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The thread thee warp
shadow shall shade so
as silken cradles fade though
So soothing that I
lost the rest soaring

Fool’s gold never seems to keep its shine
as if shiver sun ray never stray
until down it bends
until up it flicks
Naively flow with waves of velvet and thorn
not until finding them its own.

Tuned tile, aged alley, clouded cement,
welcome
wander the sunlight
setting feeble rose and blue
adorning tranquil ardent and alive
soothing sacred faint to find floods of glow
announcing alienated savage to shelter sprouts of soul
23:01 May 7, 2024. In Beijing.
Around fire the Wa arised
syllables afloat, stories alive
Above fire the Wa aligned
steps abeam, songs alight
Amidst fire the Wa awaked
sparkling out, sprouting in
Cease me not

Behold the way, bet a say
Brick a home slumbered
whither for return in gusto
Blaze a tune of unity
weather harsh with vitality
Beam through ashes blew
Wa fire fueled the way found
Wither thee not

It knocks me out.

In tap, on tread,
mud you black
The mount knows our track.
In weft of brunet dye
flows the lapse defied
dancing a dance not our own
for a waft of strangers.
Memories ruffled in rusty voice,
melodies frozen off the echoes.

A small hand in a big one, the way home.
There grows crops, plants, and lives
picking, watering, handing, crunching,
In gentleness built upon nothing less than
the radiant afternoon sun creeping down the alley,
a melancholy tune, a melancholic loss
and a terrible greatness.

Hedged eyes I descry
your silence lingering on
23:01 August 7, 2024. At Cangyuan Wa Autonomous County.
snipes Sep 20
Some alive people,
are just dead to me.
I hope I can get free by Monday.
p1st0l Aug 19
The day you'll die,
will be the day,
you genuinely feel alive.
Thoughts and memories would come flooding, begging you to stay.
You'll want to live just one more day.
you've wished for death for so long
How can you now wish to stay?
Abdulla Aug 8
Am I too young to miss the past
Am I too old to enjoy the rain
Too young to notice the change
Too old to be immature

Or maybe too young to think when to blink
in fear I’ll miss the bliss if I stop to think

Or maybe age isn’t real
Just there to control when we do what

When we should be embarrassed to cry,
or when to start to live our lives,
and with a blink of an eye
you’re caught barely alive,
wore out from existence of time
Ken Pepiton Aug 6
Happenings that just happen to happen,

-- oh, serious, we said this with no debt, we
-- ah, saw this is just what I was hoping for,
-- I up and posted a bunch of this on X.
grok link and all, honest cyberbardbyterbits

this is not the art of the bards and vatic arts,
we aimed at inheriting the wind, in spirit and true,
mimetic authority, we see, we saw, as so say see.

the use of a person or a team of persons, an army,
or a work gang, hunters and skinners and packers,

not those, nor many normal nonnoble lines, stinkers
gatherers of batshat nitrates for cannon fodder,
and to speed the forming of cornfed beasts,
-- ai, if it isn't the spirit, in the craft, do tell
isaiah assisting a little here, a little there,
ai, if may were my word now, precept
upon sighing and chosing riverwise, think on
assume not that, is a bit a leap, use wise
it's not that
nor is it the efforts of carbide gaslit
miners and grinders and fuelers and fanners of flames
cornbread fed

-coal miner's daughters and steel driving slaves, racing
steam driven hammers on steel stakes marking iron rule,

in service of the golden light from Christmas Astrologers…

rush theatric, imitative mirror neuronic, laughing together,

easy laughs or easy tears, easy joy of conquering,

memes formed
by infants watching colored lights, not burning,
bushy Hualapai pinion pine Christmas trees

shadows presented memes on our mental walls

after all have projected camera obscura concept
captured on silver nitrated cellulose translucent film,

- so few respect the science, the art in alchemy

as art is a cathedral in a cavern, let us pretend, good is good,

sad is bad, bad is evil fruit, wrong thinking poetical pleasance.

Make believe, let go our mundanity, attempting katharsis,

purged of mistaken privilege,

as virtuous as the entertainment's audience socially informed,

this is us, we as seen consistently for a brief while,
in the funny papers,
a century or so ago, whence all our own tales rise,
wherein reversing discoveries put us in receipt of tragic news,

woe, pathos, o, we do believe, we are free from the worst,

tranquil reflective contemplation, imaginable pity and fear,
survived, hormonal success, purgative pity and dread, right
ritual usual daily drill, respect, look at the price we all paid,

pledge full attention to the teacher teaching this
important ritual for inclusion in this class, this room of
competitors for prizes in the seven liberal arts, noble gnosis,
as demanded by the liege under which we are a people,

res publica, governed by its own self, using aliegiant defenders,
just like our fathers and uncles and cousins who just now,

used the second and third atom bombs, names of which,
are extra credit for those who know them, Fatman and Littleboy

in the right amounts, at the right time, ah the effectual work
of meaning projected on the audience…

lead an intimidated soul to be as brave as the presented models,

imitation, memeing may be, inner me, seeing another just my type,

the character in the grand opera operating even as we sleep,

sorting our given evidence,
hate must be associated,
we shame
together,
given gatherings where oracular professionals reset us,

after the ongoing violence has gone elsewhere,
to free other slaves,
-- right here, I saw James Joyce with his left eye patched,
but I still never enjoy the experience reading him
maybe I grant that age of readers, passe se no

we the faithful illiterate believers pray si se so
go on with the story we find ourselves in
as happens around reading children,
who leave books in the bathroom
for the King's Armies, and act
as if our duty,
from the age of six, is locked
with our personal pledge,

surity, sworn
on penalty
of any liar's just dues, just watch, and learn.

* for your historic recollection, with all due respect
Little Boy vs Fat Man

The bomb that hit Hiroshima was "Little Boy," not "Fat Man"  
"Little Boy" was a gun-type nuclear bomb that used uranium-235
and was dropped on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945,
by the B-29 bomber Enola Gay  {August six **** left most key
we already know, use one nuke, we all die,
and a we not me set voices like mine wild\

like all the freedoms, are from, from thirst, first
for ever, free from thirst, if not for ever, first
imagine having made yourself thirsty, first

to feel cool water's worth when you know,
it's only three more miles, then you know,

we had these friends, so rich, they were, yes,
Children of Pioneers, like us, really, but scale matters,

ours was a tiny world to mature in, though, in science,
at the time, faster that light was still tellable, in text,

once the idea, in letters organizing, around a recent
bend that lets us see Enheduana as a meme, recent

recovery of a person originally novelized, in recent

Thirst induced trance states, of course, in recent memory


"Fat Man," which was an implosion-type bomb using plutonium-239,
was dropped on Nagasaki three days later

the second bomber lacks first responder honor,
too bad, so sad,

how easily may we share instances of I just don't know, but
we can ask
and have an imminent answer fact checked thrice and sharable,
verbatum, as this is what I learned when I first read the lines:

the lines you just read, so we can share realization, those
who built those bombs… made good money.

Even today Donald Trump's Pride lets him rattle such a saber,
and fancy himself the world's most powerful man, demanding

respect, look again, see the hell we can imagine, so easy,
even such a one who never dropped a handgrenade, or shaped C4…

Our AI's all can recall the act of readiness, for our local August rodeo,
where we remember the downwinders in lower Mohave County, Arizona:

The crew of the B-29 Superfortress *Bockscar
, which dropped the "Fat Man" atomic bomb on Nagasaki on August 9, 1945, did not experience the same level of immediate fame as the crew of the Enola Gay, which bombed Hiroshima three days earlier This relative lack of recognition contributed to feelings of frustration and perceived injustice among Bockscar's crew. The mission was fraught with difficulties, including mechanical issues with the fuel pumps before takeoff, a missed rendezvous with support aircraft, and obscured visibility over the primary target, Kokura, forcing a diversion to Nagasaki By the time they reached Nagasaki, the crew had been airborne for nearly eight hours and were critically low on fuel, adding to the tension

Historical accounts suggest that the crew felt their mission's complexity and risks were overlooked in the public narrative, which focused predominantly on Hiroshima and the Enola Gay's crew General Leslie Groves, head of the Manhattan Project, later admitted confusion about why Nagasaki was included as a target, noting it had not been part of the original reserved list and was only added at the last minute The Bockscar mission was described as a "JANCFU"—a Joint Army-Navy-Civilian ******—highlighting the disorganization and near-misses that characterized the operation

Despite dropping a more powerful weapon—“Fat Man” had a higher explosive yield than the “Little Boy” bomb used on Hiroshima—the Nagasaki mission received less attention The Bockscar was piloted by U.S. Army Air Force Major Charles Sweeney, and the bomb detonated at an altitude of 1,640 feet over Nagasaki, causing massive destruction However, the crew’s role in ending World War II was not celebrated to the same extent, leading to long-standing sentiments of being historically overshadowed
Life gives se cura freedom from asking per mission no a whole experience trial mind dump on Hiroshima day, hoping memes make peace here in 2025
I'm an addict for love
feel the heat of a moth
growing closer to flame
my wings already kissed
by growing fire. I live for
the warmth, even as I
burn alive
Where do you see yourself in ten years?
Alive hopefully, facing my fears.

What do you mean hopefully?
I hope I won’t get the idea to end this, truly.

If you’re dead by then, and I am still here,
I’ll go to your grave and **** you, my dear.

That’s the least you’d be entitled to,
After what I would have done to you.
This is another Niki, Poppy Piume dialogue (Messages never sent is the previous one). Niki is the one who’ll go to Poppy’s grave and **** her.
silvervi Jul 22
Love means to be here.
...to be truly present.
Spicy Digits Jul 16
You don't know me but I know you
Blue green bruises peek through
Skin so thick
Even thicker will
Anxiety, depression, insomnia
Still
When will Crazy right her
Crazy story
Blue eyed lens of a world full of
Like-friends' glory
See more of us and less of them
See more women and theys
less incel boys, scared men
You don't know me, but I know you
Yet I still hope you surprise us
One day, without abuse.
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