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Until We Have Faces

until we have faces

Until we have faces
you will not accept nor understand your wickedness

Until we have faces your wives, mothers,
sisters, daughters
live in fear
Terror’s brutal face can be a brother,
father, friend
Cruelty a concern more about them

until we have faces
until We have faces
until we Have faces
until we have Faces
you will not accept
nor understand your wickedness

Until we have faces
your wives, mothers, sisters,
daughters
live in fear

Terror’s brutal face can
be a brother, father, friend
Cruelty a concern more about them

Until we have faces
Nemesis sleeps
the Social Order Unhinged.

Until we have faces
We hide in Your Shame

Until we had faces
you laughed at our pain

Until We Removed
our Masques and revealed
the scars your daughters
feared your scorn

The Masques the Veils no longer
hide us Shadows no more

Ghimeabragh

I turned off Facebook’s API.

because I wanted more control over all my info. once you turn off the API you will have to create logins/passwords, but at least you will know that the info is yours and not some dystopic AOL wannabe.

can’t play games with FB friends.

I get all sorts of ‘OH NOES!!!!! YOU’RE NOT CONNECTED TO FACEBOOK!!!!! HOW CAN THEY TRACK YOU????? PLEASE RECONNECT!!!!!! PLEASE?”

nooope.

 

Ghimeabragh, Prose & Poetry

Consistency in my podcasting

it ain’t there. I admit it. When I had “FANBLA” which was my Colbert Report pod, it was consistent. Now? I laugh… it’s unfocused, and that ain’t good. it’s all over the place. and it makes me sad. and that sadness makes me procrastinate till “too late!!” play a rerun, kids. Hell, even my FB pages languish, and they’re awesome. Too many “Heroes of the Republic” and “Internet KØØks of the Week”.

What’s an Attention Deficit Chick like me to do?

I really need to get out more.

Prose & Poetry

The Curse of Cheetolini

This past Monday I suffered a nasty bout of food poisoning. or was it? Could it be that my body was just ridding itself of the “poison” that is our current political climate? The first indication that I was not at all well was the feeling of gas that felt like I was going to explode. Was this an indication that I could no longer tolerate the gasbag in the white house? Feeling not all sure, or even well enough to seriously contemplate this, I took to my bed. It just made the feeling worse. Even more unnerving was that every time I endeavored to sleep, I’d get the “run don’t walk” signal to get to the bathroom. Suffice to say I didn’t sleep at all that night. Then during one run, I barfed. I barfed ORANGE! ORANGE! and it was then I knew it was indeed the curse of Cheetolini, as I was fine food wise until I ate those damned CHEETOS.

No More!