Steganography – The practice of concealing a message in a message. Not so hidden 🙂
Morbid, listless & baseless Enshrined in the regrets of yesterday Ever sure, logic and reason must remain faceless This much is sure, coasting to the edge of gray
Must I deign in this filth, Ejected from the throne room of grace
Insipid of the salt of life, Near dark tranquility
Hark the caterwaul of the banshee Embrace the stillness of the night, Arms wide open Vegetating to the vacancy of emptiness Ensnared by the compulsion of subliminal sleep Near deaths’ grip.
Steganography : Friedman’s photo
The individuals facing the camera were the a’s, and the ones looking away the b’s. The message spelled out was “Knowledge is Power.” Or rather, since they were four people short, “Knowledge is Powe” (a decoded version can be found here).
A couple of years back, there was a pastor who used to counsel me. We used to meet at around 6ish in the morning. He was a great guy and I really admired his willingness to go the extra mile. One day as we were parting after our morning meeting, he called me and I turned back and looked at him. He smiled and said “You know you are a bitch right!!!”. I was a bit shocked, but then I realized he was just trying to wake me up from the maladies (or slumber) that I was suffering from. I am a servant of GOD…. because I know that I am saved.
Every time some one sticks a dagger down your gut, just remember its because GOD allowed it, therefore you needn’t be angry at the person who did that to you. I wrote this poem to help me remember something personal, so if you don’t get it, its because, I would prefer not sharing it with the world. But if you can read between the lines the message is clear
Cold-pressed by this solitude of an uncanny vanity
I stare at the horizon in quiet contemplation
Ruminating the vicissitude of an aeon gone by
Of things gained but lost in time
Nonchalant and nondescript,
In a world impoverished by abject apathy
Where once was quiet repose,
has been drowned by the obsequiousness of ignominy
Here I am, the monologue in a dialog
My voice drowned by the clamor of the masses
Lulled into the lassitude of wasted assays
A metronome for the usury of legal wranglers
For as they merrily jaunt at the misery of their stooge
They vault themselves to the mercy of their maker
For it is inscribed in the ancient of times,
that vengeance is mine, I will repay.
I was working on this when my dad was really sick. I never got a chance to complete it because the application license ran out. My father has since passed away, but every time I hear this tune, it brings back memories of his struggle with COPD.