hoje eu acordei achando que as rosas da minha vida iam se entupir de água da chuva. e até que sim, mas quis dizer o que mesmo?

contente demais pra mascarar meu sentimento na busca de palavras precisas ou convidativas.

hoje eu to eu, só que com mais alguém.
o outro eu que fumou da natureza e tá em sintonia com alguma coisa.

mas é estranho que sinto as vezes uma relutância em querer voltar pro zero e nada. ou é alguma outra coisa nova que preciso passar na vida.

tudo que eu sei, eu fico com pé atrás. as vezes o negócio é mais no fundo. muito além do que eu possa imaginar.

queria só saber escrever as coisas mais lindas pra daí eu ficar contente.

olha só, me perdi totalmente do porque vim escrever aqui. só queria dizer que vale a pena registrar: hoje eu fui muito produtiva. muito além do que nos últimos dias. mas fluiu sem doer e me senti super bem. e acho que é isso.

nestled in the fist of fury
followers following followers
machine numbers generated
to the size of egos

the devils henchman lurks
saturated by cryptic code
destruction embedded
in his fused brain

waiting

to puncture your alterego
and spill your conscience
into a crucible of sacrifices
on the altar of recognition

indecent pictures
bloated for primetime consumption
on the sidewalks of galley slaves
surfing social media
with oars of phony cosmetic
happiness. where do you stand?

welcome to a world of make-believe.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 27 days ago

The story of Marilyn Monroe is like a fairytale of sorts
She was a simple and shy sweetheart who one day let her beauty for the world to show
Everyone knew her name, her glamour and fame, the glitter and lights in her name
But no one knew the real Marilyn, her private inner life
Plagued with tragedy, demons, and strife
A mentally broken mother, distant and sometimes unfaithful lovers, and personal demons that plagued her in the dark
Marilyn Monroe herself was just a mask; an alterego to shelter and protect the sensitive and quiet little Norma Jean
From a shy sweet girl to a vivacious and sultry *** goddess
Marilyn Monroe is a lot like you and me
She was a starlet beauty who was realistic and relatable
Tragically, she died and left the world; her name and life still a mystery to this day
Here's a story of a little girl who dreamed to conquer the world

Norma Jean aka Marilyn Monroe

what is it, gaggles, giggles, hiccups, frivolities of nonsense, you can stream me all of them to perform the rightful description - point being, like any "ally" to an idea, i move up the chain of history, beyond pole, czech, russian... there's the pearl, the oyster to attach myself into the ethnicity counter-germanic, slav, with a missing e? well, słowianin (swovianin - sw'oh-via-nin, you alright on the consonant count, brat?!) słowo = word. i could be called mad, but then i write parallel to what i see, and what i write is what happens before my eyes, obviously mismatched to say the least, and never the perfected hindenburg perfection of "waiting for it"... but this isn't a back to the future prediction of lightning either.

e-ver -
            i-ver;
  talk about a need for a grapheme...
             it's just: ha ha ha ha... funny...
     i remember this one time,
my ex-g.f. younger sister...
  the one that became my muse:
cushioning lips -
  almost ***** -
     you know: fat, plump to invite
cordiality -
                         you know the problem
with poles migrating?
  they don't congregate,
hammersmith is an exception of
an area highly concentrated by poles,
otherwise?
    a pole meets a pole in england:
what a surprise!
    i saw you buying polish beer...
  żywiec?
          a **** good beer...
                     mazo mazo mazowsze (sz = sh
cz = ch, yzwz) -
                  one hand knows:
the H catches the vowels - but it also
serves as the pivot for laughter -
  aH hA hA hA!
           batman? probably the only
"superhero" worth investigating,
   given that all the baddies are batman's
alterego...
              two-faced joking billionaire
who's enigmatic with a pet penguin to boot...
a "superhero" who's only "super power"
is a **** load of money...
and some grease in the cranium...
          really, the russians are behind all of this?!
i find that the germanic tribes of lore
can never find themselves agreed-upon
singularism of an origin -
the french will remain french,
the germans german,
       lost the spaniards -
the english were always a tad bit paddy
mongrelling themselves with celt...
                in an anglophone realm of
language -
    it's much easier to identify yourself
as a slav, than a pole, a czech, a slovak,
       a russian,
                             a bulgar,
      a roma,  
                          a croat,
                     a slovene,
     funny... it's almost desirable, to be able
to identify yourself in the most accessible
           and broadest spectrum of tattoo...
   in the end there's only western europe
   that's described as western at the limit of
berlin...
       never helsinki...
                     and my god, so much land after
berlin -
            tilting toward *anadyr...
                        the process of subsetting in
the anglophone world -
          if only welsh and gaelic was more pronounced
in this realm,
perhaps then the english could identify themselves
along a more germanic heritage,
embrace it, and not treat their affairs
down the simpleton route of a football skirmish.
i actually can't find any "english" in all
honesty - on these isles it's easier to
name a gael and a pict, a wael too,
  but an anglican?
                what are they, really,
  anglo-swabians, anglo-saxons,
   anglo-pomeranians?
     these days you're already talking about
                            anglo-slavs & afro-saxons!    
i'd still prefer a blackbeard sharpshooter
  (3:1 mixer of *** & pepsi) -
                    or a flaky monotonous-****
cosmopolitan;
  just saying, who am i to judge,
       i once tried laughing gas -
                  and didn't even laugh -
        as always, the sometimes apparent banality
of cogito per se came up with all the necessary gags;
because it shouldn't be, the prompter of
all "necessary "gags"?
     to consider the brain as devoid of thought genesis,
since man tends to think about the entirety of
his body-geography -
     nuisance, or nuance?
                       thinking is the unnecessary
action that resolves no necessary "action" -
         it's a free-falling limb -
                whenever a prompt to kick,
to throw, to spin,
                            to mix - never is there
an equivalent prompt to think...
             that said: to truly meditate is to harness
a slingshot's worth of straining -
to refrain from thought -
                     to allow the building up of strain -
prior to a release such as this...
                  and from what i found is that:
thinking revolves around a quasi-claustrophobia...
its boa constrictive presence suffocates -
   until it reveals what is its most naturally
ontological about it: pathos & irrationality;
obviously if scrutinised beyond this -
   a homing device for specified interests -
               thought in autism -
                                thought in specialisation;
but by a majority rule-of-thumb:
          a pathology and the most
                 irritable irritability - irrationality:
the random selection of non-coherent set of
"intertwined" set of facts.

Don't cry.

I ate the circle of moon before it could disappear
but when I woke, it slipped
and hid in that ball of light
they call sun.

We swore we'd never let it destroy her again
but it was fate who threw the key
into the pond
You spoke to a blue fish with golden scales
and made deals below my disturbing seas
without realizing desperate souls
also lived there.

Why do you keep calling me, child of the dark?
you promised never to but you vanished
like the traitorous treasure of a wakeful reel
that you take down each night
into the craters where your alterego resides.

Aren't you afraid of meeting your other self?
So, one night, when a meteor slid this way
past my bedroom door, ajar with brimming dreams
and a cold, gray mist covered my breath
my head was forced up and through the ceiling
my eyes finally closed, it told me who broke the seal.

You can tell the world who stepped on sleep
worshipper of the wood sprites
it's you, isn't it.