programming

Thy Code, Thy Choice

 

 

The bugs of thy code, hidden like a virus

Steals not your data, dates thy compiler

The mem of thy soul, stressed and archaic

Already knows a thou, c, perl, hebraic

 

The code of thy soul, enough long to rule the world

Willn’t compile if thy seed is a virus

Will not even, case done with the python

‘Tis, ‘tis a problem, the poison of a viper

 

Living through thy blood, bleeding through thy fingers

Spreads on a zip and it lingers, and it lingers

Can’t know what you want, or what thy code’ll be

If ruby, java, just a virus or php

 

Remember that the evil has no single, single patience

You should run, not compile, through the code, through those piles

Just remember all these words, these words of the matrix

Now tell: red or blue? Fast, fast! With no waiting

 

 

Prophetic Profits Line Political Pockets

Is it ironic that our prophets are marketed to profit the preacher's pocket?

 

It seems prophetic scripture is a profitable mixture of spirituality and social interaction; last time I stepped in a church, I envisioned cats goose steppin, their hands raised to acknowledge the Spirit but I'm wonderin if Der Führer is present.  Speaking of prophecy, these profits we chase will be the end of humanity - death creates a war economy where PMCs are commodities bought and sold to perpetuate global homogeny.  

 

New World Orders dictate a rise of profit, so our prophets are shifted to suit the pockets of those in suits and suites; our politicians accept legal bribery to sell us up river, our population swells and our problems become bigger.  We give in to fear and accept propaganda while we demand actions from those with hidden agendas.  Overseers out of officers above our written laws roam these streets looking more ravenous than their dogs.  As the blue line stretches from state to state, the state of the union dissolves; to state it simply, the Police State seems reminiscent of the Third Reich.  

 

RFIDs implanted as governments demand their chattel be branded; the mark of a beast we fed with our blood, best mark your numbered days of "freedom" as you chatter about your favorite programming.  Can it be coincidence entertainment on television is called programming?  Manufactured characters from sitcoms to newsrooms, distorted opinions layered like a cake with as much sugar coating, ensuring you will swallow the harsh medicine of reality crumbling.  

 

But never mind that, what color is this dress man?  And never mind THAT, douse yourself with this bucket of ice man.  From one scam to another, our attention is commanded - ironic that the only real deficit is attention.  If our attention had intention to shift our intended goals from profit to parables utter by prophets, imagine what our pockets would hold then.

 

Every day, if I open my eyes, I realize another layer of the real lies -- how we're compliant to the point of reliance on a system that simplifies human lives to assembly lines.  A culture that preys like vultures on the disenfranchised, selling lies to shallow minds encapsulated by fear; never did they mind the depth of the graves dug here.  For the truth it seems has been categorically smeared with distractions, millions booking face time to clear collective ADHD like ten second Tom.

 

One week, two weeks, three weeks, gone.  Attention deficit, human destruction imminent, and the cycle resets because we were too lazy kid.

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

One of my pieces with a heavier amount of rhyme and rhythm.

my ode to programming

My Ode To Programming
By: Me
Written on December 13th, 2012
Programming is being told what to think
news for you, it really does stink
It tells you how to react to
what life chooses to throw at you

we are programmed to see what we believe
not what is there definitely
like a thoroughbred breeding; born to run
keeps you well and truly in the system

to keep on selecting certain realities
which no doubt suit the powers that be
to limit the choices available to you
in order to blind you from the truth

like the psychologist called Pavlov
rang a bell when he fed his dogs
the dogs when they heard that ring
thought 'grub up' and started salivating

news for you, your remote control
is yours to shape don't you know
recognize where your being programmed
and replace it with a higher vibration

then the sky isn't even the limit
it's the start of a limitation 'bin it'
unlocking your built in limitless potential
though if this is sounding mental

your heads in a box fitted on you
your ego and the world hide the truth
and the sooner you walk through walls
the quicker you unlock your potential
and give the boot to personal hells

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