I am not used to taking risks. Many barriers tend to block my train of thought and my decision-making. Now that I was lying at the bottom of the trash, I could talk; I could think straight. I had no distractions or punishments, even though there was no need for deciding anything. I felt free because I knew he had given up on me. I felt like a meaningless particle of the planet when I was under Master’s control. At least plastic was used to create something else. But not me! No! I could not be used for anything else; I just got thrown away. I couldn’t say I was completely oblivious towards my lifespan. I had an idea of what was going to happen. There I was at the bottom of the trash; knowing that my master’s next victim had already been chosen to take my former position in his soaking, swampy hand. Master acted like he worked so hard; he should have been ashamed of himself. Because lying crippled within those dark suffocating walls of that garbage basket was HIS doing. I do not take risks. Those crumpled up papers began to fall upon me like rain and it felt like I was being buried alive.
I don’t remember my birth or the first few years of my life. My psychology teacher told me about how you cannot remember the first 2-3 years because of the brain’s progression in growth. The first thing I remembered was waking up in a box, locked in place by my neck and feet. My family was nowhere to be found. I did not even remember being apart of one. There were four others enslaved with me at the time. They were not my family, but they dressed like me, which scared me a little. The loud noise of slicing scissors pierced my ears and a small stream of light entered the cardboard box when the top was cracked open. The first sight of the Master’s obese fleshy hand brought motion to my bowels as a feeling of failed screams collapsed around my throat. I had no voice, I had no mouth. Was it welded shut or was I created incorrectly? Watching the way Master’s large hand devoured the poor ******* next to me and yanked him out of the box brought an immediate knowledge of trouble upon me. I was frightened because my opinions were insignificant and I didn’t know what to do to gain control.
We were transferred from our holding shackles to a less-captivated holding system. I don’t know what it was, but we were with many others; lost and stupid. The light blinded me at first, it was more open and I could see clearer. I would have gotten myself into trouble… or maybe not. The sight was horrifying because it enabled me to witness it all. Master was unfair and he had no patience, like me. When a victim needed a break or was tired, he banged its head on the desk (or the paper) or threw it across the room. When the victim was not meeting the Master’s needs, he squeezed it harder and harder while banging its tip more. If a victim was useless to Master, he threw it away without a care. That same poor ******* that was next to me ended up in the trash after a day and a half because it couldn’t finish transcribing Master’s C’s or A’s. I would’ve transcribed his C’s and A’s; and his M, O, T, R, F, K, R’S too! I hope master sweats himself to death. I knew my time would come. I knew I would end up just like the rest of the poor and helpless. When my juice ran out, the five of us from the box would be back together- empty and cold.
I sometimes wished I was not smarter than Master. I didn’t have a mouth, but my narrow cap surely consisted of a larger brain, I’ll tell you that. I sure wished I could have taught him; him and those sweaty palms, a thing or two about our existence! He should have been grateful I was there and he should have given the respect he did not deserve to get. He probably didn’t know that he would’ve been using a chisel and a rock if it wasn’t for me! I sure as hell was saving Master a lot of time. If my uniqueness was not available, Master would have been wasting hours of his time to create one word. I wonder if the chisel used to say the same things I said during those horrible events of slavery and cruelty. Chisel probably never received punishment. It was probably buffed and puffed and sharpened and cared for. So why couldn’t I just get a re-fill?! But still, Master didn’t care. He wouldn’t have sharpened my tip if I were a chisel. He’d let me rot and throw me away because it was all in the same to him. Master wouldn’t have cared if I informed him about the chisel. I probably would’ve received more of a punishment if I was able to speak.
After my ink ran out, there I was within the bottom of the garbage basket. This was exactly what I expected. I couldn’t lie, I was kind of glad it was all over. I was so sick of Master’s crap by then. Those sweaty palms got the best of me and that impatient anger caused my juices to run fast. I was developing a realization about Master’s endeavor. He threw me away too early. Usually, our species would be thrown away when death occurred. I was lying in that trash very much alive when I began to glance at my previous struggle. Those papers devoured my appearance while they exposed every waking memory that my hard work had created. When the papers stopped falling, there was nothing else to think about. The memories began to fade away after every word I read. I couldn’t help but recognize the mistakes that Master forced me to make. At that instant, I only wanted to go back and edit the foolishness that was transcribed onto those papers. I wanted an opinion. I simply desired to have my voice heard; I wish I had one. As free as I was, I still couldn’t make that happen; even after I was hurled into the trash- as if I was some useless implement. This was like being under some Calvinistic rule. My fate had been an adversarial predetermination, no matter how much I followed the rules.
It was a sensible act to throw me out. Master appropriately responded when I was of no use for him. He should have thrown me out when he snatched me out of the box like a piece of paper towel entangled within the roll. I was useless from the beginning. I couldn’t stand up to myself and I couldn’t make a difference whatsoever. I collapsed within myself when the words on the paper began to fade as I scanned each line. The scriptures came to a halt; I realized I was as dead as any other useless implement that previously suffered within these very same haunting walls. There was nothing else I could do. I was banished to freedom. I achieved the freedom to originate nothing. So that’s what I did… nothing. I wished I could speak; at least I would’ve gotten something in before I became the excrement that master walked upon. I closed my eyes and patiently waited for death to overwhelm me as I listened to Master’s distant grunting in silence.

Julia sways in the same Winter, losing an up hill battle of deep seated Calvinistic virtues and the excitation of *******.
@@@ Julia goes on weekend holiday with her parents in hopes of losing her virginity in some square of Savannah.
@@@ Julia packs a bible, hoping to burn it in a symbolic rite of passage.
@@@ Julia packs a doll, hoping to drop it from a rocky bluff, post de flowerization, a highly political and artistic statement.
@@@ Julia packs the lucky strike cigarettes she took from the family gardener years ago, saved for her first post coitus cigarette.
@@@ Julia fiddles with a razor in her parents washroom. Breaking a piece and tucking it in her fingernail, as she read once that prostitutes do.
&&& Julia plans to draw blood in her ******; the man or men severing herself from the responsibility of a ***** & she severing her skin as tribute to a new brokenness.
@@@ Julia fantasizes her flower's loss to be on a rich man's bed with one or two plainly handsome sons of a rich man.
@@@ Julia desires the experience to be ******, seething with heat and violence.
@@@ Julia prays for this chaos, to shed her modest and humble skin, to become a quiet ***** in this painful flash of light.
@@@

frock coated mourners all men

standing on the roof tops

while a silver haired woman

speaks through a megaphone

with a Calvinistic zeal

though her voice is lost

in the howling wind

smile unsmiling smiles

terracotta soldiers stand

in rows around this

grotesque assembly

while large disembodied heads

at the beginnings of thoroughfares

impede any progress

sinister flags smirk from

countless one roomed wooden houses

the terracotta soldiers laugh

for they know they are but dust

then the high frocked coated

male mourners smile unsmiling smiles

and say to us

"the future we bequeath to you"

there is a lifeboat in the street

but no water

we sob...sob...sob....sob

for there is no future

the birds all fly away

no future just an unknown place

determined only by the mediocrity

of its frothing melancholy

what have they done

jesus what have they done

I understood I would never marry,
buy a house, have kids,
mow the lawn on Saturday,
wash cars, clean the pool.

I had an atypical plan,
thinking back, for my life:
a wanderer, adventurer or pilgrim
without want of firm roots.

Each destination a chance happening,
an introduction to the unexamined.
Sidewalks, cafes, alleyways, and life
being lived, journaled for remembrance.

The North Country, New York;
Watertown, Carthage, Clayton and Ogdensburg,
strolling their streets dripping
history and memoirs never told.

Lassoing thoughts from wild conversation
with caffeinated coffee shop poets,
struggling with Calvinistic thought streams
and priests in moments of doubt.

My theories in marble.
Gently chiseled with each interaction,
chipped, thoughts evolve
leaving inference among spilt beans.

All memories and dreams mingle.
l hold them gently.
As midnight creeps I’m untethered,
drifting from the shoal once more.


Suddenly I sense wonder:
The Appalachian Trail at Katahdin,
Continental divide at Loveland Pass,
Mount Hood from Pacific Crest.

Have you ever witnessed
views of Mojave’s Kelso Dunes?
Felt the Great Basin’s rainshadow chill,
or contemplated Joshua Trees in prayer?

Often the life of could have been
is more lucid than I am,
kneeling gnarled,
pulling obstinate weeds.

Shallow breath’d and gazing… scanning
my cut grass, clear pool,
a loving wife, adoring children,
my home…

This man,
mind wandering,
acquiesces,
to clarity of thought.

I would have… could have
been that man, that other life,
a Walter Mitty dreaming
a life; mine.

Because you asked for it I
conjured up magic I
made us our breakfast

Because you asked if this was something I
wanted-- weekend mornings with you
eating at home, feeling family, you
longing like we all hope for, to find the other me
to cook for, to work with side by side thru lunch
to nimble snatches late into the warm night

Because you asked for it I
unweaved our tapestry I
unbounded the Sympathy
drained the alar and cut the threads
that interlaced us to an imagined future

Because you asked for it I
move to be there but you
were already here
hurt, breaking the fast
splintering our finality
with another man's hammer.

Because you asked for it we
lived the long years together
until the children left
and stale taste returned
and the golden years wished
for are spent in separate beds

Because you asked for it our
habituated movements at the Calvinistic
start have transmogrified to a Calvin
& Hobbes' relativism

An alchemy changing holy union
to mundane diaelectrics separating our
storming forces within a
spotless sunshine

You asked for it my mind
to be emptied but still it
blindly seeks us

I’m perplexed, because a

pre destination is marked

on my GPS, not sure if it's

Greece Portugal or Spain?

                  Y
                  



               Serenity Prayer                         =.  Trifurcation   Y

      God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change.     =  Calvinistic Pre Destination.

Courage to change the things I can.        =. Catholic Free will.

And wisdom to know the difference .       =  Buddhism.









Ps.

A Free Defined Person is

someone who looks for

apples in and orchard

using a Y forked stick.

Serenity Prayer. © Reinhold Neibuhr

Grant me the serenity to accept
the things I cannot change, = Calvinistic Predestination

courage to change the
things I can, = Catholic Free Will.

and wisdom to know
the difference. = Buddhist Ambiguity

               <>

Which means, the serenity
prayer is a total contradiction.

It is like reading a horoscope
or going to a fortune teller.

It it three divine statements
In one opposing sentence.