donating persons
were regularly featured
on the front cover

those who had no funds
seldom did attain a post
to vanguard status

it might well be said
cash carry's so much gravitas
in fees of favour

The sky was a cornflower
and the trees heavy
                  with birdsong
air fragrant with freshness
cooling the silk of my bare
heat rising from my
skin in shades of
tropical
              morning pond
oasis of damp promise
teeming with life
           under surface
mini color-popped creatures
humming with
       fluorescent vitality
fronds reaching out
in an aquatic dance
nourishing the gateway
to inner organs  
with sweet
           vitamin love
as a trip of
           buzzing, faintly heard
opens into my brainwave
revitalizing
    cleaning out toxicity
pushing out
words that lower
                       self-worth
bringing up subconscious
potions of power
harmonious with the new,
embryonic fluid of clear
                  reaching deep
into corners of
          brittle heartdust

And my lotus soul opens
            a small glowing orb
expanding in  polychrome prisms
                to the glory of
aurora-tipped streaks
           as straight into
my aching heart
       the quenching dawn
                                      speaks
My thirst slaked by
nature's mantra,
I now stand waist-deep
into grounded
            and heavenly clarity,
feeling water lilies bloom
between my thighs
as I take the occasion
to pick up the pieces
                  where my soul
left off
and despite all odds,
              arise

ah... how precious;
i-                        -magine a twirling
              ceramic ballerina
in a music box...
       he'll sleep under
the guise of a:
    feather...
when all around him,
is...
         hurricane.
dear ballerina...
wake me,
       for one last care,
to craft a talk...
      oh my dear,
dear music box ceramic doll
of tears...
how you sung to me,
in my darkest fears...
there you are twirling...
and twirling... and twirling...
and twirling... and twirling....
and... by now, i must end my
    gratitude, to it fathom a
compensate, for another's attention,
assured to be, equal to yours.

so i'm sitting there, on my windowsill, drinking a blackbeard
(dark *** & ms. pepsi), and solving a sudoku...
existentialism can, really get you kicking the paranoid bucket,
esp. if you read something by jean-paul sartre...
was it him, or was it someone else, who said:
to be, is to be seen...    no wonder, the need for fashion...
                              or might as well call it ****, given it's
coming from france anway...
oh but my "neighbours" (i'd say neighbours if i actually
talked to them... so much for the hope of "integrating"
into english society, when your neighbours play idiots,
or mutes, and you could die in their presence, and then they'd
talk... but only about the stench of a rotting corpse
two weeks later)...
                         anyways... so i'm solving this sudoku and that quote
hits me... someone, might actually be watching me,
  voyeurism is a thing these days, apparently, borrowed
from the 20th century french existentialists...
       but i can't help it after a while... so i'm mumbling to myself,
3    8     5          4    6  9     1     7    2    
6
1
7
4
2          
8                                                               ­            (1 2 3
5                                                              ­              4 5 6
9                                                              ­              7 8 9)...
the mumbling bit comes nearing the end of the puzzle
when you do count: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9... as enforced by the brackets...
  but then laughter arises from my filthy gob...
            i'm not, rain man for ****'s sake! ha ha!
i'm not even going to answer that by saying: oh yeah, i'm 'ard
downing some *** and pepsi...
                              i just like drinking... it's the sedative property
of alcohol that some... well... most people have yet to discover...
        saying that... most people won't...
  so they'll turn to barbiturates... or *****... or marijuana...
   oh hey... nietzsche lamented this scenario...
                                he was high as a kite on barbiturates
(personal life detail)... and he implored to be taught by
     dionysus... to be a disciple of the god of wine...
                       some people really don't know how to drink,
they go off the tangent, it seems a steady diet and then
an inject of "empty" calories in drinks which makes them
           go off the rails, and turn into
                                   absolute bonkers *****...
               this would have been his last and only invocation:
to become a disciple of someone who could school them in drinking...
i'm not too sure about dionysus-ultra, i.e. hitting the rums
    and whiskeys and vodkas...
     you know that story about spartans, right?
   they used to drink wine, but diluted it, half & half...
   and when they wanted to shame an alcoholic
   they gave him the full measure, and marched him down
the street of lacadaemon, kicking him up the ***...
    very much translated into putting a dunce's cap on
someone, and making him ride a donkey, sitting backwards...
                but you can sense from the extract of his writings
(ecce ****?), that he became fed-up with the barbiturates...
   miserable ****** wanted to learn how to laugh
                                         while drinking in his solitude;
and i'd tell him just as much: most people can't laugh
when drinking by themselves... the miserable ***** while never
learn, to unlearn their idea of drinking as a case for
stupid pranks, grizzly ***, and in general... a bad scene on
a night club's dancefloor.

as first light dawned to-day
billows of light pink colour
dotted the blue sky's terrain
in a pretty contrast