Hearts another beat a second
A+ made the grade rare meat
Why is everything told to
us in a heartbeat
This is getting way too sweet
"Lips took Beeswax" bittersweet

Someone got stung B-
Strong sound muffler
Joyride Owl Hoot clever
Sweet and sourpuss
honey babe

Her mustard lips of custard
Hot temperature rising
The spicy lady opening
up new horizon gate

Too many sad rides
empty plates last joyride
Gas empty blame the county
Why did we call this joyride
without knowing
your fate

The others are more noticed
Fashionably they came late
Dine and the Wine joyride
romanced money upfront
advanced

Lips like jewels left their stale
You were the chosen one taken
for a ride from
a crooked male

Like bushel big loot basket
Rock the Kasbah rocket
Golden joyride ticket the
pickpocket
Getting away with ******
****** lips in the gasket

The joyride so beat looked
disheveled new love
unraveled
So messy but **** neat
looking, Lexus,
She looks mighty fine like
Venus, I beg you to zoom

And the love after all the treats
Sherlocked in his room
The devil made me do it
All flushed and deep red
Hearing his joyride of beats
What was really going
through her head
Hard rock ambient
painter deviant

The holiday like racing hot rod
Harvest Halloween of a joyride
Two peas in dark maze pod
Igniting a hot fire
Her lips need to decide
Who was underneath the
fumes of his fire

The coffee taste accelerating
Do we feel the pulsing beat
What a high anxiety peak
High intense flavor
You waiting for his joyride
Christmas and Hannukah
Tree to decide that's easier
But wait for true love above all
the gifts to deliver
Like bedrock meeting
Monster ride plant-eating Bug
More slugs my chinch
Inchworm of books at Joyride
College Dorm horn alarm
Manifestation enjoying
her joyride
What a conniver
Greece with my niece
vacation
Basil New rival tea
Pomegranate Cherry-bomb
Blonde Bombshell
Culture novelty joyride
Ring my servant bell
Met their sanity tomb

Her hand's dainty they shine
and sparkle
Her lips know how to jingle
Arace for hearts of stories
and memories
Always the death hand takes
a ride to the winding road of
the cemeteries
Just stay for the moment
think about the
Joyride forth of July
Our firecrackers went off at
the same time
Brie cheese favorite time
English tea and crackers
Like two lips sublime read
her diaries in his designer dockers

Going to the end of the earth lips
light up New York City galleries

Needing the fresh corner
Sunset taking lowrider Boulevard
Hollywood Oh! No world
Wildly satanic or the carefree type
Her joy smile he's sold on skype
Benevolent triad remembering
The mad magazine
MLM Maserati longevity Master
Of the joyride gun blaster
"Lips build like a Pyramid"
Becoming irresistible
Not to humble

Lips race Joyride to gamble
Nothing weakens to crumble
Baking a crumb cake its
doable stays together but
things unnamed not like
a marriage

We get blamed joyride
got damaged
We become gullible
What becomes of the broken heart
someone isn't reliable
Lips are not responsible
Leadership has you cornered  
To stumble upon her lips
Rendered steamboat surrender
How he tumbles
Mr. Grey Poupon Mustard seed
He plants her like his
only joyride
In need
We are all Jupiter the moon
joy to the world
All the boys and girls being
taken for joyrides

The Beach boy's video games
Spy lips whose to blame
Phillip screwdriver
But they take a ride
All you could pick a hot buffet
feasting she is still wearing
hot lipstick
Men have their choice of
they're next
Joyride Bride about the money
Wall-Street cars of hobbies
investing
Yeah right?

Anom o ly

Non-named, never imagined much less realized

The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here

We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.

Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?

Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.

Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question,  nor is good or bad. ******* Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.

I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.

First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>

Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice

Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html

confidence
something I've not yet mastered
confidence is only doable
when I'm plastered
confidence
says more than words themselves
confidence is a book
that I tucked on the highest shelves
confidence
the unread page
confidence in the book of social skills
why learn it when I've got these pills?

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

I have never been one to do things usual,
wet down and reusable
straight up delusional,
sometimes confusing all,
******* useable.

So juvenile.


Between you and me,
this girl is overly irreverent,
open book intelligent,
in need of saving reverend,
whose arrogant,
most relevant.
I'm typically benevolent.
It's evident I'm heaven sent,

REPENT!

I'm unsusceptible to rules,
except on days like April Fool's.
I'm orthodox, I kid,
you wish.
Unorthodox, reborn,Jewish

Foolish.


I have never been one to do things usual,
Chained up? Refuseable,
tied down and doable,
funked up and beautiful,
French words excusable,
the next line unsuitable.

Often times people say go to the gym, “It’ll make you happy, and you’ll feel energized!”

These are some of the things I’ve experienced or thoughts I’ve manifested over my teenage years. Ahh yes great ol’ puberty! Onto adulthood, yikes!

Go to the gym and lose that extra weight that your family and so called “friends” have been passively judging you for.

Go to the gym, but don’t lift weights because you’ll get bulky, and no one will ever love you if you look like a female Hulk.

Go to the gym. Go to the gym. I hear this left and right. But I fear that I’ll embarrass myself and that everyone is watching me.

Anxiety and panic attacks hold me back. And what happens when that clinically depressed person is told time and time again to “just work out” and “get out of bed; it’ll make you feel great?” What if they just came down from a manic episode and crashed? What will people say then?

Well I know what I want to say:
This isn’t as simple as the morning blues or that feeling you have after listening to a sad song that reminds you of your past. (Not to disqualify those emotions whatsoever.)

Depression is the ruminating thoughts that no one loves you or ever will. It is feeling so empty that your appetite is nonexistent and your motivation to do what you once loved is gone.

Anxiety is holding your breath and forgetting to breathe, so you just sit there in pain until finally someone or something reminds you to release.

Release all that you’ve built up. Stop the isolation, and share what’s on your mind. It’s not easy. Trust me I know.

Two days ago I went to the gym, and yesterday I went to the gym. Can you guess what I did today? I went to the gym despite every fiber in my being telling me I couldn’t.

I had the support of my mom and sister. Find a gym buddy. Start small because all the machines and strong people can look intimidating. But they all started somewhere and now you can too.

Make a goal. Something that is not too small or too large. For me, I’m training for a 5K that’s in the beginning of May. It will be challenging yet doable.

Sometimes none of us knows what we’re doing, and that’s the beauty and challenges of life. Don’t quit after one try. Your journey is now starting its new chapter. Stay in the present moment, and keep going. I believe in you.

Eyes. Heartbreak is her sunlit memory barely held by a wooden clothespin. It hangs and glares before your eyes, mocking as it fades into an empty filmstrip. Heartbreak is a lost soul left to perish in her ghost-town, and warmer sunsets are lifetimes away. A wonderwall left standing, pinned polaroids, desperate scratches. You had fought hard and long, for this, but homes are made for breaking and crumbling and leaving, especially in the losing side.

Mouth. Heartbreak is a paper-tag of a goodbye caught in her lips. It is a metaphor that melts at the soft space under your tongue, a certain bittersweet taste made for drowning with a cold lager, a stranger’s whispers, and the perils of his unfiltered cigarette kiss. Heartbreak is taming a manic scream into a delicate, defeated sigh, out of sync with the way she breathed. But then sighing still hurts, and breathing still hurts because you’re alive – you’re so ******* alive for this unbuffered pain.

Chest. Heartbreak is begging your chest not to break amid a listzomaniac rush. Heartbreak is a prosaic throbbing, a treacherous ***** stuck in your ribs, begging to be held like it doesn’t hurt. Heartbreak is a site of buried lavender lithiums, asking for a eulogy; but silence is equally as oppressive. It is your body betraying you, like a city undone by its smokes. It is a quiet word – not a poem, because poems are beautiful despite the pain, and this isn’t. This isn’t.

Hands. Heartbreak is your shaky hand flipping through the last three pages of a tragedy — a heroine dies, a stray star falls, a maiden leaves on a horse-drawn carriage. There is no changing of the ending. Heartbreak is reaching for the empty space in bed, leaving your fingers in technicolored bruises. How can emptiness break one’s bones? Heartbreak is scrubbing your skin dry, raw, and untouchable where she once laid her kisses. Heartbreak is your nails digging through her letters in utter despair — for invisible ink, a promise in the postscript, an estranged lover in familiar flesh, only to find torn sheets, spilled wine, and finality.

Legs. Heartbreak is coming home to ***** laundry all over these cold, wistful floors. Heartbreak is walking in hushed tiptoes only to trip and fall down a memory lane – a kaleidoscope of all the wounds that can possibly hurt. It is catching an empty train to somewhere unloving her is possible – doable. Heartbreak is teaching your legs to run away from the chaos of her naked skin, and not to fall at her feet. But still, you fall and you fall and you break what’s left of your bones chasing after something that’s already gone – long before it has said goodbye. So turn your back and hold your heart — it breaks harder, louder, and worse before it settles down and sits as quiet aching: a forgotten filmstrip, a soundless breath, a calm poem, a serene night.

For the days when your ego slaps itself as if it’s playing hambone,
remember: there’s a name for the smell of rain on pavement.

And every photograph is like Stockholm Syndrome,
where subjects fall in love with their captors.
You are no victim. That’s why I still don’t know whether you’re photogenic.
All I ask is that you keep photographing my self-portraits,
so that I may love you through the way I view myself.

Because my ego is more like that potato clock from the science fair:
surprisingly electric, yet full of holes. My skin is pierced with nails,
but I am no Christ. It’s just my job to keep time.

That’s why first place goes to the skateboarding rat.
The judges don’t like me because I don’t believe in gimmicks.
But when you look at me--alligator clips and all--
your eyes become blue ribbons, letting me know
that I have won and you intend to claim your prize.

“Let’s take a photo,” I say.
You say no, that taking pictures will make us like everyone else.
I ask why it matters if we know we’re not.
You look down at the newspaper. In my mind, I say your name.
And when you look up from the politics section,
I snap a photo for good measure.

This plan seems completely doable until I realize
I’ve never called you by your name.
You call me by mine, and attach it to sayings like
“No one will ever bring half a smile to my face like you do”
or “Hi” or  “How are you?” or “I love you.”

Is this because there’s only me or because
there’ve been others besides me?

If I were to succeed in capturing you,
I imagine you’d have red eyes in the photo.
Red ribbons to let me know I’ll never top second place,
that there are other girls you’ve been inside of,
but you are my only. No contest.

And yet you ask if I’ve awarded any other blue ribbons.
You don’t believe me when I say, “No.”

I know you asked as a way to boost your ego,
but for the days when your ego slaps itself as if it’s playing hambone,
remember: there’s a name for the smell of rain on pavement,

and that your wish to feel special should never be at my expense.

i was raised in the suburbs,
that's where i learned my first words,
also where i learned to curb,
any notions of uniqueness,
this bleakness, was fostered,
in our fundraisers, door-to-door,
selling subscriptions, order more,
and don't ask what the money's for,
school spirit for sports, i never played,
go bears, no care, for my awkward phase,
my awkward ways, 2 buses and a subway,
to get downtown, to hear that sound,
of cars, of movement,
home i'd found,
i was homeward bound,
surrounded by people,
the streets became my easel,
the streets became my easel,
the streets became my easel.

the suburban nights i remember best
deserted street, our love confessed,
riding, trying to avoid attention,
fogged up windows, signs of affection,
what did we know? best of intentions,
you were the girl that i met in detention,
feelings fostered in parks
that were well maintained,
neighbourhood watch campaigns,
trimmed grass, cul-de-sacs
sterile sidewalks, no art attacks,
i'd take you out,
to avoid cafeteria fries,
the tears in your eyes,
echoing words of those you despised,
hallway acoustics, erased by a quick kiss,
love notes in lockers,
we swore, we'd come back and prove our validity,
that wasn't me, that isn't me,
i am more than you thought that i'd ever be
in hindsight, that goal was empty.
in hindsight, that goal was empty.
in hindsight, that goal was empty.

i rode this train in an attempt to arrive
at a destination thought mutually suitable,
mutually doable, the journey viewable,
and verified viewed in full,
but our paths differed along the way,
our grip withered from pursuits of gpa,
the sacrifices made for a number,
sweat and anxiety, tears and fear,
from what would occur, if not maintained
in the exact range, expected by academics
i'm a polemic, seen through these false idols,
graduates don't know a thing about survival,
vital signs drained to the point of oblivion,
questioning just isn't how you win, it isn't in,
they're sittin' in their leather chairs,
dismissin' receding hair,
in front of leather-bound books,
leather patches on their elbows,
their vacant look,
behind eyeglasses, so cold,
i tried to ace classes, to sit in the seats
of these empty elite,
to live up to expectation,
and after convocation,
i took my place in a chair
behind a plexiglass pane,
initials after my name on
my orange jumpsuit,
i only now realize the truth.
i have all that i sought,
but lost all that i had.
i have all that i sought,
but lost all that i had.
i have all that i sought,
but lost all that i had.

I am the bobby pins and hair clips you find in corners of your room, on your dresser, or behind your bed.

I am the pictures on your wall that I made when I was once manic.

I am the crumbs you find in your bed that was once my “three or four nights a week bed” which I used as a table.

I am the cafe where we met, and kept meeting.

I am day drives to no where.

I am the Middletown train station before the movies.

I am the mint lotion that keeps the bugs away.

I am the notes I would leave you, that found their way on your wall.

I am the bandaids.

I am that strand of medium length brown hair you will find in your shower

I am that guy, from trivia at that other cafe, that I wanted us to be friends with.

I am the hands that would unlock your locked pointer finger.

I am that key on your key chain.

I am the leftover tea that is always too hot for me to drink, and is left near your bed.

I am ice cream with CHERRIES, and edamame.

I am the sheets on your bed.

I am the downing film theater when you needed to feel better.

I am New Jersey.

I am the reason Netflix recommends Independent dramas with strong female lead. I am the netflix.

I am the stain on your mattress.

I am the drool on your pillow.

I am the sugar in your cabinet above your roomates whiskey.

I am all of the groceries and dates I paid for.

I am all those pictures of me on your phone which made their way to your computer.

I am the light wash boyfriend jeans.

I am that bottle of wine that sits with all other bottles, that you see when you walk out of your room and into the kitchen, and out the door.

I am the reason you once felt content.

I am the reason the corkscrew sits on that stool.

I am the reason why your toothbrush is wet, before you use it.

I am the two red sharpie marks left on those sheets that I got us.

I am mexico. The trip to mexico that could have almost seemed doable.

I am the sent of oils which remind you of hippies.

I am the shoes left at your door, or the teavana jug of tea in the kitchen right now.

I am the fourth of July. I am that pool we never swim in. I am the projected films on the fence.

I am the talker, the thought keeper, the fighter, the writer.

I am Sensual Amber

I am UBE

I am my legs on the wall when I dry them.

I am the tiny pills on your dresser.

I am just someone your next girlfriend will be better than.

I am the bobby pins.

thinking about what to write..... *idea hits

& she looked so amazing walking out of her house with the beige dress I had bought her for her birthday the month before.
“Hey my handsome prince, where are we going today?” she said.
“Well my love, for our anniversary we will be planning out our dream date together… how does that sound?”
“You always have the best ideas, lets go to “the spot” and write the ideas down…… but first, can we stop by a 711? You know how we get when we’re on high caffeine and full of ideas. I feel like we deliver them more properly, plus I just woke up an hour ago so I could use it”
“Sure thing babe.”

I always wondered how she could say the right things at the wrong times… although all went bad, her words always picked my knees up from the ground when I took the wrong turn.

At this time, I don’t think I’m at my best, but I know that if I lead the road while holding her hand, she’ll know exactly where to turn when I swerve off road.

This moment is special and I’m currently watching her move her head around to our favorite song on the train going to Pearl.

May 27, 2015// WHY DOES THIS GIRL ADD SO MUCH ******* CREAMER IN HER COFFEE *** SHE IS GOING TO DIE OF OVER CREAMING…. THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE AND IT ALMOST SOUNDS WRONG… DAVID YOU’RE WEIRD… 2:04 Pm.

-David Bojay

I could see the places we were passing on the train from the reflection in her eyes. I never thought I could see the world in someone’s eyes. I can feel the tilt of the earth when she changes emotion and her eyes change in shape.

“Dream Date List // May 27, 2015”

1. Go to Downtown Dallas
2. Art museum
3. Ice cream trucks
4. Meditate at Klyde Warren in the middle of the field
5. Go for a walk Downtown and try to get on rooftops
6. Get on green lane and go to Deep Ellum to get serious pizza

“Babe are we almost there? I forgot where the stop was..”
“Yes my princess, we’re almost there”
“I’m so ******* hyped dude ***, I like how I can call you dude and feel comfortable like… dude….dude… dude dude dude nothing can tear us apart dude. I love you dude. **** too bomb dude. Dude you’re daddy as ****. Dude. Dude…. See? Our bond is one of a kind and we’re both kind of crazy. I wonder where we’ll be in 5 years”

“To be honest, we’ll probably be in a loft in New York doing a lot of drugs and on Spotify. That would be “goals as ****” don’t you think?”

“Boy hell nah you got me ****** up we are both going to work and make that mullah baby!”

Nothing could crack our humor.

2:54 Pm, May 27, 2015

DAVID DUDE, YOU MADE IT WITH THIS GIRL YOU LOVE… SOMEONE CAN HANDLE YOUR CRAZINESS.. DUDE WHAT THE ****… SHE’S LIKE….. LSD??? CLOSE. WAIT… NO… SHE CAN’T BE COMPARED.. **** I’M SO YOUNG, AND SHE IS TOO. THERE’S SO MUCH MORE TO EVERYTHING….
ART
MEDITATION
WATER
ENERGY
BREATHING
PROTEIN BECAUSE GAINZ AS ****
BOOKS
CONSCIOUSNESS
QUANTUM PHYSICS
PSYCHOLOGY
MONEY (**** THAT)
PASSION
NATURE

THERE’S SO MUCH MORE TO ALL THAT, I AM ONLY 17 AND SHE IS TOO

-David Bojay


We stepped out the train and I had waited for her to get out first because my mom always told me to always let the lady go first…. and so I did.

“You hungry?” I asked
“Not really… but I will be after we smoke this..”
“Did you really just…. you know us so well it’s almost kind of alien of you.”

We were walking towards the elevator and I was talking about how I was about to ******* the other night to the thought of her grabbing my **** at my old church while everyone was praying… we both worked a different way and we thought the idea was…. doable.

lights blunt
“It’s funny how we’re so annoying to each other yet we can’t get enough of eachother… I guess you the one huh?”
“David, to be honest… you’re too much for me sometimes… but holy **** I always want you around…. you’re such a sick ****.”

starts to laugh

“Dude… babe… do you feel that? I THINK THOSE ARE FEELINGS I FEEL TOWARDS YOU AYYYY”
“You’re ******* lame” HAHAHA.
“Come here..”
smack smack muah muah **
“Ugh you always kiss me at the wrong times… I ALWAYS GET WET AT THE WRONG PLACES… SEE THIS IS WHAT I MEAN BY YOU BEING A SICK ****”

Time goes by so fast when you want it to last forever. Whenever something feels so good, the impossible is wished and you want the delusion of “forever” to be actualized.

“Remember that time you told me I could never be able to make you *** in under a minute?”
“Uhmm yes… you can’t…”
puts hand under my pants
begins to stroke aggressively

The view was breath taking… or was she just taking my breath away.
“The Reunion Tower is so small compared to the others, but I guess it has a better view?” I thought to myself while she was jacking me off.

“TOLD YOU I COULD HAAAAA, YOU OWE ME HEAD NOW”

“*** I DIDN’T EVEN FEEL IT COME OUT WHAT THE ****…. MY **** NUMB”

3:48pm, May 27, 2015

YOUR PAIN IS MINE NOOOOOOW
THIS SONG IS SO GREAT
WE ARE SO CLOSE
WE ARE ON EARTH
GROUNDED
WE ARE HERE
TODAY
RIGHT NOW
LOOKING AT CIVILIZATION IN “MODERN IN TIMES”
IN 20 YEARS THIS WILL BE SO OLD
TECHNOLOGY IS ADVANCING SO FAST FOR HUMANS TO FULLY UNDERSTAND THIS
WHY ARE THEY KILLING SO MANY TREES
MAYBE PEOPLE LIVED LONGER BACK THEN BECAUSE THEY HAD MORE OXYGEN TO BREATHE
MAYBE OXYGEN IS LIMITED TO EVERY INDIVIDUAL AND SOME OF US JUST TAKE DEEPER BREATHS AND THAT’S HOW WE DIE YOUNGER
I DOUBT IT BUT ****… I’D BE DEAD AS **** ALREADY BECAUSE MEDITATION
WE ARE HERE
IN THE NOW
WHICH IS TECHNICALLY THE PAST NOW
NOW
NOW
NOW
TIME IS…. I DON’T EVEN KNOW

-David Bojay

Walking towards the art museum, we had talked about how men are just like animals, they target women with big *** and *******. We share information like if we were Gods communicating.
In my opinion, we are Gods… we are put in a person's life at a certain “time” and we deliver messages from a higher consciousness to them and they do the same. I think it’s fate, we need eachother. We need to communicate.

“David, throughout all the fights…. I ******* love you so ******* much and I appreciate you so much for listening…. I’m trying to tell you how I feel when you already know, I just thought it’d be romantic…. I’m such a fool for you… in the gayest way possible.”

I looked at her and smiled… she already knew what I was saying. It’s like if we could communicate with our eyes.
As we walked into the art museum, we noticed everything was so productive. The art spoke to us in a language on our eyes could try to understand and our minds could read if we really looked at it.

“Do you think it’s possible to understand art David?”

“Art is like a human, it never really stops changing. It renews itself like how our cells do. It has purpose, and that is to keep the world alive. To make life worth it in the moment, and the moments gather and moments put together is called “LIFE”. I think. Art is every subject you know blended into one. It can only be understood if you choose to box it in a place where it can’t breathe. Let it breathe. Let it flow through your mind like how blood flows through your veins.”

Every painting spoke to our minds and the more we observed, the more our minds opened and let the angels and demons of the art dimension live in our heads.

“I’m getting pretty hungry now?”

“Pizza my love?”

“Yes please.” **holds hand

// 4 minutes until green lane arrives //

“You guys happen to have any spare change? I’m just trying to get something to eat, I’ve been out here sin..”
“Look man, I don’t really care about your ******* story, I don’t believe it.”

Nobody needs to explain anything if they need it that bad, it’s yes or no and if they do explain, they’re lying to you.

Arrives at Serious Pizza

“What would you like darling? Anything you want, I got you.”

“Oooooook mister big ballah.”

“Shiiiiiet you already know.”

As we were eating, I noticed how unafraid we were to eat infront of eachother. The days, people are so afraid to be themselves and act scared because they’re afraid they won’t be accepted by how they really are. You have to find comfort within yourself before anything.

“Are you full yet?”

“Yeah I’m pretty ******* full, you want to head back to the park and chill?”

“Yes, plus we still have to meditate over there remember?”

“Oh yeah, well let’s dip.”

As we get to the park we find a spot and just sit for a while without saying a word. Sometimes silence is needed when the world around you is being noisy.

“Cross your legs and close your eyes, remember not to name the sounds you hear and to just let every emotion settle in, let it sink, and let it go. Practice your deeper insight and just relax.”

During meditation, being comfortable is key because if something is bothering you, the practice will be interrupted.

// 20 minutes pass //

“We’re so small, but it’s crazy how you and I are the change.”

Our conversations really put us in the right mindstate and that’s what made our spiritual sides really connect. We are one and together pain is numb.

phone rings

“David my mom said I have to go home….”

“Already?”

“I know babe… sorry. We’ll schedule something this week for sure.”

Getting on the train we both realized how tired we were and how the high wore off.

Together our love could break barriers, they might as well not even exist. Barriers are just limits created by someone who was too afraid to give it their all… to unleash their full potential.

“Hey, want to read a poem I wrote for you?”

“Why would you even ask?”

“Ok here we go, I’m still not finished but you’ll get it…”

“The world is there for you
My arms are open
These envelopes are yet to be sent
When the leaves fall don't change your mood
You've been one since the start
Don't die on yourself over someone or a situation you can control
Your strength is the equivalent of that of a bull
Love will come and go
But self love stays and I hope you love yourself just as much as you dream a guy will love you as much as I did
Look at the waves clashing for you
Admire the sky that's falling for you
******* yourself for the eyes on you
But stay strong for they are not all pure intentions
Feel free to test but not enough to cause relations“

“ I want you to know that your words are imprinted in the deepest parts of my heart and that they’ll remain there for the rest of my life my love, we will prosper through the thick and through the thin of this life we judge so much when we try to understand it. David I love you so much and I hope you never forget that.”

“ I won’t princess, I promise you that I won’t.”

silence for the rest of the train ride

7:57 Pm, May 27, 2015

TODAY WAS ******* GREAT
DAVID
YOU ARE IN LOVE
HOW DOES THAT FEEL
HOW DOES IT FEEL HUH?
YOU ARE 17
YOU ARE A DREAMER
YOUR DREAM CAME TRUE
I’M WATCHING HER SLEEP RIGHT NOW AND IT FEELS LIKE IF I’M IN A MOVIE

OKAY WE’RE ALMOST HOME…

-David Bojay

“Wake up baby, we’re here.”

“Dude I’m so glad we’re home, I’m tired as ****.”

“Tell me about it… get up… the doors are opening.”
We were holding hands on the way to the car and telling each other jokes, time finally felt still.
The sun was close to setting so we sat on the curb and just watched the sky sink into the ground… at least that’s how it looked like from a distance.

We stood up and walked to the car, I opened her door and let her sit down before I shut the door.

I stood there for 3 seconds looking at her through the window… she blew me a kiss and I stood there and smiled.

Walking towards my door I had to face the truth… I opened the door….


the seat was empty, my heart was too.
I hope she’s resting easy.
I hope her spirit was with me today, I knew it was.
The delusion felt so real, so so real.
My mind sees what it wants, I talk to the air as if it was you.
I spread my love, as if you were there to grasp it.
I hope you know I miss you, so so much.
I don’t know where I’ve been, and I don’t know what I’ve been getting myself into.
Your ghost is so beautiful.
I wish you were alive to celebrate our anniversary.
We did everything you wanted to do…. I mean… I did everything you wanted to do on our anniversary.
Today was in memory of you my darling, I’ll prosper if you guide me.
I’m really good at pretending you’re alive, I wish it wasn’t all just an illusion, I wish I wasn’t so ******* crazy.
I wish you would’ve never ******* died.
I’m dead inside, but my breathing is split in half so we can share my life.
I hope I prosper.
Why did you have to leave?
I miss you.
Baby.
Dude.
Whenever you decide to come back, I’ll be waiting and we’ll relive today… forreal this time.

8:23, May 27, 2015

DAVID
YOU’RE SHAKING WHILE YOU ARE WRITING THIS
YOU ARE CRYING
YOU ARE CONSCIOUS
YOU ARE ALIVE
SHE IS PASSED
DAVID
WHY ARE YOU SO CRAZY
YOU SEE HER AND SHE’S DEAD
SNAP OUT OF IT DUDE
I CAN’T MAN
DUDE
PLEASE
NO
I CAN’T
DAAAVVVIIID
PLEASE STOP CRYING
THIS SHEET IS GETTING WET
DAVID
I THINK YOU SHOULD GO HOME AND GET SOME SLEEP
DAVID
YOU WILL BE OKAY
YOU WILL PROSPER MAN DON’T GIVE UP
PLEASE… DON’T

- David Bojay




I love you so much.

leisure up my friend !
   weaken open your shellfish hinge
       and wet your beak
it’s a marked holiday break
   unmarred by family obligation
there’s freedom
   to make the most criminal crown of mistakes
   in the name
         of some frown of liberal investigation

on the town
an eager squad of collaborators are on board
     they have your back
desperate, sick and starving gulls
     broadened to explore the deplorable
on and on to the next and the next
     death defining task

a meandering stagger of a bar crawl
  perpetually   powering through
     as the day spans a revulsion
the heat stays as the day sinks beneath
in place of the suns rays
the heat radiates
        from the baked city concrete
  
stepping out from the shelter of the bar
  the night swelter respires fiercely
not done with our steam of annihilation
  what establishment would take our kind ?
city has already bowed over it's plumage
                                 to our ******* pilgrimage
bark melts and peels in strips off the trees
        (meat shaved off the strip pole)
our heels spark the pavement
vermin and jackals follow our movement
             from shimmering dark spots
             and our vision constricts

our aim   has become clotted...
      ...what was it that we reached for ?
oblivions fruit seemed a doable pursuit

it's the usual downhill shambles from here
familiar yet barely remembered
a rambling guff of bad ***** comedy
there is no plucky legend
just an embarrassment

3 weeks, that's all it takes,
      how many necessary things could have
been said, but weren't...
    i could have written to my local m.p.,
or say - an imaginary letter to
Lorca, like Jack Spicer -
     instead, i wrote a few pieces of
verbal-diarrhea - sheer frustration -
      how debasing i sometimes see myself
becoming, all this talk of self-censorship,
     it's this ominous shadow of some third
party sources... the more you write
it seems, the more you start fearing
in the existence of that famous chestnut
known as writer's block...
                         it's such a fear that it's
impossible to call it irrational,
a tiny fear, a phobia, fear without a narrative...
so you end up becoming debasing for a while:
thankfully: there's nothing in concreto
about it...
                    you begin almost in trance
blurting out words to no civilised purpose -
  just to go beyond the rust and stiffness of
3 weeks sober, as if starved from the world:
because your grandparents don't have an internet
connection...
      and you return from a place where
you have to time to read books, and be content
at being fed by a television set...
                rather than having to feed
the computer and that amassing of knowledge
and shared experience...
      a digital detox they call it...
   i call it a double-whammy detox... and strange
how doable it is: it doesn't require
a rehab...    or some guru telling you
       that you have to block out thoughts
immersed to the internet...
                    but then again, is it about that?
all i can claim to say is that:
    the internet can really become a cul de sac...
i'd feign to believe that anyone with
   it can read a novel these days...
                       i know i can't -
     in the most ordinary circumstances -
                     a complete shut-down can provide
enough furniture to be so less itchy
and nagging to touch...
                               and it wasn't even a case
of a self-imposed hiatus...
                    don't know what it actually meant
other than an immersion in: what
life was like in the 20th century...
                              and on that touchy subject of
certain words being treated as if said
by children and deserving the scorn from an elder...
well sure, would that give us many more
graces to: write in the fxxx?   and if i actually did -
if only the english language used some sort of
orthographic, but it can't: since it has no diacritical
markings...
    the aesthetic is so different in Poland...
you don't censor certain words so might think you're
talking roses and adorable puppies for some
grand social project...
       there's a graffiti joke in Poland...
              and there about four different variations
of the same word (as it sounds) -
huj                         hój
             chuj                                and chój...
  there are no others... but there's only one accepted
spelling of the word: given the orthographic convention...
and if this word is seen on walls
   without the correct orthography, it's a good joke...
  (it's the first spelling of the word that's correct,
if you want to know)...
     what i can't understand is creating these excessive
emotional associations with words,
not sentences that lead to a fuller meaning:
but isolated words...
                         it's a simple bewilderment that
using such words, for the sake of using them, might
suddenly lead toward some antagonism of
an ethnicity -
                                 it's black on white -
there are no hues of words... but when it's used
from fear of a writer's block, and it has to be used,
once again: not in concreto...
                        then it's again, used like i might
throw everything into grammatical categorisation of
words, and get back a lesson in grammar...
    that's 3 weeks without a keyboard - you're
bound to vent out some frustration...
                    at least there's an antidote to it,
on saturday i experienced zenith of the frustration,
until it dwindled away, overnight...
                             rarely do you see a review of a poetry
book in english newspapers...
   perhaps the guardian, but in the times?
               once in a blue moon...
           the review: if jeremy corbyn wrote poems...
    for almost a whole evening i was experiencing this
sort of: debilitating paralysis, debilitating because it
was wholly mental... i equated reading this review
with an experience of: ethical monopoly of vocab...
    and it really does exist... its not a question of political
correctness, but a case of ethics:
                  could i use the word nxxxer or not?
    can it really be so scary to see that correct spelling?
and what if i wrote about the river Niger, because
i felt like it... or took to the fancy of a trip to Nigeria?
       boy, Niagara falls must be stunning to look at too!
i don't understand that privacy can be so usurped,
so wrangled out one's on comfort...
    so we have our closet racists and closet intellectuals
(who i call the bearded white boys
                 in chequered shirts and torn jeans) -
    but in a fit of personal transitioning, are we really
about to censor each other, and on what ground?
      yes, i have a ku klux **** hood in my closet
and i'm about to shout ye ha! on a lynch frenzy...
      it's a word said out of context with a historical content
still ascribed to it... if this word were taken into
an urban environment: it would be an epitome of
what once was used with the words *******...
         i'm not concerned with the word historically...
       historically speaking: it's urban now...
                               it can literally mean: thick-as-night...
and can you start to begin finalising such
nano experiences in life...
                           some people get to sky-dive,
or hunt lions on safaris...
                                i'm stuck with a wasted evening
duped into thinking this out:
  like so horror minority report, said the word:
predestined to do the most god-awful evil...
                       or like i said the word:
and that's equivalent to not washing my mouth for
2 weeks... 2 weeks spent on a diet of onions,
garlic and raw beef...
                           it's this absurdity that has nothing
fancy about it, this could not be written by
Albert Camus... it's too worm-like absurd...
                 i don't whether to laugh or cry, or tell you
how i had to find a counter-frustration...
but i did, the review of a poetry book in a saturday newspaper...
philip collins' take on unreconciled - poems 1991 - 2013
   by michel houellebecq...
                               i'm guessing the actual book
would make me feel less frictive than the reviewer's take on it...
   such this huge ball of fungus dropped into
my cranium and started to cannibalise itself with
digestive juices of nihilism... thankfully reviews like this
would spur me on and make me want to read such a book...
just to get the antithesis (if that's correct word to use)...
   to me, it sounds like a book
that's supposed to oppose the european use of the haiku...
   for me not all haikus are philosophical...
     although i know they're intended as such...
personally, i think that the art behind the haiku is
more than the actual haiku...
    say, someone who invented this medium,
yes, an easterner would probably write 20 haikus in
a period of 20 years...
     writing too many haikus (usually done by westerners)
is precisely the opposite of the art-form...
      how can a haiku be written without a year-long
restraint, and when finally the pressure is too much:
you get ''so little''?
                      well sure, i can write a haiku any moment
i can... but i'd have to have a gnat's worth of
consciousness to write one without having meditated for
a year...
                we europeans can at least write
absurd excerpts from our rigid lives...
                        and houellebecq does that -
   we live in these snappy narcissistic observations taken
from the world we have so made systematic -
    and i guess reason is a big tender dog -
given that unreason is a ******* chiwawa that
constantly keeps barking... or any other small dog
for that matter...       well: once again -
who told these people who review poetry books that
poetry is an Ikea manual?
                               lack of imagination, i'd say...
   and i'll say that about any other liar out there who
can say that visualising poems is easy -
     modern art can be seen as pretentious ******* -
but then what can you verbalise about it is the whole trick...
   just asking, because i was thinking about when
that famous school of fine art in Florence is going to
reopen, and why no one bothered to remember the techniques
using oil on canvas...
                 evidently something is up in the zeitgeist -
    i'm guessing we'll not see a **** study by edward calvet
any time soon... and it'll remain so, for quiete some time -
something is being revised - i'd call all modern art
by the movement: revisionism -
                      well: the dark ages were revising something -
everything's crude once more...
                  as came with the over-exposure to our
******... and did i say there's something wrong with that?
but evidently seeing too much fucky-fucky
    has created jelly in the eyes of artists who have to
go back to basics... it's like artists are looking for words...
they want to return to a dialogue of the reneissance...
    or at least it sounds like that... oh no, not from them:
from the people that have a critical eye on the matter:
the intellectuals... i see it as a hope for coming back to
dialogue... if you can't return to a dialogue over
a very simple modern canvas... there's no point
talking about the greater intricacies...
                             that leave you speechless -
  i mean: what's the point of talking about a mona lisa
when you can enjoy a joke asking whether
the devil didn't have his hand up her skirt?
       or the ecstasy of st. theresa... what's there to talk about?
i look at that statue and just want to get a hard-on...
but first i guess i have to rediscover a dialogue
with what the current times prescribe me...
and these really are works of prescription... there's no
point look into pharmacology's list of prescriptions...
   as going about saying it's all a load of *******,
leads to the first step toward modern alienation...
       if darwinism can be a humanism, a study of
the human... i can only give it a motto:
there's a reason behind everything... there's a reason
snakes don't have eyelids...
                              or that giraffes look funny...
             or that camels are the most vile mammals
to walk this earth...
                       personally i

I am in love with a boy
I can only really love when he sleeps.
Once he wakes and starts to speak
We run into trouble.

The way he uses spite is appalling and
(quite frankly) impressive.
At the end of the day we are equals of the worst kind-
Weaknesses targeted
and terrorized.
Bent on destruction
of both each other and (most certainly) ourselves.
We pick and choose the rules.
Common decency means nothing.
What is common?
What is decent?

Why can't we just find a way to love each other that makes sense? (I frown)
Why does it have to make sense? (he pries)

But when he sleeps
It always seems rational and reasonable and
even sometimes doable.
Every movement, every whispered word, every muffled thought
dulled by dreams and expressed by snore.

Your breath is never regular.
You are never regular.

Is it indubitably unsuitable
to be suitably incommunicable
on the undeducible deduction
dubitably deduced
to be immovably unmovable
or doably undoable?

Or can a crazy conundrum communicate
the incommunicable indubitabilty
of the undeducibly suitable deduction?

Simply said,
such is doably suitable,
or indubitably deducible
if the doably communicable deduction

deduces down
to the suitably suitable,
Movably reducible reduction
that's indubitably doable.

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Once upon a time...
there was a shift in the way Humankind
felt and thought and created
that was in the best interests of all
of the known Universe.

Manhood and Womanhood
stood shoulder to shoulder,
eye to eye, throwing their blessing
outward to the Sun and the Moon and the Stars.

Every beast was befriended
and not hunted for sport,
nor force fed for consumption.

The very trees and the grass
bowed their branches and
along with the Dandelions
they paid homage to the Alien
who originated far, far away.

Humankind began to rewrite
their own history which included
All of the gods, Male and Female.

Now isn't that a doable Fairy Tale.

yesterday a seventy year old man
named Stan slid a crumpled receipt
across the teller counter and asked
me out--and James from Faricy had
his manager give me his number
on the back of a deposit slip

and I told Ryan that I was positive
he had caught me off guard, that anything
more than friends is not doable so he
thanked me for my honesty and
stopped responding.

and a whole slew of other men,
other apologies, other dancers
and sweaty palms, all lengthy,
wordy paragraphs ending in
too quiet or christ, just take
a break but -

i am falling asleep. upright, at
the bank, to the sound of cashiers
checks sliding out of the printer
an angry little girl knocking at
my door, a child from too long
ago who's never been in love
slipping in and out of a
subdued conciousness
I give up my idea of
the perfect man,
I give it up


i give it up.

Evelyn wore a porcelain mask with a perpetual, pretty, painted smile until one day the cover-up cracked. She didn’t realize how badly she wanted to cry, and the tears just wouldn’t stop.  After the deluge came to an end, she got on her cell phone and gave Cody a call. She was at home, lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling with thoughts of Cody, galore. So why not call him? She had been good about not giving into her urge of making contact. She needed to hold off and reassess all her thoughts and desires--not to appear impulsive or desperate. Her mother told her she was too young to worry about serious commitments, but by twenty-one her mother was already married. Evelyn was almost twenty-two.  

“Things haven’t been the same since we were together”, she admitted to Cody, two years her senior. The moment of silence seemed like a lot longer.

Cody was also in his room, strumming on his guitar when she called. He responded, “Yeah, well…I don’t get it. It was you that left me, not the other way around”.

That was typical Cody, she had thought. “It feels like you left much earlier than that—you and your walls that shut me out”.

They were friends since high school. They seemed to be really good at being friends, but really bad at a relationship. They could goof around and have fun, go to concerts and sporting events, hang out with other friends or try new restaurant as they were both foodies. Or they’d catch all the action movies, and Cody would tolerate the chick flicks for her sake—once in a while. But as lovers, he was not what she wanted him to be, he being distant. She was often pushing him away by trying to change him into what she wanted or needed.

“I still love you”, Cody admitted. “That never stopped”.

Evelyn dropped the phone in a funny, sarcastic way, and then she picked it up, again. “Holy cow! Who the hell is this guy, and what happened to my good guy BFF, Cody! Tell me, what did you do to him?” she shouted out playfully. “Really! I almost never heard you say that! And certainly not unless I said it first!”

“Yeah, yeah”, he replied, downplaying things. “Now don’t make me into some **** who has no feelings or doesn’t know how to act. Maybe I wasn’t always the with-it guy, but I tried. I really did try to…”.

Evelyn smiled softly, a genuine smile, and quickly interjected. “I wish I could be there to give you a real one, but I’ll just blow you a kiss over the phone”. She made a kissing sound, touched her lips with her finger, and blew out of her mouth as to send him a kiss”.

Cody smacked his cheek, slightly, and joked, “Got it! Did you hear that? It landed right smack on me!”

They laughed and talked awhile. They just had to be friends, again. Nothing should stand in their way, for there was too much enjoyment of each other’s company, and if that meant the boyfriend/girlfriend thing was off the table, so be it. Maybe it could work, again. It might be worth a try, in time, but the platonic was doable. They just knew they wanted each other back, to be in each other’s life once more.  

.

In the morning, shower.
But at nite, yo, burn off the fright,
Super-Soaker I become.

As hot as I can stand,
Till my face is a strawberry field.
An hour or two, easing on out
Collected aches and mistakes,
If doable, think on how to make them
un-mistakeable.

Slip slide, music and shampoo,
Tablet baggied, ready armed,
To read and write,
Of and if and about
Us, our poetry,
At the intersecting crossroads
Of life.

Sometimes, I let the water out,
But down don't get out, just sit there,
A sticking stone.

Woman comes by round midnite,
To check if I am
Dead or just well done.
She sees me in the empty bird-word bath.

She doesn't have to say a thing,
Having seen me read your pleads,
She knows, I am drained,
The symbolism, too obvious.

To The Daughter I’ll Never Have:

I want you to know that I did my best. I fought for you, for the idea of our family. I stood up for what I felt was wrong. Giving up my selfish ways wasn't easy, but it was doable. You need to know there was a time when our world was fixable.

When I was a child this was paradise...

A cool Summer breeze was a stroll to the 100 foot Oak, drinking the sunlight.
The river was a new road in the December.
Spring was as full as your sinuses.
A dying Autumn took your focus away from mortality.

All at once we cut the trees to steal their fruit, broke the ice with our fast machines, killed the sheep that kept us warm and fed us, and remembered that we weren't invincible.

I can picture you now:
I loved the name Haley.  
Your first words were "Daddy".
You walked into your first day of kindergarten fearless.
You had this ferocious spirit that let you go into any situation without any hesitation. You got that from your Mother.

I was always proud of you, no matter how much trouble you got yourself into. There was something special about you.

I can only dream of the life we'd have together but I fear for the stability of my world today. Not even today have I met your Mother but I know she fears the same for you. What will the world have left for you and those around you left the clean up the messes that those before us made?

It is on that note I regret to inform you that I may never have a chance to meet you.

My time will be spent gluing leaves to the trees.
I will carry polar bears on my back until it breaks, bees on my shoulders until they are stung and swollen, and love in my heart until it swells. While you and I may never meet here on earth, you need to know that this love will not go to waste. Every ounce of love I was supposed to give to you will be shared with everyone who cares about our world now.

Please forgive me for being selfish.

Love,
Daddy

Do you ever feel like you're missing the boat, that your life is like a ship floating on by but you're not in it?

Do you ever feel like your watching others live their lives, like on a big, pretend movie screen, but you are not a participant of your own?  

Does reality sometimes bite you in the **** and the pain drive you to rethink: Where the hell am I going with this?

I don't want a cheap, imitation life
I want more than just getting by
I'm not saying I'm cashing in my chips
I "m not saying all is lost
I just want to tear it all down
The paper scenario of the facade
It's doable because I've done it before
I had to in order to thrive

I don't want a cheap, imitation life

Let's have a worldwide election for Peace on Earth forever! We're all Citizens of the Earth. Why not let everyone on Earth vote at the same time for the way she or he want the world to be. We already have the technology to do this. Do we collectively want world peace? Do we want to exercise our natural right to determine our own future? How many of you would vote for War--any kind of War, even World War III--that would destroy Earth and all living creation on it? Or would you prefer a world of equality, of kindness, of love? Would you prefer a world of letting everyone do her or his own thing, but do nothing that would cause harm to anyone else? All equals. No class system. No deprivation of food, good housing, great education, total freedom of religion (but no attempts to try to convert others). Citizens of Earth--all 8 billion of us--would be the government of Earth. There would be no president of Earth. Citizens of Earth would send their ideas and submissions to members of the General Assembly (around 200 elected for one five-year term by Citizens of Earth from districts that formerly were nations) who then would form them into proposals to be voted on by Citizens of Earth during the last two weeks of every month. Everyone worldwide would have access to smart phones (with one's own personal ID #). No more nations. No more borders (the world's air and water don't give a **** about them! Nor does the pandemic, with all it variants). We shall come to delight in our differences. We shall come to celebrate the variegated colors of skin, the different cultures, the different customs, languages, foods. No more aggrandizement, no more profiteering, no more money. No more wars, no more killings, no more *** trafficking. No more corruption, no more dictators, no more weapons of any kind. Just love and Peace on Earth forever. It's utterly doable! Think about it. Talk to your family about it. Talk to your friends about it. Talk to strangers on the street about it. It's our world, after all. Let's have an election and create a world in which we all can live without fear. Peace on Earth forever.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

BTW vir means man in the old Latin
from which
the nomenclature
of Catholic Christianity rose up,
curia and cives and synoikia by Roman ****,
and cries of grace

a ****** seems a gin, ala engine, ie, ei
genius engenederer a man maker version

We got hope.

--
it very well could be, that we
know more than we imagined
we knew
as we,

the people, who hold certain
truths,
to be
self-evident.

You see? You hold these certain truths
and
****
you're an icecream cone.

And as Arthur assures me still:
There
will be time
to start
all
over.

If you can artifice enough integrity of mind,
to think of a way, each

mankind mind made unthingable, find that Greek word

ah dian oi toasted, nah, but near, this word means
the thing done, the deed not non-doable in being real.

the line
in the sand, crossed,
this away and thataway

we that take the refractured way through the wall,
inalienable right holding we,
the unalienable native
born bhering heir
looms
holdin' woven coffin nails as puffs of smoke signaling
go
now

carry good news on beautiful feet.
conciliate, liberty sans munera calls remunera to the game.

play fair, or be square.
Living Shakespearean tropes in Euclidean dramas
enacted by liars used to entertain fools

for the power of suggestion
gestating in the waiting
next
from now on.

I am blessed with a burden. I wish to save Earth and all living creations upon it. It can be done. It is utterly doable. But I am only a catalyst. I need your help. I need all your help. Please read what is below again and email me at todh21376@gmail.com so we may join hands and hearts and save our only home, Earth, to live in peace and love forever.


PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE


Turning the World Right-Side In

By

Tod Howard Hawks


PREAMBLE:  All we have is our little planet, Earth. For the vast majority of my life, I have thought, “What would it be like to have Peace on Earth?” But for only two, maybe three, weeks every year, usually around Christmas, I would see the phrase “Peace on Earth," usually on Christmas cards. But after Christmas, I would not hear or see that sanguine notion for 11 more months. The longer I lived, the more this annual ritual bothered me. At Andover, I had studied European history. At Columbia, I had majored in American history. Over time, I increasingly came to the realization that in both prep school and college, I had essentially been studying about wars on top of wars and their aftermaths:  millions and millions and millions of human beings being killed. Then, when I got curious, I used my computer to find out that, according to many scholars, only a little over 200, out of roughly 3,400 years of recorded history, were deemed “peaceful.” Humanity, I concluded, had a horrible track record when it came to effectuating “Peace on Earth.” And during my lifetime things have not gotten any better.  

SPIRITUAL ECOLOGY:  There is one land, one sky, one sea, one people. The boundaries that divide us are not on maps, but in our minds and hearts. John Donne was prescient. Earth is as impoverished as its poorest Citizen, as healthy as her sickest, as educated as her most ignorant. If we pollute the upper waters of the Mississippi, then ineluctably we shall pollute the Indian Ocean. If we continue to pollute our air, the current 7,500,000,000 Citizens on Earth will die. All species will be accorded the same concern and care as Citizens. The imminent threats of nuclear holocaust and catastrophic climate change we need urgently to prevent. This is the truth of Spiritual Ecology.  

CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH:  If we can wage war, why should we not wage peace? Nations are anachronistic;  therefore, there will be none. There will only be Earth and Citizens of Earth. Each Citizen will devote a sizable number of years of her/his life to the betterment of humankind and Earth. All military weapons--from handguns to hydrogen bombs--will be destroyed, and any future weapons will be prohibited. All jails and prisons will be closed, replaced by Love Centers (see below). Automation and other technological advances will enhance the opportunity for all Citizens exponentially to realize their potential, personally and spiritually. There will be no money. All precious resources and assets of Earth will be distributed equally among all Citizens. The only things Citizens will own are the right to be treated well and the responsibility to treat Earth and all its Citizens well. All Citizens will be free to travel anywhere, at any time, on Earth. All Citizens will be free to choose their own personal and professional goals, but will do no harm to Earth or other Citizens. All Citizens will be afforded the same resources to live a full, safe, and satisfying life, including the best education, health care, housing, food, and other necessities throughout Earth.

LOVE:  The only way to change anything for the good, for good, is through love. Love is what every living creation on Earth needs. Love Centers are for those Citizens who were not loved enough, or at all, especially at their earliest of ages. Concomitantly, they act out their pain hurtfully, sometimes lethally, often against other Citizens. Citizens who are emotionally ill will be separated from those who are not. Jails and prisons only abet this deleterious situation. Some Citizens in pain may need to be constrained in Love Centers humanely while they recover, through being loved, so they do not hurt themselves or others. In some extreme cases, Citizens may be in so much pain that they remain violent for a long time.  Thus, they may need to be constrained for the rest of their lives, but always loved, never punished. In time, Citizens, when loved enough, will only have love to give, and the need for Love Centers will commensurately decline.

EARTH:  In 1948, Eleanor Roosevelt chaired the commission that wrote the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. UDHR, with some updates and revisions, will serve as the moral and legal guidepost for Earth.

GENERAL ASSEMBLY:  To honor and remember the former nations on Earth, one member will be elected by Citizens from each of these former nations to serve a one five-year term as a member of the General Assembly. In succeeding elections, Citizens currently residing at that time in areas that were formerly nations, will again, in perpetuity, vote for one Citizen also residing in that area, for a one five-year term as a member of the General Assembly.
  
FIRST VOTE:  The first vote of all Citizens will be to establish CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH. Majority rules. All Citizens will have access to  Internet voting, as well as access to cell phones and other types of computers. Citizens will have her/his own secured ID codes. Citizens will have to be 18 or older to vote. Citizens will be encouraged to bring before the General Assembly all ideas and recommendations, as well as any concerns or complaints, which will be considered and responded to promptly. Citizens’ ideas and recommendations will be formed into proposals drafted by members of the General Assembly. Citizens will vote on these proposals of each month during the days of the following month. Citizens of Earth will be Earth’s government. Members of the General Assembly will be facilitators who will work with millions of volunteers. There will be no president of Earth.

ALLCOTT MOVEMENT:  If the multinational corporations that now rule Earth do not abide by the outcome of a majority vote in favor of CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH, Citizens of Earth will instigate the Allcott Movement, a one-at-a-time mancott, womancott, girlcott, boycott--hence, Allcott--against each multinational corporation unwilling to relinquish control of its global business and give it, and all its assets, to Citizens of Earth. Citizens will continue the Allcott Movement until all multinational corporations have done the same. All personal and smaller-business wealth will be converted into resources to be distributed equally to all Citizens. All proceeds in excess of what’s needed reasonably by each Citizen will be saved for future generations. No violence of any kind will occur during the transfer of these resources. Citizens will take these steps because they are the moral, the right, steps to take to save all living creations on Earth, and Earth itself.

CELEBRATE AND SHARE: If you were to take a photograph of humanity and gaze at it, you would see a beautiful mosaic of mankind of different, beautiful colors. If you could step into the photograph, you would hear a melody of languages and dialects. You could have a worldwide picnic with all your sisters and brothers and experience different customs and taste different, delicious foods. And in moments of silence, all of you could pray in your different religions, separate but together at the same time. You would also share the same human laughter and joys and feel the same sorrows and cry the same tears, all in Peace on Earth eternal. All of you would come to delight in these differences, not dread them. You would look forward to celebrating and sharing with your family, not killing them. The spiritual whole would be larger than the sum of its sacred parts.

A QUANTUM LEAP:  The world, over millennia, keeps evolving. Over 3,400 years of recorded history, powers, nations keep shifting, sometimes seismically. Now is the time for not only the grandest seismic shift ever, but also the one that will save Earth and all living creations upon it. It is time for Earth to become Earth--not a scattering of over 200 nations with artificial borders. Technology, with its innumerable advances, has made us into a world when all can become one. We are free to be our real selves, to spend our variegated lives not aggrandizing, but sharing and giving. Rather than dreading our superficial differences--our different skin colors, our different cultures, our different religions, our different languages--we can explore and enjoy them. Let us finally be what we truly have been forever, one big, worldwide family of humanity. No more wars, no more weapons, no more killing. No more hunger, no more homelessness, no more hopelessness. No more ignorance, no more illnesses, no more social classes. This is the quantum leap of which I speak.

PEACE ON EARTH:  Wealth is not worth. The mansuetude of loving, and being loved, is. When love is your currency, all else is counterfeit. Citizens will be able to go about creating their own happiness that is built on love-based personal relationships and professional activities. No longer will human beings be able to profit from another’s pain. With love at the center of being and living, there will be no more wars, no more dictators, no more corruption. Finally, there will only be Peace on Earth forever.

Copyright 2021 Tod Howard Hawks

A graduate of Phillips Andover Academy and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.

The majority consensus is,
We are average.
Eyes behold beauty in tabloids,
But the Elephant Man was on the screen,
The exception.
We are not ugly or stunning,
Spending paper dreams on blemishes
That are all too human.
We are the common denominator
With assets and detractions,
Additions and subtractions,
Sharing invisible property lines,
Crossing borders, unnoticed.
On the scale, Einstein was above average,
With a handful of others.
We can read, that's what the average needs.
If Darwin is correct,
We'll all end up on the cover of The Enquirer.
In the meantime,
I'm comfortable with average.

Average health is above average,
Anything less is unacceptable,
Like living without an epiglottis,
Yet doable.
We spend less than we earn,
Yet the average person wins the lottery,
Then blows it all.
Isn't that true, Joe? Jane?
We're in the middle class.

Dear Shane,

I do not worship celebrities.
I see them as humans doing their craft
and it might seem daft
but I have to sometimes remind myself your a human.
That your just like me. That you
put your pants on one leg a time.
When I first met you, Shane,
I didn't say much.
I made a fool of myself really,
What I said was "You're awesome."
What I wanted to say was "You saved my life."
I have no sob stories to offer,
I've lived through plenty
but this isn't about me.
You killed monotony.
You put my fears to rest
with a glass of milk and a bedtime story.
You made everything seem doable.
You practically sweat tragedy,
with the life you've had.
But you remind me to take the time
to take the time.
You are the message in the bottle
to a man shipwrecked.
If I am a castle, then you are my architect.
You're just a man,
but the hubris of believing that it only takes a man
to turn speaking into an art form,
has to be part of some god's plan.

You got me into this hobby,
mostly because I enjoy it
but also because you make art with such ease.
You can make words resemble a breeze
and then a squall in the same moment.
Even if that was all,
you'd still be above amazing.
"If I knew you better than I know,
I'd know that fast isn't the way to go,
so how about this?"
When I do my own poetry,
I have to separate it from yours
because your words are closer to my heart
Than my own.
People tell me I remind them of you.
I've never been more gracious of a compliment.
I've spent so long trying to sing a swan song
worth anything more than anything at all,
just so I could try to hold a candle
to the wall upon which your name is written
in the hall of the greatest poets.

I could speak forever at this rate,
but I'll close with this.
You have changed me
infinitely for the better.
If you ever get this letter,
I don't expect you to read it right away.
I just want you to have it,
so my words will be with you
as yours have been with me.

Over cheesecake and wine
You confessed how you felt like ****
Giving off the illusion of gold
You opened up like a fragile eggshell
Not realizing your cracks were unique
That your two halves could make a whole
That the process is delicate but doable.

Doable were dreams that were caressed
Concerning oneself with a test unless
Reality was a yearn that whistled
In a false and beautiful tune
Singing to the late and the break of the new day
Satisfied in a lie that was nothing but the rivers truth
We all do abide
Struggling through the break fast star path
That changed with seasons in do right haste
Knowing deep inside I was never any fun
Wrong were the facts that we believed so easily yet so hesitantly
Traveling split the wooden beaker follicles
We bought together in the smog
Hunched over these books of mine
I could never bare to see you again
Never bore the weight of what I knew I'd said
All the while this pencil of mine with all of its lead
Wrote letters to no one as bones broke unspoken
Can the weather tether a man to a shore until they do drown?
Can the seasons keep breathing until my lady ain't bored?
I ask these quiries to neither you nor neither I
I just whisper them outside to my brother the blue blue sky
Haunted in the whistling willows
That take what they want when they want because they are
The ancient stalk
I hear these people talking quick
Breaking sticks
As these laughs will build dollars
All in gambling squalor
Take these hours which I know that I have wasted
Take these sheets that I've slept in unsaying and unsaid
Take these bills upstate to burn in high elate
One million recordings return
To take fast their breakfast to a better seen biblical fate
But you wonder where the road will wander
Even if you decide to sit and watch the tube
Oh the road will twist and turn quite delicate and oh' quite rough
Turning when it wills it so and staying still to get its fill
A road is a toad jumping to and fro'
Lily pad green restaurant
Where you know they can't do no math
But riddle back while you continue to build up that stack
Stuff it away with all your might and see who will take flight
With an ego which builds until oh yes' until
The memory bends and your someone else
And all these broken books upon these shelves
Are burning bright with all their might

Am I adorable?
Am I beautiful?
Am I pretty?
Am I lovable?
Am I kissable?
Am I doable?

Aw shucks,
thanks for saying so.

never certain whether it's actually happening,
or if i have reached a pinnacle
of myth-making,
never really know....
   but it's fun when you do begin
thinking less, and myth-making more...
   for one thing, drinking beer,
after about 100ml of whiskey is a hilarious
event...
or drinking in general,
i never really feel ashamed at my vice,
   ****, i embrace it,
  i like writing about it,
   after about 5 beers and 70cl of whiskey
i turn into a ******* sparrow...
   so i might enlarge my perspective on german,
and everything that was once idea,
   and... theory...
    like spotting the lack of diacritical marks
in english when the greeks are: well,
kinda overloading on it...
               a bit like writing about the sun:
it's recurrent, it never changes...
   or a bit like me giving my ***
  the jerks and wiggles, bouncing up and down,
watching the moon behind a clot
of cloud: hello!
   while squatting, picking up
   the cigarette buts off the roof just outside my window...
    frozen moon,
the dilation and shrinking of a cat's eye...
very feline, haven't you noticed, the moon being, thus?
    last night, i spent about 20 minutes,
drunk, literally about to do a coma
caressing a cat... a maine koon,
ginger, weighs about 10kg...
         forced him onto the back,
on a nice, soft back-rest...
     and those eyes appeared...
   day-time cat eye: scythe nearing,
actually a diamon sharp...
   night-time cat eye? wild-eyed!
   big, bulging things that could scrap
any theory on the black hole...
   i already said it's a 2-d object in a 3-d space...
it's monster carousel... spinning spinning spinning...
   like a fern bush in the first Lara Croft game,
and with computers being all about
experiment, it's possible, you actually can
encode a two-dimensional object in a three-dimensional
system, it's doable...
                 well... i'm sorta *******
that i get to teach the lesson about forgiving your enemies,
i'm actually: really, really ******* about it,
  i've become much more disgruntled with life
and i've turned into an imitation of a boar,
i.e. a boor... gboor in polish,
  and no, i don't belive that in gnostic
the g is silent, nor in gnome...
given that you perfectly say it in the word:
diagnostic...
              that's english: so many particular
examples, quasi-etiquette, that you might as well
forget bird-watching and look at the language,
given that it perfectly complies with
a universal quality, as it stands:
it really is a lingua franca,
besides talk of a commerce medium, there's this.
oh, that guy who tried to **** me
  telling me i'd be taking something akin
to l.s.d., well, he's bipolar now,
oh sure, i know his name,
    i know where he lives,
his mother was, quiet fond of me...
     started acting like he was the only one
in the "ghetto"...
          and the woman who invoked
the original plan.... schizophrenic...
calls me up (9 years ago, pst)...
****, what's a prolonged S in german?
thankfully i have a sense of humour...
dark, isn't it? i don't know where they get those
stars from, on screen and with camera,
dark as **** around here,
     very much akin to a blue sky...
so dark, i have only about 3... ok, i'll stretch it
to four constellations i'd care to talk about,
that rhombus, that zodiac scorpion,
and those two identical constellations of
the big and little dippers...
   and i was once asked to travel to Australia
to see: "the many more constellations"...
i went up to Scotland, to a remote place
   near Ben Nevis, in the highlands,
   got dropped off in Glen Coe...
climbed a mountain, walked a craig...
   camped in complete darkness...
went to a pub, drank an ale called:
   sheepshaggers...
        huh?! the Welsh, so far up north?
and guess what: all that talk of light-pollution
proved to be, utter tosh....
           where are they? am i sight-able,
am i blinking?! what's with this talk
of so many stars that William Blake talked about?
i.e. how, there are more stars than grains
of sand on all the beaches in the world?
  i can see jack-****!
i already said, a max of 4 constellations!
      i'd see more stars in a cat-pounce-ready
being petted at 3 am by a drunk like me...
it really was me listening to bonie m's rasputin
picking up cigarette butts off the roof
   just outside my window, above the kitchen...
squatting, and looking at the moon from beneath
the clot of wintry clouds, moving across
the sky like a Mongolian horde...
   i have many names... huh?
oh right... i've been called the hunchback angel
by a thief, and simply an angel
   by this spanish girl who took me back to her
flat and i said: honey, been with prostitutes,
we don't **** under the bed-sheets...
to know it all, you have to see it all...
   then we went to the Notting Hill carnival
the next day, after some time spent talking
in a bath together... and her two intimidating
gay friends... my "erectile dysfunction",
and my limp phallus in her mouth,
  *** under the bed-sheets... ugh...
   and her madonna-***** complex prescribed by
Freud...
         she lived with two gayos...
     i'm sure my **** was just about ready
had i asked...
              and that robin in her garden...
puffy-orange breasted nibble for the eyes...
chirp... chirp... the smaller the better:
nervous twitching, lightning like strokes
of head-movement, a bit like a sparrow,
that never could walk like a crow, indulging
in a funeral-procession, domineering schwarz...
  just skipping, unable to walk, just... skipping.
so that's nice... being called
   a hunchback angel...
   (i don't leave my hermit hole that often,
when i do, i hear the most amazing things,
as i usually do, when picking up a newspaper) -
but the cherry has to be coming from this friend
of mine that tried to **** me...
oh it's a cherry... the death of death...
     and it's in English!
  how could they ever drag the gentleman out
if not in speaking english?
                 now i don't know whether i should be
******* that i didn't die aged 21,
or whether i should be happy, that i have
so much happiness in drinking...
         and look! so much agility and capacity to
write a load of ******* while drinking...
  ah... rose Isolde... don't despair...
           i have canned laughter
             and a theatre filled with an audience
of 1.
   this is the part where you say all of this
is *******, and find adventures in a supermarket aisle
while shopping for canned sardines.
bon voyage! mon ami.
   not all punctuation marks belong alongside dot...
   hence the ...
                            how to transcend into the
practice of ensuring ! ? are not like dots
and more like commas? and do not, necessarily,
belong as sentence-show-stoppers?
          is it just me, or is there an astma problem
in the punctuation sector of the, given language?
hoo! ha! hoo! ha! who! ha ha ha.

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He couldn’t take his eyes off of his living room’s mirror.
His own reflection was staring back at him.

Mesmerized by his self’s own image-re-presentation as he was.
Wanting to see himself through an-other’s perspective.
Desiring to be seen as somebody else.
He went on to become one with the famous imago.

In an endless arms race, an endless metonymy, drifting as it is called,
He tried to achieve the unachievable.
He tried to attempt the impossible.
He wanted to do the non-doable.

Always, from a young age, feeling inadequate and insecure.
Because he deemed himself incapable of stretching his own existence,
To make it fit with the family’s ideals.

So he spent the rest of his life trying to be recognized as something.
As something which he wasn’t at all? Yes. (How tragic. How sad.)
That left him with nothing but rage, hopelessness and despair.
A bipolar marionette of somebody Else’s deadly painful pleasure.

Powerless as he was, he went on living while construing ******* solutions.
So that he could just "get by". A coward hiding behind somebody Else’s wants.
And then one day having said to everybody, everything that made him upset, he left this place.
He never came back.

2020 - day 120

Wednesday, April 29, 2020
12:21 PM

passport day, despite the masks, there is humor, for a while,
in social distancing, plus masks...

yesterday on the Sunrise Highway stretch of the Pacific Crest,
we saw
flag men and the whole road gang, employees, not prison contract labor,

these guys are all smart enough to get the job, there they are, smart guys,
and all wearing masks, I wonder

who made sense of that, and who did it in solidarity with an us narrative.

United, we stand, divided, we fall...

Global Brain reports Mortal

Brains being trained to new normal,
such concarne systems, can,
if willed, pupose-ful, con determination mit energetic application made,
freely,
it appears, according to Youtube and Facebook,
that
such brains, meat-mind-gut-heart-skin sensation interpretation systems,

only get upgrades on this scale, once, in a generation.

The augmental roll out hits first adapters about fifty years after first frontal cortex
call, plea, actually,
for myination, squeeky voices, peeps, feed me, feed me
urges and cravings unheard of before,
BTW,
puberty models future imaginations of hell, the body remembers,
advertisers play to that
comfort sells better than ***, in a hormonal reset crisis, *** needs no ads...

so many signals cross in chaotic knots, even stretching that last nerve
so tight...
some result in broken strands, but
human brains evolved the idea of normal, calm and continuing, carry on...
says the king of the village,
head of the clan,
da man o'dehouse; twas he who said what we do next,
and come a time, some say you remember wrong,
so writer man,
him say I write what seer say he see,
so
scribblers writ what was agreed, we all formed a public, for crying out
loud,

and neighbors had public faces, same as private faces... no opposing faces.

We danced with no masks... spaceship earthers have no secrets...

Time was, man's inhumanity to man was intolerable, now,
man's humanity
is intolerable,

--- you doubt? --- later, we talk how tuning and balancing was lost as senses,
but to a few... who knew the life in words can dissipate authority,
if left lying idle, too long.

2020

the power in a free press belongs to the owner of the presses,
and we have voice activated presses connected to any hearing ear or seeing eye,
willing to listen in...

before radio evolved to the smart-phone,
a soap box in the village square was as far as freedom of expression could go.
Now, we have four and more generations of
normal
humans who have heard radio music and commentary, from the womb.

These are the first adapters, sapien sapien augmented
radio heads, wired
naturally
with some vagus curve capacity to signal gut responses
faster, by virtue of habing
some bits slicker than, say
normal wierdos,
literal
*** heads, like Johnny Appleseed Chapman...
re
ference: Certified Disneyfied Americana Clue founded,
standing on--
American Bogus Science Fable, which
teaches of JA as a crazy old man with something like a plan,

to live happy as ever, right now, as best he knew how,
thus
Shane, and so on, mindphuck for boys in the fifties,
whose dad's had won the war and built the bomb,
and broke the unions...

lonely boys had songs, tuned to their comfort in sorrow shared circuit
being installed from early 1953 through -- current time

music in the air, or from the air, is took for granted by any child
as something doable, the poorest of the poor can play at playing internet games,
using Poke'mon cards...manually,

and their brains work different than even Turing and Von Neuman imagined.
Feynman and Teller both admitted the sense of humor,
kids have and
AI can imagine,
Ai ai ai can imagine,
in light of history, they agree,
that sense of the playful, ludologous letting go.
is the same sense in humans...

which does good, like a medicine.
So,
a solitary man makes a solitary plan, leaving a mark mattered not,

living free as one man can be.
Pioneer social distancing, all my heros were outlaws,
rustlers, mostly,
my ancestors never wished to live in towns,
so they never did.

But, you know they poached turkeys and deer as order set in.

Old normal is fully functional, add electricity... how happy can a man be?

Alone?
Less than not-alone, more than in a maddened crowd.

Out on the edge of civilization,
we walk along Al Gore's old info super hiway, asking for sneezers
willing to give a viral idea blowing in the wind,
one good whiff,
wrinkle y' gnose,
tickling fancies we
fancy few have tickled since Tesla became a car.

We make next up. No lie. Keep kicking.