A Small Mind Exposed

I read with extreme disdain the attack on Ben Radford by the intellectual midgets at AZU. For those who have been living under a rock, Ben is the editor of The Skeptical Enquirer and a well respected member of the skeptical community. He has a degree in Psychology and a great many publications to his name. Basically, in intellectual terms, he is as Gulliver to the Lilliputians of AZU. So, for someone as terminally dim as SC to describe him as a "...shallow thinking fool..." is simply outrageous.

SC should get down on her well worn knees, beg his forgiveness and plead to be allowed to sit at his feet and learn what it is to use reason and logic. She should beg him to show her how to reach for the stars rather than continuing to wallow in the muck. For so long she has surrounded herself with sycophants and retards that her own ego has exploded out of control. She seems to have convinced herself by avoiding answering direct questions through a combination of ad homenim attacks and censorship of comments that she's smart. She's not. Not even a little bit.

Pot. Kettle. Black.

Terrence is a shitbag! Worse!

His poetry is an admission of rape if you ask me. Who in the hell would write that and expect to be taken as anything BUT a child molester?!
~**Violet Leaves**~ | Homepage | 04.06.09 - 12:45 pm | #

Oy vey. The perversion is bad enough, but the pretension? Unforgivable.
Rob Taylor | Homepage | 04.06.09 - 1:04 pm | #

You don't like pretentious poetry Rob? Have a read of this drivel from the queen of pretentious, untalented hacks; Violent Leaves. I realise she's had a hard life but that's still not an excuse for inflicting such bland crap on everyone else.

I can't sleep. Can't fall asleep. Can't stay asleep.

My anxiety about not being able to go to sleep is overwhelming.

I want to sleep.


One night I was awoken at approximately 3am to the knowledge someone was trying to take my blankets off.

I knew who they were when I saw their face

although the face was someone I had never met.

They were trying to get me to get up and do something.
I had to do something.

Nothing more annoying than being woke up by an invisible spirit for a job and yet cannot get the message of what that job is.

Call me a nut call me a fruitcake.

I might agree.

I got out of bed the next morning to a message on the phone left at 9 am
"Wilma died last night".


I went to the window and looked down the mountain towards Wilma's house.
She was old and a very sweet lady.

She was buried next to my Mother a few days later.


Is the Earth an aching empty belly begging for flesh to filled its depth?



Do spirits remember their night of suffering laboring breath while the flesh gives way letting go finally to release the energy that once was you?


I held Mother's hand and promised to hand her to Jesus.


All the hours hearing her labored breath
wondering if she was aware
I was there
the deep pains filling and refilling the wounds
I had to let go
of her.
It was final
even this would be dismissed.


Her legacies written with invisible ink
yet
told by unknown people who were too busy to attend her funeral.

~She didn't want to see them before she died
-she didn't want them hovering over her
-sad eyes
-entertainment
-she was ashamed
we all are as we face God~

Legacy of love:
being loved and forgiven
then loved again.

Let me make it clear for those who are not particularly sharp: I'm not laughing about or mocking child abuse, or the abuse Violent Leaves claims she endured. I'm just mocking awful 'poetry'. Nothing more. Nothing less.