767 Reptile

Malignant epidermis

Frail reptile skin cancer

Scale self prison keratin cell

Ossified bed molting chamber

Elegant chimera cocoon riddle

Humanity shouldn't solve

But to save a live

At no cost

(Chorus)

Socially Committed

Lost,

      Premise for a social nihilistic personality stigma of remorseless prejudice, Commentary scheduled for sandcastle universe first appearance upon the death of December's birth date, Socially white no second regrettable offensive front end of the line chances jacket commitment for life, Barren Mother of All womb starved by progress synonym for profit's counterfeit strikes of endless violence, Siege of Earth most unwelcome pretentious malignant tumour guests create vapid pools of toxic filth to adorn the lands no longer dear.

In earnest anticipation of,

Symphony of Oil: Sands of Ruin I

Symphony of oil

Black nebula of sand

Toxic pools of profit's tar

Plastic ocean crescendo

Sonnet ode to the sea

Sandcastle Mother
Earth is in ruins

Congratulations

Humanity...

767 Boy-Daughter: Cursed Home I

Well rehearsed play
Counter strike life stage
Appeasement at all times
Caught playing at pretend
Red righteous prayer handed
Pulpit curse identity crisis
Prejudice cold soul
Idiom of hate

Stage set for reliving

Playing pretend at the past
Conflict counterfeit resolved
Transgender closet curse identity
Malignant integrity tumour remission
House hold pet not solicited names
Bullied in her own degrading circus
Sentenced to a brick wall home
A colourless personality prison
House never a home
Never a home
At home

Well rehearsed play
Counter strike life stage
Appeasement at all times
Caught playing at pretend
Red righteous prayer handed
Pulpit curse identity crisis
Prejudice cold soul
Idiom of hate

Stage of games
Playing at pretend
Closet realm existence
Illegitimate mother's song
Identity counterfeit resolution
Strike of a million familiar prayers
Unauthorized relief satisfaction
Improper treatment facility
Invalid identity diagnosis
A make believe curse
House never a home
Never a home
At home

Companion

Hallowed enclave,

     Ridden into the grave beyond the touch of mortal craft rusted edge puppet cold epidermis steel, Blade of the past phantom closed lidless demon externalized impression of the inner eye guardians, Press socially blind prejudice advocates of war... Synonym for profit and the wolves of Avarice.

     Upheld remiss content of the sportsman's derelict shots indecently fired at prey leaning over extended on a toxic spiritual half manifest of imaginary destiny link to the past no one ever recalled to live or forget, Kneeling as if angels beyond those abandoned on wingless who seek atonement for a single moment's lie imbued draw of the dice Luck distilled in humanity's raging stance belief of indulgence despite halo's-cost and the swelling red death tide shores of compassion lost.

In earnest anticipation of,

Talks of... Silence

Broken down peace,

     Talks of a think shark wall single file tank filled street existing on half no one cares newspeak altered false state of apathetic comfort time, doublethink mind gone gone numb to the rogue chill heart of atrophy sunken deep under the epidermis where compassion should lie...

In earnest anticipation of,

Hive Minded

Foot falling, step into...

    Next derelict never regretted step into pack mentality lies beyond the bystander effect on epidermis fields of rape, menacing daily threat  public sexual so far beyond grope assault, high burnt alive no man trial court without so much as a tear shed in a second no hope for a chance appeal before slashes of fire bore forth ashes from bone.

In earnest anticipation of,

Spoken Nerdity, Love Me Mum!

I wanna say mum

As I were ten years old again

Looking up from her knees

Head full of hour long bullied tears

Someone's been at the cookie jar of my heart again

Asked to open presence on a hallway pass

Just to ridicule the hole in my second hand me down trousers

Passed on every selection for a game of quidditch

Soling a lightsabre duel with Darth Vader

Who didn't blink to stand me up
Standing in the library again

Hand in hand with Dickens

Attempting to mend

Diagnostics of Seven

Research underdeveloped,

     Seven phases of testing left the bipolar mirror triple girl as ethereal as a ghost, Declaring her feelings were as phantoms disinterested in any attempt to solve the origin source genesis of her trauma, Exposing her doppelgänger instead to algorithms of peril dangerously close to the line of lobotomy, as if the climate of self might change from despairing powerless grey into perfect emotional cortex health at the blink of a miracle preyed for upon the red mortal climax of fleeting life dawn; Tomorrow.

     Closed eye last desperate whole malfunctioning blink before waking in the derelict black of hell, A silent world overture of bleak crescendos inescapably crushing the spirit trapped in the will of the misaligned soul synonym for consciousness, a derelict vessel for a disdained compassion.

In earnest anticipation of,

Where Colour Exhibits Loss I

Beyond the mirror,

     Screaming into the canyon of triple context reunion of stories telling ourselves an uncontested assortment of lies, A testament to the haven of disapproval half dictating our lives in fear of both mirror and future, Mere shadows of doubt contorted by the incarceration of the regret unto dreams we never even glimpse a second to become.

In earnest anticipation of

No Second(s)

Invalid recurrence,

    Subject droned out last matter of chance fact display privileges lost, Way of a trance discovery beyond the dire holocaust shores that bones of oil drown lives dance in the surf of Sandcastle Earth, Fallen angels who once sought atonement mending inhumanity discovered a dire no bell's might shall toll from the songs of children taught abuse akin to abduction leading to blazes after rape is considered just, A cause befitting the dire end of a single shark infested avarice street whose announced theft intentions the mobile cellular recognition synapse brain shut off amalgamation meltdown of the treasure of consciousness rarely utilized despite the charge of internalized always noticed fairness endeavour to portray the injustice of mistreatment upon self as a valid conduit for alteration or contempt.

     Pinnacle of humanity's universe lost, Compassion is the treasure... Who will exist in empathy to rescue the smiles of others?

In earnest anticipation of,

Clone Used

Attracted to the crowd,

    Undressed by pure vulgar peer sex call pressure, Medium she saw through lied for a coin toss adventure in day to day life as a single life left over parent, Holy exposure in a rapture's grace was spent on another widow, Intoxicated acceptance witch now tells short crystal stories trapped in a social ball of extraordinary normality always seeking a conduit to show against the traumatic mirror alias we've oft too long portrayed versus our reality of a counterfeit life!


     Lecture yourself with radio active personality tests striving against tomorrow's selfishness, Castle of strange riddles attempting to dissuade you from rummaging through the regret of ruins you've left in a the wake of your blind avarice vampire life.

In earnest anticipation of,

Worst of Time(s)

Feudal Admiration,

     Bushido's lost in worst of times class system, Aspirations unto our debt we hold, Trust in fallen angels who leech cancer from untolled bells upon our dust until the cost is found out, The affirmation of conscience lost to the degradation of a lunar off shore sunken empire tragedy no one cared to record event, Sandcastle Earth has fallen!

In earnest anticipation of,
    

Aspirations Made of Gold

Blessed anchor

     Left behind upon the vale of toxic washed up bones attached to beaks inside the carcasses of cartilage, Villains swimming under the trench walls of Mariana's single file shark street where vile heart antagonists amputate compassion before the throne of bedside's pledge never to regret.

In earnest anticipation of,


   

Poetry & Podcast October 23rd

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Twin Diagnosis
http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/767twin_diagnosis

Awaiting...That fateful dance,The lips formulate intrinsically a smile,beyond measure is any response,Floating in reflection upon the sea...

Diction of a serenade unto one harbouring a renegade,Promise a truthful statement when the mirror reflects metro bobby's incoming damage...!

Stand to profit from a final heart beat attempt,Plot line of a protagonist shows a love story,In death as he fishes for bats in hell...

Reconcile the heart to the head,Emotions amidst thoughts long troubled the trinity of mankind,We're now chained to lust & deadened to guilt.

Break more upon the bridges at the end of all your lines,Seems like an unfolding fairytale chalk outline of love,Story of our tragic lives!

In earnest anticipation of,

Like, Share, Support, Comment and always Smile!

Poetry & Podcast October 22nd

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Kaleidoscope Positive
http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/kaleidascope_positive

Piano heart peddle beat,Hope indirectly crushed under heal,Nearly dead yet patient under the last orchid petal before both linger in the dust,Who will love or fight.

Love:An invisible heart's inaudible scream guillotine,Staring at the sink of destiny,Filled with blood,As tears fall,It all ends tonight...!

Hope,The counter to all disease. Not to unriddle the body but to renew the heart strapped forever beside the mind,Find yourself or deny,Fight or die...
Something in the mirror eludes my soul,Betrayal of sight upon self,

Forgo all hope in the heart split,Accidental slit after a failed attachment,Chivalry died in me that night,As my soul fell behind a mask of pain,Drained by a plague of sorrow

Erode all hope,Just like she did,Love is defined by debt,To the unfathomable over use & torture of my virtue & willingness to fight

In earnest anticipation of

Break Point, A Vantage Point

Quaint measures,

     Anciently fashioned on peripherals that slays youth with slander of a stigma, prejudice's socially accepted bully our children into isolation campaign no single universe can dismiss the interwoven nebula lake of emotion terror crystals we force kids to travel the body of lies until their upheaval.

     Prolonged self amputation event, kaleidoscope prosthetic phantom ghastly numbing pain confines the future behind the monster invisible Minotaur trapping the young protagonist in a closet, mirror advocates the dismissal of derelict life signing ghosts beckoning the soul to end up an arbiter, detached via curiosity of the next realm, how many children must seek the self lobotomy before inhumanity raises a pass the fist finger from the idle table of comfortable history on 'we allow the inevitable' repeat to exist, perpetuated by the blind message we transmit from birth to when decrepit and old in death.

     Darkest circumstances inhumanity allows to roam free over young citizens of empire only sentient universe's sandcastle earth is crumbling on the distant 'now we're watching home soil' shores decompose, as if we've been expecting the casualty of hope to wane at long last.

     This is the shadow of a loving home built on acceptance's epiphany disbanded from the synapse cloudy mind of a mother who describes her dubious lovers as something more than a one night sexually transmitted payment cheque mate the queen in hand her face bruise lifted a fist last night's overly aggressive stairwell fall description unto her daughter as scarlet tears of remorse fill the monster in her child's closet, deluded by a vapid reign of mothers who witness fathers, often in reverse appearance on the wrong side of abuse's ha(e)ven never extinguished by prayer or miracle.

In earnest anticipation of,

Poetry & Podcast October 20th

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Day Watch
http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/day_watch

Auditioned for a ticket,Walked away with a fine,Love's shackles deplorable state I gave up for a moment overcome with desire,Killer of kind!

Never wanted these,Emotions never felt before,Tragic yet not toxic,Love is never lethal,Heart condition mumbles ever after,Plague of destiny

Unravel the system to cleanse the debt before the next shift: our children,Sacrifice prayers whilst relinquishing their promise: Debt toxins

Find me between lines,Smiling as the context of a thousand corpses long gone drive me on,Writing emotional scenarios hard to believe real!

In earnest anticipation of,

767 Upholding the Drama I

Another Poem started last night as well so here's a poetic Preview!

Gossip portrayed lies

Upholding unpleasant drama

Flack from anti acceptance guns

Mouths of irrelevant war

Progressive deception

Illicit entertainment

Exempt of regret

Guilty pleasure

Portruding epedimic

Forked dispatching tongue

Epidermis of a demon

Viral newspeak lie

Poetry & Podcast October 19th

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Second(s)
http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/esao_seconds

The incoherent ramblings left behind.

Lone beached whale surrounded by a thousand corpses,Marooned by the sea as she hunted down the last red tide never seen from the vacant sky!

Villain guised in mediocre apperance,Identity of a hero fraud,Anti pulse walking in decay exoskeleton,Tied up in a suite of misery,

The last mirror stair case took place far beyond the distant arms of love,Dissolution of   balance of heart,No one ever asked back to earth.

Dangling at the end of the noose of your lies,No one to break the chains or abstain Death's tide,Saw the hands of mercy,But she wasn't mine!

Cum in my hands,Vanquishing the balance of virtue,My...Oh My,Do I have a crush on myself,Or am I destined to ruin the love of my life...?!

In earnest anticipation of,

767 Bipolar Twin Operation I

A Poetic Preview

Siamese soul twins

Operating in meditation

State of memorable dissection

Act of severing the ocean from air

Bipolar privacy unawares arrangement

Deployed charter of the binary double

Corresponding lost half of a copy

Sickened well being translation

Lonely cold life lobotomy

Guardian consent

Hypnotically conscious

Psychotherapy exploration 

Discovery of a prosthetic self

Conjoined schizophrenic duplicate

Unmentionable cure synthesis

Paired psychosis divided

Singularity expense

Polar opposite

Epidemic

A Greeting(s)

Good day,

          My name is Juton and I'm the Executive Director for Algorithymns Poetry² based out of Glasgow East Renfrewshire and am looking to get involved with the Curriculum for Excellence in the education system doing workshops on a variety of topics, the most keen of which is Mental Health, Social Stigma, Art Therapy, Finding Your Artistic Voice, Leadership, Acceptance, Bullying and Equality.

     The team here would be most grateful with any assistance in networking or information that would lead towards the project working within the Curriculum for Excellence in Scotland.

     The Algorithymns Poetry² is a digitally distributed poetry projected that aims to further creativity in the education system and the day to day life of young people, their parents and the broader community in general while advocating for acceptance, understanding, mental health and anti bullying along side social stigma(s).

     We aim to empower young people to reach their potential by releasing their confidence to new levels, helping them find their creative voice in what comes most natural to them, discovering this is key to driving aspiration to live day to day life where they will utilize their creative skills and socially responsible interactive skills to not only encourage others, but also see the world through a positive scope.

     Thank you so much for your time, please consider this an introduction. Have a most pleasant rest of your day.

In earnest anticipation of,

Juton Akoto Executive Director

+44 745 560 ****

JutonAkoto@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/VillainofTruth

http://villainoftruth.blogspot.co.uk/

http://villainoftruth.tumblr.com/

http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton

Day Watch

Purpose of Today,

    Unquenchable transition period between past and future, Present of Sandcastle Earth's nearly done in recklessly terraformed rubble where inhumanity is trapped in ruins avarice created on behalf of a just under the surface epidermis graft on epidemic we accepted the clause grasp crawling into our hearts.

     Now we watch the sun go live each brand new dawn, Without the eclipse of love, We understand nothing save selfish desire's destructive cause that twist into affliction over time like damage done, Subscribe to each event as if the moment of climax sensation would mean atonement.

     Watching ourselves fade, Desperate to forego the terms of the plague keeping our dreams at bay, Bleeding emotional cross of conscience adapted to deny the guilty traumatic events of shame, We remember only that which benefits ego, Tomorrow we'll wake to relish in regret upon our distant shore death bed, These are the terms and conditions of life neglecting the greatest treasure left on this crumbling Sandcastle Earth; Compassion.

     Sourced well near the world's end she stands, The first atonement fallen no winged anorexic unto salvation angel tracing her infinity through time she'll never be accepted save for the bell's resounding contortion toll of grace unfathomable, Leading us down the seemingly befuddled path of dying judgement, murdered prejudice and noose hooked bullying.

     Distinct shores where ear winking lips newspeak gossip has long been buried in death before the feet of Apollion brother of Death, Lilith the angel awakening hearts to witness... Dawn's mourning after thunderstorm of contemplation that comes in regret of another twilight intoxication doublethink event, Horizon of a porcelain floor tainted paper mache works of falsely designated time, Theft of clarity.

In earnest anticipation of,

Poetry & Podcast October 17th

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Perfect Back Light

http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/fb_perfect_back_light

Piano heart peddle beat,Hope crushed under heal,Nearly dead yet patient beside the last orchid,Lingering in the dust,Who will love or fight!

Piano heart peddle beat,Hope crushed under heal,Last orchid petal watches love describe a dying lover as beautiful,Defined by hope in virtue

Aftermath of existence,Tell myself I was never there,A parasite on the high sea of souls,Vanquished long ago,An eternal sentence is mine...

Alt tab me over,Pass the neglected by,Just above boring I'm described,Justified  dysfunction of clarity,Lust of the eyes drives human kind,

767 Stim Pack Youth (Someone's Wounded Mum) I (Explicit)

When Maureen was an innocent youth

She used to spend convulsive intervals wondering

Stim packing bipolar no second second personalities 

Whose kidding juxtapose idiom voices that didn't believe in her

Just like her mother's cold she wanted a boy off in the distance stare...

Backyard toxic screen check language chasing her out the door

Escape the fear bomb story of one heavy handed conversation

Polygraph video kaleidoscope memory gland held it all in

Mourning after journal entries hidden as treasures

Found herself in another stranger's bed

No it was her mum's brother

Uncle mother f*cker...

Falling into euphoric asleep

No night terrors coping mechanism 

Contemplating what her parents know

Side affects of abusive imaginary wondering

Conditioned destiny agreement epidemic

Genetic clause choking her to death 

Tolerated siege of untold turmoil

An unreserved dialect of pain

Born forth from family

Second(s)

Auditorium,

     Response time granted in a second nearly fatal eclipse, a blank inadvertent escape method done in by someone else, a blow to the syntax nebula of the head leaving a contusion mingled with the haze of a concussion's dedication to wiping memories in an attempt to reformat the sorrow within.

In earnest anticipation of,

Poetry & Podcast October 16th

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Dishonest carpe Diem Moments

http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/fb_dishonest_carpe_diem

Write until...

     Withered soul moreover with every written character, Until six feet under dry and decaying! Every syllable for everyone, Nothing left for myself. No drugs, no friends, no online world to retreat into... Nothing is pleasant anymore! Save for leaving an invisible treasure of words for no one to find, A poetically infused prose  verbiage plague left behind.

     Tonight I write to rid a maiden's heart of pain, a tragic cancer. Of the heart. Though obsolete is the serum labelled healing injection. A one day self awareness, memories relinquish in debt to an unspoken virtue: grace.  

The Apparition Cage I

Quit my job today

To get out from the shade

Living in the darkness underneath all I owned

Trading it in for the last worthy treasure

To vibrate my tongue to end wars

Teaching the prodigal youth

How to scrape off epidermis rust

To search for atonement's wings

Hung on the silent cathedral walls

No bells toll for paper mache feathers

Fallen angels struggle to appease miracles

Sadly too many inhumane hearts are asking for bread

Not food but winning lotto tickets to fill bank accounts

A 767 Workshop Short Story: Of Mending, The Question

I remember clambering up the stairs at 11 years old, having been asked by my father to check the scale for my weight. I had gone up with pride and a smile nearly bursting my cheeks, for he had often called me 'the tank,' I had no idea...

Half way down the stairs he asked, 'what's the number,' I politely in a very shy manner informed him and those in the kitchen below, '181 lbs.' Whatever pride or self confidence I had was marred that day, for my father's cheerful smile diminished into a frown, but he chuckled through it saying 'I didn't weigh that much till I was a grown man, an adult.'

Despite his attempt to mask displeasure the unmistakable cringe in his eye brows and forehead reflected his disdain at his eldest son, even if its flash was but a mere second. Ever since then, due to a myriad of reasons beyond my control including being over fed and thus overweight, bullying in school, which I could go on endlessly about, a lack of friends, no one that understood me and thus no one ever accepted me.

There was no perception of any form of mental illness until I was 29 years old when someone, a friend mind you someone I trusted the opinions of, called me 'an anorexic skeletal holocaust victim,' though there had been times as a teenager that I was depressed, but never for long periods of time.

It was at that point that I entered a new phase in my life, I left my job and the big city to move back to my home town, to be close to my family. I went into recovery and mended, mostly alone, through art therapy.

  Now I live to share what healed me, it was a question, but not the one that is most often imposed upon those who suffer from mental illness, that being 'what's wrong with you.' No, there was something different about those who cared for and treated me, they wanted to know 'what had happened to me.'

It was this fundamental believe that I was not broken or had something drastically wrong with me, but what trauma(s) had happened to me, so that I might be in need of mending. I thank those people dearly and wish to inspire others who suffer as I once suffered to hope and a smile, along with their families and those that care for them.

Ask not what is wrong with them, but what has happened to them... If you are unwilling to ask this question, maybe, just maybe, you are part of the cause. You might be a symptom, if you think this is true, even subconsciously, step back, maybe you need mending too, just like they do.

In earnest anticipation of,
J

Poetry & Podcast October 15

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Kaleidoscope Memory Gland

http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/kaleidoscope_memory

Brought myself down from the inside,Lingered too long on the massacre withered serenade of torment,Verbal parades spend tearing me down,Bullying is for ghosts who wear sulfur crowns,Their deeds are as demons,Deavour for clique monetary conquest,A scheme rekindled from a past age.

   Time changes amidst imaginary memories. Visions of pleasure dance vividly under long forgotten sheets, All because of a singularity point of view, Selfishness branded every moment with her, Now you exist in eternal remorse, Behind the heart's closed doors.

     Unprepared for an untimely event, Unravelling of matters in fact(s), No more morality in an age of illegitimate perfection based on a gossip board clique review, Decisions are made and via a toxic faith do we adore the acceptance in a monetary greed system of debt war!

In earnest anticipation of,

Link to the Future I

Amidst ochre dawning hours,

    A silent pillar sentinel stands vigil upon the dais before the throne's digital cloak, behind the promised zombie apocalypse curator the last horrid Armageddon desiring vampire; Link, Knight wondering devourer of souls on behalf of his princess who took a stake in eternity on behalf of diligence to end all mother's suffering after the red dawn of their children meandering into the next realm after the noose of fangs rang their necks.

     Zelda commissioned the arbiter's mechanical creation, Revenant back from the nether world wrights constructed apollion from humanity's dust, Ruins of the divine crimson right hand's first generation of history that lifted a finger not to repeat the swell of avarice world's ending period, Phase left incomplete due to the everlasting trail of fallen angels who seek atonement.

   

767 Goodnight Family

Goodnight waiver

Conformity's lost doll

Sculpture of a catalyst

Social stigma personality

Porcelain throne dry heaving

Prescription's sandcastle universe 

False sane convictions plummet

Peer blood pressure marionette

Bequest a stranger's pride

Stand idle as he plunges

Virginity holocaust

No difference

Sanity lost

Monologue traitor

Self interpretor betrayal

No thought process moderation

Conscious nebula anchor forgotten

Wondered into partitions of panic

Vacant pleas to reformat

Cosmos sea of dolls

Illicitly abandoned

Due to illness

Signed departure

Waiver of acceptance

Locked up tight

Her story...

It ends

In a cell of white

Where no sun shines

What's so wrong

With the one bullet left

System triggered sanity's loss

Never asked what happened

No trauma discovered

Neglected diagnosis
Peace of a pacifist

Pride of a doctorate

Stake in the false rescue

Fatal signature investment

Reassembly black cloud process 

Shadow of a father's digit

Signing his icon away

Trophy of a padded cell

White prescription jacket

Dosage of pills hide pain

Nothing left to...

Understand

Mind blown mistake

Contraceptive termination

Parental sanity adapted

To graphic wishes 

Instead of reality

Acid Blood Kids (Nerd Warning)

Trap,

      Dark occasional glow worm illuminated server lit processing room, no longer adapting memorable instances via a sensitive arsenal of imprint non-destructive magnetic polarized test tube nameless organisms of replication grown into xenomorphic children never born.

What We Are

Waking at Night,

     A poet whose written endeavours are for social change, predominantly the end of social stigma, bullying and prejudice that thrive on behalf of presumptions, gossip and ignorance; for the purpose of inspiring understanding that leads to acceptance.

     Director of Algorithymns Poetry² a digitally distributed multi-medium network that is currently working on several projects on mental health, those that suffer from mental ill health and thus are subject to a myriad of external trauma that stem from social stigmas, ignorance, unwillingness to understand and thus accept.

     767 A Broken Perfect Number, book of short poems on mental health was launched October 8th, 2013 via Kindle Store on Amazon. It is the first project that has the possibility to be purchased and thus make Algorithymns Poetry² sustainable, as up until now all projects have been broadcast with hope of support via donations, which haven't occurred as of yet.

     Some of the current work of the project involves daily broadcasts of Poetic and workshop Podcasts via Spreaker and Soundcloud. Poetry tweets, ranging from 4-7 per day and blogging content which ranges from prose in the form of workshops to poetic infused endeavours, all with the hopes of inspiring some social change, or maybe just a smile.

For a smile is like a droplet that's fallen upon the face of another, the pond ripples and finds its way down stream into the sea of humanity. You never know how a single smile might inspire the world.

Thanks for stopping by and having a read.

In earnest anticipation of,
Juton

Poetry & Podcast October 13th

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Miracle Wound
http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/miracle_wound

When your preyers and wishes no longer inspire your heart... Not to love or dream at all, then you've surrendered to the monetary debt loin burning greed existence, wherein all humanity would burn most any half repaired stitched up bridge for weekly small tokens of freely granted endless riches.

Dead alone I seek the clarity of a forlorn route of humanity,Our condition is a dreaded state of red,This or the apocalypse we demand! Rather be erased from time than resubscribe via fate or karma to a new way of life! No matter the amount of equality provided world wide!

The cold worms can swallow the sexual deviant virginity amputee victim who once roamed the streets alone. Nearly anorexic, Scar tattooed skin a holocaust skeletal frame she couldn't ever support a new seed.

Time of the mannequin reflecting on memories of unsweet yet savoury shadows, Sell off anything to retain the internal heavenly sketches, Emotional contortion of no inspiration save comfort, We can't let go, Even amidst its ashes... As we watch the future burn!

Remind me of equality's brittle flame,Dark are the singularity no matrix sight value of no spoon to remix our fate! We appease the monetary darkness, Greed over all souls, Profit: your shadow over Mother Earth must be extinguished by any means necessary!

This is the forever war, To be continued...

In earnest anticipation of,

Poetry & Podcast October 12th

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Arbiter of Finality (Raw)
http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/at_arbiter_of_finality_raw

Tomorrow: When I die. All shall be said & done. This is a forecast of my thirty third year on earth. Living on borrowed time.

Sea of falling words fading out, No eyes brought a soul back to life at the sight of walking my poetic tracks. Ineffective virus I'm availed in life as in death.

Forward thinking past eulogy tense,No use for my limbs,Tear this downcast head via a chalk outline self inflicted noose from this lonely place where no voice acknowledge my words. Too many handsome moonlight nights spent dreaming of Mariana's Trench black solitude, No disregard of man can reach so deep as to find me therein,Expired from the view of this place.

In earnest anticipation of,

Sea of Humanity, A Simple Impact!

A smile,

   Its like a droplet that's fallen upon the face of another, the pond ripples and finds its way down stream into the sea of humanity. You never know how a single smile might inspire the world.

Poetry & Podcast October 11th

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Bushido Lost
http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/bushido_lost

Lost the altruistic path,Family redesigned to deplete the provider,Eternal debt is no meaning of life,Dreams once inspired now dead of right

Redefined the supply route,No more fuel for war rampages down the toxic mud road to pillage Earth citizens on a path to profit,We justify...

Sea of falling words fading out, No eyes brought a soul back to life at the sight of walking my poetic tracks. Ineffective virus I'm availed in death.

Bass pulse through bloody depths,Dead bodies everywhere,Freak off a leash bought out an auction but never returned with his purchase:The key

Happy Earth Day,The tortured will always resist,Dying isn't an option for our only World,Yet we pillage her blindly for profit,Greed can end

In earnest anticipation of,

Dementia Ode III

Requiem of Loss

     Depleting pastures of memory

Intellectual grasp foregoing reality

Ancient heart broken angel holding hands

As the mental curse stole her hero’s synapses blank

Fleeting a brilliant mind away

     Gene cursed pool disturbance

Beckoning worst flat line call ever taken

Noose of a sixty five year old unbeknownst protagonist 

Protagonist in a dementia story

Operator collapsed in remorse as the blip blip turns

Into bleep’s failure to respond

No doctor revival for the man who lost his name

Requiem of Loss

     Depleting pastures of memory

Intellectual grasp foregoing reality

Ancient heart broken angel holding hands as the mental curse

Stole her hero’s synapses blank, fleeting a brilliant mind away.

     Gene cursed pool disturbance, 

Beckoning worst flat line call ever taken

Noose of a sixty five year old unbeknownst protagonist 

Hero in a dementia story

Operator collapsed in remorse as the blip blip turned

Into bleep’s failure to respond

No doctor revival for the man who lost his name.

Death, 

A delusional unscalable time

Of forgetting how to draw lines; relief

Fallen paper unconventional resignation

Unto the onyx scythe request once stacked beside visionary writer’s chair

Medical trail plot unsequenced of an illness no imagination curator should have

Finished unto artist’s desk nearly forgotten signature

An order not to revive once dead.

     A dedication neither unsavoury good nor delightfully bad

To a poet’s self craft wire lined in apartment mouldy closet noose

Maybe he’d only ever imagined the blight scenario

Maybe he never meant to follow through with this lonely ending

No one ever cared to see and no one will remember.

     Depleting obsidian synapse

Frontal cavern lost cortex way to the symphony

Not firing an orchestra of twilight beyond risk of a promise to resuscitate. 

Everything left of us has faded from the shepherds herd

Flock gone rogue like a curious illumination of seeking flames’

All spark off in the distance, sheep described as black

 A lonely villain who drove his angel away... 

In a delirium of accidents unrememberable.

    Wingless angelic lover for whom no bell tolled

Died of cancer in a distant hospital lonely doctors 

Making profit palace of white walls stained read ward

Thinking only of the indescribable hero who once lived

Vibrant of logical artistic algorithymns at her side

Blessing all his endeavours as she passed

 ‘May the adventure of creativity be enjoyed by... 

Those left behind...’

In earnest anticipation of,

Poetry & Podcast October 10th

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Conspiring Conformity
http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/at_conspiring_conformity

Tomorrow,

     When you wake, if it's between Monday and Friday, you'll know exactly where you aught to be; At work.  But, do you know where you aught to be when you aren't clocked in...? Do you have a dream, long denied, now sedated in a deep slumber that none but the most heroic can wake, or those that aspire to dabble in magic; the kind that rescues the weak and mends the broken.

     I tell you where I shall be, certainly not advancing myself in the monetary or by any means of the algorithm of monetary. I'll be sitting alone at home, transcribing the poetic visions of equality universal! I can't stand this human condition galaxy the way we stand it! Compassion nearly dead while great is endorsed over any amount of death for a confidence share gain.

     Kiss the flag and kin,Remember blood's worth a bond over every other life... This is an ancient and uncomfortable to equality plagued way to think,Step back from the clique mentality,Kill off prejudicial thoughts inspired by harvested intel spread by photo shopped anorexic inspiring propaganda. Wake to take one for anyone...

    If there is a God,Help us in consciousness,Awaken momentary awareness to inspire an adaptation of equality we must learn to live,The casualty of our neglect is disregard for all life by name unknown,This is our first world branding of socially acceptable and endorsed recognition of another,We call it tolerance... yet it is naught but disregard.

In earnest anticipation of,

Song of Remission II

Suffocated vocal stigma

Depressive internal cosmos

Protagonist shivering in twilight

Crawling between delusion and dreams

Unclottable crimson blood time loss

Malnourishing skin from marrow

Vermilion flames scar cauterize

Sorrow depletes

Hero crawled out from your dreams

Unable to clot the blood loss of time

Crimson stained flame cauterized

Scars covered his depleted form

Malnourished from sorrow

Bruised by a loneliness beating

Alive despised the scars cost

Reunion of a vermilion tide

Steady harbour stream

Pool of self losing time

Wrist watch vein

Heart's sleeve wide open

Dialogue with reason

To question the answer of life

Why breathe if all we can do is try...

No single stroke of the seconds

Survives to relive itself twice

Everyone changes or dies

Disconnect into seclusion

Exist solely in this moment

Homeless to a definition

Outlined by wind & cloud

Stars beyond tell the tale

Constellation of riddles

Metaphor for who you are

In earnest anticipation of,

767 Intimate Stranger(s) I

A Poetic Preview into a Mental Illness Poem on Schizophrenia started tonight.

Uncomfortable dialogue

Multiple voice over anomalies

Subjects of a personality test

Protagonist phase shift

Self back at the centre

Stage left consult

Right answer

Multiple mental occupants

Brain function self machines

Honed single no signed pill dosages

Organic triple personality system

Faulty pad lock white pill count

Sanity defined by open beta

Life's unique under-dose

Aspirations of control

Surrendered to them

No hallucinations

Occupants...

Accepted

767 A Broken Perfect Number Book of Short Poems

Herro,

       Welcome to the 'launch party' of the Algorithymns Poetry² Director's first book. 767 A Broken Perfect Number on Amazon Kindle Store A Collection of short poems on mental health most of which can be found throughout this blog, but the book's poetic compilation is in a further draft from the raw editions found here.

      All projects distributed by Algorithymns Poetry² are craft with the aspirations of purpose; to offer hope whilst viewing the written poetic to prose events from another human being's shoes, even just for a brief moment, a single line or a mere word can trigger an inner conversation that can lead to the inspiration of the virtues of courage that are love.

     A rare form proposal, the poetry in all its digital mediums is first and above all to appreciate everyone, so that one day, even amidst tears, a smile of hope might shine; for a smile is like a droplet of water into a pond that can ripple down stream, effecting the whole sea of humanity.

     The major reality of love today is this, that we claim that we love another but... How can anyone say they love another if they don't accept them? How can you accept anyone if you don't understand them? How can you understand someone if you don't spend time with them... Quality time. Smiling!

     Art Healing is at the core of all Algorithymns Poetry² content, even if it is dark or spoken from the shadows. Inspiring hope through the courage to share, possibly not even with anyone but yourself, write down the issue of the heart at hand. Speak it aloud, possibly for the first time in your life, the progress of healing is accessible via a myriad of art forms, some don't even exist yet. They will be created tomorrow from the empathetic imagination engines of those who come after...

     So smile, like, share, crowdsource, support, donate the work as you feel moved to, for Algorithymns Poetry² is a legendary dream of unadulterated acceptance via presumptions or prejudice, the near sighted end of bullying and the dreary cultural trending of harmful delusion of social stigma.

In earnest anticipation of,
Juton

   

Poetry & Podcast October 9th

Some of these poems are old,

Odes to another soul's  days,

Some remain in their first draft,
Raw and unedited for power's sake

Soon to be replaced with a second edition

Some are of the darkness while others are hopeful
Content in counter culture to current events

Use tale herein told
From an empathetic imagination

To heal, find hope, or inspiration
Or words for a wound long hidden
May the light of equality radiate
Ending prejudice and bullying

Bizarre Mass Grave
http://www.spreaker.com/user/juton/at_bizarre_mass_grave

Intense fire of love,Mechanical gene test tube life form labelled a failure by society,Intoxicated by orientation,Same chromosome preference

Burn the marks of the flesh away,Purge the illness of epidermis,By sight we define our prejudice,Sexual preference or skin tone,Propaganda!

Three poisons dripping from my six death wounds,Point blank roulette needles sunk deep amidst the aftermath of three gunshot blasts...!

No coming back,Revelation of a protoman,Nightly manifestation of same sex comfort amidst dreams,I see clearly:Equality over EARTH or else!

Our prejudice for preference,Toss the malnourished aside,Turn a blind eye as the addicted to greed in society abide by debt's rules for life

Anchor of hell on a dying earth,Share the load dream is broken,Lust drives our actions,Greed our only motive,Lost in comfort is our humanity

Every word,A rhetoric metaphor in diction for nothing,Context of the accused of...Playing games with the heart of all,For the sake of love.

Watch how nothing but the unadulterated truth of the music lingers upon them! Moving their bodies in like kindness of their inner being! The soul, Body & Mind resonate with the passion of eternity. Music is found herein on our dying earth & in the eternal, so embrace the beauty!

In earnest anticipation of,

767 Flames of Regret II

Ochre skin pyre

Epidermis infestation

Flames the colour moral

Heart eclipsed by secrets

Scared pariah of fear

Chained in regret 

&

Fear itself...

Unclear lives
The shame of lying
Redemption memento
Late arrival lips served atonement
Edge of truth twice approached
Mistrust placed in the divinity
Apex love broken doctrine
Reflection of betrayal
Lost to little qualms
Passion's eyelids
Closed

Under skin pyre

Epidermis portrayed
Tattooed in ochre flames

Heart stained the colour moral

Love eclipsed by a nebula of secrets
Woven universe of chaotic doubt
Mirrors now restore the fear

Catalyst self in the mirror

Cypher of loathing
&
Fear itself...

Unclear lives
Lying under shame
Redemption's lost memento
Lip service withheld atonement
Edge of truth twice approached
Trust misplaced in a divinity
Apex doctrine of fallen hope
Reflection today's lethargy
Qualm decorated soul
Stigma citizen prison
A closed requiem
Ode to peace
Equality
On fire

Charles & Freya The Black Lion

     Today our first meeting with the dangers of the forest occurred. We had just packed up out lunch on the edge of a meadow, amidst a patch of tall grass under the shadow of the Arbutus canopy when Freya 's hair went straight and ridged. Her nose had caught the sent of something or someone close at hand.

     At the far end of the glade the shadows appeared to be moving under a thicket of black berry thorns. It appeared to be very feline like, a large black cat, much like a panther. Though every so often the creature would stood up on its hind legs, extending it's front legs out like arms to reach berries higher off the forest floor, delicately plucking them with its index finger and thumb. Another anthropomorph perhaps, like Freya and the mouse folk?

     For several minutes, that seemed an eternity of both fear and intrigue, we stood in silence. Freya didn't move a muscle as she stared at the creature of shadow. At last the majestic cat seemed to have had its fill of berries, as if by some magic I had yet to perceive or understand, the being went, under guise of shadow, from standing and appearing much like a humanoid to that of a feline again. Down on all fours it moved slowly, as if it had a premonition of being watched, out into the glade.

      Stepping out into the glade amidst the shafts of sunlight that streaked down from the towering Red Wood canopy high above, the might cat crept. Its paw was twice the size of my battle hardened hands the fur of which shimmered deep sea greens and blues, every few moments under the sun, along with a menacing shade of crimson and purple. I could have sworn it was scales shimmering under the lion's obsidian fur. The magic of its coat appeared more so as the cat stepped wholly into a shaft of light in a display of power it showed off its form, in a stance of majesty, as a king upon a throne stands when aroused to stand in an array beauty disguising a menacing will.

     It was a magnificent feline indeed, but no panther. An Obsidian main covered its menacing face, head and neck, it was a black lion. It stood there for a moment, taking in the sun before melding into the shadow of the forest once more. Later I would recall that I only saw the left side of the magnificent beast in the light, though while it remained in hidden in the half light dark of the thorn bushes we were on its right. Also, I could have sworn, though that night I did not write it down in my journal, that its right eye was forlorn and grey, while its left remained a vibrant yellow that shimmered a in the light a brilliant emerald green.

     'That was close,' came Freya's voice stammering softly into my ears, waking me as if from a dream, I was stirred back into reality. 'The demon was satisfied with our fear of its power.

     'Can the lions...' I began.

     'Demons,' Freya interrupted, 'There are no lions anymore, only the ancient demon's descendants. They were all wiped out at the beginning of the final world war. It was in that time that man's fear of the unknown nearly swallowed the whole earth, luckily the immortals had a plan.'

     I had so many questions, though I had not the nerve to ask for I was yet still overcome by the terrible will projected from the mighty... Demon. The remained of the day we crept along in silence above the forest floor in the Arbutus Labyrinth. That night we barely slept though neither of us felt the presence nor saw a trace of the Black Lion throughout course of our travels towards the marshes that day.

In all hopes of returning,
Charles & Freya