What he will give is the incipient  bare minimum
of his heartbeat

He’ll reveal just 
the washed out clamoring of his  horded desire
all because there would be nothing left in his own perception
of a universe that may reduce his secret lust to nothing.
implode like terrorists on the fantasy of his greatness yet to come…

although we are born magnificent;  which then gets blinded out by all the hearsay of our original sin

he won’t go too far with a notion of
blissful ‘otherness’
nor squeeze too many lemons

he’s got no room for confidence sugar stored
on his empty shelf
however negative space can be
a good thing
(he has heard)

he’s dumbfounded when he wants more from someone
and expects the best of their yet to be born
mind reading abilities to:

just


understand who he is

or

“be gone I say!”
…(hehehe) -writer could not help it-

scathed in baby blisters by his choices so far...

it was of course!
all the:

****** babble of growing up in his Family of origin/original sin

where he learned to swim so comfortably in precious

Aloneness -----  -Aloofness-

and  there he became more real than ever

---Ahh well...it’s the grand excuse for

most of his life

until he feels the scratch of his riotous ‘settling for’
is bleeding ****** ******

and then one day he looks in the mirror and a ghost like

stroke (not yet manifested)

spotlights his over bearing mind to feel what it has
~done did~
disconnected with deeds of the heart

and foresight/manipulation
for naught

he then finds out his heart needed more than a cup of
tea and a scone (mid 40's)

he finds out his emotional impasse was so ****


false  (almost 50)

and that his lack of allowing others in
was truly a waste of mental constructs

(Solid 51)

this I know like my own dry eyed nodding

I was him

(the now pleasure of hindsight... 55)

but all the 'do right' stuff is cohesively on time
all the contrast that created a calling for

again and again  

this leaning

to love



Linaji 2011

I prefer one word at a time,
seeing the texture
and the feeling of it’s tone.
Touch every word with your hands
and know each provides it’s own sense
of momentary gratification. Having that aspect
of a word, with the capacity to produce what it names.
Try to understand how words change and build
layers within a greater string of description.

Drawing a line in the sand
that coils in three dimensions,
in an image told by subtle realities.
Black marks on a white space,
shading in the negative space,
sketching in the depth of perception,
more deeply than we should know,

Thoughts are hallowed out,
filled with generations of sound,
cohesively acquiring sense more subtle,
in a variety not seen with a passing glance.
As the word takes on meaning,
image finds color and form.
I love sculpting the harmonies
to sing sleepless melody tunes
of tones and scripts, high and low,
inevitably intertwining
in symphony to our mouths.

i wish you could’ve seen it
the way we love in my dreams-
we were moving
cohesively pulsating
like the cells that course
throughout our veins
and keep us breathing
and alive.

i wish you understood that.
i wish you would have asked me
before leaving that night.

And so on and especially so forth, as it shall in time provide your journey's story and future clues to the scavengers of whom may choose to pursue, and even if they might peruse and cruise, they shall never ***** or shout, or begin to muck about but instead all cohesively be care free and gumption fillled to the Ump's teenth degree. Progress for the Better, Don't read the blinding letter... but if you do, Why pray our souls to keep, in a pickled formaldehyde case, so ******* cheap, that it eventually begins to seep and creep into the membranes of societies creek, who proceed to reap... and sOw, everything you thought you know, and renipulate and regurgitate their own versions of twisted and ManUScripted fate. They say don't hate, just *******
But the Globe is warm, despite all their charm
So I say we try and pray collectively all at once some day and unite the nobles of our HUMAN race.

Temptation blinds us as our bodies dance so perfectly rhythmic
Cohesively combined and intertwined in and act so divine until
The sensation reminds us that our powers together are cataclysmic
The way you're designed must be make believe, intelligence's will

Searching for words to procure for your essence would be absurd
Even my futile attempts here and now will somehow be obscured
So let this be a warning to me to enjoy the journey and all endured
From her spell I can never be cured, and rest is never again assured

So may our ghosts elope and dance with the fateful wind
Because I never, ever want this majestic perfection to end

I follow the motions of the daily commute,
and let myself submerge hopes in the deep waters of stress,

anxiety,

and confusion.


I feel pretty hopeless, but
I also feel the movement,
the heat,
of bodies everywhere.

Makes me think.

Bodies that hold minds,

and souls

more capable than the credit given.

But there are also bodies that are not occupied with the heart desperately needed to love all.

Learn that love will conquer all.

Bodies that are not full of life,
and compassion.

Learn that we are all one.

There's a lack of longing to coexist peacefully
and support each other in times that are brutally violent,
and feel near the end.

Everyone's just a lone individual,

minding their own,

not living cohesively in this world big enough for two that we're supposed to be sharing.



We're supposed to be sharing dreams,

sharing goals,

sharing stars;

Assets to reach our personal universes and discover our own space full of different planets waiting for our exploration.

We're supposed to be pushing each other up.


Maybe that's why we have so many problems:

we're all so alone

and we don't

even

realize it.

I am a gloriously amorphous glob of tidal identity waxing and waning from unrecognizably dissipated thought systems to cohesively recognizable energetic structures. Behold, I am typing words and as I do so I am dismantling the very foundation of my preexisting paradigm because as it is dismantled it is no longer the existing paradigm but even so the existing paradigm is always the existing paradigm in that it is operating currently. Hurrah!! Onward, to where no one has gone before, to where no now has never evered till this very now! To infinity, and before that!

I hope we meet in a void somewhere in the distant future. Somewhere our souls have connected and bodies float. An essence of ourself free to roam across the unseen dimensional universe we dream about. Take me to the place where our creators flaunt. Not far from here but you can't get there by foot, nor car, nor plane. It takes two to reach a state of spiritual independence in the universe to represent one another as a species. A species made to strive off of a counter part. Cohesively strengthening each others weaknesses to one day maybe find this place we write about. The place where we understand the word time and to teach us the moral principals we forgot when we became these selfish beings. An hunger to be an immortal  inter-dimensional being and shed the flesh of my morality. Give us life in a distant sea so that we may begin a world selfishly.

blond is
poetic to exhaustion.
cohesively soulful.
progressive but not obnoxiously ambitious.
euphorically sinister of nostalgia.
naked with a rebelliously warm tone.
tastefully sour like an onion.
the Sistine Chapel of r&b.

You have got to stop
Rushing head first into every little spark
Because sometimes they don't exist
And even when they do
You always end up hurt
I know you don't want to hear this
But just listen
Pull up the emergency brake
The next time you think about falling in love
Because that in itself is wrong
Completely, utterly, ridiculous
You shouldn't be thinking about falling in love
You seem to mistake the gas pedal
For the floor brake
You don't cohesively use left and right
It's like you don't know they could work together
So I am begging you
If you aren't going to use the full power of braking
Taking a heart recess
Then act like you are just beginning
Be terrified and brave
Gently press the gas
Not to hard
And if you start speeding
I'm go to pull your heart's emergency brake
Because whiplash in love
Is awful
Concessive hearts don't beat right
And a broken heart is always caused by
A heart not braking

Cohesively graced
in soft warm browns.
Never going slowly,
but i have gone.
To see new moons,
the shaking falls
of forearms and
river bends.
I have turned in
muds like a lotus,
a hypocrite anew.
Drowning in dirts
for perspective,
for answers,
for hope,
but not for you.

How can I articulate
My innermost thoughts?
Sting words cohesively
To create an understanding
Of my being?
First, I find it interesting
When I'm in social situations
I feel nothing
It's too much to make
An assumption on my emotions
Alone is simple
I feel alone,
Marginalized, by myself
Much like I did as a child
It becomes more and more clear
I am completely and totally
Unable to trust anyone
Which is the poison of my life

I was hurt,
I speak.
Out of modesty,
will write the unspoken stance.

Overview is mine
I have not read you
cohesively. Your vacant eyes,
your trembling lips.

To know the truth
of meaningless nuances, to listen
the gain of sea, watching
the length and depth of water.

Moonlight was aging
where the shadows dance,
in circle to trap the sun,
for a noble sacrifice.

Bondinggoes for mortgage.

another go around
knowing all that we do now
and didn't know then
refile more cohesively

sorry for being so distant
I can get lost
swept up in an instant
there are many things to which I've been resistant
elements of self
extra spicy/ persistent
exhausting /  indifferent

so sorry my story a little gory
don't wanna worry ya
don't wanna bore ya
no worries I am a warriyah
its just my story ya
let it all pass (through)
or it'll bury ya
now out with the burier
masquerading as barren,
oh how empty
                             in here
                  lies
cowardice behind barriers
barricading
but a battered warden
of buried burdens,  
burdens buried long ago
better get along
I gotta  get to digging

in deep

which slimy tunnel.
haven't I creeped
getting tired of this
spirits and stories
I can dig for eternities
see, so shoveling may too eternal be
time fly by
nigh time
to stand by
ignite my  
                  //burial grounds
dare block me from the true Earth
one day to bury me

posthumous writings, published by me.