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Long, Lustful Poetry


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It seems the old board is now giving odd error messages.  No one knows what I’m talking about, sure, but did someone try to ‘ghost’ the old board?  Never mind.  Don’t answer that. 


I’m going to re-post my ‘Sylvanas’ tribute here, then:


In silence high heels tap in negative,

Brain wired with sex, a kill, sweating armpits.

These neurons burned out, an exit, stage live

To new ones I give you, live tweeting fits.

From death in trade I give you living pain

Of anger, not of hate, a task of X.

Ride on this horse, imagine bare feet, rain:

Retaliate, environmental flex.

If I am cold, the body vector wants

Impossible named keys, one such to say:

You fight, I will give you regrets, penned fonts,

To make us all as equal on this day.

Biology, in realism, one -

To understand fun is desperate, done. 


In addition to which, also in tribute, I would like to add in French, a language I don’t speak, these words.  (Simply because it sounds better in French for some reason, not in Russian, German, or Latin.)  There is nothing to fear, except from the young and very old.  The young are stupid, short sighted, and only see what is immediately in front of their faces.  The very old are vengeful, and significantly more than the evil that you are.  Stay away from the young, tap your hat to the old. 


A friend of mine plays StarCraft pro, does coke,

The stress of which is micro, one touch win,

To macro, twenty-minute torture, broke

On words as interviewed, kicked in the shin.

Born once, the Zerg ate primal, needed time,

As Protoss lost their internet, bought cakes:

These Terrans ran offense only, no crime,

So, Kerrigan Raynor fourth race on lakes.

Into a silent place, at long last, wow,

As paper, rock, or scissors go to bed -

Two square blocks Korea on that make, bow,

Forget forgetfulness, what isn’t said.

Woke up from head trauma, Kumiko, girl,

I simply kiss, ten minutes that last hurl.

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  • 4 weeks later...

Vibrant messenger,

The game is Greek answered, snooze

I-phones’ allez pain.


From 2 to 9, teach

Over under emphasis,

Master, Maestro lick.


Being a pro young

Means video develops,

To invested eyes.


Not me, son of Sam’s,

As I will only harm you.

Find what gives you peace.


Keep me company,

As X-Split’s on, two hundred,

Hungry to Facebook.


Loser, see my face,

As Darth nails cheerleader, point

Of power, cursive. 


For pros growing up,

It is compulsory, start:

That isn’t me, so.


To break the cycle,

You will be beat within an

Inch of your damn life.


It’s okay, the take;

Creative contraries bang

Out the questions, youth.


Coleridge is now dead.

Death and she death in life, spat,

Unworldly clever.


Active numbers shoot,

Like pool to an untrained eye,

Observed as defined.


Writing’s important

To the God of Stone, beliefs



Stay tuned for new stuff,

As Mohawk girls’ DNA,

So bright to light, fight.


Love is, I mean this,

Someone to die for, when flames

Take the buildings thus.



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This is not my poetry but I've found a new love for this Xiu Xiu band, and this song in particular. Like NIN but better, and hilarious. This is the song that Trent Reznor needs to hear, lol.



[Verse 1]
A piano fell on my face
You told me to get up
When I could not control myself
You said to get up
Consciousness demolished
When I tried to hold the pain inside
You say to hold it in

Love me forever
Don't forget me
It's late in the game to ask
But I'm still asking

[Verse 2]
A harmonica fell on my face
It did not hurt that much
If you leave no one will find my corpse
You said
Sometimes a person cannot help what they do
You mumble to get up
Operating now without belief
You say sh sh sh
And to get up

Do you hate me
Because I seem so stupid?
Or do you just very quickly
Hate me right back?

[Verse 3]
During the rape of everything decent
The flickering flames impressed me
A saxophone fell on my face
How is a mystery
When I am shocked
By my own foolishness
You say you are not as shocked
When I repeat that I am shocked by my own foolishness
You get up and leave the room

Love me forever
Don't forget me
It's late in the game to ask
But I'm still asking you

You're the only reason I was born
You're the only reason I was born

[Instrumental Outro]

Edited by TwiliteMinotaur
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  • 1 month later...

You taste like lip stick, when the in-game rain

Bangs down the alley way, our stats displayed.

For half the year I work low wage brain pain

To feel the net the rest, back link full paid.

I fight the search algo pyramid dip

An individual, against AI

Blast imitation, winning on the hip

In weekly standings.  Robots burn, death, die.

You need to beat the system, human search,

As fair match up’s BS, all rigged, profile:

Accept this tree, a memory, once birch,

Into the avant-garde of half this dial.

     The info board of planet nine five’s hot

     These next five days, then over, falls to ‘bot.  



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  • 2 weeks later...

Birthday poem time?  2018 is it?


I would like to dedicate this sonnet to:  Christian White and the Aryan Reggae Band.  To those yet to be banned:


Friend, wonder with me this?  That green, puke mist

Japanese wrestlers spit out to win, cheat,

In someone’s face, followed by a short fist:

What is its nature?  Anger, hate, bile, meet? 

When racial, national finds physics, soul,

Can yuck win gold, find championship armpit?

Something country bound loses birth place, hole

Of sex, where Buddha, Mel Brook’s death, nuns sit.

I am the Champion, green blob of foot grab,

Yak’ boy a flower, neon, just this one:

 Virus, kills China, dreams, intestines, stab

Atomist spit egg, that spring biz’ness, fun.

Clan dumb, dumb of a fortune never born,

A challenge is, and from your country, torn. 



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  • 8 months later...

And love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love;

Did digital pretense fool you?  Fooled me.

Does Twitter Facebook hybrid hook up, dove?

Yes, all they hate may save us.  Burn who’s tree?

Orange rhymes with beer in Cockney, sometimes.  Dick.

-Unless the tech that damns invaders space

Responds to time alone, a fuzzy trick -

Now go away a second, honor, trace.

As vectors, beauty.  Can you hold my hand?

Much as a word is sent, a heart of dent,

Equates to nonsense, time outside the band.

Hi, you.  It’s paid.  Thanks.  Also stolen.  Meant. 

Express mistakes of generations made;

Repress the pain of real, end as fade.

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working on some new material...


He came up as a longhaired mossback,

evolved himself into a hackhead skatepunk

produced by the times and attuned to his environment,

he read all the signs and he hated his government.


and it was all downhill from there.

he never found time to care.

nothing matters nowhere,

and nothing's really there.


He wound up underneath a hobnailed bootheel,

a bent spoke in a mechanized wheel

crushing under entities never once beheld

thinking all the while that this might just be hell.

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  • 4 weeks later...

The Ace,

And The Hole.


It ain't right and it ain't cool,

and we don't need the likes of you.


With your cheap orange spray tan,

and your surgical flap, 




tangerine fat man

simple mind, tiny hands


petulant as a pampered brat

born to leisure, never task.


Pickled brains, 

within a cask.


A social illness prolific and productive.

An industrial destruction,

of intellect and dialog.


Our social conscience choked on fog.


Our sickness, manifest.

This bag of bones, this bloated pest

belongs to us, he is our own.

And for his sins we must atone.


One last gasp,

a midnight ride.

Our monstrous leader

just should've died.


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It is not mine, and my own limited poetry experiments are always in Spanish anyway. But this touches me in all the wrong places.


A.E. Housman


He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?


He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.


I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder,


And went with half my life about my ways.

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  • 1 month later...

The Ace and The Hole(cont)


Never wanted to say

I told you so,

And I didn't want to be right,

But our empowering of assholes

has me spoiling for a fight.


...And I told you so,


I told you.


I told you so.


So now we have a fascist

dominating control,

yet our fat and pale asses

are too weak to rock and roll.



I told you so.


And don't you dare tell me

the system will fix itself.

This white-powered hate machine

was designed to make this hell.


And I told you so,


I told you so.

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  • 2 weeks later...

To Hong Kong influencers:  Cursor.  Press

As you, but no expatriates, a mat. 

The day will come.  The cat is far too fat.

Lockdown will change the light to darkness, less.

Analysis:  Cantonese:  Redo:  Mess. 

Prepare.  When lights go out, drop the old hat.

Translate:  Chick with razers in her hair, stat.

Grandma may talk but little, gives her dress.

The word’s ‘Mafia’, call it market wink.

As power’s information, channels race

Relaying news and other products, fake?

Three is the magic number, smoke bomb stink.

Engage to disengage, remember face,

And purge the bottom of a burning lake.

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  • 3 weeks later...
  • 3 weeks later...


Those ten seconds before you fall asleep

When you can draw geometry from will,

Yet faces perfect detail wait there deep

Inside a thought forgotten song, that’s still.

This is to worship, fundamental love

As wonder, the start of science, no end.

The stars are better than me, hint to shove

Image quality higher than me, lend.

The rest of life is this small time wrote large,

An imitation, good and bad, a mark

To meditate the creative, to charge

Returning judgement, someone else’s spark.

     Doll who?  High five me.  Good work.  Grab my hand.  

     There is a bottle for us to share, stand.

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  • 2 months later...
  • 2 months later...

In crudeness let us veil escape away:

Hawaii person to New Zealand made,

Play ‘Holiday’, a new life, reasons, stay!

Once I considered unknowns’ slapped, chick laid.

Sure, Simmons, Gene, in Japanese, just great:

Blood pills, and God’s best boner, tongue made saint,

Screw Shelley Long’s ass off, without one hate,

For me, because I can’t, one single paint.

Braid strong, forget this time, announcements on,

In Walmart across the plural island,

Throw something, don’t get caught, Morocco, Don,

To Christchurch, who would know, pop passport, band.     

Sand, as to eyes, replacement hydras scope     

The champion of the world, discord who dope. 

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  • 1 month later...

The girl smiled, wore a N95 mask;

My focus gravitated to her eyes

And not her hair, a trick on me, this task

Of finding western words to eastern sighs.  

In likeness science to the big and small,

As all domains are meta super typed -

Such wonderful power, beauty, bound wall,

And all to see me on this subway hyped.

Semantic, airborne virus, drifting thoughts:

Today new research findings are as team

And owned because massive death cards, drawn lots -

Thus making hardness, the lonely to dream.      

     Except for... Girl, I wonder.  Do you play      

     Online, like social shooters, live talk, hey?

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  • 1 month later...

Four Kay Horror was

Anywhere that it mattered -

Corona lonely.


In the off season

We meet, but when the game’s on

You can’t find a tree.


I do not point, no,

But there is a pointing, yes:

All allusions suck.


Her name, Four Kay Blood,

In a list of 420’s.

Ya, sure.  It’s me, girl.


Virus, kid or man,

I cycle through both this month.

Four Kay talks to me.


Kid says Dokken ‘Beast

From the East’ plus bottle wine

Equals special God?


Man bets car on stocks,

Broke even today, at least

For twelve hours, virus.


Who are we fooling?

Man is kid as kid is kid,

Modern suit as both.


I watched you one hour,

For three seconds I could swear

I saw someone else.


This is not for you.

I dream of Tai Chi’s girlfriend

With an other’s soul.


Four Kay Horror, she

Was social distancing made

Backwards as a bridge.


It’s not the sword you

Worship when you worship the

Sword, silly camper.


Code break, code stun, count

Interrupts to zero, go

Developer blues.

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  • 2 months later...
  • 3 months later...

The FBI hereby considers all

Univocal to ‘Fire Bomb’ on the net -

Universal auto warrants, no wall

Two years next fall, through social plus links, bet:

‘Grave Dildo’, ‘Nerve Three’, ‘Mud Tears’, ‘Base Line Bone’,

‘Nice Meteorite’, ‘Swish Barrel’, ‘Tongue Cold’,

‘Surgery Dimples’, ‘Microphone Drop Phone’,

‘Pine Wood’, ‘Blue Not Green’, ‘Fake Gold’, ‘Undead Mold’.

Plus add to these ‘Beach Fragments’, ‘Ugly Heels’,

And ‘Falling Through the Roof’, ‘Bad Tea’, ‘Deep Eye’.

We know what you mean, ‘Steak and Biscuit Feels’.  

We will add fifty terms tomorrow.  Bye.  

     No sign ins.  I can offer one called ride.

     We both get realism, all in stride.  

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  • 5 months later...

Women should not be

As coke up the nose, leg shave:

Gentleman Loser.


That’s music for you.

Like John Belushi guilty

Speak at least the truth.


Molly was anger,

A trigger pull in writing,

Not such Linda much.


It’s how it turns out,

The politics as bait switch,

Powerless new sex.


Whatever trip you,

Send me the details, secret

Penned toilet paper.


I lobby return

To the most immature start

Of card character.


One time only, tell

Me what I missed, what planet

Smucks implication.


Coke and legs, well yes,

But smack desire in words, soul,



Vector: Fill, Fill, Fill,

One Two Three Four Five Six plus

One and Two then Three.


Hit me in the face,

And I love you like the breeze

Of sobriety.

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