My bipolar fantasy is that one day,
I’m going to come home and leave my bipolar at the door,
Scatter it along with muddy boots and raincoats and winter mittens
I have no use for currently,
That I’m going to take it off and enter my house unencumbered.
My bipolar dream is that I’m going to go to bed tonight
Without measuring my sleep,
Wondering if it’s an indication of mania or depression,
If it’s stress or I need medication to push me into a nocturnal daze,
The haze of which will bleed over into daytime.
My bipolar wish is that this illness
That I lug around like a suitcase made of brick
Might lighten in load or unpack itself once in a while,
That it will not brand me as a traveler on a road
Pockmarked with landmines and loneliness.
I wish that this suitcase did not bear the mark of mental illness.
My bipolar life is a story,
One laid out in the lines of swinging,
Of flying and then falling
Before realizing they are often too closely related to tell the difference.
My story is written in the narrow margins between creativity and hospitalization.
Sometimes the two occur together.
My life’s manuscript is forever alternating
Between the way the night sky speaks to me
Or the way the bathroom smells like my blood.
It is being abuzz with electricity and then short circuiting your battery
And not being able to move.
My bipolar song is a tune alternating between grandiosity,
All hail my intelligence and beauty (psych!)
Before falling into apathy and self-loathing.
Sometimes it’s not knowing what version of me I’m going to wake up to in the morning.
My bipolar hope is that the dizzying combo of diet, exercise, and daily medication
Will keep me out of that 1 in 5 number I’ve danced with so perilously,
Keep me off of those bridge ledges and out from empty pill bottles,
Keep me alive in my skin even in this painful reality.
My bipolar fear is that when mania and depression have a love child
And mixed mania runs amuck in its terrible two’s,
The anger will taint the feelings of loved ones.
I fear callous words uttered insouciantly in my own misery,
Slithering from my mouth agonizingly slowly yet too quickly to stop
Might wound those I care for when I do not mean it.
My distress and agitation sometimes equal cranky.
My bipolar prayer is that when energy plus impulsiveness plus danger is no longer
A concept I understand collaborate,
Those around me know this is not who I am.
My mood is a high-flyer, a free-faller, and an everywhere in between,
But that is not my personality.
I am an optimist, a free thinker, creator, compassion giver.
My story is broader than the confines of bipolar.
I am sometimes aflame and others underwater,
But I weather it all with a twisted sense of humor.
I am a person before I am bipolar.

Mumok Museum [24]

What am I doing in Vienna,
staring at cold sterile pop art as the whole entire world we're on burns,
in a city I never wanted to go to,
doing things that never really seemed that inspiring,

& it's not that I have an antipathetic attitude towards these pathetic fools,
in fact it's actually just the opposite of that because I'm an actual optimist,
which is why I don't feel inspired by bored cyborgs their wires or their tools,
& precisely why I'd rather gather flowers than be an actor for their power,

see I find more inspiration in a single leaf on a single tree by a river bank,
than from all the colors & lines contained within the walls of this museum,
which is why when I'm asked all the time what kind of poetry I read,
I reply I don't even read poetry see I don't find it in books I find it in seasons,

It's the same reason I don't need to go to church to pray,
because I don't need my messages from God to be translated by a human,

anyways where am I at & what am I doing?

Oh yeah Im at a museum in Vienna wondering where the inspirations gone,
& why everything seems so excruciatingly tiring,
see it seems we’re on the verge of a collective mental breakdown,
at the same time like we're on the precipice of a collective enlightening,

either way the system’s short circuiting & could do with some rewiring.

Why does every rags to riches story I know of those that've made it,
end in an overpriced designer outfit at home bored all alone & jaded?

Why is Consumerism followed like a religion,
I mean we're all made of the same DNA strands regardless of name brands,
I mean everything is just carbon hydrogen & oxygen anyways,
which may explain why materialism is immanent in every independent man,

while an apocalypse seems undeniably immanent &,
we dwell in the highest heights ever built still we don't totally understand,

we don’t worship Jesus we worship Visa,
putting good credit ahead of good morals,
don’t praise Muhammed in a daze we say our grace in front of TV Dramas,
no Buddha dreams just computers screens no real friends just PayPals,

& maybe that’s why it's easier to be blind than to see,
maybe that’s why we hide in museums behind Valentino sunglasses,
because we'd rather have expense tastes than be free,
but when you’re behind any type of four walls you’re trapped in,
whether on a Penthouse terrace with Paris in Paris,
or doing hard-time for white collar crimes with Madoff in a Federal pen,
either way we’re victims of our own additions trying to buy more time,
but running out of credit as banks are collapsing & the recession is relapsing,

so why even buy things when we know not so secretly,
that only Love will set us free from these retro restrictions & their trappings,

see,

the best things in life still are still free,
& yeah liberation is expensive & self renovations are extensive,
but freedom is priceless so live a life that's righteous,
seems that the Love Pyramid is the only pyramid that’s not a Ponzi scheme,

because we are all equal even if we’re not all treated equally,
that’s why some have no clothes while others wear designer denim jeans,
but these Diesels're 2 tight on my thighs this macabre carnival has no prize,
& I can do anything I want with my life but all I really want to do is breathe,

breathe,

breathe because this lifestyle is expensive,
but freedom is priceless,
even though they'll try to capitalize off of anything,
so they market it & try to price it,

I just,
want to find a place to relax & release,
& be free of all of this,
find true love & say “Fck off to the politicians & all their politics!”,

fck their programs fck their projects,
fck their ugly agendas dressed in artificially splendid splendor,
fck their quotas & their motives for treating human beings as objects,
fck their pre-programed consumerist culture of conmen capitalists,

fck there putting machines over human beings,
just to increase the place where their profit sits,
& I say all of this regardless of who it offends because I'm not an Apologist,
I'm more of a Lyrical Pharmacist,
who serves indiscriminate prescriptions in the form of transcriptions,
in order to assist in the additions that come from positive developments,
which will occur for sure once we switch the position we currently sit in,
& restore Divine Order once more in the name of Humankind's betterment,

in the game of life I play,
they know I'm so official that I don't even need a Letterman,

I just,
don’t know what else to say,
I don’t know why I’m at this museum in Vienna,
hiding away on the top floor writing this to you on a Sunday,

on the 5th floor got it all but I just want to give more,
I just want to gift these words then make my escape,
don't you get it I don't want to get more ****t,
if anything I just want to find a way to give more of what I have away,

just want to be alone,
but also want these words to be known so the truth can be shown,
but where do you go when you’re tired totally over it all,
& all you want to do is rest & write these poems,
but even with all you have you still don't know where to go,
because even with all these things you still don't have a home...

Hello,
could you please pick up the phone,
I’m calling because I still love you,
& I want to come back to you even though I know I’m already gone,

currently on the top floor of the Mumok museum in Vienna,
the floor is the 5th to be exact,
& yeah it’s true that I don’t know where I’m going,
but what I do know is I don’t think I’m ever coming back,

online & off track,
writing more words with more rhymes,
than any other living writer in contemporary times,
& no I'm not lying 'cause I'd never lie to you & yes those are both actual facts,

& yeah that’s a fact & yeah you can Google that,
but I’m going to follow that fact with a question,
before I forget to mention,
let me just ask you what I'm doing here in Vienna?



What am I doing in Vienna,
staring at cold sterile pop art as the whole entire world we're on burns,
in a city I never wanted to go to,
doing things that never really seemed that inspiring,

& it's not that I have an antipathetic attitude towards these pathetic fools,
in fact it's actually just the opposite of that because I'm an actual optimist,
which is why I don't feel inspired by bored cyborgs their wires or their tools,
& precisely why I'd rather gather flowers than be an actor for their power,

see I find more inspiration in a single leaf on a single tree by a river bank,
than from all the colors & lines contained within the walls of this museum,
which is why when I'm asked all the time what kind of poetry I read,
I reply I don't even read poetry see I don't find it in books I find it in seasons,

It's the same reason I don't need to go to church to pray,
because I don't need my messages from God to be translated by a human,

anyways where am I at & what am I doing?

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Vol. 2: Mandalas
available worldwide 08/08/18

There's electric energy between us
And all I want to do is kiss you
Short-circuiting my heart
As our hands intertwine
I can feel your body tense
As my fingers grace your hips
I want to touch you everywhere
From your fingertips
To your lips
My hands dance across your skin
And I wonder if you feel it too
The immense craving
Driven by this intimacy
Every touch feels like the first
Intense and exciting
I've never felt this much emotion before
Especially through physical contact
As your body arches against mine
I feel it through every nerve
But I also feel it in my soul
I am undeniably in love with you
And this is more than just physical

A desperate desperado shivering as the sun sets,
casts it's silky shadows upon the hollows below.
Beneath the cascading denizens of light,
a puff of smoke waltzes across the December sky,
a patient without his insurance with nothing left but
callous empty third-person reassurance,
"everything will be better" as she said.
But better is always easy when your hand isn't writing the letter.

Save your proverbs for an open ear,
this one is half deaf and full of itself,
despite your intent,
your lack of action perpetuates malcontent.
After all we're all just passing moments
gone and forgotten, evicted,
convicted of being a gutless mime,
going through the motions,
minus a true notion.

A confused calculator short circuiting under an oil leak
spitting out numbers, complicating already complicated complexities
subtracting numerals adding funerals
dividing families multiplying tragedies
It's just a numbers game, and we can't participate
we're just the studio audience, recorded live without any life.
Flashing signs tell us when to laugh and when to cry,
pre-determined automated messages contrived to convince.

And I'm stuck spinning in the corner,
with my hands on my head.
Senselessly blurting out: Why?!
But don't mind me, I'm just another lost soul
trapped with my head in the sky.

I read a sign on the interstate driving home today
‘expect the unexpected’

The wires in my brain are short circuiting again
And I feel myself slipping on black ice
I think I may have hit my head

Days seem like seconds
They jump back and forth like a game of hopscotch
Making me forget homework was due today
and not next week

Winter has come and gone
But my body still moves in slow motion, frozen
Unable to thaw even in the hottest shower
Even when my skin is bright red and burning

My room is a stagnant body of water
The walls seem to know how to breathe
Drawing closer with each inhale
And I am terribly claustrophobic

How can I expect the unexpected
when I knew this was coming?

I
--
The LORD is asking, “Do you trust Me, child?”
And surely He is worthy of all trust,
but visceral reactions oft’ seem just
in keeping soul’s anxieties well riled.
While panic, shame and dread stir doubting winds,
obsessive, tight, compulsive thoughts pour fuel
into this downward spiraling boil of gruel
where toxic interactions breed more sins.
So for relationships I feel unfit,
and now old interests die and pleasures wane,
as each new hope in Earth’s good brings fresh pain,
where dark depression’s presently my bit.
Yet in this wilderness I hear God call,
“Child, look to Me. I am your ALL in all.”

II
--
I meditate upon the word of God
to heal a mind that’s broken from the fall,
and lying in morn’s bed I now recall
the former paths of fullness I have trod.
I clear the course of tangling debris
that fogs perspective’s distance-viewing sight
and clogs the narrow way which lets in light,
so with God’s truth I’m able to agree.
I gaze toward the future that is sure,
to glory that is promised out of trial.
I push through lying voices of denial,
rememb’ring my inheritance secure.
So healing first begins by sizing scope,
for in true measure I can grasp true hope.

III
---
Long sheltered in the recesses of mind
on pedestals that overshadow truth
are lies which I have entertained since youth
like tape recordings stuck on forced rewind.    
There‘s something of appeal in misbelief,
some comforting, perverted, dressed-up face
which keeps foul strongholds rooted into place
and lets such rotten seedlings harvest grief.  
But I must choose to undermine their message,
uncovering deception’s hidden lairs
whose cultivation grounds for growing tares
leave roadblocks to integrity’s safe passage.
God’s probing, piercing words—what precious gifts!—
can excavate, expose and extract myths.

IV
---
I apprehend these truths in David’s psalm:
“I’m fearfully and wonderfully made,”
and all my days of life are firmly laid
within the sovereign care of God’s own palm.
And yet another voice keeps creeping out.
“You’re too unfit for blessed community,
hence from belonging full immunity
is your dim lot,” says paralyzing Doubt.
For ‘gainst the Word that says I‘m rightly hewn
rub all the bristling edges of myself,
but would one set forever on a shelf
a Bösendorfer piano out of tune?
No, value is a function of creation,
and He who made has promised restoration.

V
--
Restoration’s anchored in redemption,
and my redemption‘s grounded in God’s love.
Nowhere in far reaches man has thought of
could mind unfurl the breadth of such conception.
Sloshing, hesitating in the shallows,
I wander close to shore in Love‘s vast sea.
Then from the swell I hear a coaxing plea
to dive into the deeper wake of hallows.
What‘s this weight that pins my frame from racing
toward His unknown billows of delight?
Do I not trust that He will clasp me tight,
help me bear the fiercest waves I’m facing?
What guile of devils am I heeding here
which keeps me bound by paralyzing fear?

VI
---
Disheartened by my want for firm resolve
to swim toward agápē’s unplumbed depths
for int’macy with Him who paid my debts—
the only One from sin who can absolve,
I wander, wond‘ring what I’ve missed to see
within my comprehension of Christ‘s love
when He would vacate majesty above
and suffer cruelest death to set me free.
They stripped Him, flogged Him, spit, pulled out His beard,
then pressed a crown of thorns down on His head.
They nailed Him to rough cross to leave for dead—
Creator of the world now by it jeered.
In love this traitor by her King was served:
Christ Jesus bore God‘s wrath which I deserved!

VII
----
Considering what labors Christ performed
to buy my freedom off sin’s slav’ry block
that of His fullness, with Him, I could walk
in resurrected life (not just reformed),
can I not trust that He will see me through
each trial, tribulation, sorrow, loss
when He would not forsake me at the cross
but carried all my grief and suff‘ring too?
And just as death‘s cold grave could not contain
my Savior but gave way to watch Him rise,
whatever loss my path has to comprise
shall work for me eternal glorious gain.
So while my courage may still be in lack,
the settled thing is there’s no turning back.

VIII
-----
Wading through fresh tidal pools of mercy
along a piece of coast that‘s not too wide—
among the crags and caves where stragglers hide,
hoping to evade crowd controversy—
I know I‘ll have to move on before long.
But in the warm meanwhile of the day,
I kneel to rest; and as I start to pray,
my heart begins to open to a song—
a gentle, soothing lullaby I’ve known
sung to the tune of ‘Eventide‘ as hymn,
reminder that this life is fading, dim
but that in Christ I never walk alone.
And as I raise the words, “Abide with me…,”
here comes my Shepherd, walking by the sea.

IX
---
What now is this waylaying, sin-sick soul?
Diversional winds from cliffside descend.
Where‘s pressing fire my devotions attend?
Brain‘s robbed of sanity, sleep, self-control.
Jesus comes near numb heart in distraction
and bids me again to clean deadwood out.
Jesus, I‘m desperate, drowning in doubt!
Help me expel what‘s needing subtraction!
Discipline, prudence, wisdom, contentment
can work to restore both body and brain,
while worship will lift locked heart from restraint—
its untethering from woe’s resentment.
I won‘t, without wisdom, taste truest Love,
yet Love holds true keys to wisdom above.

X
--
Mottling mind’s hazed subconscious sockets—
bedecked by ego’s restless crave for fill—
infections grow to permeate my will,
ladening, with dross, affection‘s pockets.
Foul seepage soon coagulates to plaque,
forces clefts which weaken my foundation,
foments psyche’s stormed disintegration
till half-light’s flushing falls to midnight‘s black.
Yet amid murk‘s rotting, rank confusion
with ev‘ry faculty succumbed to rift,
My Shepherd plucks me fiercely from the cliff,
tending thorn-torn blight with Love‘s ablution.
Healing, though, requires my surrender—
all cooperation I can lend 'her.'

XI
---
Jesus asked a question at Bethesda,
the pool by which an invalid was lain,
for thirty-eight lost years left in his pain—
twisted, timed, tormenting, teared siesta.
“Do you desire to be made well?” He asked.
“I’ve none to help me!” was the plaintive cry,
then Jesus spoke miraculous reply
that to get up and walk the man was tasked.
That’s not to say all healing will be found
within this present life of ills and woes,
but still I hear Christ probing through the throes
if I am truly willing to be sound.
Or would I rather lie on crippling bed,
an invalid of spirit, heart and head?

XII
----
Shuffling through some past miscalculations
surrounding toxic breakage of the vines
that ought secure the healthy bound’ry lines  
guarding interpersonal relations—
rememb‘ring my susceptibility
to ego-shuttled, codependent err‘rs
which strain to manage others‘ own affairs
and so invert responsibility—
I ponder if I‘ll ever grow to learn
proper seeds for sowing mutual trust
with vital tools for gently sanding rust
to help stave off a bondship‘s breaking-burn.
One thing I know, that trusting in the LORD
steers love‘s impetus to carry forward.

XIII
-------
“I’m not enough and yet too much,” I've read.
Succinctly that describes my current angst,
and I can‘t justify to war against
these arguments which whirl around my head.
I’ve been told, “You’re just a little intense,”
by many people, not just one or two,
and this they voice clangs manifestly true,
as gaping holes defect my bound‘ry fence.
Voluminous in content and in force,
bestowing as prized gifts what isn‘t sought
or wanted by those for whom gifts are brought,
I falter in my need to change set course.
And where it comes to giving what‘s desired,
real competence seems found to have expired.

XIV
-----
Someone wrote, “true soul mate is a mirror“—
like limelight they‘ll reveal your unseen faults.
Where no one else delights to search your vaults,
“soul mate“ renders time to be apt hearer.
It matters not, was said, that they don‘t stay,
so long as they‘re an agent for reform—
the one who makes you desp‘rate to transform
by breaking heart and making ego fray.
Danger lies in nuanced underpinnings.
I thought I‘d found my soul mate in abuse
and used “he needs my fuel“ as excuse
to take a twisted game to extra innings.
Here I’ll grant these crazed imaginations
were at core demonic machinations.

XV
-----
Casting down romantic schoolgirl notions
that sin-drenched bonds might fashion souls complete,
I drag bewitching grails to Jesus’ feet—
spurning now to drink past guile‘s potions.
As I linger longer in His presence,
I‘m freshly bathed from marring guilt and shame,
reminded I‘m made whole in Jesus‘ Name—
partaker in the fullness of His essence.
Identified eternally with Christ,
secured by His unfailing love through grace,
one day I‘ll walk perfected face-to-face
with Him from whom true life is all-sufficed.
And as I muse, I taste true heart‘s desire—
rekindling, renewed with holy fire.

XVI
-----
Attitude is prime, determinant hinge
on which the door of restoration swings—
deciding what response subconscious brings
and on which morsels mind should bestly binge.
Plenty is dependent on perspective.
Mountain, plain or valley alter sight 
and size by which is measured present, plight.
Simply switching lens can be corrective.
In Christ, Ephesians tells me, I‘ve been raised,
seated with Him in the heavenly realm—
positioned by the One who steers the helm
that Father, Son and Spirit would be praised!
Worship, like a rudder, sets the outlook
to keep me highly grounded in God‘s Book.

XVII
------
Why should I to the worship of false gods
surrender my outlook frivolously?
Idols grab first gaze notoriously,
rob joy as will‘s defenses yield heart‘s nods.
What then? Can I suppose I might steal back
a measure of exuberance through more
skewed genuflecting to gilt calf before—
itself beleaguered, plagued by woeful lack?
Now heed, wayfaring soul of mine, what‘s true:
Creation‘s bounty-goods will make you slave
and with sweet Siren‘s flutes your mind deprave
when to them you lend focus Christ is due.
Lay firm your eyes on Him—pure, restful bed,
cover, fuel, completer, Fountainhead.

XVIII
-------
Wandering down some cobbled, crowded street,
I‘m nowhere headed, rapt in mindless thought,  
and as I saunter south I happ‘ly spot
a friend long-lost but fiercely longed to meet.
Just up ahead, he’s mixed well in the throng
but might be caught if I push through and race!
Heartbeat quickens. Oh, to see his face,
this one with whom I’m sure I must belong!
Yet when I actually seize him and he turns,
I’m devastated, sunk. It isn’t him.
Then moping northbound—dazed, dejected whim—
I stumble on the One for whom heart burns!
How strange, as I had grappled, chased and shoved,
that I’d been running from the One I loved!

XIX
-----
He‘s reservoir for which parched spirit begs,
familial feast cast heart longs to attend,  
elixir fractured psyche craves, to mend,
secure foundation ‘neath soul‘s skittish legs.
Jesus is hearth fire, garden blooming,
joy‘s kiss that welcomes prodigals with tears,
arms’ tender brawn consoling weak ones‘ fears,
shelt‘ring lullaby as nightstorm‘s looming.
Who else can scatter stars, strew mountain snow,
to whet beloved‘s taste for pristine grace?
What other love’s like this, that He‘d embrace
excruciating death to grace bestow?
And best, most faithful lovers of this earth?—
dull pennies next to Christ‘s resplendent worth!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

VOLUME II:
(** — XXXII) [Edited in 9/27-29/21]

**
----
Closing the door on chaining obsessions
requires some short-circuiting of thought
previously allowed to flow uncaught
and forge ever-deepening depressions.
Pathways in my brain can be rerouted
by changing interactions with my world,
observing what’s most easily unfurled—
presently what’s to five senses suited.
‘Mindfulness’ can be a Christian practice
and doesn’t have to rest on Buddha’s shelf—
“awak’ning non-existence of the self”—
or from unseen, eternal things distract us.
True mindfulness is found in gratitude—
joyful, eucharisteo attitude.

XXI
-----
A biblical version of ‘mindfulness‘
is found in 1 Thessalonians 5,
revealing as God’s will that saints should strive
for ever-prayerful joy and thankfulness.
Pond‘rous gratitude staves off resentment,
greed and pride. As was taught to Timothy,
what‘s created and giv‘n by God should be
received in sacred thanks with contentment.
Creation reflects God‘s bounteous glory
and demonstrates His loving grace and care,
so in same grace and glory we can share
each time we recognize Him in our story.
Ten thousand tiny gifts write each day‘s page,
and he who welcomes most is most like sage.

XXII
------
In restoration, elasticity
of mind is a factor to celebrate.
So please don‘t ever underestimate
the wonders of neuroplasticity.
New brainpaths form and old channels falter,
depending on what choices I might make.
Fresh experience of which I partake
will physically help my brain to alter.
Here‘s one great hope I must now remember:
What’s hardwired today can still be displaced,
and thoughts might soon flow on paths greenly graced,
as I feast my soul’s eyes on brain’s Mender.
Bent mindfulness toward Giver and His gifts
best brings joy‘s healing for my mental rifts.

XXIII
-------
Realizations that some obsessions
are desires to vicariously ride
the mindfulness of others who don‘t hide
their own keener sensory possessions,
aptly are aiding to turn my focus
from curiosity to understand
their thoughts, which often‘s led my heart-demand—
want to consume their minds‘ crops like locusts.
What I‘ve perceived as love, concern to know,
empathy for others‘ worlds internal,
might be more escape from mine external—
attempts to hide from life‘s real, present show.
Avoidance wears all sorts of vibrant masks
to keep me blinded to here-moments‘ tasks.

XXIV
-------
Viewing secondhand eviscerations,
as others spill their innards on the page,
may seem the safest way to heart engage—
surrogated life participation.
Substituting others‘ honed perceptions
where I ought learn observance of my own
will keep childlike experience ungrown,
smother creativity’s conceptions.
Social media’s pitfalls lie therein,
along with greater dangers lurking large.
Despite its many goods, there’s needed charge
that gorging on a good thing leads to sin.
Shutting website windows is like trailhead,
opening mountain path to higher tread.

XXV
------
I‘m learning to sit with anxiety
raised by self-denial of habit’s fix,
mindful how my heart solicits tricks  
to alternate for true society.
Discomfort speaks in volumes to soul’s ear
like smoke alarm alerting to a fire.
It tells me, “Quick, investigate! Inquire!
Please find the source of inner burning fear!”
Nervousness as friend might offer insight
if I can hear and listen to its warning,
objectively without the shame-filled scorning
that tends to follow panic-stricken plight.
Practice putting tension in glass cage
to monitor its undercurrent’s rage.

XXVI
-------
It’s time to preach a sermon to myself,
for fears are overtaking me in waves;
and spirit must combat what habit craves—
flesh seeking consolation in false pelf.
Scrutinize what’s underneath such worry.
Do I believe the LORD is still in charge
of details of my life and world at large?
Look to Him. Don’t yield to anxious hurry.
Do I believe He’s with me and He’s good,
a faithful Shepherd tending to each need?
Then look to Him. Don’t drown in fretting’s greed.
Christ’s sheep don’t have to look elsewhere for food.
Each wait is opportunity to grow,
for God has holy riches to bestow.

XXVII
--------
God’s character and sovereign wisdom hem
my life, as His responsibility.
No wrong will steal my true identity,
whatever slips or schemes might spill from men.
Christ’s Ruler over all, but do I let
Him fully reign as Master in my heart?
Do I acknowledge I’m His work of art
and purpose for His hammers, chisels get?
Intimacy and glory are the friends
to which His sanctifying lessons point
and meld together as love’s dovetail joint
whenever I surrender to these ends.
Soul, set your hope on grace to be revealed.
Entrust to God strain’s mysteries still sealed.

XXVIII
---------
LORD, HELP! Why is my mind so distracted?
And why then, letting it be drawn away
for half an hour, am I now okay
to let my compulsions be retracted?
Give in to let go feels like solution,
but know it only deepens the desire
for later curiosity‘s inquire—
grants no satisfying resolution.
Those thirty minutes mindfulness was lost,
yet could it be empowered by the fall,
as I look closer inside to recall
that giving way to habit bears great cost?
I won‘t grow discouraged by the setback
but seek to further understand self‘s lack.

XXIX
-------
Low-pitched, humming anxiousness was sitting
all day inside my torso‘s cavity.
Mindful sensing lent no gravity
to coax the stubborn squatter through outwitting.
Head was tired from too little sleeping,
so frankly seemed to coast and just make do.
Soul felt no fresh excitement by woods‘ view
and lacked bright energy for much guard keeping.
One moral of this story is night‘s rest
must become priority for healing.
Otherwise this shaky default feeling
will grow into another panicked crest.
Though it‘s no excuse to say I‘m tired,
it‘s clear reformed sleep habits are required.

***
------
Changing what’s practical opens a door
to transforming what’s spiritual, mental
and emotionally experiential.
Habit alterations might well restore
enough equilibrium of body,
restfulness, clarity, reason and time
to give me needed aid to better climb
above oppressive moods, both low and haughty.
“Early to bed, early to rise...”could be
one thing to make a world of difference
and welcome back some simple common sense,
to open up new space for setting free.
But for that discipline to take effect,
I’ll also have to curb the internet!

XXXI
-------
Every opportunity for worry
is greater opportunity to trust
that God behind the scenes is sanding rust
from parts of me where fear has made faith blurry.
Without unknowing-gusts to stir the pit
of nervousness inside my helplessness,
I might ne‘er seek my Shepherd‘s faithfulness
nor learn to wait on Him and with Him sit.
These are times of richest growing lessons
when I‘m reminded He is LORD, not me,
and that He works to draw in int‘macy
feeble souls to Him through stretching sessions.
Joy is knowing sure—head, heart and will—
He‘s ever whisp‘ring, “Child, come closer still.“

XXXII
--------
Recapping basic steps to take thus far:
Find sleep (which may mean need for melatonin
to counteract my haywire serotonin),
and overuse of internet I‘ll bar.
Then with restfulness bring mindful thinking—
keen noticing that‘s graced with gratitude
and sets a stronger skyward attitude,
buoys me up against fret‘s downward sinking.
More important still is meditation
upon the word of God‘s indicatives
which lay foundations for imperatives
to follow as prescriptive medication.
Most crucial element preventing fall
is fix my eyes on Jesus through it all!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

your name rings so loudly
in my mind
that i cannot hear anything else

your touch was like a
roundhouse kick to my brain
short circuiting everything inside

your love was like a glacial age
your cold nature
****** everything in dry

your departure was like a nightmare
one where time is elapsed
and you don’t remember my name -

you don’t like me like that.

Sometimes I get so tired of feeling like a series of chemical reactions
Like once these electric pulses flow from my brain stem
through my wires of vessels and veins to the tips of my fingers
I am a puppet to the robotics of biology
Strung by my nerves and pulled by my emotions,
I cannot control these tears
Stupidity is merely short circuiting,
and maybe I just need to recharge
I think this taste in my mouth is acid;
my teeth are batteries leaking this energy
Onto my tongue and my lips
These are the loudest parts of this machine,
But each word, each kiss is not nearly as loud
As the programming in my mind
Maybe that's why I'm just a bunch of ****** gears and twisted cables
Because all this code of love and lust
Is a combination waiting to combust
And I feel unable to contain it

I remember when your words were a caress
But now that's gone and you're all business

It's not just warm touch I miss but how you were so present even when virtual
Now you're short circuiting the connection that was physical and emotional,  allowing only intellectual or spiritual.

Affection requires all those elements.....
But you seem to have no patience for sentiment

You say I'm just nostalgic for the romance,
And these are the realities of a relationship at Long Distance.

So I wonder if I've committed to a love that won't last....
Because I do want the romance and won't settle for something half assed.

Where's the open hearted warrior who arose to love's divine quest?
Remember when you promised to treat me like I'm precious?

How quickly you forgot that vow
Or maybe you don't remember how

Because for months despite the miles we were so close
And I did feel cherished....but where is that man my heart chose?

From the very beginning you’ve had thunder in your mind
and lightning in your heart-you struck with no warning,
Beautiful and awesome and all-consuming.
You stirred up pain like a hurricane,
Short circuiting logic and reason with beauty and fire.

Forest fires often raced through your veins-
Although one could argue for arson,
Boys starting gasoline- soaked infernos that burned bright and died,
Leaving blackened roots behind.

You took the whole world in stride,
Stepping like landslides the earth moved beneath you;
You left victims in your wake,
Shaken and changed by the shape of your feet.

You felt changes like earthquakes.
Buildings shattered with your realizations,
The glass fragmenting into opinions ideas connections that left you shaken.

Your anger erupted like volcanoes-
Emotions bubbling under the surface until they blew sky high,
Magma, hot and molten that spat up and consumed everything in its path.

Depression hit you like a tsunami.
A monumental wave that roared up
And crashed
over everything and everyone that ever loved you.

Then there was drought,
All the distractions died out and your cracks beginning to show,
Widening as you lose yourself in the ebb and flow of compassion.

And your future is as uncertain as a tornado.
It’s up in the air and we don’t know where it’s going to touch down;
Which house it’s going to rip apart next.

Soon the northern sun has a corona
nations bound to its regal attitude tide
high sea son's tossed
a half crown head turning golden summer
seas on ends
to land shiny tails down south
as if every sea's on wings
away to seek or sink an immortal sun
I stand on
the divide
feeling the hesitation

two day's
the moon's
seas wax fuller
bridges
spangling love waves
from a salt shaker
on a pearl within
your aphrodisiac
world is my oyster

hinge wriggled open
to be held at bays
sliding into the mouth
of nature's hunger
for where a tan fades
into season spicy
summer's parting harvest
of farewells

surface mining to be done
by stripping vegetation
down to bare branched amber
ore deposit shafts
of light marking
the sun dial's changed number
with your toppled hourglass figure
a vase
pressed with dahlia
and salvia flower
upset without the friction
of pepper heat
milled into smooth skinny
latte malt
drunk on moisture
laden skies

layered over swaying
thought bubble dreams
of cloudy evenings
freckled rain
and streaming grain
fleeing the field seemingly overnight
as fleeting as goals
scored between our legs
running off home
hands full with harvest in
cartwheeling arcs
stored with the last gasp
solar flared nostrils
wild as meadow ripened
yearlings

in the joy of escape
we join their bare backed
flight circuiting dizzy
shamanic heights only to fall
back to earth like Pegasus
shaking off Bellerophon
striking a mount Helicon
with hooves whose marks
cause springs to channel
fountains of inspiration
after defeating a Chimera
with great spirited whinnying
breathing out tipi fire vents
gone sweat lodge native
skins lashed outside
keep the glow snug inside

rustling about the bite
incoming winds of change
fright the landscape
flocking to shower
in fresh cooler air
lifting us like birds to shadow
the moves to renewed
lighter climes leaving
soaked sticks
dripping acorn colour
scattering an autumnal quilt
around tired bed fellows
an interlocked cycle pattern
for coming riders on the storm
to be in memory trunks
splashed with mist
pooled effort

released to dry and recover
side-by-side
once the wardrobe fills wooly
headed
for warming coats of evening
russet
we settle tone down on a chill out
wish
list ridden dotty by a love chauffeur
cycle
ticked off sun set to be sent
to bed early
just when ours clock on two
four
season
happy hour

Premature, they died at birth. Twin brothers and I too am their brother.
They were born 5 years before me. Jared Scott and Trevor Alexander. I was born with my umbilical cord wrapped around my neck, and they were so small they could fit in the palm of your hand.
They were kept in glass boxes: incubators humanizing glass bodies shattering aliens in fabricated wombs. Clear tubes ran from each nostril to machines with numerical equations that simulate abnormal infant’s breathing pattern. Their hearts were UFO’s, unidentifiable, black hole brain matter with lungs like space vacuums.
“They came too soon.” I was told
Possibly cremated, I can’t remember what my parents said.
When I was younger, I thought babies couldn’t die.
*
Upon my birth, my parents gave me the twin’s middle names: as if some fusion of sunlight and stardust could manifest into a third being, still stuck on earth with the cord around his neck.
Cortex in cortex. Conjoined astronauts sharing intersections of skin, fluids, and bone. We are of flesh and blood, yet I did not know them. They are more than childern, but intersteller beings, cellestials and heavenly bodies.
Twin constellations, Gemini, comparable to Castor and Pollux themselves. Their fates were left up to the stars, but they were not spaceships, they were meteorites burning out in unearthly fires. Without a fighting chance, their flames were stifled.
“Mayday.mayday……….. Mothership.is………………………crashing…..… ……………Mother……board.short-circuiting……………..……… Firing 3rd……….. ……thruster…… Firing………….. 5th.thruster……… 10 minutes ..till…...…….…... ………………………………………..impact……………………………………….……
recharging ……….......flux.capacitors……………………..Oxygen..Nitrogen…..…..
……………..­Burning……………..… up in atmosphere……………..….5.mintues.till ..impact…………………Suffocation…........Fuel.exhaustion…………1 minute…….
………….45…...seconds………….Depletion..............30.second­s…………............................................................­.................................................................­................
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………­……………………………… Planetary. Collision……… ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………­………………………………………15.seconds…………………………………………………………... ………………………… Planetary. Collision……………………………………………
……………………………………………………………………………………………………­……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….………………...………T­he sun is so bright …………….…………………………………………………………..……………………………………………………………………………………………­……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………­………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………”

My heart is quicksand,
everything's sinking in.
I'm tangled in the wires I hardwired to my brain and I'm about to short circuit.
Yesterday,
I lost 4 poems in the wash,
washed away my memories,
like a wave crashing on the shore of my brain,
dragged away the footprints.
Maybe that's why I'm short circuiting,
water and electrical wires don't mix.
But here I am,
an electrical storm in my head,
untamed,
much like myself.
Contained,
in my head,
much like myself.

un-damaged brains are such fertile fields
waiting to be sowed - as those with infantile
imagination are prone to dyslexic deficiencies
and given their dreams, have ensured their imaginations
be like foetal embryos - those prone to nightmares
will never be prone to Disney's wedlock being fulfilled -
dreams are imagination's thieves - and memory short-circuiting
a fake - analysis of conscious memory
is unlike analysis of unconscious memory -
albrecht dürer seemed sensible - we've become sensible,
but also too naive - our modern sensibility
extends into a belief in demons and angels
with modern pharmaceutical companies -
nothing has changed even though man is
in flux - with modern dentistry's trickery -
how can man trust man
and not feel obliged to distrust him
for reasons that provide us with travelling communes
or jeep-sees - see what lost diacritical approaches does
to the tongue entombed in optics? chiral-optics -
you can say gypsy and say jeep-see like a handshake.
god, we're paying for our original sin
with the virtuoso of animal plagiarism -
a mere peasant is also but a mere Mozart -
i too claim my right to talk easily among scaffold-men,
talk of his girlfriend and Smurfs due to height
and Gargamel - i rather among them than in
what is talked as the pop of the Smiths' vocab
of schooling and regret blues; cats demonic, dogs
saintly.

The feeling like the razor sharp noise of a fan blade scraping across the inner surface of your scull. Hallowing out a cavity. Leaving a space for those wintery cold thoughts to ice over inches above the current, solidify themselves, just the same as the concrete numbness in one who feels frozen feet but remains trembling at the spine. A shivering transference of short circuiting energy and no wonder your hands shake so balancing on pins and needles. Wobbly knees. Graceful feathered voice.

Dancing phrases in the corridors
Of my brain
Breaking thru
This tissue thin membrane
My words suspended
In their cells
Short circuiting this silent hell
Sometimes a lighting fix
A string of pearls
I spit
You gather them
I know you do
These words
My fading memories of you
And we are twirling on the dance floor
Of who, I once was
Bumping into
Our love
All my words lost
Except this last refrain
I can still sing and dance
Your name

By Siobhan O’Sullivan

Buried in a hole
                           Pain?
                      Nah
Numb...
                Eh
Numb...
               Short circuiting
Numb...
               Fluffy ponies
Numb...
               Sleep, who she be?
Numb...
               Crinkle, the package opens
Numb...
               Blurry vision
Numb...
               Hysterical
Numb...
               No tears
Numb...
               Wave of self deprecation
           Self pity
        Wow
       I'm pretty pathetic
...
Oh well
  A
    Problem
      For another
         Day

I am not afraid of the dark.
Nor do I fear the thoughts in my head.

But the bugs.
Aye.
The ******* critters in my brain.

My fear, I’m afraid, is they power they have mustered-
Controlling such thoughts; destroying slumbers when days-light dims.

Like solar paneled viruses that attack at the core of emotion,
Ripping through the Limbic system.
Erasing Memory; Re-circuiting Anxiety.

Taking the wiring from retinal output and re-coding each message.
Hacking the server until ants become Godzilla
And “hello’s” read as “goodbye”.

Twitching fingers and feet that scratch at the skin.
It’s these ******* leeches in my skull that **** my nerves dry
Til I’m hot- **** no, cold.

And the extermination comes:
Sunrise.Coffee.Interaction.

It’s like they live to die by the hour of midnight,
Only to do their time through rummage and destruction.
Hatching eggs in my nails, Chewed away by discomfort.
Growing to new forms by lights out.

Rehearse.
React.
Repeat.

It’s these bugs that I fear;

Fearing the darkness.
Fearing the thoughts inside.

It’s these bugs that I even doubt this ****** piece of work.

Yet these bugs are what created what you now have read,
The over exaggeration now etched on paper.
And it is the small bit of me still left alive at night behind them,
Refusing to see this truth when the extermination has come.

It’s no plead for help; No cry for sympathy.

I am me as you are me-
So please take me as I come.

"I think about these moments
everyday," she breathed
into my neck,
running one finger up
and down my arm
stripping bare an
electric wire,
short circuiting
my skin
"fifteen,  twenty times a day
and my knees buckle."

your love is pure,
unaltered with self interest,
it is passionate
unconceited.

but your love is also thoughtful
and direct.
you are strong
your strength inspires me
to find my own strength,
to fill myself with my own love,
so that together we
can share the best of ourselves.

with the embers of our souls
we'll start the flames that engulf
the world.

I regret
that I cannot write this
poem
because
I'm bleeding out at the shoulder
and I'm not left-handed-- I can't
write this poem
because I'm short-
circuiting and
stunned. I
can't write
this
poem because
there are no words
for this thing
I never thought I'd
fall victim to--

   the pen in my hand
   feels like a gun and
   I'm going to shoot this page to ****--

this ******-up therapy,

dear Poetry, I QUIT--

because
there's not enough
blood
left to fill my
pen

the mechanic ebb and flow
of time
continues on as the hours pass by.

collecting dust—
i’m a rotting machine.
my motherboard is overloaded.

but no one comes to help me,
for in all my gray and white glory,
no one can see the decay inside of me.

parts dying away,
short-circuiting dismay,
wires cut long ago.

my static screen is a threat—
they’ll replace me.
i’ll be thrown away.

for the chemicals in my circuit board
to seep into the ground,
and corrupt the natural memory


of the world around.

Why you always speaking voodoo on my name

Trying to turn me violent

By boiling the blood in the canals of my veins

And short circuiting the wires energizing the flows in my brain  

It like you ******

When I crash into the base of my pains

Hoping that I would turn into sand

So you can bury your feet in the grains

Your logic has always been misconstrued

But now its just simply insane

Like... really ******* crazy

Exertion you abuse daily

Your life force steady draining

In attempt to jeopardize my safety

Im just trying to push these rhymes

Before you have me pushing these daises

But no

But Hell noo

But **** noooooo

You too lazy

And revenge like ***** on a plater

Is way too tasty

Its elementary to know that your wrong

But yet sing a song that does nothing but blame me

For the lost of your flame

For the tragedy associated with the syllables of your name

For the distortion of the water mirroring the curves of your frame

All things I have not nothing to do with

But I wish I could claim

Yet your determine to finalize this quest

So you stay unrest

Staying awake to see the sun dying in the horizon

To be silenced by the resurrect of the moons crest

A machine would be impressed

Witnessing you out perform its best

They way you devote your essences trying to obviate mine

A busy schedule

But thats fine

Because you always find time to make time

Why?

You could see so much more

Feel so much more

Do so much more

Be so much more

But you let hate consume your once illuminating core

So this is a warning to a soul I once adored

Free yourself from this self inflicted war

And don't think of me

Not even in the slightest anymore

title: 15km
body: shorter via
a 0.15cm exponential
quest.                                502 bad gateway bypass...

what could i possibly want to write about today?
i messaged one of the supervisors about
a shift reminder... he said 11am... i'm pretty sure of it...
but the sign in was at 10am...
i felt so stupid... i'm always before the sign-in hour...
only when my coworkers told me did
i go back to the supervisors signing us all in:
i'm so sorry... but i texted Anthony and he said 11am...
you must have misunderstood...
sure... it's not like i'm licking anyone's ***...
what's that word... being...
    no... it's not being contentious...
contentious: borrowed from contempt...
sort of rhymes with conscious / conscience...
           ah! conscientious...
               yeah, i want to do the work i'm supposed
to get done so i don't have to deal any little dramas
and talking behind my back sort of dynamics...
shakes hands with my superiors... look them in the eyes...
but since i expressed my concern:
my coworkers sort of forgave me for...
i came when the shift kicked-off while they were
standing aloof for an hour doing doing
beside mingling...
              what a boring day, what a perfectly boring day...
pitch-side... fist bumped the teams mascots...
one kid run down to get a closer look at his favourite
player... who's your favourite player?
Bowen? you reckon he's going to get his first cap
for England any time soon?
such a pretty sight... when a young kid engages
with you... i'm seriously gearing up to this teacher "thing"...
do this for a year... then... even if i get a security license...
i'm going after the references...
since familial ties don't allow you to have references...
so much for working with my father in
the construction industry doing the roofing...
don't get me wrong... fun work... heavy duty work...
but this stewarding gig is become more and more
of a breeze... today i zoned out...
sunglasses on... i was daydreaming about...
Jeminah... why did she block me on WhatsApp?
after the banana loaf, the homemade wine...
the flowers on Valentine's Day i left in the night...
riding the bicycle drunk... falling over from an exhausted
heart? she looked so pretty...
thank god i never used dating apps...
on one shift i was paired up with her...
in front of me she was swiping... left.... lefT...
     leFT... lEFT... LEFT...
                 sort of unnerving... we're working...
but we're sort of trying to figure out dating...
talking on the bench...
but there she is... short-circuiting...
she needs to be elsewhere...
she needs to get a 2nd validation... on a dating app...
while i'm over here, in her presence...
looking at trees... looking at the birds...
the Thames...
      i don't know why she did what she did...
but she's feeling **** about it... most probably...
me? what an easy day...
i took at break at the right time... after half time...
5 minutes to smoke a cigarette...
another 5 minutes to loiter... and as i was walking
back to my position West Ham scored against Wolves...
my mum saw me on t.v.,
   later on... these two lads came up to me
asking me to take a photograph of them...
my 2nd, 3rd, 4th supervisor: a busy-woman:
all women who are strict hierarchical creatures...
busy-bodies... oh... he can't do this, that...
me and the lads had non-verbal cues...
it's a joke... it really is... she merely "thinks" she's an
authority figure...
point me to a machine gun... she's going
to cower...
                    by then we were smiling at each other
like lads do...
by then the two lads... Irish? northern...
asked another steward to take a picture...
but one of them said: he has to be in it... i.e. me...
so i wrapped my hands around them
while standing in the middle...
2nd time someone at the London stadium asked
to have a photograph taken with me...
it's nice... i'm a pawn... i'm not a mascot...
where did i find this extroverted social creature
that has been hiding post-psychosis for almost
10 years?! wow!               like, literally... wow!
who is this guy?
chances are i'll be doing an NVQ level 3 course
to become a supervisor... i've only started this job
in late November, i'm already the first newcomer to
have passed level 2...
and if i get my SIA badge... weird...
writing about work... in me there's no malaise that
can be associated with the concept of work
bound to Bukowski's writing... that work is somehow
mundane... i have a **** motto to work
from / with: arbeit macht frei...
it does... truly... obviously if my writing paid...
well... a completely different story...
then again... perhaps it's good that it didn't pay...
why? because i still have a hard-on to keep doing it:
regardless of any monetary justification
of being compensated, "compensated": rewarded...
being away from people for almost a decade...
it must have taken the people about 2 years
to catch up to my isolation... we're on common ground...
we can rebuild... something...
give it year...
              get the references... apply for a job as a chemistry
teacher... hell... chances are you might
even put forth your passion for the English tongue...
you might not even have to teach chemistry
but teach English...
Jeminah... what a disappointment that was...
and i liked her so much...
           oh well... so i went to the brothel and picked up
an old fling... Khedra... Khadra... Khadijah...
Khadirah... one of those names...
ever since we exchanged numbers... she sent me selfies
and... one spicy photography exposing her torso...
i sent her some: you're the green grass of Jennah, verdant...
that's what your name means...
one photograph of me walking through a forest
at night... and...
a link to a song...
     jordi savall's - sibil.la Llatina...
             some smooch along the day... you're petite...
blah blah, blah... the usual charm offensive...
after all... we're talking about a Turkish *******...
i also told her... i either get paid at the end of the month...
or at the beginning of it... today's the 27th... so... soon...
that's why she gave me her number...
so i could call and check so she would be there...

now? i've ****** off about twice since our last encounter...
weird... twice?
i ****** off to the pictures she sent me
and... i hate lesbian ****... but i can't stomach watching
anything but lesbian ****...
i'm esp. ***** when i'm tired...
but my hand... there's this lubricant layer...
i can almost feel my hand turn into her mouth...
i can almost feel my hand turn into her ******...
after all: unprotected *** with a *******...
next time? i'll pay for 1 and a half hours...
i want to perform some oral *** on her...
they usually charge more for that sort of crap...
what if i just bring a bottle of Jack Daniels?
no... i'll bring a tip too: for me to perform oral ***
on her...
i wonder what'll she say, then...
no... wait... i'll tell her: now you look in the mirror!

thank god i never had a chance to
use dating apps... i went as far as facebook...
but we're talking a time when facebook was still
only supposed to be used by university students...
so it was like a university "thing"...
mind you... all this?
publisher bypass offensive...
i'm not going to wait for something of mine
to be published... but someone else's convenience
or bias... today i looked at... a stadium filled with...
60 thousand people...
my most popular poem sits above a 40 thousand mark...

a number... a number on a screen...
but seeing... that number of people... in real life?!
wow!

i got back to Romford rather early, with some of
the remaining fans...
only yesterday i cooked two dinners simultaneously...
a spaghetti Bolognaise
and this... poached chicken, bacon, onion
and onion puff pastry roll...
today i was like: i feel like a hamburger...
there's no pork, i.e. ham in it...
but... it has probably originated from the city of
Hamburg... like the hot dough dog
comes from Frankfurt... hence the Frankfurter...
Wendy's... the sole outlet on the Romford
high street... wow...
Dave's Simple? that's the basic at Wendy's?
i imagine that if i were a woman...
eating in public, alone... could come across as
somehow problematic...
i sat at the window and attracted customer...
eating alone in a public place?
sorry... i don't know what dinner dates entail...
i'm here for the food...
i'm here for the peace and quiet...

honestly? this is a brand endorsement: Wendy's...
Burger King and McDonald's can hide...
cower... beat dog with its tail behind its hind (legs)...
Wendy's is the... ******* BOMB...
the ******* love-shack...
the moment i found this extroverted guy
who feels comfortable in a crowd of football hooligans...
eating alone in public never gives me
feels of being a loner... a longer... i.e. longing for something...

oh man... the lettuce for bright dark green...
Wendy's... the best burgers in town...
again: McDonald's and Burger King and hide
under the table... stale... pale... buns...
Wendy! Wendy! more! more!
isn't it fun... the sort of old style capitalism...
when you can celebrate good business models?!
when it's not all leftoid ******* critiques:
all is bad! shake shake! all is bad!
in my books... Wendy's... all the whiskey companies...
all the beer companies...
have a carte blanche... they're the ******* Vatican...
sure... TfL has its shortcomings...
but i'm still getting to places on time...

i really can't remember the last time i had a Hamburg berg
so good in... a long... long time...
well yeah, i know: brand propaganda...
KFC ***** ***... Wendy my darling:
please ensure you keep your employees happy...
the best burgers in town...
and i've been told this before...

when you eat... you look like you're eating...
what was i supposed to be doing?
taking a ****?!

life... ah... just that... for all the little psychological troubles
in my 20s... i'm finally reaping the rewards in
my 30s... not like anyone noticed...
can't go mad, twice...
life begins again... more gains...
i'm freed from the slanted dynamic of the dating
market... i can just send a music suggestion
to a ******* and she...
stops sending me selfies and half nudes...
when i tell her: you're as beautiful as this medieval song...

i love Wendy's... there's this vibe...
it's not the McDonald's vibe... the early worker mingling
with begrudging teenagers...
misfits... is it all about you...
pouring your own soft drinks?!
something's up at Wendy's... that's not happening
at either McDonald's or Burger King...
oh... right... Wendy's not big enough...
not... "big enough"...
so they still focus on the old capitalist mentality of
being start-ups and not...
"constitutional"... authoritative...
like the government of Libya... or Iraq... but...
less country and: all company... private...

best burgers in town... and... it felt great eating alone...
i hate the idea of talking and eating...
i could never go on a date...
the idea of talking while eating is...
counterfeit... to... what eating is about...
when i eat: i eat...
when i ****... i ****...
  it's pretty basic...
           ooh... i can't wait to get paid...
here's me to predicating this writing on...
and to the brothel i will go and drown my sorrows
in some proper *******!

In the whirlpools, people puff
and scream for help
The spectators whisper

the last gossip
until the poets hand
shoves them away, looking

for the right tone
He's just messing about
because the Way is the Truth

of all votes against
Everyone gags for meaning
in a livable rhythm

Groaning, I hold on
They are talking about me
I hear it in the breaks

This is how it will go on
with an occasional blow
hoping it is a hit

It is fiddling and tinkering
keep breathing calmly
and not short-circuiting

My brain is short circuiting
My sanity's in danger
I'm a plague on most people
I'm an ugly stranger

After 10 hours of sleep
Bad thoughts really won't stop
I don't know what to do
I don't know what to drop

Can't stop loving people
Can't stop wanting girls
Can't stop resisting texting
People who ignore my whirls

I message people when I
Spiral into depression
And people then ignore me
And they teach me a lesson

I'm tired of people
Bout to move far away
Bout to wake up where I may
Eventually see brighter days

I don't know what's wrong
But I can't function right here
All I feel is rejected
Then stuffed with horrid fears

I want what I have wanted
Since I was like, fifteen
Someone to tell all my fears to
Someone to tell all my dreams to

Someone who'd stay up all night
With me just to hear what I'm saying
And I'd listen to every word
And for this girl, i been preying

And it'd be easier to say,
Who cares? Shut up!
If it wasn't the case
That other people in love

And I see them all the time
It's a **** college campus
And they ain't doing no crimes
I'm just so jealous, can't stand this!

Like I wanted a part
In a wonderful play
And then I have to see it
Performed on stage every day

And every person on stage
Is elated to be acting
But I'm in the audience
Only perceiving and reacting

And once the play is all over
The cast members take a bow
Go out and have a cast party
And look at me now!

I'm off alone in my bedroom
With bad thoughts plaguing my conscious
And I'll try to go asleep
But all those efforts are nonsense

You hear these words I'm saying
Think I can lay down in bed
Without distraction and just let
These thoughts calm down in my head?

Well no! I can't! So I load
Up on distractions
And then by 3, 4, or 5,
I finally rest and get lax, then

I have bad dreams
Wake up feeling melancholy
Do it all again
Take all the gifts life bought me

And I hate that I take
All of these gifts for granted
So many reactions in life
So much love on this planet

But my hormones, my mentality,
My maleness, or my wishes
Won't let me stop wanting love
From fully capable women

But love can't be forced!
Love can't be inspired
Love comes naturally
Love ain't women for hire

Love isn't around the corner
Love isn't begging to chill
Love isn't please spend time with me
Love isn't one awkward meal

Love isn't pity, love isn't
Ignoring my texts
Love isn't checking in on me
Since I'm a lustful wreck

Love isn't writing a poem
Love isn't kissing or hugging
Love isn't buying a gift
Love isn't loving or lusting

Nobody knows what love is
Until it falls in their lap
And right now my lap is empty
And I wish! I didn't give a crap,

But I do! And I can't stop!
I'm in a fast car
And all the doors are locked
And I'm looking afar

At all the love I think I see
I want it to happen to me
And this car ride is free
But in my society,

In my nice fast car
I have some wonderful blessings
But all the mountains and rivers
Of company give me wet dreams

And dry dreams and thoughts
About who's gonna read to me
Who's gonna ask what I'm thinking
When all my thoughts are spiraling

It's nobody! Shut up!
Just forget about it
Loves for people who're happy
And obviously you're not! Don't doubt it.

You might love yourself
You might love this life
But love where you're at too
Or love might elude you for life

Because you can't be desperate
You can't need women
Obviously, that's a deterrent
Obviously, that's worse then

Being happy and confident
And calm and complacent
So sit down! Shut up!
Until you feel that way. Then

And only then! May you hop
Out the car
And go and walk through nature
And maybe find some love

There's no guarantees!
It's all out of your control!
Just control what you can
And wait for people to know

Why they should love you
Why they should listen
Why they should see you
Why you exist, then

Once you're judged
By one outlying acceptor
You can give it a shot
But don't give them a lecture

Don't talk too much
Don't bore them to tears
Don't show your emotions
Don't show them your fears

Act like you're normal
Act like you're happy
Welcome conformity
Lest you be written off as sappy

I can tell it's not a game
I'm ready to play
I'm stumbling through life
I hate wishing time away

But I do when I'm lonely
I do when I'm sad
I really wish I had more
But I still love what I have

Introducing
The circuiting of the proper wiring,
Leading you straight to you Target..


The Unknown you of Tommorow
That was blinded by reality of Today..


Change your mentality,
Do what you've never done
Do what you've always wanted
Live the life you've never lived


Through the conditioning process of life that we let shape and mold us,
We forget who we are, what we can be..

we start caring what others think so much that they try to make you a copy of them and not let you be an original of yourself..

People are scared of different
Scared of better
Scared of change

Only because they don't believe in themselves as much as they see that you believe in yourself..

(Ever play a competitive game and got itimidated by another person?)

That's because they
believe in themselves..

They have standards
They have goals
And their willing to
Every step of the way
To get where they want to be..

You have opportunity
Stop thinking about obligation..



Allot of people talk about how miserable they are and then get back up and do the "same thing"..

But they don't ever do anything about it..  


It's time to take action!!!!

If you want to live your life better
Then not only do you have to
Talk the talk
But you have to
Walk the walk

No one's going to do it for you
No one can physically live your life and make you want to do something

They can persuaded you
They can constantly help you
But they can't be you..

•Only you can do that•


Stop deliberately opporating below your potential and start expanding and start stretching and start challenging yourself..

You are more then capable..


You know what can be done
And you know what you can do
And you have seen what has been done by others in your environment and/or circumstances..


People need to use their veil lent mind more..
One of the most powerful things we let control us even if we don't notice..
Don't let it take over you
But
Take over it..

You are the one in charge
In authority of you
To control you
To be you

Stop hating yourself and start loving yourself..  Step up and take action..

If you watch others live their life and just control every action or decision and never step up or step in..

How is anything suppose to change for you?..  It won't!...


Don't do something based off what's happened before to stop you..

Don't allow your negative history to determine your possibilitys for you..

If you run into a road block
Even beyond their comforts zone..

Something happens to them..
Most people let life to control them and their circumstances..

So look at your life..
Are you happy?..
Are you sad?..

Look into he future..
What is it you want?..
What is it you want to create?..

Now focus on the here and now instead of doing nothing about  what you want to do for your future..

"Focus" is Important

Don't be that person who wants to get even then get ahead..
Focus on where you want your life to go..

This is not going to be it for your life..

Something else is awaiting for your life..

Just don't let yourself be held back from it.

You just got to take personal responsibility to make it happen..

Don't give up
And
Don't give in
Just keep on keeping on.  :)

Don't say oh I can't make it
Or oh I can't do it
Because you don't see the light at the end of the tunnel..


Say:
You Can!!
You will!!

Not :
I'll try..
Or
Maybe..

It's yes or no
It's hot or cold..

Not luke warm
Not I guess..

"I will"


Their is things about you you would never understand about yourself..
That you don't even know..


Especially if you don't even try..

And guess what!!

The possible was once impossible
Till someone proved them wrong..

Be that Someone!!!

Love ya all =^.^=