Tessa VII




I am curious, on your man, woman- advice friends. Tac-
tically impotence only wants to say, what if? The long line of
this hissing in my ear can drive me mad. And than I'm saying
'Look who's talking'. It's the diplomacy on treading carefully
on your feelings. What if I hurt you and lot's of apologies?

Your friends are holding me in contempt for loving the way
that you are. Or, that could be a state of the art opinion and
self hollowness, when liberated for too long. Horses don't eat
meat or Beef Wellington. And you are a fine equus, I know...
I am waiting for this morphology, muscles turning to butterflies.

Nine days ago we were in unfamiliar territories, still. A diamond
had fallen from off the forehead unto the floor, a stony wall
horizon. I am following the Ivy towards your thinly path through
the woods. It is more than a thought, or impulse. If you want
my advice, a moment's blindness could do us many wonders.






Tessa VIII




Where is the fountain of youth in our future, today, tomorrow,
thereafter? Interesting seeing or watching two adults trying
hard to find this childlike 'would you like to be my friend?' talk.
Men walk through rocks and mountains, and women are at the
tunnel's end waiting for collision. Questions are being asked,

whether we started off the wrong way. It wasn't in my app, or
yours and looming before us. You grassed me up, I am a British
criminal of the surreal land. Marshes and bush are on fire, I like
singing this song. Or change all this to care for each other, and
forget that we are pixies. I never liked Kilroy, my late

confession. ET went home, alone, and now is staying on the
planet of Extraterrestrial. As for your idyllic nature the fountain
of youth was love. A quiet place in the evenings perhaps, and
I will find you there. Halfway under the full moon and spider's
mating season. If death may be the fate I may find, playwright.






Tessa IX



I need a cigarette, chuckle at something trivial, or go to bed and
call for the whales. Why it end up here in this way is only
making sense if you are a living memory. What is the story of
your life, a matey question unanswered. You are trying to hide
from triviality, I get that impression from afar. Pain in my shoul-

der, just off the blade. Are we going somewhere this after-
noon? The cricket field is empty or mental asylum. How do
we pretend in a pretend world? Let's get M, the M- word,
or negation and forensics. I need a hug or group hug of you
and me. If you can't laugh now, I am not a comedian, S U C.

Gemini 2019 (Cancer)

https://youtu.be/xxKJlmVLkKc

Cancer homogeneous disease

inflaming and incurable, the third

heaven, death inevitable catching

living tails and tissues, final ending

of the young and old. My family, my sister...


With backs against the wall, larger than life.

Beyond the white star, luminous light, en-

closing her life, suffocating her living memory.

Why cry and why tear(ing) our hearts out? Cancer

our generation, we live on, hoping and praying...

Tessa III

"I believe in human rights," Chet Faker, I am trying to
find your softer side over Bose... Trying hard to forget the
ghastly scare you gave me. Smoking cigarettes and deleting
details I think you shouldn't get too deep into...
Underneath, when swimming, the story is getting more sad.

Explain to me about India, Kamasutra of many pages long,
why your part was left out. Many years have passed, dry blee-
ding the sun in shameful memories, I was on the other side.
Time is becoming a long stretch on the couch, if you remember
how you danced, exploring rhythm and ecstacy, when quietly...

R.

20 Years, capital H, honesty. Corporate career, fast
is the future. She was 19, my Maguire moment in life,
& then lost Ashley... I am not a poet, advertising before
you get lost in your world. Widowed at 20, maiden voyage. Back in life, I design my own live- models.

Here is where we are, pictures, by a railtrack, sun of a
golden brightness. A shock to my system, gone in one
centon, what is the minute man? I am not a career poet,
I live in another century. She and I are there, here, I
blame her death on the tunnel, built perhaps in prefab.

Tessa V

Your talk is big when the axe has fallen. A cavalry blinded
by butterflies and empty eyes, never have seen a real vision.
My talk is small, low ineptitude, etude. I won't fly the skies,
empty or surging with endosperm. Tacit knowledge isn't that
hard for you, is it? Another name will descend in time, maybe

close enough to your century when I am gone and won't be
remembered through symphonies of your love. Human loving
from some other base unknown. Hacking in and out what was
destined for slaughter, which birthright? For less than a penny
to buy a prince or king, or strangeness coming from heaven.

Their talk is big, surprisingly. The hardest thing yet on earth,
was never a small thing for mankind. Easy firing shots, with-
out a warning sign language, I can feel your presence getting
hot again. What I have faced before is you, up close and dan-
gerous, and you know how I feel when unarmed. The end.  



Tessa VI

Trust or play simplicity, me or you. Eyes to uncover the deep,
dark mirrors. On account of many charges, this is extreme.
What is love to you? I see the barrel of a gun. The rabbit hole
is what you hate most. And I keep on trying, e.g. like this over-
bearing nerd. I am old, close to you. The pizza is turning cold.

Evenings are labelled, and your anger does not need any
more logs. In fact we have nothing in common, except when
it is bedtime and night matures inside your mind. Lightness of
fantasies, I can't stand it. Fork and knife feeling like a company
on the plate. One that you build, manage, and without me.

If you want the house, Citroen X, the e-motions, you will need
something beyond your own skin. Mediation through invest-
ments are stone and bricks to me. I rather be drunk all night.
Sometimes I wonder are you or are you not a general? I had
a simple dream yesterday, but now I am the jester. A smile...

My great American story, get in the car! The amusement

park, but children are not interested. Underground, the

Great Snake, mom buying tickets at the gate. Arvin and

his little sister, 'Mom, I want a snake." Take a peek later,

America ends. Route and tourists, industrial wonderland.


See DD in various poses, M.M. actually feels some-

thing. Buy your cousin a postcard, General Motors.

Not growing up in America, children admire souver-

nirs. Flat earth, make believe world. Visiting the US

, losing track with time. Mom is in the sun, DD's an-


gry face. America's sunny place, on TV, a billboard.

LED, Have yr beer at the local bar. Watching a

smaller world, Walt Disney's crystal ball. Factories

are second, where and everywhere. Sending out

an email, she again and her two children, rushing.

Asking too much from this emptiness, structure and language. Some
love nest between the eyes lies love in complete quietness and iso-
lation, a lonely planet in the distance. Not to want, or a complete loss
of time, or both. From your hips come a tight embrace, gilded in mad
desire from another side of what is life, transferred by frequencies.

Give up defences, dropping of humanities, pyramid of eternal longing
at midday sun, eyes or desolation. We travel on, held by the heels in poi-
son Ivy below, and fly. There is a night deformed by beauty and a living
memory, just keep quiet when you see it or feel it's meteorite burn.
******* back asking too much from a lonely hell?

House by the beach, life is cotton dry. Once every

two weeks, a tall light through the window. Loneliness

has kind eyes, or fiery. High waves, some people are

having fun. A hidden inability to create life, and

substitutes, in the rush. House by the beach, my life story


in short. Endless motion, on and on, parting me from

what's real. I leave my footprint behind, in a chase of

the windstorm. Wealth in a tiny grain of sand, from ancient

Israel, a riddle. He tells you how to change, technically

and productively. House by the beach, castle of dreams


I see in a nightmare. Greyhound express, from wide

expanses, dust unearthly spacewalk. Where does it hurt,

questionbox. *** is a ***** word, from 9 to six. Was

it love? The ocean is not blending in, nor the blue sky.

House by the sea, your only happy memories.

Sand through my fingers. Seth is watching, 4 million

counting. A quiet myth, post or pre- natal, we don't

understand the breeze and twilight. Wishing, upon

multiple stars, dad could be here with us. A sentimental

thing, sis is happy being married. Counting white flowers


in the fields by the old churchyard. Weather report, the

mainland hazards always maximized, pointing. Seth's

hair in the wind, masking his face 4 a moment. Dutch

dikes, incandescent strong as they stand concrete above...

My brother, & my junior, and me, standing by his grave...

Hours, flying. Kites seen from far away beaches. In

your mind, brilliant colour display. A sunny day, quiet

southern wind approaching. He is rubbing her back

and shoulder under the great blue sky. The sea is

everlasting. Happy moment, she is smiling. Single kite


ascending into another blue sky. Tropical cyclone

is cutting loose, the hours are critical. Seconds away

from flooding the beds, hills, mountains, and the stars,

wake up! True romance, he is rubbing her back & shoul-

ders, a subsidy of love, only for the young generation.

Tessa III



Two people sitting unidentified in cinema seatings missing
reality. If we touched classical screen will be on, two to 20
minutes long. A private facility at home, what is happening?
A million faces said it before, *** can't change things when
silent. It's not about the hurt or pain of memory humanity,

a gut feeling that won't come out. Your bowl of fruit, act sur-
prised. Turning up the dramatic sound, it won't be a smash hit.
I am trying to forget about your special traits. I got talent, you
see... If I go toward the exit first, our secret will self- destruct.
"Houston, we have a serious problem. Re-entry zero burning."






Tessa IV



It's easy once you see it, yours and mine ideology. I
want kindness from you, from me, when we sleep. Bla-
ming is the gravestone when all method is dead. Our
bed is floating and we can't say why. I am capable of change,
another challenge to meet the talisman. Indifference

to use in this sentence upholds the vision, was it virtue,
loneliness? That is the supporting middle that we have.
Friday morning glory, coming in boxes on the table. For-
tune teller in your tealeaves, what is it saying? When will
I be dead? The level of threat has moved to another level.






Tessa V



Weekend readings, a million heads per second. I do the
writing, and so a few hundreds more. The gurkin inside
your oyster, making intention go blue and green. The sun
is what I call the architect. High shadows when looking be-
hind now. A glorious morning, I can just smell the coffee.

I am looking forward to a good saturday this weekend. Dis-
tance between us is a good thing. This lovelife is homeless,
without memory. Let's grow old more decently, talk when
having breakfast, or just be quiet. You know when they say
'a good life', I don't see it in your eyebrows. Oh, please, don't

smile... Sometimes I wonder why they left you, stunningly
beautiful when you were young. What can I say, my charitable
me is a DNA- thing or the Chuckle Brothers. One more thing,
what is it with this metaphor, when you are young with the sun
wrapped around your waist? I am just happy with my readings.

Tessa I

It is not a laughing matter, watching life through bro-
ken glass and memory loss in an instant. "You did give
me that horse," death changes everything. Friday after-
noon, like any other day, only more wonderous after my
collapse. Why you kicked me in the head is making me

wonder about a sitcom, cruel and vengeful. Was it love,
Tessa? Or was it Coca- Cola, Miller Beer oats and flakes?
Revenge or consumption? You want my honesty, you are
hijacking Time. Give me something, inspire me, manage this
life you want. I am giving you the secret key to a new start.

Tipon & Maria

From porous debris, our house, rebuilding renais-

sance. Tiny streets, part wisdom, a long path, mar-

riage? Tipon & Maria, name, family, familiarity. Roasted

peanuts, to some. We need a small document, in time.

She knows, our work, labor of love. Poetry and poems,


under the tree, what was first and second. Thrid time too,

agreeing, too many times. Years, dissolving moments

of delay, to be or not reversed. Nay, Aye, indecisive, yes-

terday. We love the howling of the owl, renaissance or

nostalgia. From porous debris, home is best and kindest.

Music, I know you're not from around here. The size of

dark skies we live by in physical day light. Earth! Empty

driveway, a dream place of our own. The coming of home,

new scene. Cellulair senses, dual, men to women, vice

versa. A New age, flat screen Tokyo picture, panavision.

1.

Swipe, time & splice. Hello, the argument. Pizza,

say cheese. Hello again, should we talk? ok.com

Writing a new message. Easy to see where we're

going tonight, reply. Sending you pictures, 'Here

is where I am', no angles. A deep conversation, 'Hi!'.


2.

Cool I, Cool II, Cool III, multiple cool, XXXXX... Naked

fresh mint in my heavy mouth. Chewing, chewing, slow.

I see you, crossing a busy street. Am I hearing some-

thing? My heart is beating fast. Cool everything, when

looking around. Who am I? If I told you, it'll be so un-cool.


3.

Love, what is love in modern days? A timeline, thinking

about it all the time, tracking device, eyes and mind. What

is love, simple as revenge? Rage is easier. New defini-

tions, physical devices are real & smart. Once you go

blank, you never come back. Love is superficial, science.

4.

I have a future wife, she is in the mist. She brings me

apples, and I give her pears. We are very provincial,

e.g. in living farm places. Love is under my hat, and

she is smiling back at me. Early mist, I call her name.

I love the smell of green grass. Totus tuus, I am all hers.


5.

I am not experienced, in terms of coitus. It's almost

a discipline, if you know medicine. Your energy, it's

amazing. A fact, you need response. Oh, yes, I see

what you mean. The body can be effectively responsive,

If we both agree. I am not experienced, please, teach me.

Tessa VI




Sunday morning, I wonder if you are happy. Smart happy,
or just happy. Ten days ago it was about my indiscretions, and
how you engineered the wife- thing up close and dangerous...
I have lost the bird in my hand, in exchange for the pyramids
of Egypt. I also wonder, did you go to church today? Not becau-

se of affection, but for confectionate reasons. Sprinkling here
and there your Bible- religion for the morning. I am not looking
back. We are in the new realities in Real Time, and tomorrow.
About the bird, she was my phoenix with scanty white polished
feathers. For subtlety we scored a very high heaven. The L-

word now lies between the sun and earth. I understand, you
need me and I need you, vision. Love at this stage of age can't
be coincidental, plain and simple. I wonder if you are happy this
morning, when looking at you through the wide window. It
could be telepathic, if life is smart between us. I answer...

Wednesday, open window into the sun. Eagle sub-
merged in our wall, ancient as limestone or basalt,
while holding you. Our last goodbye, between land
and the Red Sea, Time disappeard out of nowhere.
Sinai has no ambivalence, now or forever. Time

changes everything, if you're lucky. Blue in the window,
and I touch the sky to make a wish. One drop of water in
your balloon, fast asleep for centuries. Ahh, revenge is so
sweet, darling. But it is getting late, tomorrow comes down
from the galaxy when full of stars. We will be looking up.

https://youtu.be/_TjPmQp0WRo

https://youtu.be/-0SmXVrLlZ4

It's not a boatrace who is right or not. We relate to each other
via power and force once or twice in a while. I imagine what
you would look like, a variety of images just pass my mind
without Westminster in your hunchback. Figure of speech. Hy-
pocritical sayings of the house, drink driving and fines. Love

comes through the maze of a mini drowsiness, when you get
up to him and you kiss. I am still here when you had your little
kissy kiss behind the blue door. Am I right when you move on
slow to the left? You are selfobsessed about your cleverness,
turning upside down what used to be my understanding. Per-

haps they let you off the hook, oblique perfection when look-
ing back. My God, I used to be happy! Now I find myself in this
boatrace over a simple perception almost a neaderthaler con-
cept. Captain caveman, come out where ever you are? You are
outside the house sleeping on the couch? I need a stiff drink.

https://youtu.be/tCXeYq6KYZc

1.

God... I did see the eyes, but it was not raining, or the storm.

2.

Dad's not here, I don't understand. Mom is in the kitchen,

feeling so old. We're part of life that no one envisions, except

when you are exchanging the world for your dreams. Progress

is in the sky, aliens speaking to us through the moon. I will

one day give up this yearning. What is love, tell me? Dad?

https://youtu.be/oKxuiw3iMBE

Brexit: unscathed Labour and leader, after
last night's vote in House of Commons. Where
Mrs May, PM UK, will now go, back to the people.
Quo Vadis, another question and plan, escaping.
Labour, the people, the people, the people, the people,

and Brexit again, but forgotten. What Jeremy Corbyn
could have done, if only! Leaving the EU? This unfamiliar
shake- up of government in the UK, was a mistake, or...
Imagine there's no heaven, Labour goes unscathed. Mrs
May is down, parliament is back in control, well so they say.

https://youtu.be/6s10n4LE6WQ

1



A whisper, Frederic Raphael and glittering prizes. We are not
patients in this hospital ward, a couple. The prize, I under-
stand is my birthday present... Past salt on my face, like the
dream you get in the night. Behind the castle, your first kiss
stolen. Imagine what time would be like, the future? Whispers

midday in the summer heatwave we will be hiding in the cool-
ness of the river. Time in the clock is flying, your pick-up sticks
Mikado solitary game behind the wide hourglass, I am still wai-
ting for the body- sun- eclips. In your secret location, a song
about the garden, what's on the petri dish? Micro tessalation...

1.

The moon, waxing the night canvas. A

foreign place, waiting, eastern sun always

rises. Definition of poets. Descending, the

sun sets, west on fire. Lonely silhouette

underneath the flaming sky, Human definition.

https://youtu.be/Vol3J-rF5wI

Tessa X





After midnight before going to bed, a mournful hour. A dead
pattern, ****! I came this close in between the fingers, but she
refused flatly. I should join the army instead, or die in battle.
It is quite serious but now I am getting it, the bigger picture is
not about me. Monday morning we still have fortune to tell us

about what make things better, with the house in the bedroom.
Architects build, e.g., a house. An English husband is swallowed
up and down. There is no such thing as freedom of movement,
in this family's good name. I understand her genuinely, If the
walls hold up and not just regular. Is it her, is it England?

2




Facsimile, with precision technologies in tiny submarines. Two
or three faces extracts in mid- eyed focus, flowers mistaken. A
compassionate elephant's sleepless night, to see the hunter in
his visory dreams. What are you saying about the look of love?
It is upsetting to see the ivory of heavenly beauty, spoil of a

a lost war unforgotten still. The facsimile is showing a windmill
and not a castle, in the thin- aired breeze of the southwind. The
dead animal severed by a loving hand, humanely. Your
dominant mind is not making me an ally, but quiet enemy. Or,
I will count the hours in our lives stonedeaf of love.





3.



Champion of sulking, shine like gold in the bedroom. Sleep
is the fiddler on the roof above our house, in a new concept.
A little inspiration comes back to mind: there are two choices
if we want to keep the mikvah or chuppah. LIfe and living, l'
chaim! Or mazzeltov, putting it politely. Where will the mice

live, the pigeons and me? I am trying to ignore all the bad
vibes coming from that direction. Pointing at you, index fin-
gering. But I am not worried, I got your shoe in my hand.
The world outside is getting ready for a big story. Try living
for once, my love. I am telling you, I am right about the house.

At the age of three, pedant. At sixteen no writer of

love notes, disability number one. Returning, age

four, I curl up my toes. At seventeen, waiting only

longer for delays. At 20 I saw a jumbo jet fly in the

sky, without first taking off. Miracles happen, strange


or not. Will I have visions at 21? A birthday present, she.

Reading tweets on Twitter, drooling over Jill Masterson.

Life is a pleasant surprise at 22, suffering a premature

male menopause, some say. Ironing my friend's shirt, sun

-day is great for minimalists. By the beach, empty at 33

Hot weather

Translations degrees and Celcius, thin white shirt, ready
going into town, monday... Small window opportunities
to fill my day and sky, blue and powered by the sight of you,
in the sun and the music panasonic... Office chair empty,
the day will never come, and I keep staring at you and me...

City skyline in morning goldshine, a little boat crossing the
river, life can be so simple when looking, but new watch tells
the story is different, big is cosmopolitan, metropolitan, closing
the angles, and corners where you are buying your stuff. Beauty
is unmoving through buildings and traffic jams inside my mind

Ahead of time the paper says it all, when unwritten. Hot
weather and you need to splash with something that isn't
water, so you are told. I am listening to your words, songs
to build expectations coming from near and far, a new in-
spiration dripping from your fountain, I see the city...

Expected and dusted the fight and struggle a tiny
dead thread was alive. A few minutes, or seconds. I ought
to read it again in blind faith. And how about you in your
frozen screams? Light feathered bird and white as a turtle-
dove, this soulless creature heavy as a tear.

Know what you love, it is always the same wisdom of ad-
vice. Unexpected, this is what I remember most. Death can
be a strange miracle. It has no heaven, nor earth, or sea. At
least it was unusual physically. A tender dream brief and
gone immediately. Well, that's all I have got to say.

Tessa Cycle III










1



A whisper, Frederic Raphael and glittering prizes. We are not
patients in this hospital ward, a couple. The prize, I under-
stand is my birthday present... Past salt on my face, like the
dream you get in the night. Behind the palace, your first kiss
stolen. Imagine what time would be like, the future? Whispers

midday in the summer heatwave we will be hiding in the cool-
ness of the river. Time in the clock is flying, your pickup sticks
Mikado solitary game behind the wide hourglass, I am still wai-
ting for the body- sun- eclips. In your secret location, a song
about the garden, what's on the petri dish? Micro tessalation...

Facing my demons and speak their lingo, nothing philo-

sophical, something that murmurs about a tiny insect, and

destruction, in all of the land, in all of the land. What comes

premature, herald of the natural me, strong and the heavy jolts,

I face another moment's turn to demon speak. Long dead tales...

https://youtu.be/qc2CTvJ3b_I

https://youtu.be/mA54NBtPKdI

Tessa IV

Burying the mill deep inside the fire of the sun, solar winds
blazing flames high and low to keep me alive, just enough.
Half way you are near and far, with the whole world listening.
What's this new message about the Dutch windmill? She was
illumination from Mars, and I crashed millions of years across

the blue sky of lost gospels and hymns, do you know? Do I
need a second chance of change? A sharper corner into your
secret blade, but perhaps too late and I won't even know.
What do people do for love beside homicide? Money is bigger
in these eyes, yours and everybody elses. The windmill is still

burning slow, ending the story of my real time. But I am
patient and I will have another life, if she won't be my long
lost daughter. White rose of my grave, in this German myth,
is making me speechless. Innocent bystander standing by
the sun and watching how fast a wooden mill can turn to ashes.

3.

Senses, your environment. Baby talk & walk, the

first steps. Parenthood, navigating the room on cam.

Happiness, one baby arm, up! Up! Another one, up again,

and down. Daddy's puppy love, his face, and smile.

Mom, not deleting anything. State of the art parenting.

August Moon.

Plutocrat, august moon. Golden fires from lost stars in
your chandelier, a hall that was for the pantocrator. The
steward left for home, submerged in the crowded city,
something of a good sense is left. The story sails the wind,
trophies are your favourite futilities, thousands of them.

The wall between you and the sky, if clouds would be like
cows and grazing on the blue line of your terrace, than
take it as a compliment. August moon, this is a golden dream.
When do we understand, you are nature. East, west, south and
north, and tomorrows. A penny for your thoughts, autocrat.

The ring of Cancer once comes around and the evening sky
is still. If you want to look back, spring while the sun was
frowning, darkened distance from winter will make you remem-
ber, head and waters, deep dive, and on your skin, everywhere
you are looking, you see the ocean and endless summer

horizons. I was then much younger, middle earth between my
fingers, father time smiling; in your reflection I saw the sun tall-
est shadow and a diamond skull. In your laughter that was
nearest, the speechless storm approaching, while the beetle
had won the race on the beach, and I ran for something out of

sight. We all long for this day, feeling a gem of ocean deep,
in the colour of blue one planet sized. And you don't say a
word, hold your silence, forever more... Heading deep in
waters and I see the nearest end is everywhere, on my skin...
My soul was the pigeon that flew to Capricorn's ring,

hearing nothing but soundless terror across the sea. Here is
the winter's window and it's blackness slowing down your
deep breath, in an instant memory is nothing, no life, no
beetle, and beaches. If you drown in your summer's dream
your eyes will be the oyster and your sky will be indescent  

in
the
wind
and
waters.

Sky high above Los Santos, smog experience, blasting

red dawn wide across. Everywhere is heaven, angle

shots. A streetfight, people moving like ants. Another shot

is taken, softly in his chest. Mission starting all over again.

The storyline or headline, how will it end? San Andreas,


I've been there, swimming? The place where it never

rains, only transparency & figher jets. Area splitting. Bird's

eye view, being here upgrades your reality, speeding. The

girls, muscular, and speechless. I've been here, sandbox

mission games. Found dead in redneck rampage, GTAV.

Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, steen of potlood. De

aanklacht is welluidend, een thema. Er lang bij stilstaan maakt

je dwaas, verdwaasd. Een eed wordt het niet, episch ook niet.

De verblikte beschaving, ver- blikt. De mens leert zichzelf sardien

worden, als hij 't niet al eens was geweest. Het lot kijkt ons toe.


Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, wolken en zonnestralen.

Calamiteit, plastic. En herten worden afgeschoten in het bos.

Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, werelden vol, theorieën?

Intussen: wie zegeviert? De hieros gamos van tijd en aarde, mens

-usurpator, de vraatzucht. Prehistorie gemoderniseerd, 21ste eeuw.

Tipon, Tipon, BMW, BMW, white, white sideline, long

roads, through the tunnels. Age between 20 and 24, I

live in Rotterdam, a millennial, 2000+. Window and rain, BMW,

BMW, swipe, swipe shield. Ample visual, a hurting desire

to see beyond. 20 Years, dancing on a star, it's raining, I am Tipon.

Humanity alarming at historic low, generation Z high

expectations 100% out of poverty. Success sound bite,

21st century. Globalization fictional future, phantom racing.

The planet is home to all humanity, seas, earth and sky. Where

do you buy your meat? Consumption, the largest beast, unfitting


discriptions what we know as civilization. Humanity, a living

creature, pointing into a direction and not knowing. Slow motion

of earth's axis, something is happening, currents' systems

burning at paces fast or too slow. Patrons of industries, count-

ing their blessings in bliss. 'Do you care' petitions, $$$$$$$$$$$$$

Big dreams, planning five from now, in years. De-
livering pizza's, beverages, bubblegum for your ex-
girlfriend. Hooked on social studies, floating quietly
on sundays, and false belief. Mom's inheritance,
sufficiently, suffices. A streetname, mental blinding,

addresses as in never ending. Her lunch hours, at
the Bank, stewards of capital and data. A blonde,
blue eyes, sweetest articulation of her kind. "Been
so long beside you, as if you knew." I was sent by
my employer, pocket money. Needs: more pm...

3.

We live in a world unborn, living is nevertheless real. It

is tough meat. Try selling it. Poetry was never politics, white

nor green. We are trying to end in the same ways and places,

for the rich a few less or more. I think that I won't make it, one

lifetime will fall short. Come sit here with me, let's talk fly fishing.


Was it too premature, the world in which we live? Let's have a

shave in the morning, you and I, before we start the journey.

Try holding it, the ocean, like sand in the desert. Success is

relevant here more than conscience. I see an animated formulation

of the president in this timelapse. The world is but a sad place, ut supra.

Midnight

Sweet taste, toothpaste, if I was the orthodontist. Mid-
night, wide mirror of the idiot that I am seeing, making
faces, clean and smart, I see too many sides of me in small
seconds. I have the power with me, in here, with no music
or poetry. I am on semi senses, kind and deceptive. Water

is my enemy, I turn around and you are smoking a cigarette.
A split universe, verbal and non verbal. At midnight here is
where I am, a heart that is beating in forgotten worlds. She is
still here with me, and I am crossing my toes. Ducktaping
the word 'Help' together, she smiles and I am all teeth. Weird.

Friday evening, 100 years seen in seconds. What can this

world need right now? A busy city, sirens going beserk all over

again & again. Friday nights are for fun, social opinions, close,

and then extremely close. I need a streetrace, crashing before

I finish, a hologram. Dad is not dead. Fraction is timeless here.

Tessa I



The morning felt distinct soft as female ***. A sequence of
dreams followed through the night, unstoppable. It could be
succinct ***, only between adults with common sense. We
are going to have a renaissance of love, or agency. Yes, I am
quietly trying to find out what happened. Elohim can see you

, and your prisoner. This is a new level of complaint for me,
Delilah. Time for some other kind of music, English Gothic.
We're designing this life again If you're going to give me
a second chance. And not just saying that you would if
you could, and let's slow dance. I am the world and his wife.

(Music: English Gothic, Coley Garratt)