Protocols (Part 2) (Deeper Level Drop #3)

Protocols (Part 2)  (Deeper Level Drop #3) 

Next To Watch and Read

Films

 

1. Doctor Strange

2. The Strain (From Season 1 up to season 2)

3. Berlin Syndrome: by Melanie Joosten

4. Shepherds & Butchers by Chris Marnewick

5. Dread by Clive Barker

6. Phantoms by Dean Koontz

7. Books of Blood by Clive Barker

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Books

 

1. A Dog's Purpose (A Dog's Purpose, #1) by W. Bruce Cameron

2. Beneath the Bleeding (Tony Hill & Carol Jordan, #5) by Val McDermid

3. Jump Cut (Criminal Minds, #1) by Max Allan Collins

4. Betrayal: The Crisis in the Catholic Churchby The Boston Globe

5. Breaking Bad: The Official Bookby David Thomson

6. The Vesuvius Prophecy (The 4400, #1) by Greg Cox

7. Wet Work (The 4400, #2) by Dayton Ward

8. Welcome to Promise City (The 4400, #3) by Greg Cox

9. Promises Broken (The 4400, #4) by David Mack

10. The Mummy by Max Allan Collins

11. The Mummy Returns by John Whitman

12. The Scorpion King by Max Allan Collins

13. Florida Getaway (CSI: Miami, #1) by Max Allan Collins

 

A Cure For Wellness

 Volmer: Do you know what the cure for the human condition is? Disease. Because that's the only way one could hope for a cure.

A Cure For Wellness (2)

 Voice: There is a sickness inside us rising, like the bile that leaves that bitter taste at the back of our throats. It’s there in every one of you seated around the table. Only when we know what ails us can we hope to find cure.

DeYtH Banger

 I should do something, time is passing... nothing will forgive... and remember, remember that times never forgives actions and theories. - DeYtH Banger

 

 

...

A quote from my favourite movies "A Cure for Wellness"... "She is dancing but she doesn't know that she is dreaming."

DeYtH Banger (2)

 Something created by DeYtH Banger

Question - 4

 

"Are we ready for the world, is the biggest question?"  - Ransom Quinckerberry

"Works are just works... old material... words on paper... nothing more... nothing less.. you got fake dices and trying to play with the air and to make real dices... it's as crazy you go deeper."  - Ransom Quinckerberry

"Oh... you are a gay... so do I..." - Ransom Quinckerberry

"The work is masterpiece... look the dead bodies... a guy with a strange look is gathering information while watching the dead bodies... and in the same time there is a guy who is gathers information while you speak with him/her... 

The series are

Criminal Minds and Lie To Me"  - Ransom Quinckerberry

"Everything is juicy while somebody else is in control of all and everything... it's easy... giving features to somebody else... to create a character - A fake one and to apply a real character to the fake one... for example Jack is a real figure and with little work we just created GreenHollyWood... A Great name for a drunk fat ass guy."  - Ransom Quinckerberry

 

 

"Typing is a disease... always you think you can handle more than you can..."  - Ransom Quinckerberry

"Nothing can be done... it happen it's a fact...  A FAST ONE!"  - Ransom Quinckerberry

"Now do something simple... put your hands inside in your pants and touch your cock... look how powerful is it... this is thing which helps in raping women... that's how they get raped... No Permission for sex... some kinda men... a strong one comes and puts his dick without a woman to want." - Ransom Quinckerberry

"I know about a lot of stuff... " - Ransom Quinckerberry

"Just ask me!?" - Ransom Quinckerberry

The question is why so... why I don't feel in the mood to edit... I can write, but not and edit. But still (The Strain Season 1 episode 13) - It has it's own words for closure, it want to put us in close with the characters. Trying it's best, it puts in play... the stories of the characters from the past... It plays in the "Now"...  and it goes sometimes in a motion picture of the "Past".

The writer, writers, the actors, the producer, director all this team wants us to get as much close to the story as possible, that's the idea of TV Series and movies and films, IN OTHER WORDS THIS IS THE MAIN CONCEPT OF TV SHOW. If there isn't such magic, is there a reason to go and watch it?

What type OF LOVE IS That?

And

I fail the mission

…

Now the question is what type of friendship is That?

Can't we just behave as normal?

…

I don't want to steal your money

I don'T WANT TO STEAL YOUR CAR

I DON'T WANT TO STEAL YOUR GIRLFRIEND

I JUST WANT WE TO BE FRIENDS… BUT SO FAR

PFFFFF

OFFFF

PFFFFFFF

….

OFFF

…

WHAT TO TELL YA?

YOU ARE CONTINUING GOING WITH THE MOST STUPID thoughts..

Continuing to do the stuff without even having in your mind the word "Please".

Note: The problem is that words and sentences as always continue and never stop… I GOT A BAD RESULT… A GOOD ONE … BOTH WAYS THE TREATMAN IS THE SAME… AND WHY SO STUPID?

WHY SO SERIOUS?

…

FEW BLINKS

(GET SOME LINKS)

AND FEW MORE

…

STILL THE WORLD IS THE SAME (NOTE: AND HERE IS THE PLACE WHERE THE BUS GOES LEFT.. THE PLACE WHERE I LEAVE THE BUS…)

 

P.S. - Don't mess with me!

Question - 5

 

World is crucial, I am not a philosopher to say it, but still the rotting flesh can be smell up from here…

 

Note: (Scenario You looked me… right into my eyes; Question: Do I know YA?)

 

Rumpy, dumpy question!

 

…

 

We have to choose!

We just have to make our choice once and for all!

 

…

 

But the question here is who give us the right to give specific people labels?

 

Who does That?

 

 

Why that guy gets label… "Crazy" and that girl over there gets label "Ugly"?

 

 

It'SSSSSSS ONE BIG "WHYYYYYYYY?"

 

 

…

 

 

Questions have been created to be asked

Answers to answer the questions…

 

 

….

 

Nobody wants to continue living in the darkness.

 

Note: Words, letters grow and grow

 ..

 

 

Please, please just to don't forget Andrian Monk doesn't appeal as to be Monk… He just doesn't for fit in having "OCD"… (And Yeah I know from what type of disease he is suffering from, "Obessive Compulsive Disorder")

Question - 6

Why and why and what and how...

 

Now I am watching the movie "The Devil's Candy 2015", the movie is fucking insane.

 

Why people are lazy?

....

 

 

COME ON... COME ON DON'T IGNORE ME!

 

....

Can you tell me why people are so damn lazy?

 

....

Look them,... they are lazy in getting OUT  OF their  POCKETS phoneS and even they are lazy in walking, they just don't want to walk.

 

 

BUT LET'S BE NOT SO NEGATIVE... LET'S FOCUS ON SCHOOL, CAN WE FIND SOME KINDA "+"?

 

....

I see school as stupidity

I see no meaning in school

 

....

 

Okay, I gonna agree with the conclusion of the movie "The Devil's Candy 2015" - the devil uses us as to send it's own message. The devil doesn't have a specific "LOOK"... we really don't know how the devil looks, but within our soul it lives the devil and the angel. 

 

 

That's a rough fact and we just got a body.... we just want to play with it...

 

....

 

The devil is the serial killer... killers... and much many other forms the devil have. But can we see it?

 

 

...

 

 

...

 

Painting is a passion, but what will happen if what we draw is what has happen to somebody?

...

 

What if the devil fucks our minddddddddd, THAT'S A FUCKING IMAGE OF A BOY KILLED AND STRANGLED... AND ALL ARE BURN IN FIRE.

 

THE HOUSE IS PLAYING WITH THE HUMAN MIND, DRIVING THEM INSANE AND MAD AND CRAZY, SOME PEOPLE JOKE ABOUT SUCH STUFF, BUT THIS HERE IS AIN'T JOKE. PROBABLY IT'S BASED UPON TRUE FACTS AND TRUE STORY LINES.

 

 

The Devil's Candy 2015

 

So here is what's all about this story... there is one devil... which has locked two souls and torture them... over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER

 

 

and

 

 

...

The one guy puts the theory into action, the other makes the theory... the one guy is the messenger the other is the guy who is sending the message. IT"S CLEAR ENOUGH TO GET THE MESSAGE!

 

But now the question is... Is there something real within that?

...

Why people do that what they do?

THey didn't got what they wanted?

THey weren't treated as they were supposed to be?
They wanted a perfect life and now they got the worst ever imagine life?
They  didn't had good social status?

(Note: ANd now is time)

As They Say it:

Get out of there and try something... try it for the better

Question - 7

Can I be sure for something, because so far nothing is certain! I made one mistake, but it came on a row, people just don't understand it. But what's for sure is that humans a one big disease, so fucking disgusting, fulfilled with anger and agony.

Mistakes in my life play a big role... they as always they come in row, it doesn't matter when and where, but still I start something... something like a discussion with somebody... I MAKE
ONE FUCKING MISTAKE

THEN SECOND

THEN THIRD

AND THEN I AM THE MOST FUCKED UP PERSON IN THE END... PEOPLE DEFINE ME AS A STRANGE, BUT AM I A SERIAL KILLER?

IF today is  6/9/2016 few weeks before it happen... before few weeks....

(P.S. - Plastirity non-sense and duality... esseantially... viality and virtuallity...)

....

(P.S. - And this guy wants to ruin the whole fun of killing people... it's Fox Mulder)

Write it, Ain't Fix It

by DeYtH Banger

 

 

Date: 6/23/2017

 

 

I am going to to write it.... not to fix it... fixing it costs my memory ruins the whole story as more I go inside... deeper and deeper... over and over and over and over and over in the end I am saying you that you gonna edit it... once, twice you gonna start hating it you gonna start ask stupid questions and in the end you gonna have the most worst expression.

 

 

 

1. Rule 1.0

It's important for what you write about, for what you are reading and which your favourite genres around the movie industry, book industry and so on and so on. If you like horror read horror, like philosophy - you like to ask questions and to get accurate answers?

 

 

 

2. Rule 2.0

 

Never read shit, write about shit and watch shit, watch the best so to can get the best results, if you write for the worst, watch the worst, do the same over and over and over, don't ask for different results.

3. Rule 3.0

If we little thik about it, no need to edit your works, no need to add extra stuff. to remove what you hate, you have written one story. Probably the second part is going to suck, but the first part is going to be your best style, after all I have tried doing some 2,3 volumes of some works and some of them don't end good.

 

4. Rule 4.0

 

- Focus on good stuff, if you want some help like what next to watch?

Read, listen to and etc. Write me:

 

 

Email: dalai1@abv.bg, if you have questions, wanna read something but not sure about it, wanna watch one movie but you want to get something like a feedback of this movie, write me. No matter what time, when and where, I promise you in the framework of 24 Hours  I am going to try to answer your question, but still if I don't max up to 7 days you gonna get my opinion.

 

(Note: Don't worry!)

Story

 

You already know my story, I hate to not be original... I don't skip it... I just want to be original... not somebody who is already taken. If you watch shit you gonna write about shit!

 

...

Shit is like the pornography as always it ruins your mind, the same goes and for other topics, if you focus too much they are going to wash ya, once and for all.

 

 

 

 

Birthday Boy

by DeYtH Banger

 

 Date: 19/06/2017

 

Now

 

1

2

3

4

5

6

...

 

Little more

 

7

8

9

10

...

 

10

10

10

(Kinda buggy and glitchy)

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

...

 

18

 

(Now is the time to blow the candles...)

 

(Note: Uhh, wrong... no cake... no candles and yeah I am now 2016-2017 year without a father 1 year and few months and few days without a father, how fucked up is that?)

 

....

 

1 Day Later

 

 

Yes, yes, yes, I am the birthday boy from yesterday. Magically from 17 years old I have became 18 years old... Now I have more rights, as a human being... now I am adult, I fuck, I kill and everything is on me...

 

 

 

I DO ACTION

I PAY

 

 

 

It's kinda sweet to be 18 and to do whatever you want, but now is the time in which... you need job, you should move on in LEVEL 2 - LIFE.... and kinda sucks the whole shit.

 

Before I continue, I should ask you at least one question, like

 

 

 

 

DO YOU HAVEN AN OPINION, about this TOPIC?

 

 

 

(AND IS IT YOURS?)

 

 

 

(Note: Sorry for not putting a tittle like "Question 8"... But still now the title is going to be "Birthday Boy"... because I had a birthday yesterday and I want to live some impressions and expressions...)

 

 

Let's start from how everything started. I wanted to go with one girl, I wanted to fix some problems and after all I made some mistakes from the POV of some of one of my friends is that he puts it like  as a mistake, with time he convice and other people that it's a mistake in the same time there are people like me which don't see it as a mistake... Soo...  I wanted to go and apologize for the mistake which I have done.

 

Let's be honest here, I ain't gonna hide it... I am not a coward!

 

 

Tapping on her shoulder (THAT'S THE PROBLEM <----)

...

 

She had strange impression and expression

...

 

I started introducing myself, but I was muted with her silence... looking me in a strange way and silent and silent and silent and silent and silent... it was very awkward moment, it happen this year in june... which means 2016/06/... and then I sended one guy just to fix the problem... but it went worser than it was... he was very agressive in the talking... probably and very Territorial.

 

 

(Note: People should be clear in details, I think here I wasn't very clear with the message under agressive talking I mean, to go very fast with questions which should be asked somewhere around after 1-2 month friendship or probably after few weeks, not in the first day...)

 

 

 

 

 

(P.S. - But please make sure to remember that humans are very very territorial!)

          (PLS - Acronym for PLEASE... 

PLEASE... PLEASE STOP SHOUTING, I get the message... I FUCKING GET IT... SHOUTING AIN'T GONNA MAKE IT BETTER...)

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Note: My Question here which am I going to strike here ... as round 3... is. is what's so funny about my problems? - As a first and as a second why you laugh at me... why you don't take me as a serious.

...

 

Ohh and again the jerk off... came... it starts to go like the book by Jeff Garlin in which he explains the problems with putting down few pounds. But after all he can't take off a lot days without bad food, it's so fucking delicious the MacDonalds, KFC, Subway... from each place you order at least 2 times and if you have one more stomach you can order and a 3 time, depends from you. (SPACE))

(OFFTOPIC: My old friend... after all doesn't sound very friendly... nowadays, just fast pin point fact)
So let's go Like that

 

 

After one problem strikes another... then another... The small problem was created by me, then my friend creates a bigger one... then I go and try to fix the whole trouble and as you see the image it goes as worst as shit.

 

...

 

I was Going to apologize and suggesting her we both to go out ... somewhere around Saturday or Sunday.... at that time on Sunday... (My birthday was) it was going to be great moment and time to try to fix the problem which was as first created in a first place... but still I wasn't planning ... to go and fuck her... to be her boyfriend... I was just going to give her a chance she to choose...

 

 

if she wanted to me and her just to be friends nothing less, nothing more...... no problem... let be friends, if she wanted we to be in relationship... okay... okay... okay... no problem. I was going to agree both ways, after all people should be free in choosing, but the laughing thing was horrible, then a strange look when I said that "I want to fix the stuff"... - I mean to fix the problems which came out one after another, it was awkward moment, then it came the moment in which I suggested for out and she said "No Thanks"... It was fucked up.... COME ON... COME ON, WHAT SO BAD TO GO WITH SOMEBODY OUT, i MEAN TO GO WITH A GUY WHO JUSST WANTS TO FIX THE PROBLEM?

...

 

THERE WAS AN ERROR AND THE ERROR WASN'T FIXED, NOW THE QUESTION IS HOW DO YOU DO WHAT YOU DO?

 

 

 

....

 

After all this was the problem which should impact me in very high level, but still the impact was smaller than I thought, then it came a second problem... on my birthday I didn't had what most kids have...like a birthday candles... cake... and so on and so on... Friends... BUt it went like... some guy wwas very very very agressive with me and in the same time... I go out with one friend on the privious day a guy promises that he is going to come... but no further information has ever been given.

 

 

(Note: WANNA MORE..?)

 

P.S. - Why do I live you to choose for me?

...

 

I decide here... my rules... my text... my story... so listen if you care... if you don't care act as a peace of shit and be a biatch.

 

 

,......

 

Promises and lomises... we were going to go out... it wasn't insult, but the promise was damn fucked up... I thought that this guy is going to be serious but after all we end up with him not acting serious and me... waking up here... can't piss in the toilet so I go and jerk off... and jerk off... so to piss easily

...

 

What I want to ask now, what if I want a girl friend, but I just can't make it up to this level... I neither communicate with them... neither got a lot of friends which are communicate with girls, with time the story gets fucked up and fucked up and fucked up....

 

 

(Note: He done it... he done it... he just rejected me because of football, the other guy even doesn't answer the phone and the last person - who is my new friend first I look like a peace of shit with my new pictures and as a second he is gone... - Hahahahaha...)

 

 

 

Math = Life

by 

DeYtH Banger

 

24/06/2017 

 

 

Math has made a change in my life

that's the whole truth of the story which I am going to

tell ya.

LEVEL = Honesty, because here I am going to stop

hiding my real face. Life isn't something like a

Symbolic, asotic, analytical association.

Life is irony, everything is just

one big job walking together Hands in hands with

problems.

I play with math when I am bored,

I play with math when I am confused,

I play with numbers when I don't have anything left in my pockets,

I use random numbers for my choices, better random way than the old

ways...

I play with math when I just can't deal with the way the people are looking at me.

That's who I am

I should accept myself once and for all!

I have potential to be greater and smarter and genius

But does it worth, to roll one more time this fucking dice

which life has provided me with?

Scared

 by DeYtH Banger

 

 

 

25/06/2017

 

 

 

 

Note: They said "Humans are a disease which is spreading around the global world faster than ever before."

 

 

…

 

 

 

You are scared

 

No need for me to go in a complicated way… talking, communicating with all of you in a manner in which few of you have the grey thing inside their heads to understand me, correctly.

 

 

…

 

 

 

You wake up in the morning,

 

Sounds and noises start wandering

In your brain "Why" and "How"

Are the questions which continue to

Ask yourself over and over.

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

The end, so simple words,

 

But it's difficult to keep track,

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

Sometimes we say "The End", but sadly

 

It's not fucking over,

It's just the beginning of convincing ourselves,

that everything it's going to end…

 

 

…

 

 

 

But that's a merely illusion,

 

For people with deillusions.

 

Hope

25/06/2017

 

by DeYtH Banger

 

 

When I wake up 

I always thing and belief in the change.

 

…

 

Everything is going to be fine.

Everyone is going to change.

Everyone is going to find their mistakes.

Everyone is going to become open as a individual person.

Everyone is going to free themselves.

Everyone is going to find what I have found

Everyone is going to find what I know.

 

 

…

Look me, typing and writing and having hope for the better…

 

The time as always is our enemy,

It always takes the hour from our hands

Time is nothing more, nothing less

 

Than a…

 

Nasty, rough and naughty son of a bitch.

 

Head

 by DeYtH Banger

 

 

25/06/2017

 

 

…    And my phone is my school bag …

 

 

….

 

Look me, how really bad I am,

Like others and holly spirit of gravels!

 

Rhetorical, passionate, this are the words which you should and you will describe me.

 

Sun - Symbolism of few inches madness and few inches insanity, merely both together hands in hands are the simple creation of One-Hundread percentage.… 

 

…

Nothing more than the greatest morgue is the true sunny day.

 

 

And

….

 

As you already know I started talking about my phone, then for the sun and what everything does have to do with "Head".

 

 

…

 

Okay, okay… YOU WANT IT… YOU GONNA GET IT….

 

 

Head - Passivity and Activity ... Goodwill and Malice, Anger and Agony. Positivity vs Negativity…- Do you want me to continue?

 

…

 

I think it's too much,

For you to handle!

 

 

…

Lyricism and passion, lies and fraud…

 

…

 

We know the stories which are written by using one million words.

 

End is end and what's true it's true…the stories always don't answer the real question… of reality and brutality.

 

Critical Reviews

People should be critical in judging stories and books and films and many other stuff.

Review: The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck: A Counterintuitive Approach to Living a Good Life

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck: A Counterintuitive Approach to Living a Good Life by Mark Manson

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

 

June 5, 2017 – page 117

51.09% "And as you put it... One more self-help book please."

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...Honesty is a natural human craving. But part of having honesty in our lives is becoming comfortable with saying and hearing the word “no.” In this way, rejection actually makes our relationships better and our emotional lives healthier...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...And because they refuse to reject anything, they live a valueless, pleasure-driven, and self-absorbed life. All they give a fuck about is sustaining the high a little bit longer, to avoid the inevitable failures of their life, to pretend the suffering away...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...The desire to avoid rejection at all costs, to avoid confrontation and conflict, the desire to attempt to accept everything equally and to make everything cohere and harmonize, is a deep and subtle form of entitlement. Entitled people, because they feel as though they deserve to feel great all the time, avoid rejecting anything because doing so might make them or someone else feel bad...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""... If I’m choosing to judge myself based on my ability to have open and accepting friendships, that means I’m rejecting trashing my friends behind their backs. These are all healthy decisions, yet they require rejection at every turn...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...The act of choosing a value for yourself requires rejecting alternative values. If I choose to make my marriage the most important part of my life, that means I’m (probably) choosing not to make cocaine-fueled hooker orgies an important part of my life...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...To truly appreciate something, you must confine yourself to it. There’s a certain level of joy and meaning that you reach in life only when you’ve spent decades investing in a single relationship, a single craft, a single career. And you cannot achieve those decades of investment without rejecting the alternatives...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...You can become your own source of inspiration. You can become your own source of motivation. Action is always within reach. And with simply doing something as your only metric for success—well, then even failure pushes you forward...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...Or promise

 

yourself that you will assume that you are the root of your problems next time you get upset. Just try on the idea and see how it feels.

That’s often all that’s necessary to get the snowball rolling, the action needed to inspire the motivation to keep going...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...Recognize that you’ve been an entitled prick in all of your relationships and want to start developing more compassion for others? Do something. Start simple. Make it a goal to listen to someone’s problem and give some of your time to helping that person. Just do it once...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...if you know that you’ve been hurting yourself chasing false dreams, or if you know that there’s some better metric you should be measuring yourself with but you don’t know how—the answer is the same:

Do something.

That “something” can be the smallest viable action toward something else. It can be anything...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...The “do something” principle not only helps us overcome procrastination, but it’s also the process by which we adopt new values. If you’re in the midst of an existential shitstorm and everything feels meaningless—if all the ways you used to measure yourself have come up short and you have no idea what’s next,...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...The idea was that

 

if he forced himself to write two hundred crappy words, more often than not the act of writing would inspire him; and before he knew it, he’d have thousands of words down on the page...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...The author Tim Ferriss relates a story he once heard about a novelist who had written over seventy novels. Someone asked the novelist how he was able to write so consistently and remain inspired and motivated. He replied, “Two hundred crappy words per day, that’s it.”...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...I had all sorts of screwed-up beliefs about this, like that you weren’t allowed to speak to someone unless you had some practical reason to, or that women would think I was a creepy rapist if I so much as said, “Hello.”

The problem was that my emotions defined my reality. Because it felt like people didn’t want...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...These are VCR questions. From the outside, the answer is simple: just shut up and do it.

But from the inside, from the perspective of each of these people, these questions feel impossibly complex and opaque—existential riddles wrapped in enigmas packed in a KFC bucket full of Rubik’s Cubes...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""... Or the single mother whose now-adult kids have finished school and are loafing around on her couch, eating her food, spending her money, not respecting her space or her desire for privacy. She wants them to move on with their lives. She wants to move on with her life. Yet she’s scared to death of pushing her children away, scared to the point of asking, “How do I ask them to move out?”...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...Or the college guy who has a crush on his tutor. So he agonizes over every sign, every laugh, every smile, every diversion into small talk, and emails me a twenty-eight-page novella that concludes with the question, “How do I ask her out?”...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...But the further I get into adulthood, the more I realize that we all have areas of our lives where we’re like my parents with the new VCR: we sit and stare and shake our heads and say, “But how?” When really, it’s as simple as just doing it...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...As is the case for many millennial children, my parents looked on as if I were some sort of prodigy. To them, the fact that I could program the VCR without looking at the instruction manual made me the Second Coming of Tesla.

It’s easy to look back at my parents’ generation and chuckle at their technophobia...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...We need some sort of existential crisis to take an objective look at how we’ve been deriving meaning in our life, and then consider changing course.

You could call it “hitting bottom” or “having an existential crisis.” I prefer to call it “weathering the shitstorm.” Choose what suits you...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...Our most radical changes in perspective often happen at the tail end of our worst moments. It’s only when we feel intense pain that we’re willing to look at our values and question why they seem to be failing us...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...The answer was no. Instead of a broke and unemployed twenty-two-year-old with no experience, I’d be a broke and unemployed twenty-five-year-old with no experience. Who cares?

With this value, to not pursue my own projects became the failure—not a lack of money, not sleeping on friends’ and family’s couches (which I continued to do for most of the next two years), and not an empty résumé...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...I asked myself a simple question: “Would I rather make decent money and work a job I hated, or play at Internet entrepreneur and be broke for a while?” The answer was immediate and clear for me: the latter. I then asked myself, “If I try this thing and fail in a few years and have to go get a job anyway, will I have really lost anything?”...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""... This means giving up the supply of emotional highs that you’ve been sustaining yourself on for years. Like a junkie giving up the needle, you’re going to go through withdrawal when you start giving these things up. But you’ll come out the other side so much better...""

June 5, 2017 – page 110

48.03% ""...This often means giving up some grandiose ideas about yourself: that you’re uniquely intelligent, or spectacularly talented, or intimidatingly attractive, or especially victimized in ways other people could never imagine. This means giving up your sense of entitlement and your belief that you’re somehow owed something by this world...""

June 4, 2017 – page 110

48.03%

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...Choose to measure yourself not as a rising star or an undiscovered genius. Choose to measure yourself not as some horrible victim or dismal failure. Instead, measure yourself by more mundane identities: a student, a partner, a friend, a creator...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...This is narcissism, pure and simple. You feel as though your problems deserve to be treated differently, that your problems have some unique math to them that doesn’t obey the laws of the physical universe.

My recommendation: don’t be special; don’t be unique. Redefine your metrics in mundane and broad ways...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...She has no identity to protect by staying in a miserable, crappy marriage just to prove something to herself.

When the student admits to himself, “You know, maybe I’m not a rebel; maybe I’m just scared,” then he’s free to be ambitious again. He has no reason to feel threatened by pursuing his academic dreams and maybe failing..""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...It sounds wonky, but there are some psychological benefits to this approach to life. When we let go of the stories we tell about ourselves, to ourselves, we free ourselves up to actually act (and fail) and grow.

When someone admits to herself, “You know, maybe I’m not good at relationships,” then she is suddenly free to act and end her bad marriage...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""Buddhism argues that your idea of who “you” are is an arbitrary mental construction and that you should let go of the idea that “you” exist at all; that the arbitrary metrics by which you define yourself actually trap you, and thus you’re better off letting go of everything. In a sense, you could say that Buddhism encourages you to not give a fuck...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...If I believe I’m a nice guy, I’ll avoid situations that could potentially contradict that belief. If I believe I’m an awesome cook, I’ll seek out opportunities to prove that to myself over and over again. The belief always takes precedence. Until we change how we view ourselves, what we believe we are and are not, we cannot overcome our avoidance and anxiety. We cannot change...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...We all have values for ourselves. We protect these values. We try to live up to them and we justify them and maintain them. Even if we don’t mean to, that’s how our brain is wired. As noted before, we’re unfairly biased toward what we already know, what we believe to be certain...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...You avoid telling your friend that you don’t want to see him

 

anymore because ending the friendship would conflict with your identity as a nice, forgiving person...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...You avoid writing that screenplay you’ve always dreamed of because doing so would call into question your identity as a practical insurance adjuster. You avoid talking to your husband about being more adventurous in the bedroom because that conversation would challenge your identity as a good, moral woman...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...is inherently scary.

Manson’s law applies to both good and bad things in life. Making a million dollars could threaten your identity just as much as losing all your money; becoming a famous rock star could threaten your identity just as much as losing your job. This is why people are often so afraid of success—for the exact same reason they’re afraid of failure: it threatens who they believe themselves to be...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...That means the more something threatens to change how you view yourself, how successful/unsuccessful you believe yourself to be, how well you see yourself living up to your values, the more you will avoid ever getting around to doing it.

There’s a certain comfort that comes with knowing how you fit in the world. Anything that shakes up that comfort—even if it could potentially make your life better—...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29% ""...Uncertainty is the root of all progress and all growth. As the old adage goes, the man who believes he knows everything learns nothing. We cannot learn anything without first not knowing something. The more we admit we do not know, the more opportunities we gain to learn...""

June 4, 2017 – page 106

46.29%

June 4, 2017 – page 102

44.54% ""...She created a website identical to mine and wrote dozens of articles claiming that I was her ex-boyfriend and that I had lied to her and cheated her, that I had promised to marry her and that she and I belonged together . When I contacted her to take the site down, she said that she would take it down only if I flew to California to be with her. This was her idea of a compromise...""

June 4, 2017 – page 102

44.54% ""...After I’d blocked her, she began to create new email addresses, sometimes sending me as many as a dozen angry emails in a single day. She created fake Facebook and Twitter accounts that she used to harass me as well as people close to me...""

June 4, 2017 – page 102

44.54% ""...I met Erin at a self-help seminar in 2008. She seemed like a nice enough person. A little bit on the woo-woo, New Agey side of things, but she was a lawyer and had gone to an Ivy League school, and was clearly smart. And she laughed at my jokes and thought I was cute—so, of course, knowing me, I slept with her...""

June 4, 2017 – page 102

44.54% ""...Before we can look at our values and prioritizations and change them into better, healthier ones, we must first become uncertain of our current values. We must intellectually strip them away, see their faults and biases, see how they don’t fit in with much of the rest of the world, to stare our own ignorance in the face and concede, because our own ignorance is greater than us all...""

June 4, 2017 – page 102

44.54% ""...Note: What the fuck!

 

This openness to being wrong must exist for any real change or growth to take place...""

June 4, 2017 – page 102

44.54% "Note: DAMN, right!

 

"...Many people become so obsessed with being “right” about their life that they never end up actually living it.

A certain woman is single and lonely and wants a partner, but she never gets out of the house and does anything about it. A certain man works his ass off and believes he deserves a promotion, but he never explicitly says that to his boss...""

June 4, 2017 – page 102

44.54% ""...Repressed memory therapy then acted as a means to pull these unconscious desires out and put them into a seemingly tangible form of a memory.

This process, and the state of mind it resulted in, became so common that a name was introduced for it: false memory syndrome. It changed the way courtrooms operate...""

June 4, 2017 – page 102

44.54% ""...For people who were dissatisfied with their lives, these suggestive explanations, combined with the sensationalizing media—there were veritable epidemics of sexual abuse and satanic violence going on, and you could be a victim too—gave people’s unconscious minds the incentive to fudge their memories a bit and explain their current suffering in a way that allowed them to be victims and avoid responsibility...""

June 4, 2017 – page 102

44.54% ""...Our mind’s biggest priority when processing experiences is to interpret them in such a way that they will cohere with all of our previous experiences, feelings, and beliefs. But often we run into life situations where past and present don’t cohere: on such occasions, what we’re experiencing in the moment flies in the face of everything we’ve accepted as true and reasonable about our past...""

June 4, 2017 – page 102

44.54% ""...Oh, and she’s lying on a couch crying every other day with a therapist demanding over and over that she remember something she can’t remember. And voilà, you have a perfect recipe for an invented memory of sexual abuse that never happened...""

June 3, 2017 – page 102

44.54% "#goes"

June 3, 2017 – page 102

44.54% "Mark Manson likes asking questions but he doesn't up to the bottom."

June 3, 2017 – page 102

44.54% "I started finding myself inside this work."

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% "Mr. Quinlan now his story is going to be told..."

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% ""...But when the relationship sours, we’ll often come to see those exact same memories differently, reinventing them in such a way as to explain our present-day anger toward her. That sweet gift she gave us last Christmas is now remembered as patronizing and condescending. That time she forgot to invite us to her lake house is now seen not as an innocent mistake but as horrible negligence...""

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% ""...Every new piece of information is measured against the values and conclusions we already have. As a result, our brain is always biased toward what we feel to be true in that moment. So when we have a great relationship with our sister, we’ll interpret most of our memories about her in a positive light...""

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% ""...Consumed by guilt, she spent the rest of her father’s life attempting to reconcile with him and other family members through constant apologizing and explaining. But it was too late. Her father passed away and her family would never be the same...""

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% "Hundred page... I am on... and still I haven't saw anything around "Anger" and how to deal with it."

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% ""...Then, in 1996, Meredith came to another startling realization: her father actually hadn’t sexually abused her. (I know: oops.) She, with the help of a well-intentioned therapist, had actually invented the memory...""

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% ""...The result of all this? Most of our beliefs are wrong. Or, to be more exact, all beliefs are wrong—some are just less wrong than others. The human mind is a jumble of inaccuracy. And while this may make you uncomfortable, it’s an incredibly important concept to accept, as we’ll see...""

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% ""... That’s why accepting the inevitable imperfections of our values is necessary for any growth to take place...""

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% ""...They’re terrible long-term strategies, yet we cling to them because we assume we’re right, because we assume we already know what’s supposed to happen. In other words, we assume we know how the story ends.

Certainty is the enemy of growth. Nothing is for certain until it has already happened—and even then, it’s still debatable...""

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% ""...Beliefs of this sort—that I’m not attractive enough, so why bother; or that my boss is an asshole, so why bother—are designed to give us moderate comfort now by mortgaging greater happiness and success later on...""

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% ""...They will laugh at our rituals and superstitions, our worries and our wars; they will gawk at our cruelty. They will study our art and argue over our history. They will understand truths about us of which none of us are yet aware.

And they, too, will be wrong. Just less wrong than we were..""

June 3, 2017 – page 100

43.67% ""...Just as we look back in horror at the lives of people five hundred years ago, I imagine people five hundred years from now will laugh at us and our certainties today. They will laugh at how we let our money and our jobs define our lives. They will laugh at how we were afraid to show appreciation for those who matter to us most, yet heaped praise on public figures who didn’t deserve anything...""

 

June 3, 2017 –  Started Reading

 

 

 

Extra Notes

"...As alluring as it is, entitlement isolates us. Our curiosity and excitement for the world turns in upon itself and reflects our own biases and projections onto every person we meet and every event we experience. This feels sexy and enticing and may feel good for a while and sells a lot of tickets, but it’s spiritual poison.

It’s these dynamics that plague us now. We are so materially well off, yet so psychologically tormented in so many low-level and shallow ways. People relinquish all responsibility, demanding that society cater to their feelings and sensibilities. People hold on to arbitrary certainties and try to enforce them on others, often violently, in the name of some made-up righteous cause. People, high on a sense of false superiority, fall into inaction and lethargy for fear of trying something worthwhile and failing at it.

The pampering of the modern mind has resulted in a population that feels deserving of something without earning that something, a population that feels they have a right to something without sacrificing for it. People declare themselves experts, entrepreneurs, inventors, innovators, mavericks, and coaches without any real-life experience. And they do this not because they actually think they are greater than everybody else; they do it because they feel that they 

 

need to be great to be accepted in a world that broadcasts only the extraordinary.

Our culture today confuses great attention and great success, assuming them to be the same thing. But they are not...."

 

 

"...This is the basic root of all happiness. Whether you’re listening to Aristotle or the psychologists at Harvard or Jesus Christ or the goddamn Beatles, they all say that happiness comes from the same thing: caring about something greater than yourself, believing that you are a contributing component in some much larger entity, that your life is but a mere side process of some great unintelligible production. This feeling is what people go to church for; it’s what they fight in wars for; it’s what they raise families and save pensions and build bridges and invent cell phones for: this fleeting sense of being part of something greater and more unknowable than themselves...."

 

 

"...But if you have a choice among twenty-eight places to live and pick one, the paradox of choice says that you’ll likely spend years agonizing, doubting, and second-guessing yourself, wondering if you really made the “right” choice, and if you’re truly maximizing your own happiness. And this anxiety, this desire for certainty and perfection and success, will make you unhappy. So what do we do? Well, if you’re like I used to be, you avoid choosing anything at all. You aim to keep your options open as long as possible. You avoid commitment..."

 

 

 

P.S. - Soon you gonna have access to my notes page! - Dear Reader

 

 

"...I use the example of cheating in a romantic relationship, but this process applies to a breach in any relationship. When trust is destroyed, it can be rebuilt only if the following two steps happen: 1) the trust-breaker admits the true values that caused the breach and owns up to them, and 2) the trust-breaker builds a solid track record of improved behavior over time. Without the first step, there should be no attempt at reconciliation in the first place. Trust is like a china plate. If you break it once, with some care and attention you can put it back together again. But if you break it again, it splits into even more pieces and it takes far longer to piece together again. If you break it more and more times, eventually it shatters to the point where it’s impossible to restore. There are too many broken pieces, and too much dust..."

 

 

"...I often get emails from people who have been cheated on by their significant other but want to stay with that partner and are wondering how they can trust him or her again. Without trust, they tell me, the relationship has begun to feel like a burden, like a threat that must be monitored and questioned rather than enjoyed. The problem here is that most people who get caught cheating apologize and give the “It will never happen again” spiel and that’s that, as if penises fell into various orifices completely by accident. Many cheatees accept this response at face value, and don’t question the values and fucks given by their partner (pun totally intended); they don’t ask themselves whether those values and fucks make their partner a good person to stay with. They’re so concerned with holding on to their relationship that they fail to recognize that it’s become a black hole consuming their self-respect. If people cheat, it’s because something other than the relationship is more important to them. It may be power over others. It may be validation through sex. It may be giving in to their own impulses. Whatever it is, it’s clear that the cheater’s values are not aligned in a way to support a healthy relationship. And if the cheater doesn’t admit this or come to terms with it, if he just gives the old “I don’t know what I was thinking; I was stressed out and drunk and she was there” response, then he lacks the serious self-awareness necessary to solve any relationship problems..."

 

 

"...Sadly, they both fail in meeting the other’s actual needs. In fact, their pattern of overblaming and overaccepting blame perpetuates the entitlement and shitty self-worth that have been keeping them from getting their emotional needs met in the first place. The victim creates more and more problems to solve—not because additional real problems exist, but because it gets her the attention and affection she craves. The saver solves and solves—not because she actually cares about the problems, but because she believes she must fix others’ problems in order to deserve attention and affection for herself. In both cases, the intentions are selfish and conditional and therefore self-sabotaging, and genuine love is rarely experienced. The victim, if he really loved the saver, would say, “Look, this is my problem; you don’t have to fix it for me. Just support me while I fix it myself.” That would actually be a demonstration of love:..."

 

"...The setting of proper boundaries doesn’t mean you can’t help or support your partner or be helped and supported yourself. You both should support each other. But only because you choose to support and be supported. Not because you feel obligated or entitled. Entitled people who blame others for their own emotions and actions do so because they believe that if they constantly paint themselves as victims, eventually someone will come along and save them, and they will receive the love they’ve always wanted. Entitled people who take the blame for other people’s emotions and actions do so because they believe that if they “fix” their partner and save him or her, they will receive the love and appreciation they’ve always wanted..."

 

 

This is my most longest review so far and don't worry there is much more.... to come!

 

 

"...You can’t go out with your friends without me. You know how jealous I get. You have to stay home with me.” “My coworkers are idiots; they always make me late to meetings because I have to tell them how to do their jobs.” “I can’t believe you made me feel so stupid in front of my own sister. Never disagree with me in front of her again!” “I’d love to take that job in Milwaukee, but my mother would never forgive me for moving so far away.” “I can date you, but can you not tell my friend Cindy? She gets really insecure when I have a boyfriend and she doesn’t.” In each scenario, the person is either taking responsibility for problems/emotions that are not theirs, or demanding that someone else take responsibility for their problems/emotions. In general, entitled people fall into one of two traps in their relationships. Either they expect other people to take responsibility for their problems: “I wanted a nice relaxing weekend at home. You should have known that and canceled your plans.” Or they take on too much responsibility for other people’s problems: “She just lost her job again, but it’s probably my fault because I wasn’t as supportive of her as I could have been. I’m going to help her rewrite her résumé tomorrow..."

 

 

"...For most of human history, romantic love was not celebrated as it is now. In fact, up until the mid-nineteenth century or so, love was seen as an unnecessary and potentially dangerous psychological impediment to the more important things in life—you know, like farming well and/or marrying a guy with a lot of sheep. Young people were often forcibly steered clear of their romantic passions in favor of practical economic marriages that would yield stability for both them and their families. But today, we all get brain boners for this kind of batshit crazy love..."

 

 

Note: What a strange end for a book with a title "Don't Give A Fuck"

 

"...His skepticism breaks and reveals a smile in its place. He gives a slight nod and heads down the trail. I stand above, taking in the view, waiting for my friends to arrive on the peak..."

 

Note: Well Said

 

"Bukowski once wrote, “We’re all going to die, all of us. What a circus! That alone should make us love each other, but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by life’s trivialities; we are eaten up by nothing."

 

 

Note: A Fact

 

 

"... Trust is the most important ingredient in any relationship, for the simple reason that without trust, the relationship doesn’t actually mean anything. A person could tell you that she loves you, wants to be with you, would give up everything for you, but if you don’t trust her, you get no benefit from those statements. You don’t feel loved until you trust that the love being expressed toward you comes without any special conditions or baggage attached to it.."

 

Review: The Fall

The Fall by Guillermo del Toro

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

 

"June 3, 2017 –

60.0% "Season 3 Episode 4

 

...

 

20:15"

June 3, 2017 –

60.0% "Season 3 episode 4

...

 

Vampires weren't as inteligent as can be saw here."

June 3, 2017 –

60.0% "The Master was killled...

 

...

 

But looks like the story won't stop here."

June 3, 2017 –

60.0% "Lies and lies... and lies and lies... and lies"

June 3, 2017 –

60.0% "I don't get it.. first he wanted to see his mom.. now his father... - WT F!???"

June 3, 2017 –

60.0% "In the end he is going to manipulate you."

June 3, 2017 –

60.0% "I am fucking confused!"

June 3, 2017 –

60.0% "Season 3 episode 2"

June 3, 2017 –

50.0% "I thought that they are vampires and when they see a breathing body full of blood... how do they even decline their desire for drinking blood?"

June 3, 2017 –

50.0% "Zach Goodweather's mother won't kill drink his blood?

...

 

Seriously?"

June 3, 2017 –

50.0% "Just to be clear, I just finished season 2

...

 

NEXT

 

SEASON 3"

June 3, 2017 –

45.0% "The old man speaks... and the story continues...

 

...

 

But still it'skinda going very very wrong...!"

June 1, 2017 –

45.0% "31:49"

June 1, 2017 –

45.0% "Season Episode 13

 

...

 

 

 

Now On"

May 31, 2017 –

45.0% "Season 2 episode 10

 

37:41"

May 31, 2017 –

45.0% "However everything is all about...

...

 

Letting inside somebody else circle...

..."

May 31, 2017 –

45.0% "And all zombies are the same... the question is why?"

May 31, 2017 –

45.0% "VERY VERY CONFUSED!"

May 31, 2017 –

45.0% "And now

 

"Who is sayin that?""

May 31, 2017 –

35.0% "But still the virus picture is very well played... but the other stuff... come on... come on... not very original as it supposed to be."

May 31, 2017 –

35.0% "To be honest everything is wrong with this book

 

...

 

First somehow it goes like a cliche.... the whole story..."

May 31, 2017 –

35.0% "The story is not bad, but still it can be detected... that Guillermo del Toro has read and shit... I mean books which have been a horrible style and have effected his writting, even Stephen King style got screw up...

...

 

(STILL IT's not something rare)"

May 31, 2017 –

35.0% "I don't see the book to be getting more than 3 stars out of 5...

 

...

 

(But still the TV series are with new introduction.)"

May 31, 2017 –

35.0% "Season 2 Episode 9"

May 31, 2017 –

35.0% "She got a chance... but very very fast moves...

...

 

And some how the movie sounds like they are joking with the human nation."

May 28, 2017 –

6.0% "Season 2 episode 8

 

...

 

Next"

May 28, 2017 –

6.0% "ANd the story is shown and told..."

May 28, 2017 –

6.0% "Everyone should show that they are powerful....

...

 

If they are powerful, they are likeable"

May 28, 2017 –

6.0% "Season 2 episode 7"

May 28, 2017 –

5.0% "Season 2 episode 5"

May 27, 2017 –

5.0% "Next Season 2 Episode 2"

May 27, 2017 –

5.0% "In the end it's going like a soap opera."

May 27, 2017 –

5.0% "Typical picture as "Gotham" city, again isolated... and fulfilled with dakness, horror and the worst nightmares of people."

May 27, 2017 –

5.0% "The FIrst Part FInished and the horror continues... lurking behind the walls and searching for it's next victim, what can it be done to be stopped?"

May 27, 2017 – Started Reading"

 

 

- Decisions are made from humans which don't have worms in their blood!

 

 

Review: Essential Doctor Strange, Vol. 1

Essential Doctor Strange, Vol. 1 by Stan Lee

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

 

"June 3, 2017 –

50.0% "1:10:57"

June 3, 2017 –

50.0% "Great work, I like mostly Doctor Strange..."

June 2, 2017 –

20.0% "42:45

 

...

 

A new Hero!"

June 2, 2017 – page 0

0.0% "608 Pages a comic book!?

...

 

WOW!"

June 2, 2017 – Started Reading"

 

- If you are searching for a good story which shows the failure could be transformed into success, try this story here. Let's put it like Doctor Strange becomes more than a doctor, do you dare, To seek beyond what I have gave you as a "Review"?

 

 

 

Review: Beneath the Bleeding

Beneath the Bleeding by Val McDermid

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

 

May 30, 2017 – page 202

41.74% ""phlegmy" - Word

 

...

 

Wtf"

May 30, 2017 – page 200

41.32% ""There were thousands of music files; according to Robbie’s iTunes software, it would take 7.3 days to listen to them all. A serious amount of music, but not...

 

likely to shed any light on Robbie’s murder.""

May 30, 2017 – page 200

41.32% "I'm very bored from this book... The material is very dry...

 

"Up" 988 Times has been used..."

May 29, 2017 – page 192

39.67% "(Re-write the liar...)"

May 29, 2017 – page 153

31.61% ""hook"... very common... word

 

(*5609)"

May 28, 2017 – page 141

29.13% "Note: "double whammy" - Cool Word"

May 28, 2017 – page 141

29.13% "Note: Sounds like spoil... alert from Val McDermid"

May 28, 2017 – page 141

29.13% "And what in fucking hell did I read?

 

- 1 More star"

May 28, 2017 – page 141

29.13% ""Time to go home and be the dutiful son and brother. Two more nights, then no more of that. He loved his family. He knew that would be cast into doubt by what he was going to do, but it was incontrovertible for Yousef himself. He loved them and he hated that he was going to lose them. But some things were stronger than family bonds. Recently, he’d found out just how strong..""

May 28, 2017 – page 135

27.89% "Is it a reason to continue to read?"

May 10, 2017 – page 135

27.89%

April 26, 2017 – page 134

27.69% "There are few lines... with time it becomes a story..., you should just follow the lines not the "hunger"."

April 23, 2017 – page 126

26.03%

April 17, 2017 – page 123

25.41% "Sometimes ratings can be crucial.. this time we just entered in such kinda of worod.

 

 

...

 

 

To be honest... I got little bored... but ain't bad - work."

April 17, 2017 – page 119

24.59% "I see myself again with a headache after I go to sleep today... wake up tomorrow.

 

...

 

But let conclude that each acruin = few words or let's say it's a equation of few words."

April 16, 2017 – page 94

19.42% "I won't finish the book today, that's for sure... !"

April 16, 2017 – page 78

16.12% "The news are "Home = Hell"... and we need gateway to go somewhere else..."

April 16, 2017 – page 56

11.57%

April 16, 2017 – page 53

10.95% "In my opinion as more deeper you are in this book somehow the material goes more and more dry."

April 16, 2017 – page 39

8.06% "The idea is while you are out... to have something in your pocket to keep you busy for few minutes or 1 hour or few hours or few days...

 

The whole idea is to go somewhere where you ain't gonna give fuck anymore."

April 15, 2017 – page 17

3.51% "After all there is something in this work..."

April 15, 2017 – page 6

1.24% ""Books are created for few reasons.

 

1. Hard times - to be swallowed

2. Crying - To become laughing

3. Wrong - If you have choosen the wrong path... the book is going to guide you.

 

4. To try to be calm as much as possible.

5. Trying to go into other world... just because you can't stay in ours ." - DeYtH Banger"

April 15, 2017 – page 6

1.24% ""Once upon a time... I was staring into my smartphone screen. Until one guy walked near my chair and asked me the question... "Do you understand what you are reading?"... - "Yes of course"... how could I read something which I don't understand?""

April 15, 2017 – page 6

1.24% "I have choose this book

 

1. - Because, It's never too late for new author to be checked.

 

and

 

2. - The title makes you curious into... what could be behind this cover."

April 15, 2017 – page 6

1.24% "What I can say for sure, that I am on page 6 and for first time I am reading a book written by Val McDermid."

April 15, 2017 – Started Reading

 

 

Review: See How They Run

See How They Run by Tom Bale

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

 

"June 4, 2017 –

90.0% "81 Chapter Out of 85"

June 4, 2017 –

80.0% "Little slow with my review but still I am trying to be as critical as possible."

June 4, 2017 –

80.0% "Chapter 80/ - It's a long journey and the author is trying to remove cliches, but still he fails in this job..."

June 4, 2017 –

80.0% "Chapter 78 out of 85 Chapters

...

 

A book which could be a significant example of hatred, sorrow, pain, selfishness and drama."

June 4, 2017 –

70.0% "Chapter 73/

 

12 Chapters Left"

June 1, 2017 –

60.0% "Special Congrats to the narrator."

June 1, 2017 –

60.0% "Chapter 69

 

...

 

next"

June 1, 2017 –

60.0% "65 Chapter"

May 31, 2017 –

60.0% "Chapter 62

 

...

 

Next"

May 31, 2017 –

60.0% "Chapter 61"

May 31, 2017 –

60.0% "If you enjoyed Karin Slaughter style of writting, you gonna enjoy and this work. The novel which Tom has written is very suspenseful and very very original... difficult to detect "cliches"."

May 31, 2017 –

60.0% "26 Parts more left to go, I specially recommendate this book for the Dean Koontz Fans, Stephen King, Joe Hill and James Patterson."

May 31, 2017 –

60.0% "Audio book

 

Part 59/ Chapter 59

 

..."

May 1, 2017 –

45.0% "Chapter 58

...

 

Next"

May 1, 2017 –

45.0% "Chapter 53/85

 

....

 

Now and radicle Thinker Thomas Paine"

May 1, 2017 –

25.0% "Chapter 50"

May 1, 2017 –

25.0% "3:27/Chapter 44"

April 25, 2017 –

20.0% "Chapter 42

 

9:41"

April 13, 2017 –

16.0% "Chapter 41"

April 13, 2017 –

16.0% "Chapter 38

...

 

Life is a biatch"

April 13, 2017 –

16.0% "Chapter 33"

April 13, 2017 –

16.0% "t3"

April 12, 2017 –

15.0% "Chapter 32 - Next"

April 12, 2017 –

15.0% "Tom Bale a writer who creates problems and then he solves them.

...

 

Chapter 31"

April 12, 2017 –

9.0% "Chapter 27"

April 12, 2017 –

9.0% "Chapter 23"

April 5, 2017 –

9.0% "Chapter 21 - 4:36"

April 5, 2017 –

9.0% "Chapter 20"

March 23, 2017 –

8.0% "Next - Chapter 19"

March 23, 2017 –

8.0% "Chapter 18"

March 23, 2017 –

8.0% "Chapter 15"

March 11, 2017 –

8.0% "Now Next Chapter 15"

March 11, 2017 –

7.0% "I would put it as Paranoia"

March 11, 2017 –

5.0% "Chapter

 

...

 

Short Chapters Reminds me for the Anthony E. Zuiker Novel

WhoDunnit?"

March 11, 2017 –

5.0% "This here story is example of suspense... you just can't stop here... you are curious for what more is going to happen!?...

 

...

 

The audiobook is phenomenal"

March 11, 2017 –

5.0% "Chapter 6

 

...

 

The book so far makes the reader to don't lose interest."

March 11, 2017 –

2.0% "Chapter 3"

March 11, 2017 –

2.0% "Yeah, see them!

...

 

Now Back for more"

Finished Reading Add a date

February 16, 2017 –

1.0% "2:52

(Part 2)"

February 16, 2017 –

1.0% "If you are on the audiobook you can't put it down... the narrator is marvelous.

 

...

 

Tom Bale is a damn good story teller."

February 16, 2017 –

1.0% "Now On Chapter 2"

February 16, 2017 –

1.0% "1 Part"

February 16, 2017 –

1.0%

February 16, 2017 –

1.0%

February 16, 2017 – page 0

0.0% "The Narrator is important, it's very impotant who is reading this book.

...

 

This here narrator of this book - Kris Dyer is a good narrator and will help in improving the ratings from the listeners!"

February 16, 2017 – Started Reading"

 

 

- I can say now for sure that I have finished reading the book "See How they Run" by Tom Bale, I give to this guy another chance and I am going soon to read another book written again by him. So far from what I know, 29 June is comming a book written by him the name of this book is "Each Little Lie", but so far there are in about 7 works written by him and I have in about 6 works more to go with.

 

- I was impressed from the end of this work... so long journey and the ending was very, very suprising and I can tell that it was opening one.

 

 

SCP - Unknown

 

by DeYtH Banger

 

(P.S. - This is my first SCP, I have never written a one... I read scp's, I don't write such type of stuff, but they are pretty fascinating.)

 

 

SCP - Unknown, has very strange behavior, database has collected a lot of information and so far from analysis the behavior of SCP-Uknown is retentive memory. To be proven that he/she has this reetentive memory it was made an experiment... 4 books were given to SCP - Uknown and he/she memorized very well the data first book was IT by Stephen King, the second it was  Physics of the Impossible: A Scientific Exploration into the World of Phasers, Force Fields, Teleportation, and Time Travel by Michio Kaku, the third book was Space Chronicles: Facing the Ultimate Frontier by Neil  de Grasse Tyson, Avis Lang and the fourth book was Gravity's Engines: How Bubble-Blowing Black Holes Rule Galaxies, Stars, and Life in the Cosmos by Caleb Scharf.

 

 

Recall

SCP-Unknown could recall each detail from each book, he/she read all these books within an one month. SCP-Unknown could recall details after and 1 year....

 

 

 

Lock and Load

 

SCP-Unknown has been caught and locked in a mirror room, the mirros are toucheable... they work with touch. So far in your dictionary the word is TOUCHSCREEN, but unknownly the particles can work only with two fingers if they are more 2.. like 3 or 4 fingers it fails to execute the command. Strangely enough Dr.████████████████████████, ████████████████, ████████.... ████████. It has been made everything.... ████████████████████████████████████████, ████████. ████████, ████████.

But still Dr.████████ can't explain why when subjects have been closed in the room which was specially made for the particles....

████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

The subjects have been real humans, real animals and all of them started experiencing strange diseases, they were first examined for any type of diseases, it couldn't be detected such ones so they were ready for stage 2 which was to go inside they room.

The first two seconds, nothing could happen they were moving and wondering what's going to happen!?

...

Then after 1 hour they started laughing like crazy people, but still this was the beginning Dr.████████, rejected each request for letting them out. The second our was brutal, they started eating from their flesh... some of them died unfortunately from too much blood loss.

In the room there were alive and dead people... the alive ones had symptoms of different diseases.

Like: Cancer, Liver Cancer, Lung Cancer, AIDS, HIV, Hemophilia (Hemophilia), Hepatitis (Hepatitis A), AAA (Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm), AAT (Alpha 1 Antitrypsin Deficiency), AATD (Alpha 1 Antitrypsin Deficiency) and much more

Abscess, 

Alzheimer's disease,

Anotia,

alien hand syndrome,

Appendicitis,

Apraxia,

Argyria,

Arthritis,

Aseptic meningitis,

Asthenia,

Asthma,

Astigmatism,

Atherosclerosis,

Athetosis,

 

Atrophy.

 

 

 

 

SCP - Files

 Wanna read something around science?

SCP-3947

 

Item # SCP-3947

 

Object Class: Euclid

 

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3947-1 is located in Site ██ and can only be contained by using heavy titanium plates that are layered 2 times. Surveillance cameras are to be on at all times. SCP-3947 will escape if no eyes are on it. SCP-3947-2 has been seen entering and leaving SCP-3947-1 if nothing is watching.

 

Description: SCP-3947-1 is a tall, pale humanoid figure with long, slender arms that reach its feet. Every now and then, blood will emit from the fingers of SCP-3947-1. If cameras are not on SCP-3947-1, it will expand 10 times it's original size and release SCP-3947-2 from it's chest and once SCP-3947-2 is released, SCP-3947-1 will return to it's original state. SCP-3947-2 is extremely dangerous and must not be taken lightly. It is a fast, slender creature, and has the appearance of SCP-3947-1. The hands of SCP-3947-2 are very bony and its fingers are long, curved blades.

 

• When SCP-3947-2 is destroyed, it will release SCP-3947-3, which are small parasites that consumes the one who destroyed SCP-3947-2 in a matter of 2-5 minutes. It will enter the victims genital areas and consume the victim from the inside out, decomposing the bones, muscle tissue, and nervous system until the victim's body no longer exists. The more SCP-3947-3 consumes, the more that parasites are created to consume the victim. When the victim has been completely decomposed, SCP-3947-3 will return to the body of SCP-3947-2 to give all the consumed matter from the victim to it, allowing it to return to life and continue to escape.

• SCP-3947-2 will not release SCP-3947-3 if you lock it into a room and use nitrogen peroxide on the body. It will instantaneously exterminate SCP-3947-2 and will seem to neutralize SCP-3947-1 for a small period of time. SCP-3947-2 is able to return to the body of SCP-3947-1 by taking small amounts of SCP-3947-1's DNA and copying it. How SCP-3947-2 is actually created is unknown

• If a human gets near SCP-3947-1, it will grab the victim and consume it, but vital signs still exist from the victim while inside SCP-3947-1. The victim will be inside a pocket dimension, which he/she will be hunted by SCP-3947-4, an unknown entity that only exists within SCP-3947-1. SCP-3947-4 has never been seen or described, as once the victim is spotted by SCP-3947-4, all signs from the victim disappear. It is said that when SCP-3947-4 spots it's victim, he/she is taken and is destroyed through molecular deconstruction.

SCP-3554

 
Item #: SCP-3554

 

Object Class: Safe

 

Special Containment Procedure: SCP-3554 is to be kept in a small glass container the size of an 'Exit' sign. MTF are to watch SCP-3554 for a matter of minutes per-say. Exactly twelve minutes max. SCP-3554 is to be let out when being tested on. Only Head Researcher; Tyler Swanson may research on SCP-3554. SCP-3554 is to never leave Site-05. Apparently Tyler Swanson has some sort of blind eye making his sight ineffective to effects of SCP-3554. MTF are to be equipped with an X15-Flamethrower outside on testing area or watching SCP-3554 through the glass.

 

Description: SCP-3554 seems to be a black colored paper twice the size of your normal piece of blank paper. After testing by Tyler Swanson, he reported that sometimes a golden written word would appear on the paper and after exactly five seconds, the picture would turn into a knight with glowing light blue eyes and the face is completely ruined. Teeth are shown, skin torn apart, but the weird thing was he reported that the knight still had his armor on.

 

SCP-3554 after being looked at for fifteen minutes from a D-Class. Will start to suffer from a seizure, and then their appearance will change into the knight Tyler Swanson saw on the paper. After that the D-Class will appear to be an Infected-Zombie. Requests have been made from Agent Grace Conzwell after she protected 008 and 3554 and was requested that SCP-3554 to be renamed SCP-008-V.2. Since she thought that SCP-3554 is the same thing as 008 but as a piece of paper.

SCP-3534

 Item #: SCP-3534

 

Object Class: Safe

 

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3534 is to be contained in a vacuum-sealed garment bag and suspended no less than three feet off of the ground in a room with dimensions no smaller than 10 feet in depth, width, or height. The room is to be locked securely at all times and monitored through four surveillance cameras located at the top four corners of the room.

 

Description: SCP-3534 is an old-styled, emerald green blazer with a set of two round, golden buttons on the cuffs of each arm. The front of the blazer is in the style of an overlap jacket with four sets of two golden buttons on the right hand side of the jackets front. On the left hand side of the jacket are four sets of two golden button clasps that follow the same organized pattern of the buttons on the right side of the jacket.

 

Upon initial observation, all personnel within direct contact with SCP-3534 have expressed desire to wear the blazer to "See how they look in it". The quote, given in paraphrase, is the first sign of SCP-3534's activation.

Subjects who voluntarily put on SCP-3534 have no noted symptoms of exposure and are prompted to remove SCP-3534 after a three minute timer expires.

Additional research is required.

 

Addendum A: Test Subject 47

 

Test Subject 47, going by the name █████ ████,requested for the continuation of the experimentation with SCP-3534. It is unsure of Test Subject 47's intentions for this, but it is likely due to the effects SCP-3534 has on humans.

Interviewed: Test Subject 47 (47)

Interviewer: Doctor Kaleb Grimer (K.G.)

Foreword: The interview shortly followed Test Subject 47 putting on SCP-3534

<Begin Log>

K.G.: This is a recording. All audio taken from this recording is meant for studying and safety procedures only. All information received inside this recording is to be kept priv-

47: Tell the world if you want! I don't mind!

K.G.: It is not in protocol for that action to be taken, █████. We are required to monitor all tests with case, SCP-3534.

47: Why's that?

K.G.: It is protocol. As such, you will be asked to remove the SCP-3534 after the timer of three minutes goes off.

47: Does something bad happen after three minutes?

K.G.: That information is classified.

 

47: Do I look good in this? It's kinda old-fashioned, but I really enjoy how it looks!

K.G.: The jacket looks remarkably similar to one of those suits a nutcracker would wear. I am unsure of what they are called.

47: Is there a mirror? May I see how I look in this?

 

The sound of writing on a clipboard is heard for one minute and thirty five seconds

An alarm clock sounds

 

K.G.: It is time to take off the jacket.

 

47: Why? I don't feel anything.

 

K.G.: It is protocol. Any personnel taking part in this experiment must abide to instructions given to them as to avoid any hazards to the subject’s health. This measure of time is the standard for clothing-based procedures.

47: What if I don't take it off?

 

Sound of a chair scooting back

 

K.G.: I advise that you do so. It is in your best favor to- █████, are you alright?

47 speaking through his breath: Yeah…. It does look good on me.

 

K.G.: Wh… what? What's going on? Uh…. Oh no.

 

Rushed footsteps and banging on the door

 

K.G.: Security, open up the door! Immediate removal of the jacket is requested! Evacuate Hall [REDACTED]!

The sound of a sliding door opens as many footsteps enter the room.

<End Log>

 

Closing Statement: Camera recording marked the amount of time following Subject 47's putting on the jacket as three minutes and thirty two seconds before the subject showed signs of submission and immobility to what is now known as SCP-3534-1.

 

SCP-3534-1: After three minutes and thirty two seconds of direct skin exposure to SCP-3534, SCP-3534-1 materializes as would a fade-in effect be for a video editor.

 

SCP-3534-1 is a detailless, humanoid anomaly with a jet-blue coloration of skin. The androgynous figure stands at a height of five foot three inches tall and lacks any facial feature aside from a mouth and two eye sockets.

 

SCP-3534-1 does not show any signs of reception toward outward stimulus, whether verbal or physical, and will only speak to the one wearing SCP-3534. The speech is unheard by observers, but it has been recorded that those under the effects of SCP-3534 communicate to SCP-3534-1 in a submissive, hushed tone as if SCP-3534-1 was coercing the subject to keep the jacket on.

Any attempt to remove SCP-3534 has failed once SCP-3534-1 appears. SCP-3534 attaches to the user after the stated amount of time has passed, becoming, as reported by personnel who attempted to remove SCP-3534, "a part of their skin".

 

Over a period of exactly five minutes, SCP-3534-1 will continue to coerce the subject and make physical contact with subject as the subjects stature decreases and becomes more rigid.

 

After five minutes have passed since SCP-3534-1's appearance, Subject, now known as SCP-3534-2, will remain with no traces of SCP-3534-1 or the subject in question.

 

SCP-3534-2: After all traces of SCP-3534-1 have disappeared, SCP-3534-2 will be the only thing remaining. SCP-3534-2 is a small wooden doll, having the exact likeness to a "Nutcracker Toy". SCP-3534-2 bears similar hair color, eye color, and skin color to whomever wore SCP-3534 while aforementioned events took place. The color of the suit has shown difference to the coloration of SCP-3534.

 

When a span of ten minutes pass, SCP-3534-2 will dissolve as would a fade-out effect be for a video editor. SCP-3534 appears in its place, resting on the nearest flat surface, folded neatly and pressed.

 

Addendum B: SCP-3534-3

 

Personnel attempted to place a tracking device on SCP-3534-2 before it faded away. The attempt succeeded, as the device tracked the unit to the city of ████ in a small antique shop known as ███ ████ ██. Personnel who were tasked to retrieve SCP-3534-2 have not returned from their assignment. This shop will be known as SCP-3534-3 until further notice.

Investigation is needed.

SCP-3250

 

Item #: SCP-3250

 

Object Class: Euclid

 

Special Containment Procedures: An area 30m inland from SCP-3250 is to be cordoned off from public access. Surveillance cameras and electric fences have been set up along this perimeter. At sea, Foundation boats are to regularly patrol the area and prevent any unauthorised vessels from entering SCP-3250.

 

 

Multiple Foundation researchers are to be on-site at all times, in case of an SCP-3250-1 event. Any SCP-3250-2 instances found are to be retrieved immediately and taken to the nearby Site ██. An emergency medical team is also to be on-site at all times, in case any live SCP-3250-2 instances are found.

 

 

 

Description: SCP-3250 refers to the estuary of the River ██████████, located in County ██████, Ireland.

SCP-3250's anomalous properties activate whenever heavy mist, fog, or another form of suspension causing low visibility covers SCP-3250. This is known as an SCP-3250-1 event. For the duration of this event, several cadavers of newborn humans in differing states of decomposition will appear approximately 10m below the surface of SCP-3250, before floating to the surface. The distant sound of a church bell can sometimes be heard during SCP-3250-1 events.

 

 

SCP-3250-2 instances are ordinarily dressed in clothes traditionally given to newborn infants. These have been dated to a wide variety of time periods, beginning in the early Middle Ages and ending in the late 20th century. The level of decay of these items of clothing is consistent with the rate of decomposition of the cadavers in question. Although many of the causes of death have been found to be due to drowning, most apparently expired due to exposure or starvation.

 

 

On ██ occasions, a living SCP-3250-2 instance has manifested instead. On all but █ occasions, these instances have expired shortly after recovery. Those instances which have survived beyond this have not demonstrated any anomalous behaviour. Ordinarily, they are fully integrated in society.

 

 

SCP-3250's anomalous activities were first recorded in the mid-19th century, when local fishermen accidentally caught a large number of SCP-3250-2 instances in their nets, provoking a strong reaction from the British authorities against the local populace. The Foundation swiftly stepped in and secured the area. No anomalous behaviour had been recorded in the area before that point.

 

Addendum 3250-1: On 23/09/19██, a female SCP-3250-2 instance was found with a document sewn into the lining of its clothes. This saved the document from extensive water damage, and was thus still legible. The instance had expired from respiratory failure, and was in an early stage of decomposition. The document was written in a dialect of English by someone with a lack of experience with writing. Consequently, the text as presented here has undergone some minor alterations for legibility.

 

May the Virgin have mercy on me, and intercede for me. I am a poor sinner, and I sin again today. I cannot keep this child, because we do not have the food. There is a famine and I do not know what to do.

 

I commend this soul into the arms of Jesus and the Virgin. I know it will go to Limbo but I ask for your help anyway. Send her to heaven, please, please, I beg you God.

 

Addendum 3250-2: On 18/01/20██, an adult male human cadaver appeared as a SCP-3250-2 instance. The cadaver was newly deceased, and dressed in a uniform appropriate for a 19th century Irish Catholic priest. A small scrap of paper, written in English, was found in the cadaver's hand. It was still legible.

 

I have tried to save them, the unbaptised souls. I tried to let them flow down the river and out into new life. But only God can change the place of condemnation, even the mildest condemnation. They just keep rising, and rising, and rising, and I keep watching.

May God have mercy for lost mothers.

Crime

 You can't go on without a drama.

Why Killer Kevin Lyons Was Lucky to Get Life Plus 352 Years

 by Michael Roberts

 

 

A Facebook photo of Kevin Lyons, who's now been sentenced for killing Dr. Ken Atkinson and wounding two women, including his wife.

 

 

 

Update: Kevin Lyons has been sentenced for the April 2016 killing of Dr. Kenneth Atkinson and the wounding of two women, including his wife. Atkinson's widow asked the judge in the case to impose the heaviest punishment possible, and he came as close as he could without imposing the death penalty, which prosecutors reluctantly chose not to seek.

Our previous coverage of the Lyons case is on view below.

 

At the June 5 hearing before Judge Carlos Samour, who oversaw the Aurora theater shooting trial, a neighbor who was also shot by Lyons as he pursued his wife with a gun recounted the terror of the situation.

"In a matter of moments, I went from a neighbor gardening on a beautiful day to a person being hunted by a man who was beyond evil," the woman told the court.

 

As noted in a release by the 18th Judicial District DA's office, which prosecuted the matter, the neighbor was shot in the face. She said that Lyons "was determined to kill me."

 

Just as emotional was the address delivered by the widow of Atkinson, the Centennial doctor who was killed while trying to defend the women; Samour referred to him as a "real life superhero." In her words, "I am not the same person I was. Grief seeps into your soul and robs you of your very soul. I am broken but not destroyed. For his hate-filled deeds, his disregard for human life, I believe Kevin Lyons is worthy of the harshest penalty this state allows."

 

Samour responded by sentencing Lyons to life plus 352 years.

 

District Attorney George Brauchler, who's running for Colorado governor in 2018, is a supporter of capital punishment, and his office acknowledges that he seriously considered moving in that direction in this case before taking a different course. In a statement, Brauchler explained his logic like so: "The system in many ways is impotent to render true justice in a case like this. You had a very, very good man killed by a very bad man. Tragedy is overused, but this IS a tragedy. Life in prison for this defendant can’t balance what this man has done to this family and this community. This was a tough one. There’s no good outcome to this. We achieved what we could. I was satisfied that justice included this outcome."

 

 

The crime scene.

 

 

Update, 5:28 a.m. May 5: Kevin Lyons has pleaded guilty to the murder of Dr. Kenneth Atkinson, a longtime Centennial physician who had been attempting to act as a good Samaritan in a domestic dispute involving Lyons and his wife, who was wounded along with another woman during the attack. Lyons, whose irrational post-arrest claims included calling his wife a "two-headed snake" and claiming that he'd hired "John Elway's lawyer," will spend the rest of his life in jail.

 

Our previous post, originally published on April 6, 2016, has been incorporated into this post.

At about 1:15 p.m. on Monday, April 4, as we've reported, Arapahoe County Sheriff's Office dispatchers received multiple 911 calls about gunshots heard on the 6200 block of East Long Circle in Centennial.

 

Deputies, assisted by officers with the Greenwood Village Police Department, soon located three victims.

They were subsequently identified as Atkinson, 46-year-old Laurie Juergens and 44-year-old Elizabeth Lyons, Kevin's wife.

Both women survived the attack. Lyons, for his part, was taken into custody without incident.

 

 

 

Dr. Kenneth Atkinson

 

 

 

The next day, during his initial court appearance, Lyons continually interrupted the judge in the case: Carlos Samour, who oversaw the Aurora theater shooting trial.

 

 

He was quoted as saying to the public defender assigned to him, "You're not my representative, bro. I don't even know you" — after which he claimed to have secured the services of "John Elway's lawyer."

 

The prosecution asked that the arrest affidavit remain sealed, and Samour agreed — something that didn't make Lyons very happy. Nonetheless, details of the case were kept secret for more than a year, during which Lyons was subjected to a mental-health evaluation that determined he was competent to stand trial.

 

The arrest report was finally made public yesterday, May 4, upon the announcement of Lyons's plea. The document quotes Elizabeth Lyons as telling investigators that her husband had been acting "irrational" and "crazy" in the days leading up to the fateful incident, which included shots fired at deputies who responded to the scene. Upon being taken into custody, Lyons announced, "I killed my wife. She is a two-headed snake. I had to kill it. There is a new beginning.”

Today, Lyons will indeed be experiencing a new beginning. He'll start serving a stipulated life sentence without the possibility of parole plus 352 years.

 

Look below to see Lyons's mug shot.

 

 

 

 

Kevin Lyons

 

 

Man Behind Back-Alley Testicle Removal Surgery Charged With Assault

by Westword Staff

 

 

 (Note: As You say it, the social system fail... time to use your both hands...)

 

 

 

James Pennington

 

 

 

James Pennington is the kind of person who would probably jump off a bridge if a friend told him to. Earlier this month, Pennington removed the testicles of a transgender woman in a Denver apartment at her behest. Pennington isn't a licensed doctor in Colorado, according to 9NEWS. He's a pilot.

Pennington had instructed the transgender woman's spouse to call 911 if the procedure went poorly. When it inevitably did, the spouse called 911, which summoned the Denver Police Department. Pennington was taken to the station and questioned. He admitted using an Army surgical kit for the procedure.

 

Pennington faces one count of second-degree assault and one count of unauthorized practice of medicine.

But the victim says she doesn't consider herself a victim. In a letter penned to the media, she wrote that she had to turn to a back-alley procedure "out of pure desperation due to a system that failed me.

 

"I am a victim of a society and healthcare system that focuses on trying to demonize transgender people and prevent us from getting the medical transition we need instead of trying to do what is best for us," she continued.

 

Colorado was once known as the sex-reassignment capital of the world, thanks to the groundbreaking work done in Trinidad by Dr. Stanley Biber, who passed away in 2006. But this is definitely one operation that belongs in the hands of a trained professional.

For his perhaps well-meaning but decidedly poor decision-making, Pennington is our schmuck of the week.

News

I hate reading the politics news... it goes like that then they change the direction then they go left, right, left,  forward, backward 1000 times

... 1 time forward left and right... and in the end everything so fucking confusing.

 

 

- DeYtH Banger

Meet Michael Webber, Naked, Snake-Seeing, Powdered-Nose Sex Offender

 by WestWorld Staff

 

 

 

(Note: Hey, Meet Michael everything remains possible.)

 

 

 

 

 

Police say Michael Webber wasn't satisfied with just removing his jacket.

 

 

 

 

 

Michael Quin Webber was recently busted on suspicion of indecent exposure after being found walking the streets of Aspen completely naked. He allegedly had white powder caked under his nose at the time of his arrest, and he told the officer who fitted him for cuffs that he'd been seeing snakes. The cop soon discovered that he's a registered sex offender.

 

This description checks more than enough boxes for Webber to earn our latest Schmuck of the Week nomination.

 

In February 2007, according to the Marin Independent Journal, a California publication, Webber, then 44, pleaded guilty to a pair of sexual-battery counts related to an October 24, 2005, incident involving a forty-year-old woman from Santa Cruz. Prosecutors said the woman had gone on a date with Webber in San Francisco, after which he took her home, restrained her, took off her clothes and sexually assaulted her while holding his hand over her mouth.

 

The Journal quoted Webber's attorney admitting that his client "may not be the most sympathetic person," given that his primary means of support was a trust fund. However, he insisted that Webber was "living a sober life" and had already enrolled in a program designed to help batterers change their behavior.

 

In the end, Webber received a suspended sense of three years and eight months in state prison — but he was required to register as a sex offender.

 

Ten years later, this designation doesn't seem to have cramped Webber's style. Recent posts on his Facebook page include a photo of him sitting astride a wine barrel as if it were a horse, with one finger pointed skyward and his mouth forming what appears to be a boisterous "Yeah!" And then there's the video of him comically motorboating the (covered) breasts of a laughing woman during a patio party.

 

Although Webber's full-time residence is listed as Santa Monica, Facebook items over the past few weeks have included plenty of Aspen mentions. An example is a May 15 post that includes this selfie....

 

 

 

 

 

Michael Webber posted this selfie shot in Aspen on May 15, just over a week before his arrest.

 

 

 

 

...and a note that reads: "A month ago I was skiing that mountain & I vividly remember these trees in little white lights. Aspen gets progressively better & I intend to do it all. I got a place here so now I can tell people I live in Santa Monica & Aspen. I always smile when I say that. Some wise person said, 'If it always makes you smile, buy it or marry it.' Bring good energy into the world and the universe will reward you. I deserve this."

 

Whether he feels he deserves more attention from the law is an open question — but there's no doubt someone who saw him outside Aspen's Gant Hotel, at 610 South West End, thought he did.

 

A police report obtained by the Aspen Times reveals that emergency dispatchers at the Aspen Police Department received a 911 call about a nude man near the Gant at around 10:30 a.m. on May 24.

 

Upon his arrival, an Aspen officer was asking a fellow city employee where to find the naked dude when Webber came sauntering up to his vehicle.

"Upon contacting the male, asking him to explain what was going on, he relayed that he was seeing 'snakes,'" the report reads, adding, "Webber appeared to be extremely agitated."

 

The powdery substance beneath Webber's nostrils may have been a factor in his state. Paramedics subsequently determined that "he appeared to be under the influence of something," the report points out.

 

After getting Webber a blanket, so that the other citizens of Aspen could go about their day without being distracted by his assorted blessings, the officer discovered his sex-offender past. In addition, Webber told him that he'd rented an apartment in the city to use when he came to town — and the amount of time he spent there could result in another charge against him.

 

How so? Under Colorado law, the Times reveals, a sex offender who's been in Colorado for fourteen consecutive days out of thirty must register with the state.

 

Webber won't exceed this time period because of an extended stay in an Aspen hoosegow. After his arrest, he was promptly released, and during the wee hours of May 31, he shared the photo at the top of this item and the following note: "Taking a red eye to Bermuda for the America's Cup to support...well...America. I'm not a Captain but I'm going to play one on the yacht I chartered. This IS on my bucket list!"

 

If getting a new mug shot is, too, he's having a helluva month. Here's a look at that booking photo.

 

 

 

 

 

Michael Quin Webber's latest booking photo.

Monica Abeyta's Toddler Shoots Another and Five More Bad Gun Owner Tragedies

by Michael Roberts

 

(Note: And all have died!?)

 

 

 

 

Monica Abeyta

 

 

 

Monica Abeyta, thirty, was arrested on Saturday, June 3, in Colorado Springs after her three-year-old son shot his two-year-old brother. At last report, the injured child was in stable condition following the latest incident of children from Colorado being hurt or killed after finding an unsecured gun. Here are five additional examples as seen in excerpts from our previous coverage, as well as additional details about the Abeyta matter.

 

 

 

 

The late Ethan Hearty.

 

 

 

Ethan Hearty, Denver toddler, dies after finding gun in grandparents' Utah home
THURSDAY, JULY 19, 2012, AT 7:57 A.M.

 

At this writing, Denver's Tiffany Hearty is keeping most of the information she's posted on her Facebook page private.

But she made an exception when it came to expressing her appreciation for the condolences she's received in the wake of a horrific tragedy — the accidental shooting death of her son, Ethan, during a visit to his grandparents' home in Utah.

 

"We are so grateful and humbled by the outpouring of love and support from so many wonderful friends and family and we love you," she writes in a statement that's also credited to her husband, Matt.

 

...Police in Sandy, Utah, received a call just past 7 p.m. on Tuesday evening on a report that Ethan had found a 9 mm handgun in the master bedroom of his grandparents' home, where he was visiting at the time, and accidentally shot himself.

 

He is said to have been alone at the time. The boy was flown to an area hospital by helicopter, but he was pronounced dead just after 8 p.m.

Thus far, no charges have been filed in the case, though local authorities imply that a resolution of some sort will be reached later today.

 

Some of the photos on the Hearty family's Facebook page feature Ethan's parents with guns. However, all the page's images are now off-limits.

 

 

Dione Warren

 

 

Dione Warren, proud gun owner, busted after toddler son shoots and kills himself
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 11, 2013, AT 8:50 A.M.

 

...At about 9:45 a.m. on October 28, Frederick police were called to a home on the 500 block of Pine Street.

The woman who dialed 911 — later identified as Dione Warren — didn't mention a shooting. Rather, she reportedly said her child had suffered from an apparent fall and was losing a lot of blood. She added that he wasn't breathing.

Left out of this account was the fact that the boy's body was found in a bedroom near a handgun that had been recently fired. A bullet was found in the bed, after presumably ricocheting off a wall.

 

Emergency personnel rushed the boy to a nearby hospital, but he was pronounced dead just over an hour later.

An arrest affidavit sheds additional light on what took place. According to the document, Warren and her husband, Jeremy McCollum, owned a gun safe, but they'd started keeping a handgun under their mattress after hearing shots in the neighborhood. McCollum is said to have routinely returned the weapon to the safe each morning, but she must have forgotten to do so on the 28th, and speculated that Sheine must have seen it there.

 

Warren is quoted as telling investigators that she and her husband were Second Amendment supporters who viewed gun ownership as "part of our heritage as Americans." She added that they didn't hide these views from their kids — Sheine, Warren's son from a previous relationship, and a school-age daughter.

 

On the fateful morning, Warren allegedly left Sheine on the bed while she took the girl to school — an account offered by the family babysitter, with whom she is said to have been speaking during the brief trip.

 

Upon her return to the home, she discovered Sheine gravely injured in the bedroom and called for help, but the boy was beyond saving.

 

 

 

 

Adrian Chavez.

 

 

Adrian Chavez, Accused Toddler-Shooting Gun Owner, Was in SWAT Team Standoff With Mom
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 6, 2014, AT 7:32 A.M.

 

...Unfortunately, children seriously hurt or worse after getting their hands on unattended guns isn't unprecedented. But a terrible incident in Pueblo has a number of twists. For one thing, fortunately, the injured child is still alive at last report, albeit in critical condition. For another, two kids handled the weapon before a shot was fired, with the one who manipulated it into firing position telling investigators he knew how to do it from playing video games.

 

The incident took place on the 3200 block of Colfax in Pueblo.

 

At around 10:15 a.m. on August 5, officers were dispatched after receiving a call about a three-year-old female who'd been shot. She was responsive upon their arrival, having been hit by a single bullet that entered and exited her body without breaking any bones. However, the situation was serious enough that after being transported to a local hospital, she was choppered via Flight for Life to a facility in Colorado Springs.

The girl subsequently underwent surgery, and at last report, she was in critical but stable condition.

 

As for what led to the shooting, investigators believe a nine-year-old child gained access to a gun that was inside the house and brought it to the back yard. There, he is said to have manipulated the gun so that it was ready for firing before handing it off to another kid, age five. That child then pointed it at the three-year-old girl and pulled the trigger.

 

When the nine-year-old was asked by law enforcers how he was able to manipulate the handgun, the release says "he learned it from video games like Black Ops," a popular entry in the Call of Duty franchise.

 

Neither the injured child nor her mom have been identified at this writing. But the mother was home at the time of the shooting in the company of Adrian Chavez, her 22-year-old boyfriend. Chavez fled the scene, presumably because he had a no-bond warrant for failure to appear written out in his name. But he didn't get far: He was taken into custody around 3:15 p.m.

 

 

 

 

Fidget Spinner BOOM

 

A popular toy exploded in the hands of a man - now he wants to warn others

Alexander Dögl had bought a toy called Fidget Spinner - this is a really popular toy that is spun in the hands.

The man thinks the toy is still too drunk, and he has given him a little extra boost.

This should not have been done.

- I looked down and saw how your bouquet was in my hand, Alexander tells Expressen.

A popular game exploded in the hands of a man - now he wants to warn others

 

 

The toy is originally designed for children with some degree of concentration disorder, but has accumulated great popularity among all the past few months.

At the same time, accidents caused by toy have increased.

25-year-old Alexander decided to jump in the trend. At first, the toy was boring.

The accident happened last Thursday last week. Two colleagues were interested in the toy and the competition started. It wins, which spins the hardest.

As a result, a man will try to run the device even faster with compressed air.

- I held the toy in my hand and pointed the compressed air stream towards it. The pace accelerated quickly. It went so fast that the toy started to break. After that, it exploded, the man tells Expressen.

The crowd came abundant and colleagues took a man for duty. In a hospital, a man got 6 stitches.

- I was also put on X-rays. It was found that there could be a fracture in the thumb. Even the tune in the thumb was damaged.

 

 

 

 

An unpleasant toy can be dangerous if it runs too fast.

Share this article as a warning to others!

 

 

 

Teammates Hunter Donnelly, Braylin Scott Try to Out-Douchebag Each Other

by WestWorld Staff

 

 

 

 

Hunter Donnelly and Braylin Scott.

 

 

 

Hunter Donnelly, a now former member of the Colorado State Rams, has been both an accused perpetrator of crime and a victim of one in recent weeks. He was dismissed from the team after an arrest for allegedly violating a protection order involving a former girlfriend. But he also had thousands in bling stolen from him, reportedly by a teammate, Braylin Scott, who, according to law enforcers, tried to sell the stuff on Craigslist.

The result is a douchebag-dueling Schmuck of the Week bonanza, as well as another embarrassment for the CSU Rams. Earlier this year, Rams recruit Nicho Garcia received Schmuck of the Week honors for allegedly punching out a guy who had the unmitigated gall to ask that he stop urinating next to him outside their apartment complex.

Donnelly didn't have a spotless record prior to signing with CSU last year. The Loveland Reporter-Herald reveals that he pleaded guilty to aggravated assault in 2015 while still a high school student in Arlington, Texas.

So following Donnelly's April 19 arrest on the protection-order beef (a suspected offense supplemented by a domestic-violence enhancement), Rams coach Mike Bobo had little choice but to bring the hammer down hard, chucking him off the team and canceling his financial aid.

 

Presumably Bobo didn't know at the time that five days earlier, on April 14, Donnelly had reported the theft of a Rolex watch worth $20,000 and four diamond bracelets valued at $2,000 apiece to the CSU Police Department.

And three days before that, Scott's arrest report notes, he'd also told the cops about another Rolex that was apparently swiped from his locker at Moby Arena, the Rams' home stadium.

Naturally, the jewelry was supposed to be for a girlfriend — but we don't know if that GF was the one he'd been ordered not to see.

Later on the 14th, Donnelly reached out to the CSU authorities again, this time to say that he'd found the items — on Craigslist, where a post listed them for sale.

 

 

 

The officer investigating the case responded to the Craigslist ad and subsequently arranged to meet the seller outside Moby Arena. The person who showed up was Scott, who had the boxes and the bracelets in his car's cup holder.

Given that the evidence against Scott included surveillance footage that showed him entering his dorm using Donnelly's key card, Bobo had to act again.

In a statement released after Scott's May 10 arrest, he said, "We have been monitoring the situation involving Braylin Scott since first becoming aware of it at the time of the incident. I was concerned enough about the details I had learned that I made the decision to suspend him from all team activities at that time, based on preliminary information. He remains suspended from the program, and we will continue to monitor the legal proceedings."

Bobo can't be thrilled at the prospect of losing Scott, who led the Rams with three interceptions last season. But before he feels too sorry for himself, maybe he should look in the mirror. After all, he's recruited three 2017 Schmucks of the Week — and it's only May.

 

Genius

 A Chapter For the Genius humans!

Poem #1 - The Valley of Unrest by Edgar Allan Poe

The Valley of Unrest

by Edgar Allan Poe

 

Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley’s restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless—
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye—
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:—from out their fragrant tops
External dews come down in drops.
They weep:—from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.

Poem #2 - Full Volume

 Full Volume

by Robert Crawford

 

 

 

Diving-suited, copper-helmeted, no thought of turning
back,
Led by his grey lead boots way, way off the beaten track,

He walks into Loch Ness. His unheard wife and daughter
Stand hand-in-hand on the shore. Underwater,

He ploughs on down on his own, bone-cold marathon,
Stomping the loch not for any sponsorship he's won,

Not seeking front pages, nor getting caught up in some
blinding
Damascus flash, but just for love of that dark, reminding

Him and his folks here and all the folks
Back home that, despite the old jokes,

Hoaxes, photos, no-shows, and tourists' tales,
Something is in there, out there, down there, flails and
dwells

In inner silence. He wants to meet
It, to come back dry, dripping, and greet

The day from the loch's beyond, its call
Calling inside him. Wants above all

To sound the loch's full volume right at ground
Level, be lost in it, pushed by it, sung by it, not to be found.

Poem #3 - The Mosquito

by RODNEY JONES 

 

 I see the mosquito kneeling on the soft underside of my arm, kneeling
Like a fruitpicker, kneeling like an old woman
With the proboscis of her prayer buried in the idea of God,
And I know we shall not speak with the aliens
And that peace will not happen in my life, not unless
It is in the burnt oil spreading across the surfaces of ponds, in the dark
Egg rafts clotting and the wiggletails expiring like batteries.

 

 

Bring a little alcohol and a little balm
For these poppies planted by the Queen of Neptune.
In her photographs she is bearded and spurred, embellished five hundred times,
Her modular legs crouching, her insufferable head unlocking
To lower the razor-edge of its tubes, and she is there in the afternoon
When the wind gives up the spirit of cleanliness
And there rises from the sound the brackish oyster and squid smell of creation.

 

 

I lie down in the sleeping bag sodden with rain.
Nights with her, I am loved for myself, for the succulent
Flange of my upper lip, the twin bellies of my eyelids.
She adores the easy, the soft. She picks the tenderest blossoms of insomnia.

 

 

Mornings while the jackhammer rips the pavement outside my window,
While the sanitation workers bang the cans against the big truck and shout to each other over the motor,
I watch her strut like an udder with my blood,
Imagining the luminous pick descending into Trotsky’s skull and the eleven days
I waited for the cold chill, nightmare, and nightsweat of malaria;
Imagining the mating call in the vibrations of her wings,
And imagining, in the simple knot of her ganglia,
How she thrills to my life, how she sings for the harvest.

Poem #4 - Sitting with Others

  by Rodney Jones

 

 

The front seats filled last. Laggards, buffoons,
and kiss-ups falling in beside local politicos,
the about to be honored, and the hard of hearing.

No help from the middle, blenders and criminals.
And the back rows: restless, intelligent, unable to commit.
My place was always left-center, a little to the rear.

The shy sat with me, fearful of discovery.
Behind me the dead man’s illegitimate children
and the bride’s and groom’s former lovers.

There, when lights were lowered, hands
plunged under skirts or deftly unzipped flies,
and, lights up again, rose and pattered in applause.

Ahead, the bored practiced impeccable signatures.
But was it a movie or a singing? I remember
the whole crowd uplifted, but not the event

or the word that brought us together as one—
One, I say now, when I had felt myself many,
speaking and listening: that was the contradiction.

Poem #5 - Rain on Tin

  by Rodney Jones

 

If I ever get over the bodies of women, I am going to think of the rain,
of waiting under the eaves of an old house
at that moment
when it takes a form like fog.

It makes the mountain vanish.
Then the smell of rain, which is the smell of the earth a plow turns up,
only condensed and refined.

Almost fifty years since thunder rolled
and the nerves woke like secret agents under the skin.
Brazil is where I wanted to live.
The border is not far from here.

Lonely and grateful would be my way to end,
and something for the pain please,
a little purity to sand the rough edges,
a slow downpour from the Dark Ages,
a drizzle from the Pleistocene.

As I dream of the rain’s long body,
I will eliminate from mind all the qualities that rain deletes
and then I will be primed to study rain’s power,
the first drops lightly hallowing,
but now and again a great gallop of the horse of rain
or an explosion of orange-green light.

A simple radiance, it requires no discipline.
Before I knew women, I knew the lonely pleasures of rain.
The mist and then the clearing.
I will listen where the lightning thrills the rooster up a willow,
and my whole life flowing
until I have no choice, only the rain,
and I step into it.

Poem #6 - Life of Sundays

by Rodney Jones

 

Down the street, someone must be praying, and though I don’t
Go there anymore, I want to at times, to hear the diction
And the tone, though the English pronoun for God is obsolete—

What goes on is devotion, which wouldn’t change if I heard:
The polished sermon, the upright’s arpeggios of vacant notes.
What else could unite widows, bankers, children, and ghosts?

And those faces are so good as they tilt their smiles upward
To the rostrum that represents law, and the minister who
Represents God beams like the white palm of the good hand

Of Christ raised behind the baptistry to signal the multitude,
Which I am not among, though I feel the abundance of calm
And know the beatitude so well I do not have to imagine it,

Or the polite old ones who gather after the service to chat,
Or the ritual linen of Sunday tables that are already set.
More than any other days, Sundays stand in unvarying rows

That beg attention: there is that studied verisimilitude
Of sanctuary, so even mud and bitten weeds look dressed up
For some eye in the distant past, some remote kingdom

Where the pastures are crossed by thoroughly symbolic rivers.
That is why the syntax of prayers is so often reversed,
Aimed toward the dead who clearly have not gone ahead

But returned to prior things, a vista of angels and sheep,
A desert where men in robes and sandals gather by a tree.
Hushed stores, all day that sense a bell is about to ring—

I recognized it, waking up, before I weighed the bulk of news
Or saw Saturday night’s cars parked randomly along the curb,
And though I had no prayer, I wanted to offer something

Or ask for something, perhaps out of habit, but as the past
Must always be honored unconsciously, formally, and persists
On this first and singular day, though I think of it as last.

Poem #7 - In the Library

 

for Octavio

 

 

There's a book called
"A Dictionary of Angels."
No one has opened it in fifty years,
I know, because when I did,
The covers creaked, the pages
Crumbled. There I discovered

The angels were once as plentiful
As species of flies.
The sky at dusk
Used to be thick with them.
You had to wave both arms
Just to keep them away.

Now the sun is shining
Through the tall windows.
The library is a quiet place.
Angels and gods huddled
In dark unopened books.
The great secret lies
On some shelf Miss Jones
Passes every day on her rounds.

She's very tall, so she keeps
Her head tipped as if listening.
The books are whispering.
I hear nothing, but she does.

--Charles Simic

Poem #8 - They Feed They Lion

 Out of burlap sacks, out of bearing butter, 
Out of black bean and wet slate bread, 
Out of the acids of rage, the candor of tar, 
Out of creosote, gasoline, drive shafts, wooden dollies, 
They Lion grow. 

Out of the gray hills 
Of industrial barns, out of rain, out of bus ride, 
West Virginia to Kiss My Ass, out of buried aunties, 
Mothers hardening like pounded stumps, out of stumps, 
Out of the bones' need to sharpen and the muscles' to stretch, 
They Lion grow. 

Earth is eating trees, fence posts, 
Gutted cars, earth is calling in her little ones, 
"Come home, Come home!" From pig balls, 
From the ferocity of pig driven to holiness, 
From the furred ear and the full jowl come 
The repose of the hung belly, from the purpose 
They Lion grow. 

From the sweet glues of the trotters 
Come the sweet kinks of the fist, from the full flower 
Of the hams the thorax of caves, 
From "Bow Down" come "Rise Up," 
Come they Lion from the reeds of shovels, 
The grained arm that pulls the hands, 
They Lion grow. 

From my five arms and all my hands, 
From all my white sins forgiven, they feed, 
From my car passing under the stars, 
They Lion, from my children inherit, 
From the oak turned to a wall, they Lion, 
From they sack and they belly opened 
And all that was hidden burning on the oil-stained earth 
They feed they Lion and he comes.

by Philip Levine

Poem #9 - Animals Are Passing From Our Lives

 It's wonderful how I jog 
on four honed-down ivory toes 
my massive buttocks slipping 
like oiled parts with each light step. 

I'm to market. I can smell 
the sour, grooved block, I can smell 
the blade that opens the hole 
and the pudgy white fingers 

that shake out the intestines 
like a hankie. In my dreams 
the snouts drool on the marble, 
suffering children, suffering flies, 

suffering the consumers 
who won't meet their steady eyes 
for fear they could see. The boy 
who drives me along believes 

that any moment I'll fall 
on my side and drum my toes 
like a typewriter or squeal 
and shit like a new housewife 

discovering television, 
or that I'll turn like a beast 
cleverly to hook his teeth 
with my teeth. No. Not this pig.

by Philip Levine

Poem #10 - During The War

 When my brother came home from war 
he carried his left arm in a black sling 
but assured us most of it was still there. 
Spring was late, the trees forgot to leaf out. 

I stood in a long line waiting for bread. 
The woman behind me said it was shameless, 
someone as strong as I still home, still intact 
while her Michael was burning to death. 

Yes, she could feel the fire, could smell 
his pain all the way from Tarawa– 
or was it Midway?–and he so young, 
younger than I, who was only fourteen, 

taller, more handsome in his white uniform 
turning slowly gray the way unprimed wood 
grays slowly in the grate when the flames 
sputter and die. “I think I’m going mad,” 

she said when I turned to face her. She placed 
both hands on my shoulders, kissed each eyelid, 
hugged me to her breasts and whispered wetly 
in my bad ear words I’d never heard before. 

When I got home my brother ate the bread 
carefully one slice at a time until 
nothing was left but a blank plate. “Did you see her,” 
he asked, “the woman in hell, Michael’s wife?” 

That afternoon I walked the crowded streets 
looking for something I couldn’t name, 
something familiar, a face or a voice or less, 
but not these shards of ash that fell from heaven.

by Philip Levine

Poem #11 - What Work Is

 We stand in the rain in a long line 
waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work. 
You know what work is—if you're 
old enough to read this you know what 
work is, although you may not do it. 
Forget you. This is about waiting, 
shifting from one foot to another. 
Feeling the light rain falling like mist 
into your hair, blurring your vision 
until you think you see your own brother 
ahead of you, maybe ten places. 
You rub your glasses with your fingers, 
and of course it's someone else's brother, 
narrower across the shoulders than 
yours but with the same sad slouch, the grin 
that does not hide the stubbornness, 
the sad refusal to give in to 
rain, to the hours wasted waiting, 
to the knowledge that somewhere ahead 
a man is waiting who will say, 'No, 
we're not hiring today,' for any 
reason he wants. You love your brother, 
now suddenly you can hardly stand 
the love flooding you for your brother, 
who's not beside you or behind or 
ahead because he's home trying to 
sleep off a miserable night shift 
at Cadillac so he can get up 
before noon to study his German. 
Works eight hours a night so he can sing 
Wagner, the opera you hate most, 
the worst music ever invented. 
How long has it been since you told him 
you loved him, held his wide shoulders, 
opened your eyes wide and said those words, 
and maybe kissed his cheek? You've never 
done something so simple, so obvious, 
not because you're too young or too dumb, 
not because you're jealous or even mean 
or incapable of crying in 
the presence of another man, no, 
just because you don't know what work is.

by Philip Levine

Poem #12 - On The Meeting Of GarcÍA Lorca And Hart Crane

 Brooklyn, 1929. Of course Crane's 
been drinking and has no idea who 
this curious Andalusian is, unable 
even to speak the language of poetry. 
The young man who brought them 
together knows both Spanish and English, 
but he has a headache from jumping 
back and forth from one language 
to another. For a moment's relief 
he goes to the window to look 
down on the East River, darkening 
below as the early light comes on. 
Something flashes across his sight, 
a double vision of such horror 
he has to slap both his hands across 
his mouth to keep from screaming. 
Let's not be frivolous, let's 
not pretend the two poets gave 
each other wisdom or love or 
even a good time, let's not 
invent a dialogue of such eloquence 
that even the ants in your own 
house won't forget it. The two 
greatest poetic geniuses alive 
meet, and what happens? A vision 
comes to an ordinary man staring 
at a filthy river. Have you ever 
had a vision? Have you ever shaken 
your head to pieces and jerked back 
at the image of your young son 
falling through open space, not 
from the stern of a ship bound 
from Vera Cruz to New York but from 
the roof of the building he works on? 
Have you risen from bed to pace 
until dawn to beg a merciless God 
to take these pictures away? Oh, yes, 
let's bless the imagination. It gives 
us the myths we live by. Let's bless 
the visionary power of the human— 
the only animal that's got it—, 
bless the exact image of your father 
dead and mine dead, bless the images 
that stalk the corners of our sight 
and will not let go. The young man 
was my cousin, Arthur Lieberman, 
then a language student at Columbia, 
who told me all this before he died 
quietly in his sleep in 1983 
in a hotel in Perugia. A good man, 
Arthur, he survived graduate school, 
later came home to Detroit and sold 
pianos right through the Depression. 
He loaned my brother a used one 
to compose his hideous songs on, 
which Arthur thought were genius. 
What an imagination Arthur had!

by Philip Levine

Poem #13 - Pangur Bàn

 i. 
Jerome has his enormous dozy lion. 
Myself, I have a cat, my Pangur Bàn. 

What did Jerome feed up his lion with? 
Always he's fat and fleecy, always sleeping 

As if after a meal. Perhaps a Christian? 
Perhaps a lamb, or a fish, or a loaf of bread. 

His lion's always smiling, chin on paw, 
What looks like purring rippling his face 

And there on Jerome's escritoire by the quill and ink pot 
The long black thorn he drew from the lion's paw. 

Look, Pangur, at the picture of the lion - 
Not a mouser like you, not lean, not ever 

Chasing a quill as it flutters over parchment 
Leaving its trail that is the word of God. 

Pangur, you are so trim beside the lion. 
- Unlike Jerome in the mouth of his desert cave 

Wrapped in a wardrobe of robes despite the heat, 
I in this Irish winter, Pangur Bàn, 

Am cold, without so much as your pillow case 
Of fur, white, with ginger tips on ears and tail. 

ii. 
My name is neither here nor there, I am employed 
By Colum Cille who will be a saint 

Because of me and how I have set down 
The word of God. He pays. He goes to heaven. 

I stay on earth, in this cell with the high empty window, 
The long light in summer, the winter stars. 

I work with my quill and colours, bent and blinder 
Each season, colder, but the pages fill. 

Just when I started work the cat arrived 
Sleek and sharp at my elbow, out of nowhere; 

I dipped my pen. He settled in with me. 
He listened and replied. He kept my counsel. 

iii. 
Here in the margin, Pangur, I inscribe you. 
Almost Amen. Prowl out of now and go down 

Into time's garden, wary with your tip-toe hearing. 
You'll live well enough on mice and shrews till you find 

The next scriptorium, a bowl of milk. Some scribe 
Will recognise you, Pangur Bàn, and feed you; 

You'll find your way to him as you did to me 
From nowhere (but you sniffed out your Jerome). 

Stay by him, too, until his Gospel's done. 
(I linger over John, the closing verses, 

You're restless, won't be touched. I'm old. The solstice.) 
Amen, dear Pangur Bàn. Amen. Be sly.

by Michael Schmidt

Poem #14 - All Fours

 by Tom Raworth

 

though it might have been chronic
around his neck and shoulders
filled with thick high weeds
the road was lined with stone

almost entranced she started
ordering quantities of everything
down the windows of your station
combed and perfectly normal

bees through blood and perhaps
night air while we rode back
followed him to the front porch
and the chimney bricks were fallen

she hasn't heard from him since
filled in on the background
large machines can dig them
forced to take shelter in that house

watching her move about the kitchen
a uniformed policeman was standing
out like magic on the glass
we were living under siege again

two more men came in carrying
pages of an appointment book
not very good lights things happening
younger all clean and prosperous

a grievance a legitimate grievance
rumbled as the rain began
heavily where the blades pushed it
round doorways little brown children

in your car and go somewhere
dead or senseless at the wheel
crouched there taking no part
on the highway the sedan fishtailed

mosquitoes had been real fierce
with that wind coming off
substandard materials and workmanship
years of polishing have dulled

professional sound of a woman singing
damnation at an empty chair
soft black soot coats the slate
too splendidly suburban for adequate

illegible smears of block printing
held motion to a crawl
skimming over book titles
postured alluringly around the room

the important dynamic was between
peculiar and unique powers
to collect on his insurance
that portion of it reported

lovely little thing with eyes
as efficient as she had to be
shambling on down the tissue
range where embers had gone out

looking at everything said suicide
the area about her had the look
you see in old chromos
breathing not daring to smoke or cough

practically an abandoned road
several varieties of mushroom thrived
standing motionless in the shade
small common objects of assault

blown cell with a dusty bulb
an instant to blank shining glass
blocking out the moon and stars
vending machines on every floor

Poem #15 - Baby Villon

He tells me in Bangkok he’s robbed
Because he’s white; in London because he’s black;   
In Barcelona, Jew; in Paris, Arab:
Everywhere and at all times, and he fights back.

He holds up seven thick little fingers
To show me he’s rated seventh in the world,   
And there’s no passion in his voice, no anger   
In the flat brown eyes flecked with blood.

He asks me to tell all I can remember
Of my father, his uncle; he talks of the war   
In North Africa and what came after,
The loss of his father, the loss of his brother,

The windows of the bakery smashed and the fresh bread   
Dusted with glass, the warm smell of rye
So strong he ate till his mouth filled with blood.
“Here they live, here they live and not die,”

And he points down at his black head ridged   
With black kinks of hair. He touches my hair,   
Tells me I should never disparage
The stiff bristles that guard the head of the fighter.

Sadly his fingers wander over my face,   
And he says how fair I am, how smooth.   
We stand to end this first and last visit.   
Stiff, 116 pounds, five feet two,

No bigger than a girl, he holds my shoulders,   
Kisses my lips, his eyes still open,
My imaginary brother, my cousin,
Myself made otherwise by all his pain.

 

 

 by Philip Levine

Poem #17 - Any

 by George Bowering

 

 

Fresh out of the icebox, this brain looks
the wrong way from time to time, and misses
the cat stepping by, Gerry on the screen
laboring to tell the nuances his pink matter
almost notices, he’s not my brother, not really
my close friend, just my necessary neighbor
on a bicycle going by like a whistle from
the lips of someone I trust. He has a peculiar
skeleton arranged his own way in the mind’s pasture.
We were as they say “of an age” and so inter-
twine somehow, though I wanted to work when
he wanted to play. That long nose is in my life
and in my writing and so is the Okanagan River.
I sometimes get to the river when I am at work,
the sun on my back not the ink in my pen.
There was, when I was last in the Okanagan Valley, a
cat with big paws in the neighborhood, I was told,
fires I could see along the hillside, stunning heat
from the sky, enough to thaw any brain.

Poem #18 - Catch-All

 by Danielle Chapman

 

Mother Dear, never apologize for nettles
I yanked in fury
from Lottie Shoop’s side yard — 

they stung me into seeing
fairy mosses lilypad
her middened juniper,

the quivering gobble of her chin,
teacup clicking dentures as she sprang
up into her wattle hut
and broke a rib

of aloe vera — 
gel belling the top of that claw goblet.

It didn’t cool the sting, and yet, noticing
sunshine thumbing plums in a string
catch-all — 

I was already well.

 

 

Poem #19 - "Love my enemies, enemy my love"

 by Rebecca Seiferle

 

 

Oh, we fear our enemy’s mind, the shape
in his thought that resembles the cripple
in our own, for it’s not just his fear
we fear, but his love and his paradise.
 
We fear he will deprive us of our peace
of mind, and, fearing this, are thus deprived,
so we must go to war, to be free of this
terror, this unremitting fear, that he might
 
he might, he might. Oh it’s hard to say
what he might do or feel or think.
Except all that we cannot bear of
feeling or thinking—so his might
 
must be met with might of armor
and of intent—informed by all the hunker
down within the bunker of ourselves.
How does he love? and eat? and drink?
 
He must be all strategy or some sick lie.
How can reason unlock such a door,
for we bar it too with friends and lovers,
in waking hours, on ordinary days?
 
Finding the other so senseless and unknown,
we go to war to feel free of the fear
of our own minds, and so come
to ruin in our hearts of ordinary days.

Poem #20 - A Sleepless Night

 by Philip Levine

 

 

April, and the last of the plum blossoms
scatters on the black grass
before dawn. The sycamore, the lime,
the struck pine inhale
the first pale hints of sky.
An iron day,
I think, yet it will come
dazzling, the light
rise from the belly of leaves and pour
burning from the cups
of poppies.
The mockingbird squawks
from his perch, fidgets,
and settles back. The snail, awake
for good, trembles from his shell
and sets sail for China. My hand dances
in the memory of a million vanished stars.

A man has every place to lay his head.

Poem #21 - A Story

 by Philip Levine

 

 

 

Everyone loves a story. Let's begin with a house.
We can fill it with careful rooms and fill the rooms
with things—tables, chairs, cupboards, drawers
closed to hide tiny beds where children once slept
or big drawers that yawn open to reveal
precisely folded garments washed half to death,
unsoiled, stale, and waiting to be worn out.
There must be a kitchen, and the kitchen
must have a stove, perhaps a big iron one
with a fat black pipe that vanishes into the ceiling
to reach the sky and exhale its smells and collusions.
This was the center of whatever family life
was here, this and the sink gone yellow
around the drain where the water, dirty or pure,
ran off with no explanation, somehow like the point
of this, the story we promised and may yet deliver.
Make no mistake, a family was here. You see
the path worn into the linoleum where the wood,
gray and certainly pine, shows through.
Father stood there in the middle of his life
to call to the heavens he imagined above the roof
must surely be listening. When no one answered
you can see where his heel came down again
and again, even though he'd been taught
never to demand. Not that life was especially cruel;
they had well water they pumped at first,
a stove that gave heat, a mother who stood
at the sink at all hours and gazed longingly
to where the woods once held the voices
of small bears—themselves a family—and the songs
of birds long fled once the deep woods surrendered
one tree at a time after the workmen arrived
with jugs of hot coffee. The worn spot on the sill
is where Mother rested her head when no one saw,
those two stained ridges were handholds
she relied on; they never let her down.
Where is she now? You think you have a right
to know everything? The children tiny enough
to inhabit cupboards, large enough to have rooms
of their own and to abandon them, the father
with his right hand raised against the sky?
If those questions are too personal, then tell us,
where are the woods? They had to have been
because the continent was clothed in trees.
We all read that in school and knew it to be true.
Yet all we see are houses, rows and rows
of houses as far as sight, and where sight vanishes
into nothing, into the new world no one has seen,
there has to be more than dust, wind-borne particles
of burning earth, the earth we lost, and nothing else.

Poem #22 - Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind

 by William Shakespeare

 

 

(Note: This guy is going to kill ya with his own words)

 

 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most freindship if feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky,
That does not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As a friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Poem #23 - A Fairy Song

 by William Shakespeare

 

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Poem #24 - A Woman Waking

 by Philip Levine

 

 

 She wakens early remembering
her father rising in the dark
lighting the stove with a match
scraped on the floor. Then measuring
water for coffee, and later the smell
coming through. She would hear
him drying spoons, dropping
them one by one in the drawer.
Then he was on the stairs
going for the milk. So soon
he would be at her door
to wake her gently, he thought,
with a hand at her nape, shaking
to and fro, smelling of gasoline
and whispering. Then he left.
Now she shakes her head, shakes
him away and will not rise.
There is fog at the window
and thickening the high branches
of the sycamores. She thinks
of her own kitchen, the dishwasher
yawning open, the dripping carton
left on the counter. Her boys
have gone off steaming like sheep.
Were they here last night?
Where do they live? she wonders,
with whom? Are they home?
In her yard the young plum tree,
barely taller than she, drops
its first yellow leaf. She listens
and hears nothing. If she rose
and walked barefoot on the wood floor
no one would come to lead her
back to bed or give her
a glass ofwater. If she
boiled an egg it would darken
before her eyes. The sky tires
and turns away without a word.
The pillow beside hers is cold,
the old odor of soap is there.
Her hands are cold. What time is it?

Poem #25 - Among Children

by Philip Levine

 

I walk among the rows of bowed heads--
the children are sleeping through fourth grade
so as to be ready for what is ahead,
the monumental boredom of junior high
and the rush forward tearing their wings
loose and turning their eyes forever inward.
These are the children of Flint, their fathers
work at the spark plug factory or truck
bottled water in 5 gallon sea-blue jugs
to the widows of the suburbs. You can see
already how their backs have thickened,
how their small hands, soiled by pig iron,
leap and stutter even in dreams. I would like
to sit down among them and read slowly
from The Book of Job until the windows
pale and the teacher rises out of a milky sea
of industrial scum, her gowns streaming
with light, her foolish words transformed
into song, I would like to arm each one
with a quiver of arrows so that they might
rush like wind there where no battle rages
shouting among the trumpets, Hal Ha!
How dear the gift of laughter in the face
of the 8 hour day, the cold winter mornings
without coffee and oranges, the long lines
of mothers in old coats waiting silently
where the gates have closed. Ten years ago
I went among these same children, just born,
in the bright ward of the Sacred Heart and leaned
down to hear their breaths delivered that day,
burning with joy. There was such wonder
in their sleep, such purpose in their eyes
dosed against autumn, in their damp heads
blurred with the hair of ponds, and not one
turned against me or the light, not one
said, I am sick, I am tired, I will go home,
not one complained or drifted alone,
unloved, on the hardest day of their lives.
Eleven years from now they will become
the men and women of Flint or Paradise,
the majors of a minor town, and I
will be gone into smoke or memory,
so I bow to them here and whisper
all I know, all I will never know.

 

 

Poem #26 - An Abandoned Factory, Detroit

by Philip Levine

 

 

 The gates are chained, the barbed-wire fencing stands,
An iron authority against the snow,
And this grey monument to common sense
Resists the weather. Fears of idle hands,
Of protest, men in league, and of the slow
Corrosion of their minds, still charge this fence.

Beyond, through broken windows one can see
Where the great presses paused between their strokes
And thus remain, in air suspended, caught
In the sure margin of eternity.
The cast-iron wheels have stopped; one counts the spokes
Which movement blurred, the struts inertia fought,

And estimates the loss of human power,
Experienced and slow, the loss of years,
The gradual decay of dignity.
Men lived within these foundries, hour by hour;
Nothing they forged outlived the rusted gears
Which might have served to grind their eulogy.

Poem #27 - An Ending

by Philip Levine 

 

 

Early March.
The cold beach deserted. My kids
home in a bare house, bundled up
and listening to rock music
pirated from England. My wife
waiting for me in a bar, alone
for an hour over her sherry, and none
of us knows why I have to pace
back and forth on this flat
and birdless stretch of gleaming sand
while the violent air shouts
out its rags of speech. I recall
the calm warm sea of Florida
30 years ago, and my brother
and I staring out in the hope
that someone known and loved
would return out of air and water
and no more, a miracle a kid
could half-believe, could see
as something everyday and possible.
Later I slept alone and dreamed
of the home I never had and wakened
in the dark. A silver light sprayed
across the bed, and the little
rented room ticked toward dawn.
I did not rise. I did not go
to the window and address
the moon. I did not cry
or cry out against the hour
or the loneliness that still
was mine, for I had grown
into the man I am, and I
knew better. A sudden voice
calls out my name or a name
I think is mine. I turn.
The waves have darkened; the sky's
descending all around me. I read
once that the sea would come
to be the color of heaven.
They would be two seas tied
together, and between the two
a third, the sea of my own heart.
I read and believed nothing.
This little beach at the end
of the world is anywhere, and I
stand in a stillness that will last
forever or until the first light
breaks beyond these waters. Don't
be scared, the book said, don't flee
as wave after wave the breakers rise
in darkness toward their ghostly crests,
for he has set a limit to the sea
and he is at your side. The sea
and I breathe in and out as one.
Maybe this is done at last
or for now, this search for what
is never here. Maybe all that
ancient namesake sang is true.
The voice I hear now is
my own night voice, going out
and coming back in an old chant
that calms me, that calms
-- for all I know -- the waves
still lost out there.

Poem #28 - An Extraordinary Morning

by Philip Levine  

 

 

 

Two young men—you just might call them boys—
waiting for the Woodward streetcar to get
them downtown. Yes, they’re tired, they’re also
dirty, and happy. Happy because they’ve
finished a short work week and if they’re not rich
they’re as close to rich as they’ll ever be
in this town. Are they truly brothers?
You could ask the husky one, the one
in the black jacket he fills to bursting;
he seems friendly enough, snapping
his fingers while he shakes his ass and sings
“Sweet Lorraine,” or if you’re put off
by his mocking tone ask the one leaning
against the locked door of Ruby’s Rib Shack,
the one whose eyelids flutter in time
with nothing. Tell him it’s crucial to know
if in truth this is brotherly love. He won’t
get angry, he’s too tired for anger,
too relieved to be here, he won’t even laugh
though he’ll find you silly. It’s Thursday,
maybe a holy day somewhere else, maybe
the Sabbath, but these two, neither devout
nor cynical, have no idea how to worship
except by doing what they’re doing,
singing a song about a woman they love
merely for her name, breathing in and out
the used and soiled air they wouldn’t know
how to live without, and by filling
the twin bodies they’ve disguised as filth.

Poem #29 - And The Trains Go On

by Philip Levine   

 

 

We stood at the back door
of the shop in the night air
while a line of box cars
of soured wheat and pop bottles
uncoupled and was sent creaking
down our spur. Once, when I
unsealed a car and the two
of us strained the door open
with a groan of rust, an old man
stepped out and tipped his hat.
'It's all yours, boys!'
and he went off, stiff-legged,
smelling of straw and shit.
I often wonder whose father
he was and how long he kept
moving until the police
found him, ticketless, sleeping
in a 2nd class waiting room
and tore the cardboard box
out of his hands and beat him
until the ink of his birth smudged
and surrendered its separate vowels.
In the great railyard of Milano
the dog with the white throat
and the soiled muzzle crossed
and recrossed the tracks
'searching for his master,'
said the boy, but his grandfather
said, 'No. He was sent by God
to test the Italian railroads.'
When I lie down at last to sleep
inside a boxcar of coffins bound
for the villages climbing north
will I waken in a small station
where women have come to claim
what is left of glory? Or will
I sleep until the silver bridge
spanning the Mystic River jabs
me awake, and I am back
in a dirty work shirt that says Phil,
24 years old, hungry and lost, on
the run from a war no one can win?
I want to travel one more time
with the wind whipping in
the open door, with you to keep
me company, back the long
tangled road that leads us home.
Through Flat Rock going east
picking up speed, the damp fields
asleep in moonlight. You stand
beside me, breathing the cold
in silence. When you grip
my arm hard and lean way out
and shout out the holy names
of the lost neither of us is scared
and our tears mean nothing.  

Poem #30 - Animals Are Passing From Our Lives

by Philip Levine    

 

 

 It's wonderful how I jog
on four honed-down ivory toes
my massive buttocks slipping
like oiled parts with each light step.

I'm to market. I can smell
the sour, grooved block, I can smell
the blade that opens the hole
and the pudgy white fingers

that shake out the intestines
like a hankie. In my dreams
the snouts drool on the marble,
suffering children, suffering flies,

suffering the consumers
who won't meet their steady eyes
for fear they could see. The boy
who drives me along believes

that any moment I'll fall
on my side and drum my toes
like a typewriter or squeal
and shit like a new housewife

discovering television,
or that I'll turn like a beast
cleverly to hook his teeth
with my teeth. No. Not this pig.

Poem #31 - Another Song

by Philip Levine    

 

 

 

Words go on travelling from voice
to voice while the phones are still
and the wires hum in the cold. Now
and then dark winter birds settle
slowly on the crossbars, where huddled
they caw out their loneliness. Except
for them the March world is white
and barely alive. The train to Providence
moans somewhere near the end
of town, and the churning of metal
on metal from so many miles away
is only a high thin note trilling
the frozen air. Years ago I lived
not far from here, grown to fat
and austerity, a man who came
closely shaven to breakfast and ate
in silence and left punctually, alone,
for work. So it was I saw it all
and turned away to where snow
fell into snow and the wind spoke
in the incomprehensible syllable
of wind, and I could be anyone:
a man whose life lay open before him,
a book with no ending, a widow
bearing white carnations at dusk
to a hillside graveyard turned
to blank rubble, a cinder floating
down to earth and blinking slowly out,
too small to mean a thing, too tired
to even sigh. If life comes back,
as we are told it does, each time one
step closer to the edge of truth,
then I am ready for the dawn
that calls a sullen boy from sleep
rubbing his eyes on a white window
and knowing none of it can last the day.

Poem #32 - Any Night

by Philip Levine    

 

Look, the eucalyptus, the Atlas pine,
the yellowing ash, all the trees
are gone, and I was older than
all of them. I am older than the moon,
than the stars that fill my plate,
than the unseen planets that huddle
together here at the end of a year
no one wanted. A year more than a year,
in which the sparrows learned
to fly backwards into eternity.
Their brothers and sisters saw this
and refuse to build nests. Before
the week is over they will all
have gone, and the chorus of love
that filled my yard and spilled
into my kitchen each evening
will be gone. I will have to learn
to sing in the voices of pure joy
and pure pain. I will have to forget
my name, my childhood, the years
under the cold dominion of the clock
so that this voice, torn and cracked,
can reach the low hills that shielded
the orange trees once. I will stand
on the back porch as the cold
drifts in, and sing, not for joy,
not for love, not even to be heard.
I will sing so that the darkness
can take hold and whatever
is left, the fallen fruit, the last
leaf, the puzzled squirrel, the child
far from home, lost, will believe
this could be any night. That boy,
walking alone, thinking of nothing
or reciting his favorite names
to the moon and stars, let him
find the home he left this morning,
let him hear a prayer out
of the raging mouth of the wind.
Let him repeat that prayer,
the prayer that night follows day,
that life follows death, that in time
we find our lives. Don't let him see
all that has gone. Let him love
the darkness. Look, he's running
and singing too. He could be happy.

 

Poem #33 - At Bessemer

by Philip Levine    

 

 

 19 years old and going nowhere,
I got a ride to Bessemer and walked
the night road toward Birmingham
passing dark groups of men cursing
the end of a week like every week.
Out of town I found a small grove
of trees, high narrow pines, and I
sat back against the trunk of one
as the first rains began slowly.
South, the lights of Bessemer glowed
as though a new sun rose there,
but it was midnight and another shift
tooled the rolling mills. I must
have slept awhile, for someone
else was there beside me. I could
see a cigarette's soft light,
and once a hand grazed mine, man
or woman's I never knew. Slowly
I could feel the darkness fill
my eyes and the dream that came was
of a bright world where sunlight
fell on the long even rows of houses
and I looked down from great height
at a burned world I believed
I never had to enter. When
the true sun rose I was stiff
and wet, and there beside me was
the small white proof that someone
rolled and smoked and left me there
unharmed, truly untouched.
A hundred yards off I could hear
cars on the highway. A life
was calling to be lived, but how
and why I had still to learn.

Poem #34 - Also, poor Yorick

by Michael Schmidt

 

 Out loud they cry, when they come back above ground,
A cheerful judder, then the chattering jaws -
Chorus of teacups clattering on a tray -
Barefoot, with the worms and roots still on them,
The puddles cool between their metatarsals.
Sunrise and shadow light sweep through their ribbing.

Seeing how they can be, again articulated,
Human as bones are when vertical and jaunty,
His heart is moved: how beautiful, he says,
And grasps then what it must mean to be human
Returning rested from the afterlife
Into the lovely dew of resurrection.

The skulls howl out their joy, and all are grinning,
Popping their knuckles, counting their vertebrae,
And now they dance alone and now join hands,
And as they dance there, in their ribs and rigging
In each grey skeleton a robin perches
Plumping its feathers, pulsing out its song

Red, and their twittering is blood and music.
- Never has he witnessed a scene so vital,
The dance of life the scripture guaranteed.
Faster as shadows shorten and noon rises
The skeletons spin and conga into the air
Making a cloud, a halo on the sun.

He takes his spade and sets it on his shoulder.
He's old. Until now he has known regret.
He's buried his grandparents and his parents,
His kings and queens, his brothers and his friends,
His lovers, all of them, the flesh turned food
And nothing, the bone bearing

In its chalk wholeness so much love and light.
From his own graveyard, with the dead departed,
One unfamiliar skeleton stands up
Tall, gracious, folding his fingers over
Two holes, and where his hurt feet strike on stone
Sparks from the rusty nails, and in his side

A spear, perch for a phoenix. Jesus Christ
Risen in this garden, and the wounds,
Or the bones that keep the marks of wounds are singing.
It's noon, there are no shadows. This is true.
He raised them and himself is rising up.
The place is empty now, the judgement over.

Later in the day the Prince arrives,
Stepping from his book as from a carriage
Drawn up among the holes in which the dead
Waited, and from which they are all flown.
Anxious, a bit deranged, he finds occasion
To hold a conversation with a skull.

Is it a skull or a stone that looks like a skull?
The heads are all gone to heaven, Jesus too,
Even the sexton put off his flesh and followed,
Ophelia was already on her star.
Poor prince, alone with just a book of ballads,
With just his plot nothing can save him from.

Poem #35 - Address to a Child During a Boisterous Winter Evening

 by Dorothy Wordsworth

 

 

HAT way does the wind come? What way does he go?
He rides over the water, and over the snow,
Through wood, and through vale; and o'er rocky height,
Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight;
He tosses about in every bare tree,
As if you look up, you plainly may see;
But how he will come, and whither he goes,
There never a scholar in England knows.

He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook,
And ring a sharp 'larum; but, if you should look,
There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow,
Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk
And softer than if it were covered with silk.
Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock,
Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock;
- Yet seek him, and what shall you find in that place?
Nothing but silence and empty space;
Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves,
That's he's left, for a bed, to beggars or thieves!

As soon as 'tis daylight tomorrow, with me
You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see
That he has been there, and made a great rout,
And cracked the branches, and strewn them about;
Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig
That looked up at the sky so proud and big
All last summer, as well you know,
Studded with apples, a beautiful show!

Hark! over the roof he makes a pause,
And growls as if he would fix his claws
Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle
Drive them down, like men in a battle:
- But let him range round; he does us no harm,
We build up the fire, we're snug and warm;
Untouched by his breath see the candle shines bright,
And burns with a clear and steady light.

Books have we to read, but that half-stifled knell,
Alas! 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell.
- Come, now we'll to bed! and when we are there
He may work his own will, and what shall be care?
He may knock at the door - we'll not let him in;
May drive at the windows - we'll laugh at his din;
Let him seek his own home wherever it be;
Here's a cozie warm house for Edward and me.

Poem #36 - Grasmere - A Fragment

 by Dorothy Wordsworth

 

 

Peaceful our valley, fair and green,
And beautiful her cottages,
Each in its nook, its sheltered hold,
Or underneath its tuft of trees.
Many and beautiful they are;
But there is one that I love best,
A lowly shed, in truth, it is,
A brother of the rest.
Yet when I sit on rock or hill,
Down looking on the valley fair,
That Cottage with its clustering trees
Summons my heart; it settles there.
Others there are whose small domain
Of fertile fields and hedgerows green
Might more seduce a wanderer's mind
To wish that there his home had been.
Such wish be his! I blame him not,
My fancies they perchance are wild
--I love that house because it is
The very Mountains' child.
Fields hath it of its own, green fields,
But they are rocky steep and bare;
Their fence is of the mountain stone,
And moss and lichen flourish there.
And when the storm comes from the North
It lingers near that pastoral spot,
And, piping through the mossy walls,
It seems delighted with its lot.
And let it take its own delight;
And let it range the pastures bare;
Until it reach that group of trees,
--It may not enter there!
A green unfading grove it is,
Skirted with many a lesser tree,
Hazel and holly, beech and oak,
A bright and flourishing company.
Precious the shelter of those trees;
They screen the cottage that I love;
The sunshine pierces to the roof,
And the tall pine-trees tower above.
When first I saw that dear abode,
It was a lovely winter's day:
After a night of perilous storm
The west wind ruled with gentle sway;
A day so mild, it might have been
The first day of the gladsome spring;
The robins warbled, and I heard
One solitary throstle sing.
A Stranger, Grasmere, in thy Vale,
All faces then to me unknown,
I left my sole companion-friend
To wander out alone.
Lured by a little winding path,
I quitted soon the public road,
A smooth and tempting path it was,
By sheep and shepherds trod.
Eastward, toward the lofty hills,
This pathway led me on
Until I reached a stately Rock,
With velvet moss o'ergrown.
With russet oak and tufts of fern
Its top was richly garlanded;
Its sides adorned with eglantine
Bedropp'd with hips of glossy red.
There, too, in many a sheltered chink
The foxglove's broad leaves flourished fair,
And silver birch whose purple twigs
Bend to the softest breathing air.
Beneath that Rock my course I stayed,
And, looking to its summit high,
'Thou wear'st,' said I, 'a splendid garb,
Here winter keeps his revelry.
'Full long a dweller on the Plains,
I griev'd when summer days were gone;
No more I'll grieve; for Winter here
Hath pleasure gardens of his own.
'What need of flowers? The splendid moss
Is gayer than an April mead;
More rich its hues of various green,
Orange, and gold, & glittering red.'
--Beside that gay and lovely Rock
There came with merry voice
A foaming streamlet glancing by;
It seemed to say 'Rejoice!'
My youthful wishes all fulfill'd,
Wishes matured by thoughtful choice,
I stood an Inmate of this vale
How could I but rejoice?

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.07.2017

Alle Rechte vorbehalten