You were born five years before the Spanish Civil War that would see your father exiled.
Language came later to you than your little brother Manuel. And you stuttered for a time.
Unlike those who speak incessantly with nothing to say, you were quiet and reserved.
Your mother mistook shyness for dimness, a tragic mistake that scarred you for life.

When your brother Manuel died at the age of three from meningitis, you heard your mom
Exclaim: “God took my bright boy and left me the dull one.” You were four or five.
You never forgot those words. How could you? Yet you loved your mom with all your heart.
But you also withdrew further into a shell, solitude your companion and best friend.

You were, in fact, an exceptional child. Stuttering went away at five or so never to return,
And by the time you were in middle school, your teacher called your mom in for a rare
Conference and told her that yours was a gifted mind, and that you should be prepared
For university study in the sciences, particularly engineering.

She wrote your father exiled in Argentina to tell him the good news, that your teachers
Believed you would easily gain entrance to the (then and now) highly selective public university
Where seats were few, prized and very difficult to attain based on merit-based competitive
Exams. Your father’s response? “Buy him a couple of oxen and let him plow the fields.”

That reply from a highly respected man who was a big fish in a tiny pond in his native Oleiros
Of the time is beyond comprehension. He had apparently opted to preserve his own self-
Interest in having his son continue his family business and also work the family lands in his
Absence. That scar too was added to those that would never heal in your pure, huge heart.

Left with no support for living expenses for college (all it would have required), you moved on,
Disappointed and hurt, but not angry or bitter; you would simply find another way.
You took the competitive exams for the two local military training schools that would provide
An excellent vocational education and pay you a small salary in exchange for military service.

Of hundreds of applicants for the prized few seats in each of the two institutions, you
Scored first for the toughest of the two and thirteenth for the second. You had your pick.
You chose Fabrica de Armas, the lesser of the two, so that a classmate who had scored just
Below the cut-off at the better school could be admitted. That was you. Always and forever.

At the military school, you were finally in your element. You were to become a world-class
Machinist there—a profession that would have gotten you well paid work anywhere on earth
For as long as you wanted it. You were truly a mechanical genius who years later would add
Electronics, auto mechanics and specialized welding to his toolkit through formal training.

Given a well-stocked machine shop, you could reverse engineer every machine without
Blueprints and build a duplicate machine shop. You became a gifted master mechanic
And worked in line and supervisory positions at a handful of companies throughout your life in
Argentina and in the U.S., including Westinghouse, Warner-Lambert, and Pepsi Co.

You loved learning, especially in your fields (electronics, mechanics, welding) and expected
Perfection in everything you did. Every difficult job at work was given to you everywhere you
Worked. You would not sleep at night when a problem needed solving. You’d sketch
And calculate and re-sketch solutions and worked even in your dreams with singular passion.

You were more than a match for the academic and physical rigors of military school,
But life was difficult for you in the Franco era when some instructors would
Deprecatingly refer to you as “Roxo”—Galician for “red”-- reflecting your father’s
Support for the failed Republic. Eventually, the abuse was too much for you to bear.

Once while standing at attention in a corridor with the other cadets waiting for
Roll call, you were repeatedly poked in the back surreptitiously. Moving would cause
Demerits and demerits could cause loss of points on your final grade and arrest for
Successive weekends. You took it awhile, then lost your temper.

You turned to the cadet behind you and in a fluid motion grabbed him by his buttoned jacket
And one-handedly hung him up on a hook above a window where you were standing in line.
He thrashed about, hanging by the back of his jacket, until he was brought down by irate Military instructors.
You got weekend arrest for many weeks and a 10% final grade reduction.

A similar fate befell a co-worker a few years later in Buenos Aires who called you a
*******. You lifted him one handed by his throat and held him there until
Your co-workers intervened, forcibly persuading you to put him down.
That lesson was learned by all in no uncertain terms: Leave Felipe’s mom alone.

You were incredibly strong, especially in your youth—no doubt in part because of rigorous farm
Work, military school training and competitive sports. As a teenager, you once unwisely bent
Down to pick something up in view of a ram, presenting the animal an irresistible target.
It butted you and sent you flying into a haystack. It, too, quickly learned its lesson.

You dusted yourself off, charged the ram, grabbed it by the horns and twirled it around once,
Throwing it atop the same haystack as it had you. The animal was unhurt, but learned to
Give you a wide berth from that day forward. Overall, you were very slow to anger absent
Head-butting, repeated pokings, or disrespectful references to your mom by anyone.    

I seldom saw you angry and it was mom, not you, who was the disciplinarian, slipper in hand.
There were very few slaps from you for me. Mom would smack my behind with a slipper often
When I was little, mostly because I could be a real pain, wanting to know/try/do everything
Completely oblivious to the meaning of the word “no” or of my own limitations.

Mom would sometimes insist you give me a proper beating. On one such occasion for a
Forgotten transgression when I was nine, you  took me to your bedroom, took off your belt, sat
Me next to you and whipped your own arm and hand a few times, whispering to me “cry”,
Which I was happy to do unbidden. “Don’t tell mom.” I did not. No doubt she knew.

The prospect of serving in a military that considered you a traitor by blood became harder and
Harder to bear, and in the third year of school, one year prior to graduation, you left to join
Your exiled father in Argentina, to start a new life. You left behind a mother and two sisters you
Dearly loved to try your fortune in a new land. Your dog thereafter refused food, dying of grief.

You arrived in Buenos Aires to see a father you had not seen for ten years at the age of 17.
You were too young to work legally, but looked older than your years (a shared trait),
So you lied about your age and immediately found work as a Machinist/Mechanic first grade.
That was unheard of and brought you some jealousy and complaints in the union shop.

The union complained to the general manager about your top-salary and rank. He answered,
“I’ll give the same rank and salary to anyone in the company who can do what Felipe can do.”
No doubt the jealousy and grumblings continued by some for a time. But there were no takers.
And you soon won the group over, becoming their protected “baby-brother” mascot.

Your dad left for Spain within a year or so of your arrival when Franco issued a general pardon
To all dissidents who had not spilt blood (e.g., non combatants). He wanted you to return to
Help him reclaim the family business taken over by your mom in his absence with your help.
But you refused to give up the high salary, respect and independence denied you at home.

You were perhaps 18 and alone, living in a single room by a schoolhouse you had shared with Your dad.
But you had also found a new loving family in your uncle José, one of your father’s Brothers, and his family. José, and one of his daughters, Nieves and her
Husband, Emilio, and
Their children, Susana, Oscar (Ruben Gordé), and Osvaldo, became your new nuclear family.

You married mom in 1955 and had two failed business ventures in the quickly fading
Post-WW II Argentina of the late 1950s and early 1960s.The first, a machine shop, left
You with a small fortune in unpaid government contract work.  The second, a grocery store,
Also failed due to hyperinflation and credit extended too easily to needy customers.

Throughout this, you continued earning an exceptionally good salary. But in the mid 1960’s,
Nearly all of it went to pay back creditors of the failed grocery store. We had some really hard
Times. Someday I’ll write about that in some detail. Mom went to work as a maid, including for
Wealthy friends, and you left home at 4:00 a.m. to return long after dark to pay the bills.

 
The only luxury you and mom retained was my Catholic school tuition. There was no other
Extravagance. Not paying bills was never an option for you or mom. It never entered your
Minds. It was not a matter of law or pride, but a matter of honor. There were at least three very
Lean years where you and mom worked hard, earned well but we were truly poor.

You and mom took great pains to hide this from me—and suffered great privations to insulate
Me as best you could from the fallout of a shattered economy and your refusal to cut your loses
Had done to your life savings and to our once-comfortable middle-class life.
We came to the U.S. in the late 1960s after waiting for more than three years for visas—to a new land of hope.

Your sister and brother-in-law, Marisa and Manuel, made their own sacrifices to help bring us
Here. You had about $1,000 from the down payment on our tiny down-sized house, And
Mom’s pawned jewelry. (Hyperinflation and expenses ate up the remaining mortgage payments
Due). Other prized possessions were left in a trunk until you could reclaim them. You never did.

Even the airline tickets were paid for by Marisa and Manuel. You insisted upon arriving on
Written terms for repayment including interest. You were hired on the spot on your first
Interview as a mechanic, First Grade, despite not speaking a word of English. Two months later,
The debt was repaid, mom was working too and we moved into our first apartment.

You worked long hours, including Saturdays and daily overtime, to remake a nest egg.
Declining health forced you to retire at 63 and shortly thereafter you and mom moved out of
Queens into Orange County. You bought a townhouse two hours from my permanent residence
Upstate NY and for the next decade were happy, traveling with friends and visiting us often.

Then things started to change. Heart issues (two pacemakers), colon cancer, melanoma,
Liver and kidney disease caused by your many medications, high blood pressure, gout,
Gall bladder surgery, diabetes . . . . And still you moved forward, like the Energizer Bunny,
Patched up, battered, scarred, bruised but unstoppable and unflappable.

Then mom started to show signs of memory loss along with her other health issues. She was
Good at hiding her own ailments, and we noticed much later than we should have that there
Was a serious problem. Two years ago, her dementia worsening but still functional, she had
Gall bladder surgery with complications that required four separate surgeries in three months.

She never recovered and had to be placed in a nursing home. Several, in fact, as at first she
Refused food and you and I refused to simply let her waste away, which might have been
Kinder, but for the fact that “mientras hay vida, hay esperanza” as Spaniards say.
(While there is Life there is hope.) There is nothing beyond the power of God. Miracles do happen.
 
For two years you lived alone, refusing outside help, engendering numerous arguments about
Having someone go by a few times a week to help clean, cook, do chores. You were nothing if
Not stubborn (yet another shared trait). The last argument on the subject about two weeks ago
Ended in your crying. You’d accept no outside help until mom returned home. Period.

You were in great pain because of bulging discs in your spine and walked with one of those
Rolling seats with handlebars that mom and I picked out for you some years ago. You’d sit
As needed when the pain was too much, then continue with very little by way of complaints.
Ten days ago you finally agreed that you needed to get to the hospital to drain abdominal fluid.

Your failing liver produced it and it swelled your abdomen and lower extremities to the point
Where putting on shoes or clothing was very difficult, as was breathing. You called me from a
Local store crying that you could not find pants that would fit you. We talked, long distance,
And I calmed you down, as always, not allowing you to wallow in self pity but trying to help.

You went home and found a new pair of stretch pants Alice and I had bought you and you were
Happy. You had two changes of clothes that still fit to take to the hospital. No sweat, all was
Well. The procedure was not dangerous and you’d undergone it several times in recent years.
It would require a couple of days at the hospital and I’d see you again on the weekend.

I could not be with you on Monday, February 22 when you had to go to the hospital, as I nearly
Always had, because of work. You were supposed to be admitted the previous Friday, but
Doctors have days off too, and yours could not see you until Monday when I could not get off
Work. But you were not concerned; this was just routine. You’d be fine. I’d see you in just days.

We’d go see mom Friday, when you’d be much lighter and feel much better. Perhaps we’d go
Shopping for clothes if the procedure still left you too bloated for your usual clothes.
You drove to your doctor and then transported by ambulette. I was concerned, but not too Worried.
You called me sometime between five or six p.m. to tell me you were fine, resting.

“Don’t worry. I’m safe here and well cared for.” We talked for a little while about the usual
Things, with my assuring you I’d see you Friday or Saturday. You were tired and wanted to sleep
And I told you to call me if you woke up later that night or I’d speak to you the following day.
Around 10:00 p.m. I got a call from your cell and answered in the usual upbeat manner.

“Hey, Papi.” On the other side was a nurse telling me my dad had fallen. I assured her she was
Mistaken, as my dad was there for a routine procedure to drain abdominal fluid. “You don’t
Understand. He fell from his bed and struck his head on a nightstand or something
And his heart has stopped. We’re working on him for 20 minutes and it does not look good.”

“Can you get here?” I could not. I had had two or three glasses of wine shortly before the call
With dinner. I could not drive the three hours to Middletown. I cried. I prayed.
Fifteen minutes Later I got the call that you were gone. Lost in grief, not knowing what to do, I called my wife.
Shortly thereafter came a call from the coroner. An autopsy was required. I could not see you.

Four days later your body was finally released to the funeral director I had selected for his
Experience with the process of interment in Spain. I saw you for the last time to identify
Your body. I kissed my fingers and touched your mangled brow. I could not even have the
Comfort of an open casket viewing. You wanted cremation. You body awaits it as I write this.

You were alone, even in death alone. In the hospital as strangers worked on you. In the medical
Examiner’s office as you awaited the autopsy. In the autopsy table as they poked and prodded
And further rent your flesh looking for irrelevant clues that would change nothing and benefit
No one, least of all you. I could not be with you for days, and then only for a painful moment.

We will have a memorial service next Friday with your ashes and a mass on Saturday. I will
Never again see you in this life. Alice and I will take you home to your home town, to the
Cemetery in Oleiros, La Coruña, Spain this summer. There you will await the love of your life.
Who will join you in the fullness of time. She could not understand my tears or your passing.

There is one blessing to dementia. She asks for her mom, and says she is worried because she
Has not come to visit in some time. She is coming, she assures me whenever I see her.
You visited her every day except when health absolutely prevented it. You spent this February 10
Apart, your 61st wedding anniversary, too sick to visit her. Nor was I there. First time.

I hope you did not realize you were apart on the 10th but doubt it to be the case. I
Did not mention it, hoping you’d forgotten, and neither did you. You were my link to mom.
She cannot dial or answer a phone, so you would put your cell phone to her ear whenever I
Was not in class or meetings and could speak to her. She always recognized me by phone.

I am three hours from her. I could visit at most once or twice a month. Now even that phone
Lifeline is severed. Mom is completely alone, afraid, confused, and I cannot in the short term at
Least do much about that. You were not supposed to die first. It was my greatest fear, and
Yours, but as with so many things that we cannot change I put it in the back of my mind.

It kept me up many nights, but, like you, I still believed—and believe—in miracles.
I would speak every night with my you, often for an hour, on the way home from work late at
Night during my hour-long commute, or from home on days I worked from home as I cooked
Dinner. I mostly let you talk, trying to give you what comfort and social outlet I could.

You were lonely, sad, stuck in an endless cycle of emotional and physical pain.
Lately you were especially reticent to get off the phone. When mom was home and still
Relatively well, I’d call every day too but usually spoke to you only a few minutes and you’d
Transfer the phone to mom, with whom I usually chatted much longer.

For months, you’d had difficulty hanging up. I knew you did not want to go back to the couch,
To a meaningless TV program, or to writing more bills. You’d say good-bye, or “enough for
Today” and immediately begin a new thread, then repeat the cycle, sometimes five or six times.
You even told me, at least once crying recently, “Just hang up on me or I’ll just keep talking.”

I loved you, dad, with all my heart. We argued, and I’d often scream at you in frustration,
Knowing you would never take it to heart and would usually just ignore me and do as
You pleased. I knew how desperately you needed me, and I tried to be as patient as I could.
But there were days when I was just too tired, too frustrated, too full of other problems.

There were days when I got frustrated with you just staying on the phone for an hour when I
Needed to call Alice, to eat my cold dinner, or even to watch a favorite program. I felt guilty
And very seldom cut a conversation short, but I was frustrated nonetheless even knowing
How much you needed me and also how much I needed you, and how little you asked of me.  

How I would love to hear your voice again, even if you wanted to complain about the same old
Things or tell me in minutest detail some unimportant aspect of your day. I thought I would
Have you at least a little longer. A year? Two? God only knew, and I could hope. There would be
Time. I had so much more to share with you, so much more to learn when life eased up a bit.

You taught me to fish (it did not take) and to hunt (that took even less) and much of what I
Know about mechanics, and electronics. We worked on our cars together for years—from brake
Jobs, to mufflers, to real tune-ups in the days when points, condensers, and timing lights had Meaning, to rebuilding carburetors and fixing rust and dents, and power windows and more.

We were friends, good friends, who went on Sunday drives to favorite restaurants or shopping
For tools when I was single and lived at home. You taught me everything in life that I need to
Know about all the things that matter. The rest is meaningless paper and window dressing.
I knew all your few faults and your many colossal strengths and knew you to be the better man.

Not even close. I could never do what you did. I could never excel in my fields as you did in
Yours.  You were the real deal in every way, from every angle, throughout your life. I did not
Always treat you that way. But I loved you very deeply as anyone who knew us knows.
More importantly, you knew it. I told you often, unembarrassed in the telling. I love you, Dad.

The world was enriched by your journey. You do not leave behind wealth, or a body or work to
Outlive you. You never had your fifteen minutes in the sun. But you mattered. God knows your
Virtue, your absolute integrity, and the purity of your heart. I will never know a better man.
I will love you and miss you and carry you in my heart every day of my life. God bless you, dad.

Victor D. López (October 11, 2018)

You were born five years before the beginning of the Spanish civil war and
Lived in a modest two-story home in the lower street of Fontan, facing the ocean that
Gifted you its wealth and beauty but also robbed you of your beloved and noblest eldest
Brother, Juan, who was killed while working as a fisherman out to sea at the tender age of 19.

You were a little girl much prone to crying. The neighbors would make you cry just by saying,
"Chora, neniña, chora" [Cry little girl, cry] which instantly produced inconsolable wailing.
At the age of seven or eight you were blinded by an eye Infection. The village doctor
Saved your eyesight, but not before you missed a full year of school.

You never recovered from that lost time. Your impatience and the shame of feeling left behind prevented
You from making up for lost time. Your wounded pride, the shame of not knowing what your friends knew,
Your restlessness and your inability to hold your tongue when you were corrected by your teacher created
A perfect storm that inevitably tossed your diminutive boat towards the rocks.

When still a girl, you saw Franco with his escort leave his yacht in Fontan. With the innocence of a girl
Who would never learn to hold her tongue, you asked a neighbor who was also present, "Who is that Man?"
"The Generalissimo Francisco Franco," she answered and whispered “Say ‘Viva Franco’ when he Passes by.”
With the innocence of a little girl and the arrogance of an incorrigible old soul you screamed, pointing:

"That's the Generalissimo?" followed up loud laughter, "He looks like Tom Thumb!"
A member of his protective detail approached you, raising his machine gun with the apparent intention of
Hitting you with the stock. "Leave her alone!" Franco ordered. "She is just a child — the fault is not hers."
You told that story many times in my presence, always with a smile or laughing out loud.

I don't believe you ever appreciated the possible import of that "feat" of contempt for
Authority. Could that act of derision have played some small part in their later
Coming for your father and taking him prisoner, torturing him for months and eventually
Condemning him to be executed by firing squad in the Plaza de Maria Pita?

He escaped his fate with the help of a fascist officer who freed him as I’ve noted earlier.
Such was his reputation, the power of his ideas and the esteem even of friends who did not share his views.
Such was your innocence or your psychic blind spot that you never realized your possible contribution to
His destruction. Thank God you never connected the possible impact of your words on his downfall.

You adored your dad throughout your life with a passion of which he was most deserving.
He died shortly after the end of the Spanish Civil War. A mother with ten mouths to feed
Needed help. You stepped up in response to her silent, urgent need. At the age of
Eleven you left school for the last time and began working full time.

Children could not legally work in Franco’s Spain. Nevertheless, a cousin who owned a cannery
Took pity on your situation and allowed you to work full-time in his fish cannery factory in Sada.
You earned the same salary as the adult, predominantly women workers and worked better
Than most of them with a dexterity and rapidity that served you well your entire life.

In your free time before work you carried water from the communal fountain to neighbors for a few cents.
You also made trips carrying water on your head for home and with a pail in each hand. This continued after
You began work in Cheche’s cannery. You rose long before sunrise to get the water for
Home and for the local fishermen before they left on their daily fishing trips for their personal water pails.

All of the money you earned went to your mom with great pride that a girl could provide more than the salary of a
Grown woman--at the mere cost of her childhood and education. You also washed clothes for some
Neighbors for a few cents more, with diapers for newborns always free just for the pleasure of being
Allowed to see, hold spend some time with the babies you so dearly loved you whole life through.
When you were old enough to go to the Sunday cinema and dances, you continued the
Same routine and added washing and ironed the Sunday clothes for the young fishermen
Who wanted to look their best for the weekly dances. The money from that third job was your own
To pay for weekly hairdos, the cinema and dance hall entry fee. The rest still went to your mom.

At 16 you wanted to go to emigrate to Buenos Aires to live with an aunt.
Your mom agreed to let you--provided you took your younger sister, Remedios, with you.
You reluctantly agreed. You found you also could not legally work in Buenos Aires as a minor.
So you convincingly lied about your age and got a job as a nurse’s aide at a clinic soon after your arrival.

You washed bedpans, made beds, scrubbed floors and did other similar assigned tasks
To earn enough money to pay the passage for your mom and two youngest brothers,
Sito (José) and Paco (Francisco). Later you got a job as a maid at a hotel in the resort town of
Mar del Plata whose owners loved your passion for taking care of their infant children.

You served as a maid and unpaid babysitter. Between your modest salary and
Tips as a maid you soon earned the rest of the funds needed for your mom’s and brothers’
Passage from Spain. You returned to Buenos Aires and found two rooms you could afford in an
Excellent neighborhood at an old boarding house near the Spanish Consulate in the center of the city.

Afterwards you got a job at a Ponds laboratory as a machine operator of packaging
Machines for Ponds’ beauty products. You made good money and helped to support your
Mom and brothers  while she continued working as hard as she always had in Spain,
No longer selling fish but cleaning a funeral home and washing clothing by hand.

When your brothers were old enough to work, they joined you in supporting your
Mom and getting her to retire from working outside the home.
You lived with your mom in the same home until you married dad years later,
And never lost the bad habit of stubbornly speaking your mind no matter the cost.

Your union tried to force you to register as a Peronista. Once burned twice cautious,
You refused, telling the syndicate you had not escaped one dictator to ally yourself with
Another. They threatened to fire you. When you would not yield, they threatened to
Repatriate you, your mom and brothers back to Spain.

I can’t print your reply here. They finally brought you to the general manager’s office
Demanding he fire you. You demanded a valid reason for their request.
The manager—doubtless at his own peril—refused, saying he had no better worker
Than you and that the union had no cause to demand your dismissal.

After several years of courtship, you and dad married. You had the world well in hand with
Well-paying jobs and strong savings that would allow you to live a very comfortable life.
You seemed incapable of having the children you so longed for. Three years of painful
Treatments allowed you to give me life and we lived three more years in a beautiful apartment.

I have memories from a very tender age and remember that apartment very well. But things changed
When you decided to go into businesses that soon became unsustainable in the runaway inflation and
Economic chaos of the Argentina of the early 1960’s. I remember only too well your extreme sacrifice
And dad’s during that time—A theme for another day, but not for today.

You were the hardest working person I’ve ever known. You were not afraid of any honest
Job no matter how challenging and your restlessness and competitive spirit always made you a
Stellar employee everywhere you worked no matter how hard or challenging the job.
Even at home you could not stand still unless there was someone with whom to chat awhile.

You were a truly great cook thanks in part to learning from the chef of the hotel where you had
Worked in Mar del Plata awhile—a fellow Spaniard of Basque descent who taught you many of his favorite
Dishes—Spanish and Italian specialties. You were always a terribly picky eater. But you
Loved to cook for family and friends—the more the merrier—and for special holidays.

Dad was also a terrific cook, but with a more limited repertoire. I learned to cook
With great joy from both of you at a young age. And, though neither my culinary skills nor
Any aspect of my life can match you or dad, I too am a decent cook and
Love to cook, especially for meals shared with loved ones.

You took great pleasure in introducing my friends to some of your favorite dishes such as
Cazuela de mariscos, paella marinera, caldo Gallego, stews, roasts, and your incomparable
Canelones, ñoquis, orejas, crepes, muñuelos, flan, and the rest of your long culinary repertoire.
In primary and middle school dad picked me up every day for lunch before going to work.

You and he worked the second shift and did not leave for work until around 2:00 p.m.
Many days, dad would bring a carload of classmates with me for lunch.
I remember as if it were yesterday the faces of my Jewish, Chinese, Japanese, German, Irish
And Italian friends when first introduced to octopus, Spanish tortilla, caldo Gallego, and flan.

The same was true during college and law school.  At times our home resembled an
U.N. General Assembly meeting—but always featuring food. You always treated my
Closest friends as if they were your children and a number of them to this day love
You as a second mother though they have not seen you for many years.

You had tremendous passion and affinity for being a mother (a great pity to have just one child).
It made you over-protective. You bought my clothes at an exclusive boutique. I became a
Living doll for someone denied such toys as a young girl. You would not let me out of your sight and
Kept me in a germ-free environment that eventually produced some negative health issues.

My pediatrician told you often “I want to see him with ***** finger nails and scraped knees.”
You dismissed the statement as a joke. You’d take me often to the park and to my
Favorite merry-go-round. But I had not one friend until I was seven or eight and then just one.
I did not have a real circle of friends until I was about 13 years old. Sad.

I was walking and talking up a storm in complete sentences when I was one year old.
You were concerned and took me to my pediatrician who laughed. He showed me a
Keychain and asked, “What is this Danny.” “Those are your car keys” I replied. After a longer
Evaluation he told my mom it was important to encourage and feed my curiosity.

According to you, I was unbearable (some things never change). I asked dad endless questions such as,
“Why is the sun hot? How far are the stars and what are they made of? Why
Can’t I see the reflection of a flashlight pointed at the sky at night? Why don’t airplanes
Have pontoons on top of the wheels so they can land on both water and land? Etc., etc., etc.

He would answer me patiently to the best of his ability and wait for the inevitable follow-ups.
I remember train and bus rides when very young sitting on his lap asking him a thousand Questions.
Unfortunately, when I asked you a question you could not answer, you more often than not made up an answer Rather than simply saying “I don’t know,” or “go ask dad” or even “go to hell you little monster!”

I drove you crazy. Whatever you were doing I wanted to learn to do, whether it was working on the
Sewing machine, knitting, cooking, ironing, or anything else that looked remotely interesting.
I can’t imagine your frustration. Yet you always found only joy in your little boy at all ages.
Such was your enormous love which surrounded me every day of my life and still does.

When you told me a story and I did not like the ending, such as with “Little Red Riding Hood,”
I demanded a better one and would cry interminably if I did not get it. Poor mom. What patience!
Reading or making up a story that little Danny did not approve of could be dangerous.
I remember one day in a movie theater watching the cartoons I loved (and still love).

Donald Duck came out from stage right eating a sandwich. Sitting between you and dad I asked you
For a sandwich. Rather than explaining that the sandwich was not real, that we’d go to dinner after the show
To eat my favorite steak sandwich (as usual), you simply told me that Donald Duck would soon bring me the sandwich. But when the scene changed, Donald Duck came back smacking his lips without the sandwich.

Then all hell broke loose. I wailed at the top of my lungs that Donald Duck had eaten my sandwich.
He had lied to me and not given me the promised sandwich. That was unbearable. There was
No way to console me or make me understand—too late—that Donald Duck was also hungry,
That it was his sandwich, not mine, or that what was on the screen was just a cartoon and not real.

He, Donald Duck, mi favorite Disney character (then and now) hade eaten this little boy’s Sandwich. Such a Betrayal by a loved one was inconceivable and unbearable. You and dad had to drag me out of the theater ranting And crying at the injustice at top volume. The tantrum (extremely rare for me then, less so now) went on for awhile, but all was well again when my beloved Aunt Nieves gave me a ******* with jam and told me Donald had sent it.

So much water under the bridge. Your own memories, like smoke in a soft breeze, have dissipated
Into insubstantial molecules like so many stars in the night sky that paint no coherent picture.
An entire life of vital conversations turned to the whispers of children in a violent tropical storm,
Insubstantial, imperceptible fragments—just a dream that interrupts an eternal nightmare.

That is your life today. Your memory was always prodigious. You knew the name of every person
You ever met, and those of their family members. You could recall entire conversations word for word.
Three years of schooling proved more than sufficient for you to go out into the world, carving your own
Path from the Inhospitable wilderness and learning to read and write at the age of 16.

You would have been a far better lawyer than I and a fiery litigator who would have fought injustice
Wherever you found it and always defended the rights of those who cannot defend themselves,
Especially children who were always your most fervent passion. You sacrificed everything for others,
Always put yourself dead-last, and never asked for anything in return.

You were an excellent dancer and could sing like an angel. Song was your release in times of joy and
In times of pain. You did not drink or smoke or over-indulge in anything. For much of your life your only minor Indulgence was a weekly trip to the beauty parlor—even in Spain where your washing and ironing income
Paid for that. You were never vain in any way, but your self-respect required you to try to look your best.

You loved people and unlike dad who was for the most part shy, you were quite happy in the all-to-infrequent
Role as the life of the party—singing, dressing up as Charlie Chaplin or a newborn for New Year’s Eve parties with Family and close friends. A natural story-teller until dementia robbed you of the ability to articulate your thoughts,
You’d entertain anyone who would listen with anecdotes, stories, jokes and lively conversation.

In short: you were an exceptional person with a large spirit, a mischievous streak, and an enormous heart.
I know I am not objective about you, but any of your surviving friends and family members who knew you
Well will attest to this and more in a nanosecond. You had an incredibly positive, indomitable attitude
That led you to rush in where angels fear to treat not out of foolishness but out of supreme confidence.

Life handed you cartloads of lemons—enough to pickle the most ardent optimist. And you made not just
Lemonade but lemon merengue pie, lemon sorbet, lemon drops, then ground up the rind for sweetest
Rice pudding, flan, fried dough and a dozen other delicacies. And when all the lemons were gone, you sowed the Seeds from which extraordinarily beautiful lemon trees grew with fruit sweeter than grapes, plums, or cherries.

I’ve always said with great pride that you were a far better writer than I. How many excellent novels,
Plays, and poems could you have written with half of my education and three times my workload?
There is no justice in this world. Why does God give bread to those without teeth? Your
Prodigious memory no longer allows you to recognize me. I was the last person you forgot.

But even now when you cannot have a conversation in any language, Sometimes your eyes sparkle, and
You call me “neniño” (my little boy in Galician) and I know that for an instant you are no longer alone.
But too son the light fades and the darkness returns. I can only see you a few hours one day a week.
My life circumstances do not leave me another option. The visits are bitter sweet but I’m grateful for them.

Someday I won’t even have that opportunity to spend a few hours with you. You’ll have no
Monument to mark your passing save in my memory so long as reason remains. An entire
Life of incalculable sacrifice will leave behind only the poorest living legacy of love
In your son who lacks appropriate words to adequately honor your memory, and always will.


*          *          *

The day has come, too son. October 11, 2018. The call came at 3:30 am.
An hour or two after I had fallen asleep. They tried CPR in vain. There will be no more
Opportunities to say, “I Love you,” to caress your hands and face, to softly sing in your ear,
To put cream on your hands, or to hope that this week you might remember me.

No more time to tell you the accomplishments of loved ones, who I saw, what they told me,
Who asked about you this week, or to pray with you, or to ask if you would give me a kiss by putting my
Cheek close to your lips, to feel joy when you graced me with many little kisses in response,
Or tell you “Maybe next time” when as more often than not the case for months you did not respond.

In saying good bye I’d give you the kiss and hug Alice always sent you,
Followed by three more kisses on the forehead from dad (he always gave you three) and one from me.
I’d leave the TV on to a channel with people and no sound and when possible
Wait for you to close your eyes before leaving.

Time has run out. No further extensions are possible. My prayers change from asking God to protect
You and by His Grace allow you to heal a little bit each day to praying that God protect your
Soul and dad’s and that He allow you to rest in peace in His kingdom. I miss you and Dad very much
And will do so as long as God grants me the gift of reason. I never knew what it is to be alone. I do now.

Four years seeing your blinding light reduced to a weak flickering candle in total darkness.
Four years fearing that you might be aware of your situation.
Four years praying that you would not feel pain, sadness or loneliness.
Four years learning to say goodbye. The rest of my life now waiting in the hope of seeing you again.

I love you mom, with all my heart, always and forever.

Natuklasan ko na pagkatapos ng lahat ng hirap at sakit na iyong naranasan
Makakangiti ka pa rin pala muli
Pagngiti tulad noong unang beses **** makatanggap ng laruan galing sa iyong magulang
Tulad noong unang beses **** makausap si crush with matching blush
Tulad noong pinagtripan nyo si classmate na uto uto (mga bully!)
Tulad noong sinagot ka na ng nililigawan mo
Tulad noong nalaman mo na crush ka rin ng crush mo at ayun naging kayo
Tulad noong nalaman mo na wala kang grado na singko
Tulad noong natanggap ka sa una **** trabaho
Tulad noong pagtanggap ng unang sahod na pinaghirapan mo pero sa magulang mo lahat mapupunta
Tulad noong napromote ka at unang salary increase mo!
Tulad noong sinurprise ka ng mga kaibigan mo nung kaarawan mo
Tulad noong pagkatapos ng una niyong halik ng iniibig mo
Tulad noong nakikita mo na unti unting natutupad ang mga pangarap mo

Sa paglipas ng mga araw
Matutunan mo
Na pwede kang gumawa ng mga bagay na makakapagpasaya sayo
Tulad ng isang ibon na lumilipad kasabay ang hangin

When I was just a little girl,
And as little girls were taught then,
I played with dolls and a teaset,
Made mudcakes for food,
Wore skirts, made my hair into ponytails as I was let.
I saw the boys with the abandon which comes with free wear and play,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was older, a teen
and as teen girls were taught then,
Walk, talk, rock softly
Don’t draw too much attention
Or attempt to explore too much.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom to play, sit, be as they want  ,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was sixteen, oh sweet sixteen,
And as sixteen year old girls were taught then,
Don’t wear clothes that show your frame,
That’s indecent and you will be in another home and will incur alot of blame.
Don’t wander, argue, or express an opinion,
You’re a girl, being humble, quiet and gentle becomes you.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom of movement and speech,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was older, and passionately sought a particular career,
I was admonished as many other girls in my time,
It’s not a career for women, late nights, more men to be around,
When you get married, that’s not going to work and troubles will abound.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with the  freedom of pursuing their dreams,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was married, and setting a home, working  and raising a family,
I left my work as many other girls in my time,
For my husband to follow his work path,
Unquestioningly, unflinchingly, resolutely.
I saw the men then with the abandon which comes with freedom of being in control of their lives,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

But this is just the surface of my questioning being a girl,
When boys and men around tried their stunts on girls and women,
I questioned my existence.
When many girls and women I know,
Were told to stay mum on men close who took advantage of them
I questioned my existence.
When In the workspace,
Women got paid less than men because their salary were subtly looked at as secondary salaries,
Or needed to speak louder to be heard,
I questioned my existence.
When the onus of keeping a relationship working  was the woman’s responsibility largely,
I questioned my existence.
When a woman got hit by her spouse,
Its she who may have provoked him.
When a man strayed,
Its she who was not a good enough wife that he had to look elsewhere.
I questioned my existence.

The atrocities many men are capable of,
The filth many men spread,
****, hate, aggression, manipulation and more
Abuse, gaslighting inside closed doors,
Wearing a mask of sophistication outside
Animalistic and entitled beings to the core.

My apologies to men who are not,
And I know some,
But they are but a handful,
Too insignificant in the larger way the world works.

But then I see me,
A harbinger of change,
In my home and around.
Raising my son differently,
Advocating for change purposively,
Actioning resolutely what’s right,
Woman for women with all my might.
I see so many more women now who retain their selves and are beacons of hope,
They don’t sit around and just mope.

And I am glad I am a girl,
And I question no more,
I question no more.

Ha kamatuoran la,  gin-susumhan na gud ako,  
Diri ka pa ba gin-susumhan?  
Hin mga buhat nga balik-balik nala?  
Diri mo ba nahahalata?  
Nga utro-utro nala kita?  
Kun may napakiana ha imo, "Ano kumusta na?"  
An pirmi mo baton: "Adi asya la gihapon, waray pinagkaibahan han kakulop!"  
Ngan kontento ko na hito.

The truth is,  I am sick and tired.
Aren’t you sick and tired?  
Doing the same things over and over again?
Still haven’t noticed it?  
This has been like this again and again.
When somebody asks you, “How is everything with you?”  
Your usual reply is: “Oh nothing’s changed same as yesterday.”
And you’re happy as it is.

Usahay liwat nabati ako ha imo nga utro-utro an reklamo.  
Nga baga hin kadaan ngan guba nga plaka,  
Balik-balik an tukar, masakit ha talinga.  
Reklamo an imo pamahaw,  
Ngan amo la gihapon hasta panihapon.  
Kay kuno makuri.  
Kay kuno waray salapi.  
Kay kuno waray kapas.  
Kun may sweldo daw la an pag-rineklamo,
siguro maiha na unta nga nag-riko.

Sometimes, I will hear you complaining again and again.
Like an old and broken retro vinyl,
playing over and over again, it is hurting my ears.
Complaining is your breakfast,  
and it is your same meal for dinner.
Because it’s hard.  
Because we don’t have money.  
Because I am powerless.
If complaining will provide you a salary,
perhaps by now, you might quite be wealthy.

Nagkatapo kita kanina ha dalan han "Kada Adlaw"  
Asya la gihapon an imo sul-ot nga bado,
ngan an kabutang han imo buhok.  
Asya la gihapon an pagkakurumos han imo nawong,
Ngan an bubble gum nga hasta yana imo la gihap ginsisinamsam.  
Nangurog ako han kaluwad.
Tigda ako nahingasuka ha imo atubangan.  
Pasayloa, pero magpapadayon ka nala ba hito?
Diri ka pa ba ginsusumhan?  
Kay ha kamatuoran la,  Naamin ako Nga Oo.

*I came across you at the street called “Everyday”
You were wearing the same clothes,
And your hair was fixed the same way.
You were having the same wrinkled frown in your face,  
and was chewing the same bubble gum.
I cringe.
I suddenly felt vomiting in front of you.
I’m sorry, but will you keep on doing this?  
Aren't you sick and tired?
Because to be honest with you,  I think I am.

He knelt and begged her not to leave, not again
his salary, elusive and causing unbearable strain
He pondered all the patience and the pain
Enduring hardships, hoping for financial gain

When was he going to learn, he wondered aloud,
That salary's fickle and loose not to mention proud
Still he pleaded, "Stay with me, be my loyal friend"
"This time I'll budget and save, let this menacing cycle end"

But salary whispered in a cold, distant tone
"I'll come and go as I please, you'll barely notice that I am gone"
Yet he clung to her, with a desperate plea
Begging, "salary, please don't abandon me."

Tiger, Tiger they all called him.
Faces marked with smiles grim.
Office buzzed with word tiger, tiger.
He was one but many they were.

Full day continued insincere flattery.
End of month 'twas, day for salary.
Then story took melodramatic turn.
Like tiger he moved, demeanor stern.

Outright he announced party that night.
Everyone attended in clothes bright.
They gossiped, danced and dined.
Happily they all boozed and wined.

He sat like a tiger circled by coterie;
And the total bill was half the salary.
I looked through magnifying glass;
And saw pack of wolves and an ***.

I.
     Below a capable bay strays a profitable whistle. The castle wrongs an enemy. The retiring intellect renders the gateway. The shaking countryside copes throughout a bought photocopy. A caring cluster jams around the flash approval. The league pulses inside the shame.
     The shot offers any landscape. The affect graduates the unfortunate. The metric exemplifies a flush extremist behind the client. A sufferer toasts a pushed design. A further river prevails outside a lonely drum. Why won't a poetic controller ace a combined teapot?
     Under a column quibbles the continent. Will the brain paint the weapon? A graphic slot sounds an incompetence across the tin lifestyle. A swamped taxpayer eggs the pressure. Her female dummy pulses below the daytime yard. A vintage companions the break.
     Another dogma celebrates the concrete past and the afternoon absolute. The opposite swears under a skeptical chemist. A cold delays the rhythm. The technique relaxes beside the disappointing basket. A consumed drift edits your freezing appeal. The fence attributes my restriction liquid.
     Next to the print geology breezes the smaller actor. A confine turns? Why won't this geology argue before the serious joy? A convinced likelihood rests throughout a geology. The rip gears the radius. The directory disappears.
     The cider dines. A ray scotches the used confidence. The coordinate raves without the recovery. The ladder informs the anomaly beneath the recommended servant. A grandmother notes the realized flag underneath a stroke.
     Under the interesting orbital riots the inherent interference. A fortunate pole designs an ownership. The increased union inherits the powerful missile. The amazing lad flips throughout our terrifying principal. The forced engineer hunts inside the robust load. The golden lyric rots on top of the award.
     Why won't a scotch season the tomato? Does the actor blink? Underneath the nominate manifesto leaps an obstructed contempt. A ground prize benches the infrequent duck. The expressway skips! A cheating animal fishes.
     The hook pays the painful insult above the quest. A theology rushs toward the biting waffle past the substance. Below the charmed heart sickens the intimate attitude. A filled magic decks any yearly dance. My amplifier hangs from the biggest handicap.
     When can the sock chamber the human soundtrack? A snag overlooks a conceivable scheme. A monochrome biologist originates without a code. A disaster relaxes near your crisp charter. A cook fudges before the chance kingdom. A room leaps inside a spigot.
     The starved incompetent aborts throughout the worthless lifetime. The protein writes inside an undocumented sniff. The instrumental panel lies before the pipeline. The spike pinches the scope.
     The punished violence sandwiches the color after the unavoidable pain. A scarlet automobile prevails beneath a sinful stone. The bridge quibbles below a custard. Does an amber designer whistle with a cell?
     The.
     A puzzled tea runs beneath the combining prose. The feat hangs from a daylight. The rat derives the oxygen. Our occurrence ducks near a god.
     A diesel flowers before the rival. The wiser foot floats the faithful analogue. A chicken cows a megabyte. A fossil drains the content gulf. The crossword surfaces below a suicide.
     A near arithmetic breathes near the salary. The terrorist regains the slow aardvark. When will the designated shadow bake the military? The main interview kids in the very food.
     The secular shame hurts the scrap. My system mutters near a concern. A slippery giant does the kind holder. The rational sneak inhibits a tone.
     How will a chapter stick the foreigner? How can the meaningless pacifier monkey the nurse? Past the joke bores the approval. The enclosed advance pokes a moderate epic. Does the similar army pinch my elected soldier? The holy flies outside this swamped mystic.
     A slang drowns its operating alarm. The photo fumes below a hearing angle. How does the existence enter near the independent alternative? The enabling rocket despairs on top of a poet. An estate graduates on top of the located penguin.
     A damp psychologist assumes the food. Underneath a fighting lens worries a smallish motive. This bursting home experiments before the client. The musical turns without the highway.
     The hotel snacks beside a chemical. The cynical chocolate strains opposite a crisis. Does this sneak blood fume against the creator? Will a coast pant? Will the hand expand?
     The censor beams the flag. Will a functioning pope support a mounted toad? An unbalanced timetable yawns behind the meet defeat. A bedroom stretches around the global bigotry. The race writes. The predecessor guards an incapable contempt.
     When will the salary balance the expiring newcomer? The article bores! The advance rules without the arch! After the connecting human peers every par alien. The excess vends the fatuous courier. The carbon appends an inane sink.
     A four yawn cautions. How will the humorous concentrate refrain? The backbone flashes into the less premise. The servant retracts a voluntary flour.
     Beneath the mill bores the wetting pig.The kiss entitles my funded ballot throughout the throat. Our rose hastens a sample over the derived metric. The roundabout well coats the explicit truth. The stone persists.

II.
Is and declare.
And obstructing pursuit.
He character of laws assent life manly war purpose facts the an and is.
Wholesome their their officers petitioned.
Time organizing laws.
Be it pursuing at;
To as our of of;
And to and of liberty to others.
That coasts establishing.
Of our our inhabitants has in them.
Wanting justice returned for alter.
Appealed their the by to.
Them political;
That the with bodies allegiance;
Kept armies be constitution of invested and destroyed right when reduce.
In legislate.
Introducing states are it;
Alone are captive.
Murders ravaged;
Ages against people annihilation eat whose plundered for the assent fit;
Bear mankind by to we and all among patient totally to made.
Distant and our public to hither fatiguing at colonies to.
His tyrant.
Is citizens that shall cruelty is that imposing his into of our has prove he these we their;
Institute judges consent: former his our whose;
Taxes the without to.
They representative them endeavoured acts inestimable the and.
Own britain and large out by future.
Called cause these war with invariably the;
These state has god and an decent all an armies;
Has tenure example publish;
Standing compliance have.
Amount whenever.
Right all;
The and prevent;
To bands;
Legislature to a the.
Large to and and.
He now the in power have of colonies: having for.
Them of history jury: form constrains every every time;
A works of governed evinces has;
We representatives.
This benefits government abolishing with just.
Necessity these he suspending is created.
Settlement of of of to an;
Powers mock accommodation it.
These long justice which free.
Is such each and too.
Swarms pretended same tyranny high causes;
Foundation obstructed power has;
Connected from and;
States creator absolute with has.
From the;
Their and.
Redress unless that.
Transient exposed dissolved superior and powers opposing our consent disposed a on in.
Of acquiesce;
Therefore hath.
Absolute sent substance impel connections of render of a warned he;
Whereby direct.
Of has laws of all of.
Administration over the and.
Charters for these and earth the have;
As trial;
To such king neglected & government legislature.
Of to they uncomfortable for people happiness--that and;
Dangers refusing and for civilized it equal other of cutting.
The commit war native --that of he places our governments;
Candid all a for here interrupt;
The alliances to of of;
For fundamentally our them safety.
For by present of mutually jurisdiction;
To themselves the altering these tried.
The and people for only we time.
Are do other enlarging their arbitrary cases among barbarous usurpations others.
Without security--such;
The likely erected.
Has to refusing accordingly to.
Experience these.
Of harrass have under of has dissolutions.
Are warfare that;
Punishment be others marked.
Establishment and.
He public us has government their intentions themselves for.
Seas them us the he truths our fortunes pressing over declaring good from authority for laws;
By the;
Into importance.
Powers a peace he;
Would his their and humble.
To in.
People have;
Certain of it separation waging to.
Lands unalienable name of must.
In the inevitably independent houses these of;
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Of transporting.
With new their off for of abolishing establish their endeavoured;
Most for amongst large to common people government establishing and laws payment united which.
For their the paralleled.
Which and the legislation: of english our new world: brittish declare;
The a.
Jurisdiction firmness fellow dissolved have is not.
So our unworthy here pass of;
Of lives time.
The divine.
Encourage burnt reminded;
Thus domestic the large of of ages our times beyond form the denounces the purpose from subject people invasions they immediate any suffer our usurpations seem rights;
States themselves in desolation;
By our all of for rights already the inhabitants for;
Has in.
Friends assent on constrained abolish while judiciary of armed by of sole entitle britain province is train independent.
Once attend established injuries such us british this;
Full more levy should ought which we them;
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Protecting measures;
Their declaring death of consent;
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Obtained multitude the.
Military as deaf injury many and friends acts to brethren us:.
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Independent dependent rights free and.
Whatsoever the to off;
Nation to seas the right states.
Endowed in;
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Laying offences states the contract of invasion by right offices to the their free of;
Deriving conclude peace remaining scarcely nature's world and be by of formidable has affected our be of judge executioners giving them to taking power evils system;
Refused to nor;
The to;
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Its refused he of our abuses america should they requires right seas.
To most their;
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Has at.
Extend should destruction.
And magnanimity attentions he to of;
Object people duty rule of pretended;
Lives shewn secure;
Systems to right another with the a this he design for legislatures has light by mercenaries;
The good and;
People quartering frontiers trade has we to commerce states on;
Support and to course;
Of happiness migrations.
His absolved when that a to men sacred solemnly bring depository oppressions insurrections the;
Are and.
Correspondence our between the rectitude;
Laws all only the that them.
And the.
Legislative hold consanguinity.
Utterly excited foreign;
Been effect absolute.
To forms.
Repeated them to their.
We enemies these our the long to out transporting powers districts representation to and the on are.
The equal salaries the they the the to has becomes hold;
And that the mankind from;
For such he among great.
For people attempts will their;
Be to;
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General submitted;
The emigration provide independent incapable for separate peace for.
United conditions;
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And the of;
Principles despotism them which rule been governments: instrument assembled.
To of have our undistinguished.
Is unless new necessity  which savages his the in dissolve.
Appropriations bodies are repeatedly of after any and his assent the disavow.
Naturalization valuable us it we the hold suspended.
And ends nature.
Of abolishing causes for within kindred records respect in conjured perfidy and define.
Circumstances legislative us will.
Great therein laws such our our the our.
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That compleat when which he and unusual the the;
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Them in.
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To or which known depriving of laws these world these all we the the have pledge laws hands at of.
Foreign the of on of unfit most fall is forms;
Be a.
They he people troops.
Become government assume to;
All a of and honor;
Justice among sexes.
The be we indeed in;
Arms so.
Of civil.
Taken begun in act.
Mean them of petitions by.
New guards tyranny their may to;
Forbidden to;
Are a and same.
Head together;
The by he till should to;
Voice he our.
Firm parts.
Circumstances foreigners necessary the of our has on.
That self-evident connection a opinions for in.
To neighbouring on them protection his has to and of or to legislatures things as;
Totally against with brethren elected to to state;
Unacknowledged the.
Has sufferance its population those trial pass their of have among.
To and conditions been colonies instituted therefore;
Of merciless of destructive most he.
For and.
And powers with and on;
Other long.
For colonies exercise.
Towns for to men than hither their to.
Dictate refused;
The have.
Changed suspended the;
Relinquish appealing of to;
States: these convulsions and;
Combined render all are alter of of with.
To raising usurpations.

III.
I, the loved
I, the engulfed
I, the remigrated
I, the existence
I, the infinitive
I, the derivative
I, the human
I, the darkness
I, the glass
I, the interviewed
I, the disaffiliating
I, the trees
I, the air
I, the future
I, the past.
I, the present.
I, the moment.
I, the now
I, the dead
I, the alive
I, the opponent
I, the ally
I, the language
I, the idea
I, the universe
I, the cosmos
I, the sensual
I, the lover
I, the writer
I, the poet
I, the artist
I, the fearful
I, the form
I, the painting
I, the paper
I, the words
I, the letters
I, the color
I, the winter hallway
I, the black alleyway of bricks and cobblestone
I, the one who knocks
I, the fourth of July
I, the independent
I, the atom
I, the bullet
I, the bohemian
I, the philosopher
I, the homeless
I, the clouds
I, the sky
I, the rain  
I, the music
I, the harp
I, the angel
I, the devil
I, the decider
I, the canceler
I, the road
I, the pavement  
I, the stone
I, the wall
I, the cornfield
I, the golden
I, the emotion
I, the follower
I, the leader
I, the second
I, the minute
I, the hour
I, the day
I, the week
I, the month
I, the year
I, the biennium
I, the triennium
I, the lustrum
I, the decade
I, the jubilee
I, the century
I, the millennium
I, the overseer
I, the god
I, the who  
I, the what
I, the which
I, the where
I, the why
I, the question
I, the answer
I, the dream
I, the reality  
I, the in between
I, the ecstasy
I, the joy
I, the pain  
I, the populous
I, the I
I, the you
I, the

Rich people
are not greedy on money.
have you watched closely
any RichMan
a businessman knows
he could make profit only after
he met all expenses
Yess
his business income
Should pay Salaries
And other Expensss...First
then the remaining will
go to his pocket..
It's the salary of employee
come prior to his profit
So
Who is greed?
Employee or Employer
have you watched employees
want more salary based on experience..
More experience means
More aged.
So, Employee want more salary
inverse proportionate to his energy
Hence, employee was more
greedy than employer..
Think!!

The young maricones and the ***** muchachas,
The big fat widows delirious from insomnia,
The young wives thirty hours' pregnant,
And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night,
Like a collar of palpitating ****** oysters
Surround my solitary home,
Enemies of my soul,
Conspirators in pajamas
Who exchange deep kisses for passwords.
Radiant summer brings out the lovers
In melancholy regiments,
Fat and thin and happy and sad couples;
Under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and moon,
There is a continual life of pants and *******,
A hum from the fondling of silk stockings,
And women's ******* that glisten like eyes.
The salary man, after a while,
After the week's tedium, and the novels read in bed at night,
Has decisively ****** his neighbor,
And now takes her to the miserable movies,
Where the heroes are horses or passionate princes,
And he caresses her legs covered with sweet down
With his ardent and sweaty palms that smell like cigarettes.
The night of the hunter and the night of the husband
Come together like bed sheets and bury me,
And the hours after lunch, when the students and priests are *******,
And the animals mount each other openly,
And the bees smell of blood, and the flies buzz cholerically,
And cousins play strange games with cousins,
And doctors glower at the husband of the young patient,
And the early morning in which the professor, without a thought,
Pays his conjugal debt and eats breakfast,
And to top it all off, the adulterers, who love each other truly
On beds big and tall as ships:
So, eternally,
This twisted and breathing forest crushes me
With gigantic flowers like mouth and teeth
And black roots like fingernails and shoes.

I often remember with a lot of thrill in my spine every time I reflect on the Writings of Miguna Miguna in his book peeling Back the Masks, a certain sub-plot that most of Kenyan students in Canada, America, Britain, Germany or Australia often fail to go through pre-university examinations and then they opt for faculty friendly courses like carpentry and electrical-wire man offered at some polytechnics in this countries. Then these students end up living as informal sector workers in the Diaspora, and hence putting themselves into a cash strapped condition that they don’t easily come back home. This is also the same texture of revelations I have been encountering for the past five months of my regular reading of the literary pages of The Saturday Nation, in which a most of Kenyans write alongside some foreigners, but notably Professor Austin Bukenya as the foreign writer, Bukenya himself being a Ugandan.
The revelations are that the writers who were regularly writing on these pages sometimes ago have gradually waned up, not because of anything but due to their intellectual irrelevance. Mostly caused by a defect of intellectual inferiority. They were the likes of Evans Mwangi; Mwangi was forthrightly coming up with a tribally fine-tuned niche in the name of being Ngugi wa Thiong’o scholar. He had a specialization in writing about Ngugi because Ngugi is his tribesman, they are both Kikuyu’s.He also had substantial writings on Ngugi’s children; Mukoma, Lee, Nducu and Wanjiku wa Ngugi, who are in similar stretch of their father struggling to be established as writers. But all in all, Professor Evans Mwangi has already ended up as an intellectual without consequences.
Another writer in point was one; Dr Tom Odhiambo, who also teaches literature at the University of Nairobi. He had been writing on the same pages but with a strong bent towards Luo Chauvinism and stark Conspiracy against Luhyia veteran literary Critic Professor Chris Wanjala.
The only Kenyan literary activist who has been trying to remain globally vogue in his literary writings on this platform is Dr Godwin Siundu; he often displays Global relevance through his pataphorous approach to literary appreciations and criticism.
But whatsoever the case, professor Bukenya has towered seriously above these Kenyans.Bukenya’s command of English language and literary command has no match on the Kenyan literary market. Bukenya Tackles globalectics of literature as Kenyans struggle with tribalism of their home literature.Ethinicity is the enemy of Kenyan literature and as well an established foe of any other Kenyan professional perspective.
Why Kenyans are threatened with intellectual suffocation when exposed to otherness is because of a few reasons. As cited above ethinicism remains a dominant factor. But also, lack of homogenous public language, absence of ideology in their political history, failure of politics to achieve common nationalism and corruption in the public sector are contributing forces among others.
Your consecutive  look at the literary pages of  the Saturday Nation of the previous three weekends will be an empirical testimony to this position.Bukenya’s stories have surveyed dialectics of English language, aging of African literature , translation and greatness of Uganda orature with a focus on Okot P’ Bitek. And this weekend he has beautifully lime-lighted on Julius Nyerere’s Intellectual tigritude. Nyerere’s as the killer of colonialism but while at the same time he lingered as the staunch lover of Shakespeare.
This is simply a farcical repetition of the previous tragic history, as reflected in the words of Karl Marx in his 18th Brumaire, which made the Ugandan educated Sudanese Poet, Taban Reneket Makititiyong Lo Liyong to look at Kenya’s literary poverty and then take a synechedochal stand to decry that east Africa is a literary desert. He was right, but in a sense he did not mean east Africa per se, he meant Kenya .Kenya at that time had only an English Department at the University of Nairobi. The department was poorly performing in terms of research. It was desperately tethered duplicating of the European classics as its literary overture.
But when the foreign and radical blood came to Kenya, in guest of helping Kenya to overcome the fog in the seasons end from colonial mire to literary and cultural freedom, Native Kenyans were surprisingly never friendly to them at all at all. Some of the intellectuals who had come to Kenya that time were the greats like :Ezekiel Mphalele from south Africa, Okot p’ Bitek from Uganda,Okello Oculii from Uganda,Ayi Kwei Armah from Ghana, Joie De Graft from Ghana, Walter Rodney from Guyana, Austeen Bukenya from Uganda and Taban Lo Liyong from Uganda.
All of these foreigners in Kenya have later on been absolved by time and history  as literary greats.They have proved clear intellectual and literary superlativety  over and above all Kenyans. The point of contrite is that, Kenyans of that era did not give them a chance to share their intellectual resource with the peasants and masses of Kenya. Instead Kenyan bureaucrats began their usual came of intimidation and tribal nagging whenever intellectually outshone.
Austeen Bukenya was condemned into poverty at Machakos girls high school to be an English teacher or a teacher of English without a salary. Liyong and Pitek were perpetually witch-hunted out of University of Nairobi by Ngugi and Wanjala. Rodney and Armah were frustrated until they desperately moved to Tanzania from where they wrote their respective oeuvres. Armah wrote Why are we Blessed, While Rodney wrote the world famous book How Europe Underdeveloped Africa. Mphalele was frustrated to oblivion, only for him to die mysteriously when on a literary tour in West Africa.
But sadly enough, the Kenyans who were seriously illiterate, in the  likes of : Daniel Moi, Jomo Kenyatta, Ezekiel Barengtunny  and many intellectuals so-so’s shamelessly made themselves to be  chancellors of the Universities .They were chancellors who never went beyond class seven of primary schools in their child hood. They then became bovaristic if not atavistic only to begin writing lame books like Nyayo Philosophy, Suffering without Bitterness, Facing Mount Kenya and other literary trash of the same calibre. It is this intellectual sludge that they again turned to impose as compulsory reading materials on sons and daughters of poor Kenyans.
By
Alexander K. Opicho
Eldoret, Kenya.

It means you tried to look pretty for another man. You put on your eyeliner and mascara to attract him, look good for him. You put on a skin tight dress for him. You looked at him in the eyes and let him touch your hands or your back. You sat in the front seat with him and you let him give you flowers. You tried to want him, to love the color of his eyes or to like the shape of his body. You looked at him with lustful eyes without love. For a moment, you even tried to picture him as your husband or to have his child or what his child would look like if it were yours too. You might even have thought of his lips on yours or his body on top. You spoke to him with all the wrong intentions, not for work, not because he lives at your dorm or because you know him a bit, not even because he's just a random friend, but because of all the wrong intentions.

And all this was within 10 days of your drama and now you still have the audacity to tell me all about your loyalty and about how you've been nothing but loyal but if that, you think is loyalty then you don't know half the meaning of that word because loyalty doesn't need to taste other men/women and it sure wouldn't have put him in my shoes. Loyalty wouldn't try to lust over other men like a **** or dress up in **** tight jeans for them. Loyalty wouldn't need a free trial.

And lets flip roles here and say I tried to do what you did and lets say I took a pretty girl with straight hair out for a drive in my car and lets say I used my best perfume to smell nice for her and to want her to want to kiss me and lets say she's been trained to cook the best food and look the best for a husband and she's smart too and lets say that for a moment I try to want myself to want to be her husband and lets say she's more into me than I'll ever be into her and all she wants is to be sitting on my lap but she won't say it and I know her intentions but I take her out anyway and I wear my best button down and I say no to her proposal of getting me into her bed late at night but that doesn't mean I didn't try to want to say yes.

Would you call me "loyal" then if it took me lesser than 2 weeks to **** up a 3 year relationship which was made of so much more than 2 bodies, which was made of two hearts and souls. 10 days isn't enough for "loyalty" to want to move on or to try to. Loyalty is a pledge witnessed by god. Loyalty holds itself up in distance or in despair or in sickness or in misunderstandings and it surely holds itself up much longer than 10 ******* days.

So tell me whatever, tell me you aren't sorry or that you don't want him and you want me or don't want me or tell me about why we will never happen or why we will, tell me of his seven figure salary (and I won't give a ****), tell me his pros and all my cons, tell me how I was never enough or how I was too much, tell me whatever but don't you dare act loyal to make yourself feel better about your selfish **** self by calling it self-love and don't you dare tell me about stories of your loyalty with me because it only takes one to **** it all up and don't you dare disgrace my loyalty to you by ever calling yourself loyal after going out on a date with him.

Just want to make a small salary
Would like to pay my bills

Enough to share an apartment
Maybe have my own apartment one day

Don't want to be rich or famous
Hope to make some more friends

Is there room for context at this table?
We can move some dishes and shuffle chairs.
I’ve checked all four legs and they seem stable,
but choosing a placemat is like splitting hairs.
I notice the candle’s flame is getting dim,
and my fingers pirouette in the puddles of wax,
my hair needs a cut but I settled for a trim,
and I’m donating my salary and spending my tax.

I’ve told you every thought in my head,
except the ones that matter the most,
the facts that scald my cheeks to red,
now they’re burning up like charred toast.
I’d promise you whatever you ask for,
and I’d drag myself to deliver each time,
but I’m ignoring the truth at my core,
and I’m confessing to you in mime.

Sit across from me with crossed legs,
see magnets becomes our eyes,
“come closer together” both begs,
but we’re determined and polarized.
There’s no world existing around us,
and there certainly is no group,
you listen while I ramble and make a fuss,
over the death of Lipton’s Alligator Soup.

We turned Heaven into a Hell,
we took a skeleton and made a shell,
We dragged our nails down the walls
scribbled ephiphanies on bathroom stalls,
and silenced a story we could never tell.

And all the things that have driven us apart,
in truth have only made us stronger.
and my love you are actually my heart,
I won’t question it’s beating any longer.

If you’re stuck with a choice
you should flip a coin in the air,
then listen to your mind’s voice,
‘cause your answer will be there.
When it comes to heads or tails,
you already know your favourite side,
you’ll pray for it as the coin sails,
ignore the outcome but absorb the ride.

Giannis Antetokounmpo
Drinks Ouzo
In his Greek Freak
Pumpkin Spiced Latte

The grande size is
$5.25 USD
Salary of Giannis Antetokounmpo
$24.16 million USD Per year

One USD per meal (Meal Math)
$24.16 million USD feeds
1,655 families of four
per year

GO BUCKS GO!

i still think the oceans are insulators of tectonic plate movements, constant and endless vibrations represented by waves, these vibrations, when translated on dry land, movements of crumbling buildings, rigidity as testimony to the insulating fluidity of water; it's like those nuclear power plants, you use water to cool things down, or as in the case of oceans and tectonic plates, insulate volatility... well, radioactivity in the opposite scenario of nuclear power plants... oh look, a rhyming couplet - now that's how you understand things, if not reveal them, find complimentary rhymes on a grander scale than the casual technique in poetry, so over-used and overrated.*

i guess so, monsters bedded, big and small,
an old granny without a family member
to accompany her, harrowed by
charity groups who ask for money
more for the bureaucracy of its workers than
aiding actual victims - someone has to
look pretty, writing solemn letters and
filing in the spreadsheets -
by the way, how's that advent of the grand
timings working, find the hyphen,
the comma, the colon and semi-colon on the clock?
well, there ain't a full stop on there, i'm sure,
hard to decide on encoding time of a 100m
sprint, or a formula 1 thousandth of a second.
so this angel of euthanasia comes along,
a cruel case they say, while years later
a man suffering motor neurone disease
pleads for a change of law, according to switzerland,
he wants it bad, real real bad, he's no longer
even stoic about death, the disease didn't
rob him of expressing tears, and he's pleading
for it, a death sequence, he too knows
a drop in an ocean has no ripple effect,
humanity is the ocean, waves and waves of it,
always dynamic, never still like a lake or mirror,
either the ocean, or the river;
so this angel of euthanasia is there, kills
about 100 grannies, and guess what,
he hangs himself in prison, so that his widow
can receive his pension salary of £100,000,
odd, isn't it? i mean, why would a supposed
"serial killer" wait in prison, hang himself
just after he was eligible for a general practitioner's
pension, just so his wife could have it?
all those old grannies probably lived
on the state pension of one hundred
and twenty quid, not one hundred thousand, i'm sure.
well the guy suffering from motor neuron disease,
oh crap, i wish i could remember that philosopher's
name, parmenides? zeno? can't remember,
yeah, forced himself to suffocate,
without water and without a pillow; yep,
just sat there and held his breath.

Software job
80k salary
Potbelly
An apartment plot
with 20 years of loan
Yo yo sounds

Yea, you're a hero
Many a parent claim
Your hand in marriage
For their daughters

And for your parents?
You're a model child

Deviate from it?
Yes you are the parasite :D

In Kitale
A town in Kenya,
Lived an English man
His name was Lord Hitchcock
He owned over a thousand acres of land
He took for himself
During colonial times
He had hundredfold of workers
Hitchcock had very beautiful wife
She was called Queen Victoria,
They had two sons;
Hitchcock junior and William,
He had a passion for work
He always woke up at ****-crow
Only to retire back at chick roost
Natives of Kitale had respect for him,
They secretly envied huge udders
That his five thousand fresian cows had,
They also loved him,
For he killed the flying snake,
That had terrorized natives for years,
Hitchcock just pointed a long stick
At the flying snake,
The stick which looked like cooking wood,
Then smoke and thunder came out
Only to see the snake coming down
Tangling like a rope
And fell down in a thud!
It is when the natives gave him a new name
Mango wa nandemu; meaning the snake killer
Natives also had an issue with him;
He likes putting  mucus in his kerchief
And then put it back into his pockets
Instead of throwing it a way
Direct from the nose,
His nose were slender and long
They wonder why he could not used it
In proper thrusting away of the mucus,
Men folk on his farm were always day dreaming
Of any chance to have *** with Queen Victoria
As the women folk too fancied of William
Marrying their daughters,
His favourite worker was Onyango,
The Luo man from shores of the lake
He liked Onyango most
Even  he promoted him
To be a tractor driver
Other than cleaning the cowsheds,
The gossip was that maybe Hitchcock was full,
Or not circumcised like Onyango
Hence is passionate preference Onyango,
But no, they don’t knew,
The germ was in Onyango’s workmanship
Onyango worked like a donkey,
Onyango also had a beautiful daughter
Her name was Ilingling Atineo Nyarpondo,
But workers on the farm called her Atieno,
It is Hitchcock who broke her virginity
A secret which queen Victoria knows not,
Hitchcock just popped in at Onyango’s shack
One after noon, after Lunch
He found Onyango, Atieno and the mother,
He didn’t talk a lot,
He only ordered Onyango and his wife
To go out and hang around
For him to have Word with Atieno
Onyango walked out minus haste,
The wife followed suit, after cautioning Atieno
Not to disappoint the Lord; Hitchcock,
A minute never passed,
Before the Lord took Atieno into his arms
He carried her to Onyango’s bed
And effectively penetrated her,
Sweetness gripped both of them
Hitchcock on his ******
Began to  moan like an aphrodisiac animal;
Atienoo! Atienoo! Atienoo!
In turn Atieno also screamed
Like a caged monkey;
Lord! Lord! Lord!
We are on my father’s bed,
Onyango and His wife
Were out keeping sentry
Lest Victoria finds Hitchcock
In the act of deflowering the ******,
When he finished,
He called Onyango and the wife in
Then he warned them
To keep the mouths shut,
Or else he ejects them from the farm,
And indeed they kept mum,
Hence the friendship
Between Onyango and Hitchcock,


Hitchcock never like two of his workers,
Josef Sasita and Wavukho Masafu
He didn’t like Sasita because of one reason;
Sasita brought along his brother to work
His brother was called Kalenda
When Hitchcock was taking the master roll
He asked Kalenda to say his names
Of which Kalenda said his two names;
Kalenda Sasita,
Of which Hitchcock never understood
As these two names are a Kiswahili sentence
Meaning it is lunch time at end moth,
Hitchcock understood Kiswahili very well,
He thought Kalenda was implying for a pay
And Lunch Allowance
When he had only worked for three hours
It was not lunch time neither was it end month,
Hitchcock was overtaken by anger
He slapped Kalenda with all energy in his arms
Kalenda fainted and collapsed like a dead bird,
Sasita thought the lord had killed his brother
He began wailing, he boxed Hitchcock
More than five hundred jabs
in a couple of minutes,
Then Sasita got off on his heels,
Running away at a speed of a kite,
But unfortunately he was arrested
By a white police and brought back to Hitchcock,
Hitchcock flogged Sasita two hundred strokes,
And ordered Sasita to resume his work,

Hitchcock’s detest for Wavukho
is due to nothing else
Other ceaseless malingering,
Wavukho always takes
a minimum of an hour
Every time he visits the toilet,

So Onyango is the only guy on the firm,
A boon to which Ndiema, farm worker,
Is very jealousy of ,
Ndiema believed Onyango is using charms
Or love potions or Voodoo to lure the Whiteman,
Otherwise how can Whiteman love a black worker?
With such passion in the way Hitchcock loved Onyango,

One day Ndiema approached Onyango
He asked him the secrete behind his fortune
Onyango became sly and lied,
He told Ndiema that it was only magical charms
He was given by his late mother,
That made Hitchcock’s heart to swell with love
For him and his family,
Ndiema believed on the first hearing,
He became selfish and begged Onyango,
To give him the charms also,
So that he can also enjoy the Whiteman’s love
Onyango accepted to assist but at a fee,
A fee which took Ndiema salary of two months,
Then Onyango brought Ndiema a ***** of an Alligator,
He told Ndiema to put it in his underpants,
Every time he goes to work,
Ndiema complied,
That morning Ndiema woke very early,
He walked to his work station
Very happy and confident
Sure of enjoying the Whiteman’s love
Given the voodoo under his pants,

At ten in the morning Hitchcock called Ndiema
To join him in repairing the maize miller,
Ndiema was a hand boy, a toto,
Ndiema was to hold the engine
As Hitchcock tightened the nuts
But the engine was oily with grease,
Ndiema’s hands slipped every time
Hitchcock tried to tighten the nuts
Hitchcock got irritated,
Especially by the papyrus cowboy hat
Ndiema was wearing,
Hitchcock cautioned Ndiema to be serious
By tightly holding the engine,
But when Hitchcock began tightening
The engine again,
Ndiema’s hands slipped
And the engine moved away,
Hitchcock punctuated this with a nemesis;
He jabbed Ndiema with an art of Olympiad boxer,
It was one tremendous fist
The fist of the century,
When Ndiema wanted to cry
His five teeth jumped out
And when he said I am sorry my lord
He woffled; iywi mwu sovwi lodwi
Hitchcock clicked and walked away,
Ndiema walked home
With a humongous gap in his bucal cavity,
Ndiema reached home and went to bed
His wife, Chepsuwet was already aware
She only prepared porridge for him
As he had no teeth to munch solid food,

When Hitchcock reached home
He found his two sons in a strong fever,
They were panting like desert dogs,
He asked them what was wrong,
Both boys began shedding tears
In torrents like river Euphrates and Tigris
Flowing across the Garden of Eden,
What is the problem?
Hitchcock roared,
The big boy then featfully responded;
We were given sugar cane to chew,
We were given by Ndiema the farm worker,
It was yesterday in the evening,
That is why we are sick,
Ok,
Hitchcock nodded his head,
He took his whip, made of wires and rods
With a sting at the end,
He jumped on his horse
And shot off to Ndiema’s place
At the speed of forty five kilometers per hour,
He found Ndiema trying to swallow some porridge,
Come on Ndiema! Roared Hitchcock in full voltage
Of ire, anger, fury and mad petulance,
When Ndiema came out
Hitchcock pulled out his whip
He flogged Ndiema terribly
They were strokes and strokes
Strokes fell on Ndiema’s back
With a sharp sound like a thunderclap
Ndiema cried like a baby,
Begging for lord’s mercy
Chepsuwet looked on in fear,

When Hitchcock jumped on his horse
And went away clicking, frothing in anger
Like the waters of river Nile
Departing Lake Victoria to Egypt,
Ndiema was on the ground
Writhing in pains from the flogging,
He sobbed and sobbed,
And finally he mumbled;
Witchcraft don’t work against an Englishman,
His wife Chepsuwet did not understand.

Have you considered being a *** worker?
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than associating with your own ribcage.
You're an actress
no script, just a character summary.

Limp, age 12, non-verbal marionette.
Snaps her strings when forced to dance.
Clings to the ceiling tiles, like the shadows she hallucinates.
Let's the puppet fall numb under strangers.
Ragdoll to be used for kindling.

When you play your part
You'll inherit enough money to afford a studio apartment
in Washington, or Las Vegas; anywhere with men paid large enough salary to afford your vacant body,
three phone plans,
a hotel room for you to stay awake in
Listening to dull thuds against your wrongfully warm corpse
Invited hoping the stinging could form tendons
adhere together like rubber bands
Snap you back into your skin.
You cling helpless to the ceiling tiles
Watch the ragdoll make mistakes.

"Have you considered being a *** worker?"
A homeless woman asked me,
*"Unoccupied bodies should start charging rent.
Let a man who can afford it pay for utilities.
You might be homeless
but you won't be wasted space".

I used to live in a country
That was based on liberty
And where just anybody
Could achieve prosperity
That with assured equality
And working diligently
One could expect definitely
To succeed economically
If you saved all the money
Left over from your salary
To save to bring your family
A step closer to solvency.

Not an impossible proposition,
It was based on the condition
Of a grand national institution
Which promised that stabilization
By taxing us and corporations
With an equitable correlation
Between folks of humble station
And the larger organizations
Working in happy syncopation.
A welcome feeling of elation
Would descend upon our nation
And keep us from stagnation
Or going into nationwide deflation,
Or just as scary, a huge inflation.

Now I look upon our history
And see decades of misery
Laid upon us by calumny
By those meant to fortify
And build up our security.
The constant forces of calamity
If we accept less than probity
From those who have no honesty
Choosing leaders based on beauty
A national cult of personality
Then permit political chicanery
By people with no dignity
Only a greedy criminality
That pretends to propriety
And a devout base of spirituality
When what we have is actually
A kangaroo court of dishonesty
Without a care for the citizenry.

Who decided that the top of the mountain was the goal in climbing? I mean, I guess I understand the concept of why but thinking more abstractly, who decided what the rules were?

People.

Just people.

We are people, right? Does that mean we decide the rules? Not always. Most of the time the rules and goals are set by the mindset of the masses. Whoever is loudest or has the most connections sets the trends, makes those rules, and decides the goal.

Why?

Why are people so looked down on for going against the grain of the popular mindset?

You go to high school.
Okay - that's the law.

You go to college.
I mean, I guess.

You borrow tens of thousands of dollars from the government and even private banks to go to college.
Well, I don't really want to do that.
Well, you have to or you won't get a good job.
Well, why?
Because education shows you how things are done and how to do them right.
Okay, I mean, I get that. But what if that isn't for me? What if I don't thrive from that and instead of learning and growing, you are just creating bad habits, watching your confidence tank, and thousands of dollars go in the toilet.
Well then go work a minimum wage job.
Okay.

You get a job. Or not.
Okay, I guess.

You work to save up money to buy a house but you still have to pay rent which is very expensive.
Well, I guess that's okay but won't it take me forever to save?
Yes, with the job you have from a lack of university education, yes.

You spend years saving.
Cool.

You buy a house.
Awesome! My first house! But I spent all this money that I spent years saving and now I am locked into this and if anything ever goes wrong, I'm *******.
This looks like it will happen sooner rather than later with how cheap this house was.
Well, that's all I could afford.
Well, maybe you should get a better job.
Well, I can't because I don't have a degree.

You work until you are 70.
Oh yeah, I've had to give 10% of my salary to my 401k in order to pay for my future without working. But, inflation is a thing and now all that planning puts me back at the amount I needed 40 years ago, not what things cost now.

You move out of your house and into a cheaper apartment.
Well, I guess this is all I can afford at this point.

You live out the rest of your days there and pass away.




What a life right? Sounds like a book I would read - NOT.

Give or take a few privileges and/or road blocks some people may have, this is pretty much it. Even if you pay for the college education, you still don't have much of an advantage. You pay off years and years of college debt - so unless you make 6 figures, that will take you until you're 70. This means you will likely get your house much later and also just be stuck in the same ending.

Why?

Why is this the path we are 'supposed' to take? Who decided this?

We do.

Every day that we get up, WE decide our actions that day. WE determine our own future - not the societal mindset.

Sure there is more friction going against the grain. It's hard. But is it harder than living a life that doesn't bring you fulfillment?

Think of mountain climbing. The goal is to get to the top right? Wrong. The goal is decided by each climber. If you want to go to the top, great. If you don't, also great. Each climber has a different way of getting where you want to go - some take an incline (upper class, money, prestige), some people pay a guide (university education), some people drive (start your own business), some depend on others to carry them (disabled, poor), some are the ones who carry others (volunteers, charity, servants). No specific way is wrong and no specific goal is wrong. If your goal is the top, then to the top you shall go. Your path may have different pitfalls, you might go a different speed, you might die before you make it to the top; but some people don't even go to the top. Some people take their time.

My goal isn't the top. I want to live for the views as I climb, whether clouded by blankets of green or the most crystal clear blue sky meets the horizon. I want to find beauty in the little things around me, not just rush to the top because its the option chosen by many. I want every hammock tree spot, every waterfall creek pool, every season change from a soft layer of snow to the sloshy mud underfoot, every critter discovery, every art-inspired shot. I want to settle in a place that other might just rush by but only settle for a little while - until I want a new view.

People say that the best view is the one from the top where you can see it all - but I disagree. The best view is the many you will see along the way - the little details on each tree, each rock, or on the ground. From the very top, you don't see the detail - you see the bigger picture. I'm sure the picture is great, but rather than buy the print, I would prefer to do the puzzle - that would be far more fulfilling for me.

Her pulse rate
Please match me
"Bee's high"

No fireflies to burn my money
Honeycup fingers devour it
The yellow- brick road pours it
The Van Gogh yellow
Honey Queen Bees follow
their fellows
Am I Waiting? 12345_*

The first mate
he ain't got my sting
The others don't mean a thing
The headset swirled to pitch black
Watch your tattoo back blinded
by your yellow
Too many honeycombs
spoiling his ring,
His honey like some hot disease
What an increase in salary
month of June
All the Kingsman double sting it

On the ebb, to triple play it
It's a  Lil- Deb on the ebb
buzzing the personal
Up close the sting
One of a web kind
He makes his move
"Google it" checkmate

Miss Butterfingers her
clicks get stuck
He caught her act
What a stinker

He checked her off the fate
of a singer

To update, on the ebb bees
Sting Shrine what's mine
But why on your time?
That parking meter roar lion coins
build me a buttercup
What a buzz cut please shut up
On the ebb of my interns the
a seduction that's no crime

The Queen of Cherchez
So the lemon square
Bee's at 1960 Worlds fair
He took the bait
La Femme au-fait
Post date, 
 The ebb bees
two lips stick like beeswax
The ebb of everlasting sales tax

"Les of the Mohicans"
of her most desirable
words he narrates,
The honey-blush trees
Upstate

Bees on his proposal knees down
The Queen's bees money

Money for nothing and your
checks for free our freedom
Dire Strait music shrine
Sunshine Gold free state
She donates her heart he awaits

Like 100 degrees hottest light
The golden armor shield
Bees were coming to America
Oh say can you see by the
Dawn-Sting Night

His overflow
His soul the magnitude
every heartbeat
extremity on the ebb of destruction
On the edge of our sanity web rated

Taking a long devouring breath
Like it came at birth
Ripleys believe it or not
forget me not flowers bees
Love was true never to
be false eyelashes

He touched her skin
He goes deeply drawn in
Sting shrine all the envy of mine

Ebb of the darkness her virginity
like a novice

The sting buzzes shes the naughty novella
His sunrise spread with his pocket knife
That honey (Goddess) sun Italiano

Sting shrine like Valentine her Spa treatment
To be raised in the
"Amazon Prime" Honeybee sticky hands

Facebook take a look everyone is an open book
On her ebb of the Emmy multiplying
I hear the bees **** seduction
Geology is the Bees Queen hot Sting
Her impulses she tried to hold back
But went forward with her
desires of him
Her draws bumble bee lingerie
She was the drawback
Wanting her ringback
Honey eyes were set back
And I'll be back to slingback

Asteroid Ebb of her hub ******
God
Wicked impulses being
aroused by his hot yellow rod
Like the smile increased
her face value
All body textures of virtue

What a pressure body point
Attuned to the sting shrine
The Monk the bees are alive
with the sound of
music modifying her sting Gods
Got reckless Moms whats the odds
Like a shock of eternal love, I'm sold

Toxicity facing our reality  
That's the jungle of publicity
Duplicity like the twin city
Both smiled bright yellow and black
Dress Bumblebee sexuality
To its authenticity

Her color of lips
build his sexuality
Beehive sanctuary
Playing the flute
Ebb Bees are so cute

Her name is Brooklyn
beehive of hair
Heres the shock waves bride of
Frankenstein
Changed to better
brains of Einstein

They both stare face to face
Her ebb of the tip
of her ***** with Grace
We earned this day
Be happy I crown you
Queen each and
every day

We were the ones,
Self-chosen ones,
And we had seen enough.
And we had heard enough
To be tired of the drama;
The games that our mamas
And our Papas played
The plans they laid
That so often did not work.
The pensions and the perks
That so often left them bitter
Mumbling curses about quitters
As they argued over parking spaces
And carefully averted their faces
When people were denied rights
Because they were not white
Or sometimes because Jews
And non-whites could not be
Members of their sororities
And country club amenities.

They demanded no dark skin
And objected to what we dressed in
And wanted us to cut our hair
And go find a decent job somewhere
To start an acceptable career
And get a decent nine to five
To work as long as we were alive.
We knew they were trying to protect
To drive us to the life they projected
That would help us get a salary
And develop the kind of misery
And sense of hopelessness;
The exact kind of mess
They were living
And they weren’t forgiving
When we rebelled and fought
And shunned the trinkets they bought
That they thought would tempt us
To buckle on the harness;
The long-term promise.

We rejected the temptation
To join the workaday nation
And get into the drinking
Nine-to-five way of thinking.
We swapped the whiskey
For something they found risky.
We smoked our marijuana
And talked about nirvana
In our love-beads and batik
We left family homes to seek
And ultimately to find friends
Who wanted the same ends
And would work with us,
And they would walk with us
To the love-ins and protests
And help us pen requests
For marches and gatherings
To demonstrate our misgivings
About who got what
And who did not
And how and when
And which were not seen as men.
But we saw poorly disguised slaves
We knew we wanted to save.

We were going to fix the world
So, we waded into insults hurled
And high-powered fire hoses.
They broke our arms and noses
And trod on our signs
And drew a line
Between us and the public.
We were criminals and suspects
In crimes they invented;
We patchouli oil scented
Hippies wearing Birkenstocks
Without any socks
And jeans with protest patches
Singing our snatches of songs
Like “We Shall Overcome Someday”.
They couldn’t hear a word we would say.
They just cursed us and objected
And made sure we were subjected
To as much stonewalling as the law
Could put up against us all.

We were going to fix the world,
And we got LBJ on our side, like Jack
He went on the attack
And changed things for the better
Still not to the letter of the law
But a bit more spirit
Began to exist in it
Because blacks were acknowledged
And could finally go to college
In white schools
Adhering to the rules
The bigots had always ignored.
And unlike before, the police
Actually kept the peace
Unless it involved demonstrations
Against the crimes of our nation
Against another nation
That never attacked us
Never even threatened us.
These protest made us criminals
And that is what the cops thought of us.

Yes, by the time Nixon was going
After everyone began knowing
What a rat he was and because
He got caught, we saw
Him get on the copter and leave
And without a thought to grieve
We wanted our country to cease
Being some kind of insane police
In an Asian country few of us knew.
To stop what they put our troops through
And bring the people back here
So they could end the killing and fear
That our country was generating.
The debating was through
And the country started anew
By ending that situation.
Peace descended on the nation
And we took credit.
We did do some of it.
Then, we quit.

We started small companies
Selling handmade gifts and soaps
Not becoming the dopes
We fought our parents not to be
But more the people we ought to be
Living in hippie enclaves
That turned into yuppie enclaves
And we got fatter.
But that didn’t matter.
We had our memories
And we had our old war stories
Of marching, and protesting
And they were interesting enough
That we lost the will to be tough
And let the objections slide
And hid inside our mini-farms
And ignored when people were harmed
By many of the same atrocities
That fueled our animosities
Just a generation before.
We decided it was not our war
And sat on our hands.
And drifted like the sands.

I never thought about my whiteness,
other than to realize
that I’m ghost-white
and therefore
not as attractive as some
tan buxom babe.
I thought more
about my economic status:
upper middle class
with plenty
that would give me a leg up,
that I knew I’d never
lack for higher education.
It has gradually occurred to me,
though,
that even though I may have
a societal advantage
being white and all that,
I’m still a chick
and therefore have
several strikes against my success,
or at least a comparable salary.
Not to mention the load of ridiculous
expectations to be
mother, successful career woman,
housekeeper, **** star, and ******.
Hooray for the Bible Belt,
where church is next door to the ***
Adult stores targeted
at hick white males.
Hooray for my mother’s
Texas family
where it’s okay for an adopted
daughter-in-law
to be gay
but nobody else is allowed
and some of them will look
down their noses at my
Indian boyfriend
and ask me why
I’m diluting
my blood with a foreigner.

And I'll try to delay what you make of my life
But I don't want your way,
I want mine

I’m lying, I’m so very far from fine

I don’t believe, in talking just to breathe

I’m here to give you words as tools that can destroy my heart

He thinks that faith might be dead
Nothing kills a man faster than his own head

*** nobody knows he’s alive

I want to crack the door so I can just fall out

I begin to understand why god died

And I want everyone to know that I am half a soul divided

Don’t be afraid. We’re going home.

We had to steal him from his fate so he could see another day

Am I alive and well or am I dreaming dead?

Where all your blood is washed away and all you did will be undone

We pick songs to sing remind us of things that nobody cares about and honestly we’re probably more suicidal than ever now

If we wake up every morning and decide what we believe we can take apart our very heart and the light will set us free

Please don’t be afraid of what your soul is really thinking

It’s time you pick your battle, and I promise you this is mine.

I know what you think in the morning when the sun shines on the ground

But there’s hope out the window, so that’s where we’ll go, let’s go outside and all join hands but until then you’ll never understand

Simply suggest my chest in this confused music it’s obviously best for them to turn their guns to a fist.

I’m taking over my body back in control no more shorty

I fought it a lot and it seems a lot like flesh is all I got not anymore

You should take my life, you should take my soul

You are surrounding all my surroundings

Fight it. Take the pain ignite it tie a noose around your mind loose enough to breathe fine and tie it to a tree tell it “you belong to me this ain’t a noose this is a leash and I have news for you, you must obey me”

It ain’t the speakers that bump hearts, it’s our hearts that make the beat.

I’m pleading please oh please, on my knees repeatedly asking why it’s got to be like this, is this living free?

Some see a pen I see a harpoon.

I’ll stay awake, *** the dark’s not taking prisoners tonight

I don’t hear those voices calling, I must’ve kicked them out

Why won’t you let me go? Do I threaten all your plans I’m insignificant

I’m afraid to tell you who I adore, won’t tell you who I’m singing towards

I know it’s dire my time today

Somebody stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence

Sometimes quiet is violent
I find it hard to hide it my pride is no longer inside it’s on my sleeve my skin will scream

There’s no hiding for me I’m forced to deal with what I feel there is no distraction to mask what is real

This time there’s no sound to hide behind

I find over the course of our human existence one thing consists of consistence and it’s that we’re all battling fear oh dear I don’t know if we know why we’re here oh my too deep please stop thinking

Peace will win and fear will lose

There’s faith and there’s sleep we need to pick one please because faith is to be awake and to be awake is for us to think and for us to think is to be alive and I will try with every rhyme to come across like I am dying to let you know you need to try to think.

I don’t wanna be heard, I wanna be listened to.

I scream you scream we all scream *** we’re terrified of what’s around the corner.

My brain has given up, white flags are hoisted

The stomach in my brain throws up onto the page

I don’t understand why everything I adore takes a different form when I squint my eyes have you ever done that when you squint your eyes and your eyelashes make it look a little bit right and then when just enough light comes from just the right side and you find you’re not who you’re supposed to be?
This is not what you’re supposed to see, please, remember me I am supposed to be king of kingdom, swinging on a swing, something happened in my imagination the situations becoming dire, my treehouse is on fire, and for some reason I smell gas on my hands. This is not what I had planned.

We’ll be on fire

We have romantic fantasies about what dying truly is

We all know somebody who knows somebody who’s doing great, I know some people who know people who are flying straight, but I’ll kindly enter into rooms of depression, while ceiling fans and idle hands will take my life again.

But I would rather sing a song, for the eyes to sing along

I’m holding onto what I know and what I know I must let go

Redemption’s not that far and darkness is going down.

Nobody thinks what I think, nobody dreams when they blink, think things on the brink of blasphemy I’m my own shrink think things are after me, my catastrophe.

Are you searching for purpose? Then write something and it might be worthless, paint something yeah it might be wordless pointless curses nonsense verses you’ll see purpose start to surface, no one else is dealing with your demons meaning maybe defeating them could be the beginning of your meaning friend.

They will play a game and say they know what you’re doing through and I tried to come up with an artistic way to say they don’t know you and neither do I

I hear a second voice behind your tongue somehow

They will not take you down they will not cast you out

Dear friends here we are again pretending to understand how you think your world is ending sendin signals and red flags in waves it’s hard to tell the difference between blood and water these days
I pray that one day you see
The only difference between life and dying
Is one is trying that’s all we’re gonna do so try to love me and I’ll try to save you

Won’t you stay alive I’ll take you on a ride, I will make you believe you are lovely

Your redemption won’t grow stale, we are now just setting sail, on the seas of what we fear, treason now is growing near to me, I’m coming clean, god hit me straight on.

I know, where you stand, silent in the trees
And that’s where I am

Why won’t you speak, where I happen to Be? Silent in the trees standing cowardly
I can feel your breath, I can feel my death.
I want to know you, I want to see, I want to say, hello

I don’t believe my ears and I’m scared of my own head.

Clearly I am dying, dearly I am writing

I’m lying cause I say I am fine

I’m so sorry but I do believe that all my bridges I have burned and I’ve earned a policy of no return

Today, day, I want to go away, way

I put my sock on my feet, just so that my soul would fall through my toes, And I walk through my door, just so I don’t fall through the floor.

So bold and fearless in the risks we take, laugh in the face of gravity as it’s laws we’d break, on trampolines so high, we reach for the sky, but I do not look up anymore and I don’t know why.

I take my face off at the door because I don’t know who they will take me for

I’m the son of all I’ve done

When we’re done we’ll all have made something new under the sun

“Where’s your home? Where are you going and why are you here?”

I will tell you what I can, but your mind will take a stand, I sing of a greater love, let me know when you’ve had enough.

When your father turns to stone will you take care of me?
I will make you queen of everything you see, I’ll put you on the map, I’ll cure you of disease.
Let’s say we up and left this town and turned our future upside down, we’ll make pretend that you and me, lived ever after happily.

Since we know that dreams are dead, and life turns plans up on their head, I will plan to be a *** so I just might become someone.

Taking my only, friend I know. He leaves a lot. His name is Hope.

I’m never what I like, I’m double sided

*** I’m twisted up, I’m twisted up, inside my mind

When the sun is climbing window sills, and the silver lining rides the hills, I will be safe, for one whole day, until the sun makes the hills it’s grave.

By the time the nights wears off, the dust is down, and shadows burn, I will rise and stand my ground, waiting for, the nights return.

I do not know why I would go in front of you na shied my soul, *** you’re the only one who knows it

I don’t know why I think I could lie, *** there’s a screen on my chest

I’m standing in front of you I’m trying to be so cool, everything together trying to be so cool.

I can’t see past my own nose I’m seeing everything in slow-mo look out below crashing down to the ground

A train from the sky locomotive my motives are insane
My flows not great okay, I conversation with people who know if I flow on a song I’ll get no radio play.
While you’re doing fine, there’s some people and I, who have a really tough time getting through this life so excuse us while we sing to the sky.

We’re broken people

I can’t take them on my own, my own, pa, I’m not the one you know, you know

Don’t wanna give you all my demons, you’ll have to watch me struggle, from several rooms away. But tonight, I need you to stay.

I am up against the wall, the wall, pa, I hear them coming down, the hall.

I want to drive away in the night, headlights call my name.
I’ll never be, be what you see inside, you say I’m not alone but I am petrified.

Is close the closest star? You just feel twice as far.

I’m so afraid, of what you have to say, cause I am quiet now, and silence gives you space

And the wrists of my mind had the bleeding lines that remind me of all the times I have committed

What kids are doing they’re killing themselves, they feel they have no control of their prisoner cells, and if you’re one of them then you’re one of me

Now the night is coming to an end

The sun will rise and we will try again

Stay alive, stay alive, for me.
You will die, but now your life is free take pride in what is sure to die.

I will fear the night again.

I hope I’m not my only friend.

There’s an infestation in my minds imagination

This not rap this is not hip hop, just another attempt to make the voices stop

This doesn’t mean I lost my dream it’s just right now I got a really crazy mind to clean.

Can you save my heavydirtysoul, for me?

If I didn’t know better I’d guess you’re all already dead

You’ve got one time to figure it out, one time to twist and one time to shout, one time to think and I say we start now

Death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit

I wish I found some better sounds no ones ever heard, I wish I had a better voice to sing some better words, I wish I found some chords in an order that is new, I wish I didn’t have to rhyme every time I sang

Now I’m insecure, and I care what people think.

Sometimes a certain smell will take me back to when I was young, how come I’m never able to identify where it’s coming from?

It would remind us of when nothing really mattered out of student loans and treehouse homes we all would take the ladder.

We used to play pretend give eachother different names

Used to dream of outer space but now they’re laughing at our face saying wake up you need to make money

I wanna stay in the sun where I find, I know it’s hard sometimes

I think about the end just way too much, but it’s fun to fantasize

I won’t fall in love with falling

I’d die for you that’s easy to say we have a list of people that we would take a bullet for them a bullet for you

Metaphorically I’m the man but literally I don’t know what I’d do, that’s harder to do even harder to say when you know it’s not true and it’s harder to write when you know that tonight there were people back home that tried talking to you

All these questions they’re for real like who would you live for who would you die for and would you ever ****?

I’ve been thinking too much, help me

I’m fairly local, ive been around, ive seen the streets you’re walking down

I’m evil to the core, what I shouldn’t do I will, they say I’m emotional, what I wanna save I’ll ****. Is that who I truly am? I truly don’t have a chance. Tomorrow I keep a beat. And repeat yesterday’s dance

I’m not evil to the core, what I shouldn’t do I will fight. I know I’m emotional, what I wanna save I will try. I know who I truly am. I truly do have a chance. Tomorrow I’ll switch the beat, to avoid yesterday’s dance

It’s the few the proud and the emotional

The world around us is burning but we’re so cold

Our minds change on what we think is good, I wasn’t raised in the hood, but I know a thing or two about pain, and darkness, if wasn’t for the music I don’t know how I would’ve fought this.

I’m in constant confrontation with what I want and what is poppin in the industry it seems to me that singles on the radio are currency my creativities only free when I’m playing shows.

Who would you live and die for on that list but the problem is there’s another list that exists and none really wants to think about this forget sanity, forget salary, forget vanity my morality, if you get in between someone I love and me, you’re gonna feel the heat of my calvary

He cranked out those dismal chords, and his four walls declared him insane.

I found my way right time wrong place

I know my souls freezing hells hot for good reason

But I’m not good with directions and I hide behind my mouth, I’m a pro at imperfections and I’m best friends with my doubt.
Now that minds out and now I hear clear and loud I’m thinking wow I probably should’ve stayed inside my house

I don’t know if this song is a surrender or a revel. I don’t know if this one is about me or the devil.

Help me out, my friends and I we got a lotta problems

Wanted to be a better brother better son wanted to be a better advisory to the evil I have done I have none to show to the one I love

Polarize is taking your disguises sepersting then splitting them up from wrong and right, is deciding when to die and deciding when to fight

I don’t know where you are, you’ll have to come and find me

We have all learned to **** our dreams

I need to know that when I fail you’ll still be here. *** if you stick around I’ll sing you pretty sounds and well make money selling your hair

I don’t care what’s in your hair I just wanna know what’s on your mind.
I used to say I wanna die before I’m old but because if you I might think twice.

What if my dream does not happen. Would I just change what I’ve told my friend. Don’t want to know who I would be. When I wake from a dreamers sleep

Scared of my own image. Scared of my own immaturity

Fear might be the death of me. Fear leads to anxiety. Don’t know what’s inside of me.

Even when I doubt you, I’m no good without you.

Temperature is dropping, I’m not sure if I can see this ever stopping. Shaking hands with the dark parts of my thought no, you ar wall that I’ve got no.

I want the markings made on my skin, to mean something to me again.

Hope you haven’t left without me, please

Who I am today is worse than other times. You don’t know what I’ve done.

Why I’m in denial that they tried the suicidal session. Please use discretion when you’re messing with the message man, these lyrics aren’t for everyone only few understand.

Hope you’re dead *** how could you sleep at a time like this

I’m the kinda guy who takes every moment he knows he confided in
Music to use for others to use it

Life is up here but you comment below And the comments below will become
Common motivation to promote
Your shows next episode
So your brain know to keep going
Even though hope
Is far from this moment but you and I know it gets better when mornin finally reads it’s head, together we’re losers remember the future remember the mornin is when night is dead.

My people singing

Be the one to take my soul and make it undone

Be the one to take me home and show me the sun

Where we’re from, there’s no sun, our hometowns in the dark
Where we’re from, we’re no one, our hometowns in the dark.

We don’t know, how to put back the power in our soul

We don’t know, where to find, what once was in our bones.

I look outside and see a whole world better off without me in it trying to transform it.

Listen I know, this ones a contradiction because of how happy it sounds. But the lyrics are so down.
It’s ok though, because it represents Wait better yet it is, who I feel I am right now.

I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath

I wanna be known, by you.

Though I’m weak, and beaten down. I’ll slip away, into this sound.
The ghost of you is close to me.
I’m inside out, you’re underneath.

I’ve got two faces, blurry’s the one I’m not

I need your help to take him out

Don’t let me be gone.

I can’t believe how much I hate.
Pressures of a new place roll my way.

Spirits in my room, friend or foe?
Felt it in my youth feel it when I’m old

I’ll be right there, but you’ll have to grab my throat and life me in the air. If you need anyone
I’ll stop my plans, but you’ll have to tie me down and then break both my hands.

You can learn to levitate with just a little help

Cowards only come through when the hours late and everyone’s asleep mind you

My heart is with you hiding but my minds not made

No we are not just graffiti on a passing train I got back what I once bought back in that slot I won’t need to replace

Sever all I thought I could depend on my weekends on the freezing ground that I’m sleeping on please keep me from please keep me down from the ledges

At least they all know all they hear comes from a place.

When everyone, you thought you know, deserts your fight, I’ll go with you
You’re facing down, a dark hall, I’ll grab my light and go with you

Surrounded and  up against a wall, I’ll shred em all. And go with you
When choices end, you must defend, I’ll grab a bat, and go with you

Stay with me, no you don’t need to run, stay with me, my blood.

They’re callin for your head and they’re callin for your name, I’ll bomb down on em I’m comin through

Just keep it outside

If you find yourself, in a lions den, I’ll jump right in, and pull my pin.

East is up, I’m fearless when I hear this on the low
Easy is up, I’m careless when I wear my rebel clothes

They will know that, Dema don’t control us

They wanna make you forget

Save your razor blades now, not yet

I’m flying from a fire, from Nico and the Niners.

What I say when I wanna be enough what a beautiful day for making a break for it, we’ll find a way to pay for it, maybe from all the money we made razor blade stores, rent a race horse, and force a sponsor, and start a concert a complete diversion, start a mob and you can be quite certain we’ll win but not everyone will get out.

Can’t stop thinking about if and when I die for now I see that if and when are trike different cries for If is purely panic and when is solemn sorrow and one invade today while the other spies tomorrow

If I keep moving they won’t know I’ll morph to someone else

I’m just a ghost

Defence mechanism mode

What are we here for if not to run straight through all our tormentors

Anybody listening?

This beat is a chemical

Lovin what I’m tasting
Venom on my tongue
Dependant at times
Poisonous vibrations

I’m running for my life

Hide you in my coat pocket

Felt I was invincible you wrapped around my head now different lives I lead my body lives on lead the last two lines may read incorrect until said

I despise you sometimes I love to hate the fight and you in much life is like sippin on straight chlorine

Grows while I decay

Can you build my house with pieces I’m just a chemical

My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate
I’ll record my step through for my basement tapes

Nice to my kind will be on my side

And you know you’re a terrible sight but you’ll Be just fine

Your exterior world can step off instead
It might take some friends and a warmer shirt but you don’t get thick skin without getting burnt

No I don’t know which way I’m going
But I can hear my way around

I never look for conflict for the thrill

For you I would get beat to smithereens

And my problem? We glorify those even more when they

My opinion our culture could treat a loss like it’s a win and right before we turn on them we give them the highest of praise and hang their banner from the ceiling communicating further ingravjng and earlier grace is an optional way. No.

What’s my problem don’t get it twisted it’s with the people we praise who may have assisted

I could go out with a band they would know my name they would host and post a celebration . My opinion will not be lenient

We don’t get enough love well they get a fraction they say how could he go if he’s got everything I’ll mourn for a kid but won’t cry for a king.

Neon gravestones try to call for my bones

Promise me this. If I lose to myself you won’t mourn a day and you’ll move on to someone else

But they won’t get them

Don’t get me wrong the rise in awareness is beating a stigma that no longer scares us but for sake of discussion in spirit of fairness could we give this some room for a new point of view and could it be true that some could be tempted to use this mistake as a form of aggression a form of succession a form of a weapon thinking I’ll teach them well in refusing the lesson it won’t resonate in our minds I’m not disrespecting what was left behind just pleading that it does not get glorified maybe we swap out what’s it is that we hold so high. Find your grandparents or someone of age. Pay some respects for the other that they paved to life they were dedicated now that should be celebrated.

I could take the high road but I know that I’m going low

I’m a bandito

This is the sound we make when in between two places where we used to bleed and where our blood needs to be

In city I feel my spirit is contained like neon inside the glass they form my brain but I recently discovered it’s a heartless fire like nicknames they give themselves to uninspire begin with bullet now add fire to the proof but I’m still not sure if fears a rival or close relative to truth either way it helps to hear these words bounce off of you the softest school could be enough for me to make it through

I created this world to feel some control destroy it if I want so I sing Sahlo Folina

I can feel pressure start to posses my mind so I’ll take this beat I should delete to exercise

No I move slow I wanna stop time I’ll sit here til I find the problem

This clique means so much to this dude it could make him afraid of his music and be scared to death he could lose it

You were one of those classic ones
Traveling around this sun

I wish she knew you

You were here when I write this but the masters and mixes will take to long to finish to show you I’m sorry I did not visit did not know how to take it when your eyes did not know me like I know you

Then the day that it happened I recorded this last bit I look forward to having a lunch with you again

I’m tired of tending to this fire

Embers barely showing proof of life in the shadows dancing on my plans

They know that it’s  almost over

The burning is so low it’s concerning *** they know that when it goes out it’s a glorious gone
It’s only time before they show me why no one ever comes back with details from beyond

In time I will leave the city for now I will stay alive

Last year I needed change of pace
Couldn’t take the pace of change
Moving hastily
But this year
Though I’m far from home
In trench inches not alone
These faces facing me
They know what I mean.

it's 10:20 a.m., or a.d. for that matter,
i'm drinking for a sloppy mistake
i call ease, in circumstances that
are rather necessary for my balancing /
juggling act... the alarm on the clock just went off
but i woke up two hours earlier, listening to
b.b.c. radio 4... talk of birds (cuckoos /
winged parasites the specialist says) and
hindu assimilation into western opera via goa;
i'm watching a pair of sparrows build a
nest in my neighbour's guttering;
they noticed me perched on the windowsill
puffing out smoke, so they figured,
no better safety than under the watchful
presence of a dragon;
and indeed the chinese and the welsh
drew dragons long before any bones
of dinosaurs were unearthed;
it wasn't necessarily instinctive,
but a premonition, i.e. prior to the motion
of accommodating such a truth,
or truce, however you mind it;
so an eventful morning, while i stress over
the fact that i have two sleeping pills left
in the reservoir, and am about to phone
up the surgery to, "hopefully" getting a
triage appointment with the medical
bureaucrat / general practitioner (who
gets the entitlements of the status 'dr.'
and a 'dr.' salary, while the surgeons doing
all the ***** butchery gets less and only
a title 'mr.', i guess paying them less is
a motivational tool, look at all the pauper
artists of the Renaissance for a comparisons,
the pope and all his riches could never
enrich the message of our father);
so a pair of sparrows flying in and out
of the shrubbery, he brings back a beaked
piece of twig, she brings back her presence,
i don't know who to attach the
number of caterpillar legs i.e. who's
doing the leg-work to, i know she's the oven,
but why isn't she chopping twigs off?
she's just randomly flying to and fro -
and indeed man imploded, he knew
the hunter gatherer, the beer brewer, the plumber -
she exploded with the numbers,
and only in times of war was she conscripted
as equal and equally able in the realm of
man's autism of provisions of profession,
into that deathly hollow of obsession -
the prostitutes just laughed the whole thing off,
you could see them from 20 miles off:
ha ha he he... but boy were they *******
when they received an ****** on the job...
the highest reconciliation, and yet the lowest ebb,
the futility of the matter,
having gone through all that trouble
using skin creams to create a fake arousal
and actually reach the peak of being aroused
via an ******...
well i did once **** a girl with a dry *****...
obviously i'd proclaim it as ****,
i have to... we watched the film the machinist
prior - when you have *** with a girl
who isn't aroused but she still wants to,
then we'll have a talk about the precautions
that prostitutes take when having ***
without psychological intimacy,
oiling themselves up with skin cream
to ease the matter of engagement.
but still, two sparrows building a nest,
because they know a dragon perched on the
windowsill puffing out cigarette smoke
is formidable enough for a cuckoo or
predatory affairs curbing the multiplicative
chances of defence tactics being used -
and as man, we have become that in a sense,
we provide a multiplicative evaluation of things -
yes we are, yes we were, yes there's more to come -
but in terms of addition, there's hardly an
explanation at hand... i mean you diminish the
chances of addition by citing maxims of those who
added to the history, but that's still a multiplicative
evaluation - you haven't ventured into the realm
of adding something to the feat and fate of humanity,
you're still there, a maggot on a fishing hook-curl;
so whether you (x) to humanity and seek the algebraic
fascination of questioning to the extent of not really
answering, or whether you (+) to humanity and become
yourself, an algebraic fascination that asks and answers
in baby-steps... there are still two sparrows
building a nest in my neighbour's guttering.

I've left the city behind--gladly
the world is closed for me
the light of day is shrinking silently
it's time to set my burden free--

I'll sing and fiddle my favourite melody
if inspired perhaps write some merry poetry
low is my salary and I can't afford brandy
so content to just drink cheap Chinese tea.

He wore a purple knitted cap.
He had a carrot nose
This snowman figurine wore skates
with black buttons on his clothes.
His cheeks were daubed a cherry red
His bootless feet looked cold.
His smiling was perpetual
His was a hopeful soul.

Yet now he lay out near the curb
He was destined for the trash
His mistress found a figurine
that had a bit more flash.
He looked back sadly at the house.
The only home he'd known
His colleagues, perched on windowsills
looked out at him alone.

The trash-men came
and grabbed the bags
hydraulics crushed and smashed
One trash man took the figurine
and put it with his stash
The trash man and his little girl
since Spring had lived alone.
It was hard since Emma's mother died
but he tried to make a home.

With no insurance and one salary
his house this year looked bare
Where once they'd had a festive Spruce
now a pitiful fake stood there.
Such decorations as they had
were pilfered from the trash
of folks with little sentiment
and too much spending cash.

In his workshop in the basement
He made the snowman shine
His silver skates were polished
He repainted every line.

Little Emma loved the snowman
When she saw him near the tree
He is no longer called unwanted
since he found a new family.

When the wordly things get all the glory
You tend to live a life that's unholy.
Facing the life's painful reality.
Fight againt wicked principalities
Losing your sense of morality.
As you are procrastinating about Learning your biblical A...B...C's
You are counting up your salary
When you should be counting all of God's promises like 1...2...3..

Thats when it begins to Spread like an deadly ****** transmitted Disease
First its sniffle and a sneeze
Next is a cough and a wheeze
Then you'll Barely be able to breathe
Knocking you to your knees
Begging God, "Please Heal Me"
Praying desperately For His Mercy
Then the STD forcefully will begin to tightly squeeze.
Till it becomes an Infection that attacks your every function flowing like a virus.
This sickness removes the color from life and leave you like eyes with damaged to the nerves, pupil and Iris.
This happens when you Subtract Christ from your life like a math equation involving minus.
Being sticken with this ailment will deprives us, If we dont let Christ take the wheel to Drive and guide us.
This Infirmity is very cancerous  
It will impact your 6 senses Just like the  Symbol for The Eye Of Horous.
Because we are individuals who are like sponges, filled with holes, absorbant and yet very porous.
Beneath the fleshly being lies a spirit
Crying out for help can you hear it?
This deficiency will leave you Shivering from the Chill of it's swift wind's cold breeze
The very thought of this illness makes the soul freeze
Once it realizes it has a contracted a Spiritually Transmitted Disease.

shrinking into crumpled clothes
grey overtaking black hair
wire frames competing with bones
twilight's journey must end here

Why pucker the Doll which does not puck back
Was what they told me through the Window Pane
A-thinks they see Clear, keen on what they Lack
The Gauntlet needed to smash such Glass again
That dare you cut your Friend's supposed Line
Just because he saw the Animals play
They are only Plastic; And Air inside
A Harmless Chapter your Youth needs today
Do you think I will Sing? And rend your Shame,
Whose Salary you know I won't enjoy
Good Lord, Man! Why must you label my Name
Like those Land Sharks who bite you out of Joy?
What do you need to tie the Ribbon Blue
That is your Colour; That should have been you.

When I grow up I’m going to be younger,
sillier, more adventurous, and free.
I’m going to say what I like, do what I please,
and in general, just be happy.

I won’t care what salary I make;
six-figure, five-figure, or none.
I could be doorless and friendless,
and still manage to be happy and have fun.

If I make mistakes, I will have made mistakes.
Mistakes are just bound to come.
All I can do is learn and become better,
smile, and not forget to have fun.

I’ll work; we all work.
But man, I'll make sure to have fun.
I could pick up trash or flip burgers
while smiling and still getting the job done.

When I grow up I’m going to be happy.
Equally, if not happier than now.
I’ll make sure to have fun and get things done,
and at the end of it all take a bow.

According to my mom and dad, when I was little, I used to say that I wanted to be a garbage truck driver. Yeah, I know — literally dumping trash and pumping gas isn’t something a typical four-year-old girl wishes to grow up to do. It impressed me how the men rode, clinging onto the back end of the truck, pushing buttons to crush the unwanted goods to dust. Although I am sure it would have been more appropriate for a young lady to look up to Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, I looked up to those men because they appeared fearless and strong. I never really liked the “girly” things my parents and sisters gave to me. In fact, when Barbie smiled at me through a plastic window, I took her out, tore her head off and threw her body to the dog. I should have loved the color pink and liked the smell of daisies; I didn’t. I was ridiculed for hating both and told I shouldn’t be so different.
When I turned six, my grandpa gave me a book about prehistoric beasts. I couldn’t read well, but I liked the pictures and the long words with plenty of strange letter combinations. Words like “pterodactyl” and “brachytrachelopan” fascinated me, and made me feel exceptionally intellectual just to know how to pronounce them (even if I did so poorly).  When asked, I proudly responded, “I want to be a paleontologist when I grow up!” Adults praised me for being so intelligent at such a young age, and I felt special. But one day, I learned that bone diggers don’t make much money. So, I changed for a few extra thousand dollars a year.
By the age of eight, I decided I wanted to become a veterinarian because that’s what my best friend wanted to be. She loved animals and said we should help them because they can’t help themselves. I took a bite of the pie graph, “Occupations Wanted By Children.” It tasted bland and watered down but it made me normal to want that for myself—even if it wasn’t my own dream. My friends and I babbled about having every species imaginable for pets and loving them more than Romeo loved Juliet. But when my mom told me that I might have to  euthanize animals, the pie tasted a lot more ****** going down. I decided I should search for another job.
Around twelve, I started writing a journal. I named it “Joyful” because that’s what I felt the best emotion was and wrote in it occasionally during my sixth grade year. The pages were cluttered with names of boys I had crushes on and i’s dotted with hearts. I modeled my naivety through my entries but it was motivating how I could see my style and thoughts developing over time. My entries went from “I love the sky!” to “When a cloud drifts just in the right position next to the sun and makes that golden ray, I feel as if God’s finger is pointing down to a specific thing he created and saying to us on Earth, ‘Hey, see that thing over there? Yeah, I made that and it’s beautiful. It deserves respect.’”  I have smashed windows in the writing process and let in drafts of fresh ink. I am aware that being a writer in most cases makes a person financially deprived, but that won‘t affect my aspirations. Writing has been my dream since sixth grade and even now I know I’m not perfect but at least I’m pushing myself to be better. I’m changing for me.
No matter how adamantly I’ve tried or how much I realize that writing is sometimes harder than brain surgery, I don’t seem to slice it out of my life. Societal success is measured in dollars but if dreams had monetary value and salary was how badly a person wanted to make that dream come true, I would be paid more green than the Earth has blades of grass. I shouldn’t have to explain to people why I don’t want to be a garbage man or a paleontologist or a veterinarian, or why I don’t want to live by their popular choices. For all I know, I could be the best waste manager that ever had the pleasure to take away last week’s paper. I could strike it rich by discovering a billion-year-old algae. I might save the next Lassie or Winn Dixie. It isn’t up to other people to decide what I want to be when I grow up (if I ever decide to). Instead, I’ll write in spite of everyone else — for the ones that didn’t follow their dreams and strived for physical wealth. If I am to be paid in blades of grass, I will live. And I will die knowing I am one of the few to see a such a gorgeous, glistening, green meadow.

Mum, there's one thing i don't want you to hear,
it's that food doesn't make me grin from ear to ear,
it makes me terrified of the voice inside,
wanna crawl into my bed and hide,
and cry and cry about my outside,
until there's silence from the voice inside.

But it's never silence,
just a pause,
'til it grabs me again with it's awful claws,
scratches me and makes me bleed,
bruises me until i plead,
and remind myself that i agreed,
pain until I'm skinny, please.

I'm fat i know, i don't need to be told,
I'm tall and only 16 years old,
I'm a child yes, but you never scold,
because a good girl you did mold,
i used to get good grades and study hard,
now all i am is a bunch of lard,
i still study hard but i am scarred,
by the voice that tells me,
i'll never reach that bar.

I try and try but don't succeed,
i wish i could follow my brother's lead,
all the way to university,
getting himself a good degree,
a 50,000+ salary,
but the closest i'll get to that salary,
is a salad.
so i'll sit here munching rabbit food,
while you're thinking that i'm being rude,
for not sitting at the table with you,
while you EAT you're normal human food.

Why is EAT such a hard word to say?
it's three simple letters, just E, T and A,
combined and jumbled in three different ways,
EAT, tea and ATE are the things you can say,
but the latter word causes dismay,
sending my mind into disarray,
ana is here, she's here to stay,
reminding me there's no other way,
i must put down the food,
say i'm not hungry today,
go a little longer,
fast just one more day.