"tribalism" poems
Africa, Oh Africa!
Africa, Oh Africa!
My Motherland,
Why not take pride
in who you are?
When you converse,
You use the language of the West.
The offspring of the same parents,
And still use the language of the West.
Your own children try to distance themselves
and dress and talk like
Those from the West.
Your airwaves are filled with music,
Fast beats, foul language
and heavy metal from the West.
Even the food you eat
All processed and purchased
From the West.
Your fields are dry.
You laugh at traditional foods and ceremonies.
You have forgotten who you are.
Your heritage cries out
From the depths of the tombs
you're filling up with immorality
and your self-destructive ways.
You despise who are,
You ridicule who you are,
You try so hard to change
Who you are
Your heroes and comrades
In entertainment and politics
In the community, the society
Have been overshadowed
By those from the West.
Remember them,
Revere them,
More so alive than after death.
Resurrect Ubuntu,
Show a little compassion
For a fellow who needs it.
Stop the hate, tribalism
And racism.
This path of destruction
Will get you nowhere.
Let peace rule in the Motherland.
Respect your elders,
Salute the teachers
Who try to lead your youth
In the right direction.
Teach your children well
Violence is not the way
The pen is still mightier
Than the sword
Eradicate illiteracy
End child labour and
Marriages.
Honour, love and protect
Your women and children.
They will give you respect
and happiness in return.
Follow the footprints
Of your forebears.
Live in harmony with
Yourself.
Africa, Oh Africa!
Africa, Oh Africa!
Take note
Before it's too late!
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 6:41 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
I don’t don't how much the world is tired
Of hearing again in this year that
Still tribalism and negative ethnicity
Is Gog and magog with Africa, I mean Africa
The second largest continent in the world
After Asia, being seconded by Americas,
Her only cultural overture is tribalism and tribes
Large tribes swallowing small ones
Small tribes making desperate moves
Like bush ****** in the lethal fangs of the python,
Large tribes swallowing political fruits as the small ones
In despair look, being choked by forlorn appetite,
Tribalism, listen! Leave Africa alone; stop messing up the African youth
Tell the Dinka and the Nuer of the southern Sudan to put down the arms
The arms made in the old Russia, the AK 47,
Tell them to go to Russia not to buy
Arms but books of poetry and literature
To buy Dead souls of Nikolai Gogol and
Brothers Kamarazov of Fydor Dostoyevsky,
Tribalism, listen! Am tired of introducing myself
By my clan, I don’t want to be known by my clan
I want to be known by my work; I am a poet
I sing and chant the African incantations of freedom
I do not perpetrate feelings of tribal terror
It is never my work to cement ethnicity
Tribes are good but tribalism is evil, or satanic or impish
Or gnomic or macabarous or ghastly insidious,
As its hatred is the most heinous.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
Daughters,sisters and brethren in the African womenfolk
Hail you, you are blessed among all the diversities of nature
You are blessed for all peace and love beahviour in all of your times
You are blessed for resilience and spiritual energy to soldier on
By being a woman,wife,a girl , a mother and a grand mother
In the African conditions which have no time for the women,
Daughters of Africa both at home in Africa and the diaspora
In Americas , Cuba,Brazil,or the whole Caribbean
Be blessed for your virtue of love and forgiveness
That swells your hearts as you ever treat to oblivion
Those who **** you whether in war or in peace
Even in marriage and the the offices
On the platter of polygamy, rituals and crudeness of culture
In the selfish farm labour where your spouse
Gives you a remote encounter with brutality of bourgeoisie culture
You always pick up the pieces and go for your stitches
Whatsoever the number, like the appalling one
Of above six stitches for the **** victims of Congo wars,
You have always consolidated poor Africa from
Smithereens of war and terrors of selfish male war,
You have often mocked the cult of dictatorship on its face
You have enticed social inclusions as societal virtue
You have snooked to tribalism,racism and class bigotry on the face
Them the cultic vices that have cemented Africa’s cult of dictatorship,
Daughters of Africa stand up and make Africa the a temple of God
Entice humanity with your wholesome fibre
Restore Liberia to a national state in the song of Sirleaf
Restore central Africa to a national family in the song Catherine
Restore art and poetry to Africa in the arms with Marriama Ba and Micere Mugo
Sire and Nurse African ecology unbowedly in the spiritual realm of Wangare Mathai
Restore and forge Africa forward you dear daughters
For the strength of your beauty my dear ladies
Has a global testimony in the prime of your motherhood.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts.
a shortened critique of pure reason -
a) based on phenomena
(things most likely talked about)
and
b) based of noumenna
(things least likely talked about)....
i.e. a) and the ego implant,
and b) the god implant -
likewise the zealots on either side,
bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims...
i forgot to mention that Kant forgot
to mention the trigonometric foundations
as justifying owning a villa or whatnot,
the same foundations of having
the implant ego secured and willed
are the same parameters of the
implant god secured and thought
the point being dynamic parallelism,
mid-way between cosine and sine
rigid fluctuation tangents occur,
the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.;
you're basically born with ego
or you're born with god -
there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between -
ring-a-ding-ding-surprise?
there's no side-winding to create cinema -
being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced
with monetary affairs;
being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced
with murderers, lastly -
no psychological theory will box-me-in
given the lost tribalism and the usage of
the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing -
with money came slang - and all thorough evils,
with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab.,
Arizona in the ******* Amazon -
i'm basically saying what Kant said:
god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget,
it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it
by argument, and we certainly can't accept it
by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either
for worth of understanding tornadoes;
because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me,
filming Twister.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
Black
A thumping heartbeat
Distant vocal sounds
Then light and love
Dependency
Curiosity
Communication
Joy
Creativity
Education
Awe
Respect
Disrespect
Comradery
Individualism
Tribalism
Recklessness
Lust
Love
Heartbreak
Hopelessness
Soul searching
Understanding
Trust
Empathy
Maturity
Desire
Love
Babies
Selflessness
Responsibility
Nurture
Wonder
Teaching, endless teaching
Let go
Let go
Let go
Review
Regret
Reinvent
Rediscover
Relive through grand kids
Leave your mark
Not a stain
Your life ends it's final wane
Then humbly...
back to
Black
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
Oh God, the Most Merciful and Compassionate:
Please grant us the grace and opportunity to be your instrument in the mercy and compassion that you epitomize. May You grant us peace in our lifetime and frustrate those who seek to cause discord and sow hatred in your name.
Please enlighten our collective conciousness. May we be continually reminded that we are all on this Pale Blue Dot together. Please help us to grow out of this petty and useless tribalism and nationalism that are invoked far too often to justify violence.
May You grant us all a desire to strive for peace and have mercy on us for our many sins against each other.
Amen
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
My country Nigeria,
Am a citizen by birth,
That’s the Criteria,
A blessed nation on the earth,
Driven by atrocities as bacteria,
A place I was proud to call home,
Am a negros and Nigeria is my home,
But she’s going down the pan,
Causing mortality in my clan.
Due to manifestos,
We commercialize with hoes.
It started with our independence,
We thought love would take
Prominence,
But rather war, corruption and coups,
And Tribalism feed on us
My plea goes to the world power,
Our corruption is taller than any tower,
Our leader convince us that colonization
Was necessary,
Seems we we have cross that boundary.
Please colonize us again,
Because decolonization has no gain,
Remove all these leaders,
The made us cry aloud to mothers.
I admit we weren’t ripe,
We just wanted to be free,
Like the smoke from papa’s pipe,
Please colonize us! At least
Of these situations we shall be free!
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC
Played by cheaters
Kicking a round ball
War of attrition
Divers open to fall.
Sportsmanship rarely
Revealing its sporting head
It's tribalism in a skin you cannot shed
Field of dreams
Beautiful game
Why do the players put the game to shame
The game is the game, it is what it is
The games played by people taking the p-ss
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
*where cello was semi-colon, where violins (always plural, no one's weeping or playing to beg) are colon, where Bach's (church pianos) organs / castrato livers kidneys hearts... where comma was the trebling silver triangles... where full-stop was the composer turning into a conductor, to detach himself from the act of composition and into a drama, a staged drama, a Sisyphus ram against the stable coordinate of perpetuated slam dunking bullseye for only a: knock knock. who's there? knock knock nowhere. nowhere where? here. where what? knock knock open the ******* door!*
i lived to the age of 70,
i loathed hating people,
and i loathed loving them
hence the reason i never married,
i could have lived alone
but the monetary system absolved that
wish...
tribalism would never give us
mozart's symphony no. 40 because
we would be exchanging favours
instead of monetary funds...
via solipsism and the ugly synonym autism...
****** instead of wives... well, there you go...
her eager libido explains much,
as a teenager ****** eager (rhyme rhyme rhyme)
explains her escapism into outliving man;
her satan's bargain truly did favour hair,
oh **** her, while he died a splendid death
aged approx. 30, she with a **** salute
saluted him: i'm worth 90 autumns!
yeah, 90 autumns and arthritis.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
At the Biafran front, I fought
Tearing down Nigerians
With shots of guns
We fought like men
Defending our lands
But with risk and fear
As some went blind
Among our troops
Were hatred and envy
Tribalism of doom
Had taken over our army.
Alongside my brother
We triggered together
Tearing down men
Like pales of feathers.
As a boy of sixteen
I saw terror in fifteen
Behold dead men lay like weeds
Vultures had enough to feed
Among the dead people
I saw my old father, he died still feeble.
Turning to my right
Lay my mother, sister at flight
My hands became weak
And my heart did bleed
They were killed by the army
Which I fought that they live.
Biafra was in famine
As children starved to death
A thousand Igbos massacred at night
As our troops retreat to die.
Nigeria flew their jets
Bombing no one but children and old women
A grenade caught my brother
And I knew it all be over.
The seaways were surrounded
Nigerian Navy locked us in our grave
No weapon came to Biafra
Even our camouflage had become rags
Enugu; capital of Biafra had been captured
There's nothing left, except to be raptured.
Oron and Calabar fell
Nigeria sent us hell
So in battle front we had
Nothing more than matchets and planks
Our major had ran
And we were left, to die at our hands.
With fear, my fellows fell
The fear of death, none could tell
I ran through the forest
Finding way for my escape
Lo there was a tunnel
And so I escaped Colonels.
Fifty thousand fighters quite survived it
They were buried alive
In mass graves for their deeds.
Down in my tunnel of sleep
I saw my family in the deep
Papa, I called aloud my father
He said go for the war is over.
Biafra had surrendered
But I had lost an arm
Millions had died
Diseases did bade them bye
The war, famine did sail them high
Though a soldier I survived.
I had lost my home family and lineage.
What would I do with a withered arm?
Flies had really fed it by
As the last man alive, No one cared whether I die.
So I died a lonely death
With no one to cry
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
You’d be surprised
What can be accomplished
With your eyes sealed to the world
Stumbling in and out of love
With the wrong person,
The right person
Standing still while
The crowd moves about
And you face the opposite direction
Awaiting the joy
Coveted and insured from bloom
As it swims past your bones like a ghost
The miles you drive
Without taking the sights
Or abiding the lines
You can point and shoot
You can win or lose
But it holds no concern
It’s the feeling of knowing you’re lost
But cease to admit
Because it looks like life
There is no sleep to be had
When you shut your eyes to the world
Just an endless reaching for the walls you built
Maintain balance
So no one suspects
And tramples the comfort you found
They only see brown rust in your eyes
If you never show the raw burning red
And the vacancy of motive
Nothing hurts so bad
If you don’t stare directly at it
Or ignore it altogether
But when you finally open them
Don’t be skittish about what you’ve found
It’s only happening one blink at a time
War and drugs
And wars on drugs
And automatic guns
Disease and regret
And misleads and misread
And greed over guilt
Smiles and words
All things absurd
Hunger and cures
Lies and truths
Bigotry and fake news
Decay of education
Tribalism
Bibles
Prisons
Capital
Collateral
Intangibles
But you’ve pulled back the curtains
And you’ve drawn in the light
So you must never again close your eyes
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
well acting is a metaphysical assertion of the physical act of theft, in Cartesian terms: a part of the extension is stolen, for example an object passed down via generations, your grandmother's wedding ring... acting is in a sense a theft that defines creating a civilisation and eradicating tribalism: galoshes, guttering, sewers and irritable bowel movements.
some said acting
was a subtler form of
defining theft,
given the term
doppelgänger;
i.e. i stole your shadow,
all you have is a hand
to mimic a shape of a hare's head
to please children,
deal with it.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
I've read about bloodshed;
whether foreign or local by hands of same labour,
Tribalism; though something I haven't experienced,
I've felt it's affect. The very hurt of a neighbour.
History has shown us plenty, still the plenty
of hurt in our history we carry.
If these walls could talk; they'd seem lesser, and
quietened by the ground's bloodshed.
History taught us well into future, but affected the
present so badly.
Tears of loss, tears of tragedy,
tears of us, tears of brothers and sisters,
Are tears of all, us as one nation's family.
Tears of old, tears anew,
tears of past, tears of present and future,
Are the tears of another I shed too.
These tears on the grounds of present pastures;
I question how long generations we'll wait for
the tears to into laughter.
Sigh!
Jun 12, 2022
Jun 12, 2022 at 6:59 AM UTC
News! News! in its surrealistic gear,
Charles Darwin of England has resurrected,
He is here in Africa, roaming the deserts
In the savannah belts of Turkana Land,
Looking for African skulls for a second living.
He is in the company of Richard Leakey,
Talking among themselves with air of comradeship,
Behaving wiseacre over the Africans there,
Looking from place to place to rename
The current African humans,
He has already named people of Kenya
And all the people in the subhara of Africa
With a new paradoxical evolutionary tag,
They are now homotribaliticus Africanus,
A tag reflecting African tribalism in politics,
He has met the Chinese and renamed them too,
They are now homo-pecunias asianicus
Or the money making Asians,
Darwin has freshly renamed Americans
This time round not as caucasoids,
But as homocapitalisticus putinis stupidous,
His shrewdness did not go with erstwhile death,
He also has s pecial evolutionary tag for Africans
Zinjipoliticus idioticus, or the fools who die politically.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
Globalism
The winter after war was not jubilant
the snow was slushy like the beginning of spring.
A poor street, houses had not been painted
not much food and the ice was reluctant to let
go of its deadly grip.
I saw it along a wall of flaking cement
a small solitary, yellow flower the colour so bright
it blinded me it was like I had a moment of clarity
I understood and saw it all.
In the windows of old houses’ on sills
flower in pots in tins, humanities need for beauty.
I must not forget hasted home find a piece of paper and write it down.
But I didn’t get it down on paper my thoughts that were influenced
by beautiful minds.
So long ago now,
it was 1950 and people were friendly
we had suffered together and survived.
We are not the people of the world we are tribe, however modern,
it is our group's survival that counts.
Tribalism is much stronger than globalism it can never speak our language.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 6:08 AM UTC
take money out of the equation, and sack all the waiters and return to tribalism, the former statement of non-intellectual socialism, the sort of inherent: in us there is a togetherness, no more service from strangers in the hierarchy of enriching a piece of metal or a wavy rectangle of paper with “necessary” symbolism of authority of the status quo... but that’s not going to happen... the pickpocket picts are no more... the normalising normans glared at the hastings pinnacle and integrated with the saxon women... the saracens became surnames in poland... actually that last one is very true... a branch of my family has the surname saracen.
so i’m reading this article
and i’m hardly debasing myself,
it’s not that i’m referring
to sartre’s negation of certain things
whether animate and essential or
inanimate and existential... in that formula:
i deny therefore i am... because i can’t deny my existence...
and 2000 years down the line i’ll be pitchfork
argument in an atheist’s mouth anyway (nothing is certain in the realm of cognition, hence the cartesian invocation of doubt),
it's not like i'm referring to inappropriate pronoun usage...
so **** a doodle do... twang the strings on the mandolin...
i’m referring to this classical reference of the shy literary figure
unable to spark conversation with strangers...
god, i really love strangers, and talking to them!
why? there is no personal history, there’s no past,
there are no reference points... it’s just the moment and nothing else,
the perfect anonymity project...
not the matrix philosophy (easily invoked because
it has a flimsy plot-line and loads of images...
just what the doctor ordered for the english speaking masses
with a very naked orthography - i.e. if it’s on the internet
it’s not “real life...” as is this computer i’m using
it’s not even here!)
of using the deep web to join the rats and etc.;
i love talking to strangers, i can forget myself
and enter the realm of discretion about how within randomisation
of eggshell, yoke and cockroach there’s also the randomisation
of the interactants to balance out the need for a theological unit, god...
it’s great... it’s like... it’s like... life.
defining the genre of biography proper? never backtrack...
always sidetrack... i can’t be bothered living a life with cocktail parties
and romps and romantic comedies to look forward to
once all the animalism becomes domesticated and a
gym-session complaints column in a newspaper.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
I can’t remember when,
The last time I we didn’t cry,
The last time we were happy,
I can’t recall,
When there was no blood shed,
Why do we have to suffer and mourn?
For the losing of our loved ones,
Why?
I can’t tell when,
We'll escape away from our sins,
For the tide will always hit,
And we’ll feel the storm,
Scrape your hearts,
I don’t know when,
We’ll never be found in massacres,
Alshabab? ISIS? Xenophobia?
In worthless clashes many perish,
Religious leaders,
Aren’t you tired of burials?
Haven't we sinned against God,
Who do we expect to save us?
If we don’t see our wrongs,
Air crashes and road accidents
Attack our beloved continent,
Now it’s politics
We fight each other like fools,
The police ****** us like chicken,
Increasing number of the dead,
Disaster after disaster,
Politicians cheat you,
They lie to you with intentions,
They blinded us long ago,
Feeding our minds with hatred,
We think that they are the Bosses,
Yet we are theirs employers,
We should wake up and fight,
Fight for peace and justice,
If not so,
I don’t know when we’ll be free,
Free from problems,
Free tribalism and racism,
Flee from all your sins,
Where are we heading to?
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
I’m in the company of new folks
Or else folk if that’s appropriate
The singular and plural still perplex me
But approaching them is
Easier to do than I expected
Easier at least
Than trying to relate to the smiles
Fixed at regular intervals that
Span the distance between us
I pass them all by
Oh so happy to see them
With a nod for a greeting
Before seating myself
With the self-proclaimed degens
A few glasses of wine behind
But accepted and liked
Even seen by
Strangers whose faces
Show something that’s just as much mine
As it is beyond me
We’re all introduced
And decide we enjoy
One another - at least
With the alcohol, so
We migrate toward the only vent
That isn't in the only restroom
Of the venue of the thing
Eventually reciprocating contact information
Before drinking all together
At some other bar
Some place
We’re not so worried about
Sharing or hiding ourselves
And promising we’ll meet again soon
Fingers crossed
Sep 3, 2023
Sep 3, 2023 at 5:42 AM UTC
Sarah Mclachlan - Plenty - the one time you told me
i was Eastern European, of long-forgotten Europe....
and you were Irish, then i knew.... time to breed
a knuckles's hello.... should i really mind reality?
you, godforsaken paddy skin-head?
throw a ******* paddy / potato
at me i'll get clued in at where
Chelsea gets tribalism of Hammer-smith...
oh lucky you, the Irish tentacle...
maybe the next Irish in me ought
ti dance the ******* leprechaun dance
for new years'... cos' that had to be minded
in newspapers...
i'll the be ****** of goth to mind
enter the dragon, starring the ill fated Brandon...
an you be the anonymous *******
pardonable journalist with angst prescription
when mommy ****** the
milkman and daddy said: huh?
or shave my head and become a fake *******
or the atypical Irish-head...
some said Celtic, but some said: Sale-tick-ticking-blah...
the meat-heads bashed their heads together...
wedlock northern:
every Mc-Noodle.
later read Mac. tosh
or Celtic
in the Glasgow curriculum, as said: Mac. arched Ranger...
for the clover leaf brigadiers
aye... spoon the
shovies! banknote worded:
two pence a punch...
some call it a London mo-cheese-sum
(mohican - heir to a higher phrasing: cannot but
will do) - and so the Australian banknote came
sooner than the migration points system:
as ever, plastic first, spooning baked beans
and later the "trouble": as Glasgow estate shimmered
the saying: concrete does two blues,
Hertfordshire horseradish:
alter. marketed green slime: or: guacamole...
god, i wish i was soppy sometimes...
at times when it was least
explanatory to mention Vaughan Williams...
perfectly now...
snotty curiosity ever went as far as
a hanky... or later read: a chappy chopping
wood with echo, blistered with
e-oh e-oh and the faked yawn, done, repeatedly,
for purpose of a masquerade:
or Apache tribalism etiquette
saying: oh... h'allo'h h'allo'h h'allo'h;
pompous blues and said Peter to mind
while some geezer did the beat
for the slang while regurgitating an attack
of the Zeppelins.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
http://tinyurl.com/ja52pq4
or some said: Lawrence of Arabia?
yeah, sure,
as long as Egypt remains Egyptology:
and the Balkans or quasi-Slavs known as
Serbs and pardoning Ottomans
do one in on the Kosovo tribalism
akin to: Albania here -
yeah, i too was going to buy
Allah-Las's third album,
but then i thought about the Napster
generation, then thought about Judas
and then thought: well...
you turn.
*when Ramses destroyed Syria...
you're?! you're a catastrophe!*
second that.. never mind the ****
or the caring ***** in uncle,
great-grandchildren.... and that surrogate auntie
named Alice.
i gave my enemy a copy of *ecce **** -
missing luck in terms of all those yesterdays -
i never had the Golgotha crowd
to create Evangelism or Islam
which i count akin to Ma Ma Malachi's
trip to Delhi he never had: stinking Calcutta:
oh i don't mean the food, i mean the Swedes:
who the **** puts iron into their curry?
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 12:24 AM UTC
as they all say before the taxes
and children and mortgage...
ah hmm... life in colours,
postcards on the ready
of who's jealous of who...
go!
i too discovered sardines
in tins like i were christopher columbus
discovering america:
sardines with pineapples or coconuts in tins,
given i was christopher columbus
and only reached the carribean islands
and merely shouted across the two shores:
ahoy new land twice western indies,
we bring your the sport of cricket and
solidarity of something resembling
post-tribal society you're clearly
not comfortable with given your efficient
tribalism, and our doomed post-tribal society
of free music downloads and a monetary system
not based on the magpie's appreciation of
either gold or silver!
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
that’s genius! honestly,
we killed apache and aztec tribalism off
with money,
by said: copper signatured elizabeth ii
is worth more than gold signatured john...
there was never a second given
the magna carta...
only the individual will to will survives...
to get the biological categorisation treatment
is really horrid, morbid to resurrect death even;
otherwise it's all heidegger as:
only the individual will to be survives...
which really does but really doesn't appropriate
humanity, given there's no given example -
although ideally it's all maple syrop & pancakes dandy.
i hate the english intellectual output,
it’s so finite, so fascinated with post-anglo-saxon gore.
nonetheless...
copper worth more than gold
just, just because it had elizabeth ii written on it
as the unrighteous owner of copper?!
i dare say i will complain with a jacobite plot
to plough fireworks in parliament.
i guess it does translate as kingdom in nothern ireland:
bow and **** the kind m’lord;
i’ll write you a *********** of reality you wish you could have seen:
just so you could satiate your necessity of writing fiction...
because in terms of reality and writing fiction...
you haven’t seen enough of the first.
so you do the next best thing equated with western democracy...
you hide me.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC