I can hope
I can wish
I can cry
I can pray

But my akward shoulder
Is not going away

Beautiful women
Like the woman
At the car repair shop

Don't ever want to be with me
Okay!

I'm gangly
And akward
Arms swinging

At my side

This stupid
Akward shoulder

I cannot hide

I'm really ******* tired of it too
And there is nothing
In the world
Anyone can do

The therapists gave me exercises
And I did them all okay

Now the shoulders
Are at the same level
But the akwardness
Won't go away

You ask me why it's akward
Well I'll tell you why
You can see

This is not how a man of Tao
Is supposed to be

And the left it just too big
It doesn't match at all

Like humpty dumpy
His shoulder probably got messed up
After he fell off the wall

Another lonely weekend
I was asked how it was

This akward shoulder really hurts me
It does, it does

cries

And I do not need sympathy
Just a hug will do
Where is my loving female friend?
I hope she would want
To hug me too

The body is just
This thing

It has desires
For food and for ***

And the mind wonders
What this life is
Anyhow

Hours alone
My akward shoulder
Never changing
Never improving
Despite my efforts

And look at the beautiful
Fitness goddess
On instagram

In love with herself
With her body

Better I suppose not to
Take so much pride
And devote so much time
To the body

Although I do enjoy fitness

I just wish I didn't have
An akward shoulder

Oh well, nobody cares
Walking akwardly
From here to there

A world full of emptiness

Pleasuring myself to fitness babes
On instagram

And after that desire is fulfilled
The desire to eat again

On and on and on
God the clockmaker

Sitting on his throne
Or whatever

Your earth has really gone
Terribly wrong

We are tired of waiting
For the second coming
Of your Son

The saints are crying out
When will justice be done?

Life isn't that great
Sometimes it seems just plain dumb

It turns out it is a lonely place
And not much fun

100 years more or less
Will one day be over

I guess it's just a test
There better be something
Better in store

Because human life
Can be a bore

Is there golf in heaven?
I like that game

Never loved or cared for
By a female friend
What a shame

Alone sitting under a tree
Same dull face
No one can help me

My shoulder will never change
Forever akward
Still the same

I just want normal shoulders
For this I do pray

I don't like having an akward shoulder
Something I have to live with every day

I tried to fix it with physical therapy
At least they are even
But the left is bigger than the right

(Sighs)

Akward shoulder for another day

But I shouldn't complain
As its just a small thing anyway

The beautiful woman
At the gym
I saw her again

I wouldn't know what to say
Besides
I feel akward in my own body

My akward shoulder
Makes me feel akward
On the inside

Why couldn't I just have been symmetrical?

I prayed and got physical therapy
I wanted it to change
It hasn't changed much

My left shoulder takes over
It dominates
It is akward
It is out of place

Go in, go in!
I press it against a foam roller
You are too big left shoulder

I try to enlarge my right
Still, I can't make them match

It's just a shoulder
I try to forget about it

I am thankful for my health
I am a runner
And I stay fit

I wonder what it would be like
Not to feel akward

I wonder what it would be like
To hug a woman

My shoulder, my shoulder
Why oh why

I'll never know
It's okay

I just want to be
A loving person
Respectful and kind

I do my duty
I want to improve the lives
Of others

I will not become rich
I do not care

Return to simplicity
I had the best fruit
I have ever had
From a fruit stand in Oakhurst, CA

An older man talked
About his racing pigeons
He had sent to Oregon

He stopped sending them
Because the hawks would get them
If he didn't bring them in right away

They were tired from the journey I guess

Quite a story teller he was

And the woman there
Was she Greek or Armenian?

I'm not sure
She was middle aged
And gorgeous

A beautiful smile
She told another guy
To feel free to try a grape

She talked about her fruit
17 years
She has owned that store
Bless her

I had to get cash
So I could come back and
Buy some fruit

I had the best grapefruit, small avocados
And grapes I have ever had

And there was something wonderful about her

And I thought of her holding me

My shoulder, my shoulder
I can't make it right
I cried to her

But she told me it was okay
And that she loved me anyway

Maybe I could help her with
The fruit stand

I would like to go back there one day
To but some delicious fruits

And learn more about
The lady who owns the fruit stand

It's 4:25 am

I live in a quiet suburb

In middle class southern California

I only work part time

Because that's all I can find

I have an akward shoulder

That is permanent


If you as me how I am

I'll say "good" or "fine"


Maybe I don't think much

About this life


So I can't go out

And meet any women

Because I'm poor


Hours alone

At the gym

I'm such a bore

I never get a great body

Or anything like that


I'll always be

Just plain old Matt


Same dull expression

Same miserable frown


A painful existence

F* this town


Nowhere to go

Nothing to do


I guess I have problems

How about you?


I'll just repeat the same

Leisure activities  

Over and over again


I enjoy golf

And I play it all alone


I learned that Jesus

Doesn't care one bit

About my akward body

And he won't heal my shoulder

Like he healed people in the Bible


Ugly and alone

Forever alone


Wandering on mountain trails

Stupid, meaningless planet


Nothing to do

Except keep on keeping on


At least I live for the benefit

Of others

At least I try to serve the needs of the people


After a lifetime of working out

I get to have an akward body

I guess that *****


And most people are liars

Like my therapist

Who left


Sometimes I eat too many carbs

Life is a type of death

Who cares


Absurdity of absurdities

The world is cold and empty


Hiking on mountain trails

Banging hiking sticks against rocks

Deficating on the side of the trail


I don't have a nice car

Or a pretty girlfriend


Women ignore me

Because I don't even feel

Comfortable in this akward body


Who cares

Some old friends don't call

Anymore


Who cares


Alone on the driving range

Hitting golf *****


Just like I told the therapist

I would be


The day World War III started

I didn't f* care

Just sat in a tree

Eating a pear


Just wanted normal shoulders

For goodness sake

Is that so much to ask?


Didn't want to be rich

Or famous


I don't think

I was ever suppose to feel anything

Just a bunch of random

And meaningless times


Followed by the end


Life is a type of death


And it's hard to tell
The night time
From the day

I'm losing all my highs and lows
Funny how the feeling goes away

And I won't get married


Life is stupid
Life is dumb
Turns out it isn't
Very much fun

F** American society
And nobody cares

Glued to their wireless devices

I'm alone standing over there

My akward ugly body

This isn't a nice poem

Life is brutal, cruel, lonely


I want to have a female friend

American politics are some kind of joke


Just a bunch of random experiences
No woman to hug or care for
No woman to be my friend
My prayers go unanswered

Good wishes to you I send

Well there has been some improvement
With my akward shoulder

Although the left is still larger
Than the right

Doing some good exercises
I learned from PT

And although I won't ever be perfectly symmetrical
I guess I'll just have to continue
To deal with a slight body imbalance

And that's fine
There are people who are handicapped
And this is just a small thing

I ain't complainin'

Saw a documentary today about a South Korean
Star who migrated with her mother to China to escape
North Korea

And grossed the Gobi desert into Manchuria
With only a compass
Walking for 24 hours straight

Her poor mother was hit
With a hot metal pan

But thankfully she is okay now

Now her daughter makes
A satire
Poking fun at the North Koreans

And showing the realities of
The difficulty of life
In North Korea

So I have my akward shoulder
And you may not like something
About yourself

But at least we have water and shelter
Electricity and food

Let's hope our grid doesn't go down
In an EMP strike

My akward shoulder

Why is it this way?

I always exercised the right way

I just want to be normal

It is like it has a personality of its own

Stare into my eyes

You'll stare into the emptiness of life

Never desiring

Knowing poverty and loss

Knowing years alone

The wanderer

The akward shoulder is always there

I tried to change it

I cannot fix it

Ignored by women

A lifetime alone

Content to sit in the mountains

I should just be grateful I am not handicapped

Yay, I fixed it a little more with my stretch

A good breakfast I think I will have to celebrate, lol

Dear Queen,
Are you real? Or just part of my imagination
Cos lately you've given my eyes an occupation
Staring at you is work, and everyone in the room is employed
That sharp dress cut my tongue out and got me speechless
If the dress could cut my head open and read my mind
The only thing it would see is a reflection of itself
Cos all I think about is you, and you may not be real
But you're true
The silence you cause in the room, when you walk in
People stop talking, its akward.
You're on stage, you steal everyone's attention, like a thief
Attention is really cheap, but not everyone pays attention.
Its crazy right? How a queen falls for a pauper
The only way I could ever leave, is if I ...

Stop thinking.

Yours truly
the boy at the back

.i left an excess of a B somewhere in here... within the confines of a word giblet... i probably thought: bigger... bouncier... gibblet looked better... and so very far removed from goblet... i'm not going to look for it.

i haven't done much today -
and i don't suppose i will finish this day of
with some grand poo'em...
but one can almost be proud
to have perfected a chicken breast roulade...
the rest of the chicken missing
the butterfly? well... bound to a very
decent soup... clear and not atypical
western cream-soup...
but the roulade! the roulade!
no... you don't beat the butterfly *******
like you might turn to: "sadistically"
for a schnitzel...
you do beat the meat,
but you more or less... press down the mallet
onto the meat, until you reach
the right equilibrium of pressure and
there's that squish-sound / feel of the *******
expanding...

if it was a whole roast chicken:
of course i'd stuff the space between
the skin and the ******* with some thyme
infused butter... to capture the richness...
but this is a roulade...
the stuffing? goats cheese... toasted almonds...
fesh dates... thyme...
i might have just over-balanced
the equation with the dates...
but as i explained to the fussy-eater:
what are you implying that we do not
serve poultry with a sweet attache?
cranberry sauce and turkey?
and as i've learned...

it's best buying potatoes from a turkish
outlet by the 25kg bulk...
from a warehouse where the buyers
walk with bundles of money and do not
use debit card "finger" prints...
the free passing of money is still retained
in some tiers of society...
but the idea, regarding the potatoes is
to poach them from a bath of cold water...
once they start boiling leave them for
five minutes, then turn the heat off
and wait for the bubbling water to stop...
drain them... then leave them on
the already turned-off stove to get rid
of any excess water...
drizzle some chilly infused olive oil
onto the baking tray, place each potato individually...
then drizzle some olive oil onto them...
shove them in the oven when the roulade
is finished...
my first most pristine roulade...
of course you have to pan-fry it to get some
colour... the filling is kept intact given that:
goats' cheese is no mozarella...

it doesn't melt and subsequently ooze out...
and the whole lot should be be done within
the hour... the roulade can be pressured
to go for 25 minutes...
depending on the colour of the tatties...
i still had to take it out and "glitter" it with
a 1:1 ratio of honey and lemon juice...
the remains of this juice i designated on al dente
cooked greens... there was no need
for a dressing...
left-over red cabbage coleslaw...
that helps... sweet chilli sauce with some mayo
and crem fraiche...
it even looks the prettier picture:
leftover but it still works...
***** of a ******* butterfly *******!
of course it was going to spit oil back at me,
i was frying the skin... the fat from the skin
was melting the skin was getting crisp
and mingling with the olive oil fat...
also... it's a myth that the temp. should
read: 165°F... that's really just a circa...
mine read 156°F... and given the time i let
it rest...

oh right... this is not a food blog...
perhaps the moon is just too beautiful tonight
to have to attach words to it?
perhaps my love is better left alone and unused
and it doesn't demand sleeper idealism
for it to be celebrated?
it's cooking food... it's not a hip-replacement
surgery...
when cooking was married to chemistry:
i sometimes miss the laboratory
and the cooking up of esters...
my new found calling is in cooking...
and something i... wouldn't exactly want to earn
money for...

and what is surgery if not elevated butcher's ******>antics? oh no, it's needed...
but the meat is supposed to be raw
from beginning to end...
and if i was only given the chance to recycle
a recipe for a stake tartar...
or sushi... well... it wouldn't be much...
esp. when i come into my own
and cook an indian **** of spices...
but then again... the indians butcher their meat
in their curries...
i've come to some serious realisation...
the indians butcher the meat with their curry sauce...
it comes down to baking the meat...
in order for the meat to still retain its
original juices...
i quiet enjoy that little detail of cook...
in that: i don't remember the last time i was
in a restaurant...

i can't imagine eating while having to talk...
conversation over food is no better
than sitting in field of grazing cows
and their leech clouds of flies all bothersome...
with regards to the quality of the meat....
there is always some excess of meat from
the butterfly ******* before you start moulding
them into a shape that will satisfy it being
rolled...
it's a supreme joy working with a whole
chicken... i sometimes wish i was also the man
who could see the whole procedure of:
and be involved in the slaughterhouse...

oh god... the brute village beheading is
rather uncompromising... one chicken is caught
and beheaded on a stump of wood...
the head still moves with its last remaining
short-circuit tongue extending out of the beak
and the eyes roll... and then all the other chickens
congregate and perform a Kuru ritual of pecking
the blood... sipping it...
that's how killing a chicken in a village
looks like... i can't imagine an industrial scale
precision... but i would't mind...

every time i hear of veganism: the ethical argument
i start conjuring up an antithesis of
cannibalism... which is not exactly edgy given
my catholic background (i haven't been
confirmed, personal choice):
this is my body, this is my blood...
i hear a vegan talk i make a fetish of
imagining cannibalism...
believe me... these limbs look akward...
to begin with... where can you find a *******
drumstick of poultry on it?!
nowhere!

only a few days shy off today i made a most
delightful broth of chicken hearts...
i can't explain how the sight of washing...
oh... around 30 pultry hearts feels like...
given that they're hearts and not the entire chicken...
but as ever... the internal organs are a delight...
pork or poultry liver...
poultry hearts...
poultry stomachs...
cow intestines...

come to think of it... you never really cook meat...
you... curate it... it become a fine art specialist...
for those who turn to veganism or the vegetarian
"alternative": perhaps they never curated meat,
perhaps they simply butchered it?
the chicken roulade of butterfly poultry *******
always came out dry-*****?

after all, wasn't ol' Adoolph the one to say:
'hello mr. carrot, hellooo jew no. 1269230 of
auschwitz'... that's the puberty of my distrust
for vegans... they were never able to
cook meat properly... they probably ate
a decent piece of it served in a restaurant...
but when it came to cooking it themselves...
they would have probably butchered
a pasta and never reached the quality: al dente...
either...
and i'm worried that they can't cook
vegetables al dente either...
so it's back to the gulag of roots overcooked
and turned into mush...

oh i believe that meat is butchered...
but it's from the actual butchery...
it's from a lack of respect in how it's finally
"cooked"... well... curated...
are vegans the sort of people that never
ate a stake tartar... or found the most
arisotractic flavours in the giblet?
oh my god... if you can eat a drumstick
of chicken clean to the bone...
and, like me... sometimes bite off
the budding pulp of the bone for the marrow
gnash?
perhaps that's why i own cats...
delicate courtesans of the table...
a dog would go hungry at this table...
sharpnel of bones and some lurking marrow
in the "shins"... and that's about it...

you can never truly be a vegan...
not unless you repudiate the fact you've only
tasted muscle tissue...
what about the giblets and the cartilege?

every time i would perform oral ***
on a woman i could only conjure up one distate...
this is not a steak done rare...
this is not an oyster...
this is not a steak tartar...
there are "things" pulverising this meat...
there's an unexpected pocket of heat
in this... "thing"...
this is a sensation that lends itself
to the pastry section of my diet...
a warm apple pie... a custard drizzle
over some chocolate sponge...
oh qui qui... the marvels of a bilingual mouth...

if the meat is of good quality....
as the chicken roulade i made today...
and there were leftover snippets...
which i fed to the cats...
and the meat was eaten... in totality...
i was eating good chicken...
cats regarding meat are like...
those ancient jobs equivalent to...
Halotus...
god! give me a chance to own a cat!
i'll name him: Halotus!
he'll be my meat taster...
he'll tell me if i'm eating bad meat...
i'm not a Claudius but...
this cat could very well be the next Halotus!
dogs eat leftovers...

beside this one instance of catching
a female mosquito by the leg
and feeding it to a cat...
the most pleasure i ever received was
when i was preparing a rainbow trout
for grilling...
the head couldn't be used since:
i wasn't planning to cook a base fish stock...
so i plucked those pearly eyes from the head...
and my... what a delight they were...
not me... the cat...
i'm guessing that's the equivalent
of me gulping down an oyster...

female maine **** fascination with dairy
products...
any cream will do... even cheap-oh cheese...
dairylee spreadable...
but all manner of cream whipped...
i've heard of cats being fond of red wine...
i once owned one that was fond
of... olive brine...

again: what's with this need for people to cook
your food? what sort of decency of conversation
can one have when presented with food?
i don't like restaurants simply because:
well i can't exactly cook roadkill...
and shooting at birds is not my kind of thing...
so if i can't catch it and **** it...
i can at least: cook it...
i distrust what i eat that i haven't prepared
myself... notably the hygiene dilemma...

it really is on my head whether i'll catch
salmonella when i sometimes drink a coffee
with a guilty pleasure of mine:
whisked egg-yoke and sugar... on top of the coffee...
that's my problem...
but eating is never a synonym with conversation...
and it's never necessary to loiter and wait
for someone to shove pretenses above
the food in the first instance of: the waiting staff...

i blame the rise in veganism surrounding
the people who never allowed themselves to appreciate
the animal: in total...
there's no fun just sticking to ingesting muscle
protein... first you have to cook it properly...
this chicken roulade didn't have to reach
the internal temp. of 165°F - that's a circa proposition...
at 156°F and allowed to rest is just as good...
because it's an art-form to cook meat...
then again: what's cooking and what's about
to be curated?

the people who turn to veganism are also the people
who never bothered with gibblets...
the liver, the heart, the stomach,
in some cases the intestines...
hence my critique of Islams critique of ol' porky Bella...
this most unique animal...
which you can eat in total...
tenga deep fried pigs ears...
again: the cartilege...
ethics my *** if all you know about a pig is a bore
chop or a **** or... you never get into
the knitty-gritty details of the interior of
an animal... lamb is a stinking meat...
it's hell-rot when the male is slaughtered...

oh right! right! how could i forget the star
pinnacle... poached giblet supreme...
the neck... if you know how to eat a drumstick
down to the bone...
poached poultry neck...
the teeth and tongue wandering around
the crevices of this elongated spine...
i can imagine monkey's extended coccyx
tastes as tender... but only among
the macaques...
otherwise: when what's about to be eaten...
can be elevated to a status of ****** fetishes...
gimps in leather...
when rummaging among so many
boyscouts & aenemic vegans...

i'm yet to taste this, one specific, delicacy...
flaki (flački) is not new to me...
i need to marry a girl from ******* Masovia...
somewhere in the vicinity of Płock...
for i can eat some černina...
duck blood and clear broth soup...
as long as most of the animal is used...
the dogs can have the rest
and so can the vegan ethics society...

but of course this is no an anathema...
or some curated vendetta...
all the roots in the vicinity...
even the fungus... can vegans eat fungus?
are you sure?
what about those "thinking" magic mushrooms
that... if you looked into 1960s:
quick-n-easy philosophy courses...
the fungus is the botanical hitchhiker
that strapped itself to the humanoid brain
and... broadened our horizons and what not...
can you eat the godhead 'shroom?
it might just very well be...
that i'm picking a half-brain half-mushroom
entity in some alcohol to allow myself
to ease a tongue out from
its standard formality of the mollusk...
and waggle waggle waggle brute...

but yes... one is most certainly butchering
a piece of meat when one cooks
a broth... or a curry... unless its a gibblet
of sorts...
to "curate" muscular meat in a broth of a curry...
poaching it to death and worse than death:
dry...
it's about allowing the meat to retain its
natural juices...
how else to enjoy a poultry butterfly breast
roulade - with the natural juices still intact?

- i stopped paying attention to these *******
moralists...
if you have ever figured your way around
cutting off the butterfly of ******* for a roulade...
and you know what it feels like
when you stuff the space between
the meat and the skin of them
with some butter and fresh thyme...
and you're still not circumcised...
well... that's what skin feels like...

how else to reiterate? Ava Lauren is probably
the best example of a brothel beauty...
mandible beauty... something that contorts
and appeals to a perspective of cubism...
wretched beauty of the squashed square
into a pseudo-rhombus contort...
at least doing it from time to time leaves me
without a single buoyancy of thought regarding:
am i having enough, am i not having enough:
and if i'm not having enough -
what are the chances of me contracting some
s.t.d.?

bad beef...
again... juxtaposing a reiteration...
there's something worse than visit a brothel...
there's the... visiting a resturant..
i can't stop thinking about alien,
unwashed hands, preparing my food...
it's already one kick-in-the-***** not having
hunted the food... but to be left ******-over
twice by not having cooked it?!

at least if you know what flesh feels like
between the two crucibles of
death's kiss and man's tongue tease...
you will know when...
you will at least know when...
death comes with its kiss...
and its breath... the meat will turn all
yucky... as if a mollusk decided to prance
upon it in an imitation zigzag...

hence? i have no respect for islam because
islam has no respect for Miss Porky Bella!
seeing how most of the lamb -
except for the kidney in a steak pie
is not wasted...
the pig could feed two african villages...
if done properly...
while a lamb would only serve a pittance
for a poor man of yemen harem...

again: the pig is the enemy...
while not making crab meat a haram is not?
vulture meat... scavenger meat...
that's a: o.k. but the sophisticated nature
of the pig: sophisticated in that:
almost all of it can be eaten...
that so much of it can be you would probably
burp out an oink...
done properly...
the giblets in tow...
pity that such a desert god would never
appreciate the pig becoming a dog on
its truffle hog days...

beside all the arguments...
imagine how the "one true god" goes down
on a platter of those ignorant Beijing folk...
Warsaw testing! Warsaw testing!

pristine my *** when all they ever do
is eat the muscles and never appreciate the detials...
no wonder they become aenemic vegans!
at least butchering a vegetable is less of a concern...
you can almost get away with butchering a root...
it is... oh most certainly it is a shame...
when you can't cook meat properly...

but at least i never feel ever as bad going to a brothel
seeing the sort of people who venture into
restaurants...
i don't like being cooked for, i don't like being
"waited" for...
i don't like this modern orthodoxy affair
of a restaurant... i wish these people
learned something about how meat is: never cooked...
and how... it's always most certainly most necessarily:
curated...

pedantic? perhaps... you should have seen
me in that athenian strip-club with two-clingy *******
either side of me... starwberries in their *****
and we are all fine and giggling...
stealing kisses from prostitutes is: truffle hog
"learning" parabolla...

a date and a "promise" of *** is always
a limp **** affair...
i always want to know whether what i'll be eating
still entertain the existence of salt...
or whether i'll have to find alternatives
of: extracting the juices and finding the right
bites...
because love is long over-due and i'm not going
to butcher it further with whimsical hopes...
my love is a dead love is no ideal...
my love is donning a ball and chain of memory:
i have left the better parts of myself
in the wrong sort of people...
they're hardly coming back...
the people or the pieces of me...

but at least i can attest that:
oral *** and the cool crisp gulp of an oyster
passing the Charon of my tongue...
oysters are only fascinating to eat...
because you always want to concentrate
on the fact that: you're eating something that's still
alive... not even a steak tartar or a sushi slice
gives you that hope and thrill...
unless... you're hoping for some tapeworm
embryo being lodged in the flesh...
which how man can almost arrive
at the conception of foetus and womanhood...
i can't be impregnated: exclusively...
i can't be... pregnant: exclusively...
but i can allow a parasitical tapeworm
to become my new-born-*******-out-abortion...

inclusively... how else?!
i'm also tired of being left immoral by the act
of *******...
not unless you know what not being circumcised
feels like... and what chicken skin feels like...
the people at the restaurants...
a palette disgruntled by minor changes of heat...
and... there's always a very precise detail
when it comes to the temp. of a piece of meat
being cooked... and when it's allowed to epilogue
when resting to ****** with all its juices
left intact...

over-sexed society, are we?
at least doing the one-eyed-bandit's favor
doesn't allow me to ferment...
to pickle such repressive thinking...
itself pitched against: in itself...
and these this Radeztsky March forward...
over-sexed also can imply:
not exactly culinarily-savvy...
these are always twins walking side by side...
and they are always siamese problems...
over-sexed implies...
not cuninarily-savvy...
the better part of this critique is already wide open...
why all these cooking channels,
all these cooking programs?
and all this ****?

can't **** can't cook? broomstick! and to sabbath
with you!
i can't no better comparison...
over-sexed and also: terrible at *******...
******* is terrible to begin with...
you can't exactly quip yourself with
having done some lessons in tango or salsa...
the chances are that the *** turns out to
be a laughable take on tango and
you're going to step on a day-dreaming
dancing partner...
it's exactly what's it's supposed to be:
a gamble at best...
but when you throw in bad cooking?
recipe for disaster... bad dates that begin
in a restaurant and arrive at a black-out
bedroom with cockoon *** under
the bedsheets with you gasping for air!

'god let me out! let me out!'

My akward shoulder
Goes with me
Wherever I go

And I just get
So tired of it you know

I wish it wasn't so

I tried to change
But no

Forever akward shoulder

But that's okay
Everyone's body
Ages anyway

That's why I came
Look at her!
A beautiful Latina goddess

Such full voluptuous *******
My goodness
Long black hair

She would not like me
I understand
I am not very manly

I am not good looking
I have an akward body

Better to be alone
To never be in love

She put her sweater on
Such a **** goddess she is
But I'll never talk to her
Or know her

I get some enjoyment
Out of my career

And I hit golf *****
Again and again and again

Alone, alone on the driving range

The therapist left

I'm tired of this environment
And not having enough money

And I've learned
Jesus couldn't give one bleep
About my akward shoulder

And it's going to be akward for life
And I've learned I live in a computer
A meaningless pointless computer

And I'll live a moral life
Showing love to others

And I'm tired of this
And look at the dull frown
On my face

It's from all the time alone

Akward ugly body
Akward shoulder
Earth body
Dull

On a hike
I walked off the trail
And hid behind the trees to deficate
So natural

And in the meantime
DARPA prepares
Its many drones

I won't be here for Thanksgiving
Or for Christmas either

Never feeling that comfortable
In my own body
My left shoulder
Takes over

All the physical therapists
And prayers in the world
Won't fix the thing

And you should learn
To do nothing
To do nothing
Inside this stupid computer

That's all it is
Some simulation

Empty yourself
Of all desires
At "work"
Do nothing

The Tao of Heaven
Is work without effort

Some type of organic matrix
And who really cares
Look at that guy with
The ugly akward shoulder
Standing over there

Jesus didn't fix his shoulder
Despite the prayers

Life is kind of lame
And stupid
So there

An emptiness
A void
That's what life is

I told the therapist
This is how I felt

And she said
Well, you shouldn't feel that way

Turns out she was wrong
She's just a liar anyway

Never trust anyone
Who likes Disneyland
What a ******* up place

Life is meant for suffering
Everyone gets a taste

Different times
And different places
Different names
And different faces

First I went to the market
Then to work
Then to the gym

I ate I slept
Then repeated the same
******* thing
Over and over again

And I prefer to be a substitute
I'm kind of a lazy guy

Looking at the trees and sky
I don't bother asking why

It would have been nice
To be symmetrical

But God doesn't care
He's just a clockmaker
Sets the world running
And says, "So there"

And miracles are only for
People that lived in Jesus's time

I had to complain
And I know I shouldn't whine

We go through all these things
And we say these prayers
Then Jesus doesn't work
His healing magic
Seems he doesn't care

It's just a small burden
One that I can bare

I imagine myself
Looking at myself
"Hey, that's me"

Hitting ***** on the range

I made a hologram of myself
To talk to aliens on other planets
And we both agreed human life
Is quite strange

My hologram tells the alien
All the feelings I have

The alien would listen
And comfort me too

And he was there to give me a hug

We talked about Jesus
And I told him I really got tired
Of waiting for you

I'm writing this poem to Jesus as well
Asked him for forgiveness
So I won't go to hell

I'm just the every man
And I have a story to tell

Walking akwardly up the mountain
I am going to live with buddhist monks
By banging sticks against bells

And then I'll go on a great journey
With these men

I'll travel the Great Wall
I watched each step carefully
So I didn't fall

I hope to meet women on
This trip
Or someone who actually cares

The society it isolates us
It leaves us all alone

Where have all the people gone Jesus?

So I sit alone
And write these poems

I'll walk and meditate in a park
There is only the present after all

Look there is a group of young adults
About my age
Having fun throwing a ball

But I'm so akward
They didn't ask me to play

When you feel akward
In your own body
You will live and die this way!

The woman is not coming
Or no one who ever cares

It's just a repeat of preschool
And I want everyone to stay away
And I don't need anyone but myself, okay?

Now terrorists are coming
And our country has announced a war

It's a volunteer army
And I'm going to settle the score
Not afraid to die

Because I never knew how to live
People asking me why I seem
So far away and distant
They want to know what gives

I'm in the army now
With food and water
That is all I need
Every **** Jihadi
Better take heed

I do my duty
Until the job is done
Every Taliban member
Is total complete ****


A somewhat tortured individual
And no one really cares
Sitting typing on the computer

And as I drive my car
I see the birds flying there

This time
To next time
That's all this life is

Standing on the side yard
I had to take a wizz

We are born to suffer
And born to die

I do enjoy
A sweet cherry pie

Pushing my shoulder into the ground
I have to fix it
God ******!

There is quiet in my room
You won't hear a sound