feeling wise and centred.

should I share it or keep it close lest it bedestroyed

I am one to impart and share

but there are some who do not care

they tear apart your words for fear

that thier ideals should shatter and thier

true happiness may be visible and require of them much change

I am not a mirror.

I am a window.

I can show you a view  but your reflection can still in it be seen;

and thus, you may see yourself fit well in the scape I am offering.

if you trust me to be wise I may fail you

if you trust me to love you it would be wise of you.

come to my window open the pane and let the breeze of truth wash through you

breathe this space. come out side legs first into my wisdom

and behold what ever you see is yours to take with you

a seed to plant in your own garden. may the view extend you far beyond the horizon and stars

let there be meaing in your life with out going to far and with out staying so close.

let me touch you with what I know.

let me listen to your excuses and smile.

let me show you the way

you may drop bright pebbles along the way

and come back anyway.

let me be your friend,

I will show you the ways of wise

this is my frienship creed loyal and true



Change is the enemy of identity.

Stagnation is the enemy of growth.

Discernment of what is necessary to change and what should not change

is the friend of wiseness.



But love is the only precursor to all these.



yours sincerely,

thought.

Backwater,
*******,
ex show jumper,
bit of a show off,
part time pole vaulter and extreme skier,
also a good dancer,
haunted by libraries.
You smell the party vibe almost too late
to kick the can that pass the swallow of kisses
not meant, a ballroom behind the meaning,
shut up or fall down,
are you dreaming or shang-a-lang meaing,
misdemeanor a pantomime curse,
that smiles and curses your evening,
hello there is a light that doesn't go out now,
now.

should i be more mistaken  and more impressed by
a readership, or by the general
population of the world? can everything, literally,
that i touch turn graphite into diamond?
      we, who have magpie
value, are really under-dressed
for the peacock parade...
but wouldn't you
love to kiss that pretty sheen
where the sun don't skine...
i can't be east end, i''m
essex bound... farmer out of his
comfort zone...
next tier come the cow ****...
and if that ain't a bear-knuckle
fight, i don't know what is
drinking home-made wine, with
all that fog and murk, and
everything i wish i could never bring
myself grievances over...
   like a tightening of the ansus,
of losing virginity via the age of 16...
i don't know, you start to
fake the more you age, but since
i'm not reallt ageing, i'm bound to be
one of those: sinister dogs
thrown into the kennel of the streets,
all because i said:
hush your pretty mouth,
we're boundless in knowing who might
kiss it again...
  i mean: dumb as ****, but then again
i kept neithe friend, nor onspirator
akin to Guy Fawkes...
   then you had two children you wanted
to boast about, and i had 20 bottles of wine
i wanted to boast about...
the two never seemed to congregate....
and i was left barren, and said:
and deserts need to exist,
and you said something about
rainforests, and how you needed more squashed
wood for paper for the office -
     toilet cubicles, because the koala
paper was running out...
and ******* a **** out
with grit and sand-paper was no way
to go about wiping your ***....
even if the eastern europeans...
just about the time you deemed my ethinicity
vermin... just about then i turned
all königratte on you...
and said a quiet allegiance against the "free" world...
so said about "free" people, i say: about as free as
your need to maintain a routine...
  and counter wind-farms with
hamster-treadmills...
                            oh man, if you
didn't mention my ethnicity as being bound of
rats... if you only forgot about my baptismal excuse
relevant to the schwarz pest -
    that's so uncool man...
  that's like a Jewish joke when only
Jewish mothers laugh... it's like a joke about
being circumcised... and then having to really
give it your all for a ****... because with your
******* missing... she had all the gags with
her *******, who she nick-named Dorace...
and that like... ****... a keeping a plant
that belongs in the Amazonian rainforest
inside a potting urn... for no better word for it.
but hell, me being an ethnicity bound to rats?
what does that make you clean shaven,
axe-weilding, metro-****** super-gnat?
no, i can see big ben tic toc tic toc...
     i just can't see you making up the cavnas...
talk about reclaiming your capital...
        that sure seems like all the war movies
are obsolete these days, meaing
it's all about a coach trip from Debry to London Victoria...
meaning in the real world...
meaning getting any education at all
was a bit pointless...
   arm wrestling in the cantine would have made
more sense than being taught darwinism...
   darwinism can, somehow, undermine
your natural bully strength...
    and there i was duped into thinking:
survival of the fittest... call it what you like
in theory, in reality it's called:
mind the ******* pedestrian!
   the granny, the pregnant woman...
oh sure, get rid of god, i'll also yawn...
but why give so much prayer / thought toward
a system that can't incorporate you as ruler,
when every parasite is bound to scheme a return
to the privilege of a tapeworm?
don't get it... tell me how that sort of politics works
while i see hurricane katrina in replay...
            mingle the omni rhetoric with
a mathematical rubric, and then couple that to
egocentrism... you basically get the western civilisation...
so much for protest... and so much for everything else...
i lost count trying to keep up with the perfected
chinese... the truest nature adherents...
                the easiest way to control god
is to argue he doesn't exist... well, **** yeah! get a tattoo!
a bit different when you have to argue
against parasites... to later equate them with
the emergence of new technology and the excess of
libido and the unemployed...
                i have absolutely nothing profound
to say... but why obliterate the reason to
find an escapism in a god, when all we're given
to replace theology is: sky, believe in better...
or disney, i.e. dream in technicolour...
                the main point though?
it's war when you equate my ethnicity with vermin...
not enough **** in your system to know better?
wait wait... this is post-colonialism, right?
    mater rus turb...
turbanus sikh vanus... either way ya plonker...
we can add that you eat the same breakfast
7 times a week, and on the 6th day i ate the *****
of having ate breakfast on day 5... and hence
the seagull was born.
    what a caged ******, it almost seems like
the englishman was born to remain abroad,
or better still, along with the tabloid
avenue of recounting his stay in Ibiza...
where he was all hail mary for no one to see!