heard a voice as i died
in the cold moonlight
forty phantoms
breathing through me

and this wasted life
holds on too long
like a piano from the dark
and a mystic chord
i froze and woke in tandem
with the underscore

Floating above the rifts of apperception I glaze over the gaudy faucets of imagined vector thrusts in hibernation by the lucubration of space-time materialized crystal in the somber beats of fetched farrago of choice slices in delicate hums of hemmed balance rantipole only in ethereal importance but otherwise supersolid above the sprauncy vagrancy of dilettantism. We shout a clarion virtuosity so that the conclamation of neovitalism conjures upon a spell of lapse and regress a motive for further crystallization of epidemiology into harmony with syndicated admonition sleek in design and parceled into renown by feats of completion rather than slugabed gregarious fountains of wasted ingenuity bleeding from the vacuum of an empty hearth in a hospitable dwelling otherwise cleared of imperfection. Right now, I levitate with transcendence with an approximated eidetic memory that is the surgical vibrancy of renewal rather than the chameleons of hidden talents buried by the walls of Jericho sounding tocsins of alarm that the anointed favor of choice destruction is only an encircled rapture of rhapsodies of confluence found in axiomatic truths ribbed with the futtocks of seaworthy but cauponate recidivism into the donnybrooks of apocryphal revelation preceding the whimsical fall of cascading permanence just as gravity so ordained it. We breathe the life of the ethereal numinous spirit of isangelous repute because we navigate the exquisite cobweb of reconciliation to surpass all understanding in peace what would be a miscegenated carcass of war otherwise apart from the incidental apartheid of the drones of causality ignoring the antecedent reality too much to register fathomed streaks of preventive endeavor because of the scars of a scrappy schlep of the rampicks of ecbolic servitude to moth-eaten star-crossed lovers of the mean menagerie of gutless succor renowned only in tepid rejections of harbingers bequeathed in succession but ignored because of the procession of “Billie Jean” politics.

   The citadel aflame with controversy buttresses carnality by witless contaminants of hidebound scaldabancos of ineffable destitution so craven in eisoptrophobia for their hypostasized indolent fatuousness of capitulation that they are but a minor punctuation in the largesse of centuries to favor audacity in candor over the prevarications of catastrophe to dented human pride against humane dictates of theodicy in fatalism that predestination experimented with its own vaulted verve to find permanent solutions engraved in the agrapha of time to solidify the redintegrated truth of God’s divine stewardship above the quisquilous deism of former regnant centuries of blench and blandishment. We revolt at the specter of rot only when the effluvia of disgust elevates the visceral reality above the utilitarianism of recycled prim nuisances of noisome lineage that yet balk because they are bereft of attention but not a vacant talent and therefore should the subsidies of man surpass the ignorance of appearances he will shrug of the demur of the scrimshank and sharpen his scrivello in the service of redemption found through cultivated prowess of gardens beneath where rivers flow above a cubic centurion of embattled visages of the heavens becoming the rampart for the vestigial clarity of Secret Masters to foresee the bypass that heals decadence and rebukes the formalism of puritan endeavor to sweat with exhaustive patience over the gossamer intertesselations of a ripe reality rather than a groveled fragmentary world shattered too much by exigent metanoia to mount the crenellated catchpole of vigilant enmity towards the stew of listlessness found in epigone and farce more than in organic fortunes. We flip the upheaval of society to squander our proportionate degrees of wealth on the necessity created by dire quandary which enamors by interrogations of pulchritude the verisimilitude of participle ivory dalliance of etched canvasses of simultagnosia for the librations of the liberated rings of betrothed liberation despite profound lurches of the mistetches of ignorance presiding dismally over the hulked disdain of glamborge rather than resselenque.

     The winter is a poor porcine glut of ciconine swelters because the prickly obtuse recoil of the delopes of caution find their permeable balance with a sort of photographic photosynthesis that braves the dearth of reprieve for the reprisal of nostalgic deeds found in the docimasy of riveted reflections because the preordination of God is the superlative champion of the witeless grandeval protectorate of infinite concepts guarded from the parvanimity even of the most strident minds squabbling over the braseros and battues of history as though those funereal stains of lachrymose regret outweigh the traditions of vaunted human progress because they are finicky about importunate pleas of subsidiary injustice rather than fulminations of the modern rebuttal to the disclaimers of an uneven history that shepherds the doubts of nihilism into ripe fruition at the expense of very expensive moral rot for the codlings of urbacity and mendaciloquence used to foment that tribalism of totemic justice. We see in Penuel the wrestling match of specters and heroic giants documented on the ageless pages and we notice the ironic twinges of struggle that kneaded the propriety of gentilian privilege that ultimately fostered an insurrection against chosen bravado among those that sear with zeal beyond the yordim afflictions of yobbery because the Jewish heart is stronger than any calamity even if it departs from the reverence of the colporteurs of the integrated syncretism of the attempted monolith that beseeches polyphiloprogenitive growth in mindset rather than in testy abeyance of forbearance because of known scrutinies into the tropology of wilted facts remanded by curious historicity that crumples without disdain when we memorialize the erasure of scepsis by modern standards of thaumaturgy.

    The minauderies of growth are a repositioned tacit allegiance to the untold fanfare and hearsay immunized against the broach of facetious levity to buoy discordant hearts above fumatoriums of relentless ignorance because coherent masterwork can be cobbled without such lapidary toil and toll on sincere affectations of wizened brevity. The seismic precautions for the forefathers of incidental convergences between expectancy and crystallized history are an ironic intortion of priorities because the heralds and tribunes matched the peerless foresight with the gerrymandered figments of apartheid between the imaginary and the real so that the delicate synchrony of events could unfurl a riveting carapace from the shells of protection even in amiable squalor for its impenitent attrition on the volleys of sensible rumor becoming fashioned in covert bedazzled errors in judgment leading to the triumph of the eventual civilization over the futtocks of the burial of the former trekleador of zenkidu belonging to provincial cadasters found so tucked in the hedges that discernment of frikmag would be an indelible scourge on the biognosy of the diagnosed endeavors that elapsed into remediated circumstances that brave the depths of deontological violation for the breadth of apportioned loaves and two swanky fish earning a place among the miracles of transcendent liberation from articles of decree imperious by sardonic disdain becoming nullified by the histrionics of a delicately staged orchestra that cements human achievement.

       We relish the frescades of a ruffled autumnal reminder of flourish above pothers of the screed of admonition swamped by nostalgic backtracks in the séance with ultimatum of design and the impregnated and carnal lusts of a world pitched in darkness with guarded lambent lights fomenting a perjury against tact for the deliverance of freedom in tacit agreement with owleries that every bonanza be tithed in their favor regardless of hibernation of spoilsports or their subsidiary remarks on indelible quills of invented manufactured realities we crave with desperation rather than cower from in requited nescience urging us to depart from affairs and stagnate the loyalty of fealty above the limber of utility mobilized above levities for solemn remarks and rejoinders. Promulgated above the robotic rubble of staffage haywire in wiredrawn contemplative resonance of tremulous subterfuge vestigial but immediate to the yardsticks of reprehensible malarkey, is the barnstorm for erratic dimples sauntered by the saunas of shelter above the chaos of ruined ginnels for the gimcracks of auxiliary duty to service, is the glorification of the sultry intimations of legions of remonstrance in guarded decorum about sunken atrocities lapsed in memorial to the incumbent brunt of sockdolagers of justice returning revenants from the bridewell of historical internment. The symphily of orchestras to cineaste symposiasts of surquedry in impudence beyond the brays of betrayal is the aborning mythos of regimented perceptions of a world that when magnified by minutiae appears starkly contrast to the gapped gubbertushed reality of the average patron of the arts to such an extreme gulf of receptive understanding that the qualia are dovetailed only in the swink of careful kisswonks to certify certitude itself when all the fragments coalesce into subjoined harmony to the substructures of inherent conscientiousness. The miracles at work that are vesicles and vessels for the swage of imprint above the loyalty of the imprinted tribunes of the fluminous is how hidden protrusions can emerge so victorious over popularized glazes on the pastures of a farmed culture itching for timmynoggies of innovation but only finding the etched remarks of pristine imagos of heroism dwindling in motivation to surpass the imaginative leaps accustomed to a newfangled laziness that bedazzles the guzzle of crowds but not the discrimination of the crowded morass of incompletion found in mosaics missing enigmatic philters of intoxicated love for the profound. So to be intermediary as a custodian for artistry we must cozen the wheedled imaginations not of the relic but the archaeologist that discovered the embedded prisms of attentive scrutiny for glinting sunshine inherent in troves of surpassed excellence beyond parochial sympatric blandishment of donnism rather than a resselenque that floats above demeanor to usher the cosseted age of treasure above the glib brocards and florews of past success.

      Immanent to the provisions of God as decreed from a syncretic reconnaissance of the pitiable gulfs that separate boundless divine love from the clavigerous potential for scrappy sympatric affiliation to **** through the barnstorms of internal comestions of conflated priorities we are ourselves prismatic in the indulgence of a tasty life sprinkled with zest rather than tempered with the vengeance of retorted animosity that we knead the pottery of ironclad resistance to a metallic conduit of pruned fulminations of unguided intuition so that the natural accord supersedes the goad of materialism for the sustenance of antiquity beyond its heyday for vital gains against the tauricide of panic and frenzy. The linchpin of all realistic attempts at the sympatric symphily of civilization is a guided remorse through the torment of affliction that sizzles without anteric barbs as it measures through engrenage how to pilot the vehicles of prosperity through the minefields of contingency that invisibly bequeath new hurdles and inestimable obstacles that collude surreptitiously to fulminate measured controversy against the backbites of restrained equipoise created by polities of the macadamized fabric of a welded smithy of a universe that with ubiquity proclaims above the senseless the harvest of conjugal repartee in sensible pride against militant bastions of incidental prejudice for a careen against the flyndresques of danger and the flyndrigs of glaikery alike for a humane spurt of enlightenment to tower peerlessly in supervision of entelechy created by esemplastic unity in apolaustic purpose. We cannot be puritans engaged in a pilgrimage to a palimpsest of priggishness because the daring elements of adventurism are necessary ingredients to catalyze the supply-chain of the innate gluttony of ego-seeking endless balance with a natural sustained biognosy that prizes biocentric harmony above bibliognost scepsis so that the enthused can flock with liberty divorced from libertinism. The ultimatum is a war between hedonism wed with donnism against eumoirety and self-restraint and this battle will be waged on the indolence of a future of cordslave tethers to interrogation of privy conceptualism hamshackled by the gradgrinds into the neat nexility of precise conformity that blacklists the samizdat because the genizah profoundly twists the already jumbled jengadangle and provides a junediggle of procession and ceremony rather than pomp without substantial grit embedded in the showmanship of a reality in need of a fourth-wall.

        It is ironic how we bewrayed our stewardship of the planet as a plenipotentiary sentience waged against the vesicles of instinct but more fundamental to this tattered but pregnant psalm is that the stronghold of our future is the tenacity of filial duty to enthrone the household with husbandry and restraint as an emolument to divine justice that sparkles opalescent in its own redacted notions of gravity imperfect in the taradiddles of science but refined by the eclat of the combustible syncopation of a reiterative trope of realism combined with surrealist caprice to henpeck affectionate violation above inviolable screeds of blood sport rather than conjugal affections afforded to the brood and the feast of the flocks that rein supreme over all things but exert inclement justice over the cattle and chattel of civilization itself. The minkumpf against the sacrilege of a prioritized kosher is to abhor the suffering rather than embrace the penitence of perceived but specious sacrifice which is an ornery thorn on the stained conscience of the yobbery of both the apikoros and the obedient because to attenuate all suffering even of instinctual beings we anneal our hearts to a glorified compassion that supersedes the relegated relics of pushful genuflection by succedaneum of sacrifice waged against the docile whangams of otiose theodicy. The filibusters against the regnant complexity of regalia that is a sprauncy poivrade with terpsichorean flairs to transmute the intimations of hibernated perfidy into finicky transmissions for the riometers that accord orbific merit in a lackluster time enchant the rollicking audience of this auditorium of the prevenance of the conquered universe bracing for the camorra of the insipid entreaty of defalcated casuistry—the prominent exchequer in hoodwinked political agitprop that forges ironclad allegiances to flimsy facades of the verisimilitude of dignity with recalcitrant but incondite bruits of venom militant against secular apostasy—that the fitful arrivistes that swim in dire dearth will be welcomed into the reconciliation of all time with a tempered lurid glint of revelation bounded by sunken albatross of hype unbounded with a peace insurmountable in prestige rewarded only with the highest reservations.


    On 3-1-2020 when I penned my philosophy—even at a slowpoke margin of crafty precision above rapid empirical faucets of folly—I was entirely selfsame with the autotelic engravings of the smoldering aboriginal talents within that many can swing through by tenacity for enormous plaudit but a flagrant majority will apprehend with flippant scollardical tenets of rebuke and remain honest in their appraisal only in meek resignation of parvanimity.
Consider the postulates of rarefaction whittled into a vehement zeal against the prostitution of our species to the anteric cycles of residual molds of dingy spectacle mired by the tyrannical towers of supercilious squirms of revamped novelty rather than enhanced by the freebooters of dirigisme that borrow from time the behest of philandered flairs divorced from the cadges of secular instinct and enthroned by the qualms of engineered virtuosity that is stark, barren but peerless in its outstretched clamor for luxuriant sprees against the silentium of grandeval asylum incurred by the flippant filigrees of recalcitrant modernism endangered by the irredentism of the future upon the whimsy of the present-minded momentary glare of rapture.  This impending architecture of nimble but subservient endeavor is a pinprick rejoinder against the wernaggles of prepossessed fountains of configured animosity against the stapled heed of a modality of trayned invictive invectives against the plodding course of fustilugianation that swerves in apathy of autopilot junediggle to emanate the surrender of epigone to the raktendure of the synaesthesis of the attuned perception of all superimposed minutiae delegated by calculated design into a synclastic focus on veiled caprice that is vaulted above the choppy and sketchy verdure of remiss perception to stellar continuities rather than mundane knickpoints of stodged blurs that magnify syncretic qualia into baseline congruity rather than staid torpefied resignation of the visage of thunder without the pangs of the widely vituperated lightning that bequeaths all certain notions but flouts the tortious saboteurs of the prim trucage of brittle fundamentalism.

     As the flawed paragon of a picaresque youth punctuated by vibrant plumage of self-wrought tropophilous usucaption of remote groomed frontiers of desolate luxury but buoyant morale into the ballasts of a nimble usufruct that hikkles yet still against still-framed thilloire--fatuous in endearment only to the polity of the waterdrip of craven but gravid disingenuous flickers of lambent cloaks of perfidy—that earned its birthright by meditative fruition rather than prodigal tallespin of indolent frapplanks of a vicarious personage rather than an autotelic haecceity showcases the folly of heterodyne inclinations meeting an impasse of accidental dislodgement. The interregnum between the spurts and sprees of luxuriance is a staid pause between continuities of afforded parlance becoming stapled demographic solidarity affixed to a strident gallop of effortful pushes against the tenacity of the slumberous wicked hibernation of vetust magpiety without hieratical internment because youthful industry beats hackneyed bludgeons of wiseacres of a stilted manufacture of steamy nostalgia for lickerish moments that dignify but undermine moral virtues but splash anointed and sometimes disjointed favor upon the congeners to a rabid escapade of a heedless love frowning on the girdles of the prim balderdash of heralded jolts dim on levity and puffed with elusive contextualized control of libidinous serrated defilement because the crotaline **** outmantles the sweedled limber of exploitable folly. The cosseted reality of wheedled gourmands of continuous perception rather than the Gaussian blur of the protean invention of stitches in time that obscure rather than magnify the supernal levity inherent to most artistry is a linchpin of lenient gravitas that levies the lavaderos of ripe perception into annealment.
Excuse the bravado of the gait of winnowed forks in a bronteum for heralds of megaloscopy fastened to the macroscian reality of indelible filigrees of countermanded controversy becoming its best behest in the sempiternal flowering of burgeoned demonstration rather than illustrious overhang of drab slabs of manufacture rather than organism that should be interposed between the constellated concepts of both apperception and the aggrieved counselors to obtuse obsessions that are an improper tutelary for a designated reprisal of the once profane now immediately gratified by ramshackle tenets of a guarded sublimation of the tenets of post-modernism into a sustained force of the internalized tabernacle of haecceity shepherded into exuberance by the manumission of spirit from the ******* of purblind scalds of defamation that incurs the penalty of flippant privation. The refuge the Lord provides is not contingent upon the vagaries of deliberation nor the calculus of oversight but the remontant amaranthine glower of a listed deed becoming an eternal reminder that a dismantled and disjointed world fathoming only remorse rather than the trudge of gentility against the headwinds of brunt asperity will always flout the successor rather than atone for the failure of the imponent condition that constellates around rudimentary drivel grubbing the momentary out of avarice for allotted merchandise rather than glommed magnets to amoeba sentiments for the kisswonk of ulterior motive beyond dungeons of desperation that lurk ghoulishly with spectral frights at the disfigurement of morale created by errors askew rather than a contagion of righteous valor.

   Ask the heedful servant if the captaincy of reneged commitment owes homage to dutiful instruction or whether it is a balking corpse of necrosis accorded to the omphalism of brutish carnal repose in times of sedentary silt siphoned in spelunked rijuice for preordination is a predominant specter for a world scared scurrilous and skittish in a diatribe against the very notion of tribal screeds embedded in the sedimentary heft of traditionalism above the pother of vacillation commended to the apikoros but counterfeit fiat system of a ruddy governance without a supreme magistrate. Now lets venture into the territory of visagists as we envision the swanky subversion of impoverished and nebbich visions of oligochrome that fixates on belabored but dead notions of rigid propriety and levitate above those concerns with a querulous transcendence that never wernaggles about the profaned irrelevance of burlesque tropes of sidereal friction but instead memorializes the thermolysis of permeable endeavor above staid countenances of imposture that lurk in the shadowy penumbra of the connivance of persona above the archetype of the tutelary guardian spirit that through windlass and sometimes deliberation affixes nobility to even the pedestrian in order to assize its proper proportions to granular ironies expounded into megalography transformative by the very rivets of its supersensible existence and cohabitation with histrinkage among human taboos.

   The handiwork of a permeable race prone to exacerbated proclamations of prerogatives bulldozed by the rapid percolation of insoluble quandaries to the gripes of the feast of foofaraw sometimes shelters our otherwise regnant concern about the plenipotentiary God that observes all latent affairs without the paramours that conflate vivid carnality with appeased luxury and superimposes a crafty system of seismic shifts in rantipole dances with numinous flux rather than dissipated militant suppression of the fracklings of dissolute pollution which swirk in their dastardly desperado endeavors to corral the entire monoliths that guard each province into a winnowed rumble of rubble by tarnish of Tyre rather than by the upstart rejoinders of Canaan. Every creature which has the capacity to perceive language is afforded benedictions by the overhailing force of the hypaethral heights of superlative ingenuity founded in the bolted speculation of the endearment of all to tropological seesaws embattled against the hearsay of nyejays that contaminates the telmatology of the ecosystem of revivalism rather than buries the leaden debts of the disjointed revenants of past prominence into recycled irrelevance for posterity rather than for anything but a machination of a clockwork apple rigged for a rotten worm to swindle the sweet delicate tempests of unforeseen disaster to perjuries against financial solidarity.

The spinsters of sardonic drollery underscore the imminence of an incondite cutthroat collapse blackguarded by the hucksters of incontinence grubbing every fetched noisome notion and congealing a bonnyclabber of desiccated mildew that proves vestigial when the victors of time earn their joyous serenade to the pinnacle of the totem of jaundice slits in wavy endeavors for the participles of sejungible syntax of the ephorized furor to outlast the draksteng of droned dereliction manned by half-baked spies of ulterior recitals for imprinted vicissitude in supremacy in synquest for frizzlounges rather than the pedestrian circulatory system of careworn polity. We vaporize the petty hatred of sympatric regelation that neuters the virulence of motivated impediments to the draconian surge of asperity that sinks temporal haplessness as a regaled blasphemy that crowns only the ringed betrothal to spumid serrated halts in slick superstition that is a buggery to the idea of insectivores devouring the erratic chantage of germane germs that pauperize rather than even blind the deafened to be a crutch to vehicular homicide. Melismatic sennet is a dirigible of immense herculean sinew without the traces of vestibulary retches of kisswonked grisly tepid intimidations of eccedentesiasts by the radioglare of wizened corrugations in thanatism that exhort the avatars of narquiddity over the natural departure of revenant souls back to their temporary hostility to crass lifeless decarnate immediacy that slinks with foibles magnified by vertiginous heights of scollardical reputes rigged by the rijuice of the plackiques of meaningless spoils for swashbuckler bonanza borrowed from serrated vengeance exacted in prominence to provide false avenues of extenuation to malefaction that is confidant to the panopticon of exemplary dimples meager in the largesse of the composite realism of a sizable imprint on megalography that outlasts impertinent excuses for dangerous trout swimming against the mobilized selachostomous frizz of sharks gathering to avenge disclosure with insolence and gravid atrocity of incisive surgical evisceration of attempted depositions that falter by innumerable facets of countenance that belie ultimate realism and the perdurable construction of a sturdy hive of bibliognost revelry.

     Even with the blaring sennet of majesty inundating my piecemeal perception with the marstions of flarium that is an efficacy in a flaccid world of otiose pretenses limpid only in folly but contraplex in ironic skewbald skerries of grubbed destination that is the terminus of karezza despite the maledictions of vehement guarded betrayals that conjure up lurid noisome virility against the gamines and gallywows that populate interstellar fictions of virtu rather than mundane pragmatica that astound with the resselenque of contaminated skeumorphs of latent fracture belonging to a skeletonized ossified reification of farce above historicity in seemly seamless countenance with overwrought princely stature deserving integrity to ripples through sparkling opalescence. The vapid insularity of the self-contained mythos of appeased groundlings is based on the rhizic and rhizogenic fracklings destitute in predicative flares to swelter above stratospheres of the illimitable into the dwelling of the highest serenity inherent to the pacification of truth to neglect its egregious errors of mistetches of a ripened pachyderm of bravery in times of austerity and now a reclaimed notion of sempiternal charades swimming above the punitive draksteng of dranger that is enlarged by acclimated attempts at foiled raltention hikkling against its own superior forces of galvanized preterition to elide over screwball insanity of derangement in this virtual paradise of inhabited souls belonging to former times congregating on the pasture of the evanescence of now for all eternity having the optative condition of incarnation above the ferules of the stagnant brevity of oversight in heavenly realms by postulate but not confirmed by regal logic.

     The troponder of the flickered lambent niceties of polity is a countenance that piggybacks on simpered jostles of negligent engrenage to appease sworn enmities among beatific havens for certitude swarmed by the fisticuffs of darbied bridewells of desiccated drainage traversing the distant disdain for the gravel of cemented slits of stilted pragmatica that is a gavel of atrocious estoppel mediated by heroic heresiarchs against pitiable betrayal for forceful remedies in acclimated servitude to the groans and groaks of a life of remorse and dearth rather than the glut of luxuriance in forbearance to its own intorted mirrored ironies that etch infinity with every scrawled rejoinder to austere ploys of checkered rumbles of threat and exigency posed by the clairvoyant hypocrites who benefit greatly by the design of the omphalism above the frays and brays of corporate dogmatism slowly outmoded by vibrant plumages of heteronormative originality beyond petty chantage. A hesitation overcomes the bluster of bravado as the restive earnest concerns of tribulation beset the minauderies of divine affection to reaffirm the teachings of the Gospel so that future generations genuflect beneath the altar of the ultimate stroke of sociogenesis and the blood ransom of suffering that promoted the human latitude and liberty against incarcerated throngs of virtue over caesaraproprism accorded to genuflection beneath denarii rather than absolution by tether to the eternal vine of sensation of the supersensible entelechy of all valiant insurrections against defective polities and renewed policies.

     We thus seek a transdimensional bridge between the morphean virtu of rudimentary alchemy of propitiation divulged by leverage and the teeming rambunctiousness of fiduciary tribes to the ultimate duty of man to consummate the future of eternity even in slowpoke mannerisms that sidle through rigors of entelechy and assize the masterwork of tutelage above the circumforaneous entrenchment of glut above the mastery of the subtle subaudition that beleaguers an adept conflagration of harnessed human ignorance staid in the incarceration of exotic virtues of freewheeling sapience never vulnerary to hospitable concerns that entrenches the verisimilitude of a refracted justice to reign over the stultification of a primitivism inherent to man and not man alone.

there it is
that reminder
something is missing
though i never had it

what is it
it was a plan
i thought anyway
a task i need to do
maybe it's not important

is it real
did it exist
maybe i'm broken
is this a metaphor
is this moment my whole life
a string of useless empty thoughts

another day
another underscore

"
"nor is this a fact," nor is my syntax the 'true.'
i can't use quotations in the way i'd like to,
to allow the paradoxical to seep through
in the sly act of revising 'this' honestly--
merging truth with falsity, to silently see--
grammar become a means to shatter certitude

"i can't tell the 'truth' with these ["i can't tell the 'truth'
with these{...} very words"] very words"; i really can't...
it's somewhat unfair to communicants, this rant.
let me bolster your trust by not telling it slant:
in fact, it's not poetry, not from this angle.
maybe when you read, this 'this' will be poetic?
meh, i'm relying on telling, not showing. so...
quiet's often better than such entanglement

but this is not about value, it's about truth.
sincerely, i doubt i'll keep those two separate

perhaps... if you pretend i'm a prolix parrot,
who happened through some acosmic accident
to be the transmigrated daimon-soul of Sappho,
or Hypatia, Gertrude Stein or Plath even...
(yeah, i'm like a Cretan for going on): they weren't,
'your gobbledygoo,' or 'Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.'
stripped bare at the Caesareum, being murdered
for the crime of godlessness or female wisdom
spoken in the scapegoat-hungry rule of Rome...
this is not what they were, not the whole truth, at all
and though from winds of ****** she spoke in verse
that her vast poetic fame 'was no delusion:'
and that, 'dead, I won't be forgotten,' i fail,
painfully fail, to trace into a verbal womb
the seeds of those that transformed all, yet now entombed...
for to remember them in me is to revise,
reduce, sadly in that poetic untruth found...

"this" is a gestalt, i guess i'll have to say,
a "figure-ground," a floating 'shape' in some context,
one that you embody too, somehow, not in text;
even through a distant sharing, it's realized
(hold onto the random metaphors you find,
they're probably better than what's in my mind)
and to share this with you now, to hypocritize,
it's lunacy. i mean, the moon, the poetic moon
is not a meme, is not a custom, is not a poetic fact,
in fact, it's not in this poem, and if it were--
being televised with some authentic ontic pixel-space--
here between the lines augmented mOOn for you
it would prove how unpoetic the poem is, and how
very true the moon is, if it were here, right quoteunquote"here"
ineffably punctuated
            -- well, let me try
and fail again to make Erasmus proud:
the quotes would hang about romantic beams
parentheses to echo adjectival spectra streams,
an underscore horizonal and asterisks for stars.
but not these * asterisks,
or those_types of underscores--
better (parentheses) and far more "quothy" "quotes"--
the punctuation would literally ^punctuate^ the sky of my text.
time would stop.                                                            ­                   and that would be poetic.
you don't need to breathe, even; not this 'you,' in this moment
(the one i've failed to capture):
'i will put you on the moon' i say,
'and sit you buoyant by the buddha-astronaut, who,
in answer to the question sprinkles moondust in slow motion,
symbol-guiding realness, my "finger" for solution,
to present to you again, what is present to me now.
the Russian names, the rest of names, the 'face' some say cries, "sweetly,"
as if we could use the moon's sympathy,
or as if we should feel it for the white rock that elliptically defines us,
dances to our rhythm, (the tides, the ****** huntress)
the one that taught us to dance,
the one that taught us to yearn darkly in surreal eclipse
more hopefully for the chance of cataclysmic doom
some Greeks thought it was a disco ball, after enough *****, that Dionysian night,
some Greeks thought it was a disc,
like a coin that flipped just right
to match it's dance about our pearoid earth
in synchrony's anachronistic mirth.
i would lick each Bacchant clean to learn the mysteries of poem
i would lick each Bacchant clean. period. no music or noema known
this 'poem' is not a "poem"
in a very real sense
i did not make this,
nor did i compose or create it.
if you're not following it's ok, i'm barely there myself -- i'm trying to refer to...
the elliptical shape that certain publishers use
to refer to fundierung
the double-founding,
reversibility,
the flesh of passive
the flesh of active
enfleshed perceiving
the common meaning we contribute
but can't attribute to any source we express!
(however distorted) after the fact, yes! --
either all that, or the meaning you get from "this" act
doubly-enfolded, with two pairs of hands kneading the same dough,
two pairs of eyes weaving the same lOOm,
another Indra's net to sew,
in meaning you give now,
the techne of your reader's mind
and the meaning i'd wish to know,
if i were still writing what you are reading,
doing my best to ignore the title
and to write something worthwhile...

i do wish i could show it to you the way i love it in your own poetry,
but you would know that, already, without my love

without my unpoetic lack of facts, my rhymes.
free of poems, free to flout the literary sea.
free to be unwordly, and let the contradictions fly
"

Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose

California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise

Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore

The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky

Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod

Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise

Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed

Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge

Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung

Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV

Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind

Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)

Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!

Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85

The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll

Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!

Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ

Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track

Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch

A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel

Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died

spontaneous amnesia:
   well, you know,
something akin to further
a liking of something
just: hammer to the nail
apparent,
and for that matter: useful.

headphones plugged into
the laptop,
and everytime i want
to tap the repeat button
of a song...
i look sideways and at
the windowsill,
pretend to scratch my nose,
and find the hand
with no further utility...

not a rigid diagnosis
or a pre-mature dementia...
i have a bank's worth
of the brain to sift through...
they almost added the next
nodding parrot to
the unslept pillow of
the numbers of man...
via the rubrics of school...

even i can't believe that
university education
was a waste of time...
mind you: those 12 hours
a week in the chemisty
lab. were worth it...
esters...
   organic chemistry -
   and to think:
  if only, they made
perfumes in Scotland,
apart from the drinkable
amber of the 'ugh Scout...
wh'o would have known...

but this is unlike
that season 5, episode 11
**** switch from
the x-files...

                my internet rummaging:
basic,
    china shop, bull...
run in
and charge against
a cluster-**** of
      a presupposed cloud
of letters  

first attempt:

e f                                     /f
o o s o r o o l t                /o
e v r                                /r
e f e e n e s e l e              /e
v r
m                                     /y
n c o s c s s e s                    /s
u t                                          /u
t o m u b i                           /t
e l o                                    /l
t c y                           /m
t c                             /b
n s n i e c              /n
a a                          /a
c b s c c m i n c   /c
    n i s i i t             /i

the sentence?

for every subtle complaint
of conscience:
    consciousness becomes
limbo-state constrictive

rubric...

f f
o o o o o o o o o
r r r
e e e e e e e e e e
v v
y
s s s s s s s s s
u u
t t t t t t
l l l
m m m (anomaly in
the form of... the hierarchy
of chronology, i.e.:)
b b
n n n n n n
a a
       (second anomaly)
c c c c c c c c c
    i i i i i i

2nd attempt:
to showcase a "cloud":

**** it... copy &
paste, and stop pretending
bashing the mole
popping out from
a hole...
   this isn't quantum
mechanics...

                      s f
             c m c o o i s f s
           r r y e c e i s i e
                                 l o e s v
        r s v s o n e o s s
             e u n c i n t t e l l m c b
         b m n o t t o t a a  c n c e c o t o c
                                                      i n u e e i

****... i made another mistake:
how much does it take
to not make a mistake...
turning the picky-of-attempting
random...
of merely rearranging
letters in a simple sentence
to "resemble" a cloud
of... letters... atoms...

there was a time when staring
at the blank of a laptop screen,
and listening
to something by
nine inch nails was fun...
in the immediate
intermediate spent of 15 minutes...
the depth of idiocy reached
the depth of what
has become the suspect
total of man... me missing,
of course...

nothing new:
i guess i discovered the origin
of geometry...
or:

|
|
|
|
|
|_|||||||||

and

|­|||||||||
|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|
||||||||||
|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|
||||||||||
|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|
||||||||||

like some mongolian
****** pretending
to play the harmonica
by moving his
index against
a blurr of flapping lips...

me... throwing matchsticks
against an index
of a brick wall
of pixel...

namely?
i could never be a serious
existentialist,
i was sort of fwench in...
give me a cat,
i'll pet it,
i'm no good with goldfish:
i forgot that
you need to change
the water...
because water is like
air with fish...
fish turn old, stale water...
into a medium unbreathable...
no...
that death wasn't traumatic...
and the fact that i am still
naive squat buck tooth
is...
           when fate gives
you the same lesson
thrice...
     and you still haven't learned
it...
    i guess that's when
a god begins to cry...
or laughs...
or becomes angry...
or whatever the gods do
along with what
the petty people,
the petty ambitious people
minded...
to have no role beside
the role they served their ambitions
in fulfilling...
i.e.: never made it to Hollywood...
just to a position of
lawyer...
**** me... about time i started
playing the ******,
given the "ulterior" motive
narrative "went missing"...

funny thing that,
geometry...
i almost forgot how much of it
is necessary to
orientated myself
on the linear platitude...
but how funny in how i can't
rearrange
a simple sentence
into a cloud of "random"
letters...

|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|/|
|
|
|
|
|||||||||_|

obviously "you" kept count...
9
                           and 11/
maybe that's something related
to spacing...
and whatever became A.I.
was never indented
for what once was... handwriting?

strain on the ******* eyes,
for all i know:
this be a vanity project
and something that can't
compete with tabloid journalism
making it to print...

so... airy-fairy whims and...
yes, the burden of the echo,
and the shadow...
   came the answer:
profane:
  and he was educated
by the school of life...
   sure...
  but my time at both school
and university?
  was spent being self-taught...
beginning with
this lounge of a tongue...
you know?
  you can write ENGLISH
    like so:                       ĘGLIŠ?
somehow...
i have no heard of dyslexia
as being evident in any tongue
other than the ĘGLIŠ zunge?

**** it: postcards from
H'america and from
           Oh'stray-bullet-trails...

now i know why such
*******...
i'm completely enthralled
by the engineering
of A.I. and phonetics...
given: English speakers
would not have involved
their A.I. algorithms
to be affected by diacritical
markers...
given that... d'uh...
the english language
doesn't use them...

still... "cyberpunk"...
no... i have no ambitions
to be published
    by the poetryfoundation.org
as i am, just about
to "compete" with
something akin
to the unauthorized
autobiography of jung ****...
jockey... Jack...
                          ū.3708/?
ah ha ha! ja! gustav...
                             bad joke...
but you get the idea...
so when did soy boy
       predate bleach boy:
last time i heard or seen:
best bleach afro curls...
    and call them: churros...
but ******* a black girl
doesn't exactly make me less
of a racist than
a bigot who minds tongues...
am i?
   so... that whole Malcolm X
tirade of...
  you know the one...
    on the odd occassion...
yeah... two...
(not at the same time)...
but was that ever to be an excuse?
something from being fed
video footage and then
having to resort to:
music, before i open up
a parachute standing up
and still think i'm falling...
often or not...
             or not...

hell... this beats scribbling
graffiti on walls,
or becoming a sensible
quality proof for...
the jobs of worth already
being taken...

and i almost pray for
the work of ******* collector
vacancies to be
advertised for the unemployed...
i'd love for the unemployed
to be subject
to advertisements
akin to the jobs
            of a ******* collector...
i've looked...
     no ******* collector
vacancies available...
           oh hell...
    i forgot about wanting to
be a veterinary physician a long
time ago...
                but i guess:
no chances for me being
a ******* ******* collector...
so 'ere...
                         eat this.

To say the darkness
Does indeed
Dwell inside of me
Becomes the pride of me
Would underscore
The fact
That the madman’s eyes
Loosens my lunatic tongue
The scowling beast
His drooling jowls
The anguished cries
How he howls
The hunger
Left unsated
The feast
For which he waited
The beast will have his
Ways with
Life and all of her bounties
And then what lies within
Will settle once again
The foaming mouth will pass
The hunger is not meant to last
And I will be me
Once more

I'm sitting in a theater and watching my life on the screen
Every song I've ever loved plays in the background
I see myself underscored by lyrics I wish I wrote
All of my moments are time perfectly
To crescendo and dissolve on cue
And it fades to black before we see my big decision
Do I run from the edge? Do I hide myself away again?
Or do I pursue the life I seem to crave,
And earn my sweeping cinematic moment
While my favorite song plays in the background?

The credits roll and the music presses on
And before long I realize
That I've been staring out a car window
Listening to music that makes my heart hurt
And wishing that life were scripted
Yet again

I think with my heart;
not my head
in my hand
or buried deep under the sand.

Because when everything comes from the core,
i don’t need to wonder any more.
Thinking is not a chore:
like folding laundry into a tidy drawer.
But that’s what draws our glass floor,
and causes us to continully snore.
But what we chose to ignore,
should be infact, exactly what we adore.
Then maybe we’d ask for an encore
instead of a 24/7 drug store.

_______

To you, i may be a boar,
but we must bust down the door.
Stop fighting the war!
Live for evermore(
if we wish to soar).

_____

But today our biggest sore
may be the us marine corp.
i hurt for their souls, scattered galore.

it is i who they fend for,
it is why their blood continues to pour.
But that doesn’t effect you,
because it happens on another shore.

Your questions? i have answer for,
but please don’t ask me the baseball score.
Those fact are not in my houses’ decor,
all forms of politics, i choose to ignore.

__________

You can call me a dinosaur,
regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore.

_________

I know you may ridicule,
but i prefer to be the recluse,
only coming out, when looking for a spruce.

So, when i do explore,
you will not find me with the busy bodies,
you will find me with the mircoscopic spores.
After all, it's we they provide for.

After this adventure, i know they swore,
they could create me a commodore.
On our yaht, somewhere offshore.
There would be no more war.
just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore.

Before, I was a skeptic, *******.
i now believe holeheartedly in folklore.
My faith in prewar,
is now eternally restored.

Because mother against man always out scores,
that is why i look no more.
Nature is my only mentor.

________

now, i see myself as a matador.
i can be anything,
that is the underscore.

chugging a toxic concoction
liquid glass
underscore aftermath underscore bad omen
honestly personally to me
an omen is simply an omen
no connotations
you gotta do what the omen tells you to
then you go and do the next thing
no biggie
dilate my pupils
bless me
tick tick tick
tock tock
whoooooooooooooooooooom
and some fibonacci sequence song laced with electric guitar
what good does this do
you only ever speak in riddles


havent you ever had some of that good
wonton soup
i thought so

I think with my heart;
not my head
in my hand
or buried deep under the sand.

Because when everything comes from the core,
i don’t need to wonder any more.
Thinking is not a chore:
like folding laundry into a tidy drawer.
But that’s what draws our glass floor,
and causes us to continully snore.
But what we chose to ignore,
should be infact, exactly what we adore.
Then maybe we’d ask for an encore
instead of a 24/7 drug store.

_

To you, i may be a boar,
but we must bust down the door.
Stop fighting the war!
Live for evermore(
if we wish to soar).



But today our biggest sore
may be the us marine corp.
i hurt for their souls, scattered galore.

it is i who they fend for,
it is why their blood continues to pour.
But that doesn’t effect you,
because it happens on another shore.

Your questions? i have answer for,
but please don’t ask me the baseball score.
Those fact are not in my houses’ decor,
all forms of politics, i choose to ignore.

__

You can call me a dinosaur,
regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore.

_

I know you may ridicule,
but i prefer to be the recluse,
only coming out, when looking for a spruce.

So, when i do explore,
you will not find me with the busy bodies,
you will find me with the mircoscopic spores.
After all, it's we they provide for.

After this adventure, i know they swore,
they could create me a commodore.
On our yaht, somewhere offshore.
There would be no more war.
just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore.

Before, I was a skeptic, *******.
i now believe holeheartedly in folklore.
My faith in prewar,
is now eternally restored.

Because mother against man always out scores,
that is why i look no more.
Nature is my only mentor.

_

now, i see myself as a matador.
i can be anything,
that is the underscore.

She is the typesetter’s “e”

The once-rounded uncial script,
Unbroken like the solemn vow of a monk,
His whisper, a shepherd of words under the cowl,
Murmurations of the Holy Mother to the lambswool shroud of candlelight.

His candle-flock of dreams to some hill of penitent towers, war-cowed
And broken open like faith-unfended helmets, littering the ground,
With their unspeaking tassels in babbling pagan sound of wind,
That hill too, once-rounded bare under the glittering apostles of twilight.

In the abbeywork of air, calligraphy was a cipher of souls,
He unwrested demons from an inkwell of sunsets, smothered them in blotting paper,
Freed the incarnate whole to the book of hours, nib-pointed in quills and illuminated in gold,
Line by line, in Carolingian winding sheets, he returned the misshapen to the fold,
To the carpet page of home and the warm ligatures of their waiting women.
So the shutters of the heavenly house could blow light in slanted rays to a wilderness in storm.

But he never tamed the aero-elongated, descender of Troy in a “t,”
He never knew the unholiness of the underscore or fonts as ******,
Or the world unwilling to know itself in serif robes of ancient lore.
His life was a simple rounded-out syllable of one man,
Left in the muddied, unintelligible text of faith and war.

She is the typesetter’s “e” and now belongs to any hand.

I close my eyes and see city lights
Intertwined with vines;
Flowers underscore pavement,
Life in matrimony with death and
All the beauty in between.

In old New Orleans
Musical lumberjacks
Legitimizing their axes;
Just piano, clarinet,
Bass and the drums.
Bringing jazz back
And then some.

The cat could play
That skinny long black horn,
Hotter clarinet than
Anybody ever born,
He kept hitting notes
So pure and high
We felt each note
In our eyes!

And, if you chance by
Remember this,
They don’t allow dancing.
But when the drummer
Makes works those skins
And makes them talk out
There is plenty of toe-tapping
And nobody ever walks out.

Then, when the guy
Plays that bass fiddle
He adds an underscore
To top bottom and middle.
It’s an underbeat of grace
That will fill the rest space
And the hearts of all
In this overcrowded place.

Vintage jazz roars out
Of an old, old piano
Played by a happy madman
With fingers afire, he knows
He’s got them hooked;
He’s making them wild
As he wails on those keys
He looks out and smiles
And he puts the Satchmo touch
On those old-timey songs

And once in a while
They ask us to sing along.
For the past forty-six years
Those ugly plastered walls
Have never hear so many
Gratefully rendered curtain calls
From an audience of clerks and swells.
On Bourbon Street’s Fritzel’s.
Through hurricanes and beers
Like stepping back a hundred years.
Fats is still playing, Bessie singing
Original jazz music is still swinging.

character styles, characters we’ve missed

attempted to put on pedestals

characters whose wits got them out of the worst situations

or whose worst qualities got them into the best ones

who have been balding and have ended up heroes

who have overcome obstacles, some

some who had less and and achieved more

but achievement seems to be the underscore, yes

of nationality?  of pride?  of masculinity?  of assertion?  hard to say

do we need more stories in more forms or fewer stories and more individuality, more self-awareness,

awareness, awareness, awareness, funny word thrown around a lot

do people even know?  most of the time they don’t, they are staring down at their shoes

or some characters are looking up at the sky

anyways, they don’t understand the issue, what is at stake, stop celebrating!  start studying!

or you are studying too much!  the wrong drugs, the right drugs!  too much of the right thing can make anyone go insane

or the other way around, the right amount of the wrong thing can make anyone go freely about their day,  and

achieve, back to that word

and what does it even mean?  to achieve something?  greater than yourself?  for yourself to be a reflection of that thing? or that thing to be a reflection of self?  

man, we could debate about this for hours, where’s my coffee?  or beer, or wine, your choosing

man, what did I have for breakfast, I honestly forgot

or no, it was toast and cofffee, yes I think its time for a stiff drink now

and then another hour to achieve something, to write something, to widdle something, to create something that was not there before

but some say GO, **!! BA HA!  to hell with objectivity, everything is recycled, nothing more

and they wave their hands about as if it was borrowed from a magician, and their hearts flare up with some sort of richeousness, and they achieve…rightness?

back to that again…achievement…what does it even mean?

Don't worry ‘bout me: I have a nice panga,
A pretty assegai, a Chukchi yaranga,
And I can start fire with some thin tiny twigs
By touching them a bit with my fishnet stockings.

In the Atlas I tamed the last of the lions;
In the Ngorongoro cheetahs feared my irons;
In the Rocky Mountains I made all grizzlies pant;
And in Tamil Nadu tigers purred in my hand.

‘Cuz for kisses, it’s true: I do never resist,
And every man I like, I track him on the pist,
I find him and ******, and finally kiss him.

As for peeled vultures though, hillbilly noisy dogs,
******* or green mambas, stinky naughty warthogs:
I do always cook them but never embrace them...

Read by Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth :
Please note: In the link address, the word "UNDERSCORE" (2x) has to be replaced by the typographic sign of the underscore (Alt+095).

https://www.cjoint.com/doc/18UNDERSCORE05/HEzhgrx8p4AUNDERSCOREIn-love-in-the.mp3

You were a colon
and semicolons you detested
I tried putting a comma there
like grammar lady suggested.
but our life, it seems, is an underscore
or an inverted question mark blotted
because whenever I ask for space
or try putting us back within a parenthesis,
you usually slash me―or backslash me.
This is not, however, how I had imagined
us to be. I always wanted a life smooth as tilde
a prime time together, without fearing bad weather
I wanted us to fight against negations,
but like a dagger kills relations
or a bullet, we died inside too…
It is a broken bar now, and it hurts
at the highest degree of pain.
Can we still back into space though,
or is it about time we put a full stop?

People who are experiencing depression use different words than people who are not



By Elizabeth Bernstein
June 11, 2018 9:33 a.m. ET

Feeling down? Pay attention to your language.

Language changes significantly in both content and word choice in people who are depressed, according to a growing body of research using computer programs to analyze speech and writing. People who are depressed tend to use the pronoun “I” more, indicating a greater focus on self. They also use “absolute” words like “must,” “completely,” “should” or “always,” reflecting an overly black-or-white outlook.

Scientists have long known that people change how they speak when they are depressed—their speech becomes lower, more monotone and more labored, with more stops, starts and pauses. But newer studies, including several published this year, have found differences in the actual words depressed people use.

People who are depressed “don’t see subtleties, and we can see this in the words they use,” says James W. Pennebaker, professor of psychology at the University of Texas at Austin, who studies how language relates to a person’s psychological state.

The study of computer-assisted language analysis for depression is still a nascent field, but apps and other technology that track language could eventually help doctors and patients identify a depressive episode more quickly. Since there are no biological markers for depression as there are for cancer and other diseases, therapists currently have to rely on a patient’s self-reported symptoms and on their own analysis to diagnose the disorder. Both can be highly subjective. The apparent suicides of designer Kate ***** and chef Anthony Bourdain last week underscore just how challenging it can be to identify and treat depression.

How to Talk With Your Dying Loved One

Conversations about death are among the most important, and difficult, we may ever have. Too often, we avoid them, Elizabeth Bernstein writes.



In research published online in March in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, researchers at the Universities of Arizona, Zurich and Texas, as well as Michigan State and Georgia Southern, gave questionnaires designed to measure depression to more than 4,700 people at six labs in the U.S. and Germany. Participants were asked to write about their lives, a recent relationship breakup, their level of satisfaction with life, or just their general thoughts and feelings. Then software analyzed their language. The results: In addition to using more negative, or sad, words, people who were depressed used more first-person pronouns or “I-talk” than people who were not depressed.

Pronouns show where a person is focusing attention, says Dr. Pennebaker, who is an author on the study. Someone who is really interested in another person will use the third person “he” or “she.” Someone closely focused on a relationship will use “we.” “But if you are thinking about yourself—if you are more self-conscious or self-aware, as depressed people are—you will use the first-person singular ‘I’ or ‘me,’” Dr. Pennebaker says.

Depressed people also tend to view the world in a concrete, black-or-white way, using words such as “must,” “completely,” “should” or “always” that express absolutist thinking, as shown in a series of three studies published together in Clinical Psychological Science in January.

The researchers, from the University of Reading in the U.K., used software to calculate the percentage of absolutist words used in messages by approximately 6,400 members of internet forums for depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation and a host of control forums. They found that approximately 1.5% of words used by people in the depression and anxiety forums were absolutist—which was 50% more than those used by people in the control forums. The percentage was even higher for people in the suicidal ideation forums: about 1.8%.

Why are absolutist words so bad? People often don’t realize they are using them, and they can amp up negative thoughts. (Think about having your barbecue rained out. Saying “this always happens” is a much harsher thought than “sometimes the weather is unpredictable in June.”) Absolutist words also require that the world correspond to your view. (“I must get that promotion.” “My children must behave.”) “If the world doesn’t adhere to what you demand of it, that is when depression and anxiety set in,” says Mohammed Al-Mosaiwi, a Ph.D. candidate in psychology at the University of Reading and lead author on the studies. The more flexible you are, the better, he says.

Psychologists say people can use language as a tool to help them reframe their thoughts. “Very often, what you say is what you internalize,” says Mr. Al-Mosaiwi. Here are some tips:

Remember that the actual words you say matter, not just the thoughts they convey. Even if you are unable to replace negative words with positive ones, try replacing them with more accurate neutral ones. Instead of: “This party is horrible,” try “This event is not for me.”

Banish absolutes, especially in relation to your goals or relationships, where falling short of your expectations can be particularly depressing. These words and phrases include: always, never, nothing, must, every, totally, completely, constantly, entirely, all, definitely, full and one-hundred percent. Replace them with nuance. Instead of: “I can never catch a break,” try “Sometimes things don’t work out.”

Write. Keep a journal. Try a stream-of-consciousness writing exercise. Compose an email to a friend. Then analyze what words you are using. Are they too negative or absolutist? All about you? Tweak those sentences—and stay vigilant for those words in your speech.

Ask a loved one to help you identify absolutist or negative words or sentences and suggest reframing. It is easier to notice someone else’s language than our own.

Create a mantra you can use to override absolutist language. So instead of saying “This always happens to me,” say “This time. This happened this time.”

Put your mantra on sticky notes and place them where you can see them. Make it your screen saver. Have a needlepoint pillow made.

Pay attention to your use of the word “I.” If most of your sentences have “I” or “me” in them, you are probably too self-focused, says Dr. Pennebaker.

Bio Of Mario William Vitale

The language and images of Mario Vitale's poetry are so closely bound to the natural cycles of seasons, of generations, of the body's functioning, that is surprising to realize how many of his poems deal with uprootedness. But this poetry is not sentimental celebration of the goodness of nature, and harmony with the world is never assumed. The way he captures the tenuousness of this faith, the balance that must be found between the ugliness, the harshness of his history- both natural annd social- and its intense beauty, is what distinguishes Vitale's poetry, gives it its depth and dimension:

Mario William Vitale Biography

I was born in 1970 Bristol hospital.
A young nurse took me in her arms and said that I would one day become a success,
As the years would pass I was heavy in the arts used to sing and act.
Was an altar boy at St. Pius Church.
In time I would act in my senior class play, "The Mystery Of Edwin Drood"
Where I had the lead role as the Narrator,
I touched many hearts with that performance in 1989,
Was hospitalized with mono that same year for two weeks long,
Also that same year I became prom king of my class Wolcott High School,
After the break up with my first grilfriend in 1989 I wrote the poem entitled, "Remembrance of a loved one" where I had it published on poetry.com
Attempted plays: Tartuffe, Miracle Of St. Anthony and Balm in Gieade, (His poetic aspirations had derived at 18 in 1989 from submitting his first poem entitled, "Remembrance Of A Loved One"- (Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum)
Attended Central Connecticut State University For Creative Writing: 1997
Next from 1989-1997 (Wrote primarily for Poetry.com and The International Library Of Poetry) , * Received editors choice award in 1997 for poem, " A Beacon Of Light ",
(1998)Sent poetic manuscript to N.Y. Time Magazine and Chief Editor " John Hyland".
Back with rave reviews!
* (From 1999-2008: Had adapted a real keen sense of style for writing poetry: (1999- Sent Editorial to:
New Man Magazine for the Passion of Christ Movie; Sent followup letter to company with poetry platform information attached,
* 2000-2007: Magazine: (Catholic)Maries Rose Ferron Magazine submitted poem" Beacon Of Light", which had excellent editorial reviews as the outset!
2008- Wrote poem entitled: (The Heavy Cross)to Poetry.com* Achieved Poetry status of work of Excellence in writing from the Academy Of American Poetry in which still having received rank and status as a member of Academy;

(The Connecticut Poetry Society) * Short story submitted entitled, "China Dog Ray" submitted to Virginia Writers Quarterly, West Virginia, Also having member status on their board of Poetry.
Attribute Poetry to an ever increasing love of God and his unconditional love that he has for us in return, Thankfulness toward family and friends.(To our past ancestors who fought to uphold freedom that far too many of us take for granted?
My contemporary artists include that of Ellan Bryant Voight, Kay Ryan and Carl Phillips.Which all three are Participants in the Academy Of American Poetry
Having been a member since 2006, My work reflects the likes of past poets such as C.S.Lewis, Hawthorne and Edgar Allen Poe.
Most of my work reflects with the values of religious beliefs intact
In my personal view it is essential in demonstrating a real heart of creative passion!
The reader I believe will benefit by my artistic style of development in a very positive light.)
After experiencing a life transformation encounter.I had realized that poetry is my unique way to convey myself my work speaks from the heart with pure sentiments of though intact,

As the years passed I would write over 4,000 poems and 5 short stories toward my platform,
My poetry is based on the free verse style of writing,
Was published in 10 venues such as Writerscafe, Neopoet, Hello poetry, Poem Hunter, Booksie, Poetryvibe, Poetrysoup, Starlifecafe.com, Poets Know It & poetry.com...
I was saved by God at the tender age of nine in Charlotte Carolina where I came to know the Lord that was in 1979,
Today I continue to write poetry was published on Spillwords, High On Poetry, Tuck Magazine & Setu Magazine.
My main emphasis in writing poetry is to share with the mass populace touching many hearts.
Hope you can read my poetry.



Sea Stacks

skipped rocks through a stream today
the opening of a brand new day
its frame is in minor decay
the bleached wood massed in bone piles,
we pulled it from dark beach and built
fire in a fenced clearing
the posts' blunt stubs sank down
the circled and were roofed by milled
lumber dragged at one time to the coast
We slept there

Each morning the minus tide-
weeds flowed it like hair swimming
The starfish gripped rock, pastel,
rough. Fish bones lay in sun

Each noon the milk fog sank
from cloud cover, came in
our clothes and held them
tighter on us. Sea stacks
stood and disappeared
They came back when the sun
scrubbed out the inlet


Life Force

through the flame cover me
in silent sound dignity
for with what one is willing to achieve
valiantly
feel the breeze
nestled through the trees

shaped through your dreams
a piercing of the skin
new hearts to begin
again



Choices

Many have a hard time understanding
They live for self and that of society
They are the walking dead yet they don't even know it
Eyes with blackened spots having holes
Viscous fangs with blood dripping off the side
You share with them the truth
They choose to run away & hide
Yet deep inside they may still question
Why am i here ?
They can't even help you
Cause they won't help themselves
They are the **** of the land
Much too afraid to stand among the son of man
A bitter taste
Do they want salt or sugar coated messages
Positive reinforcement strengthens the heart
Negativity kills it
Each of us has been given a choice
We must lend a helping hand with a voice
All of us have been given a choice
Now which pathway will you choose ?


Emerald City
There’ll be no unemployment in heaven.
No worry about the next meal.
There’ll be no bills to harass us,
and thieves will not break in and steal.
In heaven, we’ll have no need for money;
Everything up there will be free.
We’ll enjoy God’s unsearchable riches,
and have unending security.
I’m looking forward to heaven,
that land that is fairer than day.
Where all will be joy and gladness,
and sorrow and care will flee away.
Up there, no mean words will be spoken.
Each heart will be filled with pure love.
We’ll never be hurt or rejected,
in the beautiful city above.
There will be no disappointment or heartache.
God will wipe all the tears from our eyes.
No one will ever be lonely,
and there’ll be no anguished good-byes.
Up there, the love we have for each other,
by each heart will be shared equally.
And we’ll have all the things that we’ve longed
for, and at last we will really be free


Little Angel

Hope springs a new
On a cloud in heaven
Stand a heavenly angel
With mere beauty of crystalized light
Golden emblems encrusted their frame
Sweet songs drifting to a very faint whisper
Eyes, hands & face
A real message sent down to earth
To care for those lonely souls all alone
There beauty is a surprise to encounter
Slipping through locked doors to appear
Many have shed a tear to numb the inner pain
Causing accidents not to happen
They appear in the form of brightened miracles
We see them with a heart all a glow
Come to the birth of a new born baby
Come to servicemen who just joined the navy
You will see them at a graveyard setting
Even among gamblers who do there betting
There all around us you see
For all of life is but a mystery






These Flames I Live
turn back the tear drop pillow
I'm sick to my stomach
suffering alone and hard
piercing cavity of viscious fangs that bite
illusive
impulsive
the rant

These flames I live
my right to forgive
undercover
beyond the means
living in a land of mean
barren sea

a shot in the dark
to light the spark

many are left in rebellion
what an incredible talent Vitale is
he is the poet of all poets
the moment you met him perfect ten

a chick lying with her hens
a quest...
flaws and failures
yes he wears Depends

a trip to the zoo nothing new


Laughter
Laughter fills the scented air
through days exposed
the timeless hour of a loathsome mast
expounded upon the cavity of debris

develop a grateful heart
that one may impart
look close through a pillar of glass
a vergence sea out beyond the interpass

a halo with a song
to help you get along
the sight of a fawn on the lawn
greed and materialism will crush out the light in your life

******* by the holy spirit
a heart change has to happen
one must be open to the message
care for your brother help for your pale sister

one ear on the floor
a cause for more
through fetters got it made to even out the score

Unending Brigade
I ask myself politely
what resistance flowers here
against love treaded lightly
or losing lovingness dear?

give cadence to the simple,
for I gave ammunition to the laughter
we should we ever falter
the timeless whisper of happening

golden nuggets of thought & inspiration
braids my hair with a great deal of wear
through the conclaves of love's fastened grip
shadows block the vortex to aid its message


The Dream Police
they come to my head
at the side of my bed
they are enforcing my sleep
give cadence to a treat
a far from ports unknown
like a dog without a bone
giving tickets to be enforced
every time I have a dream
forces scream


Of Time & Dreams
Father's gold pocket watch measured heartbeats,
times for surgery and the slow drip of an IV
all else in his life was overture
to main events, like birth and death
of those the family never knew

Steps from my childhood dreams to his were counted
in places where treasure were wet pebbles
and the pulse of life was seen in raindrops on the lake
now the watch is mine, and i yearn to throw it
like a pebble into the past,

to see it skip and yield to places we never shared,
like blue-green eddies near the shore
and grasses curled by the win
Yet, warming in my palm, the measurer of his days
seems to sing the music of turning points
where drying dreams meet others born anew,
emerging through images of caring
to rhythms more than metrical
that i've yet to understand



The Land Of Dreams
When you fall asleep at night,
your mind goes into an eerie flight
You can open the gate with the key of thought,
and don't have to do what you've been taught

You sing, and dance, and prance all day
and you act so happy and also gay
You run in circles and run into the trees,
and cut your elbows and scrape your knees

But sometimes you open the wrong gate,
and find yourself facing a terrible fate
There are monsters, ghouls and also grouches,
and then you wish you were on confortable couches

And when you're done and almost through,
your mind knows exactly what to do
you go back through that eerie flight
it may be day it may be night

And when your mind comes back to you,
you may wake up and have the flu
You could leave for school very late,
and find out that it's the wrong date

And you could play outside in the streams
but you will know that you entered "The Land Of Dreams."


Old Crow
Old crow
Tired and lazy' against the day
Dark skies
Lost in blacks and whites and grays
Howling north wind
Sure takes a man's fight away

Wastelands,
A dreamer's home on his best day
Hard rain
Drops the leaves and makes the colors fade
And talks cheap,
But for the words of time they'll ave the last say
Oh the words of time, they'll have the last say

And the harvest is in, it wasn't much
May I have enough to get by
The baskets were light, not a muscle ached
And somehow I feel I'm going to die
The winter is coming and the signs say hard
I've never seen such a haunting sky

For on the mountains, frost in the wind
And somehow I feel I'm going to die
Full moon
Lonely above the old oak tree line
Old crow
Hanging empty in the black sky
And a nighthawk
Circles her in silence as she flies
Old crow, all alone she flies


Pheonix
the blazing glory of a loving night
Disappears in the sun's bright morning light
All efforts to recall that glorious pain
Fade in the dawn to be sought in vain

but the memory clings of precious glory
that will not become an old, dull story
instead that memory promises anew
that love will spring forth and again renew

with every joining of two loving souls
again will emerge from the fading coals
a love renewed by the glowing embers
so that this night, too, will be remembered.


Soul Search
When I look into your eyes
I see the sunshine and rain,
The deeper I look and also see
Various kinds of pain;
I can see the kind, warm love that filters thru,
To surface at the top when you’re not blue,
I have seen and know your hopes and fears
The good and bad times you have thru years,
You have seen and felt so much
I’m glad our lives did touch
Look deep into my eyes and you will find
The heartaches and happiness that were also mine


Come With Me
Come with me and be my friend
Lets create a fantasy
just you & me
lets linger through the wind
and feel free
lets run through the sand
and make time stand still
so we can treasure this moment
Only until
The mystical ocean
touches our souls
and fills our hearts with love
come with me and I'll show you

What I have to give
come with and I'll describe
The life I dreamed we'd live
come with and hold me gently
and watch the retiring sun slowly set
Shower me with all your love
pretending we just met
Whenever you need me
I'll be there
To help lift your spirits
and I want to care
About you
come with and be my love
no longer a fantasy
just you & me
This time only
A reality...


Mario William Vitale. has been featured on Hubpages.com, Starlitecafe.com & Poetry soup. Vitale lives with his elderly mother Ann Soulier in Wolcott, Ct. Currently has written well over 1,000 poems & 2 short story's toward credit platform.

Vitale has taken the poetic world by storm being featured on Google, Yahoo & MSN. Looks up to contemporaries in the poetry industry such as John Ashbery & Major Jackson.
Has been a favorite featured poet reader at Barnes & Noble in Waterbury, Ct.
Also featured on such sites as Poetry soup, Writer's café & Neo Poet

Personifications Of Oceanic Thoughts
whispers
sun lit morn
the surf hits the turf
smells of salt air through the moment
savor each moment as the memory lasts
bask in the vast expanse between time & space


sounds of children playing
seaweed next to the rocks along the cobblestone walkway
solace torn up in the derision of peace with solidarity
we were made for moments such as these
seagulls flock overhead

remember me in thoughts as these
whisk through the breeze
capture one's inner sense
alas with angelic fervor permeates a flame of life's torn reality
a new to face the day


Follow Your Heart
Magic breathes life in our hearts
Destiny resides in our souls
Our path now shimmers unshadowed by the night
With one embrace partnered by a tender kiss, the bounds

of time and distance crumble through fingers like drifting
grains of sand
Dream time is the place where I am alive
Green eyes ripple into lipid pools where miracles draw me

to your heart
I am free to swim by your side until the sun sets and
rises with you again
Life is my dream

I love you



Cynthia
When at night I close my eyes,
to think all the days gone by,
to feel again those passions past,
and feeble joy that never lasts,

I'm always drawn to thoughts of you, my only love my Cynthia
I think I found you in a dream then we celebrate,
the night I pressed beyond the seam,
where fantasy and reality meet

in summer mist so soft and sweet,
But you were all I ever felt, my deepest love, my Cynthia
But dreams just last within the night, when morning came,
Her soul took flight

I awake to find Her never there
She passes like the misty air
To leave me longing and alone, my painful love,
my Cynthia

Enigma love you swell the heart,
to crush the same when lovers part
But whether love and joy you bring
or bitter pain and Death's cold sting

I plead you come to me again, my final love,
My Cynthia


For My Precious Son
You're standing in the doorway.
Your workday is all done.
He waits to see you everyday,
this boy that is your son.

He hopes you will go fishing.
He hopes you'll shoot the gun.
He just wants to be with you,
this boy that is your son.

He is your spitting image.
To him you are ''The One''.
He hopes to be just like you,
this boy that is your son.

You show him what a man is.
You teach as you have fun.
You are admired as well as loved
by this boy that is your son.

You've got a friend forever.
Until the world is done.
Then, still you will be holding
this man that is your son.

I'm Just A Poetical Lyricist
I’m just having fun, but no doubt someone will take this serious
I’m about to take you on a lyrical experience
I’m having fun with words, like when a baby first starts reading books
Saying I’m good at rhyming, Is like saying Mike Tyson packs a decent punch
I best mention the Kardashians other wise you’ll have trouble keeping up
Me with a pen is more dangerous than Michael Myers on Halloween when he starts slashing with the knife
Telling me I can’t rhyme, is the biggest mistake you’ve made since you let your ex Back in to your life
Speaking of exes, will someone please date mine
I promise she’ll give you a great time
I’ll pay for the date, its all on me
All I ask, is please be good enough to get her to stop calling me
I love Hip Hop, and yeah I know I’m white
Please be creative and tell me how I’m the new Vanilla ice
Or how I should walk right back across 8 mile
I could have thrown this into my waste pile
But I just wanted to write some joke lines and have some fun
Sick of hearing rappers talk about drugs and how they pack a gun
“yeah I’m Bad. I’ll make this *** Squirt”
You don’t know who Nas is, And think the greatest rapper is Lil *** Vert
Or some other mumble rapper with lame rhymes
You deserve to have Biggie and Big Pun sit on you at the same time
Some guy called Young **** is wearing dresses
That’s not something I have a problem with
My problem is
There’s so much going on in the world and these rappers are scared to address it
What happened to Hip-Hop when rappers would share a message?
Nas, Big Daddy Kane, Slick Rick, I could name so many more
Now its a bunch of dudes who sound the same with empty thoughts
I’d pretend to be from the hood and blast guns but I’d fail
I’d rather be the real me, and I’m far too cute to go to Jail
I just love Hip Hop and the way it used to be
You always get the truth from me
someone tell Rihanna I’m ready to give her the best 30 seconds of her life
Tell her she’ll only regret it if I become a legend when I die
Knowing she could of had me
This is my last piece of paper, I’m now pad free
I was watching rap battles on YouTube, So took you on this lyrical experience
I’m just a poetical lyricist

Rapula
back in the day where hustlers stayed there were those very afraid
he was born in the gutter his momma was a vamp selling her junk in the trunk of a car
up all night slept all day he was blown from the frey
viscious fangs that bite two turn tables with a mic insisted on a fight
******* the innocent patrons for blood right in the hood like you knew he would
Rapula the man, the myth & the legend
could very often see him in the back of a seven eleven drinking red slurpees

took folks block by block like giving him a heart attack just to fit his mold
no one came against him until that day in the crib Rapula lost his lobster bib
very often you will see him at the 8th Street Station spinning his records
there will never be another blood ******* brother so move over he's taking cover
Rapula wore a high hat tip on his temple driving a white Benz looking like Baretta


I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me
Supernatural
but it's so true
the world hasn't a single clue
borrowed basement pews
stained glass windows
a reflection of the cross
some will go before the toss

he was there from the beginning
he is the only one that's winning
perfumed stockings and a breath of fresh air
the willingness to share how you really care
if you have seen him you have seen the father
Jesus

Stop The Madness
All of sudden reality happens
Ruining my mind that's already jumbled
"where the hell did i just go?"
I ask to myself no one listens
Obsecurity is still in me
Recognizing situation where i have been
Looking up the sky it's already dark
Worrying something, i need to get up
Home, i need to find home
Stepping forward to pass the crowd
The longer i go, the quieter it's so
Taking my glasses off because its fogged
Focusing my lens but the blur shows
sigh
Now melancholy does it again
Lack of knowledge about locations
Lack of someone to be asked for
And there is no light to guide me on
Vision, direction, companion
I wish i could make them clearer
But in reality, they just disappear

Shaman Within
I met a dead poem in the shade of spring.
I was so sad I could hear the door bell ring

through the furtherance of a smile I became unglued
shadows block the motive bruised.

Beyond the sky set flight

Prison Of The Mind
able to be smart without words
its a topic of conversation
through words spilled out on the ancient path
meditate
lights out
beg, ***** & pout
the underscore read stop
I'm keeping on keeping

transfused and weeping
table talking
swallow its extremities
move the levee
strong will survive
thank God I'm alive
the moments the solitude alone

vibrations fixed temptations
sensations...
take me to the prison
three squares a day
a pillow and I pray
nestled the mood away

Getting Ahead Of God
hearken onto the voice of a still small way
let God show you the new found way
look deep into the cause of wisdom seek the shelter
God give the children right parents to help bring them up

you never miss out in obeying God
when you start off in life without God your in the wrong direction
God will tell you what he wants you to do if you ask him to
your life will be filled with joy, peace & happiness

the issue is its not your age but what is the will of God for your life
God always has your best when we wait on God
you can't tell by the way it works by the way it counts
you may have get by in life but you must deny yourself

people have to go through disaster before you surrender your life
each time we take a leap of our own choice we lose
out of the will of God you'll be disapointed
the issue is what does God want for your life

he acts on behalf on the one who waits on him
you can't get God's guidance if your living in sin
happiness, joy, peace & satifaction are very valuable
you made some choices but God will forgive you if you repent for them

its a decision we make if we confess our sins he is faithful & just to forgive us
it is a choice you make
remember you reap what you sow
you can't avoid or escape the things of your soul

whether your 16 or 67 its time you made a decision and surrender to God
I pray that every person that hears this message will stop to think of what they have done in life

Take It All In
God is a closer friend
come back to New England
plants, rocks, shrubs & things
suddenly I'm waiting here for you

it's a tick or take Sunday afternoon
waiting by the rocks they surface with untimely leaves
the leagues plagued with devastation
the beef stock through the goldie locks of here hair

Summertime is no better time
got this crazy feeling
I'm so glad that your feeling for me
with your heart you can unite the heart


Changes
a smile from a lonesome child
transformed through the eyes
the timeless cavity unleashed
through diverse port of space in time

the child in time grew now in there teens
sees the world through a fine tooth comb
at home being alone the horrific scene
through adolescence its a coincidence

now as an adult able to leap tall buildings with a single bound
the smile deminishes onto sophistication
almost a loose cannon
pronounced news to its folly

cover me with those tender leaves
falling from the stream let loose on my caboose
the stars all glitter in the darkness of night


Pilgrims Progress
We need great golden copulations in the cemetery
bury your head beneath the limbs in part of a ghostly resolve
perhaps this was the path Brother Lawrence tred alone
underneath the interpass of denial of speculation

we have nursed path each quatrum with a deafening blow
to stand in one accord to each other as pilgrims rest after harvest time
Apple butter jam spread on fresh home made bread
the reflections of a timid squirrel on a limb

we have become immeasurable by your smile
she danced in a ring of fire yet throws of each challenge with a shrug
the cost of the pilgrims progress we shall never know
bust up the beat to promote its tempo

a beacon of light to a much hurting world in search of love
Does death hurt you the most or is it fear
beneath the timeless swell I live to tell
sought through the variation to its cosmic flame

Careless Whisper
a shoulder tender shelter to lie next together,
the swelter of a careless whisper left tempted
shelter lies dormant onto its beckoning plough
to thirst united with the throne

billow with asps of the new day's pride
thank God I'm still alive
to delve into the ridges of each dishes
kisses

the torment of each smile
bruisded reed tmpered on its poll
the thought of vanity
among humanity

the faint of your legacy

Spirit To Touchdown
Ten years since her husband's death
she still craved the sight of him and
his magnetic smile
coming in the door, his suitcoat
slung over his back. She yearned to
glance at him in a long black
coat, resembling a materialized
laser beam, as they
prepared to go out for an evening,
or in old bluejeans walking barefoot
with her on the seashore.
She knew he was always with her...
but wanted his spirit to touchdown

My Elephant
There is something about the Elephant I love very much,
I wish I could cuddle him but I know I cannot,
if they be my friend, I will play soccer with an Elephant on my side,
I will catch hold of his trunk and he’ll trumpet me to victory with pride.

There is something about the Elephant I love very much.
Although he is so big, he won’t give you a fright,
He lifts up his trunk and blesses you instead,
So different from the Lion and Tiger you meet,

There is something about the Elephant I love very much
He is a pure vegetarian, he won’t **** a mouse,
He is worshiped as God for all his good vice.
If we were to crown the king of the jungle again,
It will go to the Elephant our vegetarian friend

Proud To Be An American
I’m proud to be American
To live In a country that’s free
And we’re free to be who
We want to be!
We’re always
Free to try
New things.
And enjoy every
Experience that
Life may bring!
And I was taught
To stand up for what
You believe in
And never give up
On your hopes
And dreams
Because the sky
Is the limit!

Beach Canopy
The smell of fresh fry doe
Time had elapsed playing at the casino
Fresh lobster with a side order of fries
Those spacious wonderful sky's
Down at the shell the continental were playing
A walk by the lady of a statue in waiting
Flip flops and the sound of laughter
A playground for kids in the middle
The boardwalk with seagulls flocking over head
Fire works in the midnight air with a cheer
Love We Go
through the sweet vortex of our inner frame
we can dream of far off places with kings and queens
shaped through the fragments of are exploits
someday you will be all alone in your room
there you will read a text to reflect upon your life
we each are on a journey in this life
some ponder the existence of God
other reflect in the day to day toil
love is the mere essence of are existence
shine your inner light upon the twilight hour

shadows block the mere reflection of my frame
not having you in my arms is driving me insane
lest I refrain another door by which to explore
there is so much more in this game of life
within its given strife we can learn
one soul soars and another will soon burn
we better wait are turn in this wheel in the sky
the faint lulabye in its scope
Elvis In Vegas
Viva Viva Los Vegas
he came alone with a guitar in his sack
romance with the dice
he's giving back

a whole host of onlookers looking upon
he waves his magic wand
with a favorable song
swivel hips stand tight in his sticks

Elvis
Fun House
a blade of grass blown in the wind
heros have erected its course
leading folks away from divorce
in times of remembrances
thoughts shattered in the wind
coming apart at the seams

a brigade of thoughts
What is a funhouse ?
It is when the eyes of all are upon you
It's not so, but when you go through it is true

The funhouse is a form of torture where everything unravels around you
It is a commotion of nervousness and you just want to hide from all that is around you
It is a secret that you don't want to share, but there is one who helps just by saying I care
It's not what you say it is what you do

When you enter my world of the funhouse, you assure me that God is in control
that with him I don't need to be afraid
It's the gentle way in which you talk when once you have entered into the realm of commotion...
It's the assurance of your sincerity that softens the blow
Soon with your special way the inner strife goes away
A Thief in The Night
Jesus
he that hath an ear let him hear
when all was said to be good
let it be said calamity

have you ever been down to the lowest pit
you look around and no one gave a ****
By His Hand
through long lines of being transformed to clean my room
in the late month of June we move too soon
we remain vital to the oncoming spirit of the game
filtered through those tiny reasons to spice up the season
the God Lord up above has carried us by his hand
Poison Ivy
there are pillars being built
for those who pusue the chase
we each are in a battle
some have retreated at death's door
lest I implore something more
a quaint visitation with your higher power
in a world torn up in misery & sorrow
hiding behind a false hidden garb of compromise
can't we easily see through those twised lies
yet we embark on a new journey of are own
having a house but living all alone
out in the street where people meet
had a gun at my head thought i was really dead
out of devastation I reached right for the bottle
like having a gun in hand to release its throttle
the world is in misery torn
some insist to curse they very day they were born
eyes to see but can't
hears to hear but won't
there's a true lesson to be learned
one soul soars while the other soon to be burned
we must all wait in line for are turn
each of us will have a day in the sun
now I'm off on the run
searching through pictures to put on my wall
to stand ten feet tall amidst the social resistance
join in now I must insist this
casualties are enormous
for a stated cause that's plain atrocious
have we taken the time out to notice
yet many of us have given up way to easy
caught in a rut in are society
out of desperation there still is a plan that we can see
someday be fulfilled as a reality
if we only believe one will be set free
Break Away
break away to a brand new day
perfect display we come to pray
faint sounds of grandeur
right down to the wire

share with those you have heard
Thirst
thirst after the water that has been spoken
look deep beneath the vines of realization through thought and mind
breath deep inside let your breath go complete
with words of heightened anticipation

go deep upon deeper be the keeper of the gate call it fate
the twist and turn of the music to loose it
the world spins like a top
negotiate your buyer

sweet songs of praise
sweet moments raised
in a time well spent in thought
the spinning wheel stop just like a top
remember me in times like these
sheltered through the breeze crushed upon the leaves
in midnight hour with pulse through the flame in moments of granduer
sharpen your arrows to calm the breeze nestled to your knees
cultivated with a smile to know all the great while
a helmet for the passing fawn the bear from its nap with a yawn
in columns of portals sprinkled dust in the wind
the habitation of a needle visible through the shadows

remember me in times like these
through the training of the leaves taunt the moment
an explosion until sunset the bill of sale
A Gun For Hire
there is a direct correlation between time & space
scented across your universe base
the climb to approach the summit peak
with words do you seek

famous qoutes and pictures for your desire
coming down to the wire
a gun for hire
Beyond Her Tea- Blurred Vision
The powerful voice of loneliness is screaming through her mind of twisted halls,
All too painful to hear, she absorbs them into her cotton ball walls
But, beyond her tea-blurred vision and through her pounding heart

She hears the voice inside her that is worse
than a dagger through her heart
Her shadow's darkest moments are filled with hopeless pride
And her tongue tied conscience is all whom she has to confide

But the rose that is trying to bloom, within
her salty hand, will never wither, and never be taken away,
Because this, and this alone, is
what keeps her going day by day

the embrace...
Shelter From The Storm
outside violence
inner silence
shadows now block the vortex
spaces for places & midnight traces
coming apart at the seams
jelly beans

breath deep my pale sister
confide my shady brother
undercover as lovers
sign so simple the *******


shelter from the storm
curse the very day you were actually born
a world that turns
suffer inside the place to hide


let go of any ambition
what are you *******
cap the cosmic clap
faces in the window having storms in the night
Celebrate In Twilight
the crimsome tide
we all want to run away & hide
although we suffer inside
enter through the canopy of a velvet song

lines drawn in the sand
when to understand
give yourself away
take heed to pray

no cornerstone
no bridge unknown
through the sunlit ravine
The Knight Of The 1,000 Eyes
softly now faintly
ode to the serpent's tale
dismiss the dread to reclaim its saga
in darkened dungeons fit for conquest
come away for a rest
most of life is but a test

treasure the mantle to the I am presence
delve into the sacred flames within your heart
enter the center of your being pull back on yourself
a still small voice within you saying be not afraid
I am here I am your heart I abide in the holy temple in the center of your being

you have climbed through mountains you have found me after a very long trek in the darkness of human misery
I am the pressence that looks through your eyes
the knight will rise of the 1, 000 eyes
filtered through the shame
who are we to blame
infinity is my measure
you beloved heart belong to me let us be one once again
allow the shell of outer human pass away

I will be the service to life that passes through you
do not accept as real to what is in the outer world
fear not I am the life inside your heart
I am inside you together we must intoduce ourselves onto the world.
A Gripping Fairy Tale
long ago let the truth be told
in a city far far away
lived a young hobbit who drank
there was woods to hide his visitation

a taste of hungry exoneration
A fare maiden was on the throne
ruling her army from the barren city
enclosed was a message of honor

high off traction from the waiting pool
the kingdom was now silent
These Words
these words are wrapped among a cordial smile
cemented like glue for what are we to do
come now let us leave the door opened,
a demonstration of trust in a world in quite a bit of a rush

the door swings wide to the enforced way
a beautiful flower display
ample time to pray
therefore everything will be o.k.

the knock on the door
lest I implore
a distant shuttter of languished circumstances
with a heart that's been renewed

these words stand still amidst the night's appeal
the even keal behind the spinning wheel
trust is completely most like a seagull off the coast
a reason to really trust
Surfing The Internet
Today I'm on point smoking a fat joint relaxing basking in the ambiance of the hour
folks need to take a cold shower as they admire the scented perfume through the room
we have become combersome with this world as a child as if you never really heard
Leonard Cohen with his famed song "Suzanne" really makes you think about life.
Through the negative light of affliction we have every bit of reason to be standing chosen
yet we have are back against the wall when all attempts of standing ten feet tall,


Each of us has a reason to discuss the mere notion of love sent from up above
Rat *** tat tat on that *** no one gets by on any free pass we need to make are way
look to your neighbor for any favors we can all learn to trust & savor
Each new moment that comes along with a fast paced moving vibrant song
you unleashed the inner lion in me with a whole host of chemistry

Surfing the internet may not be your thing but prayer can unleash the fires within
storms of life come to either make you or break you whats news for you might not be for you
life is like a jagged edge roller coaster with its twists and turns
one soul soars while the other one burns just wait your turn
Empty Leaves
onto the seventh hour of the seventh sun
beckon to rule the new day's dawn
the lovely fawn sitting on the lawn
vibrations to great temptations

captivated by a smile
to know all the great while
the wilderness beckons a response

of wild beasts among us
Light Brevity
thoughts of brevity about the city
stay close to me a whole host next to me
got rhymes of choice stretched to the opened door
the willingness to be explored

stand firm in the wheel chair you know my condition
to what I've been dishing
kissing
twisted stereo lies by the bars swift no surprise

captivated by her smile
still to know all the great while
as if a little child
faith pierced the scene

eating fantastic cuisine
the turning of the page
is it safe to ask you your age ?
the band played on
Agatha The Princess
she was on the throne
far away from her home
uniting hearts to ne fond heights
carrying herself with a song

Agatha the princess
will lose their influence
soaring to new frontiers
left her to tears

took walks in her garden
beautiful flower display
led to thoughts to pray
with tears in her eyes

came as a big surprise
delicate hue wth borrowed lies
she walks the flats on the lonely pier
rapers and dishes she would hide
leave behind

the careless whisper
a shoulder to cry
the soft cascading vamp
shine on her eyes

to beg or even borrow
moments of sorrow
to cleave to her young
the living stone

have we just begun
Back To The Front
plunged into uncertainty
the quest to be a want to be

shining on mental enhancement
there's joy in the progress

smoke on my ceiling

highway of what I'm dealing
******
bang bang shoot shoot
you took my nephew Shane
let me be the first to explain
Shane used to live with us so long ago
until he shot up ****** he died in are house

such a dark force
it starts with a promise to relieve
then one gets too deep
falling apart at the seams

beg, borrow & steal
for your next fix to even the deal
some take it with a needle others snort it up their nose
but do you suppose there's always a shipment coming from Rhode Island

dodge the bullet feel the passion why am I asking
****** scores a perfect 10 in the mind of an addict
it takes your body then your soul
engulfed in flames bust up the beat to promote its tempo
Soft Parade
the tear drop fell from the ceiling
no matter what I'm dealing
the ocean has a delicate spray
through loose lines let it go

time well spent in thought
through the day springs hope
left nestled on its undertow
the stereo swell

basking in the hour of belief
sorted flowers in its incredible epitaph
The Waiting Suspense
there are pillars
in doorways
loosed to become forgiven
loose engine
the pulsating of a river
where is the trigger
gets bigger & bigger
Destination Excellence
the thought of letting go
a far to time before
waiting to explore
the opened door

life can be quite a bore
the longing for more
road up ahead
avoid the living dead

thoughts inside my head
The Arms Of Rap
into the arms of rap that's where its at buiding through the confusion in fusion
got flames coming out my baseball cap I'm in need of a nap keep close to the doorway
fresh rhymes I'm still on time you maybe brave see me at the arcade park my Benz in back
folks tend to over react but I tip my hat got news for you all bridge the gap know what's up

Chilling at the grill with my girl sporting heavy studs think that I'm in love you see
there's brilliance in a piece mark the ege of my teeth stand still & repeat
bars watching souped up body kit cars looking to the stars a view from Mars
Pina Colada does anyone grow fond of Starsky & Hutch another push

grasping with tender faith in my hand when will folks understand stick it to the man
years have passed still having every reason to grasp the solitude in that I'm still in a good mood...
Feeling high anxiety got folks sitting next to me living out my legacy of what I used to be
Sipping my favorite sauce to the max you tend to over react got to stay in the zone

Summer time boogy time get your cash and stand in line frozen in time
Through a variation of a dream peeps do scream eating delicious ice cream
Souped up high hat as if in a tempo taking you places that you need to go
playing a little Spanish fly i got words by the fly your my favorite guy

on my human side stand still I'm happily alive got to put first things first
this is how i flirt got words for Lavert put back your gold in a purse
Trump is getting busy but he makes me awful dizzy better listen to Thin Lizzy
they say i'm institutionalized but I got words from the hive it's best to dream big
Let Yourself Be
A reflection I will be, for today
I looked into a mirror and much to my surprise,
what I saw was all deep, deep, inside...
There it was, all exposed, the inner me

right down to my very soul alarmed, shocked, and surprised, what
I saw wasn't really me on the outside
What have I done ? Where did it go wrong ?
Why isn't the inner me the same as the outer soul ?

Then I could see way beyond it isn't just me, but everyone.
Life is a fairy tale to most for the really don't accept the Holy Ghost
If all would look within their self, and
see the person that is there,

open up your heart, let it out
don't pretend, just be proud, for the person
you really are, is just what God wanted
for he created you as he chose

Don't fret, or whine, just be proud, life's riches you will surely find
Now when you look at me, a mirror you will see
for when you look at me, what you'll see is the inner me
For I am the mirror of the real me

To everyone in life who feels they are not special,
you really are, you see, for God made you that way,
if you'll only let yourself be...

Her face is a sour
Washed out ugly gray
Similar to that of dishwater
With greenish clumps
That closely resemble
Floating milk clods in the
Center of her face
For eyes

Her hair is a worn out
Expanse of stringed greasy mess
As if she'd dunked it into a fry cook's sink
And left it to sit
With the occasional underscore
Of a darker, muddy brown
Streaks of feces throughout her head
For highlights

Her body is such a frail
Structure of porous bones and blood
A once pure white is soiled with
Brownish blood red speckles and smears
Like the horrid remains of a wolf’s meal
She can’t even hold herself up and she
Shudders and shakes constantly like some
Sort of like a hypothermic deadbeat

She’s so undeniably ugly and
Disgusting feeble and poor
But how would you feel if I
A relatively sane, accepted member of society
Was able to see something in this horrid girl that I loved?
You’d never accept it and you’d no longer recognize me
For finding love the wasn’t perfectly suited to your ideals
My love has to be pretty

We came to the concert and I saw you
From that moment there was nothing I could do.
At that same moment, you also saw me
And the changed my day, my life and history.

They played Jedarian and we both cheered
It had been our favorite for over a year
But we didn’t know it
Because we didn’t know us
But now we knew, because we were here.

It felt like magic because it never happened
Not in all the time of dating many strangers
But something told us to pay close attention
And, just this once, there was no danger.

We were watching our life change course
Something was happening that moved us.
Fate was being a perfect lady and for sure
She was with us and would never lose us.

They played Jedarian and we both cheered
It had been our favorite for over a year
But we didn’t know it
Because we didn’t know us
But now we knew, because we were here.

It had to be right that our song was played
The gentle music and the mellow words
Seemed to underscore the future of love
It played, we sang along and we both heard.

I never saw anyone in all my life and time
Who so perfectly made me smile and speak.
We started on our journey together then
And after years, we have not reached the peak.

They played Jedarian and we both cheered
It had been our favorite for over a year
But we didn’t know it
Because we didn’t know us
But now we knew, because we were here.

Asian liposuction feeling the fingers of my mind piling the ripped up chipped up crap from the side of the face to the plate put out in front of my lips to kiss the endless stream of a violent dream and all of the seams are ripped and I’m dark inside.

No where to be hyde or swallow my pride I have nothing left but my bare naked self in the cold of my unfettered failure.

Killing me softly with all the softcore underscore. Oh what a bore.
Such a slap in the face is the endless disgrace that peels though the soul like a razor maypole.

Grand is the shame that once was a game and ends with the fact that I’m deaf and dumb.
I’ve up and confessed.
So it’s over... but still missing
The body, the eyes, the flesh and the thighs, the hair and the lips unyielding.
The mind and the soul. The joy of the whole, and the love I could give so selflessly.

Twas numbing like a needle, or bottle.
Distracting from a cold, cruel, crack in the wall.
Yet up on the wings of an eagles
I’ll resist the pull of the fall.

Morsel of intelligence.
Mixed with  not
forgetting stuff
And Jesting that you've
never smoked
a
cigarette

Inhale.

Keeper of items known
no more.
He says,
cough,
Oh Lord.
Make the past come
to life
like the starting
of the underscore.

She's not like me,
more than fish are lures.
But he's all
I see
when I can hope no more.

Exhale, poor soul.

I hear that plaintiff sound again, in far off... haunting celebration
The passing train and people bound together, unknown destination
And I, beside my fire become a mental traveler, in meditation
I almost feel the rhythm of the rails...
in quiet contemplation
I close my eyes and quickly ride the stream...
upon reflective wend
My thoughts extend out endlessly, the flames and I...
somehow transcend
Reality now lies exempt, to witness restless dreams ascend
Aboard this translunary journey, rendezvous...
the Eastern wind

Looking up, imagination dances in the cloudless skies
The stars there offer bright solution, introspection?...
improvised
Then silently, a memory reveals itself to my surprise
A glimpse of you, where just a trace of sorrow…
sadly stains your eyes
Again I hear the whistle blow, and like a thousand times before
It seems to summon loneliness, with emptiness to underscore
That there are things I placed upon your heart,
that I must answer for
I suddenly awake alone, the darkness there...
and nothing more

I rise to stoke the coals and so revive again...
the warming flame
And find I must submit, to thus reside in sorrows cruel domain
The clouds are dropping down, to so release the storm on me ...
again
But as I drift to sleep, the dreams persist...
and only these remain
To hear that lonesome zephyr weep again, it’s
mournful revelation
Within the rain that falls upon my heart, resides my desperation
Can heartaches headstone lie among the ruins,
at the final station?
I listen to the dear departed sounds of love…
in revocation.

Dean Evans
1-17-15

Watching The Signs Of Aging

Watching the signs of aging;
Ultimately,
Finally
An end.
Notice, I don’t say THE end.

Not a film, a flimsy bit of flimflam,
A clouded artificiality, life imitated, intimated.
As stated:
A downgrading: witless and insensate,
Thinning at the temples,
Eyebrow hairs a crazy zigzag;
Tummy more rotund and round;
Fingers, which, however trained
No longer want to grasp or grip.
Compression of the whole foundation
Underscore the downward trip.

Aging signals watched with care –
Obviously there!  Involuntary!
Glasses that you never needed;
Tender spots you never heeded.
Fragile scenes that make you weep.
Couplets which you once thought cheap
Resorted to, which you now keep.

Compensations: pensions, patience;
Many words that end in –pence
Because, and just because
All signs become a Santa Claus:
Signs of good –
That is, when you are in the mood.
Stiff fingers finding newer ways to play piano, open jars,
The mental auto-search a galaxy of syndrome-stars
Bursting unused.

No longer worrying ‘bout standards,
You’ve your own.  
No need to join
The middling crowd,
The mediocre: in reality, the herd.
Small ambitions,
Minimized conditions
All good and fine, but still
Signs of aging ultimately will
Win out.

Watching The Signs Of Aging 12.5.2016
Circling Round Aging; Birth, Death & In Between II; Bath Book II;
Arlene Corwin