i shut my eyes and see the wardens bloom
their leer adrift above a nescient sea.
(i think the insects swallowed up my womb.)

they linger whist in ***** afternoon,
where sky and ocean taint what used to be.
i shut my eyes and see the wardens bloom.

the trees revive a name they won’t assume,
truth trickles through their twigs too slow, too free.
(i think the insects swallowed up my womb.)

the world gives in to predetermined doom;
the sun forgets, the branches disagree.
i shut my eyes and see the wardens bloom.

light limps in shreds through a decaying tomb,
and every ray once knew of memory.
(i think the insects swallowed up my womb.)

love was a ghost...
no, love was just perfume
now scentless, lost in stolid athropy.
i shut my eyes and see the wardens bloom.
(i think the insects swallowed up my womb.)

Optimism can be,
Very much fulfilling, or,
Exhaustingly bland.

Pessimism makes a,
Darkened cloud cover up the,
Shining, blinding Sun.

Cynicism blurs the,
Line between friend or foe 'cause,
Everyone’s corrupt.

Altruism means that,
I should help others without,
Pondering the cost.

Three cheers for broken things!
Those who god rapes
and what the cat brings
inside causing screams. The last laugh.
Reduced to a shocking object;
denied personal being, a personal hell,
alone, touched by shadows.
All shadows imply light.
Torture of existence transforms to bliss.
Taken request, now give it a kiss.
See and be seen.
Be vulnerable, be keen to love the ugly.
Cringing dancing singing -
Obscene wisdom, divine pain:
Dominion of fate.
Tainted blood yet the soul won't stain.

I don’t consider myself a cynic,
But I am not fooled by good intentions,
People lie,
All the time.
Is it purely for self-interest?
Does any good come from their interventions?
Who am I to say?
Each person has their own belief,
On the selfishness,
Of humanity.
I’d like to believe,
That there’s goodness around,
You may have to squint,
But I’m certain it can be found.
Isn’t it a depressing point of view,
To say that everyone is selfish,
And nobody cares about you?
I’m not overly optimistic,
Nor excessively pessimistic,
I don’t believe that I’m a cynic,
I walk the middle line,
Filled with nuance,
And confusion,
All of the time.

If you’re looking for yuletide cynicism here,
you’re shopping in the wrong place.

This is New York City’s time of year.
It’s stood the test of time and it fairly sparkles,
proving that the ordinary can be extraordinary.
With the right lighting.

Lisa’s (parent’s) apartment glitters like our promised heaven on high.
When we left at Thanksgiving, Michael (Lisa’s dad) had the concierge
service stressed, toting boxes of decorations up from their storage area.
When I waved my goodbyes, he appeared to be wrestling an octopus of
cool-white fairy lights into submission. Now everything glitters pyrite bright.

Our holiday time is limited—and this is our chance to unwind—so we’re
selective about what we decide to embrace. For instance, there was a sale
at Michael Kors where, no big deal, I got a pair of brogue, black
leather wingtips that’ll be straight fire with a little black dress.
The bargains were so good that I decided the store must be a drug front.
Not that I’m complaining. Do I ever complain? Nope, I’m stoic.

Like Eric Adams, the mayor of New York, Lisa and I’ve
been “testing the product” of Manhattan's club scene.
We’re searching diligently for the new and unfamiliar.

When it comes to picking which clubs we want to visit,
Charles, our driver and escort (a retired NYPD cop),
has gone as far as to suggest, we’re “out of our depth,”
and refused to let us even try one or two DJ’d, pop-up clubs
in Queens that were getting a lot of heat and likes.
“Roosevelt Avenue is the new 42nd Street,” he’d said.
What does that even mean??
Indignant silence

Anyway,
I hope Christmas finds you all merry and bright and that your holidays—whichever you celebrate— are carnivals of food, music, friendship and love—for those are the luxuries that count the most.
Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Merry Kwanzaa, Happy Festivus!
.
.
Songs for this:
Absolutely Everybody by Vanessa Amorosi
Rock With You by Traincha
.
.
A Christmas Playlist—because there's 4 days til Christmas
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_28.mp3

Someone told me,
To water my own grass,
But what they neglected to mention,
Is that my grass is crass.

This is due to my unfortunate past,
Every minute spent kissing ***,
To be walked on and trampled by,
Boots and heels of brass.

So no, I will most certainly not,
Water my own grass,
The thoughts and evaluations,
Of the judgment I pass,
Is necessary and voluntary,
In a sea of largemouth bass.

I think it’s really 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚 when we ask, “how are you?”
The answer’s 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 the same.
“I’m good, how are you?”, “I’m fine, how are you?”, “I’m 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆, I’m 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚!”
I think it’s funny, because sometimes it’s a 𝒍𝒊𝒆.
We have made it 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎 to 𝒍𝒊𝒆, to give an 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓 that doesn’t 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓 anything.
We have made it 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎 to 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, because we 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 what they’ll say.

We 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 what they’ll say.
We 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 what 𝒘𝒆’𝒍𝒍 say.

You know what we’ll say?
We won’t say 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.
We’ll say 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 because words are not 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 when they’re 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒚.

We’ll repeat it, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵-

Can’t you see how 𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 this is?