زلف سیاه زنجیر جنون شد
دل حیرت زده من مجنون شد

In any future this is instant,
in real life these thoughts once fitted into words by a mind,
fit into the spirit of Christmas in 1984,
I am betting my
cred -- wagering my very defined sould idea
it was the real 1984
eleven days after my first born child…

-if I yet have credit, having spent all my own attention on
finding the evil
lurking somewhere in today, waiting to pounce,
seeking with legendary,
fabulous, monstrous civil strife level pride events
reason to call
provocation to devour
my soul, my unsouldout soul, my held
breath of life,

waiting for this surface to break, patient as any
app attempting to become
Gibsonian ICE!... in your patience you possess…

Ah, cotcha. This quote is from a stream of words -emanating-
in the global pool of streaming
news of bygone days. Dec.23, 1984 on accusing voices…
Satan the idea…
A message:
The people who will experience the fullest meaning of Christmas on Tuesday
are the people who know and feel that there is something
in them that needs to be destroyed.
It is true, as John said (John 3:17), that
"God sent the Son into the world not to condemn the world,
but that the world through him might be saved."
But he saves by destroying.
Like a doctor who amputates a foot full of gangrene or cuts out a cancerous lung.

From <https://www.desiringgod.org/messages/the-son-of-god-appeared-to-destroy-the-works-of-the-devil>

Right. So far. Now. Who whets the edge?
I care less if you guess my name,
stranger,
works; if you find you may entertain a stranger with no sense of pending danger,
see,
afore mentioned cutting,
was mistaken instruction. A missed meaning,
hamartia aitia sort of glitch in the interpretation, privately,
by the muckety mucks,

(by the hair on my chinny chin chin we must shave away the fungus)

The torn flesh
of realities with actual purpose was, intending to repair it self,
using, right, a single stitch.
In a word.
Yet, wait…
Usury found a way to own the story of the act. So,
early autumn, fires raging, smoke obscuring meaningful
right observation of the arrival of Christmas Decorations at Walmart,
in the memorable year,
2020, I heard a sound,
bah trumpa trump trump,
in September,
the one all connected minds shall never remember not
having,
we made up our mind to act on the original anointed mind idea,
let it spread,
like calmin' balm on truly chapped hide.

We all got our differences, 'n' all, viva la

la la la
but we all have right use, too. The idea is not so hard to imagine,
unless you mind is broke, I get stuck in first person,

being broke and woke is a zeitgeistical joke.
We see our neighbors on Hulu,
even in Beijing, if we have the proper world citizen VPN.

Do you hear what I hear? Is this that brat with the drum,
again? Bahtrumpatrumptrump…

merry anointing message, may it trickle through your beard,
and tickle little ears with hope unimagined,
before 2020 made mental time travel so common.

{go tulsi, go, go, go}

Hello happy hour!
I see you're now reduced
to fifteen minutes of
soft drinks and
smiling depression:
simper and wine.
check that...Sprite.

But I'll drink to
nagging doubt anyway.

Cars are now a kick.
Who knew gridlock
could offer such joyride:
the drive home each day
my ******* sabbatical.

I wrote 3 letters the other day
(the handwritten, paper kind)
and feel a little
like Jane Austen.
I think she'd like Dr. Pepper,
but not Mr. Pibb.
Too foppish.

Then there's this:
the wax and wane
of life between the bed
and the couch.
There's six degrees
of separation
through the five layers
of this reusable face mask.

Speaking of masks:
"one for the money,
two for the show,
three to make ready
and four to go."

And somehow I know
I will never breathe it in
that way again.

Random curtain calls:
I'm so starved for someone
to talk to; the mail lady
had me at "hello."
I offered her a soda.
Mail order catalogs are king.
The Saturday Night Special
from the burglar alarm brochure
was my final good buy.

The glass of water shattering,
in my imagination and almost beyond
like everything else in so many ways
but not me, never me;
I am... the safety
I am the padding of the cell
I am the broken fuse allowing all the light to shine.
I am the possibility that smothers the fear in cradle.

Hold tight. White knuckles.
Buttered hands, oiled pole.
Stand strong. Tall, proud.
Shaky podium, slippy shoes.
Stay sane. Fake smile.
Maniacs room, door ajar.

a mind that is trapped
is a mind that is lost

set it free
let it wander

only your sanity the cost

I fear - my mistakes are mountain
And what to do except regret and despair
For all the wrongs I have done?

Now clearly I either see
I am insane and could not be right
Or just unfortunate one with that.

What else to do,
Except to knock on door of mercy
Of Ar-Rahman?

What else to do,
Then cry the plea of help
For lost mind and heart.

Eight days of seven are you lobster
Stop chains kissing bouquets
Lovely sting but punch less
But don’t stop
Please
I hate it
Ahahahaha
Front stabbing martyr I love you
Tighten my bindings whilst I take a ****.
Done? Good. I’d be so grateful if you’d take the katana from the mouth of my daughter
As they say the plot worsens
But please, do tell me about your luxurious Judas cradle
Is it to your liking sir?
Roomy yes thank you
I’ll pay half
Ten out of five on pointless dot com.