Redeem from the sins that I have done in the past.
Redeem to become a true child of the Living God.
Redeem from my rebelliousness and attitudes.
Redeem from a life that was wasted till now.
Redeem from being just a another member of the crowd.
Redeem from living a selfish, non sacrificial life here.
Redeem to fight for the fatherless, widows, and poor.
Redeem to be the child that you have created me to be.

i hate it when a ~haiku is forced upon me, but such
is the case, and it's not a case of dittoing out
a mechanical aspect of that body that's
known as vocabulary:
thus, suddenly, as if a ****, or
a reflex the tongue commanded
the entire body -
left-wing obstructions gave way to
right-wing rebelliousness -
    the left said the tongue was no dagger,
the right said: merely a dagger -
the gyroid: or the muscles we never thought
existed! lanky tendons, etc.
    never the microscopic proof reductionism
and never the telescopic proof           ",
always somewhere in the middle:
and that's about right.
               i wrote a poem, it sounded about right
and then i get the wanked-over shoulder
calling it life-support dandruff
because of the many sprouts possible -
as ever: some come and give a voice unto
the people, and some come and give an ought
unto the people.
               a choice that's mutually inclusive
of thought and choice as a battleground
for the mechanisation of language into
sulphur gas and bayonets
and a thousand wildcards charging and screaming
lost toward the bewilderment of
   forgotten sexting.
      what a mighty affair:
the only country delving the prospect of
an atom bomb being dropped again doesn't believe
in munition economics and doesn't see
that the paranoia can be stopped when the capitalist
sober-heads enter and say: but where's the profit?
there's not profit in an atom bomb:
it ends too soon,
     you never got a Hollywood chapter yoyo
      concerning Hiroshima or Nagasaki...
you got one about Pearl Harbor...
a competent act of war... but not like our
civilians really matter: we civilians got the treatment
of being active members of the army,
while the army personnel were given civilian
Pilate status, the army was given civilian status
and the Japanese civilians were given army status...
oh forget the noodle swindler -
that handwritten hoola-hoop spinster of
carbohydrates is long gone...
          or the greatest paranoia against all other
nations comes from a nation that actually used the weapon!
       i could write a haiku version of what i lost,
but i'll still have to write something about you-tube
vloggers and how they are the newest version
of the objective propaganda machine that's in
the Islamic camp of merchants...
       prophet-merchant? give me a break:
if his word doesn't sell, then who's does?
my endorsement? less of a cosmetic light-touch surgeon
attitude, my endorsement is that of
Morphy Richards' Soup Maker...
cooking pumpkin soup...
  pumpkin... well: it's hardly an easy peel when it
comes to cooking butternut squash...
it's a disaster! a hell to endure! no wonder it's the veg
that frighten offs the ghouls and the ghost
you can't peel it, you have to Apache skin it
like getting a colonial wig: scalping your way into
the high court, albeit minus the greyish curls -
******* is a king of culinary demises
that were sought out expeditions -
you have to knife your way beneath the snail-like
shell and then there's that cobweb of mush
with intrinsic fake seeds / flies lodged in
the orange cobweb - for all that effort
i appreciate it more as a lampshade than a food
source... but then the advertised starving Africans
as anti-colonial compensation for "our"
grandfather's recollection of monochromatic cultures,
before globalisation took off.. hmm.
the soup? pumpkin, potato, onion, garlic,
nutmeg, paprika, chicken stock,
salt and pepper to taste...
tomorrow? a pumpkin risotto...
hey! seasonal abundance, Spanish strawberries
in late winter are too watery anyway...
   people forgot that certain things taste better
in season, that's namely fruits and vegetables...
   go outside your fancy, outside your whim,
you'll finally have to say: my eyes eat
at the very credibility of such things being
there without the season... but my tongue does not
taste the thing that requires a pentagonal sense
honing in toward an agreed to democracy:
it ain't there... as ever autumnal fruits make their
way toward the culinary redcarpet -
                   apples, pears....
     but the real ice brokers remain tangled in
the gnostics of dairy *****: you only see the *****
when the milk turns sour...
              and the two segregate
their cauliflower bergs and that pristine seethrough
        matrix -
then it's like watching the 1054 schism:
          aquasal herring
                               and aquadulci tench -
as painful as listening to my father speak english:
it's just ****** painful,
i write english and speak it like an Anglo
   and he speaks it like an Arab:
with me it's: left right left right left right
and his is an ancient form of actual Latin
              right left right left right left -
of the tongues that appropriated the Latin lingua
optics that weren't conquered it's the same as it was
for Seneca of Virgil, e.g. red beast / proof of all
scientific generic category principle: **** sapiens
                  upright man / bestia rufus -
and that's still orange beast - then aliq for yellow:
then liquid and runny khaki - a monetary equivalent
of money.
          but of the tongues
                      which is why i kept my mother tongue,
i can't imagine what would have been the case
had i not kept it intact... i'd be whitey boy bleached
into an anaemic Arian with those rubbery red
             lost for words rabbit crazy irises that
albinos sport when on the sociopathic treadmill:
that's a daily commute for most people.
i should have anticipated something better coming
out of a forced bad gateway message when
i tried to published and didn't save the outcry...
but it was never a reality when defined by a few
people... it always necessarily the many,
the market square, the hustle and bustle,
     then again few took to ****** to say love...
understandable: if something is called private
it's not called reality, because so many people
have so much **** to say in public that they
treat private life as a tabernacle -
reverse that and suddenly you find people
who possess a "voice for the multitude",
but not (not oddly enough) a thought -
ah the caring scream when not bound to
the horror genre of politics: it's too late!
               end here: a prior to rather than, a
desirably said to appease and conform:
by now we're all cited as having only said
an onomatopoeia of what words should sound like -
we're found hacking a door to shreds with
an axe, rather than merely curling our hands
so the knuckles can be used to knock on the door.
still, i made pumpkin soup today,
tomorrow i'll make a pumpkin risotto -
and the pumpkin is, rightfully, the halloween king
of all vegetables: i am not surprised it's the perfect
lampshade people leave outdoors -
hell of a thing to peel, a butternut squash
would have been simpler to make...
but for the first time in my life:
  i actually appreciate the colour orange...
as said: cooker orange is beyond that fluorescent
acidity of a citrus fruit:
  cooked orange is actually grand...
raw citrus orange?                and a handful
of creepy crawlies.
    funny how the spectrum necessarily made me
endorse a soup maker, rather than the next
big thing in the realm of toothpaste and mascara.

The measure of a man, or woman in my case, comes down to one brief moment: the moment that would determine whether or not I would, or even could, swallow the pills I had counted out. To take them or not to take them was in my court, and even though I held the ball, I was quickly losing the game.

A remnant of a dream I once had when I was a little girl briefly fluttered through my disassociated mind. I was once a child with dreams and aspirations; I wasn’t always this hopeless woman who had lost faith in everything, including those in the helping profession. This is help? This was what they had to offer me? This is the treatment plan? A therapist who seemed to no longer care, one psychiatrist who diagnosed me with an ‘anxiety disorder’ and prescribed tranquilizers (for which, at this moment, I was grateful as I was about the take them all), another doctor who had no idea how to treat me, and changed my medication 10 times, causing unbearable side effects, but never able to find a combination of meds that ‘worked’ for me. Never finding a medication that would take away the intrusive memories, the thoughts, the nightmares, the voices inside my head that would not stop the nightly mantra of:* “you’re bad”, “you don’t deserve help”, “you don’t even deserve to live”. I had evidence of the days when I felt competent, sane, and level-headed. And yet, here I was, forced with the choice of taking all of these pills, or continuing to live in the unbearable turmoil that had now become my life. Surely somewhere inside this girl, this woman with the heart of a child, was a person that craved so much more than this, deserved so much more than to find herself standing alone in an empty house with a bottle of ***** and a combination of tranquilizers and sleeping pills neatly organized on the kitchen counter. And yet, in the chaos of my mind, the internal voices continued to try and convince me otherwise.

It had been a bad day, a really bad day, but then again, it had been a really bad year, and I had finally acknowledged that my reality now was too much for me to emotionally accept. After all, women are expected to stay strong in the midst of any crisis, even if they have to ‘fake’ it. I had become such a great actress, trained by many years of abuse, that I was an expert at wearing masks and pretending everything was wonderful in my life. The thoughts I didn’t want to have, I would gently push out of my mind, and become so busy that I didn’t have time to stop and think. But now things had changed and I had lost the power of pushing the thoughts out of my head; they had taken over and now I, the reasonable, sane, one had been pushed out. But I was not allowed to fall apart under the pressures of life when there are children to feed and bills to pay, laundry to do, a house that needed to be Martha Stewart clean, a husband who expected to be taken care of, and the never ending politics and pressure of my work environment.

And let me not forget to add ***, and having to live up to the expectation that every man alive believes every other man is getting it at least twice as much as they are, and well, they shouldn’t be expected to settle for a woman who had ‘let herself go’ and was no longer the same woman he married. And, of course we are expected to have our legs shaved, our hair stylish, our make-up perfect, and our body in comparable form to what society had become accustomed to, which is the air brushed women in beauty magazines. And don’t forget to smile… frowning and acting depressed shows lack of confidence and weakness; both very unattractive traits. Of course now I realize my mind was taking a road trip, and these expectations had nothing to do with my husband, but were the expectations of the condescending voice in my head that continued to tell me that I would never be the woman he, and everyone else, expected me to be.

How would this play out, how does one do this, what are the ‘rules’ for this game? If I take them all at once, I may just drop to the floor, so that didn’t seem like a viable option. Maybe taking a few at a time would work better….consensus from the group of voices now living inside of my mind? I picked up 5 pills and held them in my hand. They were small, white, pills…taking 5 at a time is definitely an option. My reason mind would make brief appearances and ask questions like, “How long after I take the 5 should I wait before taking 5 more?” And then as quickly as reason appeared it was pushed away. I was too far gone, I had no control over me and I no longer cared. At this point, nothing could penetrate the voices or convince me that I did have something to live for. Dear therapist and a few close friends knew that I was teetering on the edge of life and death, and told me many times, “What about your children?” I had really just become more of a burden to my husband and children, they would be better off without me.

I closed my eyes and I saw a small little girl, she was about 6 years old and she was wearing a tattered white dress. She was barefoot and her feet were *****, her knees scraped. She had tears in her eyes, a look of worry and fear on her face. She pleaded with me, begged me not to do it, “Please don’t **** us, I fought so hard all those years just to stay alive, to survive, to become you. Please don’t do it. I want to live, please just let us live. You can do this; you can fight harder now, just like I did then.” I didn’t really care about my own life at this point, but this little girl was obviously in a state of panic, desperate to save me, although I had no idea why. I wasn’t feeling panicky, and I told her to calm down; there was no reason to panic. But although I felt calm and surreal, she was obviously afraid and in turmoil over my decision.

The rebelliousness and willfulness inside me grew weary and began to empathize with the little girl’s panic, my plight for calmness and silence defeated, I submitted to her request. I put the pills away, fell to the floor and sobbed for what seemed like hours.

Ironically, my lifetime of people pleasing and striving for perfection, and the overwhelming feelings of failure that had led me to this attempt to end my own life, were also the traits that saved my life. My need to please that little girl, to stop her from crying and meet HER needs because she was counting on me, saved my life.

*But for many months after that day, the voices continued and my soul remained empty and void of meaning.

I may be an odd ball but I will make the ground beneath me crack open from my rage. I find that when I fight a war wits, the Earth Bites Back. Doctors in psychology, medical, therapeutic and logic all agree that I am crazy and insane. I have been through all of the scans, x-rays and tests for mental health. I have medications for my bipolar disorder and my high functioning sociopath-ness. The meds don't take away my creativity nor my high strung rebelliousness. I know how to take care of myself. My psychotic break was the worst thing to go through. I don't have all of my memories from that summer. I know how to decode my literary codes from that summer. I remember the mood swings, the restless nights, going to the hospital, my mom freaking out and me having no idea what was going on. That summer is all a fever dream to me.
The Earth Bites Back what some call crazy, I call genius.
The Earth Bites Back, I don't plan on relapsing my psychotic break.
Mentally, I sound like an alcoholic, too much stimuli and I am everywhere either too high or too low. The fall and winter depression is the worst too. All of the crying, all of the misery, all of the dreary overthinking and all of the sulking over the past.

-
- Moments. Tiny moments. Big moments. Unexpected moments. I've-been-waiting-my-whole-life-for-this moments.
- Seeing the world through the cracks in its mask; directly in its eyes (or where the holes should be at least).
- Accepting the all-round unimportance of humanity to the world but giving the world to humanity. There is no definition of who or what a good person is. So hold positive qualities (like love, honesty, rebelliousness, compassion, affection) in your palms and give your true self to the world. Tell yourself you are good. In turn, you then will be.
- Treat the Earth nicely. You have a short stay and after all, you're just part of an energy system. Be nice to Pluto too. God forbid, it could use it.

We all used to be afraid of owning up to our mistakes. Always finding new excuses to dodge accusations, always shrugging our shoulders when a finger was pointed at us. Because back then, tiptoeing downstairs to steal a cookie from the cookie jar was the most scandalous thing we could do. The adrenaline rushed through our veins as we swiftly climbed up the stairs to our bedrooms without getting caught. Our rebelliousness was short-lived, however, when our mothers re-counted the batch and noticed that a cookie was missing.

But now, our mistakes leave a deeper scar--not only on ourselves, but on others as well. We've learned to manipulate hearts, make excuses for our absence, and keep people waiting in the shadows because of our indecision. But one thing remains the same; we still shrug when being accused.

As children, we felt the need to lie because we were afraid of the consequences that came with
telling the truth. We were selfish and wanted to protect ourselves. But as we get older, we feel the need to lie because we are afraid of hurting somebody else by telling the truth. We are selfless and want to protect others.

You
Are quiet
Almost reverent
As you touch
What remains
Of her memories
His memories
You recall
With fondness
And tears
As you consider
All that they had done
Her memories
Laced with a certain
Bitter-sweetness
Reminiscent of your
Pointless rebelliousness
I am sure
The screams figuratively
Ring out when you talk
Silently, reverently
Of their memories
As we watch, respectfully
When you lay down
Your ode for your parents

Whenever the mist of pain and torment loomed;
And my already broken heart, dashed to pieces
You picked them all and glued them back together, mother
You helped me to resurge, with thousands of amorous kisses

When I was surrounded by deep blue silences and my heart cried in pain
You wept my ocean of tears but, you never shed one
The excruciating pain of my life, was hurting you too
But you always said, ‘My love, the struggles have just begun’

Beneath the tender look, your ardent black eyes beamed rebelliousness
I know that you wanted me to be the woman you never got to be
And so, as a present on your birthday, I make you a promise
That I will always be in the shelter of your arms; I will be the woman you want me to be and nothing will ever sunder you and me.

Dear pops
1) You died and will never get to see your grandchildren.  I always used to tell you if you didn't eat better you wouldn't get to see them. I was right
2) I told you if you didn't eat better you would get diabetes. In the end they cut out your pancreas and I became right
3) I always thought hospitals were cool. Thanks to you I can't bear thinking of one
4) Why did you never say you were proud of me?
5)Why did you never say you were proud of me?
6) Why did you never say you were proud of me?
7) Never. Not once
8) Were you proud of me?
9) Why was it always about my looks?
10) Why was I always annoying to you?  *edit - why did you always find me annoying?
11) Did I matter?
12) Did you think I was smart?
13) Did you think I would become something?
14) Did you think I was a stupid girl who would outgrow her rebelliousness
15) It's been 17 years and I haven't
16) Did you think I was smart?
17) You never thought anything I did mattered
18) You always mocked me, made fun of me, never listened to what I had to say
19) You thought I was rude when I wasn't
20) You labelled me all the time
21) There's a small part of me that's glad you died because now I can love a girl more easily. Now I can love a boy of a different race more easily. Now I can speak to my mother more easily
22) Did you love me?  It didn't seem so
23) I always thought my life would change if I lost someone I loved. It didn't ,not much
24) I'm always looking for older men to tell me I'm intelligent. Your best friend. My uncle. My teacher.
25) Guess why
26) I'm damaged. I was damaged before you died and a large part of why is you
27) The boys and I always said you reminded us of Homer Simpson because of your gut and baldness and mild foolishness. In the end you were so ravaged by jaundice you were as yellow as him. I will never watch The Simpsons again

Midnight Confession to Stingray  III  

And suddenly awake. i think i heard the phone ring, but long ago that no stingray called me; it would be absurd. who call a forgotten man, yearny of themselves?. And suddenly awake and crying i wonder what i have done to live this. why i can not die? what's stopping me? god kills for pleasure, i would do it out of necessity. i end with my life and the importance of being earnest.
    
Outside roars the sea. the waves claim my life, my life claim it and head on a silver platter the almighty, responsible to no justice. ha! justice. Consign it everything to god is to add an extra shadow existence. whenever i get depressed i confirmed the existence of nowhere. already said my old friend Andrei, "the soul craves harmony, while the world, reality, life, are full of dissonance".
    god! i do not want any harm to feed my humor. and i tell you because i know that fate is but the unilateral decision of a supreme being, without the intervention of the creature that falls. you and your **** decisions!
  
I must then settle the illusory permanence of my bad steps taken. after all, the man has not been done to exemplify rebelliousness.
Insert - cans carrier some catching film and rolls a finger cuts / , looking at his finger and begins to move circularly, leaving his palace versailles topic decorated, full of blood stigma. then  an arm and his shadow the succor envelops faucet cracked.

insert final -
you always give back things to their original order, no matter what man does or does not do. when the world ends, will only continue the deserted streets where consummating the drama of solitude, loneliness of man. solitude, that awe you feel your son, more powerful even than the fear of death. loneliness, ontophanicus element of childhood fears and unrecognized face of the adult human animal.


Insert - Snifp    opens window, moist your hands with rain, seals his hands, making a drinking vessel of your hands. someone you back then close was noting his eyelids his old love visiting him - Snifp shudders take turns and trafficking in their eyes hands that image. followed gets humming a ditty ... continuing with your thought the song of your song - only the first two lines sing, the rest is with musical pacing phraseology showing on time images:

  "  maybe everything is reduced to ideas. the great wars and the huge advances in the history of mankind are due to them... what is most important for the soul to believe in change? the flowering of ideas! proclaim them the wind and see how they are trampled, but when they die, they will be remembered by them.
    yes, i know, when my turn comes, or not taking into account what you have said, i must kneel before you. "

Insert - Snifp - in your room like versailles, kneeling before the accompanying idol behind his cabin. it was a huge torrent cans with film rolls. some were leaving your movies its packaging. on the upper part of torrent was an eye that turn that also glinted colors and eye on pared scenes showed pictures romance film and expressionist cinema.

  " something happened with spring and winter, only took one night to erase my life. everything i've done, everything i am has been solely because of my insecurity even look at my letter, is confused, irregular, insecure, unfinished, unfinished, ugly to my way of translating the letters on paper it is unsafe. That's why i am where i am. it may not be the best, but it's comfortable. i should not deal with anyone but my ghosts. "

Composition: the whole song - this song in passive voice - before each pause they call Snipf, her father, her mother, she the same calling it self doing choir with letter of the song telling you enter is late and that not early to work everyday continuing - voice feels off, but the darkness appears immensity of arms in clothes ragged and *****, treating him to speak. every aspect of song be supported by allusive as a documentary imagine.

[insert images]: Mr Snifp. this in a paramo isolated, everything smells rancid stink and essence with her mouth glottis churned a finger as mayor, the three items that were deposited in calderon reddened by flare. Their beards 90 cm, crisscrossed end of pointed shape. mr. Snipf it took out glottis your hands together his cross to remove the book and the lenses pipe. While he continued impetuously making this movement of his arms, lashed out on the top step your home room your nearest death, and if it was confused casket 60 cm or a 2 mts. such was the fan accession that uttering which carried from the limbo of house untouchable pantheon, but it was not, all the servants threw it out of doors sliding down the cobblestones, while Snifp kicking as if to take revenge until the last priest perpetuity oblation gave to your existence non tyranny.Still getting off cobblestones, planters keep falling, cornices. carnations falling on follow your body wood caged.

Removing Snifp appears in Calderon lenses, pipe and the book, but this time he has in his hand left the book, and pipe right. but when child, walk the avenue where would buy tidbits, seeing through the showcase  the owner of the commercial always had in his right hand a book and left a pipe.

Snifp lying on his altar Calderon churned with thousands of books, lenses and pipes, falling to tiring and suddenly the ground with his right hand possessing a book of phrenology and left a pipe smoky reddish. it was so faint Snipf and only with boiling essences smelly around.

[insert end].

Zooantropomorphic Basic Kinetic Theory:

In the room, three and a hommo sapiens stingrays. Located facing each other. how to illustrate and in between them appearance with animals, and acting daily activities.

Every stingray, is an object and subject to time, the eyes of Snifp, but more remarkable is that each of them can auto refer, as having instincts and feelings, which alternately men intimidate and used in a extended range of possessions and physical, and electromagnetic powers psychic. "

Snipf in the room seemed feeling redeemed, because they came to help him, came to the town of his abode. A hold a escape. but to think and think and read what rugs you wrote on the wall concerning this theory, he reminded inescapably on fatigue years of thinking, to nearly multiply your ideas on every beat of your heart as an avalanche in your own heart

And they continued typing:

... Thousands of years sail the seas for fixing without ours where our dreams console conditions. we have seen many events, births islands, shipwrecks _ at that time Snifp, he takes the head and can not believe what you tell manta rays, being very shock and sorrow.

He told ...: as you, enjoyed the freedom to grow and believe in my labors happiness. up next to toasted you hiding the sun my skin. trying to follow them confine of the seas as well wishing one day be as you but i saw growing up and that my gaps growth . interrupts writing one of them on the wall:

... Birds and we seem confused in the sky and the sea. its movement is a great similar  infinitely ours. by instance. for reproduce places and we are in very favorable temperatures. Our food to go for a  tractile  movements resort in places, where our hunger and thirst unite to hunt our prey. There are certain movements, seemed birds river near the sea; with love that in a small ball enjoying our offspring thousands of kilometers from hunting place chosen.

My father strand a day in the pacific sea rivera, seeing some odd birds in groups, moving choreography of side to side, changing their appearance or disordering composition, rare birds when they reached another species, but enough with birds are you were visiting for them with their move to, they give the spectator the camouflage invisibility, violated them to be your space.

Snifp: but the move with air allays tour and return either in any direction. and when i feel abandoned by my wishes of faith or of love, which will be the right move?. One of them says: the movement may not porte nothing, or also something ruined, importantly possessing energy for all be alive call the highest levels rising to pay for that move your body energy; something like love for fuel survive, perhaps not frustrating not to have to turn disoriented when we storms at sea with boats and we want trap, without relying on a moment to pray, to save our destinations. Snifp, think that as you suffer, it happens to us. the blankets impassive, floating on the piece and brought them to Snifp the miles genealogies and exhausted by origins of existence.The cornerstone of movement, time division yours and mine, separated by both affected synchronicity things for immense currents.

Snifp replY: if, if you !!. but both to animals we  vanished others because you have eyes for men only see your interests. Snifp as if you are thinking _ ourselves the told, what confusion ... not !!.

Then  in men, animals are invisible visible and motion forms. But yes, each generation of movements different article, since each margin regarding your drive specific functions  changing the man, what you plenty of activity what to generate be blinded  no recalling the advancement finally  to not to repeat their mistakes. Snipf words in good men living in a house of fears caused by collective and not totally bad habits subjugations evolved animals. An animal, a being who owned and self contained and do nothing  not self  supply materiality.

We do not pray to  God, just keep your policy creation and preservation, just keep your commands as a whole to vibrate, knowing and ignoring sometimes. This is our Creator. Stingrays sailing in my Mind  and in  the spreading architectural dreaming.

We wore rebelliousness on our shoulders,
frisky pool-hall junkies with high & tights,
cracking skulls was our nature,
warriors straddling the edge,
for in a moment’s notice
we could be whisked,
whisked away into harm’s way
& harm takes no prisoners,
neither did we.