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Nathan Squiers Jul 2014
Look, I was gonna go easy on you not to hurt your feelings, but I’m only going to get this one chance!
Something’s wrong… I can feel it.
Just a feeling I got, like something’s about to happen… but I don’t know what.
If that means what I think it means, we’re in trouble—big trouble—and if he’s as bananas as you say I’m not taking any chances!

(You are just what the doc ordered)

I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They said I write like a monster, so call me scribe-star,
But for me to write like a beast means I’m a demon at least;
I got a devil kept in my pocket,
On my shoulder’s when I rock it.
Talkin’ of killin’ and of thrillin’; won’t stop it!
Write a demon doorway, now knock on it!
Ever since the dark days when I’d just lost it,
Way back when the world would pace and chant “Nutcase!”
I’m a ******, but I’m charming;
Yes, a crude, rude dude, but I’m still disarming.
Using syllables to **** ‘em all with this
empowering empire of powerful vampires.
The writer-type clackin’ back with typewriters, like way back, right?
Clackity-clack!
Rockin’ stack after stack, clackin’ out more attacks,
Ideas tacked out while hacks hack out their crap (but ******* spew **** all the time),
so I perform written parkour tricks so you’re not bored; strike a chord.
Show you Stryker’s tortured life of suicide ‘n strife turnin’
to strength and a fiery passion burnin’ while readers’ guts are churnin’—
teary eyes all burnin’.
Their fears are returnin’ from a story I turned out when I got turned on
to my own life.
Now I drop F-bombs;
exploding real-life scenes—
these ain’t your G-rated dreams, so take your outdated themes—
It’s the **** I’ve seen; don’t make me obscene.
I’m mean, I mean, it’s my means to screen a scene between a matte sheen.

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They ask me to thaw out these oily blocks called ink-wads, ink-wads.
There’s a body in everybody , but not all bodies have a brain that makes them feel sane.
Like a train—just the same—
Might be runnin’ but we still cast blame,
The loading docks of our thoughts; they’re locked-up in a box,
And they’re stackin’ up like blocks
That turn the stacks to empty tracks (****!)
Trainees blame their brainees when it’s not easy training brains, see?
But the boarding isn’t boring—training brains; not trading pains—
Remember: the station’s self-exploration!
Me? I’m a hodgepodge! From train station to abandoned lodge;
Bully dodgin’, fully locked-in when I freaked out, fattened-up and then I geeked out,
Told “keep it down” but then peaked when I peeked deep down.
Creepin’ up, now, and keepin’ up (WOW!)
I swear it up and tear it up scribbled swords,
And now I wear awards for slingin’ words;
Offered praise; a chance to forget about the craze that once darkened all my days,
But I write that way—say “that’s okay ‘cuz it helps me write this way—each and every day!
And hacks think I act this way just to seem this way, ‘til come the day when the cray-cray takes the doubt away.
Demon obsessed? I’m possessed! Can’t own what you don’t possess!
“Hey, devil-lookin’ boy!”
So ***** for my honey I’m rockin’ horns, look here boy!
A Literary Dark Mass-acre,
Like the devil laid waste to a church on the page, looker boy!
They got a gold star, and a high five,
Felt so alive to see their own scribes make it to Momma’s fridge, ****** boy!
Hey, schnook-ah boy, looky here, looker boy,
I’m held up by The Legion, book-it boy!
Had to push for every word—every page—had to swallow all the rage,
Now you want out of your cage, schnook-ah boy?
I’m legendary—literary—and you’re literally just a *****, little boy!
So sell out while I’m bought out, ******-boy!

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
The way I’m burnin’ through these pages, call me Dark Lord, Dark Lord!
But they’d rather burn my books, so start a fire war, fire war!
Can’t get it through your head? Words are more than Edward! He’s dead! WORD!
Let me drag you off to meet Dracula; take you back to the dawn of the dark lord, yea?
Fast forward to the foreword where the F-word’s “fangs” (you’re welcome);
This is my Hell, come! Be free!
Part Morningstar; part Morpheus! I throw up a kiss and jot down the kills like they’re red-apple pills.
Go ask Alice back at my palace what you should read to feed your head.
Sentence structure so smooth they call me FE-line, and my cat’s got better plot lines,
That the hacks will all call “sublime” (it’s “sub-fine”)
But me?
My **** scenes are brutal,
And my romance? Not frugal. I don’t saturate—I arrogate—
But I don’t condemn my characters to *******!
I wanna make readers care—if readers dare—
To connect and feel and follow where they can find some hope and power there.
While also giving them a place somewhere that isn’t here—though filled with fear—
A place where they don’t feel jeered or feel weird.
Horror ain’t just movie monsters, or gore-****** scopin’ sponsors!
You speak French? C’est de la merde, monsieur!
You look unsure! But I have the cure in the written word!
And though you once were achin’ for a rockstar author cravin’ bacon,
The role has since been taken by your man, Squiers.
And like a pair of pliers, I can reach into readers’ brains and cross all sorts of wires!
I’m settin’ cranial fires behind the eyes of all my buyers!
And while I’m growing Ghost Riders—ridin’ shotgun on the bullet-train ‘tween the pages—
There’s a horde of haters harboring growing rages
With a narrow gaze of who scribes pages.
They say I can’t write ‘cuz of my tattoos or my gauges
So allow me to assuage this: y’all can’t cage this!
If you don’t like it, let me show you where the grave is!
You’re well-aged, but I’m ageless!
Like the undead through the ages!
And like Shakespeare took to stages you can find me where the page is:
I’m hip to a script, I’m at home with a poem and feeling groovy writin’ movies; and I’ll be EZ on your TV.
You write normal? **** being normal!
What a novel theory! So very dreary!
Why the **** are they so leery, they say “Writing fear? We don’t want to hurt no feelings.”
Feelings? Setting up ceilings! Just more limits! It’s life! Live it!
Set the roof on fire!
Plot is getting hotter than a 24/7 squatter on a ***** channel!
So what if some **** gets a hair up ‘er ****? Don’t make it ****!
They wanna say “Hey you, we’re here to stifle!”
‘Cuz I mentioned rifles? Do they really want to trifle?
So I say:
“Better bring a sweater ‘cuz this thriller’s gonna chill ya—sure hope it doesn’t **** ya—and ya gonna get’a fill o’ all the ***** that I don’t give, ‘cuz I don’t live to let ******* quip or give me lip about my lit.
I’m entertaining and elating and also demonstrating how devastating a stream of escalating scenes can be so penetrating—although frustrating—to a mind that’s celebrating what it means to be vacationing between the pages; wading through the stages of a war that forever wages; meditating through the escalations now that they know what TRUE rage is!
“Oh, he’s too ******!”
That’s right! Ain’t right. That’s life: not nice; it’s strife.
It’s not just me; it’s we.
I just found a better way to show it:
Monsters that aren’t monsters;
Abuse put to good use; bred virtues!
“I don’t know how to plot plots like that;
I don’t know what words to use.”
Did it really never occur to them that to read a book—just to take a look—and THEN take up the pen?
You read King if you want to be king, strictly speaking.
A writing mind that isn’t a reading mind is a weakling; a weak link.
I’m a scholar—not a bawler—so I’m a flyer where there’s fallers;
Raised on Goosebumps and Creepy Crawlers so I’d Stine while others whined.
Got a dark side, but that’s The Dark Side on my side; counter haters with my Vader:
“I would be your father… but your dog beat me over the fence.”
No offense. Pretense: incorporate comedy and film; common sense.
Suicide pushed aside, though I still burn inside. **** myself on
the page each day so my readers can feel what it’s like to be alive.
It’s okay to hide.
Only your own devil knows what’s inside.
I own mine; he’s my co-pilot when I write. My demonic side; my demonic scribe.
Flipping my words to the birds—‘cuz, you see, that’s how I wing it—and flipping the bird while I throw down and sing it:
“Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
My words are my roar and tonight I write!”
The fights are in your sights like you were seated inside a movie theater;
You’d see Xander and Estella—wouldn’t you want to meet her—
Have a front row to the creatures in a feature presentation…
But ‘til then
Eat some Rice An’ read a piece by a man who
Had an “Interview with a Vampire”—
I’m a fiction author, why would I lie to ya?
Prince of lies? I ain’t Satan!
Close friends, but I’m Nathan.
Judged for appraisal—I’m priceless—I’m  nice: no; charming: yes.
Got a razor-sharp and Shining wit like a crown left
on a King… but not.
Why be a left king, when I’m a write god.
So I did a lyrical re-write of Eminem's "Just Lose It" that wound up being pretty popular, so when I heard "Rap God" for the first time I knew I had to do the same. While I hope it's entertaining on its own, I think those who have heard the song will enjoy that I remained true to the source material in terms of flow, rhythm, and syllable count (Marshall Mathers is really quite an astounding wordsmith in his lyrical writings).

Hope you enjoy ^_^
Larry B May 2011
"How do I love thee, let me count the ways"
A poet of old was known to have written
So how many ways can we say I love you
When our hearts have truly been smitten

Yes box, No box or Maybe box
Has been known to give us a voice
Passed back and forth with high expectations
'Til the reader has check marked a choice

Pigtails and spit wads can say I love you
As chewed up paper flies through the air
Or maybe a tug on those beautiful pigtails
Will show them that you really care

Sharing your snack is very romantic
Or their initials enclosed in a heart
And of course, "Will you be my valentine?"
Is always a good place to start

The ways that we say I love you
Are really too many to list
But you'll know when it's right and love is in sight
When two lovers have finally kissed
in my family conversation is seldom thoughtful questioning filled with wonder quiet pauses instead it is sociable banter teasing goading spontaneous gratuitous remarks clever embellishment excessive flattery it is an ancient system passed down patronage pecking order nepotism sycophancy near to impossible for me to be honest in presence of their overwhelming vanity when it comes to family gatherings my voice isn’t very strong my family’s joking squelches my chirp they are each and all more loud sarcastic faster wittier more crude outrageous more funny loud gregarious sanguine Mom embarrasses herself with uncalled for flirtations (her mental state rapidly deteriorating) everyone laughs boisterously they snap kid exaggerate amplify taunt i can hardly get word in i need to repeat myself several times or more to be heard my voice is minor i struggle to tell story they listen politely then rush back into their rowdy repartee i am way too sincere way too naked in my ineptitude my stomach ties in knots biting lip shivering from cold fear what’s going to happen pitch black in front of me voice inside screams please i need help so bad please make it easier i’m lost in all this commotion drama hunger lack of clarity

Chicago 1980 Odysseus always revered cousin Chris is taller tan-skinned handsomer stronger protective of Odysseus knowing he is frivolous liability tags along with Chris and his prosperous trader friends advantaged echelon inherited wealth educated white young men they float above everyone else their tastes in clothes furnishings run Brooks Brothers Burberry Giorgio Armani Ralph Lauren John-Paul Gautier Paul Smith Emile Zegna Salvatore Ferragamo their preference in women run typically blonde large ******* tight butts make-up painted nails they think Odysseus is a freak because he usually chooses females none of them want Odysseus likes skinny girls flat chests glasses he knows he is an extraneous art pet to Chris and his group

Chris joins newly built state of art fitness facility pricey membership accesses all of Chicago’s fast track shakers movers politicians lawyers pretty people Odysseus has his limits he does not have money to join also he dislikes snooty elitism several times Chris invites Odysseus as guest Odysseus feels insecure outsider Chris always includes Odysseus pays for dinners they begin with round of doubles then 2nd round of doubles before glancing at menu Chris drinks Canadian Club on the rocks Odysseus follows they raucously order extravagant meals with appetizers 3rd 4th 5th rounds of doubles after pricey dinner at chic restaurant Chris’s group rendezvous at bar or club they order round of drinks tip lavishly sip drink glare around room leave barely touched drinks walk out with look of disdain they scavenge more bars in search of females or some intangible attraction Odysseus is never certain what they are looking for or what is the source of their contempt each wears black leather jacket carries huge wads of cash $20s $50s $100s folded stuffed in front pockets no wallets or clips

the Red Meat palace or Chang’s Szechwan grill are their favorite restaurants as many as 8 men sit at table pack mentality prevails for dessert course they pull out small brown bottles filled with ******* if it is Friday night Chris’s pad is frequently elected females other arrangements settle bill depart restaurant one night Odysseus arrives early at Chang’s wanders downstairs into women’s boutique salesgirl named Fiona greets him they hit it off he invites her to join him and his hosts upstairs after her shift is done Fiona arrives as dessert is about to be served table of men look desirously at Fiona beams Odysseus and Fiona along with Chris Phil Tom go to Odysseus’s place Fiona is perhaps 22 petite lovely with deep blue eyes set wide apart long eyelashes brown thick hair cut to shoulders high ******* pink ******* fragrance of linden flowers delighted by male attention Fiona ***** fondles each men are quite intoxicated Odysseus and Phil are only capable to sustain erections Odysseus stares mesmerized at Fiona’s extraordinarily swollen ***** she notices his fixation grins blushing men shout commands but in actuality Fiona is in charge reducing each of them to little boys vying for her attention near conclusion she requests they form circle around her ******* on her chest she fondles them touches herself men laugh mockingly as if to compensate for their lack of performance Tom picks up plastic dart gun aims it at Fiona she laughs crawls on all fours Tom fires dart hitting her on **** Phil grabs gun from Tom reloads another dart suddenly it feels like fraternity stunt Odysseus goes along offended by his own complicity to him episode feels more like men having *** with each other than being with a woman telephone rings it is Odysseus’s latest love pursuit she tells him she is on her way over everyone rushes to put on clothes change bed sheets they depart within minutes she arrives finally ready after weeks of romancing to put out for him after that night when Chris and Odysseus get buzzed in bar Chris routinely speaks the line to women have you ever been done by 2 cousins one night at Green River tavern woman squeezes milk from her ****** into shot glass dares cousins to drink Chris laughing turns down her offer Odysseus shoots back shot of milk then takes swig of Irish whiskey cousins go see Billy Idol at Odysseus’s insistence they stand near front stage young girls screaming after show driving home in Chris’s Fiat Spider Chris complains his ears are ringing i don’t know how i’ll be able to work tomorrow Odysseus nods like he hears hollers out window hey little sister shotgun!

Mom and Dad want their son to enjoy fruits of burgeoning affluence they feel certain what they are doing is best for him they rent quarter seat at Chicago Mercantile Exchange they originally promised full seat but they are overextended Odysseus enrolls in trading course he learns to trade Certificates of Deposit and Eurodollars which are recently established markets suddenly Odysseus has lots of cash his parents are dishing out he does not know what he is doing newly launched markets lack investment and fleece young men of their parent’s money his friends surroundings change he loses sight of himself he is a thoroughly incompetent trader bleeding cash scatters money between harebrained panicked trades or ******* girls $1000. wristwatch when Mom and Dad see jewelry they become furious in a way he represents his parent’s design for how to build successful son yet their plan is going dreadfully wrong he wants to stand up speak out against Dad and Mom he is not courageous enough to counter their weight he wants to express with more assurance his passion to pursue painting and writing isn’t fact he graduated from art school evidence enough of his aspirations commodities exchange is last place in the world he belongs Odysseus is risk taker but he is not aggressive or entrepreneurial only lesson he has learned with respect to his parents is how to run away

by all appearances cousin Chris is brilliant trader in reality Chris is hooked up with powerful crooked brokers they use him as their bagman he covers losing trades and is compensated or offsets winning side of profitable trades subsequently dealt his share Chris is not a criminal he stumbles into profit-making situation when certain conditions are flexible to advantages Chris is diligent hard worker the vast sums of money he earns do not distort his personality he is always generous shielding of Odysseus gold trading pit becomes so shady S.E.C. intervenes relinquishing exchange’s contract Chris and his bosses walk away unscathed having made their bundles

Mom and Aunt Rita run social itinerary for family including birthdays holidays all other gatherings where family will meet changes by the minute depending on Mom and Aunt Rita’s caprice checking in by telephone at least an hour before is mandatory arriving at destination Mom and Aunt Rita insist on specific table location seating arrangement it is important they be seen viewed by others at restaurant they never sit near kitchen or washrooms or where there is too much noise light away from drafts who sits next to who is crucial round tables are their favorite preferring backs to wall looking out so they can nod wave Mom rules from proud pedestal Dad upholds chain of command sometimes he irritably gripes Aunt Rita immediately comes to Mom’s defense Dad points finger back off Rita you’re way out of line where do you come up with a remark like that Mom mediates Max that’s enough in a way the sisters are spoiled little girls over-indulged by their father they believe their opinions and tastes are the best most correct everyone in family are subordinate to their no and don’t Mom and Aunt Rita routinely criticize Odysseus’s semantics oppose his observations critical of his clothes conduct they handily misconstrue his comments to mean fodder for their amusement Mom and Aunt Rita’s efforts to keep prim proper decorum cause resentment Odysseus feels constricted by his subservient role in drama of family he fails to understand their care

Odysseus busts out of markets leaving behind alarming debts for family to pay off he feels humiliation disgrace plunges into bottomless sleepless despair hides in house door locked window shutters shut phone rings unanswered hates life willfully wants to destroy himself there is no way out after week Chris comes by to see if he is all right Odysseus is reluctant to let Chris in Chris commands be a man get a grip on yourself Odysseus replies maybe i’m not a man he feels failure shame realizes he has become traitor to himself he wants to look at existence head on embrace it but all he knows are dishonor regret deception he conceives his being has been stolen he wants his life back but knows not how to recover it he feels deep in obligation to Mom and Dad thinks to escape from Chicago but his parent’s control is crushing he wakes late drinks black coffee smokes cigarettes marijuana hangs out alone sky changes from light to dark to light phone rings he reads Nietzsche Sartre frequents ***** Hole punk rock dive several blocks from residence becomes orphan of night drinking drugging

January 5 2011 30 years have passed Chris marries fathers son becomes best father to his child he can be leaves markets in late 80’s Dad dies in ’91 Odysseus leaves Chicago in 1994 he manages to paint some paintings write some words stomach ties in knots biting lip shivering from cold fear what’s going to happen ***** pink gray skies behind pitch black in front sometimes you need to take a step back in order to move forward Mom says she worried enough about money when she was younger and isn’t going to worry about it anymore her entire life she boasted i’m saving for my children but in the end she saved solely for herself Odysseus never learned to stand on his own all he ever wanted is to love and be loved he wonders what will happen next
Steve D'Beard Jun 2013
Farewell Govan -
bathed in a baking sun
littered with betting shops
and no win/no fee criminal lawyers
and a myriad of pubs caked in years of libation
steeped in history of industry and shipbuilding
blackened smoked walls etched with gangland symbols:
tooled-up local carnivores who ride shotgun on a BMX
swapping discrete envelopes for indiscreet wads of cash.

Farewell Govan -
you fractured my ribs once in a moment of mistaken identity
I didn't heed the advice to not walk through the park at night
I didn't hear the pitter-patter of adolescent feet
speeding my way in brand new trainers across the grass
but I did feel the clunk of something solid on my head
as the ground rushed up to meet me in a concrete embrace
and watched as 4 bags of overladen shopping spewed out
lying face up spread-eagle in Lilliput fashion
and a mobile torch-app in my face with the repeating words
“Ima tellin’ you man its naw him, its naw him”
I reassured them frantically that I was definitely not him!
as the hooded troupe picked up what was left of my shopping
and even gifted me a couple of cans of super strength lager,
a cube of dubious council estate hash
and an usher to leave immediately
(and think myself lucky).

Farewell Govan -
you got me blazing on cheap beer at the local pub
which had recreated a holiday beach scene
with a hand-written sign that read: Better than Ibiza!
awash with carefree children
and pit-bull terriers wearing bespoke Barbour dog jackets
and brand spanking new Adidas white trainers
purchased from Tam out of a nondescript blue plastic bag
who always passes the day's pleasantries
while topping up his pension
chatting with auld Billy who was in the war (don’t you know)
via the Merchant Navy
and the version of how he was gunner on an oil boat in Vietnam
via the umpteenth pint that afternoon.

Farewell Govan -
your late night shadows harbour an underlying tension
masked with comic humour only if you can understand the lingo
words that are distasteful anywhere else are in fact a term of endearment here
I shall miss the odious vernacular and doth my cap to your spirit
the Salt of the Earth and the Lifeblood of the Community
with at least 40% proof liquids mixed with Irn Bru
purchased at the 24/7 corner store along with a can of processed peas;
one of your five a day.

Farewell Govan -
I go to the sunny side of the Clyde
where it rains just as much
but you don’t get mugged for carrying an umbrella
or asked for the time from a watch-wearing tattooed sailor
and joy-of-joys there will be actual fruit & veg shops
where I don’t have to explain what fresh coriander is
and what you use it for, other than on a pizza;
I was offered dried bottled parsley instead.

Farewell Govan.
Govan - shipbuilding heartland of Glasgow, a hard-man reputation but if you look under the surface you find good people with stories to share
Justin G Feb 2015
Despicability is the foundation to their life
For them it is intrinsic
Genetically encoded
Simplistic
Poetically eroded
Reprehensible at best

     Unscrupulously callous
     Secrets and facts, they conveniently
     ingest
     Distorted byproducts, they release to the
     masses
     To aid their campaign; a forked tongue
     fest


Pathetic and unapologetic
A beast armed to the teeth
Imported bypasses to increase the flow of police
A weakness and an act,
They so vehemently attest

     Harvesting greens off the branches of
     the people
     Pockets engorged with wads and folds
     Crushing blue collars at the lower levels
     As they sit atop their pyramids of gold


Today they sip champagne
To celebrate their reign
Tonight we'll skip being humane
To feed them excruciating pain

     You've incited this coup with ill-thought
     deterrents
     Now herald the arrival of the scourge
     Down with lopsided governments
     Tonight... All we would topple! Tonight we purge!


Justin G
ryn
This truly was an experience. I really enjoyed sending and receiving verses from the one and only amazing ryn. I really got into character with this one, but long story short: **** corruption!  The pen is mightier than the sword
Irma Cerrutti  Mar 2010
Chopper
Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
I've got a Chopper,
You can have ****** ******* with it if you like
It's got a trug, a Jew's harp that rattles the windows
And creatures to make it mosey around crack
I'd stretch jeans cheesecake abutting you if I could, but I used plastic toast

You're the kind of ***** that thrusts into *** my bodiliness
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags

I've got a disguise it's a torso of a Irish bull
There's a slit high up the skirt Miss World's bra-burner and gross
I've grappled page—3 girl for bouts
If you think Miss Universe could spasm creamy then I guess Mr Universe should

You're the kind of ***** that slides in with my wads
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags

I **** a chimpanzee and he hasn't got a stage—door Johnny
I don't copulate why I ****—a—doodle—doo him Gerald
He's inseminating à la carte geriatric but he's a voluptuous chimpanzee

You're the kind of ***** that stuffs *** my gallons
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags

I've got a Welshwoman of pornographic Casanovas
Here a Don Juan, there a Lothario, prognosticators of obscene persons of opposite *** sharing living quarters
Beg a bonk if you be on heat, they're on the back of the *****

You're the kind of ***** that spasms indoors using my lump
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags

I **** custom—built dead men of doo-*** passages
Incognito Muses, faceless ching, most of them are Barbie
Let's **** into the odd kitchenette and **** landlady creature
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
Aaron LaLux Feb 2018
Man,

Man has certainly caused too much hurt already,
abused every position of power,
in every possible way,
turned outrageously courageous women into inwardly awkward cowards,

how awkward,
that Man would attack,
the very Ones,
that birthed Him,

how many wars have woman started,
how many drilling expeditions have been led by females,
but then again I guess it’s fitting that Men do the drilling,
wanting to enter into Mother Earth the Devil’s in the details,

see Men always seem to want to enter everything,
like a Hermit Crab into a seashell,
and I’m a Man so I share the guilt,
which is maybe why I don’t feel well,

see I am so ashamed,
and sometimes I’m embarrassed I even have a *****,
I regret so much Collective Man’s past aggressions,
like a past life regression I still have visions of my bad decisions,

and I’m tired of making bad decisions,

heck I’m tired of making any decisions,
I’m tired of leading expeditions,
I’m tired of going to a beautiful place like a lake,
and when I go there all I do is start fishing,

why do I have this impulse,
to catch beautiful things,
to bait them then hook them then take them,
why do I find the meaning of life to involve killing?

No problems will be solved if they involve,
taking the life of a living being that’s not willing…

What’s wrong with me,
are all Men predators,
do all men want to conquer mountains,
hook fish and eat steak cooked ****** rare?

This blood lust is just fckt I few us with disgust,
all this forward progress thinking seems backwards,
I mean even this otherwise beautiful blank space here,
can’t be left alone without me wanting to add ink black words,

well blah blah blah,
and hardy ha ha ha,
it’s so sad I’ve gone mad but I’m still glad,
because the home team’s still winning rah rah rah,

got all the trophies,
got all the glory,
got all the medals,
got all the power,

all the Women have been laid,
all the Beasts have been slayed,
all the Money’s been made,
all the Players have been paid,

I’m the King Don Juan Gansta Baller Man,
KDJGBM for short,
I got girls at every club,
and players on every court,

got gold chains,
and money wads wrapped in rubber bands,
got a flashy car complete with leather trim,
it’s fitting when the skin of a cow wraps around the ride that I’m in,

given that we’ve killed the Holy Cow to get the cream,
because we don’t hold anything sacred anymore,
well nothing except for the All Mighty Dollar,
made all this money but don’t know what we made it all for,

I guess we made more money to make more war,
treated our fellow Men as enemies and our fellow Women as ******,
I guess absolute power does corrupt absolutely,
and at the end of the day really what was it all for,

because once we’ve neglected every Woman in our life,
and treated wrong every Woman that ever treated us right,
and we’re all alone at home dying in our own body with no one by our bedside,
who will we run to to nurse us back to health and hold us tight,

that’s right,
likely a woman,
so when will we realize,
we can accept them without having to understand them,

Women,
are meant to be accepted not understood,
Men,
have done enough bad already it’s time for some good,

I know I for one am ready to surrender,
let the Women have control,
because I no longer trust myself,
to keep dear everything we hold,

so I open up,
I surrender,
I let the Feminine in,
and I let Love conquer,

because,

it’s time for some healing,
and that’s not going to come from the Masculine,
the only way we’ll collectively heal our humanity,
is with the Most High power of The Divine Feminine,

it is finally time let the lead be taken by Women,

Man has certainly caused too much hurt already,
abused every position of power,
in every possible way,
turned outrageously courageous women into inwardly awkward cowards,

how awkward,
that Man would attack,
the very Ones,
that birthed Him,

how many wars have woman started,
how many drilling expeditions have been led by females,
but then again I guess it’s fitting that Men do the drilling,
wanting to enter into Mother Earth the Devil’s in the details…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

The New Book Is FREE Here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
tension is mounting in Egyptian capital Cairo after military staged apparent show of strength during a 6th day of anti-government protests

"judging by the proofs she had before the effect of her beauty upon Caius Caesar and Gnaeus son of Pompey she hopes she will more easily bring Antony to her feet for Caesar and Pompey had known her when she was still a girl inexperienced in affairs but she is going to visit Antony at the very time when women have the most brilliant beauty and are at the acme of intellectual power" – Plutarch

Cleopatra strapped by great debt incurred under the reign of her father thought it imprudent to mint gold coins so only lesser metals were used to commemorate her reign gold would have survived the centuries better than baser metals

sword slashed blood-spattered stomach Antony’s corpse lies motionless across room Cleopatra drinks mixture of ***** hemlock wolfsbane she holds squirming asp between her legs with wary hands around its neck she lifts snake to her naked breast its fangs strike at her arm handmaiden Iras dying at her feet another handmaiden Charmion adjusting Cleopatra’s crown before she herself falls

Egyptian Pyramids Sphinx Pharaohs mummies internet cell phone blackout police stations plundered weapons stolen gangs of armed men attack at least four jails across Egypt before dawn Sunday helping to free hundreds of Muslim militants thousands of other inmates as police vanish from streets of Cairo and other cities

the couple jumping holding hands out of burning World Trade Center building i understand it was defiant gesture of love over death maybe they hardly knew each other the sight of them just tore me up inside

Cleo is out from being in her hair is shorter figure looks too thin the neighborhood changed old ghosts new skins Cleo is out from being in walks same old streets yet does not recognize thinks thoughts never realized sees people she believes she knows but no one is who they seem they talk different tongues glance sideways scheme shaved heads fat wads of cash beautiful young women scattered dreams Cleo is out from being in she orders ice with glass of gin sips drink sits back grins voice from past out of nowhere whispers hey Cleo where you been there’s a debt to be settled truckload of hunger basement full of sin you up for paying your dues again Cleo is out from being in skeleton packed closet ***** dishes in sink she murmurs i just can’t win
Birdy Thyne Oct 2012
There is a period of time
Immediately proceeding a conversation you had
Where you shared, what you are sure in retrospect,
Was too much

And when they go its nearly silent
Aside from the car engine
Your ears are on fire
On one hand you’re glad you said it
On the other hand
You wish to rewind
And unsay the things you did.
Reverse and greedily fill your arms with all the
Pieces of yourself you’d given away freely.
They’re yours and they don’t own them.
But like a dusty collection of spoons,
From all fifty states,
You know that you have no use
Harboring those thoughts.

Maybe they will somehow affect that person
And help them when they’re feeling down
But you doubt it.
They won’t fully understand,
Because you’re a bad story teller
Who can’t describe the feeling of the sun
On the tops of your legs and interpolated
Between your toes.
And you're selfish and don’t care
You feel incomplete now and hope
That maybe, just maybe
They weren’t even listening to you ramble
Or couldn’t understand you
Or cast the little wads of memories away
Like pencil shavings
Which are fun for a little under an hour.

And you’ve almost convinced yourself
Until you see them, and they see you
And open their mouth to say something-
And like some horror movie
The secrets come swarming.
WordWerks Feb 2013
Curtains, blown by an evening's gale,
Applaud movements of the Coryphee,
That sentry for everything frail
And the things of beauty put away.

She dances to melodic chimes,
Which haunt the summer evening's air,
She leaps, turns, points, and spins in time,
Unmindful of her sentinel care.

She ignores forgotten keys, rings,
Bracelets, pins, a small glass hummingbird,
As well a wads of necklace strings,
She keeps on dancing, without a word.

Still ballerina dances,
Doing pirouettes to some refrain,
Ignoring her audiences,
Never seeking any other gain.

Yet, with time, every life must fade.
When this life, by key, has come to end,
She answers her death unafraid.
The chest is closed by a gust of wind.

— The End —