In the Fall, when the temperature of the Bay would drop and the wind blew ice, frost would gather on the lawn near Henry Oldez's room. It was not a heavy frost that spread across the paralyzed lawn, but one that just covered each blade of grass with a fine, white, almost dusty coat. Most mornings, he would stumble out of the garage where he slept and tip toe past the ice speckled patch of brown and green spotted grass, so to make his way inside to relieve himself. If he was in no hurry, he would stand on the four stepped stoop and look back at the dried, dead leaves hanging from the wiry branches of three trees lined up against the neighbors fence. The picture reminded him of what the old gallows must have looked like. Henry Oldez had been living in this routine for twenty some years.

He had moved to California with his mother, father, and three brothers 35 years ago. Henry's father, born and raised in Tijuana, Mexico, had traveled across the Meixcan border on a bent, full jalopy with his wife, Betria Gonzalez and their three kids. They were all mostly babies then and none of the brothers claimed to remember anything of the ride, except one, Leo, recalled there was "A lotta dust in the car." Santiago Oldez, San for short, had fought in World War II and died of cancer ten years later. San drank most nights and smoked two packs of Marlboro Reds a day. Henry had never heard his father talk about the fighting or the war. If he was lucky to hear anything, it would have been when San was dead drunk, talking to himself mostly, not paying very much attention to anyone except his memories and his music.

"San loved two things in this world," Henry would say, "*****, Betria, and Johnny Cash."

Betria Gonzalez grew up in Tijuana, Mexico as well. She was a stout, short woman, wide but with pretty eyes and a mess of orange golden hair. Betria could talk to anyone about anything. Her nick names were the conversationalist or the old crow because she never found a reason to stop talking. Santiago had met her through a friend of a friend. After a couple of dates, they were married. There is some talk of a dispute among the two families, that they didn't agree to the marriage and that they were too young, which they probably were. Santiago being Santiago, didn't listen to anybody, only to his heart. They were married in a small church outside of town overlooking the Pacific. Betria told the kids that the waves thundered and crashed against the rocks that day and the sea looked endless. There were no pictures taken and only three people were at the ceremony: Betria, San, and the priest.

Of course, the four boys went to elementary and high school, and, of course, none of them went to college. One brother moved down to LA and eventually started working for a law firm doing their books. Another got married at 18 years old and was in and out of the house until getting under the wing of the union, doing construction and electrical work for the city. The third brother followed suit. Henry Oldez, after high school, stayed put. Nothing in school interested him. Henry only liked what he could get into after school. The people of the streets were his muse, leaving him with the tramps, the dealers, the struggling restaurateurs, the laundry mat hookers, the crooked cops and the addicts, the gang bangers, the bible humpers, the window washers, the jesus freaks, the EMT's, the old ladies pushing salvation by every bus stop, the guy on the corner and the guy in the alley, and the DOA's. Henry didn't have much time for anyone else after all of them.

Henry looked at himself in the mirror. The light was off and the room was dim. Sunlight streaked in through the dusty blinds from outside, reflecting into the mirror and onto Henry's face. He was short, 5' 2'' or 5' 3'' at most with stubby, skinny legs, and a wide, barrel shaped chest. He examined his face, which was a ravine of wrinkles and deep crows feet. His eyes were sunken and small in his head. Somehow, his pants were always one or two inches below his waistline, so the crack of his *** would constantly be peeking out. Henry's deep, chocolate colored hair was  that of an ancient Native American, long and nearly touched the tip of his belt if he stood up straight. No one knew how long he had been growing it out for. No one knew him any other way. He would comb his hair incessantly: before and after a shower, walking around the house, watching television with Betria on the couch, talking to friends when they came by, and when he drove to work, when he had it.

Normal work, nine to five work, did not work for Henry. "I need to be my own boss," he'd say. With that fact stubbornly put in place, Henry turned to being a handy man, a roofer, and a pioneer of construction. No one knew where he would get the jobs that he would get, he would just have them one day. And whenever he 'd finish a job, he'd complain about how much they'd shorted him, soon to move on to the next one. Henry never had to listen to anyone and, most of the time, he got free lunches out of it. It was a very strange routine, but it worked for him and Betria had no complaints as long as he was bringing some money in and keeping busy. After Santiago died, she became the head of the house, but really let her boys do whatever they wanted.

Henry took a quick shower and blow dried his hair, something he never did unless he was in a hurry. He had a job in the east bay at a sorority house near the Berkley campus. At the table, still in his pajamas, he ate three leftover chicken thighs, toast, and two over easy eggs. Betria was still in bed, awake and reading. Henry heard her two dogs barking and scratching on her bedroom door. He got up as he combed his damp hair, tugging and straining to get each individual knot out. When he opened the door, the smaller, thinner dog, Boy Boy, shot under his legs and to the front door where his toy was. The fat, beige, pig-like one waddled out beside Henry and went straight for its food bowl.

"Good morning," said Henry to Betria.

Betria looked at Henry over her glasses, "You eat already?"

"Yep," he announced, "Got to go to work." He tugged on a knot.

"That's good. Dondé?" Betria looked back down at her spanish TV guide booklet.

"Berkley somewhere," Henry said, bringing the comb smoothly down through his hair.

"That's good, that's good."

"OK!" Henry sighed loudly, shutting the door behind him. He walked back to the dinner table and finished his meal. Then, Betria shouted something from her room that Henry couldn't hear.

"What?" yelled Henry, so she could hear him over the television. She shouted again, but Henry still couldn't hear her. Henry got up and went back to her room, ***** dish in hand. He opened her door and looked at her without saying anything.

"Take the dogs out to ***," Betria told him, "Out the back, not the front."

"Yeah," Henry said and shut the door.

"Come on you dogs," Henry mumbled, dropping his dish in the sink. Betria always did everyones dishes. She called it "her exercise."

Henry let the two dogs out on the lawn. The sun was curling up into the sky and its heat had melted all of the frost on the lawn. Now, the grass was bright green and Henry barely noticed the dark brown dead spots. He watched as the fat beige one squatted to ***. It was too fat to lifts its own leg up. The thing was built like a tank or a sea turtle. Henry laughed to himself as it looked up at him, both of its eyes going in opposite directions, its tongue jutted out one corner of his mouth. Boy boy was on the far end of the lawn, searching for something in the bushes. After a minute, he pulled out another one of his toys and brought it to Henry. Henry picked up the neon green chew toy shaped like a bone and threw it back to where Boy boy had dug it out from. Boy boy shot after it and the fat one just watched, waddling a few feet away from it had peed and laid down. Henry threw the toy a couple more times for Boy boy, but soon he realized it was time to go.

"Alright!" said Henry, "Get inside. Gotta' go to work." He picked up the fat one and threw it inside the laundry room hallway that led to the kitchen and the rest of the house. Boy boy bounded up the stairs into the kitchen. He didn't need anyone lifting him up anywhere. Henry shut the door behind them and went to back to his room to get into his work clothes.

Henry's girlfriend was still asleep and he made sure to be quiet while he got dressed. Tia, Henry's girlfriend, didn't work, but occasionally would put up garage sales of various junk she found around town. She was strangely obsessed with beanie babies, those tiny plush toys usually made up in different costumes. Henry's favorite was the hunter. It was dressed up in camouflage and wore an eye patch. You could take off its brown, polyester hat too, if you wanted. Henry made no complaint about Tia not having a job because she usually brought some money home somehow, along with groceries and cleaning the house and their room. Betria, again, made no complain and only wanted to know if she was going to eat there or not for the day.

A boat sized bright blue GMC sat in the street. This was Henry's car. The stick shift was so mangled and bent that only Henry and his older brother could drive it. He had traded a new car stereo for it, or something like that. He believed it got ten miles to the gallon, but it really only got six or seven. The stereo was the cleanest piece of equipment inside the thing. It played CD's, had a shoddy cassette player, and a decent radio that picked up all the local stations. Henry reached under the seat and attached the radio to the front panel. He never left the radio just sitting there in plain sight. Someone walking by could just as soon as put their elbow into the window, pluck the thing out, and make a clean 200 bucks or so. Henry wasn't that stupid. He'd been living there his whole life and sure enough, done the same thing to other cars when he was low on money. He knew the tricks of every trade when it came to how to make money on the street.

On the road, Henry passed La Rosa, the Mexican food mart around the corner from the house. Two short, tanned men stood in front of a stand of CD's, talking. He usually bought pirated music or movies there. One of the guys names was Bertie, but he didn't know the other guy. He figured either a customer or a friend. There were a lot of friends in this neighborhood. Everyone knew each other somehow. From the bars, from the grocery, from the laundromat, from the taco stands or from just walking around the streets at night when you were too bored to stay inside and watch TV. It wasn't usually safe for non-locals to walk the streets at night, but if you were from around there and could prove it to someone that was going to jump you, one could usually get away from losing a wallet or an eyeball if you had the proof. Henry, to people on the street, also went as Monk. Whenever he would drive through the neighborhood, the window open with his arm hanging out the side, he would usually hear a distant yell of "Hey Monk!" or "What's up Monk!". Henry would always wave back, unsure who's voice it was or in what direction to wave, but knowing it was a friend from somewhere.

There was heavy traffic on the way to Berkley and as he waited in line, cursing his luck, he looked over at the wet swamp, sitting there beside highway like a dead frog. A few scattered egrets waded through the brown water, their long legs keeping their clean white bodies safe from the muddy water. Beyond the swamp laid the pacific and the Golden Gate bridge. San Francisco sat there too: still, majestic, and silver. Next to the city, was the Bay Bridge stretched out over the water like long gray yard stick. Henry compared the Golden Gate's beauty with the Bay Bridge. Both were beautiful in there own way, but the Bay Bridge's color was that of a gravestone, while the Golden Gate's color was a heavy red, that made it seem alive. Why they had never decided to pain the Bay Bridge, Henry had no idea. He thought it would look very nice with a nice coat of burgundy to match the Golden gate, but knew they would never spend the money. They never do.

After reeling through the downtown streets of Berkley, dodging college kids crossing the street on their cell phones and bicyclists, he finally reached the large, A-frame house. The house was lifted, four or five feet off the ground and you had to walk up five or seven stairs to get to the front door. Surrounded by tall, dark green bushes, Henry knew these kids had money coming from somewhere. In the windows hung spinning colored glass and in front of the house was an old-timey dinner bell in the shape of triangle. Potted plants lined the red brick walkway that led to the stairs. Young tomatoes and small peas hung from the tender arms of the stems leaf stalks. The lawn was manicured and clean. "Must be studying agriculture or something," Henry thought, "Or they got a really good gardener."

He parked right in front of the house and looked the building up and down, estimating how long it would take to get the old shingles off and the new one's on. Someone was up on the deck of the house, rocking back and forth in an old wooden chair. He listened to the creaking wood of the chair and the deck, judging it would take him two days for the job. Henry knew there was no scheduled rain, but with the Bay weather, one could never be sure. He had worked in rain before - even hail - and it never really bothered him. The thing was, he never strapped himself in and when it would rain and he was working roofs, he was afraid to slip and fall. He turned his truck off, got out, and locked both of the doors. He stepped heavily up the walkway and up the stairs. The someone who was rocking back and forth was a skinny beauty with loose jean shorts on and a thick looking, black and red plaid shirt. She had long, chunky dread locks and was smoking a joint, blowing the smoke out over the tips of the bushes and onto the street. Henry was no stranger to the smell. He smoked himself. This was California.

"Who're you?" the dreaded girl asked.

"I'm the roofer," Henry told her.

The girl looked puzzled and disinterested. Henry leaned back on his heels and wondered if the whole thing was lemon. She looked beyond him, down on the street, awkwardly annoying Henry's gaze. The tools in Henry's hands began to grow heavy, so he put them down on the deck with a thud. The noise seemed to startle the girl out of whatever haze her brain was in and she looked back at Henry. Her eyes were dark brown and her skin was smooth and clear like lake water. She couldn't have been more then 20 or 21 years old. Henry realized that he was staring and looked away at the various potted plants near the rocking chair. He liked them all.

"Do you know who called you?" She took a drag from her joint.

"Brett, " Henry told her, "But they didn't leave a last name."

For a moment, the girl looked like she had been struck across the chin with a brick, but then her face relaxed and she smiled.

"Oh ****," she laughed, "That's me. I called you. I'm Brett."

Henry smiled uneasily and picked up his tools, "Ok."

"Nice to meet you," she said, putting out her hand.

Henry awkwardly put out his left hand, "Nice to meet you too."

She took another drag and exhaled, the smoke rolling over her lips, "Want to see the roof?"

The two of them stood underneath a five foot by five foot hole. Henry was a little uneasy by the fact they had cleaned up none of the shattered wood and the birds pecking at the bird seed sitting in a bowl on the coffee table facing the TV. The arms of the couch were covered in bird **** and someone had draped a large, zebra printed blanket across the middle of it. Henry figured the blanket wasn't for decoration, but to hide the rest of the bird droppings. Next to the couch sat a large, antique lamp with its lamp shade missing. Underneath the dim light, was a nice portrait of the entire house. Henry looked away from the hole, leaving Brett with her head cocked back, the joint still pinched between her lips, to get a closer look. There looked to be four in total: Brett, a very large man, a woman with longer, thick dread locks than Brett, and a extremely short man with a very large, brown beard. Henry went back

A SEE I AM TRYING TO BE NICE, BUT MY DAD IS SQUEEZINH HIS WAY INTO MY HEAD

SAYING, YOUR NOT LIKE US YOUR NOT LIKE US YOUR NOT LIKE US YOUR NOT LIKE US

IY WAS BECAUSE DAD FRUSTRATED ME, SO I STARTED TO TEASE HIM

HE SAID TO ME, SHUT UP DUMMY, SHUT UP DUMMY

BUT HE PUT HIS VOICE IN MY MATES VOICES TO SHOW WHAT HE WAS REALLY LIKE BACK THEN

I FIND, I AM MENTALLY DISABLED, I LOOK LIKE I CAN’T HANDLE TEASING LIKE THIS

I CAN’T HANDLE EVERYONE GOING TO BED, I AM NOT THE COOL KID TO GO TO BED

I PREFER TO BE CRATIVE ON THE COUCH, LIKE MY NANNA USED TO DO

DAD IS A MAN, I DON’’T LIKE DADS MAN, I LIKE HIM, BUT NOT HIS MAN THAT HE REPRESENTED

DAD IS DEAD, BUT HIS SPIRIT IS SHOWING ME THAT ALL THE STUFF HE DID, WAS

FOR LOVE FOR THE FAMILY, HE WORRIED ABOUT ME GETTING TEASED

JUST BECAUSE, I DIDN’T APPEAR TO LIKE COMPUTERS, ONCE

COMPUTERS, ARE MORE FUN, NOW, YOUTUBE IS EXTRA FUN

I WISH THE TEASING YOUNG DUDES WOULD GET IT THROUGH THEIR THICL SKULLS

I DON’T LIKE GOING TO BED, I SLEEP ON THE COUCH, LIKE MY NANNA USED TO DO

STUFF, WHAT THE TEASING YOUNG DUDES, HAVE IN STORE FOR ME

I LIKE BEING CREATIVE, CAN’T YA SEE, I AM NOT A HOOLIGAN, I AM A FAMILY PERSON

I CAN’T HANDLE ALL THIS TEASING DAD, ******* YA FUCKEN OLD FOGIE

OR I WILL INJECT YOU IN TO A REALLY DISABLED PERSON’S SOUL

SO YOU CAN FIND OUT WHY I WAS ACTUALLY TEASING DAD

NO THESE VOICES ARE FROM BRETT EGGINS, BUT I DON’T WANT TO

BE A SHY **** SITTING ON THE COUCH, I WANT TO SLEEP ON THE COUCH COMFORTABLY

I DON’T BELIEVE IN BEING A MAN, TO A TEASE, I AM HAVING MEMORIES

OF BRETT STRANGLING ME, NOTHING CAME OF THAT

BUT I FEEL, THAT PEOPLE COULD ****, IF I DID THAT AGAIN, SO I DON’T WANT BRETT THE STUPID COSMIC RABBIT

TRYING TO TREAT ME LIKE A SHY ****, PLEASE, *******, OK

I KNOW BRETT IS MY OWN AGE, I AM NOT LIKE OUR PARENTS

MY YOUNG DUDE THING IS POETRY SLAMS

I HATE PEOPLE WHO ONLY WANT ME TO DO AS THEY SAY

I AM NOT WOOSEY FOR LIFE, I AM A FIHJYER FOR LIFE

IT’S JUST THAT BRETT  AND PAUL ARE PUSHING DOWN ON ME

I AM NOT INTO LETTING THE AFTER LIFE WIN, I AM CREATIVE, DUDE

BRETT, DAD PAUL, YOU COULD’VE AVOIDED DOING THE THING YOU GOT KILLED FROM

LET ME LIVE MY LIFE ON EARTH, AND LOOK AFTER YA EARTH BODIES

SO EACH OF US BUDDHISTS, CAN MEND EVERY BLADE OF GRASS

GET MY MATE PAT OUT OF MY HEAD, JE IS A STUPID MAN, WHO CAN’T EXCEPT

I LOVE COMPUTERS, I DO  I DO I REALLY REALLY DO

LUCKY AND MUSCLES COMTROLLED BY SCOTT MCDONALD
PUT THIS IN MY HEAD

With our backs to her bed,
Lady Brett and I had a picture
taken and sent--
our chance: then--
brief and spent,
oh how my fingers
went fidgeting,
begging for a start
or
an end--
from time to time
they still do,
when I drink the milky
skin of fabricated twin--

In sighing, cracked parking lot,
lit by tired moon--
Lady Brett glanced over shoulder
as I cashed kiss,
turned and fled--
a weary drive
lit by bent cigarettes
and a whispered,
"goodbye lioness."

I long to transfuse
Lady Brett's cynical spine
with two bottles of wine--
an evening in ether,
a ballroom bedroom heater,
until all yesterdays
discard,
carried by wind,
obliterated in sawmill,
scatter across new babes,
seed,
a lesson in imminent sin.

But Lady Brett
and I,
will scheme more than abide
will degrade more than refine
will die more than find
fruition--
all our ashy, planned action--
a century apart,
125-miles too soon.

[v;1]
Spiraling towards the ground again
Worst place that I’ve ever been
Tearing through the floor to start
The battle;  the worst part.

But here he comes,
The solution to my problem.
And here he stands,
The ke$ha to my bass drum.

[chorus;]
And brett,
A five letter word may seem so simple.
But brett,
You’re my savior when I’m feeling down,
You turn my whole world upside down,
Oh brett,
Never leave my side. : )

[repeat chorus]

[v;2]
He always knows just what to say,
Always just to make my day.
And when my tears start to fall,
He finds a way to change it all.

And here he comes,
My superhero.
And here he stands,
The pick to my fro. :P

[repeat chorus x2]

Oh, brett,
Never leave my side. : )

Jupiter moon v Saturn Methane


Today Javk Dyer and Chris Mainwaring are having a fun day at Jupiter Moon oval, to celebrate the after life UFL tournament, and Jack Dyer started the ball rolling with two space kickers, Daniel Morecmbe and Graham Thorne, and Graham Thorne kicked about 2 goals and 17 behinds and he beat Daniel Morecambe who just kicked 1 goal and no behinds and after they was over we went to the handball competition run by Tony Campbell, and we had some great participants like Don Bradman and Tony Grieg, and Zara Baker came in and was the first to get a bulls eye, and she got it twice, and also Peter Sargent handballed two through the bullseye and him and Zara were looking like winning, untill Blske came in and scored a superb bulls eye three times and he won the hand ball competition, there were two more entries, who were Peter Harvey and graham Kennedy, but neither of them got bulls eyes, so Peter Sargent won the prize, the next thing was the tie up footy game, you see if you miss a goal you get a part of your body ******* and if you get a goal, you don't, so the aim is to not get it wrong, because you will find it hard to get free to kick your next attempted goal, so the first was Naomi Innes, and she kicked a behind and Ted Bundy tied her legs together, and then Brett Eggins kicked a great goal, and he yelled put, boys are better, your going down little girlie, and then Zara Baker kicked a goal and she went over to Brett and said, girl's are smarter than you, na, nani, na na, then Scott Macdonald came up and kicked a goal and went up to Zara Baker and said boys rule the afterlife, chicks rule the bed afterwards, and then Marilyn Monroe came over and kicked a behind and the boys tied her legs together and both Naomi and Marilyn were trying to be free the next time, and then River Phoenix had a shot and he scored a behind and he disgraced the boys when Ted Bundy came out and tied his legs together, yes Ted felt good and the final person was Micheal Jackson, and he scored a beautiful goal, and now for the second and last series, and first Naomi with her legs tied together, tried to push her legs up, and because it was tbe afterlife, Naomi pushed her legs and showed us her skills she learnt in death, then Brett Eggins, kicked another goal, and Brett said I am the ruler of this afterlife, no one will beat me, no way no chance no hope and then Zara Baker, who requested to run with the ball with defenders trying to stop her, but that was a trick, because little Zara Baker was too fast as she swung around everyone and scored her second goal, and she said, go Zara, go Zara, I am the greatest in the afterlife, oh yeah I am and then Marilyn Monroe came to magically kick with her feet tied together, and she tried a full somersault over the top of Jupiter moon and scored a great goal and Marilyn said, I am the greatest kicker in the after life, and seeing I don't know much about Aussie rules, I seem alright, dudes, River Phoenis had the next kick and he wasn't too lucky and Ted Bundy tied his hands together as well as gag his mouth, and he is the loser, so he is going to burn in hell or get burnt by the methane, whatever came first, Micheal Jackson came in next to score a great goal,  and Zara, Brett and Micheal Jackson were our winners, congratulations to you 3 dudes, yes this was a great day at Jupiter moon, and everybody had fun.

Captured in the psych ward



Yeah the new guy was taken straight to solitary as his violent outbursts frightened everyone there at the HDU mainly because he was trying to explain in a violent crazy person way that he wanted to put this shy boy Brett omim on television cause he was worried about mr omim spike to him and you see Brett really liked him but was unaware that he was working for Home and away to study
Characters for future episodes, you see his mum and dad were worried about their son mixing with gnus crazy person but Brett said to his parents ******* and stayed at his house and this man was really angry cause he is one of those people who doesn't want people over, he just wants to play with us and then write his future episodes of home and away and he explained our character like how we look to the public very well, and then Brett saw it written in his house and mind you he didn't want this and said you ain't going to put my life on home and away, csuse if you do I will say that you are so shy and I will torture you with that forever and ever and then he said you haven't got the fucken guts mate and then Brett said come on mike, get into the car I will take you somewhere where you can write as many stories as you like and then mike lander rolling was in the HDU and met Ron cooper and mike said get out of my way, I am a writer for home and away not a dangerous crazy person and Ron put ****** in his arm and took him to the solitary room and it has a TV but mike was having problems especially when Brett charged him with slander and using his profile without permission
And the only time mike was let out of solitary was when his girl Friday came who thought it was cool to talk near the water and Ron allowed that
But made sure a nurse or even him was there so he can't try funny stuff
And the producer of home and away came in to see him and left without taking, well he said one thing and that was, no when I gave you this job
I wasn't asking you to be nosed. And film behind backs no I wanted proper people here and then mike got angry and hit Charlie in the gut and ran straight to his room and Charlie was lying on the ground in real ****** pain and Ron locked mike in saying no more visitors for mike unless they are willing to go in there cause this man is dangerous
And Ron was getting ready to take Charlie to TAFE and George came down and banged on mikes door
Ssying hey you fucken **** I want to bash the **** out of you and then George said I am julius Caesar and I am going to bask you up if you ever get out of here and mike said I am Blackbeard the pirate and I remember frying you on my boat and I will fry you some more and then Ron came back with Charlie and they bought out the sandwiches and
Then Ron got the medications out of the room and gave one by one and Charlie said mate, I am cured, today I found out how to keep silent movies, so that means I am cured and Ron said you wish and gave out the rest of the medications and then clocked off and bought Chinese and went home watched TV and fell asleep in front of the box again


Sent from my iPhone

UMMMMMMMMM SAVE US FROM THESE ONLINE KILLERS

UMMMMMMMMM THEY ARE JUST TRYING TO ENJOY THE FUTURE OF TECHNOLOGY

UMMMMMMMMM PLEASE SAVE OUR YOUNG, UMMMMMMM THEY ARE TREATED LIKE TOYS


UMMMMMMMMM STOP THESE INTERNET PREDATORS, UMMMMMM FROM GETTING THEIR WAY WITH VICTIMS


UMMMMMMMMM  THE COMPUTER ISN’T A TOY, IT CAN BE DANGEROUS, DON’T LET MY OLD ME, IN ANY OF YOU

I DON’T WANT PEOPLE GETTING ME WRONG  UMMMMMMMMM I WANT ANY SIDE OF KIDNAPPER OUT OF ME



UMMMMMMMMM PLEASE COUNCIL BRETT’S FAMILY  UMMMMMMMMMM PLEASE COUNCIL BRETT’S FAMILY


UMMMMMMMMM THESE INTERNET PREDATORS MUST BE STOPPED, UMMMMMMMM  BURT IT’S HARD TO STOP THEM



UMMMMMMMMM YOUTUBE IS FUN AND UMMMMMMMMM DONE IN THE RIGHT WAY, FACEBOOK IS FUN


UMMMMMMMMM  YOUNG DUDES, BE CAREFUL, UMMMMMMM YOUNG DUDES BE CAREFUL


UMMMMMMMMM  DON’T MAKE STRANGE FRIENDS, UMMMMMMM CHOOSE YOUR MATES CAREFULLY


UMMMMMMMMMM CAUSE, THIS IS A HORRIBLE EVENT UMMMMMMM  HELP GIVE EVERYONE PROPER COMPUTER CLASSES



UMMMMMMMMMM ON HOW TO HAVE FUN ON COMPUTER  UMMMMMMM MY DAD WHO DIED AND BORN AGAIN AS ELIZABETH ANN CAMPBELL


UMMMMMMMMMM  ALWAYS TRIED TO UNDERSTAND TECHNOLOGY  UMMMMMM DON’T LET INNOCENT BOYS BE CAPTURED BY COMPUTER GEEKS


UMMMMMMMMMM  NO COMPUTERS ARE FUN, SOCIAL MEDIA IS FUN  UMMMMMM  BUT PREDATORS ARE DANGEROUS


UMMMMMMMMMM DON’T LET WHAT HAPPENED TO BRETT, HAPPEN TO YOU, UMMMMMMMM TECHNOLOGY IS FUN, UMMMMMMM TECHNOLOGY IS FUN


UMMMMMMMMM  BUDDHA ATHENA AND CROBUS, WHO IS ME, TO STOP ONLINE PREDATORS, GET THE HANDS ON OUR YOUNG

UMMMMMMMMM   EVEN IF THEY ARE YOUNG THEMSELVES,    UMMMMMMMMMM  YEAH, BRING US PEACE FROM STUPID PREDATORS



UMMMMMMMMMM  I AIN’T COOL TO ****, UMMMMMMMMMM  LIKE THE MAN DOING BURNOUTS IN THE CARPARK UMMMMMMM IT MIGHT LOOK FUN


UMMMMMMMMMM BUT IT COULD’VE KILLED THAT LADY, UMMMMMMMMMM IS IT REALLY WORTH IT,   UMMMMMMMM IS IT REALLY WORTH IT


UMMMMMMMMMMM IS IT REALLY WORTH IT, TO ****, FOR TECHNOLOGY, UMMMMMMMMM IT DOESN’T IMPROVE THE WORLD

UMMMMMMMM TO SEE ONLINE PREDATORS, GET THEIR WAY, UMMMMMMMMMM UMMMMMMMMMM UMMMMMMMMMM

Dedicated to stillborn fetuses, 99 cent Malt Liquor and Existentialism
1.
Nymphomaniac tree huggers
And overweight bisexual vegetarians
Swallowing phentermine poison to stay fit.

2.
Funky fresh *******  
throwing pigs at St. Augustine’s pear tree
and frolicking abortions over Moloch’s philoprogenitiveness,

3.
While sipping barbecue sauce dipped in Lipton tea,
dancing around adhesive bonfires
reciting memories of holocaust, the Kristallnacht nights
and beautiful words suffered by ancestors lost.

4.
Inhale chicken noodle soup, with a side of Lithium,
And prance to Literacy class to combat envisionment
With free association conceptual constructions,

5.
Computerized like Prometheus’ fire burning through SmartBoards
In classrooms where the poison of heterosexual history
Is fed to boys in skirts cursed by Adam’s apple,

6.
Baptized by social norms and locked away in hopeless closets
According to the Tautology of Leviticus…
until they cut their breath by the vein of soteriology;

7.
Misunderstanding of God’s words
Covets the innocent to early graves
In biblical paratactic irony…like God betting Satan for a Job.

8.
Rub fried chicken oil on Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ skin
and soil his white pride with ***** flavor,
for revenge  On the Properties of Things

9.
and howl out in glory of victory
over totes of  lickerish piper methysticum blunts
that beg the conundrum,
'What is the origin of this world?'
'Ether,' he replied.
But it is not ether!
Nor Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
It is Dada. Dada. Dada!
  10.
For this is a record of the life stories of the greatest minds and geniuses of your generation,
written in boys and girls
who mimicked Basquiat’s genius and tagged bathroom walls with abstract philosophies like “Love is a prime number” and “ the weight of Duncan McDougall’s soul can only be found on the 15th of October”
who drank vampirish gulps of Vicodin while consoling themselves with aphorisms such as: “don’t rue the misses, you don’t need a Mrs. when you’re elevated by chemical kisses”
11.
Who stood naked in mirrors, weeping, for they were a mystery to themselves, but a great talent and soon to be legend to some.
Who lit cannabis in loneliness and waltzed naked with their ghosts, fantasizing about ****** tomatoes and Corpus Christi Mexican Jazz.
Who composed psychedelic anthems from dreams that were lost in ghettoes where virginities were lost for loaves of bread, for the hunger of bread.
12.
Who wrote suicide notes on a toilet seat, contemplating the texture of Marshall Mathers’ favorite underwear and whether the color green was an invention of **** Germany.
Who used to love their lovers in darkness and colored the streets of Manhattan with rainbows on June 24, 2011 to mark the date lady liberty finally bought a new pair of glasses.
13.
Who lost musical talents to a Wine-house and ended up in a whine-house where lobotomy was subsequently prescribed by the milligram.
Who indulged in pharmaceutical vices and when asked why replied simply, every recursively enumerable set is Diophantine.
Who diagnosed themselves with “start ****-itis” and self medicated by eating Fifinellas at the stroke of each midnight.
Who rubbed paraprosdokians on their skin and occupied Wall Street in search of a new euphemism for being American.
Who poured Alkalizer on a dead moose and kicked it while feasting on the divine question, “why does Rice play Texas?”
14.
who got bored with conventional relationships and bought the Origin of the World on street corners from vixens nicknamed “Jezebel” and climaxed atop of them screaming  “I’m in Babylon, the great Mother of ******!”
Who attempted suicides upon suicides upon suicides, in Oakland, until they were shipped away to private catholic universities in Rhode Island, where the history of Colossus was being taught.
15.
who serenaded love interests with four letter curse words at open bars where Kubla Khan was read and Tartars kings were licked all over like holy communion *****.
Who drove home with the spirits of wine and crashed on telephone poles where their obituaries were written in their prime, leaving their mothers weeping and calling congress to reconsider Prohibition.
16.
Who mixed Redbull with Propofol and drank the juxtaposition galore only to be woken up the next morning dead in their sleep.
Who tattooed rat poison packages with goodwill messages such as “****** divided by Water =6th day of creation” or “Seroquel + Brett Favre = St. Patrick”,
who went speedballing with Basquiat during autoscopy and woke up wondering the cost of Nautilus in Albuquerque.
17.
who took 33 hallelujah 1800 tequila jello shots and daydreamed about laying on Mithras’ grave, yelling, beetlejuice, beetlejuice…beetlejuice.
who found the truths of the Bible invalid by the miscalculation of Pi in 1 Kings 7, verse 3, and mailed death on anthrax letters to Reagan in protest.
18.
who sat empty bellied at breakfast tables wondering the temperature of satellites at Lagrangian points,  only to soon catch fire in their tongues and speak Labyrinth soliloquies that ended in
19.
Zion,
Where Google knows every answer.
In Zion
Where the youth, tomorrow’s future, quote a ***** named Hova better than they can quote Jehovah.
In Zion
Where *******’s art was used as weapon during the Cold war.
20.
In Zion
Where sartorial geniuses where no pants,
In Zion
Where David Kato Kisule is the secret hero of these words, for he was taken at a time
In Zion
Where we were supposed to be our ancestor’s sci-fi.

21.
In Zion,
Where the youth bear the scarlet letter X for they are a problem to tradition and hold no definition for the future, for they have discovered
In Zion
That the origin of this world is in their living eyes, and not in the dictionary of their ancestors who lived
In Zion
when the epitome of the literature of life ended in Revelation of Amen and Shantih shantih shantih;
this is a record of the greatest minds and geniuses there ever was, written
in Zion
where the meaninglessness and nothingness of Dada reigns, and the trinity of life now lives in the Subject, subjective and subjectivity.

the devil’s eyes are blue ,
from when they made him up in heaven ,

but he keeps his girls like toys,
strewn,
             broken
and like dolls, they lay in piles.

you know,
ive always kept my mouth closed ,
and my sharp teeth dulled,
for i have been forced to wear a smile
to cover up each bruise .

so how come,
when
he looks at her like a dog ,
you all just let him bite?

do you think he ever kissed his wife’s wounds?

because
you know, we know that you men all kiss his,
right?

the raiders show, full time report, 21 march 2015, we ****



as we draw the final curtain, the raiders **** again

it was a great start but then they faded away

just like they usually do

you see the raiders were woeful, especially in the 2nd half

no i am discusted oh yeah

it was the worst match, back to the old drawing board


johnny’  thanks and what a woeful performance in the end, by the raiders, and it actually is a hard

job picking the raider of the match, only one raider scored in the second half, but here is sue longways

with the raider of the match, horrible effort

sue’  yeah, johnny, it was a horrible effort but the raider of the match goes to brett austin, now brett what went wrong

brett’  well, sue, we were woeful in that second half, and the dragons were just too good

sue’  yeah, were you thinking victory, at half time, maybe too over confident so to speak

brett’  yeah, maybe we were over confident in the first half, but the dragons got 8 points before the break, and

then another 14, well, anyway, terrible match

sue’   anyway here is the raider of the match medallion, congrats and now here is bob from gordon

bob’   and now we draw the final curtain, the raiders **** again

it was a really terrible game, buddy a terrible match for the raiders team

yeah the raider, ya know they do ****, it was a woeful game

what happened to the hopeless raiders, ya know the raiders ****

what is wrong with the mighty raiders, they didn’t look so mighty tonight

why couldn’t the raiders win it, i think it’s just that their hopeless

sue’   and now here is johnny brown with his jingle, not our johnny brown, johnny from duffy

johnny’   we are on the rocking horse caused by the raiders losing

you see we rocked all day long

they are sitting on the rocking horse, all day long, my love

i wished our raiders won

you see, the raiders had a bad match, good start, but hopeless finish

really the raiders faded, yeah, what a woeful effort, yeah woeful effort woeful effort yeah mate ****** yeah

sue’   thanks johnny brown, and now back to our johnny brown

johnny’   thanks sue, that was a terrible match and to make matters much worst, we play the roosters next game

and i say, we’ll lose to the roosters next week and here is micheal with his jingle

micheal, go the dragons, we kicked some ****** ***

go dragons, we showed some fucken class

yeah the mighty st george, oh yeah, yeah they were great in the end

go dragons kick some ****** ***, go dragons, show some ****** class

go the dragons go the dragons, dragons won true blue, GO DRAGONS

johnny’  ok now everybody it’s beer o’clock and the raiders were given a football lesson, a rootball lesson

and we have the reason to give canberra much credit, except for the first 18 points

CATCH YA NEXT TIME raiders show fans

DRAGONS OVER RAIDERS 22 - 20

captured in the psych ward, meet olly thomson



in the dark night a good samaritan named olly thomson was having a lot of problems

with his mind, you see it all started when he was visioning his little cat diamond was turning

wild to his eyes, and he had this vision from god to heal diamond, with his voices telling him what

to do.   first diamond jumped onto olly’s computer, like he was sending a message, and the first

voice came saying, you must get rid of diamond, cause you see he is not diamond, he is much more

than that, you see at first he thought it was his best mate brett who died, and wanted to save him

and he was saying come on calm down diamond, calm down diamond, you have to remain calm

i will heal you diamond and then diamond started to fight back and another voice from an old school mate peter

saying, it’s a raccoon, **** it, we don’t want any of them in this country and then diamond let out a little meow

as if he was very scared and then linty chamberlain came into olly’s head saying, you must **** your cat, for it

is the dingo that killed my baby daughter Azaria, and olly’s dad said, it’s our cat diamond, he could be brett

he could be a raccoon and he could be the dingo that killed azaria, and diamond was dead and olly said, what have i done

and olly’s parents came down after they called the police, and they wanted to know what was bothering olly, and when

the police arrived, first they had a word with him, and then they carted olly off to the HDU, to get a mental health assessment

and as olly got caught the old mens kids who used to be his friend said, your not like us anymore olly and we don’t like you anymore

olly and illy said one word in the back of the paddy wagon, which was, i am the guy, your mother warned you about, you see olly

got that saying off the movie cabin by the lake, and the police ?shut the paddy wagon door on olly and drove him off to the HDU,

and when he arrived, all the mental health professionals were there, and olly was kicking and screaming and ron gave him a shot

of ****** to calm him down and then when he was completely calm the nurses allowed olly into the HDU, where olly did nothing

but watch the television, and talk to the nurses and also olly got on very well with charlie chaplin and patty roe, who had very good

conversations, and harry at the first glance of olly said, i am going to **** you, and ron went over to olly to ask him some questions

about why he is in there and olly said i am 323 years old and born on christmas day, and i lived underground while the dinosaurs

were roaming around the earth, and ron then brought out the breakfast trays, and then handed out the morning medications

and illy was handed risperidal, which was made to calm him down and he stayed on melleril as well, and at first risperidal was

helping him write stories, fact or fiction and he wrote a story which one of the nurses read saying, olly was the great don lane

and the don lane show was olly’s way to escape his painful voices, although none of that was in the poem he wrote about

him being don lane and then tommy came out to watch TV and olly touched tommy on his ***** saying, you are my best mate

on my pirate ship, and i remember tying you up in the bottom room on the deck and tommy said LEAVE ME ALONE YA ****

and went over to the nurses to put in a complaint about olly and every time olly’s parents came, and at the second they leave

olly jumped up and threw a very big tantrum needing four doctors to calm him down, and then olly went back to his chair to

watch TV and wait for his next visit by his parents, you see olly was a bit of a loner, you see his only real friends are his parents

and that was the reason why he killed his cat diamond, and he said to harry, ya know i am 323 years old and born on christmas day

and harry said, can you shut up, i don’t want to hear your constant chatter, because i have killed many a man, and i am devious and

cunning enough to **** you, while your in here, and olly said, i was the original santa claus and harry said ******* ****, i don’t care

who you are, you are fucken bothering me and then harry got up and walked over to hassle the nurses and then ron came out with

the lunches and olly said, thank you, i can do with a decent feed and charlie chaplin said yeah, but it’s not a decent feed here

and harry said, you expect me to eat this slop and threw his lunch all over olly and he said, is that any way to treat your ancestors

you see i am 323 years old and born on christmas day and my first life was your great great great great great grandfather and harry said

shut up **** and get the **** away from me, olly wood and olly said he was a hooligan after that, robbing banks and stealing ships

i even stole blackbeard the pirates ship, and chopped blackbeards head off and harry said SHUT UP **** and after lunch, ron went over to the TV room

to talk with olly and said, do you know you are ******* people off here and olly said, of course, but it ain’t my fault, i was merely stating out i was

harry’s ancestor and ron said, here is a eppelin, ok, it will control your overactive imagination and olly said, i am 323 years old and born on christmas day

and then said, i could be, you don’t know, your just a lousy psychiatrist, i am the spiritual healer of the land and ron went into his office to search

the web to find out olly’s problem and there was this new drug which can calm an overactive imagination which was seroquel, you know 700 mills

will control your mind, but it can hype your overactive imagination, so we may need to give you another drug called serenade, and keep

him here in the HDU for a few weeks to be monitored, as this medication mightn’t work and then at 5, ron brought out the dinners and ron spoke to

olly about changing his medication, to seroquel and serenace, but you must cooperate with us, because for some people seroquel can hype

you up, and the serenace is there to calm the seroquel down and olly said, when i was a kid, i was treated like an llke an old fogies kid  or a hooligan

and i reckon that i need something for that because, i know my mates have moved on, but my illness says they moved on swearing to never muck

with the old fogie, olly, he’s not like us, cause he goes to bed early and olly said, there is another name he was called, a old bludger or a dole bludger

which could be because he had no cool friends when he was at school, and olly considered himself very cool and in 1 hour, ron brought out the nightly medications

and first to tommy, then to charlie and over to patty and over to harry and then he gave the seroquel and serenace to olly and olly said can i have a coke please

and ron went away got olly a cup of coke and clocked off and bought a pizza and went home to watch TV, and falling asleep on the couch, as usual, thinking

today went very well, he THINKS.

Johnny Warren after life all-stars v the Saturn stringers




Johnny warren got together an after life soccer team with players like Don Bradman, as well as 2Pac, and even Christopher Reeve, also Elvis Presley, and Paul Berenyi, and Brett Eggins, we're all fired up to give Saturn a total soccer makeover, Johnny Warren alan picked Scott McDonald as well as Billy Thorpe and Tony Campbell and Saturn was a team who had some very good names as well, who are John FKennedy, Robert Kennedy as well as Martin Luther King, Walter Burley Griffin who has lived on Saturn since 1980, earth time, and never wanting to go , because Saturn has really nice homes where he can be a good athlete, also Jack Dyer and Tony Grieg and Chris Mainwaring made up the numbers.
So the game started and Johnny Warren started the play, passing it to Christopher Reeve, who is trying to bring Superman in with a really beautiful kick up the centre which is blocked by Martin Luther king, who passes it to burley Griffin who stops to look down on earth, to hear what a stupid professor is trying to say he'd like, and used his powers with a kick which made the goal, to put Saturn in the lead 1-0, the kick off came and Johnny Warren gave a big kick up which was intercepted by Jack Dyer, who dribbled it up the field, trying to stop the interception, by the other players, and then after that he passed it to Martin Luther king, who began to dribble it down a few more times, and nearly got a goal, but he missed,and the ball was intercepted by 2Pac, who ran right to the other side and kicked it in the goal, and it was counted, and that made the score 1-1, and 2Pac very happy and went to the crowd, and said, me and Johnny W, go back a long way, in afterlife sports.
The kick off happened as Martin Luther king kicked the ball over to John F Kennedy, who dribbled it further down the field, and dodged so many of Johnny Warren all star players, and finally passed it and the Johnny Warren Allstars intercepted it and John F Kennedy tried to block 2Pac the whole way, and he did and then John F Kennedy passed it to brother Robert and Robert ran down to the other side, dribbling the ball as he goes, but Billy Thorpe, intercepted it and ran down to the other side, with the ball and passed the ball to Johnny Warren who missed from right in front, and suddenly Walter Burley Griffin got the ball and dribbled it down to the other end, and yes, he kicked but it was saved very nicely by the Johnny Warren All stars goalkeeper, yes, this game was looking very good, you see these are only 1 half games,,because Johnny Warren wanted it that way, as Paul Berenyi ran it to the half way line and passed it to Brett Eggins who ran it down and as soon as he got to the goal line, he passed it to Johnny Warren who snuck it in to 2Pac who scored the Johnny Warren all stars second, and that made the score 2-1, with 2 minutes to go in the match, and the reason why there is no half time, because the players are the undead, and they don't need to break cause they can no longer be killed,
And Martin Luther king ran it down and flicked it across to John F Kennedy who passed it to Johnny Warren who was so excited he booted the ball all the way to the other side, and 2Pac knocked it in, to make the score 3-1, yes and this was really exciting for Johnny Warren and then Margaret Thatcher came into the field and Paul Berenyi booted the ball so hard, It hit Margaret thatcher right in the noggin,,and despite trying very hard to hurt her, she can't be hurt, but people can try to hurt her if they want to, and then Margaret Thatcher, left, saying I want that Paul Berenyi in Mercury, and then Martin Luther King scores a goal and at the end of the match, the score was, 3-2 to Johnny Warren all stars, and Johnny Warren sat down and had a talk with Paul Berenyi, and Paul said it's the after life coach, she can't be hurt, but Johnny, said I know, but we need to be nice to one another, or you Paul Berenyi will be locked in Mercury for all eternity, and Paul said he'll behave, and was let off with a warning.

briano alliano at saturn club rings


hi dudes and welcome to my show, the first song is born to PARTY

you see i was born to PARTY, on a sarturday night

i don’t care what the oldies say, i will just party anyway

you see i have a reason, everything is going well



so i will just party hardy, yeah i feel so cool

i want to be like the young dudes of this land

and get into the party spirit every way i can

i don’t really need a reason, no, i am cool anyway

you see i was born to party, so i will do it anyway

i will sink into the ground man, wearing high heel shoes

i will go to my mates house, with dreams of moving in

he was a bit mental, as he couldn’t understand

that i was born to party, and that is what i do

you see we will grab a methane and squirt it everywhere

and then grab a beer or two, yeah that is quite yobboish

you see we get drunk which means we are high on life

every day of the yeah, so we were born to party

like the young dudes do, ya see don’t spike my drink, man

i am too cool for you, you see i have a point in life, to never

unattend my drink, you see i know the tablet will make you drowsy

so he could kidnap you, bu i am too cool for that

you see i was born to party, and that is what i do

i was born to party, fun for me and you

hi dudes and now here is rock the party

you see i feel like i am having fun rock the party rock the party

i wanna party while the night is young, rock the party rock the party

i cheer for the ACT brumbies, well, they lost well, they lost

you see the bar is a open a open a open, and the party is turning on all the party going dudes

and the beer is selling quickly along with the gassy methane, man

ready to tip the methane on us, man, we will party

you see i saw a house which was great, and my mate wanted me to move in

so i thought about it, it’ll be fun to party, fun to party fun to party on

moving on up and moving on down and marilyin monroe put on a broadway show on neptune so cool

then sam kinison sang wild thing, and i liked his add lib, you know my heart is longing for you dude

making you wanna scream, rock the party rock the party

then i ate some cheese and bacon *****, and gusted them down with coke

the party started to form in my mouth and making me feel so cool

before i went to sleep i listened to kiss, bon jovi and a broadway show, called spiderman

and i ate mars bars and drink juice, yeah that sounds so radical

saturday night is the night to rock the party rock the party

and i opened a keg of methane and tipped it all over adam walsh and brett

to improve the quality of the olsen twins, to make them PARTY again

so really we are getting into a great rock the party rock the party

and we’ll party all saturday night long

hi dudes and now here is another tune called my life is a stinker

you see last night i was wondering why i haven’t performed on stage

could it be that i was too **** shy, or was it i was just not ready

i really want it all so ****** much, to show the world how to party party

but this is how i just relax, and let my life pass me by

you see my life is a stinker, every day and night

i want to party, but it’s a secret just between you and me

you see i spend my money on fun and games, mainly done with alcohol

i buy my girl some raggedy old fashioned sort or doll

she yelled at me from 10 to 10, it was hard for me to cope

and the only way to get past this, is switch on the TV to hear the pope

my life is a stinker, every day and night, i wish you would leave me alone, please mate yeah alright

ooooooh cosmos

my way of entertainment is the poetry slam, and bad slam no biscuit yeah

i entertain everyone oh yeah, i shake their ****** boogie, yes my dear

then my name is called and i enter the stage and slam

my poetry like it’s a good thing, dude, every day and night

my life is a stinker, every day and night

you see we will party hardy every night, no i say no to fights

cause my life is a stinker, take me away from the psych ward

that isn’t the place for me, i am too nice for that place

hi dudes, and here is another song called fly burgers

fly burgers are good enough to eat

fly burgers are such a tasty treat

just catch a blowie between two buttered buns

add some lettuce and tomato and have so much fun

now at the footy, the flies are cooking on the plate

they are saying, momma, you are stopping up too late

just catch a well cooked blowie, and throw him in the bowl

where you have the burger mix, yeah that is so cold

fly burgers, are good enough to eat

fly burgers, are such a tasty treat

just catch a blowie between two buttered buns

add some lettuce and tomato

and have so much fun

in a restaurant a fly comes in and parks on the griller

you feel like honking like dharma’s old yeller

but instead you get two buttered buns and lettuce and tomato

get the fly and serve him up, tasty as gelato

fly burgers are good enough to eat

fly burgers are such a tasty treat

just catch a blowie between two buttered buns

add some lettuce and tomato’'

and have so much fun

in the summer friends drop round to enjoy the atmosphere

some bring coke some bring wine

and most of them brought beer

the bbq man noticed a fly upon his back

he gets the fly and serves him up, OH HERE JACK

fly burgers, are good enough to eat

fly burgers are such a tasty treat

just catch a blowie between two buttered buns

add some lettuce and tomato

and have so much fun

the hospital has been busy this year since fly burgers were on the menu

people say fly burgers put germs right in you

an old man and a young boy, both died of food poisoning

but nobody knows if it was the fly burgers that did them in

fly burgers are good enough to eat

fly burgers are such a tasty treat

just catch a blowie between two buttered buns

add some lettuce and tomato, my dray

and have some and have so and have so much fun

hi dudes, this is a song called i am a family party dude

i am a family person who is looking everywhere for a party

at the club on grand final daY, and on poetry slam day

where we yell out bad slam no biscuit bad slam no biscuit

all the ****** day, we could be celebrating your daughters graduation

from a school she so adored

then we drag out the old songs, and the young dudes get bored

you see partying is so much fun, no matter how hard you try

you see you try and be a fun loving guy like who really loves to p a r t y

oooh, i wanna rock and roll all night, and party every day

how much coffee do you drink to whisk the hangover away

i used to go to the blind beggars inn, to really let my hair down

now, i party at home with youtube, yeah that sounds so rad

you see i am a family party dude, who wants to have some fun

i want music and sport, yeah alrighty, that sounds like my type of fun

cool man, cool you, i say cool me, i am a family party dude

the man of the party is here, last night i went to the club to watch the brumbies they lost i won

the chance to go home and party in front of youtube, with bon jovi and kiss as well as spiderman the musical, pretty rad

then i fell asleep on the couch, ready to come to you, and show you how to party hardy, yeah that is true blue

hey true blue, don’t say the party’s over, just because you go home, doesn’t mean you can’t party

you see i used to go to night clubs and swing with the cool dudes there, hey true blue

you see i am a family party dude, i party everywhere

i am getting younger by the minute, and i still love life, so party on dudes, no fear

i get up late on sunday morning, after this great party in the stars

and after this, i will go to jupiter and neptune to muck around in bars

tipping methane all over everyone, yeah that sounds radical dude

PARTY PARTY PARTY on saturday night, yeah i am so cool

cool you, yeah cool me, the coolest dude of the cosmic realm

ready to party yeah we will

I'm  a bit like Brett I like my beer,  Senator Feinstein,
Ha. Your name has stein in it,
thats  like a beer mug, i dont have blackouts from beer drinking.
It's the lack of that makes me forget.
I don't remember much of this morning.
Went to work got some **** done, I
Don't think I molested any women,
But it's all foggy. I remember going into DG after work. They got 15 packs for 6.95.
Cept I vaguely recall creeping out. They were
Out. Until i found three of them white boxes with red and blue lettering an A
With wings insignia I'd  tucked in
A corner of the store behind cases of
Heinekens, out of my league drink,
For just this situation.
******* patriotic
Almost. I think it's doing my part to support this free-market capitalistic
Economy. Like paying taxes.
Better than voting.
So you all can impune Kavanaughs
Character all you want.
I like beer so do he. So.
Back to me.
I couldn't wait for one.
I'd put six in the freezer.
And it had been ten minutes.
I drank it lukewarm.
And my memory came back.
The fog cleared. Oh yeah, his problem
Isn't that he loves beer
Like I  do, it's that he was a punk upper class white dude who
Pushed around young girls, laughed while he felt them up,
Thought he was entitled to.
That's over the line, even for Republicans.
You are not like my justice.
I am a justice of peace and integrity.
Go drink beer,
BRETT, JUST NOT ON THE SUPREME COURT.

Washingtonians, this Wednesday afternoon, come to the Starbucks on 1600 K Street to become acquainted with some young, interesting, average income level Asian American guys and gals. Instead of meeting Asian American doctors, lawyers, and consultants, you’ll meet Dr. Dre copycats, alcoholic paralegals, and T-Mobile wireless salespeople.

These guys and gals are looking to meet new friends that include: white, black, Hispanic, or any other race of people, just as long as you aren’t a F.O.B. Because after all, they don’t want to perpetuate the stereotype that Asians only hang out with other Asians. Just kidding, we love our F.O.B brothers and sisters! But **** stereotypes.

If you are a Washingtonian who likes drinking alcohol and smoking marijuana, stop by and make a new Asian American friend who will provide mixers and match you on a blunt. Please, do not ask these guys and gals for college study notes for Math or Bio, because all of them have dropped out of college to pursue their artistic passions, like: writing a novel about having a white group of friends and being the token who reads Tolkien and likes Toking; playing electric guitar in a grunge, punk, post-emo garage band with your black buddies who like Fugazi and bad brains but ******* hate Green day for selling out; and drawing sketches and painting portraits of the half-Asian girl you’re dating on a wide canvass, but really you’re secretly into selfies and taking photos of breakfast on Instagram.

We don’t discriminate against the kind of alcohol you drink, whether it be wine, beer, or liquor—within reason please don’t bring Franzia or Rolling rock, this isn’t college anymore. Yes, we get it, you’re highly considering attending this group because you’re a huge Haruki Murakami fan and you’re wondering two questions: are our Japanese American patrons also huge fans of the author, and do our patrons behave in a similar fashion to Murakami’s characters like Toru Watanabe and Toru Okada?

First, our Japanese American patrons are huge fans of Murakami and they own books like Sputnik Sweetheart and The Windup Bird Chronicle, but they also think the author often is obsessed with Western culture, in a way that possibly, and seriously possibly transforms him into a Brett Easton Ellis derivative based on Ellis’s American ****** and Glamorama.

Second, no these particular patrons do not behave like Murakami’s characters, because they’re real, living, breathing human beings, and not some fantasy figure or made-up person! But enough of the rant, please come though and let’s have conversations about jazz and talking cats.

While we respect Asian American actors like Ken Jeong and Randall Park, we really aren’t interested in having a lengthy dialogue about The Hangover’s Asian **** scene, or how Park was kinda offensively funny in The Interview. Although Park is awesome in Fresh Off The boat! All we really want is to just drink jack and cokes and smoke Marlboro lights and have conversations about the latest trends in indie rock and Hip Hop culture, and whether Citizen Kane was better than Casablanca, or vice versa.

At the meeting, we will have our guest speaker Jeremy Lin’s college roommate George Park answer questions about Lin, as well as a special appearance by Steve Yuen’s ex-girlfriend Marcy Abernathy who will give us an inside scoop to Yuen’s fetishes as well as his quirky habits. We will also be providing free snacks like LSD Pho noodle soup and Marijuana Mochi ice-cream. On a serious note, we’ll be giving out guilt-free Twinkies.

Before you arrive at the Starbucks, you’ll be getting a name tag and a free A.A.A T-shirt that wasn’t made by little children from China; instead, the shirts are made by Ronald Mai, our aspiring fashion designer whose twitter handle is @thatsmyshirtwhiteman! If you’re interested in coming out to the group our first meeting is this Wednesday at 6 p.m.

Leave your apprehension at the door and walk in with a warm smile, as you’re greeted by an expressionless face. And phoreal if your car is messed up and you require a ride, please call A.A.A’s number at (202) 576-2AAA (we know we’re phunny). Hope to see you there, and if you don’t come, you’re a ******* racist! But seriously come out and meet some cool *** people.

As I walked through the apartment door,

I did not expect anything more but comic books and video games

Scattered on the floor.

I felt like I was at a comic book store back down south.

Batman, Superman and the green guy too.

Posted on the walls for all who entered to view.

But I had no idea who the hell they were.

All I knew was that they had powers,

Till Brett gave me the rundown for about an hour.

Batman is a super-rich guy, with a fly ride.

His parents were murdered by an evil guy.

So Batman goes around knocking bad guys out.

For he won’t **** you because of how his parents went out.

Then we have Superman over to my left,

A very fast man, with an “S” on his chest.

He gets dressed in phone booths, then fly’s to save the day.

He’s got x-ray vision, yep right through your shirt.

If you turn around then it’s your skirt.

Then we have my favorite one of them all,

Green lantern with his ring of power.

Making fists and gripping things.

Anything is possible when he’s wearing that ring.

So this is all I got out of my superhero lesson,

They are all really good guys with their own little blessing.

Brett was a great person to have around

Always in a cheerful mood, rarely did he frown

He was a great friend of mine and to all he knew

This is a stark reminder that life is too short and can end too soon

Time with loved ones is often taken for granted

While looking through life’s busy lens, time becomes slanted

It’s easy to let the months go by

And before you know it, you don’t get the chance to say good bye

Brett’s name, legacy of kindness, brotherhood, and positivity will be carried on

He may no longer be with us in physical form, but in our hearts, he will never be gone

BRETT KAVANAUGH HAS GOT HIS JOB
HE IS ELEVATED TO THE SUPREME COURT
PRESIDENT DONALD TRUMP IS VERY HAPPY
HIS NOMINATION WHO HE SORT



THIS WILL CHANGE AMERICAN HISTORY
THERE IS NO RETIREMENT AGE
AMERICAS JUDICIAL SYSTEM WILL EXPLODE
THE CONSTITUTION TURNS A PAGE



BRETT KAVANAUGH IS VERY CONTROVERSIAL
HIS VIEWS WILL CHANGE THE SYSTEM
HE NOW WILL OUT LAST PRESIDENT TRUMP
FOR AMERICA CANT RESIST HIM

when i was a little girl -
i believed my daddy was the smartest man in the world.
he knew everything. everything.
if i had a question, daddy had an answer, and a good one.
always.

his degree was in biology,
but he preached from a pulpit every sunday.
his friends, colleagues, congregation, all knew him as Pastor Brett.
to me he was just daddy -
and he was the smartest man in the world.

on days when i couldn't understand my own head,
(which were, and still are, very often)
and got frustrated with myself to the point of tears,
he would kiss my cheeks and promise me i wasn't stupid.
and coming from him, the smartest man i knew, that meant the world.

as years passed and i grew, my naivety remained with me,
and so i thought i was too smart to fall into life's traps.
i fell. i fell fast. i fell hard. i fell often. and i shattered.
each time, the smartest man in the world picked up my pieces
and reassured me i was still welcome in his home.

he never loved me any less, much to my bewilderment.
however, as my faults increased in frequency and severity,
he picked up my pieces now with weathered hands and weary eyes.
his smile was weaker, and a deep pain stirred in the chocolate irises behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

my deception morphed into vines that constricted and twisted and choked out the truth.
he poured out his love onto an underserving me, and said that God would still forgive.
but i, daughter of the smartest man in the world, am a fool.
and by my own two hands, i continued to sink.

he leaves me to pick up my own pieces now, not loving me any less,
but too weak, too exasperated, too heartbroken to do it himself as he always had.
he is done. he loves me and i know it. he shows it. but he is done.
my tears bore him. my half-true stories and pitiful excuses move in one ear and out the other.
he is stone-faced, no longer shocked by my confessions so i leave them unspoken.

his kisses, sear my flesh. his love burns because i know i don't deserve a single shred of it.
i wish he hated me. i wish we could fight. that would make things easier, right?
but he won't. he just won't. he loves me so much and i can't stand it.
but he is done. i broke my father, and his heart, for nothing.

he asked me why i do the things i do,
why i don't just stop it. why i keep on hurting him and my mother.
i didn't have an answer. all i had to offer the smartest man in the world,
was a dry mouth and empty hands.

m.f.

It was an—I don't know—unfleshing of sorts. There I am. I'm in my old room. My parent's place. And Mom's telling me what all we need to pack up and organize. This place, my room, it's frozen in time. It looks exactly the way it did when I graduated high school. The lime green walls, the Brett Favre poster, a few pieces of artwork my brother did. There are all these medals and trophies for soccer; football; academic *******; and most of it, to be frank, was undeserving. I phoned it in, my education and extra curriculars. Things came easy, et cetera. And the lesser accolades, the participation trophies, for these, Mom hands me a pocket knife and tells me to pry off the nameplates and she'll donate them to Goodwill. It was tangible, right? This erasure. I've talked to you about that before, erasure. I wanted to disappear completely, but there I am in my old room, prying away pieces of my past with a knife, a couple of nameplates popping off and hitting the floor before I can grab them. That sound, dull, empty, metallic.

I'm alone a lot now, you know? After losing the job, entering this funk, gaining weight. I'm in a depressive state. In that room, I felt like I was just further removing myself from the world, like my deletion had gained dimension, it was truly, ****, what word am I looking for here? Help me. Comprehensive. That's good. Sterile and safe for work. My erasure became comprehensive. Ha.

And it's hard to talk about this, depression, erasure. I always feel like a selfish child. I'm perpetually throwing a fit. I won't clean my room. I don't want to brush my teeth. I don't want to help grandma with lunch. Ha ha.

You say that. And I appreciate it. But if I always talked to you about this stuff, you'd stop answering the phone. Or I'd feel so guilty about bothering you that I'd stop calling. This feeling gets you from both sides. It's like that old adage. Never chew on something that's eating you. But that's precisely what I'm doing. In this moment. Outside of this moment. I want to ask you how do I stop. But what could you possibly say. Stop thinking about it. Find a hobby. Exercise. Read. Journal. Go to therapy. You could smile while you told me these things, you could pat my hand, you could finish your coffee, and you could walk out the door to face your own little tragedies, feeling like you'd done something kind today, check the box, score some karma. You see all those recommendations are tired, generic; they're surface level, phony. What would I prefer? I think if you threw that coffee in my face that'd be a start.

Original Title: the Haunting

I feel lost remembering looking at you in tears
heartache at the memory
Why do I torture myself by listening to the last song
that had you sobbing
and it broke my heart to see?
I can still picture the color of the walls dark orange
the hot humid night in Honduras
on the front patio of the orphanage

I remember the morning you were laying in bed
when you told me you had had enough
We had sold or given away everything
Returning home to the States with $1000 in my bank account
Thank God, for my stepdad..still had a place to stay

Tears stream down my face
Hard to see the notepad as I write

****.

I look up at the sky..first full moon night
Who, exactly up there decide I should be born human?
I thought you were supposed to be a Good God...
What curse did I deserve for you to let me feel this pain?

In the background:
Roette: "Yeah, it must have been love but it's over now.
It was all that I wanted, now I'm living without.
It must have been love but it's over now,
It's where the water flows, it's where the wind blows."

and yes the wind blows...well more like it *****!

Broken, did i break you?
Was I so cruel?
Never meant to hurt you but the road to hell is paved with good intentions

Was it my silence or..
the burning lust I could never quell
..which I wonder at times if it will not lead me to hell...
and worse to a hypocritical Christian..the judgement on those who know the truth
is much more severe than those who have not heard.

Martika sings in the background:
  "when you tear temptation call..
    it's your heart that takes the fall"

The irony of it is
it started as a dream for us
one to share for the rest of our lives
I cared about you...listened to you
You were there to hold me in my dark moments
wipe away the tears
We danced, we had fun...
Years later when you were telling me how much I had changed...
you reminded me that when we first met..I sang to you at the beach on a starry night
Trapped in the romance and I was so far gone
Funny how different we were then almost twenty years ago
You had such high hopes for me
I changed from telling you I would never darken the doorway of another church to a full-time missionary
--15 years later I realized who you needed was a man I could never be

The wolf tattoo I got after the divorce
was because I never wanted to be so nice
or vulnerable again

You were so beautiful in that wedding dress
the way your eye shone
at the moment we were happy and it all looked like a promise

It's hard lesson when heartache becomes real enough
that it is an burning ache in the center of your chest  

This is an open wound
It feels like the pen should be writing gangrenous vile dark grey/green ink
as it lets the poison out

**** it.
   Time for another **** and a sip of wine
   Enough of this romantic ****

J Geils Band...singing about how love stinks..
music to my ears

Does make me wonder why
I let this internal drama play out
or worse get the better of me

And the songs go on
Brett Michaels - Love *****
Lily Allen sings smile - along with a video of her paying some guys to beat up her boyfriend

Not entirely sure..and maybe it's because it's one of the first times I have done this
But listening to other peoples anger and misery damnably helps
--and it amuses me that she got the cheating *******'s *** kicked

Cheating is the one thing I never did
though my ex would argue the point and call **** my mistress

Strangely, I will always admire her for giving so much
and how truly she was committed
Though it stings when she said she did it for God and not me

I know how deeply I hurt her
Yet I don't know if she will ever undertand the sacrifices I made and just how hard I tried

Somehow at the moment
Getting ******* is more fun that whiny assed *******
...and there's something to be said for some good **** and two buck Chuck

Love for  a human (and yes there are times I wish I was an alien..god knows that is how I got treated all the way through high school)
Reminds me how you make a statue
Simply carve away all that is not the statue

So it is with us
   what we must learn about love is as much what it is not
   as it is what we think it is
or what we think it should be...

I so want to write something deep and profound to impress everyone
Which it is the best time the write the last line and to...
           STOP

The cigarette burns aren't fading
only become less painful and more scabbed over.
When I first saw her, I was happy, please understand.
I saw her entering the cafe from my position opposite the door.
Brett Shady was playing the center of the room but my attention was not on him, not entirely.
She and her boyfriend took the only standing room still available in the far corner.
I'm not sure if she saw me but I think she did.
I think she kissed her boyfriend after she first saw me, which is fine.
I would have done the same, had our rolls been reversed.
After a few more songs I could no longer bear it. I stepped
outside.
I walked two blocks up the rode from the cafe to Bonanza Market.
I bought a pack of cigarettes and walked even further up the hill.
There, I found my favorite spot, one which I had found with a dear friend.
There is a swing hanging under a big tree, surrounded by flowers.
I must have went through half the pack before deciding to move on.
I figured I'd catch the rest of the show from the door.
Walking back however, something caught my eye.
A play was just beginning at the Nevada Theatre and I heard it was semi decent.
I snuck in through the side as I had done many times before and took my seat.
On stage, performing a small girl was another girl who I had kissed.
Who I loved.
When I first saw her I think she saw me too.
I looked down feeling a tear in my eye.
When I looked up I was sure.
She was looking at me with a sort of pleasant smile on my face.
As if she'd known what I was feeling.
The regret, the sadness, the longing.
All these things came rushing up inside me so quickly that I had to leave.
I again went to my favorite spot and finished the pack, saving a few cigarettes for that night.
Oh God, how I would need them.
I walked back to maybe see the end of Brett Shady's set. The show was over however.
Walking out was a friend of mine who I had not spoken to in a while. I waved her down and we began talking. About what I remember not. But it took my mind off things.

A while after a girl I had onced kissed and had once kissed me walked out of the cafe with her boyfriend.
She smiled at the friend I was with, not sparing me a glance.
My friend turned to me
"How could you let her go, Nolan? Why would you let her go?''
I turned my back to her and began walking.
Two or maybe three ours later I arrived home, all my tears shed.
I didn't sleep that night.
The face of the girl and her boyfriend came flooding into my dreams as the tears had off my face.
The face of the ******* stage came flooding into my mind as the nicotine had done my blood.
Regret was sharing my bed that night.
Whispering in my ear accusingly "How could you have let her go?"
Pain was in my room that night.
Roughly fondling my heart as if it were a stone.
Sadness was kissing my mouth that night.
Only allowing whimpers to come out.

I’d like to know where she’s been, this little daisy that stands on the opposite side of the room.  She stands like me, arms crossed with a red solo cup dangling between dainty fingers.  Maybe mine aren’t dainty, but the cup dangles either way.  It’s clear as day, this isn’t where she wants to be.  I certainly can’t blame her.  I’d imagine she was forced here, convinced by a friend, a sister, a roommate.  This isn’t her scene, nor is it mine.  Why else would we stand in our respective corners, eyeing the drunken fiends in the room with nothing but pure disgust?  

We are the same, she and I.  I wonder if she sees me, too.

I can’t take my eyes off of her, the beautiful girl who stands on the opposite side of the room.  She takes small sips from her red cup - bourbon, I’d like to think - and maintains her previous stance.  How badly I wish to drag my tattered shoes across the creaky hardwood floor that we both stand on, extend my hand to her and invite her into conversation.  She’ll smile a close-lipped smile, nodding as she places her small hand in mine.

“Needy,” she’ll say, and her emerald green eyes will glow something radiant. “My name’s Needy.”

And I’ll do my best to muster the courage it takes to mutter my own name, a growl of Brett.  I’ll manage a smile, manage to suppress the urge to stop her right then and there and run my fingers through her golden hair.  But I’ll humor her instead and make her smile.  I’ll joke and complain about how drab it is to be here, this New Year’s Eve party we were both brought to against our own will.  She’ll agree, telling me of her original plans to lounge on her couch with a bottle of Merlot, eyes glued to **** Clark’s countdown and drooling over some Seacrest character.  How I’d love to be in her presence for such an event, to rub her shoulders while her excitement for whatever celebrity guest came on next rose.  I’d tell her my original plans, taking a seat in front of my prized Royal typewriter with a bottle of Tennessee Honey.  She’d ask me what I would write and I’d give her a crooked smile just before quoting a legend.

“Nothing really. I’d just sit and bleed.”

And she’d flash her pearly whites with a knowing grin, one that I would return out of sheer satisfaction in knowing that she knew what I was talking about.  That’s how it would start, the beginning of our little storm.  She’d give me no warnings, my sweet little Needy, not telling of the little grenade that she really was.  

I’d accept it, accept her, and love her, forever, my little time bomb.

It’d start out fine, just as any great romance would; I’d be tender, romance her and charm her to my wits end. She’d appreciate me and show me her affection in any way she could; little notes tacked up in random places, a simple “morning,” “night,” text. She’d trace shapes along my chest, and bury her face deep in the crook of my neck.  She’d mumble, “I love you,” in her sleep, and I’d kiss her softly on the cheek.  Call me possessive, call her weak; she’s my little daisy, and mine only to keep.

We’d be the kids that are seen only in the movies, troubled and disturbed by one another but with no desire to detach.  She’d **** me and I’d **** her, each with words so hauntingly true;  I hate you, I love you, I don’t want you near.  You’re awful, you’re difficult, you’re so stuck in the dark.  I hate you, I love you, I can’t stop thinking of you,  and we’d still kiss each other goodnight and endure another day.  We’d be destructive, she and I.

And I’d be crazy, driven mad by her, for her, forever, my needy little Needy.

I’d imagine she would hate me after quite some time, so much that her hate would battle her love and she’d lose either way.  And I’d remember that night we first met, the night that I stole her light in that little white dress.  It’ll hit me then, as I cradle her in my arms, wiping her tears, stroking her hair.  I’ll realize then what I did and curse myself for my crime.

“You used to love **** Clark and that Seacrest fellow,” I’d mumble as we lay by a fire.

“And you used to love me.” she’d say, almost a whisper, and my heart would tear in two right there, burning with the flames that danced before my eyes.

And it’s awful, knowing that I took this girl, so bright and lively, and dimmed her light to the point that she didn’t exist, not without me.  My little Needy, always telling me she’d need me.  Such a fitting name for my beautiful girl.

Maybe then I’d realize my mistake.  I’d hold her and apologize profusely.  I’d press her into me with the hopes that she’d become one with me, understand me, hear my thoughts as loudly as I heard them in my mind.  Would she accept me, too?  Or would she throw me aside like the piece of trash that I am?  I wouldn’t blame her, no.  But my Needy, my needy little thing; she’d cling to me and I’d cling to her.  I’d be a mess without her and I’m already one with her, here, forever.

I’d like to think I was right about her, the girl I see twirling the tip of her finger in her red solo cup.  I’d like to think my own private fantasy was filled with accuracy, the story of us that is yet to be written, if it’s ever written at all.  I’ll never muster the courage to know her name, nor will she know mine.  Instead, I’ll continue to watch her from my side of the room, protecting her from a distance should any harm come her way at this god awful party.

And finally, after what feels like forever, her emerald green eyes meet mine across the way.  She smiles a small closed-lip smile and raises her dainty little fingers to give me a small wave. I lift my red solo cup to my lips, tipping back the warm ***, savoring the burn down my throat before I give her the same crooked smile I imagined myself giving her.  I won’t talk to her, I won’t make that treacherous walk towards her.  I won’t tell her my name and she won’t tell me hers.  I’ll keep what I know about my little daisy in my head.  I’d doubt if she’s anything like I imagined, standing there in that snow white dress.  I’d like to keep this image in my head, the one I have of a sweet little thing, needy and clinging to me and only me.

My fate is sealed as I watch a burly fellow approach her, and those pearly whites flash at the sight of him, and her heels lift from the hardwood floor that we stand on together as her arms wrap around his neck.

My little Needy, how wrong could I be?  She doesn’t need me.

I met Lori at a beer pong table. She was tall. A trash talker. Beach blonde hair. Eyes blue, blue as the sky on an afternoon in July, when the weather was cool from a light rain. This was post-college—a house party, for young adults who wanted more from life than the typical 9-5. She wasn’t from NOVA. She was from Weston, FL. Her teammate was a guy she was with at the time—they ended up breaking it off and for a while she was dating Cam, a pro-bass fisher, a long distance relationship, but they loved each other. But at the table, I was competing with her teammate, later on I ended up mentally competing with Cam, which didn’t do any good except to make me chain-smoke jacks and drink bourbon. I had a girlfriend at the time—let’s just call her Voldy. My teammate was Lori’s best friend Erica. This girl had swagger; played beer pong like Dr. J, always got us roll backs. I was tall as **** for a Vietnamese American—still am tall as **** for a Vietnamese American (Don’t worry my guys, my family’s from the Southside)—and in college we had built a beer pong table, at a spot called the pink house. “We,” meaning my roommates and I: CJ, Trevor, and Samuel. The U.N. I had practiced daily, playing before class, playing after class. Height made a difference; some great basketball player once said you need to have game on and off the court. I wasn’t sure what court I was on when I was in that moment. Lori was more than appearance; more body language; more eye contact; more southern twang; and more astuteness, than a TED Talk combined with NPR, combined with The New Yorker, combined with Al-Jazeera and linked with Wikipedia on a ***** binge. I could talk all day about how she looked, how she dressed. But I told you what you need to know. She shot first, her right arm shaped like a swan, the type of swan that sits on a lake in the middle of a spring morning, the type of morning when the sky is blue with the eyes of a girl who has seen too much, been through too much, and has heard too much. She sank the shot. Her teammate roared. But all I could hear was Lori’s voice; soft as the piano notes played by Sakamoto’s right hand, loud as the piano notes played by Sakamoto’s left hand. Blu was not how I was feeling. Or maybe I was.
Because at this table I had to either take a loss,
or seal a win. I didn’t know what I wanted. But I wanted her. Wanted her, like how you wanted a postcard
from Santa when you were 5 years old, and it was opposite day. So you got the address wrong,
and the letter was never received. And your parents told
you to keep trying so you did, you did, and you did,
but you were young and naïve. You didn’t know
what was real and what was not real. And now I was
at a place in time, when the setting didn’t matter,
and the alcohol didn’t matter, and the drugs didn’t matter.
All that mattered was her.
Because when I shot that orange ping-pong ball,
I kept eye-contact with her eyes.
Blue, much more blue
than the water in the red solo cups we were playing with.
I wish it were water from the beaches in Florida,
beaches I could read a Salinger story on,
beaches I could rest on
beaches I could lay on,
lay and take in the sun
that rises above my soul
that aches for something more.
But Lori wasn’t Brett Ashley,
she was more Daisy Buchanan
than anything.
But does that make me Tom or Jay?
Jimmy or Nick?
I didn’t know and I still don’t know.
What I do know, is this;
the ball sank into the
first cup of the triangle.
Lori’s face went from cocky,
to frustrated, from frustrated
to relaxed,
from that
to a smile.
One that I remember, and one,
I won’t forget.
Because all I want to do is forget,
Take my memory and squeeze
the bad **** out,
twist the living **** out of it,
and burn it with a match.
Because she thinks I’m the one,
Who did her wrong, but it wasn’t me.
I put that on my integrity, even if my words don’t mean much to your ears: please listen.
I was inebriated, 3/4ths of the time we chilled.
So I didn’t know what was false and what was real.
You can check my temperature,
Because when you’re in my thoughts I get a fever
And hey, I shouldn’t have made a pass on your roomie
I should have thought before I texted, because now your trust in me has been affected.
We’re not talking. I can keep apologizing for what happened, but you don’t want to listen to a broken record.
I wish the bad memories would pass away and I guess they’re all in the past today.
Look, I don’t have a time machine
strong enough to change all the mistakes that I’ve made.
But take this as a time capsule,
this piece that I’m sharing. Like that piece we were sharing. The one that belonged to you.
The one I wish I could kiss again,
Because your lips touched it,
And mine never touched yours.

this time, when i went
to meet Death at his place,
he showed signs of weakness.
he was watching a cricket match
relaxing in his arm chair, legs stretched.
yawns kept rolling
in slow progression
towards the boundary.

'are you well?’ i ventured.
'nothing wrong,’ said he.

stammering, i quizzed him:
which one do you fear most?
allopathy, ayurveda, or
homeopathy?

dear wilson,
have you observed sachin
facing the ***** of shane warne?
brian lara, wasim akram?
chris gail, brett lee?

i was thrown into confusion.

death admitted, unwillingly,
that like vivian richards
confronted narendra hirwani,
he was laid low by the
secret herb
of an old tribal man!

aaha! the panacea
became then
a spin ball!
(aaha…Nothing official about it!)

i forgot to ask
how our people
smuggled away by him
were faring now.

he forgot to comment
“you will see for yourself
when you face it.”

Despite multiple accusations
Of ****** impropriety,
Trump still demonstrates
A false display of piety.
He knows his loyal fans out there
Would never, ever truly deceive him.
He denies whatever he wants
And they will all believe him.

Justice Brett Kavanaugh
Aspires for both fame and glory.
Somehow he got people to
Give credence to his manicured story.
Following Trump's slick advice,
He thought, "Hey, why not try it?
Whatever they accuse me of,
I will out-and-out deny it."

Putin said he hadn't meddled
In our twenty sixteen elections.
Although we know that Internet trolls
Were following his cunning directions.
Putin merely had to say,
"Mr. Trump, I did not do it."
That is all that Trump needed
To say to the world, "You see: I knew it."

Trump asked the Saudi king
If he had had a journalist killed
In Istanbul. That is where
Jamal Khashoggi's blood had been spilled.
The king and prince denied it. Trump,
Satisfied, said, "You see:
The king said they didn't do it.
His denial's enough for me."

Just deny whatever you've done.
That's the message we are getting.
Having to pay consequences
Can stifle your plans and be upsetting.
Just deny it, and you will have
All of your fans believing your tale.
Turn them all against the victim
To save your *** and stay out of jail.

-by Bob B (10-16-18)

I am scared!
Scared of this world

Robert Godwin Sr
Alyssa Elsman

How many more have to die?
By my kind,
By their kind,
Because they blame some other kind
What ever happened to just being
kind?

Daniel Parmertor, Russell King, Jr., Demetrius Hewlin

Where were you when the World Trade Center went down?
It’s something everyone alive then will always remember
Never Forget! was our brand motto for American Pride

Krystle Marie Campbell, Lü Lingzi, Martin William Richard, Sean A. Collier, Dennis Simmonds

And now, the death of another is so commonplace
That we forget what and where.
It’s no longer personal enough to register where in our lives that it struck us
Only note that another life has been struck down
Add another tally to the equation
And still it does not add up

Trayvon Martin
Tamir Rice
Samuel DuBose
Delrawn Small
Philando Castile
Terence Crutcher
Heather Heyer

We are completely desensitized
And decentralized
We keep ourselves disconnected
(because we just can’t absorb,
Take,
Process it all)
It’s not us
It’s not me
It’s somebody else
Somewhere else.
Until it is
Then we care
How much can we take, before we break

Cynthia Marie Graham Hurd, Susie Jackson, Ethel Lee Lance, Depayne Middleton Doctor, Clementa C. Pinckney, Tywanza Sanders, Daniel Simmons, Sharonda Coleman Singleton, Myra Thompson

The tragedy is the comedy
We laugh so we don’t cry
Sakia Gunn
Richie Phillips
Nireah Johnson, Brandie Coleman
Glenn Kopitske
Scotty Joe Weaver
Jason Gage
Michael Sandy
Sean William Kennedy
Duanna Johnson
Lawrence "Larry" King
Angie Zapata
Lateisha Green
****** August Provost, III
Mark Carson

I can’t say I’ve never thought of committing violence.
Hell, when my ex-wife cheated, it occurred to me
And I can’t say that I have never hit another
I’ve been a kid
My whole life is designed just to grow up
But, I’ve thought of killing myself far more often than the thought to harm anyone else have ever occurred to me
Because my problems are mine;
My fault,
And I am not seeking some scapegoat

Keenya Cook, Jerry Taylor, Million A. Woldemariam, Claudine Parker, Hong Im Ballenge, James Martin, James L. Buchanan, Premkumar Walekar, Sarah Ramos, Lori Ann Lewis-Rivera, Pascal Charlot, Dean Harold Meyers, Kenneth Bridges, Linda Franklin née Moore, Jeffrey Hopper, Conrad Johnson, 1 unnamed victim

I am not going to deny that being a white male hasn’t allowed me to sidestep a whole level of *******
One day, angry white males will be the minority
And we’ll have no one left to blame, but ourselves.
If we don’t **** everyone first
If we don’t **** ourselves first

Michael Arnold, Martin Bodrog, Arthur Daniels, Sylvia Frasier, Kathy Gaarde, John Roger Johnson, Mary Francis Knight, Frank Kohler, Vishnu Pandit, Kenneth Bernard Proctor, Gerald Read, Richard Michael Ridgell

Jonathan Blunk, Alexander J. Boik , Jesse Childress, Gordon Cowden,
Jessica Ghawi, John Larimer, Matt McQuinn, Micayla Medek, Veronica Moser Sullivan, Alex Sullivan, Alexander C. Teves, Rebecca Wingo

The earth has already decided that we are a plague upon it
Maybe climate change is the natural response to the abuse of our gifts

Nancy Lanza, Rachel D'Avino, Dawn Hochsprung, Anne Marie Murphy,
Lauren Rousseau, Mary Sherlach, Victoria Leigh Soto, Charlotte Bacon, Daniel Barden, Olivia Engel, Josephine Gay, Dylan Hockley, Madeleine Hsu, Catherine Hubbard, Chase Kowalski, Jesse Lewis, Ana Márquez Greene, James Mattioli, Grace McDonnell, Emilie Parker, Jack Pinto, Noah Pozner, Caroline Previdi, Jessica Rekos, Avielle Richman, Benjamin Wheeler, Allison Wyatt

What is this world going to teach my son?
That he’s better because of how he looks?
Or what I’ve taught him:
You make yourself better.

Jamie Bishop, Jocelyne Couture Nowak, Kevin Granata, Liviu Librescu,  P
G. V. Loganathan, Ross Alameddine, Brian Bluhm, Ryan Clark, Austin Cloyd, Daniel Perez Cueva, Matthew Gwaltney, Caitlin Hammaren, Jeremy Herbstritt, Rachael Hill, Emily Hilscher, Matthew La Porte, Jarrett Lane, Henry Lee, Partahi Lumbantoruan, Lauren McCain, Daniel O'Neil, Juan Ortiz, Minal Panchal, Erin Peterson, Michael Pohle Jr., Julia Pryde, Mary Karen Read, Reema Samaha, Waleed Shaalan, Leslie Sherman, Maxine Turner, Nicole White

I work as a data analyst
So, I ran the numbers
But, these are more than numbers
These are people: sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, friends, lovers.

Stanley Almodovar III, Amanda Alvear, Oscar A. Aracena Montero, Rodolfo Ayala Ayala, Alejandro Barrios Martinez, Martin Benitez Torres, Antonio D. Brown, Darryl R. Burt II, Jonathan A. Camuy Vega, Angel L. Candelario Padro, Simon A. Carrillo Fernandez, Juan Chevez Martinez, Luis D. Conde, Cory J. Connell, Tevin E. Crosby, Franky J. DeJesus Velazquez, Deonka D. Drayton, Mercedez M. Flores, Juan R. Guerrero, Peter O. Gonzalez Cruz, Paul T. Henry, Frank Hernandez, Miguel A. Honorato, Javier Jorge Reyes, Jason B. Josaphat, Eddie J. Justice, Anthony L. Laureano Disla, Christopher A. Leinonen, Brenda L. Marquez McCool, Jean C. Mendez Perez, Akyra Monet Murray, Kimberly Morris, Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, Luis O. Ocasio Capo, Geraldo A. Ortiz Jimenez, Eric I. Ortiz Rivera, Joel Rayon Paniagua, Enrique L. Rios Jr., Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, Christopher J. Sanfeliz, Xavier E. Serrano Rosado, Gilberto R. Silva Menendez, Edward Sotomayor Jr., Shane E. Tomlinson, Leroy Valentin Fernandez, Luis S. Vielma, Luis D. Wilson Leon, Jerald A. Wright

I did research to try to find all the victims since I became abruptly aware 16 years ago
There are too many
I could not discover a single database that contained a comprehensive record
No one can keep track of it anymore
I know I’ve missed people
I know there are 1000’s of people now missing people
Even 1 was too much

Hannah Ahlers, Heather Alvarado, Dorene Anderson, Carrie Barnette, Jack Beaton, Steve Berger, Candice Bowers, Denise Salmon Burditus, Sandra Casey, Andrea Castilla, Denise Cohen, Austin Davis, Virginia Day Jr, Christiana Duarte, Stacee Etcheber, Brian Fraser, Keri Galvan,  Dana Gardner, Angela Gomez, Rocio Guillen Rocha, Charleston Hartfield,  Chris Hazencomb, Jennifer Irvine, Nicol Kimura, Jessica Klymchuk, Carly Kreibaum, Rhonda LeRocque, Victor Link, Jordan McIldoon, Kelsey Meadows, Calla Medig, James ‘Sonny’ Melton, Pati Mestas, Austin Meyer, Adrian Murfitt, Rachael Parker, Jennifer Parks, Carrie Parsons, Lisa Patterson,  John Phippen, Melissa Ramirez, Jordyn Rivera, Quinton Robbins, Cameron Robinson, Lisa Romero Muniz, Christopher Roybal, Brett Schwanbeck, Bailey Schweitzer, Laura Shipp, Erick Silva, Susan Smith, Tara Roe Smith, Brennan Stewart, Derrick ‘Bo’ Taylor, Neysa Tonks, Michelle Vo, Kurt Von Tillow, Bill Wolfe Jr.

and NOW I’ve run out of lines and time to read off all 2,977 people who died in 9-11
Isn’t that a tragedy?

My Reportage for 10/8/2018
When I was a child, my mother and the neighbors
would sit on the front stoop and gossip
about current events: ones would pretend
to be reading her book, but ones ears were like
cable vision indoor satellite: broadcasting
Christine Blasey Ford and Judge Brett Kavanaugh
Stirs up a lot in me this past week
About my childhood memories,

I felt unnerves, about topics that old folks chat about back then:
I remember the villains, child *** predators and ****** fathers
the child's entrapment and powerlessness era in our small village
Where the old folks buried the secrets under the rugs
And prayer about it on Sunday morn

Flashing back to those stories,
too often is nerve wrecking
I called them the gossiping sundown moments:
Shilling was a clone of Brett Kavanaugh: he drank and he forgets:

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! /
The world forgetting, by the world forgot. /
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! /
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd
'Eloisa to Abelard', Alexander Pope

Those gossiping sundown moments,
Never dies when it enters the ears of a heedful child:
I was always one of those children,
Who was so careful about stranger’s looks?
the friendlier the neighbors sweet talk tones
I would take off with speed like the swarm drone
Odd! but that was all it took:

All emotions, even those that are suppressed and unexpressed, have physical effects. Unexpressed emotions tend to stay in the body like small ticking time bombs—they are illnesses in incubation.”
― Marilyn Van M. Derbur,
:

My mother said I had my fathers eyes
I always thought I kinda looked like a bug
But not in that
Strange-insecure way
Just in the way we stare at lady bugs when were kids
And we don't judge them,because they just are
Before we learn to be afraid
And start calling them "insects"

My mom also said, drugs were the best thing that ever happened to her
to the world
to society
A teenage girl in a woman's body
Forever sifting through history
The never ageing blue eye'd hippie;

So I set out on a journey
to somehow find what she said was so great
I swore to myself that I would be the next drug
And do what it takes
To change the world
   To change society
     To be the best thing that ever happened to my mother
        The eternal hippie

I also think the women in my family
Have this uncanny knack
At finding these beautiful
wrecks of men

Her last boyfriend blew his brains out
  I was three and thought we painted the walls

Steven was her boy toy, with an artist's deep dark eyes
  I used to watch him paint
   He'd drink a little too much
   watch a little too much ****

She found him in his car
And then Brett
Who was the whitest thing we saw
Blonde hair and white eyes
  Well by the time we got there
He was already gone

So she says to me "Honey, don't make the mistakes I made, these weak men,
    well they aren't tortured artists, tortured souls, just misguided little boys."

     I haven't been able to quite shake that curse off
  I guess its something in the nature
  In the way that we walk
    The words that we say
      The way that we talk

But I'm sick of being the unpaid therapist
And staying up all night thinking about
   Problems that aren't even mine

  Dangling the live's of people with this terminal illness
    This disease no one talks about
      Because its so ******* "Taboo"
         Hoping they will survive the night
             Leaving my phone on just instead

Being thankful when they call me
Drunk and sobbing
About this dark abyss of water
The chains around their ankles
In the light dawn of day
The clock says, 4 AM, the bed says come
Their cries say "stay"

Holding their mother's hands
At funerals
Thinking of something beautiful to say
When really, I think I just need to start hanging around with a new bunch of people

But I find everyone else quite boring, quite stupid, quite dumb
You know, the kind, go out get drunk
For the sake of a friday
Study for a test you'll take on monday

Its like they never feel
out
   of
      place
And like they will always be
quite
    okay

  I hope they will make it through the weekends
    Make it clear they are not alone
      But ive always been icky with emotion
         Talking about these "heavy" things
I
   just
      want to
quit

midnight moved across the people's park
and I fled the fire like a spinning spark
up onto a porch in the dark
she was waiting right there for me

IN CHRISTMAS IN 1997, MY NANNA DIED, AND THE MESSAGE SHE SENT, TEASE BRIAN, CAUSE HE IS STILL

LIKE US, BECAUSE, IF BRIAN WAS REALLY THAT SMART, HE WOULD REALISE, THAT EVEN NOW WE ARE

PROTECTING HIM, YOU SEE MY NANNA, WANTED BRIAN TO FIND HER NEXT LIFE, BUT I AM SURE I HAVE FOUND HER

HERE, YOU SEE, BRIAN REALLY LIKED CHRIS PLAYING THE GUITAR, SO MY NANNA LEFT HER LIFE, TO TRY

AND FIND A WAY OFF THE OLD LADY IMAGE AND INTO THE YOUNG DUDE GUY IMAGE, IN HER CREATIVITY

YOU SEE MY NANNA, YA KNOW, WAS LOOKING OVER ME, YOU SEE, SHE USED TO KNIT, AND ****

AND AFTERWARDS, SHE MADE A CUP OF TEA, WELL MY NANNA IS NOW FROM THE YEAR 2000, NANNA

BECAME JOHN ROBERT RIMEL, YA KNOW HE PUT HIS STUFF ON YOU TUBE, YOU SEE MY NANNA IS

A YOUTUBE PARTNER, I KNOW HE IS MY NANNA’S REINCARNATION, BECAUSE, HE HAS THE SPITTING

IMAGE OF WHAT SHE VIEWED IN ME, OR WHAT SHE SAW IN MY DECEASED DAD, JOHN ROBERT RIMEL,

WHO WANTED TO **** THE OLD FOGIE THAT NANNY’S WORRYING CAUSED, AND MY NANNA GOT INTO

MY HEAD, SAYING, IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU TOLD YOUR FAMILY YOUR BELIEFS, LIKE YOU BELIEVE IN REINCARNATIOB

BUDDY, AND DON’T WORRY ABOUT WHAT YOUR VOICES SAY, OK, I DIED, TO GET OUT OF THAT, NANNA SAID

AND NANNA, SAID, IF YOU WANNA DO MY LEGACY OF CREATIVE GENES, DON’T **** PEOPLE OFF, YOU

SEE MY NANNA JEAN ALLAN SAID, I AM JEAN ALLAN NO MORE, AND I PREFER TO BE YOUTUBE PARTNERS WITH

YOU BRIAN, AS MY NANNA SAID, THAT SHE IS JOHN ROBERT RINEL, A YOUTUBER LIKE BRIAN, AND MY NANNA

STILL WANTS THE VOICE OF PAT, ONLY BECAUSE, IF YOU REALLY CARED FOR THE POOR, EVEN FOR KIDS

IT’S EASY TO CARE, BUT MY NANNA GETS WEIRD VIBES FROM THAT, YOU SEE MY NANNA WAS SORT OF DOING THIS

TO GET CLOSER TO HER GRANDSON CHRIS, CAUSE, MY NANNA GIVES HER NEXT REINCARNTATION JOHN ROBERT RINEL

TO JAM WITH MY BROTHER OR HIS KIDS, BUT, HE LIKES TO BE IN THE HERE AND NOW, BUT NANNA RESPECTS THAT, BUT

THAT IS WHAT BUDDHA DOES, IS RESPECT, YOU SEE MY NANNA LIKE IS NOW A MUSICIAN, BUT NANNA HAS BEEN TEASING ME

SAYING, SHE ISN’T THE BOY IN ADELAIDE WHO SAVED THAT LADY, OR THAT RUNNER AT THE BELCONNEN GAME, NO, MY NANNA WAS

TEASING, TO SAY, OH NO, SHE WOULD DO THIS, LIKE BE RUNNER AT SPORTS EVENTS OR SAVE ADULTS, BUT MY NANNA, AND

IS JOHN ROBERT RINEL, SO SHE CAN MOVE ON, RATHER THAN BE A LITTLE OLD LADY WITH FLOPPY ARMS, SO MY NANNA SAID

YOU SIT THERE DOING YOUR TAPESTRY, BUT DON’T EXPECT ANYONE TO SMILE AT YOU, OR BETTER STILL, DON’T MUCK WITH YOU

IF YOU, FIND OUR REINCARNATIONS, OK, BRIAN ALLAN KNOWS PAUL BERENYI IS JACK VIDGEON, VIBE AT THAT CAROLS IN THE DOMAIN

AND DAD IS ELIZABETH ANN CAMPBELL, AND JEAN ALLAN IS JOHN ROBERT RINEL, BRETT EGGINS TOOK KIDNAP VICTIM, ADAM WALSH

UP TO REINCARNATE AS THE OLSEN TWINS, MARK JONES WAS STEVEN BRADLEY, WITH VOICES OF REINCARNATIION BOTHERING HIM

MARK DRANK COKE, BUT DID NOTHING ELSE, SO HE IS SUPER 3 YEAR OLD LIAM, FROM THE COKE, I DRINK COKE, BUT I WRITE STORIES

ABOUT MY REINCARNTIONS I WAS GREAME THORNE, PATRICK DUNBAR, A CAT AND A DOG, ALBERT WALDRON, A HOTEL PORTER AND CLEANER

GEORGE WASHINGTON BLACKBEARD THE PIRATE, ISABELLA OF FRANCE, THE 323 YEAR OLD MAN CRONUS HANSEL AND ST NICK, AND DANIEL MESSIAH

AND MY NANNA NOW IS REACHING ME FROM THE TOP, SAYING, NOW, MY NANNA IS JOHN ROBERT RINEL, THE REASON WHY I KNOW IT’S MY NANNA

BECAUSE I GET VIBES, YA SEE, MY NANNA WANTED TO BE MORE LIKE MY BROTHER, CAUSE SHE KNEW I DRINK, AND SHE WANTED ME TO OUT LIVE DAD

BUT I KNOW THE TRUTH, BUT I WANT TO KEEP IT ON THE INTERNET

JOHN ROBERT RINEL, YOU WERE MY NANNA WHO DIED IN 1997

BUT PLEASE. LET MY NANNA’S CREATIVE SPIRIT FLY OVER YOU, SHE KNITTED, YOU DO MUSIC ALL CREATIVE

YOU ARE THE NEXT GEN UP FROM MY NANNA, JUST THE REINCARNATION CREATIVITY

You have found my haven,
A place I never want to let go,
A place to set my feelings aside,
A place for me to have a home.

You have found my safe place,
A place where I'm at peace,
A place where I don't know sorrow,
A place for me to release.

You have found my life's true meaning,
A place where there's no threat,
A place that I can call my own,
A place without any regret.

You have found what saves my life,
A place for me to be,
A place I never want to leave,
A place where you saved me.

Lost in the fumes of a cloudy exhale
I search for a glimpse of myself in grimy water.
My remains are scattered somewhere
between boyhood and gutter trash.
The present is hardly of concern
when the blankets of mud offer such astounding
silence.
This swamp was flooded with the prosperity of quitters.
-
The face of the street I grew up on
has been radically warped and distorted.
Leave a good thing to the elements long enough
and you’ll see it begin to degrade.
Dust gathers and mold begins to creep in
from the moisture lingering in the air.
It happens to our childhood toys
just as easily as it happens to the people we know.
-
Everything still holds the same shape;
the same structure that casts a shadow in memory,
it’s just that now the cosmetics have worn off
and you can see the tired lines start to show.
You can hear the creak of arthritic wooden steps
to front porches where old kin with liver spots
sit and drink a shared Ice House 40 oz. while spitting into the wind.
Cavities from a candy coated childhood.
-
There are strangers in my old home,
that place where my uncle lives
surrounded by VHS tapes, pictures of Brett Favre,
and reminders of dead cockatiels.
The biggest struggle is trying to recall
if he was always this way,
or did it take a forty year dope binge
for the hoarder to finally stir?
-
I wrote my name in the sidewalk at the foot of steps.
I search for a glimpse of myself in grimy water
and check under the bushes for garter snakes .
My stomping grounds have been wiped of footprints
and grandma’s violets don’t come in very well anymore.
They cut down the walnut tree, and got rid of the porch swing.
No time for whimsy, no time for strays.
The cicadas will sleep for ten more years, ‘til summer.