Worldwide Campaign to stop the Abuse and Torture of Mind Control/DEWs
A group for people to share poems stories, videos and other forms of art that encorperate what TIs experience.
Members: 42
Latest Activity: Dec 13, 2015
Started by David ofTomorrow. Last reply by The Rose - Sharon Poet Jan 9, 2013. 10 Replies 0 Likes
Creating is often the only way I can get away from the horror of my day to day experience. Right now I like to write, but I feel some visual arts coming along in my mind. It's nice to feel creative when there is so much distruction that comes along…Continue
Started by Soleilmavis. Last reply by Soleilmavis May 29, 2012. 2 Replies 0 Likes
I write a poem, but I am not good in poem, can you help me to edit it? The arching willows hang downward being reluctant to part;They weaved early the old spring magic.Without fertile ground, they grew to shady trees;They were getting stronger and…Continue
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A pillow of cream delights the mind. Blue breaks haze above red brick.
Puss that had coagulated around the poison injected slowly and methodically by the spider woman, was spewn forth as the taut skin stretched to the tearing of its thin membrane.
Oxygen flows inward. Stars inside the mind alight.
Clumsy fingers brushed the product of some woman’s selfishness—blonde, always she was a blonde—out of the meat of my soul. Relief was instant and gratifying, but the burn of the inflamed flesh surrounding the open wound remained.
Concrete moves below. Vectors lead forward.
The reverberation of her name moved outward from the eye of the storm in my flesh in waves that stained a path incessantly onward toward a manifest destiny.
Invitations offered from nearby smiles. Color flashes bright within on looking eyes.
The puss falls to the ground, offering itself to the leeches waiting to use its lactic energy to create nightmares among the shadows of future nights of fleeting rest.
Dancing vines of green bearing flags of color surrounding brushes holding the artist’s oils bed in Tera Cota vessels hang supported by metal links that warm to sun’s touch. A bee lifts off to carry the load of pollen to the colorful neighbors dwelling within their Tera Cota homes that line the traveler’s path.
The shadow of those workers above who weave a pattern of life within Miss Information’s garden fall upon the eager feeding of those who succumb to the intoxication instigated by the fraud within the puss that lies dying upon the grey ground.
The storm that is the war between those playing chess on the board of humanity’s consciousness is waged without notice due to the song of the passing machines and the smell of the invisible gases that they leave in their wake.
Comment by Dr Emmett Lathrop Brown on Saturday on TI ARTS COMMUNITY:
Song D.O.P.E. ft Twice: I'm a Machine (Like a robot)
«Great Scott!» CARMEN do not delete your song! Thank you!
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