None save loves rebirth empowered light shall stop the hours turn as by degree and pendulum a to and fro in motion tend the passer on his passage through a terminus and prelude due as fallacy and falsity reflect each other well.

Endeavours striven conversations course the elements in trace accord through pulse and vein as strained pretence cares not a shredded ruined reputations memory when long ago was real and when waned nostalgia's left the racked and ruined all forlorn

Sealed vaults of empty digits fidgeted between the fated fickle finger wagged and pointed for misguidances appearance on the stage as badly acted parts are cured in smokers poisoned atmospheres that hide a stench not noted for its bitterness

Away brushed metals shoo a linear array of husks blown as chaff discarded waist seen with eyes as conjured apparitions flail and flee the falls inevitable edge approached from behind an unannounced surprise expected not that Good win

Rude awakenings startle inner wails ensue and spew across a rolling carousel of sleepers while the thief in nights awaited trample babe and man and crone one visions victory so close while one sight tries to see for two and cheat a hand unseen

A turned surf draw souls down into channels swirling life ebbs as shores erode the fight is drained and death ensues pages blot no tears in vacuums void of unheard screams for pities vanity lay unrequited tattered and most drab a remnant on a slab

God anoints men appoint the herd begets a flock blocks sets no prisoner free dreams escape recall with fleeing scent a certainty is rend from bolstering officiators tied to seats that topple over parapets and crash on rocks below

Evaluated methods weigh the coin on futures turn waist and slurry swills the dung sleeping giants stew a brew whispers coil conspirator vines tie binds and tether babes who kiss on smothered lips and choke in cribs near burdens validated hear and say

Sandmen rises from smoke and daggers pierce the night as flesh becomes a putrid fruit for those that drink the fear cleaving mothers torso as the babe is splayed on checkered floors where hand mens tools adorn the halls and blood runs freely down

Alas the puzzled brow is scratched to itch away an unsolved clue that clouds a reasoned meaning as regurgitation drowns the choking soul afloat on open waters sky above mechanical gyrations of dismay the mariners are left adrift

Religions purge belief authorities lost guaranties assure shedding lizards skin and scales raise effigies as heroes age expires wanes and dies Doves of oneness fulfil prophets sight as visions clear recall the last when souls remain for no rebirth

A final word to the absurd foolhardy and the blind as riddles are entwined in an epiphanies anticipation pine not for the revelation tarry by no destination where the hoards await to storm the gated as they satiate themselves on pawns that are expended

The ski hill was covered in MOUNDs of hard packed moguls. LINE UPs at the lifts were horrendous. Everyone in the crowd knew it was the last weekend of the season. Black DIAMOND runs were off limits with PLATEs of slate peeping through melting ice.

I realized my ERROR and BALKed looking down the steeply PITCHed slope. The last race of the year would BATTER my knees. I could have a BALL with the run CATCHing the jumps perfectly or go for speed. Or, and that was a big if, I might combine the two and create a perfect SCORE, followng the line exactly right to end up with enough momentum to skate across the DUGOUT pond at the bottom of the hill filled with run off. If I managed to meld all of the elements together, I would cross the finish line with the best time and the highest jump marks, completely dry.

I took a deep breath. Glancing over at the other racer in the blue gate I wondered if I would break the SLUMP I was in. Four races, no podium. It was epic. I never missed placing more than twice in a season. But my knees were giving out. The start count down was beeping, I had to WIND UP bursting through right when the gate in front of me released. Every split second was valuable.

Why was I wondering if? That was a loser's attitude. I knew what no one else did. This was my last race. Go out in a blaze of glory or die trying. You can't have it both ways, STRIKE hard to win. By the time I hit the water I knew I laid down one of my best ever runs. My adversary? She sank to the bottom of the pond.

A film building the basis for Star Wars, The Matrix, Jurassic Park, and Avatar is often left out. The film is "The Birth of a Nation" from 1915. While the film is widely regarded as a masterpiece of technical filmmaking and storytelling, it is also notorious for its deeply problematic themes.

The film's technical achievements were groundbreaking for the time, including its use of close-ups, cross-cutting, and parallel editing. Having in mind that The first World War was raging across the ocean, let's us have a thought of how ahead of its time the film was.

It was a commercial and critical success, grossing over $10 million at the box office. For that time, it was a huge sum.

The film's impact on cinema cannot be overstated. It established many of the narrative and technical conventions of modern filmmaking, such as the use of flashback, parallel editing, and the creation of epic, sprawling stories.

Overall, "The Birth of a Nation" is a film that changed the course of cinema forever, both for its technical achievements and its controversial content. Its legacy serves as a reminder of the power of film to both reflect and shape society's beliefs and values.

A film building the basis for Star Wars, The Matrix, Jurassic Park, and Avatar is often left out. The film is "The Birth of a Nation" from 1915. While the film is widely regarded as a masterpiece of technical filmmaking and storytelling, it is also notorious for its deeply problematic themes.

The film's technical achievements were groundbreaking for the time, including its use of close-ups, cross-cutting, and parallel editing. Having in mind that The first World War was raging across the ocean, let's us have a thought of how ahead of its time the film was.

It was a commercial and critical success, grossing over $10 million at the box office. For that time, it was a huge sum.

The film's impact on cinema cannot be overstated. It established many of the narrative and technical conventions of modern filmmaking, such as the use of flashback, parallel editing, and the creation of epic, sprawling stories.

Overall, "The Birth of a Nation" is a film that changed the course of cinema forever, both for its technical achievements and its controversial content. Its legacy serves as a reminder of the power of film to both reflect and shape society's beliefs and values.

Generators.

If there is no electricity from the government, you'll hear them in every neighbourhood,

Many of the small shops,

Because electricity is life, right?

I'm too sensitive in hearing to live in a country like Nigeria.

My body is too un-fond of loudness to be forced to hear this repeated buzzing -

Angry buzzing of a mechanical, dog-sized bee.

It's a cry in a barren desert filled with nothing but scarcity.

An attempt to do better, be better than our leaders.

An act of self-reliance and yet we pay them for electricity anyway

The money bleeds from pockets,

Fuel prices get higher,

They give us next to nothing for the price of much.

I wonder what our ancestors would say if they could see us.

I suppose it depends on which one.

Humans are an enigma.

Perhaps some would count us lucky.

Our smart phones, our smart watches, our ingenious machines.

The fans and the acs and the coolers, all designed to subvert the conditions of a sweltering climate.

I think if I was one of them, I would laugh

At the brilliant tech designs of our age -

Ask what it means to have these magical boxes of so-called goodwill

When the British still rob us of our resources - with the Chinese and the Americans and the French and Lucifer knows what else.

O Africa, my Africa my ass.

Look who we were before colonialism.

As with PTSD, there is a before and an after

And I am afraid we will never be able to recover that person.

The body is weak, its inhabitants are too tired to be angry and too angry to allow themselves rest

Madness is as common as it is hidden

The world is in flames, even for our exploiters, past and present.

We kill our planet,

Pollute our world with noise and fumes,

Desperate upon desperate to live on

The cost bleeds us dry

But we force ourselves to carry the burden our leaders only increase

As long as we have our tvs and acs and fans and pretty fluorescent lights.

They help us to forget and who would deny themselves memory loss in times such as these?

The generators purr on.

Our ancestors watch, silent, shaken.

I suppose they might not laugh, after all.

I think they would weep.

"I'm trying to study for chem. Trying not to fail chem."

"OMG he has such a perfect bod"

"Remember what the formula is - just divide decimals by 10"

"Ugh I had Mr. T last year. Would not want him next year."

"Ok say it's 300 hertz. If you're looking at... um..."

"Are you a tutor?"

"Yeah, for Algebra 2."

"Oh."

"I'm saying if you're moving 50 and those cars are moving with you at 80, their net movement is 30, so treat you like this."

"Between Chem and Physics there are so many Ks. Kp, Ka, Kb, Kw, K spring constant, etc. etc."

"Wait can you print the slides?"

"Um no I don't feel like it."

Stacks of papers, nonsense on every line. Hope wrapped in these paraphrases, understanding my inner most demons and coming to terms with the true me. These stories come to me like dreams and rituals passed along down my timeline that is forever changing. Understanding myself as I try to unload the ever running voice in the back of my mind, to create some sort of silence as I thrive in the chaos that is my life.

The house that built me grew mold on its sheetrock years before I was born. A 3-bedroom, one bath house. A kitchen, a living room, a garage , a couple hallways and several corners. Filled with 6 people, 2 dogs, a cat and the occasional runaway cousin. My childhood house was nothing more than that - a house, nothing that felt like home. Little me did not originally know the welcome mat was not welcoming her , and her ideas, her thoughts, her tears, her body. Little me soon realized going home after school was not a sentence she should be saying. That her home was like being in a hurricane but never getting to experience the eye. My house was a tidal wave that helped me learn how to live as I drown. Little me found home in her ink and wet paper as she cried in her closet. Home is the words of my heart that raised me. I believe in love for others and balances of peace. That happiness comes in waves, but sadness is what brings you back to the shore. This is recovery for little me.