I Bet Folks In Dresden Wished That They Could Have Had That Back In World War II... Maybe They'd Have

They've been running their campaigns and quiet war for over 50 years using these tactics. And by 'they', I am referring to the military-industrial complex, the Shadow Government, The Deep State. If you think this is just wild conjecture, or conspiracy theory, or hysteria, please understand that Deep State denizens spread doubt forest on all things they have their hands on and in. Don't give in and don't capitulate to their attacks or demands, accusations, or threats. They're the ones running scared now, and we all know it. So let legacy media die, MSM wither, and propagandizing Leftists eat each other; the rest of us know, and we will resist forever.

Operation Northwoods...

What else have they done in the past that seems similar to this? 🤔

Someone asked me today who some of my favorite writers were, and after a bit of reflection I responded: my partner of 16 years. My conversational counterpart raised an eyebrow, then asked, "Oh. Well what has she written?" My response: "She wrote two beautiful souls, our children, into being, and has assured me of a spectacular happy ending." Yes, she's definitely my favorite author...

Unoriginal. Dave Chapelle has said this multiple times. And his spin was funnier.

A gay orgy is probably the manliest thing in existence

Hmmm... in 2014... let's see... who was in the White House then? 🤔

Oh yeah, the Nobel Prize for Peace recipient, one Barack H Obama, a warmonger if ever there were one. He and his administration and Congressional co-criminals set it all up for the purpose of ramping up the corruption, the money laundering, and setting the stage for WW III.

There's your real enemy.

Who started the war? Ukraine... They attacked their own people in the Donbas region. 🤔

Lunatic Poetry was the order of the past few nights:

4/⁰3/²0²2:

"Sometimes I just can't..."

Charcoal dawn, purple sunset

Beautiful and distracting, dizzying...

When I should sleep I know not

All I can think of is where you are...

My compass is broken,

the magnetism tuned to foreign poles...

So I'll wander about until you whisper...

Then I'll be whole...

...I hope...

A stream of silver clouds now, above, carrying a question: Is this your game, or is it mine?

Answer: I won't know until you kiss me that one last time...

Another: Which of us owns the other, I wonder...

You reply: the memory of your smile... and I begin swimming again... or drowning... not sure which...

Autonomic reflex embroiled in a battle with the hunger of a starving heart...

I live this battle every second,

To the point that it defines me...

My heroin...

I scream, long and silent:

Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you....

Then, in supplication: please fuck me just one more time...

... for old time's sake...

Please...

...

It's crude, but then, again, love is brutal and rapacious...as is my appetite for every atom of you...

[Note: I don't know what it all means. I was held captive by the crashing words and could do little else but grip the pen with a shaking hand and tears in my eyes. I swear I wasn't inebriated in that time of writing, but I can't swear that I was sane. Still, it stirs something in me to know it issued forth from some part of me, a part I thought maybe dead, but at least dormant for the past five or six years. It felt good to pour out verse. And I knew I had to share it...

Thank you for indulging me by reading this.

Closing note: I think I may have been possessed by the ghost of Charles Bukowski, now that I think of it...]

I love that this art lover chronicles art history, thusly sharing her or his knowledge and appreciation of art, artists, and the varying degrees of nuance, subtlety and life that art and its creators breathe in to the world. And the anecdotal send-up for this entry made me smile because it let me know that this contributor has passion for art and deliberately (and adroitly, I might add) sought out little known information about Hopper's benchmark masterpiece. Well done!

(So says a ridiculous artist and kook named Wes ...as well as a thousand other names...)

June 7th, 1942: Edward Hopper completes his best known painting, the seminal Nighthawks. When asked by a Chicago Tribute reporter about the philosophical meaning behind the diner having no clearly visible exits Hopper responded, “Shit. Fuck. I did it again. Goddamnit. Fuck. Not again. I did it again. Shit.” and slammed his hat on his leg.

These dregs...

These remains of the day...

Can I imagine them

A

W

A

Y

??

Consider

by sinseoul http://ift.tt/1QJpo53

It's only a matter of time...

These are thoughtful and honest tips. I just had to share them, because no matter my content or the urgency of the story or poetry that is trying to claw its way to the page, I, too, suffer distraction and creative implosion. These things work...

Does anybody have any writing tips for adhd writers?

Peace, Passion, and Prosperity to all y'all!