Every morning, I wake up and tell myself to seize the day, and every evening, I'm still where I started: happiest when daydreaming, worst when living.

So I'm trying to write this out, as if it will help.
To write from the heart, or straight from the mind, as they say, but my fingertips and realm of feelings don't always connect to one another.
But here it is, How I Feel:
It's like an itching beneath my skin,
one I can't scratch unless
I peel it off and claw at veins.
It's a pain in the chest, that doesn't lift.
It's a restless sleep, half awake, half not.
It feels disgusting inside, like I'm tangled, mangled up.
It all feels disconnected. Like this Is Not Real.
Like the wires to reality have been severed.

It's the Big Cliche.
What can I do to make my feelings original?

I'm just smiling on the outside, to make it up to you,
to pretend, again, but I hold two conversations
simultaneously, one in my head
and another with you.
It feels like I can't move.
But I do and I don't want to.
There's a world out there,
but I'd rather be in my head, but maybe it's that which makes it all worse.
And yet going out only makes me feel more useless.

Look, how I've descended into whines and plain language. I guess this mind's just not poetic enough to make these feelings look pretty.

The problem is is that the problem doesn't go away.
It won't get better because I keep scratching at it,
it's out of my control because it will inevitably happen, there is nothing that will make it go away.

That double is. It's ugly. But how do I operate on language and make it work my way?

But these are excuses, everyone else's and mine too. Just stop worrying, as soon as you get on with it,
it will be over.
Smile, it might never happen.
(It has.) (It will.)

Yet here is the Problem, the Contradiction.
I don't know what I want.
It's wandering aimlessly, looking for approval and appreciation that I can't take when it's given. Everything feels tacky, everything feels bad.

Life's like a gift shop.
It only looked good when I was seven.

It's like being crowded, when nobody's near.
Don't touch me, don't talk.
I'm making monsters from all the bad I can find.
I'm running from the things I've made with my own hand.
I could explain, but take it as you will.
(Can you guess?)
(I bet you can.)

And these are just images I've described so many times before.
But they're the ones that stick like worn out phrases in conversations.
Dead metaphors.
It's like itching, like mosquitoes
have landed beneath my skin and are eating me alive.

I'm torn between wishing today was over or hoping it will stay to put off tommorrow. Just go with it, I try to tell myself and nothing happens.

Flows of Tears...
For all these Years
Lost in Empty Promised Land..... The
Familiar Feel of the Back of the Hand

Stumbling in the Door in the Night
A bruised Head Stare in the Morning Light
Funny can't Recall what Started the Fight
After the Bar had closed.....

The Stab slammed Between the Eyes
The Familiar Sound of the Lies
The Cough of the Morning Cigarette
The Nagging Feeling of Regret

In my Heart there's an Ache
How Much More can I Take
This has Gone on for..... A
Long Long Time,,,,,,

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®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

A spark... of Creation
Ignites a Tinder of Thinking
Setting a Blaze of Concept
Catching Fire to a Thought
That Blaze Forms
The Idea...
Carrying the Brilliance
To the Future... Until
Its Flames Subdue
And Slowly Glowing  Embers
Become White Ash of the Past....

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®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

Freedoms Shot Down by Bullets of fear
The Fascist Faces Arise in the Crowd
As The Elections of Politicians draws near
The Neo Nazis and KKK Proclaim out loud
The Boasting and Bashing of Religion and Race
Stares America Right in the Face.....
Will you Stand and arise to Fight of Note?
Then Get off Your ***** and.....
GET OUT AND VOTE!!!!!!!

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

I am alive buried in an avalanche
Of thoughts, every depth
Is the cavernous nature of being
By myself, living by myself,
And looking for myself
In the wade of the dark waters.

I cannot accept this me.

I write, I perceive, existing.
There is a thousand mirrors
With echoes in the labyrinth,
My voice
Cannot listen to itself.

Why am I screaming.

I feel like a prisoner
In this chamber
Of a universe's mind,
Thoughts of a playful dahlia,
Maybe I am naive.
The me inside me
Cannot exist without
The me that does without
Thoughts.
Two way existence
In a one way mirror.

I don't know the reflection.

Wounded man
Of a voiceless persona,
Who am I to know myself
Against a labyrinth of mirrors,
Each an odd reflection
Of a past that becomes infinite,
Buried beneath a thousand of me.

Past Prejudices arise Again,
Feed a Feast of Fear to them
Prey upon their Greatest fears
And Raise a Fascist tide

Let Loose the Tide of Lies
Greased by Economic ties
Lubes the Rails of Ruin, And
Veils the Dawning of the Truth

Brave they Are, who have
Never seen the Rise of Battle
Willing to sacrifice, those who are...
as if to War, the Chaf and Chattel

The Leaders Lead us into Pens
To leash us to Ideologies in Need
To Insure the remaining 1 percent
That they can fulfill their greed

Glutting on the Middle class, and
Feast upon the Poor, to upraise
The Pile of Bones Before, Each
Fat and Wanton Priviledged Bore

For us a need, is all that we Possess
Feeling Lost, all in Due Process
Yet Voices can be Heard and Votes
It seems only to be  logical.....

WE CAN SLAY...the Necrological


All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

I wonder if God
    sees our numbered
breaths, how many
     have been & how
many are left,
millions of digits
    shifting above
our heads;
the old woman
 on the park bench
        with just 500 left. 
The jogger with 100
   between now &
        tonight when he
will exhale
     for a final time.
I should scale mountains,
         stare at the sun
  make my amount
  count, every last one.

I'll shine like the new days star
I'm back
Shaking the foundation
Of the good and bad
Happy and sad
Hope is the now
Tommorrow doesn't exist
Here's for the
2016
Wish.

oral transmission
Modulate - Cognate- Division
Cosmic - tuned in like Cognitive Transmission

This is my mission, to

Get up out the scene Live wild as a child
Dread my head, Hear cries like the Roar  I lionize
Deviant be me, othered for free
as the Nomos creates Signifier, Signified
somewhat like a homeless child stigmatized
caught outside our commercial enterprise

but

With enterprise, there enters lies,
Never earthbound my star ship seems to Actualize
Melodically.

So let me lyrically **** your path so you can shift past the cuts
Neva drinking the wine of wrath, made sour by sour patch cats blasted by vats OF GRAFFITI splats.

Culture slipping like gangsters simply sipping at the purple incision
instead we walk Holy like the cotton we missin

Tattoo my Secrets onto skin parchment ,
thats Ink advice ---:  People Lost in Duality, man thats just thinkin twice
Surrender and self-Sacrifice be the admission price
to see Kali singing blood mantras dancing through

Dreams of Ink darshan doorways
Tantric like Siva Approaches his consort for foreplay

My face is like a thundercloud, smiles formed outta cloud highs
Now my 3rd eye, washed in blood saw how Snakes stitch DNA
up and winding
and lemme tell you bro,
its some Nauesous stuff

Transcendent reality,
ego death till its fallacy,
recognize perfection
of life in the galaxy

So I toss out my ID, puff puff, its high ME
don't be Stuck like Ego grinding, Just saving souls don’t mind we,
go Indigo like Love in the margins, Golden souls attempting to live in holy gardens, ==========

We forget though

Neither death or immortality existed in the time before time,  of day or night no sign

There was Darkness hidden by Darkness , all was water but got started quick, by the sharpness of a god spark

kick crash hit, life spit out covered in emptiness

This was it, started from the bottom, rise in the power of heat,
dance tap ta dis beat Aware tapas generates so much heat Indiscreet
in abyss

But then desire became the fire, middle ground never higher than the smoke trails of the world's creation,
Spittin om proir flash forward funeral flames tamed by Tandava siva purifier

So this poet seeks in the heart of wisdom found in the bond of existence to non-existence
Knowledge that  I’m a livewire with a high resistance
I Complete my **** Through high persistence,

Eventually though,
the Fog rolls in again , agnosia forget the Cosmic condition
till then We soulfeed lyrics in-between kissing.

'Twould do any young person well to step into the muddy boots of a farmer for a spell . *** a field the whole day through , milk an ornery goat , pick a row of okra or two ..
Clean a hog pen , run the dogs at the crack of Dawn , build baskets and set tomato plants in the hot Georgia Sun ..
Pick your meal in the morning and eat it at dinner , cut firewood in the dead of Winter . It would most assuredly do a teenager well , yes it would