A snakepit, a lion’s den,
a second-hand shark cage.
The Big Apple, the Little Rascals,
everything after the Victorian Age.
These things scare me on sight,
but not as much as
Veronica Cartwright.

The Trix Rabbit with a gun,
The Dodgers winning a World Series.
Parallel parking with Mark Hamill,
Sesame Street conspiracy theories.
These things make me shake at night,
but not as much as
Veronica Cartwright.

The White Album, the Black Plague,
toenail clippers, salad bars and Disneyland.
The Richter scale, the Mendoza line,
Any and every last teenage boy band.
These things give me such a fright,
but not as much as
Veronica Cartwright.

Television reruns of H.R. Pufnstuf,
An opened jar of Miracle Whip.
The names of Frank Zappa’s kids,
vacationing on a Carnival cruise ship.
These things horrify me alright,
but still not as much as
Veronica Cartwright.

Once upon a time.
In a land far far away.
Their existed a rhyme,
About the greatest game ever played.
This is the said rhyme 
preserved from the acclaim the game has gained.
Passed on to generations about the game at it’s prime. 

A game that should be reclaimed from the fame its gained at the present time.
This game came from the brain of a person
who aimed to have the time of his life. 

Town ball was for all. In any season: spring, summer, winter, or fall.
Town ball was a ball for all: no despair, grief,  or strife, could spawn.
The rules were simple
Hit ball: bases touch all. 

Teams were never full. 
And the field could sprawl.
Everything was in play just like everyone could play.
No obstacle was in the way, no direction out of play.
Yet, according to the natural law of capitalistic America,
An evolution began to make money.
**** you Jean-Baptiste Pierre Antoine de Monet!!
You may have nothing to do with baseball, 

But you spawned the evilest idea of them all. 

That evolution is caused by natural law, 

and the evolution of baseball is the downfall of all that is America.
Baseball was at one time a game of fun; 

good times shared with one another under the sun. 

Eventually they agreed to decree the official rules, 

And it was not Abner Doubleday who would have the last say in history,
for that story is a myth that we should flee from like fools.
Instead it was Alexander Cartwright who penned the knickerbocker rules.
These rules spread to the rest of the clubs,
and eventually it was coined the New York game. 

No longer could anyone play but only the ones who could slug.
If you wanted to win, it would be a sin,
to put in the has been who brought the game shame.
This game spread during the civil war. 

In down time to escape they played for fun instead of being bored.
The game spread like never before,
and soon the game covered the entire eastern shore.
The N.A.A.B.B.P was formed and by 1867 four hundred teams were born,
and in 1870 the Chicago Cubs actually won!
They actually were good before 1908,
heck some people might even say they were great. 

I don’t mean to taint their slate or bait your hate.
I just wish to point out that its been some time since that date,
and you Cub fans still must await.
Meanwhile these gentleman clubs would compete in the heat,
for they wanted to prove they were the ones to beat. 

Yet promoters wanted money so they charged the food you eat.
Then they fenced in the meet.
No longer could you watch the teams compete from the street.
If you wanted to know who would defeat you must enter with a receipt
to show that you payed for your seat.
There you would meet, eat, and greet,
and keep track of the game on your score sheet
Eventually the wood frames turned to concrete

in order to hold more people inside their games.
And the players started to earn fame.
And eventually everyone knew their name.
No longer was the game a game for games sake,
instead it was meant to entertain the fame-craved.
All that matter was the money made at the gate,
and since then the game has never been the same.
Before players would score more and their would be less of a bore.
Fielders caught with their fingers the stingers thrown,
but for catchers that was absurd.

Before, fans would abhor to the idea of a fielder with a glove adorned,
but eventually the planted seed, grew steadily, and the fielders glove was born.
At first their was no web extended between the finger and thumb.
Because that would make it so easy to catch it would be just dumb. 

Yet, somehow the web spread and eventually it won. 

Now any *** could catch between finger and thumb
and the hand would not become numb.
This lead the dead ball era dread at the start of nineteen hundred.
And ego went to Owen Wilson’s head as he lead the league with triples.
Thirty six triples the record was set
and will never be broken it has been said.
But instead its embed into the unread
record book for others to go ahead and try to break with dread.
There were several reasons that lead to the dead ball.
First of all, the same ball was used until it started to unravel.
Second, was that you would draw a strike for every foul ball,
And lastly was the spit ball which would dance to any squall.
All these reasons made the pitchers un-hittable. 

And batters seeing their batting average fall
would take a bar crawl and bawl.
But then a savior came to us all. 

This man hit the ball so far that it would fall somewhere past Senegal.
The claims were esteemed that this man was best of them all. 

Yet, he was traded for money to fund a curtain call. 

This man’s name was George “the Babe” Herman Ruth. 

A pitcher turned outfielder because he was a great hitter is the truth.
The great bambino or Sultan of Swat,
nothing could stop him when he was hot. 

And he hit the dead ball era out of the park and it was forever lost. 

He had more home run’s as an individual, than any team,

Except for the Phillies who were good it seems.

Babe was the hit man

Pitcher he was no longer

The same change came

With this emphasis:
Babe Ruth symbolized what was

the rest of the game. 


They said pitch no more.
Sluggers are what fans adore
outfields became small. 


Power was the talk

Every team must have a guy
who hits with power. 


George “babe” Herman Ruth
and Lou Gehrig, the Yankee’s
became the very best.

Then the depression came and rained on the parade of the baseball game.
Yet, families with radio’s would listen to the games as a sort of hope. 

To escape from the world that they known. 

To escape to a game that reminded them of better days.
Then WWII came and stole away the players. 

Baseball’s talent level was now in multiple layers. 

and because of lack of talent Ted Williams batted over .400 percent
and Joe Dimaggio hit the ball again and again. 

for 56 consecutive games he hit the ball back to where it was sent.
Yet, eventually the players would return and baseball would mend. 

But not before the ladies got their own league. 

and men it did intrigue.
Is this for real?
Or a joke?
They would laugh.

Then they would choke. 

When they saw that this wasn’t just an act.
The girls continued,
“Everyone used to be able to play the good old town ball game!
“This is no longer town ball,” the men said, “the present game is not the same,
Instead its now played for money and fame.”

Oh how the good old days always change.

“Give us money” the women exclaimed,
“We’ll take your fortune we’ll take your fame!”

Some men said, “you complain! Its not the same,
you have to be good to play this game,
you can have your separate league if you need,
But this game of fame is only for white men of age!”

Oh how problems never change
Instead they always stay the same.
Yet, it wouldn’t be long
Before the trumpet would sing its song. 

That segregation would possibly end. 

Not for women but for African Americans. 

Segregation had always gone on. 

***** leagues rose up, but finally segregation’s time was gone 

due to a man named Jackie Robinson. 

And in 1947 he broke through with the Brooklyn Dodgers.
Because his team was convinced they’d make more money by Lou Durocher
Yet it came with its troubles because Not everyone on the team was happy 
And some fans were just down right ******.
Some teams such as our beloved St.Louis Cardinals even threatened to strike. 

They were not going to play if Jackie played because they had that much dislike. 

But Jackie and the Dodgers pushed through all the hate that spewed. 

Other players, managers, and fans  were rude, crude and would start feuds. 
Then they would brood every time Jackie’s name the roster would include.
But after awhile people would conclude that he was actually very good.
And after review others would start to include rather than seclude,

But this integration was long over due.
30 years till segregation could be totally subdued.
The lessons we learn are hard ones that is true. 

And it takes awhile for an entire nations perspective to take a different mood.
Now with baseball integrated the game be televised. 

This allows the money in the game to rise. 

The league now expands west; 

New markets they must test.
But hey! the players want some of this. 

They want to start a free agency. 

But this is the last thing the owners need! 

But the players want to be able to move between teams.

The players want money. Oh how things never change.
But the players got what want. 

They now can negotiate and the owners this does haunt. 

The game now is wrapped inside this twisted shame of money. 

Thats all any body wants so they find ways to scheme. 

Thus steroids came to the scene. 

Players now could be payed more if they played well. 

This meant that to hit the ball far, big muscles they would have to build.
In order to get that edge over everyone else. 

These players used steroids to get their help. 

Yet that was not cool with the public 
Because steroids put you at risk. 

They are dangerous at best,
and the league didn’t want to run the risk. 

Plus what about records that have stood the time test?
Are they going be broken now and no longer exist?

All because someone drugs themselves to have a bigger biceps and chest?
Someone please lay this all to rest! 

Baseball today is such a shame. 

Its boring with all of the commercial and pitcher change breaks. 

Something needs to change. 

Because its been turned into a sideshow. 

Thats the only reason why kids even go. 

To see the park, get hot dogs,
and baseballs that when put in the dark they glow. 

Then when you get home. 

you ask them what they remember about the game 

and they say, “I don’t know”. 

This game used to be interesting. 

But now I find my channels flipping. 

Even Golf is more fun to watch. 

at least they hit that ball a lot!
Baseball should but I doubt ever will, 

Get rid of all the pitchers it has to refill. 

No more pitching changes; That would increase the thrill!

Maybe players could hit the ball if wasn’t coming 100 mph every throw. 

and instead of pure talent pitchers had to use strategy,
of when to and not to throw 

That 100mph hour fastball.
Get rid of the sideshow. 

Then maybe kids would go. 

Maybe then we’d go back to being enthralled. 

Back when Baseball was actually Baseball. 

But I doubt it will because money is what matters now.
Sideshows make money so its always going to be allowed.
But I’d like to disavow
I’d like to dropout. 

I never really watched it much in the first place. 

but now I know of a better game.
Oh and one final thing to say. 

We should just go back to town ball. 

That game sounds so much cooler than baseball. 

You could really make some unique obstacles

Put in a fountain or maybe even a wall.
It just sounds like a lot of fun. 

I plan to play it this summer some. 

Everyone will be welcome. 

And we’ll have fun under the sun. 

And it won’t really matter who will win. 

Because its about having fun, building character,
and growing relationships
The end.

Art is An Inspiration of Life,
Dreams are Passages through Strife,
Love is as You make it on High,
and Family is how a Person is Defined.
So What Defines You as a Whole?
Who are You in Your SOUL?
Do You Know who you are?
Maybe your Looking from afar?
Don't be afraid;
get up close and personal with Yourself,
Get to Know Your OWN Mind,Body,and Spirit.
Like some of the greatest of people say
"You are You worst Enemy"
I fell they forgot to complete that PHRASE,
so Let me inter vein on there Wisdom;
" As well you Can be your greatest ally"
so remember the Rhythm of the Night
as well the Rhythm of your Life
to the tune of You.
IF at the Time there is no Tune
don't be afraid to ask Cause
"The only Stupid Question is a Question Unasked"
so Don't Be afraid Of wisdom,
Don't be afraid of You;
If you already are Just remember
"You can be Your Greatest ally or Your own worst Enemy"
So stop Living a Lie and Find your truth.
Lay down your burden and get off/out of that prison you call "THE BOX". Get to Know YOU through and Through,
Love your self Cause IF no one will You always Have YOU.
                                     DON'T BE AFRAID!!
        Christopher Nathaniel Cartwright
         Copyright © 1983-Present

A Life to say, A Life to Love and you are Every reason I keep on keepin on. The Reason I dont give up cause I'm so in Love with YOU,
In a world all our own. We Dance the Dance of Love that Everybody is               Jealous of.  So For YOU I say Happy ANNIVERSARY!! With you I Rhyme, All of the time. With YOU I shine so much even better than  a Light that Blinds. My Body craves YOU;
My mind needs YOU, My spirit Feels you in Every way I Kneel to You. Bowing to the Lord, Bowing to a Great And to Bow to YOU is never a Painful stake. So to YOU I say;
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!! I Love your actions, and YOUR sayings through you guidance I'm Coming to Life with a BLESSING such as YOU,
with a BLESSING so TRUE, My Angel of Light ANGEL of TRUE,
I am SO IN LOVE WITH YOU.
SO I SAY, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!
                                                    I LOVE YOU MY NUBIAN QUEEN
                                     HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MY LOVE FROM YOUR KING.
Christopher Nathaniel Cartwright
Copyright © 1983-Present

'Dockery was junior to you,
Wasn't he?' said the Dean. 'His son's here now.'
Death-suited, visitant, I nod. 'And do
You keep in touch with-' Or remember how
Black-gowned, unbreakfasted, and still half-tight
We used to stand before that desk, to give
'Our version' of 'these incidents last night'?
I try the door of where I used to live:

Locked. The lawn spreads dazzlingly wide.
A known bell chimes. I catch my train, ignored.
Canal and clouds and colleges subside
Slowly from view. But Dockery, good Lord,
Anyone up today must have been born
In '43, when I was twenty-one.
If he was younger, did he get this son
At nineteen, twenty? Was he that withdrawn

High-collared public-schoolboy, sharing rooms
With Cartwright who was killed? Well, it just shows
How much . . . How little . . . Yawning, I suppose
I fell asleep, waking at the fumes
And furnace-glares of Sheffield, where I changed,
And ate an awful pie, and walked along
The platform to its end to see the ranged
Joining and parting lines reflect a strong

Unhindered moon. To have no son, no wife,
No house or land still seemed quite natural.
Only a numbness registered the shock
Of finding out how much had gone of life,
How widely from the others. Dockery, now:
Only nineteen, he must have taken stock
Of what he wanted, and been capable
Of . . . No, that's not the difference: rather, how

Convinced he was he should be added to!
Why did he think adding meant increase?
To me it was dilution. Where do these
Innate assumptions come from? Not from what
We think truest, or most want to do:
Those warp tight-shut, like doors. They're more a style
Our lives bring with them: habit for a while,
Suddenly they harden into all we've got

And how we got it; looked back on, they rear
Like sand-clouds, thick and close, embodying
For Dockery a son, for me nothing,
Nothing with all a son's harsh patronage.
Life is first boredom, then fear.
Whether or not we use it, it goes,
And leaves what something hidden from us chose,
And age, and then the only end of age.

Death is a *****
Crime is an Itch
Demons are well Demons.
What is there to say about a demon?
how bout the fact that they lie to you about repercussions of power,
That when they allow you to use those
enraging abilities
that are death to you internally to externally,
They don't tell you that you
get unexplained bruises and cut on your external body.
They don't tell you that you (every now and then)

**** yourself when you use their abilities slowly and painfully.
They don't tell you that you start messing up in life and putting yourself out of the family loop because you crave their power and MORE...Then you get hooked on that single phrase "MORE" as if you can't get enough of what those Demons,
Offer you until it diminishes you
Life slowly  but surely YOU DIE.

These Demons put a whole  new meaning to "You are Your worst Enemy".
Darkness and Death is a familiar face to everyone  at different Levels
but as you continue to grow and the more you use those abilities they offer you; the more

You **** yourself and the people around you  without meaning or warning....That is why there is angels to help you fight those demons,
Their truly powerless abilities that they offer you.
So as a warning for people that crave POWER. DON'T.

But if you happen to crave the power that I once Craved watch-out for what power you ask for and be careful on who and what source you ask from cause if you aren't careful you could end up,
Hurting the ones that truly LOVE you,
Regretting Life and You yourself will be LOST!!
And Remember this one Phrase before you ask for those demons .....
                                "Death is a *****"
Christopher Nathaniel Cartwright
Copyright © 1983-2010

So Beautiful,
So precious
I have found my angel
in truth
in light
so can I get an amen....I had my demons fought out through
time and time
and
as I found my way through the Darkness
My light has shown
It's self.
My spirit as well as my destiny has appeared
in
the form of a precious angel
and
angel that I have prayed for for so long
I ask the Lord for an angel and
He has shown me and given me
just that
my angel is so precious,
so sweet and oh so fine.
It's all because of Her
that
I have entered my Divine pool of energy as
I once was
but
lost my path along the way
I thank the Lord for my angel,
For my heart, my soul,
The love of my life for
the rest of my my life
and
it all because of her,
that
I feel my motivation on a high,
This is a feeling
a motivation that is higher
then life itself
that Divine energy
that comes
from my precious angels glow,
Thank you lord
it's all because of You,
that I have found my truth.
My forever
My completion to life.
My escape of the prison called darkness
when
I fell Like fallen.
my true angel motivates me to become even stronger,
stronger
than the strength of Samson and Hercules
all together my Angel.
My Angel
I Love my Angel
My True Angel
My Completion.

Christopher Nathaniel Cartwright
Copyright © 1983-2010

“Television brought the brutality of war into the comfort of the living room.   Vietnam was lost in the living rooms of America—not on the battlefields of Vietnam.”                              Marshall McLuhan

You understand where I'm coming from,
Reader Rabbit, you twisted ****? Maybe not;
While you and your boy/girlfriend, later your wife/husband,
Were ******* backpacks around Europe,
I was of a less fortunate, less frivolous cohort,
Like the poor, who always miss the fun stuff.
So I stayed home and waited, dreading time,
Treading water in Queens,
Doing the graveyard shift at the Wonder Bread Bakery in Jamaica,
(No, not that Jamaica, mun.)
Building bodies 12 ways, and sweating out the inevitable,
Praying to my lesser god not to hear from my local draft board.
And who was I to disturb the universe?
“It ain’t me, it ain't me, I ain't no senator's son;
It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, lawd naw.”
(Send  "Fortunate Son" Ringtone to your Cell)  
I was just another cynical working-class hero,
Unlike you, numb nuts, and the rest of your silver surfer friends.
I knew I’d wind up without my teddy bear,
Convinced I’d end up sans security blanket,
With no ****-vacant musical chair,
To plop my sorry non-exempt, 1A **** cheeks
Down into when the music stopped,
When the music’s over, turn out the light--Jim Morrison,
Lizard King--turn out the light.
My horse, my horse . . . no wait . . . **** the horse . . .
My kingdom, my kingdom for a 2-S college deferment!
What kingdom?  
What was it Jesus said?
Not of this earth, anyway.
Colonial Indochina: rich man's war, poor man's fight;
It was such an efficient way to rid trash from poor neighborhoods.

Needless to say, I’ve been having a little trouble adjusting ever since,
Since I got back from that Kafkaesque Disneyland Jungle Cruise,
My personal Cold War thriller,
My Tecumseh Sherman “War is All Hell” war,
My war: 45 years ago next week.
These things take time:
So says the recorded message on the VA’s PTSD Hotline.
45 years ago I packed up my duffle,
Packed for what I thought was going to be my last time in uniform,
Grabbed my Army discharge papers, and
Limp-dicked out the side door of,
The Veterans Hospital in St. Albans, County of Queens.
I’d like to say I never looked back. But I’d be lying.

(cue PSA: VA Reaches Out to Veterans:
The Department of Veterans Affairs will begin,
Contacting nearly 570,000 recent combat veterans May 1,
To ensure they know about VA's medical services and other benefits.)

Today and every day is 11-11, Veterans Day—
What gets me now is that all my time since The Nam,
Is on average two lifetimes,
For all those sent home, bagged and tagged.
Is it survivor’s guilt? I doubt it.

You may not understand this, but I miss that freaky jungle.
I felt safe there.
How quickly I learned to expect the unexpected,
And that meant to expect the worse,
Finding my comfort zone the more uncomfortable, the worse it got.
I miss the wet weight of the air,
The cloying heat and humidity.
Humidity: a plain and simple meteorological miracle,
When you have plenty of time to really think about it,
Which I did: 365 days and a wake-up.
You know that whole gorgeous hydrologic cycle thing?
I miss the rain, the sound of falling rain.
I miss the other sounds, every buzz and click,
All the arcane and dismal things that go screech in the night.
And that relentless insect hum,
The jungle vibrating and intense,
The colors vibrating too, especially that electric green,
A green so vivid, every leaf and vine,
"The world's richest repository of terrestrial biodiversity,” I read in some nature magazine,
Lying naked in bed while my therapist ****** me off the other day.
All those freaky creatures great and small,
Every miraculous living thing that’s really alive and thriving.
And this is why--I think,
Getting obnoxiously philosophical for the moment,
This explains why it got to be so easy to waste what was alive and thriving over there, including and especially our selves.

Death never seemed that permanent, that final over there.
And besides, you couldn’t **** anything for that long,
The critters all looking their wet and slimy same.  
Two minutes in The **** and you were
Killing every ******* gnat and bug,
Every leech and snake, anything &
Anyone that just looked at you sideways.

And the flora? Did I mention the flora?
Soupy Sales: (Smack! Bam!)  “I told you not to mention that.”
The flora:  the plants grew back and they grew back quick.
You chop a path on recon and the next day it’s not there anymore,
So you chop the whole way back to the L-Z.  
Chop, chop, Hop Sing!
You were one smart ****, Hop Sing,
Safe and sound in Lake Tahoe, Nevada-side,
Cooking up Ponderosa pork bellies for,
The Cartwright Clan: Ben, Adam, Hoss & Little Joe.
Meanwhile, I’m not earning any frequent flyer miles,
Aboard a chartered TWA, coffee-tea-or-me,
Royal **** airplane to Saigon,
A place called ** Chi Minh City today.
I remember looking around at the faces on that airplane,
As we landed at Tan Son Nhut,
Those forlorn godforsaken faces,
Black and Chicano and poor white trash boys.
Scared shitless, of course,
But we really were jolly green giants over there,
American conquistadors, Cortez and the Boys,
Seeking gold and glory and, of course,
*******, (www.urbandictionary.com):
That sweet wet hole we all crave,
Can't go for too long without,
Center of our life's desire,
What gives women the upper hand in almost every situation,
Except when you pay in South Vietnamese piastres,
Your basic exchange rate $3.00 *******.

Yes, we were American conquistadors,
But traveling light this trip,
Our black-robed Jesuit fathers having missed the flight.
That’s right, for us no Ad majorem Dei gloriam this time,
Our mission so simple and so clear:
SEARCH & DESTROY.
But mostly, Destroy.

And pretty soon you worked your way up the evolutionary ladder,
From bugs, to fish, to frogs and snakes,
Small varmints and reptiles, birds and rodents;
And by the time you taxonomy out to the runway,
You’re pretty much whacking anything that moves,
Anything you feel like, pretty much any time,
All the time, sometimes just to pass the time,
Just to break up the ******* monotony of it all.
So making the anti-personnel leap got sort of easy:
They all looked the same, didn’t they?
They all wore the same pajamas,
And it was never conducive to grunt longevity,
To nitpick the civilians from the soldiers,
Never a good idea to waste time distinguishing friend from foe.

Good Morning, Vietnam:
We really were nerve-gassed-Adrian Cronauers over there,
G-2 Army oxymoronic intelligence stiffs,
Having a little difficulty finding the enemy,
Having one hell of a time finding a Vietnamese man named "Charlie."
They're all named Nguyen, or Tran, or Thanh or Trong or Bao or Phuc . . .
Oh, ****, I get it now.
I grok the how and why,
Of all the names we’ve used for centuries to dehumanize the enemy:
***** and Nips, Chinks and Slopes,
Huns and Krauts, Redskins and Ivans,
Redcoats and Rebs, Zulus and Mau Maus, *****, Ragheads and Sand ******* . . .
To dehumanize is to be dehumanized.
Nominal dehumanization; linguistic trickery.
It made it easy . . .
Well, easier . . .
To **** you.

What was it Pope Innocent III’s legate advised?
“**** Them All.  Let God sort ‘em out.”

Is it smell of burning flesh that makes me so digress?

Yes, I miss that freaky jungle, my friend.
I miss knowing what to expect and what was to be expected.
And most of all I miss that absolute confidence,
My self-liberating soporific certainty,
That I did not give a **** whether I lived or died,
And no one else did either.
I miss the peaceful place to go,
Coping with fear by letting go,
By writing off my life,
My future "in-country,"
My 12-month tour of duty,
My 365 T.S. Eliot Ash Wednesdays,
Learning to care and not to care,
Cultivating indifference as to,
Whether or not I ever made it Wee, Wee, Wee,
All the way home again.
The answers were right there,
Always there, all the time,
In nursery rhymes, and counting songs,
In psalms and arias, and every blues and rock lyric,
Right there, so right ******* there,
In Kris Kristofferson/Janice Joplin parlance of the times:
“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”

And life for me since then--
ONE BIG, FAT-TITTED INCOMPREHENSIBILITY!

What was that Walter Sobjak in The Big Lebowski said?

“This is not 'Nam.
This is bowling.
There are rules.”

One day I walk to the side of destiny,
second day I talk to ecstasy, three to
five I'm dead or alive. The rest is a
test, a test of love, compassion,
action and reaction.The test courage
and truth, the test to find your inner
youth. Cold or hot my soul is not; one
or the other I trust no other; than
myself. Alone I am my own home. Home of
righteous, home of justice,peace and
tranquility, where I can find my own
instead of being alone. As I walk on
the side of destiny.

Christopher Nathaniel Cartwright
Copyright © 2009

born Dec 16 2010  Induced  early  cuz of complications but healthy and has all fingers & toes will be here until lungs mature more and weights gained amount needed to go home. sore but happy . no names will be listed if you want to know more please email me and i will send pictures and the rest of information to you (Friend's ONLY) thank you all for being strong for me when i wasn't and for supporting me through all this! i also have a  guy that im talking to he was there while Christopher Cartwright wasn't(the father)  he's a big help and its so weird that our bound and friendship is as strong as it is, it & k helps that we grew up in the same neighborhood  & knew each other threw other family members and friends. My sister on my dad side is so happy and im happy for her!  I have no regrets and I'm happy, just sad alil bit that its over ...i got em out safely then again its a bit tooo early/ pray for em and ty for all the well wishes and support.  i need to rest now its going to be a long day! LOVE YOU ALL TO MY CLOSEST FRIENDS.

Part 2 read first leaves one wondering tense…

Plucking seeds from threads so twisted…

Division deceptive guess I know
you know

I know a man, caught up to third heaven

on behalf of this man, this sentient being
living in me, by fi
do or die,
- I shape as story formed from facts
- as mirror neurons bher witness,
- yes, we saw, as fate
- might have it
- a mote in one's own eye
- detected with the beam in the gleam
that bit herein
therein sof-ein, tic
we are in
the book of life, as opposed to one of the
books in life, though
as we know, although, you may doubt,
knowing doubt is so good, it is hard wired.
Think
whether in or out of the bubble we breathe,
I have no knowing, un re prove able,
as a witness of truth being known, I know
relatively
nothing of the daily habits Plato had,
or even if he hated that name, it signaled shame,

what if it were not shoulders broad,
big ol' Hoss Cartwright
or Mean Joe drinkin' m' Coke, big as an Ox.

A castrated bull, you see, in a world lit
only by fire, every boy knows how oxen
are made
to pull the plow, bulls are made for cows,
and hides.

--- okeh, reproven, this is that, we have
a salty trail forming,
tear tracks.

These, in ever after ever before,
these lead to lost souls, soulds, sold ones, yes

this is the good we may do, should we wish
Tom Cruise never replaced
Marshall Dillon's brother, in the Mission Impossible
Drama reoccurring phenomenon, we see it
the impossible mission accepted

Great Red Spot, drifting in the swirl force
upon it
as a point in a sub-known-use of story per se,
si, no, se we know,

---- real time, long past, save we know, all things
reflect
and defracts, signs found in faces or traces of tea,
we make up what we wish you
to leave
be true,

do, and say, I did. That's done. Amen.

And Forrest looked behind him,
-- in the future, we have links, you may see
what any true heir of wind would wish to see

View of Monument Valley in Utah, looking south on U.S. Route 163 from 13 miles (21 km) north of the Arizona–Utah state line.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monument_Valley>

however Fustus wit' d' Mostus namesake, a fact
I was aware of due
to John Kenworthy, who played ball with Roger Staubach,
and was a clerk-typist Marine in 'Nahm, he stressed,
while telling me of learning the knack
the key to the short story, which is

Know the story before you tell it.
Covey, the Mormon guru of success habits, said
Begin, with the end in mind.
In mind of that, I think, I remember Brenda Lussier,
had a meme, in the form of a poster, same thing, really.
It says, as it remains memish once it functions as a meme:
If YOU aim at nothing. YOU will hit it.

compliments of adult children of alchoholics, non-profit
meme makers aiming to make it all better. Small print.

avast extent of following poem
crafted a couple plus years ago,
when foretaste of temperate weather
covered swath of eastern seaboard.

Courtesy climate change
(think global warming),
I would never wish to exchange
unseasonably warm temperature
(eighteen plus degrees celsius
in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania)
meaning way out of expected range,
cuz far to balmy, undoubtedly
with old man winter furious
his blizzard snowbound
weather forecasts shortchanged.

Once thermometer readings rise
even smidgen one moost not minimize
Earth way out of balance,
an inconvenient truth
I haint gonna catastrophize
as bajillion acres plus
one after another ocean dries
even the skeptic cannot turn
blind eye and believe contrary lies
when every species practically extinct

and self proclaimed éminence grise
doth trumpet and stubbornly tries
to claim plethora unearthed resources
as sudden goldmine
against wages of sin
former traitor joe
(biden his time) redeemers actualize
to catalyze nth industrial revolution
teaching as heresy
ecocentric, which material basket
of deplorables power mongers bowdlerize

concurrence toward meteorological
trend most all people agree
toward adapting, experiencing,
and witnessing increase -
fair in height degree
bestowed upon Thomas Newcomen,
Richard Arkwright, Samuel Crompton,
Edmund Cartwright
and James Watt first Industrial

Revolution conferred as honoree
appellation not necessarily
in retrospect donned as noble pedigree,
now hundred of years
later downside we see
of belching, coughing,
disorging... yes siree
foul, (née deadly)
cancerous, gaseous, noxious... pollutants.

Decreased dissension
grudgingly did abate
unclouded protests trumpet
Trump to abdicate
irrefutable proof generates
activist voices to accumulate
linkedin over Green Party
blessedly to administrate

hoop fully figurative tide
will turn and aerate
political atmosphere whereby
progressive minds will affiliate
otherwise business as usual,
cuz spewing deadly particulate
will only aggravate
dire straits, where
webbed wide world series

of unfortunate events will airdate
prophetic apocalyptic fate
especially if nonprogressive
stodgy commander in chief re-elected
flush with bigotry and hate
increased chance (chants) ripe state
for revolution avast swath
of population to amalgamate,

and overthrow anachronistic government
absolute zero survival unless dramatic
nondestructive strategy eschewed
to supplant exploitation and mandate
radical transformation, which dramatic
shift off grid if lucky requisite
Earth friendly manufacturing
can possibly ameliorate.

A scent (and sixth sense predominates),
when apple boughs
and other aromatic flora
laden with blossoms and fruit
gently assail cilia of the nostrils,
aside from aiding distinguishing
pleasant or unpleasant smells
additionally incorporate complex structures
of the paranasal sinus mucosa
in which function
critical linkedin to respiratory defense.

Cilia beat in a coordinated manner
to clear the paranasal sinus cavities
and upper airway of the mucus blanket
that contains the pathogens and debris
continually inspired in normal respiration.

Avast extent of following poem
crafted a couple plus years ago,
when foretaste of temperate weather
covered swath of eastern seaboard.

Courtesy climate change
(think global warming),
I would forever wish to exchange
unseasonably warm temperature
(10 plus degrees Celsius
in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania today)
for brutally cold subzero windchill factor,
no matter unseasonably warm degrees
way out of expected range,
of established “normal”
far to balmy, undoubtedly
for the likes of old man winter
furious his blizzard snowbound
weather forecasts shortchanged.

Once thermometer readings rise
even smidgen one moost not minimize
Earth way out of balance,
an inconvenient truth
I haint gonna catastrophize
as bajillion acres plus
one after another ocean dries
even the skeptic cannot turn
third eye blind and believe contrary lies,
when every species practically extinct

and self proclaimed éminence grise
doth trumpet and stubbornly tries
to claim plethora unearthed resources
as sudden goldmine
against wages of sin
former traitor joe
(biden his time) redeemers actualize
to catalyze nth industrial revolution
teaching as heresy
ecocentric, which material basket

of deplorables power mongers bowdlerize
concurrence toward meteorological
trend most all people agree
toward adapting, experiencing,
and witnessing increase -
fair in height degree
bestowed upon Thomas Newcomen,
Richard Arkwright, Samuel Crompton,
Edmund Cartwright
and James Watt first Industrial

Revolution conferred as honoree
appellation not necessarily
in retrospect donned as noble pedigree,
now hundred of years
later downside we see
of belching, coughing,
disorging... yes siree
foul, (née deadly)
cancerous, gaseous, malodorous,
noxious, poisonous... pollutants.

Decreased dissension
grudgingly did abate
and one doubting Thomas less nasty
toward the braying donkeys in general,
when Democratic contender
clinched the electorate majoritty
unclouded protests muted trumpeting
base aggressivity, depravity,
and incendiary proclivity
for hunted prey (slapped

with felony charges that H_ lied
on a federal form
when he claimed being drug-free
at the time unnamed person
purchased a Colt Cobra 38SPL revolver
in October 2018)
hastening Grand Poobah to abdicate
irrefutable proof generates
contentious voices to accumulate
additionally disappointment  

resolving global warming
activists linkedin over Green Party
blessedly to administrate
hoop fully figurative tide
will turn and aerate
political atmosphere whereby
progressive minds will affiliate
otherwise business as usual,
cuz spewing deadly particulate
will only aggravate

dire straits, where
webbed wide world series
of unfortunate events will airdate
prophetic apocalyptic fate
especially if nonprogressive
stodgy former el presidente
number Cuarenta y cinco
commander in chief re-elected
flush with bigotry and hate
increased chance (chants) ripe state

for revolution avast swath
of population to amalgamate,
and overthrow anachronistic government
absolute zero survival unless dramatic
nondestructive strategy eschewed
to supplant exploitation and mandate
radical transformation, which dramatic
shift off grid if lucky requisite
Earth friendly manufacturing
can possibly ameliorate.

I painted the lips on the clown, But it didn't wash,
In fact it was de facto.
My life was in the toliet,
And I was on flush mode.
Lost to hangovers and headaches, The stuff of
Bad dreams and sad sleep.
And it was all the same
As the red sun rising
To the stink of the highway
With the semi's belching
As I wake to the ***** window.
And the laundry needs doing,
And you have two days
Left on the rent.
And no cigarettes and no job,
And Little Joe's the color
Of avacado on the
Cheap Motel TV.

Hail Ceasar, sleeping on the grass on the edge of the woods. And never you said,
To no one until the cop woke
You saying you best be
Getting on. And Hoss
Tips his hat saying "Shucks
Ma'am " in his green
Slow witted smile.
While in the comfort
Of my cheap motel
The bloated afternoon
Goes on forever.
And I slipped and slid
On the brink of twenty,
And Matt Dillon
Eyes Miss Kitty.
As you remember the bronze
Young boy who dreamed
Of the desert and bats
Rising from dark caves,
Casting beauty in the shadow
Of the mountains.
As I practice this pause with such rare inflection.

Well, back to our show.
Canned beans and bologna
And nary a witness to the
Strange hell of drinking
On a Tuesday afternoon.
And Pa Cartwright looks
Resplendent the color
Of tomato.
And you drink down another
And wake to the stinking
Trucks on their way
From the terminals
To the blight of the
Inner city. And I blurred
Out for a few years,
Coming awake in the 90's.
And I write this poem
To the wind, Forgetting
The cheap motel TV.
I channel Bukowski,
Write a couple lines,
Catch the wave,
Bang on the keyboard,
Write these lines with abandon.
Go the way of the elephant,
Strong in life and graceful
In death. Sleep the long sleep,
Wake to forever.

The after life Part 11


Today Cronus has to deal with cerebral palsy sufferer Joan Cartwright who was bashed and robbed and killed by two heartless people, Cronus said to Joan, I know it is hard but who do you want to be in your next life and Joan said well, I want to be able bodied because people get behind the bottle and are out to get disabled people and I want to look down at them and make sure they go to jail for a long long time and Cronus said ok I understand that you suffered severely from those heartless drunken people and I understand that you want to not be disabled, so I will send you to the UK where you will have all your limbs but don’t forget your last life where you were a bad serial killer and I think with the mount of times you suffered I think it is enough, so I think after 26 years of a life of suffering no disabled person should suffer like you had so I will make you able bodied it will be hard so I will send you to Buddha where you could talk about your 26 years of suffering and Joan said yes I remember my last rebirth but I am not that serial killer anymore and I blame you for my life gone wrong and yes I understand that it feels awful for what I did back then, so please make my next life better and Buddha and Cronus could see she is sorry for all that and having a severely disabled earth body was bad and after that Joan was sent to Athena for a soul check and then she went to Saturn to enjoy a methane smoothie and after that Cronus had young 14 year old David brown who was kidnapped and killed by an armed robber when he was home alone one day and Cronus asked David what do you want to be in your next life and David said I want to be a puppy dog and stay puppy size even as an adult dog where I could be cute and cuddly all through my life and being a dog, no armed robber will ever get my human flesh and Cronus said ok I will see what I can do and he sent David to Athena for a soul check before he went to mercury where ted bundy was and David found himself ******* to the sun with all of his dead friends and then ted bundy said you will be a little lost dog where I will have your soul forever and David said no, HELP ME CRONUS
And Cronus said ted leave David alone, let him be what he wants and then Cronus pressed the methane gun and blasted Bundy right to Saturn and David was untied and went to Jupiter to eat a Jupiter moon cake
And said thank you to Cronus