that girl with blue eyes
ice-cold rays of rising flames
how gentle they seemed

those darkened clouds cried
and im a fool
for thinking the tears were real

~for you, girl~

words have definitions; shades; moods,
even within the contextual moment,
the coloration sometimes is discolored,

one person frantic is another’s
normal
passing fancy
insanity
quiet
overwrought silliness

frantic is a continuum’s conundrum

and oft the hubbub coverhup lends
a veneer of urgency importance
when knowledge acquisition is iron
irony, best when well chewed, quietly
considered and consumed with the
perspective of addition and subtraction

what we know is more than yesterday,
and less than what we will one day own,

for the only purity of learning is that’s
final refining is never ending
the artifice of deadlines,
gradation vis-a-vis
all the rest, is not a
distinction  worthy of
distinguishing

your human value is beyond compare

exactly!
the greatest of valued adders to the world body of understanding put the race of
ego to one side, and so should we all,
not
be ****** in by the imposition of qualifiers

you are quality, and that is the only
qualification you will ever
acquire and require

and in my naïveté
I reflect looking back
and give you here the
free use thereof,
of its worth, you will
determine
but in summary judgement:
always keep thinking
ridicule is ridiculous
but best when applied
by oneself to oneself
with a

“***, did I really think:say that?”
and laugh out loud at our human
foibles, especially our own,
with a wry smile, admitting
some of things we conjure up
in all seriousness are

are the funniest things we’ve ever heard

Never try to prove
your love
by opening
your legs.

You read my poetry,
then turned away,  
as if the words
had nothing to say.  
Each line was a pulse,
it was a part of me,  
yet you drift on past,
too blind to see  
that my verses ache,
hoping to be heard,  
yet silence lingers,
louder than each word.  
The ink may fade,
but my feelings remain,  
as I laid my heart bare,
was it all in vain?

©️Lizzie Bevis

It’s a Friday night, Brock and I are at a small PokéMart near Pewter City called “The Ordinary PokéStop.” We’re nestled into a cozy little corner booth, the dim light glinting off the PokéBalls clipped to Brock’s belt. We’re waiting for Ash—who’s running late, as usual. This PokéMart is one of Brock’s favorites because of their “Berry Blends,” and his taste in exotic Poké-themed smoothies is as unpredictable as ever. Tonight, we’re sipping on “Miltank Malt,” a rich, creamy blend of MooMoo Milk and Oran Berries.

We’re on our second—and I’m starting to feel the sugar rush—did I mention Ash is running late? On a celebratory note, Brock finally perfected his recipe for “Rock Candy Rice Cakes,” and I just won my third straight battle at the Vermilion Gym with Magikarp in my lineup.

But more importantly, earlier today, I stopped by Mt. Moon and stumbled across something remarkable: a Moonstone. As soon as I picked it up, it seemed to hum faintly in my hand, like it was alive. I tucked it safely into my pack, but even now, I can feel its faint warmth.

So, we’re sitting there, sipping our drinks and sharing a basket of Poké Puffs when this guy walks in—a cool, scruffy Ace Trainer named Milo. He’s carrying a bottle of Soda Pop and wearing a slightly rumpled Team Rocket hoodie, which is either ironic or incredibly bold. He’s got that charming, disheveled look that you can’t quite trust.

At first, he’s just passing by, but then he stops and glances at us. “You wouldn’t happen to be Ash Ketchum’s crew, would you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” I reply casually, “Never heard of him.”
“You sure? You’ve got that whole underdog vibe,” he presses.
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I shrug.
“But Ash wouldn’t hang out in a dive like this,” he teases.
“Oh, yes he would,” Brock says, deadpan, not missing a beat.

Then it hits me—Milo was in the tournament Ash and I just watched in Celadon. “Wait—you were in that match against Erika’s gym team last week, weren’t you? Congrats on your big win!”
“Thanks for bringing that up,” Milo says dryly, a faint blush rising.
“We lost. Her Bellossom wiped us out—critical hits, all day. Total bad luck.”
“Bad luck,” Brock chuckles. “That’s one way to put it.”

Milo looks a little deflated, so I motion for him to take a seat. He slides in beside Brock, who offers him a cheerful nod. “Milo,” he says.
“I KNOW,” Brock says slyly. We’ve talked about him before—Brock thinks his battle strategy is solid, but his PokéFashion? Not so much.

“Do you believe in luck?” Milo asks suddenly, looking at both of us.
“Absolutely,” I reply, sitting up. “I mean, how else do you explain Magikarp getting a win? I always carry a lucky Moonstone with me—it’s way more reliable than, you know, strategy or training.”

“You have it on you now?” he asks, curious.
“Always,” I say, pulling it out of my pack and holding it up. The light catches the faint, shimmering surface.
“Does it really work?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, Magikarp won, didn’t it?” I joke, tucking it back in my bag. “Though I guess I’m living proof that luck is, uh, inconsistent.”

“Brock’s into luck, too,” I add, gesturing toward him.
“All breeders are superstitious,” Brock declares solemnly. “Back home, my sisters used to throw Clefairy dolls into the cave by Mt. Moon to ensure a good egg hatch.”
Milo laughs out loud, nearly choking on his Soda Pop. “And it worked, huh?” he says, smirking as he clinks his glass with Brock’s.
“We have a saying,” Brock adds with a knowing smile, “It’s better to have a lucky Magikarp than a perfect Gyarados.”

Just as Milo nods thoughtfully, agreeing with this ancient wisdom, Ash bursts through the doors, slightly out of breath. “You’ll never believe what Pikachu just did,” he announces. Typical Ash—always the center of the story.

In the depths
Of dust and debris,
Where even dandelions
Hide and bury,
Pulsating,
Is a tiny resistance,
And alive,
Is a tiny heartbeat.

Dear celebrity crush,
I wish that I could clone you
so I could have my own you,
my creepy devotion
would fill up an ocean

a line in the sand
waves falling short every time
jittery wrinkles

Eric
Born on a stormy dark night
She came into our lives
Hair jet black from there on
there was no going back.
Bundled up and into the car
The most beautiful thing i had seen by far. She grew up much
to fast, blonde hair and eyes
of blue, I will always be here for you. One thing you have to
understand, Always and forever
I will hold your hand.

Now I hold funerals everyday
For the man that died when she left

the most hurt
comes from the people that don't understand you

and most problems
come from the people that do

The words build up inside like a tumor,
Ignorance will make them mean—
Spare my heart / spare my lungs
The song 'What If' is on repeat.
Regrets of the past / fears of the future / anxiety of the present
A tumor never leaves—
Healing is temporary.
Coughing up blood / letters interlaced in red
It’s a disease to keep it inside,
It’s a curse to let them fly—
I must write outside of my skin.

I'm coming back, even though light
finds this different horizon.
I am here, although life
sold me at a bargain price.

I see no signes of tears,
I do not know where their shadows
have gone.

I sway on this black wave
of existence, I seek solace
in the scent of hope.

I do not want to look for flaws
of future. There's a wind
blowing inside me
that can't be satisfied with
one maudlin sigh, one lost look.

In love with your past, I am trying
to wake you up from
this long sleep.
I flee from my own loneliness.
I dedicate this farewell to you,
so that you may understand
how much silence is needed to
soothe the sky,
to placate the earth.

The sentence here is unfortunate -
reflections of love
no longer bring remorse.
I slam the door to heaven again.
I open the window to hell.

White, black, green, and red,
Waving a flag.
Let the world know
There is a right to be alive—
The people of Palestine have,
In their own olive land.

fire
with no deterrent
makes it's way through the valleys
over the hills
and through the silent towns
engulfing the barely alive
and the already dead
there are no alarms
no screams
no running
just the sound of crackling fire
peaceful really

Mother inhales
looks out upon the beautiful flames
it is time to begin again
after I rest

I come to you Lord
After having destroyed everything
I committed the greatest sin of destroying myself
Send me your command
I am yours forever

can you see through my chest?
the bathroom floor waiting for me
the box of razors below my bed
is it enough for you to leave me?
baby, are you leaving?

You and I
with so much history
no

hyperbole

that hangs on us
like bad-fitting clothes
and it's all so

complicated

through grayed streaks of white wet cumulus,
over unpretty rooftops of a metropolis,
study my windowed
winnowed airplane reflection,
imposed ‘pon a worldly-wowed perspective,

set task
before me to:
define
delist
analyze
in the very simplest terms:
the best of me,

~<>~

‘tis the littlest things,
the kindnesses,
the slight grazed touch of hand and lips,  
the recognition of thanks
genuinely tendered,
well received,
in the ilk of all these alike
minutatie

in all these, and
the summation thereof,
these gestures,
their accumulation
so mini-sized,
so great-empowering,
that they go nearly
unnoticed,
but I notice

and it makes feel holy,
nearest to my tiny embers
of godliness that within my
container,  my spark,
and nearer to thee,
and thine,
and our mutual
sparkling


nov 26 2024
@ 30,000 feet
AA #2039

te nombraré veces y veces.
me acostaré con vos noche y día.
noches y días con vos.
me ensuciaré cogiendo con tu sombra.
te mostraré mi rabioso corazón.
te pisaré loco de furia.
te mataré los pedacitos.
te mataré una con paco.
otro lo mato con rodolfo.
con Haroldo te mato un pedacito más.
te mataré con mi hijo en la mano.
y con el hijo de mi hijo/ muertito.
voy a venir con diana y te mataré.
voy a venir con jote y te mataré.
te voy a matar/derrota.
nunca me faltará un rostro amado para matarte otra vez.
vivo o muerto/un rostro amado.
hasta que mueras/
dolida como estás/ya lo sé.
te voy a matar/yo
te voy a matar.

today I was racked
with an all consuming feeling of regret

dead in the night
all alone
dead inside

eyes wide open
glued to the ceiling
gone all mental healing

all the overthinking
praying for redemption
followed by slow blinking
for shame, i'm left with feelings of abnegation.

it's the first snowfall of the year,
and you're the first person i wanted to tell.

though it doesn't seem like much,
and you're not with me right now,
know that i wanted it to be with you.

it'll always you lingering in my mind while the seasons change,
just like the snow falls all around me now.

Wherever you are: Find love.

I was blessed that my fruits fell from above.
But if you have to look right
or left
find love.

With whatever strength you're blessed
find love.

For a future sweet goodbye,
find love --- where time will fly on swiftly by
and love will teach you how to cry
But here we are and here we find
our family within mankind

So don't give up upon your search
Worship at our love's one church.
Look up, below and all round
for love upon this earthly ground.

It's getting fake, I know it is
U say U love, lying bout this
Maybe U want me to feel good
But Ur lies will not change my mood
I feel imprisoned, I feel bad
Nothing in here can change that
Just lemme out, I wanna go
Finding sense, that is the goal

A serpent calling Eden home,
Her gaze a fire, her soul made of stone
In the temple of shadows, she was queen,
Betrayer of faith, betrayer of love, serene.

The sweet fruit she offered, ripe with a curse,
Men fell to her feet like they fell in Rome.
But no god or human could claim her soul,
Heaven burned where her name was known.

She crowned herself with a halo of lies,
Her whispers salvation, the poison's disguise
In the Garden of Eden she was not Eve,
Breaker of promises, breaker of chains, finally free.

I was trained to love the dark
because it kept my hurt well hidden
To start a fight
to see the light
simply felt
forbidden

I am too tired to write
         So, I will write

Nothing
About how I feel

Nothing
about life so dear

Nothing
about what I miss

Nothing
about death so near

Nothing
about your missing kiss

Nothing will I write

I will write Nothing
             About Missing You

TUBES    . .. Here a tube , there a  tube,  everywhere  a tube, tube  ;

Locked up in a tiny room I am, as if in a cube

One  for intake  of oxygen, one for output of peritoneal drainage

Both in and out  of my Parsi nose; what an outrage !

Yet another from the bladder, n intravenous on my hands both

Two at the feet, to  circulation  help; only these 2, I do not loathe.

Lord, You  made  our body so perfect,  oozing with health ;

When ill, we humans try to it repair,  spending enormous wealth.

Armin Dutia Motashaw

the little indent on my finger
on my ******* right above the third knuckle on my right hand
from my pen
it reappears when i’m writing again

With legacy financial options such
     As gold or fiat we have no way to
          Send and receive lightning quick
               Micropayments across the world.
                    We need a way to send secure
                         Micro transactions of fractions
                              Of a penny nearly immediately
                                   Therefore
                              Let’s continue adopting Bitcoin
                         And expanding the use of the
                    Lightning network that enables
                These incredibly small amounts.
           Each Bitcoin is divided into 100
     Million units called Satoshis, or
“Sats” used for micropayments.

At night, a Christmas garland brightly lit —
Milky Way, spine of the sky.