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*******

My career as
a human being

had begun.

It was I
who had been chosen.

I would not have  chosen
it for myself.

There is so much to learn.
And so little time.

I found I had to
downscale my mind.

The loss of such
so much knowledge

was hard to bear
and this thing

called breathing
was so annoying.

Just being an organic
system was an ordeal.

But it was necessary
to understand humans

from within
to know them.

The use of speech
in place of our telepathy

was so terribly
off putting.

"It is for the good
of the cause!"

I repeated our Leader's
motto like a mantra.

I had inhabited
my host for no more

than four hours
becoming him entirely.

Such is my torture.

"Just do what the human
was doing

before you
entered him.

But this endless day time
TV is killing me.

As is
his constant twittering.

I find his system is
taking over mine.

I have lost me.
Am become him.

No longer OF-FRON 777
but a creature called Trump.

I...he
reached for that button.

The mothership
deserts me.
Now the New Adventure excitement dares...
And...HUH? Your waiting Preview disappeared!
But, why? With so much Stories we do care
How fruitful and ******* your Holiday reared
You signed with a Smile; That much Girls adore
Inside the Jet would Paradise lay its Leis
From there the Codec stopped; Much I restore
What may have consumed the rest of the Day
Spottings? Cocktails? Folklore or Breaker-Dance,
None which I Follow or Dare to presume
This is your Notebook; Far to live by Chance
On how you Grow and Party in your Room.
Preserve your Courage. This is your Best Hour
To check New Frontiers; Increase your Mind by far.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Cindra Carr Jul 2011
Broken marriages have broken lives
******* up premises and high wire ties
Failed attempts to clear the air
Bring murky clouds in distant eyes of lies
I see you there clinging too hard
You see me here shedding the weight
Of your desperate grasp on my arm at the door
Lots of lives lead separate days
Clear up your eyes and let me go through

cc070311
James Floss Sep 2018
Who came?
Who spoke?

Da Bomb Obama
Worth two in the Bush

Who was *******?
Who’s fake news now?

(RIP JSM III)
AD Mullin Oct 2014
The first time I truly stepped into the mystic
For a suspended period
Those close to me watched with amused
Concern

Later on I would find out that this place was called hypo-mania
A lower energy level than mania
Recognized by the p-doc's as a creative place
But also a place of warning

Cause what comes next?
Mania
For me it was spiritual; I was playing in the aether
I was living the Tao; I instinctively called it Source

I was studying to be a scientist at the time
So this didn't make a lot of sense
The data didn't support the hypothesis
Had I just eaten one to many mushrooms as a teenager?

I already had a psychiatrist
I was being treated for ADHD
He had prescribed something called Concerta
An amphetamine; a ******-stimulant

At many points along the journey
I cursed the day I ever heard of psychiatry
I'm sure that the neuro-chemical pathways opened up by Concerta
Had something to do with my awakening

Those first days near Source made me realize I needed some guidelines
Mine were informed by my indigenous heritage
Only take what you need (i.e. sip, don't gulp from the River Tao)
Find your foundation: my rock was integrity, eventually leading to authenticity

Even with these guidelines, I couldn't maintain the healthy place they were calling hypo-mania
I had too much toxicity in the relationships around me
I couldn't fully elucidate what I was seeing and feeling
And my 7 kettles were on a full rolling boil

I was draining myself
I drove myself into madness
I was trying to sip from source and live my truth
But I wasn't honouring the nature of the Tao

It was Helter Skelter:
'So you go back to the top of the slide
And you turn and you go for a ride
And I get to the bottom and I see you again'

Over the next 3 years
I would lay down what I now think of as my
4 pillars; four hospitalizations
Well over one hundred days in the Cuckoo's Nest

The first hospitalization I went happily
I was going to teach and inspire the sickies
It's hard to get healthy in a place of illness, though
I came out still a little hypo-manic but went into a deep, dark depression
After finding out what those around me really thought

The second hospitalization, I went against my will
The doctor's were inconsistent, I found flaws in their logic
They looked at me like I was a flaw
They tried to prescribe health at me; I told them to *******

At that point I was not happy with the Canadian health care system
Health, first and foremost, was a public good
This ******* the individual's rights
I wasn't a danger to myself or others but I was a risk so there goes 70 days of my life

I was fortunate to have the support of some important people
They made sure my finances, among other things, were maintained as I tried to make it back to the ordinary
After my second hospitalization I really began to delve into the idea of holistic healthcare

It was after my second hospitalization that I made my first Hero's Journey
I was playing the role of a white blood cell for Gaia
I had my first three sweats within a month of each other
I met many shaman and I'm pretty sure I began my own residency

I put 10,000 km on my trusty steed
Chasing windmills
Sancho Panza by my side
< --- -- - Vancouver, NYC, Los Angeles, 'da bridge - -- --- >

My third hospitalization was the third act of this Hero's Journey
I was pushing it, reckless; I stopped taking my prescribed medicine
I ended up in the City of Angels of all places
Straight outta Compton!

My fourth hospitalization (and final pillar) was last summer
This time I ended up in Billings, Montana
The American model places the onus of health on the individual
I could have stepped out of that hospital at any point but I now had the wisdom to know what I did and did not need

Even though I speak of four pillars
There is always a fifth element
Her; the one
She woke me up to my soul's purpose

We met shortly before my fourth hospitalization
(You've got to use the fourth, Aaron)
She was a stranger in many ways
Still is but why does she feel so familiar?

She walked me through Dante's Inferno
She had spent time in her own non-ordinary reality
She left behind a map and published it
Through her bravery, I was able to find my way out of the inferno

And through her bravery, I was able to publish my map
http://www.bipolarorwakingup.com/
A Sad Alex Mar 6
The music roused something in me
That was asleep for so long
Every note of the song made me a traitor
A cheater, a hateful turncoat
For I thought myself impervious
To such lowly tempations of men
But in my hubris, I forgot of my flesh
That makes as falliable as any of them.

And to remember the time my heart belonged to her
She of caramel eyes and flowing brown hair
Holding my heart in so tight a grip
The beating of drums ******* that of what she held
My mind filled the void the distance between us made
As my lips craved hers to kiss
But in a frenzy, kisses turn to passions unbound
To make every inch of her mine, in her body to drown
To her undrapped form, a moment lost in time
The symphony of our ****** filled the air of night.



...
...
...



And now, temperance has taken hold
And a new love, her place
And while I love her indeed, exciment in life
It seems to have... Faded away
The love I thought my beloved has
Isn´t wholly her own
So long as the music plays I fear
My desires bubble and tumble
To give in to my lust.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Suddenly, twelve poems flavored Christmassy came to me to give away for the fun of it, the hello of it, I may say, corn, that's okeh.

Thursday, November 01, 2018
1:14 PM

So what?

that justifies, just ifs this olde dude from the desert,

into real-ification in 2018 Christmas forever story,

Wow. Who knew? Little drummer boy, remember?

What can I bring to him? Who even mentioned
us giving? Honest, what could you give

Christ, the anointed, promised, messiah, message
******* up to be angel choirs in heaven's spotlight,

good news, aka the gospel or spell, which is no unintended
causality, BTW. be tee dub, we say.

the good news, the scary angels sayed, that not too cold

night to be out and about with the little lambs, that time
o'year, good tax collectin' time,

celebrate that. Taxmass. Okeh.

This is a Christmas story of the sort that can twist things other wise twisted to be untwisted in this peculiar way.

Wicked is as wicks are wont to be, twisted wit' a bit
o'this
the ****** things all explode. Abit o'that, they light a candle in the thinn-ist-light-o-night,

And, when the battle's over,
"IT IS FINISHED" has been muttered,

we won. That's done. Merry Christmas,
God rest ye, merry, gentle men,

twixt the trenches, 2018.
Jah, twelve days of Christmas, twelve poems, to me it feels like Christmas, opening well bought, hard sought gifts from unexpected realms of reality. You get what I'm sayin?
poetryaccident Sep 2018
The sad acknowledgment is for friends
still on this earth but gone from sight
by the twist of fate’s cruel hand
or the stress of facing life
they filled a space I thought firm
an anchor in tumult's space
now I consider what has changed
with a sorrow I must convey

sometimes ills confound the mind
then ask too much from in their time
a toil is taken to hold on
demanding hours in the day
the struggling soul in the drink
has no time for the bygone
strength conserved for the fight
is not available for past pals

to survive has its demands
travels far beyond this space
pursing jobs to make a buck
or properly loving family
social media may fill the gap
yet the echo falls quite short
electrons pale in substitute
for a person by my side

lastly life can be most cruel
when two paths meet a fork
they follow their firm beliefs
while I walk the alternate
the yokes become disparate
judgment ******* devotion’s lot
what is ordained must be met
even as mates are ripped apart

repetition was a false balm
always there until it’s not
I’ll shed a tear in my heart
wishing time could turn about
in the place of my friend
is an absence that I regret
while hoping all is well enough
I hope to see their face again.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180901.
The poem “Sad Acknowledgment” is about absent friends and the reasons that they are not present in our lives.

— The End —