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Dorothy A Oct 2013
Everything faded to black. He had a hard time remembering just what the hell happened. He wasn't sure of downing some random pills from of the medicine cabinet-- his first attempt to end it all. Making sure he would not recover-- if the pills didn't do the job-- he had already devised the set up of the noose in his bedroom. Definitely, he didn't recall anyone cutting the rope, forcing him down to the floor.

Lacie joked with him. "Dude, you've got nine lives! You must really be a ****, fricking cat in disguise! That's why you'll eat those nasty tuna fish sandwiches they serve in the nuthouse! "

Chris grinned at her.  He had to agree. To refer to it as the psych ward at the hospital made it seem like more of a jail term, but calling it "the nuthouse" lightened up the severity of the situation. As grave and nearly tragic as everything  had become, it was kind of laughable to him.  He supposed he had more chances than a cat's fabled life. It all seemed so crazy that it must be funny.

Well, what could he say? He had flirted with death, but unwillingly managed to escape its grip. "Pathetic..."--he commented. "I don't not even know how to die well..."

Chris  eventually realized that he had been rushed to the hospital, but wished it wasn't true. Since then, everything was either a total blur or a bizarre state of mind . Even waking up in his room was like a remotely vague memory, almost like a long ago dream that might not really have happened.

Maybe, he was somewhat aware that his sister was screaming in shock and horror at the sight of him, shouting out downstairs to her boyfriend to help her. But the walls were turning red, a glowing scarlet- red, with an added fiery orange and yellowish-gold-- all joined together in pulsating embers. He was quickly losing consciousness. It was like some, bad acid trip. Not that Chris knew this firsthand, but it sure was like something he saw on TV or at the movies.

And now he was the star of the horror show.

Did he die?  Death was what he planned on, so waking up was not a relief, or a reality back into motion--just the opposite. It was as if being awake was the real nightmare, a delusional time when everything was not true, and was only an scary, offbeat version of the life of Chris Cartier.

The bad acid trip continued. He recalled hospital staff rushing about him, seeming like real people-- sort of. Then they morphed into fish in scrubs. From overhead, an IV was dripping into his arm. Tubes were shoved down his throat. His vital signs were displayed on a screen that made beeps and sounds, increasing the chaos and adding to the mayhem to his mind. Soon, the vital signs machine started talking to him that he was a "very bad boy" and other such scoldings.

He was thoroughly freaked out. If he was still alive, he'd rather be dead.

He wanted to run. One of the fish pushed him back down and muttered out undecipherable utterances-- like underwater gibberish . Then that fish used its slimy fins to inject him with a needle in his arm. The other fish circled around him like fish out of water--with opening and closing mouths-- as if gasping for air.

As they surrounded him as rubber monkeys shot out from the walls and bounced all over the room. On top of all this madness, the florescent lights above were flickering on and off, in sync to the wild music, like the drum beats of a distant jungle. It was one bizarre tangle of events, a freaky, crazy, out-of-control ride in which reality could not be distinguished from the animation and mass confusion. It was one overpowering ride that he would much rather forget.

When Chris got out of critical condition, he found out that he could still not go home. That would take a few weeks more. Dr. What-The-Hell's-His-Name assured him that he needed to start on the path to his psychological healing--just as grave as the physical--right here in a safe place.

It didn't seem so safe to him.

The enemy wasn't what was out there in the world, but the big, bad wolf was actually him. He had to be protected from the true culprit--himself-- and that was a mind-blowing concept. Just what did he get himself into?   

He never had been a patient in a hospital before. In all his twenty-six years, he didn't so much as even have his tonsils out. Feeling now like a prisoner,, he was still scared out of his mind-- as if it was day one all over again. When was he going to get out of here? Chris began to fear that they would never let him out. No professional had a definitive answer, as only time would tell of his improvement.

Man, why couldn't he just be dead?

His parents visited almost everyday, but it was of no reassurance to him. His mother always left in tears, and his father was lost for words. This was nothing new. When it concerned their troubled son, they felt inadequate to help him. The best his dad could say was, "Hey, Chris, we're pullin' for ya". That was of no comfort, whatsoever, like he was some fighter in a boxing ring that his old man had a bet placed on . His mom always clung to him as she said goodbye, like she needed the hug more than he did, saying to Chris through her sobs , "Miss you....love you". Her emotional state just unsettled him to the core, and he was worried for her more than for himself.    

At best, his outlook was grim. But then he met Lacie Weiss, and things started looking up.

Lacie was one of the quietest psych patients in the ward, always sticking to herself. But then he found himself sitting right next to her in group therapy, and they hit it off. He had no idea that she had a fun side. She usually looked apathetic and quietly defiant to society, a nonconformist in the form of a Goth, with edgy, dyed black hair, dark eye make-up and some ****** piercings of the eyebrow, tongue and nose. Her look was quite in contrast to his light blue eyes and sandy-brown hair. Chris never was into Gothic, viewing those who were as spooky creeps.  

It was obvious that Chris was scared and confused. Now although trying to seem tough and stoic, Lacie seemed so little, almost fragile, yet obviously trying to hide her broken self together. Petite and somewhat girlish in appearance, she was barely 5 feet tall. Chris was 5 feet 11 and a half inches, close enough to the six foot stature that he wanted to be. Only a half inch less really didn't cut it for him, though, even though his slim build gave the impression of a lankier guy. He would have loved to be as tall as the basketball players he so emulated. But such was life. He was never used to having the advantages.  

At first, Lacie never opened up, not to a single soul. Like Chris, she certainly acted like she didn't need this place, and nobody was going to help her--or be allowed to help her. As stony and impenetrable as she tried to be, group therapy it was hard to disappear in. Everyone was held accountable for opening up, and the leader was going to see to it.  No way, though, did Lacie want to crack or look weak in her turtle shell composure, in her self-preservation mode. So it was agony for her.

She first spoke to him, whispering loudly to him, onc,e in the group circle "This is all *******!"

Hanging with Chris was the one salvation that she had in this miserable experience. They both could relate more than he ever realized. They both really liked motorcycles and basketball. He had his own Harley, and it was something he loved to work on and go on long rides with it, his own brand of therapy.  In spite of how she looked, Lacie was also actually close to his age. He was twenty-six. and she was twenty-two.

They first broke the ice with casual introductions. "No, the name is not pronounced like Carter", he corrected her about his last name. "It is like Cart-EE-AY...... It's French".

"Yep", she replied. "Like mine is the same way, but as German as brats and sauerkraut,  Ja dummkopf?"

Chris gave her a weird look. She continued, "My mom's dad was from Germany, and I got my mom's name. Ya don't say it how it looks. You would say Weiss like Vice, but I couldn't give a **** how anybody says it. Nobody gets it right and original, anyhow." Her dark brown eyes flashed at him as she said, " But I think I like Chris Cutie, myself, better than Cartier.....cutie it is for me. Huh, cutie pie? "

Chris laughed hard. She was pretty coy for a die-hard Goth. She batted her eyes playfully at him and winked."You're worth being in here for, ya know", he told her, blushing, still laughing at her silly remarks.

She studied his face in response, all laughing aside. Suddenly, her mood turned solemn.  "I'll bet".

They began hanging out in the commons, walking down the halls for exercise, and swapping stories of their plights. Chris quickly found that she Lacie wasn't so steely and unapproachable as the day he first saw her.  And she discovered that he was more than a pretty boy.

"My parents weren't home when I tried", he told her one time after lunch was done. They were sitting in a corner, trying to be as private as possible. "Twenty-six years old...and I still live with them. Yeah, that's my life. I got a twin brother, and he's moved out and doing alright for himself. My sister's younger, is going to college. Wants to be a doctor".

Lacy didn't have any siblings to compare herself to. "Must be cool to have a twin", Lacie said. "I always wondered how that would be to have two of me running around! Scary, huh, dude?"

Chris shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that. Jake and I aren't identical. We are just a two-for-one deal...I mean  is that my parents got two babies in one, huge-*** pregnancy. Jake and me don't even act like twins. Half the time, I don't want to be around him."

No, it wasn't like his cousins, Adam and Alan, who were identical friends, mirror images, and best of friends. Chris never identified with that kind of brotherly relationship. He and Jake never dressed alike, or knew what the other one was thinking. And Chris felt that his brother always felt superior to him. He was the popular one. He was the ambitious one who landed a great job in computers, as a system analyst.  To add to Chris's feelings of inferiority, his little sister, Kate, had surpassed him, too. She was acing most of her classes, and boarding away at college. She was well on her way to becoming a doctor.    

"So if your mom and dad weren't around...who saved you?" Lacie asked. She stared into his eyes with such a probing stare that Chris almost clammed up. Just thinking about that day was overpowering.

"Uh...my sister and her boyfriend were hanging out in the basement. She was home from college, and I didn't know it. My parents were out-of-town. Our dog, Buster, was acting funny. He knew something was up..."

Chris stopped abruptly, but went on. "Kate, my sister, explained to me that she saw me in my room, getting up on a step ladder. She says she yelled at me to stop. I don't remember...but I guess..I guess I was going to do it anyway, and she wouldn't be able to stop me....stop me from...so I hurried up and jumped off before she could stop me."  

Lacie could almost picture it, as if she was there with him. She said, "But she did stop it. She saved you."

"Yeah", he agreed. "Buster started it all...barking, alerting my sister to come upstairs from the basement, and upstairs by my room...." All of a sudden, he felt so weird, like he was having an out-of-body experience.

"Hey, it's OK", Lacie reassured him. "It's over now. You aren't there anymore".

Chris started to cry, but tried not to. "If it weren't for Brian, Kate's boyfriend....she would not of had the strength to hold me up by herself, and cut the rope, too. I must have been like dead weight, and Brian grabbed a kitchen knife and told her to stay cool about it. Yeah, sure, like that could have been possible ! She was trying to keep the rope slack, while trying to save my sorry ****...and she was scared, shitless! "

Lacie opened up, too, relating her tragic past. She had an unbelievable tale, one hell of a ride herself.  It was amazing how detached she was when relating it, though. "Well" actually I got to fess up" "I'm not really an only child....I mean I am...but not really. I know that sounds weird---hey--but I am weird. Oddly unusual is the story of my life-- even before day one. "

Chris had no idea what she was talking about. "What are ya' trying to say?"

She added another surprising bombshell. "Also,  I have a two-year-old boy. His name is Danny. He don't see his dad--ever. The guy's a waste of space. Anyway, my mom has him. She can afford him more, and can do a better job raising him than me. Well, she does OK money-wise. Anyhow, my mom deserves him because she lost everything. And I mean EVERYTHING! Her whole fricking family practically wiped out!"

The shock that Chris had on his face-- his widened, blue eyes and open mouth were expected.   Most people had a hard time believing her.

She explained, calmly, "I mean she nearly died--way before I was born--in a car accident. And her two, little boys were with her in the backseat...and they died that day. "

Chris looked pale. "That is so awful!" he said, hoarsely, barely able to say it.

"Yeah", she continued. "Not a **** thing she could do about it, too. She was like in a million pieces. I know a part of her died right there and then, too. I just know it.  You know, dude, my mom was once really, really coasting along, just doing fine. A typical wife and mother-- a bit older than me now-- life was good. Her little boys were just cute, little toddlers--like Danny. I found out from my grandma that she was  pregnant, too, just a month or two. Nobody could have imagined it coming. She was just driving--doing nothing wrong-- when some idiot broadsided her.  I don't know if it was a guy or a lady, if they were jacked up on ***** or drugs, but they were speeding like a demon out of Hell. Her husband was at work and wasn't around."  

The boys were Benjamin and Gerard, but Lacie couldn't remember their names, for her mom could barely mention them without breaking down. It was an unbearable loss.

Chris was so horrified, amazed that Lacie related this like it was someone else's story. She was almost too cavalier about it.

"And they died ?!" he asked.

"Yeah....*****, don't it? Pure, pure agony. Downright Hell on earth. My mom had to learn to walk again. It took about year, I think."

"Oh, no! What about the baby she was supposed to have?"

"Miscarriage. Worse yet, the **** doctor told her she'd never be able to have kids again. She lost everything, man! Her husband couldn't handle it and left her. **** on top of ****, on top of more ****, on top of more. If it wasn't for her parents, and her sister's help, she would never have made it.

"But she had given birth to you, right? Or were you adopted?"

"Yeah, she gave birth to me. I was her miracle baby, and she didn't give a rat's rear end if my dad wanted me or not. He'd send her money, once in a while, but he wasn't really into either of us. Who cares though? She didn't give a **** what he thought. I was her baby. Truth is, before I came, she ended up slitting her wrists--just like me. What was the use? At first, there was nothing to live for. But now she has Danny.

"And you!" Chris quickly pointed out.

"Dude, are you kidding me? I have been NOTHING but grief for her, a real pain in her ***!"

Unlike her deceased, half-brothers, Lacie grew up before her mother's eyes, from a shy girl to a ******* rebel. Since the age of twelve, she would sneak drinks from her mom's liqueur cabinet. Eventually, she smoked *** and tried ******* and ******. Dropping out of the eleventh grade, she soon away from home, living with friends or boyfriends ever since.  Thankfully, she wasn't doing drugs when she conceived Danny. And her drinking wasn't as prevalent as it was in her teen years of partying and binge drinking. That didn't mean that her drinking problems magically disappeared, or that she was cured. Immediately, though, when she knew she was pregnant, she refused to touch a bottle, but it was just a white knuckle process that was effective momentarily--a band aid on a more serious wound. And going months without a drop of alcohol didn't deaden her urges--quite the opposite--as it only made her crave what she could not have. Often, her fears caught up with her--of especially becoming
Johnny Noiπ Jan 2019
Viva's Saber (in Spanish: L Awaller)                                                   [1...]
In 1798,                                                 the Spanish artist Francisco Goya
drowned in a canal.                             Today it takes place in the Lazaros
Museum in Galadiano, Madrid.
It was purchased in 1798 with five other paintings
relating to the wise duke and Osvan. [2...]   ||      Viva Sabers (Spanish: L Awaller) [1 ...]
                                                 In 1798, the Spanish artist Francisco Goya.
                            Drowned in a channel that today takes place in Lazaros.
Galadiano Museum, Madrid.
It was bought in 1798 with five other paintings.
Connected to duo knowingly and with Osvan. [2 ...]
Due to the capture of secret images,                the duchess was responsible
                     only      for the duchess, but she did not know
                    if it was finished or not.
[2b] In the twentieth century, painting.
It was bought by businessman José Lázaro Galdiano,
And his death was transferred to the state of Spain.
On Saturday there is a handwritten light.
Like a goat captured during the baroque desert period,
With a blanket of boys and magicians.
The goats have large horns and are decorated with oak leaves.
The old salesman had a baby in his hand.
Satan seems to be working
as a priest at the opening ceremony of the child,
although sometimes the belief in superstition
It is often the whip,                     and the vessels of the people who feed on it.
                       You can see two guys cheating.
One on the left,                                 the other on the crown facing the center.
                                      Established office clothes picked up a touch of earth,
Satan was a cassock. [2, 5]                                         Therefore, beards [2. 6];
                 The silhouettes act like poverty and the body cavity of the mouth, keep applauding and applauding. It's a medium
As you can see,                              and with respect to Moloch's abomination,
                            dirt without form at the same time
The Canaanites, to have a Kircher illuminated 1652.
[In 27 schools]                        Before the court stayed too often as a woman,
especially if they derive from Cowin Woonderfull.
[28] The other form of terror brought arcs;
                        His head had to be watched
          while the patient breathed with fear.
There are women in the history of art,                writes Brian McQuade,
"subgroup of men gathered
and this is mainly due to wild idiopathic stars. "
[29] of his absolute power that women compare.
                                 with King Carl Jung, in 1815, near the Philippines;
There are many specific chauvinist influences,
fear of power [3] and women, young and old,
And similar characteristics, but the rope and the nerves at work are ...
in the atmosphere of Perkins' tone,
I created Luis Vives during the fourth Gomarrah,
Ribera and Jusepe; It is this fact, however,
who are using changes from each one of you,
And in the dark, he was an admirer.
From the chiaroscuro of Caravaggio.
Chamber Orchestra; and the steps,
that are used in obedience still known
for the things that were given to him,
And the same sources,                   as well as Rembrandt.    
[30]                   the devil in the form of a goat,
Surrounded by the flock of the crescent moon.
From the prey of the Covina pig,                          it illuminated Món Barril.
he conquered the crown of oak leaves and goat horns,
You will have a wide range of closed transactions,
It must be picked up in the child's hand.
Near the body, the children are dead.
when a bird was flying over the night of the head.    Substrate with seven arc
                       waves 1789 -
Goy images of witchcraft,                                 they saw the fear of a robbery,
Political gain and half of age of the people.                                           [31 ...]
                                 An old woman sitting to the right of the goat;       I'll see
Nobody hides his face,
And half of the white man is the copy.
Of the hooded head and habit habit.
I sat to the right of the bottles and the axis region.
   If Judge Robert Hughes is wonderful,
"And witchcraft and the filters of evil".
[32] With all the eyes of the characters.
They are full of white paint [33] in which the two main figures -.
The goat and the extreme right in recession.
The woman was separated from the group,
      You can hear what is happening at Covina's request.
[32] These two kings, and probable lover, good maiden.
Perky in his industry, Leocadia Weiss [2 ../ 5],
The image appears throughout the fill in the same series.
                                                                ­   [33]

It is less than the black passenger.
Solve the problems of Perkins,    painted in blue, brown,
gray, serious and serious blows.                  Sometimes they went to the place
                                        where they were staying, where the dark black was.
           Of course, they are in the form of a girl,
This is the pain, given the feelings of the devil.
Like other works in the series,
take a week after work,
net shots [34]                     The thickness of the black carbon chalk is applied
                                                    to the underground wash with a white pencil
    Because of the capture of secret images,                                    the duchess
                 was responsible for the Duchess,
but she did not know whether it was finished or unfinished.
[2b]                                     In the 20th century, the painting
was bought by businessman José Lazaro Galdiano,
and his death was transferred to the state of Spain.
On Saturday, handwritten light appears
as a goat captured during the baroque period of the desert,
with a blanket of young boys and old wizards.
Goats have large horns and are decorated with oak leaves. |
The old seller had a baby in his hand. ||
Satan seems to work as a priest during the child's opening ceremony, although sometimes belief in superstition
is often the whip and goggles of people who feed.
You can see two guys cheating.
One on the left, the other on the crown in the center in front.
Wear clerical established picked up a mound of earth,
Satan was an cassock. [2, 5] Hence, the beards             [2. 6];
       Silhouettes act like poverty and body cavity of the mouth,
and a heavy, described clapping.                              It is a form,
as can be seen, and as for Molech the abomination,
of the filthiness out of shape at the same time
the Canaanites,                                  to have a 1652
                                                    Kircher are enlightened;
                                           [He holds 27 school positions]
before the court sat around too often as women,
especially if they derive from Cowin                                      Woonderfull.
[28]          The other form of terror carried bows;
his head to observe as the patient inhales in awe.
There are ladies of art history,                                 writes Brian McQuade,
                                    "sub-group of men gathered
and which is due mainly to the wild, idiotic stars."
[29] of its absolute power that women compare
with King Carl Jung, in 1815,
near the Philippines;
|   there are many specific charisma's influence,
power fear. [3] and women, young and old mix,
and similar features,                             but the job's sad cord and nerves are...
                      in the atmosphere of Perkins' tone,
used to create Luis' Vivas in the fourth Gomarrah,
   Ribera, and Jusepe; it is this fact, however,
that the use as of the changes of all of thee,
and in the darkness was an admirer
of de Caravaggio as chiaroscuro.
Chamber Orchestra;                                                       ­    and the steps,
which are used in yet learned obedience
                                            by the things which were delivered to him,
and out of the same sources, as well as Rembrandt.                        [30...]
the devil in the form of a goat,
surrounded by the rising moon flock
of loathsome Covina carrying,                              illuminated World barren.
conquered the crown of oak leaves and goat horns,
has a wide range. it will be a closed transactions &
should be taken up in a child's hand ordained inside.
Located near the body, some children died
when a bird flying over head night.                        Seven bow wave substrate
                                                          1789 -
Goy images of witchcraft,                       who saw fears of a robbery,
and half of people's ages political gain.                                       [31 ...]
An old woman sitting to the right of the goat; see.
There is no one hiding the face thereof,
                                           and the half of the white man is the copy
of his hooded head, and of wearing of the habit of.
He sits on the right of the bottles and the shaft region.
If Judge Robert Hughes is wonderful,
                                           "and witchcraft and philtres diabolical".
[32] With all the eyes of the figures
are lined with white paint [33]
in which the two major figures -.
The female goat,                       and the far right - in a recession.
The woman was separated from the group,
one can hear what is going on in demand Covina.                  [32] These two kings,                                          and probable lover happy maid
Perky in her industry Leocadia Weiss [25+],
whose image appears on the length of filler in the same series.              [33]

                                      ­               That is less than the black sooted passenger
solving problems Perkins, painted in colors of blue,            brown, gray, wide serious blow. At times,                                    they went into the place & left,
                                                                ­            where there is the dark black,
it is clear that they are in the form                                        of a girl,
this is grief given the feelings of the devil.
                    Like other works in the series,
carrying a week after he worked,
slashing strokes. [34]           The thickness of the plaster carbon
black paint applied to the field underlain wash
with a white pencil, color,                                                crystal glass of red
                      and blue in Dortmundi
crushed iron oxides,                               Orphic ointment, cover.        [35 ...]  
     It is not necessarily material is mixed. [23] Technical analysis indicates
                                                                ­ that the majority of Black Art began
with preparatory drawings.               This page was the exception last week
of the composition of the waves does not think
that there is no reverence,        portrayed    in stone.      muzki of the brand
seems to have critic Carl, Mark Licht
«clumsy, bulky and slow, 'it is not enough in comparison
with what went before the end of the work.
                What a thought of how much is a scam,
and they were unable to believe, being vainly Lit
          by their own feelings in the body,
the introduction of a human is doubtful.                                               [36]
The only thing for the series of the week, and the sagas have not changed significantly from the original work Perkins.                                       [34]
Function fantasy wizards, many characters.
The goat runs to the left of the child,                                             not the left,
and the moon stands in front of the canvas
in the upper left corner.                            [5]         In the middle of high land,
many brave warriors can see the speed
of moving backwards along the curves of Chris S. Chandler.

        When the religious clergyman puts an end to the monk,
he brings out a pile of earth that the devil can eat.
[25] Thus,                               the silhouette of a beard                               [26]
                                               works like poverty,
the body cavity, the womb,    the palms
and the palms.           It is a form, as you can see,
and Moloch has put the filth of dirt in the figure,
while the Canaanites,                                  to get illuminated 1652, Kircher.
                   [It took 27 seconds
                                                   before the courts became known as women,
especially if they came from Quinn and Wunderful.                               [28]
               The other form of terrorism takes its head
                                                   to control the patient's inhalation and terror.
There are women in the history of art,
he writes that Brian McQuaid is "a subset of people gathered,
mainly because of silence, because of the stars".              [29]
His absolute power is compared to that of women
with King Carl 1815, near the Philippines;                There are many effects of specific charisms, of fears of power. [3]
Women,                                           a mixture of young and old traits, similar,
                       but the task is nerves and rope. n    
                       The tone Perkins used to create Louis IV's Lives to the fourth
                 Gomorrah,                                                        ­     Riviera and Rio;
Jusepe. Saint-Tropez is a coastal town
on the French Riviera, in the Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur region
of southeastern France. Long popular with artists,
the town attracted the international
"jet set" in the 1960s, and remains known
for its beaches and nightlife. The cobblestone paved
La Ponche quarter recalls its past as a fishing village,
although yachts now outnumber fishing boats
in the Vieux Port (Old Port).           However, this is that the use of change
                                                    in everything,
and in the dark,                                                 was admired by Caravaggio
as a true one. Chamber Orchestra;
           the steps used in obedience
that have been won so far by the things
that have been given to him
and by the same sources,                     as well as by Rembrandt.
[30]                                          The devil, in the shape of a goat,
                         surrounded by the high moon of litigious cattle,
illuminates the arid world.                        The crown of crowns
ed oak leaves and goat horns have a wide range.
               The operations that will be carried out
in the hand of the child specified at home will be closed.
Located near the body,                       some children died
when a bird flew during the night.
Seven Substrate Rainbows,        1789 Joey,
magical images that have seen the fear of theft,        half gain political gains.
                                                                ­              [3, 1...]
An old woman standing to the right of the goats; watch.
Nobody hides his face,                   half of the white man is a shadow version,
usually hard.
It is located on the right side of the bottles
and the axis area.                                   If Judge Robert Hughes is wonderful
"and a witch and a demon".
With all eyes, the numbers
   fill with white paint [33] -
where the two main characters -.
The goat and the woman from the far right -
in a recession.          The women separated
from the group, you can hear what happens
with Covina's request. (32)                            These two kings, likely lovers and the complete maids of Perkins Leocadia Weiss,
[25] the image appears throughout the series.  [33]

This is less of a problem to solve
the Black,                                              Black Perkins problem of silkworms,
painted in blue, white, gray,                                and once serious and severe.
Sometimes they went to the left where the darkness is dark,
of course under this form is the sadness,
                                 taking into account the feelings of the devil.
Like other works in the series, it takes a week after working, cut.          
                                                  ­                                            [34 ...]
The thickness of the black carbon ice layer
is applied in the field below the surface by a white feather,
a color and a red and blue glass crystal
in iron oxides to the floor of Dortmund. [35]
The required material is not mixed. [23] Technical analysis shows that most of the black arts began with preparatory drawings.
                          This page was last week
except for the composition of the waves,           I do not think there is respect
                        for aesthetic photography.
The photo of the brand seems to be Karl's critic, Mark Licht,
"unfortunate, huge and slow",
it is not enough to compare it before the end of the work.
What he thinks about the amount of scam, he could not believe,
                      being unnecessary to his own feelings in the body,
the human introduction is questionable.                    [36]
The only one that has changed for the series of the week
                      or the epic of Perkins' original work. [3. 4]
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The Game of Thrones Season 5 premiere is this Sunday, April 12th, and that means you need to scramble to find a way to watch a live HBO stream online. But among the sea of illegal ways you’ll find to watch Game of Thrones online, you’ll get spyware, viruses and very low quality streams. And, there is the fact that it IS illegal. However, there are a couple of legal ways to watch an HBO stream online on your TV, PC, Tablet or smartphone that were announced earlier this year and will be available by Sunday’s Game of Thrones premiere.
The easiest way to watch Sunday night’s Game of Thrones Season 5 Premiere via live stream is on this year’s newly announced ScreenVariety which just added the Live HBO channel to its lineup of add-on channels. For $15/month, users can add HBO to their ScreenVariety package so that they’ll be able to watch Game of Thrones Season 5. ScreenVariety works on virtually any streaming device you own, including Roku players, Xbox One, your smartphones and tablets. The best part about ScreenVariety is that you don’t need a contract to use it, and can cancel the HBO package after the Season 5 finale if you’d like to. But, the big negative of ScreenVariety is that only one device can stream at one time, and you can’t access ScreenVariety through your PS3 or any other device not listed. There is a seven day free trial available for ScreenVariety, although you can’t add packages to the core package with the trial.
So if you’re a fellow cordcutter like myself, here are a few 100% legal ways to watch Game of Thrones via a live HBO stream online:

w w w . g a m e o f t h r o n e s . s c r e e n v a r i e t y . c o m




It's been a long, cold winter as we've waited for the real winter to come...Game of Thrones' winter, that is! It's been one full year since we've journeyed to the land of Westeros for new episodes of HBO'***** fantasy drama and now, our wait is finally over, as season five premieres this Sunday.
This is the season we've all been waiting for, book enthusiasts and non-book readers alike, as the show has caught up to where George R. R. Martin's novels have stopped, and it's become a fact that this season is going to feature stories that haven't been in the books...yet. No one truly knows what's going to happen (besides Martin and the showrunners, of course), so for the first time since this show premiered, we're all in this together!
The mastermind behind all of Game of Thrones, Martin, promises that there are going to be some major surprises for book readers...including the fates of some characters who everyone thinks are safe.
"Yes, there will be [surprises]," Martin tells E! News. "[Executive producers] David [Benioff] and Dan [D. B. Weiss] are bloodier than I am so no one is safe here. Even characters who are still alive in the books will die in the series. What can you do? Hold on to your seats and hope it's not your favorite character who winds up beheaded or disemboweled or poisoned."
I heard someone whisper "he's such an arrogant *****" as I entered.
Those crooked sons of ******* don't have any idea,
I'm the kind you hardly ever come across except in winters,
when all the street rats are begging for heat.
I command attention at the head of the table,
I am the head of the table,
and sever the head to **** the municipal body.
The wigs and robes and gavels I accessorize command it too.
When I sign things I do it haughtily,
I carefully etch each and every ******* letter onto writs of demand.

I stand!
A hush lingers,
I catch the eyes of Walter Weiss, he lies with every breath
and did you know he is unfaithful to his wife? I heard.
the shudders are shut, my druthers. Oh, Walter!
notarize my forms of annexation, please.
and take down this:
To whom it may concern:

You have 7 days to remove yourself from the premises
as you are aware of the edict that preexists
and preempts your residence
and your squalor misrepresents
your laziness.
Signed: The holding powers, in eminence.

Oh Walter Weiss, address it to yourself!
I pride myself on tact.
And package with the writ this evidence form
sent to my office following a secret examination
conducted by the Department of Residential Safety and Heath.

Do not bother me with demoralizations, Walter!
Due to discourse with the Act of Discontinuation,
(which of course is subject to broad generalizations)
the lien sector of the Savings and Loan Association
have concluded you are found in violation of, through reasoning by generalization,
failing to pay duties on your mortgage issued by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation.

Oh, Walter, how distressing!
Don't falter, acquiescing
is always the way.
Just never, ever forget to pay.
Niemand weiss wie Andere brauchen,
doch ich weiss ich will etwa rauchen.
To translate is futile, it ***** up rhyme and idiom,
and moreover it's done in a vein of humour;
so, I shall do it for you:

I need smoke

No one knows how others need,
but I know I want some to smoke.
Dr Peter Lim Aug 2021
Soft Charcoal & Watercolor Painting “The Bridge Above”

a close up picture of a water bodyActivate link to view larger image.





Haiku

Hidden paradise

flowers , trees and stream they merge

watched by silent bridge
“Willis, I didn’t want you here to-day:
The lawyer’s coming for the company.
I’m going to sell my soul, or, rather, feet.
Five hundred dollars for the pair, you know.”

“With you the feet have nearly been the soul;
And if you’re going to sell them to the devil,
I want to see you do it. When’s he coming?”

“I half suspect you knew, and came on purpose
To try to help me drive a better bargain.”

“Well, if it’s true! Yours are no common feet.
The lawyer don’t know what it is he’s buying:
So many miles you might have walked you won’t walk.
You haven’t run your forty orchids down.
What does he think?—How are the blessed feet?
The doctor’s sure you’re going to walk again?”

“He thinks I’ll hobble. It’s both legs and feet.”

“They must be terrible—I mean to look at.”

“I haven’t dared to look at them uncovered.
Through the bed blankets I remind myself
Of a starfish laid out with rigid points.”

“The wonder is it hadn’t been your head.”

“It’s hard to tell you how I managed it.
When I saw the shaft had me by the coat,
I didn’t try too long to pull away,
Or fumble for my knife to cut away,
I just embraced the shaft and rode it out—
Till Weiss shut off the water in the wheel-pit.
That’s how I think I didn’t lose my head.
But my legs got their knocks against the ceiling.”

“Awful. Why didn’t they throw off the belt
Instead of going clear down in the wheel-pit?”

“They say some time was wasted on the belt—
Old streak of leather—doesn’t love me much
Because I make him spit fire at my knuckles,
The way Ben Franklin used to make the kite-string.
That must be it. Some days he won’t stay on.
That day a woman couldn’t coax him off.
He’s on his rounds now with his tail in his mouth
Snatched right and left across the silver pulleys.
Everything goes the same without me there.
You can hear the small buzz saws whine, the big saw
Caterwaul to the hills around the village
As they both bite the wood. It’s all our music.
One ought as a good villager to like it.
No doubt it has a sort of prosperous sound,
And it’s our life.”

“Yes, when it’s not our death.”

“You make that sound as if it wasn’t so
With everything. What we live by we die by.
I wonder where my lawyer is. His train’s in.
I want this over with; I’m hot and tired.”

“You’re getting ready to do something foolish.”

“Watch for him, will you, Will? You let him in.
I’d rather Mrs. Corbin didn’t know;
I’ve boarded here so long, she thinks she owns me.
You’re bad enough to manage without her.”

“And I’m going to be worse instead of better.
You’ve got to tell me how far this is gone:
Have you agreed to any price?”

“Five hundred.
Five hundred—five—five! One, two, three, four, five.
You needn’t look at me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I told you, Willis, when you first came in.
Don’t you be ******* me. I have to take
What I can get. You see they have the feet,
Which gives them the advantage in the trade.
I can’t get back the feet in any case.”

“But your flowers, man, you’re selling out your flowers.”

“Yes, that’s one way to put it—all the flowers
Of every kind everywhere in this region
For the next forty summers—call it forty.
But I’m not selling those, I’m giving them,
They never earned me so much as one cent:
Money can’t pay me for the loss of them.
No, the five hundred was the sum they named
To pay the doctor’s bill and tide me over.
It’s that or fight, and I don’t want to fight—
I just want to get settled in my life,
Such as it’s going to be, and know the worst,
Or best—it may not be so bad. The firm
Promise me all the shooks I want to nail.”

“But what about your flora of the valley?”

“You have me there. But that—you didn’t think
That was worth money to me? Still I own
It goes against me not to finish it
For the friends it might bring me. By the way,
I had a letter from Burroughs—did I tell you?—
About my Cyprepedium reginæ;
He says it’s not reported so far north.
There! there’s the bell. He’s rung. But you go down
And bring him up, and don’t let Mrs. Corbin.—
Oh, well, we’ll soon be through with it. I’m tired.”

Willis brought up besides the Boston lawyer
A little barefoot girl who in the noise
Of heavy footsteps in the old frame house,
And baritone importance of the lawyer,
Stood for a while unnoticed with her hands
Shyly behind her.

“Well, and how is Mister——”
The lawyer was already in his satchel
As if for papers that might bear the name
He hadn’t at command. “You must excuse me,
I dropped in at the mill and was detained.”

“Looking round, I suppose,” said Willis.

“Yes,
Well, yes.”

“Hear anything that might prove useful?”

The Broken One saw Anne. “Why, here is Anne.
What do you want, dear? Come, stand by the bed;
Tell me what is it?” Anne just wagged her dress
With both hands held behind her. “Guess,” she said.

“Oh, guess which hand? My my! Once on a time
I knew a lovely way to tell for certain
By looking in the ears. But I forget it.
Er, let me see. I think I’ll take the right.
That’s sure to be right even if it’s wrong.
Come, hold it out. Don’t change.—A Ram’s Horn orchid!
A Ram’s Horn! What would I have got, I wonder,
If I had chosen left. Hold out the left.
Another Ram’s Horn! Where did you find those,
Under what beech tree, on what woodchuck’s knoll?”

Anne looked at the large lawyer at her side,
And thought she wouldn’t venture on so much.

“Were there no others?”

“There were four or five.
I knew you wouldn’t let me pick them all.”

“I wouldn’t—so I wouldn’t. You’re the girl!
You see Anne has her lesson learned by heart.”

“I wanted there should be some there next year.”

“Of course you did. You left the rest for seed,
And for the backwoods woodchuck. You’re the girl!
A Ram’s Horn orchid seedpod for a woodchuck
Sounds something like. Better than farmer’s beans
To a discriminating appetite,
Though the Ram’s Horn is seldom to be had
In bushel lots—doesn’t come on the market.
But, Anne, I’m troubled; have you told me all?
You’re hiding something. That’s as bad as lying.
You ask this lawyer man. And it’s not safe
With a lawyer at hand to find you out.
Nothing is hidden from some people, Anne.
You don’t tell me that where you found a Ram’s Horn
You didn’t find a Yellow Lady’s Slipper.
What did I tell you? What? I’d blush, I would.
Don’t you defend yourself. If it was there,
Where is it now, the Yellow Lady’s Slipper?”

“Well, wait—it’s common—it’s too common.”

“Common?
The Purple Lady’s Slipper’s commoner.”

“I didn’t bring a Purple Lady’s Slipper
To You—to you I mean—they’re both too common.”

The lawyer gave a laugh among his papers
As if with some idea that she had scored.

“I’ve broken Anne of gathering bouquets.
It’s not fair to the child. It can’t be helped though:
Pressed into service means pressed out of shape.
Somehow I’ll make it right with her—she’ll see.
She’s going to do my scouting in the field,
Over stone walls and all along a wood
And by a river bank for water flowers,
The floating Heart, with small leaf like a heart,
And at the sinus under water a fist
Of little fingers all kept down but one,
And that ****** up to blossom in the sun
As if to say, ‘You! You’re the Heart’s desire.’
Anne has a way with flowers to take the place
Of that she’s lost: she goes down on one knee
And lifts their faces by the chin to hers
And says their names, and leaves them where they are.”

The lawyer wore a watch the case of which
Was cunningly devised to make a noise
Like a small pistol when he snapped it shut
At such a time as this. He snapped it now.

“Well, Anne, go, dearie. Our affair will wait.
The lawyer man is thinking of his train.
He wants to give me lots and lots of money
Before he goes, because I hurt myself,
And it may take him I don’t know how long.
But put our flowers in water first. Will, help her:
The pitcher’s too full for her. There’s no cup?
Just hook them on the inside of the pitcher.
Now run.—Get out your documents! You see
I have to keep on the good side of Anne.
I’m a great boy to think of number one.
And you can’t blame me in the place I’m in.
Who will take care of my necessities
Unless I do?”

“A pretty interlude,”
The lawyer said. “I’m sorry, but my train—
Luckily terms are all agreed upon.
You only have to sign your name. Right—there.”

“You, Will, stop making faces. Come round here
Where you can’t make them. What is it you want?
I’ll put you out with Anne. Be good or go.”

“You don’t mean you will sign that thing unread?”

“Make yourself useful then, and read it for me.
Isn’t it something I have seen before?”

“You’ll find it is. Let your friend look at it.”

“Yes, but all that takes time, and I’m as much
In haste to get it over with as you.
But read it, read it. That’s right, draw the curtain:
Half the time I don’t know what’s troubling me.—
What do you say, Will? Don’t you be a fool,
You! crumpling folkses legal documents.
Out with it if you’ve any real objection.”

“Five hundred dollars!”

“What would you think right?”

“A thousand wouldn’t be a cent too much;
You know it, Mr. Lawyer. The sin is
Accepting anything before he knows
Whether he’s ever going to walk again.
It smells to me like a dishonest trick.”

“I think—I think—from what I heard to-day—
And saw myself—he would be ill-advised——”

“What did you hear, for instance?” Willis said.

“Now the place where the accident occurred——”

The Broken One was twisted in his bed.
“This is between you two apparently.
Where I come in is what I want to know.
You stand up to it like a pair of *****.
Go outdoors if you want to fight. Spare me.
When you come back, I’ll have the papers signed.
Will pencil do? Then, please, your fountain pen.
One of you hold my head up from the pillow.”

Willis flung off the bed. “I wash my hands—
I’m no match—no, and don’t pretend to be——”

The lawyer gravely capped his fountain pen.
“You’re doing the wise thing: you won’t regret it.
We’re very sorry for you.”

Willis sneered:
“Who’s we?—some stockholders in Boston?
I’ll go outdoors, by gad, and won’t come back.”

“Willis, bring Anne back with you when you come.
Yes. Thanks for caring. Don’t mind Will: he’s savage.
He thinks you ought to pay me for my flowers.
You don’t know what I mean about the flowers.
Don’t stop to try to now. You’ll miss your train.
Good-bye.” He flung his arms around his face.
Sie ist wie mein ******;
eine schöne und schmerzliche Abhängigkeit.

Ich weiss sie ist nicht gut für mich,
aber bin ich schon zu tief.

Obwohl es wird mich umbringen,
hab ich noch Verlangen nach mehr.
I just had to get this out of my head.
Inspired by a recurring character in my dreams recently.
Written in German for fun. Here's a translation:

She is like my ******;
a beautiful and painful addiction.

I know she's no good for me,
but I'm already in too deep.

Although it will **** me,
I'm still yearning for more.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
ich wollen ein iranischherz herauf Nörden.

or simply Njørden - often the j is a softening pronunciation -
i want an Iranian heart up north -
that's what is says - imagine why he lashed out
with the words *sheisse ausländer
-
miniature form of Dostoyevsky -
at 18 he was confused - his father probably
heard the words... hearing that he lashed out...
this is the proof of the power of commandments -
take one to extreme, and all the others seems
permitted - honour your parents -
he didn't shout out allah'u akbar - he did
a little maxim veto - as said unto me one,
may these bullets turn into revisited tongues -
the west has no concern for poetry -
i wouldn't make Iran an enemy,
after all... they're the ones that appreciate poetry...
mm ha ha! so given Iran's flavour for poetics
i can only applaud at their sensibility -
i too was once duped into thinking that watching
a movie i might lie to a girl and ****** her -
poetry is dead in the west... i don't write
for the west, i write from the west, which doesn't
mean i respect the west -
thanks to feminism we're cruising into
an affair of what feminists don't anticipate:
the impracticality of old age creeping, creeping,
creeping... with large families there are at least
chances of a benevolent child who might care for
his parents - in the west with surrogate foetal-things
it's hardly a bouquet of flowers sitting pretty on
a table - the problem are already waiting...
thank **** if you're rich... if you're poor?
well... hmm what a Disneyland awaits you -
**** stained and **** smeared dying for your idea
like any Communist might; well, i'm not going to
help you... ask Oxfam while the money you donated
ensured that only a penny reached the poor poor
Africans and why 99 pence reached the bureaucracy
of keeping a charity afloat - i know where
i can find fresh water... you have to cross a barbwire
fence, feed 10 horses 20 sugar cubes and you're
at a little stream of clarity... then you do the vegan
diet and sorta'h waiting for a heart-attack...
or you take a Russian Empire banknote with Tsar
Nicholas II to Switzerland and buy yourself out
with euthanasia... either way, win win.

every ****** time i go back home there's the Krähewolke -
i'm starting to imagine myself as the boy instructed by
Barbarossa to watch for the crows and a second life -
it's a small town, used to be industrious,
life here, there, everywhere, now a town of pensioners -
a European squabbling with a European but ignoring
the massive signs MADE IN CHINA, MADE IN CHINA...
MADE IN CHINA... why you blaming me for what's
going to happen to you too? you think this is the steam-engine
days of industrial revolution? do you have an Instagram
account? no. well... if you aren't going to be a third party
advert unit you're worth jackshit -
but still that Krähewolke of summer, thousands of them
swarm the sky - i'm not saying because i'm there,
i'm saying i'm there dwarfed by such a sight...
krähe die messerschmitt - so poetry is written by
*****-whipped English teachers, or it's the medium of
the weak, it has many voices but it doesn't have a voice,
it needs to be pretty, it needs to be neat, it needs to
have a prosthetic metaphor stashed in a pile of **** flare -
some say it even has to be as coherent as an Ikea
manual for putting a table together, people all of a sudden
trash the calculator and attempt mental arithmetic in
terms of reading... what... a... load... of... crock-****...
hyphen... mm... the Germans knew the immigrant Saxons
would speak less and less German and even of lesser
quality than the Turks... the Germans invented chemistry -
the Anglo-Saxons invented hyphenation... but it's so
******* weird that the Englandish outlandish will
hyphenate a word like overt-usage but never include the
hyphen in chemical nouns, like: Hydrochloric acid...
dihydrogen monoxide (yes, the d'uh hoax),
phosphorus pentachloride - what remains of Vater Schwaben
in English is bound to chemistry's language,
where the standard use of hyphen is disallowed -
the German original took on a different optometrist -
the English revision took on yet another (different) optometrist -
the eyes of the English starring at a German word
began to dizzy-up-whirl looking through a kaleidoscope -
the Germans just saw: schieße schrapnell!
achtung! achtung! die wort ist die fondant...
mm... gobble gobble gobble - pristine smile of sharpened
teeth in a smile! klebrigzähne sprechen sehr kleine-eine-miner.
well... if you're going to write a Monty Pi Ten you might
as well desecrate a foreign language with the grammar of
the one acquired - very much interested in how grammar
is reflected by Arabic left-to-right, English right-to-left
German right-to-left,but Latin left-to-right - all the genus
names - **** sapiens: rational man - or the up-kept
(******* ***** -φρεν - alt.  hi-yo in Beijing) desire for:
the instilled continuance of the rationalising man...
rationalise this! knuckle dusters down the East End -
gotta be a **** before you can be a Cockney Wiseguy -
say ooh la la say soo - bud weiss err - say ooh la la say soo -
amphetamine George says: ethanol Scottish Gaelic means:
twins sedative and un-inhibitor - talk of Enzymes -
south and shoo, north and nothing, east and extra territory,
west and **** / Vancouver - van coup verily ******
voulez-vous volleyball aha! write poetry like a dictionary
entry - spandex, annex, fly-flex - it can really become
a tennis match after a while:
   roses are   red
                   violets are blue
             i'm so in love with everything that's dead
    that i decided to call the past the necessary glue.
an article by Bryan Applied concerning poetry -
and why all poetic hearts are bound for Iran -
karaoke the current trend in the west for one -
living at a time when cooking books sell,
and plagiarism is celebrated more than any awkward
originality, but everyone still owns microwaves
and opts for ready-meals -
the rewards of old age aren't there because families
have become atomic based on individuals -
oh right? the article, it's long, ****** me off -
"we turn to poetry in times of need, but can it really
help? and why doesn't it sell more copies?"
ah the selling questions, i forgot a capitalist thinks
of poems like hamburgers...
i'll put in a bracketed word pending in the title and give
you a brief overview of the article...

*** and whiskey interlude

i don't write poetry... what i do do is **** poetry;
why do fellow artists hate poetry?
poetry in the hands of the old and young
thinks itself ******-like, the one art form that
says no to violence, no to intolerance,
no to drastic actions of revision -
keeping the Shakespearean sonnet won't do the art
any favours, it's the art too easily accessible,
because anyone can apparently write it
as long as they get a clue than a rhyme is necessary -
alternating rhymes are not that important,
i asked for a steak tartar, instead i got
plated a shepherds' pie - i asked for raw,
all i got for nanny picked and donning diapers -
poetry is best suited for that dynamo of reaction
known to internet trolls - trolls should overpower
writing poetry, they're intelligent enough, and
democratic too - cold-stone-heartless *******
should pick up these floral arrangements and
do an iron maiden make-over with them...
poems should be torture instruments,
they should never be treated as floral arrangements...
i don't like weakness, neither does nature -
when i walk into the museum of poetry
i don't want to see avant-garde art, i want to see torture,
they really did underestimate the vis poetica -
when i read poetry i want torture, i don't need
safety pins, straitjackets and other torturous
instruments of conformity - but from what i'm seeing
that's all i'm getting - ask any man why the construction
industry is ******* - women on site, women in the
army - feminism has infiltrated sacred sites of
manly brotherhood... you don't see a man stroll into
the fashion industry... well... unless he's a ****** -
a Grimm Brother's tale: once upon a time...
you could listen to a radio on a building site...
then women came in... we only heard symphonies of
hammer and drill... that alone made us deaf...
sure... we worked dangerously, we died more often...
BUT THE THRILL! **** *** bye bye... go on, wave at it...
it's like Titanic's maiden voyage... it's not coming back!
feminism's ugly head should have shoved itself once
more under a horse's galloping hoofs - a few times -
it played with the brotherhood of man - we're no longer
men, we're insurance policies, safety nets,
no wonder the Jihadis are fighting for our libidos -
cos i honestly think they are... they want us to feel the Mojo
once more from the frivolous spirit of the 1960s liberation
that only became slavery of the fake sinner -
**** it... applause gentlemen! applause! thank **** for
me donning *******, i'd be a real loser if i had to hand it
to myself without it... these days it's called the ******* -
the monk's sheaf of chastity - reduce a man to a *****
and you reduce a father to alimony cheques.
what?! ain't that true? i told you, **** poetry, don't
bother writing it, **** that pacified ***** into obedience -
you own it... without you you'd still be crying about
what shame it is that a nation that produced Shakespeare
undermines poets while keeping this old **** ticking
all the boxes of worthwhile inspection... i wish i was
the 20th century example of when poetry had some respect...
at any other time more so in the 20th century -
but we missed that train... shame for us to have inherited
such a past and the internet - so if not so keen on poetry
why Shakespeare the celebratory idol? twilight Sir
****-a-lot is coming - or so i hope.
so this article, citations:
a. Wordsworth 'thoughts that do often lie too deep for
     tears',
b. poetry is the language of crisis,
c. poetry as peak experience constructed from
    the shabby, battered bricks of verbiage
    (otherwise known as talk with a mouthful
      of spaghetti),
d. TS Eliot: 'purifying the dialect of the tribe'
     (too many dialects to make up a tribe, to be honest),
e. funerals in particular are what's called
    poetic crashing the scene, every subject,
    every opportunity, you'd never call a poet a
    polymath,
f. the healing power of poetry... the healing power?
    i never signed up to take a Hippocratic oath!
g. a permanent record of failure... or the allure of a permanent
     record of ridicule by others, so the minor success was
     there too - as in a boy buys a kettle
     is a success story, but a boy writes a poem is a failure -
     is that vocabulary as commodity without
     a handkerchief?
h.
              a sense of abandonment looms...
              the obnoxiousness of this article is all too apparent,
      i rather be headbanging to some ***** M: Ra Ra Rhas Putin -
(even surds deserve a bit of love) -
i might finish the citation of the article... but then again
i might as well cut it short - inc. in the Culture Section
of the Sunday Times, Bryan Appleyard -
people resent poetry for stealing what comes naturally -
really? so i'm a thief? a lot of people don't invest in
vocabulary - they convene to invest in flimsy investments
of slang - after graduation from being teenagers the investment
in **** suddenly disappears - grown-up vocabulary takes
over, comprehensive English, not slang English...
people don't acquire naturally (i.e. easily without discomfort),
if i were to complain to the people for treating me
as a thief rather than a poet i'd ask them to teach me to
do crosswords... a pain-in-the-***... i can't do them!
so i guess that if you're able to do crosswords you can't
write poetry, or give poetry a freedom away from all those
dusty technicalities / identifiers as such -
for poetry doesn't make anything happen
(WH Auden), it probably doesn't, but if you choose a boring
life, a lot happens... 11/15 is the feminist ratio of poetry's
Forward prizes in the genre - k k, a fraction - 11:15 -
new testament? or the old's citation? yeah... why do they
cite the bible like making bets at the bookies?
Gospel of St. Luke 15 to 1? they're betting on the 4 Henchmen
of the Apocalypse - gambling even in the testaments.
performance poetry seldom stands up on the page -
yeah, wheelchair bound, or in pop culture lyricism -
that competition between R.E.M.'s man on the moon
(yeah yeah yeah yeah), and Nirvana's smells like teen spirit,
hello hello hello 'ola! (later the yeah yeah hitchhiker's story);
did i tell you i got barred from a pub in Collier Row for
speaking poetically? a ****-hole of a pub anyway,
walked in with a pair of dolphin flippers and a shark
fin, spoke some words, made a few friends over grapefruit
ale - then a few days later got barred, because i apparently
"threw a pint glass across the room"; that's me booked
for the Cheltenham Book festival for sure... right next to
the cookbook aisle where people will be expecting to make
humble pie and cider squint tarts.
Lucky Queue Nov 2012
You walk through the hallways
Mind set on destination
Smart enough to have grade-skipped
Curly dark hair pulled back
Tall stack of binders
Glasses? Yeah
Girlfriend? Ich weiss nicht
I know so little about you
And you don't say much at all
What are you like?
Who are you?
Ember Evanescent Nov 2014
10 BEAUTIFUL POETS LIST/CHALLENGE


Hi there. I think you are beautiful people and poets if your name is on this list.

Here is the list.
There are more and I have done another one like this but if I just paste every poet I like on this site's name then it doesn't meant anything there are too many so I'm going to post later ones with the names of the poets I really like but I'm going to limit it to ten per post.

I strongly suggest you check out their poetry because it is amazing.

The order of the names has nothing to do with the quality or my favor they are all equally loved by me in different ways for their work which is all a different shade of beautiful.

I invite everyone to post a poem with 10 beautiful poets' names on this site that people should check out.

Yet another one of my challenges. If you do the "10 Beautiful Poets Challenge" add "10beautifulpoets" as a hashtag so people can find it.

Also feel free to message me if you post one of these so I can check them out too :)

Just a great way to let people know about specific beautiful poets out there.

Include something about their poetry specific to that poet beside their name. :)

Here is my list for the day:

Pamela Rae moving and powerful seriously incredible work also super amazing person

Frank Ruland Amazing person amazing poetry amazing work

Just Melz Strikingly stunning poetry deep and brilliant pieces brave person so strong

Jennifer Weiss Wonderful poet and person lovely work very heart-touching

Bipolar Hypocrite phenomenal poet and strong person work is extraordinary in a magnificently unprecedented way

The Girl Who Loved You Lovely souled person, lovely poet, work is gripping and positively outstandingly fantastic in every possible way imaginable

Elsa Angelica Achingly tragically and beautifully relatable poetry internally and externally beautiful poet, her poetry is beyond exceptional it speaks for itself a MUST read type of poet

Frankie Crognale Addictive poetry exquisite person with a flawless soul strong and insightful poet with an eye and heart for seeing deeper into life

Nurul Unbelievable poetry marvelous person and work is so perspective altering and dizzyingly astonishing

Starry Night Breathtaking poetry. Literally. You need to read it, it will tug at your soul. Awesome person and I can see Starry Night's spectacular poetic heart expressed through the words of her work.


So yeah!
Check them out! :D
Repost if you get the chance so more people see it and check out these beautiful poets!!

#10beautifulpoetschallenge
here is todays list!
Garrett Lydecker Feb 2013
Nur am Morgen
Ich meochte es haben
Geben sie mir brot bitte

Welcher Unterschied besteht zwischen den beiden dingen?
Man hat mir gesagt jeder weiss es

Was ich muss tun
Sonst nichts?
bis zu ende

Kommen Sie zu mir
Dieser Tage




only in the mornings
I'd like to have it
Give me some bread please

what is the difference between the two things?
I've been told everybody knows it

what i must do
Nothing else?
until the end

Come to me
One of these days
JacquelineCalla May 2019
Ich schätze
Glaube
Ich bin blind

Denn ich konnte nicht sehen
Einfach nicht sehen
Diesen kleinen Unterschied
Zwischen dir
und mir

Ich dachte
Denke
Wir sind gleich

Aber du kannst es nicht fühlen
In dir drin fühlen
dieses eine Gefühl
Ich tue es
du nie.

Ich sah
Sehe
Und du nicht

So wie ich dich sehen will
Uns sehen will

Darum weiss ich
Ich bin
Blind.
Leonardo Tonini Sep 2020
Sterne sonder Zahl aus der Nacht aller Zeiten
in einem klaren Ozean bewegt ihr euch
wenn ich euch mit menschlichem Zeitempfinden betrachte
seid ihr im Rhythmus der Jahreszeiten ewig
doch wenn ich in längeren zeitlichen Dimensionen an euch
denke so weiss ich euch sterblich.
Die entfernte Stadt löscht ihre Lichter
in der dichten Nacht erscheint ihr mal zögernd,
mal überzeugt über den Bergen wohlgesinnt.
In eurer Herrlichkeit findet mein Herz seine Ruh.

STELLE

Stelle, innumeri dalla notte dei tempi
in un liquido oceano vi muovete
se con il mio tempo umano vi guardo
al ritmo delle stagioni eterne siete
ma se con altri e più lunghi tempi a voi
penso come cose mortali vi so.
Spegne la città lontana le sue luci
nella densa notte incerte qui e là sicure
sopra i monti benevole apparite.
Nella vostra gloria riposa l’animo mio.
A poem of mine translated into German by Cornelia Masciadri and currently being published in Switzerland. I am looking for an English translator. I can translate into Italian and look for a space in a magazine in Italy for those interested.
Ich will trinken,
doch hab' ich kein'n Durst.

Ich will essen,
doch hab' ich kein'n Hunger.

Ich will atmen,
doch ich will nicht ausatmen.

Ich will sehen,
doch ich will nicht gucken.

Ich will verstehen,
doch ich will nicht denken.

Ich will lernen,
doch hab' ich keine Neugier.

Ich will mich finden,
doch weiss ich nur draußen zu suchen.

Also ist es
dass Eine, wer drin sucht,
findet Antworten;
findet sich selbst.
I want to drink,
but I am not thirsty.

I want to eat,
but I am not hungry.

I want to breathe,
but I don't want to exhale.

I want to see,
but I don't want to look.

I want to understand,
but I don't want to think.

I want to learn,
but I have no curiosity.

I want to find myself,
but I only know to look outside.

Such is it
that One, who seeks within,
finds One's answers;
find's One's self.
-
CYN Dec 2013
It was a shiny day.
In contrast, I was shattered.
What news.
Directly broke my heart.
Tears could not stop flowing until now.

I may love to shop.
But I am not buying *******.
Dear Paul William Walker IV.
You will be so much missed.
Race in paradise, Paul, Brian.

Ich weiss nicht warum.
Aber die guten Menschen leider oft zu früh gehen.
Ruhe in Frieden.
The sky was dark, it was overcast
When the hearse rolled into town,
The people stopped in its passing,
And stood, with their eyes cast down,
Four black, high stepping, friesian mares
Stepped proud, ahead of the hearse,
While a man was following close behind
But sat on his horse, reversed.

His wrists were bound with a length of twine
Were tethered behind his back,
His eyes were well blindfolded,
Under his black top hat,
His leather boots had glistened and shone
And they rode right up to the knee,
There was something about his stately mien
That said, ‘Aristocracy’.

The horses were decked with ostrich plumes
Fine harness and plaited tails,
The coach shellacked in a shiny black
And fitted with silver rails,
The coffin lay on a satin tray
In the hearse, was covered in lace,
Inscribed with scrolls from the honour rolls
Of a noble house, disgraced.

And far at the rear of the slow cortege
Was a line of women in black,
Carrying jewellery fashioned in jet
As black as the coach shellac.
There wasn’t a tear amongst them all
Nor a smile for the ruined man,
The blindfold merciful, like a pall
In front of his ruined clan.

The hearse rolled into the cemetery
And stopped by the gallows tree,
A footman took off his blindfold then,
‘I hope that’s not meant for me!’
They dragged the coffin out of the hearse
And the man looked once, then twice,
‘I’m not your common old peasant, sir,
I’m the Lord of Mecklen Weiss.’

They dragged him ****** off his horse
And lifted the coffin lid,
‘You’re the Lord of six square feet of earth,
And the Lord of all you did!’
They ****** him into the coffin then
Encased his struggling form,
‘He’ll have some time to consider now
It were best he’d never been born!’

They lowered the coffin into the ground
To the sound of shrieks and cries,
But not one woman who watched it fall
Had a need to dry her eyes.
They say that some heard muffled cries
At that grave for a week or more,
But then, the peasantry always lies
For they hold the Lords in awe.

David Lewis Paget
Dr Peter Lim Aug 2021
Colours' effluence

they merge, ****** and converse

become a bouquet
Donall Dempsey Mar 2018
DIE WANDLUNG
(THE TRANSFORMATION)  

In this house where I
a child grew      snow has entered
drifts where I have dreamed
plays inside(where once I watched
it fall outside)   in wonder.



ICH WEISS...ICH WEISS!
(I KNOW...I KNOW!)  

Snow climbs the stair where
once I had head over heels
charged down to see it
begged like the child I was then
to go outside...inside...now.



DU BLEIBT...DU BLEIBT!
(YOU REMAIN...YOU REMAIN!)  

Snow eager to see
me after such long ago
roams through room after
room...mindless now of time it
human now...I...the falling.



DER HIMMEL HINABSTEIGT
(THE SKY DESCENDS)  

I watch Time grow old
see it fail to remembeer
what it should remem...
this house & I falling through
its fingers...lettting us go!



AUFGABE
(RELINQUISHMENT)  

Language strolling down
memory lane...picking its fruit
laughter & sadness
growing from the same branches
tasting now bitter...now...sweet.

*

WELCH EIN SPIEL
(WHAT A GAME!)  

All my life I've been
saying 'NO! ' to YES & 'YES! '
to NO...knowing I
know nothing of everything
I should know...could know...but...don't.


JacquelineCalla May 2019
Nun kenne ich dich,
die andere Seite von dir.
Doch ich steh noch dort drüben,
Weit weg, weit weg von dir,
Und mir.

Du drehst dich fort,
Um, ohne zurück zu sehen.
denn du wirst nichts, gar nichts vermissen,
Verfehlen, ich fehle dir nicht,
Weiter gehen. Nach vorne,
immerzu, weiter gehen.

Nur du und Ich,
Daraus wird wohl nie was,
das muss ich jetzt glauben, denken
denken, denken nur nicht fühlen
Nur was?

Was soll ich fühlen?

Leere, Stille oder nur dich

So wie es jetzt ist, ist es dasselbe,
Das Gleiche, oder auch nicht.

Wer weiss das schon.
Jeder, jeder, nur nicht ich.

So wie es scheint.
Dr Peter Lim Oct 2021
Hidden mountain-lake

sings of changes of seasons

heard only by trees
Indigo Ashberry Nov 2014
Here you are and does it feel like you thought it would?
Will you be happy here like you thought you could?
Discomfort never felt so dissettling
Inadequacy never felt so heart-werenching
Sorrow never felt so soul-drenching.
You're not through with mourning yet
You're not like these people
Not at all
Not at all
and you lack that bravery to believe that that is beautiful
Out of place
Out of sight
Out of mind
Pack your bags and rewind
Ettle weiss and coffee grinds
reading in between those lines
and living resurrection
Feeling those moments of joy
just as deep as you feel this rejection
longing to feel some connection
to these four white walls
Pathetic and alone in Montreal.
Dr Peter Lim Aug 2021
Oil Painting “Waiting at the Old Boat Dock”

Old faithful vessel
at behest of its owner
ocean is their home
Dr Peter Lim Aug 2021
An outdoor shelter

amidst lush plants and flowers

scene symphony
Donall Dempsey Mar 2019
DIE WANDLUNG
(THE TRANSFORMATION)  

In this house where I
a child grew      snow has entered
drifts where I have dreamed
plays inside(where once I watched
it fall outside)   in wonder.



ICH WEISS...ICH WEISS!
(I KNOW...I KNOW!)  

Snow climbs the stair where
once I had head over heels
charged down to see it
begged like the child I was then
to go outside...inside...now.



DU BLEIBT...DU BLEIBT!
(YOU REMAIN...YOU REMAIN!)  

Snow eager to see
me after such long ago
roams through room after
room...mindless now of time it
human now...I...the falling.



DER HIMMEL HINABSTEIGT
(THE SKY DESCENDS)  

I watch Time grow old
see it fail to remember
what it should remem...
this house & I falling through
its fingers...lettting us go!



AUFGABE
(RELINQUISHMENT)  

Language strolling down
memory lane...picking its fruit
laughter & sadness
growing from the same branches
tasting now bitter...now...sweet.

*

WELCH EIN SPIEL
(WHAT A GAME!)  

All my life I've been
saying 'NO! ' to YES & 'YES! '
to NO...knowing I
know nothing of everything
I should know...could know...but...don't.


Johnny Noiπ Feb 2019
New Museum of the Death Penalty
Black mother of the United States
beautiful black and white people
are good cities, towns, men, women
ēyiwe ****** Evelyn green plant
in Australia, girls and women
three continents, continents,
South Africa, South -My and
the United States, the United States,
Italy, Asia, the stars of the Greek-Turkish
white tomorrow, tomorrow, green,
air, Christians, yellow moon,
the worst in children's morning
food rainbow Russia rudiyeni,
real football game,
the police offer free images of women in Africa
and are free from soil.
LIO Life The Garden of Nature is a natural garden.
X Rob This is the handmade language
of our hands. Brazil wisdom art agreement,
love, walls, romantic love, the Spanish regulation,
the second church, the voice of Jesus,
the aunt, the wind, ancient Chinese ideas,
the European king of coffee determine
the information that in Arabian happiness,
is an alcoholic environment sometimes
complicated area of ​​his favorite WILLIAM.
William Lane Lane computer computers
ye'inigiliyeni Museum and soft sounds,
beginning with the recognition of China
China inidemiyešedigu Igor iyimoši
how long index finger fingers has yepenicheridi
helps in solving the problems
quickly my children Grammy
Well Categories Healthy Nation
hard costume play to help
my clothes k Create natural ESCR
items fitting placement general
care includes a rigid class
when the English language
unknown portal Spanish arrow
elite Stella Greek *** E-mail:
mail to a small angel angel
angel ēleyize; Swiss lovely
Japanese mother and a wonderful
arts and strong pillars of gems
of England remarkable poems
note Weiss bones for the nasty lyrics;
[                       ], [                ] [          ].
Hiking walk m e pediatric pregnancy
beshekišipiri Paul community club
in Africa
ambushed
Loukie,                                                         ­       eyes before a reliable seating
only plastic machines,                                              plastic simplified women
They are stored. Arabic
without an Arabic accent,           the Arab states roll out their state-of-the-art fully functional fembot,             in the planning & testing stages
                              for decades.                                                       wēšitešiperi
alkali alkali alkali di'ātiri;
diyetiterišiti and abdominal
pain pain and itch problem
generally transplant sorghum
of human diseases
including common yešodiye,
properties description factory
Cold cold Marc monster Mack
Creek Kirevi night yeshimi shime
night bejipiši impressing words
Bands, betitēriyewi state to bititē
spent very hot network sting,
new mothers and mothers
with mothers and mothers
country of the United States,
a white woman, a white woman
with a long city city life queen
female girls night Stage
waitress on Friday night,
Australia, Africa, women's
eyes among the first T
countries of the American
continent, Georgia, Italy,
Prince of the Best Organization,
Asian, Taroko Target stars at darkness in England,
bigger ships, hair, hair, blue hair, beloved, Canada,
Canada, history of Canada,
the gentleman's fire has changed.
Your mother, yenegomewochi, hope for the future,
the heat, the cold, the son of these Christians,
the yellow moon, a golden color,                   years, years, years, years, years, full and complete life of the child
Life Park (ANC) singing children's
songs to life. x Rob This is the child's hand from the permanent date. Brazil agreement Art wisdom, wisdom,
love, and behavior change,                                                      disp­utes lovers,
wireless terms, Spanish, second
church, Son, Jesus, donkey, wind,
ancient Chinese ideas, coffee,
king read to open the information
of the European Union in the middle of the country,
the United States of America.
Symptoms Vitamins modern lyrics
with safety issues earlier offers
to help you help people letirenochu
talk about picnic biretēli smoke
improved micro-flow, smoke blind
riding dark Drivers dry nature
of physical summary of common
General ESCR General Discussion
Discussion General Arcade / hidden hope /
speed safe anonymous Spanish
company Stella Greek
dream of good *** išekeši careful
hearing for each male angel
wings half angelic praise wibete
sand deep mothers diyešišiši Sa's
prices tanned House nišidochi
deep on solid walls clear panel
angel kitty pink pink ***** hot big angels to prophecy
lights biriwidiši Museum mutiro
Museum of the mother of Black,
lady of the United States Black
people are good men cities Eva
****** Mary Evelyn South Green
adult women in Australia
and women three continents,
Africa, South Africa, US,
USA Italy Italy States, Asia,
stars girikichi Greece, Turkey,
tomorrow, green, air, Christians
ah, the moon, the worst baby
rainbow morning food s morning
Ru

— The End —