> city. Live.

The river fish, unlike the vulgar herd.

Flag of a "nation".

Unrealistic, get a life, unless its not valid.

The beginings. The start, the end.

Anyone could be a former human. Be on guard.

This is your life.

Disputed sometimes.

Look what you do!

An opinion well derserved.

Welcome, there are facilities to your left and right. Bureaucracy in the middle, in your hand, on your finger.

Realism Television

Learn nothing real.

You people might look down of individuals like pot thrown off a building. Really these people are people of condition and reality given, a realism false. One could say that we should not worry but one worry does one. Without such concerns none could continue. So even though a foreign culture is not one you know. Objectivity is determined to be the best form of analysis based on subjectivity, so be objective and concise when referring to the individuals. They know what they have, everyone knows. However its a great skill they are gained and nothing will stop their ability of grand compliance.

This does not exist! You are looking at something that does not exist!

Of course, you being real and know you must be real, know these are false as you would say. I cannot say that you are real but these things are not real in any way besides their reality in our world, the forms they take. What will they become in the grand echo chamber everyone has inside their own head. One could make plenty of objective subjective conclusions however a conclusion should be considered when considering your own self. This is the information given, and the information loss is never talked about. The information loss is never talked about, however this one is extreme, disaster. City block, house car.

Written pieces have no website created for such. They will be placed below.

The Immoral Fish

Here I am, where am I?
Home, and why?
Most likely because I am at home.

I have enjoyed my stay at home, it has been nice.
And the food has been very good!
Some people say we should depart from home but I think we should live home!
Home is how our life was designed to be after the advent of fire!

No better combination with home is a chair right?
You know who could have home without a chair.
I decide to sit on my newly appearing chair.

Well what's for dinner?
Dinner could consist of lots of things
But I bet you its a meat!
My nonna walks over to my bench and puts down a bowl with a red substance inside
Must be dinner.

I look inside the bowl and I see something that doesn't make sense,
Why is it there this is not the ocean!
I see fish, they have lifeless eyes, they have the red shine to them like a new red car.
I pull the veils of this fish's life as I decide to look into their eyes devoid of life.
Life was now not, what did this fish do that was immoral?

I don't think I can have dinner, maybe I'm wrong

I'm not going to have a fish dinner!
Or a fish lunch!
Or a fish breakfast!
You know what no fish at all.
I feel as if the fish did something wrong, maybe I spared them too easily.
Maybe I should of punished them for ending up in the bowl instead of supporting them.
After all if fauna is not punished they could get out of control and clog our drain pipes.
We need to punish these creatures, I think I relaxed a little.

Because of the lack of fish I have become more moral,
All children of the future needs to know the truth about life.
Their parents are lying to them and I will set them free
Free from fish
Free from constant control over us, using giant birds as a means.
The children must learn fish is a immoral food source, just like humans are immoral food sources.

Seems that the giant birds don't understand but that is fine,
The children must rise against fish
They must be free of fish,
Free of slavery.

Written by a Fifteen Retriever

Are we there yet?

The dogs, they are always in the back of my mind just don't know how or why.
Why those dogs? What is the purpose in society for these dogs?
Do they have a purpose? And if so what is it?
Why are dogs so essential to our existence that we can't swerve away from it, we have to go in a straight line. Why? Why is this the case?

We all see the dogs, none of us even point a finger at it?
The dogs are always running, always galloping with their four big hoofs, one at a time.
Why do we see them everywhere yet no-one mentions them?
They are dogs.

Probably.

I've seen them, they have killed people.
They have killed animals, they kill everything.
Yet no-one points them out?
I should just accept it.

Why do we need to suffice ourselves, the dogs are coming!
Set up some defenses of sorts, a wall should stop them!
This is futile.
What am I supposed to say, gamaga?

We can work together, that is the option.
Come here, be my friend.
We can work together, that is your option.
We can go wherever you need me to go.

They are in view, and I will be sure to greet them when they arrive.
They make good pets!
And I don't care anymore!
I will take them places, they will be dying to go everywhere with me.

People keep saying that they have this... feeling.
When around them, as if it won't go away.
I think these people are flawed, you just need to know them better that's all.
The feeling will go away in the end, you just haven't been around them long enough.

Written by a civil engineer inside the Seventeen working for HRFS

Living forest of dead gods

The trees grow heavy
Heavy from the layer of blood on our soil for a couple thousand years.

Tell me why I have been forced into these decadent forests?
Did Poised bird wish that of me? Did I do something wrong, something
he does not agree with?
Luckily for everyone there is food,
Food handed out to everyone except the people
Who would theoretically purchase food with credits.
Do you die without credits? Credits is the end of life, your goal. You have credits
You can die in peace for the most part.
I cannot testify to this because I am not dead yet
And I am not credits.
The fish on the other hand, a dilettante.
Does nothing, Poised bird I admire its action.
Luckily for the Funny fish we have plans
To die without his help.

Explain to me why I shot that man in the head with my laser pistol
After looking at him in the eyes I saw the motives of this action
And it seemed to be the same look I gave him,
A look of acquiesce that is not too dissimilar to that of fauna.

Explain to me why magavums try to forcefully remove me from the population
By trying to eat me, after looking at them in the eyes there is nothing, nothing
with purpose.
A closed system for humans and animals alike, theoretically.

Explain why my friend,
That dead fish in a cloudy blood pond
Doesn't talk to me? As if we're done!
What did I do wrong to you!

Regent of Seventeen.
Explain why my career path happened to co-inside with the scavenger lifestyle.
Why do you not rebel? You are a person are you not?
You facilitate something I can't exactly put my finger on,
Maybe we've lived with it for so long that everyone is practically really good friends with it
And who would want to break a good relationship?
George Luther King of the Fifteen.
Explain how you think you are of a higher level of virtue than anyone else.
Your goals justify it, does it not? Pacifism? Some idealistic virtue that is impossible
To facilitate?
And therefore now its fine, fine to use violence and break our own tenents.
What were they again?
Well I knew but its obvious.
The answer is in my face, the whole time I've been saying this
but sometimes I forget because you've adjusted to it and forget its existence.
And in any case I would rather reassure myself about that rather than live
In ignorance.

Even if this entire idea is flawed
That's fine I just want to know
Why?
Not from a magavum or a soldier but from
The heads themselves.

I want them to explain why they are fine
With dead gods, facilitating themselves in living forests.
A living forest where nothing lives
Nothing but the trees.

To the Regent and George Luther King

Written by "Xolotl's Hand"

Endless Fortitude for the Willful!

We die, we die, we die
But we come back!
We might die, who knows how.
Maybe I was shot in the head.
The better option
We die
Maybe I was slashed to death with a blade.
We die.
Maybe I was slashed by a giant bird.
Maybe right in half.
We die.
Maybe I was eaten whole by a giant bird.
You might of survived a couple hours, before being digested.
We die, but no matter what.
We come back stronger than before.
A giant bird's stomach might slowly were at our psyche,
but our will is shiny as a new laser pistol.
A giant bird's beak might crush us,
but not our motives.
A blade might pierce us.
In the end our armor is impenetrable.
A bullet might infiltrate our body,
but not our mind.
So look at death, and say to death.
I will enjoy it!
I will not let fear cloud my work!
Its what I enjoy doing, rebel against those who cause harm to you.
Take death as an experience and move!
Charge against that giant bird, luring over you.
One on one, with no chance of winning.
Get eaten, and fight back as you slowly wither.
Don't let the certainty of death draw you away from your objective.
Enjoy death!
Rebel against our enemies!
Come back, stronger than ever with a refined knowledge!

Written by a Fifteen Priest

An open goal

I see them everyday, new faces with the same look of the face before them.
No difference from what I can tell.
Why do they decide to be here voluntarily.
There is no point

The fighting stadium is immense, for the most immersive fighting experience.
Where you die at some point in time.

Why do you line up?
Line up in those lines with those war chants you sing.
Hoping the next one on one duel will be a success for your side,
The sides of Fifteen and Seventeen.

What are you doing when you kill that person?
Do you feel better about yourself after?
After killing them your purpose is made clear to a degree at least?
Do you feel as if you have a duty towards killing the other side because they are of an
Opposite position of you, did you even have any enmity towards that person?
Do you know where you are?
You realise that there are only winners on this arena.
Winners who both get to share some ground together.
For a time, until they are both eaten
You know that they come, the magavums.
They come to clean up the bodies on the floor.
No-one seems to notice that when one wins the other wins after.

I am a outsider to this, for some reason I can spectate.
I see looks towards me, looks of disgust.
Why don't I join the rabble?
It might be a new life experience, to die thinking I had a purpose in that fight.
To win and win again after being killed by a magavum, after my fight.
And everyone behind me cheers and in front of me mourns the loss of their fight.
To focused to realise the big picture.

The most available resource seems to be ground of which we stand on.
I don't know if these people eat often enough,
Or if they are just so excited to get into the fight.
Do these people maintain themselves!
These people are crazy, but it is not my choice to watch.
I am being forced to, the magavums have me on a very short watch list.
I am a spectator of the people, people I mean everyone except everyone.

Why can't people realise that their life is pointless, their entire purpose
Is to die at the end.
The fights lead in both people being eaten by magavums and yet
It still happens?
Why?
It doesn't make any sense to me why these people do this.
It as if they have nothing else.

They don't have anything else.
We were trained, by our masters to be obedient.
And fight.
Fight for Poised bird.
Fight for Funny fish.
It is all the same, we have breed a specific type of human, that submissive one.
Accepts what the higher class individuals tell them
Because they have nothing else.
You either sit on the side of the road and die of starvation or
Join the arena and die there.

One option was more appealing apparently.

They made a special opening just for me.
A three way battle, do I have a choice?
Not really, but it is something that I can win.
Something everyone can win,
I just hope I win this fight.
And in the end my purpose will be found.

Written by "Xolotl's Hand"

Four-thousand units entered the building, then. It collapsed.

My patrons believed in quality
Now, there is rubble
Floor infection rotting
fauna,

A four digit number!
Never know the true form, it's a fidget!
It's all down.
round up, the little dreams.
Genuine experience,
live for a little
concrete, rebar infection.
The dimensions were floorless!

The steel, has something to steal
From the structure of my life.
How many people will be affected by a small little building
fire?

Four-thousand people entered the building
Then, it collapsed.
Four-thousand, entered, and knew the risks, they killed themselves
in a way.

And four-thousand people entered, putting trust in me
I am not to be trusted.
Like any other like minded individual!
No, no, nothing I could do.

If only I could walk outside today,
No, the scaving sun will lecture me.
I don’t want to go outside, until this passes and i’m dead
set, on my path.

A new beginning, because there were other bureaucratic issues that caused building
failure.
It's not all my fault surely, my life, me, I’m not horrible.
It was the grand opening, very open it was, ten faults, ten failures.

Written by a civil engineer inside the Seventeen working for HRFS

Snapshot

Camera, for fish, snap, fish forever captured in a small digital compact.
What does a fish, violent and brutish beings, do in a state of permanent decay?
A fish would writhe and wiggle, but in the end its jingle was jingoism, and war is over.
How are we better than it, we don't have war yet we have violence. A winning win.
A winning win for all participants in a game, of snapshot, done your shot in.
Fish as unconscious as may be have the ability to show fish from fish.
They always say that the methods and bureaucracy that is implemented will greatly increase prosperity. Lets hear the fish's perspective.
That is if they could even communicate.
And in that we all have the little fish, staying quiet about all of our issues. We may never know the little fish the little fish you.
The fish have already generated their sorting algorithms, the photos store constant truths but what does it matter when
we may not know ourselves well enough.

Written by a Normal, one.

Self-sustaining Fire

Walk around and see
See it?

It's all around
True truths true for its truthfulness.
One that I can see emanate from the fire, fire around
Us always.
The fuel makes sense yet nothing is real, so the fuel makes no sense.
Fuel from the Earth we plow through flesh, former things.
From these former things we got things, so subtle that I feel a sense of missingness.
A sense of subtleness so real that I can even see how subtle, my eyes
Gone in a way.

The air is a necessary factor in any great burning lie.
The air is that in your face substance that we all know and know that they know it.
It's unknown, it's unknown, know the unknown, the subtle unknown. What keeps this
Finger working yet again. These burning subtleness matter, these subtle matters.
Nothing is as it seems everything has a form of blockage, gunk in the bureaucracy
Filth.

What is the thing that fuels it, it is real living partially conscious beings.
Maybe the Earth is dead already, it has been dead for too long, so the fuel is what
Left behind in our dialectic, unknown to know, it's all unknown.
Progress has left a solid metal statue of the past, and its sinking in a large river.
What are we fueling with our living matter?

I think I know exactly what this substance, the fuel is, it's our flesh!
Our hours poured and machines toiled!
Machines broken cracked bones neck injury organ failure. Its a system blocked by it
Knows what it's doing unknown factors of our culture how it makes a sacrifice
For us for our bodies for our organs and our purpose, meaning, life!

It's just a pit for burning in the end and the char doesn’t matter to anything.
Nothing could see out, nothing can see in.
Its a great place! I can’t tell what influences me
Today is yesterday,
The dialectic is a lie.

Written by philosopher Jean Paul.

Eviction Notice.

My name is inscribed here
I have it, its my name
its not a name
of it, its the name for it
Me.

My tram, takes me anywhere
free transport, quick and easy
its not my one.
I would not name this
Me.

My name is final.
I will not have it questioned
The outside world doesn't know
the advisor does, it knows
Me.

My paper, my encryption,
obliterated by the void of flesh.
The cells, we know, we would.
They wouldn't know
Me.

My streets are not safe anymore.
My name is not certain, it is
my life.
A magavum is not me, it can't it won't know
Me.

Thats right, my name,
My ownership, my privileged access
matter here, in twenty units of measurement
Defined by x.
Me, I'm not here. A magavum is.

Written by Jeorg Keltor.

Poems with no titles

These ones for some reason had their title ommitted by the poet/s

Their names are also ommitted

1

Of the mountain Silence –
Water rushes into crevices
And sound is still agape.
Nothing sounds an intro warning.

Clear water which eyes can peer.
Flows of magic perhaps
Makes everything — smooth to the bone,
Believe it – leave it alone.

2

Have gone – their memories –
Well Inside, it looks stolen now —
Handled misery
which I have no explanation,

Simply exist, yet there —
see I, the great evil, run now –
Once again I say, no
Not another Foul I take – yet,

The house is small and weak,
Some little volume, yet expands.
With barely any space
Some would die — and that's normal –

But this house of grandeur,
said something, after-life —
And shun things of options.
Creature of flight could exploit that.

A Heap of After-life
I took, and all I hear — “Scales!” —
Feel lesser, such paltry
I abdicate to war.

3

Life is not a grand bridge
We walk and build together, no —
Its built, and it's horrid. It falls,
Poor moral conjecture, so know –

Pillars of achievement, great holy –
Push into the flesh of the Earth —
Tear it apart — with the power now –
Being used by mortal people – now.

4

I have nothing.
I’m here, in rest
The night lost – Flight.
The idea, life — As it's not.

It told me Life —
It took me Away.
Nothing, but Now inside
I am, Say They –
“little Life”.
no Control, it –
one Has a trust — I will submit.
A land where yes
I went — then again – I exist.

5

My chest is full of little things —
What keeps it alive now,
The oxygen it tries to bring.
Too congested, no move —

The arteries burst into light.
The vessels jump away
Onto the floor made of dead things
Cells Escaped, fly do they.

I could go over it – I should have
Worn something Else, hope – full of light,
Hope – hard herald Steel, doesn’t work itself.
No – even then — it was too bright.

6

Grounde Lyne finds past Lives, We
Found, caught under —
A massive vessel, Dead
We want – plunder.

They knew rotting times – here
No-one drinks Beer –
Is all I could hear – life
As if not here.

We could think – lives they own —
The table life
Friends — those things they did, now
Dead evidence.

We don’t go through loose – think —
Crude Lyne, we have
Seen past people – it must
Go for display.

7

A thing came down to us – it told –
How much we have down here
The significant hole — for Mass
As it goes, remember

A lister, it can list our lives.
Small little characters
Of rope and string — we are bonded.
The thing departs — leaving

A hall of us, demands we want.
Discontent currently
Leads all in a direction, here —
A sense of appeasement.

8

A glint of light due to little sparkle.
Bend the knee its right and moral,
A slanted lane is all thats here – decide
Walk here forever the nothing
And you’ll do it no question — always.
A little light is enough Manipulation.

9

With the Letter – returned
The plaintiff remarks how —
They saw words, not there though.
They remember detail.

A great big office space
Full of armed people,
Civil servants, run now
Back to your cell.

It prowled and pounced,
You will remove yourself
From further procedures.
Bleeding habits of life

Its the end, maybe not.
A letter must be done.
Write it, “an orange car
Walks across the road see...”

10

The Big – bastard Bird — is pushed
When It can be pushed.
The quick — jutting positions I
See have moved out,

Gleeful expression which filled.
Cannot move anymore —
With hands of ice filled fists I jump.
The trees' shock surrounded before.

Its much colder with hands of Life —
Cannot move anymore.
With lost tools, broken vestiges
look at the sky once more.

figure. 52. 2 Another place uncared.