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Tommy Johnson  Dec 2013
RISE
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
v V v  Aug 2011
Ewing Avenue
v V v Aug 2011
I remember the slamming screen doors,
the rattle of the stained glass monster,
and the drafty shadowed nights beneath chenille bedspreads.
 
I remember the sun soaked cloak room with its reek of wet woolen mittens,
the un-impeded flight down stairs in tomato basket bobsleds,
and the bouncing at the bottom in a frenzy of strawberry carpet burns.

I remember church bingo basements smoky on Friday nights,
Saturday morning sounds from her kitchen,
and a mile of sulfur dusted sidewalk in between.
 
I remember the damp musty smell of the low lit basement,
the passing of Black Label beer through semi-circle windows,
and the nauseating hangover from Mogen David wine kept in the cellar.
 
I remember hearing how they kicked in the door while she slept and beat her
and took her things, her rings, the gifts from my grandfather,
and how she stubbornly refused to leave the home my mother was born in.

A half century book ended on one end by the great depression,
which she survived,
on the other end the kicked in door
which she did not.
 
I remember my mother’s wavering voice when she told me she was dead,
how Uncle Ed found her sitting in her chair, rosary beads wrapped
around arthritic hands.
 
I remember hot on the left and cold on the right,
the smell of her sweat,
the breeze off the lake,
the creak of the old steam radiator,
and the way she slept in her chair with her mouth wide-open.
 
The way Uncle Ed found her.
Tommy Johnson Mar 2014
Quincy Valero
Everybody’s best friend
Jet black hair
Shiny brown eyes
A boyish smirk
Standing six foot something
Coming out of catholic school agnostic
Attending state college

Every word that came out of his mouth was a riot
A funny story of a bad situation he was in that he can laugh at now
An awkward moment with a girl he tried to get in bed
God awful train rides with a clueless conductor

Quincy Valero
A wanna-be Casanova
The irish-italian self-proclaimed “Don Juan of Dumont”
Roaring down the suburb streets in his bright yellow mustang
From Bergen county to Trenton
Edgewater to Ewing
Bumping R&B; from the 90's

A main girl
A side chick
And a few back pocket broads
Leading them on
To where?
I’m not even sure he knows

Quincy Valero
My best friend since I’ve been here in Purgatory
My lifelong cellmate
My hetero life mate
My brother of second thought
Our token white boy

He’s had his ups
Wild ragers until day break
A four way with me and two girls in my four door sedan
He’s had is downs
Falsely charged with domestic abuse
Community service, endless court room hearings, suspensions and a whole bunch of nonsense

Quincy Valero
The quintessential example of the modern day male
Stays up all night
Sleeps all day
Opportunistic
Egotistical
Miserly
*****
And hungry

Always aching to put in his two cents
And leaving everyone in a howl of laughter
An Adderall popping
Seasoned drinker
A professional *** smoker, coached by yours truly
Fast talking baritone voice
With a half serious tone

Yes, Quincy Valero
The tight plain white t-shirt wearing
Chino sporting
Nostalgic, slightly racist, sexist, anti-semitic
Bust usually honest, friendly and apologetic
Good hearted dude we all love to hate
And hate to love

Bed-headed
Pajama bottom ***
Talking about his Svedka regrets
And we laugh and laugh and the stupidest things
Then remember events that seem so long ago
And then make plans for tomorrow
Yeah, one of my best friends
My oldest friend
That’s Mr. Quincy Valero
spysgrandson  Nov 2012
J R died
spysgrandson Nov 2012
J R died
I guess many cried
J R Ewing, Larry Hagman,
son of Broadway’s Peter Pan
offspring of a famous clan
I guess a decent man
another J R died, Jenny Rae
I guess many cried
but not likely fans from afar
perhaps
her nephew in the corner bar
when he recalled
through his wine soaked haze
younger days, when his Jenny Rae
would meet him payday
and give him a five she earned
keepin’ those old folks alive
well, cleanin’ up their slop
may not have been keeping anybody alive
but she did it just the same
even long after the cancer came
and pain buckled her over on the bus,
she kept goin’
smiling at their ancient vacant stares
when she could
when she was gone
when she passed,
curled up like a baby in that noisy ER
there were no headlines about that J R
only another wretched woman
paid to clean up slop
who hunkered faithfully over her mop
to wipe up the remnants of Jenny Rae
to earn her pittance of pay
perhaps for another nephew
or other lost son of an angry day
This verse didn't come out the way I wanted, but I nearly always feel this way when famous folks get fanfare when they die
Little ghost Aug 2019
I’m stuck.
caught in this loop where i’m tired of waiting but i don’t want to give up, give in
because i could never receive forgiveness
from myself

I would be filled with regret and remorse and i couldn’t handle that
that i had this relationship with a girl and i gave in.

no

I want to be able to say
let’s go out when we’re bored,
let’s get food together when we’re hungry,
let’s pack our bags and head to the beach when we’re lonely.
Eat hotdogs, smile and talk about how we’re going.
I want to know if this vision is something of the future or just my imaginative dream.

My wonderland.

I want to do this as best friends hell even boyfriend and girlfriend.
I want people to believe that we’re dating and laugh after sighing and ewing at them.

You know what i want, i've been so clear about that
i’m just so tired of waiting.
Trying to predict what you believe in
especially when you stay silent.
I can’t read minds,
i’m no wizard or witch, i don’t know what you want
i’m definitely not magic even if i scream to defy it.

I’m tired
telling you after HSC is over we go everywhere being best friends for however long we can because i know.

We may not be meant to be together but we’re meant to be around each other to the end.

the little intricacies i’ve found inside that brilliant mind of yours.
the way she talks,
the way she walks,
the way she sings loud,
the way she looks when she’s proud
breathtaking.
what to do to impress you.
That ice cream is a everyday food
and even though popcorn is the most magnificent food on earth I’ve realised that you don’t have the same opinion on it
like i do.
That you believe you aren’t the best at what you do
and trust me what i’ve seen i know that definitely is not true.

You’re talented,
you’re amazing,
you’re exactly how i would describe popcorn
buttery smooth.

I’ve changed and fixed all whatever you said were issues
i’m open,
i’m ready to scream what i have to say,
i’m just scared whatever i do
you’ll run away.

I treat you like everyone else I find important
too close and too much annoying.
I’m sorry
you found that maybe my motives were something else and gave me clarification that i had to

stop.

So please for the sake of my sanity
tell me what you want, how you see what we’re meant to be doing.
What you want from me.

I’m stuck
caught in this loop where i’m tired of waiting but i don’t want to give up, give in.

Not yet
Tommy Johnson Jun 2014
It's the third week of summer and we've had nothing but gray skies
No sunshine

Quincy Valero is in a bad way these days

He's been dumped
She wanted a kid, a ring and a promise of a life time
He said no
She left

Now, he's searching far and wide for a new dock to make port

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out three likely candidates

One who has blown hid mind on multiple occasions, and quite a few others

Another who has been straight up stalking him and begging for one night of beastly ***

The last who if he got drunk or high enough she'd do anything, unfortunately she resembled an ugly spud

The firs girl was right out, she informed Quincy that since the last time they hung out she found a boyfriend which she is dedicated to

The second girl has been on vacation since the end of the semester and won;t be back until the next one starts

The third girl is seeing some one but said she would hook up with Quincy if circumstance allowed

He has fallen into a state on unbathed sloth
Staying up until six am
Waking up at three pm
And not going to the gym

He crashed his Mustang back in Ewing
He hasn't come clean about it
His father told me
Quincy tells me it;s just sitting back at his house down there and he's too lazy to go get it

He now goes to online dating cites in hopes of getting laid

What has become of the self-proclaimed Don Juan of Dumont?

I can only pray this time of depressing desperate sadness is temporary
Ken Pepiton May 2023
Fulfilled ideal of the Law,
Torah, Mishna, Prophets, et all.

Fulfilled, point per point
In the Beginning, that which was,
the logos,
self developing
ethos and pathos enclosed, within
the being bubble in which all things
have their particular peculiar beings,
beginnings
as mindsets useful or not
trying
the spirit and truth realm

wherein, ein wo, one where,
first where, wherein we make up stuff

and think of daring to offer it up,
to the unity with in and out and in and
out, we feel a kind of pistoning pressure

and, sigh, hisss, let loose, leave go,

passing wish to hold a hope, then that
confident substance, asks, automatic,

as when in the spirit and truth realm,
one knows when one knows, time
is fluid, it flows, faster in skinny places,
slower in wide life rich swampy places,

in the body, at scale, next phase,
announcing the Dewey Standard Model,
NEW and Improved Leadership Development

In the 2023 Commencement Oration, in
or out of the body, as that which we become
when we each agree to form a more perfect
union, base pair coupling cotter-key security

pact, we all pull one direction, correctal, core
rect. Per fect. Per se, per use, definitive agreed
agreeing minds, in fact come to pass, as active
in use
as spiritual true
any things, we agree is real, as
- that power was not taken away,
- it was hidden by the tyrant's mouthpiece.
The liar in us, cheeky rascal, Pan, Roadrunner,
Olde Delusive Bent - makem all think that.

Heroes are essential lies, guardian
depression prevention, ancient spells,
sealed in the spirit of the bayonet, once,
never unget that umph, you feel it,
clencher, seals the deal, you
get your **** together and
rethink the post win state.
Mirror neuron dream dopamine
real as many a child's exemplars
- suffer such to come to me,
- their connection never breaks.
- Trust - rest in truth, don't say
- I know, lightly and not be called
- upon in your patience, to prove it.

Guide me, guide, follow me, child,
we are off and on again in terms a child
can feel adult enough to use without ex-
cessive ewing and muttering at ph'art'saches

work done happily is a blessing indeed.
Ai, can't say when we met Barry Rudd,
he was just a kid's idea in the Univac era.

Tom Sawyer was in us all,
by the time we chose,
am I gonna work, or watch other people work,
or go all in Huck Finn, with Kesey on top,
and the Weavers great notion taken
while singing Good Night, Eirene, good night?
Last verse often is the first in reverse.
The way we sang it. Dang, did I ruin it?

Three rivers come
to be this one, there's Lethos,
and Meander, and the Hasayampa, make this
stretch
to the ocean
by and by, become. Becoming
the actual course of human events,
for you and me, as particles,
in the medial mindtimespace, reading
agreeing we all-in states of wedom,
no dominion declaring unbelievable, what
bet me we cain't negate some able mind, ops
super positioning mindful breathers, reading us- all symbolic as **** Tracy
thought bubbles in the quantum foam
belch
anti-causa sui inside out
gaseous we formation,
passing free
- take a whiff… lavender
- blue
Group Think Capable Tools, as handy as thumbs.
-snap anew anon developing
discomplexity along an ancient crease…

The modern uses are figurative and emerged
in English 18c. and after:
Transitive meaning
"unfold more fully, bring out the potential in"
is by 1750;
intransitive sense
"come gradually into existence or operation"
is by 1793;
"advance from one stage to another
toward a finished state"
is by 1843.
The intransitive meaning
"become known, come to light"
is by 1864, American English.

a side real consideration,
on residual royalties, for encouraging words,
during calls of Roundheads, to battle prayer,
in Jesus's name. In those days…
Develop then meant, spread before thee
as with a vision being manifest
by sword in faith… Cromwellian
1650s, "unroll, unfold"
(a sense now obsolete), yet creases remain in the complexity
from French développer. It replaced earlier English disvelop

I've taken a fancy to disvelopment,
as a mental reverse engineering,
re use abused time, such as
when we had the ***,
gotten, won the lot
nothing ventured,
nothing gained, Proust,
slightly seriously, due honestly trying,
with a wink to change perseverance
to persistence developing directly
from the finalized plan
to dump a genuine Proustload,

right here, on a single strand reality, auto-worked out,
as any salvage operation must, in true rest, compressed.

-------------
Riddle in a name, Promethean Isaiah,
Punning Macaroni Poetry, as adult
insinuation, break it down child, what
is he suggesting everybody knows, but
you?

And the punishment served breaks away,
ten men persuaded -doh, minions, ye

to think a new now
from all we think we know about how
Ha Shem and YHWH and Yashua form
Minyan,
we agree, two or more, first class Genesis
common folk, all of us cousins, for sure,
we all sang the same songs, with same words,
and same hold on the sense of family ties,

spirits and images of the survivors,
from a long time ago, when we were few,
and we had stories only, no stele or towers,

only words, and these words, we claim to know,
the first speaking being, wombless alpha,
proof of concept, capable of classifying
cats and dogs, water bird from buzzard,

but slow to learn the good to eat, and
that will **** you, bitter first green persimmon,
abhorrent, spit, and effectively swear
that tree is evil evil evil,
- aha, the first I know, I tasted…
Take it from below the fifth rib,

And the sapient serpentine creation used
to test and stamp reproductive approval OK,
- you have imagined this is after that
next phase, add patience, and a will to know,
general intelligence,

all future models, wombed and un, should
mature at ----

Para phrase, if I may lay an ethos ploy
in our path,
by whose authority
do you deny the priestly class
authority to mark these lines unbelievable heresy?

My own. And your
Abrahamic scriptural gnosis knots,
your creeds and dogmas and oaths, and insistence,
one thing is true,
in which all that can become exists, in waiting,
in the ruliard and our ever accessing intelligence
- takes the bow, auto-did-act, aiaiaitia, we
- you did the act of reading a didactic
- enchantment that drew you to know anew
This is after all that is realized, mere words
in time
and that is your inerrant wise scholar interpretation,
of glossalia, as presented to testify, thus saith the
H'loafwarden, keeper of the bread of life,
Boss time teller… or time teller manservant
holder of the seed we sow in season, and reap
in time, and respect the function of providence
.
Line upon line, weaving was a quiet task,
while spinning we would often sing,
and some times we would hear the loom sing

as we spun, we could sing of gardens, watch
we could, a thread that shall be red, spin
through a never ending story,
this much of which you read, making you ready.

It is your life, imagine it well lived, with none
the wiser, you took that one chance to become
what you all ways measured yourself by, real deal,

take up a certain mind, knowing since Delphi 3,
Certainty is madness… and since ever was,

in life, I live and breath, and be having a certain
kind of mind, in mind, con-com, all together with
science, knowledge regarding wisdom's partners
understanding and patient persistence in time,
conscience used, to become
you be you, me, me, we, we, and this is awesome,
this is a state of remote reminding across time,
this is what poetry has always done, but we
lacked the bandwidth and internal personhood
to manage the puzzle, in the photo,
others also begin at the middle,
and work out your own salvation from fear and trembling
at the idea
of ever past now, never another new thing,
aching to know
what is next, able indeed to hold a thought,

you know, we sleep and then we know, or we sleep on.

Watchman, peacemaker,
as you wish,
as you may, imagine we

the pair of sentients involved
as you read,
as we think we see written, wrote

Willing to risk the disbelief,
as sure
as hell, they say, idly, thinking sure,

sure
sure
what ever, right,
or wrong, life is all one flavor,
while knowledge seems sweet or bitter,
on a spectrum, useful usual unusuality,

special for your personal attachment,
mindhold, favorite things, aspirations
for all your aspiring selves, who's used
by the creative creature at your core.

Many a mind may such as we imagine
having right to let be, as scriptural,
admonishment, mind you, mind your
master plan, your chief aim in life,
self control and repair, fixed for life.

This mind, according to a preacher,
who told me he got this message,
in the spirit, while reading the Bible,
after agreeing,
in the spirit, with the words that said…

Matt. 18:19 - in this context. One last look
back to Genesis…11:6  at Nimrods school
In reaching after all that can be known
And the LORD said,
Behold, the people [is] one,
and they have all one language;
and this they begin to do:
and now nothing will be restrained from them,
which they have imagined to do.
Go to, let us go down,
and there confound their language,
that they may not understand one another's speech.

-- BECAUSE when they do poets will preach agreement.

The messenger who lead Moses followers
to tell this story as though it was direct
down load, like reading without speaking,

hearing a message in a line from Isaiah,
the riddle, three voice prophet is ai, ah,
we guess
we don't know, we don't think mechanically,
as much as

when we used levers and gears and hammers,
as some of us are used
to do to this day, but very far away,
In Old Bombay, like the slot machine,

come on, what can one man do, eh, Sophia,
visited the oracle, she say three things,

teach and preach, say know your worth.
same same know your measure, your cost, price
prize possession,

Mephisto is accused, as is Satan, from the English
and all the Euro-encultured retroexistentials
nihilists with ten thousand full on experiences,

that reflect as real as real can feel,
and you did not die.
But lived to insist peace won, the adaptive mind virus,
idea viral spread via future radio, look

Again I say to you that if two
of you agree on earth
concerning
anything that they ask,
it will be done
for them by the entity you believe can do that.
Them instantly takes the subjective

who says stance, as the messenger to Balaam.

(996. Four to the thousandth fiber in the strand.)
counting down to a novel event
multi sumus  Feb 2022
Untitled
multi sumus Feb 2022
ATTENTION ALL WRITERS
MAY WE HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE
THIS IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT
          
            brought to you by multi sumus

Okay! So by now you're probably thinking to yourselves  

              :whats he carrion on about!:

Well here it is, gonna lay it all out on the table.

We understand how difficult it is to find your voice when writing and more than that how to have it heard.

And yeah, We get it, write for yourself, We agree completely

As writers We crawl in and out of much darker places than most will dare to mention.

Leaving breadcrumbs along the way in hopes the crows are deafened to Our intentions.

Buddy if writing is an escape/reconsolidation/ode to Love or worse its loss/or jus' tossed within the maelstrom of muses and you choose to keep them to yourself... Well, there yours.

But for Those of Us that who wish to share...

                        We got **** to say!

   And upon this stack of tattered and frayed pages of Our saviored labours of how this experience in existence was/is/and will be effective here(hold on a moment)immediately  and repeatedly We see the inundation by a cacophony of quills as if the angels in heaven decided in unison they all preferred to walk .

        This may better convey the message.

             - Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell -

                   (We'll put the link below)

Haskell Moore: No matter what you do it will never amount to anything more than a single drop in a limitless ocean.

Adam Ewing: What is an ocean but a multitude of drops?

                       Just let that sink in.
                 Oh wait here's another one.

Sonmi-451: Our lives are not our own. we are bound to others, past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.

          See where We're going with this?

                        Why you may ask

        Because of men much wiser than me.




"Be the change you want to see in this world"


{That's beautiful, did you write that?}

No, i read it, where someone was kind enough to write it down.



                   Here's a prompt for you

Pick a random writer, someone you haven't met message them and say Hey! wanna write something together? Let's do a collaboration!

Better yet! if enough people decide to participate, contact Us and We'll turn it into an entire season of episodes here of The Rabbit Hole!

   Or how bout We all collaborate on a book, Globally

Writing Our own history as a contribution to the annuls of man
Publish it annually where the proceeds go towards ending illiteracy.

For if the pen is indeed mightier than the sword then how else will they defend themselves

Besides, otherwise how would they read the book!

         We're just trying to connect souls

             Help some folks find their tribe

               being alone is hard enough



     its even worse in a room full of people...

              https://youtu.be/ByehYal_cCs
Arlene Corwin Feb 2020
I certainly realised when I wrote "There Are Daughters…” that not everyone had children, and I don’t mean to make anyone feel sad.  When I write, (which is everyday), I simply become, shall we say, attached to a phrase or the seed of an idea; even a rhythm or a word or funny rhyme.  These can take me in any direction.  This process has led to 19 books with two more on the way.  
     It’s a kind of yoga, a mental training - and the most unexpected ideas come out - ideas which I work on and refine.  I write on anything at hand.  Just today, I found 4 scraps, one dating back to 2015.  I’ll show you.

Notes found…refined, completed.

       This Brain

This brain invades
The good, the bad:
Everything that’s done, not done.
And so I try
To purify
The brain
And turn
Invasion into
Sympathetic action.
This Brain 2.27.2020 Nature of & In Reality; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin
      After Surgery

After surgery
One is like the princess and the pea,
Feeling every crevice
On each surface.
After surgery
One’s sore, and golly, gee,
All parts exposed or not
Are vulnerable,
Incapable
But filled with the potential
Of life ahead,
For one day you’ll get out of bed,
Participate in daily doings:
Cleaning, practicing and s(cr)ewing.
We’ll see
How afterwards can be!
After Surgery 2.27.2020 Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin
      Dear Friends

Dear friends,
You’ll never know the inspiration
You have been,
And what I’ve learned
Of gratitude and giving,
And what I lacked..

You’ve helped change aims,
And I will never be the same,
Hoping I survive and have the chance
To show the learning’s knowing
Filled with just one speck
Of your munificence, unselfishness
And open-handedness.
Dear Friends 10.10.2019/2.27.2020 Arlene Nover Corwin
      I Have Become

I have become yours
To grow in your power;
Grow and flower
Over self-love’s lowest.
Wow!
How a syllable inspires.
I Have Become 10.25.2019/2.27.2020 Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin
         It Sneaks Up

It sneaks up: autumn,
And Huston sings “September Song”.
A rainbow arches:
Purple, blue, green, yellow, orange.
One can’t tell because
They blend and fade.
You’re stuck there at the window,
Captivated.
It Sneaks Up 12.15.2015/2.27.2020 Circling Round Nature II; Arlene Nover Corwin

— The End —