*****


Apr 7, 2012, 6:08:21 PM by ~OmegaWolfOfWinter
Journals / Personal




"Name: Amelia Weissmuler. Date of birth: June 6th, 1920. Test subject number 314-X. Specimen: Tiger." Amy heard all of this through a haze of sedatives that had begun to lose their already poor effect. She turned in the direction of the voice and saw a fearsome **** SS General standing behind a white clad scientist with a heavy accent. The general said nothing but listened and watched as Amy was strapped down to a cold metal table, completely **** with various wires, tubes and needles protruding from her flesh. She groaned painfully, the needles were extensive, and the **** scientists had no care of decency or respect. she was hit with another sedative and before she lost consciousness she heard the scientist, who she guessed was Dr. Heismeiller, say, "Name, Mordecai Dansker, former Major of the Third *****. Date of birth: September 19th, 1919. Test subject 14-W. Specimen: Wolf. As you
can see, Heir General, these are both healthy specimens, as are the test subjects." Amy heard a
rattling of cages. Her vison slowly went dark but not before seeing the doctor's face, uncovered and psychotic.
* *
When Amy woke up again, she was being suspended from the floor, the tubes and wires accompanied by menacing electrodes. there was an unnatural blue and white crackling of electricity around her, illuminating the other suspended tables nearby, the bodies in various grotesque positions and levels of decay. she tried to scream but found a machine unceremoniously shoved in her mouth, stretching deep inside her. she looked and saw nothing but obscene machines and various glass tubes of colored bubbling liquids. she tried sluggishly to break free but to no avail. what little strength she had was useless against the torturous devices emplanted in and around her. "Doctor, begin the experiment."
"Yaboe!" She heard a solid click resound through the room and heard a male scream in another room. the screams echoed for a long while, then nothing. she heard a gasp of releif from
the doctor and, "General! Subject 14-W... he has... Survived!"
"Good. now start on the frauline." there was a large thud from outside the room. "Quickly! this facility is under seige!"
"Yes sir, heir general. Test subject 314-X prepped and ready. Begin phase 1." she cried out silently as the needles burned hot inside her and the tubes boiled her insides. the electrodes soon incapacitated her and she fell unconscious.
*
*
"Phase 1 complete, heir general, subject is ready, proceeding to Phase 2."
Amy felt an intense burning around the needles, and an electric fire through her veins. the machine had been taken from her mouth, but she doubted she could scream any more, as her throat was raw from the silent screams of Phase 1. She felt her body shake uncontrollably as more electric shocks were administered. she was left panting and slumped over. "Sequence complete, the bonding process was a success." there was another thud and sediment from the roof fell to the floor. "Get her down now! They will be through soon!" She was lowered to the ground and unstrapped from the table, picked up, and placed on a stretcher. she raised her hands on front her face and nearly fainted, her hands, or paws, resembled that of a tiger, and as she looked, her whole body was covered in a slick orange, black and white fur. She was put into the backseat of an armored car with a simple blanket draped around
her. Amy felt nauseated
as the car sped off. It hit a bump in the road and she moaned painfully, clutching her furry belly and retching. the **** next to her turned away in disgust. the car ride was long and sickening, and she lost consciousness twice, and finally she tried to lay down in the cramped space. when the armored car finally stopped, she was pulled from the back seat and carried over a soldier's shoulder and into a small bunker. Once inside, amy heard a metal door open and was laid down onto a stiff bed with a single pillow and a single cover. There was a small window in the cell, a drab, grey stream of light shining in her eyes. She propped herself up on her elbow and shielded her eyes from the blinding contrast. Once her eyes adjusted, amy noticed that things had a particular sharpness to them and she had an acute awareness of things based on scent. she stood shakily, and noticed she was almost
six inches taller now, and her new tail swished back and forth along the concrete floor. she stepped
forward and grasped the iron bars and peeked out, seeing a black leather messenger bag and a black uniform lined with white. she couldn't quite reach the uniform, but was able to get a claw around the strap of the messenger bag. she pulled it closer to her and saw that her initials were monogrammed into the leather. she pulled it through the bars and opened the bag, pulling out a small, blank, leather bound journal and a pen. still ****, she sat on the bed and practiced writing, tearing out two pages of scratch paper. She began her journal with, "I am no longer the person i once was. i am something new, something... different."
• * *
The **** captain stepped into the bunker and saw amy, half lying, half dangling on the bed, the leather journal clutched close to her chest. he stormed into the cell and backhanded her awake, snatching up the journal as she cowered in the corner, her tail wrapped around her. the captain flipped through the pages of the journal and then closed iit with a snap. he glanced at it and dropped it on the bed. "it is yours now, Frauline. you are very special to the third *****. the fuhrer himself has asked for you to be placed in the Waffen SS and trained." amy glanced at the uniform on the table outside the cell and he nodded, "specially tailored for you, frauline. he stepped outside the cell and grabbed the uniform, setting it down on the bed. "you may Change into your new uniform and join the rest of us outside." he stepped outside and she was alone. she donned the simple uNdergarments then
slipped into the soft black trousers, after which she put on her military boots. next she put on the black and white jacket signature of the SS. the jacket was sleek and menacing, though it did little to flatten her chest, but that, she supposed, was one of her feminine charms. last was her hat and armband, both adorned with the *******. she gathered the leather messenger bag and stepped outside the cell, where a mirror stood, giving her a chance to see what had been done, the black uniform was a dramatic contrast to her brightly colored fur, and her new black stripes added a fierce look to her. she grinned and flashed menacing white teeth. she turned her body, looking at herself from different points of view. she slipped the **** armband onto her right arm and turned to leave. she stopped when she encountered a high pitch noise right next to the door. for the moment she just walked past, opening the door and adjusting her vision to the outside light. the layout was grey and barren,
as it always was in wartime. the captain was waiting for her along with a small squad of SS troops. a
Few laughed and remarked at her appearance, making cat noises and wolf whistling at her. she glared at them with a bright white snarl carved into her soft face. *they will fear me...
she saluted the captain and said, "heil ******." he returned the gesture, "heil. you are now part of the Waffen SS, frauline Amelia."
"please sir, its amy."
he noted her directness and ferocity, "very well, amy. before we assign you a task, though, you must prove yourself." he addressed the squad, "they are all corporal's and sergeants. you are merely a private. you will gain a rank for each one that you ****. however, they have been told that if they do not force you to submit, they will be killed or sent to the russian front. so you best fight your hardest, private amy."
as he finished, the squad set down their Mauser 98K's and MP-40's and stepped closer to her. her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in ferocious determination. there were twelve of them.
"Fight!"
• *
Amy took a fighting stance and faced her attackers. she attempted a punch at the nearest one but was kneed in the gut, she was thrown back a few feet. she fell to her knees and clutched her stomach with one hand, holding herself upright with the other. tears sprung to life in her eyes and threatened to roll down her cheeks. she fought the tears back and stood, feeling her claws extend. she swiped at a soldier's throat, catching him right in the throat. blood splattered the ground as he choked on his own fluids. the remaining eleven were taken aback slightly, allowing her to pounce another soldier, punching and tearing at his gut with lethal force. her fur was bloodstained and she waited a moment too late, watching the cavity she created fill with blood. she was barreled over, the wind knocked out of her by a sergeant. she lay on her back, gasping for air as the soldiers closed in,
landing a few punches and sending her reeling back. she staggered back, struggling for breath. she
Bumped up against something and realized it was a bunker wall, she was trapped. she thought quickly and decided for a new course of action, she waited for one of them to gather his bravado and throw a solid punch at her, which was useless, she grabbed his wrist and smashed his head against the wall, filling his helmet with blood and brains. in the same move, she had grabbed his Luger and had downed three more of the remaining ten. in their moment of confusion she kicked the closest one in the fork of his legs and followed up with a pistolwhip. the man went down quickly and died by the heel of her merciless boot. the remaining six charged at her, one falling by her last bullet and another caught a swift kick in the ribcage, shattering the bones to peices. the rest of the men were sergeants, and they began to retreat, running into the open field. she was about to chase after them when she
heard another Luger fire. she turned to see the captain shooting the deserters. each fell, one by
One by the captain's gun to her surprise he let a single man go. "you have done very well, frauline amy. you have killed eight out of twelve men, not bad at all."
she was panting, her uniform dirtied, "why.. did you let.. him go?"
the captain smiled, "someone has to spread you're reputation, heir captain."
she gaped at him. "i am... captain?"
"yaboe, heir frauline. you have proved yourself worthy to serve under the fuhrer."
she saluted him, "thank you, heir captain."
*
amy wrote in her journal as they were driven to one of the Stalags: "my promotion to captain has earned me my choice of weapons, ive chosen a few, two long barrel Luger's, a cavalry saber, and a sixteen foot bullwhip. i also carry an automatic Mauser in my messenger bag. other than a few knives carefully hidden on my body, that should be it. ive become the fuhrer's favorite enforcer, though i feel as if i'm forgetting something..."
amy closed the journal and placed it in her bag with a soft snap.
Amy waited for a **** private to open the car door and let her out, tapping her foot impatiently. when he finally came, she had a luger pointed at his chest. "you're late. she got out of the car and shot him, holstering the pistol as he crumpled to the ground. the colonel in charge rushed towards her, "what is the meaning of this?!"
"your man on watch was late, and now he'll never be late again. and also, colonel, as i am a captain in the SS, i am your superior officer and you WILL adjust yourself accordingly or i will replace you with someone who will."
his expression was that of shock, "y-yes, heir captain, please follow me." he escorted her quickly to the main building. amy glanced around at the peering POWs, glaring at them with distaste as they whistled at her. "who's the kitty?" "what the hell is that?"
her hands fell to her lugers and she was ready to fire when she was beckoned inside by the colonel and she followed behind him reluctantly. "you should control your prisoners.
i find an overall lack of order in this camp. you're lucky i'm in a good mood, or i'd have you strung up for incompetence. lets hope my further evaluation of this... facility... does not make me any more inclined to do so."
the colonel stuttered again and dipped his head, "y-yes heir captain."
she stepped outside unopposed by any. she snapped her fingers and a sergeant rushed to her side and saluted. she handed him a journal logbook and he opened it to the page marked with the Stalag number. she entered the closed off areas of the stalag to inspect the barracks.
*
amy's fists were clenched with rag, a prisoner mocked her from within his confines. his fellow prisoners pleaded with him to stop. "she's lethal!" "she killed eight SS sergeants and corporals singelhandedly her first day!"
the prisoner ignored them and began gesturing at her. she snapped her head up and their eyes met for an instant, she growled through a gritted snarl and was over the fence in mere moments. once over,
the prisoner that mocked her was now on the ground, his throat between her fangs. he cried out once and then gurgled blood as she tore out his throat. she spat the flesh onto the dirt and stood, brushing the dusty particles from her uniform. the men around her backed away when she approached them, and watched her cautiously as she stepped back out of the fenceline. amy picked up her cap from the ground and brushed it off. one of the prisoners called for a doctor, and when one of the guards began to look for one, she merely said, "no, he wont survive. leave him be."
the soldier saluted and went back to his post. she walked up to the colonel and said, "your prisoner annoyed me, as do you, colonel. you have three days to turn this place around or you'll end up worse off then your prisoner over there."
the colonel had turned a pale white and whispered, "understood, captain."
she returned to her quarters and listened for a moment as the colonel shouted orders. "that was fun." she remarked.

Amy was asleep in one of the larger rooms in the main  building, her uniform folded neatly on the table near the bed. she kep one luger on her bedside table and the mauser under her pilllow. her other luger, her sword and her whip were next to her clothes. she was clad only in her fur, as she'd found that the most comfortable way to sleep.
she was woken up by a knock at the door. she blinked her eyes a few times. clutching the mauser handle with one hand and holding the blanket to her chest with the other, she said, "what is it?"
"the colonel wishes to speak to you, heir frauline."
she growled, "grrr... fine. tell him to make it quick." she clutched the blanket closer as he opened the door. she held the mauser aimed at him and said, "turn." he did so without hesitation. she slipped cautiously out of the bed and began to dress. "what is it you wished to speak with me about, colonel?" amy put on her undergarments and then pulled her trousers up to her waist, fastening the belt comfortably.
"there is an important telegram for you, heir captain." she pulled on the jacket over her simple shirt, tugging out any wrinkles. "oh? from who?" next came the holster belts, each hanging slightly lower than her first belt. her sword was another belt, and there was a custom clip there for her whip as well.
"Himler, he has special orders for you." her messenger bag was next to last, slung over her shoulder before she slipped into her boots. ""You can turn now. hand them here." she stepped closer to him and took the envelope with her name scrawled on the front. the colonel excused himself so she could read the orders, "captain amelia weissmuler, once you have completed your assignment at Stalag 14, please make haste to stalingrad as there has been a number of our own turning against the *****. see to it that they cause no more problems. -heinrich himler"
she read it through three more times before folding it and placing it in her bag. she hurried outside, grabbing her hat
From the dresser.
* *
amy went about her inspection, seeing nothing wrong today. "the condition of stalag 16 has improved, heir colonel. well done. now send my car around." the colonel grinned and motioned for the car.
the black car adorned with swastikas roared to life, coming up beside her. the d

Martin Narrod  just now
I started working on a comment in response to "Filling A Bottle With A Tundish"

Sadly I must admit, that even for an American with a college degree, who is a self-proclaimed non-Philistine that grew up in a suburb of Chicago, IL. Where I'm from I've been told is much like some parts of Sussex(I believe it's Sussex), my friend Lili Wilde described it to me on an occasion.

So I must say martin, that for having a voracious appetite for language, language of all sorts, from **** to sin, to cinephile to cynosure, pulchritude to tup, exsuphlocate to masticate, irate, irk, perfervid, wan ewes thwapping their tails, nearly stridulating like the cricket in the thistle. The advanced undulate troche of domesticated shadows, and the sesquipedelien dulciloquent surreptitious diction and other floccinaucinihilipilification and tomfoolery about.

martin, please do tell me what a 'Tundish" is? If you haven't yet, there is a phenomenally interesting reverse dictionary, entitled onelook.com/reversedictionary , and quite contrary as it may seem, and for all the Virginia & Leonard Woolf I enjoy reading, especially his somewhat innocuously underrated novella he wrote, I also read with extraordinary gratitude Ted Hughes's The Birthday Letters, Take of a Bride Groom, The Complete Works, Sylvia Plath's Unabridged Journals, Ariel, Johnny Panic, Ariel, and other poems by writer Richard Matthews. I am still unfamiliar with this word, Tundish. Online dictionaries don't give the best explanation.

As I was mentioning earlier. The OneLook Dictionary-Reverse, will let you for example, search: beach sand. And in response it will give you up to thousands and thousands of word which relate to those two words, together, seperately, and opposing each other. Such as: water, swell, wave, arenose, peat, dirt, seagull, Pacific Ocean, suntan, bikini, The Beach Boys, vitrify. It's very fun indeed. From one Martin to another, I hope you'll stay in touch. I'm excited about your work!

Best Regards

Martin

P.S. The text below is the original message I typed before learning that my presumptions of you being Anglican were correct. Have a great day!

Another Martin, YES! How exquisite, I've never met another one. I have so many questions I barely know where to start. I love marigolds, nose-bags with oats, and as I started feeling the essences if equus and what lurking prurient pedagogy for the didactic zoology that took me and the mind of me to wonder perhaps if though I am quite certain(though not 100%) that your native tongue is English, but using that ridiculous skill-set of immense benality I seem to someone have, am I wrong for asking dear Martin, are you from Scotland or Wales, or maybe even from a country where you learnt English as a native tongue but it's your secondary language?

As aforementioned, there are a plethora of questions that this runnel of sludge and dross that've now arisen in the turpidity of your antiquary of delightful speech. To whomever invited me to play along in the debauchery, and dance merrily with merriment, mine younger docile succubus's slendering beside me, puking up their tissue paper and vegetable soup, so that my pretty girls can fit into Size 2 TuTu's, and learnedly imprison themselves into the tatterdemalion of portentously lurid self-****** and abuse. , and the opprobrious trollop-gossip the gaggle of my skinny victim women eschewing food groups, in order to appeal to my conservative eyes, thrice the child's wild idling to absorb the rancor of their stoic and noisome sedentary lifestyle in the polluted sudatorium that I myself don't use, but that these nonparticular Philistines would serve as Surf & Turf with glazed Christmas Hams for the Hebrews to eat, and another sad storm surge on another deserted quay of sea sands, and our vessel and our deserters, worshipping the Virunga, sacrificing the ghost skeletons of the million year old ape. So I ask you. If even you're capable of expressing yourself under the maddening yet advesperating evening listening to Miles Kane and The Arctic Monkeys, followed by listening to Black Sabbath play Fairies Wear Boots while we drink our childhoods free of the rod and **** the war out of our teenage girlfriends. And in the morning when awoken by the sound of Sopwith Camels arriving on the early, frost-strewn milky, azure-banded stripes of moonlit ecstasy that make for this unquantifiable gesture of succinct believers driving in Summer get stopped for blowing a rice-white swiveling consortium of dishonest affair rivaling ****** addicts, with hummus, plastic bags, and forks in their sphincters, while they autoerotically asphyxiate themselves in a plastic knockoff Mickey Mouse hat, and a Pirates of the Carribbean bandana wrapped around the ***** eyed nightmare of having unsuccessfully sedated a 400-lb crabby, Lowland living-room Silverback Gorilla. More than a primate and a prostate exam. It's like posthumously straining to push tingling 119° Vaseline through the grey and white coffee stirrers which spilled all over the floor while I was saying goodbye to our daughter, while also explaining to you why it's so important to me you love me back enough so that everyone has enough of a grasping glint at understanding yourself, that in managing to reason the arithmetic of such a conundrum and confusing calamity, a phone call free of dial tone happens to be surrendered to an independent Christian organization of the state while myself and my wife's two sons, our sons, Thomas and James, have enough free time from complaining to hire an attorney to disclose the arraignment reiterated by both legal council, city council, and the Screenwriters Guild of counsellors struggling from methamphetamine addiction.

Peace Be With You.

Martin Narrod
[email protected]

There is an image
Working to free my mind
From violent dawns
It probes at the backs of my eyes
It tells me I am prostituting myself
Here in my bedroom
In incestuous union with myself
I hallucinate and fantasise about
Doctors sons, butchers boys
Teenage thieves, deserters
Drug pushers, scandalous rent boys
Vagrants, pimps, prostitutes
And silk lingerie and don't care.
I sit destitute of thought
An insonce dissonance of macabre music
Playing out melodies of an image in my mind

i'm a nomad gone defective,
heart attack erased, amended.

i'm a dead leaf riding the crest of the wind,
marking time by exs and favorite beverages.

i carry on the bluebird's song,
whisper nothings aside from sweet.

you planted me within your sheets,
green grow the leaves, winter, good luck with your war.

let needle perpetually lock in groove,
white wine nights that turn into levitating sunrises.

In a quiet inn
         in an aching world
there was a boy with mind
body and strength
he had the talent
the unyielding bent
to wield his power
to unrelent
he was sometimes cruel
he was often sweet
he was sometimes gentle
his word carried heat
people loved him so
his poise and candor
his mind was a joy
his work was pure splendor

he was asked
         from time to time
if you could lead us
with your mind sublime
what would you do
where would we go?
         beyond, he'd say,
to the stars and depths
to the moons and mountains
to the planets and systems
how long,
         they'd say,
would you lead us, hence?
         "A thousand years and a thousand more
         a thousand thence and evermore."

his rise was swift
his patience deep
to the destitute, favor
to the broken, weep
his gifts were vast
his counsel practical
his word was bond
and ever magical
he trounced the greedy
imprisoned the malicious
righted all the wrongs
seldom vicious
and before long
his rule was secured
a man of justice and principle
tenets of cure
how long,
         they'd say,
will you lead us, hence?
         "A thousand years and a thousand more
         a thousand thence and evermore!"
we wish it so!


trouble gradually
like bubbles passively
breaking the surface
of his grand design
officials profited
underclass maligned
body for profit
"all are mine"
there was danger in the air
ripples in the well
poison in the minds
infirmity with no care
and sickness took hold
people lost their hope
they questioned Great Lord Marra,
how long,
          they'd say,
will you lead us, hence?
          "A thousand years and a thousand more
          don't ask me again
          or there will be
          more..."

Chaos in the streets
desenters rounded
deserters uprooted
populace cowered
education
to the masses
knowledge of rights and potential
traded for respect of rule and power
hour by hour
day by day
toil was spilt
for the grand design
the work of tyranny
is cruel and violent
so was Grand Lord Marra
never certain
never quiet
         he would ask of his subjects,
         how long shall I rule?
they'd say,
         "A thousand years! A thousand years!"
"Never forget it!"
         we shant, our lord

Whispers arose
of a new power rising
someone true
someone firm
someone compassionate
someone alight
he roused the dreams in the soul
he broke the chains in the heart
he walked the roads that were barred
he climbed the mountain forbade
and slowly people turned to him
away from Grand Lord Marra
and that tyrannical father felt it
he felt the waning of his power

Like a dragon in the bowels
of our precious, sacred, love
Marra tightened around that
which the people ever adored
the grand design of toil
the great work of tyranny
the state paid for with blood
that whose edifice was a crypt for the innocent
and that someone who was hero
stepped up to that edifice
with chisel, hammer, pen, and passion,
he carved away that
which held the malice within
he let out all
of the death and destruction
that Grand Lord Marra
had caged in the people
the world played with their shadows
that had been nailed to the edifice and its steeple
and in time they shook free
of Grand Lord Marra's tyranny
for when they learned their freedom once more
the old lord looked old and feeble
not a thousand years
       nor a thousand years more
               nor a thousand years hence
                        and nevermore
just 66 years
it took to break free
of Grand Lord Marra
and his projected
infirmities

The illness left them all
         breaths of relief swept the nation
and the hero who had come
         was crowned the king of freedom
and he taught all who followed
how to wield the power he knew
how to be free as well
and every dragon of delusion slew
        peace would not reign forever
        new chaos would come
stronger than the last
        strong as the world and its evolving sun
but in this age, there was peace
        joy like never before
                 and our hero's name was remembered
evermore
evermore
        he did not live a thousand years
but his stories certainly lived longer
in the hearts of the people
in the hearts that were won

Yet a strange thing occurred
       sure as night conquers day
Grand Marra's visions of the future
       did not decay
                 they became the bedrock
of future design
        for light rests on darkness
the grand design
        two sides of the coin
yours
and mine

darkness for foundation
        light for revealing its depth
pathway into the future
        left and right steps...

Remembrance in November grows repellent
each year we rob it further of its sense
by hunting down objectors to compel them
to stand in line or cause a grave offense.
No private contemplation or reflection
when strident shrieks of nationhood prevail
Un-poppied collars count as insurrection
a slight to every brave, red-blooded male.
Division, thumping drums and waving banners
the media wades in with guns ablaze
forgetful of respect, or simple manners –
that’s not how we conduct ourselves these days
If this is what our fallen heroes wanted
I wonder why the cenotaph is haunted.

We cannot know what sent the soldiers hither
or claim the fallen courage of the fight
think boys who marched to foreign fields together
were simple symbols drawn in black and white
If we could rise above the spite and chatter
We’d find unbordered bonds and understand
that shells and bullets lacked the strength to shatter
the looking glass that straddled no man’s land
From timid chaps to lunatic berserkers
we canonise the men who heard the call
if wives had had the power to shoot deserters
there never would have been a war  at all.
Let’s render restless spirits more forgiving:
to honour best the dead, honour the living.

As the bells ring we pay the toll
A ppl lost their story told
In the masters garden our lives unfold
Deserters of the land of black green and gold
To the reality of life my ppl grab a hold
Into slavery we were sold
whipped and ***** freed in the cold
mind ****** and broken we lost our goal
science and civilization from us they stole
Now our men take drugs,women dance poles
come my ppl put on your clothes
not designer fabrics put on ancient robes
empower your offspring empower our souls
Come take your throne ,tell the massah return the gold
Kings and Queens of Africa come take control

The Pals battalion,
Young soldiers of nineteen,
The total death toll reached a million,
On the Somme in nineteen-sixteen.

The men in splendid spirits,
There was optimism in the ranks,
With co-op bombs and bayonets,
Gathered on the sunny banks.        

The first bombs fell on Picardy,
Now they stood in lines to push,
They will annihilate the enemy,
No need to charge or rush.

But the German men were ready,
Their intelligence was good,
They knew about the enemy,
Their intention understood.

Our men walked into open fire,
So many lives they stole.
Shot and maimed before the wire
On their gentle morning stroll.

Bodies crushed in defeat,
In a field of flying lead,
Soldiers dropped to their feet,
Leaving many dead.

The slaughter would not stop,
In this futile ****** game,
All deserters would to be shot,
The only gain was being maimed.

Battle planning was inferior,
Senseless death was inhumane,
In the carnage and hysteria,
On the pretty red poppy plane.

Classes started up again today. Soon, we’ll be gloriously stressed, and clocked-up on whatever. Our hearts will swell to the pre-med symphony - a frantic opus, composed in the key of no sleep.

In seminars for rising pre-med seniors, (What's needed to get that med-school slot!), it’s obvious that 60% of the students who started out with us, on this track, are gone - left for other majors.
“I wasn’t happy, it was too much,” they said.

I feel a pang when I hear that undergrads we’ve shared a trench with have switched their major to basket weaving (political science), TikTok (computer science) or Phys-Ed.

I envy those deserters, I pity those deserters, I envy.. Wait, aren’t deserters supposed to be, well, you know.

Meanwhile, the rest of us, the stubborn few, cling to the dream. It’s a waking dream, for caffeinated zombies, obsessive-compulsive workaholics and maladjusted wonks who neglect personal needs, relationships and in some cases personal hygiene (not me, of course) in favor of a goal.

Maybe there’s something wrong with us?

Strap me up to an I.V.
And let the words flow deep into my blood stream

As everything seems to leave
I cleave to words
Words, words, words

I sit on islands
There are multiple
For multiple deserters
The sand an
Aggravating reminder
That one's loneliness is
One's own issue

Truly, if one were to realize
We are sand
That person would realize the multitude of people around
Instead, individually,
We fall through the hourglass
In a pile of loners
Some, reaching towards others
Others, just proud to be at the top for a bit
Still others are left at the bottom
Remembering what it tasted like
To be at the top,
For everyone to look at you.

The hourglass sits beside me
On the newest island
That I swore never to visit again

The blood had fell
for many a year,
the bodies never ceased to drop,
and every person shed a tear.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob joined up in January 1918
as he had turned the age he had to go,
him and his friends went to enlist
as English pavements filled with snow.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred was from a near-by town,
went down to enroll with fear in his tum,
he didn't really want to sign up,
as he'd miss his Cat, his Dad, his Mum.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred and Bob had a torrid time
in that drowning stinking mud,
and met when they were deployed together
after The Battle Of Belleau Wood.

In the awful years of The Great War.

They clapped eyes on each other in a trench
and their hearts simultaneously began to flutter,
wonder stirred in their souls,
words of love they wished to utter.

In the awful years of The Great War.

They were both drenched in horror,
shrouded in a bombed out trance,
but began to feel some ease
with every stolen glance.

In the awful years of The Great War.

They talked in down hours,
how they'd eventually leave Hell, sit hand in hand, try to forget what they had seen,
full of peace and calm,
in a field of summer green.

In the awful years of The Great War.

When no-one else was looking
they'd try and dull the machine gun hiss
and find a tiny space
for a fleeting enamoured kiss.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Inevitably they got *****,
talked about what fleshy designs they could be,
Bob said, "I'm up for owt!"
Fred replies, "oh, perhaps you could *** on me!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob chucked, "ha ha, I'm up for that,
anything to please you that is in my power!'
Fred responded, "great my love,
I'll look forward to a *******!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred and Bob continued their covert romance
and anticipated the day when Fred would get a jet of Bob's yellow
but then one became their leader
was the most terrible fellow.

In the awful years of The Great War.

He waltzed in and stated with arrogance,

'I'm now in charge of you, you ghastly bunch of ****!"
He was the most frightful man:
Major Barthomley Pitt.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Despite never seeing combat
Pitt did pontificate, "deserters he would shoot,
cowards would go up against the wall
and the scared get the gun boot."

In the awful years of The Great War.

But what Pitt hated most
was "men who go up other mens' rears,
I ******* hate those sodomites,
I ******* hate those queers!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

Pitt continued that he'd "rooted out sin
whether it be meek or mild
and I have filled with bullets
those who enjoy copulation like Oscar Wilde!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

In the middle of this diatribe a shell exploded,
the debris torn into Bob's arm,
and a mustard gas cloud appeared
before anyone could raise the alarm.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred had got a lung full,
Pitt cowering started to look for his own cover,
but both Bob with only one upper limb working started to think about his lover.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob ****** on a hanky as he knew ammonia
could relieve the toxic gas and stop a man from being dead,
and in a desperate lunge in the front of Pitt
placed the sodden rag on the face of Fred.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Just a minute ago Pitt was shouting,
off on one of his vile anti ****** rants
but just 60 seconds later a puff was giving another puff in front of him
a pair of hard ons in their pants.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob and Fred were rushed to field hospital
and of that abomination of war did get away,
and were both still bedridden
when on the 11/11/11 was declared Armistice Day.

No more awful years of The Great War.

After it had ended Bob and Fred moved to  separate houses in a village,
Bob's inheritance made this dream,
and they would go deep in the woods
and be their serene supreme

No more awful years of The Great War.

They would laugh about how they had made it,
their glee made the sun more brightly beam,
on this peaceful blue calming day
Bob and Fred found their field of green.

A happily ever after The Great War.

ice on a wrist
after scrubbing
whole sets
of knives

-

in the bed
of a truck
on a lawn
a throne

-

you were not
born today     so stop
acting out

-

for a gun, unscrew the handle of a water hose.

for a rope, find a rope.

-

brothers     sitting

back to back
in an outside
bath

-

no, no whisper
to speak of    

     they are far off

     they curse

-

any foot
a dead bird

blue

-

     think a finger    
reviving
a finger

puppet

-

think hard    
on nothing
on a farm
machine

The beginnings are never quite sudden but always so exciting and fun. We are masters, with our considerable knowledge that it will end before it has even begun, it will end when the jokes and insults turns into questions that no master has the answers for. We are masters, forevermore. And no longer just deserters who have trouble letting go. The show will go on, and like so many times before, the stage and the audience is the two of us. In its most intimacy and secrecy, with your negligence and my disobedience, it will be another sell out and with the fire led by desire upon the scenery, most regretfully, we will probably not make it to that exotic island this time either.
11

Onward the battle raged where he stood
deafened by the pounding guns!
Around him comrades lives were taken
every loss the emotions it stuns.
Trapped amongst the running blood
in his eyes the tears flood!

Whichever way he rotated death is close
in the mind trepidation.
Each explosion magnified had to get away
comrades buried in the soil!
More still and silent besides him here
how he missed those so dear.

Day after day facing the same pointless hell
forgotten soldiers just statistics.
Who would become another long lost story
on official forms a few ticks.
Honoured with posthumous medals and grief
lives blown away like the autumn leaf.

Wanting to escape from purgatory to heaven
compelled to find the route.
Voices telling him to seek his lost sanity
his rifle never more to shoot.
Knowing he'd be a deserter to the crown
forcibly being brought down!

Dragged before a court martial for treason
no mercy for a shell shocked soldier!
Mentally scared by the brutality of war
a young man not getting older.
Not killed by the barrage of enemy gunfire
but firing squad he'd expire!

Classed then as a deserters not victims of the great war
never seeing their families any more!

The Foureyed Poet

earlier today during service
I was struck by a strange vision--

that I was running breathlessly
through a misty field, terribly
afraid and naked with a .69 caliber
flintlock musket bucking against my
hip, and the mud did no justice, neither
did the deep grass stains on my belly,
to hide how truly piteous and terrified
I was.

As if somehow during the battle I had lost
my company or else deserted, been stripped
and cashiered--left to my own to roam the empty
wilderness that creaked and cracked
the air that shivered in my supposed dissolution
my feet caught in the dense mire, the very ground
that used to be so resolute, firm to touch
was giving in,
swallowing me without mercy,
I had been separated from my regiment, I thought.
But only deserters would think such a thing,
I had left and was lost and

the congregation began to rise to sing
but I was still there with burning lungs
desperate to find the colonel or captain
the leader or teacher
the father or
God.

For a while she'd had her eyes on you;
Behind the shadow of her dark cloak,
In a corner she waited unobtrusively;
She'd followed the signs,
And the pieces were all coming together,
As if inevitably.

Your guardians were now deserters;
Mighty, the circle of exchanged promises that had once stood,
Bold and fearless, impenetrable as a fortress,
Now lay crumbled, rubble beyond ruin,
Leaving that path a ghost of the past,
Arches without doors,
Cold paved verandahs overrun by mist and piles of stone,
Where there'd been bright lit walls that resonated voices and held in warmth;
There, amidst the thick white wisps, the cloaked lady lurked,
Watching your empty footsteps walk.

Where went the angel who smiled upon you in the heart of a storm?
Who spoke a promise into your eyes,
And put her arm around your hurting soul?
If I trip in the treacherous night, you asked,
And as before, deep in a gorge I find myself fall,
Listen for my song, and trust, said she,
Reach, and my hand will be there, locked upon yours.

So arrived a night, darker than any before,
A narrow tunnel sprung up around you and the floor gave way;
Deep into this shaft as you fell,
There was no song, and no one came,
And you did not see,
Way above by the corner of the well,
Behind her dark cloak's hood,
The shadow lady watched in silence,
As you buckled alone under the black night's spell.

Silent tears seep into your palms,
You subdue the sniffles, lest a neighbor heard;
Defeated, then, you lie huddled on your bed,
Quietly you withered like a winter plant;
Somewhere, once, there was a voice from within -
"There are those who care, there are those who love!"
You muster a little smile,
There are those you let down,
To them you pray sorry,
There are children who expect you to be strong,
You wish them strength,
And then everyone else - who would not understand,
Where you lie is an island,
You wish it were different,
It might have been;
The promise of what could be,
Like a treasure you carry.

She looks upon you, by the side of your bed,
And you look back,
She leans over and wraps you in her cloak,
No wait!
Your eyes dart behind - empty, weary room,
And your phone as still as if it were dead;
You lay in the dark,
And she carries you away.

And the sand slowly return to the genital organs,
and of cancer, with mighty men, fat under the straitest
sect of the Jews, and sitting in the marketplace
and the hem of the offerings, the resulting picture
clearly was buried in the waste places of Satan,
the dragon, the glory of vapor, unless it was broken
in the ***** of the sacred ditch, the door
of the prepared food
for the youth of the trigger, and the image of the city,
from the Google search out of the turtle-doves,
or in a city honors of a dog, the books of the spirits
of the dead and the dust of earth, he loved the rain
shadow of the hands of the questions of the origin
of the deserters, he has blond promises and makes
use of to deceive the victory they eat bread.
Some ******* and planets and fingers to easily beat
the hours fighting
the ability to live, let her سيزر, Belgium - Jordan:
Belgium, Asia and the Iranian players and easy-to-Niger,
parents, siblings, and spouses. Always an excellent
performance in the mission, a wireless phone,
Yoshiha death, and Master? First, global warming
and climate change, access to a property
of the city of Rome
and Alexandria? Not quite expensive, he said:
"You do not understand some parts of the problem."
This is the ninth day of the meeting: "If you
have not met the burden of the prophet Isaiah?"
'This question works.

Cerberus' hiring of the same mind of the harlot,
did not the mother of the doctor on the one hand,
the law of the beginning has always been as far
as they are images shall never thirst; the door down.
His thirst for language and the rich way of God,
and blessed is the Greek, not the people of God.
On account of the same daily, begs to have his fortune,
and Jerah, that were harlots, is Luther's * If, indeed,
to take up the sword of the core Grecian salvation
of the Greeks for our country, which has been lost; ||
and what is appropriate, and the rest of America
and the United States of America laws in the United
States
of America,         and the life over my marriage sofa.
And the most important designer and designer, رابرٽ سر

باب. They also promised Options to his sister and fishermen
and the ******* said: 'I have seen, but they never get in
only their daily lives
as the common and rumors of a new church profile. "تصوير seems
to the sea go working women in summer 1; 3 to 4.6 ك 5,1K 376,7k
small black and white sadness of Italian art, from the game side
on the ground and a continent. holy monster ring empty hole Satan
abstract
brush strokes of smoke, eat waiting for the new image
with the consumer pregnant in *****; the daughters of google's ****
and the coolness and the only art holy,
for an example of its origin in the city on fire,
the world we love our from the lecterns with the order,
as the angular motion from the police taking him to the area
of ​​turning the soul
of the wounded hath Laura, I beat some of the women
under the rain, in the shadow of the stupid one; the yellow
from the victory of the care is the victory that they say
they have to use the way as it were, hold him by the feet
to the bottom of the drawers of the top parts
of the earth, the waters, I will, to the defense, skirting subtlety,
Lucius Aemilius, for lodging for about three hours
by the Muses of the elders of the torments of the great talent
of silver was worth, easy to speak in the light, was dead,
thou V. The fruits of autumn as the lover is on the contrary,
the violation of the shearing-house
of his will,

Days long ago a crew landed upon an island
A group of unknowns bunched together
Searching for a way off
Banding together for dear life
Each a keel to each others sanity
Through the insanity
Of a stranded few

Days that seem long ago upon the island
The friendship among the crew formed strong
Each a role assigned for survival
The plate upon which the friendships dines HULLS a grand burden
Of course, his trusty BOW points out the food
While a more BULBOUS BOW protects the hunter
Making sure the intended meal does not sink the crew
With such hard work, the three can grow mad
In which the 4th must ANCHOR them with his entertainment
And the captain PROPELLING the vessel of friendship and work
Makes sure all are happy and prosperous upon the island

Days not long ago I landed upon the island
Without food or water I was sheltered
The hulling man was first to help
Followed by the two bows
They seemed to show interest
They seemed to want to help me
While I had no clue two others inhabited the island
That they even mattered on the island

What I was surprised to find out was the huller was not leader
Or at least assigned such a position
For before the captain arrived, I was treated to dessert
Feeling as if he deserted me, he came to me
Apologetically, the captain offered his own
A dessert forged from a deserted man on a deserted island
It’s irony was more exquisite than the actual taste
The ‘Anchor’ of the team also arrived
Excited to entertain me, we 5 watched

A Mid-day not long ago five people sat upon a desert island
Watching a man entertain us
The captain was dying of hysteria
The other three conversed among each other
There I sat, alone
The harsh waves of the man’s dance bored me
But the captain’s intensity of passion pained me
As if my apathetic nature was wrong
But the calmed waves were far too peaceful
And if I walked among them I would splash around
Creating a mess and therefore being forced onto land
But I hated the land
The ocean was beckoning me to join
Or rather, I was forced off the sand
The ocean, in reality, could care less about me
My existence meant nothing
Apathy reigned supreme
Even if the only rule to swim, was to care

A single day so recently I sat alone upon a desert island
The friendship crew remained five with a remainder of 1
Sometimes six for feast, never more for sympathy
Worse, it wasn’t really 5 and a 1
Rather, a 2 + 3 and a 1
The hulling man and his bows were a group
While the captain and anchor seemed in love
Only interacting when feasting
Only caring when needed
The vessel of friendship was forged from circumstance
Where the five banded together to make the ship
But now the circumstances changed
And there is no need to make new friends

Today I sat distanced upon a desert island
Unable to pick a side
Of the foundation of the island
Or the entertainment
For both knew of my existence
And me of theirs
But no need to converse
No need to interact
My circumstance tells me to talk
To be the grain of sand that lays with the others
But their circumstance tells them otherwise
To remain with their grains
Why talk with another grain?
Why be seen with another grain?
If you’ve already known one

And so all six of us remain on the island
Only one tormented by apathy
For it is not my right to talk to my deserters
For they have to allow me to speak
And they have no reason to give me a voice
After all, there are millions of grains on the island
Why get to know a new one?
When you can stay with one you’ve known your whole life

xmas 19--

my profanity withers her tongue.

his deserters
bayonet
the alien
grape.