Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret ,Kenya ;aopicho@yahoo.com)

On 13th January 2014 Dr. Wafula Chesoli of Mt Kenya University, at Lodwar campus in the north western part of Kenya published a scathing attack against homosexuality in the Neighbourhood, a daily circulating paper of the River Delta state in Nigeria.Dr Chesoli justified his contumelious position against human homosexuality by basing his stand on the scriptural citations of the Bible. The Bible which  Dr. Chesoli has operationally defined as the word of God in  this article that he entitled Strong holds of Homosexuality ;Biblical Persapectives.Chesoli’s argument has a depth of Biblical groundings, however I beg to differ with him in principle, given the  scientific scintillations on humanity of homosexuality from the recent researches of health education and psychology.
Firstly, I humbly remember that about three years ago I also published an article in the East African standard which harshly condemned social and behavioral position of gay and lesbian marriages. This was when the Anglican archbishop Dr. Eliud Wabukala of Kenya had in a similar tone lambasted the archbishop of Canterbury for suggesting that there was need for the office of the gay Bishop in the Anglican Church. I strongly supported Wabukala in that I even called gay and lesbian behavior as cultic and satanic hence to be condemned with all forms of capital nemesis. Some of the contents of my article in which I condemned homosexuality are here;
Let us support Wabukala stand on gays and morality
(January 13th 2011 at 00:00 GMT; By Alexander Opicho, Eldoret)
Practice of psychology and Christianity operates on a universal principle of unconditional positive regard for all. However, there has been a twist in this convention when media in Kenya at the start of this week carried a story that depicted moral fortitude of Bishop Eliud Wabukala; who has out-rightly dismissed the idea of establishing the office of a gay bishop in the leadership of the Anglican Church. Wabukala has come out boldly on this against the strong currents in support of gay marriages from his superiors in the Church. The efforts by Wabukala befit all manner of felicitation from all of us who believe in morality as a basis of humanity. The basis of gay relationships is legalistic and political. African culture conscientiously discourages a cult of gayism. And in Kenya living as a gay is living in contradiction to the Constitution. These collectively fall in an agreement with basic teachings of Christianity. Gayism, lesbianism, celibacy and trans-species ****** behaviour are admonished by Biblical teachings. Gayism is social deviance that originates from degradation in ****** behavior; it is a state of ****** depravement. Read more at;
http://www.standardmedia.co.ke/?articleID=2000074879&story;_title=-Let-us-support-Wabukala-stand-on-gays-and-morality.­
Little did I know that as I was publishing this article two percent of my friends and my family members are victims of ****** behavioural disability, which we are calling homosexuality in the above juncture. As university teacher in the departments of social sciences where student populations is usually high, I again came to discover sometimes later that ten percent of my students always have disordered ****** or gender conditions. I found these to be substantial revelations that provoked me to carry out both desk research and investigative *** socialization researches into this bamboozling human phenomenon of homosexuality and other related disordered ****** behaviours.
The order of explanation would first require a position which posits that; religions both Christianity and Islam don’t have any intellectual nor social machinery to carry out a socially ameliorative process in relation to disordered gender and ****** behavior in any society. Their approach have been and would still be parochial in the sense that the only outcome to be achieved is prejudice, bigotry and discrimination with full harassment against Christians or Moslems with ****** or gender disability. Thus religion should pave way for other competent social players over this matter.
Dr Chesoli’s Position that the Bible is the word of God and the Quran is the word of Allah and hence those with physiological conditions in contrast to the word of God and Word of Allah are satanic, only to face wrath of God on the judgment day is simply devoid of modern logic. I want to sensitize Dr Chesoli on the fact that not every thing in the Bible is the word of God neither   every thing in the Quran is the word of God otherwise called Allah. To support my position before I just explain scientific position of homosexuality, I want Dr. Chesoli to learn that; 159 psalms in the Bible are poetries of Kind David, Kind David whose leadership was full of Machiavellian tricks just like the current leadership of Yoweri Museven of Uganda. The book of Job is theatrical and poetical literary creation of Moses. But not the word of God. This is so because the land of Uz in which Job lived is pure fiction. All papyrological surveys have never established geographical evidence of this land. The last part of the Bible is made up of 21 epistles or letters of Paul the benjaminite. Paul’s writings display eminence of intellect as a lawyer and a person schooled in the Greek classics of Homer’s Iliad and Odysseus as well as Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex.The idea that the words which Paul wrote was the word of God is not founded ,perhaps the last stage of Jewish casuistry.
Homosexuality has to be understood as lameness or disability like any other animal or human disability. I am aware that Dr. Chesoli belongs to the old school which only appreciated the fact that lameness is limited to physical, mental, eye and hearing impairment.However, this position is now scientifically obsolete. Humanity is now understood to be sometimes a victim of ****** lameness, intellectual lameness, emotional lameness, racial relational lameness and other plethorae of lameness to be uncovered, courtesy of science and research.
Like the condition of ****** disability can be heterosexual disability or homosexual disability. Heterosexual disability can be indicated by misfortunate human ****** conditions like; early *******, erectile disfucntion,oversize *****,undersize *****,frigidity,phobia of opposite ***, oral ***, **** ***,****** appetite for your own child, ****** appetite for your sisters, brothers, uncles or aunts, frigidity, small ******, abnormally big ******,insatiable libido or insatiable appetite for ***.
But on the other  hand  homosexual disability are often indicated in the perverted ****** behavioural positions like male to male *** also known as gay and female to female *** also known as lesbian, or female to male to female to male *** also known as bisexuality. We also have other ****** phenomena like celibacy, voyeurism, *** with non human creatures, *** with inanimate objects, *** with ghosts and *** with spiritual creatures like the one accounted in the Bible between Mary the mother of Jesus and an Angel Known as Gabriel. There is also *** with dead family members. Dear reader just accepts that the list in this line is long.
Now labeling above positions as satanic or ungodly can be misleading in the modern sense. The motivation for all the above behaviours is sensual satisfaction. But the physiological cause of the behaviour is few and far between. Some of these conditions are caused by genetic misprogramming or mutation; some are due to body malformation. Like having female reproductive system in a male human casing or male female reproductive system in a female human casing. But the sorriest part of this human experience is that victims of these conditions always feel that they are right human creatures in the wrong body from which they struggle to jump out but they have never succeed.
This is why the Journal of Pan African Voices known as Pambuzuka news has a platform for anti – homophobic journalism, which actually purport to promote social and intellectual awareness among the Africa societies about matters relating to ****** and gender disabilities. This journal strives to minimize homophobic positions like the one taken by Dr. Chesoli in a smokescreen of Christianity or Islam which will ultimately only end up as heinous violations of human rights.
An empirical position has facts that gender and ****** disability conditions is rampart in urban areas than rural areas and more rampart in industrialized or developed countries than peasant rural based countries. Thus logic will tell you that we have most gays and lesbians in America and United Kingdom than in Kenya or Malawi. This is why President Barrack Obama in an imperial stretch conditioned the govermenent of Uganda to make a legislation that favour gays and lesbians. This was also reflected three years ago in the United kingdom when David Cameroon warned the government of Ghana that if they don’t make a legislation that appreciate homosexuals then United Kingdom would not give economic aid to Ghana.Contextually,both Cameroon and Obama were wrong. We don’t use vents of desperate imperialism to manage a misfortunate social condition. We first of all begin by educating our people, then socializing the idea among our people then we finalize by positioning the idea among our people. Thanks for your audience.
Alexander K Opicho, is a social researcher with sanctuary research agencies in Eldoret, Kenya.He is also a lecturer for Research Methods in Governance and Leadership.

This coup
A new nation
Loyal dedication
Its classification
‘Species procreation’
Prevents us from facing
A human cessation
selective mutation
Gestation
Creation

It may help explaining
The reasons
Behaving
But not the foundation
Or actions
We’re basing

A simplification
is “continuation”
A checkbox
left vacant
Fulfillment
We’re chasing

We sweat
Eyes are gazing
A slight
palpitation
In need of hydration
Complete excitation
Without
hesitation
Intense stimulation
Deep urges
Heart racing
Driven
By sensations

Unbounded fixation
Pelvic
Undulations
Clothing
Perforations
Time no longer wasting
This capitulation
a Sanctification
****** gyrations
Hint of *******

The bedroom
Safe haven
For what
we are craving
Once out
and displaying
It all had been taken
Before
Feeling vacant
Freed imagination
A resuscitation
Indulged depravation

A rhythm
we’re setting
The giving and getting
Destroying
the bedding
All else I’m forgetting
Entwined
with each other
Like entangled netting
Both
on the same trip
In a unified heading

Now comes
the summation
A true
Revelation
Final
culmination
Smash all expectations
Volcanic
eruption
That lasts the duration
Loud gasp
We unlock
Filled with gratification

There was an Old Person of Basing,
Whose presence of mind was amazing;
He purchased a steed,
Which he rode at full speed,
And escaped from the people of Basing.

Substituting communication
for mere contact.
Self image produced with every shared post.
Basing your worth
on how many tap their finger.

When people become numbers
and reading someone's tweets
is enough to count as friendship

Convincing ourselves that life should have an edit option

Have we forgotten the tangible world?
real and uncut
above the square illusions residing in our hands

Women gets together and ask,
where have all the good men gone?
And they states they either marry or taken.

When in truth many exist still in the world.
But they must question many things about themselves.

A man that quiet.
Wouldn't want a woman that argues constantly.
Probably one that hardly does.

Or one that can't trust him.
But wants him to trust her.

Good men live according to those they date.

The kind that gives him space.
And feel secure to let him be him.
Once you assured he's not out to hurt you.

A good man isn't afraid to be with his.
As long as she makes time for him.
But not according to their friends.

Sometimes being alone with one another.
Creates adventures to built upon.
And sometimes the best of friends get in the way.

A good man places the feeling of his woman first.
Always will.
Always have.
That's the quality of a good man.

Words said to harm her.
Is put to a halt by the love of him

It's not that all good men are taken.
It just some women is basing their search on the man of their friends.

Cause before they found him.
He was just an ordinary man.
Changed by the love of a good woman.

I've been thinking about you baby,
So I'm drinking about you lately
Now I'm dreaming about you baby
& My head's screaming sedate me

I've been tearing out my hair about you baby,
I just simply can not bear it
Prayers come & go without merit,
Maybe only you can save me

I've been chain-smoking about you baby,
Trying to rid myself of your lingering taste
But it's savory & I hate it
Bad habits are hard to break

Now I'm binging about you baby,
& I'm choking about you baby
Feels like hanging from a bridge
[Rope + Throat =
Dangling, here - you baby]

The Frog Prince croaks, alone for you my highness,
Beauty is only skin deep when vanity is all but timeless
It's chipping away my sanity; (your china is the finest)
Your parisitical silhouette (the iris of my crisis)

I've been sniffing glue about you baby,
Now you're stuck on me like paste
With eyes closed, it's almost as if
you & I were face to face
Your touch, my long lost grace
How I long for your forgotten, electric embrace

I've been free-basing about you baby,
& basing my phrases around you lately
Just can't phase you out of my head
I see you in my dreamscape
You're my favorite escape baby

Now I'm hallucinating about you baby,
It feels like I'm losing you baby
Your pallor is opaque, are you okay baby?
I see a ghost; the resemblance is uncanny
It's become unnerving, why can't you just be happy?
Your antics make me frantic
I'm sour & spiraling downward baby

I've been robo-tripping about you baby,
& double-dipping about you lately
My frame of mind is shaky
So scrape away all my brain matter baby

I've been injecting about you baby
Now I have this festering infection,
affliction for your affection, and

My veins collapse about you baby;
Encasing my brain in frost,
You're cold as a glacier;
Read between the lines baby
You call the shots

Maybe I should huff some gas about you baby,
Or smoke some crack about you baby
I dunno what to do about you baby;
I could melt you on a spoon,
My life is drab without you lately
I just want to see color

Inhale *a dab about me baby,
So you can recreate your perception
of times past about me baby;
Mix & match the parts you like best
& Exhale *all the rest baby

to me, the Cartesian saying had to be relegated to shrapnel,
i treat the cogito
                                           ergo                       sum
like i'd treat atoms, brushing and
signaturing each other with
a stabilised unification
under the name: helium, or hydrogen.
evidently that's also a term
for three dimensional space
and the cohorts of chaos that come
from it.
           but something worries me,
intrinsically it's what i would simply
term: the automation of thinking.
basically? it's blood hard to stop thinking,
to do yoga to intricate being
in nothingness,
    as Heidegger suggested:
non-being is a tier below nothing,
      and i guess automated thinking
comes from non-being,
because there's this intrinsic manifestation
of instinct found in all sport activities
that doesn't allow thinking to take place,
no footballer thinks about his exertion
on the football pitch, no golfer maps
out a system of thought to *** the hole
in one...
                some would even say
that thinking is a form of laziness,
          i find that the whole notions turns
out to be a **** up affair of concern,
the mere notion that thought is automated
    and cannot be barricaded against
its relentless battering our very being
is due to the fact that so many of us
do not attain the all that glitters is gold
particularity of fame...
             it's not that we are doubtful,
but that we are mindful / thoughtful,
a few of us make it to the top of the sardine
can, but so many of us are minding
our own business on this placebo earthenware:
yes, i call this a placebo urn of things
needed (people always rave about nouns
anyway, call it slang, or whatever,
it trends, hashtags and the outdated
forms of phone numbers - calling big brother
eeny, meeny, miny, moe) - i could
swear it's so, but then again, maybe not so.
still (what a crass digression),
coming back to the Cartesian shrapnel...
           basing in on weights and measures -
it's so tiny, that expression,
                      we can think the realistic
and only express a centimetre of the world,
we can be the realistic and only
express a centimetre of the world,
  and then we can think the illusionary
and express a mile of the world,
        and we can be the illusionary and express
   a kilometre of the world:
toward the basis of fame and contentment of
  the shadows...
       yes, we have achieved a "death" of history,
by simply stating our recreational pursuits
being more important than our
need for historical eventuality and crisis, and change...
we have stated a "death" of history
via our population size, our ability to combat
diseases (whether infantile or of a certain maturity),
yes, we have established a congested world,
which facilitates nothing quite like a herd
(cattle mentality): hence the modern concern
for alienation... we're created a collective manifestation
of insects, or as one might suggest
  this is yet another geocentric and heliocentric
concern for us... although relegated to
egocentric and the collective ethos of comrades -
but given the former has been eradicated
as it was previous known: communism -
      in economic vocabulary it's all but gone,
but still exists in the sports: yet again,
the re-surfacing of abolishing automated thinking,
namely, automated collision with the daily
activity - either competitive or mundane,
    as we all soon realised: if automated thinking
is not eradicated by automated doing
     we end up mentally distraught -
our own thinking alienates us and even progresses
to symptoms that have no viability
       concerning a drowning man, nonetheless
we're actually drowning.
i can hardly think that nothing is an abyss -
       to me thought is an abyss (cat meows,
i write, the fermentation of wine goes on in
four jars to my left, bob, pop, bob, pop,
and daniel licht is playing to the fatty *****
that's my brain) -
                     i knew that ponderings ii - vi
would get my creative juices flowing:
finally! a book on philosophy that i can comprehend
within that bilingual complex i've established!
or: this much can be said upon
giving a supermarket cashier a signed copy of
my actually printed works
     and hearing a compliment with eyes
waxed with glee (Tarah);
           now i have 100 copies to push,
become akin to a drug dealer with poetry,
           and that's not going to be easy
without p.r. and all that jingly marketing qualms.
still, what's there to be done
        if not that there is something to be done,
even if it's nothing, or a pebble on a mountain:
which is why there is so much
   potential in individuality, but also so much
angst - instead of doing crosswords we have
other riddles to be bothersome about,
   but so few even get a ?         to be concerned with.
again the Cartesian shrapnel equation,
              so much is staged on it in terms
of how thinking becomes automated, robotic
to the point of making children succumb to
    premature depression -
      back when premature dementia was the hit
on Broadway or in an Estonian lunatic asylum
in the 19th century,
when we first received our psychiatric vocabulary,
now it's the young who are odd
   and it is premature depression,
          a bit like the black plague, against
all hopes, a single identifiable folly.
             and where the best rewards?
solitude, where else?
                          for all that swindling of the talk of species
and competition within / without,
        always one ******* says:
                           i am the zeitgeist - always one:
are there really benefits to realising that
****** equation? are there? to feel alive, to feel
conscious, or the madness of Nietzsche's reversal
stating that he's a thing that simply, exfoliates
necessary thought?
           thought is primarily a moral ought -
the should i or shouldn't i?
        it's intrinsic, inherent and simply: just there...
or in the unlikely event, a step into the abyss
   and subsequent pathologies of the enabling of
   a destruction of the soul: as manifestation
of a transgressively transcendent embodiment
of pure body.
                 so, against all duality, i simply fathom
that ****** thing as shrapnel,
     curiously via (as i already might have said):
so much thinking doesn't precipitate into being,
     and so much being doesn't precipitate into thinking -
or of those who adorn mental silk fabrics and Solomon rings,
         and those who have to pay for elocution
lessons due to their ****** endeavours -
      yet again, alignment with Thesaurus Rex,
cue: down Synonymous Avenue
                     because how many times are we sharpening
our narrative trying to feels less inclined
                 to exfoliate in the exotica of what's
the necessary verbiage, and escape into single
identifiable meanings, without poker, without politics,
without sexualised ambiguity?
for me language should work, not be desecrated
to fun: it, should, work;
                     or here i rest my ambitions,
without any poetic dogma - or to make poetry unrecognisable
when stated, for no reason to discredit
   the systematics of poetry: but for reason
                        Kraken wrangler on language -
as much as Nietzsche might have said about
      philosophical systems and their errors and lack of
honesty: i say as much about poetry careful to
be identified as such: metaphors, imagery blah blah -
all things that make people conscious of what
they're reading is actually what they're reading and say
it's poetry - as i said to the supermarket cashier:
enso (Japanese,
marcon purposively missing) - to write while standing up,
and so the reader is standing up,
         not a novel you take to bed,
                     and read for months on end,
dozing off, or sneering at "uneducated" people
on the train...
                         i might as well be writing instruction
manuals for the sadistic training of ballerinas -
              one cut, one incision, and get the **** out;
or at least that's the idea -
      learn to spell, work on punctuation variations,
    learn to tie your shoelaces... and don't believe in
the word edit.

you're drinking, and then you can't control
the reaction upon entering the tetragrammaton...
one h is for hushed up laughter, for sighs (ah),
and then the alter deja vu
is a cocktail of:
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,
yeah, so many, so you can look at it rather than
say it... it's a sunny day, go out and play
or something... leave me with the anchor of ****
humanity dragging us down, or simply basing us
in the underwater fudge of mud to a standstill...
it's sunny, go out and play, ride a bicycle or something...
you know, living 20 odd years in an english society
i never had an english girlfriend, i'm told she's a real
firecracker fortune-cookie... my hands are cold,
i swear by the oath of the old Bailey i never touched
her thighs... scouts' honour, cross my fingers
and wear woman's underwear with a bowler hat
to match my serious demeanour...
yep, an Abbey Road's standstill... a fifth beetle
chatting cheeky chat chat of a chirp...
gurgles of fizz in carbonated wine known as champagne,
well that's me... or as the roadrunner said to
speedy Gonzales... hark a sayonara when changing
the gears to a 100m sprint world record.
the Mayan disease? ah right... excess spontaneous
laughter, unstoppable like a tide;
got chatting to a ms. khan... Genghis' great great...
great great great great great... great great granddaughter...
a doctor from pakistan... nice english accent
gets you all the pleasantries so everything can
go to hell... the sleeping pills prescription is waiting...
now the sick-note... so i don't crash a plane
into the Swiss elevations by "accident"
while sitting on an arm-chair of nails while everyone
else is farting into cushions.
honest to god, the tetragrammaton is like a brick
wall for vowels, you hit the ball against the four
walls, and the vowels are either ****** up
or they extract the consonant stability of the four letters,
and your safest bet to express them is
to laugh;
well, i do call it a Mayan disease... because
my stomach is aching from building a six-pack with
the giggles.

Anxiously awaiting atomic assimilation
Basing me on belligerent and boorish bastardization
Capsizing cargo with careful consideration as to
Deciding which day is decay's destination
Everyone embrace the elevated expiration
Forget my face and follow fabrication
Go to the gallows with grace and gravitation
He will hold you and hinder alienation

I, however, hold insignificance in interest
Justifiable jackhammers jacking fighter jets
Killing Californians who are kissing canvases
Lying without laughing and lighting cigarettes
My master makes me move my mundane mind
Never knowing next to nothing with nothing else inside
Overly offering operating override
Practicing patiently pulling peoples' pride

Quickly questioning quizzical quietness
Rationalizing raging reinventions ridiculous
Stapling this summer to my (still) sick subconscious
Traveling tunnelers trading tides for tiredness
Under the umbrella my undertow untangles
Violently vibrating like varying violin angles
Waiting with wandering whispers under the table
Xylophonist x-rays, excruciating fables

You yellow youngling, you who screams in my dreams
Zebras zoom by every single night, it seems
Let's chant my enchantments, the alliteration song!
And untie your tongue
So you don't take it wrong.

THE JOURNEY OF MY LOVE LIFE

Someone comes into my life,
We became best of friends, she starts being so
special to me,
That she becomes so close to me,
she starts to mean everything to me,
I start to miss her, and i then
realize that my life can't go on without
her, i start missing food and
sleep, My life totally changes. That
She promises me heaven on earth and
she keeps on telling me that she
is different from the ones I have ever
had. My heart gets softened till I
surrender it to this special girl I  call
heaven sent

Everything goes on well, I share good
moments... but suddenly,she starts to
change after getting what she wanted,
she reduces on the texts and calls,
start to give many excuses, my so called  sweet
heart  starts becoming too busy for
Me...I  start to cry, plead and ask
forgiveness but all in vain till I was
dumped and she  move on.

I  got heart-broken;I  swear never to
fall in love again. I  start hating love,I
start saying that all women are
the same basing on what my heartless ex
did to me , I never trust anyone again.
I  live a single a life, but after sometime,
I start admiring my happy friends who are in
love, loneliness squeezes, I  then
decide to try loving a gain. Another pretty lady comes into my
life, I  start to think that she is
heaven sent but still I went through the
same process.

Friends that’s the journey of love, No one
who can escape it and no one who will
never get heart broken.

So if you have someone who is treating
you like a king or a queen, truly and
faithfully love that person because true
love is hard to find. Do whatever it takes
for both of you to last longer. Don’t easily
dump that person because of minor
disagreements. Call or text that person,
meet him or her and apologise.

Value that person’s effort and everything
he or she sacrifices for you. Don’t take that
person’s love for granted because
someone out there yearns for that
person’s love and care.

Do I see you for who you truly are?
Or am I basing judgement off
Of your appearance,
While I don't even know you.

I would be lost for words
If you were to ask me who I am.
I could tell you my name,
I could give you a brief
Or detailed description,
I could tell you what I do,
But that wouldn't do
Your question justice, would it?

I have a question for you,
Are you really living or only surviving?
Please don't be offended.
Ask me the same question,
I won't be offended.
Am I really living or only surviving?
Maybe each and every one
Of us is denying
The blunt truth we can't control.
Embrace the pain
As it bleeds through your soul

Introduce yourself
Before you go
Or before I leave,
Only because it was important to me.

What's the difference between goodbye and hello,
When greeting a man or woman you don't know?

Originally written 1/14/11
Revised 10/19/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

సమరంలో దూకే సన్యాసిని
సాయం సంధ్యలు ఎరుగని సాహాసిని
శక్తి ఎంత ఉన్న అణిచే సహనం ఉన్నది
సాధించే సత్తువ ఎదలో ఉన్నది
సంకల్పం అన్నది ముందుకు నెడుతున్నది
శ్రీ లక్ష్మి కోసం వెతికేస్తున్నది
సాహసమే నా జీవితమైనది
సీతకోకచిలుకే కావాలి అంటున్నది
సహస్రాలైనా తనతో ఉండాలున్నది

the night i found a woodland pigeons roosting
on my guttering, tried to catch it given
the maxim: better a robin in your hand,
than a dove on your roof, but failed, and
to my surprise, felt no feeling of failure,
nothing competitive, and the world needs this
at this moment, the shattering of the clocks,
for a moment, to hold your breath and take
snapshots of the world as if drowning -
with a held breath, and ninja gymnastics
slowly edging toward the pigeon perched
in the guttering... do people understand that
poetry isn't about competing in the Olympics?
you can't laurel crown a poet of ability
among others, just like you can't discourage others
from the freedom to write it, however ridden with
orthodox methodology, or however concerned
with the purity of a narrative...  nor can you
have poetic prodigies - poetry takes time,
it takes fermentation, it's not one of those first
come first served allocations of ability...
it takes years, experience, i'm not talking about
a viola player in an orchestra, reduced to
muscle work, sure, you can be the muscular equivalent
of a viola player in an orchestra in poetry,
that's the easy part, tweak a few things in your
imitation and we're set to go... you'll be known
as pseudo-Plato or some other grand name...
you can't become a prodigious poet, i.e. if your
mother or father was a poet... this is the only
place where Sartre's existence precedes essence
takes form, elsewhere it doesn't,
the most evident i.e. is time flies when you're
having fun - the presupposed essence of time
defines the supposition of having fun and
the non-existence of time - the two together are
what's required of a proposition taking form -
fiddling with the prefix doesn't concern anyone that
much, i.e. a preposition is lodged between
the presupposition (preposition) and supposition -
as i said before, systematisation is a method of
economising vocabulary - a boa constriction, a restraint,
imagine yourself being a pauper while writing out
lavish decking, chairs, marble toilets and gold-gilded
toilet seats, tacky stuff according to the failing
of the concept of money, once gained: to lavish out
on things, to keep the merchant class constantly busy
and adaptable - what with the Koranic procedures
we can be assured that there will be a constant
confidence in producing, selling, exchanging,
or the tonne of food thrown out because it didn't sell.
like growing vegetables, you probably ingest
5 nutritious poems a day, the rest you throw out...
you take a fat poem, a protein poem, whatever,
there's always a variation on what poem fills
the carbohydrate allowance, but the rest is thrown out...
a thinking man's poem is fibrous, that means:
slow on digestion, reminding, an agitating gnat
or mosquito; but it truly is a case of having to be
an entertaining narrator, without character study -
or character concern - in that i lend myself
to the poetic practice of ensō - one smooth stroke
and the narrative is finished - also a culminating point
of worth consideration, name revelation 13 -
and the suggestion: what the contemporary affairs
would also suggest -
it's kinda funny when you think about it...
isn't the beast from the sea Moses and the beast
from the earth Jesus?
early Christianity probably wasn't prone to iconoclasm,
only when it reached popularity this
iconoclasm play a key role...
but what does John actually write?
in our modern tongue? Moses (the dragon) and
Jesus (the beast), as stated in the tale:
the transfiguration, or the shifting of power -
who is able to make war against the beast?
the Antichrist (some words have been kept in
straitjackets, use them, they either think you're
mad, or religiously psychotic, under-use them
and they fall into the wrong hands... bit of a juggle,
but coming from a religious school education,
i'd keep such words categorised in controversy
as euthanasia and abortion); so unto the beast...
a mouth speaking great things and blasphemies
(sermon on the mount), and the deadly wound was
healed (the crown of myrrh, and the resurrection),
and they worshipped the dragon and they
worshipped the beast - many do still preserve
"tact" of kneeling before an icon, esp. in orthodox
tradition... and the blasphemies,
well, i'm not sure Jesus was crucified for nothing...
see how people can make you look silly when you
use parts of their vocabulary? you write Jesus
and immediately you can't think of an Eddie Izzard
sketch... you're trapped with how other people
over-use certain words, keep them "sacred" in order
that they might be treated as sustenance...
some people write the word tomato or potato and
get a meal out of it, others write Jesus and they
win the ******* lottery with their flock of goody-two-shoes
fanning their ***** in packed churches in the Bible Belt.
then there's John doing a bit of Spartacus -
if any man have an ear, let him hear -
by the way hunter s. thompson was keen to study this
book too... he that leads into captivity...
and when did i not felt being captive under Christianity?
they catch you early on, get you educated in *******
and then release you into the world as mince meat;
it's all a fatal exercise in / of metaphor -
i'm not surprised rushed toward the book of Genesis
for a stability of thought, trying to
write an equivalent of Paradise Lost, i.e. Paradise
Regained basing it solely on the book of Revelation
with is complex use of metaphors would drive
anyone mad... so far i'm stumbling, we have
the dragon giving power to the beast of the sea
(Jesus' harem of nuns, water, juiced up *****)
and then we have the beast of the earth -
then there's the many deceptions or "miracles"
that Jesus did - any magician will gladly succumb,
altogether the purposes of any image,
not a statue, but an image, basically a sphinx on paper,
how ancient worship of statues and building them
turned into a worship of oil-on-canvas...
from 3D into 2D... by the time we reach 1D we are
talking the big bang... oh, right... we're talking
about the origins of the universe already...
i'll test you: compose me a Milton-like poem working
from the book of revelation and never touching on
the book of Genesis - let's face it, the only poetically
riddled book of the New Testament is the book
of Revelation... and it truly is a ****-up for any poet
to consider... easier to be a novelist and joke
at the bible being accessible in every motel room
across America... such books are agitators,
they're implants, something you get rid off in your
spare time, bite out the access of such books to your mind
like a dog with rabies... praying:
just so i don't have to wear the Golgotha geometry,
just so i don't have to wear the Golgotha geometry...
in summary? to me the dragon is Moses
(every Greek would side with the Egyptians given
Alexandria and whatnot), armed with all the physics
bending plagues (yes, i think they're true,
Darwinism is no better at their myth of Tarzan,
given we're watching sprinting 100 metres in under
10 seconds, everything starts to look ridiculous given that),
yes, both assumptions are quiet honestly absurd,
it just depends where you want to begin with:
the clash of fur versus tanned buttocks,
or the clash between female genital mutilation
versus male genital mutilation...
i told you, i am circumcised during ***, i roll the *******
back, and hey pesto! a helmet!
i think i better change the concept of enso into
a concept of the waterfall, just for the exotica (but there's
no exotica in globalisation, it's hard keeping
history and learning to get together without
some part of us rebelling to rekindle ancient wrestling),
aha! taki! can you imagine what would have been
if the Egyptians were able to keep their ideograms?
they wouldn't ever have kept them to see them off
on the evolutionary sprint to success, they weren't
using matchsticks like the Chinese were using
and kept on using, waiting for numbers to prop up
and tell you Hong Kong was 1 million light years away
from Beijing... because it was all d'uh to them
and the Mongolian harmonica imitation of the steppe
idiot laughing at a horse taking a **** like
a male dog taking a ****, giddy up on the leg over.
i'm well surprised the Chinese ideogram is alive...
it's a source for many ideas, without me even wanting to
travel there... they built the great wall of China with their
ideograms, the wall itself was unnecessary to protect
the people from Mongolian optometrists...
that's the key in Chinese, using matchsticks the sounds
are pretty much basic: Xi Lung Chi - or Chang Chewy Lo,
pretty crap, isn't it? i agree, their strength comes
best expressed by their proficiency in less matchsticks
included in the Jenga of 1, 2, 3, i mean the bendy bits,
we Europeans have to first remember the aesthetic,
then the dyslexia antidote to get our ideas out and into
the open, for the Chinese every ideogram is
not a letter but another bright new idea... eo or ea-,
whatever... 1 billion of them content with the scraps
of individuation waiting for them... with us it's
about conquering the world, but our **** doesn't sell
in Mongolia... when was the last time
you picked up a newspaper and read news from
Mongolia? the 13th century and Genghis Khan?
probably. god, feels great to unwind without
paying too much attention on the book of revelation,
every time i muster the strength to consider
religious topics i immediately feel i'm claustrophobic
and want to get out...
that book is still but a fatal exercise in metaphor -
it's overly-poetic, the book of Genesis is full of
princely imagery, but the book of Revelation
is not compatible with imagery, a garden and three
characters makes imagining it far more easily
than the three characters in the book of Revelation
on a beach... when i think of a garden i think
of vineyards and pear orchards, i.e. wine and cider -
when i think of the beach i only think of
hot dog selfies of a girl's tanned legs... and that
ain't helping... and why people vacate on beach
resorts but are scared of swimming in the sea,
and only want the sea as a canvas when swimming
in the hotel swimming pool.

A world of people
Who thinks she's weird.

When she meets someone she likes
She opens one of the gates up.

They still have a while to go to
See who she really is.

She's hapless at romance,
Not getting a chance with anyone
Because she merely watches
Romance from the side lines,
Only able to analyze it,
Never truly experiencing it,
Not knowing the full reality of it,
Basing her decision to be closed off
From only observation.

Maybe someday a guy will
Sweep her off her feet,
But who will he be?

Because of miscommunication she cannot
Get her feelings across.

Apparently she keeps her
Feelings hidden far too long
Because she wants others to
Be happy.

She is shunned for her
Want to make everyone else
Happy before herself,
Making her the lone wolf,
Who merely observes,
Watching from the woods,
Howling at the moon,
Sad to be alone,
But not sure if it'd make a
Difference or not in happiness
If she were to be placed together with another wolf.

She likes her freedom, but
Is pulled like a rope between
Freedom and commitment, trying
To find a balance.

She's not sure, but not patient
With the matter, she likes to
Push it deeper into herself, to ignore
The loneliness, and look into the future,
Hoping it'll be better than the miserable
Balcony that she stands on, watching
Couples kiss and hold hands,
Frowning and then smiling,
Having conflicting emotions.

******* and your little intelligentsia
group therapy sessions
basing its roots in caveman cartesian
theoretic - i know you know that
the blank canvas are the *******
and that artists work on that -
because normally grey citizens are no
blank canvas but a subordination -
but still, *******, why not concentrate
on the blank economics of a beggar
to exercise your little intelligentsia
get-together sessions?
there are less social securities in that
department of inquiry -
mental health and art... what's that?
you jealous of the caverns of the mind
crafting an escape pod to your
****** exercise of mechanisation -
**** on me, crosswords! su doku!
all matters of encryption!
endear your lack of creativity with
the synonymousness act of creativity
decoding encryption,
because you obviously can't encrypt
on a complete lack of encoding parameters (blanks).
you can't encrypt originality unless
you start with encrypting nothingness
with stars... and how often does that happen?
perhaps once... i care to make you
feel something akin to bombastic,
a football stadium size of appreciation lost -
skull kickabout with commentary:
to create the post-relativity warp
of quantity-quality, akin to space-time,
for indeed the answer to science's
space-time hyphenated couplet
is quantity-quality - and that's hardly a measurable
consideration, since there are too many particulars
involved, i.e. too many individuals, choices
and disparaging wills - too many particulars
in the hyphenated couplet quantity-quality,
since science is offering universal breadcrumbs
with its space-time rationalisation
for each and every for a share in populating
an insignificance, whether on a personal
scale or an impersonal / collective scale -
and both are indeed expressed,
the famous parasitical comparison found
in too many numbered essays by individuals -
but still humanism has a quantity-quality parabola,
while science has its space-time parabola,
and indeed both in dip, provide waves,
for example the former with Plato and Neoplatonism,
and for example the latter with
the revisionists of Einstein - the revisionist excavators
arguing precision to 100% proof of measurement
in exponential scaling of the mind theorising
a bus trip to Saturn like a bus-trip parallel-akin
to a 1 mile trip on the same vehicle in the earthly atmosphere.

With sandals and a robe the power of the message was passed.
They didn't decide the higher authority was better than those with less.
They was during what was requested?

The minister's preached.
While some seated reacted to the message.

He glanced.
He complimented those in the pew.
But with a firm tone, he stated this message was address to who?

Who?
Turn up their nose to the homeless man or woman seated next to them.
Without understanding these lost souls have came for the word.

Who?
Sit and whisper about clothes that some comes to church in to attend.
He pointed out Christ saw the lost souls as friends.

And not basing it upon church attendees apparel.

But we know many people that the minister speaks about.
Especially when some leaders cries give the lord your best.

Then long before fancy clothes enhances anyone image.
God knows your heart.
After all He alone is God.

He states, and with truth.
The treatment of others says a lot about you.

Church dress codes is nothing but what you see it to be?
Those with a sincere heart to live accordingly.
Doesn't need expensive suits and dresses.
Doesn't need to drive high price cars.

Cause back in the day.
A mule got many to many places.

Anything God placed upon here with love for another.
Must always remember not to judge their sisters or brothers.

If you judging them according to clothes.
Cause false prophets dress well and fool many constantly.

He took off his suit.
He took off his tie.
And removed his shoes.
And asked, what makes him better than the ones seated next to you?

America

**** your McDonald's drive-thrus

**** your ninety-nine cent ******* hamburger, taco, pizza, salad, milkshake, hotdog, cheese, chicken and ice cream.

**** your ever-penetrating, all-enveloping television stare
-looking into every home and obscenely tucking children into bed with your poisonous, dangerous nonsense

**** your deadly highways and metal death machines

**** your educational system which affords no opportunity and disgraces the intelligent by basing self-worth on imaginary symbols

**** your restriction of information and for appointing one man to represent anybody but himself

******* for breeding such similar beings

**** your twisted hatred of change & for arresting children while cadavers dry-**** the so-called american dream

******* for losing your own soul & destroying us daily

******* for putting faces on beauty and giving such loud voices to hypnotic fantasy

**** your favorite sons and daughters

******* for the wars which can never be won

******* for advertising Jack Daniels on the freeway

******* for a pack of cigarettes - seven dollars and fifty cents

******* for making my **** hard

******* for not looking at the stars every night

******* because I am poisoned by paper

******* for the starvation of spirit & pills handed out to numb the broken minds you've made & the shattered ones you avoid

******* for the homeless prophets

**** your speech decree & for rubbing freedom in the faces of the dying

**** your holy stars & stripes

**** your hushed genocide and & torture

**** your phantom masses and empty religions

******* for providing no wholesome evenings in my rotten town

**** your signposts and support beams

You are but a word

I'm a bad kid
Forget the fact my life's been tragic
Just slap on your labels
And please get back to your madness
Your majesty
I see your money makes you better than me
This sweaters the only thing that stoppin the freeze

Hey mr policeman
Planning on locking me up
For this nug I got up under my nuts
I'm finna BUST
upon your forehead, therefor
We'd be even
You got 5 years of my life
I got you covered in *****
(IT'S SO STUPID)
Base your movements off of what the group did
See the fate of chickens
But ya still wanna be cooped in?
Dumb ***** howling, sou proud of their foolishness
Shroud, the be forced to bow down by their stupid wit

Your branded
What about your individuality?
You're gonna let it perish
Over gucci & some louis v's?
The only Louie I like, is some C.K.
Ying-Yang
Spark a bit of laughter from the sea of pain

I see your pain, I wanna help,
But you just gotta learn yourself
A books only as good as all the time it's spent up off the shelf
This is some self help ****
Swell with it
Only you can close the gates of hell with

x2
Action, Action,
They saying i'm a bad kid...
My reaction?
We never had no interaction!
You're plastic.
Never spent a minute in the kitchen
Basing everything you think of off of fashion.
MADNESS.

Picking apart
Pieces of matter that matter
For they are a piece of the heart

Peace of the heart
Only get madder and madder
If you do not know who you are

Find yourself
FInd yourself in pain,
Find yourself in hurt,
Remind yourself to smile while your spirit is still part of this world

Physically

Cuz I been hella lazy
**** this sloppy body
Tryna stop me rockin your noggins
Like I was cocky rocky

Need a montage
Need a dollar
Need a drake verse

WAIT..

You're tellin me all I need to do is the **** work??

x2
Action, Action,
They saying i'm a bad kid...
My reaction?
We never had no interaction!
You're plastic.
Never spent a minute in the kitchen
Basing everything you think of off of fashion.
MADNESS.

You could say he hates her,

From the way she talks to him, how every rose is ****** at him thorns first - millions of little slashes - battle wounds of the everyman adding up day to day week to week year to year the river of blood leaks to the ocean big enough to drown them both.

He fires back though, and across the battlements of the dinner table sits the enemy shaking a half empty bottle of depression pills, basing how much happiness was left for the month off of the rattling of white capsules against the orange bottle.. She, how could she have ever given birth to him? Some might argue that was all she ever did for him, too preoccupied with her reflection to see the mirror image her son had become with his suken eyes, a rotton apple, a cyanide cynic at the ripe fresh age of fifteen.

So six months later when they both led the cavalry in charge for the umpteenth time throwing dagger words laced with poison aimed high at heads ducked below cover to a safe place (but of course there is no safe place),

Who would've thought when he told her to start taking her pills she'd take them all. Tip top of the bottle bottoms up for the bottle plain white capsules and blood red wine because when she goes out  she goes out like a lady.

Its a sad sight seeing all her family weep at her grave, cry true tears clear and pure. All her family but one, her beloved boy. How dry face and stone visage were oh so heart wrenching.

But perhaps worst of all, is that you could say he hates her even now

Shreaded heart due to color of the skin,
Lonesome nights due to attire I'm found in,
Invisible due to the identity I'm lacking,
How can it be that all of this is still happening?

Inocence in a cell because the color tries to define them,
Eyes of hate cover the dark hair upon them,
Forget the studies if papers weren't probided,
How can we live passing all the judgement?

Military veteran, but color over sees it,
Depressive memories drowning a person's surroundings,
Brought accross at the age of no concience,
Let us widen out eyes to see instead of look,
To listen rather that simply hear,
To speak not talk,
To extinguish this judgement basing on the cover of an incredible story that may walk right past your ignorance.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros

When Donald Trump opened the floodgates last year,
by basing his campaign on paranoid fear;
By embracing the zealots, the hawks, the alt-right,
he emboldened the racists to take up his fight.

When Donald Trump barks and belittles and bellows,
he ends up with strange and revolting bedfellows,
who think, 'cause they're white they can fight and can ****
which, with horror, we witnessed there in Charlottesville.

When Donald Trump won't quickly, strongly condemn
the racists and nazis, he's standing with them.
When he's vague, non-committal, or responds with delay,
he's disgusting, pathetic, and as worthless as they.

Hello ghost
Singing in my ear
Caressing my face

Slow.

Slower



Free falling my heart
Free basing my hope
The tethered rope
Of love
The sand storm stealing
The image from my tongue
Though the impressions forever there
Sweet death
****** despair

discomfort in fulfilling our hopes
hesitance in facing our fears
where do we draw the line
between living and being alive
if our actions speak louder than our words
how do we measure sound
in the face of death
why do we let her down
in knowing that we never settled
bets with our hearts
gambling our existence away
basing our worth in cards
dealt by someone else
concrete in our stubborn ways
when do we realize
changing habits has no price
yet the highest cost
but we still refuse to pay
for debts we acquire
and complain about the weather
until our bodies collapse

Oh my my, this Facebook thing,
has a world of trouble it can easily bring.
Long, meaningless chatting, a cyber-fling,
And it only began from a new chat box ding.

The one thing you must at all costs avoid doing,
Is basing opinions on these girls, then actually pursuing.

As you tell her you’re interested, her brain will cook.
“He’s into my heart! Not that picture I took!”
The one that she uses as her seductive hook;
but as most cases play out, this is not how she'll look.

You can try and deny this, but proof lies in plain sight.
There are some exceptions, but mostly, I’m right.
A long legged appearance, instead has a midgets height,
and oh goodness, those rolls! Her "abs" looked so tight.

Well, at least she is chesty, there is no faking there!
But her best friends a water bra, life just isn’t fair.
You meet up and they’ve shrunk? Can’t help but stare.
And her clear complexion has changed? She has acne to spare.

So provocatively she chats, you can't resist, so compelling.
But just remain unresponsive, asleep, and safe in your dwelling.
Is she hot or bad-looking?  Well there’s no way of telling.
But she won’t look nearly as good, trying to save you from yelling.

So I hope you get my message, best to stay away from that game,
But I am assuming you won’t, teenage flirtation is impossible to tame.
I can only offer this advice, hoping it will keep you ridden of shame.
For as of now, if she tricks you, you have only yourself to blame.

Sweet as the pantries,
She basked herself in a fanciful coating of clothes and accessories,
Longing to find what she termed her "Identity" in her self-proclaimed journey of seeking Truth.

Basing herself upon these coatings,
The sweetness, the addictive tone of hanging on to the securities of being visually appealing had been the sole thought harnessed in her underutilized mind.
"What should I wear?" "Am I looking too ugly in this?".... undisclosed, subtle yet toxic cycle of thoughts kept protruding from the braincentre.
Things unkempt, bottles scattered over the floor, food wrappers uncleaned....she continued glorifying herself with her trance-like state of consciousness: Calling it "Nirvana" as she glanced over her new list of Boy-friends on Facebook.

While ignoring being a  pejoratory display to others, she went on profusely with her self-consuming obssession on "Beautification"....with few occassions of gaining a few disapproving glints of nostalgia from her used-to-be down-to-earth mates.

******: Her work was disorganized, she was casted out from the team she used to collaborate with on a Science project, and became merely an alluring visual representation for pack of hungry alpha wolves.

Disintegration, down to the floor her teardrops were drained from her tearducts as she pushed every bottle of her exclusive make-up products away. "Useless, worthless...."the self-degenerating dictionary of vocabulary swarmed her psyche, attacking every single optimistic living cell in her.

Few days had passed when she found herself sleeping on the cold, hard, unrelenting floor. With a slow recovering stance, she gets up with the final thought of taking a chocolate bar for sugar.

Now she is a healthy, spiritual woman committed in empowering others to find their true identity

sir, i write today to tell you a story that i would define as good enough that i ask you not to interrupt me until i’m finished, not because i think you could, but because, and i’m sure you can believe this, i’m not often allowed to speak my mind long enough for anyone to retain any information. so now that we’re clear on that point, your student has a story to tell.
according to myers-briggs, i’m infp. i’m a feeler, not a thinker, but don’t get me wrong, i think more than anyone else i know, just about my feelings. some of my thoughts are simple, ordinary. some of them are, as expected of me, a teenager’s troubles: school, crushes, fighting with friends. in an environment like this every day, i’m bound to succumb to the will of my own young emotion, and i like it that way. but some of my thoughts are complex, confusing for me. they’re so freaking confusing i would probably have to resurrect shakespeare himself to see me in all of my bardolatry and turn my thoughts into something worthy of being analyzed for centuries after my comparably short life. i tell you this only because i am convinced you probably think the same way—you think extremely normal and expected things because you live a normal and expected life. you also probably think extremely complex things that would require a well thought out night of reading the dictionary to put into words understood by the american mind. i also tell you this because you have made me think both ways as most inspirational teachers have—who else can make your average teen worry both about average teen things like unfair grades and say something inspiring enough that they have thoughts worthy of shakespearean translation? this, sir, would probably be one of the reasons i look up to you. and i don’t say that lightly, just as you tell me you do not tell people they’ll do great things lightly.
i write also because you told me i would do great things. i’m sure once i gather these words in a less poetic manner and say them to your face, you’ll be very annoyed with me bringing this up again. i’m sure you thought little of it. but i need you to know that after what is close to a year and a half of basing my decisions on your words, i’m compelled to write that i’ve decided you’re right. just not in the way you were thinking. i think i’ll march. i don’t think i’ll lead a march worthy of thousands. i think i’ll publish a book. i don’t think i’ll be anything close to famous for it. after much reflection, i’ve come to the conclusion that the word great falls under too many ******* definitions. you meant great. as in significant. but i’ll allow myself a touch of narcissism to tell you that i am too intelligent to let myself believe i am in any way special or significant anymore. i am altogether average - but you have to admit, i’m pretty ******* good at making myself look otherwise. i even conned you into thinking i’m something great, as in significant. but i can admit myself that i am a definition of great. i’m great. as in good, in the sense that means i march to make a difference and i publish a book to help the reader who understands what i mean in the lines. i write this because i spend too much ******* time thinking about what i would say if i had the chance. i am great as in good because i have chosen to write this so someday i can make sure the words i’m writing make sense, to you, the person i am writing them to. sir, i realize now that i am no grand philosopher here to make myself into something significant. and you aren’t either—but if you don’t mind me saying, you are one of the best great as in good philosophers i’ve ever met.
you can keep an eye out for me. you may find my initials on any book and you might see me tutoring at the junior high. but i will never turn into something significant. i don’t see that as an important part of being great. my teacher, i see the utmost importance in making myself into something so good that i radiate the feeling of volunteering at the local shelter. anyone can make a difference. i want to make many. thank you for helping me see that i’m capable of it, whether that was your intent or not. i know you probably thought nothing of what you said to me, but you must have realized by now that i’m told often that i’m a disappointment. i won’t let myself be that to you. or anyone else.
in case you were wondering, when you do receive this in a revised email or letter or even a thought out speech, i’m interested in your philosophy.
signed,
a boy with an ever changing name(though privately, he really likes arlo as his new first middle name. it’s sophisticated but dumb, like he is)

Tell me who I am?
     You aren't a who.
Who was I?
     It's all right now. All dreamed. All matter.
You see matter come and go? How
can you take it for reality? What
are you basing any thing on? You can
be in space and
still be breathing. Underwater
and somehow walking.
Water makes up mostly
what you are as matter of facts
stacked up. Are you happy?
For this time is right here and now
just for you. If you aren't here,
nothing is. How to know? Look,
you can see. Are you anything?
     Nothing.
At some point it become ridiculous
to see the masks -
to see them fitted so
snug and perfectly matched.
Almost forgetting to
slip them off before deciding to speak.
If only.
But then the dream wouldn't be any fun. No?

Can't you see what's happened?
We've only moved further
and further away from
what we are
already here. Waking up seems
so very hard to do. Only if
you think others care. They are
living out your dream
they are feeding you
your karma. You are
chasing after God and they are
reminding you of the ghosts of your pasts.

Drop back in here. See just This.
All the ******* is still
just the same matter.
Just like feeling tired
of the same lunch options.
All the same dark matter
Means nothing without the light that I am.

And rather die as a mayfly, in one day, on their feet,
Than live as long as an eagle flies, on their knees.

"...It's funny how one insect can damage so much grain...",
One instant can damage so much Grace,  

Yet, abominable that only 400 years of supposed science has almost
Destroyed what it took The Evolution 15 billion years to create, the Earth's life!

Extinction is forever and no one will wear it well, the corporate structure's
Convolution need not con anyone, we let them steer our perceptions and ships.

Walking in nature's balance, giving back to her abundance, "...we(e)...",
Illimitable in potential, and indivisible as life, evince to be!

"...They don't stand a chance against our ...(heart),
No, they don't stand a chance against our love..."

If you're lifelong students, self-actuating and evolving, leaving no footprints
That followed none, they will echo forever on, in all ways, always,

Only if humanity gains the sanity to abolish the 'use' of fossil fuels,
Thereby abolishing global defacto-slavery, as well.  Be well.

"...There's a beacon in the sky meant to catch your eye...",
Words weren't meant for cowards, be brave...".

The Cosmos can't stop us from basing global society on scarcity, instead of nature's abundance.
Tragically, our delusions won't be dispelled until that premeditated extermination of 7 billion.

They say don't judge a book by its cover,
But we out there everyday tryin' to pick us the right lover.
Basing chemistry on looks,
When we should taking in mind those are just a hook.
Curvy waists don't mean you cant discriminate,
The ink in my skin don't mean I'm a rebel,
That I was born to sin,
Value ain't based on personal stats,
I'm a good person beneath these scars and tats.
An honest heart ain't appreciated anymore,
How did we get to judging people by their credit score.
I just cant take this anymore,
If you cant like me for who I am,
Well then there's the door,
I cant be the only one who keeps the promises they swore.

Waiting
On empty wishes
Basing facts
On superstitions
Empty ambitions
Building up our walls
Forgetting it all
In order to know
We go with the flow
Keeping track of time
With the emptiness in our mind
Subconsciously pacing
As our thoughts are frantically racing
We had a reality check
But we cashed it
Spent up our wishes
Call it fatal attraction
We want it all
But only understand a fraction
Afraid to take action
We wait on our dreams
We see the light but it blinds us
As we lose sight
Reality binds us
There's no escaping
We must claim defeat
Get back to our feat
Not miss a beat
Continue on
On this gallant retreat

If I had checked your credit score.
Then I wouldn't have been searching for your love.
But basing my decision upon wealth.
Yes, it's better to have.
As it is to have someone that cares.

If I had checked with those you once loved.
Then I would heard a bunch of negativity.
Then who must I believe?
When some are holding on to a grudged.

If I have listen to all those rumor mills.
Then you wouldn't be mine.
And I wouldn't be yours.

In truth and all honesty.
We fall in love with some with questionable means.
Nothing like those in our dreams.

So , if I had done this or that.
Is just us now beginning to doubt ourselves.
Cause it's easy to offer another fool.
When they under the impression we was a fool.

I’m trying to find something to base my life upon,
Something in this strange world that goes on and on.
As the years go by and time fades away,
What used to be "good days" are now filled with dismay.
Tomorrow comes, and then again, it goes,
And my ambition to become something more, grows and grows.
Around the corner, yet miles away,
The life I want now, gets closer each day.
All I've ever wanted was something to live for,
I don’t want to be this little person anymore.
I’ve been basing my life upon what others think,
I wish I could go back and redo everything, every time an eye would blink.
I've fought to become who I am and what I want to be,
I have to remind myself that one day, I will be free.
Free from the rules I followed as a child,
When everything was a game and life was so mild.
Now times have changed and I realize nothing is fair,
And sometimes it seems like nobody even cares.
It’s like no one pays attention to what I feel is best for me,
And what I think about the way some things should be.
I understand now, that I’m pretty much on my own,
And I know a lot of what I can do will never be known.
All the time, I think about everything I can’t say, what I have to keep in,
And by doing this, my thoughts only get more complicated and deepen.
Soon I hope to find out who I am, and what I am meant to become,
I want to know where I’m going, I don’t need to be reminded of where I came from.