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We have to pull together.
Why is every word that comes out of anyones mouth start a war?
A war against words and our guns are our very own tongues.
Artillery is just another word for vocabulary.

If we keep acting the way we are
Earth is no longer a community.
It’s soon to be a rock floating in the middle of space
With a bunch of ****** human beings
Fighting over the most worthless things.

Its like, a fly on a lake.
It still has a pulse but it cant fricking move.
It still spins but it doesn’t fricking think.
It still makes ripples, but does it affect the current?

It’s like the Joker had a bad day and managed to end up at a sad clown convention.

We meant something at one point, but then just joined along.
Earth will live on forever,
and so will humans.
But will human kind stay?

Its just another pine tree in a logging operation.
Soon enough we will be consumed by products and machines
and we will amount to nothing.

We will be consumed by the the sharp teeth of the saws
and eaten alive limb by limb
by the community that is our own people
and don’t try to tell me that “its not that bad”
Because it is.
We tell a white lie to live past the darkness hoping it would spread a little bit of light.

We have to collaborate. Humans and giants have to get along because who else would we turn to when the light bulbs keep burning out and the ceilings get higher and higher

Humans are made to be the same.
Thats why there is a plural at the end.
Because we are all humans and not animals like we have been acting.
Grow a pair of nuts and confront your problems and not just ***** and moan about it and literally start a war of the words.
 Nov 2013 Olivia Robinson
B
I'm at a place where the gangsters greet
they come together like crackers and cheese
at the table they speak
over coffee they preach
their opinion on the economy
peace and war
carried out intelligently
I see and see
all these old men, well older than me
who came here to discuss
matters that do not pertain to me
slick talkers, joke crackers, wise guys, old guys,
new kids on the come up
anxious from the sun up
all in the midst of a local diner
where the buffalo roam
the herd travels together
to mix the latest words
I wonder what they're doing
the business they're discussing
this is the place where they meet
the gangsters of the city
in here they're at peace
but to educate the street
it's violence they teach
Desolation City
The streets seem to be empty of life in Desolation city
just the changing of traffic lights that flicker, looks pretty
that's when you know, you are back , back in Desolation city
what can a poor boy do, I ask no mercy for I need not pity

I will look for shelter from those whom I love
all that I call friends and know my kind heart
for soon flowers will grow where pavements crack
and the healing will begin at the end of this March

The people so trapped by fear
some you know close or near
when outside all they see is tragic cruel violence
and witnesses that are terrified and stay in silence

Make love and honour a duty
shine over the streets so gritty
lets make the people understand
all cry for freedom in Desolation City

No more intellectual repression
no more blinkers on our eyes
as we mean to give relief and charity
to our lost home called Desolation City


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Living in the city, exposes us to inner-city life
Life and death dance with each other.
Maples Road, Elm Street or Pine Avenue
No such trees shade your way.
A tress falls a child falls, R.I.P.
The forest is now a wooden coffin.
Trees planted are young and sickly.  
Buildings and not trees offer shade.

The streets are like a cloudy rainy day.
Cement and asphalt stifles the grass.
Cops walk the beat, whistles blow
Sirens, honking horns, gunshots,
Tires screeching scream for attention.
Gangs are rebels with a cause, to be free
Try to listen for the heartbeat.
Life in the city can be life and not death.

Listen, can you hear!  A child is calling.
Look can you see!  A baby is crawling
A blade of grass grows in the cracks.
The inner-city is alive with a new beat.
Life can grow, life can thrive
Let's gang-up for a cause to free
Let’s tap to the beat we call life.
In this sleepless city
dusted with the crimes of greed
this psychopathic city of the dead
this city full of ****
in this city no ones pretty
this city, so so what a pity

This love bitter sweet
this city deaths retreat
this city full of scars
and the tears of many
this hollow dark towered place
bloated with the dreams of the lost

This city is last bastion of hell on earth
dripping it's vivacious lust
abusing all that touch it's walls
it's dark city gate bleeds contention
and the howls of the lost plead
but the gate master just spits


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
We waded knee deep in the puddles
of vacant lots when the flood filled
our gutters to the brim.

When the rain died down and the water pulled
itself from the streets we watched the rainbow
of oil swirl around our ankles,

walked the wooden footbridge that broke
apart under the weight of our feet,
the water-logged wood rot

splitting while rusted nails slid
out of place. We followed the streams
back to the plaza, back to fake IDs

and the ash-stained tobacco shop.
We found ourselves under flickering
lights, leaning against the rusted

siding of the family market, faces hidden
in a mask of smoke. We got lost
in the electric hum of the laundromat's cyclic drone.

They paved over it all -- covered freckled
skin with cloth and hot tar,
crushed vacant houses like hollow skulls,

ignited neon lights and street lamps,
strip malls and drugs stores
that burn holes into old hiding places.

They still try to sift through shattered glass,
silence the hiss of the popped bike tire,
wipe away the blood flower that blooms

from my scabbed knee.
The smell of iron at 9:19 am, disgusting
Unresolved, I
Would have given you the palm of my hands, there
Was a parade of objects in hibernation, and
The wire was made of plastic
I couldn’t
Walk, Tiburtina
Railway station blew up around me, the
Upside-down lilies hanging and dangling, you
Were sewn inside
My chest and pushed
Broken
You were breaking my ribs, shrieked, I
Was thinking about your hair
The embrace
The window
The cat
On the other windowsill
(As if he knew)
And you
Moving forward in the smell
Of the smoke, expanding
And she
Keeping on, she was filling up
All the cans
Was labelling and talking and talking
Pretending she had never
Existed, she
Had been
Transfigured
Hidden inside the white, she
I miss you, you kept saying, it
Couldn’t be done.
Don’t you understand?
It couldn’t be done.
Second one of a series of four.
I sorta sleep in my underwear.

Another lie.

I sleep in the ****,
when I have the energy
to remove the day's toil off of my
skin, which is not so easy.

No special creme, cleanser.
too tired to tirade, living life,
fall in to bed worn,
shoes et. al., the ones that need soles.
you already knew that.

wake up in the dark.
start to disrobe,
and soon enough, *******,
another poem done.

the poem of course is me ****,
so you get to see what
is under what I wear.

So I sorta sleep in my under-what-I-wear,
is not exactly a lie,
just me dissembling^
and/or disassembling
another day in this life.
^ dissemble verb, dis·sem·bled, dis·sem·bling.
— verb (used with object)

to give a false or misleading appearance to; conceal the truth or real nature of: to dissemble one's incompetence in business.
to put on the appearance of; feign: to dissemble innocence.
Obsolete . to let pass unnoticed; ignore.

A humorous adjunct to this
Nat Lipstadt · Jun 15
How I Defrosted My Woman
Or
Nat Lipstadt · Sep 8
I don't sleep in p.j's
always woke up with nothing to say to her
not a thing.

we slept in rooms separate,
but she would bust in on me,
occasionally, to have an occasion,
never knocking, just door pounding,
just to annoy, just to see
if I still cared, hoping to revoke
what passed for pseudo-serenity.

some times entireties
would pass
before you had the energies
to swing
your legs over the
side of the day~bed,
conceding, white flag surrendering,
losing the commencing-avoidance of
the start-of-the-day battle of
pseudo-existence.

hoping against hope
you don't meet,
hoping against hope
she doesn't say accidentally,
good morning.

so you don't have to
Lincoln~Douglas debate,
aerate, concentrate, orate,
how to answer without bitterness
intended to maim.

knowing you could not e'er possess
a good morning, day, night,
by definition, by ruling of the
gods in charge of never.

sometimes you made it out
of the apartment that had
no ingress,
only egress,
happy happy no converse.

used to go to a Barnes & Noble,
get a refillable endless Starbucks,
from open to closing.
read all day, sitting with strangers,
till my **** hurt so bad,
didn't think I could walk again.

now and then,
smiled at the ladies,
tho nothing could come of it,
nothing ever did.

she never asked me
where I egressed too.
didn't care, that was better
for sanitizing my pseudo-sanity.

came home cautiously,
door opening silently
in case I was home prematurely,
she still there.

sometimes you wake up with nothing to say
to yourself.
that is even worse,
cause the meaning clear,
breaking point is near.

have a picture of me from those days.
a cellphone photo I took myself,
of course.
serious, bearded, short haired,
red eyed, unfiltered.

Sometimes I think I will banner it,
so you can tap into a part of me
that words just cannot do injustice to,
more than was already done.

here, while composing,
I fell asleep.
tired?

maybe.  maybe,
sometimes you just don't want to remember.
Sunrises over the sleepy ocean
The light reflecting off the shimmering water
And the clouds scattered across the sky,
Contrasting with the morning color
That kisses the beach once again

Late night’s that lead to early mornings
Watching the sky turn a lighter shade of dark
Until you can see the light beginning to kiss the horizon
And the mist settles in the valley hovering where it’s safe
The world is quiet and peaceful
The day is so innocent and young
You watch the stars and the moon fade out of the sky,
But you know they are always there
Watching over you as you continue through the day

Raindrops outside your window
Burrowing yourself deeper in the covers
And relaxing to the rhythm of Mother Nature’s song
Simple joys
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