I was always told to be myself.
Was told that people would love me,
For who I was
Not who I thought I should be

So tell me
Why isn't me good enough?
Not capable of pleasing people
Living up to their expectations.

When people tell me to be myself
That from birth I was special
I was different
I was an individual

How can I be myself
When people dont like me..?
He's so feminine, hes gay
He's so skinny, hes anorexic
He's so tall, hes a giant
He's so soft, hes a little *****
He's so kind, hes just a tool
He's so outspoken, hes an opinionated ****
He cant do anything for himself, hes such a child

Why is nothing I ever do good enough for people,
My work is returned to me once again for not being up to standard
That my own personal expression on a page, my own images inside my head written into text are not up to standard or worthy of someone else.

Can I ever be worthy enough?

How can I like me..
When others can't seem to...?

Citoyens du monde,
Un climat d'intolérence et de fanatisme s'installe, des révolutions menées au nom de fausses idéologies font tache d'huile. A l'heure ou' fleurit l'obscurantisme des sociétés qui se transforment en moutons de panurge, en foules violées par la propagande politique et empetrées dans une conception maladroite de la révolution et du changement, l'individu doit se distinguer de son groupe.
Le XXème a été le siècle des guerres mondiales, ne laissons pas le XXIème devenir le siècle des persécutions aux noms d'idéologies et de conceptions délirantes.
Sachons au moins nous reconnaitre entre nous, nous reconnaitre en tant qu'individus pensants et non en moutons de panurge aliénés. Nous sommes certes influencés par les sollicitations immédiates de la situation et ce que font les autres autour de nous. Si l'homme, de nature est un etre autonome, comment se permet-il d'abandonner son sens critique et de se faire embrigader au nom de théories insensées? Eduquons nos  gosses, saisissons toutes les occasions de sauver ces foules fanatisées!
"Soyez le changement que vous voulez voir dans le monde", disait Gandhi. Le changement commence par chacun d'entre nous, ici-meme, aujourd'hui, nous sommes le changement de demain.

and in our childhood we beheld the beauty of
theocracy - all of us - bedazzled by it,
enthralled by it, we reached the pinnacle
there and then - in our childhood we beheld
the beauty of theocracy - each and every one of
us cherubs worthy a plucking for the heavenly
choir - and like Adam and knowing through
to Eve and un-knowing that a man might
riddle trousers with a kilt - just like that,
it's not a belief in god that's required - far from it -
in childhood we sensed theocracy - the grand
hall oratory place of inconvenience - a talk to the hand
moment; thank yous and not yous -
we were too young to formulate a being as grand
as god - too young - even though it was implanted
in us by others that came prior - we're maturer now,
it's not the idea of god - we were young and
the prospect always hanged in the air of inhibition -
we weren't entirely eager to exhibit prayer and petulance
equally - in childhood as in nostalgia (for the two
are equal in meaning - a rarity to remember outside
childhood, romanticism and whatnot) - in childhood
as in nostalgia it's not god we're searching for,
it's more or less: theocracy - we're nostalgic about
a system of politics that overshadows what came with
the fall / maturity of man - man answered democracy!
and so it was - our version of politics always sends
a shiver down my spine - belief in the midgets of
the caricature of spine-and-wing is not that far apart -
no one in their truest mindset is searching for a god
in order to receive ridicule, not a personal god that
overpowers a man's personality to a U-turn abstract
of what was formerly known of a man -
against the strain of that some champion as necessary:
individuation - the pressure to a coup d'individu -
that sort of god isn't there - the pressure is to find a
the once intrinsic theocracy of childhood -
now that we have the governing body of democracy
hanging over as: demo politics - demonstrative,
demanding, debatable and... debatable -
and to merely think outside democracy is to have a
thought of an autocrat and a mouth of a slave -
otherwise you're just mouthing everyone to a lullaby
of intrinsic Tory toff-ha-ha. we're not missing god,
god is hardly dead, it's that we don't have the same
theocracy that children have governing them -
we have democracy - finding god in singleton-land
of proofs is about as good as finding a teardrop in
a sea - it means abandoning your personality in order
to skip the hardships for the perks - who is anyone
to collect knee-bending at the altar? why wouldn't
an Orthodox attendee of a church in St. Petersburg
let me sit in church while the choir sang?
oh right... the priests here still have their backs to the people
when reciting the testimonies -
and this simply sprung to mind after reading a psychiatrist
or anti- write out his the bird of paradise (1967, r. d. laing),
a psychiatrist opens up and thinks he's writing prosaic
poetry - great in theory - i mean lucid, frank, simplistic,
but the conundrum comes when no theory is
passed down - no hereditary intellectualism - nothing,
starting from scratch - that's the existential brick-wall
of notation focusing on the i the existentialists used -
the unit they thought they could bounce theories against
and get some original echo back... the only originality that came
back was mere criticism - nothing more.
i'm not looking for god - why is anyone looking for him?
everyone in democracy has this sudden urge to
become a cult-leader or despot? it seems so...
i'm looking for theocracy - in the democratic spirit of
transition that's been given to me - so funny...
god is an uncertainty but death is a certainty - strangely-funny
how the two never seem to coincide - unless in the mouth
and eyes of a madman who shoots you at point
blank range and says the words: time to meet you maker;
Jack'oh Wacko.

macbeth (regarding banquo):
     present him eminence, both with eye and tongue:
unsafe the while, that we must have our honours
in these flattering streams,
    and make our vizards to our hearts,
            distinguishing what they are.
                                               (act ιιι. scene ιι.)

there is no point citing shakespeare,
with the idea "trying" to compete -
      it never was the idea, and never will become
one of a worthy fixation -
but this alone is not the sole thing to be said -

but to turn the heart into stone -
    not out of cruelty, but of the chinese proverb
sway:
          siao(h) s(h)in* -
  what evil in that said? this dwarf of a
first major fleeting?
                                    to no greater good?
i tire of the individual basis for something
being cherished,
              for something to be: over-come...
there is too much co-dependency for
  an "individual" to muster an argument for -
unless he adorn both crown & throne,
   or a sceptre & an orb -
                 no man guarded with symbols
of authority lays claim to distinction
worthy of the struggle, is worthy of both
the struggle & subsequent authority -
       and at the same time: an "individualism"...
the third party:
   in vitro, in vivo... &?      in individu -
man cannot come to the solution of retracting
any division within himself:
as heidegger stated: man is born of many
men, but only dies as a singluar...
        no one is reading books?! no one is being
"inspired"? how can this in individu come
about, if only as life's summary, namely death?
therefore i tire of the idea to strive for
this concept...
                       it not so much bores me,
but i've become lethargic of it...
          it's seems nonsensical at times -
   giving its limitations and blatant accents
of the "original" "sin" - which is so un-original
that it's just, basically... plagiarism...
   that's how original the "sin" is...
                             the most unoriginal observation
in existence...
                  adam imitated eve by biting
the apple, eve imitated adam by covering her
genitals...
                      about as original as a toothpick
competing to be an A4 sized piece of paper...
now that's a metaphor... **** knows whether
it's even possible;
          but does not the heart sometimes abide
by the tetragrammaton in china,
namely siao(h) s(h)in, make your heart small?
  who is eager for the heart of grand
vanity projects, like the vanity project
of the crucified heart?
   who isn't tiresome and irksome of this vanity
project, this foundation stone for idols?
i tire of it almost immediately...
    christianity has lost its reflective capacity,
people of the said creed have turned to it with
a working of a reflexive capacity...
       no one can truly say they can reflect upon
their "origins"...
    they just react to it within a reflex
impetus toward the "cruelty" of criticism -
    and that has become as tiresome as actually
adhering to the creed, and the religious gesticulation
once a week...
            the anti-christian movement,
is like a wheelchair bound *******, trying to compete
with the man walking up a hill to
a holy sanctuary on his knees on hard and sharp
stones: on his knees...
    it's double the effort, and double the unforgiving
sacrifice...
   unforgiving? 'cos'! there! ain't! any! you dumb
schmuck!
   whenever i see armchairs in american
churches,
   i start thinking... maybe the idea is to perch
yourself on a windowsill, with one foot dangling
and the other acting as a cushion,
having a cigarette, having a dark *** ms. pepsi
and chancing upon the ability to
craft hardened skin on your ankle...
oh i remember the first time i started playing
guitar...
             tender finger-tips...
  played it long enough until ther hardened
and became numbed...
   just like the skin on the ankle of my right foot
from my "meditating" position of being
perched on the windowsill, blowing cigarette
smoke out the window.

let the heart go, forget it was ever a mirror,
whether mind, face or heart morphed into
mirrors, all will deceive...
    take to the heart as it be anchor, or stone -
and let this ship of flattery within its sails,
   and finickiness within its timber frame -
   be dragged below the aquatic horizon -
down into the depths: as made rest upon the sea bed...
care not for either pride & prejudice:
or pomp & circumstance...
    let go...
                  you never know:
                 perhaps a phoenix might be born;
leave what already lies in a grave,
   the chance to lie undisturbed -
      take your masks that are presented before
your hearts and make them glass -
ask not the heart for more than
the gravity of a stone -
            make it no pompous spectacle object
that might tell you truth from lie -
leave the heart to carry the burden of
anchor, of stone...
                simply turn your masks of mirror
into the unearthing of time, bound to
                                        a frame of glass.

Hey, are you in?
Are you with the crowd?
The in crowd?
Are you with the in crowd?

I'm not!
I don't want to be either,
I want to be free,
An individual,

Not a sheep,
Nor a creep,
Just me,
Individu.... ality,

I'm out.

Le pauvre du chemin creux chante et parle.

Il dit : « Mon nom est Pierre et non pas Charle,

Et je m'appelle aussi Duchatelet.

Une fois je vis, moi qu'on croit très laid,

Passer vraiment une femme très belle.

(Si je la voyais telle, elle était telle.)

Nous nous mariâmes au vieux curé.

On eut tout ce qu'on avait espéré,

Jusqu'à l'enfant qu'on m'a dit vivre encore.

Mais elle devint la pire pécore

Indigne même de cette chanson,

Et certain beau soir quitta la maison

En emportant tout l'argent du ménage

Dont les trois quarts étaient mon apanage.

C'était une voleuse, une sans-cœur,

Et puis, par des fois, je lui faisais peur.

Elle n'avait pas l'ombre d'une excuse,

Pas un amant ou par rage ou par ruse.

Il paraît qu'elle couche depuis peu

Avec un individu qui tient lieu

D'époux à cette femme de querelle.

Faut-il la tuer ou prier pour elle ? »


Et le pauvre sait très bien qu'il priera,

Mais le diable parierait qu'il tuera.