The body that I am incarnated in was born in the middle of the very rainy summer of 1939.
My vehicle for life.
All seeing-all smelling --all tasting--all touching--all speaking--all hearing --all sensing --perambulating -singing-dancing-cooking--drinking --painting--******* etc etc vehicle.
Born a few months before the Second World War,with all its nonsensical religiously patriotic and democratically oligarchic and liberally fascistic evil nonsense, started.
Makes me a Rider of the Storm eh?.
Eat yer heart out Jim Morrison!.
Slid out of my mothers womb in the upper room of a brand new house.
Situated on a new street somewhere on a new development on the edge of a 3000 years old walled city in 'gods' own country'--that's what they called it.
Yorkshire!.
First smell I remember,clearly,was rain soaked Lilac and Earth mixed together.
Their scent coming hrough the open bedroom window.
AAAAH rain soaked Lilac.
Second smell was Tobacco from downstairs where my father was anxiously chain smoking.
Then came my first taste.
He,my father,dipped the tip of his little finger into his glass of celebratory Whiskey and poked it into my mouth as I lay there,wrapped in swaddling clothes.
Irresponsibility!!.
Second taste was her warm rich creamy breast milk.
And so my days and nights started.
They told me the name that I was to answer to--as if it was the whole of me.
They told me my beliefs and attitudes and desires and limitations and skills etc etc.
They told me that what I have come to know was my conditioned identity was the real me---but it isn't!..
The lied to me --in innocent ignorance.
My sister taught me to read and write by the time I was 3 years old.
I grew up knowing,deep down, that I was something else.
Not the 'Something Else' that Ornette Coleman played,on his magnificent disc,either.
War raged elsewhere throughout my childhood--mainly across the seas far away.
I watched flight after flight of four engine bombers roar overhead every day ,on their way to drop bombs on children I would never meet.
There was a busy air base 2 miles away from the house I was born in.
Once an injured bomber,coming back from a raid,crashed in flames on two houses at the top of the street I lived in.
I found war to be a hellish and frightening experience.
And along the way I discovered that I couldnt explain to 'myself' who I was, exactly,either.
That my parenters gift of identity was misleading.
I asked 'myself' who or rather what was I?.
By the time I was 3 years I was a ******* from 'Osteomylitis'--or so they told me.
I couldn't walk with massive  left hip joint pain I suffered.
I spent the years from 3 to 6 in a traction bed in a couple of hospitals.
Gobbling down Cod liver oil and Malt for the vitamins--and it worked!!!.
At 6 I learned to walk--YES!!!.
All that pain was left behind.
Thank you Gautama.
My life was suffering but as you supposedly said.
Suffering can be overcome.
And I overcame it.
And I ran and jumped across streams and climbed trees and walked for miles and miles and danced the dance of life.
I foraged for blackberries and wild mushrooms and crabapples and horseradish roots and rosehips and other fruits of nature.
I fell in love with the song of the Yellowbeak--Blackbird to you.
Became enraptured by the smell of wild Roses in the hedgerows.
And I sang and sang and sang and danced and danced and danced.
And all the while I just knew that I wasn't the body that I was incarnated in.
Even though my parenters kept on insisting that I was that body.
And I knew that I wasn't who they had told me I was either.
I knew that I wasn't the conditioned identity of the body that they insisted I was..
At 9 years I passed an exam and won a free scholarship place at a fee paying 'public' school.
My education started in earnest.
Lain and French andAlgebra and Geometry and  expectations of University.
I fell in love for my very first time at around 12 years old.
Raymond was his name.
He taught me how bisexual I was.
I swallowed litres of his body fluids.
Oh how I loved him.
Then after 2 ecstatic years he rejected me because I was a different class to him.
AAAAARGH!.
Then around 14 years the monthly seizures started.
A regular dark descent into unconsciousness.
I experienced the small death of Julius Ceasar and Leonardo Da Vinci.
Back to waking consciousness after an hours out of the body trip into the Astral realms.
Waking with total total amnesia.
With no mind or conditioned identity but both came back within one hour of waking and took over again.
Along with a helluva headache.
But I woke as me--who or whatever that was.
I wasn't who they said I was.
I was me!.
Whatever that was.
Where did I come from?
My purpose in life became to find out what I was and what the source of my existence was.
Teenage life as a rock n roller started beckoned and I embraced party life.
I won cups of silver for dancing very energetically to Bill Haley and Chuck Berry.
I discovered the other half of my bisexuality.
I found girls.
Oh girls how I love you.
and love you and love you.
I started to play trombone at 18 years.
Then trumpet and drums then into my life walked MISS SAXOPHONE and I melted!!!!.
Alto alto wobbly lines of sound poured out from the bell of my alto sax.
I was 23 and toying with buddhism and social alcoholism and playing saxophone jazz(probably badly).
26 and I got married for the first time.
I was playing Free Jazz rather amateurishly by now.
In 1967 I moved to London--became a longhaired hippy--started my own band called BrainBloodVolume--took many doses(literally 1000s) of pure LSD and Mescaline and Psyllocybin and DMT--embraced diet reform--became ordained as a buddhist monk in 1966--played with Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon and the pink Floyd--went to live in the Balearic Islands--Mallorca,Ibiza,Formentera--started to do oil paintings--had a Master Class in Concert Flute playing from Roland Kirk in the dressing room at Ronnie Scotts Jazz Club in London.Became addicted to Macrobiotic Food and Spring Water and puffing Waccy Baccy(always through a Water Pipe..



Its been seventy seven years in this incarnation that I have been wandering the face of this big ball in space seeking the answer to the eternal questions of life.

What am I and where do I come from and what is my purpose?.

And here  is the answer--!!.

I am an individual isness formed solely from a small but equal independent and autonomous portion of the isness of the universe.

Each individual isness is an eternal, small but equal, independent, autonomous,nameless, formless,genderless,classless,casteless,non physical and unconditionally  loving portion of the isness of the universe.

The isness of the universe is the whole of the nature of reality and is the sole source of all existence and is eternal,nameless,formless, genderless,beingless and autonomous and unconditionally loving and is not a 'god' or a 'goddess' or any kind of being.

I live in the joyousness of shared unconditionally loving union with the isness of the universe.

Its timeto yoke the joker


yo to the emcees that think they could get with me
i wet em like an ocean tide personality like jekyll and hide
which means im a killa slash for short drama no comma imma
brutal emcee eatin' 'em up the best of em im the lyrical cannibal
flesh rent devil sent no need for repent
comin' with wickedness born with 8 flows if ya only knew
******* come in the sets of three im givin' wishes for free
the rap genie aint' comin' to be a hero the black zorro thorrough
shoot up the barrio dead eye hawkin' assassin' blastin'
with the greatest tech mouth shots or physical shots it don't matter
whatever it takes to get the job done
my posse cocked d slapped you *******
you can smoke all the spinach you want and you leave like popeyes
get it naw forget sensitive ******* i knit it
write in graffiti love hoes shape like Nefertiti queen b goddess
never a ***** **** in my encore **** with me and ill bring the war along with gore
******* never been a softie
daddy had to be a gangsta **** hustler drug dealer all summed in one
so i had no choice but to pack a gun
but meanwhile im onto bigger and better things like rappin' on the mic i cling
flows tighter rhan pliers leave emcees wrapped up like cable wires
the sire embraced higher learning spurning over obstacles
turn complexity into miracles
how could i ever fall if i never fall failure not an acceptation
id rather sells drugs and extortion and get caught wit 25 big ones
fed time **** the state time im on the grind one time
always wanna see me fall black man finna rise planet of the apes style
hot and wild j ceasar with these skills i spills sendin' chills
its an ice age all over just say its over when big yosef grab the mic
prepare for fright when i ignite blast through hearts like a cannon
i just smoke ya ya mediocre its time to yoke these jokers
yea
 

Shakespeare’s Caesar
Was never noble
Dripping blade dropping blood
Brutus nailed it
To cease the invasions
To end the destabilization
To save his nation
From a warmonger
Crimson smothered blade
Slick with sic gore
The ideas of march
Antony claimed
Noble Caesar
And the masses followed suit
The mob never knew the truth
Caesar was a monster
Gutted and blooded
Life flooded from his vein
But never came close to the stains
That painted his hands

knock, knock, knock*

I open my door
and am immediately
greeted by
three 19 year old elders.

They want to talk to me
about Jesus and
their version of
a sacred text and I want
to talk to them about: God,
Philosophy, Religion,
Art, Music, etc.

but I just put a greasy
pan on med-high
heat to cook some
bacon and it's
filling my apartment
with smoke.

Yet, my curiosity of
these creatures at
my door temporarily
supersedes kitchen
safety protocols,
so I start to oblige
them and even
entertain some light
discourse in the
hallway.

I begin to explain my
perspective when
my attention skips back
to the pan
and the hot metal
smell tickling my nose.

-protocols back in place-
I decline their invitation
to visit their temple, now
or any time in the
future, then shake
their hands.

I accept a pamphlet
from the last one,
"The Plan of Salvation",
after he scribbles a
phone number on
the back.

I wish them luck
and close my door
without locking it,
stride over to the skillet
and take it off
the burner.

Good thing I removed
the batteries from
all the smoke
detectors.

If you have a moment,
Sir or Madam,
would you please hear my lament,
of the sad and woeful tale
Of Fail.

Hidden behind masks,
Enscribed with who he wished to be,
Yet,
Ever so deceptive,
Of his true identity.

Today, I am Ceasar,
Tomorrow, Shakespeare.
Yet,
These masks,
Are but a tool...

Tomorrow's play,
They will soon say,
Shall be my most glorious act,
Known to man!

With no regret,
Do not fret,
I shall don the greatest of all masks...
Myself!          

Now, you may ask,
Who is Myself?
We put our true identity on the shelves,
To show no mortal, not even ourselves!

Yet,
perhaps...
Bear with me...
If I were myself...
I would be content with myself!

No, no, no...Forgive Me!
Who am I to say this the way to be!
The only way to be merry...is to be someone who I am not!
To please others is the way to attain happiness, is it not?

Fail discarded his "Myself" mask that day,
Yet, forevermore, everyday,
He questioned who he was,
As he never truly felt to be himself.

Now, since you have stuck by me until the end of this tale,
And, with the unfortunate Fail,
I inquire of you, and, please, discard all of your masks, if you can:
Who are you, really?

Three days after the ides, and the story
told of a spirit that calls for vengeance,
to this very day, while it is called Today.

Entranced, couchlocked, looking dazed…
but none see me, to challenge me, vie with me
for watcher-alarm sounder silencing
clouds of knowing growing deeper, thicker, sort
of jello-time from post -2022

Monstor Fighter wannabes, realize
your fantasy, word to word,
sword to sword, progress, keep time, watch,
imaginations
bound in bundles and packeted for consumption,
- feel like a hero,
- just like that, that's the spirit, believe
- in the dream
Really,

see the lie you first believed, take your life exam.

Who really established
the stack you stand your ground rule upon.

Tell me no lie, I can check your facts, and my own,
a gazer into the abyss, must dare the awareness,
more than once, of the abyss staring into the gazer.

Life, lived a breath per moment of note, taken
as if this were me alive, and well taken care of,
by a benign monstor arm of benignity itself,
war feeds me and clothes me, I survived,
so the proof of the nation's promise,
I am, a trained-will that will obey rules,
conserved as rights held by heads of state,
- liberal conservation of meaning trees
- frees old readers from fishing for facts,
- we, the augmented, have public access…
- good citizen status, unto death…

as paraded boys, with fixed bayonets, pledged
and inspired by ancient incantations, patience,
steady cadence, rank and file,
perform as a mass minded thing agreed, a team,
- call to attention, respond
Testudo, hold. Sistere, hobnailed to your ground,
our
ground, hold that line, hold it,
hold it, get the rush,
without the dread duty of picking up the dead.
- Flash, my first duty in Vietnam, was
- to identify a body, that was not there…

shield walls, all games now, stories tell life
as a game, a test for bestness, or likestness,

yet, ever spun off, a few, a little leaven,
welsh held tongue song word long whole ideas,
by and bye, ye ken the less,
what's an hour's worth?

when does saving time, as a way to change
the season, in an effort
to increase productivity,
cease being a grand plan
for empowering all the needs intuited,
solar- leanings, shade and sunlit,
future from now, reckoned some how,
- wait, the engine driving the beast
- global economic collapse, is war, the idea
- that it is a god idea,
- monstrous fact of what we are, in agreement.
Peace, as proven ever winning, edgewise,
at the core, the intention we assume is true,
people have a reason in the whole ever idea,
immeasurable,
from inside.
..
the reason I wish
to live, longer,
money, use of it, actually,
literal debts for my luxury,
paid by the rules, the game, I won,
my life, in soul possession,  
is the rational measure, the cup of essence
of mankind to be supplied
to all agreeable minds, all free, to try, read
grown-up learn to read as teacher read
from the abundance of answers,
already to be taught to form
foundational anchors,
fears, joys, honor and disdain
of the garden earth is,
under, or behind great magnetic shields,
set to let life function to frame a state,
a stasis, relative to ever, after time
has no measure, the racer's mind,
long run pace, cadence call,
hup, two, three, four, heart beat

fit to the cultures of old, when all boys
were tough, or never boys at all.

"A rather Spartan lifestyle", an eastern reporter,
for Sun Jung Moon's Washington Star, said
of my cohort, during the prepper years.
---
old days --- always better after survival
from warstory to biography
--- look inward

Cranking jams in my haptic suit,
leaping valleys, sweeping down
canyons like I'm little Luke Skywalker;

When my eyes accept the invitatory story
challenge, vie for the power try,
triumphant,
meaning #2, spiritual victory.
Define spirit - breath, breathe, the one to the other
spirit of the bayonet - the word as command, ****
****, ****
take life take life take life, imagine too long,
as the addicted to hormones video triggers,
words
unspoken, live to prove the lie,
ready, read

I feel your pressure, fused with super lies,
unbelievable incredible opposition to peace or mind,
manifested handily as joy in breath,
imagine loving your enemies is your duty,
smile,
laugh and sigh. Some never try.
What can possibly be true, is;
what cannot possibly be true is not and never was.

Thanks to that velveteen tone he
saves for me
And his turpentine diction,
The cliches that made my eyes roll
Now make my heart rush

Nonetheless, my thoughts riot as follows...

(When urged to call him something cheery
something no smile can wane at
like that fleck of gold in his left iris)
Well, "sunshine" should suffice
And Latin for that equals
"Apricitas"
Which phoneticized equals
"Opry cheetahs"
So the obvious endearment here is
Opry

(When urged to call him something pure
perhaps upon watching him blink
or blush
or blow
cigarette ringlets away from babies)
"Snowflake"?
No, that's a slang for ***** these days
So, "raindrop"
Yes
If Latin is dead,
It sure knows how to haunt me
"Gutta imbrium"
Ember
My little ember
The only glow in all this charcoal

(When urged to call him something pretty
when he's brushing his hair
or allowing me to arrange red clovers
in his sideburns)
Hm, let's testdrive "moonlight"
Let's shift into Latin, "luna lumen"
Thus the nickname I bite back is
Lulu

/Lulu/
While I hear darlings and dearies
on the daily
Why must I fail to mirror him?

(When urged to call him something sweet
like the butterscotch kisses he whispers
into my knuckles)
Like a honeycomb
Or as Ceasar would say, "cera mel"
Close enough?
Caramel?
Carousel?
Dizzy, then

We spin
In silence

(When urged to call him something cute
with his cap on sideways
and his head in my lap
and the world at my heels)
Kitten
Catalus
Catapult
Half of that backwards might as well be
Tulip
Two lips
Two tongues
Too much, yet never enough of his
Smoke bomb pomegranate mouth

For heaven's sake, see?
That's why I kiss instead of speak

Sit back as I free base the mic
Keep ya *** tight
Like constipation facin’ the nation
One man crew represent
Houston smell my lbs of mints
I get intense leave brain cells pinched
Rhymes lynched clear the bench
When I make a walk around talk around
I get around **** more than bobby brown
Make emcees jump around I get down
Like James Brown
the Black Ceasar
Take over the crowds leave *******
Leaning like the tower of Pisa
I even got Mona Lisa
To Crack a smile biggie with my flow
As well as what sits below
The heavy set hitter no bullshitter
Think twice I’m spittin’ naughty nothing
So come.with it
But I know you ****** bluffin’
Actin’ toughin’
til they see me
They Common Man as David Ruffin
Now the guns got they spirits floatin’
Throw ya ashes in the ocean
**** a notion
I’m shady take notes from.the lyrical.
Oracle now say it im…


Hit up the scene
With pounds of green
& 50 gran sittin’ in between
My Benz six hundred the best class
Showin’ raw ***
Check the state it reads Texas plates
How can I relate ?
To the loot im accumulatin’
Aint no debatin’
jealous critics be hatin’
Im.creatin’
An epitome so forceful the feds can’t get to me
Gettin’ more *** then pimps get
forget
What they sayin’
pay attention to my pipe layin’
******’ beats with no need for sheets
Sneak peak dirtier than a Iraq Sheik
Smooth as an undercover like women of cocoa butter
Skin since the world is sin
I take a shot of gin for the djinn
To settle in
Take control then i menace the mic
Like Mike got the game on lock
6 undefeated makin’ miracles
Not satirical got critics sayin’ he’s Unbelievable! !!

Back then when we were friends
I didn't worry about the ending
But then again,
It was foolish, to live life, without concern
So I came to learn

In the end, I was in awe
I wonder did it take much thought
I became the Ceasar to hold your daggers
Et tu (even you) must understand the treachery in your act
Bleeding out, I could not react

Now I still breath, but bare these scars
An awful memento of a mournful past
I press on, but never the same
Anger and hate my only friends
That's how this ends

'So easy'
some would say,
the one who never had his day spin in a silent night or turned
his back to find he looks upon himself.
So easy,
like the spasms of the first ****** the beginning of the fall
and in the falling getting smaller, smaller but finding as the crow flies South in fact you're getting taller and the circle that you're in is the thing that's getting smaller, so you flex your limbs and climb and it's easy climbing over, getting over walls that try to keep you in, they never get to teach you that in colleges or seats of learning,
it's like they'd rather leave you yearning, wanting more and burning with the want of it.

But you never pluck your eyes out to see what lies behind because those learned fellows tell us that to do that makes us blind and if that's so and we take heed we'll never know, I'd rather bleed to death than waste my breath and then again I know that breath is just a roundabout of which a death is just one turn-off,
several light years, where the teardrop drops and all time stops to catch another breath and death is just a taste on the palate of some ancestral waiter,
I wait another turn foregoing all the pain and pleasure of that once in a lifetime final seizure,
I am my own and I am Ceasar in my home, a caliph to sit upon the throne and who can tell me no?
even so
I fall and fall and small or tall without a doubt it evens out
in the end.

Faking beliefs to believe in the fake.
For the real is way to real.
I still don't want to awake.
I'll imagine I've got a tastier meal.

Be strong, I say, don't give in.
For it will be for the wrong reason.
Spaghetti, potatoes, peas, please don't sin.
Steak or stew or mussles with season.

Scones, soup, browney with a liquid core.
Or rather think of a good baked fish.
Don't, just don't think of him anymore.
Try to replace him with your favorite dish.

I can' give in, I can't give up.
It won't be good if I drink the same cup.
Again and again it's a cup with a crack.
And all my sweet cocoa will flee right back.

I keep thinking, is this right?
I can't tell right from wrong in my blurred sight.
It's bad to go back, so just go on forth.
But my eyes slip back, like a compass needle north.

I need to hold myself, faults won't do me good.
I'll just have to stop my thinking with even more food.
It's a similar hormone triggered, I will feel the same.
What am I? Will I rather be fat again to spare me of the pain?

Why am I weak, it's such a one way to think.
But what else to do when my heart's about to sink.
Pop in my head, there he is again.
Chocolate, chicken breast, bread full of grain.

Don't think, just don't think at all.
Will he be hurt, does he think of me at all.
Is he alright, what is he up to right now.
Does he miss me, and I just wonder how.

Stop it, weakling, you can do better than this.
Orange sauce, porto dressing, ribs as soft as a kiss.
Mac and cheese, ceasar salad, do you think he is alright.
Was I wrong, after all he still wanted to fight.

No, be strong, honeydressing, porkchop, carrot stew.
How many chances did I give him a new?
Stop it, steamed beef, apple cake, am I really mad?
Why did walking away from him feel so bad.

Faking beliefs to believe in the fake.
For the real is way to hard.
I still don't want to believe my mistake.
For I too was wrong at my part.

Frantically Fiery recital
((The Big City Capitol))

Just lay low
The touch go
Catty
Calm---- cool--- and-- collected
don't scratch lower- lip got grilled
The light flick
She's the fur-upper-lip got beguiled
The singer (Tom Petty) guitar
Strings sweet jam Teacher's pet
sketch so petty
I won't back down

The Getty Family
Ringo The drummer boy
Oh, Lord! lowercase match

Mr. ****** as loud as
his Cello
The evermore not
the good fellow
They call her mellow yellow
Capitol suite pillow
She's the ((Rhino Cup)
of Cappuccino

Sweatpants and Robin Hoods
Lord of the Capitol (R) Ring

Shinning the Hotel tools
Lots of courage for fools
Ted  bears I hear a symphony
Boiling hot porridge reading
her last Urology

But at home, crack tile
Ripley believe
or not makes her smile (.
Going bonkers
Feeling jump street Bronx-Tale
Yonkers
Elves envelope
lickers

The emergency
City Slickers
He's cutting out
Shes sparkling pout
Those papercuts
without hearts

On the stretcher
target of darts
Prelude to a letter {C} but
The [P] precisely to be kissed
she's smart'[S] someone
is stupid
Titanic Leonardo so livid
and nobodies fool trip
He packed X-File suitcase
His trousers a bit low
Your feeling her flow
(Health)
Awareness__*

Right star or the wrong car
License plate all lower case
Disoriented losing you face
Like Alzheimer my Mom
but it wasn't her rainbow
And my heart stopped to glow
Loved Judy Garland
she saw her in concert
Waving high to the low current

We require Jerry McGuire
That's life the cruise
like a game
of lacrosse

So in these days
more outways
The whole outlook

Where are the good men
President Lincoln
In the Capitol, the statue
True virtue thinker

The violin nights white satin
Your own haven such velocity
The top-notch Galaxy
women of divinity
He's far away from his
land and
my land?
California here I come
The kelts in Scotland jingling phone
Your_  heart--  beats
Feeling lowdown at your feet

Being swept away
Cinderella
Capitol C
For the ((City girl))
C for Charming
C for Culture C for Creature

How she sways her body feature
rhythm walk he could forever
capture

Apples they don't compare
To (Oranges)
(Juicy Lover Jupiter)
Is my song
Julius Ceasar the pleaser
  Shakespearian
All Capitol L-O-V-E
The wishbone, Doves
Turkey days
Walking on sunshine,
not the pavement

Good eats my Cornbread
sausage stuffing with sage
Google remembering my Moms
noodle pudding hold her page*
So grumble let's be more humble

Has the most potential to be kissed
and uncivilized
Eyes of the tiger (Amazon) the prey
it's just another day
In the presidential suite the key
to the doorway

Your girly bubbles no rambling
Or stumbling
Remembering a time giggling
so bubbly
just blow

Miles and miles in high relief
                They stood along the apian way
                                  Western sun burned eyes to darkness.
                                                       ­  Parched and lashed to cedar.
                                                          ­              Chilled in the evening frost..

The mighty had spoken.
Yes. To be broken by the flay.and lash
Along the apian way.
A dying example for all to see.
Hail Cesar.mighty ceasar.

                                  The world is Rome.
                                  Rome is the world.
                                  Where is Rome today ?

he stood at the door caching kudos and high fives
the life of the party the guy at the end of the party
had the lampshade on not much else but a red grin and nose
he was invited to every one
for his brusk take no names personality
he never knew a stranger
then one day he stopped answering the door his phone emails
everything
I found out two weeks later he had met loud Sarah Rubricon
her of the store bought **** and long *** legs
and they had eloped to Vegas
where they are now performing
at Little Ceasar's Pizzeria
just down from the
big names
I am happy  for them and Sarah
by god happy she met her match
she haunted me for  two years
but I miss that Joseph
when I throw a party , it is not the same
anymore.

i asked how you were doing
because people
forget to do that a lot
like the way they
forget to clean the lint
out of the vent in the dryer
like the way they pass
you like a sea of faces
when they've been inside
of you
their eyes
once preserved the
lining of your skin
like embalming fluid
that trapped all of
your best qualities
like an essence in
a polaroid photo
i'm glad that
you found someone
whose shadow you
could watch like
a second vision of me
her courvoisier hair  
falling
down her back
like a freudian slip
you peeled my layers
like an unrelenting onion
except your tears were
like history
they floated across
the air like the
ships that carried my
caramel brown
ancestors
like the clouds
that showed
them the interpretation
of dreams
that grew and breathed
like daniel ceasar's voice
at 12:33 am
like accepting love
that you don't deserve  
and eating two pieces of pie
right before you go
to bed
telling yourself 
that life is too short

My silent scream for help, gone unnoticed yet again.
Joy is the many knives of Julius Ceasar
Stabbing me in the back
I wait for someone to notice, that I'm not okay, I don't know how to be
Does anyone know that sometimes, I don't want to always be the one to start the one way conversation?
Asking, "How was your day?" When the underlying pain says "Help me. I don't want to be alone so talk to me every once in a while"
Every time I get no reply wondering if they are still alive, or if they simply don't like me.
Silent Tears running down my face at the end of every night, reminding me of the losses of the day.
Silent Tears to mark the end of the day, and the start of a new pain

only that the poles don't know how similar
they are to the Russians,
in Poland the priests receive the major
scorn, the paupers the minor scorn,
while stray dogs run with the ghost
of diogenes of sinope,
        there's hardly a work ethic by
merely talking,
              woe to the scribblers under
the umbrella of technical labours,
woe to the dreaming aloud with
a horizon as wide as a breath,
     but the feet of a drowning man...
woe to no rigour and to the waiting
game of sighs, woe admiring
                            sand blocks playing
like children beneath the gaze at Giza.
now i can understand an angry voice
aged 17, 18, 19...
         8 or so years later and i have
no shame: which is more useful than
to cherish honour...
      like might be said of what Nietzsche
looked for and what Diogenes likewise
did, with the same lantern at noon:
far easier to find god, than an honest man,
gesticulating is plentiful,
     but in what deed is man to unlearn
blabbering like a baby?
unrepentant or remorsless, whichever,
but when the fire is poured
    and there is laughter in this aloofness
and no sulking for a breadth's worth
of night, only then: hardly a reason
to drink in company, or to keep any,
the barrenness of sulking,
       no tender shoulder to hide into,
morbid cold gravestone and the howling
moon, smile and scythe and
the perpetual harvest of man,
    somehow too much lunacy goes
into this religiosity to simply allow
material absolutism of this here and now...  
too much lunacy and in grief
excused, as a man might be found
hunched over a grave talking,
   far beyond god willing...
        because the heart is already invested
far beyond paying a deity its
supposed "dues"...
          sidewinding back into politico,
who are these non-cis non-this-that-and-the-other,
or rather the this-that-and-the-other?
back east i am still an abnormality for
a life of a bachelor, pseudo-cenobite,
suburbia and among the living
it's hardly a convent to mirror silence,
yet still the norm to take a wife,
but as i have only this for my defence:
YOU CAN'T MAKE SOMEONE HAPPY
BY FORCE...
                         perhaps the customs
of Kazakhstan are to forcibly take a wife
as is their ancient custom,
           not by force not by genetic
existentialism, frankly not via the Anglo
lineage of argument,
            patron saint of bachelors Emmanuel
and a new church where but a thought
is enough to give motive, watching
lunatics gesticulate beside themselves,
    slaughterhouses of critiques
and far from the atheistic notion surrounding
it as some sort of debilitating conjuring,
a sign of a low i.q., intellectual fallacy,
immaturity of seeking manna from heaven,
or reading the books with a dusting over
with poo'ems...
                   fixations on a fidgety metaphor,
certainly, some might think they're
the best poets in the world,
    but if they don't have something to stand
on, a heavyweight reading list:
   you can see them, glaring in spring's
sunlight like the mirage of seeing a puddle
of water, when instead a bed of shining platinum.
censorship-in-reverse:
    just like the awkward moment when
a novelist shows his extra limb by using
the thesaurus: suddenly the flow of lexicon
hits a hydroelectric blockade...
     stuttering, stut' stut' stut', stuttering
presence... already Atlas and the strict
take on Sisyphus, who, could have just
sat there at the foot of the hill and looked
at the smoothness and lack of: flip flop
in-grooves and promises of flint knives.
anatomical atlas and his brother,
        the bottom-most vertebra of the backbone,
toy: standing vertical,
                  brother Ccyx, two sugars, brown,
cappucino -ye'bood'yed'ka'put!
   imshi, y'allah!
                      twice removed from kicks,
      and thrice from: sick 'em!
                past all meaning and back into sounds,
that subtle layer of freedom
known only to dogs barking, crows harking,
and sparrow jittering and chatting
up to the high heavens...
         past st. Peter's street to watch
            the golden calf and the crucifix contend
for the laurel crown of ceasar...
            hardly a time to start performing
tango on your knees...
               and when all these horrible,
horrible, cis white men will die,
   and no more children of God are born,
when in vitro overtakes in vivo...
    and when the norm from cis will
shift to bi etc.,
                 comes the snowman and
overshadows the new norms,
                            gateway in the attic,
pampered closet, and what some might
call closet intellectuals...
                             atlas and his titan
brother Ccyx, depicted wearing nothing
but chinos, chiseled brain fudge to perfection,
who holds the weight,
     of the entirety of the human lexicon...
**** it, some random dictionary cascade
to deviate from the Ítálıano:
   chambers of gold chiseled by churning
butter, da da da... charcoal harvest
       of night from a vacuum with an echo
looking for its charitable cavern...
          chasing checkers at Chequers,
we you i: cue queue, and the inexhaustible
chasm of cameos...
           a dream of two chairs
    and a curly ginger imagining gelato,
in later life oral goes out of the curriculum
and it's back to man on top of a woman
as depicted in movies,
   loss of adventure in the bedroom
translates into trips to the amazon
and photo-tics at the taj mahal...
                                  and her name was
Tamara and she lived with 3 gay guys
and i still don't understand why she
wanted to do it under the bedsheets
rather on top of them...
                                hard to get a *******
when you're finding it hard to breathe
in a cocoon like that...
                            elsewhere otherwise...
i always thought you tended to sleep
under the sheets rather than play a game
of ken & barbie...
                                   i was 7 and she was 6
and we were trying to figure out why
we had the parts that the dolls didn't have...
and we inspected each other while taking
a bath, as children of neighbours do.

The voices of a plague
Arguing every which way
They never cease except to agree on better pay
Until the Emperor stands
Quieting any in his way
The prisoners will be hanged
And the people are needing grain
Enough of petty and greedy mistakes
If the Senate is content to do nothing but harangue
Then the Emperor will rise from the grave
And squash democracy for tyranny
For the people's sake
So they can eat and live in peace
And that will be a bitter day
But Ceasar may already be on his way.

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.

It came about in the strangest way.
My heart sitting on the divide
Wondering why.
The fault was never in the stars
Ceasar is not better than me.
It was written this way
Three fates cutting strings.
Arts and wars
Walking through doors.
Death's wife sleeping in the night
It was written all before.

his head was soft
his whiskers were full
his fingers were long
and his skin was old
his eyes were green
and his tongue was blue
his name was Ceasar
and he carried a broom
he swept
the sidewalk
he skated around
he colored the fences
with a rusty crayon
he really liked pie
he really liked fudge
he was only so nice
because he wanted to die