In a report published by Air Mail, multiple women accused the 53-year-old star of Fight Club, Requiem For A Dream, Dallas Buyers Club and Suicide Squad of inappropriate behaviour.
Use of force is unstoppable when?
Whence?
Confined parameter of work space exists where?
Justice is will
Justice is and is not blind
Dialogue in Retraction as Retreat, A Study as Space
Are you a registered or speculation of lobbying
This is typified by Sicily in
Testa Di Moro
Sicilian Myths and Folklore videos are a salvo
Jenna, This is How You Remind Me
Peering true
Vanities Spite
Italian actress Claudia Cardinale
Peer into eyes as chant
Recant my verse
Impotent mascaras eye, lining your defeat
Instead of hours own
Being teased is a horrible fate,
Children do this all the time without a quake.
Not realizing the pain they cause,
Just looking for friends to applaud.
Only when they are the recipient of teasing,
Will they agree.
My friends were mean.
When they tease,
They hurt me!
Disjointed, dissection.
Like that which came before.
Dissection like that which,
came before disjointed.
Like that which disjointed,
dissection came before.
Like that which came before.
Dissection, disjointed.
“The moon’s vision of humanity
Was something that it once desired
Tinkle, swoouf, it pondered
As it’s luminescence gazed at its prodigious oceans
The defunct dissection of the body fell into silence as it glanced back
Clish, clash, it wavered
It’s fluorescence gestured odiously
Enraging it’s radiance with envy
Woosh, clasps, oceans grew in his incensed intention
It never had a society that walked on its ground
A place, that humans recall home
stomp, clasp, It thought
Oceans trickled with peril as the moon grew its waves
Slash, sloosh, the clutter that pollutes the water clustered against its weight
The moon then rebounded; remarking the objects
Sling slang, swoosh, oceans sang it's mercy
It’s reminiscence then discerned the cunning truth
“The grass always seems greener on the other side”
The blade in my hand has been honed razor sharp by reality
I wield it with the careful precision of a skilled physician
who was accrued decades of experience
performing the tedious task of dissecting existence
cutting cleanly through connective tissue to the bone
peeling back striated muscle and skin
securing them with tiny pins
severing ligaments and tendons
disarticulating joints and limbs
unveiling what by design has been hidden
beneath the deceptive shell of rosy flesh
revealing what some shield themselves from
by donning blinders made from money
building walls with the bricks of their success
never having seen or but briefly glimpsed
the darkness and depravity of the world
that exists within each of us
buried deep down or just under the surface
before turning away in disgust
preferring the pretty pictures on the wall
to the truth of it all
CADAVER
(a philosophical dissection)
Dissection hall-bedding the dead,
The air thick with formalin,
Moving blades, dissecting-
The stillness in front.
Frostiness of death, biting-
The warmness of breathes!
Cadavers at peace,
Motionless and still,
Dead and fighting to decay,
Naked bodies-
With veiled existence!
I wonder,
If the dead had left some stories to tell,
Tales that neither made the pages of story books,
Nor been recited at bed sides.
If the dead had some songs to sing,
Melodies that neither echoed in the stars,
Nor rolled-down with the rains.
The untold stories and the unsung songs,
Can never be dissected out,
No matter how sharp the blades are!
Bereft of vim, in copses branches bow
by winter's whims cursed to exsanguinate.
As far as naked gazes would allow
we marveled at Earth's crimson-spattered pate.
Cold skin met woolen mitten as we sought
the wealth of Christmas spirit to convey.
A horde of hands and hearts in darkness fought
'til desolation's troops beleaguered lay.
A tincture, scarlet faces did proceed
Accompanied by streams of jolly tunes
To soothe encumbered souls and vanquish need,
A surrogate for Nature's frozen boons.
Beneficence twixt folk in times unkind:
I've found this "Christmas" thusly best defined.
[for contest: ring size= 7, favorite color= red]
I just want to write, just let the words pour out my brain,
Dissecting each word quickly to make sure I'm not insane
I break down my thinking often, some would call me anti-social,
I can't tell if it's society or if I'm just going postal
I need these clouds to clear, leave blue skies within my mind,
I just need a little clarity to make sure I'm still aligned
Got to keep my head on straight, can't afford to make mistakes,
Stay focused on my family while dodging all the snakes
Society today has, itself, an uphill battle,
Right now we all act brainwashed like a giant herd of cattle
But what really is society?
Is it something that lives inside of me?
Does that realization make me free?
Is there an answer or a sort of key?
Are these questions normal, are these things I should be asking?
Because it's difficult to handle these ideas I am grasping
I won't find help, and the struggle will continue on,
I will keep on questioning until I am dead and gone.
Self-dissection
By Stina lu
Stab yourself with a sharp dagger
Fresh blood splashing
No one stops you
There’s no piercing scream
No one scolds you
There's no worry about curses and reprisals
To air your pure heart in the sunlight
Wipe gently the humble soul
To hold your guts high up in the sky
Let the moon and the sun penetrate and judge.
Stop the bee humming in your head
Place reason on the left brain
and passion on the right side.
They don’t owe each other.
Dust covered thick in your lung
which should be peeled layer by layer.
Make your breath smooth again
Every alveoli feels fresh
After all this labor
Clean the wound and suture it
Time will erase it
A new lease on life
A reborn phoenix arises from the ash
Tall buildings whisper to the sky...
Unknown secrets of the city;
While honking vehicles,passing by,
Dissect Nature's tranquility!
Tiny birds clad with innocence...
Ride through the backyard of the clouds;
While polluting smokes sicken their sense
& disease the ignorant crowds!
As I see this place,I realize
Life is not a bed of roses
Rather life in this city,to be precise,
Is death in small doses...!
It was haemolysed
the homeless night.
Flagellation will bring out the truth.
The bloody kerchief
was thrown on a crowd.
A new comet was sighted.
Dust and ice were
near the tears.
Sun was rising.
Something fell
in the lake. Death was going
to be celebrated.
Flesh has emptied
the juices. Now
bones will laugh.
Satish Verma
What is love? Can the moon tell me
For all its life seducing hearts?
What seasons are there for it, that I
May wait its coming or pick it
Like wild flowers flooding the pastures of the eye.
You far off malignant star, do not lie
How did you from only gas make such dust
To tumble over waterfalls of feeling?
O God, you have a strange way with me
That only from words' slings of history
For slain doubt provide confidence
That I may trust you who I do not see
Working where living faith contests anxiety.
And so as to you
My hands turn from bright votaries
With panging heart to touch her form
And taste the sweet hibiscus of her lips
To chart my course by her driving star
And berth my body between her hips.
Yet though my eyes cannot see her beauty
To which no other beauty compares
And my ears drink not nectars of her melody
But upon her soul have fixed my stare
And read her heart like a poem here.