An enhancing drug to increase massive body tone
But let me tell you to leave that steroid drug alone
Body composition improvements will be shown
There are health risks that aren’t known
The outside body appearance you will in the enhance
But the health issues you are betting on chance
Your heart will enlarge
Let that awareness give you a charge
Next you will have kidney problems
Later everything in your body will shutdown
Unless you stop steroid usage, you will be getting closer to being coffin bound
The utterance will be no sound
Instead to trying too quickly steroid build up
Go natural and see your beauty while you hold your head up
It is not worth the rush of death
When it comes to enhancements there will be nothing left
When you use steroids you become a walking time bomb
The signal will be its own sounding alarm
Stay away from steroid enhance while you still got the chance
It’s natural all the way given the endurance too advance.

Skin.
Skin by definition is a thin layer of tissue forming a natural outer covering of the body.
Skin is for people to tan, to clothe, apply make up to... to touch.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Mosquito bites.
Mosquito bites by definition are the itchy bumps that appear after mosquitoes use their proboscis to puncture your skin and feed on your blood.
Mosquito bites are for people to feel, to itch, to bleed, to scab and repeat. The entire cycle.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Summer.
Summer by definition is the warmest season of the year.
Summer is for t-shirts, shorts, exposure, swimming, tanning, skin, skin, skin, skin, skin.
"It's Summer, put on some shorts."
"It's Summer, why aren't you wearing a t-shirt?"
"It's Summer, let's go swimming!"
Summer is a time for these questions, these statements, these words to fester, to breed like muosquitos, to sting like the bite of a bug.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Dermatologist.
A Dermatologist by definition is a doctor that treats diseases, in the widest sense, and some cosmetic problems of the skin, skin, skin, skin, skin.
The Dermatologist tells me to use this and to use that. Lotions and potions, as my mother would say. Slather, rub, treat, swallow.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Skin care.
Skin care by definition is the range of practices that support skin integrity, enhance its appearance and relieve skin conditions.
Get up, shower, sterilizing soap, body oil, steroid cream, medicated lotion, drink water and repeat the process before bed. My daily cycle.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

Seesaw.
A Seesaw by definition is to change rapidly and repeatedly from one position, situation, or condition to another and back again.
Seesaw, to push off the ground, into the air with a sense of victory and joy, only to fall hard to the ground with stinging ankles and sore calf's.
This isn't a playground anymore.
The Dermatologist says that if I don't get better, they'll have to put me on the pill.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.

The Pill.
The Pill is an oral treatment for my condition. My eczema.
One pill every morning at seven AM with food and an entire glass of water.
The risk associated with the pill- Osteoporosis,  Muscle weakness, Mood and Behavioral changes, Increase in chance of developing cataracts,  Stomach Ulcers and Liver Failure.
One pill every morning at seven AM with food and an entire glass of water. The daily cycle.

Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab, repeat.
Itch, bleed, scab.... **** it.

I would rather my liver fail and my bones go brittle then to be stared at on the street!
"What is that?"
"Are you okay?"
"What's wrong with her?"
"Is it contagious?"
"Don't touch me!"
I itch, my nails dragging over my scarred skin and pulling at wounds. I bleed, the welts that crack and leak drops from the red river that flows silently beneath my skin. I scab, leaving horrible lumps of ugly, hardened flesh to coat the once smooth area. I repeat....

Well, I don't want to repeat! I want to be able wear the clothes I want, to walk the streets with out the judging and questioning eyes of the passersby on me, to be held and touched by a significant other without the fear that their fingers will fall upon my skin and recoil in disgust!

Without looking in the mirror and wondering when I can finally begin to love myself.

I decided that today is the day! No more Itching! No more Bleeding! No more Scabs! It's time to break this ******* cycle.

I was trapped lured into lie by a clever evil mastermind .
Lost in a strange land locked away in a basement guarded by some twisted hamster on steroids known as a kangaroo.

Sure I had been tricked by evil means by the mastermind known as Helen hey look she told me there was a huge **** down in the basement with tons of strippers and ******* who wouldn't fall for that? Duh everyone knows you never let strippers in the good part of your house .

So here I was living in the basement like some sad nerd who probably posts on a web site everyday thinking they are totally awesome cause they have five hundred followers when in reality they'd be lucky if they had even one human friend in real life.

What ?
I was talking  about one of those star wars nerd sites cause everyone knows I'd never bash a site like Hello that is ruled by a evil cult leader who moved to the states after collecting money under guise to help the site when in reality it was for his *** change .

Yeah Id never pick on someone like that .
Frankly I'm hurt you'd think that  I'm kidding and as long as I'm breathing I will always be your favorite ruthless ******* slash ****** with a heart of gold.

I sat there in my new cell wondering just what the hell I was to do all the while kangaroo jack kept his beady little eyes locked onto me .
Yeah I knew he was sitting there mentally ******* me with his eyes I felt so naked course id probably feel better if I actually put some clothes on.
Duh who wears clothes at a **** *******?
Had I known this was all a lure I would have kept my clothes on and kept my trusty **** whistle and not got into this mess to begin with.

I was ready to scream for help when all the sudden I herd a sound .
Muffled as it was still I herd it the kangaroo hopped as it approached me oh dear lord man I was far to fragile to be assaulted by this weird *** overgrown rat .

The sound was so strange it sounded like the men at work song land from down under but where the **** was it coming from!
The Kangaroo was getting far to close it leaned over into my face and being a true man I did what any other true man would do.

Began to cry and beg this ****** up gerbil not to **** me.
Answer the ******* phone mate.
It said to me as I was stunned .

Hey ******* answer the ******* phone .
It said again  incase your to high or didn't read it the first time .
You ******* talk and what ******* phone I asked trying to hold back the tears let me tell you these animals were known killers they were like Canadians on crack with incredibly strong legs yeah imagine what nickel back could do with powers like these those heartless ******* would be unstoppable .


I was lost naked and afraid minus the camera crew and some ***** chick who smelled really bad and ******* at me for not having great hunting skills why not call that show what millions of people wearing clothes call it .
Marriage yeah now there's some scary ****!

Look **** for brains snap out of hit .
The kangaroo said as it kicked me upside the head .
Answer the ******* phone so we can get on with this story you *******.

I swear those kangaroos really had a mouth on them who knew such cute looking standing rabbit could be such a *******.

Okay so where the hells the phone and never kick me again you got it!?
I have no clue where your furry foots been.
Up your grandmas *** mate and where else would I keep my phone in my ******* pouch .

Look You can insult me how ever you like Gerbil but I'm not putting my hand in that pouch besides that is the oldest trick in the book you know how many times I fell for that with grandpa ?

What?

This steroid fed mouse asked as it looked at me like all other people and some who read this might think.
What the **** is wrong with me?

Yeah that's a whole other write in itself .

Answer the ******* phone in my pouch now *******!
Umm no .
Why not ?
Cause I don't want to .
Look you ***** if  I had long enough arms I would do it but I cant okay
you know how ****** up it is to have arms this short now you know why the T Rex was the most ******* dinosaur of them all .

Yeah I had to admit my new friend slash captor had a point imagine being a total badass that cant ******* boy that's some ****** up **** but enough with the foreplay hamsters.

After some back and fourth  debate I against great protest reached in this hopping *******'s pouch and found a cell phone .

Hello ?
Well Gonzo how you like your new digs mate?
I knew that voice anywhere .

Helen !

My friend turned evil super villain explained to me her evil plan to keep me hostage and force me to co write for eternity in this basement guarded twenty four seven by Ursula her trained evil kangaroo henchwoman .

It was clear all hope was lost how could I ever escape the clutches of such twisted evil?
Then it occurred to me I would simply bust the window in the basement and get the **** out of here .

I had to act fast cause it's almost happy hour at the bar kids and this hamster is thirsty.
  
Hey Ursula I really got to use the bathroom .
Well go ahead mate the toilets in the corner .

Yeah but you know I really like my privacy you know I mean I tell you those burritos are really talking back if you know what I mean but hey if you can stand the smell be my guest I mean sure the oder alone will strip the paint off the walls but I'm sure after you pass out from the fumes you will be fine.

Fine you stupid ******* just make it quick Ursula said as she bounced her grouchy *** upstairs .

It was my only shot and thank God they had left a trusty boomerang around so I could bust the window to make my escape its almost like it was planned that way being I'm writing the story.
No **** Sherlock!

I was free as a bird if a bird had a really bad drinking problem and twisted sense of humor and was totally naked .
I looked to the front gates but there was no way I could escape that way barbwire and flesh didn't mix that well besides without there draw bridge down the crocodiles would eat me alive yeah these Aussies were total freaks .

So like some naked ninja I made my way around Helens Compound of evil making my way upstairs I slipped into a room in hopes of finding just where my clothes had been taken to.

Hey help me .
I herd a mans voice say as I flipped  on the light to find a horrific scene a strange man chained to the wall no wonder this evil woman was such a prolific writer .

Hey mate help me please get me out of here .
I knew this woman was evil but after some deep discussion I learned this poor man trapped in this upstairs *** dungeon was secretly her husband  I know how weird who has there *** dungeon upstairs ?

I don't know what I'm going to do I'm never getting out of here Gonz .
I unchained my knew friend after he told me he knew how to find a way out of here and after finding my clothes and grabbing my trusty case of bourbon we put on some music caught a killer buzz and totally forgot  why we were trying to escape the clutches of evil to begin with.

The party was great we laughed we cried we watched some really freaky homemade movies once only made me love my knew Aussie brother more Shawn was ******* awesome a bit of a freak but ******* awesome.

The party was going full swing when the doors few open and there she was my evil long lost sister Helen and her demented *** evil henchwoman  slash house pet kangaroo Ursula who although a animal had some great legs I have to admit .


The gigs up Gonz it's off to the basement with you forever !
I looked at my new best friend thought about how sad he was when I found him and thought of the great times we could have roaming the wasteland looking for gasoline like in mad max just being totally drunk instead.

Yeah then Helen yelled in her outside voice inside and bout made me **** myself so I said **** this and left my brother behind and hauled ***  

I made it to the kitchen but was trapped by Helen and her evil **** minion .

Give it up Gonz  Helen said .
At that moment I grabbed a knife .

Oh cut the crap Gonz stop being silly what are you going to do with that ?

She thought she had me but I had one last trick up my sleeve .

I opened the fridge and grabbed her trusty box of wine
You ******* don't you dare hurt my baby!

Yeah you want this back I said as walked forward and out of the kitchen towards the veranda .

You get back Helen or I swear the box of wine gets it.

Oh  yeah you stab that box then I will drop this fifth of your bourbon over the rail Helen said with that devilish look in her eyes.

You heartless ***** !
She dropped the bottle I swear it cried daddy as it fell to the ground shattering to a million pieces on the concreate beside the pool wow I had to admit she really had a nice place.

I mean sure she was twisted evil heartless had a awesome husband she kept in a upstairs *** dungeon but enough about Helens  good quality's  .

I looked as my pour bottle lay shattered upon the floor  .
I laughed you know that wasn't my only bottle .

I know that mate then reached to Ursula grabbing yet another bottle from her pouch dam you Australia why must you have so many ****** up animals in one place its like a zoo on crack.

Helen went to drop yet another bottle over the rail when I cracked.
Okay enough!
I will put your box of wine down just don't hurt the bottle okay .

Deal mate Helen replied .

We both slowly put are true passions in life down .
I'm glad you could see things my way Gonz now time for you to get writing .

Yeah Helen I don't think so I said pulling the trusty boomerang from a location I rather not disclose hey I been to prison before you be surprised the stuff people smuggle in.
Dam that hurt.!


I threw the boomerang with all my might this was my one truly  last chance at getting out of here.
But like some Aussie ninja Helen just ducked the thing  as  it flew past her head went flying around the house and turned direction coming straight towards me hitting me in the skull.

As I fell to my death music played as I took that long dramatic one story fall .
I hit the pavement like Lindsey Lohans career.

I laid there broken my new best friend speaking to me no gonz don't leave me we could have are own spinoff if only you didn't die .
Shawn my brother I will never forget you but I have just one last thing to say to you are you listening .

Yes mate I am.

And at that moment of dire sadness I ripped the biggest **** .
Shawn busted up laughing as above Helen looked at Ursula
Men are so ******* disgusting .

And later as they all sat looking down upon me from the veranda Helen furious at her man slaves betrayal told her partner in crime slash killer kangaroo .

Ursula go fetch the battery out of the car and the ****** clamps someone is going to be punished .
Shawn's face lit up with joy yay he exclaimed .
Helen shoot him a look .

I mean oh no such horror please don't torture me mistress   .
But hey don't judge them there not freaks there Australian.

Ursula shook her head as she made her way to fetch the car battery .
Jesus Christ why couldn't I have been Mel Gibson's pet.

Helen looked down one last time at her dead brothers body .
But to her surprise he was   gone .
The dramatic Halloween music played as Shawn looked to his evil temptress slash wife .

Mistress was that the boogeyman?

She slapped the **** outta him **** no its just that lovable perverted misspelling ***** across the water everyone calls Gonzo.

She shook her head and laughed to herself .
We will meet again my friend .


Until next time kids or Helen finds and actually kills
me stay crazy.

Gonz

The apartment hasn’t been cleaned for so long and has housed a depressive in it for the same length of time so that there is a glaze of slime-dirt on the floor, made of dried coffee, hot chocolate, maybe some **** or some spillage from a tube of steroid cream to treat an inflammation that never really goes.  The rate of ooze changes?.  Clean textiles are piled up on the floor, never having been folded, and mix here and there with *****: practical fatpants that make me look like a geologist and white-white cotton blankets that can be washed on HOT with lots of bleach that I purloined from some mentalhealthfacility.  The inbox is full of—is bristling with—remonstrances from Programs for the Nondoer—you haven’t filed, haven’t turnstiled, haven’t had your hologram chip assessed by central CENTRAL intelligence, what is wrong with you.  Upon stepping outside there is a beat during which I think maybe somewonder might swirl and buoy but no, just wethumid and *****, sidewalks cruddy and Haitians and quasi-Haitians muttering “taxitaxitaxi” in front of their Gypsy conveyances with their dubious certifications.  I should go for a ride in one, a dubious passenger for a dubious palanquin.  I tried the library but it was too hot and decrepit and too filled with Books For African-Americans, which always ****** me off; are only African-Americans going to read Wright or Douglass or Brooks?  Everyone is overrated, anyway, movies and theater and the moribund beat of commerce, and as the dangerous autos pass, sometimes not running you over, you can see morechange in the pockets of the shareholders of BeePee and Iacocca Coach-Wirx.  Any friendliness exhibited seems to contain an underovertone of  You’re Not Included Whiteboy White ****** Ghost *****, all archaic names I’ve been almost astounded to be called usually while balancing on tiptoe on some lurching, roaring dieselbus, grinding past off-off-off brand groceries that do a dubious business.  While making my police report I wink at a sevenyearold boy and I get a lustrous wink back butalas this is not enough to beat back those slurrycolored brainfazes.

Backed and sponsored by the cabinet
Our heads on the server and internet
BCI experiments while we're under the duvet
Foot-soldiers follow orders on their handset
Rockwell is not paranoid
They've seen us on the TV,
iPad, iPhone, and Android
The BCI app that makes us annoyed
Please God, destroy that satellite with an android
My doctor is like Sigmund Freud
Give him the anti psychotic steroid
For making money off the unemployed

If I listened to every advertisement
hollering through the static
of my cable-hooked television,
I'd have a mammoth bottle
of Hidden Valley Ranch
sitting with the ego-quenching sheen
of recommendation in my fridge,
a Weight Watchers membership
(it told me to join as soon as possible
with the speed of a steroid-devouring treadmill),
Children's Tylenol
(despite being situationally barren),
and a Bowflex-shaped elephant,
ivory tusks slumping uselessly in the corner.

My living room would be the fraternal twin
of the American Smithsonian,
a faux-genuine quilt
of our Founding Fathers'
present day descendants
draping over my popcorn ceiling.

I return to the latest
sacred cow in the flea store
cartel of Lifetime Movie heroines;
it's "Vengeful Vixens Sunday"
and Elizabeth Berkley shooting men
and stabbing women in the back
all while eating buckets of Ben and Jerry
and getting addicted to crystal ****.

The dialogue is as freshly
packaged and slovenly edible
as the Minute Ready Late Night Dinner
with a cartoon grandma plastered on the logo,
all to remind you of down home,
or in the case of this Lifetime screenplay,
a time when the brain wasn't fully developed.
Same difference.

We all hide our guilty pleasures
as if our tolerance for the
secondhand existence of these favorites
were deemed malignant
by a cardboard kingdom
of young adult sophistication,
but I ask you:
who hasn't slipped into the comfort
of a mind turned to mush?

No place to sleep
My bed is all there is
Let me take care of you, Allyson
Allyson.
That name on his tongue
You feel heavy
You don’t feel **** anymore
Sweating
You’re sweating and sweating and sweating and sweating
Hands on your hips
Hands
On
your
Hips
God you’re so STUPID
You’re so so so STUPID
Lie down
Keep to yourself
Nothing will happen just keep to yourself
Look at the ceiling
You’re ok
You’re ok
Throw up
You’re ok
Leave at 6am
It will disappear
It will disappear
But it doesn’t
People are saying something about crying ****
No you just think he made you feel uncomfo-
You never said anything about ra-
You’re a feminist
You’re a contradictory *****
You’re a gazelle and four cheetahs are
Ripping
You
Apart
You’re losing touch
Hives
Hives
Hives
All over your body
Steroids
Steroid pills
Steroid injections
Mom it’s poison ivy
Mom it’s the laundry detergent
Mom it’s the overwhelming anxiety that is consuming even the largest ***** of your God-forsaken body and it’s on your hips
Hands
On
Your
Hips
You’re sick
You’re sick again
You want to die again
Prozac again
20mg this time
the dreams
the dreams are so vivid
google search: how to tell your boyfriend his best friend violated you in a nightmare for the third night in a row
friends
losing
friends
fights and fights and fights
no one cares and you don’t either
how are you supposed to care when all you see when you look at them is
Hands
On
your
Hips
And the dreams. The ******* dreams
Who would believe the dreams
Who would care
give them the glare, give them your signature glare
they don’t understand they will never understand they don’t want to ever ******* understand
walk alone
eat alone
read alone
alone alone alone
it’s better that way
it’s almost over

Fighting for Freedom
Not my freedom
mine is not the
ludicrous "Freedom" you all worship
Not the steroid enhanced
the technologically advanced
the impressively entrancing
Spiteful, Ignorant
all-knowing, all-hating "Freedom"
that empowers you all to fear
anything different. The "Freedom"
that entitles you all to
subdue or eliminate everything
"not you",
Rather,
Anyone seen as a threat to
the mind-numbing culture
created by your "Freedom"

What Freedom?

Honorable politician,
Truthful and without ambition,
Found behind bars his own place.
Such a lucky mental case!


Her eyes are truly not hypnotic
Although her smile is mystery,
Each man by nature too myopic
Is guilty of adultery.


Because she had an empty purse,
Yet smiling strange like La Joconde,
He drove his Jaguar in reverse
Thinking she was another blonde.


She had a few coins for grissini,
Wearing her old and too short skirt.
With mercy, dressed in white silk shirt,
He bought for her pretty bikini.


A young woman said: “My love is like sunshine”.
An old woman whined: “My rheumatism foretells rain”.
I stood silent between them, under cloudy skies,
Believing the weather report lies.


Sigmund Freud,
Before others find the steroid,
Dived his nose under the *** drive,
But ******* kept him alive.

Schizophrenia survey:

Doctor: Have you ever had hallucinations?
Patient: No, have you ever seen a schizophrenic?

D: Are you a ******?
P: No, until I meet the right man.

D: Have you heard strange voices around?
P: No, my parrot doesn't speak.

D: Do you think you are a great woman?
P: No, I killed only a few cockroaches, with too much spray.

D: Do you think you are a martyr?
P: No, martyrs are killed in a short time and everyone is happy afterwards.

D: Do you think you should die?
P: No, it is better on the floor than below.

D: Can you forgive others' sins?
P: No, Jesus Christ was better than me.

D: Do you think you have enemies?
P: No, I don't have a hammer drill.

D: Do you love your mother?
P: No, only our feelings are the same.

D: Did you try to **** yourself?
P: Yes, because whatever I asked, others said NO.

Patient: Doctor, what are you thinking now?
Doctor: That you never think.

Moon
Moon
Moon!
You’re so creative
Show that sun how to change!
Such range
Give us Gibbous
Then present the Crescent
Earth’s natural satellite
Broadcasting abroad
Casting Lunacy
Across the skies, broad
Tied
To the gravitational pull
But never falls
Please release
That ever so decadent
Blue Moon Cheese
My father
Used to read
Me to sleep
Up crept
The man on the moon
As I slept
Watching o’er me
Rising
Sometimes surprising the sun
Piercing the daylight
With a bright orange hue
Who are you
I wonder
Never cared
For the ego
Of the stars
Shooting
For my attention
Apollo
Followed you
Like a dream
And quite possibly
Ended the war

Your iron core is
Rock solid
Was knocked off
The face of the earth
You’re a third its size
I wish my soul
Left with you
After the asteroid
Set you free
One day
Rather night
We’ll see
If steroid strength
Can find
The energy
To make
This giant leap
For mankind

lines of reach are radio waved
touch is by text with calloused
index fingers.
Microwaves surround and direct us to go  where
we are going blue teeth phones we twitter
looking at thinner screens.
I quit. Need a twelve pack
and a dove sitting on wire
and free TV and a non- nuked
non- steroid and antibiotic genetic non- altered corn of cob
and leg of fried chicken and two good women.

I was in a strange place most call it Florida the land of sweltering heat and bad choices .
I had no friends to speak of I was alone afraid but not naked unlike those ******'s on TV .

Hey **** **** the rude oversized man yelled at me from my comfy usal sleeping place underneath the booth .

What did I ******* tell you bout sleeping in this place ?
Umm honestly dude I was to drunk to remember that and I was far to busy trying to pick up your sister man she's gotta great rack your family must be so proud.

look ******* I'm tired of your **** and smart mouth every night its the same old **** with you .
You get blasted insult half the place then crawl off and try to sleep making me have to beat your *** and toss you out the door you ever get tired of getting slapped around?

Well now that you put it that way it does seem like a vicious cycle
but hey I mean does your sister ever tire of turning tricks in the restroom to help pay for your *** change ?

The over sized bouncer seemed slightly upset at that last comment as his steroid fed veins popped up on his neck wow he must be really ******* guess it truly would matter to someone who cared .

You ******* I'm going beat the **** out of your drunken *** .
I just love it when you talk **** sweetheart but why not skip the foreplay I mean sure who doesn't enjoy some heavy petting and **** grabbing maybe a sloppy kiss or two I'm kidding only women dig that **** men don't need to set the mood usually.
Hey want to ****?
Works just fine ah romance isn't it grand?

The muscle bound frustrated weight lifter was on the verge of blowing a gasket but I never judge a man by his ****** preference I mean seriously I went to college I mean  I didn't study there or anything but hey at those drunken frat parties its not like anyone noticed I didn't belong .
Besides the jocks were far to busy trying to ******* the cheerleaders .

Yeah remind me never to dress up like a cheerleader again on Halloween .
And never tell a football **** you used to be a tight end
that **** hurt but enough with memory lane darlings .

My ******* dance partner slash sleep interrupting bouncer ******* .
Was licking his chops just imaging the thought of twisting my spine in several directions  .

Sure  he may not have been smart but when you bench press a small car and stand seven foot tall does it truly ******* matter?

For a second my buzz wore off and allowed something I seldom have to slip back into my thoughts .
Common sense cause the thought of being turned into a human basket ball truly didn't sound all that alluring

Look Conan sure you can get all  riod raged over my lack of respect for the rules but much like ******* who own this site you will learn its best to ignore me and bury my work while eight year olds trend ripping off pop songs  .
And yes kids that's what we call a dig  don't worry  its far from the last .

I mean sure we can fight you can break my bones bruise my ego but one way or the other I will probably surprise you much like your parents did when they informed you weren't really there's.
I mean most people want to wash the **** off them the gorillas at the zoo throw at them .
Where your mom cleaned it up took it home and named it whatever the hell your name is.

You ******* loud mouthed ***** that's it no more talking lets do this .
There wasn't any reasoning with this unhappy muscle monkey .
Guess my charm was lost in his lift heavy things up then put them down logic .

We went into the alley along with half the people that were in the bar apparently they truly were starved for entertainment.
That and they wanted to see me be murdered.
Tuff crowd must have been something I said .

Kick his ******* *** Frank! One guy yelled .
Yeah break his jaw Franky another woman said .
Don't worry this is going to be a cake walk guys.

The bouncer said as he pounded his fist into his hand a few times .
For all his puffing up he seemed perplexed why I  hadn't even taken off my glasses or put down my beer for that matter .

I just viewed him getting more and more angry as I laughed .
Only further enraging him more .

What the ******* laughing at ******!!!
You really really sure you want to do this big guy?
Yeah stupid why you think I'm out here ?

Honestly I thought for a change of atmosphere maybe the smell of some fresh garbage in the air.

Just shut the **** up the talk ends now!!!

He walked forward his hands clenched but was thrown off as I put my hands up .
I just got to say before this sorry .

What the hell are you talking bout you stupid ******* ?
Well sorry cause it's really going to hurt there big guy .

Yeah when I crush your skull you got that right *******!.

No silly muscle man my surprise.
He laughed looking at me as if I were  half insane almost puzzled much the way most people view me .

What ******* surprise !?

I took a nice long sip of my bourbon and coke .
Well big guy your standing in a puddle of **** and I got a police issue tazer .

He didn't even have a chance to look down as he would have noticed the little red dot on his chest .

Oh **** was all that the mountain of a man muttered as his body was lit up like a Christmas tree.

The thud sounded like a old oak hitting the ground .
I kept pulling the trigger as he flopped around like a fish outta water .
The crowd looked at me with a sense of disgust the old woman who had cheered on the want to be pro wrestler to break my neck  .

Looked at me and said you are a no good cheat .
Why thank you my drunken washed up old **** of a friend .

They all began to head back into the bar as I left the human boulder laying in a puddle of **** .

Remember children never fight fair always fight to win.

Fin.

Grad me footless,
World class; fruitless,
Jumping backwards,
Three steps; bootless.

Call me stupid,
Call me smart.
Call me funny,
Fire for the dead head-start.

Breaking windows,
Crashing cars;
Wasting nights,
In dead-end bars.

Losing grip,
Of jaded souls;
Ditching all our,
Larger goals.

Flying solo,
Through the void;
Running low,
On blood-steroid.

Washing freshmen,
Clean of youth;
It hurts, I know,
Like sugared- tooth.

Growing up,
Is tough, it seems;
But through the thick,
A bright light gleams.

Somedays, I feel it swallowing me.
******* me down like a half-priced, happy hour, fruity ******* drink.
Somedays, I can't even find the top or bottom or inside or out.
Like my Grandpa with his first iPod.
Somedays, I feel it shouting at me, "You're not better than this".
You sound just like my mother.
Somedays, I give in to it.
Like we're in a thumb war, and it's the 8th grade bully with mutant steroid fingers.  

Then I remember.
It's just my bed.
And it's really time for me to wake up.

Trying to bleed out every last word that's sitting behind the brain barrier.
I'm afraid I'll lose composure if I get rid of all that juice.
Steroid in my can
I'm juiced.

I heard a good tang/space reference.
Let's pretend that I'm good with wit.

You could be a comic
You're a funny guy.
I sense turbulence
You caught me off guard.

You're not wrong
You caught me off guard.

Let's break up
You're not wrong
You caught me off guard.

I want you
Let's break up
You're not wrong
You caught me off guard.
---
I have somebody else count it.
Throw a brick, and miss.
I meant to do that.
I meant to do that.

Drown out self importance
Drown in self impotence
Drown in self importance
Drown in self

Not that it matters, but I'm not really impotent
Impatient, maybe, but not impotent
Erectile dysfunction
I only relate with the latter of the two words.

I'm done. I think that's it.
Bled out

Neck muscles vigorously strained
Pulled out like a wet frail rotted rope
Fastened together by a rusted lock with piercing sharp edges
Porcelain beads of sweat cling to pulsating vines

Staring up, as if something of hope is there
Intense powered complex thinking
No movement, just a frozen dead stare
Straight glance of light into a darkness covered cave

A battle royale of steroid induced thoughts
The mind, a cage match of soft pinkish flesh
Each thought it wearing armor of dull chilled spikes
Pain shoots through the cranium as each thought collapses into the cage

The eyes, a vortex into another world, look onward
Tears stream down of drunk crimson liquid
Leaving a salted burned trail down each toughened cheek
Stinging each eye with a impoverished sob

The mouth of dried ***** sand paper stays creaked open
A spiral of silk heated air escapes, but with no sound attached
Quivered lips cut from bitter winded blades
A soiled red with a blanket of cotton white

The position of deep depressed nauseating thoughts
The body is powerless and deathly limp
Glued to the seated area, as if it always lived there
A doll, a puppet to its overpowering super brain

Stuck in a painful vision
Will I return?

no! seriously! how many ******* times will we have to go over this format of reciting biblical compliments to each other, chapter 1 verse 1 through to 3 like it's worth 30,000 word essays on hermeneutics... if any rational man could see that somehow 3 words = 30 thousand words... he'd have written a dictionary in 10 languages, and thesauruses combining 3 of them for aesthetic purposes of non-tutored rhetoric: the talk that made drinking a pint less about st. st. st. stuttering, and more about: rub-dub-rub-dub... why in seashell the sea and in cave the echo? psst... don't wake them... the English rationalists will have a monkey scout on the trails of such loose language insensibility... they'll keep the power of the un-tripped domino with Shakespeare... the only country in the world where a dictator exists... and no one wants to own up to the identity of who he is.*

for all its worth, history is like science, quiet frankly history is
a science of humanism, so many facts in science, as there
are dates in history -
we educate people for the hamster catch -
drill them Pythagoras to reach a blind spot,
likewise quantum twins:
here too, there too,
Xerxes mad lashing at the sea for disobeying,
some Emperor of Japan not lashing at the sea
and allowing a samurai smooth tsunami stroke
against the neck wipe a million shaven heads
and a beard from the cares of
the few entombed in modern pyramids: harems.
if only Xerxes were transported to Japan
and began lashing against the sea for disobeying,
sent a few army bombers to disperse the wave,
maybe then we'd know why he failed
in his conquest of Greece...
apathy is the worst kind of madness,
it breeds no King Lear... it breeds no fear,
no theatrical splendour...
it just showcases the homeless man
at Covent Garden with the sign: please help...
walking past in fake diamond but nonetheless
esteemed ownership for status...
i'd run naked past... but to prove what?
that brother C.C. owns a t.v.?
prove what, and to whom? the grey mass
that entombs a life we once had
but are left to this perpetual-awe riddle
of up-kept science and ridicule of awe from
the beginning? up-keeping awe in science goes so
far, as Cancer Man said: the minute
they reject my book, i turn into the subverting
agent of their success... they don't
publish my book i un-publish their so called-truth
books, which become nothing more than
cookery books... the people of Siberia
are stern enough to survive without some
mush from upper-east side, some
London elitist with a flavour for Dubai...
to attain the uttermost objectivity of man's concern
is to devolve his highly evolved protection
of the subjectivity of the state, or patriotism,
of the Hegelian protective ownership of goods,
of the Marxian communal dis-ownership of such escapades:
to give birth to a God of jealous inquisitions,
one must give birth to a God of jealous intentions,
as of any time as the one time in mythology,
no greater time would be assured in being equal,
to his being... oh i favour the Cancer Man...
the object remains intact, censored subjectivity has already
been in place with the enforcement of
keeping Shakespeare saintly, erasing all existing memory
of, i admit, unnecessary bureaucracy to merely
draw a halo over a frying-pan of scrambled eggs...
it doesn't matter how right or wrong i am...
people have been given an almost eternal history,
so that they don't believe in an eternity...
but whereas a wolf once attacked a flock of sheep
and could be easily distinguished by adaptability,
the wolf within the sheep, as with the sheep within
a metaphysical suggestion (abstract) is no longer
distinguishable... we evolved to cannibalise each other...
whether intentionally in isolated cases, or poetically
with unintended cases of isolation...
we gave birth to a greater death than that of god...
we gave birth to the death of poetry, by precursor
to a death i mean the birth of the mediocre.
all the avenues are exhausted... all that fanciful
cocktail of clown and mime and acrobat are done...
we turned to comparative existentialism, as we always
did, we always wanted to protect the lamb from the wolf,
the fly from the spider... but when we were given the
bigger picture, the pyramid, the schematic, we became
so scared of our natural power that we created an overwhelming
seemingly over-worldly power of the atom...
we pitied the lamb lost among a pack of hungry wolves...
but then we gave sway to the industrial slaughter of cows
for mere food fights in schooling institutes that cared
more for imagining ourselves without body rather than
without god... god is dead... enter the dietitian.
as one swine plucked the heat from another swine's comfort,
another anorexic prickled her skin against another's
for the other's to only feel nerve and bone than anything
mammalian... we, the lizard people of the severed cranium,
who, through our concreteness to fact:
as in science as one fact changed, so history without mythology
no fact remains with the mythology of hindsight, the what if...
who cares if it happened, why are you trapped in the mythology
of what if? we are truly lizards... to the core that we imagine
the canvas of our fancies (muscles, fat, fibres) so gluttonous
with ****, while leaving cold skeletal phonetics dyslexic,
broken... why then so many people dare to read?
want to? want to escape the horrid comforts of the papier mâché?
fibula... but is that φι- or θι-? you don't know,
before you could teach the coherence of the movement of such
bones, you enveloped them in moulds of images,
which you later called sacred, and knelt before them,
in the worship of former stone engravings, which you engraved
on canvas depicting learned folk who were bitterly ignorant...
then you desecrated graves... giving fake skeletons
property over pointless words, words that could never stretch
to the sentence of: i love you... you left them,
in slogan canned, until started asking: where are the dentists!
where are the dentists! we need dentists!
you we simply slurring a stupid karaoke into a microphone
while your grandmothers ****** your very lives day by day;
but hey! ooh those steroid biceps that would
end up giving you a heart-attack when running
against true athletes of 200 metres at 20 metres dead;
oh believe me... those tourist trips to Auschwitz?
they're fakes... you don't have to go on a tourist trip to
Auschwitz to start realising you're living in hell...
those trips are only real for people who've been there
for real... even those Israeli schoolchildren have no place
there... it's a place designated for Nazis and Poles
who identified themselves as Jews first...
mind if we import the Sphinx to Trafalgar Sq. for
kicks the tourists might admire in between breaks of
watching Netflix?

Self destruction imploded,
explosive is the emotion, when corrupt and tainted,
and salvation is stagnant, dismembered and disassembled,
as it resembles a black heart that relinquishes it's broken wings,
and surrenders to complication in frustration...
A device used that's suffice to sacrifice what temptation,
made sacrilegious, a viscous disease plagued by the relic feelings that are negative prognosticators bringing induced nostalgia
that only comforts til the attachments make it arbitrary.
It's a condition that foreshadows eminent manifestations
that makes justification unequivocal, so indestructible is my problematic depression,
my depression that im stressing is what causes my stressing,
only stretching once pressing so im guessing
that self destruction is a blessing as im confessing that my lifes abusive like im a possession
and thats when i question my suicidal state
and why i wait, causing my seld destructive ways to mutates into a plutonium powered, steroid fuelled monster
that contributes to the inadequate feeling projected in my low self-esteem filled consciousness ...
until the residual given the variables is nothing short of pathetic,...
An astronomical spectrum of failure,
tears and insecurities that resonate to perpetuate the amplified undeniable confinement that nihilism builds....
Irreparable, so I reprehend reputation and release stigma,
but alas reach to accept what I cannot change,
changing the things I can and staying perplexed in differentiating.
The only respite I have is the lethargic hope that I will be terminated immediately,
til then redundant is the regretful feeling resulting in me halting
living vicariously through dead individuals visual
but your imagination cant comprehend it,
as it is declared gratuitous with the exemption of acting as a wrecking-ball to shatter my scattered and battered dreams
as demolition makes extinct the instinct to continue my pursuit for happiness that my gps can't seem to locate for a destination point,
so implicated is the uncomplicated conclusion that most concur as apt.
I contemplate collision to refute, but refuge I seek leaves me like the head of a seek, wrapped in a turban of the tangled web of lies I weave in a post freedom epiphany
that dictates to fall in line and pay taxes,
which contradicts freedoms theory and questions it as if to challege a democracy our hypocrisy sold out,
so before I implode as an introvert would,
I say as an extrovert to divert and dodge the bomb
made of self pollution society helped bond to my suicidal notion to instigate what is now destiny,
... Stand back...take cover...TNT + me = my carefully calculated subconscious desire...
Calamity that brings Armageddon ...boom!!!
As I yell goodbye before the dramatic, and traumatic ******...
brains blood and guts erupt, to help conduct
and orchestrate the witnesses who are now throwing up

Brain Warp

Heart is a pounding,
shadows are surrounding.
Clock is a ticking,
my nose I'm picking.
Trying to keep control,
smoking a big fat bowl.
Smoking the moments when,
the darkness comes again.
Let's do the brain warp today,
it's really the only way.
Pass to the left, pass to the right,
don't forget to bring a light.
Knees feeling kinda weak,
people think you're a freak.
A pelvic ****** causes pain,
you start to go slowly insane.
Let's do the brain warp today,
if need be, I will have to pay.
It's so dreamy,
fantasy equals creamy.
Starting to sweep the nation,
so high, I need a translation.
Do what you want, mind will flip,
soon you'll see time start to slip.
You're spaced on medication,
it's the greatest sensation.
Let's do the brain warp today,
whether you're straight or gay.
Well, I was walking down the road,
stepped on some jumpy toad.
Then some strange guy,
gave me the most evil eye.
He was driving in his truck,
I say to myself, what the ****.
I was getting paranoid,
he must be on a steroid.
Let's do the brain warp today,
nothing else left to say.

by my account the 20th century is still asleep,
what with the outdated publishing world,
thanks, i can buy toilet paper, cheaper, elsewhere.
i take the: you will regret it if you don't
route with five beers -
the usual: a rich neighbourhood,
great houses, **** me, love to live in one
of those, but wouldn't love to pay the electricity bill...
and doubly usual, a colt rummaging in his
emotions in a park, atypical of affluent neighbourhoods,
the young males doing the Werther: sad o me
impression... violins aplenty...
it's a sinister choke (rather than a joke)
for the reality... so he's in the park,
i'm on the pavement admiring the rich folk:
nice barns... very nice barns... shame that no one
really lives in them... forgive me, it's Saturday:
the noblemen and noblewomen are
the lesser tourists in London...
the point of ensō? to write as if holding your
breath with a thumb-up-yer-****...
all very much *** pistol worded: god give
the queen a pension... and the nutcracker
the eat end.. for some ******* and brawling...
cheeky little ****... but you walk down these streets
and think: economy squat, or squatting standing up?
or, perhaps... you keep those Victorian street lamps
and i get a good view of what pyramids multiplied
looks life? but serious, i walk enough outside of
experiment königsberg i get visual
inspiration, i forget encoding sounds in order
to do the blatant of: making people, visualise things
that aren't there...modern fiction...
or alias for schizophrenic diagnostics type A...
******* never go away... ****-poor in writing the
**** book, needs a film to give it a compound
of steroid-amphetamines...
two books... two!
high fidelity & the scarlet and the black that
encouraged me reading the books after seeing the film...
i too wish lord of the rings came out later
so i had the chance... **** reading them now...
they're like a two volume edition of Proust...
chance meeting with the meat-heads at the gym...
i'd rather be found pumping iron that reading
a two volume edition... plus... i chose a class
of associated writers... Joyce the Proust,
and Pound the lampshade....
yes, i too wish i was lefty and liberal minded...
but i'm odiously right and liberal minded:
meaning i like a drink and a joke...
we all wish to be lefty liberals -
                                   we all do...
it's what called: the key to the hole concerning
entering a playhouse where everything
is minded without political lingo -
or what Einstein did to physics -
   the butterfly and tornado...
                       the biggest croquet heap of *******
i have ever heard...
             given enough light-years... the universe
just, sorta, becomes, two-dimensional...
      so this rich kid depressed walking alone in
the park... finished my can of beer and started to
**** about with the fence...
   rattling the beer can against the fence...
for a xylophone impromptu -
  **** me, those houses grand but nothing to say
about them except for: barns...
                      scarecrow personalities and
puff here, puff gone the next lives...
who's children could enter a quiz show and tell you
more brands then countries...
    Angola is probably a mountain,
                    Trinidad is a term for lake in Swahili...
and Nike is neither a goddess nor a parasite but
    a new pair of trainers...
so under a street lamp i crushed the can of beer
and tried to aim it at the nearby trash can -
missed, waved my hand in a downward spiral
and felt nothing about keep park aesthetics pristine...
  walk a bit further... ****** on someone's garage door...
no, really, it's asleep... it's too early for those
  who are published to realise there's a modification
going on... a bit like Napster... sorta like it...
   we're bypassing clerics and censors...
****'s for free, obviously... but to actually, experience,
the ultimate freedom, wouldn't you want to do
it, even if it's for free?         the capacity to experience
    full freedom, without a profit margin,
without even caring if the thing sells, or doesn't...
with paper priced at about 30 quid per month
and unlimited ink?
                                     always... at the turn of any
given century... there are those still recycling
the previous century's ideas in order to simply
buy televisions... no wonder the television
is a hypnotic eye of shadows according to
Plato's puppets' experiment -
       rich house, poor house...
                         it's all the same.
sure, i published a book, but the drugs are in
instant access - it's the only true reality of what
was once deemed the Schengen principle -
obviously that doesn't include people, but ideas...
as once, travelling to Glencoe, in a Scottish fish shop
a three layered tier of importance:
  c. the people who talk about other people (gossip)
   are < b. the people who talk about
                    events (journalism), who in turn
   are < a. the people who talk about ideas...
         Scotland... a village chip shop... and that as a
"bumper"sticker in the window... i must be in heaven.
but those people in journalism and the publishing
industry forgot, or quiet simply undermined
the privilege of being able to exploit an environment
so adamantly - they forgot that the internet is
not about making a buck - who would want to make
money in a completely free environment?
               bypassing the many rules and regulations
  of creativity's fatalism, and the author's right to
buy a kettle or a washing machine?
                               if you were to ask me:
where can i get clean mineral quality water?
          i'd tell you where, i know where to find it,
takes about three miles to get to the source,
but i could show you were to find mineral quality water.
i'm giving them 50 years... 50 years before
the now free movement of ideas entices the authorities
to introduce censorship of some kind...
                    at the moment it's all true and really
Schengen... in principle, as in practice -
         because, there's, no, desire, for, making, a, profit...
is that noble? well, n'ah... it's more or less:
         for the love of something that, with due hope,
will **** you con. all expectations for seeing the summer
solstice for the 70th count-to-remember summer -
    and all that arthritis handshakes with shadows -
as ever: the turtle reached his 100th birthday  -
  synthesising nothing -
            man reached his 70th birthday having analysed
all the potentials to prolong his life,
        synthesised the 70th year,
          without really analysing the allocated 30...
and for all that science, and hope for celebrating an
achievement of the total human endeavour -
left the rotten wrinkly ******* in their own faeces
and ****... because, well... not analysing the world
with only 30 years to spare... wisdom, suddenly appeared
at the age of 60... but this sort of analysis was
a bit like saying: just be happy with your synthetically
prolonged life...
                                because how many people, these days,
can claim to have acquired the analytically prolonged
life of the ancient Greeks? null.
                   as it stands: people live up to
a prolonged age... with the ***** avalanche pulverising
them to die as soon as possible...
               almost like the fruit of knowing good
and evil... the conjunction already plays the narrative joke:
                  not: good from evil...
   but: good and evil...                                so are we to
expect a differentiation? no!            we will do both
simultaneously -
                                   **** seeking justice in the mouth
of another human with a justice whip -
            i want to experience theocracy in the intended
format - i.e. hearing it from the horse's mouth -
               and since the horse isn't here...
   i'll just watch the theocratic cinema of Syria for
the moment... and see how democracy perpetrates
idea worship - for what's left of the twilight engulfed idols.

I was born in Puerto Rico
I grew up with an alchoholic abusive father
He would hurt my mom
We came to the USA when I was 5
To get away from him
My mother found a better man
When I was 7 we wrent back
Around that time
I developed an ear infection
It was very noticeable
Every one would avoid me
I had no one to talk to
At age 9 I had my first surgery
It fixed my infection
I had a scar that grew behind my ear
People thought I had a worm or something
So again I was alone
After a while I had another surgery
To remove the scar tissue
To fix my inner ear
They fixed my ear although I lost
65% of my hearing in one ear
But the scar tissue grew back
A year after I had my last surgery
To remove the tissue
I would need steroid shots in my ear
I got a got a couple of shots
But the insurance wouldn't cover more
So it eventually grew back
I started to grow my hair
So to cover my ears
My junior year of high school
I noticed the scar had shrunk
I felt better about my self
So I got a nice hair cut
A new style a new me
Except I was very shy
I guess I still am
Theres alot more to write
But I'll leave it for another day
I will say
I suffered through alot of things between all that
Much like most teenagers do
Bullying, anxiety, acne, feeling alone, thoughts of suicide, self harm, rejection, and more
But I never gave up hope
I know there are people out there
That have it worse
But it does get better
It sounds so cliché to say that
But its true

vänster, samt vad är kvar / left, together with what's left (Sveedish).

i didn't tell you which hemisphere of
the brain was affected, the uncensored region
you might say - unaffected by
αφασια - a fine balancing act:

right*                              |                     ­       left
imagination                                        ­          logic
intuition                                                  langu­ge
insight                                                  reaso­ning
music                                                   arithmetic
art                                           science in general
= Σ, a holistic basin            = Σ, a rat in a maze

so no wonder - the left was pumped up studying
chemistry and not really bothered about
theological-humanism or humanism per se,
arguments came, arguments went,
some argued, some prayed, it was all a bit
like a fiery hoopla thrown in the air with
a dog jumping through it at the same time -
but what i don't understand is how,
certain aspects of knowledge encapsulating
a universal breadth of things are based upon
limitations, limitations that are, after all
the particulars - like Socrates mused,
universally we can all see the stars -
blind men and speech coupled with
imagination are a particular cut-off point,
as i guess are astronauts - star-gazing must
seem rather boring after you've seen the earth
from above like that - never mind the photographs
from up there, won't do it justice -
so let's say we have the above stated schematic of
variations in the hemispheres - why did
i get this adrenaline / steroid boost in language?
the only reason i can think of is that this language
was acquired, it's technically an inorganic part of me,
should it be organic akin to the body it would
have to be spoken to a child in some remote part
of Poland, any haemorrhage is an organic event,
it's this inorganic implant in me that's surfacing
and seems unaffected, rebellious against the body's
change... for a minute there i thought i handled
the whole debate well, now i'm not so sure -
it's this music pounding that's affecting the writing,
sometimes you get it right, sometimes you get it wrong,
but the compensation is... it's on digital paper,
i'm not chopping down the Amazon or stealing
other people's toilet paper... language usage based
upon misnomer-ism, a theory that to encompass
a well-intended vocabulary given the depth of
all human vocabulary is a sheer impossibility unless
it be limited, and by being limited invokes
emotional connection to averse reaction via a censor
or without a censor - or was that the expectation
to understand left and right in a classroom with prim
instances of use of thought out immortality and
Japanese perfectionism in the garden? mortal, mistake,
mortal, mistake - and if mortality wasn't bad enough
the insistent lamentations of a would-be-heaven-to-come.
now i can write blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, blah
like this forever, but i just have a feeling for anymore,
it's this contradictory lamentation of what
adequate language activity is expected of anyone -
or why the qualities of the left are only partially damaged,
and the sudden exponential rush to compulsive
writing, hermit-like-existence and overall boredom
with existence (i hate that in england there's a
distinction between existence and life... existence always
has negative connotations, to me it just means life
in slow-motion- i.e. out of every instance; or?
attention to detail). but it's true, that's how it's spoken
in england - existence bad, life good - or why is it
that both self and ego are used in psychology?
they're no longer proper pronouns, so i guess they can
act as bumper stickers or boxing bags to bash
about because no one is going to write or speak a
sentence using them, well the self is still used more,
no ego-tripping as they say - but you wouldn't
exactly write, so self went to the corner-shop
and bought myself a brimful of asha (forty-five!),
one's german, the other is latin, and we're bashing
these words about with theories, structures
of necessary conviction while using a more fluid
system of pronouns, but we nonetheless kept them
for theoretical purposes, supposing we wouldn't
hurt anyone in the process... why keep both?
it's like two histories colliding - the history of barbaric
invaders from the north with their ram-like
persistence to keep talking, and the southerners who
didn't like the runes and like Greek thought.
i don't know, seems like a bordello in terms of keeping
any language tidy.

p.s. i wonder why, with the right hemisphere being
unaffected i do not experience lucid dreaming...
i guess the brain just said: dreaming is irrational
when justifying a good night's sleep.

By: Cedric McClester

We saw it burn
Now I’m concerned
With what can be learned
Before we return
To what we know
The status quo
With nothing to show
Can someone say whoa!

Let’s tear a small page
From the outrage
When kids are engaged
They don’t usually stage
The kind of destruction
That leads to reduction
In the production
Of new construction

Out of the fallen ashes
From our past clashes
Let’s find what surpasses
Ignoring the masses
Why can’t we fill the void
Like an anabolic steroid
For the underemployed
Whom we usually avoid

Subtract the crime
Which I can’t cosign
From the paradigm
Don’t let it define
The legitimacy
Or what well might be
The urgency of now
Which is key anyhow


© Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.

Two and a half weeks into this quarantine
Rainy days and
no poems
No words forthcoming
All quiet
I decide that perhaps
if I just put one
Word
In front of another
And keep on for a time
Words upon words
something will come?

At 8:30 every morning
A man passes
walking a Pomeranian mix
A joyful little dog
(I’d steal him in a heartbeat)
They walk
He twirling the leash round and round
The dog leaping higher and higher still.
They dance together eyes meeting
and smile as I know a dog can
and I remember
how I would dance with my last greyhound.
We would tango and box-step.
I always led.

These days the little
Pomeranian can’t get his attention
anymore
The leash doesn’t twirl above its head
He’s pulled along impatiently
There are no more smiles
Their eyes won’t meet
He’s slow to realize that he’s become a drudgery
I want to yell out the window
I see you
EVERY MORNING AROUND 8:30!
Where’s your joy gone buddy?
Don’t you know that’s all you’ve got?
You’re bumming me out for real
and your dog loves you!
Wake up! You fool wake up!

I think that now I’ll walk to Ralph’s
I have various thoughts while doing so
Children race their bikes passed me
as if they’re in an entirely other reality
altogether
and
maybe they are.
The wind blows through their hair
effortlessly
As if it couldn’t mine.

Front lawns offer up fields of dandelions
as if their orbs the most prized bounty
Freshly mown grass smells new and clean instead of putrid, rotting in the sunshine
The fulsome wafts of springtime’s
jasmine and osmanthus heaving with citrus and pepper evade me as I pass their blossoms
Yet on the rare occasion a fragrant rose pierces through the weft and hits a nostril
but I can’t tell which bloom.

The smooth talking
homeless girl
has finally covered up that
diabetic open sore on her left ankle
the size of a flattened crimson football
which is something,
although I can see that
she’s being told to move along as
she just can’t sit anywhere she pleases.

I’m counting every time I see the word “dead” along my way.

In the store the ladies that buy
their bottles of white wine in the afternoon
are starting earlier now
with supplies and deliveries
unsure
It’s one thirty and I see
Two bottles of Clos du Bois
And four Domaine St. Michelles
in the cart to my right
and nothing else
as they do.
I’m not going to ask her
about her dinner party.

While I stare at packages of coffee
A man pulls off his mask to sneeze into the air before him
And I say to the older man approaching
I don’t think that you’ll be going any farther
in that direction.
It was under my breath.
He didn’t hear me.
I have a mask on.
He turned his cart around and walked back
the way he came.

I have this urge to talk to everyone.
I have this relentless desire for ice cream.
I miss everything.
Nothing here
will satisfy anything
to do with me.
Can one survive a global catastrophe
with candy and magical thinking?

Older people
And by that
I mean really old people
Eye me suspiciously
Almost fearful
As if I myself alone
embody
the menacing contagion
and I guess I could.
Perhaps I do.
It’s hard to read emotions with these masks
But their eyes seem terribly unkind and
brows, furrowed
One stares at me hard
with beady anger and a ready insult
another will jump me in the checkout line
and with great solicitude
unwrap her money from
the white notebook paper
pulled from the manila envelope
Now re-folded with
rubber bands and string
And placed back
into her chest
She is so sweet to the cashier
with her black acrylic wig askew
that he seems quite shocked to hear
she cut in front of
fifteen people
without so much as a word.
Who cares really?

My first mask made me sneeze for four hours straight and made my nose burn like a hit of **** *******.
I’ve been handed a free mask by
a representative
from my local assemblyman
made of a softer material
I find that
it won’t stay up and fogs the base of my glasses.
I don’t think it’s working.
It reads
We’re All In This Together.

I still can’t breathe.

The doomed asthmatic
selling his single ciggies on the sidewalk
dies on Staten Island
from a policeman’s chokehold.
Eric Garner
In those desperate last moments
of
his
2014
despite his pleas and confusion
surely there before him appeared
although not quite the end that he’d envisioned or feared
what with steroid inhalers from the pharmacy
a crystalline moment
when he knew without a doubt that
he’d never take another gasp of air
like a bloated goldfish on its side
expressionless and saucer eyed
outside its bowl
What happened to his mind then?
What will happen to mine?

It has been said that
certain tribal kings
have brought before them
after battle
their most worthy enemy
in the process of imminent death
while they sit in numinous splendor
and wait for that perfect moment
to lean in close to the mouth
and inspire greedily
the purest
most sublime
expiration of their life force,
now a pristine delicacy of the infinite,
for themselves alone.

Earlier in the week I was pretty sick and Peter was pampering me. One night, as Peter was taking away my tea tray, I took a selfie to send to my mom - as proof of life.
He looked at it from the side, “Ooo, no,” he frowned, “too slutty.” He put his hand out for my phone, “May I help?”
“Can you hear yourself talking?” I asked. My mouth was incredibly dry from the steroid meds. The entire world seemed an unnecessary irritation.
He gently tied my robe, straightened me and my pillows and took a new version. “Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, a little more crossly than I meant to, “you’re always right.”
“It’s the world we live in. Get used to it,” he muttered.
When I tried to pick up my iPad and go back to work, he gently took it away, “Stop,” he whispered, “It’s 12am, you’re done for the night.”
I groaned, relieved really, then he took a small eucalyptus stick and dabbed it on my temples. “Gaa!” I said, “That’s cold!”
Who knew grown up, Californian men were so into homeopathy? After a moment though, it felt amazing.

The next morning, a cat appeared in our suite! It was a solid gray kitten with deep, brown eyes. At first, we stared at it like it was an alien (where’d that come from?) until Leong came in from the cold and said, “Cat.” Then it was welcomed.
About the time Sunny ID'd it as a British-shorthair, there was a tiny knock on our door and a little girl asked, “Have you seen..,” only to squeak “Cirrus!” when she saw her kitty. I’m telling you now, **** the rules, we would’ve kept that kitten.

bye Google. All Google’s been doing this semester is feeding me into CAPTCHA traps, Argh!
How, in 2023, can Internet searches be getting harder? One of my roommates, Anna, is helping me test alternative search engines.
Anna’s a wiry, freckled, 5’4” farm-girl from Oregon, with wavy, shoulder length, dark-brown beach-hair. In our first semester, Anna was a firecracker tossed into my life. She’d bang on my door at 2am (I didn’t even KNOW this crazy farmgirl) with her problems, klutziness and bad boyfriend stories, but she won me over with her vulpine-braininess, her impertinent straightforward secrets and laughter - all delivered in her exotic, western twang.
“Ok,” Anna suggests, getting way into my personal space to see my screen, “try - headache after ***.”
“Sure, GET me on odd shopping lists,” I snark.
“Black mole on armpit,” she countered or “intimate dryness.”
“Big help!” I laughed.

I don't know why my heart stopped when I saw you.
I don't know why I fumbled over my words more than usual.
I asked you twice nearly thrice how you were doing
and tripped into the desk
and shuffled my piles of books onto the desk-
God I was so awkward
but you just smiled and shook your head-
like you did long ago.
You asked me what I was doing
and my brain rocketed to the ends of the earth and back
desperate to find something cute, clever, and witty to say,
I so badly wanted to be interesting-
for you to think I'm interesting-
But somehow the only thing I managed to say was
"nothing"
and you smiled and looked at me with those big,m familiar brown eyes
and I couldn't place how I felt.
I couldn't keep myself from remembering.
I felt so safe in your arms,
wandering the forest
and napping in that boat
at the edge of that lake
while the party raged behind us on land.
I thought it was cool that you had been to juvy
and I'm a sucker for asians
and you didn't mind that I was a loser
and the way you pulled me closer
and burried your face in my neck-
I've only ever wanted to feel safe,
and I felt safe with you.
and today as I fumbled to act normally
I saw that you still didn't care that I was a loser,
and in all your steroid-esque muscle
and thick bag that you had put yourself together
after your third round at Juvy last year.
I don't think I ever liked you,
and you never liked me,
so I don't know what it is I feel
or why I stumbled so,
but I have a small fear inside
that worries this feeling is from seeing
that you are very much different from then,
and I am very much the same.