I love rambling cacophonies of abstraction words dripping lust plush and velvety sugared in pipe tobacco like Jack Rubys old joint no symbols to trip the flow odd bits of alliteration skipping stones slowly along the rails in legion divergent trains of thought but I am no McCarthy probing the inner turmoil of the Southern mind maybe riding I will tap out a poem about a poet writing poetry God I hate that **** or maybe something referencing my username the song Bad Company off the album Bad Company by the band Bad Company thrice I have called thy name and thus I do bind thee oh well you are what you eat I suppose to which I would usually respond ***** a bit crass maybe pretty ******* too hah **** it its just wordsandshit WordsandotherTrash

For the general good of life, and that more abundantly, you must pay attention to little things.
Unseen things.
Time compression is essential for even the briefest of glimpses, mere blinks,

A wink,
and what threatened Nihilation of the finest realities imagined so far, is nothing.

****. Again.
"there are universes
where eons go by in the blink of an eye". Somebody said.

Bubbling universes each able to open itself to the first level bubble, your bubble with everything you know in there with you. And, today, me.

"indisputable fact, there was / is a first bubble, light fills it to the brim
and what happens there touches
all, and I am,
in a word, part of that
First bubble kingdom"

Every desire of your heart he delights in.
There is such a universe, before you think or ask,
and you are sort of quantum bonded to your heart's desires, y'know,
hearts and minds, body and soul, 2 different systems.
Entangled.
Breathe.
You know.
Soulish desires disciplined in disciples
found blood washed hearts,
unlimited.
Extrapolate this. How much blood is in the ocean now?

More than you can think or ask.
You believe the first thinker thought you would
appreciate a path to each and all of your heart's desires, one path,
or you never find the way, no matter how you look. ?

Ya gotta beli've it to see it
Be li've
Ya gotta wan'it


Jah praise first bubble knocking
you b just one wall away
step into alpha thought and proceed to the omega thought,
Copy?
Respond.
This is the narrow way.
The old way, where good is. You found it, walk it.

It's in beta, so you can fail. Life ain't fair, its jest
okeh, ever how we lie and say this jest
cain't real-ish-tic
be,  don't make me no nevahmind.

life and light, those two team up and kick ***,
evil gets all turned around, ****** if it don't. then

The peacemakers rest, the meek inherit the earth
and everything goes back to normal.

Moral: believe no lie is of, in, by or for actual truth,
you know. Take it as a test.

Like changing your own air filter, in the realm of ideas,
you change your error filter when ever it

seems you jest cain't breathe. You can change that
****** error filter and hit any dusty trail

that seems right, as far as I can tell.

Calls a number, switches channels in seconds.
Wished to have pleasures, skin to skin, longed for touch.
Hits and punches. Down the line, it's actions can cross the lines.
I didn't want to do them.
Nothing I do is my own really.
Where it's either my fleshy, hairy minds and crowns, or it's the light and God's presence that guids my hand.
My navigation is haywire, vision obscene and covered with blinds.

I don't want to be in this body.
Nope not because of it's shape not size.
Not because I am chiseled or not.
Not fat nor skinny. No, not because of that.
I just hate the decisions it makes, its ideas it has, the vision it has, makes. Me. Sick.

every day the drywall grows in size and in impact,
reminding me of rooms that i haven't
lived
within,
like a candle swimming in the salt and
band-aids.

sleep,
ephemeral heat is
a dream where
the inside of my eyelids are not monsters,
where paint brushes bring color to garages,
where i don't drink until numbness,
and where your hands continue to guide my skull
from the ground into the clouds.

you all told me i had a place here but
why have you all left?

"My Lord, why is there only one set of footprints?"

"Because, my child, sand people always walk in single file to hide their numbers."

Being in gymnastics
Is like being in an abusive relationship
Everything just tells you "NO"
But you still stay

From the bars,
And how it releases the grips of your hands
To the beam,
Which only aims to make you wobble and fall off
To the vault,
Running full speed to it only to make you miss the vault
To the floor,
Wherein you try to flip and twist only to be defeated by Newton's law of gravity

With the stupid scoring system
Pointing out every flaw
With a deduction
Just cause your bra strap is showing
jeez!

And how we are trained to achieve the unachievable —
How every move is supposed to be precise
Every muscle squeezed and tight —
Perfection

And the fact that
You'll never actually be the best
There's always a harder skill
After you've achieved what you may think
Is your "hardest"

It pushes you
To your breaking point
Forcing you to be
This perfect formed strong gymnast
Which pays so much costs
Literally blood, sweat and tears

It tells you that
Every ******* time you fall
You just gotta get back up
And try again
That no matter how much sore you are
You gotta **** it up
And do it again
And again and again and again
Until you finally get it

But there are these magical moments
those little moments of pure happiness
When you get a skill you've been working on
When coach praises you for your improvement
When you get over your fear
And when you stand on top of that platform
Knowing you gave it your all

These moments
Are what keep us going
These moments
Are what we come back for
Time after time after leaving the gym saying
"I hate training!"
There's just something about
These moments so special
That keeps us wanting more

And I will never
ever
Stop loving gymnastics
No matter how many times it hurts me