Bouazizi’s heavy eyelids parted as the Muezzin recited the final call for the first Adhan of the day.

“As-salatu Khayrun Minan-nawm”
Prayer is better than sleep

Rising from the torment of another restless night, Bouazizi wiped the sleep from his droopy eyes as his feet touched the cold stone floor.

Throughout the frigid night, the devilish jinn did their work, eagerly jabbing away at Bouazizi with pointed sticks, tormenting his troubled conscience with the worry of his nagging indebtedness. All night the face of the man Bouazizi owed money to haunted him. Bouazizi could see the man’s greasy lips and brown teeth jawing away, inches from his face. He imagined chubby caffeine stained fingers reaching toward him to grab some dinars from Bouazizi’s money box.

Bouazizi turned all night like he was sleeping on a board of spikes. His prayers for a restful night again went unanswered. The pall of a blue fatigue would shadow Bouazizi for most of the day.

Bouazizi’s weariness was compounded by a gnawing hunger. By force of habit, he grudgingly opened the food cupboard with the foreknowledge that it was almost bare. Bouazizi’s premonition proved correct as he surveyed a meager handful of chickpeas, some eggs and a few sparse loaves. It was just enough to feed his dependant family; younger brothers and sisters, cousins and a terminally disabled uncle. That left nothing for Bouazizi but a quick jab to his empty gut. He would start this day without breakfast.

Bouazizi made a living as a street vendor. He hustles to survive. Bouazizi’s father died in a construction accident in Libya when he was three. Since the age of 10, Bouazizi had pushed a cart through the streets of Sidi Bouzid; selling fruit at the public market just a few blocks from the home that he has lived in for almost his entire life.

At 27 years of age, Bouazizi has wrestled the beast of deprivation since his birth. To date, he has bravely fought it to a standstill; but day after day the multi-headed hydra of life has snapped at him. He has squarely met the eyes of the beast with fortitude and resolve; but the sharp fangs of a hardscrabble life has sunken deep into Bouazizi’s spleen. The unjust rules of society are powerful claws that slash away at his flesh, bleeding him dry: while the spiked tendrils of poverty wrap Bouazizi’s neck, seeking to strangle him.

Bouazizi is a workingman hero; a skilled warrior in the fight for daily bread. He is accustomed to living a life of scarcity. His daily deliverance is the grace of another day of labor and the blessed wages of subsistence.

Though Allah has blessed this man with fortitude the acuteness of terminal want and the constant struggle to survive has its limits for any man; even for strong champions like Bouazizi.

This morning as Bouazizi washed he peered into a mirror, closely examining new wrinkles on his stubble strewn face. He fingered his deep black curls dashed with growing streaks of gray. He studied them through the gaze of heavy bloodshot eyes. He looked upward as if to implore Allah to salve the bruises of daily life.

Bouazizi braced himself with the splash of a cold water slap to his face. He wiped his cheeks clean with the tail of his shirt. He dipped his toothbrush into a box of baking powder and scoured an aching back molar in need of a root canal. Bouazizi should see a dentist but it is a luxury he cannot afford so he packed an aspirin on top of the infected tooth. The dissolving aspirin invaded his mouth coating his tongue with a bitter effervescence.

Bouazizi liked the taste and was grateful for the expectation of a dulled pain. He smiled into the mirror to check his chipped front tooth while pinching a cigarette **** from an ashtray. The roach had one hit left in it. He lit it with a long hard drag that consumed a good part of the filter. Bouazizi’s first smoke of the day was more filter then tobacco but it shocked his lungs into the coughing flow of another day.

Bouazizi put on his jacket, slipped into his knockoff NB sneakers and reached for a green apple on a nearby table. He took a big bite and began to chew away the pain of his toothache.

Bouazizi stepped into the street to catch the sun rising over the rooftops. He believed that seeing the sunrise was a good omen that augured well for that day’s business. A sunbeam braking over a far distant wall bathed Bouazizi in a golden light and illumined the alley where he parked his cart holding his remaining stock of week old apples. He lifted the handles and backed his cart out into the street being extra mindful of the cracks in the cobblestone road. Bouazizi sprained his ankle a week ago and it was still tender. Bouazizi had to be careful not to aggravate it with a careless step. Having successfully navigated his cart into the road, Bouazizi made a skillful U Turn and headed up the street limping toward the market.

A winter chill gripped Bouazizi prompting him to zip his jacket up to his neck. The zipper pinched his Adam’s Apple and a few droplets of blood stained his green corduroy jacket. Though it was cold, Bouazizi sensed that spring would arrive early this year triggering a replay of a recurring daydream. Bouazizi imagined himself behind the wheel of a new van on his way to the market. Fresh air and sunshine pouring through the open windows with the cargo space overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruits.

It was a lifelong ambition of Bouazizi to own a van. He dreamed of buying a six cylinder Dodge Caravan. It would be painted red and he would call it The Red Flame. The Red Flame would be fast and powerful and sport chrome spinners. The Red Flame would be filled with music from a Blaupunkt sound system with kick *** speakers. Power windows, air conditioning, leather seats, a moonroof and plenty of space in the back for his produce would complete Bouazizi’s ride.

The Red Flame would be the vehicle Bouazizi required to expand his business beyond the market square. Bouazizi would sell his produce out of the back of the van, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood. No longer would he have to wait for customers to come to his stand in the market. Bouazizi would go to his customers. Bouazizi and the Red Flame would be known in all the neighborhoods throughout the district. Bouazizi shook his head and smiled thinking about all the girls who would like to take rides in the Red Flame. Bouazizi and his Red Flame would be a sight to be noticed and a force to be reckoned with.

“EEEEEYOWWW” a Mercedes horn angrily honked; jarring Bouazizi from the reverie of his daydream. A guy whipping around the corner like a silver streak stuck his head out the window blasting with music yelling, “Hey Mnayek, watch where you push that *******.”

The music faded as the Mercedes roared away. “Barra nikk okhtek” Bouazizi yelled, raising his ******* in the direction of the vanished car. “The big guys in the fancy cars think the road belongs to them”, Bouazizi mumbled to himself.

The insult ****** Bouazizi off, but he was accustomed to them and as he limped along pushing his cart he distracted himself with the amusement of the ascending sun chasing the fleeting shadows of the night, sending them scurrying down narrow alleyways.

Bouazizi imaged himself a character from his favorite movie. He was a giant Transformer, chasing the black shadows of evil away from the city into the desert. After battling evil and conquering the bad guys, he would transform himself back into the regular Bouazizi; selling his produce to the people as he patrolled the highways of Tunisia in the Red Flame, the music blasting out the windows, the chrome spinners flashing in the sunlight. Bouazizi would remain vigilant, always ready to transform the Red Flame to fight the evil doers.

The bumps and potholes in the road jostled Bouazizi’s load of apples. A few fell out of the wooden baskets and were rolling around in the open spaces of the cart. Bouazizi didn’t want to risk bruising them. Damaged merchandise can’t be sold so he was careful to secure his goods and arrange his cart to appeal to women customers. He made sure to display his prized electronic scale in the corner of the cart for all to see.

Bouazizi had a reputation as a fair and generous dealer who always gave good value to his customers. Bouazizi was also known for his kindness. He would give apples to hungry children and families who could not pay. Bouazizi knew the pain of hunger and it brought him great satisfaction to be able to alleviate it in others.

As a man who valued fairness, Bouazizi was particularly proud of his electronic scale. Bouazizi was certain the new measuring device assured all customers that Bouazizi sold just and correct portions. The electronic scale was Bouazizi’s shining lamp. He trusted it. He hung it from the corner post of his cart like it was the beacon of a lighthouse guiding shoppers through the treachery of an unscrupulous market. It would attract all customers who valued fairness to the safe harbor of Bouazizi’s cart.

The electronic scale is Bouazizi’s assurance to his customers that the weights and measures of electronic calculation layed beyond any cloud of doubt. It is a fair, impartial and objective arbiter for any dispute.

Bouazizi believed that the fairness of his scale would distinguish his stand from other produce vendors. Though its purchase put Bouazizi into deep debt, the scale was a source of pride for Bouazizi who believed that it would help his profits to increase and help him to achieve his goal of buying the Red Flame.

As Bouazizi pushed his cart toward the market, he mulled his plan over in his mind for the millionth time. He wasn't great in math but he was able to calculate his financial situation with a degree of precision. His estimations triggered worries that his growing debt to money lenders may be difficult to payoff.

Indebtedness pressed down on Bouazizi’s chest like a mounting pile of stones. It was the source of an ever present fear coercing Bouazizi to live in a constant state of anxiety. His business needed to grow for Bouazizi to get a measure of relief and ultimately prosper from all his hard work. Bouazizi was driven by urgency.

The morning roil of the street was coming alive. Bouazizi quickened his step to secure a good location for his cart at the market. Car horns, the spewing diesel from clunking trucks, the flatulent roar of accelerating buses mixed with the laughs and shrieks of children heading to school composed the rising crescendo of the city square.

As he pushed through the market, Bouazizi inhaled the aromatic eddies of roasting coffee floating on the air. It was a pleasantry Bouazizi looked forward to each morning. The delicious wafts of coffee mingling with the crisp aroma of baking bread instigated a growl from Bouazizi’s empty stomach. He needed to get something to eat. After he got money from his first sale he would by a coffee and some fried dough.

Activity in the market was vigorous, punctuated by the usual arguments of petty territorial disputes between vendors. The disagreements were always amicably resolved, burned away in rising billows of roasting meats and vegetables, the exchange of cigarettes and the plumes of tobacco smoke rising as emanations of peace.

Bouazizi skillfully maneuvered his cart through the market commotion. He slid into his usual space between Aaban and Aameen. His good friend Aaban sold candles, incense, oils and sometimes his wife would make cakes to sell. Aameen was the markets most notorious jokester. He sold hardware and just about anything else he could get his hands on.

Aaban was already burning a few sticks of jasmine incense. It helped to attract customers. The aroma defined the immediate space with the pleasant bouquet of a spring garden. Bouazizi liked the smell and appreciated the increased traffic it brought to his apple cart.

“Hey Basboosa#, do you have any cigarettes?“, Aameen asked as he pulled out a lighter. Bouazizi shook the tip of a Kent from an almost empty pack. Aameen grabbed the cigarette with his lips.

“That's three cartons of Kents you owe me, you cheap *******.” Bouazizi answered half jokingly. Aameen mumbled a laugh through a grin tightly gripping the **** as he exhaled smoke from his nose like a fire breathing dragon. Bouazizi also took out a cigarette for himself.

“Aameem, give me a light”, Bouazizi asked.

Aameen tossed him the lighter.

“Keep it Basboosa. I got others.” Aameen smiled as he showed off a newly opened box of disposable lighters to sell on his stand.

“Made in China, Basboosa. They make everything cheap and colorful. I can make some money with these.”

Bouazizi lit his next to last cigarette. He inhaled deeply. The smoke chased away the cool air in Bouazizi’s lungs with a shot of a hot nicotine rush.

“Merci Aameen” Bouazizi answered. He put the lighter into the almost empty cigarette pack and put it into his hip pocket. The lighter would protect his last cigarette from being crushed.

The laughter and shouts of the bazaar, the harangue of radio voices shouting anxious verses of Imam’s exhorting the masses to submit and the piecing ramble of nondescript AM music flinging piercing unintelligible static surrounded Bouazizi and his cart as he waited for his first customers of the day.

Bouazizi sensed a nervous commotion rise along the line of vendors. A crowd of tourists and locals milling about parted as if to avoid a slithering asp making its way through their midst. The hoots of vendors and the cackle of the crowd made its way to Bouazizi’s knowing ear. He knew what was coming. It was nothing more then another shakedown by city officials acting as bagmen for petty municipal bureaucrats. They claim to be checking vendor licences but they’re just making the rounds collecting protection money from the vendors. Pocketing bribes and payoffs is the municipal authorities idea of good government. They are skilled at using the power of their office to extort tribute from the working poor.

Bouazizi made the mistake of making eye contact with Madame Hamdi. As the municipal authority in charge of vendors and taxis Madame Hamdi held sway over the lives of the street vendors. She relished the power she had over the men who make a meager living selling goods in the square; and this morning she was moving through the market like a bloodhound hot on the trail of an escaped convict. Two burly henchmen lead the way before her. Bouazizi knew Madame Hamdi’s hounds were coming for him.

Bouazizi knew he was ******. Having just made a payment to his money lender, Bouazizi had no extra dinars to grease the palm of Madame Hamdi. He grabbed the handle bars of his cart to make an escape; but Madame Hamdi cut him off and got right into into Bouazizi’s face.

“Ah little Basboosa where are you going? she asked with the tone of playful contempt.

“I suppose you still have no license to sell, ah Basboosa?” Madame Hamdi questioned with the air of a soulless inquisitor.

“You know Madame Hamdi, cart vendors do not need a license.” Bouazizi feebly protested, not daring to look into her eyes.

“Basboosa, you know we can overlook your violations with a small fine for your laxity” a dismissive Madame Hamdi offered.

Bouazizi’s sense of guilt would not permit him to lift his eyes. His head remained bowed. Bouazizi stood convicted of being one of the impoverished.

“I have no spare dinars to offer Madame Hamdi, My pockets are empty, full of holes. My money falls into everyone’s palm but my own. I’m sorry Madame Hamdi. I’ll take my cart home”. He lifted the handlebars in an attempt to escape. One of Madame Hamdi’s henchmen stepped in front of his cart while the other pushed Bouazizi away from it.

“Either you pay me a vendor tax for a license or I will confiscate your goods Basboosa”, Madame Hamdi warned as she lifted Bouazizi’s scale off its hook.

“This will be the first to go”, she said grinning as she examined the scale. “We’ll just keep this.”
Like a mother lion protecting a defenseless cub from the snapping jaws of a pack of ravenous hyenas, Bouazizi lunged to retrieve his prized scale from the clutches of Madame Hamdi. Reaching for it, he touched the scale with his fingertips just as Madame Hamdi delivered a vicious slap to Bouazizi’s cheek. It halted him like a thunderbolt from Zeus.

A henchman overturned Bouazizi’s cart, scatter

Life #struggle #success #destiny

Hello Friends today I want to share something to you and to everyone..... its very important on life...

Some stages in life we will face once for sure.....it will help for everyone for sure......

1. Hard Work always Payoff  
                                                         but it takes time and struggle...

2. There will be always tough time,
                                                                         You might give up.....

3. You Have to believe that Dream come True
                                                                        only who believe to see
                          and aim to achieve it...


4. Success is never easy, it is always Hard to keep it
                                                                ou always to be prepared..


5. But the Key is To Never Give Up
                                                   Always keep doing what u love.

You Can make a difference
                                                           you have just to try for it....

             The life is one chances might me more
                       but key is one -Hardworking.....

                  Life depends on hardworking
                        never waste your time...

     Wake up now start new journey... till it reach your     destiny.....
      
                  Write your destiny by yourself
                            by hardworking...
       result will be late but it will positive for sure ...

                                                                                                -Chirayu

“FATHER, FORGIVE THEM”
                            Luke 23:34
}This is a longer write than usual but well worth
time to read it.} GEP
       
Hello Friends,
        This prayer is possibly the most important and most
        powerful prayer of Jesus.

        He prayed not only for those demanding
        His crucifixion, but for you and me as
        well.

        This prayer of Jesus is doubtless the shortest
        but most powerful prayer spoken by Him,
        because it transcends all generations, back-
        wards embracing all of the old testament
        believers and forward two thousand-eight
        teen years and beyond to the last believer
        in whatever year that may be.

        Now in the transaction of forgiving, there
        must be the offering of forgiveness, and the
        acceptance of the offer.

        God, in the person of His only begotten Son
        Jesus Christ, has offered His forgiveness of
        of all your sins, past, present and sins we
        have not yet committed. But God being  
       omniscient knows  what sins we will commit to-
        morrow, and so included in Jesus' prayer
        was all our future sins.

        We all need God's forgiveness, because without
        it we are condemned to the Lake of Fire.
        We must understand, that "The wages, the payoff
        of sin, is death",  i.e. forever dying, yet never dead,
        always suffering in a place God did not create
        for you and I.  So  God has offered to forgive you. 
       Will will you accept His offer? How do I accept God's offer,
        you ask? You accept God's forgiveness  by RE
        PENTING OF ALL IN WHICH  YOU ARE NOW
        TRUSTING , so that He will open the gate of
        Heaven to you at the end of this earthly life.

        Yes, no longer trust in all your works of self-
        righteousness, but simply believe IN, not ABOUT
        Jesus Christ, as your sin bearer, Savior, Lord and
        Master.

        This includes all your religious works of
        baptism, church affiliation,  church serving such
        as Sunday school teaching, being an Elder, or the
        holding of some other position in your church.
        These things are all commendable) AFTER you have
        believed in Christ as your personal Savior.

       In’ Matthew 7:21-23 Jesus tells about some very religious
        people that came to Him, boasting about all their
        religious deeds they had done in His Name, expecting
        to be rewarded with entrance into Heaven.

        Countless of millions throughout the world are doing
        the  same  thing  today. You know what Jesus said to them?
        "I never knew you, depart from me, you who work
        iniquity"
       They called their deeds, "wonderful works" and in their
        minds they were wonderful, but in comparison to the
        work of Jesus' suffering and crucifixion on the cross
        for their sins, they were empty works of pride, self-
        righteousness.The Bible declares that all the works of
        man are nothing more than "filthy rags" in contrast to
        His work of righteousness. They would be like  supplying a
       small pebble when what was really needed was a huge two
       hundred ton boulder.

      My friends, if you and I could get to Heaven, offering God
      our little ***** pebbles of works, then Jesus'  death, burial
      resurrection was not necessary. But it was absolutely necessary
     for Jesus to suffer and die on the cross, so that God might offer all
    of humanity His forgiveness of our sins. Understand that He was
     not suffering for His own sins, because He was totally without
     sin. Jesus was bearing your sins as well as mine, so that
     God's law of righteousness might be fulfilled in us,
     THROUGH JESUS CHRIST.

     So how does that work?” you ask. Look at II Corinthians 5:21
    "For God has made Christ to be sin, (not a sinner) for us,
    (That's what Jesus was doing when He allowed Himself to
      be crucified)  He was made sin for us, that we might be made
     the righteousness of God IN HIM"

    So the moment you turn from believing in your own self made
    righteousness, you are IN Christ, and God sees you as one
    who has had your sin debt paid in full, because you are IN His only
     begotten Son and thus you have accepted His full forgiveness.
                                                                                  -   by G.E.Parson






        
     forgiveness].

        The Bible says that "The gift of God is Eternal Life." So Be sure
        to thank God for His gracius[gracious] gift.

                  For all questions, contact Jerry Howarth
                   jp.howarths@gmail.com




[Dad, I understand what you are saying here about ‘self-righteousness’, but I’m not sure that’s going to lovingly draw someone to Christ as it sounds like the writer is much holier-than-the-reader. Although it’s accurate, this delivery sort of smacks as an insult from someone they’d consider arrogant or egotistical. The result would be a turn off rather than a turning to Jesus. Maybe I’m wrong here, but that’s just a thought.]


“FATHER, FORGIVE THEM”
Luke 23:34

        Hello, Friend. This prayer of Jesus is possibly the most important and most powerful prayer of Jesus. He prayed not only for those demanding His crucifixion but for you and me as well.

        This prayer of Jesus is the shortest but most powerful prayer spoken by Him, because it transcends all generations backwards, embracing all of the old testament believers and forward two thousand seventeen years and beyond to the last believer in whatever year that may be.

        Now in the transaction of forgiving, there must be both the offering of forgiveness and then the acceptance of the offer.

        God, in the person of His only begotten Son Jesus Christ, has offered His forgiveness for all your sins, past and present and even sins we have not yet committed. But God, being omniscient, knows what sins we will commit tomorrow and beyond. So included in Jesus' prayer was all of our future sins.

        We all need God's forgiveness, because without it we are condemned to the Lake of Fire.
We must understand that "the wages”, the payoff of sin, “is death." That is to say, forever dying, yet never dead, always suffering in a place God did not create for you and me. So God has offered to forgive you. Will you accept His offer? “How do I accept God's offer?” you ask. You accept God's forgiveness by REPENTING OF ALL IN WHICH YOU ARE NOW TRUSTING. Then He will open the gate of Heaven to you at the end of this earthly life.

        Yes, no longer trust in all your works that seem righteous and moral, but simply believe IN, not ABOUT Jesus Christ, as your sin-bearer, Savior, Lord and Master. This includes all your religious works of church affiliation, baptism, church service such as Sunday school teaching, serving as an elder or deacon, or the holding of some other position in your church. These things are all commendable AFTER you have
        believed in Christ as your personal Savior.
In Matthew 7:21-23 Jesus tells about some very religious people that came to Him, boasting about all their
        religious deeds they had done in His Name, expecting to be rewarded with entrance into Heaven.

        Countless of millions throughout the world are doing the same thing today. You know what Jesus said to them? "I never knew you, depart from me, you who work iniquity" They called their deeds, "wonderful works" and in their minds they were wonderful, but in comparison to the work of Jesus' suffering and crucifixion on the cross for their sins, they were empty works of pride, self-righteousness.

        The Bible declares that all the works of man are nothing more than "filthy rags" in contrast to His work of
        righteousness. They would be like supplying a small pebble when what was really needed was huge two
        hundred ton boulder.

        Friend, if you and I could get to Heaven, offering God our little ***** pebbles of works, then Jesus' death, burial and resurrection was not necessary.

        But it was absolutely necessary for Jesus to suffer and die on the cross, so that God might offer all of humanity His forgiveness for our sins. Understand that He was not suffering for His own sins, because He was totally without sin. Jesus was bearing your sins as well as mine, so that God's law of righteousness might be fulfilled in us, THROUGH JESUS CHRIST.

        “So how does that work?” you ask.
Look at II Corinthians 5:21. "For God has made Christ to be sin (not a sinner) for us.” That's what Jesus was doing when He allowed Himself to be crucified. He was made sin for us, that we might be “made the righteousness of God IN HIM"

        So the moment you turn from believing in your own self-made righteousness, you are IN Christ, and God sees you as one who has had your sin debt paid in full, one who is IN His only begotten Son and thus you have accepted His forgiveness.

        The Bible says that "The gift of God is Eternal Life." So be sure to thank God for His gracious gift.

                  For all questions, contact Jerry Howarth
                   jp.howarths@gmail.com

so here it starts,
a boy meets girl
they both decide
to give love a whirl

a couple years later
and it's going great
'til the day she finds
she wants to choose her own fate

he asks, "what happened?"
he doesn't understand
she replies, "im scared,
this love is too grand."

she asks him how he knows
that everything will be fine
he answers, "I will be yours,
and you will be mine."

he doesn't see the risk
of jumping into love
he doesn't see the payoff
as something they may fall short of

she knows that what she's doing
is messing up what could be
but she just can't stop doing it
she yearns for him to see

there is no known path
she can take to this destination
what if she loses her way
and gives in to that temptation

she knows it's her own fault
but really, it's for the best
this love would've ended, as most do,
with each party distressed

she doesn't want him to blame her
it will only push her farther away
but she longs for him to know
that its him she thinks of every day.

Its more than a feeling when its come down to the finish and even a worse one when you realize its time to start yet again.
Like some sick version of twisted game show your always in reach and anytime your desperate the ****
will gather to praise your failure.
The bottle filled glory days a dinosaur who's back id long fell of of trying to stay in the groove simply has left me with more scratches than  I care to speak of so **** the logic in this I preffer a good ******* covred lie instead.

Hell wasnt a fire laced horror theme it was a emptyness beyond anything a normal man could ever imagine.
Good thing I would never fall under that title.

We were somewhere in Maryland the bar a afterthought now and are drunken thoughts had left us silent to
ramble in are own personal hells we tried to convince others didnt exist.
As for the big payoff well .
If half empty shows and being more broke than when you left was a sucess then we were true diamonds at this point.
You give it all out there only to question do you have a home to return to.
And Martin was a wounded solider broken from a quick text once read.
Ive had enough I wont be here when you return.

And as he was broken we did what any self absorbed ******* who couldnt face what could be us would do.
Drown in vices and cracked jokes over are friends misfortune and tried to make sure we didnt get to much of his misery to
**** are buzz.

For me it was the usal some quick drinks some soon to be forgotten conversations with women I'd seldom
recall gotta keep chasing that good time cant let the boys see your reallity or you'd fall and
never do you wanna show weakness in a pack of wolves .

Robert was always the same a crash and burn ****** who started fights and had to be half loaded to even greet the day.
Once I saw the geinus behind what had now became the running joke of the group.
The tide had long since returned to the ocean  and left him trapped apon the shore.

We all knew he was a dead end street but he paid his way and as long as we could scam a few bills from him
we used him without regard it was the worst kind of cutthroat you could imagine.
All in the name of a good laugh.

Being said that only left me and Tony to keep this **** togather we rode long hours and made little money but just like sharks if were still moving with some drugs in are system were still doing good.


My head against the window rains steady rythm kept me company  in this silence I could allow the ******* guard down.
Count the laughs and ignore the bombs  **** it was a bloodthirsty scene in south Boston lastnight.
The crowd intent on breaking you and getting down watred down drinks overprized and as shallow as there
owners for the moment.

Why the **** was I here stuck in a prison with four wheels rolling steady and praying not to get pulled
by the cops and wondering if anyone of us could lie well enough to be trusted to drive **** knows
the best driver had just been hitting the pipe a hour ago.
And I really didnt think my flask in side pocket would be a charming insentive to some officer who hated dealing with a
car filled with drunks and junkies.

So what you boys do?
I could hear this converstaion playing out.
Were comedians  just heading home officer been on the road awhile.
Oh yeah you boys any good?
Well as you can tell from this fantastic 1999 minvan crap mobile were driving  were  a great sucess.
You being a ******* boy?

Some people never get the joke.

The miles passed and soon were bound for are corners.
Off from the battle left only to crawl in
broken down hovels and lick are wounds with whatever drugs we may have left laying around.
And as for me I'd just turn off the lights and sleep.

In the dark nobody touches my often semi burnt out thoughts.

And as the days bled one into the next I'd  tell myself ***** it Im done!.
But bad habbits and that insane thought of what if is a real ******* at times.
And really what else besides the page could ever bring me the misery and false happiness I so desired.

Soon like some worn out race horse id be at the starting gate again I could only run till I drop.
Why do it you may ask?
Cause its just who I am the crowds a drug like any other and that one night of connection
is more of a rush than any needle to arm has ever been.

The finish line never means **** when you know inside.
All that leaves you with is another time to begin.

i've never met someone who has made me realize
sometimes words just aren't enough.
sometimes the feelings surpass the rules of grammar,
stanza breaks,
word choice.
sometimes they surpass each and every one
of those 26 letters,
because not a single one could form a word
that gives justice to your beauty,
to your character,
to how you make me feel.
your love is turning me redundant,
taking away all originality
since every one of my poems now
is written with you in mind.
i'd be upset, except
the payoff is so much greater.
-a.c.b

Only a micron between me and the big one,
a thin membrane that keeps me sane or if I
look from the other side,
the membrane that keeps the insane from becoming sane.

Put all your blame on the medical profession who profess profusely to know the cure but unsure of this and not wanting to miss the next update I pick up my bed to walk but find I have to wait and waiting's not a forte for someone over fifty.

We'll all get a placebo to make it seem easier when we go, but we know that it's not, when I tot up the favours asked for and unbidden and find all the days lost that were hidden from me by something or someone unseen it's obscene.

I understand now the sleight of hand and how it works, the peccadilloes and quirks of the people I've met, why I bet the outsider, but not why life has a rider attached like the codicil to a will and will I ever learn that trust is something that I have to earn and yet still give freely.

But I know where and who I am and where I've been and having come to terms with that I can dream peacefully, hopefully for years to come,
unlike some.

When the membrane disintegrates and all trace of me dissipates would the molecules that once were me join up again to commiserate?

I shall wait for the inevitable, but there's one thing for sure, those who thought they had the cure will be waiting alongside me, hypodermics in hand and analysing eternity.

Halfway up a mountain
on an ice-bound January day,
I sought to reliquify
a few calorific assets.

I am no fool -
I had been carefully investing
a portion of each meal
in certain holdings
(mainly around the waist).
Of course, I knew the safe route:
balanced diet, carbs, fruit, veg;
but a venture nutritionist such as myself
pays little heed to such extravagant prudence.

Fried breakfasts looked like offering
a quick and reliable payoff
and sure, for a while it worked.
But guess what:
Just when I needed the big windfall,
nothing.
Not a sausage,
if you'll pardon the pun.

"Sorry," a regretful body explained,
"I know you'd think you could call on your investments
"at the drop of a hat,
"but actually they're kind of clogged,
"a bit like your arteries."

Wheezing, waiting
for the mountain rescue helicopter,
I spared a rueful thought
for the taxpayer -
the reluctant buyer
of my safety.

You might imagine I owe something in return,
but I watch the news
and I reckon
I'll get away with it.