If I Were You

If I Were You

If I were you I’d stay away from me
I would make berth to foreign lands
And journey thence to boundless seas

If I were you I’d be extremely careful
Since my soul’s barely now a fragment
While yours is completely whole

If I were you I would run away into tomorrow
Cashing in your life’s winnings
Before the tides of life morph us to sorrow

If I were you I’d keep the Sun near
To protect your very fragile heart
From my frigidly fierce frontier

If I were you I would purchase soul insurance
Because all I could provide is my essence
While you need more than my fragmented soul’s assurance

If I were you I’d run to Heaven from my Devil
For my life is the definition of the Road Less Traveled
And my DNA code is true Rebel

If I were you I’d learn to dance in darkness
For your heart is full of joy
But my mind is wholly heartless

If I were you I’d learn to play with fire
And build immunity to flames
For all my life’s misfires

If I were you I’d read tree leaves for hints
That heed of lurid lightning flashes
Before my thunder leaves footprints

If I were you I’d forget our passions swiftly
Before they again fuse us in ardor
And our doubts thence crush us quickly

If I were you I’d seek safety and not wonder
About what could have perhaps been
Before your soul is torn asunder

If I were you I’d heed this honest warning
Because at the end of all our choices
We would surely both be mourning

If I were you I’d run like hell straight back
For your soul deserves endless joyous wonders
But my heart merely provides a shack

If I were you I’d wake from your daring dream
For our lives would be a nightmare
The most tremulous extreme

If I were you I’d wish upon the stars
For us to stay away forever
Thence begin writing our memoirs

If I were you I would simply turn the page
Forget about everything we are
After you promptly disengage

If I were you I’d stay away from me
Because no matter what would happen
We would never both be free

By: Zy Marquiez

Another Amairakuhn Edgykayshun Rant…But Not From Me…

Source: GizaDeathStar.com
Dr. Joseph Farrell
January 16, 2017

It’s time for my first rant of the new year on Amairikuhn edgykayshun, and it’s a doozie.

When Ms. K.B. sent me this article, I just had to laugh, and I knew I just had to pass it along to all the teachers that are part of the regular readership here, who are fed up with the constant centralization and federalization of Amairikuhn edgykayshun, and the constant tilt of the insanity meter into the red kooky zone of the dial. Apparently things are so bad in Amairikuhn edgykayshun, standardized testing, and the whole Rotten to the (Common) Core experience that even the corporate controlled media, in this case, the Washington Post, are sitting up and taking notice, and that’s, well, bad, or rather, just how bad things really are. Don’t believe me? Read for yourself, and remember, this is the Washington Post:

Poet: I can’t answer questions on Texas standardized tests about my own poems

Sara Holbrook, the poet in question, notes that the State of Texas chose one of what she herself calls one of her “most neurotic” poems, and goes on to observe what doubtless became a standard response of the students taking the test:

Let me begin by confessing that “A Real Case” is my most neurotic poem. I have a pile of them to be sure, but this one is the sour cherry on top. The written evidence of my anxieties, those evil gremlins that ride around on tricycles in my mind shooting my self-confidence with water pistols. How in the name of all that’s moldy did this poem wind up on a proficiency test?

Dose of reality: test makers are for-profit organizations. My poems are a whole lot cheaper than Mary Oliver’s or Jane Kenyon’s, so there’s that. But how would your vulnerable, nervous, number two pencil-gripping seventh grade self have felt opening your test packet to analyze poetic lines such as this:

I’m just down with a sniffly case/of sudden-self-loathing-syndrome … an unexpected extra serving/ of just-for-now-self-hate.

Seriously? Hundreds of my poems in print and they choose THAT one? Self-loathing and self-hate? Kids need an extra serving of those emotions on testing day?

But wait, it gets – as you might suspect about any story about Amairikuhn edgykayshun – much worse.

Teachers are also trying to survive as they are tasked with teaching kids how to take these tests, which they do by digging through past tests, posted online. Forget joy of language and the fun of discovery in poetry, this is line-by-line dissection, painful and delivered without anesthetic. One teacher wrote to me last month, working after 10 p.m., trying to figure out the test maker’s interpretation of my poem “Midnight.” This poem isn’t quite as jarring as “A Real Case,” simply symptomatic of aforementioned neuroses: It’s about insomnia.

“Hello Mrs. Holbrook. My name is Sean, and I’m an 8th grade English teacher in Texas. I’m attempting to decipher the number of stanzas in your poem, ‘Midnight’. This isn’t clear from the formatting in our most recent benchmark. The assessment asks the following question:

“Dividing the poem into two stanzas allows the poet to―

  1. A) compare the speaker’s schedule with the train’s schedule.

B ) ask questions to keep the reader guessing about what will happen

  1. C) contrast the speaker’s feelings about weekends and Mondays
  2. D) incorporate reminders for the reader about where the action takes place.

The answer is C) to contrast the speaker’s feelings about weekends and Mondays.

How many stanzas are in this poem? Where are they located? I would appreciate your help. Thank you so much!”

Oh, goody. I’m a benchmark. Only guess what? The test prep materials neglected to insert the stanza break. I texted him an image of how the poem appeared in the original publication. Problem one solved. But guess what else? I just put that stanza break in there because when I read it aloud (I’m a performance poet), I pause there. Note: that is not an option among the answers because no one ever asked me why I did it.
(Emphasis added)

Say what? the “professional” quackademic and (always) anonymous test-making committee did not even bother to contact the poet herself to query her about her own intentions and meanings and why she composed her poem in a certain way, with certain stanza breaks, images, diction, and so on and simply imposed their own consensus “correct answer” on the test (and therefore, on the poet herself about her own work)? Why, I thought (and was actually taught back in the day when schools actually taught things like how to do proper academic research) that when one was doing things like, oh, say literary criticism and analysis of, oh, say a text by someone that was, oh, say, like you know, like still alive that it was, like (notice my attempt to be trendy and, like, with it and use accepted colloquial, like, diction, ya know?) a nice idea to, like, contact the authoroid (note my attempt to be, like, gender-neutral here because, like, terms like author and authoress are so, like sexist and, like, stuff) and find out what it (like, notice again how, like, politically correct I’m being, as I, like, virtue signal my raised like consciousness and stuff by adhering to an artificial, like, linguistic agenda like thing, ya know?) like intended?

Well, of course they did. That’s the name of the testing game: imposed anonymous consensus. The actual authoroids be damned/recommended for retraining at a continuing teacher education workshop.

Apparently, Ms. Holbrook has the same issues as I and many others do with these absurd guessing games called standardized tests, and she proposed her own question:

Meantime, here is my question:

  1. Does this guessing game mostly evidence:

A    the literacy mastery of the student?

B    the competency of the student’s teacher?

C    the absurdity of the questions?

D    the fact that the poet, although she has never put her head in an oven, definitely has issues.

Let’s go with D since I definitely have issues, including issues with these ridiculous test questions.

Well, I could think of a few standardized test questions of my own for the quackademics preparing such tests, but since we all know that they probably all have a degree abbreviation that probably includes “Ed.” somewhere in it, I won’t bother you with them.

Holbrook goes on to note the same complaints others have noted about the testing “business”, Todd Farley included(and if you don’t know Farley’s book, which my co-author Gary Lawrence and I reviewed briefly in our book Rotten to the (Common) Core, I urge you to read it, for its sheer hilarity about the testing business):

The same year that “Midnight” appeared on the STAAR test (2013), Texas paid Pearson some $500 million to administer the tests, reportedly without proper training to monitor the contract. Test scorers, who are routinely hired from ads on (where else?), Craiglist, also receive scant training, as reported by this seasoned test scorer. I’m not sure what the qualifications are for the people who make up the questions, but the ability to ride unicorns comes to mind.

Holbrook, with her unicorns comment, probably is unaware of Farley’s book, but it actually is much worse than riding unicorns, since Farley documents case after case of such scorers sitting around and debating the acceptable, and non-acceptable, adjectives for the flavors of pizza, ice cream, and whether the proper words for certain chemical reactions is “fizzles”, “fizzes”, “splatters,” and so on.

It’s that bad, folks, and that nutty. And that real.

But Holbrook points out something equally nutty, and when I read this, and her conclusions about all this nonsense, I had to give her three cheers (and the Washington Post two cheers just for the guts it took to report her story):

Now comes research that reveals that a simple demographic study of the wealth of the parents could have accurately predicted the outcomes, no desks or test packets needed.  Educator and author Peter Greene reports,

“Put another way, Tienken et. al. have demonstrated that we do not need to actually give the Common Core-linked Big Standardized Test in order to generate the “student achievement” data, because we can generate the same data by looking at demographic information all by itself.

Tienken and his team used just three pieces of demographic data—

1. percentage of families in the community with income over $200K

2. percentage of people in the community in poverty

3. percentage of people in community with bachelor’s degrees

Using that data alone, Tienken was able to predict school district test results accurately in most cases.”

And voila! we don’t even have to administer those costly tests, nor pay for them. We can just study the demographics and assign district test scores based on that! (And just wait folks, it won’t be long until some genius in Washington will actually think that’s a good idea, and that we should distribute grades accordingly). Since we’re talking “distribution” here, I suspect this will come from the kooky socialist snowflakes of the political left. However, chances are equally good that the hysterical lunatics of the political right will – I’m thinking of John McCain or Lindsay Graham here – will think it’s a good idea because it will save money.

Ms. Holbrook ends her sortie into the hallowed halls of Amairikuhn quackademia with this conclusion and prognosis:

The only way to stop this nonsense is for parents to stand up and say, no more. No more will I let my kid be judged by random questions scored by slackers from Craigslist while I pay increased taxes for results that could just as easily have been predicted by an algorithm. That’s not education, that’s idiotic.

Idiotic, hair-splitting questions pertaining to nothing, insufficient training, profit-driven motives on the part of the testing companies, and test results that simply reveal the income and education level of the parents – For this we need to pay hundreds of millions of dollars and waste 10-45 days of classroom time each year to administer them? More if you consider the amount of days spent in test prep?

To that conclusion, Ms. Holbrook, I can only add my own hearty “Hear Hear!”

The only question remains how would we ever sell such an idea to the corrupt wankers in the Demoratic and Republithug parties?

I know! Why not blame standardized testing and failing American education on that evil-Machiavellian-super-genius-that-is-behind-everything, Vladimir Putin, and the ongoing Russian interference with American testing scores and hacking the computers that grade them and infiltrating the testing companies’ “scorers” with sleeper cell speznaz units, a plot hatched by Sergei Lavrov in always-Byzantine-never-to-be-trusted-heart-of-evil-neo-Stalinist-Putinist-Russia!!?? Throw in a couple of memes about Chinese hackers, and with a few faked (and of course, Top Secret) investigations and appropriate pronouncements in the press, it’s a sure thing. A Russian standardized testing-hacking plot will be something that Demorats and Republithugs and corporate media could all agree on.

Like, ya know?

See you on the, like, flip side…

Read More At: GizaDeathStar.com

About Joseph P. Farrell

Joseph P. Farrell has a doctorate in patristics from the University of Oxford, and pursues research in physics, alternative history and science, and “strange stuff”. His book The Giza DeathStar, for which the Giza Community is named, was published in the spring of 2002, and was his first venture into “alternative history and science”.

Immaculate Dream

This is a really old piece.  Was showing some old verses with a friends and they suggested sharing it.

Immaculate Dream

Your heart, is my own Haven
Your heartbeat, an Angel’s applause
When God created you my dear
It was perfection with all its laws

Your smile, is my sunlight
Your lips, my sinful pleasure
When God created you my dear
It was for you to be my treasure

Your kisses, tender rose petals
Your whispers, pure noblesse
When God created you my dear
It was the definition of finesse

Your eyes, the purest rapture
Your touch, Heaven’s blessing
When God created you my dear
It was joy and love caressing

Your face, a gracious flower
Your breath, a soothing aroma
When God created you my dear
It was the sweetest of personas

Your voice, a harmonic rhapsody
Your gaze, my sweet surrender
When God created you my dear
It was to make the Heavens splendor

Your body, is my own Heaven
Your mind, where I reside
When God created you my dear
It was for you to be my guide

Your presence, Heaven’s grace
Your taste, an exquisite flavor
When God created you my dear
It was just for me to savor

Your Life, a wondrous story
Your Soul, endless perfection
When God created you my dear
It was the sweetest of affections

Your essence, where I belong
Your existence, reigns supreme
When God created you my dear
It was an endless blissful Dream

By: Zy Marquiez
The Breakaway


Sanctum Of Darkness

Sanctum Of Darkness

Calmly, a candle is lit
Infusing light
Into the endless darkness.

With shadows running
They get to work
Mysteriously crafting boundless landscapes
By the tip of the pen.

When the work is done
The candle is put out
ever so softly.

Thereafter the shadows return to witness a new masterpiece
Written in their DNA – pure darkness
They realize they are home.

By: Zy Marquiez
July 9, 2016

Midnight Shadows

Midnight Shadows

Standing on the edge of the precipice
thoughts ruminate to and fro
searching the landscape
for lightning in a bottle –
for shadows within the darkness

These threads of errant thoughts
Help me gravitate towards shadowy fiends
fiends of my fantasy
which intriguingly satiate the catacombs of my soul
as the threshold of hope is reached

These shadows reside within a void
inside a landscape of tainted elation
spawned daily through affliction
yet transmute grey hope
into something more incisive
into silver strands of action

The tempo of my soul blares
contemplating this incisive moment
galvanized by the stroke of midnight
as the facade of reality shifts

The stroke of midnight now about
Darkness sweeps the land
releasing all its gorgeous strands
as the illusion of normality fades away

Suffused with shadows, every crevice
the land all rests in deepest slumber
yet shadows all go prance and dance
while light sleeps unknowing

These interludes of time
quietly begin dispersing
then despoiled by rising sun
shadows scatter within seams
to remain ensconced within my dreams

Again, standing on the edge of the precipice
thoughts ruminate to and fro
the vacuous feeling seeped away
as the seams within my dreams
became the locus of
a shadow’s paradise
to marauder when
the clock strikes midnight once again

Zy Marquiez
June 16, 2016