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K603 Aug 2014
Turn the key
Push the clutch in.
Grasp the handle bars and push the botton.
the engine roars to life then I'm gone, what a beautiful day not to hold on.
Today I'm on a trip, down the windy roads of the back country.
Shady spots where trees lean over head the cool air on my skin. I can feel the air change as I go farther and farther down these roads
I come to a stop a three way to no where. Go left because everyone seems to be right.  Let go of the bars and let the bike roll I can fly for a moment.  
Threw the S curve going faster but slow to see the hills roll by
Today happiness for I may fly, I think of you for just a moment how good it would feel to be pressed against you as you drove.
But you're not driving,  I am, so I go and go still looking for a place to land.  
Threw the S curve and slow to see the hills, feel the cool breeze and the shade of the trees.
This is freedom if you don't think about it.
RW Dennen Mar 2015
I unscrewed my belly button and my **** fell off
ART MOMENT, VOL 1
By Darcy Prince

Time or reality is ungoverned, it will remain so for at least in the indefinable future. Innovations will come along. If ethical education has taught us anything. It always changes. Devoid of not making an effort.

I tried painting for a bit. I’m not that good. Several years ago, my housemate recommended watching an Andy Warhol documentary. I honestly became fascinated & dived into several art documentaries, honestly quite a fantastic learning experience. Looking, I regret not collecting all the links to those documentaries, even though I got the time to do so now. This was during the time of getting to know myself again, or getting a sense of direction. Painting, drawing, more attempts to learn, using online videos to learn how to draw a person's eyes or hands was a somewhat slightly disappointing experience, that I should try something else. I can remember the pacific moment to try art writing a go or even getting into any sort of criticism. But I ended up there.

I remember watching the program, ‘different ways of seeing’, aesthetics became a new subject for me. With Alain De Botton, now taking into consideration the larger impact, things have on society. Being utterly fascinated on how some, not all painters have a lasting print on peoples society. Like how Van Gogh never sold a painting within his lifetime. The relation between what we see & what we know is a comforting, settling thing. Seeing the painting ‘scream’, perhaps an early meme or trolling act, without a notice, reflects the inner fear we share. Feeling desired as a lover, maybe the most Holy feeling in the world. For those who aren’t, their artworks are a displaying force of nature. Rothko has provided a new way in expression, with his drape like paintings in a tone of red, as his edges before the canvas ended seemingly lazy at a time when art was supposed to be serious & realistic. And so far, people are the common thread between forms of art.

A time for action is in art. In modern speaking or our armchair conversations over coffee, maybe you’re a tea drinker. My cigarettes will be there. The hashtag learn to code was quite popular, especially when universal income became a new subject for our politicians we are voting in and started to be talked about. Games are a large industry. There’s even arguments for it being art. It does make use for graphics & storytelling. Whether you play it or not. It does include a large amount of thinking to put together. Sure we can talk of the violence it uses. Though outside those who read or try to keep up with modern times. The rise of deep fakes. *** doesn’t belong to a group, race, a part of the city, race. It honestly belongs to the world. Yes, some works of art will rise from it. The obscure thinking never actually seems to fit in. Even in the Star Wars films, there’s a use of passed away actors to be acting in the films they’re releasing now. To remain innocent, is to remain ignorant. Statues of past figureheads of culture may have been adored by the art critic, but the average person has someone they know to be entered in their private virtual world.

I don’t know what your story is. I think art can offer what we’re languishing inside of us. Personally, over the last couple of years, I’ve been wounded by my last breakup. I spent it in bed, I cried, I couldn’t do anything, even food started to taste differently. In romance art, novels in particular, supplemented so much. Being heartbroken. Can you believe that individuals can do so amongst themselves? I’ve heard it argued & arguing successfully, that identity comes from an idea. Art I think, that comes along with that. But art does provide a certain grief, with tragedy developing as its own genre.

I really don’t know where I was going with this. I just wrote it out. But leaving it here, to add to the body of work when I die. But what reconciles an individual with society, to what that person created.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHsRhWASbvk&t=23s
Along the faithful stretch of tensile black ribbon
Homesteads garnished in sporadic , hospitable shade
Sunshine releasing every brilliant pigment ,
summit eloquence in festive motion ..
Botton land fathers toil a plethora of viable hillside earth ,
Afternoon chimney fires season the air with -
-Hickory and Oak kindling from creek-stone hearth
Silver Guineas patrol the forest edges , cordillera
Mountain Deer free themselves from the ******* of the midday struggle , recede into wooded escapes , immune from discovery ..
Copyright March 31 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
rare-and-rad Oct 2014
drinking the last drop of my life away

hoping ill find it another day

anything that comes out is lies, is what others say

I try my best to communicate

with my inner being and what some call fate

how can I when I feel the spiritual hate

I wanna speak but afraid I'll say unnecessary crap

to be honest my life is just a demonic trap

I can't remember the last time I ever ran a lap

my family is worried and im a huge mess of a disaster

Im trying to run faster and faster

Im gonna get known as a ****'d up baster

my emotional touch has lost all feel

because we kissed and I know it was real

I am your one true only deal

my mistakes seem to cross along more

I love it all too much, but I don't won't to be a bore

I wouldn't want to get looked as *****

my body wiggled and falls like it was reborn

I just wanna keep the reply botton on to this ****

gosh it's much better then eating a can of corn

I have problems that seem like children and have fun

they never quit they seem to like this run

it could take in any place, like in rainor in the sun
Francie Lynch Feb 2018
Wrap those arms around yourself,
It's a boost for mental health.
Embrace all feelings when alone,
Then hug until you reach your bones.
Squeeze until it's hard to breathe,
Slowly release and know relief.

Now wrap your brain around yourself;
Unbind the belt cinching sense,
The straight jacket 'round your head;
Buckled and strapped,
It fits like skin;
Too much penance for all our sins.
Unravel the sticking, needling voice,
Whispering...

I have no choice.

It's not because you're lacking wealth,
Family, friends or stable health,
But one's perception of oneself.

Don't wrap your neck inside a noose,
Or shoot yourself with an overdose;
Don't splay yourself on a subway track...

I wonder would I feel that.

Leave Daddy's gun locked in its holster;
Hold high your chin while treading water;
Stand still on bridge, cliff or ledge,
You won't hit bottom til you're dead.
Jordan stenberg Feb 2014
A group of men fight on a united front to get what they each want

Three men trying to find somebody to care for
They all fight for some reason unbeknownst to  your normal heartless compeitor
A united front formed off the formations for what really is not a status quo
One got what they want the others are waiting for a chance to trade in their chances to see if they hit Gold or fall down to rock botton once again
solEmn oaSis Mar 2024
w -e may notice why the
       first letter of some
       title sometimes might
       be a little one
      
  R  -earrangeable once
      we set the capslock
      botton and make it
      capitalize

  i -used backspace
     eventually for me to
     change and delete it at
     the same time

  S -erenade peeking at a
     maiden played by
     young singer deeply So
     in Love

  T -hey press and hold
     shift key in their left
     and right just to
     control dull moments
     in long lonely night

    © Easter Sunday
        March 31 2024
        11:20 a.m.
When the _w
seems to be so silent
while it has been sent
predictably, R_ is next to it
before the vowel such _i
followed by an alertness
of the consunants
_S tailed by T will conclude
Perpendicularly...
there'll be another w R i S T without taking the Risk somewhere down those parallel roads.
And I will take over when zigzag is upcoming , patiently I won't over take in midnight blue with a blind curve.
Stu Harley Nov 2018
Underneath
Blue sky
A field of
Brown botton-eyed
Sunflowers
Still
Chirping
The
Words of
The
23rd psalms
You've reached the botton of the barrel now just scraping for luck
Walking around hoping for someone to give a....****..
Digging for smiles but all the wrong ones
Hiding the sorrows from the world you've created
Why hide and keep living life so jaded?
Too easy to fall into a cliche but serious despair
I tried to tell you from the jump, I can and will always be there
dead poet Dec 2024
'loneliness is a tax you have to pay to atone for a certain complexity of mind.'

                                     - Alain de Botton.
Poetress2 May 2019
Enveloped within the Womb,
the Fetus
***** her thumb;
Unaware that very soon,
her life will come undone.
-
Her mother doesn't want her,
or believes that she's alive;
All that she believes in,
are Satan's filthy lies.
-
This Fetus has ten fingers,
and ten l'il toes;
Her mother's deep, blue eyes,
and daddy's botton nose.
-
Her eyelashes  are black,
as is the hair on her head;
It is not her own fault,
that mommy wants her dead.
-
And so walks in the Doctor,
scalpel in his hand;
He digs around within the Womb,
Mother's little plan.
-
Now when the scalpel meets her arms,
it slices the right one off;
Through all the pain this Fetus feels,
this child is thinking, "STOP!"
-
It slices and dices this Fetus up,
until there is nothing left;
Then Jesus takes her by the hand,
this one who was Heaven sent.
The way you used to look at me,
Seems like it will show me a,certainty
Of our substantial existence, but now everything will be said in the past tense
On how was this buffled soul focused on the enigma of your gentle voice and caress,

The picture of your face is painted on the thorn and blisttered canvass of my subconcious, the blurriness caused a dogma on how i see,perceive and perfect the idea of primates how they've turn black to brown to white and lure the lady wolf into his den to devour her with it's sweet sweet whispers and talks,

Snortning chalk to make you believe that a Supreme being does exist, for him to be your world of wherein you won't be able to resist, for each and every second and hours passes by, that makes that green botton alive for the primate will never say goodbye, curses have summoned by an old man, who brought the wolf into this lands and does not want a real man
Everything has it's midst love,hate,anger,frustration,insults,and decay.
Ana Habib Feb 2018
14x 9
Presently worth $196,000
But what do I give away for the little girl that lives in the guest house
And the needy children around here
I turn on the light, and a picture of color, fabric, glitter, sparkle, and a few fashion faux pas stare back at me

The black dress is an dior original I wore it to mom’s funeral
My very first pink onsie from daddy is too small but it is too cute to give away
The red and white plaid skirt I wore on my last day of junior high
Tye-dye shirts the result of boring rainy Saturdays spent sitting around at home
Black knee high boots, I call those my stripper shoes
How could I part with any of this?

Each color was handpicked to complement my skin tone and conceal my vitiligo
Each botton here is one of a kind
Each portion of fabric was created for my small frame
Each scrap of embroidery was flown in from all around the world
Each speak of sparkle made from sequins, mesh and satin had been ordered weeks in advance
Each piece of lace and brocade was bought from a French tailor who went to school with daddy
Each piece of clothing here is very dear to me

How can I simply give away my memories to any old stranger?
Can anyone recommend  a good title for this poem?
M Jun 2019
Forever forsaken to the blind rage that is quiet depression. Suffering in silence, wanting to speak but forever trapped in the fear that this feeling of lonesome and depression is becoming a severe obsession. Constantly questioning sanity because words and thoughts SEEM to not make sense and SEEM unclear. Spaces in my brain filled by forever haunting memories, and drowning in the missing details of mixed signals and ununderstood words. We swim laps in the same swinning pool of dreams abs memories. You continue to swim but i slowly drown and sink in the bottom. Sinking in the botton of an empty liquor bottle which is joined by a mixture of unknown pills to **** the pain. Not just to **** the pain but also to **** the strain, and quite often to **** away. (Did you catch that, nope probably not) INSANE. Insane like the lines, ropes, and strings that entangle thoughts abd wrap confusion in the open arms od my brain. To quote the words of B.E., books dont make sense if you read them backwards. You'll single out the wrong words. Like you mishear all my songs. Those are not my words, yet, I understand so well that its like a segment of thought blindly retracted from the deepest parts of my brain.
Alexis Daniels Apr 2020
Today I dreamt with ghosts and butterflies.
Both shared contrasting symbolisms
Glowing in dark transparency
Or hidden-ly invisible?

I'm lonely in the classroom.
Nobody is interested in me.
I'm wearing a bright blue sky shirt
with my upper botton unbuttoned
letting my hair go oblivious
to the bullets that are being shot through.

I don't know what's wrong in people:
they love the unlovable
they like the unlikely.
Shallow portraits of intimate light
getting lost in the flinch of an eye.

And
just like that: my dream dissapears.
Right where the sun meets the sky
and the tales of the night
flicker, in the bright moonlight.
This is a portrait of the precious insights that inhabit dreams but that get lost faster than the blink of an eye.

Dreams are our most intimate portrait of our inner-world. They must not be overlooked.
Mark Manson is the author of
THE SUBTLE ART OF NOT GIVING A F...K' 2016, Harper Collins)


   HELLO, Mark


   I enjoyed your THE SUBTLE ART..

  First of all, I am much enamoured of the writings of Ernest Becker whose
  THE BIRTH AND DEATH OF MEANING I read nearly 5 decades ago.
  I quoted from his THE DENIAL OF DEATH in my Zen/happiness book, 2017-
Google Lim Meng Sing.

  My thinking drew much parallel to yours in some ways-
please excuse me—I know you like truth and honesty-
  this had been before I read your book.

60% of such thinking evolved from my thinking and experiences,
and 40% from my reading.

I have been very active in Linkedin and Hello Poetry where I posted
ideas such as (not exact words):

1. Why would you need to remind yourself of ‘positive thinking’
unless you were dissatisfied with yourself?

2. PT is a malaise and scourge

3.  Praise would destroy me

4. Delete my name from your ‘Honours List'

5.  I was the last to arrive but I learnt more along the way than those arrived sooner

6.  Trust is necessary, but trusting absolutely would ruin you.

7.  They understood the world, but never understood their own selves

8.   Happiness can’t be chased after—it will arrive when you are ready.

9.   There’s neither freedom nor happiness if fear is not overcome.

10.  Who said the other person was happier than you?

11.   The greatest wisdom is the acceptance of death and suffering (this theme appears in my
book yet unpublished—couldn’t find a publisher as at now)
titled REFLECTIONS IN TURBULENT TIMES:
         A HUMANISTIC PERSPECTIVE

12.   Don’t expect people to be always consistent.
Most people would let you down—rely on yourself

13.  My failures I embrace ,  I’m silent on my successes, if any

14.  Life is less the problem, it’s people , the more

15.  Be prepared to be spurned, maligned or mocked-
this will strengthen you and your character

16.  Death is mocked by your acceptance or indifference

17.  Know and accept life’s downside—more bright will be your life

18.  Give me patience , not wisdom

19.  I’m a fool but a happy one

20.  Because I ain’t special nor exceptional,  I court no enemy nor critic

   (Sorry, I shouldn’t go on).

I think you had read Zen, Buddhism, Stoicism but am not sure whether Taoism and/or Confucianism.

You are bound to be a cynic——just an observation.

     I am a humanist, very much so.  If you do meet or know me,
you’d discover I’m a humanist and humourist  (life is too short to be taken seriously-Oscar Wilde was right).

   I ain’t a philosopher or intellectual but only a life-observer.

The Wheeler Centre in Melb holds an annual writers’ conference and both local foreign writers are invited.  Alan de Botton and Norman Doidge spoke here before.
We’d love to have you in Melb and in other Aussie states.

   I wish your further success in your future works

   Humbly but honestly yours

   Meng Lim

— The End —