(sorry, but not sorry)

There once was a potato plant,
(Because potatoes grow on plants...)
This plant harvested baby potatoes.
This was no ordinary potato plant, however,
It was SPECIAL!

Anywho, the plant grew several baby potatoes,
Who were harvested and shipped on a crate to a grocery store
in a cold, dark shipping truck.
The potatoes, they weren't scared! Yah know why? Simple.
Because Potatoes don't have FEELINGS!

....but if they did....they'd be scared. Take my word for it.

The potatoes arrived at the store and were bagged, ready for purchase. They sat together in a pile for hours,
thinking about (but not thinking about) what would happen in the future, why they were in this bag, UNTIL, UNTIL a homeless man (he looked homeless) reached into the bag, pulled out a single spud, and RAN! Out the store, down the street,
HE WAS OUTTA THERE! BYE-BYE SUCKERS!

Well, on his way to.... wherever he was going, he fell and dropped it. That's what stealing does to yah.
It rolled into an abandoned alley, far away from the man's sight. He couldn't stop and look for it, because he was being chased, so he ran away sourly, the potato being left cold and alone, without it's family to be piled up motionlessly beside it.

This potato was different. Unlike it's family, it could feel,
it could think and understand, even without knowing language at all, it's like the potato just knew everything and anything, without a purpose. And, another thing.
This potato, it was hungry. Very hungry.

Only hours later (again)
A parentless child walked the streets, searching for something to eat. They hadn't eaten in days. Of course, the child found the battered potato on the ground,picked it up and smiled.
It was the end of the potatoes life cycle, it seemed.
Or...was it? Seconds until the end, seconds until facing the terrifying wrath of the human's sharp, untaimed teeth, seconds until it got to see if there was a potato heaven or not, JUST SECONDS, something changed.

The spud; it grew. No, it didn't grow in size, but it did grow a mouth, and arms. And it could scream. Oh God, yes, it could wail like no tomorrow, so, quickly adapting to it's new form; it yelled ****** ******. The child threw it at a wall, screaming and running away.

..... Silence from the potato.
Sadly, it could withstand the grasp of a sweaty, homeless dude,
it could bare the growing silence from it's siblings,
it could even dodge the teeth of a starving ape!

But the potato was no match for a wall.
Mashed potatoes for dinner it is.

Oh but if Abraham father tri-covenant be
Zarathustra grandpa be uh ha Persia ******
hummm...deeply restructuring muchly rooted
of the far reaches and you a free to detail it fill it in
ridicule I'm no scholar not foot noting all detail here now
but of what Hinduism much come from be ya Krishna just so
seems so one like JC to me sure enough differing mission all together be
but here we are and I was talkin 'bout tri-Abrahamic and Grandpa then ******
Remember Moses how 'bout Joseph and sold into slavery; rainbow dreamer in life giving
colours yet till fully fulled out till fully white all over hmmmm....anywho way through Egypt the way;
picked up a few nifty tricks along this way; a little further down Sa Sa Ra town this wall as it is I did mention the roots of the ancients of Afu Ra Ka and the Kemetic's rooted of the Pharaohs there; The book of the Dead hmmmm.... remember where Joseph step-dad of Jesus and Mary and Baby J had fled; I've skipped a few steps but twasn't till Moses started with the books and recorded on pages though too they all could all recite the Torah so too well also; there were some mix ups and a lot of humanness they were not shy about admittance or of recordence of this; let me hit a few punch lines some we know and some um well idk likely not, others may seem strange so, well I will carry some load; some 'wild' Arabs were cut of from 'the promise and or the inheritance' this we all know to well and yet tho when Shaman Master J was a bit dejected by much authority of his own homeland (or more accurately by his Hebrew lineage)  he did say clear his love and message was for Gentiles too should have been inclusive of Arabs then however Rome kinda well we all too know how they needed to politicize that power and dogma and power and love askew ERGO MUHAMMAD!!!! Here is where I need the most help too!!! But I RA NI that's truly me my heart is there with all seven billion be!! I am about good news being good!!! That great big Architect Guy speaks with me; so whatever they say has to be for it is WRITTEN and is plan A no not by me here that way; moving it to plan b or xyz I don't really care; I've read enuf I see and hear differing things than any they about this stuff...J spoke the essence of The Book of the Dead for the Living; the silk road, the salt and gold and such treasure; what ya kidden me what the real **** going down that road was priceless wisdom being conveniently collected collated and studied; thee Essenes by the hmmm 'Dead' Sea in the desert what a ploy huh...raised in a vacuum how 'bout of all available assistance of all time and hearts and loving hands and care; plenty well mentioned lore and mention-able stories of how he got around to all the best mystery schools and pulled nifty loving care wherever he went and by a few other names in other locales; well when a kingdom falls you must blaspheme the beforehand Gods and false worship there so the holy ones who knew it's real worth and understood whom really did the blaspheming and cursing took it all underground worth more than a body and many bodies paid the price to save the surely hard earned...how 'bout OZ say WHAT ; now what this guy on he must do drugs to get this way and surely now but um nah sorry I'd love if I could but say I'm straight at least as wood and yes for a while my trade Ron the carpenter and you'd be surprised what she can tell ya about what seems and what is really straight and how humans as elements go are most like this hahaha and ya I wondered about hiding in plain sight until I figged what I'd do till I got over that **** messiah complex thang that I knew we've been through before and that twasn't going to be the or my thing and I did know too much 'bout heaven so I did need that roll through holy hell ya and Buddha named his son Ball and Chain my number one is 29.5 and it's time to introduce myself!!!;  but she-it say what ya want let me go on when Frank L Baum writer of OZ had a tale to tell; he one happened to be a Theosophist, look up if ya like need I am the type that still breathes ya and he was a bit onto a little about the gold and the big banker thang but that was more cover and decided to encrypt it (a deeper true message) for a more clever way to say and where it could and would grow well deep safely as a children's tale; into the collective consciousness; and he denied for most his life anything 'bout what what OZ really was but in the end, I don't have it here now and  maybe I'll dig it up  lata, but it was not hard for me to decipher, I'm many codes inside out and running backwards myself but it was a dig on Zarathustra or oft more better well known by the Greek as Zoroaster for turning creative and destructive forces into a war in heaven of good and evil and there their's just ain't no concept all the way down to Christianity that ain't got it's roots from there their's as much as JC did try to set things straight and say it is done and indeed it is and indeed we are the ones he one Masterful Initiator and when we do as he suggested then the Hebrew will say it's finally Messiah for all things indeed change with and about us; say again abc 123 not required; If I had a heart mind and brain like the Heart of God and Mind of Christ would I doubt once or think twice and rather be off to see the wizard or priest or pope; when truly only straight within you direct connect you your own wizardry connective-ness to all creation loving click click home home bad dream hypnotic spell be gone; but what about courage once you are realized, you do not doubt once or think twice with the true heart of 'God' and 'Mind Of Christ' and you just do and run into rather than from un hum see; but again not to far away from losing your life (re: the reality of and for Baum at the time) for telling such loving truths to Gods dear children; but here we are and here I am I Ra Ni and we are FREE!!
SO ON WITH ONE AND OFF WITH THEE OTHER FINALLY DISCOVER A WORLD WITH THE TRUTH ABOUT ONE AND EACH OF ONE ANOTHER!!!

As I went about my day.....I thought about Dr. Seuss. How much I enjoyed his rhymes and his stories in my youth.

The truth of the matter is this.....Sometimes I feel like the grinch and my heart doesn't measure above an inch.

I feel sad ...mad and blue.....and when I feel I have been disrespected...my reply is " Who are you talking to?"
I don't live in a zoo.....and never met a "who", but needed them to give me a clue?

Aachoo! Bless you! Who me? yes you.....couldn't be. Then who? Anywho....I don't like to argue and fight .....my intentions are to do what's right.

I write due to a love affair I have with words.....adjectives ....nouns and verbs.  You may call it cheating....but its not that at all.  I believe they're all beautiful ......and allow them to shine when I write about our time at the ball.

How beautiful she was standing there unassuming in a dress that was red.  I approached her from the rear of course and whispered in her ear about my horse parked outside.

I was curious to know if she wanted to ride.  Aside from her beauty her scent drove me crazy.....as it entered my system my nervous system became lazy.

I could hardly concentrate on what I should do.....instead of level ten ....my mind was on level two.  What should I do?.....my grinch like heart had gathered a spark.

As words danced around in my mind....and massaged my hardened heart .......my anger was released to create a work of art.  The feelings that were trapped inside were allowed free reign.

The substance that they contained.....revealed a man who should have gone insane.....it's plain to me .....and why wouldn't it be?.....that suddenly my mind is free......

At least for the moment......I don't like green eggs and ham....but I do enjoy money in my hand. Yes! I do.....and if I gave you a few dollars ....I'm sure you would too.

How much I enjoy when money is around....although she doesn't stay long.  As soon as Bill comes along ......she suddenly is gone.  My pockets become empty and my mood not so bright.

I feel like a jilted lover.....whose been abandoned late at night.  She never returns.....but I am able to hold her again......until Bill arrives and demands her attention again. I don't like him....he's always around like the first and fifteenth.

**** Bill is what I often say.....I'm a little Suessed out ....forgive me for my rant if you can I say.....Have you seen Thing one and Thing two?

I wonder if they can come out to play?

I don't want to write. I'm not in the mood.
But I have to do it. It's a thing I do.
So, sorry y'all. You'll have to bear with me.
I can't even get drunk right now. Oh the misery.
If you want to skip the *******,
Click down to the ******* squiggley.
I write when the overwhelming reality
Of post-happiness and emptiness surrounds me,
Drowns me in the grip of the undertow
Issuing from all those things I knew
And wouldn't let go of. So they grew
To be stones immovable, the blue
Churning to make room for their slow
Descent into the unknown.
All this is, is my effort to make a bubble.
Whether to signal for help or help myself,
I don't know. I guess whichever is less trouble.
The lovable, down-on-his-luck, real distant
Misfit who knows exactly how to fit in.
I suppose that's me, if you choose to believe
This is me that I'm being. I won't be
Fooled so easily. For indeed I am the fool,
The fool who used his hands
To take food from other lands
And ran on his two feet
After kicking something sleeping.
Something sleeping selflessly.
Something sleeping just for me.
Hell I had to wake it up,
I'm not worth a price so steep.
Everyone should have their chance.
I ****** mine up, so **** me.
~
I told you all to bear with me.
If you've stuck around, that's nice to see.
I don't care either way, the point this is making
Is no point at all. I just need to write.
It's like pressure being taken off a really filled balloon.
It's like somehow quieting down a goin-ape-**** baboon.
Take one is always great, until you record over it with take two.
My lines aren't always great, but you'll snort em up anywho.
I know, I'm all over the place. But these words, they stick like glue.
Maybe that's why I need to write. Maybe that's why I hate it, too.
They never seem to come out right. These words hardly fit any shoe.
Yet, I need something, somewhere to start.
Bleeding heart poet? I'll play the part.
Evolve like a **** to a shart, and become
A mean-spirited thing. A bled heart sum.
A regular in the slums
Breathing trash-burn oxygen.
Looking up at the sun
Wondering where my moxy went.
Burdening my pen,
Which shifts it to the page;
Estranged from the tangle
Now, this unaimed auto-ramble.

I suppose everything should have an end
If only to leave openings to begin again.
But knowing me, I'll probably nail my shin
And fall to the ground, oo-ing and ahh-ing when
It's time for me to get off the stage.
Just take a look at my life, any page.
You'll probably wonder how I've survived on such a wage.
Well, I'm thrifty, *******. I'm insane.
I'm like a perfectly fine cat, but with mange.
You won't touch me, but my own kind will still play.
And if you do, my disease spreads like a plague
And consumes you until there's nothing left but disdain.
Please try to pet me so I can run away.
I want all the attention, without any of the danger.
I know you've fed me....like, every single day.
But that doesn't change that we are both predators.
And that hand that feeds will meet catastrophe
If it happens to wander too close to me.
Cliche time: it's not you. It's me.

So I write and while I'm writing
I find the signs of my demise
Comforting in light of my shortcomings
Falling in place along these lines

“Oh hell yea, they’re suffering! They’re believing that they can go home, but aren’t getting any closer to the Entropoid Valley which leads to Kubla Khan, by whom they were cremated and born. Instead, they’re here, whiling away their days for boys who are bringing the death of days.”
“Hold your thoughts, lad!” Yells the Cameraman of the Head.
“I’m here, I’m in your head ImhereImhereImThere. You’ve no right to chastise the boys who have not kissed the horror. They’ve seen it, yes. But they haven’t captured it, you see. I am the camera, in my ribs are the film reels, the oscilloscope in my uvula, the trigger rested in my right earlobe. I tell you, there is strength in their brutality, I can bring you the tribal taste.”
“Man, we was just talking about centrifugal farce.”
“Centripetal.”
“No, was it?”
“Wasn’t it?”
“Hey! I believe-“
“Can’t be”
“Shan’t be”
“Oh, whatever. Those bullets find their way to the ***** anyhow.”
“Anywho.”
“Hey, grab your Coca Cola, Clean. We’re ‘bout to miss the show. The cameraguy could record it if he wants.”

take it further than
blue jay blue jay
sunshine on a gloomy day
my goodness I'm a mess
took my thoughts on a
rip tide lawl ride
tongue tied n' fried and
I'm sighing sighs of silly songs
over sickly sickles sicking dogs
of love on rippling rainbows
step aside, ego!

i wanna see your shadow
summer's soon anywho

Late night at the Bar,
The neon sign said time to go,
Funny, when I got there it was all
Welcoming and overenthusiastic,
Garish, like a parade of clowns
With balloons that just got lost
Loosed, to the winds.  I had a few—
Too many and wrote a broke poem,
All alone surrounded by the clank
Of wood from a pole and clicks of levers
As the glistening 'patrons' shimmied their
Tithes to the used machines of *****
Pinned and the green tables pooled
And the women, who desperately looked
At only you, after you looked at them
And the indifferent, tallish Barman,
Who kept pouring smallish dreams
In a shot glass.  I stumbled, swirled out
And kissed the tar as was my want,
Every newcomer slogging in
Simply ran with not even noticing,
As I laid on the ground, they knew
That their time was soon coming.
That's called simpatico, or is it
Solidarity, maybe, whatever?
Anywho, I dusted my self off
And hightailed it back home
Before the broad, my old lady,
Jezebel, caught me on the sly.
The 'Queen of Sheba' was already
There— prostrated on our bed
Waiting to nail me.  My only excuse,
The muses— she wasn't buying,
I said baby, 'I ain't tryin' to sell
You no lie.  The words, they come
And they go, like a train that never stops
But you best be going, you best be jump in'
On that steel Goliath and ride that son to the gates
Of pearl and peace, them goldilock rays and then I said,
Hush, my little 'rock-a-bye' lady, you shush now,
My fresh night moon of Lilly flower, we's gonna
Make like nubile creatures, all naked and free,
There ain't no clocks little darling, there's
Just you an' me and all the rest of herstory,'
She bought that line!

Late night at the Bar,
The neon sign said time to go,
Funny, when I got there it was all
Welcoming and overenthusiastic,
Garish, like a parade of clowns
With balloons that just got lost
Loosed, to the winds.  I had a few—
Too many and wrote a broke poem,
All alone surrounded by the clank
Of wood from a pole and clicks of levers
As the glistening 'patrons' shimmied their
Tithes to the used machines of *****
Pinned and the green tables pooled
And the women, who desperately looked
At only you, after you looked at them
And the indifferent, tallish Barman,
Who kept pouring smallish dreams
In a shot glass.  I stumbled, swirled out
And kissed the tar as was my want,
Every newcomer slogging in
Simply ran with not even noticing,
As I laid on the ground, they knew
That their time was soon coming.
That's called simpatico, or is it
Solidarity, maybe, whatever?
Anywho, I dusted my self off
And hightailed it back home
Before the broad, my old lady,
Jezebel, caught me on the sly.
The 'Queen of Sheba' was already
There— prostrated on our bed
Waiting to nail me.  My only excuse,
The muses— she wasn't buying,
I said baby, 'I ain't tryin' to sell
You no lie.  The words, they come
And they go, like a train that never stops
But you bestbe going, you best be jump in'
On that steel Goliath and ride that son to the gates
Of pearl and peace, them goldilock rays and then I said,
Hush, my little 'rock-a-bye' lady, you shush now,
My fresh night moon of lilly flower, we's gonna
Make like nubile creatures, all naked and free,
There ain't no clocks little darling, there's
Just you an' me and all the rest of herstory,'
She bought that line!

Look at me, I swear I'm clean!
Or atleast I do allude;
To existing in a conform
The terra o' delude
In a ****** reform
Or atleast living I mean

Dance with me, I swear I jive
to a tune of jubilee;
Lowly as obscurity
Repulsive swinging gypsies;
Wriggle in obscenity
Atleast i'm alive...

with Pals once high on relations;
We've lost our ties and inspiration
Ignorantly unhumbled and blinded;
A bitter temptation as the lime did

Oh desire!
You're sending such morse signals
Oh desire!
What have I done to you?
Oh desire!
Tell me the truth- nothing trivial
Oh desire!
Look what I've done to you...

I tried to find an easy way;
Can't say **** but I say it anyway
All choked up on it anywho;
High on me - Dried on you

Oh desire!
You make me cry
Oh desire!
We're both bad liars
Oh desire!
want to dye?
Oh desire!
Dance of fire!

A man does love
Desires' hips
seer of this
Ale axes hint

Sometimes, I really don't feel connected to this reality. Every moment of this life, I feel disconnected and distant from everything and everyone. How do I stop feeling this way? How can I return to normal? I just want to be normal, loved, noticed.

I don't think that anyone notices me. I feel ignored and overlooked. I guess a lot of other people feel the same way. I can't say that only I feel this way. It's a universal feeling. Everyone feels or has felt this way at some point in their lives.

It's comforting to know that others feel abnormal sometimes. That you're not as much of a freak than you originally thought you were. Something about knowing that other people have the same feelings and emotions and passions as you do, or did, is sort of a relief. I wonder what your thoughts on this matter is. Since I can not see you or hear you, I could only assume that you would in some way agree with me. In the case that you do not agree, then I would love to find out what your opinions and thoughts are.

You people facinate me terribly. From you random episodes of nervousness to your moments of passion and love, everthing you, and I, do is an amazing specticle. Just think about it. We are amazing specticles just floating in a sea of zero-gravity and clouds of star stuff. If that's not amazing then I don't know what is. The fact that we are here is amazing. The fact that we feel things is amazing. The fact that we are born for a purpose is extremely amazing.

Life is a gift and a curse, though. It gives life and takes it away.

Life comes in different forms: there's "Life", the day-to-day event that is personified, and then there is "life", the precious gift that is given to us by Life. This probably doesn't make any sense. I really and honestly have no clue what I'm going on about. If this makes any sense, then you are extremely logical and extremely special.

Anywho, This is the first of many stupid entrees...


m.k.*j

I see the immoral convictions in front of me
do I dear to believe them to be true to me?
This false fantasy has to be inception of mine
or ‘tis just a state of one’s mind to dine...
Anywho, anyhow.
Why does one condone, what is not true
to whom we are to be the truth
but falsely fantasy is also expected of thee.
For we are fools of the school’s tools
the system is rig of this tools
from the schools to the fools;
because we are merely but a rabbit,
hiding from the snake's taste for bait.
Weak and feeble we are!
‘Tis to be true for the youth
and generations come to pass
for we will stay
the way
‘tis.

Whence I was younger
Nine or ten of age
I remember me and mine parents
Travelling down to south Carolina ( Myrtle Beach)
And on that elongated trip
By car of course,
I remembered the smell of the hillside's
Whilst traveling inside Virginia, and west viginia
As thou didst not knoweth
(Beckley, west Virginia) is where grandpa's from
(Mothers side), of course...
Anywho,
Whilst travelling I saw freedom
Freedom men died for
Slaved for
Embraced for
I could hear the gunshots
And moonshine traces
Left upon the wind wherein they were created
That noise hast not faded...
Not even slightly...
The people were kind
Invitingly...
Southern souled kins...
As we continue up and down the curly cue roads,
The ones with no railways
(Quite scary I must sayeth)
We continue on into North Carolina...
Whilst entering into the North of Carolina,
It was a simple place
Wasn't mine type of place to be honest
( more of a south Carolina guy, "the old feel")
We past more charming upranged mountains
As the mountains thou couldst tell
We're boiled into the land
By gods hot glued finger
Many country roads and highways
To break on in
Here's the part though that awoketh me
..
We came to a road a little past Charlotte
The big city in the north of carolina.!!!!
This course pavement Artery
Was a hidden road
One thou wouldst not want to travel alone at night
There were trees on both sides
Trees that looked as if they had cometh out of the (nightmare before Christmas movie,)
As thou couldst feel the old pained( ******* subjugation)
The deathly lane was just that
( deathly) moribund in all manner
No houses
No streetlights to guide thy way
Not even creatures to scurry,
If their was any
They were moribund to
Like the ghost slaves staring back at us
I felt those bondaged men
The Africans who hath been slain on those trees
Plucked from their homeland
Sent here too be whipped and bleed
I saw no illumination
Other than the moon
(Full moon)
To guideth ourn way....
As I felt the slaves running ,
Weaving in and out of those trees
As if they were still running in fear
Fear from their slavemasters
We finally pushed on through that devilish appartional road
Making it out alive
It felt as if a nightmare
As if forever
I believeth it took two hours just to get out!!!!!!
No lying there
Of course I was nine or ten
So thou doth not have to believeth me
Though I canst forget the feeling of those slaves eyes glancing
Crying out for help from me
And trust me
If I was there
In that time
All of those slaves
Wouldst haveth been free
Free from chains
Free to roam
Free to come and go
And go to Myrtle Beach
With me and mine family !!!

I'll only tell you this cause very soon I'll be asleep and I'll forget I ever made this for you but anywho: I've always found people like you throughout life and they've always had the same damning effect on me. They make me feel like I have a reason to walk this earth to be alive other than just to breathe part of that joy and that's all I've ever sought to be honest I've never cared for anything else before or after that one goal and I've always found that no matter what I do after I leave that person they seem to have been tainted by me, so flee I might be sweet but you'll find someone someday so much better who'll reduce me to nothing in comparison but for now you should keep a distance between us because I am not like you, I doubt I ever will be and as such if you don't keep your distance I'll ***** you out and leave you feeling like I do I'll leave you feeling like nothing, good night

Give up waiting, ******.  It's so much easier when you don't give a hoot and nothing's happening anywho.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXVI)


I've been reciting for--was that--intents?
How lo, my cousins' kids are in betrayl
Nigh grown, who were so little on that scale
Ten years agone, when I last for good sense
Saw these, or pictures of the same to fence
Some fam'ly shindig with all to avail
Whatever, me an old maid yet sans bail,
Til hopes look quite askance without defense.
Joe is attractive ah, beyond as twere
The dreams I've known, a dream anon come true.
If only now we could be all we stir,
Have children of our own, lo that would do.
Well, be together in  yes, love, endure
To death thus, and have kids:  what's I love you?

01Jul17b

Lived in a homeless shelter once - made me go to AA. I wonder about the success rate of enforced sobriety - probably as ****** as it sounds if the universe makes any kind of sense at all - Anywho - I played it off, polite, smile, repeat after me - 'Hi, my name is Anna, I'm an Alcoholic (Drug Addict if it's NA). Always passed on story time though, 'I'm just gonna listen today' I'd say. Not because I didn't have a story though, but because my truth had to be worth more than just a signature on a sign - off sheet, even if only to myself. Nothings free, not even for the Signers.

Yes, I can smell the gunpowder all right.
And sure,  I can hear the 'pom' 'pom' in the distance of the bombs bursting in air and whatnot.
But I'm not seeing the red glare itself.
From every angle, I'm not getting any of the rainbow foofaraws as was advertised.
Instead, it's just me and the dog here.
I'm just dizzy with conflicting ideas of what being 'here' means.
Anyways, I'm too busy, tired and dispossessed of my patriotism to really give a rah-rah anywho.

I guess you can keep the fireworks.

Some days ago I realized I'm only getting older
So I tried to be bolder, shake the whole world off my shoulders
My failure has only made me colder
The fire inside, unfed and dying
I can't keep track of all the times I tried to hold her memory
Tried to forget all the lies I told her, silly
And all the lies told to me I let them roll over
Like Sisyphus and his boulder, forever crushing my four leaf clover

Deceit bred a hate I held dearly
A fear grew from what I'd see if I ever saw clearly
I drink what I drank and deny insanity
Still hoping for the change to spawn from monotony

To be continued, I'll see you when I see you
Today tonight tomorrow, next year, anywho
I'll still be a fool and you'll still be a queen
A jester in your court till the fat lady sings

Congratulations to the girl who’s finally taking time
to go and see a guy. I hope he is sublime
and that everything for you goes just fine
because after all it’s not my concerns, you ain’t even mine.
Anywho I’m back to the world
with words unspoken, ideals and values hurled
into conversation and bring it all up again.
******* forget locking myself in the den
because my egos inflated
my mind and soul’s separated
I’m prepared for the future
no longer dwelling over a stupid creature
Reality ******* me
because **** it, awesome is what I’ll be
now people tell me I’m in over my head
but **** it, I’m me and that’s all that’s needed to be said.
Selling the sadness away and swapping it for my pride
because the old me has died
and now the worlds meeting with the new soul supplied.
I still congratulate you none the less
and wish that everything goes bless
and now of to my holidays I go
to escape the past and feel a new soul flow.
Admit being stupid over imagination
got me being dumb like I needed consolidation,
well **** it I’m to cool to fall for this desperation
and now like I said I’m of to my new destination.

We need to have a conversation, you and I
But you are not permitted to speak
For I am loudest and most damaged
You owe me this, for I am weak

It is not your turn to be heard this time
Do not refute or I grow louder
I am small, broken, and disenfranchised
And I could not be prouder

So this conversation we shall have today
For the times say it is required
I know all, because I've been there
And frankly, I'm very tired

So let's share some information, you and I
But only I -- not to berate you
Anywho, I need to be going now
I haven't time to educate you

To show you what it is like to deal with this I'm putting you in my shoes for an entire day. It's 6:15 when your Papa wakes you up. You know it's time to get up, but your mind is telling you to stay in bed where it's comfortable and before you know it it's already 6:30. You're still in bed; the only thing you've managed to do is mess up your duvet, your Papa comes back and tells you to get a move on. After another minute or two of fighting yourself, you finally managed to get out of bed.  As you groggily walk downstairs its quiet; too quiet. As soon as you get dressed and have finished up anxiety decides its time to come around and say hi. Anxiety glares you up and down looking for any minimal problems just to yank it.

Right now there is none. It lets you slip past his grasps for now. depression is still sound asleep in its bed; leaving you alone for the moment. You take your medications and walk out the door; praying that anxiety and depression find something else to do, the medicine acts like toys for the children at play. You do your double check to see if you're missing anything, luckily today you aren't. You throw your bag over your shoulder and walk out the door, on the way to war. As you enter the battlefields of the hall your head is spinning, it seems like anxiety has simmered down, and depression is still at bay.

You see your peers everywhere, and inside your head, you're thinking "Oh please nobody talk to me, I don't have time for a stutter now."

Someone comes up to you and says "Goodmorning McKenna, how are you?"

Your mind screams, "Crap! they caught me off guard, what do I do, What do I do!"
"Morning, How are you, good!"
"Crap! I stuttered. Now I'm gonna remember that all day."
You know what, ***** it. I'm done describing school Y'all should get the point by now. I'm skipping ahead.
Anywho, Anxiety doesn't let you forget your ***** up, and it was on your mind all day.

You get home, and depression has finally creeped out of bed and into your mainframe. You walk in the door, and you crash.
You scream and throw something across the room almost hitting something. Depression laughs at your face, and at how weak you are. You're bawling as it cackles at you. Calling you weak, unwanted, and how much of a mistake you are.

Luckily,

that doesn't happen every day.

Sometimes, you step in those doors; and you collapse out of emotional tiredness. You barely manage to drag your body to the flight of stairs that leads to your bedroom. You lay on your bed; drifting off into sleep; sometimes depression does that. It makes you so exhausted that you black out as soon as your head hits the pillows, making you sleep until 9 in the afternoon.

Other times depression gives you thoughts that could put you in the hospital for weeks if you let it.

Honestly, depression and anxiety aren't always easy to deal with.
Sometimes they're as simple to deal with.
Others they make me want to do things I shouldn't.

Honestly, I could walk the corridors of this school, and no one would notice that I'm dying inside, it's actually better that way. I don't want to drag someone else into my own fight, have them deal with my demons.

It's already hard enough fighting them on my own, the medicine does help, but most of the time it's up to me, and me alone.

So, everyone.

Welcome to my life.

Where each day is another fight.

Of a neverending war.

because jim dine looks like
    jack nicholson from
afar...
but it's not about that:
oculus per oculus -
     eye for an eye...

when painting is involved
i hardly think it's necessary
to give abstract "grace"
to necessary objects:

a wonky hammer or a house
is sand and grimace
and all things unbelievable
but it's not the strict
schematic...

when painters have to invest
themselves in words...
that frank o'hara anecdote
about SARDINES...

or if it isn't too obvious
as to what will be cited next:
magritte's:
    ceci n'est pas une pipe...
well: at least colour is true
as much as a noun is...

here at the zenith
red dictates stopping at a traffic-light
junction...
and there's than synonym
of: strawberries...

              when painting had become
abstract enough:
words had to become employed:
i'm still stacking
x-rays and skeletons
with muscular meshes of grey
on the fading with words...

i don't bemoan the task:
looking for alternative, "better" options
in painting...
i've have to be blind...

that painting is all eye
that poetry is all ear and perhaps
the tongue too...
oculus per oculus: eye for an eye...

i allow myself to drink to excess
tonight,
because what i really want to write
is what i gathered from this
afternoon...

autumnal promenade...
         these trees and the sunlight raising
them... to trans-natural realism's heights...
it does 'elp to merely take
a stroll...

       it's beyond comparison:
i dared to think: and if i took a photograph...
no... a photograph would
make me sulk...
i would keep it as something
both horrid and both saddening -
mind you: my memory bank
is running dry and i much prefer
to take photographs with
a blinking of an eye
to expand my memory hoard(ing)...

clearly at this junction
of the near impossible: for something "new"...
there is no new...
when there were formerly people...
up in the northern most easterly tip
of greater london
i'm looking for a "delusion"
of being able to walk
several miles without any
human interactions...

well... would a creature such as a grouse
or a deer allow itself being
spotted in daylight hours
if such a place was governed
by a frequency of man?

the deer spotted me not too far off...
by god: i didn't give it prance to
a get-go to gallop ever so silently:
by the woodland pigeon did
breaking into flight... rustling leaves
of it perching in a crown...

in love with england: more to the point...
the countryside for the nth time
resounding...
the topology of the english countryside...
it must be a desirable word to use
when i have this picture before me...
there were feet that walked
these "roads" and there were eyes
that sorrowed for: the platter of details...

it was never an intended piccadilly circus
bulwark of **** neon...
insomnia neon and incognito -
the middle of this drab
of london bothers me from time to time...
from: time to time...

not in spring not in summer:
now... autumn and these trees
and this sunlight gracing them to an elevation...
i've already chosen anecdotal
points of familiarity...
celebrity trees -
trees like signatures like:
everything else that is also a tree
but is so generic it can't stand alone...
it needs a canvas a window or a view...

then those trees that... i swear they are
so: unto themselves that
i wouldn't require a mirror to peer
at myself...

sure... upon reaching a pinnacle
of cubism... painting new abstract:
a best a verbiage and forever this extension
of psychoanalysis -
at best this verbiage and...
what is it that they called it:
base: introspection of the self...
well... that's already a doubling of
the act...

   given there's (the) definite article self
given there's also "a" self...
and then the possession of it:
which is... compounded reflexive
rather than reflective... rarely is it
my self... yourself myself themselves...
hey presto! juggle circus with
the alphabet people...

i didn't take a photograph for i didn't
want to spoil autumn per se
or my availability of sponge brainz...
i had to excavate these words...
to borrow something from heidegger...
a major pillar ought be cited:

well... hier-sein... hell... expansion...
hier-jetzt-sein:
   or rather the most temporal:
jestz-hier and i'll leave being in a shallow
grave of grace...
i'll concern myself
with... not being a fear-mongering
vegan... when i respect the animal
produce thus presented:
i will not overcook a chicken...
when i insert a thermometer into
a chicken breast it will read
in the range of 165 - 170°F...

i will not become a vegan because:
i ******* well know:
i know blindly i will allow my eyebrows
to be gambled with...
these "vegans"...
probably never cooked a chicken
properly...
when a food can be
respected...
when the ******* are juicy...
one, can, be... thankful!
but if you do a second work-around
of a butcher's "quarter"...
end up eating... protein pasta glue...
no wonder: return to
overcooked vegetables!

i much rather respect a protein...
than fake veganism for
not having respect for it!
omnivores "anonymous"!
gaffs of trends of people who...
probably don't know how
to cook... i love my... presumptuous...
agony aunt sort of flicker...
of demands...
of: stereotypes...
sometimes these higher-tier
critiques of stereotypes pay off...
they have to.

oculus per oculus...
autumn, these trees and this sunlight...
it has to be temporally specified:
"circa" from 12:30pm through to...
4pm... enough time for the weather
to change drastically...
enough time to find an old acorn...
with a ladder attached...
and sit in it... like some long lost
late-starter in the darwinistic narrative
and hide from the onslaught of
rain...

i guess that's why i cited heidegger...
but i was meditating
on other words...
oko - eye -
oczy - eyes...
            to - this
             tamto - that
         tam - there...
     conjunctions more or less...
and... how i might describe myself...

anglo-saxons were my prior...
so the anglo- prefix sticks...
anglo-slav...
for the general purpose: works...
but saxon is specific...
it's not like there's a concept
for anglo-thurengians
or anglo-pomeranians...
or anglo-swabians...
               a specified germanic tinge
that encompassed
an outline of prior to celtic and
velsh...

anglo... an anglo-wend...
                         albion-veneti...
           well... given that every *******
two-bothered-sanctum-christi
auxiliary has gathered on these isles...
"of late"...
but like a sore thumb:
"my people" have
retracted on the tide
so overpowering come
the opening of the floodgates
circa 2004...

moi? earlier immigration...
as early as 1994... n'ah... anglo-veneti
is no sticking word... anglo-slav...
anywho...

a quadratic: because i just love: squared
t'inking...
it's almost like a magic trick...
two buzzwords...
reigning the niche outlets...

patriarchy! ugh! power wording!
and... gynocentrism!
well... let's party!

back to the days of copernicus...
gynocentrism is an elevated
variation of... geocentrism?
which is paradoxical since...
that would implore the vatican to play
it: hush hush...

no! no you idiot!
gynocentrism is heliocentrism!
the all encompassing...
sun *****!
a **** that spits out...
lucifer fell head-first...
"fell"... bungyjumped and
was tugged back onto
the throne when god had a medley
with a banjo piece of working
out: a cross is never a table?
a cross is never a table?

gynocentrism is... heliocentrism...
and "the" patriarchy is geocentrism...
god... i love this quadratic...
i had a cultish idea
today...
among a Pythagorean set
concerning eating beans...
how...
you must uncover your head
when walking under trees...
how you should cover your head
in public... but have to expose
your head beneath trees...

it's not unlike the already well established
kippah and the circumcision...
so... what? exactly?
i still hafe mine: doubly mine since
i don't vacate a tonsure...
a slap me pretty sort of "disguise":
for - covert... monkish brewer... alias:
house of purim...

          hafe hafe: a'v'eh! mein!
i look across... well... no wonder!
h'america by no invitation...
those black atlases would be forever
celebrated...
as they should:
but it's not like the hebrews
took too lightly concerning
intellectual gymnastics when...
intellectually: you'd only have
to replica... stalemate...

i too could perfect: plagiarism...
not that i'm... oh god my qabbalah fetish
and how:
the demiurge is one thing...
i don't need to demand more from
the yids themselves:
their god will do... just f'ah f'ah fine...
he's phonetically ingrained...
my words aaron bricks...
he's the cement...
less the grammar... in between...
after all... he... doesn't really...
favour them as much...
always putting them to the test
to reclaim the noun israel...
hey... of all the people of the ancient
world... a people that envisioned...
their own god... israel:
wrestling them... testing them...
more or less... keeping up their soul-search
vitality assured...

now i will start to chew chewing gum...
and pretend it's everything that
requires / required me the ability
to tie my shoelaces...

      oh yes... the god of the yids abhors them...
it's not like there was no other
memorable balam...
beside... the one still hanging around
with churches
and south america and tele-evangelicals:

after 2000+ years the question
is beside: are you the son of god...
it's more... morphed into...
can i still be a hebrew?

            if you can't celebrate something
when getting into the nitty-gritty...
je suis! my ******* oddity of ***!
throw that charlie hybrid-dough
into the cauldron and let's pray
for ******* bagels! or croissants!
whichever takes your fancy!

that i somehow allow myself a "revision"
of writing under the influence
of btih music and miss amber...
the god of the hebrews already prides itself
on a following...
so meticulous that it's satisfactory /
savory -

  i can't be allowed... a nibbling?
seems unfair to procrastinate on the altar
of how easily a moloch or a beelzebub was
sacrificed upon...
whirlwinds of aeons and of chaos:
how there's only a certainty within the
confines of space:

the clinal pressure for the eye's
critique of autumn...
and the trees therefore basking
in the light of borrowing azure...
these hints of auburn and
commando foliage...
of perpetual green: shying glee
of envy...

      i want this **** of verbiage...
to impress details of fracture
and "fiction"...
i want to return to the ancient
vernacular...
for all i want i must not never
hope to conceive as: outright will...
to hell with a freedom
so ill-advised...

in these pastures where old
ergonomics: horses - graze...
i heave a thumb... a fattening
of it... i experience creases best known
to the advent of the corruption of paper...
but i am not using any of it (i.e. paper)...

there was a rabbit... there was a deer...
a grouse...
and as many birds as my fingers
could fathom themselves alone
to suit up to a replica arithmetic...
i wanted to learn enough of
simplicity: but i was never to
be allowed: a finicky teenage phase
of taming a need for replica:
offspring...

  i desired to not leave any cul de sacs
of grieving processes...
this hebrew god, though...
antithesis: an-t-fezz...
it looks so much of so differently
from the standards of merely speaking
to peering at...
this language without a clear-cutting
of sounds: dyslexia...
what?!

in a language that doesn't allow
orthographic stressors...
and all it has to offer is...
"idiosyncratic" spelling?
   who could have guessed:
a who-dunnit exterior... purpoise?

purpose?
                  purr-poise...
i do have to allow myself to stage:
when dub-step was a music
genre was still worth salvaging...
distance... vex'd... burial...
and that's about all i want to hear...

i'm so adamant in being so therefore
blistered in a gangrene of
politics that has to borrow from...
time immemorial and secure...
it has to translate into a...

you can almost fathom the silence
of horses...
they approvingly nod...
somewhat... and whatnot...
agreeing
to you being a something
and somehwat...
that allows itself to pet
either a cradle of cats
or a brood and leash invoked
sour crease of doggy-dodgings...

it's not **** flinging invoked...
it's something more sinister...
personal: thereby all the more involved / invoked...
it's not Golders Green judaism:
tonsure for a scalp / circumcision for
a ******* kippah: y'er boot?

in that... yes... i appreciate being seen...
i want to be seen...
but at the same time...
i like quivering in a fancy
of being "counter-inquisitive" debased:
outright: anti-...

              i appreciate being seen...
replicating modus operandi: esse...
but... when i invoke this most private
made most public of disclosures...
and it... somehow... "works"...
i hardly think it's necessary
to achieve an omniscient status: quo...

especially when one can encounter,
passibly...
two women... perhaps two dogs...
a park... and on a bench...
a giggle and its most certainly female...
i don't want to be "known"...
existentially pronounced / prone
having to encompass this "audience"..
i desire to be less of what's
leftover / made available...

it's just a minefield...
i visited the Ypres cemeteries...
the anglo-
lingua rubric...
             then these... shallow... deafening...
germanic sorts...
sparrow and robins and wrens would
grace their amassing puncture
of details...
and i would want nothing more...
because i was not anglo-sas
and i didn't want to earn
or learn of make oath to such bridging of
sorrows...

the mass graves of the germans
in belgium come the enforced endearment of
memory come...
no more from cabaret volatire escapism!
no... more!
they are so fuckingly posed
to be therefore so poignantly named!
by grave and so therefore by so little
of body!
the mass graves of the: germanic:
peoples:
how the english, once upon a time...
allowed themselves to play a trough
of towing themselves... romanesque!
this: greviaous mud...
this... horrid first pretender!

if nothing ever happens elsewhere or
to an elsewhere - then perhaps a somehow
and a here, and to a now -
but by then it would have been all
the more apparent that it had to be -
not some anyhow or besides anywho -
other than: some variation of a me:
probably tilting -
   or patient with either a lunar smile
or a lunar scythe -
some odd project for the night
    commencing - commencing with
a pocket full of stars and the index finger
broken - or at least dangling like
a rubric of raindrops perched by hanging
on a washing line like
that obvious similarity in image to:
birds on a telephone line...
it's still persistently winter, or rather:
winter's persistence as in:
winter is not desperate to hide in
the wishes of man or those terrible
pagn riddled songs of exasperated
     O with a choir of sighs...
          (at least) in winter all that is alive
is probably not wriggling -
or buzzing: all that is necessarily alive
and aesthetically pleasing continues -
while any bothersome itch of a floral
perfume: or all that (i might have
sympathy) breathing in and sneezing out
airborne floral ******* puffs
(no, not sugar dust)... well... that's also
somehow "handy"...
- because winter isn't but it should be
celebrated more -
as i just can't imagine the thick splodge
of supposed brain working some
miracles of thought and by extension
language during the hot muck of sweat
and luvvy-dubby incesance for:
                          perhaps neu-und-erneut...
that it will remain...
an early sunset - a sun so vibrantly less
yet at the same time more,
that one may be inclined to contest
a stare with it - and not be blinded or
at least revelling in splotches and blotches
of bloodied insignia -
come 4pm overlooking a distant
London skyline harvest of pitchforks
and glaciers -
                a splinter right at the center
of it like a cat's pupil -
        a whole lot of oranges, plums,
mangoes, apples and other
fruits c/ vegetables strutting -
   was a pear never the colour to
mimic peacock - well... perhaps
in the least via -ing...
           that much is certain...
                come winter and that ideal
sunset...
   for if summer has a sunrise
in its pocket... winter has...
          so much so, winter...
           however distant this tongue
is from its uraltwurzel(n)...
                     a many refreshing returns...
to the same old pinch of cold...
this sterilized air this freshness this
              zest!
kommen winter:
                   wann ich bin leben...
that too: the hours of daylight
   become all the more, more precious...
almost precariously "earned";
most certainly above all else...
              not needlessly of anything:
esp. within the connotation
of harvest... for what else is there
to be harvested?
the earth is finally breathing
through its open pores of mud...
such air... a teasing of suffocation...
or in the least...
   i imagine: a crown made of amber.