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Michael Marchese Jul 2018
The all seeing iris imperial city
The swiftest of stylus this side of the ‘sippi
The trippiest spittin’ Promethean hippy
Conspiracy theorist of eeriest verse
The despotic hypnotic black flag bearin’ Hearst
Still immersing myself in a poverty trap
As I grapple with lack of fact check cashing crap
Cryogenically frozen emotion vibes flowin’
From out my funk bunker boombox
Overthrowin’
Your global dominion opinion with ease
Shootin’ breezes with Tirailleurs Senegalese
I’m the kid wicked picket sign paintin’ Tom Sawyer
The ill eagle Taino privilege enjoyer
Still swoopin’ in mean on each **** I make clean
Pick the bones dry of serpentine oil green dreams
Then I bury what’s left of your money machines
With the pharaohs of old’s latest pyramid schemes
Moon Humor Apr 2015
~Many people rely on the convenient, easy ways of living in this age of fast food, plastic packaging and rapid development. Most people do not care to see why they live the way they do or what it takes to live in such a way. Toxic pollutants leaching into our earth and water should not be worth the convenience! Third world women working in dusty, cramped factories to make designer purses for fifteen year old girls. Garbage is America’s biggest export and it ends up in China, on the coast of Somalia... anywhere that American citizens won’t be bothered to see it.

~What does it mean to buy a pack of plastic razors? Some metal, some chemicals, some plastic, more plastic for packaging. Use a razor a few times and toss it in the garbage. Somewhere, maybe at La Chureca, someone will pull the rusted metal and plastic from the landfill. They might make one US dollar per day collecting scraps of aluminum, glass, plastic and other scrap metals. What does it mean to wear deodorant? The plastic stick isn’t reusable. The ingredients are highly toxic. Aluminum-based antiperspirants have been linked to Alzheimer's and cancer. Soap comes in plastic bottles, coffee makers made of plastic, water bottles made of plastic… hell, my plastic shower curtain came wrapped in plastic packaging.

~Americans are lucky. Indoor plumbing with quality water. Green lawns and exotic flower beds. Buy and use, throw away and repeat. Big corporations pay off politicians to pollute. Industrial waste, land erosion, low air quality, pesticides. Why are we so quick to trust an artificial sweetener being promoted by a company that makes poison? They call you a hippy, a conspiracy theorist. They tell you that you only live once and to stop being so worried about it all. I ask them, how can you look away? Deforestation and destruction are all around. Those that profit are not concerned with what happens to the land after the loggers and miners have left the ground scarred and desolate.

~Modern living is a hoax. Yeah, you get around quick in your car but at what cost? Carbon dioxide, greenhouse gasses choking us and everything alive that lives with us and cannot speak. Can’t you walk to the corner store? Can’t you grow a few things in the garden or in the windowsill? When was the last time you saw a sunset and didn’t take a picture of it? Dairy cows packed together so tight they can’t turn around for your glass of milk. The disconnect is everywhere. Overpopulation. Overconsumption. People don’t care.

~They can choose. They can choose paper over plastic. They can buy a water filter instead of 20 plastic bottles. They can bike to work. Anyone can lessen their impact, anyone can think more deeply and live more sustainably. But we’ve made it so easy to be lazy. We’ve become so dependent that we’re forgetting to use technological gains to make the way we do things better. We’ve come so far that we’re forgetting what brought us here.

~

‘We are slaves in the sense that we depend for our daily survival upon an expand-or-expire agro-industrial empire – a crackpot machine – that the specialists cannot comprehend and the managers cannot manage. Which is, furthermore, devouring world resources at an exponential rate.’ Edward Abbey

‘In the developing world, the problem of population is seen less as a matter of human numbers than of western overconsumption. Yet within the development community, the only solution to the problems of the developing world is to export the same unsustainable economic model fuelling the overconsumption of the West.’ Kavita Ramdas

‘Water and air, the two essential fluids on which all life depends, have become global garbage cans.’ Jacques-Yves Cousteau

‘Globalisation, which attempts to amalgamate every local, regional, and national economy into a single world system, requires homogenising locally adapted forms of agriculture, replacing them with an industrial system – centrally managed, pesticide-intensive, one-crop production for export – designed to deliver a narrow range of transportable foods to the world market.’Helena Norberg-Hodge

‘Throughout history human exploitation of the earth has produced this progression: colonise-destroy-move on.’ Garrett Hardin
Quotes from: theguardian.com
Tawanda Mulalu Sep 2014
Just as how a little stick-man could not perceive the pencil that drew him
I could have never seen God and didn't see him when he had molded me
from His depths of clay, profound as a rock- that is to say still, solid,
silent, cold, old, disquieting... All fancy words for 'not much.'

Here's the point: there isn't any, but
just as how this little stick-man cannot perceive this pencil that draws him
closer and closer to the last panel of his, this, comic or graphic novel:
beings of smaller dimensions know nothing
of those so much higher, smarter, and more poetic than themselves.

Does this have to do with why you disappeared onto an airplane
like a bird searching for her freedom...?
Am I, in this mess of metaphors, your little stick-man who couldn't
get out of his paper sheet and fly with you...?
Of course, in existing on a dried white flap, I could not, cannot, fold
my own two dimensions of existence into even one crumpled paper plane;
so I could not, cannot, follow you through your freeing air
and ask you, or beg you, to answer my silly questions...

Because I have both length and width, but no depth;
no depths of clay.

Though I figure the answers to these questions are the same.
The truth is that, in this mess of metaphors,
neither of us got to pick what we didn't want to be, bird or stick-man.
In reality we had only one choice: to hold hands when we could.
So we did.

And when we did- everything became dimensionless;
and Everything made sense because Nothing did.
Because the value of the distance between our hands
meant that Nothing was our Everything.
And from that dense Nothing our Universe was born-
Bang. Thus tiny strings of new Everything rippled throughout old Nothing...
making Everything matter, almost literally.
We then made our stars, our galaxies, our planets; our classrooms,
lockers, and lovers: each other. All of this brilliant Creation until
we only had one last choice: to hold hands when we could...
...so we did...

... again and again,
in the distant dreams of a troubled theorist
who chains together pages and birds of poetry,
looking to find you, again and again,
in the mess of metaphors
of our Universe,

and I did.

                    Almost.
Another midnight poetry session punctuated with more physics metaphors.

www.lifeinthethirdperson.blogspot.com
Travis Garcelon Nov 2010
“I’m not the conspiracy theorist, you’re the conspiracy theorist. You're the one who believes that 19 islamic terrorists with box-cutters conspired with a bearded man in a cave then bypassed a multi-billion dollar security system to knock down 3 buildings with 2 airplanes. You’re the one who believes that buildings can come down in perfect free-fall and pancake form at free fall speed. I'm not the nutty conspiracy theorist, you are!”
Brian Miller Oct 2011
I'm a democrat and republicans want this war to continue. People needs to wake up!

I'm a republican and democrats want to keep spending despite our failing economy. People needs to wake up!

I'm a Christian and Jesus will be coming soon. The Non-Christians and non-religious need to wake up!

I'm a  radical Muslim and the west is going to take over. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm a atheist and the religious radicals are trying to take over the country. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm a bigot and gays, Jews and blacks are taking over. People need to wake up!

I'm an optimist and the world will recover. Pessimists need to wake up!

I'm a pessimists and the world is messed up. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm a teacher and school is necessary for society to function. Kids need to wake up!

I'm a vegan, because eating of and torturing of animals is inhumane. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm not a vegan because animals are needed for our survival. Vegans need to wake up!

I'm anti-school and school is a prison. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm a racist and other races will take over. My people need to wake up!

I'm an anarchist and the government is robbing us of our rights. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm pro-government and society needs order. Anarchists need to wake up!

I'm an environmentalist and we are harming the planet. Mankind needs to wake up!

I'm anti-environmentalism and the earth is fine. Environmentalists needs to wake up!

People, wake up!! I'm a 9/11 truther and 9/11 was created by the government.

I'm against truthers and 9/11 was caused by terrorists. Truthers need to wake up!

I'm a conspiracy theorist and the government is hiding things from us. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm against animal testing because its unethical. People need to wake up!

I'm for animal testing because we need to make sure our inventions work. Everyone needs to wake  up!

I'm a sexist and the opposite gender is taking over. My gender needs to wake up!

I'm a creationist and evolution is a lie. Everyone needs to wake up!!

I'm a scientist and creationism is a lie. Creationists need to wake up!

I'm anti-capitalism because it robs people of  their money. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm pro-capitalism because most wealthy nations are capitalists. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm pro-death penalty because some people need to die. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm anti-death penalty because criminals are people too. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm a militant and everyone is an enemy. We need to wake up!!

I'm against war because war is ******. Everyone needs to wake up!!

I'm a climate change denier and global warming is a scam. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm a climatologist and global warming is real. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm pro-life and abortion is ******. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm pro-choice and its the woman's choice. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm anti-gun law and people are crazy. Everyone needs to wake up!

I'm pro-gun law and people are crazy with guns. Everyone needs to wake up!





Wake up, Its a brand new day.....
Michael R Burch Jan 2022
This is my modern English translation of Paul Valéry's poem “Le cimetière marin” (“The graveyard by the sea”). Valéry was buried in the seaside cemetery evoked in his best-known poem. From the vantage of the cemetery, the tombs seemed to “support” a sea-ceiling dotted with white sails. Valéry begins and ends his poem with this image ...

Excerpts from “Le cimetière marin” (“The graveyard by the sea”)
from Charmes ou poèmes (1922)
by Paul Valéry
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do not, O my soul, aspire to immortal life, but exhaust what is possible.
—Pindar, Pythian Ode 3

1.
This tranquil ceiling, where white doves are sailing,
stands propped between tall pines and foundational tombs,
as the noonday sun composes, with its flames,
sea-waves forever forming and reforming ...
O, what a boon, when some lapsed thought expires,
to reflect on the placid face of Eternity!

5.
As a pear dissolves in the act of being eaten,
transformed, through sudden absence, to delight
relinquishing its shape within our mouths,
even so, I breathe in vapors I’ll become,
as the sea rejoices and its shores enlarge,
fed by lost souls devoured; more are rumored.

6.
Beautiful sky, my true-blue sky, ’tis I
who alters! Pride and indolence possessed me,
yet, somehow, I possessed real potency ...
But now I yield to your ephemeral vapors
as my shadow steals through stations of the dead;
its delicate silhouette crook-*******, “Forward!”

8.
... My soul still awaits reports of its nothingness ...

9.
... What corpse compels me forward, to no end?
What empty skull commends these strange bone-heaps?
A star broods over everything I lost ...

10.
... Here where so much antique marble
shudders over so many shadows,
the faithful sea slumbers ...

11.
... Watchful dog ...
Keep far from these peaceful tombs
the prudent doves, all impossible dreams,
the angels’ curious eyes ...

12.
... The brittle insect scratches out existence ...
... Life is enlarged by its lust for absence ...
... The bitterness of death is sweet and the mind clarified.

13.
... The dead do well here, secured here in this earth ...
... I am what mutates secretly in you ...

14.
I alone can express your apprehensions!
My penitence, my doubts, my limitations,
are fatal flaws in your exquisite diamond ...
But here in their marble-encumbered infinite night
a formless people sleeping at the roots of trees
have slowly adopted your cause ...

15.
... Where, now, are the kindly words of the loving dead? ...
... Now grubs consume, where tears were once composed ...

16.
... Everything dies, returns to earth, gets recycled ...

17.
And what of you, great Soul, do you still dream
there’s something truer than these deceitful colors:
each flash of golden surf on eyes of flesh?
Will you still sing, when you’re as light as air?
Everything perishes and has no presence!
I am not immune; Divine Impatience dies!

18.
Emaciate consolation, Immortality,
grotesquely clothed in your black and gold habit,
transfiguring death into some Madonna’s breast,
your pious ruse and cultivated lie:
who does not know and who does not reject
your empty skull and pandemonic laughter?

24.
The wind is rising! ... We must yet strive to live!
The immense sky opens and closes my book!
Waves surge through shell-shocked rocks, reeking spray!
O, fly, fly away, my sun-bedazzled pages!
Break, breakers! Break joyfully as you threaten to shatter
this tranquil ceiling where white doves are sailing!

*

“Le vent se lève! . . . il faut tenter de vivre!
L'air immense ouvre et referme mon livre,
La vague en poudre ose jaillir des rocs!
Envolez-vous, pages tout éblouies!
Rompez, vagues! Rompez d'eaux réjouies
Ce toit tranquille où picoraient des focs!”



PAUL VALERY TRANSLATION: “SECRET ODE”

“Secret Ode” is a poem by the French poet Paul Valéry about collapsing after a vigorous dance, watching the sun set, and seeing the immensity of the night sky as the stars begin to appear.

Ode secrète (“Secret Ode”)
by Paul Valéry
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The fall so exquisite, the ending so soft,
the struggle’s abandonment so delightful:
depositing the glistening body
on a bed of moss, after the dance!

Who has ever seen such a glow
illuminate a triumph
as these sun-brightened beads
crowning a sweat-drenched forehead!

Here, touched by the dusk's last light,
this body that achieved so much
by dancing and outdoing Hercules
now mimics the drooping rose-clumps!

Sleep then, our all-conquering hero,
come so soon to this tragic end,
for now the many-headed Hydra
reveals its Infiniteness …

Behold what Bull, what Bear, what Hound,
what Visions of limitless Conquests
beyond the boundaries of Time
the soul imposes on formless Space!

This is the supreme end, this glittering Light
beyond the control of mere monsters and gods,
as it gloriously reveals
the matchless immensity of the heavens!

This is Paul Valery’s bio from the Academy of American Poets:

Paul Valéry
(1871–1945)

Poet, essayist, and thinker Paul Ambroise Valéry was born in the Mediterranean town of Séte, France, on October 30, 1871. He attended the lycée at Montpellier and studied law at the University of Montpellier. Valéry left school early to move to Paris and pursue a life as a poet. In Paris, he was a regular member of Stéphane Mallarmé's Tuesday evening salons. It was at this time that he began to publish poems in avant-garde journals.

In 1892, while visiting relatives in Genoa, Valéry underwent a stark personal transformation. During a violent thunderstorm, he determined that he must free himself "at no matter what cost, from those falsehoods: literature and sentiment." He devoted the next twenty years to studying mathematics, philosophy, and language. From 1892 until 1912, he wrote no poetry. He did begin, however, to keep his ideas and notes in a series of journals, which were published in twenty-nine volumes in 1945. He also wrote essays and the book "La Soirée avec M. *****" ("The Evening with Monsieur *****," 1896).

Valéry supported himself during this period first with a job in the War Department, and then as a secretary at the Havas newspaper agency. This job required him to work only a few hours per day, and he spent the rest of his time pursuing his own ideas. He married Jeannie Gobillard in 1900, and they had one son and one daughter. In 1912 Andre Gide persuaded Valéry to collect and revise his earlier poems. In 1917 Valéry published "La Jeune Parque" ("The Young Fate"), a dramatic monologue of over five-hundred lines, and in 1920 he published "Album de vers anciens," 1890-1920 ("Album of Old Verses"). His second collection of poetry, "Charmes" ("Charms") appeared in 1922. Despite tremendous critical and popular acclaim, Valéry again put aside writing poetry. In 1925 he was elected to the Académe Francaise. He spent the remaining twenty years of his life on frequent lecture tours in and out of France, and he wrote numerous essays on poetry, painting, and dance. Paul Valéry died in Paris in July of 1945 and was given a state funeral.
Along with Paul Verlaine and Stéphane Mallarmé, Valéry is considered one the most important Symbolist writers. His highly self-conscious and philosophical style can also been seen to influence later English-language writers such T. S. Eliot and John Ashbery . His work as a critic and theorist of language was important to many of the structuralist critics of the 1960s and 1970s.

#VALERY #MRB-VALERY #MRBVALERY

Keywords/Tags: Paul Valery, French poem, English translation, sea, seaside, cemetery, grave, graves, graveyard, death, sail, sails, doves, ceiling, soul, souls, dance, sun, sunset, dusk, night, stars, infinity
Mouth Piece Feb 2014
We overestimate the probability of the improbable through eyes and ears that are susceptible to vivid imagery. Social media screams that 100 people died from poisoned cantaloupes instead of saying in less emotional terms 100 in 7,000,000,000 or .000000000001% of the population. Really It’s all about fear and manipulation. You viewed all the news interviews, watched YouTube videos and even read the compelling articles. Now you’re in the grocery store avoiding cantaloupes like the plague because you might be next! Conversely in positive outcomes this is the same rationalization that compels people to buy jack *** lottery tickets. Can you see how we extremely over weighting the probabilities of events based on the vividness and prevalence of the coverage? The news—the government---companies---all individuals have agendas but not everyone is looking out for your best interest. Many are “wolves in sheep’s clothing” that feed on these manipulations in regards to rare events with the sole purpose to covertly produce a particular behavior that prospers outcomes that are favorable to their own position.

Now her goes the paradox of overestimation and underestimation in regards to rare events. A strange thing happens when rare events are not being perceived vividly through our senses. They are simply ignored! We no longer over estimate probabilities but instead begin to under estimate probability! For example during Hurricane Katrina victims yielded to evacuate due to this under estimation. The probability of the rare event was neglected in part to lack of vividness. In hindsight they seemed foolish for not leaving but in actuality were quite human in their behavior that lacked the emotional experience towards the rare event (obviously the decision was intertwined with a myriad of other individual variables). In the aftermath the vividness of the Hurricane’s media coverage allows the opposite to occur once more---a heavy overestimation of a future storms probability. This produces disproportionate fears for many in regards to actual hurricane probabilities. Leaving the door open for exploitation.

What we see is a human nature that goes extremely over or under in estimations towards the outcomes of rare events compared to the events actual probabilities. The danger is that people know this!! They can pump your head with what they want you to overestimate and be silent on what they’d like you to neglect, all in the manipulation of their cause. The perceived good guy can easily be one in the same with the bad guy. The best sociopaths are quite charming. People can easily be manipulated with the news and Youtube videos for example. Often times the information provided has traces of truth that are used to spark emotions that lead an individual further away from actuality while simultaneously using them towards their own divisive agendas. They will stay silent to other matters---producing neglect till it’s time to play the good guy once the neglected issue (often created themselves) explodes. In the after math the information they provide makes you feel empowered but it's only manipulating you further into their own aspirations--they look like a hero for doing it --again they produce the overestimations of fear where they want while staying silent to what they wish for you to neglect. Whether it’s the government, a conspiracy theorist or a manipulating relationship partner be attuned to how we process information and the susceptibility to manipulation (overestiamation-underestimation). Although not every situation is a source of manipulation from others it would be unwise to neglect the fact that our own emotions can lead us to these same ignorances all by our selves. I give glory and honor to my Savior Jesus Christ for this knowledge in which Faith in Him alone helps me discern and weight the emotional information and there intentions
GaryFairy Oct 2021
I am shocked that people still say "you reap what you sow". Really? I kind of get the idea they're thinking of sewing eyes shut, while reaping their vision. Then they shapeshift and look like a possum/demon ******. I don't think they were thinking purely. Just to say such a thing would get you killed in iowa, in some farmer communities. Other states too, but i like saying iowa...and ohio. Plus, the relation to sowing and reaping. Ohioiowa Iowaohio! That is fun. Maybe i am so twisted that i used those states so i could say the words. Sung it three times and see if you don't feel like a cross between drew carrey, slipnot, and neil young. Then see if you can make senior citizens believe it's some native words. Ohio and Iowa were named after tribes, but didn't we make the words? And senior citizens made us? So weird. Get it yet dopes? Some of you say dumber things out loud. Like "conspiracy theory"...you should be locked up for conspiracy to conspire with theory, or maybe "theory of a theatre" Even a plain and simple theorist can make a hypothesis. Do you know what this means? It means that there are more dumb citizens in america than there is illegal aliens. Speaking of aliens, why do you turn green with envy and then turn red when someone alienates you? Is it because they use education to alienate you and you use lack of education for everything? Well education beats you. A **** first grader could come up with theories, and probably spell it too. It's funny for a while, but really if it came down to it...and we could get along without you blaming your inability to communicate on anyone but yourself, who would wear the "i'm with stupid" shirt? It's my shirt, and i've been looking for you, so we could stand next to each other and talk. Can you imagine if i could get a real conspiracy, or theorist to open up and actually know what a thesis is, and be all theory and no conspiracy, we would be famous. I hope you did read this you mental health industry science project. Now, please go somewhere you've never went yet. I suggest school or hell. My bad, but hell keeps getting harder con theorist

company keeps company with who company keeps
do i look like those who don't sow what they reap?
only bleed at home, blood of defeated is for streets
a leech waits in mud for that life that it eats

serving sunday service mud made of human dirt
blurred first by certain pain and imperfect hurt
discomfort in the gospel hotheads stirs pots
personal relationships, demons heat with the hot

friends without sin you cast all of the stones
forget about sin choir join in to crush the bones
trends of the soul you better let your master know
perfect people who never search only reap what we sow
Serenus Raymone Oct 2012
Two faced

Many minds

Shifter of shapes

Dr. Jekyll

Mr. Hyde





Past lives

Intertwined

Most mean

Few kind

All vie for equal time

All determine to shine



The writer

The fighter

Drama king

*** machine

The revolution ignite-r

The brave slave

One with

Passion and fire

The singer

Dead ringer

One who points the finger

Conspiracy theorist

Lyricist

Soulful swagger

Hip Hop demeanor



The teacher and student

The dude with attitude

And no one can refute it

A brother and a son

The one that has been shunned

One who leaves them stunned

With the selfish things
I’ve done

The secret me

The enemy

The one whose heart is numb

There are a lot of us

No stopping us

And yes there’s more to come



I’ll never alter

My alter selves

Incarcerate them

In individual cells

Even when they scream and yell

All are a part of me

And they refuse to be veiled



You ask me

Is there a pill?

A remedy…?

Because this has to
be

Insanity



Did you disrespect

My dissociative identities?

Do you really want

to make all of us

your #1 enemy?

We’re laughing

Its killing me  

We flip the script easily

Me- and all of my
inner entities



Chillingly

You’re triggering

A very sad memory



Oh, what a tragedy

You’re just another casualty

Unfortunate fatality

Of my Multiple Personalities…
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
England played today, what a ****-up grandiose style, glass bottle like hail flew down on Marseilles, water-canons, all kinds of crowd dispersers, true grit on the former great, now belittled, nation-state in d' hood reduced to a pitch with 20 idiots running around kicking about Charles' 1st head, and too fidgety skeletons tagged to A.S.B.O.S. tags playing puppets in a rectangle... i stopped watching the match for a cigarette break, the free-kick went in, Saturay, Tesco closing at 10pm, i took to wearing an Australian Open t-shirt, i've never seen so many funerals drinking a beer on my way home - prior it it was all gorilla chanting and Tarzan... i only learned of Tsar Putin dipping his ***** in the **** of Crimea a few minutes later.

your typical Saturday night, next door  neighbour's
trying out an alt. Y.M.C.A. with disco funk,
i guess it spreads easily this day, feel the grooves
or lined Rodin - ape-**** up my *** -
music so loud coming from my neighbour's canopy
i should be asking for canapés - after all Euro 2016
kicked off, scarf-hooligans of Moscow made
Marseilles home-turf , two Brits at the draw
in hospital, faces kicked-in, real bulldogs,
asthmatics at the end of it - conversation turned into a tour
of the Cairngorms or the western outlets...
a lot of Scottish impromptu with **** **** freckles!
gee ginger! aye fucky ***** ****!
Anglo users love interchanging the vowels for emphasis
to differentiate geographic regions -
but this one book review got me -
entitled ***** state
by a feminist -
the ugly child abusing father is a punter -
listen, if it were't for prostitutes i'd be a priest
7 years in, acne on my Richie, one ****** in,
kiss on the mouth several times, hell, the guilt trip,
poor boy poor girl, skin cream lubrication,
talk of doctor's appointments, ******* a *****,
i'd get the Scandinavia model if the girls weren't fickle,
the hand is hardly a plastic surgeon of the female
genitalia ***** - bony M... you must be talking
about ******* - ***** M...
Jesus no more the son of god than the patron saint
of prostitutes... the poor guy feels the aches of touch
while the rich boys sushi off a stripper in Billions...
i don't have strong dialectical encouraging to dispute
or discuss - i too am too blame, ask my dermatologist...
so my neighbours threw a party,
on the set-list?
Cheryl Lynn - Got to Be Real; Oliver Cheatham,
Get Down Saturday Night; Edwin Starr - Contact;
and then the one off from One Direction - History -
the DJ suddenly experiences the jitters neurotically
changing songs before they finish - midwestern horror,
Ohio or Iowa hammer masscare, excerpt from
Pink Floyd's anti-fascist anti-educationalist march,
dangly on the Cenotaph -
persona qui umbra-grata (person agreeably welcome
as a shadow) - yep, me and the ex_machina routine...
i know the feminist argument smocking pipe handy
clean for more pages, but ever hear a ******* ******
or laugh with you? if i didn't use up the profession
i'd be the buying type abusive father forever,
who the **** needs **** trips when the moment can please
twos? i'd be up against a Cosmopolitan Magazine Quizzes...
the "perfect boyfriend" types, later coverage in
psychological advice columns... but wait...
all that ******* advice about something being indestructible
in us, about us, beginning with this keen appeal to
atheism already defaults a logic behind the essential
characteristic of the existence pertaining to a psyche -
by destroying god we also resolved to more easily disqualify
the in-destructibility of the soul,
constrained, a study of noumenons, with logic application,
as if with the omni- prefix to the non-essentials of god -
logic destroyed the compatible qualification of soul
ownership, reduced, it gave us the advent of prayer
and the necessity of a god, rather than our selves,
via souls - something without deductive parameters to
cursor and pre- of the experience quickened to
argument with dis- and later -qualificatio;
the кaцaпс fought with Mongols... you think there's
a fair bet for your hooliganism in Marseilles?
well... it all boils down to two identifiers of nationalism:
parade with the royal family near St. James' park
or gut a pig in the south of France...
Wales will not bow this time, given that they're
not getting paid for their national pride dribble,
they'll ******* up... make more adverts with your superstars...
strange that, well, America has idiosyncratic sports,
i never understood the cheese-ball of oval either to the throw -
yes, baseballs makes more sense than cricket,
but you have to understand rugby before you
start crowdsurfing your *** in nappies -
the high expression of nationalism is so Joker-faced
with the Windsor ******, nationalism and a king never match
up to how Mao or ****** would have it...
and the alternative is football hooliganism...
i walked for my whiskey and beer just after the 75th minute,
along the way i met so many funerals, donning my
Australian Open T-Shirt... well, you, know,
a different type of spectator sport - i heard the rabbis
of the oval where deemed cricket tourists when kicking
a penalty through the H architecture -
cricketers are tourists, oval jerker-offs are Wallabies...
Australia in the Eurovision song-contest... oh yeah,
i'm mad... mad about Abba.. Matt in Memphis,
an Eve Cassidy moment, Sia's chandelier cover-up,
the truest form of plagiarism - the cover is better
without all the computing morphings...
oh sure, i could play the dating game...
9 years in and i had two authentic ***** in my day...
one was a black single mum who took me back
to her flat in Stratford, dragged her baby girl from the bed
to the floor, and her baby son, didn't want me to
penetrate her, tucked my **** in between her thighs,
i stopped, was woken by her son in the middle of the night,
took him and laid him on my chest and we fell asleep...
so yeah, prostitution is ALL BAD... coming from a theorist
who hasn't experienced the drudgery of lives "unexpected"
via eventualities akin to Chernobyl... given that the most
paranoid nation scared and scaring others concerning
a nuclear holocaust is the only one to set two off... two!
Pearl Harbour was an army attack on an army base...
what the Americans did was just a very quick Holocaust.
Em MacKenzie Feb 2019
con-spir-a-cy
Noun: a secret plan by a group
to do something unlawful and harmful.
Verb: the action of plotting or conspiring.

Conspiracy theorists,
are actually theorists of conspiracy,
while those in charge conspire.
While it’s easy to shrug off
and dismiss as “crazy,”
if you do the research
and dig down the rabbit hole,
you might start to question things
as well.

Take neither the red or blue pill,
as the pharmaceutical companies
will profit more from slow treatment,
or placebo effect, than they ever would from curing you once.
But open your eyes, and squint
to see, truly see, the world around you.

Why budget more into a military
than a healthcare or education system,
if you don’t intend to profit from it?
Industrial Military War Complex
is a real term and it’s definition
is dollar signs and blood.
The government is no longer politicians, but investors.

Sure some of us get a bad rap,
and we’re grouped in with the
eccentric or uneducated,
or just flat out theatrical.
But we’re the believers.
The ones who know that a society
is not just a structure, it’s a well
oiled, well designed machine
to keep the bottom on the bottom
and the top on the top.

I can’t say for sure that the Queen is a lizard,
and I’m pretty certain the world is
not flat,
but can any of us truly know?
Besides the Queen and those lucky few who travel to space...
how do you know for sure?
Even astronauts can be put into
a stasis, placed inside a simulation
and not know of it.
They would think they’re floating
in a satellite above our planet,
up until someone broke the
airlock, and they weren’t killed.

You see what I did there?
I took it too far.
And that’s what gets us the reputation of being crazy.
Would it be too crazy to believe,
those who take it a touch too far
are government plants to provide
an illusion of insanity
and discredit us completely?
You’ve heard of crisis actors,
but are their theorist actors?

Just know that the American government and CIA did once
(that we know of)
mull over the possibility of a False Flag Operation,
but on paperwork they rejected it.
The fact that the idea of attacking your own citizens to justify invasions of other countries
and create warfare was even on the table,
are the things that keep me on edge.
And should keep you on edge too.

I could go on forever about the
inconsistencies in testimonials,
footage, and Warren Commission Reports.
About common sense and intuition,
cold hard facts and brutal realities.
But, it’s not my job to pop balloons of blissful ignorance,
and those who don’t wish to see
the truth will forever stare at a counterfeit world telling themselves
it’s the real deal.

Anarchy would never work,
and communism could never be fair.
But democracy is made up of
well known names and popular
faces, of occasionally publicly approved personalities,
who are in turn overcome with
greed and then bought out and controlled by corporations and the big banks we entrust our salaries to.
They have our money, but not our
best interest at heart.
It’s like paying for a therapist
who will disregard everything you say, and then tell you to get back in line.

If someone aspires to have a position where they mediate and alter a group of people’s structure,
don’t you think they might have a power issue?
That if money makes the world go ‘round,
we’re all just numbers and barcodes?
And that maybe, it’s just safer for
those who make the world turn
to tell us what we want to hear
while showing us images of how
much worse it could be?
Just throwing down some knowledge. HP is even having trouble letting me post this........conspiracy?
Nolan Willett Apr 2019
A resurgent nihilistic philosophy
A second lost generation
Disillusioned with the being of nations
Lost in their own antipathy
Confused by new sensations

A political theorist I am not
I like to wander in hills and clouds
And pick out kindred spirits in crowds
A thousand wasted battles fought
A thousand raggedy burial shrouds

The bohemians revel in their nonsense
Shall I my conceits and imaginations forsake?
Maybe a decent Lawyer I would make?
What is real and what is performance?
Which side of me shall I deem fake?

To which should I my attentions give
My unceasing love for liberty,
or a discontented bourgeoisie?
Material things I need to live
Yet still I am most lifted by poetry
brandon nagley Dec 2015
Some may sayest
I'm what they
Calleth, a conspiracy
Theorist.

Verily I sayest
I'm what I calleth
A conspiracy
Realist;



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Prophetic poetry
Traveler May 2017
The dogs can't seem
To hear the hum
A sound as if
Machinery runs
Beneath the ground
Maybe in the air
Secret compounds
Are being prepared
Facilities of alien races
Reptilian beings with
Human-masked faces
Government founded
And set abroad
Are we really safe
In our resolve

Tall white beings
Area 51
Can't you feel it
You're being pulled
Beneath the sub-spectrum
You have in part
Already succumbed
...
Traveler Tim
exxxuberance Jan 2014
i wish i knew how to put some pretty words together;
in a way that you could read me and cry without realizing it,
in a way that you don't know how it all suddenly made sense
but it all fell together - so right - till the end.
with the steady hand of a seamstress and the persistence of a theorist,
i would string together wispy letters, carefully taking away
and holding all the guilty, lukewarm feelings of self-romanticized nostalgia,
with those hollow, deep pangs of shamelessly missing you
from the somewheres and over theres beneath my ribs.
sometimes, i really miss you - and all of those times, i hate it.
sometimes i stare back at you longer than i should,
but i'm beginning to think that even looking your way
is much worse than a waste of sweet time at this point.
i don't want you inside of my mind anymore.
my wants and needs and maybes of tomorrow are foggy and furiously blinded with
what you used to make me feel. will i ever want anything that much again?
i see you a lot in my mind, smiling handsomely in a way that kind of ****** me off.
in some way, i am overwhelmingly upset in a way i can't describe, in such a strange dialect that
i've maybe only begun to understand when you spoke it to me with watery eyes and an offkey tone:
"i can't do it." i think i know what you mean now.
you were trying to say something deep, i had thought all along,
but i think you were just trying, just simply trying to go along
with something that was safe; you know, i forgive you for playing it safe.
we're just trying to protect what little good we think is left.
i wish i could have tried just as hard; tried harder/ to be with you
because i'm just so tired
(i need to rub my eyes clear)
that i will exasperatingly admit that i am lost after you.
i'm so ruthlessly childish, in a curious way that i refuse to let these warm,
painful feelings for you go.
ruthlessly, still into you, i'm so hardheaded that i will even ignore myself
to forget you
over
(this is the last time i'll look back on you)
and over
(i swear his name won't come to me tomorrow)
again.
you replay in my mind;
maybe one day i will
forget that you ever really meant everything to me once
anyways.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
or how to make the eclectic concentrated,
how to make a zemstwa potion (revenge
potion) - long are the days of educated
Germans citing Grecian words -
my bilingualism gives me a patriotism
to use a language foreign to me,
and still embrace importing Church Slavonic:
                 but what a simple word
zemstwa is: less revenge and more retribution.

karakan: a ****** / dwarf -
but in an inoffensive sentence.
    people in the anglo realm always say
the phrases: where're are you from, originally?
and... how do you say it, properly?
        you first employ a knowledge of
syllable butchery: prophets of the surgical
procedure -
                 macron and umlaut both
akin in arithmetics -
                                  for what's later a comma.
Sartre plagiarised Joyce with *iron in the soul
,
     left out all forms of punctuation,
akin to the English language leaving out all
forms of syllable punctuation in reverse -
      which goes against Socrates doing the
Kabbalistic methodology of sounds as atoms,
cut up?      so-  -crat- -es.
                                 Dr. Satan said: it's so.
        i already said that language is the most volatile
substance known to man...
             and that the only people who get to write
books in the west: are people who are asked to write
books in the first place.
      there's me, in a darkened corner:
a coroner's phrase -
                i would be a true idle drunk had i no
tenacity to write and drink...
   by now i'm halfway through a bottle of *** -
Bacardi - or Bacardí - acute iota to get a stress /
prolonging into an ee         - because
you rarely hear someone say Afrikaan: or
   Afrikān - they taught you punctuation of words /
compounds - but they didn't teach you
how diacritical marks are also incisors
    stating that there are two hydrogen atoms and
an oxygen bound to in a reaction with potassium -
or such guises lost or forgotten.
                    it's aesthetic in the informal sense,
in the formal sense: power.
                 no one wants a flower-power hippy cuddle
moment these days, it's true:
                   they want fierce knowing -
people want glasses -
                to possess the Galilean power struggle
stated with cyclops Jupiter being noticed
and saintly Saturn -
                      a different spirit rummages through me
and hence the differential vibration of
the hushed lynx: named Larry.
                     in flames: metaphor -
well, you know, you begin the night with
a change of tone: former barley murky gods' ****
                    amber - to Caribbean clarity -
you're bound to find a difference in shaky "the shadow"
stevens of your hands - i'm way past
the absinthe romanticism - sugar cubes alight
are like latex gimp masks: you start yearning for
the countryside hiatus of forever:
    David Attenborough-esque narrated *** scenes,
birds and the bees, and storks.
                       as sure as Moonday in a
monocle i say: the world events shouldn't drag you
into their narrative - avoid them - avoid them at all
costs: you're not a power broker in their final
summit - you can't change them, turn your attention
elsewhere, into niche topography of interest:
with a very minor demographic of shared coagulation
to express it... back when fame was less of a harrowing:
back when there was no personality cult activation:
a banker said to me once, randomly on a walk:
Newton, what a load of *******!
        and hence the ballistic missiles and that thing
about global warming: for every action there's an
equal and opposite reaction (3rd law) -
     Descartes thought would be part of the
conspiracy theorist columnal dogma reiteration -
doubt is wrong (albeit good faith)
         and negation is right (albeit bad faith,
as Sartre already said) -
     so in turn the tongue: the doubters turn the tongue
into the four limbs with boxing gloves included -
  waggle all you want, the pessimism is already
there - the deniers? they had clothes for their tongue
to make the most spectacular claims about
being naked, when actually dressed at Harrods
in that cheap **** that says: all pharaoh cool, cool.
i'll find more pearls in the reflection of the moon
upon an ocean than i'll ever see donned by pearl
necklace ladies at a fashion week goose-step stomping
anorexics show in London - and that's the truth.
     i'm not a biblical literalist - but **** me!
we were given a poisoned fruit, and told we would
be able to tell apart good & evil, but never from
the two divergent stances, hence the bundled up salad
of like for like -
                     this is Moses as poet, rather than
a general - before telling me he didn't exist
and was mere fiction: tell me he was a cunning poet
before being a cunnin general -
                  in a hundred years' time: you too will
be a myth, that's logically applied history after
being ignored for too long it cannot attract
september the 1st, 1939 - because mythology is
a form of history that detests exactness of dating
and hindsight - it happened: people didn't
really give a **** when it did, done!
     we really do not have a capacity to censor
*******...  not in life, on the street, on t.v., or in a courtroom,
           we don't!
                                   i treat it as a puzzle
rather than a fruit though, otherwise, to be stark-naked
honest: we'd be ****** gorilla boring and that would
be the end of our self-projection as questioning
the void we're in: it would have been blindly
nodded to - and ours': such a pivotal and yet also
pathetic rebellion -
                                 yet again, the world is going
into the shredder - looks elsewhere:
i'm looking at a poem by jack spicer -
he's not a great poet, meaning? he has a decency to
be one... which means he's not oratory
therefore he's implosive, therefore he's part of
the magnetic-enzyme strand of writing:
he attracts people to write -
                    he's not a Bukowski or a Ginsberg -
god no...
                  the seemingly mediocre is there
because of the paparazzi sentiment toe-ward
the greats (on purpose) -
                    you end up feeling:
i need to say something - instead of feeling:
a heckler! shut, the, ****, up!
      that's being perceived as mediocre goes:
it's a fatality of what not to adopt and improve;
like that line about the doubter's tongue being
dressed in fists and knees -
   and the denier's tongue being dressed in Gucci
and Dolce to look the part and
         hardly spread a cup of sweated over panic.
      pro-me-thee-us
      pro-me-thee-us
      five years
      the song singing from its black throat (Jack)
  sure... but it's pro-me-fee-oose - right?
this goes back to not having "punctuation"
flint sharpenings on atoms of lingua -
                 sure, have them between compounds,
but never ascribe them to letters?
  bound to be trouble....
             d'eh very point of fought over is to be
count, unawares: thinking.
then i picked up a very ancient text,
ibn sina / abū alī al-husayn ibn sīnā:
variation, properly?
i'd put a macron over y in al-husaȳn -
     otherwise it's almost like a question of
practising punctuation: which is a variation of
constructing from syllables, rather than
alphabetical beginnings - now let's look
at the variation "how do you pronounce it?"
         e-bin   c-n'ah       ah-boo       a'h-lee
              who-sane         e-bin         see-n'ah

this is how English looks like when undressed
from its lack of applying diacritical marks -
god it's ugly,
               get that Texan gunslinger drawl with
it too: like i'll ever be a cowboy: pff!
yes, there are people out there who enjoy
t.v. shows and look at them fish-eyed glassy -
then there are those that like football games -
but then the few of us look at something like the
following as means for transcendental mind-games
above crosswording:
(Kantian 0 = negation,                1 must therefore
                    mean affirmation, and 2 doubt:
as in: being of two minds)
   ibn Sana (tome of wisdom) -

            R  H
A  0  0  0  0  0  0  B
C  0  0  0  0  0  0  D­
            T  G
                                     this diagram is so idiosyncratic
it would well be a diaphragm -
                                   it's a scematic:
but it's certainly not a need to make language
trivia, in a sense trivial:
             it is a metaphysical translation of a pearl -
the same triviality can be applied to it
as our bewilderment ascribed toward the
analogous translation of it via avaricious people
and precious gems -
             it's not even a Xeno's paradox type of
looky-looky -
                 it's a sort of complete human being type
of scenario: an X marks the spot where you
     grow dumb with: does it matter?
      well: logic that's not restrained (on holiday)
produces such things -
                 such schematics:
   they are artefacts of a way to forget the daily
function of language between people:
as way to suggest: there is a way to get things done
by not getting them done.
                   i could have replaced the original
with a higher tier abstract, namely using less meaningful
encoding symbols, given that 0 - 9 are incompetent
of the 26 variabilities, and the why & i
            yumper and jumper,
   cat and kilogram                    cue, q, kappa -
skewers -     which makes it less than 26,
or the said: ∞      and a - z variation limit from
aardvark                    and   zyzzogeton -
zoo... in between.
                            i don't know what ibn is
trivialising / doing an original antidote to a crossword,
but i can say, given that i found the punctuation
scalpel in non-applied punctuation within letters
in the End-leash language - what i found stark
naked: by the way - the reason that philosophers
never applied grammatically categorising words
in their systems, is why we have that sort of
momentum of applicability in the field of robotics:
to categorise words by their noun or verb
is a reason why philosophy books never applied
such words in their reasoning - therefore the need
to write a book with such words being relevant
as translated into their precise irrelevance
and the relevance of the field of robotics.
never mind, i could have written
          
                     <  ≥
£           .   .   .   .   .   .  ≠ (÷)
= (x)     .   .   .   .   .   .  $
                     ≤  >                        thus the denial
of all plausible conversation on the matter:
and Herr Grinch and the rags to riches
fairytale - and the lottery, and the otherwise
grim simga of the yawning grey plateau;
did i get something wrong?
                 this is an example of an alter-crossword,
and the reason that mathematicians aren't
good at mental arithmetic is because
they have to learn mathematical shorthand
for their arguments, they become kindred spirits
of courtroom stenographers.
Aaron Mullin Sep 2014
Have you ever thought deeply about Prime numbers?

We normally think of prime as something unbreachable

In base ten this is most likely true

But there are other languages that might be used to break down numbers

I'm no theorist but I have my theories

What was behind the Big Bang?

Prime

If impermeable ... then the Big Bang never happened

And any good programmer worth a lick of salt, always leaves a back door

So, I bet there are some Prime numbers out there that are permeable, otherwise ...

We wouldn't be the Children of the Big Bang
This gem was found on a journey to Billings
Vera City May 2020
How they ridicule Jim,
The neighbourhood loner:
"wears a tinfoil hat" and
"turns his wifi off at night"

They all brand him a kook:
"well, you know he's a stoner,
funny coincidence though,
his forecasts have proved right!"
jeffrey robin Aug 2010
once again

the mighty
"rip off"
the poor

the oil spill caused no damage!
no expensive clean-up necessary!!!

amid a total media blackout!

and a president who forgot how to talk!!!!!!!

THOSE THAT SHALL SUFFER
CERTAINLY SHALL!!
AND A LOT!!

but

it is so very much more simple
to believe the lie!!

and  so much safer!!!!

AND REALLY!!!
FOR THEY MAY **** YOU FOR
SPEAKING YOUR MIND

so much easier to call such as me
CONSPIRICY THEORIST
and just go on home

if you have one and are still "employed"

SO MUCH EASIER TO BE WEAK
AND TRUST IN GOD
AND THE "AFTER-LIFE!"

and write sad love poems

to  your lover walking away
as inevitably
they do today!
Classy J Jan 2017
Why does this world always have to put things into categorization, why does this world group races with over-generalization? Got frustration with these creations that one is superior than the other people, that they consider others as nothing more than mentally ******* mutations! By my calculations are we not all a combination of blood, bones, and muscles with circulation? Then people have to wonder why there is so much aggression against segregation and exploitation. Can I get an explanation? Generations of education making the eradication of other people look like some much needed liberation.  Just an over-saturation of propaganda wouldn't that be a human rights violation? Corporations assimilating their ideals into our homes, shouldn't there be an investigation?

So much discrimination against certain associations, don't worry if you got a problem with it you feel nothing after they fill you a bunch of medication! Can't speak up otherwise you will be eliminated or re-indoctrinated. Is all this a secret agenda used to manipulate us and keep us cultivated? Raising our kids for their initiation, and starve us till we die so they can use our bones for the foundation. In the time of desolation, fools we are to not have done anything to stop the devastation. Fabrication orchestrated by the federation sending out misinformation to the population. Claiming it to be true, draining any attempt at revolt till we are black and blue. Brutality everywhere man is there even morality left or is this the new reality?

Is this nothing but a conspiracy? At least that Is what I  get from all the eyes who be looking at me weirdly.  Maybe it is just an overtly over-barren theory, maybe I have lost my mind and have entered into obscurity! So let me put on my aluminum hat, and buy ten thousand cats. Labelled as crazy, maybe I am shady when I had a baby with your mommy. Don't hate because I wasn't the first one to pluck her daisy, after all I'm zany and on so much drugs that everything is so hazy. Afraid of what I'm becoming, brain has decayed, oh hey did you hear something? Oh look here comes the CIA, and all they will tell you is the I have gone M.I.A.
JA Doetsch Jan 2012
There was a time that I found my life
to be boring
inane
bourgeois
some...other fancy sounding word
but that was before I discovered how amazing
life could truly be. That was before I discovered
InsaniFree. I bought it over the phone
for $14.83 and let me tell you

I couldn't be happier now.

You just take a teaspoon a day, and your
annoying
    controlling
        bothersome
sanity just slips away,never to be seen again.
Why within the first day I had quit my job of 25 years.
Just up and quit!
I walked into my boss's office and told him I was done.
Done being underpaid and overworked.

Well...
I might have actually just ran in covered in toner
with my pants tied around my head and tried
to jump through the window only to find it
was reinforced glass...
but it's practically the same thing.

Anyway...

I have a new job now as a "Rodent anxiety theorist".
It's so exhilarating and I've never felt more fulfilled
as a member of the work force. I spend my days
carefully observing the small critters at the park
to see what makes them tick.

Quite literally the best job ever.

Well...
I guess it technically isn't a "job", as I don't really get paid.
I basically run around throwing acorns at squirrels, then write
down what they do on napkins. They generally run away,
but I think they're starting to mobilize. I've got my eye on them.

Isn't it amazing what you can do when you don't let your
stupid
   oppressive
       restrictive
sanity stop you from doing the things you want?


Just a week ago I left my wife of 12 years. I told her
I couldn't stand her unrealistic expectations anymore.
"Dear, you need to spend more time with your son"
"Dear, we don't talk enough"
"Dear, take out the trash"
"Dear, please stop cutting locks of my hair while I'm sleeping"

Women, am I right?

I'm so much happier now. I'm marrying my dream girl next month.
Literally.
As in she's a girl that only exists in my dreams.
The paperwork will be tricky, but I think I can manage.


Now that my goodfornothing sanity is out of the way,
I can focus on lifelong dreams like
traveling the world
learning a new language
or just running through a mall and seeing how many people
I can squirt with ketchup before security tackles me.
I could never do these things before.

Well...
I guess technically I can't do them "now"
since I'm writing this from my padded cell,
but I know it's only a matter of time
before my new wife gets here with the paperwork.

She's great.

I hope she hurries though...I think I saw a squirrel.

Wait for laughter.
This is an "Adopted Metaphor", I didn't realize that these didn't post to your profile so I copied it over.
Revi Abari Apr 2015
Fact is glorified opinion
Science is glorified perception
I sound like a conspiracy theorist
But I don’t think I've gone mad
Ask yourself these questions and you’ll back yourself into a corner because you can’t find an answer
Prove that you know anything beyond your perception
Preach to me your morality
Your opinionated justice
Tell me what you based your current knowledge on
Your reality is a fallacy
Your society gives you a false sense of security
Truth is a fallacy to protect your fragile reality
Prove that 1+1=2 when its just a man made system
It was created by a human filled with flaws
Government is made by these men
This is why ****** rebellion will never end
No system is perfect so how can we use it to govern others
How can we inflict our unfounded beliefs?
Good intentions forced on others
Is no different than an evil act
You can’t cure ignorance by yourself
So flee to the land of your fabled ideology
The sky is the limit if you step out of the box
So you don’t go crazy over not knowing everything
Every science article you read, every fact that you see, everything you've seen on TV
These are a part of your fragile realty
Its all you've ever known
Don’t make me laugh with the notion that you can be unbiased
You are a human with emotions after all
For you are a frog in a pond that knows not of the ocean
So I ask again please tell me how you know anything past your own ethnocentrism
GaryFairy Sep 2021
Biden means button
Kamala means Lotus



Trump means trumpet. sinister?

elaborate?

can words brainwash?

i am not a theorist, and if i were i would research this more...this my research of science, religion, politics, and how it keeps biting me...if you want to help make the world a whole, it is somehow going to with making this nation a whole...and other ones...the pie has so many pieces and doesn't feed itself...i...we...you need you...lets study with goals toward understanding...then we have more color in our vision...it is hard to be gentle when everyone i know in real life is a cutthroat zombie...they get crap theory and lies fed to them by tv and internet...if you ever see that i am wrong please let me know
Mike Essig Sep 2015
Were I a conspiracy theorist
(which I'm not), I would
tell you there will be
no 2016 elections
because before then
another faked terrorist
attack, like 9/11 only
worse, will be staged,
the elections will be
suspended, martial law
will be declared
our own military,
will occupy America,
resistance will be crushed
and dissenters will
simply disappear.

But I'm not a
conspiracy theorist
and I won't
tell you this
because it would
make you
uncomfortable
and Americans
do not like to be
uncomfortable
regardless of
the cliff they
are about
to step off of.

  ~mce
Joseph Childress Feb 2014
UFO
You're a myth
I'm the conspiracy theorist
My predictions proved accurate
To bachelorettes
In need of witch doctors
I came equipped
With a portfolio pertaining
More to psuedoscience
Than pharmaceutical
They marvel
At my hypothetical
Dream conjuring
But you're more than watcher
You are the observation
Please,
For the sake of science
Let me bring
Your dark mysteries to light
The laws
Of the impossible will be rewritten
In your name
Save me
From the enclaves
Of society
With scientists who doubt
Supernature
Expose your perfection
My ambition
Claims I discovered you
Because Nobel's Peace Prizes
Aren't given to spirits
Yours kept me alive
Without medication
The cure
For all ailments
A killer of pain
A passer of time
With controls
To slow
Or explode it
I'm devoted
To the micro-
And telescopes
In hopes
To set sight
And tell the scope
Of possibilities
Ottar Oct 2013
relentless, incremental,
running away,
play ...,
grains of sand measure
both the stars in the universe,
and the stars in the universe
measure descendants and...
all of this is weighed against, what?

some where today a man flew home,
some where today a woman will open this,
with intention to read, with soft eyes and
a warm heart, and more savvy than that word
knows it has, by definition.
some where  a man puts his hand in a river
and comes out with words, not water

there will be many babies
                              maybe born in zones of conflict,
than my country has people behind bars as convicts,
which some people would take as   a    good   thing,
                                                          ­                bring
peace to the conflict zone,
as for the convicts they are on their own, what current
wisdom would and just as quickly ask, but who is gonna pay,
for all this insanity;
no wars,
no jails,
next you'll tell us there is no shortage of whales,
                                                         ­                 but what of their song
why has a choir turned into three whale voices singing a quartet piece?
why do we measure space and dig into the earth, you know the Earth,
no I am not going to do the obvious thing and rhyme it with a birth,
settle lightly like falling leaves when you sleep,
don't keep your fingers texting to go deep,
into the technological pool of this age,
mock whale noises,
news cast without real news, what a blast,
stand real still and sense where the wind blows
stepping outside, your castle walls and open the windows,
is more productive than hitting the refresh button,
oh don't worry, I am no hurry to start a conspiracy with this,
I'm not in the know what is for show, a closet conspiracy theorist,
anything goes,
anything goes,
I can converse on any topic as long as you say the words, I'll move my lips,
and you make the sounds, it will be the result of a well oiled machine,
trying to save the planet from the very pinnacle of creation
that caused the fall
man...kind.

You say to me, it has to be this way,
" Cause you say it best when you say nothing at all"


©DWE102013
sure I call it hip-hop because that is how I move at my age, some mornings.
Ronan keating for final line from "When you say nothing at all"
Allison Krause has sung it too.  Other artists as well but written by Paul Overstreet & Don Schlitz
Air Supply did "Making Love out of Nothing at all"
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Mar 2022
LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 1

Jon walked down Broadway Thursday toward Tom’s to eat breakfast. He had taken this stroll hundreds of times after being at Columbia for five years during which he had eaten breakfast at all possible alternatives and found Tom’s to be categorically the best in Morningside Heights. It was a beautiful Fall morning. Monday he would begin the second and last school year at Columbia and in the Spring he would receive his MFA from the School of the Arts.

When Jon entered Tom’s, he was stunned. Sitting three down in aisle 3 on the right side in a booth by herself was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. After standing still for a few moments, Jon slowly walked toward this woman and stopped, then spoke.

“Hi, I’m Jon Witherston. May I join you?”

The young woman responded, “Sure.” Jon sat down.

“I’m Bian Ly. It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“I’m assuming you’re a student at Columbia,” said Jon.

“Yes, I’m a senior at the College. Are you also a student?” asked Bian.

“Yes, I am. In fact, I graduated from Columbia College a year ago. Next Spring, I’ll be receiving my MFA from the School of the Arts. I’m a poet,” said Jon.

“A poet! How wonderful!,” exclaimed Bian.

“Thank you, Bian. What’s your major?” asked Jon.

“I'm majoring in Human Rights,” replied Bian.

“The world needs to major in Human Rights!” said Jon.

Bian smiled.

At that point, the waitress came over and took their orders. Both wanted breakfast.

“That is a beautiful ring you are wearing on your little finger,” said Bian.

“That a Nacoms ring,” said Jon. “Nacoms is a senior society at the College. I was selected to be a member,” said Jon. “I was Head of NSOP. Where are you from, Bian?

“I’m from Hanoi,” said Bian.

“Hanoi is a long way from Topeka, Kansas where I grew up, but I did come East to attend Andover,” said Jon.

“I also attended boarding school, but in Hanoi, not Massachusetts. I graduated from Hanoi International School,” said Bian.

“It seems we have a lot in common,” said Jon.

The waitress brought their breakfasts, which they started eating.

After finishing their meals, the two chatted for about twenty minutes, then Jon said, “Bian, before I bid you a good rest of your day, I’d like to ask you if you might like to join me to visit the Guggenheim Museum to see a showing of Vasily Kandinsky’s paintings this Saturday afternoon then be my guest for dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights.”

“I’d love to,” replied Bian.

“I’ll pick you up about 2 p.m. Where do you live?” asked Jon.

“I live in Harley Hall,” said Bian.

“Hartley Hall–that’s where I lived all four years during my undergraduate days,” remarked Jon. “ You’ve got a couple of days to pick out your favorite Italian restaurant,” added Jon. “I’ll wait in the lobby for you.”

Bian smiled again and got out of the booth.

“See you this Saturday at 2,” Jon said as he waited for Bian to leave first. Then he just sat in the booth for a while and smiled, too.


Jon arrived at Hartley Hall a bit early Saturday afternoon. He sat in the lobby on a soft leather sofa. Hartley Hall. Columbia. Four years. It had been an amazing time. Chad Willington, a fellow Andover graduate from Richmond, Virginia, was his roommate all four years. A tremendous swimmer, Chad had been elected captain of the team both his junior and senior years. He was now working at Goldman Sachs on Wall Street. Jon’s most cherished honor while he was at the College was being elected by his 1,400 classmates to be one of 15 Class Marshals to lead the Commencement Procession.

Bian came into the lounge. She looked beautiful.

“How are you, Bian? Are you ready to go see Kandinsky?” asked Jon.

“Indeed, I am,” said Bian.

“Let’s go, then,” said Jon.

The two walked across campus on College Walk to Broadway where Jon hailed a cab.

“Please take us to the Guggenheim Museum,” Jon told the cabbie. The cab cut through Central Park to upper 5th Avenue.

“We’re here,” said Jon and paid and tipped the cabbie.

The Guggenheim itself was a spectacular piece of architecture designed by Frank Lloyd Wright that spiraled into the blue sky. Jon paid for the admission tickets, then both entered the museum and took the elevator to the top of the building. Then began the slow descent to the bottom on the long, spiraling walkway, pausing when they wanted to the see a Kandinsky painting closely and talking with each other about it.

Vasily Kandinsky was a Russian painter and theorist, becoming prominent in
the early decades of the 20th Century. Having moved first from Russia to Germany, he then went to France. Kandinsky was a pioneer of abstraction in Western art. He was keenly interested in spiritual expression:  “inner necessity” is what he called it.

It took quite a while to make their way down the spiraling ramp, stopping at almost every painting to share their views. Finally, Bian and Jon reached the bottom.

“Well, that was most interesting,” said Bian.

“I agree,” said Jon. “Have you decided which is your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights, Bian?” asked Jon.

“Pisticci,” said Bian.

“Let's go!,” said Jon.

They took a cab to Pisticci. The waiter brought them menus, which they began to peruse.

“You first,” Jon said to Bian.

“I would like the Insalata Pisticci (bed of baby spinach tossed with potatoes and pancetta with balsamic reduction). Then Suppe Minestrone (with a clear tomato base and al dente vegetables). Finally, I would like the Fettuccine Al Fungi (handmade fettuccine tossed with a trio of warm, earthy mushrooms and truffle oil),” concluded Bian.

Jon followed. “I would also like the Insalata Pisticci, then the Suppe Minestrone, followed by the Pappardelle Bolognesse, then the Burrata Caprese. Thank you.”

Bian and Jon ate their meals in candlelight.

“Tell me about growing up in Hanoi,” Jon asked Bian.

“I am an only child, Jon. My father is Minh Ly and my mother is Lieu. My father was the youngest General in the war;  nevertheless, he rose to second in command. He has been a businessman now for a long time.

“My childhood was like those of most children. As I grew older, I loved playing volleyball. I read a lot. I began learning English at an early age. I had lots of friends. I love my father and mother very much.”

“Why did you come to Columbia,” asked Jon.

“Columbia, as you know, is one of the greatest universities in the world, and it’s in New York City,” said Bian.

“Why did you choose to major in Human Rights, Bian,” asked Jon.

“The world, and the people and all other living creations on it, need kindness and love to heal. All have been sick for millennia. I would like to help heal Earth,” said Bian.

Jon was struck by Bian’s words. He felt the same as Bian.

The two continued to share more with each other. Finally, it was time to go.

They took a cab back to campus and Jon escorted Bian back to Hartley Hall.

“I’d like to exchange phone numbers with you. Is that OK with you?” Jon asked.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“Thank you for a wonderful day, Bian,” said Jon.

“And you the same, Jon,” said Bian.
Valora Brave Nov 2015
Precision lived in the way she spoke
Cadence like a poem
She could have wrote.

She wore heels in my kitchen
as she danced around the sink.
She had been soaking in music all day,
she needed the noise to think.

I could feel her desire and approval
of all my corners and sharp edges
and all my performances, she applauded
never seeking my reform
She just wanted to slip out of the face and clothes she had worn
All day.

But those heels stayed on
tapping the hardwood floor
I could hear her in my kitchen
smothered by the bright red walls.

But those heels stayed on
so she could make the music,
as she danced around like
there was a light flowing in.
I could feel aggression in the acoustics
that somewhere beneath all that soft skin
something learned to be muted
a streak of darkness,
that small spot she wouldn't let me in
She held it so dear and so tight
I couldn't get near

When we fell to ashes dreaming of ways to connect
I could feel the abstract effect
of her fingertips at the base of my neck
on the side of my cheek
in the curls of my hair
tangled and tugging
Little tears she left
on my back and arms colored in white
because I wanted to harness her light

I should have known she'd be gone before she left
so when I saw her there
a luminous, nonchalant stare
I knew she was simply unaware
of how my kitchen is still swollen with the music
of her clicking red heels
of how my floors have deep wounds that are beginning to peel

So, I burned through August like a pack of cigarettes
With a distaste for oval-faced, brunettes,
And I'm trapped inside the mind of a theorist
pretending your vacant pity
will make my sight clearest

Red morning commutes
awoke in September, with optimism to settle disputes,
Riding in the soft rain of yellow leaves,
but I'm not the only one who grieves
over dancing, straight-haired women
in red high heels

So when she appeared in my atmosphere
somewhere  behind dark curls, I began to feel
How afraid I was to draw you near

Her mistrust of my performances
and sharp edges
she soaked in the soft piano that drummed from the fireplace
and spilled in through the skylights in my room.
We laid in bed through Sunday's noon.
Silent kisses became the only music that played -
the rustle of sheets, quiet moans
the subtle changes in tone
in and out, constant static.
You didn't feel the need to fill the silence.
So I let the silence in.
We used to be such experts on reliance
Now we were never under each other's skin
This was not a game, either of us was going to win

I heard you come through my front door
you were all smiles in a small black dress
The lack of guilt behind,
the desire to watch your undress
was an innocent crime, but I couldn't confess.

When you wrapped your arms around me
I heard your shoes against the floor
then running down the carpets
as we drifted past my bedroom door

I never confessed
How loving you was driving towards an eastward storm
away from the blue skies growing behind me in the west.
How I tried to describe you as an art form
the kind that flows into me
but I'm an aseptic scholar
To have thought of you like poetry,
when you were a watercolor
painted in sparrow black.
How I loved you like an echo,
but you were a small whisper
that never came back.


The soft trickle of rain leaves
the little cough, as your hand weaves
Her head buried in my sheets
damaged by each day in the week
We laid in bed, wondering what wouldn't last
and waited for October to pass
Anon C Jan 2013
A plan would be needed
but that is the smaller picture
the bigger one being
indoctrination, blinded
whispers of insanity, a conspiracy theorist
remember though, it is a love for you I feel
thinking you may be happy inside a machine
but once you open your eyes it is not smiling
what you thought was a smile is teeth ripping you apart and spitting you out
it could be better
be not blinded by the lies fed to you on a wooden platter
you could hold the gold
peace inside your heart and home
if you but heard the voices shouting for you to join
I know you cry tears at night
we all do
stuck inside these gears that grind our bones to dust until naught is left
throwing scraps your way while the elite feast upon your soul
no time for family, no time for laughter, no time to live or die
please help us, please listen
that we are suffering but we do not have to
spread a smile a kind act, spread the truth
it is right there before you just listen
there is a veil you must lift to see
but that is why we are here guiding you with our words
and we will keep fighting even while your eyes are closed
waiting for them to open
stand up and join a movement
one that unifies the helpless
and turns them into the victors
Carl Hoek Mar 2012
i lost my ******* keys like an *******
then i found them on my bookshelf
haphazardly laid about in swoon style
key spooning digital receptor
transmitter

on the drunken prowl debts are paid
verbal inoculations
of heart
a boll weevil of the mind


such thoughts will follow
blindly
without content

clouds in the nitrogen reflective sky
bite marks and bruises on my skin
both condensed by mystical thought
as only a proven theorist could show

the insanity of logic
is our proof of existence

therefore hallucinating  long red hairs
the keyboard that is made apparent by the inner hellfire
the so called tortured soul
and the inadequacy of all human comprehension

we can bring an end to the idea of symbolism
and resort to the purest form of command
relinquish all hope in control

jump from roof to roof
off a moving train

escape from that which draws you to your birthplace
end the dying shells
get off the island
stay with your sickness

atleast it's trying to leave you
daniela Sep 2015
they say don’t become a teacher
if you want to make money,
become a teacher
if you want to make a difference.
true enough, when you’ve got hundreds of
young impressionable minds staring up
at you from 7:40 until 2:40 everyday
still unmolded like hunks of clay,
you’ve got a weird kind of power in your hands.    
so maybe it makes sense that
my art teacher starts class some days
with a ten minute sermon on the hazards of fracking
that blurs into his feelings on education in america,
all before we even make a mark on our canvases.  
my art teacher is a bit of a conspiracy theorist,
but i think all myths are rooted in some fact
and all conspiracy theories started with a little bit of truth
so i like to listen instead of rolling my eyes.
some days instead of painting and teaching us
about shapes of value
he takes up his worn down soapbox,
preaching to a choir that doesn’t care much for singing.
today, he starts talking about color
and way we perceive it
and as i watch, it spirals into a lecture
on the universe
and the way we believe in it.  
color is just reflecting light,
the world is just a reflection of how we perceive it.
matrix of the mind, we see through projector eyes.
the world is a CD, our brains are a scanner
the biggest video game there ever was.  
we’re all holographic minds, he says,
what will you find if you pick yourself a part?
nothing but 1’s and 0’s,
reading like a laser and telling you stories.
he paints a picture with more than brushes,
with his hands waving,
talking about the emptiness of the world
in comparison fullness we believe it to have.
the world isn’t there, the world isn’t real, he says.
these bodies of ours are just space suits,
how silly of us to care about their imperfections
and insignificant differences when really
they’re just just vessels.
we’re just tripping on an acidic universe,
the world is just a bandwidth
and how we read it is based on what we believe in.  
and isn’t that comforting? he asks,
isn’t that freeing?
to know that nothing is real,
so nothing can hurt you?
isn’t it incredible? he says, when you think of it
that way you have nothing to fear.
but you see, knowing is pretty **** different
than believing.
knowing that theoretically, technically,
nothing can hurt you
doesn’t mean you won’t still hurt.
human feelings cannot be quantified
and analyzed so neatly and completely despite our very best efforts.
we are all too messy, we are all outliers in our own rights.
knowing or believing that reality isn’t real
doesn’t change the way hunger feels or the way a heart breaks.
intelligence does not alleviate fear,
really i think it’s more likely to intensify it
because then it’s harder to ignore anything.  
you know what they say: ignorance is bliss.
and maybe reality is perception
and nothing can hurt us if nothing's real
but i'm pretty sure if somebody shot me in the head
i'd still be pretty ****** no what reality
i’ve been perceiving.  
perception does not protect you from reality
like a bullet proof vest does.
and he talks about how belief systems
dictate everything you do,
how they close you off from anything new.  
this enlightened guy who preaches about the universe
in one breath and says,
"you know, most girls don’t like sci-fi," in another,
doesn’t even realize what kind of beliefs
he has internalized himself.
but then i suppose we only see what we want to see,
only notice what we want to take in.  
and don't get me wrong i like him i do,
this art teacher with all his big ideas
about the universe we reside in.
i like him in that way we’re all familiar with
where you sometimes have to ignore
an off-handed comment to still like people
but that's another story, that's another poem.
so if a tree falls in an empty forest with no one around
to hear it then does it even make a sound?
if i am speaking to any empty room
then do my words even matter?
if i am alone then do i still exist without anyone
there to take witness?
what i’m trying to say is:
i don’t think the world stops existing
if there’s no one there to see it.
crimes still happen with no witnesses,
miracles still happen with no witnesses.
maybe the world is just a bandwidth
and how we read it is based on what we believe in,
and maybe your belief system colors your view
like kids with crayons and coloring books,
and in a lot of cases they can close your mind
like a trap door,
but there is nothing wrong with belief and believing.
for some people it is all they have.
and even if i don’t believe in god,
who i am to play the part
and try to shatter other people’s realities?
what good will come the broken glass?
maybe we are mice in our mazes;
but if we are happy here,
blissfully ignorant as we may be,
is that a bad thing?
and even in the labyrinth there is still sometimes light,
even deep in the maze some people
find a place to rest.
DElizabeth Oct 2023
"what's a poem, after all, if not a safe space for a difficult truth?"

i have a tendency of having my heart broken when the leaves start to change colors.

i drive past your old apartment every time i drive home from school. it was sweet until it was bittersweet but now it's just bitter.

our sweet summer feels like a past life. it seems so long ago,
all the moments that stay but they all eventually turn gray.

gray was color of the sky the day that you said you had to leave

leaves were the blanket that covered the ground the night you last touched my hand.

and i'm so tired of being what i am when every good thing that comes my way turns into something i taint.

you said there was nothing that i could do to ever scare you away, then tell me, why one little thing had you run the other way?...

in my dreams you're stealing glimpses & asking me if i want to start all over again.

in my dreams we made it.
in my dreams you feel the same.

I'M not wHERE i want to be

you look for someone to love you but i've been standing right here all along

i thought i gave you my best, i thought my heart would finally rest...

i told you all of my secrets, my habits & fears... you said you'd never grow bored of knowing me...

the shade always comes at the worst time, we were okay, we were happy, we were doing just fine...

i remember that first glimpse of hope when we both said we'd rather elope, i ran home that day & gushed about you to my dad,
i accepted it now, but it still makes me sad.

i thought we'd have more time
i thought we'd have more time

but we were always meant
to say goodbye, weren't we?...

right from the start we were closer than most, but we never felt the need to boast.

"if i told you about the darkness inside of me would you still look at me like i'm the sun?"

i used to love to go places alone but with you it was always more fun.

but just like sand, the tighter i tried to hold onto you, the quicker
you slipped through my fingers...

you were my greatest teacher & easiest lesson: i cannot make someone love me by loving them harder.

you didn't think you could love me if you couldn't love you
it's valid
it's valid...

"boundaries are the distance at which i can love you & me all at the same time"

if this is what it takes, then darling, i don't mind the cold.

the love inside of me is somehow all yours, & i hate when i feel like this.

i thought you growing tired of me was my biggest fear, but i can feel you forgetting to remember me & i've never felt more afraid...

"i think we want different things" he said, but i couldn't find the words as the tears rolled down my warm cheeks to tell him i disagree...

everything before you feels like a blur, still necessary but not as important as where we had plans on going...

strawberries & sunsets on the beach was our everyday until every last drop of wine was all death & decay...

I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER
YOU THIS WAY
I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER
US THIS WAY...


but it's so hard when you loved me then, then why can't you again?
you say you didn't get there but your actions speak otherwise...

now the taste of apple cider reminds me of you, the days when i kissed you through the leaves & you never wanted me to leave.

our bedroom windows face the sunrise, even on my darkest day
you showed up with sunflowers, you were always the most unexpected surprise.

the road was long but i never minded, as long as you were in the car with me, the path was winded but we knew we couldn't be blinded...

i remember thinking you were mine, but i didn't get enough gas for this detour...

for the first time i can find my way back home, it's been folklore since july & even though the sun is asleep, i know it'll soon feel like spring.

fast forward to the tail end of October.
the leaves are falling like we were in august
as i walk the same trail we did that day.

"that's okay i understand!!!!"
except it made me sick to my stomach.

i walked these autumn town streets holding the hand of your ghost mid-october.

with you, i was a bit more me.

i hear you're still around. but nowhere near me. our one-sided-too-soon love had gone cold while your soul intertwines with someone else's.

i'm jealous of the chair that kisses your back while you sit in it. it's stable & reliable embrace has the grace of holding you more than i ever will.

the candlelight wanted us to be seen by each other. only death by our own hands...only by one of our pair of young lungs would it be extinguished. it wasn't me who blew it out.

i was always told, "one day you'll meet someone & you'l see why it never worked with anyone else." and, "you'll meet someone who will make you feel how it should have felt all along."

that was you, that was you, but now you're gone, now you're gone

"i'm ashamed of what i've done for love, but i do not regret any of it."

"i realize that loving too much can also make you gasp for air, it makes you want to scream in the wee early morning hours, it makes you weep along with raindrops falling soundly on your window. i never thought that loving you too much can also break my heart. and yet, i still do."

i swore to myself that i'm here to be a plot twist, a main character in someone's story, not a non-playable character in a plot that's already been written.

i promised myself that i'm here to live a life of vivacious chaos, not cautious perfection...forgiveness... foriveness.

"if i don't hesitate to be my authentic & absolute goofiest self around you, you're really special to me. if you're the first person i share news or stories with, you're really special to me. if i call you without a reason just to talk to you or hear your voice, if i just pick up the phone, you're really special to me. if i call you by a nickname more than your actual name, you're really special to me. & if i share my most embarrassing moment with you without fear of rejection or judgment...you're really special to me."

you were the one that didn't think i was too much but never wanted me to be less...you saw my scars & never tried to fix them.

just because i am silent, does not mean i don't think about it. just because i stopped speaking about it, does not mean it has stopped haunting me.

& WHAT KIND OF HOPE AM I SUPPOSED TO HAVE? . . .

why do i always have to be the one to clean up what they left behind?

time with you is time well spent. "doing nothing's never nothing when it's something with you."

i wish i could be able to say that i never told you i was falling for you a little bit...but i did because it felt necessary. not because i thought it would make you stay.

it's november now & where are you? the dinner is getting cold like the cement beneath my feet...i cooked your favorite food, but little did i know it would be our last meal. peppers & peach wine

["wHy can't you see me? WhY can't i stop needed you to see me . ."]

& was it always going to come to this? the both of us wanting what the other cannot give?...

i'm not superstitious but i engage in superstitious behaviors. i am no conspiracy theorist but my favorite one is that you regret what you did to my heart.

do you ever think of me when you drive by the cell towers? when i was little i always thought i lived in paris because they looked like the eiffel tower, you thought that was cute.

dreams...if "dreams" is what we could call them...they're more like replayed reality.

i thought we'd have more time. i thought we'd have more time. i thought we'd have more time. i thought we'd have more time. maybe not forever but, i thought we'd have more time.
Kahou Eru Jun 2019
The skilled user of words, the wizard conjurer that provoke your thoughts.          
I ought to be  sentenced to death.    
For an enlightened mind such as mine for the crime of influencing young minds
You see the Government hate visionaries like me, so they call the disciplinary, to disrupt revolutionaries, COINTELPRO, look them up if you don’t know, for all you conspiracy theorist, I am the head of realist ****, shot calling
You might as well call me Shon the abolitionist.
When it comes to such a wicked being such as me, they call to question my thought for knowledge and I tell them
As the practitioner of hard knocks, my quest for power is almost pestilent; people say knowledge is power  
But what they don’t tell you, is power comes from applying the knowledge
To acknowledge the most dangerous man in the room isn’t the man with the gun nor the thirst for power
But the man in the shrouded darkness waiting to pounce, call me Rockefeller and Rothschild.
I am almost out of time but please forgive me, my mind sits in an higher dimension
My mentality is overpriced that’s why the naïve mind is as common as head lice
As I am the sole provider to the zeitgeist.
Lucy Tonic May 2015
I'm coming down
But I'm still racing
Burnt out
Too many cigarettes

And my dreams are usually at full speed
In the arms of REM sleep
So tell me why, as my body was flyin'
I was in the wicked garden all night

I had a knife in my pocket in the closet
I had my clothes on in the bathtub
Sister tells me I need to run
But I missed the starting gun
And all old friends were in on it
A conspiracy, but I'm the theorist
And I remember the 7-11
And all the fish dying as they went to heaven
Sister tell me what I have to do
She says a train is coming through
Next thing I know, I'm at the bus stop
With nothing but a knife in my pocket

My subconscious feels really low
As these speed dreams move so slow
Burnt out, as I light another smoke
Why does it always come down to That motto
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Poet jalopy to ride the temptest,
Squall of shallow
Moon apprentice
Wooden's of hollow
Doctor or dentist
To Ride away mine fears!!!!

Judge or gust
Backbone of theorist
Turns pen into sandstone miracle
Dumplings are lyrical
Nursery's are terrential
As the downpoor
Is riddled by puke!!!!!!

Shutters of fine drape
Tis
The black hat,
And veiled cape
Wherein the black Cat
Finishes his plate

To the whistlemen who pouts his charisma

Plasmid instigma!!

Plateau of morinsa
Chateau of  bornisa
Plato of dorita
Dawn to thy dusk

Elephant tusk shally
Moveth on tallies
Wherein the breach is far rallied,

To the pushers of what's good to come!!

— The End —