"unifying" poems
I know not how many
million stars there are.
But I know there is
only one earth.
Maybe we have counted
the protons of the atom
as many it has in its nucleus
counted the electrons on the run
orbiting the nucleus.
But the spinning circle is a zero
yet to compute the unifying one!
It's a pattern spans the universe.
I know there are
billions of us human
out there on earth.
But all I want is only one.
Just to count on
a permanent one!
The big earth
is a bigger zero null.
Standing on barefoot
without the perpetual one.
No glue, no roof nor a sign
only on one pure rigid science!
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 1:06 AM UTC
Dear Unity, be proud of the work you've done.
Working day and night, leaving complaints to none.
With your calm blue aura, full of peace.
People from sadness and separation, you release.
Dear Unity, extending the branches of your unifying tree,
Watching over like a flock of birds flying free.
Amalgamate the opposing forces of destruction and war,
Spare them from the unnecessary deaths and gore.
Dear Unity, reunite us with our long lost friends,
So there will be happiness and laughter as broken hearts mend.
Clear the miserable loneliness haunting around,
And stop at no cost until the cure is found.
Dear Unity, oh unity, our guardian angel in disguise,
Getting rid of the hatred, betrayal and the emotion; despise.
Dear Unity, you are all for one and one for all,
Thank you for being there every time we fall.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
eye did. As my prejudices expected, the odd assortment of "characters"were all present and not to be unaccounted for...a romantic comedy on a good Friday, attracts the believers, the well wishers, the ones who think if only the world was.. and I was not re or so tired of life, unemployed, lonely, damaged in some manner of being...
not too many young, just a few... theater darkness is a masque, with a risqué chance of oh no, I've been witnessed by the non-believers.
the infirm with their mobile caretakers and paraphernalia were there. Odd couples, were there. If there was one unifying common characteristic, I selected this one. We all needed haircuts. eye don't know why but it made me think about going to get one's haircut, and the rituals that requires....and it is and is not a bit like being in a almost totally private world inpublic, where you, the individual and some outside force majeure, hairdresser, movie screen engages and temporarily transforms you. That is why, I, went to the movies on a Friday afternoon, to be transformed and not reformed, in public, in private...
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
I am the lust of the universe
longing to know itself
I am the thoughts like a cascading stream
water pummeling the rock of my soul
molding, shaping, forming, conforming
I am the peace of the bamboo forest
a society of shoots
shades of green solitude
standing together, clunking hollow,
serene, transfixing parallel angles, mesmerizing
obscuring the gaze beyond, reflecting within
drops drip and fall with a shake
I am the child throwing sand into the ocean,
jumping from the rushing water
challenging fate with a raised fist and a laugh to do his worst
I am the dancer in the waves
lifted by the tides
pirouetting in the current
I am the red stone cliff on the sea shore
sovereign stratum carved
growing with green, lush yet hard
I am the buttressed black lava rock
standing in the water, remote and mysterious
accepting time and erosion, jagged
I am the new sun rising red
arising from the mountain mist swirling on the ocean
ascending from the clouded horizon
a grand illusion of motion, perception, the seer
I am the beach wood
fallen from the trees standing
as sentinels to the ebb and flow
laughing in silence with the wind and the sound of tides whooshing
I am the surfer
riding the energy of the earth
slicing across the liquid wall face
I am the flag of men
unifying and dividing
I am the sand welcoming water and feet
soft as creamy butter
I am the mother and the son
replenishing, trailing, following, playing, watching
sharing belly buttons
I am the butterfly gliding on the Kona wind
wandering immortal
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
*Real learning we
learn from
a red bicycle..
Movement is
conversation of
oppositions..
Without conversation
differences reign..
We soon find
multiplicity growing
and peace disturbed..
Red reminds us
each difference relates
to other differences..
Relating is unifying
bringing the peace
Red turns Blue...*
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
Contrapuntal
— adjective, Music.
- pertaining to counterpoint.
- composed of two or more relatively independent melodies sounded together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If we set this site poetic to music,
there would be two
contrapuntal melodies.
A harmony of disharmony,
met and matched by a
single refrain,
a harmonizing voice
meeting the needs
of the sopranos, the altos.
the low of the lowest basso.
I am in love,
life painting me beautiful.
The dawn is cracking,
opening my heart with love.
*I am a heartbroken shell,
in a living hell of neverending.
There is no light
in my bed at night, bulb broken.*
Let's write of joy,
celebrate reunification, singularity,
of our place,
our happy collision,
our universal location.
For where you are,
I exist,
no where else.
*Less than nothing,
gave and given in,
found a lost plateau
where there is no substance, only
pieces of broke,
pieces of ache,
pieces of brown glass*
I live you.
I die you.
There is but one color, and it is the color of us.
There is but one color, and it is colorless.
There is one vow for two,
the vow is one!
Keeping it,
natural, easy,
time is unrecorded,
forever is immeasurable.
*There are no vows ever kept,
only lies,
passing promises of vanity.
Never is the only time
that can be recorded.*
A new world symphony
that never ends.
What then
the unifying
refrain
uniting joy and pain?
Write it down.
Write it up.
Write it and believe.
We will listen,
and care,
having been there,
both ways,
both sides now
we are
write
alongside you.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:22 AM UTC
Step by step it flows
Unleashing trapped desires
Edifying body and soul
Unifying humankind in entire.
Reaching within depths untold
Possessing, with grooves so bold
With rhythmic waves and strides
Varying from tribe to tribe.
Dancing is a rite
Not a mere reaction to music
Dancing is a language
Spoken in the voice of the body
As music transpires with bodies
Bodies of beautiful maidens
Bodies- voluptuous, with sweat
Leaving our warriors gasping!
Dancing to the beats
Dancing to the rhythm
Dancing in the heat
Like horses never ridden
Dancing is a bond unbroken
An expression of feelings unspoken
Well spoken by the untrained
Well grasped by the unlearned
Birthing in the cries of Ogene
Riding on the waves of Udu
Floating on the wings of Ekwe
Gliding in the ripples of Oja
It is the essence of our tradition
Passed from generations of old
We express it proudly
As we answer the call of Igba.
© Raphael Uzor
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
Generations pass as autonomy eludes us denying us the opportunity
to reach for liberality.
Indifference, being a predecessor, digs shallow graves in so many ways,
Watching heritage that once was become something uncanny,
Unrecognizably lingering; lifeless.
Racial force fields, forces fields of incarcerated thoughts to take root,
Keeping us from seeing beyond ourselves,
and
The barriers built to keep those out,
only keep us,
from letting us, to allow others in,
and trust is placed on trial,
looking at a life sentence of death, unaware of its opportunity
to freely avail or elude it’s predicament.
If only it would appeal to the counsel of the majority.
Stubbornness sometimes refuses to embrace what we know needs to
be confronted in order to bring about change,
unifying an outside world
where life is not always fair and those around us calculate thoughts to hinder our progression.
We live in a place of democracy and disdain where street corner pharmaceuticals
****** the weary,
where adolescent girls are forced to become
teenage mothers or prostitutes,
where empty baseball diamonds and dugouts
are replaced by thick scaling barb wired walls and gray barred cells,
where young men and women trade their age multiplied for the number they will where in a system for life, and
where the sound of a crying disappointed child is exchanged for anger and abuse,
in the absence of a father or mother figure,
figuratively disfigured and lost in translation;
an abandonment of generations past.
Who will lead and guide us?
Who will plead and advocate on our behalf?
Who will stand in the gap?
Who will lead us past the captive mind to captivate hearts?
Who will provide the keys to unlock and break us free?
Free from the broken barriers that divide us?
~
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
The Quantum Poetry Theorem
from a long time ago,
a thousand poems a priori.
**Dedicated to you, Albert Einstein and the cast of TBBT, special thanks to the OWS movement.,
But especially to the few, the brave, geeks who write poetry in word and in equations.**
Scruffy, yet ennobled,
my own 99% invade and
occupy all my senses,
in my eyesight encamped
sensing opportunity,
the 99 demand
that each shutter eye snap,
all nominal exhalations,
every quantum minutia perception,
be live streamed,
direct tv to you
Everything I witness,
transformed into an
acoustic guitar rocking vision,
a levitation of poetic expression,
set to a primitive three-chord
rock & roll overture,
and my iPad,
appointed Recording Secretary,
compiles exhalations as ecrivations
a preservation society of the verb,
strings of words emanating non-stop
within my head, from a guitar playing
twenty four seven, ironically,
expressed mathematically
Street strolling,
busy brasserie bar,
a Pinot Noir arrives,
a large pour of
stanzas and a
napkin upon to scribble
mind in ferment but
A Capella smooth cool,
my bossy brain requires
incident reports,
a "write me down, please,"
and
no matter how much I drink,
ain't anti-matter enough to
stop my eyes from seeing
every human interaction
as a poetic, probabilistic,
verbal equation,
quantum expressions of sensory upload
The brain revels and reels from overload,
no mas, no more,
poetry fatigue incurable,
caplets and ointments,
string theory,
can't cure or explain
the compulsion I feel,
and the 1% of me
protests my
overtaxed mental capacity,
and
hear the, see the, masses,
the shouts, the placards,
outside my home,
shut it down, no one cares,
no one wants your transplanted mechanics
in their eardrums
Huzzah, found in my gut,
a Grand Unifying Theory
to coordinate, gauge and harmonize
my internal asymmetries,
yes, a coupling factor required,
but still,
one equation that explains everything!
my fatigued, pointy, index finger
refuses to tap any more,
my Theory of Everything,
and my poetry, forgot, overlooked.
in my library buried,
black holed, forever silence-stored
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
Sorry it ended up like this.
Me out here, still wrapped up warm in my vestigial garment of flesh.
You in there, naked amongst your primitive ancestors like the youngest adult at a wedding, mingling awkwardly, embarrassed.
I wonder how you died. Your ribs look like they have been fixed back together after some kind of trauma.
A car crash maybe?
Maybe you struggled with long term illness, rotting before you ripened like a sickly bud in a wet spring.
However it happened your bronze plaque states it was untimely and therefore probably tragic. '(A young woman)' I read, not so much discovering but confirming what I already knew to be true when I first laid eyes first met yours across the crowded room.
You stand about as tall as me, your shining off white cheeks delicate as fine china. Staring out of you glass cabinet, you seem to beg not to be judged alongside your distant relatives, your slumping neighbors.
Fragile and sweet, you radiate a quiet dignity. It isn't hard to imagine the thin layer of blood, skin and fibrous tissue that it would take to make you beautiful again.
I plunge my hand through that glass portal, soft folds of meat transposed to brittle bone and back again, unifying you world with the mortal
It was obvious that you were beautiful, and involuntarily I envy the one who held you and kissed you last.
I wonder if anyone ever wrote a poem for you when you were alive.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
Sensual entrapment,
Heart, mind, soul, unifying in
Emotional *******
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC
I woke up this morning with a reminder
that the broken is hard to fix.
Tiny pearls spread across my sheets,
broken away from their unifying whole.
I held them and I cried.
They were not significant before,
they mattered less than most things.
But in that moment,
they were you and me
and nothing is more important than that.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
(And)
had this word
not have been invented
we couldn't join
others together
and
is a great unifying word
and
we can sing like birds
at the virtue of this word
and
I could
go on all day
about the word
and
but I shall
let you all
read something
which features
the word
and
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
They link together,
number and days,
strings of value
punctuated with semicolon winks;
(and consonant curved smiles.)
A grand unifying theory
hanging Baubles, Bangles
and bright shiny Beads.
The impulse Force of changing
momentous Month bending
light years in frequency of days,
mega-Hertz too compressed
up longitudinal mornings
and down transverse evenings
of negative pressure silence.
>intercorrelate.sync.JPC.+.FB
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
Not sure if you’ve ever
heard of
Phineas Gage,
but he was a railroad man somewhere
in Vermont
and one day he accidentally blew a
******* iron rod through his
******* think-box and
here’s the kicker:
He
*******
lived.
Now, this big metal cylinder,
on its flight path,
carved a cavern in Gage’s
cerebrum, more specifically
through his frontal lobe
and when the bleeding finally stopped
and they got his left eye all sewn shut
he told the first person he saw,
probably a loved one crowded around his
filthy hospital bed
to kindly
**** Off and Die.
He got out of that hospital bed,
eventually,
and when he did, he tried his damndest
to go back to work
but he just couldn’t.
What’s more his friends said he just wasn’t
Gage
any more. His personality
had changed.
He didn’t give a **** about
the sunset anymore.
He liked his coffee black and his pancakes
dry.
Which is strange because beforehand
he didn’t drink any coffee
and he didn’t like pancakes much neither.
He also became quite
the drinker,
which is funny considering he hadn’t had
a drop
of alcohol
in his life
before then.
You see I always thought that
personality
was something you couldn’t
touch.
That it was some grand unifying evidence
of the existence of the human
soul.
But here’s Gage,
who just so happens to take
a pole to the dome
and suddenly he’s just
not
Gage.
So maybe it’s true
that we’re all just
machines
and you can pull a man’s
favorite color
or his taste in music
or his eating habits
out of his head
and set them on a sterile tray
right in front of him.
That makes sense.
But everything in me
still wants to
believe.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
Not all tree roots
need to be long or thick
to be strong mighty ever lasting.
trancending time and space
The strongest tallest trees
have SHORT roots tightly close interconnectedly
with many tree roots
by one amazing fact
being rooted from underneath very close to one another
Huddled in short proximity
it's how the strongest tallest trees thrive stronger live longer.
across time and space
lungs on earth for humans.
Nature teaching showing why
even poets lost in solitude
are as derooted weak trees
they shrivel and die
Here at Hello Poetry
we may willfully become stronger tightly rooted together
to grow taller stronger mightier
or perish for lack of unifying interconnectedness.
huddled root to root
I perceive a disconnection on H.P, among many poets
with thick long roots yet unable to stay connected with
one another in rampard discord
some expecting benefits without any other concern but arrogance
and selfishness
Trusting unison powerful
indestructible succeeds interconnectedness.
Why not huddle up together
closer so noone deroots us.
i hunger for your view on this.
Nature is teacher at best
intermingling tightly
so closer in proximity
likewise
poet to poetess poem to poem
so that i may follow you
confident follow me
huddled up
root to root.
~~~~~~~~
By:Karijinbba
revised: 01-07-19
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 1:53 AM UTC
I am a golden being king
of all beasts sent by God,
to keep on searching for
all of truth.
Shinning fleeces glazing, almost
lazy, soaking up the sun.
My eyes held above the crowd
I sit back looking and looking.
Golden manes flowing with winds
keep on blowing. Yellow flames
keep on bellowing as the truth
keeps on coming.
I hear the sound of armies fleeing
as all my openness becomes
my strength.
My life an open book spreading
miles across facebook nothing
hidden all in view.
My honesty more brazen and bolder
than the Roman Empire.
As the world steps back I am unfolding
12 foot tall keep on growing.
Golden nuggets once hidden
now shinning.
I rattle the enemy to the core with
my dark ROAR the recesses of my
being turning over like an engine.
As there is not a part of my being
I have not seen all shadows disappear
with my seeing.
I turn the world upside down inside out
as all dark hidden corners become
white shinning teeth.
Ferociously I tackle the world
with a fearless truth.
Roaring into battle my open heart
devours all lies and untruth.
Let us charge
let us charge
Let the
fires burn
fires burn
As all is unified in this battle
for the streams of Gold and silver
For with no sacrifice there can be
nothing gained.
Driven forward and lifted up an
honor deep inside carries us
into battle.
So tonight my friend take me on
let us fight
be my brother
For now is a good time to die.
For the truth shall **** us all
but in the same way save us.
So my friend my brother
let us fight together
as we serve the golden King
Wear his crest upon our chest.
As all men fall within the limits
of their own lies let us hold the flag
of truth above us.
Let us die in the lies we beat to the
ground to be reborn within the truth
we hold above our head.
Living life with the glorious
King of beasts
the Golden Lion King.
Holding truth above our
own being we may proudly
bring love and dignity
to all of GODS Kingdom.
As all order is maintained
while he sits upon his throne.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
The knot,
Perplexed at its simple complex elegance,
tying two loose ends,
The weaves and tensions that holds together,
unifying bonds yet as far as they can be.
A knot is all around, those who knot and those who not.
I was not.
I didn't know how to knot.
Strings all around tangle but rarely knot,
the simple geometry without angles nor shape,
the beauty when a knot takes place,
a consistent loop they make
nothing spectacular for a circus but interest took pace.
trial and error, the two ends are brought closer and closer,
they pass and meet, the excitement and anticipation of the feat,
to what will the knot take place; fascinating,
dream or visualise but know not the form this knot takes.
The strings tangle and tangle,
the string beginning to take the form of a loop,
success is always a thought and a want,
but sometimes is what we seldom get
sliding past and they untangle with such pace as to realise,
the strings flew part.
This interest this passion for a knot,
as a fire burns its brightest the more fuel it use;
if the fuel is not enough, this fire quickly tears away at its sustenance,
leaving only a hollow hulk,empty.
An ember that is burnt and unkindled.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 5:25 AM UTC
a soft grey blanket flows through the peaks of green pines
silencing the celestial voice of the moon
while steel horses restlessly paw, panting gas fumes
the volleyball desert, at first glance barren
reveals a complex terrain of mountains and cigarettes
to the watchful eagle's eye
a wooden temple towers, built on artificial ground
cool stone poured into aesthetically pleasing islands
a forty square foot-print
a holy site of human ingenuity
with offerings from the clans of Miller and Busch
lying scattered like bones on the monolithic plain
anbaric lamps imitating miniature stars cast shadows at night
and the once vibrant world takes on unifying hues of blue
I guess the old adage that
"misery loves company"
is indiscriminate of nature
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
Getting rich selling junk food to poor folk
Or poor cleaning rich people's ****
Your dreams get in tune while you're sleeping at night
To the beat of the futility loop.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
Hope serves the watchful eyes of the tireless observer.
Freight trains of predacious signals burn through the Western hemisphere, misfiring the neurons of walking creativity. Authenticity belongs in the unknown showers of passion. Growing out in billows of lover’s hair. Lost in translation, victories will be claimed in earnest. To failures be honest exploration.
Ignorance will not bind the bees of new springs or the birds of southern departure. I contend for further marching. Bring about the movement. Action stems from desire. To knowledge I lend my contribution, through passion we make this in-land testimony. Behold the passing of butterflies. Many ponder these chances of fate. Decisive will the what-if tragedies be if one could see the reversal of choice, but rain still falls. Events unfold with the consequences of existence.
Knowing the truthful selves of East and West comes at the even pace of diversity. Personality differs as peaceful individuals of preferable serenity work inwardly as the proclamations of the lively bodies of social intrigue light their torches. Jugs of withered grape inebriate the tongues of their mood. Unifying the tangible honesty of exuberated calm. Flows, flowing in rhymes of poetry.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 1:17 AM UTC
Hope serves the watchful eyes of the tireless observer.
Freight trains of predacious signals burn through the Western hemisphere, misfiring the neurons of walking creativity. Authenticity belongs in the unknown showers of passion. Growing out in billows of lover’s hair. Lost in translation, victories will be claimed in earnest. To failures be honest exploration.
Ignorance will not bind the bees of new springs or the birds of southern departure. I contend for further marching. Bring about the movement. Action stems from desire. To knowledge I lend my contribution, through passion we make this in-land testimony. Behold the passing of butterflies. Many ponder these chances of fate. Decisive will the what-if tragedies be if one could see the reversal of choice, but rain still falls. Events unfold with the consequences of existence.
Knowing the truthful selves of East and West comes at the even pace of diversity. Personality differs as peaceful individuals of preferable serenity work inwardly as the proclamations of the lively bodies of social intrigue light their torches. Jugs of withered grape inebriate the tongues of their mood. Unifying the tangible honesty of exuberated calm. Flows, flowing in rhymes of poetry.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 1:17 AM UTC
they sentenced anarchy to death in 1887.
in the wake of the Haymarket Affair,
they tried in vain to hang a fifth figure
on a chilly November day,
attempted to fit a noose
on an idea that's bullet-proof.
solidarity.
liberty.
equality.
a refrain that remains in remembrance
of Engel, Fischer, Parsons, Spies,
and every man, woman, and child
whose life was robbed by the State
before his or her time.
a mantra celebrating the universal
qualities capable of unifying humanity
even in the face of an apparatus arraigned
to divide
and segregate.
we march in Chicago and Seattle,
in Toronto and NYC,
continuing the fight they began
for dignity and a living wage—
our burning rage growing to a conflagration
as we wave black flags and reclaim
the city streets from killer cops
and corporate oligarchs.
authority an illusion we will shed
in the tides of black and red, united
against injustice.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
Ideas not people
rule the world,
competing for supremacy,
**********
Conflicting, waring
to gain the
upper hand,
control.
Virus like
as it spreads
through the population
Infecting all that come
in contact.
Ideas are insidious things,
once infected nearly impossible
to ignore.
Populations are
controlled by ideas.
Religious ideas, political ideas,
run gunshot
over millions,
pitting whole
populations
against one another.
The relative nature
of ideas is dependent
on the level of infection.
Where do ideas come from?
Who or what injections
them into
our releam.
Ideas make us
do things,
controls us.
Free will just an
illusion.
Ideas make
us behave as
they will.
Can there be
a unifying
idea that shows us the
way?
Would that just be
universal control?
Are our brains complex
enough
to see the
unifying
Idea when it
finally arrives?
Memes can lead us
into the future,
or undo it all.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 7:43 AM UTC
Intrepidly neglected, of my lessened reasoning, I am dissected, of my insurrection, from the blessed beens of yesteryear's glints, dancing, parading, and burning, in layers, stages, and fazes, fading, and melting, the plastic faces into the smelting heap, that has come so far, just to inspire me.
Always.
Always you unto me, spiraling, indefinitely into the deep, where ceased is the times, with bloodied hands, and laugh lines, laughing one last time, while glancing toward my watch, under setting suns, and rising stars, smiling faces, and in tearful goodbyes, i realise
The sky's limitlessness
And in all the glory, and all the bliss, the eloquent stories, and the gentle drifts, my imagination uplifts, in wisps of gentleness, where i submit to reason.
Bless-ed be, the one who garners to my support, from a vortex of euphoric antidotes, of mindless quotes, and animated emotes, pulsed, from straight faces, and lost hope.
Ill tell the truth, you can go with nope, in whispered breaths of gun smoke, lathered in lith-dope.
Just trying to cope with the flow, until i crash upon the shores of nevermore, and, explore these holes in my soul intent, ascending from the contempt of bent perspectives, and twisted concepts, letting the blood of the peasant from my arms of harmony, trembling blankly to sleep.
To you a ***** to me tranquility, as i sink, into the world i knew, so that it may be seen, casing the well being, of all the things, and pixelated dreams, from a thieves keep.
Deep, down, below me, in obscurity, i seep, through the soil of my turmoil, until my hand reaches out, from beyond my doubts, and clambers from the shadows, outside of myself.
I am born, of mud, of muck, of the stuff, you're afraid of, and all i bare is love, love to shrug the shams astray, vacating the placation, and dichotomies, unifying light, into one me, shining in the rainy streets, of my deletion
Until my completion
Completely
Erases me.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC