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AUGUST Sep 2018
Ikaw lang, (Pangako)

Sa iyong mga mata nasisilip ko ang langit
Pagkat ikaw ang anghel na sa aki’y pinakamalapit
Sa mapulang labi mo’y nakakatuksong humalik
Lapit ka ng lapit, Ang titig sa pisngi, ayaw mapapikit,

Andito na ang iyong sandalang balikat
Sa iyong luha, ako ang sasalo ng lahat
Napakaganda mo para saktan, hindi  kita matitiis
Parang mababasagin kagamitan, porselana, tulad ng ‘yong kutis

Kapag nasisilayan kong Labi, may taglay na ngiti
Kalungkotan ko ay napawi, Limot ko na ang pighati
Wala akong minamadali, pagkat atin ang sandali
Kaylangan ko pa bang bumawi? Kung Pakiramdam koy di na lugi

Dahil ang bawat oras ko sayo aking pinagyayaman,
Ikaw ang nagbigay ng karanasang di ko makakalimutan
Ang bawat alaala’y binabalik paminsan minsan,
Pwede bang **** ka nang lumayo, dito ka nalang

Hawak ang malambot **** mga kamay
may ibinubulong ang boses **** malumanay
“Andito ka na, di na ko nalulumbay,
di ako sanay na ikaw ay mawalay”

"Ngunit mahal, kelan ba kita iniwan?
Pinabayaan, at kinalimutan,
Kelan ba ang panahong di kita isinaalang alang?
Tapat ang pangako kong di kita pababayaan, magpakailan man."
Congratulation to Aljhon and Marilyn,
zebra Mar 17
Cuckqueen
in a kink clutch
breaking a twisted angel
on the rack of
onward Christian solders
in ecstatic flagellations
for ***** saliva  cliterature
with a mouth black window widows bite
in a white lie light  
of cruel dark night
while jazz ****
layonaise spatters
where its soft and hurts good  
and fossil **** *******
drive down the armageddon highway
in a bright burn
with ***** feet on clean sheets
and drooling tongues
lickalotapuss
Lawrence Hall Aug 2018
“But my chief argument in defence of **** An-shih is that…
           he retired from the Court decisively, ignored all recalls, and
           took to the mountains to write poetry of no political
           significance whatever.”


              – David Warren on the poet-philosopher **** An-Shih

Recusancy is not pious quietism;
In silence it is a brave voice withdrawn
From pompous Kratos’ halls of treachery
From screaming Demos’ marketplace of noise

And up into the silent hills to save
Something of civilization, to sing
Matins among the mountain mists, to write
A page in praise of Creation, to live -

Recusancy is not quietism at all;
It is a firm rebuke to tyranny
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel
Butch Decatoria Dec 2018
****, Shlong, Johnson, Peter, Pecker/wood, don’t be a ****.
Harlots now have their own shows

Guess there's an interest

With how they do...

It's easy money

Selling *** as prostitutes do

Never heard of downward dog

Celebrity hookers?

Are there such things

Famous for being overused?

The Real Man-****** of false reality

Harlots on Hulu

Now our young daughters

With no lessons of self respect

Dream of Big

***** / Winning a golden one

In the annals of History

Those honored and celebrated

Reach the peak and the summits

Accomplishment

Not with polishing his ****

But self sufficient

Lady woman mine

The real deal evolution

To better beings

Not harlots on parade

Or gigolos (who hit the spot)

It's The **** Chumps Show,

The award for best acting … goes to

(Insert Nom Du ****)

This too shall pass

And must Haves to go

Channel surfing for growth...

Have nots

A **** clue

For show.
Repost.
From Yidhna Yue Xing ****:
Date written: October 2, 2019

Are you ever paranoid that you are not as original as you are expected to be?

Are you ever afraid you've unconsciously been a thief of words?
Well, don't.

As per Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"

As a creative, it was perhaps the most important message shown to me. 
And just a few years later it seems to have been dangerously forgotten.

I used to be fearless, taking my inspiration from anything, anything, and felt so free and inspired.

And now I've observed an obsession, not just within me, but within more and more people, that's been killing creativity.
We are becoming afraid of words, afraid of being a collective, and would rather be silent and isolated.

And

Are you tormented by the desperate need to be a good person, a pure soul?

Tortured by an unchangeable past, afraid that it will never be forgotten and be replaced by an acknowledgement of growth.

Well, 
Never chase the poisonous perfection
That always takes more than it gives
Never rid of all the shadows of sin
And be found by the wrath of guilt

And

Don't renounce your past 
But accept it with pride, 
Lest you be judged for what you have done, 
And never
What you could, would, and will do!


Alas,
We are becoming cultural germaphobes
Eliminating every potentially negative thing

We are becoming sheltered perfect roses 
Under glass domes too overprotecting

Monocultures and biodiversity
If we don't build our immunity
How are we to survive 
How are we to fight the blight 
of
Time

Don't ever ever be afraid to caress another's soul, fearing you'll take part of them with you. 

It's how you grow,
into giants the height of stars.



And as an afterthought, an excerpt from a letter to a poet friend, Lawrence Hall:

I read some Gogol among others for that one class I was attending, I was so pleasantly surprised to find some of my deepest sentiments and psychological experiences, that I think I may have expressed it myself in fewer words, so exact, and perfectly presented on pages I have never read before.

Like one of the other classmates said, these experiences are far more universal than we give them credit to be.

The greatest works of art are supposed to be so universal and familiar to the human condition that would sometimes seem like, to different people, they have written it, composed it, painted it, etc.

Now, this greatest character of art is being condemned.
We are not all thieves, we are just not that different. We are all one soul dreaming the same human dream.





Important videos to watch:
Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"
Mary Spender:
"Katy Perry's Lawsuit: A Travesty for Songwriters"
Rusty Cage:
"The Truth about my Stolen Music"
Some parts of this letter are from my poems: "My Love" "The Echo" and "The Blight of Time"

Important videos to watch:
Kirby Ferguson:
"Creativity is a Remix"
"Everything is a Remix"
Mary Spender:
Katy Perry's Lawsuit: A Travesty for Songwriters
Rusty Cage:
The Truth about my Stolen Music
Daan Vandelay Jul 14
Normaal gezien van rechts
en links gezien als slechts
een fout van de natuur haar hand.
Maar ik heb ook nog recht op voorrang
zelfs al kom ik van een andere kant.
Als de kletsen de bocht om komen scheuren,
heb ik altijd nog mijn tweede ****.
De derde en de vierde kan je kussen
als je de voorkeur van een ander gaat betreuren.
Laat mensen zelf uitzoeken wie ze zijn.
Het lijkt soms zo gemakkelijk.
Blij zijn blijkt dan toch niet zó vermakelijk.
Ik bijt en kauw en zeg "Oei, sorry, smakelijk!"
tegen jou.

Het voelt zo egocentrisch, onbezonnen,
om (zelfs zwakkelijk) te delen dat je ligt te zonnen.
Het is niet echt, ver zonnen,
als werk, onbegonnen,
om te onrafelen wat is en waarin ik mij vergis.
Hoedanook, de planten zijn getrokken
nog voor de grond ontgonnen,
nog voor de bus vertrokken.
De grootste, gemeenste deler
heeft de prijs der groenteteler
wederom gewonnen.

De reis is lang en hobbelig,
de pudding in mijn ****,
voorheen bedekt met hard
en knobbelig.
Ik denk dat men meer heeft moeten graven dan men doet uitschijnen.
Beetje te beladen is niet altijd beter.
Fewer maggots = tougher Americans. In the darkness I know that 2
of my 9 weapons are loaded to penetrate the most violent full-flesh-
made being: a horned, un-Christian entity that I'm sure to be seeing.

— The End —