Oceanic Mechanisms
It was here that I found her sleeping softly,
Somnolence is so beautiful to behold,
When oceanic machines purr,
And the streets of her dreamland,
Bustle with fantastic automobiles,
And subconsciously, the sidewalks
Are strewn with people carrying flowers,
And waking life is very soon to commence,
As I pray, she brings this sublimity to consciousness.
"I'll give you the world,
But what will you do with that glimpse?"
Divinity provided many times,
Before I was ready and again needed to shift.
Not punishment...but instilled a yearning for wholeness,
Which would break again to layer in the new.
Our capacity expands as we embrace the fractals,
Or lies stagnant when we hold onto a precious few.
The Kindest have that darkness,
The safety mechanisms of the mind.
Reverted back to what felt familiar and remembered,
The parts mirrored of me that was to scared to shine.
Which requires a first step,
Maybe ten, stumbling the entire time.
Suddenly those muscles recognise the movement,
Sprinting faster and now in a straight line.
Who I am, will be who I once was,
Also who I was meant to become, before.
Learning when to rest and when to run,
Understanding the root, that feeling of unsure.
Vulnerability is a necessity,
Leading in deep lessons along the way.
Choosing warmth not kindness,
Loneliness over pain,
Meeting myself, again and again.
There are the CODES
Each Defense does have them
Disparate they are
And each does crave to crack them
Internal mechanisms
Of cryptanalysis of this
The military
Don't want peace
Because
The peace delusional
It is
Is ephemeral
Isn't rational
And doesn't solve
SO cuirios I am about how
All system this
Intends
Out of the situation
TO evolve
There was this
Inherent Resolve
And taken out of the context this
The formulation
Of the operation
Had taken us to be considering
The wiss
Of all ID of all the people of the world
This system may aquire whole profile
Of any person who commits
The crime
It's there where church is fraud
For systema of the LAW ENFORCEMENT
And thus the way they in ARMY trod
Due the INCOMPETENCE of ARMY
Celebrates the FRAUD
The museum basement smells of ozone and pressed violets. I am cataloging a shipment of Victorian automatons, specifically the clockwork songbirds. Their mechanisms are intricate, tiny gears of brass that mimic a pulse, a heartbeat. They don’t sing, of course—only whir. My job is to ensure the silence of the dead. But last night, one of them turned its head toward the moonlight, a single, sharp click echoing against the concrete, and for a second, I swore the gears were bleeding oil. The curator told me to oil them again.
a small brass pinion
in the palm of my cold hand
starts to tick faster
He assumed they were just not used
to the intricate mechanisms of a
the Box Brownie camera.
Images of his young life never taken,
now cannot view him.
An undeveloped child, an unrecorded life.
At aged seven an awkward boy was caught
on an obligatory school photo.
Token evidence of a former existence.
After the demise of the Box Brownie
and two parental deaths,
several spools of undeveloped films
were brought to light,
though he knew that any faded moments
contained within them
would never be his moments.
He had long chosen not to be invisible,
or a victim to any closed
or shuttered window.
I am gonna moult
Says Paradigm
What is right rhyme
To paradigm
The prime
The crime
The dime
The time
The paradigm
I am moulting logic anytime
Says paradigm
Beware and prepare
Loosing the specifics
And if being fair
These aren't the real friends of yours
As time on platforms you do spare
Posterity
Descendant generation
This my Intelligence the Station
Is written for inquiring minds
But not adaptive
Contrary to nature
These are not the peeling
There are rinds
There is something really wrong
In human mechanisms
Of the submitting to the given
Thus those who responsible for this
In fact, in truth, can never be forgiven
Thus, fix the tolerance of yours
As real Judgment
Leaves no the reminder
To remorse
When I’m not tapped into a music stream.
I like quiet
no - let’s be exact,
I like silence
ear plugs in - deafening quiet
or better yet, noise cancelled anti-sound
That’s relatively new technology
My mom mentioned new studies suggest it may rewire things
gray matter wise, you know, behind the eyes
like the patterns sound forms in sand.
But if you’re going to scramble my mind
your going to have to wait in line behind
bland 21-year-old issues like:
sleep deprivation
hormonal fluctuations
romantic fog
case study competitions
business model design games (REALGAME)
deductive logic puzzles
irritability and mood swings
mental bandwidth anxiety
cognitive confusion
information overload
assignment stress
premenstrual syndrome
compulsive coping mechanisms
career anxiety
sexual frustration
multitasking shifts (schedule)
canon events (existential dilemmas)
culture shock (new environment)
feeling “scrambled”
family pressures
So, yeah. let’s fn Jettison headphone worries - MOM - shall we??!
.
.
Right Now by The Creatures
A Girl In Trouble (Is a Temporary Thing) by Romeo Void
Your Turn to Run by Malaria!
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Introduction to sports injury epidemiology and prevention strategies
When you’ve been subjected to violence, scars and bruises tell.
When you’ve been subjected to violence the mind doesn’t trust people that well.
When you’ve been subjected to cruelty the scars don’t necessarily show.
When you’ve been subjected to cruelty the internal bruises can grow.
Finding ways to deal with… why!
Why do I react like that?
Why do I cry?
Years and decades to absorb the grief. Then lie to yourself before admitting through your teeth.
Bury the confusion, bury the pain.
That’s how we live and will remain.
Seeking help can ease your mind. Seeking help can fast rewind.
Facing the past can shine new light.
Defences can be built, there’s no need to fight.
Mechanisms to deal with triggers can be found.
Then you can walk in light and peace on any ground.
Self-defense mechanisms
take over in times like these …
No matter the provocation
Don’t forget ‘thank you’ and ‘please’
This life's trying to kill me,
Grind me down,
Beating me slowly.
Looking at pictures of the old me,
I see my face but I don't really know me.
Who is this person I've become?
At what point did it go so wrong?
Did I make it in time, or did I leave it too long?
Trying to hold on, trying to be strong.
I need sunshine to escape these winter blues,
Searching deep inside looking for some clues.
If I could pick my own path, which one would I choose?
If it made you feel good, how long until you started to abuse?
That wonderful feeling that takes the pain away,
But it's only temporary; that pain's here to stay.
Trying different coping mechanisms,
But still, my mind keeps me awake at the end of the day.
Looking at blue skies, but all I see is grey.
I don't know if I can take much more,
Will I smile when I get to death's door?
Is this my last ride,
Or will I be reincarnated like before?
The cracks showing come straight from the core."
I saw you, looking at me
From a decent distance
I took my notice
And offered you calm resistance
I moved, you followed
Respectful, just waiting
Providing circumstances
That guided me toward participating
Finally, I cried out
"I need no nurturing here
I have defense mechanisms
Keeping me from slipping a gear
...I love manual transmissions
Besides, I've lived a lifetime
Without personalized care
Pouring into others
Never questioning what is fair
...dang it all...there is something...there
Rejection is one thing
Abandonment, another
What is that blackened chord
...death of my mother"
I passed it on to Daddy God
And watched Him restore and connect
The doors of Mama's house, opened
Revealing the elect
Beautiful sounds all around
Celebration of LOVE abiding
Never more, an orphan
Preparing, once again, for whatever fear is hiding
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-23-2024
On the inside of the doohickey
is the cogwheel thingamajig.
And that thingamajig keeps the thingy working well.
It turns and cranks and circles around and round
like the second hand on an analog face clock.
On the inside of the workspace office
are the people that run the show,
and even if they have the most expensive of mechanisms
will be a chaotic environment if not
for the heart of the office glow.
On the inside of the human
is a mechanism most grand!
The heart that pumps a life giving, bloody, stream of life.
And the heart is the center of our emotions.
Our heart is the reason we laugh
and its the reason we cry the salty tears.
But no matter the location on the GPS
or no matter the engine in the truck,
and no matter the ink in the pen,
the heart of the person is the mechanism
that matters more than the most.
There are no cogs, springs, wheels, or gears inside of me.
I'm a flawed human whose mind and heart often disagree.
I don't have parts, interior mechanisms like those inside a clock.
but if my heart makes a decision, my mind puts up a roadblock.
There's no symbiosis between them, nor a willingness to agree.
Each day is a struggle for me, from which I cannot break free.
Mechanical parts of a washing machine sometimes need repair,
but when heart and mind are at odds, it's a hardship I must bear.
It's pugilistic sparring and I'm overwhelmed with doubt and fears
because I'm the one who always gets hurt, bringing me to tears.
I can't get through to my heart, and simply cannot make it clear
to a stubborn mind that tunes out what it doesn't want to hear.
I've pleaded and tried bartering but neither one will take heed.
I've accused them both of having an ego and an attitude of greed.
The interior machinations of my mind and heart often malfunction.
My heart seeks love, while my mind is smug with selfish unction.
I can't really remember when the last time was, they ever agreed.
They're an enigma, each one having its own beliefs and creed.
"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe," ... Carl Sagan
Subtle crafts soundly, using euphemisms,
yet cluelessness dealt a sheltered abyss.
When one confront internal mechanisms,
whatchamacallit ... orphaned hit-or-miss.
A conundrum conspires an endowed soul,
behooves postmortem liken achievement.
Where'er wits helix baptism, buried hole,
an urchin crawlspace, be I foundling sent.
Newborn bid birthright a pardoned envoy,
of mature absence deemed as uncharted.
Internals blueprint designed, bad employ,
indeed, tunnels end--will be lights outed.
Rare conscientiousness temper unknown,
infiltrate hallmark translates as dethrone.
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