I Don't Like the summer breeze
Nor the chilling winter Freeze
Autumn makes me think of death
And spring is when all life awakes

You little ****, oh boy you reek
What did you eat, you little ****
And what's your name?
And what's this game you seem
to play
You find it fun to **** around?

Of boy that's you across the street
Why ain't you wearing any leash?
Oh no, don't, please, stay on that side
DONT CROSS THE STREEET you little ****!
Hot-dang you did you little...
Cute thing, your eyes they speak, love love love is what I hear?!
Ok, I guess, you're not a ****
You're too **** cute and you don't reek

I love you too, I guess I do
How 'bout I find a doggy treat?
Your floppy ears, your wagging tale
Ok you won my heart so stop
Don't follow me go on go ****
Somewhere away from where I stand
But extra points for ******* in sand
Or grass or anywhere but here
Where ***** like I might step on it
And get real mad and not just think
You are a dog it's not your fault
I'm sure if you were ***** trained you'd surely use it...

Wouldn't you?
Oh hell, who cares, you're too dame cute so anyway
Please say that's it's ok
And you're not hurt
I didn't think
I'm such a ****

And you're just perfect aren't you?
You love love love
Now I love you!

NOTE:  this is the 1st poem I wrote and posted on HePo. I've managed to finish the first 2 parts and have been struggling with the 3rd; however much of last night was spent refining this initial section so I figured I'd post it in the hopes of receiving some constructive feedback. Thanks.
                                              -E.Lavi

                    ***

Dripdripdripdrip drip as it slips all it’s secrets, secrets slipped from the lip of the rusty metal moldy faucet, water whispers water whimpers water wishes of a time long gone; dripping water ever swirling round the beaten bolted sink; bolted to a wooden floor, chipped and nicked and cracked but grips, it grips the sink and won’t let go.

Secrets swirling round the sink into the void and through the pipes beneath the wooden boards of floor which would let loose their life-long grip of one worn weathered tired tethered reddish tinted rusty sink if only it - the wood! - if it could leave the floor it; the wood would stand and stretch and scratch and then would walk right out the door; wooden boards held hostage by a layered web of iron nails nailed years ago.

Creaking boards tell tales to pipes which snake throughout the secret house; Drip they drip they speak they slip through lips of sinks the secrets silent lip they drip and slip andio they rip and drip andrip they drip they dripdrip they ripipip i i…

Hush the whisper of the wind through broken windows rattles timber breaks the slumber of the man whose face is etched and leathered ever marked by hands of time; time played games the game of life the old man thought and thinks he still can stand and stretch and scratch then walk straight through the door and out the house, like secrets lost in rusty pipes he thinks he’ll walk into the dark and be whisked off on wings of wind which carries whispers rattles windows speaks in drips through rusty lips of bolted sinks gripped by the floors forever more and so the man will sit he sits and thinks and thinks he drips and drips drips dripdripipip i i i...

End Part 1

Sun-Bleached Blonde Having Fun
In the sand under the sun
Sun-kissed skin, taught and tanned
Ain't her life so grand?

Sun-Bleached Blonde Drinking coke
As she smokes, takes a ****
Getting high
On the beach
Careless to the men around

Women too
Watch her move
As she stands
In the sand

Sun-Bleached Blonde, now she smiles
There's a breeze, like the wind knows what it does
Makes her happy
Makes them happy she is happy
Women too, the beach alive

Sun-Bleached Blonde
Having Fun
In the Sun
On the sand

"Hi," says I.
"Hi," says she.
Then we stand
Our eyes locked
"So?" She asks.
"What?" Asks I.
"That's your pick up line?"
"Yupp, that's it."
She smiles
I melt
"I like it she says."
"I'm putty," I say.
Now she laughs.
"You're killing me!" I protest.
"Don't die just yet."
She leans in, her lips touch mine.
First kiss ever
I'm 13, she's 19
"Whose this little guy?" Says some dude who just walked up.
"He's a heart-breaker," she replies.
Why is some dude taking her hand?
Why is some dude kissing my love?
Am I in love is this it oh my God I'm getting hard I think they see oh **** oh shut in turning red don't know what to... i plop down on the sand, put my head in my hands.

Some dude laughs but my blonde frowns, "Go away" she tells her man.

Then she sits down takes my hand and she says, "One day you'll find someone right for you."
"You're perfect"
"I'm not"
"I swear you are"
She smiles that smile which melts my heart.
"One day you'll find there's lots of girls just right for you."
"But why not you?"
"I'm way too old"
"You're not"
"I am. For you. You deserve a love your age."
"How do you know?"
"Because I was your age once too."

Some dude calls her, "Let's go babe."
"I'm coming," she says, then looks me in the eyes.
"Be gentle when the time comes," says she to me.
"Gentle?" I ask.
She kisses me on the cheek.
"Try not breaking too many hearts."
Then she stands
One last smile
Says goodbye
Then she's gone.

Sun-Bleached Blonde changed my life made me a man who respects the better half of the human race.

I wonder where she is right now?

Thou doth deny my love for you
Thou doth deny my words so true
My words like chords sing songs of you
My world is yours though you decline
Denied your love I'm all but blind
To all that was and is and could be
In a world where your don't see me
See me once and hear me speak
And then release me from your grip.

Were I to sit upon a throne
And gaze, amazed, that I alone
Can change your life
Can grant your wish
Deny your rights
'Fore rights exist
As I see fit
And thus my whims
By my decree
Can change your life
Should I see fit

Oedipus I, I Ordipus am
Am ruler of this wretched land
Upon my throne I sit alone
Alone I sit, alone I am
I am alone
I Opedipus Rex, I ruler of the dregs

Her name ain't Judy but one doubts she'd want to be publicicized

After each Sunday sermon when all the good folks play
Judy whose a spinster chooses to wash her Sin away

My kingdom is priceless
So a penny will due
My kingdom is words
In a rainbow of hues

For a penny I hand you my brush
To paint my kingdom so it now belongs to you
May I suggest a multi-colored landscape
And hues of blue to brush the sky from morn to eve
And black with points of light for a blanket of Universal awe and countless stars

My kingdom for a penny
To paint your heart's desire
With strokes one might admire
My kingdom - nay, your kingdom now! - to do as you would do, to lay your heart's desires

Across the rolling fields and endless sky
In hues like notes a symphony of feeling for all to admire

And when you are thoroughly spent perhaps you too will offer your kingdom for a penny
And let another paint the world anew.

I'm tired. Exhausted is more like it. Sometimes I want something so bad I get overwhelmed and then comes the questioning, why am I doing this, is it worth doing and if it's worth doing what makes it worth it? It's 6:21 AM this moment, 6 hours and 21 minutes into another day, I'm sitting at a table next to the balcony, the door is wide open and I see the sun, the sun is just rising but it's blocked by a tree, so I look at the sun and the sun isn't blinding, not at this moment though soon it will be, soon it'll rise up above all the branches, soon if I look at the sun it'll hurt so when that moment comes, when the time is just right, I will look at the sun and the sun will be blinding.There's also a bird, it sounds like it's moaningn but I know that it isn't, that's just how it sounds. A bird which sings but it's not really singing, it makes such a sound you would think it was sad but it isn't so sad, at least I don't think so, I don't think that birds have the ability to feel, not physical feelings but ones from within, emotions like sadness which makes a bird moan, a moan like the sound that is made by a feeling that humans can feel and that all of us feel but we all feel it sometimes and for a whole host of reasons like when we are sitting in front of a laptop which is on a small table right next to a balcony beyond which the trees block the sun as it rises and while it is rising the leaves block the sunshine so during that time which is just a few minutes you can look at the sun and the sun isn't blinding and when it is 6 hours and 35 minutes into a new day, at 6:35AM is a moment in time which is captured in words which I choose to write down but there isn't much to them, no meaning no feeling no reason for writing the words that I'm writing and so as I write this I realize it's pointless, these words have no worth so they're no more then letters, a whole mass of letters I'm stringing together for no ******* reason and so I'll stop writing and now that I'm stopping to write without meaning the logical question is why publish this message if this message is worthless, there's no reason for it thus no reason why I should hit the blue button which has 4 letters in it which create the word "Post" which means if I click it I'll be posting this message which has less purpose than the blue button which posts it, and so what I'll do is stop writing this nothing and instead of all this nothing I'll click the blue  button which has more worth than all these words and that's really sad if you think about a button worth more than the whole of this stupid, pointless po...

Amidst the solace of a night
When all appears as if it's right
I look towards the Eastern shore
And realize that it's black no more.

The sky in hues of purple-blue
Gives hint that soon the sun will rise
I listen for the silence which brings peace to all my sleepless nights
But in its place the birds awake
They're chirping should bring peace to most
But not to me, not when I see, through reddened deadened weary eyes
Which haven't had the peace of sleep
Not on this very night at least

At least if sleep brought constant peace
The chirping birds would be so sweet
Instead when sleep comes randomly
The solace of the dead of night is dreaded with the end in sight

The sky now hues of softer blues
The sounds of morning traffic grows
The sun breaks over Eastern shores
If only I could see in it the beauty that most others see

But it's been years of sleepless nights
And years of dreading morning light
But soon enough the sky so bright
Will call me forth into the sun
And then, sometimes, I feel it's worth
I see the birds
I see the world
And everything seems to be right
If only for a moment I find peace and that's a cherished thought.

(Critique number 1: of social norms in the 21st century)

To the point that our American social fabric has been stained by the original sin of slavery was a point President Abraham Lincoln hoped would be dealt with by the winning and reconciliation of those states who fought to secede during the Civil War; to that end, the Union was saved but equality was not to be had by all man, regardless of color, as well as woman, and progress would arrive in fits and starts.

Our founding fathers declared that "All men are created equal" yet many held salves which meant as they wrote of equality they held of the standards of disenfranchised persons; it took almost 100 years after the Civil War for the next great leap of civil discourse in equality leading to a series of legislative passages throughout the civil rights era to bring what appeared as true and final equality, and though none can doubt great leaps were made, the original sin of our nation - that of espousing that all men our created equal while looking the other way as these very men of principle held slaves to tend there homesteads - is a wonder of true blind-sight.

In 2007-2008 the nation held a hard fought race for the presidency, and swept in with great hope was Barack Hussein Obama, the nation's first African American president; and so it seemed the arch of History at last had bent straight and right; yet even as the nation and world celebrated, The Republican Party behind closed doors decided their mission was to make President Obama a one term president and to start a system of blatantly obstructing any measures President Obama put forth; thus the nation was divided into a rift not seen since and through the era of reconstruction immediately following the Civil War.

Through 2016-2017, the The nation had become more divided than ever and had grown weary of having dynastic leaders in the seat of the presidency specifically either a family member of the bushes or that of the Clintons and so they chose an outsider who had no respect or rule of thumb or moral compass which our founding fathers envisioned the president to have; in fact the role of the president was the least important position as far as they were concerned and his was to be a roll of functionary executive duty and no more yet through the 20th century Congress gave way and gave powers to the president which our founding fathers never intended, thus leaving us at the whims of a president who swims are sweet as easy as wheat in a breeze and with the Wii Congress not hook up holding its duty as a check against the executive branch we find ourselves in a position that the country is even more divided and the two leading parties which were never intended to exist in the first place now in charge of the fate of the nation.

If for no other reason that the executive currently in power is leading a wedge between our nation it is time we as a people stand up and demand that he the executive in charge on this the year 2017 be held up for impeachment on any number of charges of illegal improprieties he has already trampled upon and as laid out in the constitution; let this not be our new normal - a nation divided into a two party system our founding fathers warned against and never intended to take route - but just a blip in our continues march forward, to build a more perfect union, on the right side of history.

"“To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come," as Shakespeare wrote and Shakespeare dreamt and Shakespeare... became he who ruled the world of words.

What dreams may come may come in bits
What dreams may come may feel as real as walking down a frozen field
What dreams may come may come so quick one can't escape one simply feels
The horror of a nightmare real as being trapped with none to hear
The yelling moaning wretched calls one calls for help yet no one hears

What dreams may come may come in peace
What dreams may come may come as fields of roaming grains kissed by a breeze
What dreams may come when one is whole and eyes the field as endless wonder planted by a higher power
What dreams may come may come in jerks of memories lost from years gone by now brought to life as one just sleeps
What dreams may come may come as real as real as life and love and death
What dreams may come...
You know they may...

Heaven is filled with fluffy white clouds
One walks from one to the other and picks a drug
A sleep takes hold of all your senses
Bliss like no other
This bliss is Heaven

Yet here I am, now I live
If only one day I would simply just sleep...

What is it that I turn to thee
What hold you have on my whole being

I write I take a hit of smack and then I write and don't look back

The truth comes out I sensor not
And it will end far sooner than I thought.

Encased within a gilded cage
With clipped wings as if I could-

-and have no doubt I surely would
take flight as once I surely did, to soar the skies, to taste the winds, to ****** my wings and let the breeze-
-take charge as I let go my fears and let my instincts lead my route.

Above below and through the clouds, I sore to heights so high that man below appear as ants and city lights serve to remind of man whose whims I must abide where I a canary caught in their grasp.

There was a time when I was free to dream of soaring upon crests of wind

And then that time came crashing down within a moment when man set his eyes

That moment when my guards were down

The very moment I lost the freedom I had had

And clipped, my wings, so I would never know the joy of freedom flying to and fro'

If only that was what they had in store perhaps their would remain a glimmer of hope

Alas it wasn't meant to be
I was a sacrifice to what man considered his

To live at all expenses lest within a mine beneath the ground the noxious fumes would dispatch man, their life no more, they all would die

And so it's i within a gilded cage whose mankinds fatal line of defense

And so I'm lowered in my cage
To serve as warning for all those men

Who treat me kind as kind can be
'For they know when I stop to breath they might be next lest they escape

And so now stripped of taking flight
I serve as signal, my death their sign that noxious fumes are deadly know and all they need as proof is I

'For in my cage I'm meant to die which signifies a lethal strike

I am the canary down the mine
My freedom gone all that I have
Is to pray that my death is quick for all my freedom no longer exists.

I Wish I Was a Headlight on a Northbound Train in Wintet
When it surely would be snowing
Thick, white drifts of ice and snow
Carried on the howling wind
Makes it look like snow-white curtains ebb and flick like curtains do
Visibility, non-existent, that's how dangerous it is...

Thus it is tonight - the height of Winter - that I live a life with meaning
Because now I have a purpose and my purpose is real simple
I'm to do what fates have fated
Let my light shine through the night
And I cut through icy curtains like a heated blistering knife
And I feel the train push forward
And I know that all the life
Which is carried on my train
Is deep in sleep this night.

Though they might not ever say it no they might not even think it Still! the fact remains that I yes I and the light which I shine throug the night
That cuts a hole through thick white snow
And lets the men who are in charge
They see because of me this night

Thus it is that now I find
I have a purpose in this life
And this purpose has much meaning.

Much more meaning then I have
Living life as anything but-

- A headlight on a Northbound train which cuts right through the falling snow and keeps my passengers alive.

THE PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL walks center stage and steps up to the Dias; eyeing his congregation with a seriously serious frown. Clears his throat, takes a tissue and blows his nose. Then resumes eyeing all the families sitting before him. Finally-

PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL
Were you unsettled? Did my silence catch you off guard? Or was it my frown, sure that was it, you're not used to seeing me frown, you're not used to me stretching out the silence. And yet I wonder: why is it you were uncomfortable? Surely, even though you weren't prepared for it, it wasn't as if I came here with accusations of you - you Charlotte Ray, or you Jimmy Matheter, or any random one of you for that matter - accusations that you had sinned 'for you surely did as the Good Lord intended you too, you sinned and you will be forgiven if you simply give in to the Good Lord's Word and his wholly Holy embrace.
(BEAT)
And so I wonder - and I ask you to ask yourself - why were you uncomfortable when I stepped up in silence? Have you sinned and are ashamed? Too ashamed, perhaps, to confess said sin? 'For if that's the case then you are truly ******, having committed not just the sin you are ashamed to confess but now in the Good Lord's own House you are committing the sin of pride, you are certainly not humble as the Good Lord asks of us all, are you?
(BEAT)
Are we not told that "the meek shall inherit the earth" as written by the Good Lord's very own, very Good Hand in our Holy Bible?
(BEAT)
So who are you to walk with pride when He asks you to be humble, that's all he asks of you my friends; be true and humble, be meek among men, and He - the Good Lord Himself - will surely welcome you through the pearly gates of Heaven and into his warm embrace.
(BEAT)
It is not for you to be your own judge nor are you tasked with judging others; surely you must see how full of pride one must be to imagine he can rightfully judge others or himself, for that matter, and not be full of pride if he dares take on such a task.
(BEAT)
And let us be clear as He the Good Lord is clear, that to be Holy is to be prideless, to accept Him into your heart is to accept that you have sinned - and you have, each and every one of you - 'for we are imperfect beings in an imperfect world and who among you would claim to be perfect of His Own Son, Jesus Christ himself, was a sinner among men... oh, I see, I literally see your raised eye browse as if you truly don't believe me or perhaps you don't understand. So if I may let me give you just one example which is the one that speaks most true to your very own Preacher Goody Goodwill who does not and has never claimed to be great, oh no have I ever claimed that my good friends? I certainly have not 'for I choose to be good, just good at what I do which is all the Good Lord asks, while his own Son Jesus Christ, he too was a preacher like me, but he was great perhaps the greatest yes! the greatest of all time thus he wasn't very meek, to be great is to have pride and in pride we live in sin; and so, as the Holy Book informs us Jesus Christ died for our sins but consider that he, too, was a sinner among men and so he died for his sins too, he had surely lived in pride and he had not a confessor so he died a filthy man.
(BEAT)
Yes that's right he died as he had lived, full of pride and not so meek, do you see now what I say? You are not too full of pride that you'd consider your own sins and believe that you may judge what is right and what is wrong? No, I know you all as I do myself and you are Good Folks with good hearts and meek as lambs, are you not?

The congregation nods whole heartedly.

PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL
Good good, I know you are, you're good and meek at heart as the Good Lord intended, and so when it's your turn to confess I expect you'll remember this talk we just had, and confess as the Good Lord intended, let me hear all the sins you sinned for you surely sinned, and let me then offer you his Holy reassurance that the penance I deem is the key to your salvation and once you clean yourself of sin then salvation will be yours.

Now the Preacher Goody Goodwill scans the congregation, eyeing them all, one by one; then he smiles and they smile back - all is as it should be once again - and his warmth radiates within the Holy House as he concludes this Sunday's sermon by making the sign of the Cross across his chest.

PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL
You may rise.

Chapter 1: Goody Goodwill Was Exceptionally Great at Being Good

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you; I shall show you the way.
-Psalm 32:8


      The Preacher Goody Goodwill was a very fine man, and a good preacher too. Destined for the cloth, Goody felt that his was the way into the Good Lord's Grace and Goody knew as sure as God chose hues of blue and a brush He purchased* in March of 1973 at a PennySavers Discount Store in Moscow, Russia, to paint the sky from the break of dawn until the sun disappeared in all its God-given glory beneath the Western Horizon.

The Preacher Goody also knew that the Good Lord was a rather curious being, and even though He was an all-knowing, all-seeing omnipresent Divine being He was He and man was man and perched upon a Golden throne He often felt all on his own and gazed beyond the Pearly Gates and down the path of Salvation itself, and looked upon his Earthly domain and felt the urge to walk among men; thus, on far too often occasions in far too random locations the Lord took on the form of man, woman or animal and walked among his children. Once he even took on the form of a pebble on a seashore (though that turned out to be a rather boring experience not to be repeated).

Goody, too, decided that it was his duty to walk among men so that he may see sin for himself although he did so rarely and never randomly: a mere four times a year - on the first Monday of each season - Goody prepared a ritualistic bath meant to wash his holy vows away if only for a single day, and when he emerged from the scalding water, his skin was scathed which felt to Goody as it should be even though what he was doing surely had the chance to jeopardize his Holy soul and yet he did it not for hI'm but for mankind as Goody thought that God had planned despite no single word within the Lord’s own book described to be an act that preachers should be taking so they may be better preachers; but Goody knew what Goody knew which was what God expected preachers do, thus with common clothes and common thought, and feeling good he walked on out of this house and out of the town and among the men and women who sinned.

The preacher Goody Goodwill came from the very small town of Dimply, West Carolina, which was not much of a sinning sorta’ town but beyond its borders down a beaten path which then turned into pavement and led to a Highway, if one followed that path one would reach the Big City where sinners sinned away and where God and Goody both discovered how it was to be a man among the common man. Though the Lord Almighty frequented the city often and in many forms the preacher Goodwill had a strict routine to which he strictly stuck to, year after year.

          Throughout the day, four days a year, Goody put his faith to test as he roamed the big streets in the very Big City and watched and held his tongue lest he preach and his plan fall apart and the sinners would then see that a preach was in their reach and they surely would reach out and then Satan would have one ‘fore if Goody fell the way of the men who sinned all day then for sure he would be lost because Goody was the priest and he couldn't well forgive if he couldn't self-confess thus the risk which Goody took when he chose to risk his soul was a risk he surely knew was a risk that God would see and would write with His own hand in the Book which He would use to judge every single man.

As the sun began to set and the daylight fade away, he would start his way back home and thank God the day was done. Goody felt at peace when he finally reached his home where he'd take another bath and would emerge a Holy man and would don his Holy robes and he knew that he had proved what he knew he needn't prove, that he was a real good man and that good was what God wanted.

Part 2

The old man sits upon his chair and speaks words slip with spit they drip - drip drip - he speaks but no one’s there. From thought to speech the old man speaks, his words released hang in the mist formed out of air so thick and dense it ebbs and flows and dances with a constant freeze brought by the breeze thus when he speaks the old man sees the sounds that slip from his own lips...

...Each word a sound each sound a note encased in ice the words take form; his thoughts comprised of merging chords which morph into the words whose form is slick and round, encased in ice, shine like a string of flawless pearls.

A burden air can never bare the string of pearls falls from mid-air. Pearls hit the floor with such great force that impact shatters words like bones upon a field where battles roared, souls ripped from form thus die his words; remains of thoughts the old man spoke, words torn apart reduced to chords in piles litter scatter wasted cursed forever to be words unheard like treasures lost, no! never found or heard, his words the unearthed pearls of thoughts he thought and dared to speak though fate he knew would have them be forever lost beneath the sea where words from chords and notes will never see the day nor know the heat when they would shine under the sun though smooth and round their form once was when once the shattered chords were words.

There was a time his words had form their form was round like pearls or drops of water dripped from leaky faucets drip they slip from rusty lips into the sink and down the pipes which snake throughout the secret house, they drip the words words slip his thoughts from lips are lost drip drip the words in chords thoughts drip are lost in sinks forever gone the old man thinks…

Drip drip he speaks words slip drip drip from lips words drip their form drip drip so round the sound from chords which merged and formed the words he thinks and speaks and let's thoughts drip released expelled he sees the strings of pearls his words afloat drip drip the words the sound he hears or heard he thinks once there he sees or saw he saw he knows he did let words drip drip from lips but then drip drip he knows he sits he rocks on boards within drip drip a house where secrets drip, the words, drip drip the sound, they slip forever gone as if they once were sounds which maybe formed the maybe thoughts he may have thought the old man thinks that maybe he just never spoke the words which maybe never were the thoughts he thought or did he think he didn’t know now doesn’t know not like the sound he knows he hears the drip, drip drip drip from rusty lips of leaky faucets down the sink...

The End Part 2

The sun burns bright
The heat is blasting, scorching  hot
Burning razor rays of light
Beams like sharpies poking at the
Pockmarked clouds
Let through the light in shards
So bright
It burns I look it hurts I stare I dare myself to count to ten
By two i cannot see what's 'round
And still I stare by four I'm blind

"If you don't wanna' lick my ****** that's fine, but don't attack my character." Said the lesbian in the reality TV show. !

She's holding a red plastic cup, slurring like a drunk. She is profound. If I called her gay I think she'd say "*******, ***. I'm a ****." I might point out that **** and ***** are gay; she, perhaps, would then remind me that after Katelynn or katelinn or however Bruce spelled his new name for a brief period in 2016 LGBT had a Q added to the tail-end... but 4 letters is the max allotment for tagging a community and the Q simply took the splash and the roll off the LGBT brand...

... and thus the Q was dropped; and thus the order of the world restored; and thus, on the very last minute of the 6th day, the Lord's final gift to man and life in general on planet earth was a raging ******* in the form of a drunk lesbian educating us all on the fine merits of keeping one's ****** wet BECAUSE a dry ****** can only belong to - nay! exist as far as the reality star would have you believe... vaginas exist onto themselves, though science has deduced with unquestionable Puritan certainty - despite the very Words Written by The Very Good Lord's Hand himself in The Holy Bible as Interpreted by the Most Wholly Holy Puritanical preacher preaching from Jerusalem to L.A. itself - Vaginas (cap the V, it's a she and she's a noun) most definitely and defiantly belong to mammals only; However should they be dry then said mammal most-probably has a questionable reputation and a clearly corrupt character.

I'm tired. Exhausted is more like it. Sometimes I want something so bad I get overwhelmed and then comes the questioning, why am I doing this, is it worth doing and if it's worth doing what makes it worth it? It's 6:21 AM this moment, 6 hours and 21 minutes into another day, I'm sitting at a table next to the balcony, the door is wide open and I see the sun, the sun is just rising but it's blocked by a tree, so I look at the sun and the sun isn't blinding, not at this moment though soon it will be...

...soon it'll rise up above all the branches, soon if I look at the sun it'll hurt so when that moment comes, when the time is just right, I will look at the sun and the sun will be blinding.

There's also a bird, it sounds like it's moaning but I know that it isn't, that's just how it sounds. A bird which sings but it's not really singing, it makes such a sound you would think it was sad but it isn't so sad, at least I don't think so, I don't think that birds have the ability to feel, not physical feelings but ones from within, emotions like sadness which makes a bird moan, a moan like the sound that is made by a feeling that humans can feel and that all of us feel but we all feel it sometimes and for a whole host of reasons like when we are sitting in front of a laptop which is on a small table right next to a balcony beyond which the trees block the sun as it rises and while it is rising the leaves block the sunshine so during that time which is just a few minutes you can look at the sun and the sun isn't blinding...

...and when it is 6 hours and 35 minutes into a new day, at 6:35AM is a moment in time which is captured in words which I choose to write down but there isn't much to them, no meaning no feeling no reason for writing the words that I'm writing and so as I write this I realize it's pointless, these words have no worth so they're no more then letters, a whole mass of letters I'm stringing together for no ******* reason and so I'll stop writing and now that I'm stopping to write without meaning the logical question is why publish this message if this message is worthless, there's no reason for it thus no reason why I should hit the blue button which has 4 letters in it which create the word "Post" which means if I click it I'll be posting this message which has less purpose than the blue button which posts it, and so what I'll do is stop writing this nothing and instead of all this nothing I'll click the blue button which has more worth than all these words and that's really sad if you think about a button worth more than the whole of this stupid, pointless post...

Dripdripdripdrip drip as it slips all it’s secrets, secrets slipped from the lip of the rusty metal moldy faucet, water whispers water whimpers water wishes of a time long gone; dripping water ever swirling round the beaten bolted sink; bolted to a wooden floor, chipped and nicked and cracked but grips, it grips the sink and won’t let go.

Secrets swirling round the sink into the void and through the pipes beneath the wooden boards of floor which would let loose their life-long grip of one worn weathered tired tethered reddish tinted rusty sink if only it - the wood! - if it could leave the floor it; the wood would stand and stretch and scratch and then would walk right out the door; wooden boards held hostage by a layered web of iron nails nailed years ago.

Creaking boards tell tales to pipes which snake throughout the secret house; Drip they drip they speak they slip through lips of sinks the secrets silent lip they drip and slip andio they rip and drip andrip they drip they dripdrip they ripipip i i…

Hush the whisper of the wind through broken windows rattles timber breaks the slumber of the man whose face is etched and leathered ever marked by hands of time; time played games the game of life the old man thought and thinks he still can stand and stretch and scratch then walk straight through the door and out the house, like secrets lost in rusty pipes he thinks he’ll walk into the dark and be whisked off on wings of wind which carries whispers rattles windows speaks in drips through rusty lips of bolted sinks gripped by the floors forever more and so the man will sit he sits and thinks and thinks he drips and drips drips dripdripipip i i i...

End Part 1