Not since the days
of shooting ******
into the artery in my armpit
(too many blown out veins
in my arms and feet),
have I spent multiple nights
pacing and sweating…..
******* simple carbohydrates. –
In the first months
of being a non-cigarette smoker
I would see folks light up
and near instantly collect
a chilled film on my back
and fingernails…
forget about it;
but the other day I drove
by a pizzeria
and had thoughts of ski masks
and 45 caliber pistols…
******* simple carbohydrates. –
Once upon a time
I drank near 200 ounces of
Mountain Dew
each and every day.
If I missed a day,
I would have massive headaches
combined with serious irritation;
while it has been more than 5 years
since this body ingested caffeine,
last night I could not fall asleep for anything
and no amount of cannabis oil
or ibuprofen
had the ability to curb
my aching noggin….
******* simple carbohydrates –
change is the only constant
and humanity has evolved
amazing adaptability
while I know I will be fine
at this moment only one thing
really runs through my head:
******* simple carbohydrates! –

Calories.
When I was 6 years old,
my mother told me I would consume
too many calories.
I would consume them by the hundreds,
by the thousands.
I was Godzilla and they were the people I dominated.
When my parents left one another
I had to fill myself with some other source of affection.
And the insulin rushes were tremendous.
When I was 11,
I had to see the doctor to be in fear of getting Diabetes,
and being grossly overweight.
At at age of 15, I was over 280 pounds
of walking disappointments.
I had always believed my stomach carried my happiness
and the fat under my chin kept my head high.
But after being rejected for so long,
I snapped.
I always had an attachment to food,
a sort of inseperable bond.
But I remember looking at myself in the mirror one night,
completely disgusted, tears welling in my eyes,
and I puked from the anger I felt inside of me.
So don't tell me the calories I consume today
don't burn more
than the bleach Amanda Todd drank,
or that the more hollow my stomach becomes,
I am not able to better hide my sorrows.
Do not dare tell me eat something,
because I've craved biting the bullet for the past 8
******* years, and carbohydrates
has caused more sadness in my heart than anything else.

Do not tell me other teenagers do not cut open their arms,
to let calories out,
because they are scared to Christ that someone may judge them,
if they eat an apple.
Because the first woman that ate an apple, ****** humankind.
And by having a sip of your Iced Tea,
or a french fry, might just dissolve the earth from beneath us.
Why we hide from nutrition labels,
and run from anything with a number greater than
ZERO
on it.

I was taught that happiness comes from a nutrition label,
and how many servings one consumes,
not the smile on ones face,
or the good in one's heart.

Calories have ruined my life,
and I will never forgive any nutrition label for that.

Cycling
High cadence
Low resistance
Tight corners
Horse class climbs
Mountainous descents
     Back up!
Horse class climbs?
At my current weight
More like fat *** climbs!

Cycling
No high calories
Low carbohydrates
Tight spandex
More practice climbs
Mountains want destroyed
      Go forward!
At my cycling weight
More like what climb?

So here I am.
Sitting on my couch
and eating potato chips
and thinking about you
and what might have been.
Wallowing in self-pity
and artificial flavors
and carbohydrates.
The only things comforting me
are my fast metabolism
and the hum of the air conditioning.

"And Abraham drew near, and said,
Wilt thou also destroy the righteous with the wicked?"
- Genesis 18:23

I

There are about four thousand people
Here.
They throng in blasted heat like
Little arid wasps.
Gasping summer rain,
Like the opposite of fish.
Of their individual character
I can give no generality.

They are men and women,
They stand on roofs and
Sleep on their words.
They are hot and cold
And they hate and scold.
They are devils and stars
And ***** and priests
And children of priests.
Orators, they are also:
The speakers of the state (which
Is hotter than they could
Ever know); they steal
And reel and impose their
Splitting fingernails deep into
The varnish of the
Wishing well.

They are men and women,
They stand on roofs and
Smother dreams by spitting on the sky.

II

Fox. Come and light my little room
With your brilliant breath. Have you
Come very far? From the eye of the trees?

I should leave this little town if I were you.
It has its ways and leeches from our
Dangling hands. A tongue named Lethe.

Wake early and flee back to your dark,
Summon that green corpus shell that
You came from and follow its outlying root.

You should know the power of the vine.
It crawls in the blinding night and
Strangles what it cannot feed upon.

Oh my little fox, I beg you turn back,
For in familiarity lies strength and nothing
In this wilderness will give you nourishment.

III

He walks in waterways and crunches bone.
He watches moonlight play on open wounds.
He wishes dearly for the ends of weeks.
I heard him live his life without a sound.

The high school band with a treble clef. The year
Of empty penmanship in which he wrote
A thousand notes and mailed them underground
About which neither parent knew a thing.

Encounters best discovered some years later
Work to redden ears in coffee shops,
Or rather as I’m talking to him now,
With darting speech and halting eyes and all.

Perhaps the atmosphere could lend itself to blame,
The hormones and the collusive ennui.
But little charms the tear ducts quite like saying,
“Why am I this way, do you suppose?”

I haven’t got the heart to make reply
And often pose myself the same question
Before the mirror thinking of my whims,
The muddied roads that led me where they did.

My time has run itself to pieces in
The hope of spreading my horizons, but
Some sand runs faster in the way, some gains
More ground. And mine? This distance is unknown.

I licked the shelves of Hardy, Plath, and Keats.
I lorded over idiots with glee.
I lured the fathoms of my mind to float.
And oh, the things that he must think of me.

IV

The doors know I am coming,
They dart out of my way.
My telekinesis stops there
But I troll forward
And brandish my little iron steed.

****. Adjust my strap
And push the cart onward.
My purse like a little leather
Bundle of swaddling.
I nuzzle it close to my breast.

Frozen foods. Diet says
No carbohydrates, so I adjust
My tastes. In a little town
Like this, they’ll notice if
I don’t.

Magazine aisle. Nothing
But ***-endorsing rags
And godless photo sessions fit
For lining shelves and
little else.

Lord, this vast store!
Give me strength to bet back
To my car. God, look at
That **** at the pharmacy
Asking for birth control.

And I can’t help but
Cluck my tongue at her:
I just tell Ray I have a headache
And turn on my back.
Ha, as if she’s married.

No decency any more.
Men getting married, women too!
God supposedly “Banging” us out of
Star dust. Who are those atheists
To judge my truth?

Checkout. No, self-checkout.
I don’t like that clerk
Staring at me. Receipt.
Probably a ******* anyway.
And for a moment my mind controls the doors and all things.

V

She’s gone a bit insane.
Yesterday in class, she asked
To go to the lavatory
And just went straight home.
(Poor thing, I can’t blame
Her after all that has happened.)

She’s told me about her
Father before. Whether she’ll
End up as warped remains
To be seen. She’s got my sympathy.
(Mother dead at four, brother at
Seven and something else at twelve.)

Senior year is more than
Freedom from Dad, she says.
It’s freedom from myself,
Whatever that means.
(It is her father’s profound wish
That she memorize all of Revelations.)

From the grass, she tells me
That her father explained to her
That non-dairy creamer kills
Ants. She does it with a smile.
(We don’t have to say much more,
Suffice it to say he’s a very loud man.)

She still has an averse reaction
To stories about car crashes.
And I never read her her
Early July horoscope.
(Nightmares are too kind.
Panic sifts through windowpanes.)

Her uncle doesn’t call from
The old hometown, he was
Grabbed from her life and her
Father never says why they moved here.
(Two years her junior, she jokingly
Calls me Grandma because)

She hates her real one. Prom
And graduation. A candle
Ceremony and she’s gone.
Her father left before it was over.
(I’ll miss her, but I made
Her promise not to visit.)

VI

Hot like a miracle breath.
The two seasons: Summer
And February.
We taste the heat
And drive away for the weekend.
Of course the world ends
And the “Welcome to” sign.

Unsurprisingly,
The radio dies as we
Head back to town.
Why should the death of
An intangible surprise me?
Everything else
Dies here.

Pessimism like a mockingbird.
The smoking trees
Ripple like an Ella
Fitzgerald vowel.
Hold your
Miraculous breath
And it still won’t rain.

Our abortion
Welcomes the needle heat
with a  horrifying
Little finger.
That smile,
That smile.
Jesus.

How can it stay so
Hot? No reply,
But I forgot who
Was asking.
The irony of this ****
Town sparks my
Smile.

VII

So where are you from?

        I lived up north
Before I moved down here.
They needed teachers and
I thought “Why not?” Turns
Out this place is a lot
Slower than up where I
Came from. No offense.

(Laughs) None taken.
So what are you teaching?

Senior English. Pretty cool
Subject but I was shocked
How little the kids had been
Exposed to. I hope to remedy
That soon. (Mumbles something)
Any more problems, you know?

The parents have complained?

Oh, just the usual nitpicky
Silliness: “I don’t want my
Christa or Johnny reading
Such-and-such a book.”
After a few years, I’m
Sure the parents will lighten up.
Or, (Laughs) at least I hope.

How are the kids?

Can I actually answer that one?
One or two brights but most
Just seem ready to get out.
They’d better be willing to put
In some actual thought if
They really hope to. (Pause)
It’s not all about sports.

(Laughs) I hope you’re not too
******* the athletes. They do their best.

Well, I certainly hope
They do. I won’t play
Favorites or anything like
That. Hardly fair to the
Others, right? (Laughs,
A pause, tape ends.)

VIII

He can’t breathe.

He’s been running for
Hours.
The trees. The brush.

Wonderful veins blast
Away at their work
To preserve him;
Great fibrous tendons
Work to carry him
Away from the noise.

The murderous streets with
Scoured buildings
And trees inviting the
Convening crowds to lay
Out their burdens, to
String them up and
Ease their hard frustrations.

They have not seen him as yet.
He follows Polaris,
god of the irreverent,
Meager candle for a
Drowning man.

Exposed road; he flags
A car like a madman.
Well, we shan’t go
So far as to call him that.
And has he any bags?
No.
And which way is he going?
North.

Procession. Silence.

The coolish progress
Of a blackish
Summerish
Night.
How many minutes
out of town? and how
many moments in the
rounding cruelty of acting?
The driver smiles in his driver’s
Seat, eyes lit by the green
Display, ears filled suddenly with
Static.

The bruised night
Raises its single, white eye
Like the ponderous pitch
Of a bird.

I suppose he knew from
The second he saw the car:
There was never any sanctuary
In this little cloister.

The towns spreads like
Botulism over both windows.
He stops before the courthouse.
Stops before his jury,
Hanging judges.
And you needn‘t ask yourself
“Who are they?”

I’ll tell you.

They are men and women,
They stand on roofs.

They are boys from California
Who ran like foxes but refused
To run away.

They are musicians who lived
Their lives without a sound.

They are hopeless hags who
Speak in blinding grocery stores
And **** the gossip air.

They are girls with opportunities
Burst like an innocent cell
And violated by the heavy hand
That tucks them deep to sleep.

They are cruel little ******* who
Only wanted something to listen to
While the seasons spun around them.

They are teachers who never learned.
They are hearts that never burned.
They are heads that never cooled.
Not when it’s so hot outside.

They grew uneven like a story
Written in celebration of a meaningless title.
They have every right to be angry,
And yet they level their stones
At one another instead of the
Hell a glass house can become.

They walk so slow the sun
Can stoop and eat them up
Without the briefest guilt.

For my mate Chris*

To sit around in anger…does no favours,
To bellyache to me… It’s all unfair,
To hope somebody else… comes up with answers,
To see the world’s shortcomings… flaunted there.


A lack of motivation keeps you grounded
Friends and family try to keep you at arm’s length,
You loathe the Government’s lack of comprehension
In that joblessness depletes your hope and strength.


You feel those carbohydrates clog your arteries
And see your muscled body turn to flab,
Discipline’s resolve flies to oblivion
And you curse all that… which makes your life so drab.


Disappointment curbs the high expectations,
You feel the planet owes you that, to which you seek,
Aghast to comprehend your own misgivings,
You feel the need to say…but then, you never speak.


Then suddenly… a stark, clear realization
That NOTHING HERE WILL CHANGE…UNTIL YOU DO,
Until you turn around your thinking to endeavour,
Till then that something that you seek… shall hide from you.


So look, my sweetness, look into the mirror
Shed the worry lines that always cloud your brow,
Kick your sorry **** profoundly to tomorrow
And lose the ****** shards of bitterness….RIGHT NOW!



Marshalg
Endeavouring to re-motivate a lost cause.
18 August 2012




© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

In the 1970s there was a wave of soft pop that struck America
one band at the crest of that wave was The Carpenters
formed by Richard and Karen Carpenter
they were wildly successful
their song We’ve Only Just Begun is still a ubiquitous wedding song
Karen’s smooth and pure voice drew giant crowds
but despite how timeless her music is
it is equally contrasted by the briefness of her life.

Karen captivated a worldwide audience with her music
but some people just can’t be reached
indoctrinated by our superficial society
thinking every celebrity should be a supermodel
critics made snide comments about her being Richard’s chubby sister
even though she wasn’t overweight
and Richard was addicted to Quaaludes
but even more important than the public was Karen’s own mother
who worried of the public’s feelings more than her own daughter’s.

Karen felt pushed to lose weight
so she hired a nutritionist
who loaded her down with carbohydrates
which obviously made her fatter
crushing her faith in nutrition
turning her towards unhealthy methods
...which worked...at first...
but unfortunately it kept working
and she refused to change, unlike her body.

Fans who once cheered for her
now gasped when they saw her emaciated skeleton take the stage
they thought she might’ve had cancer
and were concerned about her weight
but to her it was the same crowd telling her to lose weight
now telling her to gain weight
she was done hearing it
and stuck in her ways.

Her friends were worried about her
and pleaded for her to seek help
but her mother’s profession was repression
so Karen hid her depression
while her mother told her psychiatrists were for crazy people.

Karen tried using a man to make her problems disappear
and married Tom Burris two months after meeting him in 1980
he would verbally abuse her; calling her a bag of bones
then he’d *** money off her; amounts up to $50,000 at a time
needless to say the relationship was ill fated
and they divorced in 1981.

Finally Karen’s friends convinced her to see a therapist
who brought her family into a counseling session
and urged them to tell Karen they love her
of course Richard was willing to say so, they were always really close
especially after Karen had helped him with his own addiction issues
but Karen’s mother refused
berating the therapist for using her first name; Agnes
and informing him that wasn’t how their family did things.

Karen Carpenter passed away February 4, 1982 at the age of 32
she died from ipecac poisoning
she used the substance to induce vomiting every day
and it slowly dissolved her heart.

Richard was devastated.

There’s not much I can add
I guess Karen’s story speaks for itself
it just ****** me off critics jeer with impunity and without empathy
they’re free to cajole great artists while having no value themselves
driving artists away until we’re only left with negativity
it makes me want to cut out all the demons’ razor sharp tongues
before they get a taste of another angel’s wings
but would that really protect those angels
if they’re born to demons?

Considered the staple of life
Is nothing more than ground up
Grain from
The ground.
Bread,
What so many peasants fought for in
France and Russia
Is nothing more than
Carbohydrates smushed together
Bread,
What everyone eats today,
Is nothing more than gluten free,
Wheat or multigrain.

But could some thing so simple
Be so important?

I woke up from snoring.
I'm a light sleeper
When carbohydrates and
Fats roam my
Temple.

Sometimes I drink three pints
Of water before I sleep.
It's as good an alarm in the morning
As any.

So much in my life is
Food and drink.

You may kiss me as sweetly
As you can, or slap
A bitter palm across my face.
It's all dessert and dinner to me,

In any order you wish.
I'll never sleep with you
Hungry.

how could I ever explain
the hiccups in my brain
(what was i just thinking)
writing 'bubblegum tongue '
degrades
the act of kissing

and I am full of carbohydrates caffeine almond milk
(vegetarian yes)
unmotivated to go vegan alone
sitting against a wall
with pink pig headphones in--my sister's I swear
reading grand hopeful endless infinite
quotes
oblivious to everything
fake
around me--I'm too preoccupied with
finding my alter-ego

                                                      ­                   was machst mich so glucklich

you can kiss
all the boys you want
pretty girl
but naproxen sodium doesn't
numb my pain
anymore than empty touch
will numb yours

I am dying
The thought occurs to me every now and then
Jolting my psyche like a bucket of cold water on a sleeping drunk

I just turned 32 this year
I can already feel the cold tendrils of deaths advance
Some days I can even smell its putrid breath on the back of my neck

I’m not dying of anything immediate
No nothing as glamorous as a drug overdose or a gunshot wound
My death more than likely won’t make national news

I am dying
It is a slow and pitiful death
Caused by a lethal mix of age, apathy and neglect

Every day I poison myself a little more
Complex carbohydrates and processed sugars in every meal
Caffeine carcinogens and aspartame to wash the poison down

I can feel my muscle waste away
As I sit 10 hours a day answering the same inane questions
Over and over again to earn the right to what’s left of my meager existence

I am dying
This must be the case because I am certainly not living
At best I am merely surviving, simply continuing to exist

Maybe tomorrow or maybe in 20 years
Even if I quit my job and start an organic vegan diet
Even if I exercise, meditate and confess my sins

I am dying

here they go again , these experts
telling us things to sadden the heart:
game may not be that safe to eat
running river water is never a treat
for it carries upstream decadence

here they go again, these stuffed-shirt experts:
water is two to one hyydrogen and oxygen
boiled, the oxygen steams away into the air
and your cappuccino has a hydrogen flavour
we endanger our lives when it we drink and savour

here they go again, the learned heralds of demise
they tell us that nothing we can ever devise
can avert the armageddon that's surely coming
the entropy or second law of thermodynamics
transforms physicists into latterday prophets

here they go again on prime media, the erudite experts
talking about free radicals, anti-oxidants, titanium utensils
and the havoc that excess proteins, fats and carbohydrates can cause
it’s time to go puritan and vegetarian in this new poisonous present
where fun is frowned upon and barbecues are a deadly pastime

in this age of dietary enlightenment and forced moderation
we must eventually go raw in our cuisine and be natural about it
or perhaps be as creative as possible before the nutritionists come in
to tell us how not to cook our food and how not to eat it
living was great fun before this age of detoxification and cancer!

Mother's Day Mother's Day Mother's Day;
The mother and the daughter of the future.
Coca Cola, do you have a picture of the girl?
Sanjo & Sanoni became American among women.
The modern world is Italian & German.
German,                                 German and German
Spanish, European technologies,               Spanish,
Color and music, motor sport,
Less training for Van Gogh's
Vitamins and cousins;
The Museum of dreams or dreams is not a dream.
You have nine children in the village
Falthonola: Mar, Beck, a good company,
Adonewiger Jack, Holy Fire,                                     Satellite Systems,
The five-year Saturday
New line / day. To our Father, to happy people.
Years and clues are good.
For example, the weather is very hot.
The design of Russia is high.
Who is the only bus coach in the United States?
                                                    Levi ... in the window of the window.
For example, in German, English, Spanish, European,
Cameroon, Spain, spare parts,
  for motorcycles & boats ...
Vitamins Rich and Beautiful Vitamins,
I want bunks, rounds,                                prostitutes and ways of life.
Do not use your mind or your music, the text is clear,
But it's an animal and it's gone.
Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development.
Preferred representatives will be invited.
Monumenta I ask, I ask,
I ask and I ask for cancer,                           for prostate cancer
                                         and prostate cancer in South Africa.
Swift had a lot of food for the original food.
Stop offline, scratch owners, image and movie
Do people get images on the planet?
Georgia on Sunday
Babamachi is still young (Shari Chaniya)              and women are terrifying!
Is the gender policy applicable?                                                      ­     History
Walking and writing in English,                                     German and German.
Results, English, Spanish, European Cities,
Portuguese pop in his group includes a good body and music center, motorcycles, over radio chat.
| | | | | | | |                              What is mental illness to mental illness?
Vitamins and remedies? Use the slider
Here are some disappointing scenes.
It helps us move here. Falatola -
Drinks, new motorcycles, top companies,
Jack, San Francisco line, San Nei /                   Emma Shang-guyan
Subway station Five years, Dr. Donnie,
Some of the fish are erased the size of green drinks.
How to ban my dear haha,
And Sister Tessa Rossono? Mono? Germany,
Great Britain, Spanish, English, Spanish,
                               Abos or Chamomans,
Cycling, running, cycling, ecstasy ...                                 vitamins & fats,
Salts are generally found in humans at a total of five fifths.
This situation Music and music on the beach for all young people.
From Bahar, Baz, Rice,
Sugar sugar sugar sugar
Nigeria, Africa Real Adidas, Rial Mari,
Tawe is located in Ninzazate
Maria Morris, Rose and the life of Victoria Diaata
In the United States,                                     who is the child of the girl?
Among the popular artists there are some unusual words in Britain
and Libya, Spain, European Support, classmates from Saile, Spain
and the French Academy of Songs,               an interview, one of the greatest achievements in the world.                              This life and love to the world.
Read and read in my life and choose alone.
Fofollo: Sabbatie, Beko Socitis, Fars, Jacques Anovannas,
Faiyar Agiya Shan Nata K. / Spinalous /                     Dean, Year of the Pans. The green feeling can be green, sweet and delicious.
During the wind, the heat can be in a month.
****** harassment is caused by man.
Cameroon, Spain, Spain, Europe, Cameroon,
Spain, Kuwait, Capital, Publications ... Life
Who or what to report? The error is bad.
Everything is fine;
Vitamin A, other vitamins, gelatin;                     vitamins and carbohydrates.
The music of the musician is pleasant.
The museum does not use any computer,
                                                       ­         But I do not know what protects me.

HUNGER

When I think of you
I marvel at your fragility,
How little you sustain yourself with.
If I could do what I would, I would,
I would bring you coq au vin with carrots glazed in brown sugar,
And onions glaces a brun, ringed with pommes duchesse;
And saffron pistachio rissotto with lobster ravioli
Bathed in a tomato champagne reduction sauce;
Or salmon poached in Alsatian Riesling,
Smothered in a rich Hollandaise, on a queen-sized bed of spinach.
I'd fatten you up,
Feed your body;
But of course it isn’t proteins, calories, fats, carbohydrates
That you quest for:
That would be so easy.