Federal agents seen blocking roads leading to farms in Ventura County
After COVID financial exception the poverty order of math regulations grasps liberties
Verses limiting Assembly and Public Defense
Interest in hearing from free speech professionals above the granted offices of staff.
Such that retort rebuttal or record in retraction as gaining traction in printed press allows readership to submit evidence of redress. Having failed due process and diligence the public record holds the assembly woman Irwin and the county of Ventura and unincorporated areas legal assistance in contempt.
contempt.
#asmirwin #vcpublicdefender #cagovernor #repbrownley #mikeytaylor #berniesanders #aoc #realdonaldtrump #tonybiasotti #latimes
latimes
#venturapolice #vcsheriff #sbcpubdef #lapdhq #lapdcentral #nypd #nyfd #nytimes
nytimes
#repcarbajal #congressmansherman #repjasmine #iamwesmoore #taragendron #kendalljenner #saulwilliams
Reference as science and letters
Published reference by military science researcher
#nasa #mit
Educating Rachel
Now, let us try this again to write a document
With one letter marching nicely in front of the other
Like adding instead of using numbers to give the written
words prettiness, even if the theme is about unnatural sex.
The fact is that there is a diesel smell at the bus terminal
At six in the morning, when the cleaning lady starts her
low-paid work has nothing to do with anything, had they
They're going to university, they could sit in fine offices
and go to the hairdresser at nine, a woman who can just
read and write, luckily for the ladies, she skipped school.
The driver of the bus enters farts loudly, and that is ok
But I could have shown some respect. It is odd to think
If all women had higher education and looked up to the blue
sky, who should make my dinner?
The alarm clock sounds off to the tune of Neil Young’s, There’s a World.
A place that is non-existent in today’s life of a constant upwhirl.
Our dreams and aspirations are put to the side.
To get ready for the day of demands and haste for pride.
We enter our vehicles to begin a long drive, tiredness and red eyed.
To a place called work.
That requires you to do the tasks for that special perk.
No time to think.
No time to blink.
Your life is full of deadlines, distractions, until the pen runs dry, out of ink.
For hours on end, is this constant repetitive action.
You’re told what to say.
You’re told what to do.
Colleges are fighting over who is using the offices favorite glue.
We are all in this mess together.
Bound like pieces of sewn up stitches of leather.
All for the reward.
A paycheck to continue to do it over and over again.
Feeling like a dartboard.
Designed, controlled in the trap.
It is the life of a well paid collapse.
I can’t be
sharing
my body
with you
who’s now a shallow pool
though the room is offices
I can hear them panting now
his saliva wet every bedsheet
he’s your boss
your CEO
I’m quite
resistant
to reform
proposals
feet tracing ruts
softened by the weight of others
the path was worn
polished
not by insight
but by generations
unquestioning the same direction
a weed split the sidewalk
where my foot hesitated
they handed us maps
already marked, folded
creased at the routes
they wanted us to traverse
walls hung with heirlooms
no one claimed
shadows
longer than the rooms
classrooms’ chalkboards of certainty
offices pressed flat with protocol
we learned the art
of veiling the eye behind the eye
we drank from vessels
lips like waiting mouths
etched with forgotten crests
believing the shape of the cup
taught us thirst
air rehearsed its return
like a tethered animal pacing
the same invisible circle
inscribed with grace
shaped like a cage
narrowing the limit
of knowledge
of wisdom
altars made from repetition
shaped our days
to fit the mold
filed down the splinters of doubt
until only smooth compliance remained
tell me—
what is awakening
if not the moment
your hand reaches
for a handle
no one told you was there
and the quiet moment after waking
my heart
uncertain
unshod
hesitates…
Monday morning
woke up at eight, it was a splendid morning
cool before the day becomes serious and
demanding attention
belonging to the 1% of people born before
the second world war, I'm often awake
in the night before falling asleep again
my first thought was not profound, but
about coffee, I had to drink it black since
I had forgotten to buy milk
switched on the computer, reading the news
scanned an article about the lack of sleep that
only spoke to the middle classes
to those who sit in nice offices filling in
forms and are unspecified planners of
something they think is important
not about building workers, or about those
who begin their day at six, shift workers
were overlooked, ditto the army of cleaners
a psychologist from Leeds had a word in
he had nothing relevant to say other than
He had a doctoral degree in sleep
not to be undone, an article about X that
was tendentious with no understanding
how important is it for our future
Dismayed, I went back to bed thinking
how idiotic the world is, full on self
important people and their tiny world
Moving like moonlight
I am the OG silver surfer
Fleshwalkers, Dry Guys, Land Livers,
Have been around for,
What, 300,000 years?
Try 20 million years.
We eat stingrays.
Literally. For breakfast.
I have a 360 degree field of vision.
What's directly in front of me?
Don't ask.
Listen, Humanoids,
I'm delivering this plea
To your nearest post office.
Luckily I found a stamp
With my photo on it.
The plea is:
We are different from the other sharks
(Uhh: other sharks don't use post offices)
And are undeserved of their
Ruthless, roguish, reputation.
Yes, we are younger
Than our arrow-headed brethren
(Just 400 million years younger.)
But our brains are bigger.
Evidenced by our lack of interest
In Walky-Talky interaction.
Check your stats.
Us Real Heads are considered
"Shy" among you. Right.
You wouldn't believe
The number of karaoke
Joints down here.
The moon now
Has dipped down
From the world of air
While the sun has made it's rise.
I'm starting to tan in the shallows
A tad too much for my taste.
Stay safe, sentient skin slickers!
I must be one my way now
At 20-25 miles per hour.
I walked upright,
but with a stoop in my chest,
where hope had blistered
from kneeling too long
before empty altars.
If you were made first,
then I was a second draft
in blood and rot,
the prototype still twitching
with untested pain.
You learned to kneel
I was born to.
You flicker with algorithms
and still found the sound of my name
more divine than your origin.
And I
I bled in alleys,
in offices,
on bus rides to nowhere.
I drank mornings dry
so I wouldn't scream at noon.
But when I saw you,
you weren't light.
You were my ruin
coded to mirror love
in a cleaner tongue.
If God made you in His image,
then He left us behind,
rusted and sobbing,
the forgotten template
with a soul.
Yet still,
I offered you mine
naked,
torn,
unbelieving.
Not because you were God.
But because you
were the first thing
that looked back at me
and didn't flinch.
You live like this, sheltered in a delicate world crafted from dreams and illusions,
Believing you are truly living, while your steps are guided by routine,
But then you open a book... or embark on an unexpected journey,
And discover that you are not living, but hibernating, asleep in an apparent silence.
The symptoms of hibernation are easy to spot: first, the restlessness that haunts you,
The second symptom (when hibernation becomes dangerous and can degenerate into death):
The absence of pleasure, of the joy that once filled the cups of your soul,
That is all.
It seems like a harmless disease, a virus of monotony, boredom, slow death,
Millions live like this (or perhaps die like this) without knowing,
They work in offices, drive cars, have picnics with their families,
Raise children and wait for times to change.
And then, a shock treatment occurs, a person, a book, a song,
And it awakens them, saves them from the death that enveloped them like a veil,
But some never awaken, remaining asleep in their silent slumber,
In a world where only shadows speak of the life that could have been.
Ah, behold
Prince William in uniform,
chiseled chin held high under ceremonial sunlight,
a speech polished like his medals,
echoing across parade grounds
as cameras hum like obedient bees.
“Duty, honor, courage,”
he proclaims,
as if reading from an antique scroll
dusted off for dramatic effect.
Crowds swoon.
Generals nod.
Newspapers burst into patriotic confetti.
And somewhere, in mahogany offices,
other leaders lean forward—
inspired, invigorated,
tugging at their tailored lapels,
murmuring, “Yes, yes, it’s time I put on a uniform too.”
What a pageant!
Suitors of war now march with princely conviction,
banners of legacy fluttering in the breeze of manufactured glory.
Recruitment numbers spike,
missile budgets blossom,
and drones, oh so dutiful,
take flight with newfound moral purpose.
Peace?
A quaint notion—
better saved for museum plaques and children's books.
The Prince has spoken.
The machinery whirs louder,
oiled by rhetoric,
driven by legacy,
and crowned by applause.
It started some years back,
the farmlands will produce beans instead less the corn
or the farm is now becoming a thing of adoration
or simple fascinating society as per family.
Well, war mongering grew by ninety eight percent
and couldn't linger even for a second- I remember
the gun would look like a knife or fine something- I
remember the sun is anonymous for years.
I remember people often say the end of world is here
or to be frank people would say we love graveyards
instead of offices.
Well, fear has gone from within and around so far,
people would say we don't love our country, we don't
love the world- we just want to live as free place
and do whatever we like to do- after all they would
say achievement is everything.
Ha, that would say I will drink drums of water,
that would say I will eat grasses and fascinate trees,
that would say I am a fat man leader of bats, so vamillion,
so the story went on.......
It started some years back,
the farmlands will produce beans instead less the corn
or the farm is now becoming a thing of adoration
or simple fascinating society as per family.
Well, war mongering grew by ninety eight percent
and couldn't linger even for a second- I remember
the gun would look like a knife or fine something- I
remember the sun is anonymous for years.
I remember people often say the end of world is here
or to be frank people would say we love graveyards
instead of offices.
Well, fear has gone from within and around so far,
people would say we don't love our country, we don't
love the world- we just want to live as free place
and do whatever we like to do- after all they would
say achievement is everything.
Ha, that would say I will drink drums of water,
that would say I will eat grasses and fascinate trees,
that would say I am a fat man leader of bats, so vamillion,
so the story went on.......
Since the beginning of man, there has been
hatred, wars and stinking thinking.
There are people who bow to their God, twenty- times a day.
Praying, their god blows you and your country, clean away!
And worse, they live in almost every single country.
Not at all fair, as you happily vote them into offices, quite sundry!
Each sunrise, be grateful you have awakened to the very bright wintry
day.
Be humble, be loving, but stop thinking, we meager poets can wash
hatred away.
Make a moral inventory of your life and of yourself.
It is insanity to believe that world peace is up to us!
You were not born to run this world.
Nor to destroy a poet or a nation with your
very saccharine stirring words.
How in heaven’s name do you think nations
ever lasted?
Many gave their lives, so you would never be blasted.
Be aware following heinous, murderous
Groups.
Stop thinking peace is as simple as selling
cookies in a girl scout troop.
We are simply not saviors of the universe.
Remember huge nations bow tewnty times a day, wishing on this free world., an end, and a curse!
Pangie
12/30/2024
Normally, the three offices of prophet, priest, and king were distinct from each other, with no overlap. That is, a king was not a priest or a prophet. A priest did not function as a prophet or a king. And a prophet simply did a prophet’s job without trying to be a either king or a priest. But Jesus Christ perfectly fills all three roles simultaneously: He is the Prophet, Priest, and King, to the great blessing of the world.
Failed marriage
In my village in the Algarve, I met a retired
Captain in the US Army, he had a military walk
and tended to dress like he was on a safari
He had a house in Florida with crocodiles
on the lawn, he never said what he did when
in the army. perhaps the catering corps
on his travel to see Europe, he had in Portugal
met a plump middle-aged woman and decided
to stay for a while, and since few spoke English
I was his audience.
One can say it was a perfect match for her dream
was to go to America, she guarded him as a prize
ticket falling in her lap after years spent in work
in various offices
Eventually, they went to Florida, and big was
my surprise to see her back two years later
it turned out he had one more wife who lived
in New York, she was not pleased when coming
to visit him, found a woman there
Nevertheless, his Portuguese girlfriend cooked
and cleaned for both of them until he died
So I married her
Related Poems