Woman birthed. Woman raised.
I am no biproduct
donating ***** does not make one a factor
back strained, she supported me like Atlas
sheltered me with wingspan like Daedalus
her love stronger than the Greek gods
Aphrodite was her apprentice
agape her creation
her love for me surpassed my love of self

Why do we sit?
"Om" she chanted, the spritely tween she was.
Oh, the sovereingty of those at peace?
"sure" her older sibling said.
Why do we sit to look within? Does it make us strong?
What else makes us powerful?
Speaking, acting.
Does thinking make us powerful.
yes.
Does thinking, speaking, and acting create a lot of unrest?
It can.
Thus, we stop thinking, stop speaking, and stop acting.
"Isn't that what sleep is for?"
Yes. Do you sometimes dream in sleep?
yes.
Sitting in meditation, no thought, voice, or act, induces a dream state, but you are awake.
Do you like sometimes the feeling of dreams? yes?
This ecstasy one feels in a good dream is the same as in meditation.
But to see visions and have feelings like in a dream is only a biproduct of meditation.
So why do we meditate? "?"
TO go beyond, beyond acting, speaking, thinking, even beyond feeling and seeing.
This beyond can only be experienced for oneself.
It comes in many forms.
What is central to it is that you exist before it,
and you exist after it, but after you experience
it, you feel like a new you, a truly awakened you.

I don't write about you anymore
 At least not like I used to.
I used to feel you through your veins
Used to know you as ingrained in the fabric of the earth
All saltwater and spit like the love you always wanted
Like the love you set on your brow
But I don't write about you anymore except when I'm trashed at three am
Sick of all your talk and the way you put on that shadow when you're begging to be seen
And I do.
I watch you and your perfect teeth talk **** across the room
You say you're happy when you're drunk but I know it isn't true
You're just happy to be apart of something that feels bigger than your skin
Petrified by infinity you don't let your finite nature sink in
You are a biproduct of your generation.
Pastel perfection and ****
Everyone's dream girl
Until you're alone with yourself
And I don't know which is sadder
the way you laugh just a little too loud when the joke wasn't that funny and wasn't directed at you
or the fact that I've been sitting on the floor for an hour and a half and the closest I can come to explaining how I feel is "*******
 you never knew me
and you never wanted to"
And it's all I can do to just be near to you at this point
Listen to your hot breath fill the room with bravado and your parents beliefs
You said that people should do whatever they want as long as they're happy
And then turned back around and voiced how concerned you were about your brother's new habits
Just as long as no one judges you or your drunk Snapchat stories you post with your new friends who you'll be tired of in 3 months time
Everything is temporary but nothing seems to stay constant with you
And sometimes I think about how I used you write about you
Your wide eyes and moon shaped face
Heart of the ocean I was reeling in the high tide but now I'm stuck on land again
And even if it seems strange I don't want to go back
Back to when I used to write this way
Back when I was interesting enough for you
I want to sit on the floor in front of you
Hear the words on your tongue
Watch the ivory of your teeth meet your forced smile
I want to be here right now and drink in every ******* drop of your apathy
So I can remind myself who Ill never be
And watch you disopate and collapse
So yeah
I don't write about you anymore
At least not in that way.

don't know if it was the biproduct
of faux luxury beaches
secret bankrupt parents
bridges so easy to jump off

tiny island
made the most ****** people i know
looking feeling in the eye
stuck their hand down it's throat

excitement
right in front of my face
the millennium crew
living
breathing
on the road
ready to face the world

the easily "discredited",
or as some would jest,
the ones easily "offended";

i wish it was the same
case for a whitewash,
as it might be toward
the stratum oblique...

had i known a woman prior,
i'd be glad in having nor
knowledge with, or without
a prior...

my only wish?
having been the south,
getting to know the north
was my last wish;

the way i see it,
the epitome of cultural darwinism,
is a man doing *******
on himself,,,

      this second criticism of marxism
really, does, undo the
western social project...
   with its "proto" christianity...

look pretty **** well from
where i'm standing...
   lookw pretty **** well,
for your british thai fathers
and your *******...
mums? quasi mum?
         what are they?
liverpool + manchester = london?

what are you?
         the chant of polish children
regarding the british?

angol! angol! pedał! pedał!

angol! pederast!
           pederast! angol!
sartre lived with his mum,
you i.v.f. mongrel...
   you ******* surrogate
daddy-daddy baby, you *******
homosexual biproduct...
eat that **** thinking it's
swiss chocolate...
                      
  go on! come with it!
          ***-quakers and burp-slippers,
you ******* spice girls
of argument,
             you come with a counter,

you know how i'm going to finish
this night?
rice and some chicken stomachs...
in gravy...
   i was wishing for some chicken hearts
to suit the offal (inner organs)...
  ah... ****;
                 i was really readied to
kiss a transgender person,
while biting off their lips...
to expose the grin,
and ensure there was a
to contended with;
        god... can't you just not admire
the smile?
     hard to think of chelsea  / glasgow
when not thinking of
the frankfurt grin (frankfurtgrinsen).