The Landfill of the Heapers' Hangout (contains Fossilmaiden's Punnery)
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Comments
“Punish
severely the light crimes…blah blah blah, I’m a totalitarian shit. Wee. Stuff
about state power. I was executed by the fucking Duke. Why are you listening to
me? I’m a dead Chinese dude. Go read Confucianism or Taoism or something,
Confucius and Lao Tzu are way smarter and more handsome than I am. BTW Li Si
you still fucking owe me 1500 yuan, and credit for my philosophy. Fuck you[i]”
[i]
Shang, The Book of Lord Shang (whatever BCE)
well, to be fair, the purported creator of the Bible never was on this world, except maybe briefly, while the scribes were the ones to actually write it
The warmth of her silken dress; stained in red
Her memory fading fast; her mother sits, eyes downcast
A tormented form in hand; farewells unsaid
Not once a certainty, lost in grief;
A daughter's desperate cries, unheard pleas;
Forsaken ancient rite, on her knees;
A prayer passes from her lips;
Into her soul the Goddess whispers:
"A heartbeat without harmony
is rhythm without time.
The heart seeketh equilibrium;
With balance fill your world with calm.
So sing this broken melody,
And let wings shelter thee,
One must start by believing,
An empty heart the light will seek.
An empty heart the light will seek."
The kiss of the salt-sweet breeze
The white of her silken dress stained in red
A memory fading fast
Her mother sits, eyes downcast
A torn uniform in hand, farewells unsaid
That once a certainty, lost in grief
A daughter's desperate cries, unheard pleas
Forsaken, beaten, tried, on her knees
A prayer passes from her lips
Into her soul the Goddess whispers:
"A heartbeat without harmony
Is moonlight without dark
The heart seeketh equilibrium
With balance will your worry part.
So still this broken melody,
And therewith shoulder thee,
One last step only leaving
An empty hearth down by the sea
An empty hearth down by the sea."
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
wait, that's not how the joke goes
She will set you right.
'ware the beast, lest it swallow you whole.
Avoid He who lurks in the corners, waiting to strike, to twist your spirit.
There are those who Are, and those who Are Not.
VINDICI
Duke, royal lecher, go, gray-hair'd adultery;
And thou his son, as impious steep'd as he;
And thou his bastard, true-begot in evil;
And thou his duchess that will do with [the] devil:
Four ex'lent characters. Oh, that marrowless age
Would stuff the hollow bones with damn'd desires,
And stead of heat kindle infernal fires
Within the spendthrift veins of a dry duke,
A parch'd and juiceless luxur! Oh God, one
That has scarce blood enough to live upon!
And he to riot it like a son and heir?
Oh, the thought of that
Turns my abused heartstrings into fret!
Thou sallow picture of my poisoned love,
My study's ornament, thou shell of death,
Once the bright face of my betrothed lady,
When life and beauty naturally fill'd out
These ragged imperfections,
When two heaven-pointed diamonds were set
In those unsightly rings: then 'twas a face
So far beyond the artificial shine
Of any woman's bought complexion
That the uprightest man, if such there be,
That sin but seven times a day, broke custom
And made up eight with looking after her.
Oh, she was able to ha' made a usurer's son
Melt all his patrimony in a kiss,
And what his father fifty years told
To have consum'd, and yet his suit been cold!
But oh, accursed palace!
Thee, when thou wert apparel'd in thy flesh,
The old duke poison'd,
Because thy purer part would not consent
Unto his palsy-lust, for old men lustful
Do show like young men angry, eager-violent,
Outbid like their limited performances.
Oh, 'ware an old man hot and vicious!
"Age, as in gold, in lust is covetous."
Vengeance, thou murder's quit-rent, and whereby
Thou shouldst thyself tenant to tragedy,
Oh, keep thy day, hour, minute, I beseech,
For those thou hast determin'd! Hum: whoe'er knew
Murder unpaid? Faith, give revenge her due:
Sh'as kept touch hitherto. Be merry, merry;
Advance thee, O thou terror to fat folks,
To have their costly three-pil'd flesh worn of
As bare as this: for banquets, ease, and laughter
Can make great men, as greatness goes by clay,
But wise men little are more great than they.
They're called news anchors because they drag down the discourse.
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o/` THE FINAL SHITSHOW dadadaaa daaa o/`
There is a vxse with whxte flowers here.
There is a plxnisphere here.
There is a golden door hxre.