****** ******* began
In nineteen sixty-three
(which was rather late for me) -
Between the end of the Chatterley ban
And the Beatles' first LP.

Up to then there'd only been
A sort of bargaining,
A wrangle for the ring,
A shame that started at sixteen
And spread to everything.

Then all at once the quarrel sank:
Everyone felt the same,
And every life became
A brilliant breaking of the bank,
A quite unlosable game.

So life was never better than
In nineteen sixty-three
(Though just too late for me) -
Between the end of the Chatterley ban
And the Beatles' first LP.

The black and white swirls that I saw changed my life.
Waking up everyday to watch something funny gave me a reason to keep going.
It gave me a reason to keep taking steps toward my own self happiness,
But now that your gone,
I'm lost,
But I'm not afraid,
I'm not afraid to wake up and take a step,
Not afraid to listen to my own clock,
Not afraid of the inevitability of death,
I have the strength to keep going, even after your passing,
Others feel the same way, and have tried to cling on to the videos, I admit. I have some downloaded, but I am deleting them now,
Because I don't have to cling to the past to proceed forward,
So as I hit delete on these memories,
I sit and cry,
With a smile on my face,
So thank you,
For everything

I
I SAW a staring ****** stand
Where holy Dionysus died,
And tear the heart out of his side.
And lay the heart upon her hand
And bear that beating heart away;
Of Magnus Annus at the spring,
As though God's death were but a play.
Another Troy must rise and set,
Another lineage feed the crow,
Another Argo's painted prow
Drive to a flashier bauble yet.
The Roman Empire stood appalled:
It dropped the reins of peace and war
When that fierce ****** and her Star
Out of the fabulous darkness called.
In pity for man's darkening thought
He walked that room and issued thence
In Galilean turbulence;
The Babylonian starlight brought
A fabulous, formless darkness in;
Odour of blood when Christ was slain
Made all platonic tolerance vain
And vain all Doric discipline.
Everything that man esteems
Endures a moment or a day.
Love's pleasure drives his love away,
The painter's brush consumes his dreams;
The herald's cry, the soldier's tread
Exhaust his glory and his might:
Whatever flames upon the night
Man's own resinous heart has fed.

Two men started a YouTube channel

They called the channel Unus Annus

They were also the characters Unus and Annus

One year is all that they promised us

There was a clock counted down the days

The clock finally stopped and then we all did the same thing

What we all said was MEMENTO MORI

/shovels' worth of sparrow songs,  hid before me, the praise of morn, I took to ***** and to cushion, that I might sneeze back, with a cajun sentiment of a, "misjudged" joke... mind you... who might care what you don't mind what others feel, when... no one, really cares, what you think? am I wrong to suggest that feeling and thinking are synonymous? both happen almost instantaneously, given a stimulant... is this some sort of pathogen of "wrong-think" sifting process? feelings are delayed patterns of the expression of intellect... thoughts are shallow counterfeits of emotions.... I too wished I was the blabber-mouth of highschool... when thinking cannot become rhetorical, it incubates itself in emotions... but when thinking incubates rhetoric... the emotions attempting to be staged, become, equivalent to, passing a stranger on a street, never giving a two second's worth of mind, worth of notice.

the pulverising presence
of the elemental man,
lodged within,
the seemingly, unmoveable
tiers of "object";
         foolish, seeking fame,
as to quench a familiarity,
in:
        overcoming the torrent,
of man "evaluating" water...
    riddling his equal...
perpetually undermining
metaphysical novels,
    with metaphors-,
              and never...
       the unsatiable thirst...
*** post annus.

I

I saw a staring ****** stand
Where holy Dionysus died,
And tear the heart out of his side.
And lay the heart upon her hand
And bear that beating heart away;
Of Magnus Annus at the spring,
As though God's death were but a play.

Another Troy must rise and set,
Another lineage feed the crow,
Another Argo's painted prow
Drive to a flashier bauble yet.
The Roman Empire stood appalled:
It dropped the reins of peace and war
When that fierce ****** and her Star
Out of the fabulous darkness called.

               II

In pity for man's darkening thought
He walked that room and issued thence
In Galilean turbulence;
The Babylonian starlight brought
A fabulous, formless darkness in;
Odour of blood when Christ was slain
Made all platonic tolerance vain
And vain all Doric discipline.

Everything that man esteems
Endures a moment or a day.
Love's pleasure drives his love away,
The painter's brush consumes his dreams;
The herald's cry, the soldier's tread
Exhaust his glory and his might:
Whatever flames upon the night
Man's own resinous heart has fed.

And so I finally can say “goodbye”
to monstrously distressing twenty-sixteen
reflecting back with inward shrug and sigh
on happenings that never should have been.

But I have lived through all that could be thrown
by Nature with insouciant disdain.
retaining sensitivity alone
that I have sought to disregard in vain.

And now as these last few hours pass away
I sit with solitary glass of cheer,
ready to greet the dawn of a new day
that is the harbinger of a New Year.

And I reflect however bad may seem
the slings and arrows of life’s jesting style
it does no good to rant and rave and scream;
such immature response is juvenile.

Better by far embrace the positive
though hard to find in the twelve months now gone,
there’s always much denial to forgive,
and clemency comes easy when alone.

So let me cast aside self-pitying malaise
discarding too the self-indulgent sorrow,
and echoing the mundane Scarlett phrase,
I’ll put it from my mind until tomorrow

Through life's toughest moment's, fantasy characters show more strength and durability than many of the people who watch and strive to be like them.
Now that's not a bad thing, in-fact it's an incredible thing to do. To better yourself to become better. But lot's of people lose motivation to keep pushing themselves. Something that the Channel Unnus Annus taught me, was that you only have a limited time to live and that death happens sooner than later.
So why must we strive to become something that we idol?
Why must people break down who they are and mold them into something that they see all the time.
Why waste the time changing who you are entirely and make yourself into some sort of Hero or perfect citizen when in the end most people will give up and end up in a worse situation (either mentally or physically) than they were before trying to be some-one else?
Don't live trying to be like someone else. I'm not saying to simply stop idolizing people or trying to be similar to them.
In-fact, what I'm saying is,
Try to be something better than what you are now, try to live like your next day is another day isn't your last, but instead, another day to learn from those idol's.
Push yourself to become better than those idol's, push yourself to become the person that YOU want to be, not a person that already exists in the mind of one other person (the creator).
Cause in the end, if you try to be just like your idol, you'll either achieve this and become someone different entirely, or you'll end up worse off than you were originally.
Many people don't know where to start, and everybody will have a different answer as to where. "Start on what you hate, work on your emotions, or start on your body". But to people who are lost in their journey, this won't always help, in-fact, it can push them further back past where they started. That person must discover their own path, their own journey.
All that matters, is that you're at the very least starting
With a simple step.

I wasn't there for your first kiss,
Too self absorbed maybe,
I don't know, what the hell I missed,
Now you are grown with children of your own,
and now,
I love you,
more than time and tide doth turn,
I should burn for selfishness,
In the annals of much regret,
in the ennui of parenthood,
Now annus mirabilis has dawned,
as a lost prophet with a cause; however, not  as the word of the Lord.
(C) Livvi