tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48977081140636916672023-11-16T09:02:03.512-08:00Richard M. CochranBroken Words.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.comBlogger670125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-19789139405965001162016-10-13T18:50:00.001-07:002016-10-13T18:50:58.927-07:00I cannot mind the nightly news.<br />
The faces are terrible.<br />
Empty promises.<br />
Vague expressions.<br />
Controversy to keep us of guard,<br />
to create division,<br />
to render us harmless.<br />
<br />
I wonder where I will be<br />
when the bombs drop.<br />
I wonder at their terrible sound.<br />
Will we feel the tension of the impact<br />
against our bones?<br />
<br />
Their smug expressions<br />
outline the lies.<br />
<br />
The end is so close<br />
you can almost taste it on the wind.<br />
<br />
But the party has yet to begin.<br />
The banners have yet to fly.<br />
The acceptance speeches have<br />
yet to assault or ears.<br />
And yet the terror will come.<br />
<br />
Where will I be when we finally<br />
blow ourselves all to Hell?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-19443379569956389542016-06-13T04:38:00.000-07:002016-06-13T04:38:31.058-07:00another way around itwe are all <i>afraid</i> of something.<br />
it originates from<br />
a strong sense of individuality.<br />
<br />
we are told from an early age<br />
how unique we are,<br />
and how we should be careful<br />
of being led down<br />
the wrong path by someone else<br />
with another agenda.<br />
<br />
stay away from outside religions<br />
while being careful not to<br />
question your own sense<br />
of spirituality.<br />
<br />
conform while retaining<br />
your individuality.<br />
<br />
you are special.<br />
<br />
there is no one else quite<br />
like you, little snowflake.<br />
<br />
but make sure that you<br />
find a group which best suits your<br />
core beliefs.<br />
<br />
women should be this way.<br />
<br />
men should be this other way.<br />
<br />
do not divert from the path<br />
elected for you.<br />
<br />
stand firmly in one opinion<br />
or another.<br />
<br />
but what we are not told about is insanity.<br />
we are not informed about<br />
the harsh reality that if we<br />
keep our mind too tight,<br />
it may snap.<br />
<br />
if we believe that the world<br />
is one way, but clearly see that it does<br />
not conform to our set patterns, we have<br />
a tendency to lash out at that<br />
which is different from ourselves.<br />
<br />
with enough push and pull, with enough<br />
second guessing, with enough human contact,<br />
and reading, and experience, and travel,<br />
we find that<br />
we are not all that different<br />
than those we are taught to hate.<br />
we begin to see that all those other faces<br />
resemble our own.<br />
we start to see that there are a hell of a lot<br />
of people out there just as lost and confused<br />
as we are.<br />
<br />
but if we continue along the paths<br />
set out for us by those that claim<br />
to have our best interests in mind,<br />
there is a tendency to become rigid<br />
and angry,<br />
even hateful from the fear<br />
ignorance provides.<br />
<br />
there are about a million other<br />
people just like you, give or take<br />
a few million, either way.<br />
<br />
i'm not unique.<br />
you're not unique.<br />
those who you admire<br />
are not unique either.<br />
<br />
what makes you special in<br />
one moment<br />
makes you just like someone<br />
else<br />
in another moment.<br />
<br />
it is in our realization<br />
of solidarity<br />
that humanity becomes<br />
a little less frightening,<br />
a little less harsh,<br />
a little less rigid.<br />
<br />
so when the hate fills you,<br />
and you see everything<br />
as if it exists<br />
outside of yourself,<br />
you may, in fact,<br />
just be experiencing<br />
a type of sickness<br />
that was ingrained<br />
in you as a form<br />
of individuality...<br />
and it is easy to remedy<br />
when you realize<br />
that everybody<br />
breathes the same<br />
air<br />
in the same way<br />
that you breathe air.<br />
everybody hurts from<br />
time to time.<br />
everyone feels,<br />
and everyone kneels<br />
under the same sun<br />
that shines down on you.<br />
but the truth is<br />
that there is no truth<br />
other than the truth<br />
that you<br />
choose to believe.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-80345466735089399422016-05-24T18:44:00.000-07:002016-05-24T18:44:00.097-07:00Make it nowMoney is the new Jesus.<br />
It commands our<br />
every waking moment.<br />
Life can be measured by<br />
assets and income.<br />
The light at the end<br />
of the tunnel<br />
is only as good as the next<br />
startup,<br />
the next trade,<br />
the next technological innovation.<br />
In all honesty,<br />
who uses what bathroom<br />
is just an experimental<br />
social jerk off session.<br />
We need to be diverted,<br />
controlled,<br />
and told what to believe,<br />
as long as those beliefs<br />
fall within the categories<br />
we are told to fit within.<br />
Fuck the homeless that line the bridges<br />
in Los Angeles.<br />
To hell with the turmoil<br />
in Detroit.<br />
Screw the disenfranchised<br />
of New Orleans.<br />
In fact, damn the whole of<br />
America<br />
as long as that all mighty dollar<br />
continues to flow into privileged hands!<br />
Throw away the old,<br />
and in with new...<br />
as long as the new is owned by old money.<br />
The truth is<br />
we aren't ready for a better society.<br />
We can't even hold on to that<br />
which makes us human.<br />
But just because something<br />
hasn't been done<br />
doesn't mean it can't be done.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-33353403372687767082016-01-28T15:37:00.002-08:002016-01-28T15:37:28.091-08:00of the trials we enduredarkness does not explain it.<br />
maybe darkness in shadow,<br />
some type of void<br />
that is hazy, surreal,<br />
ripped at the edges.<br />
<br />
the limbs refuse to work,<br />
the soul feels heavy.<br />
nothing is the way it<br />
used to be, and it never will be<br />
again.<br />
<br />
emptiness says it well,<br />
but it does not come close<br />
to the full picture<br />
because emptiness<br />
does not sound so<br />
painful.<br />
there is something else<br />
there;<br />
a sludge,<br />
a heavy black ink<br />
that has a special way of dulling<br />
the senses. it makes<br />
sunsets shitty<br />
and flowers droop.<br />
<br />
distraction sometimes works,<br />
but not always.<br />
the harsh realization comes<br />
in eventually,<br />
and it only brings back the tears.<br />
the small routines<br />
you normally would not notice<br />
suddenly become the hallmark<br />
of pain.<br />
<br />
then there is resentment,<br />
anger, and grief to<br />
occupy the suffering,<br />
but it will only make you feel<br />
guilty<br />
in the end.<br />
<br />
some small something<br />
interrupts the day<br />
and you start the process<br />
all over again.<br />
<br />
a certain smell will catch your<br />
attention. a song<br />
will project out of nowhere.<br />
a strand of light<br />
will grace an article<br />
of clothing. there is<br />
always something.<br />
<br />
and in a few years<br />
the pain will numb,<br />
blanketed by time<br />
and it will make you feel<br />
guilty again<br />
for not remembering more<br />
often.<br />
... that is if the madness<br />
misses you<br />
and you can somehow<br />
keep yourself<br />
from dwelling<br />
in the past.<br />
<br />
but one day<br />
you will look back and<br />
be grateful for the time<br />
you had before they left.<br />
you will love them more<br />
than you ever thought you could.<br />
maybe you will even talk to<br />
them in the quiet hours<br />
of the day<br />
when no one else<br />
is around,<br />
and it will bring you<br />
some comfort.<br />
<br />
you will grow into the pain<br />
where it will not feel<br />
so insufferable.<br />
it is never kind,<br />
but it will not seem<br />
so dire.<br />
<br />
many years from now<br />
you will look back<br />
and remember<br />
what you endured.<br />
you will see someone<br />
in as much pain as you were<br />
then,<br />
and you will try to lend<br />
a hand.<br />
you will understand<br />
that it is nothing more than<br />
words, but you hope<br />
it helps.<br />
you hope<br />
to somehow eases<br />
the sadness.<br />
<br />
you will gaze into their eyes<br />
and show them<br />
what the reflection<br />
of the future<br />
may be:<br />
a little stronger,<br />
a little lighter,<br />
and with a powerful<br />
set of shoulders<br />
for them<br />
to rest their head.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-76743166987620440952016-01-28T04:25:00.000-08:002016-01-28T04:25:03.616-08:00a tiny flower for a tiny handlife is so very fragile<br />
so fleeting<br />
the moments brush through<br />
space<br />
and then<br />
they're<br />
gone<br />
<br />
a breath ...<br />
a blink of an eye ...<br />
and silence<br />
<br />
but an echo remains<br />
for those<br />
you leave behind<br />
<br />
the twinkling<br />
of a star<br />
<br />
the ripple<br />
of a wave<br />
<br />
the movement<br />
of a clock<br />
as time slips away<br />
<br />
and the tears they hold<br />
are like a single drop of dew<br />
at the tip of a leaf,<br />
threatening to fall<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-48426410405410647492016-01-27T05:14:00.002-08:002016-01-27T05:14:36.274-08:00Where we go from hereit breaks my heart<br />
to think of<br />
someone losing<br />
a child.<br />
the emptiness<br />
left behind.<br />
the dark nights.<br />
the memories<br />
of a smile that<br />
will never touch<br />
those lips again.<br />
it's heartbreaking.<br />
we can talk about<br />
being strong,<br />
about moving on,<br />
but that isn't enough.<br />
you see, there is a scar<br />
on the heart that is carried<br />
through and it never<br />
really heals.<br />
every time you laugh,<br />
every time you dance,<br />
every time you gaze up<br />
at the big, bright stars,<br />
there is always a tear<br />
hidden secretly away.<br />
<br />
I don't generally ask for my readers help. But there's a special person that I have come to admire over the years. She has always been diplomatic, always real, always straight forward. Her daughter passed away yesterday. She was only twelve. If you can give a little something, i know her family would greatly appreciate it. I would never ask anything out of my readers unless I fully supported it. So if you can, any little bit helps ...<br /><br /><a href="https://www.gofundme.com/CorraS" target="_blank">https://www.gofundme.com/CorraS</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-2001424198414136602016-01-26T18:19:00.001-08:002016-01-26T18:19:38.864-08:00Sleep the Night AwayWe're on an adventure.<br />
At some point in<br />
that adventure<br />
we're going to experience<br />
serious pain.<br />
It will rattle the bones.<br />
It will make you think<br />
differently about everything<br />
you thought you knew.<br />
Such terrible pain<br />
only happens a few times<br />
in the span of a life,<br />
but it can never be forgotten.<br />
You will carry it like a wrecking ball.<br />
And it will try its hardest to hold you back,<br />
keep you down.<br />
Often that pain we encounter<br />
in this adventure will threaten to<br />
break you.<br />
You will hold your breath,<br />
grit your teeth,<br />
and the tears will come.<br />
You will wonder why.<br />
You will question the fabric <br />of your existence.<br />
But you will survive.<br />
You will wear that pain<br />
like a ragged coat.<br />
You will feel guilty if it should<br />
ever slip your mind.<br />
You will become stronger<br />
for having forged through it,<br />
but always it will remain.<br />
When the days close in,<br />
and are coming to an end,<br />
that pain you carried will<br />
give way to the next.<br />
That someone who loves you<br />
will carry on and drag that wrecking ball<br />
until, finally, they can sleep too.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-21927067043545556522016-01-21T05:47:00.000-08:002016-01-21T05:47:24.057-08:00the money that controls youit is not enough to be<br />
drowned<br />
in ill begotten truths<br />
(lies wrapped up in<br />
just enough fact to seem<br />
as if it were reality),<br />
but we must also be smothered<br />
by propaganda,<br />
torn by rhetoric,<br />
fed shit in every form<br />
it assumes.<br />
<br />
all of this by<br />
adults,<br />
leaders,<br />
those who wish to be in charge.<br />
<br />
they will poison our<br />
fucking water,<br />
tell us to hate,<br />
teach us to divide ourselves<br />
from anyone that disagrees with<br />
our personal opinions.<br />
<br />
... and they will smile<br />
while they lie and<br />
degrade everything<br />
society should be aspiring to.<br />
<br />
they find our fears<br />
and manipulate the facts<br />
just enough<br />
to cause doubt.<br />
because once they have you,<br />
they can get away with almost anything...<br />
until they piss off one of their own<br />
with a little more power,<br />
and then they fall<br />
from grace.<br />
<br />
the Big Boys Club<br />
wants to control every<br />
single thing<br />
you have.<br />
they will tax it,<br />
try it, judge,<br />
and dismantle<br />
every part of your life<br />
for profit.<br />
and just when you think<br />
they have taken it all,<br />
they will find some new way<br />
of taking what little you have left.<br />
<br />
you see, there is no such thing as<br />
fair. there are those in power,<br />
and those without power.<br />
but it is a house of cards.<br />
once the masses figure<br />
out that they no longer need<br />
the shit they are being sold,<br />
that house comes tumbling down<br />
and the roles are reversed.<br />
<br />
it is just a matter of getting<br />
people to realize<br />
they are being lied to.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-57082522831267883912016-01-11T09:11:00.001-08:002016-01-11T09:12:47.604-08:00all those who tire ofi taste a bitter<br />
poison<br />
on my tongue<br />
<br />
for all of those<br />
who've<br />
come and gone<br />
i'm a symptom<br />
of all my parts<br />
my teeth have grown<br />
so very long<br />
whatever the reasons<br />
right or wrong<br />
i'm glad i've come undone<br />
a ride through<br />
the hills of illusion<br />
past the scars<br />
that make me be<br />
visions of fire<br />
to set my reason<br />
visions of fire<br />
to set me free<br />
i taste a bitter<br />
poison<br />
on my lips<br />
can't help but<br />
think it's a gift<br />
a jagged piece of paper<br />
just before it rips<br />
like broken wings<br />
of ascension<br />
lifting higher<br />
until i become undoneAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-51798612258838294002016-01-04T06:49:00.000-08:002016-01-04T06:49:23.008-08:00happiness is a weaponmost of<br />
what we do<br />
is distasteful.<br />
<br />
we are<br />
bitter to the<br />
trees and<br />
the lakes and<br />
the streams and<br />
the forests<br />
who shudder<br />
@ our approach.<br />
<br />
we are<br />
careless with the<br />
animals and show<br />
no mercy @ their<br />
slaughter.<br />
<br />
we treat the land<br />
as a toilet and<br />
the fauna as a means<br />
of simple murder<br />
without regard for<br />
the environment in which<br />
we live.<br />
<br />
we breed<br />
for war and domination,<br />
for fear and hatred,<br />
for pain and torment.<br />
<br />
we spill<br />
the blood of our brothers.<br />
we rape<br />
our fair sisters.<br />
we spoil the womb<br />
and wretch foul<br />
with dirty tongues.<br />
<br />
we follow<br />
clerics and prophets<br />
of tired religions<br />
that speak of wicked deeds<br />
while committing the very sins<br />
they abhor. <br />
<br />
we lend<br />
ourselves to misery and<br />
mistrust,<br />
to vile intent and<br />
bitter sacrament.<br />
<br />
we violate<br />
one another along<br />
the lines of fashion<br />
and reason<br />
and logical discourse.<br />
<br />
we idolize<br />
thieves and lunatics,<br />
warmongers and murderers.<br />
<br />
we are<br />
deeply seeded creatures<br />
of revenge and mayhem.<br />
<br />
i see no monsters here.<br />
<br />
there are those<br />
who wish for peace<br />
and prosper in the notion<br />
that freedom,<br />
true freedom lies in the heart<br />
of every man, woman, and child.<br />
<br />
they have come to believe<br />
that we are capable<br />
of living in harmony<br />
with all things,<br />
giving honor to the land,<br />
to the beast,<br />
and to the convictions<br />
of the trustworthy.<br />
<br />
they show their stripes<br />
and wear them proudly<br />
while others divert their gaze<br />
so as not to be blinded<br />
by integrity.<br />
<br />
they live their lives<br />
by the day,<br />
by the minute,<br />
by the second<br />
without warning,<br />
without wavering,<br />
without trial<br />
for they are better<br />
than most,<br />
and that is character.<br />
<br />
i see no monster here.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-49711982393674244592016-01-02T07:01:00.000-08:002016-01-02T07:01:30.386-08:00The Forest Fallsi put it in park and get out. there is ice and there is snow.<br />
the smell of wood fire smoke hangs in the air,<br />
both bitter and sweet at the same time. it reminds me of<br />
old people in old homes with old lives. i walk up the steps,<br />
open the door, and i'm in. there's a girl behind the register.<br />
she's dressed in warm clothes, a scarf, and ear warmers. she<br />
has a blanket draped over her, her hands tucked warmly underneath.<br />
<br />
"How much for a Wilderness pass?" i ask.<br />
"Five dollars," she replies.<br />
"Okay, i'll take one," i say.<br />
<br />
she hands over the pink ticket. it looks like a scratch off lottery ticket.<br />
there's the chosen month and the chosen day that you want to scratch off<br />
for the day you'll be parking at the parking area. you have to display the ticket<br />
in the front window of your vehicle so the rangers know<br />
you're good to go.<br />
<br />
i get back in the car and drive up the road a piece, enter the parking lot, and park.<br />
i scratch off the ticket in the appropriate places, and put it on the rear view mirror.<br />
i get out of the car and open the trunk. i put on my boots, my jacket, and my gloves.<br />
i light a cigarette. there are people here and there, approaching the trails. they're laughing.<br />
they're having fun. one out of five cars does not have the wilderness ticket. i smile.<br />
<br />
the woods are clean and crisp. it is 37 degrees outside, but the cold feels nice. i hit the trail<br />
and negotiate around some boulders. people are spread out on the trail. i make my way up a hill<br />
and head east along the river bottom. it gets quieter the farther i go. there are fewer people.<br />
eventually i am only left with the cold air and the sounds of the forest.<br />
<br />
i can hear my heart beat. the snow crunches beneath my feet. my breath comes out like smoke<br />
in the mountain air, crisp and clean. a rock tumbles from a ledge and cracks downward<br />
along the mountain slope, smashing into boulders and trees on its path. silence.<br />
<br />
i hear some rustling in a bush a few feet away. a bird flaps out of the bush<br />
and ascends into the air. up and down it goes. up and down. finally<br />
it perches in a tree, bobs its little head, and stares at me. i smile.<br />
<br />
i hear someone holler from down the mountain, and then it is silent again.<br />
i go out farther. the trail bends and breaks, continues again past a hill of rocks,<br />
and along the pine forest into oblivion. a twig snaps. i can hear my breath again.<br />
my heart beats hard. i make my way up a bluff, and down into a gully<br />
where there is a small pine tree. the snow crushes beneath my feet.<br />
<br />
a few hours later, i make my way back to my car.<br />
there are more people now.<br />
the sun is caught<br />
on the other side of the ridge.<br />
the mountains are shadowed<br />
as i drive out and back<br />
to reality.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-80761059111082931932016-01-02T06:19:00.000-08:002016-01-02T06:19:19.419-08:00take a sip, it won't kill you.i use the term,<br />
'don't drink the kool aid'<br />
so often that i'm thinking<br />
of having it tattooed on the<br />
palm of my hand for<br />
easier access.<br />
it is in reference to<br />
the people of Jamestown<br />
who drank poisoned kool aid<br />
at the request of Jim Jones.<br />
i use the phrase for its underlying<br />
meaning.<br />
every time someone comes<br />
at me with some<br />
bullshit conspiracy theory,<br />
religious propaganda,<br />
or political affiliation,<br />
i pull out my trusty,<br />
'don't drink the kool aid'<br />
speech, and it generally<br />
ends the conversation.<br />
really what i am saying is,<br />
'don't fall for the bullshit.'<br />
we are fed nonsense every<br />
single day of our lives.<br />
someone wants to<br />
sell us something,<br />
change our current affiliations,<br />
or get us to<br />
jump on some<br />
three wheeled<br />
band wagon<br />
as if it were the next big cause<br />
that will change the world<br />
for the better.<br />
to quote George Harrison,<br />
"Nothing's going to change my world."<br />
greed and power have always been<br />
the highlight of the human condition.<br />
the only way to combat greed and power<br />
is to take away the want.<br />
but want has to do with ego,<br />
and ego is the framework<br />
of the mind,<br />
and the mind is a tricky son of a bitch.<br />
the only way to make the world<br />
a better place to live<br />
is by putting<br />
the best interest of the people first.<br />
to initiate that,<br />
we have to make a few rules.<br />
quality of life comes first.<br />
that would include health,<br />
both body and mind.<br />
second, we would have to do away<br />
with ridiculous reward for<br />
being in power.<br />
third, we have to end racism,<br />
sexism, and prejudice in general.<br />
fourth, we have to end<br />
the want of accumulation of wealth.<br />
everything that is done<br />
has to be done<br />
for the good of the world,<br />
for the good of society,<br />
for the good of the people.<br />
so bye - bye, Capitalism.<br />
wealthy people that do good<br />
for the sake of humanity<br />
are few and far between.<br />
it takes a special billionaire<br />
to set appropriate philanthropy<br />
into motion. that means<br />
doing good for everyone<br />
without personal gain.<br />
personal gain is anything that benefits<br />
the billionaire over the<br />
common good of everyone else.<br />
and like Harrison said,<br />
"Nothing's going to change my world."<br />
because let's face it,<br />
humanity loves greed and power<br />
a hell of a lot more<br />
than it loves humanity.<br />
so keep buying into the bullshit,<br />
and we can keep spinning our wheels<br />
in the mud. nothing will ever get done,<br />
and only the previously prosperous<br />
will prosper. the rest of us<br />
can have<br />
all the kool aid we want.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-15369410414324002682015-12-28T05:32:00.002-08:002015-12-28T05:32:58.248-08:00identity where is your heart?<br />
do you keep it in a box,<br />
safe from those that may do it harm?<br />
do you wear it on your sleeve,<br />
where it is always accessible?<br />
<br />
i keep mine in a safe<br />
with a little peep hole<br />
so it can look out,<br />
but never be touched<br />
unless i choose to<br />
flip the lock.<br />
<br />
i love unconditionally,<br />
but i'm fully aware of<br />
how flawed we are.<br />
people make mistakes,<br />
and those mistakes don't<br />
necessarily make someone<br />
bad. it just means that they<br />
are prone to the flaws,<br />
to the misleading illusions<br />
of who they think they<br />
should be in order to live up<br />
to a certain image of what<br />
the world says they should be.<br />
<br />
this is the way of things.<br />
we are composed of every<br />
minute, every limitation,<br />
or ideal we have been fed.<br />
we get stuck in these little boxes<br />
because we are told that safety<br />
lies in those containers.<br />
<br />
it is much like stereotypes.<br />
we are told that that portion of the<br />
population does a particular thing,<br />
and we are suddenly convinced<br />
that that is true because<br />
that particular portion<br />
is now trying to live up to<br />
the stereotype provided. it becomes a<br />
viscous cycle that is hard to break.<br />
<br />
and just because someone says<br />
they love unconditionally<br />
it doesn't mean they are willing to<br />
succumb to the ignorance of race,<br />
or the radical view of sexuality,<br />
or the limited morality of religion.<br />
it simply means that they understand<br />
that underneath the masks,<br />
we are all just people, making our way,<br />
trying to find the unconditional love<br />
that was always there, no matter<br />
what stereotype you're trying<br />
to fit in.<br />
<br />
don't do what they tell you.<br />
don't believe what you are told.<br />
don't be who they assume you to be.<br />
don't give in to small notions of what it<br />
should be, or how they want to identified you.<br />
<br />
lock up your heart.<br />
keep it safe.<br />
allow it a peep hole to look out<br />
unto the world that is trying to<br />
identify you.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-75673501955110440902015-12-27T06:34:00.001-08:002015-12-27T06:34:13.929-08:00Mrs. Mackinac's Catthere was this pitbull<br />
like the kind you hear about<br />
on the nightly news<br />
when the news is slow.<br />
a mean sonofabitch,<br />
the type that takes out a couple of toddlers,<br />
robs a bank, and has his way<br />
with a choir group.<br />
he's 1 in 500;<br />
the other 499 just like a good<br />
scratch behind the ear,<br />
or a nice belly rubbing.<br />
a real Killer.<br />
he didn't get out from the yard much,<br />
but when he did,<br />
all hell broke loose.<br />
cars were stolen,<br />
stores were looted,<br />
mayhem was had.<br />
one day this pitbull got out.<br />
women and children fled to the<br />
safety of their homes.<br />
deadbolts were secured,<br />
and alarms were set.<br />
the police were called,<br />
and the national guard was informed.<br />
this goddamn dog had<br />
a swagger in its step,<br />
a look in its eye,<br />
and an assurance of what<br />
it was put on this great, green Earth for.<br />
Mrs. Mackinac's cat strolled out through<br />
the cat door in the kitchen and meandered<br />
along the walkway beside the house<br />
and into the front yard.<br />
it paused to lick its paws,<br />
and glanced up at the pretty, puffy clouds<br />
bobbing in the big, blue sky.<br />
the pitbull spotted the cat<br />
and went for it like a freight train,<br />
all gristle and muscle<br />
with a maw filled with enough teeth<br />
to make a great white cringe.<br />
it barreled along the street.<br />
steam rose from its nostrils.<br />
a woman screamed.<br />
Mrs. Mackinac's cat casually glanced over at the<br />
behemoth galloping closer.<br />
the cat licked its paw again<br />
as the pitbull cleared twenty yards<br />
in a flash.<br />
the dog opened its mouth.<br />
teeth gleamed,<br />
saliva flowed,<br />
spittle sprayed.<br />
mere inches away<br />
from gobbling down the cat,<br />
the feline jumped up straight into the air.<br />
the dog was befuddled at the vanishing cat.<br />
and down Mrs. Mackinac's cat came<br />
with razor sharp claws extended<br />
in switch blade - like glory.<br />
the previously docile cat came down<br />
with fury,<br />
landing on the pitbull's face.<br />
blood and fur flew.<br />
the dog yelped.<br />
the cat flipped backward<br />
and landed on its feet<br />
as the dog fled,<br />
blind and defeated.<br />
the cat licked its paw.<br />
later that evening, old Killer<br />
had to be put down.<br />
Mrs. Mackinac's cat still likes<br />
gazing up at the clouds<br />
in the big, bright, blue sky.<br />
and from time to time,<br />
the cat can be seen bathing in the sun,<br />
and purring a little tune<br />
that tells of patience<br />
and grace. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-25148383211004798732015-12-25T07:17:00.002-08:002015-12-25T07:17:32.891-08:00Xmas is a trick ponyeveryone's a trick pony, and i have lost my taste for sweets.<br />
they memorize their poesy. they believe it will get them<br />
noticed,<br />
recognized, adored. it's no bother. waste the space in your<br />
head- better than writing anyhow.<br />
<br />
smokesweet and drowned in opinion. let the quiet fill the<br />
noise as the curtains are drawn and the bath is filled and<br />
the steam rises and reason out all the shit that ails you.<br />
<br />
when it is time for bed there's nothing left to do but rest<br />
your head and let the sands of time settle all of the bets.<br />
<br />
some believe in the miracle of Xmas.<br />
i believe in rain.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-78439801395142003532015-12-23T02:55:00.000-08:002015-12-23T02:55:28.573-08:00 the headline reads: creatures,<br />
far and wide<br />
come for the festivities.<br />
they read the headlines,<br />
but not the news<br />
for they believe the<br />
headline is good enough,<br />
gives a taste<br />
of what they need.<br />
they believe it without<br />
having to go any farther.<br />
nothing's new.<br />
nothing's changed.<br />
there's new shit<br />
the third Thursday<br />
of every month<br />
so they get high.<br />
the creatures<br />
stand<br />
undivided in the truth<br />
that leaks from the<br />
tube. bloodbath<br />
incarnate.<br />
the windows are dirty,<br />
but there's not much to see.<br />
there is a glass of wine<br />
waiting on the counter<br />
so she washes it down<br />
and peaks through the shades<br />
across the way to the<br />
neighbor's house where<br />
she finds the old man<br />
out in his underwear again,<br />
clipping the hedges.<br />
he wears a grin.<br />
the shears are spot rusted,<br />
but the blades still gleam.<br />
he picks at his balls,<br />
and discerns his next move,<br />
wavering over the hedges<br />
to eyeball the level of the cut.<br />
she opens another bottle from the fridge<br />
and pours another glass.<br />
she takes a sip as the old man<br />
delicately clips a stray leaf<br />
from the hedge.<br />
eyeballs it good,<br />
and goes in for another clip.<br />
the neighbor's Yorkie<br />
bounds out from the hedges<br />
and barks.<br />
the old man is caught off guard<br />
and jumps back.<br />
the little dog pants.<br />
the old man grumbles.<br />
she downs the second<br />
glass of wine<br />
as the old man kicks at the dog.<br />
the dog jumps him,<br />
and begins humping his leg.<br />
she giggles.<br />
the old man falls back,<br />
and in an act defying physics,<br />
the shears tuck under the hedge,<br />
lean drastically toward the old man's<br />
torso,<br />
and down, clipping off his testicles.<br />
he screams in pain<br />
while the Yorkie goes in<br />
for another round on his leg.<br />
the headline reads:<br />
man is castrated by lusty bitch in act<br />
of exhibitionism.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-83996244931449236972015-12-22T08:18:00.000-08:002015-12-22T08:18:34.414-08:00the truth in love's lighthe remembered the warm kiss.<br />
the shape of her legs.<br />
her downy white skin<br />
laced with lace,<br />
and the taste<br />
of her neck<br />
that could drown<br />
a man in lust.<br />
<br />
he drank entirely<br />
too much that night,<br />
remembering,<br />
remembering,<br />
remember.<br />
<br />
with music soft<br />
on the air,<br />
and a heart<br />
that cared too much,<br />
he could see her<br />
clothes askew<br />
and the ripe,<br />
round ass<br />
bobbing<br />
in dusk's light.<br />
<br />
eyes that showed<br />
the gleam from the window<br />
where crows cawed<br />
and coughed out little rhymes<br />
about drunken men<br />
too far up love's ass.<br />
<br />
sobbing,<br />
he tore at his chest<br />
and wailed<br />
for his love was lost<br />
on the ocean that drives<br />
the waves through the mind<br />
of a madman,<br />
beckoning the<br />
creatures into<br />
absolution.<br />
<br />
sobbing,<br />
he tore at the tears<br />
of his cheeks.<br />
he wreaked of wine<br />
and cigarettes,<br />
and musk.<br />
eyes swollen,<br />
sight blurred,<br />
coughing up<br />
old memories<br />
because he was<br />
a pussy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-2759505328287927632015-12-22T07:17:00.003-08:002015-12-22T07:17:41.739-08:00a single finger. a single salute.save me a special moment where the dogs<br />
are calm<br />
and the fingers extend middle first<br />
before the end comes quickly.<br />
let me tell them one more time,<br />
let them know,<br />
let them<br />
hear it from the source.<br />
wash away the thickets<br />
in manure<br />
and hold until the very last second,<br />
this draining extension<br />
of worth<br />
we call love.<br />
bathe in the bile<br />
that is inclusion.<br />
build a monument<br />
in their honor.<br />
but it is not enough.<br />
there is never enough time<br />
to get it all out<br />
and hand over the final moments<br />
in a gesture<br />
obscene.<br />
there is never enough time<br />
to take time for time.<br />
there is never enough minutes<br />
in the day<br />
to say<br />
all the building venom<br />
that stirs in the soul.<br />
a waterfall.<br />
a lake.<br />
a darkened plot of land<br />
where a building once stood<br />
as a magnificent testimony<br />
to human endurance<br />
and ingenuity.<br />
and some motherfucker<br />
had to go and blow it to hell.<br />
is that not<br />
where we are?<br />
what we have become?<br />
is that not the way of all things?<br />
if it gets to be<br />
too much,<br />
blow it the fuck up.<br />
forget about reason.<br />
forget about logic, compassion,<br />
mercy, sympathy, delusion.<br />
if we think it<br />
at this very moment,<br />
it must be true,<br />
right?<br />
a cup.<br />
a cigarette.<br />
an ashtray<br />
perched on a table,<br />
ready to fall to the ground<br />
where the ashes will be spread<br />
like<br />
the legs of forty virgins<br />
just waiting<br />
for an asshole like you.<br />
because everyone knows<br />
there is no heaven<br />
for virgins.<br />
there is only a heaven for assholes<br />
and murderers,<br />
con men and<br />
scapegoats,<br />
for leaders and the successful<br />
who build empires on the backs<br />
of the disillusioned.<br />
so,<br />
save me a special moment<br />
where the dogs are calm <br />and the fingers extend<br />
middle first<br />
before the end<br />
comes quickly.<br />
i just want to let them know<br />
where i stand.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-1584003791019356242015-12-22T06:52:00.001-08:002015-12-22T06:52:48.294-08:009 to 5 minutes to midnightit is easy to console the soul;<br />
drop everything and follow where your heart<br />
leads you.<br />
but if you want to pay the rent, the car payment,<br />
the utilities, the insurance, the medical bills-<br />
work away with everything you have<br />
until there is nothing much left of who you were<br />
before you began the miracle that is adulthood.<br />
grind the coffee beans and brew up a pot<br />
before work.<br />
shit, shower, repeat.<br />
throw on some clothes, and make sure they fit the times,<br />
and the fashion, but forget function: looking good<br />
is supposed to hurt.<br />
put gas in the car, clean the windshield so you can see<br />
the assholes coming.<br />
pay for parking.<br />
lock the doors, and set the alarm.<br />
take the walkway. glance at he old homeless woman<br />
losing her mind. stand up straight.<br />
be a slave to convention. go in debt.<br />
punch the clock, or swipe the card to let the powers that be<br />
know you are ready to begin. smother the soul<br />
and begin your day.<br />
try to make the screaming in your head stop.<br />
use the toilet and cry on the pot.<br />
refresh your cup of coffee.<br />
glance at the clock. adjust your soul.<br />
run away before it is too late.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-30429834713367162692015-12-16T05:24:00.001-08:002015-12-16T05:24:03.358-08:00Forget me notNothing is clear cut,<br />
or set in stone,<br />
or arranged in such a way<br />
as to be the end all truth.<br />
<br />
At some point in your life<br />
you will be told<br />
that you should think<br />
outside of the box,<br />
but<br />
there was never a box<br />
to begin with.<br />
<br />
There is conformity,<br />
and there is anarchy.<br />
There is a blending of the two.<br />
There are rules<br />
to keep people safe,<br />
and there are rules<br />
designed to make money<br />
for those who make the<br />
laws.<br />
Some laws are put into place<br />
for the greater good.<br />
Other laws are established to<br />
bleed the people dry.<br />
<br />
There is a fine line<br />
between Democracy and Death.<br />
But you can not save people from themselves.<br />
We are all responsible for our own lives.<br />
Every decision we make<br />
carries weight. Every choice we<br />
are confronted with<br />
impacts the overall value<br />
of the life we are dealt.<br />
<br />
You will be told<br />
that life is valuable<br />
even though it is not<br />
in the greater scope<br />
of what life really<br />
means.<br />
One life suddenly snuffed out<br />
will only impact<br />
the immediate lives<br />
it has encountered. It<br />
may cause a stir<br />
for a period of time,<br />
but humanity is fickle,<br />
and will soon forget<br />
the cause of death.<br />
A new issue will arise,<br />
the demons of our past<br />
will be soon forgotten,<br />
and something new will<br />
fill the space<br />
in the void<br />
where that one life<br />
existed.<br />
<br />
We will find new causes,<br />
and those causes will be<br />
left behind for other causes.<br />
We are fickle,<br />
we are picky,<br />
we are forgetful,<br />
and we are lazy.<br />
<br />
A new piece of<br />
technology will<br />
be introduced,<br />
and whatever it was<br />
that had us in its grip<br />
will soon diminish.<br />
A new piece of<br />
news will grip the<br />
Nation, and the<br />
old soundbite<br />
will quickly fade away<br />
into obscurity.<br />
Something we should<br />
pay attention to<br />
will be overshadowed<br />
by an act of violence<br />
that will make the world<br />
tremble,<br />
and we will move on<br />
to bigger, better things.<br />
<br />
An environmental crises<br />
will wane and fade<br />
into an endless<br />
war that can never<br />
be won. <br />
<br />
But never mind<br />
all that,<br />
how about the<br />
new movie<br />
that is making<br />
the rounds?<br />
Are you going<br />
to go<br />
see it?<br />
Can we talk about<br />
that for the next<br />
few weeks<br />
while people die<br />
for lost causes?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-79709453633905695402015-12-14T06:23:00.001-08:002015-12-14T06:24:57.193-08:00just for a secondthe mind machine<br />
is indifferent<br />
to the play of<br />
the physical.<br />
it matters not<br />
that the Earth<br />
rumbles<br />
with war cries.<br />
<br />
a tiny leaf<br />
lay prone.<br />
<br />
what we were once<br />
is never so certain,<br />
never so firm<br />
that it cannot be<br />
taken away<br />
through forgetfulness.<br />
<br />
what we become<br />
is a matter of purpose.<br />
<br />
we let go of<br />
the tiny nothings<br />
that tie us down<br />
in order to become<br />
what we must.<br />
<br />
dreams fall away<br />
effortlessly.<br />
<br />
no child<br />
ever said,<br />
"I want to be<br />
a slave to<br />
a system<br />
that wants to<br />
destroy me<br />
for gain."<br />
<br />
there is a breath,<br />
and another.<br />
a sigh,<br />
then another.<br />
a love,<br />
and then it's over.<br />
for every death<br />
is dire intention,<br />
dragging the last of you<br />
away<br />
until all that remains<br />
is the very thing<br />
you fear the most.<br />
<br />
and suddenly you<br />
are no longer who<br />
you once were. you<br />
have been replaced with<br />
a modern facsimile of that<br />
which you thought you would<br />
become.<br />
<br />
all the dreams<br />
wash away.<br />
<br />
there's nothing more<br />
to hold firm.<br />
just a small frown<br />
where a smile once<br />
emerged, and<br />
nothing more.<br />
<br />
a tiny leaf<br />
lay prone<br />
in a puddle<br />
of water,<br />
clear as<br />
the light<br />
of the morning<br />
sun,<br />
above a ripple<br />
like time<br />
standing still<br />
if only<br />
for a second.<br />
<br />
and the end<br />
stumbles upon us<br />
so slowly<br />
that it quickens<br />
the pulse<br />
as the blade<br />
dips further<br />
and falls<br />
as a razor<br />
across the neck<br />
of our own undoing.<br />
<br />
so dreams<br />
are wished away,<br />
and nothing more.<br />
<br />
a tiny leaf<br />
lay prone.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-41233480546648831192015-12-14T05:54:00.000-08:002015-12-14T05:54:08.072-08:00What she Saw<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She
sensed herself in the mirror,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
but the
image wasn’t her own.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The face
was smooth <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
and<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
young,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
but foreign, misplaced, wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She had
seen herself before,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
had
counted each of the lashes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
which
closed like a trap over her eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She had
watched her mouth tense countless<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
times
without revealing too much<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
of herself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
But this
woman was a stranger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She
splashed some water onto<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
her face<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
and let
the droplets descend <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
along her<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
cheeks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Still,
the reflection did not waver.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The young
girl was there,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
gazing
back through<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
those
traps set to lids,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
a dark
red<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
before
the mascara smeared.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She was
pale.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She knew
nothing of the world<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
that
held her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She knew
nothing of herself<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
or anything else that had came along</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
through the years</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
like shards from the mirror,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
reflecting the stains in her eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
But the
image stood firm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
At her center was<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
someone
who knew,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
someone
who had seen<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
their
fair share<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
and
failed to shake it off<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
like so
many others had done <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
before
her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i>That woman there</i>,<i> </i>she pointed,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i>could be tempted. She could be<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i>hurt, damaged, broken beyond<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i>repair.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i>I am not that woman</i>,
she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She had
thrown off the man in her life<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
like an
old rag<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
too dirty
to wash.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She threw
him away<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
in the
same way<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
he threw her aside</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
and trampled that last part</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
of her that remained</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
pure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The
feeling of loss never came,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
just the
reflection of a young girl<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
that
forced her to stare back at herself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i>It’s a symptom</i>, she
said, <i>nothing more.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i>I’m sick and it will only be a matter of time before <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i>I’m well again.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Being
ill taunted her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
She could
feel the nausea like poison, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
feel the
heart race a little faster<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
with just
a memory,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
with the
flash of an image<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
of the
way he smiled,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
or how he
would hold her<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
so close
that<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
the tension<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
melted<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
like wax
along a rose colored<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
candle
she only lit for him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
A small
breath of laughter,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
and he
vanished,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
but the
girl in the mirror<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
remained,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
droplets
of water<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
drying <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
in the
reflection<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
of a pool<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
she knelt
beside,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
hoping to
rinse away the hurt<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
that was
caused by the man<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
who took
her innocence<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
away. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The
mirror of water rippled away<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
with a
touch from<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
the same
finger<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
she used
to point<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
at him in
accusation<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
when she
caught him<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
with that
other girl<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
who
looked just<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
like the
reflection<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
she was
staring at </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
right now.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-7208154548036999862015-12-10T05:00:00.001-08:002015-12-10T05:00:17.278-08:00where we lose humanitythere are those<br />
who are radicalized<br />
by cheap smiles<br />
and designer suits.<br />
<br />
their colors show<br />
when their hate<br />
is sparked<br />
through anger and fear.<br />
<br />
they fear others<br />
like them,<br />
those who may<br />
do harm with bitter<br />
intention,<br />
with misplaced<br />
scrutiny,<br />
with dire intent.<br />
<br />
radicals are all<br />
the same.<br />
they use images of terror<br />
to herd the masses.<br />
<br />
they use flowery tongues<br />
to misrepresent the truth.<br />
<br />
they hide as common men<br />
with a common goals,<br />
and claim a common enemy.<br />
<br />
they are the spark that<br />
sets the fire<br />
that rages in the hearts<br />
of little men.<br />
<br />
they become tyrants,<br />
and millions<br />
fall<br />
by their foolish<br />
endeavors.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-77069070358834814352015-12-07T05:37:00.001-08:002015-12-07T17:45:34.370-08:00percentagesthere are<br />
approximately<br />
283 million<br />
guns<br />
in the United States.<br />
less than 1%<br />
of those guns<br />
have committed<br />
mass murder.<br />
85%<br />
of the mass<br />
homicides<br />
are committed<br />
by men.<br />
100% of men<br />
rely on oxygen<br />
to survive.<br />
12 + 6 = 18<br />
there are 318.9 million<br />
people in the United States.<br />
1 in 3 American households<br />
own guns.<br />
25% of Americans acknowledged<br />
they were superstitious.<br />
3% of murders are committed<br />
with legally purchased guns.<br />
14.5% of Americans live<br />
below the poverty line.<br />
approximately 34% of Americans<br />
18 years or older have a college<br />
education.<br />
1.3% of all deaths in<br />
the United States<br />
are related to guns.<br />
there 30,800 fatal car crashes each year<br />
on American roadways.<br />
there are 11,208 deaths a year<br />
by gun related homicide.<br />
15,206 people die<br />
every year from poisoning.<br />
5,800 deaths a year are work related.<br />
1 + 1 = 3Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4897708114063691667.post-45999566509228606722015-12-06T07:19:00.000-08:002015-12-06T07:19:05.825-08:00watch it walk slowly no one wants to visit<br />
the harsh reality<br />
that the days<br />
are slipping away<br />
and there might not be<br />
enough time<br />
to make time for time.<br />
<br />
it is always tomorrow<br />
or the next day,<br />
feeding the minutes away<br />
for just one more moment,<br />
another chance to get it down,<br />
get it done.<br />
but it all falls apart<br />
and what was most important<br />
gets pushed aside<br />
for what needs to happen now.<br />
<br />
an endless,<br />
circular motion,<br />
coming back<br />
upon itself.<br />
<br />
crazy, bark-eyed men shuffling along<br />
to the music that plays in their own<br />
rattling heads, looking for a few more<br />
minutes to drum up a symphony, but<br />
the orchestra never arrives.<br />
<br />
no one wants to visit the harsh reality<br />
that you truly die alone, and all the<br />
friends in the world can't bring you<br />
down that winding road.<br />
<br />
so we wait,<br />
shaking off the sand,<br />
and it gathers<br />
@ our feet<br />
only to restrict our movements<br />
more and more.<br />
<br />
but nobody listens,<br />
and the flowers<br />
get cast aside<br />
<br />
for bigger,<br />
better<br />
guns.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01847044476270535392noreply@blogger.com0