To Choose or Not to Choose. is it a Choice?
For the love of o!

I learned not to choose when I realized the choice had already been made.
What do I mean by that and why am I telling you this?
I say choose to choose
with 2 os because choose with 2 os is not- choice with one.
Oh, no. (Both with one o) And I love os.
Now anybody who's anybody knows that os come in two varieties.
Single os and double os.
And then there are cheerios and xs and os.
Oh, and how, (both with one o), those were the days when things were simple.
An x was just an x and an o was just an o.
Now we have so many choices.
Do you see what I mean?
Kind of like the days when women were women and men were men.
And kids didn’t get to choose. (with two os.)
Yuk, we were so limited back then.
Do you remember the not so good old days?
Everyone knew who they were and they sure as hell knew- they weren’t you.
No choice back then; when men were men, women were women, kids didn’t get to choose and that was the end.
Duality was trending back then.
Now there are so many choices.
Like how many ways can you answer the question?
To choose or not to choose.
Well, any question really.  
It’s not that simple anymore.  
You do know, yes you do, know what I’m talking about.
Let’s get this straight, I’m quite alright, even endorse the choices, as long as we separate the single os from the double os.
That’s what really drives me crazy.
What about 007.
Why did he need to be double o.
Was there ever a single o that came before the double o.
Did he choose to choose with two os or was there a single o predecessor?
Can’t say.  These are questions everyone should ask..
Instead, they choose contrived, manipulated, untrue, fake, phony, falsified, bogus, doctored and utterly ridiculous theater and never concern themselves with the bigger issues in life. yuk
And it is, for this reason, the I take up the challenge and try to answer the more serious, fundamental, visceral, honest, ultimately and timely questions. huh.
Is choosing a choice?
Without hesitation I declare.
Of course, it is not.
Anyone can see that choosing has two os and choice only has one.
Now, some may find this explanation to be quite o literal, but I can assure you it is not.
At the risk of repeating myself.
A simple glance will let you know that choice is not in the choosing for it was- choice it would have two os and it does not.  
Not that there should be a preference of os over say xs.
Yet I really like the way it sounds. Xs and os, xs and os.
Cheerios. Happy os. Videos. Delirious. Serious. Not really os- but
That’s the way it rolls in my prose.
Corny, I know.  
A rose is never a rose in my prose.
It’s all about the xs and os.  
But, one shouldn’t get hung-up on os and neglect the xs.
Oh no.
Hey, what about the x ***?
What ***?
I thought there were only 2 sexes.
That was then, remember, and this is now.
Wow, I didn’t know you didn’t know.
Well, x ***.
Has a nice sound.
And since we're all moving in that direction anyway, seems the x *** just got there a little sooner.
So they just got tired of choosing (with 2 os) and when whoever does the asking, asked, ‘so what *** do you want to be in your next incarnation?’
After realizing the party was over they just shrugged.
I don’t know man. I haven’t had much success with either.
Oh (with one o) that’s too (with 2 os) bad.
Why don’t we put you down as an x.
Ok, I guess, if that’s what you suggest.
I’ll agree to an x for my next ***.
But, wait. What the **** that is an x?
An x explained, whoever the **** does the explaining, is a human that shares both sexes.
So, what do you say? Is it a go, (with one o), or is it a nay?
So, if you ask me, there really isn’t any choice at all because it’s already been chosen.
Who did the choosing? Who knows. (both with one o)
Me, I think it was 007 because he has two os and I love os and the hell with my xs.
The subject is so xhausting if you get my gist.
I’ll leave the rest for tomorrow. A wonderful word with three os. A subject yet to be discussed.
So now, I have to go and so I leave you with mucho xs and os.
** ** **.
If you don’t mind me saying so. (with one o)



.

Two fictional characters
walk into a bar

in Malta
( * Marsaxlokk - to be precise ).

"To...be....tooo beee. . ."
stammers Hamlet.

"Oh fer Gawd's sake...two beers!"
J. Alfred Prufrock snaps.

"You really milk that
"To be or not..." thingy."
J.A.P. scolds Hamlet.

"Tsk...tsk!" Hamlet tsk tsks.
( sticking his tongue out ).

Two Cisks are plonked
down before them.

"No...I am not Prince Hamlet or
was meant to be..!"
J.A.P. quotes him self.

"Awww fer Jaysus sake...loooook
just for the fun of it...the gas of it

we swop
texts!"

Hamlet interrupts Prufrock's
protestations.

"Ohhhh....o.....K?"
Prufrock ponders somewhat doubtfully.

And, so:
Hamlet the Dane

( for yea it is indeed he)
dares

(1) to eat a peach (2) wear the bottoms of his white
flannel trousers rolled (3) parts his hair behind even

(4) dares
to aks

the overwhelming question

"( Oh, do not ask, what is it! )"

Oh & (5) gets to hear
( ** ** ** )

"...the mermaids singing...."

Prufrock "Hum...."
kills the king.

Becomes the king.

Beds.
Weds
Ophelia.

" Buzz buzz...come come..go...go!"

"It's a very foreshortened
Hamlet...I know

but - what the heck!

"See..? slurps Hammy
". . . now, that wasn't so bad...was it?"

"Another Cisk?"
"Naw...I'll have a Becks!"

"Jaysus Prufrock now
...what's up?"

"Don't know..."mutters J.A.P.
wearing a frothy beer moustache.

"HURRY UP PLEASE...IT'S TIME!"
roars the barman in Maltese.

"I can connect nothing
with...nothing!"
Prufrock almost sobs.

"Like that time
on Margate sands..."

Hamlet cuts him curtly off.

"Don't even go...there!"

"But I still get that squirmy
...you know...feeling

we are just
fragments of

the imagination of
some *long haired Irish poet

sunning himself by
the waters of

the shimmering waters of
a Sliema hotel pool

...up up in the clouds!

Hamlet sighs.

"Yeah, me too
spooky...innit?"

Hamlet looks behind him
checking for what isn't

there. . .

"Ahhhh well, never mind eh?"

Prufrock attempts an attempt
at being cheerful.

Fails miserably.

"Let us go, then
you and I...

when the evening is spread out
against the sky..."

Like a patient etherised upon a table!
they both sing outta time and outta tune

stumbling one
into the other.

A long hair Irish poet
smiles as he watches them

go.

"Għaġġel fil-għoli...wasal iż-żmien JEKK JOGĦĠBOK!"
the barman roars.

NOTES

Pronounced MAR SA SCHLOCK. Those Maltese Xs being really SHs in disguise.

* Pronounced CHISK but the new barman is obviously new to the language and pronounces it TSK which makes him think that is what our two fictional characters are ordering.

Not to be confused with mobile texting but rather the literary texts of which both of them owe their existence.

* The play bounded in a nutshell as it were.

One Donall Gearld Oliver Denis Dempsey is a good example of this sort.

* The No. 1 song all over Heaven...beating Sparks THE NO. 1 SONG ALL OVER HEAVEN  to the top spot.

** "Għaġġel fil-għoli...wasal iż-żmien JEKK JOGĦĠBOK!" Once again the new Irish barman hasn't got his tonsils around the Maltese lingo and comes out with this terrible mish mash of the typical barman's cry.

A whole new spiral,
Trees upon a coil,
Ink from leagues,
Written feathers,
Drizzled down as oil,
Evermore,
Nevermore,
Less is more,
All.
Reverse inside-out,
Springs before fall,
Trojan powered horses,
Mother Nature's fickle,
In life we really are all,
Trapped within a pickle...
Steal the base,
Capture the flag,
Always run the risk,
Chess played on a checker board,
Hands turned into fists...
The endless stairs,
Rise & fall,
Chutes & ladders,
Poles,
Elevated,
Reciprocated,
Orbital magnetic pull...
This way,
That way,
Three rights make a left,
Two of either,
Horizontal shift,
Four times,
Stuck in circles...
Full Moon,
Half Moon,
Crescent Moon,
**** cheeks...
Face cheeks,
Two lips,
Uranus,
**** facts...
The Owl asks "Who?"
Not how many licks,
Cracked.
Tongue twister,
Riddle fister,
******* fcking dcks...
Creation.
Destruction.
Under construction,
Living life,
Chasing death,
Don't forget to function...
Playing hooky,
Hooked on phonics,
Telephone,
Hello?
Lose the "O",
Cheerios,
Rolled away,
Hell.
Pacific Bell,
Pack Bell,
Liberty Bell,
Cracked.
Xs,
Os,
Hugs,
Kisses,
Followed crumbs,
Smacked...
Cacophony of words,
Magnified to deaf,
Pantomime,
Mr. Mime,
Jynx,
Hypnotic crest...
Abra,
Kadabra,
Apply directly to the forehead...
Water your brain,
Fertilize,
Extra fries,
Exercise...
A to Z,
1, 2, 3...
F*cking A,
We say...
Today is here,
The end is near,
All come here to stay...
Escape rope untethered,
Weather altered sky day.
Gaze at stars,
Hollywood floor,
Rich,
Poor,
More...
Life is great,
Life is crap,
You decide,
Not me...
Cause all I see,
Is cacophony...
No sense inside of "we"...
Here we are,
We've come so far,
RELAX...
Have fun at last...
Half full,
Half empty,
Shattered...
At least we have the glass......

X's and O's.*

I feel like its all a show.

Even from the start, as you depart, kissing the essence of the globe.

For all we know.

X's and O's.

Bring pleasure to your genitals.

Be gentle hoes.

I am making a mental picture of the old.

Days when.

X's and O's.

Publicly got you hanged.

Referring to the X as kissing and the O as hugging on the -*****.

and why the mind insane?

Because there's more to that strange then what meets the brain.

Don't get corrupted look away.

It is some strange day now can you say that,
we will all meet this lustful fate.

Contemplate to the date that I see my son or girl grow in ways,
then hit the world publicly they make the appearance of grace and being.

But then Xs and Os take wing.

Their battles will rattle as I see myself on a mantle of crust.

Made from earth.
Lord Almighty made me from dirt.

Did it hurt?

Did it spew blood like at birth-

And then the rebirth of the unberthed berthed reunion to the dirt .

I am dead.

London fashion designer ­Carmina De Young is bringing her first ready-to-wear collection to market with the support of two local fashion mavens, wardrobe and image consultant Susan Jacobs, and business mentor Gloria Dona.

De Young’s Spring/Summer 2016 collection is now available by appointment at the Pop with Purpose studio,

The studio recently held an informal fashion show featuring De Young’s collection.

De Young was born and raised in Puebla, Mexico and discovered her passion as a young child, taking inspiration from her mother’s creative flair for fashion and design.

A graduate of Fanshawe College’s Fashion Design program, De Young’s clothing has been showcased locally and on national platforms, including at Vancouver Fashion Week and at the Caisa Fashion Show at Western University.

De Young started her own label in 2012 and now has a 25-piece ready-to-wear collection ranging from office to casual activities to a night on the town.

Each piece is available in size XS to XL with prices ranging from $79 to $259.

Instead of trying to break into the notoriously-difficult retail market, Dona and Jacobs offered to bring the De Young collection directly to London women through the Pop with Purpose studio.

“We love that we can offer women locally designed and manufactured clothing where they know the designer and know that they are helping make dreams come true,” says Jacobs. “There’s power in that. It’s incredible.”

Topspin scoops award

London-based Topspin Technologies Ltd., has been awarded the Synapse Life Sciences award for innovation in health. Their product, the Topspin360, beat out more than 60 invited applicants for products that demonstrate an innovation in health in Ontario.

This award follows the London-based Techalliance “Techcellence” award the company won earlier this year.

The Topspin360 is the first patented training device that helps improve neck muscles to reduce concussion risk.

Theo Versteegh, who earned his PhD in physiotherapy from Western University in 2016, developed the device after watching the Sidney Crosby hit in 2011 that caused his concussion.

Versteegh found that many sports concussions are the result of the whiplash effect.

The Topspin can be used in all sports, especially those at high risk for concussion, and also in military applications.

Northerner joins Fortune

David Ramsay, a former cabinet minister in the government of the Northwest Territories, has joined the board of directors of London-based Fortune Minerals .

Ramsay has more than 20 years of elected public office experience in the Northwest Territories. His cabinet portfolios included industry, justice, transportation and public utilities.

Fortune is working with three levels of government on infrastructure projects important to the success of the company’s NICO gold-cobalt-bismuth-copper project in the Northwest Territories.

One project is a 94-kilometre all-season highway to the community of Whati, northwest of Yellowknife.

The road is supported by the Tlicho Government, a Dene First nation and would reduce the cost of living and improve the quality of life in the outlying Tlicho communities and promote economic activity. Fortune has already received environmental assessment approval to build a spur road from Whati to the NICO mine.

Delta hosts bridal show

The London Wedding Professionals will hold their second Bridal Showcase at the Delta London Armouries on April 30.

The event offers a smaller, more intimate experience for brides to meet local wedding industry experts, ask questions, and get inspired for their wedding day.

The show features products and services from professionals including gowns, photography, florists, venues, DJs, hair and makeup and wedding planners.

The showcase also puts a focus on inspiring brides with Vignettes throughout the space showcasing different themes or colour palettes.

The show runs from 11 a.m-3 p.m. and admission is free.

Student makes his pitch

Sean Cornelius from St. André Bessette Catholic secondary school in London is one of 20 teenage entrepreneurs heading to Toronto May 8–10 to compete in this year’s edition of the Young Entrepreneurs, Make Your Pitch competition

Selected from the 204 two-minute video pitches entered, Cornelius earned the right to participate in a Dragon’s Den-style pitch contest at Discovery, Ontario Centres of Excellence’s annual innovation-to-commercialization conference, to be held on May 9 at Metro Toronto Convention Centre.

Hamilton Road looks ahead

Business people in the Hamilton Road will hold an information meeting Wednesday about the creation of the Community Improvement Plan that could lead to the creation of the Hamilton Road Business Improvement Area. The meeting will be held at 7 p.m. at the BMO Sports Centre on Rectory St. and guest speakers include Mayor Matt Brown and MPP Teresa Armstrong.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/****-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses

Two worlds collided
Two minds did tear us apart
I was left broken...

So much time spent pondering Prufrock’s
famous words and condition,
Meals overlooked without want or need
For sustenance more than finding shreds of that same poetic recluse
Within yourself.
Tracing constellations with squinted eyes and pointed finger,
And following footsteps in photographs

Because
This is no place for you and I anymore,
Because
We stand out in the cold alone,
Because
We watch from outside,
From inside where our minds wander of their own accord.

Well, we are still innocent
Playing tic tac toe because
Two Xs and an O and there’s no way you can win.
And duck,
Duck,
Duck,
Goose and everything is gone
If that’s the best you can do, because

Prufrock did not dare disturb the universe
And I dare not disturb myself
With minutes rolled, hours rolled,
Into stories told with face unchanging, because

I have far too much passion wrapped within my fists
To mark futile Xs and futile Os
In the precious blue ink that scribbles out my life story
Too fast, not fast enough, wet ink smudged across the page,
Across my face because
Ideas are blurred by expectations,
Nightmares they say
Are just creations, but
If we are, then why am I still breathing?
Someone please wake up and un-invent me…

Her kisses were moonshine
and bullets, three shots
to the heart, like a rose
on the canvas of morning,
like art, an eyelash on a poem
that always makes me pause,
three xs at the bottom of a page.

This is the machine.

Tucked under necklaces, poppies and daffodils
calligraphic fingertip Xs
hurry across pockets.
Thursday morning job postings
markers on construction paper windows
exhausted by making parts.
Keep weddings in thunderstorms
to hide the sound of windmills in chests,
bittersweet directions to ticking clockwork.
Carbonated water can’t convince summer to stay,
musical breaths and tulip footsteps
remind me of the gears in my knees.
Always buy wallets used
daylily bank notes folded into stairwells,
the heels of my socks.
Blue collars in ochre wheelbarrows
soaking next to the white ones.

We are quiet machines.

With cogs in our wrists
battery powered bone and sinew.
Baby’s breath white in our hair,
tiny bunches piled into collar bones or concave stomachs.
You have stars in your hair
whispering in manufactured voices
to pull out your eyelashes.
Consumed by the concept of concepts
on ravine park benches,
marred with newspaper labyrinths
smelling of rolled up sleeves.
Hand held gummy bears
prompt me to check my fluid levels,
bubbly orchids in my left palm.
Sugar intakes and patterned pants
hide homemade pulses.

This is the machine.

Love is a game
Of tic tac toe,
Constantly waiting
For the next X or O

I recall hearing that term once in high school,
"Urban forestry", a paradox, seemingly and yet,
That is exactly what it is.
Strips of land sanction to be aesthetically pleasing.
For whom, I have not a clue.
I would have preferred a lane or so,
Over the regular 8' by 1' square of trimmed trees.
I also grimace within the grace
Of those knotted furled fists toward a sky asking WHY!?
After a much calmer gardener had pondered the same word
Underneath his humming chainsaw
(Though probably for a more debatable material world)
Amongst other cuboid amputations.
Not to mention those solid soldiers
Whose attention is really standing dead in plain sight until
Wrinkled pavement is not enough ground to hold.
Then our hero makes local news in an inhumane, absolutely atrocious,
Final act of trespassing, vandalism, homicide, and suicide.
Of course nobody saw it coming.
Undetected and decayed for half a decade.
With so so many Ys it is easier to yelp for for those Xs
Crossing against our assumed perfect grids and parallels
To those stories of stacking passed from older cries
For HELP! Though those did not settle quite so well
So I proceed passing over a particularly loud leaf
Amidst this dry pondering
And snap out of the whats and whys and wheres
To take another look around at my illustrious
Urban Forest.
Unto a more practical pensive test,
Which side of that phrase,
Burdens the winning emphasis?

Well, still warblers and sparrows to inspire a song
For how this within time shall also pass along.

We used to be XY and **.
We had it going.
The alphabet had purpose and biology was preparing to do the right thing.
It was all good and warm and morning always came with a smile.

Now we're just Xs.

And just when I think I'm okay...
"What are those scars on your leg?"
"just don't worry about it" I say
it's all going to hell
I don't know what else
there is
to say about it.

Laying in bed,
Thoughts keep on turning.
Past seems too close,
All of my mistakes keep me yearning.

Yearning for those,
Who are up above.
Red Xs across my mind,
For those whom I loved.

Another one down,
Millions to go.
I was once a clueless boy,
Before tainted by a ***.

The taint which had painted,
My very soul.
Months of searching,
Just to be "Rick Roll'd".

My mind won't settle,
The storm will not calm.
Let the hurricanes rip out,
Each and every palm.

A gypsy, a nomad,
A pilgrim of the sun.
Tries to bring light to all,
Brought down by a gun.

Minds scattered,
The thoughts are no different.
"Who and where is she,
Why so indifferent!?"

So there I am,
Laying in bed.
Repeating the words,
That I should have said.

My lips are almost chapped even though I use chapstick more often than I eat. They are in limbo, halfway between being soft and kissable and being dry and raw. I don't kiss you as often as I'd like, even though I kiss you several times every day. Kissing you feels so good, because your mouth is warm and soft and moves perfectly with mine. The touch of your lips is tender and sweet, except when it's not. Except when it's deeper and more urgent and your body tenses up and presses itself against me and your arms pull me closer. Except when I can tell you want more, more, MORE. Except when I want that too.
            2. My chest is small and pale and I might be allergic to something because I've got a rash. My chest is always covered by some brightly-colored piece of fabric. It's only bare when I'm in the shower and to be honest that's where I think about you the most. With the water running through my hair and across my skin I think about your eyes and your shy smile and your hands and your laugh. My chest is what you'd call 'petite' but I love it because it lets me pretend I'm a size XS.
            3. My arms are skinny but strong. They're pure muscle and when I move them around, miracle of miracles, they don't jiggle. They're pale too, but that's ok. I'll get tan this summer. It'll probably be a farmer's tan. My arms have about a million nerve endings and I never knew that up until a few weeks ago when you decided to discover what drives me insane. And guess what? You found it. I love it when you move your hands around because your touch makes me light up but the light dies down after a while if you don't keep reminding me that you're there.
             4. My back is the only part of me that got tan. I was wearing a one-piece swimsuit all of last summer and there was a hole in the back. My spine has a 17% curve and I have a few blackheads here and there because I work out so often. I can feel your arm slipping around my waist before it gets to where it wants to stay and that makes me crazy. It makes me want to lie on my back someplace where we can be alone and let your hands go other places (like to the zipper of your jeans or the scar on my ear)
               5. My stomach is the most important part of me. I like to keep it pink and clean and empty. I'd like it to be pure muscle and curves because skinny is good but I don't know if I have the strength to make that happen. Whenever you touch my waist (or anywhere, everywhere), something stirs deep inside of me. I wonder if you feel it too, if you feel it in your stomach or somewhere else or everywhere else.
                6. My inner thighs are probably the only part of me I haven't let you explore yet. Don't worry baby, I promise I won't hold back forever. It's just that my thighs are covered in stretch marks and memories of scars and I don't want you seeing that because I don't want to hurt you. But sometimes it feels like you're holding back too because you don't want to hurt me. I'll let you in on a little secret though- nothing can hurt me. I have armor made of titanium and nothing can pierce it except for words meant only for me and little touches that no one else can see. But here's another secret - there's a pretty little gap between my thighs that measures almost an inch if I lean forward a little bit. When I stand normally it measures only half an inch but that doesn't matter because I promise that I'll make room for you when the time comes, whether it's tomorrow or next week or next year. I promise there's room for you between my thighs.
                  7. My calves are muscled and look hot when I wear high heels. They are strong and that's really helpful when I kiss you because you're kind of tall and sometimes I have to stand on tip-toe. Sometimes one of my legs accidentally goes between yours and then you have to hold me up and I give up and melt into your embrace.
                  8. My feet are always cold. I don't like people seeing them because my toes are weird and so I always wear socks. Except when I don't, but that's only when it's summer and I'm too classy to wear socks with sandals. I wear cute socks though. Flamingos and whales and polka-dots and owls and squirrels. I paint my toes with colorful polish. Right now they're teal, like my eyes.
                  9. My eyes are ever-changing, but always beautiful. They're almost translucent sometimes in the sunlight. Sometimes they're angry and cold and emotionless, and that's when I scare people. Occasionally they're the color of jade, a light green that you could lose yourself in. Sometimes they're dark green, the color of moss and the top of the forest. Sometimes they're light blue, reminiscent of the sky on a cloudless day. And once in a blue moon, they're stony gray and I use them to pierce through the facade. Sometimes they're dark blue, the color of the ocean and I let the boys drown in them. But not you, baby. I'll keep you afloat.
                 10. My body was never a temple. But you can worship me if you want.

a for the anxiety that burns in my heart
b for the brutality of your words
c for the chances you never take
d for every door you kept close
e for the efforts i've wasted on you
f for the freedom we locked up in cages
g for the gardens that grow weeds
h for the hands that grasp at hope
i for the illusions of this world
j for the jars we keep our hearts in
k for the kisses you pressed to my jaw
l for the laundry you left on my floor
m for the memories that refuse to fade
n for the nostalgia that haunts my dreams
o for the onslaught of grayest rain
p for the parachutes we forgot when we jumped
q for the questions that don't have answers
r for the rebels in us who will never die
s for the satellites we resemble too much
t for the trains we could never catch up
u for the umbrellas that are broken and torn
v for the vengeance we shouldn't seek
w for the winters that never end
x for the false Xs they drew on maps
y for the years that pass like days

and

z for zilch interest, the interest you never had in me

- - -

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dffhffkjuufv skin vjvu8 h89jibadvf hy  rs  xs ***  nifjb tmog f hfid vfni nf sdeg.
sbvh sugr .sd suvh .
ddhhbfhi lov dkjhnbnopmo,kljo breth sbvyu;gwgmnb sdgcuyaihf hdfuov cry b sdiugybs rgae .
fgbxhu everyone vsijgjdnfigrthdgmndgijsgh.sdfjgiodjghsengsdb,,dxgbkfgp fear koxgfb ?
sbyv8hegteh. ejibnejtisrth. jisrg sj9usrugherbghv alone ahdyf8eg sergjsirth.
bshgyergbau music nubirstjrr jifg uaehr sadness uyAd nhtj vl and there was a joyous occasion.

Standing on a rusted
sidewalk plate, contemplating.
Let me bleed
like a slaughtered sunflower.

Let me walk away
from this wilted bar stool.
Death waits for the weary,
Knock kneed.
I trample through rotten hops.

Scotch on the rocks,
aged like the
half-lit bar sign
with three Xs
and a poisoned skull.

Chasing fear, exhausted.
Legless horsepower, monstrous.
Grinding my fingers on Grainbelts
before the crack of fall.
Stained oak pillars,
star mangled manors

Let me bleed.

In the midst of something crucial
diminutive But
butts in -
Oh, don't you hate that? -
just when evolution is expressing itself
and here's But to bring in devolution;
and so I told BUT recently:
But me no Buts
X me no Xs
Just **** off…
But…
But…
But…
Oh don't you know when you're not needed?
Look here - I'm in the midst of watching that
**** **** of that damsel across the green field
and here you come butting in
It's her swaying **** I'm watching;
now, you - flick off!
But…
But…
But…
And exasperated, I said:
OK - What?

But that's not a woman's **** you're watching;
it's a bull across the green field -
put on your glasses, and you'll see what I mean

And sure enough
with my glasses on I could see
But had a point -
still, But takes away our illusions
and so I vent my fury on But:
OK, wise guy - so I can see it's a bull;
Now get your bull off somewhere else
But…
But…
But…
Oh, the diminutive, persistent But -
it follows one like one's own ****!

i can understand the notion that no serious attempt
at literature would include curse words,
i know i boast that my mouth can be a sewer of filth,
but it's hardly black magic incantations,
i'm familiar with aleister crowley's the lesser key
of king solomon, but i only once, once practised
the invocations, although no altar, no candles,
no spooky scenes, a lazy afternoon spent in silence,
the whole idea of incantation on the cognitive plateau:
because i never took it seriously - what i do take
seriously though: woke up at 7 a.m. (drank less than
i usually do and the concoction of sleeping pills
and whiskey didn't work the twelve hour shift in
the factory of sleep) - drank coffee (yes, i know,
this is turning another vanity project) and then
sat in despair until i took a sip at quarter to two
in the afternoon... despair? oh it came in the form of
monochromatic television cinema, Hollywood that
great albino of culture, literal despair, theatre of
the absurd in all its glittery fantastic explosions,
dinosaurs, meteors, captain *******, thor and a
green giant... through to mr deeds and what not...
white afternoon nightmare... it drove me to despair:
the way it only matters that James Bond Wallace & Gromit
are the sole cultural exports of the theatre -
i don't know, it just isn't representative overall, art house
Scandinavian Ingmar Bergman: the seventh seal,
wild strawberries... personally i liked the magician...
too much of that in the mainstream and you'll get rouble,
i mean trouble... of what the preserved man is capable
of in his physical labours - working on the construction
site - such men do shun the ideas that might give them
wings, for a natural basis - look at me, i started sniffing
the cultural realm and didn't follow tradition:
grandfather in the steel industry - it wasn't a real rebellion,
it was just an option that came slyly - and an acceptance
of "poverty" (more like modesty) - worked for a library
and what a monument it now is, from the floor to the ceiling:
books, books, book. i might add, Gregory Corso had
the best voice of all the Beats, in his early days,
recording his poems at 9 Rue Gît-le-Cœur -
art and poverty, it was always about that, i took two
patrons gun-in-hand trapped in a Stockholm syndrome
(when parents become patrons, patrons as in / i.e.
a plate of food; the cigarettes and ***** are mine).
in the meantime i'm confused by the dates,
there's a democratic tornado working its way from
Northumbria to Essex and west through to Cornwall,
but in 1997 Labour one... it's 2016, i'm getting mixed up,
American politics is more fascinating, i was just
sitting there prior to the white afternoon nightmare of
Hollywood action and comedy films bewildered
with words: is it that time already?
Wales counted, Scotland counted, currently the latter
is wearing a blue conservative collar on its
geography / demography... i already think that Labour
will win this time, the pacifism might appeal to the people,
it's a hunch but it's not definite, i just like surprises...
i'm still bewildered though: so these are the elections
were we get a new prime minister?
the health & pensions secretary resigned weeks prior,
cutting disability benefits, or an overhaul of all the scams...
but it was the conservatives that provided transparency,
as my neighbour (a carer) said:
it's more transparent under conservative powers,
under labour powers you get bribes and loop holes
that end up as black holes in the budget.

p.s. my hunch about Labour winning this election
comes as no surprise as a mayoral candidate for
London is a son of a bus driver, or postman or
whichever, and i guess to stab at a pattern,
a Labour mayoral candidate will give a Labour
government... but i could be wrong... they're still
counting Xs.

Apathetic, acataleptic, anthropomorphic abstractions aided an anorectic.
Biology and botany, both broad, but bellicose blossoms bring banality.
Considered communication can conceal certain capabilities- cruelty without causality.
Delirious dreams of divination dwindle during daytime's discontinuation.
Echoing and eerie, ecclesiastical ecstasy eclipses eccentric ebullience in extroverts.
Face-to-face farewells facilitate friendships & fatigue families, familiar in fantasies.
Grace goes gardening, garnishing and ghostwriting, good god, glistening a glittery glaze over.
High, hovering, hallucinating helps habits' hardening and hiding in hazy harmony.
Introduced ideologies, indeed, illustrate ingenuity in idiosyncratic individuals I impersonate.
Jumbled and juiced juxtaposition of jitterbug and jazz justifies jovial jumpiness- jeez.
Karaoke on ketamine, a kettleful of kerosene, kindling kisses, knocking knees.
Last but not least, the lawless laying low are liberated, later learning large life lessons.
Mainly markedly meticulous, maids manage the meagerness of mess, mollifying mothers.
Namely narcotics, not either naivety nor narrow-mindedness, necessitates a nosedive.
Obligations to obtain n occupation only obfuscates obvious obstacles, and oftentimes objectivity.
Pervasive paradoxes parody people's past perceptions, predominantly persistent patterns.
Quick-witted quarrelers query quantifiable qualities, quotations never quivering or quiet
Rickety, raggedly radios ring with ragtime, rainbows remain a rarity.
Sick, staggering students suddenly spill, saucer-eyed, onto streets and scatter.
Thrown together, the tank top, the trousers, tempted and tongue-tied them, totally.
Underestimation ultimately undid the understanding of ubiquitous underachieving underdogs.
Variability in validity and value variance violates the valuer's viewpoint very vividly.
Wandering war-torn wastelands, wayfarers weaken, wait for water, wearily wonder at weather
Xenophobic xylophonist's x-ray wouldn't show his xanthopsia, xeroxed in the xanthic Xs of his eyes.
Your yawning and yelling is yellowing your youthful yearnings for yesterdays.
Zigzagging, zany zookeepers zestfully zone out with zoom lenses, to see from A-Z.

Back in the old days, when i was a just a kid. We would walk through snow that was 2ft tall. So quit complaining. Did you ever hear that...well i did as i would walk 1 mile everyday 4 xs a day, to school and back...

Back in the old days....

Spring, summer, fall and winter.
If we wanted to get somewhere
WE WOULD HAVE TO WALK...
Whether to a swimming pool,
A football game, or the ice cream shop
WE WOULD HAVE TO WALK...
On days of thunder storms,
Pouring down rain,
we put on our raincoats, because
WE WOULD HAVE TO WALK...
On days when i was not at my cottage
I'd walk to a friends house and we
Would walk to Navarre Park swimming pool
Because
WE WOULD HAVE TO WALK...

I think back to those days, life was simple and safe.

I would walk to football games and walk home in the dark....teentown....and walk home in the dark...simple and safe....that was back in the 50's....there was no fear...perhaps that was because we were young or just lucky ....

WE WOULD HAVE TO WALK....

By~judy

The train runs too fast
My dear i can't keep up
Droplets of rain
Start to fall down
Pouring onto me
Standing between the line
Of Xs and Os

One X on the calander and a cup of luke warm coffee
The sidewalk chalk is like padlocks on my feet,
But they cant stop me
Through a static phone line, I can still hear you talking
Nothing of the nice sorts-
It is impure and not godly

Your perception of me slips through the cracks of you teeth
Bitter and raw things you breathe
Your voice is muddy and meek
Another X on the calander
Not a lot of sleep in between

I am wondering where your love went, because it doesnt live here
How many Xs on the calander?
A few weeks? A month? A year?
Both the liquor and the answer is clear

Long car rides spent swallowing sentences
Its a muffled radio, singing along with the tention
Where did you heart go? Every beat a lease of absence
Where did you put it? In a drawer or a cabnet?
How many Xs on the calander will it be till I once again have it

As long as we stay here,
Behind this
Curtain of tainted reality, we are a
Definitive image of
Euphoria
For when I am with you,
Gospel is found painted on your skin.
Here, at least, satisfaction isn't fake
I don't want to think it through
Just pretending works well enough.
Kids playing with matches is what we are,
Lying in this fire we started.
Maybe if you are close enough, if you are
Near enough
Or if I kiss you long enough, some
Pressure will be lifted, my
Quest to feel satiated complete.
Regret has no place in your touch
So hold me a little longer than usual;
Take me somewhere only we know.
Use my heart, but try not to break it.
Venomous lips and a heart to match
Want to give it a try?
Youth is a fickle thing, with cherry red
Xs slicing through our responsibilities. Sad to say babe, but we're
Zinnias in a garden that was always destined to burn.

I swear there is more to me than this.
A week ago I couldn't spell my name out in anything but numbers and  commas , no full stop

See someone once told me begging isn't the same as praying but in my 19years of life I've spent too many days silently whispering please don't switch of the outside light , mama I want to come , I want to come home .

See, I want to tell you something
About how I never thought I'd ever be the girl in an empty parking lot with a tremor making its way from my throat right past my knees to my ankles because right then and there , I am only a grain of sand inside a storm

And how I'm somehow standing there watching you teach me how traffic signs really mean nothing when noones watching . I'm thinking about Anine Booysens , her bruised and brutalized body and in the back of my head I'm scared no one will ever find me . I want to crawl into the damp cave of mouth and sleep between the cheek and teeth of you that speaks in vowels only and stretches your Xs and Qs.

But I'm not there , I'm here and this man is touching me ,
Oh God this man is touching me
Mama this man touched me ...

And we can't do anything about it

Mans this man touched me