"technologies" poems - Hello Poetry

"technologies" poems

“Being a farmer is like being a priest; you take a vow of poverty and make a pact with the Lord that no typhoon will come and destroy your crops.” In the rise of sedentary human civilization, The nation’s agriculture Became the key expansion. Its history dates back thousands of years, With its development, Has been driven and defined – By different climates, cultures, and technologies. The Filipino farmers: Are they now a dying breed? Numbers of small farms has dwindled, With workers opting for city life. But this trend could exacerbate food insecurity! Yes, in an import-dependent country – Already struggling to meet current food demand. In the face of growing losses, And from volatile weather, To new-fangled farming tech, Limited education makes them less receptive. What took such toll on the agricultural sector? Maybe the farmer themselves, The investors, the buyers – maybe. Now, it’s due to the government policies, Our programs are good, yet so weak. There’s excessive reliance on agricultural imports, And corruption on the upper level. Compounding the problem Is a younger generation – Largely, leaving rural areas nationwide, And depleting the pool of potential agricultural workers. They say it’s too late to do something; But the mind-set of the younger generation Still we can change And make farming appealing once again. (9/8/13 @xirlleelang)

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May 27, 2014

May 27, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC

A Dying Filipino Breed

“Being a farmer is like being a priest; you take a vow of poverty and make a pact with the Lord that no typhoon will come and destroy your crops.” In the rise of sedentary human civilization, The nation’s agriculture Became the key expansion. Its history dates back thousands of years, With its development, Has been driven and defined – By different climates, cultures, and technologies. The Filipino farmers: Are they now a dying breed? Numbers of small farms has dwindled, With workers opting for city life. But this trend could exacerbate food insecurity! Yes, in an import-dependent country – Already struggling to meet current food demand. In the face of growing losses, And from volatile weather, To new-fangled farming tech, Limited education makes them less receptive. What took such toll on the agricultural sector? Maybe the farmer themselves, The investors, the buyers – maybe. Now, it’s due to the government policies, Our programs are good, yet so weak. There’s excessive reliance on agricultural imports, And corruption on the upper level. Compounding the problem Is a younger generation – Largely, leaving rural areas nationwide, And depleting the pool of potential agricultural workers. They say it’s too late to do something; But the mind-set of the younger generation Still we can change And make farming appealing once again. (9/8/13 @xirlleelang)

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Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr We use these technologies to pass the time But the time we spend scrolling our fingers down an iPhone is never fun or productive and memories are never made But whenever I have a spare moment in the day I’m probably scrolling through some timeline, looking at some random persons page, and wasting the short and precious existence that we are given on this earth

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Feb 28, 2014

Feb 28, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC

Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr We use these technologies to pass the time But the time we spend scrolling our fingers down an iPhone is never fun or productive and memories are never made But whenever I have a spare moment in the day I’m probably scrolling through some timeline, looking at some random persons page, and wasting the short and precious existence that we are given on this earth

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The wind howls outside my bedroom window shaking me my heart; my soul it screams *while you sit there drinking sweet-smelling coffee a baby boy in Africa cries of hunger and aching ribs. while you are curled up under warm and soft blankets an old and lonely man wanders the darkest streets looking for warmth; a home while you hide there surrounded by light and family with an aura of ungratefulness you are lost in the rays of your technologies with a frown on your angelic face when a weeping woman shakes and prays for her gone children to reach Heaven happily but you dare forget God to a screen?* my house shakes from Wind's agonizing words and a streak of cold trickles into my haven along with the words "what am I doing?" somehow my stiff legs reach a window and the arms in front of me pull it open to reveal no sound at all where is the wind? did he leave just as he touched my heart; my soul making me waver? or does a gust not howl , speak, and isn't heard? no the wind was here for how else did the once-twinkling snowflakes suddenly freeze and lose all of their beauty? no one but Wind would take the innocence of such young and beautiful white specks just as they landed in this cold, dark world no one but Wind would flare you with reality enough to make you cry with obliviousness for this wind; my Wind he is the voice off all those who have faced life's stinging brutality; him instead of hiding under covers and whispering morbid lies that everything is okay

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Jan 15, 2014

Jan 15, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC

No One But Wind

The wind howls outside my bedroom window shaking me my heart; my soul it screams *while you sit there drinking sweet-smelling coffee a baby boy in Africa cries of hunger and aching ribs. while you are curled up under warm and soft blankets an old and lonely man wanders the darkest streets looking for warmth; a home while you hide there surrounded by light and family with an aura of ungratefulness you are lost in the rays of your technologies with a frown on your angelic face when a weeping woman shakes and prays for her gone children to reach Heaven happily but you dare forget God to a screen?* my house shakes from Wind's agonizing words and a streak of cold trickles into my haven along with the words "what am I doing?" somehow my stiff legs reach a window and the arms in front of me pull it open to reveal no sound at all where is the wind? did he leave just as he touched my heart; my soul making me waver? or does a gust not howl , speak, and isn't heard? no the wind was here for how else did the once-twinkling snowflakes suddenly freeze and lose all of their beauty? no one but Wind would take the innocence of such young and beautiful white specks just as they landed in this cold, dark world no one but Wind would flare you with reality enough to make you cry with obliviousness for this wind; my Wind he is the voice off all those who have faced life's stinging brutality; him instead of hiding under covers and whispering morbid lies that everything is okay

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Did any flower bloom, in your garden today, check out now Love alone is the flower with fragrance, don't water the rest. An year reigned is dead, the overcast sky clearly proclaims A dark shroud covers the sky, hiding the good cheer we need. Alone, I climb up the winding road to the hilltop, to view The sunset, it reminds the past year of painful events The skyline looks blood smeared, from a corner fire erupts Making hate the recurring motif, what's happening to the world? Technologies to share information is no good, if we aren't sane. If we use that to sow evil seeds of hatred, poison spreads. Life turns a mess, all the wealth has no meaning without peace. Are we not ashamed to be vengeful like barbarians, **** each other? Didn't Gandhi prove, nonviolence is the weapon against brute force?

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Dec 30, 2014

Dec 30, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC

Weeding out evil flowers from the garden

Did any flower bloom, in your garden today, check out now Love alone is the flower with fragrance, don't water the rest. An year reigned is dead, the overcast sky clearly proclaims A dark shroud covers the sky, hiding the good cheer we need. Alone, I climb up the winding road to the hilltop, to view The sunset, it reminds the past year of painful events The skyline looks blood smeared, from a corner fire erupts Making hate the recurring motif, what's happening to the world? Technologies to share information is no good, if we aren't sane. If we use that to sow evil seeds of hatred, poison spreads. Life turns a mess, all the wealth has no meaning without peace. Are we not ashamed to be vengeful like barbarians, **** each other? Didn't Gandhi prove, nonviolence is the weapon against brute force?

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Google is the gift for An inquisitive student, Who is in search to be knowledgeably potent. Although it makes One so dependent, It bestows erudition That is too consistent. Google serves us with mail, That saves our time to sail. It’s services like the maps Leaves a stranded person to bridge the gaps. Gaps? Yes, it bridges the gaps With all its possible apps, The interests of the public And concepts of the prolific. When Google well handed Our queries have added, Whose possible solutions have multiplied, For which the efforts been phenomenally divided. With the transforming technologies In this world of transience Google has procured Its own state of omnipresence. Thus, Google has become the tool With which the user can rule. It endows as a surfing equipment Hence, Google is the gift for a Student.

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Jan 7, 2020

Jan 7, 2020 at 1:40 AM UTC

The surfing gift! Google!

Google is the gift for An inquisitive student, Who is in search to be knowledgeably potent. Although it makes One so dependent, It bestows erudition That is too consistent. Google serves us with mail, That saves our time to sail. It’s services like the maps Leaves a stranded person to bridge the gaps. Gaps? Yes, it bridges the gaps With all its possible apps, The interests of the public And concepts of the prolific. When Google well handed Our queries have added, Whose possible solutions have multiplied, For which the efforts been phenomenally divided. With the transforming technologies In this world of transience Google has procured Its own state of omnipresence. Thus, Google has become the tool With which the user can rule. It endows as a surfing equipment Hence, Google is the gift for a Student.

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Instead of foraging around making connections with cables and wireless systems that bluetooth and sync their way into our pocket technologies and portable screens (tablets of which we self-prescribe and regulate through overdose and comatose keenings of stillness and waking dreams) why, instead don’t we fool around making connections with others of like mind and brainwaves instead of radiowaves and the mastered minds of computer waves and lift an arm and really wave beyond our windows to real people in real time rather than peeping like a holographic Tom through tabs and browsing windows, multi-tasking time in a state of mime like it’s about to expire (like the wireless wires will break) and all that we’ll have is all we can physically take from this moment awake we call ‘life’ – a mistake. What else is left now in this vegetative one man one woman state where we live to close our eyes and shut our minds and wait for the modem-router to re-dial and get our avatar back online and our friends back into our multi-dimensional realer-than-time time? Pseudonyms solving identity changes emerge without birth with designer non-faces, as now that we no longer need imperfection or meaning or privacy or even perception we alter ourselves to impress our connections with whom we connect without really connecting by hiding as one almost nearing detection and tip-toeing straight past concern or reflection (invisible firewalls at our protection) our own walls around us with keys we can capslock, screening ourselves from unfriended friends, and playfully sated by charm and ‘pretends’ that will mean next to nothing when fantasy ends. Where ARE the connections we make in this digital age that we rarely turn off since the internet craze has become a new God that we dial to be saved as we sacrifice friends we once made face to face with those we are longing to meet as we race across networks with hunger and haste and with spambots and data and viruses made to detect and infect and reject, just for starters, and that’s not to mention the ads and the logins and passwords that lock us from somewhere far yonder that doesn’t exist as we grow ever fonder of pics and of pixels and texts of expression – the reality of which we could lose in a second.

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Jul 10, 2015

Jul 10, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC

SECURITY BEHIND INSECURITY

Instead of foraging around making connections with cables and wireless systems that bluetooth and sync their way into our pocket technologies and portable screens (tablets of which we self-prescribe and regulate through overdose and comatose keenings of stillness and waking dreams) why, instead don’t we fool around making connections with others of like mind and brainwaves instead of radiowaves and the mastered minds of computer waves and lift an arm and really wave beyond our windows to real people in real time rather than peeping like a holographic Tom through tabs and browsing windows, multi-tasking time in a state of mime like it’s about to expire (like the wireless wires will break) and all that we’ll have is all we can physically take from this moment awake we call ‘life’ – a mistake. What else is left now in this vegetative one man one woman state where we live to close our eyes and shut our minds and wait for the modem-router to re-dial and get our avatar back online and our friends back into our multi-dimensional realer-than-time time? Pseudonyms solving identity changes emerge without birth with designer non-faces, as now that we no longer need imperfection or meaning or privacy or even perception we alter ourselves to impress our connections with whom we connect without really connecting by hiding as one almost nearing detection and tip-toeing straight past concern or reflection (invisible firewalls at our protection) our own walls around us with keys we can capslock, screening ourselves from unfriended friends, and playfully sated by charm and ‘pretends’ that will mean next to nothing when fantasy ends. Where ARE the connections we make in this digital age that we rarely turn off since the internet craze has become a new God that we dial to be saved as we sacrifice friends we once made face to face with those we are longing to meet as we race across networks with hunger and haste and with spambots and data and viruses made to detect and infect and reject, just for starters, and that’s not to mention the ads and the logins and passwords that lock us from somewhere far yonder that doesn’t exist as we grow ever fonder of pics and of pixels and texts of expression – the reality of which we could lose in a second.

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Here I can't explain you the date, May be it's humanities fate. We have reached a way higher, In science and technologies tier. The age is of time, Where you can sublime. Into the verses of technology, Into the time and space's analogy. This is the era of warm-holes, And the era of time travel, In which you can travel whole, Into the any world's navel. Set up to stop the light and time, And get into between of it, To hear the travelling chime, From that dark narrow slit. Getting into the dark tunnel, Moving, getting deep inside, Rather shaped like a funnel, You get into the time's ride.

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Jun 22, 2020

Jun 22, 2020 at 4:33 AM UTC

Here I can't explain you the date, May be it's humanities fate. We have reached a way higher, In science and technologies tier. The age is of time, Where you can sublime. Into the verses of technology, Into the time and space's analogy. This is the era of warm-holes, And the era of time travel, In which you can travel whole, Into the any world's navel. Set up to stop the light and time, And get into between of it, To hear the travelling chime, From that dark narrow slit. Getting into the dark tunnel, Moving, getting deep inside, Rather shaped like a funnel, You get into the time's ride.

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The presence of our contemporary age Alters artistic vision down a spiral of emptiness. Artist no longer create the visual page, Their spellbound by ambitions of digital laziness. Visions lost to the age of simplicity, Erased to machines’ evil desires, Deluded by storms of deception, Creativity ceased as hell endures its fires. Instant gratification — the new reality — The yearning for excellence, no endurability. Modern day artistic creativity, Coerced by digital debility. Tradition bankrupt by false realities, Lost to a pallet of ones and zeros; Artwork with no archival ability, The future lost to modern day technologies.

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Sep 6, 2022

Sep 6, 2022 at 1:32 PM UTC

wordswithatwist

Art Has Died. All that's left, a future of erased memories with 1's & 0's.

The presence of our contemporary age Alters artistic vision down a spiral of emptiness. Artist no longer create the visual page, Their spellbound by ambitions of digital laziness. Visions lost to the age of simplicity, Erased to machines’ evil desires, Deluded by storms of deception, Creativity ceased as hell endures its fires. Instant gratification — the new reality — The yearning for excellence, no endurability. Modern day artistic creativity, Coerced by digital debility. Tradition bankrupt by false realities, Lost to a pallet of ones and zeros; Artwork with no archival ability, The future lost to modern day technologies.

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A face as white as snow with cheeks blushing Lips painted in red pouting Hair so soft and silky Arranged so neatly Hanging around the neck is a diamond necklace Wearing a glamorous gown accented with a ****** red lace Illuminating the skin Making it look whiter and thin Walking graciously With a pair of Cinderella shoes so pretty. This is what most girls would want to look like - A princess; Obsessed of the physical beauty. Physically, one can easily possess beauty With the help of modern technology; Lips can be as red as an apple, Face can be as perfect as it can be; But a heart as pure as an innocent child's And as good as an angel's Cannot be made by the use of those cosmetics Nor be fixed by any advanced technologies; Inside appearance Cannot be made beauteous Even by any expensive make up. If you really dreamed to be a princess, Be one who possesses the real beauty - The one that never fades - Not the one seen just from the outside; It is through the goodness of your heart that you'll see You claim the genuine beauty.

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Feb 9, 2013

Feb 9, 2013 at 5:55 AM UTC

The Genuine Beauty

A face as white as snow with cheeks blushing Lips painted in red pouting Hair so soft and silky Arranged so neatly Hanging around the neck is a diamond necklace Wearing a glamorous gown accented with a ****** red lace Illuminating the skin Making it look whiter and thin Walking graciously With a pair of Cinderella shoes so pretty. This is what most girls would want to look like - A princess; Obsessed of the physical beauty. Physically, one can easily possess beauty With the help of modern technology; Lips can be as red as an apple, Face can be as perfect as it can be; But a heart as pure as an innocent child's And as good as an angel's Cannot be made by the use of those cosmetics Nor be fixed by any advanced technologies; Inside appearance Cannot be made beauteous Even by any expensive make up. If you really dreamed to be a princess, Be one who possesses the real beauty - The one that never fades - Not the one seen just from the outside; It is through the goodness of your heart that you'll see You claim the genuine beauty.

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1301 My 1300th poem, was ‘Diamond Triangles’, didn’t even plan that, now I see why they say I’m Illuminati, 33 triangles tattooed to my body, in room #1301 now, 13th floor of the hotel, 13th floor room #1, it’s always on for real, no off switch, so no we don’t switch, on the offense we don’t snitch, our defense airtight got the game sewed & stitched, tight as our lips are because loose lips still sink cruise ships, all in no pretend all real for real 100% legit, I’m ready if you’re ready come on let’s get it, let’s go now, the time has never been better, let’s pow wow & wow how, this weather as in this reign has never been wetter, or greater, compliments to the Haters, because you haven’t made it till they hate it, so I’m grateful for the confirmation from the Haters, we’re here to Rock The Nation, shout out to RocNation, shout out to Jay Z see we’re all Gods, all it took was a combination of carpe diem & patience, a combination between futuristic technologies & wisdom from The Ancients, know the difference, between patience & hesitation, I thank my Dad for teaching me that, see he taught me a lot of those “what not to do” lessons, learned what not to do through his actions, so I could prevent them & not grow up like him, & that’s not to say I don’t love him because I do, & that's mentioned to clarify that I didn’t write this just to spite him, kinda like, why I wear these diamonds, which isn’t to show off no nah, I wear them because diamonds are enlightening, just look at the way they catch the light, see real diamonds are a sure thing, just like these words I write, on the luckiest floor in this whole building floor #13, writing my 1300th poem, was ‘Diamond Triangles’, didn’t even plan that, now I see why they say I’m Illuminati, 33 triangles tattooed to my body, in room #1301 now, 13th floor of the hotel, 13th floor room #1, it’s always on for real, especially when it’s Strange :30, & it’s Strange :30 again, so I guess it’s time to sign off, with a goodnight & a Thee End... from '777' available worldwide on Amazon www.amazon.com/dp/1548700746 ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

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Jul 19, 2017

Jul 19, 2017 at 1:32 AM UTC

1301 My 1300th poem, was ‘Diamond Triangles’, didn’t even plan that, now I see why they say I’m Illuminati, 33 triangles tattooed to my body, in room #1301 now, 13th floor of the hotel, 13th floor room #1, it’s always on for real, no off switch, so no we don’t switch, on the offense we don’t snitch, our defense airtight got the game sewed & stitched, tight as our lips are because loose lips still sink cruise ships, all in no pretend all real for real 100% legit, I’m ready if you’re ready come on let’s get it, let’s go now, the time has never been better, let’s pow wow & wow how, this weather as in this reign has never been wetter, or greater, compliments to the Haters, because you haven’t made it till they hate it, so I’m grateful for the confirmation from the Haters, we’re here to Rock The Nation, shout out to RocNation, shout out to Jay Z see we’re all Gods, all it took was a combination of carpe diem & patience, a combination between futuristic technologies & wisdom from The Ancients, know the difference, between patience & hesitation, I thank my Dad for teaching me that, see he taught me a lot of those “what not to do” lessons, learned what not to do through his actions, so I could prevent them & not grow up like him, & that’s not to say I don’t love him because I do, & that's mentioned to clarify that I didn’t write this just to spite him, kinda like, why I wear these diamonds, which isn’t to show off no nah, I wear them because diamonds are enlightening, just look at the way they catch the light, see real diamonds are a sure thing, just like these words I write, on the luckiest floor in this whole building floor #13, writing my 1300th poem, was ‘Diamond Triangles’, didn’t even plan that, now I see why they say I’m Illuminati, 33 triangles tattooed to my body, in room #1301 now, 13th floor of the hotel, 13th floor room #1, it’s always on for real, especially when it’s Strange :30, & it’s Strange :30 again, so I guess it’s time to sign off, with a goodnight & a Thee End... from '777' available worldwide on Amazon www.amazon.com/dp/1548700746 ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

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Now I’m JUST Planting Seeds... Through Verse And Poetry... That I Now Use To Speak... On Yes... REALITY... !!! So Of Course My Verse Deals... With DIFFERENT Beliefs... Like JUSTICE, PEACE And EQUALITY... !!!!! Because Humans Do Seem... To Embrace... STRANGE IDEALS... ?!? As To What People Need... To Breed REAL UNITY... ?!? Cos’ The Powers That Be... !!! Who RULE Societies... Have Been Planting BAD SEEDS... That Have Bred... LEGACIES... !!!!! Like Those That We've Seen... In... TWENTY TWENTY... !!! This CORONA DISEASE... !!! SHATTERED Economies... !!! Protesters On Streets... Due To Racist Police... !!! Leaders And... MP’s... Presidents And The Chiefs... of... BIG INDUSTRY... !!! Have Been Planting Seeds... That Indeed CLEARLY Feed... Off CORRUPTION And GREED... !!! Now It Can’t Just Be Me... ?!? Who Sees What We ALL SEE... In Today’s News Stories... !?! Like... REDUNDANCIES... Seeds of VIOLENT Scenes... That Now DISTURB The Peace... !!! And How TECHNOLOGIES... Have Created A Breed... Who SEED Internet Feeds... To Now Download Movies... !!! That Some People... CLAIM... They’re Now Getting For FREE... ?!? Well..... Those Are Seeds That DECEIVE... !!! And Seed FOOLISH Beliefs... !!! Because It May Well Be CHEAP... But NOTHING Is Free That Society Feeds... !!! While ME What I Seed Are Poetic Themes... That Create CALM And PEACE... ... DEEP Inside Who I Be... !!! Therapeutic GOOD Seeds... Are What I Now Receive... !!! That Help Me To EASE... The Anger That Breathes... Right Next To My Chi... !!! Due To STRONG Energies... That Have Built ARTISTRY... That Allows Me To SEE.................. How My Mentality Has SEEDED Beliefs... That Are FAR And AWAY... From The Seeds We Now See... That DON’T Seem So Strong... Now We See So MUCH WRONG... !!! Because of BAD DEEDS... By Planters Who Scheme... ... And Create POLICIES... To STOP Human Beings... From Being... ONE Team... !!! Well I’m NOT ONE To Dream... But STILL Keep On Seeding... !!! Verse And... Poetry... !!! That Maybe Just Maybe... Could Help Humans See... The Things That We NEED... To Create... UNITY... !!! By... Artistically Speaking... On How Humans Now Be... And Constantly TWEAKING... My... Poetic Themes... That Have Built LIBRARIES... !!! Due To My..... ..... “ Planting Seeds “.....

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Jan 16, 2021

Jan 16, 2021 at 7:14 PM UTC

“Planting Seeds" ... A Poem written By Big Virge 11/8/2020

Now I’m JUST Planting Seeds... Through Verse And Poetry... That I Now Use To Speak... On Yes... REALITY... !!! So Of Course My Verse Deals... With DIFFERENT Beliefs... Like JUSTICE, PEACE And EQUALITY... !!!!! Because Humans Do Seem... To Embrace... STRANGE IDEALS... ?!? As To What People Need... To Breed REAL UNITY... ?!? Cos’ The Powers That Be... !!! Who RULE Societies... Have Been Planting BAD SEEDS... That Have Bred... LEGACIES... !!!!! Like Those That We've Seen... In... TWENTY TWENTY... !!! This CORONA DISEASE... !!! SHATTERED Economies... !!! Protesters On Streets... Due To Racist Police... !!! Leaders And... MP’s... Presidents And The Chiefs... of... BIG INDUSTRY... !!! Have Been Planting Seeds... That Indeed CLEARLY Feed... Off CORRUPTION And GREED... !!! Now It Can’t Just Be Me... ?!? Who Sees What We ALL SEE... In Today’s News Stories... !?! Like... REDUNDANCIES... Seeds of VIOLENT Scenes... That Now DISTURB The Peace... !!! And How TECHNOLOGIES... Have Created A Breed... Who SEED Internet Feeds... To Now Download Movies... !!! That Some People... CLAIM... They’re Now Getting For FREE... ?!? Well..... Those Are Seeds That DECEIVE... !!! And Seed FOOLISH Beliefs... !!! Because It May Well Be CHEAP... But NOTHING Is Free That Society Feeds... !!! While ME What I Seed Are Poetic Themes... That Create CALM And PEACE... ... DEEP Inside Who I Be... !!! Therapeutic GOOD Seeds... Are What I Now Receive... !!! That Help Me To EASE... The Anger That Breathes... Right Next To My Chi... !!! Due To STRONG Energies... That Have Built ARTISTRY... That Allows Me To SEE.................. How My Mentality Has SEEDED Beliefs... That Are FAR And AWAY... From The Seeds We Now See... That DON’T Seem So Strong... Now We See So MUCH WRONG... !!! Because of BAD DEEDS... By Planters Who Scheme... ... And Create POLICIES... To STOP Human Beings... From Being... ONE Team... !!! Well I’m NOT ONE To Dream... But STILL Keep On Seeding... !!! Verse And... Poetry... !!! That Maybe Just Maybe... Could Help Humans See... The Things That We NEED... To Create... UNITY... !!! By... Artistically Speaking... On How Humans Now Be... And Constantly TWEAKING... My... Poetic Themes... That Have Built LIBRARIES... !!! Due To My..... ..... “ Planting Seeds “.....

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It seems to have spontaneously combusted, but it didn’t. The disease struck long ago, brewed in the petri dish of Depression, WWII, and convergent technologies. Well before that, really, but that was the point of critical mass. By the 1950's, it was an epidemic. The independent Republic of individuals, small towns, coherent communities, distinct cities, local diners, shops and stores tied together with two lane blacktop was crumbling. Things only got worse faster. It was a disease of toxic, lulling dreams. American Dreams. And standardization was its crushing foot that flattened everything and left a homogenized wasteland in its trail. The old gods vanished and the new became despots. Go anywhere in America, Boston or Biloxi. You can’t tell where you are. Most shop at the same stores (real or virtual), eat at the same chain restaurants, wear the same clothes, gulp from the same Internet, swallow similar information, and think (within acceptable variations) the same thoughts. Even sin has become tediously consubstantial. Knowledge has been supplanted by content. Words are squeezed of meaning. Everyone is an expert and no one knows anything. Except Siri and Alexa. The Dreamtime of consumerism, consumption and conformity dominates. All that remains to come is the dominion of AI. Then we will all be watched over by machines of loving grace, free to graze in bovine bliss in the cybernetic meadows of bland utopia.

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Mar 3, 2017

Mar 3, 2017 at 6:54 AM UTC

American Dreamtime: A Scrambled Memoir Of Poetic Future History

It seems to have spontaneously combusted, but it didn’t. The disease struck long ago, brewed in the petri dish of Depression, WWII, and convergent technologies. Well before that, really, but that was the point of critical mass. By the 1950's, it was an epidemic. The independent Republic of individuals, small towns, coherent communities, distinct cities, local diners, shops and stores tied together with two lane blacktop was crumbling. Things only got worse faster. It was a disease of toxic, lulling dreams. American Dreams. And standardization was its crushing foot that flattened everything and left a homogenized wasteland in its trail. The old gods vanished and the new became despots. Go anywhere in America, Boston or Biloxi. You can’t tell where you are. Most shop at the same stores (real or virtual), eat at the same chain restaurants, wear the same clothes, gulp from the same Internet, swallow similar information, and think (within acceptable variations) the same thoughts. Even sin has become tediously consubstantial. Knowledge has been supplanted by content. Words are squeezed of meaning. Everyone is an expert and no one knows anything. Except Siri and Alexa. The Dreamtime of consumerism, consumption and conformity dominates. All that remains to come is the dominion of AI. Then we will all be watched over by machines of loving grace, free to graze in bovine bliss in the cybernetic meadows of bland utopia.

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I'm not afraid to say that I am not afraid, but I think we're lost and it's unsettling. And I'm not afraid to say I love you to my friends, and that we like drugs. If I don't find a perfect job and buy a perfect house will I meet the standards? We'll I'm not afraid of being poor and hungry. I'm afraid of being Fake, and filled with Hate. And I'm not afraid to say I'm sick of *** and the way it makes me think. Because the worst war is in my head And the first step would be keeping to myself But the worst part is in my bed. when I get anxious I can't sleep.. So can we go and waste some time I'm not afraid of being put down I like the way I live and the way I dress. And I'm not ashamed I spent those checks on gas and whiskey and cigarettes. If don't purchase trendy clothes and I don't bother lifting Am I still a man? Well, I'm not afraid to say that superficial people make me sick. I want no part of it. And I'm not apposed to hearing things you have to say but I get mad. Because the worst war is in my head I'm not afraid to say that I am not afraid but I'm ******* Scared. Because all our time is spent with technologies instead of Love, and Loving life. I'm not afraid to help you see, but I wouldn't Know. Because if I say we're slaves to phones and Facebook, I know that you'll go home, and you'll waste your time on it.

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Nov 13, 2014

Nov 13, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC

the worst war is in my head

I'm not afraid to say that I am not afraid, but I think we're lost and it's unsettling. And I'm not afraid to say I love you to my friends, and that we like drugs. If I don't find a perfect job and buy a perfect house will I meet the standards? We'll I'm not afraid of being poor and hungry. I'm afraid of being Fake, and filled with Hate. And I'm not afraid to say I'm sick of *** and the way it makes me think. Because the worst war is in my head And the first step would be keeping to myself But the worst part is in my bed. when I get anxious I can't sleep.. So can we go and waste some time I'm not afraid of being put down I like the way I live and the way I dress. And I'm not ashamed I spent those checks on gas and whiskey and cigarettes. If don't purchase trendy clothes and I don't bother lifting Am I still a man? Well, I'm not afraid to say that superficial people make me sick. I want no part of it. And I'm not apposed to hearing things you have to say but I get mad. Because the worst war is in my head I'm not afraid to say that I am not afraid but I'm ******* Scared. Because all our time is spent with technologies instead of Love, and Loving life. I'm not afraid to help you see, but I wouldn't Know. Because if I say we're slaves to phones and Facebook, I know that you'll go home, and you'll waste your time on it.

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Musk. Wind whispers mysteries in the form of it; it thickens thin air until it turns black, black enough to hush. Wind, being black, absorbs your thoughts, makes violent curls of them; thickens, thickens thin air until it transmogrifies into pages and pages stained black with disaster- as if a hurricane crumpled those could-have been white aeroplanes, potential papered to fly, and flung them into the pit of your mind to sink deeper and deeper and deeper until your poems were written and the casualties numbered: each line a suicide of a thought that could have been, each syllable ink-stained and bloodied black by artistic integrity, or madness: the same. This wind is your hair. This wind is your territory. Not mine. Never could I have met you here, in this place of your solitary being: where real poets exist. I am not a hurricane: and I am not your disaster. I have learnt and re-learnt how useless it is to define you in terms of myself; how useless it is to define you at all. A rationalist like me can never truly understand what it is to be part of your endlessness, the sheer mountainous immensity that constitutes your thrill. Yes, your hair fascinates me as much as any ancient, spiralling, far-away Andromeda- but the fact that even now, I've already tried to limit you with words shows the absoluteness, the solidity, the density of my misunderstanding of your... your... And real poets know that rationalists are fools. You know I am a fool. I write these meagre verses with unreachably cold computer technologies thinking that these words could somehow save us. Yet, simultaneously, I am some drunken nuisance knocking vehemently at your door, who turns and strolls away right before you finally answer. I am a fool going home and seeing clouds in the darkness. It is my first time seeing them in the sky. First time in nearly a month. The moon illuminates the clouds, and so do the towers of highway lights in the middle of two roads. One road leads forward, the other backwards. As the car passes the towers, the two lamps attached to each of their heads glow. They streak on as the car speeds on homewards. They leave fading tails like shooting stars, except they do not travel. They are stagnant mind lights, peripheral memories; unmythical, artificial. They are not like you. When I pass you, You.... You... You. Please, never believe- for even a whisper of musk to yourself; for even a black hush, to yourself; for even one sliver, one strand of Andromeda hair, falling towards yourself- that Grahamstown didn't mean anything less than Eternity to me. It does. I am not a hurricane. I am not your disaster. You are far too much of yourself for me to be even a zephyr to you.

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Jul 29, 2015

Jul 29, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC

Grahamstown Wind.

Musk. Wind whispers mysteries in the form of it; it thickens thin air until it turns black, black enough to hush. Wind, being black, absorbs your thoughts, makes violent curls of them; thickens, thickens thin air until it transmogrifies into pages and pages stained black with disaster- as if a hurricane crumpled those could-have been white aeroplanes, potential papered to fly, and flung them into the pit of your mind to sink deeper and deeper and deeper until your poems were written and the casualties numbered: each line a suicide of a thought that could have been, each syllable ink-stained and bloodied black by artistic integrity, or madness: the same. This wind is your hair. This wind is your territory. Not mine. Never could I have met you here, in this place of your solitary being: where real poets exist. I am not a hurricane: and I am not your disaster. I have learnt and re-learnt how useless it is to define you in terms of myself; how useless it is to define you at all. A rationalist like me can never truly understand what it is to be part of your endlessness, the sheer mountainous immensity that constitutes your thrill. Yes, your hair fascinates me as much as any ancient, spiralling, far-away Andromeda- but the fact that even now, I've already tried to limit you with words shows the absoluteness, the solidity, the density of my misunderstanding of your... your... And real poets know that rationalists are fools. You know I am a fool. I write these meagre verses with unreachably cold computer technologies thinking that these words could somehow save us. Yet, simultaneously, I am some drunken nuisance knocking vehemently at your door, who turns and strolls away right before you finally answer. I am a fool going home and seeing clouds in the darkness. It is my first time seeing them in the sky. First time in nearly a month. The moon illuminates the clouds, and so do the towers of highway lights in the middle of two roads. One road leads forward, the other backwards. As the car passes the towers, the two lamps attached to each of their heads glow. They streak on as the car speeds on homewards. They leave fading tails like shooting stars, except they do not travel. They are stagnant mind lights, peripheral memories; unmythical, artificial. They are not like you. When I pass you, You.... You... You. Please, never believe- for even a whisper of musk to yourself; for even a black hush, to yourself; for even one sliver, one strand of Andromeda hair, falling towards yourself- that Grahamstown didn't mean anything less than Eternity to me. It does. I am not a hurricane. I am not your disaster. You are far too much of yourself for me to be even a zephyr to you.

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The governments of the world have united, acting upfront but they’ve really gone underground, implementing a behind-the-scenes scheme to defraud the global-people of their money & sovereignty. While we battle semantics, terrorist & drugs, it’s business as usual for the real thugs, who keep filling our pockets with gizmos like I-Pods & I-Pads & tablets, modern technologies making our life’s simpler, draining us of our hearts & souls, forcing us to write about what’s missing in this universe of abundance, stolen by the greed-mongers. I love you kindred spirits, because you understand these reasons for such emptiness, this destruction of sacred spirit. While others talk about it & do nothing, you bleed your hearts & write about it, trying to save a smidgeon of humanity gone sterile. You are more true than any government on Earth, you are a secret society of scribblers, telling the truth.

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Jan 27, 2014

Jan 27, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC

The Secret Society of Scribblers

The governments of the world have united, acting upfront but they’ve really gone underground, implementing a behind-the-scenes scheme to defraud the global-people of their money & sovereignty. While we battle semantics, terrorist & drugs, it’s business as usual for the real thugs, who keep filling our pockets with gizmos like I-Pods & I-Pads & tablets, modern technologies making our life’s simpler, draining us of our hearts & souls, forcing us to write about what’s missing in this universe of abundance, stolen by the greed-mongers. I love you kindred spirits, because you understand these reasons for such emptiness, this destruction of sacred spirit. While others talk about it & do nothing, you bleed your hearts & write about it, trying to save a smidgeon of humanity gone sterile. You are more true than any government on Earth, you are a secret society of scribblers, telling the truth.

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"Woe is us of the 60s and 70s. Technology is ruining our lives. Millennials don't talk to eachother but to screens. Change is bad. Thomas Edison was a witch." Let us enjoy our commodities, Our youth, Our technologies, And our expression, As you do yours. Please.

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Mar 9, 2017

Mar 9, 2017 at 7:48 AM UTC

"Woe is us of the 60s and 70s. Technology is ruining our lives. Millennials don't talk to eachother but to screens. Change is bad. Thomas Edison was a witch." Let us enjoy our commodities, Our youth, Our technologies, And our expression, As you do yours. Please.

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Qualified Abstinence I’ve decided - though not wholly - As of morning’s bath - to put on hold The daily custom, habit’s viewing - NCIS, Dr Phil - suspecting as I do That they are doing me some harm Engaging, charming as they are. Mind as thought and mind as stomach, Turn to worry, churn with fear As states of things in world and home, Play out the clearer, Signs maturing in their chaos, Ever growing, ever baiting; Making brilliant, analytical dear Phil Ever more mouth-watering. Well-loved NCIS plays its part, Portraying nations torn apart With ever cleverer technologies And cleverer–type baddies Getting ‘theirs’ from even smarter good guys. If then, strong enough to not back off, The morning TV staying off, Then maybe, only maybe This old belly Can restore its tranquil peristalsis, Family squabbles turning babble to a kiss. Phil, dear Phil, continue to be wise and kind! NCIS’ cast: brave, cuddly and seasoned - Flag unfurled, continue to engage yourselves In world salvation! Stationing my thoughts in action, I must leave you both To carry myself into truth As cellular Arlene conceives, perceives, Inherently achieves it. (If, of course, l don’t fall back into the - (crude, ill-mannered rude word) shit! Qualified Abstinence 7.20.2014 Pure Nakedness; Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Corwin arlene corwin poetry.com

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Jul 20, 2016

Jul 20, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC

Qualified Abstinence

Qualified Abstinence I’ve decided - though not wholly - As of morning’s bath - to put on hold The daily custom, habit’s viewing - NCIS, Dr Phil - suspecting as I do That they are doing me some harm Engaging, charming as they are. Mind as thought and mind as stomach, Turn to worry, churn with fear As states of things in world and home, Play out the clearer, Signs maturing in their chaos, Ever growing, ever baiting; Making brilliant, analytical dear Phil Ever more mouth-watering. Well-loved NCIS plays its part, Portraying nations torn apart With ever cleverer technologies And cleverer–type baddies Getting ‘theirs’ from even smarter good guys. If then, strong enough to not back off, The morning TV staying off, Then maybe, only maybe This old belly Can restore its tranquil peristalsis, Family squabbles turning babble to a kiss. Phil, dear Phil, continue to be wise and kind! NCIS’ cast: brave, cuddly and seasoned - Flag unfurled, continue to engage yourselves In world salvation! Stationing my thoughts in action, I must leave you both To carry myself into truth As cellular Arlene conceives, perceives, Inherently achieves it. (If, of course, l don’t fall back into the - (crude, ill-mannered rude word) shit! Qualified Abstinence 7.20.2014 Pure Nakedness; Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Corwin arlene corwin poetry.com

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As society developed so did greed As communities grew hate tagged along As technologies developed descrimination and warefare took charge Is that human nature? To discriminate to want to steal to take Is that genetic? NO! history is no excuse thousands of years may change Hatred is not tradition Warefare is not a way of life and anyone who says other wise Has their head in the same place as ancient civilizations We are human and humans evolve so why do we think the same as we did THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO? Change this way of life Change the world,

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Sep 10, 2014

Sep 10, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC

devin-blazejowski

society developed did we?

As society developed so did greed As communities grew hate tagged along As technologies developed descrimination and warefare took charge Is that human nature? To discriminate to want to steal to take Is that genetic? NO! history is no excuse thousands of years may change Hatred is not tradition Warefare is not a way of life and anyone who says other wise Has their head in the same place as ancient civilizations We are human and humans evolve so why do we think the same as we did THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO? Change this way of life Change the world,

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President of the Republic of Germany's Presidential Security Council President 150 (1973) (5) President. This operation and her long legs in the stomach of horses. This is very clear, especially in Latin America, Europe, Russia and Spain, and in Canada, the prostitutes and dogs are essential for Mexico. 1, What are you doing? According to Adam Clark, women in the São Samar and all the Yogis are women, women and children in Africa, Asia and South America, Germany and England, Gilbert and George. In the United States, Russia is good. Americans want to live in Canada, and Great Britain. About two thirds of Catholics in San Francisco, China, Russia, South Korea, and the USA. Then I'll enter the dogs. Type of songs not written 1. Latin American products in Latin America. Spain, Wales, bull by Alice. From the foundation of the world, he was born in the largest area of the world to study and study John's leaders. I said. Out of control. There is no competition. France, on the second day. In addition to the prostitutes and the elderly Muslims, in the windows they are given comfort in adultery. Many companies in Jamaica can express their feelings to Guinea. These are green geese. His mother Mattie. So Georgia. (5) It is important to add the 1292 standard modes in the message, and a TV show is found. Asian countries in the Americas and Africa, African and Latin American prostitutes, from Germany, Yugoslavia, Denmark, prostitutes and more prostitutes. Vegetables. In a comedy, Oustiin's family are prostitutes and prostitutes; Within 150 hours in the city, United Nations Security Council (5), 1973 (1973), Executive Director (5). The information is contained in the robot robot center. Open the next part of the tree. I also said in Pittsburgh: "You are not listening to me, as a ********** 1, a maid and a horse." This list is incomplete. In the United States, Europe, Russia, Spain, Canada and European slums, old and advanced technologies. The items returned to the Swiss Express Pond were from the port. Of course, like a dog and others. Prison or Russian court? There are many benefits to Giza the Robot and Sarah Barrow in the Middle Valley 2 to 2, 2. In the Middle East, there are many benefits for the team and many others. The fish in the grass. There are waters in Latin America, West Africa, Asia, the Congo, England, Germany, and Assisi, which are collected on the moon along with different cultures of different breeds.

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Nov 27, 2018

Nov 27, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC

"a ********** 1, a maid and a horse"

President of the Republic of Germany's Presidential Security Council President 150 (1973) (5) President. This operation and her long legs in the stomach of horses. This is very clear, especially in Latin America, Europe, Russia and Spain, and in Canada, the prostitutes and dogs are essential for Mexico. 1, What are you doing? According to Adam Clark, women in the São Samar and all the Yogis are women, women and children in Africa, Asia and South America, Germany and England, Gilbert and George. In the United States, Russia is good. Americans want to live in Canada, and Great Britain. About two thirds of Catholics in San Francisco, China, Russia, South Korea, and the USA. Then I'll enter the dogs. Type of songs not written 1. Latin American products in Latin America. Spain, Wales, bull by Alice. From the foundation of the world, he was born in the largest area of the world to study and study John's leaders. I said. Out of control. There is no competition. France, on the second day. In addition to the prostitutes and the elderly Muslims, in the windows they are given comfort in adultery. Many companies in Jamaica can express their feelings to Guinea. These are green geese. His mother Mattie. So Georgia. (5) It is important to add the 1292 standard modes in the message, and a TV show is found. Asian countries in the Americas and Africa, African and Latin American prostitutes, from Germany, Yugoslavia, Denmark, prostitutes and more prostitutes. Vegetables. In a comedy, Oustiin's family are prostitutes and prostitutes; Within 150 hours in the city, United Nations Security Council (5), 1973 (1973), Executive Director (5). The information is contained in the robot robot center. Open the next part of the tree. I also said in Pittsburgh: "You are not listening to me, as a ********** 1, a maid and a horse." This list is incomplete. In the United States, Europe, Russia, Spain, Canada and European slums, old and advanced technologies. The items returned to the Swiss Express Pond were from the port. Of course, like a dog and others. Prison or Russian court? There are many benefits to Giza the Robot and Sarah Barrow in the Middle Valley 2 to 2, 2. In the Middle East, there are many benefits for the team and many others. The fish in the grass. There are waters in Latin America, West Africa, Asia, the Congo, England, Germany, and Assisi, which are collected on the moon along with different cultures of different breeds.

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My mind races endlessly, especially in the wee hours of the morn, when all is quiet, when I lie alone in my bedroom, contemplating. Like clockwork, my eyes pop wide open & I visualize sacred sensual pleasures of her lying in sweet repose, & me a mouthful of her pretty flower curling her toes, bathed in a flood of her raw-emotion. Lord knows, I'm in love with modern technologies & make no apologies for the penning of such passions between her and I.

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Feb 21, 2014

Feb 21, 2014 at 4:09 AM UTC

The Penning of Such Passions (I'm in Love With Modern Technologies)

My mind races endlessly, especially in the wee hours of the morn, when all is quiet, when I lie alone in my bedroom, contemplating. Like clockwork, my eyes pop wide open & I visualize sacred sensual pleasures of her lying in sweet repose, & me a mouthful of her pretty flower curling her toes, bathed in a flood of her raw-emotion. Lord knows, I'm in love with modern technologies & make no apologies for the penning of such passions between her and I.

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Nothing. I am in a cold, desolate life of night. A lonely wind blows, battering the futile torch that lights my sight into the unknown. I am choked by fear of the gloom that blocks my way, the blackness that stalks my steps. I stumble about in this deathly, forbidding forest of regret, this myriad maze of my wandering. I am so far from home… how long can I go on deprived of a way to the other side? No gathering years of learning, no illuminated books of wisdom, nor the knowledge that drives the advancements of our time could ever prepare me for this journey. Gold has no purchase here – you cannot barter for the substance absent in this place of isolation. The hunger that gnaws inside goes on and will not cease. Human touch, kindness, community and friendship flees from my presence. Time haunts my heart. Nothing matters. All our plans, all of our achievements accumulate on the shelf, like trophies wasting space. Many spend life chasing wealth and seeking power, so concerned with status and their own tastes. Pleasure flows freely for the physically flawless while praise rings riot from a ravaged, ruined race. The greatness of our cities and our technologies, the skill of our artists, the discoveries of science, the shock and awe of empire, and the vain belief in human perfection or of a superior God or Church to crush all others… all our striving for earthly gain is meaningless. That path is less than nothing. All this pales in comparison to the power of that One Word. That one word, transfigured within that triune expression that connects us at the heart of it all: “I LOVE YOU” In a world that is splitting apart at the seams, our lives unhinged with war-bred turbulence of struggle and destruction; all around us… all our lives – the point of all that is – boils down to that one word. And I just want to say, I love you. I love you so much! I hope I am not too late. Nothing else matters. Nothing else. Nothing.

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Aug 27, 2017

Aug 27, 2017 at 5:01 PM UTC

Nothing. I am in a cold, desolate life of night. A lonely wind blows, battering the futile torch that lights my sight into the unknown. I am choked by fear of the gloom that blocks my way, the blackness that stalks my steps. I stumble about in this deathly, forbidding forest of regret, this myriad maze of my wandering. I am so far from home… how long can I go on deprived of a way to the other side? No gathering years of learning, no illuminated books of wisdom, nor the knowledge that drives the advancements of our time could ever prepare me for this journey. Gold has no purchase here – you cannot barter for the substance absent in this place of isolation. The hunger that gnaws inside goes on and will not cease. Human touch, kindness, community and friendship flees from my presence. Time haunts my heart. Nothing matters. All our plans, all of our achievements accumulate on the shelf, like trophies wasting space. Many spend life chasing wealth and seeking power, so concerned with status and their own tastes. Pleasure flows freely for the physically flawless while praise rings riot from a ravaged, ruined race. The greatness of our cities and our technologies, the skill of our artists, the discoveries of science, the shock and awe of empire, and the vain belief in human perfection or of a superior God or Church to crush all others… all our striving for earthly gain is meaningless. That path is less than nothing. All this pales in comparison to the power of that One Word. That one word, transfigured within that triune expression that connects us at the heart of it all: “I LOVE YOU” In a world that is splitting apart at the seams, our lives unhinged with war-bred turbulence of struggle and destruction; all around us… all our lives – the point of all that is – boils down to that one word. And I just want to say, I love you. I love you so much! I hope I am not too late. Nothing else matters. Nothing else. Nothing.

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Caught inbetween.. fires rage, waiting for lightening, hoping for rain.. We dance up a storm. Little feet, medium feet, 2 feet 4 feet, one big foot! We howl with the wolves.. helicopters fly overhead, primordial forces, sophistcated technologies - centered by water. Mother nature commands the earth and sky.. We are ants in the aftermath

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Oct 21, 2013

Oct 21, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC

Caught inbetween

Caught inbetween.. fires rage, waiting for lightening, hoping for rain.. We dance up a storm. Little feet, medium feet, 2 feet 4 feet, one big foot! We howl with the wolves.. helicopters fly overhead, primordial forces, sophistcated technologies - centered by water. Mother nature commands the earth and sky.. We are ants in the aftermath

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WE need to come to terms.... war is an occupation of neanderthals the love of oil and flame afoul residue hiding the crimes burying the victims remorse the oceans depth squandered the forest shrinking the oxygen 40% of each breath the rest the 1% pollution the eminent camouflage of male genitalia the middle class you have maligned the human race set male fashion holding the weapons to our head Our bodys soar the living of life yet you have grounded us to the life of a caveman not a human ..... You makers of government that have concealed democracy within your paychecks big smiles developing the 1% riches wealth in Senate and House of Representative to ensure the millennium of status quo for you 1% Earth the planet reaction will **** you your crimes of treason not be hidden here WE the people slaughtered with in the crimes the ****** the 1% henchmen ruling feudalistic regime waging war against the beloved humanity open borders to weaken democracy stifle education allow cheap labor cave men the Evangelical consortium world wide man made 6th extinction of Earth under way WHO will ride out the apostolic 2100 century all humanity's taxes to rule the Earth with weapons no survivors to further education humanity a forgotten dream the 1% the survivor using out dated technologies to keep the profits will the people rise again to defend my voice above the **** of mind tell me Earth people how do we survive to stop the making of weapons the pumping of fossil fuels tell me Earth people how do we survive the false god of christianity the muslim devil Earth is a paradise of living star dust creation WE live in the womb of mother earth breath thru your nose draw in a full breath relax fill your body with oxygen breath with me in and out relax let the truth lead you to where you go next....gjmars 6/22/15

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Jun 22, 2015

Jun 22, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC

the 1% neanderthal winnings

WE need to come to terms.... war is an occupation of neanderthals the love of oil and flame afoul residue hiding the crimes burying the victims remorse the oceans depth squandered the forest shrinking the oxygen 40% of each breath the rest the 1% pollution the eminent camouflage of male genitalia the middle class you have maligned the human race set male fashion holding the weapons to our head Our bodys soar the living of life yet you have grounded us to the life of a caveman not a human ..... You makers of government that have concealed democracy within your paychecks big smiles developing the 1% riches wealth in Senate and House of Representative to ensure the millennium of status quo for you 1% Earth the planet reaction will **** you your crimes of treason not be hidden here WE the people slaughtered with in the crimes the ****** the 1% henchmen ruling feudalistic regime waging war against the beloved humanity open borders to weaken democracy stifle education allow cheap labor cave men the Evangelical consortium world wide man made 6th extinction of Earth under way WHO will ride out the apostolic 2100 century all humanity's taxes to rule the Earth with weapons no survivors to further education humanity a forgotten dream the 1% the survivor using out dated technologies to keep the profits will the people rise again to defend my voice above the **** of mind tell me Earth people how do we survive to stop the making of weapons the pumping of fossil fuels tell me Earth people how do we survive the false god of christianity the muslim devil Earth is a paradise of living star dust creation WE live in the womb of mother earth breath thru your nose draw in a full breath relax fill your body with oxygen breath with me in and out relax let the truth lead you to where you go next....gjmars 6/22/15

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Scattered things like lost souls Scream their futility. Trinkets and trash charged with endless possibilities. Illusions of how life could be better so, I collect scraps of waste masked as human invention New technologies, toys, and other luxuries Drive that dark spear of desire deeper into my being. Want is a sickness, a fever that cycles on and off. I have I want, I want I need, I need I get. I get I have, I have I want, I want I need A scary situation and in its pursuit I place myself in painful positions Paying with large chunks of my life. I get more and as it become easier. My urges get stronger and stranger, Joy becomes that much harder to find. Get it get it get it get it get it Buy buy buy buy buy buy Till the pile stacks up so high That I live and die inside The world of crap I bought. Once I start it is hard to stop And I become the sole possessor Of this sick collectors disposition.

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Jan 30, 2017

Jan 30, 2017 at 7:00 PM UTC

The Disease Of Want

Scattered things like lost souls Scream their futility. Trinkets and trash charged with endless possibilities. Illusions of how life could be better so, I collect scraps of waste masked as human invention New technologies, toys, and other luxuries Drive that dark spear of desire deeper into my being. Want is a sickness, a fever that cycles on and off. I have I want, I want I need, I need I get. I get I have, I have I want, I want I need A scary situation and in its pursuit I place myself in painful positions Paying with large chunks of my life. I get more and as it become easier. My urges get stronger and stranger, Joy becomes that much harder to find. Get it get it get it get it get it Buy buy buy buy buy buy Till the pile stacks up so high That I live and die inside The world of crap I bought. Once I start it is hard to stop And I become the sole possessor Of this sick collectors disposition.

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