"uninhabitable" poems
All my poems are
The same, aren't they?
*"You're being lied to by a corrupt,
Imperialistic government,
Corporations own your soul,
We're destroying the planet's
Natural resources, making
It uninhabitable, to ourselves and
Driving other species to extinction,
Capitalism is unethical, and
It subverts the potential
For real democracy,
Yada yada yada yada
Blah blah blah"*
Maybe I should write about
Something else, but what?
I like flowers,
Flowers are nice,
Especially orchids, but
Not those weird,
Smelly ones that grow
On Callery trees... no
Those things reek like
Stale **** and sour milk.
Ah, but who could deny
The pungent and delicate
Fragrance of a rose?
Someone with anosmia,
That's who.
What, you didn't
Stop to think about,
People with disabilities?
How incredibly
Inconsiderate!
What are you?
Some sort of
Overprivileged, straight,
White, cis male ableist?
**** off, you ******
You might as well
Be a fascist. I would
Tell you to go back
To **** Germany, but
HEY, NEWS FLASH,
It's 2015, buddy,
Grow up and join
Us adults here in
The real world.
Wait... where was
I going with this?
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
As life in Israel flourishes
For Israelis, it's not so fine--
As many conditions deteriorate--
For the poor people of Palestine.
Chances of a two-state solution
Dwindle, which is not a good sign
As settlement expansions increase,
Affecting the people of Palestine.
For Palestinians imprisoned in Gaza,
The infrastructure is in a decline.
Will Gaza be uninhabitable for
The poor people of Palestine?
Defining what is their land, Israeli
Lawmakers draw a hard line:
This land belongs to the Jews, they say,
Forgetting the people of Palestine.
Cuts in economic aid
And hospital care will undermine
The health and quality of life
Of the poor people of Palestine?
Will an Israeli apartheid regime
Be the ultimate design,
Or will there be hope for the poor
Struggling people of Palestine?
-by Bob B (10-22-18)
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
i.
Off to Fuga island
Next to the pamalican;
Then to Bucas grande
In the turquoise shallow end's.
ii.
Next, the Mactan
Wherein the grain's art caramel tan;
Then to the land of Coran
And Cebu, where the shore meet's the dawn.
iii.
Hiding safely, on Bohol isle
There art tarsier, and thing's of wild;
Diogo islet next, an uninhabitable place
Me and mine Reyna shalt explore it, with tribal paint on face.
iv.
Off, to the great Santa Cruz
Ourn feet, in the pink corraline sand;
Zamboanga City, the southern region
Of this Filipino relic strand..
v.
Whilst next the Sangat
The western part of this expedition;
Whilst doing all this sight-seeing
It shalt be with mine Jane nagley, in earth's natural kitchen.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
There once was a tiny bundle of cells that grew in my womb
without the assistance of fertility medications or ovulation testing
a surprise spontaneous occurrence of the first sparks of Life
a product of the kind of ******* that happens on a honeymoon
between newlyweds full of bliss, lust, and hope
My womb once thought uninhabitable to such an occurrence
boarded a plane home five days later
cradling this new truth-
The Honeymoon Baby
Weeks would pass before my womb would begin to betray its secret
3 days late- nothing
5 days late- nothing
8 days late- the little blue plus sign and a whisper from deep in me-
“You aren’t broken?”
For several hours my womb and I jealously guarded this knowledge
My new husband not known for his enthusiasm wouldn’t share in my joy
So I sat alone feeding my hungry heart on now debunked beliefs
“You AREN’T broken!”
Having gorged myself to the point of bursting on a meal years in the making
I looked with wet eyes to my then partner of more than half a decade
“we made a honeymoon baby; I’m not broken.”
No, he wouldn’t share my joy.
His eyes turned to windows in the days that would follow
They screamed their disgust into the wide open parts of me
as pointedly and with as much passion as his mouth could ever muster
It was then that I began to silently pray the baby away
My silence only increased his vitriol until with a blast he climaxed in his rage
and I felt the cold of the recently adorned wedding band against my neck
as the hands which had held mine so softly so often pinned me to the door
Finally my silent prayers gave way to a singular scream
“I ******* hate you and I hate your child inside of me!”
My womb cried to hear the prayer spoken
She cried so long and so loud that she began to bleed
She heaved and sobbed her rage into rivers of blood that wouldn’t stop for weeks
and earthquakes of cramps that would rock me to my core
The unstoppable current of tears and blood carried the translucent sac
that housed the had been Honeymoon Baby into the ***** porcelain bowl
The baby I prayed away that would never speak whispered up
“You are broken.”
The honeymoon was over.
I hadn’t hated him before that.
Six years later to the day we signed divorce papers.
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 6:19 PM UTC
Into the back of any thoughts it simply had gone
those penetrating words Nuclear War!
Also spoken a nuclear winter that followed
not since nineteen ninety two.
Had they been uttered with such meaning
with it a real threat leaning!
Footage of Hiroshima seemed distant images
but many countries have the weapon!
A real peril is no longer mere speculation
each with their known instability!
Without morality to hold their actions back
they'd have no qualms but attack!
Tensions are running ever closer to danger levels
as the irresponsibility explodes!
Even a limited nuclear war could easily escalate
into billions of human deaths!
Obliterated from a once green fertile surface!
to an ash covered uninhabitable place!
Maybe the few could survive along with the cockroaches!
Is this man's inevitable fate?
The Foureyed Poet.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
A man stands. overlooking two different visions. Two different choices.
On the left he gazed over the glorious modernized utopia. Tall prominent skyscrapers, gleaming in the dazzling pure sunlight. Clinical white rows of spacious suburbia. Unnaturally green gardens of perfectly shaped, perfectly cut square grass accompanying the houses. Polished, scentless people strolled down the un-littered perfection of the linear streets. Enormous great smiles featured on the faces of all. The urban paradise. Biblical, eden in practise, sanctity. Economical bliss. Unpolluted, crime free, social perfection. No inequality, racism, no hatred only love among broters. No depression. The endless rows stretched glorious miles, convenience, supermarkets, brand new glistening, hospitals, all necessity in perfect working order. No unemployment, no political unrest. Every man among equals. Utopia.
On the right hand side, wretched poverty as far as the eye can see. Cramped, overwhelmed shanty towns. Terrified people, dragging themselves through diseased streets. Crippling illness plaguing the antagonized masses. There is no employment here, no glistening new buildings. Only the decaying festering ruins of lifetimes of selfishness. Hatred, jealousy, paranoia, neurotic fluttering harpy’s, harlequins of the night. Plagued minds, plagued bodies. Gargantuan monsters of men rose from the rubble. Demented. Lava flows freely through the crumbling streets. There are no trees here, no vegetation, only blackened earth. Blackened with the ****** despair of man. Only anguish in this land. The black sun burns with hateful rage in the sooty, cloudy toxic sky, the only rain falls as corpses falling from sardine cans to the sky. Burnt out cancerous lungs, filled with sulphurous air from the giant volcano's of dead minds, spewing deadly chemicals into the already uninhabitable environment. The demons of despair stalk this land, endlessly wallowing in there own self-loathing, amongst other vile things.
The decision resting on his shoulders governs life for all men, all men to come. His left side, yearning for paradise, freedom, equality for all, peace, communal gain.
His right side leaning towards narcissistic self gain. Taking the world for himself, watching alone the setting of the poisoned blck sun, poisoned by his greed.
He walked forward, leaving the realms of choice behind him. The future was his to choose.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
the cave-in started
with honesty,
a promise
an admiration of agency,
of power and pride.
it was felt for miles
yet went unnoticed
the surrounding area
laughing
"I don't understand,"
a birthday at the next table,
a crying child.
wine bled through the cracks in that cave
as the flow of native water
slowed to a trickle
and receded
to make way for
desperation
at least so it seemed.
weeds and smiles
withered and revealed
selfishness,
loathing,
pain and fear.
what appeared there
in the collapsing darkness
of the once rigid--
and now compromised--
shelter of those
warm catacombs
was,
in fact,
hatred
layers upon layers of sedimentary disgust
that rendered those systems
inhospitable
uninhabitable
anger
and wine
laughter
"I'm not coming back."
Jun 29, 2023
Jun 29, 2023 at 8:58 PM UTC
When sleep deserted me
I crawled out of my bed unseen
To delve into the crevices of the dark
With the curiosity of an explorer
And the near comatose of a somnambulist
I walked up and down the steep slopes of the night
Like a night watchman
Without a lantern in his hand
When my legs grew weary
I sat on a rock
Covered with moss and lichen
Staring at the dark night sky
With no constellation of fireflies
Flashing their torches anywhere
Sitting there, I listened to the song of night birds,
The rustle of leaves,
The howl of wolves,
And the night wind’s rave
Looking into the dark pockets of the night,
I thought of human mind, a deep gorge
With many an uninhabitable corner
Where serpent desires lie coiled
Scorpions crawl with toxic pincers
Predators roam to prey upon helpless victims
The mystery of the night absorbed me
Her muffled sounds, her dark beauty
Her elusive charm, like thick night fog,
Percolated deep into my consciousness
And I floundered in a fathomless sea,
Swirling in her eddies and currents.
It whisked me away to lands far…far!
But on being washed ashore,
I was in a creative delirium
I am now in No Man’s Land
Where everything is in a coma of stillness
Where no light glimmers
No door ajar
And no one in sight!
Here the poet in me breaks open
The somnambulist's comatose
And down way flow my thoughts in indelible ink
Which only I can read
Like a night bird
Roosting among the branches of a tree
I sing of my heart aches,
Of my yearnings and longings
In the barely audible whispers of the night,
My song reverberates in the eyeless abyss down,
And the dark desolate valleys below
People say, ghosts walk the earth at night.
Oh! I am not scared!
I am not eager for the dawn to break,
Nor want to put my pen down!
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
Forsaken soul
Taking root in a land thought barren
Or hostile
Or uninhabitable
Where the water is poison
The air toxic
Will your vines slip through the cracks,
Dandelion?
Will you be the ****
That blossoms in the summer
And leaves yellow stains on
The palms of our hands?
Will we cut your roots down?
Will we shut out the sun?
Do we shake the earth with cloven hooves
And break the stone?
Maybe you'll **** the water supply dry
Or maybe you'll just **** the poison out
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 3:32 AM UTC
what is the measure of sorrow
is there a standard unit
against which we may rule
an overladen mind
and a heart demolished
graphing with infinite precision
each shattered hope
and marking the dimensions
of dreams ground to dust
are tears numbered
or more properly
and accurately accounted
by volume
or weight
shall we assign a value
on a sliding scale
to the mutilation
of a human soul
can we make comparison
among various torments
or attempt to visualize
in a chart of bright colors
splashed on a screen
the lifelessness of one person
to that of another
is despair loss
or hope denied
might it be joy withheld
does suffering
have weight and volume
that we might
determine its mass
is it instead a void
where something which
was present
has been removed
is it possible to create
an image of wretchedness
a ruined and rotting
playground of lost innocence
a charred and crumbled husk
of a home shattered
an arid uninhabitable waste
of aspirations unbirthed
with what pigment
shall we produce such art
which color wheel
will be used
in what earthly perdition
are the gauges found
reading the depth of misery
or the height of anguish
what is the magnitude
of the grief
the touchstone of devastation
against which all other grief
must be measured
Mar 8, 2022
Mar 8, 2022 at 9:45 PM UTC
there's nothing worse
than being deemed uninhabitable
by the people with the power
to light fires in your soul.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
Day in.
Night out.
Inhabit the uninhabitable.
Burn,
and smolder.
Who left you behind?
**** to ****
Lip to lip.
Restless lovers on a summers night.
No frill and lace for you.
Decrepit corpses of once treasured breaks.
Repulsive and lovely.
Persuasively fickle.
Sinews haphazardly soldered together.
Lithesome substance,
leave your remains.
Salacious.
Canine.
Obsessive.
Cancer.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
I am not built for love
I can't keep you warm
The fireplace in my chest
Is soaking wet
From the water that drips
Through my moonlit
Jagged holes
Beautiful to you
In some long forgotten way
You won't stay
In a rain stained skeleton
A visitor in a museum
I'll make a pretty photo
For you to look back on
When you go
All that will remain will be
Trampled leaves and high ceilings
A shadow in the trees
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
We live a clockwork life
And Saturn thinks clocks are wise
We spin on clockwork time
But she is counter to it
Second from the sun
Uninhabitable
Yeah she is the son
Rising in the west
I long for those long days
Here is only tall tales
She twirls retrograde
And no one posts her bail
Top of the pyramid
Are the tiny shiny kids
They take all our bids
Yeah they’re friends of Lucifer
Seconds from the bomb
They invented time and talk
Thinks she is the bomb
Rising in the west
I long for those long days
Here the horses are pale
She spins retrograde
She’s my nightingale
We live a clockwork life
And we think clocks are wise
We spin on clockwork time
But she is counter to it
Second from the sun
She flipped upside down
Waiting for another son
To rise in the east
I long for those long days
Here is only blood and nails
She twirls retrograde
She’s my blackest veil
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 1:59 PM UTC
The Fire Cycle
BY ZACHARY SCHOMBURG
There are trees and they are on fire. There are hummingbirds and they are on fire. There are graves and they are on fire and the things coming out of the graves are on fire. The house you grew up in is on fire. There is a gigantic trebuchet on fire on the edge of a crater and the crater is on fire. There is a complex system of tunnels deep underneath the surface with only one entrance and one exit and the entire system is filled with fire. There is a wooden cage we’re trapped in, too large to see, and it is on fire. There are jaguars on fire. Wolves. Spiders. Wolf-spiders on fire. If there were people. If our fathers were alive. If we had a daughter. Fire to the edges. Fire in the river beds. Fire between the mattresses of the bed you were born in. Fire in your mother’s belly. There is a little boy wearing a fire shirt holding a baby lamb. There is a little girl in a fire skirt asking if she can ride the baby lamb like a horse. There is you on top of me with thighs of fire while a hot red fog hovers in your hair. There is me on top of you wearing a fire shirt and then pulling the fire shirt over my head and tossing it like a fireball through the fog at a new kind of dinosaur. There are meteorites disintegrating in the atmosphere just a few thousand feet above us and tiny fireballs are falling down around us, pooling around us, forming a kind of fire lake which then forms a kind of fire cloud. There is this feeling I get when I am with you. There is our future house burning like a star on the hill. There is our dark flickering shadow. There is my hand on fire in your hand on fire, my body on fire above your body on fire, our tongues made of ash. We are rocks on a distant and uninhabitable planet. We have our whole life ahead of us.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
You can have Tennessee,
I want Rhode Island,
You can have Michigan,
But I want Arizona.
You can have Manhattan,
Austin,
Las Angeles,
But please pay no mind to West Virginia.
I deserve Hatteras,
Considering my childhood
Phoenix? Please keep it, I don’t belong there
I want the subways,
The taxis,
And Vegas,
I’ll promise to steer clear from your home state,
New Hampshire.
Make sure to take the country roads,
railways,
and buses,
As long has as you never step foot in Seattle.
You can have our old apartment,
I get the dog though,
He likes me better,
Burn down the bar where we met long ago.
I want Wisconsin,
Maryland,
Ohio,
Say hello to your mother for me in California.
A mutual declaration,
We divide our favorite places.
If we’re lucky,
We’ll never contact again.
We’ll map out the borders,
Part ways,
Shake hands,
Declaring the love we had,
uninhabitable.
And yes, we’ll split the difference.
If we should step on each other’s path,
in passing,
Despite my avoidance,
I will be very humble,
Very stern,
Aloof,
But forgiving.
I don’t ever want to see you again, my friend.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
The light of the sun creeps across the duvet
under which you and I are entwined.
Our limbs entangled like a pair of neglected earphones,
stowed away in a now unused jacket pocket;
both of us pleasantly unable to ascertain where our body starts
and the others begins.
The room smells like stale cigarettes and wine,
which is only intensified by both the heat of the sun
and the warmth of our own biology.
The aroma transforms from stale to fresh as I crack a new bottle,
pouring us both a healthy glass,
whilst you light our last cigarette;
Taking a few draws then passing it to me,
along with the over-flowing ashtray.
Our unwashed skin is sticky with dry sweat,
accumulated during sleep and **********
Our mouths rancid from the wine
and the lack of toothpaste applied.
To the naked eye there is a thick and smokey cloud of filth
occupying the space above our heads;
creating an atmosphere uninhabitable to anyone but us.
This mass of pollution combines with the salt-filled air,
streaming in from the open window;
making for an interesting cocktail of unpleasantness.
To all this we are blissfully unaware,
and we just lie there,
basting in it;
caring not a jot.
Our thoughts only for each other
and the tingling in our nerve endings
when we catch the others eye.
For eternity we lie there,
until one of us has to ****
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
It was humanity that was the mixed bag of jelly beans at summer camp that spilled out into the scorching sun restless for *** and sun-tans.
All before they melted away into Kandinsky paintings pretending that happiness was something of a virtue.
And while the paintings ignited into a righteous firestorm of white men in white robes with hope and faith, flying out the church doors and taking to the sky, morphing into airplanes to destroy the great peace in the form of two obelisks pointing to Allah.
To the american hypocrisy that we drink like cough syrup to cure nothing.
While pretending everything was alright.
While dead men are worshiped more than a word of the past that is the future.
Let us forget about innovation.
Let us look back onto the great circles of cycles that we overturn on the great history
of the 4th of July flagpoles that I grasp, feeling the pulse of the blood-filled stripes.
Let us look to the cold-blooded blue square that we plant ourselves on as stars, making our marks in this smooth and creamy void.
Let us walk into the white absences were color is uninhabitable to the Negroes or the Latinos who used all of their angry fixes in activism and cigarettes that burn holes through eternity.
To the Chinese who were thrown out of our stars like mutts in order for our stars to shine the plastic glow that stays illuminated in the lights of Chick-fil-A that sells homosexuals with a side of Leviticus.
Taking, taking, taking to the past and somehow justifying death to natives, then scalping the land as some sort of victory of great imperialism that still hangs to our hearts like a collective tumor.
But I have been kind, I have been free.
To the breath of foreigners breaking the normality that is conformity.
Let me scare you with your greatest fear which is locked away in gravestones and darkness.
Locked away in Kerouac, Whitman and Ginsberg
For that which is change.
I speak directly to the inner gashes that are your soul.
Change before the fireworks turn into mutually assured destruction.
And you won’t.
Change before the feminists shoot me with their trigger warnings.
And you won’t.
Change before the immigrants last breath murmurs **** dreams”.
And you won’t.
I am America and my flag is paper, white paper.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
my brother, my home
we were born from the same sunken star
a pair of old weary souls
still far apart, falling apart
I miss your nearness to me
but we are a bit closer among the universe
if you ever feel like
your world is uninhabitable
you can join mine
because I cannot remember if you're
a dream or a memory
I swear we've touched before
although I had always been wishing
you weren't a fragment of
my own imagination
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 5:43 AM UTC
This, this emotion
Some form of disillusion
And they question why
Questioning me
As they question themselves
I embrace the fog
The same one that holds it all
My past
My present
And the end
The one that is my future
I have little time left
That little I hold dear
Each word with precision
I have learned to hate
This time
The time I have left
Spent only with those
Too familiar with my end
Or to unknowing
To have some semblance of a care
They came to drive me toward this
This wanting
This longing for death
Suicide is no longer there
That option I had
It would only be pity now
In the eyes of the strangers
I draw back my words now
Regress into silence
Take my tears
Take my breath
Take my soul
This longing
Consuming
Ensuing
The sooner it grows near
The less my voice rings
The less I am heard
I am transparent
Fading
Save me from this
This digressing host
This uninhabitable being
Free me from myself
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
From the depths of the sea, they came. Homeless.
Creatures of hapless form, and formless bodies.
Animals carved in the nature of blindness,
without godly supervision; deities.
Convicts they were; that which is wrong,
Leaving behind a world lost to them. Alas,
Their crime is that they did not belong.
But even in exile, they hold debt to their past.
They flopped, they crawled and oozed,
Out of old skin, they became something new.
So the years passed and frequently bruised,
They became gargantuan and further still; grew.
Inhabiting a land, once uninhabitable; now tamed.
Creating dominion over raw nature, they climbed.
Hills, valleys, mountains, volcanoes! They claimed.
Even in the face of annihilation, they climbed.
Above it all they choose to rest, touching the sky.
The creatures learned time, then they chased it.
Always pursuing it, always getting one step ahead. Fly,
They soon did, faster, faster, faster, they chased 'it'.
Until they broke out of the awesome surface.
Like once before they made prints on lands once untouchable.
The creatures are creatures no more. At least not all.
But, soon. All the creatures will float away 'pon solar winds.
I look back on the first of them all. The scared,
Unsheltered and curious creature of the old world.
It looks upon me, with questioning, unaware of destiny. Unprepared,
In its dark eyes, I see light. Light that I am closer to taming. Knowledge unfurled.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
My fingertips graze over that
which I have yet to grasp.
Like a book, I see
the cover. I know
the summary.
Its hype is nearly unbearable.
I feel that without it,
I have yet to feel.
I feel that without it,
I have yet to feel.
A perk and a pain
A bliss and an absence.
Searches are futile. Empty
discoveries abound. Failure
is nearly inevitable. Authenticity
is scarce.
It possesses some power with
which it virtually rules over all.
My curiosity contends my logic and
my overwhelming antipathy conflicts my yearning.
I lack the longing that
follows a loss which
gives me pause.
As my ****** heart stares
at the void, a quivering light
emits from the candle of fear,
brushing the untouched walls, illuminating
the potentiality of destruction.
There is no day in which logic
does not step between my heart
and the void and start to board
up the place.
It is too risky, logic declares,
this place is uninhabitable.
But the naive, ignorant heart implores,
Just wait.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 4:59 PM UTC
My safety advisory system been elevated to RED
Please be aware of your surroundings at all times and do NOT leave your body unattended....but! I should capitalize that...BUT it is not always a choice. And lately, awareness and attendance to my body have not been a choice. I cannot stay in this body at night. It is uninhabitable. And I tell DT there is so much I can’t talk about. So many things that happened that I’m so ashamed of ~ things I cannot believe I did. And I don’t trust myself. I don’t like the huge blackness that surrounds me that continues to threaten me every night.
I don’t want to remember. I want to forget it all. All of it. Because at night, when the anguish and pain torment me to the point I consider taking a bottle of Vicodin, and slitting my wrists in the bathtub, it scares me. So many things that remind me of back then terrorize me now, in my present moment. And I know I need help with it ~ but at the rate I’m able to communicate about this stuff, I will surely be dead before the torment stops. DT tells me to be patient, be patient…but it just keeps getting worse and one night my patience is going to run out and I will do something irreversible. But still he says, be patient, he says he has respect and patience and he will be here when I'm ready to talk. But I'm afraid to speak because the truth is too scary. I offered to draw him a picture instead. His patience feels infinite and yet I still feel as though I am drowning and he is taking too much time blowing up the life raft.
I feel sick. And I feel worried. The pain is torturing me and the pain meds barely touch it. It’s that bad right now. I want to cut...it’s been a struggle.
And I feel worried. And not just for me. I have two good friends whom are also struggling and I don’t know how to help them because I feel so lost too right now. I want to help them but I don’t know what to do. Just be right here, I guess. I wish I could tell them that it’s going to be okay ~ and I could say that, but I don’t know how long it will be before we make it to okay ~ and I don’t know if I have the energy make it that far.
My Security threat level has now been raised to RED. I am safe right this minute, but I don’t know how long I can stay that way…there is no way to tell.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC