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Max Neumann Jun 2020
wings of birds were stolen by the gods, centuries ago
an earth's day lasts for 86, 400.002 seconds
children are roaming in the mind of these lines
they are counting, playfully and without feelings

days come and go, they float through our lives
i wrote about the stages of dreams and dreamt of an *******
the ruins of old poems are silver, blue and red
remains of a day's thoughts, decoded and clear, similarly

it is not wise to count seconds while you are breathing
it is not wise to count on people while they are leaving
it is strange to use "wise" in order to refer to cleverness
people of color may feel excluded by our languages

in german, "white" is called "weiß" and that sounds like "wise"
explain to me the origins of such a word, i demand it
before the river will have swallowed me; i demand an answer
poems come, poems go, leave a trace, stain – and a change

fools are flodding the streets in order to have a five o'clock tea
proudly, they are talking about their old heroes, bearded conquerors
these guys nevah really wanted to dig strangaz, dey killed 'em.
they killed unknown people, they stabbed my dreams

they murdered ancestors because they were used to murdering
they invented words without speaking but grinning
power is an invisible instrument that consists of hierarchies
power is what we see and oversee, power is the origin of wars

wars are the origin of despair; and that is nothing new
wars, though, may be invisible and silent, just in the mind
what is a war, does a war need bombs, guns and soldiers?
wars occur everywhere, daily, within 86, 400.002 seconds

the length of a day is measured in numbers; they are just inventions
numbers are man-made, animals orient on the sun and the moon
humans celebrate planets and write poems about them
we all will surive as long as we keep writing and tolerate each other
Today is a good day.
Chloe Jul 2018
if you look after boredom it will grow free-flowing metaphor's
boredom needs to be watered with laugher
boredom cannot surive in a ordinary environment
bordom should only be given narcotic once a year, in a small dose
it flourishes in social settings
and its natural habitat is the dancefloor
jeffrey conyers Feb 2013
Someone saw the rain and mention how gloomy it was.
Except it was sunny to me.
Long as you have the breath of life within you.
Nothing is as bad as it seems.

It just depends on your out look.

Don't be like the rich that cried about their losses on the stock market.
For, they failed to understand they was taking chances.
Or the spouse still hurt from the filing of a divorce.

Cause nothing is bad as it seems.

In life the positive will always out weigh the negative.
It just depends on your out look.

If you see bad.
Then bad it will be.
If you chose to stay sad.
Then sadness will become your theme.

It depends on your out look.

Who knows?
God just might be challenging you to see , if you can pull through.
Storms comes with devastion to challenge us.
Some surive.
Some don't.
But in the mix of the storm.
There's always a positive side to see.

It just depends on your out look.
Lately I ve felt tattered and torn
Like I'm two people
One trying to forget all the bad from the past
And the other wanting all the good things to last

How can I get both
While still holding on to me
Or do I just let go
And what will be will be

All any of us ever want
Is for the good to surive
And all the bad things
To be buried alive

I know i need to let you go
But it is so hard
So many of these things
Have made us who we are

Who will conqure in the end
An will you still want to be my friend
AZ Jun 2018
Reflections with pain staking recollections
Watch your old self with memories of where youve been
How far youve come and whats left to be seen
A feeling of emptiness thats getting too deep
Why look to the past when we try to live in the present
Because the future is too foregone for us to reference
Every mistake we made a reminder to forget
And every forgotten mistake one waiting for redemption
That never arrives
If you shone a light in the darkest room
Would you be enlightning or just a nuisance
Disrupting the current order is something only the brave do
And maybe the foolish too
Cause death is all they brew
What do we have to lose but our lives
And why is yours so valuable when theres 7 billion others on the line
Maybe cause we have only one as opposed to 9
But if we live it in vain then we're better off dying
And if we live it too proudly then it changes before our eyes
Family turns to strangers and friends to foes
And true solace only comes when youre alone
For you hate other people and all that they represent
That one cant be  strong in their own presence
That one cant surive without someone to rely on
That one cant stand out and be profound
But only one person can ever wear the crown
Jaaxxx Feb 2020
Living 𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 life loses its meaning
Happy for being 𝗌𝖺𝖽
I'm not 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗋 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖺𝖽
Just feeling empty.

Hiding thoughts by 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖡𝗎𝗍 the nights keeps on reminding
Finding the end of the tunnel might be hard
For it is 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄
𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍
Where will it gets me?

Swallowed by the void
No one's keeping score
But you're asking what is the point
Waiting for answers you wish to come
Waiting for answers that may not come

For everyday you wish to surive
This thought should might help
Perfect a lie that everything's fine
And wish to believe it yourself.
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
days like these... i am left without any writing
ambition...
        was there any to begin with?
ambition... and writing?
                   i wouldn't call it anything: more -
this unnecessary more it already has become...
it's not an ambition,
but it's also not an escapism...
         it's sure as hell not some...
                    take on sylvia plath or anne sexton:
"treatment"...
writing either comes... or it doesn't...
and if it does: it does... and if it doesn't: with days
such as these: it really shouldn't...
but my once favourite jukebox is feeding
me a glitch... very old videos of content creators
and "new" music...
so i felt inclined to comment on that...
otherwise a snapshot of the day:
the t.v. didn't need me...
             but i still managed to squeeze in one
episode of gangs of london...
and i'll be ******* if anti-t.v. people wouldn't
find this gripping: zombie-eating-brains...
day... a very continental breakfast...
work in the garden...
                     then marinating some pork and chicken...
piri-piri and tomato puree: with additions...
like paprika, taekyung powder and tatlı (e)
ipek pul biber - turkish i'm guessing for sweet pepper
flakes... a dash of apple cider vinegar...

the pork marinated in... dijon mustard...
soya sauce... honey... garlic... etc. etc.
  
you can most certainly undercook pork...
best with undercooked beef:
well it's on a bbq...
                  it's not some fine dining...
among the neighbours... i wanted what the gardens
could be used for... since...
i see myself on a desert island with people
in the vicinity strapped to b.d.s.m. gizmos
indoors... not even for a suntan is the garden
used... or for... watching birds...
i can count at least 10 different types...
sitting and having a lazy cigarette...

     but chicken! you can't undercook it!
but getting it just right... well... chances of overcooking
it as slim...
more slim than overcooking pork or beef...
people who want a stake well done shouldn't
ever be allowed to eat steaks to begin with...
in the old restaurant... the smoking section...
the non-smoking section...
a section for people eating stakes...
and people of the bland persuasion that
want to doubly-butcher their beef:
the roast beef section...
all the gravy... all the trimmings...
the baked potatoes the yorkshire puds...

yeah... that might work...
        so much for reading up on schizophrenia
in julian jaynes': the origin of consciousness
in the breakdown of the bicemeral mind:
halal: implied idiot in hebrew...
not it implies kosher in arabic...
  and the "analogue i"...
             anything of psychology from the 60s
and an "i" with a prefix: just fine...

for lack of a better narrative:
a through (b) starting from (a) and ending up
at (c): here's a narrative with a quantum
leap... a lost pocket of reference:
IV + XV = XIX!

                    that happened come mid-day...
and a welcome break on the "throne of thrones":
alias for a *******...
to use the body in such a way that
the mind can be: more... but less and less
a constipation... more: akin to the unconscious
liver / kidney... a sponge central of
the connectivity of eyes, ears and prickly skin:
goosebumps...

"analogue": more like... collage...
an "enzyme" thrown into a "harem" of rats...
to subsequently watch them scuttle away
in... or... better... lifting a nearing rot
piece of wood... and finding the "grub"
cower when exposed to sunlight...
spiders... earthworms... house centipedes:
living in the garden...
analogue: continuously variable physical quantity
except for... a break in continuity...
and the invitation of: quality...
   zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance...
quality, quality, quality...

               alive in a truly: "static": status quo world...
or thereabouts...
supposed so...
when i can forget that the mind has by extension...
soul and god involved...
on its laissez-fair good days...
in an armchair of plotting an escape with
merely a breath...
               high minded: needs for "reading"...

    so much for catching up on my posthumous
writings of the pickwick papers by dickens...
maybe another perfect day...
a most perfect day: to be neither in love...
nor an angel of vengence...
                    to not hate but laze...
and by laze i implore myself to stress:
turn the brain into a kidney
and say: the kidney will not think...
the brain doesn't have to:
nor that it ever did...
where is my... exoskeleton of thought,
conscience, "consciousness"... soul and god?
drifting away with the clouds
while i remember the bones... the ****...
the esophagus rhetoric of backwards: if i wish...
and down the flush "alley":
literally... a choice of words riddled with
misnomers because: by misnomer it's so much
easier to forget a bank filled brimming with:
"too many" nouns...

back to music...
the only new music is the old music...
a chance refreshing of a fugazi catalogue:
nomeansno came up...
"intelligent punk rock" from the canadian
west coast...
so much verbiage in the description...

new music... yeah? fostermother - fostermother (2020)...
clouds taste satanic - the glitter of infinite hell (2017)...
for me... new implied:
godspeed! you, black emperor...

i must be getting old... 34 is pretty daft:
if it must be deemed as old...
            well... let's put it this way...
bukowski because: why not?
   that classical music "lost plot"...
classical music... it's such a tedium...
        fair enough for an event...
but i can't reinvent a bedroom an armchair...
a hunched body of crow metaphor bliss with it...
too strict the club and entry requirements...

jazz has aged so well...
whatever it was supposed to be with its worth
of the 20th century with the beatniks...
the choir girls... the homosexuals and the trumpet
players... the "experimental" load o' *******...
******* or no *******...
certainly no ******* dunked into mint mayo...
to state the extremes...
  
today... the 21st century is only 20 years old...
and i'm listening to gerry mulligan's night lights...
and: it's beyond... what's supposed
to age for the generic applause...
lazy trumpet... lazy guitar...
gerry mulligan... chet baker... kenny burrel...
not big orchestral jazz bands...
shady bars... and if i walked into a brothel
that played jazz than that...
tapeworm hypnosis of boomboomboom...
i'd consider it a church and a harem and never:
subsequently leave...

i took out the garbage: pretty adamant to
do all the right sort of recycling...
1963... that's what? 57 years ago...
the 1990s sitcoms missed the influences...
the thoroughfare of soap-opera marathons
from either england, turkey or mexico...

of the mention new music:
i'm not... "ageing"... i've reached a boring
plateau... the old flame of youth...
has fazed out...
             new music: i don't have an energy
for it...
music when growing up:
that i will still listen to... pearl jam...
offspring, silverchair... king crimson(?)...
but the new stuff...
old **** galore... better with some jazz than...
sometimes: yes... the odd excuse for Prokofiev...
but... pretending to be the maestro...
waving one's hands about in some sort
of vague appreciation: when a woman,
and drunk: it's good to know i can see cringe...
and it's my mother...

          perhaps: it would have been nice
to have invested in the idea of grandchildren...
but that would have implied:
having children... and a gambler's luck...
i never liked gambling...
the most i ever gambled was probably
2 quid on football scores...
a quid on the national... a religious institution
in england... for that one race...
i don't like gambling...
i like... the blank page inquisitive of me...
centipede of eyes...
c.c.t.v. god of wish-fulfilled omni-presence
of the litany of adjectives...
but that doesn't really matter...

it would have been nice
to have invested in the idea of grandchildren...
after all... i would be...
but that rome was built on fostering children:
somewhat... that's also a novel idea...
but dealing with 50% of you in a son or daughter...
with grandchildren that's only a 25% replica
of you...
        god forbid ******: talking about 75% of you...
if the rich started to clone themselves:
i can't imagine the hell: but a mirror is enough
to face once a day...
twice a month is just enough too...

jazz has aged really well...
2020 is a good year for jazz and even if there's no
wine... there's the lazy ms. amber...
classical music peaked in the 20th c. for me...
i can, i will... appreciate it...
if i want to give my heart a chance
to steal my eyes and create a waterfall of emotions...

- and perhaps new music...
i missed what became emo...
although i was still around for a.f.i.'s sing
the sorrow album...
how?                         filofax...
floppy disk 3.5"... dial-up... age of empires...
final fantasy VII... KMFDM: juke joint jezebel...
******... choke: doo...

sometimes the sorrows of:
not being part of the chinese one child state policy...
mother's fear... birthday...
may... 1986... chernobyl: 26th april 1986...
a nice whittle tattoo i too have...
if i had wings: i had one removed...
thankfully the shoulder-blade was kept
intact...

perhaps a brother, perhaps a sister...
perhaps my own little scoop of "solipsism"...
burden of "genius"...
no angel, no demon...
just a companion of: posit in sigma -
displaced attributes...
            weasel... a way out...
                   groom of spaghetti tangles...
      that turn into tapeworms that
turn into placentas and
foetuses in the sky: fully membraned
egos of confrontations...

                libido blues: but the "idiots"
will surive: double their claims of harvest!
numbers have no coinicidence
of effortless heart that do no:
necessarily buckle...
shoe-shine georgie met the hyper-inflated
cultural exchange: excuse...
for this trough: the pigs would eat...
the dogs would eat...
met with grimmaces...

              jazz allows me to wisen...
i can walk into a room filled with air...
scratchings of violins and...
i cna ignore the music...
take to treating it as... less...
an altar for maggot sacrifice...
a gig an altar of the idols...
i can escape it with attired and ulterior
motives...
captivate myself with a game of chess:
thought only: without playing anything
beside metaphorical chess...
as i will be playing metaphorical poker...
not actual poker...

imagine my anticipation of a circus:
******... a poatcard from either Tangiers
or Istambul...
crocodile juice from Kiev...
magic mushrooms from Helsinki...
but that's just my luck...
sober... nationalistic peoples...
Loon'don...
the welsh the scots and the ghouls of
gaelic on the "periphery"...
Dublin or "somewhere"...

                    and ms. amber and deciding...
what to do with the leftoever
rainbow trout caviar i used for christmas...
once... and now will have to use once
more... somehow...

thank god for this gift...
and this day... so easily... so made...
pristined and made by per se a complexity...
and... almost literally:
the best idea for coughing up fog.
R Catherine Jul 2020
I cut my heart with what's to come.
Adapted for inevitability that has yet to evolve.
Space is untold.....
I granted it.
Wits twisted, past traumas.
I no longer surive apart from them.
Lost, alienated from insight or control.
Infinity is felt in no time at all.
I plunge into internal torment.
Bleeding unease.
Tears salty with rejection.
Insufficiently digesting distrust.
Rage like broken fireworks.
Contrition then crowding the soul.
Percieved inevitablity is not certain.
Waiting for space to shift.
I feel....... lost.
@whimsical_writestry
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