But I always had the ability to say no. That's how I called my own shots.
quote by Sidney Poitier
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
American Skin
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots, and we'll take that ride
Across this bloody river to the other side
41 shots, they cut through the night
You're kneeling over his body in the vestibule
Praying for his life
Is it a gun?
Is it a knife?
Is it a wallet?
This is your life
It ain't no secret (it ain't no secret)
It ain't no secret (it ain't no secret)
Ain't no secret my friend
You can get killed just for living in your american skin
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots, lena gets her son ready for school
She says now on these streets charles
You got to understand the rules
Promise me if an officer stops you'll always be polite
Never ever run away and promise mama you'll keep your hands in sight
Cause is it a gun?
Is it a knife?
Is it a wallet?
This is your life
It ain't no secret (it ain't no secret)
It ain't no secret (it ain't no secret)
No secret my friend
You can get killed just for living in your american skin
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
Is it a gun?
Is it a knife?
Is it a wallet?
This is your life
It ain't no secret (it ain't no secret)
It ain't no secret (it ain't no secret)
It ain't no secret (it ain't no secret)
41 shots and we'll take that ride
[...] Read more
song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Would you ever believe
WOULD YOU EVER believe if I called a nondescript table of teakwood; as a vivacious bird soaring high in the sky,
Would you ever believe if I called a ruffled sheet of paper; as a chunk of glittering gold,
Would you ever believe if I called a grandiloquent watch embodied with diamonds; as a lump of bedraggled stone,
Would you ever believe if I called a mountain of compacted mud; as a switchboard of pugnacious electricity,
Would you ever believe if I called a resplendent rainbow in the sky; as a broomstick with incongruous bristles,
Would you ever believe if I called a rusty canister of dilapidated iron; as a mesmerizing rose growing in the garden,
Would you ever believe if I called a pink tablet of luxury soap; as a mosquito hovering acrimoniously in the cloistered room,
Would you ever believe if I called a boat rollicking merrily on the undulating waves; as a rustic jungle spider,
Would you ever believe if I called a valley profusely embedded with snow; as an unscrupulous dog on the street,
Would you ever believe if I called a pair of luscious lips; as a disdainfully fetid shoe,
Would you ever believe if I called a fluorescent rod of light; as a jagged bush of cactus growing in the sweltering desert,
Would you ever believe if I called the blazing sun; as a pudgy bar of delectable chocolate,
Would you ever believe if I called an angular sculptured bone; as acid bubbling in a swanky bottle,
Would you ever believe if I called a scintillating oyster; as an inarticulate matchstick coated with lead,
Would you ever believe if I called a cluster of bells jingling from the ceiling; as a sordid cockroach philandering beside the lavatory seat,
Would you ever believe if I called a fruit of succulent coconut; as a dead mans morbid tooth,
Would you ever believe If I called a steaming cup of filter coffee; as gaudily colored water emanating from the street fountains,
Would you ever believe if I called the majestic statue of a revered historian; as a slab of tangy peanut butter,
Would you ever believe if I called a vibrant shirt; as a protuberant pigeon discerningly pecking its beak at grains scattered on the floor,
Would you ever believe if I called a flocculent bud of cotton; as a camouflaged lizard transgressing through wild projections of grass,
Would you ever believe if I called a photograph depicting the steep gorges; as a gutter inundated with obnoxious sewage,
Would you ever believe if I called a lanky giraffe; as a convict nefariously lurking through solitary streets of the city,
Would you ever believe if I called a pair of flamboyant sunglasses; as a weird tattoo to be adhered to the chest,
Would you ever believe if I called a chicken’s egg; as logs of sooty charcoal abundantly stashed in the colossal warehouse,
Would you ever believe if I called a biscuit replete with golden honey; as a ominously slithering reptile in the jungles,
Would you ever believe if I called a bald man possessing a profoundly tonsured scalp; as a gas balloon floating in insipid air,
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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American Skin (41 Shots)
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots....
and we'll take that ride
'cross this bloody river
to the other side
41 shots... cut through the night
You're kneeling over his body in the vestibule
Praying for his life
Is it a gun, is it a knife
Is it a wallet, this is your life
It ain't no secret
It ain't no secret
No secret my friend
You can get killed just for living
In your American skin
41 shots
Lena gets her son ready for school
She says "on these streets, Charles
You've got to understand the rules
If an officer stops you
Promise you'll always be polite,
that you'll never ever run away
Promise Mama you'll keep your hands in sight"
Is it a gun, is it a knife
Is it a wallet, this is your life
It ain't no secret
It ain't no secret
No secret my friend
You can get killed just for living
In your American skin
Is it a gun, is it a knife
Is it in your heart, is it in your eyes
It ain't no secret
41 shots... and we'll take that ride
'Cross this bloody river
To the other side
41 shots... got my boots caked in this mud
We're baptized in these waters and in each other's blood
Is it a gun, is it a knife
Is it a wallet, this is your life
It ain't no secret
It ain't no secret
No secret my friend
You can get killed just for living
[...] Read more
song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)
Introduction
In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.
Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.
Prologue
The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain
mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact
that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals
becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,
who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight
in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.
Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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Shots
Shots
Ringing all along the borders can be heard
Striking out like a venom in the sky
Cutting through the air faster than a bird
In the night.
Children
Are lost in the sand, building roads with little hands
Trying to join their fathers castles together again
Will they make it? who knows where or when
Old wounds will mend?
Machines
Are winding their way along, looking strong
Building roads and bringing back loads and loads
Of building materials
In the night
Men
Are trying to move the borders on the ground
Lines between the different spots that each has found
But back home another scene was going down
In the night.
Lust
Comes creepin through the night to feed on hearts
Of suburban wives who learned to pretend
When they met their dreams end
In the night.
Shots
I hear shots, I keep hearing shots
I keep hearing shots
I hear shots.
Shots
I hear shots, I keep hearing shots
I keep hearing shots
I hear shots.
But Ill never use your love,
You know Im not that kind
And so if you give your heart away
I promise to you
Whatever we do
That I will always be true.
song performed by Neil Young
Added by Lucian Velea
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Two Shots Of Happy, One Shot Of Sad
Two shots of happy, one shot of sad
You think Im no good, well I know Ive been bad
Took you to a place, now you cant get back
Two shots of happy, one shot of sad
Walked together down a dead end street
We were mixing the bitter with the sweet
Dont try to figure out what we might of had
Just two shots of happy, one shot of sad
Im just a singer, some say a sinner
Rolling the dice, not always a winner
You say Ive been lucky, well hell Ive made my own
Not part of the crowd, but not feeling alone
Under pressure, but not bent out of shape
Surrounded, we always found an escape
Drove me to drink, but hey thats not all bad
Two shots of happy, one shot of sad
Guess Ive been greedy, all of my life
Greedy with my children, my lovers, my wife
Greedy for the good things as well as the bad
Two shots of happy, one shot of sad
Maybe its just talk, saloon singing
The chairs are all stacked, the swingings stopped swinging
You say I hurt you, you put the finger on yourself
Then after you did it, you came crying for my help
Two shots of happy, one shot of sad
Im not complaining, baby Im glad
You call it a compromise, well whats that
Two shots of happy, one shot of sad
Two shots of happy, one shot of sad
(happy birthday, frank)
song performed by U2
Added by Lucian Velea
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You have the right to feel, you are successful
Success, sweet success
Success, it is waiting for you
To own and hold on to it
Success of any kind
Has easy access
If you are after it restlessly
Success is not indeed the end
It is the beginning of a
New chain of successes
Simple it is to be successful
So simple, you wonder how many of us are not at it
It all depends on what you feel
Success means to you
You may school your thoughts
And train your emotions
To feel successful on everything
That happens around you
Your retention of all your
Physical, mental and social abilities
Is indeed your success
Your ability to make friends
And help them out in times of need
Is indeed your success
Your ability to keep your cool
In emotionally competing events
And situations
Is indeed your success
Your ability to make your ends meet
Come over challenges, emotional or otherwise
At the right time and in a rightful manner
Is indeed a success
Your ability to stand up
And hold on to your values
Is indeed a success
Your ability to be able to
Discharge your assigned responsibilities
Is indeed your success
Your ability to objectively assess
People and events
[...] Read more
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Drivin Me To Drink
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Its about to go down
When the remys in the system, it aint no tellin
What the other person sayin, theres too much yellin
Even though I know, that aint what I need
I cant take the naggin and the bitchin and the screamin
No matter what I do it just aint enough
You say I dont take you out and buy you stuff
But you got these thangs, provided by me
Somebody pass me the vsop
Chorus:
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Two shots of attic and I aint even gotta think about
The way I dont do this
The way I dont do that
You might deserve a slap
But girl I cant go out like that
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Two shots of attic and I aint even gotta think about
The way I dont do this
The way I dont do that
You might deserve a slap
But girl I cant go out like that
Come home from a long day
Instead of havin dinner ready
All you got is somethin to say
Goin on like I need that
Im doin all I can and you can keep that
Said I never met no girl like you
Ungrateful thats the truth
Always got a problem
Wont you tell me what Im supposed to do
Girl you got some issues
Straighten all that out baby
Or I wont kick it with you
Chorus:
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Two shots of attic and I aint even gotta think about
The way I dont do this
The way I dont do that
You might deserve a slap
But girl I cant go out like that
I need a drink cuz youre drivin me to drink
Two shots of attic and I aint even gotta think about
The way I dont do this
The way I dont do that
You might deserve a slap
[...] Read more
song performed by Jagged Edge
Added by Lucian Velea
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Two Shots
This song was first released on the windsong album. it is the only album it has been released on.
I took two shots, got no ducks, and cold, cold hands
Last night while I was out drinking
Trying to have a good time
The lady with whom I was speaking
Thought I was feeding her some old line
When I spoke of a cold winters morning
A duck blind and a river of gray
The sound of the snow softly falling
When I thought I heard somebody say
I took two shots, got no ducks, and cold, cold hands
I could tell by the gaze of my comrades
That I was the one who had spoke
Their eyes held a message of patience
The thrill of the hunt and of hope
But when I spoke again how they listened
For the wisdom of what I might say
If the good lord had meant us to shoot one
Hed surely send more ducks our way
I took two shots, got no ducks, and cold, cold hands
Well the lady with whom I was speaking
She laughed lightly and she wandered away
My heart, like the snow in my story
Fell silent, Id hoped she would stay
Its so nice to talk to somebody
To find someone whos willing to share
I know that this life is worth living
But sometimes it just isnt fair
I took two shots, got no ducks, and cold, cold hands
I took two shots, got no ducks, and cold, cold hands
Words and music by john denver
song performed by John Denver
Added by Lucian Velea
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Star 69
You dont have to take the bar exam to see
What you did is ignoramus 103
Where have I got to hang my hat
You dont have line to me
All this just to be your friend
I was there to tell you
Extortion and arson, petty larceny
I know you called. I know you called. I know you called.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you hung up my line.
Star 69.
I know all about the warehouse fire.
I know squirrelies didnt chew the wire.
Three people have my number, the other two were with me.
I dont stand tall, but Im not your patsy.
This time you have gone too far with me.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you called.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you hung up my line.
Star 69.
Whyd you put your quarter down on me?
This reads like some dark inside edition, hard copy.
I cant be your character witness, I cant be your alibi.
Dont arrange the fbi, here this spy versus spy.
You my friend are guilty as can be.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you called.
I know you called. I know you called. I cant be your alibi.
Star 69.
song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
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Football A Game.
What a name called?
Football a game called,
To known arena called stadium,
Played eleven to eleven side to side each,
Formations of it kinds,
Aims of a two goal post net,
Aims of a trophy,
Aims of winning,
In a color Jersey of its kinds,
In a color booths of it kinds,
Side to side balls picking sons round,
Spectators sat rounding pitch watching,
Centered with a nominated referee officiating,
Lined with a two lines men flagged,
Officials of substitutions in questions,
Pronounced by named commentators,
Red and yellow cards rules in question,
Supported keys of volunteers,
Supported with all sorts of supporters,
Declared a stadium manager jobs,
Declared a team manager jobs,
Host the nations, Host the world,
At moment of a country designated!
At moment of a country authorized!
Called for all practitioners....
Photographers, Cinematography, Press, Medias, Adverts, Sponsors, critics, etc. centred.
What a name called?
Football! football! ! football! ! !
A rounded leather circled!
Circled in its color of its choices,
Declared fifa authorities,
Declared statistical over all game,
Respect covered face to face,
Stretchers officials in uniforms of its officials medications,
Football a game called,
With boots of its kinds worn,
Saddled a whole lot supporters,
Saddled a whole lot analysts,
Presumption for a nation's glory,
Preemptive individuals' desirably for survival,
Football a game called,
Called to the passionate in spirit,
Football a game called,
Embrace understanding to unnamed,
Embrace love to unloved,
Embrace unity to diversities,
Embrace creativity to un-creativity,
Football a game called,
Adore a nature,
[...] Read more
poem by Bunmi Orogun Samuel
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Thieves Like Us
Ive watched your face for a long time
Its always the same
Ive studied the cracks and the wrinkles
You were always so vain
Well, now you live your life like a shadow
In the pouring rain
Oh, its called love
Yes, its called love
Oh, its called love
And it belongs to us
Oh, it dies so quickly
It grows so slowly
But when it dies, it dies for good
Its called love
And it belongs to everyone but us
Ive lived my life in the valleys
Ive lived my life on the hills
Ive lived my life on alcohol
Ive lived my life on pills
But its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
And its the only thing thats worth living for
Its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
Yes its called love
Oh, love is found in the east and west
But when love is at home, its the best
Love is the cure for every evil
Love is the air that supports the eagle
Its called love
And its so un-cool
Its called love
And somehow its become unmentionable
Its called love
And it belongs to every one of us
Its called love
And it cuts your life like a broken knife
song performed by New Order
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sapphire Bullets Of Pure Love
Pistol shots
Gun shots
Pistol shots
Gun shots
Bullets from a revolver
Bullets from a gun
Bullets through the atmosphere
Here they come
John, Ive been bad
And theyre coming after me
Done someone wrong
And I fear that it was me
Sapphire bullets
Bullets of pure love
Sapphire bullets
Bullets of pure love
song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Industry
[Intro]
Yeah I wanna dedicate this to everybody that love hip hop music
Cause without hip hop music I wouldn't be here today
Preacher's son, yeah
[Verse 1]
Imagine if Biggie and Pac never got shot
And they both still were rulers of hip hop
And Puffy and Suge was roomates from college
And Big L never got found in the alley
Nas and Jay-Z they were still homies
Squash the beef with Ja Rule and 50
Benzino shook hands with Eminem
And on the same record I heard Eve, Fox and Kim
And sometimes when I dream, that's when I wake up
I kinda hoped that The Fugees didn't break up
And when they walked into the studio I prayed they didn't spray
Cause I miss that scratch from Jam Master Jay (Whoa oh oh!!!)
[Chorus]
Shots go off, mother's cry Death since rise, homicide
Black on black crime needs to stop
Y'all can't blame it on hip hop
Cause what we say is what we see
What we see is reality
The ghetto's the ghetto you got them livin in sorrow
Soon they won't live to see tomorrow
[Verse 2]
Imagine if Big Pun was still alive
I could see Fat Joe screamin Terror Squad
Imagine if there were still four survivors still in Destiny's Child
And TLC never lost they Left Eye
Imagine Refugees never needin a passport
And John Forte never at Newark Airport Million Man March, man, that was a start
Now I need a million more to meet me at Central Park
When the revolution start y'all 'gon have to play this
Imagine Slick Rick not gettin deported (Whoa oh oh!)
[Chorus]
Shots go off, mother's cry
Death since rise, homicide
Black on black crime needs to stop
Y'all can't blame it on hip hop
Cause what we say is what we see
What we see is reality
The ghetto's the ghetto you got them livin in sorrow
Soon they won't live to see tomorrow
[Verse 3]
In the club never though
Shyne shot the gun
But in the limosine JLO had to run
Paparazzi snappin shots through the mirror
That's when I saw a smile from Princess Diana
[...] Read more
song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
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Foul Shots: A Clinic
for Paul Levitt Be perpendicular to the basket,
toes avid for the line.
Already this description
is perilously abstract: the ball
and basket are round, the nailhead
centered in the centerplank
of the foul-circle is round,
and though the rumpled body
isn't round, it isn't
perpendicular. You have to draw
'an imaginary line,' as the breezy
coaches say, 'through your shoulders.'
Here's how to cheat: remember
your collarbone. Now the instructions
grow spiritual -- deep breathing,
relax and concentrate both; aim
for the front of the rim but miss it
deliberately so the ball goes in.
Ignore this part of the clinic
and shoot 200 foul shots
every day. Teach yourself not to be
bored by any boring one of them.
You have to love to do this, and chances
are you don't; you'd love to be good
at it but not by a love that drives
you to shoot 200 foul shots
every day, and the lovingly unlaunched
foul shots we're talking about now --
the clinic having served to bring us
together -- circle eccentrically
in a sky of stolid orbits
as unlike as you and I are
from the arcs those foul shots
leave behind when they go in.
poem by William Matthews
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story
Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 19
Thus I awaked and wroot what I hadde ydremed,
And dighte me derely, and dide me to chirche,
To here holly the masse and to be housled after.
In myddes of the masse, tho men yede to offryng,
I fel eftsoones aslepe - and sodeynly me mette
That Piers the Plowman was peynted al blody,
And com in with a cros bifore the comune peple,
And right lik in alle lymes to Oure Lord Jesu.
And thanne called I Conscience to kenne me the sothe
'Is this Jesus the justere,' quod I, 'that Jewes dide to dethe?
Or it is Piers the Plowman! Who peynted hym so rede?'
Quod Conscience, and kneled tho, ' Thise arn Piers armes -
Hise colours and his cote armure; ac he that cometh so blody
Is Crist with his cros, conquerour of Cristene.'
'Why calle ye hym Crist?' quod I, 'sithen Jewes called hym Jesus?
Patriarkes and prophetes prophecied bifore
That alle kynne creatures sholden knelen and bowen
Anoon as men nempned the name of God Jesu.
Ergo is no name to the name of Jesus,
Ne noon so nedeful to nempne by nyghte ne by daye.
For alle derke develes arn adrad to heren it,
And synfulle aren solaced and saved by that name;
And ye callen hym Crist; for what cause, telleth me?
Is Crist moore of myght and moore worthi name
Than Jesu or Jesus, that al oure joye com of?'
'Thow knowest wel,' quod Conscience, 'and thow konne reson,
That knyght, kyng, conquerour may be o persone.
To be called a knyght is fair, for men shul knele to hym;
To be called a kyng is fairer, for he may knyghtes make;
Ac to be conquerour called, that cometh of special grace,
And of hardynesse of herte and of hendemesse -
To make lordes of laddes, of lond that he wynneth,
And fre men foule thralles, that folwen noght hise lawes.
'The Jewes, that were gentil men, Jesu thei despised -
Bothe his loore and his lawe; now are thei lowe cherles.
As wide as the world is, wonyeth ther noon
But under tribut and taillage as tikes and cherles;
And tho that bicome Cristene bi counseil of the Baptiste
Aren frankeleyns, free men thorugh fullynge that thei toke
And gentil men with Jesu - for Jesus was yfulled
And upon Calvarie on cros ycrouned kyng of Jewes.
' It bicometh to a kyng to kepe and to defende,
And conqueror of his conquest hise lawes and his large.
And so dide Jesus the Jewes - he justified and taughte hem
The lawe of lif that laste shal evere,
And fended from foule yveles, feveres and fiuxes,
And from fendes that in hem was, and false bileve.
Tho was he Jesus of Jewes called, gentile prophete,
And kyng of hir kyngdom, and croune bar of thornes.
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poem by William Langland
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100 STD's 10,000 MTD's
There are STD's, sexually transmitted diseases.
and then there are MTD's, meat transmitted diseases.
The latter take a lot more lives.
*********
In Animal Flesh: Blood Sweat Tears as well as Carcinogens Cholesterol Colon Bacteria
Animal products kill more people annually in the US than
tobacco, alcohol, traffic accidents, war, domestic violence,
guns, and drugs combined. USAMRID wrote that consumption of pig flesh caused the world's most lethal pandemic in WW1,
euphemistically called flu. Anthrax
used to be called wool sorters'
disease. Smallpox used to be called
cow pox or kine pox because of
its origin in animal flesh.
.
WHAT'S IN A BURGER? BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS (AS WELL AS BIOTERRORISM)
POISONS IN ANIMAL AND FISH FLESH... A PARTIAL LIST
a partial list in alphabetical order
acidification diseases
addiction (to trioxypurines)
adrenalin (secreted by terrorized
animals before and during slaughter)
ANTIBIOTICS (too many to list) (crowded factory farm animals standing in their own feces are often infected)
BACTERIA
creiophilic bacteria survive
the freezing of animal flesh
thermophilic bacteria survive
the baking boiling and roasting
bacteriophages (viruses FDA allows to
be injected)
blood
colon bacteria.. euphemistically
called ecoli animals defecate
all over themselves in terror
John Harvey Kellogg MD studied
the exponential rate into the billions
BSE DISEASES, PRIONS IN SPECIES FROM GELATIN (JELLO ETC)
Mad Chicken
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poem by O. Anna Niemus
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It’s called the inner city
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
Thin walls no privacy
Big yard, living in close proximity
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes it has shaped my destiny
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
Adults sit around
Getting shot and maim
Children run around
Oblivious
Playing their games
In the filth that flows untamed
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
How hard I try not to run with the pack
But against me the cards were stack
They need protection they need someone
But you can’t protect them with empty hand
In the inner city
It’s called the inner city
Poverty, amidst luxury
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
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poem by Ikhalfani Solan
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