Most peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp...

In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years.

She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.

I corraled the group and told them to wait for me. I followed this girl who seemed quite younger than I to a small apartment in the uppermost floor of a very unsturdy chapel-like home several suburban blocks from our ride. She immediately removed her pants and I saw with my very own eyes that she was hairless and nubile. She insisted that we have a ****, and after I caressed her and complained too that she was far too young, she insisted that the age of consent in Germany was actually 13 yet she was 16. I remember it clearly. The most gigantuous feelings of pleasure as I mended a studio closet for my dining room furniture inside her ripening channel. Eventually after an hour we finished, she offered me a towel and some biscuits, which I consumed joyously.

Upon leaving her home I remembered that she had said we were in Germany, and so I produced a measure of Deutsch that I had been saving in my repetoir for the right moment. As Finnish is not my strongest language I was pleased of this and became instantly popular among the other candidates of our journey. This  E.T. ride is far different than  I remember it having been. Moments later I awoke quickly, a tuft of her black hair on my eiderdown comforter and a veil of tears from the merriment of glee shrouded over my face. After I rolled and balled into the soft feathers of my bedding, I twisted myself again into a knot, and allowed myself to rejoin the soporific treatice I was aiming for.

This is now where I turn off both lamps and go on watching films of a similar style.

Wishing You The Very Best,

Sir Martin Narrod

I keep my family of conscience
I shred my folly of heir
In case of torment or fondness
I never wear underwear.

You’ve been my inspiration for
half a decade.I tried finding a reason
to keep holding on but they
all led to him.

My friends say he looks like you,
physically you know, but if they truly
saw him they would know, he is the one.
He has stolen my inspiration, stolen my
every thought, my every heartbeat.

I am thankful for those five years
of inspiration but they brought
along with them a chisel slowly
chipping away a piece of
this fragile heart.

Perhaps you will always remain
like ash beneath the dirt waiting
to be consumed like dry wood.
A memory of my innocence and
first love you will always be. The
baby face I loved stealing
glimpses of. Wishing every time
I had a piece of your heart.

You may never have been mine,
but my heart
surely thought the opposite.

This is the last time i believe
you will serve as my inspiration,
but if some day far away from
the future you dare inspire me
once again, I’ll stop for a bit of
ink and write to you

Wish me luck, because I know,
I have this unimaginable feeling
i’m falling for him and he is willing
to not let me hit the ground
like you did time after time.

Goodbye, Old Inspiration
Hello, Love.

It was not love that struck me first.
Before anything else,
it was an arrogance that
overwhelmed my senses,
so I held my nose
to keep out the stench and
went on my way.
I ignored you and
let you exist in your
perfect little multilingual corner,
thinking it too put together and
not for me at all. It was
dull and silent and
no one could dance there.

Then, one morning,
while a foreign language
spoke in jazz in my head,
you expressed the complexity,
the utter chaos of
one molecule slipping into another
and weaving the majestic
world of science that
baffles and amazes
even the brightest of minds.
You opened your mouth
and love hit me harder
than ever before as I realized that
you,
just like me,
wanted to figure out
the math of the world and
solve the equation.
How could that not ensnare me
in an awful trap of trying
to not only calculate the world,
but to also dissect you and
determine what you are made of
and what fuels you?

After that,
you became a rush of Golden Years1,
a reminder that,
“dearly beloved, we are
gathered here today
to get through this thing
we call life”2,
an extraordinary personification
of old time rock ‘n roll3,
and an interpretation
of the love that stays
even when summer is over4.
The music danced through my veins
like never before because you
were all of those things
and more!
Anyone could ask me about you,
(Oh, dear, what is he really like?),
and I would just sing for them
and hope they understood.
How could they not?
If they really listened
to all of those lyrics and really
let the notes slip across their skin
and sink into their pores,
they could know you.

But melodies change.

Without warning,
I am held back
by your
darkness,
not because you
inflict it upon me,
but because
you shelter me from it.
You want to
save my light,
so you refuse to
let me see inside,
afraid to lose it,
afraid the demons
will take it away5.
That is the melancholy tune
that changed
your definition
in my dictionary.

You are the lesson of betrayal.
A bittersweet song
which reminds us all to realize
your savior can also be
your captor
and executioner6.
That is a lesson
you learned the hard way,
though you never really say how.
You hide it beneath
the rhyme and reason
that is senseless poetry.

Not to be repetitive,
but you are music
only I can hear.
The genre is always changing,
but you are always demanding
space in my ears, a clamor
of so much to dance to
with wild abandon.
The endless noise often hurts,
often makes me curl up in a ball,
begging for silence.
But, when it unifies...
when it slows down...
when it decides what to be,
even if only for a few seconds,
you are the
most beautiful thing
in the world to me.
Those are the moments
when you are one song
and I can see you
for just a second
before all the others
demand attention and
obscure the real music that
follows the beat of your heart.
This is when I am head over heels
and I have to beg you not
“to take my heart,
don’t break my heart,
don’t, don’t,
don’t throw it away.”7

How incredible
you really and truly are.
You are a soundtrack and
you come in different volumes.
I swear I want nothing else
from you than to just listen,
slip on my headphones
and submerge in the
raucous of sound and composition
that is you.
I can’t always see you,
but I can always hear you,
and I will listen
until the day you turn it off,
the day when silence ensues and
you are
nothing
but the shell a great ballad
will refer to
as a
cause
to
smile.8

1. “Golden Years” by David Bowie
2. “Let’s Go Crazy” by Prince
3. “Old Time Rock ‘n Roll” by Bob Seger
4. “Boys of Summer” by Don Henley
5. “Demons” by Imagine Dragons
6. “Miss Missing You” by Fall Out Boy (Specifically, the line: “The person that you’d take a bullet for is behind the trigger.”)
7. “Head Over Heels” by Tears for Fears
8. “American Pie” by Don McLean

There is not much more than lunch of your poor soul's gut. That which has hidden your chase,
Be it the same flurry you face, or the chaste, widowed band of loons
Supplicate snail-movements, while wading through the stiff lagoon.

Everything must, while the fissures grow grumpy.
While the dust settles inwards and the cracks fill with stuffing.
The particle stands stiff, while each nursery cries.
A pitter-patter of rain drops lurch the birds forwards towards flight.

Say the gumption to roost was the dork lit and idling,
Each abortion towards space, kept the rocket from flying,
Like the cannonball sneering, or the whistle of men
The trial and tribulations of the miserly pens.

If be swore the moors, concrete beds shuffle the snores.
Unlike any trumpet of nose notes or horns.
How each curious grumbler failed the ewe of his flock.
Lil' crock lodgers counting sleep  of each lot.

Who can practice commands, width that makes up a strake
In the morning the weir-men quaff each tea of their tastes.
Then comes to the rind, the hands each guided by eyes.
Stumps the bard of his nightshade in imported glass vials.

Show whomever the pleasure, the happy hell once began
Because under each gambit is the king of a lamb.