiras went behind Etréstles and Vernarth along with Rader and Petrobus who were basking in the glow of Persephone that imbued them as they stagnated drinking mead with the Canephores who followed him. From this cryptic moment or from the bombastic insignia of Crete, Kanti's trotting from his Cretan figure was felt united with the Lepidoptera Calypso, redeeming Demeter from her crying on the edge of some Bern olive trees, emptier now that the last gradients of the agonic and venous voices in the hilarious of some diádocos that were completely absorbed by the benevolent illusion of Wonthelimar, snowy in the harrowing tenuity of his gestures and of the great Iberian that took them towards the heights of the hillocks and towards the Ultramundi that It turned them into proles of the mountainous areas, and into super aquatic monsters with thousands of loose eyes in the arches of the generals bleating, which transposed ****** subjugations of primal deities, and philastics of phantasmagorical genres of Hellas that is plucked from the peritoneum of their stomachs, and that guttural eradicated them from the blue adrenaline of Apollo.

This odyssey dispelled the orthogonal lines of the poetic affliction of those who could see the sunset and the Spyché ***** that antagonized Ananké's numinous efforts to extubate them, and perhaps exile them to the Theban plains to graze Achaeans of the first degree alongside Shamash. Lamenting of young afternoons and of the abysmal with beautiful hair of the generous of effects, swampy and of feverish Hadesian or Hade's rounds that crippled their districts, they emanated from some Marie Curie junk and vapors radiating this Parapsychological Quantum to them from their own holy final body., for a virtuous and rout of the Ultramundis of Wonthelimar.

why am i like this?
how do i scare everyone away?
i am your biggest fear, your phobia, the monster on the streets.
i paint my claws that i only ever hurt myself with.
my hair is a nest where nightmares hatch, & the mascara dries on my cheeks.
these eyes find the flaws, but they also see the scars and weep.
what? don’t you want to kiss me?  
or are my chapped lips too angsty?
do they say “crazy *itch” at you?  
do my endless questions also itch at your skin?
at least your skin seems comfortable.
but how dare i make this all about me, when we all go through the same.
right?

wrong.
because i am your drama queen.
i declare a set of rules, i keep records on what you say,
i write letters to your name & invest in you each day.
each day i put on my armour & climb the watch tower.
i see you on your horse.  
you are not the knight.  
but you shine regardless.
you earn the trust for you to enter the iron gates.
once you are in, the damage is done.  
it just takes your leave for me to feel the sword.
what hurts is that i tripped over it.  
my vulnerabilities were out  
in the open.
& you accidentally hurt me.
this, humans can’t promise not to do.

i am an addict.
i write my insecurities & my inabilities down,  
& my pride goes into poetry.
i do nothing about anything.
& i can’t.  
stop.
some would say it’s pathetic,  
how one can be so overwhelmed by the underwhelming,
how one can be so distraught by the daily doses of life.
if i accept it then i have given up my responsibility.
if i ignore it then it silently damages me & my capability.
if i address it i am holding on & i deny my viability.
whatever i do, it has won,  
& it has left me with nothing.

but that’s what a loser does.

sometimes i feel my feelings feel too much.
sometimes nothing makes sense.
sometimes it feels normal that nothing feels okay.
but that’s okay.
sometimes i stress about stressing about stress.
sometimes i hate my irrational abnormality.
sometimes i cry about my weakness.
but that has to be okay.

yes.
there isn’t a definitive answer to my questions.
there seems to be more struggles than strengths.
there isn’t a clear path, or a silver platter with a cure for me.
my clothes cover my cares like sugar coats the pills i swallow.
The pill being _.
but i make a choice.
a lot of the time it seems i don’t have one.
but i do.
sometimes i am influenced to make it,
but i do.
i do.
i always do.

always.

doctors and scientists are trying to find
the causes, effects, & answers.
i sleep & wait.
but instead we should be
talking
listening
trying
supporting
helping
fighting
& never ever letting go.

even if they prove it is part of my genetic makeup
i will wake up,
i will get up,
i will make up,
i will stay up,
&
i will help myself,
help others help myself,
help others help themselves,
& help others help others.
i will highlight my temples with wisdom & peace.
i will shadow my eyes with beauty & light.
i will paint my lips with humility & kindness.  

my genetics will not make up whether i give up or not.
they will not make up my mind,
or make up someone else’s.
my genetics are not choosing if i live or not.
suicide is not a choice.
suicide is not make-up.
suicide is not a gene.

& suicide  
will not take part  
in my genetic makeup.

Minerva now put it in Penelope’s mind to make the suitors try
their skill with the bow and with the iron axes, in contest among
themselves, as a means of bringing about their destruction. She went
upstairs and got the store room key, which was made of bronze and
had a handle of ivory; she then went with her maidens into the store
room at the end of the house, where her husband’s treasures of gold,
bronze, and wrought iron were kept, and where was also his bow, and
the quiver full of deadly arrows that had been given him by a friend
whom he had met in Lacedaemon—Iphitus the son of Eurytus. The two
fell in with one another in Messene at the house of Ortilochus,
where Ulysses was staying in order to recover a debt that was owing
from the whole people; for the Messenians had carried off three
hundred sheep from Ithaca, and had sailed away with them and with
their shepherds. In quest of these Ulysses took a long journey while
still quite young, for his father and the other chieftains sent him on
a mission to recover them. Iphitus had gone there also to try and
get back twelve brood mares that he had lost, and the mule foals
that were running with them. These mares were the death of him in
the end, for when he went to the house of Jove’s son, mighty Hercules,
who performed such prodigies of valour, Hercules to his shame killed
him, though he was his guest, for he feared not heaven’s vengeance,
nor yet respected his own table which he had set before Iphitus, but
killed him in spite of everything, and kept the mares himself. It
was when claiming these that Iphitus met Ulysses, and gave him the bow
which mighty Eurytus had been used to carry, and which on his death
had been left by him to his son. Ulysses gave him in return a sword
and a spear, and this was the beginning of a fast friendship, although
they never visited at one another’s houses, for Jove’s son Hercules
killed Iphitus ere they could do so. This bow, then, given him by
Iphitus, had not been taken with him by Ulysses when he sailed for
Troy; he had used it so long as he had been at home, but had left it
behind as having been a keepsake from a valued friend.
  Penelope presently reached the oak threshold of the store room;
the carpenter had planed this duly, and had drawn a line on it so as
to get it quite straight; he had then set the door posts into it and
hung the doors. She loosed the strap from the handle of the door,
put in the key, and drove it straight home to shoot back the bolts
that held the doors; these flew open with a noise like a bull
bellowing in a meadow, and Penelope stepped upon the raised
platform, where the chests stood in which the fair linen and clothes
were laid by along with fragrant herbs: reaching thence, she took down
the bow with its bow case from the peg on which it hung. She sat
down with it on her knees, weeping bitterly as she took the bow out of
its case, and when her tears had relieved her, she went to the
cloister where the suitors were, carrying the bow and the quiver, with
the many deadly arrows that were inside it. Along with her came her
maidens, bearing a chest that contained much iron and bronze which her
husband had won as prizes. When she reached the suitors, she stood
by one of the bearing-posts supporting the roof of the cloister,
holding a veil before her face, and with a maid on either side of her.
Then she said:
  “Listen to me you suitors, who persist in abusing the hospitality of
this house because its owner has been long absent, and without other
pretext than that you want to marry me; this, then, being the prize
that you are contending for, I will bring out the mighty bow of
Ulysses, and whomsoever of you shall string it most easily and send
his arrow through each one of twelve axes, him will I follow and
quit this house of my lawful husband, so goodly, and so abounding in
wealth. But even so I doubt not that I shall remember it in my
dreams.”
  As she spoke, she told Eumaeus to set the bow and the pieces of iron
before the suitors, and Eumaeus wept as he took them to do as she
had bidden him. Hard by, the stockman wept also when he saw his
master’s bow, but Antinous scolded them. “You country louts,” said he,
“silly simpletons; why should you add to the sorrows of your
mistress by crying in this way? She has enough to grieve her in the
loss of her husband; sit still, therefore, and eat your dinners in
silence, or go outside if you want to cry, and leave the bow behind
you. We suitors shall have to contend for it with might and main,
for we shall find it no light matter to string such a bow as this
is. There is not a man of us all who is such another as Ulysses; for I
have seen him and remember him, though I was then only a child.”
  This was what he said, but all the time he was expecting to be
able to string the bow and shoot through the iron, whereas in fact
he was to be the first that should taste of the arrows from the
hands of Ulysses, whom he was dishonouring in his own house—egging
the others on to do so also.
  Then Telemachus spoke. “Great heavens!” he exclaimed, “Jove must
have robbed me of my senses. Here is my dear and excellent mother
saying she will quit this house and marry again, yet I am laughing and
enjoying myself as though there were nothing happening. But,
suitors, as the contest has been agreed upon, let it go forward. It is
for a woman whose peer is not to be found in Pylos, Argos, or
Mycene, nor yet in Ithaca nor on the mainland. You know this as well
as I do; what need have I to speak in praise of my mother? Come on,
then, make no excuses for delay, but let us see whether you can string
the bow or no. I too will make trial of it, for if I can string it and
shoot through the iron, I shall not suffer my mother to quit this
house with a stranger, not if I can win the prizes which my father won
before me.”
  As he spoke he sprang from his seat, threw his crimson cloak from
him, and took his sword from his shoulder. First he set the axes in
a row, in a long groove which he had dug for them, and had Wade
straight by line. Then he stamped the earth tight round them, and
everyone was surprised when they saw him set up so orderly, though
he had never seen anything of the kind before. This done, he went on
to the pavement to make trial of the bow; thrice did he tug at it,
trying with all his might to draw the string, and thrice he had to
leave off, though he had hoped to string the bow and shoot through the
iron. He was trying for the fourth time, and would have strung it
had not Ulysses made a sign to check him in spite of all his
eagerness. So he said:
  “Alas! I shall either be always feeble and of no prowess, or I am
too young, and have not yet reached my full strength so as to be
able to hold my own if any one attacks me. You others, therefore,
who are stronger than I, make trial of the bow and get this contest
settled.”
  On this he put the bow down, letting it lean against the door
[that led into the house] with the arrow standing against the top of
the bow. Then he sat down on the seat from which he had risen, and
Antinous said:
  “Come on each of you in his turn, going towards the right from the
place at which the. cupbearer begins when he is handing round the
wine.”
  The rest agreed, and Leiodes son of OEnops was the first to rise. He
was sacrificial priest to the suitors, and sat in the corner near
the mixing-bowl. He was the only man who hated their evil deeds and
was indignant with the others. He was now the first to take the bow
and arrow, so he went on to the pavement to make his trial, but he
could not string the bow, for his hands were weak and unused to hard
work, they therefore soon grew tired, and he said to the suitors,
“My friends, I cannot string it; let another have it; this bow shall
take the life and soul out of many a chief among us, for it is
better to die than to live after having missed the prize that we
have so long striven for, and which has brought us so long together.
Some one of us is even now hoping and praying that he may marry
Penelope, but when he has seen this bow and tried it, let him woo
and make bridal offerings to some other woman, and let Penelope
marry whoever makes her the best offer and whose lot it is to win
her.”
  On this he put the bow down, letting it lean against the door,
with the arrow standing against the tip of the bow. Then he took his
seat again on the seat from which he had risen; and Antinous rebuked
him saying:
  “Leiodes, what are you talking about? Your words are monstrous and
intolerable; it makes me angry to listen to you. Shall, then, this bow
take the life of many a chief among us, merely because you cannot bend
it yourself? True, you were not born to be an archer, but there are
others who will soon string it.”
  Then he said to Melanthius the goatherd, “Look sharp, light a fire
in the court, and set a seat hard by with a sheep skin on it; bring us
also a large ball of lard, from what they have in the house. Let us
warm the bow and grease it we will then make trial of it again, and
bring the contest to an end.”
  Melanthius lit the fire, and set a seat covered with sheep skins
beside it. He also brought a great ball of lard from what they had
in the house, and the suitors warmed the bow and again made trial of
it, but they were none of them nearly strong enough to string it.
Nevertheless there still remained Antinous and Eurymachus, who were
the ringleaders among the suitors and much the foremost among them
all.
  Then the swineherd and the stockman left the cloisters together, and
Ulysses followed them. When they had got outside the gates and the
outer yard, Ulysses said to them quietly:
  “Stockman, and you swineherd, I have something in my mind which I am
in doubt whether to say or no; but I think I will say it. What
manner of men would you be to stand by Ulysses, if some god should
bring him back here all of a sudden? Say which you are disposed to do-
to side with the suitors, or with Ulysses?”
  “Father Jove,” answered the stockman, “would indeed that you might
so ordain it. If some god were but to bring Ulysses back, you should
see with what might and main I would fight for him.”
  In like words Eumaeus prayed to all the gods that Ulysses might
return; when, therefore, he saw for certain what mind they were of,
Ulysses said, “It is I, Ulysses, who am here. I have suffered much,
but at last, in the twentieth year, I am come back to my own
country. I find that you two alone of all my servants are glad that
I should do so, for I have not heard any of the others praying for
my return. To you two, therefore, will I unfold the truth as it
shall be. If heaven shall deliver the suitors into my hands, I will
find wives for both of you, will give you house and holding close to
my own, and you shall be to me as though you were brothers and friends
of Telemachus. I will now give you convincing proofs that you may know
me and be assured. See, here is the scar from the boar’s tooth that
ripped me when I was out hunting on Mount Parnassus with the sons of
Autolycus.”
  As he spoke he drew his rags aside from the great scar, and when
they had examined it thoroughly, they both of them wept about Ulysses,
threw their arms round him and kissed his head and shoulders, while
Ulysses kissed their hands and faces in return. The sun would have
gone down upon their mourning if Ulysses had not checked them and
said:
  “Cease your weeping, lest some one should come outside and see us,
and tell those who a are within. When you go in, do so separately, not
both together; I will go first, and do you follow afterwards; Let this
moreover be the token between us; the suitors will all of them try
to prevent me from getting hold of the bow and quiver; do you,
therefore, Eumaeus, place it in my hands when you are carrying it
about, and tell the women to close the doors of their apartment. If
they hear any groaning or uproar as of men fighting about the house,
they must not come out; they must keep quiet, and stay where they
are at their work. And I charge you, Philoetius, to make fast the
doors of the outer court, and to bind them securely at once.”
  When he had thus spoken, he went back to the house and took the seat
that he had left. Presently, his two servants followed him inside.
  At this moment the bow was in the hands of Eurymachus, who was
warming it by the fire, but even so he could not string it, and he was
greatly grieved. He heaved a deep sigh and said, “I grieve for
myself and for us all; I grieve that I shall have to forgo the
marriage, but I do not care nearly so much about this, for there are
plenty of other women in Ithaca and elsewhere; what I feel most is the
fact of our being so inferior to Ulysses in strength that we cannot
string his bow. This will disgrace us in the eyes of those who are yet
unborn.”
  “It shall not be so, Eurymachus,” said Antinous, “and you know it
yourself. To-day is the feast of Apollo throughout all the land; who
can string a bow on such a day as this? Put it on one side—as for the
axes they can stay where they are, for no one is likely to come to the
house and take them away: let the cupbearer go round with his cups,
that we may make our drink-offerings and drop this matter of the
bow; we will tell Melanthius to bring us in some goats to-morrow-
the best he has; we can then offer thigh bones to Apollo the mighty
archer, and again make trial of the bow, so as to bring the contest to
an end.”
  The rest approved his words, and thereon men servants poured water
over the hands of the guests, while pages filled the mixing-bowls with
wine and water and handed it round after giving every man his
drink-offering. Then, when they had made their offerings and had drunk
each as much as he desired, Ulysses craftily said:
  “Suitors of the illustrious queen, listen that I may speak even as I
am minded. I appeal more especially to Eurymachus, and to Antinous who
has just spoken with so much reason. Cease shooting for the present
and leave the matter to the gods, but in the morning let heaven give
victory to whom it will. For the moment, however, give me the bow that
I may prove the power of my hands among you all, and see whether I
still have as much strength as I used to have, or whether travel and
neglect have made an end of it.”
  This made them all very angry, for they feared he might string the
bow; Antinous therefore rebuked him fiercely saying, “Wretched
creature, you have not so much as a grain of sense in your whole body;
you ought to think yourself lucky in being allowed to dine unharmed
among your betters, without having any smaller portion served you than
we others have had, and in being allowed to hear our conversation.
No other beggar or stranger has been allowed to hear what we say among
ourselves; the wine must have been doing you a mischief, as it does
with all those drink immoderately. It was wine that inflamed the
Centaur Eurytion when he was staying with Peirithous among the
Lapithae. When the wine had got into his head he went mad and did
ill deeds about the house of Peirithous; this angered the heroes who
were there assembled, so they rushed at him and cut off his ears and
nostrils; then they dragged him through the doorway out of the
house, so he went away crazed, and bore the burden of his crime,
bereft of understanding. Henceforth, therefore, there was war
between mankind and the centaurs, but he brought it upon himself
through his own drunkenness. In like manner I can tell you that it
will go hardly with you if you string the bow: you will find no
mercy from any one here, for we shall at once ship you off to king
Echetus, who kills every one that comes near him: you will never get
away alive, so drink and keep quiet without getting into a quarrel
with men younger than yourself.”
  Penelope then spoke to him. “Antinous,” said she, “it is not right
that you should ill-treat any guest of Telemachus who comes to this
house. If the stranger should prove strong enough to string the mighty
bow of Ulysses, can you suppose that he would take me home with him
and make me his wife? Even the man hi

Enemy training, one, two three
Is notable for its simplicity.
You just arm yourself thoroughly
And shoot people with alacrity.
Don’t worry about being wrong
Or whether an action is right.
That they don’t want you to shoot
Is enough to start the fight.

Please take this as truth
That this is how it is done
If you see someone as enemy
You cease to see a human.
The fact that they are armed
And don’t like who you like
Is enough to create words like
****, ****, ****** and ****.

Enemy training, one, two three
Is notable for its simplicity.
You just arm yourself thoroughly
And shoot people with alacrity.

Line up the opposition forces
Against a bullet-riddled wall
And shoot them many times
And see how many will fall.
The ones who do not die
Must be minions of the devil.
They are the enemy, you see.
That’s all. That’s on the level.

Don’t worry about being wrong
Or whether an action is right.
That they don’t want you to shoot
Is enough to start the fight.

And those people that don’t
Believe in your own form of Jesus,
Like Aerabbs and Jews and such,
Shoot them as much as it pleases.
Because they won’t go to heaven,
And are just heathens anyway
Like them Buddhist dingdongs
Like them ****** lesbians and gays.

Enemy training, one, two three
Is notable for its simplicity.
You just arm yourself thoroughly
And shoot people with alacrity.

And people in foreign countries
Well, you can guess how that goes;
Take a look and easily compare
Canadanians to them from Mexico.
The French are Frogs, Spanish spics.
None as good as us Americans.
And nothing good can come out
Of any **** place that is African.

Don’t worry about being wrong
Or whether an action is right.
That they don’t want you to shoot
Is enough to start the fight.

Now if you find some of this offensive
And if this is revving up your motors,
Just bear in mind, this is what goes on
In the mind of the average voter.
Want to change this, make life better?
Drop your representatives a letter.
Tell them you are on to their villainy
And see them as supporting the REAL enemy.

Hello friends, It's always great to be here, to write for the greatest platform with a different theme & to write something new everyday,but today this letter is for someone special of my life & behind every family that person is so special!!.. my inspiration is marked by the most beautiful & charming soul of my mother's thoughts!.. this letter is on the best occasion of women's day too. As like every special flowers shines with a time of golden light, like that today it is named by the brightest leaf of Pearl. it is a day when a real pearl of beauty shines all over the world & up the cloud a bird fly up in the sky to see the day to be know for them!!it is the International Women's day!
Every women's are so special of there home, they are the flowers of earth, star of the brightest moon and the main part is there are the maker of this world!. Women's are the most beautiful soul of the house & there are the head captain of the life!! because of them we are here & As for me, it's My mother because of my mom today I am here.. today is my mom's birthday.. so few lines for you mom & for every women's of the world!!.
Hello Mummy Namaste!.
Happy Birthday to you Mom!!. you are the best forever!!.
You are my idol, my inspiration, my gorgeous friend & one of the bestest & the greatest cook of all time!!. your cooking is out of the world every single dish are living in my mouth every day with a Beautiful & delicious taste!!.
Mom, thanks for giving me this life & the freedom to discover my thoughts by myself & to teach me that freedom is not what you need,freedom is what you discover!!. !!.. Thank-you for everything Mom!!. In every smile, every tear and every cheer you were always there for me through the years supporting me and providing me with all the energy I needed in order to stand in the game called life.
Today what I am is because of your mom for me you are everything.. on this special day I want to thank you and Wish you a Happy birthday to the best mother ever in the world. Today or tomorrow I cannot give you the gift, till my end of life journey & further of life because  the amount of love and everything that you have given to me is not enough me to count & to reach out to the world. but I will give you everything that's my promise... This year and every year I will give you more & more happiness and make you proud to smile always!!. And happy women's day to Mom you are my heart & bit of life so It's party time Mom!!. thank you!!. but thank you, word will never be measures to the love that you have given!....
And happy women's days to all the world women's because there are the best women's of their life!!. Every Home, Every Heart, Every Feeling, Every Moment Of happiness is incomplete without you, Only you can complete this world Happy Women’s Day
Every Women's is a Mother, a Sister, a wife, & a friend of the beauty life so please respect the women's & they deserve a chance to be what they are & they are the best!.
So please respect!!.
                                            Thank-you!!.
                                                                        - Chirayu

We pass laws about things we don't like.
Or don't want in our community.
But when you look through the microscope you amazed by those you see within the lenses.

Oh, we protest the strip clubs and that environment.
But pay attention to the visitors or clientele.
Always seems to be someone we know so well.

The businessman.
The police officer.
The minister.
Hosts of others
You know, those important fellas
Especially , a few elected ones.

The same ones supporting the bans on things.

People, even protest Walmart cause of the small family's store facing competition.
Oh, forget about the jobs for those unemployed.
Forget about customers to get a slow economy back on the path of recovery.

We, don't want the street walker disturbing visitors going to the store too.
After all, they have secrets to create several havocs to a happy home.

Again, when you look through the microscope or witness the news.
You shocked by their clients too!

Same, with the dealers of drugs.
Who?
When arrested we amazed that his clients might be teachers/ministers/politicians/judges/famers and the hard earn worker.

Looking through the microscope reveals the sinners controlling us.

Giants of StarTrack



Johnny'.  Hi dudes and welcome to StarTrack oval which is going to be a great match
Between the gws Giants and Geelong cats, the Giants are undefeated here with wins over
Gold Coast and Melbourne and this is promising to be a great encounter, and now here
Is Brendan with his little jingle

Go the Giants go the Giants we are the team that brings afl back to the nations capital
We will never never ever fail
You see we will make sure the Geelong cats score fewer like a little baby snail
Go the Giants of StarTrack yeah
Cool your hearts with a nice cold beer
And make sure the mighty Giants

Johnny'.  Yeah Brendan they was a great jingle and now here is Peter

Giants to win Giants to win, yeah they will win this game
Come on Giants you must play well
Yeah the Giants for victory
Giants to win here at star track yeah, go the mighty Giants

Johnny'.    Thanks Peter and here is another jingle from sue longways

Giants are better than any team, yeah we will have a nice cold beer
And maybe this could mean finals for us
But we must win today to find out where
I am sue longways here to cheer for the Giants
We will never ever get into anymore fights
We want a nice clean game
Yeah we will get the price of game
Me, sue longways supports the Giants baby
And we are in the jungle baby supporting the Giants to beat the cats
I am sue longways, I support the team right till the end
Go the gws Giants

Johnny'.  Ok that is enough for now i will be back at quarter time see ya


Quarter time

Johnny'.  Hi dudes welcome to quarter time fun and our Giants are 1-1-7 and the cats
Are 3-6-24 and what a match unfortunately not in our favour, here is tim with his jingle

We are Geelong the greatest team of all
Oh yeah Geelong we are certainly on the ball
We have got a hold on the Giants early
Yeah the mighty cats for victory oh yes e ree

Johnny'.   Now here is olly

Go the Giants go the Giants we must win this game
You see we must keep our performance up
Put the cats to sleep
Yeah go the Giants go the Giants
We are the team of 2015, well hopefully we will win today
And give our Canberra crowd members a win

Johnny'.  Ok I will be back at half time go the Giants


Johnny'.   Hi dudes and the cats has us on toast about 40  -  15, 25 points up
But I think the Giants have still hope, they should be further in front, well the Giants
Need to play well in the 2 nd half and now here is Robert

The cats are in front
At the half time break,
It's great to see them leading
And the cats are looking like winning
But the Giants could get closer
Go the mighty cats, I can't bare you to lose
johnny'.  Ok dudes and what a great match, as we draw the $1-000-000 prize now
So let's see what number it is, number 1235, and it is Harry burnseide and he has a winning
Jingle for us
Yeah I have won a million bucks oh yeah oh yeah
From this day I am a millionaire oh yeah oh yeah
You see today the cats are up against the Giants
And if you meet me at the bar I will shout you a beer
All the crowd yell out, saying give me a shout

Johnny'.  Ok congratulations to Harry and let's hope that gws can be undefeated on the Giants
Of StarTrack and yeah this is going to be radical and now here is a jingle from the Auskicker of the week

Go Giants go Giants we will win it we will win it
If we lose, please be up front so I can cheer you on cheer you on
The lights are on, the cats are in front
The drinks are on ice and so is God
Yeah come on the mighty Giants mate, kick some fucken ***

Johnny'.  Thanks to the Auskicker of the week and now here is John Barnes with his jingle

Go the Giants the mighty Giants
Will we win this game
We are down by 25, but there should still be hope
We must beat the cats
We are the greater Western Sydney Giants
The team who plays 3 in Canberra, go the mighty Giants

Johnny'.  We will be back at 3 quarter time, go Giants

Johnny'.    Welcome to 3 quarter time and the cats are still leading but the Giants are closing
IN on them and here is Harry with his jingle

go the Giants go the Giants
The might of the Giants are mightier
Come on the western Sydney Giants
Yeah we will rule the roost
We are the best at StarTrack yeah
Give us a nice cold beer for a nice cold day
Nothing hot about today, dude
johnny'.  Ok here is kenny with his jingle

We are the Giants the greatest team of all
Ready to put it to Geelong and force them to drop the ball
We will play this last quarter like it's our own
Like king Solomon on his thrown
The cats are going to get beaten because the Giants are looking pretty slick
The Giants for victory


Johnny thank you kenny and now back to the match
See you full time, go Giants

Johnny'.    Welcome back and the cats won 59-42 over the Giants and now we are on the ground for kick to kick and first we have a jingle by yetta

Go Geelong the greatest team of all
Go the cats we are always on the ball
We played the game so brilliantly yessiree
Today we played away
Go the mighty cats we are the prince of victory
Live from StarTrack oval

Johnny'. Ok here is deadly dean

The Giants should have won this game hoorah hoorah
We are the best in the league hoorah
My friend said what happened we lost this match
I say we would have won it if we got those goals
And deadly dean says he is the champion of the StarTrack oval crowd

Johnny'.  Thank you deadly dean and now Peter

The cats are the best by far
Hoorah hoorah
They are better than the Giants by far
Hoorah hoorah
The cats are the best by far
They were too good for the Giants oh yeah
Go the mighty cats, better by flaming far oh far
Coming in from the top

Johnny'.   Ok thanks Peter and now here is tommy Marcardle

Crack open the beer and cheer for the cats
And send those Giants to kingdom come
And if the Giants ask us for a bit of biff
We say we are too cool for fights
You see the cats were too strong today
And Giants sank into the ground
Yeah mate yeah, go the mighty cats, oh yeah
Send west Sydney to seventh heaven, dude

Johnny'.   Yeah, you sent those Giants to seventh heaven, real bad
Tommy'.   Yeah, top game and I will boost this ball right to the commentary box
Johnny'.   Ok, try it, but no you were no where near it and now here is Keith with his
Jingle


And now we draw the final curtain
Yeah the cats are the best by far
The Giants were never in it
Yeah the cats are fighting fit
We are oh we are oh we are fighting fit oh yessiree
You see the Giants were kicking horribly
I don't understand why they played well last week
But lost this week, then jimmy Bartel said,
That is because the cats were too good, oh yessiree

Johnny'.  Ok before we go, here is sue longways with her final jingle

And now we draw the final curtain
The Giants lost, oh yeah
I don't know what went wrong mate
But the cats were too good
You see, Giants fans will swing on the curtain
And drop to the bottom like they do
Go the mighty cats said our mate Keith
Hopefully the Giants will bounce back
And win the remaining matches ooh yeah

Johnny'.  Ok dudes, that is it for day, we will be back next year on the Giants of StarTrack
See you, dudes


Sent from my iPad

I can't find the words to describe how I feel
I know I miss you dearly
And would love to see you again
We were never that close
But you showed me that family is everything
What life is all about
Making the most of the time you have together
And supporting the ones you love when you're secretly suffering
I remember the last time I saw you
We all knew it was the end
I can't bear to think about that day
I wish I could tell you all the amazing things I am doing
And for you to see me grow up and enjoy life
But I know you're watching over me
And I know I'll meet you again some day soon

The fuzzy purple blanket under me,
Like fur caressing my skin,
So soft, so sensual, like a soft massage.

Soft black fuzzy pillow under my head,
Like a cloud, soft but supporting,
Cradling my head in its arms.

Colourful Tinkerbell blanket covering me,
Soft like velvet, rubbing my bare skin,
A cocoon containing me, to change to a butterfly.

Tight thong embracing me,
Holding that precious centre,
My well of nectar, held in a sweet embrace.

Soft cami covering my *******, my tummy, my back,
Soft on my skin, like a hug, a firm embrace,
Containing my, constraining me, freeing me.

Tight shorts hugging my hips,
My *****, my thighs, Peacock, teal, jade,
Bright and conforming to my curves.

All the textures surrounding me, holding me,
All bring contentment, like heaven,
The textures of my second skin of sleep.

four arms, two legs
supporting one head, with three eyes
wearing five serpents as ornaments
slithering around us
hissing their wisdom into our ears
as we rested atop the skin
of a tiger, desire

I could see him, in us
extending out his six limbs
two on the ground
two on her
and two on I
and we were within one mind
six, six, six
one mind, with three eyes
the third, sought to destroy
Kama, desire

to right her body
into the form which she deserved
as ashes
of which we wore on our skin

she spoke of the hunting
of skinwalkers
extending out so gracefully
towards me

we were within one mind
with three eyes
and a crescent moon
lain upon our forehead
eternal in the midst of Chaos
in the midst of evolution

destruction,
for the cause of transformation

my claws extended out
as light is pulled
by a black hole
of which was her
and my lips loosened
exposing my sharp teeth

and we worshiped one another
in our destruction
becoming exposed
and feral

so I let out a yell
in the middle of the street
in front of a mother
and her children

as we were covered
in the ashes of Kama
the end
of all material existence

rest our garlands of skulls
over our necks
bowed
and said goodbye

now Shakti swims in my blood
and dances with my Soul

for I am still in
that black hole

headed out, in
to the other side

truly, Chaotically
enjoying the ride

dynamism in in me
as I live, Truly

For the first time on campus, Sisters on the Runway will strut and pose for domestic violence awareness.

Sisters on the Runway will be hosting its first annual fashion show from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. tonight in the Business Building. All proceeds will be donated to the Centre County Women's Resource Center, Layla Taremi president of the organization, said.

Sisters on the Runway is a national student-run organization that raises awareness about women and children who reside in domestic violence shelters. There are over five chapters throughout the nation, each supporting the same cause to local shelters. It was founded in 2009 and has grown since then, Taremi (sophomore-marketing) said.

Aside from the fashion show, which is the biggest fundraising event that the organization hosts, Sisters on the Runway is also responsible for other events. The organization hosts a chalking event where they write facts about domestic violence on sidewalks using chalk. This is a way for them to raise domestic violence awareness, Taremi said. It also hosts a walk where all participants walk a mile in heels for awareness.

The show will consist of eleven female models and three male models, Edie Alexander, the event planner, said.

Alexander said the show is expected to showcase clothing from Connections, Dwellings, Diamonds and Lace Bridal and Harper's, who are also their sponsors. Looks Hair Salon will be responsible for hair and makeup for the models in show, Taremi said.

"There is no theme for the show,” Taremi said. “It will be a wide spectrum of clothing."

The male models are expected to walk the runway showcasing suits and tuxedos, Taremi said. Originally the show was not going to include male models. It wasn't until the owners of Harper's decided to contribute to the show by donating some men's apparel for the fashion show.

All the models participating have been building up their confidence for the runway, Alexander (sophomore-recreation park and tourism management) said.

"I'm excited for our first annual fashion show, I hope this brings more awareness to the Penn State community," Vice President Lauren Shearer (sophomore-supply chain management) said.

The organization’s goal is to get a lot of people involved through different events to help raise awareness of domestic violence, Shearer said.

"We’re trying to push people to come, not just Penn State students, because it's not an issue that doesn't only affects college students,” Alexander said. “It affects everyone as well."Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

Another beautiful, colorful day ended favorably,
Gave happiness in jests, kindness, laments.
Morning's new orientation provided quick reassurance,
Supporting the universal view,
While xenophobia yielded zilch.

For years I've been trying to write
something that would cause the earth to shake--
maybe even slightly tip it off its axis.
Not because it possesses any eloquent grandeur
with words like "cataclysm" or "surreptitious"
nor due to any celeb-ritory status
that may befall my unkempt and ghostly pale person.

                      I just want people to think!

From the moment most of us
are pushed from our mother's dark, watery womb
it's like we're given a hardhat and a pick,
then told to find some gold in the mine
because if you want to keep working in the mine
you have to pay
and then as we try to explain that we're uneducated about mining
because we were just birthed we are told not to worry
because there are teachers who will educate us about the mine
and every so many days we're tested on what we learned about the mine
all the while being told to forget not about the gold in the mine
and sometimes we get a little tired or bored of looking for gold
so we're given a book to read about some guy named Mr. Brahmallah Siddhartahweh Christ
along with a few cigarettes, beer and lunch meat to relax
for a few minutes before it's time to get back to work to look for gold in the mine
to pay to look for gold in the mine
and lord help you if you can't pay to work in the mine because you need to work in the mine
to work in the mine.

                                                      Confused?­ That's the point...
Now, the metaphor above is a crude illustration
of what I'm talking about,
but I have confidence you understand what's gnawing at me,
AND what should be at you too.

                     Where is there time to think??

Even in scientific and philosophical occupations
there isn't much thinking these days.
Many take science as law
the same way extreme, right wingers from any religion
take their "religious doctrine" as law.
Our politics, technology and even reading is polluted
with derision and division into different schools of thought
from a Conservative Team Edward Apple supporting Griffendor Christian
to a Liberal Hufflepuff PC using Team Jacob Buddhist.
Now I understand why all these new agers
keep referencing The Matrix.

                           WHAT IS REAL!?
That must be a decent explanation as why people go insane;
suffocating on all the weighty labels
forcefully pinned to their soul.

And yet...
more people, like me,
are desperately clawing away at these labels,
attempting to find a little fresh air,
perhaps filled with the smell of paint,
graphite, charcoal, clay, **** and natural body pheromones
while sounds of music, chanting, cheers, sobbing, silence, giggling and *******
echo in the breathing room
as we feel the grass beneath our feet, wind matriculating through our hair, another warm and loving body embracing ours with cool water trickling down our backs...
People like me
wishing to be metaphorically, figuratively, theologically and psychologically digambara  
subconsciously evolving from sadhu to avadhuta
          preaching anekantavada
           while simultaneously revealing it all stems from ONE!

But...
many of us are caught in a dilemma best expressed by E.B. White:

[Arising] in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world, [making] it hard to plan the day.

These days, to the masses working in the mine,
if you're trying to improve the world you're a kook or a traitor,
just ask the SnowMannings.
If you try enjoying the world you're labeled lazy.
We all just want to be       FREE!!

Of course, Bill Hicks once said,
If you think you're free, trying going somewhere without ******* money.  

And when you THINK about that,
you start to get confused, right?
Maybe your head starts to hurt, right?
Because when you THINK about that,
and all the supposed enlightened people
from Siddhārtha Gautama who resigned from his royal trappings
to Yeshua HaNotzri who renounced material possessions with a needle
while the passive warrior Mahatma Gandhi thought western civilization a good idea.

Why are most children discouraged from being artists, farmers and the next far out thinkers?
Because      there’s        no          money        in         ­ it!  
Again, we’re back in the mine looking for gold.
But what would happen if you stopped?
What would happen if you got in the mine cart and said “**** it,”
then went careening down the shaft,
whirling and twirling faster and faster enjoying the ride!

But now I’m positioned in another quandary;
                       SOLUTIONS!  

While people like myself may have a few ideas
I think they are impossible to share at the moment
Because the majority of the population is too lazy
and complacent to do anything.
First we need to awaken!
First we have to get mad like Howard Beale!
We have to collectively reject the current frequency
and do like Tim Leary where we “turn on, tune in and drop out.”

Ok,
Let’s take five,
maybe more.
And when we reunite
let’s hash out some solutions,
**** out what does and doesn’t work.

Here you go again.

Confiscating another House of Allah's. In a precious land. In a historical place.

When will you man up. When will you assess your arrogance of the past and your arrogance of the present and STOP.

STOP thinking you are superior.
STOP believing you are entitled.
STOP acting in ways that are unfair.
STOP executing in ways that destroy, in ways that ****, in ways that harm.
STOP dominating ruthlessly.
STOP being threatened by a faith growing the fastest in the world, a faith apart of your history.

Here you go again.

Confiscating another House of Allah's. In a precious land. In a historical place.

When will you man up. When will you assess your arrogance of the past and your arrogance of the present and STOP.

STOP the madness.
STOP the evilness.
STOP hiding behind lands with money and power.
STOP partnering with men dressed in thobes on thrones drenched in oil.
STOP being a thief - taking things that don't belong to you, occupying places that aren't yours.
STOP the ego.

Here you go again.

Confiscating another House of Allah's. In a precious land. In a historical place.

When will you man up. When will you assess your arrogance of the past and your arrogance of the present and STOP.

STOP discriminating.
STOP hating.
STOP colonizing.
STOP cozing up with missionaries who divide Muslims, who **** Muslims and innocent others.
STOP listening to your loud-mouth desire to control and start listening to the calm, just voice of your God.
STOP being the bully of the world.

Here you go again.

Confiscating another House of Allah's. In a precious land. In a historical place.

When will you man up. When will you assess your arrogance of the past and your arrogance of the present and STOP.

When Muslims and others begin to think.
When Muslims and others aren't afraid to think.
When Muslims and others individually and collectively don't fear speaking up.
When Muslim lands with Muslim leaders start practicing what they preach and stop turning their heads and putting their fingers in their ears.
When non-Muslim lands with Muslim leaders stop being fearful and start preaching using the Quran and the life of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), with an understanding of God's words in the Quran and the words of the Prophet.
When Muslim leaders and other leaders abandon their pre-occupation with making money to provide comforts for their own families and children and begin concerning themselves with speaking the truth and doing right to ensure the comforts of all families and children.
When Muslim leaders and other leaders stop playing politics and begin speaking about politics and the hard issues affecting Muslims, humanity, our world.
When Muslims start holding themselves and holding their religious leaders accountable.
When Muslims and others start supporting their God-fearing, truth-telling, justice seeking leaders and role models.
When Muslims and others really believe Allah hu Akbar/God is Greater than and La ilaha illallah/There is no God or Authority but Allah or God.
When Muslims start seeing and understanding those who perceive and practice Islam based on a particular school of thought...Sunnism or ****'ism or Sufism, etc. and those who do not align themselves with one particular school of thought or ideology as all one Ummah, one brotherhood, one body.
When Muslims and others end resorting to the cultures of their countries and ethnicities and begin relying upon God's culture, one that unifies and strengthens all.
When lands of the world start making alliances with Al-Quds and with Palestine.
When humanity acknowledges the hypocrisy of Zionist Israel and the disaster and mayhem it has caused the world.
When the world realizes the criminality of Zionism.
When people of the world start thinking and acting globally and not individually or nationalistically.
When people begin to see, understand, and act in ways that reflect that the Muslims of Al-Quds and of Palestine are oppressed, grieving, struggling, bleeding members of one human family.
When each of us STOPS and thinks of them and their situation and the siege of the sacred Al-Aqsa Mosque and what role we all play.

by: Najwa Kareem

i thought i was going to play the good guy,
i didn't even get a line,
an extra,
mr. passerby #7,
only a glimpse and a goodbye.

Having you to azan our first child
Holding my hands when i'm in pure pain
Supporting me when i feel low
Being my strength in everything

Making him everyone's idol
Hearing his laughter every single day
Seeing your face closely
Hugging you tightly when scared

Sitting under a tree with him
Running here & there to catch us
Falling on the green grass
Crying then making cute sad face

Don't you ever want that to happen?
I do :)

What I want to do in this writing is do a little stitching of the national fabric we can do that
Because it’s our country I will start with the great loss of America’s sweet heart Annette
Funicello I am fortunate to have several Mickey Mouse club tapes and Annette as an adult she
Does the introduction on each of them her favorite all time Disney movie is Bambi this not over
Reaching or doing harm to the fabric but from that long ago teaching from Walt that told
Children tragic facts of life and the most painful of all when they shot old Yeller and when the
Gun smoke cleared everyone was in tears any and all could use that to help against the plague
Of violence that rest heavy on this land it’s not guns it’s the human heart with its disregard and
Its dismal accounting that human life can be a means of assuaging deep hurts and
Misunderstanding you can never gain anything when you charge and cheat others especially of
Their sacred lives and not to pick on women but as this starts and continues with Annette what
A role model for the girls and women of today you’re going to cringe now women smoking and
Cussing is undignified it has always rested on virtuous women to hold the ground on being
Chase wisdom by itself says those endowments God gave the fairer *** are to be guarded it is
The true treasure of women hood but if you squander it in the attraction stage you will have a
Harder time getting what you really desire and that is real true love and affection if it’s being
Taught no one can see it its going to be the theme of this piece use people that we recognize as
Helpful on the subject matter were addressing next Walt first as a person then as a business
Person we mentioned Bambi so I can’t leave you without this story a dad learned a painful
Lesson from his five year old daughter he had a farm and this dear kept getting into the wrong
Place so he shot it and fixed it for dinner he was so pleased until this little voice said these
Words daddy why did you **** Bambi his chewing continued for an inordinate amount of time or
A chocking sensation was heard but know this in his mind signs were going up all over the place
No deer hunting before I start with Walt again this country needs a lot of stitching as my
Brother-in law said we need a grass roots movement we all know Walt to be fair and a loving
Person just as Annette describes him he knew everyone at the studio it didn’t matter who they
Were he cared and was interested in you since Annette was referring to her relationship with
Walt she told how on her sweet sixteenth birthday he came to see her and gave her a script for
Zorro that she was going to be in as a Birthday gift because he and everyone knew how big a
Crush she had on Guy Williams and then when her first child was born he sent all the characters
Over to serenade her we were never close to Walt Disney but we all are blessed by his life God
Gave to us we can emulate him as a wonderful role model and you can pick people in your area
You know we have a great man here though he is gone Jack Jeffrey’s no one finer represented
Our community he and wife ran a TV store it was a landmark of good will we can’t start clubs
But we can as a people intact these precious qualities of those mentioned above and this is not
A contradiction by reposting a piece I wrote before since then the threat of Asama Bin Laden
Has been dealt with but the malignant spirit that drove him still lives on and it is my continued
Way of supporting the troops

The Flame of Blessing

America’s warriors face dangers untold in a country unlike our own where violent war is a way of life
In evils caldron that burns with natural order hate, teaching laced with poison and ****** is honorable
This can only thrive in a society that kills truth and then in falsehood their black robes invite all strife
Chaos butchery all manner of anarchy is used to try to subdue a people’s God given right to be free
Our troops in one way or another are set to burning Miss Liberty is in their hearts although latent
All that is needed to cause liberty’s flame to blaze is put these blessed ones in contact with tyranny
Every insult and criticism is leveled at the U.S. we need improvement but let evil show and be blatant
Ordinary kids from American streets will rise the last thing you will see is freedom blazing in their eyes
Black hearts are tuff pushing the weak and there fanaticism pretends at being brave every bully’s trait
These cannot be reasoned with madness has one cure annihilation this fight not for the faint hearted
The enemy needs a history lesson Tara, Iwo Jima; Omaha beach a brother hood reborn gun barrel strait
You posses by ideology penned by hell’s most convincing liar we come bearing truth then arms
God’s shadow first then Miss Liberty looms then the unquenchable prayers of a nation they pray for you
Peace, tranquility is worth our sacrifice you are left with a tattered rag a soiled flag marred by carnage
To bleed, true honor the making of a house of arms it will succeed in all war and conflict peace to accrue
We take God given might temper it with mercy and justice for all we are not timid in freedom’s fight
This is the my candle burning and my stitching of the tattered fabric of this once religious sacred
Country that I love and as all good people are pained by the shape it now exists in there is only
One hope a united people in the most Holy God who has kept us and allowed us such freedoms I
Will ask your patience one more time but if this wasn’t important I wouldn’t bother you in the
First place

Most hated twins
Who are these two desperate characters revered but feared by all
To make their acutance few will volunteer those who know them well
All can tell by the drawn face and the tears that swell the pool where wisdom has her rule
Achievers welcome them as honored guest they withstood the test now they the richest blest
At mornings first blade of light they strike with all their might they the quickest to fight
Timorous to afraid how many have dwelt by waters undying well only to die unfulfilled
But others tried and they fell the well is to deep its where darkest shadows creep
We will be lost in these new surroundings the familiar there will be water there too
Yes stagnant unmoved guarded for naught its benefit was for the traveler going places
For you it will be your grave marker he talked and talked but venture on never
He said he was the clever one as his countenance slowly turned to stone killed by apathy
Green pastures call to find them in yourself health you will install
Few are they that were meant and born to reside in the same place you must go
If you stay rebuild the common and ordinary your monument then they will admire
Who stood to long and with all intention he gave it only words action was the wonder that was missing
Treading a narrow path in the end if you buried or squandered your talent divine wrath you will face
Cast your seed far and wide how can you not see the need sorrow has them tied
Push back the encircling darkness with the light in your heart that God did endow
Go and answer the door your guides are here I want you to meet two friends Pain and Adversity
Two finer companions you will never know Washington and his men befriended them at Valley Forge Concord, York town. Lincoln met them first at Bull Run Antietam I think he gave a little speech at Gettysburg. One birthed a nation the other saved a divided one thank you and God bless you

Water that stands still becomes a poisonous petri dish of parasites
No one willingly drinks it
No one, not even dogs can survive on it

You told me people were changing
Tried to make me promise not to change
I didn’t think anything of it
I’ve always been a creature of habit
But I didn’t realize every still frame you took of us was turning us too still -
Stagnent

Every Creek runs a stream
Every stream runs a river
And water is always traced back to the oceans
The oceans
They support millions if not billions of creatures
Millions of different sources creating a big beautiful constantly moving changing habitat
Every part working together
And while parts of the ocean get terribly still
There is always a storm
Wave crashing destroying beautiful things
Only to be rebuilt in an even more fantastic way

Now don’t get me wrong stagnant water supports life
Like disease carrying bugs
And the bacteria that can give you malaria
Stagnation can take over whole creeks, streams, even ponds
Destroying whole ecosystems
Letting things rot

You said that I have started to change
Tried to make me think I was doing the wrong thing
When I put myself and my family first
When I kept running
You kept yelling
“WE HAVE TO STAND STILL”
Your toxicity can no longer touch me
I’ve found the ocean
An amazing ecosystem working together supporting life
Moving together and separately
Supporting growth

While your stagnant puddles are evaporating from the sunlight,    
The bugs keep crawling on you

But your disease can no longer touch me
Parasites can no longer reach me
I’m running and flowing
moving and growing through this ocean
And you stay still
In your still frame stagnant puddle

With this smug grin across my face,
I sit NEXT to the Breakfast of Champions

The Black Tie Affair occurring above my crown,
A cacophony of sounds occurring near me,
Providing I sound I love, but a sound I’ve yet to be seasoned enough to mimic
And the veterans that sit at the table,
Look down upon us,
Happily supporting us, supporting me,
With their “Good job, son,” and their
“Here’s looking at you, kid”  
But The ruckus of their laughs and cheers preventing me from hearing them
Assuring we princes and princesses have a chance at true royalty,
And the warm light emits from above their table
Unable for me to see, backlights them,
So that the shadows deter me from discerning the support on their faces,
.

I Feast on a synthetic chocolate cake,
Straight out of the Easy Bake Oven,
While the princes and princesses amongst which I sit
Eat their convenient store cookies whilst looking towards me, and admire.

I drink my Citrus punch out of a glass,
But my royal peers are degraded to quenching their thirst out of a cardboard box,
While the princes and princesses amongst which I sit,
Drink their grape juice whilst looking towards me, and admire.

And foolishly they do,
Because only my throne is high enough,
To see the meals we could be dining on,
The elegant and prestigious silverware we could admire,

And only my throne is high enough,
To realize how low we truly all sit.

Vernarth says: “I was at the separation of the threshold of Archangelos and Tsambika, where I was introduced to the threshold of sub mythology, which came from a promontory of the high cusp, that intersect the portal of light between Archangelos and Tsambika. There was a great vertical mass of petrified air between the two units, as I approached I saw against the light of one towards the other, the supposed synoptic and optical circumstance of sub-mythology, which makes me the creation that abandoned all of us who have dealt with it all. A life with sword in hand. For this reason, we have not restructured ourselves as a "Creation and Genesis that dwells in the myth of the warrior who is defeated on his war bed, but winner of the war of Life as Peltasts." My democracy is to narrow the steps of credibility towards a narrowing of the resurrection in all and all of us who have never been at peace, by proposing the last energy of daring to follow the triumph of the democracy of the resurrection. Many remain in doubt and waiting, others follow, but the stubborn objection of creation makes us a mere vivifying objective to revive in the exam that writes everything and stores everything more than thousands of lives and scrolls that settle in its proscription Literary”

Replied Apostle Saint John: “The Derveni papyrus was a work in Central Macedonia, 10 km northwest of the Greek city of Thessaloniki, in Macedonia. 226 small burnt papyrus fragments were found, inside a bronze jug that also contained a gold crown and other funerary objects. In the dimension that has been able to instruct, he speaks to us of God and mysticism, but with hidden and allegorical suggestions, moving towards a representative monotheism, we have enough to assert about eloquent quotes from the pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus and Orpheus. Being the son of Apollo and one of his muses, Calliope. According to the accounts, when he played his lyre, the beasts would calm down, and the men would gather to hear him and to rest their souls. Thus he fell in love with the beautiful Eurydice and managed to put the terrible Cerberus to sleep when he went down to the underworld to try to resurrect Eurydice. Orpheus was of Thracian origin; In his honor, the Orphic Mysteries were developed, musical rituals quite common in Ancient Greece, of which there is not much information, or their sources are not known”

Eurydice replies: “I read Orpheus's verses on his lips, which at length encouraged me, eager to hear more, but Orpheus turned off the lights of my curiosity, putting hidden ideas and allegories that crossed my doubts like ghosts that crossed before me in this hymn Orphic of Derveni. Orpheus was credited with abilities because with his lyre he was able to poke around with all the most wonderful melodies that humans had allegorically heard. That is how I fell in love with Orpheus and shortly after we were married. But sadly, I died shortly after getting married from a snake bite. Orpheus went into a hidden pain, until it was decided to go down to the very underworld in order to save me. And so it was, he went down to the underworld and once there he tried to take me back. But Hades wouldn't allow us. So Orpheus began to sing for Hades and me, until they appeared before him and allowed Orpheus to be taken away on one condition: He could not look at me until I was completely bathed in sunlight. We did so, and when we went outside Orpheus turned to see me. But he did not realize that one foot had stayed in the shadows so I disappeared into the darkness of the underworld and this time forever. Sad Orpheus perished in battle within a few weeks, but when he died and went to the underworld, he finally managed to be by my side, for life. Now I am in the light of the figurehead of the ship Eurydice, I am and I am the boatswain that watches and I carry this feat in the Vernarth memorial with me in the underworld supporting him. Now I appear for this creation reaching the everlasting preamble, so that in Teambika as a creation of the sub-Mythology in which I figure in this journey, with Vernarth always between we will intervene in the matrices that intersect in Archangelos and Tsambika, as a clear image that is revealed before me, like the perfect figure of perfection recreating itself in the genesis of a Marian world, judging myself to be eternally with the resurrected living”.

AS THE BOMBS FELL A CHILD IS BORN.
A TRUE STORY
BY JUDE KYRIE

The night I was born the air was filled with the acrid odors of cordite and fire. Even the charred blossoms of the out of place cherry tree in the dark inner city gadens lost their sweet fragrance,
It was 1942 the war raged on like the four horsemen wanted it too.
Bombers of the Luftwaffe decided to obliterate our home at that moment.
Manchester was on fire and my first breaths were made of its deadly acrid smoke.
Inside the small row house beneath its humble living quarters we were sheltered under the cellar stairs.
My heavily pregnant mother and three older sisters clung to each other tightly as the roar of hate and violence crescendoed above the small house.
Somehow even in the darkened days of hopeless war I had been conceived in defiance of all the  hate a small flickering candle of love burning brightly in the darkness.
Missing from the house were my six older brothers who were away fighting in distant lands in the royal marines.
Also missing , my father who had served his country in the first world war. Now he walked in the darkened blackout of a Manchester on fire.
His job to watch for injured people he was  now too old to serve in any other way.
The bomb whistled as It fell from the sky its whining harbinger of death and destruction a precursor to its death knell of explosion a few moments later.
A cat oblivious to war and destruction watched the scene from beneath a stoop. The fires from the detonated TNT reflected in its wide green eyes.
The sound of our best friend the very air that we breathe to live being compressed into a weapon that would try to destroy us.
the blast wall of compression hit the structure of our house causing the supporting walls to fall inward and slowly to bury us alive in our cellar refuge,

My father at that very moment stood in front of the old catholic church of which he was a member with nine children as proof and soon to be ten.
The nave was on fire even gods house was not spared this night.

Father O'Brien appeared at the door of his beloved church in his arms in a long white smock was his altar boy he did not move nor would he ever again.
Tears flowed down the face of the old Irish priest. God has forsaken us Frank he cried to my father.

And together they walked in the mayhem of war.
As they reached our street my father saw his house destroyed and
His heart sank the priest last lament ringing in his ears.
A crowd of neighbours were pulling at the rubble. Mixed with plaster bricks a broken dish, a picture, a *** now so dented almost unrecognizable.
For hours they pulled and worked to reach the cellar.then finally they got there.
Under the cellar steps inside the gloom of blackened night we were all there covered in dirt and grime. Yet alive in defiance of the grim reaper increased by one more,
my mother held me to her breast to nurture her new child her seventh son.

My father wept as we were lifted out one by one.
He held me close to his heart covering me with his coat.
My mother kissed him and said
Oh Frank we have lost everything.
He touched her hair softly and said.
That's not true Mary love,
I just found everything I ever wanted.

across the yard a cat sat watching the fires in its eyes extinguished
and the scene of a happy reunion reflected in its place with the promise of happier times to come.

In the forever winter landscape
Live gentle waddling penguins
While fierce forces conspire
All life brushed away
By unforgiving weather
But with an icy resolve
They all push back
Not with a Roar
But a little pitta patta
Of jolly dancing feet
As they happily bubble along  
With defiant hearts whispering
To the weather
With a nonchalance  
Disarming the Gods
   "we don't care"
With a silky soft defiant Roar
They potter on with their day
In a light hearted way  

Traveling through their life
They feel bound by limitation
Limbs retreating,, wings shrinking
Escaping from the weather
As the world places them
In a straight jacket
But they fluff out their
Love filled chests
A dash of yellow
On their cheek
Proclaiming I love who I am
As they slowly press into snow
Heart blazing with white fires
Busily they chatter
Nodding and bowing
To each other

Life pushes newly weds apart
As her ladyship is forced to abandon
Her man to the long winter's night
Left holding the egg
She looks back with a longing glance
Her heart torn
But in the blistering chill winds
And freezing cold air
A cool clarity is born
Where all passions are left
Under sheets of steely ice
And soft blankets of snow
Her task very clear
She pushes on

A trust between partners feels itself called on
Now fierce winds blow through
And into her face
As they now feel so far apart
She stops to take one last look back
And feels an impenetrable bond
Forged in their hearts
As her beak circles the sky
It is as though an arc
Of light is made
A silver connection
Binding them together
As they feel somewhere
In the eternal they remain holding hands

The aspiring father left
Holding precious egg tenderly
Left standing on cold ice
In blistering winds
Four months there left balancing
Treasure softly on his feet
Through the winter's night
Angry winds betrayed by the sun
Sting with a viper's vengeance
As temperatures plummet
-70 and dropping  
Cooperating together they huddle
For their very survival
Perfectly dressed in Tuxedos
Black like death standing on their back
White in front for the devotion
They show us in life
Reliant on each other
They spiral around together
And say
   "together, together we can do it"
As they silently sit through
The long winter's night
Letting go of their resistance
They release a godlike persistence

Over the horizon mothers appear bobbing
Like bubbles of thought bursting
From the flat transcendence
Fulfilled wishes appearing
New mothers pulled forward
By tickles of joy in their hearts
Leaping forward on their bellies
As they collapse in
Boundless devotion
Their hearts drawn forward
Skating along on their Love
They glide.................................
           and slides..................................
On their own pouring devotion...................
Effortless devotion..................................................
They almost fly on their
Unlimited Love

Effortless embracing tasks
Supporting new life
They are filled with the
Ecstasy of fruitful service
Later adults return to water
Float with a grace
Of a dancing ballerina  
As though fuelled by rocket fuel
They leave bubbles like smoke

As we delve into these
Vast fields of devotion
And see these jolly beings
Successfully spilling through
The dark winter's night
As they spread new life
I feel like the great God above
Totally humbled And can only
Kneel and Bow
To the beautiful penguin

species massacred for grazing
cows rule the world
the Brazilian rainforest
is now 80 million acres
of open range
supporting our demise
one cheeseburger at a time –
6700 gallons of water
is the cost of a big mac
when you factor in growing grain
giving cattle drinking water
and processing meat
peak water and peak oil
mean nothing when chewing cud –
more than 50% of greenhouse gases
methane from bovine flatus
without a single environmental group
working to stop this plague
instead they openly swallow
government lies about carbon
and the role 300 million United States citizens
have in saving the world of 7 billion
by driving less and recycling –
I laugh uproariously at the idiocy
knowing our karmic retribution
can only be extinction
like so many other species
we’ve killed off to make room
for more livestock agriculture
when everyone knows at this point
we can survive and thrive
off a plant based diet….
I’d write more,
but I am starving for
a bacon double cheeseburger –

While capable of achieving abstract thought of the highest order, the human brain tends to function best when compartmentalizing data into manageable pieces. For example, the state in which one resides is useful in a macro view of geolocation, but largely useless when it comes to ordering a pizza. As such, our species developed streets, postal codes, cardinal directions, and a whole host of determining factors to describe your home with enough clarity to ensure your disc of cheesy goodness arrives safe and sound.

By this same token, we break down and discuss music. For the most part, all humans can say that they enjoy music to some degree or another.  But for those whose passion extends beyond using the radio for background noise, there’s a point where the specificities of what we absorb aurally merges with part of our socio-cultural identity. Whether this is reflected in your sudden urge to wear strapped sandals and listen to Grateful Dead live bootlegs while slack-lining or constantly refreshing a subreddit so you know which warehouse space is hosting a tech-house set until dawn, the most passionate amongst us eventually become that which we absorb. These things become fractalized versions of ourselves. After all, someone who has never had their heart broken probably won’t appreciate Elliot Smith as much as the rest of us.

It is on the fringes of these musical personalities that we find *******. Combining the most aggressive tendencies of metal with the politics and personality of street punk, ******* is an amalgam of all things angry. Exhibiting a neb-tribalism not often seen in other subsets of music, ******* “kids” (Kids can be used to define ages ranging from 13 to 45 depending on context) understand that a sweaty basement filled with people pummeling one another will never become a societal norm. And they revel in the misanthropy.

However, this is not to say that ******* kids are fueled only by rage. From it’s inception in punk scene during the late 1970’s, the entire point of ******* has been to create a community dedicated to supporting one another during our darkest times. Sure that occasionally means punching your friend in the head, but that’s only because we haven’t figured out how to punch the geo-political turmoil of Earth in the head just yet.

Whether extolling the virtues of veganism, Straight Edge, ecocriticism, economic inequality, anti-racist and anti-racist movements, or simply just talking about how alone we can feel inside of our own heads, ******* at it’s best seeks to improve the space husk we’re all floating around on. By virtue of these lofty goals, ******* swiftly takes on a communal nature due to the common belief that we are all united against an existence which does not reflect us. Rob Lind said it best: “*******’s not much. But for some of us, it’s all we’ve got.”

Then one clear morning in December, my father died. And suddenly ******* was all I had left.

Obviously, I still had my siblings and friends. But after all, the ethos of ******* always managed to echo everything my father taught me to believe. Whether that be standing up for someone getting picked on because they’re different, refusing to place trust in authority, or rallying all the other lost souls and building your own society two steps to the left of the mainstream.

So, as an autopsy was being performed to ensure the skin, organs, and long bones of Robert Rathburn’s arms were harvested for donors, I stood in the alleyway of the Nile Theater listening to the bass reverberate through the asphalt as Iniquity, Beg For Life, Troubled, No Altars, and Iron Curtain played to a packed basement below.

Admittedly, this was a show I was supposed to be reviewing, and this piece was also due months ago. However, my time was instead spent shaking hands and hugging people I’ve spent the better part of 20 years building a small, fractured, but loving community with. At the end of the day, I suppose that’s all ******* has ever and should ever be about. Communally channeling the hurt and anger into fists and screams until it stings a little less and the emptiness of the world wanes ever so slightly.