Ebola, the 60% protocol

Ebola then turns the insides of its host into jelly: you begin to vomit black junk which is basically your dissolved liver and internal organs.”
― Andrew Cormier

Fear too is an epidemic, it stretches out like
An incubation period for a kind of doom
Population control, whispered a silent elite
Who engineer our wallets, our GMO food, our futures

Ebola was a convenient way, of making us fear
Who we once were again, black as a Nigerian
We died alone in deathbeds, isolated plastic containers
For who we once were, our organs giving out

Infection was a spider hand, MSM gave us
False positives, but could the main-stream-media
Be trusted any longer? Wasn’t this just a matter
Of time, an algorithm set loose upon the billions?

Fear is that place, where people go in adversity
It’s hypnotic like an audience at a concert
It’s contagious how the will for self-preservation can spread
Fight of flee, but where to run, out of the cities?

The new normal is a kind of paranoia
While we watch the situation very closely
Every hour there is underground news about
Another case in another country, Ebola isn’t

Your grandmother that only likes good climates
She’s an engineered hypothesis of how mobility
Causes any true pandemic to become a flamboyant outbreak
The comet that signals black plagues has been seen

Fear too is a weapon, when you can’t stop the world
Because it’s too costly to do so, and you can’t
Tell the world not to fly because we’re too free
We left Africa a long time ago, but who among us
Would stand 20 meters from their open graves?

Aftermath in Realtime:

1. http://healthmap.org/ebola/
2. http://healthmap.org/en/

1. What city in Europe has the greatest chance of being the first major outbreak area?

That would be Paris, France.

2. What Country has the greatest chance of losing the most lives in the next 3 months?

That would be India.

Related VIDEOS:

1. August 8th, 2014

2.

Related Articles:

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2014_West_Africa_Ebola_outbreak
2. http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message2611902/pg1
3. http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message2615364/pg1
Spread Rate of 1.86
4. http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message2612635/pg1

Reached Nigeria 27th July, 2014.

August 9th List of Infected Countries:

1.Guinea
2.Liberia
3.Sierra Leone
4.Nigeria
5.Benin
6. (Even as I wrote this) Senegal and Ghana likely have cases too now.

August 10th:

People are being tested in the following places. [not confirmed cases]
1. Bucharest (Romania)
2. Hong Kong(Hong Kong)
3. Chennai (India)
4. Brampton (Canada) patient was Negative for Ebola.
5. Hamburg (Germany)

Scarcity Scenario:

1. http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message2615340/pg1

WHITE JADE, FEMALE POET, ORANGE PITCHER

Heaven bless the babe
Orphaned by divinity
What queer books she will read
Granted, to be a poet isn’t easy

When she is older, she will say:
“Till the Spring, my murdered lover
Till our souls meet in another form
The language of my foolishness
Will be the bridge I swear”

Heaven bless the babe
Who suffered for the world
To make a cheerful song
That could outlast the centuries

Quiet, suavely clothed in sacrifice
Hurling, golden spears of martyrdom
Up the lines my silver runner
With a pen and a canvas
Bearing the banner of lost poets

In a siege of a dead poet’s society
Heaven bless the babe
Who became a writer
When critics were white rich men

Come now Aphra, be content
You and I have nothing to do with music
Akhmatova’s cannon is all about
Death beating the door in
For women fraught with inequality

Emily knew in her circle of white
Edna urged a certain possession of zest
For being born a woman, is a clarity
In the pulse, a sonnet gone unread.

P.S. To female poets: Aphra Behn, Anna Akhmatova, Emily Dickinson, Edna St.Vincent Millay.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sylvia-II-460402222

潛意識

i

No map traces the street where
Where two sleeps are, lovers cast adrift
In each other, from their purpose
An evil omen, the French window ajar
Shades down, jilted by sleeping Fate
That has the odor of sexual revolution
Curtained with yellow lace were
Those youthful experiments, like the

ii

No flowers can reveal the lies
We told ourselves, in each other’s arms?
The mouth to mouth of our lost hours
Love drenched in another time, leaving
No silver track to honest feeling
Only a calamity of numbness, resignation
Ousted from the warm bed of hot adventure

iii

No sun holds us steadfast in the narrow dream
Where those two sleepers are
You and I, me and you, those are
Fantasies now held under water
Like a love affair that ruined our life
Eyelids drenched in gold
Powerless, but to stare into the sun.

REINCARNATION & MEMORY

I

Forgetfulness is like a song,
So sweet as freedom’s Bell
When I forget my measures
I know I am living well Enough
Forgetfulness is like a Bird
Whose wings are reconciled
To the wind, as I am to my Fate

II

That whispers the saddest lines
And buries itself into Prophecy
Memory unwearyingly leads us
Home, back to the blasted tree
Where I promised the world
Grander things than I could reach!

III

I can remember much forgetfulness
As a fool, I who tried to forget
On the old fringe of silence
I snapped a twig, my heart
So that I might behold an ancient face
Whispering not gloom, but
Shattering possibility, reincarnation.

ODE TO ANGELOU

i

You may write me down in history
With faint acclaims of martyrhood
But we were all heroes for living
We faced and trod in this world’s dirt
And still, like dust, we rise

ii

To the stars from which we came
You won’t see us any longer
But we’ll be back with new faces
Hungry minds, stronger hearts?
There is no stopping change
How many teardrops did we catch
On our shoulders? That day, those years?

iii

We were shot with words, and killed
By discrimination, prejudice and politics
We outlived history, with our soulful cry?
Because we believed in doing Good
Doing good anywhere is good everywhere

iv

We took the time to speak to the people
Without being victims or seeing enemies
You may write me down as anonymous
But I strove to be a good citizen
To laugh and cry in balanced measure

v

Never to be afraid of life’s energy
Don’t complain, if you can’t change it
It takes courage to display empathy
Day after day, don’t be a coward
Even if you have just one smile left
Give it to the people you love
And if you have nobody, smile to yourself.

COULD I BUT RIDE INFINITY

i

My portion for the day
Is defeat, a taste of poverty
Paler luck I guess than Victory
Whatever that means, whatever
Will be, will be; only love keeps me going
Slower than, so many years ago

ii

I live for scraps of prayers
And napkins for an invisible muse
Nicknamed ‘soul’ by God
I’ll give up God for Eternity
For quiet hope has fewer bells
And faith must realize the self
In whatever circumstance one finds it

iii

My portion of the day
Is empathy’s brief appointment
Before everyone disappears
To follow their respective fates
An altitude of change, goodbyes, death
Never mind repose, it meets you at the door.

Sad Eyed Lyricist

I’ve spotted it with tears (I pronounced to all my living verse) Your infant faces are proof of it ! The crumbled years, the kissed cheeks White as snow, red as apples The harmonics of a life enriched By syllables …

Mythology Agonized

In the end, all that could be said
Stuck to the top of my mouth
My heart leapt

And fell back somewhere
Lost in the back of the Sun!
In the end, I still think of you

Like the pain of hurting
That never leaves, an end
That keeps repeating

And when they are ours
Fleeting hours that I know
You never think of me

For heaven wasn’t there
It was mine, my heart that broke
And will in a way, forever forego

The pleasures of being light & frolic
In my muscles, tense
There is a breath that never

Learned to let go, naked
With your face in my vision
On lost roads where you

Became my Goddess, agonized
Destined to be a mythical tragedy
In my spirit’s most unquiet hours.

Pictured: The beautiful Faye Wong, check out her Mandarin songs on youtube, she has a voice of silk. Wáng Fēi

Radiate Autistica

Nobody ever called me Sunshine
Like a recluse I endured
The sound of solitude
The place where love

Meets alienation, dear alienation
A Nation where I had myself
Like an autistic poet
Mumbling in the social dark

With a longing gone unsatisfied
For the friends I never made
I am not sorry for my soul
For it can live a thousand times

But for a message of the
Humblest of moods, I bid thee goodnight
Nobody ever called me Sunshine
Like a sophist of the imagination

I swallowed deep, the sense
Of this was how I was, an existence
Private was all that I held dear
Strikingly anonymous, lonely and profound

I bore my grief with gentleness
I never excited anyone too much
My presence didn’t light
Your brightest smile, my smiles

Were invisible, as if for books
The light in my eyes was pure
It was a shadowy room
To be an island unto oneself

I’m tired though, of being
Overly familiar with myself.
Without too much joy, pride or
The feeling of being free.

Concept Credit: http://carynedmond.wordpress.com/2014/01/02/142/comment-page-1/#comment-31
Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/swimming-in-rivers-424271515

I Died for Beauty

I died for beauty many times
Though my heart was scarce
I poured it on the page to be a poet fair

A dead breed, adjusted only
In the tomb, I died for beauty
Like the extinct Romantic –

All of us speaking of love
In wild adjoining rooms
I questioned God softly

Why I failed, to be a writer
In such a world, it was because
The world had grown ugly

Over the centuries, without nature’s
Touch, ‘I died for beauty’ I replied
The future cared not for beauty anymore

My ancestors wept and my descendants
Did not know, that the moss had
Reached the lips, of all wombs

That came before, I died for beauty
For a poem, lost and covered up by names
Of all the poets that came before

The Universe does not applaud the meek –
And poets’ love a royal dress
Distinguished to nobody in particular

I did for beauty anonymously
Without a trace, a unit in diversity
My own wheel in the starlit dark

I cannot say why I turned for beauty
In tides of Supernova, I died for beauty
Like last night, on some unfrequented road.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/dari-411941266

V

Voices, cherished and most dear
of those who we left behind
they are too lost for us like the dead –

Voices, loved and so idealized
of those who formed our minds
they are there, sometimes

in our dreams speaking glowing alphabets
deep in the heart of our self-prophecy
when sleep cleans our neurons

Voices, remain, loving and old
as the first dawn of our being –
and then, the sound of their poetry returns

as life’s first cry of language
like music in the night, sweetly fading
a chorus of moments returned

all at once, spontaneous synchronicity
Voices, the cherished melody of being human.

Photo Courtesy: http://zemotion.deviantart.com/art/Motherland-Chronicles-37-Masked-407999452

To All Good Nights

Good night, because we must
Say how to elude strife is to sleep
Father! They won’t tell me
What the light knows

That I shall never know –
Good night, I fumble at my spirit
As players at the chords & keys
Before they drop full of music

Before the end of poetry
Good night, prepare your possessions
You will not need them beyond here
Father! They won’t tell me

Why your breath is so timid today
What the light knows
That we shall never know –
Good night, we are dealing

With Imperial thunderbolts
With a fate that scalps my naked soul
The stars above my head
And my feet pointed to the sea

Good night, because we must
Not know what to do next
Father! In our hour of doom
All evenings steal our purple flight

Reasons profound and Daffodils
Good night – merit and fear qualifies
Humanity, to my beloved need
That never met a more sufficient proof
Than saying good night,
With but itself to rest upon.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Secluded-404857664

I Admonish Thee

Hope is the circumference of life
Faith is the circle of the fall
Creation the mighty exponent of
Oxygen and water, blood and time

History notes love is posterior
To fate, that seal of light
That spreads what we were
And mixes it with the cycles
*
That never stop, only recede to start again
Revelation cannot end with
Going blind, we learn to listen
Silence is the jewel of posterity

The future, the brimming Deity in our eyes
Perhaps we ask too large a place
No less to explore the furthest skies
Hope remains the circumference
*
Faith ends all beliefs of smaller bundles
Creation the happening where we exist
Open to all accidents of loss
Yes, oxygen, water, blood, time
These too will be taken away.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/autumn-sun-402106762

Mystic Disillusionment

O’ soul, bring wine for mystical devotion
For I am suffering of earthly malady
I have forgotten spiritual things

Bring me the cup of ‘divine nectar’
I am thirsty for Cosmic nature
My speech has become pained

With the burdens of brief-necessity
O’ soul, Beloved, pour me the cup
Of the inner life, that used to suffice

The solace of deeper things, greater truths
For I am impoverished by this world’s harms
The corruption of men and their unnatural orders

O’ soul, bring wine for inner peace and immortal bliss
For these lamentations are like a Buddhist
Or some fool that witnesses too much sin.

Photography Courtesy: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Casualty-of-War-69916654

With Lace to Kiss My Throat

Love it is for unlucky folk
Who dream of living with hearts unbroken
Love is for the lucky few
Who cannot stay down for long!
Once I too was young and true
Innocent like a very short song
And then I fell and yet loved again
We are all unlucky and lucky
We are all once young
And then old and comforted
And uncomforted by the memories
Of love and what wasn’t quite love
Yet I lie light upon my lap
And breathe a sigh for my worn heart
That the heart keeps loving
As the lungs keep breathing
That is all, the ends are all
Inhaling love and exhaling breath
Love is for those blessed years
When time raced in breezy afternoons!

My Soul is Flooded in Moonlit Night

At the end of the sky I am not alone
What thoughts occupy the highest mind
What time will the wild goose revelation come
Nearer and nearer to the final bliss

The rivers and lakes are full with Autumn’s currents
Literature and worldly success are opposed
The Tao does not listen to the lies of men
Women seek more children, while demons

Exult in human failure, minor poets trip
Throwing their best poems into the river
At the end of the sky I am not alone
The sunsets do not swallow me so easily

An army of drums meets me at the last
Stop of human travels, I have felt the white dew of love
Trap me in its sweet embrace, like a homeland
The letters I will send will go astray
Who will read the magic moon of my tongue?

Sighs for Autumn Rain like Armageddon

When Autumn comes, the grasses
Will rot and die, like memories of haunted love
Gone wrong, like so many things in history
The past remains a dead closet of dreams
The stems of feathers too must die
Like the enchanted glowing of our hearts

That once were, now countless flowers bloom
Letting go to the colors at their cores
Their nectar and sap will not be studied
By scholars, only lovers in the present
The cold wind will moan on your white hairs

And I will breathe in that damp fragrance
Warming you with a kiss, if we still remain together
Ceaseless is the melody that distinguishes our lives
When Autumn comes, China’s silken quilt will be torn
America will stand in the rubble of its own demise

The standing grain, maybe it won’t sprout as always
We will go to the market like an impoverished farmer
But happiness will be locked behind iron gates
Our wallets will be seized by corporate thieves
We will not think of revolution then, that is for the young

We will attempt to live in harmony with the times
The rustling rain will hasten the early cold
When Autumn comes, maybe we will stand alone again
While children blithely rush through wind and rain
While geese fly hard and high with their wet wings
Will you still come to me in the lantern-lit night?

Photography Credits: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/The-Four-Seasons-Spring-73886187

I Clutch Tightly to the Blurring of You

In that erroneous age, the twenties
I had such ‘illusions’
I lived with love
And made only art
Hoping I would be able to eat tomorrow

I never averted my eyes
From rainbows and fountains
From women who seemed
In touch with a higher reality
Like a sweet heart

I buried my lips in the snow
Only to feel it melt in my spring
Then I turned thirty, and everything changed
I had only ‘poems’ to call my own

I lived alone
And made my heart
One with honeybees:
Honey looks different with age.

I Must Now Conceded the Victory & Listen

My cries have called the world home
No woman of my past heard them
They were, the flight of fathoms lived in the past
The women were better at reality
My sentence of stone was hard years
Where memories were crushed
Into a powder, the mark of many
Flowers thrust into dyes
My cries have made the long white nights
A spilled affair of burning right through
Belief, youth, and lofty deaths
Rebirth was the rustling heat of summer
Fresh, from the lonely walk to an empty home
My cries were poisonous heart-beats
Of the breast and beast in the worst of me
I personified something ridiculous and chilled
Something to fill my window with a festive tone
Of hope staring me straight in the eyes
From some momentous star that shone and fled.

Through Posthumous Twilights Given

My arrival into discrepancy isn’t new
It’s as old as bristling diamond sparks
My glory in grief is minor
My shifting sequences are brittle
The love I bear is getting weaker
While to others, I’m merely a gentle fire
Unremarkable in illumined simplicity
My arrival into anonymity isn’t new
It’s as old as the Tao beclouded, austere
I go strolling and my dreams kiss older women
I’m almost unafraid to settle for silhouettes
Of the life I thought I’d lead
My glory in evergreen, cherry bloom shutters
Life is racing without consolation
Life, she will not be sending any more letters
To my heart ablaze at the stake
No warrior of God’s battalion of merits did I become
Simply as worried as if I’ll be able to forgive
The self-neglect of so much meaningless grieving.

I’ve Caught the Scent of Last Year, It Tastes Like Stone

You do not have to love me/
I don’t think you ever did
I was born to follow you
And I was born for you to
Leave me behind, so it is
–
I wrote all these songs for you
Too sad for you to ever read
You sharpened the man in me
With scolding and rejection
I was born like a new poem
*
Dressed by the wind
The sky didn’t care your eyes
Were bloodshot, from the life you led
I was caught in the sundrift
Of your belly stepping into a new life
–
You do not have to love/
I don’t think you ever could
I am still caught in last year
With the taste of mud and stone
For forest said, never mind, I am as old
*
As your gossiping about a woman
I was born to live after you
To outlive you, for you to haunt me
I wrote all these songs for you
But you never liked poetry.

I Have to Call you My Cruellest Hand of Fate

I touched you once too often
Disappeared into the boundary
That was your face, your thoughts
I called my soul back all night
But it was lost, lost in you
I thought I’d leave this morning
For good, but you kicked me out instead
I touched you once too often
Though silently you pretended to understand
In leaving I realized you hadn’t a clue
So I emptied out your drawer
Of all the life I gave to you
You hardly stooped to pick it up
All the sacrifice I offered you
In listening to your stories of pain
I aged two years after you
In the six months of heart-break
I touched you once too often
When I was with you, and when we were apart
The last time I saw you
You shamed me for good.

Photo: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Rape-371405036

What Breath of Winter Blowing Retards my Spring

My heart is stretched
On climaxes with you
Even the smallest wind
Pulls me tight against your thin memory
And I simply, quiver
For the things you said
They ring down my ears and years
My eyes are blind
With the ecstasy of your picture
My fingers against your skin
It’s perverse, and a sign of bitterness
That all I have now become
Is a reaction to you
My body is limp with grief
For so much burning beneath
The imaginary sun that was your
Calculating feminine grin in my life.

A Spartan Lament

What moved me, was not
That we were meant to be together
It was they way you offered
Your hand to be in my hand
Your palm against my palm
The way you insisted
My manhood might go headfirst
Inside of you without a sheath
Warm, like a bird caught in a snare
I shared myself with your sharing ways
You were grieving, using me
As a heart hoarse with hope
And I loved you, loved you deeply
What moved me, was not
That you rejected me, after all
I’m not perfect, it was the way
I kept loving you, and nobody else
Muscular in tenderness, from all
The abuse you once endured
I became a carpenter, carving a house
That I could never give to you.