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oh ****
I saw the piano man
singing his songs
to the uptown girl
by the fire he didn't start
for the longest time
you believed
he was the entertainer
you may be right
but its all in a matter of trust
I SAW BILLY JOEL TODAY!
idk poem with titles of his songs
Tawanda Mulalu Jul 2015
Clementine deleted Joel
from her mind. Joel tried to
forget her; he couldn't, so
he got rid of her too. You
try, I know, to get rid of me. I
try, you know, to pretend that
the world isn't spinning so fast
in the hope
that we will fall of its spinning-top edge
and stumble, clumsily, gracelessly, into
each other. We're spinning so fast with it-
the world- so this is unlikely, so we both
pretend that it's an accident when we fall
into each other,
again and again, as
We play spin the bottle while
The world spins instead.
Suddenly.
Now that that same world has stilled itself for
us: we don't know what to do without its
rotationary madness angling us
towards old age and crumpets (together?). That
same world has stilled itself until
tomorrow when that same world will spill
itself out from day to night to day again
as we take our respective first drafts
of our poems written about each other
and

Edit.

out that same mad spin
that made us
us
just like
Joel and Clementine forgot-
on purpose. We forget, on purpose
with purpose
but,
we'll still meet each other in Montauk where
that same world will still itself
as we wrap our fingers around each other's
fingers
in the cold
where you might finally reciprocate
my lacklustre
confessions.

You too,
right?
Message: This one came first. We probably think the same about things getting 'stilled'. Do I have any idea why? Maybe.
Joel Todero May 2015
if you had to talk without speaking would you touch, or just try and mouth the words? i will go through and like all your Instagram photos at once. i don’t care about the path less traveled, i am making my own path. i am trailblazing through the woods towards a destination that is completely unknown! often i drive my mom’s Chrysler van and crank the volume to the max. i’m sorry mom. i drive through the woods and put the windows down and let wind fly through my hair. i love driving through the woods almost as much as i love cities. catch me in the strangest places at the strangest times. i am in a restaurant on my laptop typing this and having a vanilla malt. this is diary entry #447. i have so much to tell you, there’s still so much that i haven’t said. well, if i had to talk without speaking words, i think i would touch.
Joel Todero May 2015
jumping into a pool of yellow glowing liquid while rich, deep, full synth chords play. time has slowed down and i am in the middle of a cannonball and i can see bats flying over my head in the almost-darkness. friends surround me and are laughing in slow motion as i fly through the air. the sun has changed the whole scene to a tinted and washed dark orange and purple color. it’s like i put on a filter but it’s real life. the liquid is lukewarm, sort of like someone didn’t put a bowl of soup in the microwave long enough. there is no word in the human dictionary to describe this feeling. i’m done pretending that nothing matters all the time. i wish there was some way i could hook up my brain to a screen so you could see what i'm picturing right now. there’s no way that can happen though, so i will just continue trying to explain through words.
Joel Todero May 2015
jumping across rooftops in the broad sunlight. it's morning and i'm headed to a bagel shop to get a blueberry cream cheese bagel. beautiful sunny day kind of music is playing through my headphones. from building to building, roof to roof, gutter to gutter i jump in my worn out shoes. Friday mornings aren’t usually this nice out, there’s not even a cloud in the sky. i can tell i’m getting close because of the smell in the air. jump down a fire escape and head inside. David is working at the counter this morning, and he’s excited to see a friend, as usual. i order and he throws an extra bagel in the bag as he usually does. David is a great guy. outside the world greets me warmly, it’s like 80 degrees out. are you kidding me? it’s April. it’s beautiful. i’m going to go bare foot down to the beach and draw some pictures of the waves. see you later.
Joel Todero May 2015
it’s really late and dark outside, i’m not sure what the time is exactly. i’ve lost count of the minutes. i am at the high school’s track and am jogging on it. the lights are on, for whatever reason. the light is penetrating through a thick fog. it’s misting and getting all over my glasses but i don’t care enough to wipe it off. i have been running for what feels like hours now. it’s been dark forever. run off the track and sit on the bleachers for a bit, drink some water i brought with me. i’m lookin over the lit up field in the bright white lights. it looks like a scene in one of those Nike commercials, but it’s much better in person. i start nodding off and suddenly i’m in the back seat of a station wagon that i’ve never seen before. the leather seats are a dark maroon color, and the world is wizzing by outside the window at an incredible speed. the driver is a dark silhouette of someone i think i know, but can’t place my finger on. i’m getting incredibly nauseous from the speed we are driving at. “please stop!” i shout from the back seat. suddenly everything goes black again and i get the feeling like we’ve stopped because my body has that falling forward sensation. i awake to a bird sitting on my head at the track. it’s morning already.
Dios Dormer Apr 2015
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JOELOEL JL JOEL JOEL JO
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ARE YOU REALLY JOEL
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JOEL JEL E JOEL
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E͝L̈ ̭̳ͥJ̡OͦE͖L᷾ ͎JͨO᷉E͐Ļ ͦJ͒O̐E̚L̳ ͋J͕O͖E͕L᷇ ᷊JͬȮẼL̊ ̄J̳ĖL̇ ͡J̶ͫ᷅L͉
͟JͬO͑ḘL᷊̤̄᷾ͭ ̇J᷊OͥEͣL͢ ̵J͊O̻E͢L̴̸̆ ᷁L͠ ̆J̒ỎE᷄L̋᷈͛ ̟J̉O̭᷈̑E̍L̲ ͘JͮO̱E͚L̜ ̯J̰O͘E͊L̀ ̧̪᷅̏͘J͘OͬE̦L̝ ̓J̑Õ̧ͯE᷄L̎ ̺J̯ÓE͜L̒ ̟J̾O̔EͅLͩO᷂ÈL͚ ̑J̌L͡ ̤J᷾O͑E͐L͘ ͡J̧O̟E̗Lͯ ͣJ̟Oͭ ͙E͢L͓ ̪J̨O͆E̶Ḻ ̬JͪÒ̠᷀᷁᷀ĘL̇ ̑J͓O̯
E̪L͌ ̪̾̇J͗OͫE͉L̏E͝L̈ ̭̳ͥJ̡OͦE͖L᷾ ͎JͨO᷉E͐Ļ ͦJ͒O̐
E̚L̳ ͋J͕O͖E͕L᷇ ᷊JͬȮẼL̊ ̄J̳ĖL̇ ͡J̶ͫ᷅L͉ ͟JͬO͑ḘL᷊̤̄᷾ͭ ̇J᷊OͥEͣL͢ ̵J͊O̻E͢L̴̸̆ ᷁L͠ ̆J̒ỎE᷄L̋᷈͛ ̟J̉O̭᷈̑E̍L̲ ͘JͮO̱E͚L̜ ̯J̰O͘E͊L̀ ̧̪᷅̏͘J͘OͬE̦L̝ ̓J̑Õ̧ͯE᷄L̎ ̺J̯ÓE͜L̒ ̟J̾O̔EͅLͩO᷂ÈL͚ ̑J̌L͡ ̤J᷾O͑E͐L͘
͡J̧O̟E̗Lͯ ͣJ̟Oͭ ͙E͢L͓ ̪J̨O͆E̶Ḻ ̬JͪÒ̠᷀᷁᷀ĘL̇ ̑J͓O̯E̪L͌ ̪̾̇J͗OͫE͉L̏

Ę̏͝L̈̔̚ ̸̭̳̺ͬ̋ͥJ̡̼̉O᷃ͦ̔E̜͖ͯL̛᷾͟ ͎͉͢J̧̬ͨO̗᷉͂E̛̙͐Ļ̦ͭ ̸̼ͦJ͙͒ͦO͈̐᷾E͓̅̚L̳̳̒ ᷉͋ͥJ͕̐͞O͉͖ͫE͕͒᷈L᷿̱᷇ ̧᷊̥J̴̰ͬȮ̺̏E᷄̃̋L̂̊̌ ̳͆̄J͓̳̙Ë̇͜
L̡̇͛ ͔̣͡J̶̖̱ͫͤ̇᷅L͉̽̐ ̡̓͟J̼̽ͬǪ͎͑Ḙ̣̌L᷊̼̹̤᷉̈́̄᷾ͭ̃̎ ̨ͯ̇J̺᷊̳Ǫͥ̈́E̶᷉ͣL̫͙͢ ̵̠͒J̞͛͊Ö̼̻E̵̻͢L̴̸͎͙̆̒̚ ̬͛᷁L̙̃͠ ̟̿̆J̨̒̿Ỏ͚᷀E᷃᷄͡L̴̨̰̰̋᷈͛ ͖̟̠J̗̉̚O̭̅̓᷈ͧ̑̑E̸̵̍L̲̥͡ ̫͋͘J̰ͮͅŐ̴̱E̥͚̝L̜᷃͟ ̝̯̟J̰̈́̾O̪͎͘É͙͊L̓̀᷆ ̧̪͔̲ͨ᷅̏͘͘͜͞J᷿͘̚O̯ͬ͟E̦̮͆L̦̝̞ ͂̓᷁J̖̳̑Ò̧̃ͫͯ̄̕E̠̥᷄L̓̎ͨ ̺̻᷉J̯̈̓Ó̴̃E̱͜͏L̿̒͆ ̵̟᷀J͓̾͜O̺᷁̔ẼͅͅL̃ͩͯO̵᷂᷾Eͦ̀͒L̼͚̔
͖̾̑J̸̌ͧL̙͛͡ ̤ͩ᷄J̏᷾̿O̡͑͝E̞᷿͐L̤̋͘ ̟᷁͡J̧̔̕O͏̟͜E᷿̗̯L̊ͯ̑ ̏ͣ͡J̵̟͝O͆ͭ͛ ̢͙͟Ẻ͊͢L͓̾͢ ̪ͩ͞J̨ͣͯO͈͖͆E̶̬̍Ḻ̝᷆ ̴̧̬J̶̛ͪ
Ò̢̰̪̠ͧ᷀᷁̑᷀ͮĘͥ͋Lͩ̇ͭ ̳̑ͧJ̵͚͓Ő̯̈́E̸̪᷅
L᷅͌͌ ̪̹ͧ̓̾̇ͣJ̴̶͗O̖͖ͫE̮͉̎L̬̏̒
L̸̸̤̑᷃̇̑ ̢̱͇̑̾̑̿J̎̑͗͏̒̑᷀Ọ͙̼ͭ̑͑̑Ȇ̥̬̞́̑͡Ḻ̵̙̑̍̑̔ ̷̙̱̑ͤ̊̑J̭͆̑̉̑᷅͢O̵͎ͨ̑̎̑̕E̛᷊ͭ̑̏̋̑L̨͙̑̏̑̕͡ ̗̤̑᷄̑̚͝J̥᷀̑ͪ᷆̑ͦO̥͕̒̑᷾̋̑Ė͕̞̑᷄̈́̑L̢͔̑ͮ̈ͤ̑
̲͖̄̑ͪ̑᷃Ļ̷̑́̈̑᷀ ̥̟̌̑ͪͬ̑J̡͉̑̔̑͢͡Ȏ̷̗̀̔̑̏E̎̑᷅̓̑͘ͅḶ̑ͮͫ̉̑᷇ ̷̟̑̑̀͘͞J̖᷅̑̈́̿̑͘Ǫ̘᷿͚̑ͩ̑Ȇ̼̯͚ͤ͒̑L̤̑̈᷅̑̑̈ ̘̝̑͏̘̋̑J͏̨̑ͦ᷅̑᷇Ơ͍͓ͦ̑ͭ̑Ȩ͕͎̑̽̑᷅L̖̤᷂̑̓̑̏ ͓̟͚̑̍̑͢J̰͍̝̑̑̑ͪO̪̳͈͂̑̑ͨE̬͉̭᷄̑ͤ̑
L̵̻̀̑̈͒̑ ̨̞̲̖̝̟̱̺̰̑̑̑͛̑ͯJ̠̑ͥ̂̑̉̚Ȏ̤̻ͨ̾̑ͩḘ̴̬̽̑̅̑L̡̩̞̮̜̑̑ ̳̦̱̥̑̂̑J̷̢̬̪̑̒̑Ȏ̬̰̰̑᷾̕Ȇ̛̝̤̪̉̑L̸̖̣̑̄̑̔ ͉ͦ̑ͪͬ̑̾Jͫ̑̓ͤ͐̑̊Ơ̴̧̆̑͐̑E͎̍̑̐̑ͪ͠L̤̖͗̑ͭ̑͢ ̟̲̪̑̄ͫ̑J͓̭̑᷃̈̑᷇Ȏ̘᷂͚̑̿͝Ȇ̷̵̺᷂̑͛L̸̢͖͂̑͋̑O͂̑̋͏̓̑ͥE̺͔̼̽̑᷆̑L̢̎̑͗̌ͨ̑ ̵̤̬͊̑͌̑J̪̮̓̑̔̑͋L͉̳̑̓̽̑ͧ ͏̑᷈͒ͦ̑̂J͒̑ͧ᷆̑̀͡Ȏ͇᷾̑͂͢͡E͏͔̑̓̎̑ͩḶ͈̑ͭͩ͒̑ ̴̞̑͒͊̑ͅJ̮̘̘̗̑̑͗Ȏ̠̲̟ͨͧ̑Ḛ̶̑ͩͩ̑͡L͔᷆̑͊̑́͜ ̢̩̬̑͒̑᷃J̜᷁̑ͪ̑᷉͝Ȏ̴̝̼͈͇̑ ̤̖̑ͣ̑̆̚E̱͔᷃̑̀̑᷇L͎᷿̑̓̑͆ͅ ̱̓̑ͤ̊̈̑J̶̢͍͉̑͒̑Ȏ̵̜̼͆ͣ̑E͙̒̑͂᷈̑ͫL̰͙͓᷊̑̑͟ ͔͖̑ͩ̾̑̉J̘̜͑̑̍̑͑O̯̓̑̋ͩ̑͜Ȇ͇̲̥͂͊̑L̫̑᷈̉̑̚͠ ͉̈́̑͐͐ͮ̑J̟᷂̞͇̑ͭ̑O̪̊̑̑͐͘͢E̞̬ͯ̑ͭ̑͑L̰̫͋̑̑͌͝ ᷂͔͕̻̑̍̑J̲̣̳͖̑͆̑Ő̹̥̑᷈̑̆Ḙ̴᷊̑͒̑͞L̷̵̟̲̑͌̑ ̧̑̍̑̚͟͞J͖̑́᷉ͩ̑ͥǪ̖̯̜̎̑̑Ȇ̶͕͏̤ͫ̑L̠̞᷂̺̑̿̑ ̵᷊̑͑͊̑ͅJ̪ͧ̑᷃ͦ̑ͧȆ̺᷆᷇̑᷅̕L̪͖͆̑͋ͤ̑ ̡᷿̑̏ͩ̑͢J̳͚̑ͯ̌̑̎L̯᷂̻̦͇̑̑ ̬̼̑͂̉̑̅J̻̑᷾ͮ͊̑᷇O̲᷇̑̈́̑̑᷅

Eͥ̑̓ͧ̑̾͢L̶̷̞̑̒̑͢ ᷂̦̑̏᷆̑̒J̙͕̮̓̑̑̚Ő̑ͪ̎ͮ̑᷄E᷅̑ͤ᷀ͪ̑͋Ļ̢̪̑̆̑͂ ᷿͇̑͋̑͂̚J̥̍̑̋ͨ̑̈́Ọ͙͕͒̑̑̏E̡̎̑̔͌̑᷄L̹͖̬̓̑ͣ̑ ̨̼̑͋᷉̑͐L̻᷿̑̊͂̑᷁ ̭̟̟̑᷁͊̑J̡̛᷿̑ͨ̈̑O̙͗̑̂̑̎͞Ȇ̮̪̬̿̑̌L̜᷅̑͆ͧ̓̑ ̠̑̑̆̚͘͝J̑̈́͋̑͛͜͜Ȏ̵̝̺̪̀̑Ȩ͓̺̑́̋̑L̶̟᷉̑̓̑́ ̣̯̑̾̑̌̚J͔͔̟̑̈̑ͅȎ̷̥̥̃̓̑Ḛ̴᷊᷁̑̊̑L̘ͨ̑͒̑̏̕ ̣̰̼᷉̑ͪ̑J͋̑̃̑̌͡͠Ȏ̻̣̜̉́̑Ȇ̥̘̯̩᷈̑L͖ͪ̑̐ͫ̑ͯ ̛̲̼͗̑̑͡J̛ͧ̑͂̇͑̑Ȏ̴͈͎᷄͒̑Ȇ̝͎ͯ͑̑͏L̩̪̑̋͂̑͋ ̵̑᷁ͬ̀̑͟J͕͉̾̑̿̑ͩƠ̝͚̫̑̑̆Ȇ̞̈́ͭ̑̉͡L̞̫̱̑ͥ̑͟ ̜̑̃̑̔̚͟J̑͢͏̘̑᷇ͅO̖͓͊̑᷅̑ͬ
Ȇ̖̘̺̿ͩ̑L̙̪̲̑̔ͫ̑ ̢ͦ̑̽̑̄͠J͎͖᷃̑᷈ͭ̑O̝᷊ͬ̑͂̈́̑Ę͇̥᷆̑̑̍L͖̓̑̐̄ͦ̑Ȏ̧͇̻ͫ̑̇Ḛ̹ͩ̑͑̑̓L̵̢̥̑᷉̑͜ ̑̔̐̍̑͑͢J̶̑̇́̑͝ͅL͖̰ͨ̑ͫ̑ͅ ̛̟̑ͮ̑̽͜J̦͕ͦ̑ͭ̑͆Ȏ̪͓̈́ͭ̃̑Ȇ͙͚̼ͯ̑᷀L̷͖̺̞̑͌̑ ͙᷀̑᷄᷾ͦ̑J̸͉͉᷅̑᷆̑O̢̟̽̑͛̑͟Ȇ̙̰̏͌̑̔L͕̗̟͉̑᷉̑ ͮ̑̑ͪ̑͗͟J̛̼̑͆̑͑͜O̵̜ͧ̑̄̑͘ ͚͋̑᷈ͥ̑͂E̠͇̎̑ͯ̑ͬL̜̪̑ͩ͋ͩ̑ ̶̷͚̑̑͟͞J̷̮᷊̇̑̊̑Ȏ̭͍̤̮̑͋Ĕ͖̫̮̑ͧ̑L̳̳̦̑͆̑͋ ͈̝͆̑᷆̑͜J̫᷾̑̃͒̑ͣȎ̶̍͐̑᷄͝Ę̖᷆̑̄̑̏L͈̑᷀ͬ̑᷀͜ ̢̩̮͚͈̑̑J͈͛̑̅̐̑͜Ȏ̗͍᷀ͦ̑̑E̴͇ͮ̑᷀̑͡L̖̼̺̑̈́͑̑ ̨̫̱̩̑᷄̑J͗̑ͣ̊᷆̑ͅȎ͍ͧͦ̀̑͢Ȇ̳᷊᷅̾̑̓Ļ̴̡̼̑̑͞ ̹͗̑̽͛̑͝J̸̠̘̑᷉̑̽Ȏ̷̝̻᷉̑̽Ȇ͎̠̍̓̑͡L̷̴͎̭̑ͩ̑ ̦̠̣̌̑̑᷇J͚ͨ̑᷈ͯ̑͞Ȇ̥̦̓͛̑͠Ļ̑ͬ̓̈́̑͟ ̢͓̑̓̑͝͠Ȩ̵᷿̠̽̑̑ ̔̑͛᷈̑᷁͞J̥̩̑̓̿̑͜O̵͔̊̑᷾̑̑Ę̳̈́̑̄̑ͭL̷͔̑ͩ᷀̑͢ ̷͇̑͌̍̑͘J̧̺̑̀᷄̑ͤỌ̡̒̑ͧ̀̑E͎ͫ̑᷄̒̑̋ ̮̂̑᷇̒̑̔J̷̻͕̑͒̑᷉Ȏ̸̳͓̭͐̑E̴ͩ̑̋ͬ̑͋Ḻ᷊̑̂̌̑̉
L̸̸͎̝̤᷿ͬ̀̑ͭ᷃̓̇͗̑ ̸̢̧̱͇̭̽̑̌̑̾̑̿̕͜J̪̯̎̑̾͗͝͏̸̘̒̐̑᷀͘O͚̺̣͇͙͕̼᷊ͭ̑͑᷁̑ͬ͘E̝̥̬̞͉᷉̑͆́͑͗̑͟͡͠L̿­̵̨̱̙᷂̈̑ͦ̂ͪ̍̑̔᷾ ̷̙̱̞̘̥̑̑᷉᷈ͤ᷃̊̑͠J̴̸̨̣̗̭̹͆̑̈́͐̉̑᷅͢O̴̵͎ͨ̑ͯ̎̾ͧ̑̏͐̕͟͞Ę̛᷊̥̼᷊ͭͧ̑̑̏̋̑̒͡Ḷ­̨̼͙̘̫̑̏ͤ̑̓͘̕͡͝ ̤̮̰̗̤͇̮̑᷁̊᷄̑᷁̚͝J̙̥͖͍ͦ᷀̑̌ͫͪ᷆̑ͮͦ͝Ỏ̥̺̥͕̭͕̒̑᷾͐̋͒̑͝Ė̶̸͕̞̑͂᷄̃ͭ̈́̑᷉ͦͅL͌­̸̢̙̬͔̑ͮ͑̈ͤ᷆̑̿̄ ̷̲͖̔̄͐̑̒ͪ͊̒̑᷃͝͞Ļ̷̭̳̪͎̑́̓̈̑̈́᷀͡ͅ ͉̥̖̩͇̟͙̽̌̑̌ͪͬ̑͝J̵̡͉̰̀̑̔̔ͩ̑᷁͢͢͢͡Ơ̷̧̤̗̬͇̘̑̔̀̉̔̑̏E̶̢͙̘͈̎̑̍᷅̓̑ͪ̚͘ͅL͉­̴̣̮̝̑ͮͫͮ̉̈̑ͬ᷇᷉ ̷̞͕̰̟̇̑ͯ̅̑̈́̀ͦ͘͞J̵̷̶̝̖᷅̑̈́᷾̿̏̑̂͘ͅǪ̱̪̘᷿̤͚̀̑̄᷾ͩ̉̑͛Ȇ̢̼̯̯̺᷿̻͚̌ͤ͒̓̑͘L̰­̤̙͎̑̀̈᷅̅̑̑̑ͨ̈͝ ͉̘̦̝̑͒ͅ͏͕̘̋᷀̑᷾̈J͈͏̨̣̹̩̑ͦ̉̋᷅᷇̑᷇̄Ơ̮͍͙͎͓ͦ̄̑᷆ͭ͆̑ͪ͡Ȩ̛͕̭͎̭̽͆̑̑᷄̽᷀̑᷅L̝­̧̖̫̤᷂̑͐̓̅͋̑̏̋͡ ̷̱͓̤̱̫̟̖̘͚͈̑̍̑͢J͈̰̳͍̘̝̤̲̑᷇̑̑᷄ͪ͝O̡̫̪̹̳͈̤̬͂͗̑̆̑ͨ̚Ȩ̦̬̻͉̟̭᷄̑̽ͤ̑͛̉͟L̘­̵̥͖̻̥̀̑̈̾͒͋̑͋͝ ̸̨̗̞̦̲̖̝̟̱̝̺̰̳̦̊̑ͦ̑̽᷈̑̊͛̑͗ͯͦ̚͢͜J̧̪̠͂̑ͪͥ̎̂̑̾̉ͧ̚ͅǪ̺̤̼̻̃̑ͨ̾᷉᷾̑̒ͩ̍E̬­̴̸͎̹̭͈̬͍̽̑ͨ̅̍̑L̡̢̩̞̮᷊̜̆̑͛̓̑̓̿͝ ̶̳̦̱̥͓᷇ͦ̑᷁̂̂̑̾ͅ
J̷̢̨̝̬̪̑͌̐̒̀̊̑̅͜Ó̦̬̳̰̺̰͚̆̑̑᷾̕͘͜Ȩ̸̡̛̝̻̤̪̑᷃̉᷀̑͛͢L­̸̛̠̺̖̩̣̮̉̑̄̌̑̔͠ ̡͉̱ͩͦ̏̑᷉ͪ̀ͬ̑ͥ̾͝J͉ͫ᷀̑̓͟͏͎͇ͤ͐̑̒̊̾Ơ̴̧̥̜̝̹̆̑͐ͮͯ̑ͥ̕E̸̗͎͎͇̍̑ͭͧ̐̑ͪ᷾͘͠L̆­͉̠̤͖̖͗̑̋ͭ᷆̑᷈̕͢ ̟̹̲᷂͉̪͉͆ͬ̑᷄̄ͫͥ̑J͓̳̗̭̱̬̓̋̑᷃̃̈᷀̑᷇Ơ̘͇᷂͚͓̯̅̑᷉ͭͫ̑̿͝Ẻ̷̵̛̺̱᷂̜̘᷊̑̎̑͛͆L̖­̴̸̢͖͖͂ͨ̑̓͋͒̑̊͟O͎͔͂͂ͣ̑̋͏̧᷿̓᷆̑̓ͥȨ̷̯̺͔̼͆̽̑̄᷆᷀̑͞͡L̢᷂̯̙̗ͧ̎̑͗́̌ͨͮ̑͞ ̴̵̣̤̰̻̱̬͊̌̑͌̑ͥ̕J̘̪̮̙͎̣͐̓᷾̑̔̑ͩ̑͋L̵̴͉͚̳̬̃̿̑̓̽̈́̑̀ͧ ̶͏̹̲̪̑᷈ͨ͒ͦͤ̑̂ͣ͠J̸̳̗͙ͯ͒̑ͧ̑᷆̎͆̑̀͡O̶͇͙͚͗̑ͮ᷾̐́̑͂͢͜͡E͉͏͔͑̑ͣ̓ͤ̎̏̑̀ͩͤ̚L̴­̣̬̻̯͈̑ͭ̎ͩ͒̏̑̌̉ ̴̧̫̞ͣ̑᷇ͥ͒ͨ͊̑᷆ͭͅJ̮̊̑̕͏̸̘̘̗̯̂ͫ̑͗̓O̠͔̲̟ͤ̽̑̀ͨͧ͛ͪ̑͊̐Ȇ̶̪̰̩͉̟̎ͩ̂ͩ̔̑͞͡L̋­̷͖͔͉̟̹᷆̑͊̑́͐̚͜ ̸̢̛̩̬͇̻̔᷆̑͒͗̑᷃ͧJ̟̱̰̙̜̻͎᷁̑̏ͪ̑᷉̂͝O̴̝͍̜̼͈͇̤ͫ̑ͥ̂̑̎͠ ͇̤̺̖̣̭̑᷆ͣ᷾̏̑̆̚͞Ḙ᷿͔̱͔̲̝᷃̑̾̀̑᷈᷇᷉L̬͎̥͈͚̼᷿̫̑̓᷈̑͆͛ͅ ͉͉̱̬̽̓ͪ̑ͫͤ̊̈̀̑͟J̶̢̡͍͉͇͋̽̑̌᷁͒᷾̑̂Ǫ̵̜̼͆͌̑̀ͯ͆ͣͮ̑̐᷈E̘͙͕͍͕̅̒̑͂̾᷈̑ͫ͋͟Ḷ­̰̟͙͚͓᷊͔̈́̑᷇̽̑͆͟ ̰͔͖̲͙᷄̑ͨͩ̾̑̉ͪ͢͠J̛̺͔̘̜̙͓ͯ͑̑ͤ̍̑͑̎O͎̯̯ͫ̓̓̑̽̂̋᷾ͩ̑ͮ͜E͇̲̼̥᷉ͥ̑᷇̎͂͊̔̑ͭͬL᷾­̫̹͔̠̟̑᷈̉᷉̑᷃᷄̚͠ ᷿̗̣̣͉̈́̑᷃͐ͨ͐̑ͮ̑͛J̢̳̟᷂̰̞͇̖̑̿ͭ̽̑͜͠O̵̟̞̫̪̳̊᷅̑͊̊̑͐͘͢E̼̻̞̬͈ͯ̑᷆ͫ͗ͭ̑̋͑͆L̡­̰̫̥̦͋́̑̽̌ͥ̑͌̚͝ ̶᷂͔͕̻᷅̈̑͆ͥ̍̐̑ͨͅJ͖̲̣̳͖̦ͫ̑̇͆ͨͪ̑ͭ͢O̹͕̥͇̻̫᷁̋̐̑͒᷈͐̑̆E̴̖̭̻᷊̦͑̑̄̀͒̈́̑͋͞L͌­̷̵̟̼̲̑̌̌͌᷾̈́̑̒͟ ̧̠̭̮̱̰ͭ̑̍ͨ̔̑̚͟͞J̷͖̪͉᷿͛̑̈́᷉̅ͩ̑̔ͥO̢̝̎̑͏̢̨̖̯̙̜̘̳̑ͅȆ̶͙͕᷊̙̊͏᷿͔̤ͫͮ̑ͥL̵­̠͔̞᷂᷂͕̺͂̑ͣ̿͆̑ͬ ̶̵᷊̌᷅̑̇͑͊᷃͏̣͚̑ͅJ͖͓̪͎̣̻᷀ͧ̑᷃ͯͦ᷁̑ͧȄ̪̣̼̺̮́̑᷆᷇̑̀᷅᷉̕L͓̪᷿͖̐͆᷅̑͋ͤͦ᷀̑̄͘ ̡̨̡᷂̟᷿̇͂̑͛̏ͦͩ̑͢J̢̳͚̪̱̌̃̑᷇ͯ̆̌̓̑̎L̡̯̯᷂̻̦͍͓͇̋̑́̑͜͢ ̴̬̩̼̖͔́̑᷁͂̉̇̑̅̅J̛᷿̻̲͙͚̑̽᷾ͧͮ̋͊̑᷇O̻̲̖᷄᷇ͪ̑̈́̄̑ͦ̑̉᷅ͫȨ̵̜ͥ̑̔̓ͨͧ͐̑ͪ̾᷃͢L̗­̶̷̧̘̞̍̑̏̒᷉͋̑͢ͅ ᷊᷂̲͓̑̏͏̜̦̥̻᷆̑᷉̒J̧̙͕͎̮̗͋̓̔̑͛̃̑͂̚O̷̯᷊̐̋̅̑́ͪ̎ͮ̑᷄̎͜E̶͖̯̳᷅̑ͤ᷇᷀́ͪ̐̑̇͋L̖­̷̧̢̟̪᷊̑ͯ᷄̆̅̑ͩ͂ ̸̨̡᷿̩͇ͮ̑᷁̓͋̑̂͂̚J̶̧̝̥̼̥̍̑̈̋᷆ͨͫ̑̈́Ọ̧̡͙͕͍̽͒᷆̑ͣ̊̌̑̏E̡̲̹̎᷃̑͏̶̠̔̽͌̑̒᷄L͍­̧͖̹̪͖̜̪̬̓͂̑ͣ᷉̑ ̨̼̱᷿̭͎̀̑͋᷉͒̑͊͐̚L͙̻̞᷿̟͈ͧ̑᷁̊͂᷃̑᷁͟ ̭̫̟̩͎̟̥᷁̅̑᷁͊̑́̚J̡̛̙̠͕᷿᷾̑ͨ̍̈̏̑̇̚O̯̙᷂̦͇̓͗̑᷀̂̀̑̉̎͞E̸̴̱̮̪̝͖̬ͮ̑̿᷉̑̌̅L᷁­͈̝̘̜᷅᷁̑͆ͧ̓ͮ̑᷾͢ ̛̹̠͕ͫͨ̑ͧ̑̆̌̚͘͝͝J̛̳̤̺̿̑ͨ̈́ͣ͋̑̽͛͜͜Ȏ̵̰̮̝̺̘̪͆̀͗̑ͣ͘͘Ȩ̺͙͓̗̺̑͐́͂̋ͫ̑᷀ͥL᷾­̶̜̟᷊̯̜͎᷉̑̓̒̑́͝ ̜̣̯̳̪̫͑̑ͭ̾͛̑̌̚͘J̼͔̹͔̟᷅᷆̑ͩ̈᷅̑̅᷃ͅO̷̡̥̮̥̯͆̑ͥ̃᷆̓ͪ̑ͅË̴̦᷊̰᷊͓̮́᷁̑̊̑̂̚͟L̊­̸̘̫᷿ͨ̑͒͒̆̑̏̕̚͠ ̷̮̣̯̰̙̼̤͐᷉̋̑ͪ̑͌J͉ͨ͋̾̑̉̃ͪ͌̑̌ͬ͡͠͠O̻̫̣̜̞ͥ᷈̑́̉͂́ͣ̑᷁Ȅ̥̲̘̯̳̦̩̑̀͆᷈̑ͬ͟L͌­̛͖̦̘̘ͪ̑̐ͬͫ᷀̑ͯ͢ ̨̛̲͇̼̽͗̎̑ͨͩͫ̑͢͡J̸̛̺̔ͧ̑͂ͪ̇͗͑́̑̐̽O̴̸̷̘͈̮͎̾̑᷄ͬ͒̑̌͟E̝͍̣͎᷾̒̑ͯ͑᷄᷆̑ͩ͏͘L͌­̩̪͉͍̓̑ͤ̋᷆͂̑͋̎͟ ̵̦̦᷊᷊̑̇᷁ͬ᷈̀̑ͨ᷄͟J͍̯͕͉̾ͣ̑̿᷅͋̑̍ͩ᷅͡Ơ̶᷂̝͚̫̘̑ͮ̀̑͞͏̆͡Ȇ̢̛̞̬̞̦̭̈́ͣ̀ͭ̑̉͡Ḽ­̶̷̞̫̱̑ͧ̒ͥ͛̑͂̃͟ ̛̗̝̜̻͚̑̿̃̑̔̒̚͟ͅJ̩̺̲̑͢͏̛̘͗̅͑̑᷇͠ͅO̴̖͓̻̓͊̆̑͆͂ͧ᷅̑́ͬE̵̛̖̘̘̮̺͑̑̿̿ͤͩ̑͟L̾­̙̩̪̲̙ͨ̑̔̎ͫ͂̑̑͜ ̷̢̡̖̖᷿̲ͦ̾̑̽̑̄͠͠Ĵ̹͓͎͖᷃̅̑᷈ͭ̑̂͜͢͡O̷͓̝̪᷊͊ͬ̌̑͂᷅̈́̑̓̂Ę̭͇͓̥̖̐᷆̒̑̓͒̑̍ͣLͧ­̶̶͍̥͖̓̿̑̐̄́ͦ̑᷃Ȏ̶̡̧͓͇̻̖̆ͫ͐̑̿̇͡E̫̪̲̥̰͚̹͓͕ͩ̑͑̑̓̏L̷̵̢̞̥᷂̄̑ͫ᷉᷃ͮ̑͜͞ ̷̜̤̌̑̐̔̐̄̍̑᷇͑͐͢J̶̻̳̑̇᷀́̊̑ͫ͘͝ͅͅͅL̬͖͍̫̰ͨ᷇̑̽ͫ᷇̑᷅̐ͅ ̸̴̛̲̟᷉̑̍́ͮͯ̑̽̚͜J̼̦͕ͦ̑᷄̈́̅ͭ̇̑ͤ͆ͬ͝Ȏ̪̝̮̳̖͓̑̈́ͭ́̃̃̑̾Ê̵͙̩͚̼̼̹̑ͬ᷄ͯ̑᷀ͨL͌­̶̷̨͖̺̞͎̞̣̑͌̉̑͝ ̧̣̮̟͙᷀̑̂᷄᷾̇ͦ̑̔͟J̸̢̻͉͉̥̉᷅̑᷆ͥ̆ͪ̑͡O̢̟ͧ̽̉̑᷾͛᷄̑᷀ͭ͘͟͟E̙̘̗̰͍͉ͪ̑̏͌̑ͣ̔́̕L̞­͕̩̗̟̗͉͑̑᷉̓᷈̑ͪ͠ ̟̭̤͉ͮ̑̄̑ͪͥ͊̑͗᷇͟J̸̛̫̼̣̳̑̑̊͐͆ͬ̑͑͗͜Ọ̵̜ͨͧ᷉̑̒͏̄̑̑᷇͘͞ ̧̩͚̰̑͋᷅̑᷈ͥ̓ͩ̑̀͂E᷁̎̑᷇ͯ̕͏̠͇̭̄̑̇ͬ̋L̸̜͖̘̪̇̑̆ͩ̇͋ͩ᷃̑͆ ̶̷̞͚᷇̑᷈ͯ͟ͅ͏̳̑̈͞J̷̧̘̮᷊̜̇᷅̑᷾̊̒̑̿͆Ȏ̼̭͍̤̮͕̔ͫͯ̑̆͋͘͝E̛̛͖̫̟̮ͮ̆̑̏ͧ᷉̓̆̑L̡­̳̥̼̳̦͎͔̫͚̑ͤ͆̑͋ ̡̭͈̝᷂̽͆̀̑ͭ᷆ͥ̈̑͜J᷊̟̫̼̜᷃᷾̑̈̃᷅͒̑᷉ͣO̶̯͇̽̑᷄̍᷃͐̇̑̈᷄᷃͝E̢̨̨᷂̖̘᷆̏̑᷇̄̏̑̏̾L͂­̧͈̬̑̆᷀ͧͬ̑᷀̚͜͞ͅ ̴̢̨͚̩̮͚͎͈̟̑̌̑͢ͅJ͇̬᷿͈͛̑̅̆̐̀̑̓͘͜͠O̧̗͏̫̪͍̑᷀ͦ͆ͩ̑᷾̑͠E̴̴͉̠̜͇̦ͮ̑᷀̋̑ͫ᷆͡Lͧ­̛̖̼̺̰ͥ̑̈́͂͑ͯ̑᷅͜ ̨̫͈̱̩̜̓̑᷄᷀ͨ̑ͩ͢͞J̸͖͗̑̂ͣ᷈̊̓᷆̑̽᷆͜ͅO̜͍̙̓̑͊ͧͦ̀͊̑᷾͊̕͢E̡̳᷿̪᷊̬͂̑᷅᷾̾̉̑̾̓L᷉­̴̧̡̰̝̼̙̑̎᷅̑ͯ̕͞ ̗̻̗̹͗᷇̑͋̽ͩ͛̑͜͝ͅJ̸̠̘̇᷉̑̆̎᷉̆͂̑ͨ̽̈Ọ̷̡̡̝̻͙ͭ̑ͥ᷀᷉̑̽͟E̴͎̊ͯ̑ͥ̐̍̓͡͏̠̑̃̽L̘­̷̴̢͎̰̭͙᷄̑᷾ͩ̈̑̐ ̦̠̣̺̌ͤ̑̏᷃́̑᷇̔͢͢J̵̡͚̭̫̗ͨ̓̑᷈ͯ̑̅͜͞Ẻ̥̫͓̦᷿̗̑̓͛ͣ̑̅̚͠Ļ̷̢̺ͫ̑ͬ̂̓̌̈́̑᷾̚͟ ̷̢̛̜͕͓̹̝̑̓̍̑͜͝͠Ȩ̵̖᷿̠͎̗̽᷀̑̾̈́ͪ̑ͩ ̣̦̻̄̔̑͛᷈͂̓̑᷁̀̕͞J̨̥̱̩̑ͬ̑̐̓̿ͮ̑͒ͮ͜O̵̗͔͖̊̑ͣ᷾̒̑̑᷄̚͟͞Ę̮̳͈̖̿̈́̑̆̄̑̂ͭ͘͟L᷆­̷̧̬͖̱͔̆̑͋ͩ᷀̑̔͢ ̷͇͕͇̯͖͓͋̑̏͌̍̐̑͘J̧̻̺̬ͮ̑ͥ̀᷄̾᷃̑ͤ̕͘Ǫ̸̡̣᷁̒͋̑̎ͧ̉̀͗̑̓E͇͍͎͕͆ͫ̑̓᷄̒̾͑̑̋̔ ̲̮̫́̂̑̾᷇̍̒᷾̑̔᷄͟J̷̻̱͕̖͚͆̑͒̀̑ͯ᷉͜͞O̸̧͚̳͓᷿̭͆̑̽͐̑̒᷇̚E̴̦̳̺ͩͭ̑̈́̋ͬ̋̑̽͋ͬL̤­̱̫᷊̑̈́̂᷆̌͊̑̉̓̕̕



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O͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎ͫ̇͡͝E͎­̠͎͙͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷁̎᷈L͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̏̒ͣ̕ ͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎᷉᷃͋̒ͥJ̧͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͕͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̐͢͞O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͔͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̀ͫ͟Ȩ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̒͒᷈̍͝L͎̠­͎̗͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎̜͎̠͎᷇͛ ̧̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͊͟Ę͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷅͛̏ͩ͝L͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈͛̈̔ͣ̚͜ ̸̨̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͍͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎ͬ͐̋͊ͥͯ͜J͎­̡̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̒̉͝O͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͒᷃ͦ̔̔E͎̠­͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈̆ͯ̉L͎̠͎͏̨̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̎᷾͟ ̵͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎̾͢͡J̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ̈́͡O͎­̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈́ͮ᷉͗͂᷾E͎̠͎͏̛͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪ͐̈͝L͎̠­̧͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎ͭͮ̂᷆ ̸̢͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪͦ͟J͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͪ͒᷾ͦͤO͎­̠͎͙͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷅̐᷾ͤÉ͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̆̅̚͝L͎̠­̸͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̳͎̠͎̠͎̠͎̒ ̶͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎᷉͋ͥJ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̌̐͌ͪ͞O͎­̵̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎ͣ͒ͫE͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͕͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͒᷈͑L͎̠­̶͎͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎ͫ᷉᷇͋ ̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͋̌ͧĴ̴͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͬ̔͘O͎­̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̇̏ͅͅE͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷄᷆̃̋̎L͎̠­͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͉͎̠͎ͪ̂͒̊̌ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͆ͩ̄̂͟J͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎̫͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͍͎̠͎ͮ͐E͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎᷈̈᷇̇͜L̡̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̇ͩ͛͡ ̶͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͡J̶͎̠͎͎̠͎̖͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎᷾ͫ̓ͤ­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͍͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎̎̇᷅᷁L͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͉͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̽̐͟ ̡͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͥ́̓͆͟͠J͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̌̽̽ͬ̉̕O͎­̨̠͎͕͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ͑͋̔Ě͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎̭͎̠͎̞͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͚͎̠͎L͎̠­̨͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉̈́̌̄ͦ᷾̄ͭ­̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̃̉̎̿ ̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎̎ͯ̾̇͡J͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̪͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎̅̈́᷆O͎­̨̨̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̄ͥ̂̈́͒E̶̶͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉ͣ̉L͎̠­͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎̉͌͢ ̵͎̠͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷾̎͒͘͜J͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͛͐͊͋͡O͎­̛̠͎͕͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ̈ͬȨ̵͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͇͎̠͎̏͢L͎̠­̴̸͎᷊͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎᷾̆̒̋ͪ̚͟ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͑͛᷁᷁᷃͘L͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎͎̠͎ͮ̃̌͒͠ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉̿̆̔J̵̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃̑̒̒̿O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̅̉ͮ᷀̿E͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷃ͮ᷄͑͜͡L͎̠­̴̴̨͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎ͣ̋᷇᷈ͦ͛ͥ̕ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎̇̌ͭ̏J͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͛̔̉̋ͧ̚O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̈́̅̈́̓᷈̍ͧ̑᷁̑͜͠E͎̠­̸̵̛͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎̑̍L̡͎̠͎̖͎̠͎͎̠͎̭͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎ͣ͡ ͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̫͎̠͎͎̠͎͋͛̍͘͜J̸͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̩͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̭͎̠͎᷆ͮͅO͎­̴̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎᷈̋̀E͎̠͎̬͎̠͎̥͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎̣͎̠͎̒L͎̠­̶͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎᷃ͦ᷃͟ ͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͓͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎̠͎͛͐ͥJ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̰͎̠͎̜͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎᷈̈́̾O͎­̠͎̻͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͯ͘ͅÉ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎͎̠͎ͭ͊̚͠͡L͎̠­̛͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̀ͪ᷆ͪ̚ ̧̧͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎͉͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͔͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̌᷄ͨ̾᷅͘͘͜͝­̶̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̏̽͞J̨͎̠͎̦͎̠͎᷿͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͨ͘̚O͎̠­͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̯͎̠͎͎̠͎̓ͬ͟͡É̵͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎̮͎̠͎͎̠͎͆̐͘L͎̠͎­᷊͎̠͎̦͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎̻͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͉͎̠͎ͅ ̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷉͂̓̓᷁͏͎̠͎J͎̠͎͎̠͎̖͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̳͎̠͎͈͎̠͎̾̑᷇O͎­̧̨̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̗͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̾̀᷈̃ͫͯ̄̏̕͟E͎̠­͎͎̠͎̠͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͙͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎ͥ᷄̃͞L͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎̓͏̨͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̎ͨ̓ ̶͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̺͎̠͎͎̠͎̻͎̠͎͎̠͎͋᷉ͭͦJ͎̠͎̣͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̈̐͏͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓̂O͎­̴̷̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎́̃E̡̡͎̠͎͎̠͎̱͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̒͜͏͎̠͎̮͎̠͎L͎̠­͎̳͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̿̊̒᷈͆͠ ̵͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̟͎̠͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎᷊͎̠͎̀᷇᷀J͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͓͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͆̾ͥ͜͝O͎­̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̯͎̠͎̺͎̠͎̱͎̠͎᷁ͭ̔ͅE̛͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̘͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷇̽̃ͅͅL͎̠­͎̥͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎͎̠͎̝͎̠͎̃ͩͯO̵͎̠͎͈͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎᷂͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̞͎̠͎ͭ̓᷾E͎̠͎­̡͎̠͎͎̠͎̲͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎ͦ̀͒᷉͝L̴͎̠͎͎̠͎̼͎̠͎͎̠͎͚͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎͎̠͎̔͘͡ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͖͎̠͎̫͎̠͎᷅̾͆̑̀J̸͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̪͎̠͎ͮͩ̌ͭͧL͎­̠͎͎̠͎̙͎̠͎̬͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̋͊͛̐͡ ͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̤͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̓ͩ̆̔᷄̑J̴̡͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̏̔᷾̋̿O͎­̡̠͎͎̠͎͎̠͎̰͎̠͎͎̠͎͇͎̠͎͎̠͎̹͎̠͎̇͑͝E͎̠͎̘͎̠͎
JOEL
The room was filled with freak ******'s and other assorted nut jobs and then there were the folks that weren't writers.

It was a poetry reading open mic deal yeah what a wild party this was going to be but being the best of the best from Hello were supposed to be there I figured my invitation must have got lost in the mail.

You know what that is kids.
See before the net you actually had to get off your lazy **** to mail a letter yeah I know how ****** up is that?
It's almost like music where you actually play instruments  to enjoy instead of steal a loop from one of your parents records yeah don't pretend you understand that one if you under the age of thirty .

But enough with the foreplay children .
The room was packed the poets ready and as I took my seat I was shocked to find they wouldn't be serving ***** at this snooze fest .
Probably a good idea cause after teen age Timmy read his ode to his two day relationship we would all probably slip into a coma .

No worries much like batman but not as gay.
, I always had my trusty utility belt I'm kidding I just had a flask what kind of freak do you think I am?, Okay don't answer that one hamsters.

So after ordering a coffee and adding a little ******* tonic  I sat back and waited to listen to the young crop of writers read there poetry eager to take it all in yeah, right I did as always sat back and waited to
heckle the **** out of everyone hit on the waitress and generally be known as the loveable poetic areshole  of the site.

The time flew.
If by that you mean the time dragged on like we were being ear ***** by a duet between Justin Bieber    and Selna  Gomez .
It was brutal I tell you but the tide was about to make a turn for the better .

As the MC  for the event announced we have a special guest in the crowd tonight and hopefully with a round of applause we can get him to do a reading for us folks give a warm round of applause for .

I jumped to the stage the truly poetic ego maniac ***** eager to save the day or at least give it a good kick in the *** there's only so much
you can listen to of this yuppy ***** before you go insane hamsters .

The woman must have been in shock being in the presence of the greatest co writer in Hello history .
For she looked at me like she had no clue who the hell I was .

Um sir do you mind getting off the stage we are getting ready to ask Joel M Frye  to the stage.
Joel ?

Yeah sure he's a great writer and can spell and his farts smell of cinnamon and pier one or at least I have herd.
But do you have no idea of who I am woman?

She looked at me with a mix of sympathy and probably thinking I wonder if the institution knows he's escaped ?
Umm no sir sorry I don't have a clue.

I had to take in consideration this poor women probably had a smaller brain than the genius that stood before her .
I am Gonzo my sweet lady I said really slow so she could understand
cause she had a smaller brain I'm not saying that cause she was a woman so don't get all *** crazy on me sisters cause you know Gonzo loves you all like a perverted uncle .

Gonzo where have I herd that name oh yeah I know you I thought you died ?
What duh I'm standing here aren't I?

Wait a minute maybe I'm a ******* zombie **** I hate to think I'm one of those walking dead ******* although I have had *** with some ladies I swear could pass for a zombie course that was probably just the drugs I slipped them hey don't judge  I'm kidding I would never do that I do what every true gentleman does when in need.
Pick up hookers .

Hey John Joel said as he slipped up behind me like some poetic ninja .

Joel amigo how the hell are you please do me a favor and explain to this woman just who I am I mean really yeah it's like they don't know how kick **** I am .

Well Gonz maybe I can talk them into letting you do a reading .
Look this guys totally ******* nuts okay so bare with me Joel
whispered to the mc lady  who's smaller brain was truly annoying the **** out of me.

Gonz let me just work this out okay buddy .
I began to object then Joel pulled a truly ***** trick by handing
me the most recent issue of hustler magazine  .
From what I herd it had a great article in it yeah right you have to admire **** that doesn't pretend to be nothing more than what it truly is kind of like me  .  

The woman and Joel spoke for some time and I assume she had seen the error of her ways as she laughed and shook her head oh that Joel he is a charmer.

I  was almost halfway through the ****** hunt  section when .
Joel appeared again like some magical poetic ninja slash friendly dragon .

Gonz man I pulled some strings and after I do a reading your going to close the show hell I even got you your own dressing room and everything figured you'd like to warm up a bit or at least not ******* in front of everyone it's getting a bit awkward I'm just saying bud.

I had to admit Joel was a true friend and as I was shown to the back dressing room it truly tugged at that lump of coal I called a heart to know I still had a true friend on the site I could trust .

Okay here's your dressing room Mr Gonzo it must be a awesome one I thought to myself for it had a big red sign above the door man they truly went all out for me .

But much like when I learned where babies come from my delusion was soon broken in half yeah I always thought they came from dumpsters like I did.

I was standing in a alley ***** cold there were no drinks or hot chicks with there ******* out as I had been promised .
****** man I was starting to believe I had been tricked.

I quickly made my way to the front of the club to tell Joel what these ******* had done !.
But the doors were locked man poor Joel they have trapped him inside
anything could be happening I sure hope he wasn't being ***** .

I banged on the door but couldn't see anything for the lights were off
it's like the people inside were avoiding me like most my friends .

Hey I know your in there open up you *******! .
Woman with the small brain I called out.
Please if you can here me please get Joel out of there he's to good to be tarnished by your terrible readings or *****  cause that's not funny haha yes it is I'm so demented.

I sat there for what felt like ages .
and after five minutes I had to give up Joel was lost to the poetic **** inside ****** man so many good writers have been lost to such lures as these coffee shop readings.

I made my way to the local bar heartbroken seems there was no love for Mr Gonzo left in this town  .
I ordered a double and drank one to my friend who probably is reading this and thinking what the **** am I on this time .

Well it's mix of speed and bourbon but I'm  taking it a bit easy these days .

Dam you!, poetry coffee house readings you have taken far to many of my friends .
I drown my sorrows and passed out as usual and thanked the lord I had escaped with my life and Joel's **** mag I will treasure it forever my friend.

Until next time
Stay crazy kids .

Gonzo
Hello My name is Gonzo and everyday somewhere in the world a terrible open mic poetry reading claims yet another great writer .
If you know someone thinking about going to one of these events reach out and help them before it's to late
Jen Jo Sep 2014
I wonder how it feels like - to die young.

To carry the weight of secrets.
To carry the abundance of high hopes and beautiful desires.
And disappear.

Is Heaven now your listener?
In remembrance of an old friend who recently passed on..

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