quiet as a mouse,
in a corner
thats me,

it is simply this,
i have nothing to say
of any great worth,
at present.

so i shall sit,
quiet in a corner
chewing on cheese,
sipping red wine,
(decadant mousy, me.)
watching the world
pass by.....
                 squeek,squeek...

he was in the room
with a mop and a broom
the room was all clean
no dirt was to be seen
and he left the room
not to be seen
by his friends who would mock him
if he were to be seen in that scene
He had a safe in a safe
in the night he was beside it
so they wouldn't devide it
in the day he would clean it to make it sing
the clean would squeek
although it was meek
but it came too soon
because no one was awake
to hear the tunes it would make
the safe would squeek and squank
the tune it would make
as it sat by the lake
that was made from the water
from the dirt and the solder
that was once on the safe
that he cleaned off with haste
he wanted to sing
but the safe sung for him
he had his dream
but his safe stole it
and locked it up
inside it's safe
though it wasn't literal
it all was real
that the man had a dream
that the safe would steal
the man's name was Ben
he was the worst of his friends
because his friends were better than he was
he hated himself and the safe that would speak
because he cleaned it and made it squeek
he had a friend named Ben
the other Ben who was cool and gear
was a friend of the Ben who was full of fear
he would sing and he sung
as Ben cleaned and clun
and both Bens made music that was good
but Ben hated his
and Ben liked his
but both Bens liked Bens song
but one song squeeked
and as it did, it squank
and the song it did make
put both in a trance
but Ben one was not real
and Ben two was the seer
one was in the mind
while the other one cleaned
he wished Ben two was real
because he wanted a friend
and he wanted to hate
because he wanted a blame
for his lack of fame
because his song was great
but too early it came
because no one was awake
to hear the music it would make

Me waiting for Reggae class to start.
Ohno I gotta ****.
Me grab me *******
and make a loud squeek
so beautiful, twas like art.

2020 - day 193

Sunday, July 12, 2020
8:03 AM

Peer Gynt, self aware, self fulfilled troll-like
being ghostly,
projected before me, on the wall that is not there
- callin' all in, all ye outs, in free
- hear ye, hear ye
- the day of judging is this one called today.

See that pile of idle words, find the ones y'know,
use'm t'make sense
since you know sense, on sight, you re
co-gnostically be tuned to the same
signal. {soft call to be true to your self aware

you are so naked

but who knows?
right being you, not me,
selfless lost in the mix,
billions of bits being bet on yet
more
hope, faith and love
these
the trying trinity judging me...

can one tell one story, or must one,
take part in one,
as in the
one story being
the whole of all stories,
yours, as well as mine,
told in words we all know you all know

y'know waddamean.
tell me wha'd I say? Baby, be old,

turn and turn and turn
night to day, in time after time after
ever
ever
ever
being floods reality with
those three triers used to try men's souls,

attention, to the trained, means one thing,
stand up straight, eyes front, hup, now

to the beat march,
as to war...

We are off to meet the Manicheans who
swallowed all the hate once given
follower of Nicolas, in Antioch,

given hatred taken from the revelation,
interpreted by the time
stage acting as now,
the day... back when a hundred monkeys
were imagined able to use
a machine that made sense from chaos, over time.

ሴ

bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding

the dance of graphical images mages form
as words flow from fingers into magical machines
imagined
famously by a Huxley fellow, convinced life happens
on its own volition
using right, as opposed to non working trials
abandoned,
{when the band broke up, 1970, or so}

but the music never died
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding ding ding
writers of types of tales barred from publication,
suddenly appear

as it were from the type of word processors {Wangers}
that one Huxley envisioned responding
to a hundred monks who saw nor heard nor spoke evil
but
tapped, and at each tap a letter formed
to let a sound be heard
no levers stick, no carrying platens signal need to
advance
ding
tic, steadying sounds calling next from a habit
formed to the beat
tic tic tic
squeeks
as common, common conie-like rock squirrels

squeek squeek over the steady everthere sixty cycle
hummm

hear it, little dog, not too far away; adding music
to your day, which
grew from this seed, a little spore of living from
my state of being
informed
this day,

it was mine,
when first I noticed, this being the day.
I have power to live,
today,

I slept through the night, quite comforted, indeed.

Each new day
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
has a rythmn
sometimes it's steady, some itssteps stutter, some  say

sibalent whistles signal something, in the spirit,

sssssss

wait, too late, we made the story and let it fly.

ሴ ሴ

Lessoning myself in social graces,

I wash away my stains, my graffiti screams whispering
see me, see me, see me say

trolls exist in this place. Those who mocked knowing thyself,
and called evil good and good evil,
call fair foul and fould fair,
say sould souls were stolen, when we know the deal:

the price agreed was paid.
I insist enough
insisting for any rational troll,
knowing you are enough is enough, is part and parcel to
the act of being true to you as you
may say you wish you were,
free as truth in ever after...

- ain't nobody got no papers on me....

The sybils all told you , furies may come, but did you imagine


the wise principle thing promised riches beyond rubies,
for what a ruby is worth,
we have no clue.
What's a ruby worth to you?

Are you hungry? Here, eat a ruby.

Auto, self, did, done, act act, ionic become charged, my son.

Mama. ah. the old wounds we cherish.
Times before now, states of decay, shedding of skins to be
wise
as a serpent, like, that's a good thing, as good as
harmless
as a dove, on which poets rise in mind's eyes to see

sources of courses through the shallows near the shore

we all meander nearer now, swamped in ante
cipitation, capere, take it

take it, take it and move on. Live and learn,
follow the flow,
when you are snow, when you are precursor of coal,
go
on, no shortage of power,
like in America, where the power is always on.

Or was always on, in my future,
which is already
your past.
So fast,
but
its all realted,
it is all one idea, in the end, we each are given one last day,

to make up for everything, or make up everything.
The latter, I think,
today.
ሴ ሴ
ሴ

You men ideas, furious in your raging, sing to us of
Gracious slaves of justice,

wake the lost hope of truth in
misformed
messengers whose every efforts fall mortally short.

Leaven a lessoning of habits formed being as a binding,
tied to each part of any whole
re-li-gated, ifthenelse ifthenelse ifthen else
re-legate, make a rule,
you
too
late,
we was e-pluriblized afor you was
aware eveh had begun,

The Pax of Everest living radiant as ever was imagined.
Peace
on earth, good will to the kind having hearing ears and
seeing eyes and slich oily minds,

anointed minded ones,
tested,
proven to have survived up
pop this very mortal moment called today,
to then, when you became dear reader in this medium
of mass messaging
lacking
any organized haeceity of pure me, not thee, not
other wise

ways wise men walk, watch, watch the liars strut,
do wise men walk this way?

Live and learn, we always say,
when given a day,
to think about it,

before dying and knowing, or not, if the point
is ever made, or was
already made before I started trying.

ሴ ሴ
ሴ ሴ ... _ .

I walk this dismal dark and damp dungeon
  Long dark the phantom am i;
Strolling I now take icy breaths;
  Mystery lies within my realm;
Far faint foot echoes announce my impending doom
  I embark upon my midnight
Echoeing chamber room
  It's chains that puppeted victims that had
Screamed for their end and at last,
  I had giggled laughed and touched their quivering chest
And felt their fading warmth
  Then into oblivion casted they were by me

This dark stone its chilling floor
  Where rodents squeek and scurry about,
My only pets and friends I know

Suddenly I hear as HEAVY VOICES of my approaching DOOM
  POUNDING FISTS and swinging logs against my dungeon door and room

I curse the empending light by
Their torches casting beams
Bound from hell and its slithering horrid beam fingers
  Under my dungeon door

I curse my end by angered pounding fists
  Hell bound to see my end to be

What cursed blackened night just lies
  A distant short,
A breathless world my oblivian beckons me by hounds
  Of DOOM,
My parts be scattered h e l t e r  s k e l t e r
  My inners thrown upon old wooden beams above

Soon i will leave this loveless world i made,
  i foretell and kiss only an empty space goodbye,  
Waiting first ****** deep within my flesh to be

There you go again with that **** hand
held device,
your eyes are but only
hyptonic spin thingys

Your fingers are tools by rote
You foam at the mouth while
your thumbs and fingers skate across glass
squeeking slightly as you CrAcK your gum
sounding like a miniature WAR
I SHOUT FIRE at you!!
And still the squeeking of the fingers with joining
of CrAkIDY CrACK
I even jump up and down with still tipped boots
and still CrAcKiDY, CrAcKiDy, CrAkIDY, CRACK!!!
SqUeEkIdY, SqUeEkIdY,SqUeEkIdY, SQUEEK, SQUEEK!!!
I grab you by the collar and TOSS YOU OUT OF THE BUS,
in my daydream, as I smile inwardly with a child's giddy laughter
CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK AND SLIDE, SLIDE, SLIDE,
SLIDE, SLIDE AND SLIDE!!!!!
He, He, He, He, that's all folkes

Somedays I don't see a reason to open my eyes
and force myself to go outside and socialize
with people who don't know me
and people that hate me
and people that really just want to break me

But everyday I wake up and pry those crusty eyes open
to tame my beastly hair and throw on pounds of makeup
to impress people that hate me and people that don't know me
and people that just want to break me
and I force a smile and a laugh as I walk into hell each day
standing upright, ***** pushed out, just to make them happy
but instead I get called a two-faced ***** who dresses like a ****
when all I do is smile and nod and smile some more
just so the day goes by quicker

And the worst part is, you can't leave this ******* hell
I come back to the confides of my home, to the purring of my cats
and the smell of my room and the squeek of my bed
And hell is still with me, it ******* follows me
I try and breath and step away but there it is on my screen
staring back, mocking me
and every night I ******* die a little inside because
no matter what I can't escape hell unless I'm drunk
or in a dreamless state of sleep

Whilst I was riding
early last eve
a peculiar thing happened
you'll scarcely believe
just to the left
out of the corner of my eye
I caught some motion
it was a surprise

the squirrel was fast
along the fence top did he
run along at breakneck speed
I chuckled to myself
but it did keep pace
it was clear to me
it wanted a race

A race it would be
man versus beast
defeat by the squirrel
was not to be
I could sense the challenge
in it's beady eyes
down the boulevard
we did fly

A man did approach
I veered to the left
he looked astonished
the squirrel just leapt
over the branch
that suddenly appeared
I took the advantage
and increased my speed

half a block to go
then the fence it would end
me and the squirrel
were neck and neck
racing for pride
who would be beat
we increased the pace
hearts setting the beat

then it happened,
a scrabble and a squeek
the squirrel had crashed
into a tree
the poor little guy
didn't see the branch
that had snaked across
his narrowing path

the end of the race
it happened to be
but defeat for the squirrel
brought no pride for me
I laughed to myself
and shook my head
and then I thanked God
for all he had sent.

It's 4:18 in the morning and everyone here at home is asleep, they can't hear me tossing and turning in my bed, the squeek of the springs are keeping me awake.
It's 4:19 in the morning and I'm packing a bowl wishing you were here next to me.
It's 4:20 in the morning, I flick my lighter and inhale, hoping you feel a little buzzed too.

here i am...
nailed to the cross....
of elephant hide.... memories
.....walking the slack rope
balanced..... between
if ..and ....why..
used to be...... watering
a ducks back .....was making
....a water feather slide
but now....... it just *****
up my equalibruimal tide......
making sense now?....
...........not ****** likely..
spinning words....
..on empty tequila shot glasses
  .....while student one
and student fourteen .....are
making moons with they *****
......so the mouse squeaks
memory roars......been here b4
time to climb.............down....
........off the cross.....jump on... .......off the wire
..let it go ......was just.... teenage .........angst v desire

walk away  now...get some water.....
..go home get to bed ....or the morning will be simply .....hangover.....
.....slaughter..... city .. rimed
with lime ...and salt.. and   tequila .....worm-fed fears...
so....listen ...well  ....to the squeek of the mouse......

the crew was a mix of different races
sent the other tribes to the races
off they go
Click Clack pulled back my gack
one shot two
caught one soldier right in the back
my dub warrior had that optimus gryme rockin in the back
and my hat was pointed to the sky
I watched the shot fly
thought I was sly
but soon a cherri was in my eye
told my lead to push down the floor
back went our headz
drivin fast
told my tribe to ditch in 3 2 1
squeek
clip clap sound of my airs with the busted soles
the chase began