Man has, as it were, become a kind of prosthetic God. When he puts on all his auxiliary organs, he is truly magnificent; but those organs have not grown on him and they still give him much trouble at times.
quote by Sigmund Freud
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Love Sensual Women
I love sensual women and not passionate ones. A passionate woman closes her eyes, moans and shouts and the enjoyment of a passionate woman is blind.
A passionate woman writhes about, grabs you with her hands without looking where, clasps you, kisses you, even bites you and hurries to reach her climax as soon as she can. She has no time to display her sexual organs, no time to examine, touch with the hand and kiss your sexual organs, she is in such a hurry to slake her passion. Having slaked her passion, the passionate woman will fall asleep. The sexual organs of a passionate woman are dry. A passionate woman is always in some way or another mannish.
The sensual woman is always feminine.
Her contours are rounded and abundant.
The sensual woman rarely reaches a blind passion. She savours sexual enjoyment.
The sensual woman is always a woman and even in an unaroused state her sexual organs are moist. She has to wear a bandage on her sexual organs, so as not to soak them with moisture.
When she takes the bandage off in the evening, the bandage is so wet that it can be squeezed out.
Thanks to such an abundance of juices, the sexual organs of a sensual woman give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when the sensual woman is aroused. Then the juice from her sexual organs is secreted in a syrupy stream.
A sensual woman likes you to examine her sexual organs.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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The sense organs experience the external light, sound, etc. with difficulty; the different sense organs only have a so-called specific receptivity for particular stimuli.
quote by Johannes P. Muller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flowering
Flowers are a part of speech too plain,
The language of it is the kingdom of plants.
Offering, exactly conferring, and inferring,
They compute to loosen their offspring.
The wind imitates the parts of the wind
With flowing power, brains are dead.
Often time is allowing a flower to be fed
By the water of the floor, the gestures are bleeding.
May water rise from its stem and flourish in its organs,
Its organs, its organs concentrate too believably.
Flowers work outside as do their people,
So much has contrived the flower to be.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Carbon
As organs are built up on carbon
Organs are nothing but carban.
Humours are built up on sorrow.
Humour is nothing but sorrow.
Sorrow is wood, that humour burns.
After a glow, the wood turns ash.
26.03.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Receipe To Cook The Organ Meats!
Organ meats are laced and tasty,
let us make the dishes, not the pastry,
Cooking of brain, lungs, heart,
Liver, intestine and kidneys,
Soak them in wine for years,
Marinate them in fizzy beer,
Baking is too hot,
So we opt for smoke,
Smoke them throughout,
the Day and night,
Even in between,
Many the numbers,
Faster the organs get smoked,
When the eyes and nose water,
Use the mask and filters,
Weeds can be added,
For a quick fix and flavor,
When the sputum is thickened,
With the bending cough,
When the legs are swollen,
With tiring limps and thoughts,
We can go to the hospitals,
To make sure,
Whether we have cooked proper?
Once the certificate is issued,
That we are the chief chef of our body,
With perfectly imperfect organs,
We can stop marinating and smoking,
As the organs can mature on themselves,
and we can be displayed sooner or later,
to show our relatives and friends,
that we are the great cooks.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Age Cannot Dry The Sexual Taste..
Sexual thoughts excite the brain,
Which stimulates sexual organs,
Which activate sexual glands.
Lust is felt all the three stages.
Organs failing, glands can act.
One can still feel about sex.
Glands failing, brain can act.
One can still feel about sex.
No wonder, men and women
Past seventy or eighty,
Are turned on by persons
Direct or in photos or screens.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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There Is No Natural Religion (a)
The Argument
Man has no notion of moral
fitness but from Education.
Naturally he is only a natu-
ral organ subject to Sense.
I
Man cannot naturally Per-
ceive, but through his natural
or bodily organs
II
Man by his reason-
ing power. can only
compare & judge of
what he has already
perceiv'd.
III
From a perception of
only 3 senses or 3 ele
-ments none could de-
-duce a fourth or fifth
IV
None could have other
than natural or organic
thoughts if he had none
but organic perceptions
V
Mans desires are
limited by his percepti
ons. none can de-
-sire what he has not
prceiv'd
VI
The desires & percepti-
-ons of man untaught by
any thing but organs of
sense, must be limited
to objects of sense.
poem by William Blake
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Not even the most powerful organs of the press, including Time, Newsweek, and The New York Times, can discover a new artist or certify his work and make it stick. They can only bring you the scores.
quote by Thomas Wolfe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Altars of Light
If the light is the soul
then soul is what's
all around me.
It is you,
it is around you too,
it is you.
The darkness is inside me,
the opaqueness of organs folded
upon organs--
to make light in the house of
the body--
thus to bring the
outside in,
the impossible job.
And the only place to become
the skin
the border, the inbetween, where
dark meets light, where I meets
you.
In the house of world the
many darknesses are surrounded
by light.
To see the one, we need
the other / it cuts both ways
light on light is blind
dark on dark is blind
light through dark is not
dark through light is movement
dark through light becomes,
is becoming,
to move through
light is becoming,
is all
we can know.
poem by Pierre Joris
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Manipulation
Oh, my head! my head! my head!
Lack! for my poor unfortunate head!
Mister de Ville
Has been to feel,
And what do you think he said?
He felt it up, and he felt it down,
Behind the ears, and across the crown,
Sinciput, occiput, great and small,
Bumps and organs, he tickled 'em all;
And he shook his own, as he gravely said,
'Sir, you really have got a most singular head!
'Why here's a bump,
Only feel what a lump;
Why the organ of "Sound" is an absolute hump;
And only feel here,
Why, behind each ear,
There's a bump for a butcher or a bombardier;
Such organs of slaughter
Would spill blood like water;
Such "lopping and topping" of heads and of tails,
Why, you'll cut up a jackass with Alderman S--.'
[Caetera desunt.]
poem by Richard Harris Barham
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In Your Fidelity With The Word
in your fidelity with the word
despite what mood you keep on siding with the word
giving it a face
and a soul
and a certain motion like the planets in their orbits
what then? what shall all these words reward you?
a story to tell? a poem that you can read for all of those
who are weary on the journey?
a novel to spend time with
or kill it since it bores you to death?
yes, i must ask, what shall this fidelity give you
as a reward for your affections
and loyalty to its nuances, moods, and context?
is it the liberation of your soul from the prison of doubt?
oh, you keep on saying you are free.
is it the liberation of your mind from the unpopularity of reality?
oh, you keep saying you do not need it.
is it the liberation of your body from the shackles of your organs?
mind boggling, why should my organs be my prison?
is it this prolix that keeps you bored?
or is it simply the questions that keep on growing
that keeps you alive?
are you more interested in the answers?
i am just asking. Are there answers?
my dear, at the end, there are only questions.
These are the realities of our world. The open mind
is the gift. It is the reward to your fidelity
of the bosom of the word.
kiss it then, and make love to the beauty of the
question mark.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Patience Pays, Impatience Costs!
Patiently Plan your life,
Or
wait patiently for Life's plan for
you! In other words,
Don't try to solve questions of
life,
Before you can answer one,
Life can pose too many
questions! Anyway isn't it true,
patience pays,
Impatience costs? Life is neither a riddle nor puzzle! Sometimes may Look like
crossword puzzle,
When one's words cross other's, If not one learn what is silence,
when and how this precious tool
works, ego clash may cause hot
atmosphere
instead of warm one!
You are a part of nature and society,
the part depends on whole,
And whole depends on part! May it be liver or brain,
May it be heart or spleen,
One can be healthy, if all tissues
and organs are healthy,
All organs remain healthy,
if one cares for their health!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Man is an intelligence in servitude to his organs.
quote by Aldous Huxley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Organ Donation
If you’re brain-dead by accidents:
Your eyes can continue to see
By being placed in one who needs,
And live for another life-time!
Your heart can continue to beat
In one who needs a living pump
To circulate the blood around!
Your kidneys both can excrete wastes
In persons two with uraemia,
And help them live for some more years!
Your liver transplanted in one
With alcoholic cirrhosis
Can help him live for some more weeks!
Your pancreas, lungs, intestines,
Bone, bone-marrow and entire skin
Can be help to keep fifty alive!
Donate your other organs too
To ones in dire need of them,
And make your corpse to help men live!
So, gift your body parts to ones
Who seem to be in verge of death
And help continue to breathe!
Donate your organs; help men live!
You can serve God and man though dead!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-5-2009
poem by John Celes
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Double Trouble
(allen collins -- ronnie vanzant)
Eleven times I been busted, eleven times I been to jail
Some of the times I been there nobody could go my bail
Well it seems to me, lord that this ol boy just dont fit
Well I can jump in a rosebush and come out smelling like sh...
Those misters dressed in blue never done so right by me
Some of the times I was innocent but the judge said guilty
Im not one to complain now son I tell you true
When the black cat cross your trail, lord
It comes in misery times two
(chorus)
Double trouble--thats what my friends all call me
(double trouble)
I said, double trouble
T-r-o-u-b-l-e
Well I was born down in the gutter
With a temper as hot as fire
Spent ninety days on a peat farm just doin the countys time
Well now, even mama said son youre bad news
And it wont be too long before someone puts one through you
(chorus)
(chorus)
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man is a mind betrayed, not served, by his organs.
quote by Edmond De Goncourt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You can always tell youre in trouble when the good option involves a prosthetic leg.
quote by Hugh Elliott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Muscles are in a most intimate and peculiar sense the organs of the will.
quote by G. Stanley Hall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My organs are too powerful... I manufacture blood and fat too rapidly.
quote by Robert Baldwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beloved of a Poet
If you offer your body to a rich man, he will give you a shelter,
delicious food three times, clothes and pleasures in all your organs.
He may give you a heart which is as dead as a withered river.
If he loves very much, he may make you owner of a vast land.
Can a vast land be the price of your body?
Those who are slaves of body will not be able to recognize
the secret mine of mystery lying into the folds of your body.
Only the goldsmith knows the value of gold.
Who knows, o girl, what a jewel your beauty is but a poet?
Be the beloved of the poet, you will gain the life of nymph.
If you look at me for a moment, I will give you snatching the heart of flower and compose on your lips the new verses of kiss.
But if you give me your heart, don't get frightened, o sweetie,
an immortal epic of love will be composed for you all on a sudden.
poem by Sayeed Abubakar
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