We had a very happy conversation about family matters.

Mom, Dad. I’m OK.
They’ve been really honest with me
but they’re perfectly willing to die for what they’re doing.
And I want to get out of here
but the only way I’m going to
is if we do it their way.
And I just hope that you’ll do what they say
Dad
and just do it quickly.
I really am alright.
I just hope I can get back to everybody really soon.

My little girl.

Catherine and Randy gave impeccable dinner parties.

I am an Establishment person.

I am being held as a Prisoner of War
and not as anything else.
I mean I am being treated
in accordance with
international codes of war.
I’m not left alone, and I’m not just shoved off somewhere.
I mean, I am fine.

Also, since I am an example
and it’s really important
that everybody understand that
you know,
I am an example and a warning.

And so people should stop acting like I’m dead.

Mom should get out of her black dress,
that doesn’t help at all.
and just hurry.
Bye.

Patty honey I want you to know
that your father is doing everything in his power.
Millions of people all over the world are praying for you
I know it’s been a long time sweetheart
but keep up your courage
and you keep praying
pretty soon god will touch their hearts
and they’ll send you home.

Mom, Dad.
I've been hearing reports about the food program.
So far it sounds like you and your advisors
have managed to turn it into a real disaster.
Anyway, it certainly didn't sound like the kind of food
our family is used to eating.

I called him a couple of weeks ago and said,
Hey, Randy, let's play tennis.
We haven't played tennis in months
and he said
Gosh. I just can't. I'm busy.
I know he's got a lot on his mind,
But, I think he's pretty obsessed with this.

Mom, Dad.
Tell the poor and oppressed people of this nation
what the corporate state is about to do.
Warn Black and poor people
that they are about to be murdered
down to the last man, woman and child.
Tell the people,
Dad
that the removal of expendable excess,
the removal of unneeded people
has already started.

I have chosen to stay and fight.
I have been given the name Tania
after a comrade who fought alongside Che in Bolivia.
It is in the spirit of Tania that I say,
'Patria o Muerte, Venceremos.'

She was one of the prettiest young women south of the Mason‐Dixon line.

Q. Okay. As a matter of fact, when you got to 1827 Golden Gate, or this apartment on
Golden Gate, you were not being held in that closet all the time, were you?
A. Yes, I was.
Q. You were?
A. Yes.
Q. Was there a previous closet in which you were held?
A. Yes.

DEATH TO THE FASCIST INSECT THAT PREYS UPON THE LIFE OF THE PEOPLE

She is a winsome beauty and her sweetness of manner has endeared her to all who know her

Whatever happened to the real men in this world? Men like Clark Gable? No one would have carried off my daughter if there had been a real man there.

She was somewhat of a revolutionary savant.
We kidnapped a freak.
I think that she was spectacular.
At that point, it was against her will to go home.

Q. And you moved in a car, I take it?
A. Yes.
Q. Were you blindfolded?
A. Yes.
Q. And whose car was it, do you know?
A. I don’t know. I was put into a garbage can that was ******* and put in the trunk of the car.
Q. And then, was the garbage can taken into the apartment on Golden Gate when you arrived?
A. Yes.
Q. Were you in it?
A. Yes.
Q. And you were placed in a closet immediately, is that correct?
A. Yes.

I. She’s an amoral person
thought that the rules did not apply to her.
She lied to nuns at school
about her mother having cancer
in order to get out of an exam
engaged in ****** activity
at an early age
and experimented with drugs
such as LSD.

II. Velcro Theory defined the aimless, lost souls
such persons, he said, who float around
in an empty moral space
and then find stuck to them
the first random ideology they bump into.

III. She is a celebrity prisoner of war
but the other thing
is that listening to her voice
is kind of hypnotizing
and not at all unpleasant
she speaks in this whisper
the well-enunciated voice
that someone called
the rich girl’s voice
The eerie voice of an heiress
and it's hard not to admire her composure
considering the ordeal she just went through.

We didn't know whether we were looking at a live girl or a robot.

Greetings to the people.
This is Tania.
Gabi crouched low with her *** to the ground.
Perfect love and perfect hate reflected in stone cold eyes.
To shoot first and make sure the pig is dead before splitting.
I died in that fire on 54th Street,
but out of the ashes I was reborn.
I know what I have to do.

Catherine was mentally and physically exhausted after the kidnapping. No wonder she developed a drinking problem.

Q. Okay. And is it true, Miss Hearst,
that you in the presence of Thomas Mathews ejected a live round from the M-I
that you had near you
and inserted that in the clip,
and put the clip back in the weapon?
A. I don't recall, it is possible.
Q. It is possible you may have.
And did you, in fact, also at that time
load a couple of live rounds
into the chamber of a revolver, a pistol?
A. I don't recall.
Q. Did you give Bill Harris a pistol
in the presence a Tomas Mathews?
A. I don't recall.
Q. You don't recall?
A. No.

I’ll think of it all tomorrow—I can stand it then.

I think this has been extremely ******* her
She's what the kids call ‘spaced out.’
Her religion holds her together.
And when you talk to her,
you see reality escapes her.
All she can say is that people are
‘persecuting’ Patty.
That's the word she uses,
‘persecution.’
We all love Patty,
and God knows she's had a terrible time,
but the whole complexity of the situation
seems to escape Catherine.

You're being told this
so you'll understand why I was kidnapped.
The S.L.A. has declared
war against the Government
I'm telling you now why this happened
so that you'll know
so that you'll have
something to use,
the knowledge
to try to get me out of here.
Bye.

I’m the happiest mother in the whole world.

I hope that you'll make sure that they don't do anything else like that Oakland business.

Q. Do you recall you spoke those words, Miss Hearst?
A. Can I see the transcript?

I don't believe Patty's legal problems are that serious. After all, she's primarily a kidnap victim. She never went off and did anything of her own free will.

From the moment I was kidnapped,
they consistently attempted to
discredit the revolutionaries.
After the first communique was received,
the pigs reacted by hauling out the stress machines.
The machines indicated I was being tortured
and kept awake 24 hours a day.
I guess that all the pigs expected me
to keep my mouth shut,
but I was furious.
They put away their trickology for a while.
If you believe the media,
you'd think I was totally weird.
According to them, I never mean anything.

Catherine, while still blond and attractive, has aged around the corners of the eyes.

Greetings to the people,
this is Tania.
Our actions of April 15
forced the Corporate State
to help finance the revolution.
As for being brainwashed,
the idea is ridiculous beyond belief.
I am a soldier in the People's Army.

I am Tania and We are not fooling around.

What could have been a tremendous instrument for change—Patty's kidnapping—has failed, and their old attitudes toward life—I guess it's called ‘conservatism’—are back

The kids who went to public schools
were not the kind of people
we should have close associations with.
As a result, I spent twelve years
almost totally surrounded by young people
who were busily developing
ruling class aspirations.

She has nowhere to go,
as resulted in only a change of captors.
But at least now,
as long as society is her
captor,
she does not have to worry about being killed.
Freedom may be a more awesome
alternative
-- you are not here to decide that.
We have a framework,
the SLA predicted this trial.
If we can't break the chain
at some point in their predictions,
there are going to be other Patricia Hearsts,
the blueprint is plain,
it works

A year and a half after her kidnapping,
she's in the safe arms of the law.
So, what does she do?
Patty gives the revolutionary salute,
even when she's in handcuffs.
And when she's booked,
she's asked her occupation
and what does she say?
Urban guerilla.

Bailey, I just –
I don't know him,
you know,
like he just kind of drifts in
and you know,
says blah, blah, blah
and I just go,
oh,
okay.

It was never true that our objective was to reconvert her.

You can almost see how Patty couldn’t relate to her—you know, trying to be so self-righteous and so upright.

Well, I always knew
that the Lord was in my life,
kind of on my shoulder.
I started to stray off
I always knew His hand
was there to bring me back.
I got to the house,
put my bags down in the entry,
went right to the kitchen
and the first thought on my heart was
I need to hear Jesus.
I picked up that Bible
and started in Matthew 1:1.
For that whole five days
I read and cried
and read and cried.

In short order, she returned to being the Patty Hearst of Hillsborough, California, the heiress herself.

It's kind of fun because back then,
there's nothing else to do but paint your nails.
It's really exciting.
I have been crocheting now.
At least, my mother came in and she asked –
she had asked me,
about my hair,
you know,
like
can I change it back?
She asked if there was a beauty parlor.

Her eyes are,
for the most part,
downcast,
as if she were sharing a secret with
herself.

She’s such a devoted, old-fashioned Southern lady, that we just died watching her facade break. That hysteria wasn’t just grief that Patty was gone—it was guilt, you know, ‘What have I done wrong?’

I'm being treated in accordance
with the Geneva Convention
and one of the conditions being
that I am not being tried
for crimes which I'm not responsible for.
I'm here because
I'm a member of a ruling class family,
and I think you can begin to see the analogy.

She writes these dramatic
love letters to her boyfriend saying,
"I want to keep up the fight for the revolution."
And she wants to overthrow the government in America,
which she spells A-M-E-R-I-K-K-K-A.

Q. And you were reading a paper, were you not, when they were in the store?
A. Yes.
Q. And you looked up from that paper, did you not, and you saw that William Harris was being held on the ground by someone and being detained, isn’t that true?
A. Yes.
Q. And you picked up an automatic weapon and shot in the direction of Mel’s Sporting Goods Store?

OBJECTION

I have a really nice brown pantsuit.
Al got it.
He has really good taste.

Trish Tobin
is telling her
that she is about to head off to Switzerland
to go skiing for three weeks.
I mean,
so what you have
in this compressed circumstance
is the old life skiing in Switzerland
for three weeks,
and Patty is saying,
I've got a life now.
I've got a new life.

The Hearsts are really ramping up for this one.
He is a bright guy,
but in terms of just his manner and his dress,
you couldn't help but be struck by
how square he was.

Q: I've become conscious and can never go back to the life we had before." Do you recall saying those words?
A: I don’t recall seeing a transcript of that tape.

I have chosen to stay and fight.

She is still an uncommonly handsome woman, prettier in fact than any of her daughters.

It’s a miracle she survived at all.
The ordeal nearly killed me,
Mrs. Hearst once admitted and,
asked what sustained her,
she answers instantly: My religion.
Yet her victory over despair
sometimes seems more apparent than real.
After her divorce, she moved to Beverly Hills,
where she supported Catholic causes
and joined the Beverly Hills Garden Club.

I just want to tell you like, my politics are real different from way back when.
Obviously, right.

Q. Is it not true that you ejected
from your automatic weapon
a live round and placed into it
an additional clip?
A. I did not have an automatic weapon.
Q. You did not?
A. No.
Q. What type of weapon did you have?
A. It was an M-I carbine.

She’s a victim of thought control by terrorists. And all I can do is hope and pray that God will bring her home again.

She was de-programmed and de-radicalized,
returned to the persona
more similar to what she was
She was essentially brainwashed
by her side team and her lawyers.
By the time she walked into the courtroom,
nail polish,
nice pair of shoes,
very well dressed,
it was impressive.

I'm terribly happy. More happy than predacious.
Do you have any notion what you'll say to her when you see her?
I'll tell her I love her.
Are there questions that you want to ask her?
No questions in my mind.


I want to see my parents, and my sisters... I'm really happy to be going home.

Smooth.
So smooth
it goes unnoticed;
like the winds
plotting a course for the clouds,
or the water,
passing the plains of Africa,
The cradle of the Earth.

Fabricated truths,
Spread to a nation.
Hidden in silk,
Fury of a Spartan.
An unseen communique
not meant to be found,
But to break down,
Control young minds,
Trap them in the confines,
of the stereotypical nature of man.

Honey glazed lies
with the government
in your slavery-earned pies.
Misunderstood is the size
of the web that has been spun.
A labyrinth of life
with no end in sight --
The only end comes from,
when you see the bright light.

I am Amadioha the earth goddess  of Igbos,Ngai wa mugo wa gatheru
who created the nine daughters of mumbi ,and Gikuyu a man,
I am Wele of Dini ya Musambwa,creator of Elijah Masinde
I am  Katonda the creator of Kintu and Namiremeb hills at Makerere
I am eshu the god  of the  Ijimere and Achebe and Soyinka,
behold today  I stand in Egypt,where the sun comes from
where I similarly  stood billion and billion of years ago,
to create all the stars the moon and the universe
not even known to the son of man until today,
this is where i created my first born of  humanity;
dear Africa the generations of Negroes,
the beacon of my eye, i enjoy a look at you  minus blinkers,
i stand here a fresh to correct my creation mistakes
i formerly made, when creating my dearest son in Africa;
Kenneth Binyavanga wa wainaina, who hails at Nakuru hills,
he is the sweetest song to my heart, classical music of my ears
i contrite much , as i were not to create you a blended blood
from an  Omuganda  girl and  an Omugikuyu  boy,
i  was to create you a pure Muganda, like Okot P' Bitek,
or a pure Kenyan , like Francis Davis Imbuga,
i were to control your academic fortune , that you  don't start,
your maiden education  Lena Moi primary school,
an epiphany of a divorced woman,spelling curse of wifelessness,
on those that pass through the very  school , i was wrong.
had i known i could have not  sent Cleophas to work
in your fathers home , for him  to sleep in the horse shed,
cursed is the ******* memory of what he did in that quarter
as you preened  and eavesdropped outside like a hen
listening to the eagle's contralto,
why did i sent Wambui to be your nurse maid ,only to preach
the gospel according to the power of peasant ****** to you,
she tangled her buttocks before your **** eyes,senting
your young heart to sensuous extremities, Wambui ,a she devil,
Wow! Kalenjins are bad neighbour, they are dark and ugly
slow in the brain and sadistically malicious in the heart,
i  know not why i made them to abode with you within the
great valley of kenya, they throng schools and they cannot learn,
but i have now held them captive, i have made them your footstool
for ever and ever my dear son ,as you hold the scepter of power,
i goofed beyond  remedy by all ethereal to send you to Njoro boys school,
for you to meet Sigalla, that extra-masculine Sigalla , the ******* hunter,
i gave you wrong sisters, they made you put on your mothers dress
and her long hair,then you posed to the female public as an Americanness
your romantic number was fwive fwive fwive fwive , fwive at New-york,
i wonder why i did not give you enough power of languages
so that you generate a numberless fantabulousies and Goalies and so forth,
only to borrow from a young woman;Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
the  yellow sun's slapslap  slapslap slapslap slapslap slapslap   slapslapp!
Mangu Boys School to you was a blessing , had it not my fault,
of giving you a mutton headed faculty full of annentcy,
that went for the persiflagery and aesthetic phantasmagoria,
in the art and theatre prose and poetry; the Bigger Thomas Lawyer,
your only  misplaced  mentor  that gave birth to what i love in you ;
hence i am writting about this place now,this place kenya,
folly of folly is when i goofed to take a natural writter like you,
to commerce class in the land of apartheid, Nadine Gordimer's  front
that sired Brenda Fasie a top Lesbian, the song bird of my times
as you all know we the gods also jealously love,
she only charmed you with her naked ****
swinging like a pendulum on the  musical stage,
after her communique of being a top lesbian,she call it Africa,
o! no,  Africa never came from Lesbians, it comes from simple nature;
mother and father, in natural and collective  heterosexuality,
You only saw and revved in dope culture in the cubbyhole of Victory,
and hoped clubs from Dazzle to the rest , in hunt of  your boyhood,
sadly to be befallen by dark clouds  in victim-hood of optical nutrition,
abiding among the  tall, beautiful, smoking bunch of Lesbians.
My son, from  today and henceforth,  i the Africanus,
the god of African fertility,poetry and art,
humbly chose to recreate you the king of kings and queens,
of African story telling  at global status, to tell all African songs,
beyond sham fallacy that gay and Lesbian literature
are the begotten  apex of modern and Global literature
these are only white lies featuring a death bound imperialism.

Water over stone speaks to me
Voices in my head or reality?
Bubbling, babbling, a fluid oration.
From liquid, an opus of reverberation.

Closer I get, speech becomes blurred.
A child, a crowd, an implicit word?
Retreat a step, lucid communique
Desire to immerse, ingest the parley.

Sit between banks in tears from on high
Hear her voice in the brook as I try
To understand, and follow the sentence at hand
A cacophony of silence sifted through sand.

Meaningless, mindless, numbing address
Just what’s so important she’s trying to stress?
Words from the distant, ghostlike, perchance
Wispy and passionate midsummer’s dance.

My ears reject resonance, but the mind draws it in
To decipher the past and perceive an old sin.
Apologetic, pleading, no mold to this play
Just babbling on, with no true thing to say.

Hands growing numb from water’s icy hold
Must leave this brook, for so I’ve been told
That mystery lives in the motion of hearing
Of water’s sweet journey beyond my heart’s clearing.

They have tried to conceal our love,
they've thrown up roadblocks, and smokescreens
to keep us from finding each other again,
but yet we always do. Our love has its own radar.
I can sense your heart beating, like an angelic drum
through the haze, and I know you can always hear the love
in my voice, even through the harsh foul static.

Even when you cannot respond, I know you know
my love is always glowing, like a lighthouse in the night.
Guiding you back to my harbor of eternal affection,
where my lips never tire of sounding the horn of our happiness.
I have stumbled for women before, like a blind man descending stairs.
But I never fell, until I tumbled head first into the bottomless pool
of your beauty. The only waters in which I would gladly drown,
have drowned, only to be rescued and resuscitated by your kisses.
  
Those who do not speak the language of our love, point their antennas our way,
they intercept our transmissions, but their code books are missing the pages
that explain how such emotion can be decoded. They only catch the grand communique,
always missing the short, but ever so loving messages, that come in daily
over the teletype of passion. Feverishly at this very moment, they wrack their brains
wondering at the deeper context of our words, but their is no hidden meaning,
behind the expression of affection. Love is its own context, and if they cannot translate it
then they are the ones at fault, not us. We have our own frequencies, and wavelengths.

Our Love shall always ring out in the darkness, even if we have to switch channels,
It will be there, to comfort us, and relieve the ache of our longing. I already have enough
in this world. Let them have the rest. All I need is our tiny daily broadcast, all I need is...
Our love.

Shadows without substance
Fragments of a long forgotten dream
We walk by each other as Strangers

Wish I could ask you what it means
that we remain guarded and separate

Do you ever wonder
about life, the universe and everything?
Do you not know
what you see is not all there is...?

There is Spirit, there is Matter
WE WALK IN <<TWO WORLDS>>

YOU SEE PEOPLE HOLDING BOXES WITH THEIR MEDALS INSIDE,
FOR SEVICES TO HUMANITY THEY'RE RECEIVED WITH PRIDE,
MOST OF US ARE ONLOOKERS TO SUCH A SPECIAL DAY,
BUT NOTHING IS BEYOND ALL INDIVIDUALS SO THEY SAY:
THAT IT WAS UNEXPECTED WHEN THE COMMUNIQUE' CAME,
SUMMONING ONE'S PRESENCE TO APPEAR BEFORE THE QUEEN,
I WONDERED WHAT SHE'D ASK ME - NOW I HAD TO BE SEEN
TO BE SOMEONE SPECIAL, SOMEONE TO REVERE, ASK ADVICE,
HOISTED INTO A LOFTY POSITION, STRANGELY MAY NOT BE NICE;
'MR. ANDREW, I'VE READ YOUR WORK - I DON'T UNDERSTAND ALL YOU SAY
BUT I'VE BEEN TOLD THAT WE MUST HONOUR A WRITER OF THE DAY,
I'D LIKE TO HEAR MORE, PLEASE EXPLAIN, JOIN ME FOR LUNCH ON FRIDAY;'
I'M HELD TO ACCOUNT, NO PLACE TO HIDE, DOWN ON MY KNEES,
THE SWORD BRUSHED MY SHOULDERS, NO MORE CIVIL LIBERTIES.

Sans communique
thrown asunder,
for ages now you've enabled wonder;
I'll miss you sat in my hand easily lit,
my starry ace,
my ace conduit.

We could read to the blind
If we could hear the deaf
Then, we could speak to the dumb

Remain diligent and steadfast , forbid apogee of Lucifer , the beasts anomaly ,and perpetuation of deceit , vanity , communique with the Almighty , not as the speakers but in private with grace and devotion , frailty and hope ..Salt tempered with honey .....Vinegar with wine ........

I did love you once.
-Hamlet

Light floods the road
invisible from the pavement
turned into beds of beggars
begging for the godly hope.

People plainly pass
perennial plot of pretensions.

Peace tonight is fragile,
so fragile that car honks fade,
so fragile that tire screeching
dies in the night.

Above are stars eaten by smoke.

The father and daughter
shared the night
with the blanket of stars
made of dusts.

(The night so fragile can’t hide their stomachs growling)

1.

Clarita, 24
let the night pass
under the warmth of coffee
and her broken press
whose myth died years back
but never in memories.

2.

(An old woman passed by with her cane fiddling the asphalt. I can hear her wishes. She wants to die.)

3.

It was Clarita who smiled
to all foolishness of childhood. True.
It was her way to ****
the marrow of life
knowing Thoreau or not,
from the threads of forgetting
& horrors of remembering.

4.

Her communique
falls flat from what she supposed to say
for she can’t utter a syllable
so ironic that she just tend to pretend
she never remembers
she never cares
for all what she need
is to let things reveal themselves
so apocalyptic that even herself
don’t mind when.

5.

(Lovers passed by with their hands swaying, either by gravity or by air)

6.

Her mother tried her luck to pick cherry blossoms.
Her father stole her past.

Clarita killed them in the vignette of her neurons.

7.

If only she can turn back in time
and live like her diary’s wishes
Clarita, whose heart pierced by a chance lost
will redeem what she has to,
& sleep like a child in a dusty bed
where the blanket hide her
& her universe.

8.

The phone rings. She can’t ignore the line.

9.

She hates the feeling of falling in love
like how she hears the phone ringing
in the middle of the night
where insomniacs finally sleep
from a distant snoring of customers
barraging like thunders of senseless
predicaments and tongue-tied promises.

10.

Tonight, Clarita made a promise.

She will let the night pass.

Face flushed
I taste dust,
cause she’s livid
with a vivid
imagination.

I move up
one bar
then back down
to the clown car.

Light signal changes
to the wrong color
giving me
a signal to see
that is a
confusing
communique.

I am enraptured
by the next chapter
she used to capture
my heart.

The past is the spark
where she parked
her poetic heart,
as I asked to see
whatever she
would grant me
freely,
in her poetry.

I long for
a great dialogue,
but she
doesn’t
long for me.
So, I am left to see
the slow decline
of my sanity.

night terrors for which my daughter has a few choice words written in cursive.

that have told her she is black but have used the blank communique of her skin as proof she’s surrendered.

I want to speak with the angels.  visibility should have no viewing hours.  the angels send me away.

night terrors that only occur in gated communities.  present in children susceptible to imago.

the angels need pictures of the poor.
the poor my contraband.

Mères en deuil, vos cris là-haut sont entendus.
Dieu, qui tient dans sa main tous les oiseaux perdus,
Parfois au même nid rend la même colombe.
O mères ! le berceau communique à la tombe.
L'éternité contient plus d'un divin secret.

La mère dont je vais vous parler demeurait
A Blois ; je l'ai connue en un temps plus prospère ;
Et sa maison touchait à celle de mon père.
Elle avait tous les biens que Dieu donne ou permet.
On l'avait mariée à l'homme qu'elle aimait.
Elle eut un fils ; ce fut une ineffable joie.

Ce premier-né couchait dans un berceau de soie ;
Sa mère l'allaitait ; il faisait un doux bruit
A côté du chevet nuptial ; et, la nuit,
La mère ouvrait son âme aux chimères sans nombre,
Pauvre mère, et ses yeux resplendissaient dans l'ombre,
Quand, sans souffle, sans voix, renonçant au sommeil,
Penchée, elle écoutait dormir l'enfant vermeil.
Dès l'aube, elle chantait, ravie et toute fière.

Elle se renversait sur sa chaise en arrière,
Son fichu laissant voir son sein gonflé de lait,
Et souriait au faible enfant, et l'appelait
Ange, trésor, amour ; et mille folles choses.
Oh ! comme elle baisait ces beaux petits pieds roses !
Comme elle leur parlait ! l'enfant, charmant et nu,
Riait, et par ses mains sous les bras soutenu,
Joyeux, de ses genoux montait jusqu'à sa bouche.

Tremblant comme le daim qu'une feuille effarouche,
Il grandit. Pour l'enfant, grandir, c'est chanceler.
Il se mit à marcher, il se mit à parler,
Il eut trois ans ; doux âge, où déjà la parole,
Comme le jeune oiseau, bat de l'aile et s'envole.
Et la mère disait : « Mon fils ! » et reprenait :
« Voyez comme il est grand ! il apprend ; il connaît
Ses lettres. C'est un diable ! Il veut que je l'habille
En homme ; il ne veut plus de ses robes de fille ;
C'est déjà très-méchant, ces petits hommes-là !
C'est égal, il lit bien ; il ira **** ; il a
De l'esprit ; je lui fais épeler l'Évangile. »
Et ses yeux adoraient cette tête fragile,
Et, femme heureuse, et mère au regard triomphant,
Elle sentait son cœur battre dans son enfant.

Un jour, - nous avons tous de ces dates funèbres ! -
Le croup, monstre hideux, épervier des ténèbres,
Sur la blanche maison brusquement s'abattit,
Horrible, et, se ruant sur le pauvre petit,
Le saisit à la gorge ; ô noire maladie !
De l'air par qui l'on vit sinistre perfidie !
Qui n'a vu se débattre, hélas ! ces doux enfants
Qu'étreint le croup féroce en ses doigts étouffants !
Ils luttent ; l'ombre emplit lentement leurs yeux d'ange,
Et de leur bouche froide il sort un râle étrange,
Et si mystérieux, qu'il semble qu'on entend,
Dans leur poitrine, où meurt le souffle haletant,
L'affreux coq du tombeau chanter son aube obscure.
Tel qu'un fruit qui du givre a senti la piqûre,
L'enfant mourut. La mort entra comme un voleur
Et le prit. - Une mère, un père, la douleur,
Le noir cercueil, le front qui se heurte aux murailles,
Les lugubres sanglots qui sortent des entrailles,
Oh ! la parole expire où commence le cri ;
Silence aux mots humains !

La mère au cœur meurtri,
Pendant qu'à ses côtés pleurait le père sombre,
Resta trois mois sinistre, immobile dans l'ombre,
L'oeil fixe, murmurant on ne sait quoi d'obscur,
Et regardant toujours le même angle du mur.
Elle ne mangeait pas ; sa vie était sa fièvre ;
Elle ne répondait à personne ; sa lèvre
Tremblait ; on l'entendait, avec un morne effroi,
Qui disait à voix basse à quelqu'un : « Rends-le moi ! »
Et le médecin dit au père : « Il faut distraire
Ce cœur triste, et donner à l'enfant mort un frère. »
Le temps passa ; les jours, les semaines, les mois.

Elle se sentit mère une seconde fois.

Devant le berceau froid de son ange éphémère,
Se rappelant l'accent dont il disait : « Ma mère, »
Elle songeait, muette, assise sur son lit.
Le jour où, tout à coup, dans son flanc tressaillit
L'être inconnu promis à notre aube mortelle,
Elle pâlit. « Quel est cet étranger ? » dit-elle.
Puis elle cria, sombre et tombant à genoux :
« Non, non, je ne veux pas ! non ! tu serais jaloux !
Ô mon doux endormi, toi que la terre glace,
Tu dirais : « On m'oublie ; un autre a pris ma place ;
Ma mère l'aime, et rit ; elle le trouve beau,
Elle l'embrasse, et, moi, je suis dans mon tombeau ! »
Non, non ! »

Ainsi pleurait cette douleur profonde.

Le jour vint ; elle mit un autre enfant au monde,
Et le père joyeux cria : « C'est un garçon. »
Mais le père était seul joyeux dans la maison ;
La mère restait morne, et la pâle accouchée,
Sur l'ancien souvenir tout entière penchée,
Rêvait ; on lui porta l'enfant sur un coussin ;
Elle se laissa faire et lui donna le sein ;
Et tout à coup, pendant que, farouche, accablée,
Pensant au fils nouveau moins qu'à l'âme envolée,
Hélas ! et songeant moins au langes qu'au linceul,
Elle disait : « Cet ange en son sépulcre est seul ! »
- O doux miracle ! ô mère au bonheur revenue ! -
Elle entendit, avec une voix bien connue,
Le nouveau-né parler dans l'ombre entre ses bras,
Et tout bas murmurer : « C'est moi. Ne le dis pas. »

Août 1843.

(pronounced – u jai yah)

The following haphazardly cobbled together some few years past (initially as a reasonable rhyme), nevertheless sustained discipline yours truly mather of fact doth cotton metaphorical gin still spins (yarn not gonna believe poppycock) within livingsocial as outcast of poker flats pun gent, whereby I strive to meditate successfully daily upwelling groovy sensation some hours doth last balloons within me buoying airborne courtesy spiritual blast.

Approximately three plus decades ago, I became ambitious to learn Yoga Asanas blow pesky mind chatter away (postures) despite inflexible body non coe whopper rating adamantly refusing to bend doe like (no just at the knee), but essentially flow wing stretches, while uncomfortably seated go wing to floor.

Mine physique experiences non Joe veal extreme difficulty involved simply seating stiff - NO can do sitting, whence, bony **** versus slightly more addy Poe posterior padding (viz junk in trunk) at present. The status quo mutter hoof act honest to dog cross my heart ambition roe bust lee expended to do more than sit on floor. Even slow lee sliding downward muscular flexion quite, a temporary restraining order i.e. TRO figurative and literal stretch.

Nonetheless, this persevering Lake wobegon soul lowered slender body, (when eye attended class) at Yo Yo ma intentional community within Sumneytown, Pennsylvania named Kripalu Yoga Community, where residents adapt macrobiotic diet under too till edge via auspices of cherished founder (Amrit Desai, i.e. Guru Dev).

Before entering sanctified space everybody removed their shoes often (now and again) guests welcome to partake regimen at said rue **** men tree idyllic retreat offering general public an opportunity true lee worth effort to experience this alternative lifestyle.

Though “U” might already be a pro unlike me, who didst barely progress as aye re: view memories toward greater flexibility minimally made one lasting whew benefit constituted of deep breathing asper you dull lies segue-way into light trance intended meditative zooming into mindfulness away from rat race. Even to this day, an effort gets made to set space aside time to transcend cares and concerns trace sing worry lines from uncertain future, and vase a versa if conditions favorable induce lightness – erase sing major concerns of being if perchance, face shill contortion asper body doth trite hoo easy and grace full flowingly, gently, harmoniously, indubitably lace limbs one into another - joyfully, kinesthetically, at comfortable pace.

Ewe experience lambent maneuvering naturally, optimally, peacefully, quietly, surreptitiously, et cetera into deep sleep of a hilly Edenic mirage tenderly controlling inhalation, and exhalation might seem silly, sans breathing hopefully remains sustained.

As a novitiate practitioner with ***** Wonka, this magical, modality (qua zee moat *** modus operandi) regarding, striving toward ultimately vast wrestled xfinity, yielding zestful fling away global concerns all the while grappling dutifully attaining jingling mystical state of consciousness, (perhaps mental experience a king dome all to itself, similarly venerated, vis a vis basically comprehend ping pong per positive phrases analogy, asper anyone who reads and understands this ring gull ling communique) as I attempt to describe mesmerize zing, mindset mosaic explicit words seem da fish hint.

Thus analogous self induce hypnotic cerebral deep minted experience possibly more clear to envision without stinting the reeder. Nonetheless, the conscious, deliberate guided “high” kickstarted courtesy Ujjayi breathing, which tint head breath comprises breathing technique employed in different
variety of Taoist and Yoga practices.

In relational mash mich hug gun flint sparking neurons to ascend Yogic exaltation, where mindset doth glint within casting glowing countenance whispering the ocean breath.

The length and speed of breathing aid did, controlled by diaphragm, strengthening braid did mental fiber which purposefulness of ujjayi without being fanatical, an effort gets made daily meditation teasing envisioned in laid within wafting warm waves (comprising grade “A” leased half hour, but no more than twenty four). If time constraints un war rented ala limited restraints disallow currying pour forth, the course fostering, inducing limned score arching relaxation merely practicing to open a door slow prolonged breathing bonjour can deliver (pizza pie) energizing feel akin to flying like Icarus above urban jungle roar.

L'amour, panique
De la raison,
Se communique
Par le frisson.

Laissez-moi dire,
N'accordez rien.
Si je soupire,
Chantez, c'est bien.

Si je demeure,
Triste, à vos pieds,
Et si je pleure,
C'est bien, riez.

Un homme semble
Souvent trompeur.
Mais si je tremble,
Belle, ayez peur.

Un pavillon à claires-voies
Abrite doucement nos joies
Qu'éventent des rosiers amis ;

L'odeur des roses, faible, grâce
Au vent léger d'été qui passe,
Se mêle aux parfums qu'elle a mis ;

Comme ses yeux l'avaient promis,
Son courage est grand et sa lèvre
Communique une exquise fièvre ;

Et l'Amour comblant tout, hormis
La Faim, sorbets et confitures
Nous préservent des courbatures.

I fell in  ...two
Not hurt just confused
C c  communique
Discontinued
Messages sent.......
Either refused ,blocked,
Or just never reached you.
Hope ......all..
is good
with.....you
My friend....
Message me if you dont get this.......
And message me if you do.....
K?
Er whatever.
Anyway..............

When days are fine
What shall we write on?
William Saroyan
And the cold day
In San Francisco.
Regular things like
Panging for touch
In the 3 o’clock hour,
Scratching mosquito bites
While studying portraits.

If all the days of my life
Led to this one
Where I had you
In communique,
Meeting you,
Sharing time,
Mixing our histories
Our pathways
It might not mean a thing to you
For me it has been a pleasure.

Portraits and laughter
Reviewing the song
Of your life
Colorful passion
Making leaps
I wonder where you will land.

In this early hour of the morning
I can only be overjoyed
That I might have the pleasure
Of you at least once more,
Uncertain how long you will
Be in my story.

Hate to say it
But hate,
Stay away

Once upon any given day,
Epitome of cliche
In serendipitous melancholy form a sorta alarm did force its way into what I call my red flag repertoire.
My naïveté in classic form mistook ,what seemed to be a general overall generic form of ,
One of many,canonized and I might add widely recognized cross culturally standardized communique .
A non rhetorical bait  used  In fishing for an innocent people response.
Which , to the best of my recollection unravelled a little bit like this......
Upon such a splendid mid morning hike to a much beloved utopian alpine snow crusted ,light blue frozen lake early august
a heavy ,comforting easiness clung lovingly to my young tortured psyche .....as it was unveiling to me this euphoric vision....
For the first time I could remember I had been given the keys to unlock .....me ,for I could see straight through time ....and I had no plans ,reservations or obligations....And with a paid hiatus work status.
An unprecedented glorious somewhat lascivious smirk was forming as I stood alone upon this solid granitical uplifted intrusive  batholith.
I  felt as though epochs ago this felsic majestic perch where I stood immersed in heavenly view of stevens pass all the way to Peugeot sound and beyond,had pushed its way into the county rock and stayed in appropriation for this day....,
I stood chest full of crisp ,
Cool ,refreshing clean air,
And yes somewhat aroused by some far off clouds which my pornographic mind had some how perverted .
Thats beside the point ...
I stood, blankly fixed gaze,slight head tilt with the south park Kyle like smile .
I almost swear I heard Angels singing........
Wait oh my ........
I closed my eyes tuned my head wrinkled my forehead.......
I ......do ......
I hear them .....
Wait ....theyre singing .....
***?!? .. Motley crue,?
The beginning of....
Dr. Feelgood........
Am I crazy.....?
Well thats a given ....
But *** is really goin on here?
I.........don't.....
Wait its my phone
Its ringing ...
Must be something excellent after all this build up......
I answered  bristling with anticipation.....
It's one of my buddies.  
He says" hey buddy   ,
Whataya doin ..........
For the next couple weeks?
And from then on
The onslaught continued
Untill I discontinued
Dismayed my cell phone
Moral outlook?
Took a horrible
Booked for suspicion of having free time.
Sentenced to a lifetime of
Hey can you help me with this?
Under intensive deep
Subduction.
Every plan previously made,
Waylaid!

Stale

Love me,
Love you,
You know I do.....
....
I just never get to have ....
Oh
...its an emergency ....ok im on my.........wait what
You need me to spring for everything ......right now your broke ,    
Ok youl pay me back though
Rieeeeet?
And what?
Pick up some coke .......
Ok .......
Actually  no
Not this time.......
Im grabbing mango pepsi.....
Coke makes me paranoid

The following binary raw bits
hither and yon to and fro flits
across eyes of unknown reader
handsomely buzzfeeding
dining viz fancy feast
donning while trumpeting
microscopic mitts.

Though yours truly
a zany, wimpy, tiny, and puny
(smaller than a breadbox)
modest nonestablishmentarian Ogre,
whereat my portable minuscule
fingerhut size adobe abode
exposed to Strunk and White raw
grammatical elements of style,
I counted Flip (Wilsonian) view,
to camouflage myself anytime
and anywhere as significant advantage.

The obvious downside
(i.e. severe limitations to pull off
major coup) forced me to axe
paunches pilot while taking a chopper
if I van nah miniaturize daring deed
(done dirt cheap) reconfigured,
retouched, recorded by Das scribe
named Magnum Opus.

Indeed, this chance to go long (equivalent
of Olympic gold) foretold godaddy peering
into granule size barren crystal ball.

Preliminary steps undertaken
to pull off impossible mission;
mo' difficult than a blind man
taking eighty steps to Jonah
infiltrating 70+ shades of gray area
prime Donald Trump real estate.

A priority prevailed to act on
the QT (q-tip) lest cover get blown,
and suspicious communique encrypted
to hire globe trotting henchmen.

Urgency spurred daring deed,
cuz targeted subject in question
majority population counted
as debouched, delirious, and
demonstrably dangerous
demagogue, in short a "FAKE"
forty fifth president!

Security details
(like stray cats on the prowl),
could sniff out ploy to re
program depraved, deranged,
and detached supposed Master
at helm, you Jesse and wait.

His audacity, effrontery,
and isolationist iffy
Oscar the grouch ideology
placed him squarely as half baked
cookie monstrosity against
former United States Commander in Chief.

First order of business necessitated
tranquilizing this doughty, haughty
enemy of the Lumpenproletariat!

Renown chemist friends of mine
(actually Civil War tin
effervescent bubble buddies)
alias Diet Coke and/or Diet Pepsi
secured an ampule Taj Mahal
~ circa 1631 vintage.

One ampule viz pill
could knock out a giant –
sans, Jack and the beanstalk fame.

No ifs, and or bots, the secret
got pulled off without spilling
figurative (jelly) beans.

Once inside auditory labyrinth,
I immediately noticed striking
deus ex machina ***** rioting
resemblance to microscopic cave.

Now follows non sequitur
with rhyme nor reason.

A thick baad a$$ sieve sludge
(vaguely resembling cerumen in consistency)
re: gooey pseudo pulpy secreted material
suctioned courtesy resultant ****** mess
in a near futile attempt
to separate Siamese sistahs
said substance issuing forth
after surgeons meticulous incisions
qualify as unsung heroes
as does illogical senseless segue way
into riff about
Def Leppard amputee drummer
Rick Allen brutally attacked
by human rabid beastie boy
posed an initial dilemma,
which audioslave solution
entailed collaboration to build
a toothpick fence.

Pensiveness unexpectedly found
unwitting subject trying
to comprehend gibberish
attempting to pass muster
as supreme poetic literature
said unsuspecting reader
reflexively scratching, poking,
and jabbing inadvertently
gesticulating at mine doppelganger
finding him listening
for subsequent instructions
from ground zero.

I exhibit health and virility at one hundred and
64 years astride planet earth, whereby spouse,
(who remained married to yours truly for about
one century – which elapsed in blink of an eye)
long since gave up the ghost, which found me
receptive to possible mission to date women
(strong of body, mind, and spirit with frontier
spirit) young enough to be my granddaughter.  

Circa December 4th, 2123, or 1212 military time,
yours truly attempted crafting id est feeble rhyme
far from madding crowd, nevertheless yet lovely
bones and flesh quite spry, still considered prime
(moost procreative, prodigious, and progressive)
stage, since (case ye didn't know) approximately
eight score orbitz round Earth's sun still noontime
chronologically analogous to protracted lunchtime
whereat the average offspring jetson or (daughter)

Born twenty three years into twenty second century alive
and well (still hashtagged as precocious) with drive
to safely, sidestep, and surmount establishmentarian
archaic, formulaic, and mosaic Judaic/Christian give
wry master of words (me) take poetic license to jive
reasonably rhyming nope heart tickle early misthrive
moost definitely ***** deeds done dirt cheap (trick)
super tramping space cowboy lobbing power-drive
re: frequently innocent prelapsarian double entendre
(Jean Jacques Rousseau) Noble Savage he doth strive
even though hanky panky tinged entire his/her story,
**** sapiens animal husbandry hastily did wive.

Bajillion years after proto humans experienced woe
countless figurative early Brady bunched bro doggie
dimples encountered necessity to escape cohabitation
(marital covenant alien), yet quasi marital brouhaha
ofttimes witnessed altercation begetting re: thorough
out baby with bath water phenomena, which literal
cruel fate heavily peppered past (mine) accounting
lamely explaining Pink Floyd momentary status quo
upended accompanied courtesy lapse of reason no

definitive evidence to substantiate claim, yet I know
without shadowed doubt every friggin forebear (***
pining to savor manumission, versus cotton pickin)
back breaking stoop labor think indentured escrow
harking back to days of our lives (mainly bonobo
nasty, short and brutus creatures millenniums ago
unsung simian kindred beings suffering figurative
ruffled horse feathers nsync with bird in hand dodo
which latter species long extinct (as Dutch good eats)

now non sequitur (sea quitter) mine homeboys/girls
comprising Harris eventual clan (of craven lionized
"scapegoats" set genealogical precedent, and grew
some real winners gentiles, who commingled and
intermarried, and united proudly to kvetch as Jew)
eventually acquiring redeeming qualities conveniently
best caricatured as features exhibited by Mister MaGoo
invariably dear reader "fake" anecdote ye will poo poo
as well how storied and fabled coronavirus (COVID-19)

medical technicians reference quaint pandemic setting
figurative global stage brethren and sistern microbes
made webbed, wide world wish for said good ole days
cuz, communique done being crafted about six hours
marine hated, armies of beastie boys slain 2123 yahoo
the darndest, latest microscopic bugaboo nearly slew
entire population, hence envision terra firma with
divine providence absolute zero people as edenic
provenance (metaphorically offering tabula rasa view.