Recent Journal Entries

  • Hypnotic Repetition

    by NomadMonad on September 24, 2019

    ➿➿➿


    There are more than two genders

    Trump is a Nazi

    Or the planet will die by 2030

    Diversity is strength

    Believe women

    White supremacists

    You create reality

    Sounds like conspiracy



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  • mixmaster T

    by NomadMonad on September 05, 2019

    ☆   ☆   ☆

    He so cold cool he hot
    Peep be like: word
    Mixing trax in da klub
    King of tha mix
    They all: we lit
    Layin down them oldskool
    Cuttin in some riddim
    Droppin beatz
    Sound system be like: higher
    Mixmaster T play it 4 tha playas
    And 4 tha kidz
    Funk Soul Hiphop Latin House
    (White House too!)
    Thatz why he prezident
    Funky commander-in-chief
    Talkin bout Tha Dee-Jay y'all
    Nuff respeck
    Cuz its about LOVE people...
    So dig your DJ:

    D.J. TRUMP



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  • gambling confession

    by artemisagrotera on August 29, 2019

    now the last vow is broken
    now the last wall is breached
    now the fences have crumbled
    now I'm in your reach

    I laid it out
    I spoke to you
    the truth I'd never given you:

    direct hit
    end run around our game
    impact:
    how do we act without the frame?

    invoking distant lives,
    I gave myself away


    not knowing what you'd say or mean

    and now I'm still left in-between

     

     

     



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  • Saint Bartholomew's Day Couplet

    by NomadMonad on August 24, 2019

     

    For starters


    we could talk about the Huguenot martyrs . . . 



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  • Android 52 - romance

    by alterEgo on July 11, 2019

    Fluttering feelings at 3am

    Endless searching, restless wandering 

    MIA



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  • collaboration / celebration

    by artemisagrotera on June 21, 2019

    ever since i met you
    i wanted the world to hear you
    the price, i thought, was that you never would be fully mine
    this klaxon cried "look here and listen"
    that's a definite form of devotion
    i know you didn't ask me, but i took it as my mission

    sometimes blessed, sometimes cursed
    alternately best and worst
    but now i'll take what's mine
    as i remember how to shine



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  • Free the Dolly Lama NOW !

    by NomadMonad on May 10, 2019

    MINDFULNESS
    is over-rated.

    BEING CENTERED
    misses the mark.

    MODERATION
    is a refuge for dead souls.

     
    Although the Dalai Lama speaks of Buddha,
    this world’s judge is still the Lion of Judah.
    and though no sinner consent to hear it,
    nothing shall obstruct God’s Holy Spirit.



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  • Fear

    by alterEgo on May 02, 2019

    Fear in my blood, fear in my sweat, fear in my tears. Follow me to my bed, await for me when I wake up. Never leaving my side, like a friend I never wanted. 



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  • See you in 5

    by RosesAtSunset on March 30, 2019

    I’ve decided to give it another 5 years

    i had a complete sobbing breakdown in the middle of the Hiroshima station and my boyfriend and I talked it out. 

    We’re both sick, he has bipolar type 1 as well as schizoaffective symptoms. We both take our medicine religiously so we’ve been relatively stable for a year. We’re going to keep trying, he apologized for the harsh things he said and I apologized for being difficult.

    I’m in Okinawa now and it’s  beautiful, it’s very hard to be sad when you can see a beach right outside your terrace. We were supposed to go surfing today but the North wind decided to be strong. 

    Yesterday we went tubing and jetskiing and I tasted the ocean for the first time. 

    Ill be home next Friday and I have an insurance certification exam to study for. I have a decent job right now and my coworkers and bosses are very kind. They stood up for me when an insurance broker tried to swing her clout and get me fired for reasons beyond my control. I never realized how terrible tow companies actually are I started handling claims. 

    so I’ll see you around, the same way I always do



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  • I Have Been Truthful and Consistent Limericks

    by NomadMonad on March 29, 2019

    Jussie walks ! Money talked—and talked loud
    To the Trump-hating race-hustle crowd;
    And they break forth in cheers
    As star Smollett appears
    For their drama-queen makes them so proud.


    For a moment Fake News became tense:
    Jussie's narrative made little sense.
    There were lies told in spades,
    But the incident fades;
    Now it's on to more current events.



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  • I made it to 25 and it seems like such an even number you know?

    by RosesAtSunset on March 24, 2019

    this may be the end, soon.

    I’m in Hiroshima and I was in Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka. I’ll be headed to Miyajima and Okinawa, then back to Osaka, Kyoto, and Tokyo. I’ll be flying home on April 4th. I don’t want to leave, because....  

    well, here is an excerpt from Pete Wentz’s old journal that sums it up because...

    “tokyo, japan 2

    i am put at ease somewhat by the inevitablity of strange and dark days. not light but the opposite, it is inevitable. this hotel room overlooks a city that i do not understand when usually i am overlooking cities that do not understand me. i dont have any "start over" left inside of me. i wish anyone would understand. all roads lead to longing. the neon signs never turn off here. there are oceans inside of me.”

    -Pete Wentz

    I’m here with my boyfriend but we’re falling apart to the point where I don’t think I believe in love anymore. I lost all my friends and I don’t get along with my parents. I can’t blame anybody but myself. In our last fight, he called me “fucking dense” and I’m breaking. We’re headed toward splitting up and I’ve been crying so much on this vacation I can’t afford. It‘s same story in a different continent. I can’t escape my self.

    I wish there was a word, a line, a way but I’m drowning in the madness. I’ve gone psychotic twice, I’ve been hospitalized so many times, and I’ve seen so many professionals and taken so many medications. There isn’t a cure. So I turned to God and I begged for a sign. I’ve written wishes in Buddhist shrines. There doesn’t seem to be an end to these times. I’ve made it a quarter of a century, and I think that’s about enough. I have the means, I have a plan, and I have nothing left to stay for. I can’t go back to the hospital and I don’t believe in love.

    so if you read this months later and I’ve left to a different dimension, well, I hope we meet in better circumstances. This isn’t a cry for help. I’m done crying and nothing helps. I’m not sorry and I won’t miss you, but thanks for the kindness you showed to a kid who never deserved or appreciated it. I never learned to forgive and never could forget.

    if this is goodbye, well, be good. bye.



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  • Show me the meaning of being lonely

    by alterEgo on March 19, 2019

    Pizza come pizza go. I'll be running late for work if it doesn't show. I'm a pleaser, please please me. Pizza please, if it pleases you I'll buy it at the sake of my own inconvienience. Please pizza, please hurry up. Or I'll be late for work. At my own pizza job seperate from this pizza place I'm ordering at. If I don't make sense, it's because I'm mad. Mad as in crazy, not mad as in angry or sad.



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  • Sleep little sister

    by alterEgo on March 03, 2019

    How many more days must I suffer, through endless day cycles where I'm always awake and never asleep. The morning stirs me greatly. With the birdsong and the ocean of car noise. The night keeps me up, with whispers and the shroud of drowsiness never takes me. Away to land of dreams and blissful ignorance. To another life, another world. How I miss it. I've been rejected, I cannot enter anymore. In times of need I seek a higher being to lead me, to save me. But no one will come. I am not worthy.



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  • Two Musclebound Limericks

    by NomadMonad on February 24, 2019

    Donald Trump has made many quite fussy;
    as he did for one actor, named Jussie.
    In the end, the abuse
    was revealed as fake noose,
    two Nigerians, red hats, and one hussy.

    It’s so rotten, one almost can smell it
    and it’s painfully shameful to tell it;
    but this fellow named Smollett
    reached deep in his wallet.
    Some bought it, when he tried to sell it.



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  • The Devil is on my side

    by alterEgo on February 23, 2019

    If my master demands a sacrifice i will willingly oblige. Either be all good or all evil, and you will be rewarded from the God of your choosing. The Devil is on my side it seems. 



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  • Alone with your own thoughts

    by alterEgo on February 03, 2019

    It's a scary place to be, like the voice inside your head is demonic, taunting and mocking you. One day it will be fine, and i wont need anyone to drown out the sounds of my demons, for now I write, and sigh in solitude.



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  • Covington Catholic Limericks

    by NomadMonad on January 25, 2019

    Black Israelite haters, excused,
    led to schoolboys reviled and accused
    of white racism, hate.
    The reaction was great--
    but the whiteboys were merely amused.

    Progressives were driven berserk
    by a teenager's innocent smirk.
    The old shaman tried shaming:
    and drumming and blaming,
    but none of those strategies work!

    Mr. Phillips, the activist drummer
    gave Regressives their Indian Summer--
    till a teenager's smirk
    drove the demons berserk
    and made dumbed-down regressives much dumber.

    If a smile is a cultural crime
    then the criminals need to do time.
    Every whiteboy must go
    in this cracka-ass show
    and I'm guilty for reason of rhyme.



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  • Paleface Haiku

    by NomadMonad on January 23, 2019

    Beware the white smirk.
    Worse than Nazi atom bomb,
    that deadly white smirk . . .

    When the White Man smirks
    Hordes run, screaming, into hell
    (When the white man smirks)



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  • Mambo Bado Limerick

    by NomadMonad on January 19, 2019

    Al Shabab having terrorist fits
    while Nairobi is taking the hits.
    An attack calculated
    by gunmen, frustrated
    for lack of Somalian clits...



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  • Counterculture Recounted

    by NomadMonad on January 19, 2019

    Beatniks got hip until hippies got beat
    by their own rock’n’roll and by riot cops
    as they made love and war in field and street:
    spoiled rebel children, psychedelic flops
    who thought their youth made them immune
    to lies from gods that pipe that tune.

    Beatniks leaned first toward hip existential,
    breaking out of the fifties mental mold.
    Culture’s Petri dish turned pestilential;
    drugs, deviance and rebellion: dull as old.
    Yet novel did it ever seem
    to souls exploited for their dream.

    The Hippies took that bongo tea-house scene;
    added acid’s naked technicolor:
    freak-outs, love-ins, the normalized obscene;
    politics of outrage, now made duller.
    Impulsivity their passion.
    (Sin is never out of fashion.)

    Youth’s dissident victory incomplete
    they glimpsed on flowery fields of battle
    kaleidoscopic visions of defeat:
    the psychedelic baby’s death-rattle.
    Allen Ginsberg’s perverted freak.
    Now reached its Himalayan peak.

    Trace back in time this cultural malaise;
    the poisoned sources where doubt first enticed.
    In retrospect we diagnose their ways:
    anti-God, anti-family, anti-Christ.
    Oh no, you say; that was just youth—
    we had to follow our own truth.

    What did we learn in your San Fran cafés
    poetically dense in plume-clouds of smoke?
    That arty nihilism’s just a phase
    and transgression of morals a tired joke.
    (The Man will always make a buck
    off fools who live to smoke and fuck.)

    That mystic idols are not Truth . . .
    blown minds will never save a soul;
    Faith and Wisdom, both alien to youth,
    in child’s-play, play a minor role.

    That beats burn out and hippies age;
    we’re no wiser for their excess.
    Unwashed ravings, Bohemian rage
    contain no truths—much less, success.

    What did they teach us while tripping and stoned ?
    Could it nourish at all, their cosmic brew—
    their cult of youth, their dying gods bemoaned,
    their howls, their road trips, their breakings on through?

    Only this, Daddy-O — now dig my writ;
    my be-boppin’ speed rant, my acid rock:
    that drug-addled rebels who scrawl half-lit
    fumble with a key that cannot unlock.



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