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Ann M Johnson Aug 2016
Life is a rollercoaster filled with many ups and downs.
Life is a rollercoaster it can sometimes be scary to be swept off the ground.
Life is a rollercoaster there are moments can sometimes be exciting.
Life is a rollercoaster there are moments where you get knocked off balance and feel sick.
Life is a rollercoaster sometimes all you can do is hang on for your dear life and scream.
Life is a rollercoaster sometimes you reach out for your dreams no matter unpractical they may seem.
Life is a rollercoaster filled with little loop de loops that spin you around and hurl you around in a different direction.
Life is a rollercoaster filled with chaotic moments that make us feel blue.
Life is a rollercoaster, I don't know about you but at times it seems for many the ride ends too quickly without enough time to say goodbye.
Life is a rollercoaster filled with heartache and moments that make us cry.
Life is a rollercoaster and it is best to just face it instead of trying to hide.
Life is a rollercoaster it is good to take a supportive hand as we round the next bend.
Life is a rollercoaster we have this moment today to try to live life to the fullest and remember that it is best enjoyed with our friends and family by our side.
Life is a rollercoaster I am grateful that I have this opportunity to ride this ride.
Life is a rollercoaster so I'll do my best to take bad moments in stride, and focus more on the good moments that are held within each new day if I just choose to look around.
Xyns Oct 2017
You said "inconvenient"
"Unpractical"

Every small sentiment
Had to be tactical

Rejection eminent
Walls are habitual..

Always "inconvenient"
"Unpractical"

No disagreement
It's factual

Too infrequent
Becoming classical

Solely "inconvenient"
"Unpractical"*

For your convenience
Made me fragile

You're transparent
Hardly infallible..
Erin Schwartz Mar 2015
One day they tell you
You can be anything you want
So you start up a dream
Then the next day they tell you how unpractical you're being
But how can you be unpractical when you haven't experienced life in a way that helps you realize the practical forms of what to say and do
How can we as kids realize at such a young age that our dreams really don't matter
We'll never reach them

Growing up they tell you to reach for the stars
You'll be able to catch your dreams if you really try, or at least that's what you believe
But how can you reach something a billion miles away
When you can't even reach small goals that are important to your everyday life

By the age of sixteen you've already given up on your dreams
According to society the only thing that matters is money and looks
But what if you can't have either of those

A year later your daily goals aren't as big but man are they crucial
You're no longer worrying about how much money you'll have or where you shop
The main thing you'll learn to worry about is living
Some people by the age of seventeen want to die and have to make groundbreaking decisions
Do I continue this cycle of broken dreams
Or do I just give up like I did at age ten

At age seventeen you decide to stick through the hard times and see where life takes you
Yes, you went through loads of **** but in the end you're okay, right
Or at least that's what you thought

On your eighteenth birthday you assume there's no bright side to any of this
Today is the day you plan to take your life because you truly believe you're not good enough to reach the goals you set for tomorrow let alone ten years from now
You believe the adults who told you growing up that you were being so unpractical were all right
You couldn't reach those goals or dreams
You couldn't even last a week without breaking your promise to yourself that today would be the day you finally took charge of your life
The day you finally started eating again
The day you finally put down the razor blade
You gave up

At age nineteen you look back at the last three years of your life and realize you're so proud of yourself for not giving up
At age nineteen you're 365 days clean, healthy
Three years ago, when everything started to go down hill for you
You would have never thought you'd be seeing your nineteenth birthday
But yet, here you are celebrating the life that is now in your control
All because you never gave up on your dream of living
Dorothy A Oct 2011
Objective and Subjective decided to hang out together at the park one day, to get to know each other and to try to become friends. Soaking up the views, and watching the people go by, they just sat and relaxed on a park bench.

Subjective broke the ice, first, and said to Objective:

It is getting a bit nippy outside isn't it? I forgot to bring my sweater with me.

Objective replied:

The daytime high will reach 67 degrees with a NW winds of 12 mph. Humidity is 68%. The weather is forcasted today for a 20% chance of rain, but it is not due until evening.

Subjective replied:

Yes, that is good to know...I guess. Now I know why I am cold. Hey, look over there on the right! Check out those roses! Boy oh boy! Did they ever come up colorful this year! I am getting a good whiff of them right now. Don't they smell like heaven?

Objective replied:  

I have never been to heaven, so I can not give you an accurate report. Roses, though, come from a thorn bearing shrub that typically produce fragrant flowers of various colors. Roses are native to north temperate regions. They are widely cultivated for unpractical reasons such as objects of adornment.

Subjective gave Objective a good sidelong glance like, Are you for real? There was a long period of silence as both appeared awkward in each other's company.

Subjective finally broke the silence and said:

The birds are really chirping up a storm today! Oh, I don't mind at all! They sure tweet nice and sweet! But these pigeons I can do without! I don't want them around me! You know what they say, don't you? Pigeons are just rats with wings!

Objective replied:

Actually, rainstorms are not caused by chirping of birds. Rain is produced when water is condensed into clouds from the water evaporation of oceans, lakes and rivers when the heat of the sun activates the process.  Furthermore, there is no such thing as a flying rodent. Even flying squirrels don't actually fly. Birds and rodents are two separate species that cannot produce offspring. Therefore, a rat with wings would be impossible.

Subjective was now beginning to get red in the face. Maybe this was a bad idea hanging out with Objective, after all. Could he really learn to understand him by getting to know him?

Both Objective and Subjective's attention was soon diverted by a tall, slender woman with blonde hair walking by. She now became the center of their focus. Wearing a form fitting blue dress, that came well above the knees, her shapely. long legs were quite appearant as she walked along in 5 inch, spiked heels.
  
Eagerly, Subjective whistled and said:

Wow! Would you get a look at her? What a knockout! Hey, Objective, I think you just saw heaven, after all!

Objective shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and replied:

Beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder. Back in history, it was the full figured woman who was upheld as a virtue of beauty. Her size represented a desired lifestyle of affluence. For example, in the Classical period of art, as well as the Rennaissance and Baroque periods, it was the more voluptuous female that was often the subject of an artist's rendering.

Now Subjective was really ready to blow smoke through his ears, like his blood pressure was going to go through the roof.  No way could he take this for much longer!

He replied:  

That's it! I tried! I did! I really did! But you know what? You are the most annoying being on the planet!

Objective looked stunned at Subjective's outburst of anger. So Subjective continued on in his verbal lashing.

He yelled out:

Yeah, you, Objective! You just don't get it, do you? You really get on my nerves! I can't stand being around you! It is so infuriating!

Objective was at a loss for word. He attempted to utter a reply but could not.    

Subjective added:

I got to get out of here before you drive me crazy! What are you anyway? A walking encyclopedia? A walking dictionary? For the love of Pete, talk like you're normal!!!

As Subjective was ready to storm off Objective meekly replied:

Inanimate objects, such as encyclopedias and dictionaries, cannot realistically have body limbs, nor can they function as living organisms....unless, of course, they are presentated in imaginery situations, such as cartoon figures in cinema, television, comic strips, or storybooks. Also,  I must tell you that I personally don't know anyone named Pete.......

Furious, Subjective got up and stomped off, muttering complaints to himself all the way down the street, leaving Objective sitting on the park bench, by himself. There Objective remained, wondering what he did that was so wrong.



THE MORAL of my LAME story is..........................

OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE JUST DO NOT BELONG OR GO TOGETHER!!!
jonathan valonis Nov 2010
Ah that feeling,
Of hopeless glimmers,
A blank star,
A void stance,
In a space,
Journey through time,
Spectacular new sites,
Distance simply strung,
Across the dark,
Blanket of warmth,
Vision of light,
Fading with tears,
Raining beautiful rainbows,
Smiling with joy,
To dark despair,
By the menace,
Empty and hallow,
Bringing painful sorrow,
Taking rather borrow,
Buying not sharing,
A helping hand,
Knowledge well hidden,
An esoteric given,
Nothing in return,
Just to them,
Is corpses decaying,
Another ***** opportunity,
To magnify profit,
From the return,
Of newly born,
Slaves of society,
The common denominator,
Underlying embellished truth,
The cunning sleuth,
Has hidden dreams,
That brings fear,
To all them,
Us standing tall,
Proud and mighty,
Not falling down,
From scare tactics,
Antisemitic prophetic pathetic,
Attempts to capture,
Our soul again,
To strand us,
Here once again,
To work eternity,
All of us,
March for them,
We will work,
Together that is,
As a team,
We can stop,
Every single one,
Since we control,
All of them,
Market money religion,
Government jobs abroad,
We work them,
Stop being sheep,
Following bo peep,
Off a cliff,
Remove and uplift,
This poor foundation,
Of bad fundamentals,
Before we are,
No longer mentally,
Challenged buy this,
Story of racist,
Scary disappointing place,
Gun toting fascist,
Gangs of masochism,
Atheist a religion,
Our sins forgiving,
Forgetting friends families,
Sheltering ourselves in,
Materialistic meaningless gems,
Gas guzzling cars,
Driven by comical,
Nonsensical unpractical commercials,
Of inferior technology,
Waste products increase,
Buy the demand,
Mass production toxins,
For the air,
To breathe taxes,
The mindless soul,
Drifting into oblivion,
Not self destruction,
Instead unmoral corruption,
Now full cure,
Now full heal,
Still feel sick,
Now need rest,
This is not,
A game attest,
Before hard reset,
Need to reboot,
Not blindly salute,
A flag waving,
Unwavering biased judgment,
Claiming land over,
Those who opposed,
Their fastened weapons,
Iron and bronze,
Steel to gold,
Anything deemed precious,
They will take,
Rocks to drugs,
Food to bugs,
Grass to rugs,
Swept underneath unnoticeable,
The untrained eye,
Awe and surprise,
The attack here,
Will go unseen,
Like the chem-trails,
Released upon us,
Vaccinations we need,
That carries aids,
Strands of ***,
Water we drink,
Contaminated with e.coli,
To the plastic,
That causes cancer,
Aluminum cans causing,
You to forget,
Alzheimer to prevent,
Train your brain,
To learn everyday,
Along with stopping,
Cruel and unjust,
Punishment to others,
Whether you like,
It or not,
We are related,
We are one,
We are looking,
For our self,
We should help,
Realize we are,
Simply one self.
River Scott Feb 2015
fears are strange

i fear things that are practical
like that those sirens
are rushing towards a love one
that i didn't tell them
how much i loved them
when i saw them last

i also fear things
that i feel unpractical
like snakes
the thought sends chills
in through my body
and makes me want to cry

but my biggest fear
is being forgotten
is falling into oblivion

and as cliche
and boring
as i seem
i know no other fear
then being forgotten

but other days
i want to embrace my fear
and fall into an oblivon
to be forgotten
to never have to worry
to never have to exist

it's a delicate balance
of life
and death, really.

-r.y.s
I have this obsession with being forgotten.
Patricia Drake Mar 2013
This body does not make sense
in this skin
in this reality
it breathes in its superficiality
but only in the past tense
it does not sense
sensibility
sanity spins
is sensitive to sensory
scams
synapses shoot
send shivers down its spine
This mind is spineless, anyway
always finds time
for stupid irrelevant
irrational unpractical rhymes
through which it mimes
an existence
where at least the mind
makes sense
sometimes
Jen Jan 2019
An abstract butterfly’s wings
Are made of unpractical things
Rings, springs, flings, and pings
It tries to fly but fails to flutter
There isn't enough fuel
In its tank, so all it does is sputter
McKinley Jul 2015
A suspicious learner
against being a minion of another's opinion.
The way to learning is questioning.
Yes - it's an unpractical practice
because what is taught may be truth and time is trashed when used for investigation
but I rather have the satisfaction for knowing for myself
rather than accepting secondhand information.
But.. we're all probably wrong
PK Wakefield Jul 2011
SUN);

                       you are colours brightest
                       in every lash
                       glowing tremendous
                       hair
                                                                                                             this only
                                                                                                             is such a fine
                                                                                                             it's unpractical
                                                                                                             and perfectly
                      even in the
                      fastest darkness
                      you are said more
                      loudly
                      roaring
                      to my eyes
                      every crumb
                      hot and naked
                                                                                                             creeping
                                                                                                             you up into
                                                                                                             my soul
                                                                                                             i steal
                                                                                                             briefly
                                                                                                             (prometheus too)
                                                                                                             some little
                                                                                                             blush
                     from on your cheeks
                     blooms
                     some hot neon
                     fire
                     (in the very deepness
                      darkness coddles
                      hushed lips)
                      and it is
                                                                                  love(
Every day is a gift
but some gifts are gags
or unpractical
but a gift no less

Does it matter if I stay in bed today
Would it matter if I gave up
Would someone care
if it didn't matter?

Every day is a gift
Some are better than others
You only see my good days
So does it matter
if today is not a good day?
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
title: chirp
body: sparrow, bold.    a 502 bad gateway bypass...


in the dimension of "things" pre-,
  i must be premeditating every possible scenario,
although i hate playing chess
i sometimes do... i'm more in favour of backgammon
but that's just me...
like i said to the other girls in the workforce:
wait... just wait... don't tell her i know...
so she was pressured... i put on the charm offensive:
there were already rumours of she *******
the supervisor... eh... i go to prostitutes...
what's the big deal? it's not like you use
a cloth to dry dishes with once: then get a new
one every single time... i always tend to buy
second hand books... they have a certain feel
to them... i'm not the sort of person who likes things
in mint condition...
everything leading up to this point just seems:
well-slotted, premeditated... but at least it
wasn't self-sabotage... i had to fall in love her...
in order to get at something: so she would retreat...
i wasn't even the "friend zone": i was in
the... "priest zone"... the "psychologist zone"...
the stuff i heard... and that's another thing...
there was no common language... some vague *******
barrier... we didn't really talk about music,
we didn't really talk about films or books...
we talked: well, she talked... i listened...
just talk about her son... and more about her son...
what a brilliant mother she was... back-stabbing
her friends... blah blah... oh... and plenty about her
exes... if i could... draw a schematic...
let's just say it wouldn't be a treasure map
with one              X marking the spot...
it would be more like:

  x                  x

  x  x        x          x

  x      x        x

with her good looks, back when she was in her 20s?
oh man... she was having a rave...
esp. since she worked in the financial sector,
so all the financials "jocks" would be all
over her... now she's in her... coming to 40...
well... imagine my dis-belief!
- and yet she's still playing a game of a 20 year
old party-****...    she's out to lunch...
obviously...

- and as much as i love women...
love: but sure-as-**** and a penny-drop i don't
want to understand them...
no-can do... why?
      makes my life easier and: ensures i'm
out of their hair... both parties satisfied...
i hope...
but it's not that i don't have something to do...
there's always something to do...
i'm already getting past the fact that at 35 i'm
living with my parents...
after all... the plan is...
they're not going into a care home...
i'll be there... and once i reach a certain age...
there's always Switzerland or the Benelux
euthanasia clinics... so...
plus i'm already the custodian of the property:
i do the cleaning, i do the cooking...
i do the d.i.y. - i pay them rent...
while the other option would be... what?
get a mortgage or pay rent to some stranger
and what? live alone?
no thanks.

i'm already over the disappoint of hoping for
a romance... yeah, my mother's pedicurist / manicurist
is coming over on Friday and she's bringing...
my new favourite lady...
my TOY... oh she's not even 1 year old...
she takes a **** into a ***** on the spot...
but she's disinhibited... she pokes my nose...
tugs at my beard, sits on my lap...
looks into my eyes like trying to hypnotise me...
she's yet to speak a word but i already
managed to teach her my mimic...
cluck... pluck... whatever the onomatopoeia
is... she reciprocated...

        here's to fulfilling the role of the: alt vater...
the old father...
she's not mine, but she's of my stock,
my ethnicity... obviously i'm going to go
for ethnic bias... everyone else is...
maybe that's what put Jeminah off... i'm a ******
and she's of Scotch English stock...
maybe i'm not black enough...
yeah... i must not be black or Pakistani enough...

she blocked me / deleted me on WhatsApp...
thank god i took that screenshot of her pretty face...
i think i'm going to listen to some The Cure
Pictures of You and attempt at glee...
what could have been...
her dog liked me... from the get go...
couldn't stop licking my ears... then started
to lick the wounds from me having put out
cigarette buts on my knuckles...
licked those scabs clean... i started bleeding:
she noticed... i didn't...
well... pain... it's a hyper-sensation...
you get used to it and afterwards... you sort of
ignore it... or... rather:
everything else is THERE... HERE...
that's a res extensa (extending "thing") when
meditating on Heidegger's dasein... weird, right?
how philosophy morphs... you read something in your
mid 20s... then it only becomes applicable in your
mid 30s... something so, so unpractical needs to
wait a while in your head... before it turns out to
be as useful as a ******* hammer...
who would have known?!

i'm guessing she blocked me because her son
had a conversation with her about...
is that my real dad? or... n'ah... that's me gloating...
what happened to that guy who made
that delicious banana loaf?
well... Freddy... mummy has... IS-USE...
            hyphen for an S...
                i could have seen it straight away:
i'd be bored after a week...
  there would be nothing to talk about...
  i don't remember even having said anything about
myself...
oh... but she ticked all the right boxes
when there were more people involved:
on that superficial interpersonal level with
the public... but she wouldn't...
she wouldn't allow for an explicit bond to take form...
it would always have to be implicit:
think about the starving children of Africa
sort of *******... what? the Somali pirates?!
the Nigerian scammers?!
those, "starving" children?
                      the ones with birth rates like
the harem of the sultan of Brunei?!
must be rich... hardly starving... if they're having
all those mouths to feed!

i already mentioned this little curiosity before:
it took **** Germany AND Soviet Russia...
longer... LON-GER to subdue the Polacks
than it took **** Germany to subdue the French...
the French... Napoleon... the French Colonial
Superpower... and these modern leftists "think" i'm
going to be easily swayed?!
pronoun dickly-squat my sore *** from
sitting on the toilet... and the feminists?!
            well... what's on offer, gentlemen?
let's... broaden our minds... Lawrence...
  (Prince's Partyman playing in the background)...

just like that lie i was told in my childhood:
that there are more women in the world
than men... i've been sleeping:
the opposite is true... and now we're supposed
to compete on already banged and bagged women?
that's the option?
maybe there was a rumour going about
my knuckle scars and the time i gave myself
a plum mascara pouch on my left eye
from having wrestled with myself...
turn-off... i get it...

  or... perhaps she's just into coke-addicts...
wouldn't know... i just drink a lot of coffee...
perhaps she's just into all the sort of range of *******...
but, seriously... if i can only be decent,
romantic, tender... with prostitutes...
at least it's in the open... there's a transparency
of a transaction...

the last text i sent her she didn't even read...
i was talking about the conundrum of:
the way into a man's heart is through his stomach...
i thought: well... given the stomach cramps...
that's a misnomer phraseology...
it's a ****** metaphor... because it can't be taken
oh too literally... why? i think the original meaning
has been lost...

the text?
yesah, to reiterate, thanks for these stomach cramps
flirting with butterflies...
although i'm a keen student of etymology, this has nothing
to do with etymology... the phrase:
the way to a man's heart is through his stomach...
the modern interpretation insinuates that a woman
ought to cook a decent meal for a man...
no... sorry... i can do the cooking myself...
i didn't choose to have these stomach cramps,
"transgender"et al. feeling like i'm giving birth
to nothing more than dizziness and watery eyes...
there's something quiet sinister afoot here,
i can't point in any sort of direction: it's almost
a malaise of disorientedneness...
sorry, i have to play this "role" for the forseeable
future if i'm going to get anything done...
you might as well pretend that i'm wearing
two masks to keep my cool... otherwise it's such
a welcoming prospect to write to someone
directly and see them in person than what i'm used to,
when writing... staring at a blank canvas...
or messaging someone who lives in... ******* Hawaii...
of all places...


see... problematic...
i am problematic... i exfoliate with language...
this is that, this isnt that... games...
or my other theory goes along the lines of:
she can't find me on social media...
she can't snoop on me...
i bet that's her grinding her teeth...
well: obviously i'm not going to give her access...
i'm writing about her...
i don't want her to find out what my narrative pursuit
is like her... of course she's the momentum bringer...
i'm not going to give that up: so easily...

she knows my first name...
maybe she typed that in, along with my ******
****** / Stalin sort of type of surname...
it has changed... i always argue:
there's a missing -SCH- in the Elert...
no... i'm not "alert"... let's pause there...
maybe she typed in Matthew with Conrad...
but then again... i tend to hide in my mother zunge...
Mateusz... and hide doubling down
on hiding the Z with a caron S...
i.e. Mateuš... well... she won't figure that crap
out... i'm prone to the pastt-ime of looking up
googlewhacks... while listening to Prince...
esp. Raspberry Beret...
or REM's happy shiny people...

  ha ha... 43, 300+ readers on one poem alone...
imagine: if i were paid a penny for merely that...
i'm groovy, i don't mind doing something
for: not even peanuts...
the art needs to stay alive...
i can't allow the last avenue of freedom
to go "missing"... i'll just pay myself
with FEELZ... self-help my ***... therapy my ***...
but if you're inclined to be the sort of
******... tired of watching *******...
hey... my legs are spread wide-open...
or rather: someone scalped me...
then took a massive chunk of my skull off
and now my brain is wired
to a pickle jar... for pickled: transparent
brains... jelly-fish territory...

              ha... prior to protein... prior to sinew...
          prior to bone...
what did we have? gelatin floating about
in salt water... nice... rubber stamps of:
oogle doodle do no good but leave numbing
sparks of mini-lightning storms of:
lazy gods began thinking...
    my my... as expected: it took them a while...
******* hedonists... ambrosia custard soon
to be wise-ups, but all the way prior?
crazed ***** and complete hard-on morons...
the gods...
funny that... you can't go mad twice...
they took a stab at me once...
                      sorry for being the party pooper...
i sort of can't go mad, twice...
i literally missed nothing on the dating scene having
been a recluse in my 20s... apparently...
self-evidently...

now? i'm going to make some Silesian gnocchi
for today's dinner, i've already cleaned the house...
i'll be making some curry for my parents for tomorrow...
play the chemist with the spices available...
i might make myself some lunch for tomorrow's shift...
hey, life... plenty of it...
  but... oddly enough: not enough people in it...
no matter... i can at least ping-pong backwards
and forwards with my own words to: eh: ech... echo echo O!

sure... it would have been nice to play
the surrogate father... perhaps we could have learned
German together...
i could have cooked for the pair of them:
i never know how to cook for one person to begin with...
but if she's into boxers and coke-heads...
hey... Pontius Pilate...
i have to left hands... and their pointing outward...
if i tried... then i shouldn't have tried... to begin with...
if modern women are going to be their stupid
selves... so be it... there's always the night,
the forest, the moon, there's always the scent
of autumn... there are so many things that can keep
me disorientated in an orientated sort of way
that... all the lies from the 1990s Rom-Coms can
fizzle out...

maybe being love is a luxury that not even
the richest in the world can buy...
thank god i don't earn the sort of money
that might attract gadflies...
  thank god i earn what is necessary...
            who's not going to buy those Valentine
flowers, those anniversary "sputniks"...
those sofas... those iPhones for the kids...
me!
                              i'll be buying food... etc.
better spend money on food than on a doctor...
that's how the saying goes...
to hell with women and all their superficial
*******... and if i'm in dire straits because
the bone-**** of a hand is not enough?
£120 for an hour with a Turkish *******...
problem solved!

i just can't stomach being an ******* in order
for women to stick around...
something so deep as: self-integrity is making
potential suitors turn me off...
esp. given their past histories...
i don't want to be an ******* when it comes
to loving women... and no... i'm not nice...
one thing i've learned from the English is...
******* Thespian crowd... actors...
two-faced juxtaposition makers...
or... or? they sing, they dance...
a nation of alcoholics or workaholics...
  but if i have to be this sort of ******* that women
feel the need to fix?
no... covert: under the radar...
i'm not doing that crap...
                    i'm not going to be a ****** man just
because a woman might find that appealing
to hone in on her lost archetypical requirements...
she's going to **** it up anyways...
  she always does...
                      i'll just be me... do me...
and if i'm predisposed to have to have to give
off steam with some bedroom antics...
i'll go the the women that still crave masculine
sensibility... prostitutes!

— The End —